#that the memory of city doesn’t hurt anymore

[thetarttfuldickhead]

As much as Jamie grew up a City boy, there’s no questioning his loyalty to Richmond now. He won’t trash talk his old team or celebrate when scoring against them, no, but he runs with the greyhounds now and is perfectly happy to do so, right? (It wasn’t always like that, to be sure, but these days? Oh, yeah. COYGH.)

But. When there’s a derby. When it’s City vs. United, blue vs. red, all that goes out the window, and Jamie’s blood runs the colour of the sky and he’s screaming at the telly with Georgie on the line and for a while there he’s not even a football player, yeah, he’s just a Manchester kid and the lines of loyalty were drawn long ago.

It’s not something he talks about, probably. Doesn’t want there to be questions, like, or doubt about where his heart truly lies. It ain’t like that anyhow, it really is just for the derbys. Often enough it’s a match game for Richmond too, so he doesn’t even get to watch the games and that’s fine. But when it’s not and when he can… Blue moon, baby. Rising high over the child he once were, and the man he grew up to become, and they might not have a lot of stuff in common, really, but they both know that United is going down.

#i may or may not have watched the city-united game today #and there were Thoughts #for a while i think city was a painful thing for jamie #the club he grew up with and the club he loved #and the club he had to leave several times over in spite of not really wanting to #but these days i think he’s happy enough with richmond #and who he is at richmond #that the memory of city doesn’t hurt anymore #jamie tartt #meta #meta-ish anyway? #my stuff

[dreaming-medium]

No Contact

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word Count: 7.6k

Tags: ANGST with a happy ending, amnesia, memory loss, grief, pining, yearning, hurt/comfort

Summary: It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen. You weren't supposed to be in that car, but you were. When you lose your memories from the incident, Chan is ordered to stay away for your recovery's sake; but it takes a larger toll on him than anyone could have imagined. Until one day, he just can't take it anymore.

A/N: inspired by this post. Angst ahoy <3 I had too much fun writing this. Maybe I like writing emotions. Enjoy <3

—————————————————————

No contact. That’s what Chan was told was best for you. That’s what was going to help your healing process. 

No contact whatsoever. No texts, no calls, no little surprise visits. No fucking contact. None. 

He was told it would just hurt you if he talked to you— that he would just make it worse. That you would only become more confused and upset. It would be absolutely detrimental for him to see you.

Hell, it might even make you worse. 

It’s killing Chan slowly. Every single day feels like torture for him. The days get exponentially worse. He feels like a hollow shell of his former self, like the wind goes through him when he steps foot outside. It feels like his shoulders are permanently sagged forward. 

But the worst part is that you don’t even know it. You don’t know how he’s collapsing inwards like a dying star. 

It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen in years. A friend was driving you home that night; Chan had begged to be the one to pick you up, but no, you said it was fine, the friend was heading that way anyway. Why make the unnecessary trip?

You told him he needed sleep. Always putting his needs before your own. You always did. 

He should’ve put up more of a fuss. He should’ve put his foot down. He should’ve already been outside the house in his car with the passenger seat warmer on by the time you left that stupid party. 

He should’ve gotten out of the car and opened the door for you and had a cold bottle of water waiting in the cup holder. He should’ve kissed you on the cheek and asked you all about your time. He should have been there.

But he wasn’t. 

A drunk driver slammed into the passenger side of your friend’s car at a speed that you shouldn’t have even survived.

Miracles do happen, though. But what a price to pay for a miracle. 

For as long as he lives, Chan will never forget the sheer panic and terror he felt when the call came in from your mother. You were already at the hospital undergoing emergency surgery.

He was the last to know. 

After all, he wasn’t your emergency contact. He’s only your boyfriend.

Was. Was your boyfriend. Was? Is that the right word? He isn’t. But he is. There was no breakup. 

Is that what he’s going through right now? A breakup? 

You’re not on a break. But what is this? What is this loss? This severance is so horrible. 

It’s fucked up. It’s a fucked up, amnesia induced breakup. 

Memory loss is a funny thing. Doctors scratch their heads and shrug their shoulders without any answers. The brain is a tricky thing. 

Chan did what he was allowed to in that hospital. He sat in that stark white room under those harsh LED lights and he waited until you were awake. He even waited much longer after that because only two visitors were permitted inside your room at a time— and he wasn’t about to force his way in and kick one of your parents out. 

He let your sister go in first. He even let your cousin go in before him. But when it was finally his turn… 

He never got to see you. 

“The last five years?” Chan asked with a tight throat. Did he even have any more tears left to cry? How is there any liquid left in his body?

“She says doesn’t remember anything, Chan.” Your mother’s voice was just as hollow as his. “She was asking about her freshman roommate.”

A doctor stood in between him and your mom. “It’s best if we don’t throw everything at her at once. Amnesia victims rarely never get their memories back, but we’ve found that it needs to happen organically. Seeing her will overwhelm her and that could stunt the healing process.”

Chan’s mouth opened and closed several times but no words came out at all. His heart may have stopped. 

Does that mean…?

No…

“He can’t see her at all?” Your mother asked quietly. “Not even to visit? He doesn’t have to mention he’s her boyfriend, he can just say that he’s a friend, or a coworker, or—“

The doctor cut her off. “No contact. Not until we’re a bit through recovery and she’s starting to get her memories back.”

Chan was suddenly in a chair. 

When did he sit down? The Doctor’s hands were on his shoulders and he was looking down at him with a sympathetic stare.  

“It’s not forever, son.”

Chan was only able to nod. His mouth was so dry, the back of his neck felt clammy. His head was spinning.

Books often speak of moments as ‘Earth-shattering’. Of moments so catastrophic that the planet stops spinning on its axis and time stands still.

He gets it now. 

The doctor spoke a few more words to your mother before walking away. She looked down at Chan sadly. 

Your mother sat on the chair next to him and wrapped him up in a hug. His world was falling apart around him. You were slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t even see you.

Hot tears poured down his face while he sat there with his head in his hands. Why does it feel like he’s losing you? Why is this the only way? Why are these the cards that are being dealt?

Why didn’t he pick you up from that fucking party?

“She loves you, Chan… she’ll come to her senses, I promise, I promise.”

It’s been two months, one week, two days and eight hours since he’s talked to you. That long since he’s known peace. Since he’s known any sort of comfort. 

You’re the last thing he thinks about before he closes his eyes at night and the first thing he thinks about in the morning. No matter how many times he wakes up and feels the cold bed next to him, it never dulls the ache in his chest.

It’s not a healthy mindset, he knows. And it’s not that you were codependent on one another, that’s not it at all. You were just… ripped away from him. 

Food has no taste. The sky isn’t as blue as it used to be. Clouds don’t make fun shapes like they did with you by his side. The stars are still in the sky, he thinks, he hasn’t had the guts to look at them. 

God, you love the stars so much. You always talked about how pretty they are— how absolutely breath-taking you think the universe is. Chan would simply listen, he would always listen. All he ever wanted to do was listen.

How is he supposed to look at anything the same way? How is any day supposed to be normal when half of his life is suddenly missing. What’s the point of making music if you’re not there to listen to it?

5:00 PM is the hardest hour to get through. You don’t open the door to his apartment when you get off work. You don’t tell him about the things that happened during your shift. 

He can’t leave little snacks out on the counter for you to eat when you get home like he used to. 

Mice would get to it before you did. 

His lonely apartment is slowly losing your smell. He could spray your perfume, sure, you keep a bottle at his place, but it’s not the same. You somehow made the scent sweeter by letting it linger on your skin. 

All of your old toiletries are still there where you left them. Your spare toothbrush has been bone dry and untouched since 9:28 AM that morning. Your shampoo bottles are still half full and waiting for you on your shower shelf.

It had rained a few days before your accident. You had started a puzzle on his dining room table that day– you told him it was the perfect rainy day activity. It was a picture of different comic book covers. It’s now collecting dust. Unmoved and unsolved. 

Just like him.

It was a battle and a half to throw away your leftovers from two nights before your car accident. He felt like he was throwing away your normal life, your tiny domestic traces. 

He didn’t want to cleanse you from his life, but you were washing away. Your ghost was eroding with time. 

Your spare car keys are still hanging on the key ring. Your rain coat is on the third hook draped right over your work bag. Even your phone charger is still plugged into the wall on your side of the bed.

Did you know you forgot to put your favorite gold earrings on that night? You left them on the nightstand. They’re still there, don’t worry. Right next to the glass of water you drank half of. 

Do you even remember them…? He got them for you for your first Christmas together. 

There are so many signs of a life interrupted integrated so deeply into his. 

You’re a clock whose hands stopped suddenly at 1:24 AM. 

This sort of haunting is unbearable. You’re not a phantom in his life, though. You’re something so unattainable that he had once but it was taken away with empty promises of return. 

It’s like you’re a shiny diamond hidden away beneath lasers and traps like in those stupid, cheesy spy movies you love so much. 

Do you know what he would give to watch one of those with you in his arms right now? 

Chan feels like he’s banging on the glass of a one sided window, screaming for you to remember him. Meanwhile you’re on the other side only staring into a mirror, trying to pick up the pieces from before. 

Your mom sends him updates on your condition all the time. He knows that you started working at the local library about three weeks ago. 

You had worked there in college before graduating and getting your last job. It was one of your favorite jobs you ever had. That library was so special to you. 

To him too. 

It’s the library where he first met you. 

The same library Chan finds himself in front of now. 

