#exhales for a calendar year

[weatheredlaw]

so even though you have broken my heart yet again -- (why are we here?)

[rebelfell]

Who, me? Done with them? Where the fuck did you hear that? 18+ MDNI 2.4K

older!fem!Harrington!reader x eddie

cw: none except for actual, despicable, disgusting, nauseating fluff to make up for all some of the angst 💋

continued from here, index here

When Eddie comes to your house that night, he looks around it with wide, entranced eyes.

He only saw it when it was bare bones—plain white paint and dusty floors scattered with boxes. Now it was bursting with color and personality, shelves lined with your books, walls adorned with art and posters. A little calendar in your kitchen scribbled with various activities and reminders. Dishes from your breakfast still in the sink. Plants in just about every window, some of them with small tchotchkes hidden in the pots—figurines you’d picked up at yard sales or found randomly.

Your couch is velvet, a deep green that makes your throw pillows seem even brighter. There’s a thick knit blanket strewn across the chaise end of it and an intimidatingly long book lying out on your coffee table. It’s much nicer than the one he broke—a piece of wood shaped into an octagon with a dark gold grain polished to perfection.

In the right light, he can still see the faint white line of his scar across the center of his palm.

He finds your record player and starts flipping through your albums he only saw a small portion of that summer, most of them stashed away in the garage with the rest of your stuff. 

And while he was looking at your stuff, you just looked at him.

It was impossible to believe he was actually standing in front of you. Like a dream come to life, a vision in a hunter green dress shirt tucked into black slacks. He had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and he’d only buttoned the shirt half-way to show off the white tank underneath, the tattoos over his collarbone peeking out from underneath the skinny straps.

You watch him as he moves on to your mantle, looking over a little altar of all things you. 

Seashells from a trip you took to Marco Island years ago. Vintage crystal candy dishes with lids repurposed into candles. A bowl of matchbooks from different clubs and restaurants. Pictures of you and your friends with your faces squished together in mis-matched frames.

And down at the very end, a copy of your book. 

Eddie picks it up and turns it over in his hands, running his fingers over the cover and the spine where your name is embossed.

“You can have that, if you want,” you tell him. “I’d love for you to read it.”

He smiles and places the book back down, eyes twinkling. “I already have,” he says.

Your brow wrinkles instantly and you’re about to ask him how that was even possible, but Eddie is already offering an explanation. Apparently, right around the time he was starting his company, Viv brought him out to do a consultation…and just so happened to leave a copy of it laying out.

You shake your head and chuckle softly, recalling a Christmas in Hawkins that you found Corroded Coffin’s self-released album in your stocking.

Eddie turns toward you and his eyes land on the staircase that leads up to your bedroom.

He feels that old impulse—that ancient craving in him that laid dormant for so many years, now urging his hands to reach out and grab you and bend you backwards until your spine is folded in half he’s kissing you so hard. Your own smile spreads across your face when he looks back to you, but there’s a tightness to it. Almost like you’re wondering what he’s going to do.

Like you’re imagining the same things he is.

He doesn’t do them, though. Because he doesn’t want it to be like that this time. He has so many other things he wants to do first.

All the things he never got to before.

A slow exhale leaves your chest, a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and he glances at the clock hanging over your fireplace, tilting his head at you in a question,

“You wanna go see a movie?”

It’s no Starcourt Mall, but the discount theater you take him to is only a ten minute walk from your house. You go there some evenings after dinner without even checking what is playing. They never have new releases, just stuff that’s a few months old by the time they get it, nearly ready to come out on video. And sometimes they show the really old black and white ones.

Eddie buys two tickets for the next show and holds the door open for you to walk inside. You pause in the lobby, letting the smell of popcorn imbue your senses, looking around at the scant number of other people milling about. He lets the tips of his fingers trail down the inside of your arm and wrist to lace his hand with yours, giving it a squeeze as he nods at concessions.

“You like Red Vines?” he asks with a smile.

It’s a good thing the movie isn’t anything of note, because it’s near impossible to concentrate with Eddie sitting next to you. You plop down in a pair of seats towards the back in the center of the row, you with the candy and a drink while Eddie holds the popcorn—only $3 for a giant ass tub, how do they even make a profit? he asks excitedly, his eyes so wide that it makes you giggle.

Then he asks you to hold it for him while he digs in his pocket for his glasses.

”Don’t laugh,” he warns, tipping his head down and squinting at you playfully over the frames. 

Yeeeeah, laughing is not gonna be the issue. If the slightly scruffy beard wasn’t enough to send you into overdrive, the wire-rimmed glasses he perches on his nose sure as shit were.

The fourth or fifth time you catch yourself staring, at him, he catches you too. He fights back a smile while lightly brushing his fingers over his chin and cheeks, then leans over the armrest to whisper to you, even though there’s no one in the theater sitting close enough for you to bother them.

“Did I get it?” he asks, brows raising.

“Huh?” You blink rapidly, coming out of your daze.

“You’re staring at me so hard, I thought I must have something on my face.”

His lips curl upwards in that familiar cocky smirk of his and you roll your eyes, plucking a piece of popcorn from the bucket to throw at him. Already laughing, anticipating the move, his mouth opens wide and his jaw snaps closed as he catches it easily, still grinning as he chomps. It earns him the prize that is your laughter—the sound of it warming his chest from the inside out.

You hold hands the whole walk back to your house, only letting go once when he moves his to the small of your back and guides you in front of him so you don’t walk through a puddle.

And far too soon, you’re standing at your door. And he’s swallowing hard, throat bobbing as he shifts closer until the tips of his shoes bump with yours. And your heart is pounding, rattling all your organs as he looks up at you through his lashes.

“So, I should…go?”

His voice goes up at the end, making ita question.

“I guess so?” You shrug, chewing on your lip as you glance at your door. He nods.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he whispers, the short stubble on his jaw rubbing your cheek as he drops a too-brief kiss on the side of your face, lingering there to add, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

You take a deep inhale of his scent. It’s lighter one than the woodsy cologne he used to wear. More mellow and earthy, like sage and sea salt.

Heaven.

The two of you step apart and he stays on the porch, waiting until you’ve unlocked the door and safely slipped back inside the house before he dares turn to leave. You place your keys in their spot on the hook by your door. Same as you always do. You step out of your shoes and slide them under the little bench where the rest of them reside. Same as you always do.

And then suddenly, you stop. Because what the fuck do you think you’re doing letting him leave?

You yank open the front door to find him standing there holding the screen door, his chest heaving from running back up the walkway and steps.

For a moment you just stare at one another, all your memories rushing back at once. A haze of summer heat, sunscreen and chlorine. Fresh grass clippings and perennials in bloom, messy sheets and sticky skin on sticky skin. Moonlight reflecting on the lake, thunder booming and pouring rain. Burnished eyes in a darkened hallway, a whisper of please, please, please…

And like tectonic plates colliding, you crash.

His shirt barely makes it past the threshold, your fingers tugging apart the buttons to push it off his shoulders. He helps to pull it the rest of the way off and tosses it aside before his hands find your waist, guiding you backward towards the stairs, the both of you giggling in between feverish kisses as you try and climb them without separating your lips.

You stumble through the bedroom door, him clumsily kicking off his shoes while you slap at the light switch on the wall. The red scarf draped over the lamp on your bedside table casts a haze over the soft and warm glow of the bulb, making everything it touches a radiant scarlet.

He wraps his arms around you in a tight squeeze before his hands slide down to palm your ass, lifting the skirt of your dress with his grasp. Lips vibrating with the moan you release, you put your hands on his shoulders and guide him downward to sit on the end of your bed.

His knees spread and he pulls you in to stand between them, black eyes shining up at you.

“You’re so beautiful…” 

He whispers it, half to himself, his kisses being peppered along your collarbones as he tugs down the top of your dress. The air hits your breasts as they come spilling out of the bodice and his hands cup them gently as you come forward to straddle his lap. The breathy, stuttering groan he lets out as he feels your weight sink down on top of him instantly zings between your legs.

He mouths at your breasts, kissing over the top curves, burying his face in the middle of them. It makes you sigh, dreamily, as your fingers weave into his hair and you scrape your nails across his scalp until it makes him shiver under you.

He falls backward, bringing you with him as he’s engulfed in the softness of your unmade sheets. You place your hands at his pecks, ready to tear through his flimsy undershirt to feel the warmth of his bare skin on yours. Your hips buck, almost violently, starting a rough and needy grind on his cock, whimpering with each drag of your core against the growing bulge in his slacks.

“Hang on, wait—wait, wait, wait—”

Eddie gasps for air, panting heavily as he sits up, supporting you with his hands on your back. Your body stills, the grind ceasing instantly. Your hands at his chest, fingers still curved like claws.

“Are you okay?” you whisper. “Do you—do you not want to…”

Eddie shakes his head instantly, lips pressing to your forehead as he tries to catch his breath.

“No, I wanna do this, I do,” he breathes, “you have no idea how much, but…”

And those eyes. Those big, wet, round eyes of his scan your face as he dredges up the nerve to say the thought that’s been in his head for years.

Never knowing if he’d actually get to say it.

You swear you can feel how his heart races as you smooth your hands over his chest and draw them up to cup his neck. He reaches up to hold your face in his hands, and finally he says it.

“I don’t have it in me to get over you again.”

The words steal every speck of air in the room. You can’t even inhale because every atom in your body is frozen in place. You swear even the blood in your veins stops pumping for that moment.

And then you feel it. The rush of warmth in your extremities, tingling with realization.

You don’t want just one night with him. You don’t want just a few weeks of fun. You want to see him in every season—bundled up against the cold, his cheeks pink and snowflakes clinging to his bangs; wrapped in a flannel, raking umber colored leaves into a pile and then jumping into them; throwing his head back to catch raindrops on his tongue during an April shower, splashing in puddles.

You’ve been so distracted all night by how different he is now that you haven’t even thought about how much you’ve changed. Back then, you were so worried about what people would think—your coworkers, your boss, your family. Some people in a town you didn’t even live in.

You let all the bullshit win, you let it rob you of what could have been. Not again.

“I need to know…” He swallowed hard. “If you still want what I want.”

And you know you do. You know it down to your marrow, on a cellular level. But there’s a part of you that still wants to hear him say it.

“What do you want, Eddie?” you whisper, the words leading and heady.

“You.” He says it like it’s easy. Like it’s obvious. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

You nod back at him, licking your lips to stop their trembling. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

There’s a kind of peace to the moment that passes between you, a long exhale after a deep breath, a pause at the peak of a mountain where you look around breathless and winded at the majesty of the view. Your eyes scan over all the features of his face, all the details you’ve spent years trying to recall properly that are now before you in startling clarity. The faint dusting of light freckles across his nose, the natural texture of his skin, the fullness of his plush lips that are rosy red from your energetic kissing, his dense lashes that frame those twin black holes in his face.

Staring back at you like you’re the one who holds all the secrets of the universe.

“Then I…I think we should wait,” he says, smiling even though it seems as if it’s physically painful for him to say it. “I want—I have to do this right.”

You press your lips to his, your fingers curled loosely in the hairs at the nape of his neck. Not gripping—not clutching, not scared of losing him.

Just holding. 

He kisses you back and you giggle, feeling exactly how much his body wants to betray what he just said. You keep your face close as your smiles touch, noses bumping as you whisper,

“Do you want some ice cream?”

prev┃next

okay, okay, okay, now I’m really done. Or am I? Again, this is all y’all’s fault ‘cos you go and say nice things and that makes me think about them more and then THIS HAPPENS!

This song also has to shoulder some of the blame…

[yoonkles]

he’s the type to (hyung line ver.) ..

genre: headcanons, fluff. gender neutral reader.

warnings: none :)

authors note: first x-reader fic on this blog and ofc it’s ateez. my sweethearts !! requests open- just read my pinned beforehand :)

— hongjoong !

... to always give you a kiss before leaving.

always before you part from each other. rushing from room to room searching for his wallet, late to practice he says, making a mess he’ll deeply apologize for later. haphazardly throwing on a coat and tying his shoes while you watch in amusement from the couch. stuttering through goodbyes as he reaches for the doorknob, only to full body freeze, and turn on his heel. and then he’ll be hovering over you, eyes glazed over, and a grin on his lips. “what, you didn’t think i’d leave without a kiss, did you?” he’ll tease in a breathless tone and your heart will skip a beat. soft pink lips will lean in as your eyes flutter close, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead. it’s a familiar warmth, one your all too used to. a move hongjoong had picked up after walking you to your doorstep at the end of your first date. a move he had yet to drop, never leaving your side without a sweet press of his lips against your warm skin first.

— seonghwa !

... to plan the dates.

always being able to count on him for a night out. planning down to the exact time, making reservations weeks beforehand, always a bright smile on his face as he adds a date to your shared calendar. it never seems to fall repetitive, either. from expensive dinner dates where you get all dressed up, to late nights in with a movie and popcorn days later. lego dates, where you both spend hours hunched over a messy table concentrating in comfortable silence. or even the time he had carved out a hole in his schedule, an entire day just for you, where you had driven hours out to a field overlooking the city. a packed picnic in the trunk, a blanket, and seonghwa staring with sparkles in his eyes as you awe at the scenery. “nowhere near as beautiful as you,” he’ll whisper with a lovesick tilt of his lips. you don’t think you had ever felt so loved than that night, wrapped in his arms and overlooking a setting sun and a lively city.

— yunho !

... to movie marathon with you.

stacks of movies and old dvds fished from attic storage displayed on your coffee table constantly. a bubbly yunho practically prancing back and forth with excitement, dressed up in silk pyjamas that match your own. the smell of popcorn seems to have embedded itself in your apartment from the hundreds of bags you go through a year, stronger now that another one is heating up over the stovetop. the man in front of you points at a large stack of christmas hallmark movies when you ask for a suggestion. you don’t remark on the fact it’s currently the middle of june, or how all of those movies were in english, not when yunho is looking at you with the brightest grin you’ve ever seen. “you’re my favorite way to unwind,” he’ll sleepily whisper hours later, hand running up and down your spine. and you exhale, heart warming, as you whisper back to him the same sentiment.

— yeosang !

... to hold your pinky.

soft laughs and lovesick smiles that make you feel like you're both back in high school again. he's always so touchy with you in such subtle, loving ways. a hand at the small of your back as he directs you through a crowd. the brush of his thigh against yours at the dinner table. soft, warm lips brushing against the skin of your cheek every time he leaves your side. but the one gesture that he seems to treasures above all else is the way his pinky wraps around yours. “it’s like a promise,” he whisper to you every time you ask about it, a pretty smile on his lips and intimacy laced throughout his gaze. a promise to keep you in his life, to follow you wherever you happen to lead him. a promise to never let you slip from his touch. you were a jewel to precious to him- he doesn't dream of letting go, ever. not when your pinky fits so right wrapped around his.

[aanoia]

OMG I HAVE ANOTHER ONE I HAVE ANOTHER ONE

What about putting lights on the house with single dad James that’s also next door neighbor. So basically Harry sees their nice next door neighbor struggling to put up the outside decorations and he forces his dad to help. And Que cute decorating time and end with hot cocoa and baking cookies with Harry!

I LOVED this idea, thank you

𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 - a hallmark christmas movie

James Potter x reader day eight of christmas advent calendar words; 1,600+ warnings; broken glass i made harry really clumsy and lily evil so enjoy

Y/n sighed, hands on her hips, as she stared at the bucket of tangled Christmas lights. She thought hard on how she could possibly do this, the years before she’s always had a boyfriend or her dad do it. But this year, not only was she single but her dad was visiting her sister in America this Christmas.

‘If only magic was real,’ She thought while shaking her head and beginning to work on the Christmas lights. 

Y/n struggled to pull out a single strand, so she decided to just pour them all out instead. She sat on her snowy lawn, thankful she had decided to wear her snow gear before she came out. Y/n sat there, pulling roughly on the lights and fighting off frustrated tears.

After ten minutes of trying she threw the lights onto the snow in annoyance and flopped onto her back, spreading out her arms and legs as if she was making a snow angel. She glared at the snow falling from the sky.

From inside the next door house, a little boy with charcoal hair watched the woman intently from the window. His breath fogged up the window, so every breath he exhaled he wiped his sleeve against the cold glass.

“Harry, it’s rude to stare.” The boy's dad, James, said as he hugged his son from behind and pulled him up. Harry laughed as James tickled his stomach.

“I think she needs help, dada.” Harry mentioned - his lisp making his “s” sound like a “th” - and James cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah, what makes you think that?” He asked his son.

“Look, she can’t get her Christmas lights to go apart.” He explained and James peered out the window to see his neighbors figure in the snow, struggling to untangle lights.

James ruffled his son's hair and set him back down, “She’ll figure it out, bud, don’t worry.”

Y/n sighed in relief as the Christmas lights were finally untangled. She stood up, her legs cracking loudly, and picked up the connected strands. She connected the end to a long extension cord. Y/n waddled over to the ladder and prayed her driveway didn’t have any ice she couldn’t see as she climbed up cautiously. 

A gust of wind blew past and she gripped onto the sides roughly, closing her eyes and sending a prayer to the universe. She took another step up, and another, until she could finally reach the hooks on the edge of her house. Y/n looped the strand around the hook and brought it over to the next.

She repeated this multiple times until she got to the end. Y/n glanced at her neighbors window and smiled at the sight of the small boy looking at her from inside. He gave her a wide smile, showing his missing two front teeth. She waved at him, instantly regretting her decision.

A large gust of wind blew by and her lights flickered and zapped, causing her to startle and slip from the ladder. A loud crack filled the air and immediately she was in a warm pair of strong arms. Y/n didn’t care who it was, she just held on tightly to her savior as she tried to calm her heart.

“Are you okay?” A soft voice asked as he set her down and Y/n finally looked up.

‘What in the Hallmark Christmas movie is this?’ She wondered as she stared in the framed eyes of her hot neighbor. His front door closed loudly as his little boy ran over worriedly.

“Are you okay, Miss Y/n?” Harry asked, grabbing onto her hand with both his small ones. His snowcoat was on backwards and his scarf was in a tangle around his head, but at least he tried.

Y/n smiled and leaned down to the boy, “Oh, yes, I’m perfectly fine, Harry, thank you.” Harry took a step and wrapped his arms around the woman.

“Up, please.” He said quietly and Y/n laughed as she picked him up. James watched the interaction with awe in his eyes. He’s never seen a woman like that with Harry, not since Lily left the two for America. 

“Thank you, James. I really appreciate it.” Y/n said and James smiled.

“Of course, anytime. Let me finish the job for you though.” He offered and Y/n nodded, holding tightly onto the little boy. 

“Be careful.” Y/n warned as James climbed up the ladder. He laughed and put the strand on the last hook before sliding down the ladder.

“Easy peasy.” He boasted and Y/n rolled her eyes and set Harry down. “We better get back to our house.”

“No!” Harry complained.

Y/n held out a hand, stopping the man from dragging his kid back to their house, “Do you want to come in? I have a tree I still need to decorate and some cookies practically begging to be baked.” James was silent as he contemplated. “I have hot cocoa! With the little chunks of candy cane in it.”

James immediately nodded, “I’m sold.”

“Okay, crack the eggs carefully, Harry. We don’t want any of the shells getting into the batter, alright?”

Harry nodded, “Okay.” He smashed the egg against the bowl and cracked it perfectly and he did it again with the second egg. When the third egg came around, he hit against the bowl with just a little too much force and the insides of the egg out, half going onto the table and the other half in the bowl, egg shells going along with it.

The room was silent for a moment before Y/n began laughing, the two boys quickly joining in. Y/n shook her head in amusement as she grabbed a spoon and handed it to Harry, instructing him to fish out the egg shells as she grabbed a napkin and quickly cleaned the egg on the table.

“Harry, don’t eat the raw egg.” James said with a smile and Harry stuck his tongue out at his dad. James returned the gesture as Y/n measured a cup of flour. She handed it to Harry who dumped the flour onto his head instead of in the bowl.

“What?” Y/n asked as James stood in shock as bits of flour fell from his sons head.

“What was the point of that?” James asked and Harry laughed, the adults joining in with him to make the kitchen full of laughter once again.

“Oh, you’re such a dork.” Y/n teased. “Tell you what, the bathroom is just down the hall, I’ll finish the batter while you go let your dad clean you up, yeah?” Harry nodded and jumped off the stool, causing more flour to cover the ground in white.

“I’m sorry.” James said as he followed after his kid.

Y/n smiled, “You can use my shampoo.”

“Okay, Harry, you have to be very careful with this one. It’s very fragile.” Y/n said as she handed Harry a glass ornament. Harry nodded and held the ornament by the string.

Unavoidably, Harry tripped over a box and in an attempt to steady himself the ornament dropped to the floor and shattered into pieces. Harry immediately began crying and worry filled Y/n’s body, afraid he had been cut by the glass. She swept him off the floor and checked his bare feet to see nothing but blank skin. She looked at his hands to see them in the same condition.

“Oh, Harry, what’s wrong? Did you get hurt?” She asked as James rushed to get the broom from the kitchen. 

“I broke your tree decoration!” He said, which only made him wail louder. Y/n sat on her sofa and cradled the boy in her arms.

“Oh, love, it’s okay. It’s just an ornament. I’m just glad you’re okay.” She said quietly and James froze at the sight, broom in hand.

His heart swelled as he only fell deeper in love with his neighbor. He had always thought she was beautiful, but seeing how she interacted with Harry - both today and many previous interactions - made him feel more than just attraction. He was curious and felt a longing for her. He didn’t want her to only take up the hole Lily left in his heart, he wanted her to take his whole heart, and Harry’s too. 

Once Harry stopped crying, he quickly fell asleep, exhausted from the day and its endeavors.

“We had a really good time.” James said as the two adults walked to the front door.

“Yeah, I did too. I’ll make sure to bring over some cookies for you two.” Y/n responded with a smile, leaning against the doorframe as James took a step into the dark night. 

He turned around, “Y/n…” He hesitated.

“Yes?”

James glanced up and smiled, “There’s a mistletoe.” He said quietly and Y/n’s eyes flitted up as well. She furrowed her brows at the mistletoe, she had definitely not put that there. She didn’t even own one.

Her eyes met James again, “So it seems.”

James leaned in, and when Y/n didn’t protest he went farther. Y/n’s hand found James’ cheek and she gently connected their lips. The kiss was soft, and warm, despite the cold air nipping at their cheeks. Y/n laughed softly as they pulled apart.

“What’s so funny?” James asked with a grin.

“You’re cute.” She whispered and he was thankful the cold reddened his cheeks before she could.

“Good night.” He responded.

“Good night, James.” Y/n said and closed the door, leaning against it once he left. She slid down and sat with a giddy smile. “Definitely a Hallmark Christmas movie.”

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[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #55: Feeding

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: recovery, vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned caretaker

happy 2 year anniversary to kane & jim~! hard to believe it's been 2 whole years since i started writing...

wrote while listening to melodies of refresh by tenno gabni

-

Kane woke and looked to the door. Just like every morning the past week, it was a normal door. No silver. No lock.

He changed and washed his face, creeping upstairs with the hesitancy of someone who knew he wasn’t allowed, despite knowing full-well that he was: Jim had made that clear. He felt too quiet, his ankles free of chains.

It was early morning, early enough that the sun hadn’t risen yet–that terrifying tell-tale glow didn’t shine from behind the curtains. Jim wouldn’t be awake for hours, resting upstairs while Kane slunk around in the dark, in his own house.

Kane couldn’t fathom how much trust that must have required. He still couldn’t believe he’d earned that much.

The fact that Jim was still feeding him his own blood was a miracle in itself. He’d given a time limit of one month. One month for Kane to get used to freedom, to going out on his own, traversing society like a normal person after years as a prisoner. An adjustment period, Jim had called it, his mercies never-ending in the face of Kane’s fear of running to and from the border on his own.

There was no way Kane could ever repay it, not in a thousand years. But he at least had to try.

He turned the knob on the stove. It was something familiar, having owned a stove himself for heating up the contents of blood-packs in his time before he came to own Jim. Human stoves, like their food itself, were more complicated: four burners instead of one, all with dials offering various degrees besides just ‘on’ or ‘off’.

And it was something he hadn’t done since before.

The circle of flames flickered to life, blue and hot and threatening.

He quickly turned it back off, luckily managing to control his strength and not break the delicate knob.

Deep breaths, Jim had said, more times than Kane could count now. Look at me. You’re okay. No one’s gonna hurt you. You’re safe here, remember?

Kane took a deep breath in, playing Jim’s soothing affirmations through his head, exhaling slowly. That’s it, there you go, the memory of Jim’s voice encouraged. You’re alright. No hurting.

After a few more of those, he turned the burner on again. The flames flicked back to life, and Kane watched them silently.

-

Jim woke, shook off the nerves, and marked another day off his calendar. Seven days down, twenty-one more to go, and then no one will take his blood ever again.

He could stop it now, if he wanted to. He knew he could. Kane hung on his every word like he was some kind of divine prophet. But once he stops, Kane has to start getting blood from vampire territory, and he’d have to talk to his parents to get the money to buy it… and it was too obvious he wasn’t ready.

Jim knew that feeling, going from years of captivity and isolation to suddenly being a person again. He knew how hard it was, even with support. There was no reason for Kane to have to rush into it immediately. The guy could barely go outside at night on his own he was so afraid, and he was a vampire. No, a month’s time would do him well.

Still. He couldn’t help but count the days until it was over.

As he stepped into his slippers and headed downstairs, he stopped in his tracks, hearing someone futzing around in the kitchen.

It was going to take Jim a while to get used to that, Kane roaming freely in his house. At night, even. He knew he could ask Kane to leave once he finds his bearings, but… despite the deep-seated terror, he knew he was safer with Kane here than without. Kane brought Laken home, after all. If any vampire came for him, Kane would save him, too. At least, he hoped so.

He continued down. “Kane?”

“Good morning!” came the cheery reply. That set Jim’s nerves at ease, at least. Right. Kane was friendly, now.

“Morning. You sleep okay?” Jim asked. As he made his way through the living room toward the kitchen, he noticed a distinctly… delicious smell. That couldn’t be right.

“Better! And you?” Kane appeared in the doorway, a big, fanged grin lighting up his face. It was a sight Jim had already long gotten used to by now, one that brought him pride instead of fear.

He shrugged. “You win some, you lose some. Hey, are you, uh… cooking?”

Kane held out a hand. “I am! Please come sit?”

Now he was smiling, too. “Haha, okay.”

Jim took his hand and let Kane lead him to the kitchen table, where a plate full of blueberry pancakes sat. They looked a bit off–undercooked, a little torn up–but the fact that they were there at all was astounding.

He sat down. “How did you even do this? You don’t cook.”

“I watched you,” Kane admitted sheepishly. “In the mornings. I really wanted to make you something, and I didn’t want to waste food by just guessing and doing it wrong, so I started paying close attention, and this seemed like the easiest thing to copy… are they okay?”

“Well, let’s see!” Jim cut into one– definitely undercooked. It oozed out around his knife, but Liz’s failed attempts at cooking had given him ample practice in this field. He popped it in his mouth without a care. “It’s great, Kane. Especially for your first time ever cooking anything. Thank you.”

Kane brightened up even further at the praise, sitting in the chair adjacent. “I know it’s not the same at all, but I wanted to feed you too, somehow. Like you feed me. I was wondering… if you could teach me to cook?”

“You don’t have to–”

“I want to,” Kane insisted. “I really, really do. But I don’t want to impose! I can always ask Laken.”

Jim cut away the less-done bits of the pancake he was working on, scooping up another bite. “Alright, if you’re really sure. Yeah, I can teach you. Doesn’t human food smell, like, really bad to vampires, though? Like it’s rotten or whatever?”

“I’ll manage.” Kane bore no obvious worry of the issue. Clearly, a bad smell was not something that registered to him as a concern any longer. “Thank you.”

It wasn’t until Jim had finished his breakfast and was about to get up that Kane spoke again, the smile fading from his face. “There was something else, actually.”

“Oh?” Jim put his plate and utensils back down.

Kane got down from his seat to kneel on the floor.

“Kane, buddy,” Jim said softly, sliding into that placating tone he always used when trying to calm the vampire down from one of his panics, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. It’s– it’s to show respect. Please.” As Kane looked up at him with those intense red eyes, Jim could see no fear at all.

“Well, okay then, I guess. What’s up?” he asked.

“I want to thank you. For everything,” Kane spoke carefully, as though each word was precious. Rehearsed. “For taking me away from the hunters. For not hurting me, even though you could have, even though you had every reason to. For helping me calm down when I panic. For feeding me, your own blood, even though it’s so hard for you, just so I wouldn’t starve. For giving me clothes and bedding and music and happiness again. You gave me my life back, but I owe you so much more than just my life. Because without you, I wasn’t dead, I was– I was there. And you saved me.”

Tears welled up in Kane’s eyes as he stared up reverent, overcome with emotion. “And I was thinking about all the times I’ve apologized to you, I was too afraid to do it right. I was just– I really was sorry, I’ve been sorry for a long, long time, but in those moments, I’ve always just been focused on not being hurt… but you would never hurt me. I see that now. Jim, I am so, truly sorry for hurting you. For every single time I hurt you, big and small, for those five years and since, I am so, so sorry. I was unimaginably cruel to you, and no one deserves that, but especially not you. I know that back then I told you the opposite, but I was wrong. You deserve to be happy! And I took that from you.”

Kane placed a hand over his heart. “And I swear to you, I will make it my life’s mission to give you back that happiness. I am loyal to you, Jim. Forever.”

He put his hand down. “That–that’s all. Thank you for listening.”

Jim sat in silence for a moment, absorbing it all. Wasn’t this why he’d originally taken Kane in? Wasn’t that the excuse he’d used– he wanted Kane fear-free enough to have an actual discussion about back then, without him devolving into a terrified, sobbing mess? He could do that, now. How long had he been waiting to hear Kane admit that he hadn’t deserved it after all? Fifteen years?

Oh, he was so unprepared for this conversation. He needed all kinds of psyching-up before they could have that talk.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Kane added quietly. “I just wanted you to know.”

“Right. Yeah,” Jim said, snapping out of it. Just because Kane was ready didn’t mean it had to be now. It could be any time, when he was ready, too. “That’s… wow. Hey, it’s okay,” he tried, far more comfortable comforting Kane than the other way around. He grabbed a tissue, handing it to him. “I mean, not the–not what you did. I mean it’s okay now. Um, thanks, is what I mean, I guess. For really apologizing.”

Kane wiped his eyes. “It’s the absolute least I could do. Everything I have is something you’ve given to me. Nothing hurts anymore.”

“Good.” His sincerity brought a smile to Jim’s face. “You know, maybe cooking isn’t the best idea if you’re afraid of burns? It’s not gonna happen every time, but even I get myself once in a while. Just thought I should warn you.”

“You give me blood,” Kane pointed out. He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. “Plus, you’ll be there. Right?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there.” Jim patted him on the shoulder.

Kane smiled back up at him. “Then I’ll be okay.”

-

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[buggybambi]

Ooo hiii! Can I please request a Carmy x fem!reader where he proposes to her on Valentine’s Day? Ooo and maybe this is the au where she’s his assistant, and has been for years, and the staff is heavily involved in the proposal hehe

Also Richie making some joke about how this is some promotion she’s getting lmao

hope this is okay my love! i honestly had no idea i had an au where she's an assistant lmao! i also changed it a little bit, hope that's okay ♡ - wc: 1.02k | nav post - request guidelines | cw: fem!reader, mention of reader wearing a dress

"You're not seriously proposing, are you?" Richie asks Carmen as the two prepare the Beef for it's opening. Carmen lets out a sigh as he ties his apron behind his back. "And who the hell told you?" Carmen questions in return.

"Sugar did. You proposin' or what?" Richie repeats, as Carmen rolls his eyes. "Cousin, you are not to say a word about this to anyone, okay?" He lets out a long exhale. "I am. Tonight." Carmen confirms as Richie stares at him. "Oh my gosh, you're gonna marry your assistant. If only we had an HR that could have a field day with you."

