#sharing ice cream too late in the night out on the streets

[willowser]

i have this image of modern au denji saving you from a terrible date LOL

he works at some high-class restaurant with his tucked shirt and tie—a job that aki got him—waiting tables and occasionally cleaning dishes. and you're there, in a nice dress, on a second date with a man you don't really care for, that is a bit pig-headed about how much money he makes and worries way too much for how people perceive him. he's not bad, but the conversation keeps coming back to him and all his accomplishments and there's little he appreciates about you and suddenly you find yourself excused to use the bathroom.

except you just hide. around the corner, with your back pressed into the wall as you try to summon the motivation to get through the rest of the night. you don't know how you'll do it, really, until this guy is coming out of the kitchen to your left with a tray in his hands and he looks right at you, a little surprised that you're there, and then he smiles and nods. when he returns from dropping off his food, he comes to stand right beside you, leaning against the wall like he's not on the job, and he tells you—

"you look beautiful in that dress."

and you're floored ??? because who even ARE YOU ??? but he's so open and honest 🥺 and even if his face is a lil blushy, he just—says it. no shame. after spending the last hour with a guy you're not sure even remembers your name, it's nice to hear, and he's cute with his pretty, sparkly eyes and crooked smile 🥺

he can tell you're clearly not enjoying yourself, so he just nods to the kitchen at your left. "there's a door to the back, if you wanna ditch."

under normal circumstances, would you bail on your date? no, probably not, wouldn't have the guts, but there's something about this guy and his lil open mouth smile and unabashed goo-goo eyes that has you thinking fuck it. odd that a stranger would give you such a confidence boost, but now you wonder why you're subjecting yourself to some half-ass treatment, why you've been settling for guys like the man at your table.

you can do better than that—probably—and somehow this waiter is reminding you of your worth.

so you do allow him to lead you through the kitchen, and he couldn't care less about his coworkers staring at him, couldn't care less about the strawberry-blonde girl washing dishes that shouts, "denji, get over here and help me!"

you have this brief moment of panic once you get out into the alley that this is a trap you've fallen right into, but he—denji—just stands beside you on the sidewalk, staring down the road like he's watching for a cab.

"i don't—" embarrassingly enough, you're just now noticing how empty-handed you are. "shit, i don't have any of my stuff."

"oh," he shrugs, no problem. "i'll get it, you just find a ride. i don't have a license or else i would—y'know."

it's just so strange, that he's so giving. like he'd go out of his way to help you just because he can. not because he expects any money or for you to sleep with him, he's just—helping because he could. because he thinks you look beautiful in your dress.

he doesn't say anything about your date when he returns, just hands you your phone and jacket and wallet with his same lil smile. and you've got a taxi waiting with the door open and he just stands on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, making sure you get in okay, and the final straw is when he says—

"congrats on your job thing, by the way."

job thing, that you told your date about, who didn't even blink at your good news. wherever he was—denji—whatever table he was helping, and he still heard you.

you keep the cab door open, one foot in and—under normal circumstances, would you do this? probably not, wouldn't have the guts, but he's so—

"hey," you say, leaning against the doorframe with a smile that makes his face redder under the streetlamp. "what time is your shift over?"

and this guy—denji—just grins, already tugging at his tie. "whenever you want it to be."

[overnowsfcb]

halfway out the door; fermín lópez

summary: fighting to keep a little flame alive underwater, you couldn't lose the only stable thing in your life

warnings: ANGST!!! (no good ending) mature language, mental health issues (panic attack, anxiety, emotional distress), relationship struggles, unhealthy dinamics, brief mention of smut themes. if any of these topics makes you uncomfortable, i advise against reading this story.

word count: 3,3k

note: hiii! it's me again, this time posting for my sweet boy (who is not as sweet in this story) fermín. im planning to do something with all the 1989 vault tracks x barça players. so take it as the first from the series!! also, apologies if the angst hits hard, promise to post fluff next time (its a bit of challenge for me haha) super excited about this and would love to hear your thoughts or suggestions! – venus 🫂💐🫧 p.s.: im so proud of this one tbh

He didn’t seem to have enough time for you anymore. You didn’t want to see the subtle twist, but you knew him all too well and an imperceptible change for everyone was an imposing earthquake in your world.

It was in the hours that your messages would be waiting for a response and the way he wasn’t starved to taste your lips anymore. Once, he’d find an excuse to be with you, even if only for brief minutes. He’d dash to your apartment bearing your favorite chocolate with the pretext of keeping you fed. A smile brightening and your stomach still produced the same fluttering butterflies, as the first time he kissed you underneath the moonlight at fourteen.

Back then, everything was perfect, the chill air in your faces as you ran with sand getting between your toes, you could still feel his timid hands and tender touch on your waist as you both shared a breathtaking kiss.

Your mother's words echoed - relationships don't last forever. You'd always dismissed her musings, attributing them to the bitterness stemming from your father's departure. But now, that thought held a glimmer of truth.

He was your soulmate, your solid backbone, he would hold the candles for you even if his arm grew weary, drawing strength from unimaginable places. Unseen pictures would fill his phone, capturing your candid moments, proudly setting you as his lock screen. One cherished memory stood out: a photo of you, pajama-clad, returning from a late-night ice cream run, a victorious smile on your face. You had lost a bet that day, darting to the store at 1 AM, just a street away from your building.

However, now everything appeared to be falling apart; the last picture in his gallery folder, titled 'I love, mine, mine, mine,' dated back to July, and it was already November. It contrasted the warmth of July with the chilling absence of recent affection.

Yearning for something to blame, tears seemed futile as memories replayed relentlessly, etched deep within your heart. Each sob felt like a painful reminder of the emptiness in the cold, desolate bed without him by your side. Staring at it blankly, your mind echoed the silent void, your chest tightening with every expelled breath.

Sleeping alone always felt unbearable. You reached for your phone, gazing at the lock screen displaying a snapshot of both of you in a summer pool. His outings with friends never bothered you; you accepted that he was now part of Barcelona's first team, and you weren't his priority. However, deep down, a simple goodnight message like "Sweet dreams, Pip, I love you" was all you silently longed for. Was it too much to ask from someone who claimed to love you?

The absence weighed heavily as you saw the clock strike 4 AM. This hour always induced a sense of dread, a time too late to sleep, opening the gates to wandering thoughts about life's choices. Moving to Barcelona for him might have been a hasty decision.

In Sevilla, there wasn't much to lose. Your little town overwhelmed you, especially under the weight of your living nightmare, your mother and her pursuit of perfection. That was until she married your toddler brother’s father, her focus shifted almost forgetting about your existence.

He was your escape from that suffocating environment. Initially, it felt liberating, but gradually, it became confining again. The cage expanded as you became his pillar while his name was in everyone’s mouth, especially girls who found him attractive. The weight of being his support, witnessing the attention he received, caused an internal storm. But he wouldn’t change you, right? Yet, the conflict brewed within, the tug-of-war between being the support he needed and holding onto your own identity.

You grew tired of waiting for him, tossing and turning in bed for ten minutes, before finally succumbing to sleep, cocooned in blankets to ward off the cold.

Abruptly opening your eyes, hours later, your body spasmed and your heart raced, reflecting the recent struggles with sleep these days. Observing to your side, relief washed over you; he lay there peacefully, an arm draped over your waist.

Tears welled in your eyes, a sense of loss filling your chest. Deeply in love, you realized your first waking thought was about him, albeit taking a negative turn.

What if I lose him? What if I lost the lighthouse in the middle of the sea? The uncertainty of the waters and the potential fall weighed heavily.

You wanted to get back to those times when you smiled as you landed your eyes, his body next to you, where blonde strands of messy hair framed his face and you delicately organized them while you talked and kissed every morning, staying in bed like an old married couple, feeling each other's warmth, laughter used to fill the air as he playfully booped your nose.

The weight of invisible hands squeezed your chest, making each breath a desperate gasp for air.

You didn't want to feel this anxiety; your breath became erratic. Rushing to the terrace, you breathed as if your mind forewarned a trailer of what has to be.

Struggling to regain control, your hands tightened on the cold railing, a reminder of the grounding reality you struggled to grasp.

Peering down, the height induced paralysis, intensifying your vertigo. "y/n, estás bien?" (are you okay?) His concerned voice, muffled and distant, struggled to penetrate the thick fog of panic, fear rooted you in place, afraid the floor would fall through if you made a step.

"Amor, háblame." (darling, talk to me) He approached, unsure. This panic attack was the first in years. His hand on your shoulder offered reassurance like an anchor, and you emerged from the state, meeting his gaze with your tear-stained eyes; he was still your gentleman. He was still yours.

And you needed to repeat it to stave off madness.

"Abrázame," (hug me) you whispered in a fragile plea. His arms enveloped you, he was the refuge that you needed; his familiar scent eased your breathing.

His head on yours, he sought to share his heartbeat, attempting to quell the sudden anxiety and the questions that haunted your mind. His furrowed brows hinted at his confusion, but conversation could wait. For now, it was about you. The one who never failed him; he couldn't fail you now.

When your body distended completely, he gently guided you back to bed. You clung to him, as if he could run away at any moment.

You walked to your side of the bed and he tucked you in like no one ever did before, leaving a sweet kiss on your forehead, an attempt to dissipate the negativity.

“What time is it?” you inquired, looking up at him.

“Six a.m., sleep. ok?” He stroked your head, and your eyes closed under the weight of fatigue. “I love you so much.”

Days passed after the incident. He chose not to ask more about the reason behind your anxiety, he decided to act as if everything was fine.

This didn't imply he lacked concern for you, but it certainly felt that way. His demeanor towards you was still unchanged.

Feelings unaddressed hung in the air, manifesting in the cold kisses and the superficial small talk that never deepened. But, in front of everyone, you maintained the façade, accepting compliments from everyone about your seemingly perfect relationship. Only if they knew the underlying truth…

Yet, you personally sensed his gradual withdrawal, a palpable feeling of him slipping through your fingers. The strain became evident as you found yourself having to repeat things that were important to you at least three times, only for him to continually forget. Or the lackluster pecks he gave you, making you feel pathetic.

Although feeling unwanted, you weren't a resentful person, so you would religiously sit in the stands at every game and witness how he gained fan's hearts with outstanding performances on the pitch, earning the title of man of one of the champions league matches and you loved how the stadium echoed his name as he made an incredible goal.

You found joy in his happiness, doing his thing with the team of his dreams. In that moment, your mind transported into a different time – those moments when you stood by his side, offering comfort during his moments of self-doubt, back when he believed his dreams would forever be just that – dreams.

His satisfaction meant the world to you. Meeting him as he emerged from the dressing room, already showered, you couldn't help but admire how his wet hair framed his face.

A big smile adorned his face as he approached you. Opening your arms, your bodies collided as he effortlessly lifted you spinning around, creating a whirlwind of laughter that filled the air.

Once he gently set you down, you couldn't contain your pride. Cupping his cheeks, you locked eyes with him. The sense of accomplishment and joy was overwhelming. Your lips met his in a deep, meaningful kiss – one that hadn't been shared in weeks, but in that moment, it felt like the perfect reunion.

You believed this moment marked a fresh start, a much-needed rejuvenation to propel you forward. That optimistic outlook, however, disintegrated after he bid you farewell at your apartment, scrolling through TikTok on your couch, a video of his post-match interview caught your eye, and an involuntary smile crept onto your face.

His voice echoed through the video, captivating in its beauty. The interviewer's final question lingered in the air, "Who are you going to celebrate this with?" Anticipating a mention of teammates, family, and you, you were bewildered as the final words left his mouth – your name conspicuously absent.

And in that instant, the realization struck: he hadn't kept his promise to do a heart gesture to include you in his celebration either. But you decided to let it slide; perhaps it was the adrenaline coursing through his veins that caused him to forget, and you were willing to overlook it.

You turned on the TV to avoid your thoughts. He no longer watched movies with you, and lately, the time you spent together felt like his phone held more allure than anything you did to catch his attention.

Without even mentioning that he wasn't fucking you lately, offering excuses of exhaustion from training or unexpectedly halting any progress when things got heated and leaving your folds wet.

But still, your mouth stayed shut, justifying every action. What you didn't know is that only one drop was missing in the glass before it overflowed – the last straw.

And eventually, the bomb exploded in the least suitable scenario. You stood by his side, his arm around your waist, desperately wanting to take his hand out and shout your feelings in front of everyone.

You didn't want to be there; you longed to be at home with your fluffy cat, who offered more comfort than Fermín did in these past months.

He was so smooth about it, engrossed in the conversation with his friends, seemingly oblivious to your distress. You whispered in his ear that you needed to get home, you weren’t feeling at your best, the strobe lights blinding you, the music pulsating louder than your heartbeat. It felt like water was reaching your nose, and you feared you'd stop breathing any moment.

Yet, you stayed, like a naive girl striving to make everything perfect for her lovely gentleman. But was still that gentleman who put you above all else?

The voices and laughter from his friends overwhelmed you. While you genuinely liked them and had never encountered an issue before, this night seemed a challenge you couldn't survive.

Your gaze darted around, hoping for a savior amid the sea of faces. But there was no one.

The air seemed to get thinner, and your chest constricted, as if locked in a slowly tight embrace. The blue dress discomforting your skin, felt like an additional layer of confinement, fantasizing to shed not only the fabric but also the skin beneath.

It was as if transparent walls were materializing around you, and this was the moment to escape a place to which you didn't belong, feeling like a misplaced puzzle piece, you watched him again with pleading eyes, silently urging him to notice you.

“Fer, really, I need to go home.” You whispered, careful not to let his friends overhear. He scanned your gestures, it took him a few seconds to realize that something about you was off. You wish he had seen it earlier.

Everything he did was later than you needed it, when he did the things, you have already fixed yourself into the uncomfortable.

“Okay, let's go.” He nodded and he finally took out his hand off your waist, allowing a momentary exhale. Greetings were exchanged with his friends and you reciprocated, not wanting to show an impolite image.

Almost running, your feet propelled you outside of the disco, pushing people out of your way, without waiting for Fermín.

The doors swung shut behind you, plunging the abrupt silence upon your ears. Relief washed over you.

Closing your eyes, you took deep breaths. You needed to hold yourself like the grown woman you were and not cry. As the doors swung open and closed again, you turned to find Fermín, a frown etched across his face.

“Why didn't you wait for me?” his voice held a trace of anger, making you shiver. Realizing the street wasn't the place for such a conversation, you began walking towards the car, your feet aching from the high heels worn that night.

He hurried to catch up, the tension palpable. When the car alarm reached your ears, signaling it was unlocked, you opened the door and entered as quickly as you could.

Sitting there, attempting to adjust to sudden silence, you sensed his presence beside you.

Leaning back into the headrest, you brought your hands on your face.

He started talking again. “What's going on you?” you hesitated to face him, reluctant to confront those expressive brown eyes you memorized like the back of your hand.

As he insisted again to hear a response, anger got to your head. Without warning, you exploded, all the carefully restrained words meant to preserve your relationship pouring into a torrent.

“I'm just so damn exhausted! I feel like I'm invisible. I ache to be seen, to matter in your eyes again. I’ve been here, baring my soul, and it feels like you're a million miles away.” Your scream echoed, tears smudging your makeup. You saw the weight of his actions settling on him as his eyes reflected comprehension. A sob escaped your lips, he stood frozen. “I'm just asking you to hear me, to truly see me, and realize that I'm shattering inside because I've already fought too much alone for the person who I thought I would marry.”

He shook his head, a boy who had always the right words now seemed that they left their mind, leaving him defenseless. A hesitant pause filled the car.

Lips parted, but the sentences seemed to dissipate before finding form. It was as if they were navigating a maze of thoughts, searching for the right words to offer comfort or understanding, yet coming up empty-handed.

You got tired of waiting, you've been doing it for such a long time, you almost felt old. But if he just opened his mouth, you knew you would forgive him. “Let's go home.” You whispered, disappointed about a man who you were calling the love of your life.

He gripped the steering wheel and hit the road. Memories flooded back of the anecdotes shared in that white car, now slipping through your fingers like ash.

You pondered the absence of rain, almost expecting the heavens to open up. Wasn't it obligatory for the sky to weep when something magical began succumbing to rationalism?

When you arrived at the house, he finally was able to speak. “I'm so sorry for everything that I caused you.” He didn't know if physical contact would be well received from you. So he gripped even more the steering wheel, needing to make something with his hands, getting out the tension.

“What happened to us, Fer?” your heart-wrenching question hitting him. You were already talking in past tense.

There wasn't an exit for this situation, and he knew that. He wished he could build a time travel machine and make everything alright, fix the first mistake that led to this big snow ball that was making an avalanche. “I-I don't know.”

“I think I'm coming back to Sevilla.” you confessed, stepping out of the car. Your headache due to the tears that you've been letting out and your eyes were puffy.

As you stood outside the car, the quiet suburban street provided a bleak contrast to the storm raging within your emotions.

Fermín, still gripping the steering wheel, searched for words that could somehow mend the gashes that had formed between you two. The realization of the inevitable distance settled on him like a heavy cloak.

“I never meant for it to come to this,” he finally uttered, voice heavy with remorse. “I let things slip away, and I can't forgive myself for that.”

You, caught between the pain and the need for resolution, gazed at him with a mixture of sorrow and longing. The familiar surroundings of the neighborhood seemed to transform into a backdrop for the end of something significant. You already knew you were never coming back here.

In the distance, a streetlamp flickered, casting intermittent shadows on the pavement. You took a deep breath, the chill in the air stinging your lungs, and said, “Sometimes, we have to go back to move forward.”

His eyes, filled with regret, met yours. “Is there anything I can do to make things right?”

But the answer remained unsaid, it wouldn't be fair to give him instructions and keep rowing and carrying him while he was just there. Wounds were already too deep and your energy was drained.

You turned away, the distance between Sevilla and this quiet street growing smaller in comparison to the emotional gap that now separated you two.

The door creaked shut, marking the end of a chapter that perhaps, in the unfathomable depths of your heart you didn't want to admit that you anticipated it.

In the solitude of your apartment, surrounded by echoes of shared laughter and the ghost of a love that once flourished, you confronted the daunting task of rebuilding your world. The faint glow from the streetlamp outside cast a melancholic light on the remnants of what was.

Fermín, still parked, felt the shared years withering in the blink of an eye, something you had been discerning for a torturing amount of time. The engine hummed softly, an averse companion to the lingering regret in the air. As he drove away, the distance between your hearts seemed insurmountable.

You watched as Blaugrana, your Calico fluffy cat, approached you unawarely of everything surrounding her, you sat on the wooden floor with her purring next to you. The sparkle of her collar made you remember how your life was bound to be lived with Fermín forever, in that collar your initials were carved. You didn't want to fall back to this cruel reality.

You even commanded yourself to religion to save your relationship, months before. Night after night, you poured the essence of your yearning into prayers addressed to Aphrodite, beseeching her to weave the threads of love and passion back into your relationship, to restore its former glory. Each whispered plea carried the weight of your sincere desire, a desperate hope that the goddess of love might heed your call and guide your connection to the blissful days of yore.

But even that didn't work. And you realized the hug of what you thought would be a fresh start unraveled into the deceptive clarity of terminal lucidity. Now you would hear the eternal melancholic tone of the complete loss of vital signs. Forever.

[babygirldabi]

can I get Dabi and hawks threesome headcanons or a fic 🌚 Srry I’m horny

LMAOOOOOOO aren't we all

Anyways hope you like daddy kinks and stuff

CW: Daddy kink, threesome, multiple creampies, degradation, praise, female reader, use of alcohol, let me know if I've missed anything x

There is nothing in this world that Dabi wouldn’t do for you. Nothing. 

So when he asks you what you want for your birthday, you do not hesitate to tell him the truth. 

The silence is heavy, and at first you think he’s pissed, so you can’t look him in the eye. Why did I say that Why did I say that Why did I say that

“For real?” He asks, in a voice so soft you’re forced to look up. His pupils are dilated. You can’t help the laugh that escapes your mouth, he’s practically panting. 

“Is that weird?”

“No,” he answers, almost too quickly, then seems to collect himself. “No,” he says more slowly. You nod. 

“I know we’ve talked about it…”

And you have. Hypothetically. A while back. 

He nods. “This is what you really want?” The low gravel of his voice, deeper, somehow, when he’s aroused, makes you shiver. 

You nod, decisively. “This is what I want.”

And so, when he makes the call, he’s prepared to ask nicely. 

“I’m thinking about having whiskey tonight.” Hawks always answers Dabi’s calls as though they’re mid-conversation.

Dabi takes a drag of his cigarette before answering, leaning against the brickwork of your apartment building, lazily surveying the street. “Yeah? What kind?”

“That’s why I’m glad you called.” On the other end of the line, Hawks considers the store shelf in front of him. “Macallan or WhistlePig?”

Dabi snorts. “I drink Jack Daniels, man. Fuck if I know.”

“WhistlePig it is.” Hawks seizes the bottle from the shelf and begins to stroll to the register. “Nice talking to you, man. See you around.”

“Hey- where the fuck are you goin’?” Dabi’s muted voice demands as Hawks pulls the phone from his ear. “Get the fuck back here.”

Hawks obliges. “What’s up?”

“I called you.”

“Ah, yeah. Okay. Why?”

Dabi rubs one temple with his free hand, eyes closed. “You’re a fuckin idiot.”

“I was on patrol late last night,” Hawks complains. “Spit it out.”

So Dabi does. 

Hawks stops dead in his tracks, nearly dropping his bottle on the tile floor. “Excuse me?”

“For her birthday. That’s what she wants.”

Silence. 

“Pick your jaw up offa the floor, bird brain.”

Hawks closes his mouth sheepishly. “Now how the fuck did you know-”

“Because I know you. So what do you think.”

“You-she- I-she…WHAT?”

“I’m not the one making the request. I’m the messenger.” Dabi smirks. “And participant.”

“Is this a joke?”

“How I wish it were,” Dabi sighs wistfully, enjoying this shocked, stuttering version of the winged Hero so much he can’t help but prolong it. “But this is what she wants.”

In reality, for all the shit he gives Hawks, Dabi trusts him implicitly. Not that he’d ever admit that. Which is why such a request had to go directly to Hawks. Dabi doesn’t necessarily like to share, but if he must, Hawks is his go-to. 

Hawks pretends to hesitate long after he’s mentally agreed. “Shit, yeah, okay. As long as you don’t get jealous and burn my wings off or anything.”

Dabi laughs wryly. “I’m not makin’ any promises.”

One week later, your birthday has come and very nearly gone, it being 9 pm on the holy day itself. You’ve been brunched, presented with gifts, had cake (ice cream, your favorite), and drank more wine than Dabi secretly thinks is safe for you, but who is he to regulate the birthday girl. Now, everyone has gone home, the apartment has been tidied, and you are in the shower, washing the festivity out of your hair. It’s been a good day. So good, in fact, that you’ve mostly forgotten the request you made to Dabi a few weeks ago. This morning he had presented you with a beautiful necklace, silver with a blue crystal (Lapis Lazuli, if you remember correctly) carved into a flame. It twinkles at the base of your throat now, in the low light. You hum absentmindedly as you rinse conditioner from your hair, exhausted and perfectly content. 

 A low knock sounds at the bathroom door. “Come in,” you sing, shutting off the water and wringing your hair out. Dabi steps in. 

“So. Good day?”

“Good day,” you confirm, stepping out of the shower and allowing him to wrap you in a towel. “Great day. Thank you for making it so great.”

He smiles at you, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Got one more gift for ya.”

Your head jerks up in surprise. “You do?” 

He nods, smug as ever. “C’mon.” Taking your hand, he leads you out of the bathroom, through your bedroom, and into the living room. 

“Keigo?” 

“Hey, darlin’.” The winged Hero is seated on the couch, but stands and swaggers over to you as Dabi leads you into the room. “Happy birthday.” 

“Thanks, but what are you doing he-” 

And then it hits you. 

