#if he doesn’t text me back in five minutes I am marching down to his office to talk

[scary-senpai]

I have exactly one Love Language and that is Commitment to the Bit

[chocosvt]

HER | part one.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 23.5k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, coke, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

potentially triggering scenes within the fic are NOT MARKED in advance

the content is already quite mature, so pls heed the warnings!

bolded and italicized text implies characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts

everyone's patience and understanding has been endlessly appreciated! you have no idea ;_; i give you all shining stars 🌟

⇢ part two | part three | part four | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

—MARCH 19TH.

“I have a relatively big favour to ask of you.”

 No. Wonwoo didn’t want anything to do with favours.

The fact that Seokmin had actively picked out his presence in the coffee shop like he was some shiny contortion of plastic had actually offended Wonwoo. He came here for two things: to not be bothered, which his friend knew, and to work on the book he was halfway through typing and had been halfway through typing for the past six months. Call it writer’s block, or an inspiration drought, or an absolutely depressing lack of drive—it had been hanging over the writer with an annoying persistence and it seemed that no number of lemony scones or cold coffees were going to make it vanish.

“Uh, Wonwoo?”

“Sorry… what?” He forced his gaze to shift from the blank page on his laptop to Seokmin’s apologetic, softly expressional face, slightly flushed from his time outdoors in the chilled March weather.

“I was just wondering if you’d be up for a favour—a pretty big one—and I know this is your special creativity spot, but she’s been like, breathing down my neck about it and I can’t put it off again.”

“Whose been breathing down your neck?”

At first, Seokmin didn’t say a word, or even make a sound. His lips twitched for a moment, but then he pressed them together and his chest visibly sucked in with a breath. God, Wonwoo hated the suspense and he hated Seokmin for interrupting him when he had been so stupidly close to putting a sentence down that he probably would have back-spaced in frustration a minute later.  

“Y’know…” he trailed off, “Her.”

Her.

No, not her, you.

But most people—if not everyone—referred to you by an alias that had seemed to stick so well the majority believed it actually was your name. When people said her they meant Her, and so in a confusing mess of finger-pointing they really meant you. Come to think of it, Wonwoo had no idea where the nickname even came from or who gave it to you or what it even meant.

And he was perfectly fine with never knowing.

“What?” Wonwoo deadpanned. “What on earth could she want to do with me? She doesn’t even know me.” He slid down in his chair, fingers pulling at his circle-lensed glasses so they tilted uncomfortably across his nose bridge. “Or, is this a joke?”

“Oh—no! Absolutely not!” His friend was insistent on proclaiming, vigorously shaking his head. “I’m being serious.”

“Why don’t I believe you then?”

“Okay, well, if you let me explain everything, it’ll all make sense. I said I know someone who writes really well—”

“Meaning me?”

“Yes, meaning you. And the only reason that was even brought up is because she wants to write a book.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help it. He laughed a very short disbelieving laugh that flashed a transient smile to his face as he readjusted his crooked glasses. You were the last person he would ever envision wanting to write a book. He then navigated the trackpad on his laptop, deciding to close the document simply titled, 01, that harboured the fleet of pages to his own current work in progress.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo disregarded, “sounds like bullshit.”

“I’m telling you the truth!” Seokmin exclaimed, gripping onto the metal back of the café chair like he was squeezing someone’s taunt shoulders. “She won’t tell me about what, okay? Just that she’s been thinking the idea for a while now. It’s not like I didn’t try to get details. But she refused—said the only person who can know is whoever’s going to help her. Look, y’have to understand, she was pestering me about it nonstop. And you’re my only writer friend!”

“Well, you’re about to have none.” He answered, reaching for his coffee cup but stopping it just short of his lips. “How serious is she about this, anyway?” Wonwoo sighed. “Do you know how much fucking time you need to dedicate to writing a book?”

He stomached a slow, somewhat grimacing sip as he tasted the coffee’s coldness, meanwhile Seokmin swallowed heavily, and at last pulled out the chair he’d been white-knuckling to take a seat.

“Yes, I’m aware it takes time. I know that. And she is serious or else I wouldn’t be here, bothering you. She takes everything seriously.” The boy began unbuttoning his sleek black jacket. “Really, who knows what’ll happen? Maybe you’ll meet her once and she’ll decide she can’t stand you, and then you’re off the hook for life.”

“Yeah, well have you ever considered what might happen if I can’t stand her? Are my feelings even being considered? Minutely?”

“Minutely, they are being considered.”

“Liar.”

It wasn’t that Wonwoo disliked you.

In actuality, you scared him more than anything. But to be associated with you was to be drawn into your life and caught like a firefly in a glass jelly jar. The proof was right in front of him—to Wonwoo’s eyes, Seokmin was basically your little mailman that scrambled around in hectic nature to do your bidding, because most tasks apparently weren’t worth the time or effort.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to rope me into this. You know I can hardly write my own shit, right?” Wonwoo said bitterly, wishing it was the opposite, “my mind is a desolate, blank canvas of fuck-all and if she thinks I’m writing it then she needs a reality check.”

“No, no—of course you won’t write it!” Seokmin reassured him with his big, opalescent smile. “Really, you’re just giving tips, maybe guiding her process, helping with the planning… you know, this could be facilitated so much easier if you spoke to Her yourself!”

“So, my nightmare?” Wonwoo huffed, shaking his leg.

In an instant, Seokmin had whipped out his phone, tapping around the screen quickly using his thin pointer finger.

“I’m just going to pull up her schedule. It’s always pretty packed, but more into the summer break, it thins out a little. “

Wonwoo exhaled, staring off into the warm, afternoon sunlight that hailed in through the windows, striking all the shimmering flecks and pieces of dust afloat in the café air. When he breathed in again, he could smell the luxurious coffees brewing in their rich and distinctive notes. It was such a beautiful day—still chilly as the snow outdoors began to thaw—but pleasant nonetheless.

“This is such a fucking waste.”

And Wonwoo spent it being miserable.

“No, it’ll be useful. Trust.” Seokmin chirped.

“You’re trying to dip me in your optimism gloss again.”

His friend smiled affectionately, tilting his head.

“This will be good. You’ve been a hermit since I’ve known you.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo scoffed, “so you think it’s a good idea to shove me with the person I relate to least on the entire planet?”

“Really? The least? So, what you’re saying is, you relate more to serial killers? Or animal abusers? Or like, literal fasc—”

“Stop.”

“You want to do this. I can see it in your eyes. I’ll set you up.”

A part of Wonwoo knew there might be no wriggling out of the situation, especially with Seokmin sitting across from him, characteristically eager and brightly pushy as always, like a goddamn salesman. For now, it could be easier to let himself get cuffed.

“Can I at least have some time to think it over?”

“Uh… well… the thing is… the thing with that is—”

“You’ve cornered me?”

“I wouldn’t word it like that.”

“… Okay.” Wonwoo removed his glasses, shoved his knuckles tender but deep into his eye sockets, massaging through flashes of white as he came to accept a fate he didn’t know even existed in his astrology. “Just, I don’t know—fuck—schedule me in wherever.”

“Ha! It doesn’t exactly work like that.”

“I really don’t give a damn how it works, Seokmin.”

“Right,” his friend laughed nervously, “I promise that I’ll get back to you pronto. Sorry for the disturbance. And, uh, good luck.”

 “With what part?” Wonwoo grumbled, fixing his spectacles back on to clarify Seokmin’s sympathetic face, the light bouncing off his head of brassy hair like a disco ball. “My incapability to write a goddamn thing or the fact I have to help your perfectionist friend who’s probably going to chew me up and spit me out?”

 “Both parts.” Seokmin grinned. “It can only go up from here.”

Wonwoo had one very distinct memory of you: creative writing with Mr. T. It had been an elective class he took amongst all his compulsory maths, and at the time it was a much appreciated break when Wonwoo grew apathetically bored from looking at matrices and confidence intervals and equations that engulfed the length of his notebook. Professor T was late one day in the fall.

And that’s when Wonwoo remembered you walking in.

There was a sort of sharpness about your presence that pulled everyone’s spines straight. People tended to angle themselves away from you, though they did it subtly, feigning an adjustment in their seat or a plunge into their bookbag for something that wasn’t even there. Wonwoo lacked the words to describe you. To be honest, he most likely could if he put that infinitely expanding lexicon of his to work, but even then, he feared that everything would fall flat.

Some scruffy looking guy had made the mistake of sitting in your seat—someone who probably skipped most lectures and only happened to find himself near Gildan Hall purely by chance.

It was the seat squat in the middle of the small auditorium.

He remembered the hand propped on your hip as you sashayed up to him—you always sashayed places. Wonwoo found it funny, like there were paparazzi stuffed behind potted plants and vending machines waiting to spring out with their blinding flares, just to capture you picking up a half-empty bag of flavourless popcorn.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no.”

“Hm?”

“Excuse me? Yes, hello. You—can you get up please?”

“Up...? Why?”

 “Who are you?”

  “I’m sorry… what’s this about?”

 “Are you a first-year or something? Never bothered going to class until now? All the moshing and beer pong and ending up in some random basement of a friend of a friend of a friend is done so you’re deciding to actually get your money’s worth? Well, let me tell you this—I’ve been showing up to class punctually, and this is my seat. I always sit here. It’s my unofficially-assigned-assigned seat, which seems to be a known fact to everyone in this room except for you. Everyone has one. Everyone knows you’re not supposed to sit in other people’s seats. I don't care who you are. You could be my own mother. You could be my best friend, even. President of the universe. That doesn't make it okay, 'cause it’s a respect thing. It's one of those assumed societal rules and you just fucking kicked dirt all over it.”

Whoever he was, he never came back to another lecture.

Since then, Wonwoo had dually made it his mission to never cross paths with you, look at you, or even so much as huff one single carbon-dioxide filled breath in your general direction, just in case that was some degree of unbeknownst personal law he might violate.

Seokmin had royally screwed it up for him.

What could you possibly want to write a book about, anyway?

—MARCH 26TH.

Wonwoo didn’t know how he was expected to find you in this gigantic mall. As he brushed through the streamlines of people, bumping their shoulders and mumbling the driest, most insincere apologies, he couldn’t stop looking at his phone. Seokmin had given him your number with the instruction that he could find you, here, on a busy Saturday afternoon. So far, Wonwoo had sent you four texts, none prompting a response or the grey-dotted bubble, even. Fuck, why did he agree to this? He couldn’t stop thinking it.

Why did he agree to help you, whom he was beginning to not even like, or want to be aquatinted with, write a book, when he’d been struggling to fill the same page of his own story for months?

Squeezing the phone tighter in his fingers, Wonwoo’s broad shoulder then smacked into someone else while he was busy steeping in his misfortune. It earned him a wildly disgusted look.

“Maybe watch where you’re going," the stranger grumbled, some man with an engrained scowl and big, bewildered eyes.

But Wonwoo ignored him.

He didn’t fucking care, and he was sick of wandering through this mall. It made him feel overstimulated, like his clothes were sticking to his skin differently, like the back of his head was swelling, and like all the smells in his nose were somehow making him warmer.

The stranger just stared at Wonwoo as he walked away.

Ding!

A text, but not from you—Seokmin, instead. Apparently, you were in some clothing store on the second floor. Wonwoo stepped onto the escalator, pressing himself into the barrier to make room for the especially speedy people who couldn’t simply stand and wait. He felt a random touch on the back of his head. Scrunching up the glasses on his nose and turning around, Wonwoo stared at the downward escalator, locking eyes with a pretty dark-haired girl he’d never seen before. She wiggled her fingers at him with a flirtatious smile, the scent of her perfume still lingering. Fresh roses, he thought.

He blinked at her once, twice, then turned back around.

Never in a million years.

It was funny, though.

Once Wonwoo stopped outside the clothing store you were supposedly inside, he felt the myriad of distractions and scents and noises dampen behind him. The irritability he couldn’t shake was slowly transforming into nerves. He’d never met you before, unless half-glances controlled by fear from across the small, basement auditorium that hosted creative writing counted.

Focusing on one breath, and then another, followed by a deep, self-soothing inhale, Wonwoo attempted to convince himself that he was in control, not the emotions quivering at his fingertips.

He cracked his neck and walked in.

After a minute or two of confused isle-pacing, Wonwoo rounded a corner, his eyes immediately fixating on a girl who was picking through a neatly assorted dress rack, her head tilted elegantly and her lipstick glimmering under the sterileness of the lights—you.

He gulped. Just suck it up.

She can’t be that bad. You can’t be that bad.

“Uh, sorry to bother you. I’m Wonwoo. I know we have a mutual friend in Seokmin. Lee Seokmin. He’s in one of your seminar classes or something, and, uh…. anyway. I believe I’m supposed to help you with a book you’re interested in writing… that’s what I was told, at the very least. And… I know we’ve never met but… um… I guess…” he trailed off upon noting your lack of acknowledgement.

Suddenly, he was taking a step back, letting you progress further along the clothing rack, your fingers hopping between each hanger and your eyes scanning their corresponding fabrics.

Wonwoo jerked on the inside with panic. He hated the situation already, though he somehow found the resounding courage, or perhaps, humility, to address you again, even if he’d rather die.

“So, I’m not sure if you—”

“Can you move, please? Over here or something? I want this dress.”

He kept his mouth shut in order to avoid spilling out any obtuse nonsense, instead watching with a nervous, analyzing gaze as you removed the hanger and shook out the purple, wine-coloured fabric, its sparkles rippling when you stroked your hand along it.

“Woah. This is too pretty.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat, unsure if you were speaking to him directly. You already had a bundle of dresses tossed over your arm. Why would you meet up with him when you were clearly busy?

“Hey, what did you say your name was?”

“Me?” He found himself echoing.

“No, the mannequin wearing that hideous plaid mini skirt. Of course I’m talking to you. Should I get you a q-tip or something?”

“No... I don't need a q-tip. It’s Wonwoo.”

“Wonwoo?” You exercised the name slowly on your tongue.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well, just so you’re aware, it’s 11:35. You were supposed to meet me outside the boutique at 11:30. I can see you’re not very punctual, so that’s noted…” for a moment, you stood back, and the searing line of your gaze judgmentally raked him from top to bottom. “Anyway… you’ll have to assist me with some things now, thanks to your big delay. I got all bored waiting for you, so I decided to do a little self-indulgent shopping."

It could have been wiser to continue biting his tongue, but even Wonwoo, who had practically vowed to avoid you for all eternity  due to his fear, felt compelled to challenge your unorthodox logic.

“Big delay? I don’t mean to be rude, but I did take the bus to get here, and their timing is never right. I feel like five minutes is a reasonable time to wait. Not that I’m saying you’re impatient.”

“Well, here’s the thing…” your back turned to him as you took a few slow steps down the clothing rack, probing between the different, pricy materials for anything exuberant you might have missed. “That is what you said, isn’t it? That I’m impatient? I mean—jeez—why bother dancing around it when you can just say it?”

He watched you face him again, except he was keeping perfectly silent, clutching his hand into an anxious, balled fist.

“Well, I suspect you lack urgency, making you apathetic, so therefore you have no sense of initiative. I’m sure you’re already aware, anyway. I can be slow, too, with certain things. Like, when I’m icing a cake. Or painting my nails. But I don’t walk slow, ever. That’s for unmotivated, pointless people who will probably go nowhere in life.”

“… Pardon?”

“Hold this, please.”

Suddenly, you draped the wine-coloured dress over Wonwoo’s shoulder. And he left it there for a second, still gobsmacked, chest shuddering from the pressure of his pumping heart, and wondered how you were even a real person. Once you began walking elsewhere in the store, Wonwoo questioned a very understandable escape toward the exit, though, for some reason, he snapped from his stupor and quickly paced after you, now folding the dress more straightly over his arm. He realized he was too afraid to surrender.

“I’m supposed to help you write a book,” he stated, feeling his lungs dig deep for air, “Seokmin said you needed help.”

“Okay, I’m tired of holding these two. Here—” you again blanketed the dresses into his arms, “—please keep this olive one in good shape, no crinkles. I have yet to find this colour anywhere else.”

Swinging back around, you began heading toward the change rooms, your uncomfortably tall looking heels clicking with each step. Wonwoo stuttered, and he couldn’t stop doing it—just, absolutely baffled by you and your consuming sense of worth. He didn’t know what to say, he could only follow, producing bits and pieces of sentences that you were either ignoring or genuinely hadn’t heard in comparison to the monologues in your own head.

“At what point will we discuss why I’m here?”

Finally, he spat out something coherent.

You paused, and for a fleeting moment, flicked your very intense eyes up and down in an examination of Wonwoo, who felt like he was being intrusively picked apart under a microscope.

 He swallowed tautly, “I’m just wondering… that’s all.”

You pressed your wallet against the top of his shoulder, guiding him to sit down on the white leather stool placed just outside the fitting rooms. He sat, too, fighting the urge to wipe his clammy palms on his jeans—even worse, the dresses you’d dumped on him.

“Let’s talk after I try these on, ‘kay?”

There was something different about your voice. It fell lower, sweeter, and he shivered with the thought that you had quite possibly just hypnotized him. He looked up at you, nodding his head.

“Good. Everyone calls me Her, by the way.”

“I know.”

He held his breath as you reached out to take a dress, the wine-coloured one, which was more like a dark, nightly amethyst now that Wonwoo was observing the fabric up close. So, what the hell was he supposed to do? Just sit there, twiddling his thumbs and shaking his knee while you busied yourself with fitting into all those wildly sumptuous dresses? There was a plethora of other things he’d rather be doing—too many to name, in fact. But he wasn’t going to bother slithering away now, chiefly because you petrified him too much and he wasn’t in the mood to be further guilt-tripped by Seokmin.  

Throwing his head back, he blew out a tired huff and looked at the ceiling. Why the fuck was he doing this? He just couldn’t stop thinking it. What on earth could he possibly gain from being terrorized by your weird authority.

“Hey, I’ve been there, for sure.”

Wonwoo noticed an older man waltzing past him, probably in his early thirties or so, who’d spoken in a sympathetic tone. He seemed very polished and clean-cut, made apparent by his sleek suit, and as a university student who was routinely on the verge of going broke after most rents, Wonwoo knew money when he saw it.

“Pardon?”

The man stopped and smiled.

“Waiting for your girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“Oh, no. I’m just—”

He was interrupted by the squeak of the change room door.

“Be honest. How does this look?”

You had stepped out to examine your silhouette in the large, full-body mirrors against the wall, taking advantage of the heavier lighting to scrutinize every divot and ruffle that textured the amethyst dress. Wonwoo wasn’t sure what to say in the moment, and the man he was explaining himself to had wandered off into another aisle to answer a phone call. He watched your fingers pick and pull at the material so it could be readjusted in certain places, your bottom lip pursed as you angled your hips and tensed a leg to make a pose.

There were at least three other dresses strewn in his lap, and you were most definitely going to make him sit there and judge each one. Now, he could be honest. The dress was glittery yet sophisticated, something like a gloaming, purple-stained sky and its first emergent stars encapsulated into fabric, though he wasn’t completely sold on it. But he also wanted to leave the mall as quick as time would allow, so rather than being verbose, he shaved it down.

“It’s pretty, not great. I don’t really know.”

“Hmm…” you mumbled, keeping your eyes fixated on the mirror, “not great? What’s not great about it? The frilly parts?”

“Yeah, the frilly parts.”

God, he wanted to go home so bad. Warm tea would be nice right now. There were crinkle-cut fries in his freezer.

“Ugh, but I love the colour. I’m getting conflicted. Maybe I’ll toss it aside and think about it again later. Yeah, I’ll do that... okay, let me get the white one next. It’s a little short but I can make it work.”

 Wonwoo carefully pulled out the white outfit from the bottom of the pile and handed it off to you. The skirt was notably cropped.

Again, you strode back into the change room and softly clicked the door shut behind you. Wonwoo pulled out his phone almost immediately, navigating to his texts with Seokmin. His thumbs blasted against the screen, tapping out literary warfare that expanded into a decent sized paragraph Seokmin would most likely respond to with an apologetic smiley face. It might take a day or two for Wonwoo to cool off, but he always forgave him. Mr. Sunshine.

When he heard the door rattle, Wonwoo quickly hid his phone back in his pants pocket; however, he severely regretted that decision because holy fuck—that vinyl white skirt was indeed short and tight and the winding, crossed straps of the top were just maintaining your cleavage. He needed something to help avert his eyes because Wonwoo felt them itch with the urge to stare at your body despite how uncomfortable he was. The floor tiles—count the floor tiles, or count the lights—something, anything to distract his brain.

“Okay, this is like—if I bend over, I’m flashing someone.”

He prayed you wouldn’t ask him his thoughts.

“But like—okay, I can make this work, right? This has potential. If I stand really straight, and proper, and, just… pull this down a bit here—okay, fuck, that was too much. Don’t look for a second… don’t look…. don’t look… m’kay, fixed it.”

Wonwoo wanted to cradle his head in his hands. And, right when he swore that the situation couldn’t sink much lower, the wealthy, black-suit man returned from his phone call. He paused the second he saw you in the mirror, watching intensely as you fiddled with the vinyl and attempted to adjust the x-shaped top a little higher over your cleavage. Except he wasn’t exactly modest about his gaze. It was drinking you in like some sort of insatiable alcohol.

“This is tough,” you huffed, pressing your hands against your chest, “the top is super sexy. I love how open the back is. But it’s such little fabric considering the price. It sucks that I look so hot in it.”

Horrendously, Wonwoo noticed a jewel bracelet slip off your wrist onto the tiled floor. Even more horrendously, he watched in the tensest position possible as you began to bend over and grab it.

No. No, no, no, no way.

The last two dresses spilled in a silk and cotton heap off his lap, nearly tripping him during his rush toward you. He managed to cover your backside in the most heart-hammering nick of time, his hands accidentally brushing in static sparks against yours to help you pull the tight fabric back down your hips. Knowing the man was still watching in the mirror, Wonwoo clasped onto your arm and dragged you back toward the fitting room, his cheeks turned to rubies.

“Fuck, you need to be more careful,” he rasped, “the skirt is too short for you to bending over like that, alright?”

“I’m not leaving a gifted two-hundred-dollar bracelet on the fucking ground. Should I have just kicked it into the change room?”

“Gosh…” Wonwoo rubbed along his neck with tire and lowered his voice. “Bending over in a skirt that short, especially when there’s a fucking weirdo watching you, is not the best procedure.”

“So, it’s my fault he’s a creep?”

“Okay—that wasn’t what I—um—”

“Do you even like this outfit?” You deadpanned.

Wonwoo chuckled in disbelief, “I’m not answering that.”

“This is useless." Your eyes agitatedly rolled. “I’m changing.”

“Great, whatever. Do that.”

He gently pushed you further into the change room and closed the door with a smooth, loud shutter. His heart was still racing.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t let my girlfriend wear that either.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Wonwoo didn’t care that his tone was snappish and clearly tired as he collapsed back onto the stool, making a point to ignore the perverted bastard until he left.

“Wonwoo!” You called his name after a few minutes of silence from the fitting room, “please bring me the green one!”

He wanted to utterly vanish, have the building collapse and crush him in a pile of dust plumes and rubble. Sliding the dress through the small gap in the changeroom door, Wonwoo found himself pausing.

“Why don’t I just hand all these to you?”

“Because, I’m using the hangers in here for my clothes.”

“Why can’t you just pu—”

“Thank you!”

Impatiently, you nabbed the dress and shut the door.

However, that dress was the last one you tried on, and Wonwoo couldn’t have been any more relieved. Talking to you seemed like it might give him heartburn or a hemorrhage.

He thought the shiny colour of olive green suited you best.

The dress was silken and long, slightly form-fitting, with a slit cut far up the right thigh and thin spaghetti straps at the shoulders.

You picked the first three dresses to take home, and left the last shimmery one on the rack.

“We’re leaving now?” Wonwoo asked, cracking his fingers.

“Yes, after I pay. Don’t seem so eager.”

“With all due respect, this place isn't really my scene.”

“Your attitude isn't really my scene.” You swiftly corrected him.

He stood next to you at the counter, observing as you zipped open your small black wallet to pull out a credit card. If you were shopping at a store like this, you must be making bank. But Wonwoo was somewhat nosey, and when you set the card on the countertop, he glanced at its embossed name. It definitely wasn’t your name.

Kim Mingyu.

It was your boyfriend’s.

[ Wonwoo | 1:15 pm ]: Goddammit Seokmin answer me

[ Wonwoo | 1:15 pm]: I’ve sent you at least ten texts

[ Wonwoo | 1:16 pm ]: Truly how do you do anything with this girl? I feel like she’s somewhat psychotic and you just fucking had to flash your sad mopey eyes at me in that café so I would break and help her write her book. I’m sitting here with dresses in my lap, pretty much acting as her unpaid personal assistant. Why the fuck is she asking me about dresses, anyway? Did you help her orchestrate this bullshit? I’m actually pissed at you. I want an entire paid lunch.

He wasn’t all that surprised you made him carry the matte silver shopping bag (with these twine handles that he absolutely hated because of how they suffocated around his fingers), and by a certain point, Wonwoo just didn’t give a damn any more. What little social battery he’d maintained since leaving his apartment had officially depleted, for he could feel it weighing in the plaza air around him like an imperceptible mist. Unfortunately, you weren’t lying about being a fast walker. He’d never seen someone stalk with such vigor.

It was nearly an endurance test to keep at your swaying hip, and the few times he fell behind, you would pause and beckon for him.

But Wonwoo discovered that even you needed to stop, to eat and drink like a normal human rather than the disguised cyborg he fleetingly speculated you were. Your touch was so abrupt—a hand had curled around his bicep and suddenly Wonwoo found himself being jerked into a café on the bottom floor of the mall. Of course, you had to pick the most expensive place to buy food in the entire fucking vicinity, and since Wonwoo was penny pinching at the moment, he opted to stand back and let you order.

But then he saw you flick open your wallet, waving Mingyu’s sleek yet flashy credit card between your fingers with blatant enticement.

“I can pay for you.”

He shook his head, muttering a careless, “no thanks.”

“Don't BS me. What do you want to eat?”

Wonwoo couldn’t stop staring at the credit card.

“What’s the limit on that thing?”

“Enough.”

“You haven’t burned through it already?”

“These openly snide comments you’re making aren’t appreciated, you know. Now, please give me an answer before I break off the temples to your glasses so I can use them to stir my drink.”

“… What?” Wonwoo mumbled, completely lost.

“Pick something!”

“Okay, fuck. I’ll just get a coffee, then.”

He took a step forward to examine the menu boards that the employees were wildly scuttling around underneath, browsing down their chalk-written cold brews until he picked one at random.

That was all Wonwoo asked for.

You bought a lemonade and some sandwich he didn’t catch the name of, toasted on panini bread. It felt amazing to sit down. Wonwoo let the silver bag slide completely off his arm and hit the floor, to which he could sense your gaze stinging over him in disapproval. He should have gotten a sandwich himself, but Wonwoo still wasn’t sure how he felt about using the money on your boyfriend’s credit card.

Wonwoo relaxed in his chair, angling a glance down at his phone that he kept below the table, checking for any Seokmin texts.

None. He was supposed to be Wonwoo’s stupid life preserver in this situation with you, and so far, he’d been left for dead. Taking a lengthy sip from his drink was the only way he could stomach it.

“You should put your phone on the table. Screen down.”

“For what reason?” Wonwoo responded in a dull tone, quickly checking his social media with impatient swipes of his thumb.

“So we can have a conversation.”

At that, he almost gagged, slapping down the coffee cup he’d just picked up.

“Now?” Wonwoo laughed, his deep voice reverberating louder than he intended around the café, “you want to talk now?”

“Uh, yes,” you answered, picking up one half of your sandwich and readying it before your mouth, “why is that shocking?”

“Because—you—ah, whatever.”

“You seem crabby. Is that your normal shtick or are you just hangry? Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

He was in a worse mood than usual, but that could be blamed entirely on the mall and how exhausted it made him feel—everything about its environment sucked out his soul. It was most likely the reason he was even daring to act so impatient. You took another bite as you waited for him to answer, and the delicious crackling sound of the toasted bread managed to fissure something inside him.

“Your eyes tell all. Here’s the other half.” You offered.

Finally, he’d experienced his first flares of contentment that day, though he wasn’t expecting it to be from a panini sandwich with what he could taste to be lettuce, mayonnaise, tomato, and different types of melted cheese.

“Thanks.”

“Well, I’ll at least give us time to finish eating.”

[ Seokmin | 2:30pm ]: I can do one paid lunch :)

[ Seokmin | 2:30 pm ]: Her’s not psychotic she’s just uhh

[ Seokmin | 2:31 pm ]: She probs did it to mess with you 

[ Wonwoo | 2:37 pm ]: She thinks being 5 mins late warrants putting me through one of the worst experiences in my life.

[ Seokmin | 2:37 pm ]: Awwww

[ Seokmin | 2:37 pm ]: Who doesn’t like a little shopping??

[ Wonwoo | 2:39 pm ]: It wasn’t shopping it was torture. You owe me so much more than a fucking lunch.

—MARCH 29TH.

Unfortunately, Wonwoo never got the opportunity to discuss your book that Saturday. In the middle of eating, your phone buzzed with a brief call that had interrupted your peculiarly passionate rant on the different cup sizes at the movie theatre (Wonwoo had listened without saying anything, mostly because he dreaded the circumstances that may come from peeping a word when you were so fixated on explaining that ‘the medium is too much but the small is too little and they’re both obnoxiously priced’).

He then watched cluelessly as you launched up from the table, collecting every little belonging between your fingers, babbling about some wax appointment that had escaped you.

It was just that simple—you were gone.

In the beginning moments of your absence, Wonwoo had sat there without much inclination of what to do next.

He’d worried it was another test, and that he was supposed to dutifully follow you to said wax appointment and continue bending to your every endeavour with no retaliation throughout the day. He had also found the silence across from him unsettling, in a way.

Nonetheless, if you weren’t there, then Wonwoo figured he didn’t need to be there either. So he left, taking the fifty-six back to his apartment, and you hadn’t contacted him since.

Wonwoo actually knew his landlord quite well.

Her building was comprised of four apartments, which sat above her pottery shop on the ground floor. She wasn’t a very bothersome landlord and it was fairly easy to connect with her whenever something broke or caused problems.

When he first moved in three years ago, Wonwoo had ardently adored living there, constantly studying the shelves of shiny glazed vases in addition to the beautiful water colour paintings that were created by his landlord or her students. It had been an inspiration supernova in terms of his personal literature, and he was able to start writing his book. Though, at the time, Wonwoo hadn’t been living alone in his apartment, and it was an inescapable fact that the only reason he began writing his book was with the hope of eventually presenting it to his old girlfriend-slash-roommate.

Now, it was just him.

And as Wonwoo pushed up from his grave of rumpled bedsheets, feeling lethargic and empty, he tried concerningly hard to pinch those thoughts from his mind. It was nearly lunch. He knew damn well he shouldn’t have allowed himself to rot that long in bed, but the other half of himself, the self-sabotaging kind, just couldn’t be bothered to fucking care. Wonwoo reached for his glasses that lay half-opened on the nightstand, raking them onto his face while brushing the hair from his eyes. The first thing he properly saw was his tall, skinny, orange bottle of venlafaxine. No. He was ignoring it.

Wonwoo had been ignoring it for the past few months.

Whenever he got particularly sick of staring at the bottle, he’d shove it in his drawer, making sure to bury it deep under old, amply-scribbled notepads and inkless pens that he’d worn to the bone. At last getting up from the bed, Wonwoo experienced his entire body sway and he caught the room spinning at the distant edges of his peripheral. But he walked through it without a care in the world, utterly too used to the feeling of imminent nausea even without his medication. He decided on a shower, then dressing himself, one Poptart, a swig of water from the kitchen tap, and almost walked out the apartment door with the minty toothbrush still in his mouth.

After walking three blocks down from his apartment, Wonwoo stepped across the dead, spiky grass and into the lacklustre parking lot behind the bowling alley that always smelled like stale pizza.

He knew the vanilla Camry well enough to identify it—stalled smack and centre amongst the emptiness—the licence plate being chiselled into his head like his old locker combination from high school (16-12-24, because Wonwoo for some reason liked fixating on prehistoric details that were glaringly useless in his present).

Early two-thousands R&B was blasting from inside the outdated-looking car, though it was thankfully turned down once Wonwoo threw the door open and shimmied inside.

The odor permeated Wonwoo’s lungs in a heartbeat.

“I thought you were getting this dry-cleaned,” he sighed to his friend, Vernon, who was busy rifling through a backpack.

“Uh, didn’t happen. Didn’t wanna pay all that. M’gonna find someone else to do it that’s not taxin’ my ass. Air fresheners are all dried n’shit so you’re gonna have to deal. My bad, Glasses.”

Glasses. That nickname had always made Wonwoo huff a little half-chuckle, and almost instinctively, he pushed the glasses a bit higher back up his nose. He was introduced to Vernon at a New Year’s Eve party he was forced to attend back in December, though it had been difficult to speak with him because he was blitzed out of his fucking mind—not to mention the choking pain of ignoring the girl who had been sliding her hands along the divots of his shoulders and chest from behind, kissing at his neck.

But Vernon was branded in tattoos, and had all kinds of metal in his face, and was blessed with concupiscent, honey-burnish eyes magnetized every woman in the vicinity straight to him.

Somehow, Vernon had become Wonwoo’s plug in the mix.

“Now, what are you gettin’, Glasses? The usual quarter ounce, right?” Vernon’s tongue poked between his blistered lips as he dug a heavily-inked hand further into the backpack seated in his lap.

“Yeah, quarter ounce.”

“Oh, fuck yeah. Found it. This one.” Vernon exchanged the plastic-bagged ounces of weed with Wonwoo’s cash. “Gimme, gimme. I know it’s all here, but let me check… “ he flaked out the tinted bills with a satisfied head nod. “Prettier than a princess. You’re golden.”

“Did you just say princess?”

“Yeah. That’s what I said… what?”

“I’ve never heard that.”

“It’s not princess?”

“It’s picture, isn’t it? Prettier than a picture.”

“Really? Oh. That’s not how I remember—why the fuck are we even talkin’ about this? Doesn’t fuckin’ matter. Now, that’s gonna last you if you’re cute,” he said, throwing his notorious bag into the seat behind him, then tapping at his busted radio with a thick strip of tape across it, the next song rasping through the speakers, “don’t go crazy on it with your meds and shit. Do you still got enough papers?”

Wonwoo scoffed dryly at Vernon’s assumption while he hid the plastic bag within an inside pouch on his navy-blue jacket. A second later and his phone buzzed with a text message.

“Fuck the meds, honestly,” Wonwoo grunted, shifting his hips up in the seat to remove the phone from his back pocket.

Vernon itched his dark eyebrow. “Alright. Just askin’.”

Wonwoo opted to say nothing as he checked the text message without much expectation, and he was thankful that Vernon was the type to drop a subject easily. Instead his friend transitioned into a different conversation, something about another tattoo that he’d been debating, but in the kindest way possible, Wonwoo wasn’t listening to a goddamn word. You had texted him. Finally. For the first time. After three days of radio silence. And Wonwoo didn’t know why he’d suddenly exploded into such a fidgety, heart-pounding mess. You wanted to meet up again in order to discuss the book’s details.

“Who the fuck is that? Jesus Christ?”

“No,” Wonwoo laughed, clasping his right hand into an anxious fist, “um, I dunno. Just—Seokmin’s got me doing this thing with a friend of his. She’s trying to write a book and he kinda threw me into helping her. We’re supposed to meet up and talk about it.”

“Oh,” Vernon answered, leaning his elbow against the window and sweeping a hand through his black tresses, “do I know the chick?”

“Maybe?”

“She got any social media? An Instagram?”

“Yeah.”

“Ou, let me see.”

Wonwoo wasn’t following you. Then again, he was hardly following anyone. His Instagram had remained completely empty since his girlfriend left him, which had prompted Wonwoo to archive every single picture and delete all the ones that contained her, even the ones that captured mere traces of her in beaded bracelets and hair ties and white socks left on the carpet.

Wonwoo used Seokmin’s account to find you. Honestly, he hadn’t ever looked at your Instagram before. Without gleaning a single photo, Wonwoo thrust his phone at Vernon.

“Oh, yeah, I do know this chick,” Vernon chuckled, thumbing through your profile with a growing smirk, “Her, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm, yeah. Know her. Tried to fuck her. Didn’t work at all.”

Snapping his head to look at Vernon, Wonwoo gaped, “what?”

“Yeah, I mean—” Vernon adjusted himself in his seat, pulling up his knee to rest a tattoo-coated arm across it, “—ran into the chick at a party that some rich dude at your university threw. Sweet-talked her for a bit until I realized she had a stupid boyfriend. She told me a million different ways to kill myself. Yeah, she’s somethin’, for sure.”

“You’re lying.”

“Ha—a little. She didn’t tell me to kill myself,  just scolded me for about ten minutes. God, she was wired as fuck though. Her boyfriend—fuckin’, Mingyu, or whatever—he gets her coke. I’ve seen her take a line like it’s pixie dust, man. This was like, over a year ago, though. Dunno if she’s still that loopy. I don’t care. She’s pretty hot.”

Vernon then flashed him a picture from your account, a full body picture of you sprawled across sparkling white sand in a bikini, meanwhile Wonwoo could only stare at it with the blankest possible expression as his brain splattered with computing Vernon’s story.

“Is she still with him?” Vernon asked.

Wonwoo cleared his throat and sat with his spine rigid against the leather, nearly forgetting where he was and what he was doing.

“With who?”

“Lady Liberty. Mingyu.”

“Oh… yeah. They’re dating, still.”

“No fuckin’ way,” his friend lamented while he continuously plunged further into your pictures, thumb pressed to his chin, eyes glimmering, “you coulda flipped this book thing on its head and actually got some fuckin’ head, especially with that deep ass voice you got there. I know it’s gotta feel good. I mean, look at her lips—”

“You’re being gross as fuck,” Wonwoo groaned, swiping his phone back and stuffing it away, “get a girlfriend yourself, man.”

“I’m tryin’ to clean up my act a bit before I do that.”

“That’s definitely a work in progress, I’m assuming.”

“Asshole,” Vernon’s voice was gritty as he coughed into a fist, slipping his knee back under the steering wheel and proceeding to crank his stereo until the music was practically suffocating Wonwoo, “now get the fuck out. You’re not my only deal today. Sorry, Glasses.”

“Later.”

Wonwoo pushed open the door and stepped outside into the cold afternoon breeze. He sucked in a long, relieving breath. At times the fresh air disgusted him, especially when he cozied into one of his mental ruts and everything in the world seemed so grey it was soul-crushing, but Vernon’s car smelled like straight fucking cannabis.

Fresh air was heavenly.

“Don’t forget to text your girl!” Vernon laughed just before Wonwoo slammed the door shut to swallow up the melodic lyrics.

He wanted to make a snap comment before the boy drove off to his next endeavour, but he didn’t care enough to think of one.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]: hey wonwoo, it’s her. I think we should finally settle a date to talk about this book thing. let me attach a pic of my schedule and you can pick any open slots

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]: 145_348.JPG

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]:  seokmin isn’t going to be our communicator anymore, so u can stop complaining to him about it

[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm ]: Okay, thanks.

[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm]: I’ll take a look soon.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:45 pm ]: I’m excited to see you again

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:50 pm ]: no likewise?!

[ Wonwoo | 1:50 pm ]: Likewise.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:50 pm ]: ugh. thx

—APRIL 1ST.

It was around six in the evening and Wonwoo was seated in the SRX building, the sky rolling with lambent, hazy-toned pastures of peach in the windows behind him. He had arrived about an hour ago, taking the staircase up to the third floor. It was much quieter there, making it easier for Wonwoo to endlessly stare with glazed, void eyes at his laptop screen and the cursed document he couldn’t finish. After tapping his fingernails in a bored, repetitious pattern against the shiny white table, he felt the urge to delete each and every paragraph as if he hadn’t poured months of earnest love into them.

You would be meeting him soon.

He could still remember looking at your schedule, pinching into the screen and examining all the different colour-coded blocks: dinner parties, SSA meetings, gym sessions, errands—how the fuck you managed to juggle those things and more left him marvelled yet terrified. You were pretty on point regarding your arrival time, to which Wonwoo could immediately identify you before even seeing your face due to the heel clicking and the sounds of tapping jewelry on your bag.

Emerging onto the floor with a very intense scowl and a notably crushing grip on your drink, you were to say the least, angry. Wonwoo gnawed slightly on his tongue as you sat down.

Your purse clunked like a cinderblock onto the table.

He watched you inhale a slow, shaky breath, raising your hand with the expansion of your chest in order to calm down.

 “I’m going to kill myself.”

Wonwoo leaned back in the chair, subtly trying to establish more distance between you. He flicked a glance at his laptop.

“Damn. Why is that?”

“Because of stupid, incompetent people.”

“Yeah?”

“I just—I don’t get it!” You laughed, though it wasn’t a particularly jovial sound and more than anything it seemed like you were going to start smashing glass. “I don’t get how people are unable to understand that we don’t do walk-ins unless one of the stylists are free—” you dug a hand into your purse, pulling out a straw, “—which in the salon’s case, is almost never! I tell them we can’t in my very sweet, established customer service voice: ‘I’m sorry, but the only way to receive a chair is to book online.'”

Wonwoo tilted his head, grinning a little.

“Blah, blah. I tell them the entire story in the kindest way I can, even though I want to grab them by their fucking neck and drag them over the counter to show them our website.” You slipped out your laptop next, accidentally dragging out a lanyard along with it that you agitatedly shoved back into the purse. “And then, they get all uptight and pissy when we can’t wriggle them in! Sorry, our makeup artists are busy! Working with people who made scheduled fucking appointments! The world doesn’t fucking revolve around you!”

You scraped the drink toward you, slamming the straw straight through the plastic film lid with such force that several people ended up turning their heads. After taking a long sip, you gulped and glared until they probably realized it was you and pretended not to care.

For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t know what to say, so he’d folded his arms instead. Considering that Wonwoo worked the late shift stocking shelves at the pharmacy department, your predicament sounded like an entirely new world to him.

“Ugh, I’m sorry to bring all this negativity with me,” you apologized, still exasperated, “I don’t need this fucking tea—I need straight vodka. I’m seriously frazzled.”

“Seriously frazzled?” Wonwoo repeated, finding your choice of words funny as he resumed leaning forward, arms still crossed.

“Very, seriously frazzled.”

“I’m sorry about your day.”

Again, you sighed deeply while removing your long, warm jacket to drape over the chair’s spine—it was a rather elegant reveal of the strapless pearl dress underneath, tinted by the evening light, peach-pink as it rained from the ceiling length windows and framed your body like you were some sort of resurrected angel. Tension at last started escaping your shoulders. Wonwoo quickly realized that he'd been staring, and his fingers curled into a nervous fist.

“You’re actually such a good listener.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat. “Um, thank you.”

“I like that you don’t interrupt me.”

Settling his elbows on the table and ruffling the back of his messy black locks, Wonwoo felt himself panic a little on the inside.

“Well,” he heaved in, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I know," you chirped, posturing yourself confidently, “anyway, the book. We need to talk about it.”

“Table’s yours.”

Wonwoo’s knuckles pressed softly into his cheek while he waited for you to prepare your laptop. His own document was glowing at him, and he swore the emptiness of the page made the screen brighter (in the absolute worst, most mocking way).

“Okay, I’ve got my ideas and such pulled up.”

He expected you to continue and introduce the concept, but you had suddenly stopped, and Wonwoo thought you appeared almost smitten and somewhat timorous. It was strange, because from what he’d known and gauged so far, you were nothing akin to that.

“Well, promise that you won’t think it’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t even know what it is.”

“That’s why I want you to promise!”

Wonwoo pushed up his glasses and sighed, “I will need to be honest at some points you know, depending on what kind of help you want from me. Not that I’m going to be a straight-up dick.”

You scoured at him from over your laptop.

“Whatever.”

“I’ll promise if it makes you feel better.”

“Just—shut up." You wiggled your hand at him dismissively and proceeded to tug the laptop closer. “I don’t even care anymore.”

Once you spent a moment affirming the document to yourself, you looked up at him and smiled. “I’m going to write a book for Mingyu. Our fifth anniversary is coming up in the winter—it’s actually on Christmas Eve—the day he officially asked me to be his girlfriend. I just want to write him a little memoire thingy that tells our story. I want it to walk through the events of our lives, and how I remember them. First encounter, first date, first kiss, stuff like that. I’ve already collected some good memories to include. I have… somewhat of an outline? But my problem is the writing. I can spew nonsense from my mouth at a million miles an hour, but when I try to actually write? It’s crickets.”

You sat back, a hand poised thoughtfully at your cheek while one leg folded over the other. Wonwoo knew you were granting him the space to speak and at least offer a slice of his thoughts, yet, in that moment, he found himself to be drowning. He didn’t believe in fate or destiny or anything of the delusional like; however, hearing you explain the exact premise of a story that he had been successfully writing until a certain breakup—it had shaken him, and Wonwoo felt like the universe was smearing salt fresh into his unsewn wounds.

“So…” your head cocked to the side. “Can I at least an ‘okay’ or a head nod or some sign of life? Or are you just too disgusted?”

What could he say? What was he supposed to say?

Wonwoo was genuinely clueless on how to help you write a story that he’d been utterly failing at writing himself. And, sure, maybe Wonwoo should just give up completely. His ex-girlfriend had ripped out his heart without a single indication that it would happen, and then exited his life in the blink of an eye, disappearing so fucking abruptly that Wonwoo could have said she was a shadow that he imagined in pure lunacy. But he hadn’t dropped the story because there was this very stubborn, unwilling part of his being that could not move on from her—her, who had been his love, and breath, and bones.

He’d decided to finish the story as a manner of easing into closure. If that closure never came, then so be it.

“Are you seriously fucking ignoring me right now?”

His silence had promptly disturbed your peace, and now you were glaring at him with the beginning licks of fire and hell in your eyes.

“I don’t think I can help you.”

“What?” You pronounced sharply. “Are you kidding?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said while closing his laptop and sliding it back into his shoulder-sling bag, “I just—I’m not the right person to help you. I’m not, and you’ll have to take my word for it.”

“Seokmin told me you could write fucking anything. He made it out like you were some literature God with a golden quill. And—great, you’re just packing up fucking everything. Are you serious? Am I even allowed more of an explanation or are you gonna leave it at that? Wonwoo, you couldn’t have told me this at a worse time.”

“I didn’t plan for it to be like that.” He could hardly push the syllables up his diaphragm. “It can’t be me. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t lift a finger to stop him from leaving, though the wavelength of your incinerating stare was felt like a hot, melting scratch down his neck. This was terrible, he was terrible—Wonwoo already knew that about himself. He wanted to go home. He wanted to shut himself away in his room and sink straight through the sheets until he was swallowed. His anxiety was webbing around him. It was pulling him down into the soil and earth like he belonged there.

He truly hated this part of himself.

More than anything, he truly hated when other people saw it.

Especially people like you.

—APRIL 8TH.

Wonwoo didn’t think you would ever speak to him again, in person or over text message. In retrospect, he was fine with it. You were rather overwhelming and especially tiring for someone like Wonwoo who would be perfectly fine never seeing another human in his lifetime. Not to mention he was freed from helping you with your book, which he learned was a technical love letter to your boyfriend in addition to a romance he wanted a nonexistent part in. Going down that path once was already excruciating enough, and given his anxiety attack that saw him locked in a cold washroom stall last week, it was best you just forget about him. He assumed you already had, anyway.

After he stocked the last red bottle of sinus medicine onto the shelf, Wonwoo used his boxcutter to break down the cardboard package and fold it flat with the others he’d opened. It was time for his break, and then he would only have one more hour until the pharmacy section closed for the night. Once it hit ten o’clock, the store was automatically still and hardly anyone came in—minus the few student couples whom Wonwoo had to point in the direction of pregnancy tests or plan b. But it was a Tuesday night. He was at the bare minimum appeased he didn’t have to console a sobbing, snotty-nosed eighteen-year-old girl imploring for a First Response.

When he collapsed down at his favourite seat in the breakroom, Wonwoo pulled out his phone. He had sent Seokmin a text yesterday evening about going studying at the SRX building for their upcoming math midterm, though Seokmin had yet to respond and Wonwoo couldn’t evade wondering if you were pulling some strings behind the curtain.

He opened his bottle of juice and spent the remainder of his fifteen listening to music and jittering his knee.

Wonwoo took his earbuds with him back onto the floor, sneaking the wires under his shirt to pull out his collar. There were only a few boxes left on his cart that required stocking, and whatever didn’t fit would have to be scanned into storage. That shouldn't take long. Wonwoo could almost taste the crisp atmosphere of the night air and feel the gentle chilliness soon to ghost against his face.

However, halfway into shelving the cough drops there had been a polite tap on his shoulder, and Wonwoo wanted to wither up and lose his head right there on the tiles like a sundried rose.

He didn’t know who to expect when he turned around, pulling out a single earbud while the other continued to blast his music.  

“Oh, shit—I didn’t know you worked here.”

Fuck. He wanted to kill himself.

“Yeah, started a couple months ago, actually.”

Mingyu.

It’s not that Wonwoo didn’t like speaking with him, because they had definitely exchanged cordial conversations in the past, particularly when they both took that Probability Poker elective last semester and Wonwoo learned that Mingyu was a pretty decent bluffer. Unfortunately, Mingyu’s belief that he was a great bluffer was actually the one indication that he was indeed bluffing. It showed in his overly confident eyes before a twitch of the lips or a subtly shifted foot, meanwhile Wonwoo was able to sit there the entire time like he was an Easter Island statue incarnate.

Put simply, Wonwoo had always preferred to avoid Mingyu because he was your boyfriend, and per routine, he attempted to slip around most people that were associated with you.