"I'm basically HR, cousin." Carmy reminds as he walks over to Marcus. "Chef, how's it going?" He asks as he rubs his hands together. "I have got our Valentine's day treats prepped, and I even have a cake prepared for when you propose to your girl." Marcus grins as Carmen rolls his eyes. "Maybe Sugar is the one I should tell to shut up." He mumbles before he walks over to his station.

"So, any big plans for tonight?" He overhears Syd ask you as you and her handle cleaning one of the other stations. "None at all. Why is everyone asking me that today?" You laugh, a sound that he can't help but smile at, as you walk over to Marcus with the clipboard he assigned to you three years ago when you began working as his assistant.

It was Sugar really who gave him the idea of getting an assistant. She told him, "you're busy. You can't handle your own schedule or meetings, so hire someone to do it for you." She was the one to pick you out from a list of candidates, and from the moment he met you, he was in love with you.

But, in usual Carmen fashion, he took forever to get with you. Convincing himself you wouldn't feel the same way, that you wouldn't even want to be with him. Until you told him first that you loved him and had been in love with him. From there you two were kind of like the Jim and Pam of the Beef, at least that's what Sydney referred to you too as.

"Hi Marcus. Oh, cute treats." You greet with a smile as you lean against the wall by his station, clipboard resting face-up against your front. "What's with that cake?" You ask, looking at the clipboard for any orders that may have been placed.

"Uh, I asked him to make it. Pete and I's anniversary is coming up and we didn't save any of our wedding cake so I asked Marcus to recreate it." Nat swoops in, smiling at you. You nod slowly. "Right.. well, congrats on your anniversary, Sug." You say before you turn and walk over to Carmen.

"Hey you. Clear your calendar because I am setting up a date night for us." Carmen says as he leans on the counter, standing in front of you. "Mm. Can I ask what we're doing on this date night or is it a total surprise?" You ask.

"Total surprise. I'll pick you up at your place." He kisses you on the cheek before walking off. You laugh before going back to your clipboard filled with Carmen's list of activites and meetings for the day. ────

You sat on your sofa, the dress you first met Carmen in on you. You figured with it being Valentine's Day, the nostalgia of the first time you met him would be nice for the date night Carmy had planned.

A small knock from the front door, and you stood from your spot and walked over to answer it. Fixing your hair as you stood in front of the door for a second, you opened it, expecting to meet Carmen's eyes. Instead, you found him on one knee in front of you, one hand behind his back.

"I was going to do this at a restaraunt. Or on the sidewalk, or literally any-fucking-where else." He admits with a breathy laugh following. "But, I couldn't wait. I couldn't imagine myself doing this anywhere else and of course it's like me to do this at your front door on your welcome mat."

"I love you. I've loved you since I met you, and each day that passes I find myself falling more and more in love with you. You're my everything, you're my moon and stars- no, you're my fucking universe." He shakes his head, tears in his eyes. "And I can't imagine a world or my life without you there. I want you and I to build a life together. To have a family with you if that's what we find ourselves wanting." He smiles. "Will you make me the happiest man, even though you already have, make me an even happier man and marry me?"

As soon as he pulls the ring out you're already saying yes, practically dragging him up off the ground so you can kiss him. He slides the ring onto your finger before kissing you again. You pull away, laughing as you place a hand on his cheek. "Carm, I love you so much- was everyone else in on this!?" You ask through a laugh.

"They were. Sugar kept telling everyone, I'm shocked no one spilled." He laughs as well, wrapping his arms around you to hug you, burying his face in your neck. "Okay, seriously no Valentine's day will ever top this." You say.

────

It doesn't shock anyone when you show up to work the next day with the ring on your finger, and the story of him proposing on your doorstep doesn't shock anyone either. "Is this her getting a promotion?" Richie asks with a grin as you roll your eyes. "If we had an HR department I swear I'd file a report against you."

"You're technically marrying the HR department." Carmen says softly as you grin. "Hell yes I am." You place a kiss on his cheek. "Hey, now as your assistant I get to schedule your wedding." You note as he smiles, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Can't wait for it."

˙ ✩°˖🌸 ⋆｡˚꩜

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[drunkkenobi]

Thinking today about two guys who only met because of a number of vaguely absurd circumstances. How one of them was older, but graduated college during the Great Recession and couldn’t find an adult job for years, so when he applied to the BuzzFeed internship, he was 4 or 5 years older than everyone else in his class. And how the other one was supposed to be a cinematographer, but took a chance on something else when the grip life wasn’t cutting it. How neither of them expected to last that long at Buzzfeed, one sure he would get fired for being slow and meticulous, the other assuming he’d cut and run and/or get fired if he didn’t pull unpaid overtime. How they ended up at the same set of desks. How movie trailers got the one to open up. How the other one was, quite literally, not there to make friends. How they became friends anyway. How the one took a simple idea and made it into a five minute video on the Somerton Man with his carpool buddy. How he then asked the other to fill in when the carpool buddy got transferred. How the other one had a free calendar to film a video about the Illuminati. How he kept having a free calendar to go ghost hunting in a mystery house, a terrible island of dolls and spiders, and a unassuming Kansas home. How one of them screaming at a flashlight and the other one laughing changed both their lives forever. How they took an oath to keep doing this with no one but each other. How they took a leap of faith and bet on themselves to start something new with the smartest person they knew. How their timing was cosmically horrible, launching this new thing right as the world shut down. How they persevered when it seemed like it might all end at any second. How they grew their little company, in fits and starts, until they finally got on stable land. How they didn’t even wait before ending their original ghost hunting series to start planning a new one. One where they could make all the rules. And how after months of planning and shooting and editing, that new series is here. And it’s bigger than either of them imagined. How shocked they are that thousands of people have come to see them, how dozens have flown across states and countries to celebrate with them, how millions have watched this show that they’re so proud of. How for the first time, their company has breathing room. How they can finally exhale. How all the hard work and long hours are paying off. How this is just the beginning. 

Yeah, I’d be smiling like that too. 

[starlightkun]

❧ word count: 22.3k ❧ warnings: cursing, inaccurate descriptions of constellations bc this is a fantasy world ❧ genre: fluff, mild angst, slow burn, blind date, strangers to idiots friends to lovers, modern magical creatures au, college au, werewolf sungchan, human reader, ft. siren shotaro & various magical neos (and another extra special guest appearance!), same universe as strawberry sunday ❧ extra info: this work is set in the same universe as strawberry sunday but can be read as a standalone! there is no continuing plotline between fics in this universe, they simply take place in the same world/magic system and may have overlapping characters (neos may pop up in more than one work!) ❧ author’s note: so this is technically the spiritual threequel to my two werewolf jeno fics (pupsick + abh) but you still don’t have to read those to understand this one at all! this is absolutely meant to be read by itself! and this one is also very self-indulgent, from the a.c.e song title to werewolf sungchan, i had a very great time on this one, hence the word count. if you guys have even half the fun reading this as i did writing it, you’ll have a blast. enjoy! ❧ sequel

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ explore the strawberry sunday universe more here!

baby i’m your changer, changer, love is not a danger

Reclined on the plush, soft grass of the front lawn of your college with your hands behind your head, you basked in a particularly lovely patch of sunlight. It was January, the very beginning of the year and the semester, meaning that this would normally be a very chilly and unpleasant endeavor. Except you were sandwiched between two dryads. Dryads weren’t in and of themselves extra warm like dragons or werewolves, nor could one dryad on their own change the weather—and would most likely be influenced by it rather than the other way other—but if you got two together, and they were in a good enough mood, they could generate a little bubble of springtime around them. And for some reason, Jaemin and Donghyuck were in exceptionally high spirits today.

You knew the two dryads from Magical Botany Club, which you had joined your freshman year after you’d managed to kill the small cactus that your parents gave you as a housewarming present for your dorm. They were the only ones who didn’t immediately label you a lost cause, and instead saw you as a challenge. Now, your junior year, your apartment was a jungle to rival that of a dryad’s home, and you were even Vice President of the club this year.

After a long, refreshing inhale followed by an even longer exhale, you finally asked, “So what’s got you in such a good mood? It certainly can’t just be finalizing the calendar of club activities this semester.”

Jaemin was club President, and Donghyuck the Secretary/Treasurer, so this little sunbathing session before the start of the semester on Monday was really supposed to be an Executive Board meeting.

“Who, us?” Jaemin replied innocently.

“No, I was talking to the cardinal on Donghyuck’s leg,” you retorted sarcastically, gesturing to said bird that had also settled in to enjoy the cozy rays.

“We’re not planning anything,” Donghyuck said in the same tone as Jaemin.

You propped yourself up on one elbow to look down at your friend properly, narrowing your eyes at him suspiciously. “I just wanted you to share whatever good news you had, I didn’t think you two were planning anything, but now I definitely do. What’s going on?”

“Donghyuck, you idiot!” The other dryad hissed at him.

“What is it? Don’t tell me you and that fairy are going to try to convince your human friend that aliens are real again. Leave that poor guy alone, he’s got enough on his plate just dealing with all of you being real and jerks to him.” You scoffed disapprovingly, remembering when they recounted that story to you at club a couple years ago. You had been tempted to check on Renjun yourself when you spotted him at the library the next day, but you didn’t know him personally, and didn’t think he’d appreciate it in the moment. Especially not since he looked like he was really focused on his work at the time, so you just let him be.

“It’s nothing like that, I swear,” Jaemin promised. “It’s nothing bad at all.”

You sat up all the way to be able to look at both of them at once. “Okay, what is it then?”

Donghyuck sat up too, the cardinal hopping up to his shoulder. “Long story short, we have a friend that we want to set you up with.”

“No thanks, guys.” You shook your head.

“You won’t even let us tell you about him?”

“I’m not really looking for anything right now. Not after my ex—”

Jaemin pushed his phone screen in front of your face then, a picture of a guy on it. It was presumably the friend they wanted to set you up with. He was around your age, tall—if where his head was in comparison to the doorway of this building was to be believed, wearing a black leather jacket. It looked well-worn, though, as if it might not have been his originally, handed down or thrifted at least. And yeah, he was cute, you weren’t blind. But you also knew not to just eat with your eyes, or else you’d get a tummyache.

“Seriously, Jaemin?” You looked at your friend over the phone screen. “You think I’m that shallow? One picture and I’m going to throw everything away?”

“Dude, show her the—” Donghyuck flapped his hand at the other dryad insistently.

“Oh, right, right.” Jaemin nodded as he began swiping and tapping on his phone fervently.

Donghyuck kept talking to you, “Of course we don’t think you’re shallow. We always meant to tell you about him, too. His name’s Jung Sungchan, he goes here, too, he’s a werewolf, he’s really nice, uh… Jaemin? Some help?”

You let out a sound that was a mix between a snort and a scoff. “Yeah, he sounds great.”

“Okay, he’s really more Jaemin’s friend than mine, sorry,” Donghyuck admitted. “Jaemin? What’s taking so long dude?”

“I don’t know! I can’t find it for some reason, I think he deleted it!” Jaemin muttered, his voice panicked. “I’m checking Jeno’s Instagram right now.”

“So Jeno knows him?” You asked. You didn’t know Jaemin’s werewolf roommate as well as you knew the two dryads, but you did know that they were all friends. “Are they in the same pack?”

“No, they actually know each other through Jeno’s… Ha! Found it!” Jaemin yelled out in celebration, flipping his phone around for you to see.

It was another picture, this time of Jeno standing next to the person you now knew to be named Sungchan. They were at what looked like a u-pick strawberry patch, each proudly holding up a large bucket filled to the brim with strawberries. Sungchan was in a white tank top—a brave choice for a strawberry farm—and shorts. Despite the outfit showing off a lot more of him than the last picture, it was his bright, happy grin that caught your eye, and you had to consciously make sure your gaze didn’t linger too long on the picture.

Turning your attention back to your friends, you prompted Jaemin, “Well? Do you know any more about him than he goes to our college and is a nice werewolf that knows Jeno?”

“Right! Yes!” Jaemin sat up straight at attention as you saw Donghyuck do a little fist pump of victory out of the corner of your eye. “He’s tall—”

“I can see that, he’s like almost two heads taller than Jeno; I meant his personality. This isn’t me saying yes, by the way.” You pointed to yourself and Jaemin talking. “This is me gathering data. I wanted to take time for myself after what happened with my ex, remember? I think it might be enough time, but I need a bit more than ‘he’s nice’ to get me out there.”

“Of course, of course. I really appreciate you even considering this for us,” he squeezed your arm for a moment before letting it go. “He’s really smart, Dean’s List every semester, uh, it might take a minute for him to warm up at first, but once he does, he’s funny, and insightful. And he doesn’t have that constant go-go-go energy that werewolves usually do, he’s so much chiller, so if you were worried about that, don’t be.”

“And, sorry, I know he’s your friend, but I have to ask…” You winced. “He’s not one of those werewolf guys that only dates human girls as like… you know… an ego thing?”

Donghyuck snorted, “Oh he’s not, promise.”

Tension you didn’t know you’d been carrying in your shoulders relaxed at that. “Good.”

“We do have to tell you one thing though,” Jaemin grimaced.

“What?”

“This isn’t just a random set-up because we think you guys would be cute—”

“Oh God, what’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing! Nothing!” He rushed to reassure you. “Like, that part is true, we do think you’d be a good match.”

“Let me guess: the ‘but’ that follows that sentence is related to the ‘long story’ that Donghyuck mentioned earlier?”

Jaemin nodded reluctantly. “Yeah… long story long, Sungchan made a deal, and his end of it was letting us set him up with anybody of our choosing.”

“You’re using a date with me to punish him?” You stood up, brushing the grass off your back. “Yeah, hard fucking pass. Thanks, guys, you really know how to make a girl feel special.”

“No, not a punishment!” Jaemin scrambled to get to his feet as well. As you walked off, the air around you turned cold again, marking when you left their bubble of spring. He called after you, “Y/N! I’m sorry! Please!”

You didn’t want to go back to your empty apartment yet though, so you found yourself meandering into a familiar storefront. Jasmine & Pearls, a boba tea shop just around the corner from your college campus. There was only one customer ahead of you in line, and you stared blankly at the menu just to look at something. You weren’t feeling very adventurous today, so you’d probably get your regular go-to order. After the customer before you had been helped, you shuffled up to the counter, messing with your phone case to pull your punch card out of the back of it.

“Hey, Y/N!” Shotaro, the siren working behind the counter today, greeted you cheerily.

The iridescent pink scales under the tip of his button nose and apples of his cheeks shimmered in the fluorescent lights, making him look like he had a perpetual hint of rosy blush across his skin. That, and his cherubic smile could almost make you forget what those scales and his flashing silvery eyes really meant—he was a siren, could lure you to your death if he so wanted to. Obviously, he didn’t want to, had no reason to, and that would literally be a murder charge nowadays, but you nevertheless found it fascinating that such a being was just here serving you boba tea.

A few months ago, you realized that you came here probably too often once all the workers knew your name, but by then it was too late. It was just too convenient, delicious, and pleasant of an atmosphere for you to feel ashamed enough to stop coming.

“Hi, Shotaro.” You smiled back at him. “Just a regular honey milk tea with boba, please. No charms today.”

“On it!” He accepted both your punch card and credit card from you. After handing them back, he spun around to make your drink, and you went to go wait for it at the bartop at the other end.

Curious, and with nothing better to do in that moment, you pulled up Jeno’s Instagram on your phone. From the main grid on his account, all you could see was pictures either with or of his partner. Cute. Then you finally saw one of them at a strawberry patch, Jeno in the same outfit as the picture Jaemin had shown you before. You clicked on that one, and sure enough it was a whole set of photos. You swiped through to find the one of him and Sungchan holding the buckets of strawberries. And Sungchan was tagged.

You looked up at Shotaro. The customer ahead of you still hadn’t gotten their drink. You checked the notifications on your phone. Nothing new to reply to. Well, here it goes. You clicked on his account.

And he was private. Well, good for him. Internet privacy.

You went back to Jeno’s Instagram to check if Sungchan had maybe appeared in any more posts. You just wanted to see if you could glean anything more about him.

You finally found him again in what looked like a big group trip to Cape Solaria at the end of last summer. There were probably fifteen people here at least. He popped up in a few different shots, playing beach sports with Jeno and some other guys that you didn’t recognize; joining in on throwing some poor small guy—who you presumed to be a witch, judging by the ritual tattoos he was covered in from neck to ankle—into the ocean; and sitting around a campfire roasting marshmallows with Jaemin and Renjun. And in every single one, Sungchan had such a genuine, pure, joyful smile. Like he was fully enjoying the moment and the people with him. Yeah, maybe you were projecting, but... surely it wouldn’t hurt to give it at least one chance?

“Y/N? Hello?” Shotaro was calling for you from the counter, shaking a drink that was presumably yours.

You snapped your head up, sheepishly turning your phone off and stuffing it away in your pocket. The other customer was nowhere to be seen; it was just you and the siren.

“Sorry, sorry.” You rushed up to accept the cup.

“It’s alright, you seemed like you were in the zone.”

You grabbed a straw, punching it out from the plastic wrapping. “In the zone of a little cyberstalking, as much as I hate to admit.”

“No shame here, we all do it. Who was it? Can I see?” He grinned mischievously.

“No,” you said flatly, stabbing your straw through the top of the drink. “My friends want to set me up.”

“Want to? Sounds like you haven’t said yes.”

“Perceptive.” You took your first sip.

“But you were cyberstalking them... So, you’re considering?”

“Ugh, I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Why not? Human lives are short.”

“Right. Thanks for that reminder.”

The bell above the front door rang then, announcing the entrance of another customer.

“Always here to help,” Shotaro patted your forearm before walking back to the register to greet the newcomer.

Two weeks later and you were nervously double-checking the name of the restaurant and the time that Jeno had sent you. Yep, this was it, and you weren’t weirdly early. You couldn’t believe how strange this felt, going on a date again. Comparing your outfit to the casual café as you walked in, you felt only a little better that you weren’t overdressed or underdressed either.

Your eyes scanned the building for Sungchan. You’d done enough cyberstalking on your own time in addition to the photos that your friends kept showing you to hype you up that you were certain you’d recognize him easily. It looked like you’d gotten here first. It was seat-yourself, so you might as well grab a table for the two of you.

You’d just come to a stop in front of a little two-seater and took your purse off to hang off the back of your chair.

“Y/N?” A voice came from behind you, accompanied by a gentle tap on your shoulder.

You spun around, immediately face-to-chest with someone. Looking up, you did, in fact, recognize the face of Jung Sungchan. He was admittedly cuter in real life than in the multitude of pictures that Jaemin and Donghyuck had continued to show you in preparation for the date. You didn’t want to know what they’d been doing to prepare Sungchan.

“Hi, Sungchan?” You still phrased it like a question, watching as the man’s features relaxed into an easy smile of recognition.

“Yes, hello.” He raised his arms up slightly at the same time that you did, and you realized that the both of you were now presumably having the same internal debate about if you were supposed to hug your blind first date hello as a greeting.

Ultimately, the two of you did go in for an awkward short hug, and you let out a nervous chuckle, feeling the warmth radiating off of him in the brief contact. You immediately looked down at the table, “Uhm, should we sit?”

“Of course, yeah.”

And as the two of you sat down on opposite sides, you looked up from your fidgeting fingers to your date’s face, not expecting his brow to be furrowed as if he were troubled by something, his gaze affixed on you.

You shifted in your seat uncomfortably. “Is everything okay?”

“You’re not wearing any perfume...” He commented, and you let out a minuscule sigh of relief. That’s all it was, he was just a bit put off that you hadn’t put on a perfume like one might’ve normally done for a date. A detail that he would’ve of course picked up as a werewolf.

“Not that I expect any brownie points for this, but I uh, I didn’t want to overwhelm your nose, in case there were any smells you’re particularly sensitive to,” you explained, picking up the menu that was already sitting on the table.

“You did your research.”

“Oh, I’ve dated a couple werewolves before, actually.”

“Really? You got a type or something?” As soon as the word were out of Sungchan’s mouth, he went to take them back, seeming surprised even at himself, “Sorry, that was—”

“No, no, I get it,” you cut off his apology, your tone reassuring. You knew that there were people who had a disturbing preference for werewolves, so you could understand why you dating now three werewolves might initially look a little suspicious. “Uh, I went to a kind of small high school. Private school. There were a couple of packs in my area that sent like all of their kids there, so my graduating class ended up being like 75% werewolves. It was just kind of statistics, I guess.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry about that, again,” Sungchan apologized once more, relaxing in his seat a bit more as he actually started to peruse his own menu.

“Anyway, that’s not a great first date topic.” You forced out a light-hearted chuckle.

“What’s not?”

“Past relationships? I think that’s third or fourth at least, don’t you?”

“Mm, yeah, of course. Sorry.”

Desperate to redirect the conversation to a much lighter, neutral one, you asked, “So what’s your major, Sungchan?”

“Earth Sciences.”

“Geology or Climatology track?”

He perked up at this. “Meteorology and Climatology.”

“And what made you want to study that?”

“Well, at first I thought I wanted to study astrophysics, but it was too much math and too little actual space. But I really liked my Intro to Weather class I took my first semester to cover a random credit so I switched to that and it stuck.”

“Wait, was it a morning Monday-Wednesday-Friday with Professor- Professor...” Suddenly, the memory struck you. “Oh! Hwang? Fall semester three years ago?”

“Yes, I believe so...” He answered, head tilting with intrigue.

“I think I had it too!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I took it to get that Science credit as well.”

“I’m sorry to say that I don’t remember you at all.”

“It’s okay, I don’t remember you either,” you laughed, just amazed at the coincidence. “It was a big auditorium.”

Sungchan must have figured out what he wanted, as he set down his menu and leaned his elbows on the table to give you his full attention. “So what are you studying?”

“I’m an Interdisciplinary Major,” you told him happily, thrilled that the conversation was going much more smoothly now. “I was a bit indecisive, too. Except I couldn’t find one thing that stuck like you did. So I chose two: Sociology and Magical Creatures Studies.”

His eyes dropped from yours as he scoffed under his breath, sitting back in his seat.

And there went your pleasant conversation again.

“What was that?” You asked tersely.

“I didn’t say anything.” He shook his head like he was trying to clear the unpleasant tone from the conversation, but you weren’t going to let him go that easily.

“No, but clearly you have an opinion. So go ahead.”

“Not really, I was just wondering if you’ve even dated anyone that wasn’t a werewolf.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “You think my major is just me cruising for a new boyfriend or something? Very expensive and essay-intensive compared to dating apps.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Y/N,” Sungchan held his hands up, looking back up at you again. His features turned apologetic. “I just… I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“So were you going to actually ask me that if I didn’t confront you, or were you just going to make assumptions?”

“That really was rude of me,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But, I mean… how do you ask someone something like that without coming off as a bit rude?”

“I suggest phrasing it like a genuine question instead of an accusation.”

“Right.” He took a second as if to compose himself, then asked, his tone much more conservational, “So, you said you dated a couple werewolves in high school. Uh, have you dated anyone else since coming to college, then? Before this?”

You did your best to return your own voice and manner to civility as well. “Dates here and there, but as for serious relationships, just one, I dated a human guy briefly.”

“And why did you break up? If you don’t mind telling me. I get it if it’s too personal.”

“It’s fine. He cheated on me.”

“So you’re of course looking for loyalty. Like, you know, a dog.” Sungchan fired back spitefully.

“Okay, I think we’re done here, Sungchan,” you declared, putting both your hands on the table to prepare yourself to stand.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he rushed to try to apologize for the umpteenth time that night, but you’d heard plenty by now.

“No, it’s fine, really,” you assured him, still moving to get up out of your chair and grab your purse. “You’ve obviously had some bad experiences in the past, none of which I’m privy to. It’s not fair to you to constantly be suspicious that your date has ulterior motives for being with you. But it’s also not fair to me to have to constantly defend myself either.”

He was quiet at that.

You continued, “We both deserve to be able to relax and have fun, and that’s clearly just not going to be able to happen. It’s okay, sometimes things just don’t work out. So, I’m going to go, and I hope you have a great rest of your day.”

And with that, you turned around and left the café.

The ringing of the bell above the door of Jasmine & Pearls barely registered in the back of your mind as you lumbered right up to the cash register the next day.

“Good afternoon, Y/N!” Shotaro greeted you cheerily.

“Hi, Shotaro...” You couldn’t muster up anything close to his level of enthusiasm, letting out a sigh. “Same old, same old, please.”

“Uh oh. Sounds like the date didn’t go so well?” He surmised, ringing you up then starting on your order.

“No, it didn’t,” you leaned against the counter to keep talking to him. “Barely lasted ten minutes.”

“That’s rough. You end it or did he?”

“I did. It was for the best but still... I thought I was going to really like this guy.” Based off nothing but social media posts and word of mouth from friends, but you really were hopeful. You’d had a good feeling, and had trusted Jeno, Jaemin, and Donghyuck. And it blew up in your face.

Note to self, never fucking trust those three again.

“Don’t feel too bad, Y/N. Seems like it’s going around.”

“What do you mean?”

“My roommate’s date last night was a bust too.”

“We should make a club,” you chuckled cynically.

“Or I can set you up?” The siren offered hopefully.

“Thanks, but I’m good. I said I was going to take some time to focus on myself after my last relationship, and I meant that. Last night was me testing the waters, and I fucking drowned.”

“That special, huh? Or, I guess not, in the end.”

“Well, at least now I know, you know? No ‘what if’s to mess with.”

Shotaro enthusiastically slammed your drink down in front of you. “Hell yeah, Y/N. A clear head.”

“Exactly.” You pulled the cup over to you.

He put the packaged straw down on top emphatically. “Fuck that guy.”

“Bit extreme, Shotaro, but I appreciate the sentiment,” you grinned, hitting the straw against the counter to pop it out from the plastic wrapping.

“You’re coming to our Valentine’s Day event next month though, right?” Your friend asked, pointing to the poster taped to the wall advertising the event. The evening of February 13th at the boba shop, with a special themed drinks menu and activities to do.

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Great!” He beamed at you.

“Anyway, I’ve got to go, and you’ve got more customers. See you.” You took your drink with you towards the exit that a whole gaggle of high schoolers had just come through, waving to the siren over your shoulder.

“Bye, Y/N!”

Pulling open the door of Jasmine & Pearls some weeks later, you were immediately greeted by an array of red, pink, and white. The entire store had been redecorated for the event. A short stage was set up against the far wall of the dining area, a small photobooth in another corner, and a station where you could learn to make an origami heart, if the pictures on the instructions taped to the wall above it were anything to guess off. The shop was already bustling and buzzing with energy, filled with couples and groups of friends. All in all, it looked like it was shaping up to be a successful night for them.

You got into possibly the longest line you could remember having waited in at Jasmine & Pearls in a while—you’d learned the rush times and had become a pro at avoiding them in order to get your boba fix as quick as possible—and continued looking around with a smile on your face.

Unfortunately, you were flying this one solo. Your friends were all either working or studying tonight, and you weren’t going to flake after already promising Shotaro just because you couldn’t find someone to come with you. But you could have plenty of fun by yourself. And, you didn’t make any promise to stay the whole night. You’d stay just to finish your drink and maybe make an origami heart or two, depending on how good you were at them.

Finally, it was your turn to order, and you walked up to the register already with a big smile on your face.

Shotaro was manning the register while another employee fulfilled the orders. Your friend’s face lit up immediately. “Y/N! You made it!”

“I told you I would. Did you doubt me?” You questioned in mock offense.

“Not for a second,” he declared. Pointing to the little standee menu that was on the counter, he asked, “So what’ll you have? I recommend one of our specials for the occasion, obviously.”

You looked over the three new drink options that were advertised as for tonight’s event only. One in particular caught your eye, strawberry milk tea with heart-shaped brown sugar tapioca pearls, and an added feel-good charm. “That Lovebug sounds good.”

“Perfect! I knew you’d get that one! Coming right up!” He rang you up, but only took your credit card from your hand. “Sorry, no regular punch cards tonight. Instead, every purchase of a drink comes with a special event-only punch card.”

“Oh?” You raised your eyebrows as he handed you a small pink card with four circles on it, one already punched out with a heart-shaped hole punch.

“Yep! If you complete all the activities we have tonight, you can redeem it for a free drink! You’ve already gotten a punch for purchasing a drink, then we’ve got the photobooth—” he pointed to the large box. “Just bring your photo strips up here, and I’ll punch the card for you. And the origami, same thing. They don’t have to be professional, as long as you tried, just show them to me, and I’ll give you another punch. And then my boss, Baekhyun, is going to be hosting Valentine’s Bingo in like ten, fifteen minutes. He’ll punch everyone’s cards who participates.” He gestured to the stage, where you now saw a man starting to mess with a microphone and small table. “Don’t worry, you can play single.”

“Huh. Sounds good to me.” You tucked the card into your pocket. “Thanks, Shotaro.”

“Your drink will be out in a second!”

When you finally heard your name being called out by the other employee, you walked up and took the cup from him gratefully. It was another siren, who you weren’t nearly as familiar with as Shotaro, but you still offered Yuta a smile as you accepted the drink.

You looked at the heart-shaped boba at the bottom of the cup fondly. “Cute. Thanks, Yuta.”

“Of course! Now enjoy the ambiance.” Yuta shooed you away with a smirk.

You saluted him casually. “Heard.”

Meandering around the store, you took in the kitschy decorations in various heart, Cupid, rose, and arrow shapes all around. Despite your own striking out in the romance department as of late, you couldn’t find yourself wanting to muster up any morosity for the atmosphere. It was too endearing, and you were someone who just loved love. And maybe the feel-good charm in the boba pearls was doing its job pretty well.

Legally, Jasmine & Pearls couldn’t sell any charms that had effects as strong as alcohol, drugs, or hexes, or they’d need special licenses for that, but the little charms and enchantments available in some of their boba options could influence one’s mood for a short amount of time. Feel-good, tranquility, energy, focus, that kind of stuff.

A lot of the tables had been pushed to one side to make room for the stage, so you took your drink to the bar seating that was against a window, keeping your eye on the figure on stage. As he was readjusting the microphone, you caught a flash of scales under his skin, realizing that he too was a siren, and suddenly the employment choices felt a bit more intentional than coincidental.

Red and pink heart-shaped confetti had been sprinkled along the bartop, and you brushed some of it aside to be able to set your cup down. You were humming along to the love song playing over the speakers as you scrolled on your phone when you swore you heard your name. Straightening up a little, you listened carefully for it again.

“Y/N?” Someone gently tapped on your shoulder this time.

You turned around atop the stool you’d been sitting on, not prepared for who was behind you. Jung Sungchan was standing there, hands stuffed in the pockets of his worn black leather jacket. Honestly, you hadn’t thought much about him since your date five or six weeks ago. Your focus had been on school— with this being your junior year, you had a lot to get together in order to be ready to apply for grad schools, Botany Club, still going to work, and keeping up with friends around all this somehow. One failed date that wasn’t even in your top five worst dates hadn’t really been keeping you up at night. And yet somehow here he was.

You were sure that the surprise was evident on your face, and you probably left just too long of pause hanging in the air before you finally said something. “Oh, Sungchan, hi.”

“I thought that was you. Hey.” He offered a friendly smile.

“How are you?”

“I’m—” He was cut off by a distant shout of his name that only got closer.

“Hey! Sungchan!” It was Shotaro, the siren approaching with a prepared drink and straw, shoving them in the werewolf’s hand. “Dude, you can’t just walk away from the counter like that while we’re making your drink, then I have to come chase you down when you don’t hear your name.”

Sungchan accepted it from the employee guiltily. “Sorry, Shotaro.”

“Anyway! I’m glad you two have met.” Shotaro beamed at the pair of you, throwing an arm around Sungchan’s neck. “Y/N, this is my roommate I was talking about, Jung Sungchan. Sungchan, this is Y/L/N Y/N, she’s a regular here and goes to our college.”

