#it's been so many years that i question why i even logged in but

[fashion-runways]

okay it's been over a year and i keep saying i'm going to make a new post and it's too exhausting to even think about the whole thing so i keep pushing it-- here's the link to the old post if you want a more detailed thing i wrote back then.

anyway, a year ago, out of the blue, our apartment got raided by the police, they broke our front door, they broke a bunch of shit inside, they took a bunch of our stuff, they barely gave us answers or an explanation, they took my dad and made it seem like he would have to sign some stuff and answer some questions and come back, but it's been over a year (since june 2022) and he hasn't come back, and his case is still up in the air. they're barely working on it. they didn't pay for all the shit they broke, they haven't returned all the shit they took, we had to spend a lot of money on that, i had to take a loan to buy a new computer so i could keep working and studying, on top of spending even more money on basic needs for my dad in jail and lawyers, plus blood pressure and anxiety medications, plus he's old and he was scheduled an eye surgery that he obviously couldn't go to so he's like, practically blind in one eye now, also new clothes for him to wear there (there's a bunch of rules for that), honestly i already lost track of how many things we had to pay for. it's been incredibly stressful and it still is even now that we've gotten used to it. he's been detained for a year for something that they still don't even know if he did and the case is barely moving, i don't know if they're like... i don't know, waiting for the man to die in there since he's already old so they don't have to admit they don't have enough proof for all the mess they made? i don't know. like i said back then, please don't ask me for details on the case or show up in my inbox trying to play tiktok true crime and guess what he did/didn't do. it happened a few times and it's extremely triggering, please don't. please.

this blog is basically my job. it's my primary source of income, i don't have anything else, no matter how many interviews i go to, in the country/city i live and in the state our economy is, if you don't have contacts it's impossible to get a job. i'm always signing up to free programs to learn new things while i don't have a job, try to make my cv bigger, but it doesn't matter. if you don't have someone saying “please hire my friend/family member” or you don't have 500 years of experience, they won't. so like i said, donations people make to this blog are how me and my mom (and my pets) stay afloat. it's what we use to pay for food, general groceries, transportation, electricity, wifi, water, gas, health insurance, stuff for my dad in jail, meds for my mom who has diabetes, food and meds for my pets. i don't go out much, i haven't gotten a haircut in a year, i barely spend money in anything that makes me happy except once in a blue moon when i stop feeling guilty lmao i had a redbubble account also that helped a little too, but last week it got suspended without an explanation as i was uploading new designs, so i don't even have that now. i made a new account on teepublic, but all my designs in high quality are locked behind redbubble and i can't even log into because of the suspension. it's... complicated, and it's a lot, but it is what it is.

i'm always keeping an eye out on new collections, new designers, new cool things. like i said, i love fashion, i studied fashion, and i know a lot of you use this blog as inspiration whether it's for yourselves or for your art, so i don't want to post all similar stuff all the time, i want to post all kinds of styles and brands as much as i can. which is why when i say if you like this blog, if you want to support me, sending even the smallest amount of money helps me keep going. living in latin america, the exchange rate is kind of insane, so truly any amount of money donated helps. unfortunately, i never stop needing money to survive and help keep my family afloat, but in the past year more than ever.

as usual, my kofi link is this one: https://ko-fi.com/fashionrunways and my (new) teepublic link is this one: https://www.teepublic.com/user/dinah-lance. if my redbubble account gets reinstated, i'll add that link eventually too. and as always, thanks for loving this blog and for loving fashion like i love fashion, even when i post crazy looking stuff, and thanks for helping. you have no idea how much your support helps, but it really does, i don't even know if i'd be alive right now if it wasn't for this blog.

[moonlinos]

Invisible string (pt. III)

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Synopsis: After so many years of being closed off from the idea of love, you finally allow yourself to feel it freely with Minho.

♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, smut

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), oral sex (female receiving), protected sex, swearing

♡ Word count: 16.4k

♡ A/N: A part of this chapter was almost shamelessly inspired by the song that inspired the plot in the first place, Invisible String by Taylor Swift. Also really inspired by my favorite Minho vlog, Lee Know Log 4 🩷

To those who have asked to be tagged in this story: would any of you be interested in being tagged in any new work I post later? Let me know! And thank you for reading and giving me such a great experience posting my writing here for the first time 🩷

← part II ♡ ⟳ part I

You spend the entire flight home processing everything that had happened during the trip; from Minho’s words, to your kisses and touches, to you ultimately acknowledging your own romantic feelings for him. Although it all felt sudden, it had been a long time coming.

As his car stops at the front of your house, Minho steps out and walks with you, your backpack in hand.

“I know you’re scared. I understand that even more now that I know about your past relationships,” he speaks softly as the two of you stop at the front door, “And I want you to know that I’m gonna be patient.”

You nod slowly, although the desire to answer him is still so prevalent in your mind, the words lodged in your throat and yearning to spill out. But you’ve made the mistake of jumping into relationships far too often, always driven by your emotions, and every time, the outcome has been disastrous. You don’t want that to happen with Minho.

So, you settle on a question that has been eating away at you.

“Why do you like me, Minho?”

His face twists into a deep frown before ultimately softening. Carefully placing your backpack on the step leading to the front door, he sighs.

“You shouldn’t have to ask me that,” he assures you, his rough hands touching your shoulders before moving down your arms to entwine with your own. “You don’t even realize how fucking amazing you are, do you? I’d move mountains, fight anyone and do anything if it meant I’d have the privilege to see you smile.”

And, just like that, you feel your lips stretch out into a small smile at his words. He grins at you.

“Just like that. I’d do anything to see that,” he says. “And you take care of your friends simply because you love them, never asking for anything in return. You collect plushies like me, you appreciate the criminally underrated flavor of lemon cake, and you worked at the same convenience store as me, and spilled coffee all over my notebook on the day we met. That’s why I like you; because you’re you.”

Tears threaten to well up in your eyes, so you quickly avert your gaze, focusing on your shoes. With a nod, you wrap your arms around Minho, taking in his scent and reveling in the comforting warmth of his body. Little did he know, you were just as willing to do whatever it took to keep him near you. He plants a chaste kiss on your forehead as you break away from his embrace.

“I’ll call you later, okay? Thank you for the trip.”

 

As soon as you step inside your house, Eunha is quick to come running towards you, her hands dirty with flour as she abandons her unbaked cookies on the counter and pulls you into a hug.

“I missed you so much,” she whines, “How will I survive living without you next year?”

You chuckle, watching as her lips turn into a pout.

“I’m sure we’ll suffer equally, if that makes you feel better.”

She fakes a sob, turning on her heels and heading toward the kitchen.

“Oh, Hyunjin is in a crisis, apparently,” she tells you, wiping her hands on her apron. “He called me three times just today to ask if you were back already.”

You let out a sigh. Hyunjin was more often than not either glum or vexed due to his trials and mishaps in finding love. He once joked that you two would end up having to marry each other with how things were going. You dreaded his reaction to the news of Minho soon entering your life in a new way.

“The hotel’s Wi-Fi was a joke, but I honestly didn’t even think to check my phone,” you tell Eunha, who giggles as she cuts her cookies into heart shapes. “What? Why are you giggling like that?” You ask her with a grin, approaching the counter.

She shrugs. “Nothing. I didn’t even think to check my phone,” she playfully mimics your voice, looking up at you, “I’m guessing you had fun, then?”

“I did,” you beam, “It was everything I thought it would be and even more.”

She raises an eyebrow at you. “Even more?”

“Even more,” you reiterate. “I had so much fun with Minho. I forgot how good it feels to just let go and allow myself to feel what I want to feel.”

Eunha’s lips curl into a small smile. She hums, lowering her head in a feeble attempt at pretending to focus on the cookies in front of her. “And what did you want to feel this weekend?”

“Like maybe I can finally fall in love again.”

Your friend lifts her head, her eyes wide. “Love?” she exclaims, “You, the girl who has spent every day since I met you talking about how love isn’t important, is wanting to fall in love?”

You chuckle at her reaction, shrugging dismissively. “In my defense, I had my reasons. Plus, some things made me change my mind.”

“More like someone,” Eunha teases, and you roll your eyes at her, but a smile spreads on your lips unwittingly. “I’m happy for you,” she beams, “and I think you should definitely fall in love again — not maybe.”

You sprint across the small kitchen space, circling around the counter to wrap your arms around Eunha and squeezing her as she lightly pushes you away, warning you about flour getting all over your clothes, but you don’t mind.

Because you love her, as you’ve learned this past weekend, and you don’t mind the mess when it comes to someone you love.

It’s only as you enter your room that you check your phone, which is filled with notifications from Hyunjin, much like Eunha had said. After ten missed calls, it seems he resorted to simply texting you.

Hyune: hey I know you’re in japan but can you answer the phone? Hyune: I promise I’ll be quick. just wanna talk to you Hyune: hear your voice idk I feel really alone rn and really bad idk lol Hyune: mingyu has his girlfriend over. can you believe they’re still together? Hyune: can you believe he has a girlfriend and I can’t even find someone to give me the time of day lol Hyune: can you believe every date I go to ends with me crying lol Hyune: sorry I’m being annoying and the messages aren’t even being delivered, you’re clearly having fun sorry Hyune: sorry Hyune: guess that’s why nobody can endure me for more than two dates Hyune: have fun 🤍 I love you

You feel your heart ache as you read his messages, answering with an apology. But before you can hit send on your second message, Hyunjin has already replied. 

Hyune: it’s okay. I’m sorry I even sent those in the first place

Me: Stop apologizing Me: You know I love you and I’ll always be here for you Me: Where are you?

Hyune: at my dorm Hyune: staring at the ceiling

Me: I’m coming over

True to his words, Hyunjin is lying on the floor of his dorm’s cramped living room once you open the door. There’s a small canvas propped up against the wall, a myriad of shades of blue forming the shape of a face. Your best friend’s talent never ceases to amaze you, and you have to fight the urge to stand still by the front door for a few seconds simply admiring his new painting.

“Look at this sulking Pisces,” you click your tongue as you approach Hyunjin, who only opens one eye to shoot you a glance.

“I’m in a fragile state and this is how you greet me,” he all but pouts before sitting up as you sit cross-legged beside him on the floor. “How was the trip?”

You shrug. “It was fun. We only had one day to explore the city, so we didn’t do much,” you say simply, tapping your fingers on your thigh.

You don’t want to sit and talk about how much fun you had during a trip when Hyunjin’s puffy, bloodshot eyes are staring directly at you. He was sad, and his sadness was palpable throughout the entire living room — his bitten lips, his painting, his hands covered in dried-up blue paint; everything was dripping in sadness. This was a constant with Hyunjin, but lately it had become even worse. He has an overwhelming desire to love and be loved, but his every attempt at fulfilling this desire is futile for reasons you cannot wrap your head around.

“I like the new painting,” you smile, focusing on the saddened blue face. Hyunjin scoffs beside you.

“It’s fucking terrible,” His hand shoves the canvas face down on the floor. You bite your lip. “Can’t even paint shit I like anymore. Every time I try, it always turns out muddy and sad.”

“What happened?”

He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Well I’m pathetic, so it’s still the same old reason. I had a date with this girl on Saturday, but she canceled at the last minute. Texted me something about me being too clingy after she agreed to go out with me, about how she knows she would feel suffocated if we dated.”

You furrow your brows together, anger bubbling up inside your chest. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, but don’t worry!” Hyunjin gave you a forced smile. “She made sure to remind me that it was her, not me, and that lots of women out there like guys like me. Whatever the fuck that means.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, turning his attention toward his hands before scratching some of the dried paint off. You sigh.

“Hyunjin, she isn’t wrong about that. You know that, right? You’re not the one at fault.”

He scoffs. “Sure seems like it when every date I’ve gone to since starting university has ended up with me being rejected for the same fucking reasons. It’s always me. Too clingy, too sentimental, too emotional,” his voice is almost a whisper as he speaks. He turns to face you again. “Remember how I would stop sleeping with you whenever I liked someone? Wanna know why I stopped doing that? ‘Cause I know it’s not gonna go anywhere anyway, so what’s the point? It never goes anywhere, and then I’m left alone again. Maybe I should just accept it, y’know? Some people are just meant to be alone, and clearly I’m one of them.”

Your anger has now morphed into sadness. You hate the way Hyunjin talks about himself, hate it even more how it seems nobody can appreciate the amazing person he is. Being caring and sentimental is not a flaw, and you pray that he never allows other people’s opinions to sway him into thinking that way. You pray he finds someone who can appreciate these qualities in him the same way you do.

“You’re not alone, Hyune,” you assure him, taking one of his hands in yours. “You’re surrounded by friends who love you so much, and while I know that’s not the type of love you yearn for, it’s still love.”

Hyunjin smiles softly at you before pulling you closer and pressing his lips to yours. It’s sudden but not entirely unexpected; the way you and Hyunjin dealt with shitty things in life and unpleasant feelings together had always been through sex, and you knew it always made him feel at least a little better afterward. And so you let him, returning the kiss even as part of you felt wrong doing it when your entire being was consumed with thoughts of only Minho.

As soon as he kisses you, he swiftly pushes you down onto the hardwood floor and hovers over you. Hyunjin’s fingers undo the buttons of your cardigan before slipping under your shirt, caressing your skin as his lips trail kisses down your neck. Soon enough, his body is pressed up against your spread thighs, and you know where this is going — but as much as you want to make your best friend feel better, you cannot bring yourself to do it.

“Hyune,” you softly call out, and he hums against your throat. “We can’t do this.”

He chuckles, squeezing your waist. “Mingyu always comes home late when he goes out with his girlfriend. Don’t worry.”

“It’s not that, Hyunjin. I just—”

“Do you not wanna fuck on the floor?” He asks, coming up to look at you. He cocks his head to the side. “We can just do it on the couch then, I really don’t wanna have sex with all those pictures of Mingyu and his friends staring at us in our room.”

“Hyunjin, no—”

“It’s not like we never did it on a couch before, stop being dramatic—”

“I’m in love with Minho.”

It comes out before you can fully comprehend what you’re saying, the word love slipping past your lips effortlessly. Hyunjin stills on top of you, his body rigid and tense. 

“Oh,” is all he offers you. You nod slowly, fingers picking at a drop of paint that stained the collar of his shirt.

You whisper, “I really am just as surprised as you are, believe me.”

Hyunjin shrugs. “I’m not surprised. I just— now you’re leaving me, too.”

You shake your head. It’s ludicrous to you that Hyunjin could imagine that you would ever even entertain the thought of leaving him. Running a hand through his messy hair, you pull him in and press a kiss to his nose. Hyunjin hides his face in the crook of your neck with a groan.

“Sorry, that was pathetic. I shouldn’t have said that,” he apologizes. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I just love you so much. I thought we would…”

You furrow your brows as he trails off his words. You thread your fingers through his long hair. “We would…?”

“End up together somehow,” he speaks slowly, his voice muffled, and your heart drops.

Hyunjin harboring these feelings about you was something you would never have imagined. You were certain he was content being your friend and having sex with you only until he found the right person. He went on several dates, after all. Your heart feels like it’s been shattered into a million tiny pieces upon learning about his hidden desire for the future he used to so often joke about: you two ending up together simply because you were each other’s only choices.

“Hyunjin,” you start carefully, “I love you, too. So much. You’re my best friend, and that’s never going to change. We don’t have to be together romantically for us to be in love, y’know? I realized that just recently.”

You feel him nod his head, his hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers.

“I’m just sad I won’t have you anymore. I’m gonna miss us so much,” he places a small kiss on your collarbone. “Whenever I felt like I was in a dark pit with no way out, every single time you were there to bring me out of it and make me feel okay again. I love you so much for that.”

And you can only softly smile at his words before your heart shatters all over again as you hear him quietly begin to sob in your skin.

“Hyunjin,” you call out, although you know he won’t reply. “You’re the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met. My love for you goes beyond us having sex — that wasn’t even important to me in our relationship. It was just something good on top of something already amazing.” With a slow nod, he lifts his head and gazes at you with red, teary eyes, causing your heart to ache even more. “I’ll never leave you. Ever. I’ll still answer your four hundred three a.m. texts, still let you hide away in my house, still happily listen to you complain about your days, and still hold you when you cry.”

Hyunjin pouts like a child, and your heart swells with fondness.

“Really?” He asks, and you chuckle with a nod.

“Really,” you assure him. “Me being with someone will never change our friendship, or my love for you. I mean, we won’t have sex anymore, of course, but I’ll still talk shit about your roommate with you so I’m sure you’ll forgive me.”

Hyunjin’s tearful expression vanishes, replaced by a small teasing grin. “I am gonna have to jerk off significantly more, so I don’t know about forgiveness,” he jokes.

You push him off you with a chuckle, sitting up as he tries to regain his balance.

“When did this whole thing with Minho even happen?” Hyunjin asks, setting his painting back against the wall. You shrug, buttoning up your cardigan. He hums. “So, are you already together?”

“Not yet,” you say, “but I’m gonna answer him after our class this week. If he fucking lets me, that is. He says he wants to be patient, but I don’t want to be patient. The only thing I wanna be is with him.”

Hyunjin’s whole body contorts as he groans. “Ew, what the fuck? When did you become such a sap?”

As you shove him back once more, you both burst into laughter while Hyunjin stumbles back and spills a mug filled with dirty paint water all over his floor.

The rest of the day goes by with you and Hyunjin painting together, a much broader array of colors and a much happier end result on the canvas: beautiful flowers painted by him standing alongside clumsily drawn hearts, stars, and other doodles painted by you. After signing your name above his elegant signature, you inform him the painting is leaving with you — it’s hanging up on your wall as soon as you arrive home.

Hyunjin is your best friend; it’s been this way for the last two years, and it’s indisputable to you that this fact will remain no matter what happens. As you watch him hunched over your painting, insisting that his flowers could be more detailed — even after you assured him a thousand times that they were perfect — you curse yourself for not realizing how beautiful this love between you two is. You hope he cherishes this love as well, in spite of his desire for the two of you to be together in the future. You know deep down this idea stemmed from his fear of solitude.

You’re not worried about him at all, though. He’s a precious soul, and anyone who fails to recognize that doesn’t deserve him. He’s simply getting rid of the wrong people in order to find the right person, someone who sees him as you do.

The love you feel for Hyunjin is unchanging, and if you had any say in it, it would be everlasting.

Your next Japanese class with Minho comes too soon, and you find yourself unprepared. Every trace of resolve you had after returning from your trip dissipated bit by bit every time you saw or talked to him. As soon as you saw his figure step into the coffee shop on Monday to pick up his usual order, you realized that every single scenario your mind had conjured up fell flat. Minho was beautiful, amazing, breathtaking — he deserved something grand and earth-shattering, not a simple answer from a girl who wasn’t even half as good as he was.

It certainly did not help that he, always true to his words, respected your time. Not once during his coffee trips or your never-ending talks through the phone did he mention the topic. And it was slowly but surely driving you insane.

You bite your lips so much on your way to university you’re sure your lipstick is gone by the time you enter the building, and you’re surprised your poor bag isn’t riddled with holes in the cloth from your insistent picking. You shouldn’t feel this nervous — Minho is the one waiting for an answer, after all. For all he knows, you could be simply building up the courage to let him down gently. But you are nervous. You’re terrified he will listen to your clumsy words and decide he deserves someone better. Or, worse yet, will only realize how undeserving of his love you are once you’re in a relationship.

And you don’t think you can face another heartbreak where you’re left to mend your gashes all alone.

You enter the building with shaky hands, fiddling with the strap of your bag and walking toward your classroom on autopilot as your mind is too busy running over all the ways in which this could go wrong.

All faded, however, once you saw Minho waiting for you in front of your classroom. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he looked down at his phone, his body wrapped in a cozy-looking black sweater and sweatpants, a keychain of a cat plushie hanging from his backpack matching his phone case. You stop a few feet away from him. He deserves the world, and that terrifies you. Still, his presence alone melts away every ugly word of doubt and every piece of worry inside your body until the only thing you can feel is the swirling of that familiar pinwheel spinning inside your chest.

You greet him with a long hug, hoping he can’t feel your heart beating through your own sweater.

After class, he walks you to work, enthusiastically telling you about the progress he, Chan and Seungmin have made on their game. You nod and hum along to his words, but you can’t, for the life of you, focus on a word he’s saying. All you want to do is tell him you like him — god, you like him so much — but every time you’re close to doing it, the ugly words return and scream that he deserves more than an underwhelming confession on a gloomy, empty street.

You stop walking as you two reach the bench located just far away enough from the hustle and bustle of students on campus, the one where no one bothered you when you sat here by yourself for three years, the one that had oddly become your favorite bench among all the other identical ones scattered throughout your university.

Because it was here that you and Minho had your first real conversation, it was here where you two laughed and gasped at all the little coincidences between your lives, and it was here where you began to build a friendship with this wonderful guy who would unknowingly change you for the better.

It was the perfect place, and you berated yourself for not realizing that sooner.

Minho’s voice calling out your name pulls you away from your thoughts, his hand wrapping around yours and pulling you gently toward his body. You hum before colliding against his chest as he chuckles.

“You just stopped walking,” he says, a lilt of confusion in his voice. “I know you hate work, but I didn’t think it was this serious.”

And when you properly turn to look at him, Minho is smiling so beautifully under the somber sky of winter, as if he is the embodiment of sunshine — always glistening and radiating such a comforting warmth no matter how glum the world around him is. And, at the sight of him, you just can’t stop your words. Never mind how gloomy this campus seems or how lackluster your words are — Minho’s presence alone makes everything become golden.

“I like you because you’re you,” you mirror his words at you, “Because you laughed in my face for spilling coffee all over your notebook when I didn’t even know you, because you love coffee just as much as I hate it, and because you believe in silly myths about riding paddle boats together,” You blurt out, words completely unbidden by your brain. Minho’s eyes widened for a beat before slowly turning into crescent moons as a smile spread across his lips. You take a deep breath before continuing, the words flowing out of you so quickly you’re worried he won’t be able to understand you, “And you opened my eyes to the love I feel for my friends, which I was so fucking stupid and blinded to. But, most importantly, you taught me that love isn’t bad. It can never be bad because you’re love, Minho. You’re full of love, and there’s not an ounce of anything bad in you. And you make me feel deserving of this love, even though I still don’t understand how I can be deserving of something so beautiful.”

Minho’s arms are pulling you into an embrace before you can process everything you said, and by the time you seem to come to your senses, you realize tears have welled up in your eyes. He holds you close to him silently for a while, his left hand delicately massaging your scalp as you clutch onto the fabric of his sweater as if he might be taken away from you if you let go.

“I like you, too,” he whispers against your hair, and you feel your lips contort into a pout.

“You already told me that,” you grumble. “I just word-vomited my feelings to you and this is all you have to say?”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your head. “What else is there to say? I like you so much I don’t think I can put it into words. I might just say something stupid if I talk about it too much.”

You furrow your brows, pulling away from his embrace to face him. “Something stupid like what?”

“Like saying I love you.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. Yet again, Minho has rendered you speechless. He shakes his head dismissively, a smile still etched onto his lips.

“No need to say anything. I told you it was stupid,” his eyes drift over to the bench beside you two, and his smile grows. “Guess this has to become my favorite bench too.”

You let out a laugh, but it’s cut short by your tears spilling out again. Minho quickly turns to look at you again, his expression shifting into a mixture of happiness and worry for you as he wipes your tears away with his thumbs.

And as the sun begins to set, the street lights flicker on, casting a warm, yellow glow over everything around you. You cup Minho’s face and press a chaste kiss to his lips, then to his nose, before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into an embrace once again.

“I don’t think I’m ready to love you yet. I’m sorry,” you apologize, both to him and yourself.

Minho simply hums, kissing your cheek. “I told you I’m patient, because love is patient. I would wait an eternity for the privilege of hearing you say you love me.”

You and Minho have officially been together for almost two months by the time winter break arrives. You’ve done everything couples do, except for two things: say I love you and go all the way. You’ve done every other possible thing — well, Minho has done every other possible thing to you, with you discovering that Minho particularly loves eating you out, often laying on your lap on your couch after work and rubbing his head against your thighs like a cat, humming and sighing until he has your attention before all but begging you to let him go down on you. Whenever you offer to do the same to him, in any way, he immediately turns the offer down, saying he’s satisfied just pleasuring you. It always leaves you with a million questions, as you notice him have to adjust himself in his pants or coincidently go to the bathroom, but you don’t question it.

The two of you also found ways to get around the whole L-word situation. I missed you becoming your go-to phrase for when you want to scream out that you love him, but are still unable to, while he usually just makes you swallow both your words and his own that are lingering inside your mouth with a kiss.

You had fallen into a routine quickly, with you visiting Minho most evenings after your shift to just lay on Chan’s stiff leather couch and watch him work. You two always hang out with his co-workers slash friends for a while before leaving for the night — Seungmin becoming like the pestering but loveable little brother you never had — and you head to your house in Minho’s car before you sneak him into your home so Mrs. Choi remains none the wiser.

Her ‘no boyfriends spending over two days at the house’ rule can’t possibly apply if she doesn’t even know Minho is there in the first place.

And so, he’s been basically living alongside you and your housemates. This outcome was almost inevitable since Minho hates his roommates while you love each other’s company.

You’re now packing your things with Hyunjin, who’s been sitting on your bed for the last half-hour rather than helping you as he’d promised. In the past month, he’s been able to come to terms with the fact that his ideal future with you was nothing but a coping mechanism after a month of sulking every time Minho was around. He deleted every shitty dating app on his phone and now focuses on finding love naturally, recently going out with a girl he met in one of his classes. The first time they met was the epitome of a meet-cute, with her accidentally bumping into him and spilling black paint all over his shirt. It brought back memories of when you first met Minho, and you had high hopes that this time things would work out differently for him. But, judging by the scowl on Hyunjin’s face and his nonstop complaining, you were wrong.

“But, be for real, why did it take her six dates to realize she doesn’t think we’ll work out?” He grumbles, spinning one of your necklaces around his finger like it’s a toy. “I paid for every meal, made sure she got at least two orgasms every time we went out, and she just suddenly decides we won’t work out? Fuck off.’’

You chuckle, closing your suitcase after triple-checking that you packed Minho’s Christmas present and walking over to where Hyunjin is sitting, snatching your necklace from his hand.

“Maybe she liked the free food and orgasms too much to let them go.”

Hyunjin scowls. “You’re saying that’s the only reason she went out with me?” He feigns offense, shaking his head. “I hope Minho’s parents hate your guts.”

“Hyunjin!” You exclaim, watching as he bursts out laughing. “Don’t even joke about that. You know how nervous I am.”

“There’s no way they won’t like you,” He assures you, “You’re fucking amazing, not to mention their son loves you. That’s more than enough reason to love you too.”

You clutch the necklace in your hand, humming before turning on your heels to check your drawers for anything you might have missed. Hyunjin using the word love makes you a bit anxious, an unwelcome reminder that you still haven’t been able to overcome this stupid emotional blockage preventing you from telling Minho you love him. The first and only time you’d ever said you loved Minho was that evening at Hyunjin’s dorm, and it hadn’t even been directed at him. Without saying a word, you both understand the love that exists between you — it’s unspoken, but deeply felt — and you’re aware of that, but the fear that one day he’ll grow tired of waiting is painfully tangible inside your mind.

When Minho invited you to spend Christmas with his family, you hesitated at first. Meeting your ex-boyfriends’ families had never been so significant. You were a teenager at the time, the implications were different and the stakes didn’t seem as high. This time, it feels as if getting Minho’s parents to like you is indispensable. How will he go on dating a woman his parents deem unfit for him? Especially with how highly he speaks of his mother, you’re sure her opinion of you will weigh on his mind.

You can only hope they love you half as much as you love their son.

The car ride to Minho’s parents’ house was around half an hour.

Half an hour you spent picking at a loose thread on your skirt and overthinking so much your head ached by the time he parked the car. You hated how nervous you were, but Minho’s parents liking you was a non-negotiable. 

After insisting on carrying your own suitcase — just in case his parents might think you’re an overbearing girlfriend if they see Minho carrying your bag for you — the two of you walk up the stairs and into his home. The first thing you notice is how cozy-looking everything is; from the family pictures neatly placed on coffee tables and on the walls, cat furniture and toys mixed in with their actual furniture, down to the fuzzy blankets thrown over the couches.

The second thing that catches your attention is the quietude permeating throughout the house, as well as the fact that the first family member to greet you two is an orange cat.

“Oh, did you miss me this much?” Minho asks in a sweet, singsong voice, similar to how you would speak to a baby. He crouches down to pet the cat, who is now entangling himself between his legs. He introduces you by your name, because Soonie is truly just another family member to him. You chuckle, kneeling next to him and carefully extending your hand toward the orange ball of fur.

“Hello, Soonie,” you speak quietly, afraid you’ll spook him. He eyes you carefully before sniffing your fingers and, ultimately, rubbing his head on your hand. You sigh in relief, petting his fur with a smile.

Minho’s cats liking you was also a non-negotiable.

You place your suitcases in Minho’s childhood bedroom, his parents letting him know they will arrive a little late after going Christmas shopping. Looking around his small room, you smile at all the small things that scream Lee Minho. The pictures of him and his friends back in high school are the first thing you notice, glued to the wall in front of his door lopsided. His thick-rimmed glasses and bowl cut make you smile as you analyze one of the pictures, where he and four other boys hug and smile widely in a karaoke room. Then, of course, his extensive plushie collection sat against a wall to your left — all stacked on top of each other like a mountain — which he proudly shows off to you.

“Y’know, I had to basically fight a little girl at the Sanrio store for this one,” he says, a bit too smugly, while holding a plush of Kuromi dressed in a ladybug costume. “I was sixteen, though, so I think that excuses my behavior. I would never do that nowadays.”

You narrow your eyes, humming skeptically. “Sure you wouldn’t.”

Minho just chuckles, meticulously placing the doll back in its place beside the cherry on top of a rather large Pusheen pudding plushie.

“Oh! You have to see my books.” He takes your hand in his, dragging you toward the wall facing his bed. A bookshelf expanding from the floor to the ceiling makes your mouth drop. You hadn’t noticed it before, with it being hidden away in the corner of the room. The bookshelf is decorated with fairy lights — which Minho promptly switches on — and filled with beautiful books, from intricately designed hard covers to intricate sprayed edges, every single book in his collection has something special about it.

He uses a small metal ladder to reach the top of the shelves before handing you a book so thick your wrist almost bends upon grabbing it. It’s a collection of seven Jane Austen novels, all in a gorgeous blue and golden hardcover. You eye the book like it’s a precious jewel, carefully running your fingers over the details engraved on the cover. Beside you, Minho lets out a breathy laugh, stepping down from the ladder and bumping your shoulder lightly.

“You can open it,” he tells you, but you’re still too mesmerized by the book to look at him. “It’s what books are for, whether they’re pretty or not. You have to open it and read it, otherwise they lose their purpose.”

