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#its always been somebody else doing it for her

daemon-in-my-head · 2 days

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Definitely not canon, tragic angsty durgetash shit below as I struggle with the block™️. I don't know how many words, kinda description of injuries, ig? Anyway, not for kids. But it's tame compared to my usual stuff. Maybe I'll upload it on Ao3 one day.

Perfect archduke

Nothing could've prepared him for what he'd witness at the docks.

He had considered a plethora of scenarios on his way here. Distractions from the searing pain shooting up his leg whenever he took another step, daydreams about all the 'what if's' that could've been, explanations for the elf's actions down in the ruins. Just any kind of thought so that he may be able to ignore the hell unfolding around him, but not a single one of them led him to ever consider the horrors displayed before him.

The temperamental little girl who spat her words at him mere hours ago, the brave soldier who had survived all he'd done to her and still retained her fiery passion, was finally donning a look of utter defeat as she held onto the bundle in her arms. The snarky elves who had refused to leave his dear companion's side, who refused to control their ever-waggling tongues for just a second, couldn't even look at the man they'd been constantly circling before.

"What happened?" A calm, firm voice, finally asking his first question in what must've been decades. Still ever carefully masking the bile that continued to rise in his throat as his eyes focused on little red droplets hitting the soiled ground.

"The brain, we- the fall- I-" the Tiefling had become a stuttering mess, a mess that soon crumbled onto the pavement.

He didn't try to ask another question, seeing how the woman before him had stopped being capable of answering him or anyone else for that matter. So, instead, he resorted to the one method he knew would never fail him: studying the situation himself. It had been quite obvious what, or rather who, the person within her grasp had been. The eccentric suit of armour, the carelessly tied greyish hair. There had been but one person who'd ever grace people with such a look, but still. It couldn't be him. Someone who had rejected the god of death and lived couldn't possibly end up like this. It was impossible. You can't kill death. You may outfox it, escape its view, or grasp for a while, but you could never defeat death nor its child. This must've been another tomfoolery of his. A tasteless joke, childish revenge for something he remembered.

The man kneeled in front of the red lady before a calloused, gold-clad hand reached for strands dyed in uncannily warm colours, pushing them away to reveal the cruel truth hidden beneath. He didn't quite know what he expected to find, if he was honest with himself, but certainly not this. The ruby red orbs that had always carefully taken in their surroundings remained hidden. The old scar he himself had traced countless times had begun bleeding again, once more tinting the ashen cheeks he had witnessed flushing in days long past. The cruel hands he had used to crush so many of his foes began shaking as it traced the familiar ridges and curves of a face he'd known for ages, and the pain in his leg began to flare up yet again.

"Heal him." A firm command. Just another of his usual orders directed at the white-haired woman beside them. A tyrant's decree that would be all but ignored.

"You're a cleric, aren't you? Then, fulfil your duty and heal him." His voice grew louder. He would've loved to clench his fists, yet he couldn't bear to lift his hand from the man it had been so desperately grasping onto.

"I'm sorry I can't." The woman refused to look at them. Her eyes darting just about anywhere except the voice's direction.

"Will somebody finally do something?!" His voice grew into a rage-filled scream at her refusal. All these skilled people, and yet none of them did anything. "You know magic, don't you? You've brought people back before. I saw the records. I saw what the bunch of you has done, so fix him, or do you need a personal invite?!"

"I'm sorry, but this- this is beyond what I can do. What anyone could-" the woman finally turned to face them—translucent streams clearing away a path in the marks of battle placed upon her.

"Then get someone who can!" He continued to criticize her, ignoring what she had tried to tell him. The truth everyone but him had already acknowledged. "Why are you still standing there? Go, get-"

"Stop it!" The other pointy-eared man finally raised his voice, silencing the ramblings of the madman in front of him. Refusing to listen to his denial any longer. "It truly is a miracle how someone as dense as you has managed to rise to the position of Archduke, so let me spell it out clearly for you." The vampire's voice dripped with sarcasm, "he is dead. Gone. Ceased to breathe. And there's nothing you, she, or any of us can do about it. Your glorious grand design has killed him." He met the tyrant's rage-filled eyes. A look one could almost mistake as pity veiling the seething anger hidden within his own as he did.

"Congratulations, Archduke," he hissed.

"At last, you've freed the city of all its Bhaalspawn with your own stained hands."

#idk #i didnt reread or smth #i just wrote it on tumblr lol #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #enver gortash #bg3 gortash #bg3 durge #durgetash #lord gortash #durge #gortash x durge #dark urge #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #daemons writing #i really just wrote #inspired by smth that ripped my heart to shreds

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strawnav · 6 months

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"Hachi —"

"He didn't tell me. Not exactly. But he —" Jinbei's voice falters, and Nami fights to keep her shoulders squared and her expression smooth, when he says, "— he warned me, about the kinds of things I might do that he felt might...be upsetting to you. So that I could avoid those behaviors."

Some part of Nami's heart breaks, and she smiles, faint and almost sharp, at the idea of Hatchan trying to protect her in this small, simple way. It's kind, but it's something else, too. "And based on what he said, you've...guessed."

He doesn't pretend otherwise, and she appreciates it. "Yes. Not the finer details, but...some of it."

She sits, body suddenly feeling heavy, and sinks into one of the room's plush seats. It's quiet, in the library. Just her and their newest crew member, who she does not fear. Who she does not fear. But her body remembers. Suddenly she can do little else. "What did he say?"

Jinbei would clearly rather not say, but he sits, too, and respects her too much to lie or evade. "He said it might make you uncomfortable to see me using a firearm." Her mind fills with images and sounds, the bang of a gunshot / the sight of her mothers skull exploding, viscera falling out like a spilled bowl / Nojiko's scream. "He told me to let you eat first, before myself, if there was ever a situation where we needed to eat in turns." It's been years since she's been forced to skip a meal, either because her captors decided she wasn't worthy of food or because spending even a cent on a meal was selfish, but she remembers the clutching, devouring hunger and the way her ribs felt against her skin nevertheless. "He though it would be best if I avoided waking you at night if there was any other option." His voice twists, and she doesn't have it in her to wonder what he's imagining. The first six months were the hardest, as far as sleep goes, never being allowed more than a few hours at a time because Arlong wanted to break her circadian rhythm, forcing her up at random to redo maps she knew were perfect. The years after, when she'd wake screaming and be beat for causing such a racket, and the way now she can't scream when she wakes up at all.

She swallows thickly, does not try to force the memories away, does try not to let them settle.

"Was that all?" Nami asks, her voice stronger than she feels.

"And he...suggested I shouldn't come near you generally while you're working on maps."

That has her stiffening. A too - large hand against her skull, slamming her face to her work table, smearing wet ink on her cheeks and blooming bruises beneath it. The memories always float closest to the surface when she draws maps, and that makes her so fucking angry she still wants to scream some days, because drawing maps is her passion. She loves little more. And he took it from her, transformed the simple, warm joy into a source of fear and anger. It's hers, now, but it isn't just her body that he left scarred. It's her dream. Every day, the scars fade, and she believes that someday, it'll be all hers again, but that she has a scar to heal at all is all wrong.

"Hah. That was kind of him." Her hand raises, pressing idly to her tattoo and the jagged scar beneath it. "I kind of hate how weak it makes me seem, though. That he thinks you need to walk on eggshells around me, just because Arlong hurt me."

"Not weak," Jinbei says. "I know that you're the farthest thing from weak."

Nami smiles, not looking at him, and tries to remember that he's right. "I want to tell you about it. Everything that happened." Hatchan was being kind, to tell him this. Nojiko was being kind, when she told Sanji and Usopp. She understands. But it's not their story to share. "I want you to know, and I want you to hear it from me."

He stiffens, and she can tell even without looking at him by the way his breath skips. Fishmen and humans breathe differently. She knows that, too. She imagines hearing a fishman's breath at her back while she draws a map, and is forced to consider that at least one piece of Hachi's advisements may be wise. Jinbei nods and says, "Of course."

"I'm not telling you to hurt you. This crew is like a family to me, and that means you, too. I want everything to be out on the table between us." She looks at him, still smiling, tired but not lying. "And I think we both need the reminder that we're strong enough to bear the truth."

Jinbei smiles, too, and nods again. Nami inhales.

"The reason Hachi probably thought it might upset me if I saw you with a gun — the first thing Arlong did to me was invade my village when I was ten. He took it over, and demanded tribute from everyone. My mother, she — she only had enough money for herself or for my sister and I, and she chose to save us. Arlong — he shot her in the head in front of us." She's surprised at how even her voice is, even while he heart breaks at the memory. She'd tried to help Bellemere after; tiny, trembling hands reaching as though she could put her brains back in her skull, and Nojiko had held her back. Jinbei looks, again, like he may cry, and Nami feels herself grow more tired.

He starts, "I'm so —"

"No," she says. "Don't. It's not your fault. I don't blame you. You've apologized already, and I accepted it. You're not your brother, and I know that. Seeing you with a gun wouldn't scare me, because I know you're not like him."

Jinbei nods, lips thin. Nami looks back to the half - finished map resting on her work table. It's nice, that she can take breaks whenever she wants now. She lets her eyes rest there.

"After he killed my mother, he found a map I'd drawn. I don't remember what I said, but I must have gotten mad at him for touching it or something, because he realized I drew it. Even back then, I was good at it, and Arlong took me away. A man in the vilage who cared about me — he's like a father to me — tried to stop him from taking me, and he was...he got hurt, real badly for it. He almost died."

She doesn't look back at Jinbei. She thinks of Genzo's voice, ragged, barely - there, soaked with blood, I'll save you, Nami. She thinks of screaming, begging him to abandon her. It took her so long after to learn that she was allowed to let others protect her, that she doesn't get everyone who loves her hurt.

"Once he took me away, Arlong beat me and made me watch him sink the Navy ships that came close. I didn't understand what he wanted, but...he was just trying to prove to me that I was alone. That help wasn't coming. He said I could join his crew as their cartographer. I —" Her voice breaks, just barely, as she remembers the little girl, so scared, so small, who'd had to be so, so brave. She wishes she could hold her. She wishes she could tell her that it would be okay someday. "I told him I'd only work for him if he'd let me buy the village back from him someday. And he agreed."

"He did?" Jinbei sounds sincerely surprised, and Nami laughs weakly, eyes drifting to her knees.

"He did. I'd just have to earn one hundred million berries for him, and I'd have the town's freedom. And my own."

"One hundred —"

"I was still a little girl, so I — I didn't really understand just how big that number was. But I didn't...there wasn't any choice. I d - didn't see any other choice. No one was coming to save us. Either I protected the village, or...or they'd all die, like my mom did." She inhales raggedly. "It was all I could do."

"I'm sorry," he says again, and her head snaps to him but before she can tell him to stop, he says, "I'm not taking responsibility. But I am sorry that happened. That shouldn't have...no child should ever be put in that position."

He's right. Nami smiles, and allows herself a few tears. All of the others said the same, when she'd told them. It's a good reminder, that her pain was as horrible and wrong as it had felt. As it still feels, on the worst days.

"Anyway, I ended up working for him. It was more like I was his prisoner than a member of the crew. He gave me a tattoo on my arm of his Jolly Roger, like — hah, well. I guess like a brand." Jinbei's face twists, a mixture of guilt and fury, and she thinks of Fisher Tiger's last words and understands, at least a little. "He was...awful to me. Almost the whole crew was. I went without food a lot. I got beat a lot. He didn't let me sleep enough or eat enough, and he almost killed me more times than I can count. I think he expected me to die. I think he wanted me to." It hadn't felt like an option to her. She was all that stood between Arlong and the village. "He let me stop wearing chains when I turned twelve. A birthday present." Jinbei's expression contorts further. She reaches out her free hand, hesitates, and then commits, resting it over his. His eyes widen as his head snaps towards the contact, then towards her face.

She smiles, trying to comfort them both. This aches, but she's told the story to the others enough that at least the wound isn't new. The hurt is like a stone, stuck in the center of her chest — whenever she tells someone, it feels like chipping away at it.

"He was...exacting about his maps. He locked me in a little room for a long time, didn't let me see any other humans for years. It was just work and maps and getting hurt whenever I tried to rest. I couldn't breathe. When he finally started letting me leave the island, I started stealing from — anywhere. Anything I could get my hands, to save the money to buy the island. Eventually, I started stealing from pirates."

Nojiko's horror, the first time she came home, blood dripping from her mouth and wounds across her arms and chest. Who cares that I'm hurt, I got ten thousand berries right here!

It's easier, to tell this part of the story.

"They hurt me, too, but...honestly, it was still better than being at Arlong Park. Nothing that any of them did to me could match what Arlong did." She inhales slow, exhales slower. Jinbei moves his hand beneath hers slowly, so as to not startle her, and flips it so her hand rests in his wide palm. She doesn't flinch, when he curls his hand gently around hers. "That was...my whole life. For eight years."

The number seems to wound him, and his eyes lower. Nami breathes, but does not stop. She must not believe herself fragile. She must not believe him fragile, either. "I had saved a lot over the years. Arlong figured out how close I was, and he had one of the Navy fuckers he was paying off steal my stash, so that I was back to square one. They shot my sister — she lived, thank god." She'd been so scared, mind conjuring images of Belle - mere's blood in the grass, another person dead because of Nami. "I — the villagers were so angry at Arlong, and so angry on my behalf, that they...they decided they'd rather die fighting Arlong and his men than live another day like this. I tried to convince them I could just...earn the money again, but..."

Inhale. Exhale. This part is hard. It had been so strange, to go from universally despised to so, so loved, and all in a matter of hours. To know that she was going to lose the people who loved her again. "The village loved me, even if I didn't know it. They wouldn't let Arlong get away with hurting me like that, and I think they...they thought that if they died, at least I'd finally be able to escape. I wouldn't have anybody left to save except myself." Her smile turns bitter. "Idiots. At that point, I'd have just died, too."

Her hand against her scar finally falls, and Jinbei's eyes fall to the exposed flesh. The scar is audacious and ugly, but it's mostly covered by the pinwheel. He seems to only now realize how extreme the wound is. "I was so angry at him, and so scared for my family, and so sick of — of having his mark on my body, this reminder that it wasn't really my body, just his tool, and I just — I snapped. I basically tried to carve his brand off of me." Jinbei winces, eyes shining, teeth gritting. There is no fear in her that the anger he expresses is aimed at her. "It's a miracle I can still use my arm at all, honestly. Luffy found me like that, and he didn't even know the story, he just...hated seeing me suffering like that. He and the others marched off to Arlong Park. And against all odds...they won. Luffy, he — he destroyed the room Arlong kept me in, destroyed all the maps I'd drawn in captivity. Destroyed everything connected to — what Arlong did to me. After that, after all that pain, I was...finally free."

Jinbei is silent for a long, long time. Nami doesn't rush him. She needs the quiet to swallow her tears, to let the memories wash through her and leave without drowning her. Fishmen hands feel different than human hands, but she's glad that holding Jinbei's hand doesn't chafe. It feels comforting. It feels kind.

Finally, the fishman says, "how long ago were you freed?"

Nami breathes out. "Almost three years ago."

"Three years of freedom after eight years of captivity and abuse from my brother. I don't fault you for being uncomfortable around me."

"Hey, stop that," Nami commands. "Listen. I'm not uncomfortable around you. We're holding hands now, and all that makes me feel is safe." Jinbei's eyes widen, head raising to look at her face. Her lips are set in a stern line, shoulders strong. "I'm not saying that there won't be bad days where I might jump when you greet me or something or feel anxious drawing my maps around you or the memories might make things hard. But it's not about you or about you letting Arlong go. I get that way about Sanji or Brook or the others sometimes, too." He doesn't look entirely convinced, but he squeezes her hand like he wants to be. "It's not about you. It's just the memories. We've both suffered a lot because of each other's people. But I don't blame you, and I know you don't blame me. There's no part of me, not a single one, that believes you'd ever hurt me the way Arlong did." Jinbei's eyes widen and shine and hurt. Softer, she adds, "There's no part of me that believes you'd ever hurt me at all."

The older man's voice trembles, breaking like the tears flowing from his eyes, when he says, "You are — far kinder than I deserve, and unimaginably brave." She smiles again, helpless this time, as she feels her own eyes begin to well again.

"Now you know my whole story. Thank you for letting me tell you."

"I'm a part of the crew," he says, still crying, but his voice is steadying. She thinks of the singular time she'd caught Arlong crying. He'd beat her for daring to see his fear and pain, and she knows that Jinbei is much stronger than him in many ways, that he is not afraid to allow himself to feel and cry and grieve. She is, too. "You said it yourself. This crew is like family, and there shouldn't be secrets." He breathes out a stuttering laugh, his tears slowing. "It's a bit strange to adjust to how close you are all."

"Give it a month or two," Nami shoots back, teasing a little now. "Luffy will have you so overwhelmed by how stupid we all are that you'll have no choice but to adjust."

"I hope to learn from all of you," he says, free hand wiping at his eyes. She releases his palm, and the other presses to his chest, and to the symbol that had frightened her in the early days "I hope that someday I may possess a fraction of your strength, Nami."

That draws a laugh from her, startled and shy. "The others on the crew are much strong than me."

"I don't believe that," he says, and he means it. He does. Her heart feels — light and heavy both. Floating on saltwater. She is strong, she knows. "To be strong enough not only to endure that hardship, but to have coped and moved on to the extent that you have...to be honest, I envy you. Arlong hurt you far more than he did me, and yet...the strength you display with regards to him is not something I can ever hope to match."

Her brow furrows. "He was your brother. He is your brother. That doesn't excuse him, and I'll always hate him for what he did to me. But it's a hell of lot easier to move on from a villain you hurt you than from the brother that you love."

Jinbei smiles joylessly. "Strange that the same man can be both, isn't it?"

She doesn't have a reply to that. All she can say, after a long moment of silence, is, "you're strong, too." To take responsibility for what is only barely his fault, to cry to a human even though humans have hurt him, to hold the love and the hate for Arlong together in his heart and not fall apart with it.

Jinbei smiles, not looking convinced, but doesn't argue.

"Do you want to — stay with me?" Nami asks suddenly. "While I finish this map?"

His eyes widen. "Are you sure you'd be comfortable with that?"

His concern isn't unwarranted. This conversation has memories bubbling to the surface, pressing against her head — Belle - mere, pain, years of abuse. The time Arlong drowned her and then crushed her hands. A fishman's breathing near her while she draws maps. It might be hard, but — "I'm strong," she says, because she needs to. "And I think I need..." She exhales, trying to think of how to word it. "I used to be afraid of pirates, you know? Much more than I was afraid of fishmen. When I started traveling with Luffy, I was terrified of him. But every day when none of them hurt me, the fear got...smaller. The memories of my crew being good to me drowned out the memories of the crew that hurt me. And I think...I think I need memories of maps and fishmen that are safe, too. To drown out the memories that aren't." She laughs quietly. "I guess I'm being selfish."

Jinbei smiles, almost paternal, eyes still red from his tears. "I think that makes perfect sense. I'd be happy to keep you company."

Nami grins. She's sure it might ache. But she's sure, too, that he won't hurt her. Even now, years later, what a relief — to know her crew won't ever hurt her.

"Thank you."

#drabbles.#just thinking abt nami telling jinbei abt everything yknow......and i think nami deserves 2 be the one to tell this story #its always been somebody else doing it for her #abuse /#violence /#gore /#i dont rly know how to tag it but theres also a very brief moment that implies that jinbei might #(incorrectly) be guessing that nami experienced csa #its brief and only a quick vague suggestion but i wanted 2 mention it even so!#anyway god i love them. i love them.#theyre so good. i love them. i love the idea of jinbei getting almost a little paternal abt her #like both of them fully loving each other despite the trauma; namis trauma w his brother #and jinbeis trauma w humans #they are both so strong and my mipys #I LOVE U JINBEI IM UR BIGGEST FAN !!!!#personal blogs i am literally BEGGING U not to touch this. literally begging

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meowlod · 4 months

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arlecchino x fem!reader | mother and father.

(nsfw+trans!arle)

warnings: mentions of having babies, mentions of pregnancy, etc.

Taking care of the children in the Orphanage taken care by ”Father“, you always have been called Mother by the children. They always thought that you‘re the mother, and it makes you feel a little embarrassed. What the Knave say when she comes back from her trip to Snezhnaya and finds out?

“Mama, mama!“ several children call for you. “Where is Father? Mama should never be alone!“ You let out a small sigh, your cheeks burning red. “I..Father is out, okay, my children? She will come back soon.“ You gently tell them, nervously smiling as they continue to call you mama.

You are in the kitchen cleaning the dirty dishes from the children that had eaten earlier, putting the forks and spoons to the correct place. You suddenly heard the door open from the Orphanage, and a familiar face came up running to you.

Furina. What was she doing here? She never came here. It should be something important if she came running to you with a panicked expression. “Hey, hey friend! Ah..this might be so weird to hear from somebody who was once the mighty hydro archon, but..can you please have a talk with the Knave and tell her to stop scaring me?! She always looked so scary and dangerous every time we stared at each other, blehh…“

You sigh and give her a nod. She nods back with a smile and runs out of the orphanage with a small wave before walking out. What was that? She wants you to talk to Arlecchino now? You better hope that she won‘t kill you once you ask her to leave the blue woman alone.

Later, you‘re in the main room playing games with the children after you‘ve done all the dishes. You‘re currently sitting next to a couple children, until you heard a sudden opening noise. The door opens and the children happily shout out to you “Mama, look! Father is back!“

You quickly try to shush the child, but the other children continue to call you mother, right infront of the Knave herself.

”Hmm?“ She stares at you with curiousness, then at the children. Mother? She thought. Having children is something she wouldn‘t mind, especially with you, If she only could. If they call you mother, you must be special to them.

”Father, mama has been waiting for you!“

You get flustered and stand up to greed Arlecchino. ”A—ah..Knave, i‘m glad you‘re back..i‘m sorry, these children won‘t stop calling me mama, or mother..“ Scratching your head, you look away with a shy smile, two children hugging your legs while they stare at Arlecchino.“

“It‘s alright. I suppose you took care of them and they did nothing wrong?“ She asks with her stern, gentle voice, looking into your eyes with her red X pupils. God, they get you scared, but they‘re so pretty.

You chuckle nervously. ”Y—yeah, Knave. The children have been behaving very well. No fighting, no stealing, nothing. They have been extra good today..“

“Ah, that is great.“ From the answer she had gotten, her lips form into a slight smile, and walks past you to her office, patting your shoulder one last time. ”I want you in my room, 1 AM. Don‘t be late.“

Huh? Your eyes widen, cheeks forming a red blush as you stand there flustered. You nod before going into your own room that Arlecchino had given you to rest in. You take off your working skirt and your other clothes to change into your night glown.

Its a few hours until you have to meet the Knave in her room, so you can do anything else before the ”meeting”. You lay down on the bed, turning on your phone and messaging one of your friends who you gossip with everyday.

A few hours later, you forgot about meeting the Knave as you do stuff with your phone. But a message notification pops up on your phone. It‘s Arlecchino.

You click on the notification and it brings you to the chat.

> “You‘re late.“

> ”I‘m sorry! I‘ll come right now.“

You message quickly back before putting your phone on the desk and open the door, walking towards Arlecchino‘s room. You knock, but nobody answers. Every child is asleep and the hallway is dark, where is she? Before you could continue thinking, arms are wrapped around your waist, the person putting you on their shoulder. You were about to scream before the familiar voice calms you down.

”Be quiet, it‘s me.“

It‘s not a kidnapper, thank god. It‘s the Knave who suddenly creeped up behind you and picked you up. But it‘s so dark, how can she see so good? She has good eyes.

“Y—you really scared me..“ you whisper out as you bury your head into her shoulder. ”I forgot to tell you…Furina told me to tell you that you sh—” She doesn‘t like hearing that womans name. Before you can talk, she opens the door of her room and pushes you down onto her bed. You yelp as she does so.

And this is where you ended up at. In her bed, head pushed against the pillow as muffled moans escape from your mouth from Arlecchino‘s cock pounding in and out of you in a quick pace, looking like she wants to make you pregnant, to make babies with you.

“m—mmgh…! mmfh—a—arle..!“

Your muffled words are shushed as she grips your head and pushes it more down to the pillow, her thrusts becoming faster and harder, you feel her hitting your sweet spots.

Her face comes closer to your ear and she whispers, ”You‘re gonna be taking care of my children, my children, aren‘t you, la mia bella ragazzal?“

You moan from her words, and as you expected, after her last powerful thrust, she squirts inside you, hot cum slowly starting to drip out of your hole after she pulled her dick out, it being still hard.

She flips you around and grips your chin before giving you a aggressive kiss, her other hand moving to one of your breasts, squishing it.

The hand slowly moves down to her cock, gripping it then guiding it against your messy hole once again, getting ready to push it in.

“I‘m not done with you yet, i‘m going to make you a great, lovely mother, la mia adorabile ragazza.“

You‘re not going to feel your legs tomorrow, but she‘s going to take care of you.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact #fatui harbingers

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disneyprincemuke · 4 months

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the other woman * mv1

everything falls into place in your mind when max fails to show up for you at the one event you desperately wanted him to be at

pairings: max verstappen x fem!reader

warnings: cheating, jake gyllenhaal type behaviour

notes: hi i know i promised this on xmas eve and then i failed to deliver mY BAD BABY GIRLS! i am trying my best but then again i did get a fever and all but its ok lfg and NO I WILL NOT BE WRITING A PART TWOOOOO

(f1 masterlist)

your eyes watch your front door, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you try to hold yourself back from crying. there's a sob bubbling from the deepest part of your gut as you glance at the clock one more time.

he's late.

but one can also say that he's simply not coming. did he lie when he told you that he would make sure he showed up for you this time? or did he just simply forget about you again?

your eyes have been staring at that door for the better part of the last hour or so since guests started arriving for the party you'd thrown.

a party you'd thrown, admittedly, just to get his attention. you were never one to make a big deal of your birthday anyway, but he made you think otherwise. because he promised you that he would be here no matter what happened. it's stupider that he was the one that encouraged you to throw a party today.

only for him not to show up?

this is the one time you needed him to so desperately show up for you. but here you are, looking like a fool waiting for somebody who wouldn't come; for somebody who didn't even make you a first choice.

because you know that when if push comes to shove, he would still pick her. max would always pick kelly and penelope over you, no matter how much he tells you that he loves you. no matter how many times you endured him telling you that he no longer wants to be with her.

you know better than to be his little secret. your parents had not raised you to be a potential homewrecker, but are you really being one if he's the one that keeps coming back to you?

you've tried staying away, and you've attempted to cut all sorts of contact with him, but he eventually crawls right back to you a couple of weeks later claiming that he will break up with kelly soon.

you've even bought a new dress for the occasion; in max's favourite colour and a cut that you knew he would say you look amazing in.

only for him to bail on you. you'd even taken the effort to sit for an hour to do your makeup and hair. for nothing, essentially.

fast forward a couple of hours of holding back tears and forcing smiles, you're hunched over the couch, picking up empty beer cans and tears streaming down your face. at the end of the day, you're left alone in your apartment with a heavy heart and the eerie silence the room can only offer you.

you watch the last car from your guests drive away. you sigh and throw yourself on the couch, finally letting the tears fall from your eyes. you had no idea it was so difficult to pretend like you're okay until today.

it's totally different when it's got something to do with the heart, it seems. you were totally banking on the fact that he would be here today, at least today. just today. because it's your birthday.

it's your day.

a knock on the door sits you right up, hands darting up to wipe the tears that smudged your makeup. "give me a second!"

"it's just me."

the anger suddenly hits you. so he is available to travel out to come and see you. just not a couple of hours prior when everybody else was here? just not at the time when you actually wanted him to be here?

you stomp your way over to the door and swing the door open and a string of apologies quickly spill from his mouth. you immediately notice the wrapped present in his hand and the bouquet of flowers.

"i'm sorry, i got held up at home," max apologises with a frown. "p had a fever and she wouldn't go to bed unless i tucked her in. i'm sorry, i know i'm late."

you sigh, rolling your eyes. "you're not just late," you scowl, "you missed the party entirely, max."

"oh," he slumps his shoulders, "i was wondering why it was so quiet when i was walking up."

you shake your head and walk further into your apartment. "max, just go home. you don't have a reason to be here."

"what do you mean? it's your birthday," he says gently, following you in. he closes the door behind him and follows you into your living room. "is there still cake? maybe you can blow the candles with me before the day ends? i even got you a present."

"no, i let people take home pieces of the cake," you say softly, returning to your agenda of cleaning your home from the traces of the party your friends left. "what am i going to do with cake that i don't even eat?"

"you bought chocolate cake on your birthday? you don't even like chocolate," he points out softly. "nevermind that, i got you a present!"

"i don't give a fuck about your stupid present, max!" you burst, standing up and turning to finally face him. "i didn't ask for a fucking present! i asked you for one thing and you couldn't even do that!"

he stares at you, dumbfounded with his lips parted in shock at your outburst. you're not typically one to have outbursts, which is the one thing he claims he finds very refreshing about you. you're calm and collected most of the time, and you assess the situation before picking fights. "p was sick. what did you want me to do?"

"you're telling me you're a sole parent to this little girl?" you ask. "kelly couldn't have tucked her in so you could show up to the party that you asked me to throw? on my birthday? max, you had one job and it was to show up for me tonight! i waited for you all night!"

he seems to have lost all ability to speak because he just pulls out a chair from your dining table and takes a seat. "i'm sorry. you're right, i should have been here."

"seriously, max! are you actually ever going to leave them or do you just lie straight through your teeth whenever you tell me that?" she scolds him, throwing her arms in the air. "i'm not stupid, max! this has gone on long enough!"

"i am, and i will!" he answers you, running his hands through his hair. "i just need more time. there's a child involved, i really hope you understand. i can't just leave."

"you say that every single time! it's been seven months!" you cry. "you've made me the other woman for seven long months! am i supposed to just sit here and take that? just because i love you?"

"i do love you! but it's complicated, okay? i can't just leave p like this!"

you clench your jaw. how many times have you heard that excuse in the past year? and how many more times will you be fooled by the sweetness in his voice and his glistening blue eyes? "max, i think you should go. lose my number, and forget that i ever existed. i can't do this anymore."

his head snaps up to you. he quickly walks over to you, throwing his arms around you from behind. "wait, don't say that. please, i promise. i'll leave in the next month. don't leave me. i really don't love her anymore."

"i'm so tired of the lies, max," you sigh, desperately tearing his arms away from your body. you take a step back and turn to him. "you will always choose them over me. it doesn't matter how much you love me, max. you're too attached to them to leave."

"listen to me, okay? i will leave them. and then we can be happy together like we talked about all those nights we spent together," max coos, putting his hands on your shoulder. he bends down slightly to look into your eyes. "please, just give me one last chance - more time. i just need time. i will let p down easily and i'll leave kelly. please."

"i don't know how many more times you think you can fool me with that lie, max!" you frown, shoving him back. "just leave! leave me alone! i refuse to let you make me look like an idiot! i'm better than this."

"i thought you said you understood my predicament. with p in the picture..."

"yeah, for seven long months. do you know how many days that is? how many hours i'd spend with you wondering when you'd finally take me off the backseat and make me your own officially?" you throw your head back and a dry laugh passes your lips. "max, just leave. don't call me again."

"you don't really mean that."

"i do this time," you say firmly, turning around to face him.

you circle around him and walk over to your front door, pulling it open and gesturing towards the hallway. "i'm done. take your flowers and your stupid present and leave."

he does what you say, hesitantly. he keeps his eyes on you, hoping that you will immediately change your mind. he travelled this far to get to you, hoping that you would somehow forgive him for missing your birthday party.

but you're right, now that he's had a couple of seconds to think about it. in the past seven months, he's told you that he'd up and leave kelly and penelope so he can finally be with you openly. it's much harder to keep you in the shadows when everyone's got eyes on him all the time.

perhaps it's the attachment to penelope that he can't get himself to pack his things and call it a day. he genuinely does love that kid. and his girlfriend has her good days - not all make him want to pull at his hair in frustration anymore.

but he also really does love you. if there hadn't been a loveable child in the picture, one that's grown very attached to him, he would have been able to walk away months ago. it could've been that easy.

"just hear me out," max says, stopping right by the door and giving you one last pleading look. "don't leave. not like this. we haven't even had a real fighting chance."

"that's because of you. not me," you answer dryly, looking up at him. "just go. i can't keep having this conversation with you."

"please."

"i gave you too many chances to make this right," you sigh, putting a gentle hand on his back to guide him out the door. you press your lips together as a lump forms in your throat. you're more shocked that you hadn't fully started bawling moments ago. "i should have done this a long time ago."

"i'm sorry."

"i'm sure you are. too little too late." then you close the door on him and whatever could have been with max.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 fanfiction #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1

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sykostyles · 2 months

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let you love me 1.0

wc: 3.3k summary: in which y/n is a 26 year old bakery owner and she can't quite get this whole "love" thing right; settling on finding solace in being alone. One day, Jackson Cole: an egotistical, but oh so charismatic professional quarterback comes along and swears he can change her mind.. and for a while he does. nearly two years of breaking down her walls.. but they seem to argue about one thing a lot. y/n's "negativity". she swears she's not trying ro be a pessimist.. it just works out better for her if she keeps her expectations low. But what happens when she meets a handsome stranger, who wants nothing more than to see her smile? Will she push everything away again or will she finally accept the love she deserves? or ; tldr sunshine!harry x grumpy! afab reader part two, three, extra

a/n: firstly, I need to thank @freedomfireflies for being so kind, and accepting, and encouraging.. and so many other wonderful adjectives.. but seriously, thank you for giving me the courage to just take the plunge and write the damn thing. anddd for being my beta reader!! getting mother fireflies' stamp of approval has to mean its worthy for everyone else to see.. right? welcome to my first story! please do tell if you enjoyed! (there will be more to this, I'm working on it now <3)

cw: this story contains suggestive and explicit language, minor descriptions of violence, and verbal abuse. please do not continue if these topics upset you!

You knew you shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up. You weren’t sure why you thought this time would be any different. Because he was somebody? Because he had a title? Or was it because he showed a genuine interest in you? Was it because he made the effort unlike most of your previous partners? You weren’t sure. The only thing you were sure of? This time, it hurt. A lot.

You curse yourself as you walk hastily back to get back to your car at the far end of the parking lot. Jackson had a lot of nerve asking you to bring him his practice bag all the way from your apartment, to then basically dump you in the stadium corridor. As you’re rounding the final corner to finally escape the thickening air in the stadium, you’re completely lost in your thoughts, thinking back to the conversation you had just left behind..

“Hey, baby, thanks for bringing that. Coach was about to have my ass again.” Jackson breathes out as he sees you round the corner near the locker rooms. He takes the bag from your grasp, and places his other hand on the small of your back, pulling you into his front. Your hands instinctively reach for the nape of his neck; nimble fingers tangle in his wet hair at the base.

“Oh, but of course! Who would I be to not close up my shop early, again. Run all the way home to get your bag, again. Run all the way here just to step in and save the day for my big, strong man? Again.” You giggle, leaning up for a kiss.

That’s how it’s always been. Y/N is as sarcastic and as teasing as they come. She explains it as “playful bullying” and swears she doesn’t mean anything by it. She has genuine feelings in there somewhere, but she thinks nobody but her needs to know that. She just chooses to portray her affection in rather questionable ways.. In speaking terms, if she’s not being “mean” to you, she doesn’t like you. But she’s tried so hard to get better at it. She swears.

“Do you really have to do that now?” Jackson asks, tilting his head out of the way, dodging your kiss. You look up at him with shocked eyes.

“Do what? Save your ass? As you so graciously put it.” You say, rolling your eyes, attempting to kiss your boyfriend for a second time.

“No, Y/N, that.” He says, trying to pull from your grasp, rejecting you yet again.

“Jackson, I’m not following. Use your words.” you say, turning his head to force him to keep eye contact.

He wasn’t running from this when you spent forty minutes of your evening bringing him his bag for the umpteenth time in your relationship. Not to mention the possible business you're missing out on by closing early. Again.

“Oh my god, you’re still doing it! You’re talking to me like I’m stupid.” he says, stepping back again, attempting to free himself from your hold.

You stand there, stunned.

“He really is like all the others..” flashes in your mind.

“In what world is me teasing you about bringing you your practice bag, again, insinuating that you’re stupid?” You ask, reaching up to cup his face. “Forgetful? Maybe.” Your thumb making its way across the apple of his cheek

“See, you can't even make one single statement without attacking my character, even when you’re trying to explain yourself.”

“I’m not trying to explain myself, Jackson, I’m trying to understand what you’re talking about. And I’m not attacking your character, Jacky, I’m just teasing you. You know that.”

“You’re always like this. I can’t deal with this right now.” He says, grabbing your wrist, pulling your touch from his face.

“Can’t deal with what? Jackson, I haven’t done anything. Are you having a bad day or something? You were fine this morn– ” You start to say, tugging your wrist from his grasp.

“Just– Go home. I can’t deal with you right now, okay? I have a practice to get to.” He says, turning to walk into the locker room, but is stopped dead in his tracks..

“Jackson Wyatt Cole, you are not just going to walk away from this right now! You can’t just spout this nonsense and then turn into a child when asked to explain yourself. Now, either explain yourself or find someone else to bring you your bag the next time you forget it.” You seethe.

His head ticks to the side before he slowly turns to face you. Seeing the face you’d grown to love over the last nearly two years shouldn’t scare you, but in this moment you did not recognize him.

“You have got to be the definition of ungrateful.” Oh, he wants to do this now?

“For the greater part of two years I have given you everything and you still think you can talk to me like that?” Jackson starts to raise his voice, noticing the growing audience in the locker room hallway, and the curious gazes from all directions. Please don’t do this now..

“You’re always so mean to me. You know that?” I swear I don’t mean to be..

“You make me question every choice I make.” I’m just an overthinker, I don’t mean anything by it..

“Even the other girlfriends and wives ask how I deal with your attitude." Okay, ouch.

“You don’t think before you speak, it makes you look so rude.” That one’s true.. I’m trying, I promise..

“You’re so unbelievably condescending when someone tries to make friends with you.” I’m sorry.. I swear I don't mean anything by it..

“You think you’re right in every instance, including now. You could have just given me my bag, gotten a kiss and been on your way. But no, you’re here, holding me up, by being a right bitch. So, maybe I should find someone else, because all I can see right now is someone I’m not sure I want to waste my time and effort on anymore.” Okay.. wow. Um. Alright.. Lay it all out in front of your teammates, why don’t you?

You just let him sit there and berate you. Like a child.

That was it. He’d broken through that exterior. That rock solid exterior that you’d spend years building up. It all came tumbling down with just a few words from someone you thought you loved; someone you thought finally loved you. This is what it always came down to when you argued; your inability to see how great things were around you, always settling on the negative sides of things. Always responding with snarky comments, never meeting anyone elses enthusiasm, etc. Normally, you’d be able to hold your own and fight back, but he was using your insecurities and anxieties against you, with an audience nonetheless! How did harmless teasing turn into this?

“I’m.. s-sorry, Jacky.” You finally choked out, tears threatening to spill over. You wanted to stand here and keep arguing. “I’m not any of those things!” You want to yell. But deep down, you know that you are. Not by your own choice though. Through years of failed relationships and tainted family ties, you had become this person. You became this angry, pessimistic, shell of a girl who really only wanted to love, and to be loved, but you had no idea how to really do either of those things.

You never intended to turn out this way; it just happened.

And it just makes it easier in situations like this..

Right?

“Go home, Y/N. We’ll talk later.’ Jackson sighs, leaving you in the corridor.

Rounding that corner in the parking lot, you don’t even spare a glance and end up walking right into the broad chest of a man. Hands reach up and grasp your shoulders, keeping you from toppling over. Your hands shoot up, grabbing the lapels of his jacket.

“Woah there, love. I gotcha.” you hear.

Looking up, you’re met with the loveliest emerald eyes you’d ever seen. A smile, that should be illegal to be that bright.. And the jawline? Don’t even get me started! But, with your current state, you couldn’t have cared less in that moment what he looked like.

You slowly straightened up, dropping your grasp on his jacket.

“Sorry.” you stated, your eyes looking anywhere but his face. “You can let go now.”

“My apologies, Love.” The man says, letting his hold on your shoulders go. He studies you for a moment, glancing over the features of your face. Taking in your flushed cheeks, teary and swollen eyes, and your all but quivering bottom lip.

You roll your eyes at his use of the moniker again.

“Don’t call me that.” You mutter, glancing around, noticing the band of guys trailing behind this stranger.

He chuckles, “Well, what should I call you? M’ Harry, by the way.” He asks, reaching inside his jacket, he grabs a tissue and holds it out towards you.

“Does it matter?” You bite out, ignoring his gesture. “I’m kind of in a hurry, here. So if you don’t mind.” You say, starting to walk around him. “This is exactly what Jackson was talking about.” you think to yourself.

But you deter none, and continue your journey to your car. Once inside, the tears just flow.

Jackson was supposed to be different. He’s the one who sought you out after all.

He met you when he was picking up a cake his dad ordered for his mothers birthday.

He was smitten ever since.

Made all the efforts to make you feel special. Stopped in your bakery every single day to bring you coffee from your favorite shop down the street. Flowers were delivered constantly; especially since you mentioned that yellow tulips were your favorite.

“I don’t really date anymore.” You admitted when he’d asked you to let him take you out for the thousandth time.

“Too many bad experiences?” He questions.

“Yeah, you could say that.” You frowned, thinking back on a few of them.

Eventually, he slowly started to break down your walls and swore he’d change your mind. Even went so far as to listen to your worries and promised to face them with you..

But here he was, using them against you; just like everyone else did.

What you didn’t know, the moment you were out of sight, the man that you had left standing there turned to his assistant on his right,

“Ryan, was that the woman arguing with Cole?”

“Indeed, sir. Would you like her banned from stadium grounds for speaking to you like that?” Ryan asks, pulling his phone from his jacket.

“On the contrary, Ryan.” I intend to put a smile back on her face. “Please, get me her information.”

“Right away, Mr. Styles.”

Getting back to your apartment was a task in and of itself, considering it's hard to see when you’re bawling your eyes out. Walking in, you’re immediately met with the dread of Jackson eventually coming home.

You shed yourself of your jacket, and set your keys down on the counter. Glancing around the kitchen, you stop your gaze on the vase of flowers that was delivered to you just two mornings ago. Approaching the counter, you pick up the card stuck to the front of the vase.

“Saw these and thought of you. Hope they brighten your day a little. Have a great day, my love. -Jackson”

What had happened in the last two days?

What had happened since this morning?

You sat there immediately picking apart every interaction you’ve had with him over the time span.. You thought everything was fine. He usually loved your playful banter. He never complained before about your snide tongue when it came to him. He claimed it was one of his favorite things about you..

What changed since this morning?

“Okay, tough guy, I get it, you’re the boss.” You chuckle, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Although you don’t make it very far before you’re tugged right back down, being caged in by the man above you, sending you into a fit of giggles

“Oh, princess, I don't think you do.” Jackson says, sliding his hand up your side before settling on the side of your neck.

“Princess? Wouldn’t that mean you’d have to be a prince?”

“Does that bother you?” He questions.

“Well, considering you’re more of a frog than a prince, I don’t think it’s very accurate”

“What did you just call me?” He asks, wrapping his fingers lightly around the front of your throat. A sly smile forms on his face at the feeling of your breath hitching beneath his fingertips.

“A frog. Do you want me to spell it for you, baby?” You quip, smirking as you feel him increase the pressure on the sides of your throat.

“You’re going to forget how to spell your own name by the time I'm done with you, brat.”

“Mm, is that a threat or a promise, tough guy?” You challenge, reaching up to tangle your hands in his hair.

“I’ll let you decide, princess.” He says, claiming your lips in a searing kiss.

Normally he could go back and forth with you without a thought. Did he not find it playful anymore? Was he repulsed by you now? Did he really want to find someone else?