Your eyes widened minutely in alarm as you suddenly connected way too many dots. Oh god, Shotaro’s roommate had an awful date, Sungchan is Shotaro’s roommate, you and Sungchan had gone on a date that night, the very same date you had also complained to Shotaro about. And who knows what terrible things Sungchan might have told the siren about the date, about you. After all, you had been the one to walk out on him.

You felt like you were going to puke as Shotaro gave Sungchan a sharp slap on the shoulder, winked at you behind his roommate’s back, and walked back to his station behind the counter.

After a heavy, long, awkward pause, Sungchan finally spoke up. “So… what did you get?”

“Oh, uhm… the Lovebug. What about you?”

“Me too, same. Lovebug.”

Another pause as you watched Sungchan open his straw and poke it through the plastic seal covering the top of the drink.

“So are we going to address the elephant in the room?” You decided to just get it over with.

“Which one? I feel like we have a whole herd at this point.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Okay, fair. I meant Shotaro. I’ll be the first to admit that I confided in him after our—I’m sorry to say but—disaster of a date.”

“That’s a generous assessment, actually.” Sungchan agreed. “And I told him about it too. I mean, we live together, it was hard for him not to notice when I came back home less than an hour after I left.”

“Ah, yeah…”

“I didn’t say anything bad about you, by the way. I told him it went horribly, because I ruined it, of course, but you were perfectly lovely. Truly way more level-headed than I deserved.”

“Oh, no, Sungchan,” you tried to reassure him. “Really, like I said before— Sometimes things just don’t work out.”

“I know. But still, I treated you awfully, and I am really, really sorry about that.”

“Thank you.”

A crackling came from the speakers up front, snapping your attention back to the man on stage. Baekhyun had gotten the microphone connected, and you saw Shotaro darting from the stage to his spot at the register as his boss called for everyone’s attention. “Hello? Hello? Great, this is working.”

He flashed a dazzling smile to the small crowd. “Hi, if you don’t know me, I’m Byun Baekhyun, I own Jasmine & Pearls here. If you’re in line, don’t panic, we’re not starting quite yet. I just wanted to thank everybody for coming out here tonight, this is honestly a much better turnout than we had expected. I, of course, also want to thank my two incredible employees, Shotaro and Yuta, for working tonight too.”

The two sirens behind the counter both waved as they got a round of applause, then everyone’s eyes were back on Baekhyun.

“We’re going to be starting Valentine’s Bingo in about five minutes or so. I just want everyone to know that you will need a partner for this. So if you came out here by yourself, find another single person out there and you know… get talking.” He grinned, and you swore his gaze lingered on you and Sungchan for a millisecond too long to be coincidental. “Okay, awesome, I’ll be back up here in five to get it started.”

Your eyes flashed over to your friend that was working, remembering exactly when he told you that you could play the game by yourself, and now suddenly you needed a partner. Shotaro was contentedly ringing up a customer’s order, though, seemingly not even paying you nor Sungchan any mind.

“So, uh, want to partner up? For the bingo?” Sungchan asked, then rushed to tack on, “Unless you’re waiting for somebody?”

“I’m not waiting for anybody,” you smiled, gesturing to the stool beside you for him to sit down.

“How have things been with you?”

“Good, they’ve been pretty good. Just a lot of school and Bot Club.”

“Bot Club?”

“Magical Botany Club. I’m the Vice President this year.”

“Oh, cool. So that’s how you know Jaemin, then.”

“Yeah, yeah. Him and Lee Donghyuck, we’re all on the board together.”

“How’d you get into it?”

“Because I sucked at gardening,” you admitted with a laugh. “My freshman year, my parents gave me this cactus to have in my dorm, and I killed the thing somehow. They can survive in deserts and the most extreme climates in the world, and it perished in my dorm room. I joined Bot Club hoping for some tips, and everyone just immediately thought I was beyond help. Jaemin and Hyuck were the only ones who actually took the time to help me. And it took a lot of time.”

Sungchan was smiling too, genuinely. “You must have grown to really like it, to stick around after getting your cactus caretaking tips.”

“Yeah, I do.” You nodded. “What about you? How’s school been for you?”

He grimaced a little. “Could be better, honestly.”

“Oh no? Why? What’s wrong?” You frowned.

Before Sungchan could answer, another person had approached the two of you. It was Baekhyun, a stack of square bingo cards in one hand and box of markers in the other. His silver eyes seemed to glitter in the lights as he smiled at you, his opalescent scales refracting a whole rainbow of colors where they sat just under his skin along his cheekbones, bridge of his nose, and forehead.

“Hi!” He greeted the two of you cheerfully. “Are you two together?”

“Oh, uh, yes,” Sungchan nodded, reaching out to grab your bingo sheet and marker before the store owner flitted off to the next pair of customers.

He set them down on the counter in between the two of you, but your focus was still on your conversation.

“So what’s wrong, Sungchan?” You asked, taking another sip of your drink.

“I mean, it’s just been a bit stressful is all,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “One of my professors asked me to do research with him, and then I took an SI position with another professor too, on top of all my classes. Just kind of got a lot on my plate.”

“Oh, okay. But that sounds like a great opportunity, at least. Your professor asking you to do research with him.”

“It is, it’s some seriously cool stuff.”

“What’s—”

Baekhyun clearing his throat into the microphone from the front cut you off, and you gave the werewolf an apologetic look.

“Sorry. But I do want to hear about it later, Sungchan,” you squeezed his arm before turning around to face the stage.

“Alright, we’re going to be getting started then.”

As Baekhyun kicked off the first round of bingo, you found yourself tapping the marker against the bingo card as you sat there. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sungchan awkwardly leaning over as he tried to look at the sheet too, and you realized you’d been hogging it.

“Oh, sorry, here,” you moved the sheet more into the middle, at the same time that you scooted your stool over towards him to lessen the gap between you. “Is that better?”

Sungchan’s shoulder was just behind yours as he looked over you at both the card and the stage. “Yeah, yeah, thanks.”

“Did you want to mark them off? Sorry, I just grabbed it without thinking.” You offered the permanent marker out to him.

“No, it’s all yours.” He shook his head, then tapped his finger to the middle spot. “But you did forget the Free Space.”

“Oh, shit, thanks.” You crossed it off with an X.

Baekhyun called out number after number, and you and Sungchan worked together to search the small card for them.

You clicked your tongue as you couldn’t find the one the shop owner had just called out, and were about to pick your cup back up to take another sip of your drink, when Sungchan spoke up happily.

“Found it!”

“Oh, where?” You hovered the marker over the card, scanning the little letters and numbers.

“Right there.” He’d pointed, but his hand was gone too fast, and you lost it again.

“Wait, where?”

“Right…” he reached over to wrap his own hand around yours that was holding the marker, and dragged it over to the correct square. You giggled as he guided your hand to draw a messy X like you were a toddler learning to write your letters for the first time. “…There.” He finished, letting go of your hand.

“Ahh, okay,” you nodded slowly. “I see… I’m illiterate.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say it.”

“Hey!”

Sungchan laughed as you gave a half-hearted smack against his chest, and you couldn’t help but smile too. After all, it was your self-deprecating joke first.

He patted your back, apologizing through his chuckles, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Apology taken under consideration.”

“Oof, I don’t like the sound of that. Anything I can do to better my chances here?”

“Hmm,” you hummed, pretending to think as you tapped the capped end of the marker against your bottom lip.

Sungchan watched you, his elbow resting on the bartop and his cheek in his hand. The only thing separating you two was the bingo sheet, the game which you weren’t even focused on anymore. Your back was entirely turned to the stage now, gaze set only on the werewolf next to you.

Just as you’d parted your lips to make your proposal, you happened to hear Baekhyun announce the next number.

“O13!” The siren’s voice carried well through the speakers. “O13!”

You let your eyes flick down, immediately catching on that open square on your card. And it completed the row. You marked it off, a giddy grin spreading across your face as you went to elbow Sungchan. “Look!”

“Oh damn! Nice!” He raised his hand, as did you, as he called out. “Bingo! We got bingo!”

Baekhyun’s features lit up as he stopped his progress of reaching for the next bingo ball. He practically purred into the microphone, “Well, well, seems like we’ve got our first bingo. If one of you could read it out so I can double-check it, then we’ll see about getting you two your prizes.”

Sungchan called out your five spaces, and Baekhyun nodded with each one, the room erupting into applause when he declared that you two had won that round.

“Alright, come up here so I can give you your prizes and punch your tickets.” The siren waved you up.

You looked to Sungchan expectantly, and he gestured for you to go up ahead of him. Instead, feeling a bit uneasy with the entire café’s eyes on you, you latched onto his forearm and dragged him up right alongside you.

“So you each are getting a gift card to the shop—” He handed you two small cards, then turned around, where Yuta had appeared with a couple more items. Baekhyun then handed each of you a denim baseball cap that had the logo of the shop on the front in lilac purple thread. “And Jasmine & Pearls embroidered hats. Thank you so much for coming here and playing.”

You accepted both prizes from him, feeling over the embroidery on the cap with your finger.

“And if you’d give me your event punch cards, I’ll go ahead and give you your punches now, since you unfortunately, won’t be allowed to play to win again. Fairness and all that.”

You and Sungchan handed over your punch cards, and the siren gave each of you another heart-shaped punch before giving them back.

“Now, we will be playing two more rounds, so don’t worry if you didn’t win this time,” he announced to the rest of the crowd as you and Sungchan headed back to your seats. “I’ll hand out brand new cards to everybody, and we’ll restart. Y/N and Sungchan, you’re free to play again for fun, if you’d like. You just can’t play for profit.”

Sungchan looked over at you in a silent question, and you shook your head. You were happy to play and win just the one time. After all, with everybody else still occupied, this would be the perfect time to do the other activities with little to no lines or crowding.

“No thank you, we’re bingo-ed out for tonight,” Sungchan called out, and the host nodded graciously.

“Very well. Everybody else hold tight while I come around to distribute new cards.”

As the two of you finally sat back down at your seats and looked over your prizes, you realized that you had never introduced yourself to Baekhyun. Not when he had passed out the cards, nor when he was giving you your prizes. But he knew your names. You snapped your head up towards the counter suspiciously again, but Shotaro was once again minding his business, cleaning out one of the machines.

Sungchan was readjusting the sizing of his hat, then finally pulled it on, offering you a lopsided grin. “What do you think?”

“Looks good on you.” You tapped the brim of it, feeling a familiar airiness in your chest, one that you hadn’t felt in some time. “You wear baseball caps a lot?”

“For sure, so I’ll get good use out of this.”

“Wear them for fashion or do you play a lot of sports?”

“Oh, uh, both, I guess? I like how they look, and I usually wear them when I’m out playing whatever to keep the Sun off my face, yeah.”

The pictures from Jeno’s Instagram of Sungchan on their trip to Cape Solaria suddenly came to mind, and you diverted your eyes down to the gift card in your hand as your skin started getting warmer and warmer. At this rate, he was going to be able to hear your heartbeat picking up the pace and the idea of that in and of itself was embarrassing enough to make it gain even more speed.

“So…” Sungchan inhaled, and you looked up with both your eyebrows raised.

Admittedly, you’d completely forgotten where the two of you were in your previous conversation. “Hm?”

“Do you want to finish the other two punches together?” He asked. “I know they’re not partner things, but we’re both here, and everyone else is busy doing bingo, so it’s probably the best time to do them and—”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” You grinned at him, standing up off your stool. “I’d love to, Sungchan. Besides, you’re still supposed to tell me about your research, remember?”

His features lit up as he followed you over to the origami station. “Right, right! Are you sure you want to hear about it, though? It’s on climate change and how it affects human disease, it’s a little doomsday-ish.”

“Ah, perfect for the holiday.” You pointed to the giant paper cut-out of a cartoon Cupid hanging above your heads, then reached for your first square of red paper. “I’m sure, go for it.”

“Okay, cool,” he beamed at you, grabbing a piece of patterned pink paper.

As Sungchan walked you through all the intricacies and machinations of the topic that his research with his professor was on, you were genuinely happy at how much you understood. He didn’t mind slowing down to answer your questions, or explain concepts that you didn’t know already. And you two could have an actual conversation tangential to the topic, because you had taken a Magical Conservation class just last semester that dealt directly with how climate change was affecting a lot of magical creatures, such as sirens who typically lived in and around glaciers that were now losing much of their native habitats due to the lack of year-round sea ice at the poles. And all the while, you both tried your damndest to make an origami heart.

“Okay, what the fuck?!” Sungchan huffed, cutting himself off in the middle of a thought about disease vectors. He smacked his crumpled piece of paper that looked nothing like a heart onto the table. “I’ve taken engineering classes, how am I getting bested by a primary school arts and crafts project?”

“It’s not a—”

“It literally says ages 8 and up on the instructions.”

You pressed your lips together in a line. “Ah. So it does.”

Yours didn’t look much better. It seemed as though you were both getting bested by a project meant for children.

“Well, Shotaro did say we just had to show him we tried and we’d get the punch,” you reminded him.

“No, no, I can get this,” he shook his head, grabbing a fresh sheet. “I just need to focus, and not talk while I do it. You’re too much of a distraction.”

“My apologies, I’ll be quiet this time,” you chuckled, covering your mouth with your hand as you leaned against the table to watch him try again.

He made every fold with precision, but you found that you weren’t really watching him fold so much as you were watching him. His brow was set in concentration, a small crease emerging in the knit of his brows, his eyes narrowed slightly, and the very tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips. It was cute, adorable, endearing, everything in the thesaurus, and you could’ve sat there and watched him fold origami hearts all night if he wanted to, punch card and free drink be damned.

Sungchan stood up straight, his features relaxing into a proud grin as he held his completed piece up for you to see. It was definitely a heart this time, a simple baby pink color, and you were amazed at how straight the lines were.

“Nice, Sungchan!” You praised him. “That’s what those engineering classes were for, huh?”

“I wasn’t going to let some project for ages 8 and up that Shotaro picked out get the best of me!” He declared, and you could practically see his chest puffing out with pride. “I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “So that’s what this was? Fragile STEM major ego?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Isn’t sociology a science?”

“I think you’re the first hard science major to ever say that.”

“It ends in -ology.”

“So do phrenology and astrology.”

“Fair. But seriously, is it not?”

“It is. But usually, you engineering and whatnot majors don’t like to consider us ‘soft sciences’ like sociology and anthropology and psychology to be ‘real sciences,’ whatever the hell that means.”

“Ohh, yeah… I’ve got better shit to do than tell a scientist that they’re not a scientist.”

“Like make children’s crafts.”

“Exactly.” He gave you another smile brighter than the Sun.

You nodded firmly. “A much better use of your time. Now, are you ready to take these to Shotaro?”

“Yeah, let’s go!”

As the two of you walked up to the counter, you continued your earlier conversation, “And I will remind you that I’m actually an Interdisciplinary major, and also study MCS. Both of which are considered humanities, a label that I wear with pride, even more so than the ‘soft science’ one.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Sungchan’s mouth as he looked down at you. “Noted.”

Shotaro was standing at the register, hands folded over each other and a smug smile on his face as he watched the two of you approach together. “Well, hey, guys! Congrats on your win!”

“Thanks, Shotaro.” You smiled back, holding your paper heart out to him. “We did the origami too.”

Sungchan held his up too, and you could see the proud look on his face as he did so.

“His is a lot better than mine,” you admitted as the siren took just a second to appraise them. Seeing the two side-by-side, yours was a bit misshapen, folds across parts that were supposed to be flat from you having to undo and redo parts over and over again.

“That’s okay! You guys just had to try,” Shotaro reminded you, picking up the hole punch. “Punch cards please?”

With just one punch left, you and Sungchan headed over to the photobooth in the corner. It was set up so that you didn’t have to pay for any of the films. Sungchan climbed in first, and you watched nervously where his head almost hit the top of the entrance.

“Goddamn this thing is tiny,” he observed as soon as he had poked his head in past the curtain.

“Is it small or are you a giant?” You asked pointedly.

Sungchan had fully entered the photobooth then, and retorted back, “Get in here and find out.”

As you parted the curtain and put just your first foot in, you immediately realized how cramped the two of you were going to be. “Okay, maybe a bit of both.”

“Uh-huh.”

Sungchan was already sat on the bench, and pressed himself as far back into the corner as he could to give you enough space to sit next to him. Your leg was squished in next to his, and his arm ended up around your shoulders. He was warm, as expected for a werewolf, whose body temperatures all ran naturally higher than humans.

As he shifted his shoulders and arm to settle around you, he double-checked, “Sorry, is this alright? It’s tight in here—”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” you turned your head to give him a smile, but were instead caught off-guard by just how close his face was to yours. If either one of you shifted forward right now, you would hit noses. Your breath hitched in your throat as you made eye contact with him. Oh, he could definitely hear your heartbeat in the tiny space afforded by the photobooth, surely as clear as you could hear it thudding in your own ears. God, you’d always thought he was cute, but something about being so close, and the lights in here hitting the angles of his face just right, he was striking, handsome. You curled your hands into fists in the material of your pants, not trusting yourself not to grab him and do something too wildly out of pocket.

The screen played a short melody at you, knocking you from your trance, and you turned your focus back to your task.

Pressing a couple buttons on the touchscreen, you looked between the height of the camera and Sungchan, squinting. “Is your head even going to show in frame?”

Sungchan swallowed, then cleared his throat before he spoke, as if his mouth had gone dry. “Guess we’ll find out after.”

“Alright, it’s a four-cut.” You announced after skimming the easy illustrated instructions. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” He gave you a thumbs up.

“Okay. 1, 2, 3.” You pressed the start button before sitting back in your seat against him again.

You smiled and held up a peace sign for the first one, and in the split second of the flash going off, you heard the werewolf next to you curse under his breath, “Fuck! That’s bright—” accompanied by the feeling of him flinching back, and immediately followed by a distinct thud.

Turning around as much as the space could allow for, you saw Sungchan curled in on himself, his eyes squinted shut presumably both in pain from the flash and from where he had just smacked the back of his head against the wall of the photobooth, judging by the hand he was cradling it with.

“Ooh! Sungchan, are you alright?” You asked through giggles, unable to get over the comical thunk! sound that his head had made.

Another flash went off, startling him into hitting his head again with another bonk! and this time you couldn’t help but burst out into full-bodied laughter, turning back toward the camera to not laugh directly in the poor guy’s face. You could barely see the third and fourth flashes because your eyes were squeezed shut as you laughed, running out of air and having to prop yourself up with a hand on Sungchan’s knee to not keel over.

Finally, you started sobering up enough to squint your eyes back open, and through your tears, you saw Sungchan smiling down at you as well.

“Alright, I don’t know if it was that funny…” he sighed, still holding his head.

“I’m-I’m sorry,” you tried to apologize through your wheezes. “It was the sound, and the two in a row, it was just too much for me. I’m not laughing at your pain, I promise. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m alright. Thanks.” He reassured you, dropping his hand from his head and resting it on the one that you still had on his knee. “I… I really like your laugh.”

Your hand suddenly tingled. “Oh. Thank you…”

After a beat, he shifted his gaze from yours. “So where do the films print out at?”

“Uh, on the outside of the booth. Should be two, one for each of us.” You said quickly, getting up to exit the booth and put some space between the two of you again.

Sungchan followed you out, and you easily found the dispenser, where there were in fact two film strips. He grabbed them for you, looking over them first. A smile spread across his face as he continued holding them, and you started getting antsy the longer that you hadn’t seen them.

“What, are they that bad?” You asked with a light chuckle.

“What?” He snapped his focus up to you.

“You’ve been smiling at them for an awful long time. Did I blink or something?” You joked, knowing very well that you were laughing for half of them.

He sucked in air through his teeth, shaking his head regretfully. “Yeah, I think for your own sake, I should keep both of these. I mean, I look great but—”

“Sungchan, let me see!” You reached for them, but he yanked his hand back from you at the last second.

You lunged for them again, but he once again kept them just out of your reach, a sly grin on his lips. The next time you tried to grab them, he held them above his head, and he most unfortunately had a significant height advantage over you.

You were already in his personal space from grabbing for them before, practically chest-to-chest (well, really chest-to-face), and now had to crane your neck straight up to look at them. With a huff, out of breath, heart racing for more than one reason now, you weakly pulled on his shoulders as you pouted, “Sungchan, please!”

“Here, I warned you.” He said melodramatically, handing you one copy of the film strips.

You eagerly held it in both hands, scanning over the four pictures on it. The first one was normal, it looked like Sungchan had taken your lead and both of you were smiling and throwing up peace signs. The second one was where everything went to chaos. Sungchan was wincing in pain in the corner, holding his head, as you had the back of your head to the camera, one hand reaching uncertainly towards him. In the third, you were turned back towards the camera, a little blurry as you laughed, and Sungchan was squinting one eye open to look at you. And in the last one, you were still laughing, leaning on Sungchan for support as there was nothing but simple joy on your face; and Sungchan’s features had relaxed out of pain as he gazed down at you with a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Not as wide as yours was, but no less dim.

“These are so cute! You liar!” You elbowed Sungchan in the side.

“You didn’t let me finish. I look great, but you look radiant.”

“Good save.” You joked, but couldn’t suppress the smitten grin that wormed its way across your face. “And I’m keeping mine.”

Sungchan reached into the pocket of his jacket then, pulling out his pristine, baby pink origami heart from earlier. He held it out to you. “I-I wanted you to have this, too.”

“Aw, Sungchan…” You accepted the paper heart from him.

“Feel free to throw it out when you get home, I get it.”

“Hey, stop that.” You pinched his forearm where the sleeve of his jacket had fallen down. “Don’t do something sweet and then immediately take all the sincerity away by covering it with a layer of self-deprecation. If you’re going to be a sweetheart, own up to it or don’t do it at all.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck, and you could see a flush creeping up from his collar to his cheeks. “You’re right. I wanted to give you that, sans trash can.”

You were beaming, tucking it into the inner pocket of your jacket and patting it. “Thank you, Sungchan. I’d offer you mine, but I think it really should go in the trash.”

“Look who’s not taking her own advice, hm?”

“Alright, if you want it,” you sighed, taking your own lumpy attempt at the origami heart out of your pocket and handing it over to him.

Sungchan plucked it from your fingers smugly. “Thank you.”

“I expect you to be buried with that now, by the way.”

“I’ll be sure to write it in my will.”

The two of you were still chuckling as you walked up to the counter again, your film strips and punch cards in hand to show them to Shotaro. Your siren friend reviewed the pictures with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You guys are so cute,” he commented so very subtly. “But uh, what happened here, Sungchan? Did you hit your head on something? How did you manage that one?”

As you covered your mouth to hide your giggles at the memory of the double bonk! resurfacing, Sungchan took his film strip back from his roommate. “Alright, are you going to give us the punches or not?”

Shotaro punched the final heart-shaped holes into both your cards. “And with that you’ve completed all the punches! Unfortunately, you can’t redeem the free drink tonight, but by all means, you are more than welcome to stay and hang out some more. We’ve got extended hours tonight, so you can keep doing the activities if you like, or just, you know… stay and chat or something.”

“Right, thanks, Shotaro.” Sungchan led you away with a hand on your back.

You ended up back at your original seat that you had sat at for the bingo game. The game finished while you were in the photobooth, the other patrons now milling around the shop again. Some were sitting, sipping on their drinks and enjoying each other’s company, others at the origami stations, others lining up at the photobooth, and still others back at the register ordering again. You looked down at the film strip in your hands before tucking it away safely with Sungchan’s origami heart. Looking around, you saw that Baekhyun was making rounds now that he was done hosting bingo, greeting customers and having conversations with everyone he stopped to talk to.

You didn’t want to leave yet, to have this night be over, to have your time with Sungchan be done. At least not without knowing if you’d see him again. This had been fun, really fun, and you wanted to see him again. Every bad first impression of him you’d gotten from your date had been wiped away.

“Hey, Y/N?”

You snapped your focus back over to him at the sound of his voice, trepid and unsure. You offered him a reassuring smile as you replied, “Yeah, Sungchan?”

He had taken his hat off, and was messing with the seam along the bottom band nervously. “I know I already said this, but I really am sorry for everything I said to you before. I was so incredibly wrong about you.”

“And I’ve already said thank you, so I suppose I’ll say I forgive you this time.” You squeezed his forearm. “So would you stop apologizing now?”

“I know we can’t start over completely, but…”

“Yes?” Your voice pitched up hopefully, your heart soaring along with it.

“Friends?”

Splat. Your heart plummeted back down with tremendous velocity.

It took all your willpower to keep your face from showing the disappointment you’d felt, and even then, you were sure it still fell minutely. You slapped on a rehearsed, customer service smile for him, too shocked that you’d apparently misread everything so badly to do much more than go through a script of what you should say. “Yeah, sure. Friends.”

Sungchan beamed at you, another heart-stopping, adorable, lopsided grin that now made your chest squeeze painfully. “Okay, great! Thank you, seriously!”

You threw open the door to Jasmine & Pearls the next morning so violently that it swung back the other way and rang the bell twice.

“Shotaro.”

The siren perked up to greet you. “Oh, Y/N! Back to redeem that free drink already, huh?”

“Sungchan here?” Your eyes flicked around the shop warily. You couldn’t see him, but now that you knew that the two of them were roommates, you had to be more careful.

“Oh, I see.” Your friend grinned, crossing his arms over his chest. “No, you just missed him, actually, he had class, popped in on his way to campus.”

“Thank god,” you groaned, collapsing into a stool near the pick-up counter, face in your arms.

“Uh, I’m going to make you a drink. Your usual?”

“Sure…” You mumbled, the sound even more muffled by your arms.

As Shotaro prepared the drink, he picked your conversation back up. “Now, what happened? You two looked like you were having a lot of fun last night. Not to pat myself on the back too hard.”

You lifted your head up just enough to rest your cheek on your arms so your friend could hear you when you spoke. “Did he tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Remember that awful date I went on last month?”

“Vaguely.”

“And Sungchan went on a bad date the same night.”

“Yeah. Did he do some kind of ‘all cards on the table’ confessional with you to try to scare you off?” Shotaro sighed, tossing his hand towel over his shoulder and putting his hands on his hips. “Listen, don’t worry, I know he says he ruined his date that night, but really he’s a big puppy—don’t tell him I said that, he’ll tear my throat out.” He paused, as if realizing what he had just said. “And don’t worry about that ‘tear my throat out’ thing either, I swear he’s super sweet. Honestly, something must have been wrong with that girl, he’s not—”

“It was me.” You cut him off bluntly.

“Huh?”

“Sungchan and I were each other’s terrible date that night.”

The siren slapped a hand over his face with a groan. “Oh my god, what did he do?”

“Now you think he did something? Two seconds ago, you swore there was ‘something wrong with that girl.’” You raised your eyebrows.

“Yeah, but I know you, Y/N. Him saying he fucked up and made you walk out? I can believe that.”

“We don’t have time to unpack all of that, but thanks, I guess.” You settled your cheek in your hand instead. “Anyway, it was all a mismatch at the time. He had his reasons, and I had mine, and I left. I didn’t harbor any ill will towards him, nor had I even thought about him until last night.”

Shotaro snorted, placing your finished drink in front of you. “Oh, well, can’t say the same for him.”

“What?”

“Whatever he did, he felt terrible about it. He kept talking about how he wanted to apologize to you, but he didn’t think you’d want to see him.”

You blinked at him. “Seriously?”

“I just thought it was like when you accidentally say ‘you too’ when the waiter tells you to enjoy your food and then you can’t stop thinking about that interaction for the next six months.”

Remembering the gist of your very short conversation from your one and only date with Sungchan, you shook your head. “No, not quite.”

“But it seems like you two made up last night, right?” Shotaro asked, head tilted.

“Yes, last night was so much fun. It’s what our first date should have been. We got to talk, and get to know each other, and joke, and laugh, and maybe flirt a little bit; and he’s funny, and smart, and a lot of fun...” You explained, trailing off pitifully at the end.

“So what’s the catch?”

“Well, I don’t know why I thought that at the end of the night, when he said,” you dropped your voice to mimic Sungchan, “‘I know we can’t start over completely, but—’ I don’t know why I thought that was going to be followed up by him asking me out, but it wasn’t.”

The siren’s jaw dropped. “It wasn’t?”

“Nope. Friends...” You said with weak enthusiasm, giving him two thumbs-up and a feigned smile as if you were being held at gunpoint.

“Ooh, Y/N...” Shotaro grimaced.

You dropped your head into your hands in defeat. “And somehow I feel even stupider than I did leaving that date.”

“I’m going to ask him what the hell he’s thinking.”

“No the fuck you’re not!”

“Y/N—”

“I told you this in confidence, Osaki Shotaro, not so you could you blab how pathetic I am right back to him!”

“But I just did that with him to you.” He pointed out innocently. “Seems a bit unfair.”

“Thanks for just agreeing with me on the pathetic part.”

“Well—”

“You’re not helping!”

“I’m trying!” He threw his hands up in exasperation. With a sigh, he came up to lean against the counter, voice turning sympathetic once more. “Look, Sungchan probably just thinks that you would want nothing to do with him romantically after he ruined it so stupendously last time. So he doesn’t even want to put you in the awkward position of rejecting him again— or, he at least thinks you would reject him again.”

“You really think so?” You asked quietly, watching a bead of water run down the side of your cup.

“Best I can come up with.”

And all the hope in your chest puttered out like a limp, half-filled balloon. “So that was a guess.”

“I’m a siren, not a mindreader, sorry.”

“Ugh, I’ve got to go. Thanks, Shotaro. For the boba. You were useless otherwise.”

“Bye!” Your friend waved to you cheerily.

Being friends with Sungchan was pretty easy, actually. You already had a lot of the same friends (it was sort of weird that you hadn’t met before that date, you realized), and as long as somebody else was there, it was easy to ignore the ever-present, ever-growing crushing pain in your chest whenever you were with him. You didn’t like that it was like this, you hated being that person pining over one of their friends who had explicitly said that they just wanted to be friends. You’d tried to get yourself to feel like this about other guys—the cute phoenix in your Criminology class, or the funny gryphon that you were partnered up with for a project in your Introduction to Interdisciplinary class. But it was useless, your thoughts always came back Sungchan. And you weren’t friends with him in hopes that one day it would be different, either; you really didn’t want to be that friend. You were just enjoying Jung Sungchan, in whatever capacity you got him in.

And right now, that was a rather tenacious study buddy. When you’d off-handedly mentioned an upcoming test that you hadn’t studied for yet, he immediately made you compare schedules so that the two of you could do a study session before it. So now you were reviewing flash cards of some key concepts as Sungchan was hunched over a notebook of his own. Working on his research with his professor, you were pretty certain. He switched between his computer and handwritten notes so frequently that you weren’t sure how he kept it all straight, and all the numbers and Greek letters and letter letters made your head swim trying to decipher it. As long as it all made sense to him.

It all mostly made sense to you when he would explain it to you, if you were actually listening to the words he was saying and not just thinking about how nice his voice sounded, or how pretty he looked that day. Your brain was truly rotting from the inside out.

And you two were alone. You didn’t know if he had invited any of your other friends and they couldn’t make it or if this was a “just us” thing. That was something that he did that always made it so hard for you to keep your rule of never hoping for more. Sometimes you two would hang out and invite Shotaro and Jaemin and Jeno and Jeno’s girlfriend and maybe even some more of their friends that you weren’t as familiar with; and sometimes when you’d ask if you should invite anybody, Sungchan would reply with a shoulder shrug and a casual non-explanation that this should be a “just us” thing. You could never delineate what made an activity worthy of a group invite or a “just us” thing.

You stared at your screen with immense focus. Not on what was on the screen, your thoughts had long drifted from dryad folk tales and were now in an endless rumination on what the hell a “just us” thing was. You’d been to group study sessions and study sessions with just Sungchan. Group movie nights and movie nights alone with Sungchan—those were an especially bittersweet kind of awful, as he liked to share blankets. Group dinners and dinners with just the two of you. So what made something a “just us” activity? What was the—

Something in your periphery caught your attention, and snapped you out of your pensive thoughts that you’d been stewing in. It was a small, white, origami heart being pushed up from the bottom corner of your computer screen. You took it, smiling at Sungchan across the table from you, who sat up straight now that he no longer had to reach so far to deliver it to you.