You nod slowly, but remain unmoving. Minho’s hand suddenly rests on top of yours, and he opens the book for you. The page is entirely annotated, with highlighters and thoughts jotted down on pencil in messy handwriting. Looking up at him, you are met by his smile.

“See? The book is fine, the world didn’t end. I have these special editions because I enjoy collecting pretty things, but I always read them,” he explains, “I like when books reflect the emotions I felt while reading them. I annotate, scribble, highlight — I once threw a special edition Stephen King book across the living room and into a wall. There’s an indentation on it till this day.”

You gasp. “Minho, what the fuck?”

He shrugs dismissively. “I know, I know. All book sins in the eyes of many people. But, like I said, that just reflects the emotions I felt while reading that book. I look through any of these pages and I know exactly what I felt at that time of my life.”

You nod, your lips absentmindedly curling into a smile. Minho truly is something else. You skim the page opened before you, reading some of his annotations and laughing quietly to yourself as he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

As you close the book, he speaks again, “They’re a bit like people, aren’t they? Pretty and put-together on the outside, but once you really dig in, it’s all a mess and cluster of feelings and passion.”

 

You and Minho spend an hour lounging around the living room, with you meeting his other two cats during that time. Soonie and Doongie’s adoration toward Minho is clear, with both orange cats always rubbing against his leg or tangling themselves in his sneakers by the door as you two cuddle on the couch. Dori, however, remains laid on his cat tree, barely sparing the two of you a glance. Minho jokes that Dori hates him after he left his first mom, even showing you further proof in the form of a video where the gray cat bites his nose while he sleeps.

Upon hearing the key turn on the front door, your heart is quick to jump. Minho’s parents have arrived.

Sitting up on the couch, you gently push Minho away from you. He shoots you a questioning look.

“What? I don’t want them to think we were doing something indecent.”

“Indecent?” Minho repeats with a chuckle. “We were cuddling, not consummating a marriage on this couch.”

You grumble incoherent words under your breath, shrugging. “I know. I just want them to like me.”

“They were more than okay with seeing me cuddle my ex when I was a teen. We’re both adults, I’m pretty sure they won’t think you’re a filthy harlot.”

You gasp, hitting his chest and hissing through your teeth. “A harlot?”

Minho lets out a long, hearty laugh just as his parents walk through the door.

“Oh, there you are!” You hear his mother’s voice call out as soon as she steps inside the living room. You turn to face her and you’re greeted by the same smile you see on Minho’s face every day — they look so similar you have to hold back a gasp. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You stand up from the couch and smooth down your long skirt, smiling while she walks toward you. You’re caught off guard when she pulls you into a hug as soon as she’s in front of you, her arms squeezing you as she sighs happily into your hair.

“Mom,” Minho calls out, “You’re scaring her.”

His mom pulls away with a chuckle, her left hand pinching her son’s cheek before resting on your shoulder again. “He’s the one who’s scared I’ll embarrass him,” she refutes. “And, god, you’re so pretty! Minho told me you were beautiful, but I just assumed it was the infatuation speaking.”

You feel your cheeks flush at her words, biting back a smile. Minho had talked to his mother about you — had said you were beautiful. You swear if you died tonight, you would die a happy woman.

As his mother steps away from you and into the kitchen, rambling on about how crowded the shopping mall had been, a man comes into your field of vision. He nods courtly before extending his hand, which you shake a bit awkwardly.

“I’m Minho’s dad,” he simply says. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Minho has been very happy on the phone since meeting you.”

And with that, he’s off into the kitchen, following his wife. You’re left a bit dazed. Minho truly was a perfect blend of his mother’s appearance and his father’s calm personality. 

Beside you, Minho pulls you into a side hug, his chilly hands caressing your arms. “See? It’s impossible not to love you.”

You freeze for a moment, before relaxing as you realize he’s talking about his parents loving you. You curse yourself inwardly for being so damn emotionally constipated, but let out a sigh of relief nonetheless.

You were worried for so many different reasons — that you wouldn’t measure up to Minho’s first girlfriend, that your personality would be scrutinized until your flaws finally emerged, and that this would be the catalyst for Minho to realize you’re not worth it. Not worth waiting until you can tell him you love him, not worth waiting until you feel like sex isn’t going to just ruin everything between you, not worth the hassle and the chore that is loving someone like you.

But as he walks into the kitchen with you, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, like he’s proud to show you off to his parents, the level of reliability he radiates is enough to melt away all the annoying little worries you had inside your head.

Christmas eve comes two days later, and you’re rudely woken up in the morning by the sound of Minho’s voice cursing under his breath as he drops something on the floor by his bed. You groan, rubbing your eyes, and he turns to face you with an apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry,” he whispers, kneeling down next to the bed and pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Good morning.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight, I think.” His fingers brush your hair away from your face. “I didn’t set an alarm ‘cause I didn’t wanna wake you up, but guess my inability to be quiet did that anyway.”

You chuckle lightly, scrunching up your nose. “Why are you up so early?”

“Gotta start cooking dinner soon,” he explains.

“Already?” You ask, perplexed. You knew he cooked Christmas dinner all by himself every year for his family, but you never conceived just how much work that would be for a single person.

Minho is unyielding despite your best efforts at persuading him to stay and cuddle you for a few more hours, and watching him cook is always oddly attractive to you, so you find yourself joining him in the kitchen, wrapped up in one of his many cat print sweaters.

At first, you simply sit up at one of the counters and watch him, mesmerized and all but drooling at the way he rolls up his sleeves, the prominent veins making his arms look so sexy while doing such a mundane thing like chopping fucking vegetables. Not to mention his hands, so beautiful and big as he rubs the seasoning on something you don’t even care to identify because you’re just too busy thinking about those hands all over your body. Only now do you notice how no real sex for almost two months has really taken a toll on you, what with the way you have to cross your legs just to try and relieve some tension because your mind won’t stop thinking about Minho’s veiny arms caging you against this counter and his big hands—

Minho calls out your name, and you snap out of your fantasies, humming as you reluctantly turn your attention toward his face with a dazed expression. He seems to find it funny, as he chuckles before repeating himself, “I asked if you would like to help. I can teach you some of the easy stuff. Must be boring just sitting there and watching.”

Oh, but it isn’t boring at all.

But you’d never tell him that, so you nod before hopping off the counter and awaiting further instructions. Turns out you’re worse at cooking than you had thought, so you’re relegated to chopping duty, which you hate for two reasons — firstly, chopping vegetables is boring, and secondly, you’re now deprived of your view of Minho as you stand with your back turned to him while he cooks.

It’s around five p.m. when Minho’s mom joins you two in the kitchen, and by that time you’ve done all you could, so you’re back to your spot on the counter. She smiles at you before ruffling Minho’s hair as he closes the oven.

“My baby is such a wonderful cook, isn’t he?” she praises, and he shrugs with a smirk.

“I am very boyfriend material, aren’t I?”

You chuckle as you watch his mom carefully fixing his hair which she had messed up, Minho scrunching up his face as she then fixes his wire-frame glasses on his nose.

“I’m so glad you’re wearing your glasses again,” she comments, cupping his cheeks and squeezing before letting go. “You look so handsome.”

“You should thank her,” Minho smiles, turning to look at you, and you shoot him a puzzling look. “Remember on your birthday, when you told me I looked good wearing glasses?” He asks, and you nod slowly. “That’s why I stopped wearing contacts.”

Your mouth opens, but you can’t find the words to answer him. You can feel your cheeks dusting pink as his mom coos at the two of you, saying something about young love that has you gnawing on your lips to hold back the silly smile you want to let out.

Minho’s mom leaves the kitchen shortly after, his father calling her from the living room. He takes this as his chance to approach where you’re sitting, hands resting on your thighs before he presses his lips against yours.

“I wanted to look handsome for you. It’s kinda pathetic, isn’t it?” He chuckles against your lips, and you simply shake your head, tangling your fingers in his black hair that has now grown past his eyes.

“It’s actually fucking adorable,” you assure him, pulling him into another kiss, one much deeper than the last.

He quickly uses his hands to spread your thighs apart, pressing his body into yours as you wrap your legs around his waist. The effect this man has on you is mindboggling; the mere slide of his tongue against your lips has you shivering. It certainly doesn’t help that you are now in the exact position from your imagination earlier today.

Minho always tasted like your own personal favorite flavor, always deliciously swirling on your tongue whenever you kissed him. He always renders your mind fuzzy and silly as bliss consumes the entirety of your being. You can only imagine how sex with him will feel like, and you don’t think you can wait any longer. Your worries be damned. You needed him more than you could handle.

But just as Minho pulls you closer to his body — your core dangerously close to his crotch, and sucking on your tongue in a way that has you mewling against his lips — his mother calls out your names, and you two quickly separate, startled as if you were burned. She informs you his grandmother has arrived and you two walk to the living room to greet her. You silently thank the universe for her not walking into the kitchen; the last thing you want is for Minho’s poor grandmother to catch you two making out on the counter like two teenagers.

She is a sweet lady, certainly not as old as you expected her to be, and she always has a smile etched onto her lips stained with red lipstick. You don’t even have to ask to know she is his mother’s mom, as the three of them share the exact same smile you grew to love so much.

You find yourself even more comfortable today, as you help both women set up the table for dinner — his grandma meticulously placing a beautiful lace cloth over the table while telling you about how this was one of her late husband’s first gifts to her when they first moved in together. 

It felt as if you were part of the family.

And as you turn on your heels to grab the fancy silverware from a cabinet, your eyes meet Minho’s gaze. With a smile on his face, he stands by the kitchen door, watching you, and your heart swells with joy.

This was everything you never thought love could be.

Christmas dinner was amazing — as you knew it would be. Minho’s cooking is always fantastic, and pure happiness is written all over his face whenever he was complimented. The way he offers to serve everyone, watching intently as each of you took the first bite before he finally allowed himself to eat as well, his lips upturned into a grin and his ears red as you all hummed and gasped at how tasty everything was. It’s his love language; from the way he carefully and methodically prepares the food, to the way he enjoys watching other people eat more than eating himself. He shows his love through his cooking, you realize, and you smile as you think back to numerous times you woke up in the morning with a beautiful table set with breakfast for you after he spent the night at your house.

You haven’t put it into words yet, but he has unquestionably been showing his love for you through his little actions.

And that’s what you want to do tonight as well.

After watching a cliche Christmas movie with his family, you two are now the only ones awake with you drying off the dishes Minho’s washing. He looks beautiful even now, with his hands clad in neon green dishwashing gloves.

“Minho,” you call out, poking his rib with the plate he just handed you. He squirms with a giggle, warning you to not tickle him. You simply hum, continuing as nonchalantly as you can. “Do you wanna have sex tonight?”

His hand stills, dropping a knife on the sink as his head turns abruptly to look at you, eyes bewildered. “What? What, and you ask me this now? While we’re doing the dishes?” He sputters, and you grin with a shrug.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, placing the plate on top of the counter. “I just… really wanna do it. Really want you.”

Minho turns off the tap — at least five knives left ignored at the bottom of the sink — removes his gloves and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Okay, not what I expected to happen on Christmas night, but I’ll take it.”

You both stare at each other for a beat, before inexplicably bursting out laughing. Maybe it’s the sheer suddenness of your request, or the absurdity of the situation you were in when it happened, but you can’t help it.

As you both calm down, Minho pulls you into his arms and informs you that he will have to go out and buy condoms, since he truly wasn’t expecting anything to happen. You don’t fault him, the two months you’ve been together were filled with you all but running away from sex. You couldn’t help it, your brain always dragging you back to that night in Japan, and the way he avoided your gaze in the morning. Although you knew it was irrational, and that he was simply shy, your self-sabotaging skills were too great, and your mind insisted that if you had sex with Minho too soon he would think you were nothing but a slut. That’s what you were told most of your life, anyway, so you couldn’t be blamed for the way your brain was almost conditioned into assuming the same.

But Minho had proved time and time again that he was not like the awful guys before him, and that all your worrying was unwarranted and foolish. You were depriving yourself of something you wanted badly out of sheer insecurity and attachment to experiences so far in the past it was almost masochistic at this point.

You insist on joining him on his impromptu trip to the convenience store, only throwing one of his sweaters over the dress and tights you wore for Christmas dinner.

Minho holds your hand as you two walk down the empty street, Christmas lights from the houses and stores making everything seem almost like a movie. You spot the familiar logo from across the street, and Minho bumps his shoulder with you while you head toward the convenience store chain where you both once worked.

“This is actually the exact one I used to work at,” He tells you as you look through a fridge hidden away in the back of the store. “I loved working the graveyard shift. I rang up so many couples awkwardly buying condoms like they were buying hard drugs.”

You chuckle, settling for some pudding you two could share later. “Will that be us tonight?”

He shrugs. “We’re adults, it’s normal to buy these things. Unless you want me to act like I’m buying crack cocaine, then I’d be happy to indulge you.”

You stick your tongue out at him with a light shove, turning to look through the rather lacking options on the condom shelf.

“Grape flavor?” Minho makes a face as he eyes one of the boxes. “Who the fuck would want the artificial taste of grapes when fucking?”

You shrug. “Could be worse, imagine banana-flavored condoms. I think I’d throw up all over your dick.”

“That’s sexy,” He jokes, and you let out a loud chuckle, earning you a look from the only other person at the store this time of night on Christmas eve.

Among your other options are a green glow-in-the-dark condom — which would only make you think of Shrek while Minho fucks you — and a strawberry-flavored one. You decide to play it safe, grabbing a box of plain, thin condoms and placing them in the basket Minho’s carrying.

“Let’s just go for the safest option,” you tell him, “We’ll have plenty of time to play around later if you want, though I’ll go on birth control once we’re back home so we won’t even need them anyway.”

You watch as Minho’s eyes widen for a second, his eyebrows shooting up almost comically.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Don’t short-circuit now. I need you functioning to fuck me.”

“Keep saying shit like that and I’ll be broken before we even make it back to my house,” he states matter-of-factly, and you chuckle, shaking your head at his words. But Minho’s expression remains unchanged. “I mean it. It’s been over a year since I’ve had proper sex. I’m surprised I didn’t combust the second you said those words to me in the kitchen.”

With a chuckle, you pull him to your side and walk toward the cashier. It’s a poor teenage boy, no older than eighteen, clearly bored out of his mind and wishing to be anywhere but here. As he rings up your items, Minho points to his phone that’s resting on the counter.

“That’s Ahri from League of Legends, right?” He asks, and the boy looks up, his eyes sparking with interest. He nods. “I don’t play, but I’m a game programmer, so I know a little bit about it. What’s your rank?”

“Grandmaster,” the boy answers proudly, his face lighting up with a hint of joy, probably for the first time since his shift started.

“Oohh,” Minho gasps loudly, basically hyping up this random boy at the convenience store. You watch the interaction with a silly smile on your face. “And you’re still young, wouldn’t be surprised to see you at World’s someday.”

The boy shakes his head dismissively as Minho hands him his card, but smiles nonetheless. Once he hands you your things, he speaks again, “Are you from around here, hyung? Let me know when you have a game out, I’d love to try it. See if you’re any good.”

Minho raises his brows at the obvious teasing lilt in his voice, lips upturning into a grin. “How about this? I’ll give you the beta code and you can start your career of testing games for money.”

“You’ll pay me?” The cashier marvels at the words, and Minho simply nods. He jots down a code from his phone into a scrap piece of paper on the counter, the boy’s face now a complete shift from the expression he wore when you first walked in, all because of Minho and his ability to be kind and sweet no matter the person or circumstance.

As you head back to his house, only the two of walk along the shy streets as the clock hands turn past midnight. Among all the bad people in this world, you’re indescribably happy that a man as good as him is the one walking beside you down this street, firmly holding your hand.

You arrive home and quietly head straight into Minho’s room. You thank any higher power that might exist for the fact that his room is the only one on the first floor, as you would have to endure your desperate need and desire for him until you got home if it wasn’t. Any of Minho’s family members walking in or hearing you two have sex would make you want to flee the country and change your name.

He joins you after storing your puddings in the fridge, making you jump with his arms wrapped around your waist while you were blankly staring at the pictures on his wall. You sigh, the realization of what was going to happen only really dawning on you now that you stand in Minho’s bedroom, and your mind starts to wander and doubt everything all over again.

“I kind of ruined the mood by asking to have sex, didn’t I?” You ask as Minho places a chaste kiss on your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder.

“There was really no mood in the first place,” he lets out a breathy chuckle. “We were washing the dishes.”

You roll your eyes, once again more annoyed at yourself than at him. You could only hope that your awful propensity of bringing up these irritating thoughts of yours at the worst possible moments didn’t drive Minho away from you. Could only hope you were worth it in the end.

“I know, it’s just…” You trail off with another heavy sigh. “This guy I dated hated that. Said I should just initiate it instead of asking like it was a business transaction.”

You feel Minho shake his head. “That’s stupid. Why would I think that?” He sounds incredulous, and hearing him say it makes you realize just how asinine that thought really was. “We had to buy condoms, anyway. It’s also good that you’re comfortable asking me that. It’s as it should be.”

And you can only smile, biting back a giggle because of course he thinks that. It’s as if Jane Austen came back from the dead simply to write Lee Minho.

His arms tighten around your waist, and you turn your head to look at him. “You should really stop thinking about… them,” He hesitates, “Your exes, I mean. Stop comparing, assuming everything will be the same and have the same sad ending. You need to let go of that in order to truly heal. I hate how every time I’m good to you, or do the bare fucking minimum, your mind spins it into something being your fault. I hate what they did to you so much.”

You feel your breath get caught in your throat, tears threatening to spill much like they do every time you are faced with this topic. But you hold them in. You don’t want to cry, not right now, not when everything is so perfect with Minho. So, instead, you take in his words. He’s undoubtedly right, and you must force yourself to face this uncomfortable truth.

Slowly, you promise yourself. You smile at him, a silent promise to him, and you know he understands you when he smiles back, his lips pressing a kiss to your lips.

He lets go of you and rummages through his drawers, and you look around once more. His plushie mountain, the pictures of his childhood and high school days. You scrunch up your nose.

“Will it be too weird to have sex in your childhood bedroom?”

From where you’re standing, his back turned to you, you can faintly make out the tip of his ears turning red as he runs a finger through his hair.

“Well, not really…” He trails off, “I had sex with my ex-girlfriend here all the time when we skipped school together.”

You let out a gasp. “Lee Minho skipped school?”

He chuckles, closing his drawers and immediately wrapping his arms around you. He’s a lot more touchy since you brought this whole topic up, you notice.

“My parents were always at work, though, so this is my first time doing it while they’re right upstairs,” He explains, bringing his finger up to your lips and lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. “So we’ll have to be quiet.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, nodding. You know all too well you’ll probably be too quiet. Once again your trauma playing a part in this, the words an old boyfriend harshly spilled about you being too loud and vocal have always been present in your head. Now that you think about it, all these moments and words are like post-it notes stuck to your mind, and you skim through like a student cramming for an exam every day in search of one that applies to your current situation. It was excruciating.

Hyunjin tried his best to change this about you, always assuring you he liked to hear you during sex when he noticed your pursed and bitten lips, and that you should be vocal about what you want and like. But you always settled for nods and quiet hums instead.

Minho presses a quick kiss on your forehead then. “I’m gonna shower ‘cause my hands still smell like onions and garlic after washing them a thousand times,” he tells you. “I’ll be right back.”

As you’re busying yourself looking through Minho’s extensive collection of books, a meow pulls your attention toward the door. It’s Dori, the gray cat you’ve decided is your favorite since it’s the only one you can easily recognize. He stares for a beat before approaching you, and you kneel carefully to stroke his soft fur. You soon find yourself sitting down by the bed with Dori on your lap, purring away as your mind travels to a future in which you and Minho adopt cats of your own, all while living together and making plans for the rest of your lives. It terrifies you slightly to allow yourself to have these thoughts because if things were to go wrong with Minho, this would only be another ‘what if’ that would haunt you.

Another post-it note to your already cluttered-up mind.

But his words from earlier come back to you just as you begin to panic. You have to let go of the past and stop assuming only the worst outcomes are attainable. And so you simply smile at the imagination, letting your mind run wild while Dori falls asleep on your lap, his gray fur all over your red dress.

You and Dori both jump as Minho all but slams the door when he returns, a towel in his hand drying his damp hair. He cringes at the sound, cursing under his breath. Dori leaves your lap, and you stand up with a pout. He definitely is your favorite cat among the three.

“Sorry,” Minho whispers, as if that will compensate for the loud noise. You take in his appearance; a green Christmas sweater and bright red sweatpants. You bite back a smile, because that’s so him.

“Your outfit is doing a great job of seducing me,” you jest, and he shrugs with a cocky grin.

“I know no woman can resist a Christmas sweater.”

He pulls you into him with a hand around your waist, his lips crashing into yours in a deep kiss. You notice he’s more frantic, less careful than he usually is, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as his hands slide up your back. He pulls away, breathless and flushed, and just looks at you for a moment. You can see the shift in his eyes, yearning swimming all over his brown orbs.

Clumsily, he shuts off the lights behind him then switches on the fairy lights adorning his bookshelf, his left hand still firmly clutching your body. Until it suddenly loosens, and you cock your head to the side.

“Okay, you gotta leave,” he says, and you follow his gaze, landing on Dori, who stares up at him almost defiantly. Minho lets out a sigh, opening his door before walking toward the cat and motioning toward the exit as if he will understand him. “Come on, I’ll give you treats later, hm? But you need to leave now, Dori.”

You fail to hold back a chuckle. “Why does the poor baby have to leave? He looks so comfortable snuggled up on the floor.”

“I can’t have sex while Dori watches,” he deadpans as if it were an obvious answer. “It’ll be weird.”

“Minho, it’s a cat. He doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“It’s still weird! And I…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. He’s still facing the door when he blurts out, “I told you, I’m already really fucking nervous ‘cause it’s been a while since I’ve had sex. I might not be the best.”

You shake your head with a smile, crossing your arms over your chest. “Minho, that’s not possible.”

“Yes, it is!” He finally turns to face you. “Remember back in Japan? I came too fast, it was embarrassing. That’s why I never let you touch me.”

You jokingly pout at him. “Thought you just liked eating me out.”

“I fucking love eating you out, but I’m not exactly refusing that you do the same because I want to,” he explains, “I’m just scared I’ll be bad at it.”

You furrow your brows. “Bad at… getting a blowjob?”

Minho’s ears are dusted a light pink, and he throws his hands up. “Well, yes! Back in Japan I didn’t even know what to do with my hands. I don’t know what you like, and I haven’t been with anyone else to know what most people like so…” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fuck, I was so nervous that night, you have no idea.”

“You were nervous?” You let out a huff, recalling Minho’s clear shift in demeanor that night. “Looking into my eyes the entire time and pinning me down to the bed, that’s you being nervous?”

His entire face now flushes red, and he returns his gaze toward the door, where Dori paddles out of the room graciously. He promptly shuts the door, locking it this time.

“I was nervous,” He tells you, taking a step toward you. “I kept looking at you ‘cause I couldn’t believe that was actually happening. Felt like you were gonna disappear if I looked away,” His hands cup your face gently, and your lips unknowingly curl into a smile. “And when you looked at me in the morning, all I could think about was how awful I was the night before.”

You have to fight the strong urge to laugh because god, that’s why he was acting shy and avoiding your gaze. You berate yourself for even thinking otherwise, for ever assuming Minho could be like your ex-boyfriends. His words ring even more true than before.

You let out a groan, realizing you two have been putting off having sex for such mindless reasons. When he shoots you a questioning gaze, you simply say, “Minho, we’re both fucking idiots, d’you know that?”

And before he can say anything else or even entertain the idea of overthinking any more, you pull him into a kiss. With a surprised hum, Minho gently pushes you back, and your knees meet the softness of the mattress causing you to fall back into his bed. He climbs on top of you, pulling away from the kiss.

“You still gotta tell me what you like,” he repeats, his lips all but pouting at you. You smile up at him.

“No,” you say simply, pushing his hair back with your fingers as it fell into his eyes. “It’s better if we figure that out together, isn’t it?”

Minho chuckles, promptly pressing his lips to yours, your hand tugging at his hair gently as his tongue glides across your lips, causing a soft whine to slip from your throat before you can stop it.

“I like that,” he says between kisses, “When you make these pretty noises.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words and take that as your chance to take the first small step in healing, adding a post-it to your mind, reminding you not to suppress any noise that Minho coaxes out of you tonight.

The atmosphere in his room feels perfect — like heaven, as he would say. The soft yellow glow emanating from his bookshelf made everything seem dreamy; his honey skin looked stunning, and his eyes gleamed like the stars in the sky every time they met yours.

It was undoubtedly so much more intimate and passionate than any other time you had sex before, and you were both still fully clothed.

It was just like what Minho had told you many months ago.

His hands travel through your body until they rest on your back, finding the buttons of your dress, slowly opening each one as his lips trail down your neck, softly sucking on the skin. As he gingerly slides your dress down your torso, you realize that this will be the first time you two see each other naked. Yet, you don’t feel nervous. You want nothing more than to be close to him, with no barriers between you, to finally be tangled with him like the roots on the ground.

Minho unclasps your bra, his gaze unmoving from your chest as he slips the garment off of your skin and drops it on the floor. It’s almost as if you can feel his gaze burning you, your chest tightening and your breath hitching in your throat. He licks his lips, leaning down to wrap them around your nipple, his hand promptly finding your other breast and softly massaging it. You let out a choked gasp, tugging at his hair.

You feel his lips stretch into a smile before he softly bites the bud.

“So you like this,” He mumbles, pressing a wet kiss to your nipple. “Duly noted.”

You giggle at his words, your hands tangling in his hair once more. His kisses travel up again, from your chest to your neck, until he’s back to kissing your lips. Both of his hands now massage your breasts, alternating between rolling your nipples between his rough fingers and pinching them lightly, causing a rush to spread across your entire body. You feel your arousal trickle down your slit as you grow more desperate.

“Minho,” you call out between kisses, and he hums against your lips. “Do something,” you all but beg him, yearning for some release as you feel the small, unrelenting pulse between your thighs grow stronger with each stroke of his finger across your chest. Your hands now grasp at his sweater, tugging it over his head, the fabric also discarded somewhere on the floor of his room.

Your hands travel over the expanse of his chest, fingertips taking in every inch of his soft skin. Breaking away from his lips, you push him back softly so you can revel in the sight of him; his delicate collar bones, his strong arms, and soft stomach. He’s beautiful, breathtakingly so, and you don’t know what you did to be deserving of him.

“Enjoying the view?” He jokes, and you breathe out a laugh, your gaze flying up toward his face — his lips swollen, and his cheeks flushed a pretty red.

“Minho, you’re so beautiful,” you whisper absentmindedly, and he smiles at you, softly pressing his lips to yours.

“You should see how you look,” he whispers.

His left hand soon slips underneath your dress skirt, fingertips grazing your skin over your tights. You feel goosebumps trickle along your thighs following his every touch, so eager to feel his hands on your skin you’re sure you’ll rip your tights in half yourself if Minho doesn’t get rid of them soon.

He seems to grow as impatient as you, lifting your hips with a strong grip to slide down your dress, tights, and panties off of you all in one go. In no time, you are now laid bare before him, and Minho is swift to trail kisses down your stomach, sloppy and messy, painting your skin with his saliva as his mouth waters at the mere prospect of tasting you.

With a heavy sigh, he stares at your glistening wetness before promptly wrapping his lips around your clit without a warning and sucking, ardently, vulgar sounds filling his small room much like they do every time he eats you out. Always messy, always eager, humming against your pussy and sighing as his eyes glaze over with pure want.

You squirm like lighting has shocked through your entire body. No matter how often you experience the satisfaction of Minho’s lips on you, it always leaves you trembling like it’s the first time. His right hand slides up the expanse of your stomach until it reaches your breast again, his thumb lazily circling your nipple. You purse your lips as his fingers tentatively trail across your folds, spreading your wetness up to your clit before lapping at it slowly, the small bud swollen and aching.

You’re quick to remember to open your mouth, letting out the heavy sigh that had stuck to your throat as his finger enters you, Minho still licking and sucking your sensitive clit, nipping harshly and making your sigh fade into a whine. Hand tangling in his hair and tugging, you elicit a low groan from his throat, which you feel reverberate through your slick folds.

Your thighs shake as he adds a second finger, and soon a third, thrusting them inside of you and stroking your walls more vigorously than he usually does, as if he somehow also feels your pleasure and needs to lead you to your high as quickly as possible.

Minho’s hand leaves your chest, and you bite back a pout, his fingers now gripping your hips before pushing them up so he can reach deeper. It isn’t long before his fingers drag across the spot inside of you that has your muscles tensing up, a strangled moan falling from your lips at the sensations coupled with the unrelenting feeling of his tongue on your clit. You come undone around his fingers and lips with a harsh tug of his black hair, rutting your hips against his face desperately, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as you do.

He laps up your juices as you slowly come down from your high, tongue flicking inside of you and sucking hard before he presses a long kiss to your cunt. Your entire body jerks in response to the overstimulation.

His kisses travel toward your inner thigh, your lower stomach and breasts until he reaches your neck, where his teeth nip at the soft skin, sucking harshly before his tongue soothingly licks at the spot. As Minho positions himself between your thighs again, you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Your mind goes hazy for a beat as you feel the thick outline of his cock press against your bare core.

“Minho,” you call out again, your voice significantly more whiny this time around, shaky and breathless, “Wanna taste you.”

He groans against your skin, pressing small kisses up your neck until he ultimately stops against your open lips. He breathes out a heavy sigh.

“Really want that, too,” he rasps out, voice hoarse as his dark eyes travel across your face. “But I really wanna fuck you. Shit, I need to fuck you so badly you have no idea,” He groans. You feel his length jump at his words as he presses your foreheads together and locks his gaze with you. “That’ll be hard to do if your pretty lips go anywhere near my cock.”

You breathe out a chuckle, pressing a small kiss to his lips. “Then get to it,” you simply say.

Minho’s lips curl into a grin. “Will you remember to be quiet for me this time? My baby sounded so pretty coming around my fingers.”

Your cheeks flush, just how loud you were before only now dawning on you. Fuck. Your words get stuck to your throat, your mouth opening but making no sound, so you settle for a nod.

He chuckles. “Good,” he replies with a kiss to your agape lips.

Minho sits up, detangling himself from your body briefly. He reaches for the box on his bedside table, scrambling with the cardboard before clumsily tearing it open and retrieving a condom. It’s only then you notice how his hands are trembling, from nervousness or pure lust. Either way, you find yourself smiling at the sight.

You reach out to run a hand along his arm soothingly, watching with hungry eyes as he tugs at his drawstrings before freeing his cock from the confines of his sweatpants. Minho hisses as he rolls the rubber over his length, shaky hands stroking himself one, two, three times, all while you eye him, watching greedily as if you were his own personal captive audience.