“Oh.” You turn to stare at Dabi, who’s watching you carefully, making sure you’re okay with this. “OH.”

Dabi shrugs. “Far be it from me to deny the birthday girl.”

A smile spreads across your face, slowly, then all at once. “Really?”

“Really.” 

“Really,” Hawks echoes, reaching for your hand. “Why don’t we sit down, talk about the rules.”

You let Hawks lead you to the couch and sit down beside him, Dabi not far behind. 

“Alright.” For just a second, Hawks assumes his Serious Hero Face. “Let’s talk limits and boundaries.”

“Uh…” it’s hard to collect your thoughts. Flustered, you press your hands to your burning cheeks and try to focus. “Uhm….no wax play, no piss, no fisting.” You peek at Dabi to make sure you’re not missing anything, and he nods in silent confirmation. You can’t believe this is happening. “ Degradation is okay, and-" Your face is bright red by now, you can feel it. "I kinda....have a Daddy kink?" Hawks nods seriously. “Praise?”

“Praise is good,” you nearly squeak. Dabi hides a smile. 

“Safe word?” 

Oh, god. You have to say it out loud. 

“Bonfire,” you whisper, mortified. Hawks raises his eyes to Dabi in disbelief. Dabi nods infinitesimally. 

“That’s….That’s good. Okay. Yeah. That’s good.” Hawks is trying like hell to hold in his laughter. You can’t raise your eyes from the floor. 

Dabi rises. “I’m gonna go get some wine. Help us relax.” He disappears into the kitchen, leaving you and Hawks to your own devices. 

Hawks smiles at you. “Are you good? Are you sure you wanna do this?”

“I’m good,” you half whisper. “I’m, uh…I get a little…shy…”

“That’s okay. We’ll take good care of you.” The Winged Hero stands and stretches, flaunting his toned stomach under his black tank top, riding high above his joggers. “What helps you relax?”

“Crack the windows,” Dabi calls from the kitchen, over the sounds of glasses clinking as they’re set on the counter. “She likes the sound of the rain. And light some of those candles.”

 As you watch, Hawks flits easily around the room, lighting some of the candles you’ve scattered around the space, with scents like Banana Nut Bread and Bourbon Barrel Cake. As the warm, sweet smells begin to drift around the room, he cracks a couple windows on the far wall, and sure enough, the sounds of the rainstorm fill the room. You feel yourself begin to relax, leaning deeper into the plush folds of the couch. 

“Yeah, I can see it on your face.” Hawks smiles gently at you as he rejoins you on the couch. “Starting to feel better?”

“Yeah. I’ve never… uh, done this.”

“Really? Never?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know many…people. And none of my exes ever would've...Well, they weren't as trusting in me as Dabi is."

“Well, I’m honored to be the first.” Hawks puts an arm around you. “C’mon.” Obediently, you lean back against him, just as Dabi breezes back into the room, balancing three wine glasses and a bottle. 

“Told ya.” He addresses Hawks. “I know what helps.” Handing out the glasses, he sinks down on your other side, sliding a hand down your thigh. “Drink up, birthday girl.”

And so, you do. 

As you drink- careful to not drink enough to get really drunk, just enough to feel it and relax- you just talk. Except words are accompanied by soft touches; a squeeze of the thigh, a light brushing of fingers against your bare shoulder. It occurs to you that you’re still just wrapped in your towel, and though you’re nearly embarrassed you also acknowledge that really, it’ll just save time. 

In minutes, you’ve melted like butter between the two men. The towel is looser now; most of your thighs are exposed, your wet hair has been twisted into a bun to allow more access to your neck, which Hawks is currently buried in. You sigh, contentedly, as Dabi loosens the towel and gently pulls it away, kneeling on the carpeted floor to kiss his way up your thighs. 

“How are you feeling, baby?” he rasps, pushing your thighs apart. “You wanna keep goin’?”

You nod, and Hawks cups your cheek, brushing his thumb across your lips. 

“Answer him out loud, sweetheart. We need to hear it.”

“Yes,” you bleat, as Hawks trails a hand down to your chest and tweaks at a nipple. “Yes, I want to keep going.”

“Such a good girl,” Hawks hums, reaching for your other breast to tweak it as well. “She’s such a good girl, Dabi.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dabi smirks, then delves between your thighs, unleashing his tongue on your clit. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, twisting in Hawks’ grasp. “Oh, fuck-”

“Loud, too,” Hawks remarks, amused. “Gimme a kiss, sweetheart.”

You obey, practically throwing yourself against his plush lips, whimpering as he sweeps a tongue against yours, forcing your mouth open. His hand grasps yours, leading it to the tent in his joggers. Without breaking the kiss, he carefully sits up far enough to pull his pants down, freeing his erection. “Touch me, baby,” he orders hoarsely, and sighs as your hand wraps around him and begins to pump. As you jerk him off, he pulls and pinches at your nipples, eliciting small whimpers from you. Dabi watches all of this from below, his tongue circling your clit as he jerks himself off. 

This is so much. It’s nearly too much, and before you know it, the familiar tightening in your stomach is threatening to snap. 

“Oh god,” you pant, breaking free from Hawks’ mouth as you look down at Dabi. “baby- baby i’m g-gonna cum-!”

“Give it to me, baby,” Dabi urges, and Hawks groans against your neck. 

“Let us see you, sweetheart. Be a good girl.”

That does it. 

Wailing, you writhe against Dabi’s mouth as everything in you breaks. Dabi holds on to your thighs, continuing his onslaught against your clit, while Hawks strokes your hair and praises you. 

“So good, baby, so pretty,” he coos, as your breath stutters and then slows. “Just a good little slut, hmmm?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, reaching for him and winding your arms around his neck. Hawks chuckles and pulls you into his lap, his erection pressed against your stomach. “C’mon, good girl,” he whispers. “Sit on my dick.”

You oblige, rising yourself up and settling back down as he pushes inside you, little by little, working your way down. 

“‘S big,” you slur, only opening your eyes to locate Dabi, who has relocated to behind the couch, pumping himself as he watches you lower yourself onto another man’s dick. His pupils are dilated, his face awed. 

“Wanna suck your dick,” you gasp as Hawks bottoms out in you and begins to guide your hips back and forth against him. 

Dabi lets out a chuckle. “Nobody’s stopping you, baby.”

Carefully, grinding back and forth on Hawks, you lean forward enough so that you can wrap your lips around the tip of Dabi’s pierced dick. He rewards you with a harsh grunt, then begins to gently fuck your mouth. 

The sounds of panting and skin slapping against skin fills the room; it occurs to you, vaguely, that you are nothing but a toy, a bunch of available, fuckable holes in this moment, and for some reason, that spurns you on further. Dabi lets you take him deep into your throat, muttering appreciation at your enthusiasm. Below you, Hawks takes your hips and roughly begins to lift you up and drop you back down against him, distracting you. 

“Oh, oh my god,” you choke, pulling yourself off of Dabi and pumping him instead as Hawks fucks you. 

“Yeah? You like it, baby?” Hawks pants, tilting his head back to see yours. 

“So-so fucking good,” is all you can make out, the way he’s dropping you back down on him is making you see stars, you can barely breathe. Dabi grins widely down at you, taking in the way your breasts bounce, your fucked-out expression. 

“Who’s my good little whore?” he croons, leaning down to stroke your face as his best friend fucks the intelligence out of you. “Who’s my dumb little baby?”

“I am, I am, Daddy,” you cry out, the familiar tightening in your tummy threatening to snap. “I’m your good little whore-”

“You gonna cum, baby?”

Your answering “yes” is echoed by Hawks, who has abandoned the premise of making you ride him and instead has begun thrusting up into you as hard as he can at this angle. Dabi watches in awe and faint amusement as you both implode, you, shaking and crying out, reaching for Dabi as you break, and Hawks whimpering into your neck, panting as he cums inside you. 

Dabi stands to the side of the couch, heating his palms and rubbing soothing circles into your back as you and Hawks both come down from your high. 

“So good,” Dabi croons. “So good, baby. You already made Hawks cum, that pussy is so good.”

Hawks doesn’t look remotely abashed as he lifts his head from your neck, peppering your cheek with little kisses. “I want to die in this pussy, baby.”

You laugh, still shaking a little from the aftermath of your second orgasm, then reach for Dabi once more. This time he obliges, lifting you up off of Hawks effortlessly and holding you to him, your legs wrapped against his waist. “Why don’t we give Hawks a little show, baby?”

You know exactly what he means, and you’re nodding before he finishes his sentence. Dabi briefly cups your face and kisses you, once, chastely, on the lips. “Gonna fuck his cum right outta you, sweetheart,” he promises, and then easily lowers you onto him, still standing beside the couch. 

Easily, almost nonchalantly, Dabi begins fucking you, holding you against him and pushing up into you. You tuck your head into his shoulder, panting as he holds to his word. You can feel yourself leaking, dripping with Hawks’ cum as Dabi’s dick fills you to the brim. Hawks jerks off, his erection restored as he stares, almost in awe, at the poetry of Dabi fucking you. 

This, to be honest, is your favorite way for Dabi to fuck you. To feel like a rag doll as he easily lifts and lowers you against his cock, the spot he hits at this angle, the way it completely makes you lose control. You stop thinking somewhere around thirty seconds in and let yourself become his personal toy, devoid of thought. You are nothing but nerve endings and pliable holes for this man in these moments and you are more than happy to fulfill that role for him. 

You don’t know how long its been or what you’ve said- you are vaguely away that you’re babbling as he fucks you, saying god knows what as you cling to his shoulders, letting him use you, when you feel it again. 

“D-Daddy,” your voice wobbles. “I’m- i’m gonna-”

“You gonna cum again, baby?” Even his voice affects you- you clench down on him involuntarily, and he groans. “Fuck, sweetheart-”

“I’m-I think i’m gonna squirt,” you gasp, and Hawks breathes in sharply behind you. “Oh god, daddy don’t stop, dont stop dont stop-”

“Come on, baby. Make a mess.” And you do.

Dabi pulls you off of him just in time; you squirt against his abdomen, rubbing furiously at yourself to prolong it, completely aware that the way you’re moving could cause you to fall, and not even remotely caring. When it’s over, you more or less collapse, curling into his chest as he carries you to the couch. Hawks helps him lay you down against the cushions, your head in Dabi’s lap while Hawks gently stretches your legs out against his lap. Dabi’s warm fingers sift through your hair. 

“You’ve done such a good job, baby.” Dabi’s fingers move from your hair to your cheek, and you nuzzle into his palm. 

“So good,” Hawks agrees, stroking your ankles. “You’re so pretty, baby.”

“Think you can do just a little more for us?”

You’re spent, exhausted, but you nod, anyway. Dabi chuckles. “That’s my good girl. Sit up for me, baby.”

You obey, and Dabi gently helps you onto all fours, facing you on hands and knees to Hawks, who is still languidly stroking himself. 

“Think you can suck his dick while I fuck your pretty pussy, sweetheart?”

Anything, anything, anything for you. 

Hawks straightens himself out on the couch, so that you’re able to lean down to run your tongue over his tip without any trouble. As you take him deeper into your mouth, Dabi begins to sink into you, little thrusts that pull him deeper and deeper into your greedy pussy, swallowing him whole. 

“You’re so good, baby,” Hawks groans, as you take him into the back of your throat. “So obedient, so pretty, so wet…”

“She’s- she’s a good girl,” Dabi pants, his thrusts quicker now, more urgent. “Aren’t you, honey? Tell us you’re a good girl.”

You lift your head briefly. “I’m a good girl,” you mumble, blushing- how you can blush over words after being in such compromising position escapes you, but here you are, anyway.

Both men groan. 

“Yeah,” Dabi sighs, then seizes your hips and begins to fuck you in earnest. You cry out, and Hawks begins to stroke himself, holding eye contact with you as Dabi pounds into you from behind. 

“Tell me you love it,” Hawks orders, suddenly brusque. 

“I-i love it,” you pant, eyes practically crossing as Dabi’s thrusts turn to an unforgiving pounding. “It’s so good, it’s so hard, i love it i love it i love it-”

“Say thank you,” Dabi pants. “Thank us for fucking you so good.”

“Thank you, thank you Hawks, thank you, Daddy, thank you, I want this all the time, I want you both, I wan- I wan cum, I-” before you know what’s happening, your orgasm hits you like a train; crying out, you push back against Dabi, your entire body shaking. 

“Oh, shit- f-f-fuck- FUCK,” Dabi moans, loudly, and you feel him pumping his cum into you. Your shared orgasm triggers Hawks, who shoots his load onto your face, panting and murmuring praise. 

All three of you slump against the couch, and against each other, a tangle of limbs. Finally, Dabi pulls you upright and back against his chest. Hawks goes to the kitchen and comes back with a rag, wiping your face clean before delivering a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“So,” Dabi chuckles, “Good birthday?”

“Good birthday,” you agree. 

Great birthday.

[toournextadventure]

everyone but her pt.22

Summary: A hidden part of your past comes back to haunt you. At least you've secured a special place in an unusual family's hearts. You would be paying off the debt for the rest of your life.

Word Count: 8.4k Warnings: swearing, violence, murder (in a flashback) Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (everyone but her Masterlist) Taglist: @extinctspino @basichextechml @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @jinxscatbomb @awolfcsworld @suzhiman @gengen64 @eclipsesmoonshine14 @alexkolax @thenextdawn @cacciatricediartemide @cozwaenot @the-night-owl-blr @natashasapphic @elliesbabygirl @alilbitlesbian @irish-piece-of-trash @rainbow-love4ever @audigay @bakugounuggets @myfturn @rockwyn @bigbadsofty07 @andsoigotabutterfly @smromanoff @notheoneforlove

A/N: I've had a clusterfuck of a week and it's only Wednesday morning, so I'm giving y'all this 20mins early because I love y'all dearly 🫶

The sun was out, shining down and leaving a nice little burn to your skin. It was the perfect day to be running around Niagara Falls with Nicky. People were all around, the birds were out, and you were already far too full from street food. It was perfect.

“What next?” Nicky asked once you had both finished your ice creams; you had strawberry and he had vanilla.

“Hmm,” you hummed aloud, looking carefully over everything.

There were carnival games all around, those were always fun. But they cost money, so maybe not those. Go-karts would be fun, but you weren’t tall enough to drive them and Nicky was a bad driver. You could always go see the birds again, but Nicky had gotten bored. There had to be something you could both do.

Oh!

“The skywheel!” You shouted. No one could see, but your little wings flapped under your shirt.

“Really?” Nicky asked, his hand pressing gently on your back to keep your wings steady. It was comforting. “Why? You can see that view any time.”

“But you can’t,” you said. He looked down at you. “I want you to see what I see!”

“Okay,” he said with a smile, and you turned around to look at the skywheel.

It was so much fun! The birds were out, the sun was shining over the water, and the man at the bottom let you go around three times! Even Nicky had fun, pointing out people, talking about how pretty the sky was. Maybe he could appreciate the view a little better when you tried to fly without permission next time.

“Can we go to the gardens tomorrow?” You asked while you picked at the nachos Nicky had gotten. They had tomatoes on them. Yuck.

“We can,” he said. He wasn’t really paying attention to you, but that was okay because you weren’t paying attention to him either. “If you want to.”

“Are we camping again tonight?” You asked. All the tomato pieces finally rested in the corner of the paper tray and you could eat in peace.

“Yeah,” Nicky said with a sigh. “We’ll head out when you’re done eating.”

“Aren’t you still hungry?” You asked.

“Nah,” he said with a smile. “Finish it.”

“Here,” you said, pushing the tray a little closer to his hand, “I saved the tomatoes for you.”

He hesitated, but after looking at you for a minute he reached forward and grabbed a nacho. They were going cold, but you were just happy to share. You had noticed he hadn’t been eating as much since you had left Nevermore for the trip, and he definitely needed more food.

Besides, it was yummy, why wouldn’t he want some?

After watching the sun set over the falls, it was time to start the trip down to where you had both camped last night. It was a nice little spot down by the nature trails below the falls. You had met some nice people down there when you arrived. They had even loaned you a tent!

“Hold my hand,” Nicky said when the street lights were on and you were taking a shortcut through one of the alleys. “Don’t let go.”

“Why not?” You asked, but reached for his hand anyway. It was warm.

“Just don’t,” he said again. His head was looking all around, but you were very focused on the cotton candy the nice man at the cart had given you.

“A little late to be wandering around, don’t you think?”

Yours and Nicky’s heads turned quickly to see two men walking into the alley behind you. They were tall, even taller than daddy. They had some nice smiles on their faces. Were they taking a shortcut to the trails too?

“We’re just going home,” Nicky said. You opened your mouth to argue - you were going to the campground, not home - but he gave you a look that had you shutting your mouth again.

“All alone?” The other man asked with a tilt of his head. “Your parents let you walk alone at night?”

“We can help,” the first man said. “We know a nice place you can both stay.”

“No thank you,” Nicky said. He pulled your hand as he backed away, making you stumble over your own feet. You nearly dropped your cotton candy. “Come on.”

Nicky kept his eyes on the two men as he continued to pull you with him. You tried to walk backwards just like him, but you stepped on something and stumbled, dropping one of the rocks you had snuck into your pocket. Without questioning it, you turned around and bent down to pick it up, your wings fluttering under your shirt to help you straighten up again.

“Would you look at that,” the second man said, and Nicky froze. “We found ourselves a little Outcast.”

“Nicky is too!” You said.

“Y/N, hush-”

“-No no, let her talk,” the first man said. They were walking closer. “You like to talk, kid?”

“All the time,” you said with a smile. He was smiling too.

“What do you like to talk about?” He asked again. The second man was moving sideways. Where was he going?

“Birds,” you said without hesitation. “Oh, and rocks! Wanna see the ones I found today?”

“I'd love to see them," he continued. He took another step closer. "Why don't you come with us to our house and you can show us all the rocks."

"Ok-"

"-Don't touch us," Nicky interrupted, harshly pulling you behind him.

“Don’t get so defensive,” the second man said. You turned your head and saw him standing behind you both. “We just want to give you kids a place to sleep.”

“I thought you wanted to see my rocks,” you said with a huff. The men got closer.

“How about you just come with us,” the first man said as he reached out and grabbed your arm.

“I said don’t!” Nicky shouted.

He dropped your hand and ran head first, hitting the first man's stomach. They both hit the ground hard. You tried to go help, but a big pair of arms wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you back into a big body.

“You’re gonna stay here with me,” the second man said in your ear. He smelled funny.

But the moment the first man hit Nicky with his knee, you lunged forward. Those big hands pulled you back, but you just ducked down further and he let go. Then it was your turn to hit the first man. You knocked him off of Nicky and felt your knee scrape on the ground.

“You fucking brats,” the first man spit out. He pulled something out of his pocket. Nicky was still on the ground holding his stomach.

The moment you saw the knife in the first man’s hand, you turned around to run. You knew to run away from danger, Nicky had taught you that. But you didn’t get very far before you felt someone pick you up. One hand covered your mouth and you bit down hard.

He screamed and dropped you to the ground again. It hurt your feet. You tried to run again, but the man knocked you over. He turned you around, his body pressing you into the hard ground. You turned your head and saw Nicky fighting with the second man.

It didn’t look like Nicky was winning.

“Just stay still,” the first man said above you. He smelled funny too.

Fight back, a little voice in your head said.

What had you seen Nicky do before? He had gotten into fights before, what did he do? Oh! You threw your head forward, feeling the sharp ache when it connected with the first man’s nose. He grunted and pulled back a little bit, but then you felt something hit the side of your face.

Everything started ringing and the alley started spinning. You could feel him pressing into you again, and your wings started to hurt from the ground. Fight back, the little voice said again, so you did. You threw your arms and legs out everywhere, trying to hit something. But then you felt something sharp press against your neck and you stopped.

“Just kill ‘em already,” the second man called out. He sounded like he had been running for a long time.

“With pleasure,” the first man said above you.

No. You felt the knife press into your neck and the sting that followed. What did you do? What were you supposed to do? Nicky had never taught you how to fight a knife!

Knock it away, the little voice said, and grab it.

You thrashed around again, making sure to hit the hand that was holding the knife. The first man groaned again and you kicked your leg up. You don’t know what you hit, but he screamed and rolled off of you. You scrambled to your hands and knees and looked around.

There was the knife.

Your fingers touched the knife right when the first man got on you again. He tried to grab the knife too, his hand much bigger than yours. As soon as you felt your hand grab it, you turned around and swung it.

“Fuck!”

The first man pulled back really fast, holding his cheek. Something red was coming out from between his fingers. He pulled his hand back and you both looked at the blood, and your eyes went to the big cut on his cheek.

“You little bitch,” he said in a mean voice. “Come here.”

He lunged at you again, but you closed your eyes and held the knife out in front of you. Something hit the knife, pushing you back onto the ground again. You heard a gasp and opened your eyes.

The knife was sticking out of the man’s shoulder. He looked at you in shock before his mouth turned into a frown. When he tried to grab you, you pulled the knife out and stabbed him with it again, this time in his hand.

He reached forward, grabbing your wrist and pulled you back. But instead of pulling, you moved forward and he fell onto his back with you on top of him. Stab him, the little voice said; it sounded mean. Without any hesitation, you grabbed the knife with both hands and brought it down. And you did it again. And again. And again again again again again-

-Something warm splashed against your face. The man was screaming, so you closed your eyes and tried to tune him out. You hummed. But you kept bringing the knife down over and over and over and over and over and-

“-Y/N!”

Smaller hands held your wrists, stopping you from bringing the knife down. You opened your eyes again and saw Nicky looking at you. He had blood on his face and clothes and a few cuts all over. Was he okay?

“Let me have it,” Nicky said softly, and he took the knife from your hands. Your fingers felt stiff like they didn’t want to let go. “Are you okay?”

You didn’t know. What had just happened anyway? You were supposed to be at the campgrounds with Nicky about now, right? Why weren’t you both down there with those nice weird people from the other night?

The man wasn’t moving underneath you.

“We have to go,” Nicky said. He was looking all over. “We need to go.”

He wrapped his arms around you to pull you up to your feet. Your legs were all wobbly. Nicky grabbed your hand and started pulling you. You looked back and saw the two men laying on the ground. They were really still. Were they okay?

“We have to go,” Nicky said again as he pulled you further down the alley before you both started running-

“-Smith!”

Your head shot up from the hole you had been staring into the table. The quick movement gave you a headache and made your bruised side throb; jail had not been kind to you. Nothing could have properly prepared you for the difference between the singular Jericho cell and an actual jail down in D.C.

People here were mean.

“You’ve got another date with the detectives,” Officer Hartman called out once you still hadn’t moved.

“Better get movin’, cupcake,” your new bestest friend Erin said with a smug look that you wanted to beat off her. Again. “Hartman might scuff up that pretty face of yours.”

“What would I do without your all-encompassing wisdom,” you mumbled as you stood up, inhaling lightly as the bruises on your torso pulled.

“You sure you graduated highschool?” She asked. “Cause you’re sure actin’ stupid as hell.”

“Still smarter than you and your white trash girl group,” you said with a tilt of your head.

“Wanna say that to my face, Outcast?” Erin asked, standing abruptly to be toe-to-toe with you. In  your peripheral, you could see the rest of her gang starting to circle up.

“I thought I did,” you said. She was smaller than you, but far more aggressive. Surprisingly. “I guess your ass and face look the same, that’s my bad.”

“You little-”

“-Summers!”

Erin’s fist stayed cocked and ready as Officer Hartman casually walked up to the group, one hand resting on the baton on her belt. A shiver went down your spine at the sight of it; you certainly didn’t want to be on the other end of it again any time soon.

“Everything alright over here?” Officer Hartman asked, looking between both you and Erin.

“Just showing my little friend the ropes,” Erin said with a sickeningly sweet smile. Oh, you wanted to beat that off her too.

“You can show her later,” Officer Hartman said before turning to look at you. “Let’s get going, kid.”