Upon second glance, it looked like the heart was made out of notebook paper from his spiral notebook with notes on it in blue ink. You squinted to make out some of It in his messy scrawl, but gave up after reading just a portion of a complicated, technical word.

“Thanks, Sungchan.” You ran your fingertip along the crisp edge of the paper heart.

This had been one habit he’d picked up since the Valentine’s Day event at Jasmine & Pearls, he now made origami hearts whenever his fingers grew restless and he had access to a suitable piece of paper that could be torn to size if needed. You were usually the target of receiving them and now had a steadily growing collection in a small jar on your coffee table. You didn’t have it in you to throw them away.

“Something wrong, Y/N?” Sungchan asked. He had presumably noted the intense way you’d been staring at your screen the moments prior. “Or is the material just that bad for your test?”

“Ehh…” You sighed, rolling your neck out. “Just tired. Ready for the semester to be over, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Is this made of your notes, by the way?” You held up the origami heart.

“Stuff I had to rip out and redo, I messed it up.”

You then stood up to crack your back, groaning at the cathartic cracking sounds that came with it. “God, I think my spine needs to be folded up like that origami, holy shit.”

“Fix your posture,” Sungchan snorted. “You sit like a little shrimp using a computer.”

Your jaw dropped as you put a hand to your chest, unsure of whether to laugh or be offended. Ultimately, you keeled over with laughter, having to plop back down in your desk chair—hunched over—to catch your breath again. Sungchan was watching you with a fond smile, reclined back in his chair with some not very great posture himself.

“A shrimp?”

“A little shrimp,” he corrected you. “A cute little shrimp using her little computer and fucking up her back in the process.”

“Alright, it’s not my fault you’re literally a tree. Anybody is a little shrimp compared to the man who almost broke a photobooth because he was too tall for it,” you teased him back through the fresh squeezing of your chest at him calling you ‘cute,’ even if it was followed by the words ‘little shrimp.’

“You’re never letting me live that one down, huh?”

“Never. I’ll be telling that story at your funeral, where you’ll be buried with my mangled origami heart, remember?”

“You’re banking on the fact that you’re going to outlive me in this scenario.”

“Right, my bad. Werewolves are the hardier species, so obviously you’ll outlive me.”

“Well, statistically—”

“Statistics say nothing about the power of spite, Sungchan. I will outlive you out of spite, so that I can tell that story at your funeral. And if not, I will have a backup recording of me telling that story, and in my will, have orders that it be played at your funeral.”

“You’re going to put it in your will to make sure you have the last word in case I outlive you? Which, statistically, I will.”

“Yes.”

The two of you held your defiant eye contact for another moment before you burst out in coordinated laughter, all tension fizzling out.

“I do expect that fucked-up origami heart to go down with you, though,” you pointed at him through your laughs, still only half-serious.

“Only if one of the hundreds I’ve given you by now makes it down with you,” he nodded, holding his pinky finger out.

You linked yours with it. “Deal.”

“Deal.”

As you walked out of the library together after you’d finally determined that your studying was over, Sungchan checked his watch.

“You doing anything else tonight?” He asked.

“Nothing in particular.” You shrugged. “Eating dinner. Sleeping. Why?”

“Want to come over?”

“Is Shotaro going to be home?”

“He’s closing at the shop today I think.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Apparently sensing your hesitation, Sungchan nudged your side as he teased, “What? Am I not fun enough for you? You need Shotaro there to convince you to come over, too?”

“Yeah, you’re such a snoozefest, Sungchan,” you wrinkled your nose, elbowing him back. “Taro’s the only thing that keeps me from falling asleep every time I’m over at your place.”

“You hurt me, Y/N.”

With a melodramatic sigh, you relented, “I suppose I’ll make an exception. But I will nap where I see fit if you bore me too much.”

“I’ll take my victories where I can get them.”

At Shotaro and Sungchan’s place, you followed Sungchan into his bedroom. Normally, if Shotaro were home, the three of you would all hang out in their living room. But it was just you and Sungchan.

He toed his shoes off and flopped onto his bed face-first, spread-eagle.

“Oh, and who were we worried about taking a nap?” You scoffed, taking his desk chair. He had a gridded whiteboard above his desk that was mostly taken up by a to-do list of upcoming deadlines. But a small area labeled “Notes” by the company who made it was dedicated to pictures instead: the film strip of you two from Valentine’s Day at Jasmine & Pearls hung there by a magnet in the shape of a hurricane, a picture from the group trip to Cape Solaria from last summer under a tornado, and another of a younger Sungchan and Shotaro (early high school if you had to guess) at an arcade pinned by a tsunami.

Your friend rolled over onto his back. “I’m not napping, just basking.”

“Basking? In what?”

“Being done with today.”

“Have a bad day?”

“Just long. Had a long week, long semester, long three years.”

“Mm, felt that,” you agreed, knocking your own shoes off and folding your legs up in the desk chair.

The two of you were quiet for a while, and you would’ve thought that Sungchan had actually fallen asleep, if you couldn’t see that his eyes were open as he apparently just stared at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling with even breaths. You let the silence remain, content to just rest your arms on the back of the chair with your chin atop them, and look at him.

“Y/N?” He finally spoke, his voice soft.

“Yeah?”

Sungchan’s head lolled so he could look over at you, his warm brown eyes focused on your face. He had an unreadable expression on his features; not one of sadness, or pain, or really much of anything. It was like he didn’t even know what he was feeling. “Have you gone on a date? Since... you know, the one we went on?”

You blinked. You weren’t sure what exactly you were expecting him to say, but it wasn’t that. After a moment, you shook your head. “No, I haven’t. Have you?”

The corner of his lip twitched, but from your positions, you couldn’t tell if it was pulling towards a smile or a frown. “No.”

Another beat of silence. You continued staring at each other.

“Do you want to?” He asked, his voice so unnaturally devoid of intonation that you once again couldn’t glean the purpose of this discussion.

“What?” The word tumbled out of your mouth fast, defensively.

“I-I mean, are you going to? Like, is there anybody...?”

You looked at him, taking a good few seconds before you answered. He at least seemed nervous now, stuttering, his eyes flitting between you and the ceiling fan.

“No.” You answered plainly. No qualifying statements: any attempts at expounding would just land you in trouble. “You?”

“No...” He echoed. “You would tell me, right? If you were?”

This felt like a trap. Not from Sungchan, you knew he wasn’t like that, but from the Universe, somehow. And no matter what you did, you were going to fall into the spike pit.

“Yeah, Sungchan, of course.” You mustered up your well-practiced casual smile. “Always need approval from the counsel of friends for that kind of stuff.”

He did smile at that—not a full one with teeth, and it didn’t reach his eyes—but he smiled and nodded. “Good. Got to make sure they’re not a weirdo. You know there’s all kinds of magical creatures who will just date human women for the ego trip in bed, right?”

“I did know that,” you chuckled. “But thanks for looking out for me.”

“Always am, Y/N. And I always will be.”

Rocking back and forth from your heels to your toes nervously, you kept your eyes trained on the apartment door in front of you. Sungchan knocked on it. Your actions were stopped by your friend grabbing your arm and pulling you back down to flat feet.

“Y/N, I told you it’s going to be fine, seriously. They’re your friends, too,” he reminded you for probably the twelfth time that day.

When he’d randomly texted you earlier that morning asking if you wanted to go to Jeno’s birthday party with him tonight, you were very hesitant to accept. Mostly because you hadn’t received an invite from the birthday wolf himself. But after some more pestering from Sungchan, you gave in. Maybe if you didn’t have such a weak heart, you would’ve been firmer on your no. But instead, here you were, having signed your name under Sungchan’s on the birthday card the two of you bought on your way over, a gift card tucked inside with enough money pre-loaded on it to cover a nice meal for Jeno and his girlfriend.

“Then why didn’t he—” Your whispered question was cut off by the door swinging open, the bright smile of Lee Jeno greeting you.

“Hey guys, come on in!” The werewolf opened the door even wider, not seeming surprised at all to see you there next to Sungchan. He gave the both of you hugs after closing the door behind you.

You patted his back in the hug, offering a sheepish smile, “Hey, Jeno, Happy Birthday. Sorry to just show up. Sungchan insisted it was fine…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it! Everyone knows if we’re inviting Sungchan that we’re inviting you, too. It’s cool.” He said brightly. “You want something to drink?”

Trying not to get stuck on that little information bomb he’d dropped so casually, you looked around the fairly packed apartment, recognizing most everyone who was there, including a couple people by the drinks table. “You know, I see Jaemin and Donghyuck over by the drinks, I’ll go get it myself. Thank you, though, and Happy Birthday again.”

Jeno perked up in a different direction as if he’d heard his name being called—which he very well could’ve with his superior hearing—and he took off, disappearing into the kitchen. You’d been to Jeno and Jaemin’s place a few times before, mostly to hang out with Jaemin over the time that you’d known the dryad from Bot Club, and more recently, a couple times for group hangouts since Jaemin, Jeno, Jeno’s girlfriend, and Sungchan were all friends.

“I’m going to get some food,” Sungchan nodded towards the same direction Jeno had gone in. “Want anything?”

You stood on your tiptoes, unable to discern any of the options they had available, other than the fact there would be a lot of it to feed the werewolf guests. “Just get extra of whatever you think I’ll like, I’m not very hungry right now.”

“On it.”

While he went to do that, you made your way across the living room to the two dryads you had spotted earlier, both standing by the drinks table.

“Hey…” You said, still feeling awkward despite Jeno’s easy acceptance of you.

“Y/N! Hey!” Donghyuck greeted you cheerily.

“You made it!” Jaemin gave you a one-armed hug.

“Sounds like you were expecting me then?”

“Well, yeah.” Donghyuck said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world (which was bewildering to you, considering you didn’t even know you were coming until this afternoon).

The two dryads exchanged a look.

“I mean, Sungchan was coming, so…” Jaemin shrugged.

Donghyuck peered around the party. “Speaking of, where’d your wolfboy go?”

“He went to get some food. And he’s not. my. wolfboy, you little shit.” You glared at him. “And don’t call him a wolfboy either, you know he doesn’t like to be called stuff like that. Call Jeno ‘puppy’ or whatever all you want but leave Sungchan out of it.”

“I thought he didn’t like dog terms, but wolf terms he was fine with, since he is a werewolf.” Jaemin said.

“Yeah.” Donghyuck nodded.

You put your hands on your hips with a frank sigh, “As if wolfboy isn’t also diminutive and meant to—”

“Woah, abort, abort, Y/N’s going into Renjun-mode.”

Jaemin looked over at the other dryad regretfully. “Worse than Renjun-mode, this isn’t just educational.”

“You two are so obnoxious, I’m going to stage a coup in Bot Club one of these days,” you declared with a scoff.

“Hey...” Another voice entered the conversation from over your shoulder, and you looked up to see Sungchan stepping in between you and Donghyuck, a plate loaded up with food in his hand.

“Speak of the wolf and he shall appear.” Donghyuck had a wicked grin on his face. You were amazed sometimes that he wasn’t a fairy.

“What were you guys talking about? Y/N didn’t look happy.”

“It was nothing, Sungchan, don’t worry about it.” You tried to reassure him, sending pointed stares at each of the dryads with you.

Donghyuck was apparently not going to let up, though. “Hey, Sungchan, you down to do a little thought experiment with me?”

“Thought experiment?” The werewolf echoed.

“Yeah, just real quick. I ask you a hypothetical question, you give me a hypothetical answer. Just for fun.”

“A thought experiment with Donghyuck. Sounds thrilling, sure.” Sungchan agreed humorously, popping a piece of food in his mouth.

“So, if someone were to call you dog-like terms—which we know you’re not cool with and would never do—who would you most be okay with doing that?”

The werewolf narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why would anybody do that?”

“It’s a thought experiment, Sungchan, come on. Play in this space with me!” Donghyuck whined, shaking the other man’s shoulder.

“Let’s rephrase then,” Jaemin joined in, a mischievous glint in his eye. You looked around to make sure Chenle wasn’t secretly listening in or something, because this surely had to be the work of your fairy prince acquaintance. You spotted the fairy very engaged in his conversation with his dragon roommate Jisung and a few other people. It seemed like the two dryads really were just deciding to be the absolute worst all on their own.

“Narrower scope. Would you be okay with, for example, Y/N calling you stuff like that?”

“Why would she do that?” Sungchan asked, confused.

“Yeah, why would I do that?” You asked, angry. They were clearly trying to get at something specific, make him admit something.

Jaemin offered an example, “Well, you know, Jeno’s girlfriend calls him ‘pup’ as a term of endearment.”

“And why would I do that?!” You repeated, feeling your stomach drop to the floor at how exactly he stressed those words.

“We’re getting off-topic here, it’s all hypothetical, remember?” It was amazingly Donghyuck who sort of saved you. “We know Y/N would never do it. But like… if she did, for some reason unbeknownst to us, what would you do? Would you be okay with it?”

Sungchan’s brow was furrowed as he seemed to genuinely contemplate this while he ate another bite of food. You, meanwhile, were plotting how best to kill two dryads. You knew enough from Bot Club, maybe a super-strong version of the magical weed spray you used would work... Were dryads more plant or more person?

“Well…” The werewolf finally began his answer, seeming to choose each word carefully. “Since I know Y/N, I know that if she were, in this batshit, hypothetical scenario, to do that, that she wouldn’t mean it in a derogatory way. So I guess I’d be more okay with her doing it than other people. Definitely more than you two weirdos who are posing this thought experiment that isn’t fun at all.”

“Thank you, Sungchan.��� Donghyuck grinned at him, then turned to Jaemin. “I thought that was very fun and enlightening. What about you, Jaemin?”

Jaemin nodded thoughtfully. “I had a great time. Y/N?”

“You guys are so fucking annoying.” You groaned, grabbing a piece of food from Sungchan’s plate. “Leave me out of your thought experiments next time, please.”

The spring semester ended not long after Jeno’s birthday party, and you very thankfully didn’t have to take any summer classes, freeing up a lot of spare time for you. Sungchan, on the other hand, had to take a couple courses in order to make sure he would graduate on time. While you jokingly whined and complained when he told you about it, you were secretly relieved to have extra reasons to avoid him. As terrible as that sounded.

This afternoon, while he was in class, you had gone down to the river with Shotaro and Yuta, who miraculously both had a day off work at the same time. You didn’t even realize Jasmine & Pearls had enough employees to let the both of them take the same day off.

You were sat in your pop-up chair on the small beachy area, pulling your phone from your bag to check it while the two sirens continued lazing about in the waist-deep water. There was a text from Sungchan from a few minutes ago, and as you opened it up to read it, you realized that he was just sending you a funny picture he’d found somewhere online.

[you: aren’t you supposed to be focusing on class right now?]

“Sungchan?” Shotaro called out to you knowingly.

“What?” You yelled back, holding a hand up to shadow your face from the sun. Looking around your chair, you grabbed your baseball cap that you’d won in Valentine’s Bingo, pulling that on now that you were out of the water.

“You’ve got this little smile on your face that you only get when Sungchan texts you.”

“No I do not.”

Yuta stood up from where he had been floating on his back, shaking the water out of his hair as he asked you with a smirk, “So you don’t have a text from Sungchan on your phone screen right now?”

Your phone buzzed then, a welcome excuse to not have to answer that.

[sungchan: allegedly]

[you: i don’t want you whining to me when you fail that class]

You clicked your phone off, showing them the blank screen. “Nope, nothing on my screen.”

“You’re such a liar,” Yuta sighed, saying it as if it were as simple of a fact as the sky being blue or the grass being green. He trudged through the water up the shore until he could join you, plopping down in his chair next to yours. They had both kept their legs this afternoon instead of bringing out their tails, and he kicked his apart as he got comfortable.

Shotaro jogged up from the water too, grabbing the cooler and rooting around in it for a second. After securing the other half of his sandwich from the lunch that you all had eaten earlier, he sat down next to Yuta, taking a big bite from it.

You took Yuta’s lead and settled back in your chair, closing your eyes and just enjoying the warmth of the late afternoon Sun.

“He talks about you all the time, by the way.” Shotaro cut into your peace and quiet. If you had something within arm’s reach other than your metal reusable water bottle, you would’ve thrown it at him.

“Shotaro...” You groaned, rolling your eyes. You didn’t even need to ask who he was talking about.

“Seriously! ‘Y/N and I did this today.’ ‘Don’t wait up for me, I’m going to the movies with Y/N.’ ‘Y/N told me this funny story today.’ ‘Did you know such and such about this or that? Y/N’s so smart.’” He admittedly did a pretty good Sungchan impression. You would’ve laughed at it in any other context, but instead you were just annoyed.

“Yeah, well, we’re friends. We hang out, and do things together. He’s going to be talking about me,” you snapped. “He talks about you a bunch too. Because you guys, you know, live together. He also talks about his professors, and Jeno, and—”

“But it’s not the same.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He insisted.

Shotaro clearly wasn’t going to let up, so you momentarily engaged this line of thinking, hoping you could squash it. “What’s so different, then?”

“He’ll find just any reason to bring you up, for one. We’re grocery shopping? ‘Oh, Y/N likes this flavor.’ ‘We should pick this up for when Y/N comes over.’ ‘Shotaro don’t get that, Y/N doesn’t like it.’” His impression turned more high-pitched and whining. “We’re watching TV? ‘This reminds me of when Y/N and I did this...’ ‘I bet Y/N would love this show, we should watch it the next time she comes over.’ ‘Y/N has a shirt just like that character.’ We’re hanging out with other people? ‘Hey Sungchan, what uh, what are you giggling at on your phone over there?’” He first kept his normal tone of voice, then switched into his over-the-top fake-Sungchan. “‘Oh, Y/N just texted me something funny. But it’s an inside joke, so you guys wouldn’t get it, sorry.’ ‘Man, I wish Y/N could’ve come, sucks she had to work.’”

“Are you done?” You asked tersely, unamused.

“I could go on ad nauseum—”

“One could argue you already have.”

Yuta snickered.

“—but let’s call it there.”

“Thank God.”

Shotaro wasn’t done with his spiel yet, though. “I have had multiple friends, when he’ll first bring you around somewhere, quietly ask me if you’re Sungchan’s girlfriend and they like, missed when you two started dating.”

“I get it, I get it.” You said firmly, bringing a hand up to rub your face.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Y/N, you’re an MCS major, I’m sure you’ve heard about what can happen to werewolves if there’s something discordant in their lives that isn’t alleviated?”

“You think he’s going to get pupsick because he’s allegedly got a crush on me?” You sputtered out in disbelief, your voice caught between a chuckle and a scoff at how absurd that sounded to you.

“It happened to Jeno.”

“Yeah, but he’s Jeno. With all due respect and no intention to kinkshame, he probably lets his girlfriend put a collar on him.”

Yuta shot up as he cackled, slapping his knee and coughing. He scrambled to grab his water bottle, taking a couple sips as he struggled to catch his breath.

Shotaro pushed on like you hadn’t said anything, “Now, I don’t want to have to put up with a pupsick Jung Sungchan, do you? That sounds awful. For me, obviously, since I live with him.”

“Shotaro, you are half-right about one thing.”

“And what’s that?” He asked smugly.

“I am kind of an MCS major. So I also know that Sungchan isn’t overly touchy with me, he hasn’t given me anything of his that smells like him, he doesn’t feed me, or do any other pre-mating behaviors that are ingrained in werewolves.” You ticked them each off on your fingers. “Look, I hate stereotyping you guys by your species. But if he’s apparently so down bad that he can’t help but talk about me every waking second of the day, wouldn’t at least one of these things that are literally instinctual to him have happened?”

Shotaro raised an eyebrow. “You do know that he’s half-werewolf, right?”

“What?” You blinked at him.

“Yeah, his mom’s a werewolf, and his dad’s a human.”

You’d had an MCS class on the Effects of Modern Integration, which had a unit specifically on the subject of cross-species offspring. Some species could have offspring together while others couldn’t, it depended both on genetic similarity and compatibility of their magic. With humans having no magic, that left only genetic similarity as a factor, making them a lot more compatible for producing such cross-species offspring. Werewolves and humans were one of the more common pairings to have such offspring, as they had one of the most extensive histories of living together.

Sungchan’s behavior on your first and only date immediately sprung to mind. His hesitance around humans dating werewolves just because they’re werewolves. “Are they...?”

“Happily married. They helped us move into our apartment last year.” Shotaro apparently knew exactly where your question was going. “But yeah, Sungchan’s half-human. As best I can tell, he’s kind of like a super-zen werewolf. Able to control everything a lot better than full werewolves because all of the wolf instincts and stuff aren’t as powerful.”

“He still shifts?” Despite the estimated number of half-werewolves being greater than the confirmed population of sphinxes, unicorns, and phoenixes combined, there was little actually known about them academically. It was all word of mouth, as no large-scale study had been able to be done on them. They were apparently reluctant to come forward and make themselves known to researchers. And their friends.

“Yeah, every full moon. Which I think is why he really just considers himself a werewolf.”

“I didn’t know,” you admitted, biting the inside of your cheek as you were still absorbing this information.

“Anyway, he can probably control whatever pre-mating instincts he does have a lot better than full werewolves!”

“And he’s probably doing that because he knows that you know what pre-mating behaviors look like and thinks you would get weirded out.” Yuta suggested, finally entering the conversation instead of just letting you two go back and forth over him. “Since you’re kind of an MCS major.”

“Exactly!”

You pursed your lips, an uneasiness creeping up on you about the whole situation. “I don’t know guys…”

“You said he doesn’t feed you?” Yuta questioned thoughtfully.

“No, he doesn’t. And you two are around us plenty, have either of you ever seen him try to?” You asked pointedly.

“No, but what Shotaro was saying about grocery shopping. He always buys your favorite foods, flavors he knows you likes, even makes Shotaro put stuff back that he knows you think are unappetizing.”

“I’ve never asked him to do anything like that.”

“And yet he does. Now, overly touchy is subjective. Does he—”

“No, we’re not doing this.” You cut him off, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Doing what?”

“Dissecting mine and Sungchan’s friendship and putting it up on a conspiracy board. I’m not playing. And if that’s all you guys are going to do, then I’m leaving.”

Shotaro jumped in, “Y/N, why can’t you even consider that—”

“Because he already asked to be friends and I said yes,” you said angrily, feeling your blood finally reach its boiling point. “I knew what I was getting myself into, and having you guys trying to convince me that it’s something that he already said it’s not, isn’t fucking helping.”

They were both quiet for a beat, and you clenched your jaw. You couldn’t keep sitting right now, you had to go somewhere, do something. If you stayed here, somebody’s feelings were going to get hurt. You stood up, stuffing all of your things haphazardly back into your bag. “Actually, fuck it, I’m leaving anyway.”

“Y/N, we didn’t mean to—”

“I know, you think you’re trying to help or whatever the fuck. But just drop it, okay?” You shoved your feet back in your shoes and slung your bag over your shoulder. “I need to go or I’m going to end up saying something nasty that I don’t really mean and regret it. I’ll see you guys later.”

And with that, you took off, leaving the chair you had borrowed from Yuta on the shore. You took your baseball cap back off to mess with your damp hair as you speedwalked down the city sidewalks. All the angry energy from wanting to just go off on your friends was still coursing through you, and despite Yuta having to pick you up and drive you the couple miles or so to the river, you figured that you might as well walk the whole way back home to blow off steam.

A little more than halfway home, your phone buzzed in your hand with a call, and you glanced at it intending to just send it to voicemail. But it was Sungchan. You stared down at it as you waited to cross a street, an unsure thumb hovering over your screen.

Glancing between your phone and the crosswalk signal, it changed to walk, and you rushed to cross. The call went to voicemail.

Just a few seconds later, your phone lit up with the missed call, a voicemail, then a text from him. You sighed, clicking on the voicemail first.

“Hey, Y/N,” Sungchan’s voice came through clearly. It sounded like he was outside, probably on campus and fresh out of class, if you had to guess by the time. “It’s Sungchan. Obviously. Uh, anyway, I just got out of class, wanted to see if you maybe wanted to come over? I know you’re supposed to be with Shotaro and Yuta, but Shotaro just texted me and said—well, it’s kind of a long story. Just let me know if you can come over, and I’ll tell you when you get here, okay? I’m headed back to my place right now. Okay, bye.”

Shotaro.

Still fucking meddling after you asked him to drop it. If you were less than halfway back from the river, you’d turn around and throttle him.

You checked the text from Sungchan.

[sungchan: hey! i’m out of class. are you busy?]

[you: i can be over in twenty. is that okay?]

You shifted uncomfortably as you stood in front of the front door to Shotaro and Sungchan’s apartment. Your hair wasn’t as damp thanks to your long walk in the hot Sun, and your skin was dry, but you still held yourself as you stared down the center of the white door. You hadn’t knocked yet. You didn’t want to know what Shotaro had told Sungchan, having already convinced yourself that it was everything. That you were about to walk into Friendzoning 2: Electric Boogaloo, this time with Letting Y/N Down Easy. It made your stomach churn, your chest squeeze like a vice around your heart, and your head feel like it had been cast in lead.

You shifted your weight between your feet on the welcome mat, trying to muster up the strength to just knock on the fucking door, when it swung open.

Sungchan was in a pair of dark sweatpants and a dark red t-shirt from your school’s astronomy club—dated for fall two years ago. He offered you a familiar smile, stepping back from the doorway to make room for you. “Hey, I thought I heard you. Come in.”

“Hey. And thanks.” You nodded, slipping by him into his apartment.

Wordlessly, he started leading the way further back towards his room. You longingly looked at the wide-open space of the living room as you disappeared down the hallway. In his bedroom, you saw his desk taken up by his laptop and a spread of notebooks and papers. His bookbag was in his desk chair.

“Sorry, I know that’s your usual spot, but I was doing some homework.” Sungchan had noticed where your gaze was focused. He patted the foot of his bed as he went to sit down against the headboard. “Come on, you can sit with me for once.”

You swallowed and nodded, stepping back out of your shoes and setting your bag down. Climbing onto the end of his bed, you sat with your legs criss-crossed, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap.

“So why did Shotaro text you?” You decided to just go straight into it. No small talk or pleasantries about his class or what homework he was working on. “What’d he say?”

“He told me that he told you that I’m half-werewolf,” Sungchan said bluntly. “I figured I owed you a bit more of an explanation.”

Oh. Well that wasn’t what you were expecting at all.

“You really don’t owe me anything, Sungchan,” you shook your head, your eyes trained on his comforter. “You don’t have to explain who you are to me if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.”

It was a touching sentiment, but it felt like a hot knife right in your gut. He wanted to because he cared about you as a friend. Not in the same way that you cared about him.

You could only manage a soft, “Okay…”

“It’s not some big secret, really. I’m not ashamed of my dad or anything. I love him, he’s a cool guy.” Sungchan started, and you felt like that first part was more to reassure you that it was okay for you to know. He was pointing to a picture that you’d seen a countless number of times before, hanging next to the mirror above his dresser. It was of him at his high school graduation, flanked on either side by his parents, proud, beaming smiles on all of their faces. You’d always assumed they were both werewolves when you’d looked at that picture, and only ever noticed that Sungchan got his smile from his mom, and his nose from his dad. The height difference between his mom and dad never really registered to you, as Sungchan towered over both of them, but now you did see that his mom was almost a head taller than his dad. Not a trait intrinsic to either species, just more of a trend.

But then, his tone turned a little more pensive, “I just... don’t tell people at first because I get a whole slew of questions, from the mundane stuff like ‘How was it growing up with one werewolf parent and one human parent?’ Which like... I don’t know, it was like growing up with two parents? To the people who think that I’m some oddity and therefore they can just ask me completely unprompted about what my dick looks like. And then at the end of it, it doesn’t really matter anyway. I’m just some dumb mutt to them, no matter how you look at it.”

“Sungchan—” His name came out of your mouth instinctually, pained, as you could only imagine what he had experienced to ever be able to call himself that, even cynically as he was doing now.

“It’s okay. I don’t really care about those kinds of people.” He reassured you, offering a small smile. “That’s why I don’t waste my time on them anymore. I just say I’m a werewolf, and eventually they’ll find out more if they need to.”

“I’m sorry, that Shotaro just—”

“Y/N, it’s fine, seriously. I’m okay with you knowing. I know you’re not going to be weird about it. And Shotaro knew that too; I’m sure however it came up in conversation, it made sense for him to tell you.”

You thought about the context of when Shotaro revealed Sungchan’s lineage, wincing minutely. “Okay. Thanks.”

“You can ask me questions, I don’t mind since it’s you.” He then added teasingly, “Come on, Miss Magical Creatures Studies, I know you want to…”

“Not because I think you’re some oddity to be studied, but because I care and I want to understand more about you…” You prefaced your question. “Shotaro said that you still shift every full moon. Are your shifts any different than full werewolves?”

“From what I can tell watching other wolves shift, it’s not as painful, for one. So, bonus!” He said the last word with mock excitement. “The shift itself doesn’t last as long. And some wolves, especially younger ones who are going through their first shifts, tend to get kind of moodier in the days leading up to the full moon. I never got that. Just, everything is kind of… less for me.”

“Everything?” You asked, brows furrowed with confusion.

“My senses are more heightened than a human’s but less than the average werewolf, when I’m not shifted.”

“Ah.”

“And I probably wouldn’t fare great in a werewolf arm wrestling championship,” he tacked on lightheartedly.

“Damn, I had you signed up in one for this weekend,” you joked, clicking your tongue in the back of your throat in fake disappointment. “Put money down and everything.”

He played along, “Well, I guess I can still try for you.”

You smiled to yourself, then looked up at him as you took a deep breath. Whether or not you two were here because you cared about each other in different ways, you at least still cared about each other. And you’d be an idiot to throw out that kind of connection. You’d have to suck it up, hunker down, and connect with him on his terms.

“Thanks for being so open about this with me, Sungchan. I know it wasn’t your choice to tell me, and I know you already said it wasn’t a secret either. But still, I feel... very grateful that you would want to share any part of yourself like this with me.” You tried to pick your words carefully, to convey as much genuine emotion as you could without veering too far into romantic territory. You could still easily picture yourself saying something like this to Jaemin, or Shotaro. Maybe not Donghyuck, though.

“Ah, what’s that?” Sungchan squeezed his eyes shut, a bashful smile coming to his face.

“What’s what?” You asked with a breathy chuckle, feigning offense. “Am I not allowed a moment of sincerity?”

“No, you’re not.” He said it in an overly joking tone, so you knew that he wasn’t actually upset with you.

“And why not?” You mimicked his tone.

He sighed, teasing falling from his voice as he fully leaned back against his headboard, seeming to take you in for a few seconds before answering. “Not if you’re going to be looking at me like that when you’re being all sincere.”

“Like what?”

“Never mind.”

“No, no sir. You do not get to start an avenue of conversation like that and not finish it,” you pointed at him accusingly. “What am I looking at you like?”

The werewolf held your gaze steadily as he said, “Like you want something more.”

You felt your stomach drop as you rushed to get up from his bed, putting even more distance between the two of you. “I’m sorry, Sungchan. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He knew, he knew, he knew.

“Y/N, don’t get me wrong, please.” Sungchan stood up after you, grasping your hand before you could run out on instinct. His grip was loose so that you could leave if you wanted, but the presence was enough to let you know that he still wanted you there, to listen to him. His hand was warm as it held yours, but it burned like you’d grabbed red-hot metal. “I-I think you’re one of the most incredible, smart, fantastic people I’ve ever met. And I’m so grateful that you gave me a second chance.”

“But you don’t like me like that. Yeah, I can see where this is going.” You shook him off, searching the floor for your bag and shoes. This was going to be embarrassing, putting sneakers back on after getting rejected like that.

“No, I do.”

Sungchan’s words stopped you in your tracks, and you slowly turned back around to face him again. Your heart was a drum banging in your ears, you couldn’t trust that they weren’t all—your heart and your ears—playing tricks on you.