He lowers himself once again, hand now sliding across the length of your thigh before gripping the flesh, nails digging into your skin as he eyes you with an almost pleading gaze.

“Can I—”

“Please do,” you answer, almost frantically, before he even has the time to assume you might say no. You inch your thighs apart even more so Minho can slot himself perfectly between them.

Your mouth waters as you catch sight of him gripping his cock once more, tapping it against your swollen clit and eliciting a whine from your lips as your hands scramble to find purchase in his strong arms. Minho’s eyes then find yours much like they did back in Japan, and you know you are done for. His dark gaze once again felt all-consuming — desire and adoration swimming along his brown eyes, looking at you as if he were in a daze. Your grip on his arms tightens as he lazily slides his cock up and down your soaked slit, coating himself in your arousal. Minho’s lips fall open as he continues his movements, the blunt head of his cock gliding along your folds almost painfully slow.

He leans in to close the small gap between your lips, before whispering something you can’t quite understand against them.

“I fucking love you,” he repeats himself more clearly, and finally pushes forward, his girth pushing into you as you gasp, feeling as if all the air has been stolen from you.

You aren’t sure if your reaction is due to his words, or the way his cock is working you open so good, or maybe it was a delicious blend of the two. All you know at the moment is Minho, Minho, Minho, your mind foggy as his name rings inside your head like a mantra.

“Don’t gotta say anything back,” he tells you in a breathy voice, “Just want you to know I love— Fuck,” he groans as he is now fully sheathed inside of you, and you clench at both the feeling and the words spilling from his lips. Of course he would choose now to tell you he loved you. “Love you so much, so much I’d do anything for you. Would wage a war with the world if you asked me to…” He babbles, words slipping past his lips like they were the easiest thing for him to say. Like he meant it so deeply, he didn’t have to put any thought into it. His words only die as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

Minho pulls his hips back in one swift motion, hands lifting your thighs around his body as he thrusts into you, evoking a rather loud noise from the back of your throat which is smothered by his kiss.

“You take me so well,” he growls against your lips, “We fit perfectly.” He breaks the kiss to look down at where your two bodies are connected. It felt as if you were one, melting into each other little by little the more Minho thrust his cock inside of you. You simply nod, mind even more dizzy with the way he’s already pulling out again before slamming back into you, his pace quickening as he presses you into the mattress.

Your nails dig into his skin, crescent moon shapes blooming over the expanse of his honey skin. His eyes still bore into you, hips now thrusting at an unrelenting pace, his small room filled with a cacophony of wet sounds, whines tumbling from your parted lips and curses that almost silently fell from his.

“Gonna come soon,” Minho chokes out, his eyebrows furrowing, “I’m sorry, I—”

You silence him with a press of your lips, hands now tangling in his messy hair.

“You’re always so good to me,” you tell him, feeling his cock pulse inside of your walls. “Wanna be good to you too, make you feel good.”

And he simply leans down before kissing you reverently. The sound of his skin slapping against yours mixed with the creaking of his bed likely much too loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. At least not at the moment. Not with the way his hand snakes along your hips, rough fingers now rolling delicious circles around your clit while his other palm presses down onto your abdomen, and his cock continuously hits a spot inside of you that has you all but crumbling apart underneath him.

Your mouth falls open, breaking the kiss, his cock twitching inside of you as his body stills on top of you. With furrowed brows and agape lips, Minho comes mere seconds before you reach your high as well, toes curling against his back as you melt onto his cock.

You stay that way for a while — a few seconds, maybe minutes — simply looking at each other as your labored breaths intertwine.

You finally reach up, brushing his dampened hair away from his beautiful eyes that now look at you as if you were the sole reason why the stars sparkle. Minho’s fingers soon find yours, tangling together as he brings your hands to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles.

You smile.

You love him.

It’s not a realization but rather a confirmation of something you’ve already known all too well and for far too long. You still can’t put it into words, but somehow, you are certain that he knows just as well.

Minho accidentally awoke you in the morning with his habit of slamming his door shut, apologizing as you grumbled at him and insisted you would only accept his apology if he let you give him a blowjob. He laughed, simply pulling you closer to him on the bed as he sat up and you finally gave the most beautiful man you had ever met the head he deserved.

Minho’s parents and grandmother had left to eat at a fancy restaurant, and after lying through his teeth and telling his very distraught mother that you were feeling too sick to leave the bed, you two stayed behind. They didn’t have to know the real reason you couldn’t leave the bed — Minho and his apparent insatiable hunger for you. It was as if something had been awoken inside him now that he had a taste of you, and he had to make up for all the lost time.

You two only leave his room late in the afternoon, the sun setting on the pale winter sky outside his bedroom window. His family would arrive soon, and you needed to get ready for their tradition of opening Christmas presents while watching bad holiday movies.

When Minho followed you when you headed toward the bathroom, you thought little of it. It was only when he began undressing alongside you that panic truly set in.

“We literally had sex, why do you sound so horrified?” Was all he offered you when you asked what he was doing before entering the steamy shower with you.

It was your first time showering with someone, and the fact that it made you so nervous felt almost pathetic. Minho was right; you had sex, and you saw each other naked and sweaty and vulnerable. This shouldn’t be any different.

Except it was.

You found yourself too awkward to wash yourself, doing a terrible job at pretending to scrub at your arms as you watched Minho shower like a normal person. He let out a chuckle after rinsing his hair, shaking his head.

“Are you seriously shy? Seriously?” He asked, turning your body around so your back faced him. “The girl who begged to suck my cock just this morning is too shy to shower in front of me?”

You opened your lips to refute him, but your words died in your mouth as you felt Minho’s hand spread shampoo all over your hair. His fingers gently massaged your scalp before placing his hand over your eyes to shield them from the foam as he rinsed your hair. He repeated the process with conditioner, then moved on to wash your body with his almost sickly sweet watermelon body wash. He did it all while humming, making you so relaxed and comfortable that all your silly insecurities dissipated in the air along with the steam from the hot water.

Suffice to say, showering without Minho would now be a sad affair.

You are now sitting on the floor before the television, his family exchanging gifts. Dori purred on your lap, and Soonie bit Minho’s socks, trying his best to remove the fabric from his feet. It’s finally time for you two to exchange gifts, and you’re a bit glad his family seemed to be so immersed in the movie because you know you would combust if you had to explain your gift to them.

“Here,” you hand him an orange box with a black bow. “It’s stupid. Now that I think about it, it’s probably such a fucking dumb gift. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and Eunha even made one for her sister. I almost stole hers ‘cause it turned out much better than mine—”

“My god,” Minho interrupts you with a hearty laugh, taking the box in his hands and inspecting it. “It’s been a while since you word vomited so much. What the hell did you get me that made you so nervous?”

He pulls on the bow, unraveling it before taking the black fabric in his hands and tying it around your head. He laughs once more, and you roll your eyes.

“Minho, just get to it before I snatch this box from you.”

With one last chuckle, he finally opens the box. He stills as he takes in the notebook, sitting on top of far too much wrapping tissue paper. The cat print cardstock paper was a pain to find, but it’s worth it now as you watch Minho’s lips curl into a smile as his fingers gingerly travel through the cover. It was crooked, a bit too small, and still reeked of bookbinding glue, but it reminds you of the day you met Minho, and that was all you thought about when you decided on this gift.

“You fucking bound me a notebook,” he says, still bewildered.

“Took me a while, but I did say I was gonna do it. I’m a woman of my word.”

Minho looks up at you, his smile reaching his eyes and turning them into the pretty crescent moons you love so much. “I love it,” he beams, hands now squeezing your cheeks as he pulls you into a small kiss. “This and that coffee stained notebook are going on my bookshelf back in my dorm, displayed in all their glory.”

Minho pulls away and reaches toward two small boxes on the coffee table. He clears his throat, handing you one box as he settles the other on his lap.

“I thought of you when I saw this on my Instagram feed,” he simply says, fingers toying with the misshaped bow on top of the box — one very similar to the one on your birthday gift many months ago. “Thought about what we talked about in Japan, y’know, about soulmates.”

You raise a brow at him, quickly undoing the bow on your box as curiosity washes over you. You pick up a bracelet made only of red thread, eyeing it curiously.

Minho retrieves the same bracelet from his own box, putting it on before asking, “Have you heard of the red string of fate?”

“That myth that a thread connects two people meant to be together?” You question.

He nods. “Exactly. I feel like that was us,” He explains, taking the red bracelet from your hands and slipping it around your wrist before gently tightening the thread. “Feel like all our little coincidences were little threads tying us together until we met.”

You feel the tears well up in your eyes, but you don’t bother trying to hide or stop them this time. Grabbing Minho’s hand that stilled around your wrist, you lace your fingers together, admiring your matching bracelets. It could only be fate. Every small detail that aligned and every road you two crossed to reach the place where you are now could only have come to be because fate wanted it to be that way.

Out of every city you could have lived in, every different university you could have chosen to attend, down to every other seat that could have been empty on the day you met Minho — everything fell into place like a puzzle piece, exactly as if a long, invisible string tied you to him and finally decided it was time to pull you together.

Minho’s gentle touch brushes against your cheek as he silently wipes your tears — no words are needed between you two at that moment as he smiles softly at you while you feel your eyes burn from the cry you had held back for so long. And, as if you’re his mirror, you feel yourself smile as his lips upturn into a grin when his gaze shifts to the open window.

“It’s snowing,” he beams. “It’s the first snow of the year, and our first snow together.”

 

You stand in front of Minho’s house, the light snow falling softly and covering your heads in white as he kisses you, only stopping to grumble against your lips.

“Your phone’s going crazy in my pocket,” He pouts, and you furrow your brows. You had already sent your family holiday messages, and your friends were all busy with their own Christmas celebrations, so you were clueless about who it could be.

“Can you check it for me?”

Minho nods, untangling himself from your embrace just enough to reach into his pocket and grab your phone to unlock it.

“There’s like fifty new messages from a group chat. Best Fucking Five?” He chuckles lightly at the name, his chilly breath tickling your cheek.

You, on the other hand, immediately frowned as you heard the name. It’s a long-forgotten group chat with your old friend group from high school. You had all stopped talking a little before graduation, with you especially distancing yourself from them upon realizing their toxic words and reactions to your relationships only served to make you feel worse about yourself. No one bothered to leave or delete the group since it quietly died and had stayed that way for over three years now.

Minho hands you the phone, and you click another notification that pops up as soon as you unlock the device.

The conversation began with your former friend sending a screenshot of one of your ex-boyfriend’s newest Instagram post. You skim through the caption and blanch at the words accompanied by a sonogram picture. His girlfriend is pregnant, and he’s over the moon about it.

And you, for some reason, find yourself laughing so much you have to clutch onto Minho’s shoulder as your stomach starts to hurt.

He shoots you an understandably puzzled look, but you can’t stop the giggles that spill from your lips, so you settle on showing him the screenshot. 

“I got the best Christmas gift tonight,” Minho reads from the screen. “I'm going to be a dad, and the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known is the mother,” he trails off with a questioning lilt, brows furrowing as that had only confused him more.

“It’s one of my exes,” you manage to tell him after catching your breath.

Minho hums, taking your hands and shoving them in his overcoat pocket along with your phone.

“And why did that make you lose your mind laughing?” He asks with a small smile.

“I guess it was the shock, really. It also made me realize just how little I care about him now. All of them, actually. Every time I was broken up with or had my heart broken in some way, it honestly felt like the end of the world,” you explain, “Like my heart would never recover and like I would hate them for the rest of my life. For years I had such a strong ax to grind with them, and that hatred and grudge only caused me harm. It made me hate love, and it made me blame myself.”

Minho nods, pressing his forehead to yours. Around you two, the snow got thicker, and only the distant sounds of children laughing from neighboring houses could be heard throughout the quiet street.

“But it’s different now?”

You smile up at him. “It’s different now, and I only just realized that. These people are no longer people I hate. They’re simply their words and their actions toward me, but they, as people, mean nothing to me.”

Minho smiles and wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. This realization makes you feel lighter, like a small part of the weight of healing has been removed from the equation. It’s only you and yourself now; none of them has any power over your emotions anymore.

“Maybe we should send the baby a present,” you joke, and Minho buries his head in the crook of your neck with a chuckle, and you jump as his cold nose brushes against your skin.

“Maybe we should.”

At that moment, in the arms of this amazing man who has helped you more than he will ever know, you realize that love truly isn’t bad. People can be bad, circumstances can be catastrophic, and wrong timing can destroy nearly everything. But love is, at the core of it all, good.

“Minho,” you call out, feeling him hum against your skin before lifting his head to look at you. “I love you,” you say simply.

His smile rivals every pretty thing around you. The first snow, the gleaming Christmas decorations, and even the moon herself pale in comparison to the smile that Minho gives you.

“I love you, too,” he replies, a tangible sense of bliss in his voice, as if he has yearned for a lifetime to finally be able to say those words to you.

You wrap your arms tighter around Minho, and your fingers brush against the red thread that adorns your wrist. It truly feels as if fate had led you to Minho, leaving little clues along the way to make sure you both knew when you finally met. His journey to you had been relatively easy, while yours had been heart-wrenching, but in the end, it had brought you heaven.

If soulmates really are a thing, there is not an ounce of doubt in your being that Minho is yours. More than anything, he taught you that love is present in everything around you. Love is being kind to others like Minho is kind to his family and strangers in convenience stores at midnight. Love is staying up with your best friend while she cries on the couch, not expecting anything in return. Love is the laughter of little kids on Christmas night echoing throughout a neighborhood. Love is also going out on your own, doing something simply because it will make you happy, and being kind to yourself. All this time, you held onto the belief that love is destructive and only leads to sadness, oblivious to the fact that it has surrounded you every step of the way.

Love is everywhere and in everything.

In the end, Minho had always been right.

Love is the most amazing thing in life.

♡ taglist: @notevenheretbh1, @malunar28replies, @jazziwritesthings, @finchyyy, @bloom-ings, @linocz, @minhochaos, @lastgreatamericandynasty1, @missminhoe, @jungkookies1002, @meanergreener

[lucyandthepen]

last young renegade | jjh

summary: your valentine’s day plans with jaehyun may have gone down the drain just a little. (okay — a lot.)

pairing: jaehyun x reader verse: canon, idol!verse rating: t warnings&tags: reader & jaehyun are in an established relationship, quite frankly there is nothing too out of the ordinary in this fic which is a shocker, it’s a rewritten fic so pls excuse any errors I may not have caught! word count: 5.02k

a/n: happy 2024 friends and family !!!!!! and advanced happy birthday to the man who created valentine’s day, he who is perhaps my first love in nct, jaehyun! this is actually just a fic I’ve been hoping to re-write a bit from before, and since it’s valentine’s themed, what better time to post it!! Enjoy enjoy, and may this year bring more fun, laughs, love (and debauchery) to this blog!

Yᴏᴜ sᴀɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ sɪᴄᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛɪʀᴇᴅ ᴏғ ɪᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ, ɴɪɢʜᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴀʏ.

♡ jaehyunnie ♡ I know I said birthday dinner but practice is running so late ㅠㅠ ♡ jaehyunnie ♡ Can we meet after? I’m sorry ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ How about I call you when we’re done? Maybe 11:30?

At times like this, you often wonder if it’s all worth it.  

You know thinking that way is counterproductive, not to mention a little unfair. You knew exactly what to expect, getting into an under-wraps relationship with an idol, and so far, it’s lived up to most of your assumptions, and then some. It doesn’t help that Jaehyun, even just by name, tends to attract an unbelievable amount of attention. You know you can’t blame him; it’s not like he wants to be high on the radar every time, either. For some reason, though, you seem to be looking for something or someone to blame, which you also know is a dead end. You have no one to pin the blame onto apart from yourself by frequently generating doubts that keep your mind running around in circles.  

It’s not even the sneaking around that gets tiring; it’s the waiting — waiting on calls, waiting on free time, waiting on a good opportunity to do something that doesn’t involve him suddenly getting pulled out to attend to one of many of his celebrity responsibilities. Over the last few years that you’ve dated, NCT has only ever gotten more popular; with that popularity came the fact that the public eye was trained on them, focusing on every microscopic detail of their lives. Jaehyun hates that more than anything, which is why he’s given up on trying to avoid it by practically escaping it altogether, locking himself up in the dorm with you when he has his precious few days off. 

While it’s true that you definitely don’t miss having to play espionage when going out for a cup of coffee with him, you’ve also managed to memorize every single inch of Jaehyun’s room, which isn’t good for your mentality, you’re pretty sure. You have to keep reminding him to open the window whenever the both of you are in there, because all you do is stay in and watch English movies without subtitles to see who can understand the most without asking questions (obviously, he always wins) while eating food he runs up and down the stairs to get every other hour. And while him trying to imitate the British accents on these shows is genuinely funny, you’re starting to suspect even he’s starting to get tired of watching Harry Potter over and over again. Twenty hours sounds like a long time unless you spend every twenty-hour period you have together marathoning the exact same films. Much to both of your disappointment, your suggestion to watch it totally out of order did not make it cooler.

Still, you suppose it’s not all bad. Jaehyun also taught you how to play Fortnite on a couple of his days off back to back, and while you hadn’t been as good a player as you both had hoped, he’d still patiently waited for you every time you got lost on the map. He’d even given you his account’s password with the sentiment that this was him ‘taking things to the next level with you,’ and you get to log into his account and play whenever you want; he doesn’t even get mad when you’ve wasted all the stuff he’s farmed on your subpar gaming skills. And, well, the bigger picture was that you loved him. Based on how much effort he put into the relationship, plus the bonus of his trust in you when it came to his Fortnite account, you could at least be confident in that he returned the sentiment.  

Except, sometimes, you still wonder if it would be easier for the both of you if he flew solo and didn’t have a girlfriend that tanked all of his player’s ammo and health kits and generally made a fool out of his cute little avatar while he was out breaking his back onstage.  

You aren’t sure if Jaehyun’s been noticing the turmoil in you; you’re not that good at hiding how you feel, anyway, but if he has, he hasn’t said anything thus far. You do observe how much more he texts you when he has free time, which makes you feel doubly bad, because you know that he’s spending precious minutes he could be resting with on talking to you instead, which isn’t the best trade-off for someone who’s constantly busy — and thereby constantly tired — like him.  

♡ jaehyunnie♡ ___________ I’m going to practice again, okay? Wait for my call ㅠㅠ You I’ll wait for your call ♡ ♡ jaehyunnie♡ I love you ㅠㅠㅠㅠ ♡ jaehyunnie♡ You love me too — a lot, right? I’ll keep my phone now, but I’ll make sure to check that you said so. ㅋㅋㅋ You Right! ㅎ I love you a lot! ♡

When the clock hits 12:01, and your phone is silent, your mind starts working on overtime again. It’s only when the special ringtone you’ve set for him comes to life at half-past midnight that you break your train of thought and put on your socks so you can meet Jaehyun at your front door.  

You’ve made a rule — sort of like a deal — between the two of you that apologies aren’t necessary when work holds you up. You’ve cashed in on that deal a couple of times, but you’re both aware that it’s more for Jaehyun’s sake than anything else, and he keeps to his word on that much when you open the door and duck into his car. All he does is smile at you, and you smile back, and for the rest of the car ride, everything seems okay.  

He always asks you about your day — unfailingly, at any chance he can. It’s never an off-handed question, either; Jaehyun takes great pride in his memory, and the sweetest thing about him is that he’s dedicated a good deal of it to knowing almost everything about you. Right now is no different. He asks you about your team manager, what you had for lunch; he grills you on if you took your vitamins today and if you got to break in the new shoes you bought online — the ones you’d been pining over for the last three months. He even asks you about the guy from the neighboring department who keeps asking you out for after-work drinks.  

“He wanted to go to Hongdae tonight,” you tell him as he slows for a red light. “There’s some new pub of his friend’s doing a soft opening there tonight.”  

“You could have gone.” He keeps his eyes on the road. “I wouldn’t have minded.”  

“I didn’t want to.”

“Good.” He glances at you, a grin slowly spreading on his lips. “Because I lied. I might have minded a little. Or, you know, a lot.”  

“Don’t tell me after all these years, you’ve turned into the kind of boyfriend that doesn’t let his girlfriend go out without him.”

“That’s impossible for me, and you know that,” he chuckles. “You can do whatever you want, whenever you want. Just not with that guy from the other department.”

“Don’t worry.” You tinker with the little charm dangling on your phone — half of a flat, metal heart dangling from a gold chain that Jaehyun had given you two years back on your birthday. He keeps the other half, but since he can’t freely attach it to any of his belongings, he keeps it wedged between the back of his phone and its case. You like watching him change the backing because he does it so carefully, like he’s worried the other half of the heart is going to break if he rips off the case willy nilly. “I told him my boyfriend and I were going out on a date tonight, so he backed off. Although he did wonder why I keep talking about a boyfriend he’s never seen.”

“And? What did you say?”

“I said it was none of his damn business.”  

Jaehyun laughs loudly, and you go along with him, but you don’t miss how tired he looks when he sobers down, the green light illuminating all the shadows on his face as he steps on the gas again.

Nothing good is open this late at night — that is, nothing you haven’t seen before. You hadn’t even expected to go out at all, but since it was the day before Valentine’s Day as well as his birthday (or it would have been, if you hadn’t waited until midnight), Jaehyun had wanted to do something special without having to run into a huge crowd of couples on the day itself. Your only option is this from-out-of-town carnival that’s set up in tents and even has a medium-sized ferris wheel by the edge of the metal barricade. The parking lot is practically empty when Jaehyun pulls into a slot; you joke that he should break one rule and park in two slots, which he smugly replies to by saying he couldn’t park badly even if he tried.  

He tucks your hair back behind your ears as he loops the strings of a face mask around them, using another one for himself. Between that and the brim of his cap, you can barely see his eyes. The only knowledge that you have that you’re walking next to the man you love is that he takes your hand in his, slender fingers finding their way between yours.  

The carnival is half-closed when you get to the middle of it; there are still a few stragglers, but half the kiosks have their lights off already. There’s a woman dressed in flashy clothes standing on a patch of dead grass a few feet away, and she’s holding a hoop that a ginger cat is jumping through. Jaehyun steers you to them, and you stand there for a good five minute watching the cat roll on the ground and stand on its hind legs, but you can tell it’s been going it at for most of the day because at one point, it just ignores the lady, opting to weave its way between Jaehyun’s and your legs instead. You do have a pretty good time when he picks it up and cradles it in his arms so you can pet it for a second, but it just hisses when its owner approaches and jumps out of his hold, disappearing behind a row of trash bins.  

Jaehyun doesn’t have anything in his wallet apart from his credit cards and 50,000 won, and the coin machine operator says he only has enough coins left to break down 5,000 won for the games, so you end up having to jog back to his car so you can fish out some coins from inside his glove compartment. You come up with a grand total of 1,500 won, and you have to sheepishly go back to the coin machine operator to change four 100 coins and a couple of 50s just to get the last 500. Jaehyun tells you to hold onto the three coins so he doesn’t run off with them entirely and leave you destitute.  

You learn you can only do three things at most — you dedicate 500 won for the Ferris wheel entry tickets, which leaves you with 500 won each. The both of you agree on choosing one kiosk to play in, and with only about five left that are open, you don’t really have that many options. You end up dragging Jaehyun over to a stall with a pond filled with those magnetic toy fish, but 500 won only gets you one fishing rod. Since it’s your choice, Jaehyun lets you play, but you feel kind of stupid doing it on your own with him just watching you. In the end, he decides to stand behind you, his arms around your waist like he thinks closer contact isn’t even more distracting. You do manage to fish out 10 fish and win a small bear on a keychain. It doesn’t even pass through your hands as Jaehyun takes it from the stall operator immediately. 

“That’s mine!” You whine, reaching out in vain to take it from him; he just holds it high over his head. His eyes are twinkling under the shadow his cap casts over his face. “I worked hard for that.”  

“Let me keep this one,” he mimics the pleading lilt in your voice. “I’ll put it on my bag.”

“You know you can’t! Give it back.”

“I’ll win you a bigger one,” he promises. “Let me keep this one. It’s cute. It reminds me of you. I’ll kiss it goodnight before I sleep.” He starts to laugh softly. “And then you’ll feel this weird spirit kissing you at like two in the morning, and you’ll know it’s me.”  

Your arms aren’t long enough to retrieve it, and you don’t really want to, so you settle with twisting his ear. He takes it in stride even if he over-acts, making pained noises while leading you to the kiosk he wants to go to. It’s a shooting range stall, and he pays his own precious 500 won for a dart gun. He’s barely paying attention when the guy starts explaining how many points are assigned to each balloon color, more concerned with talking to the bear keychain in his hand and pretending like he’s cooing at you. You have to hit him across the shoulder to get him to focus.  

“You need to start picking out what prize you want,” he tells you — the actual you, not the animal keychain version — as he lifts the dart gun.  

“I’ll wait for you to finish first.”  

“No way.” He tilts his head, closing one eye to steady his line of sight. “Pick already. Or just go for the biggest one.”

“You know that Fortnite and dart guns aren’t the same thing, right?”  

“Yeah, but I’m well-motivated.” He grins at you, one eye still shut. He looks like a baby pirate. “Go ahead. Pick the biggest one.”

“Why don’t you just shoot, and we’ll see.”  

“Pick it,” he insists. “Tell me you have faith in me. Tell me you love me.”

“Okay, I love you,” you agree. “But I have no faith in you when it comes to this.”  

“One out of two is fine,” he concedes, taking aim.  

All three of you, including the stall operator, let out a disappointed groan when he misses his first shot. His comes with a sheepish laugh as he reloads, suddenly telling you to pick the second biggest prize instead. You can’t even watch him miss over and over, so you pretend to be interested in a bunch of teenage boys playing a game of cups one stall over, trying not to giggle when you hear him get increasingly more frustrated at himself. When you turn back around, you notice he’s holding two small pieces of gummy candy, offering one to you like a kindergartener. He helps you tug your face mask down so you can eat it.  

There’s a food stall nearby that, thankfully, accepts credit and debit; Jaehyun fishes out his card to get you a corndog — only one because he’s watching his weight for the upcoming concert, apparently. This is information you hate hearing but have no say in, and he knows this; you know he does because he says ‘don’t worry about me’ totally out of the blue, like five minutes after the conversation ceases to be relevant.  

His phone starts ringing when the food comes out, and he takes a tiny bite of it — more bread than hotdog — before he answers. You know it’s Taeyong by the way he answers.  

“Hyung, sorry — can we talk later? I’m out with ____________.”  

Taeyong says something loud but indiscernible on the other end. You piece together that it’s about tomorrow’s schedule when Jaehyun speaks again.

“I know. I’ll be home in a bit; don’t worry about it. I haven’t forgotten.”  

There’s more garbled speech on the other line; Jaehyun gestures for you to keep eating, and you do, but you more concerned with the morphing expressions on his face than you are with the act of chewing. He’s making noncommittal noises in response to what seem to be commands and reminders. You’re pretty much done with the corndog by the time he says ‘Okay, hyung. Hyung — I’ll see you later, okay?’

“Taeyong hyung says hi,” he tells you once he’s hung up the phone. “He says you still need to give back that book you borrowed from him last year.”  

“Oh yeah,” you finish off the last of the food. “I’ll drop it off within the week.”  

“Don’t worry about it. He doesn’t actually mean it.”  

Jaehyun watches you snap the stick in half and toss it in the trash bag.  

“We can go home,” you say finally. His eyebrows shoot up. “You’re busy tomorrow. I forgot.”

“I didn’t forget, and it’s fine.”  

“It’s almost two in the morning.” You check your phone to verify. “You probably have to be up in a few hours. You need to sleep, or you’ll die, Jaehyun. I’m too young to be a grieving widow.”

“Let’s at least ride the Ferris wheel,” he suggests. Before you can protest, he tugs you towards the rickety contraption, digging the 500 won out of your pocket and handing it to the bemused operator. He lets you choose what carriage you want because literally no one is on it anymore, and Jaehyun asks for the best carriage. You’re not sure how it differs from the rest, but he makes a show out of guiding you into it, and you don’t miss the corny ‘my lady,’ he mutters under his breath.   

It’s small, clearly meant for either a tiny group of children or couples who want to be as close together as possible. It’s also not air-conditioned, and only one of the windows is open, so you end up sticking to Jaehyun’s arm on the way up. The view is still great, though, and you feel his hand settle on your knee as the carriage makes it slow ascent.  

The ride up is quiet, and you press your face as close to the glass of the carriage as you dare, but Jaehyun doesn’t move an inch. His hand is still heavy on your thigh, but it doesn’t do anything but lay there. When you’re close to the top, you’re hit with the urge to do something romantic — kiss, maybe, tell him happy birthday, or say ‘I love you’ to him in the most sickening way possible — but when you turn to look at him, you have to hold your tongue.

Jaehyun is asleep, leaning against the corner of the carriage, head tilted down a little. His shoulders are rising and falling slowly, and he’s pulled down his face mask a little so he can breathe better; his lips are slightly parted by the slackening of his jaw. His left hand is shoved in his pocket, like he’d passed out halfway through reaching for something in there.  

He doesn’t wake even when you move slightly so you can lean back next to him, rocking the carriage a little — not even when you reach up and adjust his head so he can rest on your shoulder. He breathes deeply, evenly, and you wonder if his ear against your shoulder allows him to hear your heart plummet unfairly to the bottom of your stomach.  

You have to shake him to rouse him when the ride comes to an end; when he opens his eyes and realizes what happened, he looks mortified. Instinctively, he opens his mouth, but you fling the carriage door open and step out before he can apologize.

You have a deal, and he knows what he shouldn’t be doing.

His grip on your hand is much tighter as you walk back to the parking lot, and he doesn’t let go, even on the road. The trip back is quieter, maybe because it’s late, or maybe because there are a ton of things the both of you want to say but can’t.  

He slows down when he gets to your street, but when he stops in front of your building, he doesn’t immediately unlock the doors to let you out. Instead, he turns to you, licking his lips a little nervously.

“Can you…” he clears his throat because his voice cracks a little on the first attempt. “Can you come back with me? To the dorm?”  

“I have work tomorrow, Jaehyun.”  

“It’s still at eleven, isn’t it? I can bring you home before that. You still have some stuff in my room. You can get ready there.”

“Won’t you be too busy?”  

“Just—” he sighs softly. “Can you? Please?”  

You don’t know how to say no to Jaehyun, and tonight isn’t a night you’re willing to try. It’s why fifteen minutes later, you’re walking through the front door of his dorm. Donghyuck, sitting at his computer in his room with the door ajar, greets you sleepily as you pass by.  

Jaehyun steps in the shower with you; you don’t talk, maybe because you’re worried you might wake the others up if you start a full-blown conversation in a bathroom surrounded by other bedrooms. He just passes you what you need, and you do the same for him, and somewhere in between, he kisses you under the spray of the water.  