He shouldn’t go in. He can’t go in. He absolutely should not go inside. 

Bang Chan you should not and cannot go inside this library. Under no circumstances should you step foot inside this building where your other half is working. 

Absolutely not. 

The door emits a soft ding when he opens it. Electronic. Quiet. Peaceful. 

There’s a certain type of silence that sits in a library. It’s closer, thicker— warmer. It’s an expected silence. They’re supposed to be quiet. 

Chan can hear his sneakers take every step on the carpeted floor. There’s no one sitting behind the front desk; that’s where you usually were. 

His eyes look all around, but there’s no sign of you anywhere. A few people toddle around the shelves. 

There’s more soft beeping coming from the self checkout. That’s new. They didn’t have that when you worked here years ago. You probably hate it. 

On the day he met you, you were wearing a pair of dark green pants and a black long sleeve shirt. Your hair was clipped behind your head and pieces were falling over your face. 

Chan was only in the library to look for the bathroom. He was on his way to lunch with a friend, but he just had to stop somewhere. The library was the closest option. 

When he had heard the sound of books falling, he investigated and found you in the center of the carnage, the glasses on your nose sat crookedly and you rubbed your head. 

Your eyes met. He was a goner. 

How disgustingly poetic that he finds himself here now. Where he really shouldn’t be. He was quite literally prescribed a restraining order against you. 

Chan meanders around with his hands in his pockets, the silence getting louder and louder the further he gets inside.

Maybe you’re not working today? 

No one is anywhere to be seen. He’s checking down all the aisles but he doesn’t see you anywhere. 

Maybe it’s for the best that you’re not here. He’s not supposed to see you anyway. He’s breaking the doctor’s rules by doing this anyway. 

He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here. 

His feet stop in front of the very aisle where he saw you for the first time. 

Empty. 

You-less. 

If he thinks hard enough, Chan can picture you in front of him, laughing quietly with the most adorable, embarrassed blush on your cheeks. 

What a moment. 

Is it possible to spend eternity in that moment? Obviously internal clocks can be rewound, paused, flipped every which way; can he go back to that day? Can he go back to the day where every single poem suddenly made sense?

He would take any day, really, any day that had you in it. Birthdays, holidays, late night dates, Hell, he’d even take a day where he only saw you when you dropped off a drink for him in his studio. 

Anything, he would take anything just to see your smile bloom on your face while he watches.

“Can I help you find something?”

His breath catches in his throat, it feels like he’s physically punched in the chest. That voice. That beautiful, melodic voice. He hasn’t heard it in person in months, only in videos he had on his phone. 

Slowly, Chan turns to face the source of his favorite pitch. 

His throat immediately tightens. 

There you are. You. Beautiful you. 

Standing right there. Looking at him like a complete fucking stranger. 

“I…” his voice is hoarse. Chan can feel the tears in his eyes begin to form. He didn’t think this through, did he?

You’re staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to say anything. You’re waiting, come on, Chan. Speak up. Say something. 

Looking up at the shelf, you look back down at him with a smile. “A history guy, hm?”

No.

“Yeah.”

You giggle. “I always had a thing for History.”

He knows. 

“Really?”

“Mhmm.” You respond with a grin. 

Specifically Ancient Rome. He knows. 

You continue. “Specifically Ancient Rome.”

Chan nods and clears his throat. His palms feel so sweaty. His chest is almost panting. Every single cell in his body just wants to lunge forward and wrap you in a hug. 

He wants to bury his face in your neck and sob while you hold him. He wants to tell you that he missed you so much. He wants to tell you how your pillow is losing the scent of your shampoo. He wants to tell you that he’s been DVR-ing your favorite show so that you can watch it later. He wants to tell you about his day. He wants to kiss you until you’re breathless. He wants you to hear the new song he’s been working on.

But—

“If you need anything, let me know.”

You start to walk away.

Chan feels his heart physically break. It’s happening again. He’s on the other side of that one way mirror. It’s happening again! No, no please. 

His eyes widen, the words get caught in his throat. Fuck, Y/N, please!

“W-Wait!” he says quickly. 

You turn around with a curious look. 

“The Odyssey,” he blurts. “Where uh… where can I find it?”

Your eyes light up. “Oh, I love The Odyssey.”

He knows. You collect different translations of it. 

“I collect different translations of that book, here I’ll show you where it is.”

With a little hop in your step you lead him towards all the classics. 

He watches you like you’re an oasis in the desert— maybe it’s because you are. You’re what he’s been crawling towards for two months. 

You lead him all the way to the shelf where the Odyssey lives. Your nimble fingers reach forward and grab one of the copies. 

Green nail polish. You still paint your nails green. You picked that habit up a year after he met you. 

The memories have to be there, Y/N, they have to be. Chan bought you that first bottle of green nail polish as a joke on Saint Patrick’s Day. 

Y/N, please. 

“This translation is my favorite,” you whisper and hand him the book. 

Chan smiles sadly and takes the book from you, unable to meet your eyes. He knows if he gazes into those gorgeous eyes that he’ll lose it. He’ll fall to his knees and cry. 

“Thank you,” he whispers back. 

You stand there for a moment, he can feel your eyes on his face. He always has been able to tell when you were looking at him, it’s a little, secret superpower. 

From foot to foot, your weight shifts. 

You only do that when you’re confused. Why are you confused? Y/N, are you confused?

“I’m sorry…” you start, sounding so unsure. “You remind me of someone…”

It feels like a defibrillator was hooked up to his chest. Chan’s eyes widen and he finally looks up at you. 

You’re looking at him so carefully. He can see the gears turning in your head. Your tongue pokes out of your lips and wets them. 

Y/N, please. 

“I just… I can’t figure out who. Do I… do I know you? I was—” You stop yourself. 

Fuck. Fuck! What was he supposed to say? Fuck! 

Chan wants to scream. He wants to grab you by the shoulders and cry that he’s your soulmate, that he’s the person that knows you better than anyone else in this world. 

Yes, you do, you do know him. And he knows you. He knows how you take your coffee, what movies make you cry, what color jell-o is your favorite. 

He knows that you never wear matching socks and you always lift your feet when driving over railroad tracks. 

He knows that when you were 6 you ran into the corner of a cabinet and that’s how you got that scar next to your eyebrow. 

Chan knows that your entire life you wanted to be an author but you’re so scared of failure that you decided not to chase after it. 

He knows everything. 

“I just have one of those faces, I guess.” It comes out of his mouth so strained. 

You stare back at him so carefully. Do you see right through him?

“Maybe,” you say slowly. You don’t believe him. He knows that tone. You absolutely do not believe a word he’s saying. “Are you sure?”

Chan swallows, he grips the book in his hand tighter. The lump in his throat almost doesn’t go down, more tears prick at his eyes. 

“I would never forget a face like yours,” he chokes out. 

Your eyes widen and you blush, looking to the side with a smile. You always were a sucker for cheesy compliments. 

After thinking for a second, you reach into your pocket and take out a little slip of paper. 

“Here,” you say after scribbling something down. Holding it out, Chan sees it’s your phone number. He has it memorized. “If you ever need more books to read… or find… call me.”

Chan takes the paper with a racing heart. He gives you a smile, his dimples showing. “I think I will,” he whispers to you. 

Another few moments pass of you just staring at him before you nod and giggle nervously. “Well, I gotta get back to work, so..”

Chan nods and moves to the side. You walk past him. 

Your perfume curls around him like a blanket and he craves that sweet serenity he finds when he holds you close and breathes you in. 

Three steps after you pass him, you turn around. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name.”.

“Chan,” he answers softly. 

“Chan,” you repeat. It goes right through him. 

Your voice. Your sweet, beautiful, melodic voice. Finally, he heard you say his name again.

“I’m Y/N,” you whisper to him with a friendly smile. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Chan has to physically force the word ‘meet’ out of his mouth. 

“You too, Chan.”

And with that, you were gone, retreating back into your fortress of papyrus. 

—————————————————————

A bad idea was going into the library that day. 

An even worse idea was texting you the day after to ask how your day is going. 

And then an absolutely fucking idiotic move was asking if you wanted to go to dinner with him. 

And the worst part? You said yes. 

So, now here Chan was, standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom getting ready for what you thought was a first date, but to him was just a dinner date. 

How is he supposed to do this? He’s not, that’s how. 

Chan fiddles with his bracelet right before his phone rings. 

His heart drops when he sees the caller ID, your mother. 

“Ah, fuck…” he whispers before grabbing his phone. Of course you were going to tell your mom, you tell your mom everything. 

“Hello?” he asks warily into the phone. 

“Hi, Chan,” she says slowly, she sounds nervous, why does she sound nervous. 

“How are you? Is everything okay?”

“It’s Y/N…” Her voice lowers. Chan’s heart drops. “Before you panic, she’s okay! It’s um.. she’s getting ready right now… for a date…”

Chan isn’t moving. Yes, he knows you are. He knows it. But words won’t form in his mouth. 

“Channie.. I’m starting to wonder if that doctor isn’t right.. I can’t stand the thought of her finding someone else when you’re waiting for her… I tried to talk her out of it but she just seems so floaty and happy. God, I feel sick to my stomach.”

His jaw clenches. Now or never. 

“It’s with me,” he blurts. 

Your mom goes silent. Then a huge sigh comes out of her mouth. 

“I wish I could say I’m angry,” a little laugh follows it. “I think I’m only angry that you didn’t say something.”

He tells her everything, down to the way he pretended not to know you. 