“You… what?” You were dumbfounded, staring up at him with a mixture of disbelief and thinly-veiled suspicion. You’d spent far too long convincing yourself that he just liked you as a friend to throw it all out over three words.

“I was going to ask you on another date, that night at the boba shop, I really was,” he explained. “But I realized just how lovely and wonderful you were. And I thought that you didn’t deserve... all the hatred that would come with it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I love my parents, but growing up I got to see firsthand just the worst sorts of people… The things that my parents would be called, that I would get called, by other humans and other werewolves. It’s gotten a lot better, but I mean, Jeno’s girlfriend got called a knotslut at the park out of nowhere. And you don’t deserve to have that be your life.”

You narrowed your eyes up at him. “You think you’re not worth it?”

It was his turn to be thrown off-guard. “What?”

“You think that you, and being with you, aren’t worth it?” You reiterated.

“I wasn’t really thinking of it like that,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head.

“Do you think that? That you’re not worth it?”

“Well now that you say it like that, no, I don’t think that.” He frowned thoughtfully, his brow set with determination.

“And, I know you didn’t mean it like this, Sungchan, but you took the choice away from me. For a very sweet reason, I acknowledge that. But you didn’t give me a say in the matter. Imagine how that makes me feel.” You sighed, watching guilt flicker across his face. “I’m not going to pretend like I know at all what it was like for you growing up. Or what it’s like now. But I can tell you that I want this, that I want you. I want to be there for you, just like I know you’d be there for me if something ever did happen.”

“Of course I would be,” he declared.

Taking a step closer to him, you tentatively let a familiar airiness return to your chest, chasing out the painful squeeze that had been suffocating you since February. “See? We’ll have each other, Sungchan. Someone calling me something won’t matter as long as you’ll be there with me afterwards. You don’t have to prevent everything bad ever from happening, just hold my hand afterwards until it’s all better, okay?”

“Okay,” he nodded resolutely. “I can do that.”

“And I’ll do the same for you. Deal?” You held your pinky finger out to him.

He hooked his with yours. “Deal.”

Sungchan lowered your connected hands, and you watched curiously as he unlinked his pinky, only to turn your hand over with both of his and trace gentle circles into the palm of your hand with his pointer finger.

“Y/N?” He murmured.

You snapped your focus back up to his face at the sound of his voice, trepid and unsure. He was still gazing down at your hands as you replied, “Yes?”

“I know we really can’t start over completely now, but…”

“If you say ‘friends’ right now, even as a joke, I’m going to kill you with my bare hands, half-werewolf strength be damned.” You whispered through gritted teeth.

He sputtered out a chuckle, shaking his head fondly and the circles on your palm never slowing. “No, no, I wouldn’t do that to you. That would be a terrible joke.”

“Good.”

“I was going to ask...” He inhaled shakily, finally drawing his eyes up to yours. “If we could try that date again?”

A smile pulled at the corners of your mouth, and you nodded quickly. “Yeah, Sungchan. I’d love that.”

Sungchan beamed at you, a heart-stopping, adorable, lopsided grin that now made your chest flutter with hope. “Okay! Thank you, thank you!”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his enthusiasm. “You’re welcome.”

Leaping to your feet at the knock that just came from your front door, you ran to answer it. You threw the door open, abuzz with excitement.

It was just about a week later, and you and Sungchan were finally trying that date again. You’d actually seen him once in the intermittent days, at a previously scheduled group movie night at Jeno and Jaemin’s place. The two of you were all knowing smiles and questionably accidental bumps and brushes of skin under the blanket that you shared that night.

But tonight Sungchan was in your hallway, smiling nervously down at you. “Hi.”

“Hi, Sungchan.” You fidgeted with your shirt. He had specifically told you to dress casually and comfortable, but you still felt weirdly underdressed, even seeing that he was in a t-shirt and jeans himself.

“These are for you,” he said quietly, bringing out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back.

As you accepted them from him, you immediately realized that they were made of paper, intricately folded tulips, lilies, and roses of all colors. You couldn’t help but let out a small gasp, thinking about how much time it must have taken him. “An origami bouquet. Oh, Sungchan…”

“I figured you had plenty of hearts by now…” He said as he flushed from his neck upwards.

“They’re beautiful.” You got on your tiptoes, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself as you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

His cheeks were bright pink as you turned around to set them down inside, then looked back to him expectantly. The werewolf led the way out to the parking lot, except you didn’t see his car anywhere around. There was a familiar old blue pickup truck, however, which he was walking towards.

“Your car in the shop or something?” You asked curiously. “Why are you driving Yuta’s truck?”

“Utility.” He answered cryptically, opening the passenger door for you.

“What does that mean?” You questioned with a chuckle, scooting into the middle of the bench seat.

You’d gotten your seatbelt situated by the time Sungchan had walked around and opened the driver’s side. He didn’t seem to have been expecting you to be in the middle, pausing for a second, and looking around flustered as he climbed into the truck too.

“It’s a surprise, like I said,” he muttered, fastening his own seatbelt and starting the truck.

Sungchan drove with one hand on the wheel, the other on his leg next to yours. You drummed your fingers on your own knee contemplatively.

“Sungchan?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I hold your hand?”

“Wh— Yeah, of course.” He laughed shakily as you laced your fingers with his. “You don’t need to ask me about stuff like that.”

“Well you’re so tense right now that I was afraid that if I just grabbed your hand, you might freak and crash the car.”

He cringed. “So you can tell?”

“Yeah, I can tell.” You patted his arm with your other hand. “What’s got you so wound up? It’s just me.”

“Well, yeah, it’s you,” he repeated. “I’ve already messed up so many times with you. I don’t want to fuck up again.”

You contemplated this for a second, watching the passing streetlights. “Think about it like this: Could you possibly fuck up again worse than our first date?”

“I hope not.”

“Then you’re already off to a great start.”

“Y/N, I think you need higher standards,” he said without an ounce of humor or joking in his tone.

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter at that. “Sungchan, you made me an entire origami bouquet and organized a whole night out to surprise me. I think my standards are pretty okay.”

“Alright, but you’ve got to promise that this is my last chance. Like, three strikes and I’m out. Seriously, if I was some other guy, I would’ve told you to throw me to the curb a long time ago.”

You looked over at him incredulously. “Are you seriously advocating against yourself right now? Is this some kind of reverse psychology flirting technique that I’ve never heard of?”

“No, I’m just not going to stop being a good friend because you’re on a date with me. I told you I would always look out for you, and I meant it, even if it’s not in my best interest.”

Nodding with a raised eyebrow, you decided to take his advice at face value. “Okay, your input is noted as part of the council of friends’ round table on my new guy.”

You saw a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Good.”

“So, did you tell Shotaro what we were doing?” You asked, curious now that the topic of friends had been brought up.

“I told him we were hanging out.”

“Did you tell him it was a date?”

“No. Did you?”

“If I did, do you think you would have gotten out of your apartment unscathed?” You snorted.

“Fair point.”

The car ride passed with mostly idle chitchat, until he made a turn away from the city center, off onto a back road that you were unfamiliar with. The buildings gave way to trees, the streetlights being replaced only with moonlight and the headlights of the truck or any lone car that you would pass occasionally. A while later, the asphalt became a dirt road, the trees around you getting thicker and thicker. You looked around in interest as he slowed the truck to a stop in a clearing.

“We’re here?” You asked, looking over at him. Your eyes had long adjusted to the nighttime, and you could clearly make out his features.

“We’re here,” he confirmed with a nod, turning the vehicle off.

Sungchan climbed out, helping you down with a hand, and you immediately knew why he’d had both of you dress casually. You were in the middle of the woods, being led to the back of the truck by the hand by your date. He opened the tailgate, and let go of your hand to hop up into the empty bed.

“Wait there,” he requested, now well and good towering over you.

You nodded.

He retrieved a large duffel bag from the truck bed, and you looked curiously at everything he brought out of it. Pillow after pillow, blanket after blanket. The truck bed soon looked like a bed bed, and Sungchan came back over to plop down on the tailgate, toeing his shoes off and setting them aside at the end. He gestured to the bedding with little fanfare.

“All done!”

You hopped up next to him, pulling your shoes off as well and putting them away next to his. Looking at him with a knowing smirk, you nodded to the fact that the two of you were still sitting up. “Now what, Sung?”

“Ah, you’re going to make me spell it out?” He rubbed the back of his neck, ducking his head awkwardly.

“No,” you laughed. “I’m not.”

He took that as his cue to lay down first, leaving an open space right beside him. You settled into his side with no hesitation, resting your head on his chest as he pulled a final fluffy blanket over the two of you. Being a half-werewolf, Sungchan was pretty warm, but you were grateful for the extra comfort anyway.

Up above you two was a gorgeous expanse of a night sky. A waxing gibbous glowed down at you, stars twinkling and winking in and out at irregular intervals.

“It’s so peaceful…” He murmured quietly, shifting under you, still settling in.

“I don’t know, it’s kind of scary out here…”

Sungchan moved to sit up slightly, looking down at you with concern. “Really? You think so?”

“Yeah, what if there’s wolves?”

“Oh my god you’re so annoying,” he groaned, even as he readjusted his arms to hold you closer.

You, meanwhile, were giggling maniacally at your incredible joke, hiding your face in his shirt as you tried to recover. “You mean I’m the funniest person you know.”

“In your dreams.”

Looking back up at the sky, you pointed to a random speck of light. “Do you know what star that is?”

“Which one?” Sungchan asked, craning his head to try to get in your line of sight.

“I don’t know, any of them.” You dropped your hand back down to his front. “You’re in astronomy club, tell me about them, you big Earth Science nerd. Which I say with great affection and fondness.”

“Okay, so you see the Moon?”

“That’s not a star. I do know that.”

He chuckled, which you felt underneath your cheek. “I figured as much. So, starting at the Moon, if you go due North—” he pointed, and you tried your best to follow the path of his index finger. “The first and brightest star you can see. See it?”

“Yep!” You nodded, seeing the exact star he was talking about.

“Then go the right, just a little, there’s a pair of twin stars, see them?”

“Mm… mhm! Yes!”

“Okay, down, and over to the right some more, we’re tracing out the top of a head, then we’re going back up, there’s another pair of twin stars, you see?”

You squinted, losing the top of the head he was talking about, but finally found the second set of twin stars he’d mentioned. “Yeah, found them!”

“Cool. Straight down from that pair, we’re going to find one, two, then over to the left to get the chin, over and up to get the other cheek, and up to round out the head.”

You nodded, vaguely able to picture what he was talking about. “Okay… so whose head was that?”

“Oh, I get to teach Miss MCS Major something!” Sungchan teased.

“Interdisciplinary major…” You reminded him under your breath.

“So that was Lykos, the great wolf in the sky. As in, lycanthropy.”

“Back when scientists thought werewolves were humans with an affliction that could be passed on to other humans. The quote ‘condition’ they were diagnosed with was lycanthropy.” You easily pulled a basic definition of it from class. “Of course we know now that’s not true. Like witches, werewolves are an entirely different species, not just a variety of human. And there’s never been any credible account of a werewolf turning a human into a werewolf.”

“Why is it that humans just think everything is also a human, even when it very clearly is not?”

“Well, if I were to give us humans benefit of the doubt? Uh, to relate to it? Empathy? Recognition of yourself in the other? I mean, it’s better than labeling everything a monster and hunting it down. Which, we also did a bit of.”

“Us monsters did plenty hunting of you guys, too.”

“You say as if you’re not also half-human.”

“Hey,” he frowned down at you suspiciously. “Are you recognizing yourself in the other with me right now? I think we should really save that for the second date—”

“Oh, shut up!” You gave his front a smack as you let out an indignant scoff.

Sungchan was kicking his legs under the blanket as he laughed from his stomach, and when you looked up at him, you saw his eyes squeezed shut tight as he cackled. You watched him with a smitten smile, unable to even pretend to be annoyed for any longer as his guffaws petered out to chuckles then to giggles until he eventually sobered up, and settled his gaze with a heart-stopping grin on you.

The two of you were quiet for a moment, just looking at each other, then he broke the eye contact, turning his eyes back up to the stars. “Uhm— I didn’t finish telling you about Lykos.”

You settled back into your spot, and with your ear to his chest, you could hear that his heartbeat was faster than it’d been before. You wondered if he was thinking the same thing about yours in that moment.

“So, Lykos,” Sungchan picked up where he’d left off before. “You can easily find him by starting at the moon to find his left ear. According to werewolf stories, Lykos was the very first werewolf that we’re all descended from. Because he was so great and powerful, once he passed, his soul ascended to be in the stars to watch over all of his descendants.”

“Wow…” You looked at the stars harder, willing Lykos’ shape to be a little more visible to you than before.

“In astronomy, though, the two twin stars that make up his left ear are called LK 1C04 and LK 2C04. They’re both red giants.”

“Are they going to explode any time soon?”

“Stars are kind of always exploding,” he explained enthusiastically. “They’re perpetually combusting and performing nuclear fusion. Well, most stars, if they haven’t run out of fuel yet.”

“What about when they run out of fuel then?”

“Depends on how big they are. LK 1C04 and 2C04 are both red giants, so when they run out of fuel, they’ll turn into white dwarves. So instead of being a burning ball of gas, they’ll just be emitting a very faint light from the remaining energy leftover from their previous nuclear fusion reactions that they can no longer perform.”

“So they don’t get to go out with a bang.”

“No, not really.” Sungchan pointed up at the sky again. “Okay, you remember Lykos’ chin?”

“Yes…”

“So that’s actually the end of the tail of a squirrel, according to some dryad traditions, or a gecko in some human ones.”

Sungchan sketched out the next constellation for you, then relayed the accompanying folk tale. Some scientific factoids would be interspersed too, and you loved hearing the enthusiasm in his voice as he told you about something he was very clearly interested in. And at some point, with his legs tangled up in yours, your hand curled around his waist, your cheek pressed against his chest, his hand casually rubbing up and down your back underneath your top as he still spoke so eagerly, you found your attention slipping away from black holes and how legends of ancient wyvern society said this or that about some other constellation. You were suddenly grabbing him by the collar with two hands and yanking him over to look at you.

“Y/N?” He asked, absolute bewilderment in his features.

“Jung Sungchan, I’m going to say this once, and please don’t take this the wrong way,” you murmured, holding eye contact with him very seriously. “You’re very attractive when you talk about things that you’re passionate about, and if you don’t kiss me right now I think I’m going to explode.”

Sungchan didn’t need to be told twice, reaching up to cup your cheek. Despite your rather blunt and unromantic request, he still tenderly guided your lips to his. Your eyes fluttered shut as you melted into the kiss, the grip you had on his collar relaxing. His mouth was soft as he moved it ever so slightly against yours. His thumb stroked over your cheekbone, the hand on your back pulling you even closer to him. One of your hands grabbed his waist to anchor yourself down to something on Earth.

It ended all too soon for your liking, though. You were pretty sure you could kiss Jung Sungchan forever. He pressed one more quick kiss to the corner of your mouth before leaning back to drink you in.

“You’re so beautiful…” he murmured, stroking your cheek again.

“Sung?” You whispered.

“Hm?”

“Do you want to kiss me again?”

He nodded, and you leaned forward to bump your nose against his. A giddy smile spread across your face.

“Good. Me too.”

sequel :･ﾟ✧｡･:･*

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[toomanystoriessolittletime]

A hard bargain

Summary: You knew how he could get when he was focus on a case. But he forgot your ten year wedding anniversary, leaving you sitting alone over the dinner you had prepared to celebrate. And even though you were sad, disappointed, you couldn't find it in you to be mad at him when you woke up with him in your bed the next morning.

Pairing: Tim Rockford x fem!wife reader

Wordcount: 2k

Rating: E

Warnings: angst, fluff, kissing, smut (unprotected sex (though it's more implied than actually written out)), cockwarming, feelings

A/N: So this happened lmao I can't believe I wrote a fic about a character in a commercial

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics to get notified for new fic updates

You stared at the candle as it flickered once, twice before it finally went out. Your chin rested on your hand as you leaned with your elbow on the fully decorated table, the dinner, his favourite meal, cold and your glass of wine full, the bottle almost empty. 

You closed your eyes, breathing in deeply, releasing a long sigh as you exhaled, your eyes finding the clock across the room when they opened. 

00:34 am. 

Your husband had officially forgotten about your anniversary. 

Again. 

You did not ask for much. You knew he loved his job. He was one of the best detectives in his department. But he had the tendency to get lost in his cases. Sometimes you did not see each other for days, the only memory his arms around your body as he slipped into bed long after midnight, only to be gone again by the time your alarm went off in the morning. 

But you had seen his calendar for today. Your ten year wedding anniversary marked in big letters on top with dinner marked at 8 pm sharp. 

You and Tim had met twelve years ago on a blind date you had both been set up on by your closest friends. The rest, as they say, was history. 

You knew he loved his job, yet you couldn’t help feeling disappointed that he did not even talk to you today apart from two text messages, the messages you had sent him in the last three hours not even marked as read. Maybe he finally had a breakthrough in his latest case and forgot… No. That still wouldn’t excuse today. 

Emptying the glass of wine you got up from your chair, setting the empty glass down on the table, not bothering to clean the table. You shook your head, huffing once before you went out of the dining room, switching the lights off on your way upstairs into the bedroom.

You took a quick shower, drinking a big glass of water and taking a painkiller for the headache in the morning before you went to bed, cuddling your naked body against his pillow under the covers before you fell asleep.

—-

It was almost 3 am when he came home last night. He was so close to finishing his case, he could feel it. He was in a tunnel, focused on the evidence on everything he had unravelled. 

He had only seen the words ten year anniversary on his calendar as he was searching for something on his desk. The immense guilt he felt towards you immediately was so overwhelming he had to sit down for a moment. 

You were the love of his life. The best thing that ever happened to him. 

And he was constantly letting you down. 

He couldn’t even remember the last time he had kissed you. Really kissed you. Held you. Made love to you. 

Pulling the first drawer of his desk open he grabbed the little velvet box with the ring he had found for you months ago, opening it to look at the diamond ring. 

When he proposed all those years ago he did not have the money to give you the big ring he had imagined for you. The ring you deserved. Even though you insisted the ring he proposed with was perfect, having only rarely taken it off since he put it on you, he wanted to give you something… new. Something bigger. Something to show you how much he loved you and how far the both of you had come. 

He had found the kitchen and dining room with the evidence of the night you had planned for the both of you, feeling more guilty with every minute he cleaned the table off. 

He took a shower in the downstairs bathroom, not wanting to wake you up.

And then, once he was in bed, he had watched you sleep. Your face relaxed, hugging his pillow against your chest, because he had not been here to keep you close, to keep you warm. 

—-

You woke up to the sun shining in your face. 

Slowly blinking your eyes open you sighed quietly, thankful that it was the weekend and you had nowhere to be. Slowly you turned to lie on your back, startled when you found Tim sitting against the headboard looking down at you. He looked tired, exhausted, guilty. 

“Good morning sweetheart,” he said quietly and you sighed. 

“Hey,” you mumbled, still so very tired. 

“How mad are you?” he asked, and you huffed. 

“Too tired to be mad. Ask again in two hours,” you hummed before you pulled yourself up to cuddle against him. His arm came around you as he slipped down to lay on the bed, pulling you against his chest. You felt his lips on your forehead.

“Don’t think you off the hook Rockford,” you mumbled sleepily, lightly slapping his chest. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he hummed. 

“And you better be here when I wake up again to beg for my forgiveness.”

—-

It was your turn to watch him sleep when you woke up again. The clock on his bedside table told you that it was almost noon, yet you could not bring yourself to get out of bed. You were comfortable, you were warm and Tim was here and you knew you should be mad but fuck you had missed him. 

You slowly turned in his arms, your chin resting on his chest as you looked up at him, your fingers tracing invisible lines over the thin shirt he was wearing. 

“Still too tired to be mad?” he asked sleepily and you smiled softly as he blinked one eye open to look down at you. 

“Not mad. Maybe a little sad. But I know how you get when you work and…” you sighed and he shook his head, his hand taking yours that was resting on his chest. 

“Don’t make excuses for me. I fucked up. We’ve been married for ten years sweetheart. Can you believe that?” he smiled. 

“Well you only have been present for eight of those years…” you teased and he groaned. 

“Ouch. I deserved that.”

You hummed before you kissed his chest, just over his heart. 

“I love you,” he mumbled and you smiled. 

“I love you too,” you pulled yourself up to kiss him. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his hands running under the covers and up your naked back. 

“I…. I think I know how you can make it up to me….” you mumbled against his lips and he smiled. 

“Yeah?” he asked. You nodded, sucking his bottom lip between your teeth as his hands wandered down your body, pulling you on top of him so you were straddling him. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you pulled yourself up, the covers slipping from your body, looking down at him with dark eyes. 

“How did I get so fucking lucky?” he asked himself and you grinned down at him as he pushed himself up, his lips kissing up your neck. You closed your eyes, tilting your head to the side to give him more access. Your hand pulled at his shirt, before you slipped it off his body, throwing it to the floor. 

You could feel him hard beneath you, only the boxers he was wearing separating you two. 

“Tim…” you moaned, your hands in his hair as he kissed himself down, his lips closing around one of your nipples, sucking softly. You slowly moved your hips on top of him, grinding against his hard cock. 

“I can feel you soaking through my boxers. Fuck…” he groaned, biting into your breast, marking you. His hands were on your ass, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as you moved on top of him. 

“Fuck baby….” you arched your back, searching for some friction. Some relief. 

“Need you,” you whined, kissing him hard. One of your hands went down between your bodies, pulling his cock out of his boxers, your fingers wrapping around his length. 

“Sweetheart….” he closed his eyes, his forehead falling against your shoulder. You gathered some saliva in your mouth, letting it drop between your bodies, making him groan as it landed on his cock before you slowly began to pump him. 

He looked up before he brought one of his hands up, two fingers dipping into your mouth before he slipped them between your bodies, finding your clit. 

“Shit, you’re soaked,” he hissed, his fingers slipping between your folds, two fingers entering you slowly, moving deeper and deeper. 

“Think you can take my cock?” he asked, his voice hoarse. 

“Please,” you whimpered.

You let go of his cock, pushing yourself up as his fingers pulled out of you, lining his cock up against your pussy, before you slowly sank down on him. 

You closed your eyes, parting your lips as you let your head fall back, feeling every inch of him enter you until you were sitting on his lap with his cock deep inside of you. 

“Look at me,” he hummed and you opened your eyes, looking down at him. 

“I love you,” he said, tears in the corners of his eyes. You smiled, your hands coming to rest on his cheeks before you kissed him. 

“I love you too,” you smiled against his lips.

“I have something for you,” he said and you frowned. 

“Now?” you chuckled. 

“Yeah. Cause if you move right I will cum immediately. I need a second,” he groaned and you giggled. He reached behind him, blindly searching for something until he hummed and you sucked your bottom lip in when you saw the little velvet box in his hand. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday. And I can’t promise it won’t happen again. But I’m… I will try. Because you deserve the best version of myself. You… I just love you so fucking much and I want to do better,” he said and you kissed him again. 

“I knew what I was getting into when I married you, baby. But I won’t complain if you decide to maybe be home a little more in the future,” you winked and he chuckled. 

“Deal,” he said, kissing your nose. 

He opened the little box then, making you gasp as you saw the beautiful ring inside of it. 

“I wanted to give you a little upgrade for our ten year anniversary,” he said carefully, watching your reaction. You were speechless, looking at the ring and at him. He had joked about giving you a diamond once he could afford one but you had always told him that you do not need diamonds. You had him, and that was enough. 

“Baby…” you whispered. 

“Can I put it on you?” he asked. You nodded. He took your hand, pulling your wedding band and engagement ring off before he pulled the new ring out of the box and slipped it on your finger, followed by your wedding band. Bringing your hand up he kissed your fingers and you felt a tear run down your cheek as you looked at your hand. 

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered in awe. 

“I’m glad,” he kissed your cheek, his arms wrapping around your body, to get you closer, wanting to feel your skin against his. You clenched around him, making him groan. 

“Am I forgiven yet?” he asked and you hummed thoughtfully. 

“I don’t know Mr. Rockford. Diamonds are great but….”

“But?” he grinned. 

“An orgasm or two would maybe make me forget about spending our anniversary alone…” you said. 

“And breakfast after,” you added, making him grin. 

“Pancakes,” you said seriously.

“You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Rockford,” he said. You shrieked when he manhandled you, managing to stay inside you until you were laying on your back with him hovering above you.

“But I accept,” he winked, before he began to move. 

[half-oz-eddie]

"You know what's my favorite part of listening to a song on repeat?"

"What's that?" Steve curiously asked.

Billy didn't respond immediately. He continued to nod his head to the music, exhaling the smoke from his cigarette. "You always know it's coming back. You can listen to it as many times as you want and it never leaves you."

Steve could tell this sudden analogy was coming from a place of hurt. He glanced over at the calendar on his wall.

Oh. That's what this is all about. It was Billy's mother's birthday.

Her birthday fell right before Valentine's Day, and Billy remembered how she used to tell him that he was her greatest gift, and her little valentine.

She never wanted presents. She only wanted him to dance with her. And every year, he did. Until the dancing stopped one day, because mommy would be a little too sad and tired, and then, mommy was gone.

Billy had nobody to dance with for a long time.

"I like this song." Steve replied. "Y'wanna dance?"

"I don't dance, Steve." He spat.

Liar.

"You don't? Or you can't?"

Billy cut his eyes at Steve. "I never said I couldn't."

Steve let out a melodramatic sigh, folding his arms and turning away. "Well, I don't believe you. You're probably a terrible dancer."

"No I'm not!" Billy argued. "I dance way better than you do!" He stood, emphatically waving his arms as he shouted. "All you do is this stupid little shimmy and two-step." Billy demonstrated, causing Steve to laugh.

"Hey, my stupid little shimmy looks pretty good when you do it."

"I told you I know how to dance."

Steve's smile faded as his expression turned serious. " Then...why don't you want to dance with me?"

Billy shrugged. "I don't...dance with anyone, okay?" He painfully admitted. "I haven't since my mom left."

"I understand. I guess I'll do my stupid shimmy by myself since you don't wanna teach me any better dance moves." Steve stood, shaking his hips."

Billy scoffed. "You're not even on beat!" He grabbed Steve. "I'm gonna show you one time, so pay attention."

Steve nodded.

Billy replayed the song and held onto Steve's hips. "Follow my lead."

"Okay."

"One...two...one...two." They two-stepped, following the beat.

Steve decided to drop the act. and grabbed onto Billy, taking the lead.

"Oh, you sly son of a bitch." Billy smirked. "You knew how to dance all along."

"Course I did, babe. My parents made me take ballroom dancing classes as a kid."

Billy wrapped his arms around Steve's neck and they kissed as they swayed side to side.

Maybe having a new dance partner wasn't the end of the world, after all.

For @darleenjade ❤️ Happy Valentine’s Day~

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXX. “gut feeling”

parts: previous / next

plot: in an untoward evening, Bruce gets protective.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, violence, drugging, aggression, description of injury, angst, nausea/vomit, basically Gotham being Gotham

words: 6.7k

a/n: oooowieeee Bruce is really starting to show his more flustered side 🤭

PHOTOS: EMT Says Bruce Wayne “Lucky to be Alive" After Harrowing Crash on Tower Grounds

You'd been walking the sidewalk just before Rai's when you got the news alert. Even with his warning, one that left you for a few seconds when first staring at the phone, it was like being pummeled by a brick. Tethered to your screen, flipping through the photos TMZ posted like they were scripture. After a few heavy exhales, you gathered yourself enough to walk inside. The familiar 'Welcome in!' before a double-take. "Y/N? What are you doing here? You said you left?"

In all honesty you'd forgotten about your last conversation, the last moments before tragedy, and hadn't prepared for what you'd say to people outside of what you were to tell Mar. You did your best to laugh it off, but he wasn't taking it. He walked around the register and stood in front of you, right by the Oreos. "Always been able to read you, friend. Tell me, what's on your mind?"

Ding! The door opened to a cluster of women and Rai gave you a playful finger wag. "Foiled this time."

You joined half of the pack as they perused the drink aisle, then the other that clustered by the deli. He was almost out of tabbouleh, and the second best thing in your opinion—baklava—was being thirsted after by the two people in front. You decided to get some pita and hummus to go.

Rai didn't have time to talk to you with the line of people behind you, and for a brief moment you thought about staying—but your bed was calling your name, so you kept it simple. "I decided to stay for a few more weeks, at the very least. I'll be back soon for more tabbouleh." You winked at him, smiled, and found yourself right back where you had rotted the past 36 hours.

Rai sent you a text about fifteen minutes later. Heard you're a big journalist now girl! How does it feel to be published?

The message stopped you in your tracks; it was the first time someone had mentioned the interview without also mentioning Bruce Wayne. It brought tears to your eyes. He was the first person truly interested in your experience with it, about how it was just a project, not the person, that was the cool part.

I'm staying a bit longer for the election. Especially with how much traction my interview got, I think I carved out some legitimacy for myself to maybe make a difference reporting on the mayoral campaign.

He must've gotten swamped because your next text from him wasn't until an hour later. Whatever keeps you near Gotham and tabbouleh makes me happy. Bouleh on me next visit.

It was a running joke how often you ordered it; it was almost a hyperfixation, the flavor of it orienting you to time and place whenever things got harried. You learned a few months after being here that you needed some routine and, well. That was yours. The glow of your iPad screen was also an ever-present friend:

SEARCH: Marian Grange

Google showed that Grange was the former district attorney, a big-time lawyer taking on some very high profile cases in her time. A handful of years ago she had made her way to Gotham—notably, with just enough years of residency to run for Mayor this calendar year. Since coming to the city, she hadn't taken on any more cases, submitting wholly to the pursuit of... socializing? She was often pictured with the elite, holding hands with a beaming smile, endlessly pictured throughout her public-facing Instagram going to various fundraisers and luncheons. Per her campaign website, she wanted to stop the 'targeting' of the city's rich. Out of the many filler words on her 'issues' page, that was the only information you could glean.

SEARCH: Sebastian Hady

Hady's 'issues' page was a bit more complex: in addition to his position of taxing the churches, he wanted to put out an immediate hit on the batman. He'd attempted to run for mayor in the past two elections, falling short of winning enough votes to make the final matchup, and it was clear why: his politics were inconsistent. Tax the churches, but don't tax the wealthy; increase taxes on the poor, so they could 'bootstrap' their way out of their 'unfortunate predicament'. As out of touch as Grange was, Hady made your stomach flip. He'd been a political science major, with no real experience due to being denied access to Gotham University's Public Administration graduate program. Outside of running incessant campaign ads on late-night television and blaring his oversaturated frame across the city streets, he'd mostly laid low.

SEARCH: Lincoln March

BRRT BRRT. BRRT BRRT. "Mar?"

"Have you seen the news? I didn't have any reception in the lounge."

Every time she went to the Iceberg Lounge you wanted to hold her by her collar and give her a desperate talking-to. You gripped the phone tighter. "It's dangerous, you know the type of shady shit that's gone down there the past few years?"

"So you haven't seen it." She slurped away on a drink. “Sour as hell.”

Ding! You pulled your phone away from your ear to see the TMZ article. Your gut cinched.

"It's all anyone's talking about. People are getting into massive arguments on Scypher about it, it's fucking crazy."

"Arguments?" You bit the inside of your cheek.

She scoffed on the other line. "You're joking, right? Some people are saying he was DOA and had to be revived!"

A lurching clump of bile hurtled into your mouth, forcing you to double over and squeeze your mouth shut. Everything about that sentence haunted you, from the almost incredulous way she delivered it to Gotham's colloquial use of shorthand when describing being killed. He might've been fucking dead? Fuck, fuck...

"Hello? Y/N? Hello?" She groaned. "You're acting weird. Haven't even told me why you're still in the city."

"Don't you think it's a heavy fucking thing to talk about like that? You can't throw around someone being, someone being fucking, dead!" You were more shrill than you meant to be, but you didn't exactly have the resources to control your tone while you clutched your stomach and held your breath, not wanting to taste the vomit you'd just swallowed.