Later, he falls asleep with a face mask on, and you have to peel it off for him and toss it into the trash. The tip of his nose is shiny, and you want to kiss it, but you know it’ll wake him, and you noticed he’d set his alarm to go off two hours from now. He’s set out a couple of earplugs for you so that you don’t hear it, but you don’t put them in. You want to see him before he leaves, even if it’s in the deadest hours of morning, so you just crawl into bed with him. A minute before you doze off, you feel his damp skin press against your neck, his form curled up against your back.  

The alarm never wakes you; the sun is out when you open your eyes, and when you check your phone, you see that it’s already half-past nine. You also notice that there’s nothing from Jaehyun on your screen, but you try not to dwell on that, considering that you’d been expecting to wake up to an empty bed. His side of the mattress is cold, which means that he’s been gone for some time.  

You don’t know if it’s just because you’re groggy, but your insides still feel like lead when you sit up. The part of you that nags about this relationship is back at full force when you start thinking about Jaehyun going to a pre-recording two hours after spending the last of his energy on you. You start wondering if you’re doing the right thing if it feels like you’re just dragging him down. Your heart clenches tightly when the worst thought hits — maybe, just maybe, he’s tired of you, too.

But you won’t let him go. More to the point — you can’t. He’s the best part of your life; it’d be a cold day in hell if you decided to leave him.

Even the thought of it makes you feel like dying.  

Then again, this isn’t all up to you.  

You’re rubbing the sleep out of your eyes — and maybe a couple of frustrated tears — when the door creaks open. You see two mugs and his hands before you see the rest of him come through the doorway. Jaehyun whispers a careful good morning as he sets the coffee down on his table, making sure to push his keyboard away to avoid accidents, before sitting down next to you. You notice that there’s an envelope next to one of the mugs; the flap is slightly open, and from under it, a flash of red peeks out.  

His hand finds its way back to your knee — it’s his favorite resting place, he’s told you once. Your lap feels like home, he’d joked. Maybe he touches it every so often because it’s like a reset button for him.  

He doesn’t ask if you slept well, or if you want to get ready before having your coffee, or if you’re okay. He just squeezes your knee a little tighter. It’s you that has to start the conversation this time.

“How did it go?”

“It went great. You’ll see it on TV later tonight,” he starts rubbing your thigh idly. “You’ll watch it later, right?”  

“Of course. I’ll call you and tell you how cool you look.”  

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. When you lapse into silence again, it’s because you’re expecting him to say something, but he doesn’t come out with it directly. You try not to let it show that you’re worried, that you’re skeptical, that you’re wondering if he thinks he’s too tired, too busy for this, too.  

You’re expecting him to start how most break-ups start. You know I love you, right? And then the telltale but… would come, and you would have to hold back your tears and smile for him, and tell him you know, and that you understand it isn’t the right time, but maybe one day, someday, when he isn’t everyone’s Jung Jaehyun anymore — only yours.  

“You love me, right?”  

It’s not what you’d been expecting. Nor is it the playful little text he’d sent — no laughs, no jokes. His expression is somber, mouth pressed into a thin line.  

“You know I do.”

“A lot, right?”

“A lot,” you confirm softly.  

“Then whatever it is that you’re thinking about us,” he says quietly. “Don’t. Don’t think it. Don’t do it.”  

“Jaehyun—”

“I know it’s hard,” his fingers dig into your skin a little. “I know I put you through a lot. I know you think that I’m suffering because of this relationship too. I know everything. But whatever you think I’m going to do, I won’t do it — not ever. So if you’re thinking of it too, I’m begging you. Don’t. Please.”  

Maybe he had noticed all this time. A wave of guilt washes over you when you see the pained look on his face; perhaps you were even more transparent than you’d originally thought. You nod slowly to show your understanding, and he continues.  

“I know yesterday wasn’t the best you could have hoped for,” he carefully avoids apologizing, although it’s written all over his features. “For me, too. I… I wanted something different. It’ll be better next time. Do you believe me?”  

You hear him swallow — his nails are biting into your thigh a little, so you have to gently peel his hand off. Your fingers replace it, tightening around his palm as you nod.

“I believe you.”  

“And you trust me, right?”

“With my life.”  

“Then can you put your faith in me right now?” He asks. “Don’t panic. Just — just say yes.”

He pats around his pants, finally deciding to slip his hand into his left-hand pocket. Unlike on the Ferris wheel, he manages to extract something, but he keeps it closed in his fist. It’s shaking a little as he takes your hand in his other one, pressing something small and hard into your palm before he curls your fingers over it. His hold keeps your fist closed as he starts talking.

“It’s not immediate. We’ll figure it out. We’ll tell the right people, and they’ll help us tell everyone else — the public, the press. It doesn’t have to happen right now, or any time soon either— not if you don’t want it to. We can take it slow, or whatever. Anything you want — just as long as it’s with me.”  

“Jaehyun,” you shake your head, a little dizzy. “What are you talking about?”  

He slowly loosens his hold on your fingers, his hand dropping to the same spot on your knee. You’re free to open your fist, and when you do, you can’t help but feel a little stumped.

“I don’t mean now,” he repeats, now sounding doubly worried. “It’s not — It’s just…”  

“You’ll get in trouble. We can’t.”

“I won’t. Not if we do this right. Like I said, we can do it slowly. Months — years, however long it takes to do it well. What it is — it’s just… a promise.”  

“A promise,” you echo. It does have a nice ring to it.  

“That I’m not leaving you. Not ever. And… if you say yes, that you won’t either.”  

Your coffee has probably turned cold. Jaehyun is watching you carefully, looking like he’s trying hard not to bite his lip. You look back down at your hand, and he speaks up again.  

“You know I love you, right?”  

You smile slightly. “No but?”  

“No but,” he agrees.  

The ring fits nicely on your finger; maybe it’s well-measured from the amount of times he’s held your hand tightly in his.  

“Okay, Jaehyun,” you whisper. “I promise.”  

When you place your hand on his, he twists his palm, slender fingers gently twirling the ring around the base of your finger.  

Minutes later, he hands you your coffee. It’s sweet and milky, the way he knows you like it best. When he settles back down on the bed, you notice his eyes travel to your finger again, a small smile playing on his lips.  

Perhaps, in this moment, you finally learn to ask the right questions — not about if it’s worth it, but if he is.  

And in this moment, where he sits in silence with you, the sunlight pouring in from his window hitting the tips of his hair and the end of his nose, with the knowledge that his heart is as full as yours, you come to realize that there can — and never will be — any doubt of that.  

[mayajadewrites]

but does he know?

pairing: levi ackerman x fem!reader

rating: explicit, minors dni

summary: levi is your toxic ex boyfriend. you've been dating someone new, jean, who you've been having a great time with. but he's no levi ackerman, which leads to bad decisions.

warnings: toxic af, infidelity (don't try this at home pls), unprotected sex, oral (male & female receiving), slight phone sex

song to listen to while reading: moth to a flame; swedish house mafia with the weeknd

comments + reblogs are always appreciated, they make my entire day actually hehe

ao3

"Goodnight, Jean." You smile as your cheek leans against the glass of your touchscreen. You and your boyfriend, Jean, have been on the phone for 2 hours. You're laying down on your stomach on your bed, legs crossed above your ass.

"Goodnight my angel. See you tomorrow. Can't wait." Jean spoke with a yawn. You can tell he's tired from his long day of work, but he adores talking to you at the end of his day.

You press 'end' and begin to scroll through your photos. You're nowhere near tired - you are somewhat of an insomniac.

Your eyes glaze over the pictures you and Jean took together last weekend, his lips on your cheek as you smile ear to ear.

As you scroll a little farther, your eyes flicker to a photo of you and your ex boyfriend, Levi. You must've forgotten to delete it after you broke up. Your cheeks burned as you looked at the photo - it's one of the many you took when you were intimate with each other.

You're both sat in front of the mirror, you're sitting on his lap as his legs spread on the chair he's on.

Levi's eyes were glued onto your figure, his right hand gripping your thick, plush thigh, his left hand wrapped around the front of your neck. You're holding the phone to take the picture, you're wearing your favorite baby pink lingerie set, that just so happened to also be Levi's favorite.

You close your eyes when you remember how your ass felt against his hard cock against the fabric of his pants.

No, no, no. You can't miss him.

He's the most toxic man you've ever dealt with in your life. You gave 2 years of your life, of yourself to him and for what? For him to tell you he never wanted to get married, never wanted to have kids.

You couldn't hold onto what you wish he was. So, the relationship ended.

A deep sigh left your lips as you scrolled through your contacts, hoping you deleted Levi's number.

Of course you didn't. Because this isn't the first time you've wanted to call Levi late at night.

There he was.

No emoji next to his name like before, no silly nickname.

Simply, Levi.

Your thumb hovered over his name. You knew he was awake. He was always awake when you were.

Are you proud of what you've been doing? Talking behind your boyfriends back to your ex boyfriend? No.

But there's something about Levi that you could not let go of. Every time you spoke to him, you deleted it from your call log and any lingering texts.

1:22 AM.

Calling 📞 ... Levi.

1 ring was all it took.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Levi's voice purred at the other end of the phone.

"Couldn't sleep." You mumbled, sitting up on your bed. You crossed your legs as you spoke.

"You haven't even tried to sleep, have you baby?"

You ignored he pet name. "...Maybe."

"So what can I do to help you sleep, hm?" You heard Levi's chair move, presumably as he sat on it. "Over the phone, at least."

"I just wanted someone to talk to."

"Your boyfriend wasn't available?"

"He went to bed already. He had a long day."

"Poor thing." Sarcasm was leaking from his tone. "Having to have a job and deal with your ass."

"He deals with me just fine, thank you." You turn your head to the side. "If he was here, he would've taken care of me already."

"So why isn't he there? Is it a school night?"

"He's not that much younger than you, Levi."

"You didn't answer my question."

"We just didn't hang out tonight. That's all."

"You used to be at my place every night."

"That's because you and I had an unhealthy attachment to each other. Codependency on my end, at least."

"Your spot on the bed is still there. Sometimes I let my hand wander to that side and feel the contours of the shape your body left."

"L-Levi." You sit up on your bed, feeling a familiar heat rise through your body.

"Say my name again, princess." His voice was husky, you closed your eyes so you could picture his mouth moving. You could almost feel his touch through the phone.

"No. I can't." You bite down on your bottom lip, refusing to give in to the temptation. His voice was so familiar, so warm.

"Hasn't stopped you before, has it?"

You stay silent, squeezing your thighs together in attempt to silence your needy cunt.

"I know she misses me." You heard Levi shift in where he was sitting, presumably spreading his legs.

If your pussy could talk, she'd be screaming at you right about now.

"She misses the way I caress her, the way I devour every last drop, the way I-"

"Enough, Levi." You couldn't take it anymore. You had Jean in your head, he would be so disappointed if he knew you were doing this.

But it's Levi.

Your dainty hand palmed over the fabric of your teeny-tiny shorts, so sensitive you almost moaned at your own touch.

"Sounds like you don't want me to stop. I know you're touching yourself right now."

"Are you?" Your curiosity got the best of you.

"I am. I'm picturing your beautiful hand wrapped around my cock, your lips sucking on the tip the way you always do-" He pulled the phone away from his mouth, grunting as he pumped his own cock.

"L-levi." You pushed your hand inside your shorts, pushing one finger inside your soaked cunt. "I-I need you." You whine as you add another finger.

"I'm right here, baby."

"No. I need you here."

"Give me 10 minutes."

You brush your hair right after you hang up. You look at yourself in the mirror. Is this really you? Are you gonna do this to Jean?

The answer to your question walked through your door.

"You still have a key?" You walked out of your bathroom in your low cut tank top and barely there shorts.

"I made copies, and copies of copies." Your eyes ran up and down Levi's body, he's wearing a (freshly ironed?) black expensive looking sweatsuit, his hair a bit damp. He must've showered quick.

You moved to his half lidded steel grey eyes - which looked like they were drunk off of your figure. You're not skinny, you have meat on you which Levi always appreciated. You had thick thighs that lead to your plush ass, then your soft stomach and supple tits.

You both stared at each other for a few moments, not sure if this is real or not. You took a deep breath in, the scent of his eucalyptus shampoo filling your nostrils.

Bump. Bump. Bump. Bump.

Your heartbeat was pounding in your ear.

Levi slipped his hands into his pockets, letting you know that the ball is in your court.

Slowly, you take a step toward him and press your hands to his chest. You can feel his muscles through his hoodie, all too familiar to you.

Levi watched as you touched him, almost like it was your first time again. Your nails dragged along his chest to his biceps, to which you gave them a squeeze.

Your eyes met his and it was done.

You pushed yourself upwards towards his lips, claiming his lips as yours once again. Your hands cradled his face as you kissed him, your tongue slowly moving in and out of his mouth.

Levi's large hands finally left his pockets to make home on your hips, one hand wandering to your ass as he kissed you. Almost like his hand never left, he started kneading your asscheek.

The room filled with light moans and sounds of kisses before he trailed kisses down your jawline to your neck.

Dangerous.

But you let him anyways.

He kissed your soft spot gently before taking the skin between his teeth, sucking on the spot to make his mark. Your nails dragged to his scalp, tilting your head to the side as he claimed you as his.

You let your hand wander to the elastic of his sweatpants, feeling the outline of his hard cock against the ironed fabric.

Levi moaned against your neck, freezing for a moment as you touched his clothed cock.

"He missed me, hm?" You purred, using your middle finger and thumb to massage his dick outside his pants.

For once, Levi had nothing smart to say.

You kneeled down onto the floor, pressing your knees to the cold wood. Your doe eyes found his half lidded ones, full of lust. He visibily gulped as your hands pressed against his lips, pulling his pants and underwear down.

His cock sprung free, and god, did you miss this sight. He's so girthy, almost too big for you.

"What were you saying on the phone, Ackerman?" You grabbed his cock with your right hand, letting your thumb graze over the veins on the underside. "You were thinking about my lips wrapped around the tip of your cock?" You moved yourself closer to the fat tip of his cock, pre-cum leaking from the slit.

Levi nodded, pressing his hand to the back of your head gently. His fingertips buried themselves in your wavy hair, massaging your scalp gently. He was always so caring, even when you were sucking the life out of his dick.

You kept your eyes on him as you wrapped your plush lips around his tip, sucking on it gently like a lollipop. A moan escaped his lips at your touch, feeling your tongue swirl around the head and the slit.

"Fuck, baby." He pushed your head gently, wanting you to take more of him. "No one does it like you."

"How many other bitches have you fucked since we broke up?" You flipped your hair to the side, waiting for his response as his dick began to disappear in your mouth. You took as much of him as you could, swirling your tongue around the width of his cock.

"N-none. I haven't even looked at another woman since you." He threw his head back, being a bit more forceful with his hand as you bobbed your head.

"Really?" You moved your mouth to his heavy balls, sucking on them gently as you watched his eyes. His body twitched, he loves when you do that.

"Y-yes. You t-think I could m-move on j-just like that?"

You slid the entirety of his cock into your mouth, the head hitting the back of your throat. You bobbed your head as you sucked on his sensitive flesh. You gagged, which only made Levi want you more.

"I don't want to come on that pretty face." Levi pulled you by your hair to stand up. "Bed. Now."

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand as you led him to your room, which he's familiar with.

He laid down on his back, pulling his hoodie over his head as he moved. You followed his lead and slid your shorts off, revealing your soaking, aching cunt.

You crawled over to him, pressing your lips to his as you straddled his waist. His hand gripped the back of your neck as he kissed you, pushing you into him.

"Sit on my face." He broke the kiss, laying down on the soft fabric of your comforter.

"What?"

"I'm sure I spoke clearly." He grabbed your thighs roughly, pulling you to his face. You grabbed your headboard with both of your hands as you felt the contours of his face.

"O-oh." You felt him blow air onto your clit, sending shivers down your spine. His mouth wrapped around the sensitive nub as his hands gripped the fat of your ass, sucking you dry.

You looked down at his inky hair, his lashes fluttering against your thighs as he devoured you like he hasn't eaten in a year. His mouth left your clit with w 'pop' as his tongue plunged into your pussy.

Lewd, wet noises filled your bedroom as he pushed your asscheeks toward his face, burying his face inside of you. Once he felt your walls twitching, he pressed the pad of his thumb to your clit to rub gently circles.

"You can't come yet though, princess. I want us to come together." He mumbled against your cunt.

You're about to lose your fucking mind. Your fingertips gripped the headboard as you began gently rocking your hips back and forth on his face, feeling his nose poke your aching clit.

Levi removed himself from your cunt, your arousal covering his lips. His rough hands flipped you both over so he was now on top, his lips trailing kisses on your chest before pulling your tank top off.

You felt his tip press against your heat, almost making you come then and there.

His eyes were locked on you in that moment. It felt like there was no one else in the world but you and him. You brought your hands to his red-flushed cheeks, kissing his lips gently. You whimper against him as he pushes himself inside of you, stretching your gummy walls.

Your moans intertwine as he thrusts in and out of you, his muscular arms holding onto you. His eyes looked... lonely. Like he missed you. It wasn't the non chalant facade that you normally hear when you call him.

He was aching for you. Not only for your touch, but for everything you are.

Your eyes were locked on his as his strokes were deep and slow, watching his mouth gape open just a bit.

"Baby," Levi grunted, quickening his pace.

"Yes, Levi?" You pressed your hands to his bare, muscular chest.

The sound of you saying his name sent him over the edge. He watched your lips move as you said his name, a glossy sheen on your lips from his cock. He buried his face in your neck as his pace quickened, his fat balls slapping against your skin.

"Oh, Levi." You moan as your cunt clenches around him. "I'm gonna come." Your toes girl as he thrusts faster and deeper. Quickly, he brought one hand to your clit and massaged circles once again. You slammed your eyes shut, feeling the euphoria overtake your body.

Your entire body twitched and let out moans as you came, your brain almost short circuiting. Levi removed his hand from you as he became sloppy with his pace - he's close.

Levi's eyes met yours again as he lost himself inside of you.

"I, I love you." He thrusted inside of you once more, letting his juices cover your walls, filling you up.

He unloaded inside of you out of habit, you both preferred it that way.

You cradled his head in your hands as he came down from his high, caressing his cheek. You watched his face when his eyes fluttered to yours, his lips pressing against your swollen ones.

Once he pulled out of you, you couldn't help but whine at the loss of him. He got a towel and cleaned your body for you, covering your skin with kisses.

"Levi, did you mean that?" You looked at him as he cleaned you, like the neat freak that he is.

"I don't say anything I don't mean." He didn't even look at you. He got up, threw the towel in your hamper, and found himself at your side again. "I'll never stop loving you, princess. Even when you're not with me, I'm eternally yours."

You pulled the covers over your bodies and tangled your legs with his, mending into his body.

He pressed one last kiss to your forehead before you dozed off together.

Safe to say this wasn't the last time you called him late at night.

[critterbitter]

HELLO HI ID LIKE TO ASK WHAT PROGRAM AND BRUSHES YOU USE CUZ IM LITTERALY EXPLODING EVERYTIME I SEE YOUR ART

actually actually... *pulls out whole stack of paper*...I have. a FEW,, a good few,, questions to ask. they are not many I swear 😇

OK SO FIRST OF ALL HOW DO YOU DRAW SO FAST???? everyday I log onto Tumblr I always see something new from you and I get very very happy. But then I start to question my own existence because not even I CAN SPEED RUN ART LIKE THAT. AND SO SPECTACULARLY TOO

Last question! how do you color and make it look so well?? just. How. I need to know. This is a CRY FOR HE-

anyway thank you for being one of my favorite artists that always feed my brain rot, pls keep making amazing art because like a little yamper I will follow behind and stay updated.

(Stands there)

Response and thoughts under cut!

First question! What art program I use!

Mostly procreate, along with a handful of brushes! (Specifically the Jing Set and some custom stuff, which is really just a circle brush with the shape changed to a square.)

Second question! How do i draw so much!

Okay so. I am. Ahhah. Unemployed,,,,? No, I do freelance illustration, but hmm. A studio job would be nice.

i graduated college last year and I’m very used to eight hour art shifts. The body sort of remembers to keep working, even though I no longer have storyboards or visdev homework to do.

Also. The hyperfixation is a deep vast tunnel I STILL have not seen the end of the light to, good golly. (I have dreams now about the kids committing shenanigan crimes. I wake up in cold sweat and write them down in a journal. It’s like being the mouthpiece to an angry god.)

So the overall gist is: I was trained to be a storyboard artist with a visdev background, and I’m using that higher education to draw funny muppets because my brain’s funny.

I also DO have a queue, and I’ve been treating this as a sort of inktober project. I am definitely going to slow down soon though! Maybe. Hopefully. Ah… (sheepishly drops my kofi here)

Third question! How do i color!

I. I, uh. I dont know man the coloring demons have a grip on my soul and i just go along for the ride. But also, if it helps, i prefer to limit my pallets to only a few colors at a time. Lighting is king, so if you can figure out if you want to focus on either on your lights or shadows, you’ll have a much easier time composing. That, and symbolic colors— idk, something hits different about art drenched in gold with a tiny hint of a man staring into the blinding horizon, or a green leafy environment with a single dot of artificial red. I also like using blue and purple for shadows, and I’m a big fan of muting colors with only one or two that pop— one of the reasons why I was so attracted to submas in the first place is because from a design aesthetic, they’re both super funny muppet men AND really cool train guys that have a limited pallet and thematic apparel.

Overall response! THANK YOU SO MUCH. This goes out to a BUNCH of people who sent me inbox queries— sorry for not responding, it’s a tad overwhelming because some of them are story questions even I don’t really know will go yet, and others are words of praise and I’m selfish and like scrolling through the inbox to look at them when I feel down. I am more of an artist who sits in the corner and sprouts like a potato rather then a branching vine who socializes, but I really do see people’s responses and they make me go :)))))

Okay ramble over. Thanks for coming to the soapbox, and good luck on creating!

[whitexwolfxx310]

|| You're A Weapon; And Weapons Don't Weep ||

Pairing: Bucky x female reader

Summary: After Bucky discovers that your once thought to be dead older brother is HYDRA's new super soldier, you're chosen to go on a mission with the team.

Warnings: **PLEASE READ** This fic contains death. If the idea of unaliving someone can possibly trigger you, please do NOT read this. Anxiety attack, cursing, angst, random sprinkles of fluff, use of y/n.

Word Count: 4.7

A/Ns: It has been way too long, but I finally got to write for my BBWWS again. I have a feeling there won't be too many chapters left for Bucky and his Sunshine. But I have been working on other ideas and another series is in the process. I hope you enjoy reading. I love you all! The messages, comments, reblogs, likes, etc. literally give me life and inspired me to come back and get into writing all over again. Enjoy your weekend, besties!!

Previous Part // Masterlist

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Any shred of hope that life would be returning back to normalcy remotely anytime soon got washed away by the tidal wave that was the news of your brother being the new super soldier for Hydra.

Tony and Steve called for intel meetings that basically became a fulltime job. At first it felt like an interrogation. They questioned you, curious as to why you would apply for an internship at The Compound. While the circumstances did seem suspicious, they eventually were able to rule out any foul play on your part.

The gatherings soon turned into wanting to know every intricate detail that they wouldn't be able to look up or hack out of any system. From dawn to dusk, the two men asked about your childhood together- trying to connect the pieces as to who Luke is, or was. Bucky stayed silently by your side the entire time and offered a stabilizing hand when things got overwhelming to discuss. But it also didn't slip by you that he focused on each and every detail, noting the intel for this mission.

After being able to specify things so minute; such as your brothers favorite books, favorite teacher from grade school, or the fact that he likes the color green- but not just any green, Sacramento green, because it reminded him of the vines that grew around the windows of your grandparents cottage that you would spend the majority of your summer's at as kids, you also got chosen to go on this mission. There was some minor pushback from the team, but ultimately Bucky took responsibility for you. You knew that he would keep you safe, even if it meant putting the part of his very soul that he felt remained on the line for you.

To say that the training was brutal would be an understatement. While the others had an entire lifetime to perfect their craft and years working alongside one another in unity, you had only a matter of weeks. You were thrown into a constant rotation of being educated on the newest technologies developed by Tony, boxing and going over endless tactical strategies with Steve, knowledge of weaponry with a hint of ballet to stay light on your feet with Nat... pure exhaustion wouldn't begin to describe it.

The day came when intel showed the Swiss Alps would be first on the mission log. Everyone was treating it like just any other, but the dreaded encounter was weighing down heavily deep within your stomach. The thought of using yourself as bait to lure out your brother spiraled into the millions of anxious outcomes that kept you up at night. Finally giving you just the smallest glimpse into Bucky's world. The doorway was creaked open to his nightmares.

"Wooow. You look like a Bad. Ass." Sam annunciates amusingly, as his eyes land on you walking up the small rear cargo ramp of the jet.

Your cheeks instantly blush, having already been self-conscious about the skintight, black Kevlar suit Nat gave you to wear. As more footsteps approach, you sink more into your seat and try to avoid any more eye contact.

"Just so you know, I heard that." Bucky's voice rebounds off of the metal walls before he even makes his way completely into the jet. "Don't try and make passes at my girl when I'm not aro-"

You don't need to look up to know that those steel blue eyes have frozen you into place, but you dare a glance. He's dressed in all black; Black boots, black tactical pants, a black leather jacket with the left sleeve torn off- showing his gunmetal and gold Vibranium arm, and a black glove on his right hand. The sight of him is intimidating, ready for combat and anything to be thrown his way. But those eyes. They hold a tenderness meant only for you. His magnetizing stare mixed with the wonderment expression on his face confirms his friends words and more. Okay, so maybe the suit isn't so bad.

"You're gawking." Sam is now at Bucky's side, smirking with his arms tightly crossed over his chest.

Bucky's face slides back into its usual consternation state before giving him a side glare. "Shut up." Sam shakes his head, laughing to himself lightly before making his way to the front of the jet.

You move to sit upright as he approaches, and Bucky's face finally softens. It always does when it's just the two of you. He reaches above where you're sitting to an overhead rack, casually leaning. Hovering like one of those seductive book boyfriends you'd swoon over, but for him it just comes naturally. Swallowing hard, you angle your head up to look at him. You find a slightly playful grin tugging at his lips and you crack a faint smile.

"You doing okay, Sunshine?" His voice is soft but concerned. A gloved thumb caresses down your cheek. The doting gesture entrances you to gently nuzzle into his palm.

"I don't know." You answer honestly.

He reflects on this a moment, his eyes searching yours. But he looks slightly blurry. The background noise is starting to become overwhelming. Numerous voices all start to overlap, the jet engines growing louder as they're warming up, the loud bang with each shipment container with weapons being loaded on board- weapons intended for my brother. It all combines into one long dragged-out, high-pitched ringing sound and your throat closing in on itself. Bucky senses this, notices and quickly acts. Wide eyed, he drops to his knees.

"Hey... Hey, y/n. It's okay." He quickly unfastens the harness from your seat. "Deep breaths." You can't help but notice how calm he sounds. "Hey...look at me." Bucky gently cups each side of your face, the intense coolness on the one side being a welcomed shock. Your eyes meet his, and when they do, all you see is his devotion. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here with you."

"I know you are." You mutter, pressing your forehead to his as you try to manage your breathing to match his.

"We'll find him." He breathes. "I made it out, he can too. I won't let anything happen to you while we’re out there, y/n." The urgency that his tone is trying to convey is heart wrenching.

"I know, Bucky."

"Here-" He pulls away for a moment to take a bag off his back. Unzipping it, he pulls out a water bottle. "Drink some water."

You smile internally at the gesture. As he's unscrewing the cap, you notice a novel in the bag. It's one he borrowed from you when you first met. There's a familiar stinging behind your eyes. What did I do to deserve this man? One who is willing to walk back into his version of hell to pull out someone that I love?

Sipping on the water of course helped, but Bucky tucking you securely into his side for takeoff is what kept the overwhelming anxiety at bay.

“I love you, so much.” You say against his chest, in appreciation. He snorts slightly, pressing a delicate kiss into your hair.

“And I love you, Sunshine.” Bucky adjusts his hips slightly. “Get some rest, we have a long flight.” Intricate fingers brush through your hair, eventually lulling you to sleep in the safe space that is your boyfriend’s lap.

Distant muttering started reeling you back from a dreamless sleep. Instinctively, you reach for Bucky whom you thought you were still sleeping on- only to find he had replaced it with his bag. The disappointment was starting to settle in when you hear his voice:

“I know how this can come across, but she’s strong enough. She’ll be able to handle it, Tony. I’m here, I can-“

“All I’m hearing is I, I, I, me, me, me, Barnes. You, my friend, were an exception. I don’t know if we can go in there and get this guy out alive, and even if we can, who knows what the aftermath is going to look like! For either of them! We’re taking a regular, a nobody off the street and putting a lot of pressure on her to do this. She’s already starting to feel it, that much is obvious. I’ve said from the beginning that this is a huge mistake. I understand your feelings here, from both sides. You want to make sure HYDRA doesn’t continue to pop up like daises and be there for the love of your life. I GET it. But this is a mistake.”

It’s apparent that Stark has walked away with the clinking of his heavy metal footsteps.

“You picked a good one, Buck. I have faith in her too.” There’s a small reassuring pat to coincide with Steve’s voice. “Y/n’s one of us now.”

“Thanks, Steve. I just… I have to save him. For her.” You can hear the exasperation in Bucky’s voice.

While tears sting from multiple emotions behind closed eyes still pretending to sleep, you feel overcome with something you haven’t experienced in this situation yet; determination. A sudden tenacity to prove the doubters that you can do this, that you can help your brother just how Bucky had, and that you wouldn’t bail and have a breakdown… again. No. From this point on, you refuse to let anyone see you as weak.

The bag underneath your head gently shifts and is quickly replaced with warm body heat that you quickly snuggle into. That warmth spreads as Bucky wraps his right arm around your body, pulling you in a little closer. His heart rate starts to slow, and his breathing becomes more regular. You just soak in the last moments before the unknown.

“He’s really going to just jump out the back of the jet like that?!” You try to yell, over the loud wind rumbling and your hair whipping around.

With Sam’s back facing towards you, he takes one absentminded step off of the opened ramp and is just gone. Your stomach drops along with him at the sight.

Bucky rolls his eyes as he hands you an earpiece, “Yep,” A second later, Sam comes back into view, now soaring with his Falcon wings. He gives Bucky a little sarcastic two finger salute and flies out of view. “He’s flashy like that.”

Putting the impossibly small earpiece into your ear, you can’t help but shake your head and laugh. It must be an almost forgotten sound with the weight of everything going on because now Bucky is smiling too.

“Well, I hope you’re not expecting me to jump out of a plane,” you say only half joking. Because if that’s the case, he’s going to have to literally throw you out.