“Cool.” Mingyu smiled and the flashes of his pointed teeth caught the light. “Stuff’s got switched around in here again.”

“New mods came out last week,” Wonwoo answered, placing the last cough drop box onto the shelf and facing it straight.

“Well, don’t know what the fuck that means,” his tone was brassy as he laughed, “I just came to ask where the plan b is now.”

 “Two aisles down, check the endcap.”

“Appreciate it, thanks—oh, condoms?”

“Next aisle.”

“Got it.”

“Just come get me when you’re done,” Wonwoo said, grabbing his boxcutter and running the blade along the taped seam of the cardboard to satisfyingly slice it open, “I’m the only one in pharmacy right now, so I have to ring you up.”

As soon as Mingyu disappeared around the corner, Wonwoo tossed the flattened cardboard onto his cart with the loudest, most life-draining sigh that could be harboured. He wasn’t the kind of person to cultivate those racing, panicky thoughts that consumed his brain like a merciless hurricane, rather it was typically one single thought that was an eternal black space to swallow him. But Wonwoo had to admit that seeing Mingyu had triggered something of the latter, and now he was feeling sick with the fact you possibly told Mingyu about his episode at the SRX building last week. To Wonwoo it had been the shackles of his anxiety, though it probably came across as a very ill-mannered, abrupt rejection from your perspective.

Mingyu didn’t take long picking out his items. It was clearly a run of the mill routine for him at this point—a mere grab and go.

At the register, Wonwoo mentally questioned why Mingyu had grabbed such a plethora of condoms. He didn’t mean to be vulgar in his thinking, but how often were you getting fucking railed?

Either that, or Mingyu preferred being well stocked.

Vernon would be bruising his knuckles on his steering wheel right now, considering how devotedly he attempted to seduce you.

As payment, Mingyu pulled out that godforsaken credit card that you had borrowed during the dress shopping. Wonwoo felt nauseous just looking at the damn thing. He swiped all of the items into a small plastic bag which he then handed to Mingyu with a notable impatience, wanting to whisk the boy out as quick as possible.

“G’night, man. Thanks for the help.”

“Night,” he answered in a deep, tired sigh, watching Mingyu’s head of thick and bouncy black hair disappear toward the aglow exit.

Well, clearly you weren’t wasting anytime thinking about him despite the dramatics pertaining to the situation last week, not even in the most marginal fraction. Mingyu must rail it out of you every night—not that Wonwoo would be surprised to learn such a thing considering the tall boy’s physique and your openly lascivious nature.

Well, good luck to you both, he supposed.

At least it was closing time.

Wonwoo had always suspected there was something ever so slightly off kilter about his body, especially in the way it reacted to certain situations and emotions. He knew it probably wasn’t the most mundane, ordinary act—locking himself in his aunt’s washroom the day of his sixteenth birthday, sliding down onto the cold, hard tiles, feeling his heart jolt, punch, and thump again his chest like a battering ram. There had been a pattern of rubber ducks on her eggshell blue shower curtain, and Wonwoo remembered counting them row by row, over and over, until his breath managed to steady.

Twenty-four ducks. He could still recall the number.

A doctor’s visit about three weeks later had granted him the diagnosis and a scribbled venlafaxine prescription. Wonwoo was already collecting his sweater off the tissue sheet bed, ready to leave.

In the beginning, he was strict about his medication. He organized them into pill cartridges and set alarms and always ate them with cooked, warm meals. Understandably, his habits dwindled every now and again, however, Wonwoo was quite pious to the routine for a good couple years. But then he met his most recent girlfriend in university. She was shy and reserved. All about the books.

Cute as buttons.

He fell in love.

And it was all such a rush of rose petals and sweet symphonies that Wonwoo became distracted from his healthy habits.

Of course, everything crashed and burned once she abandoned him. He capitulated in an instant, and the sight of the orange bottle made him paler than winter moonlight. It’s not like he wanted to suffer, or despise the way his body put him through a neural hell beyond his own control. The fact of the matter was that Wonwoo just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take those stupid pills.

It was a mountain. Every. Single. Time.

And for the third time that week, Wonwoo found himself awake at an ungodly hour, rifling through the black lunchbox he kept in his closet with his glasses about to slip off the fine point of his nose.

He pulled out the baggie filled with the quarter-ounce, his silver grinder, and his rolling papers. Moving to his desk, Wonwoo clicked on the small overhead lamp to illuminate his space, in which he tapped some of the weed into his grinder and began twisting the lid until he was satisfied. He liked preparing joints to smoke on the roof. It wasn’t particularly hard to access, anyway. Right outside his bedroom window was a balcony with a short ladder attached to the brick, and once Wonwoo had discovered it, he made a habit of climbing up to spark his joints so that their pungent aroma could be carried away by the fresh winds usually stirred up at gloaming.

Honestly, it was the only thing he enjoyed.

Just before he slipped out the window, Wonwoo grabbed a pair of black jeans he’d worn earlier in the week, discovering the lighter he’d accidentally left in the back pocket.

The ladder shuddered slightly when Wonwoo gripped it, though if he were being candour, he didn’t care whatsoever if all the bolts suddenly loosened and he were to splatter against the sidewalk like an uncooked pancake. In fact, the fall probably wasn’t enough to kill him. Maybe a few broken bones and scrapes, some blood staining the street akin to little patterns of rain, bruises that signatured violets into his skin, but Wonwoo would still be painfully, vividly alive, enough to see the stars if the glasses didn’t snap off his face.

It was a colder night, so Wonwoo made sure to tuck on his beanie and huddle into his thicker-sized coat. He sat with one leg dangling over the building’s edge, feeling the wind whiplash against his back and crawl in these chilly, indecipherable whispers from his shoulders to his neck, almost tickling him, like it had missed him.

An orange flicker popped to life from the butane of his lighter, which he used to lightly singe the joint perched at his lips. Wonwoo then tilted his head back, blowing the cloud and its loose, airy curls straight into the sky’s deepest purples.

He loved being alone.

Even when his ex-girlfriend had moved in with him all those months ago, there was an unyielding part of him that hadn’t been ready to forfeit all his space and privacy.

But, over time, his love surmounted the sacrifice.

He would wake up to her sleeping face, and with thoughtful nudges, clear the hairs off her cheeks. He would spend an hour working on his homework or writing his story while waiting for her to stir so messily in the sheets that it became graceful. He would tease her with his cold hands as she boiled up tea in the kitchen, pinching at her hips with the utmost softness and giggling huskily into her neck when she would twist in the arms that bracketed her body against his chest. He would trap her between the counter, sunshine striking the room aglow in these nearly blinding seas of light, mouthing at her throat and tugging at her shorts and hitching his fingers so deep into her heat because all Wonwoo wanted to do was make her feel good.

Opening his eyes again, Wonwoo saw the stars rather than her face. The high was disseminating past his lungs and mingling with the pain that festered in his heart, concocting something that hurt so wonderfully, in all the right places, in all the right spots.

He was a fucking mess.

It wasn’t sustainable. But he didn’t care enough to fix himself.

 —APRIL 15TH.

Why did Wonwoo keep coming back to that café? The number of times he’d sat down with conviction that today would be fruitful—today, the eloquence would flow from his fingertips like perfectly pitched music notes and the symphony would read as beautiful and mellifluous as it sounded in his mind. Today, he was going to write.

Except, he accomplished nothing of the sort.

Repeatedly tapping his index finger against the space bar, he waited for the right adjective or phrase to leap out—to grasp him in a headlock even—whatever it took, Wonwoo was willing to sit there all afternoon until one fucking word conjured in the infinite blankness that was his imagination. He reached for his drink, only to take a sip of dry air that smelled like his earlier cocoa. Wonwoo realized the cup was empty. Had he wasted this much time already?

It pricked similarly to a bee sting. His passions felt impossible. A sigh upheaved from his chest and fingers curled into his hair, musing up the already disarrayed strands and slowly warping himself to look more and more like a mad scientist. Wonwoo removed his glasses and slumped back in the chair, rubbing at the reddish prints left on his nose. Writing had soaked itself in agony and he was going to remain in the storm of it until the bitter, ungratifying end.

‘Till death do us part.

 And then, something struck.

Though it wasn’t what Wonwoo had hoped for.

Literally—it was your hand hitting the glass of the café window, which had jerked Wonwoo out from his self-pitying.

He scrambled to fix his glasses back on, your face clarifying in an instant. You smiled at him with your glossed lips, and he didn’t like the nuance of your countenance one bit. Watching you enter the café was jarring and uncomfortable and his fist immediately clenched, his index nail picking at the ruined cuticle of his thumb. Two weeks ago—that was the last time you had spoken. At the SRX building.

“Hey!” You sounded friendly. “Can I sit here?”

“Well, uh—”

“Great, thank you.”

You pulled out the chair across from him, then set your bag delicately on the windowsill. Wonwoo watched with nervous, fluttering eyes as you smoothed out your cropped skirt before sitting down, ensuring it was tucked under yourself appropriately.

“How are you?”

Gulp.

“Fine.”

“Good. That’s really good. I’m glad.” Your nails drummed once against the table. “I actually didn’t plan on coming here, but I saw you as I was crossing the street, and I thought, ‘I should stop by and check in on him’ because, y’know, we haven’t been talking.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brow. “Do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Slap your hand against windows to get people’s attention.”

You swept something off the table with your palm, and this sunshine-like laugh turned your entire face to sweetness, but it wasn’t entirely earnest, and Wonwoo bit into his lip because you fucking terrified him. He caught your sparkling eye and wanted to melt.

“Did I scare you? I’m so sorry.”

“No, you’re good.”

“What are you working on?”

“A paper.”

Obviously, he was going to lie. Whether or not you could pick up on his lie was beyond Wonwoo’s control at that point. He didn’t know what you wanted, or why you were interrupting the flow of your very organized scheduling system to seemingly toy with him.

You didn’t respond to his paper comment. There was a thick silence between you despite the distant clattering of dishes, bubbling coffee machines, and conversations that coalesced into one big buzz.

Wonwoo bit the bullet.

“Something you want from me, yeah?”

“Not… exactly… I mean, after you left me at the SRX building, I wanted to get very angry about the whole situation. My day was terrible, and you responding to my idea with that sickly look on your face didn’t help. But I thought about it. You said no. I can’t ask anything more of you, y’know? I have to respect what you said.”

“Oh.” Wonwoo unclenched his fist, stretched out his long legs a bit more. “Yeah, sure. I get it. Thanks for understanding.”

“I just didn’t think my idea was that bad.”

“Well… no. It’s not bad. It’s not bad at all.”

A twitch to your lip suggested you didn’t believe him. Wanting to clear the air a bit, Wonwoo stopped slouching. He sat straighter and lowered the lid of his laptop, inviting the space between you.

His mouth opened, and then closed.

Fuck, just breathe you idiot—he cursed at himself.

You did that little head tilt thing, half-smiling at him, looking radiant underneath the café sunlight and so oddly patient with his tied-tongue that Wonwoo was miraculously able to find his words.

“There is nothing wrong with your idea. I made it seem like there was. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to help you write a romance story, for personal reasons that would be useless explaining. But you seem very confident in everything you do. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Hm, well, thank you for believing in me. Romance can be a touchy subject—I didn’t think of that, and I get it… I guess I felt more insecure about your reaction because writing is the one thing I can’t ace. I do need help with my story, even if I don’t want it. Well, it’s just the truth, isn’t it? There are some things I can’t do!”

You chuckled at yourself, and Wonwoo thought it to be actually endearing. All your hard edges softened in that moment.

“So, I haven’t made any progress in my story, which sucks because I’m operating by deadline—” reaching into your bag, you unveiled a small, compact mirror, using it to remove something invisible from your eyelash, “—do you have any writer friends that would help me?”

Wonwoo scratched his nose.

“Uh, with the book?”

“Yes.”

“None.”

“What?” The mirror snapped shut as you gagged at him. “How do you have no writer friends? Isn’t that your major? Literature? Do you even have friends that aren’t Seokmin?”

“I’m a math major for fucks sake.”

“You’re fucking joking, Wonwoo. Please, tell me it’s a joke.”

He leaned back, folding his arms and propping an ankle onto his knee. You were still gaping at him, and he wanted to smirk.

“What’s wrong with math?”

“Nothing. Math is… math,” you gritted, shoving the mirror back into your expensive-looking, gold-buckled bag, “but why math? Why straight math? I thought you wanted to be a writer.”

“Man, Seokmin really didn’t tell you fucking anything, did he?” Wonwoo chuckled. Or, maybe you had only heard the things you wanted to hear, which was what Wonwoo assumed.

“Like I have space in my brain to remember the multiverse of information that constantly comes out of his mouth.”

“So what is there space for then?”

“You're toeing a dangerous line.”

“Well, I like math and writing.”

"And what kind of papers would you be required to work on as a math major? Did you stumble across some quintessential theorem that nobody else really cares about except for you and all the other pocket-protector wearers out there? Or is this a Good Will Hunting scenario? Even better—are you waiting for someone to walk by behind you and see all that really complicated mumbo-jumbo on your screen and think to themselves, 'woah, this guy is really smart. He's working on a paper with numbers, and I only work on papers with words. Where did I go wrong in my life?' so you can develop some sort of alternative complex that writing just isn't giving you?"

Wonwoo cocked his head at you, perplexed.

“What the absolute fuck are you talking about?” He felt a laugh in his chest, but he pushed it down. Wonwoo had never met anyone like you before. “You made up everything you just said.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I go on tangents. It’s just something I do.”

“Damn. I can tell.” Wonwoo rubbed at the corner of his eye and slipped the ankle off his knee, further spreading his legs. “You like hearing the sound of your own voice, yeah?”

He always hated when people bothered him at the café, especially when he was trying to write. Today, it was different.

“Well, that’s true.” You beamed at him so matter-of-factly, like it was obvious. “The most beautiful sound in the world, isn’t it?”

“Mm.”

“Thought so. Ugh, I just can’t believe you have no writer friends to hook me up with.” He watched you slouch forward, slapping your arms across the table. “I’ll have to go wait outside Gildan Hall and start ambushing all the smart-looking literature majors.”

Wonwoo found himself examining your perfect nail polish.

“Good luck with that.”

“Can you at least try to sound more sympathetic?”

“You don’t seem like a person who appreciates sympathy.”

“Pft. According to who? I like being comforted when the time is right, and you’re not being very comforting.” You groaned into the table.

“You like being comforted?” He scoffed.

Your head popped up, and you were pouting. “At certain times, yes. Most times, no. It’s a complicated system. No one’s really cared enough to learn it except for Mingyu, and that was by force, and I think even he hates it. But I’m not asking for the moon. Just a reasonably sized chunk of it. I have to be worth something, right?”

“What’s life without someone catering to your every whim at the drop of a hat, huh?” He couldn’t help but mutter with sarcasm.

“Yes, exactly! See—you read my mind.”

Wonwoo bit his tongue.

“Ugh, now where’s my stupid phone?”

It was in your purse. Immediately, your eyes lit up.

“Jesus Christ. I’m gonna be late to my electrolysis!”

Like a burst of lightning, you shot up from your seat and quickly fixed the cream-white purse back over your shoulder. It reminded him of that time at the mall. One second you were engrained into a tangent, and the next you were scrambling about, attempting to recover the lost time in your meticulous schedule.

“If you think of anyone, please text me!”

Wonwoo nodded his head.

Now, there was a vacant seat before him, left slightly tugged from the table due to your hectic departure. For a moment, he just sighed, feeling the breath emerge from somewhere so deep in his chest that it ached. That was the thing about you—in a confusing turmoil, you managed to fill him up when he felt empty, but then empty him once he felt full.

He didn’t know what kind of person you were.

But there was an odd thrill to it that Wonwoo couldn’t articulate.

—APRIL 18TH.

Sat with Seokmin at the boy’s dining room table, Wonwoo popped a purple grape into his mouth while flipping a pencil between his fingers. The two had been staring plainly at their last problem from the math homework, but the question was horribly long, and his handwriting had morphed from legible penmanship to the most slurred hieroglyphics. Wonwoo wanted to dump a ramen packet into some boiling water and call it a night. He’d devoured a whole stem of grapes. His head was pounding and his stomach growled for a meal.

“Oh! You see—this is what gets me every time!” Seokmin exclaimed, leaned over his scattered papers, shoulders hunched with strain, “I mess up one multiplication in a matrix, and it screws me all up! Now I have to go over—uh! My fucking pencil just snapped.”

“Good,” Wonwoo mumbled, pressing a hand along the groove of his stiff neck, cracking it, “take it as a sign to give up.”

“We’re so close.”

Scooting the chair back to stretch his legs, Wonwoo then snatched his phone off the table. It was nearly ten at night.

“I’m hungry, and I don’t care anymore.”

Seokmin sighed, “are you going to eat now?”

“Yeah. Any ramen left?”

“It’s in the box sitting on top of the fridge. Soup broth is in the cupboard beside the microwave. I think there’s some eggs, too.”

Wonwoo easily grabbed the noodle packet off the fridge. He asked his friend if he wanted a bowl as well, and Seokmin agreed, abandoning their math homework after his defeating pencil-snapping incident. While they waited for the water to start bubbling over the stovetop, Seokmin had joined Wonwoo in the kitchen, though he leaned against the counter, holding his phone six inches or so from his face. Wonwoo had never seen anyone text that fast.

Gosh—he didn’t even need to ask who it was.

Noticing a few smudges on his glasses, Wonwoo lowered them down to the hem of shirt, beginning to massage the marks away.

“Our math final is the twenty-eighth, right?” Seokmin asked.

“Should be, yeah.”

“Thanks. If it’s on the twenty-eighth then I can definitely go.”

Wonwoo slid the glasses back onto his nose.

“Go to what?

Taptaptaptap—Seokmin’s fingers were practically electric.

“Uh, this thing that Her is having… at her parents’ house… like… a big dinner party… I’m helping her plan it… just need to make sure… I’m free those days… there! Okay, all settled.”

At last, Seokmin had clicked off his phone and slid the device back into the pocket on his sweatpants. Wonwoo folded his arms, staring at his friend with a deeply furrowed yet confused brow.

He sucked in a helpless breath.

“I don’t get you, Seokmin.”

“What—why?”

A few hot droplets of water had leapt from the pot, slightly scalding Wonwoo’s arm. He promptly ripped open the ramen packet and submerged the noodle brick, poking at it with chopsticks.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, “are you obsessed with her?”

Seokmin laughed, sounding astounded.

“No, I’m not obsessed. I’m just helping. We’re friends.”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me?”

Setting the chopsticks beside the stove, Wonwoo turned around again, habitually crossing his arms low along the chest.

“I guess I don’t understand what you get out of that relationship.” He admitted. “Why can’t she do shit herself?”

“Ha!—That’s an interesting question.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

“No, it’s not that.” Seokmin lifted himself onto the kitchen counter, his head thumping back against the wooden cupboard. “I just wasn’t expecting you to ask that. And—I meant it’s interesting to see your interpretation of it. Like, my friendship with Her.”

Wonwoo nodded. He wasn’t going to coax anything out of his friend that he wasn’t already willing to say. In fact, Wonwoo had only begun talking to Seokmin back in the early, rainy days of September, since they ended up in the same discrete mathematics course and happened to choose seats right next to each other. Their bond had formed fairly quick, but they never really conversed about topics more intimate than school work and their own interests.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, don’t apologize. I mean, I totally get why you’re curious.”

Seokmin glanced down at his knees, scratched his chin.

“Uh—well, what did you say, anyway? Why can’t her do shit herself? I mean, her life is super busy. Her mom’s a writer and editor for that popular fashion and beauty magazine you always see at all those glamour stores—Stunning Monthly—something like that. Her’s dad is this business tycoon guy. He works with my dad, actually. I’ve known Her since high school. Our families are close, so naturally we’ve spent a lot of time together. Her family picked up all their stuff and moved into Hillcrest on account of her dad needing to relocate for work.”

Wonwoo remained silent at the revelation, even though he was urged by curiosity to badger Seokmin with questions.

“But, uh—without all my non-essential rambling—the relationship with her parents is tumultuous. Who doesn't have a shaky relationship with their parents, though? A few lucky souls, probably. But they've set things up for her quite well, in my opinion. Her mom got her a job at the Milestone—that fancy beauty place down Bank Street? She has a makeup chair from time to time and works reception. She’s definitely gonna graduate Cum Laude with some big fancy scholarship. Not to mention the little power couple thing she’s got going on with Mingyu. She just tends to be…” Seokmin winced, massaging his shoulder, “she’s just a bit unpredictable. It would be way too easy for things to start falling all over the place. She’s a busy girl so I figure it’s nice to help her out. Keep things organized.”

Wonwoo bobbed his head, thinking.

“I guess I’m curious about the book thing. I mean, if everything is so perfectly laid out for her, and she’s so busy all the time…. why write a book? That takes months, extreme dedication, planning out the ass… it’s loving everything you’ve written and then hating it so atrociously… I don’t know,” he sighed, shrugging with confusion, “if I were her, writing a book would be the last thing on my mind.”

Folding his arms, Seokmin leaned back against the cupboards and agreed. “I know. But sometimes she just lurches onto random things out of nowhere. One year she practically turned her entire living room into a freakin’ art studio and I slipped on an open tube of paint on the floor—nearly popped out my tail bone. To be fair, her passion projects never last long. She never has the time, as you said… I know you’re not helping her anymore. She’ll probably drop it without help.”

“Really? Just like that?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin answered, smiling, “just like that.”

For some reason, Wonwoo gritted his teeth. He would hate for you to discard the feat so readily, just because he couldn’t pitch in as initially planned. Yes, writing was not always a fruitful cherry blossom tree and sometimes chalking down one sentence was equivalent to a month of effort and squeezing out all the creative fibres in one’s brain, but there was so much worth and occulted beauty to it at the same time. It was the art of expression.

Wonwoo thought it was quite cruel to deprive oneself of the ability to express and articulate things as they coursed through the fragile skin and the warm veins, and chiefly, the heart.

“Anyway, maybe I didn’t really answer your question,” Seokmin laughed, “but, y’know, don’t worry too much about turning down the book. You’re right. She’s got more important things to focus on, as I was telling her over and over, and—oh! Fuck, the ramen’s bubbling!”

Wonwoo quickly twisted around as the water began spilling over the edge and sizzling like fried meat. He lifted the pot off the piping hot, orange element, to which Seokmin joined him, twisting the stove dial to a much lower heat. Blowing at the white froth, Wonwoo waited a precautionary minute before returning the pot.

Once dinner was ready, they gathered back at the dining table, entwining the noodles with their chopsticks and hardly allowing a second for the ramen to cool before they were shovelling in burning mouthful after mouthful. The bite in Wonwoo’s stomach was gradually appeased. He soon felt warm, and full, and less tempered.

“Seokmin.”

“Hm?” His friend glanced up from his phone.

“So…” Wonwoo leaned back in the chair, his fist clenched. “I guess what—from what I understand—if I don’t help Her, or if she doesn’t find someone who can, then the book just won’t happen ”

At his observation, Seokmin nodded, seeming unbothered.

“Uh, yeah. Pretty much.”

“That’s sad.”

“Hey, you two just aren’t destined for each other,” he replied, slurping his noodles, “you were right back at the café.”

Picking up the white and blue patterned bowl, Wonwoo prepared to drink the broth, feeling the delicious heat fan back against his face. Once he finished eating and helping Seokmin with the dishes, he planned to catch a late-night bus back to his apartment above the quaint pottery shop. He didn’t know if he would sleep or not.

Maybe, however, that would give him time to rethink some choices, even if he shouldn’t trust the musings his brain happened to curate past nine at night. Especially any musings concerning you.

[ Wonwoo | 11:45 pm ]: Sorry to message you this late.

[ Wonwoo | 11:45 pm ]: I’ll keep it brief: I’ve given your book idea some thought, and if the offer still stands, I’d like to help you write it. Though, I understand if you want someone else’s help.

[ Wonwoo | 11:50 pm ]: Goodnight.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: AHHHHHHHHHHH

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: good morninggg

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: no that’s so perfect

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:37 am ]: okay. OMG. there’s just so much we have to sort out. I’m trying not to overwhelm myself lol

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:37 am ]: thank u for giving it more thought. I’m excited to plan everything and see u again ofc :)

[ Wonwoo | 12:55 pm ]: Likewise.

—APRIL 24TH.

Since last November, Wonwoo hadn’t invited many guests to his apartment—not even his older brother, who had never stepped foot into the building after Wonwoo originally signed the lease. Seokmin visited once or twice, but everything was curt, and while there had been one time that Vernon slept overnight on the couch, it was hardly notable.

Knowing that you were going to be at his apartment in a few hours was a very daunting thought. Consequently, Wonwoo had done something he hadn’t properly completed in months: clean.

It wasn’t like he just threw out the garbage and wiped down the kitchen counter either. He legitimately cleaned, picking over his apartment with a fine-tooth comb, not allowing one coffee cup or coaster to seem even vaguely incongruous. He fluffed out the couch pillows and vacuumed the floors. He went through his entire room, tidying up piles of clothes on the floor and aligning every book on his shelf. For the first time in months, Wonwoo threw open his heavy curtains, pure sunlight engulfing the space in such a bright glare that his eyes stung and he hardly recognized his own bedroom. Most importantly, he remembered to hide the pill bottle in his nightstand.

After all the anxiety-driven cleaning was done, Wonwoo collapsed onto the couch and stared plainly at the ceiling, the reality of what he just accomplished beginning to sink into his pores.

What the fuck?

He doubted you would care even microscopically if his apartment wasn’t perfectly swept and polished and artistic like a photo from an interior design catalogue. But at the same time, it would have been impossible for him to leave it alone. The burst of productivity undoubtedly left Wonwoo rather hot and sweaty, so he opted to take a shower before you arrived. Standing beneath the cool water and taking slow, languid breaths helped ease his nerves.

And, for the first time in what he imaged to be—months, Wonwoo dried himself off with this feeling that everything was okay.

Not good. Definitely not great. But okay.

While he buttoned up a pair of blue jeans, Wonwoo heard his phone ding from his desk. Reaching over, he tapped the screen.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:05 pm ]: hi, I’m almost there

His chest fucking lurched.

Roughly jerking open his drawer, Wonwoo pulled out the first shirt he saw, tugging the white long-sleeve over his head before he wiggled his feet into a fresh pair of socks. Once Wonwoo found his glasses, he sat on the edge of his bed with his phone.

[ Wonwoo | 12:08 pm ]: Okay.

[ Wonwoo | 12:08 pm ]: Would you like me to come down?

God—he felt like his stomach was going to collapse.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:08 pm ]: no that’s okay :)

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:09 pm ]: it’s really pretty down here

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:12 pm]: sorry I was looking at some of the pottery / painting stuff. it’s the staircase down the hall, right?

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:12 pm ]: unit 102?

[ Wonwoo | 12:12 pm ]: Yes.

He reminded himself to breathe. Calm and slow and lifting the pressure that dug so bluntly into his lungs. The webs began to burn away. It had been a narrow escape, but it was successful.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:13 pm ]: heyy, I’m outside

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Wonwoo walked to the front door. His fingers brushed the knob in a flash of doubt, though his mind had already committed and now the door was pulled open and you were there, just as you said.

“Well, hello.”

He nodded at you, and then gestured for you to enter.

“Where should I take off my shoes?”

“There’s good,” Wonwoo answered, pointing to a textured mat in the corner that you proceeded to leave your simplistic heels on.

How absurd was this? Never in his life would Wonwoo imagine you at his apartment of all places—the one girl whom he adamantly tried to avoid because you were his gleaming opposite, and everything that you were, certain and in control, scared him. You were gazing around with your hands politely clasped together, ignited in the fulgurant sunlight, a small smile on your mouth.

“Wow, you’re very clean.”

Wonwoo stepped after you, maintaining a shy distance.

“It doesn’t normally look this neat,” he admitted, watching you readjust the strap of your tote bag, “I did clean for you.”

You turned to face him, and your laughter filled the space with a refreshing, long lost tone that made everything brighter. His fist clenched up anxiously and he knew his cheeks were pinkening.

“Um, cleaned or power-washed?”

He merely stared at you. Why couldn’t he fucking speak?

“Jeez, don’t look so afraid. I’m joking. And I obviously appreciate the effort.” You spun back around, continuing to walk past the coffee table and toward the kitchen. “It’s a lovely place, and it’s definitely got your personal touch. Oh—this is a cute mug.”

He breathed out, unfurling his hand and stretching his fingers until the air in his knuckles popped. You began wandering in the natural direction of the bedroom, and so Wonwoo followed, his eyes drifting up the jeans that hugged your legs and your sashaying hips, to back of your delicious-smelling hair. What was that scent, anyway?

Manuka honey?

But it was just a trivial glance, really.

Nothing meaningful.

“Is this your room?” You asked, stopping at the doorframe.

“It is.”

Biting your lip, you peaked inside and started to grin.

“Do you care if I go in?”

 “No.”

He tried not to crumble right there on the floor. Wonwoo’s room was his sanctuary, a fortress, something that barred out everyone but himself and granted him the freedom to do whatever he pleased (whether it was self-detrimental or not). The thought of others in his room was a gash in that perfect sanctuary, in which he could see the walls bleed out all their comfort and familiarity. His ex was the last person to be in his room, typically sprawled across the bed with a good novel in her hand.

It was a sour, sour reminder.

“Oh, and there’s the bookshelf,” you pointed out, “how fitting.” That penetrating gaze of yours roamed his desk and his bed and all his knickknacks in between. “Hey, why’s there a balcony outside?” You then asked, settling your hands onto the window frame and leaning out, the wind fluttering minimally through the layered curtains.

“Just a remodelling error,” Wonwoo explained, “it was supposed to be removed, I think. Never happened.”

Allured by curiosity, you leaned further out, examining the ladder that led up to the building’s roof. He looked at you again, specifically the arch in your back and the way your arms were planted so firm at the windowsill. He looked at the sunlight rippling on your cheek and your lips that appeared to sparkle, like you had kissed glitter.

“You definitely go up there, right?”

“Yeah.”

Half-shutting the window as to keep the breeze flowing, you chuckled. “I figured… so, I guess we should stop dawdling and get to the meat and potatoes. Is here a good spot? Or do you want to go back to the living room?”

“We’re in my room anyways,” Wonwoo commented, pulling out his desk chair and promptly sitting down, “so, why not.”

“Cool. Let me get my laptop.”

You slipped the tote bag off your arm and sat on the edge of his freshly made bed, being careful not to rumple the sheets.

“Okay!” Your hands echoed a series of soft claps. “I’m all ready now. I’ll try my best not to ramble—oh, and please, please don’t interrupt me until I’m done. I’m going to be very pissed if I lose my train of thought and I’d like this meeting to remain pleasant.”

Wonwoo nodded. “I know.”

You flashed him a brief smile.

“So, as you know, Mingyu and I’s fifth year anniversary is coming up in December. My gift to him is this so far nonexistent book. We’ve been through a lot as a couple, and as individuals, and I want the book to fully capture this journey we’ve been on and how much I… appreciate him. Also, I’m going to introduce a second, special element—” a hand plunged into your tote bag and suddenly a video camera was revealed, “—I want to record some of our brain sessions, and, like, our voyage of figuring this shit out. I like mementos. I hope that’s okay.”

“… Do I answer?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Then, yeah. I’m okay with it.”

“Secondlyyy—” you lilted while scrolling a little ways down the notepad on your laptop, the video camera stuffed back into your flower-and-honeybee-patterned tote, “—there are a few places we’ll need to visit—not the actual places that Mingyu and I went to since we grew up nowhere near here—but places that more so have a strong resemblance to the ones in my memory. I feel like it will help me with visual aspects of the writing. I’m a very visual person. Y’know, setting up the scene and technical things like that. I like touching and feeling and seeing and breathing everything in. I want all my senses on fire, basically. Like… the way your lips feel after eating insanely hot noodles.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Wonwoo didn’t really care. He just agreed.

“Lastly, I want to make a schedule for us. So, I’m kindly asking you to set up a schedule of your own—work shifts, doctor’s appointments, tests—the like, so I can incorporate them into my own hectic life and make us one colourful, super writing schedule.”

And then, with a big, winded sigh, you shut your laptop.

“That’s it. Done. Thoughts?”

Honestly, the entire premise didn’t sound all that terrible. He had braced himself for the worst, but you were unsurprisingly organized and had pinpointed all your desires quite clearly. Of course, he knew it was going to be sheer hell—flames up to his knees and desert sun beating on his skin like a hot skillet frying butter. You were structured and dedicated and Wonwoo was none of those things.

No doubt, Wonwoo would have to learn to deal with you.

You would either be his trigger or his pulse.

But, even worse, you would have to learn to deal with him.

“I’m just following your lead on this,” Wonwoo announced, lacklustre of much interest, resting his hands against his stomach while he rotated back and forth in the swivel chair, “whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. How soon do you want the schedule thing?”

“Like, as soon as possible.”

“Okay.”

“Do you really have no questions?”

Wonwoo scratched the side of his head.

“Uh, have you got anything written down yet?”

“Yes,” you propped open your laptop again, “an intro.”

“Oh, really?”

“Don’t question me. It was already difficult enough to write it, and I agonized over it for hours.” You pouted, slumping slightly.

He shifted up straighter in the desk chair.

“I’m sorry. I was just wondering. It’s good you started.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Wonwoo tilted his head at you. “Do I get to read it?”

Your feet crossed and twirled together. He didn’t think you had any nervous ticks, but that was something easy to pick up on.

“Um, not yet. Not until we officially start.”

“Okay.” He answered with a gentle voice, noticing your swaying feet still again and a bit of rigidity dissipate from your body.

Well, he didn’t really know what to do at this point. Wonwoo suspected you were constrained by more tasks for today and your time with him was limited. It’s not that you were sitting in an awkward, stifling silence, but he would rather occupy himself with something rather than nothing, because nothing left his heart to race.

“Are you hungry?” He asked.

Glancing up from the laptop, you shook your head. “I ate before I came here.”

“Are you going to be leaving soon?”

At that, your face crinkled with laughter. “Sick of me already?”

Wonwoo crossed his arms. “No. Just asking.”

“Well, I have a wax appointment soon. I’ll be leaving in ten minutes or so.” Finally, you looked up, and your eyes clicked with his in a way that made the fine hairs along his neck prickle coolly. “Does that answer your question?” A subtle grin pulled at your soft lips.

“It does, yes.”

“You don’t like having people in your room, do you?”

He huffed at the observation and delved a hand through his black hair, feeling the dampness slide against his fingers. “Not particularly.”

“You should have just said that.” Rising off his bed, you closed the laptop and shoved it back into the tote bag.

Wonwoo’s entire chest jerked. It felt like a ten-story drop.

“Are you leaving?”

“Mm, I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding.”

Why did his throat close up just then? Why did his vocal cords abruptly feel so coarse and tight? Why was his heart hammering? He didn’t mean to project the wrong impression. He didn’t hate you in his room. It just felt misplaced, and new. Like picking up a puzzle piece from the box and attempting to jam it into a different puzzle.

“It’s fine. Seriously. I should be early, anyway.”

Wonwoo stood up, realizing he needed to breathe. “Um… would you like me to walk you down?”

You stopped on your way out, faced him with a pretty smile.

“That’s okay.”

But then you did something rather strange; your hand sank into his firm upper arm and suddenly you were leaning into him, so carelessly close that he could feel the fanning, light warmth of your breath against his neck. Wonwoo’s head started to spin, and he thought a cloud had enveloped the room because his vision fuzzed.

“Sorry,” you took a step back, removing your hand, “you just smell really good. Like an ocean or something. It reminds me of this beach in Puta Cana. But your hair’s all damp and fluffy so that’s probably why. That was weird. I’m sorry.” Again, you laughed.

Why the fuck did you do that? He was almost angry. But not at you. At himself. For reacting in such a giddy, stupid way. Your touch and breath had burned him and there was this sharp, cutting flare inside Wonwoo that didn’t want to let you leave.

“All good…” he mumbled, sounding groggy and slow.

“I’ll see myself out then. Bye!”

And with a final chirp, you left, the front door closing in the distance while he could only stand there, shuddering and strangely hot and beyond confused. Wonwoo moved to swing the heavy curtains shut, the entire room succumbing into its usual shadiness. He sat on the edge of his very neat bed, removed his glasses, and buckled over while rubbing his veiny, pale hands through his hair.

The feeling was so lost and suppressed to his memory.

Wonwoo didn’t even know what it was.

He was relieved you were gone, but he also wished that you were still there, leaning out his open window with the wind and sunshine in your face. It was a sight so sweet and equally intimate.

Who are you?

What are you doing in his meaningless life?

—APRIL 28TH.

Wonwoo had finished his math final with half an hour to generously spare, and now, he was sitting, bored, sketching his pencil against the last page of the thick packet. The professor wouldn’t care.

Hopefully.

On one hand, Wonwoo knew he  should really just stand up and hand the damn thing in, but on the other hand, he hated—no, abhorred being the first person to return a test, especially an exam at that. Wonwoo was pretty smart. He knew that about himself and he never bothered to maintain the guise he wasn’t. Still, Wonwoo wasn’t pretentious. If he had to wait until the final fucking minute to hand the packet in, solely to avoid being the first student up, then so be it.

Besides, there wasn’t anything too pressing that required his immediate attention—minus the pertinent schedule he was supposed to make and have sent to you approximately three days ago. You had called him last night, to which the phone crackled with a loud, static bark of his name as you admonished him for his lateness.

“I told you three days ago I wanted the schedule! Three days! I can’t believe this. What’s so hard about making a schedule? Beep boop, you press some buttons on your laptop and it’s done. It would take ten minutes tops! Ugh, I’m so done with you, Wonwoo. In fact, don’t call me back—don’t even text me until you have the schedule!”

And then the line had collapsed, leaving Wonwoo to stare rather expressionlessly at his phone screen, the boy huffing out a breath of tendrilled smoke while he relaxed on the apartment roof. That had been his first experience sat on the receiving end of your seasoned quips, and it left him with this very profound emptiness, like his insides had been scooped out and the shell of his body was nothing but a wooden nesting doll. It had been such a long time since he genuinely cared about disappointing someone. Wonwoo had grown far too complacent with the feeling of disappointing himself.

That would never motivate him to do anything.

But you were different. In the sense that Wonwoo mostly remained proactive out of fear you might bite his head off.

From somewhere near the back of the room, Wonwoo heard chair legs scraping, and he eagerly flexed his fingers while observing a girl with the slickest ponytail he’d ever seen march past him to the professor’s desk. She set her packet down. He thanked her. She left.

Jesus Christ. Finally.

“All finished, Wonwoo?” His professor mumbled in a tone that hardly escaped his own lips, glancing up at the boy expectantly.

Pushing up his glasses, Wonwoo nodded.

“I suppose it’s harder for you to sit there and wait than it is to write the actual exam, isn’t it?” The professor noted with an almost undetectable smirk as he slid the test packet inside a tan-coloured folder, to which Wonwoo turned January cold.

“I don’t know.” Wonwoo shrugged, pretending to feel unbothered when in reality his skin was slithering like a snake pit at the thought of being even marginally perceived. “Maybe.”

“You have a good summer, alright?”

“Thanks. You too.”

Wonwoo swept a quick glance over the classroom right before he left, noticing that Seokmin was sat beside the wall, one hand tangled tight into his black, ruffled tresses as his pencil scribbled all over the paper like he was writing pure nonsense. He probably was.

And Wonwoo meant that in a nice-this isn’t really your sweet spot, but you’ll manage nonetheless-way. After leaving the classroom, Wonwoo thought he might go home and plunge head first into his oasis of bedsheets and flat, foam pillows that he loved so much, and permit himself to decay until it was physically impossible to lie down any longer. But he decided against it at the last minute, turning up at the café instead with his shoulder-strung book bag and the timely urge for a scone. He then sat down at his favourite table.

Pulled out his laptop.

Opened the document he was at incessant war with.

The last scene he’d written was breakfast.

“Uh, okay. Orange juice… or orange juice?”

“Did you say orange juice?”

“I did.”

“So… chocolate milk?”

“Ha! Funny... is there any sort of correlation between being a complete nerd and making such well-woven jokes?”

“Not sure. But I’ll get back to you when I find out… thanks. Your tea is sitting on the island, by the way.”

“Thank you, Won. Oh—you even put it in my Woodstock mug!”

“Yes, why are you so surprised that I remember?”

“Because it’s always hidden at the back of our cupboard, behind ten other mugs that we certainly don’t need and all our plates. I mean, I guess it’s my fault. Half of them are from my mom.”

“It’s sweet.”

“It takes up too much space. But I can’t tell her no.”

“That, you’ve got to work on.”

“The Christmas thing isn’t happening anymore, if that helps. I think the thought of having to cram all my family into our living room for a night was what motivated me the most. My mom said she’ll send us poinsettias instead. I think that’s way easier.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Believe it or not, I can assert myself. Sometimes.”

“No, no. I do believe you. I’m proud. Okay—bottoms up.”

“How’s the combination of venlafaxine and orange juice?”

“I don’t know. Juicy?”

“Better juicy than anxious?”

“You could say that.”

Right, back when Wonwoo actually had the willpower to make himself breakfast rather than slapping a mixed berry Poptart into the toaster or worse, nothing at all. Back when he could wake up before noon without feeling nauseous enough to curl into a ball and drape the sheets over his aching head. Back when he actually took his medicine. Her face beaming at him from across their table had always been like a glass of sunlight and citrus. She had been his own vitamin.

Wonwoo knew he wasn’t going to write. He was just going to stare and mope and ensnare himself in the pinwheel of memories that blew over him whenever he had the gall to reread his past literature.

The Woodstock mug. She’d taken that with her.  

He decided it was strange and sometimes irritating how love, broken or not, could suture itself into even the most mundane things. Orange juice was just that—juice—the carton he used to pick up and impetuously drop into his grocery cart every so often. Now, it wasn’t juice at all, but slow mornings, steaming tea kettles, and reading together on the couch with legs all tangled up until lunch time.

Now, Wonwoo couldn’t drink it at all.

Breaking the lemon raspberry scone in half, Wonwoo dropped a flaky piece into his mouth before it got too cold, and then proceeded to close the document. There was no way in hell he would write, and while he loved drowning in his own misery in order to snuff any glimpse of productivity more than the average individual, he thought it might be worthwhile to finally start that schedule.

[ Wonwoo | 8:20 pm ]: schedule.pdf

[ Her | 8:56 pm ]: thanks

[ Her | 8:56 pm ]: don’t piss me off again

—APRIL 30TH.

For an April morning, it was surprisingly bright. The sun was out in full and glistering warmth by the time Wonwoo stepped onto the sidewalk and began pacing down to the park, practically needing to squint the entire way. He almost hated it. Early mornings were not his friend, nor were the blades of light cutting across his glasses. But today was his first writing session with you and Wonwoo knew it was more than crucial that he was the furthest thing from tardy—it would be akin to willingly setting his hands inside a burning fire if not.

You agreed to meet at the park since it was roughly equal distance between Wonwoo’s apartment and some breakfast place you wanted to stop at. He thought it was uncharacteristically thoughtful of you to shoot him a text asking if he wanted anything, though Wonwoo declined nonetheless. It was damn near impossible for him to eat a bite of food until lunch time, hence his expression softening in confusion when he at last climbed into the passenger seat of your sleek silver car and was greeted by you passing him a cold tea.

“Am I… holding this for you?” He wondered, sitting still.

You shook your head. “No. It’s yours.”

“I didn’t ask for anything.”

“Yes, I realize that. I can read, thank you.”

Wonwoo wasn’t going to argue. He simply shut his mouth, clicked on his seatbelt, and set the tea into the cup holder. He then began looking around at your car’s interior. Everything was exceptionally clean and smelled sugary, like iced gingerbread.

The thing was, Wonwoo still wasn’t very sure how to talk to you, and most often there was the stiffest frog in his throat whenever he sat around you in silence for too long. Your thumbs were tapping against your phone at light speed. It reminded him of how Seokmin was texting you back at the boy’s apartment when they were studying for finals. Wonwoo couldn’t help but wonder if Seokmin was naturally more inclined to respond to you out of friendship or fear. Maybe even a pinch of both if that was possible. Another quiet minute passed by.

“Okay, fuck, sorry,” you suddenly spluttered at random, quickly slotting your phone into the GPS holder, “just some shit with my mom. Um, okay. Yeah. We can get going.”

“All good," Wonwoo answered.

“You know where we’re off to?”

“Vaguely. The track by Caldwell High School.”

He watched you flit him a smile. “That’s the place. I’ll explain more once we get there. And, by the way, I am expecting you to drink that tea. It’s not anything crazy. It’s oolong. Only a bit of caffeine.”

“I drink coffee, you know.”

“Yes, and it probably makes you jittery and insufferable.”

Wonwoo preferred not to comment.

The car ride wasn’t too long. Actually, Wonwoo did love a good car ride. He remembered the long trips he used to take with his family to the water park when he was a child, the sensation of the breeze blowing into his face and how different shades of green would scatter in through the windows as the sun hit the tree leaves like emeralds. There was something so limerent and sadly distant about the memory that Wonwoo felt his chest hurt. Even if he were to take that same road, and smell the same breeze, and see his skin glow with the same hues of the forest, he doubted it would feel the same.

His mouth had gone awfully dry. Wonwoo then reached for the cold tea sitting in the cup holder and took a sip, suddenly very appreciative that you had thought to get him something, anyway.

And while he couldn’t be too certain, Wonwoo wanted to think that maybe this would be a good memory, too.

After the half-hour long car ride, Wonwoo made sure to stretch when he stepped out into the empty parking lot. It was cloudier now, a bit more of a breeze to help counteract the warmth that remained in the air. You came around to join him, twisting out a cramp in your leg while adjusting the purse over your shoulder.

The walk to the track field wasn’t long, no more than a few minutes, and Wonwoo obediently trailed at your side until he witnessed the bleachers slowly coming into view. It resurfaced memories from his own high school days in PE, which Wonwoo had actually been quite successful at despite his distaste for sports and their atmosphere in general. He remembered liking kickball the best.

You sighed in a wistful tone while staring across the marked asphalt and fresh April grass. “All high school tracks look the same, don’t they?” Then, you carefully set your purse onto the bleachers.

Wonwoo rolled his shoulders, taking a more observant look around. It wasn’t strikingly different from the track at his high school.

“Sure. I guess.”

“I mean, there are some differences. We had ditches by our track. Come to think of it, I honestly believe they put them there for kids to hurl in from heat stroke or over-exertion… that’s what I did, anyway. It was right before I had to do triple jump. I hated it because you had to really build up speed. I didn’t want to run. So, even if I hadn’t thrown up from heat stroke, I probably would’ve made myself throw up some other way. Straight to the nurse. She gave me a popsicle.”

He glanced at you sideways. “Seriously?”

“Mmhm.”

“You’d rather throw up than hop, like, three times?”

“I said it was the running part I didn’t like.”

Wonwoo couldn’t imagine purposefully making himself upchuck in order to get out of something. If his anxiety was terrible enough, then he wouldn’t even have to worry about it, really.

That was its own mechanism of disaster.

“Running is eighty-percent of Activity Days," Wonwoo said.

You clicked your tongue at him. “Exactly. And I’d do anything to never run. I tried to sit in one time with the seventh graders. They were in their art block and they were doing painting under the trees; birdhouses or something. But their teacher kicked me out. And she didn’t even let me take the fucking birdhouse that I was painting.”

“The nerve,” Wonwoo answered, scratching his temple.

He proceeded to take a seat on the metal bench, rubbing his hands together. He still didn’t know how Mingyu fit into everything.

“So… what’s your plan, here?”

You sat next to him, folding one leg over your thigh and proceeding to reveal a journal that you had stuffed inside your expensive bag. The tips of your fingers skimmed through a few fluttering pages, until you stopped on one in particular that was ink-abused with cursive scribbles. Wonwoo assumed you did most of your planning on a laptop, hence his surprise to learn that you actually used a journal. He had a journal himself, though it hadn’t been touched in months. It mostly contained small poetic excerpts.

Next, you pulled out a pen.

“This is how I first ran into Mingyu. At my school’s track field. He was new and good at all the activities. I swear, his name spread like wildfire. Anyways, I haven’t figured out all the bits and bobs. I want to really soak in the feeling of—oh!” Suddenly, you grasped the journal back onto your lap, the pen hitting the paper in a cursive ribbon that Wonwoo could hardly read. “I just thought of a great line. His eyes, I wanted to soak in them, like an oasis.”

You stabbed the paper again to make a period.

“Not bad,” Wonwoo commented.

“Okay, here it is!” A black case was pulled from your purse, and once you unzipped it, Wonwoo realized it was the video camera that you had initially shown him at his apartment. “Okay, I want you to film some stuff. The field, obviously. I need it from different perspectives. It will help me with setting the scene later on.”

“Why do I have to film it?”

“Because, Seokmin told me you’re quite handy with film equipment stuff, and I don’t want to drop it. So just do it, please?”

Accepting the video camera from your hand, Wonwoo sighed in agreement. Flipping open the side-screen of the camera, Wonwoo began clicking some buttons and adjusting the focus. Luckily, he was familiar with the particular camcorder thanks to a film education course he’d taken outside of school.

While you busied yourself at the bleachers with starting up your laptop, Wonwoo began collecting footage, slowly panning the camera across the vast length of the gravel track and the grassy soccer fields situated beyond. He kept a concentrated eye on the side-screen to ensure the lighting wouldn’t change too drastically. A wind had picked up from over the forest, and he could see how the clouds were consequently being pushed along like herded sheep in the sky.

Once he brushed back the floppy, black hair that kept tickling his face, Wonwoo lowered the camera and turned to you.

“So, where else should I film?”

You were typing something, and didn’t bother looking up.

“Go across the field. Film from the other side.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“I have to go all the way over there?”

“Yes. Walk, crawl. Skip, hop. I don’t care. Just do it, please.”