He was fine this morning!

You were driving yourself crazy. You weren’t sure you wanted to fight anymore. Not just fight with him, but fight for him. You sat back and thought more about what exactly he’d said to you. “Even the other wives and girlfriends ask how I deal with your attitude.”

So were you the topic of conversation a lot? Was your inability to act like the other (mostly) fake girlfriends and wives a problem?

Were you really that big of a problem?

You knew you could be a handful, but you never thought it would be like this.

Luckily for you, your bakery still has an apartment unit upstairs. Your old bed was currently calling your name, so, you made a drastic decision at that moment and you were going to stick to it.

You were going to remove yourself from the situation before it could get turned into anything else. It was time to run. Not that you were going to run far, just away from whatever this was turning into, no matter how much it hurt in this moment

Eventually, you stood and walked to your shared bedroom. You grabbed your carry-on suitcase, which was always packed for the times you were given no notice about accompanying Jackson to an away game, and you retreated back into the living room.

You grabbed a notebook and a pen from Jackson’s office, and had a seat at the kitchen island. Just as you were about to start writing what you were thinking, the front door swung open and in walked Jackson.

“H-hey.” you squeaked out, dropping your pen on the counter.

“Mm, hey.” he responds, dropping his bag on the counter next to you. He walks towards the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and walking back to be across from you at the island.

“What’s that?” he asks, nodding his chin towards the open notebook in front of you, seeing “Jackson,” written at the top. “You writing me an apology letter?”

You scoffed, “I’m sorry?”

“Well that’s a start. Keep going.” He grins.

“I’m not, that’s no-“ you start, but his anger bubbles over and he’s already interrupting you, waving his hand in the air to silence you.

“You’re going to sit there and tell me that you’re not going to apologize to me? For causing a scene in front of my teammates? In front of Coach? The owner? The other girlfriends?”

“Is that what this is about? What other people think of me? You’re always bringing up what the other girlfriends think.” Tears begin welling in the corners of your eyes, once again.

It is true that you’re nothing like the other girlfriends and wives of the players. Most of them are that cookie cutter, instagram influencer type. Meanwhile, your instagram is full of cakes, and cookies, and other endless pastries. The ones you spend 70% of your life perfecting to sell in your bakery. So what you tend you keep to yourself? It’s better than hanging around the Brittany’s and the Madison’s (no hate, ya'lls names just got a bad rep) all the time and hearing gossip about people you don’t know, or care about. You keep it curtly polite in public and mind your business in private. What’s so wrong with that?

“Some of them think you’re rude.”

“Some of them need to get a sense of humor.” You mumble, fidgeting in your seat.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about. You have no idea how irritating you are. It’s like you constantly have to have the last word.” He all but yells, pointer finger in your face. “And don’t get me started on the constant need for reassurance. You have no idea how exhausting that is. You’re just so.. negat-“

“That’s enough. You’re actually insane.” You interrupted, standing to leave.

He was just trying to dig the knife in at this point. The thoughts of the argument in the stadium corridor long gone.

Jackson notices your carry-on settled by your feet. “What’re you doing with that?” he asks, standing from his seat.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you say, grabbing the handle “You said yourself you thought finding someone else was a good idea, so i’m doing the hard part for you. Now you can go get one of those other professional girlfriends that you seem to want so bad.”

With every word you said, he slowly got closer to you, each word irritating him further. Once he reaches you, his hands grip your shoulders, spinning you to face him.

“I don’t know where you seem to get off,” he starts, grasping your chin in a firm hold, “but this attitude of yours stops today. Do I make myself clear? I’ve given you everything. The least you could do is act a little grateful.” He states, dropping his hold on your chin. He maneuvers himself around you, grabbing the handle of your carry-on, but you don’t let go.

“I’m through being talked to this way.” You say, yanking your carry-on towards you. “You knew how I was from the beginning. If you didn’t like the way I was, you shouldn’t have pursued me.”

“You don’t have anywhere to go. You’re too.. rough to be loved by anyone else. I’m the best thing you’ve got.” He says pulling the suitcase back towards him. “I’ll just have to shape you into the person you should be.”

You’re just having a full on tug of war game at this point. “Do you even hear yourself? The person I should be? What is that supposed to mean?”

“More.. obedient. You constantly embarrass me with your attitude in front of people. Important people, might I add.”

“Jackson, you really are insane. You think that just because you’re some big shot quarterback that you have any right to treat me this way?”

“Treat you what way? The same way you treat me?” He sneers, moving closer to tower over you.

“If you think me teasing you about forgetting your fucking practice bag all the time is the same as using my genuine fears and anxieties against me then you really are insane. Keep the suitcase then.” You say, letting go as he’s pulling it again.

You’d find a way to replace everything you’d be leaving behind.

“If you walk out that door, you’re done; we’re done.” Jackson says as he’s hot on your trail.

“Is that a promise?” You ask before slamming the door behind you.

You were startled by the sound of shattering glass. Knowing Jackson, he’d just sent the vase of flowers that adorned the counter straight into the door as you slammed it shut.

Assuming this, only solidified your decision further.

You were done.

With relationships.

For good.

Right?

a/n 2.0: thank you for reading this far! I honestly can't believe all of these words came from the thing inside my skull! I swear that thing is broken more often than not.. but seriously! thank you for reading! please go give my dear @freedomfireflies some love from me as well <3

please like &/or reblog if you enjoyed!

#mdni & dividers both by @/cafekitsune #harry styles #harry imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader

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bogleech · 5 days

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I love the town of Port Deposit Maryland. It's all these incredibly old houses build onto levels carved into the side of a mountain overlooking a river and it's not actually "far" from anything else yet there's still a good few miles of little to nothing on all sides making it feel very much like an isolated bubble. I want to say it has never changed, but the residents are constantly building more stuff onto the homes as they deteriorate. They have been doing this since I was a baby, so does that mean it always changes, or does that mean it never changes, because constant change is its natural state?! It's like a bunch of different game assets clipping through each other, assembled by someone with a rough understanding of what a town looks like and how to make it look relatively normal from just certain angles.

Today there were all these vultures at a park there

Port Deposit also declared its own two genders, but they are both welcome to use any restroom they please

I grew up 20 minutes away from it but I never met anyone who lives there or works there. People definitely DO. We met a super nice lady today who owns her own little coffee bar there. But it is difficult to accept that anyone in Port Deposit really exists concurrently with the current timeline of this universe. It will blow my mind if there's a single person on tumblr who lives there. The population feels like it's just 20 or 30 aunts and uncles. I don't know whose aunts and uncles. But they are somebody's.

#maryland #port deposit

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heartfullofleeches · 3 months

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[+18]

V and fuckboy playboy/wingman male Darling-

Hear me out-

Darling is the son of some other loaded family that has close ties with V's. The two cross paths at a gathering and their parents urge them to make friends. Darling plays video games. V plays video games. They exchange numbers with some persuasion from their folks and set up a time to play something together although begrudgingly on V's end. V ends up having a better time than he expected, but right before he really starts to enjoy his time with Darling - he tells V he has to head out.

"Nice meeting you, dude. We gotta do this again. I got a girl coming over and I gotta bounce."

And just like that V's hopes are crushed. He's still learning about his attraction towards guys, but - Darling was sorta cute....

"oh....so you have a girlfriend."

Darling laughs.

"Nah, man. Haven't found the right girl...or guy to tie me down yet, plus I'm just enjoying the single life for now.... I can send pics after we're done if you want. She's totally chill and likes when I show her off."

Pictures?.... V agrees - thinking not much of it. He goes back to playing and eventually it slips from his mind. Hours later he receives photos of what looks to be a topless girl in a dimly lit room. She smiles big at the camera - eyes and upper face blocked from sight by the shaft of the bastard with her cheek pressed to his inner thigh. He still had on the same pair of sweats V had seen him in earlier that day. He only met this guy not even twenty-four hours ago and now he's seen his dick. Even worse - there's a pretty girl with her lipstick and spit all over it in the same picture. V's pissed - yet the image magically appears in one of his porn holders later on."

"what the hell...."

"My bad! I thought you might like it. You don't seem like a guy who gets a lot of action... If you ever want to meet someone, just give me a call. I know a lot of people who'd be interested in a rich brat like you."

This guy.... he acts like he's any different. V thinks Darling is a freak to put things lightly, but its not like he has other people to hang out with. As the two hang out V sees that Darling isn't as bad as he first seemed. He's still a horny, inconsiderate prick most days - but he's still the best thing V has to a friend and cares for V in his own way..... Still sends V dick pics he sweats were for someone els.

Darling is genuinely surprised that V has never been with someone. Sure, he doesn't seem like he gets that much attention, but he was sure V had at least kissed someone once. The topic comes up when Darling tries for the hundredth time to hook with up with one of his flings. He's always sending V evidence of the nights he spent with strangers. Oddly enough - V only ever complains about the videos and photos when they don't have darling in them as well.

"Damn.... I know you're a pain in the ass sometimes, but you're cute I thought somebody would've looked past that.....

V hates with Darling says shit like that. He's not used to people flirting with him and... and it gives him false hope. "Shut up....

"So, think she's cute? I can give her your number~"

"I don't want it."

This sucks.... By now, V's fully aware of his crush on Darling - and he fucking hates the bastard for what he's doing to him. If Darling is so concerned about him seeing people why doesn't he just take V out instead. He jerks off to everything Darling sends him wondering when he'll get his turn. V has some solace in the fact Darling rare sees any of his partners twice. V has been with him and always will be with him longer than any of them have. He just has to be patient.....and ruin any chances Darling has of being with anyone else.

V nearly jumps out of his skin reading one of Darling's numerous drunken texts.

"Hey, man. Totally speaking out my ass here, but would you ever be down to have a threesome sometime ;)"

#V my oc #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere blurb #male yandere #yandere drabble #yandere smut #male reader

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dizzyjelly · 1 year

Text

Kryptonite(18+)

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: ellie hated everyone, except you. You go out to the bar one night and some guy bothers you, she punched his ass ofc. You get into a small fight but then you guys go back to her place and things get freaky;)

Cw: fighting, drinking, smut, strap-on sucking, strap-on sex, scissoring, rough sex, degrading, praising, spanking, the tiniest bit of overstimulation

A/n: ooh this is seriously dirtyyy! 😭 sorry if I missed any content warnings but I really think that's all. Also, I've been going back to my previous fics and rereading and I just now realize I misspell so much and like forget words, so I'm sorry for all my grammar fuck ups lmao

Ellie Williams was many things, but nice was not one of them. People usually tried to steer clear of her, knowing her mood was negative more often than not. But of course, there was the occasional time when somebody made the mistake of trying to be friendly with her. It typically ended with Ellie cursing them out, or insulting them somehow. And then you'd come around, always calming her down and putting a smile on her face.

Everybody found it odd, from the minute you'd been welcomed to Jackson, Ellie was always so sweet to you. It honestly had jaw dropping, everyone was shocked to say the least. On top of that, it made no sense. I mean, some random girl comes into town and she just happened to be Ellie Williams kryptonite? Absolutely zero sense.

Nobody dared to question it though, and anytime they did Ellie had a lot to say. The main point she'd give was that it was simply 'none of their fucking business', among other things. You, yourself, found it a bit odd. You'd heard stories about Ellie from various people around town, and it was hard to believe she could be so harsh and mean. Was she really as cruel as they'd said? You'd never know, because she was nothing but kind to you.

-------------------

After deciding to get ballsy on patrol, Ellie was sentenced to the unbearable punishment of laundry duty for a week. The only good part of it being that she got to see you, you had been a clothing designer before all this apocalypse shit happened so you knew a lot about clothing. This being the reason for your permanent work assignment staying laundry duty, you'd requested that it be permanent. Maria had no issue doing thst for you, and you were beyond thankful. You and no interest in getting yourself into any kind of danger, doing patrol or something else.

Currently, Ellie was trying to figure out what the hell she was supposed to do with the laundry detergent. She looked at the various bottles, grabbing then to read the instructions on the back. After a minute of trying to comprehend what she was meant to do, she let out a frustrated sigh before slamming the yellow bottle back in its place on the shelf.

"I could help you out, you know?" A brunette boy suggested with a sweet smile, he was younger and very clearly meant no harm.

"Fuck off" She scoffed harshly, "I don't need your help." Her tone was aggressive as she walked back over to the baskets of clothing.

She decided to sort them by color instead, that was something she was capable of. Five minutes or so passed and you came in, late. Very unusual for you, you were one of those people who was either early or on time. But late, you were never late. Ellie's face immediately lit up when she saw you, she smiled from ear to ear as she ran over to pull you in for a hug.

"Oh, hi" You laughed, wrapping your own arms around the girl, "somebody missed me." You joked.

"Shut up" She smirked at you, rolling her eyes, "why are you late? You're never late." She asked, a hint of worry in her tone.

"Um, I was just talking to Gavin, guess I got caught up." Your cheeks flushed red, Gavin was the guy you had a crush on for weeks now.

Ellie couldn't wrap her head around why, he was such a dick. Not that you'd be able to figure that out by the way he acted. He pretended to be a nice, caring guy. But he wasn't either of those things. And since he had you in a chokehold, for some unknown reason, you'd have to find that out the hard way. Ellie tried to tell you, relaying stories she'd heard from friends who'd been with him. But you were just lovesick.

"Oh, k." Her smile dropped now, and she spoke monotonly as she had no interest in why you were so busy talking with Gavin.

You furrowed your brows slightly at her sudden change in demeanor, but ultimately you ignored it. Smiling, you walked over to greet Samuel, the brunette boy who'd usually help you out with laundry.

"Good afternoon, Samuel! How are you today?" You asked, but he seemed kinda down.

He hadn't given you an answer, just shrugged, so you walked over to him and asked what was up. He motioned for you to lean in, so that he could whisper in your ear. Samuel told you about how Ellie had told him to 'fuck off.' And you let out a dramatic gasp.

"Ellie Williams! Did you tell my sweet bo Samuel to fuck off?" You asked sternly, hands on you hips as you made your way over to the girl.

She bit her lip, her cheeks flushed red as she knew she'd been caught.

"Maybe... I'm sorry!" She apologized with a frown, looking at you with pleading eyes.

"Do not talk to my sweet little helper that way, he's my friend." You scolded her just a bit more, and she nodded in understanding.

"Oh, hey could you help me with the detergent? I'm not really sure what to use." She asked you, pointing her thumb in the direction of the shelf filled with various laundry detergents.

"Yes, if you promise to be nicer to my dear friend Samuel." You raised your brows.

"Promise..." She smiled with a playful eye roll.

You proceeded to help her with the detergent, making sure she'd remember for next time. Ellie would continue her work duties, bored out of her mind as she prayed to be let back onto patrol early for good behavior. At a certain point in the day, she'd just be eyeing the clock, counting down the hours until she could finally be free from this torture. You, however, didn't mind the job one bit. It actually brought you joy, helped you to relax even. It reminded you of the days before.. everything.

Once it did fall time to clock out, Ellie was quick to rush out of the laundry area, waiting for you outside. You'd chuckle to yourself and shake your head, she was so dramatic. On your way out, you waved a goodbye to Samuel then smiled as you found Ellie leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.

"Hey, wanna go to the bar?" She asked with a cheeky smile.

You sighed through your nose, hesitant as Ellie was a terrible drunk.

"Fine. But Ellie, please don't get too drunk." You asked, taking her hands in your own.

"Ok... come on." She smiled as she held your hand and walked the two of you to the bar.

Once you got there, you took seats at the bar and Ellie ordered for the both of you. Alcohol wasn't really your thing, but she seemed to know her way around it pretty well. And you trusted her, which was a good choice because when you took a sip of your drink it was absolutely delicious. After another drink and the passing of some time, Gavin had made an appearance.

You saw him and a smile spread across your face, your eyes lit up and your knees felt weak. Ellie took notice to your mood change, following your eyes to see the man himself. She rolled her eyes and let out a small groan as she rested her head in her hand. You turned back around, sipping from your drink and trying to act cool. Then, Gavin had come to sit beside you.

"Hey Y/n, how you doing?" He greeted, the sound of his voice had you giggling.

"Hi, I'm good. How are you?" You asked in return, playing with your hair a bit.

"Oh I'm doing just great. Who's your friend?" He asked, gesturing to Ellie who was now on her third drink.

You sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.

"Oh, this is-" Ellie had cut you off.

"I'm Ellie." She answered him with a harsh tone.

"Well, nice to meet ya Ellie" Gavins voice trailed off as he looked at the door, "I've gotta go." He sent a little wave your way.

You waved back with furrowed brows, then frowned as he was meeting a girl who just walked in. She was pretty, long blonde hair and a striking figure. You sighed, dropping your head down on the bar with a groan. Ellie sighed.

"What's wrong?" She asked in a soft tone, bringing a hand to rub up and down your back soothingly.

"I'm a fucking idiot." Was all you muttered, not picking your head up until a minute later.

You turned around and honestly felt like you could cry when you saw the two of then dancing together, he had his hands on her waist and pulled her unbelievably closer. She laughed as her hands wrapped around the back of his neck. You turned back to look at Ellie, the pout on your face more evident than anything.

"Oh, come on, he's an asshole anyways" Ellie rolled her eyes, glancing over at the dancing pair, then she stood and reached out a hand, "come on baby, dance with me."

You smiled, placing your hand in hers and letting out a small laugh as she pulled you to stand with her. At first, you just held hands and bounced around to some faster songs. But then about two songs later, a slower song came on. Your cheeks flushed red and you took a step back, only for Ellie to snake a hand around your waist and pull you closer.

"Ellie.. what are you doing?" You whispered as she held your waist and pulled you in tight, so that you were practically hugging.

"Dancing." She whispered in return.

You giggled and brought your arms around her shoulders, leaning in so your head rested on one of them. Ellie smiled as her eyes fell shut, your perfume greeting her kindly. You sighed as you relaxed under her touch, nobody could make you feel the way she did. Her hands found their way to your lower back, rubbing small circles onto it. You'd nuzzle your face in her neck, smiling as you brought your hands to play with her hair.

"Fuck Y/n.." Ellie groaned under her breath.

You giggled, lifting your head to meet her eyes. She looked at you like you were the only girl in the world. You looked down at your feet, then back at her. Your breath hitched as your eyes couldn't seem to focus on hers anymore, but rather on her slightly chapped lips. She had to have noticed because a smirk slowly formed on her face. Before you'd do anything you would regret, you stepped back from her. The loss of her touch left you feeling empty, but you would ignore it and just smile as you excused yourself.

"I have to use the bathroom." You simply said, and she took a seat at the bar once again as you made your way to the restroom.

You didn't actually have to go, so instead you washed your hands underneath cold water. And you splashed some on your face for good measure, you'd been getting unbelievably hot during your dance with Ellie. Once you could no longer feel your heart beating in your ears, you left the bathroom to return to Ellie. Unfortunately, there had been someone waiting for you outside.

"Hey, you know you look really good tonight." Gavin spoke smugly as he leaned against the wall.

"Yeah? Thanks." You scoffed, "shouldn't you be getting back to your date?" You spoke matter of factly, trying to push past him.

Your efforts didn't get you much of anywhere, his hand now finding a tight grip on your forearm while the other went to hold your face. You rolled your eyes with a frustrated sigh.

"Ok, come on Gavin I'm really not in the mood." You spoke coldly, willing him to just take the hint and leave you alone.

He tsked, leaning down to whisper in your ear,

"Come on angel, just let me show you a good time." You shuddered at his words, disgusted.

That was your last straw and you found the energy to shove him off of you and into the wall with a hard thud. Then, you saw Ellie turning the corner, her fists balled at her sides as her brows knitted together with anger.

"The fucks going on here?" She asked gruffly.

"Ellie, it's nothing. I'm fine." You placed a hand on her chest, trying to convince her.

Of course it didn't work because the next thing you knew you were watching as she punched Gavin so hard he'd fallen over. Her knuckles were red, and his face began to bruise.

"Ellie!" You screamed as your hands went over your mouth in shock.

Before she could get any other hits in, you'd held her by her shoulders as you dragged her outside. She yelled at the poor guy the entire time. Sending a good amount of threats his way.

"What is wrong with you!" You shouted at the girl as the two of you now stood outside in the chilly night.

"Me? He deserved it and you know it!" She'd shouted back, gesturing with her hands, something she did often when she was angry.

"Yeah maybe, but still! You can't just go around punching every guy that bothers me, I can take care of myself you know?" Your hands were on your hips.

"Oh god, this again? I can't keep having this fucking conversation with you, Y/n!" She gritted her teeth.

"What conversation? The one where I have to constantly remind you that I'm a full grown adult, and I am entirely capable of taking care of and defening myself? I mean seriously Ellie, what's the problem? Do you think that I can't take care of myself?" You asked with a frustrated sigh.

"What, no! Of course I know you can, but I just- I care about you a lot and you shouldn't have to take care of yourself. It makes me feel good to defend you, I don't know why it just does. And I'm... sorry." Sge struggled to get the apology out.

"It's ok. Let's just go home, sleep it off." Your suggestion sounded good, but Ellie stopped you with a hand on your wrist.

"Wait." You looked at her with questioning eyes, wondering what else she had to say.

Turns out, she didn't have anything to say. Instead, she had brought one hand to your waist and the other to the back of your neck. She bit her lip, her eyes flickering between your own and your lips. After a minute or so had passed, she just couldn't resist. She pulled you in and connected her lips with yours, kissing you like it was the end of the world.

"Ellie~" You whined as you parted from the kiss for a moment, immediately diving back in.

This time, you pressed your tongue to her bottom lip. And she gladly let you in, opening her mouth wide so she could taste your tongue on hers. It was something from another world, you'd felt dizzy and giddy, and there was something else too. There was this heat between your legs, it almost hurt. You whimpered into her mouth at the unfamiliar feeling.

"What's wrong baby?" She asked, her forehead resting against yours.

"I don't know, 's all achy down there." You admitted, embarrassed as you'd only dare to stare down at her shoes.

Ellie let out a sinful chuckle,

"Well, I think I could help with that." She gave you one last kiss before taking you to her house.

You stood in her living room, your hand coming to scratch the back of your neck awkwardly as she rushed upstairs to grab 'a little something special' from her room. You'd wondered what she could be grabbing, but not for long as she returned swiftly without her bottoms now and a large black strap tightened around her hips. Your eyes widened at the sight of it, and you knew you wanted it inside of you. Your mouth watered at just the thought of her fucking your brains out.

She walked over to you with a smirk, pulling you in for yet another kiss. You smiled into it, letting out small moans here and there as the taste of her tongue felt so good against your own. You'd sighed as she pulled your top off, now placing kisses along your jaw and neck. It wasn't long before she was placing feather light kisses to the top of your boobs, then palming them roughly as she watched your face contort with pleasure.

"Get on your knees." She ordered after a minute, and you were quick to oblige.

Getting down on the floor, you looked up at Ellie with lustful eyes. She grabbed a fistful of your hair, taking a step closer to you as she held her strap in the other hand. You licked your lips before chewing slightly at your bottom one.

"Open that pretty little mouth of yours for me baby." She cooed, her hand tightening in your hair as you'd opened wide.

She chuckled as she pushed her cock into your mouth, watching with nothing but joy as she shoved it as far as it could go. You'd gagged, unable to help it, then you let out a small whimper which was muffled by her large cock. She groaned at this, tugging your hair a bit, which brought a lengthy moan from your lips.

"Fuck baby, look at you being a good little slut. Taking my cock down your throat so well. Good girl." The praise she'd given you had gotten you even wetter, if that was even possible.

Ellie would continue to move your head up and down for a bit longer until she was satisfied, carefully she removed her hand from your hair and let you pull back. Your lips left her cock with a satisfying pop sound and she smiled sinfully as she pulled you to stand. She brought a hand to your chin, wiping your saliva that had dripped down your chin while you were kept busy deep-throating her.

She'd snaked her hands around you now, gripping at your ass before giving it a harsh smack that made your body jolt with pleasure and excitement. Another kiss was brought to your lips by her, but not for long as you'd pulled away quickly.

"Ellie, please." You whimpered, she only let out a small chuckle.

"Please what? Use your words baby." She kept a finger under your chin.

"Please," another moan, "fuck me. Fuck me good and hard, please I need you." You were begging shamelessly now, and she loved it.

"Well, aren't you cute. Your wish is my command, princess." She smiled as she backed you up to the couch, lying down before pulling you on top of her.

You sat straddling her for a minute, she rubbed your thighs with her hands soothingly before ridding you of both your jeans and panties in just one motion. You bit your lip as she held your hips, lifting you so the head of her strap just grazed your dripping hole. She'd continue to tease you for what felt like ages, before you just couldn't take it anymore so you'd taken it upon yourself to lower down onto her cock. You threw your head back with a loud, pornagraphic moan as you felt the burning stretch inside of you.

Ellie scoffed,

"Did I say you could do that? Eager little slut, you're gonna regret that." She groaned as you continued making the sweetest sounds as she gripped your hips harder.

She'd waste no time, immediately thrusting into you roughly and at a fast pace that had your head spinning. Occasionally, she'd bring a hand up from your hip to place a firm smack against your ass, in the same spot every time. You were sure there'd be a mark, but you didn't care because it felt so fucking good. Then, she'd angled herself just ever so slightly differently and began to hit a spot that you didn't even know existed.

"Oh, oh god! Fuck yes, right there Ellie. Fuckk." You moaned as you called out her name, your hands finding their way to her chest as you began to grind your hips down against her.

"Oh yeah, you like that slut?" She asked, using the rather vulgar name that only got you hotter.

You nodded, feeling as if your vision went hot white at the pleasure you were feeling. It was so phenomenal, you almost thought you mightve been dreaming. But then, she stopped and held your hips tightly so you couldn't move an inch.

"Fucking answer me." She commanded.

"Yes yes. Yes I love it. Please keep going. Please." You whimpered, tears welling in your eyes.

"That's my girl." She smiled as she resumed her rough thrusts, loosening her grip on your hips so you could rut against her as well.

She bit back a moan as the strap had been hitting against her clit just right, that and the sight of you was more than enough to make her cum. The way your tits bounced underneath your scarlet red lace bra, and how beautiful your face looked as you moaned loudly. And oh the way you said her name was just so fucking sexy.

"Ellie- I'm gonna" your breath hitched with a gasp, "fuck 'm gonna cum." your moans got even louder somehow.

"Me too baby, come on cum with me. Come on baby." She'd finally let out a small moan and that sent you over the edge.

However you didn't just cum, you were gushing all over her beautifully long strap as well as her thighs. Ellie moaned louder at the sight of you squirting all over her cock, and then got her own release. She didn't stop pounding into you as she rode out her own high, and it didn't take long before you were feeling overstimulated. But you'd do anything to watch as her eyes squeezed shut with the pleasure of her orgasm.

"Mmn- fuck." She let out a small groan as she removed her cock from your hole, a small string of your slick connecting it still.

You let out a small sigh of exhaustion as you layed against her chest, smiling as her hands came to rub up and down your back. You lied there together for a minute or so before she finally spoke.

"Let's go to my room." She whispered, and you didn't say anything in return.

You'd just followed her upstairs and watched as she removed her strap, sitting on the bed and patting the spot next to her. You joined her and sat with your back against the headboard, leaning forward as she came to kiss you. You'd pulled at her shirt and giggled a bit as she ripped it off, revealing her black sports bra. Then, she'd used one hand to spread your legs before getting into position.

One of her legs straddled your hip, a hand on your shoulder and the other on your waist. Her eyes fell shut as she let out an airy moan when she'd ground her throbbing clit against your own, and you'd let out a similar sound.

"Fuck, baby. Your pussy feels so good against mine." She bit her lip, letting out more moans as she thrusted against you.

Sure, the way Ellie had pounded into you earlier was amazing and beyond pleasurable. But there was just something so euphoric about her sopping wet pussy gliding against your own. The feeling of your slicks mixing together just drove you insane. Apparently it had the same effect on Ellie because she was louder than ever, moaning and whimpering with great pleasure.

Your breath quickened as you felt yourself getting close again, and began to move your own hips against her as well. This made Ellie let out a guttural groan.

"Oh yeah, just like that baby." She said in an almost whisper, her eyes falling shut with pleasure.

And with a few more thrusts, the both of you reached yet another release. Now you weren't the only one making noise, Ellie was moaning while also letting out "thank you's and 'fuck's. After fully riding out your highs, Ellie lied down next to you. She brought a hand to wipe her forehead, it dribbled with sweat and her hair stuck to it a bit.

You felt your eyes vetting heavy, snuggling against Ellies side as you let them fall shut. She'd hold you for a minute before standing up.

"Don't fall asleep yet, baby. I wanna get you cleaned up first." She placed a kiss to your forehead, going to the bathroom then returning with a wet rag.

She wiped you down gently, placing soft kisses along your body on the way. Once she finished that, she'd given you a t-shirt of hers to wear to sleep. She climbed back into bed, pulling you to lay on her chest. You snuggled your head into the crook of her neck, bringing your hands to wrap around her shoulders.

"Goodnight Els." You said sleepily.

"Goodnight baby." She responded with a kiss on top of your head.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x you #ellie x you #ellie smut #ellie x fem reader

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httplilyyy · 7 months

Text

𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 || 𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐀 𝐏𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐒

pairing: alexia putellas x reader

summary: you knew alexia still loved you but you were naive enough to think that she loved you the most.

warnings: swearing & angst

word count: 1.2k

a/n: i’m not the most proud of this but it is what it is

woso masterlist

You should’ve known that she had fallen out of love with you. But you were stupid. Naive. Holding on to some hope. Praying that she was still yours.

You didn't want to believe that your relationship was falling past your fingertips. You desperately tried to cling on but there was no hope. She was already gone.

The change happened in a split second, one major tournament solidifying your fate. The world cup is supposed to bring you happiness and joy where it only brought you heartbreak and despair.

Noticing the first little signs felt like a stab to your heart. You desperately tried to ignore them but it was no use, the one you used to call yours was somebody else's.

It started when she would ignore the small intimate moments with you, seemingly forgetting to give you a goodbye kiss or even ask you a ‘how was your day?’

A password on her phone came next, hiding certain things from you followed soon after. It was silly, you felt like a stranger in your own relationship and what made matters worse, you didn’t even know if you could save it.

Whenever you tried to bring something up, she would always dismiss you. Blaming it on how you’d overthink the littlest of things.

You should’ve listened to that gut feeling that something was up. You should’ve listened to that nagging in the back of your mind that something was wrong. You should've listened to your teammates. You should’ve listened to the warning signs. You should’ve listened.

But why would you? You were in love. Nothing else mattered.

You certainly didn’t. Especially to Alexia.

Coming home late after training one day, you placed everything by the front door, sighing as it closed.

Finally allowed to let yourself breathe, you leaned back against the door, shutting your eyes for a brief second until you felt a pair of lips against your neck.

“Hey, baby.” Alexia husked, dragging her teeth along the base of your neck, nipping ever so slightly.

“Ale- what-” You mumbled, trying to push her off.

“Shh, just enjoy this.” She replied, slowly trailing her kisses down until she was on her knees.

“No, Ale. Stop.” You said sternly, moving away from the door and into the living room.

The Catalonian chased after you, a fury set deep in her eyes. Sitting on the sofa, you placed your head in your hands.

“What's going on? You don’t want to have sex with me anymore?” Alexia questioned, raising her arms up as she looked around the room in disbelief.

“I’m sorry, are you seriously asking me that?” You replied, a sarcastic undertone making its way through your voice.

You stood up, looking at the midfielder dead in the eyes before you scoffed, making your way into the kitchen.

“No, no, no. You don’t get to walk away from me.” Alexia said, hot on your heels.

“Oh really? Why's that?” You snapped, turning to face her once again. “Because all I've been doing these past months is chase after you.”

“I didn't ask you to do that.” Alexia shrugged.

“I’m done with this conversation.” You muttered, shaking your head.

“No, we’re talking this out.”

“Oh, you want to talk it out?” You responded, raising your eyebrows. “Really? Okay, talk to me about this. In what world did you think I wasn't going to find out you cheated on me?”

“What?” Alexia said, taken back as she stared at you in shock.

“I know, of course I know. You didn’t make it very hard for me not to figure it out. Coming back home late at night, stumbling through the door. Passwords on everything, secrets, no communication. Oh and you mustn't forget about the hickies that I didn't even give you since you won't be intimate with me!”

You stared at Alexia, chest heaving up and down but you still weren't done.

“You won't even look at me anymore, and if you do there isn’t even any guilt. You won't kiss me-”

“I kissed you literally a second ago-” Alexia cut in.

“On the lips, Alexia. Let me finish. You don't ask me how my day has been, you don’t even hold my hand for god sake!”

“Are you seriously getting worked up about this?” Alexia asked, running a hand through her hair.

“We used to do everything together, watch movies, cuddle, go on dates, where did it all go wrong? Was it something I did? Did I say something? Not do anything?”

“We’re out of the honeymoon phase.”

“We sure as shit are not in that phase anymore.” You said, shaking your head at her.

“I don’t know what your point is.” Alexia huffed, clearly getting bored of the conversation.

“I want you to start being honest with me.” You said, releasing a shaky breath as you tried not to let the tears fall.

“Sure, ask me anything.” Alexia replied, unbothered as she shrugged her shoulders.

“How long?”

“Que?”

“How long have you been cheating on me?” You asked, a long silence hanging in the air.

“I’m not doing this.” Alexia scoffed, walking away.

Following behind her, you stop in the hallway as she reaches for the front door.

“You walk out that door and we are done.” You said, heart practically beating out of your chest.

“That doesn’t matter, does it?” Alexia questioned sarcastically. “I mean, look, I walk out this door and we’re done. I answer your question and we’re done. What’s the point?”

“You’re not my Alexia.” You whispered, voice cracking as you finally felt the tears roll down your cheeks.

“Oh get over yourself.”

“I’m going to ask you one last time. How long?”

“Three months.” Alexia said, looking down at the floor.

A small gasp left your lips, you didn’t know what to do or even how to feel. Everything was just numb. How could she do that to you? Three months? How could you not have known sooner.

“Was it me?” You questioned, wrapping your arms around your waist.

“No.” Alexia sighed, finally meeting your eyes.

“Then what was it?”

“Me, I got scared because for the first time in a relationship I had actually felt something.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” You asked, voice breaking as tears welled up in your throat.

“Didn’t think you’d understand.” Alexia said, furiously wiping her eyes. “It doesn’t matter now anyway, I messed it up. I messed us up.”

“I fucking hate you Alexia.” You sniffled, slowly walking over to her. “And I fucking hate that I don’t actually hate you.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you. I always will.”

“You’re still breaking up with me though, aren’t you?” Alexia wondered, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

“Yes because you were an asshole but maybe consider it as a break.” You said, taking her hands in yours. “Work on yourself and maybe sometime in the future our paths will cross again.”

“I’m sorry.” Alexia mumbled, tears finally escaping her eyes as her head found its way into the crook of your neck.

“I know.” You smiled sadly, feeling her arms snake around your waist.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, basking in each other's comfort. Something you haven’t done in a while and although it felt foreign at first, you both soon melted into one another's embrace.

You knew Alexia still loved you but you were naive enough to think that she loved you the most.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas imagines #alexia putellas x reader #woso #woso imagine #woso imagines #woso x reader

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fckeddiemunson · 1 year

Text

Who Do You Belong To? | Older!Eddie Munson

Synopsis: Eddie and you have been neighbours for a while and have been casually fucking. When you bring somebody else home who can actually satisfy you too. Eddie gets jealous and has to remind you who you belong to

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI. choking, p in v, pussy slapping, slight dom!eddie, slight mean!eddie, oral f!receiving, just lots of general fucking, breeding kink, some fluff at the end cause i couldnt help myself

3.4k

You and Eddie had been neighbours in the trailer park for about 3 years. You had moved in after a messy breakup and quickly became attached to Eddie as a friend and somewhat mentor as he taught you how to fix certain things in your car. Eddie was older than you and still breathtaking. He had matured into his look, gathered more tattoos over time and gained some muscle from being a mechanic. He had helped you back on your feet after the breakup, helping you get another job at the bar he often played at with his local band, always keeping young at heart.

Eddie was a useless cook though and most nights he’d come to yours, bringing a few beers to share and attempt to help you cook a meal for the two of you. It was your way of saying thank you for saying thank you for the car help.

Its also how you two started fucking.

One night after dinner was well over, you both sat outside, both sitting across from each other on the deck chair you had bought to tan yourself on. You were both drinking and talking, he always made you laugh. He was goofy and a little wild. He would tell you stories from when he was 20 and what he and his friends used to get up to. It was a little unbelievable you thought quietly but Eddie said it with such conviction you had to believe him. You didn’t know how it happened, one minute you were talking about music and concerts and the next Eddie’s lips were on yours, your hands tangling in his hair.

Eddie managed to get you into his bed that night. He teased you on the couch for almost an hour, his fingers coaxing orgasm after orgasm from you. When he fucked you in was deep and slow, savouring the moment for the both of you. He reached areas of you, you didn’t know was possible and unlocked pleasure previously foreign to you. It was clear he had a lot of experience in the area and it made your stomach flip in anticipation each time you saw him. After that first night you kept finding your ways into each other's beds at ungodly hours of the morning. Each time he took you it felt like the first time, he would touch you and feel you like he had never before. Electrifying your skin with his touch. You had briefly discussed that this was a strictly casual thing. Or at least you both were trying to convince yourself it was that. Eddie was the only thing on your mind as you fell asleep at night, when Eddie was out late with friends or playing a gig you resorted to getting yourself off while thinking of him between your legs. Eddie was the same, the occasions he had caught a glimpse of you going out with your girlfriends to a bar, he was always jealous he wasn’t parading you around in that tight little dress, nobody allowed to touch you except him, it sent him feral.

You had both come to the decision that it was good for you both to see other people. That this was fun but it was just a bit of a fling while you were both bored. Anyway Eddie was in his very late thirties and you in your mid twenties, it didn’t make sense to try and attach any relationship to the filthy, dirty sex you kept having.

Eddie was the first to bring home a girl after a gig he played. He was shocked to say the least, usually there was a crowd of drunk middle aged metalheads reliving their teenage years. You were seething to say the least, arms crossed sitting up in bed as you could hear him through the thin walls and close distance. You could hear him making her come over and over again. His cock stretching her out and pounding her senseless.

That morning you had watched her slip out, doing the walk of shame through the park. She stayed the night? You always left me afterwards! You thought furiously, you stepped outside your trailer with a coffee watching her walk away staggering a little.

“Morning sweetheart” Eddie appeared at his door, shirtless, you looked him up and down, eyes drinking in his messy morning hair and his muscled arms. Eddie took a step towards you and took a big gulp from your coffee cup.

“That wasn’t very nice” You stated, looking longingly into the empty coffee cup. “You seemed to have had a good night, she even stayed the night” you couldn’t help the passive aggressive tone drip from your voice.

“I did have a good night, you’re right. She made such pretty faces when she came-”

“Ugh, fucking men” You had heard enough, you stamped back inside and slammed the door.

Eddie followed you to your door, “Maybe you should go out tonight? Let loose” Eddie called after you. That made you more annoyed, he was clearly riling you up about the woman he fucked, and it was working.

So you did, for the next few weekends you went out with your friends and found a cute enough guy to bring home. It was a useless exercise, they were all around your age and useless around a woman's body. After the second time you kicked the guy out and had showered and gone crawling over to Eddie’s trailer, desperate for him to make you come.

“Aww darlin’, couldn’t he make you come? Bet he didn’t even get you close, poor boy” Eddie cooed to you, his fingers buried inside your cunt as he pumped and curled his fingers making you see stars after only a few minutes.

“Fuck you Eddie” You had moaned out as he said that, thrusting himself into you as you fell apart beneath him, a string of moans and curses whining from your mouth. After that time, you hadn’t brought anyone else home, knowing they could never compare to Eddie.

You had calmed down from that night as Eddie didn’t seem to bring anybody else home either. Your routine of dinner and a few drinks had continued as normal, but no more sex. It was as if in your heads you had both called it quits without even trying. Eddie was talking about his gig the next night, and you were helping him sew on some more patches onto his denim vest.

“I have kept this vest for over 20 years.” He said proudly, admiring your neat handiwork on the patches.

“Jeez old man, that’s basically my entire life - time to retire your lucky vest.” You punched his tattooed arm as he fake laughed at you. Something about him being older really got your off.

“Well you’re the one who’s fucked this old man darlin’ so I think I’m the lucky one” Eddie chuckled and you fell awkwardly silent, not knowing where you stood since you had stopped sleeping together. Eddie filled the awkward silence though

“You should come tomorrow night at the Hideout, I think it would be fun, bring some of your friends and we’ll have a few drinks” Eddie smiled at you. You had never been to a gig of his before.

“Okay I will, I’ll dredge up my leather pants just for the occasion” You joked with him.

“Hey! Me too.” Eddie literally pulled out some leather pants from a pile of clothes and you had to mentally slap yourself for thinking about his ass in those.

You thought that maybe just being friends and neighbours with Eddie won’t be that bad and that you could both just keep pushing your feelings down.

You and your friend Elaine had ended up going, more people gathered in the bar than you imagined. You had already done a shot with Eddie when you got there, a bit buzzed already. “Wish me luck sweetheart” Eddie had said, booping your nose and going to get the stage ready. Elaine had started talking to a nice guy who was buying you drinks and you turned to go find Eddie before they played, as you did you were met with a hard frame. Looking up to see another metal head, beer in hand that was now all over him. He was young about your age and wickedly cute.

“I’m so sorry, let me” you grabbed some napkins from the bar and frantically wiped up his shirt.

“Oh sorry, that was probably a bit weird doing that.” He laughed at you before outstretching his hand. “I’m Andy, do you want to buy me a drink and come sit with me to make it up?” He cocked his head to the side and you introduced yourself and ordered him a beer and followed him to an empty bar table. You and Andy got on very well and talked for ages, you had a nice view of the stage from where you were so you stayed with him chatting as Corroded Coffin got ready.

Eddie was watching you like a hawk from across the room. He wasn’t overly worried, you’d be crawling to him by the end of the night, begging for him to fuck you and fill you with his come. You had actually worn tight leather pants and they were sending him over the edge, not that he’d admit that to anyone, he was still convinced what you had was no strings attached. Still he felt a slight twinge in his heart as he watched you laugh at the younger man's jokes and touched his arm affectionately. Eddie had played the show anger rising with every song as he watched you with this guy. The larger than usual crowd was loving his aggression but he was going crazy watching you. By the last song, Eddie watched him slide his arm around your waist and lean in to kiss you. Eddie felt protective and possessive over you in that moment, but he was too stubborn to admit it to himself. You could feel Eddie's eyes burning into you from across the room as they walked off, it made you want to kiss Andy more. “Want to go to mine?” You asked Andy who nodded vigorously.

You made sure you clocked eyes with Eddie as you led Andy towards the door and into his car. It was very clear you were trying to make him jealous and it was working.

Eddie was at the bar and watched you getting into his car. Eddie gave it about ten minutes before curiosity took over him, he finished up the drink he had and called it an early night, practically racing back to his car and home. Call him a creep or not but he needed to know what you sounded like beneath him, if you made any of the pretty little noises you made when he was inside you or if he could even make you come. Eddie huffed at his own thoughts, feeling like a perv but nothing could stop him.

Andy had you bent over your bed when Eddie did pull in. He could hear your moans from outside and he stood near your bedroom window listening to Andy pound into you. Eddie felt sickened, only he should be making you moan like that. Only he should be allowed to touch you, to be allowed inside your body. Andy had twisted his hand round playing with your clit softly, it was enough that it sent you over the edge, coming as he thrusted himself into you chasing his own high. Nobody else besides Eddie had made you come before and you were enjoying his touch - but something just wasn’t as good, Andy made you come but the intensity wasn’t there, did not elicit the same emotion as Eddie. Eddie heard the change in your moan and knew that the younger man had made you come. He retreated to his trailer, annoyed and with an uncomfortable boner. He heard Andy leave and knew that night you weren’t crawling over to him sticky and needy for him. It didn’t sit right with him, you needed to be his and only his.