“What did you think the parachutes were for?” Bucky asks deadpan, with a raised eyebrow and pointing to the packs behind him.

All of the color starts to drain from your face, when suddenly you saw the slightest twitch in Bucky’s lip.

“Oh my god. You asshole!” Bucky grabs his stomach and starts to hunch over laughing as you hit him in the arm. His metal arm. “OW!” You start shaking your hand out to wave away the initial sting.

Glancing at him, Bucky is doubled over, nose scrunched, laughing so hard that barely any noise is coming out and tears are welling up in his eyes. It’s contagious, especially as the throb in your hand turns into a dull ache.

I’ve missed this. Things being simple with us and not so draining. Moments that resemble a drop of normalcy in a typical ‘would be’ relationship. But I still wouldn’t trade it. Because he’s perfect. And he’s mine.

Once your lungs don’t feel like they’re on fire any longer, you let you a deep sigh, resting your hands on your hips. “God, I needed that.”

“Did you really think I would toss you out of a Quinjet?”

“Seemed like it in the moment-”

“Alright, love birds,” Tony interrupts, the heavy metal footsteps of his Iron Man armor catching both of your attention, "don't be late to the party," he says knowingly, palms glowing before he too disappears out of the jet.

“Don’t worry, Sunshine,” Bucky says, now standing next to you, “I have my own flashy transport,” he side eyes you with a playful grin.

Arms wrapped tightly around Bucky’s stomach; you can’t help but snuggle your cheek into his leather covered shoulder.

Of course, Bucky’s idea of flashy would be a motorcycle.

Your eyes flutter open to see Steve on his own come into view through whips of your hair. The boys. Two best friends riding like they don’t have the weight of the world constantly on their shoulders.

Steve’s bike has a bulky, all chrome classic look while Bucky’s is a modern, all black crotch rocket. Both have been modified to drive relatively quietly, and it’s such a weird dichotomy to still be able to feel the rumbling of the bike between your legs without all the noise.

One of your hands releases the clasp they had on one another, pressing your palm against Bucky’s chest- smoothing itself along his abdomen. Bucky sits more upright in his seat to press back into you more, using only his left hand to steer as his right encloses around yours, giving you a reassuring squeeze. The gesture is so minor, and yet you can just feel how he puts his heart into everything when it comes to you.

"We're going to pull off to the side up on the left. We'll have to go the rest of the way on foot," Steve's voice is solemn in your earpiece.

Bucky gives him a nod in acknowledgement, leaning back down to better control the motorcycle. This time, his hand doesn't leave yours.

The trek through the Switzerland forest was less than a mile, but with each step your feet grew heavier and that sour stomach of yours returned with the dread of seeing your brother again. If he could even be considered your brother anymore. Who knows what actually remained. As much as you have begged and pleaded with the universe to make yet another exception for Lucas just as it had for Bucky, you were terrified of the man that you would soon encounter.

Just shy of coming out of the tree line to the supposed to be abandoned old military base, you hear a series of echoing pops- stopping all three of you dead in your tracks.

Gunshots.

Bucky and Steve exchange a quick, wide-eyed glance at one another, “Go, we’ll catch up.” Bucky says, and within the blink of an eye, Steve takes off running at super soldier speed.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until Bucky turned to face you, his shoulders squared, lips in a tight thin line. But looking between your eyes, he loosens a breath, gripping your shoulders, “Listen to me, Sunshine,” he makes every attempt to soften his voice, but a few more pops and yelling sound off in the distance making you wince. His hands grip you tighter, “I need you to focus. What I’m about to say goes against everything I normally believe, but in this circumstance it’s critical…” he sighs, looking down before back into your eyes- trying to convey the seriousness of what he’s saying, “you have to push the fear down. And I know how that sounds, but you can’t walk in there with that look on your face. Because honey, these people will not hesitate to kill you.”

You gasp lightly at the graveness of his words. It’s not like you didn’t know this walking into the mission, but it’s different once you’re actually here.

Bucky sighs again, his expression softening as his hands cup each side of your face especially gentle, “I know, baby. I know. I won’t leave your side,” he presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes, “I just… I can’t lose you.” His voice cracks slightly, even at just the thought.

Even with your eyes teetering with the threat of tears, you nod in understanding. Placing each of your hands over his, you press your lips to Bucky’s- holding them there, accepting that the moment they pull apart it’s no longer about the two of you, but about the mission. Luke is your mission.

“I love you,” you murmur, before opening your eyes to see deep consternation in his.

Disassociation is a powerful coping mechanism for human beings. It can feel like an outer body experience or even a dream. More like a nightmare. But as you follow into the bunker where the screaming leads, closely behind Bucky with your gun drawn watching for any sudden movements and stepping over the trail of bloodied bodies in the hallway, you're thankful for the part of your brain trying to convince you that this isn't real.

"Still no sign of Castle," Sam's voice was pragmatic in your earpiece.

Bucky looked back over his shoulder at you while still walking, "Maybe he's not here after-" and that's when you see the slightest shift of a shadow in an inverted doorway.

It was so small that in any other instance you would just assume your eyes were just playing a trick on you. But not here. Your body reacted before your mind could even fully register- taking a sudden step to the side, you fired off two prompt shots. A heavy thud followed.

Practically giving himself whiplash, Bucky looks at where you shot and back to you. His eyes widen, mouth open slightly at the realization of what just happened. What you just did- for him. Your eyes haven't moved from that doorway, and your grip is tighter on the gun than it probably should be. Pain surges through your jaw with how tightly your teeth are clenched and yet, you wait to see if anyone else is there. Is there another shadow lurking just waiting for the opportunity to harm one of you?

"Y/n..." Bucky's voice is delicate as his eyes dart around, also looking for shadows, "we have to keep moving," he says in a coaxing manner.

I can’t. The words blare in your mind like a doomsday siren and yet you can’t speak. All you can do is focus on that that dark corner where the pool of crimson continues to grow.

Bucky steps in line of your gun with somber eyes meeting yours, causing you to simultaneously point it towards the ground and break your trance. You didn’t realize just how high and how tight your shoulders had been as you loosened your breath. A new version of you being transformed as you exhale.

“I-” You try catching your breath, completely slack jaw and shaking your head just trying to comprehend what you did. “I…I just-” and the tears are flowing. No crying, no uncontrollable sobbing, but a small steady line of tears as the overwhelming awareness of taking control and trading a life for someone that you love comes to light… just flows.

“You did what you had to,” he answers for you, nodding sympathetically. You don’t deserve kindness right now, do you? But that is why he is good. And that is why he deserves to live.

“We have to go, y/n.” Bucky says, looking over your shoulders and behind himself again. “It looks like no one else has been down here yet.” He grabs your hand, not waiting for a response before he’s treading down the hallway again.

Your feet shuffle instinctively at first to follow him, but the brightness of the flickering fluorescent lights quickly grounded you to where you actually are. There are lives at stake and you need to keep your head.

The distant noise of constant struggle seemed to almost completely stop. Every few minutes you would hear a familiar voice say 'clear' in your ear and relief would wash over you, just thankful for knowing that they were alive.

It got cold the further you went, meaning you probably had gradually descended underground. Finally, at the end of what seemed like a never-ending tunnel, was a large set of metal double doors with multiple large chains and padlocks.

You and Bucky exchanged a quick glance with one another before he fists the chain with his Vibranium hand, pulling effortlessly as they break into pieces. He pushes open the doors to reveal a large, primarily empty room aside from a bunch of dusty, bulky outdated computers. Most of the overhead lights don’t work, so it seems darker in here than it did in the corridor.

Bucky steps into the room and starts looking around, his boots crunching noisily on worn rubble and glass. You hold your breath, watching as his fingers skim along the keyboards, his eyes squinting at the monitors as he passes each one as though looking for something.

And then he stops at one in particular. He eyes it carefully before looking up at the ceiling to the lights again.

“What is it?” You can’t hide your curiosity.

“There’s still power to this base,” he says observantly, turning his attention back towards the computer. “Maybe…” he mumbles to himself, leaning over the monitor a bit, his fingers blindly searching before pressing the power button. Bucky stands back as the screen comes to life, but his eyes widen, alarmed as to what he sees.

“Bucky?” You ask apprehensively, moving to stand next to him and also look at the screen. It's mostly black, but there's a green contour of... a face?

"Hello Sergeant Barnes," the computer says with a German accent.

"Oh, what the fuck?" Bucky steps back, his hands fisting into his hair.

The voice chuckles, "Come now, is that any way to greet an old friend?"

“Is… the computer talking? To you?”

“Why, yes, Ms. Castle. I am,” your stomach turns over at the sound of the voice addressing you as well.

“What the fu-” you go to repeat Bucky’s words but get cut off.

“Does the facility seem… familiar, Barnes?” Zola asks, condescendingly. “Or, at the very least, the machinery?”

Bucky's eyes start to dart around the room, taking in the different equipment before muttering to himself in dismay, "these control the cyro chambers..."

The computer laughs menacingly, "Ah, so you do remember. Good! Good..."

Rolling his arm once while taking a large step forward, Bucky brings it down, crushing the computer completely. Exposed wires spark briefly from the powerful impact, otherwise leaving the room in silence.

“What- who was that?”

“Arnim Zola. A scientist for HYDRA. The one who, well…” Bucky passively gestures to himself, “experimented and is responsible for me.”

Suddenly, another one of the numerous screens comes to life- the digitized green face grinning, “tsk, tsk. Oh, Soldat…”

“I won’t answer to that anymore,” Bucky maintained through gritted teeth, raising his arm to disintegrate this talking monitor as well just as it says:

“Who said I was talking about you?”

Just then, you hear quick, trudged steps. The only warning you had before been picked up, as easily as a pillow and aggressively, carelessly thrown aside into a metal desk, knocking some of the computers that sat on top along with you.

You tried gasping for the air that was stolen from your lungs on impact with the floor, but it didn’t come. Instead, it burned, more than the pain creeping around the left side of your ribs as you sluggishly moved to sit on your knees. Looking up, you meet the threatening gaze of the one who attacked you.

He was exceptionally tall, especially from your view on the floor. Lean, but had an athletic build and strong. Super strong. He was dressed in all black tactical gear, the only color being a large red Soviet star in the center of his chest. A black mask covered all but his eyes, keeping him faceless. He was pale, as if he hadn't seen actual sunlight in years and had shoulder length dirty blonde hair.

But those eyes. They cemented you to the floor- glaring, daring you to move or even breathe. Just the look that he conveyed felt like you were in the presence of death itself. As you were able to take your first small breath, your lips parted, and eyes narrowed as they locked into his deadly gaze. There was such a darkness glazed over the emerald irises, but you'd recognize them anywhere.

"Luke..." you exhale, painfully. Both physically and emotionally.

His brow twitches slightly at you saying his name, like his mind is trying to recollect it from a long-forgotten dream. As his body turns to face you, he suddenly gets shoved back a few feet, "Back off, Castle." Bucky warns sternly, stepping between you and your brother.

Gripping the desk, you use it to hoist yourself up, whining slightly and grabbing at your left side realizing that you most likely have some broken ribs. The sound of your pain distracted Bucky for one second, and Luke took that opportunity to lunge forward and kick him high in the chest. With a breathless grunt, Bucky barrels backwards into you, knocking your back flush against the wall.

Luke was there in the blink of an eye, grabbing Bucky by the collar of his jacket. The two of them quickly became a tangle of throwing fists and kicks, breaking apart to find anything around to throw at one another. Overturning desks, throwing chairs, Bucky even chucked a still laughing Zola computer at Luke.

While you never thought the two most important men in your life would ever have the chance to meet, this is not the way you would have ever imagined it.

With your back still flat against the wall, you slide down to sit on the floor, starting to feel dizzy. Maybe it was the overwhelmingness of the situation, but instinctively you bring your hand to the back of your head, and it feels... wet. Looking at your fingers, they're now coated with fresh, warm crimson blood. It's getting harder to think straight with the tunneling vision, but you realize that you hit your head against the wall from the collision of bodies.

"Please..." you choke out a sob, "please, stop," you beg. But they can't hear you over their own heated screams and grunts as they continue to fight one another. Your narrowing vision focuses on Bucky, seeing that he is fighting more defensively- actively trying to avoid hurting Luke, pulling his punches where he can. Tears burn behind your eyes at the sight, knowing that if this were anyone else, it would already be over.

"Luke!" Bucky yells and quickly dodges to the side, avoiding the knife now sticking out of the wall that Luke threw at him. "Your sister came here to get you back! She's here for you. We're here for you!" Bucky maintained his distance, mirroring Luke's movement's trying to rely on his words rather than fists. They're pacing, waiting for the other to make a move.

The ringing in your ears was becoming too hard to ignore and as much as you tried to fight it, sweat started to bead up on your skin. You were losing consciousness, and fast.

"Bucky," you breathe out. His body tenses as he looks over at you, eyes wide. He jumps over one of the only remaining desks in the room and kneels down, hands hovering over body briefly, afraid to touch you.

"Okay... okay," he mutters to himself, scanning you over, his eyes linger on your hand with the now drying blood on them. Bucky gently cups your cheek, his thumb grazing over it as he forces a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "You're gonna be okay, Sunshine. I-I'm going to get you outta here and get some help, okay?" His voice sounds shaky as his chest heaves, "Sam? I need a med evac for y/n,"

You nod once, or at least you think you do, as you continue to focus on Bucky. Everything around him starts to fade into a deeper black void. The last thing you see is Luke step into view over Bucky's shoulder to look down at you. At some point during their altercation, his mask had been ripped off. His lips were pressed into a thin line as his teeth clenched and remained expressionless while Bucky continued to stroke your hair and try to speak calm, reassuring words of how he would make sure you would be okay as you slipped under the surface of complete darkness.

@peaches1958 @aquabrie @elsie-bells @pono-pura-vida @redbloodedgurl @almosttoopizza @beware-my-thorns @prettylittlepluviophile @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @calwitch @ozwriterchick @roofwitty779 @lessersole @lil-darhk @agoddoesnotplead @saranghaey @erinallene @mrsvxder @elizabeth916 @cjand10 @bucky-barnes-lover @wintrsoldrluvr @skulliecadaver-blog

[matan4il]

sorry if this isn't a good place to ask but you're one of the few blogs on here that has actually done any research at all on the subject and. yknow how the pro-palestine donation posts repeatedly give you the option to buy esims specifically. why is that? I've never seen any other movement where the donation posts had you buy esims for them. what fucking use *are* they? you can't eat them, drink them- you might be able to order food with them if it wasn't for the fucking war.

maybe this is cynicism on my part but i genuinely suspect they're being used by hamas to spread propaganda. why else would they need that many esims? but you definitely know more about this than i do.

Hi lovely, sorry it took me a moment to reply!

I can tell you that even before I got this ask, the eSims campaign struck me as odd and suspicious, based on a few basic things I know, but if I was going to reply to you on this, I needed to do some research about it.

To make this ask reply clear, by "connectivity" I mean the ability to either make phone calls, log onto the internet, or both.

Okay, so why did this campaign make me wonder in the first place? Because while there have been some connectivity problems for Gazans, from what I know, there was only one time when connectivity was down to a degree that would justify a campaign, even then it wasn't completely gone for good, because Israel has worked to restore connectivity to Gazans. But I also wondered whether, if the connectivity is down, an eSim would be the solution? And if it would be, why would there be a need for that many eSims? We're over 5.5 months into this war, that's almost half a year of constantly hearing how Gaza is about to starve, so are eSims really Gazans' biggest problem if they have no food and basic needs? But even if it was enough of a problem to merit a campaign, wouldn't there have been more than enough donations by now to have solved it to a considerable degree? Since connectivity was never fully gone for long, surely there's a limit to how many more eSims they actually need, at least at certain points in time? From my experience with donating to Israelis displaced or affected by Palestinian terrorists (in this war, as well as during previous crises), there does come a time when you hear, "Okay, thank you to everyone donating X, we have enough of that, what we need now is more of Y, we would really appreciate you donating that!" But there has been no moment when we saw the eSims campaign saying, "We've had enough donations of this type, thank you, now please look more into donating X or Y, which Gazans currently need more."

And that led me to another question - if there is a certain scam involved here, what kind? Is it a financial one? Is this just meant to get money from the rest of the world feeling bad for Palestinians, and beyond the financial theft, it's harmless? Or is the money going to Hamas and people affiliated with it, which means it might be financing terrorism and the continuation of killing? Or maybe the scam is in allowing Hamas terrorists connectivity that can't be tracked as easily by Israeli security forces, which are trying to avert terrorist attacks against Israeli civilians?

I am not the biggest expert, so I don't have all the answers, but here's what I have managed to figure out.

So, first of all, connectivity requires physical infrastructure. Israel has been providing that for Gaza for years, in the form of underground cables and cellular antennas positioned on both sides of Israel's border with Gaza (source in Hebrew). The Oct 7 massacre initiated by Hamas and the following war have at times physically damaged this infrastructure, which is why Gaza has had less connectivity than usual (though it's not gone). The one time which was the worst, in terms of connectivity, the internet (but not all connectivity) was down from Friday, until Israel managed to fix things on Sunday (link above is the source for all this, it's an article from Oct 31, 2023. That said, Oct is when the most connectivity issues were reported). That means that Gaza was never fully offline except for that short period of Friday to Sunday. It also means the connectivity issues are not some plot to keep Gazans from telling the world about their plight (the way I've seen the eSims campaign presented on social media), or the connectivity would be totally down, and Israel would not do anything to restore it at any point.

And I'm pointing this out to explain one of two reasons why eSims being bought for Gazans might be useless as a solution to Gaza's connectivity if Israel was actually purposely harming it. (this following part is based on me reading way too many articles about eSim technology, those can be easily found everywhere online)

If the physical infrastructure providing the signal (which mobile networks use to provide connectivity) is physically damaged, eSim technology can't bypass that. Because eSim technology doesn't provide the signal, it just allows the owner of an eSim to easily switch between mobile networks without having to switch physical SIMs provided by these networks. That means, that for the eSim to work, there has to be some connectivity anyway. There also has to be connectivity in the first place in order to activate the eSim program paid for by someone outside Gaza (not to mention, they'd need connectivity to get the code, and learn that they're getting an eSim, and how to activate it). If Israel really was intentionally cutting off Gaza's connectivity by shutting down the physical infrastructure, as it's being presented online, eSims would be completely useless. You wouldn't be able to activate them, and you wouldn't have a signal that allowed you to use them. A campaign that misrepresents the basic facts (as if Israel is intentionally denying Gazans connectivity, or as if eSims can provide connectivity all on their own) is suspect to me.

The other reason why eSims wouldn't be a solution for many (if not most) Gazans, even if you do have connectivity, is that it also requires you to have an eSim compatible smartphone. The 'e' in eSim stands for 'embedded.' That means the technology that allows the use of eSims has to be embedded into the phone you're using, and then you can buy and activate an eSim. If you buy an eSim and wanna use it with a smartphone that doesn't have the required technology embedded, that's a bit like buying a wireless charger to use with an older phone that can only be charged through a cable (it just doesn't have the technology embedded that allows it to connect to and be charged by a wireless charger). The technology allowing the use of eSims has only been embedded in more recent phone models, which Gazans are less likely to have.

Regarding that last point, I wanna explain that, as mentioned in the above Hebrew link, before the war Gaza's mobile networks were all operating on 3G technology, even though most phones now operate on 4G or even 5G technology, which means it wouldn't be worth it for the average Gazan to invest in buying a newer phone, which is presumably more expensive than an older model. Especially if it's one that can't even connect to the older 3G network.

That's not to say there wouldn't be any Gazans with newer phones. The myth spread before the war for years called Gaza a 'concentration camp' or 'open air prison' as if people there have nothing (which makes vids comparing Gaza before and after the war particularly ironic. Either there was nothing before the war, and then the war didn't change much, or Gaza was a beautiful, thriving place before the war, and then calling it a 'concentration camp' was a Holocaust distorting lie). Here's the truth, there were indeed many Gazans who were poor and didn't have that much. But there were also Gazans who were extremely rich, the gap there was one of the biggest in the world. A lot of Israelis are familiar with the Twitter hashtag that documented wealth and luxury in Gaza before the war, TheGazaYouDontSee. It was based on an Arabic speaking Israeli Jewish woman following the social media accounts of actual Gazans, and sharing in English what they would upload, showing stuff like resorts, hotels, luxury cars that most Israelis I know can't afford. You know, typical concentration camp stuff. You'd have to scroll back in the hashtag a bit to find those older tweets from before the war, some have been captured and shared on Tumblr as well.

Where does the gap come from? Not all of it, but a big part is about who is in Hamas (and who isn't), who's affiliated with Hamas (and who's not), who gets some of the donated billions of dollars being poured into Gaza over the years and mostly stolen by Hamas, who gets some of the money coming from Qatar, who gets some of the money coming from Iran, and so on. In other words, the poverty that existed in Gaza before, existed despite how much money was being invested in it for years, and because of Hamas and Hamas-related thieves, making a profit out of it, while keeping sections of the Gazan population poor and without aid.

BTW, if there would have been a permanent ceasefire now, this would just be replicated. The world would donate more money than ever, and Hamas would steal almost all of it, with a big chunk going to the financing of terrorism (building terror tunnels we now know are more extensive than the NYC subway or the London tube, stocking up on rockets, drones, explosives, assault rifles, RPGs and more, which allow Hamas to continue to fight the strongest army in the Middle East and target innocent Israeli civilians for over 5.5 months) and the rest lining up their own pockets, enabling them to lead a VERY nice, comfortable, even luxurious life.

So which Gazans are the most likely to have eSim compatible smartphones? The rich ones, who are in or associated with Hamas.

And that brings me to the question of what's the real purpose of the eSims campaign.

One aspect could be the propaganda value of such a campaign. They're not just repeatedly asking people to donate money for eSims, many posts are asking for it, while insisting on the vilifying lie that Israel is keeping Gaza disconnected on purpose. It's a bit like the boycott campaign. Starbucks is not actually affiliated with Israel or Israeli policy, it doesn't even have any branches in Israel, it tried in the past, but had to close here. So why in the world would it finance anything Israeli? When an Israeli Prime Minister has to decide whether to finish off Hamas, so that hundreds of thousands of Israelis can safely return to their homes in southern Israel, he's not calling a chain of cafes that doesn't even sell anything in this country. The only current sort-of-link to Israel, is that the CEO is Jewish. So if Starbucks is boycotted and takes a financial hit, that has zero influence on Israel or its policies. Why then has Starbucks been targeted? Maybe partly because of the CEO, which is antisemitic. But most likely, it's because Starbucks is an easy to spot brand when pics of celebs are being taken, which allows people to talk about the boycott. And that's the value, it's a PR move, to get it into everyone's head that anyone associated with Israel should be canceled. To repeat it constantly regarding different celebs, until the message gets through, that the biggest monster in this world, and the one state that everyone should be united against, is the Jewish one.

The financial aspect. Again, I'm not a big expert, but I can't really see how, if people are being asked to pay eSim providers directly, this would be done for financial gain. I could be wrong, maybe there is some way to funnel the money to the people in the campaign instead of regular Gazans, but on the surface at least, I'm not sure how (since they're not asking for the receipts, just the activation code). It could still be about financial gain in the sense that the eSims aren't providing connectivity when the physical infrastructure is down, but they mean some Gazans haven't had to pay for their internet for a while. Which ones? Most likely, the ones in or affiliated with Hamas. I personally do not like the idea of terrorists launching a massacre that is the opening shot of a war, relying on all the donations they can steal after the end of the war to make it worth while, and then as a perk getting their internet paid for by strangers.

Then there's the direct value to Hamas, meaning the option that the campaign is meant to directly help Hamas' terrorist activity, or terrorist goals. Meaning, not only are the eSims going to people who are in or have connections to Hamas, the codes are sent to them specifically to aid them with harming Israel.

Why am I considering this option? For one thing, because we know that since the start of the war, Hamas terrorists inside Gaza have been directing terrorist activity outside of it. One example is a Palestinian terrorist squad, which was directed from Gaza, and was thankfully stopped before they managed to carry out the attack they were planning, and here's another similar example, of a terrorist squad made up of 13 Israeli Arabs, and directed from Gaza on how to carry out mass terrorist attacks, stopped thanks to documents the IDF found while operating inside Gaza. An attack that was successfully carried out and was confirmed as directed from Gaza, is the one where terrorists shot to death several people in Jerusalem, during what was supposed to be a truce between Israel and Hamas, during which Israeli hostages would be released (I heard this recently on TV, online I sadly only managed to find a source that these terrorists had a track record of being directed from Gaza). These terrorist directives from Gaza require connectivity, preferably of the type that Israeli security can't track.

And we do know that our forces do track Hamas cellular activity. For example, we've learned that on Oct 6, Israel discovered weird cellular activity in Gaza, where a lot of Hamas terrorists were activating (physical) Israeli SIMs, allowing them to connect to local networks once inside Israel. This led to a discussion of Israeli army seniors in the middle of the night, on whether this is a sign that something's up, but eventually it was concluded that Hamas terrorists have done this before, so the alarm was (unfortunately) not raised, and the massacre wasn't prevented. In other words, it's possible that eSims can help Gazan Hamas terrorists to direct terrorist attacks against Israeli civilians outside Gaza, and it's also possible that, when Hamas is continuously trying to breach the Israeli border, an eSim could help them if they make it into Israel, by not needing to activate an Israeli SIM, detectable by Israeli security. IDK that this is the intent, but for me personally, I would prefer to err on the side of caution, and be sure that I haven't unknowingly donated an eSim, that might have assissted in the murder of an innocent civilian.

I also mentioned directly aiding Hamas' terrorist goals, not just their activity. This terrorist organization dared launch its massacre, despite knowing the Israeli reaction would be fierce (as any country's would be if its citizens would have been so extremely brutalized), because it relied on using regular Gazans as human shields, then showing the world horror pictures, which would get everyone distressed enough, that they would overlook the massacre, and Hamas' vow to repeat it, and focus on demanding an immediate ceasefire, saving Hamas from being destroyed. We know Hamas uses "journalists," and some of these "journalists" are actual terrorists (generally, there's no free press in Gaza thanks to Hamas) and others to broadcast this narrative of horrors (that if successful, would lead to greater horrors). The eSims campaign has mentioned specifically providing connectivity to journalists, which means serving the ability of Hamas to go on inundating the world with images that fit the narrative it needs the world to believe, in order to save itself, and continue carrying out terrorist attacks (or God forbid, massacres).

Here's the relevant citation from the campaign site, which highlights providing Gaza "journalists" with eSims:

I'm not gonna tell anyone what to do with their money, but I'll repeat my personal POV. I do think we're all responsible for the money we donate, and we can't just give it away to causes that will make us feel good about ourselves, without making sure that the money won't end up in the hands of terrorists, and do real harm. The latter is our responsibility, even if we didn't know it will go to terrorists, because we should check and make sure that we know who the money goes to. The first responsibility we all have is, "Do no evil," right? Even the least awful scenario of what might be the driving force behind the campaign, is still one that financially compensates people affiliated with Hamas, and contributes to a false demonization of the Jewish State. But at the end of the day, this is an individual choice, that each person has to make for themselves.

I hope my reply helps! Sorry for the length, and hoping that you are doing well, and taking care of yourself! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[connorswhisk]

and so it goes (miguel o’hara x spiderman!reader)

hi note this is a fic specifically for transmasc readers. don’t come anywhere near this if you’re a cis woman. you have a million fics you can read that aren’t this one. thank you 🍻

@spokentothewoods here you go ☺️

WARNINGS: Angst, slightly sexual situations >:)

That ever-present tenseness is visible in his shoulders; in truth, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him without it, for as many years as you’ve been working with him. You’ve been working late tonight and could really use a break yourself, but with Jess away for an ultrasound, someone had to stay behind and keep an eye on Miguel.

Perhaps you volunteered for the job a tad too hastily, if the smirk Hobie had flashed in your direction was any indication, but Hobie’s always smirking at things. You’ve gotten pretty used to it.

In any case, even Margo’s signed off for the night. You know Miguel’s the Big Boss In Charge, but…couldn’t he benefit from some chill time?

“That’s it,” you say, yawning. “That’s the last of the logs done. Think I’ll turn in for the night.”

Miguel says nothing. He either is so immersed in his work that he didn’t hear you, or he’s ignoring you - both are likely in their own way.

After a moment’s more of silence, you frown, and web yourself up to his platform. He’s always brooding, that’s pretty normal, but…

Oh, you realize, because you recognize the video footage he’s watching. You’ve never seen it yourself, but you know what it is, where Miguel came from. You know why he is the way that he is.

You contemplate leaving and pretending you saw nothing, but then Miguel turns his head and fixes you with his dark, exhausted eyes, and it’s too late to act innocent.

“Sorry,” you say quietly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. You just…”

“What.” He phrases the word as a statement, not a question. “I just what.”

You sigh. “I worry about you, Miguel. I mean, when you first found me in my universe…you were sad, sure, but you weren’t this angry. I don’t know what changed, but if you ever need to talk…”

“I don’t.” His stare is fixed somewhere past your shoulder, his jaw hard as steel. “Nothing changed. I’m fine.”

“Oh, bullshit,” you tell him, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. “How long have we known each other? I know when you’re lying to me.”

Miguel shakes his head. He’s been working with Jess the longest and all the Spiders respect him as their leader, but he’s never gotten as close to anyone as he has to you. You know this because he told you so himself, a year ago when MJ was killed and you were stumbling around HQ in a haze, the big empty pit in your stomach threatening to swallow you whole.

We all lose people, he’d told you, his voice the gentlest you’d ever heard it. But we persevere. You’re strong, Y/N. You can survive this.

I bet you tell all the Spiders they’re your favorite, you’d joked half-heartedly, desolate and depressed, sure you were right. But Miguel had given you this look that had told you plainly: I am completely serious. And then he’d started to say something, stopped as if he’d thought better of himself, and swung away.

You don’t know what he’d been about to tell you…though maybe you kind of do. The pair of you have never necessarily been the emotionally vulnerable types, but the connection between you is one that cannot be denied.

“I’m fine,” he’s repeating now, still hiding from the truth. “Just tired.”

“Which is exactly why you should call it for the night. You’ve done plenty.”

“I haven’t done enough.”

“Look, just…” You exhale deeply, pull off your mask so you can meet him eye-to-eye. You don’t miss the slight change in his demeanor when you bare your face, the fleeting look of quick relief. “Do you…want a massage or something?”

He blinks. “What.”

“I asked if you wanted a - “

“I heard you.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Ok. So? Your shoulders could really use it, dude.”

“I…” You can pinpoint the exact moment he decides to give in, posture slumped and scowl deepening. “…Fine.”

He turns back to face the screens - thankfully, the video from before is long gone. Miguel says nothing for a long time, ‘til he finally snaps, “Well?”