“Jesus Christ,” he huffed out, feeling tired and yearning to go home, “I hate how seriously you’re taking this, y’know that?”

Your fingers continued blitzing against the keyboard.

“Nobody likes a complainer.”

Ironic, he thought, but obviously kept to himself.

There wasn’t a point in expecting any sympathy from you—that, he already knew—which engendered Wonwoo’s long, trudging walk from one side of the track to the other, the wind irritably blowing his grown-out locks over his glasses every time he attempted sweeping them back. Hoisting the camera back up, Wonwoo adjusted the side-screen and began his same ritual of steadily panning the camera along the landscape.

You appeared in the view, still sat on the bleachers, though nothing about your face or figure was too discernible. It felt like you were a background character in a painting, just a little glob of acrylic.

“All done?”

Finally, you had glanced up at him with a smile.

Wonwoo nodded. “Unless you need anything else filmed?”

“No, that should be enough. The track is most important.”

“Right.”

He tried giving back the camera.

“Actually, do you mind keeping it?”

“Um, okay. But how will you look at the footage?

“Dropbox. We’ll share one. Upload the clips there.”

Wonwoo plopped himself back down on the bench, fitting the camcorder into its black case. He pulled the zipper along the seam.

“How much longer do we need to be here?”

“Not that much. Just let me finish this paragraph.”

There was a dull pain throbbing at the front of his skull, edging down to his temples—across his nose bridge where his glasses pressed in more tightly than usual. He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled a deep breath, trying to escape the feeling, the nausea, the chills that were beginning to seep up his neck as the wind blew turbulently against him. It would be embarrassing if this happened here, right in front of you. The hard lump had suddenly lurched forward in Wonwoo’s throat but he leaned his head down last minute and swallowed it despite the roughness. No, everything was okay.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Wonwoo opened his eyes, staring down at the trembling hands buried in his lap. Subtly, he pulled the sleeves of his cardigan over them. He assumed his face was reflecting a sheer, sickly opacity.

“Nothing.”

“Uh, sure. Now look me in the eyes and say that.”

Again, Wonwoo swallowed, but he managed nonetheless.

“Nothing’s wrong. I get headaches sometimes. That’s all.”

“… Oh. Well, I’m basically done here. I was gonna ask if you wanted to walk a lap around the track with me, but maybe we should just go home. I mean, how bad is it? Your headache?”

Yes, yes. Home. Wonwoo wanted to go home. He had only been away from his apartment for a solid two hours, and yet all his mind and body’s energy had completely drained. He felt dried out, withered, fragile as tempered glass. Going home sounded cosmic. 

“It’s getting better. I wouldn’t mind walking with you.”

“Oh! Cool. If it gets really bad, just tell me.” You then spent a minute collecting your belongings back into the cream purse.

Wonwoo immediately looked the other way, dragging a frustrated hand through his hair, mouthing a string of guttural curse words directed at his discombobulated head. Because what the hell was he doing? All his relief and peace had just suckled itself down an invisible drain. Why on earth did he agree? Why?

“I think this will help me, too," you said, having left the shiny bleachers behind, instead kicking the pebbles at your feet, “if we walk the entire track, then it’s like we did the four-hundred meter.”

“You’re supposed to run the four-hundred meter.”

“Well, I know that.”

“I’m surprised you hate running. I mean, you walk so fucking quickly sometimes.”

He heard you snort, clearly amused by his observation.

“It’s because I’ve mastered the art of sashaying. To have a perfect sashay, you can’t walk too slow, but you also can’t walk too fast. It’s like a strut. You need to have confidence while you do it. It lets people know that you’re serious and professional. I’m not dragging my feet, but I’m also not in a rush. It’s the perfect pace.”

Wonwoo sniffled and scrunched the glasses up his nose, continuing alongside you at a pace that was rather aimless.

“I didn’t realize there was a science behind sashaying.”

“Now you know,” you declared.

Wonwoo’s  upper lip quirked slightly, and a small grin appeared on his face, which was starting to dapple with colour.

“I don’t sashay, do I?”

At that, you laughed, “no, you amble.”

“Yeah, I’m an ambler… which basically means I’m an unmotivated, pointless person who will probably go nowhere in life.”

For a moment, you stopped walking, and you merely furrowed your brow at him while your forehead creased with thought. Wonwoo stopped as well. He raked back his fluttering, windswept hair and smirked, flashing his teeth. The behaviour was uncharacteristically snide and a bit of a dig at your bluntness, but he couldn’t help it.

“Don’t remember, huh?”

“No… but it sounds familiar.”

“You told me that, the day I met you—that people who walk slowly are unmotivated and pointless. Their life is a waste, basically.”

He noticed your eyes shift up toward the right, as though you were pulling the memory forward from the intricate files of your brain. And then you started to smile, and it made Wonwoo smile, too.

“Oh, I do believe I said that.” You started walking again, and he followed. “Ha! Wow, you’re right. I said that. I’m so funny. I mean, I was right. You only walk slow when you have nowhere to be.”

“I did have somewhere to be. I was going to meet you.”

“Well, then you just didn’t care.” He felt your elbow press shallowly into his rib. “See what I mean? Unmotivated and pointless. And, honestly, I would have taken your apathy as more of an insult if it wasn’t for the fact that you seem to treat most things like that.”

“So, I’m just supposed to accept that you’re calling me a loser? How do people normally react when you say things like that?”

“Things like what? They’re just my observations about the world. You are a person in this world. I was making an observation about you. Albeit, it came across strongly. But I don’t know. No one ever cared about being gentle or sugar-coating with me. Gives you tough skin, y’know? Metaphorically, of course! I always moisturize.”

 Wonwoo scoffed, smiling at your nonchalance. “The way you word things is honestly fascinating.”

“Psh. How do you even remember that?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem that hard to remember. It was a pretty memorable, somewhat awful experience, to be fair.”

“Awful?” You retaliated in unprecedented disbelief, pushing into his arm until he allowed his tall frame to stumble. “Try again.”

“Interesting?” Wonwoo substituted, his heart thumping. 

Your eyes were narrowed at him, glimmering with a sharpness that made his fingers clench into anxious fists.

“… That’s a little better.”

He exhaled a soft breath of relief.

As you began nearing the full circle, Wonwoo realized his head had eased from its horrible aching and the chills dampening down his neck were gone. Everything didn’t feel as awful compared to before. He was still tired, and his energy was sputtering in tiny, dying sparks, but at least his desire to crawl under the earth and degrade to his bare bones had subsided into something less morose.

“I heard you were having a get together next week,” Wonwoo decided to ask, rounding the last bend in the track.

“Oh, the dinner party?”

“Yeah. Seokmin’s helping you plan it, right?”

“He is. Which I appreciate. My mom is usually the one in charge of everything, and she loathes it. But, I mean, when we try to help her, she just ends up fretting even more—says we’re basically getting in the way and ruining it. I don’t know. She’s such a snappy perfectionist. Seokmin can have fun dealing with that.”

Wonwoo almost made a thoughtless comment in response to your story—he’s probably had eons of practice with you—though the pieces connected just in time and his mouth sealed shut.

“Your dad can’t help either?” He questioned instead.

“Ha! No way. My dad helping is a recipe for fucking disaster if I’ve ever seen it. He’s painfully bad at decorating, can hardly be trusted to cook or invite anyone from the guest list. The most my mom allows him to do is set the table.” You then scoffed, shooting a pebble forward with the tip of your shoe. “I swear, he knows exactly how to push my mom’s buttons. The faster he does it, the quicker she kicks him out and he’s absolved of all chores. What a cheat, huh?”

“Hm, yeah… is Mingyu going?”

“Of course.” You smiled. “He always goes.”

At that point, you had circled back to the bleachers. Adjusting the bag strewn over your shoulder, you heaved out a longing sigh.

“Well, that’s four-hundred meters in the books.”

“Is it everything you hoped and dreamed it would be?”

You cackled, “not even close. I think I was right to avoid it.”

—MAY 3RD.

Wonwoo slid his pharmacy badge through the time-machine until he heard the beep. After an eight-hour shift, he was hungry and tired, but Wonwoo also knew the second that he got home, his urge to eat and desire to sleep would be gone. Instead, he would spend his midnight staring up at the ceiling, thinking. About anything and everything, and nothing at all. When the first cracks of dawn light would spill in from under his curtain, then he would close his eyes.

It was all very typical.

He stood outside the store, phone in hand, waiting for Vernon to pick him up because Wonwoo hadn’t felt like walking home despite the softness of the nighttime wind and the alabaster moon’s shining ambiance. The mirage was pretty and he enjoyed it, but his feet were too sore to inch him another step. Luckily, Vernon didn’t take long.

Luckily, he was the only one of Wonwoo’s few friends with a sleep schedule just as horridly fucked up as his. It was eleven at night, but on a weekday? The dead, empty street testified for him.

“Heyy, Glasses,” Vernon sang in his throaty voice as Wonwoo climbed into the passenger seat, “you look like a prostitute standin’ there, waitin’ for me to come get your ass. But a sophisticated one.”

The interior didn’t smell heavily of weed, he noted. Thank fucking god, Vernon had finally paid someone to dry clean it. Either that, or he took the initiative into his own hands.

“I highly doubt you have ever seen a prostitute in your entire life. And the fact you think they’d be standing outside a pharmacy at one of the quietest parts on this block attests to that.”

“God, I hate when you get all technical n’ shit. Such a stiff.”

“I’m tired.”

“Yeah, well. You’re always tired. N’ for the record, I have seen a prostitute, outside Room 319. It was a week before Christmas; she had this huge coat on, walkin’ up to people in her pink heels and this crazy eyeshadow that made her eyes pop. I bet she’s a nice girl.”

“Mhm. I bet she was.”

“Oh, you’re a cunt, yeah? You don’t believe me.”

“Does it matter?”

“I’ll take you one day. Room 319’s got a table with your name on it. They’ve got this one shot, the Stabilizer— it’ll put you down like a fuckin’ sick dog but it gets you the best drunk of your life. Maybe we’ll even run into Pink Heels lady. She’s our Halley’s Comet.”

“Halley’s Comet only comes once every seventy-five years. “

“You know what the fuck I meant.”

“Not interested.”

Vernon blinked at him for a moment in the dull light, and then he sighed, forfeiting. He placed the tip of the key in the ignition, but he quickly removed it as though he remembered something.

“Wait, I’ve gotta ask—how’s it going with Her?”

Biting down on the inside of his cheek, Wonwoo reached for the seatbelt and pulled it slowly across his chest, debating how intelligent of an idea it would be to entertain Vernon’s curiosity. But he could also understand the allure. You were like this enigmatic myth that people craved to know about, even if it frightened them.

Wonwoo’s head collapsed back against the seat.

“It’s going well.”

Vernon spat out a boisterous laugh, a hand slapping down on his knee. “Jesus Christ. You’re so dry, man. That’s it?”

“I mean, it’s true. We’ve started the book. Or, she has.”

“Okay, and?” Vernon attempted to engage him further.

“And, what?”

“What’s she like, obviously? Is she actually a fuckin’ psychopath? Is she normal? Can she walk on her hands? I dunno!”

Wonwoo rubbed underneath his glasses. He didn’t really want to talk about you when you weren’t there. It felt like a Bloody Mary situation, where you’d magically conjure in the backseat to sinch your cold hands around his neck and wrangle him limp and lifeless. But then there were Vernon’s shimmeringly prying eyes that just wouldn’t stop burning Wonwoo no matter how hard he bit his tongue.

“I have nothing to say. She’s cool.”

“Oh my fuckin’ God.” Vernon slacked back into his seat, clutching at his steering wheel. “You just don’t wanna talk about it… oh! Shit. I just remembered. She’s having a dinner party tonight, isn’t she? In Hill Crest. Or as I like to call it, Rich People Neighbourhood.”

“Yeah, that’s where her parents live… how do you know that?”

“Shit!” Vernon immediately shuffled up in his seat and delivered a hard smack into Wonwoo’s shoulder. “We should drive down and check it out! Right fuckin’ now!” He was lit up with excitement, even though Wonwoo considered it a terrible idea.

“No. Absolutely not. And answer my question.”

“Was sittin’ behind Seokmin at Solar Pop, he talks really loud, happened to overhear some things—doesn’t matter. I think we should go! C’mon, allow some spontaneity into your life! Why not?”

“What the fuck do you mean, why? It’s a family party. With some close friends, which—in case you haven’t noticed—neither of us are. You can’t fucking crash a family dinner party. Who does that? Not to mention the fact that it's eleven at night. They're probably washing up. Sending people home. By the time we get there, it's lights out."

“Aren’t you her friend?”

“No. I’m just someone who’s doing her a favour.”

“Favours are from friends.”

“We’re. Not. Friends.”

“Okay—fuck, Glasses. Fine. We won’t crash the stupid dinner party. But don’t you wanna go for a drive or something? I’m tellin’ you, the houses are insane. Last time I went down there, it was for a big fuckin’ party some dude at your university threw. I think I ran this by you already, when I talked about tryin’ to chat up Her. I stopped by with my old friend—y’know, Dots, the guy that died from the overdose and everything. That party was crazy. It was in a mansion.”

“Vernon,” Wonwoo had just finished massaging the throbs at his warm temples, “we are not going to Hill Crest.”

His friend swung his head in disapproval, making a tsking sound with his teeth. “Such a fuckin’ stiff.” He started the car. “It’s the fact I know you have jack shit to do tonight, or tomorrow.”

“I’m not gonna do some stalker drive-by on her house.”

“You don’t wanna do Room 319. You don’t wanna judge a bunch of richies sittin’ up in their ivory towers. I mean, it’s not like we’re eggin’ them or spray painting fuckin’ curse words on their eight-door garages. What do you wanna do?”

Wonwoo rolled down the window and leaned his face toward the moonlight, to which he could feel the wind brush up against his skin in feathery strokes, as though it were caressing him. He knew that Vernon meant in a general sense rather than in the heat of the moment. But in a general sense, Wonwoo would rather not be anywhere at all. He would rather do nothing, or even exist.

“Can you just take me home? Please?”

Vernon exhaled a defeated gust of breath and began to angle his tires away from the curb, the pharmacy lights pulled behind them.

“Yeah, ‘course. Mr. Boring.”

—01:49

Wonwoo hadn’t been able to fall asleep since Vernon dropped him off a couple hours ago. He’d anticipated that. Usually, Wonwoo wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t toss or turn, or pace circles around his bedroom, or count down from one-hundred, because even if he did, none of it would work. His mind would still be wide awake.

Hence Wonwoo’s decision to grab his phone. Staring at a lurid screen definitely wasn’t going to help, though he wasn’t trying to sleep, anyway. That conversation with Vernon was repeating in his head like a chattering bird, pushing him, pushing him, pushing him to find your Instagram and dig into your pictures because now Wonwoo was thinking of your dinner party and how vehemently you seemed to hate it. He saw that you had posted something quite recently, around the same time Wonwoo had left the pharmacy.

For a moment, his thumb hovered over the post.

He didn’t want to press it because he didn’t care.

Or, maybe he did.

There were multiple pictures in the set, and Wonwoo flicked through all of them. Some were of food, close-ups of your jewelry—you even included a picture with Seokmin. But then Wonwoo had settled on the last photo and something in his stomach convulsed.

He recognized the dress like a flash of light—the sapphire one with the glimmering detail that you had modelled for him at the expensive boutique in the mall. Of course, that arm hanging cheekily low around your hip belonged to your boyfriend, Mingyu. He had a champagne glass pressed to his lips, fitted in his black suit with his hair neatly combed and styled into place. The smugness in his face was stifling. Wonwoo rolled onto his stomach, his eyes refusing to drift from the picture for even an instant. He just kept staring.

Staring and thinking. Staring and thinking.

One minute spent staring at your smile.

The next minute at the low placement of Mingyu’s hand.

Another minute staring at your sparkling dress.

The next minute at Mingyu’s brutally cocky expression.

He would switch back and forth.

But Wonwoo didn’t really care. He was just bored.

And alone with his thoughts.

—END OF PART PART ONE.

NOTE! while i truly cherish & adore all comments, pls refrain from remarks such as "pls post part x" "i need part x" "when are you posting part x" while i do understand the sentiment, i find these comments very dismissive & kinda disrespectful! i don't prefer to post series fics and so i don't receive these often, but pls note that if you comment this i will delete the comment!

the fic itself is completely done, so all i have to do is get the parts ready for posting. however, bc this is the first part, i don't have a set posting schedule just yet. i think it will depend on roughly how long those who read the fic take to finish it! but i will be sure to make a post about it or include the schedule in part two once i figure it out!

again, thank u so much your ur patience :3

much luv!! 💕

[internalsealpanic]

Barkada

summary: Dick’s friends know something you don’t and will hang it over him as much as possible. a/n: I just have a bunch of filipino reader fics because I’m currently visiting the Philippines. Ah, to be home. This is also pretty specific to my experience in the philippines so it might not be accurate to everyone. warning: I am a wimp when it comes to warm weather so this is partially me bitching about it

Dick takes the bag of Pepsi from Manang Ester's hand, flapping his shirt collar. He debates on unbuttoning it and weighs it against the possibility that he might punch Roy for shouting about fan service, despite his own shirt being open. Hypocrite. The day is so hot. It's not even close to March yet. He fans his hand in front of his face. His sweat dripping in sticky rivulets on his tanned skin. Dick leans against Wally who has his face practically against the electric fan.  Wally's too tired from the heat to shove him off, so Dick just abuses it and leans more despite how disgustingly hot it is. 

 "Where's (Y/n) and why are we here?" Dick whines, flapping his hand faster. 

 Wally lifts his head to shoot Donna a questioning look. 

 Donna shrugs. "Maybe they've finally come up with a way to take over the world."

 "Or maybe they're testing how long it'll take us to die from heatstroke," Roy grumbles, checking his wallet if he can afford another Fanta. He can't so he eyes Dick's Pepsi. Dick shuts that right down by lightly kicking him, only very slightly concerned that he'll scuff his dress shoes on the rickety bench somehow holding all five of them up. 

 Roy wrinkles his nose, taking Dick's shoe and dropping it to the ground where the sun is shining too brightly. Dick would rather die than get up to get his shoe. He tries to nudge Wally but Wally just nudges back with a whine. 

 Dick throws his other shoe just so his other shoe doesn't get lonely. 

 Roy continues to poke him. 

 Dick waves his hand to get Garth's attention. "Garth, please give this idiot some money so he can leave me alone in this time of suffering."

 Garth looks up from his phone, "he hasn't even paid me back for the last time."

Donna squints at Roy, elbowing him lightly. "How are you broke? Don't you people live in those condos in Makati?"

 "First of all, they're not that fancy--"

 "It has a working elevator," Wally scoffs. 

 "How else do you expect Roy to get to his fancy 47th-floor condo?" Dick chuckles. 

 "He could Spiderman it?" Garth teases. 

 Donna rolls her eyes. "He is clearly MJ. Now, Brett. Brett could pull it off."

 "Oh, if only, she'd answer his texts," Dick says dramatically fainting into Wally who echoes the woeful noise with the added electric fan effect. 

 "She's too busy with Doc Ock. 3 ice candies please," you say, leaning over the counter, holding up two fingers. 

 Dick folds his legs to give you more room and also a subtle cue to get you to sit next to him. You're about to fall for it when last-minute you squish yourself next to Roy. Roy being simultaneously the world's worst and best wingman shoves you to Dick and Wally's side. Dick plops his feet on your lap to lock you in. You huff, then turn your attention back to Manang Ester.

She hands you transparent plastic tubes filled with frozen juice. Manang Ester gives you the same incredulous look your friends are giving your hoodie. You smile at her and hand her a 20. 

 "You're going to die in this heat," she says prophetically, taking your 20 with a shake of his head. You wave your hand side to side dismissively.

 Garth slumps against the table. "I'm getting a heat stroke just looking at you." 

  "Me feeling warm should be good for Ate Ester's business,"  you say with that creepy polite smile that only old people fall for. It works like a charm when Manang Ester nods agreeably.

 Dick guesses that's what happens when you're always around your grandparents.

"So are you gonna tell us why we're roasting here?" 

 You break the ice candies in half and pass them out. "I wanted ice candy," you say around your strawberry flavor ice candy. 

 They all stare at you, including Manang Ester. They let out a collective exasperated groan. You shrug at them. "I told you I would be late. I dunno what you're all doing here so early." 

 "Yeah, but when you say late, you usually you're not gonna be here 30 minutes in advance." Roy moves his hand in a jerky half-wave. It looks angry but Roy is too dehydrated to smack you over the head. Donna isn't though. 

 You rub the back of your head and scowl at them. "Today is my cleaning day, assholes."

 "Fridays? Really? Ma'am Seni hates you."  Wally whines unsympathetically. 

 You roll your eyes. "Not as much as she hates you. She's dreading teaching Bart in two years. Says she'll transfer schools if she has him in her advisory class." 

 Dick snorts, "can't blame her." This little remark earns him a soft grunt from Wally. Dick cranes his head to look at Wally. "She's dreading Tim too." 

 "Also Rory and Conner."

 "Conner isn't the worst but if you mean Connor," you say, stretching the words out.

 "Don't forget Cassie."

 You squint at them. "No wonder she wants out." 

 "We don't wanna hear it from the only children club," Dick teases, poking your thigh with his toe. 

 You and Garth share a look. 

 You shrug. "I have siblings. They just don't go to the same school." 

 "Lemme guess, they only exist in awfully convenient stories," Roy says, successfully swapping Garth's grape flavor with his banana flavor. 

 "Nah, they didn't pass the entrance exam here so they're living with mama and papa while I live with lolo and lola so I can be closer to school."

 They all give various doubtful noises.

 You stick your tongue out at them before throwing Dick's feet off. "C'mon, let's go get to my house," you say, picking Dick's shoes up and chucking them at him. He blocks them from his face but it was pointless considering you hit Wally instead. 

 Dick snorts and Wally slaps his shoes on his head. 

 "Doesn't Lola Flor hate Roy?" Garth points out. 

 "She hates you too Gill Face."

 "And Lolo Terry hates Dick and Wally, what's your point?" You say over your shoulder. "They're out on a date today which means they'll be back round 10-ish."

 Donna gives you a confused look. "How come they don't hate me? I broke that old antique vase when we were in Grade 4."

 You quirk your lip, "They think Wally did it and you were just covering for him."

 "Why would I do that?"

 "They still think girls don't cause as much trouble."

 "Lies," Roy scoffs. 

You all walk up the hill in pairs with Dick sticking by you, talking to you about the El Fili project you two had agreed to work on as a pair. In your mind, the issue was the partner project was far easier than the individual given you have a partner that you like and is guaranteed to work. Most of your class wanted to work with both of you because honor students, so Dick was your easy solution. For Dick, it was more of a case of getting to spend time with you. 

 Dick leans into your space a little, just enough to use the size of the sidewalk as a defense. You ask him whether he can google something for you but he pretends that his battery is low so he doesn't accidentally show you his home screen. You lecture him about power packs before fishing your phone out of your uniform. Dick's a little disappointed by the fact that your lock and home screens are something utterly normal (and not him).

 Roy and Donna snicker quietly while you explain your plan for the project. Dick flips them off and Roy ends up laughing audibly. With his cheeks burning, Dick tries to focus on what you're saying instead of how close your faces are or how his shoulder almost touches yours.

 Roy, Garth, and Wally play rock paper scissors to see who gets to distract you while Donna gives Dick his umpteenth pep talk. Garth loses so he goes with you to negotiate the price of a tricycle if you try to cram 6 people in. 

 "We're not having this conversation," Dick says as if he could actually convince his friends to drop it. 

 "Yes, we are. Dude, you have heart eyes when you look at them and I can practically see the hearts floating around you." Wally says, waving his arms. 

 "It's getting concerning," Donna admits. 

 Roy wraps an arm around Dick. "C'mon what's the worst that could happen? You have them locked in a project. They can't not talk to you."

 "Your suggestion sounds like coercion," Dick says, crossing his arms.

 "And you're starting to sound like Tito Harvey," Roy says, putting more weight on Dick.

 Wally wiggles his fingers and makes the oooooh sound. "He's gonna sue us if it goes wrong."

 Donna holds back a laugh. "Ok but what if he confesses during the talent section of Palaro with a serenade?" 

 "That would work if I was doing the guitar for that."

 "Donna, Mr.Flippy here is gonna mix gymnastics and arnis," Roy says patting Dick's chest. 

 Donna crosses her arms and angles her head. "You got Ma'am Seni to sanction that?"

 "Er, not yet."

 "Translation: he won't tell her," Wally laughs. "Just like he won't tell (Y/n)--"

 "Tell me what?"

 Dick's heart stops. Despite the heatwave, he goes cold.

 They share a look. Dick immediately slaps his hands over Wally and Roy's mouths.  His eyes flicker, trying to think. "I was... gonna tell you that I'm gonna do gymnastics for the talent portion this year."

 You squint. "No one's gonna let you. Cher Angel would murder you for fucking with her program. Anyway, he agreed to take us all."

 Wally licks Dick's hand. "You gonna sit on Dick's lap?" He teases, poking your cheek.

 You go stock still for a good few seconds then your face twitches. "Garth, me, and Dick can fit on the seat next to each other."

 "You could make everyone in the school jealous."

 You slap Wally lightly and walk to the tricycle.

 You lean on Dick as Garth decides now is the best time to squish you and Dick against the wall, forcing you and Dick to tangle limbs, being practically on top of each other. Linking your arm with Dick's, you shut your eyes and listen to a duet between a rumbling engine and the rushing wind. It's relaxing. 

 Dick hums, resting his head on yours. You remember a time when you hated each other's guts. It's kind of weird to be crammed together with your former greatest rival and find it relaxing. Maybe it's cause you stopped putting cockroaches in each other's bags. 

 Dick and Garth wriggle as Dick uses his unlinked arm to shove Garth's face away. You grumble. You're trying to take a nap, damn it. You nuzzle yourself into Dick's side, letting your fingers drift against Dick's ribs, knowing he's ticklish. He stifles a laugh. Your lips curl not even peeking an eye. Glaring down at you, Dick flicks your forehead. 

 You peek one eye, open just to see him pouting at you. You just shrug at him. Your phone chirps. 

 "We're home," reads the text. 

 Shit. 

 "Karma," Dick whispers. 

 "Shut up," you whisper back. You wave to the driver when traffic stops the vehicle. "Boss, could you take us to the basketball court instead. Near the municipio."

 They all look at you in question. You wave your phone in response. You all mourn the loss of air conditioning.

The basketball court is lousy with people-- loud with the sound of kids playing basketball, girls practicing some kind of group dance, and students also having evil councils like you guys. 

 Dick kicks out his leg, jittery from the lack of motion. "So... are you gonna finally tell us why you've assembled this crack team of crinkles eaters?" He asks, licking the confectioner's sugar from his lips. You want to point out he has some on his nose but you're scared he'll try to lick it off and you'll physically explode from how cute Dick is.

"Excuse you, we're also amazing dirty ice cream eaters," wally says, licking his spoon. 

 "We're even better when Garth is the one who pays for all of it," Donna laughs. 

 Garth glares at all of you. 

 You swing your legs out, cleaning your spoon and chucking them into the trash can with a swoosh. Roy does a trick shot just to dampen your victory. You wrinkle your nose at him. Dick, Mr. Perfect, Wayne does an even more crazy trick shot just to make you both feel like plebs. You and Roy quietly agree to smoke him on the court once you're all done with your food. 

 "Remember how Mr. Arcadio threatened to unalive our grades last year because of our... stunt."

 Garth looks up at you from the bottom bleacher. "Didn't we, and by we I mean Tito Wayne, fix that?"

 "He did but--"

 "Every time (Y/n) says but God trembles."

 "Nah, he just takes a lunch break."

 "BUT, I'm out for blood."

 They all look at you. 

 Roy is the first to speak. "And this is where they ask us to pitch into to their hitman fund."

 "Really sucks that Roy can't help."

 "You mean won't," he says shooting Donna a dirty look.

 "I said what I said."

 These people would make a horrible war council. 

 "I'm not asking for money--"

 "We'll only agree to bury a body," Dick pipes up, snatching another crinkle from the paper bag in your lap. 

 "You guys are ruining my evil monologue," you slump. 

 With a sparkle in his eyes, Dick smirks. "You're not paying us enough to be good henchmen."

 "I am feeding you. Wally just ate fiesta's worth of puto."

 "Did not."

 You huff and decide to cut to the chase. "I need you all to run a dummy party with me." You peek an eye open. "Comments? Concerns?"

 Roy raises his hand in the perfect 90-degree angle cher Sally insists on. "Why?"

 "You would know if you'd let me do my evil villain monologue."

 "Yeah but would have taken 30 minutes."

 "I would have taken 3!"

 Dick snorts, "you monologued about the superiority of cold ketchup for 25. Roy's being nice."

 "I--" You droop then wave your hand, pointedly avoiding the triumphant smirks of your companions. "Ser Arcadio's son and his cronies are running for election, so what better way to annoy him than rob his son of this victory?"

 A grin slowly creeps onto your features. "Pretty much. None of us actually want to get elected. We all agree on that."

 "Say I'd like to be a supervillain," Garth poses.

 Dick perks up at this.  They all turn to him and you know, you know, that if you get Dick on board with your shenanigans, the rest will be easy to convince. He settles down and goes quiet.  You decide to probe a little more. As much as Dick has a strong sense of morality, he isn't opposed to being petty or underhanded. He isn't quite as nice as everyone seems to think.

 "Alan doesn't have as big of an influence as he thinks he does." 

 "They won't let us win," Dick points out and the others seem to agree. He's right. The board won't let you win. It doesn't matter how much they like the wonder twins.

 "We're not running to win obviously," you twirl your hand, "winning the race is actually not part of the win condition."

 "You just want anyone else to win."

 A grin slowly creeps onto your features. "Pretty much. None of us actually want to get elected. We all agree on that."

You cross your arms. "You'd be shit at it but go on." He scowls at you but you maintain your smarmy grin. 

 You sweep your eyes over all of them. "We're going to campaign seriously. We're gonna have to if we want to put a dent in them but the committee will likely distribute our votes among the other parties. All I want to do is steal a portion of Alan's voters and if we happen to get more than him, that just makes it funnier."

 Wally rubs the back of his neck. "You're really willing to go the extra mile for a laugh." 

 "I think I'm acting as Karma's agent. Are you in or not?"

 "We're guessing you already have the entire campaign drafted."

 "An outline, sure."

 "Why do you need us?" Roy leans back staring at you upside down.

 "I need the school's heart throbs," you grin, wrapping your arm around Dick's shoulder. You're too focused on the laughter building on Roy's face to notice Dick's existential panic. His face is practically squished to yours. He has a valid point to raise. You can't hinge your plan on charisma but your skin pressed to his makes it so hard to think.

 "C'mon, you five are by far some of the best looking people in that school and they think you're likable!"

Garth makes an affronted noise but the rest are hard pressed to disagree. You're all trouble makers but your group mostly skates by on sweet-talking and the halo effect.

 "What do you say?" You say, looking around at them hopefully.

 Dick holds his hands up to hit pause. "Can we talk about logistics?" He glances at you. "No, this isn't a yes."

 You droop then perk up. You swing your other arm around his shoulder. He stiffens. You grin. "I'll kiss you if you don't agree," you say with exaggerated fish lips.

 "You wouldn't dare," he glares at you. He subtly glances at the other. They give him various signals of approval. 

 "Yes, I would, Wayne," you grin showing all your teeth. You push your fish lips closer to your face while Dick half-heartedly away. You two tussle until Dick is flat on his back looking into your eyes. It might just be the sunset but your eyes look brilliant and Dick is melting and finding his words hard to reach. He thinks about letting this happen. He's thought about kissing you way too much. He's thought about it while watching you do presentations, while playing badminton with you, while staring at you while Wally read El Fili out loud, and even thought about it during lunch when you all hat that spicy noodle contest when your lips turned puffy from the spices. He's thought about it over and over but still, he shields his face.

 "Ok, fine. I'm in."

 You pull away from him and the urge to kiss him. "Well?"

 "Since you've seduced our mighty leader, I guess I'm in," Roy huffs, shooting Dick a look. Dick feels it but doesn't want to look at Roy. 

 Donna shrugs. 

 Wally shakes his cup to beg for crinkles. You give him one and he gives you a thumbs up in return. 

 Garth just sighs and gives you a thumbs up. 

 You clap. "Thank you for your cooperation."

 They all give you a weary smile and helpfully don't point out that you're still on top of Dick who is suffering.

[kjack89]

Make It Up To You

Just some nauseatingly sweet, tooth-rotting established modern AU E/R. Because I think we all deserve some of that right now.   

“Guess what day it is,” Courfeyrac practically sang as he sat down next to Combeferre at the Musain.

Across the table, Enjolras arched an eyebrow without looking up from his phone. “Saturday?” he suggested vaguely.

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “No,” he said, pouting. “It’s February 12!”

Combeferre blinked up at him. “Is that a date of some significance?”

Courfeyrac’s pout deepened. “Yes,” he said, “insofar as it means it’s two days before the most important day of the year.”

“Your birthday’s in March,” Enjolras said, and Courfeyrac sighed.

“Fine, the second-most important day of the year.” When neither Enjolras nor Combeferre offered any recognition, he sighed again before saying loudly, “Valentine’s Day!”

Enjolras muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, ‘for fuck’s sake’, while Combeferre pasted a smile on his face. “Of course,” he said, patting Courfeyrac’s knee. “How could I forget?”

Courfeyrac’s eyes narrowed. “You say that like you have in fact forgotten,” he said, somewhat suspiciously, and Combeferre quickly changed the subject.

“Enjolras, what exciting plans do you and Grantaire have?”

Enjolras squinted at him as if he was trying to see if he was joking or not. “Absolutely nothing,” he said. “Grantaire is well aware of how I feel about holidays rooted in capitalism.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged glances. “Are you sure about that?” Combeferre asked, somewhat delicately.

“Am I sure that Grantaire’s aware of how I feel about holidays rooted in capitalism?” Enjolras asked, confused.

“No, are you certain that you don’t want to plan something?”

Enjolras frowned. “Why in the hell—”

“Do you remember when you missed last Valentine’s Day?” Courfeyrac interrupted. “And St. Patrick’s Day?”

“And Memorial Day,” Combeferre added. “And the 4th of July?”

Courfeyrac nodded. “And Labor Day, and Grantaire’s Birthday, and—”

“Are you planning on getting to the point sometime this century?” Enjolras interrupted, irritated.

Courfeyrac scowled. “The point,” he said, emphasizing the word, “is that you told Grantaire that you’d make it up to him.” He paused before adding pointedly, “On Valentine’s Day.”

Whatever small amount of color was in Enjolras’s already pale skin disappeared. “Oh fuck,” he said. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and when he opened them, it was with a familiar, determined look on his face. “Ok,” he said. “I’m gonna need some help. Courfeyrac, will you—”

“Already done,” Courfeyrac said, waving his phone. “Texted everyone besides Grantaire with an SOS and to come here ASAP.”

Indecision flit across Enjolras’s face. “I don’t want to make everyone help me fix my fuck up—” he started, but Combeferre cut him off.

“Believe me, they’ll want to.”

“Or at the very least, they’ll want to help Grantaire,” Courfeyrac added.

Enjolras sighed. “Why doesn’t that make me feel any better?”

- - - - - - - - - -

“Good morning,” Enjolras said, his voice low in Grantaire’s ear, and Grantaire groaned.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled sleepily, rolling over.

Enjolras laughed lightly. “Can I tempt you with some coffee?” he asked. Grantaire muttered something incomprehensible and Enjolras laughed again before asking, “How about a mimosa?”

Immediately Grantaire sat up. “Mimosa?” he repeated, and Enjolras rolled his eyes affectionately.

“Knew that would do the trick,” he said, leaning in to kiss Grantaire. “Happy Valentine’s Day, by the way.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Grantaire returned, kissing him back for a brief moment before asking, “Where’s my mimosa?”

“One track mind,” Enjolras murmured fondly, kissing his forehead before standing and heading out into the kitchen and returning with a tray full of breakfast foods, two mimosas, and two steaming mugs of coffee. Grantaire made grabby-hands at the mimosa and Enjolras laughed as he passed it over. “Just the way you like it – 95% champagne, 5% orange juice.”

Grantaire’s eyes closed in bliss as he took a sip. “Perfect,” he pronounced, before arching an eyebrow at Enjolras. “Of course, now that I’m more awake, I’m reminded of the fact that it isn’t actually Valentine’s Day yet.”

“True,” Enjolras said, taking a bite of scrambled eggs. “But since Valentine’s Day is on Monday this year, I figured you wouldn’t mind celebrating on a Sunday. Especially since I’ve got a whole day planned.” Grantaire tried to say something through the mouthful of home fries he had just shoved in his mouth and Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “You know I love you, but I still don’t speak ‘Grantaire with his mouth full’.”

Grantaire swallowed and stuck his tongue out. “Funny, I don’t remember you having such a problem with it last night.” Enjolras flushed and Grantaire smirked. “Anyway, what I said was, ‘A whole day?’ And on Valentine’s Day, of all accursed holidays?”

“I don’t know if accursed is the word I would use,” Enjolras started, and Grantaire’s smirk widened.

“Oh, my apologies, I should have said of all corporatized, late capitalist hellhole holidays.”

“See, now that’s more like it.” Enjolras took a sip of coffee before continuing, “But my own misgivings about Valentine’s Day aside, it’s also not a terrible excuse for us to spend a day together, right? Especially since it’s not like there’s anything else going on.”

Grantaire considered it for a moment. “You know that it’s the Super Bowl tonight, right?”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Like I said, since it’s not like there’s anything else going on.”

Grantaire laughed. “Fair enough.” He drained his mimosa. “So what do you have planned for today?”

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out,” Enjolras said innocently, patting Grantaire’s leg under the blanket. “Now finish up your breakfast and then take a quick shower because we’ve got places to go and people to see.”

Grantaire nodded slowly, popping a piece of bacon in his mouth before asking, matching Enjolras’s innocent tone, “How quick of a shower?”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Quicker than that, that’s for sure.”

Grantaire grinned. “You sure?” he asked, pitching his voice low. “Because you know that we can be very quick when we want to be.”

Enjolras just rolled his eyes as he stood, pausing to kiss the top of Grantaire’s head. “How about we save the shower sex for actual Valentine’s Day?”

“Fine,” Grantaire sighed, though he added as Enjolras picked up the tray to take it back to the kitchen, “but the rest of the day better be worth it.”

Enjolras couldn’t quite stop his smile as he said under his breath, “You have no idea.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“Where the hell are we going?” Grantaire asked a little warily as he and Enjolras walked hand-in-hand down an alley in a residential neighborhood not far from theirs. “I mean, I understand you and I occasionally have different definitions of romance, but I have seen three rats already and as much as I loved Ratatouille, it wasn’t exactly a Valentine’s Day movie.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Enjolras said as they approached their destination. “We’re not celebrating Valentine’s Day.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I thought that was the whole point of today.”

Enjolras shook his head as they stopped in front of a single-car garage. “Not quite,” he said before knocking on the garage door.

“Then what—”

Grantaire broke off as the garage door creaked open, revealing Courfeyrac, Joly, Bossuet, Bahorel and Feuilly, all of whom were decked out in various shades of green. “Sláinte!” Bahorel called, pressing a glass of Guinness into Grantaire’s hand.

Shaking his head slowly, Grantaire glanced around the garage, which had been decorated in shamrock decorations, a rainbow and pot of gold piñata, the Boondocks Saints poster Bahorel had in his dorm room over a decade ago, and a bunch of vintage Guinness signs, along with a beer pong table set up in the middle.. “Um,” he said, taking a sip of beer, “what the fuck?”

“Eloquent as always,” Joly said with a snicker.

“We’re celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day,” Bossuet informed Grantaire, nudging Joly in the ribs to stop him from laughing. “Hence the decor. And the beer.”

Feuilly offered a beer to Enjolras, who declined. “We were supposed to have corned beef sliders as a snack,” he told Grantaire, “but someone broke the crockpot.”

“In my defense,” Bossuet started, and everyone laughed.

“We know, babe,” Joly said, patting his hand. “We know.”

Grantaire just shook his head again, still staring around with equal parts amusement and confusion. “Is this your way of telling me you’re not going to be in town for St. Paddy’s this year?” he asked Enjolras.

“Of course not,” Enjolras said defensively, before amending, “At least, not that I know of yet.” He shrugged, looking at Grantaire almost nervously. “I just figured, since we didn’t get to do St. Paddy’s last year, and I know it’s your favorite holiday…”

He trailed off and Grantaire smiled at him. “It sure is,” he said, taking a swig of Guinness before asking, “Whose ass I am kicking in beer pong?”

“Dibs,” Bahorel and Feuilly said in unison, and Grantaire grinned.

“Game on.”

As they assembled the cups, complete with green beer, Courfeyrac sidled over to Enjolras. “How’s it going thus far?” he asked in an undertone.

“Good,” Enjolras said. “Thanks for letting us use your garage.”

Courfeyrac waved a dismissive hand. “Think nothing of it,” he said. “Besides, I can just leave the decorations up until it’s actually Saint Patrick’s Day, so it’s a win-win, really.”

Enjolras laughed. “Well, there is that.”

Courfeyrac glanced at him. “Does he have any idea what else you’ve got planned for today?”

Enjolras grinned. “Not a clue.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“Can I be honest about something?” Grantaire asked, leaning his head against the window in the backseat of the Lyft. “I think I might be a little bit buzzed.”

Enjolras laughed. “You’re getting old,” he teased. “Can’t hold your liquor anymore, old man.”

Grantaire gave him the finger. “Then what’s your excuse, lightweight?”

“Why do you have to say it like it’s an insult?” Enjolras asked, still laughing. “Anyway, I hope you’re not too buzzed, because we have another holiday to celebrate.”

Grantaire frowned. “Another one?” he asked.

Enjolras nodded. “Well, technically we’re celebrating a combination of a couple holidays.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Are we going chronologically?” he asked. 

“Depends on what holiday you think comes after St. Patrick’s Day,” Enjolras said

“Uh,’ Grantaire said, screwing his face up as he thought about it. “Passover?”

“Firstly, neither of us are Jewish. Secondly, I draw the line at celebrating religious holidays.”

Grantaire laughed. “So does that mean we won’t be celebrating Christmas sometime this evening?” he asked innocently.

“Clever,” Enjolras said. “But I never said Winter Solstice was off the table.”

Grantaire shook his head slowly. “So does that mean we really are doing a speed run through a bunch of holidays today?” he asked.

Enjolras bit his lip as he watched Grantaire’s expression closely. “Maybe,” he said. “If you’re ok with that, anyway. I can always cancel the rest of the day.” He paused before adding, “If you’ve had too much to drink already, anyway.”

“Fuck off,” Grantaire said, barking a laugh. “No, I have not had too much to drink. And yes, I’m absolutely fine with this. More than fine. Even if I still have no idea what’s coming next.”

“You’ll see,” Enjolras assured him.

Luckily, they weren’t far from their destination, and Grantaire’s brow once again furrowed as they got out of the Lyft. “The Conservatory?” he asked. “Are we celebrating Earth Day? Or is this a Clue thing and you’re planning on murdering me in the conservatory with the wrench?”

“As if I’d murder you with anything other than the candlestick,” Enjolras said, wrapping his arm around Grantaire’s shoulders. “But I had something slightly less violent in mind.”

Grantaire squinted at the entrance. “Is that Jehan?” he asked.

It was, and Jehan beamed at both of them as they approached. “For you,” he said, presenting Enjolras with a picnic basket, complete with a red gingham cloth peeking out from under the lid, before kissing both of their cheeks. “I’ll see you both later!”

“We’re going on a picnic?” Grantaire asked delightedly as they walked inside.

Enjolras nodded. “I figured there was no better way to celebrate the summer holidays like Memorial Day and the 4th of July,” he said. “And I figured there’s really nowhere else to have a picnic in the middle of winter.”

Grantaire glanced sideways at him. “You really put a lot of thought into this,” he said, sounding a little surprised, and Enjolras’s eyes narrowed.

“Always with the tone of surprise,” he said dryly.

“I just remember you not even a week ago saying how happy you were that we weren’t doing any of the romantic crap that Combeferre had planned for Courfeyrac for Valentine’s Day,” Grantaire said mildly.

Enjolras flushed. “Well, technically this isn’t for Valentine’s Day,” he hedged.

“Uh-huh,” Grantaire said skeptically before changing the schedule. “Well thank God for this picnic because I’m starving, and knowing Jehan, he’s packed plenty of bread and cheese, which is exactly what I need to offset the alcohol and make room for me to drink more alcohol.”

Enjolras laughed, turning his head to kiss Grantaire’s temple. “Sounds perfect.”

- - - - - - - - - - 

“Alright,” Grantaire said, sipping his coffee as they strolled down the street. “Coffee from the Starbucks that’s trying to unionize for Labor Day, cupcake from the bakery next door for my birthday—”

“Not just any cupcake,” Enjolras interrupted, squeezing his hand. “Your favorite kind of cupcake.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes affectionately and tilted his head up for a kiss. “While true, it was also an unnecessary cupcake because we celebrated my birthday.”

“Not on your actual birthday,” Enjolras pointed out.

Grantaire shrugged. “Still.” He took another sip of coffee. “Anyway, what holiday’s next? Are we gonna go vandalize a statue of Christopher Columbus for Columbus Day?”

“Hilarious,” Enjolras said. “But no, I thought we’d skip ahead just a little bit, even though I had to call in some pretty special favors to pull this one off.” He stopped walking at a bench, setting his coffee down. “And now we trade to coats, hats and gloves.”

Grantaire stared at him. “Why?” he asked with no small amount of suspicion. 

“Trust me.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire was going to question him further, but then he just shrugged. “Whatever,” he said, peeling off his green puffy coat and swapping it for Enjolras’s red peacoat. “You know that there’s no way in hell I’m going this thing buttoned, right?”

“I do know that,” Enjolras said, pulling Grantaire’s gray beanie over his blonde curls. “But for our purposes, you don’t need it to be buttoned.”

“I am fascinated to see where this is going,” Grantaire said, taking Enjolras’s hand again as they walked up to a vaguely-familiar looking house. “Wait a minute,” Grantaire said slowly as he saw the butternut squash propped outside of the front door with a squiggly smile drawn on it with Sharpie, “is that supposed to be a jack-o-lantern?”

Enjolras grinned. “Guess we’ll find out,” he said, ringing the doorbell.

Almost immediately they were met by giggles on the other side of the door. “Who’s there?” a high-pitched voice called.

“That’s not what you’re supposed to say,” another voice said.

“Is so!”

“Is not!”

“Why don’t you just open the door and see who it is?” a very tired voice asked, and Grantaire grinned, clearly recognizing Marius’s voice.

Sure enough, when the door opened, it revealed a disheveled Marius, a smiling Cosette, and their two kids, both dressed in Disney princess dresses, though their daughter was wearing a Darth Vader mask while their son had opted for an astronaut helmet. “Well?” their daughter said, putting her hands on her hips. “What do you say?”

“Fantine,” Marius sighed, “that’s not a polite way to talk to our guests.”

“But Daddy, they’re supposed to say Trick or Treat!” Fantine protested.

Georges nodded emphatically. “Yeah, Daddy, they have to say Trick or Treat,” he said seriously.

Enjolras elbowed Grantaire. “Trick or treat,” they said obediently, and both kids cheered.

Cosette laughed lightly. “We tried to get them to start off by saying Happy Halloween,” she told them. “But I don’t think they really understood the assignment.”

Georges tugged on her hand. “Do we get candy now?” he asked.

“You have to give candy to our guests first,” she told him.

Georges looked critically at Enjolras and Grantaire. “They’re not even wearing costumes,” he complained.

“Yes we are,” Enjolras said. “I’m dressed as Grantaire.”

Grantaire barked a laugh, clearly finally realizing why Enjolras had insisted on them swapping clothes, and he held his arms out to his sides. “And I am, very clearly, dressed as Enjolras.”

Fantine’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think that counts,” she said.

“If they don’t get candy, you don’t get candy,” Marius told her.

She brightened. “It definitely counts,” she assured them before running with her brother into the kitchen to assumedly get the candy they had been promised.

“It does count,” Cosette told them both with a laugh. “I didn’t notice it at first but now that you said it, I can’t unsee it. Well done.”

“Low effort costumes were always my forte,” Grantaire told her. “I like the jack-o-lantern squash, by the way. Very nice touch.”

“I suggested using canned pumpkin, but Cosette thought the joke worked better with a squash,” Marius told him. “And as usual, she was right.”

He kissed Cosette’s cheek as their kids returned carrying a bag of candy. “You get to pick one,” Georges told them seriously as he held it out to them.

“That is very nice of you,” Grantaire said, equally serious. “I’m going for a peanut butter cup. Enjolras?”

“SweetTarts for sure,” Enjolras said.

Fantine beamed at them. “And the rest is for us,” she said smugly, and she and Georges ran off with the bag.

“Not until after dinner!” Marius shouted after them.

Grantaire rested his head on Enjolras’s shoulder. “You know, Pontmercy, I really think parenthood suits you.” Marius gave him the finger and Grantaire laughed before glancing up at Enjolras. “Speaking of dinner, do I even want to ask what you have planned?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough,” Enjolras told him. “Cosette, Marius, thank you for your help.”

“Of course,” Cosette said, smiling at them. “We’ll see you both later.”

Grantaire popped the Reese’s cup he had grabbed into his mouth as they walked away from Marius and Cosette’s house. “She and Jehan both said they would see us later,” he said through a mouth full of peanut butter. “What exactly do you have planned for later?”

“Other than teaching you not to talk with your mouth full?” Enjolras asked mildly. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. There’s only so many holidays left.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “So dinner will be Thanksgiving,” he guessed. “I’m thinking those really good turkey pot pies at that place we love?”