You kicked Andy out almost immediately after he left his number on your kitchen table. He tried to hug you goodbye but you recoiled at the touch, realising who you really wanted. Once you showered and changed you ate some leftovers in your kitchen. You lent against the window, spying Eddie in his trailer, beer in hand and the most angered look on his face. He rearranged himself, wincing, clearly hard and uncomfortable.

Eddie didn’t speak or see you for the next few days. It was probably for the best that he didn't. He was furious and finally came to the conclusion that he couldn’t stay away from you and that something casual wasn’t going to cut it. You were left feeling a little heartbroken, it was the first time in a long time that he hadn’t come over for dinner or his daily check under the hood of your car. You missed him, missed talking to him but also missed his hands all over your body. You had decided to end the not talking and bake him some dinner for him, falling right into what he wanted. You knocked on his door, holding a tray of food, drawing a deep breath as he opened the door. Eddie’s heart skipped a beat when you knocked, he knew you too well to know that you would do this but he was still excited to see you.

“Hi darlin’” He smirked down at you as he opened the door.

“Hi, uh, I haven’t seen you for a while so I was worried you hadn’t been eating very well” You gestured to the food and he moved to the side slightly, your body brushing his as you went inside.

“Always looking after me sweetheart” Eddie's voice was charming and it made you blush as you started plating up the food.

“Not sure I’m hungry for that right now” Eddie was suddenly inches behind you, hands on your hips, lips kissing the back of your neck. You pushed him back, needing answers.

“Okay Eddie what the hell. We stopped all of this and then you ignored me for days - whats the go?” You crossed your arms, Eddie’s face changed, and he lent towards you, trapping your bodies together as his hands grabbed the bench behind you.

“Oh sweetheart, I heard you the other night, screaming your brains out for somebody else, I think you’re doing fine” Eddie’s voice was icy and you scoffed at him.

“What the fuck? We both agreed to screw other people. You’re just jealous that another man can make me come? Is that it Eddie? Scared that somebody is better than you?” You were taunting him and also taken aback he was behaving this way. His hand went up to hold your throat, squeezing as he forced you to look into his eyes. He laughed darkly, his hand slipping into your loose pyjama shorts, happy to find that you weren’t wearing any underwear.

“Oh I know that I’m still better than him. Yeah maybe I am jealous because this pussy belongs to me now. Nobody else is allowed to make you come, only me” Eddie flicked circles around your clit, you held back a broken moan.

“You can’t fuck anybody else then, you- fuck- you have to be mine too.” You grinded yourself against his hand.

“All yours baby, I don’t want anyone else.” Eddie slid two fingers into you and curled them towards him, his thumb rested on your clit as he moved his fingers agonisingly slow.

“Who do you belong to?” Eddie growled in your ear

“You, only you” you were breathless, needing him to move his fingers faster.

“Good girl, come on, I want to hear your pretty moans.” Eddie thrusted his hand deeper and curled his fingers in and out, his thumb swirling faster on your clit. You moaned as he licked a stripe up your neck and kissed the spot right below your ear. You heard your wetness as he fucked you, fingers not relenting on you. Eddie flattened his hand more, his fingers sliding deeper and palm rubbing against your clit. You felt that familiar flutter in your stomach, your head rolling back and a low moan escaping you.

“Uh uh sweetheart, you don’t get to come yet. You haven’t earned it.” Eddie tutted and withdrew his hand. You whined against him, hips rutting against nothing.

“Do you think you’ve earned it after that little show I heard the other night?” Eddie’s hand came down in a stinging slap on your cunt, pulsating right through you.

“Turn around.” Eddie spun you, pushing your face against the counter and roughly yanking your shorts down.

“I'm gonna have to remind you who you belong to sweetheart.” Eddie’s jeans were rough against your bare pussy. He quickly pulled out his cock, teasing it through your wet folds, you shuddered at the feeling.

Eddie pushed inside you slowly, the stretch burning you as you mumbled mindlessly at Eddie. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you up against his back, his face nuzzled into your neck as he thrusted hard and deep into you. His hand travelled to your neck, gripping tight and pulling your head back as far as it could to look at him.

“You look so fucked out sweeheart, wish you could see how desperate you look right now. And all for me. Hmm, you’re just my personal little slut.” Eddie was always a bit rougher during sex but nothing like this, the way he spoke was only making you more soaked as he tunnelled into you. He angled his hips lower and drove his cock into your g-spot, your legs buckled beneath him, moaning loudly suddenly overwhelmed with pleasure you felt the simmer in your stomach rising.

“Eddie, can I please come?” You whined, panting against the counter.

“No, not yet” Eddie stopped and pulled out of you, hooking his arm around you and pulling you onto his lap on the couch.

“You’re going to show me just how much you’ve earned it.” Eddie smacked your ass, prompting you to raise your hips from his and slam yourself down onto his dick. Eddie groaned as your pace quickened, your wetness gathering at the base of his dick. You grabbed Eddie’s hands and guided them to your boobs, he squeezed and you moaned his name, he growled beneath you feeling you clench around him. You bounced on him, breathless and needy to come but never quite reaching the high until you could tell Eddie was getting close, his breath becoming ragged and chest flushing as you rode him.

He flipped you onto your back on his couch, holding your legs to your chest as he slid back into you, he felt bigger like this, everything was more intense. His thumb went to your clit rubbing as you watched his dick slide in and out of you, unable to look away.

“Come on baby, I want you to come for me” Eddie cooed down at you, smirking at your fucked out state. Eddie snapped his hips angle so each thrust hit your g-spot deliciously. Your breath became ragged and a strangled moan escaped your lips at his hardest thrust, you felt yourself gush onto his dick, the wet sounds filling the room.

“EddieEddieEddie” you moaned over and over as Eddies thrusts became sloppy and he pulled you closer, a harsh groan falling from his lips.

“Want me to fill you full of my come darlin’?” You looked up at Eddie with doe eyes and nodded, biting your lip. It sent Eddie over the edge as he came, squeezing your neck tight before collapsing on top of you.

You both cleaned up and sat at his table having a drink and eating the dinner you brought over. Eddie couldn’t stop smiling at you.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry I ignored you the way I did. It just hit me how much I like you and I was struggling to accept it. It’s one thing to sleep with someone so much younger but I want something more with you, if-if thats what you want.” Eddie looked anxious as the confession fell from his lips. You tucked a piece of hair behind his ear and grabbed his hand to hold it.

“I want something more too.” you whispered before kissing him slowly, tongue invading his mouth as you pulled him closer.

“I’m yours and you are mine” Eddie whispered before kissing you deeply.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #older!eddie munson #mature eddie #younger reader #eddie munson dom #eddie munson dirty #mean!eddie munson #fic #smut #cute #fluff #eddie munson fluff

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hyunjinspark · 8 months

Text

star lost with you | hyunjin au | part 16

pairing: idol! hyunjin x artist! reader

genre: friends to lovers, so much angst, smut, fluff, set in the idolverse, mutual pining, unrequited love, forbidden romance, slowburn (!!!) soulmate au, star-crossed lovers

synopsis: working in a quaint little art store, you’ve had the honor of meeting all kinds of people, but you’ve never met somebody like him. there were many reasons hyunjin returned to his hometown; a getaway from the ephemeral and fast-paced life of the city, so he could fall in love with life again. he thought he was prepared for everything, to study art in the way that he’s always wanted to, but what he didn’t anticipate was meeting you. hwang hyunjin realises that sometimes, the best things in life happen unplanned.

word count: 25K

warnings: cursing, drinking, mutual pining, mostly just a lot of angst, yn is insanely in love its actually a lot, making out, jealousy, grinding, hyunjin is a little mean, sexual tension, tons of new characters, a lot of coincidences, mature content, angst

a/n: soo hyunjin dropped contradicting and somehow it's absolutely perfect for this chapter. this part does also have undertones of 'love untold' in it too, and im very excited to finally be writing the city arc! this was a long time coming and i really hope you enjoy it. theres tons of angst in this so im sorry about that. please get comfortable with snacks and a blanket to read. you can listen to my star lost playlist here!

important: all works are fiction, and do not in any way represent the real personalities or real people, they exist only as faceclaims, and are fictional characters.

masterlist

The girl next to him was pretty, in a timeless Marilyn Monroe kind of way. She had striking features, and even from this little interaction you knew her face would be burned into your memory. She was standing next to Hyunjin so simply, as if that wasn’t a place that you had been pining for all these months.

Her hand rested on the small of his back, animated eyes as she talked to him. Even now, he looked as good as the day he left. The trench coat fit his body just right, and he was so much taller than everyone else in this shop. His hair had grown longer in your absence and chocolate strands brushed his shoulders.

The last time you saw him, he kissed you until your lips were bruised, and his pants were stained with cum.

Right now… he was pretending like you didn’t even exist.

The woman looked over her shoulder, eyes meeting yours briefly as if she’d felt your burning gaze. You ought to be embarrassed that you were caught staring, yet you stood your ground. You expected a sneer, but she smiled at you — the polite kind of smile you give strangers as you pass them in the street — before turning to him again.

Monstrous curiosity clawed at your chest, gut turning in envy. She reached into her purse, an expensive-looking red bag that you couldn’t afford in any lifetime, and pulled out a black credit card. Before she could hand it into the cashier though, Hyunjin’s arm reached out, stopping her. He was touching her now, if only so briefly, but a wave of debilitating nausea overcame you. You could hear him saying, “Please, let me get this”

You were all the way across the store, but you’d be able to hear him among a million voices. The familiarity of his kindness pulled at your heartstrings.

The woman didn’t protest, probably because Hyunjin was the biggest star in this city, and he could afford anything he wanted, and everything she could ask for.

“That art building is just a few blocks down from here. I can tell you the way. It’s pretty easy” The boy you’d asked for help said. He had an employee uniform on, and a silver name tag that read “Jae”.

You’d quickly forgotten your purpose for being out and about in the streets of Seoul. You’d come here for a reason, to have a glimpse at the building you’d be studying at, the place you’d been dreaming of. Yet…you’d never longed for something as much as you did for Hyunjin.

“Yeah, um, thank you” You mumbled half-heartedly, eyes still on Hyunjin, “Can you just…give me a minute?”

It was rude of you to ask for help but not take it, only because you were distracted by a boy. “Sure, uh…take your time” The employee stepped away, not really caring about your internal drama.

Hyunjin’s back was still to you. You’d been worried about why you couldn’t contact him this entire time. A part of you was relieved; if he was here that meant he was okay, even after disappearing entirely off the grid.

He grabbed the paper bag they’d purchased, a blue cereal box peeking out, threatening to topple. It didn’t fit in the bag, but he made no effort to fix it. He didn’t seem too involved in the task. They had finished bagging their snacks, and that meant they’d leave.

There was nobody in the shop anymore, except you and them. A black car was parked just outside. It was probably his. Once he got in the car…he’d be far away from you, down a thousand identical streets and hidden between skyscrapers you’d never find him in. There were ten million people in this city. How would you ever find him again? You had no fucking way of contacting him.

He walked past where you stood in the aisle, and your pulse was pounding in your ears, tunnel vision shielding everything else.

You’d been searching for him this entire time…you couldn’t just let him walk away.

It was now or never.

He pushed the door open, and outside air swirled in.

It snapped you into action.

“Hyunjin?” Your voice wavered, and it wasn’t loud enough for this city. Your plea was drowned amongst sirens, traffic and noise.

But he stopped walking, shoulders tensing.

He heard you.

Hurriedly, you stepped towards him, navigating through the messy snacks aisle. Your hands were shaking, and you pushed them into your jacket pockets to hide that. The effect he had on you was embarrassing, even at such a time.

“Can I just talk to you for a second?” You asked, hoping you didn’t sound as desperate or nervous as you felt.

He turned around to look at you, and his knuckles were white from how tight he was gripping their bags. The grocery must be heavy, and even in a circumstance like this, you worried for him. His gaze on you was unrecognizable. It was almost like it wasn’t really him at the moment…as if he’d been replaced by a carbon copy, which was colder and meaner, and didn’t feel anything for you.

His eyes zeroed in on you, and you suddenly felt so conscious. You wish you’d dressed up better, instead of this dull, beige coat you picked off a thrift shop back home. This was the first he was seeing you after months, and you weren’t prepared. You shot him a smile. Quick and rough, and forced, but a smile nonetheless.

He had to know you were happy to see him. Inside, you were screaming.

The girl at his side looked at you again, eyebrows raised in confusion. Her earlier politeness had worn off, and now she just looked bothered. Who even was this woman?

There’d be time for questions later though, because she pulled at his arm, “Come on. We’ll be late Hyunjin” Her tone had authority to it, a kind of tone you’d never used with him.

“Can we talk?” You repeated your question. The woman wrinkled her nose, and now that you really looked at her…she was much older than you. She had expensive taste, clearly, and an aura of confidence you could never possess.

Hyunjin’s mouth parted, and then closed again, like he was having trouble speaking. There was so much to say, after all. But even if he couldn’t talk right now, you’d be happy to just know if he was okay.

You wanted to ask him for his number, but you waited, giving him the time to say whatever was on his mind. There must be a lot on it. It had to be his company pulling the strings and making him cut off all contact with you. He had to have been forced somehow, because he wasn’t that kind of person.

The longer he said nothing, the dizzier you felt. The truth was becoming obvious. Maybe it wasn’t all that far-fetched to believe that he had cut you off….on purpose.

Your chest tightened impossibly, a horrible feeling building up in your gut. There were lines in his forehead, and guilt in his eyes. Your nails dug into your palms as you tightly clenched your fists, but you were numb to that pain.

But it had to be a misunderstanding, because Hyunjin would never do that to you, would he? In fact, he’d…never do that to anyone. He was far too kind to resort to something like complete radio silence.

“I’m sorry” He spoke.

Your knees almost gave out at his voice. You’d missed it so much, and your heart was catching up to your mind, to register what he said.

Sorry for what?

He swallowed hard, steely gaze meeting your confused one, “I’m sorry… I don’t have time for this”

Before you could even process those words, he had walked out into the cold night, leaving you standing in the stupid fucking store, all by yourself. That was all there was to it.

Maybe everything that you knew about Hyunjin was wrong.

»»————-

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you…you do not have authorisation to enter the building” The security guard repeated, for the third time that night, as if you needed any more humiliation right now.

Your cheeks were burning red, and you were trembling from the cold, “Please, he knows who I am. Just ask him”

He was visibly annoyed, “If you don’t have a visitor pass, you have to stay in the lobby, until the employee buzzes you in”

You tightened your coat around yourself, trying to reason, “I can’t get through to him. Just tell him I’m here. He’ll buzz me in, I swear”

He sighed, exasperated by your desperation. You were embarrassed, and shameful, but you didn’t know what else to do. If you went home now, you might cry till you threw up. You’d cry till it was dawn, and until you heard the morning traffic outside your apartment. The only thing stopping you from bawling right now was the watchful eyes of the people around you.

You’re numb inside. You’re so, so confused.

None of it makes any sense, but your brain hurts just thinking about it.

It was so late, everybody was leaving the building, and you were the only one trying to get in. A female employee was buzzing out, pushing through the turnstiles. She looked between you and the doorman, “Something wrong?”

The guard sighed, another indication of how less of a fuck he gave about you, “She says she knows an employee in the building, but she has no visitor pass”

You looked at her, “Can you please just tell him Y/N is here? He’ll understand”

Her gaze softened at the state of you, “What’s his name? I’ll see what I can do”

You told her… and then you waited.

It was embarrassing to be standing there as hundreds of employees exited, eyeing you up, wondering why you were just standing there. The longer it took for him to come, the shakier you felt. Like you’d lose grip of yourself. It was getting chillier, and your insides hurt.

Then you heard his voice. He basically yelled your name, rushing through the crowd of employees, a beeline straight to you, “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

He was like your angel — ashy blonde hair drifting against the air conditioning of the lobby, a red scarf wrapped around his neck. “Oh my god” You stepped ahead, but a silver turnstile separated you from touching him, “I tried calling you”

He placed his card against the scanner, opening the gate so you could enter. There was no time to explain. Immediately, he wrapped his arms around your body. That was the thing you loved about Yeonjun the most. Hug first, questions later.

You buried your face in his neck, squeezing him, “I’m so sorry for just showing up, I needed to see you, Jun”

He pulled back to look at you, “I’m sorry my phone was on silent. I was working on a report, and I lost track of time”

The security guard was looking at the two of you, and he probably assumed you were a couple. He probably thought you were lovers, and if you were…everything might just have been easier. Yeonjun’s eyes narrowed in on your puffy, swollen eyes, “Wait. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. Had you overreacted by coming here? He must think it’s an emergency. You musthave overreacted. Your instinct made you apologise, “I’m sorry for coming here like this…”

He shook that thought away like it was nothing, “Come on. We’ll just grab my stuff, and then we can head home, all right?”

You let him lead you to the staff elevator, and he held on tightly to you through it all, which you appreciated. You didn’t want to be alone right now. You observed the office building that Yeonjun worked at. “Your building is…fancy” You mumbled, but your voice was hoarse, and you couldn’t muster up any enthusiasm.

“Yeah” He chuckled, glancing back at you, “Most companies are pretty serious about the security. There’s been a lot of data breaches recently so…”

“It was embarrassing to face off that guard. I thought he’d arrest me or something…by the way he was staring”

Yeonjun laughed, “He’d never do that. He was probably just caught off guard by how pretty you look”

Your chest squeezed at his sudden compliment. You leaned forward, wrapping an arm around his stomach to indulge him in a back hug. It was a strange display of affection for the elevator. But Yeonjun said nothing of it, squeezing your arm, and craning his neck to smile at you.

“We’re here” He told you, and you stepped out into a quiet office floor. After a monotonous and mundane hallway with doors that all looked the same, you arrived at his cubicle. The floors were grey, the doors were dark, and the ceiling was industrial exposed. You’re not sure if this was the best place for comfort right now, but it was all you had. It was better than your empty, soulless apartment.

Yeonjun’s desk was cleaner than you expected, arranged with knick-knacks and clutter. A polaroid of you and him was pinned to the bulletin, next to one of him and Hana. Your eyes trailed across his entire workspace. There were only pictures of Hana.

You stilled.

“Um, I’m sorry. I still need to clean up” He muttered, ripping the polaroids off the wall, as if to show you that he didn’t care. But it was clear to you by how he carefully placed them inside the drawer. He was still in love with her.There was a lump in your throat at the realisation. He hadn’t told you that, and Yeonjun shared everything with you.

He shot you a sheepish smile, “I’m just gonna finish sending an email. You can sit down”

There was a single swivel chair at his desk. “What about you?” You asked.

“I’ve been meaning to get off my feet anyway” He smiled, as you sat down.

You felt like a kid, watching him send the emails, with nothing to do but sit in your thoughts. It was still better than being at home. Alone.

“Do you always work this late?” You asked him, after a while. There was nobody else on the floor.

He shook his head, “No…there was a problem at work, I had to stay longer to figure it out”

“Oh”

He forcefully pushed a button on his keyboard, then turned to you, “So are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

You swallowed, fiddling with the clutter on his desk, rehearsing what happened in your head, and every way sounded stupid. So you mumbled, “It’s not that…important, actually. I should head home”

Yeonjun shut his laptop with a snap. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the desk to look at you, “Come on. Was it not what you expected?”

“Hmm?”

“The art building. That’s why you went out tonight. Is it not as good as you imagined?”

“Oh” You belatedly realised that and held back a bitter laugh, “I didn’t even get to it”

“What? You couldn’t find it?”

“I found him, Jun” You mumbled, staring at your sneakers.

“Found who?” He asked, before the realisation sank in, “Wait, him… as in Hyunjin? How!?”

That was your question too. How did you bump into him out of everyone in this city?

“I…he happened to be at the store that I stopped to ask for directions”

Jun’s eyebrows furrowed, and he knelt to be at eye level with you, “What happened then?”

“He was with some girl”

Without hesitation he said, “His manager?”

Your lip was quivering as you spoke, but you couldn’t be this fucking weak, “Maybe. I don’t really know…”

“It had to be. Hyunjin wouldn’t do that to you”

His faith in him was undeniable, and you felt like you’d break his heart by revealing the rest of the incident to him.

“She probably was. It’s not that, Jun…he walked right past me…I couldn’t even talk to him”

Yeonjun shook his head, “Are you sure he saw you?”

You recalled the look in Hyunjin’s eyes as he dismissed you completely, and the pain in your chest doubled at the reminder, “He saw me.”

“You’re sure?”

You looked at him, eyes filling with tears, “I’m sure.”

Yeonjun recoiled like a shotgun, standing up straight, and you weren’t expecting the immediate anger in his tone, “Why the fuck would he do that?”

You chewed on your lip, hoping it’d stop shaking, wishing you knew the answer to his question, “I don’t know”

“He didn’t even give you his new number?”

A sob built up in your throat, and your head was beginning to pain, “You’re not listening. He ignored me to my face, Jun. Maybe I did something wrong. Maybe it was something I said…all those months ago”

“You could never” He scoffed, “It was because of the woman he was with. Hyunjin’s probably not allowed to just talk to someone in public”

“You really think so?”

Yeonjun didn’t even look a little bit worried. He had his hands on his hips, “What else would it be, Y/N? He’d never ignore you. I don’t understand…”

You swallowed, trying to not cry, “Yeah. I just…had to see you. A few months ago, when his number changed, I was really hoping that when I came to the city, I could find him and fix things. There’s no way he’d do that on purpose. Of all people in the world, Hyunjin would never just cut me off without an explanation but…” You sniffled, “He wasn’t even happy to see me there. He just looked fucking disappointed. Like I made a mistake moving here, even though he all of people—” Your voice broke, “he, all of people knows how much I wanted to come here”

“Babe, please don’t cry” Yeonjun reached out, his thumb wiping away a tear. It was futile since you could already taste the salt on your lips.

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen, “He talked about how he missed me, I just don’t understand. Like, what even happened?”

“Come here” Yeonjun hugged you, and his t-shirt muffled your cries. He rubbed circles on your back, and you were thankful the floor was vacated, because you felt so stupid crying over a boy. Was Hyunjin even thinking about you right now? He had always hated seeing you cry, and now he was the entire reason for it.

You tightened your grip around him, “I’m sorry I’m ruining your tonight, Jun”

“Y/N” He frowned, pulling back to look at you, “Don’t ever say that again”

“Sorry…”

He looked upset and wiped the traces of tears off your lips, “Stop apologising too. This isn’t your fault”

You nodded, holding him still, “Can I please stay in your apartment tonight? I don’t want to go to my place right now”

He smiled, grabbing your bag off his desk, “I’ve told you before. You’ll always have a bed at my apartment, Y/N” He frowned suddenly, remembering something, “Um…I do have to warn you about something though…”

Maybe it was a mistake coming here. Right across Yeonjun’s apartment window, was a picture of Hyunjin. The billboard was huge, and he was plastered all over it. You almost didn’t recognise him at first. He looked like…a star.

His hair was perfectly in place, and sunglasses were pushed up to his head, like he was the protagonist of some action movie.

“You weren’t kidding about it being huge” You commented, watching from his bedroom.

He came to stand next to you, fiddling with the curtains, “I was hoping they’d change it soon, but Pegasus is pretty good at promoting the band. Downtown, they’re on almost every billboard”

At least now you knew you wouldn’t be going Downtown anymore. It was ironic that Hyunjin was everywhere in the city but out of reach for you. If that woman really was his manager, and he wasn’t allowed to even talk to you in public…then Hyunjin’s life was even tougher than you could have imagined.

Being famous must fucking suck, and being in love with someone famous was…soul-crushing.

“Anyway” He cleared his throat, “I ordered us some Chinese food”

You crossed your arms, you hadn’t realised you were starving, “Thank you, Jun…"

Yeonjun just smiled in return, leading you away from the bedroom window before pulling the curtains on the view. You were glad, because if he didn’t pull you away now, you’re afraid you’d stare at that picture for the rest of your life.

»»————-

The Atelier of the Arts was beautiful.

It was everything you could have imagined, and more. It’s where you’re supposed to spend the next two years of your life. The facade of the building was built almost entirely out of glass, resembling high-end universities you’d only seen in the movies. You felt minuscule in front of the scale and the grandeur of it. Being in Seoul for a few weeks now…you’d realised it was all about towering glass and steel structures, weaved in between all of the imperial history. You just wish you could appreciate it more right now.

A girl at the front desk thankfully told you where to go, and you carefully navigated the hallways until you were at the top floor.

You stared at what was meant to be your classroom. Sunlight cascaded through a transparent glass rooftop, casting a beautiful glow on the plants.

You only see green. There were plants of all kinds, flowers of every color and the air smelled sweet. It smelled citrusy, and like the drink Hyunjin made you on his last night.

The door was made of glass too, a brass knob sparkling against the sunlight.

You must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. This isn’t an art studio.

It’s a greenhouse.

Before you had time to retrace your steps, a girl interrupted you, “You’re not lost”

“I’m sorry?”

“Kim Jieong’s new student, right?” She asked, tilting her head at you.

You wonder what it is about you that gave you away. Was it the clothes? Or maybe it’s the bag you’re clutching tightly to your chest, sketchbook peeking out from within it. You’re joining in the middle of an ongoing semester, so you already stood out. “Yeah” You managed to say.

She smiled, proud to have got it correct, “You’re at the right place. The room’s just through there, after the hydrangeas. I’m going in now, if you wanna follow me”

She couldn’t be much older than you, and she’s so well put together.

Her accent was different, like she’s been born and bred in Seoul her whole life. She enunciated everything, frankly, in a way better to you. A denim skirt hung to her ankles, revealing Converse at her feet. Her hair was dirty blonde, tied up perfectly in place, and an amethyst choker sat at her collarbones.

You wonder if you’re underdressed on your first day of class. The creme cardigan you’re in is soft, and it’s comforting to your soul, but it’s not impressive. You found it in a thrift shop in Daejon; perhaps this is a sign you should go shopping here. You’re leading a new life, and you need clothes to match.

The girl was waiting for you to enter, but you’re not ready.

Kim Jieong has been your inspiration for as long as you can remember. He’s painted the most beautiful things known to you — expressing emotions you didn’t even know you had. The fact that he’s beyond those glass doors right now…you’re not ready. Yes…you’ve waited literally all your life, but you never thought it’d actually come to this. You wish you had someone to share this anticipation and excitement with, but all you have is your studio apartment, and its bare, dry walls. You’re trying to be positive, but somedays it feels impossible

A boy stepped through the elevator doors, and his eyes scrambled over your faded creme cardigan, and bag. You’re new here, and he’s clearly not. You can tell from the ease with which he carries himself, and by the way he looks like a picture-perfect rendition of an artist. If you searched “art student” on Pinterest, you’re pretty sure his picture would come up. He’s dressed in denim suspenders, expensive headphones hanging around his neck, paintbrushes tucked into his pockets.

“Hey” He smiled at you, “Are you… the student from Daejon?”

You nodded, holding your bag tighter on your shoulder, happy that he knew of your existence. You’d feared until the last minute that you getting in to the program had been another mess-up, and once you arrived…they’d tell you it was a mistake.

He tilt his head, “What’s your monogram?”

Your monogram. The initials you sign all your paintings with. You tell him your name, “Um…Y/N”

“Oh” He frowned, “I can’t remember if I’ve seen your work”

That’s because he hasn’t. You’ve never had a public exhibition, so how would he recognise you?

“Come on, you can get to know her later” The girl rolled her eyes at him, then looked at you, “Are you coming in…or are we going to chat here the rest of today?”

They didn’t tell you their names, even though you just told them yours. You should ask, but wouldn’t that come off too eager?

“Yeah. Sure” You forced a smile at her, and the girl’s face softened at that. It’s like she wasn’t expecting you to do that, like she expected you to be soulless and cold.

Tentatively, you stepped through the glass door, into the greenhouse-cum-studio. It’s like stepping in a fairytale, navigating through all the plants that jut out, magnificent fantastical flowers you haven’t seen even in the countryside. You reached out and touched a purple flower, the petals are coarse but the flower looked so soft.

You were walking on a metal walkway, a bridge over a little artificial stream. It reminded you so much of Daejon, it’s kind of funny that you’re actually thousands of miles away.

“Crazy place for a classroom, right?” The boy laughed. It’s like he read your mind.

You nodded, “I thought I was at the wrong place”

“You’ll get used to it” The girl looked over her shoulder to tell you. You’re standing between them, as they escort you to your class.

“The hydrangeas” She muttered, pointing to a set of purple flowers as you pass them.

As if stepping into Narnia, the plants suddenly cleared up, revealing a room. It’s big, and there’s an assortment of chairs, tables, easels, shelves, and paint. There’s so much to take in. You watched with wide eyes, and the boy laughed.

“It’s cool, right?” He asked you.

“Yeah” You breathed, “You could say that”

There were already a few students sitting at their easels, but they were too distracted setting up their paints to look up and notice you.

“Um, what are your names?” You ended up asking. Fuck being eager.

“I’m Minnie and that’s Jeonghan” She told you.

“No, I’m Nate. Nobody calls me Jeonghan except my mum” He rolled his eyes.

“Nate” You repeated, “Are you—”

“American? Yes he is, and feel free to call him Jeonghan…” Minnie finished your sentence, as she walked over to her easel.

He laughed, “I moved back to Korea a few years ago to study”

The room filled with people within seconds. There are not too many of you, just twenty, it’s an exclusive program after all. You looked around at the people who are supposed to be your classmates for the next few years. They all looked a little older than you and like they know their way around everything.

There’s only one unmarked empty stool in the corner, and it must be yours. After all, this internship was so exclusive, there wasn’t any space for extras. You took your place, opening up your supplies onto the little table. The stool was comfortable and had a plush back, so you wouldn’t kill your back when you were painting. It was already infinitely better than your set-up at home.

Minnie and Jeonghan took their places too, settling into a comfortable rhythm. Your other classmates greeted them with big smiles, but obviously…they didn’t look at you.

You’d never moved a day in your life, so this was unfamiliar — not knowing anyone in the room, and everything being new. But change was supposed to be good, right? You’d grown tired of stagnation, and so you’d chased this. Perhaps you could try conversing with the girls next to you, but where would you even start? They all knew each other from before. Why would they want to talk to a stranger?

A girl was giggling, settling into her chair, with two other friends, and they were teasing her about something but you don’t know the context. There was a cute boy across from you, and he was setting up his paints. He had earphones in, and was humming to the beat of an unknown song. He glanced up at you absentmindedly, but when your eyes met, your heart stung.

You were trying desperately to not think of Hyunjin.

But you’ve only been here for five minutes and you see Hyunjin in everything around you.

He would fall in love with this place — with the sunlight hitting the wooden boards, with how open it was, and he would probably know the name of every flower here. After all, he had to know to put them in pretty drinks to give to girls like you.

A student sitting opposite you had bleached hair, and she pulled it up into a bun and you thought of him again. Nothing could compare how it felt to card your fingers through his hair, and tug at it when he kissed you. You’d braided it back in his room, and it had been so soft to the touch, slipping through your fingers like sand.

“Hey” Someone tapped on your shoulder, and you pulled yourself out of the hopeless trench of daydreaming about him. You noticed her chunky platform boots first, and then you looked up at her, “Uh, hey”

“You’re the girl from the south?”

It was heartwarming that she started the conversation with you. You smiled, “Yeah. I’m from Daejon—”

“You’re in my spot”

“Sorry?”

“That’s my spot” She repeated, pointing at your seat.

“Oh” You realised. You’d already opened up your bag of supplies so you hurriedly grabbed your sketchbook, shoving it in your tote bag carelessly. Your paintbrushes dropped in the process, rolling off the table, and you wanted to die. Was it possible to be such a fucking cliche and embarrass yourself like this on the first day of class?

The girl made no move to help you, but you shouldn’t expect her to either. You stood up, holding the bag to your chest, and realised you had no place to sit anymore.

Before you could panic about the situation, someone else in the room caught your attention.

Kim Jieong was here.

He was standing in the centre, and you don’t know how the fuck you didn’t notice him until now. He must have just come in.

You stood starstruck, at the worst time possible. He was in a beanie, and a thick coat. He had black-rimmed glasses on, and a slight scruff. He looked like all the pictures you’d seen of him, but better than you even imagined – the right mix of pretention and whimsical.

He was the embodiment of art and of inspiration.

The little girl in you was screaming.

You were transported back to the first painting you ever saw by him. It was in a magazine that Felix had stolen for you off the library racks. As kids, you and Felix had sat on his bedroom floor, flipping through the glossy pages. On the last page though, there was a painting of a lighthouse, with surrealistic waves hitting the shore. There was no article or editorial. Just that picture, with a name on the bottom. Kim Jieong, 2006. You’d ripped the page out, and kept it safe with you, before returning the magazine. You’d felt no guilt then, because it was the most beautiful art you’d seen then.

Kim Jieong, your favorite artist in history, was a real fucking person. He was real, and he was looking at you.

The corner of his lip tilted up, “Hey”

Hey.

You’re going to fucking pass out.

He was talking to you. He knew you existed. “Um, hi” Your voice came out softer than it was, and you hope he couldn’t see the stars in your eyes.

“Can I help you…?”

You could feel the eyes of everyone on you, and you gripped onto your sketchbook tighter, “I’m…the new student”

His eyes widened, “You’re Y/N…?”

He knew your name?

Now he was the one who looked caught off guard, “Shit, I’m sorry I completely forgot you’re coming in today. Nate, can you please help Y/N get a spare stool and easel?”

Nate, the boy you’d met before, smiled, “Of course I can”

Your earlier embarrassment slowly eased. Professor Jieong stepped to you with a poise that only masterminds possessed, “Be honest… Did you have any trouble finding this room? Most students do”

“No, I was just confused because…it’s not really a conventional classroom”

Jieong laughed, “Well, if you liked conventional things, you wouldn’t be here”

“You’re right” You smiled.

He pointed to a corner, “There’s your seat. I’m putting you next to Nate. He can help you out the first week. Even though it’s your first day, don’t worry I’m not going to make you talk about yourself in front of the class or anything like that. I know how much people your age hate that”

You smiled at that, relieved, and finally sat down at what was to be your place for the future. The view from here was so pretty, through the parted indoor trees, you could look out into the city. There were floor-to-ceiling windows sprawled out, and the sun was in your eyes, but you didn’t mind. It must get really hot in the summer, but right now it’s the cusp of winter, and so it was perfect.

“So, how are you liking Seoul, Y/N?” Jieong asked you, stepping in the way, shielding your gaze from the light. It was so early in the morning, but he was full of so much of vigour. You wish you could have energy to match him right now, but lately you just feel drained.

You smiled up at him, observing how the rays formed a halo around his head, “It’s all right…I, uh, I really love the food here.”

Jieong paced across the room, making sure to look at each student, and there was so much comfort in his stance, as he talked to you, “I know you’re joining in the middle of this semester Y/N, and everything is going to feel very jarring. Usually, people get an intro class and some icebreakers so… don’t be afraid to ask me stuff, okay? There’s no stupid questions in here, right?”

“Debatable” Nate mumbled loudly next to you.

“That’s not what you said when I asked about the color combos last week” The girl with bleached hair chimed in.

Jieong grinned, putting his hands on his hips as he came to a stop in the centre, “Haha. Don’t try so hard to make me look bad in front of the new girl”’

You laughed, “Don’t worry about it”

Jieong grinned at you, and you were still reeling from his attention as he talked, “We’re going to start on a new project for the next couple of weeks. I have a couple of field trips planned but today we are just going to explore some basic anatomy, okay?”

There was nothing more to be said. Everybody fell into a rhythm, and Jieong wasn’t even speaking anymore, but he filled the room with his presence. He had such a strong personality and clearly had a good rapport with all his students. You were looking forward to get to know him.

This was such a beautiful room, and you had only been here a few minutes, but you were endlessly inspired. It reminded you of Aera’s, filling you with so much creative energy, you were bursting at the seams. You hoped that this emotion wouldn’t be lost on you. This was the first genuine excitement you’d felt since….since what happened in the shop.

It’s been a few days, or a few weeks, you can’t really tell. Yet you play it in your head over and over again, trying to connect the dots. You give up every time, because nothing justifies what happened that night, and you don’t realise that most of your sleepless nights in this city pass by…just like that.

»»————-

There were good days, and bad days.

There was a separation between the art studio, and the rest of your life. In the studio, you were content, because you were distracted. At home…was another story.

Your apartment was a blank canvas, and as the weeks passed, you breathed life into each corner. The walls filled up slowly with the new artwork you created, with your works in progress from the apprenticeship. There were a few plants in your room to remind you of Daejon’s lushness.

You immersed yourself in the whirlwind of city life. Seoul sucked you in deep. You found a bakery you like, a grocery store you frequent, an art shop that fed your supplies.

It’s strange, to have good days, but nobody to share it with. It feels pointless to be excited about something but having to keep it to yourself.

You were still teetering on the edge, you hadn’t visited nightclubs or bars — you found no time between the classes. The people at the apprenticeship were talented, in a way that made you doubt yourself but push harder. You tried to talk to the people around you, but you only saw them in classes, and your friendships didn’t exist beyond those canvases.

It was hard to make friends in the city. You hadn’t predicted the isolation that would come with moving here. Jeongin and you would occasionally bump into you at the stairwell, and that would be the most of your social interaction. You made time to meet Yeonjun each weekend, and he helped you buy some basic furniture for your apartment; a coffee table, a dresser, a mirror. They even helped you carry your new mattress up the stairs, and you invited them in that night for some wine, as a thank you.

You liked to think that you’ve settled into a routine as you washed the dishes in your new home, listening to the hum of the city traffic. In the quiet evenings that you spend with yourself, you drifted into daydreams and thought about him, but you stopped yourself before the longing gets too bad.

Your apartment is so small. There’s no space in your life to be sad.

You’re supposed to be living your dream after all.

»»————-

The sun in the art studio never bothered you. Instead, felt warm on your skin, energizing you.You attempted to channel the beauty of the room into each pencil stroke. It was hard to focus on your art, sketching out a few basics as your professor talked over a few prompts. This was only the beginning, so you were taking it slow. It felt like it had been ages since you drew, and your skills were getting rustic.

When everyone was busy and distracted, Jieong came to you. “Doing okay, Y/N?” His voice was low to not disturb the other students, and you nodded.

“I’m good…just trying to get the hang of things”

“I understand” He smiled, and he was bent over to speak to you, “You’ll soon figure out the pattern. We experiment every class and you’re free to work on whatever medium you want. Don’t think of this as an art lesson, okay? It’s…refining your existing skills”

You smiled, “Yeah. I know I missed a few but I’m excited for the rest of the classes. I feel like I’ve hit a roadblock…with my own work, I end up only making the same kind of paintings every time”

Jieong nodded, like he’d heard this a million times, “But that’s exactly what I’m here for, okay? You can talk to me about anything you want. There’s also going to be a couple of field trips this semester, and you can meet some other mentors. In case you realise you hate my methods”

You laughed, continuing to sketch away, “I doubt that’s possible. I…I’m looking forward to those though”

“And not to sound too forward but…you look like you haven’t slept in a week, kid” He commented, with a chuckle, but there was no malice in his tone. Just a genuine observation.

“I haven’t” You admitted.

“Nervous?”

If nervous and heartbroken were the same emotion. Then yes, you were more nervous than anything. You settled and said, “This just means a lot to me”

“What brought you to Seoul, if you don’t mind me…asking? Did your parents move here, or a boyfriend or somebody?”

“Just looking for a change…” You said. It would be too much to tell him that you’d looked up to him half your life, and had worked your ass off the entire summer to get here….That you’d been willing to lose your friendships for this and that there was nothing in Seoul for you except this….It would be crazy to tell him that in the end, a boy had convinced you to be selfish and come here.

His lips curled up, oblivious to your internal worries, “A change? You’re in the right place then, sweetheart”

Sweetheart. You looked up at him, with obvious adoration in your gaze. Kim Jieong just called you sweetheart.

He reached out, to pat your back, “It can’t be easy moving, but I hope you know you made the right decision. If you’re looking for change…this is the place to be, and I’m really looking forward to know you and your art better. I can promise you that you’re going to be very happy here, Y/N”

You’re smiling, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Maybe you needed the reassurance that coming here and uprooting your entire life wasn’t a mistake. It had felt all too much like that after Hyunjin’s disappointed encounter – making you feel that you should’ve just stayed where you were.

You’d pined for this place for so long, yet you already missed your little hometown and your life there, because things with him were better back home.

It will take time to get better. It’s only the first day.

The weight of his words sank in, and you suddenly felt teary-eyed. There’s been a void in your heart for the longest time. You thought coming here would fill it up, but even as you’re painting in your dream class with your favourite artist, your heart feels dead.

You ought to be insane to not be grateful. Seoul was the only thing you ever wanted, but maybe it’s time for you to admit that…wishes change. Dreams change.

A lump builds up in your throat at the horrible realisation that maybe, the only thing that can fill the void in your being was Hyunjin.

»»————-

Today, you were drawing from life.

There was a model in front of you, and amongst all the plants, she looked like a siren plucked from the pages of an ancient Greek legend. She was sat on a barstool, dressed in a tight lace outfit. You focused on the detailing of her lingerie as you paint it into your canvas. Surprisingly, you’d never drawn anatomy from life before, you’d never ventured into that skill much.

Her set was made entirely of lace — thin flowers covering the chest, overlapping with vines and the model blends into the room's atmosphere. She looked beautiful in muted pastel colours, and you wish you could own a piece like that. You’ve found some time to revamp your wardrobe, and when you wear prettier clothes, you feel like you’re reinventing yourself.

Daejon was usually always humid, so you never experimented with patterns, layers, and textures. It was the same skirts, the same tank tops, and sweatpants that you circulated through, and it was okay because your life was the same there everyday. Here…you’re trying to be different.

Nate brought you out of your train of thought. He was poking a pencil in your leg, to get your attention, and you looked up at him. He was grinning, hair swept back. He’s handsome, in a conventional sense anyway, but you don’t let yourself think further than that. There’s no point.

You glanced at his canvas and he’s halfway through his portrait already. Somehow, he’s made the model look even more ethereal in person.

“Could I borrow the green swatch?” He asked, eyeing the watercolours you have in front of you. You’ve bought a lot of new art supplies, and it was quite frankly, a humbling experience. Everything is so much more expensive here, but the apprenticeship gives you some money for supplies, and you’re already halfway through it. The watercolour palette though, is your favourite. It’s Winsor & Netwon. In fact, it’s the same one you used the night of the Paint and Wine event at the Chateau.

“Of course” You told Nate, and handed him the palette. He dipped his brush right into it, taking away some green paint. Everybody around you was quiet, in a deep concentration as they worked on their pieces. Kim Jieong was circulating the classroom, hands on his hips as he observed every student. He stopped every few minutes, to help out, or give advice.

It’s been some time, but you still felt starstruck around him. Some charms never fade.

You’ve had little time to observe yet but it was obvious from day one - He’s insanely cool, and he teaches art in a way that makes you so grateful to be his student. He sees the world differently than you, and you’re in desperate need for that perspective. You’re tired of only seeing things your way.

So, you obviously immediately stop painting as he soon as he comes near you. You’re embarrassed as his eyes catch progress of your painting. You’re far behind the others.

“How’s that going?” He asked, in a hushed whisper to not divert attention off the class.

You dipped your paintbrush in water, letting it soak through, “I think…it’s okay”

Jieong frowned, just slightly, looking over your canvas. He had a pair of glasses pushed over his head and he slipped them back on, leaning in to look at your strokes. You’re self-conscious, rightfully, and you held your breath as he analyses the painting.