“Well, you’re going to have to tell her eventually.” Your mom sounds unsure, herself. 

“Or maybe she’ll remember me.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

Chan sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes are staring at the wall, unfocused. 

She’s right. What if you don’t? 

“Then, I’ll just … do it all again.”

Silence greets him on the other side of the line. Another tiny laugh comes from your mom. “I always knew you two were perfect together. Just like two magnets, you always come towards one another.”

—————————————————————

“I’ve never eaten here before,” you say with a chipper smile on your face from across the table. 

Yes, you have. 

“Really?” Chan asks, taking a sip of his water. 

“I pass it all the time and always wondered how the food was.”

He looks back down at the old menu. 

This restaurant was more than special to him. It’s where he took you on your first date. It’s an old fashioned burger joint with the greasiest, most delicious French fries in town. 

The first time you guys came here, you talked and talked until the place closed. And even after that, you drove around and talked until it was late. 

“I’ve been here a few times, it’s really good. The milkshakes are some of the best I’ve ever had.” Chan’s sweaty hands fiddle with the menu. 

He’s more nervous now than on the first date. 

“What’s the best one?” you ask with a smile. 

A small laugh comes out of his nose. “The peanut butter one.”

It was your favorite. 

“Yeah but then you can’t have any,” you say so nonchalantly, looking down at the menu. 

His eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“‘Cause of your allergy.”

He stops. 

You stop. 

He has a peanut allergy. Chan has a peanut allergy. 

His lips purse like he’s going to say something but you beat him to the punch. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I… I don’t know why I thought that.” Your hands grip the menu a little tighter. “Maybe I’m thinking of someone else?”

Chan shakes his head. “No, no, it’s okay. I… I do have a peanut allergy. Maybe I said something before?”

You stare at him for a long second before looking back down at the menu once more. “Yeah… um. Maybe.”

He definitely did not say something. 

Dinner continues on. Chan listens to you talk and pretends he’s never heard your stories before and he tells you ones he knows he’s said before. 

The entire time, you were beaming at him, just like you used to before the accident. Your face never loses its constant happy glow. He’s not sure that the muscles in your face know how to frown.  

You’re the last two people in the restaurant. The staff doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe they recognize you both. Maybe. 

A lull dips into your conversation. Both of you know you should leave. Neither wants to. Especially the broken man sitting across from you. 

Chan takes the last sip of his drink. The bill has been paid for about an hour at this point. You’re looking down at your lap with a pink flush on your cheeks. 

You bite your lip and look up at Chan carefully. 

“Are you… are you sure I don’t know you, Chan?”

He stares at you. Did you know that you always bite your lip like that when you’re confused? 

“I just… I really feel like I know you. There’s just…” you pause, trying to find your words. He knows you want to tell him about the accident. He knows you want to say it but you don’t want to weird him out. 

What the fuck is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to tell you? 

“Something happened to me a little while ago, my brain’s been… fuzzy since then,” you explain shyly. “I know you said you don’t know me but I just… I can’t help feel like that’s not true.”

Chan’s jaw clenches, his knee bounces anxiously underneath the table. His head turns to the side in his typical nervous tick. 

Your mother’s words echo in his mind, his tongue suddenly feels like it’s swelling to the size of his mouth— making him unable to speak. Should he tell you? Is it now or never?

“I don’t mean to make it weird, Chan.”

He licks his lips and opens his mouth. 

Your phone rings. 

A sigh of relief comes from deep within Chan’s chest. 

Reluctantly, you pick up the phone and hold it to your ear. “Hello? …. No, I didn’t know…. Yeah, of course…. Sure… Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

Just as quickly as you answered the phone, you hang up. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Someone called out of work for tomorrow, they need me to come in.”

“Do you need to get going?” Chan asks, looking down at the time. It’s well past 10 o’clock. 

A sad smile crosses your face. “I mean… probably.” The time on your watch flashes back at you. He can tell you don’t want to go home yet. 

“Come on, Y/N, I’ll walk you home.”

Chan’s already standing up from the table, picking his jacket up off the back of his chair. You watch his movements and slowly get up, your movements screaming reluctance. 

—————————————————————

It’s three dates later when the two of you are walking down the street towards your house. It’s only a few blocks from here, but you both decide to take a tiny detour through the local park. 

“I have to say I’m a little excited to meet your friends,” you giggle. “I hope that’s not weird.”

You already have. 

“It’s not weird at all. I’m sure they’d like you.” Chan nudges your arm with his elbow, his hands staying in his pocket. 

“Changbin sounds like a blast.”

He was your favorite before.

“The two of you…” Chan thinks over his words carefully. “The two of you would definitely cause some mischief.”

And you have. 

A tiny lull of comfortable silence falls over the conversation. 

Both of you meander towards the swings. A cold wind blows through the air but neither of you react to it. 

With a tiny giggle, you sit down on one of the swings and hold onto the chains on the side. 

You are just so… you. You’re just your authentic self. Amnesia or not, you haven’t changed a bit. It’s so charming.

“I can’t remember the last time I went on the swings.” You start to move your body back and forth, not too much but enough to get the tiny thrill the toy brings. 

Chan walks up and stands next to you, his hand coming out and grabbing at the chain of the swing next to yours. 

The brightest smile stretches over your face. 

God, it really doesn’t take a lot to make you smile, does it? He guesses that means it doesn’t take a lot for him either since he smiles when you do.

He can’t help it.

He watches you move back and forth, the cold breeze kicking up a bit more and blowing dead leaves across the sidewalk. 

“What’s wrong, Chan? Allergic to swings?” you tease. 

He rolls his eyes with a smirk. “No, I just far more enjoy watching you have fun.”

Your cheeks flush. If he didn’t know you, maybe he would’ve chocked it up to the cold. But he knows the difference between your blush and the elements now. 

“You’re a smooth talker, Bang Chan.”

“It comes easy with you, Y/N L/N.”

Another laugh from you. 

“Shameless flirt.”

He puts his hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Ouch! I just speak the truth, that’s all. Not my fault I like seeing you blush.”

Every word that comes out of his mouth feels so natural. If he really thinks about it, he’s in a weirdly unique situation. Not many couples get to start over, to feel those butterflies again. But here he is, his palms starting to get sweaty as he imagines kissing you. 

Would you call it a first kiss? Maybe. 

It has been four dates. It wouldn’t be.. inappropriate to kiss you, would it? The two of you kissed on your third date a few years ago. 

He wants to kiss you so bad. 

Should he? Shouldn’t he? God, why is this so hard?

Chan reaches out and grabs the chain of your swing, pulling it to a very gentle stop. 

“Uh oh, fun police,” you tease and look up at him with a grin. 

Looking down at you, Chan allows his eyes to look over every detail of your face that he already had memorized. You haven’t changed at all except the new scar on the side of your forehead from the accident. 

It’s the same eyes, same nose, same chin that he fell in love with so long ago. 

The same asymmetrical eyes that you’re so self conscious of but he loves. Your hair is wind blown and splayed every which way. It adds a childish charm to your features. 

Very carefully, Chan moves his free hand down to cup your cheek. His warm palm soothes your ice cold face. He hears your breath catch in your throat at his touch. 

His thumb swipes over your cheek, fingertips run down the soft lines of your jawline. Eventually his thumb ends up under your chin which he tilts up. 

Your eyes sparkle. They somehow capture the light of the lamps around the playground. But they’ve always done that. 

You’re always so enchanting.

Is this a good idea? 

Is kissing you the best option? 

But does he even have the strength to stop himself now?

Almost three months without feeling your lips on his has been torture, and here he is, with you in his hands and there’s still this nagging feeling that he should stop. 

One look into your eyes quells that anxiety. 

Your eyes keep flickering down to his own lips, the shaky breath you let out is hot against his fingers. Everything feels warmer compared to the air outside. 

He can’t take it anymore. 

Chan leans down and presses his lips to yours. They’re warm and slightly chapped.

But, my god, he’s never felt anything this heavenly before. It’s like his entire body unwinds. Like a fire was lit inside his stomach. 

He moves his hand to the back of your head and keeps your lips pressed against his. Your head tilts to the side slightly. It’s just like he remembers. 

It’s just the first kiss, he can’t let himself get carried away. He can’t. 

He can’t let his fingers wind through your hair. He can’t melt into your touch on his cheek. He can’t let himself drown in your lips. 

But he is. 

He’s letting you consume his very soul in one kiss. 

How can something feel so healing yet hurt so badly at the same time? It’s like you’re ripping open a wound and bandaging it at the same time. 

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t bring his lips away from yours. Your hand slides down to caress his jawline with those soft, manicured fingers. 

Your lips open and close over his like mirror images. The feeling shoots straight down into Chan’s gut. It’s like the first time for him all over again. 

Those butterflies are going insane in his stomach. Your scent kicks up in the wind and he can’t help but take a large breath through his nose. 

God, he can’t stop himself. It feels too good. 

His hand moves from the back of your hair to cup your cheek and bring you closer. 

He immediately stops. 

Why is your face wet?

Chan pulls away from the kiss and looks down at you with concern written all over his expression. 

You’re crying. Why … why are you crying?

Your eyes open and you look at him confused. 

“Chan?” you whisper. You’re confused too. What?

“Why are you crying, Y/N?” he asks with a thick voice.

Your eyes widen and your own hand comes up to swipe at your cheeks. Sure enough, you’re met with tears. 

“I… I don’t know,” you say so quietly. “I-I’m not sure.”