Enjolras shrugged. “It’s as close to Thanksgiving dinner as I could find this time of year.”

“And after that is Christmas – I mean, Winter Solstice.” Grantaire tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Judging by how many of our friends you’ve roped into this, I’m guessing you convinced them to drag out their Christmas decorations for one night and one night only, and we’re going to go around and look at them, also known as our favorite Christmas tradition because we are officially old people.” Enjolras laughed and kissed the top of Grantaire’s head. “True enough,” he said fondly.

“Which leaves one last holiday to end the night with,” Grantaire said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Are we feeling more like NSYNC’s ‘Kiss Me at Midnight’, or ‘Auld Lang Syne’?”

Enjolras kissed him again. “As you are so fond of saying,” he told Grantaire, “why not both?”

- - - - - - - - - -

Rather than either song, they were both greeted with cheers and party horns when they finally emerged onto the roof of Combeferre’s apartment building, where their friends had assembled for a makeshift New Year’s Eve party, complete with twinkling lights, plenty of champagne and a pair of truly hideous 2022 sunglasses that Courfeyrac had somehow found. 

“So what do you think?” Enjolras asked, grinning.

Grantaire just shook his head as he smiled. “I think it’s incredible,” he said honestly. “And I think I am in desperate need for some champagne.”

Enjolras waited for him to drain his first flute before holding his hand out. “Care to dance?” he asked as the song changed to ‘Happy New Year, Old Friend’.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “This is cheesy, even for you,” he informed Enjolras.

“Is that a no?”

“Did I say that?”

They moved to the center of the party which had been dubbed the defacto dancefloor, and Grantaire wrapped his arms around Enjolras’s waist, pulling him close before tilting his head up to kiss him as they started dancing slowly together. But after a long moment, Grantaire glanced up at him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Grantaire hesitated. “What was all this about today?”

Enjolras frowned. “Other than the fact that I wanted to show you how much I love you?”

“Yeah, other than that,” Grantaire said. ”Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, of course, or the many, many, many gestures really, but. It seemed like there was some other reason for this.”

It was Enjolras’s turn to hesitate. “Well, I was trying to uphold my promise.”

“What promise?” Grantaire asked.

“When I had to go out of town for work over various holidays this past year.” Grantaire just looked at him blankly and Enjolras added, “You know, when I promised that I would make it up to you. On Valentine’s Day.”

Recognition dawned on Grantaire’s face. “Oh, that,” he said, laughing. “I forgot about that.”

Enjolras blinked. “Are you kidding me?”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Am I in trouble if I say no?” he asked. Enjolras just shook his head, and they danced together in silence for a long moment before Grantaire frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Enjolras said reflexively, and when Grantaire just gave him a look, he sighed. “I just can’t help but feel like you didn’t remember me making that promise because you didn’t think that I would follow through.”

“Well I certainly didn’t think you would follow through like this,” Grantaire said, aiming for a joke, and when Enjolras didn’t smile, he sighed and stopped dancing. “Enjolras, we’ve been together for a long time now, and my expectations have never been this high for any holiday, so you can’t blame me for not anticipating this.”

“I know, but—”

“No, no ‘buts’,” Grantaire said, a little sharply. “When you said you would make it up to me, I forgot about it because you never have to make anything up to me.” Enjolras shook his head but Grantaire didn’t let him interrupt. “I know that your work is important and you don’t have full control over your schedule, and that sometimes means missing things.” He paused before adding, “And you know that I know that. So your promise wasn’t about me. It was about you, and you feeling guilty or like you needed to do something for me.”

That stung, but Enjolras couldn’t deny that there was at least a crumb of truth in it. “I guess I did,” he admitted, “because missing out on holidays isn’t fair to you. Even the dumb ones like Halloween.”

Grantaire barked a dry laugh. “What, you think I had a bad Halloween because you were working? I had a bad Halloween because I’m 32 years old and half of our friends are settling down and starting families and no one wanted to day drink with me on a Sunday. And had you been here, you also wouldn’t have wanted to day drink with me on a Sunday.”

Enjolras laughed lightly. “Well, that is true.”

Grantaire took both his hands in his and squeezed them. “The only thing I ever miss out on is time with you, and you make that up to me tenfold all the times when you are home.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “So what you’re trying to say is that all of this was entirely unnecessary,” he said, his voice heavy.

“Very appreciated, of course,” Grantaire assured him. “And a really fun day. But yeah, not necessary, and I needed you to know that.”

“And I understand that now,” Enjolras said. “Though I do wish you had said something a little sooner.”

Grantaire frowned. “What do you mean—”

The question was barely out of his mouth when the song changed to NSYNC’s ‘Kiss Me at Midnight’ and as one, all of their friends started the countdown. “10, 9, 8, 7—” Enjolras pulled Grantaire to him. “6, 5, 4, 3—” Grantaire laughed breathlessly as Enjolras cupped his cheek. “2, 1 – Happy New Year!”

Enjolras closed the space between them, kissing Grantaire as if it was just the two of them, which for both of them, wrapped in that moment and each other, it might as well have been. They were so caught up in each other that Grantaire almost missed the fireworks that went off from a neighboring rooftops, accompanied by the whoops of Gavroche, assumed pyrotechnic.

“Did you get a permit for that?” Grantaire asked mildly, leaning his head against Enjolras’s chest.

“Fuck no,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire grinned. “That’s my man.”

Combeferre cleared his throat. “As much as we all enjoy fucking the government, that is a good reminder that this gathering is technically illegal and knowing my neighborhood, someone’s already called the cops about the fireworks, so—”

As if on cue, they heard a distant police siren, and Bahorel used two fingers to whistle loudly. “Time to get the fuck out of here, folks,” he shouted. “Disperse!”

Enjolras laughed as they all moved quickly to the exit. “Just like the good ol’ days, huh?” he asked Grantaire, who rolled his eyes.

“You and I have very different memories from the good ol’ days,” he said.

Still, some things are hard to forget, and running from the police without looking like you’re running from the police was one of those things. They were several blocks away when both decided they safe and almost collapsed as they both laughed. “Hell of an end to the night,” Grantaire said, wiping tears from his eyes. 

“What can I say, I aim to please.”

They walked slower now, arms brushing against each other, and Grantaire glanced over at Enjolras with a smile. “Oh,” he said, deliberately casual, “there is one other thing you can do to make our missed moments up to me.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you said—”

“And I meant it,” Grantaire assured him. “But I don’t think you’ll protest at this one.”

Enjolras sighed. “Do I want to know?” Grantaire grinned wickedly and leaned in to whisper something in Enjolras’s ear. A slow grin crept across Enjolras’s face. “Well,” he said. “That I think we can definitely do.”

“Then let’s get home.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, taking Grantaire’s hand. “Let’s go home.”

“And Enjolras?” Enjolras glanced at him and Grantaire smiled. “Happy Valentine’s Day for real.”

Enjolras leaned in and kissed him. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Grantaire.”

[jeonggukookies]

too young || six

summary: you and jungkook meet up after a surprise delivery happens at the school

word count: 2,018

genre:  parent!au, single dad!jungkook angst

one || two || three || four || five || six

When you thought about your first heartbreak, you’d thought you would be nonstop sobbing in your bed, being surrounded by empty jars of melted ice cream pints and sad movies. You thought that despite the distance, your mom would make the trip and drive all the way to see you, rub your back in small comforting circles and take care of you as if you were a sick child. You thought that everything would hurt so much that you wouldn’t even want to move. 

The only problem? Your first heartbreak didn’t feel like that at all. 

It was all practically numb.

You didn’t fall apart when you did something that reminded you of him. 

You didn’t start breaking down when you watched him pick up Jules and didn’t bother to come in to your office to say hi to you. 

You didn’t crumble to pieces when you had no notifications on your phone from him.

You lived your life normally again just without Jungkook and Jules. 

Alone.

There were no more screams or echoes of noise from Jules and her cousins when you peacefully relaxed, there was no more idle music playing in background as you did your work and there were no more soft breaths and snores next to you in your bed. 

Your mom called you every night on the phone, checking up on you. It was like she wanted you to cry and to feel some pain, just so she could go down there and be there for you. But you told her that you were fine and will deal with whatever negative feelings when they come. 

Life went on whether you liked it or not. 

Three weeks after the break up, at the end of March, there was a familiar knock on your office door after the last school bell rang. You haven’t talked to Jules since the night she found you looking at pictures of her mom, and you really hope it wasn’t awkward when you talk to her. 

It’s the first time you see Jules’s hair was down, strands of her hair going in every direction. She looks like a mess. Tears streamed down her face as she ran towards you, hugging your legs. “Can you help me?” 

“What’s wrong, Sweetie?” 

“I lost Jungkook’s mp3 player,” she cried, rubbing her face on your black dress pants to wipe her tears. “He’s going to kill me!” 

“It’s okay, Jules.” Bending down to comfort her, you wipe her face and stroke her hair. You’ve never seen her this sad, and it made your heart sink. “I’m sure he’ll understand. Things like this happen all the time. It’s okay.” 

She shook her head. “Auntie Moon Soo is coming soon, and I can’t leave without the mp3 player. I can’t.” 

“Why don’t we ask her to come look for it with you?” You asked softly. “That way 3 people are looking for it.” 

Namjoon’s wife, Moon Soo comes out of her van, she’s surprised to see you standing next to Jules. She doesn’t say anything to you at first and tries to reassure Jules that’ll be alright, that they will find it before Jungkook goes home tonight.

When it’s been over 30 minutes, retracing Jule’s steps from her locker to the gym to the playground, she goes to the bathroom, making you and Moon Soo wait outside for her. 

“I’m sorry we had to meet like this in this circumstance,” she said, offering a kind smile. “I heard a lot of great things about you, and I’m sorry things didn’t go well at the dinner with the girls.”

You hear Jules flush the toilet. “It is what it is.” 

“I know what it was like,” she said. “They made it seem like I wasn’t good enough for Joon, and we took a small break too. But at the end of the day, it’s about how you feel about Jungkook and Jules that matters more than their opinions, especially if they brought up Sarah.” 

“I’m almost done!” Jules shouted, turning on the sink. 

“But that doesn’t change the way Jungkook feels about Sarah.” Tears were forming in your eyes, and you bit your lip to hold them back. “But I’m glad you and Namjoon were able to overcome it.” 

“It’s been like what, almost a month? Jules knows Jungkook can easily buy her a new mp3 player, or even a phone, anything she wants, honestly. But think about it...I’m sure she misses you and is using this as an opportunity to spend time with you again.” 

“Can we check out my classroom?” Jules finally opened the door, getting out of the restroom. 

The three of you walk quietly over to her class where she looked through every desk (without touching their things) and looked over to the place where she reads books in the class. She lifted the bean bag in the corner of the room, revealing what she has been looking for this whole time. “Yay!” 

“See, everything is okay.” Moon soo smiled. “Are you ready to go, Jules?” 

She nodded, but then stared at you with her piercing eyes. “Is this going to be the last time you’re going to talk to me?” 

“Of course not, Jules.” You took a breath. “I’m here for you always.” 

“I have to tell you something.” But before she could tell you, she pointed at Moon Soo. “Why didn’t you go to the bathroom when we went, Auntie?” 

Moon Soo raised her eyebrows, then looked down at what Jules was pointing at. She then began holding on to her stomach with a pained look. “My water just broke.”

_______

“Hey!” Namjoon exclaimed, rushing through the hospital doors. Before he goes to Moon Soo’s room, he went towards your direction as you waited outside the room with Jules. “Thank you so much for bringing her here safely and for being there for her at that time. I seriously cannot thank you enough.”

“No worries,” you let out. “I’m glad I was there.” 

He’s about to say something, but you hear Moon Soo scream Namjoon’s name, making him go into the room as quickly as he can. 

Your phone in your blazer buzzed. 

[seokjin]

the whole fam is coming in about 10 minutes 

thank you for taking care of jules

will be there soon and you can leave

“Are you leaving when they come?” Jules asked as she looked down at your phone screen, seeing the texts from. “You’re not going to stay to see the babies?” 

“I don’t know yet.” You lied, knowing you were going to leave once someone is here able to take care and watch over Jules. As much as you wanted to see the twins, you didn’t want to see some specific people. You were doing fine right now in your life and didn’t want to ruin that if you saw Jungkook or some of the girls. “I have a lot of work to do still, Sweetheart.” 

“Will you see the babies with me on different day then?” 

“I hope so.” You couldn’t make an empty promise to her. “Are you excited to have more cousins?” 

She nodded. “I like my small family, but sometimes, I hate being alone. The cousins help me forget that I can’t have any brothers or sisters.”

You sighed, wrapping your arm around Jules. “Never forget that you will always have your family, your uncles, aunts and cousins to support you. They will always be there.”

“Will you?” She asked, looking up at you, once again, her eyes were so piercing.

“I hope so.” You rubbed her back in small circles. 

“I heard what Auntie said when I was in the bathroom,” she said. “I missed you, but I had to find this mp3 player. Jungkook’s new song is on here. I’m always the first to listen, and I didn’t want to lose this song.” 

“That’s good you found it then.” 

She’s about to tell you more, her mouth is slightly opened, but she doesn’t say anything more and started to stare in the direction behind you. Letting go of her, you turned behind, seeing Jungkook walking towards you two. 

He paused, not expecting to see you here, but then continued to walk forward as you looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m hungry,” Jules answered with a pouty look on her face.

He laughed, taking his leather wallet out of his back pocket. He hands her a couple dollar bills, telling her to get something for the three of them from the vending machine. “Go crazy.” 

“You know I will,” she joked. 

There’s awkward silence in the air now, with Jules gone. Jungkook then sat down in the empty chair beside you, with his head turned to you as you looked down at your hands in your lap. He doesn’t know where to start and what words to say. How ironic, coming from a songwriter. “Hey.”

“Hi.” 

“Did you eat yet?” He asked. 

“Nope,” you replied, still not looking at him. “Did you?”

“Not yet.”

“I should get going.” You finally took the first step, grabbing your purse off the ground. 

Before you could take another step, Jungkook reached forward and grabbed your wrist, stopping your movement. “I never loved her, you know.” 

You wanted to shake him off, go on your own way, but you kept standing in front of him, facing away from him. “What?” 

He sighed, wishing he could look you in the eyes. “I never answered you that day because I was too scared to admit it out loud. I never got to tell her either, and I knew she loved me. The thing was I only thought of her as a sister, someone I had to protect. And I was afraid that if I actually told someone that I didn’t love her before she got the chance to hear it from me, I would somehow hurt her even though she’s gone.” 

“Jungkook,” You said this name, but he kept talking.

“I know that’s no excuse, but I am so sorry. I never wanted you to feel like that, and I should have just told you. No one has been competing with you.” He let go of your hand and stood up. “I don’t want you to be Sarah because I love you for who you are. I want you for who you are. My life feels incomplete without you.”

Finally turning around, you stared at Jungkook. It’s the first time finally looking at him up close in three weeks, and he looked like death. Dark circles were under his eyes, his hair was a mess. You could tell Jungkook felt too much.

And he did. For the last three weeks, he got up every morning, trying to ignore the pain he was feeling in his heart. He tried to continue his life like everything was okay, but all he kept thinking about was you. He wanted you to see you when he picked Jules up from school. He wanted to hear you laugh when he watched a movie with Jules. He wanted to you next to him when he was alone on Wednesdays. He wanted to hear you cheer for Jules when he watched her soccer games. He just wanted you. 

With all the pain he had been feeling, he’s been trying to figure out his feelings and all the words he wanted to say to you that night, and now that he was finally letting all of it go, he was crying right in front of you.

“You saw me more than Jule’s guardian. I felt like you were the first person to honestly see me for me. I want to live spending more time with you, watching Jules’s games, hearing all your different opinions and views than mine. And I am so sorry that I damaged us in the process.”

“Hey, Y/N!” Namjoon rushed out of the room. His jaw dropped once he saw you and Jungkook together, looking all sad. Still, his smile on his face reappeared as he asked, “Do you guys want to see the babies?” 

____ 

hi this is so long overdue i apologize, i’ve honestly been stuck :( hope you all have a good day and enjoy permission to dance<33 lowkey not proofread either:/

[themayforce]

Pretty in Pink - Part 2

Link to part 1

Summary: After the events down on the planet, you're not sure how to talk to Rex about it. But luckily, Fives and Echo are here to help.

Description: Things get steamy again in this one. Afab!Reader (no gendered language), foursome, double (or i guess triple) penetration (in both holes), unprotected sex (wrap it up fellas), some degradation, and a little bit of spanking

Rating: 18+ explicit

Pairings: Rex+Fives+Echo/Reader

Words: 7481 (literally i only just found out about this word count and uhhhh i don't know how this happened)

There aren’t enough hours in a day for all the work you have to get done. Since getting back to Coruscant, it's like you've been stuck in an endless meeting with every possible senator, advisor, administrator, or whatever title these politicians had chosen to use. The first few meetings had been important, but soon you had no real part in the discussions anymore and you just watched from the back of the room, exhausted.

It doesn't help that events from a certain planet keep replaying in your mind like a holovid stuck on a loop, glitching and catching on moments and phrases you should not be thinking about in the middle of a meeting room. The heat in your face and your anxiety about it make you even more tired, and after a week of these negotiations you're very glad when you can finally get home before dark for once.

The lights in your apartment automatically switch on when you open the door. The soft pink and orange hues from the sunset outside drape over your living room like a blanket and you spend a few minutes just looking out the window, admiring the view over the city, something you didn’t take as much time for as you should.

No matter how hard you try, it’s impossible to empty your mind these days. Your little … adventure with your three clone friends left its marks on you, both emotionally and physically. They’re fading now, but every time you see yourself in the mirror before showering they jump out at you: two rows of bruises on either side of your hips, unmistakably finger shaped. Rex’s handiwork. And the worst part is that it turns you on more than you’d ever care to admit.

You haven’t spoken to Rex at all since flying back on the shuttle. He had been in two of the same meetings as you, sure, but only awkward glances were exchanged, no words. It bothers you, having these feelings fester inside you, but you have no idea how to approach the subject. If you send him a comlink message, what are you even supposed to say? ‘Hey Captain, I think we should discuss how you fucked my kriffing brains out and then pretended it never happened?’

The day after you got back, Fives and Echo had been waiting for you after your checkup in the medbay, bless their hearts. You had all agreed to leave out the specifics of what had happened in your official reports, but a warning had been attached to that planet’s datalog. Avoid the pink flowers: toxic to most humanoids. With those two guys, you can laugh about it now, and you’re grateful for it. Fives seems more relaxed around you, more open. You haven’t forgotten that he called you beautiful, that he held your hand and brushed the hair out of your face. You see the way he looks at you, and it melts you, the way a hot cup of caf on a cold day does. But you just can’t seem to examine your feelings about Fives, not while Rex’s fire burns inside you so vigorously.

If you don’t talk to him soon, you probably never will, and you’re not sure you can take that. You get a glass of water from the kitchen and down it in one go before laying down on your couch, comlink in hand.

Should you call him? Leave him a holo message? Or just a text message? He’s probably very busy, probably doesn’t even have time to meet with you, but there’s no way you can talk it out over the com. The little device feels heavy in your hand as you type out the message ‘Can we talk?’, and your thumb hovers over the send button. What if he says no? Or just doesn’t reply? What if he’s trying to forget what happened, and bringing it up will just anger him? But he’d called you perfect, had fucked you like a man possessed. You look like such a good little whore. Those words won’t stop echoing in your mind.

You press your face into a throw pillow and groan. “Stupid clones,” you mutter to yourself. “Stupid, sexy clones.”

It’s only when the buzzer to your front door wakes you up that you notice you had dozed off in the first place. Quickly, you smooth out your clothes and flip the throw pillow over with the drool-stained side down. You're not expecting any guests -- you were too tired to make plans this week -- so you're frowning when you open the door.

Your frown turns into a surprised smile when you see Fives and Echo standing in front of you. Their helmets are tucked under their arm, and Fives is holding a bottle of something that looks like alcohol, while Echo has a plain white box in his hands.

"Hey there, sunshine," Fives says with a sheepish grin that nestles itself in your heart.

"Guys! What's all this?"

“Hope this isn’t a bad time,” Fives starts, but Echo interrupts him.

“Fives wanted to-” A sharp look from his friend makes him rephrase his sentence. “Fives and I wanted to check up on you.”

“We saw you in one of the meeting rooms today, and you looked tired, so- oh, not that you look bad, you still look great, just-” You laugh, and that puts Fives at ease. He smiles back at you.

“You’re really too sweet. Please, come in.”

You step aside to let your friends into your home, both of them still wearing their armor. They must have come here right after their shift, and it warms your heart that they chose to see you instead of getting their well-earned rest.

“Brought you something,” Fives says, handing you the bottle he’s holding. “Thought you might like a drink.” It‘s a familiar bottle to you, the most common type of Corellian Red on the market, and one of your favorites, which Fives remembered.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have. But you’re absolutely right. I could really use a drink.”

Echo’s white box happens to be the best kind of box: a cake box, and time flies by while the three of you eat cake and empty the wine bottle. It’s nice, really nice, to just hang out like this. Despite the unspoken truth between you and Fives, it doesn’t feel awkward -- instead it draws something giddy and flirtatious out of you, though that may be in part due to the wine. One third of a bottle isn’t enough to get you drunk, but it’s definitely enough to get you tipsy, and soon enough you have your legs in Fives’ lap on the couch. He rubs circles on your calves with his thumb. He blushes. Echo laughs. The whole thing is adorable.

For the second time tonight, the buzzer of the front door interrupts you. This time, aided by the buzz of alcohol, you’re a lot more relaxed as you make your way across the room, glass in hand. There’s music playing from a concert on your holoscreen -- you don’t know the song or the singer, but the rhythm puts a spring in your step and there’s a smile on your face when you open the door.

Your expression shifts to one of open-mouthed confusion when you are met with another set of blue and white plastoid armor, worn by the man you so desperately wanted to talk to earlier today. And that's not all -- clutched in Rex's hands is a beautiful bouquet of yellow and white flowers, perfectly arranged like it's come straight out of a holo-ad for one of those high-end florists from Naboo.

You're speechless. Absolutely floored. Not just by the fact that Captain Rex brought you flowers, but that he decided to do this now, tonight, after ignoring you for over a week and- oh no. Did you accidentally send that comlink message? Is that why he's here? You would never even have considered sending it if you knew you'd have company tonight, but Rex doesn't know that and now he's here and so are Fives and Echo and every possible explanation you can give will bring trouble.

Blood rushes to your head as you try to think of something to say, but Fives and Echo beat you to it.

"Captain!" they exclaim in almost perfect unison while they jump up from their seats.

"Captain…" you repeat, at a loss for any other words. "I- I wasn't expecting-" You can't finish your sentence. Rex looks like he's going through all stages of grief simultaneously -- jaw tightening, brows furrowing, while his gaze darts between you and the clones behind you.

"I'll come back another time."

“No!” you say before you can stop yourself, “I mean, you’re welcome to come have a drink?” It’s embarrassing, the sheepish way you’re smiling at him, but he did just bring you flowers.

“Are those for me?” you ask, gesturing at the bouquet. Rex looks at the flowers like he had temporarily forgotten he was holding them, then hands them over to you.

“Yes. I hope you uh,” he hesitates, “are feeling better.”

“I am, thank you.”

This is unbearable. You want to scream, to either pull him inside or slam the door in his face, anything to make this painful situation end. You can feel Fives’ eyes burn into you from behind you, knowing that you have to explain why his kriffing Captain is bringing you flowers, when you can’t even explain it to yourself.

“So do you w-” you begin to invite Rex inside, pointing your thumb towards the living room, but he starts speaking at the same time.

“I’ll talk to you later. Goodnight. Troopers.”

With a curt nod and a sharp turn, he marches down the walkway, away from you.

You rush over to the low table next to your couch where you left your comlink and after you lay the bouquet down you check your message history. The words ‘Can we talk’ are still blinking up at you from the bottom of the display, unsent. The whole thing was a kriffing coincidence.

“So,” Echo says, pressing a button on the holoscreen to mute it, “what just happened?”

You groan as you let yourself drop down on the couch. Fives sits back down next to you, but his posture isn’t as relaxed as it was a few minutes ago.

“I don’t know if I should talk about it,” you say softly, burying your face in your hands.

"He …" Fives sighs deeply and turns his body towards you. "He also got involved back on that planet, didn't he?"

You nod without looking up. No point in lying about it now, and besides, it was Rex who decided to be weird about the whole thing.

"Said so, didn't I?" Echo says.

"Kriff, yeah, you were right. I really must've slept through it."

Now you sit up, bouncing your gaze between the two of them. “You knew?” you ask, confused.

“Not for sure,” Echo replies, “I stepped away for half an hour or so to fix the transmitter. But something was different about the Captain when I got back.”

Yeah, you could say that. It would’ve been a lot easier if he hadn’t been so secretive about the whole thing.

"I wanted to talk to him about it, but I thought he was avoiding me… Well, until-"

"Until he showed up unannounced at your apartment with flowers," Fives interrupts. There’s a small grin on his face as he shakes his head. "Stars, he's hopeless. We should give him some pointers."

Pointers? He wants Rex to be, what? Better at courting you?

“Wait… I thought-”

“I’d be jealous? Eh, a little, I can’t deny that. But one thing you need to know about clones,” Fives says with a knowing look to Echo, “is that we’re very good at sharing.”

His words make your face burn, your cheeks feel like the twin suns of Tatooine with how hot they are, and your breath hitches in your throat.

Echo chuckles at your reaction and moves to sit down on the couch as well. Stars, why was it making you so flustered to be sandwiched between the two of them?

“Fives was right. You really are cute when you get nervous.”

“I’m always right,” Fives jokes in return, “but more importantly…” He leans over and gently presses his thumb and index finger against your chin, turning your head to look at him. “Would you like that, sunshine? The three of us sharing you?” His thumb now grazes over your bottom lip. If he keeps this up, you might forget how to speak. Or forget your own kriffing name.

“Y-yes,” you whisper.

“Good.” He holds your gaze lovingly, his eyes darting down to your bottom lip. You’re hoping he might kiss you, but then he takes his hand away and smiles slightly.

“Better ask the Captain to come back, then.”

You fumble with your comlink and almost drop it while you type your new message to Rex. ‘Please come back. We want to talk to you.’ That’s the line you all agreed upon.

“While we wait…” Echo leans closer to you and lowers his voice. “Fives here never shuts up about wanting to kiss you.”

“Echo!” Fives hisses, embarrassed.

“Sooo,” you say, turning to him with a bashful grin, “what are you waiting for, then?”

Fives blinks a few times, and then with one swooping motion he pulls you into his lap, and puts his mouth to yours. His lips are sweet from the cake and the wine, his hands warm as he holds onto your waist. He’s firm and soft at the same time and it’s perfect -- until you move slightly and part of his armor pinches your skin, making you wince.

“Okay, you better take this off now,” you say, tapping one of his thigh plates with your fingernail, “or someone’s gonna get hurt.”

“That a promise?” Fives mutters against your cheek, making you giggle.

It’s touching how much care they put in taking off their armor. Just by watching them undress you can tell how important it is to them, almost sacred. They put every piece neatly on top of the other in the same way, like they were taught precisely how. Soon they stand before you in their tight black underclothes, still completely covered, but softer to the touch. The stretchy fabric doesn’t hide much. In fact, it accentuates the shape of their muscles and, well, other parts. You chew on your lip while you watch them move closer to you.

“Your turn, sunshine,” Fives states. “Let’s give the Captain a little surprise when we open the door for him.”

A small whine escapes your lips when you process his words, but you gladly oblige. As soon as you stand up from the couch, they’re on either side of you, so close it’s almost dizzying. They help you undo the clasps on your outfit and soon enough, you’re left only in your underclothes. Nothing fancy -- it was supposed to just be a regular work day when you got dressed this morning -- but at least it was a matching pair. Fives can’t seem to help himself and nuzzles his face into your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses that send shivers down your spine and he makes his way back up past your jaw, until he captures your mouth again. His second kiss is more intense, deeper, hotter, and as his tongue moves against yours, you feel the wetness between your thighs increasing. While Fives kisses you, Echo runs his fingers down your breastbone softly, before brushing them over your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. He’s gentle, like he doesn’t want to distract you from Fives’ kiss, but it still makes you shiver, the hairs on your arms standing up with the thrill of it.

And then, the buzzer again. When Echo goes to open the door, you instinctively want to turn around, too shy to face Rex in your state of undress, but Fives holds you with your back to his chest and his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them softly. He presses a kiss to your temple.

When the door swings open, your eyes meet Rex’s almost instantly.

"What's going on?" Rex asks, but his voice isn't demanding. Quite the opposite, there's almost a quiver in it as his gaze moves over your body, then quickly away again.

Echo leads him into the room by the back of his arm and smirks.

"Well, Captain, Fives and I have a little … gift for you, if you want to join us."

"We know you got involved, sir. With the toxin situation. No need to be ashamed. In fact, I think we can all benefit from this situation." Fives’ mouth comes up right next to your ear and you can feel the tickle of his goatee. "Why don't you tell him what you told us?" Fives whispers to you. Kriff, he wants you to proposition Rex? Out loud?

"I-I… well…" Alright, breathe, you can do this. You know what you want.

"I want… I want all three of you."

Rex’s eyes seem to darken, his posture heavy when he walks over to you. Fives lets go of you now, taking a step back to give the two of you more space.

"Stars," Rex breathes, "y-you're sure?"

"I'm sure." To help ease his doubts, you trace a path up his armor with your hands, resting your arms around his neck, and kiss him. He seems frozen for a second against your lips, but then he returns your kiss eagerly, warm hands grazing over your hips. When he touches you, his breath hitches, remembering you are near-naked in front of him. He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours.

“I felt- I thought I had taken advantage of you. You were so vulnerable, and I was- I couldn’t control myself, I was too rough-”

"Look," you say softly, turning around to show him the remnants of your bruises.

"Is that- did I do that? Kriff, I didn't intend to-"

You interrupt him. "You can do it again, if you want. Keep doing it, so they never fade.”

Rex swallows, but before he can reply you come up with a new idea.

"I want to thank the three of you for saving my life," you say, and you can't help the shy smile that graces your face as you unclasp your bra, shaking it off and revealing your breasts. You take Fives and Rex by the hand and look Echo in the eye sweetly as you lead the three of them to your bedroom.

"There's no need-" Fives interrupts, but you shush him with a finger to his lips.

"I'm going to thank you," you say more firmly this time. You press a quick kiss to his lips before sinking to your knees before him, your eyes lining up with the visible hard-on under his clothes. Your fingers find the waistband of his black compression pants and his briefs below them.

"Oh, stars, sunshine-" His words catch in his throat when you peel the fabric down, revealing his bare cock to you, exactly the way you remembered it. Fuck, you'd fantasized about this late at night, pushing your own fingers into your mouth, imagining how much their cocks might fill you. You can't help but lick your lips before gently wrapping your hand around the base, drawing soft curses from Fives' lips. Your tongue finds the head of his cock, giving it a few kitten licks before letting your lips wrap around it. You hum contentedly as you let him enter further into your mouth, gently licking and sucking and reeling with pride whenever you draw a noise out of him. When you take him in as far as you can go without gagging, you feel his hand coming to rest on top of your head and you let him guide your pace.

"Fuck, your mouth feels amazing, sweetheart. You- you wanna show the other guys what you can do too?"

You whine when he takes his cock out of your mouth, but then you realize he meant show them right now, at the same time, because both Rex and Echo have taken their compression pants off (and Rex his armor, too) and you're greeted by two more of their cocks, hard and leaking and so close to your face.

"My lucky day," you joke, but your heart is beating fast with the knowledge you haven't exactly done this before. You just hope you can give all of them the attention they deserve.

Rex stands closest to you, and his cock twitches as you reach to hold it. His hips jerk forward when you press your tongue flat against the underside, tracing a vein that runs all the way along it. Just like Fives, he reaches for your head -- when you take one of his balls into your mouth and suckle on it softly, his fingers tighten their grip into your hair, his breath hitching with every stroke of your hand along his cock. After you give the other ball some attention, you move back to his cock, bobbing your head along it gently until he suddenly thrusts forward, hitting the back of your throat, making you gag.

"Kriff, sorry-"

But you persevere, spurred on to try and take him even deeper even with tears forming in your eyes. The sounds of you struggling to take him down your throat are joined with the sounds of Fives and Echo stroking their own cocks lazily on either side of you. It's lewd, but deliciously so, and your cunt throbs knowing that it's the sight of you that's turning them on.

You swallow around Rex's cock and he curses again, pulling himself out of your mouth.

"I won't l-last long if you keep that up, beautiful," he says, wiping some saliva mixed with precum away from your chin. Your stomach flutters at the pet name, a silly youngling feeling that feels unfitting to the current situation, but you find yourself wanting to hear it again and again.

Instead you turn again to take care of Echo, who seems to be enjoying himself -- his hand is wrapped tightly around the base of his cock and he smiles down at you.

"Your turn, mister," you tease, and a small chuckle escapes his throat.

"Stars, baby, you’re so cute."

Smiling, you lick up the sizable drop of precum that has formed at the head of his cock, drawing small circles around the opening with your tongue. Then much like before, you try to fit as much of him inside you as possible until you gag again -- the unpleasant feeling is somehow unbearably arousing to you, just knowing that his cock is so big, knowing your throat and jaw will hurt after, it sends lightning straight down between your legs.

"Look at me, baby," Echo coos fondly, "that's right, you like my cock, don't you, pretty eyes?"

You nod weakly, turning your attention back to the rhythm you had found while hollowing out your cheeks, when he pulls out of your mouth.

"Gotta keep it fair," he says with a grin while you feel a pair of hands turning you around again.

You service the three of them like this for a while, switching between their cocks while using your hands on the others. You must be an obscene sight, lips swollen and plump, saliva dribbling down your chin, and with every passing minute you're grinding your hips more and more, rubbing your legs together to find pleasure.

"Getting needy, aren't you, sunshine?" Fives teases, his voice raspy as you stroke his cock which is now slippery and shiny with precum and your spit. You hum around Rex, who has gotten to the point where he's thrusting shallowly into your mouth. Your gag reflex seems to have been conquered for the time being. They do say practise makes perfect.

It's Rex who comes first with a groan, his cum filling your throat while he holds your head in place, your nose grazing the hairs around the base of his cock.

"Fuck," Fives says, his hand finding the back of your head, "open your mouth, sweetheart, that's it." You swallow as much of Rex's cum as you can in one go, then open your mouth wide, tongue sticking out. Rex lines himself up with your tongue, pumping his own cock in quick hard motions. He cums with a low, rumbling sigh and his release ends up mostly on your tongue, with some of it on your nose and cheek. Before you realize it, you hear Echo curse beside you and he also finishes, his cum landing on your face and chest, like a marking you're all too happy to wear.

The three of them seem pretty out of breath, and Rex sits down on your bed with a sigh. "Stars," he breathes, pulling the high collar of his shirt away from his neck to let in some cool air. "That was some kind of thank you."

It makes you giggle. He seems more at ease now, having been convinced by the benefits of this arrangement.

Seeing the three of them panting and sweating in your bedroom sends another molten shot of arousal straight to your cunt and you realize your underwear must be soaked by now.

Fives must have realized you were rubbing your legs together, a teasing edge appearing in his voice. "I think you enjoyed that just as much as we did, didn't you? Did that get you wet?"

"Mhm," you admit coyly, "very."

"I think we should do something about that."

With a yelp from you, Fives pulls you up off the floor with ease and you crash into his chest with his nose pressed into your hair.

"Why don't you lie down and let us take care of you?"

Your face turns hot and your cunt throbs with anticipation at his words. But there's one thing that needs to happen first. All of them are still a lot more dressed than you are.

"Shirts off first, all of you," you say with a grin, which they all return.

"Yes, general," Echo jokes, peeling his sweat-soaked undershirt over his head. Now all of them are naked before you, and you can see the differences in their bodies. Echo, despite being the lithest of the three, has the most defined musculature. Fives is slightly broader in the shoulders but narrower at the hips, and seemed to have a little bit of an edge in the body hair department. Rex is the broadest overall, and also the most scarred, with gashes and blaster burns all over his chest, arms, and back. All three of them are beautiful, perfect, and somehow in your bed.

You get comfortable on the mattress, back propped up against a pillow. Surprisingly, it's Rex who finds his way over to you first, the mattress dipping under his knees. He puts his hands (big, warm, calloused) on your knees and spreads your legs so he can get between them.

"B-been wanting to taste you for so long," he says, his voice a dark rumble that strikes you in your core.

"You better take what you want then, Captain." You're not sure where the daring edge in your tone comes from, but after just making three men come with just your hands and mouth, some confidence has gathered in your chest.

Rex slides your underwear off and spreads your lower lips with his thumbs, and you can hear him suck in a breath. Fives sits down on the bed next to you and chuckles.

"Naughty, so wet from sucking dick." You give him a playful nudge which turns into a desperate grasp the moment Rex starts licking your slit in long lines, his tongue putting pressure on your clit repeatedly.

"Oh, fuckkkk-" you moan, your head falling back onto Fives' shoulder. Echo has now sat down on the other side of you and has taken it upon himself to lazily stroke and pinch at your nipples, the small licks of pain making you whine louder. Rex's pace is relentless, not gentle at all, and you find yourself on the edge much sooner than expected. Your nails dig into Fives' arm when Rex adds his fingers into the mix, pumping them in and out and curving them to hit the perfect spot while he sucks hard on your clit until you see-

"Stars!" you cry out, your hips lifting themselves off the bed as you buck into his tongue, your first orgasm of the night hitting you hard and deep. Rex keeps his tongue pushed against you for a while longer, until you come down from your high, slumping back down into the mattress with your breathing heavy and your skin shiny.

"Didn't know you knew how to do that, Captain," Echo jokes, still playing with your tits almost absentmindedly.

Rex wipes some of your slick off his face with the back of his hand and grins. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

When he sits back up, you can't help but notice he's well on his way to being hard again -- so are the others. There's a glimmer of pride in your chest at the moan Fives lets out when you wrap your hands around his cock again. You roll over, knees tucked under you, and bend down to wrap your lips around him again. In this position, you realize your ass is up in the air at an inviting angle, and you spread your knees a little further apart to give the man behind you a good view. It works, because it only takes a few seconds for Rex to grab your ass roughly with both his hands. His fingers line up with the bruises he left there before, and you hope he remembered your plea for their renewal.

"Look at you… you need a cock to fill you up, don't you, sweetheart?”

You hum around Fives’ cock in response, who fists his hand in your hair.

“Or maybe…” Rex’s voice is dark and rumbling, a sound that goes straight to your cunt, but that’s not where he touches you next. His thumb brushes over your exposed asshole and you stop moving your hips instantly in surprise. "... more than one? Think you could do that for us?"

You let Fives' cock slide out of your mouth to reply, spit and precum leaving a stringy trail between you. "Yes, please, I'll be so good for you," you whine, wanting nothing more than precisely that, to be good, to be of use to them, to make them feel good because they deserve it, and you're giddy and proud that they want this from you and no one else.

There's a bottle of oil in your nightstand for occasions like these -- a gift from a friend months ago who swears by this brand, but you hadn't gotten much use out of it yet. After all his nervousness earlier, you were surprised Rex took charge now, although you suppose he had just needed some time to settle into this commanding role that seemed to come so naturally to him in everyday life. The three of them briefly discuss among themselves how they should take you, but you have a hard time paying attention to the specifics. You bite your lip at the thought of the three of them filling all of you, and you can't help but sneak your hand between your legs to put some pressure onto your throbbing clit.

"Uh-uh," Fives tuts at you with a crooked smile, "none of that, now." He grabs the offending hand first and then the other so you can't touch yourself anymore. He laughs when you pout, and it makes you want to kiss the corners of his mouth. "C'mere," he says, pulling you forward to straddle his lap, his erection pressed between your bellies. It feels good, being this close to him, your skin against his. His smirk is still there and so you do steal a kiss, softly rutting against him just to feel him moan into your mouth. "How about the two of us stay like this," he says in your ear, pulling you tighter towards him with a hand on your lower back, "and I get to see your pretty little face while the other guys fuck your ass, hm?" Oh stars above, nothing coherent can leave your mouth in response to that. You press your face into the crook of Fives' neck and whine a breathy please that makes him chuckle. "Alright then sunshine, up you get." His strong hands lift you upwards so you can position yourself over his cock. Like it's the best thing he's ever felt, his eyes flutter closed when you sink down onto him, giving an experimental roll of your hips that tightens his grip on your waist.

"Fuck, I forgot how fucking hot your pussy is," he groans, and you can tell he's exerting some self control not to start fucking your brains out right away. You feel another warm hand on your back and turn to catch a glimpse of Echo.

"Yeah, Fives, you do know how to pick 'em," he jokes softly, but there's something different about him -- out of the three of them, you keep feeling like Echo might not have been attracted to you as much, like he might be happier with some girl from 79's, but now… You wonder if he reeled his feelings in so he wouldn't hurt his friend-- no, maybe that was just your vanity talking. Regardless, you pull Echo in for a short kiss while slowly starting to move with Fives inside you.

The sound of the glass bottle opening behind you gives you goosebumps. Rex's silence feels like the calm before the storm, and you hold your breath in anticipation. The liquid is a little cold when it trickles onto your skin, and you notice Rex also put a generous amount on his hand as he spreads it out, circling your little hole with his thumb. He works one finger into you gently, but you can feel the stretch and you cling onto Fives' shoulders.

"You alright, sunshine?" he asks and you nod, soothed by his voice and the circles Echo is rubbing on your back. Rex works you open gradually with his fingers, adding more oil when needed while Fives whispers words of encouragement into your ear. He keeps his hips painfully still -- your cunt throbs around him and you know he can feel it, too, but he doesn't budge, not yet.

“You’re doing so well, sunshine. Do you think you’re ready?”

“Mmhm,” you murmur against the skin of his shoulder.

“Ask Captain Rex nicely, then.”

You tilt your head up to look at him in slight bewilderment, only to find a playful smirk on his face. Before you can think of what to say, Rex starts slowly pulling his fingers out, grazing them along the sensitive skin in and around your ass, and you whine as you bury your face in Rex’s neck again.

“P-please, captain,” you cry, “please, please.”

His hands firmly dig into your asscheeks, rough and purposeful.

“Please what?”

Your words come out stifled and choked, both held back by your embarrassment to say something so filthy out loud, and shaken up by desire.

“Please fuck my a-ass, I need your cock, Rex, please!”

“Well done, sweetheart,” he says in that low voice that makes you quiver. He lines his cock up with your ass and you can’t help but buck your hips back slightly. His hands take hold of your sides and he starts pushing himself in, splitting you open easily with the help of the oil.

You’re full, so very full, and it’s so much, on the edge of being painful but not quite. Every part of your skin that touches one of your lovers is on fire, burning with arousal like it did when you had those toxins in your body, but better, now that your mind is sound. Whenever you think he can’t go any deeper, he does, and all you can do is hold onto Fives, digging your nails into his skin in the process.

“Fuck, stars, you take me so well,” Rex says behind you.

Echo pets your hair softly. “How’s it feel, baby?”

“F-feels good,” you respond, your words slurring together. Now both Fives and Rex are holding still with you in between them. The waiting is unbearable, like when the ocean pulls back before its biggest waves, and you are waiting for the water to crash.

The smallest roll of your hips is all it takes -- Rex groans as he pulls out about halfway, then thrusts back into you. From below you, Fives starts tilting his hips upwards, and you feel your cunt getting wetter around his cock. With the way you’re lying forwards on his chest, your clit rubs against him every time Rex slams his hips forwards. They move faster and faster, their skin slapping against yours and all you can do is sob, warm tears of pleasure mixing with sweat as they roll down your cheeks.

You can take more. You want to take more, and you look up at Echo through your wet lashes, reaching out for him, trying to find your words.

“Echo,” you whine softly, “my mouth, you can-”

You don’t have to tell him twice. He shifts so his cock is directly in front of your face instantly, unbearably hard and leaking. Your mouth opens almost instinctively, tongue lolling out to taste as much of him as possible.

Rex chuckles behind you as each thrust of his hips forces Echo’s cock further down your throat as you moan around him.

“Seems I was right the first time,” he says, not halting his speed even a little bit, “you really are a good little whore, aren’t you?”

Fuck, why do those words turn you on so much? Being called names was never something you wanted, but the way he said it, in that fucking delicious voice of his, it set you on fire and makes your cunt clench eagerly.

“Kriff, you liked that, didn’t you? Got all tight around me.”

Your mouth is too full of Echo’s cock to answer, but your throat lets out a noise that Echo clearly likes, because he moans and his strong hand finds purchase on your scalp. They fuck you mercilessly, all three of them pounding and thrusting into your body while you bounce on Fives’ cock and grind your clit against him. There is a deep focus to it, this steady rhythm while holding Echo’s cock into your mouth, but it feels so good and so complete, all of you moving together, thinking of nothing else but chasing the pleasure building in your cunt, and once you start slamming your hips down at the same moment Fives thrusts his up, it’s like the ocean wave crashing into the shore with full force, dragging you along with it. You come hard, a white-hot orgasm that shakes you to your core. You let Echo’s cock slip out of your mouth the moment you scream, and Five holds you against his chest where you can hear the pounding of his heart.

Fives halts the relentless thrusting of his hips for a moment, but not Rex -- he gives you not a moment of rest as he uses your ass with the same ferocity he used your cunt back on that planet.

“Fuck, fuck,” he swears behind you, “I’m gonna fucking- gonna cum, gonna fill this t-tight little ass up, would you like that? You wanna take my cum like a g-good little whore?”

“Yes, please, Rex,” you sob in reply.

He buries his cock deep inside your ass, his grip on your hips so tight it hurts, and then suddenly you feel a hand in your hair at the back of your head. Rex grabs a handful of hair and pulls, lifting your head up and back. He keeps you there while he coats your insides with his release, swearing throughout it, before letting you fall back onto Fives’ chest.

Echo stands up from the bed the second Rex pulls out of you and switches places with him.

“You can take a little more, can’t you, baby?” Echo says, lining his cock up with your ass. Some incoherent noise comes out of you as an answer, and Echo pushes in. Rex has opened you up enough for him to enter you easily, but knowing he’s fucking Rex’s cum back inside of you fans the flames in your belly and you can’t help but start bucking your hips back to feel it more, while Fives’ cock is still hot and throbbing in your cunt.

“Look at you,” you hear Rex say, “you can’t get enough of it, can you? Fucking yourself on two cocks at the same time, and looking so pretty doing it.”

“Mmm,” Fives agrees, and you can hear he’s trying to keep his composure but his breathing is ragged as he comes closer to his own release, “such a pretty little cockslut.”

The way they talk to you spurs you on, which they probably intended, and you start riding Fives like your life depends on it, pushing your upper body up a little straighter so you can look at him. He’s beautiful like this, face flushed, beads of sweat between his knitted brows while he intensely chases his pleasure. As soon as you look him in the eye he grabs the back of your head to pull you down, your forehead to his forehead, your nose to his nose, his eyes closed.

“You’re so f-fucking perfect,” he mutters, then lets out a long groan while he spills inside you, his head crashing backwards into the pillow. Echo’s thrusts get shorter and faster now and you buck back against him, wanting to give everything you still have left inside you. Rex’s hand sneaks up between your body and Fives’ to find your clit.

“Cum one more time, sweetheart, I know you can, with two cocks inside you.”

It’s too much -- you want to, but you don’t know if you can, don’t you if you’re even capable.

“I-I can’t, I-” you try to plead, but he rubs your clit roughly and you sob, hot tears wetting your cheeks. Echo tenses up behind you and you know he’s going to finish soon but-

Slap.

Rex’s hand comes down and strikes your asscheek so hard you squeal.

“I said cum.”

You do. You can’t explain it, but you do, an almost painful orgasm coursing through you while the sting of the strike lingers. A curse leaves your mouth but is caught by Fives’ lips pressing to yours and his tongue in your mouth. Echo spills his release into your ass with a moan, and with all three of their loads inside you, you have never felt so full.

After Echo pulls out, you climb off of Fives and let yourself fall backwards onto the mattress, every inch of you covered in sweat. Rex leans over to move some hair out of your face.

“Was that too much?” he asks, and the gentleness in his voice is almost heartbreaking.

“No,” you answer, a blissful smile on your face from how unbelievably good you’ve been fucked, “that was just right.” He leans over to press a kiss to your forehead, and you feel an ever so slight trace of stubble on his jaw, less than a day’s growth. You’ve never thought about him shaving, but you’d like to watch him do it, some day. Fives sits up, grabs your hand and puts it to his lips, pressing a firm kiss to your knuckles. Moments later, Echo appears with a towel from your closet and starts cleaning you up, dabbing the cloth between your thighs where their cum has started trickling out of you.

“So,” you start, grinning playfully “are we even, now?”

Rex chuckles and gets up off the bed to find his underclothes -- no doubt duty will call for him again soon. You feel so, so lucky, that these three men have chosen to spend what little free time they have with you, and a warmth spreads through your chest as you look at them, eyes half-lidded from drowsiness.

“Not a chance,” he jokes, stepping into his briefs.

Fives lets go of your hand and strokes your cheek with his thumb, grinning down at you, and Echo, too, has a smile on his face. Rex kisses your forehead one more time.

“You won’t get rid of us that easily.”

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Quarantine Lovers | Charlie Gillespie

Requested by anon: Can we have a Charlie x reader where she is his secret quarantine partner and the cast keeps guessing who it is until Maddie names a famous writer and gets it right? Thanks!

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Female!Reader

Warnings: fluff

A/N: I’m not sure if this is what you wanted but i kinda like it haha

Charlie has always been secretive about his private life. It’s always been his one thing he promised himself. Work life and private life needs to be separate. Especially in the industry he’s in now. You and Charlie have been together for a couple of months now and nobody knows. It all started when he’d finished filming Julie and The Phantoms and came back to Dieppe from Vancouver. He went for a hike with one of his brothers when they found you sitting on a rock, clutching your ankle. 