"Shiiit, I thought you didn't like him." If she turns this into a conversation about dating...

"I already saw it earlier."

"Think it'll interfere with your interview?" The sound of background whistling and whooping created an unsettling soundscape.

"I really don't care if it does."

"Pretty rude of the guy, in my opinion. Stealing your thunder like that?"

She's drunk. She doesn't know any better. Hell, might even be wasted. Still, your hand shook with anger to the point you had to set the phone on your comforter and scoot back from it. You pressed your palms flat against your mouth to keep from screaming. Screaming what, you didn't know. You were beginning to understand what it was like for Bruce to talk to you as you struggled to speak through gritted teeth. "That's really disrespectful, Mar."

"I'm jooookingg!" She cackled and you heard a clatter. "Oh shit hahaha, my phone. Hello? Still there?"

Don't want to be. "Yeah. Do you need me to call you an Uber?"

"Nahh, this guy's taking me home."

"What about Gianna?" She always hung around Gianna; you'd only met her once when Mar got picked up, and only for about five seconds, but after a brief look over her socials (and an impressive LinkedIn) you were inclined to think she was a good influence. Gianna had to be with her.

"I haven't asked her to be exclusive yet, you know that." Her words were beginning to slur.

"Who's the guy?"

"Some dude I met at the bar, he's super fuckin' rad."

"I'm sending an Uber to your location. Come up to my apartment, we'll spend the night together." Did she always leave with someone when she didn't go out with you? You pictured her being preyed upon, studied in the pulsing lights of the club. It made you sick.

"Okay bossy. No." She giggled to herself. "His apartment is like half a mile north, he's walking me." She hung up. Jesus. You threw on your sneakers, grabbed a taser, and raced outside, scanning your apartment fob to access the free-use bike garage. Iceberg Lounge was about a fifteen minute walk south.

It was terrifying biking on the streets of Gotham. Half the street lamps didn't work, and the drivers were all fiendish assholes who drove like they wanted to smear bodies on the pavement. You'd almost thought yourself lost until you spotted a glint of her neon pink cami.

"Hey!" You tried not to sound too menacing; maybe this was a rare good guy in Gotham, and he was gonna tuck her in safely to his spare bed and make sure she had a nice, non-laced drink of water at her bedside. No fucking way. "Hey,"

"Y/N?" Mar looked shocked at your arrival.

You dismounted your bike and grabbed her hand. When you did, the man grabbed your forearm. You ignored him and spoke directly to her. “Let’s head back to my place.”

”Interrupting our date.” The man laughed, but it was indignant. He still wasn’t loosening his grip on your arm. Getting a closer look at Mar, she was disheveled; her straps were sliding off her arm, exposing the top of her bra; her belt was halfway undone, yet her lipstick was pristine.

“We have a rule to not go home with people when we’re drunk.” You flashed him a smile, his green eyes dark and menacing. Why do I always notice the eyes?

“Sounds like BS to me.” He tried to laugh again when he said it, which only pissed you off. He probably thought he was one of the ‘good guys’ and didn’t understand why no one ever called him for a second date. You snaked your left arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to you. A quick once-over noted him wearing a thick leather jacket with white cuffs, and dark blue jeans with rips in the knees. His shoes were a nondescript pair of white Nikes. “You seem perfectly sober, interesting.” Mar was unsteady in your grasp, her weight leaning slightly too much into you, her knees wobbly. Did he fucking slip her something?

You swatted away his hand, which had a butterfly effect; he swiftly grabbed your ponytail, yanking on it so you were removed from between them. He grabbed her by the elbow as you stuttered back, tears springing into your eyes from the tension of having your hair yanked. He couldn’t quite walk as fast as he wanted to, her legs catching on every crack in the sidewalk. In this city that meant a long, treacherous walk anywhere, and an opportunity for you to strike.

You pulled out your taser and ran closer to him before slamming your finger on the trigger. A small catch of electricity came from the tip, then faltered. It’s not charged. Fuck. He turned toward the nearest apartment complex, and you lunged for his neck. He was tall, but not too tall, and there were a few steps he’d climbed to the doorway. You were able to wrap your palm around half of his neck, pulling him down hard on the concrete. Before he’d even smacked the ground you jumped down the stairs and slammed your foot into his balls, as hard as you could, your left foot skipping atop the concrete with the force as it struggled to balance. He cursed, spit flying out of his mouth as he clutched his groin. Mar was barely holding onto the siderails at this point, confirming she’d been slipped something. His legs thrashed wildly, his grunts filling the empty sidewalk. He caught your ankle and you fell back, smacking your head against the bottom stair. For a few seconds all you could do was breathe, the air knocked out of you and your vision blurry, stilted. He rose to his knees, and you scrambled back. By the grace of whatever God may or may not exist, you were able to get back on your feet before he did. The transition made you wildly dizzy, and before you knew it you fell to your knees again.

Mar was barfing off the edge of the railing, crying. You figured she had no idea what was going on, just knew that it was bad; the first and only time you’d been roofied was out with Mar one night. You’d tasted your drink and within a few minutes you were feeling woozy. Make it ten minutes later, and the room was a glowing haze of smoke and mirror—literally. You were seeing double everywhere you looked, locked in your own cage of whatever someone else did to you. Thankfully Mar had enough experience to notice the initial signs of being drugged (at least, in someone else) and had immediately called an Uber and notified the staff of the bar. She’d tended to you the rest of that night, and when you woke up her eyes were buggy and bloodshot. “I stayed up all night watching you. I didn’t want you to like, choke in your sleep or something.”

You attempted to raise your head, but it was pounding, whiting out your vision when you tried to support it with just your neck. You grabbed your phone and managed to open it to your phone app, but he smacked it away. You watched through bleary eyes as it soared into a bit of bark dust beneath some shrubs, landing face-down. All you saw was a gentle emanation of dark blue light. It called someone.

“HELP!” You shouted, hoping that whoever it was would hear you. Most of your contacts (you didn’t have too many) had access to your location information. You’d gotten scared after a few harrowing abduction stories in the Gazette and sent a mass text to the people in it with your info. Someone would call, and it would be fine. “CALL 911.”

Mar slumped to the ground and balanced her head against the railing, tears streaming down her cheeks. This part of town was deceptively barren, of course it was. The man grabbed you by the ankles and you screamed, jerking your legs until one broke free. “HELP!”

A part of you thought it would be okay—until you remembered Batman wasn’t on patrol tonight. Your heart sank as you watched him latch both hands onto your other ankle… and then he dropped you. He turned and walked halfway between the road and the apartment doors—why wasn’t anyone coming out to help?—and faced you, his mouth slobbery and in a slack grin. He shook out his body and flexed his fingers, taking a moment to hype himself up. You tried to sit up again, grinding your molars with the effort, but you nearly blacked out. The only thing that came to mind were the earthquake drills from elementary school, of hiding under your desk with your hands over your head to protect from falling debris. He was falling debris. Inevitable. You wrapped your hands around your aching head. Pressed your elbows together in front of your nose. Tucked your chin, barely, to protect your neck. He took off in a sprint for you, his sneakers connecting brutally with your thigh. You screamed, and he kicked it again. And again. And again. “See how you like it, fucking bitch.”

Mar screamed behind you; weak, but undeniable. “Stop it,” She stumbled toward you as his foot barreled into you with unbridled ferocity. She grabbed onto his arm and he shoved her off. She reached back out, her nails digging into his skin. He shouted and shoved her hard against the railing, turning his attention on her. She had enough bearings now to dodge a single hit, rolling out of the way before another landed square between her shoulders. You were busy incrementally lifting your head from the cement, centimeter by slow centimeter sitting upright. The man wiped the arm of his jacket against his mouth, muttering. “Bullshit fucking cunts.” He slammed his foot between her legs, and she yelped, rolling over onto her stomach. A wave of nausea stormed through you.

She was slowly rising, but he slammed his fists into her back and she buckled. Her face hit the pavement so hard you hoped her nose wasn’t broken. She started coughing, stringy spit dribbling off her lips. At this point he turned back to you with a sneer. “Guess I’m getting double tonight.”

Sick freak. The pain was edging out your fear, and resignation was teetering towards fruition. You only needed a few more minutes to get your bearings. Long enough to heat up a fucking hot pocket. He slapped you across the face, and you fell back to exactly where you were. Flat against the ground. Thundering head. Unable to sit up, arrested by searing pain.

The sound of skin slamming into skin disoriented you. Thudding, smacking sounds pierced the air, peppered with the man’s grunts and yelps. He sounded like a hit dog. What, the fuck? You shoved your palms against the ground to support your weight, but it wasn’t working. You physically grabbed your jaw and the back of your head and tilted it up, holding it there to watch the scene unfolding a few feet in front of you. A horrible hollow sound echoed just as the man was hurled against the opposite railing, his chest nearly touching his shin as his body bent around the metal. His opponent was adept at fighting; fully hooded with a black shirt wrapped around the bottom half of his face, a thick, baggy jacket bulking his frame, gauze wrapped around his knuckles. You couldn’t make out his full face, but the feeling you got told you all you needed. It wasn’t quite fear, not quite comfort, or peace, but an indisputable sensation of safety. You let your head fall back, too fast, as you sobbed cries of relief.

The mystery man kept trying to fight back, but not a single hit landed. You saw it all in the lower half of your vision. Saw the guy try, fight, and run, and the other stoop down to Mar and help her sit up. Once she was in a safe, neutral position he turned to you—Bruce’s eyes were framed with black, paint smearing down his cheekbones and into his brows. He took your arm and attempted to pull you up to the same position, but you squealed. “I hit my head,”

He sat back like he was calculating something for a moment before cupping his left hand at the base of your head. Holding you like an infant, he slowly tilted you upright. He held his hand just above your neck a few seconds longer. “Gonna let go.” Tentatively, he did, and you resisted your torso’s urge to flop back down.

A car pulled up right then, one you hadn’t seen before. It was flashy, but not a sportscar. He noticed your eyes follow it and lowered his voice. “It’s mine. I’ll take you both home.” He paused, gesturing with his head. “Do you know her?”

You tried to nod but you felt like your head would snap off your neck. “Yeah. My friend. I think, she was drugged.” The pulsing in your thigh was violent, and you worried you might have fractured something. He gave you a once-over, then looked back to her. “I’ll help her in first.”

Bruce tried to help her stand, but she shook her head. “Y/N,” she called out weakly, moving to her hands and knees to crawl toward you. She managed to make her way to your side, panting with the effort. “Who is, why,”

Shit. “Um, he’s my friend. I called him when, when the guy, shit,” Your head was in agony. You struggled to form coherent thoughts, let alone speech. How, clear is she? Recognize? Him? Disguise?

“I trust you.” Her voice no stronger than a whisper. She reached her arms out to him, and he walked over to help her up. He wrapped his arm around her back and to her armpit, hoisting her up and steadying her to the car. The side door opened as he walked up, and he helped her sidle in. He waited a few seconds while she adjusted, then grabbed the seatbelt. You heard him say something, but couldn’t… only if you want maybe? About the seatbelt?

You blinked and he was holding out his hands for you. The scarred, dirty hands that now had traces of fresh blood from reopened knuckle scabs soaking through the gauze. It made you faint thinking about him at the… Arkham. All at once you sat up, the motion sending you reeling. “Fuck!” Your hands trembled as pain ravaged your head, all the blood simultaneously leaving and filling it. “No, you shouldn’t, fuck,”

He squatted to your eye-level. His stare didn’t waver once. “You’re, recovering, I don’t, thanks,” Between every word was a gasp of pain.

His tone was firm, leaving no room for disagreement. “I’m glad you called. I’m taking you home.”

“Are you—”

“I’m fine.” He held out an expectant hand for you to take. You anticipated having to pull your own, but to your surprise he pulled you up with you barely feeling the ground whatsoever. He carried the bulk of your weight, snaking his arm on top of your shoulders instead of under, allowing your neck not to bobble as you both walked. The last time you’d been this close to him you hadn’t known his identity. You recalled his hold being so firm you couldn’t escape, how afraid that had made you until you’d realized it was him. You stopped trying to force your balance and let him guide you the last steps to the car; the door opened automatically again, and he helped you slip in beside Mar. She had her head against the back of the seat, eyes half shut.

“Need help?” He had a finger looped around the seatbelt. Your cheeks heated, and you stammered out a no. He shut the door, and you painstakingly buckled yourself. A part of you wondered what he’d do if you refused to buckle up, and how long he would sit there demanding you put it on before you finally gave in, having sufficiently annoyed him.

When Bruce climbed in, you felt like a child who forgot their lunch on the way to school. You asked him to retrieve your phone, explaining it was under some shrubs by the entryway. Not ten seconds later he was back in, wiping dirt off the screen before handing it back to you. He was so fucking fast.

Mar didn’t talk during the drive, and neither did Bruce, so neither did you. You kept one eye on her at all times, making sure she didn’t fall asleep before you could check if she had a concussion or not. You figured you did, and you were not looking forward to checking in the mirror later looking at the damage done to your left leg. Now I match Bruce. A bitter thought.

You’d had the wherewithal prior to leaving to bring your keychain with you, tucked nicely into your pocket. By some stretch he hadn’t kicked just a few inches higher, which would have probably left you with a gaping wound from the jagged ends of the keys fileting your hip. You held the fob out the window when he pulled up to the garage, and in another blink he was helping Mar out.

“Can you stand?” Mar was slumped into his shoulder as he supported her weight. “Might have to carry her.” She looked exhausted, with her eyes glazed over, her face sweaty. You watched her chest with diligence, and per usual he sensed you, reading you like he was superhuman. “Her respiration’s normal. You can check the rest of her when you get your bearings.”

You unbuckled and tried to stand, but even shifting halfway out the car scared you. The ground phased in and out of your vision, the depth completely lost. As much as it burned… You sighed. “Take her up first. I think I need help walking.”

You handed him your keychain and he went on his way. Only after he’d disappeared up the elevator did you question it. I let her go up alone with a man? In this state? You couldn’t berate yourself much though, because a strong swell of defensiveness ravaged you. It was like the you before and you now were dueling. Condemning your judgment and rationalizing it, back and forth.

There was truly just something about him. Maybe you were infantilizing him and the past week was clouding your judgment. Maybe he moonlighted as Batman to cover up his serial killer tendencies. Keep the cops trained on an alternate identity, a vigilante. But he made you feel safe. He always made you feel held. Even when your mind took over and convinced you he was wrong, convinced you you should be afraid, your body never internalized it. That gut feeling you got around other men; the other men at city hall, the other men at the club, some of the men in your undergrad classes, even some of the professors… your stomach never curdled like that around him.

You didn’t think about it any further.

Bruce jogged out the elevator and helped you out. You ignored how your stomach fluttered being pressed so close to him, fought the tears that begged at the edge of your eyes, and let yourself sink into his chest. At some point you closed your eyes and concentrated on the roughness of his jacket against your cheek, and the patter of his heartbeat. Warmth. Alive. Breathing. Secure.

You being so close to him made him keen to his breathing. His body felt tingly and dizzy. He held you tighter. Every exhale fluttered the hair in front of your face, wisping it across your eyelashes. Was his breathing too loud? Were you falling asleep? He rustled you slightly, just taking a step slightly too hard, not wanting you to—your lashes fluttered, having caught you right before slipping into dreamland. He needed to keep you awake, at least long enough to do a proper assessment. Long enough to make sure you weren’t going to die.

Walking through your doorframe was a beast he realized too late; too narrow to both walk through wide, after your left hip caught on the strike plate and you cried out. He hated how much it felt like someone squeezed his chest when he saw you in pain; if you or your friend had been any less injured, he would’ve taken more time on the perpetrator.

He sat you delicately on the couch, instructing you to sit upright as much as you were able. He unwrapped the cloth from over his mouth, shoving it into his jacket pocket. He asked if he could touch the back of your head, and you agreed. His fingers were as gentle as a cat’s whisker, delicately sifting through sweaty clumps of hair that, if it weren’t for even the air moving past it causing flinching pain, might’ve made you soft, weak. You startled when he removed his hand. “Can’t feel any bleeding, no cuts.” His voice was soft, his eyes scanning everywhere but yours. You were glad.

He asked the date, gave you a few words to recall back, and shined a light in your eyes. You recoiled like he’d slapped you when he pulled out his flashlight, the light causing physical pain. On the jump back, your leg brushed the pillow to your left, and he stared down at it. “May I?” You nodded and he pulled up your shorts; you were biting down on your tongue as his pinky grazed the bruise. “How bad is it?” It was at this point, when he didn’t immediately respond, that you realized he’d turned off the lights in your apartment and only left the lamp on in the corner. Thoughtful.

“Already bruising.” He grimaced, seeing the speckled outline of the shoe’s leather binding indented in harsh red streaks along your leg. His grimace made your face fall; he hardly grimaced like that when he had a fucking gaping wound in his leg. “What? Tell me.”

He shook his head. “A bad bruise, that’s all.” He grabbed your shin lightly and asked you to bend your leg. Then put weight on it. Twist left to right. Flex your hip. Everything worked normally. Still, his brow was twisted together, looking like he was gnawing on his cheek. You eyed him skeptically. “What?”

This was the second time he’d pulled someone off of you in less than six months. Your entire thigh would be lit dark scarlet in just a few days. He’d called Gordon the second he got into his car, and whispered an ID to his watch to ping over when he went to get your phone. He was sure they got him, but all he could think about was brutality; he didn’t like the things he was imagining, the drive to crack all the fingers off the man’s hand and shove them into his petrified, quivering mouth, and the equal drive to wrap you in a hug that never ended to make sure no one else harmed you.

You saw the movement of all these thoughts across his face, but the only source you could track them to was hesitation to tell you the extent of your injury. “Do I need to go to the hospital?”

He wanted to scour every inch of you to look for more lacerations, bruises, bleeds. For possibly the first time ever, he didn’t trust his estimation. You needed a professional, just in case. In case he missed something. In case you’d jostled your brain too much, in case the man had loosened a clot in your leg. He nodded. “I think you should.” He could take a back way there, walk you up to the doors and then put you in a wheelchair at the entrance. His mask would cover up enough, probably. He’d bring your friend with you. She could be checked out too.

You looked to his bloodless palms and fingertips that had just explored your scalp. Down to the splotches across your leg. “Why?” You felt like shit, yeah, but…?

“I might be wrong.”

”About what?”

”The extent of it.”

”What, like a brain bleed?”

”Exactly like that.”

You flicked your gaze up to your bedroom door. “I can’t leave her. Is she okay?” You moved to get up, and it was painful, but you managed. You slammed your hand on his shoulder for emergency balance, and you begrudgingly accepted his support across the living area. Mar was on her side in bed, squinting at her phone that seemed to already be on the lowest brightness. You whispered. “I got it.”

He let you go and walked back to the living room, and you shut the door behind you. You limped over to her and sat on the edge, tapping her ankle to alert her. Slowly her eyes moved to yours. The lipstick that had been untouched was now smeared across her cheeks, and her eyeliner bled and cracked off. “Are you, okay?”

”I think so. Are you?” You were doing exactly what Bruce just had; scanning her body at rapid speed, analyzing for any signs of injury. She looked a bit scraped up on the heels of her hands and knees, and you asked her to turn to take a look at her back. There was still the rough, muddied outline of his shoe from where it connected on her spine, but nothing else of note. Some general redness, and when you touched it she groaned, but didn’t shriek.

You looked into her eyes, but knew you had no idea what to look for. “Did he check you out already?”

She nodded, leisurely. “Shined something in my eye and told me to say stuff, I don’t remember what though.” Her words were still slurred, and the top of her nose was scraped, but nothing looked broken. You thought of the kick he’d done between her legs, and asked if she felt any pain there. She almost giggled. “Bastard forgot I don’t have balls. But, how,” She winced as she adjusted, her back rippling with it. “Cool is it he thought, I did.” She sighed and returned her attention back to her phone.

“Do you have pain anywhere?”

She glanced down at her palms and then pointed to her nose. Her biggest thing then was being drugged, and yours was whatever head thing you had going on paired with a throbbing leg. The thought of leaving your warm bed to go to a bright–fuck, BRIGHT–hospital made you want to actually die. You were gonna take your chances tonight. Oh, it was making you sick thinking about it…

“I’m gonna get some meds. Want some?” Whew, just a few steps through to the kitchen. I can do it! I’ve done it a lot! At least half of the journey is carpet, if I do eat shit. She nodded again (you were very jealous she was able to bob her head), and began your slow shuffle to the kitchen. The second you appeared in the doorway, Bruce jumped to your aid. You waved him off. “I think I’ll stay home.” You grabbed the counter for support.

“I’m taking you in.”

Furrowing your brow hurt your aching head. “I’m gonna take some meds, it’ll, be fine.”

“Then I’m staying.”

He sounded like a scolding parent. You shot a look at him and felt the ground wiggle beneath you. You squeezed your eyes shut which only made it worse. Tried to refocus on the medicine cabinet. So high…

“Let’s go.” He made his voice a bit louder, sterner. You finally scooted close enough to reach the handle, and now worked up the courage to grab it. You rustled around in there for a moment.

“You’re not really going to take that, are you?” His tone was biting. Footsteps, then he snatched the bottle of ibuprofen out of your hand. “Do you want to have a brain bleed?”

Shame coursed through you, another one of his thousand cuts. When you were able to look back at him, he had his eyes shut tight and his lips pursed, one hand holding the bottle and the other gripping the counter. He saw you looking at him and hastily turned away. The pop of the plastic bottle on the marble punctuated his apology. “Sorry.” He ran his fingers through his hair, his hood removed somewhere between your bedroom and the couch. He huffed and tilted his head back to stare at the dark kitchen light. His shoulders rose and fell with every cycle of breath, one for every three blinks. The room was silent like that for a minute. He was so angry… no, he was nervous. Upset.

He caught your eye when you turned and his face fell into something softer, more vulnerable. “You’re not going, right?” He gave the smallest shake of his head and flicked the bottle a few inches. He didn’t wait for your answer. “I’m staying.” He made his voice strong, though you both knew you could kick him out and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Bruce,”

“You’re both incapacitated, leaving you here alone, it’s, it’s not an option.” He was getting flustered. You always took him there. He didn’t stutter, he never caught on his words, never caught on the sidewalk, never overlooked a pedestrian, fuck. His voice was raising, only slightly. His breathing got shallower, his fingers feeling chilled. “I need a minute.” He put his hands over his head and walked to the other side of the room, pacing in front of the couch. The fact the silence felt thick made you want to cut it. “I’ll be fine,”

“Please!” He dropped his hands at his sides and stood facing the cushions.

Deep breath in. Hold… exhale. Inhale, hold… exhale. Inhale, hold… exhale. Inhale, hold… exhale. He felt his chest start to release. Inhale, hold… exhale. Hold. Inhale, hold… exhale, hold… the feeling was coming back into his fingertips. Inhale, exhale. Hold… Inhale, slow, hold… exhale, slow, hold. Blink. Blink. Look at the wall. Couch. Hands. Jacket. In, out.

Another big sigh and a small shake, and he looked over his shoulder. He swallowed back globs of saliva that threatened to drown his vocal folds. His cheeks were pink, from what he had no idea. “I’m upset this happened to you.” He figured some transparency wouldn’t hurt, seeing as he’d just watched you get bludgeoned on the sidewalk and the… events of the past weekend. His jaw flexed. “And your friend.” He groaned, feeling frustrated tension fill him again. “I heard your shouting from blocks away. There were plenty of people.” His hands tightened in and out of fists, a motion you never failed to dial into. “No one did a damn thing.”

“Seems about right.” You slowly reached for the ibuprofen and put it back in the cabinet, letting it fall shut with a small tap.

Bruce was facing you now. “You don’t seem fazed.”

You shrugged, but couldn’t raise your shoulders in any meaningful capacity. “People don’t give a shit here.” You winced, as another blow of pain emanated the circumference of your skull. “Of course you don’t,” You flinched, speaking causing coils of pain to vibrate in your head. “Get it.”

He held back the full extent of his response, because he had a full argument sitting on the tip of his tongue. “I’ve seen the worst of it as him. I get it.” His enunciation begged no comment, but it was steamrolled.

“You don’t.” It was going to hurt to push all the words out at once, but the adrenaline of more friction with him was enough fuel to edge it out, momentarily. “You’re only able to be him because of your very unique, situation.” It was suffering to continue talking. “Even if people wanted to, to be you.” You took a small breather, placing both hands on the edge of the counter as the world whizzed by. “We can’t. We have, work, school, people are, shit.”

“We can talk about it later.” He walked to the cupboard and drew some water from the sink. You noticed him rinse it twice before filling. He held it out to you. “Drink. Sips.”

Some muscle in your finger had to have direct access to your brain because when you extended your arm fully to grab it, as soon as your pinky gripped the glass, you shuddered like you’d flicked a nerve. The glass clattered to the ground, exploding shards across the floor. When you ventured to move, he stopped you with a firm hand on your shoulder. “I’ll get it.” He didn’t want you tripping with how unsteady your gait was. He moved to your side and grabbed some paper towels, squatting once more to gather the biggest chunks. “There’s a, broom. In the closet by the door.”

“Y/N?” Mar had made her way out of your room in a drunken shuffle. She’d said your name but her squinted, hazy gaze was focused entirely on Bruce, who was now facing her without his hood, without his mask, almost entirely exposed save the black around his eyes. Her eyes widened. “Is that…”

In your periphery you noticed Bruce’s eyes flick up to yours as his hands slowed. For once he was silent, letting you take the lead–naturally, it was the first time ever you didn’t want to. Fuck.

[captain-hawks]

— keisuke baji x reader x chifuyu matsuno

(timeskip)

Your phone screen lights up from the pocket of your sweater for the third time since the movie started, and your breath catches in your throat, fingers twitching with the urge to check the notification. Anxiety coils tightly in your gut—you don’t even have to guess to know who the messages are from.

At the fourth dim flash of light, you exhale slowly, readying yourself to pull your hand away from its place on the armrest, but fingers close over yours before you can reach for your phone. 

Glancing to your right, you meet Chifuyu’s concerned gaze, and he slides his pinky along the back of your hand. 

“Hey,” he whispers, quiet enough not to disturb the other patrons in the theater. 

Chifuyu quickly became one of your closest friends after you started working at the pet shop last year, a timeline which coincided with the rise and fall of your tumultuous relationship with your cheating ex-boyfriend.

“You good?” another voice on your left murmurs, and you fight the urge to shiver at the feeling of Baji’s warm breath curling against the shell of your ear.

For all that Chifuyu disliked your ex from the very start, Baji absolutely despised him—a sentiment he’s never been afraid to voice, time and time again. 

But rather than gloat over the fact that they were both right, ever since the unfortunate evening where your fears of his indiscretions were confirmed by your own eyes, Chifuyu and Baji have both been doing everything they can to get your mind off of him. 

When you burst into tears in the stockroom this afternoon after your phone dinged with a calendar notification, reminding you of your anniversary, Chifuyu had opted to close the shop early for the day. He’d pulled you into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you sobbed, the pressure of his fingertips along your back the only thing keeping you anchored.

Baji had grabbed your hand and tugged you into his lap in front of the computer afterward, arms wrapped around your waist and head leaning against your side as he scrolled through the listings for the local movie theater and told you to pick something to go and see.

They’ve been like this ever since the break up—touchy. 

Be it Baji’s head resting in your lap while you’re all watching television on your couch, or Chifuyu’s hands idly trailing over your ankles when you playfully nudge your feet against his thighs. 

There are more hugs than usual, embraces lasting longer and hands trailing lower. 

Shoulders and knees brush more often. 

Gazes linger. 

The space that existed between the three of you has rapidly evaporated, dissipating into a new arena where you haven’t quite found your footing yet. 

But it makes your nerves thrum to life—whatever this is. 

You’re too afraid to ask.

Not now, not yet.

Not when you’re still so fragile.

Not when these two are the only thing holding back the weight of the devastation that your chest is on the verge of caving in with.

You glance from Baji to Chifuyu, tempering the blistering wave of longing creeping its way down your spine. Baji’s leg bridges the gap between your reclining seats, and he nudges your shoe, leaving his foot to rest against yours. 

“I’m okay,” you nod, reaching down to shut your phone off. 

Chifuyu leans his head on your shoulder, his soft locks of hair tickling your collarbone, and Baji grabs your other hand, lacing your fingers with his.

[ssha-sssh]

"Creation" Chapter 1. A scream that almost sounded

A/N: It was difficult in a good way. No more, no less

Word count: 4,2K

Warnings: Brief descriptions of murder and death, mentions of blood and injuries, swear words, child kidnapping, hints of rape and sexual harrasment (oh Jesus...)

🎧 Senn — Lone Wanderer

The wind blows the twittering of birds across the endless plain. Its gusts are benevolent, soft - but instead of bird trills, you, having woken up, hear heart-rending cries.

The ones you heard every day for almost a twelve years.

The ones in which you yourself risked losing your voice very soon.

Still not daring to open your eyes, you involuntarily wrap your arms around Noa again - after all, you have nothing else to grab onto except him. You exhale a scream that almost sounded.

If you weren't sitting in the saddle now, you would curl up into a small, unnoticeable ball.

Like that morning.

***

It was not yet dawn when they burst into your home on a hill that was probably now trampled. A dozen men in dirty uniforms, weapons at the ready. They killed your silent mother, who loved you unconditionally - and her every gesture became a voice in your ears. They killed your fearless father, who protected you with strength and wisdom - and his every word became a silent anger flowing through your veins.

But then you were too young to see your parents die. You were too young to fight.

Running to the attic, closing your eyes and curling up in a ball in the closet, in a pile of clothes - all you could do while strangers mockingly talked to the bodies of your parents.

Just a few minutes ago they were alive... And now they were getting kicked by dirty soles.

A single sob gave them away where you were hiding. The wooden closet door shattered into splinters. You shuddered as they told you in a disgusting chorus that you had a cute face. One of them twisted your arms and you burst into tears. He covered your mouth with his cruel palm and blindfolded you, ordering you to be obedient.

Even then you wanted to bite off the rough fingers that touched you.

Tied up tightly, you shuddered as one of them, then another, scooped you up and put you down in God knows where. You knew from the sound of the wheels on the gravel and embankment that it was a cart. It was impossible to tell where they were taking you. You had lost the way to the house where the memory of all the good things that had happened to you. And that made tears roll down your cheeks again. But you cried silently, so that they wouldn't hear.

In the dungeon, the blindfold was removed from your eyes - but you saw nothing more. Only blood and the glassy eyes of your parents.

There you were given to people for training.

But these people, contrary to the laws, became attached to you. And were as kind to you as possible. Your foster mother taught you to adapt to the present and the future, whatever it might be. Your foster father taught you to use your inquisitive mind and defend yourself from encroachment.

After a few months, you were given work - you sewed and patched clothes in a cramped room.

And everything you were taught came in handy.

The times of day and seasons here, many meters underground, were indistinguishable. And only by the holidays marked on the distorted calendars nailed to the walls, you could count how old you were.

The numbers were becoming increasingly frightening. Not only you. There were many such stolen girls here.

Here, working as assistants, you had no time for chirping girlish conversations. You had no time for friendship. If you managed to talk to girls like you, it was only about the danger lurking around every corner. Older and younger than you - they were all afraid of the blood that appeared on their clothes every month.

It meant only one thing - sufficient "ripeness". That's what they called it. Then they took the girls downstairs, locked them there, tied them up and raped them. Sometimes they involved their sons in this. Sometimes the girls they abused were their daughters who had been born and grown up here. When you found out about this by accident, you were bitterly glad that you had no relatives in this decaying pit.

They glorified the human race, they wanted to revive God's plan. They shouted about it through megaphones. The screams coming from below were unbearable... You don't know a single prayer, but you know - it was blasphemy.

It was Hell, depriving you of reason and dreams.

The first time you saw the red stain spreading on your skirt, you wanted to cry. But you couldn't cry. Just as you couldn't go up to the blessed world. Just as you couldn't refuse food that looked like scabs. Just as you couldn't know too much. Just as you couldn't find a way out of the iron leper box.