“See you later, girly pop,” you said with your own smile before you blew a kiss in Erin’s direction.

You’re going to get your ass beat, the voice at the back of your head said. It was almost nice to hear; it had been a few days and you were getting worried it had disappeared. Wow, you were really attempting to make friends with the voice inside your head. Did that make you crazy?

Yes. Yes, it absolutely did.

“Assume the position,” Officer Hartman ordered once you were out of the common area.

It was a bit odd to be accustomed to the cold bite of the shackles placed around your wrists and ankles. To find a certain comfort in the way they were chained to the belt around your waist. You didn’t know what the explanation was, but it was probably something you needed therapy for.

Therapy is for pussies, the voice said. You didn’t necessarily disagree.

“You gonna behave today?” Officer Hartman asked when she started leading you to the interrogation room.

“Yes ma’am,” you said confidently.

“Good girl,” she said. “Maybe we’re finally beating that arrogance out of you.”

You didn’t say anything in reply; it was better that way. But her words made your side throb again. How bad was it now? It had been two days, surely it was looking nice and ugly at this point. But you hadn’t looked at it yet; you weren’t sure you wanted to know. Not that the detectives would care, nor would anyone else you were going to come into contact with.

“Welcome back, kid,” Detective Waller said when Officer Hartman led you into the interrogation room.

“Afternoon,” you said quietly as you let Hartman unshackle you and then cuff you to the half-circle thing on the table. You didn’t know what it was called, but it was kind of fun to run the cuff chain back and forth on it-

“-Stop it,” Hartman ordered.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, quickly sitting back in your seat to look at Detectives Waller and Pearce. You didn’t like them. Something about them wasn’t trustworthy.

“How you been?” Waller asked once Hartman left the room. He and Pearce seemed more laid back; you certainly did not.

“Fine,” you said. You refused to look up from where your hands were chained to the table.

A lot of precautions for a single 18 year old, the voice mused.

“I hear you’ve been making friends,” Pearce said, his voice always softer than Waller’s. “We can help you with that problem, you know.”

“You’ve just gotta tell us what happened,” Waller finished. He leaned forward to rest his forearms on the desk. “We have proof, so just tell us how it went down.”

“We don’t need to know about the domestic,” Pearce said. “We have an entire room full of people who saw what happened.”

“Just tell us about Niagara,” Waller finished.

This again. They had been asking for over a week at that point. Why couldn’t they just let it go? You hadn’t even remembered it until they brought it up that first day. Maybe you had done it, sure, but how were you supposed to remember all the details?

“Quit looking at your hands,” Waller said harshly. “Look at me.”

And you did. You looked up at him and instantly felt like you were a kid again. The way they were both looking at you like a child about to get scolded. Like all the times when you would get in trouble with your mom and dad and be sent to your room to think about what you did.

It made you feel small.

“We’ve got your prints on the murder weapon,” Pearce said, attempting to take over the conversation. “Just tell us what happened and we can get you away from Erin.”

No he can’t, the voice said.

You kept your mouth shut.

“You’re making it pretty hard on yourself, kid,” Waller said. He leaned further; he was getting too close. “You know what happens when you refuse to cooperate?”

“You already arrested me,” you said. “So you clearly feel confident enough without a confession.” Waller narrowed his eyes. “Not much else you can threaten me with.”

“We can always have you transferred to a different block,” Pearce said with a tilt of his head.

“I hear Block C has a soft spot for Outcasts,” Waller continued.

Don’t listen to them.

“I’m sure you’d make a lot of new friends over there.” Your hands were feeling sweaty.

“You can be cellmates with Miss Byrne.”

Fight back.

Your ears were ringing.

“I think she’s in for killing an Outcast, isn’t she?”

Don’t let them do this.

Your heart wanted to jump out of your throat.

“Think she did. Five, if I remember right.”

“I’m sure she’s rehabilitated now though.”

“Probably wouldn’t even think twice to-”

“-Good afternoon, everyone.”

All three of you whipped your heads toward the door to see a man walking into the interrogation room. His dark hair was slicked back except for one or two strands hanging over his face, and his light goatee was, honestly, pretty fabulous. He kind of reminded you of Zorro.

What was Zorro doing in your interrogation room?

“Can we help you?” Pearce asked when it was clear Waller was still too busy glaring at the new man.

“Jair Moreno,” the man said with a big, bright smile. “I’m here to talk with my client.” He had a comfortingly deep voice, and a stunning accent. It reminded you of Mr. Addams.

“Client?” Waller asked.

“I don’t have a lawyer,” you said with a frown, finally able to voice something.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here, no?” He said. His smile turned less performative when he looked at you.

Don’t trust him.

“She never asked for a lawyer,” Waller continued. You almost wanted to laugh at how red his face was getting. He was mad.

Good.

“If you keep him around, we can’t talk to you anymore,” Pearce said with a smile that was a rather pitiful attempt at comfort. “We can’t help you.”

“I…” you looked back and forth between the detectives and your (supposed) lawyer. “I would like to talk with him.”

“It’s your funeral, kid,” Waller said with a huff, pushing his chair back harshly and shoving past Mr. Moreno.

“You have the room,” Pearce said quickly before following suit, though in a much less aggressive way. Both you and Mr. Moreno watched and waited until the door clicked shut again, and you were finally alone.

“My apologies for being so late,” he said with a friendly smile as he sat down in the seat across from you. “It took two days to find you.”

“I appreciate you coming, Mr. Moreno-”

“-Señor,” he corrected. “It’s a simple difference, but it makes the white men uncomfortable in these parts.” He winked as if he was letting you in on a little secret.

“Señor Moreno,” you said; the word didn’t sound as pretty coming from your mouth, but he smiled and nodded at you once anyway. “But I can’t afford you. And I never called you.”

“No you didn’t,” he said quickly, “a close friend informed me of the situation. Said you’re like another child to him.”

You wracked your brain to think of who could have possibly called someone for you. Everyone had seen you getting arrested at the Rave’N, so it wasn’t like you could pick from who had known. And you were close with a lot of parents. Had it been a teacher? No, probably not. It certainly wasn’t Sheriff Galpin; he liked you well enough, but you were also a major thorn in his side.

It’s a trap, the voice said. You physically shook your head to get it out. Now wasn’t the time for paranoia.

“I don’t know who would have called,” you finally said. He was being far too nice, it was starting to be a little creepy. Maybe it was the time for some paranoia.

“No?” You shook your head slowly, and his smile fell into something smaller, much more comforting. “Gomez Addams gave me a call.”

Oh.

“Well then I certainly can’t afford you,” you said immediately. Señor Moreno laughed a deep belly laugh.

“He said you would say that,” he chuckled. “That’s why I’m taking your case pro bono.”

“That’s not a smart business decision,” you mumbled, looking down at your hands and away from his gaze. His eyes reminded you of Wednesday’s; dark, like perfectly stained wood.

You’re going to owe them, the voice said. You’ll never be able to repay them. You’ll be in their debt for the rest of your life.

“But it is my decision to make,” he said. You didn’t look up from your hands but nodded absentmindedly.

You felt small again.

“Let’s go ahead and get down to business,” Señor Moreno said.

You nodded and braced yourself for whatever it was he was going to say. You hoped it wasn’t going to be all bad news. There was only so much more you could take.

“Let’s talk about the domestic first,” he said, and you nodded. “We won’t deny it happened, that would be foolish. But what was your emotional state at that moment?”

He blamed Outcasts; he blamed you. Your fist pounded into flesh and bone again and again and again and ag-

“-I don’t know,” you said with a shrug and another shake of your head to get the image of blood out of your mind.

“Were you aware of what you were doing at the time?” He probed. “Or did you only realise afterwards?”

“I…” you sighed. “I didn’t know until after.”

“And it happened impulsively?”

“Yes.”

“Then we shall go with an extreme emotional disturbance defence,” he said. “I’ve used it in New York, I’m sure I can find a loophole here.”

“So it’s actually going to trial?” You asked, your shoulders sagging. You couldn’t handle a trial.

“Not necessarily,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. It was almost hypnotising. He was actually pretty handsome.

Don’t be a whore.

“Now tell me about this double homicide,” he said, looking down at notes that you hadn’t even realised he had. “They have yet to declare it either a murder or manslaughter because of your age at the time.”

“Uh, I was 9- 10,” you blinked frantically. “10, I was 10. Nicky was 14.” So young? “We walked west for a few days and had a mini vacation.” The knife flashed under the street lamps. “Two guys trapped us in an alley one night and tried to kidnap us.” You blinked hard again. “Or not, I don’t know, they just tried to get us to go with them.”

“What happened next?” Señor Moreno asked. His voice was far too soft and quiet, it was unsettling. He shouldn’t be so gentle.

“Uh, Nicky got into a fight with one of them and I got in a fight with the other,” you mused as you shook your head slowly, your eyes darting back and forth but not seeing anything. “The one I was fighting pulled a knife on me, so I knocked it out of his hand and…”

The knife came down again and again and again again again again again-

“And you fought back,” Señor Moreno finished for you.

You inhaled sharply, not realising you had been holding your breath. The room suddenly felt too cold and too enclosed. Your wings itched under the makeshift harness the jail had forced you to wear. You wanted to get out. It was too much, you wanted to leave.

“A double homicide sure, but sounds like self-defence to me,” he said. 

“Technically I only killed one,” you mused, blinking a few times to clear the haze so you could look back up at Señor Moreno.

“I suppose that’s true,” he said with a light laugh.

“Guess Nicky was right though,” you said to yourself. “I’ll always remember Niagara.”

“What did you say?” Señor Moreno’s head shot up from his notes. You frowned at him. “Where did you go?”

“Niagara Falls?” You said hesitantly.

“Which side?” He asked. He was leaning over the table to get close to you, his hands reaching out to grab your own. You let out a sigh; you had missed the touch of soft hands.

“Uhh,” you shook your head and your mouth flopped open and closed a few times. “The left side?”

“No no, which country,” he corrected quickly. “Were you on the American side, or the Canada side?”

“I don’t-”

“-What were the falls shaped like?” He asked. He was talking far too quickly, it was making your head spin.

“I…” your eyes swung left and right, over and over as you tried to remember.

“See that?” Nicky asked, pointing to the falls. You could see them perfectly from your spot on his shoulders. “What does it look like to you?”

“A waterfall,” you said with a giggle. He lightly pinched your thigh.

“What else?” He asked with his own little chuckle.

“Umm.” You tilted your head so you could think better. “It looks like a U.”

“It’s a horseshoe,” he said. “Pretty cool, right?”

“A horseshoe,” you said with a slow, dazed nod of your head. “It looked like a horseshoe.”

Señor Moreno let go of your hands - you instantly missed the warmth - and leaned back in his chair. His hands went behind his head and he smiled. He looked at you, looked into your very soul, and smiled. You frowned. What was he smiling about?

“You’re not going to trial,” he said with a chuckle.

“How do you know?” You asked with a tilt of your head. Your palms were getting itchy. And sweaty.

“You’ll find out tomorrow,” he said. “We have a meeting with your parents and their lawyer.”

“I can’t see them,” you said quickly, eyes going wide. “I can’t.”

“They can’t touch you,” he replied. “If they’re smart, they won’t even talk to you.”

It didn't comfort you, not really. What would it matter if they couldn’t talk to you? They would still be there; you would have to face the people who were supposed to care for you. Love you. Who should have been on your side from the very beginning, not getting you arrested.

“You’ll come back for me tomorrow?” You asked.

“Right after we post your bail,” he said with the most genuine look you had seen since arriving at jail.

“You promise?” You asked again.

He looked at you for a moment with a tilted head and slightly furrowed brows. What was he thinking? He’s not coming back for you, the voice said. But he reached out and placed gentle hands over yours and gave them a light squeeze.

“I promise on my abuela’s grave,” he said softly. Oh so softly.

It made you feel small. But in a good way.

Just the knowledge that you were going to get out was enough to make the rest of the day go by faster. You didn’t even care that Erin and her girl gang were glaring daggers at you the whole day. The only thing on your mind was getting to get out of this fucking jail and get back to the real world again.

You ignored the fact that the real world also sucked.

And that you were not prepared to deal with the real world yet.

Because you’re a coward, the voice in your head said.

You still slept like a baby.

The next morning you took your time heading to the showers; you had picked up on the fact that everyone either showered immediately, or not at all. If you waited just a little longer, the odds of you being alone were exponentially high. It worked out perfectly, and since you weren’t too worried about being late to anything anymore, you took your time. 

Even though it was a bit cold by that time, it felt nice as it cascaded over your face. With your eyes closed, you could just focus on the sound of the water. The goal wasn’t necessarily to wash off anymore, just try to keep your heart and mind in check. You were almost there. Just a little longer.

The water shut off only a moment later, and you let out a frustrated sigh. Of course you hadn’t been keeping track of the time. But it was okay, you would be out soon and could get a hot shower later if you really wanted it. Now all you need to do was dry off and-

-something hard hit the back of your knees and you immediately fell to the ground. The vibration travelled up your palms and the crack of your knees on the tile resonated through your bones and, if nothing else, the bruises that would paint themselves on your skin would be stunning. Wednesday would appreciate the grotesque colours, that was for sure.

You pushed yourself up and looked down at your palms to see the already reddened, sensitive skin on the heels. It ached, and both of your forearms throbbed lightly with each heartbeat. That was going to be a pain in the ass to-

-something rough pulled tight against your neck and yanked you back off your knees. Your hands instantly lifted to pull against it, trying to get your fingers underneath to ease the pressure on your throat. You could feel yourself being pulled backwards across the slick floor until you came to a stop.

Pull it away, the voice ordered. You couldn’t breathe.

Erin stepped in front of you.

“Hey, girly pop,” she said with a grin as she crouched down to be at eye level with you. “Heard you’re leaving today.”

The thing around your throat pulled tighter; it made you choke.

“We couldn’t let you leave without a goodbye present,” one of the women behind you practically taunted.

“Maybe afterwards you’ll learn not to run that big mouth of yours.” Erin’s grin was malicious at best, downright demonic at worst.

They were smart. You knew they were. The moment they pulled whatever was choking you tighter and your hands tried to pull it down, Erin swung. A solid punch that left your ears ringing and the world spinning. The throb in your eye was instant. Only when you were truly dazed did they really get started.

They were smart.

The bruises on your side had already ached before this. Now they genuinely hurt. Each new blow and kick stole what little air you had left in your lungs, and you didn’t know what to do. Did you keep trying not to suffocate? Or did you try to fight back? You couldn’t do both, you were outnumbered.

Fight back, the voice said. But how could you do that when you felt something crack in your side and you couldn’t fucking breath-

“-What’s going on in here?”

It was as if a switch flipped in the room. They instantly released you, and you gasped for air like your life depended on it. You sputtered and coughed, falling forward onto your hands and knees again except this time you didn’t pay attention to the pain in the heel of your palm.

No, this time you were too busy trying not to choke on your own blood.

“Five to one doesn’t seem too fair.” Miss Ethel’s voice echoed off the tiled walls; it sounded fuzzy through the ringing in your ears.

Something red was going down the shower drain.

“We’re just wishing our little friend good luck in the big outside world,” Erin said quickly. At least that’s what you thought she said, you couldn’t actually tell.

“Get going,” Miss Ethel said. You squeezed your eyes shut when the volume of her voice sent a migraine shooting down every nerve in your body. “Now.”

And just like that, they left. Left you on the floor of the showers with a foggy brain and the taste of blood on your tongue. Stand up. No. No, you didn't want to stand up. You wanted to curl up on the cold ground and lay in a pool of your own blood until the foggiest eased and your throat was no longer on fire.

"Come on, baby, get up," Miss Ethel said in a far softer voice that had reminded you of Abuelita.

Her old worn hands held you by the shoulders and steadied you, not rushing you but there as a crutch. As you moved and stretched and stood up, she was there to support you the whole time. Only when you were back up to your feet did she look up at you with a frown.

"So you’re only good for starting fights, not finishing them?” She asked, looking you up and down to assess the damage.

She needs to shut up.

“Just caught off guard,” you mumbled. Your mouth filled again and you spit near the drain; it was a mesmerising dark red. “I can finish fights.”

“Not today though, I see,” she continued. “Decided to be a gentleman, did you?”

“I had it,” you huffed. Something in her eyes reminded you of someone. Someone who cared. “I didn’t need your help.”

“I can see that,” she said with a solemn nod. “You certainly look like someone who had it covered.”

You gonna let her talk to you like that?

“Listen, baby,” Miss Ethel said, her voice dropping a tone and sounding more like a friend. Like someone who cared. “Stop pushing people away. Soon they’ll quit trying.”

“They already did,” you mumbled, your head falling. Your eyes squeezed shut again as a hammer started pounding away at the inside of your skull.

“Then get them back,” she said. You didn’t open your eyes but could feel her hand on your still-naked shoulder. “All that rage and loneliness has to come out sometime. Don’t put your friends on the receiving end and keep your head up. Sad birds still sing.”

“You sound poetic,” you said, finally opening your eyes to meet hers. “Not like someone who murdered her husbands.”

“Read it in a book somewhere,” she said with her charming smile that was missing a few teeth. “Even black widows have some wisdom buried deep down.”

You chuckled lightly before inhaling sharply. Something was definitely broken, probably a rib. It was sticking into your lungs and it just hurt. Every breath, every movement, it hurt. But you took a slow, deep breath and stood up straight again.

No giving up.

“Let’s get you dressed and ready to be picked up,” Miss Ethel said. “Before anyone comes looking for you.”

Miss Ethel helped clean the bit of blood off of you and tidied you up the best she could with what she had. You picked up the towel that had been wrapped around your neck only moments before. It was rough and white. The scratchiness in your throat came back.

You looked brand new by the time you put your suit back on and was escorted out of the jail. It was weird to be wearing the suit, but you supposed it was all you had. Certainly better than nothing, at least. If it wasn’t for the newly blackened eye and broken nose and bruised jaw and… well, anyway, you would have looked ready for the Rave’N.

In theory.

“Dios mío,” Señor Moreno said when he met you outside the jail, running up to you and checking over your face.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. “I just wanna go.”

“Of course,” he said with a simple nod before withdrawing his hands. “Then let’s get going.”

He led you to the front where a car was waiting, and you hesitated. These things weren’t just dangerous anymore; now they had rightfully killed Nicky. Sure, you had been in the police van on the way down, but this was… it was different. It was smaller and more dangerous.

It was scarier.

Just get in, the voice goaded you. And against everything you had, your feet carried you until you got into the passenger seat.

You couldn’t recall the ride to wherever you were meeting everyone. Nothing about it registered in your head, almost like a blackout. The only thing you became aware of was sitting down in the chair in that big empty room and waiting for everyone else to show up.

That was pretty scary.

“Good morning, Y/N,” someone said in an accented voice, and you and Señor Moreno turned around to greet everyone.

You remembered the man. Vaguely, of course. He was a friend of your dad’s, someone he had gone to law school with. Stokes; Luke Stokes. He was older now, had more grey in his hair, a few more wrinkles. If you remembered right, he had favoured you over Nicky.

But you averted your eyes the moment you saw your parents enter the room.

“You’ve certainly grown into a stunning young adult,” Mr. Stokes said with a polite smile.

“Thank you,” you said in a raspy voice; it itched your throat again. Everyone quickly sat down and you let your eyes fall to the table.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Mr. Stokes asked once everyone was settled. “You mentioned you were open to a plea deal?”

“Of course,” Señor Moreno said with his own smile. “A trial would be tedious for everyone, no?”

“I’m glad we agree,” Mr. Stokes said as he started shuffling some papers. It was an irritating sound; he wasn’t even looking for anything in particular, you could tell. “Let’s make this simple. Miss Smith pleads guilty and only serves 7 years.”

“I’ll make it simpler,” Señor Moreno retorted, leaning back in his seat. You felt his foot kick yours slightly. “She pleads guilty, pays her fine, and goes to anger management.”

“Absolutely not,” your dad cut in loudly. You flinched and reached your hand out on instinct; Señor Moreno grabbed it quickly under the table. “Assault and murder?”

“Marcus-”

“-No!” His voice was far too loud, only being drowned out by the racing pulse in your ears. “It’s insulting.”

“We have witnesses for the domestic and prints for the murder,” Mr. Stokes said. Your eyes were closed but you guessed he was trying to calm your dad back down. “Why would we let her off without a sentence?”

The domestic was a simple emotional disturbance,” Señor Moreno said nonchalantly. “Her brother had just died tragically, any juror would understand.”

“And the murder?”

“Just so happened to occur on Canadian soil.” He sounded cocky.

Watch their reactions, the voice said. Again, without any intention to do so, your eyes slowly opened and you looked up across the table.

Your dad was furious; his skin was darkened and there was a fire in his eyes. A dangerous fire. He was looking directly at you like he wanted to lunge across the table and strangle you where you sat. Maybe he did. Maybe he would.

I’d like to see him try, the voice growled. And for the first time in a while, you agreed.

“The United States would never extradite one of their own,” Señor Moreno continued, “let alone a small Outcast child who was defending herself from kidnappers.”

“Any jury would still convict,” Mr. Stokes said. “It’s a good deal, Moreno. Just accept it and let’s all go home.”

The room fell silent. A silence so thick you could choke on it. Everyone was looking at everyone else, watching, waiting to see who would speak first. You didn’t want to take the deal. Seven years in prison? Not even a jail, a prison? You could hold your own, but you would rather die than be subjected to that. There already was very little to live for. It would be the final straw.

Señor Moreno squeezed your hand before leaning forward on the table.

“We will have to reject this deal,” he said with a sigh. “A trial will be tedious, but well worth it.” He looked directly at your dad and you noticed the slightest smirk on his face. “I suppose the knowledge that my client is an Outcast will come to light during the trial.”

Your parents’ faces fell instantly. A laugh tried to bubble up from your throat, and you quickly coughed and cleared your throat to hide it. You bit your bottom lip hard as you looked back up to meet their eyes. For the first time, you saw something that almost made the pain worth it.

They were scared.

“I hope your clients are ready for-”

“-Hold on,” your dad interrupted. “There’s no need for that.”

“So you will accept our terms then?” Señor Moreno asked with a tilt of his head. You turned your head to hide your smile.

Gotcha.

He squeezed your hand again as your parents leaned closer to talk to Mr. Stokes. With another turn of your head, you looked at him. He had a cocky smile on his face that was reserved only for you. And truthfully, you trusted him.

“We’ll agree to your terms,” Mr. Stokes sighed, “but the battery remains on her record.”

Shit.

Señor Moreno looked at you again, waiting patiently for an answer. If a violent crime went on your record, you would never be able to move on. You would have to disclose it to jobs, everyone could look it up and find out. It would ruin your life.

But at least it was a life…

You nodded once.

“We accept,” Señor Moreno said quickly, holding his hand out for Mr. Stokes to shake it.

You hoped you hadn’t just handed your life over to something you couldn’t fix.

—---

The next few days were total chaos. Señor Moreno had allowed you to stay in his guest room before the next day of court. It was a kind gesture, truly it was, but the bed was too soft and the house was too quiet. There was no way to get any sort of sleep so you just stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling and letting your thoughts consume you.

Then he took you to the doctor, letting them check you over. Two broken ribs, one fractured, a broken nose, and some deep bruising. Nothing too horrifying, you had dealt with worse. The horrifying part came when it was time to pay and Señor Moreno didn’t even let you see it. He just paid for it all himself.

“Any child of Gomez’s is a child of mine,” he said with a charming smile.

It made you feel small. And a little warm inside.

Don’t get soft, the voice said, it’ll ruin you.

The day of court was far simpler than you had thought it would be. At least it was now that you had Señor Moreno on your side. The judge accepted the plea and let you off with a simple “you’re young, don’t throw your life away.” You just mumbled a “yes sir” and left with Señor Moreno guiding you out of the courthouse.

“What now?” You asked as you pulled on the tie around your neck. It was a shame the only nice outfit you had was your suit to the Rave’N; it had quickly turned uncomfortable.