“Hey, are you okay?” his voice made you look up. You offered him a polite smile, trying not to show your pain or the fact you were thinking ‘Holy crap, attractive”. “Yeah, just threw my ankle a little bit on the rocks over there,” you pointed to a few feet behind the boys. “Was waiting for it to blow over and I could go on, but I’ve been sat here for…” you checked your watch, “About half an hour.” You chuckled at your own pathetic behavior. “I used to be really good at these hikes, you know?” Charlie then chuckled too, mostly at how endearing you were. 

“Can you stand on it a little bit if we support you?” Patrick, Charlie’s brother, asked then. 

“I’m not sure…” The two guys walked up to you, each taking a hand of yours to pull you up, and then wrapping one arm around your waist. You could go like that for about a kilometer until your foot began to throb again. “Can we take a break?” you squeak. Charlie and Patrick placed you onto a tree trunk very gingerly and took a seat next to you. 

“Are you from around here?” Charlie then asked.

“Yeah, I live in Moncton with my best friend,” you replied with a smile, glad he’s distracting you from the pain in your ankle. 

“No way! We live in Dieppe!” The excitement on his face was the most adorable thing you’d ever seen.  Your eyes and smile widen at this, not necessarily at the fact he lives kind of close, but at the excitement on his face. 

“Cool! I have family in Dieppe, so I know my way around there,” you told them. Charlie and Patrick nodded their heads at this, not entirely sure what else to say to this stranger they just picked up from a rock in the middle of nowhere. 

“So, what’s your name?” Charlie then asked upon reminding himself of this fact. “Y/N Y/L/N,” you replied. 

“Charlie Gillespie, and this is my brother, Patrick,” he introduced himself and his brother, who gave you a little wave. The wind suddenly picked up, and you knew exactly what that meant. 

“It’s going to rain soon. We better get going.” Charlie and Patrick nodded their heads agreeingly and helped you up from the trunk. 

“Get on my back,” Charlie then suggested. “It’s going to go quicker than you hopping along with us.” You hesitated for a few seconds, but then decided you agreed with him. Patrick helped you jump on Charlie’s back, and the three of you continued your walk down the trail, chatting about your lives the whole way down. 

You found out Charlie was an actor and had just finished filming about a month ago, and you told him you were a screenwriter. Your most recent work was on Outer Banks and Season two of Umbrella Academy. You talked about your hopes and dreams and agreed the industry you both were in was a tough one.

From that day on, the two of you have been pretty inseparable. You became really close friends and spent a lot of time together before he finally asked you out on a first date. Then came more and more dates, and then came March 2020. Quarantine. And since Charlie had been spending most of his nights at your place since your best friend was with their parents, you both decided to quarantine together. 

No one knew about your relationship. Not even his friends from the cast of Julie and The Phantoms. Only his family knew, and that’s all that mattered right now. No one knew you two were spending lockdown together at your place, and you could keep it a secret for a very long time. Charlie liked it this way, though the cast had been texting and calling non-stop because they knew he wasn’t home in Dieppe. 

When September 10th hit, and he could finally show you the work he’d done on Julie and The Phantoms. 

“What do you think, Baby?” he asked every five minutes when you were cuddled up on the couch watching it together. 

“Stop asking me that question, Char,” you giggled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. You were fine for most of the show, chuckling at the ghost jokes or pretty much anything Reggie did, bopping your head along to the catchy songs. And then Unsaid Emily hit. “Oh, no…” you whined as the music started to play and on-screen-Charlie started to sing the sad song. The Charlie next to you chuckled, endeared by your investment in the show, and wrapped his arms tighter around you whilst kissing your head multiple times. “HOW DARE THEY END THIS LIKE THAT?!” You screamed at the very end, making Charlie love you even more. Afterwards, he listened to all of your theories and your predictions for season 2. 

Thus far, quarantine is going really well at the Y/L/N-Gillespie Quarantine Residence.

The couple of weeks after the release of Julie and The Phantoms, Charlie had to do a lot of zoom calls for interviews. Sometimes even multiple a day. You made sure you were never in sight during those interviews, sometimes even leaving the house for a walk, but today, you decided to stay home and work on a script for an episode of season 2 of

Outer Banks.

You were sat on the sofa with your laptop and all your notes while Charlie was doing his interview in the bedroom. You could hear him talk to his castmates and the interviewer, and you often had to pause your writing because you wanted to hear what he was talking about.

“Where have you been spending quarantine?” the interviewer asked. Most of them said home with their families, and even Charlie said ‘home’. This answer melted your heart just a tiny bit.

“That’s a lie, Charlie,” Madison said with a giggle. “Charlie has a secret quarantine partner and doesn’t want to say who!”

“I am spending time with family, exploring Dieppe. I don’t know where you get your information from, Mads.” Though Charlie was a good actor, he couldn’t hide the fact he was lying to his own friends. Even you could hear how flustered he was.

“OK, I wanted to start with a couple of the fans’ questions that they sent in,” the interviewer continued, either ignoring the banter and the big piece of gossip they could get out of this, or not having heard it. “Someone asked who you’d love to work with on a next season.”

“Actor wise, I want to do scenes with Cheyenne Jackson,” Madison replies, “I didn’t get to do any scenes with him this season, but he’s really talented and I’d love to work with him. And I also have a writer that would be really great to work with on our show and that’s Y/N Y/L/N. She worked on Outer Banks and Umbrella Academy, and I loved the episodes she wrote.” Charlie’s face at the mention of your name is priceless. His eyes widen first before his mouth curled up into a smile, though he tried to hide it from his castmates and the interviewer. 

Madison and Owen glanced into the camera knowingly but decided not to say anything and continue with the interview. It’s when that interview was done, Madi, Owen and Jeremy called Charlie in a group FaceTime.

“It’s Y/N, isn’t it?!” You heard Madison scream from Charlie’s phone as he walked into the living room where you were working. He gave you a questioning look, as if asking for permission to tell them. You simply nodded encouragingly.

“Yes, okay, fine! You figured it out!” The three on the other side of the line cheered loudly, making you chuckle slightly. “You want to meet the cast, Babe?” he asked you whilst making his way over. You patted the spot next to you for him to sit down, and he obeyed, showing you the screen of his phone.

“Hey, guys!” you greeted with a wave. A chorus of ‘hi’ and ‘hey’ meets your ears. “How’d you figure it out?” You asked them, placing your laptop on the coffee table to get more comfortable. You tucked your feet underneath you, placing your elbow on the back of the couch and gliding your fingers into Charlie’s long, lockdown-hair.

“First of all, I follow you on Instagram, Y/N, and I saw the two of you tagged the same location on the same day once, and your last pictures kind of look similar. So, I had a bit of a hunch, but I wasn’t sure, and when I mentioned you in the interview, he got all flustery and happy and I just knew!” You gave the girl an impressed nod.

“We literally just hung up on the interviewer when Madi texted us ‘IT’S Y/N!!’ in all caps,” Jeremy added with a smile. Defeated, and a little embarrassed, Charlie groaned and hid his face in the crook of your neck, seeking comfort.

“We won’t tell anyone, Char. We’re just happy for you,” says Owen with a smile, “And us, because now Madi won’t be texting us non-stop with all her theories on who your quarantine partner is.” All of you chuckled a that, except for Madison, she glared at her blonde-haired friend through the screen.

“You all wanted to know!” she snarled.

All of you chatted for a couple hours until Charlie and you got hungry and decided to prepare dinner.

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N! Hopefully we’ll see each other soon IRL!” Madison said with the biggest smile on her face.

“It was nice to meet you too, guys! Ooh, by the way! I loved the show!” you complimented.

“Of course you did,” said Owen with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Bye guys!” you waved at them, completely ignoring Owen’s statement. Charlie hung up the phone and put his phone on the coffee table before turning to you. “Madison would be a good detective,” you pointed out with a grin. Charlie glared at you, which just made you giggle and kiss his lips. At least now you didn’t need to keep it a secret from his friends. Almost like a weight off your shoulders.

Taglist: @hannahhistorian92​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @thequirkybookaholic​ @parkeret​​ @lukeys-giggle​ @gingerxarmy​ @lovesanimals​

[wonjaekook]

Residual Starshine

Pairing:  Soccer player!Yuta x fem!reader

Description: You’ve experienced plenty of irritations in your life. For better or for worse, none of them are quite like Nakamoto Yuta.

Word Count: 19.3k

Genre: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers ; fluff, smut, touch of angst

Warnings: my first published full blown smut scene (only one towards the end, nothing crazy), sexual references?, swearing, mentions of alcohol

A/N: Mingyu appears as a somewhat bad character in this, but I absolutely don’t think of him that way. As always, this is entirely fictional. If you want one song to vibe to while reading this, I was listening to Everybody Talks by Neon Trees a lot :-) this is the longest fic I’ve ever written and the first one containing smut that I’ve ever published, so please let me know what you thought!

Taglist: @junglewoos​ @insomni-writing​ @neowritingsnet​

This is my contribution to @/leesmrk’s sports collab, but she deactivated (Dee I miss you) so @lucas-wongs​ has compiled the masterlist in her stead! The link to the master post with all other submissions is in my masterlist.

You didn’t expect to be spending your first morning before classes with your face smashed into your pillow, pressing the cotton over your ears. Yesterday morning had been perfectly lovely - you slept a solid eight hours and you only awoke to the beautiful morning sunshine greeting you through your blinds.  All things considered, it was a very natural wake-up. However, the loud J-rock blaring through the floor from the apartment below you is the exact opposite of natural. Perhaps the music isn’t as loud as you perceive it to be, but you happen to take things quite personally when you’re woken up an hour early.

Except, you don’t take it personally enough that you force your body out of bed. Instead, you allow yourself to let out a loud groan of annoyance before you pull your covers over your head. Thankfully, the music shuts off about five minutes later and you drift back off to sleep.

When you awaken again an hour later, the sunlight coming into your room doesn’t seem nearly as friendly as it did yesterday. Still, this time you do force yourself to get up. You go through your usual routine - bathroom, change into your running clothes, and stretch. You hear no sounds of any stirring from your roommates as you get ready. It’s somewhat of a relief to have the apartment to yourself in the morning. You put your headphones in and step out of the apartment, trying to get yourself in the zone with your workout playlist while also doing a quick look around to see if anyone is out. One set of stairs and you’re at the door leading out of the small complex - a building with four apartments, two on the first floor and two on the second floor. Outside on the step leading to the sidewalk and there’s still no one around. Without a second of hesitation more, you’re off at a light jog. Half of the apartments in this area of your campus are dedicated to student athletes and there’s nothing you dread more than running, quite literally, into someone who’s by far your superior at this activity and who would judge you. As you run, the thought of your lower neighbor comes to you. You wake up early to go run - but they woke up earlier. At that thought, a frown subconsciously makes its way to your face. Shooting a quick prayer to the heavens that you don’t run into anyone, you continue on.

Though you hadn’t started running until this summer, you know your campus well enough in the years you’ve been here to find a nice path. That also means that, when you see pairs of runners ahead of you, you can make unexpected turns to avoid passing them. At one point, you veer out of the way of a pack of people who you assume is the running club. About forty five minutes later, you’re sweaty and more physically exhausted than when you had left, but the energy thrumming in your veins leaves you with a deep sense of satisfaction. You had successfully avoided every person you had come across on your run and-

You nearly open the door of your complex into one of your neighbors. Acting on reflex, you step back and dip your head, avoiding looking at him. “Oh, sorry.”

“That’s alright.” His voice is a smooth rumble and you look up, briefly forgetting about your sweaty and near-unpresentable state. He looks freshly showered, his skin smooth and just slightly sunkissed. Based on his physique, you would have guessed that he’s a student athlete, but his hair seems a little too long to match the stereotype. It’s a bit of a mane, a dark mop sitting atop the throne of his handsome face, and you think it suits him. As your eyes drift from his hair to his eyes to his nose and finally to his mouth, which has been set into the crooked angle of a smirk, it dawns on you that you’re checking him out very openly. Your face, already warm from exercise, turns blazing hot. After all of the hard work you went through to avoid embarrassing yourself this morning… “You’re cute, too, don’t worry.”

Several very intrusive thoughts come to you at once. By his very specific phrasing, he thinks you’re attractive. He also knows he’s attractive. The warmth of the complement fades to indignation at his cockiness. You press your mouth into a thin line and lower your head again, not making eye contact with him as you slip past him through the door. You’re not sure if his gaze follows you as you march back up the stairs to your apartment.

“One of our neighbors is a total ass!”

One of your roommates, Sowon, is lounging on your sofa as you sit at the small table in your shared living room, grinding the pen in your hand into your planner in frustration. It’s well into the afternoon now, the sun casting lines of shadows through your blinds, and you’re still hung up on what happened earlier. Sowon is also perfectly aware that you’re exaggerating, but she encourages you to continue. “The soccer neighbors or the volleyball neighbors?”

“Of course it’s one of the soccer neighbors! The volleyball neighbors would never do this to me.” You huff, eying the nearly empty container of cookies on the table.

“You’re aware that Johnny just brought those over so he had an excuse to hit on Yein, right?” Sowon releases a strand of hair that she had just idly wrapped around a finger, watching it twirl in the air. Your second roommate only sighs at the mention of her name, but doesn’t deny it.

“And Doyoung was the one who actually made them. So, by association, I am entitled to an equal share of cookies.” You consider Doyoung a friend - you shared a chemistry class with him once and he seemed to tolerate your presence, even enjoy it at times. He even sends you the occasional text still. “That doesn’t mean Yein isn’t going to be the one to give the container back, though.”

Yein frowns and opens her mouth but Sowon raises a finger to stop her. “Y/N is correct.”

With a shake of her head, Yein turns her attention back to you. “You were talking about the soccer neighbor?”

After you explain the situation as truthfully and dramatically as possible to them, they look at each other once before looking back at you. Sowon speaks first. “He’s definitely flirting.”

“Or he’s just like that naturally.” Yein counters. “Who flirts at eight in the morning?”

“You’d be surprised.” After you say that, her words sink in. You ran into him at eight in the morning, when he was looking refreshed. He’s a member of the soccer team, meaning he probably exercises in the morning. He also has pretty stereotypical rocker hair. “Holy shit, he’s the asshole who was blasting J-rock through the floor this morning!”

“Okay, never mind. He is a jerk.” Sowon wrinkles her nose.

“Was it at least good J-rock?” Yein prods.

You shrug. “It was alright, I guess. But that’s besides the point!” You slam your planner closed. “I’m giving him a piece of my mind the next time I see him.”

For several days, as classes start, you still get in your morning run and, each day, without fail, you’re woken up by the boy’s J-rock about an hour early. You fail to catch him at any time of the day until, finally, you’re on your way out of the apartment one morning. As you pull open the door, you nearly ram into him once again, though the situation is reversed. He’s the one who’s sweaty and warm, headphones firmly in his ears. That changes as he smirks, popping them out at the sight of you in the door. “So, we meet again.”

“Uh-huh.” You take the position of a displeased mother about to lecture a child, your arms crossed over your chest as you block the door. “You know, I have words for you.”

“Wow, already? People usually don’t have words for me until at least the third time we’ve met. Well, at least not more than a few choice ones like-”

You cut him off before he can inflate his own ego more. “Stop playing music so loud at six in the morning.”

He tilts his head like he’s confused, but the way his lips are quirked up tells you that he knows exactly what you’re talking about. “Baseless accusations. Maybe you should take this up with Jaehyun or Kun. I would never do such a thing.”

“Come on. I know it’s you.” The look you give him is entirely unamused, so he relents slightly, the smile falling from his face.

“What are you gonna do, report me to housing?” Before you can reply that, yes, that’s exactly what you’ll do, he continues. “I’ll tell them about the parties you and your roommates have. I’m sure they’d love coming out here at 3 AM one day just to tell you to keep it down. Almost as much as they’d love to come to my door at 6 to do the same.”

He starts walking towards the door and you turn your body inward, allowing him passage while silently fuming. “You-”

“My name is Nakamoto Yuta. You can say that if you need something to scream.” He gifts you a sly wink as he unlocks his door and lets himself in, leaving you so bewildered that you can’t think of a response at all.

“Stop messing with the soccer boys.” Sowon immediately reprimands you after you recount what happened. “You know the school will punish us before they punish them.”

“Yeah, and if this is your way of flirting, you need to think of something better.” Yein adds from the connected kitchen, tossing the stir-fry in her pan. “I’m not risking getting kicked out because you decided to mess with the soccer team’s star player.”

“To be fair, I don’t think he was really upset about the interaction. He seemed amused by my reaction.” You slump down, your forehead resting on the table. “And I didn’t know who he was until he said his name.”

“Well, he doesn’t know who you are-”

“And I don’t want him to.” You cut off Sowon. “I’ll just… deal with it.”

You get one more peaceful morning of running alone before, two days after you had first talked to him, Nakamoto Yuta comes jogging up to you. You don’t hear him at first. Music blares in your earbuds, drowning out most of the background noise of the morning, and your heartbeat in your ears fills out the parts of your internal sound profile that your music doesn’t quite reach. He comes up behind you, nearly making you jump out of your skin when you see the figure of another person jogging in your peripherals. Your pace falters, but you immediately try to right yourself and regain momentum, praying he’ll just pass by you without saying anything. Except he doesn’t leave. With an internal sigh, you turn your head towards him. He offers you a grin and air-taps over his ear. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you pull out your headphones. “What?”

“Great morning, isn’t it?”

You contemplate shutting your eyes so that you can purposefully trip and eject yourself from this conversation. “I guess.”

“It’s soccer season. You know that, right?” You narrow your eyes at him, but nod. “Our first game is coming up soon.” You don’t like where this is going. “You should come.” “You must be hard-pressed for attendees to be randomly asking your neighbor to come to your game.” You reach for your earbuds again.

“Hold on, hold on.” You pause, then immediately wonder why you’re even giving him the time of day. Still, you relent for a moment. “If you come to the game this Saturday, I’ll stop playing music so loud when I wake up.”

“If you were a kind and courteous neighbor, you would just do that without having to threaten me to go to one of your games. And,” you state flatly, “I’ve already been to enough soccer games for the rest of my life, thank you very much.”

As you jog away, he doesn’t try to stop you again, but you could swear that he seems the slightest bit disappointed.

The next morning is more of the same as usual. The same loud J-rock that wakes you up an hour early, your same run, your same shower and breakfast and classes. You consider shifting your sleep schedule so that you wake up at the same time as Yuta, though you dismiss the idea because why should you change your lifestyle to adjust for his? You’d rather suffer the early wakeup.

Except, two days after he asks you to come to one of his games, the music stops. That first morning, you wake up at your usual time. You’re prepared to be upset at Yuta waking you early again, but when your foggy morning brain processes that you had woken up to your own alarm and not his music, you lie there confused. When you go out for your run not long after, you almost hope that you’ll run into him. There’s no way he’s just being nice is there? He has to be sick or something. To your disappointment, you don't run into him and you’re just stuck in your confusion. This goes on for three more days and each day you become more perplexed.

As you’re returning to your apartment after your classes that Friday, someone holds the door for you as you approach. “Thanks-” you start, then see who’s holding it for you. “-oh! Jaehyun!”

“Hey, uh, Y/N, right?” You smile at him, nodding firmly. You’re almost surprised that he remembers your name because you’d only chatted once before, back when you were moving in. He’s perfectly polite, almost shy-seeming, and completely different from his roommate. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I’m just getting back from classes.” Thinking of his roommate… “I was actually wondering, um…” He gives you a confused look, waiting for you to continue. “Is Yuta doing okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Why?” Jaehyun hadn’t been aware that you were at all acquainted with his roommate.

You appear equally as confused as he does. “Oh, I… never mind. If you don’t mind me asking, where’s your next game?”

He brightens up at that. “It’s a home game. Tomorrow at six, don’t miss it!”

You return his smile. “Great, thanks, Jaehyun! I’ll see you around?” He sends you off with a wave before you go your separate ways, entering your respective apartments.

Should you actually go to his game? You don’t owe him anything, you never agreed to his deal, but he did stop playing his music so loud. You’re not really doing anything on Saturday either… maybe you’ll bug Sowon and Yein so that they’ll come with you.

That evening, the apartment below yours is particularly busy. All of the soccer boys are home - Yuta, Jaehyun, Kun - and the volleyball and art boys are also over - Johnny, Doyoung, Jungwoo, Taeyong, Ten, and Sicheng. After all, as Johnny says, Friday nights are for the boys. Conversation flows from school to girls to boys to soccer, upon which Jaehyun shares a very interesting observation with his friends.

“By the way, it seems like you have another admirer, Yuta.” Jaehyun says as he takes a swig of his soju, recently acquired from the nearby Korean market and grossly overpriced.

“Sure,” Yuta responds, rolling his eyes, “who would that be?”

“You know that girl from upstairs? Y/N? She asked about you today and then asked me about our next game.”

“We haven’t even had our first game and you’re already collecting fangirls? Come on, Yuta,” Kun chimes in this time, breaking away from his conversation with Sicheng about their shared organic chemistry class.

“That can’t be right,” Yuta says, leaning back into the couch, “L/N Y/N? I’m pretty sure she hates my guts. I tried to make a deal with her to get her to come to the game and she just brushed me off.”

Doyoung narrows his eyes at his friend. “Y/N doesn’t just hate people for no reason. What did you do?”

Yuta raises his hands defensively and half-glares at him. “I didn’t do anything! I was just being myself and she decided to hate me.”

“The star-player, cocky version of yourself or the normal version of yourself?” Doyoung says, looking entirely unamused.

Yuta thinks back to all of the encounters he’s had with you and cringes slightly. “Listen, she was the one who was checking me out first-”

“Stupid.” Doyoung shakes his head before taking a sip of the water he’s drinking. “Some people take well to forwardness, but not her.”

“Are you sure? Because if she’s asked after me, I think that means she likes it.”

“I am going to spike a ball into your head, you-”

“Guys, calm down,” Sicheng says with a rather flat tone. Instantly, the two bickering boys stop, resorting to glaring at each other. Jaehyun gently shoves his roommate to get his attention and the room quickly returns to normal. Later, Doyoung passes Yuta a new bottle once his has run out, so he knows that the younger was never truly angry at him. The small party doesn’t go long into the night - tomorrow’s the first game of the season, after all - and, surprisingly, there isn’t much noise from their upstairs neighbor either.

That is mostly thanks to you. You had convinced your two party-addicted friends to attend someone else’s get together instead of hosting their own, so you ushered them out of the house at around ten in the evening. You know that they’ll come back fine in a few hours, rumpled and with their makeup half sweated off, buzzing with alcohol and the blaring music of whatever houseparty they were invited to, but you still tell them that your phone will be off of silent in case they need anything. Previous semesters, you might have gone with them, but, now, you just want to sleep so you can wake up early and go on your usual run.

The morning comes with your sleep uninterrupted by your roommates. After you awaken, instead of lying in bed and contemplating life for a while, you drag yourself up and to their rooms, where you find each of them peacefully asleep in their beds. Yein bothered to change out of her party clothes and into pajamas while Sowon didn’t, her dress half off of her shoulder and bunched up under her butt. Both of them are snoring away, hugging pillows and blankets.

The relief of seeing your roommates in good condition adds a spring to your step. A few minutes later, after you’ve stretched on the floor of your bedroom, you’re halfway out the outside door of the complex when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You know who it is even before you turn around.

“Y/N,” Yuta says, grinning much too brightly for how early it is. He doesn’t seem like he’s been out yet, which is strange. “Good morning.”

“Is it?” You lift an eyebrow.

“Perfectly!” As he talks, you begin to move farther out the door. Down one step. Down two steps. On the sidewalk. “Do you want to run together?”

“Shouldn’t you be just coming back from doing that?” You pull out your phone.

He quickly matches his stride to yours. “I decided to start running an hour later on the weekends. You know, sleep in a bit since I have the time.”

“I’m happy for you.” You select a song and put one ear of your headphones in.

“Are you coming tonight?”

“Didn’t I already answer that?” In all honesty, you feel like you should be more irritated with him than you actually are. He’s at least amusing to talk to. Plus, he stopped waking you up an hour early without you even promising to come to his game.

“Yeah, but then you asked Jaehyun about it.”

You stop moving, turning to look at him. He has another one of those infuriating smirks on his face and all of your previous enjoyment flies out the window. “Maybe I’m a huge fan of his.”

“What position does he play?”

“I don’t have to answer that!” Now, your face is already warming and you haven’t even begun your exercise. You turn away from him again and begin to slowly jog. “Bye, Yuta.”

“He’s a midfielder! And I’m a forward! You can see today at the game!” He calls after you as you get farther away, his voice getting more distant. Part of you feels bad for your neighbors - the windows aren’t exactly soundproof. You just wave a hand back at him in dismissal. A minute later, you look behind you. To your great relief, and mild surprise, he isn’t following you. He went the complete opposite direction.

“Will you guys please come with me? I promise some of the guys on the team are hot.” You tug on Sowon’s sleeve like a child does to their mother when they want something.

“I thought you hated college soccer because of your brother.” She flips a page in her textbook, scribbling down something in her notes.

“I don’t think this one will be so bad. Our team is supposed to be really good this year, right?” You look hopefully at her.

“How am I supposed to know? How is anyone supposed to know? Today is their first game.” She stops attempting to study, looking at you. “Also, I’m messing around. I’ll go with you.”

You look at your other roommate, who is in the middle of the very exhaustive task of sitting on your sofa and scrolling through her phone. She gives you a thumbs up. “As long as I can put on face paint!”

A couple hours later, you find yourselves in the bleachers surrounding the soccer field. It’s a modest stadium, not a stadium at all but just a normal soccer field with bleachers on either side and some decently sized flood lights for night usage. Not too far away is a moderately sized building that is a shared locker room space for all of the school’s athletic teams. Your school never invested much of its funds into soccer until recently, largely thanks to Yuta and some of the other members who are in their third or fourth year playing who made a name for your university in the sport. You also suspect that they probably talked the ear off of the provost so that he finally agreed to give them more funding, but that’s just a personal guess.

From your place on the home side of the bleachers, you have total vision of the field. Both teams are running warm-up drills and it’s easy enough to spot the people you know: someone from your physics class named Mingyu, someone you remember from a party named Baekho, and your lower neighbors, Jaehyun, Kun, and, of course, Yuta. His hair is pulled back from his face in a small ponytail at the back of his head and a small version of your university’s lion mascot stands out proudly on his red jersey.

You purposefully make a point to look for him last, only to find that he’s completely focused. Though it’s just shooting drills, he seems like he’s entirely in the zone, his eyes sharp and calculated. From what you can tell. The physical distance between you isn’t huge, but you can’t read his expressions that well from this angle.

The sharp scream of a whistle being blown indicates that there’s five minutes until the start of the game. The teams both do a bit of last minute stretching as they gather around the coach, a man you recognize as a biology professor. Finally, just as the clock hits six, they squeeze closer together, arms slung over each others’ shoulders in a tight circle, and do some sort of indistinct chant that ends in something like “Go Lions!”

After they break away, you can see the shift in atmosphere. Everyone is completely serious. It’s the first game of the season and they aren’t going to destroy the reputation they’ve built up for the last three years. You watch as Jaehyun moves to his position as a midfielder, Kun moves to his position as defense, and Yuta lines up in the position of forward center. A coin flip gives the kick-off to the away team, a school with a hawk mascot. Everyone shifts slightly on their feet and, for a moment, the world seems to be silent. The crowd leans forward in their seats.

Then, the whistle is blown.

The game gets to a roaring start. From how cautiously the other team is playing, they seem to know the reputation of the Lions - a team that shot up out of nowhere and suddenly has one of the best forwards in college soccer. You find yourself grinning as the ball barely makes it past your team’s defensive midfielder Mingyu before it’s in the Lions’ metaphorical hands. Your midfielders carefully juggle the ball between them, passing and passing and passing, before it reaches Jaehyun at center midfield. He does his job quickly and efficiently, making it almost look easy, and the ball meets the half-tip. From there, the ball is stolen by one of the Hawks’ defense at a failed pass to the second striker, Baekho. The ball shoots all the way to midfield.

For a few tense minutes, you watch the players run back and forth across the field, their eyes never leaving the target. The game pauses every so often when the ball gets kicked out of bounds, but it always resumes with just as much vigor. About a quarter of the way through the game, Yuta finally has his breakthrough. Jaehyun lands a kick directly in his direction, giving him the perfect opportunity. The strike is clean and so fast that you would have missed it if your eyes weren’t glued to the movements of the ball. All of the people on your side of the bleachers launch to their feet in roaring cheers as the ball sails past the opponent goalie’s right side and into the net. You’re standing alongside everyone else, your hands cupped around your mouth as you yell in excitement. It’s not often that you see such a well done shot from a college team.

The boil of the crowd’s blood dies down a bit as the game continues, but soars back up whenever something particularly exciting happens. In the third quarter, the Hawks manage to land a goal on your team, but Yuta comes in clutch a few minutes later and scores two easy goals almost one after the other. The final score is deeply satisfying at 3:1.

The opposing team try to be good sports about it, but they’re obviously sulking when they shake your team’s hands. After they break away, they’re all gloriously sweaty, which you’re sure Sowon is excited about. Some of the spectators immediately rush out of the stands and make their way down, friends and significant others of the players, you presume. Part of you wants to go down there and be a part of the excitement. Luckily enough, a distraction comes in the form of some of your other neighbors before you’re forced to make any decisions.

“Hey, Yein, Sowon, Y/N!”

When you turn, you see Johnny and Doyoung approaching. Yein stiffens slightly and you nearly start laughing at your friend’s embarrassed behavior. Sowon greets them first. “Hi, guys.”

“I didn’t know you guys were into soccer?” Johnny asks, his eyes shifting easily from Sowon to you to Yein, where they remain.

“Not really! But Y/N wanted to go today.” In her nervousness, Yein easily exposes you.

“I wasn’t the only one who wanted to go,” you huff, crossing your arms. Doyoung and Johnny exchange a look that makes you want to change the subject. “I guess you guys are here to support some friends?”

“Yup, Yuta, Kun, and Jaehyun,” Doyoung says, looking towards the field, where some of their other friends are already gathered around the star player. “They played really well. It’ll be a good season.”

“I hope so,” Sowon says, also watching.

“Well, we don’t want to keep you guys from them,” you say, wanting to eject yourself from the conversation before it turns in a different direction. To your displeasure, Johnny is a master of knowing exactly what you don’t want and then doing it anyways. You’ve never really talked to him before, but it seems that he’s similar to Yuta in that way.

“Why don’t we all go say hi?” The tall boy says, grinning. “You guys can tell me how those cookies were, too.”

There is no escape. Now, as you follow them down the bleachers, you reflect Yein in a way. She no longer looks quite as nervous, eagerly chatting with Johnny, while you grow increasingly more fidgety. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to Yuta. You just don’t want to give in to whatever game the two of you silently decided you were playing.

Then again, it is much more fun to play along than it is to outright reject him. Plus, today’s actual game was good. You’ll give him that.

Trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, you join the small crowd surrounding Yuta. If you thought he glowed normally, he absolutely shines now. There’s something about him being in his element at the very top of his game that makes you forget your irritation with him for a moment. In that instant, he’s a star. In that instant, he reminds you of your brother. Then, he spots you and opens his mouth.

“Y/N!” As he calls out to you, the girl he was talking to before you arrived seems perturbed, but he ignores her, pushing his way closer to you. “You actually came.”

You turn your nose up at him slightly. “No one ever said it was for you.”

“Of course not. You and I both know the truth, though.” The wink is nowhere near subtle or sly and you scoff at him. He seems unbothered. “This was your first Lions game, right? Did you enjoy it?”

You nod hesitantly. “I heard you guys were good, but I didn’t know how good. You played a near perfect game.”

The self-satisfied smile drops from his face. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“What do you mean?” Tilting your head, you match his somewhat grim face.

“There’s always better plays to make, better places to have been. You know.” He quickly tries to play it off like he’s uninterested rather than deeply bothered. You’re not sure you know what the truth is. You haven’t talked to him nearly enough to know. This is the first hint of something serious that he’s shown you. It almost makes you want to talk to him more to find out.

“Dude, shut up, you’re good.” From the side, Johnny butts in, elbowing his friend. You’re glad for the interruption, as you once again didn’t know what to say. The mood raises, with some of Yuta’s friends reenacting the best parts of the game, joking about his long hair, betting on what next week’s game will look like. A few minutes later, the Lions’ coach shouts for all of the team members to go shower and get changed, so the crowd slowly disperses.

After you’re alone with your roommates, Sowon and Yein can’t help but give you playful shoves as you walk home. Sowon is the first to verbalize her amusement. “I thought you hated him?”

You grumble under your breath, not saying anything in particular.

“You played a near perfect game.” Yein mimics, making your face burn.

“I do not sound like that! Also, I know a good game when I see one and I know when to admit it!” You kick your shoe against the pavement as they giggle at you.

From then on, it seems like you run into Yuta far too often for your own good. Every few days, you bump into him when you’re either about to go run or when you’re coming back from running. When you go with Yein to return Johnny’s cookie container, Yuta is in his apartment, lounging on the sofa and chatting with Jungwoo, your third volleyball neighbor. Once, when you’re studying at the school library because you need a change of scenery from your apartment, he runs into you. That time, you snap at him.

“Are you stalking me or something?”

He places a hand over his heart, pretending to be offended.  “What do you mean? If anything you’re the one stalking me. I come here every Thursday after practice to study.” He huffs. “If you’re talking about when I was in Johnny’s apartment, I was already there before you even arrived. Unless you’re accusing me of being psychic, too.”

Your shoulders slowly lower at the guilt you feel. Cringing slightly, you raise your hands in apology. “I didn’t mean to imply…” You sigh. “Sorry. Can I buy you a coffee or something to apologize?”

Only after Yuta’s mock hurt shifts to a triumphant look do you realize the implications of your words. You’re really on a roll with implications today. He grins. “If you really want to.”

As you pack up your things, Yuta tells the few teammates he had come to study with that he’s going, and you walk out of the library side by side. Luckily, he actually makes for easy conversation and good company. You don’t know why he insists on the flirting and cockiness in your shorter interactions. As you walk to the campus coffee shop, you learn that he’s a studio art major. He learns that you’re a physical therapy major. You learn that he’s taking a statistics class that you had already previously taken - he put it off while you got it done in your first year - and, without thinking, you offer to help him if he needs it. After you order both of your coffees, finding out that he likes a lighter roast, you sit at a table in the shop with him. Silence comes and goes as both of you do some of the studying that you intended to do at the library. Every so often, he asks you a question. Usually, you answer him. You always return with a question of your own. You find out that his favorite of the bands that he used to blast through the floor is One Ok Rock.

“Sorry,” he finally says, appearing genuinely remorseful with the sheepish look on his face, “I didn’t have upstairs neighbors last year. I didn’t know you could hear it through the floor.”

“It’s fine. Sorry I snapped at you back then.”

It’s very strange to be on perfectly good terms with Nakamoto Yuta.

A few days later, when your brother sends you a ticket for the local professional soccer team, the Ravens, you almost feel like you should ask for a second so you can bring Yuta. Figuring it would be too much to ask, you plan to go by yourself, thankful that the game falls on a day the Lions aren’t playing. Plus, you can’t imagine what your roommates would say if you chose to go out of your way to take him with you.

You’ve taken to hanging out with the long-haired center forward, helping him with his math when he needs it and just… generally enjoying his company. That doesn’t mean you’re all sugar and smiles to him - it’s much more fun to mess around a little, make him think that you don’t like him quite as much as you actually do. The only thing you can think of that would personally offend him would be to say you’re going to one of his games and then failing to do so.

On the bus ride over to the stadium where the Ravens are playing, you’re thankful that you don’t recognize anyone from your school. You’re in the team’s colors, silver and forest green, and it would be clear to anyone where you’re going. Only after you get off of the bus do you realize just how many came to watch. The stadium is full, packed to almost capacity. That’s probably why your brother hadn’t gotten you tickets earlier - all of them were taken. He probably gave tickets to the earlier games to your parents. They would have thrown a fit if he had only invited you earlier, even if you are his favorite.

As you make your way to your seat, you remark on how strange it is to see your last name printed on the backs of the shirts of a bunch of strangers. The vibe of the crowd is completely different from that at your school’s field. While college students are excitable and energetic, these spectators are rabid. At any moment, there’s one hundred people yelling, someone trying to start a chant, someone screaming just for the sake of it. The air is buzzing with the anticipation of the crowd.

There’s a moment of sudden thick silence, like the moment before a dam is about to burst, where the crowd is silent. Then, both teams are stepping out onto the field and the stadium explodes. In the middle of the line of the eleven Ravens players, like he’s trying to blend in even though half of the crowd is chanting his name, is your brother. There’s a coin flip and it’s decided that the Ravens will start. He gets into his position, forward center, and the audience takes another breath.

You’re on the edge of your seat. Half of the game you’re standing. There’s a thrill about the experience that makes you so invigorated and proud beyond belief. If it had been strange seeing your last name on the backs of fans’ jerseys, it’s just as weird hearing the announcer say your brother’s name as he scores. If Yuta had been residual starshine, your brother is a shot of pure gold. He has long given up trying to make himself small where he glows the brightest, smiling as the whistle is blown for halftime. His teammates slap each other on the back when they go for water. Just as the game is about to resume, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket once. You figure that whoever is texting you can wait.

The other team makes a comeback in the second half, scoring on the Ravens and tying the score. You feel a bit bad for the goalie, a guy you know as Kim Yongsuk, who your brother had introduced you to in the past. He’s probably beating himself up over it. Still, the team doesn’t falter, doesn’t repeat their mistakes. It’s a hard game - from how close you are, you can almost see everyone breathing hard. Finally, with just a few minutes left to spare, the ball travels smoothly from the Ravens’ defensive line, to the midfielders, to the offense. Once it’s in your brother’s possession, it’s over. He shoots and he scores.

To be fair to the other team, they try to recover, but it’s just not enough. Time is called and it ends 2:1. The Ravens have won. You find yourself clapping and cheering with the other fans, shouting your elation to the huge stadium. As things begin to wind down and the teams shake hands, people begin to trickle out of the stadium. A satisfied hum is in the air, leaving a smile on your face, too. Perhaps soccer games are the reason you like parties, too. The warm, excited atmosphere, the noise, forgetting about the outside world to become absorbed in something else.

Finally, reality calls again after all of the players filter out to their respective locker rooms. You pull out your phone, about to send a text to your brother. However, when your phone comes to life, the first thing you see is a text from Yuta.

NaYu: Are you at the Ravens game??

An instant later, right on cue, you hear his voice. “Y/N!” Upon looking up, he’s bounding down the aisles towards you, also donning forest green and silver. Watching him weave through the rest of the people trying to leave, you wouldn’t be surprised if he would have slid down the railing if there weren’t other people there. Nonetheless, it doesn’t take long for him to reach you. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Why not?” You tilt your head, smiling slightly. You’re in too good of a mood to outright lie to him.

He blinks. “I thought you hated watching soccer.”

You hold your hands behind your back, swaying playfully. For once, he’s the confused one. “I don’t know what gave you that impression. I really enjoy seeing the Ravens play.”

“But… you said…” He furrows his eyebrows. “Didn’t you say you’ve seen enough soccer games to last your whole life already, or something?” “I changed my mind.” Your phone buzzes in your hand.

B/N: You still in the stands? I’m coming up.

At that, you freeze. Yuta nudges you. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” You’ve kept the fact that your brother is the Ravens’ star striker away from everyone, besides your roommates, and you can’t even begin to imagine how Yuta would react if he found how. What would he think of you? “You can head out without me, Yuta. I’m waiting for someone.” The concerned expression doesn’t leave his face. “Are you sure? It’s kind of late-”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine, I’m-”

“Y/N!”

You turn just in time to see your brother jumping the gate blocking off the entrance to the field from the stands. Most of the stadium has cleared out by now, ushered out by staff, leaving very few people. Your brother has a hoodie on with his team’s colors, the hood up and partially blocking his face from distant onlookers nonetheless. You cringe internally as he jogs up to you, not seeming tired at all, and you greet him as he engulfs you in a warm hug. “Hi, B/N.”

“I’m glad you could make it. It’s not often that I get to play for my favorite sibling.” You’re looking at your brother, but you’re sure that Yuta has a shocked look on his face as he connects the dots. Now that your brother has directly stated who he is to you, there’s no avoiding it. He looks past you and realizes that you’re not alone. “Who’s this?”

“I…” Now that you’re actually looking at Yuta, you realize he’s entirely starstruck. He looks like he’s stuck in one place, his eyes wider than normal and full of awe.

You take over for him. “This is Yuta. He’s my friend from school and our team’s center forward.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m B/N! Since Y/N finally decided to show her face at her own team’s games, I heard you guys are doing well this year. Go Lions!” He raises a fist, giving Yuta a sunny smile.

Yuta blinks hard, looking almost like he might pass out. “Y-yeah. We’re doing alright, I guess. Thank you for your support.” He reflexively dips into a shallow bow, making your brother chuckle.

“You don’t have to be so formal. Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” He elbows you not-so-gently. “Y/N! Tell me next time you want to bring him. I’ll throw in a second ticket.”

Yuta unfreezes a bit and looks at you. “You don’t bring Yein or Sowon?”

You shrug. “I don’t like to bring only one of them. It feels unfair to the other.”

“Still, I’m glad to see that you’re not lying about having at least one friend.” Your brother gives you a wicked grin and heat fills your cheeks.

“I have friends!” You insist, clenching your fists at your side.

“Do you?” Yuta teases, making you press your lips together in a look of indignation.

Before you can counter him, your brother interjects. “I hate to part with the two of you, but I have to leave.” He steps back, waving a hand at the two of you. “See you!” “I hope you stub your toe on the way out!” You shout back at him as he retreats.

“Hey, this toe is worth a lot of money! Love you, too!”

There’s a period of silence as you watch your brother disappear. Yuta clears his throat. “Do you want to go back?”

“Yeah.” You follow him wordlessly for a while, making your way out of the stadium. He walks by your side, his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t seem upset, just a bit shocked still. As you approach the bus stop, you finally speak up. “Did you come with anyone else?”

“Some of the guys from the team. I told them to go ahead without me so I could talk to you.” Of all the things he’s ever said, that makes your heart feel strange. A tiny flutter of a butterfly’s wings, if you will.

Then, as you make it to the bus shelter, you turn to him, grabbing onto the edge of his sleeve. “Yuta, promise you won’t be weird after this?”

He blinks, not fighting your grip. “Why would I be weird?”

“Just… I don’t really tell people about my brother. I don’t want you to think any differently about me because of it.” This level of vulnerability isn’t something you usually show and it feels foreign, unfamiliar. When you told Sowon and Yein about it, it didn’t feel this way. Yet, standing under the shelter with Yuta, his deep green sleeve in your hand, his eyes on yours, the light of the city falling faintly on your faces, you feel your heart pound even harder in your chest.

“I already liked you before I ever knew that.” He reaches up oh so slowly. You don’t know what he’s going to do. Touch your cheek, pat your head, kiss you? Before you can find out, the bus pulls up with a loud exhale, spewing exhaust. The doors open and the driver looks at you expectantly as you turn and get in. Yuta follows you, silent. Both of you pay your dues and sit down, side by side, his sleeve brushing yours.

You know exactly what it is about him that drives you insane. At the same time, you have no idea. While you don’t want things to be different with him after tonight, you also desperately wish for the opposite. You’re tempted to slap yourself in the face to try and wake yourself up from whatever strange dream you’re happening, but you don’t know how the boy next to you would react.

The ride passes excruciatingly slowly, as does the short walk back to your complex. Finally, as you’re standing in the stairwell, about to part ways with him, he speaks. “Do you want to study together tomorrow?”

At that, such a normal suggestion, you smile. “Sure.”

He reflects your expression. It’s a familiar look on him, which you’re grateful for. “I’ll text you. Goodnight, Y/N.”

The next day is entirely ordinary. It’s like the previous night never happened. Yuta is perfectly normal, perfectly flirty, perfectly infuriating. In fact, the entire week after is normal. You go to the Lions game, cheer on your neighbors, and pretend to be difficult with Yuta after the game. He’s always so hard on himself after his games, remarking on what he believes are the many things he could have done differently to play a better game, despite scoring all of the team’s goals and securing wins every time. You hope that you talking to him afterwards raises his spirits just as much as you enjoy it.

Then, one Saturday, you’re out running when Yuta jogs up to you. Once again, he scares the shit out of you, making you nearly trip. “Hey, Y/N.”

You tear out your headphones, giving him a look. “Have you tried not jumpscaring me?”

The shrug he gives you looks strange, as he’s jogging slowly next to you when he attempts to emote. “It’s kind of funny.” You grumble under breath about showing him what’s funny, and he continues. “Do you want to run together on the weekends?”

“This again?” You say, frowning.

He rolls his eyes. “Listen, I know you’re lonely. Since you come out to my games, I thought I should do you some sort of favor in return.”

“I also help you with your statistics homework.”

“Anyways, you’re in luck because I also don’t have a running partner. It’s a lot easier to set a pace and keep moving if you have someone with you.”

You know he’s right, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. When you’re running, you’re at your most vulnerable - sweaty, tired, out of your element. There’s plenty of reasons you shouldn’t want him to run with you. “You have to run so much faster than I do. I would just slow you down.”

“Not really,” he says, looking at your feet as you jog next to him, “see? We’re both doing fine right now.”

You realize that he’s right. You keep moving wordlessly for a minute, until you speak quietly. “Would you really not mind?”

You focus on his hair bouncing as he takes each step for a while before you look at his face. In the morning sunlight, he gives you a pure smile. “Not at all.”

On Saturdays and Sundays, he’s waiting for you just outside of the complex at seven in the morning with his hair tied up to keep it out of his eyes. He easily matches his pace to yours. He’s always much more awake at that hour than you are, but the quiet encouragement he whispers whenever you slow down help perk you up. It takes you a little while to realize that he’s doing something very similar for you to what you do for him after his games.

It’s a cloudy Sunday morning. Usually, you don’t talk a ton while you’re running together, but it seems that his curiosity has gotten the best of him. “What made you want to start running?”

“Hm?” You hum, snapped out of the world that was just your feet thudding against the ground and the sound of your breathing in your ears. “Do I have to have a reason?”

“People usually don’t just randomly start doing it. Maybe they want to get stronger or lose weight. Maybe they want to impress someone.”

“It’s not about impressing anyone. I’m doing this for me.” You say it firmly, confidently. His pace stutters and he watches you continue forward. There’s something in your voice that makes him incapable of moving, and all he can do is stare at you for a moment, his heart speeding up in his chest for reasons other than the running you’re doing. When you realize he isn’t following, you turn towards him, jogging in place. The way your face is illuminated by the sunlight being cast upon it makes him sure he’s never met someone as incredible as you before in his life. “Are you coming?”

You don’t know what’s up with him. His expression is something you’ve never seen but can’t quite place. He catches up in a few bounds and you resume your run.

The next Friday, you receive a strange text.

Unknown Number: Hey, is this Y/N?

You contemplate whether or not you should respond, but you get a second text.

Unknown Number: This is Mingyu from physics

Now, that’s strange. You start to type out a reply.

Y/N: Hi! What’s up?

Kim Mingyu: I was wondering if you could help me with the lab report from last Friday? I’m having some trouble

Y/N: Sure, do you want to meet in the library later?

Meeting up with someone who you’ve never really talked to before is strange. Mingyu tries to joke with you, but something about them falls flat. You try your best to laugh and help him anyways, figuring it’s just stiffness from interacting with someone new. Though it’s nice to finally have a physics buddy, you’re almost relieved when you go home.

As you approach your complex, you see a small group formed on the lawn outside. Sicheng and Ten are standing on one leg, holding the other leg up and trying to knock each other down. A small smile comes to your face when you realize that Yuta is in the group, cheering for his friends. Around the same time you see him, he sees you and his eyes light up. He’s quickly getting to his feet and bounding towards you. Taeyong calls after him with a frown. “Yuta, you’re next!”

Still, he sidles up next to you as you walk closer to the circle. “Y/N! Where are you coming from?”

“Just the library. Actually, I was meeting up with one of your teammates, Mingyu. We were working on physics.”

The smile he wears twitches downwards for a moment. “I didn’t know you had a class with him.”

“It wasn’t worth mentioning. I never talked to him before today.” You shrug, shifting the backpack on your shoulders. “What are you guys doing?”

“One-legged fight. You should join.” He suddenly has a sadistic gleam in his eye and you take a tiny step away from him.

“And give you an excuse to push me on the ground? No thanks.”

“Aw, Y/N, I’m hurt. You don’t think I would just push you if I really wanted to?” At his proclamation, you shake your head, trying to force down a smile but failing miserably. “I’m kidding, of course. I would never.”

It’s almost sunset and he looks glorious in the golden light, the sun reflecting off of his dark hair and making his eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheekbones. If you were bolder, you might say something about it. Instead, you let out a snort of laughter, looking away from him. From the circle a few yards away, cheers erupt. Ten is curled on the ground, dramatically bemoaning his loss to Sicheng, who stands proudly over him. Taking that as his cue, Yuta gives you a small wave and rejoins his group.

When you enter your apartment with a small, content smile on your face, Yein looks up from her cooking. “Good day?”

“You could say that.”

The next morning, thankfully, is a Saturday. Yuta is waiting for you, looking just as fine in the morning sun as he did in the evening rays. He’s stretching as you approach him. “It looks like it’ll be good weather for the match today.”

“It better be.” He says it lightheartedly, but you can really imagine him threatening the weather. He’s told you that he hates the rain, partly because it makes it unpleasant to play but also just because it dampens his mood. The team is lucky they’ve gotten good weather for the season so far.