Having propped up the door of the sewing closet with a wooden box, you burst into tears from helplessness in the face of your foreseeable future. You prayed that your tears would remain among the needle cases and junk. But, damn, one of them heard and swung the door open.

He didn't do anything then. He just remarked on how pretty you were when you cried. You wanted to bite off his omnipresent ears.

Months and years now dragged on like centuries. They had long ago noticed you.

They circled around you like a pack. Only drool did not drip from their beards. It was scary to work and return to the assigned room, through the hooting and darkness.

When one of them sniffed you lustfully, lifted the hem of your dress and grabbed your thigh like a meaty game - you pierced his prickly, bristly cheek with a needle. Blows rained down on you.

From now on, when you heard the approaching shuffling of boots, you hid anywhere.

Under the bed, among the hanging, matted sheets. Or in the kitchen, among the pots filled with stinking brew. Or among the things that their previous owners would no longer use... Sometimes it helped against the peals of men anger. Sometimes - no.

Then only running away was your salvation.

The dungeon was a labyrinth, and as you ran away, you remembered, studied each corridor. The flickering dim light. The turns leading to nowhere. The room, from top to bottom filled with sharp objects - suspiciously clean among everything that was happening in every corner.

They found you from everywhere. But they wouldn't look for you there. Knowing their intentions, your foster mother told you about this room. She worked there with several other women - those who God did not give their own children. Those who had a lot of time for this frightening place that smelled of caustic alcohol and poisonous solutions. Children conceived on the lower floor were born there. Wounds, burns, suppurations were treated there. And too severe beatings. Entering there without orders was strictly prohibited. You understood what would happen to her if you violated this prohibition. You avoided this room.

Until the ill-fated day that crossed out everything. That day they chose you. They told your foster parents about it. And killed them, having eloquently thanked them before that for their contribution to the development of the commune.

They, these inhuman people, took away your childhood. Growing up. Learning. Twilight, glare. Joy. They took away the last thing from you.

You had nothing to lose. Except for your damn virginity, which they decided to feast on without haste. Dumb boors. You won't give it to them.

The accumulated anger that filled you to the brim finally spilled out.

Reaching the glass room was a miracle. Opening a similar glass cabinet and taking out scissors from there - not at all like the ones you used to cut the tough fibrous fabric - was a gift. Stabbing one of them to death was too insignificant. Yes, it was he who sniffed you, letting out dirty jokes. But it was not he who squeezed your body until you had bruises, who pulled the knot of the bandage over your eyes. It was not he who killed everyone you loved.

Confused tracks in the crooked corridors, you did not even notice how a sharpened kitchen knife pierced your shoulder. You did not notice how you bit into someone else's slimy skin with a squeal. You did not notice how you spat out someone else's disgusting meat and rushed into battle with a vengeance.

Desire to get to the surface was stronger than you yourself then...

***

Inside, from the throat to the stomach, it’s as if small bones are scattered, scraps of food scraping the insides - it’s so painful... You simply fell asleep from the shallow but numerous wounds eating you alive - but it’s as if you’ve returned back to the dungeon. Into the darkness.

From the tormenting memories, you almost fall off the slowly walking horse. Your stomach is twisted with a frightened spasm, horror crawls up your spine. Noa palm catches your slipped fingers at the very moment when you remember that now you will not return to the dungeon.

You convince yourself that this will never happen again, and now the past can find a loophole to you only in restless dreams - and you don’t trust your own convictions.

The horses walk slower. So, the clan, scraps of conversations about which you heard, is already nearby. Many dragonflies with bright wings flutter near the lake spilling in the shadow.  Before, you had only seen them in a colourless, time-worn children's book - you had looked at the pictures so often that the pages had turned to dust under your curious touch. Now these strange insects are so close, and you are enchanted by their shimmering dance.

The apes are talking about you again. Worried about you. They don't say a single bad word about you. You try to read between the lines - but there is no hidden meaning in their actions. And you don't know what to think.

"What will the elders say? If they... refuse?" listening to Anaya's words, you understand that this is indeed an important question.

"But who else can... help this echo? And if so... What will we do?" Soona answers him, looking at you with compassion.

"Even if they refuse her to live... among us... she needs to be cured. She needs food. Clothes. Weapon" Noa's voice is quiet, but determined. You do not understand his actions at all. "To avoid being caught by them. To survive here"

An echo glides across the crystal water of the lake.

You, now an echo too, have many questions in your head. And they torture.

There must be more people nearby. Lost and wandering in the pouring rain, you came across huts and asked for help. You knocked on boarded-up windows, peered into the huts inside. You screamed at the top of your voice, you begged. No one helped. But these people are not your family. You are a stranger on this earth, so why would these people should let you in?..

Are all people like this?.. And why then did you so tirelessly cherish the hope of someday meeting people better than those who keep prisoners locked up by force and public humiliation?

What would have happened to your body and soul if you hadn't managed to escape? If they had caught you, knocked out your teeth, dragged you downstairs and tied you up? Or if death at their hands, soaked in the blood of so many innocents, had overtaken you in the ravine?.. They wouldn't have been averse to having fun with you anyway. You know that about them, too. You don't need the answers to these questions anymore.

After all, neither your lost tracks, nor the drops of yesterday's rain, nor the blood that flowed down the stones mean anything anymore. The earth has absorbed everything.

These two of them who took both your families set out to chase you. The realization that Noa killed them gives birth to gratitude in your soul. Now the impossibility of revenge will not gnaw you from the inside.

But what has now been decided by the forces of nature,

who have left you alive?

What will happen where you are destined to end up? Surely, grins and reproaches? Primal hatred directed at you? Mistrust, contempt? What use could you possibly be to the apes? Do they treat people as human stories say? .. What if this salvation is just a deception, akin to human lies? Besides, now you, almost mute, dirty and frightened, resemble an animal much more than they do. So why shouldn't they eat you, their easy-to-catch prey? Or stuff you? ..

Or why shouldn't they have fun with you?.. Carnivorously. Carnally.

Just as the guards of the dungeon from which you escaped straight into the monkey's paws would have been amused.

And now, no matter how hard you clench your hands into fists, you will not be able to break free.

You are shaking as if the wind has become winter.

Noa's calloused fingers place your twitching hand almost at his heart, just a little higher and to the right. Broad shoulders rise from your coldered breath.

All this, his words and movements, seems like... a desire to protect you? But you are a human. People and apes have been feuding for so long that no one can answer how the feud began. But it is ineradicable. So why does he need you not to get hurt or trampled?

Be that as it may, you do not trust anyone or anything.

The fur on Noa's back - where you press your scratched cheek again - is wet. Probably because your temperature has risen. You don't know why he helped you. You are afraid of him no less than the men in the hopeless settlement. You look at him with gratitude, with a doubt tearing your throat... You want to believe him. Because there is no one else to trust in the world that you are getting to know anew. But you will not ask him questions that soak you with fear and foreboding. Just as you will not be able to tell him words of gratitude.

You are hot. And you are overcome by an unbearable thirst again.

The lake, reflecting the sun's rays, is left behind, replaced by a meadow, deciduous trees and fruit-bearing bushes. The berries that you tasted only in your too-short-lived childhood smell sweet. Has their taste changed as much as you have changed over the past years?

Bees scurry around, and their buzzing calms your restless thoughts.

Somewhere in the distance, where Noa directs a long glance, the wings of iron birds are visible.

They are planes, it seems. Old, rusty, forgotten. You have seen them only once. Blueprints on worn, yellowed paper. Then they were like fiction — alien, huge structures that could touch the clouds. And now these piles of metal, embraced by ivy, are like an extension of the forest. Noa looks at them as if they might one day fly again.

How long have they been chained to these ruins? Have they flown over other distant lands?

What would it be like to soar into the sky?..

You are shaking. Everything you see - trees, grass, and the sun hanging somewhere impossibly high - floats and spins. Your mouth feels like it is full of hot sand.

The glitter of dew. You think it looks like gemstones.

You're swaying from side to side, and you're clutching the fur on Noa's shoulder with cottony fingers. It's not helping at all.

Noa huffs as he realizes you might fall again. He squeezes your fingers tighter, now on the very spot where you can feel the unwavering thump. Warm blood still seeping from your hand is spreading across his chest.

If you could think of anything other than the dew scattered beneath your feet, you'd try to figure out — was it any different from a human's, beating in ape's heart?..

Consciousness is slowly returning to you. The unknown world, stretching for many miles, stops spinning.

Through the sweat running down your forehead and the tangled hair stuck to your face, you peer at each thread of the huge canvas above the horizon. With delight, trepidation and awe.

And with unspoken fear. With your last breath, you are still thinking - where to go if the apes rightly decide that you have no place among them? And how to escape if the apes decide to deal with you?.. But nothing betrays the apes's bloodthirstiness that you have heard so much and so often about.

You are just a stone's throw away from buildings you have never seen before.

Gusts of wind blow around you, embracing you. Morning flows into day, the forest flows into a built-up village humming with routine.

The beaten path along which the apes take you leads to surprisingly well-equipped dwellings, towering above the earth heated by midday. And these dwellings are not at all like the walls, floors and bars from which you emerged. There are no cages and tools designed to force submission, and there is no torture chamber.

Families live here. And these families are not molded from circumstances, as if from clay. These families — are blood families. Kinship among those who talk and those who are silent, imperceptible to the eye. It feels different.

Here the industry is seething, here and there the noise is heard. Here is unity and freedom.

Houses on the surface, life on the surface, among the clean air and the many-faced sky seems incredible...

A smile touches the corners of your lips. Your palm reaches out to outline the place in front of your eyes - but then falls back, squeezing the wool on Noa's elbow in the approaching fever.

"Echo needs help getting down... to the ground" Noa assures, freeing his long arm from your weak grip and dismounting.

His hands reach for your waist to help, and you squeal in protest and dodge.

"Is something... wrong?" Soona, who is walking ahead, turns around worriedly.

"I can do it myself" you say hesitantly in response, stroking the horse's mane.  "I don't need his help"

When your body was overwhelmed by the pain that clouded your consciousness, Noa had already done so, helping you to mount. And you, unconscious, held on to him for many hours on the road. Feeling him so close was not scary. It was necessary. Like grasping at a straw. But after a terrible dream, you don't want him to touch you... No, not now.

Stepping onto the ground from the back of a snorting horse seems easy to you. But without the slightest idea of ​​​​how to do it, you fail.

Anaya hides in one of the dwellings when Noa gives him a sign that seems vaguely familiar to you. Soona remains nearby, ready to help you - but she is unlikely to be strong enough to cope with this.

The sign language of the apes differs from the one you are used to only slightly, and with the help of this language you repeat that you will manage without help.

Without support, you risk flying like a tiny leaf from a branch. You grab the reins and the horse's mane in vain attempts to get out of the saddle. The horse kicks. The cape you're sitting on slips - and you, trying so hard, almost fall backwards.

Stuck in the stirrup, you don't even have time to squeak - Noa catches you, when you almost hitting the ground with your shoulder blades. He holds you almost the same way as when you were exhausted in his palms, in the middle of the plain.

"I told you. You need help" A disgruntled growl escapes from his chest.

Only now, as Noa releases you, your bare, punctured feet finally meeting the ground, you can understand what in the stories about the apes were right.

Is it how different they are in their wild nature. And their size.

Even Soona is taller than you by several inches. Not to mention Noa, towering over you like a mountain range. The wind picks up the many voices and the rattling of abandoned work. The apes emerge from their homes and stop working. Their humming and whispering makes you uncomfortable. The wounds immediately remind you of themselves with a dull ache. You look through the crowd at the neatly laid roofs, bathed in rays of sunlight.

Noa lets out a wheeze and hides you behind his broad shoulders. He asks you to walk beside him and be quiet. You follow him without complaint, and because of his furry back you can hardly see anything - except for the feathers in the braided bracelet on his forearm, shimmering in shades of blue.

Step by step, you make out the expressions on the apes's faces. Some of them are confused, some do not hide their irritation. You see a lot, but you do not see malice. Only this calms you down when you stop at a spacious structure and dozens of monkeys look at you with an unspoken question and a respectful bow, directed straight at Noa.

Now you understand that he must be the leader of this clan.

And his action is not presumptuously, but magnanimous.

An approaching hostile sounds.  Noa assumes an obviously protective pose, and you press yourself into the fur on his shoulder again. This time consciously. After all, it seems that you were wrong not to see the malice.

"What is this? Another echo?.." the voice of a stocky male chimpanzee is heard, drawing level with Noa and casting an appraising glance at you. There is something unkind in it. "Did the animals batter her? Or did someone... play with the curiosity?"

"Let her go back... to the pasture"  the female picks up his intonation, letting out a nasty laugh. She looks like a hanger-on, not a companion.

"True" another male grins, clearly younger and trying to assert himself in this way. "There... is her place!"

They hardly guess, reveling in their slander, but for you, everything they spew — pointless. You were never part of the whole. You shattered into pieces, long ago. You became a fragment with broken edges.

That's why there is no place for you anywhere.

A shirt, sticky with rain, blood and weeds, torn at the seams - your only refuge.

"...She swallowed her tongue?" you hear, insulting and goading, somewhere in the distance.

Soona, standing next to you, gasps at the insolence of her fellows. They laugh at your helplessness, continuing to curse. You regret that you cannot lash them with curses now.

Listening to their rumble, Noa straightens his back. You are almost invisible behind him.

"This echo is wounded. By other echoes. They wanted to... play. They lose" After Noa's short and clear words, bewilderment is visible in the apes's eyes. Baring his fangs, he finishes. "And she will not return... to the pasture. She will graze here"

The phrase is sharp. Noa stands his ground, his nostrils flaring menacingly. This, of course, silences the ill-wishers. But you feel the sediment prickling.

What if they'll treat you like a thing here too?..

You can hardly breathe. The lead of a frightening assumption presses on your collarbones. You take a step back from Noa, upset and ready to break from the despair that has washed over you. It takes even more effort not to recoil from Noa when he turns and leans towards you. He had to say this to stop the vile discussion.

His green eyes apologize to you for what he said.

Something in his piercing gaze tells you to trust. It speaks louder than his answer to the clan, who doesn't stops talking and doesn't notice.

Five baby-chimps run up to you, distracted from their game of tag.

The first thing you do — is sit down so that you are the same height as the children who are asking you questions. They reach out to you, and the pain that has been increasing with each passing second becomes unimportant. Soona follows your lead, her actions clearly supportive. The growing rebellious tension disappears, as does the hubbub that has surrounded you from all sides.

Seeing that you are kind to the clan's most valuable treasure, the apes stop arguing and return to their work. Only the adults who are looking after the little ones do not leave.

Even now, laughing, Noa is still ready to rush into battle.

The children are impressed, but they don't understand what is happening - and you are undoubtedly happy of their attack. It seems like a serene meadow in the chaos that is playing with your fate.

"Are you hurt?" a very small boy babbles, tilting his head to the side. You nod.

"What happened to you?" a girl who looks like this little one like two peas in a pod timidly puts her hand on your wounded shoulder.

"This echo fought... With opponents and the forest" Soona tells the curious cubs.

"Did you get a scar in battle?" an older boy looks at you with surprise.

"This battle could have been my last..." you begin your story like an instructive fairytale. "But the journey was worth it"

"So who hurt you?" seeing the sparkle of tears in your eyes, the liveliest boy asks, putting his hands on his hips importantly. "Do you want me to protect you?"

"You already have a protector, right?" a smart, dark-eyed girl looks at you and Noa with mischief.

Not expecting this, Noa freezes. He looks at you, captured by the curious crowd. He still shields you with his back and his presence. He smiles indulgently - which you can't help but notice. He is confused. But you are not taken surprise by spontaneity, but are warmed.

"Yes, and he is very brave" you agree with the girl, expressing gratitude to Noa at least in this way.

"So who did the Master of Birds save you from?" everyone is curious in one ringing voice.

When Noa sits down next to you, his weight almost touching yours for the umpteenth time in the day that has just begun, you don't move away.

"From evil, cunning... predators" playing along with the fictional plot, Noa ruffles the children's heads.

Staying with you and naive chatter, Noa still helps you tell the fascinating truth. Having plopped down nearby and forcing Soona to snort good-naturedly, Anaya returns to the company.

While you are enthusiastically answering the children's questions, you do not immediately notice female chimpanzee in venerable years approaching you. Only when Noa raises her head, still sitting on the ground, do you see that everyone is moving aside. Her robe, like the feathers indicating Noa's dominant status, is a deep blue.

"Time goes by... And you, my son, remain the same" hearing both reproach and pride in her words, you cannot help but look down.

Who else but parents could say that?..

Noa rises with a gesture that you will not confuse with anything - this is how you asked your blood mother for advice.

The children say polite greetings, holding on to you like tenacious little crabs. You don't know what to say - and cannot make a single sound.

"Nobility is sometimes worse than vices" sadness sounds in the voice of another, an elderly female chimpanzee with a wooden cane. "With her, to our homes comes... troubles. Again."

"...Is she hiding something?.." the young female asks impatiently, taking her two cubs away from you. The male calms her down in a way that husbands never calmed wives in a settlement unfamiliar to you.

The unknown frightens them as much as it frightens you. It hovers in the dying wind and the sparks from the fire crackling in the distance.

Squinting from the sun and your exhausted appearance, Noa's mother sighs.

"This soul is innocent" she looks at, it seems, every scar and every aspiration. "Come here, child... Your path has been... thorny. You need to rest"

"Thanks..." you whisper from the bottom of your heart, when her palm touches your burning forehead.

Taking Noa's outstretched hand, you rise. Your hideously cut thigh, under the equally cut leg of your trousers, pierces with pain. You whining through cracked lips. The children don't want to let you go, but you promise that very soon you will tell them an even more fascinating story.

The smell of smoking fish tickles your nose. Everything tilts and fades...

***

You dream of water dripping from holes in the basement pipes - rusty, almost red. Streams flow down the cobblestones from grinning skulls.

Their eye sockets are empty. Worms have settled in their decaying bodies, laying larvae. Their hands reach out to you. They strangle you, they tear your dress. Their toothless mouths shower you with stench and obscenities...

***

Waking up in the hut, you scream. Indistinguishable from the animal cries that echo in the twilight. Your eyes are filled with unshed tears. Dreams have been cruel to you for as long as you can remember. The dreams of future nights, you are sure, will be merciless.

And there is no way to escape this.

The bed you slept in resembles a perch. Someone is scurrying around at the head of the bed.

The woven nest creaks as you jump up, drawing your knees up to your cheeks. You are not wearing a shirt - only a T-shirt, trousers, and a viscous ointment applied to your exhausted body. And animal skins, serving as a blanket.

Turning around at the noise, you see Noa with two bowls in his palms. He places them closer to you, and you pull the blanket up to your neck. The contents of the bowls smell pleasant. In one of them the same ointment that burns and heals your injuries. In the other a lake fish, large and ruddy. Your stomach rumbles. You forgot about hunger - and now hunger is devouring you.

When Noa's large palm reaches for the blanket, you crawl away to the edge of the nest in panic.

"When they were treating your wounds, I saw you without... this" Noa admits, taking out your shirt among other things. "It will hurt, inside... Take that"

Pointing to the thin sky-blue robe, Noa explains with a gesture that it will be safer this way. Then he insistently brings the bowl with the fish to your closed lips.

You coudn't refuse food. You learned this rule over the years of life on a leash - a hearty meal was a reward for following commands and orders, and starvation was a punishment for disobedience.

You was only punished. So you use what you learned from your foster mother.

The fish in the bowl dissolves into a scent in a matter of moments. And only now do you respond with gestures that it would be safer if Noa left your assigned dwelling the same way he came. You don't believe in the security provided. You admit that you're scared. And you ask if Noa has taken you in as a curiosity pet?..

If you said it out loud, you would cover your mouth with both hands in shame.

Noa slouches and turns to go outside. His steps are sharp. The wheezing in his heaving chest is low and abrupt. You look at his back, expecting anger and insults. He stops, looking at you and the untouched robe.

"To heal, an echo needs sleep... A lot" is all Noa says before leaving the hut.

You scold yourself. You admire the fabric of the robe flowing between your fingertips in the dim light.

The sparkling hanging lights lull you to sleep. All you want to do — lay down, as like fetuses laying in wombs, and forget about all the nightmares you've experienced in reality or in broken dreams. But you, without closing your eyes, stare at the glow.

[novashelby]

I'm Not Your Wife, I'm Your Daughter-Part III

Pairing: Nothing romantic as of now...Tommy ShelbyxEvie (OC Daughter)

Warning: mention of various abuse and assault, swearing, trauma. Doesn't follow canon much at all.

Word Count: 1,909

Summary: It hits Evie where Jack found all his information leading her to her least favorite person. Please show support by commenting and rebloging!

“You must be so devastated.” Evie inhaled, holding her breath for a second. She was sure when he had said, take her home, that was the end of their conversation. But to her disappointment, Jack Nelson had a knack for enjoying the way his voice sounded. On the exhale, she rolled her eyes and looked over at him, a clear bored expression. Though, she looked more pathetic than anything; eyes puffy, red, and swollen with tears. Jack Nelson knew what he was doing; upsetting the girl and spilling a whole can of her trauma. He had an eerie way of him, Evie thought. Her father was much more blunt with her emotions at times. But this man? So sickly sweet. Artificial was the word, but fuck, he made it convincing to a girl who’d already been so inclined to feel safe by any man who comforted her.

She side glanced at him, tight expression. But he pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, shaking it open. Gently, he cupped her chin and forced her to look at him. He fought through her resistant struggle, wiping away the tears. “You must enjoy researching people, Mr. Nelson.”

“A speciality of all smart men,” he said, tucking away his handkerchief. “Your father, too. He mustn’t have told you about his brain tumor-”

“No,” she said, voice hardly even a whisper. Evelyn shook her head, eyes closed. “No, no he didn’t. But it’ll be okay. Daddy doesn’t die very easily.” Jack’s amused laugh broke her from her thoughts. She kept comments to herself. Disbelief, truly. Out of everything, it couldn’t be a brain tumor. 

“Eleven year old Evie must be so…manic,” he said, and her ears perked. Manic. When she was eleven, she went manic. She remembered it clearly. But why manic. Why say manic? There weren’t many words Evelyn remembered, but she remembered using that word a lot. Writing it on pages for her eyes. She asked God a lot. Wrote to him in a leather bound book tucked under her head. God, why do I feel so manic? This manic…the manic….manic. The driver pulled into the large driveway. 

When the car slowed to a stop, Evelyn looked at him, blinking. “Interesting choice of words, Mr. Nelson.” Her hand gripped the door handle as she made sure her knowing look was imprinted in him. So chatty, but awful at goodbyes he was. His kind facade faded when he no longer had use for it. “Good night. Surely a man like yourself must be so exhausted.” She opened the door, sliding across the leather seats.

“We’ll see each other soon, Miss Shelby-”

“I don’t know, Mr. Nelson,” she sighed. “I’m booked three years out in my calendar.” With that, she slammed the car door and walked up the stone steps, trying to keep her pounding heart contained. She hadn’t an idea of what she felt, but confusion was definitely on the list next to anger. Evelyn couldn’t begin to process any grief or devastation before she beat the pissed off fuel she had towards her father at that moment. Neither he nor Lizzie were home yet, still swimming through their emotions at the hospital. 

Francis greeted her at the door, helping her with her coat. “I’m so sorry, Miss. Shelby-you must be so tired.” 

“Should I quote my father?” she asked, a tinge of humor to lighten the air around her.  She nodded in ‘thanks’ and went straight to her bedroom. There was a target on her mind. 

A satin box of old journals shoved away in her closet. It was the first gift Ada had given her; a brown leather bound journal. Ever since she was eight, she’d write down everything. Even something as small as what she ate, if it was just too good to forget or just so horrible she wanted to remind herself. Still short at twenty-four, she dragged her white vanity stool to the closet edge, and stood on it, the legs shaking. It was then, when the box was shoved just a bit more back than usual, she knew someone had been fishing around. Evelyn could never push it that far back. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” she cursed, grabbing a hanger and dragging it, grunting and groaning. It was definitely lighter, and when she failed to catch it, it tumbled to the ground. The cover came off and inside was a single journal. Evelyn jumped off the stool and picked it up. 

That was when she knew who took them. It made sense. She flipped through the pages of her journal when she was just thirteen, her fingertips burning with regretful memories. Michael. It was Michael who took them…how he had managed a visit with Tommy was incredible. She thought her father must really have a brain tumor if he was slipping that much. She gathered the last journal and tucked it in her handbag before strapping it over her shoulder. It was about four in the morning at that point.

In the little bowl near the door was a set of car keys. They were the cars that Evelyn was allowed to drive; the older ones that were dented and scratched. Specifically the one that she learned how to drive in roughly ten years ago. Francis peeked around the door leading into the dining room. “Are you off again? It is so late-”

“I’m thinking it’s quite early, Francis,” she said, winking, lying that she was off to her friend, Martha's home. “I don’t want to stay home right now, Francis.”

As a woman who was once little with no home, she found it obnoxious how some had more than one. Instead, having three or four. It was so bloody obnoxious. And for that, she hated Gina even more. It wasn’t Michael, it was Gina…. The over zealous bitch from Boston. Evelyn never thought her roots would follow her. Especially not in the form of a tall lady who didn’t know how to properly put on cheek rouge. You don’t know how to put on cheek rouge, she reminded herself. Sure, but I don’t pretend I do. 

How hard is it for everyone to be humble? 

It was quite a drive to London, and if Evelyn was honest, it was intimidating. Never having to drive that far. Most of her journeys were to Martha’s. Just a quick thirty minutes at most. But going to London was a whole day adventure. Hours, not including the fact she missed her exits and turns a couple of dozen times, ending up in some other city where the people clearly hated her. All I need are my journals. That was the driving factor. If she had nothing, she’d have fallen asleep, car sliding off a cliff. Surly. 

When she made it to the row of overly posh town houses, Evelyn wanted to drive back home. She was not her father. It was not her. Evelyn didn’t play tough. Evelyn didn’t confront people. But Michael played dirty in a way that was unforgivable. To steal a young girl’s mind. To invade her, violate her, and to completely expose her. 

After everything else he did. 

She slammed the car door, hearing her father in the back of her head. Fuckin’ ‘ell, Evelyn. 

Evelyn gave a few good knocks with the iron knocker. From the little clicks from the other side, she predicted that Gina would answer the door. But she didn’t expect the woman would be in her silk nightie, covered by a robe. She leaned on the door frame, the tight fake smile. Evelyn did a scan over her, pausing at her heels. “Evie-”

“Evelyn,” she corrected. “You call me Evelyn…where’s Michael?” 

Gina was always so sickly nice. Fake nice. Walked around like the princess of something, something. She tilted her head, amused. “It’s not often he lets you out. Must be a special occasion.” Her robe flowed behind her as she turned. “He’s in here!” she called. “Close the door, click the latch.” Evelyn looked around, thinking how simple their London home was compared to their other home. They almost seemed normal. Through the narrow entryway and to a parlor, Michael was sitting on a pink sofa. 

“Nice decor, Gina,” she complimented. “Did you decide on that, too?” Michael looked over at her, wiping the sleep from his eyes. They’d both still been in their night clothing. “Can I get you something to-”

“I want my shit, Michael.” Michael closed his eyes, rubbing his temples.

“What shit?” he asked, tiredly. 

Evelyn snorted. “You’re a pathetic liar just as you’re a pathetic gangster-I want my shit. You know what shit. I know it was you, Michael. I want my fuckin’ shit!”

Michael looked up at her, brow cocked. “Evelyn, did Tommy stop your medication again? You know what happens when you stop the..the little…um…the drops or something.” He was referring to the few times Tommy gave Evelyn a secret dose of something to calm her anxiety. Just anxiety. And it’d make her sleepy and calm. But Michael was being so incredibly condescending.

Evelyn did not entertain it. “I’ll rip this fuckin’ house apart, Michael-”

“What the fuck are you talking-”

“My journals, Michael!” She screamed. “My fucking thoughts! My fucking life! You took them and I fuckin’ know it was you. You fucking took them to exploit me…again. Because once wasn’t fucking-”

“Are you done?”

Gina came over, sitting on the arm of the sofa, arm draped around Michael’s shoulders. She was already sipping a whiskey. “What is wrong?” she asked, looking down at him. 

That made Evelyn laugh. “Michael, you took my journals and gave them to her fucking uncle-”

“Stupid-”

“Stop rolling your eyes! I know it was you, because.” She paused, digging into her bag and taking out the one journal that was left behind. “Because of this, Michael, the one journal you wouldn’t want your in-laws to read.” Michael stiffened a bit, leaning on his fist, looking away from her. She tossed it on the couch. “There you go.” She looked at Gina, and said, “halfway is where it gets good…you’ll learn a whole-”

“Evelyn! Shut up,” Michael groaned. “Would you? I was fucking twenty-”

“And I was thirteen.” Evelyn swallowed. “I was thirteen, Michael.”

Gina looked down at her husband, hand on her belly. Michael sighed, “what are you trying to say? I raped you? God, Evie, you just love being a victim. It’s like you crave it. You’re fucking sick and Tommy should have put you in a home years ago-”

“You’re deflecting-”

“Evelyn, I was fucking drunk, it was New Years Eve.” Michael stood, walking to her, looking down. “I kissed you-”

“I was thirteen-”

“It was a fucking kiss that meant nothing-”

“That isn’t your decision to make, Michael. I was thirteen and it made me uncomfortable…you were twenty-”

“Jesus fucking Christ…”

“I want my journals back, Michael,” she said. “Where are they?” When he didn’t answer, she made the ultimatum for him. “Michael, you have twelve hours to get those journals back to me…twelve.”

“And if I don’t?”

Evie walked over, grabbing her journal back and fixing her bag on her shoulder. “Michael, you should have stayed in the countryside. You’re a bloody shite accountant, businessman, and a really fucking pathetic gangster. Use your imagination.” She started to excuse herself out before pausing at the door. “Oh, and Michael.” She turned, pointing to her upper lip. “Shave that fucking pube trail…it looks disgusting.”

[honeyhotteoks]

into the aurora - chapter thirty (ot8)

chapter thirty: always hold me close

chapter summary: it's getting harder and harder to ignore the things you've been keeping to yourself, so you do what you have to do and stay busy, and mingi does his best to help.

warnings: allusions to anxiety and depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, plus some smut because you know who else would we be lol - specific warnings for: heated make outs, fingering, tender / emotional sex, praise, some light dirty talk, big dick mingi

pairings: ot8 x reader

genre: fluff, angst, romance, ateez ensemble x reader, polyamory, non-idol!reader, fem!reader, smut

word count: 6.7K

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Staying busy has always been a skill of yours, but after years of compartmentalization, you’re somewhat of a refined expert at it. As the calendar dates flick by, you adjust and adapt accordingly, pushing yourself deeper and deeper into work and social commitments to keep your mind busy. Dating eight men provides an almost constant buzzing distraction, but as they fall further into their own work in preparation of what’s to come, you need to start keeping yourself busy and your mind tired. 

But even still, you’re reaching a particular kind of exhaustion that does very little to quell the sinking feelings in your chest. The tight anxiety and flood of memories. All of it mixing together in your body to try and tug you backwards in time. You’re accidentally nodding off in Hongjoong’s studio in the middle of the day when someone finally notices. 

The sound of the door clicking shut properly startles you and you jolt back awake, your computer slipping off your lap and connecting with the floor. 

Hongjoong jumps too and makes a surprised noise, yanking off his headphones, “Oh, god, okay, it’s just you,” 

“Sorry,” You exhale low and slow to settle your hammering heart, “I didn’t mean to scare you,” 

He nods, setting down his things and shutting the door before collapsing into his chair, “It’s fine,” 

“I guess I drifted off a second,” You pull your laptop up off the floor and make sure everything’s in one piece. 

“Mm,” He nods, “Did you not sleep well?” 

“I’m fine,” You brush off his concern. 

He looks at you a moment and then says,“You do look tired, darling.” He leans forwards, resting his elbows on his knees with his hands loosely clasped together. 