Chan starts backing away, your eyes snap to focus on his. Your hand shoots up to grab at his to keep him there. You’re still so confused. 

Emotions are flying through your eyes. It almost looks like someone is clicking a light switch on and off in the back of your mind. A lightbulb is flickering in your soul like a dying neon sign in an old shop window. 

Every muscle in your face is twitching.

What’s happening?

“Channie—“ your own voice cuts off by a sob. 

Chan’s heart jumpstarts. You haven’t called him that… not in two months… that’s what you and your mother called him before the accident. 

Are you…? Are you remembering? What’s happening?

Please. 

Slowly, your hand falls from his. 

Chan stays there, unmoving like a statue. What’s happening inside your mind right now? It looks like you’re reaching and reaching for something that you can’t quite put your finger on. 

He's watching you struggle. It’s like when you can’t remember a word. It’s right there. It’s on the tip of your tongue.

You gulp, your eyes leave his and you look down at your lap. The dirt crunches under your feet as you shuffle your shoes around.

Chan swipes his thumb over your cheek, brushing away the tears. He’s biting back his own. 

“It’s okay—“ “I’m sorry—“ are both said at the exact same time. 

He knew it was coming. He knows you. But you don’t know him. Not anymore. 

But you do.

“It wasn’t the kiss. I—“ 

“It’s okay, Y/N.”

You know him. 

“Chan, I really loved the kiss.”

Chan. Not Channie. 

He brushes his thumb over your lips. “It’s okay,” he repeats gently. “You don’t have to explain.”

His other hand comes up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyes slide shut at the sensation. 

Your bottom lip quivers and you pull it into your mouth and bite it. With a tight swallow, your throat bobs. 

“It happens sometimes,” you whisper. “It’s from the accident I had.”

Chan continues to soothingly rub your skin with his thumb. Slowly, he kneels down to be in front of you rather than leaning over. 

The dirt is cold on his knee. It seeps through the fabric of his pants. He couldn’t care less. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he whispers back to you. 

You shake your head gently, your hands folding in your lap. “No, no. I… I want to tell you. I need to tell you. It’s been happening more and more whenever I’m around you. It’s like every touch, every word you say bounces around my brain and makes me feel the worst case of deja vu.

“Every time I’m with you I feel like I’m trying to recall a dream I had last night but I just can’t remember what it was.”

You’re rambling. You only ramble when you’re overwhelmed and scared. 

“Chan, every time I’m with you it feels like some part of me is screaming to be let out.”

Your eyes open and you stare right through him. Chan feels his heart squeeze and almost stop completely. Despite your best efforts, the tears keep coming. 

“I was in a car accident a few months ago. I had such a severe concussion that I lost the last five years of my memory.” 

How is your voice so even?

Chan’s jaw clenches. Fuck fuck fuck. 

He knows. Yes, Y/N. He knows. Fuck, does he know! If anyone fucking knows, it’s him. 

“I—“ he starts but you cut him off. 

“Please,” you choke out and take a deep breath. “And since then I’ve been getting bits and pieces of my memory back. Sometimes they’re in large chunks, other times they just … come back.

“When I try to think about my life before the accident. There’s this… person there. Someone important. Someone so, so important that it physically hurts me to think about how I don’t know who it is. They’re a constant. And I love that they’re a constant.”

Your hand comes up to clutch at your jacket right over your chest. 

More tears come out of your eyes. The whites get more pink the more they flow. 

“But I know them. I do! I know them like I know the back of my hand. I-I know they love music. I know they take milk and sugar in their morning coffee. I know they don’t get enough sleep at night.”

Louder and louder your voice gets as you grow sadder and sadder. The sobs between thoughts wrack your chest. 

Him. You’re talking about him. 

Chan’s hands hold your face gently. His thumbs can’t keep up with how much you’re crying. 

Nothing has ever hurt this bad. 

You know him. You just don’t know it’s him. 

Nevertheless, you continue. “I remember that they have the most obnoxious phone alarm in the morning. I remember the passcode to their phone is 032518. I know that they have this one black sweatshirt that I love to steal even though it’s their favorite.”

Chan’s own eyes begin watering, he can’t stop it. You know him. You know him. You’ve remembered him this whole time and you didn’t even know it. 

You reach up and grab one of his hands and place it on your heart. Underneath your jacket, he can feel your heartbeat thudding violently against your chest. 

That same heartbeat he’s been dying to listen to while you play with his hair and tell him about your day. The heartbeat he would give anything to hear as he falls asleep. His throat gets tighter and tighter. 

“I’ve been surrounded by bits and pieces of a ghost and no one wants to help me. No one will tell me anything, and I’m so confused, Chan. I can tell that there’s something that everyone is avoiding telling me.”

A gust of wind picks up through the playground. It nips at his cheeks. It’s now he realizes how many tears are falling. 

A sob tears from his throat. 

You grip his hand tighter. 

“Tell me It’s you, Chan.” You’re begging. You’re actually begging while keeping his hand pressed against your heartbeat. 

“Tell me that you’re the person that I see in my dreams. Tell me you’re the one that loves when I draw hearts on the bathroom mirror after I shower. Please tell me that you’re the one that loves the smell of lemon cookies but can’t stand the taste.”

Oh, god, Y/N.

“Tell me that you’re the one that wanted to pick me up from the party that night but I said no.”

He breaks. 

He breaks right down in front of you. Every single ounce of self control leaves his body and he grabs you out of the swing, yanking you towards his body and holding you against his chest. The emotions that were being kept at bay come out like a raging storm. 

He falls backwards into the dirt, you come crashing into him. Your arms wrap around him at the same time he wraps around you. 

Chan buries his face in your neck, one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly around your waist. 

Wails leave his mouth as he holds you to him. They’re deep and come from the very depths of his soul. The wound that’s been open for months is bleeding.  

Every lonely night. Every dinner where he cooked for two instead of one by accident. Every long day he came back to an empty apartment. It’s all coming out. 

You’re crying just as hard as he is, both of your hands gripping the back of his hoodie like a lifeline. 

Your body in his arms is like a piece of a puzzle. Like he’s the dusty one sitting on his dining room table and you finally came in and finished it. 

Weeks and weeks of grief come crashing down on him. He can’t lie anymore. Not to you. Never to you. 

“It is me,” he cries into your neck, his hand running over the back of your head, feeling your hair slip through his fingers. It’s just like he remembers. “It’s all me, Y/N, It’s me.”

Your cries get louder, your body starts shaking in his arms. 

“I’ve missed you, Y/N,” he cries harder. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much. I missed my girl. Oh my god, I’ve missed you.”

Chan can’t pull you close enough, he can’t get you close enough to his body. You shift around and press yourself into him. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry I didn’t pick you up that night. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry you got hurt.” 

Every ounce of grief is surfacing and clawing its way out of his throat. 

“I’m sorry I had to lie to you these last two weeks. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was so broken without you. I broke the doctor’s orders. I needed to see you, Y/N.”

Despite how hard he has you gripped against him, you manage to pull away slightly. You sit up in his lap and look down at his red, tear soaked face. His eyes are puffy and his chest is sputtering with sobs. 

Both of your hands cup his cheeks and swipe away the tears the same way he did for you only a small bit ago. There’s a sad smile on your face. 

“Please don’t apologize, Channie, it’s okay. I forgive you.”

Channie. You called him Channie.

He cries harder and buries his face into your chest. Your arms immediately come around him and keep him there, fingers threading into his hair. 

You’re still crying. Both of you are. 

“I know you were just doing what you were told to,” you whisper into his hair. He can hear your voice reverberate in your chest. 

All he can do is cry. 

Months of build up led to this moment. Endless days of going through the motions just for the next to be as dull and tedious led to him falling into you in the middle of a playground at night. 

The only thing you do after that is hold him. You press kisses to the top of his head and whisper that you forgive him over and over. 

Each one adds a stitch to the wound, shutting it.

You’re finally in his arms. You’re finally back where you belong. 

“I missed you,” he says again, his cries dying down. He doesn't know what else to say. There's so much he wants to tell you, but everything dies on the tip of his tongue.

“I missed you too, Channie. My heart missed you so much.”

He sniffles and looks up at you. You pull your sweatshirt sleeve up and wipe away his stray tears gently. 

“Every day it just felt like something was missing. It was you. You were missing.”

Chan can’t find any words to say. He just stares at you. 

"I don't care how long it takes to remember, or even if I never do. I need you by my side for it, Chan."

His eyes sparkle at you for a moment but he leans up and captures your lips with his once more. It feels even better than the previous one.

The two of you relish in the contact, holding each other close and clinging to the closeness of it all.

It's taking everything within Chan not to start crying again. He's worried than any moment now, he'll wake up and this will all be some cruel dream.

But when you pull away from his lips, and he opens his eyes-- you're still there. You're still in his arms and smiling at him like you always did.

The burn is soothed.

“If you think about it,” you start with a tiny smile. “We’re lucky— in a way.”

His entire face screws up, even more confused. “Lucky?”

“How many people get to say they fell in love with the same person twice?”

Chan blinks twice before it feels like his entire body thaws. 

You and your glass half full attitude. He’ll never fucking get enough of it. 

His arms wrap around you again, bringing you down into his chest. You let out a breathy giggle 

“You’re never leaving my sight,” he breathes out. “Never again, baby, never.”