“Your strokes are very…careful” He looked back at you, “Like you’re afraid of making a mark on the paper”

You gulped, “I…sorry”

His eyebrows shot up, and he removed the glasses, keeping them on your desk. “Mind if I sit next to you, Y/N?”

You nodded, and you’re ready to hear the end of it. He pulled up an abandoned stool, scooting close to you. You pulled your hands into your lap, and faced him.

He gets right to it, “All the work that I’ve seen of yours in the portfolio you submitted. You were usually more confident. Is something bothering you these days?”

So much is bothering you, yet none of it is an excuse.

You haven’t come this far, just to slack off. You haven’t paid so much just to be average. You haven’t dreamt so long just to be careful. You’re holding back.

“No…nothing’s bothering me” You lied, manifesting that it will soon be the truth.

Jieong frowned at your blatant lie, because he’s obviously older and wiser and therefore he knows everything. “You’ve been getting enough sleep now?”

There’s no point in hiding the truth. It’s more embarrassing to be caught in a lie, “Actually, not really…my place is still new to me. I’m still getting used to the bed, my room…the traffic. Where I’m from, it’s always quieter at night. I…also miss my friends”

Jieong smiled at your words, “Is that all? Because if so, then I’m not worried. You’ll settle in soon, and the loud traffic will soon fall on deaf ears”

“I know” You nod, you’re trying to be positive, “It’s just taking some time”

He nodded, and you think he’ll leave but says, “Have you visited any museums yet? Or been around the city?”

You’re conscious again, because everybody else is painting the model, yet you feel like a kid being reprimanded by their teacher.

“I haven’t had much time. I’ve tried to improve my skills at home”

“You’re in a metro city, Y/N. You should let yourself be inspired. I’m not asking you to go out and get drunk—” He laughed, “But maybe the trick is to tire yourself out so much during the day, you fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow”

You forced a smile, but it’s hard when he’s looking right at you, “You’re right. I should do that”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your painting” He apologised, “You can continue”

You nodded, picking up the paintbrush but you’re shaking. He’s still sitting beside you, and his observant gaze terrifies you. You feel like you’re ten years old again, trying to be perfect in art class.

His hand landed on your shoulder, “Don’t be nervous”

The fact that he’s caught on to you being nervous is embarrassing, and you decide to say, “It’s hard not to be. I’ve looked up to your art my whole life”

He smiled, in your peripheral vision, “Is that so?” He looked proud, the smile reaches his eyes, and you nodded to confirm.

You and him haven’t had too many personal conversations yet. He’s close to everyone else in class but you‘re still getting to know each other. So, he still has no idea what he means to you. He had kind eyes, and the way he carries himself makes him seem much younger than he is. He’s trying to put you at ease, and you feel slightly grateful. He didn’t need to do this, or come here.

“I went to your exhibition in Jeju” You told him.

His eyes lit up, “Is that how you heard about this program? I remember my team was handing out flyers for this program there”

“Yup, I went with my best friend. Well, I sort of dragged him there, but I’m glad I did because I saw the flyers. I never thought I’d actually get in here though”

“Yet here you are” He hummed, “At the fear of not sounding narcissistic, can I ask you what your favourite piece was?”

You smiled, “You’re one of the greatest living artists. I think you’re allowed to be a little narcissistic”

At your words, he laughed. It’s so loud that it catches the attention of the students next to you. Though they’re used to his magnanimous personality, they turn away soon enough.

“You’re too sweet” He told you.

“My favourite piece…” You trailed off, and you’re replaying the exhibition in your head. You had dragged Felix around every hallway, and he’d complained throughout. Your thoughts are overtaken by something else though. At the pool all those weeks away… you’d talked about this in detail with Hyunjin, the night you told him about your rejection. The night you sat with your feet dipped in the water, the night he touched you and told you how he’d tangibly changed you. He couldn’t have known in that moment, how right he was. You can feel the ghost of his touch on your fingers, on your lips, your thighs.

Jieong must have noticed the fall in your expression because he tilt his head, “Everything all right?”

“I’m sorry. I was…just trying to remember” You can’t let thoughts of Hyunjin paralyse you.

“That’s okay” He said, simply.

“My favourite was Celestial Fatality” You said, “How…did you even come up with it?” You’d theorised this with Hyunjin…but now you could actually get some answers.

Jieong seemed surprised, “That’s a pretty morbid painting to love, Y/N”

“It’s beautiful though. It reminds me of the legend of Icarus”

“What do you like about it?” He leaned forward, and your heart jumped. He actually cares, and wants to know your opinion. The thought of it is crazy and makes you a little dizzy.

“It’s a cautionary tale…the pair of lovers drowning in moonlight, swallowed up in their own…hubris. They were probably told to stay away from each other, yet at the risk of their mortality, they still met”

Jieong seemed almost impressed, “You seem like a romantic person”

It’s a strange thing for him to say to you, in the middle of a Wednesday class. But he’s your favourite artist, and he’s absolutely right. For a romantic person, you’ve surely never had any good relationships to account for it though.

You shook your head, “I’m really not. I just like that painting. Something about it feels close to home. It’s almost like I can feel the pain of their mistake…of choosing each other over anything else in the world, even if that ends in their perishing…”

His lip curled up into a smile, “Fascinating”

Your chest felt heavy, but it feels so good to talk about this with him, “I hope one day I can create something with as much impact as that. I want to tell stories that linger, I think there’s a long time till that though…I mean I’m struggling with basic anatomy,. I guess I just need to get better….”

“I’ve only known you a few weeks, Y/N, but can I tell you something?”

“Hmm?”

He reached out, smiling warmly, “You’re way too hard on yourself. You’re in one of the greatest cities in the world. Live a little, kid”

»»————-

It had been just two weeks, but you’ve developed a habit. Every evening after class, you find yourself organising the canisters on the shelves.

“Should we be paying you for this?” Nate asked, stepping over to you. You don’t talk much in class, and when you do, it’s always in passing, like this. Right now, he had a bag slung over his shoulder, while he bit into an apple, the juice dripping down his chin. You wish you had more energy to put into your friendships right now but making new connections has felt so draining. You’d been too dependent on Yeonjun, but he can’t always be there.

He looked silly, eating fruit here, but you laughed, “I hope you’re joking”

“No, because why are you putting all of them in that order?” He asked, another crunch reverberated through the studio as he bit into it again.

“I actually worked in an art shop my whole life. Old habits…” You shrugged, looking at him.

“You’re kidding me” Minnie said, stepping up, “That explains it”

“Explains what?” You turned to them.

“Your desk is always so…strangely clean” She said. You don’t know her well too, but you love how she dresses. You love how she pours herself into her clothes, and expresses through them. She’s always wearing chunky jewellery, flowing skirts, corsets. Her art style is similar to it. It’s loud but dainty at the same time.

“I’m gonna presume that’s a compliment” You laughed, picking up your sketchbook. “Can we get going, Nate, please?” Minnie asked him.

“See you Monday” You smiled at them, turning to finish packing your things.

Nate looked at you over his shoulder, “Actually… You got any plans after class?”

You looked between them, “Not really, I was planning on brushing up on my anatomy. Why?”

Nate rolled his eyes, and he almost reminds you of Minho in this moment, “Even though that sounds like the bestFriday night ever…We’re going to this new bar that opened up. You wanna come with?”

Minnie jumped forward, eyes lighting up, “Shit, yeah! I think you might really like it. The whole place is themed like a post-apocalyptic nuclear bunker. Very cool”

“What?” You laughed, walking over to them with your bag, “That sounds really unique, but I don’t really want to intrude on your plan”

Nate stepped forward, offering his hand to you, “Your anatomy can wait till Monday morning. You’ve been in Seoul a few weeks, don’t you want to explore the cool shit already?”

“Are you sure?”

“We have an extra ticket anyway” Minnie suggested. They’ve never asked you to hang out with them before like this. You wonder what it was about today that made them try.

You stared at his hand, outstretched to you. No inspiration was going to strike from you just sitting in your studio apartment every night. They were right, and you slipped your fingers in his. He smiled brightly…and that just happened to be the night you made your first friends in the city.

And…Nate had a lot of friends.

You realised as much when you’re sitting at the booth, squished between Minnie and him, staring at a bunch of young adults you don’t know.

They’re fun, and they’re on their fifth tequila shot of the night. In another life, this might have been your teenage years too. Attending Seoul University, having friends from affluent neighbourhoods, weekend nights out at the bar. Alas, everyone at this table is worth more than the average person’s income in Daejon, and the only cheap bar in your small town was run by an old creep.

Minnie handed you another tequila shot, her hand resting on your thigh. She’s very handsy and you don’t mind.

There’s been a few rounds of getting to know each other. You’re the new one, so you kind of feel like the baby of the group, even though they’re all older than you. Most of them came from America, but their Korean is so good you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Nate has attractive friends. Ha-ru, Renjun, Lily, Jamie. But none of them hold a candle to the boy you’re desperately trying not to think about.

You came straight to this bar after class, so you had no time to change out of your paint-tattered clothes. Thankfully, you’re wearing the leather jacket Yeonjun bought you, and it does a great job of keeping you warm. Admittedly, his friends aren’t too dressed up either. They all came from work too, and you once again realise that life here is so different from Daejon. There’s no time for frolicking, or lounging around in diners and swimming in Creeks. Everybody’s working their ass off, to afford the lifestyle that Seoul asks for, the lifestyle you always killed for.

“So, what brought you to this city, Y/N?” One of his friends asked you. It’s the only question you get asked these days. The most interesting thing about you is your newness, but they’re outgoing, so you’re not surprised at them making all these attempts to get to know you.

“Where do I start?” You joked, reaching for your drink, “I moved here from a little town near the mountains”

Your glass was tinted red, to match the theming of the bar. It’s a fancy place, and all the decor makes you feel like you’re underground. Even the bouncers are dressed up in what look like radioactive suits, for the whole nuclear bunker vibe.

Everything around you is neon. The tables, the lights, the dance floor. Each one of Nate’s friends has a neon necklace around their neck, and glow sticks as bracelets. You’ve seen those accessories in the movies, but you’ve never been to a party with them. Minnie made you a purple and blue glow-stick bracelet, and slipped it on your wrist a while ago. You’re fiddling with it as you talk to their friends.

“Ah, a small town girl” One of his friends, Renjun, laughed, but you’re not offended. It’s true, after all.

“Why would you willingly choose the life path of a struggling artist?” Jamie asked. She’s cute. Her hair is dyed bright red, so you already like her.

You laughed, “A silly dream”

“What’s your dream?” Nate asked, squeezing your shoulder. You realised his arm is around you, and has been for a while. He smells nice, and so you let it linger. Even now, his huge headphones hang off his neck. He never goes anywhere without them, and you’re proud of yourself for picking up little habits and quirks in such less time already.

Everybody has different reasons to be an artist, so you tell them yours, “I don’t know…I’ve been painting since I was a kid, but I think I’m ready to finally share my art with the world? That’s assuming other people would want to see it, but I guess I want to reach a point in my life where I’m proud of what I created, and hopefully I can inspire others. Also…because if I don’t become an artist, I have no idea what the hell I’ll do. It feels like the only thing I really enjoy doing”

It’s far too intense, and serious an answer for this bar, but Nate’s friends listened kindly. They smiled as you talked. It felt a little lame, sure. It also feels unachievable, but Minnie grinned, and pat your thigh, “I mean….wow, you’re halfway there! You made it to Jieong’s studio”

She’s right. You’ve been sad and moping this whole time, and you decide that tonight needs to be the night you want things to change. After what Jieong told you earlier today, you deserve a little fun, enough fun for the sirens and the traffic to become your lullaby as you fall asleep.

“But why Seoul? You have enough talent to make it to Paris” Jamie asked. She has piercings too, and you get distracted by how well they complimented her.

“I’d have to live on the streets” You bite your cheek. Maybe they can’t relate because they’re so much more well-off, but Nate laughed, and said, “Isn’t that an artist’s rite of passage?”

You smiled, and downed the last of your drink.

“Well, since you’re one of us now. Here’s your honorary tiara!” Jamie said, handing you a neon golden tiara across the table. You grabbed it, placing it atop your head and Minnie clicked a picture of you, joking about you being a princess from humble beginnings. Her words slur a bit, and you’ve been here more than an hour, so it explains why everybody’s already tipsy.

The dance floor was absolutely full, and there’s couples grinding on each other. There are so many pretty girls, and attractive guys surrounding them. Girls in tight dresses with no care in the world, and boys trying to flirt to catch their attention. There’s probably someone falling in love right this second, in this very bar, and you’re people-watching for a while. Everybody’s neon accessories are glowing in the blacklights, and it’s a beautiful scene, straight out of a movie.

When you tune back into the conversation, Jamie’s telling the group about some jerk at her workplace today, and you try to follow her story, except you’ve already lost the context. It’s probably the lack of sleep and all the alcohol in your veins.

You don’t have to try for long though since Renjun interrupted it, “Shit, is that Baekhyun?”

The name is familiar, and you all craned your heads to see who he’s pointing out.

There’s a well-dressed man at the far end of the bar, and he’s indulging in tequila shots, with two girls by his side. He’s beautiful, and he has silver hair.

“Who he is?” You asked, but you already know. Hyunjin has mentioned a Baekhyun before…and you’ve grown up hearing about him on television too, but this can’t possibly be him.

“A singer” Jamie said.

“Oh. He’s…the Baekhyun?” You dropped your voice. It felt weird talking about him when he’s right there, “Isn’t he like… a superstar?”

Nate nodded, “He’s one of the top, yeah. Even my mum’s obsessed with him. Why are you so surprised? Never seen an idol in the wild?”

If only he knew…

You craned your neck to see Baekhyun making out with the girl at the bar, tongue and all. “I didn’t know they can be so open…” You frowned, unable to comprehend the scene before you.

“Why wouldn’t they? He’s like twenty five. I know you’re not from the city but you’re not that old fashioned, are you?” Nate laughed.

You shook your head, but the little movement hurts you because you’re tipsy too, “No, it’s not that. I just thought…aren’t they prohibited from all of that? The drinking and everything…in public”

Minnie laughed, “Come on, you don’t seriously believe that Y/N”

It wasn’t just your belief. It’s what Hyunjin had told you, time and time again. His reputation was more important than anything, and his company would never let it be tarnished. Indulging in things like this…would definitely alter public perception of him.

“Well…they’re like super controlled by their companies” You told them. This was one thing you knew more than them. You’d heard first-hand accounts of it.

“Yeah, but none of them follow those rules” Nate laughed, and he’s drawing circles on your shoulder as he speaks, “Every single idol I know is like a sex freak”

“To put it kindly: they fuck like bunnies” Jamie clarified, “All that pent up frustration. Plus they’re all hot, and spend all their time together. It’s only natural”

“But…they’re not allowed to date publicly” You spoke, yet it came out more as a question.

Nate shrugged, “Still. They’re a bunch of horny twenty year olds, Y/N. You can’t be that naive”

“I’m not” You defended, “I just thought…Someone told me that… it’s really looked down upon, that they could get kicked out of the company”

Renjun leaned forward, jutting his head towards Baekhyun, “Does that look like the face of a man worried about being fired?”

Surely not. He was now making out with the other girl on his arm, while the previous one kissed his neck, at the bar for everyone to see. You’re sure people were taking pictures of them too, whoever wasn’t drunk enough to comprehend this.

“My friend’s worked with a couple of them. They’ve literally all fucked each other. And honestly, if I led a lifestyle as stressful as that? I would too” Renjun laughed.

“Most of them are dating too” Jamie said.

It felt like a dark cloud washed over you. Were you wrong about everything you assumed about Hyunjin’s life?

“Who told you that anyway, Y/N?” Minnie asked.

“Just some guy who works at Pegasus” You mumbled, twirling your glass on the table. Pegasus was the label Hyunjin’s group is under, but there’s enough artists in that company to not arouse any suspicion.

“Why are you so curious about this anyway? You’re in the mood to fuck a famous guy?” Nate asked.

You shook your head, “No, it’s just interesting to think about…”

If you could still talk to Hyunjin, you’d call him right now and ask him all about this, and why nobody seemed to care that Baekhyun was feeling up two girls in this very public place. It was like looking into an alternate reality, where nobody cared about what they were up to. A better reality than yours surely, yet you couldn’t process it. You hadn’t been interested in idols before Hyunjin, and after Hyunjin, all you’d known was their endless restrictions.

Minnie finished the tequila in your glass, “I could never be famous. I’d get cancelled on day one”

You smiled at her joke, but your mood had already dampened. Nate was right. You were naïve to think that none of them broke the rules, just because Hyunjin didn’t want to. You stared at the condensation ring your glass left.

Minnie nudged you in your stomach, as if noticing the lull in your emotions, “Wanna get another drink with me at the bar?”

You desperately wanted a drink, so you could finally let go and enjoy the rest of tonight, “Aren’t we going to be hungover for class tomorrow?”

She rolled her eyes, “Class isn’t till eleven. We’ll be fine. Plus, Jieong knows we drink every Wednesday”

So you followed her to the bar. Baekhyun wasn’t there anymore, and he must have left with the girls. “This place is really cool” You told her, hiking up on a bar stool as she ordered you two Tequila Sunrises.

“Isn’t it? We try to go out every week, it keeps us sane. I mean, there’s so many places to explore too, you know what I mean?”

You nodded, even though you’re all about routine and less about spontaneity, “I get it”

Your drinks arrived, decorated with two cherries on top, and a slice of orange.

“So, you have a boyfriend yet?” She asked you, chewing on her straw. You knew the question was coming, so you’re not surprised and you don’t flinch.

“No” You shook your head, “I haven’t had one for a while”

She hummed, “Why? It’d be fun to get one, while you’re here”

You laughed, sipping on your drink, “Get one? You say that as if I can just go shopping for a new boyfriend”

The drink was citrusy — a blend of tequila and orange juice. Yet your favourite drink is still the one Hyunjin made you, complete with the flower from his home garden.

She rolled her eyes, “No, I mean, you’re pretty. Look around us and just pick a cute boy. Boys in Seoul are so desperate they’ll be very easy to get”

You laughed, “You’re not serious, are you?”

“I am!” She seemed offended, “Then we could even go on double dates”

“You have a boyfriend?”

She smiled, “A girlfriend. But we’re on the down low”

You’re surprised, “Really? What’s her name?”

She laughed, pointing at your booth, “You met her. It’s Jamie. She’s at the table”

Your eyes widened, “Shit. You’re dating Jamie?”

“I know, we don’t seem like a couple, right?”

They hadn’t been all over each other so you hadn’t presumed they were together, but perhaps their love was stable, so they didn’t need to be. You took a long sip of your drink, “No, I just…I just didn’t know”

She shrugged, “We don’t really tell anyone. Not everybody gets it”

“Thank you for telling me. I know we haven’t talked much in class, and you don’t even know me that well, but—”

She interrupted you, keeping her hand on your thigh, “Stop, Y/N. I’ve seen your art, and honestly that speaks to me so much more than knowing someone for years. It’s like reading a personal diary, don’t you think? Art reveals so much of who we are”

You smiled, her words stroking a growing flame in your heart, “What does it reveal about me?”

She chewed on her straw further, smile tugging at her lips, “All I need to know. And since we’re all in Jieong’s class now, I hope you know we’ll basically be family by the end of the year”

“You’re really sweet…I was kind of nervous joining in the middle of a semester, but I’m so glad I’m here. Thank you for taking me out tonight too”

“Of course. You’re the newest addition to the group, we had to”

It feels so sudden, and fast, but you’re thankful they consider you a part.

“So” She leaned forward, “Pick a boy to kiss tonight”

You shook your head, laughing, “No, I can’t” You’re tipsy, but you’re not that drunk, and the idea of kissing someone who’s not him, hurts you far too much. You also can’t imagine enjoying it.

“Why?” She pouted.

You wonder what’s the best way to say it. You forced a smile, “I’m…in love with somebody else”

Minnie’s eyes widened, as if you’d been keeping a secret from her for years, “What? Who?”

You played with the orange slice in your drink, “Just a boy from my town”

“Can I ask what happened?”

You swallowed, gaze wavering from hers, “Uh…it’s complicated, Minnie”

“Did he break your heart?”

You looked up at her, “We…lost touch”

It sounds stupid to say in the 21st century. Those kind of things don’t happen anymore. It’s not like you are ancient lovers who separated due to circumstances. Yet it feels more like that every day. You wish you just knew what happened. There must be a reasonable explanation for why he acted this way.

Minnie frowned, “I see…”

You know she’s curious, but nobody could ever understand the complexity of what happened between you and him this summer anyway. You don’t think you understand it yourself.

“Let’s just not talk about him” You mumbled, finishing the rest of your drink. You’d been drinking so fast tonight, you didn’t realise how much you’d had.

“Hey…” A voice interrupts you, and you turned to see Jamie, “I was looking everywhere for you”

Minnie rolled her eyes, “The only place you should look is the bar”

“You’re right” Jamie slung an arm around her, pulling her close, “Can we go dance, baby?”

Minnie grinned, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, “Y/N, do you wanna come with?”

You looked between them, and they look so cute together. Jamie was leaving little pecks on Minnie’s shoulder as they talked. They complement each other so well — Minnie with her light hair, and Jamie with her fiery red. You haven’t known Jamie before tonight, but their personalities seem so contrasting too.

You jumped off the barstool, “I’m actually gonna go to the bathroom, okay?”

“Cool. We’ll be here” She smiled, walking off to the dance floor with her girlfriend.

There’s a line at the bathroom so you stand in it, hugging yourself. The music isn’t as loud here, so it’s nice to get some time to your thoughts. A couple is making out in front of you, and the guy is grabbing her ass, pushing her to the wall. The club walls aren’t the most sanitary for this, but the music playing is sexy, and the atmosphere is so hot. There’s nothing wrong with daydreaming…so you let yourself drift into it. If he were here…you don’t think that would have stopped you either. In a dress that’s too short for you, the two of you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off each other the whole night.

Except… he would have definitely stopped you. You can never imagine a day where he’d kiss you in the middle of a crowded bar.

Once you’re finally in, you splashed some water on your face. Some of it gets on your top. Pushing your hair back, you stared at yourself in the mirror. The image looking back at you is blurry, and out of focus. Pink neon strips surround the mirror, but the light hurts your eyes. The alcohol has got to your head, and your reflection is already spinning. You take in a breath, gripping the counter tightly. You suddenly feel sick. It’s not the drinks. It’s the image burned into your head of Baekhyun at the bar. How is he living his life with so much ease, when all you had with Hyunjin are stolen moments? You’re happy that perhaps the rules aren’t the same for everyone…but it feels unfair.

You wonder if you’re destined to always feel this way, this loss, like a hole in your heart where he belonged. Tears threatened to spill but you hold them back. You can’t be the girl crying in the bathroom, on her first night out. That would be so fucking pathetic, you’d pity yourself.

“Fucking asshole!” A voice interrupted your breakdown, and through the neon mirror, your eyes fall on a girl as she runs into the bathroom, aggression plastered on her features. She’s in a tight top, and it’s soaking wet. It looks like someone spilled a drink on it. She looked rightfully annoyed, coming to stand next to you at the sink. You wonder who she got into a fight with, or how the drink ended up on her clothes.

She’s furiously wiping away at her top, but it’s completely wet, purple liquid seeped in. Tearing off tissues one after the other, she seemed frustrated when the dispenser is out.

You’re still zoned out, and you don’t realise you’re holding out a toilet paper roll to her. Your limbs seemed to move on their own accord.

She glanced up at your reflection, with wide eyes. Bangs fall to the front of her eyes, and thick eyeliner darkened her gaze. A nose piercing catches the neon light. Despite the mess on her shirt, she easily looks like the coolestgirl you’ve ever seen.

“Thank you” She frowned, but her shoulders visibly relaxed at your gesture. She grabbed the paper roll from you, and you turned to leave.

“Some dude threw a drunk at me when I said I didn’t wanna dance with him” She said. It takes you a second to register that she’s talking to you.

So you turned around, crossing your arms to hold yourself, “Oh…ouch. Some people just can’t take a no, I guess”

She laughed, looking at herself in the mirror, “Right? I looked in his direction for a second, and he took that as an invitation”

Her clothes …are completely ruined, and you can see her bra. It’s way past the point of saving. It would have been a cute outfit, if it wasn’t for the huge stain at the front.

“Who was he? Maybe I can get my friends to talk with him” You told her, and you don’t know why you’re offering up Nate and Minnie to fight a random stranger, just for this girl.

Still, she laughed, “Your friend would beat up a stranger for me?”

You smiled, and said without hesitation, “If I ask him nicely enough. Actually… I think me and him just became friends today, so I can’t promise you”

She laughed, “A night of firsts for you too then”

“For me too?” You questioned, and you’re still looking at her through the bathroom mirror.

“It’s my first night out on the city after a long time. I honestly just needed to get out. I thought I’d go insane in my apartment” She told you, and then looked down, “What am I gonna do with this?”

You don’t think, “You can have my jacket”

Her eyebrows shoot up, and she whipped around to look at you. You realise up close, she’s even prettier than in her reflection, if that’s possible.

“You’re serious?” She tilt her head, and looked over you, gaze drifting to the leather jacket that clings to your body, “That looks new”

“You can return it to me” You offered.

“You trust me enough to do that?” She smiled, and dimples appear in her cheeks.

“You… seem nice enough”

She looked at your jacket yet again, thinking it over in head, “No, I couldn’t. Won’t you be cold?”

“I’ll be fine, and you definitely can’t wear that” You said, pointing to her blouse that sticks to her body.

She sighed, looking down at herself, and then gives in. You wonder why you’re convincing her to take your jacket. Maybe because she’s the only thing that stopped you from having an actual breakdown in the bar bathroom. She peeled off her blouse, cursing again at how it sticks to her body as she did so, and it leaves her in just her bra. She squeezed the blouse over the sink, wringing it, and purple liquid dripped out.

“That’s gross” You remarked, and she laughed. You handed your jacket to her. Inside, you’re thankfully wearing a tank top so you’ll be fine. She zipped it up, and it’s a little tight on her, but it does the job. It obviously doesn’t match with the denim skirt she’s wearing, but still you smiled, “Cute outfit”

“I look insane” She laughed.

“Well, hey, at least that’ll keep the creepy guy off you” You told her. You then realise you’ve been here far too long, “Um, I should probably head out. My friends would be worried”

She giggled loudly, turning to you, “Wait, but thank you. You’re…really nice. It’s not often you meet people with the likes of you here”

“I’m not from here but…I’m sure anybody else would have done the same thing” You suggested, standing at the door to leave.

“Well, I asked like six girls for help but all of them said no” She mumbled.

Your heart clenched. Perhaps it’s true that people in the city really are so consumed in their own lives. Maybe that’s why everyone in your town hated them.

“Where are you from then?” She asked you.

“You won’t really know it”

Her eyebrows shoot up, as if you challenged her, “Come on, try me. I was a pro in geography in high school!”

“It’s a town called Daejon”

Her eyes widened, “Daejon? Yeah, I do know where that is!”

“Oh” You smiled, and you don’t know why you’re telling everybody about yourself tonight, but it feels nice.

“I actually knew somebody from there” She said, and that’s what really catches your attention.

“You do?”

“Yeah” She smiled, but says nothing more.

Someone suddenly tugs at your sleeve. It’s Minnie, and she hooked her arm around yours, pulling you out, “You’ve been in here for like, an hour. We’re going to another bar. Nate and the others are waiting for us”

You glanced back at the girl, and said, “Sorry! I, um, gotta go”

You’ve made it all of two steps out of the bathroom and back into the bar, before she tapped on your shoulder. She yelled to be heard over the music, it’s so much louder out here, “Wait! How should I get this jacket back to you?”

You’re clearly drunker than you thought since you just handed her your shit and were walking away without any plan of how to get it back, “Um yeah, I can give you my number. I’m Y/N, by the way”

“Y/N” She repeated, pulling her phone out to save your number, “My saviour”

You enter hers, and you’re in a hurry because Minnie is pulling at your sleeve, whining about how the others will be annoyed, “What should I save yours as?”

“You can just put in Kairi!”

“Sorry?” You looked up at her, freezing. The pounding music overtakes your senses. You must have misheard her…

“Kairi. My name!” She smiled, and you’re staring at her stupidly for a second just as Minnie tugs at your arm, and before you can ask her any further questions, she dragged you back into the bar.

»»————-

At 6:46 a.m., there was a text on your phone.

heyy its the drunk girl you gave your jacket to last night :) im very grateful for it and would like to give it back. where do you work, yn?

You’re surprised she remembered your name.

Last night flooded through your brain. You’d gone out drinking with your friends, and then to another bar, and you’d come home without your jacket… dead in the night. Jeongin had seen you struggling with your keys, and he’d let you in. You’d been so fucking drunk, but nothing can erase the memory of that girl.

She said her name was Kairi. Chan’s ex-girlfriend was a girl named Kairi. The girl he was in love with for years, the girl he was going to ask to marry, before something happened…and they broke up. That had also been around the time Hyunjin had stopped talking to you…

How many Kairis could possibly live here? It’s probably just…a random Kairi, and not the one Hyunjin had told you all about. Although knowing your luck, Chan’s ex-girlfriend was possibly texting you, and this was all kind of insane. You can’t even go a single day without being reminded of Hyunjin, and it feels like life is playing a cruel trick on you by introducing you to Kairi. It’s too big a coincidence. It’s so crazy and convoluted that you should just block the number and never think about this again. She had no idea who you are, and it feels like you’re tricking her by knowing her identity.

But Yeonjun gave you that jacket so you can’t just let it go, and so you text her back. Just so you can get it back. Nothing more to it.

hey, im actually a student but i can come to where you work, and pick it up

a student? that explains why you’re so sweet and i work near the outskirts, it’ll be too far for you. why don’t we meet up at the paris baguette near hannam? is that all right for you for tonight?

i actually have class at eleven

ah how about now then?

You sat up immediately. You’re still in your pyjamas and hungover as fuck. Now?

»»————-

Kairi was standing outside the Paris Baguette when you arrive, tote bag slung over her shoulder. She looked absolutely stunning in the morning, miles more so than the club bathroom, and your heart shakes a little. Sober, she’s prettier, and even more confident.

“Hey” You walked up to her, trying not to think about how weird this all was. You’re just here for the jacket, and then you’re going to leave, “Morning”

“Hey, stranger” She smiled bright, dimples returning.

“I’m sorry if I was late” You apologised.

“No, don’t mind me, I just like to show up way too early. Here’s your jacket!” She reached into her bag, handing it to you, “I had it dry-cleaned in the morning. Didn’t wanna return it with the alcohol smell over it”

“Oh. Thank you” You smiled, “You didn’t need to do that”

“Of course I did. I’m buying you breakfast, by the way”

“You’re what?”

“In fact, I got here early to beat the rush. Got you some pain au chocolat before it sells out!”

Fuck. No wonder Chan was in love with her.

This feels far too weird though, and you can’t be hanging out with her, “I should…get going, Kairi”

“You remember my name, Y/N” She grinned, unfazed by you constantly wanting to just get the fuck out of here.

“Of course…you, uh remembered mine, but I should really go”

“Well, I’m not letting you go that easily. I already bought us food”

You watched, helpless, as she reached into her bag to bring out a little box, “Do you want to walk with me? There’s a place in the park we could grab coffee from”

You really shouldn’t. Every bit of you is screaming at you at how you shouldn’t do this. But she looks far too happy for this early in the morning, and you don’t want to be to the ruin her entire day so you gave in, “I…can’t ever say no to coffee”

Kairi grinned, triumphant as she led you to the park, and when you bite into the chocolate croissant that she bought you, this doesn’t feel like such a big mistake.

You’re walking, and her elbow brushed against yours as she asked you, “You said you’re a student”

“Mmh” You nodded, through a mouthful of croissant. The chocolate sticks to your lips and you wipe it off, conscious of how you look around her.

“So, tell me more, Y/N. What are you a student of?”

You’re feeling the nerves in your tummy, and you need to act normal because this is just a girl. It doesn’t matter if Chan is her ex-boyfriend, or if she’s friends with Hyunjin. You can’t make it weirder than it already is. “I study art” You told her, “At the Atelier”

“Art?” Her eyes lit up, “I swear I always attract the creative people”

“Yeah?” You glanced at her, swallowing another bite of the croissant.

She shook her head, as if to dismiss the thought, “Mmh. So what kind of art do you learn?”

It’s a chilly morning in the park, but it’s beautiful. People are walking their dogs, and old couples are sitting on benches, and you’re with a kind stranger who was buying you coffee.

“All kinds, but mostly painting” You told her, leaning against a little fence as you two come to a stop. There’s a little stall set up in the popular trail of the park, and a sweet woman is selling coffee and cakes. Kairi paid for your drinks, and you watched her from where you stand.

“I have a friend who likes to paint” She told you, smiling as she walked back over to you, “Personally, it’s not for me”

“What do you do?”

“Be careful, it’s hot” Kairi warned, handing the steaming cup of mocha to you. You wrapped your hands around it, and lift it to your cheek, letting the warmth travel to your face.

She giggled, “Who needs heat packs when we have caffeine?”

You nodded, taking a sip of it as you looked at her. She can’t seem to stay still, and she’s walking across a circle of pebbles, as she chats away and sips at her coffee. She’s so endearing, and she reminds you of a mix of Felix and Minho. Today, her hair is pulled up into a bun, strands falling around her face. Her makeup is lighter than it was yesterday too, but she’s prettier in the daylight.

“Oh and…I work in corporate. It’s…a boring job, but I think I’ve had enough of an exciting life” She hummed. You let yourself get comfortable, crossing your ankles across the dirt, enjoying the warm coffee, as she told you about her job, and the kind of clients she’s had. You tell her about your apartment, and about how you’d be locked out so frequently, if it weren’t for Jeongin. You tell her about Yeonjun too.

You’re trying really hard to not bring up anything that can give you away. You’re so curious, you need to know if this is the same Kairi that you’ve heard of this whole while. Kairi is a common enough name, even if you asked, what would you say? The boy I love is in a band with your ex-boyfriend. It’s insane to bring up, so you settle for something simpler, “Um…can I ask why you’re buying me coffee on a Friday morning?”

She looked up at you, smiling, “Would you judge me if I said I’m going through a really shitty time? I kind of want to remind myself that there’s still good stuff in the world”

“Oh. I’m sorry” You apologised, staring at your feet. That was inappropriate to ask.

“Don’t be sorry. We all have our own baggage to deal with”

“Yeah. I get you” You said, taking another sip of the mocha, “Um, so don’t you have work today?”

“No” She laughed, “I’m taking a mental health day, as cringe as that may sound”

Your chest squeezed. It sucked to see her go through this, whatever it was, and you barely know her. “We all need that sometimes” You shot her a smile, “It’s not…cringe at all. Don’t worry. In fact, the world would be a better place if everyone took a mental health day once in a while”

She stepped up to you, eyes lost in thought, “You know…you remind me of someone”

“I do?”

“Mmh” She nodded, “My boyfriend, he—Sorry, ex-boyfriend, he was just like you”

Now you’re definitely crossing a line, but you’re self-destructive so you ask anyway, “Can I…ask what happened?”

She tilt her head, pausing between sipping her mocha, “It’s not really morning coffee worth news. I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details but we’re…taking a break…indefinitely”

You swallowed, “I’m sorry to hear that”

She shrugged, wiping some foam off her lips, “Don’t be. I know that…things are going to be okay”

You can’t resist asking, “How can you be so sure?”

“Well. He’s the only person I think of, when I’m sad…and also when I’m fucking happy. I know that he feels the same, and if two people can’t stay away from each other, it just means…they aren’t supposed to be apart” She laughed.

Your stomach clenches at that. You should believe that, except it’s impossible.

“I wish that I could be as positive as you are” You end up saying.

“You said you’re from Daejon, right?” It comes out of nowhere. Why is she bringing it up now?

You felt a rush in your chest at her question, “Yeah. I am.”

She pokes her tongue in her cheek, and you don’t know where she’s headed with this, “One of my friends was born there”

“Oh…” You try hard not to react, but you’re so easy to read, you give everything away. Anybody would be able to see you’re hurting.

“He’s a painter too. Well…not professionally, but…he wishes he was. He’s so talented. in another life, I’m sure he’s much more successful than even Da Vinci”

You know exactly who she’s talking about, and you can’t hear this. You’ll end up crying or something, so you finally do the right thing and say, “Um. I think I should leave, Kairi”

Her eyes widened, and she seemed confused, stepping towards you, “What? Did I say something wrong?”

You’re pressed up to the fence, facing her, “No. I’m just going to be late for class if I stay and—”

“I said something wrong” She interrupted you, face hardened.

You look at your feet, and you shouldn’t have come here with her. You’re far too sensitive for this, “No, you didn’t”

“Wait…You know who I’m talking about, right?” She continued, and you wish she’d stop.

“I don’t” You said, and your jaw is clenched from the lie.

Kairi’s gaze is unrecognisable, and her voice feels far away, “You’re…the Y/N…aren’t you?”

You’re squeezing the cup in your hand, “What?”

“I wasn’t sure…I had a doubt but the more time I spend with you, the more obvious it gets who you are”

Your voice fell to a whisper, “You know me?”

“All he did was talk about you.”

A burning flame consumes your heart, and you can’t breathe, and you asked even though you know the answer, “Who…?”

“Hyunijn… He would be making up excuses just to keep bringing you up, in each conversation. He talked about you every second he could.”

You think you’re going to have a panic attack in the middle of the park.

“He did…?”

“Until… a few months ago he completely stopped. He…hasn’t said your name since”

You swallowed, and there’s tears in your eyes, “I’m sorry I…need to go, Kairi. Thank you…for the coffee”

She doesn’t say anything.

This time, she lets you leave.

»»————-

You’re a mess.

It’s been a few days since you saw Kairi in the park, and you’re a fucking mess. You can’t stop thinking about her, about what happened with Chan, and about Hyunjin.

You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, and your vision is all blurry as you try to paint. There’s an assignment due in a few hours, and you’re not even halfway done. Unproductivity has plagued you. Why do you get so fucking emotional? You wish you at least had some closure. It’s not fair that Hyunjin decided to just move on, and not tell you what was up.

Your phone buzzed, and it’s only Nate.

you coming to class? the field trip is planned for today so you better not skip it yn

You don’t even want to get out of bed, but you can’t skip it. Kim Jieong has been talking about this trip for weeks. He’s had to move a lot of schedules around to make it happen. You’re supposed to be visiting an artist friend of his— someone who owns art galleries and does frequent viewing exhibitions. The thought of meeting another real artist like that used to excite you. You had never got this chance back home, and this is just the beginning of the opportunities you get. You can’t be wasting away your time in sadness. That’s what gets you out of bed. That, and the thought of disappointing your professor potentially. These days, it feels like you’re just hanging on by a very thin thread.

When you arrive to the Atelier, everybody’s already gathered in the parking lot, ready to depart. You hate being late, but you spot your friends by the corner and you find comfort in walking over to them. Professor Jieong was in the middle of briefing everyone, and handing out access cards.

“You decided to show up” He said to you, smiling, “We were getting worried”

“I’m sorry. I ran into traffic” You apologised.

“Don’t worry” He laughed, handing you your card, “This will get you in and out of the building, but try not to use it too much. Karina would get into a shit load of trouble if my students are found wandering on the other floors”

Karina is the artist you’re supposed to meet today, apparently she’s big in the art world here in Seoul. You hope one day…you can be too.

Nate’s holding a plastic bag to his chest, and he looks cute today in a pastel sweater, “I packed some extra snacks for you, Y/N”

“You didn’t need to” Your heart warmed at his consideration.

“Come on, we’re on a tight schedule, so…let’s hurry up, okay?” Jieong announced.

“Since you’re late, you have the honor of riding with the prof” Nate smirked, jutting his head towards Kim Jieong.

“Are you serious?” Your eyes widened, “Just me alone?”

“You’ll be fine, Y/N” Minnie laughed, “He has a bias towards you”

“That’s only because I’m the new one here!”

“No, it’s because it’s impossible to not like you” Nate rolled his eyes.

Jieong approached your group, hands on his hip, “So…which one of you is coming with me?”

“She is” Minnie chirped, pushing you in his direction.

Nate hummed as he walked away, “If I remember correctly, he is your favourite artist, isn’t he?”

You’re embarrassed, and also pissed at your friends. Jieong lead you to his car in the parking lot. You watched Nate get in his jeep and he laughed at your predicament.

Jieong smiled at you as you got into his car, “Oh, don’t be shy, Y/N. This will give us a chance to know each other better, won’t it?”

You sank into his seat, flushing, “Right”

»»————-

The skyscrapers of Seoul passed you, as you drove through crowded streets and glitzy buildings, “Should I be nervous?”

He looked over at you, “Karina is one of my favourite students. She used to intern with me a few years ago. She couldn’t get off her meetings, so we’re gonna visit her at work. That’s all it is. Nothing to be nervous about”

You’re sitting in the passenger seat and it’s been mostly quiet as you fiddled with the access card in your lap, “What kind of work does she do?”

“She’s a curator. I asked her to be a sort of…mentor for you kids throughout the semester. She’s had her fair share of exhibitions”

It feels strange to ride in his car, next to him. You’re his student after all, “Do I get credit for this, Mr. Jieong?”

He glanced at you, “Of course you do. I’m not doing this on my dime, Y/N. We’re here, by the way”

At his words, you leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the building you’re arriving at. He pulled straight into the garage, and you briefly caught the glamorous exterior.

“This is where she works?” You gaped, “She must be one hell of an artist”

Jieong laughed as he pulled the car into a guest parking spot, grabbing a ticket, “Obviously the entire building doesn’t belong to her.”

You told him about Yeonjun’s workplace, as you waited in the car for all of your classmates to show up, “One of my friends…he works in a building like this, but it’s so…monotonous. I kind of hated it”

He laughed, “Well, I think you’ll love this one. It’s brimming with creativity. They have beautiful art hung in every corridor too. Karina’s workspace is on one of the upper floors”

“I’d kill to have an office like that. The view must be so good”

Jieong smiled at you, “You continue working as passionately as you do, and you will have whatever the hell you dream of, Y/N. You name it, and it’ll be yours”

He unclipped his seatbelt, and your stomach felt uneasy from anticipation as you got out of the car. Even the parking garage looks expensive, and glamorous. Way, way more than Yeonjun’s building.

“Am I underdressed? Will they let me in?” You blurted, even though it’s hardly appropriate to ask him that. You’re in a peach tube top and wish you’d grabbed a blazer or something. If the place has a dress code…you probably won’t be let in. Thankfully, the skirt falls to your ankles and isn’t too short. He looked back at you, eyes raking over your outfit, and you felt embarrassed. You shouldn’t have asked him.

His lips curled up into a smile, “You look fine, Y/N. Don’t worry”

Fine. That would have to do.

You waited near the elevators, as your classmates also made their way to you. Nate was smirking as he saw you with your professor. You rolled your eyes at him, and he stood next to you, “How was the private ride?”

“Clearly better than ours, Jeonghan, seeing as she rode with someone who actually knows how to drive. I’m surprised we made it here alive” Minnie mumbled to him.

“Stop calling me Jeonghan! It’s Nate to you” He rolled his eyes, shoving her.

“I like your Hangul name better” You told him. Nate was nice, but Jeonghan…had a ring to it.

He smiled at you, eyes crinkling, “Hmm. You’re allowed to call me whatever you want”

You laughed, and he came and swung an around you, holding you next to him. The rest of the class gathered up at the foyer, and your professor spoke, “We’ll be going straight to Karina, she’s gonna talk to each of you about her work, and we’ll spend some time looking at her portfolio. The Atelier has a reputation to withhold, and I trust you all to not mess with it. And yes by that, I mean you Jeonghan”

Jeonghan gasped dramatically, and you laughed.

The inside of the elevator was as big as your bedroom. The buttons were gold-plated, each label marking names of different managements. It seemed like a big office building, and each floor belonged to a different company. You stepped behind Jieong, letting him take the lead. He pushed a keycard, and the elevator came to life.