In the dim light of the studio you take a good look at him and shake your head, “So do you,” 

He nods, rubbing a hand over his bare face and through his hair, “Yeah, I guess I am tired,”

He rarely admits it and you push yourself up in your seat, “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” He murmurs, “I’m just ready for the break, we all need it,” 

You chew the inside of your lip, watching him carefully, “You’ve all seemed a little tense this week. Is something going on with schedules?” 

“It’s always like this before a break,” He explains, “even though it’s just a few days off… we’re all just ancy to get there. If anyone’s a little irritable, don’t take it personally.” 

“You miss home,” You observe quietly, a knot tightening inside you. 

“Yeah,” He breathes, “I really fucking do,” 

They rarely talk about home. You know they talk to their parents and siblings often, but it’s rare that they share it quite like this. You know it hurts, you understand it more than they know. 

“Joong,” You reach for him, giving his hand a squeeze, “we’ll be there soon,” 

He takes a sharp inhale and clears his throat, blinking away the emotion and giving your hand a squeeze back before he drops it, “I know,” 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You press him just a little more. 

He shakes his head, “We’re used to it, don’t worry about us.” 

“I always worry,” You murmur. 

“Don’t,” He sighs, “we’ve been taking care of each other since before debut, we’re good at it. It’s just a tough week,” 

You open your mouth to say something more, but he shakes it off and looks at you again. 

“Besides,” He points out, “You’re dead on your feet. We should be bugging you to get some rest,” 

You give him a tight smile, “I’ll stop bugging you if you stop bugging me?” 

He laughs sharply and holds up his hands, “Fine, but good luck getting the others to abide by that,”

You stretch on the sofa and sigh, “I have too much work to do anyways,” you murmur, “sometimes I can’t believe how tight the deadlines are for albums that aren’t coming out for another eight months,” 

“Welcome to my life,” He commiserates with a grin.

“Yeah,” You shrug, “and I’m helping Maddox with something new,” 

“You are?” His eyebrows go high, “He didn’t mention that,” 

You nod, “I had a little time last week and he asked me to listen to something, but it’s becoming a bit of a pet project,” 

“Oh,” His face remains neutral, but you know he’s curious. 

You and Maddox don’t spend much time together, just existing in the same circles in the Edenary bubble, but he’s kind and friendly just the same. When he asked you to listen to something, it was pretty clear he was just trying to make sure you didn’t feel excluded from a conversation he was having with the other senior producers in front of you. At the time you hadn’t expected for him to actually ask and consider your opinion, but here you are. 

“Relax,” You smile, “it’s just the new single you already know about,” 

“Ah,” He nods, “and you’re looking at it?” 

“Yeah,” You smile, “he seemed to like my notes,” 

He grins wide, any momentary flicker of jealousy passing, and instead he’s looking at you like you just solved world hunger, “That’s exciting,” 

“I thought so,” 

“Baby,” He leans forward, “is it weird to say I’m really proud of you?” 

“No,” Your chest swells with warmth. 

“Well,” He reaches for your hand, “then I’m really-”

A sharp knock on his door brings you both back to reality and he shifts back in his seat immediately, flipping his laptop open and refocusing. You follow his lead, and he glances at you once before calling through the door, “Come in,” 

Chae pokes her head in, “Have you seen y/n?” 

“Hey,” You answer for him, “do you need me?” 

“There you are,” She smiles, “yeah, can I get your help? If I’m not interrupting,” 

“No, no,” Hongjoong shakes his head, careful not to look back at you with too much familiarity. 

“Perfect, thanks,” Chae looks back to you, and her eyes narrow a little, “let’s get a coffee first,” 

You must look exhausted. You agree, making up some excuse about a late night editing, and you can see it all over Hongjoong’s face that he wants to ask if you’ll be around later, but it’s not the moment. Pulling away and refocusing on Chae and what she needs, you push yourself back into the motions of your day. You do what you do best, and you stay busy.

Later, you can’t stop thinking about your eight lovers missing home. You picture them happy and healthy, surrounded by their families, their friends, their futures, and you’re suddenly itching for a change of pace. You need something to draw your focus away from these spiraling thoughts, something that will take your mind away completely and leave you aching for sleep. 

It takes a second for you to decide what you need is to text Ji-Ah, letting her know you’re coming to tonight’s class after all. You slip out of the company right at five without a word to anyone, just sending a quick courtesy text to let your boys know you’re going to class, and then you get moving. 

You feel good during class, clear and sharp on the endorphin rush, and even after Hana dismisses everyone you keep your body moving and committed to the singular quiet you get with your boxing gloves on. There’s only so long you can push yourself though, and eventually your side flares hard with a sharp spike of pain, a stitch in your side that leaves you wheezing. You step back from the heavy bag to lean back against the padded wall of the gym, finally pushing off your gloves. Your thighs are burning, arms feeling like jelly, and you slide down the wall to find your water bottle and settle your aching side. 

“What are you still doing here?” Ji-Ah asks as she exits the back office and sees you on the floor. 

You cough lightly and take a swig of water, “I just wanted to work on something,” 

“Class ended like an hour ago,” She checks her watch to confirm and narrows her eyes at you. 

She’s not wrong, the jiu jitsu class did end an hour ago, and was the last formal class of the day, but the boxing gym is always open for a couple hours after the final class for anyone who wants open mat time. Tonight you’re the last one here, and despite your aching limbs, you don’t really feel ready to go home yet. 

“Yeah,” You shrug, attempting to keep it light, “I know,” 

“You’re being weird,” Ji-Ah comes closer. 

“I’m not,” You take another drink, your chest finally feeling less tight. 

“You’ve been here four times this week,” She points out, “and you’re working out double,” 

“You wanted me to come,” You laugh, “I’m sorry I like it?” 

Ji-Ah bites the inside of her cheek, looking you over, and it’s readily apparent to you that she’s seeing through your attempts at brushing her off. She grabs a clean towel off the rack to your side and tosses it down at you, “You’re working out like you’re in professional training, which is stupid. Is something going on?” 

“No,” You shake your head, but you answered too quickly. 

“Okay, so, yes,” She rolls her eyes, “is it work? I know I’m on the choreo side but you know, I can listen. I listen to Chae complain all the time,” 

“Work’s fine,” You shake your head again, “it’s busy, but I think it’s always going to be busy,” 

“Definitely,” She nods. 

You sigh heavily and brush the sweat off your brow with the towel, “I don’t know, maybe I’m just looking for a distraction.” 

“You should probably pick a distraction that isn’t going to blow your shoulder out,” She reaches out a hand to help you get up and you take it with ease. 

“I know,” You let her haul you up, your legs feeling tingly from overuse. 

“Seriously,” She squeezes your hand before letting it go, “you can talk to me if you need to. In Su isn’t hanging around again, is he?” 

“No,” You smile, “I haven’t seen him since Yeo- you and I talked the first time,” You recover, your stomach flipping nervously. 

She misses it, “Okay, well that’s good, but if there is something… I’m here,” 

“Thanks, Ji,” You murmur, “I’ll let you know if I do need something,” 

“You better,” She nods, “now please get out of here and get a shower,” 

“Okay, okay,” You smile. 

She jogs off, throwing a look over her shoulder at you before she hits the lockers and you’re left alone in the dim lighting of the gym. You want to keep going, the way your mind goes completely quiet when all you’re focused on is the bag in front of you, but you know your body won’t keep up.  

It doesn’t take you long to clean up and pack up your things, but now that you’re ready to walk out, you don’t want to go home. You’re not ready to be alone with your thoughts, to have empty air to fill with nothing but memories of where you were this time four years ago. 

It’s only nine. 

is everyone home? - You shoot off a text to the group chat and wait, your leg bouncing nervously as you wait for anyone to answer. 

headed there now - Wooyoung responds, and then follows up quickly - mingi and yeosang are still at the studio for a bit

You reply with a simple heart emoji, and just like that your plans change for the night. 

You divert your ride to the studio office smoothly, knowing that this late it’s extremely unlikely anyone other than Mingi and Yeosang and their managers who already know about you are there. It doesn’t take too long to get there thankfully, but by the time you make it into the building you’re overflowing with nervous energy. 

When the elevator doors finally open to let you out into the studio, your mind immediately quiets. Yeosang is sitting in one of the spare chairs, dripping in sweat and drinking as much water as he can in one gulp, and Mingi is still up and facing the mirrors, focused on a particular series of movements for an upcoming performance. 

“Hey,” You wave, and Mingi jumps a little, having not heard you when you came in. 

“Hey, babe,” Mingi’s breathing hard, grinning, “what are you doing here?” 

“Woo said you guys were here,” You offer, skirting what you really need with ease. 

“Did you want to come home with me?” Yeosang pushes himself to stand, “I’m heading out after a shower,” 

“Oh, you’re leaving soon?” 

He nods and towels off before heading towards you, “I have an early pre-recording tomorrow,” he explains, “I need to get home and sleep,” 

“Got it,” You smile, “I think I’ll stay… if that’s okay with you, Mingi?” 

Mingi nods, and Yeosang shrugs as he takes another long sip of water.

“Well,” You brush Yeosang’s arm with your fingertips, “I’m sorry I missed you today,” 

“Me too,” He pulls you in, kissing you soundly and smiling against your lips, “but I’ll be around tomorrow night,” 

“Okay,” You peck his lips again, “sounds good,” 

He jogs out a moment later, smiling and throwing the towel over his shoulder so he can head to the locker room, and you wait until he’s fully out of sight for long enough before you let the tense knot inside yourself break. 

“You can come back with me,” Mingi says, not looking directly as you as he searches for a water bottle of his own, “I just want to work on-” 

His words cut off hard as you rush into his arms, colliding with him and ducking your head into his chest. 

Mingi makes a soft noise of surprise, brushing a wide hand over the back of your head, “Whoa, whoa, what’s going on?” 

You can’t say it, not yet, if you say it now you’ll break down entirely and this is not the time or the place, so you settle on some version of the truth. With a shake of your head into his shirt you swallow hard, “I’m stressed,” you manage. 

“Did something happen?” He wraps his arms around you. 

“No,” You sigh, “I’m just… tired, I needed you,” 

He’s quiet for a second, brushing his fingers over your ponytail, “Is it something with Sangie? You seemed okay with him a second ago,” 

“Not at all,” You assure him, shifting in his arms so you can rest your cheek on his chest and squeeze him tighter. 

“Talk to me,” He murmurs, slipping his fingers under the bottom of your shirt so he can stroke your bare skin. 

He needs some kind of an explanation for your sudden clinging, and you nuzzle into him, “I’m feeling… overwhelmed I guess?” 

“Ah,” He murmurs, brushing your back a little higher, “Is that why you’re here?” 

“Mhm,” You sigh into him, “everything’s just a lot today,” 

“Everything?” He squeezes you. 

“Yeah,” 

“Do I need to be worried?” He asks softly, “Or do you just need a minute?” 

“A minute,” You reply softly. 

“Then I’m here,” He kisses your hair, “take a minute,” 

You rest in his embrace, leaning your body against him and letting him support your weight, your mind finally silent in a way that you had been craving all day. You’re not sure exactly how long you stay like this, but eventually he cups either side of your face and draws your head up, “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” 

Yes. You’re so close to it, to sighing and let it pour out of you, but instead you just shake your head, “You just help quiet things down for me,” 

He smiles, brushing his thumbs over your cheeks, “Oh,” 

You sigh again, letting your limbs relax in his hands, and his eyes finally flick over you in earnest and realize what you’re wearing. 

“Did you just come from the gym?” 

“Yeah,” You nod, “I stayed late with Ji-Ah after class,” 

“Wasn’t class at like six?” He observes. You forget sometimes how watchful he can be, how much he picks up on when everyone’s not looking. 

“Also yes,” 

“Were you working out that whole time?” His eyes narrow a little. 

You shrug, gearing up to argue about how they do the exact same thing, running their bodies into the ground to keep in tip top condition and nail every single second of choreography. 

He surprises you again though, “You really do need a distraction, don’t you?” 

“What?” 

“Well,” He steps back and shakes out his limbs, leaving you in the middle of the dance floor and heading for the speaker to the side wall, “if you don't want to tell me what’s bothering you, that’s fine, but I think I get it.” 

You’re sure that he does, but you hold your tongue, waiting to see what he does next. 

“I need to finish working on something,” He says, flicking the music back on, “and it’s driving me insane that I can’t get this, so I’m going to teach you.” 

“Mingi,” You laugh, “I’m not really a dancer,” 

“And?” 

“I just don’t know that teaching me is really going to help you when I have no idea what I’m doing,” You shrug, “I don’t want you to waste your time just because I wanted a hug,” 

“Okay first of all,” He smiles, picking up his phone so he can control the music, “I’m asking you for help,” 

“You are?” 

“Yeah,” He unzips the hoodie he’s wearing and tosses it across the floor of the studio, leaving him in a pair of black sweatpants and a charcoal gray sleeveless t-shirt, the deep dips of the arm holes leaving very little to the imagination. He smirks when he sees you staring, “Like something you see?” 

“Shut up,” You break your eyes away from the perfect definition of his arms. 

“Stare at me later,” He says, taking a step closer, “and help me with this.” 

“I’m not sure what you want me to do,” You admit. 

“Drop your stuff,” He nods towards the side wall, “and then we can help each other. I need to figure this shit out before we go home, and you need to forget about whatever is upsetting you.”

By the time you’re back in the middle of the studio floor with him, he’s in the zone. He’s focused and intense, watching a video on his phone of the BB Trippin choreography. You watch his eyes track the man wearing Mingi’s name on his chest, and then he sighs, handing you the phone. 

“Okay, watch everything after the bridge,” He instructs. 

You set up the video and let it play, watching as the choreography team slams out quick fire move after move. The intensity of the music building along with it. 

“Shit,” You glance up at him, “this is intense,” 

“Yeah,” Mingi nods, “and I keep fucking up the timing,” 

You loop the video again and watch it, and then nod, “What can I do?” 

“Let me talk this out,” He says, moving to stand in front of you, “if I break it down piece by piece for you it might start clicking,” 

“Fine,” You pass the phone back to him and rub your hands together, “but you are not allowed to laugh,” 

He grins, “I’ll do my best,” 

You roll your eyes at him, and then together you get to work. 

An hour later you kind of understand one section of things and have your body moving on beat. Mingi’s standing behind you now, watching you in the mirror intently and following along with your steps as he instructs. “That’s actually not bad,” He nods, “do that part again,” 

You follow his earlier instruction again, trying to move your body in the way he explained and demonstrated, smiling back when you see his face continue to light up. 

“Alright,” He stretches his arms back up over his head, shirt riding up at the bottom and revealing the taut plane of his stomach, “watch me,” 

Your eyes flick over him as you settle back against the mirrors, and he seems pleased that you’re watching but doesn’t say anything this time around. You queue up the music for him and you watch. He’s nearly perfect, slipping up again on the one section he keeps making mistakes with and he curses under his breath. 

“Alright, again,” He gestures for you to fix the track and you do. You know better than to push him to stop now, he needs it just like you needed the quiet earlier. 

It takes four more run-throughs before he nails it, and three more after that until he has it down comfortably, and by the time he’s there, sweat is dripping off him and all you can do is watch the way it makes his toned arms shine as he moves. 

“That’s good,” You tell him as he slows to a stop, “you look really good,” 

He quirks an eyebrow, “Yeah?” 

“Your dancing,” You clarify, even though he can see right through you. 

He takes a step towards you, his eyes flicking purposefully up and down your body, “Are you saying that only my dancing looks really good?” 

A smile bubbles out of you, “No,” 

“What else looks really good?” He smirks. 

“Mingi,” You sigh, but he’s closing in on you. 

The studio is so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and he leans in close, bracing his hands on the mirror behind you until he’s fully enclosed over you with a self satisfied smile on his face, “You really like me, don’t you?” 

Your heart thuds in your chest, but you can’t answer him. 

“Cute,” His hand slips down your arm, “Why do you look so nervous? We’ve kissed before,” 

“We’ve done a lot more than kiss,” You laugh softly. 

“And you’re still getting all blushy with me?” He teases you, “I didn’t know I made you this flustered,” 

Your stomach flip flops, “Shut up,” 

“Tell me you think I’m hot,” He presses closer, your bodies almost touching, “I saw you watching,” 

“You know how hot you are,” You brush him off as best you can, “you don’t need me to tell you,” 

“I want you to tell me,” He shakes his head. 

“Fine,” You straighten up, brushing your hands down his chest and pushing up on your tiptoes to meet his eyes a little better, “Mingi, you’re really, really fucking hot, and you’re driving me insane,” 

He smirks, “Good,” 

“Good-”

His lips crash against yours and you squeak against him, he’s all over you now, pushing you into the wall of mirrors and pulling you closer by the hips simultaneously. His hands are hungry and searching, his tongue insistent. Every thought that’s plagued you for the day suddenly dissipates. All you can feel is his mouth on yours, the way your body flutters under his touch, the feeling of his cock half hard and pressed into your belly. 

“We can’t do this here,” You groan as his lips move down your throat, “someone could come in,” 

“I know,” He cups your breast through your top and kneads the soft flesh in his palm, “I’m not going to fuck you in the practice room,” 

He says it so bluntly you laugh and blink your eyes back open, “You’re not?” 

“No,” He nips at your throat, “I’m going to take you home and fuck you,” 

You curse softly, your hips rolling against him unconsciously. 

“You want me that bad?” He chuckles. 

You almost roll your body again, drag him back to your lips and beg him to fuck you here and now, but somewhere on this floor his manager is waiting and you know you can’t. You push him back, using the mirror behind you for some leverage and he stumbles back, a grin on his flushed face. 

“Let’s go home,” You sigh, “I think you got the dance down.” 

He laughs sharply, “Yeah,” 

“Come on,” You put some space between you and start to pack up your stuff, “I’m sure everyone’s wondering where we are anyways,” 

It takes him a second to relax, lose the start of his erection and be presentable enough to leave, but the electricity is still there and sparking between you. “They’re probably not,” He says finally, “they’re probably asleep,” 

“True,” You murmur, seeing that it’s already past eleven. 

“Let’s hope,” He quirks an eyebrow at you, and within a minute you’re on your way back to the dorms. 

Everyone is not asleep though, quite the opposite. They’re all awake, crowded in the kitchen and living room, and you’re stuck being passed between all of them as they catch up on your day and get a little flirting in. The heat that had been bubbling insistently between you and Mingi fades as the night twists away from you, and you both silently decide on cold showers. Separate, very cold showers. 

Even then, everyone’s still up. Only San and Jongho disappearing to play video games, but that doesn’t make the night feel any less busy. Seonghwa brings up break out of the blue, the idea off days off and childhood friends so close they can almost touch it. They’re excited, and you’re happy for them, but your head is starting to hurt. 

Mingi takes you to bed quietly, pulling you gently away from the busy conversation the minute your mind starts to disconnect from where you are and start to wander backwards. No one blinks an eye, it’s so commonplace now that one of them would come to you and take you to bed, even if it’s just to sleep. You both wish everyone good night, and then you’re alone. 

In your room, he peels away the layers of your clothing until you’re stripped bare and standing at the edge of your bed. You don’t have to talk, not with him. Mingi shrugs off his sweatpants and tosses his shirt to the side, his cock starting to stiffen as he takes a few steps towards you and brushes his hand along your bare back. When he looks at you like this, you could feel exposed and nervous, but you don’t have an ounce of self consciousness. No need to cover up or look away in giggled shame. Instead you hold his eyes and let it all fall away. 

He dips down, and you think he means to kiss you, but instead he holds you steady with his wide hands on your back as he crouches, pressing a firm kiss to your breastbone. He sighs against your skin, pressing slow kisses across the tops of your breasts, and you thread a hand into his messy hair. 

“You’re beautiful,” He murmurs, “let me take you to bed,” 

The crackling intensity and teasing from earlier is gone, but inside this smooth tenderness you can barely breathe. You nod, brushing your hand through his hair again and again. 

He straightens up and draws you towards the bed, easing you down into the covers and meeting you in the center of the mattress. You’re tucked close together like this, eye to eye with your bodies pressed against each other, and you’re suddenly reminded of your very first night together. The way he watched over you so carefully then, close just like you are now. 

“y/n,” He says quietly, “whatever it is, let it go for tonight,” 

You nod, releasing a shaky exhale and packing it back up for another day. It was only a moment of weakness. 

“Mingi,” You drag your hand down his chest, feeling his abdominals stiffen as you drift lower, “touch me, please,” 

“Mhm,” He hums, moving his hand from its resting place on your waist to the junction of your thighs, coaxing your leg up and open so he can slowly roll his fingers over your bud. 

The comfort of it is immediate and you sigh pleasantly, dropping your forehead to his. 

“Like that?” He commits to a rhythm and checks in again, “Faster?” 

You shake your head against him and make a small negative noise, “No, just,” your breath catches, but you recover, “a little harder,” 

His fingers respond in kind, increasing in intensity but never quickening. 

You moan softly, dizzy at the heat suddenly drifting up your body, “Mingi,” 

“Relax,” He murmurs, wrapping his free arm around your shoulders and easing you against him, softly urging you to release your tense muscles, “let it go,” 

You wish you could. Words catch in your throat, but instead you reach for him and close your fingers around his wrist, tugging his hand away from your core and he leans back to get a good look at you. 

“What?” He looks concerned. 

“Can you just kiss me?” You reach for him, “Just for a minute,” 

“Come here,” He wraps an arm around you, pulling you across the sheets until you’re pressed flush together, “I’ll kiss you all night if you want,” 

Sometimes he makes you melt, like you might dissolve right into the bedding for him and only him. 

Mingi nuzzles your cheek with his nose, pressing soft, deliberate kisses across your face until your eyes flutter shut. Everything with him is blissfully quiet, and you’re cocooned inside this space with him alone. He eases his mouth down against yours, slowly parting your lips and flicking his tongue along the underside of yours. 

Moment by moment your body starts to relax, muscles that you didn’t even know were tense releasing until you’re boneless in his arms. He takes his time with you, kissing you lazily, his hands slowly stroking your skin and kneading the soft flesh. You can feel your body responding, fluttering heat through you and the slow build of wetness between your legs. 

“Hmm,” He sighs against your lips, “you’re so soft, and so warm,” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm,” He murmurs as he breaks away from your mouth, “come right up here for me,” 

You let him drag your body on top of his as he settles down onto his back, leaving you lying fully on top of him, his now fully hard cock trapped between your bodies. He rolls his hips once to feel some friction and sighs, reaching for you and brushing your hair away from your face, holding you softly above him, “What are you thinking about?” 

“Nothing,” You tell him honestly. 

His eyebrows raise, “Nothing at all? While we’re like this?” 

You smile at him, shifting over him until you’re straddling his hips properly and then you ease back down over him to press your lips to his, “All day I’ve been dying to think about nothing, I don’t mean it that way,” 

“Ah,” He brushes your cheek and kisses you again, “so I’m helping?” 

“You know you are,” You shuffle forwards a bit, sliding your body up so that his cock slots perfectly between your wet folds. 

He groans, his hands finding your hips, “Babe,” 

“Hmm?” You kiss him again, rocking yourself just a little on top of him. 

“Again,” He squeezes your hips. 

You rock more this time, grinding against his length and dragging your clit up and down his shaft, and you pant quietly against his mouth. 

“You’re so wet,” He sighs, “just from kissing?” 

“You’re a good kisser,” You tease him, letting your lips travel down his jaw and over his tender throat. 

He hisses softly when you suck at his pulsepoint, his hands now helping drag you back and forth over his length. 

“Mingi,” You moan softly as pleasure curls in your lower belly, “I want you inside,” 

“Fuck,” He curses, “yes, god, whatever you want,” 

You center your hands on his chest as an anchor and lift your hips high, and Mingi helps guide his cock to your entrance. You go slow, ease down his shaft inch by inch to give yourself time to adjust to his size again. He’s watching you carefully, taking stock of every microexpression and when you let out a little huff halfway down he closes his hands over your hips and holds you still. 

“You okay?” He checks in. 

“Perfect,” You assure him, “you feel just right,” 

His hands soften and you let yourself lower down more still until he’s sheathed fully inside and your hips are resting comfortably back down on his. His brows are knit together, and you feel his cock twitch inside you as he soaks in the tight heat of you. 

You push up and drop down experimentally, just an inch or two to test the feeling out for yourself and make sure you’re really ready to take him in earnest, and he moans tightly below you. 

“Good?” You smile, dragging your hands down his chest and over his abs, your fingers ghosting over the line of hair that runs from his navel downwards. 

“Mm,” He nods, blinking up at you, “you’re so tight,” 

Slowly you start to circle your hips, gradually leaning your weight onto his chest again to begin a slow, steady bounce that drags him in and out of your aching body deliciously slowly. Your thighs are burning, overused from your hard workout and helping Mingi at the studio, but you push through the soreness to keep feeling his cock dragging over every perfect spot inside you. 

He cants his hips upwards once, connecting your hips harder and you shudder, fingers tight on his chest, “Mingi, baby, I’ll come like that,” 

“Good,” He snaps his hips up again, “I want you to,” 

You bite down on your lip, pressing your eyes shut tight as you focus on the sensations of your bodies together. It’s slow and easy, but with every passing second the tension in both your bodies starts to build, sweat breaking out on your brow and blush coloring his chest pink. 

He’s stretching you wide and deep, the push of him inside you making your body twist into the right spot for him to rake over your g-spot again and you moan tightly, “B-baby, you’re so fucking big,” 

“Shit,” His hips stutter when you say it and your eyes flutter open. 

You drop down fully over him, taking him back to the hilt and lock your hands over his where they sit anchored on your hips. You sit back up watching him carefully, the blush creeping up his neck now, his plump lips red and swollen from kissing, and he looks like he might come any second. He whines a little when you stop moving, and you smile down at him. 

An insatiable need is sudden and singular in your mind, and you reach for the thread, ready to pull him apart if he’ll let you. “Do I not tell you enough, baby?” 

He swallows hard, unable to answer. 

“Don’t you know how deep you are inside me?” You maintain your grip on his hands and raise yourself up with just your legs, dropping down hard. 

He groans, his nails digging into your hips. 

“Don’t you know how full you make me?” You roll your hips back and forth and sigh at the sensation. 

His brain finally seems to connect, and he shakes his head slowly beneath you, his eyes glued to yours, “Tell me,” 

“Watch,” You tell him, nodding down and instructing him to look where his cock disappears inside you. 

He looks immediately, and you press all the way up, drawing him almost fully out of your body before you drop back down with a whimper. He groans and bucks his hips but you hold yourself steady. 

“Baby,” You shift his hand, dragging it over your body and settling it over your lower abdomen, “I can feel you everywhere,” 

His fingers tighten over your belly, his head falling back against the pillows and his jaw sets tight when he moans. 

“Mingi,” You sigh, resuming your pace as you bounce above him, “ah, fuck, Mingi, baby,” 

He’s lost in the feeling of you for a minute, but at your cry he looks down and watches you, “God, look at you,” 

You want to make him come, you know you can, but his cock is so steadily pulsing back and forth over the sweet, tender spot inside your walls and you know just a little more will roll you right over the edge into your own pleasure. 

“P-please,” You push his hand down, “I’m- I need,” 

“Shh, shh,” He murmurs, “I’ve got you,”

His thumb slides lower and finds your swollen clit with ease, and as you work your body up and down above him, he sets a steady circular pressure over your bud. You’re so close now, a trembling starting in your thighs and you bounce harder, taking him faster, firmer and deeper with every pulse of your hips. 

“Mingi,” You whine, gripping onto his hand that still stays anchored on your hip. 

“Oh fuck,” he huffs and you feel his hips start to buck up into you haphazardly, desperately looking for his own release. 

“I’m so,” You bite down hard to keep from crying out too loudly. 

“Come on beautiful,” He pants, “fuck me harder, come on my cock,” 

“Ah, ah,” You head falls back and you focus on his words, the feeling of his thumb flicking your clit in earnest, and the taut cord inside you pulling apart at the seams, “I’m coming, I’m,” 

You snap in his hands, the pace of your hips never slowing despite the sudden crash of your orgasm and he curses again below you, panting, and you know if you can just keep it up a little longer you’ll have him coming too. 

Suddenly he groans and his next words nearly send you into a spiral, “Baby, say my name again,” 

“Wh- oh, fuck,” Your eyes are pressed tightly closed as you try to keep going. 

“Please,” He pants, “fuck, please,” 

“Mingi,” Your voice stretches his name into a moan, your body overstimulated and trembling. 

“God, again,” He groans, gritting his teeth, “say it again,” 

You pull yourself back, looking down at him now as you ride him in earnest, both of his hands closing over your hips and helping drag you up and down at the exact intensity he needs. His mouth falls open when you lock eyes and you let yourself beg for him, “Mingi, baby,” 

He makes a choked noise, his body locking up below you. 

“Mingi, you feel so good,” You double down, “please, you fill me up so good, baby, Mingi,” 

He releases sudden and hard, his head falling back as he slams your body down until your hips are flush together again, holding you in place as he comes hot inside you. He groans hard, his hips grinding up into yours as he lets the wave of pleasure pass through him. 

When his body relaxes, you can feel that his mind is still slow and sluggish, but admittedly so is yours. You give him a dazed smile, and he pulls you down onto his chest again, rolling you both smoothly to the side so that he can hold you close but still leaving himself inside you. 

You go to shift your hips back and draw him out, but he stops you, shaking his head against yours and gathering you close, “Give me a sec,” he manages. 

You nod into his chest, quietly resting alongside him until he’s well enough recovered, finally pulling his softening cock free. He sighs, tugging your comforter up over your bare bodies and snuggles into you. There’s nothing to say, cocooned in his arms you finally fall asleep, your mind blissfully blank for the first time in days. 

[netherworldpost]

Deep 'Neath the Mountain the Forge Bellows High

The mountain dwarf hammered the horse shoe, careful to bend the red hot metal to the perfect shape. His hands, calloused beauties, mastered this craft more centuries ago than he had fingers.

The dwarf made a low, grumbling, barrel of a growl into his beard as he squinted at his work. Measuring the arc. Assessing the weight. He could tell to the metal flake how heavy the shoe is, he could spot if there were weak spots in the metal as if it were part of his own heart's riverways.

The smith exhaled a wheeze.

A laugh.

A pleased. Laugh.

"Three down," he muttered as he plunged the shoe into a bucket of thick, syrupy oil.

The dwarf did not mention 'one to go,' as that would call into question the possibility of metal cracking, fire dying -- or stone forbid -- a missed hammer strike.

No.

The dwarf turned to his forge fire and assessed it with the critical eye of a grocer inspecting incoming vegetables. The final had to be perfect. As perfect a horse shoe as its brothers.

This project, his masterpiece, his greatest (dare I say the word) passion, had to incorporate the entirety of his hard-earned skill.

Frowning in satisfaction, the dwarf glanced at a slab marked with white chalk, counting down the days, each line drawn carefully, precisely, of equal length, rigidly as tall as the rest, and no taller than necessary.

There was no flippancy to the marks.

They were all practical. Structured. A workdwarf's calendar. Easy to erase when the month shifted over. Easy to clean. Easy to track. Easy to count.

Except one.

There was one mark in rose quartz hued chalk. Bit taller. Rounded. Rounded!

The dwarf's satisfied frown softened, his lips pursed in reaction, his eyes squinted a bit, not from the smoke, not from the fumes drifting from the oil, not from the sweat beading on his brown, arms, back, chest, not the sweat running down his neck.

"Soon."

It was a word. A spell.

A hope.

The date the mountain dwarf propose to that damn fool centaur he has been dating nigh these twenty years.

"Neigh these twenty years!" the shoesmith laughed, a bellow, ringing sound of rocks tightening under the crushing weight of a shifting tectonic plate.

The mountain dwarf gathered himself, shook his head, his eyebrows knitting together. He would speak only in forge curses, prayers for help from the gods of metal and fire, for the rest of the evening, the next day, day after, as he worked to perfect the final engagement horse shoe.