“I don’t ever want to, Channie. I never will.”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #skz x y/n #bang chan #bang chan fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #bangchan fanfic #bangchan x reader

[earthtooz]

x : THE JOKER AND THE QUEEN :*+ﾟ

in which: you are the best thing to ever to childe, but what will happen when you find out the truth about his profession?

warnings: 4k wc, fluff to angst, ambiguous ending huehue, childe is a whipped loser in love, set in canon, reader has undescribed trauma with fatui (ooo), reader is not referred to with pronouns or a gender but there is a mention of 'queen' (it's up to you how you see it), mentions of violence, childe being referred to as 'ajax', argument, both reader and childe cry, aether and paimon appearance!

a/n: this one might hurt. apologies. (girl u know i want ur love...)

The sun is radiant gold when Childe walks down his peaceful, routine path, away from the bustling commerce centre and towards a peculiar place that he’s called home in Liyue. There are still a million tasks yet to be completed, but for now, his feet take him to the solitude that waits for him at the end of day. 

When Childe arrives at the manor that is his residence in this foreign city, there’s a lifeless kind of calm, the rustling of leaves and flowing stream are the only things to welcome him, but he knows better. Doesn’t need to confirm it when his feet naturally take him upstairs, winding through corridors and towards the balcony that overlooks the horizon. 

The view is very picturesque, overlooking the grandiose Liyue mountains that are decorated with incomparable flora and fauna, but you are there, and he can’t bring himself to look anywhere else. 

You are the best reprieve for his tiring days, and although he will be returning to the Northland Bank to try and solve some of his troubles, the majority of them can be quelled by your presence alone. 

“My darling,” the words slip past his lips without any trouble, and the relief he feels when you turn around and smile at him is insurmountable. Suddenly his hardships dissipate, his lungs are cleared, and his limbs don’t feel as heavy anymore (he can’t think of many people who grin up at him like you do. He hopes you never stop smiling at him like that).

Still, he walks to stand in front of you, and collapses to the floor, resting on his knees by your feet like a faithful jester to his queen. His armour drops and Childe becomes nothing but a man in love before you because there is nothing more human than loving someone more than yourself. 

“Why so exhausted, Ajax?” You ask. 

“The days are bothersome, my love,” he murmurs quietly, slightly muffled, but he then turns his head to look up at you, arms now hugging your calves. “But coming home to you make them infinitely better.” 

“Any good home will bring you comfort,” you deflect, but your words reminds him of a distant, golden memory back in Snezhnaya. The unforgiving, snowy plains had always been his home, the frost that clung to dead tree branches, and the footsteps that he and his siblings left behind in the blankets would were memories of easier times, but here, sitting by you with a chin on your knees, is a memoir of his favourite home. 

The sensation of your hand running through his orange locks take him out of his daydreams, and he melts right into your touch, blood-stained hands completely and wholly attached to you. He commits you to memory, savours the feeling of your warmth against his so he can feel it even whilst he’s away from you. 

Can a home be a person?

He dares to close his eyes. Here, he is safe. Here, he can rest peacefully.

“How was your day?” Asks Childe, stimulating pointless conversation so that he could talk to you and hear your voice that will power him through the tedious night to come.

You begin to talk about the things you had to do today, about the customers you had to deal with, about the errands you still need to run, and all the pressing orders you needed to attend to- hearing it all places an aching weight on his chest. If Childe could have things his way, you wouldn’t need to work at all. You would live life peacefully by his side, without a day of stress as you roam around Liyue Harbour or anywhere else you would want to go, with him holding your arm (would you return to Snezhnaya with him?). 

Alas, life is not so easy nor carefree, but you make it significantly better.

“How pretty is the sunset,” you comment. “Look.” 

He almost doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to put any space between the two of you because looking at the sunset means turning around to face the rays that warm his back, but it’s you who asked him, so Childe turns around and observes the gorgeous blend of colours. He then decides that it’s nothing compared to your beauty.

“Yes, yes, splendid,” the orange-haired agrees, promptly turning back around to look up at you, with a sickening amount of love evident in his eyes. 

“You didn’t even look properly.”

“I’m looking at something much more important right now.”

You shy away at your lover’s blatancy, pushing his face to the side to break his gaze. “Such unabashed flattery, do you have no shame?”

“None! None at all!”

You sigh, a smile creeping at the corners of your lips, timidity teasing Childe as he aches to see more. Reaching for your hands, he intertwines his around them, feeling light as he basks in the softness of your touch that starkly contrast the roughness of his hardened palms. 

His gentle action causes your bracelets to jingle, pure gold and the finest gems of Liyue tinkering quietly against each other. They are gifts from him, he knows because he only buys the best for you. 

“Will you be staying tonight?” You ask. 

His gaze sadly falls to the ground as a regretful, ‘no, I won’t be’ slips past his lips. Tonight, instead of being in your company and resting beside you under the gentle beams of the moonlight, his dedicated Fatui subordinates will be with him instead. The blood on his hands will accumulate and pool by his feet as outstanding debts and scores will be settled, signed with fear and horror as the silence of Liyue sees an unspeakable monster. 

Then, the monster will come crawling to you, fatigued and dirtied with an unrestrained desire to be by your side for as long as time will allow. 

“That’s a shame,” you mutter and Childe winces at the disappointment in your tone. “You work too hard, you know?” 

“It’s just what I need to do,” murmurs the orange-haired, “wish I could spend more time with you, though.”

“It’s alright, as long as I get to see you, I’m happy.” 

He rests his cheek on your knee once more, eyes drooping close. Frighteningly quick, the fatigue he feels from all of his laborious duties catch up to him, latching onto him like a parasite. A nap wouldn’t hurt, 

Nothing can take you away from him, not without a fight. He will bear his teeth, slash his swords until the blades dull, until his bow snaps in half, and until all that’s left of him is a pulp that lies helplessly on the floor, the love pouring from his wounds. Childe only hopes that his last moments are spent in your embrace.

But what will become of this warrior when you’re his opponent? What if you are the one he fights against- what then?

When you wake up one, unassuming morning, you wake up alone. No Ajax to accompany you, the only indication that he was here being the breakfast he had prepared for you that sat atop the counter top. The warmth of the meal lingers, meaning that he must not have left that long ago, and you have to wonder how he knows you so well to guarantee that breakfast is still warm by the time you come down. 

Retrieving a book from the main entrance’s bookshelf, you catch a glimpse of a large box sitting on the entrance table. There is a note beside it, addressed to ‘Traveller’ and signed with ‘Childe’- the name Ajax has supposedly taken up whilst here in Liyue; a merchant name of sorts, he claims. 

You mentally note to listen extra carefully for any knocks at the door, but for now, the promise of a day of relaxation and no work relieves you. Being swamped up in all of your duties meant that you kept forgetting to tell Ajax that you were free for the day, but perhaps you’ll surprise him with a filling and hearty dinner. Work didn’t seem to be all that easy for him either, so you’re sure he’d appreciate the gesture. 

What you weren’t prepared for, however, was discovering a secret that your lover had been hiding from you all this time- in the form of two travellers. 

The anticipated knock on the door came near noon, and two voices from the other side are muffled by the heavy material of the entrance. “Childe said no one would be home, why would you knock?” A high-pitched voice berates.

“Because manners, Paimon!” A male voice retaliates, “even if no one was home, it’s nice to make sure. We shouldn’t barge in without warning.”

“Can you unlock the door yet? Paimon’s dying to know what inside looks like! This property looks so expensive, can you even how much Mora this place is worth! I bet the inside is even-”

The conversation is cut short when you open the door with a soft click, pulling it open slightly. What you’re greeted by, however, is a blond boy with a floating companion, who both wear similar expressions of shock.

“Uh, hello!” You greet with a small smile, feeling slightly awkward.

“Hello, is this Childe’s residence?” The floating one- who you assume is Paimon, asks. 

“You’re at the right place.”

“But he told us no one would be home today!”

“He would be right normally, but I have the day off work. Are you two travellers?”

“Yeah, we are! And who are you?” 

“My name’s Y/n, I’m Childe’s significant other.”

“Childe has a lover?” Paimon’s eyes widen even more if that was even possible. To be honest, this whole scenario was incredibly entertaining. “Since when!”

“We’ve been together for a while. Has he never mentioned me?”

“No! I didn’t even think he could have one with his line of work-”

“-Uhm, we’re kind of in a hurry, I apologise for cutting the conversation,” the blond boy apologises, giving his companion a look before glancing back at you, friendly smile and shining eyes to match his innocent demeanour. “We’re here to pick up something.”

“Ah yes, I did see it. It is rather big, though, could I trouble the two of you to help me bring it out?” You ask, feeling rather embarrassed to bother your guests, but you don’t feel confident to carry the package alone. 

“No trouble at all,” he reassures.

“We can come in, right?” Paimon asks, voice lilting up an octave as mirth shines in her eyes.

“Yes, yes, no need to take off your shoes.” You open the door wider for the two, the floating one flying in first, immediately marvelling at the interior, admiration tangible whilst the blond is a little more reserved, thanking you first before coming in.

What an intriguing pair.

“My name is Aether, and that’s Paimon. I just realised we hadn’t introduced ourselves.” 

“It’s lovely to meet the two of you. Do you do business with Childe often?” Your tongue almost strains at the mention of his business name, but if your boyfriend had appearances to keep, then you needed to try to uphold it too.

Paimon flies over to Aether, joining the conversation. “You could say that. Sometimes he causes more trouble than it’s worth!” 

“That sounds like him,” you huff, an affectionate smile appearing on your face. “The package is right here, but like I said, it seems quite heavy.”