You lay your hands on his shoulders. You’re no trained masseuse, but your Aunt May does a wicked back rub and you’re sure you can replicate her technique, more or less. And so you try.

Are all shoulder muscles this knotted? Or is Miguel just overworking himself per usual? You’re not sure, but you press as hard as you dare, first with your fingertips, then kneading in and out with your knuckles. Miguel is silent as you work. The only sound he makes is the measured course of his breathing, up-down, up-down, up-down. You can feel it thrumming through your neurons, slow and steady.

“What, sorry?” You didn’t catch what Miguel just mumbled under his breath.

“Can you - go harder?” he repeats, practically spitting the words. He sounds as exhausted as you’ve ever heard him.

Wordlessly, you begin to apply even more pressure, and Miguel moans. You’ve never heard him make a noise like that before, and in your shock, you start and almost back away from him entirely. You manage to keep your wits, though, and you press again in the same spot, feeling the knot aching to unravel beneath his skin.

“Y/N,” he groans - but before you can begin to wrap your head around that, Miguel’s body is freezing up under your fingertips, and suddenly, he’s wrenching himself away from you.

“Woah - you ok?” You drop your hands to dangle by your hips, but you can still feel the buzz in your head, concentrated and slightly painful like a migraine, a hit off a cigarette.

“You should go,” Miguel says quietly, his back to you. “This…you should just go.”

“Ok.” You’re finding it hard to breathe, beneath all the spandex and bindings and confusion. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

“Then what the hell is the prob - “

“GO, Y/N,” Miguel seethes, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “Just leave me alone.”

You scowl. “Fine.” Pulling your mask down over your face again, you shoot a strand of web over in the opposite direction, pull yourself through the air until you land against the wall and cling there. “Fine, Miguel. Whatever you want. As usual.”

If he looks back at you as you leave, you don’t know. At the moment, you’re too hurt and angry to waste another thought on him.

[wings-of-ink]

Looking for your Input for IF Patreon

Hello my friends and neighbors! I hope you are all safe and well. I had some things to share with you and I am once again fishing for thoughts and opinions.

Like many of us who create these IFs, I am strongly considering a Patreon. I have no plans to go exclusively to Patreon, so don't fret. I want to make extra content to go along with any IF I work on, and I'd like to be able to put more things into these projects such as real art (including character portraits), and not just the stuff I flounder through on Canva. I'd like to pay my artist a fair wage and devote more of my time to this. Getting some support would help me allocate even more to these projects and extras. I'm testing the waters here to see if it's sustainable for both myself and subscribers as well. I do not know what timeframe I'm looking at to start this either.

I only want to do this if it's worth the while for everybody, so I'm putting out feelers and asking for your input.

Most of all - I want to know what you want in a Patreon sub. I also want to know what you feel to be a fair sub price for different tiers. Over the years, when I have been able, I have subbed to help support my favorite creators at all different levels. So, I have some ideas on what I am looking for in a subscription, what keeps me coming back, and what prices are both fair for the effort of the creator as well as for my pocket. But, what suits me may not be what you want, so that's why I need some feedback.

Below, I have compiled my ideas, so far, for possible tiers. None of these are set in stone, just a framework to build on to see if I'm on the right track. At the bottom is a poll (of course, it's like my favorite thing), and is probably the first of a few about this topic I will use. I welcome comments and suggestions on this topic. Tell me what you are looking for in a Patreon. What do you want from one each month? What keeps you subscribed? Please feel free to comment below or to send comments and suggestions via the Ask inbox, especially if you prefer to be anon (do let me know if you do not want your response posted - I may post some that either have questions or that I find relevant to the conversation).

I still do not know for certain what the ultimate future of God-Cursed will look like (meaning when it is all finished). I've played with the idea of eventually refining it to sell on itch and/or Steam. I have to admit that being able to do so would really feel like a huge accomplishment to me. I've always had dreams of being published and such, and it feels like a part of that dream. I, personally, prefer to buy IFs through either platform whenever I can. It supports my favorite authors, shows my appreciation, it compiles my favorite stories into an easy-to-find library, and I can relive my favorite stories over and over easily. So, needless to say, this is calling to me more and more.

Anyway, what I have come up with so far for possible offerings are these. Please let me know if something like this would work for you or if you have any suggestions for improvement:

An appreciation/tip jar - if the other tiers aren't for you or you just want to give a little love. Subscribers could get updates and public posts, and participation in polls.

A "Supporter" level - all the other stuff plus GC demo releases 1 month (30 days) in advance. I debated about the time, but I want to really make the early access feel worth it. This level would also be privy to some "insider" info (things cut, character development, the egregious typos, etc…). Of course there would be some sort of dev-log to go with this as well.

A "Plus" tier - all the above plus early release of demos for other IFs, more "behind the scenes" type things, and I'm thinking some POVs and other extra content (some interactive) such as short stories. These extras need not be exclusive to IFs either if anyone is interested in other things I write.

"SMUT" or "Spicy" tier - (being very honest, I'd be the most excited for this tier, lol) all the above including all things smut for each IF. This will include interactive extras, short stories, and any other horny content we want. Likely will run some polls and take suggestions for the spice you desire each month.

"Smut plus" (lol) - all the above, PLUS a patreon-only IF that I will have in the works (so, access to 3 projects in total). I have an idea for an IF that will focus on 1 RO at a time (each with their own complete and unique story within the same world), and I am itching to write it even if updates for it will be a bit slow. It will be more like a traditional dating sim type thing and may comprise all sorts of genres. This may be one that would be good for just subscribing on months that will have updates, and that's something I would probably post about publicly so if you're just interested in getting access, you don't have to worry about staying subbed.

And finally a sort of "Power Supporter" tier - this may be like a limited number sort of thing and be a bit pricey (not sure yet how much). You'd get a custom interactive story set in whatever world of mine you want that can be spicey or not. You'd give me all your MC's details (mostly cannon things but some liberties could be taken), physical traits and personality, and pick your RO and/or other desired characters. I'd take prompts or ideas from you as well concerning what you'd like in the story. You want a sexcapade - you can have that. You want to have tea with Oswin and his weird twin sisters - you got it. The main limitations are spoilers, of course, especially for any mystery ROs depending on when and if this all comes to pass. There may be some subject-matter that I will not write about, but I'd let you know what is out of bounds for me.

Naturally, I would also pop your name in the credits, I just don't know which tier that should go on.

So, there you have it. This has been on my mind for a while and I've gotten some questions and messages asking about if I will do something like this, so I'd like to give it a go at least.

Looking forward to hearing your ideas and desires! ^_^

~Lunan

[butch-reidentified]

why do y'all have to make it a misogyny issue whenever dysphoric or trans ppl are disgusted at pussy obsession (not in a sexuality way of course) in relation to their womanhood. like i mean screaming and chanting about their vagina. it's just unsettling, i fully respect womens autonomy, that part is always untouched.

Why are you asking me this? I *am* a dysphoric person, did you even read my bio lmao

All of female anatomy and physiology has been demonized and mystified for hundreds of years. I'm only in my 20s and I grew up knowing nearly nothing about the vulva, as did most people my age. I grew up hearing about the "myth of the female orgasm" and being told pee came out the clit (or that the clit was inside the vagina, or nonexistent). I didn't know the word "labia" until I was 17. In high school, I was taught what the vas deferens was and about the male refractory period, but to this day I see arguments online about how common squirting is or if there's pee involved or not. There are MULTIPLE subreddits devoted to sharing screenshots of incorrect discussion of women's anatomy and physiology, with seemingly endless content, but nobody stops to wonder why we don't see equivalent misinformation about male bodies?? Have you tried critical thinking?

So yes, when women seek to educate, demystify, and normalize our anatomy and its functions, and to fight the shame girls and women are taught from birth to feel about their bodies and especially their genitalia, it's not "obsession," and calling it such or feeling disgusted by it is misogyny at its most basic core definition-based level. Why do you think things like the Vagina Monologues came to be? Why do you think men will spam women with dick pics but nothing is more humiliating to a woman than having her nudes leaked? Too many of yall have lost touch with reality and history.

Men never shut up about dicks and balls and fucking and fapping and nutting, even though they have no actual reason to go on about it, and nobody ever has a problem with that. But if I want to fight back against the stigma, shame, and misinformation surrounding female bodies and sexuality, it's "disgusting," "unsettling," and an "obsession." The fact that you even need to ask this question is so telling. Log off, go outside, and start paying attention to the way male vs female bodies, genitalia, and sexuality are talked about and generally viewed in society.

If "big dick energy" isn't unsettling to you but "pussy power" is, maybe try asking yourself why.

[feelingbluewrites]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙨 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙨

➳𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝙎𝙤 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙪𝙥 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙜𝙤 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙚, 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪. 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙨𝙣’𝙩 𝘽𝙤𝙠𝙪𝙩𝙤, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙩 𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙨 𝙝𝙞𝙢.

➳𝙆𝙤𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙤𝙪 𝘽𝙤𝙠𝙪𝙩𝙤 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

➳𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙨𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙗𝙪𝙧𝙣, 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙭𝙞𝙚𝙩𝙮, 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩, 𝙛𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛, 𝙖 𝙗𝙞𝙩 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙚𝙨𝙮, 𝙆𝙪𝙧𝙤𝙤 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

➳𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 6𝙠

➳𝘼/𝙉: 𝙁𝙄𝙍𝙎𝙏 𝙁𝙄𝘾𝘾 𝙊𝙐𝙏 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙄𝙏 𝙄𝙎 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙏. 𝙒𝙍𝙀𝙉𝘾𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂. 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮 𝙞𝙩!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

“What the shit-” The back of your head throbs, turning around to see what had just smacked you in the head. You’ve just about had it today and getting hit in the head was about to send you over the edge. Whoever threw that is going to get an earful, Until your eyes land on another pair of caramel eyes. 

“I’m so sorry!” The man with the strange silver hair smiles at you widely, “Are you okay?” He leans in closer to take a look if your head was alright. “Watch out, dude.” You give off a scoff, standing up straight and fixing your hair. “My bad! We didn’t see you, I just did this crazy spike and stupid idiots saved it.” As he speaks you can feel the confidence radiate off of him. If you hadn’t opened your mouth he probably would still be there talking nonsense. 

“Why the hell were you playing volleyball?” You ask him, eyebrows scrunched, and so, so, annoyed. He raises an eyebrow at you, pausing before he answers. “We’re in a gym?” He questions you, The way he questions you makes you feel like you should be embarrassed about something. Though you feel dumb as you look around and realize you had stumbled into the gymnasium. You were so out of it you ended up wandering into a different path than the way you usually go to get to the parking lot. 

“I knew that!” You grew embarrassed with obvious burning red on your face. He laughs and leans in a little too close for comfort. You stumble back a bit, furrowing your eyebrows. What the hell was he doing? He’s looking at you like crazy. Taken back, you start to open your mouth to question him. 

“You’re really pretty.” He smiles before you could even talk, The words roll off his tongue so smoothly, you’re not really sure how to react.

You look away with blush on your face and you’re wondering what the hell you say back to him. He chuckles as you try to form your words. He was charming as hell, He had no shame.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

That was approximately 2 years ago. Though when you look back you can remember it like it was yesterday. It seemed just like yesterday when you first hung out with Bokuto and he took you fishing, something you rarely enjoyed, but Bokuto made it fun. He ended up fishing a log but you caught your first fish with Bokuto. Well, he reeled it in but it’s still the same right?

Ever since then, You and Bokuto were inseparable, Tied to the hip. So many memories and adventures you could recall. Like that time where you both ditched class and went to the thrift store, picking out outfits for each other, and returning home wearing the horrendous top Bokuto had picked out for you. 

Or that time where you and Bokuto found a box of abandoned kittens on the side of the highway. You both cared for them the whole weekend until you knew you both couldn’t care for 6 baby kittens. Bokuto begged to keep them but eventually you convinced him that he’d go into debt taking care of them. And he fell for it. 

But your favorite memory was after one of his games. You had been cheering for him all night, and everytime he would get a point he would look up at you and wave. You were his good luck charm, he’d like to call it. He liked looking into the crowd and seeing you. Even if his fangirls were cheering, you’d always cheer the loudest. And after the game, when fans swarmed around him, he grabbed onto your wrist, leading you both out of the pile of fangirls around the both of you. 

“You’re my favorite fan.” Bokuto teased. You smile up at the goof, smacking his arm weakly for getting you to blush. 

And ever since then, you had feelings for him. You’d never had feelings for anyone like you did with him, He made you feel something nobody else could ever get you to feel. Sure, you’ve had small crushes and “boyfriends” but Kotarou was different.

He always got you to turn away blushing, He always said what he was feeling and thinking. As opposed to you, who holds things in a lot of the time, always thinking before speaking. Being Bokuto’s friend, you learned so much from him and became a different person because of him, in the best way possible.

It was natural the way your feelings grew, anytime you were at school you would hang out with Bokuto, not that you had a choice, he’d always find you in a sea of people. And when you weren’t at school you would be with Bokuto and Akaashi, doing something dumb, most likely. So of course, as the days, weeks, months went by, the way you looked at Bokuto started to change. You went to bed wondering if he’d feel the same way, wondering if he felt what you feel whenever you look into his eyes. 

You don’t think so. He never made a move so why should you? You would only hurt yourself by chasing something that doesn’t want you. You were only his best friend, That’s all you’ll ever be to him.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

“What the shit-” Bokuto’s eyes follow the ball and have a clear view of who it has hit. He knew who you were. You were an advanced student, teachers and even the principal had told Bokuto many times that he should reach out to have you help him study. Bokuto cuts out of his daydream, realizing you were rubbing the back of your head still confused as to what had hit your head. 

Bokuto marches towards you, Going to make sure you were okay, because that was a nasty hit if he does say so himself. As you turn to look at him, his eyes light up with excitement because for once you actually look at him. He’s been trying to talk to you for a few days now, here and there in class. It was only about helping him out with a subject, of course, nothing else. 

“I’m so sorry!” Concerned about your head, he leans in closer to get a better look. “Are you okay?” He notices you fixing yourself up, trying to stand up to him as he realizes he’s practically hovering over you. “Watch out, dude.” You scoff, and Bokuto blinks. He’s confused as to why you're mad, getting hit in the head with a volleyball didn’t hurt that bad right?

He had blurted out as many words as he could think of to try to keep the conversation going. He didn’t pay no attention to what he was saying just as long as you were listening and had your eyes on him. 

“Why the hell were you playing volleyball?” He knows that’s a genuine question because you had not looked around, only looked at him with a confused expression. Bokuto wants to laugh, because you’re so cute. Sassy and a bit of an airhead like him. “We’re in a gym?” Bokuto raises an eyebrow at you, signaling for you to look around and see how many volleyballs are flying around and the guys in jersey’s practicing. 

When you had finally raised your head high enough to see, he noticed you roll your eyes in embarrassment with a hint of rose on your cheeks, and he swears he could hear his heart skip a beat.  “I knew that!” He chuckles at you, wanting to get a longer look at you, he leans in and he notices the features on your face. So unique and beautiful in its own way. He could stare at you all day if you let him because he swears to himself, he has never seen a beauty like yours. 

“You’re really pretty.” He blurts out before he could think, Not realizing he had been seeming a bit like a creep. He just couldn’t help himself but get a better look. He notices you turning more red, turning away from him, breaking eye contact.

And from that day, Bokuto had something for you. He didn’t know what it was, but it was something and damn he could not get over it. 

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Bokuto had feelings for you too. Making it obvious so many times, and so many times you did not get the hint. He wouldn’t get this close to a girl if he was not interested in them. You were special to him and he tried to show it to you so many times in so many ways.

In bringing you flowers on random days, begging you to come to his games just so he could flex in front of you, calling you at night just to see what you were doing, all he ever thought about was you. From the way you put your hair up, to the way you laugh at his jokes. He was smitten. 

You would think from all these feelings swimming inside you both one of you would stop bitching around and make a move, right? Well, not exactly.

That’s far from it actually. 

After graduation, the two of you had naturally drifted. It wasn’t the fact that you both stopped liking each other or stopped getting along, it was just how most high school friends go. Someone you used to know to someone you don’t anymore. 

You had gotten a place of your own, something you’ve been working so hard for and had started going to university to continue your own education. At first, slowly drifting from Bokuto had been hard, he was there for almost your entire highschool life. He knew so much about you and went through so much with you. Eventually, you decided to bury the feelings you had, nothing had ever happened between you two and it never would again. Sometimes that happens, and you had decided to just let it go. As much as it hurt, it wouldn’t do any good to dwell on it. So you brought your head back up and looked forward, because you don’t want to look back anymore, there was nothing you could change. 

As for Bokuto, he took it pretty rough for the first few months. You had started answering less and less, going to his games less and less, started working more. He just thought you wanted time to yourself. He had noticed not having you around was having a toll on his playing ability. There was no one to cheer for him, no one waiting for him in the crowd anymore. 

Bokuto knew he would continue to focus on volleyball after highschool, and as the years went by that’s when he joined MSBY. You weren’t around anymore, but he always held out hope. Hope that one day, you’ll walk through the doors back into his life. 

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Years had gone by since the last time you saw him, you don’t have the same number as before, not knowing if Bokuto had tried to contact you at all through the past years. You had a new normal now. Waking up, working on an online class, going for a quick jog, getting to another class, going to work, then coming home and sleeping so hard you have bags under your eyes. 

There was also something that had been relatively new as well aside from school and work. Your boyfriend would come three times a week to come sleep with you in your bed. It was nice, having someone warm snuggle up next to you as you sleep. 

At first the relationship would be a bit awkward and rocky because it’d be one of Bokuto’s old best friends, Tetsurou Kuroo. Kuroo, years before, would be aware of the tension between you and Bokuto. He’d always take a step back because he respected that you both had something, that was until after graduating the pair of you would start to see each other more often, being in the same city and all. And eventually it would end up with late nights of watching movies and playing weird tabletop games. 

And eventually, he asked you to be his girlfriend. You accepted hesitantly, not much educated on how it was like being in a relationship but you knew being around Kuroo made you happy, and feel less lonely. A big difference with Kuroo was that he actually made a move, unlike Bokuto. So throwing all caution to the wind, you got with Kuroo. 

The relationship was still relatively new, only dating for as little as 5 months, the two of you had been friends for years, close friends. It was comfortable and something that you didn’t have to second guess and worry about. He was sweet to you, made as much time as he could for you while also being busy with volleyball stuff. 

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

“C’mon, pleaseeee? They’re all asking to see you.” Kuroo gently rubs his thumb against your hip, taking his head out of the crook of your neck and looking up at you. You down at him with tired eyes, close to falling asleep. “What if it’s awkward?” You ask him genuinely. He had been begging for you to go with him to a reunion they all planned for one night, in this gorgeous air bnb, You knew Bokuto would be there. But that wasn’t the reason you didn’t want to go, right? No, you just didn’t want to go because you had to take care of your neighbor's bunny. Still, you also did miss your old friends, you had so many great memories with them. 

“It’s just gonna be like old times, beautiful, you have nothing to worry about.” Your boyfriend reassures that it’d be fine, but a feeling inside your stomach didn’t feel so good. You hesitated still, maybe there would be no harm in going. Lost in your thoughts, you look at Kuroo, he’s smiling up at you with devious eyes.

“You didn’t say no!” You giggle at him, “I didn’t say yes, silly” He shrugs and digs his head back into your neck. “It still isn’t a no.” He hums. Your fingertips gently graze his back, “Fine, I’ll go. But only because I want to play games with Kenma again.” You don’t know if this is a good idea, but it might be good to move past the highschool feelings. You haven't seen Bokuto, Akaashi, or even Kenma in awhile, It might be refreshing. You keep telling yourself. Nothing could go that bad right?

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡ 

“Oh shit- shit- shit” Looking around frantically, you desperately try to find the matching earring on your left ear. You swore it was on the floor the last time you saw, you don’t know how you lose things so easily, but you do. Everything was ready to go, checking off on the list as you got yourself situated. Bags packed, make-up packed, hair products packed. All set, maybe it was a lot for just one night, but you liked to be prepared. You planned to be at the air bnb in less than 10 minutes, which means you would have to leave in… 15 minutes ago. Kuroo had been waiting outside, in his car, for the last 20 minutes as you got yourself ready. Eventually you were taking too long looking for that earring you decided to go with no earrings, and as an alternative you put on a necklace, it matched better anyway. 

Barely slipping on your shoes out the door, Kuroo finally spots you walking out, starting his car. You flash him a smile as you open the passenger door, “You look beautiful.” Humming and rolling your eyes, you never know how to take compliments and just for that, that’s the reason Kuroo compliments you even more. 

As he drives further from your place, you gulp, and fiddle with your fingers out of nervousness. Though you still put on a poker face, just so you don’t have to worry your boyfriend. The closer you two got, the more it seemed like your shoes were shrinking, eventually having to take off your own jacket. Why were you so nervous? You’re fine, Y/n. There was nothing to be nervous about.

Maybe you were overthinking this whole situation, it was just one night. Yeah, you were freaking your pretty little head out for nothing. 

“C’mon, sweetheart.” Kuroo opens the door for you, hand out for you to grab it. You thank him for being so sweet, taking his hand, letting him lead you to the front of the huge air bnb you see before your eyes. It was top tier and you had no idea how Kenma had this much money to rent this place out, Even if it was for one night, it was like a mansion. 

The front door swings open as you both enter, immediately you hear all the voices that were filled in your highschool memories, it’s nostalgic. “Kuroo!” A voice booms in your ear causing you to look to your left, spotting Bokuto and Akaashi approaching the both of you. Being behind Kuroo, they haven’t spotted you yet. You take a gulp and swallow down that anxiety, letting yourself loose, you’re supposed to have fun tonight. “Hey man, you look no different!” Kuroo laughs, putting both of your bags to the side on the floor. “Akaashi! You said I looked so different from the last time you saw me!” Bokuto looks at Akaashi disappointed, it makes you chuckle. This is still the same man you knew years and years ago. 

As the pair start to bicker, you peek out, taking a step from Kuroo to get a better view of where everyone was. Looking around you see so many more of your old friends. A small smile spreads across your face, until your eyes stop on your old best friend, staring back at you with wide eyes.

“Y/n! I missed you!” His voice is still smooth as ever, wrapping his arms around you, bringing you in for a hug. With no time to react, your arms wrap around his neck, taking his scent, just like you did back then. 

A bit surprised, the more you sink into the hug. You thought he would be angry with you, yell at you, you didn’t even think he would talk to you, or look at you. But that was not the case at all. 

It takes a few seconds before you pull away, looking at Kuroo who had been eyeing you two for a bit. “It’s so nice to you, Bokuto-san.” Smiling innocently up at him, he returns one back. 

Bokuto had one of those smiles where no matter what you would smile back, he wore his heart on his sleeves often, no matter what you always knew his intentions were pure. You couldn’t help but get sucked back into the feelings you had tucked away so long ago. As the memories flooded your mind, you remember exactly how he made you feel. 

The tension in the air is thick, Nobody says anything, instead they’re looking at the both of you. Neither you or Bokuto notice anyone else around, almost as if you two are the only ones in the room, because all you both could see is each other’s eyes, full of pent up love that has gone on for years. And you swear that they’re hidden away, but as he scans your face, his eyes soften, and you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can’t help yourself. 

“Um-” Akaashi clears the air, bringing you and Bokuto back to your surroundings. “Let’s go, Hinata had planned a bunch of games and activities for us.” Akaashi’s voice is soft, not to cause the tension to be more awkward than it already was. Leading the three of you into the backyard where you had seen Hinata and Kenma setting up cornhole and many other games to keep the group company. 

You take a breath, taking Kuroo’s hand into your own. You didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. There was nothing there… Right?

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Kuroo’s arms are gentle but strong, you feel them carry you to the upstairs bedroom where the both of you stay for the night. You had fallen asleep after multiple games of charades, not knowing how long it had been going on. The last thing you remember is Kenma trying to imitate a turtle. Naturally, your eyes had gotten heavier, falling into a deep sleep. 

So you wake up, a bit absent-minded on where you are now. A few seconds set in after waking up, Kuroo sleeping next to you peacefully. You groan, grabbing the phone that was charging next to the nightstand, seeing the clock turn to 4:30 am. You don’t remember putting your phone to charge, most likely it was Kuroo who had done so for you. 

Giving him a quick peck on his disheveled hair, your mouth feels dry, Realizing the last drink you had was a shot of vodka the guys had offered to you. You groan, wanting to go back to sleep but you are in desperate need of water. 

Your feet drag on the hard-wood floor as you go down the stairs, it’s messy down there, dark as well. They must’ve stayed up a bit more before heading to bed. Being careful not to wake or scare anyone, you quietly make your way into the marble kitchen. Drinks and beers still open from the night before, it makes you want to gag, hating the smell of liquor. 

Grabbing a bottle of water on the top shelf of the fridge, you take a sip. Feeling more and more refreshed as the water gets in your system. You hear a floorboard creak a few inches away, snapping your head behind your back, you blink. Staring in the black abyss for a few seconds. 

A tall muscular shadow emerges from the darkness, and you gasp, not knowing who was there yet. Until you saw the silver hair shining from the moon hitting it through the window. “Bo!” You scream as quietly as you could. “You scared the shit out of me!” You put down your water bottle, breathing regulating as you realize it’s just Bokuto. “Me?! You’re the one who scared me!” He half whispers. 

“I thought someone broke in!” He chuckles a bit, finding the situation another one of those moments where you both are just idiots. “You’re such an idiot.” You tease, grabbing a marker from the counter, labeling the water bottle with your name. 

“Why are you still up?” As you look at him, you see the bags that had formed under his eyes, hair messier than he would like it, Almost like he hasn’t gotten any sleep. 

“I just… Couldn’t sleep.” Bokuto sounds defeated, you know him, he wouldn’t just not sleep for no reason, something was definitely bothering him. Though, being a bit awkward, you don’t know what to say, not wanting to push him or engage in this conversation. You don’t want him to get the wrong idea, or anyone else for that matter. Your boyfriend already suspects something is going on, you shouldn’t ruin anything else.

But you can’t seem to walk away. 

“What’s wrong?” Your voice is sincere, wanting to make sure he was okay. “Just thinking, don’t worry.” He reassures you with a smile, and with that your feet start to head towards back the staircase. You knew you shouldn’t push it anymore.

“Do you hate me?” Bokuto’s voice is reluctant, almost like he blurted the question out by accident. Taken by surprise, you turn to look back at him, confused as to why he would ask. Because the truth is, you could never hate him. 

“I don’t,” You pause, “Why do you think that?” And by the way he looks away from you, he probably isn’t doing okay. He’s never looked away from you before.

“You’ve been avoiding me all night.” 

Oh. That’s what he’s been up thinking about. You didn’t think you were being obvious or anything. You weren’t trying to avoid him, if anything all you wanted to do was talk to him just how you both would back then. But being with Kuroo, you shouldn’t even be thinking about the old times with Bokuto. Because if you did, the feelings would come rushing back again, and Kuroo was so good to you. He doesn’t deserve that. 

“No, I haven’t” Shaky breaths are all that comes out of your mouth, so convincing.

“You say that, but you haven’t talked to me at all this whole night.” Crossing his arms, you knew he was right, what else should he think? You haven’t acknowledged him this entire night. 

“Don’t take it personal, Bo.” Though you know he will, Bokuto always took everything seriously. 

“Why did you stop being my friend?” Your heart breaks a little as you could hear the hurt in his voice. Still, you don’t understand, why was it a big deal?

“No I didn’t.” You lie. 

“You left me behind…” You take a deep breath, not daring to let the tears fall. “And you took Kuroo with you.” He pouts in the way he always used to do, which always left you giving in. 

Before you could answer, he cuts you off, “Why did you pick him? Over me?” You stand there, starting to shake because you never wanted to be the reason why Bokuto was upset, he was such a happy boy, and that’s all he deserved, was to be happy. So as you stand there, watching him open up in front of you, years later, you start to slowly break. 

“I didn’t choose anyone, Bo.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

“Akaashiiii, why is Y/n mad at me?” Bokuto had been in this trance for days. Trying to text you, with no response, no delivery notification had even showed up on his phone. Not knowing that you had changed your number, only thinking that you had ended up blocking him.

“She’s probably busy, she has a life of her own you know?” Bokuto huffs.

“Of course I know that!” He pauses, “But she wouldn’t just leave me out of the blue like that, that’s not like her.” He thought you just needed some space, as normal people do. Maybe you’d be going through something but once that was done, you’d come back to him, normal and beautiful as ever. But once you didn’t, he really had thought he did something wrong to make you go away.

That was until hours later he had seen you post on your own story. Hand in hand with one of his good friends, Kuroo. A heart sticker plastered onto the screen, with a tag of Kuroo’s own account. 

He swore he heard his heart crack inside. 

He wanted to be the one holding your hand. He should’ve been the one holding your hand, he’s the one who’s been wanting it for years. He’s angry with himself because all this waiting had been for nothing, because you have someone that loves you, and he’s angry with himself because it isn’t him.

But even then if you hadn’t talked to him in years, or seen him, He would still be looking for you. Everywhere he went. He would still be thinking of you, loving every inch of you even if you weren’t physically there with him. And seeing that picture, he knew that you were gone a long time ago. 

And he knew that no matter who you were with, what you were doing, where you went, he would still love you, even if you didn’t feel the same way. 

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

“Did you have fun, babe?” Kuroo gently squeezes the top of your thigh, driving with one hand on the wheel. You smile up at him. 

Of course you did, But you were in conflict with yourself. Because of course you adored Kuroo, he was your first real boyfriend, he had been so good to you. But every single time, you were always brought back to Bokuto. No matter who you were with, what you were doing, where you went, everything always brought you back to him. 

“Of course, I’m just severely hung over.” Chuckling, you put your hand over his, not wanting him to question what has been on your mind ever since the morning. You were going home now, though. Away from Bokuto, You could finally get back to your normal life, without having to second guess your feelings again. 

As you got home, Kuroo insisted on bringing your bag inside. Following him inside, he gave you a quick peck on the cheek, something that always brought you calmness. “Thank you, Tetsu.” 

He smiles gently at you, “I’ll come over tomorrow, I just have to deal with work tonight.” He speaks so softly, gently to you. You nod at him, reassuring that you were fine to spend a night alone. And you really needed it, after having a long night, while also dealing with a hangover. 

Kuroo closes your front door, leaving you alone in your cozy apartment. Taking off your shoes, you head for the bathroom door, ready to take a relaxing bath. And damn that was the best bath you’ve ever had in your life. 

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

“This damn tv!” You curse, throwing the remote somewhere onto the couch that will definitely be in one of the cracks later. The tv had been flickering for some time now, along with your lights. The rain outside had gotten heavier as the hours went by, there wasn’t much for you to do.

Fuck the tv. You walk into your kitchen, scanning the fridge, looking for something to eat. Though you hadn’t gone grocery shopping yet, all you had was a bologna sandwich that was- well wayyy overdue. 