As you’re running, you remember what something you needed to ask Yuta about. “Hey, are you free on Wednesday night? My brother offered me two tickets for his game.”

His eyes light up. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head, trying to keep your pace steady. “He said he would pull through, so he did. You made a good impression on him.”

“I am totally free. Completely. Did I tell you how free I am that day?” The child-like excitement in his voice makes you smile in return.

“Wow, with how not free you are, I guess I should invite someone else,” you tease and he lets out an uncharacteristic whine.

“Y/N, I know you’re messing with me, but if you take someone else after asking me, I will never forgive you.”

Now it’s your turn to pretend to be offended. “I see how much our friendship means to you, Mr. Nakamoto.”

He sighs dramatically, bringing a hand to his forehead as he acts like he’s going to faint. “You’re so serious.”

You stick out your tongue at him. “You’re such a fanboy.”

“I can’t help it. Your brother is just so cool. I don’t know how you don’t try to hang out with him literally all the time.”

That gives you pause. You feel your feet connect with the earth repeatedly for a minute, thinking about your brother and your complicated but not complicated relationship. You trust Yuta with so many things, so you may as well tell him. “A few weeks ago, when I said I was only doing this for me, I lied. Just a little.” You say, not looking at him. You’ve never really admitted it out loud before. “I want to get good enough to run with my brother. I almost never see him these days, but if I can start getting up to run with him sometimes… it’ll be like when we were kids. Or something. I don’t know.”

“He’s important enough to you that you want to change something about your life to spend more time with him,” Yuta says quietly, keeping pace with you. “I hope he knows how much you care about him.”

“You don’t always need to change to show you love someone. That’s why it was only partly a lie when I said I’m only doing this for myself.” You flash Yuta a smile, which he returns. Though your lungs burn and your legs ache, the air you breathe in is cool and fresh. “I’ll race you back.”

His eyes flash. “Challenge accepted.”

The next time you see Yuta is later that day, at his game. He’s serious, as usual, in the zone. As the season goes on, the bleachers fill up more and more with students eager to see the Lions throw sparks. The games continually get harder, but they manage to clutch this one out with a final score of 3:2.

Despite the win, Yuta still seems somewhat down. Afterwards, you’re about to go up to him to describe the glorious moment when he slid between two of the opponent defenders and scored, but you’re stopped by a heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, Y/N.” To your surprise, Mingyu is the one approaching you. He doesn’t take his hand away.

“Oh! Mingyu, hi.” You try to smile at him, but your eyes wander over to Yuta briefly. “Good game today! You guys played solidly.”

“Ha, thanks. Could’ve been better on my part, I’m always looking to improve, you know.”

“I get it,” you respond, nodding.

“Are you possibly free on Wednesday night? We have a lab due on Friday and I just think it would be easier to do if we can work together, ya know?”

“Oh, um, I’m actually busy then.” You force yourself to not look at Yuta. “Does Thursday night work instead?”

“Sure, whatever. I’ll see you then.” The way he squeezes your shoulder once before stepping away to talk to some of his own friends makes your stomach turn. Why is he being so… weird?

Shaking your head, you turn back to who you had intended to greet in the first place, only to find that he had been looking at you already. What’s with the look in his eyes? Why is everyone being so weird? Ignoring the feeling, you join his circle. Yuta moves closer to your side, his arm looping around your waist as he does so, pulling you in slightly. The touch is brief but intimate, sending a bolt of electricity through your body. You swear that you can almost feel the heat of his skin through your clothes. Then, his arm is back at his side like nothing happened. You want to speak up, say what you were planning on saying before, get your mind back on a normal track, but you find that Johnny, Ten, and Jungwoo are already recreating the scene, making Yuta smile through the veil of whatever emotions he’s experiencing right now.

When the entire team heads over to the locker rooms to clean off the shine of sweat and dirt that had been accumulated through the game, you can’t help watching him. As he goes, you catch flashes of his smile while he congratulates his teammates. Something stirs in your heart.

That night, you dream of healing smiles dressed in a lion’s mane of black hair. That same visage is waiting for you the next morning when you go out to run but, here outside of your head, he’s solid, real, more than heated touches and soft caresses. At the same time, he is those things. Or, so you wish him to be.

When you study with him the next night, he is as he usually is, theoretically. Sometimes it feels like his eyes linger longer than usual, his hand rests a little closer, he smiles a little wider. It’s nothing you can confirm because, to any normal gaze, he seems entirely the same. Perhaps you’re confusing yourself into imagining things. Has his flirtatious nature finally tricked your brain into thinking he likes you?

Sometime that evening, you go to the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror. You pat your face rather harshly to try and drive some sense back into your brain. You should tell him. This new boy who has become so close to you. Why are you afraid of it going wrong? You emerge from the bathroom with the same feelings that you entered it with and, there he is, looking up at your return.

The next day, Tuesday is a brief reprieve from the torture of trying to figure out his feelings through his actions. Then, your brother’s game comes. Your chatter fills the space between you on the bus ride to the stadium, him telling you about the anime he’s watching, you talking about the drama you’re watching in response. He jokes about culturing you by getting you to watch a show with him.

Watching your brother’s game with Yuta at your side is an entirely different experience. While you think you normally have pretty good commentary on your own, he provides an extra edge, excitedly explaining why some players choose to do some things or making observations about small moves that you ordinarily wouldn’t notice. Both of you absorb the atmosphere of the stadium, bursting into cheers whenever something incredible happens, screaming extra loud when your brother scores.

During halftime, when the roar of the audience is less deafening, you realize that you’ve never asked Yuta about his background with soccer before. You nudge him. “Hey, Yuta? How long have you been playing?”

He taps his chin, trying to think back. “Probably since I was five?”

“No wonder you know so much,” you say, “I’m talking to an expert right now.”

“You know too much for just a casual viewer,” he says back, snorting, “don’t tell me you don’t have some experience.”

“I only played a bit when I was younger, but I wasn’t any good. It was always more fun to watch B/N. I ended up just taking care of him whenever he pulled something or fell and scraped his arm… you know.” A wistful smile forms on your face. “It started off as just kissing bruises like my mom would, but then it turned into intense Googling whenever I couldn’t immediately figure out what was wrong with him.”

“Maybe you can kiss my boo-boos whenever I get hurt, too, then.” He’s smirking, the ever-familiar gleam of mischief in his gaze.

You force yourself to roll your eyes at him, ignoring the feeling of your heart jumping in your chest. “You’d better not get hurt, Nakamoto.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

A few minutes later, the game resumes. This matchup is considerably more difficult than the game you had attended before. Each time the Ravens seem like they’re close to scoring, the opponent defense sends it back towards your end of the field or the goalie successfully blocks it. All the same, your defense and goalie do their jobs, too, leading to a brutal back and forth. By the time the game is over, the only goal that had been scored was the single one your brother got in the first half.

“Ah, that was tense. They almost took it back there for a second.” You stand, stretching your arms behind your back to loosen them up a bit. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, sure.” Yuta gets up as well, following you as you begin to climb the stairs. “Is your brother not coming to see you this time?”

“He told me he has some press deal after this.” Once you’re in a more open area, Yuta walks next to you instead of behind. You can now see that he’s frowning.

“Does he keep you a secret on purpose?”

“I asked him to.”

“I can’t imagine keeping someone like you hidden like that.” At that strange comment, you stop, looking at him. He seems to be taking the issue very personally.

“It’s easier this way. No one prying into my life, no one asking me for autographs from him all the time. People know who our parents are. What’s so important about an unknown sister?” Is there something else he wants you to say? The look on his face is something you’ve only seen maybe once or twice. He’s in a strange mood, that’s for sure.

“I get it, it’s just…” He sighs, looking at the ground with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Yuta.” He finally meets your eyes. “It’s important to me that what people think about me is what I show them first. I don’t want to be a reflection of my brother, no matter how much I love him.”

“Is he the reason you didn’t want to talk to me at first?” There’s amusement in Yuta’s voice again, that strange seriousness gone.

You start to walk again and he keeps pace. “No, that was just because you woke me up at six in the morning.”

“I guess both of us have experiences that precede our reputations then, huh?”

The bus comes not much later. The previous reminder of how you met has him offering you one side of his earbuds, saying that this would be a better introduction to J-rock than the one you had before. As you listen, you’re tempted to lean your head against his shoulder or take his hand, which is resting oh so close to yours. Instead, you just sit still and look out the window.

After you get off of the bus, the topic of shows you both like makes a return.

“I will take it upon myself to expose you to great art. Are you free tomorrow? We have to start immediately.” Yuta begins to pester you, practically bouncing as you walk.

“Actually, I’m busy tomorrow. I’m working on physics with Mingyu again.” He doesn’t initially not react to your first statement. However, when his teammate’s name comes out of your mouth, he frowns.

“Of anyone…” The sudden change in his attitude catches you off guard. “Why him?”

“I don’t choose who’s in my classes. What’s wrong with you? I thought you got along with your teammates.” You’re nearing your complex at this point. The lamp posts bordering the sidewalk cast long shadows on the ground as you walk.

“In a team context, they’re fine. Usually. Just, that guy…” He’s scowling now, making you frown deeply in return.

“What about him?”

“I don’t know, Y/N.” He pauses, but then his feet stop moving a moment later. “Fuck it, I do know. He’s not a good person. He’s a manipulator. He’s a good manipulator, but he’s bad at lying when you actually confront him-”

“Yuta, you’re being ridiculous. Even if he is, I’m strong enough to take care of myself.”

“Y/N, he was with me at that first game! The one where I found out about your brother? What if he saw? He’s the type to use information like that to get what he wants. What if he-”

“What if he what, Yuta?” You glare at him, anger muddled with some other hurt now filling you. “He hasn’t done anything. He isn’t going to do anything. Our ‘secret’ isn’t going to get out. I can take care of myself.”

With that, you brush past him, into the complex, into your apartment. Thankfully, your roommates aren’t in the common area, so you safely make it to your room. Once you’re there, you shove your face into your pillow. You consider screaming into it, but you know he’s probably in his own room, where he could hear you. Instead, you just heave breath after frustrated breath.

You don’t know why you snapped at him. Actually, you do. It’s the fear that he’s actually doing what he accused Mingyu of. After every word you’ve exchanged, every conversation, you should be confident that he’s not like that. But, you’ve never been in this situation before. What if he…

It’s a stupid notion and you know it. That’s just the surface. Another layer of your feelings peels away. You hate when people are too protective of you. You want to make your own decisions, to learn for yourself. You hate when your brother is too protective of you and you hate when Yuta is.

That’s not even all of it. Finally, you reach the root of your aggression. What right does Nakamoto Yuta have to try and be protective of you when you aren’t even together? Was that the concern of a friend or the concern of a jealous lover?

You curl in on yourself even more tightly, breathing through the pillow under your face. No one has ever flirted with you as much as he has. You’ve never been so ridiculously on and off with someone before. Still, neither of you are willing to answer the question. You’ve never actually fought like this with him before.

Perhaps he hates you now that you’ve thrown his warnings back in his face.

The next day, after your classes, you force yourself to go to the library to meet Mingyu, Yuta’s words heavy in your mind. As you work, you can tell he’s still trying desperately to get on your good side, even emanating Yuta in a strange, off-balance way. It’s not amusing when he does it.

Finally, the subject you’ve been dreading comes.

“Are you a fan of the Ravens? I think I saw you at one of their games once.”

You swallow back disappointment. Mingyu is the worst fear of your insecure self and you finally have to come face to face with it. “I guess you could say that.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t take it farther than that. If Yuta’s right about him, then it’s probably just one piece of a larger goal. Though you never cared much for Mingyu, it doesn’t feel good to see things begin to unfold.

Not seeing him for two days in a row brings your mood down more than you’d like to admit. At the same time, you’re not ready to apologize yet. You don’t know what exactly is happening on his end, you never know, so when you go outside to run at your normal time on Saturday, you half expect him to be there.

He isn’t. And you don’t run into him on your way back, either. The game it is, then.

As the day progresses, the sky gets increasingly cloudy. In the evening, when the Lions and their opponent team are out on the field running final drills, it’s easy enough to tell that a good number of people had looked at the forecast - the crowd in the bleachers is much thinner than usual. The sky could open up and pour its soul out onto all of you at any moment.

You don’t even bother pretending that you’re not watching Yuta. As he steps off the field for their usual pre-game pep talk and chant, you swear he makes eye contact with you. Normally, he wouldn’t even bother looking, because he’s usually confident that you’re there. You’re not sure what the look in his eyes is now.

The coin toss decides that the other team will start with the ball. That might have been the first omen about the game. Then again, maybe the other team is just… better. Their defense is at least tighter than yours. At halftime, they have a point up on the Lions, 0:1. Yuta seems to take this very, very personally. Within ten minutes of the game restarting, they tie the score back up.

At about three quarters of the way through, it begins to rain. The referee deems that they’ve played far to stop, so the match continues. Almost like they take the poor weather as a sign, the rival team scores nearly immediately after.

You pathetically huddle under a single umbrella with Sowon while Yein shares one with Johnny. The ball slips rather than flies around the field, back and forth, back and forth, until, finally, with barely any time to spare, it’s at Yuta’s feet. The world seems to move in slow motion, then. His right foot moves backwards. It swings forwards. He makes contact.

He misses.

You try not to gasp. Yuta himself seems to be in shock, with how he goes stiff for a moment. Then, he’s back in action, targeting where the goalie had thrown the ball. This time, it’s not enough. A minute later, after another brutal back and forth, the scream of the whistle soars above the sound of the rain. It’s over. The Lions have met their first loss of the season.

The two teams barely wait around to shake hands before they’re rushing off to the locker rooms, away from the rain. Yuta moves slower than the rest, seeming to drag his feet through the muddying grass. Ahead of him, all of his teammates are moving quickly, but moping nonetheless. From your position, you see Mingyu kick the shins of someone you recognize to be one of the younger players. You see Kun’s mouth move as he tells him off, but they’re far enough away and the rain is loud enough that you can’t hear. If you hadn’t been displeased already, you are now.

Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?

“You guys can go back,” you say, taking a step out from under the umbrella after you’re out of the bleachers with your friends. When Sowon tries to shove her umbrella in your hands, you push it back. “I’ll be fine! It’s only a short distance.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

“Don’t worry.” With a sigh, she turns, reluctantly walking back behind Yein and Johnny.

You take off running, trying to outpace the raindrops pelting you. By the time you make it beneath the slight sheltered roof of the locker room building, you’re damp, but not entirely soaked. It’s enough to be an annoyance, your clothes sticking slightly to your skin.

You wait outside for a good few minutes. Small groups of players from either team leave, the opponent players giving you strange looks as you lean against the wall and shiver, Baekho and his group giving you an awkward acknowledgement, and, finally, Mingyu emerges.

“Y/N?” He seems confused, but somewhat excited. As if you’re there to meet him.

“Mingyu. Answer one question for me.” You say it wearily, expressing it like the chore it is.

“What are you acting so weird for?” The excitement you glimpsed before dies.

“Were you going to use me to get in good with my brother?”

The rain is the only sound you hear for a couple solid heartbeats. “Y/N, listen…”

“He was right…” You grumble to yourself. You glare up at him. “You can do your physics labs by yourself. Delete my number.”

He stands before you for a moment more before he realizes that you’re serious. He turns and walks away, into the haze of the downpour. A minute later, Jaehyun and Kun emerge from the building.

“Oh, Y/N,” Jaehyun says, seeming surprised. “Are you waiting for Yuta?”

“Is it that obvious?”

The two of them exchange looks and smile. Kun speaks next. “He’s probably not coming out for a while. He usually gets all depressed when we lose a game, but I’ve never seen it this bad. He’s been standing in the shower for like fifteen minutes.”

You glance at the door. Jaehyun nudges you. “He’s the only one left in there. I wouldn’t tell anyone if you, say, went in right now.”

“A bonafide cupid right here,” Kun says, swinging the bag he has slung over his shoulder around so he can dig through it. He produces something, offering it to you. “Here.”

“What is…” You trail off as you take it from him, your face warming as you realize exactly what it is. “Kun, what is this?!”

“I don’t want any miniature versions of him running around. I’m always prepared.” You stare at Kun incredulously a beat longer before you shove the condom in your damp pocket.

“Good luck!” Jaehyun calls back to you as they begin to walk off, leaving you standing under the overhang. Taking a deep breath, you push open the door and walk inside.

Unsurprisingly, the place has a somewhat sweaty smell to it. The rows of lockers are labeled with names and a little image depicting the sport the owner plays, as all of the school’s teams use the same locker room, and the occasional miscellaneous socks, gloves, and other things are scattered about. A row of sinks is against one wall and past the sinks is an entrance into the shower area. You make your way there.

As you get closer, the distinct sound of one shower running gets louder. The only curtain that’s closed is a middle stall, all of the others open and empty. Parallel to the shower stalls is a long wooden bench. “Yuta?” You call out. He doesn’t respond, so you try again. “Yuta?”

“Go away.” This time, the response is sharp and harsh. He certainly is in a mood.

“Yuta, it’s me.”

“Y/N?” His voice is significantly less negative now. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you.”

You can barely hear him sigh over the sound of the shower running. “You couldn’t wait until after I was done?”

“No.” When you say that, the water shuts off. A hand sneaks out to grab the towel hanging from a hook affixed to the partition between the stalls. You don’t see anything revealing, but you look away anyways. The scraping of the rings being drawn back tells you he has emerged from the stall.

“You can look at me, you know.”

“I didn’t want to be rude.” You look back, greeted with the sight of his gloriously wet hair and bare torso. He emerged quickly enough that he didn’t have time to dry much of the water dripping off of him. The only part of his body that’s covered is his waist and thighs, though the towel still reveals a tantalizing v-line. You forcibly swallow your thirst.

“Blatantly checking me out again? I get it, but would it kill you to be less obvious?” The comment throws you back to a simpler time, when you were just irritated with him for his cockiness and blasting music through the floor.

“Speak for yourself.” You cross your arms. It was obvious enough that he was enjoying the sight of you in a wet t-shirt and shorts.

“Why didn’t you wear something warmer?” He says, frowning. He steps closer, leaving little space between you.

“I didn’t think it would cool down this much.” You look away, not able to face his bare chest quite yet. The room still has a certain steam about it from the hot shower he was taking that makes it a little harder to breathe. Then again, maybe that’s just him being mostly naked in front of you. He reaches out, touching the hem of your shirt.

“You’re soaked,” he says, rubbing your shirt between his thumb and index finger.

“You’re just making me wetter.” Your face burns something fierce as you say it, contrasting the chill that had settled over your skin from standing outside. “You would think you’d dry yourself off more before getting out of the shower.”

“I was just eager to see you, I guess.” You finally have the courage to meet his eyes again.

“I missed you this morning.” You almost pout while saying it, feeling small under his gaze. It’s not an uncomfortable smallness, but one that makes you feel closer to him.

“I figured you didn’t want to see me.” He reaches out, brushing his fingers softly over the side of your face. His touch is blissfully warm. “Or, I think that you did want to see me, but you would only be angrier if I showed up.”

The thought almost makes you laugh. It would be one of the few times he’s been wrong about your feelings. But, if he always knows so much… “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I talked to Mingyu a few minutes ago and you were right. I should have trusted you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you handle it on your own.” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. “You’re strong enough to deal with assholes like him. You don’t need me.”

“I might not need you, but I do want to keep you around.” The small confession has your bottom lip quivering. “Did I mess up your game today?”

“It was mostly the rain.” He sounds so nonchalant, but you can tell he’s still bothered. “Not you. But, if you do feel bad about it, Miss Physical Therapy, there is something you can do for me.”

His eyes have shifted away from their darkness into a different sort of moodiness. You step closer. “What is it?”

He moves back, taking a heavy seat on the bench. “I’m quite tense. Give me a massage.” His eyes bore into yours. “If you so choose.”

You step behind him. The thrill of what you feel like he’s implying thrums in your veins. The muscles of his shoulders and back are hard under your fingers, showing years of training and toning. You’re almost surprised at how well built his upper body is for a soccer player. His skin is beyond perfect too, and the little droplets of water from his steamy shower that settle on his skin glisten temptingly in the low light of the locker room.

“Sorry my hands are cold,” you practically whisper.

“It’s fine. Feels nice.” He wasn’t lying when he said he was tense - you can feel the knots leaving his muscles as you press down on them, dissolving into smooth flesh that’s soft to the touch. As you work along his back, one particularly tough knot has your thumbs pressing harder into him, drawing a low groan and a curse from his throat. “Fuck.”

The sound turns you on more than you’d like to admit. As you finish his back, you become even more hyper aware of the little noises he’s letting out, the space between you becoming noticeably warmer. Slowly, reluctantly, your hands leave his skin and you circle back towards his front, not quite wanting to look him in the eye. “Is that better?”

“Much.” The air feels heavy. “But you’re not done, yet.” Ordinarily, he’d be smirking so hard you’d be able to hear it in his voice, but there’s only a low command to his tone now. He reaches out, guiding your dominant hand forward so that it’s resting on the front of his shoulder. There’s no hiding from his eyes now. You decide then - if you’re going to do this, you might as well go all out. Sliding onto his lap, your knees pressing into the wooden bench on either side of him, makes you feel both powerful and small at the same time. His face is only a breath away from your own. You swear you can see his eyes flicker to your lips. Trying to play innocent, despite the fact that you can basically feel his dick hardening under his thin towel, you shift slightly, putting your focus on his shoulder and pectoral muscles. Every so often, you readjust yourself, purposefully bouncing slightly on his lap, almost grinding down on him. He doesn’t crack, remaining still and keeping his expression flat. The only signs he gives of being aroused are the slight shiver to his breath and the prominent bulge you’re now certain you can feel. That, and the hands he has on your body, one on your hip and one on your thigh, fixing you in place.

The process is slow, arduous, but you eventually finish with his pectoral and shoulder muscles. You pull your hands away, placing them in your lap and then sitting back, unmoving on his lap, reveling in the way you’ve very clearly made him feel. “Is that all?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips again before boring into your own. “You missed one spot.” Wordlessly, he reaches up, tapping his own lips.

You could walk away right now. His hands aren’t so tight on your body that you couldn’t just get up and leave, go back to your apartment and forget this ever happened. But why would you want to? You’ve been dreaming of his lips for weeks. Finally, you’re about to get a taste. Still, there’s an edge of apprehension digging slightly in your gut.

You’ve sat in silence for long enough that he’s opening his mouth, an apology about to leave his lips, when you swoop forward, pressing your lips to his.

Where he had given you the choice to initiate, he’s the one who really leads. He almost instantly deepens the kiss, dragging you even farther up his lap, pressing you hard against his barely-shielded dick. You feel his fingertips against your skin, under the hem of your top.

“Do you want this?”

“Yes, but-” Where his hands had stilled under your shirt they begin to move again. “Yuta, wait.” He freezes once more, looking up at you. If you didn’t know better, you could swear you see a little bit of fear in his eyes. A shaky breath leaves your lips. “I won’t fuck you unless you tell me you actually have feelings for me. Did you mean what you said back then? After the games?”

“Is that a requirement for all the guys you sleep with or am I special?” You can feel his cock throbbing under you and your own insides ache in response. Of course, he’s delaying what both of you want by being coy. The frustration building up in your gut and in your heart makes you feel like you’re going insane.

“Yuta…” You mean it to sound admonishing, but your tone is more akin to a whine as you lightly drag your nails down his chest. His breath stutters slightly in his lungs at the motion, but in that moment, a sort of gentleness you’ve rarely seen takes over his facade.

“You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” he breathes out, eyes locked with yours, “how could I not have feelings for you?”

You kiss him, sweetly, desperately. His hands begin to move once more, his fingertips digging ever so slightly into your skin. When his hands make it to the edge of your shirt, giving you a suggestion, you cover them with your own, guiding him to take it off. As soon as the garment is out of the way, his lips are on your neck, your collar, the soft skin of your chest. He can feel the hum of your voice through your breast as you speak. “I really like you, Yuta. More than I’ve ever liked anyone else.”

His fingers nimbly unclasp your bra and it falls to the ground somewhere. As his touch ghosts over your breasts, you arch into his hand, drawing a warm chuckle from him. “That’s good,” he says, thumbing slow circles over your nipples, “because I feel the same way about you.”

You pull him back to your mouth, pulling him as close as you possibly can, breathing him like he’s air, tasting him like he’s food. His tongue is slick against your bottom lip, against your own tongue. Almost unconsciously, you rock your hips against his bulge as you move. Impatiently, he tugs at your shorts, pulling you out of the kiss.

“These have to come off.”

“It would kill you to go slow for once,” you laugh, getting off of his lap on shaky legs.

“I go slow for you all the time,” he responds, shifting the towel at his waist, which you realize is barely holding onto him from all the grinding you were doing on his lap, “I’ve been going slow for months now. Isn’t it time to speed things up?”

You roll your eyes, but shimmy out of your shorts, leaving you in your panties and him in his towel. From this angle, he can truly appreciate you. Every curve, every beauty mark, every fold and crease on your body. He leans back, his hands bracing him against the bench. Then, he shifts forward abruptly, taking the opportunity to snap the elastic of your underwear against your skin.

“Yuta!” The cry is half an admonition, half a laugh. You move to push his shoulder gently and he catches you by the hand, pulling you on top of him and kissing you once again. Before you realize it, he has a sneaky hand slipping into your panties, touching you where you’re most sensitive, making you jolt against his hand.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs the words against your lips and you nod, trying to focus on kissing him through the pleasure of his fingers. It’s been far too long since anyone has touched you like this and you’re not used to it.

“Mm,” you moan back, “more than okay.”

He had said he wanted to go faster, but it seems like he’s just going so slow, making you fall apart on his hand, first with just a thumb on your clit, then two fingers pushed more deeply inside of you than you could ever reach yourself. At some point, you’re no longer kissing him and your cheek is pressed to his instead. You nip at his ear, which you now realize is pierced, and the damp spikeyness of his hair rests against your temple.

His free hand rests over your breast, rhythmically squeezing it as you ride his fingers. Oddly enough, you feel like he predicts your climax before even you do, working you carefully through the release of pleasure as you shudder against him and clench around his fingers. Before you can fully regain your senses, he’s kissing you again and removing his hand, wiping his sticky digits against the towel slipping from his waist. You figure you’ll finish the job, reaching down to untwist the cloth so that it falls open against the bench.

You continue kissing him as you take his dick in your hand, your thumb sliding over the precum beading at his tip. It’s his turn to shiver, his cock twitching in your hand. Giving it slow, purposeful jerks, you watch him become perfectly uncomposed under you and you grin, leaning closer to press a kiss to the juncture between his neck and shoulder. He’s stiff, but remarkably soft to the touch, veiny and thick enough that your mouth waters. A couple minutes pass before he’s encasing your hand in his own, slowing your movement.

“I don’t want to come in your hand.” You stop, looking at him with faux-innocent eyes. He blinks desperately at you. “Please.”

“Can I suck you off later?” The words leave your mouth unexpectedly. You hadn’t even really been thinking about the later, but you figure you’re safe to assume that there will be one.

“Of course, pretty girl.” He strokes your hair and you can just think about him holding it back in the future as he-

Trying to distract yourself from the later and focus on the now, you slide off of his lap once again. He almost seems confused, made lonelier by the tiniest distance you put between the two of you. It’s almost a funny image, him half pouting at you while his dick is out, standing up against his abdomen and completely exposed. You let out the smallest exhale of a laugh. “You showed me yours, so I figured I would show you mine.” Your panties fall to the ground, where you kick them in the general direction of the rest of your clothes. The sight of your shorts reminds you of another important thing. “Oh! Also!”

You scramble over to them, reaching into the pocket and producing the little foil packet. Yuta stares at you. “You’re… prepared? I didn’t even think this far ahead and half the time my brain is controlled by my-”

“Kun gave it to me before I came in here,” you say, waltzing back over to him. He takes the packet from your hand, tearing it open. You… give him a hand as he rolls it on. “He’s awfully ready for a great many situations, isn’t he?”

“I think he was expecting this to happen a lot earlier than it actually did, honestly,” Yuta responds, pulling you back on top of him for the third time. Once again, your knees rest on the hard wood bench. “Can we not talk about my roommate, please?”

“I can agree to that.” You smile, kissing him. “Can we talk about how much I like you instead?”

“We can always talk about that,” he says, one hand on his dick, one on your hip, “are you ready?”

The mood dips, making your body shiver in anticipation again. “Yes.”

The way he positions his cock and begins to push into you makes both of you let out noises of relief, a groan from him and a sigh from you. You sink down onto him further until he’s fully sheathed inside of you, hard and pulsing and ungodly warm. He gives an experimental buck of his hips, pulling a moan from your lips and shaping his into a cocky smirk. “Already feel that good?”

“Shut up,” the complaint dies in your throat as you lift yourself up on your knees and sink back down again, bouncing on his lap slightly. You focus on the feeling of him inside of you, the sensation of him hitting your G-spot, the touch of his fingers on your clit again. His breath mingles with yours whenever he takes a break from kissing you. Your hands wander the smooth planes of his chest, your thumb briefly ghosting over his nipple, your palms getting sweatier as you hold onto him. It’s not long before you let your head fall back, your thighs tense as you hold onto his shoulders and move up and down on top of his cock.

His lips are hot as he mouths your neck. You’re not usually the type for marking, but, honestly, the thought of wearing his hickey on your skin sounds beyond appealing. He introduces the slightest bit of teeth, grazing them over your pulse as you ride him. The trail of tiny nips goes down past your collarbones to your breast. Your heart beats loudly in your ears and the desperation of chasing your orgasm makes the passage of time feel fuzzy, but in the sweet, bubbly way a soda does rather than the heavy, blurry way a cold would.

“Yuta,” you whine, the knocking of your legs against the bench growing painful, “can you…”

“I got you, baby.” With a grunt, he stands, lifting you by the thighs. You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close. A breath later, your back is pressed to the wall and he’s pushing into you once again. The new angle is a change, and it’s a good change. Every one of his thrusts hits exactly right, pushing you further and further until-

“Yuta, you’re gonna make me...” you pant against his mouth, breathing the same air as him. At some point, after he had picked you up, you had reconnected your lips, and he swallows the little noises you let out hungrily. You clench and unclench your fists behind his back, as your arms are slung over his shoulders.

“Mm, good. That’s my girl.”

All you can think as he pounds into you is Yuta, Yuta, Yuta. You come undone with a final swipe of his thumb and a choked cry of his name. Once your own orgasm has stopped burning quite so bright, lowering to a comfortable simmer in your gut, his hips slow with each thrust until he pushes into you and stays there. You can feel him throb inside of you even through the condom.

Your skin feels like it’s glowing in the aftermath of his love, warm like coals after a fire has just ceased to burn. Warm with the promise of more flames in the future. You lean your face in the junction of his shoulder and neck, breathing love onto his skin. His deep, uneven breaths slow over time as he presses gentle kisses to the exposed flesh of your shoulder. The silence between you is only interrupted by the ambient sound of water flowing through pipes hidden in the concrete walls of the shower part of the locker room. That’s enough of a reminder for you to groan, clutching onto him tighter. “I can’t believe we just confessed and fucked in your sweaty locker room.”

“From my perspective, it’s more ‘wow, I can’t believe we finally confessed and fucked, even if it was in my sweaty locker room.’” That, at the very least, makes you smile. Slowly, he begins to pull out, separating from you with a sticky, wet sound. He backs up, turning so that he can place you gently on the towel still lying on the bench. He disposes of the used rubber quickly, throwing it in a trash can at one end of the room.

Now that he’s no longer touching you, it feels so much colder. “I feel bad for whoever has to clean this place. I hope they don’t find that.”

He shrugs. “I’m sure they’ve seen worse.” He makes his way back to you, naked body still on full, glorious display for your eyes only. “Wanna shower while we’re here?”

You groan. “Yuta, I’m tired. No funny business.”

“Who said anything about any ‘funny business?’ I just suggested we clean off the sweat from all that physical exertion.” He’s smirking, not even pretending to be innocent.

“You’re insatiable.” Still you get up, joining him in the shower stall that he holds open for you. If any follow up activity happens while you’re in there, the only way anyone on the outside would be able to tell would be from the quiet sounds that are mostly drowned out by the noise of the shower.

As you finally redress, accepting the hoodie that Yuta had in his locker so that you don’t have to put your wet shirt back on, he can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, like he’s afraid you’ll go away. The environment between you feels different, but the same. After you’re both fully dressed and start walking out the door, you reach out to take his hand. He accepts the action, interlocking his fingers with yours. Both of you stop under the overhang of the building. By now, the sun has set and a few street lights shine along the walkways of the campus through the haze of rain. “Yuta, are you my boyfriend?”

He blinks a couple times. “Wasn’t that implied?”

You turn away, suddenly shy. “I mean… I just… wanted to clarify…”

“You’re too good for me.” He laughs, then kisses your cheek. Both of you stare out of the rain, as if it’s going to suddenly stop just because you’re politely waiting for it. “I meant it. Every time.”

“Hm?”

“Every time I said I liked you, or that you’re amazing. I was just afraid of- I don��t know. That I’m not honest enough or nice enough, or even good enough at soccer. I just-” He seems so tired as he says it, so brutally truthful, so terribly self-doubting.

You squeeze his hand. “Yuta, it’s okay. Honestly, all this time, I thought you’re too good for me. You’re so much more than the things you say you are. You’re a star.”

“I’m not. I can be an asshole, and jealous, and not serious even when I should be-”

“Yuta, if you like me despite all of my ridiculous bad qualities, I’m pretty sure I can deal with a little jealousy. You’ve shown me who you are and I still like you. You’re loyal and funny and romantic and so many other things. I like you.”

He sighs sweetly, like he was holding in a breath for so long and is finally letting it out. He’s holding your hand so tightly, it feels like he might never let go. Right now, you think you might be okay with that. “Sorry. I’ll never get tired of hearing that.”

You peer into others’ eyes for a long time, content to just look. Then, the cold finally gets to your legs and you shiver, scooching slightly closer to him. You look out. The rain isn’t getting any better. “Do you want to run? To make up for us not going together this morning?”

He doesn’t even respond. He just glances at you, winks, and tugs at your hand, starting to go. The rain pelts you as you go, utterly soaking you, getting in your shoes, darkening your borrowed hoodie. His hair sticks to his forehead, making him look a bit like a wet kitten. Maybe a lion, more accurately. Still, in the passing lights and the sheen of the rain, he glows.

“Yuta?” You say between shallow breaths.

“Yeah?” He keeps going, keeps tugging you along. You have to work to keep up with him, pumping your legs hard.

“Do you want to go professional?”

He looks back at you quickly, but then turns forward. “I would.”

“I really think you could do it!”

Then he’s laughing, truly, mirthfully. “That’s the second best thing you’ve said to me today!”

At that, you’re laughing too, though it slows your pace, though it makes your lungs burn, though it helps rain water run into your mouth. When you make it to your complex, soaked through, looking like you just took a swim in your clothes, you don’t want to let go. Reluctantly, both of you part ways to change clothes in your respective apartments with the promise to meet soon and start Yuta’s effort to culture you with anime.

Sowon and Yein tease you relentlessly, both when you enter your apartment leaving puddles on the ground and when you leave again ten minutes later completely dry. They tease you for the next week whenever they catch you leaving if they know you don’t have classes. The next Friday, you end up staying up far too late watching one of Yuta’s shows, which you admit are at the very least fun, and you fall asleep in his bed. You’re sure you’ll never hear the end of it from your roommates, even if Yein has been staying in the volleyball boys’ apartment every other day for the last month.

In the morning, a mere three hours after you and Yuta went to sleep, you wake up in his arms to a strange blaring of J-rock. He reaches over you to slap his phone and shut it off. You stay awake just long enough to comment on how strange it is hearing the music next to you and not through the floor.

When you wake up around noon to Yuta staring at you, his bangs half covering his eyes, you flip over, checking the time so that he can’t see the absolutely embarrassed look on your face. “You’re so weird.” “Why are you being all shy? I’ve seen you naked. There’s nothing more to see.”

“There’s plenty more of me to see, thank you very much, Nakamoto Yuta.”

“I know there is, darling.” His arm is still slung over your torso like it was when the alarm went off and he tries to wrestle you back around to face him. You squirm in his hold.

“Darling? You’re so weird. Why are you so weird?”

“Weird? I thought I was romantic and funny and-”

“And weird!” You wiggle more until he flips you onto your back, straddles you, and pins your hands to the bed. It’s quite an incredible sight, him pinning you down with his raven hair a complete mess and no shirt, where you can faintly see marks that you may or may not have left on his chest earlier in the week. “No fair. Home ground advantage.”

He leans in, looking ever so charming despite his disheveled appearance. “You know what makes for great morning exercise?”

“You’re weird and a horndog and-”

“Running! Let’s go.” He suddenly rises up, taking one of your hands with him and pulling you into a sitting position.

“Yuta, it’s noon! There are going to be people out everywhere.” He tugs on your hand and you move so that you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. “And it’s Saturday, so there’s going to be even more people…”

“You don’t need to worry about people judging you. If anyone gives you any funny looks, I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Punt a soccer ball at their heads?” You’re standing now, looking at him uncertainly.

He shrugs. “Sure. But, seriously. I promise that you have nothing to be self conscious about. You also have me. That part most importantly.” You would smack him if the smile he gives you doesn’t have you reluctantly agreeing.

He’s right, of course. The run is completely fine. At least, you’re distracted enough by your boyfriend for it to be fine. When you return, you split off to take showers in your apartments. After you emerge from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around your body, you find him waiting in your room. You register him saying something about the tables turning and “great afternoon exercise” before he practically pounces on you.

Afterwards, through your sex-high haze, you hear a loud knocking on your front door. Groaning, you move only so much as to press your face into Yuta’s shoulder. “Don’t wanna get up…”

“Did I make you feel that good?” His voice is a warm rumble, teasing, though full of the same tiredness that yours has. You’re about to jab him lightly in the side when his hand shifts down, two of his fingers running through your folds. Shivering at the suggestion, you wiggle closer to him, hiding your face even more.

“Let me rest, you sex-fiend.” Before he can reply, there’s a few more insistent knocks at your door. “Ugh…”

“Were you expecting someone?” You shake your head against him. He reaches over and grabs your phone. “I heard this going off earlier while we were busy.” You make no move to take it from him, so he turns it on, his eyes scanning the recent chain of texts you’d just received. “It’s your brother.”

You immediately bolt straight up. “What?” Your mind ticks back to the previous day before you’re scrambling out of bed. “Shit, shit, shit, I forgot he was coming today!” As quickly as you can, you try to throw on the various items of clothing that had gotten scattered around the room in your - Yuta’s, more accurately - haste to move them off of the bed, where you had laid them out for after your shower.

Yuta stretches lazily. “Glad I could remind you.”

“Asshole, get clothes on! He’ll kill you if he figures out what we did!”

“Ah, to be killed by L/N B/N. You say ‘what we did’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“He’s my older brother, for God’s sake!” You throw a shirt at him, smacking him in the face. “He will murder you! If he doesn’t murder me for forgetting our plans first…”

“And your plans are?” He slips his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, slipping it on.

“I’m taking him to see your game. Maybe meet the team. Who knows? You won’t be able to see it if you don’t move your ass.” You finish putting your jeans on.

“I’ve never escaped through a window before, but it sounds fun.” He’s still smirking, clearly amused. You’re certain he would actually do that if you let him.

“On second thought, just stay here. I won’t let him into my room.” Your phone lights up with your brother’s face and number and starts to buzz. You pick it up. “Sorry, I’m coming! I was napping.” You hang up. “Please, Yuta?”

He steps into his own jeans. “That’s what I was planning on. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to incapacitate myself before the game.”

With that reassurance, you close the door to your room and head for the apartment door. Your brother, clad in a hat, hoodie, and jeans, weirdly normal for him, is standing in front of your door, his phone in his hand. He narrows his eyes. “Hi, Y/N. For a second there, I really thought you forgot about our plans. Who takes a nap on a Saturday afternoon?”

You step aside, letting him in. “I was just tired today for some reason. Sorry.” “You’re lucky you’re my favorite.” He walks in, sliding off his shoes next to yours. “Are your roommates home? It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”

“No, but they’ll be at the game later. You won’t miss them.” You stand there, swaying somewhat awkwardly. You’re sure that he’s noticed that you’re acting strangely. “Who let you into the lower doors?”

Your brother steps inside casually. “Your neighbor Jaehyun. Nice kid.”

“Y-Yeah. He’s one of our midfielders.”

“I guess I’ll get to see him in action soon, then. Where near here is good for something quick? We only have an hour and a half until the game.”

You’re thankful for a change in subject. “Depends what you want to eat! Think about it while I run to the bathroom?”

As you head there, you glance at your closed door. You feel kind of bad for leaving him in there, but it’s for his own protection. When you get back to the door, your brother is in the same place, staring at the shoes around the entry. He points at a pair of men’s shoes, which you realize with dawning horror are Yuta’s.

“Y/N? Whose shoes are these?”

“Oh! Those are, um, Johnny’s. Yein’s boyfriend.”

He deadpans. “Johnny. Your neighbor. The one who lives right across from you. Who is dating your roommate who isn’t here right now.” When you don’t respond, he sighs. “Y/N, it would be a lot easier to lie to me if you didn’t tell me so much in the first place. Who’s in your room? I know you hate closing your door if you’re not sleeping.”

Reluctantly, you walk to your room, cursing observant soccer players. Yuta looks mildly surprised to see you, and you walk over to where he’s sitting on your bed, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him over to your brother. If he’s afraid of your brother, he doesn’t show it.

“Yuta, was it?” He’s still expressionless. “I’ll have you know that there’s a few rules.” Before Yuta can even ask about the rules, he’s launching into a detailed explanation about consequences, saying something about maiming and making it look like an accident.

“B/N, you’re a professional now. You should really try not to say such scary stuff. Also,” you say, frowning, “I can handle myself. You know that by now.”

Yuta breaks his silence. “She really can. She’s strong enough to deal with anything.”

“You really believe that?” Your brother’s gaze is unyielding.

“I do.”

“Well, then.” He suddenly lightens up, smiling at the two of you. “Want to join us for dinner? I’m thinking noodles.”

“I actually have to get to warm-ups soon…” Yuta says regretfully.

“That’s a good boy. See, Y/N, I trust your judgement. We best be off, then.” Abruptly, your brother turns, putting his shoes back on. You scramble to join him, grabbing your things and putting your own shoes on.

“I’ll see you later?” You say to Yuta, who’s simply staring, somewhat shell shocked that he survived the encounter.

He blinks, then gives you a sort of smirk. “How about a kiss for-”

“Don’t push it.” Your brother cuts him off, standing in the doorway. He starts down the stairs. When he’s not looking, you lean over, pressing your lips to Yuta’s cheek. Before you can turn around, he sneaks one of his own onto your lips. You run after your brother.

He thoroughly grills you about Yuta during dinner, but you don’t mind. You keep out the parts about sex and the specifics of the relationship coming to fruition and he seems satisfied. You barely make it to the game in time because of your brother’s interrogation, but you still get there early enough to see some of the drills. In work mode, he crosses his arms, making approving comments about Yuta’s footwork. Your boyfriend is in a similar mood, already focused in.

Then, the game starts. The other team starts with the ball, but it makes no difference. The Lions take it back, sending it back and forth across the field, gaining and losing it, until Yuta, as usual, scores, redeeming himself from the previous week. Your brother says something under his breath about potential and skill. Through the game, the Lions make great plays and you find yourself cheering for all of them, even Mingyu. The rival team stands no chance - not for lack of skill, but simply because your team is determined. By the end of the game, the score is a solid 3:0.

You’re one of the first onto the field after the teams break away from shaking hands. You meet Yuta in the middle, jumping on him in a hug when you reach him. You can’t stop the outpouring of praise, telling him how well he played, how brilliant he was. He just laughs, telling you he did his best. It’s the most positive thing you’ve heard from him after a game.

When you let go of him, willing to let the rest of his friends surround him now, you step away in search of your brother. To your surprise, he’s chatting up the Lions’ coach, who seems somewhat flustered by the Ravens’ striker speaking to him. Before you can get close, the coach blows the whistle he has around his neck, getting the attention of everyone around him, but particularly the team.

“Boys! Gather round, we have someone here with something to say to you.”

It doesn’t take long for them to recognize who your brother is.

It’s funny seeing the team rush to your brother, some pretending to be cool, some openly fawning over him. But, there’s one person who isn’t looking at him. From across the mob forming around your brother, you make eye contact with Yuta. And, in the midst of the stars shining in the form of the Raven, the Lion’s light falls on you.

[sunmoonandeddie]

feelings are fatal (23/24)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, past steve rogers x reader

word count: 3,018

summary: After the events of Endgame, you struggle to come to terms with what you’ve lost, though you’re learning that you still have something to gain.

chapter warnings: swearing, violence, funeral

masterlist

a/n: this little chapter drop!!!

The funeral was three days later.

You’d taken it upon yourself to stay in the Stark cabin, licking your wounds and mourning the loss of the man you’d spent almost a decade of your life with. You’d mourned losing him before, but this was different.

This was permanent.

There’d be no more chances to go see him in Buffalo. There’d be no more watching him paint in his home studio, seeing the life he built for himself.

You hadn’t seen Bucky since you left the hospital.

You had walked out of Steve’s room, tears rolling down your cheeks. It felt like a death march as you had to face his family, had to face Peggy, the daughter that was named after you. “He’s gone,” you’d said, hands trembling. “I…”

“Oh, honey,” Peggy had whispered, moving to hug you as her own pain welled up in her eyes.

“I have to go,” you had insisted as you quickly slipped out of her grasp, speeding down the hall. You’d left the members of your little family in the waiting room, knowing that they’d gotten to talk to him before he’d passed but still feeling so guilty because you were the last one he’d seen. The last one he’d talked to.

You hadn’t even stopped when Bucky and Wanda had called out your name. You had the car keys in your hand, since he’d given them to you at some point in the blur of the day.

You’d left him there.

The pain was unbearable.

You’d spent the past three days at the bottom of a bottle, blasting all the playlists that Tony had saved. At some point, it had switched to a playlist full of old jazz music from the forties.

You’d thrown the bottle against the wall and watched it shatter.

Sweeping it up while absolutely plastered had been… an adventure. You had the bandages on your feet to prove it.

But you’d gotten it all swept up and into the trash before moving onto the next bottle.

You’d turned off your phone after the fourth phone call and the eighteenth text.

But Bucky didn’t show up. He didn’t come banging on your door like you hoped he would, swooping in and kissing you like the prince in a fairytale.

It was monumentally disappointing.

When you arrived at the funeral, you’d thrown the car into park and then sat in the lot outside for at least forty-five minutes. You’d shown up early entirely because you knew that you’d need time to gather the courage to go inside.

You’d had to order a black dress and heels with express shipping, since you hadn’t exactly thought to pack them when you and Bucky had gone on your little vacation and you didn’t really feel like going out to go shopping.

Your mistake.

It had taken a lot of effort to actually shower and do your hair and makeup. Your ankles felt like they’d give out any moment as you slammed the car door shut and headed inside.

“Hello.”

You almost tripped over your own feet as you heard a feminine voice call out to you. “H-Hi,” you said as you finally came face to face with the woman who had your name. “I’m—”

“I know,” she said, before getting a weak laugh. “Me, too. I’ve heard so much about you. My dad… uh… He really, really loved you.”

“Thank you,” you said, voice a little stiff. You hadn’t done much talking the past few days, unless screaming out lyrics counted.

Yeah, it counted.

Sorta.

“Um… H-How is Peggy—I mean, your mom—doing?”

“She’s handling it about as can be expected,” she said with a smile as she glanced to where the Brit in question was. It was strange, seeing the woman that was named after you. She was older than you by a few years, and had a few gray hairs. But she looked so much like the perfect mix of Steve and Peggy… “But dad was getting up there… more so than any other man. They both knew it was coming. I just don’t know if mom will be able to hold on without him much longer.”

Great. Because that’s exactly what you wanted to hear.

“Here, let me introduce my siblings!” She said, calling them over before you could say no.

By the time the actual service started, you’d met far more Rogerses than you had ever wanted to.

It was exhausting. They were all so… kind. Despite everything, despite the fact that you were literally their father’s ex girlfriend, despite the fact that you were the last person their father spoke to before he died, and not his wife.

“My husband, Steve, has always been what his best friend called him. A punk,” Peggy said as she stood up before everyone, letting out a weak laugh as she glanced back at the open casket. “But he was so many things. Brave. Outspoken. Generous. Stubborn…”

Your eyes stayed on her, even though you stopped hearing what she was saying. You didn’t have the energy to listen to a eulogy.

That is, until she said your name.

“Huh?” You said, suddenly on high alert. Some part of you was aware that your team was sitting in the front row, including Bucky. You’d been too busy speaking with Steve’s children to talk to them, not that you minded that. You weren’t sure if you were ready to face them.

“Would you please come up and say a few words?” Peggy asked gently, getting down and holding out her hand to you.