Familiar music started playing, and Jieong informed you, “Nobody can enter without authorisation”

“The real estate of this place…must be insane” You commented, looking around you at the gold fittings in the walls. It’s the fanciest place in the city you’ve been to, which is saying a lot, since The Art Atelier is pretty exclusive too.

Jieong leaned against the side, crossing his arms, “Well, all the floors belong to different companies. Most of them belong to Pegasus though. They’re paying for half of it”

Your head snaps to his, and surely this is all a fucking joke and somebody is messing with you big time, “Pegasus? Like…the entertainment company?”

There was no fucking way he was being serious…

He nodded, “Their headquarters are on the eighth floor. I’m sure you know most buildings downtown share offices”

Somebody has to be fucking with you.

“Hey, maybe we’ll see Baekhyun or someone again” Jeonghan laughed.

“Everything okay, Y/N?” Minnie asked, “It looks like the life drained out of you, or something”

Jeonghan grinned, pulling you into his side, “She’ll be fine. I’m sure famous people just make her nervous”

»»————-

A freak accident. That’s what this was.

Pegasus. That is where Hyunjin works.

You’re sitting in an office on the tenth floor, but you’re losing your mind. There’s art on the walls. You recognise the paintings, and they cost more than million won and you should be taking notes and appreciating them. You can’t focus on them though, not when Hyunjin is in this building somewhere.

You feel like a stalker. First Kairi, and then this. Your life is playing a cruel trick on you. You just need to get through this. It’s possible he’s not even here today — he’s a busy man. There’s a huge chance you are in and out of here, without ever encountering him. Yet you’re dying to see him.

“Make yourself comfortable. Karina will be with us soon” Professor Jieong told you all, sitting at the table. You felt like you’re going to pass out.

“Y/N. Are you okay?” Someone asked.

“I’m fine. I just…need some water” You mumbled. Your head was spinning with the revelation of where you are.

“There’s a soda machine down the hall” Your professor told you.

So, you get up and go out without a word. There’s so much life here. Jieong was right, there’s a hum of creativity in the air and the vibe is far different from Yeonjun’s office. People are walking around, clad in pantsuits and pinstripe skirts, with clipboards in hands. A woman strolled past you holding a costume rack, with the fanciest gowns you’ve seen.

You’ve never seen so much activity in one place, everybody’s in a rush. You avoided making eye contact with anyone. You felt weird, and out of place. You’re on the tenth floor. Hyunjin worked on the eighth. It’s too much distance, and it’s not enough distance.

As your eyes raked over everyone, your stomach turned with a bit of hope. You want to see him. No, you need to see him. But why would he be on a floor that isn’t his? And what would he even say if you bumped into him right now? The last time he saw you…you can’t survive a repeat of that.

The vending machine was easy enough to locate. It was fully stocked, and huge, unlike the one at your apartment building, which hardly ever worked. You reached into your purse, hoping you have enough change for a Coca-Cola.

You feel on edge in the hallway, vulnerable and out in the open. Every second feels like you’re in the wild, as you rifle through your wallet for coins. In fact, you should just fuck the soda and go back to Kim Jieong, and your apparent mentor Karina, because being out here is too dangerous for your heart.

You’re about to push the coins in, and then you’re suddenly caught off balance as somebody barrels into you.

They were running in the hallway and clearly, somebody from your class wasn’t listening to Jieong about maintain fucking decorum in the building. Coins from your hand clink to the floor, scattering in every direction, and you can’t even be bothered to care.

“Shit, I’m so fucking sorry!” A deep voice apologised. It’s a voice you don’t recognise, and you’re grateful for the unfamiliarity. You’re really not in the mood for conversation, and you feel sick to your stomach.

The stupid fucking stranger bent down, retrieving the coins you’ve left everywhere.

“I’m so sorry. I was running and I…I didn’t see you” He grimaced.

“It doesn’t matter” You mumbled, moving to step away, not really making an attempt to talk because you are not in the mood for this. You don’t care enough about this soda.

“Wait, no, what were you going to get? I can buy you a Cola” He interrupted.

You looked back at him, into the eyes of the culprit, and you froze.

Chocolate brown eyes. Dark blue hair falling to his jaw.

You don’t know him, not personally, but you recognised him. You’ve seen him splashed across gossip websites, and news articles, and in all of the pictures Hyunjin sent you.

Of all the people in the entire building, it had to be him.

He’s holding a few coins in the fist and held his palm out to you. “Sorry, the soda machine on our floor is broken again” He told you, “I came up here to get some for myself but…”

“It’s…fine”

His eyes narrowed, “I’ve never seen you on this floor before”

You faltered, “I don’t work here”

For the briefest moments, something flashed through his gaze, recognition settling into his features, “Oh…okay”

“Have a nice day” You force a smile.

He doesn’t say anything, just stands up straight with all your coins in his palm, staring after you as you walk away.

»»————-

You need to leave. Everybody was gathered around a woman in the office, and she must be the mentor you’re supposed to meet today. Most of your classmates were looking through the various portfolio pieces laid out on all the conference tables. Minnie was deeply immersed in a painting and taking notes on her phone. Jeonghan was flipping through a brochure for an art gallery and his eyes widened when he saw you walk back in.

“You’re back” He grinned.

“I’m leaving” You mumbled, grabbing your bag. You feel so childish and immature for acting out like this, but perhaps it’s time for you to take a mental health day too. Hyunjin saw you in the city, and ran from you, so it’s only fair that you run from him too. It’s not like he even knows you’re here... it’s best to just remove yourself from the situation entirely, and fuck off.

“You’re what?” Jeonghan followed you outside the room.

“I’m not feeling too well”

“But what about Karina? What am I supposed to tell Jieong?” He asked frantically, and he’s chasing after you as you make your way to the elevators. You’re surprised he cares this much.

You turned, to look at him, “It doesn’t matter. I…I really don’t want to be here.”

He frowned, “But what’s wrong? You’ve been acting really weird ever since we came here. Or…actually, you’ve been weird the past week. What happened?”

“I’m fine, Jeonghan. I’m just sick” You told him, pushing the button to make the elevator come faster, and you were too impatient to wait for it, “I’m just going to take the stairs”

He tugged at your arm, turning you to face him, “Are you kidding me? We’re on the tenth floor, Y/N” He sighed, “Look, I know we don’t know each other that well, but don’t bullshit me, please. We’re going to be seeing each other every day for a year. If things are fucked up, at least don’t lie about it to me”

You looked him in the eye, swallowing, “But…it’s really not important. I promise you’ll be the first to know when it is, okay? It’s just some shit from back home”

He frowned, “Okay but today is important, you…shouldn’t miss it, no matter what’s going on”

You pressed the button again, wishing the elevator would come faster so you could leave, “Jeonghan… I appreciate you caring. I really do, but trust me, nobody in that classroom is going to miss me, or even know that I’m gone”

“You’re kidding me” He sighed, as if he was personally offended by this, “Jieong used to talk about your art all the fucking time, before you even joined class. What makes you think he won’t notice?”

You’re not expecting to hear that, “Are you serious?”

He nodded, “He told us we had real competition to look forward to now. He was going on about how it’s been years since he’s seen such work. He really set the standards high for when you came in, Y/N. We all thought you’d be a bitch based off that but…it’s crazy. You’re actually the sweetest girl I’ve met in a while”

Despite your internal state of panic, it made you happier, “Oh…um, that’s a lot to live up to, Jeonghan”

“I know we’re still getting to know each other, but you’re a part of us now. I’m looking forward to know you even more” He smiled, reaching forward to pinch your cheek, “And see? You’re one of the only people who’s even allowed to call me by my real name”

You looked to the floor, then up at him, “Would he be mad if I left?”

“He wouldn’t be mad. Just disappointed…but…if you’re really feeling sick, I’m sure he’d understand. I can talk to him for you”

“Thank you, Jeonghan”

“Of course” He grinned, and caught you off guard by pulling you in for a half-hug. You stilled, not expecting that, but the physical contact felt nice, and you brought your arm up, to hug him back.

“I hope you feel better” He mumbled, as you pulled away, a small smile on your face. You’d made a genuine friend here, even when you weren’t trying to.

A ping rang through the floor lobby, and the elevator doors finally opened up.

You turned to step into it, but you stop short in your tracks when you look inside.

It’s a jolt to your dying heart.

Hyunjin is standing in front of you.

Your chest squeezes so you think you’re going to die.

Fucking hell.

Leaning against the elevator wall, arms crossed, his eyes widened as they fell on you. He instantly stood up straighter, ease disappearing from his body, surprise overtaking his features.

You’re sure your expression mirrors his. He was staring at you and Jeonghan, mouth parted.

Hyunjin is here. He’s in front of you.

You immediately stepped away from Jeonghan, but Hyunjin had already seen you embracing.

“Um…I’m sorry. It’s the wrong floor” Hyunjin spoke, but there’s shock in his voice, even if he’s trying to sound nonchalant. His voice was hoarse, like he’d just been singing, and exerting himself.

He leaned ahead, pushing the button to close the doors, but you can’t let him do that. He’s right here, and you need to go after him.

You turn to Jeonghan, rushed words, “I’ll…see you later”

He’s clearly confused. He chuckles, “What?”

He’s actually fucking here. It’s been so fucking long. You don’t have time to explain anything, and you don’t hesitate before stepping into the elevator, barely making it in.

The doors shut, and it’s just the two of you now.

Hyunjin was staring at you, and his hands are gripping the railing behind him, “Y/N…”

He was sweaty, and his hair was dripping wet, bangs sticking to his forehead. A white tank top hugged his body, over his sweatpants. He’s staring at you, and he looks so fucking good. Your brain is on overdrive, and you can’t process anything.

“Hyun…” You spoke. The floors are whizzing past you, and you don’t have any time. You both stepped forward at the same time, and you wrap your arms around him. He immediately hugs you back, pulling your body into his. His arms curl around your waist, and you’re on your toes, and everything is a blur. But you’re in his arms. You’re touching him, and you’re breathing him, and the void in your heart is already dissipating.

You could cry right now, because he feels the same to the touch, and his heartbeat is pounding so fast against his ribs, you can hear it.

“I missed you so much” You spoke into his neck, and your words are muffled by his hair, but he knows what you said.

“Y/N…” He whispered, hands tight around your body, and then he pulled away, “Jisung told me he saw you. I didn’t…I didn’t believe him. I had to see you myself”

“Is that why you were—”

“I was coming to see you” He interrupts you, and then his eyes dart to the elevator panel, to see what floor you’re on, “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

He must be baffled why you were at his workplace of all places in the world.

“I…I came with someone, Hyunjin, My professor…”

“Oh”

“Yeah…” You swallowed. You had so many questions. Why had he changed his number? Why hadn’t he talked to you in the store?

A part of you had doubted, if what you’d felt this summer truly was love, or if it was only infatuation…but seeing him right now, in front of you, it couldn’t have been anything else.

Every neural pathway in your brain was firing at total capacity, flooding your body with adrenaline, dopamine, oxytocin, every good hormone known to man. You were giddy, and nervous, and scared, and excited.

“I…don’t have much time. I was at practice and I need to get back…” He replied, and his breaths were shaky, “Somebody could see us”

“Wait—” You stepped forward, “You can’t just leave right now. I need to—”

Hyunjin lowered his voice, urgency in his tone, “I can’t talk here, not right now, Y/N”

He couldn’t walk away from you, not now, not again. You feel like crying already at the prospect, “But—”

“Meet me in the third room in this hallway, down the left. In fifteen minutes”

“What…?”

The elevator doors opened, and Hyunjin separated from you as if you’d electrified him.

There was a group of people outside waiting, and anybody could have seen you close to him right now. He stepped out hurriedly, saying nothing else. People flood into the elevator, but you’re still staring at him walking away.

Before disappearing around the corner, he turned to glance at you over his shoulder, and the surprise is still pure in his eyes. You used to hate these stolen glances, but right now… you live for it.

»»————-

The fifteen minutes dragged on at a snail’s pace. You don’t think time had ever been this slow, and your eyes strayed to your phone every few minutes, which only made time stop. You were pacing the hallway, clutching your bag in hand, eyes on all the different plaques of achievements hung on the wall. You recognised the band name, Urban Faeries, on multiple awards, and it brought pride to your soul, but you’re not really thinking straight.

You’re pacing, back and forth, and you drew a few suspicious looks but you hope they believe you’re just another stressed employee working here. The time is up before you know it. The third room, to your left, he had said. You stared at the unmarked white doors. You’d never live it down if you accidentally walked into a conference room, or an executive meeting. But you’d just have to trust your gut. You pushed open a door, stepping inside quickly.

You weren’t sure what you had expected. It was…a storage room. It's less fancy than the rest of this building. Racks and racks of clothing, and outfits were arranged on the sides. Stage costumes. They were all in plastic wrapping, like wedding dresses at a bridal boutique, and you could see the outfits underneath.

It had been ten minutes since you were here, and you’re staring at your phone, wondering if you were in the wrong room. He’s not here yet, and there’s a lump building in your throat. Minutes more pass, and you end up looking through the outfits hung on the rack. Sequinned jackets, tight bodysuits, leather pants. It was all so beautiful, and you imagined it all on him. There was a sheer top with lace sleeves. You shouldn’t, but you touched it, reading the tag on it.

Hwang, Hyunjin. KBS Gayo Daejon 2023.

So it was his. You had no idea he wore things like this, and you had a sudden overwhelming desire to see him in it. Lace covered every inch of it.

“You like that?” A familiar voice infiltrated your thoughts.

You were startled, letting go off it instantly. You felt embarrassed, like a kid caught stealing from a cookie jar, but all your feelings dissipated upon seeing him.

“Hyunjin” You realised.

He leaned against the wooden door, letting out a breath, like he’d run here. His gaze was on the bodysuit you’d just been eyeing. He continued speaking, nonchalant, “I personally think it’s a bit much. I don’t see the big deal, but the fans…they love it”

“It looks…great” You said, eyes drifting to the costume rack.

“I’m supposed to wear it, later this year”

You’re lost on what he’s saying. You just can’t believe you’re actually seeing him in front of you, flesh and blood.

There’s a singular lightbulb in the room, and it hangs from the ceiling, swaying back and forth lightly. Shelves surround you on both sides, and there’s only a narrow aisle to stand in. His back is flush to the door, and his arm reaches behind him, turning the doorknob until you hear a clicking sound.

He’d just locked you in with him.

You blurted the first thing that came to your mind, “Are you okay, Hyunjin?”

So much was on your mind, but that was the only thing that mattered. If the boy you loved was okay, then you would be okay too.

He breathed in, like every word was a struggle, and he was still catching his breath, “Yeah. Yeah. I’m okay…You?”

Now that he was here, you realised how small this room was. He took up so much space here, as he did in your heart. Twenty minutes ago, when you saw him…you were too shocked to process it, but now your eyes drifted over his figure. The white tank top fits his body in all the right places. It’s like every day away from you only made him prettier. You nodded, “I’m…okay”

Then his gaze raked over you. You suddenly feel conscious for the way you’re dressed. It’s different from how you used to in Daejon, and he realises that too. It’s more expensive than you’re used to. It’s artsy, like all the other kids in your class. You wonder if he hates it, but his gaze lingers on the strapless top and the silver pendant hanging from your neck. You recognise the look in his eyes, and it’s certainly not hate.

Your heart pounds at his gaze. The room suddenly feels even smaller now.

“Who was that?” He cleared his throat, “The…boy you were with”

“He’s another student…at The Atelier. I’m here with my class…”

“Oh…” His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and you tried to focus on his words, “So you’re here with Kim Jieong?”

You nodded. You’re so nervous. You’re fiddling with your fingers, “Yes”

In the little light of the bulb, you saw his lip curl up, “I knew that you’d get in”

He has such an effect on you, because just those words made you smile, “Yeah?”

In an instant it’s like all those months and weeks have been forgotten. It feels like there was no distance between you. Like catching up with an old friend after years, everything clicks into place like puzzle pieces that fit together.

“I told you, didn’t I?” He tilt his head, hair falling into his eyes, and he looked smug.

You clasped your hands behind your back, “You did…”

He continued, a little smirk playing at his lips, “I knew that you’d get into the program. I had a feeling that they’d made a mistake”

You’re smiling now, and your cheeks already hurt from the unfamiliarity of this action. It’s been a while since you’ve felt this way, “You’re proud of me?”

His features softened and he stepped towards you, “Is that really a question? Even when you hadn’t got in… I’d still be proud, but yeah…I’m so proud of you”

“Thank you” Your voice fell, chest warm, and you feel so shy, “You… always had faith in me”

“Is it everything that you imagined?”

“The art program?”

He bit his lower lip, “Mmh, and the city. Has Seoul been nice to you? Hopefully, nicer than it has to me”

You shrugged, “It’s been nice. I…made a few friends. I have a nice apartment. It faces a busy street…It kind of sucked that I didn’t get to share any of it with you”

His expression changed, “Sorry”

Tentatively, you took a step towards him. There’s only little space left between you now, but you’re both being so careful. It’s like a magnet between you two, you’re hovering but not getting too close, not touching.

You know that if he touches you, it’ll be the end of you.

“What’s going on, Hyunjin? Why did you ask me to meet you in here?”

He sighed, gaze darting to the corners of the ceiling, “It’s the only place in the building they don’t have cameras”

“Oh…” Everything suddenly made a lot of sense.

His voice softened, “Don’t worry. Nobody’s supposed to come in here right now. I checked all the schedules”

You have so many questions, but somehow you ask him the least important one, “The woman in the store with you. Was she your girlfriend?”

You regret it as soon as you ask. It makes you sound envious, and jealous. It paint a picture of you that’s not true. Sure, you’ve wondered about her identity all these weeks, but…she hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. There’s more at stake here.

Still, Hyunjin’s eyebrows shoot up, “What?”

You feel stupid repeating, “When I saw you, you were with a girl…”

“No. No, she’s just my manager, Y/N”

“Is that why you pretended to not know me when you saw me?” It comes out harsher than you intended, but you don’t have time to ease into it. You need to know, because it’s bothered you for so long.

He swallowed, and guilt flashes over him. “Yeah. The manager I was with... She’s one of the less forgiving ones”

It eases the slight ache in your chest, but you’re not done. There’s an explanation for why he acted this way, but he’s not attempting to explain the rest.

“Why did you disappear, Hyunjin…?”

He swallowed, “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean — You changed your number all of a sudden. Do you know how hard I was trying to reach out to you?”

His fists are balled up at his side, digging into the material of his sweatpants. You feel a little bad for questioning him like this, and putting him on the stand, but you deserve to know.

“I’m sorry. I had to. I was afraid…” He trailed off, and it’s half-hearted.

So you pushed for more, “Afraid of what?”

He looked at you, straight, “I was afraid they’d find out about you. I couldn’t risk it. You know everything that’s been going on in my life, Y/N. With Chan and Jisung…I couldn’t let them get into more trouble because of me”

It hurts to hear that you’re only seen as trouble in his life. You’ve heard of many idols and celebrities who date, fall in love and marry. Why is it only an issue when you’re the one in love?

“I understand that, but…you could’ve told me. I was so fucking confused for months, and I thought I fucked up somehow. Did I do something wrong, Hyunjin?”

“What?” His voice raised a pitch, like he couldn’t believe you asked him that.

You tried not to cry, “I mean…I must have done something, for you to act this way towards me…you cut me off, with no explanation…”

You didn’t care anymore if you sounded needy, clingy, or desperate. You’d been craving an explanation all these weeks, and now that he was here…you couldn’t leave without getting one.

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong, Y/N” He stepped closer, until his chest is inches from yours, “I had no control of the situation…and I couldn’t risk contacting you”

You swallowed, “But why…didn’t you just tell me what was going on? I was…in the dark, for months”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you. I just didn’t know how”

“Tell me now…please”

“They went through Chan’s phone” He blurted, “After everything with Kairi went down. They were worried that something would leak and I…I couldn’t deal with that. So in the store…I couldn’t talk to you. Please believe that…especially not in front of her. It would’ve been hell explaining who you are”

He’s right. What good would it have done? The woman you were wondering about…she was just his manager. You knew that, of course. But still, it’s like you’re strangled by a lasso of truth as you blurted, “I was …jealous”

Hyunjin’s expression changed, and he tilt his head, “You were?”

He’s questioning you, yet there’s pride in his voice, like he’s happy that he had that effect on you, even if he didn’t intend to.

“She treats me like I’m a kid, Y/N” He tells you, with a slight chuckle, “She’s married and…way older than us”

The ache in your chest has subsided, “I don’t know. Maybe you’re into older women like her”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, and there’s a playfulness in his voice. It truly feels like all of those months had been forgotten, “That’s a nice way to get fired”

“You can get fired?”

There is amusement in his features, “It’s a job, Y/N. Of course I can get fired…and anyway, does Kim Jieong know you’re here with me?”

You looked into his eyes, “Nobody knows I’m here…”

He nodded, relief sinking into his shoulders, “That’s good because—”

Hyunjin is interrupted by a loud sound.

You’re confused…until your attention turns to the door. The knob is turning…

Somebody’s trying to get in.

Hyunjin’s eyes widen.

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you panic. “Is someone—?”

He doesn’t let you finish your sentence. He clasps a hand over your mouth before you can speak, pushing you to the wall by his body, “Don’t say anything, please”

In a daze, you nod. Over his shoulder, you can see the knob struggling to turn. It’s met with resistance — The lock seems to be holding up.

“Hello?” An unfamiliar voice of a man asks, “Is anybody in there?”

“Shit” Hyunjin drops his head against yours, whispering, “I forgot to check for maintenance”

His palm is flush against your lips, and you’re glad he’s physically stopping you because your anxious breaths could surely be heard outside. You’re so nervous. You don’t know what would happen if someone finds you two here like this. Based on everything he’s been telling you, absolutely nothing good.

Suddenly, you feel guilty. He’s in here because of you. He can get fired because of you. You would never forgive yourself if he has to deal with any consequences, because of your existence, and instantly you understand why he did what he did. All your anger and confusion dissipates, and understanding sinks into you.

The door budges as somebody tries to kick it in, and the person on the other side curses loudly, “Is this door fucking broken again?”

You’re holding your breath too hard. You need to calm down. Your hands find their way to his waist, crumpling his shirt. You’re pinching at his skin, but he doesn’t care. He can hear your heartbeat, pounding so loudly. Silently, with just his eyes, Hyunjin asks if he can drop the hand.

You nod. He pulls his hand back and his palm is wet with your saliva. He doesn’t mind. He doesn’t even wipe it. He just stays in place, eyes locked onto yours. You couldn’t move… even if you wanted to. You’re frozen to your spot and caged by his body. It towers over you.

“Don’t worry…They’ll leave soon” Hyunjin reassures you, in a whisper.

You’re lucky he remembered to lock it. It’s undoubtedly a compromising position to be seen in. In a dark corner of the storage room —your bodies are squeezed together. He is dripping with sweat; you can feel it sticking to your skin. You can feel every muscle in his stomach, pressing to yours.

Your eyes meet each other, and they stay. It’s so quiet in here, you could hear a pin drop.

It’s as if he’s looking right into your soul, no words exchanged, but his eyes say everything. Like you’re challenging each other to some staring contest, seeing who would give in first, but neither of you do. You’re burning, pierced by his strong gaze but you look back at him, sight not leaving his for even a second.

He’s breathing so heavily — running on hormones and adrenaline, and his chest is moving in sync with yours. You can hear his heart thud erratically. It’s loud and frantic in a way he can’t control it. He was near you after so long.

“What if…they get in?” Your voice is shaking, you hardly recognize it.

“They won’t” He whispers.

There’s so much need you need to ask Hyunjin. He’s been out of your life for months, but the only thing that matters right now is the feel of his body against yours.

One of his arms is against the wall. The other is flexed with how tight he’s holding you. He’s been working out. Right now, he’s drenched in sweat.

You’re dizzy with want. He’s trying, but failing at looking at how you’re pressed to him.

His gaze falls to your chest, then back into your eyes, almost shameless.

Your top hardly leaves anything to the imagination, squeezing your tits against his chest, and his gaze is fixated on it, dropping down every few seconds.

You’re not saying anything, but nothing needs to be said. A sweltering desire courses through your veins.

It’s impossibly hot — hiding in here with him.

You’re electrified by his gaze. It swirls with a thousand unspoken things.

This is fucking stupid considering the circumstances. You could be caught right now, and everything would be over then.

Slowly, your hand moves over his shoulder. You squeeze his bicep in your hand, feeling him up, and his heart beats the same but his body is different. He feels stronger to your touch, like he’s been dancing for hours on end, using up all his energy.

“You…feel different” You whisper in realisation. There’s muscle now where there wasn’t before. His breath hitches, like he’s holding everything in, and his eyes fall shut. His body has changed in your absence, and you hate it, and you love it. You hate that he’s not how you remember, but you love that there’s more of him to know. More of him to touch, and discover and feel.

He’s so close that his hair is falling into your face. He tilts his head to give you space to breathe. It only makes it worse because now his nose brushes against yours. There’s barely an inch between you.

What happened in these few months? You need to sit with him, and talk for days about it. You want to tell him everything you kept to yourself, every incident, every joke, every dream, every morning, afternoon and night. You want to kiss every part of him, so your lips remember his again. So it’s muscle memory, and so he’s never a stranger to you.

The mind forgets, but the body remembers.

Therefore, you can only blame it on your body right now that it’s horrible timing but you’re so fucking turned on.

The distance between your lips is nonexistent.

He’s breathing your air, and you’re breathing his.

You should move away now, but you don’t. Hyunjin’s breaths are shaky, and his hands on you are so tight, like he’s afraid to let go. Your breaths are shaky too, they’re desperate and no amount of air in the world can bring you calm.

You want to be even closer than you are, and you press yourself to him, but the only way to be closer than this is if he were inside you.

There’s no more sounds from the other side of the door.

And then his plush lips part to say, “I… think they’re gone”

Saying that was his first mistake, because as he speaks, his mouth brushes against yours, tenderly, so delicately.

Your heart jumps. You can’t control yourself. Slowly, you press forward, taking his lower lip between yours. Hyunjin tilts his head, so his lips fit perfectly between yours, but you’re not kissing, not yet.

You’re both not moving an inch, but you are biting down on his lower lip, and Hyunjin lets out a whine. It emerges from deep within his chest. His fingers dig into your waist, thumbs slipping under the top, to feel more of your skin. You tug at his lower lip with your teeth, pulling it. A rushed moan fills the room, and you soothe the bite with your tongue, but you’re still not kissing.

You grab his hands in your own, fingers circling around his dainty wrists. Silver bracelets clink against each other, as you move his hands up your body. You want him to touch you. He takes the invitation and raises his hands to your top, cupping your chest. Does he remember your body? You feel so much. Too much.

Hyunjin’s other hand slides into your hair, his fingers on the nape of your neck making you dizzy. Long, thin fingers with silver rings card through your hair, his nails brushing your scalp, and your heart stills. The jewellery he wears is different now, but you feel the same kind of insane.

But he still doesn’t kiss you.

He just tilts your head, so he can lean in, pressing a kiss into your neck instead. Your eyes flutter shut from the pleasure, and you can only focus on the sensation of his mouth. His mouth, that drops kisses along your neck now, a trail of spit and lust. You moan at the sensation, and it’s too loud.

“No…You have to be quiet” He whispers into your neck as he sucks on it. His voice is the same kind of sexy, but he’s never commanded you like this before. He kisses every inch of skin on your neck, moving closer and closer to your mouth.

A trail of kisses, up and over your jaw, until his lips finally meets yours. His second mistake is giving in. He closes the remaining distance, your hair bunched into his fist, and neither of you are breathing anymore because his mouth is crushed to yours.

All those months disappear into nothingness as you slip your tongue into his mouth. It’s what happens every time someone puts you and him in a room together.

You kiss him with desperation and Hyunjin kisses you in hunger. He pushes his tongue in, and you’re making out like your life depends on it. He doesn’t stop squeezing your tits, fondling them through the thin fabric of your top. The material does nothing to hide how turned on you are, but you can’t be embarrassed. Not when you can feel his crotch pressing into your leg, and he’s just as turned on.

His hands are everywhere on your body, finding their home on your waist, and he pulls you into him so your back arches off the wall. There’s no words exchanged and it’s primal in every sense. The air is filled with your breaths, and whines.

He’s burning up. You push him, until he’s pressed to the door instead. Hyunjin stumbles back from the force.

It’s like you want to be caught. The very door that separates you from the rest of the world. The only thing standing between you and total annihilation. It’s hotter this way, and you press your body to his, moulding your mouth to his, hands running through his hair. He lets out a moan that travels straight to your heart which is beating faster than it has in a long time. There’s a fire in it, and every touch of his skin against yours blazes it more.

He turns you around, until you’re pressed to the door instead. He grabs your thigh, pulling your leg up so it’s wrapped around his waist, and he’s grinding his crotch against yours. You can feel him in your core and you pull back to breathe, moaning, “Hyun…” You’re not thinking, only feeling him in every single atom of your body.

You tug at the drawstrings of his sweatpants. You need to take them off. You need him now more than ever. Hyunjin is your annihilation.

He realises what you’re doing, and he pulls away in a daze, spit-coated lips, “Wait, wait, Y/N…”

“What?” You mumble, kissing his jaw.

His eyes are squeezed shut, “Shit. Wait…stop, we can’t do this”

And you can only whine, pulling him back to you, “You say that every time”

His voice drops, a bitterness to it as if he’s just had some grand fucking epiphany, “Fuck. No, We can’t…”

He says that, but Hyunjin is a hypocrite because when you push your tongue into his mouth, he lets you. He tastes so good, and kissing him feels coming home. It feels like what you’d been missing this whole time and kissing him makes you feel alive.

He mumbles, against your mouth, “We… need to stop”

You pull back, only slightly, “But …nobody is going to know. You said it yourself, nobody’s coming in”

You lean forward to kiss him, but he moves his head away before you can. You’re too much in a daze to be hurt by this rejection. He shakes his head and steps away, as if he’s trying to wake himself out of his dream, “No, we can’t. Not like this”

“But…we’re just kissing—”

“No…this isn’t okay, Y/N. None of this is.”

You fall quiet, and his words are swirling in the room all around you. Your mind is having a hard time process them. You’re in a lust-driven daze, and you brace yourself against the door to catch your breath, “What do you mean…by that?”

He breathes in, snapping out of the lust, “We’re making out…in a fucking storage closet. Do you not see how much is wrong with that?”

His tone stings you. “I mean…I don’t Hyunjin. That’s what we’ve always done. The photobooth…the—”

“That’s exactly what I mean!” His voice raises all of a sudden, but he realises and lowers it again, “We shouldn’t have to sneak away to…to do this. I’m so sick of this…”

Your heart wakes up, but only because it’s suddenly hurting again. His lips are swollen from kissing you, but he’s speaking everything you hate.

Your chest hurts like it’s going to collapse. “You’re sick…of…me?”

He looks at you, distressed eyes, “No…of…of the guilt…”

Since when has Hyunjin felt guilty? And for what? “What are you saying, Hyun?”

“Are you not mad at me?”

“What for…?”

He let out a frustrated sigh, “I stopped talking to you…but you don’t seem angry at all”

“I thought you did that because you were forced to by your managers, by the company… Is that…not true?”

He looked right at you, a bitter chuckle, “Nobody forced me to do anything, Y/N. I wasn’t even supposed to see you today, but…after Jisung told me he met you in the hallway, I couldn’t focus on practice. The routine is usually muscle memory to me, but I forgot every fucking step, because… I realised you were here. But you need to know I didn’t come in here to kiss you. I just wanted to talk to you”

You swallow, crossing your arms against your chest, and your heart is still calming down, “Okay. Talk”

He breathes in, running a hand over his face, “I… lied to you, Y/N”

“About…what?”

“Everything that we talked about” He’s scaring you, “I told you that when you moved here that I’d take you to the studio, to watch me record my fucking music”

“Yeah?” You don’t know where he’s going with this.

“But I obviously can’t do that” He takes a breath, and it feels like he’s on the verge of a panicking, "I can’t…bring you to the recording studio. I can’t paint with you. I can’t show you my routines, or any of the things I promised you. You see that, right? I mean, even just to talk to you, I have to do it away from everyone. This is…insane. I don’t know why the hell I said all of that”

He's spiralling, and you need to calm him because he’s so fucking hard on himself, “That doesn’t mean you lied, Hyunjin. You said that because you wanted it to be true, didn’t you?”

“That’s the thing! It can never be true, Y/N. You don’t see that?” His negativity…hurts you.

“I called you in here to tell you this, but I forgot the way you make me fucking feel” He says, “I wasn’t…prepared to see you”

You hear everything he’s saying but it’s wrong. You couldn’t be a part of the life that he promised you, but you didn’t care. You don’t need to do all the things that you cannot. He’s bothered by something that you don’t even mind. All you know is that you can’t go more months without him. You can’t go a second more in your life without him.

You’d convinced yourself that you could never tell him your feelings because it would scare him away. But right now, you need to tell him. Time away from him was cruelty. It was insanity, and it’s something you never want to subject yourself to ever again.

You‘ve never loved anybody as much as him, and you never will.

He needs to know that. His lip is quivering, and he looks guilty, and scared. You have to tell him, before he says something he’ll regret. Maybe if you were more prepared, your confession of love would be in a beautiful place.

Like the top of the Chateau…That night, under the stars, he told you he found comfort in you.

Hyunjin was always the more romantic one.

So you can’t blame yourself for not thinking this through. After all, how could you have planned for everything that happened? A series of accidents, of coincidences that led you to him, over and over again. No matter how much life tried to pull you apart, you found each other.

It was fate.

“I don’t care, Hyunjin”

“What?”

You step closer to him, “I don’t care if I have to kiss you in a storage closet for the rest of my life. I would choose that any day”

His lips part. He’s surprised. But you can’t hold back your feelings anymore. That has got you nowhere.

You pull him close, “I don’t care about all that, I just…I just want you”

His eyes widen, “Why would you ever choose this?”

“That’s…up to me” You swallow. He’s staring at you. It doesn’t matter that your grand declaration of love won’t be in a place as beautiful as him. It doesn’t matter where you are right now, you need to tell him the truth.

The truth — I went insane in my life without you.

The truth — I literally cannot breathe if you’re not near me.

The truth — I love you so much that my chest hurts.

“Did he kiss you?”

His question catches you so off guard, that your eyes dart up to his, “What? Who?”

He lets go of your hand, “Yongbok”

Where the fuck did that come from?

Your eyebrows knit together, and you’re so confused.

Yongbok doesn’t matter right now. You frown, “I don’t want to talk about him”

Hyunjin nods, “So…he kissed you”

You’re lost for words. You thought you two were more mature than this, “So that’s what this is about that? You’re acting this way because you’re jealous?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, “Yeah. I am. I am jealous, Y/N. It kills me to know that he’s known you all your life, and I can’t even have you to myself for one entire summer”

“But nobody is stopping you from having me”

“Everything is stopping me!” He cries out.

You flinch.

His voice falls again, and you can feel his distress, “I’m afraid, okay? I’m fucking scared that they’ll find about you and—“

“And what?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, “You’re going to get hurt. You’re not stupid, Y/N, and you fucking know that better than anyone”

“How can you be so sure of that? You’re the one that’s making decisions that hurt me, I mean I couldn’t even tell you I got into the stupid program because you cut me out from your life, all because you’re afraid of something that hasn’t even happened? Why can’t you just tell me what’s wrong? What are you so afraid of?!”

He falls quiet, and he isn’t looking at you anymore. He stepped back, inhaling deeply, as if to anchor himself. His eyes meet yours, “You…shouldn’t have come here, Y/N”

Your voice breaks, “Why?”

“It would have made everything a hell of a lot easier”

“What would it make easier?”

He swallowed, “Having to stay apart from you”

He says things like that so easily, and his words bury deep into your skin.

Your voice broke, but you’re not done fighting for him, “I thought you missed me. I’m not afraid to admit that I did, okay? I missed you every second I was away from you—”

“I called you in here to say goodbye”

Your voice is merely a whisper, “What?”

His lip is quivering, “I wanted to see you…because this is the last time”

“You don’t mean that…”

There’s a tightness in your chest. You can’t breathe.

He swallows, “You and I both knew that what we had in Daejon…it couldn’t be anything else”

“Please don’t say that”

He looks to the floor, away from you, “I’m sorry”

You don't understand. Things were just okay, “Are you being like this… because of Chan’s break up?”

His tone changes harshly, “That has nothing to do with you”

You swallow, staring at him. Your eyes fill up with tears. You thought this stupid storage closet would be where you finally tell him you love him.

He doesn’t pull you in to comfort you, like he’s always done. He just looks at you, glistening eyes and his lip is quivering.

This can’t be it. There’s more to you and him, and this isn’t fucking it. Then his phone buzzes. Hyunjin ignores it at first.

Until it gets constant, and he sighs, “I’m sorry. I need to take this. You have to go, Y/N”

His words shake you to the core, and you can’t speak.

“Can you just please make sure nobody sees you when you leave?” He asks, strained, “I know you hate me right now…but please”

You nod. You have nothing to say. Even in this moment, you love him more than you ever have.

You’re so stupid. You thought nothing in the world could make you let go of him but just like always, Hyunjin is one step ahead.

He’s already let go of you.

»»————-

masterlist ⇒

please let me know if you liked the chapter, or any thoughts on this part! thank you :)

#hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin smut #angst #friends to lovers #skz x reader #skz imagines #hwang hyunjin x reader

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sherifftillman · 2 years

Text

Curiosity Is Killing Me

Pairing: Steve Harrington x f!Reader

Genre: smut

Tags: 18+ (MINORS DON'T EVEN THINK), p in v, oral (m + f receiving), degradation, mixed praise too

Summary: When sleepovers with your best friend become a ruse for her sneaking her own boyfriends in, it's not your fault that the only other distraction is her brother...

Word count: 3583

At first, you think it must just be a trick your ears are playing on you. A passing sound that happened to sound like a moan, that happened to be coming from your best friend's brother’s bedroom, that happened to sound exactly like Steve's cadence. You carry on to the bathroom as if it was nothing, but on your way back, you take your time walking past Steve's door again, to hear that moan again.

You assume it must be a Harrington kid thing, to sneak in people by way of far more innocent means - in your best friend's case, making sure that her family knowing you're here means they won't dare enter her room or the guest suite, which the lie is that that's where the two of you plan to hang out to not disturb the sleeping family. In reality, you stay in the guest bedroom all night while she and her boyfriend have a secret night in.

You don't mind, too much. She always says she'd do the same for you, if only you'd be interested enough in someone, and you don't doubt that, she's a good friend. Except there's only one person you're interested in, and you can't tell her it's her brother.

Safe in the knowledge that everyone else is in their bedroom for the night, you go to her door and give the "all-clear" knock. She cracks open her door and grins, "You know I love you forever, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," you roll your eyes. "Isn't it, like… Extra risky, you and Steve sneaking around on the same night?"

Her brow furrows, "Steve doesn't sneak girls in, he just waits until Mom and Dad are out."

You nod slowly. "Got it. 'Kay. Goodnight. Night, Ryan!" You shout-whisper over her shoulder, and see a thumbs-up raise in response.

"I'll come get you when the coast is clear!" your best friend hisses as she closes the door.