You debated on eating at your favorite restaurant tonight, well with how the weather is looking that looked like it wasn’t going to happen. Grabbing your phone, you dial the number of another restaurant that does take out. That was until there was a knock at your door.

Who the hell would be at your door at this hour? Kuroo was busy with work, your family was out of town at the moment, who else could this be?

Hurrying to open the door, you put your phone down. Your hand gripping the knob, the door swings open and you hear the drips and thunder coming from outside. 

Bokuto stands at your door. Hoodie over his head, drenched in rain. Taken by surprise, you take a moment before asking what the hell he was doing here.

“Bokuto? What are you doing here?” Your eyes shift all over his body, not knowing how to react. Should you be happy he was here? Should you be angry as to why the hell he was here, after specifically telling him that you weren’t interested in this friendship anymore the night before?

He smiles gently at you, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“I love you.” At this point you're even more confused.

“What do you mean-”

“You know what I mean, don’t make me say it again just for you to turn me away.” He finishes your sentence with his words, words that break your heart because you don’t want to turn him away, but you have to. 

“Kou-” Before you could put your foot down, he speaks again.

“Please, just let me say what I need to say-” So you do.

“I know you’re with Kuroo, and I’m happy that you are happy” A genuine smile peeks from his lips.

“But, I know if you give me the chance, I won’t let you go, and I’ll love you just as much as I did the first day I met you, Y/n.”

Frozen in your spot, you take a second to comprehend what he’s telling you. He’s loved you since the first day? The day you got hit with a ball? He’s loved you for that long? There’s no way. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” A blush spreads across your cheeks, making you turn away from him. 

“But I do, Y/n.” He sighs lightly, sneaking his arms past your arms and wrapping his arms gently resting on your waist. And as you look into his eyes, you know he’s being serious, you can’t bring yourself to tear him away from you. 

“Nobody, Absolutely nobody in the world makes me feel the way you do. You can stay not believing me, but I know what I feel when I’m with you, there’s nothing better than when I’m with you, Y/n. And I’m so sorry it took me so long to say it to you, but give me a chance-”

And as the tears escape from your lids, you can’t seem to hold yourself together anymore. 

“No, Bokuto! You can’t just make your way in here and beg me to give you a chance! I’ve felt the same way for so, so long! But it’s no use, I’m with Kuroo now.” You move your hands up to wipe away the streams that burn your cheeks. Bokuto’s eyes soften, glistening as he watches you cry in front of him, A sight that he’s always hated ever since high school. 

“I know you love me too..” He trails off his sentence waiting to see your reaction.

“No, I don’t! I-I love Kuroo now.” You’re angry with him. Angry with yourself. Angry at the world, because how could all this time you both felt the same but nothing had ever happened? And now years later the both of you are standing in the doorway, with the rain starting to creep inside, You can’t help but want to kiss him. But you couldn’t because you had a wonderful boyfriend, who adored you, and now with Bokuto here, There was nowhere else for you to run, there was no solution to this problem. 

“Please, just leave.” Before he could open his mouth to say something, you spoke. 

He shakes his head, a tear streaming down his face. A sight you had not seen in so long. “I don’t want to let you go again, Y/n! At least not until I know that I did everything I can because I’ve loved you the longest, This isn’t fair!” 

You shake your head, pulling his hands off your waist. “This isn’t fair, Bokuto!” Sobbing, you don’t dare to look up at him. You silently cry into your palms, Bokuto doesn’t know what to say. Well, he does, but he knows it isn’t fair as well. He knows he’s being selfish with you, but he cannot go on without knowing if he did everything he could to get you to be his.

A silent minute goes by, with no words spoken, only the sound of rain behind the both of you. Until he grabs your hands gently, his soft hands bring you to look up at him, with red, and swollen eyes. 

“You can’t tell me you don’t feel something for me too…” He whispers softly, his eyes are low, a small smile gently telling you that it’s going to be okay, no matter what. As you look at him, you can’t look away. You focus on Bokuto, and only him at the moment, because he’s here telling you everything you’ve been wanting to hear since high school, years later. You try to form words, to answer him with. To tell him that this isn’t right anymore, the time for you both has run out. 

But you can’t, because he was right. Looking into his eyes, you feel nothing but love. Your heart yearns for him even after all these years. You have no answer, because he was right. No matter what, your heart will always choose him.

[mvltisstuff]

solitude - e.b

summary: the only people who hear hen and chimney out about jonah are y/n and buck, but little do they know the hell it’ll rain down on them.

evan buckley x reader

a/n: ok but like imagine all four of them working tgt bc this storyline was actually rly good… this is literally just buck, y/n, hen and chim acting like the mystery gang for a day!! 3.4k wc 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

“claudette and perry both had no other symptoms before full cardiac arrest,” hen starts, scanning over the patient charts left by the new paramedic. “he’s administered nebulized albuteral during transport.”

“hen, look,” chimney points to the computer screen. “he’s been at four different locations, chicago, miami, dallas, and denver. now he’s hitting up LA.”

the station sirens buzz in their ears, alerting that they could be discovered any second. hen shoves the files into her jacket as chimney logs out, and they shuffle out quickly attempting to go unnoticed. hen looked for any details in the files that she could, trying to confide in karen.

clearly, there was a pattern of extreme suspicious in jonah’s patient files. these patients had no reason to be going into arrest when they were not showing previous symptoms. hen was the best paramedic there, in medical school. she just hoped that everyone would see the obvious wrongdoings. it was painfully evident that he was a dangerous person to be placed in the system.

hen and chimney banged repeatedly on buck and y/n’s apartment, knowing that they’d be the ones to believe them. y/n’s taken note of jonah’s behaviors, but she tried not to think anything of them, just as magical saves.

“hi?” buck says, answering the door. “are you two ok?”

“we need to talk to you and y/n,” hen tells him, inviting chimney and herself in. both y/n and buck hadn’t expected visitors, so they were clearly not dressed in presentable clothing.

“hey, hen, chim,” y/n comes down the stairs. “what’s going on?”

“you two need to look at these,” hen slaps the folders down onto their kitchen counter. buck takes one as y/n reads the other.

“what’s wrong with them? aren’t these just patient files?”

“and why are they all jonahs?”

“buck, you saw claudette before she died.”

“y-yeah, i did. she was fine, though. there was probably something underlying the inhalation,” buck grows more confused at the paperwork and the accusations from his friends.

“look,” chim points. “he’s administering drugs that have nothing to do with patient conditions.”

“meaning… he had no reason to push any meds at all,” buck speaks slowly, starting to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

“protocol dictates that the only treatment used in that situation is respiratory, and we looked at claudette’s autopsy report. there were incredibly high amounts of potassium in her system that would’ve been present in the tests we did on scene,” hen informs the group in front of her.

“so is he some murderer paramedic?” y/n asks, looking up from the file. “i believe you, but how do we even get this to question? do we bring it to bobby?”

“i don’t know where we go from here,” hen starts. “but he needs to be out of the LAFD before he purposely kills someone else.”

buck, y/n, henrietta, and chimney had all piled over to athena’s house. they presented the activity of greenway to bobby, explaining that he has documented his cynical moves.

“i’m not approving any of your suspicions, but we have to be careful with these accusations against him getting out,” bobby tells his workers.

“listen, cap,” chim says. “he’s got a history of this. we can’t confirm what was in that syringe, but it sent claudette collins into cardiac arrest.”

“he’s been bouncing around to different cities the last few years, way too many to be looked passed.”

“so he’s just killing people for mercy?” athena asks, holding bobby’s hand and intently reading over the patient files.

“it’s way more complicated than that. when jonah was a kid, he played the hero. he’s reliving that by trying to play god and bring them back,” y/n adds, standing beside her boyfriend. buck doesn’t want to overthink this, but he’s so conflicted about the whole situation. he knows bringing up something like this is incredibly risky when dealing with a person like jonah. if things were to go awry, then he’d feel like it was his fault for not believing it.

“we tried getting news footage, but it’d be more suspicious that way,” buck tells bobby.

the group was sent away to leave bobby and athena to their own investigation, letting them work this out on their own. in the driveway, they stood by the two cars they used to come here.

“come back to my house,” hen suggests. “we can look some stuff up there on jonah and pick out any details we can get.”

“i can grab my laptop that has the proper software on it. it’s back at my place, though, i’d have to grab it,” chim states.

“ok, guys,” buck begins. “don’t you think we might just have to leave this alone? there’s only so much we can do with this.”

“who else can deal with this, though? we have the resources and the upper hand with this, buck,” hen replies back at his worries.

“look, buck,” y/n places a reassuring hand on his arm. “i’ll go with chim to get his computer, and then we’ll be over. just try and hear her out some more because this is something way deeper than what we might think.”

buck agrees, allowing himself to listen to hens convincing. she rants on about more details, slowly but surely opening up his mind to the possibility. as she portrays her concerns to him passionately, her sentence is brought to a halt when her phone rings through her car’s speaker. the unknown number is thoughtless to henrietta as she presses the green button. “hello?”

“i heard you’ve been asking people about me,” the cold, dark voice echos through the car, causing buck and her to tense up.

“jonah?” buck whispers, to not let him hear.

“got the weirdest call, something about an investigation about that dispatcher. did you four file a complaint against me?”

“jonah, i don’t know what you think is going on, but-“

“i think that you never gave me a chance. to show you what i’m capable of,” he speaks eerily into the phone, making bucks eyes widen. “so i’m gonna do that now. i’m going to show you, henrietta and evan.”

the phone beeps, signaling the hang up from the other end. “what was that?” buck panics. “hen, what is he showing us?”

“he said us four, right? he’s gonna show us four?”

“so are we next?”

“next? who’s first?”

buck heart drops to the floor, frantically reaching for his phone and dialing y/n’s number. his shaky hands slowed it down, but the prolonged ringing was painful to hear. if jonah was going to show them what he can do, he’s going to go for that group first. as evil of a man as he is, he’s amazingly smart. he’s not going to begin with buck and hen, he’s starting with y/n and chimney before going down the line. the sweet sound of y/n’s voicemail goes into bucks ears, his heart thumping against his chest. “hen, go to chimneys apartment. now!” he yells, and she presses on the gas, redirecting the two of them in his direction.

buck called y/n repeatedly, completely petrified of losing the one person he’s loved more than anything. he would be so defeated if she was hurt because of his disbelief. he called chimney, maddie, karen, and anyone who might be able to reach them. unfortunately, no one had good answers for them.

he sprinted up the stairs of the building, hen rushing behind him. the door was unlocked, and the room had an unfamiliar feel to it. the orange lighting and silence was strange to the two, searching for her best friend and his girlfriend. “chim?” hen shouts out. she gives buck an unsure look, one containing an expression of fear and confusing all mixed into one.

before buck can even turn, the thick footsteps behind him rush up. he looks at hen, ready to pounce and run out, but the man is too quick on his feet. buck is injected with a needle right where his shoulder and neck meet, twinning with hens own needle in her skin. the syringes are pushed down, forcing an unnecessary liquid into their bodies.

they recognize the feeling all too well. the fading of their hearing turning into ringing. the scene in front of them disintegrating into black dots. their bodies became heavier and heavier, before turning light again as they thumped to the ground below.

the two awoke at the same time, feeling like they were suffering with sleep paralysis. their arms were restrained behind their back and their eyes were dry and tired. their ankles were connected to the legs of the chairs, but the sight in front of them was worse than any demon that could haunt them.

jonah towered over chimney on the table, pushing more probable toxic fluids into his veins. hens heart was beating obnoxiously fast, but she couldn’t tell if it was from the drugs or from the scene that was unfolding. chimney lay shirtless and almost lifeless on the table with alarmingly slow beeping coming from the portable machine.

y/n was laying across from him in the opposite direction, the two being smushed together. she had matching IV’s in her arm and patches on her chest, the only remaining article was her bra. buck could swear he was screaming, but nothing was coming out. his face was still, but his eyes were full of tears and panic at seeing y/n unconscious. everything was completely out of his control. he glanced over at hen, complete terror in her eyes while trying to calm jonah.

the room they were placed in was unfamiliar, almost completely darkened beside the light above his two victims. or in jonah’s mind, his patients. jonah craved validation from people around him, but also from himself. he remains hungry for the feeling he had the day he saved his bus driver. he was a hero, and he had to make sure everyone knew it.

as soon as the flatline ricocheted in the room, jonah scooped up the paddles and shocked the two until the beeping commenced again. “look who decided to join us,” jonah teases. “i was too generous with the propofol, you two were out longer than i expected!”

“why are you doing this, jonah?” hen begs to know the answer. bucks dying just to give him a piece of his mind, but hen has regained more of her strength.

“you know, you can get anything on the internet these days, like medical equipment, drugs. the real answer is that you gave me no choice, henrietta. snooping around and checking up on me when we are supposed to be on the same team.”

“we are not, on the same team,” hen mumbles. “we don’t put our patients in danger.”

jonah moves over to y/n. “one sec,” he says while pushing another dose of adenosine.

“no,” buck manages to push out.

“jonah, please, you’re stopping her heart,” hen cries out.

“don’t worry, nothing a little epinephrine can’t fix, right?” he nodes with a ring of excitement in his voice. an maniacal, twisted voice. as soon as his hands move to the paddles next to him, buck frantically shuffles in his chair. he places them to her chest, her body flailing up before restoring a normal heart rhythm. “woo!” jonah screams. “nothing like it, huh? the rush of watching someone walk right up the deaths door and snatching them right back. it’s like being god.”

“we are not god,” buck replies to him, regaining some of his fight. “i swear to god, let them go right now-“

“alright, alright,” jonah says. he grabs the needles and bottles while pouring the drug into it. he injects it into both y/n and chimneys skin.

“jonah, please don’t do this, jonah!” hen yells.

“oh, my bad, i thought you wanted me to let them go…” he tells them, slyly.

“you son of a bitch, you lay another hand on her an-“

“and you’ll what? you can’t do anything, buckley,” jonah steps closer to the restrained people. “you both need a partner like me. someone more your speed.”

hens eyes land on the movement on one of the tables. chimney twitches and his eyes are squinting from weakness in his brain. he’s playing around with the machine while getting a good grip on one of the electric shock paddles. “you are not my speed. you’re sloppy, and even if i wanted to commit these heinous crimes, you think i’d let myself get caught?” hen starts to mock the man in front of her while trying to distract him to give chimney time. bucks eyes have never separated from y/n, his soft gaze was planted on her aching body, lacking life in all forms.

“you might’ve been a hero once, jonah,” buck begins to play along with the distraction act, knowing they can’t take anymore of the brunt of it than y/n and chimney have. “but now, well you’re nothing but a fucking murderer,” buck hisses out at him. as jonah begins to move over, hen gives chimney a convincing look as he presses a button on the vital machine.

“no, i’m not,” jonah laughs sarcastically.

“then why is chimney not breathing?” buck spits at him as jonah whips around, looking at the flatlining man on the table. he runs around, and chimney silently hypes himself up to act. it’s now or never, it’s live or die, and it’s jonah’s turn to taste his own medicine.

chimney shoves the paddle into jonah, causing him to shiver and collapse on the floor in front of him. “chim!” hen gasps. “oh, my god. are you ok?” chimney grunts his way over and off the table, stumbling to the ground while he crawls over to hen. he starts pulling at the ropes around her feet, letting them go as she is able to maneuver her hands out of the ropes. she wobbles over to buck, who is then released and limps over to his girlfriend.

“y/n? hey, baby, c’mon wake up,” he shakes her in a desperate attempt to bring her senses back and wake her from this nightmare. when he eyes finally begin to slowly open, he releases a heavy breath.

“buck, please tell me she’s ok!” hen says, comforting chimneys panting self.

“she’ll be ok,” he leans down, pressing his lips to her forehead.

“b-buck,”

“hey, hey, it’s ok, we’re all ok.”

the red and blue lights are hard to miss behind them, reflecting in the windows and onto the walls. they hear the ruckus of the officers clattering their way into the room, placing chimney and y/n on a stretcher as buck and hen follow out. jonah is summoned away to the new reality of the back of a police car. buck finally sees another familiar face, running over to bobby as he pulls him into a strong hug. bobby’s anger is fueling in his system, not being able to control himself before his fist is connected with jonah’s face.

“hey, cap,” chimney says, clearly on some new type of drug that will actually help him. “nice punch.”

“i am so sorry, you guys. im just so happy you’re ok,” bobby rants out in pure relief at his team. hen climbed into chimneys ambulance, as buck stood in complete denial about the situation. “hey, buck.”

“she died, bobby,” buck says, glaring into the distance. “her heart stopped and now she’s pumped up with all this stuff and i couldn’t save her and he almost murdered her-“

“listen, kid,” bobby grabs bucks shoulders, trying to ground him. “she’s ok, what she needs now is you next to her. we got him, he’s going away for the rest of his life. now go get checked out, please.”

buck releases yet another exhale as a matching teardrop falls down his cheek. buck walks off, grabbing onto y/n’s hand as she’s lifted into her own ambulance. he still looks at his girlfriend in complete disbelief that she’s alive, and that he is too.

the hospital air was dry and they knew it like a best friend. the smell, the feeling, the white lights that make you think you’ve died when you wake up. they’ve walked in and out of so many hospitals, almost having no fear that they’ll never come out. until buck sees y/n in the bed is the first time he’s completely shaking in the one next to her.

“c’mon, doc,” chimney complains. “i’m fine, i don’t need to stay here.”

“it’s good that you feel good, but it’s just overnight. we want to keep an eye on you and y/n to make sure nothing changes in your blood levels,” the doctor explains.

“it’s ok, chim. just listen to her because she’s right,” hen reassures him before starting her own complaint session.

“i’m glad you feel that way, because we’re keeping you too for further tests. you as well, evan. it’s to make sure he didn’t put anything else into you guys,” hen groans and looks at her three friends.

“we’re in for a hell of a night, y’all.”

chimney and y/n were placed in one room together, needing the same type of observation as hen and buck were having a slumber party in the other. they were watching whatever crappy reality shows they could find until their boredom got the best of them. hen and buck snuck out in their twinning gowns and IV lines and made their way to the room holding their favorite people inside. when they walked in, they said, “guys, we’re breaking out of this joint.”

“and how exactly do you plan to execute that?” chimney asks, slurping on an almost empty juice box. buck moves over to sit on y/n’s bed, caressing her hand as she smiles at him.

“you two almost did die,” hen says. “you know, i never really liked him.”

“not much of a fan myself,” chimney replies in his always lighthearted spirit.

“well some people thought i was crazy, but you guys were ready to go to battle with me. with no proof, you listened and were on board from the start.”

“um, i definitely was not on board from the start,” buck interjects.

“well look at us now buck! we’re stuck together for life,” hen smiles.

“hens always right, that’s the thing between us. she’s the genius and we were the comic relief,” chimney adds.

“you guys are way more than that. chim, you’re the best friend i’ve ever had. y/n and buck, i can’t imagine my life without you two. you’re like denny’s siblings at this point and i’m one hundred percent bringing this up at your wedding.”

“well, you know what they say about parents at weddings,” y/n hints. “they always pay for it.”

“ooh! got her there,” buck laughs and looks at hen. “you know i love you guys, you’re my family.” he lifts y/n’s hand up, landing a kiss on her knuckles.

“if we weren’t in a hospital room right now, i’d say that was quite romantic, buck. i’m proud of you,” chimney pokes fun at the couple on the other side of him before looking back at hen. “we did a great job raising them, don’t you think?”

“i’m just really happy you’re ok. i cant do this without you, y/n. you’re my whole life,” buck speaks softly to his girl, looking deep into her loving eyes.

“you’ll never have to do anything without me,” y/n says. “you’re stuck with me, love.”

[thetaekookcloset]

Checking In ~! (And Signing Off)

Hello, everyone!

I logged in for a few minutes today just to check in on some other blogs, and I knew some people would probably see that I've been online so I wanted to say a quick hello and thank you to everyone who's been looking for me, thinking of me, and sending in sweet comments saying that you've missed the blog -- thanks so much for thinking of me!

I thought I'd give you a few rapid-fire answers to some questions I've seen since logging on and that have been floating around, starting with why I've been gone. The honest answer is that I never intended to run this blog forever, which is why I worked so hard to make sure it was well-organized, so that it could remain as a resource even after I moved on from it. I've had a lot going on in my life for the past couple of years, including buying a house with my partner and making a new best friend (you know who you are lol love youuuu), not to mention keeping up with all the members' solo projects! For the most part, I felt that I said what I had to say, and so I've been putting my fandom energy into other areas.

That said, there have of course been developments since I've been gone, so let me address some of them briefly.

Several people seemed to want to know how I feel about Taennie these days. I feel the same as I did before. I would be pretty damn surprised if anything legitimate were to ever come out about Tae and Jennie being involved. Everything that links them together is flimsy and circumstantial at best, whereas Jennie's links to G-Dragon have remained consistent and compelling, and regardless of Taehyung's relationship with Jungkook, I feel pretty confident that he is, shall we say, not especially interested in women in that way.

As for the developments in Jikook's relationship, and more specifically in the common Jikooker narratives lately, I feel the same as I always have. I think Jungkook and Jimin are clearly good friends who are very comfortable with each other. I'm glad they have each other close by for their military service as forced conscription must be hard on anyone and those two in particular seemed less than enthusiastic about the experience. I do not, however, believe that it would be safe for them to enlist together to potentially stay in close quarters if they were in a romantic relationship, nor do I think they would be put together by the company for content like a whole duo show, complete with photobook and merchandise, if they were in a relationship.

Taekook, on the other hand, proved again and again throughout 2023 that they were seeing each other often, keeping up with one another's lives and work, and remaining as close as they always have been, as there is and always has been ample evidence to prove. A few of my favorite moments: Tae saying that Jungkook would sing him "To Find You" from Sing Street, a song about being destined to find someone despite not believing in fate, and pulling up Jungkook's cover to listen to, while Jungkook was away; Jungkook mentioning Tae unprompted, like sharing his memory of going snowboarding with Tae and his friends when asked to talk about why he chose "Ditto" for his Spotify interview and mentioning that he loves the song "Golden Hour" during a live; Tae playing "For Us" and doing a little boxing move when JK happened to be in California; Jungkook asking Taehyung "Where have you been?" when he showed up late to Inkigayo -- I could go on honestly, probably forever, so I'll make myself stop here.

That's part of the thing with this blog. I could go on and on, and I have so much that I love and want to do and say, so many other directions I want to spread that energy, so I don't plan to stick around. But I wanted to say thank you to everyone who has missed me; I genuinely didn't anticipate that, and it means a lot. I hope you're all doing well, and finding spaces for yourselves in this wild fandom we share.

TL;DR -- I'm sure the question anyone would most want me to answer is just this: Do I still believe in Taekook?

Yeah, I do. More than ever before really. I think their relationship speaks for itself, more than I ever could, for anyone willing to listen.

Borahae!

[nychta-luxury]

An Imposter or a God's Helper?

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You are a normal person, with a pretty average life. Your favorite game is Genshin Impact even though the fanbase is can be..Very concerning to say the least. Ignoring the amount of toxicity, you still loved the game and would play it at every opportunity.

One day, your friend Darling wanted you to look after their account, which kind of surprised you considering Darling was a Genshin fanatic until you learned that Darling needed to focus on their finals. Which is fair. You don't exactly go to collage so might as well help out. what's the worst that can happen?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part one (here) Part 2

First story I posted, any advise would be appreciated! Please comment as well :)

Warnings: Not proofread, cult behavior, worship, religious themes.

Darling au

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"What the actual fuck" You say as you get no five star artifact.

"I'm doing a level 90 domain how is it possible that I don't get a single 5 star in three runs?!" You yelled annoyed. Look you understand if it happened in one run but three?!

"Darling, how in the world did you live like this??" You wined

"I JUST WANT A GOOD SANDS" You were hopping that you get some luck in Darling's account with the sands...We don't talk about the luck you get in your own account alright? It could leave a meta player 6ft under.

"Ugh, fine screw luck I can just fight some bosses" You say confidently, after all bosses don't need luck. Sure you can hope to get three of the boss drops but other than that everything else is guarantied!

You hum as you go over to Oceanid with Raiden and start it's battle

.....

"Why are they level 100..?"

--------------------------------

"AHHHH RAIDEN WHY IS YOUR BURST NOT UP YET????"

"WHY THE FUCK DOES ZHONGLI'S SHIELD BREAK IN ONE HIT??? HE HAS 50K HP??"

"TIGHNARI I SWEAR IF YOU DONT AUTO AIM AT THOSE DAMN BIRDS-"

"YAE MIKO WHY ARE YOU NOT CRITING YOU HAVE 70+ CRITE RATE???"

----------------------------

..... You died over five times trying to fight Oceanid and only got one Cleansing Heart..

"This game makes me want to quit." You say before logging off

---

---

In Teyvat the dear acolytes were so happy to see their grace yet again, oh how much they missed Darling! They don't care if they saw Darling yesterday, they are always pleased to be in their presence anytime.

However, some of the more observant acolytes have noticed something is off about Darling.

They don't dare question their grace but something is definitely off. Darling has been interacting with the acolytes a little too much not that they don't mind! However they have been muttering things about how they will miss them.

Darling would never leave them right? Their God would never.

So imagine when they got greeted with you and not their beloved grace.

Many of the acolytes are filled with rage especially the immortals. They have been worshiping the divine one for hundreds of years. And when they have been blessed with Darlings guidance, you a lowly creature dare try to steal the almighty's creations?

No one is happy how dare an imposter try to steal the beautiful world the all mighty has created? Even Teyvat itself is displeased with the new management.

They may not be able to kick you out however, They will make your stay here as miserable as possible.

[bigkingxl0]

Tomorrow

A built god splitting logs in the backcountry of Vermont, glistening with sweat. Muscles rippled from his swift swing. He drove the axe head down and added the wood to the pile. He was nearly done collecting what he needed to fire up the wood stove through the rest of the year. A dream life built from the blood, sweat and tears of one ambitious man, on acres of land nobody else could say they owned. Far from civilization. Andy was surprised his phone even had reception at this part of his sprawling property. He was even more surprised to see Mom's contact photo staring back at him -- when did she ever call? -- but rested the tool against the chopping block and answered.

"Hey, what's up?"

"We need to talk."

Exactly what you want to hear from your mother. He offered to talk later but she rejected him, insisting they talk right there and then. He gathered up the flannel he'd discarded, phone pressed to his ear, and made his way back to his cranberry colonial.

She spoke sternly but vaguely. At first he didn't understand what happened and why he had to be recruited, at first. Sure, Andy lived through his shut-in gamer phase too, years ago, so he kind of understood it. He had his time with a carpet full of crumbs and 2 liters filled with piss. And other disgusting things. Lazy summers where WOW came first and everything else second. His parents had reacted the same way then. He grew out of it. Maybe it took a couple threats of military school and disownment, but he went to college and got his life together. Now look at him. A successful property manager and agricultural scientist who lived his truth and sold it to the masses. He wanted to laugh. Fly across the country and tell his brother to put up the controller and invest in deodorant? It was comical.

Arlo would grow out of it. He wanted to crack a joke about sending him off to the army, but Mrs. Menconi was not one to call and ask for anything. The subtle desperation got the best of himIf he didn't recover his brother from the dark side, he would lose access to the most powerful network in his life. Her image was on the line. It was also the least he could do was repay his dear mother. It had been a long time since he'd seen Arlo, too, so it was only fair. Half a decade of globetrotting for work, and his busy life had gotten in the way of things more than once before. He hadn't actually spoken to his sibling or anything in all that time. He'd be lying if he said he'd noticed, and that shook his reality. Too many years passed and not enough time spent together. No wonder his brother rebelled. Poor bastard probably hated his life. Now he had nothing in his upcoming schedule and his mother was practically begging him to intervene. He had to go.

Andy caught the soonest red eye with nothing but his laptop and farm clothes, unprepared for what faced him on the West Coast.

He hesitated at the bare condo door. He didn't actually know what to say to the kid. It wasn't like they had much in common. He shook his head and knocked, the charisma of a salesman taking over. If he could do it for work he could do it for family.

After several minutes, the door creaked open, and the stench hit before he could say hello. Andy tried not to screw his face up too much, and forced a smile at his younger sibling. "Hey, lil dude.”

"Oh... hey bro," Arlo groaned, caressing his stretchmarked gut. "Long time, no, URP, see. I hoped you were Domino's."

There was no life to his voice. He started his waddle back into the dark, dank house. Andy watched the sweat roll down his curves and drip from the ends of his greasy hair. Arlo plopped into his groaning gaming chair and pulled his headset on.

"Not even a how are ya?"

"I'm literally in a game, bro!"

He started to remember why they hadn't talked much in the past six years.

Stepping out with a phone call, he questioned what he was even doing there. What could he even do? Clean up after him until he decided to become a man? He dialed his mother but she didn't answer. At the end of the voicemail he left a text that said "Please." dropped in and knew he couldn't leave her hanging. He sighed and hung up the phone.

Andy slipped back into his brother's rotten, rent-free apartment and gently stepped around the landmine field that was the den. Heavy footsteps went into the kitchen, bags crinkled, then Arlo came in with an arm full of family sizes.

"We can hang out now, I guess.”

He dropped onto the disgusting couch with a groan. The greasy pile of take out boxes on the coffee table matched the swollen lard around his middle. He reached for the clicker and put on some annoyingly loud cartoon. The TV fueled his dead eyed stare.

"Arlo," he started, eyeing the blotchy, bloated sphere that was his brother. The words fell away from his lips without a sound.

"Yeah, dude?" His brother said it like the words were foreign, head too full of pretty TV shows too even listen.

"It's great to see you."

"UURRRRRAAP. Yeah..." His voice trailed off, thick with disinterest. His eyes were locked on the screen, only this time he brought chips to his mouth. "Same to you."

With his mind racing, Andy tried to figure out how deep he was and where the hell the shovel was. He rested on the arm of the couch, the most visibly clean surface in sight, and tried to seem as comfortable as possible. Part of him wanted to see the rest of his apartment. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stomach it. He watched along with the dumb cartoon his brother occasionally chuckled at between dabs and blasting videos on YouTube and Tiktok at max volume. Not a word said for an hour until the eldest brother broke the vocal silence.

"So much for hanging out huh?"

Arlo rolled his eyes. "Bro literally... toxic vibes for real."

Andy sucked his teeth. "Nothing you say actually makes sense, you know that?"

"Honestly bruh, we aren't, like, hanging out." Arlo lifted his leg and let out a bassy fart. Andy was afraid to breathe in the toxicity. With a satisfied look he continued. "You only came 'cause, like, I blocked mom."

"I came because you're my bro and I love you. And care about you."

"Uhuh, 'bro'", he said, air quotes and all. "You lie for a living and you're trash at it? You're such a beta."

"First of all my business is very successful-" he was interrupted by another reeking fart and a giggle.

"Yeah, that was a good one, mother fucker!"