“I…” Fuck. You couldn’t say no. It was a god damn funeral. “Okay,” you said after a long moment, placing your hand in Peggy’s and letting her lead you up to the podium. The sea of people staring at you made your blood run cold, your hands trembling as you gripped the wood. “Um… H-Hi…” You introduced yourself, you voice cracking. “I’ve known Steve… since I was eighteen years old. And we were together for almost a decade.” You snorted, shaking your head as you glanced back at the casket, your heart stopping for a moment when your eyes rested on his face. “I know… most of you are probably wondering why the hell I’m up here. Why the hell anyone would want their husband’s ex girlfriend speaking at their funeral, but uh… Steve helped make me the person I am today.” Your heart was hammering inside of your chest, threatening to break your ribs. “He taught me when to push myself, how to trust my instincts.” Also all things that Bucky taught you. You could feel his seafoam blue gaze on you, pinning you in place. “I know it’s cheesy… But he taught me what it means to do the right thing, even when it means standing up to someone you love and telling them so. He taught me how to keep going even when my world was crumbling.” Your heart was shattering as your eyes met Bucky’s. “He taught me to chase after what I want the most in the world, and to accept nothing but the best.” Tears were starting to roll down your cheeks. “Steve was a bright light in the world, even when he was in his darkest moments.” You gave a watery smile, your hands clammy. “Steve was not the shield, and those of us who knew him personally know that. The shield was Steve. He made it into the symbol that it is. A symbol of what every person can be, what they should be. What we should all aspire to be.” Your throat was starting to close up. “But he was showing us that even before the serum, wasn’t he? Because it doesn’t matter how small you are, or where you come from. You can make the choice everyday to make the world a little better.” Sniffling, you swallowed around the lump in his throat. “And I know I’m rambling, but I really didn’t expect to be speaking here today, so please forgive me, but I just… I never thought he’d die like this. There were hundreds of missions where I thought… this is it. This is where I lose him. I always knew he’d fight until he couldn’t anymore. The fact that he got the honor of passing like he did… what feels like a million years old and surrounded by his loved ones in a hospital… just like any other man… I can’t think of a better happy ending for him.” You took a deep breath. “But there’s someone who should be up here more than me. Someone who knew him from the beginning. From playground to battlefield and beyond, right?”

Bucky’s entire body was trembling as he slowly got to his feet and walked up to the podium. But before you could leave, his hand slipped into yours and squeezed, a silent question being asked.

Stay?

And how could he ever think you’d leave him?

You squeezed his hand back, staying by his side as he slowly started to speak. He spoke about the first time they met, all the fights he broke up.

Until the end of the line.

You guessed it really was the end. The grand finale of a life that wasn’t always easy, but was always worth it.

Watching Steve’s casket being lowered into the ground felt like a hallucination. How could it possibly be real?

The feeling that you’d gotten in the hospital was washing back over you like a tsunami. The overwhelming feeling of despair, of disbelief.

Of anger.

You wanted more time. There wasn’t ever enough time and now he was gone.

You slipped away after the funeral ended, getting into your car and just… driving. You knew you’d eventually make it back to the cabin, but you needed to roll the windows down and just feel the icy cold wind in your hair, on your skin.

Making you feel alive.

When you got back to the cabin, the sun had set, stars twinkling overhead in a brilliance you’d never see in the city.

You held your heels in your hand as you stumbled into the house, tossing them to the side as you headed for the kitchen. “FRIDAY, put on some music,” you said quietly.

“What playlist would you like?”

“Read the room, Fri,” you said simply, sighing as you grabbed a bottle of wine from the kitchen. She started to play music throughout the house, and you bit your lip as she started to play a blend of your favorites. Mostly Black Pumas and The Teskey Brothers. “Fri, can you turn on the fireplace?”

Warm light filled the living room and kitchen, flickering softly.

You didn’t bother changing as you collapsed onto the fur rug with just your wine and your bottle opener. “Dumb… cork…,” you huffed as you worked to get it open.

You were about halfway through the bottle when you heard a car pull up, followed by the slam of the door. Your mind was fuzzy as you watched the front door open and Bucky walk in. “Hi.”

He stopped in the entryway, still wearing the all black suit he’d donned at the funeral. “Hey,” he breathed out. He couldn’t help but snort as he saw the bottle of wine in your hands. “Yeah… It has been that kind of day, huh?”

When you held it out to him, you couldn’t tear your eyes away as you watched his pink lips wrap around the bottle and he took a swig.

Fuck, you had it so bad.

“How are you feeling?” You asked as you watched him stand by the end of the sofa. “It’s been… a rough day.”

“I’ve been better,” he said simply as he took another drink. “But I know I’ll feel better once you and I are speaking again.”

Your heart squeezed inside your chest as your eyes met, your cheeks flushing. “Right… I… I think we were both… frazzled… But I’m so sorry.”

Pain and Misery by The Teskey Brothers started to play over the stereo, filling the house with soothing R&B. It was one of your favorite songs in the whole entire world.

“I've been in love, honey, you know it's true… Was since that day I first laid my eyes on you…”

“Malen’kaya,” he said as he set the bottle on the coffee table, holding out his hand to you. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Could you forgive me for how I acted?”

“Love is a crazy game, baby… It's how I feel… It makes you oh, so high, but it takes so long to heal…”

You nodded after a long moment, slipping your hand into his and squeezing as he tugged you to your feet. “I can. I do,” you said, the wine making your head fill with bubbles.

“So, please, yeah, yeah… Won't you stay with me? 'Cause since you gone, it's all pain and misery. Honey, please, yeah, yeah… Won't you stay with me? 'Cause since you gone it's pain and misery…”

Something inside of you clicked back into place as he pulled you close to his chest, the two of you immediately starting to sway. Falling back into step with him was as easy as breathing, you were finding.

Perhaps even easier.

“Sometimes I curse that day of when you came along… I was happy but it's been pain now for so very long… Oh, I'm begging you, honey… Please, won't you stay? 'Cause I been so lonely since you gone away…”

“I don’t like not talking to you,” he said quietly, his lips pressing to your forehead. “Feels so wrong… Like I can’t breathe.”

Funny how you’d just had almost the same thought.

“Everyday is pain… In the end, it's hard to see… Every fateful day is oh, so sad, now that I've lost the best friend that I ever had…”

He was so warm, so comforting. Like a teddy bear.

“I don’t like not talking to you either,” you admitted as you nuzzled closer to him, breathing in the musky scent of his cologne. It was intoxicating. “Can we please never do it again?”

“Honey, please, won't you stay with me? 'Cause since you gone it's all pain and misery…”

He grinned against your forehead, his hand moving from your hip as he slid his arm around your waist to pull you even closer. “I think that can be arranged.”

“Honey, please, whoa please, won't you stay with me? 'Cause since you gone it's pain and misery…”

“Jamie…,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you tried to gather the words you wanted to say.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He asked, resting his head against yours.

“Hey, I'm begging you, honey… Whoa… I want you to love me… Yeah, I want you to love me… I need you so bad…”

“What does this mean?” You asked as the song ended and it shifted to another. “For us, I mean?” You were starting to panic, anxiety welling up in your chest and causing you to word vomit. “Because I can’t do this back and forth, I can’t. I won’t. I won’t survive it. I can’t keep pretending like we’re just friends and that the way you make me feel doesn’t make me… doesn’t make me…”

“Doesn’t make you what?” He asked quietly, not letting you move away from his secure embrace. “Please… Because I can’t keep acting as though you’re not my everything.” He held the back of your head, his fingers gently massaging your scalp. “Please… Please, tell me you love me. Because I…” He rested his forehead against yours, a tear rolling down his cheek. “The love I have for you has rewritten every piece of DNA in my body,” he said. “It’s in my blood, my bones… You are written in my heart, and I wouldn’t change it for the world. And…” He swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “And if you don’t love me the way I love you, that’s just fine. As long as I have you in my life… I’ll be whatever you need.”

“Jamie…,” you said with a weak laugh. You were openly crying, though you weren’t sure when you had started. “Oh, Jamie… Do you really think I could ever not love you?” Your nose nudged against his as you wrapped both of your arms around his neck. “If you don’t kiss me, we’re gonna have a fight.”

The smile that split open his face was blinding. The kiss he planted upon your lips was absolutely filthy. A mess of teeth and tongue and grins and giggles, a tangle of feelings pent up for so long that you were sure you’d never get them all out. You’d spend the rest of your life unraveling all the ways he made you feel, and you’d do it with a smile.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much,” you said as you pressed yourself against him. “I never wanna be without you ever again.”

“You never have to,” he breathed out as he nipped at your lower lip. Without further ado, he reached down and slipped his arm under your thighs. You let out a squeak as he scooped you up, carrying you bridal style up the stairs. “I’m gonna love you so good,” he said with a growl.

You almost hit your head on the door frame as he carried you into the guest bedroom you two were occupying, squealing as he tossed you onto the bed. “Jamie!”

“Yes, malen’kaya?” He asked as he shoved off his suit jacket, toeing off his dress shoes at the same time.

“Nothing,” you said, giggling as you started to strip down, too. “Nothing at all.”

When you two finally finished hours later, the wine had worn off, and he was asleep. You’d curled up on top of his chest, his cool vibranium hand resting on the small of your back, helping you cool off.

“Jamie?” You murmured, testing if he was asleep. When he grunted, you smiled, intertwining your fingers with his flesh hand. “I love you…”

“I love you more, baby.”

[imagines4thefandoms]

Bucky Jr.

so i was planning on writing a small one shot based off of “Ive been watching you” by Rodney Atkins but it grew into a 5K+ imagine.

Takes place during/after endgame so don’t read if you haven’t seen it but it you haven’t are you living under a rock? all of the details based on the movie were written based off memory so if the dialog is a bit off its because i haven’t seen the movie in a while. 

word count: 5k+ like i said i got carried away. 

Bucky Barnes x reader, Steve x platonic! reader

y/n found out she was pregnant three months after they lost to thanos i think you can imagine how this story goes based off the ending of the movie and the song i based this story off of. 

You honestly never thought that you could get Bucky  after you found out that Thanos destroyed the stones. You did everything you could to try and get him back: going to the sanctum to see if there was a spell, pray, hell you even thought you would try to sell your soul. You even looked into the multiverse theory but nothing worked. Three months after half the universe turned to dust you found out that you were pregnant. The thought of having the baby without Bucky there, hurt.  

Steve knew something was wrong when he hadn’t heard from you for a couple of days. He drove over to the house that you and Bucky had gotten.  The only people who knew about the house was you, Bucky and Steve. And because Steve was Steve, he had gotten a spare key, so when he pulled up to the house he just walked right in.  

Steve called out for you but you were too deep into your depression to hear him. You didn’t know that her was here til there was a knock on the bedroom door. You got out of bed so fast cause you thought that Bucky was back.

“Buck,” you asked opening the door.

Your smile fell when you saw that it was just Steve. You had forgotten that Steve knew about the house. Steve game you a soft smile because he knew how hard you were taking the loss. You left the door open and climbed back in into the bed. Steve walked over and sat by your feet.

“He’s not coming back is he,” you asked softly.

“I don’t think so,” he replied.

“I can’t do this without him Steve.”

“Do what?”

You reached into your night stand, grabbed the positive pregnancy test and handed it to Steve. He looked at the text then back at you.

“Did he know,” he asked placing the text on the nightstand.

“No. I didn’t know til last week. Steve I can’t do this alone.”

“(Y/n) you will not be doing it alone. I will be here for you,” he told you pulling the covers off. “Now come on. Time for you to get up.”

“No,” you said taking your pillow and covering your face with it.

“As godfather and favorite uncle it is my duty to get you to get out of bed.”

“Bold of you to assume you're the godfather,” you teased.

~five years later~

Ever since then Steve has been there for you every step go the way. He went to the doctor’s appointments, he helped you decorate the nursery, he even helped you pick the perfect name when you found out it was a boy: James Buchanan Barnes Jr.

Steve moved into the house, Bucky made sure that there was a spare room for Steve, to help you with the long nights after James was born. Every time he woke up to chance a dirty diaper, you would complain and tell him that you got it but he would reply with his same cheesy joke, “I’ve slept for 70 years.”

Steve was there for each step of James’ life. His first word: Steve, well it was te. His first steps, his first day of school. Steve even taught him how to ride a bike. He was like a dad to James, but he never took the role of dad. Every night before bed Steve would tell James stories of Bucky and growing up the two of you made sure that James knew about his father.

“Is daddy ever going to come back,” James asked Steve.

“I don’t think so,” Steve told James sadly.

“Mommy doesn’t talk about what happened to daddy. Can you tell me uncle te,” your son asked.

“Well you know how your parents and I are avengers?”

“Yea.”

“Well there was a bad guy that wanted to wipe out half the universe, so us and the rest of the avengers went to stop him. But we didn’t win so he wiped out half the universe and your daddy was one of those people who got wiped away.” Steve explained.

“Oh you mean the blip.”

“Yea.”

“I wish I met him,” James said pulling his covers up to his chin.

“Me too bud,” Steve tucking him in.

“Uncle te.”

“Yes buck,” Steve responded using the nick he called Buck. He only calls James that when you’re not around as to night hurt your feelings.

“Do you think daddy would like me?”

“I know your daddy would love you,” Steve assured him as he kissed if forehead.

James grabbed the photo of Bucky that you put of his nightstand and held it against his chest. Steve turned off the lights then left his room. Steve stopped when he saw you standing outside James’ room.

“He wanted to know,” he started to say ready to explain why he told James what he told him.

“He’s old enough to know. Im just glad you told him and not me. I would have broken down.”

Steve pulled you in to a hug. You pushed away from him and gave him a small smile letting him know that you appreciated the hug. Steve left to go to bed while you went to the living room and sat on the couch. You grabbed the photo book off the coffee table full of pictures of you and Bucky and just looked at them til you fell asleep.

The next morning you woke up from James pulling your eyelids open. Steve tried to stop him before he woke you up but he was a little too late.

“Sorry I tried to stop him,” Steve said handing you his coffee.

“But mommy had to wake up cause we are going to see Aunt Nat,” James said sitting down at the table eating his breakfast.

After finishing half the cup you got up and went to kiss James’ head. “Your right how silly of me to sleep.”

You finished the coffee and handed the empty up of Steve on your way to your room to get dressed. Going to your closet, you grabbed one of Bucky’s shirts and a pair of jeans. As soon as you finished getting ready for the day there was a little knock at the door.

“Mommy hurry up. I want to see Aunt Nat,”

You opened the door and ruffled his hair as you walked past him. “It that because she shows you all of the old weapons at the compound,” you asked as you grabbed the toast that Steve had made for you.

James stoped in his tracks and looked at you and Steve. “How did you know. It’s supposed to be a secret,” he asked.

“Thats because your mom knows everything,” Steve replied.

“Nu uh, Mommy what’s 12 x 12,” James asked crossing his hands over his chest and tilting his head a little.

“144,” you answered him.

James went over to Steve and held is hand out for Steve’s phone. He pulled it from his pocket and opened the calculator app. He checked your answer and looked up at you with shock and awe.

“Wow mommy does know everything,” he replied handing Steve back is phone.

After ten minutes and James running back to his room to grab his teddy bear Sarge, which he dressed to look like Bucky, the three of you left for the compound. While in the car, James wouldn’t sit still cause he was too excited to see Natasha.

“James, pleas stop kicking my seat,” You asked him.

“Im just too excited,” he replied using his hands to emphasize his statement. “Can we listen to the song?”

“What song it that buddy,” Steve asked looking to James in the rearview mirror.

“Mommy knows the song.”

Steve looked over at you from the driver seat and you smirked at him while grabbing your phone and finding the video. James quickly calmed down once he knew you were going to put the song on.

“Uncle te, you can sing it too,” He said hold Sarge tight in anticipation.

“I might not know the song,” Steve replied.

“Oh you know it,” you smirked.

The song started to play and James pretended to march in place while in his car seat.

Who’s strong and brave to save the American way

“Not all of use can storm a beach or drive a tank. But there is still a way for all of us can fight” James spoke.

Who vows to fight like a man for what’s right night and day

“Series E defense bonds, each one you buy is a bullet in the barrel of your best guy’s gun”

Who will complain door to door for America

Carry the flag shore to shore for America

From Hoboken to Spokane

The Star Spangled Man with a Plan

“How do you know that,” Steve asked James and you.

“Mommy found it. It’s my favorite,” James replied.

Steve looked over at you and just shook his head. You noticed how red his face was and you just turned it up a little. The entire ride James spoke Steve’s part. After the second go around James convinced Steve to do it with him.

You couldn’t tell who was more happy to see the compound James, to see Nat, or Steve, so you could stop playing his song. As soon as the car came to a stop James unbuckled and got out of the car. Natasha walked out of the compound and held her arms open for James.

“Aunt Nat,” James yelled running into her arms.

“Hey JJ.”

After they went inside you didn’t really see either til lunch time. And since you didn’t hear an explosion you didn’t worry. James was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while nat was talking with Carol, Okoye, Rocket, and Rhodey.

After everyone hung up nat teared up a little because of Clint and James noticed. He grabbed Sarge who was in the chair next to him and handed him to her. “Here Aunt Nat, Sarge makes me feel better when I am sad.” James then went back to eating his sandwich while Steve and Nat talked a little. Then you noticed that someone was at the gate.

“Is that Scott,” you asked.

“How old is that,” Steve asked.

“Its live.”

“James stay here,” you told him as the three of you ran to see if Scott was really back.

The four of you came back to the room and James just looked at confusion. Scott explained how he was here and his plan to get everyone back. You, Nat and Steve looked at each other while Scott sat next to James and ate Natasha’s peanut butter sandwich.

“Hi,” James said pushing a glass of milk to Scott.

“Hey,” Scott replied with a questioning look.

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes Jr.,” James introduced himself. “Wait are you Antman?”

“Yes I am.’

“You are so cool.”

“Thanks kid,” Scott thanked him and finished the sandwich. “I knew your dad.”

“Really, were you friends or did he try to beat you up when Hydra was hurting him?”

“Friends, well I helped him when he was in trouble,” Scott explained.

James nodded his head and thanked Scott for helping his dad, then continued to eat his sandwich. Scott finished his milk then walked over to you and motioned back to James.

“Cute kid.”

~time skip~

After the meeting with BruceHulk, you and Steve knew of the only person who might be able to help. James sat in the middle between you and Scott one the ride up to Tony’s cabin. The entire ride James and Scott were talking about Antman things. Once we got to the cabin James’ fascination with Scott disappeared. All he want to do was play with Morgan. He ran past Tony and gave Morgan a hug.

“Hi Morgan,” James said after their hug.

“James you came to play,” Morgan asked James nodded his head and they ran off to play.

“Hello to you too,” Tony called out to your son.

“Sorry. Hi uncle Tony,” James called out.

Steve, Nat, Scott and you talked to Tony and explained what the plan was. Tony didn’t agree with the plan and kept saying that it wouldn’t work. Morgan and James ran inside. Then Morgan ran back out to “save” Tony. He invited you to stay for lunch which you accepted and went in to see James helping pepper set up the table.

“Aunt pep, I need one more fork,” James said looking at the table counting the plates.

“Here,” she said holding one out for him.

He put the fork in its place and then ran to whisper something in Morgan’s ear. She agreed to whatever he said. They went into the kitchen and grabbed a towel and held it over their arms. James opened his mouth then closed it and went over to pepper. He tapped her leg and motioned for her to bend over so he could whisper in her ear. She whispered something back then came back to stand next to Morgan.

“Lunch will be ready in three minutes,” James said.

“Please wait to be seated,” Morgan stated.

They both came over to Steve and asked for his name. After he gave it name they check the “list” on Morgan’s hand and both nodded their heads.

“Right his way, Mr. Rodgers,” James said leading Steve to his seat.

They did this for everyone and then helped hand out the food to everyone. After lunch the kids played a little while longer but then it was time to leave. You had to figure out time travel without the help of Tony.

“Bye Morgan,” James said sadly.

“Bye James,” Morgan replied equally sad.

The entire time you guys where trying to perfect time travel James was standing next to Bruce wearing a lab coat that was too big and hold a clip board holding some of his drawings. You didn’t tell him why you guys were building a time machine because you didn’t want to get his hopes up.

After all the mishaps with Scott you walked over to James and asked for his scientific opinion on what you were doing wrong. He replied with ‘maybe the clock is broken’. Steve went outside for fresh air while you tried to help Bruce solve this. You were surprised when you saw Steve come back inside with not only his shield but also Tony.

“Let me guess, you were messing around and cracked time travel,” you asked throwing your hands in the air.

“Yes,” Tony said walking over to bruce.

“Wow, is that the shield,” James asked running over to Steve and ran his fingers on the vibranium disk. “Its beautiful.”

“Hold it,” Steve said handing it too James.

His eye lit up and he ran around pretending to be Captain America. After Tony explained how he cracked time travel the team split up to get more people to help with the mission. Tony got Rhodes, Nat got Clint, once rocket and Nebula got back to earth bruce and rocket went to get Thor. You called Pepper and asked her to watch James while you completed the mission and she agreed to so you and Steve brought him back to Tony’s cabin.

Once you pulled up you and Steve looked at each other and decided that now was the time to explain everything to him. Before he opened the door you told him that you needed to talk.

“Do you know why your staying with Morgan and aunt Pep for a couple hours,” you asked him.

“Cause you have a mission,” he asked.

“Yes but do you know what the mission is,” Steve asked him.

“No its top secret. Constitutional.”

“confidential,” you corrected him. “The mission is to bring back daddy and everyone who got blipped away,”

“Your going to save daddy,” James asked.

“Yes.”

“I want to help,” he exclaimed.

“I know you do bud but it's too dangerous. And we need you to be safe. Your dad would want you to be safe,” Steve stated to talk him down.

“Fine but you will call me right after.”

“Yes.”

“Ok, be safe and save daddy,” James said kissing you and Steve on the cheek before he got out of the car and ran too Morgan.  

Pepper waved to you to let you know everything would be okay then you and Steve drove back to the compound. Once you two got back, everyone was in a room talking about the stones and when the best time to get them was. It was decided that New York 2012 would be the best time to get the mind, space and time stone, 2013 Asgard would be the best time to get the reality stone, and 2014 Space would be the best time to get the soul and power stone. The teams were Steve, bruce, Tony and Scott would go to 2012, Thor and rocket would get the reality stone, nebula and Rhodes would get the power, while you Clint and Natasha would get the soul stone.

Everyone suited up and we all wished everyone good luck on their missions to receive the stones. You were standing next to Steve and the next thing you knew you where on an alien planet in the year 2014. Rhodes enlarged the Guardians’ ship and flew team soul stone to vormir. There was a long hike to where the stone was supposed to be. The three of you climbed to the top of the twin mountains and where greeted by the Red Skull. It threw you for a loop but decided to focus on getting Bucky back then the head of hydra at least for now. He explained how we were to get the stone and it was along the lines of soul for a soul. So the three of you sat there in defeat.

“There has to be another way,” you said looking between the two former assassins who where having a whole conversation without talking.

“We have to get that stone. What ever it takes,” Nat said and Clint repeated ‘whatever it takes’

They both stood up and then looked confused at each other. Then you realized what their plan was. Nat was going to sacrifice herself for the stone and Clint was going to do the same.

“No way. That is not happening,” you told them.

“Its the only way,” Nat said walking over to you. “Tell JJ I love them. And get everyone back.”

Nat gave you a hug and an electric shock surged through your whole body. The amount of electricity that you got hit with knocked you out and you didn’t wake up it after you go the stone. You woke up next to Clint in some lake.

“No,” you cried when you saw the stone in his hand and Nat no where to be found.

The two of you took a second to gather your emotions then pressed your belt and went back to 2023. You came back to the platform where left on and just dropped to your knees. Steve came over and checked you for any wounds.

“She’s gone,” you cried as you wrapped your arms around him.

Everyone gave Tony the stones so he could build the gauntlet while you went out to the lake. One by one everyone showed up too. There was a small argument over whether or not we gaunt get Nat back with the stones but you and Clint knew you couldn’t. Steve walked over to you and sat down.

“How am I going to tell James that she’s gone,” you asked him.

“You won’t have to do it alone cause we are going to get Buck back and then all three of us will go tell him,” Steve said rubbing your back.

Everyone went back inside to prepare to bring everyone back. Thor really wanted to be the one to snap everyone back but it was decided that Bruce would do it. In his works, “its mostly gamma radiation. I was made to do this.” He put the gauntlet on and snapped his fingers. The power of the stones sort of burned his arms and you ripped the gauntlet off of him while Tony tried to help with the burns.

You couldn’t really tell that it worked but you heard birds. Lots of them. Then a phone started to ring and by the look on Clint’s face you were guessing it was his wife calling and so it worked. You looked at Steve and were about to tell him it worked when the whole compound blew up. The force knocked you out a bit and you woke up later next to Clint. You saw the gauntlet laying a couple feet away so you grabbed it cause there was no was a friend blew you up.

And you were right it turned out to be Thanos from 2014 because the nebula that came back want your nice nebula. You were trying to get out from all the rubble when you heard Steves painful groans. Of course Steve was facing the titan by himself. Once you could breath fresh air you looked out at the wasteland that was once the compound. You saw Steve get up and take a stand against Thanos alone. You were about to run to his side when you heard a faint voice on the comms.

“On your left,” you heard Sam say.

You never thought hearing Sam Wilson’s voice you make you cry but it did. Because if he was back so was Bucky. All around golden circles of sparks emerged and dozens of people stepped out. You made your way to take a stand against Thanos and out the corner of your eye you saw him. You fought the urge to run to him and never let him go. That could wait.

Thanos’s creepy alien army charged at us and we charged at them. You killed a bunch of the dog thingy and eventually found yourself next to Bucky. During a small window of peace you turned to him and jumped in his arms.

“Hey doll,” he said holding you tight.

“God I missed you Buck,” you cried.

“Sorry I was gone so long,” he replied pushing you back and pressing his lips firmly against yours. “You look gorgeous by the way.”

“There is something I really need to tell you Bucky.”

He pulled you close to him and then shot at some aliens behind you. “We are kinda in the middle of a war here doll. Tell me after we win.” He ran off to kill more aliens and you did the same. You were taking a hit but over the comms you heard a plan. To get the stones back before Thanos could use them again. So during the fight there was a game of Hot potato that was being played with the gauntlet. It work for a while but eventually Thanos got the stone. It happened so quickly. He was about to snap his fingers when Tony jumped on him. Thanos threw in aside then snapped his fingers. You closed your eyes to prepare for another loss but nothing happened. Then you looked over at Tony and saw that he had the stones. He snapped his finger and Thanos and the other aliens turned to dust.

You ran over to bucky and jumped in his arms again to celebrate the win but stopped when you noticed that Tony wasn’t getting up. Pepper and Peter when over to him. It didn’t look good. You noticed pepper crying and you knew that he didn’t make it. Everyone took a knee to honor him. The Steve, Thor, and Dr. Strange walked over and helped cover his body and retrieve the stones.  You cried into Bucky’s then thought of James. Once Tony’s body was covered and the stones were safely put in a briefcase. You let go on Bucky and ran to Steve.

“James,” you cried.

Pepper walked over to you and you gave her a hug. She told you how Happy was with the kids. You felt bad for only thinking of James while your friend just died. Pepper looked at you and shook her head like she knew what you were thinking.

“Lets go,” Pepper said and you walked over to strange and asked him to do his portal to the cabin.

Bucky was right behind you completely confused on what you were doing. You looked at him and just smiled as you grabbed Steves hand then his and walked the the portal after Pepper. She ran inside but the three of you stayed outside.

“Bucky that thing I wanted to tell you,” you told him.

“I get it doll. Five years is a long time and you didn’t think I would come back,” he said looking at how you were still holding Steve’s hand.

You followed to where he was looking and stepped away from Steve. “No its not that,” you started to explain but were interpreted by James running out of the Cabin.

“Mommy,” he cried running to you. “Uncle Tony.”

“I know,” you dropped to your knees and hugged him.

You didn’t let go til he look over at Steve and he ran out of your arms into his. “Your okay,” James cried.

“Yes buddy. Just a little come cuts but I will be okay,” Steve replied.

You got up and looked over at Bucky was you could tell what he was thinking by the look in his eye. You went to go tell him he was wrong but heard James from behind you.

“You did it. Thats him right,” you son said wiping his tears away.

“Yea. Thats him,” Steve informed him.

James walked over to Bucky and just looked up at him. Bucky knelt down to meet the boy who he thought was yours and Steve’s kid.

“Hey,” Bucky said.

“Hi,” James replied looking at Buck’s face. “You’re taller than I imagined.”

“Yea,” Buck laughed. “Whats your name?”

“James Buchanan Barnes Jr. and this is Sarge,” James said showing Bucky his teddy.

Bucky looked at James then at you. “I thought…”

“You well you were never the sharpest tool,” you cut him off.

“Im glad I get to meet you dad,” James said wrapping his arms around Bucky.

“Me too.”

~time skip~

It has been a couple weeks since Tony and Nat’s funeral and James was taking Nat’s death better than you expected. You were pretty sure he was to busy getting to know Bucky to let her death get to him and you weren’t complaining.

“What happened to your arm. Mommy and uncle Te never told me that story,” James said poking Bucky’s metal arm.

“I lost it when I fell off a train,” Bucky explained.

“That was back in World War 2. How are you still alive? Did you crash a plane into water like uncle te?”

“No but I was frozen like him for a while.”

“When you were getting hurt by hydra.”

“Yes but now I'm all better.”

“Cool will you feel it if I punch your metal arm?”

“No.”

“Awesome. I want a metal arm.”

“Maybe for Christmas,” you replied laughing.

Steve came into the living room from the kitchen with drinks. James yelled something about doing something important and ran out of the room. The three of you sat in the living room and caught up. You told Bucky everything about James and Steve told y’all about his trip to return the stones. James came back into the living room ten minutes later with a huge smile on his face.

“What did you do,” you asked him.

“Nothing,” he replied.

Steve and Bucky looked at each other and just laughed. They mentioned how much James was like Bucky when he was a kid.

“Mommy can i’m hungry,” James told you as he sat next to Bucky.

You got up to go make his something to eat when you noticed black paint on the floor. You looked over at James and saw that his left hand was black with gold lines.

“James what did you do? And please tell me it comes off,” you asked.

James got up and took off his jacket to reveal that he painted his left arm black and gold to match Bucky’s

“Now I really match daddy, see. Same name and same arm,” he replied showing off the slightly wet arm.

You opened you mouth to yell about how there is paint on your floors and probably on the stairs too and how he ruined his clothes and possible the couch with the paint but just closed your mouth and shook your head.

“Now that you are back this is your problem,” you said walking into the kitchen to feet Bucky Jr.

“Did I do something wrong,” James asked looked between Bucky and Steve.

“No buddy, you just made a mess with the paint,” Bucky said pointing to the black paint on the floor.

“Oops,” He replied.

After eating and cleaning the paint, life started to normal. Steve staying til he found an apartment close by which James couldn’t understand why he was leaving. After Steve told him that he could come over and have guy night he decided that Steve could move out. And with Bucky back James basically pushed you aside and preferred his dad. Everything Bucky did James did. Everything Bucky ate James ate, even vegetables.

“James, I have been trying to get you to eat your vegetables for ever and now that your dad is here you love vegetables,” you asked when you saw him finish his carrots.

“No vegetables are gross but I want to be just like daddy and daddy eats vegetables,” he replied making a face over how gross he thought carrots where.

After he got in trouble for painting his arm James decided to do the next best thing and waste all the foil in the house to wrap is arm. You even caught his pretending to be Bucky while he was playing in the back yard.

“What,” Bucky said wrapping his arms around you are you watched James play.

“Red Skull I am the winter soldier and I am here to put an end to you and the rest of hydra,” James said pointing his toy gun and sarge who was wearing a red hat.

“He idolizes you,” you said resting your head against Buck’s shoulder.

“Jealous,” he asked kissing your neck.

“No just annoyed that he is a mini you.”

“Daddy come play,” James called.

Bucky walked outside and pulled you with him. James explain how Bucky would be on his team.

“We are stopping Sarge, he’s the red skull. And im you so you can be… Uncle Te.”

“What about me,” Steve asked waking into the back yard.

“You can be a bad guy with mommy cause she needs a partner,” James said placing Sarge’s red hat on you.

“Why am I the red skull,” you asked slightly offended.

“Cause you get mad a lot and look like him,” James stated like it was a known fact.

Bucky and Steve started laughing while you took the hat off and changed James around to get back at him.

“Daddy, mommy is crazy help me,” James yelled at the top of his lungs which caused Bucky and Steve to laugh more.

Bucky was too busy laughing so James stopped running and took of his jacket to reveal his foil arm and held it out.

“I am Sargent James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th infantry of the US army and I order you to stop chasing me,” he said and crossed his arms.

You stopped and just took in your son’s appearance. “Mommy you look really pretty,” James said with the same smirk Bucky gives you when he is trying to apologize or get himself out of trouble. Yea James was defiantly Bucky Jr.

[someonestolemyshoes]

Off the Record

Hello!! I am super excited to finally post my entry for @levihan-drabbles competition :D The prompt was super interesting and I had a tonne of fun writing this one! 

The prompt I received was: Hange posts a picture of Levi somewhere and it becomes a meme.

(For those curious, this is the meme I used for inspiration) 

Hange pushed her plate across the table and grinned at him. "Levi! Fancy seeing you here! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Levi's lip curled.

"You know what," he said. Hange braced her elbows on the table and rested her chin atop her knotted fingers.

"Enlighten me."

Colour rose in Levi's cheeks. For a moment, Hange felt a little guilty. For all Levi's grumbling and grunting, Hange had never seen him angry before.

"That bullshit article."

"Ah. Was there a problem?"

Hange met Moblit in a small cafe a little way down the road from the newsroom. She was in good spirits—her morning had been productive; she'd made steady headway with research for her next interview, finished the final edits for a few smaller tabloid pieces she'd been meaning to brush up, attended three short, perfunctory meetings on tedious company policy, and laid the groundwork for another exciting interview opportunity.  

She felt good. And now she had the pleasurable prospect of a hearty lunch, a passable cup of coffee, and perhaps best of all, Moblit's company. His company, and his camera.

Hange threw herself into the seat opposite Moblit the moment she spotted him, hunched over his laptop in a corner of the cafe. He lifted his coffee cup just in time for Hange to clatter against the table, the thin metal frame rattling precariously. She offered him a sheepish grin.

"Sorry," she said, and then, "got anything exciting?"

"I don't know about exciting. Interesting, maybe, but no breaking news."

Hange flagged down a passing waitress with one hand, and waved Moblit off with the other. "Doesn't matter, doesn't matter," she said, then paused to order a drink and her favourite sandwich. "Tell me anyway."

"I got a tip-off from a waiter at Sina's."

Hange's eyes sparkled behind her glasses. She sat forward in her chair, folding her arms on the table top as she leaned closer. "Who?"

"Take a guess."

Hange grinned at him. Moblit was not one to play coy; he did his job and did it well, and reported his findings efficiently. To leave her to question it meant one of two things; he had photographed someone very high profile indeed, or it was somebody Hange was, for better or for worse, well acquainted with.

Or perhaps, if she were lucky, it was both.

"Let me see him, then."

**

Hange had taken far too much time in the cafe with Moblit. He had given her a rundown of all the details he'd gathered during his field work that morning, and shown her through his extensive photo gallery. It was impressive, the kind of archive Moblit could cultivate with only a 45 minute breakfast window.

Hange had been delighted. Moblit was right; it wasn't breaking news, nothing particularly thrilling, but there was a corner of the Internet, Hange knew, that would delight in a trashy little article just like this. Something quick and simple to bulk up the social media feed for the afternoon.

Plus, there was a series of pictures Moblit had snapped, a cluster he'd thought to be of no real merit, that Hange simply could not pass up.

She could lay down no facts with a story like this one. There was no hard-hitting investigative journalism to be had, but she could at least offer some speculation based on her knowledge of the subjects involved, and spin a tale juicy enough to get people talking.

It took little time at all to put the article together. Hange scribbled up an outline for the contents—the location; Sina's in downtown Hizuru, a luxurious restaurant serving five star meals at every hour of the day. High in quality, sickeningly steep in price. The time of day; 9am. To the best of Hange's knowledge, this was rather out of character for the subject. He was an early riser, but according to their interview last March pending the premiere of his newest movie, he wasn't the type to eat much at all before lunch time.

And then, the company. Eren Yeager was a relatively well-known actor, barely an adult at nineteen. He starred in his first role a decade earlier, and had seen commercial success in multiple movies and TV shows ever since. He had been something of a prodigy in his younger years, bold and precocious, possessing a natural talent many actors years his senior couldn't even hope for. As Hange understood it, he had recently hit a rather troublesome phase. An interesting line of inquiry, but despite his talent and his fame, Eren's presence was simply a cameo, compared to the subject of the article Hange was drawing up.

Levi Ackerman.

Levi is a fan favourite and a media delight. He's attractive no doubt, and his performance in any and every role is almost always met with critical acclaim. Outside of his career, however, he's an elusive thing, silent in any matters pertaining to his private life. He avoids any public event like the plague, and rarely shows his face at premieres or award ceremonies if he can possibly avoid it. He gives interviews only when required by some contractual obligation or other, or else when the journalist in question is so painfully persistent that it is simply easier to give in than to keep fighting.

Little of his personal life is known, but it is impossible for someone in Levi's position to avoid interacting with anybody at all, and even the great Levi Ackerman is not above scrutiny.

There are rumours. Several of them, accounts from fellow cast members, from staff, from directors, and even Erwin, his manager, has alluded more than once to Levi's sour disposition. He is prone, Hange has heard, to fits of anger, and is easily disgruntled by minor inconveniences. His dislike of anything unclean or untidy is the stuff of legends—Hange has seen this first hand, at their very first interview. He had entered the room, scowled at the chair before sitting in it, and given Hange a thorough once over before announcing, with no hint of humour, "your glasses are filthy."

Hange had found him both fascinating and quite delightful, in his own strange way. When he acts, Levi sounds eloquent; he is a master of emotive performance, wringing the last drops of anger, despair, or grief out of each and every word, or else injecting the perfect giddy jitter, or a tremor of humour when the scene called for it. As soon as the cameras stop rolling, though, Levi's tone becomes flat, and without a script, his words are clumsy and crass. He communicates poorly, quick to throw insults and crude remarks. Hange has interviewed him a number of times—she counts herself very lucky that Levi will consent to her requests without too much fuss, these days—and each time she finds herself spending half of their time together translating his answers into something a) family friendly, and b) understandable to the everyday reader.

There is nothing for Hange to translate this time. Moblit managed to speak to the waiter after Levi and Eren had vacated in hopes of gleaning any small tidbit of knowledge regarding their conversation, but the venture had been hopeless. The pair had grown silent upon the approach of any staff member, and spoke in tones too hushed for anyone nearby to hear. They learned nothing they couldn't extrapolate for themselves from Moblit's pictures; Eren looked sheepish, avoiding Levi's gaze in favour of staring into his drink, while Levi—

Levi looked furious.

Every picture featured his signature frown, which, in and of itself wasn't enough to assume Levi to be in any mood besides neutral, but some of the photos show a hint of bared teeth or pursed lips, with his brows pulled lower than normal, the space between them deeply creased. Hange found herself curious as both a journalist and as an acquaintance. They may not be friends, but Hange liked to think she knew Levi a little better than most people, at least. She could find nothing in their past interactions to suggest any relationship with Eren beyond the strictly professional. They had over a decade between them, and though they had worked together on more than one set, neither party had ever said anything to insinuate so much as a friendly attitude between them.

There was no resolution to her queries to be easily found. And luckily for Hange, this particular piece didn't require any. It was a gossip article, something spicy, jam-packed with buzzwords, what-if's and more questions than answers, designed to make people wonder. Levi's name in the title would be enough to draw people in; Eren's name was an added bonus. But the star of the show was Moblit's photography. Hange arranged the images she had chosen in a grid. In context, the pictures were intriguing, depicting a particularly ferocious part of Levi and Eren's exchange. Out of context, they looked a little ridiculous. Both would bring readers onto their home page.

Satisfied with her work, Hange queued the finished article for review, and turned her attention back to her schedule.

**

The article launched mid-afternoon. Hange watched, somewhat satisfied, as it was received much as she had expected it to be. The activity on their Twitter account skyrocketed, the tweet in question garnering more likes, retweets and replies in the hour after it's post than any other they’d dropped in the last month.

Hange had allowed it to slip from her mind after the first hour or so. She received praise from her bosses, and a text from Moblit, jokingly demanding she pay him even more handsomely for his work than she already had, and her cousin had called her in the evening on a quest for insider gossip she could share with her friends, but that had been the end of it. Hange thought of it no more until early the following morning, when she had stopped by the quiet little cafe beneath her flat for breakfast and her favourite coffee.

She had been polishing off her pancakes when the bell above the door chimed. She had paid little attention to the newcomer, until a shadow passed over her table, and a familiar voice said, "Oi, shitty glasses."

Hange looked up to see Levi Ackerman himself standing over her, his face twisted in a scowl.

There are perks of being reasonably acquainted with Levi. Hange always gets to conduct his interviews, and Levi only ever turns her down if her request is unreasonable. Like that time she demanded he meet her at this very coffee shop for "just a quick piece, about the cameo you did for the new season of Titans", only to show him she'd bought a new pair of glasses—"look, all clean!"—and, when pressed, admitted there was no interview at all. He had been far more hesitant to indulge her in smaller affairs after that, but Hange was still lucky enough to be his only regular interviewer after big releases.

More interviews means more commission for Hange, and more high profile work with other celebrities. Yes, being acquainted with Levi has its bonuses.

But it also has its downsides. Namely, that Levi will not hesitate to turn up at her regular coffee shop to berate her after she has posted some complete and utter wank at his expense.

Hange pushed her plate across the table and grinned at him. "Levi! Fancy seeing you here! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Levi's lip curled.

"You know what," he said. Hange braced her elbows on the table and rested her chin atop her knotted fingers.

"Enlighten me."

Colour rose in Levi's cheeks. For a moment, Hange felt a little guilty. For all Levi's grumbling and grunting, Hange had never seen him angry before.

"That bullshit article."

"Ah. Was there a problem?"

"You're a piece of shit, you know that?"

Hange sat back in her chair and sipped at her coffee. Levi's face was full colour now, a pale pink flush from his neck right up to his hairline. Hange gave him a measured look, then kicked out the chair opposite her.

"Sit," she said. "If you have issues, I'd be happy to discuss."

Levi looked for a moment like he'd like nothing more than to strangle her. Then he pulled out the chair the rest of the way, and dropped himself into it.

"I don't give a fuck about the article," he said. "It's shitty gossip anyway."

Hange raised a brow at him. She opened her mouth to continue when, without prompt, a young waitress approached their table, practically bouncing on the spot as she stopped and gave Levi a dazzling smile. Her cheeks were flushed prettily, and Hange would have thought she were simply starstruck, if it weren't for the light of mirth in her eyes.

"Good morning, sir. Can I get you anything?" She gave Levi no chance to respond, before plowing on. "Water? Or tea, perhaps? Forgive me, but you seem a little upset. Might a nice tea calm you down?"

Levi grit his teeth. "No, thank you."

Hange almost apologised to the poor waitress on his behalf, but she didn't look bothered at all by his rudeness. In fact, she had barely turned from the table before she snorted in laughter, and caught her giggles in her hands as she scurried back behind the counter. A second passed, before all three waitresses snickered.

"That," Levi hissed, "is your fault."

Now Hange truly was confused. She furrowed her brow at him. "How does that have anything to do with me?"

"You and your stupid article," he said. Hange looked back to the waitress, who looked to their table again before falling into a fresh fit of giggles. Hange turned back to Levi, a little sympathetic.

"I think she just fancies you."

"You're trying to tell me you really don't know the mess you've caused?"

Hange shook her head slowly. Levi watched her closely, searching for proof of the lie, but Hange's earnestness must have shown through, for Levi's anger abated a little, and he slumped back on his chair.  

In lieu of a verbal explanation, Levi pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen a few times, typed something out, and scrolled a little way, before placing the phone on the table and sliding it towards her. Hange pulled it closer with a frown.

The screen displayed Twitter, and showed the feed beneath the search for Levi's name. Hange scrolled a few posts, eyes widening little by little as she went.

Levi was right. The contents of the article were of little significance at all. The photo grid, however, had gone viral overnight.

It showed four pictures of Levi and Eren, taken in succession. Each one showed only a portion of the back of Eren's head, but Levi's expression in every frame was more animated than Hange had ever seen him outside of his movie scenes, and each was more distraught than the last. Face tight, jaw clenched, teeth bared, with his finger pointed condescendingly in Eren's face. The second last picture shows his brows arched and his lips pressed into a thin line, and the final one—

Hange had laughed at it in isolation when Moblit had shown her. She had fully expected it to garner a few laughs, but she hadn't expected a photograph of Levi furiously slurping his tea to become a meme in less than 24 hours.  

"I see," Hange said, as she calmly slid the phone back to him. "In my defense, you don't help yourself. It wouldn't be half as funny if you didn't hold your tea cup so weird."

"In my defense," Levi snapped, "If you didn't post it online nobody would have anything to laugh at."

Hange crossed her arms on the table and leaned towards him, smiling pleasantly. "In your defense, you wouldn't have been so angry in public if it weren't for whatever Eren had to say. What was that about, by the way? I'm terribly curious."

Hange expected a very Levi response to her prying; a scowl, perhaps a quick kick under the table, an 'It's none of your damn business, four-eyes', if she were lucky.

What she got instead was a haughty sniff, and a gruff, "He's fucking my cousin."

For a moment, they were silent. Either Levi's anger at his new meme status had temporarily disabled the part of his brain that blocked any mention of his private life from slipping past his lips in the wrong company, or something about Eren's indiscretion had rattled him so much, he couldn't keep silent about it. Either way, he looked increasingly surprised—and horrified—at himself for saying it out loud. Hange's eyes were wide, and Levi's were growing wider by the second. Of all the people to slip up to, he had slipped up to her. An entertainment journalist, the one person in his life who thrived on this kind of insider knowledge.

Hange swallowed. Levi was still staring at her like a deer in headlights, no doubt painfully aware that there was no taking back what he had said now.

Hange doesn't take a great deal of pride in what she does. She feels satisfied when her stories receive the reception she'd predicted, validated in her ability to analyse their consumer base and make accurate assumptions about what will hit and what won't, but the work itself feels dirty, at times. An opportunistic scavenger feeding on whatever carrion they can find, no matter how rotten it may be.

This is a perfect opportunity. Salacious details of Levi's interpersonal relationships, right from the horse's mouth. If it were anyone else, Hange would be scribbling every word verbatim in her notebook.

But this is Levi. Levi, who seems jarred by her last article (though Hange will maintain this, at least, is no real fault of her journalism, and also, absolutely hilarious) and was clearly, for whatever reason, incensed by Eren's actions.

Hange brushed her palms over her thighs, and picked a speck of lint from her trousers.

"This is nice, isn't it?" She said, "having breakfast together. We should do it more often. It feels good to just talk, sometimes. Off the record."  

Levi blinked rapidly at her. He opened his mouth, but, still too shocked by his own loose tongue to speak, he said nothing. Hange pulled her phone from her bag and fiddled around with it some, tapping here and there, until she found what she was looking for. She turned it to Levi, and said, "I think this is my favourite edit so far."

Levi finally pulled his gaze from her, and looked down at the screen. It was truly something, the way the picture snapped him out of his stunned silence. Hange had never seen someone's face pinch up so rapidly.

"Come on, it's kinda funny. And look! That's Tony Stark, right? People are so creative. And maybe, if we're really lucky, Buzzfeed will do a compilation article of all the best ways people have used your new meme."  

Levi rolled his eyes at her. It looked strange, with his face so tightly twisted. Hange chuckled at him.

She nudged his ankle beneath the table with the toe of her shoe. "Lighten up, you look constipated."

"Oi, out of the two of us I'm not the one who's full of—"

"—Full of shit, I know, I know. That honour is all mine."

They lapsed into another silence, this one marginally more comfortable than the last. Hange finished the last of her coffee and checked her emails, while Levi tortured himself some more by scrolling through his Twitter feed. After a short while, he spoke again.

"That...doesn't sound bad," he said.

"Hm?"

"What you said about talking more. Off the record. It doesn't sound bad."

It was Hange's turn to flush. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she occupied herself by rifling through her bag in search of nothing.

"Yeah?" Her voice, an octave higher than usual, cracked around the vowels. She cleared her throat, "will you have more gossip for me? It's almost painful that I can't share it, you know."

"Good. I'll share as many secrets as I've got, if it'll bother you that much."

"Sounds terrible," Hange said. She tore a clean corner off her napkin and scribbled her personal number onto it. She slid it over the table to him. "Text me."

Levi pulled a face at the piece of napkin. "Is that used? Gross, shitty four-eyes." He pocketed it anyway.

Hange didn't know what else to say. Levi didn't seem to either, and so he stood, and tucked his chair back in. Hange turned her eyes down to her empty plate. Her stomach and chest felt strange, almost sickly, but in an oddly pleasant way.

Levi rapped his knuckles on the table. Hange jumped, startled, and looked up at the sound.

"This part is on the record," he said. The corner of Levi's mouth quirked into a small, barely there grin. "I heard from a reliable source that Eren was so scared on the set of Last War that he pissed his pants. Twice."

[nanasparadise]

Can you do (aged up of course), Yandere Narancia x reader. [p.s can it include any of these prompts? “ Stop denying our love! Stop denying our future together!! ”, “ Please don’t cry. Show me the smile I love so much! ”, “ You can’t escape my love.”,” You will grow to love me back, I just know it!“] Thx so much <3

“You can’t escape my love”

“You will grow back to love me, I just know it.”

Hiya anon! I hope you enjoy it! <3 

Summary: Your boyfriend doesn’t understand the concept of boundaries and keeps harassing you, until he stands in front of your apartment’s door...

TW: cyber harassment, implied stalking, gaslighting, mentions of a panic attack, toxic relationship, noncon touching, curse words, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI

I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

Narancia has been aged up, no minor content on my blog!

Word count: 2155

“No escape” Yan! Narancia x gender-neutral reader 

 Bling. Another one of… how many messages again? You have stopped counting a while ago. An exasperated sigh escapes your lips, wondering why you haven’t turned off the volume yet. Why is he so unrelenting? Annoyed, you take your phone in your hand, staring at the twenty-five texts Narancia has left for you. At first, they have started off innocently, asking you about your well-being and your day. But as time has passed, the messages have begun becoming more invasive and have ended up being straight-up creepy. 

“Why aren’t you answering me, did I do something wrong?” 

“Stop being so stubborn, I know you want to be with me, too!” 