You know you should just go back to the guest suite and sleep it all off. But that sound. If it wasn't Steve with somebody…

Images flood your brain of him: head thrown back against the headboard, his dark and luscious hair spilling down the back of his neck; his beautiful, pink, plump lips just parted enough to let those delicious moans roll right out of him; freckled chest shaking with bated breaths as the rest of his body seeks its friction against his wide, strong hand wrapped tightly around his member. Of course, you've never seen it for yourself, but the pants he wears leave little to the imagination, and the one time you'd been in the front row at a swim meet is permanently etched into your brain.

~~~

Steve really tried to hold off for as long as possible. Thankfully so, since his sister's latest piece had miscalculated which window to attempt to climb into. Now, that would have been awkward. But eventually, something had to give. He needed some kind of release, even if it wasn't a whole one. His cock was still screaming against his boxers, and Steve had felt it dangerous enough to discard his jeans after he feared the potential friction burn.

He knows what he has to do. Picking out his favourite tape, the one with that actress in, he puts it into the VHS player his dad had bought him to get him to shut up about something he’d overheard on the phone once. Keeping the remote control at hand, and making sure the volume wasn’t loud, he reaches into his nightstand for his trusted bottle of lotion, slides the offending garment off and slips beneath his covers. Lubing up his hand, he knows the rhythm of this video well enough by now. He can start off by giving himself a gentle release, barely any pressure, just the feeling of his fingertips sliding up and down his member. Of course, yours would feel far more dainty than his, but there’s no way he’d just waltz into the other room and proposition you.

As the video progresses, Steve starts jerking himself off with more virility. If he squints while the actress is on screen, he can pretend that it’s you. That thought only gets him more excited, and he moves faster, harder, feeling himself start to build up, until- Shit, is that your voice? Fuck. He’s already so far gone, he can’t just stop now. And besides, you’re probably just saying goodnight. You wouldn’t have any need to come past Steve’s room. Still, he wraps his finger and thumb tightly around the base of his cock as he continues to relieve himself, just until he knows the coast is clear.

It isn’t. There’s a knock at his door, and he just about has enough time to grab a pillow, shove it under the pillow and hit the power button on the TV control before you’re already inviting yourself in.

“Uh, hi?” Steve clears his throat. You weren’t expecting him to be shirtless, but then it’s perfectly normal for a guy to not wear a shirt to bed. “What’s up?”

The dishevelled look of his bed doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Your curiosity piques as you step further into his room. “Nothing. Just wanted to hang out a little before I go to bed.” Steve tries to smile as softly as he can, not wanting you to think he’s rude but also silently willing you to please god, get out of here so he can relieve himself. “What are you doing?”

“Uh, I was just - just watching something on the TV,” he shrugs, “but I’m about to hit the hay.”

“What’re you watching?” you ask, reaching for the control, but he snatches it away from you quickly. You quickly realise why, and gasp. “Steve Harrington, were you watching… adult movies?!”

Trying his absolute best to act casual, he scoffs, “Okay, yes, I was, because remarkably, I am an adult, as are you. I’m sure you’ve watched something by now.” It takes all his mental willpower not to imagine you getting off in this exact moment.

“Not all of us have parents rich enough to give us TVs in our own room.” You shake your head, quickly grabbing the control away from him and switching it on, to Steve’s horror, as you ask, “So is the one you’re watching any good o- Oh.” You stare at the paused sight in front of you. A very naked woman posed over a very naked man. The man you’re not so interested in. It’s the fact that the woman has the exact same body shape, complexion, hair texture, colour and length, everything is almost identical to you.

Steve snatches the control back from you and switches it off. “’S just coincidence,” he mutters as an explanation, but you’re not buying it.

A confident pride takes over your entire body. “Did you pick this one out for its content? Or for the… Actress?” He doesn’t answer, so you continue, “You know, I was walking past earlier…”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Aren’t you in the guest suite tonight?”

You look just as confused back at him. “How do you know that?!” He explains his encounter with Ryan. “Oh. Right. Well, yeah, but I didn’t know you knew, so I thought it would look weird if I didn’t have my toothbrush and stuff in you guys’ bathroom. So I was walking past and I… Heard…”

"Oh," his cheeks tint a weaker shade of the lips that he licks nervously. "So, you heard… The sounds I was making… From out there, huh?" You nod, and he curses, "Oh, shit," under his breath. As you shuffle up to sit yourself right next to him in the bed, he asks you in a whisper, brow furrowing, "Why are you getting closer?" He doesn't give you much time before realisation dawns in his eyes. In the same hushed volume, but with a smug excitement in his undertone, he asks you, "Is it because you liked what you heard?" You nod, not being able to tear your eyes away from his, pools of melted caramel hidden amongst his eyelashes as he studies your whole face. "Is it because you like thinking about my hand, wrapped around my cock, underneath the sheets here? Is that why you didn't leave any time between knocking and opening the door? Were you trying to see it?"

"C-can I… See it now?" You ask sheepishly, having nowhere else to turn at this point.

He pulls the sheets off him, pillow and all, to reveal his entirely nude form, down to what you could only describe as a raging erection. Thicker than you've ever seen, longer than you've ever seen, a singular vein protruding along the side, an entirely brand new experience. "Yeah, there you go," he encourages, still whispering as he watches your face light up at the sight. "Wanna reach down for yourself, and grab it?"

Still not taking his eyes off of yours, he finds your wrist and guides it to the base of his shaft, which your fingers wrap themselves around. He already felt well-lubed up, and so sliding your hand up and down it was next to nothing, though you could easily work his entire length if your position allowed you to slide your other hand down there, too. He reaches a finger up to push your jaw into a position where he could immediately start kissing you openly. His tongue craves access to yours, and he expresses his gratitude when you grant him it by gently sliding his own hand beneath your pyjama top, down your stomach and into your shorts, cupping the hot and wet mess that you were rapidly becoming.

"Do you like that?" he whispers, his breath tickling your lips, "When I grab you down there? In these short fucking shorts, with no panties on?"

You nod, whimpering shakily, "Please, Steve, touch me there."

He smirks. "Did you have this planned, doll? Is this what you wanted to happen tonight?" Steve asks, his fingertips still barely grazing your core. "You wanted to fuck your best friend's brother?" He again doesn't wait for you to answer before grazing his fingers through your wetness. You whimper, and he presses the gap between you closed again to grin, his teeth pressing against your lips. “You’re mighty overdressed between the two of us, baby. Why don’t you take that shirt off?”

You nod, leaning away just enough to pull the tank top off of your body. Steve hums with pure delight as he watches your tits get pulled up with the fabric, to bounce back down again. Once you’ve discarded it behind you, he leans in again for more open kisses, still not quite touching you how you’d like. You mewl at him, and he eventually pulls away to whisper, “Lay on your back.”

You comply, and he kisses all over your torso, paying extra close attention to kissing and suckling on your nipples. You cry out a high-pitched whine in delight as your back arches beneath him. He continues his journey, kissing down your stomach, to the waistband of your shorts. With a quick two-tone whistle, he gestures with his fingers for you to lift your ass up so he can pull them down. Once they’re off, he stares between your legs, taking a deep breath in to moan underneath his exhalation, “Oh, fuck yes.”

He clambers onto his stomach, propped up by his elbows, to settle between your legs and start to gently lap at the wetness already soaking your lower lips with his tongue. You squirm at the touch, and he grins, “You like it when I use my tongue, baby?” His voice is low and thick with arousal. You let out an uh-huh and he moves to flick his tongue rapidly back and forth against your clit. Watching his tongue move is enough of a turn-on, but seeing those big brown eyes look longingly back up at you completely ruins you. Your hand reaches for his hair, raking it with your fingers and gripping every time he wraps his lips around it to suck on it.

“Oh fuck, you taste so fucking good,” he groans before laying his tongue flat against your slit, again looking up at you and maintaining eye contact as he licks all the way up. “Goddamn, getting so wet, just for me, could feast on you for hours, fuck.” He slips two fingers easily inside of you, watching you fall apart at his touch as he spreads them out inside you.

“Fuck, Steve,” you groan, “need you so bad.”

“Yeah?” he asks with a smirk, getting up onto his knees. He moves to straddle your chest commanding, “Sit up on your elbows.” You do so, and your lips just graze where he’s holding the head of his cock out to you. He raises his eyebrows at you, almost challenging you, and you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to lay flat and wide beneath it. “Oh, good girl,” he moans as he slides himself into your mouth. Your lips are stretched taut around him as he pushes slowly in and out of you, “Oh, fuck, oh fuck, yes, suck my cock, just like that. Oh, fuck, you’re so good.” When he can tell you can’t take him much further, he instead pulls all the way out of you to tell you, “Want you to suck on these balls, please.” Something about him being so commanding and yet still pleading with you has you throbbing, especially when he coos, “Ah, fuck, you just love sucking on them, don’t you?” You nod excitedly in reply, and he reaches down to push your hair back. “My good little slut likes having my cock in her mouth, don’t you?” he asks as he guides himself back into your mouth.

The praise mixed with the degradation turns you into an absolute mess. You moan and whine around his cock, looking up at him desperately. He looks just as ready as you do, shuffling himself away from you to grab something out of the nightstand. You watch him sliding his condom on, enamoured, and he smirks at the sight of you studying him.

He returns to lean over you, placing the head of his cock right between your folds and gently sliding it up and down. You whine again, though this time out of impatience. Steve pouts at you, “Aww, do you not like getting teased? Hmm? Like how you tease me by coming over to sleep over all the damn time wearing shorts just like those? That barely even cover your ass cheeks?” He presses himself just against your clit, and you mewl even louder. “Or like how you always wear that swimsuit when you’re out back, modest enough that nobody else knows what you’re doing, but fuck, the way it fits you, you definitely show yourself off for me, don’t you, baby? You sexy little fucker.”

“Steve, please,” you beg. “Need - inside me, please.”

“As you wish,” he smirks, pushing himself slowly into you. His fingers certainly helped prepare you for the size of him, but you still hiss as he moves gently further and further into you, constantly watching your face for any sign of discontent. He sits inside you for a while, leaning in to whisper, “Tell me when it feels good, yeah?” before starting to kiss you. This kiss feels more than just a spur of the moment flurry of passion, this is something he’s wanted for a while.And so you give him back just as much fervour, eventually starting to slide your own hips back and forth against his member. It’s still not totally comfortable at first, but you grab his shoulder before he can try and pull out and reassure him that it just takes time.

Soon, the discomfort dissipates and now all you want is for this man to fuck you, no matter how or where. “Steve,” you coo into his ear while he’s kissing your neck.

“Yes, baby?” he asks. “Are you ready?”

You let out an mm-hm so he knows even without looking at you, and he looks back up to start rocking, gently, in and out of you. You bite your lip as your eyes roll in ecstasy, and that smug little smirk of his returns. “Is this what you’ve been thinking about, when you come over? When you see me, do you think about taking this cock all the fucking time? Is that really why you come over, so you can come and fucking gawk at me, you little slut? Curious about how good it would feel if I fucked you? Does it all seem worth it now?”

You writhe against him, willing him deeper, moaning, “God, fuck, yes.”

“Such a dirty little whore, pretending to be here for anything other than wondering whether I can make you scream,” he drawls. “Here’s the thing, baby, I know I can. And so do you. But not tonight, okay?” You nod desperately. “Attagirl. Fuck, you feel so much better than I imagined.”

He starts to move quicker inside of you, pressing his forehead to yours as you both moan into each others’ mouths. “D-d’you think - about me, too?” you ask, and he grins back at you.

“Do I? Of course I fucking do,” he drawls. “I think about you all the fucking time. Every time you come over, I - fuck - I jerk myself off to the thought of you. Especially being in that big ol’ guest bed by yourself, I just wanna get in there with you, and - fuck, slip my cock in you from behind and absolutely destroy you.” He lets out a truly feral moan, almost a growl. “God, fuck, and you don’t even know. Until now, you didn’t even know that I get myself off to you just a few doors away, thinking about - fucking your face, and taking you from behind, fucking you on my desk as I pull your hair and wrap my hand around your throat, just fucking the shit out of you.”

You feel every word of his hit your core as your climax starts to build. “Oh god, Steve, I -”

Mid-flow, Steve doesn’t seem to hear you. “Think about - shit, about cumming all over you, cumming inside you, oh my god, filling you up with my cum, doesn’t that sound so fucking good?” In any other situation, you may have thought not, but having Steve fuck his own cum deep inside of you? Now it’s all you want. You bite your lip and moan at the thought, and he strokes your hair. “Yeah? Sounds good, doesn’t it, baby? Being my personal little cumslut, god, I’d make sure you never had to work a day in your life so I could use you.”

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re totally dick-drunk at this point, but in this moment, the thought of being Steve Harrington’s cocksleeve sounds like the ultimate life goal. “Fuck, Steve,” you cry. “Wanna - be your… Your personal fucktoy, please?”

“Oh, you sexy fucking bitch,” he groans as he starts to move faster inside of you. “Fuck, can’t wait to make - so many thoughts a reality… You bouncing on my cock, sucking me off until I cum all over that pretty little face… Gonna fuck you in front of a mirror so you can watch how pathetic you are when my cock is inside of you.”

“P-please, Steve, I’m - I’m so fucking close now, please,” you beg.

Steve, now covered in a thin layer of sweat, pushes his hair aside to watch you as he rubs your now oversensitive clit. “Do it, baby, cum for me. Fuck, cum for me like you’re going to every single day for the rest of your fucking life.”

You fall apart at his words, clenching over his cock as your orgasm finally washes over you The sensation brings Steve over the edge too as he buries his head into your neck to bite your shoulder.

Steve makes quick work of getting off of you, throwing the condom away, and fetching a towel from his dresser to clean you up with. In a very quick contrast, he slips next to you to pull you in to wrap his arm around you. “Are you good?” he asks softly.

You nod, still feeling rather light-headed. “Little sore, down there, but it’ll pass. Um, did - did you mean, all that stuff you said?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies, almost matter-of-factly. “Now it’s out there, can’t exactly take it back.”

“Even when - you said you’d want me… Every day?” you ask quietly.

Steve pulls your face over to kiss it sweetly. “Especially that part. C’mon,” he hunts for the pillow he’d used to protect his modesty earlier, and his comforter, and sets up his bed accordingly again as he wraps you both up.

You giggle, “What will your sister say when I’m not in the other bed?”

“Well, what’s she going to do, admit you’re missing? When you’re meant to be in the same room? Doubt it,” Steve mutters sleepily against your skin.

“Yeah, but, like. When she finds out where I’ve been,” you explain.

“Then I’ll simply tell her she shouldn’t have made it my role to be a good host,” he replies, “now I really gotta sleep. Goodnight, beautiful.”

“Goodnight yourself, handsome,” you smirk, and he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before the pair of you drift off to sleep in each others’ embrace.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut

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leclsrc · 8 months

Note

could i get a carlos imagine where you have commitment issues and he calms you down? as a girlie with commitment/trust issues i just wanna b repped in one of ur fics/drabbles :/// it's tuff out here brotha

bring you home — cs55

Moving in together gets difficult. Carlos is there to ease you along. title from this

genre: fluff

auds here... i hope you enjoy this!!! i too am a commitment-afflicted girl ..... it truly is tough lol. but i hope u find the right person who helps u put ur anxieties to rest <3 insp by a scene from satc i saw on tiktok

It started with a duck. But the duck started with the box. And the box started with a toothbrush joke. And the toothbrush joke started with your old lady neighbor moving out. So really, it started with Mrs. McDonnell and her massive moving van rolling down the street and leaving the flat next door empty. Somehow that old hag had managed to irritate you long after she left, albeit through means not her own.

In terms of time, it started a month ago. In terms of people (sans the old bitch), it started with Carlos, as so many of your stories do. “Mrs. McDonald finally moved out today,” he’d said, hip against your stove, watching bits of garlic turn from pale to brown. From the living room you hummed affirmation and then laughed: “McDonnell.”

“Donald, Donnell, Dinero,” he rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s moving in and out. Charles bought a new place in Monaco.”

“Well,” you shrugged, fixing the ridden-up hem of your tank top, “you could have an extra toothbrush in here, if that gets y’there.”

He laughed, pointing at you with the oil-hot rubber tip of the spatula. You two had been dating for over a year at that point, yet any suggestions of moving in together remained vague, cloudish ideas in both of your heads. For him it was impractical; for you it was a little scary.

But a toothbrush, which he always had at your flat and you at his, wasn’t moving in together. Neither was a drawer of clothes and knick-knacks. It was a symbol of your busy lives and the intermittent intersections far and few between.

Except they’d been becoming less intermittent and a lot more constant. He was almost always at your flat, the wide two-bedroom you’d decided was a good place to live with your income and the area. You had two parking spaces, a good rep with the board, and a coffee shop across the street—a place all your own.

A little plus was you had Carlos on some free days, like that day—that fateful day he turned back to the pan and said, with a smile: “I should move in.”

You froze. “You’re asking—you’re telling me or the garlic?” In fits of nerves, you could only blurt out bad jokes.

He laughed but it was a small exhale of breath. “I’m serious.” He turned to you, brown eyes big.

Your heart swelled with something between apprehension and absolute excitement, that finally you were going to take a step you felt like you’d been waiting to take forever. “You are?” You asked, so giddily you could hear your own smile.

The truth was, you had moved in with a boyfriend before, offered him a key and suggested the entire affair, bought fresh flowers and cooked eggs and made coffee and lived the bliss you only read about in romance novels. Months later you caught him fucking somebody else in your bedroom, and years later the memory fails to purge itself from your mind or your habits, plaguing every inner thought you have.

But this, you assure yourself, is Carlos.

“Dead seriou—uuooof!” Carlos barely got to the end of his sentence, with the way you barrelled into him, smiling into the blocky build of his chest and muttering a repetitive yes yes yes into the cotton of his tee. He held you there, pressing a kiss to your hair and promising he’d be in with his boxes as soon as time made way.

—

“Make way,” you yell into the tiny gap between your door and its frame.

“Hey, hi, hello,” your boyfriend sing-songs. “How are you?”

In the month you’d spent watching your boyfriend move into your flat, you’d also been subjected to your complete lack of personal space. Every time you entered, he’d be there talking his head off. Every time you came home at night, he’d be there. You felt suffocated. Scared, even if you couldn’t sleep at night without some part of you touching him. You’re simply a human with needs, and you needed space. You needed silence. Needed it. Absolutely needed it. You knew this because every time you opened your own door, it collided with a—

“Box.” You shove yourself through the gap and wedge the door closed, pointing an accusatory finger at the cardboard. “Another box by the door. Don’t make me burn those,” you mutter, fussing with your hair and toeing off your Blahniks. Across the foyer, Carlos is nailing something into the wall, noisy and incessant and you want to shrink into the floor.

“Sorry, sorry. Lo siento. I have so many stuff.”

“Yeah! You do. My flat’s only nay fucking big,” you respond, raising your pointer finger and thumb to exaggerate the size of your (in actuality, wide) living space. “Carlos, couldn’t you unpack some of these? Just some. It’s—you know, it’s piling up. And you know I hate mess.”

“I know, baby. I will as soon as I finish this up. I promise.”

You nod once, sighing and moving into the study to gather your laptop for work. You’re halfway into the room, eyes scanning your desk’s surface and finding your Mac laying flat atop it, unassuming next to a figurine of a wooden duck. You pause and blink. The wooden duck does not, its eyes painted wide and smooth and you definitely did not purchase this duck.

Somehow, this is the straw that breaks your back.

“What is this duck doing here?!” You yell, voice loud even from the study into the foyer. Carlos pulls off the goggles he’d been wearing to drill shit into your wall and smiles. A gift from me.

“A gif—I, I, I don’t like ducks.” You flail your arms around. “I just… hearing you talk or drill as soon as I come into my own home feels weird. For so long I’ve been alone and… and I’m supposed to hear silence and I—I’m scared that you’re going to figure out how scared I am and you’re going to leave me.”

He just stares, eyebrows knitted. You smother a hand over your face. You pause and breathe for a minute, then two.

“It’s just—I’ve only lived with someone three months, and that was ages ago, and before that it was my parents, so. I’m going to be really frank with you and I’m sorry if this sounds… but I’m gonna close the bedroom door and I don’t want you to talk to me for thirty minutes. I need space. And keep the duck first. I’m sorry. Is that selfish? Is that okay?” When he shakes his head and then nods, you deposit it into his arms and back up into your room.

His face, torn between concerned and endeared, softens into an understanding, patient smile. Okay, he mouths. I love you, you mouth back, and then you’re shutting it softly, leaning your forehead against the white wood and letting a long exhale leave your lips. You half-expected him to fight you back, to raise his voice, but it’s your own worst expectations weighing down on you all over again, born out of memories of your ex.

You stay like that for a while, and slowly with the quiet you realize—you find the duck cute.

You like the boxes because they remind you this is becoming a home. You like hearing him talk because it means you know he’s there. (The drilling will always be irritating, but he makes it better.) You don’t dislike anything he does, but you’re not totally lying either: you are scared. Scared of the commitment it’d take to make this a sure thing. The commitment you’d given before and the commitment that’d been betrayed.

But this is Carlos. This is Carlos, who’s understood every part of you, who’s given you time and patience even when you didn’t know how much you needed it. The Carlos who knows how you like your toast, who eats the yolk off your sunny-side eggs and gives you the white of his hard-boiled ones. The Carlos who said I love you first, surprising you into shock, and then took it back in embarrassment before you cut him off with a kiss. The Carlos who stays.

The air clears and you breathe easier. You open the door after five minutes. “You okay?”

He’s unpacking a box. He turns and smiles wryly, mimicking a zip motion across his lips. He shakes his head. No talking, remember?

You pout, smiling. “Sorry if I’m neurotic.”

You pad softly toward him and it’s easy, too easy for him to pick you up into his arms, wrap your legs around his waist, stay standing and hugging you. He’s quiet still, patient, warm. “I like hearing you talk. I like your boxes. I like that you’re mine and we’re here.” You inhale. “‘M just scared. And I don’t… want to be, but I am, and… it’s just me. I’m crazy.”

“Hey, Crazy. So am I. Take your time.” He hugs you tighter. “I’m not gonna leave you, even if you hated the duck.” I didn’t, you say quietly. It was cute. “I know it’s hard, baby. I know. You have to let me take care of you. You have me, okay? You have me.”

“And when you’re not here?” Fear slithers up and tries to tug at you but his arms are around you, secure and holding you there, so you don’t let it.

The thing with needs, really, is when they’re met—met in the best, most understanding way, especially…

He kisses your neck. “I’ll always be.”

…You find you no longer need them at all.

#f1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz x reader #f1 x reader

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zeldasnotes · 1 year

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Neptune Notes🧜‍♀️

Check out Moon Notes and Venus Notes

♆If you have a prominent Neptune in your chart you might notice that its hard for others to take you seriously when you are angry because you look so innocent? Thats because your power lies in that innocence. You power lies in looking helpless and getting others to rescue you and getting sympathy from others. Not saying you should use it just saying thats it. Just like ppl with prominent Mercury got their power in their sneakiness and their sharp tongue.

♆ A lot of people with Mercury/Neptune aspects grew up being ignored or left alone in their room a lot. So they had to fantasize to survive mentally which leads to them having a hard time with reality as they get older. They learned to view life from rose colored glasses to survive.

♆ People with Neptune in the 1st house probably feeling like they have never met anyone like them before. They give off this angelic otherwordly aura. Like they are more than human.

♆ People with Venus/Neptune had a mother who constantly criticized herself and was obsessed with her appearance. So they learned early that flaws are something to be covered up and fixed. Thats why they become the perfect partners and do everything they can to look their best. Their mother could also have been very submissive to their dad or blindly in love with him while their father ignored their mother.

♆ Neptune in the 2nd house can be way to generous.

♆ Neptune in the 10th house can be known for being a drug addict. You know in every town there is a group of addicts who everybody knows, they probably have Neptune conjunct Midheaven.

♆A lot of Neptune aspects especially squares can make a person very submissive with a inferiority complex.

♆ Moon aspecting Neptune can indicate a mother who suffers with some kind of addiction.

♆Im so sorry but when people with Mercury Square Neptune tells me a story I have to ask somebody else who was there if thats what really happened.

♆ Mars aspecting Neptune can others an impression of being weak or afraid. Men with this aspect probably gets ”tested” by other men a lot and might be unable to go out to pubs and nightclubs because of men wanting to start fights with them.

♆ Ive seen Mars Square Neptune to be a common placement in people who get used for sex. These people are easily taken advantage off and might believe that they are gonna get into a relationship with the people who just wants to sleep with them.

♆ Neptune rules who we overidealize:

Sun/Neptune: You overidealize your father and men. Moon/Neptune: You overidealize your mother and women. Mercury/Neptune: You overidealize siblings and younger people. Venus/Neptune: You overidealize beautiful women in general and your partners/female friends. Mars/Neptune: You overidealize men and sexual partners, and your enemies.

♆ Neptune in the 1st house can change the way their voice sound depending on who they are talking to. They can even change body language and the way they walk. The scary part is that it comes naturally for them.

♆ People with Venus Square Neptune are so cute and pretty. Like little dolls.😍

♆Neptune dominance in a chart can make someone very kind with huge ammounts of empathy and compassion.

♆People with a lot of Neptune probably get approached by beggars on the street. They look like they will give you what you need. (As a Neptunian myself I have to say ive always been weak for beggars, I cant just walk past them without giving something. When I was little my mom got mad at me because I always wanted to give them our stuff😂)

♆ Squares to Neptune in the chart reminds me of those ”once you see it you cant unsee it” pictures. When you finally figure that planet out you can use it to your benefit. Venus Square Neptune once you stop trusting everyone you will realize that you got the gift to make people trust you and see YOU as the ideal partner, instead of painting others as some kind of ideal.

♆ And once people with Neptune in the 1st house realize the power they hold its over. Kim Kardashian is a perfect example of this constantly creating scandals and extreme ammounts of money because she know how easy it is to make people think all kinds of crazy things about her.

#astro notes #astrology #astro observations #astronotes #ascendant #neptune ascendant aspects #birth chart readings

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eoieopda · 2 months

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FORCE QUIT // EPISODE III: SPIDER

somebody has to make sure you make it through the firefight alive.

pairing: lee minho x reader | series masterlist (3/4) | prev. episode series summary: it's 2077, and life's a fucking nightmare. corporate titans ate the state and shat it back out, leaving citizens of the new republic to fall in line, or fall to their knees. a reckoning is coming — where will you fall? au: series — dystopian, cyberpunk; episode — mutually-pining fuck buddies. ➢insp. by: cyberpunk 2077 + the true lives of the fabulous killjoys genre: smut + angst word count: 23.5k rating: 18+ — minors do not have my consent to interact. series warnings: violence (hand-to-hand, firearms, explosives), depictions of injuries (blood/bruising/burns), some characters have cybernetic modifications, class conflict + poverty, surprise - corporations are bad!, unethical medical/tech experimentation, self-indulgent references to non-skz idols, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns. episode: above + combat leader!minho, disabled!hacker!reader, pov switches, time skips, reader has a prosthetic/cybernetic leg, loss of limb due to injury (not depicted, minimally described), ref. to hospitalization + recovery, sunshine/storm cloud dynamic, minho is kind of a dick, depictions of combat violence, minor character death(s), unprotected p in v penetration. a/n 1: this part required a lot more external resources than anything else i’ve written, so i’ve kind of… footnoted? what i used. see the note at the end of the fic for the list! a/n 2: each episode features a different member x reader pairing, but the plot is linear, so you'd need to read them (in order) to get the full picture! you can sign up for the taglist to be notified of the next uploads. thank you to my beloved @sailoryooons for beta'ing this and @jihopesjoint for being my emotional support internet wife even though she doesn't stan skz. ily both endlessly!

Yours is the Black Screen’s worst kept secret.

The irony of that isn’t lost on you. Professionally, your most marketable skill is your ability to lower others’ defenses; to build and break walls as needed to take what you want for keeps. With finesse few can imitate, you vault over boundaries. Unfortunately for you, you don’t personally have any of those.

You’ve always been this way — no poker face, no affinity for bluffing, no discernible self-preservation instinct — and just the same, you’ve always wished you weren’t.

Time and again, your cards are on the table the second they’re dealt. If that alone wasn’t shitty gameplay, you and that relentless optimism of yours raise the stakes, double down. There’s no hesitating before you go all in; and there’s no surprise when you lose it all, either. Nothing you’ve ever felt has shocked anyone because they saw it coming in the previous turn.

Like Seungmin, for example, who won’t stop rolling his eyes at you from the other side of the room.

“If I took a shot every time you looked up at the door…” He sighs, gesturing from your corner of the Hub to its entrance, “I’d have died of alcohol poisoning six times over by now.”

The grimace you don’t want to concede can’t be hidden, so you rein your gaze in and direct it back at the screen in front of you. You don’t absorb any of the information flickering in front of you, however, because Seungmin has a point. Any second you haven’t spent staring wistfully out of the room is wasted on glancing at the clock.

It’s close to nine o’clock now, which means your not-so-secret distraction is due any minute.

That reminds me…

You check again, wondering how many minutes have passed since you last looked, only to learn that it’s been less than one. That’s when the reflex takes over. Without your permission, your eyes wander from the glowing, green digits on the wall to the door — just in case.

No dice.

Damn it.

In a feeble attempt to cover your chronic — terminal — hopefulness, you try to refocus on your work. All it takes is a few seconds of staring before your eyes glaze over again. That disinterest isn’t reflected in your rigid posture, though. Your brain may be a flat tire, but your body is a bow drawn back, ready to fire.

Anticipation is a hell of a drug, isn’t it?

Seungmin crosses his arms. From the corner of your eye, you can see the knowing look he shoots you. He may not speak his favorite words, but that doesn’t mean you can’t hear them, loud and clear.

Told you so.

“It’s kind of funny, actually,” he says instead.

You know better than to be thrown off by his trademark, flat affect. This is the most amused you’ve seen the weaponsmith in weeks. The corner of his mouth even twitches slightly; it might be the closest he’s ever been to smiling. “He only steps foot in here when you do.”

With all the heat you can muster, you aim to warn him — to puff out your chest a little, just this once — but it just sounds like a whine. “Seungmin…”

As if on cue, light footsteps sound off from down the hallway, shifting closer with every muffled step and cutting your would-be bickering off in the process.

Even with Seungmin’s judgment focused elsewhere, you continue to pretend that the glaring, blue light in front of your face has garnered any amount of your attention. It doesn’t. It hasn’t and won’t, so long as you can feel the seconds tick by in your chest.

He snorts. “Like clockwork.”

Damn it.

For being as light on his feet as he is, Minho tends to drag them more, the longer the day lasts. You never point that out to him; he doesn’t need to know that you’ve noticed. That fact sits among the million others you try to keep to yourself, just like your ability to identify him by gait alone.

Besides, you think, he’d never listen if you begged him to slow down, even if it’s just for a night. Rest doesn’t feature on the short list of things Minho wants from you. Come to think of it, neither does advice or concern for his well-being.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is,” Seungmin sings out when the shuffling stops short. “You lost, hyung?”

The way your head snaps up has nothing to do with Seungmin’s mocking tone and everything to do with the flutter in your chest. You’d attempt to keep that a secret, too, but then Minho walks in, and it’s game set.

He’s fatal with his tattered, grey t-shirt half-tucked into ripped, black denim; and you have to clench your jaw to keep it from dropping. Before your dry throat can choke you, you clear it, swallowing down the thought that Minho and his jagged edges are the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

It gets easier to get a fucking grip on yourself when Seungmin starts needling again: “No, seriously, are you lost? What are you doing here?”

Dark, cat eyes flick to you, then back to their target. Deadly, you think, just like the rest of him.

“Wishing you weren’t,” Minho responds without missing a beat.

As usual, his tone is carefully balanced between bored and annoyed. You suspect that’s purposeful. A tactic. It leaves listeners in the dark about his feelings, so they have to guess whether or not they should run.

Nine times out of ten, they guess wrong.

This time, Minho deigns to give a hint. It’s quick enough that you would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been staring. Thankfully, his target sees the microscopic flex of his eyebrow, too.

All that bark leaves Seungmin in a hurry, no bite to follow. With his tail between his legs and his palms raised in defeat, he skirts around Minho before slipping wordlessly out the door.

You frown slightly as you watch him flee, although you sure as shit won’t mind his absence.

“Seungmin’s harmless,” you remind Minho quietly, although you don’t know why you bother. He’s never felt threatened in his life, as far as you can tell. You don’t necessarily hate it when he flexes that fact in front of you, but that doesn’t mean he should. “You don’t need to scare him off.”

Minho crosses his arms and tilts his head in a way that makes you only the slightest bit insane. “I’m not scary,” he rebuts matter-of-factly, as if that’ll make it true.

You make the mistake of looking him in the eye then. Like it always does in moments like this, heat immediately rushes to your face like a backdraft.

Like he always does, Minho senses the spike in temperature. To crank it higher, he meanders his way across the room to you, eyes glittering impishly all the while. Your heart thuds harder with each footfall. Stupidly, you wonder if he can sense that, too.

“In fact, I’m offended,” he corrects you as he closes in.

His palms press down against the opposite side of your desk once he reaches it. This close, you can read the mischief scribbled all over his face, which only serves to tear you in two — equal parts fucked up by his assertiveness and the rare playfulness that only comes in flashes, only with you.

Minho looms over you now, his hardened stare softening just slightly. Whispering through what almost looks like a pout, he adds, “And you’re mean.”

For a second, you think that the hand inching its way across the tabletop is seeking yours. Anticipation makes your fingers twitch. Try as you might, you can’t think of a single fucking thing you want more than to slip them between his.

Proving once again that you’ll never read him right, Minho’s hand darts out to your side instead. You watch in slow-motion as he snags the bag of honey twists from its resting spot near your left forearm, which is nowhere near fast enough to catch him before he pulls away. Useless, your empty hand drops back onto your desk.

You stare longingly at the stolen packet, so dejected that you really could cry, and mumble, “It took so much effort to get those.”

“It shouldn’t have,” Minho counters with a shrug.

He isn’t wrong, and you hate that.

The Black Screen’s demolition expert, Lee Jihoon, is as hard to crack as the shit he blows to pieces. His footlocker full of snacks — a rarity, given the whole everything going on in the world — is even more impenetrable. Charming your way through his stony exterior had been your only option to gain access. It took months, as well as unrelenting friendliness administered in small, persistent doses.

Just like —

Minho wouldn’t have wasted his time with flattery or nuance. He never needs to open his mouth to get what he’s after because his presence — from his stance to his intense, vaguely violent gaze — does all the talking for him. All he would’ve needed to do is blink in Jihoon’s direction, then he would’ve walked out of there with the older man’s treasure trove and the jacket off his back.

Having just been robbed blind yourself, you keep your mouth shut about that.

Shrugging once again, Minho throws down the gauntlet: “Finish your shit quickly, and I might decide to share them with you.”

How thoughtful.

If he’s expecting a verbal response, he won’t get one, you decide. The most you give is a disgruntled sigh. Dying star that you are, you collapse in on yourself, sinking deeper into your chair until you wind up as a half-crumpled heap on the desk below your monitors. It’s a perfect picture of abject failure, making this the only thing you’ve gotten right all day.

You don’t expect Minho to ask after your current state, so you’re not disappointed when he doesn’t. Or, at least, you will yourself not to be. In reality, your bated breath is held for a second or two before you remember who you’re dealing with.

He does speak, though, which surprises you. Your first guess would’ve been that he’d give a hard pass on your dramatics and wander back out the door while your face was buried in your arms.

“Spider,” he sighs, and his tone is so gentle that it shocks the hell out of you. Intimate, almost, even if it is just a caricature. “Call it a night.”

More curious than cautious, you lift your head enough to blink up at him. Between his eyebrows, there’s a small crease that you don’t see often enough to competently translate. You stare at the tension there for a beat longer than you mean to before your gaze drifts downward to meet his.

See? Beautiful.

The second Minho sees your eyebrows raise slightly in question, a switch flips. He shuts the light off, irons out his expression. Whatever softness you found there is gone as quickly as it came.

He clears his throat, then huffs, “Come on.”

You frown and gesture to the screen ahead, pointing out the program you’ve spent all goddamn day working on to no avail. The silent protest doesn’t work on Minho. His stare only becomes more expectant the longer he levels it at you.

“Seriously. Fuck it.”

Having chosen the hill you plan to die on, you envision roots tying your unmoving body to the floor beneath you. Your frown deepens. No, you think emphatically, as if making your internal monologue shout will make him listen.

Minho tries again. “It’ll be here to ruin your day tomorrow.”

You don’t budge, and it pulls an exasperated noise out of him. Curling his right hand into a loose fist, he taps the knuckle of his index finger lightly against your elbow, like the contact will force your mental task list to shut down.

“I’m bored.”

You know exactly what that means.

“Come up to the roof with me.”

Strike that.

“The roof?” You peep, hardened expression smashed to bits before you can blink.

Minho looks a little too pleased by your sudden concession. He even makes one of his own, chuckling slightly before he rolls his eyes and elaborates, “It’s nice out.”

It’s nice out, so you want to fuck me… on the roof?

The hand at your elbow pulls away and re-routes towards the back pocket of his jeans. When it returns to the space between you, there’s a dented, silver flask glinting in his grip. He shakes it, arches one eyebrow, and tops it all off with a wolfish grin that makes your stomach flip.

“Stolen whisky tastes best in restricted areas, I hear.”

He nods his head towards the door, beckoning you to give in, and you’re on your feet without needing the invitation to be repeated.

The sudden movement after sitting for so long means that your body isn’t as enthusiastic as your brain. A sharp pinch pulls a slight gasp out of you. That’s the extent of your own reaction, but Minho isn’t used to this the way you are. Alert eyes flick down to where your residual limb slots into your manufactured one, then back up to search your face.

Once again, he asks without saying a word. You answer with a wave of your hand, “All good.”

Minho’s concern doesn’t immediately dissipate. To prove that you meant what you said, you snatch the packet of honey twists out of his unsuspecting hand and circle around the desk until you’re face to face.

“If I’m on my ass for too long, my leg forgets how to leg,” you explain, grinning more out of triumph than reassurance. Then, you dangle your reclaimed prize from your fingertips because you are nothing if not a little shit. “I’m not a doctor, but I think science says that food helps.”

“Science says?” Minho snorts.

You nod authoritatively, then you turn to the spare folding chair near your work station. Your jacket waits for you there, carefully folded on the cracked, plastic-coated cushion. Shrugging it on, you shove the honey twists in your right pocket and tease, “Sure does.”

The corner of his mouth tugs slightly upwards, and you swear there’s an affectionate smile threatening to break loose.

It doesn’t.

Instead, after pushing off his palms, Minho stands fully upright, nods his head towards the door a second time, and starts making his way towards it. You follow because you always do, biting back your lips to keep your giddiness to yourself.

As the pair of you exit and head down the hallway in comfortable quiet, you note his proximity to you. It’s always the same; he’s always close by but never near enough to touch. The edge of his shirt sleeve brushes against your arm, although his skin never does.

You stopped wondering about that a long time ago, unwilling to figure out if this is a tactic, too.

Halfway to the nearest stairwell, Jeongin appears in a doorway. The room he emerges from used to be an office for the human resources department, back when the factory was operational — back when employers bothered with pretending to give a shit.

Now, the room’s function lands somewhere between a bar and a bedroom. The latter only comes into play when the former makes staggering upstairs to the residential area too much of a hassle. From what you can see over the younger man’s shoulder, that’ll likely be the case tonight.

Jeongin gives you a cursory smile before directing his full attention to the man keeping cursory distance at your side.

None of it makes sense to you, all this effort spent to hide intentions. Maybe, you think, that’s why you’re so fucking terrible at it.

“Hey, hyung!” Jeongin chirps as the pair of you approach. He lifts his hand to wave, but it just looks like he’s shaking the deck of cards in his hand at Minho. “Do you want to —”

Without slowing down, Minho cuts him off mid-ask and at the knees. “No.”

And then his finger slips into the belt loop of your jeans, tugging you along beside him as he keeps up the pace. You’re gone before you can see Jeongin’s face fall, but you’re sure it does.

Yours would.

When you reach the stairs, Minho matches your careful pace, albeit much less awkwardly. For as life-saving as the chunk of metal and carbon fiber on your right side has been, there’s at least one problem it hasn’t solved: going up steps is a bitch.

To compensate for your less dynamic knee, your left leg takes stairs two at a time so you can simply step straight up with your right. And even though you’re a bit out of breath from the extra effort, you open your mouth to comment on what you just witnessed.

Minho stops you before you can start. Shooting you a look you know far too well, he sighs, “Don’t.”

You’re as good a faker as you are a listener.

“He’s just trying to —”

He releases his grip on your belt loop. It’s the only reason you realize he’d still been holding on. Stopping at the landing, Minho turns to look back at you. “Can’t think of anything I want to do less than sit next to someone and have to hear about their fucking day.”

Eyebrows raised, you stare up at him. This time, you don’t say a word, letting your expression speak for you.

“With the ever-present risk that I’ll be murdered by the state tomorrow, forgive me if I’m not wasting today by listening to shit I don’t care about.”

There it is, you think.

The combat leader’s insistence that his life will only end one way: too soon and bloody.

That unexploded ordnance drops heavy between you. You step over it, joining him on the landing, and you don’t look back. Just at Minho, who watches you carefully for a reaction; whose tension leaves his muscles when the slight, upward curve of your mouth says, I understand.

Together, you climb the remaining flight until you reach the thick, steel door leading out to the roof. It’s barely functional, like the vast majority of the factory, and can’t shut all the way. With more force than is even remotely necessary, he kicks it fully open. The thick, rubber tread of his boot thuds against the metal. It’s quickly drowned out by the strangled squeak of its hinges.

You’re at least slightly thankful that those hinges don’t explode into a cloud of rust.

On his way to the ledge, Minho grabs two empty buckets from the pile of discarded odds-and-ends near the doorway. The rest of the pile — mainly two-by-four planks too busted to rehab and similarly spent range targets — threatens to collapse without its foundation, but neither of you stops to fix it. He leads, and you follow, ultimately coming to a stop near the ledge.

“So?”

His insufficient question is underscored by the two buckets landing mouth-down on the concrete with twin thunks.

You’re still blinking through your confusion when he unceremoniously drops himself on the furthest bucket and when he stretches out his leg to tap the remaining one with the side of his boot. Coincidentally, you’re still waiting for the rest of his inquiry when you sit — much more gently — next to him. This time, it’s you who moves, nudging your chrome knee against his flesh-and-bone.

Minho finally takes the hint and continues, pulling out his flask as he does. “How was your day?”

The whiplash makes your neck ache.

Remind me again about the last thing you said to me.

After taking a swig without incident, he passes the flask to you. You take your sip — small, cautious — and immediately let out some clownish, choking noise when the strong notes of wooden barrel hit your taste buds.

“Oh, that’s —” You cough, nose scrunching. Whisky-laced breath slips out of your teeth in the form of a hiss. “Absolutely wretched, I fear.”

For the first time all night, Minho’s mask cracks, and a full-fledged laugh tumbles out of his mouth, high and clear as it cuts through the otherwise dead air.

“It’s not,” he counters. Without taking his eyes off your pout, he lifts a hand to catch the flask that you toss at him. “You’re just childish.”

In recompense, you swat his arm.

He lets you.

“Shut up.” Your distinctly childish comeback is breathy because, like always, your laughter isn’t something you can successfully hide. “Am not.”

Another swig, no further incidents.

“Think you need to be demoted. Maybe I should start calling you baby instead of Spider.”

The violent flutter in your chest doesn’t seem to care that what it heard isn’t at all what he meant. For now, you let it happen. You focus instead on his creased eyes and barely-crooked smile; drink them in as quickly as you can, knowing that your window is closing.

As rare as it is, levity looks perfect on him.

While your laughter ebbs, the wind kicks up slightly, bringing a chill with it. You pull your jacket tighter around you as you watch browned leaves spin in pirouettes near your feet. Their presence here is surprising, given how devastating the War was to the ecosystem, but it’s welcomed. It’s a reminder sorely needed: nothing’s ever truly fucked beyond repair.

Minho pipes up suddenly, “You never answered me, you know.” And even though his voice is low, it startles you.

He’s too busy fiddling with the cap of his flask to see it when you turn your head to look quizzically at him. He probably missed the way you jolted just then, too, which is fine by you. Your goldfish brain is still trying to recall what he asked that went without a reply.

When you remain quiet, he supplies, “Your day.”

As it turns out, you’re just as stunned by his question the second time he poses it. Part of you wants to remind him that he could be murdered by the state tomorrow, just in case he wants to reclaim his wasted time. The rest watches as his absentminded fidgeting stops, and his head lifts to look at you — not impatiently, not sardonically, but with the tiniest bit of insecurity scribbled into his slightly furrowed brow.

Oh.

Now, you’re frozen into silence for an entirely different, entirely devastating reason: he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t genuinely want to know.

A self-effacing laugh serves as a smokescreen for how fucking flustered that realization makes you.

“Well, I had plans to go phishing, but they fell through.”

“Beach advisory?” He feigns a frown, making your lips curve upwards at the corners. “Those hypocrites at Thanotech really need to stop dumping their shit into the reservoir.”

At this, you laugh outright.