“Allow me,” Aether volunteers, stepping forward to carry the box by himself. He stumbles a little due to the weight, and you hold your hands out just in case.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

The blond merely huffs before shifting the box to one arm. “No need, we’re troubling you enough already.”

“I see. I apologise, if I had known what time you were coming I would have brewed some tea for you two, Liyue has a very fine selection,” you say, fiddling with your thumbs. 

“Aww! Paimon would have loved to try some!”

“Thank you for the offer, I would have liked to try some too, but we are short for time,” Aether explains.

“Then just wait here, I’ll fetch a bag for you to keep on your travels.”

You leave the entrance room before either of them have the chance to reject your offer, and you’re back almost immediately. A new batch you ordered just came in yesterday, so it did not take long for you to try and figure out which one you would like to gift Childe’s… ‘client’. 

“Here,” you hand it to Paimon, who hugs the bag closely to her body. “Travellers need to be at their top shape, right? Hopefully this is something that will rejuvenate you on your journey.”

“This is too kind,” Aether begins, “thank you. We’ll make sure to great care of it.”

“It’s fine! Anyone that is associated with Childe are welcomed here, so long as they’re a nice person that is,” you laugh.

“You can bet we’re the nicest of the bunch!” Paimon exclaims. “I doubt he meets many nice people being a Fatui Harbinger and all!”

A… what? 

Sensing the sudden shift in your mood, Aether’s eyes widen and he tugs at the leg of his companion. “Uh, it was nice meeting you Y/n! Paimon and I will be off now, thank you for the package and tea!” The last statement is nothing but a blend of words toppled over each other as the two practically hurry out of the estate, door slamming behind them in their rush. 

Their abrupt leave didn’t impact you much though, because what did Paimon mean when she said ‘Fatui Harbinger’? Was… Ajax hiding something from you? Or is he Childe? What is the use for a merchant name, anyways? Businessmen don’t usually have identities to keep, but how dire could it be in his industry? After all, second names are only used when wanting to protect yourself from harm, to keep people from knowing who they truly were… a code name for… an organisation like the Fatui to identify them by.

You feel sick, and your hand weakly snakes up to cover your mouth, the other gripping the edge of the table for some sense of stability in your crumbling world. 

Memories come flooding back like a tidal wave, drowning you in the heaviness of the thoughts that clasp around your ankle like anchors. It’s hard to push them away, to ease your mind from the nauseating images that still haunt you to this day: the desperation of your family, the cries, the helpless feeling of being a mere pawn in the game of the Fatui. 

(It hurts to think that you never escaped. After finally surviving through years of hardship, you’ve returned right into the hands of those who caused it, and the thought reminds you of how defeatable you always will be. 

Ajax- Childe, has likely caused devastation similar to the one that wrecked your village years ago. He has blood on his hands, the same ones that have held you tightly against him and stroked your hair. You have kissed his lips- ones that command horrendous acts for others to see through. You love his heart, the same one that probably froze over in Snezhnaya years ago.

You are with someone who has inflicted pain and suffering onto others, and will continue to do so for years to come. But worst of all, you are with a liar, who now makes you question what is and isn’t true.)

Childe returns home at sunset, the rattling of his keys against wood causing fear to crawl down your spine. 

“I’m home!” His cheery voice calls from the front door, and to his surprise, you are sitting on one of the more uncomfortable couches that is merely for decor rather than functionality. “My love, why are you sitting there? There are far more comfortable seats for you-”

“Welcome home, Childe.” 

He pauses in his steps and feels the world stop momentarily. “Darling? What’s with the name?” The Harbinger tries to laugh, but really, you’re scaring him. Very much so. “Come on, you know you don’t need to call me that. Here, I brought back some food that I thought you would enjoy from-” 

“When were you going to tell me?” You’re standing now, slowly stepping towards him as your clothes flow with your every movement. Childe has no time to admire though, not when you and this swirling premonition in his gut is frightening him. 

“Tell you what?” The pit in his stomach already knows.

“Must you act a fool?”

“To what?” He continues because it’s his first instinct to lie. “Darling, please tell me what is troubling you.”

“Please don’t play dumb, I just need the truth, especially now out of all times, are you really a…” you plead, voice trailing off as you hold yourself back from shattering. “You’re not who I think you are, are you?”

“Why do you sound so sad? What happened?” He whispers, beginning to feel the back of his eyes burn as tears invade his eyes.

“A-are you really with the Fatui? A Harbinger, too?” The words fall from your mouth like anvils and suddenly the title that brought him pride and honour through the years dulls. His eyes widen, and the gulp of his throat is all you need to know. 

“I love you,” large, blistered hands desperately reach for you, aching to hold you still because he’s terrified. What if you slip through his fingers and run? What if you go somewhere he can’t follow? “I love you-”

“Just give me the truth, Ajax. I practically know, I just need to hear it from you,” you choke. The call of his name causes him to cave, a hesitant ‘yes’ slipping past his lips, crushing you with the weight of the truth. You cry first and like dominoes, his tears follow.

“Don’t cry,” he hiccups through his own sobs, hands locking around your wrists like bracelets. “I hate it when you cry.”

“Childe-”

“It’s Ajax to you,” the Harbinger pleads, grip tightening in desperation.

“I don’t know what you are to me anymore!” You retaliate, “this whole time, you’ve been lying to me when you know about what happened. I’ve told you everything, and you still decide to keep this from me!” You stumble away from him with more force than necessary, bumping into a table nearby and causing the vase that adorns it to drop. A shrill crack echoes through the room, and instantaneously, he rushes to your aid, asking if you’re hurt as pieces of fina china lay on the floor, water pooling around his feet. 

Mixed in the puddle, are the anxieties and worries that come fumbling out of his mouth. He then pretends like it doesn’t break his heart when you scramble away from him. 

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” You ask, voice strained and quiet. 

“If I had told you, would you have stayed, or would you have ran away?”

Your silence chokes him, filling up his airways with lead as he nervously awaits your answer. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t have stayed.”

Childe’s expression glistens with sadness, so crystal clear that it makes his eyes gleam like diamonds deep from the Chasm. “I see.”

“-But I would have appreciated it hearing from you than someone else.”

“Then how did you found out?” He demands, forcing his tone to be soft. 

“If I tell you you’ll go and hurt them,” you murmur. “I don’t want that to happen.” 

With one look at you, it’s clear that you think Childe will hurt you too with the way you cower from him, as if he could ever lay a finger on you or even point a blade in your direction, but the vision hanging on his hip feels heavier than ever. It’s a haunting reminder of who he is, and what he is capable of. 

You feel miles away, how on Teyvat is he going to pull you back?

“Who are you really?”

“I’m yours-”

“-I’m not in the mood for your flirtatious quips,” you snap, hugging yourself. 

“But it’s true, I love you, Y/n, don’t you know?”

“No, no I don’t. I don’t know what else you’re lying about.”

“Oh come on,” he exasperatedly exclaims, “we’ve been together for so long, the day we met you met the real me, as Ajax, not Childe of the 11th Fatui Harbingers. What’s the big deal? Just because I follow the Tsaritsa doesn’t mean I’m not the same Ajax you know, Y/n, please.”

“It’s not only that you’re apart of the Fatui, Ajax- the world is grey, there are things I will never understand. I’m upset because you lied. Like you said, we’ve been together for so long, yet I’m only finding out about this now, so what else don’t I know?” Your voice breaks.

He takes a step forward, but you only take one back, maintaining the distance even though the Snezhnaya native wants nothing more than to just hold you, to secure his place by your side because what can he do without you? 

“What else are you keeping from me? What can I trust about you anymore? You say your real name is Ajax, but how can I know that?” 

Seeing you so upset, so glum, so devoid of the light that makes you you causes his heart to cease, his throat to dry, and sheer terror to flood through him. 

Childe’s seen the face of death, multiple times before, yet he’s never been this scared in his whole life. He’s losing you, he can feel it, but what can he do about it? What can he say that could possibly bring you back? (What good is a jester without the throne he was sworn to entertain? You can’t desert him, he will perform a thousand tricks if it enamours you into staying, will sacrifice more of himself to you if it means you will remain here, safe and sound in his arms.)

You are the reason he returns home everyday, to make sure that you are healthy, happy, and most importantly, that you haven’t left him without a word. If he had to, he would have killed for you, fought anyone and everyone until all that remained of him was the warrior heart that beat for you. But he could have never preempted this, nothing could have ever prepared for him to be the reason that you were leaving.

“I need some space,” you murmur, “to think this all through. Give me some time.”

“What? No,” murmurs the orange-haired. “No, no, no, we can talk about this, right?” 

“Talking won’t do anything, I need time alone.”

The idea of being away from you causes Childe to almost sink to his knees and succumb to the bones in his body that ache to beg at your feet to stay. The cry of your name is weak, but so very desperate as he looks at you through a blurry vision.  

You’re walking towards the front door, each step you take is another one away from him, away from the paradise that he’s been gifted. There are many ways he can stop you right now, his options are far from limited and although they are physical, they are all very effective, but he surrenders instead. Drops his weapons as he lets you go.

“How long?” Is all that Childe asks.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, hand reaching for the door knob. 

“No more than two weeks, please.” Childe doesn’t know if he can handle being away from you for even a day, let alone fourteen. 

“I’ll try.” 

“I’ll search all of Teyvat if that’s what it takes to bring you home,” he affirms, clearing through sobs just to get the words out. He doesn’t back down without a fight, that’s just who he is, so his next words are etched with certainty and clarity, hoping to pierce your defences with arrows of undying devotion. “That’s a promise.”