“Now you go home,” he said with a smile, still guiding you down the steps of the courthouse. Thanks to your parents’ aversion to Outcasts, there had been little to no publicity. “You’ll start your anger management once the new year starts.”

“And the fine?” You asked. 

It had been weighing on your mind since the judge had issued it; $15,000. There was no way in hell you would ever be able to pay that off. A few dozen feet away, your parents descended the courthouse steps, eyeing you for a moment before they looked elsewhere. Your hand quickly travelled to the crystal pendent the Addamses had given you; you still kept it around your neck at all times. 

“I can’t afford it.”

“It’s already taken care of.”

You stopped fidgeting with the crystal and nearly tripped over the last stair. Señor Moreno held his hand out to your arm to steady you before you could look up. Mr. and Mrs. Addams were standing near their car with Lurch still inside. Mrs. Addams had a soft smile while Mr. Addams immediately went to clap Señor Moreno on the back.

You didn’t bother trying to keep up as they started talking in Spanish. Abuelita really needed to teach you.

“How are you feeling, little bird?” Mrs. Addams asked softly as her hand reached out to brush against your cheek. You instantly leaned into the gentle touch.

Stop being vulnerable.

“I’m fine,” you said even though you both clearly knew it was a lie.

“Thank you again, Jair,” Mrs. Addams said, and you turned just enough to see Mr. Addams and Señor Moreno walking closer. She still pulled you closer until her arm was around your waist.

She was being far too soft with you, it was making you nervous. But it also left you feeling cared for, maybe even loved. Fuck, when had you truly last felt loved? Mama Weems aside simply because she still had to work all the time, of course. Shit. Now you were just getting sad.

It’s pathetic.

“Of course, Tish,” Señor Moreno said with a smile. “Let me know if anything else comes up.”

“We will,” Mr. Addams said.

Everyone bid their goodbyes to Señor Moreno and watched as he walked away, leaving you with the Addamses. It made you uncomfortable in ways you couldn’t properly express. How much of their money had you wasted on this whole situation? How much time had you stolen from them?

“Are you ready to go home, little bird?” Mr. Addams asked. He still looked to be in good spirits.

You opened your mouth to answer but instantly felt that lump in your throat again. It was not going to cause you to cry, not now. You closed your mouth and nodded once instead, and thankfully they took that as an acceptable answer. Mrs. Addams opened the car door for you to let you in and soon the drive had started.

You couldn’t remember anything that happened on the trip, or even the ride to the Addams house itself. That alone was enough to get your heart racing once again, but you chalked it down to the stress and anxiety of the past few weeks. More than a few weeks. Fuck, how long had it been since the harvest festival? How many weeks had you missed out on?

Fuck.

You had barely gotten out of the car when you felt something crash into you, knocking you back. Your feet steadied the rest of you, but the ache in your body stretched down every nerve it could find. Small, slender arms were wrapped around your neck and, at the familiar scent of her perfume, your own arms wrapped around her waist as your eyes fell shut.

“Never again, cara mia,” Wednesday mumbled into the side of your neck. “Please.”

Oh, how could you possibly say no to that? When you could hear the rare emotion in her voice and feel something wet drop onto your skin? When her nails were digging into your suit and holding you as if you would disappear in an instant? When you could feel her pulse under your fingertips and even just the feel of her body against yours made you feel home?

She’s going to become a distraction, the voice warned. But a distraction to what? And in the end, did you even truly care? Did you care when she felt like home and comfort and warmth all at once? No. No, you didn’t care. You would let her be a distraction to the whole world if that’s what it took to keep her in your arms.

You didn’t bother with an answer, just held her tighter and inhaled deeply once again. The stress of everything started to melt away, even if only for a moment, and you just held Wednesday as if your life depended on it. Maybe it did. Maybe something inside you would break, leaving not even your sanity intact if you let go.

You wouldn’t let her go again.

You would pile corpses in front of her door before the world took her from you again.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Secret's Out

Bruce Wayne x plus size gn!reader

Bruce gets a crush on Dick’s tutor but is hesitant on letting them into his life because of you know, the whole running around as a bat thing.

Warnings: FLUFF, references to struggling in school, the usual batman injuries and angst

WC: 1.4k

Minors DNI

The life of the Batman was often lonely. Late nights and early mornings meant Bruce didn’t have a lot of time for anything other than his son and making rare appearances in public so a relationship was out of the question. But dear god did he crave that intimacy.

He wanted to wake up beside someone, have someone share the load of being a parent to a very energetic child with him. And sex, but that goes without saying. But there was too much at risk. What if they got hurt because of his nightly activities? If he shared his secret would they leave him and expose it to the public? Would they break Dick’s heart?

So he resolved to be lonely for the rest of his life. It was too bad that his heart had a mind of its own though.

Dick had been struggling in school, he found it difficult to connect to the other kids in Gotham Academy and thus his grades were slipping. After a particularly heartbreaking melt down from the small boy after another child rejected his friendship, Bruce and Alfred had a very difficult conversation. 

They decided that homeschooling one on one with a tutor for at least a semester would help Dick become more secure in his academics and interact with someone outside of his family. So, each night, while Batman and Robin cleaned up the streets of Gotham, Alfred trolled through the internet and newspapers, trying to find someone suitable for his grandson.

Eventually, he did. You had more than enough qualifications, a masters in education with specialisation in science and english, a long list of glowing recommendations, and a small collection of special skills that made him smile. Dick had been wary when they approached him about you, he was scared that this new teacher would treat him the same as the others, pushing him down and making him feel bad about himself.

But after a long trip to the Gotham pier complete with him and his father consuming their weight in ice-cream, he came around. And thank god he did.

You were a life-saver. You not only became his teacher but you also became his best friend, his confidant, his greatest supporter and his partner in crime. The usually silent and morose halls of the manor were now filled with the childish giggles of his son, a sound that had been gone since Bruce himself was that young.

You also became a shoulder for Bruce to lean on. You joked around with him, getting him to actually smile and not the usual cocky grin he used in public. A real smile that made his cheeks hurt and his chest warm with affection. You were brilliant at helping around the house and organising galas, which wasn’t part of your job description yet you still helped.

He hated when you left for the day, getting in your crappy car that you refused to let him replace with a newer model, to travel back into the city where you lived. He wished he could have you live with them but it was too risky. He couldn’t have you learning about the Bat.

Tonight had been tough to say the least. The penguin had gotten a damn good shot in and now Bruce was sporting at least two broken ribs and a wicked bruise around his abdomen. Dick was also very sick, a bad stomach bug that Bruce blamed himself for because it was raining the night before and they still had gone out. And to top it all off, Alfred was on vacation.

Too consumed with his mission, he had called you. He asked if you would spend the night with Dick since he had an emergency he had to attend to and wasn’t sure when he would be home. You didn’t hesitate in answering with a resounding yes. You walked into the house barely ten minutes later (you definitely broke some speed limits driving over) with a bag full of medicine and tolerable food for the young boy.

“I should be back by morning. Are you sure you’ll be ok by yourself?” His veins were alight with nerves, this was now so far past the line of professionalism he had promised you when you were first hired. You just smiled kindly at him as you laid out your supplies in the guest bedroom closest to Dick.

“I’ll be fine and so will Dick. I’ll call you if something happens but I honestly doubt that it will.” Bruce sighed, a weight lifting from his chest. “Go on, we’ll be ok.” He nodded and turned to leave the room but not before hearing you call out, “Stay safe.”

He wished he had just called in Clark for tonight. He was distracted, worried about his boy, worried about what your words meant. He decided to call it an early night after ensuring that Penguin was safely in the hands of the GPD, he crawled back to the cave. Maybe if Dick was still awake, they could all watch a movie together to lift his spirits. 

As the batmobile rolled into its designated space in the cave, Bruce noticed that the many computer screens had been turned on and were flicking through various security camera footage. Had Alfred come home early and taken his place as overseer of Gotham? No, he would have been with you and Dick if he had returned.

And Dick was too sick to make it down the stairs from his room let alone get into the secret elevator that he was still too short to reach the button for on his own. That left only one plausible option.

The blue light from the screens illuminated your face beautifully, bathing you in a gentle glow that made his heart beat faster in his chest. “Welcome home, Bruce.” You softly called out, your voice both tired and slightly teasing. 

“How’d you figure it out?” Your hand came to rest on your considerable chest as you gasped in offended shock. The action made the butterflies in his stomach swirl in a storm of pure tenderness. His mind was yelling at him that there was no way to know if you could be trusted but his heart yearned for you, wanting to spill all of his secrets at your feet.

“Mr Wayne! I am not as dumb as I look!” He chuckled, shuffling closer. The blanket that had been draped around your shoulders slipped down, pooling around your wide hips. You smirked at the taller man as he came closer, coming to a stop right in front of you, the tips of your bare feet touching his armoured ones. “Besides, who else has the money and technology to be Batman but you?! Also, you always disappear mid-parties, leaving me to the wolves.” You shrugged.

“I figured it out about two days after you hired me, Dick also talks in his sleep.” Bruce sighed, releasing a breathy laugh. He pulled his cowl off, not missing the way your breath caught in your throat at the sight revealed before you. His dark hair stuck up in a hundred different directions, his bright blue eyes shining in the dim light of the computers.

“And you haven’t told anyone?” You shook your head.

“Who would I tell, besides this is the best paying job I’ve had in years, I’m not giving this up just because my boss likes to run around like a depressed Superman.” His smile fell into a very immature pout.

“I’m not a depressed Superman, he’s a bootleg Batman.” You threw your head back in laughter. Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle along with you, glad to have this huge secret out in the open. He could share the burden on his shoulders with someone he was coming to truly care about.

Your laughter soon died out into the occasional giggle that made his heart skip a beat. “Well then, let’s get you patched up and tucked into bed with your boy.” You slipped from his chair, grabbing the pre prepared first aid kit on the desk as you did so. “I do have one condition about this whole thing.”

Like the lovesick puppy he was, Bruce followed you to the medical bed in the corner, eager to agree with anything you would ask if it meant you stayed. “Anything.” He replied without hesitation.

“Get me Aqua-man’s autograph, I think he’s really hot.” 

“You what?!” But you just laughed and walked away, leaving him in a pool of self-pity and unwavering adoration. Maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t be alone anymore. After he killed Aqua-man of course.

Request: She cracked the identity of Batman. “Come on, who else has the money and technology to be Batman but you?! Also, you always disappears mid-parties too many times.”

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[hunieday]

Oogami Banri 2024 RabbiTV - Episode 3 : From now and forever

Episode 1 - Episode 2 - Episode 3

Please note that I am not a professional translator and I'm only doing this to share the side materials to those who cannot access them, if you notice any mistakes please let me know nicely. Enjoy!

(Nakamise Street)

Utsugi Shiro: The hand-kneading pottery was so much fun! Though I didn’t think we’d almost be late to our reservation because of the cream puffs...

Anesagi Kaoru: Traveling is bound to have some accidents! I’m glad we managed to make something in the end. This was my first time trying something like that.

Takanashi Tsumugi: Was that really your first time!? You made such a beautiful teacup, I thought you were used to it!

Oogami Banri: You’re really good with your hands! I think I’ll use the platter I made to serve some side dishes for the president.

Okazaki Rinto: W-We did pretty good for our first time right, Takanashi-san?

Takanashi Tsumugi: Y-Yes! Though I tried to make a teacup like Anesagi-san’s and ended up with a bowl…B-but I managed somehow!

Utsugi Shiro: Okazaki-san’s vase was beautifully made as well.

Okazaki Rinto: It’s… a mug.

Utsugi Shiro: What!? Oops, sorry about that...!

Anesagi Kaoru: Now you can’t cover up your blunder?

Oogami Banri: Utsugi-san, you made a beer cup right?

Utsugi Shiro: Oh, yeah, I thought it would be nice for my evening drinks. I’ve been enjoying an ice cold beer after work lately.

Oogami Banri: I know exactly what you mean! I bet it’s gonna taste even better when you drink from a cup you made yourself.

Okazaki Rinto: You three—Oogami-san, Anesagi-san, and Utsugi-san—are so naturally skilled. I’m a little jealous...

Takanashi Tsumugi: But I’m sure we’ll be impressed with our work when we see the finished products! I can’t wait, Okazaki-san!

Okazaki Rinto: Yeah, Takanashi-san...!

Anesagi Kaoru: Hehe. They said they’ll be ready in about two months. Let’s all take pictures together again once they arrive!

Oogami Banri: Sounds good…! Um, talking about beer is making me crave one. Should we head out soon?

Utsugi Shiro: Sounds good! Looks like there are some food stalls too, let’s go check out the fireworks festival venue.

(Cut to the beach, Night time.)

Takanashi Tsumugi: Amazing…! This spot’s a hidden gem!

Anesagi Kaoru: It really is! There are no buildings blocking the view either. Looks like there aren’t that many people around here.

Oogami Banri: I’m looking forward to the fireworks!

Utsugi Shiro: Hey guys! Sorry for leaving you hanging! I bought all sorts of things for you.

Okazaki Rinto: We’ve got candy apples, chocolate bananas, cotton candy, yakisoba, and grilled squid!

Takanashi Tsumugi: Wow…! Thank you so much! Why does food from stalls always look so appealing?

Oogami Banri: The fact that we’re outside definitely makes it taste better.

Anesagi Kaoru: I still don’t know how you two managed to carry all that food by yourselves.

Okazaki Rinto: Utsugi-san kept buying more and more and just kept going, so we ended up with a lot!

Utsugi Shiro: Ahaha! That’s what makes festivals like these so much fun!

Anesagi Kaoru: Color me surprised. You’re the type of guy who looks more accustomed to city life.

Okazaki Rinto: Yeah, you have more of a “Fireworks? I’ll book a hotel room and watch them from a cool room” vibe!

Utsugi Shiro: Whaaat…Where did that image come from? Oogami-san, please say something!

Oogami Banri: Huh? Me!? Ermmm… let’s just have some beer for now.

Okazaki Rinto: Ah, sounds great! I’ll have a little tonight!

Utsugi Shiro: Count me in.

Anesagi Kaoru: Let’s toast with tea!

Takanashi Tsumugi: Yes! Cheers!

Oogami Banri: …I’m having so much fun. I’m so grateful to have been able to travel with you guys like this so many times.

Okazaki Rinto: Me too. Connections are important in this industry, not just vertically but also horizontally. We’re not just rivals, we’re also friends who get to bond like this.

Anesagi Kaoru: That’s true. There were so many situations that I wouldn’t have been able to overcome without your support.

Utsugi Shiro: Thank you so much. I’m so grateful to be included in your circle.

Oogami Banri: What are you talking about? We’re happy to have you here, Utsugi-san.

Takanashi Tsumugi: We form the Managers team!

Anesagi Kaoru: Hey, now that sounds fierce.

Takanashi Tsumugi: S-Sorry! I just thought it would be nice if we had a team name or something…

Okazaki Rinto: Managers team sounds cool!

Utsugi Shiro: The Managers’ mission for today is to enjoy the fireworks together!

Anesagi Kaoru: There’s no way you’re getting drunk already…

Oogami Banri: Ahaha! It’s been so long since I just relaxed and watched fireworks. Maybe not since high school...

Okazaki Rinto: Sounds nice. Were you with friends?

Oogami Banri: ...Yeah, with friends. We were heading to the station when the fireworks started, so we stopped to watch for a bit.

Oogami Banri: I remember their beautiful reflection on the sea.

Okazaki Rinto: Today’s fireworks will start near the sea so I’m sure they’ll reflect beautifully, just like that day!

Oogami Banri: Yes! I’m looking forward to it.

Anesagi Kaoru: It’s getting somewhat lively around here. Could it be starting soon?

Takanashi Tsumugi: I feel kinda giddy...!

*Boom!*

Oogami Banri: It’s starting!

Takanashi Tsumugi: It’s so beautiful...!

Okazaki Rinto: They’re so powerful!

Okazaki Rinto: Ta-ma-ya! (1)

Utsugi Shiro: Ka-gi-ya! (2)

Anesagi Kaoru: Look, there’s a firework shaped like a heart!

Takanashi Tsumugi: You’re right! It’s so cute...!

Oogami Banri: Amazing, they’re firing off in different shapes now!

Utsugi Shiro: I’m gonna do my best to make ŹOOĻ become the strongest idol group and take over the world!

Okazaki Rinto: Wow! Did you just make a wish?

Utsugi Shiro: I just felt like shouting something.

Anesagi Kaoru: Utsugi-san, that was wonderful! I’ll do the same.

Anesagi Kaoru: I’ll keep learning and growing as a skilled manager just like TRIGGER continues to grow every day!

Okazaki Rinto: Me too...! I hope I can keep growing stronger as Re:vale’s manager!

Takanashi Tsumugi: Um... And I’ll become even more powerful so I can continue supporting IDOLiSH7!

Oogami Banri: I’ll keep supporting MEZZO" so they can stay true to themselves forever!

Utsugi Shiro: The fireworks were so much fun!

Okazaki Rinto: I feel like I enjoyed them differently than usual, but I definitely gained energy from everyone!

Anesagi Kaoru: Well then, it’s about time for that, isn’t it? The crowd is leaving so let’s do it.

Takanashi Tsumugi: Yes! The video call is connected now!

Oogami Banri: Could it be...!

(Cut to the i7 Dorms)

Nanase Riku & Izumi Iori: Banri-san!

Rokuya Nagi & Izumi Mitsuki & Nikaido Yamato: Happy-!

Osaka Sougo & Yotsuba Tamaki: Birthday-!

Oogami Banri: Guys...! Thank you! I’m having an amazing time in Atami!

Nanase Riku: Wahh, I’m so glad to hear that! Banri-san, look, everyone from the other groups came here as well!

Anesagi Kaoru: You made it to work on time though, right?

Yaotome Gaku: Of course! We got it all done! Are you enjoying Atami?

Kujo Tenn: Hey, don’t push me. Anesagi-san, thank you for your hard work. I’m glad to see you look refreshed.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Ah, I can see the sea! Anesagi-san, you look like you’re having a lot of fun!

Momo: Okariiiiiin! We’re here too!

Yuki: Yo, how’s the night in Atami?

Okazaki Rinto: It’s amazing! I’m having a great time thanks to you!

Inumaru Touma: Utsugi-san! Are you enjoying yourself?

Mido Torao: You got a great view of the fireworks, right?

Utsugi Shiro: Hey guys! We’re having an amazing time! Let’s come together next time.

Natsume Minami: Gladly. I’ll conquer the food stalls.

Isumi Haruka: I’m definitely gonna have a candy apple!

Izumi Mitsuki: We were talking about how jealous we were of the managers attending a festival, so we’re gonna have one here as well!

Nikaido Yamato: Grilled corn on the cob, fried chicken, grilled chicken skewers, yakisoba, we even got beer! It’s way too good.

Rokuya Nagi: TRIGGER brought a shaved ice machine too. Dessert is perfect now!

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: I’m glad we brought it! We have plenty of syrup too.

Yotsuba Tamaki: Me and Isumin also made a ring toss mini-game out of cardboard!

Isumi Haruka: This is actually pretty fun! It’s a bit difficult to make the rings though...

Osaka Sougo: I’m working on the BGM with Touma. Of course “Danshi Tarumono! (Matsuri)’ is a must.

Inumaru Touma: I end up humming it unconsciously! Maybe we should just loop it!

Yaotome Gaku: Thanks, you two! “NATSU☆Shiyouze!” and ŹOOĻ’s “BLACK TIGER” also got me pumped up!

Izumi Iori: Natsume-san and Mido-san also helped with the decoration. I must say we have quite the unique drawings over here…

Natsume Minami: Hehe. Here’s a king pudding in a yukata.

Mido Torao: There’s also a pudding wearing a happi coat. (3)

Momo: Leave the drink management to Momo-chan’s team! Yuki the Bartender will make the best drinks!

Yuki: Hello. I’m Yuki the Bartender.

Nanase Riku: We’re having a great time over here as well! Right, Tenn-nii?

Kujo Tenn: Yeah. It’s been a while since the two of us attended a festival together, Riku.

Izumi Iori: Don’t forget the other fourteen people in this room ...Well then, Nanase-san, let’s get to the main topic.

Nanase Riku: Oh! That’s right!

Nanase Riku: Umm, we’d like to express our gratitude to all the managers for constantly having our backs! Let’s start with Momo-san!

Momo: Yeeees! Okarin, you always believe in us and push us to do our best! We are always saved by your reliability. Please continue to be our best manager forever!

Kujo Tenn: Anesagi-san, you’re an indispensable presence as we continue to walk our path. We’d be happy if you continue supporting us as we rise to even greater heights.

Isumi Haruka: You know... Utsugi-san is always there for us no matter what. You’re the reason we are able to do our best. Thank you.

Nanase Riku: Manager, Banri-san, thank you for always being there for us. We will always love you!

Nanase Riku: One, two!

TRIGGER & IDOLiSH7 & Re:vale & ZOOL: Thank you for loving us so much! Please continue to support us in the future!

Oogami Banri: Guys...!

Takanashi Tsumugi: Likewise, thank you so much!! I’ll keep doing my best to support you all!

Anesagi Kaoru: You guys have done so much for us today. I’ll do everything in my power to protect your brilliance.

Okazaki Rinto: I am very proud to be Momo-kun and Yuki-kun’s manager. I will protect you guys with my life!

Utsugi Shiro: I’m truly grateful to have met you. ŹOOĻ is the strongest and dearest existence for me.

Oogami Banri: Thank you so much today. I really love all of you!

Oogami Banri: I’ll continue to support all of you forever and always!

End of Episode 3.

(1) & (2) Traditional words shouted while viewing fireworks.

(3) Happi: Traditional Japanese coat

[lilacura]

Apocalypse

pairing: Kim Minji x Reader

>wc: 1.6k

summary: Childhood friends Minji and Y/N grow distant after high school, a silent grief replacing the laughter that once defined their bond. Unspoken words and the weight of separation leave them prisoners of a fading friendship and an unexpressed love, drowning in the sorrow of what once was.

based off of the song 'apocalypse' by cigarettes after sex

your lips my lips 

apocalypse 

From the moment Kim Minji and Y/N met on the playground, a friendship blossomed that was destined to withstand the test of time. Childhood for them was a kaleidoscope of laughter, scraped knees, and shared ice cream cones on sweltering summer afternoons.

Their afternoons were often spent in the treehouse at the end of Y/N's backyard, a sanctuary built with mismatched planks and scavenged nails. Seated on worn-out cushions, the two friends concocted fantastical stories, their imaginations intertwining like the branches outside their secret haven.

"Do you think fairies live in this tree?" Minji once wondered, her eyes wide with wonder.

Y/N grinned, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. "Absolutely! And I bet they're the ones who make our wishes come true."

In the quiet moments that followed the sun's descent, casting a warm, golden glow over their neighborhood, Minji and Y/N would find solace in each other's homes. The murmur of late-night conversations beneath the blanket forts, illuminated by dim flashlights, held an unspoken depth that echoed the profound connection they shared.

Lazy Sunday mornings saw them pedaling through the streets, laughter reverberating off the walls like an echo of their unspoken bond. The local park, their shared kingdom, witnessed battles fought with imaginary swords and capes, victories celebrated over melting popsicles, concealing a subtle undercurrent of emotions left unexplored.

Minji's infectious energy danced with Y/N's calm demeanor, creating a harmonious balance between them. They were two halves of a perfect whole, their intertwined lives revealing a friendship rooted in a profound mutual understanding. As the years unfolded, the beauty of their connection remained intact, its uncharted depths harboring the unspoken truth that both harbored a love too delicate to voice, too scared to disrupt the fragile balance they'd created.

go and sneak us through the rivers

flood is rising up on your knees

oh please 

Drawn by the moonlit allure, Minji and Y/N found themselves at a secluded river. The night embraced them as they waded into the cool, flowing waters, a symphony of crickets and rustling leaves providing the backdrop to their clandestine escapade.