This is the Minho that no one but you could pick out of a lineup: the one that will take a bit and run with it, who lets his guard down and catches you off yours. This one may not be yours — you know he isn’t, not really — but at times like this, when it’s just the two of you alone, it feels like he is.

“I’ll make sure to tell them you said so.” You pat his thigh, which tenses slightly in the second your palm rests on it. Redirecting your thoughts from where they’re headed, you pull your hand back and tuck it into your jacket pocket. “I really think they’ll listen if they know Lee Minho’s the one asking.”

His eyes roll in response, but the amused smirk he wears doesn’t dissipate. It’s still there when he slowly leans closer, making your breath hitch. His hand shifts closer, too, and your pulse hammers harder with every millimeter that’s cast aside.

There’s an old saying about where the shame should fall when a person gets fooled twice. You practically feel it collide with your thick skull when, for the second time, Minho turns the tables. He nearly turns your pocket inside out in the process, hand snatching the yet-untouched packet of honey crisps before you even know what’s happening.

Just like last time, you put up no fight when he settles back into his own makeshift chair with a smug glint in his eyes. A forlorn sigh is covered by the racket of plastic ripping, followed soon after by a faint crunch.

“Speaking of bait,” he snickers once he’s swallowed. “What are you dangling?”

You really want to hate him for that segue, along with all the rest of his committed atrocities, but you can’t. So, you offer up the only thing you still have:

Technobabble.

“The plan is to sneak in a program to mine data. So long as nobody interrupts me —” You pause to shoot him a pointed look. “— I’ll finish coding it tomorrow and fire it off at some grunt in Ulsan’s fiscal department using a cloned, corporate email account.”

“You think they’ll fall for it?” Minho asks, curiosity piqued.

You flash a grin. “I know they will. Nothing spooks a low-level employee quite like an overdue, mandatory, cybersecurity compliance attestation.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d swear he looks almost proud when he hears about the form of your Trojan horse. It’s certainly what you feel blooming in your chest, especially when you pluck the crisp from between his unsuspecting fingers and pop it into your own mouth.

“Once the program installs, it’ll start reaping what they have access to,” you explain. “I’m sure it’ll be limited at the start, quarterly budget reports and such.”

You shrug dismissively, then look down at your hands. There’s no way this is interesting to someone that isn’t you, but he asked, and you’re answering, and you can’t seem to stop talking.

“But those point me in the direction of invoices and their line items, which gets me to payment accounts, recipients, and other shit they don’t want me to know. It’s a paper trail leading to a paper trail, honestly, but it’s —”

“— how you weave a web.”

It stops your brain in its tracks, leaves your would-be sentence to peter out. You can’t remember the last time anyone followed where your explanations led, let alone saw the importance of all the tiny, tedious steps you take. All the intricacies of your carefully plotted architecture.

With you stalled out, Minho finishes that thought where he left off. “Strand by strand.”

“Yeah,” you exhale, warmth creeping from your chest to your cheeks. “Strand by strand.”

You sit on that bucket on the roof for however long it takes for your ass to go numb, and then you sit some more. Hours, maybe a day or two — irrelevant, as far as you’re concerned. You have Minho next to you and a burgeoning sunrise ahead; and you’ll bask in the glow you’ve found there for as much time as you can.

Minho, it seems, has other plans.

He sighs and flattens his palms against his knees before standing, causing the bucket he’d been occupying to scrape against the concrete. The noise is what gets your attention, not the movement. You turn to look up at him. Your disappointment is more than likely broadcasted all over your face.

“Stay with me,” you whine before you can stop yourself.

Needy isn’t normally a word you’d use to describe yourself; you’re far from it. Now, though… In this moment, it might be written in blaring red letters on your forehead, judging by the extremely brief flash of surprise you see in front of you. It’s gone as quickly as it came. The twinge of embarrassment you feel sticks around to keep you warm.

Minho is quiet for a beat, like he’s got something to consider. Whatever he decides on, it makes his head tilt to the side. A devilish look takes over his features, washing from his narrowed eyes to his tilted lips. All mischief, he counters, “Fuck me.”

Why do those things have to be mutually exclusive?

You don’t voice your question out loud, even though you kind of want to scream it, because he holds his hand out to help you up, and instant gratification together feels so much better than waiting through a delay alone. So, you take his hand, just like he knew you would, and you follow.

Back to the door, back down to the second level of the factory, back to your room in an otherwise unoccupied wing, until the door is shut softly behind you.

Every single one of your rendezvous has been different from the last. The time, location, everything varies, not unlike the version of himself that Minho lets you see. Even though the steps change completely from tryst to tryst, they still feel like they’ve been choreographed and rehearsed ahead of time.

For example, he’s never caged you against a wall and pinned your wrists one-handed above your head before, but your body reacts as if this is the sole position it was made to occupy in life.

His teeth nip at the side of your neck, and your head falls back instinctively. You don’t give a shit about the muted thump of your skull against the brick, but Minho seems to.

“Watch yourself,” he murmurs, lips fluttering against your throat. Despite the muted volume, his tone carries an authority to it that makes even your chrome knee weak. “If you wind up with a concussion, I’m not explaining it to Doc.”

You gasp when his tongue flicks out to soothe the sting his teeth leave behind. Beyond desperate, you push up on your toes to bring yourself closer to his mouth. It’s further out of reach than you remember — it shouldn’t be. Barely a week has gone by since he last had you like this.

Embarrassingly breathless already, you ask, “Have you gotten taller? What have they been feeding you?”

His knee comes forward slowly to nudge yours apart. You make room, letting his thigh press into the gap created. If his left hand wasn’t keeping you stretched up to your full height, you’d be riding that thigh by now.

“You know what I eat.”

Your eyes roll back. You’re not sure if that’s a reaction to his line or the way he clenches his thigh, shifting it further into the space between your spread legs. Either way, that taut muscle is only millimeters away from your cunt now; the low hum that rumbles from his chest says that he can feel the heat rolling off you in waves.

You want so badly to be able to touch him, cling to him, scratch your nails across his scalp and pull him in by his hair. You want him to touch you — really touch you — not just to tease you the way he is, threatening to mark you up with his mouth without following through.

If you try to tug your arms down, will he let you?

Part of you hopes that he doesn’t.

At least, not without consequences.

Minho can tell how fucking restless you are. You’re not surprised; you vibrate with want at a frequency he’s always been attuned to. Speaking any of it out loud would be redundant, so you save your breath. His fans warmth over the shell of your ear, pulling the hammer back: “What’s the matter, Spider? You don’t like being the one in the trap?”

You can’t help but tremble at that.

“Fine,” he tuts, finger on the trigger.

Your eyes widen in anticipation when his hand drops its hold on your wrists; and your arms fold slowly back down when he retracts. There’s a muted ache in your muscles from the strain they’d been put under. You can’t say that you mind.

His hands move next to his belt buckle, deft fingers making quick work of the metal before the two pieces dangle on either side of his zipper. That’s the image burned into your brain when he leans in close enough to kiss you. He doesn’t kiss you — he never does — but he finally fires at point blank range:

“Turn around.”

Bang!

It’s so unexpected that you don’t register it as real at first. Neither does Minho, whose demanding gaze stays glued to you. The noise comes again, louder than the first, and you hear the cry that comes with it through the door.

“Spider, are you there?”

Hyunjin.

It’s his voice, you know, but it doesn’t sound right at all. The air of self-assuredness he usually carries is long gone. Whatever’s replaced it sounds completely unlike him in a way that makes your stomach turn.

Minho puts distance between your bodies in the time it takes Hyunjin to push open the door. You notice that he forgot to address his belt buckle, but you suppose it doesn’t matter. The youngest among you is too visibly shaken to see it as he stumbles inside with red-rimmed eyes.

Oh, fuck.

Panicked, you shoot a quick glance at Minho, hoping he’ll see your alarm and know what to do with it. His eyes are locked onto Hyunjin, who comes to a stop in front of you; Minho’s expression is the definition of illegible.

Your hand lifts instinctively to Hyunjin’s shoulder. Apparently, that reassuring touch is all it takes to break the dam; to break him down into sobs.

“Hey!” You gasp, knitting your arms around his frame and hauling him towards you. His face slots into the space where your neck meets your shoulder, allowing his hyperventilated breaths to hit your skin directly. “Hey, it’s —”

You know better than to lie and say it’s okay.

Minho may be fearless, but it’s Hyunjin that’s the least flappable in the entire group by a long shot. If you were to search back through the last decade, you wouldn’t be able to find a single moment where he seemed annoyed or anxious, let alone fucking devastated to the degree he currently is.

This is the farthest from okay things could possibly be.

You can’t tell if it’s heartbreak, nausea, or both that swells when you fill your fists with the back of his jacket and hold on tight.

From his spot two meters away, Minho cuts to the chase. “What happened to you?”

Hyunjin can’t answer, not at first.

Maybe, you think, saying whatever it is out loud will confirm the reality of the situation. You don’t push him. Instead, you stop holding him long enough to pull him over to the far corner of your makeshift bedroom, where he drops down to sit on the mattress held off the floor by two wooden pallets. Despite his wiry frame, the force of his collapse makes the wood clatter against the concrete floor below.

When you take a spot beside him, it’s much less quickly, no more graceful. Hyunjin doesn’t mind the hand you place on his shoulder to keep yourself steady. If he hears the click at your manufactured joint over the sound of his own barely-regulated breathing, he doesn’t say so.

Still standing where he was left — where he left you, more like — Minho’s narrowed eyes hone in again on Hyunjin. The expression on his face is just as unreadable as before, and he still won’t look at you.

As much as that bothers you, your own feelings are never your first priority. You turn your head to look from Minho to Hyunjin, whose hands grip the black denim of his jeans like a lifeline. When the latter finally does speak, the explanation hemorrhages out of him, spilling and flooding until there isn’t much air left in the room to breathe.

Three things in particular hit you like a train:

The Bliss Beta is infinitely more insidious than you could’ve imagined — even for Ulsan — and its mass rollout is closer than you ever would’ve guessed.

You now have the data you need to find the servers running the Beta, which means there’s a chance that the way things currently are is the worst they’ll get.

There’s a guillotine blade looming over the Professor’s neck, and it’s your hand on the rope, obligated to let go. It’s your scale that’s tasked with weighing lives.

Nausea, you realize, almost too late.

You grab hold of the wastebasket near the foot of your mattress and squeeze your eyes shut while your honey twists leave you in a hurry.

He loves her.

He loves her, he loves her, he loves her, and there are fifty-one-million faceless reasons why he can’t have her. You feel the weighted stares of every single one of them on you when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, silver datashard. It’s thin, flat with sharp edges, but it’s a bullet if you’ve ever seen one.

When Hyunjin places it in your hand, your fingers don’t close around it. You can’t even look at it without feeling faint; your body won’t accept the weight of it in your palm. You avert your eyes, praying that your object permanence disappears along with it.

And then that reflex kicks in again, craving some semblance of safety.

Minho is already watching you intently when you turn your head his way. The relief you feel is immediate, and you don’t have the energy left to pretend that’s not the case.

You love him.

You love him, you love him, you love him, and this goddamn horror show you’re living through feels survivable while he’s around, even if it isn’t.

Maybe, you think, if you live to see the end, his presence will help you hate yourself less for the things you’re about to do to get there. That’s been the case so far, anyway. You’ve got a decade’s worth of scorched bridges behind you, and the ash on your face has never made him see you any differently.

Hyunjin clears his throat, dragging you back into the moment you don’t want to be a part of.

“She said there’s multi-level encryption on this thing,” he mumbles, voice weak. His hand envelops yours and gently folds your fingers over your palm, as if he knows damn well you won’t do it yourself. “I don’t have to tell you this, but be careful, Spider. One move too many, and we’re all dead.”

You freeze; he stands, wiping invisible dirt from the front of his jeans. Nothing he attempts will make him feel clean, you know, but you don’t fault him for trying.

Before he can take a single step back towards your door, you reach out and grab his hand, preventing him from leaving.

“Keys,” you croak.

His eyebrows knit together.

“Cryptographic keys — characters. Numbers, usually.” You shake your head to realign your thoughts. It doesn’t do much; your explanation still comes out sputtering. “Each encryption is going to have a different algorithm altering its data, and it’ll be faster if I don’t have to write a separate program to try and find the strings I need.”

Judging by his face, the explanation makes sense, but he still looks as if he has no fucking idea what the answers might be.

For the first time in nearly an hour, Minho speaks. The suddenness of his participation makes both you and Hyunjin flinch.

“Dates,” he offers gruffly. “Ones that are significant to the two of you, maybe.”

The suggestion cracks against your skull like a baseball bat.

Of all the things you could’ve expected him to say in the presence of someone other than you, something sentimental didn’t even come close to making the list. Hyunjin, it seems, is just as startled by this — by the appearance of your invisible friend, who’s spent ten years refusing to let this side of him be seen.

You make a note to ask Minho where this idea came from. If there are any dates he holds onto, with no one the wiser.

Hyunjin’s brow furrows for a moment while he thinks. Then, the light bulb behind his eyes flashes.

Eureka.

Dashing now towards the door, he calls out to you over his shoulder. “I’ll make you a list,” he promises breathlessly before he disappears altogether.

Without Hyunjin’s voice to fill it, the silence of your room roars in your ears. You need to shrug it off you, physically; move around so that you stop feeling like you’re being hydraulically pressed.

In a wordless request for help, you hold your hand out to Minho. The jury’s still out as to what you want when he takes it: to drag him down to you, to be hauled to your feet, or to simply have it held.

For the first time — possibly ever — he doesn’t take it.

Well-practiced hands drop to his belt buckle instead of reaching out to you. He re-fastens it quickly, and over the clink of metal, he grunts, “Stop looking at me like that.”

You blink rapidly when that sucker-punch statement hits you. “Looking at you like what, Minho?” You ask gently, as if your excess will make up for his lack.

“Like I’m your future.”

And just like that, he’s gone without another word or a backwards glance.

Eleven days crawl by without you seeing or hearing from Minho. You struggle to keep count as they pass. You’re so preoccupied that there’s no real difference between them, leaving them all to bleed together. It doesn’t help that all ten nights so far have been more or less sleepless.

While you’d love to say that all your time awake has been productive, you’d be lying. Sure, you spend the vast majority of it with the bright light of your monitors boring into your retinas, but that doesn’t mean you’re actively engaging with the shit displayed there. Between your program and your spent brain, it’s your neural pathways that are most in need of re-writing.

“Goddammit,” you hiss when a shock jolts through your upper right thigh for the umpteenth time today alone.

Halfway crazy from frustration, you glare down at your quad and see the remaining muscles there twitching violently. And even though it’s been over a year, your brain is still surprised to find that the source of your pain doesn’t exist at all.

That outburst from you certainly isn’t the first, yet it’s the one that catches Chan’s attention. Like you, he’s spent an unhealthy amount of his time in the Hub over the past week and a half, pouring over who knows what. It’s safe to assume that’s how he’d describe your work, too.

“Been especially bad lately, hasn’t it?” He asks, head popping up from behind a stack of files.

He probably doesn’t expect you to squeak out a laugh at the sight of him, but you can’t help yourself.

“You look like a meerkat when you do that.” The frown you get in response only makes you giggle more, despite yourself. “Like an overworked, overtired, under-caffeinated meerkat.”

Chan works overtime to control his expression, steel himself. It doesn’t work. It never does, no matter how obnoxious you and your comrades are around him because at the end of the day, all he ever is, is fond.

He sighs as he sits up fully in his chair. “Spider.”

It’s funny, you think. He sounds just like your father when he takes that tone with you, although the name he uses is nowhere near the same.

“Talk to Doc.” Realizing he sounded more stern than he meant to, Chan’s mouth softens from a thin, straight line to a slight smile. He adds, “Please.”

And because you’re the best behaved of all his pseudo-children, you don’t put up a fight. You don’t roll your eyes the way Seungmin does, or do the exact opposite of what you’ve been told, like —

Don’t go there.

You just get up, ignoring the strong urge you feel to buckle at the knees and hit the floor, and push your chair back with the underside of your thighs. Chan sees the pained look on your face immediately and moves to stand up and help you. You wave him off.

“All good,” you lie through gritted teeth, bearing weight on your palm as you maneuver your way around your desk.

Chan may not believe you, but he listens, nonetheless. While you guide yourself from your workstation on the far side of the room towards the door, you try very hard to ignore the thought that keeps ricocheting around your skull like a bullet, shredding whatever grey matter gets in its way.

There’s one person that line wouldn’t have worked on.

It takes a considerable amount of time to hobble to Doc’s clinic, which is clear on the other side of the compound, but you eventually make it there without breaking too much of a sweat.

In a past life, the space was an employee locker room that featured shower stalls and toilets on one side, and numerous lockers and benches on the other. Jeongin tried his best, but the plumbing was fucked beyond repair; all the utilities were scrapped. Whatever useful parts remained were repurposed elsewhere, while the broken bits wound up in that pile of assorted garbage on the roof.

Don’t.

Due to the size of the space, there’d been a multi-day debate on what to use it for. In the end, the decision was made to give it new life as a makeshift field hospital because Minho was right. The tile and drainage system is ideal for —

Stop it.

When you push through the swinging, double doors and stagger inside, you learn that you’re not today’s only patient. On one of the cots up ahead, Doc’s nimble fingers work to stitch Scraps’ left eyebrow back together, while Felix paces in the background with his hands in his hair.

“I’m so —”

“Felix!”

Scraps slaps her hands down onto her thigh. The sound echoes off the tile walls like a thunderclap, but she doesn’t flinch at the contact. Doc does, however. She freezes solid, needle-holder in hand.

If Doc is frustrated, she doesn’t show it. That bedside manner of hers is unparalleled. Her gentle voice sounds suspiciously like Chan’s when she pleads, “No violence until I’m done holding a needle near your eye.”

Scraps nods in acknowledgment, which only contributes to the panicked look on Doc’s face. You bite your lips to hold your laughter in as you amble closer and dump yourself onto a nearby cot.

“Seriously — stop apologizing,” Scraps calls over her shoulder.

If it wasn’t for Doc’s gentle hold on her chin, you suspect that she’d turn her head to look at Felix outright.

“I told you to raise the stakes, and you did. So, I owe you a gold star for being a good listener, I guess.”

The way he looks at her when she can’t even see him kind of makes you want to sob. That ache only grows when he puts his hands on either side of her head, leans down, and plants a kiss on her hair.

Meanwhile, Doc is muttering, “Please stop moving, please stop moving, please stop moving,” like those are the only words she knows. You feel as guilty as you do grateful; her distress is a sufficient distraction from your own.

“Done!” She chirps moments later. Relief washes over her in a heartbeat, releasing tension from every single muscle cell she has — like she’s successfully disarmed a bomb, rather than sutured a minor injury.

And even though she’s too polite to say it, you swear you can hear her thinking it:

Please leave now.

And they do. They fall into lockstep, with Scraps tucked under Felix’s arm and hers wrapped around his waist.

And you’re still staring at the door once it swings shut again, so lost in all your conflicting thoughts that Doc has to call your name twice to get your attention.

“You’re not due back in for another month or so.” She frowns. “What’s on your mind?”

As usual, you don’t know where to start. You don’t know how to turn the faucet on without overflowing the bathtub, either, so you just let it all pour out.

“Everything was fine — perfect, probably. Or the closest it’s going to get, I guess. Then — I don’t even know what happened, but he won’t fucking look at me now. Won’t talk to me, walks out of a room when I walk in, like he can’t even stand to ignore me in my presence.”

You suck in a breath through your teeth to make up for all the ones you skipped out on while you rambled on.

Of course, that doesn’t mean you stop rambling.

“And I think it might be breaking my heart. I don’t know. I don’t — I don’t know what to do now. It’s very distracting,” you mutter, frowning.

A laugh slips out to signal how uncomfortable you are with the sudden intentional vulnerability. It sounds more like the sort of hiccup that precedes a sob.

“Stupid thing to fixate on when the world’s on fire, isn’t it?”

To say that Doc is taken aback would be an understatement. Her eyes go wide; her lips purse. She pauses for a moment before she ultimately whispers, “I meant your leg.”

You’d go dig your own grave out back if you could walk that far.

“Oh.”

Doc does you the favor of averting her eyes. She focuses instead on her lap, eyes widening without blinking, as if she’ll be able to see her way out of the conversation more easily that way.

Self-conscious now to the point of nausea, you play with the frayed edge of denim that lays over the end of your residual limb. You can’t help but wonder how many right-side pant legs you’ve chopped off over the last twelve months, and what those bits of fabric ended up being used for.

Maybe they’re in that pile on the roof.

“Is mirror therapy helping at all?”

You glance up at Doc. “Not as much as it used to,” you sigh. “I think my brain figured out I was trying to bamboozle it and threw another wall up. Those are all it has at this point — walls and holes.”

It’s quiet for a few moments. Now, you wonder if you’ve taken Doc out of her depth. You were her first — and thankfully remain her only — amputation. If anyone’s gonna stump her, it’s you.

You snicker at your own unspoken joke.

Get it?

“How much do you remember?” She asks, catching you off-guard. It was the fact that she asked you anything that surprised you, not the question itself, but she assumes she’s offended you. Quickly, she apologizes. “I’m sorry. You don’t need to talk about it.”

The truth is, the before and during are both incredibly vague. You know that you went with a small group to Ilsan, planning to fuck up one of WraithCo.’s supply lines, and that their ghouls caught wind of your plans.

Beyond that, it’s anyone’s guess. The audio underscoring this montage in your mind is warped to all hell; the faces and voices are blurry, as if they’ve since been censored. Deleted, just like the lower two-thirds of your leg.

As for the after… All that comes to mind is pain, in one form or another.

Fighting off an infection, which left your waking hours in some fever-filled daze that only stopped when the various meds worked their magic and knocked you back unconscious.

Being bed-ridden for an eternity after that fever broke and the infection cleared, too exhausted and depressed to keep your eyes open.

Aching all over as you forced your body to remember how to walk, too obsessed with your newfound crumb of independence to let anyone see you stumble.

Self-imposed isolation to hide the toll it’d all taken on you, and the frustration that came with knowing what you were doing but being unable to stop yourself.

“Nothing I wouldn’t mind forgetting” you finally say.

Doc hums thoughtfully but offers nothing beyond a tiny frown. The part of you that wants to know why she’s asking is overrun by the part of you that fears what she’ll tell you; clearly, she’s similarly torn.

Add this to the list of things you’ll have to learn to live without.

Time continues to both slip and crawl by. Days are gone before you can blink; nights encase you in cement, trap you in place. You know it’s not a coincidence. You’re only alone after dark.

Still, it’s not all bad. You’ve certainly been more productive lately, whether or not you truly want to be. That’s not a coincidence, either. You’re capable of accomplishing quite a bit when the only person you truly want to talk to has no interest in listening.

If he did want to listen, you might tell Minho that he was right about the keys to the encryption being linked to dates. You could thank him, if he’d hear you out. Maybe you’d finally summon up the courage to ask where the idea came from.

What if…?

These little hypotheticals of yours only get more painful, the longer you steep in them, and you’re no good at reining your mind in when it starts wandering. It runs off in the same direction every time it goes — back to the night you finished peeling back all the layers.

You know there’s no point in imagining the ways Minho would’ve distracted you then because he didn’t. He was nowhere to be found; and you cried alone in your room, overwhelmed by both the relief of having answers and the all-consuming guilt of knowing what — and who — it cost to get them.

A familiar, prickling feeling at the corners of your eyes pulls you back to the present. You tilt your head back and blink rapidly to keep the dam from breaking. Part of you is proud. This might be the first time you’ve ever managed to keep your feelings to yourself.

“My halmoni always said that holding back your sneezes like that takes a year off your life.”

With a jolt, you snap to attention. Your neck does the same, head falling back down so quickly that your teeth click painfully against one another. The surprise — and the inadvertent scowl it prompts — melts away when you register Jeongin in the doorway.

You frown, although you laugh a little. “That’s horrifying, kid.”

If Jeongin sees you swipe the back of your thumb over your cheekbones, he doesn’t say so. He simply ambles into the Hub and finds his usual spot at the far side of the central table.

“She said the same thing about being under streetlights when they burn out,” he tuts, taking a seat. He blinks through thoughtful silence for a moment before re-focusing newly-widened eyes on you. “Now that I think about it, she did die young...”

You would’ve loved to hear that theory play out, but the opportunity flies out the door as soon as Hyunjin walks through it. The comment you want to make about his surprising punctuality is swallowed down just as quickly as it bubbles up. His expression tells you that he’s not up for much of anything, let alone teasing. With a cursory nod, he acknowledges that he is, at the very least, capable of noticing his surroundings.

Unfortunately, you’re not capable of looking at him — seeing the state of him — without your bleeding heart cracking right in half.

Chan serves as a sufficient distraction, thankfully. He enters shortly after Hyunjin with both Seungmin and Doc in tow. He ignores the former’s nagging about who knows what and ushers the latter to the chair next to the head of the table. He doesn’t sit, though you wouldn’t have expected him to; he never does. Instead, he stands at the back of his chair with his eyes flicking expectantly over to the door.

In the time it takes you to cross from your workstation to your usual folding chair, the guest list doubles. Holding up the wall in the corner, Jihoon stands with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. To his right, Scraps sits on a rare patch of free space on Chan’s desk, legs swinging idly as they dangle; and to his left, you spy the cat-eyed girl whose name you still haven’t learned. All you know about her is that she works under Hyunjin, and they’re so in-sync that people have taken to calling them siblings.

You see no similarities between them now, however. She has light left in her eyes.

Several others filter in as the minutes pass, most of whom you haven’t yet crossed paths with. Well, you might have. Your days all run together; your short-term memory isn’t firing on all cylinders. You don’t take the opportunity to register their faces now, though. Your eyes only linger for the second it takes to confirm who they aren’t.

Chan turns his head to you, earning your attention. “Where’s —?”

Doc shoots him a look that interrupts his question before he can finish it. She knows what he doesn’t, after all: You’re currently the worst person to turn to for information on Minho’s whereabouts, even though you used to be the first.

Behind you, a heavily-accented voice chimes in, “He’s with little Yongbokie on an errand. They should be back soon.”

You don’t have to turn around to know who’s speaking. Sierra, as she’s known within the collective, has the sort of presence you can feel, even when she can’t be seen. It’s still unclear to you how she wound up a world away from the island she grew up on, but you’re glad that she did, and that she’s on your side. If she wasn’t —

Well…

Suffice it to say, there’s a reason why this foreign mercenary is called what she is — two reasons, actually, according to her native language — and neither bodes well for enemies. Specifically, there’s a mountain of bodies behind her, all of them hacked to bits by those blades she’s so fond of.

Yeah, you think. Definitely better to keep her close.

“Just start without them,” she snaps at Chan, eye roll evident in her tone.

Despite outranking her, Chan can’t hide the uneasiness that comes with being addressed by Sierra directly. You watch him swallow the lump in his throat before he clears it fully. “Everyone, listen up,” he says with the sort of gentle authority only he’s capable of.

You can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth. It’s such a stark contrast to the tone that goaded him to speak in the first place.

Still, a hush falls over the Hub immediately.

“I know some of you have heard whispers about this. I don’t necessarily trust that the rumors swirling are accurate —”

Pointedly, Chan looks at Jeongin, who’s often the point in the relay where things go horribly wrong. The youngest never intends to pass on off-base gossip, but his attention span is about as poor as his audio processing. Jeongin ducks his head down; the tips of his ears go a dangerous shade of red.

“— so I’d like to make sure our record is straight.” Chan claps his hands, and as he rubs his palms together, he turns on his heel towards your side of the table. “Take it away, Spider,” he sings, beaming.

You turn your head quickly to the left and then to the right, searching for whoever the hell he’s truly cold-calling because it simply cannot be you. He knows better; he has to. For the decade you’ve worked together, you’ve hidden behind your screens because you don’t have the stomach for this leadership shit — especially not public speaking. It’s why you nominated him to run the show.

Eyebrows disappearing into your hairline, you stare incredulously back at him, silently begging him to pick the gauntlet back up.

Meanwhile, at least twenty pairs of eyes burn holes into you, like sun rays through a magnifying lens.

Fitting.

“Well,” you eventually manage to squeak out. “I — um… I spent the last month or so spelunking into confidential files relating to the — uhh — the Bliss Beta?”

It’s not a question. You don’t know why you made it sound like one.

Collapsing in on yourself, you knot your fingers on the table in front of you and stare down at your hands. “There’s a facility, it turns out, in — umm —”

“Is this going to take long? If it is, I can go and grab snacks.” Seungmin, from his spot across the table, smirks at you in such a way that you might — for the first time in your life — choose violence.

That is, if his jokes at your expense didn’t have your nervous stomach churning even harder, sending bile up your throat.

That is, if a cold voice didn’t fly out of nowhere, primed to eviscerate Seungmin before you can even process your own reaction.

“It’ll be a bit hard for you to chew after swallowing all your teeth, don’t you think?”

You hadn’t noticed Minho enter, but you find him easily now that he’s given himself away. He leans casually against the door frame with his hands in his pockets, leaving his tone as the only indication that he is, in fact, bothered. Everyone that had previously been standing near the door must’ve cleared a perimeter at some point — undoubtedly without being told to.

In response, Chan’s warning look is bifurcated, shot off to both men with equal, albeit subtle force. Seungmin’s face gives way to something apologetic. You can see it in his eyes that he thought he was being funny; that there’s no malice, only an inability to read a fucking room. To the contrary, Minho’s expression is pure venom, jaw set so tight that his teeth could crack.

He may have just interjected on your behalf, but he doesn’t look at you for more than a split second, as if he didn’t mean to concede even that much time.

And even though it feels illegal somehow, you keep your eyes fixed on him, as if you’ll catch another sliver of acknowledgement.

“In Cheongju,” you continue shakily. Your voice barely registers above a whisper, like you’re speaking to a single person, rather than a room full of them. “There’s a facility in Cheongju. All the servers currently associated with the Beta are operating out of there.”

Despite your anxiety, you manage to laugh. “They’re sitting ducks, really. Terrible planning from a security standpoint — either stupidity or arrogance.”

“Both,” Jihoon adds gruffly. If you’re not mistaken, he directs his next line at Seungmin. “Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

You know it wasn’t his intention, but you crack a tiny smile, nonetheless. “Comorbidities, aren’t they?”

As soon as you say it out loud, your cheeks set to burning. You send a panicked glance to Doc and duck your head, like your fear of looking stupid isn’t on full display. “Please tell me I used that term correctly,” you mutter, feeling instant relief when she nods and a profound sense of comfort when she pats your still-clenched hands.

“So, what are we going to do about it?” Sierra cuts to the chase, as she often does. “Arson?”

Her eyes sparkle at the suggestion. You find yourself surprised that she’s offered something so tame. Only a week ago, her response to seeing a cockroach in the canteen was to shoot at it.

Not for nothing, you’re also surprised by how endearing you still find that little anecdote — but maybe you shouldn’t be. It’s not the first time you’ve developed a soft spot for someone so sharp.

Reflexively, you look over at Minho. You see his eyes flicker, like he’d averted them just in time to miss yours. It’s the only reason you have to believe that he’d been watching you, save for the inexplicable warmth you’d felt crawling up your neck.

You don’t know what to do with any of that.

“Destroying the servers would only be a bandage,” you sigh. “I want to fully eradicate the program itself, which means those servers need to remain intact — for now.”

“So, we do it like Daegu, then?” Felix suggests. Judging by his sudden participation, he’s overjoyed to have something to contribute to a conversation he wouldn’t normally follow. “We broke in and set up that…. thing for you, in that room that was like an…. air-conditioned microwave?”

You bite down on your lips to keep from laughing. It’s a miracle that he remembers the Thanotech raid at all with the concussion he sustained in the process. It’s even more incredible that he remembers the non-technical explanation you gave for the server room within that data center.

Shaking your head, you frown. “I need to be on-site for this one.”

“Absolutely not. Fuck no.”

Across the room, Minho now stands fully upright. His hands are no longer in his pockets; they hang at his sides, clenched tightly.

You can’t help the incredulous scoff you let out. Bold of him, you think, to write you off completely and then attempt to dictate where and when you get to exist. That slap in the face still stings, but you keep your tone as light as possible.

“If something goes wrong, or if things have changed from the schematics I was able to access, I won’t be able to handle it remotely. I need to be there to troubleshoot.” And even though it goes without saying, you remind him anyway: “We’re not getting a second crack at this.”

“I know you don’t remember Ilsan, but I do,” Minho glowers, tone as dark as his eyes. The rest of the room falls into a charged silence; everyone is too tense to breathe, let alone speak. “I remember carrying three-quarters of your body out of Ilsan and spending weeks at your bedside.”

Just like that, the air in your lungs turns to cement.

How do you admit to not knowing he was even there?

And what the hell are you supposed to do with this information now that it’s reaching you for the first time — a year after the fact — in front of an audience?

You try to start somewhere. “Minho —”

“No.” His voice is sharp when it cuts you off, but there’s a crack in the blade, so microscopic that you wonder if you’re imagining things. He clears his throat to try and keep himself even. “You don’t get to make that call.”

Here comes that prickling feeling again, causing tears to spring up at the corners of your eyes. You clench your jaw and try to wish them away.

It’s Chan that speaks next. “You’re right. Spider doesn’t get to make that call,” he concedes. Then, his expression turns to stone. “I do. She said there’s no way around it, so she’s going —”

Minho seeks to interrupt, but Chan raises his hand and stops him in his tracks. You want to argue, too, because you’re right here and don’t need to be spoken about, as if you’re not in the room. The leader plows through, unaffected.

“— and because you know what the stakes are, your only job is to keep her safe.”

If the anguished look on Minho’s face says anything, it’s that he wants nothing to do with the burden of keeping you — what’s left of you — in one piece.

The briefing continues after his outburst, but Minho doesn’t hear a word of it. It all flows past him, waterlogged and warped, without sinking in. He finds it hard to give a shit about that fact, though.

Clearly, his input doesn’t matter. Worse, the sole order that’s been made of him is fucking redundant. He can’t imagine that the rest of them would mean much, so what does it matter if he didn’t pay attention?

He’s halfway out the door by the time Chan wraps up. Dodging eye contact, Minho turns to leave outright, to disappear somewhere and lick his wounds. One last lash manages to hit him as he goes:

When you cross the room, you’re not headed his way. No, your quick steps take you straight to Jihoon.

Minho knows that he has no right to feel this bitter. He should be grateful that his pushing you away is having the intended effect — that you might’ve found someone other than him to lean on — but the relief he’s been waiting to feel is nowhere to be found.

It never is.

The quick fixes he’s gotten of you in back rooms and shadows didn’t satiate him, either. Cutting you out completely has only proven to be more of the same ache.

Unwilling to watch the consequences of his own actions unfold, Minho turns sharply out of the doorway. Automatically, his feet carry him down the hall, up the stairs towards the roof. His brain might tell him otherwise if it wasn’t currently swimming, but his body acts on its own, seeking out the last place and time where he didn’t feel like this.

It’s a bad call, he realizes as he ascends.

He’ll never be able to recreate a scene with half the cast absent. The stage directions are fucked now. There’s no reason to take the steps one at a time now that he’s alone, but he still does. Without context, his motivations make no sense; and his hands don’t know what the hell to do without a belt loop hooked underneath one of his fingers. They twitch in the absence of denim.

With every step, he repeats his only line:

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

And when he reaches that busted fucking door and kicks it with everything he has, no one looks at him with amused disapproval.

It’s all wrong.

Steel hits cement with a sickening clang that’s still ringing out as he stalks over to the ledge and drops himself down on a familiar, overturned bucket. Its counterpart sits unoccupied at his side. Minho can’t look at it, can’t get up to throw it off the fucking roof, can’t do anything except simmer in his rage because —

Your only job is to keep her safe.

He tilts his head back, closes his eyes, and shouts into the void above, “Fuck!”

As if he needs to be told.

As if he hasn’t been trying to do exactly that for all the years he’s known you, driving nails further into his own goddam coffin with every second spent in your web.

Elbows come to rest on his knees. His face falls, too, until it drops into his palms. No matter how hard he tries to control his breathing, it comes out through gritted teeth, seething.

The fucking audacity.

Even if Minho hasn’t given you a reason to know better, Chan should. He’s seen better, firsthand.

Every time Chan stopped by the clinic to check in on you, he found Minho already sitting next to your glorified cot, watching your sleeping form like a hawk for any sign of distress.

Chan didn’t need to ask how your hair ended up in poorly-executed braids because the unskilled hands that made them were wringing themselves at your side. He never needed to ask why, either. When you finally stopped thrashing through nightmares, you didn’t wake up to find yourself tangled in inescapable knots.

Keep her safe.

That’s the fucking problem, isn’t it?

When his candle gets snuffed out — and he knows it will, can feel it in his bones that this is it — who’s going to keep you safe?

Hyunjin doesn’t have the capacity — not anymore. Minho was there with you the night Hyunjin’s whole world exploded into pieces. You saw love, but Minho saw your future. He sees it every time he looks at Hyunjin, who’s still listless, still lingering on the periphery like a fucking ghost. Hyunjin will never be the same, and if Minho lets himself get any closer to you than he already has, you’ll wind up just as empty.

Then who?

Chan is too busy. Doc is just as preoccupied, and as kind as she is, she’s never understood you — not really. Felix and Scraps can barely manage themselves; you’ll fall through the cracks amidst their bullshit shenanigans. Neither Seungmin nor Jeongin can be trusted with anything — or anyone — this important. They’re both fucking disasters in their own right, although Jeongin may eventually grow out of that. Changbin is too reclusive, and so is Jihoon; Jisung’s an anxious mess. Sierra is, at absolute minimum, insane.

And Minho may be the worst of them, but he tried his best for you. He’s still trying, even though that means keeping you as far away from him as possible.

“Fuck,” he repeats, albeit much less strongly.

That pathetic, choked-out word hits the air and dissipates quickly, leaving Minho alone in self-imposed exile. He stays there until sunrise, when the unoccupied bucket to his left becomes too visible to tolerate.

The next time Minho steps foot in the Hub, it’s much less crowded than the last. In fact, for what might be the first time ever, he’s beaten everyone else in. It’s no wonder; his stomach has been churning for hours now, and it was useless to keep laying in a bed he couldn’t sleep in.

Because life is far from fair, you’re the second to arrive. He doesn’t have to see you enter to know it; definitely doesn’t need to look up to confirm that it was your deliberate, slightly uneven footfalls he heard coming up the hall. It’s a reflex, though. His gaze lifts just in time to meet yours.

“Oh,” you peep, eyes bright despite the dark circles below them. “Hi.”

You seem startled to find Minho here ahead of you. Warranted, he thinks. The sunshine you cast on him isn’t, but you don’t try to withhold it — or maybe you can’t. As much as he loves that about you, it confuses the shit out of him and scares him just as badly. You either didn’t get the memo when you chose this life, or you don’t feel the crushing weight of it yet:

Sparks like yours can’t last forever.

His voice sounds like gravel after last night’s anxious reflux, but he echoes you, nonetheless, “Hi.”

And then Chan walks in. He stops short when he sees the two of you, eyes flicking from your face to Minho’s with barely-hidden intrigue. Somehow, he misses the daggers Minho shoots at him with eyes alone.

“I re-routed everyone else to the vans and told them to load their shit. You ready?” Chan poses the question to both of you, but his focus is fixed solely on you. It lingers for a moment, like there’s some secret, second question hidden between the lines.

Minho doesn't know what’s going on, but he does know that he hates whatever it is.

You nod. Whether that’s in response to what was asked or what wasn’t, he can’t say. Your mouth sits in a tight, straight line. That, Minho can easily translate to feigned confidence. You’re not ready; you’re not good at bluffing, either.

He sees his window in that bit of doubt and tries to leap through it. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

It doesn’t sound as firm as he wants it to. If you listen closely — and you always do — it probably sounds like he’s pleading, which feels both alien and illegal to Minho. He clears his throat. “We can do this without you, Spider. I’m serious. Tell me how to get you set up for remote access, and I’ll —”

“I don’t know how many more times I have to say this for you to understand: You can’t do this without me. You need me.”

Despite what you say, there’s no heat in the way you say it. It sounds like you’re pleading, too; scratching at the door to be let in. He knows you well enough to catch the subtext; to know that you’re not just talking about the job. But Minho can’t make his mouth move. Likewise, he can’t turn away.

Stop looking at her like she’s your future.

Chan doesn’t have time for the thousand of things going unsaid, so he interjects with an exasperated grunt, “Vans.” He points to the clock before gesturing between you and Minho. “Ten minutes, or you’re both walking to Cheongju.”

Neither of you moves once he clears the threshold and disappears again. Say something, he tells himself. Say anything.

He doesn��t.

“You didn’t sleep last night,” you muse, eyes narrowing slightly with concern. It’s not a question. There’s no uncertainty in the way you look at him, although that’s nothing new. “I read somewhere that peppermint gum helps with reflux.”

You shrug, like it’s simply a fact you’re sharing. It’s not. It’s the millionth way you’ve found to say “I love you” without using those words.

Minho slips off the empty workstation desk he’s been sitting on, dusts off the back of his jeans once he’s back at his full height. With a nod of his head, he gestures to your workstation. “Take what you need,” he advises quietly.

When he moves towards the door, you move forward into the room. Your paths cross in the middle, but Minho keeps his distance, too aware of that magnetism of yours to take any risks now. Upon reaching the door, he pauses and looks back over his shoulder to call out your name. As if you were anticipating it, you look up from the desk drawer you’re combing through.

He freezes for a moment, although he doesn’t mean to. You might be the only person capable of catching him off-guard. Once his brain stops lagging, he says only half of what he wants to: “Don’t forget your mask.

Hurriedly, like you really would’ve forgotten, you pull open a drawer and fish out a black gaiter, which you then tuck into the zippered pocket of your jacket. Instantly, Minho’s posture gets a little less rigid. Not for nothing, yours does, too.

“Thanks,” you sigh. The corners of your mouth raise slightly. From what he’s been hearing lately, this might be the closest you’ve been to smiling in weeks. Your reaction stops when you notice the way he’s halfway out of the room. “No need to wait on me. I’ll meet you in the loading dock in a minute.”

Minho stalls, feet unwilling to move, until you go back to gathering items. He nods once, as if you’ll even see his acknowledgment, then slips off into the hallway without you.

The loading dock he’s headed for is on the opposite side of the factory, but his anxiousness propels him there in half the usual time. His team is loitering around the two vans when he reaches them: one unmarked, one branded, both stolen.

Felix grins from the hood of the primary vehicle, where he sits cross-legged. He slaps his hands on the white metal below and proudly states, “I told you it would work.”

“Let me guess.” Minho looks over at Scraps. “You were the one who hot-wired them.”

She glances apologetically at Felix, then turns back to Minho with a shrug and a sheepish smile. “He tried his best,” she sighs. “If we had all day, he probably would’ve succeeded.”

At this, Felix’s grin droops into a cartoonish frown. “What do you mean probably?”

Minho rolls his eyes. “Enough — and go put a hat on, or you’re getting a full balaclava.” He points to the mess of blue hair spilling onto Felix’s shoulders. “If your fashion statement gets us pinged on a security camera, I’ll kill you myself —”

A laugh rings out behind him. He turns on his heel to find Sierra snickering at Felix’s reddening cheeks, both tattooed hands covering her mouth as she does.

“— and you know better,” Minho snarks, pointing straight at her. “Gloves. Now.”

Scraps’ eyes are as wide as the moon when Minho swivels back towards her. She doesn’t give him the opportunity to say it; she’s already shoving her decorated arms into the sleeves of a plain, black jacket and zipping it up as high as it’ll go. He hears relief leave her in a quiet sigh when his focus finds who he’s truly been looking for.

A few meters away, Jeongin is buried so far under the hood of the secondary van that his feet barely touch the ground. With his target now acquired, Minho crosses to the neighboring bay.

“Well?” He demands, “Did you find them?”

The younger one startles at the sudden questioning; there’s a dull thud when he smacks his head on the underside of the hood.

Jeongin groans, “Aigo,” and carefully ducks his head until it clears the obstacle above him. His cheeks are pink and smattered with both dirt and grease — and the mess only gets worse when he mindlessly wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his semi-blackened hand.

“Behind the radiator on this one.” Jeongin then thumbs over his shoulder to the van Felix sits on. “That one was attached to the undercarriage, near the fuel tank.”

With a grunt, Jeongin exhumes himself from the engine compartment and hops to his feet. It’s completely unnecessary, but he drops the tracker he just detached onto the concrete and smashes it under his steel-toed boot.

“You won’t need the GPS blocker anymore, so make sure to turn it off,” he advises. And he clearly didn’t learn his lesson thirty seconds ago because he taps one of his temples, leaving a dirty fingerprint behind. “Otherwise, it’ll interfere with your comms.”

Jeongin then blinks up at Minho like he’s expecting a pat on the head.

Over my dead body.

Minho instead points at the shards of plastic littering the ground. Affect flat, he tells his junior to clean that shit up, which is the closest he will ever fucking get to you did good, kid. The second Minho steps away, Jeongin drops down to hurriedly scoop the broken bits into his palm.

While he waits on the rest of the group — namely you — to roll up, Minho busies himself with checking supplies.

The unmarked van will carry the backup team to a rendezvous point half a kilometer away from the Ulsan facility, just in case. For this reason, it’ll also carry the big guns, which — like the vans themselves — were nicked from corpo rats. The seats inside were gutted immediately to clear out a cargo area. The trip sure as shit won’t be comfortable, but six people and a few ammo bags will fit inside without much issue.

Most importantly, there’s enough room for Minho’s crown jewel: a goddamn, motherfucking anti-tank gun. He’s been dying to try it out since the WraithCo. raid that brought it into his possession, but he has a sinking feeling that he never will.