Andy could feel himself losing brain cells. He fiddled in his bag for his airpods but they were dead. Typical. He sank angrily into the armrest and then stiffened just as quickly. God only knew what his hand hit in the cracks of the seat. He steeled himself, trying to muster as little judgment as possible, just like he'd been asked.

Not everyone cleans as rigorously. Not every tidies. He eyed his brother, trying to mask his disgust - not that he'd notice. Not everyone showers regularly. Or at all. His face crinkled at the scent wafting off Arlo. Pungent BO, old food, and stuffed farts. He wasn't sure what smelled worse, him or his festering apartment.

He added more to the list and actually felt his prejudices wavering. Not everyone eats healthy. Not everyone watches educational programs. Not everyone makes something of themselves -- and can be content with it. By the end of his list of "not everyone" he didn't have a single thing left to judge.

Andy knew then that the next few months would be very, very long. His brother had fallen asleep sitting there, one hand in an empty dominos box, the other on his dab torch. There was no clock in the house, his Apple Watch had died in the airport, his phone done then, too, and he felt tired in the darkness. He didn't even realize his eyes were fluttering. Tomorrow he would make a game plan, just like he would for his business. Break down exactly what went wrong, where, and what the comeback would be. It might take some time, but nothing was impossible with enough hard work. Satisfied, he dozed off.

---

That didn't go as planned. Arlo slept at bizarre times, which gave him time to look through the rest of the house. He thought it might be a good time to clean, but the trash was so dense that it seemed nearly impossible. Arlo didn't even seem to own any trash bags, and even after buying a box, Andy couldn't throw a tenth of the mess in the overfilled dumpster in the parking lot.

His clothes were covered in mysterious trash juices and food. Dirty and exhausted, he tried to shower, but there was no soap, shampoo, conditioner, not even a washcloth. He damned TSA for their liquid rules. This was already the trip from hell and it only compounded with every minute.

Andy found acceptable clothes in the depths of the grungy apartment. They weren't anything he'd choose to wear--a graphic tee with some game he'd never heard of and a pair of sweats obviously too small for Arlo--but they sufficed. He wasn't going to buy real clothes to ruin in this cesspool. He figured he could just go into goodwill later and get some throwaways to tide him over if necessary.

It didn't work like he planned, not unlike everything else he'd planned so far. He'd taken an uber from the airport to Arlo's, with the idea of borrowing his brother's car for the week or even renting one. He came to find there was no car rental place for miles with a vehicle available, and his brothers beaten 90's Civic was long overdue for services and remained unstartable.

It felt like now, or never. Originally he'd planned to work during this whole debacle but he saw that was nigh impossible. He left a quick memo to his remote workers that he was taking an emergency leave and to continue any major projects and manage themselves for a little bit. He knew they were up to the task.

The next few days went that same, Andy bagging up as much trash as humanly possible until he was too weary to continue, and Arlo piling it up just as fast. It was fruitless, much like the kitchen fridge, and Andy felt as though he might genuinely lose his sanity holed up in the trash den.

They went back and forth with each other a hundred times over the weeks over this. Sometimes as friends and sometimes mortal enemies. Sometimes it seemed like his brother was coming around. He could get him to clean up after himself. Then he was cooking meals instead of ordering them, shaving, showering. Normal people stuff. Andy even got him to cut down on dope smoking and gaming. But he could never get anything truly clean or put together or even decent. It was always kind of cluttered, bad, stinky, or some other awful thing that drove Andy nuts.

"I'm going to take you out."

"Like, kill me?"

"Out to a bar or something! Around people your age."

"I'm good with that, chief," Arlo said, shaking his head.

"It's celebratory, and mandatory," Andy waved his hand. "No get out of jail free card."

"And walk there?" "I connected with some of my people and arrange a private transport to a-"

"Fine. But you're picking up the tab."

"I planned on it, turd," he said, the eldest brother snark returning as if they were kids again.

The way Andy saw it, a chick would steer Arlo on the right course, fast. That had worked for a million guys more than once, him included. What he hadn't expected was that most of the single ladies wanted to talk to him instead. He tried to distance himself from his brother and blend in with the crowd, but the bar was small and Arlo could spot the cowboy talking from a mile away. In the end, two drunk Menconi boys with a single plus one. She tangled herself around the chiseled body of the eldest brother, with half an outfit less than what she started with.

Andy woke up still drunk with a dead phone and no other belongings. He could tell it was afternoon from the sun through the blinds, but this was not Arlo's place. A mangled charger in the kitchen brought his phone to life and he escaped with an Uber, careful not to wake his new friend, who was sprawled out on the floor in front of the door.

Arlo had left the front door unlocked. Disgusting slapping and plapping and moaned nonsense echoing through the house when he walked in. Arlo, naked except for VR headset and headphones, tugging on himself and surrounded by take out boxes. He slammed the door shut and covered his mouth, turning away from that grotesque sight and running into the hall.

He couldn't get the picture out of his mind. Rolls wobbling and the squelchy fart noises and whorish groaning... he rubbed his eyes but it didn't help. All he wanted to do was lay on the couch. As far as he knew that was now all contaminated, not like he wanted to be in the house right now anyway. He slithered back into the elevator and made way to his rental car, kicked back the seat and slept his regrets off.

When he awoke again he felt sober enough to tackle that ordeal. Bounding up the steps and opening the door to a quiet house. He looked from side to side. It had never been quiet in here, between TV looping, gamer shouting and fat dude snoring. He listened and at the edge of his hearing he heard crinkling. He looked for the culprit under his feet or among the garbage and found nothing. Then he heard the heavy footsteps of Arlo and a belch that confirmed it.

"Got something for you broski," he said, coming from the back room. "But I gotta test it first."

"What? And look, about earlier-" Andy started but trailed off when he saw Arlo loading a familiar looking bong. He took a hit as if in example and ripped a fart as he stepped closer.

"This might be more your speed dude. Remember this shit?"

"You're joking-" he was interrupted by another reeking fart and bong rip.

"pffprprPRFRBFFTBT--nyeahehehe, smoke it!"

"Okay, you're not joking," he said, mouth watering with nausea but too shocked to move. "How the fuck did you get this?"

"I was nine, I wasn't dumb. I hid this first and then told mom about your stash." "You told them!?"

"Old news bro, just smoke."

"It's not time to smoke! I need to-"

"It's ALWAYS the time to smoke," his pothead brother blew a lungful of pen smoke in his face. "C'mon, like, relax!"

He hadn't done anything like that since college, and he wasn't sure he wanted to start again. He eyed the glass piece like it might blow up in his face.

"Arlo, you know I'm here to set you straight right? To get you off of this... stuff? Make you an adjusted member of society like the rest of the family?"

"Bruh... don't be a loser."

"You have to understand how worried everyone is-"

"C'mon, bro, like," he exhaled more smoke. "You're not even gonna, like, take a big rip? With your bro?" His tone was both inviting and mocking.

"Arlo, you're kidding, you can't just expect me to smoke weed of all things, at this point in my life-"

"Bruh, if you ain't hanging, you're not welcome. I don't G-A-F about an intervention," He let out a drawn out fart that smelled acrid, and took another hit. "Smoke, or go."

"Fine, yeah, okay... bro," Andy said, mom's voice spinning around his mind.

The faster he gained his brother's trust, the faster he could get on the redeye flight back home. Not to mention, Arlo hadn't exactly been welcoming - was this his way of bonding? Was this him letting down his guard? Andy rubbed his eyes and took the bong. "One, and that's it."

Arlo put a cap over the chamber and intense hot smoke entered Andy's lungs, making him cough and gag. He stopped immediately, hacking and spitting and snotting. He choked out some obscenities.

"Let's goo!! Hit that shit man!"

"What the fuck," he said between gasping coughs, spittle flying. "Was that even weed? Fuck is that!?"

"Moonrock, broski....weed and wax rolled in kief."

His head swam in circles. He must have sat there for an hour, infinitely sinking into the disgusting cushion of the disgusting couch. His mind was everywhere else but paying attention to how disgusting it all really was, and he almost understood how his slovenly brother had gotten to this point.

"Jesus H..."

"One more! One more!" His brother handed him the piece again, hot and ready to go. Somehow he felt that Arlo was influencing him, and not the other way around. He figured if he smoked enough he could just go to sleep and try again tomorrow.

So he smoked, coughed, smoked some more, floating through spacetime and drooling on himself while his brother played videos that soothed him. In his brain he was out on an undiscovered frontier and afraid of what he might face. In reality he was potbrained and glued to the couch while Arlo fed him chips and baby talked him.

"Poor dude. You're probably thirsty too, here bro," and let him drink coke, "sorry, bro, forgot you probably got the munchies, sorry I got you couchlocked," and gave him scraps of food. "Damn bro, you look totally boofed right now."

Andy couldn't figure out what that meant. He could see his brother's lips moving and he could hear this noise that really sounded like Arlo, but nothing made sense to him.

"What the fuck, dude?" Is what he wanted to say, but it came out as a groaning moan that his brother just laughed at.

"Aww don't worry dude, this won't last forever. I love being blasted... it doesn't last long enough! BRRAAAAAP. It'll all be over tomorrow."

Through the distortion he could understand that his brother was comforting and caring for him. It was the most emotion he had really shown towards him the whole time he'd be there. Plus, like Arlo said, his head would be attached to his body again by tomorrow.

Andy couldn't stop smiling. That might have been the weed making his head spin around the room. It felt nice either way.

---

The more Andy warmed up to his brother, the more often days ended like that. In one way or another. They were closer than ever. They no longer fought, but Andy didn't push him as hard either. He felt bad pushing him too much... it always ended up with a fight and more stress, and how could that possibly be helping?

It was also easy to lose track of time. Easier to give in to cravings with junk always available. He forgot about his disciplines slowly but surely, until he was only a more put together facsimile of Arlo. Though that whittled away too, as his slobbish tendencies grew and he picked more things up from his brother.

It was bound to happen.

It was impossible to escape.

Arlo was getting worse, and so was Andy. Daily. Weekly. Monthly. Forever. He'd slipped enough to make a habit of smoking again, but that wasn't the worst vice he indulged in alongside his brother. The mind-numbing channel surfing, the screen-casted tiktok thirst traps, the mountain of artery-clogging fast food they consumed daily... the worst part was the fact that Andy was enjoying it. A lot. He couldn't stop getting high and he couldn't stop stuffing himself. He had never gained weight this fast in his life: every meal stretched his stomach, grew his capacity, and made him greedier for more. He reasoned that as long as he wasn't as big as Arlo, it was okay.

In reality he'd basically polymorphed into his younger brother. His beard grew much faster than Andy's and he hadn't cut it, same with his greasy hair. His midsection was bloated with salt and even when it wasn't it was bigger than it had ever been in his life. His fingernails were dirty with resin. He'd blown up so many sizes he'd graduated into Arlo's old clothes.

"Wanna smoke again, bro?"

They shared the same glassy eyed look at the TV. What was one tolerance shredding dab going to do? He was already in too deep. He took the piece and ripped it like a pro, never taking his eyes off the tiktok thot his brother was obsessed with.

"I've followed her onlyfans, PRRFFTTT, like, since she made it," he said like it was an accomplishment. "She even shouted me out for like, bRRRAP, donating. Talking all sexy and flashing her titties."

"SHE shouted YOU out?"

"Yah, bro, I'm like her highest dono," he giggled at that, smoke oozing from his mouth. "And her highest sperm dono..."

Andy mindlessly rubbed the ice cold can of coke across his sensitive nipple. It was hard to think... and every time he noticed how hard it was to think his mind would drift to how hard he was. His thoughts thickened quicker than he had.

"She... she shouted you out...? For donating money?" He said his words like they were too thick.

"That's her job, dude, to like, get us off."

"Why am I so horny?" He thought, but wondered if he said it aloud.

"Yeah bruh, it's lit," Arlo said, winking.

Andy had never been into the whole scene. Okay, yeah, old playboys and stuff when he was younger, maybe some old school DVDs. When he really became successful he just didn't have time for it. He had real sexual encounters with real women that had real interest in him.

This still felt kind of real. He looked on at the TV, the only thing that made a lot of sense in his clouded head, and felt his shorts tent more.

"Dayummm she thick!" A glint of self recognition; he sounded just like Arlo. Then Ms. Tiktokverse bent over and he was thinking with the other head again.

"Facts bro... Don't worry, I'll leave you two alone. I got her snapchat so I've seen every sfw angle like a million times."

His brother scooted a lotion closer to him and waddled back to his room, farts and moans leaking out of him every other step. Andy could see his grimy tented shorts too, and knew his brother would be busy for an hour or two.

Andy watched the livestream, ignoring the thousands of comments pouring in. Months ago he wouldn't have believed he'd ever sink this low, yet here he was, ogling some girl that didn't even know his name, doing the most sex-adjacent things she could on a PG site.

"Heyyy Arlo, thanks for the donation, sweetheart.This one is for Arlo's brother...Hey, Andy!"

Correction, she did know his name. He eyed the comments that joked about his inceldom, needing his brother to get this girl's attention for him, but quickly went back to ogling. He reached down into his shorts he'd outgrown, but his arm was too fat to fit comfortably. He settled for sliding them down slightly and exposing his growing fatpad.

"Mmm, Andy, I hope you're enjoying every minute of this~"

She winked and smiled, before saying she needed to end the show because there weren't enough donations. With the screen blank, the reality of what he was doing hit him, even with his weed addled brain.

"What the hell am I doing?" He asked aloud, as if God himself might answer. There was no answer though. The only sound he could hear was his pounding heartbeat and the videos his brother blasted at all hours of the night. "Tomorrow... I'll fix this tomorrow."

Tomorrow he could start again, buy a handful of garbage bags, and cleaning supplies, and recruit Arlo into his own rehabilitation. Get his shit together and stop having fun. Since when do businessmen have juvenile fun like this? Never. He needed to get back to Vermont. He would finally be able to get back to work.

Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. His business!

Fuck, how many weeks had passed in this fever dream? He hadn't looked at his work email in ages. After a few failed password attempts, he opened the minimalist mail app, which overflowed with hundreds of emails from clients and coworkers alike. Probing about his return, wondering if he and his family were okay, curious if he'd quietly quit his prolific position. His fat fingers danced on the keys, brain working overtime to try and make an intelligent reply. Nothing came out except a run-on sentence filled with "bro" and "dude". Shit.

He closed the app without sending a single reply.

Tomorrow, he would try again.

---

Oh no. His heart pounded as he shifted on the couch as fast as he could, which wasn't fast at all.

"FRRRAAAP, nnyah."

He wiggled, wobbled, and rocked side to side, resembling nothing more than a bowl of pudding.

"Shiiit, BRRAAAAAP, URRP, nngh nnnnghhh,"

He couldn't fucking reach. He tried so hard but couldn't fight the weight of his fat long enough to do anything.

He looked at his phone with unfocused eyes and forgot what he was doing, but still trying to satisfy the twitching between his thighs. He let out another nasty burp that made him twitch harder.

He looked over at his brother who was groaning in hedonistic joy. Although he was censoring himself with his excess flab, Andy could still hear the buzzing of the toy underneath. His moobs jiggled in sync with the rocking motion he made and Andy wished that was him instead.

"Alexa, can you, like, BRRAPunghhh, order a vibrator?"

"I have found multiple orders in your previous history-"

"Order it!" He barked, trying to reach once more and finding himself red faced and spent.

Blinking blankly at his phone screen again, he suddenly remembered what he needed. He opened Twitter and scrolled more and more. He felt so brainfried, jaw hanging low and staring at flashing gifs. His eyes were too unfocused to read captions anymore, but he needed more.

"BroooAAAPPPP, we should order Doordash... Like a lottafuckingfoooooodnnnngh!"

It was half request and half orgasm. Andy's neck burned hot with desire and jealousy, then anger as the vibe kept purring.

"Dude, take that thing out, burrp, it's distracting as fuck."

"Dude, I can't fucking BRRAP reach it anymore, nyeheheh."

Andy twitched some more, feeling so close to the edge mentally. He wanted that so bad. Constant pleasure. He was so addicted to chasing dopamine. No more natural happiness like sunlight and exercise. Only artificial substitutes like smoking, gorging, and watching pretty girls do disgusting things on Twitter. What happened to him, and so quickly? He felt a pang of fear in the back of his mind but quieted it down with a big fat cloud.

This was the life he was meant to live.

Maybe Arlo had been right all along.

...

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[girlgroupshots]

The Producer - PART ONE

pairing: male oc x jessica jung word count: 3.3k summary: An unproven producer is tasked with creating a successful group. Shenanigans ensue.

When you answered the phone in the middle of the night only a few hours ago the last thing you expected was to be standing in front of an office building. The call had come from your uncle saying he had an opportunity for you and that you needed to catch a train to Seoul in the morning. Now as you waited for him to arrive you could only guess at what kind of ideas had popped into his head. As far as successful businessmen went he was certainly on the – well, eccentric side. On the other hand, you had little to your name other than a business degree, a shitty office job and dreams of one day being a successful producer.

"Nephew!"

Before you could contemplate any further a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts. You turned to greet your uncle who you hadn't seen in some months only to be slapped on the shoulder and pulled into a hug before you could even extend your hand.

"How are you, my boy?"

Park Jongmin. A man in his sixties who could have retired in his forties if he wanted to. He made a fortune in the early years of the South Korean technology boom and hadn't looked back since. However, for all his wealth and success he was largely known as an enigma or just strange depending on who you asked. Adding to that image was the fact that he decided to create a music label a few years back despite having no expertise in the field. Truth be told he wouldn't be the first to do such a thing.

"I'm good, uncle" you responded once you had finally managed to free yourself from his grasp. "I was surprised to get your call, I thought something bad had happened."

He laughed off the concern, apparently not seeing the problem with receiving a vague call at 2 a.m. in the morning.

"You know me; once the wheels in my brain start turning I can't rest until I see it through to the end."

"Have you…slept yet Uncle Min?"

"Of course not! In fact, I'm only on my fourth cup of coffee."

You could only shake your head in response. This was who Uncle Min had always been so it shouldn't be surprising that old age hadn't changed his demeanor. If anything he seemed a bit more loose than he was back in the day. A man who said and did what he wanted with little care for the judging eyes of society. Though perhaps that was a luxury of wealth. It was an enviable disposition to have, especially these days. Not to mention it had always made for entertaining holidays with the family.

"So, uh, is this your label building?" you questioned, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand.

"Why yes, yes it is. It's beautiful isn't it? I like to think it has a quaint, personal feeling."

You looked back to the building and you couldn't say you disagreed. By the same token though, it didn't seem to be anything too special. A three story building with a decent amount of width to it. It's key features were the tall glass windows that framed parts of the building. It was certainly quaint but not exactly holding a candle to the grand designs of some of the bigger companies.

"Not everything has to be grandiose" as if reading your thoughts your uncle interjected. "If there's forty-floors how are people going to connect? It's the interwoven relationships that build a good company."

As a business major and officer worker with far too many hours logged you were tempted to disagree with that notion. But then again who were you to disagree with someone who had made millions?

"Well, are we going to stand out here all day or shall we head in? I can give you the tour, you'll love it."

You nodded and led the way to the double door entrance. Your uncle was still being coy about why he had asked you to meet him hear of all places instead of his regular offices or his home; in fact he hadn't addressed it at all. Definitely not suspicious. For now you'd just have to go along with this ride and find out what was waiting for you at the end of the tunnel. Whatever it was he certainly seemed excited about it. Or maybe that was just the four cups of coffee coming through.

"...Our building is separated into three levels" you tuned back into your uncle's speech as he took the lead, "The first is where all the music production takes place. Recording booths, mixing rooms, anything a producer might need to get that perfect sound is available at your finger tips. I'm sure you'd find more than a few toys to your liking in there."

Producer? Recording booths?

"The second floor is where our artist spend a lot of their time. There's a lounge and kitchen for anyone to use and we have our practice room there as well. We also have two free rooms if anyone wants to use it for homework or whatever the kids get up to."

Way to sound your age, uncle.

"Lastly, the third floor is where we have all our offices for staff and management. That's where you'll be spending most of your time. Now I know – "

"Wait, what?"

"-- it mind sound a little weird being at the top but trust me it's a great space."

"Wait, Uncle, what do you mean where I'll be spending most of my time?"

"Please, nephew, save all your questions for the end of the tour."

You could see the mischievous glint out of the corner of his eyes and knew he was getting a kick out of this. He wasn't going to let you get a word in and even if you did it seemed he was intent on ignoring any questions you had. Meanwhile your anxiety was rising by the second. Just what had this old man done?!

Anxiety aside, the building was impressive. Everything was state of the art when it came to the technology and all of the furnishings were modern and neat. That said you did notice the building felt particularly...empty. If you remembered correctly from what your mother had told you, Uncle founded this label a few years back. One would think by now it'd be brimming with staff and artist coming in and out. Maybe he had given them day off so he could give the tour? As flattering as it was that seemed like a complete waste of a work day. And of course asking about it now would net you no answers.

The tour finally came to an end on the third floor, the management floor as he had put it; which was also void of any personnel.

Your uncle led you into a rather spacious office that you assumed to be his. He gestured for you to take a seat in one of the plush chairs against the wall and seated himself next to you. His eccentric demeanor seemed to fade a bit and It seemed like now was the time to finally get some answers.

"I know you have a number of questions for me" Uncle Min started, "But I also know you're a very smart young man. I'm sure you've begun to piece together why I asked you to come here today."

Not really, no, but I could take a swing in the dark.

"You want me to work here for you? Uncle, I appreciate the thought really, but honestly...I don't want to take any handouts."

You remembered when he was first starting the company your mother suggested asking for a position. Any reasonable individual would have jumped at the opportunity, hell there were a number of college graduates that would kill for such a connection. For you though, it had just left a weird taste in your mouth. You could call it pride or stupidity, it was likely a mix of both. Now, despite having questions as to whether that had been the right decision, you felt obligated to stick to your original sentiment.

"You're a stubborn man, just like your father was" he chuckled softly as he patted your hand, his tone wistful as if recalling an old memory, "But you should know I didn't make my fortune by taking no for an answer."

"I'll be honest with you, this hasn't been my most successful venture. In fact, everything thus far has been a net loss. Fortunately, I've funded everything myself, there's no board of directors or investors to answer to. But even I have to acknowledge when something is a lost cause."

Your jaw had loosened a bit, your ears not quite believing what they were hearing. You had always had a vision of your uncle as the supreme businessman, a genius who made no missteps. Yet here he was admitting that something he had poured who knows how much of his own money into possibly being a failure. In a way it was surreal.

"But the people that do work here, the trainees who have trusted us with their dream, they deserve a real shot. A chance to see it through before I call it quits" Uncle Min focused his gaze on you and you couldn’t remember ever seeing him quite so serious. More than that he seemed genuine, even vulnerable as though he were speaking from the heart. "I don't want you to simply work for me. In fact, in a way you won't be. I want you to run this company. Produce a successful group and help fulfill their dreams."

"..."

"I know what you're thinking. Why me? Why not someone more qualified? Now I could tell you it's because of your work ethic, I know you won't take this lightly. And your potential both as a businessman and a producer; both of which are true. However if you really want to know why I'm offering it to you it's because it's what my gut is telling me to do."

"Uncle, I'll be honest with you, I’m starting to think that might be why you lost so much money in this."

You both shared a laugh, the tension in the air easing slightly. Leave it to Park Jongmin to hand a company over to his nephew on a gut feeling.

"I know I'm asking a lot of you so you don't have to give me an answer now. But think about it. I'd like you to meet the staff and girls as well; they really are good people."

You could only nod your head in acceptance despite your apprehension. After all, this was my uncle and he was offering an incredible opportunity, even if misguided. If nothing else you owed it to him to give this your full consideration.

"Alright! That's enough of the serious stuff!" Uncle Min abruptly stood up, "Do you want a coffee? I could go for one myself."

You laughed, "Uncle, I don't think you should be drinking anymore coffee today. It can't be good for your health."

"Bah, you sound like your mother. If I only did what was good for my health I'd get nowhere in life!"

Now that was the uncle you were familiar with.

"Mister Park!"

You had just exited the building when you heard someone calling out. You turned my head to see a petite brunette, dressed in a blazer and cream skirt walking towards you with a couple of binders in her grasp. You were fairly certain you didn't know her. You’d definitely remember seeing a woman like that.

"Miss Jung! You have impeccable timing as always."

"Oh? And you're flattering me, you must have had your third cup of coffee."

"Fourth, actually."

"You know you really need to cut down on that."

As the two conversed you couldn’t help but feel like a ghost, or worse: an awkward third wheel between two good friends. At the risk of making things worse you cleared your throat to make your presence known. As if he had actually forgotten about you, your uncle's attention was jump started.

"Ah, right! Jessica I'd like you to meet my nephew. Nephew, this is Jessica Jung; she's been in charge of this project for me. No one knows our trainees better than her."

"Uh, it's a pleasure to meet you" you extended your hand to her.

"Likewise. You should know Mr. Park has talked you up quite a bit. I hope you decide to join us."

Oh, she was good.

Her tone and demeanor alone mixed just the right amount of professional and personable. Unlike yourself, you could see why uncle would hire someone like her.

"This is perfect. I was going to contact you later and ask if you could introduce him to our girls. He hasn't made a decision yet but I want to let him get a feeling for everything we have to offer."

A pearl smile was offered in response as Jessica nodded, "I'd love to. We can set something up tomorrow if you like. Or we can get started tonight if you’re free for drinks?"

It took you a second to realize that you had been brought into the conversation. Straightening your posture you nodded, “Uh, yeah. I’m free for sure. We can definitely do drinks.”

“It’s a date then.”

As you watched her pencil you into her calendar, you couldn’t help but wonder just what you were getting yourself into.

“What I can’t figure out is why you don’t just throw your hat in the pile. You clearly have this down pat.”

You voice was raised as you spoke to your ‘date’. Partially to be heard over the music that was currently playing, partially because you were already two drinks in and feeling a slight buzz. Thus far you hadn’t actually learned much about the business. If anything, the two of you had spent more time getting to know each other. Which wasn’t the worst thing, especially if you were going to potentially be working alongside her.

“There’s a difference between managing people and producing a group. Or even running a company,” Jessica said, drink in her hand. “I’m good at what I do.”

“But you had to have thought about it? Doesn’t it piss you off my uncle just brining me in off the street.”

“Well it didn’t but now that you mention it…”

“Okay, wait, wait. I take it back,” you put your hands up in surrender. “But still, you’ve got to feel over-qualified for your job, no? From everything you told me it sounds like my uncle would be lost without you.”

Jessica gave a slight shrug of her shoulders and took a sip of her drink. “In his defense, he pays me my worth. Besides, it’s not all about power and status. I’ve got a soft spot for those girls as much as I hate to admit it.”

You wondered if the alcohol was making her sentimental or if it was making you dense. Maybe it was a bit of both because you still found yourself asking questions. “But –”

“Do you want to keep asking questions or do you want to get out of here?”

You stopped short, the question practically evaporating out of your mind. Jessica raised her eyebrow, looking at you expectantly.

Well then.

Jessica had barely gotten the key out of her door before you were on her. You cupped her face, kissing her – or at least trying to kiss her. There were times when you kissed her nose or landed on her chin, eventually settling for attacking her neck as she kicked the door shut behind the two of you. Immediately, you pressed her up against it; her skirt riding up her slender thighs as they parted for you.

“This is…probably going to be bad…for our potential work relationship…”

“Stop talking about work and start fucking me.”

Her bluntness caught you off guard but you’d be damned if it wasn’t attractive. And she said she couldn’t be a boss? If she gave orders like that she’d have a whole office in line in no time. She certainly had you standing at full attention in more ways than one. Following her orders your hands moved, fumbling with your pants to get them out of the way as quickly as possible. The cab ride back to her place had been heated to say the least, to the point that your fingers had slipped inside her pussy and your cock was practically begging to be freed from its constraints.

As you finally obliged it, Jessica hooked a leg around your hip, drawing you closer so that your tip was pushing against her soaked entrance. Needing no further invitation you pushed forward, your mushroom head pushing past her folds. Immediately you felt her walls constricting around your cock deliciously.

“Fucking tight,” you panted.

“Did you expect otherwise?” Jessica taunted.

A taunt you knew better than to respond to, even after a few drinks. Instead you focused on stuffing her with the rest of your length. Her leg flexed tighter around you the more you pushed in until you were buried to the hilt inside of her. You wallowed in the sensation for a moment because, wow. It might’ve been a while since you had any action but you didn’t remember anything like this. Slowly you began pumping in rhythm, fucking her against her apartment door.

“That stretch…it’s so good…” Jessica’s arms clung to you, her head falling forward.

Any thought of maintaining a professional relationship to avoid problems in the future had gone out of your mind. All that remained was pleasure, or rather the pleasure you were getting from sliding in and out of your potential co-worker. A mindset that Jessica clearly shared. She lifted her other leg, locking it around your waist and giving you the freedom to fuck her harder and faster. Incoherent words began falling from her lips but you were too focused on your task to try to decipher them. You had one job and that was driving her over the edge before you inevitably blew your load.

Jessica’s nails dug into your bicep and if it weren’t for the fact that you hadn’t even taken off your jacket she’d undoubtedly be leaving red marks all over your skin. If this was how she relieved stress from her job then maybe you’d have to second guess your hesitation. Although, when you were balls deep inside of her, waking the neighbors each time her ass hit the door, it likely wasn’t the best time to be making such decisions.

“Cum…Going to cum…” Jessica managed to get out.

You increased your efforts, pounding into her to make sure she went well and truly over the edge. The way every limb clung to you as her body shuttered in orgasm told you that you had succeeded in your task. Her pussy clenched around your length as you fucked her through her orgasm; inviting you to join her in euphoria. It was an invitation you’d soon take her up on.

“Jess…where do you want me to…?”

“Inside…” she muttered, barely coming down from her high and still clinging to you.

That was all the okay you needed. You slammed your hips into hers, her back hitting the wall as your release surged through you. You were fairly certain you were seeing stars as you spilled your seed inside of her. In that moment you weren’t two professionals. You weren’t even two potential co-workers. You were just two well-fucked strangers who had unloaded a pound of stress.

When your cock finally stopped twitching your let go of the breath you were holding. Jessica was already breathing deeply, clinging to you for a moment longer before she finally unraveled herself from you, the mixture of juices seeping out of her.

“If that was an interview you would’ve gotten the job.”

“...Wait, that wasn’t an interview though, right?”

Jessica let out an airy laugh, running a hand through your hair. “No, that wasn’t an interview.”

author’s note: another series so this is a fic i never published from a while back. originally it was meant to be a more wholesome series but we’re putting that aside from now bc fck it. if it seems a bit wonky it’s because i’m editing it from being a first person POV to second person as well as doing updates to my old writing. WITH ALL THAT SAID if you’re just looking for smut there will be plenty.