In the soft glow of moonlight, they played like carefree spirits. Giggles and laughter echoed along the riverbanks as they began splashing each other with water, the joy of the moment lighting up their faces. Each ripple created by their laughter seemed to carry away the weight of unspoken words, replaced by the simple delight of being together.

As the moon painted a silver path on the water's surface, they engaged in a playful dance, their laughter harmonizing with the gentle murmur of the river. Water droplets sparkled in the moonlight as Minji and Y/N, caught in the magic of the night, shared secret glances that spoke volumes without uttering a word.

Giggles became an unspoken language, and the river witnessed the beauty of their uninhibited joy. The night, with its whispers and reflections, carried away any fears or uncertainties, leaving behind the essence of a shared laughter that would resonate in the depths of their friendship for years to come.

come out and haunt me 

i know you want me

come out and haunt me

 Minji and Y/N found themselves immersed in a game of hide and seek. The vibrant greenery of the backyard served as their playground, and the air buzzed with the excited anticipation of a childhood game.

Minji, the seeker, closed her eyes and counted, her small fingers covering her face. As she finished counting, she eagerly ventured into the backyard, searching for her hidden friend. Amidst the giggles and rustling leaves, Y/N crouched behind a sturdy oak tree, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of the game.

As Minji roamed the garden, she eventually stood before the tree where Y/N was hiding. A mischievous glint shone in Minji's eyes as she pretended not to see her best friend, gazing around with feigned confusion.

"Hmm, where could Y/N be hiding?" Minji mused aloud, her tone exaggerated for effect.

From behind the tree, Y/N stifled a giggle, trying to stay hidden. "Maybe she's behind the shed?" Minji suggested, making deliberate, theatrical glances in all directions, except towards Y/N.

The charade continued, each feigned search making Y/N's concealed position all the more amusing. "Not behind the flower bed either," Minji declared, peering into the bushes while Y/N bit her lip to contain her laughter.

Just as Minji turned away, Y/N couldn't resist a playful whisper, "Am I that good at hiding, or are you just playing along?"

Minji, maintaining the act, glanced around dramatically before lowering her voice conspiratorially. "You're a master hider, Y/N. I might never find you."

Y/N burst into laughter, unable to contain it any longer. Minji joined in, and the backyard echoed with the joyous sounds of their shared amusement. The oak tree, a silent witness, stood tall as the keeper of this delightful childhood secret—a moment where playful deception only deepened the bonds of friendship.

sharing all your secrets with each other 

since you were kids

Beneath the oak tree's comforting branches, Minji and Y/N found solace in the whispered echoes of shared secrets that spanned the years.

"In this big universe, I always dreamed of being an astronaut," Y/N confided, her voice carrying a wistful tone that danced with the rustling leaves overhead.

Minji, gazing into the distance, responded, "And I wanted to be the person to make everyone laugh, you know? But lately, it feels like the weight of expectations is suffocating."

Their shared dreams and fears became the currency of their confidences, an unspoken pact forged through time.

Years later, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Y/N confessed, "Love is a beautiful mess, isn't it? I thought it would be like the movies, but it's more like navigating a storm without a compass."

Minji, with a subtle nod, replied, "It's hard, Y/N. Relationships are messy, but we'll navigate those storms together."

The oak tree, a silent guardian of their shared intimacies, bore witness to more profound revelations.

In a moment of vulnerability, Minji confessed, "I'm terrified of failing, of not living up to everyone's expectations. What if I'm not enough?"

Y/N, her voice gentle, responded, "You're more than enough, Minji. You always have been."

The oak tree, a testament to the passage of time and the fragility of dreams, stood witness to the ebb and flow of their lives. The rustling leaves overhead seemed to carry with them the bittersweet symphony of a friendship that weathered storms, embraced joys, and mourned the innocence lost to the ticking clock.

sleeping soundly with the locket that she gave you 

clutched in your fist 

High school arrived like a cold, unwelcome wind, disrupting the warmth of Minji and Y/N's inseparable bond. The day of Minji's departure unfolded with a heavy heart, tears flowing freely, marking the beginning of a soul-crushing farewell.

Amidst the quiet rustle of leaves beneath the oak tree, Minji and Y/N clung to each other, their tear-streaked faces a poignant reflection of the impending void. The laughter that once painted the air with joy now dissolved into heart-wrenching sobs, the weight of separation settling like a relentless ache.

"I'll miss you so much, Minji," Y/N whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of unspoken sadness.

Minji, choking back tears, pressed a small locket into Y/N's hands. "Take this. So you'll always have a piece of me with you."

As Minji's departure became a distant memory, the shared sanctuary beneath the oak tree transformed into a haunting relic of their unbridled friendship. Nights became a silent procession of tears, Y/N clutching the special locket Minji had given her. The cold metal offered a fragile connection to the warmth of their shared past.

In the dim light before sleep, Y/N wept, the memories of Minji flooding her thoughts. "Why did you have to go?" she whispered to the empty room, her cries muffled by the suffocating loneliness.

The oak tree, once a witness to their laughter, now stood as a stoic sentinel of the pain that lingered. The locket, a tangible piece of Minji's presence, became the only solace in the lonely hours. Y/N would hold it close, tracing its contours with trembling fingers, each delicate detail a painful reminder of the friend who slipped away with the inexorable march of time.

you’ve been locked in here forever

and you just can’t say goodbye

Years passed like a heavy fog, enveloping the once-vibrant friendship of Minji and Y/N in an eerie silence. Laughter, once the heartbeat of their connection, faded into a haunting echo, replaced by a vast emptiness.

The warmth that once defined their camaraderie now lay dormant beneath layers of unsaid words, the distance between them stretching like an unbridgeable abyss. The bond that had weathered childhood storms now seemed fragile, hanging by the thinnest thread of memories.

In the lonely expanse of their separate worlds, Minji and Y/N wrestled with the relentless ache of unspoken sentiments. Each passing day etched lines of longing on their hearts, like scars that refused to heal. The desire to reach out, to rekindle the friendship that time had worn thin, lingered like an unfulfilled promise.

Yet, the weight of silence prevailed. Both Minji and Y/N stood on the precipice of reaching out, fingers hovering over the keyboard or poised to make a call, only to withdraw. The love that once flowed freely between them had become a silent river, carrying the weight of what was lost.

Night after night, they lay awake, tormented by the echoes of what they could no longer say. The words, heavy with unspoken affection, hung in the air, forming an unbreakable barrier. They yearned to let go, to sever the invisible tether that bound them to a past slipping away like grains of sand through clenched fists.

Yet, the fear of disrupting the fragile equilibrium held them captive. And so, in the silence that echoed louder than any conversation they never had, Minji and Y/N found themselves prisoners of a love they couldn't let go, and a friendship that refused to be forgotten.

a/n: i hope ur ready to cry

[monzamash]

“i thought you’d at least ask me to be your valentine…” “we’ve been together for three years, i thought that was a given.” + Daniel ❤️

summ. – cinema date night and ice cream with daniel rating – mature (sexual references) word count – 736 masterlist

“That was one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen.”

Daniel’s hand was intertwined with yours as he guided you through the popcorn-scented foyer, cap covering his unruly curls and praying he didn’t get recognised. Cinemas were usually on the no-go zone for the two of you, just for the simple fact that Daniel couldn’t really go anywhere without getting hounded and there had been a couple of occasions where things got a little out of hand. But you had suggested a movie night and he never wanted to shoot down your ideas, especially if it meant spending a couple of hours with you in the dark.

“The worst!” You laughed, “J-Lo really deserved better – honestly, I didn't think it would be that bad… then it got violent and weird so I’m sorry for dragging you out for that.”

Daniel shook his head fervently, “No way – you could literally drag me to the depths of hell, which you will, and I’d be happy.”

He was sweet, naughty but sweet as he pulled you closer into his side, unclasping your hands and wrapping his arm around your shoulder now that the path was clear. Stepping in perfect time.

It was chillier than you expected in Hollywood and you were grateful for his warmth. You could always rely on Daniel for that extra bit of body heat whenever you needed it, sharing is caring he would always say before wrapping you up like a burrito. The two of you walked for a couple of blocks, pointing out all of the interesting characters tumbling out of restaurants after too many glasses of wine and admiring the bright neon signs until Daniel stopped at a quaint, hole in the wall ice-cream shop on the strip.

You both picked up a waffle cone each, the overloaded ice cream already melting down the sides before you’d even left the store. Daniel had requested salted caramel, you chose boysenberry – both happily content with your choices as you continued to walk back the few blocks to your car.

“We really don’t do this enough, baby. Just you and me, pounding the late night pavement,” Daniel joked through his sincerity like he always did, licking his cone and glancing down at you.

“Maybe we have been a little stuck in our ways but when you’re home, I just want you all to myself,” You reasoned, bumping your shoulder into his arm gently and making him chuckle, “If I could lock you up and throw away the key I would.”

“Kinky,” Daniel quipped back before taking another spoonful of ice cream into his smirking mouth, “I thought you would’ve at least asked me to be your Valentine. So mean…” He trailed off, taunting.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes before glancing up at your pain in the arse boyfriend, “Honey, we’ve been together for three years, I thought that was a given!”

“Still hurts, babe. Like a knife through the heart,” He grimaced and held his free hand to his chest, putting on a show for you and the couples sitting at the restaurant you were walking past.

“Poor little Danny,” You mocked quietly and grasped the hand that was still clutching his broken heart, “What could I ever do to make it up to you?”

He chuckled at your sultry voice and innocent eyes act you were playing up for him, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to really look at you. For a second, he thought he was dreaming. A Valentine's Day spent physically with you was like Christmas and his birthday all rolled into one. He never cared about the stupid holiday before he met you but now, standing here with you in the windy Los Angeles streets, he cared more than anything. Daniel loved you.

“I can think of a couple'a things… but a kiss would be nice.”

You didn’t hesitate to step forward and press a slow, tender kiss to his lips. They were soft and sweet from the sugary toppings, both flavours of your ice cream mixing together as he snaked his arm around your waist, holding you close. You didn’t need a rom-com to tell you what true love felt like.

You were experiencing it right there, on Hollywood Boulevard.

a/n – i love writing danny ric so much, thank you for the request!

[donkey-hyuck]

UNDERSTAND:: jjh

idol!au | uni student!reader | strangers-2-lovers!au | fluff

“maybe we could try it if you let me

take you by the hand

you’re the only one who understands” - keshi

TW: food | profanity | lowercase letters

————

~ the night had shimmied it’s way to cover the now dark sky. you and your friends were out at some seven-eleven down the suburban street, taking a break from studying and watching all of the boys play their late night games on the court.

your friends’ lover had invited the two of you to watch him and his teammates play for a bit before going back to stuff your brain of information that may or may not pique your interest.

the two of you had now been sitting on one of the old beat-up benches with your ice cream slowly melting due to the humidity of the hot summer air.

all of the boys were goofing off and constantly teasing each other and their laughs (as well as you and your friends’) echoed through the open air. however the laughing came to a brief hault when a group of about four men asked to join a game. to which the boys boisterously agreed.

the game was neck and neck. not that you were keeping count, your friend was actually doing it for them but you knew they were tied. you could feel it. and by the time someone had finally scored a point (it was a three pointer by the group of four men), everyone was wiping their sweat and congratulating them with ‘good game.’

the group of men had left their belongings on the bench the two of you were sitting on. they were all handsome, that was for sure. even in their sweaty glory. and you hadn’t realized you were staring until you felt a slight puncture in your ribs from your friend.

“hi,” said the first, who appeared to have dimples painting his already beautiful face. the man had told his friends that he would catch up with them later as he turned back to you with his undivided attention.

“hi,” you awkwardly smiled back, looking at your friend who told you she was going with the boys.

the night long carried on, and the summer night breeze felt just perfect in a moment like this. you had learned the man’s name was yoon-oh (he prefaced that he preferred jaehyun, though.)

the conversation which the two of you were having was completely and utterly random. laughs and little bits of teasing were shared, and you don’t know if it’s because of the summer air or because you had been locked up in your dorm for the past couple of days studying for your finals, but something flickered. maybe not physically but emotionally, something was there and you knew you both felt it.

unfortunately all good things must come to an end. when jaehyun had received a phone call from his manager did your encounter finally come to an end.

“oh my god, it’s already one in the morning!” he laughed, “have we really been talking for that long?”

you took out your phone from your back pocket to confirm the time. and it was almost two in the morning. you both laughed out loud, too shocked that you got carried away in your conversation that really was not important. but it was important to you, and you hoped he felt the same way.

“when can i see you again?” he asked, pupils dilated as he took in everything he could of you.

“any time you want, really,” you replied, as he took your phone out of your hand and put his number in your contacts list.

“i’ll call you,” you nodded at his words as he walks further and further away. you can feel the freedom walking away with him.

—

every encounter with yoon-oh has been an absolute dream. he makes you feel like you again. he makes you feel free and he makes you feel incredibly happy. and he can say the same thing about you. everyone, even the makeup artists, can tell that his mood had just been uplifted. although they, of course, don’t know the reason behind it. they also don’t know that the reason is a person— you— rather than an item.

and you remember the exact moment.

he held you close, under the stars as the condensation escapes your noses. and this moment feels different. it feels raw. you’re facing him now, and he can see all the stars reflecting in your gorgeous eyes. he laughs, looking at the ground, not believing that he’s doing this now.

“what’s wrong?” you chuckle, gaining his attention back.

“i thought i’d be too scared to ever tell you this. and to be honest, i’m still shitting my pants right now. you make me feel nervous and calm all at the same time.”

you’re confused on where he’s going with this. he’s a great friend, but friends don’t hang out the way you two do, do they? friends don’t look at each other the way you two do.

he lets out a sigh before taking a step closer and shoving his sweaty hands in his coat pocket. “i cant believe i’m doing this,” he mutters underneath his breath, although you can hear him and it makes you laugh.

“doing what?” your nose scrunches, as you observe his stance. oh no, are things going to get awkward now?

“i like you… like- a lot,” he pauses, “… and maybe- if you want- i’d like it if we tried. if we can be together because that’s all i want and i know that’s all you want. our friendship was brief, i know- and it might be even shorter after me saying this to you- but none of it matters. even if you and i aren’t meant to be, i was eternally grateful to have met you… i still am, and i think i forever will be.”

your smile lights up with every word that escapes the beautiful man’s lips. he has so much to say and you think he still has more. although you know the answer to his upcoming question.

“you understand me. in ways i never even thought of. you’ve helped me escape my shell and you’ve helped me when i never even knew i needed help. our time had been short, yet i still long to be with you for as long as you’ll have me. you understand me and my feelings, and my heart, and my soul with every fiber in your being and i don’t know how much more i can handle. please, i want to create more memories with you. but i want to create them as a couple. [y/n], will you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?”

jaehyun has truly never talked as much as he did that night. and you enjoyed every moment of it. with the whistling of the winter wind, the hot air escaping his lips, and the thumping sound of your heart, you knew the answer. you knew the answer when you first met, as if you knew this was going to happen.

jaehyun feels as though he was going to cry. he had never had a moment like this happen to him ever. his feelings were just too overwhelming and he didn’t no how much longer he could last. he’s looking down at the ground once more, and he hears you step closer to him. you cup the side of his face to finally catch a glimpse of him. and in that moment, he never realized how undeniably in love with you he was. every stare, every touch, and every word has meanings he will never understand. his feelings are overwhelmed in that moment. he remembers.

and it’s in that moment that he will cherish you, your relationship, and the late winter nights as you close the gap you oh-so needed to close.

you had both understood everything the other person wanted and words didn’t even have to be exchanged.

you had understood the underlying feelings you had stowed away from the man since you first met.

jaehyun understood the true meaning of life, because he now had you.

[awitcheress]

So I've been watching way too many cooking shows on Facebook and Instagram lately..

Geraskier modern AU - non magical. Part 1.

Geralt is homeless and has been for most of his life. Jaskier is not. In fact, his family is filthy rich. But they don't approve of what he wants in life which is to be a Michelin star gourmet chef. He's been cooking his entire life because when he was a kid, his parents pretty much made sure he studied, but apart from that they didn't care much. (Very original premise, I know... Lol.)

But the one person who did care for him was the chef of the household. An elderly man who lost his son and wife, when the son was only a small child, so Jaskier and the chef find each other immediately and form a strong bond. Even as a very young boy, Jaskier shows much talent in cooking.

Then, when Jaskier turns eighteen, Chef dies. Jaskier is devastated by his loss and he equates everything good and loving with food. So, he wants to go to culinary school to continue learning to become as skilled at cooking as Chef.

When his parents refuse to allow him this (Surprise!), Jaskier runs away. Unfortunately, he has no way to survive and ends up homeless and alone. For long, miserable weeks, he starves and suffers cold weather, nowhere to feel safe, no one to trust.

Sometimes he even considers returning to Lettenhove...

One day, late at night, he is cornered by a big, muscular man, who beats him up and tries to rape him. It's too dark for Jaskier to see what the man looks like. There have been instances of rape/murders all over Novigrad. Jaskier is convinced he is going to die, when two other men appear and chase Jaskier's attackers away.

Jaskier is profoundly grateful to these two men who introduce themselves as Geralt and Eskel. Well, Eskel introduces them. Geralt only mumbles... (naturally)

Eskel tells Geralt to accompany Jaskier to the city watchmen. He does, but it's useless. Homeless people being raped and murdered? Just as well. It'll clean up the city streets is their attitude.

Geralt doesn't seem surprised. Regardless, Upon leaving, Jaskier chatters away with Geralt. He relies his life's story in two minutes flat 😂 as Geralt "hms" and grunts in his own inimitable way. Jaskier is not deterred. He's in love.

This gruff, tall and broad shouldered man is Jaskier's knight in...tattered old black clothing. His hair is long and the color of the palest cream, and he is absolutely breathtaking. Geralt has a voice that rumbles deep in his chest when he chooses to say something. His legs are long and powerful, his eyes like liquid honey... Geralt's arms are sinewy and strong. Oh dear, Jaskier has to stop himself from melting like ice cream left out in the sun...

Geralt helps introduce Jaskier to the people at the homeless shelter, and he's offered a bed there. Geralt leaves and, again, Jaskier is alone. The shelter is nothing like what he's used to from home, but it's eons better than the last few weeks on the street. He has a roof over his head, even if he has to share living space with others.

Thus, the loneliness is gone quite rapidly. Jaskier meets several people there, among them, Vesemir, who runs the soup kitchen. When he finds out that Jaskier likes to cook, Vesemir invites him to help.

Soon his life is changed into something so different, he feels his head spinning, and Jaskier's days are a million times better. He has access to showers, a bathroom, clean water, he's gets to eat at least once a day. And, cooking, something he loves to do so much, is actually helping others. The love is back in his life.

And then, of course, there's Geralt. Speaking to him, and listening to others, Jaskier learns that Geralt, despite his gruff nature, is a good man who patrols the streets with his brothers, Eskel and Lambert. They're trying to help keep the homeless safe, but there are so many of them...

Several young, homeless, slender and pretty men, like Jaskier, are raped and murdered. Jaskier's description of the man who attacked him is shaky at best... "Big and strong" fits even Geralt and his brothers. The only one who wasn't there is Lambert, who is a bit of a prick.

Geralt and Jaskier over time becomes friends if a sort but Geralt is not responding to Jaskier's attempts at flirting.

A year goes by, and one day, Geralt finds Jaskier in the kitchen with big news....

[cheeseburgersinparadise]

Well, I did have a pretty good stuffing week that's had me reeling like a desperately horny pile of fat since Tuesday.

So the real beginning is Sunday to be honest. One of the bars I work in had an employee party and invited me. It was an open bar and unlimited tacos. So I ate and drank to my heart's content while also not making a public spectacle of myself (even though I really wanted to) that kind of set the stage for the days to come.

I didn't really eat at all on monday during the day and felt not so great from being a bit hungover. But I had to go to work monday night. So I hoofed it into the city to do my job. I work late nights as a karaoke host at a few bars, so I usually dont get home until about 1:30 or 2am. It was monday night but it was also my workweek Friday. So, I had my usual big restauraunt salad at work (its a sizeable buffalo chicken salad) but I was feeling the horngryness brewing. When I got home I was feeling so hungry I made a much bigger dinner than usual. Full tray of chicken thighs, full rice cooker and an abundance of squash. My gf didn't really question it and I ended up eating some very sizeable portions. I stayed up all night so I could take her son to school, and on my way home I decided to get some mcdonalds. I got 4 breakfast sandwiches and a large OJ. Not really that much for me. It was somewhat satisfying but not nearly enough. So I went and bought two quarts of heavy whipping cream and a dozen good old school donut shop donuts. They donuts were huge so I only had 6 of them. And I chugged both quarts. I passed out and woke up in the evening. Now feeling completely ravenous. Like really starting to swing into ultimate feedee mode. My gf and I went out that night. We ate at the bar (They have great chicken wings and street tacos) and then on our way home I decided it was a good idea to get some Carl's Jr. It was nothing too crazy. Just a large Superstar meal with fried zucchini, a shake, and two double jalapeño burgers. That's like a good fill me up meal and not really a stuffing. I was pleased, but not really "satisfied." I had a couple more donuts. Then in the morning I took her son to school and still got another 4 breakfast burgers and OJ. Wednesday, I woke up and we decided to go on an Ikea date. We had been meaning to go cause she had never been, and I wanted some of those meatballs. So we eat our meatballs. We share a plate so we dont spend much. We just wanted a taste. And when we get back in the car she decides to suprise me with weed and all you can eat korrean bbq. Which sends me over the edge. I was so excited. We go get a keef rolled, oil infused ridiculousness joint and head to the restaurant. We smoke in the parking lot and head inside only to find our favorite "couple" friends sitting the restaurant. At this point I am fucking elated. Not only am I going to pig out, I get to do it in front of people. This is like fantasy level stuff, and I am just so excited. Now, these friends are the one who intorduces us to the restaurant. She is a BBW who knows how to eat. He is a really skinny guy... Who also knows how to eat. My gf is midsized and not a big eater, but she can indulge a little sometimes. We blow through probably 4 rounds of meat and sides (with me eating the majority of it) and If youve done the korean bbq experience thats a lot of food. By round five everyone starts tapping out and I have gone into overdrive mode. I'm eating quickly and I've hit that sweet spot of the seemingly never ending gut. By the end it was just me and my BBW friend and everyone was giving me their leftovers. She finally tapped out and I finished the final round on my own. Then still proceeded to eat Mochi ice cream for dessert. I was fucking crazy stuffed. I was almost delirious. Stoned out of my mind and my gut was going crazy. It settled a bit on the way home and I made her stop for a large double guacamole burger from Carl's jr. And then we still stopped at winco to get two more quarts of heavy whipping cream. I ate my fast food and drank my 2 quarts of cream and I was fucking bursting at the seams. I still got mcdonalds the next morning and more heavy cream and a large jamba juice cause I was feeling greedy and extra gluttonous. It was insane. My belly is still bloated. Oof.

Typing it out is crazy cause it does read like a fantasy I've had many times. It was amazing and surreal. I just wish my gf had been as excited about it as I was. 🙃

Oh my goddddd this is so hot

it’s also sounds incredible. I wish I could have seen it 😩

you look absolutely swollen and beached it’s so hot 🥵🥵

[somethingkindazainy]

♡ Pairing: Minho x Jisung ♤ Genre: Mafia AU, Romeo x Romeo ♢ Chapter Warnings: Violence, foul language throughout ♧ MINORS DNI

♤ ♡ TASTE Synopsis & Chapter List ♢ ♧

♤ ♡ ♢ ♧ Chapter 2 - The DLC >>

Chapter 1: Parley

♤ ♡September 2024♢ ♧

Jisung rolls the ice in his crystal glass. 

He’s never had patience. Waiting doesn’t suit him. 

Nothing about this suits him. 