“I’m always near you, you’re aware of that, right? You can’t escape my love.”

 An icy shudder travels down your spine while reading the last two sentences. Fear clenches around your heart, making your chest feel heavy, your breaths short and laboured. 

“’’Try out this dating app!’ they said, ‘It will be fun!’ I see where this fun has lead me to”, you think gloomily. Why on earth did you ever sign up to that damned app and had to match with Narancia? You curse yourself, curse your naivety for having expected to encounter there a nice and healthy relationship.

The only thing that has waited for you is an obsessive stalker you can’t get rid of. Of course you didn’t realise Narancia’s disturbing nature at the beginning. No, you thought of him as sweet and energetic, although a bit tiring. Your first dates were pleasant: you went to a fair, sharing candyfloss and laughter between you, to a restaurant, where the Italian nearly choked on his pasta out of excitement, to a spring picnic at the local park, bathing in the gentle sunlight. It all seemed so beautiful to you back then, so innocent. But quickly, things have changed. 

Narancia has become increasingly clingy to you until it started feeling as if he was glued onto your hip. Oh, you want to go grocery shopping? He’ll come with you and help you carry your bags! You’re planning on visiting your family on the weekend? He’ll join you, he has been dying to meet them anyway! 

Setting boundaries with him was extremely challenging. Every time you hinted that you’d rather like to spend some time alone, he nearly threw a fit, taking your words out of context and twisting them around. 

“So you want to toss me away? You don’t think I’m important to you?”, he shouted at you, tears of anger forming in his eyes. Back then, you didn’t notice his gaslighting methods, felt guilty for prioritising yourself. But now, you don’t want to hold yourself back anymore. There isn’t any reason for you to justify yourself, especially not to someone who clearly has no right to intervene in your life like this. Your gaze travels back to your phone. All these messages, these implications, are proof enough of his unhealthy attachment to you. Hell, he even admitted following you! No matter how much you enjoyed your time together, you can’t let Narancia continue with his creepy behaviour.

Quickly, you type a text, telling the Italian that if he goes on invading your privacy, you’ll block him. For a few minutes, sweet silence dominates your living room. 

“Maybe he finally got it”, you muse hopefully. 

Bling. There goes your hope. 

“Are you messing with me? Why would you write that?! Please, stop with these jokes, we can talk about this!” Another sigh comes out of your mouth. 

“No Narancia, we actually can’t. That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell the whole time, but it seems you don’t understand. I’m sorry, but I’m gonna block you for now, otherwise I’ll go insane.” 

With these final words, you block his number. Relief washes over you as you realise that the Italian can’t harass you anymore. 

“It‘s kind of sad how things have turned out”, you mumble to yourself. Though you do feel some regret – after all, the two of you had shared many beautiful moments together – you abruptly stop your pondering. “No use to cry over spoiled milk, Y/N. If he keeps treating you like this, it’s best to get away from him.”

Little did you know that Narancia isn’t letting you go that easily. The following days, he kept reaching out to you towards multiple phone numbers. Every time you blocked it, a new one popped up. At this point, you’ve simply stopped using your phone altogether, only relying on the device if it’s inevitable. In those cases, you’re helplessly exposed to the unnerving messages of the young man. The latest one keeps haunting your mind, initiating your anxiety. 

“I’ve been really patient with you, Y/N, but this little game is making me lose my temper. I’ll be seeing you tonight and then we settle things straight. You will grow back to love me, we’ll make up again, I just know it.” 

Nervously, you eye the nearest clock in your flat. 8 p.m. What does Narancia consider ‘tonight’? Will he even come? Are you able to face him right now? 

“Oh god, I need to go”, you whisper desperately, nausea manifesting itself in your stomach. You could crash at your friend’s place, you’re sure they’d understand your situation. Quickly, you gather all your important belongings, ready to flee, as a loud knocking on your front door followed by an all too familiar voice interrupts your escape. 

“Hey Y/N, could you open the door for me, please?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You mutter an incoherent string of curses. Petrified, you just keep staring at the door, not daring move a single muscle in your body. 

“If you don’t open the door yourself, I’ll just break it in, you know?”, Narancia shouts on the other side. The casualness of his tone scares you even more. 

“How can he just be so blasé by his behaviour? Doesn’t he notice how wrong his actions are?” Actually fearing the Italian might damage your property, you accept your defeat and slowly walk up to the front door. Hesitantly, with shaking hands, you unlock it and pull the handle down. Nervousness creeps up on you, making your palms grow sweaty and your heart palpitating erratically. Soon – too soon for your liking – you meet a pair of familiar purple eyes. To your surprise, Narancia smiles upon seeing your face. 

“Hi babe,” he greets you, carefree, “I’m so glad you opened the door for me! You have no clue how much I’ve missed you!” Without even waiting for you to invite him in – which you definitely wouldn’t have done – the young man marches into your flat, invading your privacy even further. Suddenly, two arms wrap around your middle and pull you close to the young man’s chest. Your breathing falters at the abrupt touch. “It’s alright, it’s only me, Y/N”, Narancia tries to comfort you. If only he knew that his presence currently gives you anything but comfort…

A few moments later, you find yourself sitting on your couch next to him. Narancia flashes you a seemingly reassuring grin all while you keep fiddling with the sleeves your shirt. You blankly stare at the floor in front of you. Even though Narancia’s behaviour is conveying sympathy, you couldn’t get rid of the intuitive feeling that this is all but a façade to lull you into a false sense of security. Who knows what he could do to you? Despite his overall sweet and fun nature, the young man doesn’t shy away from using violence if you test his – admittedly little – patience. His numerous messages flash up in your mind again. You’re painfully aware now how he made it clear that you’ve clearly missed your opportunities of being in his good graces. This realisation pushes you nearly over the edge, being on the brink of a panic attack. Would Narancia really hurt you? 

“Look Y/N,” the sound of his voice interrupts your train of thought. A little startled, you immediately straighten your back and glance at his form next to you. The young man’s hand finds its way to yours, stopping your fumbling by securely grasping it. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, but what’s wrong? Why did you just ignore me like that?”, Narancia asks you. You don’t miss the hint of annoyance in his voice, indicating his true feelings. Though anxiety still has a hold on you, you try your best to fight against it and tell him the truth. After all, it’s not like you could escape this situation anyway. So you take a deep breath in and out again, before you spill your following words. 

“Well, I know you’re more of a clingy person Narancia, but what you’re doing is unhealthy. You can’t expect me to give you my full attention all the time. And you definitely can’t follow me around! It’s just creepy and wrong. You know that’s considered stalking, right?”

The Italian stares back at you incredulously. You wonder what’s going on in his head right now. 

“You gave me no other choice, Y/N! How am I supposed to see if you’re doing alright if you deny me like this? You really think me worrying about you makes me some deranged criminal?”, Narancia barks angrily back at you. The grip on your hand tightens. Listening to your previous gut feeling, you immediately retrieve your hand from his all while scooting away from him to gain more space between you. The dark-haired man’s jaw visibly clenches at your action, disapproval glistening in his eyes. Of course he would use his gaslighting tactics on you, he always does when things don’t go his way. Cautiously, you think for a while of what to say, not wanting to trigger Narancia’s wrath any further. 

“It’s not the fact you worry about me, it’s the way you choose to show your concern. Narancia, it’s not okay what you’re doing, you’re actually making me feel very uncomfortable, even right now. Plus, you’re blaming me for your behaviour, which is, again, not acceptable”, You carefully reply, hoping to talk some sense into him.

He makes you uncomfortable? Narancia can’t comprehend your words at all. He’d been worrying himself sick the last few days, trying to reach out to you as best as possible while you cruelly kept on ignoring his countless messages. But he is supposed to be the bad guy now? The Italian scoffs intensely at that thought. He can feel the anger gnawing at his guts, ready to be released. 

“You’re being ridiculous, Y/N,” Narancia reprimands you, “can’t I show you anymore that I care? That I love you? Even after you’ve blocked and ignored me? What do you expect me to do now, to just let you go?” 

“Actually, I do,” you peep quietly, “I can’t continue with this madness. If you don’t want to understand and listen to me, then it’s best for you to go. Now.” Your voice grows stronger with every word you utter, finally regaining your confidence. Meanwhile, Narancia’s heart sinks to his stomach at your statement. Do you really want to leave him? 

“No, no no no Y/N, you don’t mean this, right? You wanna stay with me, don’t you?” 

“No, I really don’t think I do, not after you’ve shown me your true colours.” 

With a force you don’t expect, Narancia pulls you suddenly against his chest again. His arms cage you in, leaving no room for you to move at all. 

“This is just a misunderstanding,” the young man keeps repeating like a mantra while tightening his grasp as if you could dissipate into thin air if he didn’t cling onto you, “It’s normal for couples to fight from time to time, it’s fine. We’re fine, right? You wouldn’t abandon me for real, would you?” 

“Narancia, I –“ you try to intervene, but your attempts remain futile as he cuts you off quickly. 

“No, you’re not going to leave me! I’m not letting you. Look, this is but a silly fight, you’re not going to toss away our relationship for that, are you? Just remember all the beautiful moments we shared together, how happy I can make you, if you just let me!” Narancia nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck. “I love you, Y/N.” He eagerly plants kisses onto your skin, making you shudder and whimper helplessly. Your eyes grow bigger, your breath quickens as you desperately look for a way to escape this situation, to escape him. 

“I love you more than anything in this world. I’d gladly give up everything if it meant to spend every second with you by my side. No one can love you like this but me. Remember that next time you’re thinking I’m going to let you off the hook”, Narancia whispers in your ear, the underlying threat being crystal clear to you. No, you aren’t going to escape from him any time soon…

[criminalshminds]

A Broken Whisper

A very, very, very late prompt from @eprcntiss, but good things happens to those who wait, right???

Prompt: “What are you doing here?  It’s late.” Pairing: Hotchniss (Emily Prentiss x Aaron Hotchner) Rating: General Audiences Words: 1968 TW: Canon faked death, slight intrusive thoughts

Summary: He didn’t know why he felt the need to check up on her, but he’s glad he did.  Though he never thought she’d be here. (Post Doyle)

*****************************************************************

He couldn’t say why he had the urge to check on Emily, he just did.  Something has been up with her since she came back after Doyle. Hotch has tried to be a sounding board for her, but her walls are always up that she manages to deflect any of his concern and places it back on him. But he saw her face at the take down that night.  He saw the lone tear that fell down her cheek, one that she quickly wiped away before anyone could see it.  Maybe that one tear led him to her apartment.  He parks in a spot that looks directly up into her apartment.  A spot that he has been in plenty of times before, back when things were simpler.  Back when they would steal little kisses.  Where she would wave at him from the window in her living room as he left to go back home to shower and change before work.  Where he told her that he loves her.  Back before she started to pull away.  Back when things made sense.

Since her return, they haven’t spoken of the past.  Actually, they haven’t really talked at all.  The only words they utter to each other are work related.  Well, that’s not completely true.  She did utter a goodbye today.  Maybe that’s why he felt the need to see her.  Looking up at the window that used to hold her smiling silhouette now just holds a darkness that sends a shiver down his spine.  Like he’s not supposed to be here.  Like he is intruding in a life that he doesn’t belong in anymore.  Taking a chancery glance around the parking lot, the first thing he notices is that her car isn’t in its designated parking spot.  Second thing he notices, is that she hasn’t been home since leaving work five hours ago, if the snow piled up on the concrete has anything to say about it. Knowing that she could be literally anywhere, he huffs out a sigh before digging around his pockets for his cell phone.

“Bossman, I know I am the goddess of all wisdom, but even goddesses need their beauty sleep.”  A grumble comes through the phone, definitely not the cheerful voice of Penelope Garcia that Hotch has come to know.

“Garcia, can you do me a favor?” He speaks quickly into the phone, no room or time for nonsense.

“Does it involve me coming back into the BAU?” Hotch hears some rustling noises, and only now does he realize that he is calling at almost midnight.

“No.”

“Hit me with your best shot.”

“Don’t raise any alarms unless I say so.”  Hotch runs his hand over his mouth before asking his request.  “Can you get me a location on Prentiss?”

She immediately shoots out of bed and races to her laptop.  She skids to a stop, barely landing on her couch before frantically typing and shooting out questions.  “What? Why would I – why is she?  She’s not – “ Not again, not when we just got her back.

“Garcia!”  He interrupts her panic raise of questions hoping to keep her head on straight.

“Right, sorry.  Um, give me a minute.  You sure it’s nothing?”  She waits for a second, getting no response she continues to type on her laptop before it pings her location.  “I got it! I sent it to you.  Please bring our girl back home.”

“I will Garcia, and remember – “

“I know, I know, not a peep.”  As soon as the last word left her mouth, Hotch moved the phone from his ear and immediately went to his messages.  Letting out a sigh, he puts the car in reverse and makes his way down the empty streets.

His shoulders don’t sag in relief until he sees her car parked in the desolate lot.  Pulling into the space next to her, he glances at silver sedan hoping he’ll be lucky to see her behind the wheel.  Mentally groaning when the car is as barren as the parking lot he is in, he turns off his car and shuffles out into the chilly night.  It didn’t take a genius to know that she has been here for a while, if the buildup of snow on her car was any indication. The steady stream of snow flurries coming down has covered any footprints that could potentially lead him to her.  Although, none of that was necessary.  For the seasoned profiler he is, he knew exactly where she went once the coordinates led him here.

                                      Quantico National Cemetery

He stares at the sign, willing his feet to move.  A staring contest that even the famous Aaron Hotchner glare can’t win.  It’s not until a particularly strong gust of wind whips around him for his feet to catch up with his brain.  A shiver races through his body.  Either from the cold or from that sinister feeling of being alone in a graveyard at night. He silently moves through the sea of headstones, a walk that is second nature to him.  One that he frequented quite often for months.  He makes his way up to the tree that helped shelter the gravestone from the elements and finally sees the back of her head.   He knows that she hears him coming, the crunching of the snow beneath his feet hard to miss, even past the sound of the wind.  Stopping a few feet behind her, he waits a minute before speaking.

“What are you doing here?  It’s late.”  He’s expecting her to turn towards him, but she sits as still as a statue staring at the engraved stone.  She doesn’t respond right away, making him move closer to her.  He opens his mouth to ask again when he hears her soft voice reply.

“I come here to think.”

Curiosity got the better of him.  “About?”

“Life.”  Her soft declaration carries through the wind and wraps around him.  She reaches forward in a practiced motion and brushes the fresh snow away to keep the text visible.

                                                  Emily Prentiss

                               October 12th 1970 – March 7th 2011

                                        Fidelity Bravery Integrity

“It’s so precious.  You never realize how special it is until it gets taken away.”  He continues to stand behind her, keeping his mouth shut. This is the most open she’s been since her return and he’s not about to ruin it.  “I didn’t think it’d be this strange.  Basically coming back from the dead.  You know I came here the first time purely out of curiosity.  Taking my picture off a wall is one thing, but removing a whole grave?”  She lets out a humorless chuckle.

“With a click of her finger, Garcia could get it removed.”  He speaks before he could stop himself.  He holds his breath hoping that he didn’t just cause her walls to build back up.

“No.”  Her head tilts back towards the sky.  “I need the perspective.”

Furrowing his brow, he carefully walks next to her before slowly lowering to the ground.  He starts to reach for her before quickly retreating, remembering that she’s no longer his to touch. He starts to question what her fake grave can help her with before remembering something she said after a case years ago. I need to know that I can be human.

“Being reminded of your own mortality isn’t the right perspective to have.”  He spoke softly even though he wanted to scream.  

“Don’t you get it?  It’s a reminder of how fragile life is.  Logically speaking, I shouldn’t be here.”  She scrunches up her eyes, a tear streaks down her face as she pounds her fist into the ground.

His hand shoots out and covers her fist that is still resting on the snow-soaked grass.  His touch finally breaks her out of her trance with her eyes finally meeting his.

“But you are here.  Living, breathing.  Dammit Emily! Don’t you understand?  You can’t move on until you finally accept that you are meant to be here.  With me! With us.”  He is grasping at her hand like she will disappear any second while his shoulders are shaking with the intensity of his breath.  She keeps his stare for a second, before turning away back to the headstone.

“Am I?”  She whispers. He lightly grasps at her chin, moving her head to face him again.

“Forever and always.”  That little phrase breaks her.  In a second, she leaps from her spot into his lap, burrowing her head into the crook of his neck.  The reaction almost pushes him backwards into the snow, but he quickly settles himself. His hand moves and starts stroking the back of her head in a practiced movement before he gently starts rocking them consoling her quietly in her ear trying to overpower her chant of “I’m sorry.” They stay wrapped around each other until he spares a glance at his watch, telling him that it is half past one in the morning.

“Come on.  Let’s get you home.”  He whispers into her ear, helping her up to her feet.  He feels her shiver against him as a large gust of wind almost knocks the both of them from their feet.  Only now does he notice that she’s been in just a sweater this whole time.  

“Jesus Em, you couldn’t have brought a jacket?”  Shedding his coat, he drapes it over her shoulders before wrapping his arm around her waist guiding her to his car.

“Left it in the car.  Didn’t realize how long it’s been.”  She chatters out to him, leaning closer towards him for warmth.  He lets out a frustrated sigh before picking up the pace, trying to get her to shelter.

He helps her into the passenger seat of his car, passing off her concerns about her car.  “We’ll take care of it in the morning.”  

He quickly makes his way into the driver’s seat to turn the car on.  They sit in the warming car for a couple minutes in complete silence.  Neither quite knowing what to say to the other.  After another minute, Hotch figures it’s best to start to drive to her apartment.  It’s not until they are halfway there that she finally speaks up.

“Aaron?”  She says no more than a whisper.

“Hm?”  He hums out, sparing her a quick glance before looking back to the empty road.

“I – I, thank you.”

His lips start to curve up into a smile and he removes one hand from the steering wheel to grasp at hers, stopping her from the continued picking of her nails.  He squeezes her hand gently in response before leaving their fingers intertwined.  Neither of them speak until he parks back at her apartment complex.

She starts to let go of his hand to make her exit before his voice stops her.

“Em?”  With her hand still on the inside latch, she turns to face him.  “I know it’s not my place anymore, but please don’t be afraid to come to me.  If you’re having a bad day, let me know.  You mean so much to me.  I meant it when I said forever and always.”

She slowly nods her head, before leaning forward to give him an awkward hug across the center console.  Pulling away, she shyly gives him a peck on the cheek before whispering.  “Forever and always.”

She opens the door, and goes to leave his jacket on the seat, but he holds up a hand to stop her.  “Give it to me tomorrow.”  

Smiling softly, she nods before closing the door.  He patiently waits until he sees the light go on in her apartment. He waits until he sees her figure standing in the window, giving him a small wave.  Like before.  He slowly pulls out of the parking space, smiling to himself.  Yeah, things are starting to make sense again.

[purpleyellow]

Intervention

BTS 8th member

Sunny’s masterlist

“The members finally talk to her about what’s going on”

a/n: Not himym being the only reason that I know what interventions are, anywho, welcome back to sunny’s breakdown ft some special guests . Please let me know what you thought of it, your feedback is always welcome💜

The confusion behind the scenes seemed to be minimal as BTS stepped on stage, allowing the girl to focus on the mental checklist she had made to make sure everything was fine for the performance. 

Fidgeting with the settings of her in-ear, Sunny got brought back to reality as the spotlights turned on and off onto the members. 

She squinted from the lights and said to no one in specific “The middle one isn’t in sync” before lowering her head again and pocketing the mic pack just as a screeching sound broke through the piece “And an interference just happened”

“Geez Sunny, let them do their job” Jin showed up laughing from her side and gave an apologetic smile to some of the staff who shook their heads “This isn’t their first soundcheck, everyone is still fixing up things”

“Yeah, my bad” The girl lowered her shoulders trying to find something else to focus on. Lately having nothing to think about meant going back to thoughts she did not have the energy to face. 

Walking from one side to another, she played with the glitter on the mic as a melody started playing and they were told to go on the marks. It didn’t register on Sunny’s mind if it had lasted five minutes or half an hour, all she knew as that soundcheck was done and they went back to monitor the performance. 

Standing behind Namjoon’s chair, the girl took a sip from her water bottle as they chatted and waited for the images to come in. 

“Did you forget to drink your coffee or something?” Jungkook snickered leaning on her side and also looking at the screens showing the different angles. “You look like you have no soul”

“Because I don’t” Sunny’s monotone caught Taehyung’s attention, who softly slapped her arm and shook his head, mumbling a “Don’t joke like that” and making the two let out an emotionless laugh.

“Okay, I think we’re good” Namjoon thanked the staff, allowing the members to stand up and walk out of the room. Thinking for a second, the leader held Sunny’s arm so they could stay behind “You’ve been out of it a lot lately, we can talk about it for a few minutes”

Shaking her head, the girl kept walking with him by her side “I’m just tired but I’ll make sure it won’t be noticeable on screen and no one is going to get worried, I promise”

“If people are going to notice it or not is something we can deal with after. But I know it’s not just tiredness” He sighed pondering if he should keep going or not “Look, Sehun talked to me-”

“He’s got you worried over nothing,” Sunny stopped walking and looked up at him crossing her arms “Last time we saw each other I said things I shouldn’t have. That’s all”

“You’re not answering his texts and he told me what you said,” Namjoon tilted his head to the side and her gaze shifted to the empty hallway “I’ve always been here to listen to you. It doesn’t have to be today but please let’s talk about whatever is going on”

“Oppa, I-” Sunny sighed and took a deep breath to numb down the feeling of crying “It’s fine. Just a relapse of judgment”

“Having sex with an ex is a relapse of judgment, opening up about-” He said placing a hand on her shoulder but got interrupted by somebody showing up at the end of the hallway. “Unnie?”

“Yunhee, how are you doing?” Sunny smiled softly and skidded away from the boy, who gave the NCT member a small bow before walking down the other way.  

“Sorry if I interrupted you guys” Bee smiled awkwardly and the older girl waved her off, giving her a hug before following a random path “Your outfit looks awesome, it reminds me of an ice princess” She commented after a silence fell upon them.

“Thanks, and you’re looking like a fluffy marshmallow,” Sunny said, making the younger giggle and look down at her pastel pink pair of sweats.

“We’re getting fitted in groups, I should get my outfit after the older members are done with theirs” Both of them nodded with the explanation and Sunny looked at the side to check out the three doors labeled NCT. On the other side of the hallway, she read Taemin’s name in one of them and the following one made her flight or fight senses come into play.

“Well, now that you’re here, I should go back to get retouches” She smiled, the nervousness barely being recognized in her voice.

“I was going to get something on catering, but I understand if you don’t want to come” Bee nodded clasping her hands together.

“Oh, yeah. I think I should go back though” 

“Look who’s here” Baekhyun’s cheerful voice came from the door she was dreading and, turning around, Sunny saw him and Taehyung standing next to each other in the hallway “It’s been a while Sunny-ah. How are you doing?”

Giving him a smile despite not wanting to, Sunny nodded picking at the lining on her shorts “I’m fine, how are things going for you? Is… Sehun okay?”

“I think so for the most part, you haven’t talked to him yet?” He frowned, showing how part of things he was and Sunny once again nodded, averting her eyes and making the three idols frown at each other.

“Uh, I think I should go inside” Bee shifted awkwardly on her feet, bowing to the two males and looking almost hopefully at Sunny, who didn’t have the heart to ignore her and gave her a quick hug, mumbling an “I’ll text you later”.

“I'll be going too” The BTS girl pointed over her shoulder and went to turn around before getting stopped by her own groupmate. 

“You and Sehun aren’t on good terms?” V frowned giving her a side hug that felt oddly suffocating. 

“Taehyungie, you’re really out of the loop. They had a fight like two months ago, I thought it was settled by now” Baekhyun crossed his arms seemingly worried “Do you need me to knock some sense into him?”

“No, he’s fine. I’m- I don’t know” Sunny sighed her voice dropping a little before she looked up at Taehyung pleading “Can I please go away now?”

“Is everything okay?” He frowned again running a hand on her back but she pushed it away, finally breathing properly “Sun, do you need anything?”

“I need to get to hair and makeup, then make sure the in-ears are on the right volume before going on stage and performing well enough so I can go home and sleep,” She said it all under a breath and looked up to find the two men staring at her with raised eyebrows. “Can I please go to the dressing room?”

“You should take a rest” Baekhyun nodded going back to his room and giving her a knowing smile “It’s not worth going through all of that so people think you’re doing fine” 

“I am fine” Sunny gasped after he closed the door. Turning around in her heels, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at V, who walked faster and blocked her path.

“You don’t have to insist on that so much. We’ve all seen how you’re acting lately, at least let us be there for you” Holding her shoulders in place, Taehyung tried to keep his tone down in order not to catch attention. Yet, the way he spoke gave her a burning sensation around her eyes. 

Blinking aimlessly and shaking her head, Sunny bumped shoulders with him as she marched towards the dressing room. Making a straight line towards the makeup chair once she was inside of it without sparing a glance at the other boys.

“We’ll start the recording in two hours,” Namjoon said looking up from his phone and she nodded, closing her eyes for a second so the makeup artist could do her magic and opening them again after she was done.

Looking at herself in the mirror, the logical part of her brain recognized the reflection was indeed her own, yet a little voice insisted on the uncomfortable feeling of dissociation. 

Again, time passed without her even noticing what was going on. By the time the members were being escorted back into the vans, Sunny couldn’t remember if she had looked into the camera at the right times, if she had made the right facial expressions, or even bowed when the boys did. Though, after years of experience, she trusted her autopilot to do all of those things without her acknowledgment.

“Oppa?” The girl squinted once they entered the dorms to find Suga sitting on the couch “I thought you were staying at your apartment” Sharing looks, the members slowly made their ways towards the couch as well, J-hope sitting on the smaller one and leaving a space on the side empty “What’s going on?”

“We’re doing an intervention,” Jin crossed his arms, nodding to the seat for her to get comfortable in.

Sighing, she dragged herself next to Hobi and dropped her body there. Looking at the ceiling while Namjoon, Jimin, and occasionally somebody else went on about how she needed to tell them what was going on.

“I’m sorry I worried all of you” She mumbled interrupting them and J-Hope held her hand, running his thumb in the back of it.

“We’re only worried because we don’t know what’s going on” Yoongi affirmed from the other end of the couch “Something has changed in these past few weeks, we just want to understand it better so you don’t have to go through it alone”

Silence fell upon them again as she chewed on her bottom lip, feeling like a disappointment for not having a good reason for the emotions she had been having “Nothing happened”

“Sunny, no one is going to judge you” Taehyung started making her shake her head.

“I mean it. There’s nothing logic that explains why everything is so blank nowadays. I can’t get excited anymore, it’s so frustrating because every time we perform or do anything at all feels like nothing” The girl began catching all of their attention. Toying with the lining on her shorts, she tried her best to keep her eyes dry.

“And I honestly didn’t want to get anyone worried because it’s all going to blow out of proportion and just thinking about it makes me want to lock myself in my room and just sleep because I know it’s not real. Everything is just in my head and I’m so tired of it.”

Namjoon’s voice interrupted her thinking as he felt she was reaching her breaking point “Just because it’s in your mind it doesn’t mean it’s not real. Every thought you have and everything you feel is authentic, sometimes you just need to organize them or get someone to help them make sense”

“I don’t want to drag anyone into this” Shaking her head Sunny sniffed making the boys share sad looks.

“But you want it to go away, don’t you?” The question came from Jin who leaned forward, looking carefully enough to notice her small nod. “I know you’re feeling like you’re going to disappoint people by asking for help. But the truth is we live as a society. You don’t have to face anything alone and we were all put into this world to help each other”

“I know it might be a big step, but later you can consider getting more professional help” Namjoon tested the waters to see how she would react to it. At Sunny’s eyes filling with tears, he slowly went back “I don’t mean it tomorrow, just talking to us is an amazing start”

“There’s only an amount of things the seven of us can say to you to help you go through this. But we’re always open to listen when you feel like it’s getting too much” Jungkook nodded giving her a thumbs up to which Sunny replied with a snort and a roll of eyes.

“Do you feel a little better?” Jimin sneakily asked and she nodded taking a deep breath.

“I still want to sleep though '' Making them laugh, Sunny rested her head on J-Hope’s shoulder and watched them nodding understanding at her. 

“One day at a time. And together, not alone” Taehyung said getting up and giving her a good night hug. One by one the members started going to their rooms to get ready for bed. And for that night, Sunny slept a little more relieved than she had before.

[qqueenofhades]

Fake dating AU for the idiot Heartrender Husbands! I beg of you!

As ever, I am preposterously easy to enable, and since they will eventually make an appearance in A Phantom in Enchanting Light, I decided to write their backstory for that verse. Also, “fake dating but it’s only fake because they’re both idiots” is an Aesthetic. I love them.

Moscow, 2010

The guy is most definitely late. Fedyor got here early – probably too early, since they’re supposed to meet at eleven and he arrived by quarter past ten – but it’s now 11:08 and still no sign of him. Fedyor has claimed a corner table in the coffee shop just off Red Square with its splendid old tsarist-era décor, surrounded by the murmur of conversation and clicking laptop keys as his fellow Muscovites get on with their daily lives. The rule is fifteen minutes, yes? If Ivan Sakharov doesn’t show up in another seven, Fedyor is free to bail. But it’s been so long, and Nadia, the mutual friend responsible for this set-up, has begged Fedyor to give him a chance. And since it is understandably difficult to date as a gay man in Russia, Fedyor’s patience must be tested longer than usual. He sips his flat white and glances at the door again. Still no Ivan.

Fedyor opens his phone and checks the photo that Nadia sent him, trying to decide if this man is attractive enough to compensate for his tardiness. It’s hard to tell. It is 11:14, and he is absolutely about to pack up and leave by no later than 11:25, when a tall, grim-faced man in a red windbreaker strides in. He stops short, glances around, spots Fedyor, and powers over with such single-minded determination that Fedyor fears he’s about to be arrested. “Hello,” he says curtly. “I am Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov. I believe you are waiting for me?”

“Ah – ? I am Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky, yes,” he manages, offering a hand, which Ivan crushes in a Terminator grip. “It’s – nice to meet you?”

Ivan snorts, pulls out the other chair, and drapes his jacket over it, then orders a small plain coffee (black like his soul, evidently). Then he returns, sits down, and claps his hands as if he is calling a misbehaving class to attention. “Where are you from?” he barks. “How long have you lived in Moscow?!”

Fedyor continues to gape. He’s genuinely not sure if this is Ivan attempting to get to know him on speed-run, or if he’s being interrogated by a FSB agent who can’t even act for two seconds like he’s not. It’s ominously possible. Dmitry Medvedev is the president and there are hopes that there might be a social liberalization, but the Orthodox patriarchs and the far right have been increasingly agitating against Russia’s embattled LGBTQ community, and things could just as easily get worse. Is this a setup or a setup? Nadia would never knowingly put him in a dangerous situation, of course, but maybe she was likewise fooled. You’d think that if this was a sting, they could have found a guy who was actually capable of pretending to be on a date, but maybe that’s the point? What the hell is going on here?

Fedyor opens his mouth, then shuts it. As a matter of fact, he is originally from Nizhny Novgorod, but moved to Moscow for university and has lived here for seven years, but if Ivan is with the FSB, he probably already knows that. Is this a trick? Is Ivan trying to match him to some police intelligence file or see if he’s a liar? Fedyor is seriously about to get up and walk out (or maybe sprint out) when Ivan, perhaps realizing that he’s blowing this to a heretofore unprecedented degree, says, “Sorry. I am from Krasnoyarsk. I enjoy rugby.”

Of course he likes rugby if he’s from Krasnoyarsk. This is a disaster. “Uh, what side?”

“Krasny Yar,” says Ivan, in the tone of a man about to stand up and belt out the fight song. “I also enjoy football. Yenisey Krasnoyarsk. Though I have begun supporting Lokomotiv since I came to Moscow. That was five years ago.”

So, he’s definitely a hooligan. Fedyor does his best to keep smiling. In the flesh, Ivan is definitely not unattractive. His hair is crisp and brown, there are glints of hazel in his eyes, and he has that hard, chiseled handsomeness that Fedyor always ends up getting suckered into. Except for the fact that he is lively, extroverted, and outgoing, likes clubbing and mingling and making friends, and this man does not appear to have ever heard of a single one of those things. What was Nadia thinking? It’s not like her to whiff this badly. Or did she have to be so circumspect in asking Ivan if he would like to meet Fedyor that, even if he’s not an undercover cop, he is in fact clueless about the true nature of this social engagement? Thinks it’s guys being pals?

“Did you have somewhere you were coming from earlier?” Fedyor asks, after another excruciating silence. “Is that why you were – ?”

“My apologies. The bus was late. I am normally very punctual.” Ivan scowls ferociously, as if the bus ever dares to do such a thing again, he will personally murder it. “What hobbies do you enjoy, Fedyor Mikhailovich?”

“I think you can call me Fedyor, yes?” They are clearly nowhere near “Fedya” and “Vanya” just yet, but “Fedyor Mikhailovich” always makes Fedyor look around warily for his grumpiest professor at MSU. He tries to think of subtle conversational gambits to find out what Ivan knows, without being obvious. Oh God, he really should just cut his losses, but something – perhaps the pathetic conviction that even a terrible date is better than no date at all – keeps him in his seat. Presuming that he does get out of here alive, he will call up Nadia straightaway and ask her many, many questions, mostly consisting of Why??! “Well,” Fedyor says at last. “I like having fun?”

“I also enjoy fun,” Ivan says, stone-faced. “I am very funny.”

Russian humor is normally extremely deadpan, to the point that Fedyor does wonder if Ivan is in fact a diabolical troll genius, but somehow he doesn’t think so. The rest of the conversation proceeds in this fashion, but by the end of an hour, Fedyor still has no idea if he has just been on a date or a trip to the gulag. Ivan gets up, administers another bone-crushing handshake, thanks him for his time, and marches out. Fedyor can practically hear the Red Army Choir thundering some patriotic anthem in his wake.

When he gets home that afternoon, Fedyor is resolved to write off the whole thing, except it was weirdly kind of not as bad as he first thought, maybe, somehow. If nothing else, he’s fascinated by this, like watching a slow-motion train crash. He takes out his phone with the intention of calling Nadia, only to see a text message from an unfamiliar number. When he opens it, it reads, Hello. Your company was agreeable today. Thank you. Perhaps we could meet again next week. Please reply yes or no. The message uses the formal styles of address, and some of the spellings are slightly old-fashioned. He has also signed it – Иван Сахаров – in case there might be some confusion with another Ivan the Terrible at Dating of Fedyor’s recent acquaintance. It is a bit like getting a text from the undertaker.

Fedyor stares at it, insanely tempted to burst out laughing, and finally, just because now he’s too curious to refuse, texts back his gracious acceptance. Still chuckling, he makes dinner, and then, as his phone pings with Ivan’s response, wonders in horror what on earth he is getting himself into.

This is how things continue for the next six weeks. Ivan and Fedyor meet up for the second time, stroll sedately around one of Moscow’s many city parks together, then part ways, and this time it’s Fedyor’s turn to ask if he would like to do it again. He isn’t sure exactly why, except that Ivan is unexpectedly easy to spend time with, and he nods in stoic approval of whatever Fedyor says. Of course, they follow the usual rules of dating which are especially important in Russia: don’t talk about politics, don’t talk about religion, don’t talk about America, don’t talk about Ukraine, don’t talk about Chechnya. From what Fedyor can glean, Ivan’s views tend to the doctrinaire, but he is surprisingly undogmatic, and willing to at least act as if he has an open mind. If he was an FSB agent, it feels like he would have busted Fedyor by now, but maybe he is waiting for him to do something unmistakably gay. That’s not it. Right?

Nadia calls, wanting to know how it’s going, and Fedyor grills her for forty minutes over whether Ivan is a law enforcement plant, a lonely guy looking for a friend, the world’s most method practical joker, or just extremely stupid. Nadia insists that he is actually very nice once you get to know him (HA, thinks Fedyor) and has no particular affection for either the ruling classes or the oligarchs. He can certainly be an acquired taste, but he is not evil.

Forced to accept it, still chickening out of asking Ivan whether he knows they’re dating, wondering if they are dating, if Ivan knows that Fedyor knows they’re dating, if Fedyor only thinks he knows that they are dating while they are not actually dating, or if Ivan thinks he knows that they’re dating while they’re… whatever the fresh-fried fuck is truly happening here, Fedyor trudges off for what has become his almost-weekly rendezvous with Ivan the-Maybe-Not-Quite-So-Terrible. They manage to have a few conversations verging on meaningful, and Fedyor has found himself telling Ivan about his family and Nizhny Novgorod and other such things. Fedyor likes to talk and Ivan likes to listen, though he breaks in now and again with a bone-dry quip. He’s still never what you would call loquacious, or easily forthcoming, but Fedyor likes that. Ivan is tough, complex, enigmatic, guarded, occasionally willing to let down his walls but only if the other person is worth it, and Fedyor finds, to his surprise, that he wants to be worth it. If this is a long-con mind game, he almost doesn’t care. (Almost.)

The problem, however, is that they’ve been seeing each other regularly for a month and a half and they haven’t gotten any closer than walking through a park, outdoors, in full view of their fellow comrades. Even the first time Fedyor takes the plunge and invites Ivan to his apartment, they sit three feet apart on the couch, watching a badly-Russian-subtitled version of Die Hard and providing critical commentary. Fedyor’s English is a lot more fluent than Ivan’s, and his middle-class family, while not exactly wealthy, is definitely better off than Ivan’s hardscrabble clan of miners and loggers in Siberia. That upbringing certainly does explain, to some degree, why Ivan is the way he is, and Fedyor wonders anxiously if Ivan views him as an insufferably posh city boy. Ivan barely finished high school and went straight to working in a Krasnoyarsk aluminum factory. He definitely did not faff around Moscow State University and attend global development seminars in Paris.

Nonetheless, despite their obvious differences, they do get along, and Fedyor is unable to deny the fact that he would, if it’s all right with everyone, like it to be more than that. Of course, finding out if Ivan knows, etc. etc., has been the paramount challenge, and there is no way to find out other than to go for it. Fedyor is 75% sure that they’ve been going steady for two months, but if it’s actually the other 25%, this is going to get awkward in a hurry. Is this essentially a fake relationship, or is it only fake because they’re both idiots?

After having duly commended his soul to God, Fedyor invites Ivan over on Saturday night. He rents a tiny flat by himself since he’s been burned on rooming with strangers, but Ivan is used to it by now, and it doesn’t feel too small with the two of them. Fedyor strains his limited culinary skills to cook supper, probably making his babushka cluck her tongue and sigh in a judgmental fashion back in Nizhny Novgorod, and they sit down and eat in silence for five minutes. Then Fedyor says, “Vanya?”

The consistent use of the diminutive has started sometime in the last few weeks, neither of them remember quite when. Ivan doesn’t correct him. “Yes?”

Fedyor clears his throat. “Do you…” He winces. “Do you… like me?”

“Yes?” Ivan says again, looking confused. “I would not have spent so much time with you if I did not, don’t you think? We are friends.”

“Yes, I know that we’re friends, but…” Fedyor looks at the ceiling. It doesn’t help, so he looks back at Ivan. “Are we… special friends?”

Ivan continues to look blank. “Are we?”

Fedyor resists the urge to tug at his collar, thinking that it’s a damn good thing that he didn’t go with his other idea of just leaning across the table and passionately kissing him. With absolutely no change of tone or expression, Ivan says, “Please explain. Special friends how?”

“Friends who want to…” Fedyor takes a deep breath. “Be… more than friends?”

“How?” Ivan orders again, ruthlessly. “Be clear, Fedya.”

“Are we maybe… boyfriends?” Fedyor’s voice squeaks on the word. “As in… we have feelings for each other that aren’t just… friendly? Like… feelings which are… romantic?”

Ivan continues to stare at him like a statue for several more seconds, and Fedyor contemplates the feasibility of tunneling directly through the floor of his apartment and running all the way to Latvia. Then at last, Ivan throws his head back and – startling Fedyor deeply – breaks into real, genuine, belly laughter, the kind that he has never heard from Ivan before. “Oh my,” he chortles, slapping the table. “Your face. You were sweating bullets.”

“WAIT, WHAT!?!” Fedyor pushes his chair back and stands up with a clatter, incandescently outraged. “Are you – were you messing with me?!!”

“Maybe a little,” Ivan says, wiping his eyes. “You know, all this time, I have not been sure if you are shy or a terrible prude. Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“God’s Mother in Heaven – ” Fedyor feels another prick of disloyalty to his babushka for swearing on the Bogomater, but some people deserve it. All inhibitions forgotten, he charges at Ivan like a runaway train, as Ivan springs out of his own chair in readiness, and starts pounding on his chest in transports of fury. “You are the worst! You are the worst person ever! For two months, what have we been doing?! I have been afraid this whole time that maybe you don’t know what’s really going on, and now – ?! You are the worst!”

Ivan catches Fedyor’s flailing arms, holds them away from him, and picks him up bodily, swinging him around and pushing him against the wall. “Maybe I am just a dumb country boy from Siberia,” he remarks, “but even I am not that stupid, Fedyor Mikhailovich.”

“I hate you,” Fedyor pants, their faces and their mouths an inch away from each other. “Get out of my apartment.”

“Mmm?” Ivan cocks an eyebrow. Then he plants both hands on either side of Fedyor’s head, leans in, and deeply, savagely captures Fedyor’s mouth with his own.

Every remaining vestige of barely rational thought in Fedyor’s head evaporates in screaming shock. He still wants to shove Ivan away, knee him in the balls, or break a chair over his head, but if he did that, he would have to stop kissing him, and he can’t do that either. He moans, Ivan’s tongue takes the opportunity to slip into his mouth, their hands clutch and claw and their legs melt out from under them, they turn away or break contact only to gulp a breath before diving back in again, and the next time Fedyor is aware of anything, they have collapsed on his kitchen floor in a wrung-out, entangled, gasping heap. Ivan says in his ear, “Do you still want me to leave, Fedya?”

“No,” Fedyor manages. “Because now, I am really going to make you suffer.”

Ivan’s smile is dark and full of promise. He pulls back, gets to his feet, and holds out a hand. “Then I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

(Ivan doesn’t leave Fedyor’s apartment that night. He doesn’t leave it the next night either. At the end of the week, Fedyor calls up Nadia and informs her that he hates her so much, and when they do next see each other, he’ll shake her by both shoulders and then thank her for introducing him to the no-good, truly awful, very bad love of his life.)

[lokis-little-kitten]

Teaching Assistant 4

Title: Teaching Assistant Writer: Lokis-Little-Kitten Pairing: LokixReader Rating: Mid Warning: spankings, mentioning of masturbation, ED, college, teacherxstudent Summary: You get a job as a teaching assistant for you professor Loki Laufeyson. Quickly the relationship takes a turn when Loki offers to teach you the robes of BDSM.

Class is over after a  long time of listening and angry glares from your professor. You pack up your stuff and wait for everyone to be gone. When the last student closes the door Loki leans against his desk with another cross glare at you. 

‘’I’m sorry about being on the phone. I should have listened to your lecture,’’ you start out silently. ‘’Get your ass to my office, now pet!’’ Loki is absolutely cross, more than you have ever seen him in the three years before. 

Quickly you get up and start walking. When you arrive Loki throws his door open and points at the inside. ‘’March it.’’ Quickly you duck down and run in. When inside he slams the door closed and locks it. 

You turn around to him biting your lip. ‘’So you thought it funny to disobey and then to ignore me?’’ Quickly you shake your head. ‘’No master! I’m sorry but my phone died,’’ you lie. You’re already on the brink of tears and his intense glare doesn’t make it any better. Why did you do this to yourself again? You should have known Loki would react something like this. 

You fidget with some wounds on your finger and pull on loose skin around your nails. ‘’Were you home,’’ he asks folding his arms together. He looks even bigger in the small office in front of the wooden door. ‘’Well, yes?’’ What is he planning? 

‘’You could plug it in and let me know as soon as you were able, couldn’t you?’’ You look down at the dark carpet and fidget some more. ‘’I ehm…’’ You don’t know what to say. It was a dumb excuse. You could have seen it coming… 

‘’Well, I-’’ ‘’Lied?’’ No point of denying it now. He takes a step towards you towering over you even more. ‘’Yes, master… I’m sorry.’’ You give a quick glance up but don’t like your view. Loki his piercing green eyes fuming with anger. ‘’Do you know why I asked you to that?’’ 

You slightly shake your head.’’No…’’ ‘’Because food, little one, is important for you and I was scared you would be too much into your head to remember to eat. Quite frankly I was right!’’ 

The first tear now rolls down your cheek. You hate it when he is cross with you, you decided. It’s no fun! You quickly wipe away the tear but two take its place. ‘’Stop crying,’’ is all he offers you. He grabs your arm and pulls you towards the chair in the corner. He sits down still holding onto you. 

‘’What are you-’’ he cuts you off by pulling you over his knees. He pulls up your skirt- you stupidly decided to wear this morning- and lays his hand on your ass. ‘’I will spank you for a total of twenty times. Five for ignoring me. Five for lying to me and ten for not eating. Understood?’’ ‘’Yes master.’’ A tear rolls down your nose onto the carpet. ‘’And you will count!’’

Then all of the sudden and without notice Loki his hand slams down on your ass. He lays his fingers on the new bruise. ‘’Darling, count for me.’’ ‘’One…’’ ‘’Good girl.’’ Another spank comes down hard. ‘’What did you do wrong,’’ he asks you. ‘’Two...I ignored you.’’ ‘’Good.’’ 

Wham!

‘’Three…’’ ‘’How could you have prevented this from happening?’’ ‘’I should have answered you.’’ ‘’Good girl.’’ 

Spank!

‘’Four,’’ you say while your voice cracks. ‘’Now apologize to your master.’’ ‘’I’m sorry master! I won’t do it again.’’ ‘’There you go.’’

Blam!

‘’Five.’’ Your body is shaking by now while Loki caresses your bruised ass. ‘’Good job.’’ He just continues his torture makes you answer the same questions as before. 

When it is finally done he pulls you up and onto his lap. He cuddles you close to his chest and hushes you a bit. ‘’Sh, you did so well darling. You didn’t complain or be rude. You did very very well.’’ You nuzzle your face in his neck hearing the praising. 

Loki wipes away some tears and kisses your forehead. Loki then stands up with you still in his arms. He gently puts you in the chair. ‘’I’m just going to get you a snack, okay little one? I will be back in a little.’’ You give him a pair of large doe eyes as to beg him not to go. 

‘’Don’t worry I’ll be back in five.’’ He kisses your forehead again and walks out of the room then. You take your shoes off and pull your knees to your chest. Maybe you did need this second alone. 

You don’t get any time, however, because your phone buzzes. You take it from your bag and look at it. 

Dimitri. Are you okay, was it bad?

You. I’m fine. He thought he punished me enough already in class, so he let me go off easy. Thanks

Dimitri Good to hear. Wanna meet up tonight?

You. I have work and kind of need a night for myself. Another time maybe?

When you see Dimitri is typing something back someone knocks on the door. ‘’Loki?’’ You recognize the dean's voice. Oh no… Quickly you send Loki a text that the dean is in while rushing to the door. 

Quickly you open it for professor Allfather. He frowns deeply when he sees you instead of his son. ‘’I’m sorry but I’m afraid professor Laufeyson is out, professor,’’ you softly speak. ‘’Hm, I’ll wait then.’’ The older man sits down in Loki his office chair. ‘’Okay…’’ You sit down pulling your skirt down as much as possible. 

You feel your phone buzz and hope with your whole heart it is Loki, you just can’t get your phone because it would be rude. ‘’Professor Laufeyson will be back any time now. He was just getting something,’’ you softly speak. ‘’Thank you. You’re his teaching assistant?’’ ‘’Yes… I am.’’ Among other things… 

The room goes quiet once again until Loki walks back in. He hands you some papers without even looking at you. ‘’Grade those.’’ 

There is that stern and rude professor you know again… Nice knowing you kind master Loki. You get yourself one of his red markers and starts grading some papers. Loki and his father discuss some important letters and other things.

It is all very… courteous. Not like a father and son should be, you suppose. 

When his father finally leaves Loki turns back to you. ‘’I’m sorry about that, little one. Are you okay,’’ Loki asks searching in his pockets. He takes out a package of biscuits and water for you. ‘’There,’’ he smiles and kisses your hair. 

You open the water to take a sip. The biscuits are harder, however. When you open the package you play with the plastic for a second and then break off a piece. You don’t want to eat it. 

He doesn’t want you to eat it. 

‘’How much,’’ you ask Loki carefully. ‘’Four,’’ he replies absently studying one of the letters he just got. You put away the drink and snack to grab your wallet. You take out a five-pound bill and walk to his desk. 

‘’Pet, I’ll pay attention to you again in one moment. Just let me… do this.’’ He reads and crosses things out until finally signing and putting it away. ‘’Now then,’’ he smiles and looks up at you. 

‘’What is it?’’ You try to give him the five pounds but he simply stares at it before chuckling. ‘’Want me to get you something else? Coffee?’’ Loki already stands up to go but you stop him. ‘’No, it’s for the biscuits.’’ 

He frowns and chuckles a bit before walking up to you. ‘’No need to pay me for that, besides you gave way to much. It’s only two pounds fifty.’’ He lays his hands on your hips and smiles at your confused form. 

‘’But you said four a minute ago!’’ He now laughs and takes the five pounds. ‘’I meant four biscuits.’’ His hand slides under your skirt until he finds your pants. He hooks the piece of paper under your strap and then pulls back. ‘’There we go. Now I would like you to go and eat.’’ You walk back to the chair and sit. 

The package of cookies is reopened while this time you also push him far into the back of your mind. No reason not to enjoy this. You take a good bite from it and relish at the taste. ‘’Thank you.’’ ‘’No problem, dear.’’