“I know.” 

You shut the door behind you.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

apologies if there is incorrect lore + if anyone is mischaracterised LOL i have only been playing genshin for like a month.

@fallenssun for u :>

#childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #ajax x reader #genshin x reader #childe x reader fluff #tartaglia x reader fluff #ajax x reader fluff #genshin x reader fluff #childe fic #tartaglia fic #ajax fic

[spacebarbarianweird]

Things We Deserve

Summary: Astarion re-lives one of the traumatic episodes of his life, and considers himself unworthy of love.

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, f!tav, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of past abuse

TW: a mild description of forced prostitution

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Thanks @satanicspinosaurus for your help! I live for your commentaries on ethical issues.

It is on the same corner of the street in the Lower City. Again.

A young elf is looking for a “client”. It's not difficult — he has soft white curls, a gentle smile, the body sculptured by some elven god. A glance, two, some nice words — and there is a night of passion ahead.

A half-orc, almost twice as big as the elf, grabs his chin and studies his face as if Astarion is an inanimate object. Then orders to lift up his shirt. The client looks at him with the same expression as if he were buying a horse. 

His hand gropes the elf’s crotch, causing him to moan. 

"Works for me", the half-orc grabs a handful of silver curls with his stiff fingers. "Never fucked an elf".

Astarion obeys. This is what he is. A mere street whore.

No, go away, you don't need to do that anymore. You are free, don't let him touch you!

Astarion knows what will come next. Two half-orcs, who despise and hate elves to their guts will really enjoy having one for themselves for the whole night. 

They’ll give him pain. Disgust. Burning touches. 

"Entertain us, elf", the half-orc groans pressing the Astarion’s face into the pillow. 

Here’s a joke: the elf wants to die. Sadly, he is already dead. And that's his life now. Forever. 

Beatings. Non-consensual sex. Or consensual? Is this what he wants? He never says “no”, after all.

I want you all to burn down, Astarion thinks spreading his legs. I want you to suffer as much as I do!

The half-orcs never give him a chance to drag them to the Cazador’s mansion. They won't die. They won't suffer. They use Astarion and then leave. A small sack of silver breaks when it is thrown on the floor.

And Astarion will have to deal with his sore body and numb mind. Forcing himself to get someone else inside the brothel, knowing too well that he is already doomed for torture because he hasn’t returned on time. Even if he delivers the most innocent and beautiful virgin to Cazador, he will be punished anyway.

Flayed with a razor. What? He is a vampire. He will regenerate. 

Astarion opens his eyes and finds himself on the floor. 

Where is he?

It's not a brothel. More like an Inn?

Reality slips back into his mind, replacing the awful visions of the past.

It wasn't real. Of course, it wasn't.

He doesn't have to sell his body anymore. He doesn’t have to sleep with people he doesn't like and want. He won't be beaten for saying “no”. He even has the luxury to say “no” to Tav, the only person whose body he enjoys. 

But two hundred years of memories are too vivid. Tortures. Humiliation. Misery. Forced prostitution. He had to do the most disgusting things on his master's whims, and Astarion is afraid nothing will ever wash it away. 

The flood of darkness flushes his brain again. Astarion rises up on his knees as if in a desperate prayer.

Why him?

Why did it happen to him?

His life was stolen. His personality, his future, his past. All was brutally taken away along with his beating heart.

Leaving only pain and disgust.

Tears burn his skin. The scars hurt as if they are still fresh and bleeding. 

He was stripped away of everything. Of freedom. Of dignity. Of his own self-respect.

The person he could have become. The future he could have embraced. 

Why?

Why?!

He digs his nail deep into his skin as if trying to peel it off. He is a vampire. It will regenerate.

Touches. The smell of unwashed bodies. Movements inside him. The fake pleasure. Pain. Always — pain. Either physical or mental, but often both. 

He clenches his fists and groans like a wounded animal.

"Astarion"

A gentle voice resonates with his broken thoughts. 

“Astarion, are you with me?”

He looks up and sees Tav. She sits in front of him. Concerned face. Worried eyes. She doesn’t move, doesn’t try to touch him. Like he's a person.

Like he's worth something.

Like he's broken and she needs to be careful.

"Oh, hello, darling", the mask is on again. "I am sorry. I've been carried away a bit. Tell me how was your day in the sunlight."

Tav sighs. “Astarion, I returned an hour ago. And you’ve been like that all this time.”

"Darling, you could just call me over”, Astarion smiles. 

"I have done it five times."

“Oh. Then … “

“Astarion, I know when your smile is sincere and when it’s not. Don’t force yourself.”

He stops and sits back.

“May I touch you?”, she asks.

He nods. The caress sends a shiver down his spine and Astarion flinches avoiding looking at Tav.

He remembers. Again, and again. Never-ending tortures disguised as pleasures. Things he would have never done voluntarily. The dirt on his skin. The poison on his tongue.

Astarion wants to hide. He wants to disappear. He wants to run away.

Tav crawls closer to him to hold him in her hands. 

He shivers.

“Hush, I am here. Tell me what is plaguing you.”

He almost orders himself to relax. Tav is here. Tav loves him. Tav doesn’t judge. Whatever he tells her, she won’t get angry. She won’t hurt him. She won’t punish him. Tav won’t use him for sex and pleasure. It will never happen no matter what he does. 

He can run away. He can say “no”. He can fight back.

"Just a memory of a certain night in the lower town. A night of... what I usually was supposed to do. I...” the words stuck in his throat. “I am tainting you, Tav. I am ruining you.”

"Stop", Tav puts her chin on his shoulder nuzzling his collarbone. 

"I am a terrible person, Tav. I truly am. It all happened to me and I sometimes think what a terrible person I used to be if I inflicted it all upon myself.”

Instead of answering, Tav holds him tighter as if not to not allow him to drown in dark waters. 

"Do you remember anything from your past life?"

"No"

"Then why do you think you were a bad person?”

“Because — … “

He doesn’t know the answer. A corrupt magistrate who would easily ruin people’s lives. An arrogant racist who hated everyone who didn’t belong to the pure fairy kin. 

But was it true?

“Listen, Astarion. I won’t pretend I know what you were like back then. I won’t lie by saying I know why it happened to you. But everything you “know” about your past life comes from Cazador. What if it was just another of his tortures? He wanted you to believe you were a bad person. He wanted you to think you were guilty. I know that type. It’s a special pleasure for them to torture good people. He — “

“Made me a street whore.”

He spits the last word. Yes, that is what he was all these years. He can mask it all with fancy words. Conquests, lovers, seduction. When it was just abuse.

Words spill out of him.

"Sometimes I wasn’t even supposed to drag anyone to the mansion. It was more like retrieving information by doing the only thing I knew how to do well. Sometimes it was an order to pleasure someone - as a reward for them. Sometimes it was just pointless. Just one more thing to break me even more.”

"You say like you did it of your own free will", she says.

"I-"

"You did it because you were like a puppet. Because it was impossible to say “no”. The moment you set yourself free, you stopped doing that."

"And the first thing I did was seduce you!”

She cups his face and kisses his forehead. It causes another flow of tears. 

“I have my own free will, too,” she says. “Do you think I would sleep with you if I didn’t want to? I am not the person who hooks up with men in brothels and I am not the person who would enjoy a sentient trophy to fuck. It’s not normal to find people on streets and treat them like objects.”

Tav cradles him in her arms. Astarion’s muscles are still tense. He can’t do anything about that. Maybe, if Tav leaves him for a moment, he will find a way to relax but the mere thought of staying alone scares him.

She kisses him. Saying all the sweet words she knows to soothe his worries.

"I have an idea," she finally says. “Could you lie on your stomach?"

“What for?”

Tav kisses his neck.

"Please?"

He is trying to lie on the floor but Tav stops him.

“On the bed.”

He hesitates but agrees. Astarion puts his hands under his cheek. His bare back is exposed and it causes him to clench his fists again.

“I will stop if you feel uncomfortable, love. Just tell me and I will stop”

He nods. Tav saddles him with her hips and presses hands on his ribs.

“Can I touch your scars?”

“Yes.”

Tav presses arms into his skin causing a pleasant pressure. The fingers massage his back but there is nothing sexual about it. It's not a premise, not a prelude. It will lead to nothing. He won’t have to pay back.

The hands massage his back, strongly and gently. 

"You have beautiful hands”, Tav murmurs. “They can do so many things —”

Yes, he thinks darkly, bringing pleasure mostly.

“They can sew, embroider. Pick up lockers. Steal pretty things. I like watching you doing tricks with coins. Can’t take my eyes off. Speaking of which… ”

Tav touches his curls.

“You have incredible eyes. Crimson red – “

The color of blood.

“The color of wine”, Tav proceeds. “You are always vigilant, like a cat on a hunt. You notice small details and see things I don’t.”

Tav moves a bit to be able to press a kiss on the crown of his head.

“You are so smart. You know so many things.” She gently touches his right ear. “I love your ears and how they peek out of your hair. They are so adorable especially when they twitch a bit, reacting to sounds or to your jaw movements.”

She keeps talking to him, massaging his back. The words of reassurance, of love, sound like a prayer. The touches and kisses cover his skin like a healing ointment.

Astarion feels protected. Loved. 

And then it’s just too much.

He bursts into tears. Desperate, painful. Tears rip his chest apart causing pain in the throat. 