He is sat at the head of a long, mirror-polished, oak table, staring absently at the oil painting above the ornate fireplace. It’s an old piece, all cracked, yellow varnish and soot stains. It depicts a river surrounded by Italian architecture of some place called Verona. It’s bleak and boring and Jisung hates it.

He hates everything about this room. From the long, elegant cream curtains draped over tall windows, the marble busts and antique vases on plinths, to the smell of wood polish and leather. Everything carefully chosen and displayed to say; see what we can afford? See how powerful we have become?

Mostly though, he hates the dark and dingy painting above the horrible marble fireplace. That, and the collar of his shirt.

“Leave it,” Chris says now as Jisung hooks his finger into the collar, trying to make room for his airway.

“I hate this,” Jisung whines, his shirt as soft as cardboard. How do Chris and Jeongin dress like this everyday? “Are they late yet?”

“They still have fifteen minutes,” Changbin says from the bar at the corner as he necks a shot of soju. He’s uncomfortable too, though Jisung knows that it’s not because of his suit. It’s being here, in this place. “They’ll be on time. Perfectly punctual.”

“I said leave it,” Chris smacks the back of Jisung's hand. Jisung sticks his tongue out at him but complies. Dropping his hand on the table. Chris sighs, “And can you cool it with the alcohol? I need you on your toes.”

“We’re meeting with the Clowder's,” Changbin says, “I’m gonna drink.”

The Clowder's are the only family his family, the Lobos, have ever considered a real threat. They shared a visceral loathing of one another. Decades ago, with some ancestor or other, in a bid to end bloodshed, the families agreed to stay away from each other. They divided up Seoul city into theirs and ours and that’s all Jisung has ever known. Which streets he could walk and which ones to steer clear of. 

Arranging parley with any opposing family or faction has never been easy, and they were almost never pleasant. But the parley’s Jisung had sat in on before always had the same advantages; they are the most powerful. They are the most influential. They hold sway. Those meetings went the way they wanted them to go because, ultimately, the Lobos are better. But with the Clowder’s…well, it’s like looking through muddy water. They’re pretty evenly matched, financially and influentially.

Parley’s between the two families have always been a blue moon event, but even Jisung knows that blue moons happen more frequently. Aside from that awful night almost exactly one month ago, the previous parley between the two families had happened when their mother was fourteen years old. Which, to Jisung's mind, means anywhere between 30 and a thousand years ago. 

That didn’t mean that the families didn’t communicate. Occasionally, a matter would occur where representatives from each house would have to liaise about potential issues. For example, if a gang member was getting lippy, you’d want to check whether they had affiliation with the other family before dealing out a bit of ‘justice’. It’s the honourable, gentlemanly, thing to do after all.

Cool, calm, level-headed Chris has always been the representative, or official go-between. Working in the background, keeping things peaceful. Apparently, keeping peace between opposing families is easier than between his own brothers as Changbin and Jeongin exchange expletives.

“Give me strength,” Chris directs his plea to the gold leaf rose on the high ceiling, “it’s a parley. We’ve had them before.”

“Not with that family,” Changbin says, as he necks his third shot in as many minutes. “It’s a big fucking mistake. Especially after the fucking…” he waves a hand above his head trying to capture the word, “—kerfuffle we had the other month.”

“Kerfuffle?” Jeongin chuckles. He’s leaning back in his chair, idly spinning his switchblade on his palm, flipping it around his long fingers. He tips his head back to look at Changbin upside down, pointing lazily at Jisung, “It’s this mi-chin nom’s fault that it became a ‘kerfuffle’.”

Jisung groans. Chris reaches over to fix Jisung’s tie.

“Don’t listen to them, Hannie,” Chris says, and his tone could be mistaken for that of sincere brotherly affection, if he wasn’t currently garroting Jisung with his own fucking tie. “It’s because of your actions that today is possible.”

Jisung groans again.

“You’ve got this. Just stick to the margins Mother agreed and you’ll be fine.” He straightens Jisung's (borrowed) gold tie clip, pats his chest.

“What if I fuck up?”

“Then we’ll laugh,” Jeongin says, giggling.

“No we fucking won’t,” Changbin says, “Don’t you fucking laugh, Innie.”

Jeongin grins at him.

“You won’t fuck up,” Chris says. “Just stick to what we rehearsed. Stick to the margins Mother set out—”

“She’s punishing me,” Jisung is thinking more about her forcing him to wear a suit and cuff links when he says it. Which makes him seem vain, and he decides he probably is. 

“She’s… refocusing you. She wants you to be more… inclined to the family business,” Chris, ever the diplomat, chooses his words carefully, but he doesn’t look at all happy about it. 

“She, she, she,” Changbin says bitterly from behind them. “You’d jump off the Han River bridge if that woman—”

Chris throws Changbin a look that instantly silences him.

Jeongin snorts, “Want me to share with her that you called her ‘that woman’? You won’t be jumping off any bridge, but pushed, wearing concrete shoes.” He raises a hand, his grin wide and his eyes mere slits, “I volunteer to do the pushing.”

Changbin grins sweetly at him, casually pulls his suit jacket aside, revealing his shoulder holster and an ominous glint of silver.

“Try it,” Jeongin is still smiling, flipping his switchblade to point in Changbin's direction. 

“Shut the fuck up, both of you,” Chris snaps. He scratches absently at his scarred eyebrow. His cheeks puff out as he exhales. “You,” he points at Changbin, stop drinking. “And you,” he directs his finger to Jeongin, “Put that away before I find somewhere to put it,” he enunciates the last two words, arching his eyebrow, the threat silent but very loud of where the knife may be put.

Jeongin closes the blade, slips it into the shoulder holster he wears under his waistcoat. Whilst Chris is distracted, Changbin necks another shot.

Distantly, there is the sound of barking. Jisung stiffens. 

“Okay,” Chris rises to his feet, buttoning up his jacket before he adjusts his own tie. “Remember, stick to the margins. You’ll be fine. You won’t have any trouble with Nikko. He’s a pussy cat.”

“They’re all pussies,” Jeongin says as he stands, pulling his jacket from the back of his chair and shaking it out before he pulls it on. Changbin comes to stand on Jisung's right, silently fixes Jeongin’s suit collar.

Taking their lead, Jisung starts to rise, but Chris claps a hand on his shoulder. “No, you’re tabling, so you stay seated. We sit after the guests do.”

“Don’t call them guests,” Changbin says as he rolls his shoulders. “Fuck me. Calling them ‘guests’ suggests that we are about to have a fucking tea party.”

“Intruders?” Jeongin offers, dropping a hand into one of his trouser pockets. He’s all legs and perfect skin and glossy hair and elegance. It’s so fucking unfair. How the fuck did his parents let this kid go?

“No, ‘intruders’ suggests that I’m allowed to dispatch them. Don’t put that idea in my head.”

They smile wryly at each other. Chris clears his throat. It’s a final warning.

Jisung tries to straighten up in the uncomfortable leather of the hard chair. Maybe this is why his shirt is overly starched? As he squares his shoulders, raises his head, he can breathe a little easier. Funny thing that.

Distantly, he hears car doors, footsteps on gravel, stone steps, then the marble tiles of the entrance hall. He interlaces his hands together on the table in front of him. In part, to try and give him an air of authority, but mostly to try and stop his hands shaking.

“Show time,” Chris says, folding his hands in front of his belt. From down here, Chris cuts an impressive figure with his broad shoulders and squared jaw. And again, Jisung wonders why the hell he is standing, when he should be sat here, at the head of the table.

The large oak double doors swing in and open, held there by two minders, all dark suits and intimidation their guns openly displayed. Then enter the ‘guests’.

Jisung knows them, mostly by reputation.

Hwang “The Artist” Hyunjin, swift and lethal, who, like Jisung and Jeongin, favours bladed weapons. In the daylight, he’s taller than Jisung remembers. All lithe and elegant, with long blonde hair and serious eyes.

Lee “Bright Smile” Yongbokki, who prefers to be called Felix, which is fitting, since he’s a cat. Hand-to-hand combat specialist, with black belts in various martial arts. A pocket sized pain in the hole. Unfairly pretty, with freckles dusting his nose. His hair is blonde too, but the shade takes on a cooler tone than that of his older brother.

Kim “The Gambit” Seungmin, the youngest of the Clowder clan and probably the most dangerous man in this room, if words could kill. Always five steps ahead of everyone else, a mathematical and tactical genius with a sharp tongue. He’s carrying a briefcase, his short black hair swept away from his face. His black rimmed glasses perched high on the bridge of his nose. And—

“Lee—Lee Minho,” Jisung stands, flattening his tie. “I didn’t—we weren’t expecting you—”

Beside him, Chris cracks his neck.

“Han Jisung,” Minho smiles coolly as his eyes briefly scan the marble statues and paintings and overall grandeur of the room, before returning his focus to Chris, then to Jisung. “Are you tabling the parley this afternoon?”

“Er—” Jisung says very intelligently, “Yes.”

Minho nods, “I apologise, but my brother Nikko is caught up in a bit of business elsewhere. I hope you don’t mind that I’m standing in for him.”

Jisung minds very much. Everything he had done in preparation for the meeting had been with Nikko in mind. Chris knew Nikko, was able to run through various scenarios that might come up. The practice had been helpful, but it had been for the wrong cat. Jisung doesn’t know what the fuck to say or do or think. He looks beyond Minho to the minders still posted at the doors, “You can leave us.”

The minders bow, close the doors with a decisive click.

“Please take a seat,” Jisung gestures to the opposite end of the long table and the four seats arranged there. 

Minho's smile is crooked, “After you.”

And Jisung feels a knot in his stomach. He now understands why Chris had told him to stay seated. Knows why Chris had cracked his neck when Jisung had been foolish enough to stand. He’d given Minho the upper hand and they weren’t even seated yet. For a second, Jisung hesitates, wishing (not for the first time) that he could hear what Chris is thinking. Ultimately, he decides to try and take it graciously, and sits. 

Then Minho does, wincing slightly as he pulls the chair closer to the table. Seungmin and Hyunjin sit on his right, Felix on his left. 

Then his brothers sit, Chris on Jisung’s left, Changbin and Jeongin on his right. 

Now they are sitting, Jisung understands the arrangements. The best fighters are sitting on the side of the table with the most seats occupied by the opposing side. Chris is seated on the same side as Seungmin and Hyunjin. Felix is on the same side as Changbin and Jeongin. Jisung and Minho, the representative heads, are at opposite sides of the very long table. It is a subtle balance. If things went wrong, they could go wrong very quickly. And, (not taking into account the minders posted outside with their weapons), the seating arrangements gave both sides the best chances of getting out alive. Which, Jisung supposes, is the whole point of a parley. 

There are several seconds of silence. The ornate clock on the mantel chimes, signalling the top of the hour. As Changbin had predicted, they are exactly on time.

“Are you healing well?” Jisung says, in part to fill the silence. In part because he’d seen Minho wince. Noticed the slight awkwardness in his gait as he entered.

“Almost completely,” Minho says but his smile isn’t quite reaching his eyes and Jisung knows he is lying.

“Drinks?” Jisung offers and he can almost feel the rage emanating off of Chris. This is not a social visit. But Jisung can’t help it. All the preparations he had done with Chris was for Nikko. Methodical, logical, Nikko. He doesn’t know how to behave with Minho in this setting. 

“I’ll abstain,” Minho says, glancing at his brothers, giving them the opportunity to make a request. They shake their heads no. They’re well behaved, for cats.

“So,” Jisung says and the word feels heavy in his mouth. He decides to try his Nikko based script on Minho. “I understand you called this parley to—”

“Correction,” Minho interjects. “My Father called the parley.”

Seriously? 

Jisung’s smile feels forced, “Of course, when I say ‘you’, I am referring to your family as a whole. Not individual members.”

He hears Chris exhale softly and takes this as a sign that he is doing well. 

“Ah, semantics,” Minho says, smiling annoyingly. “I apologise. Please continue.”

Out of pure pettiness, Jisung considers simply not continuing. But he ploughs on, “I understand that you,” he enunciates it, but still chooses to clarify, “as in the Clowder family, have an offer in exchange for amnesty for—”

“Correction,” Minho interrupts again, “we, as in, the Clowder family, are here merely to share some information that has come into our possession.”

Well, this isn’t fucking going to plan is it?

Jisung glances at Chris. Is pleased to see the narrowness in his eyes. He’s confused as fuck too.

Minho nods at Seungmin who lifts his briefcase and sets it on the table, clicks it open, withdraws an envelope and slides it up the table, not to Jisung, but to Chris. It’s disrespectful, blatantly so, and Jisung’s annoyance must show on his face, because Jeongin is pressing on his foot the way one presses down on a brake pedal. 

Without looking down, Chris palms the envelope and slides it in front of Jisung. 

Jisung has decided he doesn’t want it. He’s been watching Minho, watching him. “What do you want for this?”

“I’d open the envelope and look at its contents before you ask that question.”

Jisung is tempted, but he knows he has to make Minho do the work. He makes sure to smirk at him, “Humour me.”

“Open the envelope and I will tell you.”

Jeongin is pressing harder on his foot now, which is doing nothing to quell his annoyance at Minho and only succeeding in greatly increasing it towards Jeongin.

This is exactly why the Lobos didn’t parley with the Clowder's. They are as stubborn as they are vicious. From the age of four years old, Mother had taught him, ‘mai fidarsi di un gatto’. And now, Lee ‘Il Gatto’ Minho is sitting opposite him, the eldest son of his family's most hated enemy. And the fucker is still smiling.

“Tell me what it pertains to and I might consider opening it.”

Seeing Minho’s tongue lick his teeth in frustration is oddly satisfying, “It refers to the Park problem.”

The Parks are a problem, because they are messy and they are greedy. Nothing is too underhand, too shady or too immoral. There is nothing that they won’t buy or sell. Drugs, sex, lives… nothing. If there was a commonality the Lobos family shared with the Clowder family, it is the mutual  detest they share for the Parks. These days, both the Lobos and Clowder's have rules about what is acceptable in business. Their franchises are both almost completely legal, except the parts that aren’t.

For the Lobos, their shipping line is doing well with international trade, importing and exporting globally. Occasionally, if the money is good enough and it’s a risk worth taking they could make some paperwork go missing for ‘specialised’ shipments. Car parts are their main export, but their origin is sometimes dubious. The Lobos just makes the dubiousness less so. Overall, though, ethically, they are clean.

The Clowder's own the vast majority of pubs and clubs in and around Seoul, and are predominantly on the right side of the law, apart from their casinos which they pay higher-ups to conveniently ignore with a seat at exclusive tables. Some of their clubs also provide adult services to patrons, but it’s all very ethical too with very strict rules and regulations and punishments for anyone breaching those rules. 

And that’s the problem with the Parks. They aren’t ethical. They are vermin.

Jisung continues to wait. It feels like minutes, or days. Everything inside of Jisung is telling him to fill the silence. But he sits with it. Hating it. Listening to the clock on the mantle, listening to the seconds tick by, painfully… slowly. 

“Alright,” Minho leans back. His smile is really fucking annoying. “We propose twelve weeks amnesty, pooling our resources to assist you, in eliminating the Parks.”

Jeongin's foot is off Jisung's now. Whether he is releasing the brakes, has simply decided that they don’t work, or is just as surprised as Jisung feels,  Jisung doesn’t know. 

“We have no need to eliminate the Parks,” Jisung says, “They aren’t that big of an issue, just fools playing gangsters.” Minho arches an eyebrow pointedly in his direction and Jisung feels heat rising up his neck. It’s more than just anger. “I think we can all agree they are rats. But the city is full of vermin. I’m sure you have all the resources you need to eliminate them yourselves,” Jisung adds. “There’s really no need for us to get involved.”

Out of his periphery, he sees Chris raise his head slightly and Jisung thinks that maybe, he’s not doing too bad after all.

“Open the envelope,” Minho says.

“No,” Jisung says. “You said it’s about the Parks and I’ve told you that we will not assist you in any personal vendetta you have against them. We’re done here.”

Minho thumbs his nose, looks pointedly at Chris, “Chan, I would seriously, look in the envelope.”

Chris opens his mouth, and Jisung is actually furious now, “What part of ‘we’re done here’, are you not understanding? We will not help you.”

“I will accept that you don’t want our assistance, when you actually look in the envelope,” Minho’s voice is still level, but there’s a notable edge to it. And this is where Nikko and Minho differentiate. Nikko is always cool, always level, almost robotic. Predictable. A house cat. But Minho, he’s a stray. One with sharp teeth and claws and an untamed wildness. “And we’re not asking you to help us, we are offering to help you for a period of twelve weeks for—”

“Twelve weeks is fucking extortionate for whatever is contained in this.”

Minho slams his palm on the table, making his own brothers jump in their seats, Jeongin reflexively reach for his knife and causes the ice in Jisung's glass to tinkle. 

The room falls quiet. The clock on the mantle quietly ticks. Jisung is holding his breath. When Minho speaks, his voice is still perfectly level, “First rule of parley, you do not swear at the opposing members.”

Jisung knows the fucking rules. Chris had recited them at him. Though, now, Jisung can’t quite recall if swearing is first or second. He thinks that ‘do not kill the opposing members’ is pretty high up. Higher than fucking swearing and he might break the ‘no killing’ rule before this meeting is concluded. He tries to match Minho’s coolness, “I was not swearing at you, I was swearing at twelve weeks,” Jisung says flatly, before meeting Minho’s eye and adding, “Syntax.”

Jeongin snorts through his nose, presses his lips together and looks down at the table. Chris throws him a look of admonishment. Changbin chews on his lip. At least two of his brothers have a sense of humour.

And, apparently, so does Minho. He’s smiling more warmly than he has since his arrival. It lasts only a few seconds, disappearing between blinks, but it’s degrees different, so Jisung feels it. 

“Han-ssi,” Minho says, “please look in the envelope.”

Wanting nothing else but this meeting to end, Jisung snatches up the envelope, pulls out a few papers, and inspects them. He reads the top-lines, sees various black and white photos attached to several of the pages. Very big prices in red. Feels a weight press on his stomach, a chill like icy fingernails trace down his spine. Minho is not wrong, the Parks are most definitely a problem. They need to be gone.

“Source?”

“An informant. Reliable.”

“Park payroll?”

“And ours,” Minho says. “They were inserted, by me, after one of our clubs was robbed last year. I guarantee the source is reliable.”

Jisung chews this over for a few seconds, replacing the papers in the envelope. “Six weeks.”

He feels, rather than sees, all his brothers heads snap over to him in surprise. Chris’s hands tense on the table, his knuckles whitening. Reflexively, Jisung draws his feet back out of reach of Jeongin.

“Ten,” Minho counters.

“Ten,” Jisung agrees instantly as he slides the envelope and papers to Chris in a bid to justify his reasoning. Chris doesn’t look at them long before he visibly pales. Jisung takes the opportunity to secure the deal, “12 percent of our exports against 25 percent of your profits for the entirety of the period.”

“In this instance, profit sharing isn’t necessary.”

Everyone, including his own brothers, look at him, openly incredulous. No one walks into an amnesty on faith alone. There has to be some sort of exchange to show a willingness to comply. For centuries parleys exchanged something for something else; a prisoner swap, bags of gold, pieces of land, whole fucking cities. And here’s this…this cat of a man, offering to help them eliminate the Parks, for nothing? 

Seungmin, the smart one, speaks. He’s not supposed to, but honestly, none of this is going how it’s supposed to, so it’s logical, that he inserts himself now, “You have to exchange something.”

“I don’t think it’s necessary,” Minho’s hand drops to his stomach.

“There are rules. An exchange has to be made for a deal to pass,” Seungmin says with the tone of someone talking to a brick wall. If Jisung finds Minho annoying during this meeting, he has empathy for his brothers who had actually grown up with him. “It’s a show of good faith. To prove a willingness of mutual cooperation.”

Minho sighs through his nose, “Fine,” he waves a hand in Jisung's direction impatiently, “I agree to what you just said.”

Seungmin's mouth is a tight white line.

“Okay,” Jisung says slowly, because Minho is supposed to haggle for a better deal and once again none of this is going how it’s supposed to. “And we need to ascertain what will happen if either side breaches any part of the agreement.”

Now Minho rolls his eyes, “Seungmin.”

Seungmin clears his throat, “Monetary reparations would be preferable, as any form of violence to or from either party could result in exacerbating residual bad blood between the two families and extended counterparts. With regards to the extended counterparts, we will not be held responsible for their actions unless they directly affect members of the Lobos family. In that instance, those parties will be excommunicated and will no longer receive the protection of the Clowder Clan.”

To Jisung it sounds like legal bullshit, meaning he doesn’t have a clue what Seungmin is saying. But since Minho has opened the floor to his brother, Jisung turns to his own, “Chris.”

“Agreed. Likewise, extended counterparts of Lobos will not receive protection should they directly impact on the Clowder family. Monetary reparations between the two families to be paid in full within one week of any breach of the principles of parley. I propose thirty percent of current standings.”

Seungmin nods, pulls a calculator from his briefcase, taps on it. Scribbles a figure onto a piece of notepaper, folds it in half.

Chris, meanwhile, is doing the exact same thing using the calculator on his phone before writing a long number onto the rear of a business card. The pair stand, move to the middle of the table and exchange the numbers. They look at them briefly. 

“Agreed,” Chris says, “Thirty percent.”

“Accepted, thirty percent.”

“I think that concludes our business,” Minho stands, wincing as he straightens up. Everyone else stands, including Jisung. Minho says, “I’ll have Seungmin draft the proposals in writing. Who should he liaise with? Chris?”

“No, Jeongin,” Jisung indicates him, not that it is really necessary. Seungmin has already placed his business card on the table in front of him. Clicking his briefcase closed. Truly, he’s annoyingly smart and aptly named.

“Cheers,” Jeongin smiles at Seungmin. Seungmin doesn’t return it.

Jisung says, “I think our security leads should also meet to discuss how best to merge our assets.”

“Hyunjin, you’re up,” Minho nods at him as he buttons his jacket.

“That’ll be fine,” Hyunjin bows. 

Wow, Jisung thinks, finally, someone with some fucking manners.

“Leave your contact details,” Changbin says, “I’ll be in touch.”

Hyunjin places a card on the table. Bows again.

“The collaboration between our extended members may be more problematic,” Minho says. “I’d prefer it if they were brought on board as part of the solution to the Park problem.”

“I’ll speak to my guys,” Chris says. “They might take some convincing, but I’ll work on them.”

“Felix,” Minho says, “you be sure to tell our members they will lose all standing with our family if they breach the terms reached today. Tell them I’ll personally see to their downfall if they fuck this up.”

“Sure thing,” Felix says and his voice is considerably deeper than his frame or face suggests it ought to be. It is disarming. He smiles at Chris all sunshine and freckles, “We should probably meet to discuss how best to manage that and outline suitable reparations for even minor misdemeanours so there is no room for doubt.” He pulls a card from his inside pocket, places it on the table. “Give me a call.”

“Yeah, er, sure,” Chris says and he’s blinking. Jisung thinks that maybe Felix’s voice just does that to people. Maybe that was the Felix effect he’d heard so much about. Chris seems to come back to himself, shaking his head as he walks over to the fireplace to press the button secreted on a panel beside it. Somewhere outside the room a bell tinkles, and the doors swing inwards, the two minders holding them open, their hands folded in front of their belts. 

“Fancy,” Minho comments as he turns on his heel and strides away, his shoes clicking on the marble tiles. 

The Lobos brothers stand until the doors are closed. Remain standing until they hear the front doors at the end of the long hall open and close. And then—

“Mother is going to fucking murder you!” Changbin explodes as Jisung falls back into his chair, wrenching his tie loose and pulling it over his head, throwing it onto the table and undoing the top two buttons of his straight-jacket-come-shirt. “Ten weeks, ten fucking weeks?”

Jisung holds his glass up. Jeongin takes it with a shake of his head and a smile and takes it to the bar. He pours a generous amount of scotch over the melting ice.