Moving on to the primary van, Minho notes the logo emblazoned on the side. This one was harder to steal than its counterpart, but you stressed the necessity, and he made it happen. Now, when the infiltration team drives up to the facility, it’ll be under the guise of the outsourced IT company that Ulsan uses for routine maintenance.

According to the data you managed to reap, Ulsan’s made two glaring security errors, likely because they assume they’re infallible — not handling their own shit in-house, and scheduling their tech contractors to pop by on the same dates every month. Both details were barely footnoted in the reports; anyone but you wouldn’t have thought twice about them.

Something twinges in his chest when his thoughts start wandering in your direction, so Minho shakes his head to clear them. It doesn’t work. Instead, it seems to summon you. You step onto the loading dock a few seconds later.

You’ve changed since Minho left the Hub. The lapse in time makes sense now that his eyes sweep over your frame. The black jeans you’re wearing now aren’t chopped halfway up the right side. In order to conceal that highly recognizable part of you, you struggled through the significant extra time it takes to get your artificial foot through the openings — and he didn’t have to tell you to do any of this, unlike the rest of the team.

It’s been so long since you’ve been one of the boots of the ground that he underestimated you. Clearly, he shouldn’t have because you haven’t skipped a single detail. The treads of your boots have been filed down; but the platform sole remains intact, concealing the brand and size, as well as your true height. Specially-designed black gloves cover your hands, so you can utilize whatever touchscreens and keys you come across without leaving your trace behind. Likewise, the gaiter you grabbed at the last minute rests just below your chin, ready to cover your mouth and nose.

His breath catches in his throat when he sees the long-sleeved black top hanging loosely and hiding your figure. He wants to ask if you remember, but he doubts you do. You borrowed it from him so many years ago that it might as well be yours now.

To stop himself from staring, Minho starts to address the group. “Now that our guest of honor has shown up —”

“We still need Jihoon,” you interject with one finger raised, gently asking Minho to wait.

“What?” Minho can’t keep the confusion off his face, and he can’t wrap his head around this curveball you’ve thrown. Incredulously, he scoffs, “It’s a covert break-in.”

There isn’t a single reason he can think of to include the demolitions expert in something requiring finesse.

You don’t respond with words; your eyes flick to Chan, which is enough of a hint. The two of you are planning something — keeping him in the dark about something — but Minho can’t figure out what or why. The leader doesn’t provide much in the way of explanation. All he offers is, “We need a driver and an extra pair of eyes,” as if that’s the whole truth.

Whatever.

The second Jihoon finally walks through the door, Minho immediately starts his briefing.

The main team — including you, Chan, Felix, Sierra, Jihoon, and Minho himself — will head straight to the facility. The reinforcements — Scraps, Changbin, Eunjae, Sunwoo, Hongjoong, and some fucker from Texas known only as “Cowboy” — will wait just outside the property line with range weapons, ready to party with any gatecrashers.

On site, Felix and Sierra will take out security at the gate; only two men guard that post at any given time. Meanwhile, you’ll slip in and disable the remaining security measures: cameras, mainly, although the alarm system is your biggest priority. To get everyone inside, you’ve cloned the badge of a mid-level researcher who, like the Professor, has authorization beyond the front desk.

From there, the interior group will divide into watchdogs and infiltrators. Given the relatively small size of the building, it shouldn’t take long to get you to the control room, where you’ll take a crack at the main computer housing the Beta’s program. If everything goes as planned, you’ll be in and out within 30 minutes.

Nothing ever goes as planned, though. That Ilsan mission was simpler with significantly lower stakes, and it was a fucking nightmare. Minho can’t think about anything else when he crawls into the back of the van next to you.

For over two hours, Minho has been sitting cross-legged on the floor of this godforsaken van. His brain, unlike his body, is wholly fucking incapable of staying still. No matter how hard he tries to ground himself, he can’t shake the chill running down his spine or the voice in his head. It just keeps repeating the same thought, over and over:

This van will be missing passengers on the drive back.

“It’s your turn, Minho.”

His head snaps up. Instead of Atropos and her scissors, it’s Felix staring back at him, smiling curiously. Warmly. Minho’s pulse should ease up at the realization, but it doesn’t.

He clears his throat, although his voice still comes out jagged. “My turn?”

“He’s asking everyone what they’re going to do with their lives when this is all over,” you explain. Minho turns his head to look at you. For once, he can’t decipher the look on your face. You laugh when you squeeze his bent knee gently, adding, “Don't worry. I didn’t have an answer, either.”

But it’s not an answer that he lacks, it’s time.

Don’t you know that I’m already dead?

The van slows considerably, shifting from paved roads to gravel. Then, it stops entirely. Jihoon turns in his seat and squints through the holed, metal divider between the cabin and the back of the van.

“Spider?” He calls out over his shoulder, and it’s no wonder he struggles to identify you. Everyone sitting in this unlit area is cloaked in black from head to toe.

To help him out, you raise your hand and wave. Even if the dark gloves you’re wearing aren’t visible, your smile is. Your voice is just as bright when you chirp, “Over here!”

Minho sees Jihoon smile for the first time in all the years he’s known him. If he was anyone else, that flicker at the corner of his mouth wouldn’t count for shit; but Minho’s no stranger to steel or your uncanny ability to bend it. He knows your impact when he sees it.

“End of the line,” Jihoon reports. “The next time I stop, you’ll need to sneak out the side. I can see a camera positioned directly above the security vestibule, pointing downward from the left. The van will create a blind spot if you stay low to the ground.”

Now, Jihoon’s involvement is starting to make sense. He’s one of only four people who joined the Black Screen within the last year — after the Ilsan disaster, which led to the incorporation of masks into all field ops. Out of the entire organization, his face is one of the only ones that won’t tip off the guards.

Until the next news cycle, Minho thinks ruefully.

Once the driver is satisfied that the passengers are on the same page, he turns around and sets the van back into motion. Every dip in the uneven road below throws your shoulder against Minho’s; and every time you collide, he wants to wrap his arm around you to keep it from happening again. He doesn’t. Eventually, the opportunity disappears along with the faint crunch of gravel beneath the tires.

The brakes squeak slightly when the van stops a second time. Minho can’t hear the conversation Jihoon is making with the security staff from where he sits, just the slow-motion movements of you, Felix, and Sierra as the three of you inch the side door open and spill onto the driveway like molasses.

All Minho has left to do is wait — for you to come back or for shots to be fired. His pulse picks up when seconds slip by without either of those options playing out.

It’s funny, he thinks as he pulls his rifle into his lap, that the thing bringing him comfort now is designed to take it away. His thumb hovers over the selective fire switch, flexing in anticipation. Any second now, all his best laid plans will explode.

It’s only a matter of time until —

“All clear,” comes your voice through static.

Minho flinches. In all the tense silence, he’d completely forgotten about the earpiece he’s wearing. The breath he’d unknowingly been holding leaves him in a hurry, taking the tension in his shoulders with it as he deflates.

“Meet us at the fire exit on the northeast side. I shut off the emergency alert system, too, so we shouldn’t have any issues getting into that stairwell.”

Jihoon is already pulling the van around by the time you finish speaking. In a matter of seconds, he pulls up to the door in question and shifts gears to park.

You’re standing in the doorway when Minho’s feet hit the ground, eyes crinkling when you see him with a smile he can’t otherwise see. He doesn’t know what to do with that, so he addresses Sierra first. She’s got blood on her temple, and Minho can’t tell whose it is.

“You didn’t make a mess, did you?” He asks, frowning slightly.

“This is business, not pleasure, so no.” She rolls her eyes. The sigh she lets out reeks of disappointment. “Wrung out their necks like chickens and shoved their bodies into cabinets.”

Glancing quickly at Minho, Felix figures out where his leader’s eyes are focused. “Not hers,” he clarifies, nodding to Sierra. With the back of his sleeve, he reaches over and gently wipes the blood from her face, like he’s cleaning gochujang off a child. “Didn’t leave a trace, though.”

That’s all Minho cares about, so he asks no further questions. Instead, he checks his watch before looking up to check on you. He doesn’t pose the question, but you answer him, regardless; and when you do, you accompany it with your thumb raised.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“All good!”

You then gesture with that thumb to the stairwell over your shoulder and ask, “Shall we?”, as if you’re inviting him to dance.

“You two —” Minho points to Felix and Sierra respectively, drawing their attention. “Station yourselves along the main hallway. If anyone so much as pokes their head out of a doorway, blow it the fuck off. No witnesses.”

Both nod in acknowledgment, but it’s not enough, not when your life is in his hands. He glares expectantly at them, waits in silence until they get the hint.

In tandem, they repeat, “No witnesses.”

Good enough.

Wordlessly, Minho waves his hand and sends them on their way to the second floor. He doesn’t budge until he sees the tops of their heads through the window, disappearing past the landing. Seconds later, Felix’s voice sounds off in Minho’s ear to advise him that the area is clear.

He turns back to the three people standing behind him to ensure they’re ready to move in. The second he sees the pistol in your grip, his stomach lurches so violently that he really might vomit on his boots.

It’s categorically fucked — so fundamentally, intrinsically wrong — that you’re standing here now with lethal force in your hands. Over ten long years, you’ve never fired a single shot in combat; never stolen the light from someone’s eyes while you’re staring into them. Still, no matter how nauseous the image makes him, the irony of it all can’t be ignored.

You only know how to shoot because he taught you.

“Let’s move out,” Chan says when Minho doesn’t.

Minho takes point with you close behind him. Behind you, Jihoon follows with an inexplicable duffle bag strapped to his shoulder. By now, Minho knows better than to question what’s going on here. He wouldn’t get an honest answer if he did; and Chan makes no excuses for it as he trails after Jihoon up the stairs.

At the top of the landing, you tap Minho’s shoulder, prompting him to stop. When you gesture up ahead, his eyes follow, gaze sweeping down the long corridor towards the southwest side of the building. Near the end of the hall, a pair of glass doors interrupts the path to the server room, which sits further down on an intersecting corridor. Somewhere between that server room and the bulletproof barrier in front of you is your target: the main computer running the show.

All the signage he can spot declares the area secure and for authorized personnel only. You’re neither safe nor sanctioned, but the badge you pull from inside the neck of your — his — shirt will let you pretend to be.

Lim Namseok, it reads.

That poor bastard will probably be dead before sunrise for the things you’re about to do. Minho doesn’t have any higher hopes for himself, but he wonders whether or not you’ll be able to sleep when this is over.

No, he ultimately decides. You won’t.

You keep glancing down at that man’s photograph, swallowing hard like you’re choking down an apology. Committing those features to memory, as if you’re obligated to remember each one of the creases in his forehead.

It’s not a question of if that face will pop up in your nightmares but when.

Minho’s both unwilling and unable to let you keep torturing yourself, so he shifts his assault rifle to his non-dominant hand and reaches out to you. Neither of you says a word as he gently removes the badge from between your fingers and lets the lanyard unfurl. You watch the ID flutter downwards until it rests against your chest; his eyes don’t leave your face.

“Come on,” he says softly. “There are fifty-one-million Namseoks out there that still need their asses saved.”

You don’t want to laugh. Your furrowed eyebrows inform him that you’re trying very hard not to, like your half-hearted glare will override the muted chuckle that slips through your mask. His attempt at levity worked, though. You start moving again when he does.

On the way to the first set of security doors, the four of you pass both of your lookouts, who’ve taken up posts half and three-quarters’ way up the corridor, respectively. Not for nothing, both look bored by the lack of action.

When Felix sees Minho, he complains, “Why is it always unpaid fucks like us who have to work on weekends? Shouldn’t these goons be here to justify their salaries?”

He’s not wrong. This place is a fucking ghost town, and although the datashard you combed through said this would be the case, the emptiness still makes the hairs on the back of Minho’s neck stand up. Whether or not he can put his finger on it, something feels off.

“Wouldn’t mind a desk job,” Chan muses, more to himself than to the rest of the group.

Minho leans into the assumption that he wasn’t meant to hear it. If he was, he’d have no choice but to point out that Chan hardly leaves his fucking desk as it is. So, to keep the peace, he keeps his smart mouth shut.

When several more meters come and go, the four of you reach the security checkpoint. With the badge back in hand and nerves evident in your tone, you hold it to the scanner and mutter, “Here goes nothing.”

Nothing is precisely what you get. No sirens wail, no trap doors give way to swallow you all down. The glass panels simply part with a click before sliding outwards along their respective tracks. Your shoulders sag with relief, unlike Minho’s. He carries tension in every single one of his muscle cells; and he only grows more rigid with each passing second.

To keep his pulse down, Minho counts each step he takes towards the control room. It’s an exercise in futility, of course. He’s a goddamn mess, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

16…17…18…

Present moment excluded, he can only think of one other in which he’s ever experienced fear. Real fear, that is; the kind that begs his limbs to lock. It’s no coincidence that he can barely function now. How could he, with the common denominator trailing behind him like a shadow?

19….20…21 —

Suddenly, you hiss, “Shit!”

By the time he wheels himself around, you’re frozen in place with your pistol aimed through a doorway that wasn’t open when he passed it. A woman in a lab coat stands there with her hand still on the handle, eyes doubling in size when they land on you. Immediately, the coffee mug in her hand drops, sending both liquid and shards of ceramic flying. Both of her hands are in the air before the pieces can settle at her feet.

You fire once, panicked, and strike her in the upper arm. It’s a shit job, one that’ll give her time to call for help before she bleeds out on the floor, so Minho’s instinct takes over.

“Turn around,” he tells you.

You do.

From her knees, the woman clutches her bicep and begs Minho to lower his weapon. She still wants to have kids someday, she tells him, sobbing. She’s too young to die.

Unaffected, Minho aims at the space between her brows. “Aren’t we all?”

Bang!

Her body drops to the floor like a bag of cement, lifeless. Although the shot still echoes, it’s otherwise dead silent until you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Stepping to the side to look at you, Minho furrows his brows. “Don’t be. We can’t leave witnesses.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t do it right,” you clarify, voice wavering but louder than before. “You taught me better than that.”

For a minute, he forgets where he is; loses track of the two people standing on eggshells behind you both. There’s definitely still a corpse lying two meters away, but all he sees in his peripheral vision is proof: You may have chosen this life, but this life hasn’t chosen you.

Despite the bullets and the viscera making a mess of the tile nearby, you’re still the person he met a decade ago — someone with the instincts to do what’s needed but too much heart to be swallowed by them.

He hopes you never change.

“There may be more people that we haven’t accounted for.” Chan’s reminder forces three pairs of eyes to focus on him. He urges, “We need to get this done. Spider, where’s the control room?”

With his gun and without a word, Minho gestures to an office several doors down from where the group currently stands. In giant, black letters, it states, “CONTROL ROOM”. Your answer would be redundant at this point, so you don’t bother giving it. Moreover, Chan can fucking read.

“Oh,” is all the leader says before the group presses onward.

You swipe the badge again when you reach the control room. As was the case with the previous door, this one opens without any theatrics. All four of you slip inside before they close on their own, several moments later.

As soon as he steps foot inside, Jihoon whistles. “Damn.”

Damn is right.

The room feels even larger than the dimensions he saw on the blueprints; and with the forced air flowing from the overhead vent, it’s far less welcoming than Minho expected. Halfway between an operating theater and an airplane, the crisp whiteness of his surroundings seem both sterile and stale. He’d wash the feeling off himself if he could, but he can’t, so his skin continues to crawl.

Consuming the back half of the room, a U-shaped desk boasts multiple monitors, keyboards, and switches. Minho has no fucking clue what any of this equipment is supposed to do — he doesn’t give a shit, either — but he sees your eyes go wide with that childlike wonder he’s always been stupefied by.

Your hands twitch, likely from a desire to touch every surface they can find, so you hold them close to your chest while you look around. After studying all the options at your disposal, you take a seat behind the monitor at the left end of the desk.

Jihoon asks what everyone else is wondering: “Is the main computer not the one in the middle?”

Normally, this is the sort of thing you'd laugh at. You don’t, though; you barely seem to have heard it. Transfixed, you simply mumble something about that computer being hardwired to the server room. Minho doesn’t catch the rest of your explanation, but he hears the words “temperature control” and “ventilation” before concentration makes your voice peter out mid-sentence.

The next few minutes pass by without you noticing. Nobody speaks, nobody breathes too loudly for fear of interrupting your train of thought. That’s not to say it’s silent; far from it. Your rhythmic typing takes over the room, and the effect it has on Minho is borderline hypnotic.

A siren song, sort of.

In response to its call, Minho’s mind picks up and races from the room you’re in — back to the Hub, where this all started; to the countless hours he’s spent just like this, watching you work. As mundane as those moments might be in the grand scheme of things, they’re still his happiest.

Maybe he’d count this moment among them if the Sword of Damocles wasn’t swinging so blatantly overhead.

Out of nowhere, you slam your fist down on the desk, startling everyone else enough to flinch. It’s not just the noise that has Minho, Chan, and Jihoon on high alert; it’s the fact that none of them have ever seen you explode like this.

“Goddamn it!”

Immediately, Minho rushes over to where you’re sitting. His eyes dart from your face to the screen, then back again, finding no obvious answers for your distress.

“What?” He demands, “What’s wrong?”

Eyes glued to the monitor, you continue to mutter, “No, no, no —“

“Spider, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on, so we can fix it.”

“They fucking —” You smack the desk again, like hitting something will knock your thoughts loose. “Fuck!”

For a second, you let the rage simmer. Then, the defeat you still haven’t articulated settles in. You slump down in your chair with your face in your hands, forcing your breathing to slow.

“They must’ve added it after the Professor defected. I can’t — It wasn’t referenced anywhere on that datashard, Minho. There was nothing.”

All your panic is funneled directly into the palms of your gloves, making it difficult to decipher what you’re saying. Minho leans closer just in time to hear you cry, “They built a failsafe.”

Minho is out of his fucking depth. In fact, he’s drowning.

“A failsafe?” He asks, “What, like a back-up program?”

“No, as in, any attempts to delete or alter the program data will invalidate the study.”

Based on your phrasing, Minho assumes you’re quoting something directly. Swallowing back the acid rising in his throat, he opens his mouth to ask you what the fuck that means. Before he can hurl his question out, you look up at him with abject hopelessness in your eyes; and suddenly, he can’t speak.

“All of their research subjects will be purged,” you spit.

On the other side of the desk, Chan and Jihoon exchange a look — a grim one, but not one of surprise. They’ve arrived at the conclusion before Minho can leap to it, and they’re still talking without saying a single goddamn thing out loud.

Minho can’t take it anymore. He shouts, “What the fuck does that mean?”

“If Spider wipes the beta, everyone with that chip goes with it,” Chan sighs. He scrubs his hands over his face until it’s red. “If they don’t drop dead immediately, it’s not outside the realm of possibility that their brains will be permanently and irreparably fucked as a result.”

Now what?

Minho’s legs grow less steady by the second. He presses his palm flush against the desktop to keep his knees from buckling. He knows damn well it won’t make a difference; his spinning head will bring him down if his body doesn’t. Everything — including the pulse hammering in his ears — is simultaneously too quiet and too loud.

What the fuck was this all for? The time, the energy, the lives everyone keeps sacrificing to this fucking cause — any of it.

All of it.

What’s the point of fighting this hard if Ulsan will always be ten steps ahead?

“Minho!”

His head snaps in your direction only to see that you weren’t the one calling his name. He blinks, confused. Who —?

“Minho, they’re coming! Lim Namseok — terminated yesterday. His badge — it flagged —”

Scraps’ voice comes shrouded in gunfire. The weak connection makes it even harder to hear her; whatever isn’t exploding is crackling due to the distance. Each word fizzles at the end, as if lit by a fuse.

“— to get out —”

Hand flying to his left ear, Minho presses down the button at the center of his ear piece. “Who’s coming?” He barks, “Scraps, what the fuck is going on?”

When she doesn’t respond, someone else takes over.

“It’s the fucking retention team. A sniper took Eunjae out before any of us even saw them coming,” Hongjoong yells. “They’ve got a unit on the ground and one in the air. I’ll try to shoot the chopper down, but you need to get out of there now.”

“Hongjoong, do as much as you can to tear them up, but don’t push your luck. If you’re outnumbered, fall back before we lose anybody else. Do you copy?”

He doesn’t get a response.

Jihoon moves closer to the door to listen for any incoming footsteps. Hearing none, he growls, “Who the fuck called the boogeymen? Don’t they only deal with defectors?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Chan waves him off, “They’re here, and we need to be anywhere else.”

Despite what he just said, the leader doesn’t move; doesn’t budge a centimeter in any direction. Chan simply glances across the room at you, and when you stare back at him, it’s with the same, eerie calmness. Some quiet resignation that makes no fucking sense under the circumstances.

“If I can’t kill the program entirely, I can make it inoperable long enough for the existing chips to be removed,” you say, like you’ve already had this idea in your pocket. “Force quit, so to speak.”

You don’t elaborate, leaving Minho’s frustration to drive him halfway out of his goddamn mind. Worse, you ignore the way he’s staring so fucking desperately at you and address the person standing several meters behind him.

“Jihoon, did you bring the party favors?”

In response, Jihoon slips the duffel bag off his shoulder and holds it out to you. Only then do you move. Chan follows behind as you cross towards the door; neither one of you says a thing when you pass Minho, who’s still cemented in place.

“What the fuck are you planning?” He demands, although his voice shakes. “What fucking secrets have you been keeping, and why?”

Once you secure the duffle bag on your own shoulder, you finally bring yourself to look at him. Above your mask, your eyes soften. They crinkle at the corners, as if you’re smiling, but there are tears brimming at your lash line, threatening to fall.

Please don’t look at me like you don’t have a future.

“For what it’s worth,” you start. Then, you sniffle, breath hitching as you try to get the rest out. “You’ve always had my heart. All of it — every stupid piece.”

And with nothing more than a nod to Jihoon, you’re gone, running out the door with Chan towards the server room before Minho can say a single word to you; before he can even think of chasing after you.

In the blink of an eye, biceps wrap around him like a vice, pinning his arms behind his back and gripping tighter with every kick he tries to use for leverage.

“Spider!” Minho yells.

He fights with all he has to break free of Jihoon’s hold, to throw one or both of them to the ground, to get to you, but the older man doesn’t bat an eye. As if Minho weighs nothing at all, Jihoon begins hauling him back down the hallway towards the fire exit.

“You’re going the wrong way,” he grunts as he thrashes. “Let me — go —”

Jihoon doesn’t say a word, doesn’t waste a breath, doesn’t stop pulling. Whatever strength he has left in the reserves, it’s wielded against Minho, not on making apologies.

Minho bucks again, throwing all the weight from his legs to his back. It does nothing apart from exhaust him, but he can’t stop. He’ll never stop.

“Spider!”

Close to feral, his anguished shouts devolve to desperate, growling noises. “I swear to god, I’ll bury you for this, Lee —”

He digs his heels into the ground to slow the older man’s momentum. His knees could snap at the force with which he’s resisting. He doesn’t give a shit if they do; he’ll crawl to you if he has to.

“I’ll splatter your brains against the fucking wall when I get my hands on you,” Minho spits. “I’m your commanding fucking officer!”

The next time he kicks, someone grabs him by the ankles to help carry his restless body down the stairs. Felix, judging by that pathetic, apologetic look in his eyes. Minho resolves to kill him, too, when he gets his limbs back. He’ll burn the whole goddamn compound to the ground for standing in his way; for letting you do this.

It should be me.

You’re the best of them, and they’re letting you die.

It should be me.

They’re going to stand here, watching while you —

A sob he wasn’t prepared for bursts out of his chest in the form of your real name. With it, his threats dissolve into pleas, so goddamn pitiful in comparison to the violent way he still flails.

“Please!” He cries, voice raw. Making himself louder doesn’t make him heard. Incapable of doing anything else, he begs, “Please don’t let her do this. She’s all I have — All I want — Goddamnit, please! I need to get her out of there —”

So useless.

“I have to get her out,” he sobs with one final burst of energy rattling through otherwise spent limbs.

The arms and hands around him still don’t relent. Over and over, he repeats his only thought in rapid succession until his voice gives out:

“I have to get her out.”

Two seconds before they drag his body over the threshold, the whole facility shakes, like the earth below has opened up to swallow it down. Even from the opposite side of the building, Minho can hear shattered glass hitting the ground like sheets of rain. With the heavy, black cloud swirling over the southwest section of roof, he might’ve believed in some storm.

He might have.

But now, Minho sees the flames licking at the sky above, and he no longer believes in anything.

There are 244 kilometers between Cheongju and Changwon. By car, the distance flies by in fewer than three hours, assuming the expressways aren’t clogged with corporate commuters. All things considered, it’s not a trip that disrupts a person’s day. It’s straightforward, and above all, it’s easy.

What isn’t easy is crawling on your stomach underneath a blanket of smoke, only to drag half of someone else’s body weight with you down a flight of stairs.

There’s nothing straightforward about slipping through alleyways and ditches, trying to avoid nearby police blockades as they pop up; or attempting to conceal clothes that are singed in some places and actively smoking in others.

That distance does not fly by in three hours, even though the expressways aren’t clogged, because there’s disruption after disruption:

Starting on foot, only to steal — and later dump — a car when the walk becomes unbearable.

Wandering blindly without a working mobile, unable to access assistance or a map, and learning that your best guesses are wrong turns more often than not.

Avoiding phones in general due to the localized surge in cell surveillance, knowing even a coded message could wind up with you and any recipients dead.

Stopping repeatedly with burning lungs to check on someone in far worse shape than you, pretending not to hurt for their sake.

No, the estimates are all fucked.

It takes twenty-one hours to travel the 244 kilometers between Cheongju and Changwon; and you feel the weight of every single one of them when you hobble through the front doors of the factory just to drop, exhausted, onto the floor.

News of your survival spreads like dandelion seeds throughout the compound. Within minutes, it seems, everyone you’ve ever made eye-contact with swings by the clinic to pat you on the back.

One of them — Sierra, of all people — does you the greatest kindness of all: bringing you a change of clothes and then refusing to stick around for a chat.

Half of them have never spoken to you before now, though you try not to hold that fact against them.

Almost all of them throw the word “brave” around like it’s weightless.

You know better.

What you did was useless in the grand scheme of things, and knowing that is heavy. Crushing, even, so much so that you find it hard to catch your breath. No, you’re sure, what you did was peak cowardice.

You need to get out of this clinic. You need all of these well-wishers to stop looking at you like some tragic hero. You need —

You push off the cot you’re occupying without giving it a second thought. The lightheadedness threatens to take you right back down again, but the feeling passes as quickly as it comes. You stay on your feet, even though you sway, by sheer force of will.

That’s it. There you go.

Doc gave you a once-over when you were first hauled in. Neither one of you truly felt like you were a priority. She may have been justifiably distracted, but in forming her expert opinion, she saw your bruised — not broken — body and declared you “good enough”. You take that glowing assessment at face value now and promptly discard the bit about “needing to stay for observation”.

Her primary concern is that you shouldn’t sleep with your concussion. Baseless, you think ruefully. You’ve been awake for two days and don’t see that changing any time soon.

Before you attempt to make a break for it, you glance at the far end of the clinic. There, a white screen stretches longways across most of the area for privacy, leaving two exits on either side. You don’t see the point of it; it doesn’t hide a thing. Two work lights shine so brightly from their spots by the wall that every movement in front of them is broadcasted on the thin, nylon divider.

As expected, the shadow puppet you’re looking for is still hovering around an unmoving mass in the center of the screen.

Chan.

He’s alive, even though he doesn’t look it. He’s talking, too, which is a marked improvement from the state he was in just a few hours ago. The morphine drip must be helping, you figure. Until now, he had a belt between his teeth to quell the pain, which would’ve kept him quiet.

Otherwise, there’s only one explanation for the corner he’s turned over the past few hours: The love of his life hasn’t left his side since he was carried into the clinic; and he knows she’s there.

You’ve learned the hard way that both of those conditions must be met to make a difference.

One without the other isn’t enough.

You can’t hear what they’re murmuring to each other, and you don’t want to. It’s theirs. Thankfully, their hushed tones give you the only confirmation you need: neither of your pseudo-parents will catch and scold you for leaving against medical advice. They’re oblivious; they’re fine; they have each other. You have —

Do you, though?

The person you want to see is coincidentally the only one in the entire compound that hasn’t come by seeking proof of life.

At first, you feared the worst; ripped your cuticles to shreds when the faces passing by weren’t his. No one mentioned his name or asked you if you’d seen him, as if there was no him left to see.

Then, you saw Jihoon walking around with his cheekbone stitched together. There’s some sick comfort in knowing that Minho at least lived long enough to beat his knuckles bloody. You’ve apologized to Jihoon three times now for the effect you caused, but he’s shrugged off every single one of them, like yesterday was just another day at the office.

Wasn’t it?

You creep out the door undetected and make your way to the nearest stairwell. The quiet throughout the halls in the factory isn’t comforting in the way it used to be. No part of the deeply familiar landscape is.

It should be.

It’s the only real home you’ve ever known — one you thought for sure you’d never see again.

But every empty doorway you pass may as well have a body in it. You still see that woman and her unspent aspirations everywhere you look. You still hear the way she begged for her life before she lost it.

And when the stairs ahead finally come into view — ones you’ve taken a million times — they’re insurmountable. Your body aches automatically, like you’re still pulling Chan’s phantom weight out of the fire. That memory is muscle-deep now, you fear. There’s no getting rid of it.

At the landing, you force yourself forward. The siren song only you can hear is far stronger than the call of your own bed. It lures you around the corner whether or not you’re ready to follow it.

You aren’t, you realize as your steps continue automatically. The guilt threatens to eat you alive, and frankly, you’re prepared to let it. You deserve it.

Somehow, despite your bullshit insanity and your numerous violations of trust, you still managed to skate through with a life left to live. Considering what you did, you figure it’s only fair that you pay this price — feel this fucking awful — for the rest of your unearned years.

Maybe.

You don’t know.

You’re in uncharted territory now because your plan didn’t include an after.

As your footsteps draw closer to Minho’s room, it dawns on you that you don’t have a plan at all now. You don’t know what the fuck to say to him, let alone where to start. You wonder whether or not you should bother at all.

If Minho knows you’re back at the compound, that means he made a choice not to find you. You have no right — none whatsoever — to take away his options a second time.

He’ll never forgive you, you tell yourself. If the roles were reversed, you’d do the same.

Maybe.

You don’t know.

You can’t take those hypotheticals and draw conclusions because Minho has never — would never — put you in the position you stranded him in. He wouldn’t hijack a mission you created or exclude you from a half-baked, shittily-executed contingency plan. He’d never force a friend to make some destructive, deathbed promise; wouldn’t have you dragged out of blast radius, kicking and screaming and fighting and spitting, just to drop you in a front-row seat.

He’s the best of all of you, and you did your absolute worst to him.

It’s selfish, walking up to his door now. You know it is. Despite that, you can’t make your body stop moving now that it’s started; can’t keep that boulder from rolling down hill. One last look, you tell yourself. That’s all you need.

Even if he never looks you in the eyes again, this can be enough.

You raise your hand and reach out to the scraped-up wood with your knuckles leading the way. They’re dirty, you note, caked with soot in every crease. They shouldn’t be. You scrubbed them raw to get the blood and plasma off your skin. It’s possible — likely, even — that your brain is fried beyond fixing, and that you’re imagining things.

Maybe.

You don’t know.

You don’t hear an answer when you finally bring yourself to knock. No, you correct yourself, that’s an answer in and of itself. Acting selfishly once again, you don’t heed that silent reply. You don’t knock again, either. Heart hammering against your ribs, you wrap your hand around the knob and twist.

Part of you wants to laugh. Of course, his is the only door in the whole fucking factory that doesn’t squeak horrifically on its hinges. His tolerance level for annoyance has always been low.

Inching your way over the threshold, you call out, “Minho?”

And once again, you don’t hear a response.

Standing now inside his room, you don’t see him — not at first. He certainly doesn’t see you. His back leans against the window frame while he slumps on the ledge, presumably staring off in the opposite direction through the glass. His defeated posture is as telling as the position he’s in.

The Minho you know never sits with his back to a door. It’s too big a risk and too broad a target; an invitation for a nasty surprise. He’s said it a thousand times: whoever kills him needs to look him in the eyes.

This is what it looks like when a person’s given up, you think.

This is what you did.

Throat thick, you call his name again. This time around, it barely qualifies as a whisper; all your breath is caught up in that tangle in your chest. There’s no way he heard it because you barely did. Really, you should —

“Fuck off,” Minho growls without turning around. “I won’t tell you a third time.”

His words don’t carry the same venom they usually do in circumstances like this. He just sounds hollow, and it devastates you so completely to hear the emptiness that tears start falling without your permission. You don’t move from where you stand, too overwhelmed to process both ambulation and falling apart at the seams.

The lack of footsteps tips him off to your ongoing, unwanted presence.

“When will you people give up? ” After slamming his left fist against the window frame, he pushes himself abruptly off the ledge to his feet. “I don’t want your goddamn sympathy. All I’ve ever fucking wanted is —”

He wheels around then, fists clenched and ready to swing. All the air in his lungs leaves him when he sees you standing there. The rest of that thought is strangled, and it drops lifeless on the floor.

“You.”

You can’t guess what comes next: screaming, blame, silence, violence. You don’t even know which of those things would be worst — just that he’s entitled to all of the above, and you’ve earned the lot.

What you end up with isn’t an outcome you ever would’ve anticipated. It’s him, his quivering mouth, and his exhausted, red-rimmed eyes taking several steps forward on shaky legs. It’s a desperate bid to close the distance, and a look built on so many conflicting emotions that you can’t even begin to take inventory.

At first, your hammering heart tells you to back away; that he may hate you enough to hurt you.

But he doesn’t.

He falls to his knees in front of you when his legs ultimately give out. Boneless, he crumples forward onto his palms until his head hangs low between his arms. From where you’re standing, it almost looks like he’s praying. That is, until you notice the way his shoulders shake.

Of all the people you’ve met in your life, Minho is the only one who seemed to be incapable of crying. Nausea swells now that he proves you wrong. It feels like a violation to see him this way, especially knowing that you’re the reason for the state he’s in.

Through a clenched jaw, he begs for answers you didn’t anticipate needing to give:

“I’m hallucinating, aren’t I? I’ve finally lost my fucking mind?”

Oh.

Without a second thought, you fall to your knees, too. Chrome and carbon fiber scrape against concrete as you scoot yourself closer, and you pray that your proximity will be proof enough that you’re here.

It’s not.

“I left you for dead, and now I’m seeing ghosts. Is that it?”

Heartbroken, you try your best to get through, “Minho, no.”

Tentatively, you reach out to touch his shoulder, thinking that you might be able to ground him, even if you can’t comfort him. Before your fingertips find him, he senses your movement and lifts his head. Your hands automatically reroute to claim either side of his face, fingers sliding into unkempt hair. To your surprise, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, Minho studies your features intently, like he’s ruling out translucence; like his sanity is on the line.

Maybe it is.

More desperately than you ever have before, you drink down the sight of him. Beautiful, you think, even like this.

Now that you’re able to see his face in full, you find it tear-streaked. Somehow less alarmingly, his right temple is scraped to hell and back, while his left is black-and-blue. It’s a perfect portrait of the fist that struck him. The darkest shades of indigo demarcate where the knuckles dug in deepest; and the scabbed, scarlet lines on his other side illustrate the state of the ground he fell to.

Gravel.

You have to stop yourself from asking who hurt him. After all, it doesn’t fucking matter whose name he’d drop. You already know who’s to blame.

Nevertheless, Minho sees the question in your eyes, and he tells you, “I tried to run in after you once the bomb went off. After the fire started.”

Of course he did. What did you expect?

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, as if that’ll ever be enough. It doesn’t and won’t erase what you did, yet you repeat it anyway, “I’m so sorry.”

Opening your mouth was a mistake, you quickly realize. The dam breaks, and you can’t keep the words from spilling out. They all pile up, overlapping in time and urgency.

Every word you say comes out in one breath; sputtered, as if your head has finally broken through the surface of rushing water. “I should’ve told you about the contingency plan, but I knew you’d try to take my place, and I couldn’t —”

“I couldn’t leave you there,” he swears, as if you left him with any other choice. “Even if I was too late to save you, I needed to bring you home.”

Minho suddenly shifts, prompting your hands to fall from his face. To erase the distance he’s created, he sits back on his knees and pulls you into the space between them. You melt into his body when his arms wrap around you. Just as easily, you give in to the thousandth conflicting reason you’ve found to cry:

He’s never held you like this before.

With his cheek pressed to the side of your bowed head, you can feel his runaway tears. Though his voice wavers, his intentions are rock solid. “I fought like hell to get back to you. They had to knock me out just to get me into the fucking van. I didn’t want to leave you. I swear, I wouldn’t —”

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t stop the rollout,” you cry. “Keeping you in the dark was the only way to keep you safe.” You bury your face into the front of his shirt and repeat it even more emphatically, “Minho, I’m so fucking sorry.”

For a moment, he stays quiet. As curious as you are about his silence, you don’t pull away to look up at him. You think you’d rather actually die than sacrifice a single second of the closeness you walked through hell and back to find.

Eventually, without prompting, Minho does speak. His voice is so soft that his question hardly reaches you. “Why did you do it?”

You pause, unsure of which part of your explanation he wants repeated. If he’s truly asking you to start over from the top, you will. You’re prepared to rake yourself over those coals forever, but you doubt he has the time.

“In the control room,” he explains when you don’t arrive at the point yourself. “You told me that you love me, and then you ran off to blow yourself up. Why did you leave without letting me respond?”

Once again, you’re thrown; so disoriented that you can’t find the starting line. There were several reasons for running out the way you did: fear that he’d stop you if he caught on too quickly, or that he’d follow before Jihoon could drag him to safety. More than anything, as you sheepishly admit, “I didn’t think you’d say it back.”

He goes silent again. His arms pull you even closer, though you didn’t think it was possible.

“I think Medusa had it easy,” he confesses, sounding almost self-conscious for the first time in his life.

Though you’re caught off-guard, you don’t interrupt him.

He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “I think my curse has it all backwards. I turn to stone when people look at me, not the other way around.”

At this, you finally unearth your face from where it’s buried in his t-shirt. His body goes slightly slack without your frame to hold him up; the look on his face is just as deflated.

Turning in your spot to face him, you frown, but you tell him the truth. “I’m not as good at reading you as I thought I was.”

“Say it again.”

You blink.

Minho lifts his hand and cups your cheek. “Please,” he begs, thumb brushing over your skin. “Say it again, so I can get it right this time.”

You lean into his palm, allowing the warmth of it to radiate until you feel it everywhere — feel him everywhere. From there, as is always the case, the reflex takes over. “I love you. I think I always have.”

“I love you,” Minho echoes emphatically. “And unfortunately for you, I think I always will.”

It strikes like a pickaxe, sending cracks through a well-built wall. You swear you can hear the pieces of it falling. If you look closely, you can see the light as it rushes in.

There you are, you think. I knew you were in there somewhere.

He kisses you then, scrambling your brain so thoroughly that you almost forget it’s the first time he ever has. But he’s no stranger to you, and he proves it. Calloused hands maneuver you into his lap without resistance, without interruption, and lean arms snake around you as you straddle him, pinning you against his chest.

In an instant, you thread your fingers through his hair, hellbent on clinging to whatever parts of him you can get your hands on. That desperate grip of yours has always made him lose his mind; tonight isn’t any different. He groans into your mouth when you tug those strands now, proving that you’re no stranger, either.

His tongue flicks over your bottom lip, like he’s scratching at the door to be let in. You let him, let out some needy, mewling sound as he licks into your mouth to claim it.

Yours, you think. Yours, yours, yours.

When he unexpectedly pulls away from you, those little whines of yours only get louder. Kiss-bitten, Minho’s lips flatten into a thin line that indicates he’s fighting off a smile.

“Spider, I know vulnerability is your thing,” he sighs. His left hand releases its hold on the bottom of your thigh. With it, he gestures to the other side of the room. “But did you mean to leave the door open for this?”

Whipping your head around, you confirm that you did not, in fact, close the door behind you. Heat rises to your face before you can stop it. No matter how thoroughly you rack your brain, you come up short. There’s no excuse— not even a bad one — for a cybersecurity expert being this abysmally accessible offline.

You’re in the middle of questioning your qualifications for the role you occupy when Minho gently pats the side of your leg, wordlessly asking you to leave his lap. With great difficulty and a dash of awkwardness, you do. Just as soon as you’re back on your feet, your body riots. All the exhaustion and soreness you’ve been ignoring screams for acknowledgement.

Minho must hear it.

“Bed,” he murmurs, punctuating his instruction with a quick kiss to your temple.

Also a first, you note.

Despite your long history of entanglements, you’ve never once ended up in his sheets. Your heart flutters involuntarily at the prospect; the fever-grade burning in your cheeks only gets worse. Thankfully, with his back now turned to you, Minho doesn’t see how eagerly you stagger towards the stolen bed frame in the corner. You hope he doesn’t hear the relieved moan you let out when you collapse in an aching heap on his mattress.

Across the room, the lock clicks. Footsteps follow so quietly that you would’ve missed them if you didn’t have his gait committed to memory. The person walking back to you looks unfamiliar, though — somehow. There’s no trademark sharpness at the edges now. There’s no want darkening his eyes, but something delicate that softens them.

It’s need, you realize when he comes to drape himself over you. It’s gentle, the way he compensates for your strained muscles and takes it upon himself to shed your clothes, layer by layer. And it’s trust, finally letting him see the way you exist on your own — with your artificial leg removed from the equation and set carefully off to the side.

After positioning himself between your thighs, Minho pauses. His forearms rest on either side of your head, caging you in against the pillow below. Time doesn’t seem to pass while he gazes down at you, and you certainly don’t mind the delay. Of all your moments, this one — here, with him — is your happiest.

“In case it doesn’t go without saying,” he murmurs, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. “I forgive you for doing what you had to do.”

Blinking quickly doesn’t do much to dispel the tears prickling in the corners of your eyes. You bite your bottom lip and nod to the extent that you can. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“Do me a favor, though?”

“Anything.”

“Kiss me,” he requests, and you do.

When your mouth is finally on his, he rolls his hips forward with deliberate precision, length sliding through your arousal until he enters you, groaning. He maintains that slow, careful pace; coaxes you open for him until the stretch melts from pain to pleasure.

Eloquent as ever, you mewl with your lips still pressed to his. It’s muffled, of course, but there’s no context to miss. “Oh, my god.”

Once you acclimate to his size, Minho could ramp up the intensity if he wanted to. He doesn’t. He takes his time, grinds against you so perfectly that you’d never dream of rushing through this.

At this pace, every stroke hits deeper than the last; each languid drag of his cock along your walls converts more and more of your thoughts to static.

It’s such a change-up from every other time you’ve wound up underneath him. Part of you wishes that you could scrap all those trysts and pretend that this is your first. In a way, you suppose, it is. There’s a drastic difference between being fucked by Minho and being loved by him. For obvious reasons, you don’t plan on going back to the way it was before.

His length grazes your g-spot, pulling a whimper out of you. Dizzy from the sensation, you don’t notice the way your cunt clenches down on him until he curses under his breath.

“Shit,” he moans, “Wish you knew how perfect you feel wrapped around me. I swear, I’m not leaving this bed as long as you’re in it.”

Another stroke hits you exactly where you crave him most.

“Please,” you gasp, back arching off the bed. He leans in to capitalize on the length of neck you’ve left exposed; the heat of his tongue on your flesh drives you absolutely insane. “R-right there, Minho. Please, I’m so close.”

Other people have described Minho as defiant, but you have to disagree. He does precisely what you beg of him, angling each thrust to get you gushing around him. And even after he has you shaking underneath him, he refuses to slack off.

The orgasm he pulls from you is so overwhelming that you feel it tingling in your scalp, resonating down your spine until every nerve in your body is a live wire. You’re still somewhere in the stratosphere when Minho unravels, twitching and spilling inside of you until he’s got nothing left to give.

Spent, he pulls out of your heat, maneuvers himself carefully around you, and collapses at your side to catch his breath.

His eyes are closed when you regain enough motor function to turn your head his way. Across his forehead, stray strands of black hair stick to a thin veil of sweat. The slow rise and fall of his chest says he’s halfway to sleep, and with how hypnotic you find it all, you’re nearly there yourself.

Just a few more minutes, you tell yourself. It’s too hard to look away from him. You’d never had the chance to see him this way before, and you know better now than to waste it.

“Please don’t ever stop looking at me like that,” he mumbles with his eyes still closed.

Your quiet laughter doesn’t prompt him to look at you, but it does spark the hint of a smile. “Like what, Minho?”

“Like I’m your future.”

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

series taglist:

@saintriots, @mal-lunar-28, @dabiscrustyfeet @ldysmfrst @obeythemasters @moni-logue

stray kids permanent taglist:

@variety-is-the-joy-of-life @sourkimchi

multi permanent taglist:

@jihopesjoint @bahng-chrizz, @/variety-is-the-joy-of-life

resources used

regarding prosthetic limbs: tiktok users @/bren_hucks @/footlessjo @/alex1leg @/bionickick; amputee coalition regarding hacking + world-building: gurps: cyberpunk guidebook by loyd blankenship

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