“It’s not that bad of an arrangement,” Chris slides the papers over to Changbin. 

Changbin snatches them up, glares at them. His expression melts from anger to anger, but this time it isn’t directed at Jisung, so Jisung prefers it. “Fucking hell!” 

Jeongin returns, places a hand on Jisung's shoulder and Jisung takes the glass from him. Downs the whisky, hisses at the burn in his throat. Jeongin is looking over Changbin's shoulder, reaches forward and picks up a page, “Oh, I get it now.”

Changbin is raging, “They have pictures of me in the gym. In the fucking gym!”

Jeongin looks closer at the page Changbin is holding, “They didn’t get your good side hyung.”

“No they— fuck off,” Changbin flicks through the pages, pulls one out and brandishes it at Jeongin. “Think you’re so fucking beautiful?”

Jeongin considers his surveilled photo a moment, his bottom lip scrunched with thought. He’s sitting on a park bench sipping on coffee. It resembles a magazine fashion shoot. There’s even a strategically placed crow in the foreground. “I think I look kind of cute.”

Changbin looks at it, slams it on the table, “Yeah well, that’s just you all over isn’t it. Fucking cute. They could have snapped a picture of you sitting on a toilet and you’d look fucking cute.” Jeongin ruffles Changbin's hair, which ruffles Changbin's anger higher as he pulls away from it. “And I hardly recognise you,” he says to Jisung now, “When the fuck was this taken?”

The photo of Jisung is grainy, taken from a distance. It shows him sitting in the window of a cafe, laughing and smiling.

“About six weeks ago,” Jisung says numbly. Six weeks and four days ago.

“So before the kerfuffle?” Jeongin says, “How do we know that the Clowder’s haven’t just been sitting on this.”

“Can we stop calling what happened the ‘kerfuffle’,” Chris snaps. “And there are date stamps on the attached emails. This is new information and they brought it straight to us. Forty-eight hours. Only enough time to arrange a parley.”

“Barely enough time,” Changbin says. “I wondered why it was arranged so hastily. These things usually take months.”

“See! It makes no sense,” Jeongin leans against the wall, every inch a model for W Korea. “The only, realistic, threat to us is the Clowder's. And yet, we let them into our home only forty-eight hours after they request a meeting? Before we even knew what was in the envelope. When has that ever happened? We have never let another family or faction into our home. Never.”

Jisung wipes the palms of his hands on his thighs.

“And can we honestly say, if information like this landed on our lap, about them, we’d do the same?” he waits a moment, looking at them each in turn. “No. I didn’t think so. If Mother received this, she’d laugh, sit back and order popcorn whilst the Clowder’s were picked off one by one. And Il Gatto was going to trade this for nothing and why? Because of the ker—” Chris throws him a look of warning. Jeongin rephrases it, “—the incident? It makes no sense. I don’t understand it at all.”

“It does make sense,” Changbin says, “If they’re trying to play us. Lower our guard so they can infiltrate—”

“It looks legit,” Jisung interrupts haphazardly. There’s a reason he believes the information they’ve been handed, but he can barely think about it, let alone explain it to his brothers. It’s because of the photo taken of him. “I mean—I do believe that this is from the Parks. I don’t think it’s from the Clowder's.”

“I agree,” Chris says. “I don’t know of Minho as well as I think I understand Nikko, but I’ve heard about him. I know that he spent time in special ops during his serving period. He could've risen through the ranks if he’d stayed on. He doesn’t like injustice, it’s the one thing that separates him from his family. I don’t think playing with us is his style.”

“No,” Jisung quickly agrees. “No, I don’t think it is either.”

“He was here because of his father. He didn’t come off his own back.” Changbin says, “I don’t trust them.” 

“Neither do I,” says Jeongin, “mai fidarsi di un gatto."

“I didn’t say I trust them,” Chris says with barely concealed exasperation, “I’m just saying from what I’ve heard of Minho he’s not the type to—where are you going?”

“Out,” Jisung is already halfway across the room.

“No you fucking don’t!” Changbin calls, “Not until the agreements are formalised.”

Chris reaches the doors a second after Jisung does. He moves that way, quickly. “I have to agree, we need to figure this out before we do anything.”

“We’ve been separated a lot since any of those pictures were taken, I’m sure I’ll be fine in broad daylight for a couple of hours.” Jisung heaves the right side door open, starts at a minder who is standing there, like he’s supposed to, but still. “Car. Jon.”

The minder nods, walks towards the main entrance speaking into his sleeve, a finger on his ear piece. You’d think they were living in the fucking white house. It’s ridiculous.

“Hannie,” Chris says, gently laying a hand on his shoulder, “Changbin and Innie kind of have a point. We need to understand why they want to help us. Why Minho offered to do it for nothing.”

“Well,” Jisung pulls free of Chris’s grip and steps into the hall. “You lot get started on that. Have fun.”

A minder at the entrance opens the door as Jisung approaches, a black BMW swinging into view, tyres grinding on the gravel of the sweeping driveway. Jisung trots down the stone steps, slides into the back of the car, pulls his phone from inside his suit jacket, taps out a quick message.

“Usual place?” Jon is already steering the car down the drive. 

“Yes.”

“Is this a good idea?”

“No,” Jisung admits. This is not a good idea.

♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

“Get it over with, Seungmo,” Minho sighs as he loosens his tie.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Minho removes his cuff links, drops them into his jacket pocket, pushes his sleeves up to his elbows. The veins on his arms and hands look more pronounced than usual. Probably the stress. Probably the pain radiating from his left side. He nudges Seungmin, who glances at his open palm for a second before he opens his briefcase with two clicks and pulls out a packet of pain killers. Wordlessly, he pops one into Minho’s hand. Minho slaps it into his mouth. Swallows it dry. Stretches his left leg out to try and take the pressure off his stomach.

“It’s not that bad of a deal,” Minho leans against the cool window of the passenger door. 

“‘Not that bad of a deal?’ Do you even know what you agreed to?” Seungmin asks. Minho waits. Seungmin tells him. “25 percent of our profits against 12 percent of their exports for ten weeks.” He’s looking at Minho as though he has asked him what two plus two is and is waiting for an answer.

Minho shrugs.

“For fuck’s sake,” Seungmin wrenches his glasses off, starts cleaning the lenses angrily with his shirt. “You’re giving away 25 percent of our profits for ten weeks. To the fucking Lobos.”

“Yeah,” Felix says from the front passenger seat, “but we’re getting 12 percent from their exports—so…”

Seungmin blinks at them and Minho thinks it must be awful being the most intelligent person in a car full of pabos. “Do none of you know what’s happening in the real world?” he doesn’t wait for an answer. “In simple terms, there’s a bit of bother in the Red Sea, which is putting it mildly. Most exports and imports to and from Europe and the East Coast of the US are rerouting. It also happens that eighty-five percent of all of the Lobos Line export eastward. And because of the rerouting, it’s taking ships a long fucking time to get to where they need to go. Meaning ten weeks is not long enough to see a fair return. If any.”

“So, Minho gave them something for nothing?” Hyunjin concludes.

“Ex-fucking-actly! For ten weeks!” Seungmin shouts it. Shoves his glasses back on. Rounds on Minho. “You didn’t even try for a better deal. You just accepted the first worst offer. None of that went as we rehearsed it on the drive over.”

“Well, I shouldn’t have been there, should I? Which is another point, has anyone heard from Nikko yet?”

“No, still MIA,” Felix says. He’s looking down at his phone tapping away. Minho hopes he’s doing business over text and not playing one of his stupid kids games. “I’ve got my boys out looking for him. Can I give them permission to give him a slap when they find him?”

“They can give him two. Do we know when he was last seen?”

“Last I know of is fourteen hours ago, leaving club Easy,” Hyunjin says. “I’ve got the security team tracing CCTV, see if we can track his movements after that.”

“I have a contact in the police department that might be able to help with that,” Seungmin says, which is unsurprising because Seungmin has a lot of contacts. He collects them. “I’ll text the details.”

Hyunjin nods.

Minho cracks his knuckles. Nikko knows how important today's meeting was. It’s not like him to disappear like this. Minho is uneasy about it, and the fact his brothers are busily searching means that they are too. 

He feels his phone vibrate in his inside jacket pocket, reaches for it, thinking it’ll be Nikko with some lame excuse. He’s already considering how much he can reasonably torture Nikko when he reads the message.

Unknown Number: The weather is nice today.

He stares at it for several seconds. ‘ I like the view right now, the weather is nice today.’ He makes a bad decision, “Jin, drop me off at Han River park.”

“You are kidding me?” Seungmin says. “You cannot be fucking serious.”

“Start drawing up the proposals. I want them finalised before the end of play tomorrow. Tell Father what was agreed. Tell him, I don’t know… tell him, it’s for the greater good or something.”

“The greater fucking good?” Seungmin is getting very red in the face. “How about I tell him that you tried to seal the deal without making any form of exchange.”

“We would have been better off,” Minho drops his phone into his inside pocket, arches an eyebrow at Seungmin. “If you hadn't made me make an exchange we wouldn’t have lost twenty five percent of profit for ten weeks.” Minho knows he’s being a dickhead since he was the one who hadn’t bothered to argue over the numbers. But his wound is bothering him, although not as much as the text is. 

Seungmin opens his mouth, closes it. Tries again. Fails.

Minho leans forward, “You two keep looking for Nikko. You’d better find him before I do, otherwise we’ll be holding a family reunion at his wake.” He sits back, “Actually, when you do find him, tell him he better stay out of my sight for ten days or I’ll bury him in the family plot.”

♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

The weather is not nice today. 

It’s dry, but there is a strong breeze coming off the Han River, whipping his hair and jacket and chilling Minho to the bone. He’s leaning forward on his elbows, on the metal railings bordering the path and the river. The sun is quite low now, and the sky is transitioning from blue to purple, pink and orange. Already, Seoul is twinkling as lights flick on in the glass towers across the river. Really, it’s kind of beautiful.

Maybe it’s because of the cold that he feels the warmth of a body come to stand beside him. Not too close, but still degrees warmer than the air around him. Or maybe it’s their scent. So familiar. Still intoxicating.

“You’re late,” he says without glancing at them.

“Jon thought it best to take a circuitous route.”

Minho smiles. He always speaks so lyrically. Minho tilts his head to look up at him now, to properly look, the way he hadn’t been able to back at Lobos Mansion. 

His hair is longer than it had been a month ago, the curls more defined, the breeze pushing them back from his face. There’s a papery, translucent quality to the skin just beneath his large brown eyes which are pinched in the corners. His mouth is all tight lines. There is a scratch at his neck, as though he had been pulling at his shirt collar. And, because the universe is a bitch, Minho still views him as the most beautiful man in this world.

Jisung is still looking at some point across the river when he says, “Don’t look at me like that.”

Minho turns his attention back to the water. “You did well this afternoon. I was impressed.”

“You were an arsehole.”

“Yes,” there’s no point denying it. “I thought I’d be dealing with Chris. You caught me off guard.”

There’s a few seconds of silence. 

“Why were you even there?”

“Believe me, it was not by choice. I was sent because Nikko couldn’t make it,” Minho says.

“You got a bad deal,” Jisung's voice is kind of low. 

“So I’ve been told. But I wasn’t there to make a deal,” Minho pushes himself up, feeling the wound on his stomach tighten and complain against the movement. His hand automatically covers the area. When he looks up, Jisung is looking at where his hand is. He looks pale. “I’m okay.”

Jisung tears his eyes away from Minho’s hand, to look at Minho’s face and he’s looking properly too. Minho wonders what changes in his own features Jisung sees. Does he look as tired and lost as he feels?

“Why did you message me?” Minho asks, it’s been going around in his head since he saw the text.

Jisung opens his mouth, closes it, tries again, “My brothers think there’s some bigger plan in place. They don’t understand why you’re trying so hard to help. They think you’re playing games.”

Minho sighs through his nose, because, of course there’s a bigger plan in place. But it’s coming from his Father, it’s not coming from Minho. Minho has plans of his own, but now’s not the time to try and explain all that. “We want to help.”

“Uh-huh,” Jisung says, unconvinced. “You think we’d do the same for you?”

“I know your family wouldn’t,” Minho’s not so naive to think otherwise, “but I hope you know why I’m doing this.” When the information landed on his lap, (literally), he’d done everything to convince his family that they had to do something. It had not gone smoothly. If Jisung, if his brothers, only knew how much he is actually risking to help them. If only they knew. “I don’t really give a shit about your family, Ji.”

The choice of words aren’t favourable and Jisung’s eyes take on a far off look. “You don’t give a shit…”

“We’ve got bigger problems than the ones in that envelope,” Minho says now, fishing inside his jacket pocket, he pulls out his phone, scrolls to an image he’s saved in a separate folder that he’s called ‘instructions’ and shows it to Jisung. Jisung takes the phone from him, and Minho tries to ignore the electricity that courses through him when Jisung’s fingers lightly brush his. Jisung squints down at the screen, uses his finger and thumb to enlarge it. 

By itself, the photo is nothing special. A grainy black and white image of two men sitting opposite each other in a cafe. Laughing. Smiling. It was taken about six weeks ago. Minho remembers that, because that was the last time he’d felt truly happy.

Jisung's squint turns to a frown, which in turn changes to a look of fear.

“Fuck!” Jisung says, “Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!”

Minho drops his head. He’d reacted the exact same way when he’d taken it out of the envelope.

“Sir?” it’s Jon, sprinting from whatever discreet observation point he’d been posted to. His gun is drawn, in broad fucking daylight. Minho decides he kind of likes him. He’s a decent man, for a dog.

“I’m—I’m fine, Jon,” Jisung has never lied well. “It’s fine.”

Jon diligently hesitates. 

“I said I’m fine.”

Jon nods, uncocks his gun, slips it back into his holster under his jacket. Walks backwards to a fair distance, but still within sight. Minho knows he’s here now, no point pretending otherwise. 

“Where did you get this?”

“It was in the envelope with the others, it’s now in a safety deposit box.”

“You’ve kept it?”

“For the time being. But it’s safe.”

“Did your brothers—your father—?”

“No one else has seen it.”

“That’s…good…” Jisung hands the phone back. Inexplicably, Minho is annoyed by the remark, drops the phone back into his pocket, pushes his hands into his trouser pockets and Jisung asks, “Are there more?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“What about your informant?”

“I sent her away. Paid her off with enough money to start a new life in the US. Put her on a plane to Chicago the same afternoon she gave me the envelope.”

“If this gets out—”

“The Parks know, Ji.” Minho can’t sugarcoat it. Can’t protect Jisung from the truth. “It’s only a matter of time before—”

“But—we’re not meant to—we’re…”

Minho raises an eyebrow, “Go on, say it.” Jisung looks away. Apparently the river is very interesting all of a sudden. Minho grabs his wrist and Jisung looks down at it, “Say what you were going to say.” 

When Jisung speaks, he looks Minho in the eye, “We’re enemies.”

Minho let’s go, “I’m not your enemy, Ji.”

“I don’t see how this—” Jisung points from himself to Minho and back several times in quick succession, “—this can work.”

Minho drags a hand over his mouth, “Okay.”

Jisung blinks. “That’s it? ‘Okay’. That’s all you have to say?”

Minho is seriously pissed off now. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t fucking know!” Jisung snaps back at him. “Something more substantial than ‘okay’. You had no problem talking back at the house—”

“You want more? How’s this; I turned up to your fucking home, unarmed, with an envelope full of evidence that the Parks have placed bounties on your brothers heads, on your fucking head, offered to help you eliminate the Parks, asked for nothing in exchange and you still see me as an enemy?”

“You said you were sent,” Jisung points out and his voice is rising too. “You didn’t come off your own back. You could've told me ahead of today, but you didn’t.”

“How? How was I meant to tell you? Fucking carrier pigeon? You changed your number, and before that you ghosted me. How the fuck was I going to message you? But I see you kept my number, so you could've reached out to me if you wanted to, but you didn’t, did you? You didn’t even ask if I was recovering until today.”

“You really don’t rememb…” Jisung bites his bottom lip, “This was a mistake.”

“Too fucking right it was. The whole fucking thing, start to fucking end!” the words fly from Minho’s mouth too fast for him to amend them. He sees something flicker across Jisung’s eyes. Tries not to understand it. “Go home.”

“What?”

“Go home to your brothers, Ji,” he turns away before he’ll say something unforgivable, though he suspects he already did when he said ‘okay’. Because it’s not okay. 

It’s far from fucking okay.

♢ ♧ If you made it this far, thank you for your support! ♤ ♡ please consider leaving a comment, like or reblog ♤ ♡ ©2024Intrikatie ♢ Ao3 ♧ Quotev ♤ Wattpad ♡

TASTE M.List & Sypnosis

Chapter 2 - The DLC

[corporatefrog]

╰┈➤ Welcome Back to the Channel part 16; free ice cream

✧.* featuring kyle and yn walking to an unknown (and probably fine, totally not murderous) location : ̗̀➛ notes - here's your daily reminder to why i don't write serious things lmao tags - college au, superhero au, smau

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Kyle didn’t tell me where we were going. 

“We’re going to talk to the doctor.” He’d say as if it weren’t the most infuriatingly cryptic thing ever. What kind of superhero noir film does he think we’re in?

Rule number 1 is don’t follow men into unknown dark places. Granted, the men in those situations are built like a Jostar and super scary. Compared to that, Kyle is more of a pomeranian off his leash. I could tell him that Donald Glover leaves Community in the fifth season and he’d be out of commission for long enough to kick his lanky legs and take him down. 

Why are we thinking about the specifics of physically restraining our friend?

You can never be too prepared.

Now you’re being cryptic. We aren't even in a sketchy area. Isn’t that literally craig’s house?

My focus returned to my surroundings as I noticed the houses lining the street. I’d only seen craig’s house once when Butters shared a picture of a bear standing in his driveway, thinking it was a dog, but that was enough to solidify the house to memory. 

Without realizing, my steps slowed as I became lost in my thoughts again. 

I’m in the neighborhood where Craig’s family lives. Clyde told me he lived in the same neighborhood with the guys for most of their life. That means Kyle probably lives in the same neighborhood too. Kyle knows about Butters.

And we’re diving in this hole, WHY?

Shut up, I’m onto something... I think.

Kyle knows about Butters. Butters is Chaos. We’re in Craig’s neighborhood. Craig. Butters. Kyle. Superheroes. Craig. Fucking SUPER CRAIG. 

Holy shit. I forgot about Super Craig.

“KYLE!” I snapped back to reality. Kyle had gotten a half a block ahead of me. When he turned back, his own nervous gaze met mine. He held up a finger to his lips, gesturing to the dark street as a reminder that this isn’t the place to shout this late at night. 

I pressed my lips together to hopefully hold back any other impulsive shouts and speed walked to catch up with him. 

“Kyle we’re so fucking stupid. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it-” Kyle cut off my rambling.

“What? Is something wrong?” He asked, voice matching my own panic as his nerves bounced off of mine. 

“Of course something is wrong. Craig’s a superhero too! Don’t you see it?” I asked, looking up at Kyle. Panic radiated off both of us, air growing electric as our thoughts bounced off of each other in a silent amplification of anxiety.

Kyle opened his mouth to respond but no words came out. He paused, then closed his mouth, swallowing the words. He turned away from me, continuing down the sidewalk as though I didn’t just drop a friendship altering bomb.

“Come on, we’ve got to get to Timmy’s house.” Kyle said over his shoulder, turning to walk up the steps of a house at the end of the block. 

Who the fuck is timmy?

"Are we not going to address this? Or do I only get one theory confirmed every 24 hours?" I questioned, jogging to catch up with Kyle on the doorstep.

He didn't look in my direction. Instead he rung the doorbell and kept his eye trained on the entryway. "All of the above."

“This free ice cream better come with a month of therapy after this bullshit.” I muttered to myself as the door swung open revealing him. The one who is meant to answer all of my questions. The one who had the power to keep Kyle Broflovski silent.

Dr. Timothy.

taglist [reply to be added]: @sula0kin @lacuna-at-dawn @anglettecolours @cocolena@sukisprettyface @feverish-dove @sweetadonisbutbetter @hand-writxen@mishstuff@sophtophie @triphovia  @lacunaanonymoused @inkedintothepaper @toodeepintofandoms@mmmaackerel @sillybilly-123@n0tangeliccc

[scoopertrouper]

If you’re still taking Stancy prompts, Nancy wondering what Steve is up to while they keep their distance in s3 is always my jam. Love love love your Nancy and Steve.

my first prompt fill!

i have to be honest, i don’t know if this is really what you were looking for? like, i admit there’s altogether more jonathan than probably anyone wants to see. but alas, i banged this out in like four hours last night and this is where my brainworm took me. thanks for prompting!

also, if you want to get a more exact idea of the kind of headspace i was in writing this, you’ll just want to listen to tswift’s death by a thousand cuts on one long, endless loop.

2,200-ish words under the cut.

-*-*-*

the only thing we share [is this small town]

She sees him sometimes. 

Not on purpose. Definitely not on purpose, but Hawkins has a population smaller than the enrollments of some state colleges. It’s kind of inevitable that their paths will cross more than occasionally.

And it’s not that Nancy's avoiding him, exactly. It’s more that every time she gets a glance at him even in passing, it’s impossible not to recall the sad way he’d stared down at her the last time they’d really spoken to each other, resigned to an outcome she wasn’t even sure she herself had reconciled with yet.

It doesn’t make her feel good, and after the past year, she’s more than sick of seeking out reasons to feel bad. 

So she doesn’t avoid him, but she also doesn’t not hide behind aisles in Melvald’s when she sees him pass by. And if they happen to be walking along the same side of Main Street at the same time, it just so happens that she’ll remember several urgent reasons why she needs to cross the road right away.

But that’s not avoiding. It can’t be, because Nancy doesn’t avoid. She barrels, head on, right into even the most fraught situations, because at the end of the day she has nothing without her resolute confidence in the fact that she is right.

She is right, and nothing – not Department of Energy hacks, nor the assholes at the Hawkins Post who make a sport of changing up their sandwich orders and the way they take their coffee every other day (“See if you can solve this, Nancy Drew…”) – can shake that certainty.

(Except sometimes – sometimes/especially when she sees Steve – a creeping sense of wrong begins to slither its way in, wraps icy tendrils of doubt around her carefully guarded resolve and squeezes. Hard.

But before it can do too much damage, before it can cause the kinds of hairline fissures that turn into cracks that end in endless interdimensional bloodshed, she turns away. Takes Jonathan’s hand, and looks into his eyes, and remembers why they’re the only two people in the world who could possibly get each other. Even when she can’t understand why he hovers in uncomfortable silence while those dickheads laugh at her. Even when he doesn’t get why she just can’t stop pushing, because a job’s a job and maybe if she let up a little they wouldn’t laugh at her so much.

None of that matters, because she and Jonathan…they just make sense. The photographer and the journalist. Shared goals. Shared trauma. Right? Right. 

And so the ground steadies beneath her feet, and her breathing eases, and she sinks back into the safe surety of her belief.)

Most of the time, not-avoiding-Steve also facilitates not-thinking-about-Steve, which is easier now that he hasn’t been around town much lately. She’d heard via the grapevine – amid some derisive tittering that had irked her for reasons she preferred not to examine – that he’d gotten a job at the ice cream parlor at Starcourt, and that he wasn’t headed to college after the summer was over, because he didn’t get into a single school, can you believe it?

The guilt was suffocating. She puts it out of her mind.

So it’s a blessing in disguise that Jonathan’s aversion to crowds and hypercommercialism means that Nancy hasn’t spent as much time at Starcourt as she’d planned to once she heard they were putting in a Gap. Because less time at Starcourt meant less time not-avoiding Steve (and less time – and money – spent stress shopping).

In fact, Nancy’s been lured into such a false sense of security that she never sees the stupid commercial coming.

It’s evening, and still boiling outside, and she and Jonathan are languishing on his beat-up couch after a long day spent toiling in the darkroom (him) and chasing down a specific kind of pastrami on rye with grain mustard available only from the sole deli in Hawkins, which just happens to be about as far across town as you can get on foot (her, of course).

Nancy is the kind of mentally exhausted that means that while she’s valiantly trying to pay attention to CBS Evening News (she likes to flip back and forth between all the major network shows), she’s actually staring off into space as Dan Rather covers a TWA flight hijacking that she knows she should care more about.

The jingle of the commercial doesn’t even penetrate the fog until Jonathan scoffs.

“Christ,” he mumbles. “They’re still playing this shit on TV?”

“Huh?” Nancy grunts before she can stop herself, rousing from her stupor. (It’s only now that she realizes she’s been doodling daisies where she usually takes careful notes on each story’s lead-in.)

“The Starcourt commercial,” Jonathan says, nudging her with his shoulder. “It’s been open for, like, a month. When’re they gonna give it a rest?” 

“Oh.” Nancy gets with the program, and laughs perfunctorily at the cheesy stock footage that’s eaten more airtime over the past six months than she’d ever thought city council would have the budget for. (Huh. Maybe there’s a story there.) “I kind of forgot about it.”

“Maybe…we could check it out soon,” Jonathan says, eyeing her almost cautiously. “See if it’s as awful as it looks.”

Nancy does a double-take before she can stop herself.

“You said it’d take a literal alien invasion to get you to set foot inside that mall.” And with the bizarro turn their lives have taken over the past year, she can’t be entirely certain he’d been joking.

Jonathan shifts, and scratches the back of his head.

“Well – they do have a bookstore,” he says, defensive. “And, like, I know this internship hasn’t been what you were hoping, so it might be nice to –” His jaw drops before he can finish the thought. “Holy shit, is that Steve Harrington?”

Nancy’s head whips around so fast she almost hears a crack. And yeah, that is Steve Harrington. In vivid technicolor, standing behind a cash register next to a vaguely familiar-looking redhead with a tousled bob – Nancy’s pretty sure she’s seen her around school before.

She recognizes the discomfort in his face all too well – it had stared across the table at her every time she’d tried to quiz him on SAT vocabulary words last summer. 

Only then, he hadn’t been wearing a hideous polyester sailor costume.

“That’s new,” Jonathan says, the ill-disguised laughter in his voice so uncharacteristic that Nancy’s head whips back around again. She’s going to need a chiropractor by the time this commercial ends. “I guess we definitely gotta check out Starcourt now.”

She rolls her eyes, and relaxes the fist she’d clenched around her pencil during the seven seconds – max – that Steve had been on screen. Jonathan doesn’t seem to have noticed her tension, and she’s grateful.

“What’s so interesting about watching Steve scoop overpriced ice cream?” she deflects skeptically, sinking further into the couch, wincing as she hits a spring. Now Jonathan’s the one who double-takes.

“Um. Nancy. It’s King Steve.” She doesn’t love the way he says that. “Dressed like a stand-in for The Village People. Slinging banana splits. What isn’t interesting about that?”

“It’s just a job,” Nancy retorts, face heating. “D’you think it’s funny that I run around buying lunch and pouring coffee for a bunch of dipshits who wouldn’t know a good above-the-fold if it hit them with a two-by-four?”

“Of course not, Jesus!” Jonathan sputters helplessly, shoulders hiking up to his ears. “I just meant – I didn’t – of course I don’t think that’s funny.” His mouth flattens. “I think it’s really shitty. You’re right, I shouldn’t make fun of anyone’s job. We don’t have to go to Starcourt. I just thought it’d be something we could do together.”

He looks deflated, and all at once, Nancy feels like shit. Jonathan was so serious all the time, and usually she liked when he let that go a little bit and dropped his guard. But she’s ruined it by getting defensive, and she doesn't even totally understand why.

“No, I’m sorry,” she backtracks, grabbing his hand and linking their fingers. It’s warm, as familiar as her own at this point. “It’s just…been a shit day. I overreacted.” She just has to work harder. Make them see how serious she is about this. Make them see how good she is at this.

All at once, she’s acutely ashamed of how lax and distracted she’s been, scrawling stupid pictures all over her notepad when she should be working. Improving her craft. Showing everyone that she belongs in that newsroom. Showing them that she’s right.

In return, Jonathan’s smile is strained, but it seems genuine enough. He squeezes her hand, with a strength that still surprises her sometimes.

“Things’ll get better. You’ll see. You’re brilliant. They’ll figure it out. Eventually.” He ducks his head, then looks up again, a little more relaxed. “Speaking of ice cream…I think Mom brought some Rocky Road home last night. Two spoons?”

Nancy nods, accepting the peace offering for what it is (even though she prefers strawberry).

“Yeah…that sounds good.” He leaves to clatter around in the kitchen, and she turns back to the TV, suppressing the urge to chew on the end of her pencil (what serious journalist walks around with bit-up erasers?).

Against her will, Steve’s face plays on a rewind loop in her mind’s eye.

Maybe it was just her imagination, but he’d looked miserable, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t stage fright (he used to preen whenever the yearbook photographers were in his general vicinity. It was equal parts endearing and annoying).

Had he really not gotten into any colleges? (None of her business.) His dad probably hadn’t taken that well. (Really none of her business.) 

She should’ve tried to help him more, after the whole…incident. He’d been insanely concussed, and that couldn’t have helped with the whole college essays and applications thing. He’d already been having a hard enough time with it all.

But what could she have done? The thing with Jonathan had been so new, and every time she chanced a look at Steve, he was already staring back, hurt scrawled plainly all over his face.

It would be better now, though, right? A lot of time has passed. She’s firmly settled into her new relationship, and Steve is – Steve knows how to rebound. He’s always been good at that, on the court and in life.

Maybe she should go visit him. Not – not to laugh at him, but just to see how he’s doing.

Would that girl be there? The coworker? She’s cute, in a “probably listens to too much Depeche Mode” kind of way. So not Steve’s type. (Nancy, why would that matter?) 

But they had been standing kind of close in the commercial. Maybe they’re friends?

Nancy snorts. Steve didn’t have female friends, except for maybe Carol, and that was mostly vis a vis that shit-for-brains Tommy. In fact, after he cut the two of them out, Steve didn’t seem to have many real friends. Or any. At all. He’d focused all his attentions on Nancy.

She swallows past the tightness in her throat. Anyway. This girl. Definitely – definitely not a friend. Maybe a friendly coworker. Or…

Nancy glares at the whites of her knuckles. None of her business. 

It really isn’t. After all, she has Jonathan, and Steve has, well…whoever he wants, really. That’s never been an issue for him, not even after he’d been officially “dethroned”. Girls still lined up at his locker for crumbs of his attention, right smack dab where Nancy used to wait for him in between classes. She assumes that in that regard, not much has changed besides the venue.

In fact, she can see it pretty clearly: Steve, raking a hand through his thick hair every time a pretty girl happens to make her way into Scoops Ahoy. Drumming deft fingers against the glass of the freezer. Handing out free scoops of ice cream like they’re not gonna eventually come out of his check.

Suggesting that they stick around until he’s off-shift so they can catch a movie or – or – something else.

The pencil snaps. Startled, she stares down at her hand, where the two jagged pieces haphazardly dangle, connected by little more than a few bare slivers of wood. What the fuck?

She’s got pretty much no time to figure out what the hell just happened, though, because Jonathan picks that moment to come back into the living room, a carton with two spoons balanced in his grip.

“Sorry that took a sec,” he apologizes, and  Nancy shoves the pencil’s remains in between the couch cushions before he can notice. “Will left eggs in the pan again, and I told him he’s gotta wash them out, like, right away or it’s a pain in the ass to scrub them off later –”

“It’s okay,” Nancy cuts in, unsettled by the stinging in her palm as he flops back down beside her. Despite the heat, he curls an arm around her shoulders. It’s light, and wiry, and she tells herself she prefers it that way.

“Dan’s kind of boring tonight,” Jonathan tuts, leaning back. “Wanna see what Tom’s up to?”

Nancy nods, curling into his side and scooping a spoonful of ice cream out of the container crammed between them. It’s creamy, and deliciously sweet on her tongue.

It’s just right.

(It has to be.)

[miikishii]

To Hold the Sea | Ch. 3

main masterlist

series masterpost | previous chapter | next chapter

synopsis: a little bit of overtime surprisingly brings you peace.

warnings: ango being very sweet because that’s who he is. argue with a wall.

The time you spent getting yourself ready for the day put you behind schedule, but when you arrive at the office you see Ango must be too. He’s usually not late, but you brush it off as a side effect of his job. You make yourself something to drink while you wait. When he arrives, he doesn’t wait for Haruno to bring him in, he just busts into your office disheveled,

“Sorry! I was asked to complete something before I left, it was-”

“It’s fine, let’s just get to work.” His work is always overwhelming him, you understand.

“Thank you.” His body falls onto the couch heavy with stress.

The two of you try your best to finish before the work day ends given that tonight’s the deadline, but it looks like you’ll have to do some overtime.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t finish in time, it’s my fault.” he rubs his eyes and sighs,

“It’s fine, it’ll probably only be another hour.”

He nods and the two of you work as fast as possible, managing to cut it down to just half an hour’s work. The clock reads 5:30 p.m.; you’re getting hungry. As you’re packing up, your stomach growls you clutch it with embarrassment, Ango looks up at you,

“Would you like to get something to eat?”

“I just went out last night, I’ve been-”

“It’s on me, It’s my fault we worked late.” you pause for a moment, thinking it over.

“Sure.”

You finish tidying your office and Ango waits for you at the end of the hall. You walk down the stairs and to his car in silence.

“Where would you like to go?” he asks,

“I just had noodles last night so I’m not in the mood.”

“How about sushi?”

“That’ll be fine, the cheap place up the street?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

The rest of the ride is quiet. It’s not as awkward as you thought, probably because you both spent the day together and are incredibly tired. You’re seated across from each other. The place is small, but it’s cozy. You’ve been here with him before, many years ago. You stare at him discreetly through your menu, but he catches you and gives you a crooked look,

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

He looks back at his menu. You don't miss the way his glasses slide down his nose. Nor do you miss the way the low light compliments his charmingly tired look. He starts to talk to you about what he wants to get, you’re only half listening.

“What were you going to order? I don’t mind sharing.”

“Uhh, I was fine with whatever. I don’t mind sharing either.”

He nods. He puts in the order and sips his water, he has nothing to say, at least not anything appropriate for public discussion. You do the same, he laughs to himself. 

“Do we really have nothing to talk about?” he chuckles wearily

“I don’t think either of us cares for small talk.”

“Of course, but we could catch up.”

“What do you do for work nowadays?” You deadpan.

“Haha. very funny.”

The conversation falls flat again, he sips his water again to occupy himself.

“...How’s Dazai?”

“He’s fine. Not happy to accept your help.”

“I can tell.” 

“Since the agency offers us dorms he doesn’t live with me anymore.”

“Oh.” he tries to act uninterested

“He still stays over, though, says it’s comfier.”

“Mhm.”

The food arrives quickly and suddenly your hunger catches up to you. He merely picks at his plate, whether he lost his appetite or had none in the first place is unknown to you. While you aren’t paying attention he orders more of what you ate quickest, something only someone as attentive as him would do. It puts a smile on your face; you try to stifle it as fast as possible. He pays the bill without a word about it. As he’s driving you home, you contemplate your options. As he pulls up, you know your resolve is weak, but you act anyway,

“There’s some ice cream in my freezer, you’re welcome to come have some.”

He thinks it over carefully,

“Sure, thank you.”

“Well, you paid for dinner, it’s the least I could do.”

“Don’t worry about dinner, it was my fault we ran late.”

As you unlock your door you question your decision. You get out some bowls and spoons, and Ango sits down at your counter. You pass him a bowl and walk towards your couch.

“Wanna watch something?”

“Oh, sure.”

You put on a show you’ve already seen before and settle in. You don’t pay any attention to it. He’s close to you. He accepted your offer to come inside. You worry it was a bad decision, letting him in, going out to dinner, letting him back into your life. You missed him. But again, you remember the reason things ended, too.

note: was giggling and kicking my feet writing some of this.

[chanshoesunite]

24 Days of CHRISMAS: Day 22

Content info: Just a little drabble inspired by me having “Drive” on repeat since it came out on Spotify, idiots having a crush and driving around

Word count: 2443

Warnings: suggestive themes (I don’t actually know what that means but I’ve always wanted to say that), senseless driving (the planet is dying, Kids, take the fucking train)

Something about this, about driving through the night with Chan, the pulsating bass and tension between you, makes this one of the most intimate moments of your life.

Chan and you have been in the same friend circle for a while, but you’re not really close. He is sweet and intimidating at the same time, maybe because he’s so collected, so responsible, so hot or because he always wears black, that you don’t really try talking to him. You listen to him, though, because he is a fascinating person. You know he works in music production, and the way he talks about rhythm and melody and lyrics reminds you of magic – it seems like Chan is one of the initiated and allowing you glimpses into his world of alchemy.

So basically, you are not really friends with Chan, but he is best friends with Jisung, and you are best friends with Minho, and Minho and Jisung have the sort of friendship that could also be a passionate love affair if both of them didn’t insist they were straight, and that’s why you and Chan share a group chat, a social circle and often a few words, but not much more. Not that you wouldn’t like to share more with him, because honestly, you are kind of crushing on him.

It's late summer, and the heat is still holding your city captive, causing people to remain indoors or within reach of water all day and to only roam the streets at night. Your friend group is one of them; Felix made all of you – that is Chan, Jisung, Minho, Hyunjin, Changbin, him and you –  go to a late movie and then get ice cream afterwards. You’re sitting on benches in a park, listening to a busker, chatting, watching people flocking about even though it is well past 11 pm. The air is still stuffy, but bearable as you slowly lick your ice cream and listen to Jisung and Minho bicker over your head about this girl Jisung apparently likes and how to best talk to her.

“I really don’t see what’s so bad about going to her and saying, ‘Excuse me, noona, do you have a boyfriend?’,” Jisung argues.

Minho sighs. “Well, if you don’t want her to go out with you, I’d absolutely recommend that,” he says, exasperated. “What do you think, YN? Is that a good line?”

It really isn’t, but you don’t have the heart to tell Jisung, so you shrug and say, “If anyone could do it, it’s Jisungie,” winking at him. Your friend beams at you and throws an arm around you. “See, that’s why YNnie’s my favourite, Minho. I don’t even know why we call you Lee Know when you clearly don’t Lee Know.” He extends a fist to you to bump.

Minho stares daggers at you, and you shake your head. “Sorry, Sungie, but that was too bad even for me to support.”

Jisung draws his arm away as if stung, but Minho replaces it with his. “Good girl, YNnie,” he coos. “I knew your values still mostly aligned with mine.”

At that moment, Chan jumps up from the bench. “I think I’d like to call it a day now,” he announces. “You know how my creative hours tend to be after midnight.” He glances at Minho and Jisung. “Do you need a ride back?”

They both nod and get up, Minho pulling you along. “Can we take YNnie as well?” he asks. “I promised her I wouldn’t let her walk home alone so late, and she lives really close to your place, actually.”

“Thanks for talking about me as if I wasn’t here, punk,” you say, but Minho expertly sidesteps your slap. You really do prefer not walking home alone if you don’t have to.

Chan looks at you evenly with that nice but guarded expression of his. “Sure, no problem,” he says.

“Thanks,” you smile.

He nods, and then, after the short walk back to the parking garage, there’s lots of hugging as Hyunjin collects the rest of the group to drive them home.

You’ve never actually been inside Chan’s car, and you’re positively surprised. It’s black, obviously, and the inside could be dark grey but looks black in the weak light of the garage as well. It smells of him, you realise – of his deodorant and something spicy, like cinnamon, and it’s much cleaner than any of the other boys’ cars. Jisung insists you call shotgun as you’ll be the last to leave the car “and Chan hates playing Uber driver”, and so you find yourself next to Chan a few moments later as he first starts the music and then the car.

Jisung and Minho are still bickering in the backseat, and the two of you are quiet as Chan guides the car out of the subterranean garage and into the nightly traffic, which is already pretty scarce. A Conan Gray song is playing, which surprises you pleasantly, and you gently hum along. You can feel Chan glancing over at you, and as you glance back, he’s no longer looking at you, but smiling softly as he watches the street.

Jisung finally seems halfway convinced that his “Excuse me, noona, do you have a boyfriend?” line isn’t the best idea he’s ever had as Chan pulls into the driveway of his apartment building a few minutes later. Conan Gray winds down and is replaced by Frank Ocean, which has you nod appreciatively. This playlist fits the mood of a city that is asleep except for those who are staying awake to take back some of the quality the heat wants to steal from them.

Jisung thanks Chan with a slap on the shoulder, hugs your whole seat from behind and punches Lee Know on the shoulder before jumping out of the car, waving at you, and disappearing into the night. Minho sighs and leans back, only now noticing the music.

“Is that your night drive playlist again, hyung?” he asks, and you glance at Chan to see him blush slightly. “It might be,” he half admits before activating the turn signal. “Do you have to out me as a complete music nerd in front of YNnie?” You frown. You’ve never heard him use your nickname before. Or say your name at all, that you can remember. You like it. It sounds good in his voice.

“Chan, you’re not hiding the music nerd particularly well,” you say playfully, at which he snorts. “And I don’t think it’s something you should hide, either” you add more earnestly, which earns you another glance from him.

Minho sighs again, dramatically. “I am outnumbered by people who curate playlists for absurd situations,” he declares.

“There is nothing absurd about night drives” you exclaim at the same time Chan threatens, “I can always stop and let you walk home!” You look at each other and share a smile, a genuine one, and the way Chan’s dimples slowly appear is mesmerizing.

Your friend groans in the back seat. “Aigoo, the two of you really are a match made in heaven.” You don’t know what he means by that, and nobody wants to elaborate, so you are all quiet for the few moments it takes to reach Minho’s house.

When Chan stops, Minho jumps out, only to lean back in and shout, “Have a good night, you two,” before slamming the door and skipping away.

Chan shakes his head. “Thanking people is a concept that guy is not familiar with, is it?”

You shrug. “I know his mum tried.”

You are both sitting there, saying nothing for a moment, before you burst out: “Can I see your playlist?”

Chan hesitates for a second, then nods. “Since Minho mentioned you like absurd playlists, I’m ninety-two percent sure you will appreciate it.” He unlocks his phone and tosses it to you. You glance at his home screen for a second. “Aww, that’s us at the barbecue a few weeks ago,” you say happily, glancing at the selfie of the friend group in swimwear that was taken in early July at a lake. Chan just grunts as he starts the car again, and you open his Spotify to browse through the list.

“Oooh, I love that song,” you squeal, choosing “affection” by BETWEEN FRIENDS to follow Frank Ocean. The bass, the whimsical singing and the melancholic lyrics make it a perfect choice for this playlist and for driving through the summer night. You cue up “Cruel Summer” by Taylor Swift because it’s a mood and you’re delighted Chan would include it in his playlist – you stan a male Swiftie. “That’s such a good playlist, Chan,” you say, “Can I share it with myself?”

“Sure,” he says, not taking his eyes off the road, but you’re not getting unfriendly vibes from him. You pull up a messaging app and send yourself the link. “See, now we actually have a chat history,” you declare, and that is a little awkward, simply because you’ve been hanging out because of your shared friends for at least a year – shouldn’t you text sometimes?

“I’m glad,” Chan simply says as he switches lanes. Taylor Swift comes on, and he starts quietly singing along.

“I love that you’ve got Taylor on there,” you compliment, for lack of anything better to say.

He shrugs. “She is a damn good songwriter.”

And you’re both singing along again. Chan turns onto one of the main streets that snakes around all of the inner city, and there’s plenty of traffic here, and so many lights from advertisements. Still, inside of your dark car, it feels like you’re the only people in the world, a dark little boat in an ocean of artificial light.

“Tell me about your weird playlists,” he says quietly. You cringe a bit. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Pinkie promise.” He stops at a red light, so he can actually turn to you and hold out his pinkie to you. You grab it with yours, delighted by how small it looks next to his, and at the softness of his skin.

“I have one that is called “Songs for Sexual Tension Filled Dancing with your Enemies To Lovers Love Interest”.”

Chan starts laughing before he can hold himself back. “Hey!” you yell, but the traffic light switches back to green so you can’t very well hit him. “You promised,” you whine.

Your driver snorts. “Yeah, but I thought you were going to say something like “Eating Ice Cream in my Over-Knees on a Saturday Night like they do in Romcoms” and not some fantasy inspired slash fic foreplay stuff.”

You pause. “Both of those categories are oddly specific, Christopher.”

Awkward silence on his part.

“And the fact remains that you broke your promise.”

“What’s even on a sexual tension playlist?” Chan asks, trying to distract you.

You roll your eyes. “The Arctic Monkeys, of course. Why are you even asking?”

Chan points at his phone. “There are some of their songs on this playlist as well.”

You glance back onto his phone and choose one of them. The thumping bass and dirty guitar riffs begin reverberating through the enclosed space of the car. Chan starts singing along again, and the way he softly breathes “secrets I have held in my heart are harder to hide than I thought” has you thinking that you could fall in love with this man if you let yourself. This Chan, this past midnight, slightly sweaty T-shirt, unselfconsciously singing in the car Chan, is not intimidating. He is enchanting.

And the fact that he allows you to see him like this, so vulnerable, so himself, feels intimate in a way you don’t really have words for.

He interrupts himself. “Are you still mad I laughed at you?”

“Very,” you say, not meaning it at all.

Chan knows, because he smiles as he glances over at you. “How about we grab some takeout and drive around a bit more? I’m paying. And you can play me all the sexual tension music you like.” What does he even mean by that? Is he aware of what he’s doing to you?

You pretend to think hard, but then admit: “That sounds like a fair deal for breaking a pinkie promise, I would argue.”

Chan nods. “And I get to spend more time with you, so who’s the real winner here?”

You blush, and Chan meets your eye again to smile at you. You strike back: “Well, seems like you planned all of this anyway, given the fact that you haven’t even asked where I live yet.”

Now it’s his turn to blush. He clears his throat. “Okay, maybe I deserved that. Would you rather I took you home?”

On an impulse, you put a hand on his thigh. He slightly jumps, but puts his own hand on top of yours, his bigger one covering yours completely. “We ain’t stopping now,” you say decidedly.

Chan doesn’t react verbally, but his hand squeezes yours. “McDonald’s?”

You nod, and Chan turns off the main road, still holding your hand.

“YN?”

“Yeah?”

“You know – my home screen picture?”

You nod. “The one from the barbecue?”

Chan is quiet for a second. “That’s the only one I have of us together.”

His confession hits you kind of out of the blue, and you panic a little, because you say, “One of the lines Jisung wants to try on his noona is ‘I’m not a photographer, but I can picture me and you together.’”

Chan pulls his hand away, groaning. “That’s it, I’m abandoning my crush on you. Why would you say that!”

His… Crush on you? Could he be any more honest?

“Chan?”

He sighs. “Yeah?”

You gulp, but keep going. “I have a playlist called Crush Culture.”

He waits for you to go on.

“And… The image for it… Is your WhatsApp profile picture.”

Chan is quiet again before asking. “Are there any Arctic Monkeys on that playlist?”

You huff a laugh. “I Wanna Be Yours.”

Chan parks the car and then glances over at you. You only now realise that you’ve reached the McDonald’s closest to your house. “Crush activated again. But I’m not kissing you in a parking lot.”

You nod. “We stan a classy man.”

He bites his lip and shakes his head. “Let’s get some fries and then go somewhere else, okay?”

You smile. “Okay.”

You both get out of the car, and he carefully takes your hand. “Where do you live, by the way?” he asks as you’re walking towards the restaurant.

You grin. “I’m not telling you.”

Chan shrugs. “I’ll try again in an hour.”

You nod. “Try you may.”

~Day 23~