Tav stops and gets off him allowing him to lay on his back.

“Astarion… Did I hurt you?”

He wants to say something but he can’t. He cries like a child abandoned in the streets. Cries like he did many years ago when the first tortures were inflicted upon him. When he realized no one would save him. That the Gods were silent and merciless. 

“Astarion…”

All the darkness he has in his heart is spilling through the tears. They wash away the pain and disgust like rain washes dirt in the Lower City. 

With effort he pulls Tav to him pressing her to his chest. She wraps her hands around him.

“Thank you”, he mutters through tears.

They sit like that for an eternity. Astarion listens to Tav’s heartbeat and breathing. He remembers her first reaction to his stories – anger. Pure, livid anger. Anger to people who did this to him. Not only Cazador but everyone who treated him like an object. And sorrow – she mourned his past along with him. 

She is his happiness. The happiness he has never considered worthy of. He has found it with her. And he will be forever grateful for her patience and care.

“Tav?”, he whispers but she doesn’t reply. He pulls away a bit and sees she is asleep.

Astarion chuckles and helps Tav to lie on the bed beside him. He tucks her into the blanket and makes sure she lies on the dry side of the pillow (not the section damp with his tears).

And then, he begins whispering words like a prayer.

Thank you. Thank you for existing.

--

Tag List

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashrio20 @not-so-lost-after-all @vixstarria @wintersire @marcynomercy

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #bg3 #astarion romance #baldurs gate astarion #astarion fics #astarion fanfiction #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #baldur's gate tav #astarion angst #astarion fic #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfic #tav x astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 #spacebarbarian fics

[flowercrowngods]

why must i think of prisoners Ranger!Steve and Bard!Eddie so constantly and why must they be so tender and why hhhh

Steve’s whole body is made of pain, and has been for the past few days. His feet are aching and raw from trying to keep up as they were bound to horses and dragged along. His skin is chafed and bleeding where the unforgiving rocks have managed to destroy his clothes after one too many falls, and every smallest of cuts feels like his body is nothing more than a pulsating mess. 

Worst of all, though, is the dizziness. He doesn’t know if his head is still bleeding or if the wetness he can feel running down his temple is his body’s testament to the unfamiliar heat, but it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. 

There’s only pain. And nausea. His eyes are open but he needs a second to understand what he’s seeing — and what he’s seeing is a ceiling made of sand coloured stone. Distantly, he hears a door clanging shut, but that might just as well be a memory. 

He’s going to throw up. Tough luck when you don’t even know where up is. 

A groan leaves his mouth as he tries to take a deep breath and fails miserably. Instead, he can add two broken ribs to the list of misery. 

Gods above — whichever of them are listening — he’s tired. But he fears that if he closes his eyes, he might not open them anymore for the sheer release that would bring. He can’t sleep, can’t rest, not when— 

“Easy now,” a gentle voice interrupts his less than coherent thoughts and just moments later, a tender hand is combing through his blood-crusted hair. “You shouldn’t move, my friend. There’s nowhere to move to anymore.” 

Steve frowns, his brain trying and failing to provide any information at this point. The hits to his head must have been worse than he thought if his short term memory refuses to work with him anymore. 

“We have reached Capital City,” the voice continues and Steve has to blink the fog away to make out its owner. When he does, it must show in his eyes, for the worry in Theodore Munson’s eyes makes way to the briefest of smiles before returning even stronger than before. “Do you not recall?”

Steve just stares up at him. That’s all his wrecked body and mind allow him to do right now. That’s all they want to do when gentle hands comb through his hair and chase away some of the pain. 

It is then that reality slowly comes back to him and he realises where he is. Where they are. What is at stake if they fail any more, if they decide to torture information on Elanor and William out of them — out of him. He’s not sure how much he can take. They have been held prisoner for weeks. Steve has been hurting for even longer.

Shame rises in him and he has the urge to apologise to Jim, to explain, but moving his head to the side, he sees that his old master isn’t any better off. He appears to be sleeping, his face bruised, and a teary-eyed Maxine is wiping blood away from his face with a piece of her cloak. 

Steve blinks once, twice, and takes in the man who practically raised him, watches the steady rise and fall of his chest and listens, beyond the pulsing rush of his own blood, that his lungs are not rattling. Shame makes way to satisfaction when he sees that none of their party has taken as many hits, kicks and punches as himself. His distractions have worked, then. 

That’s good. Now if only they didn’t make him so nauseous. So tired. So…

“Don’t fall asleep, Steven,” Eddie demands, and the world tilts slightly, which makes everything worse until… soft. It’s softer now. 

Eddie has moved him so his head is resting in his lap now. 

“You don’t look too good, Ranger. Sleep is dangerous in your state, no matter how badly you might need it. Give it a few hours, please.” 

A beat passes where Steve tries to process the words that are just too many. Since when does Eddie talk with him so much? 

“Lies,” he says after a while and with greater effort than should be necessary.

“Lies?” 

“I look very good. You just can’t see it under all the blood and the bruises.” He tries to crack a smile, but even the huffed breath jolts his head too much. 

Eddie does him the favour of a brief chuckle, and Steve feels better for it. Lighter. Light is good, he finds. Maybe all he has to focus on is Eddie and his hands working out the clumps of dirt and blood from his hair, maybe all he has to to is make him smile and the world will be a bit less painful. 

His world narrows down to all the ways Eddie is close to him and it does keep him occupied, but it also gets his mind wandering, the adrenaline of the past days wearing off. 

“Keep doing that and I will fall asleep,” he says after another beat of silence. Fall asleep and dream. Dream of what this could mean. Dream of smiles that make me feel lighter. 

“Keep doing what?” Eddie asks, and Steve senses a trick to just keep him talking, no matter how slurred his speech is. He needs a moment to remember what he said.

“This,” he says eventually, and Eddie only hums. Finding words is hard. He tries. And tries again. “Being gentle.” 

Another smile, and Steve wants to close his eyes to keep it there to hold on to. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my friend.” 

“Can’t not be gentle?” He’s losing force on the consonants. The pain is getting stronger, his nerve endings more frayed and his vision blurry. This is familiar. He gives himself another quarter of an hour at most before he will lose his consciousness, no matter how hard he tries to stay here. With Eddie and his wavering smile. 

“Not with my friends, no.” 

This time it’s Steve who smiles at the word friends. He likes to be Eddie’s friend. The man, as it turns out, is admirable, he’s strong, he’s wise when he wants to be and gentle with young Maxine. He’s kind, he’s quick-witted and patient, and his hands are impossibly soft. 

“I know you said not to sleep, and I’m not normally one to deny a well-respected bard’s command, but…” He swallows. Words are hard. He’s not sure they come out as planned, but he perseveres. “I’m afraid I have to prove to you now just how stubborn the Queen’s Rangers can be.” 

Another hum from above him and Steve opens his eyes he hadn’t even noticed closing. The world is fading, but still Eddie is at its centre. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up, then, stubborn Ranger.” 

Will you smile at me still? Steve wonders. 

“Always,” Eddie says, but before Steve has time to wonder if someone else has said something, darkness has swallowed him whole.

#steddie fic #steddie #also steve and hop are soft in this one honestly just ask me to post the whole 4.6k thing and i will but it doesn't have a beginning or end #we just vibing like fr it's just steve whump and everyone being gentle on him and also some humour for kindness #no taglist for this bc it isn't even a thing but man i keep thinking about them why must all my aus be so weird and niche?

[jisungsdaydreamer]

Love Playlist #3: Make It Right (Lee Know)

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» 

"It hurts to love you."

Pairing: Lee Know x Fem!reader Genre: college au, angst, exes to lovers Warnings: swearing, messy break-up, mc has a fear of the dark, mild haunted house/Halloween descriptions Word Count: 18.3k

*Written for @skzwritingcafe's July/August event: Summertime Confessions ☀️

Special thanks to @baekhyyun & @simpforyongbokk for beta-reading!! 💘

“I love you.”

You roll your eyes and shove Minho away, trying to suppress the giggles that threaten to spill out. “Stop that. We need to concentrate, or we’ll never find an apartment.”

“I’m definitely concentrating.” Minho grins mischievously. “On you.”

Laughing at his antics, you shake your head, shutting your computer for a brief intermission to tend to Minho’s insatiable appetite for your attention. Your boyfriend never fails to make you smile, no matter what. 

“I love you too, you menace.”

Minho wakes up with a start. He groggily glances over at the clock hanging on the wall in front of him. Nearly 3 a.m. Slinging his legs over the side of the couch, Minho just sits in that position for a good twenty minutes, marinating in the pitiful mixture of his sweat and tears.

The night before, he’d attempted to drown away his sorrows at some bar he stumbled upon while aimlessly wandering the city streets. It hadn’t worked, obviously, because his wallet wasn’t bottomless, and the pain was too great. But in true character, Minho had tried anyway, until his savior found him slumped over the counter and led him back to a safe place to sober up.

“Stay here as long as you need to,” Chan had said, tucking Minho’s drowsy form into a bundle of blankets on the couch, like he was a little kid.

Minho had tried to resist, mumbling complaints towards his friend’s retreating back, but fell into a troubled slumber before Chan even reached his own bedroom. Now he’s wide awake and unwilling to be so, praying he can just fall back asleep and forget about everything that had transpired in the previous twenty-four hours. But even sleep can’t save him from the memories of what you both once were: happy.

It’s not like he didn’t notice the rift growing between you two in the past few weeks. You didn’t have as much time for each other anymore, reducing your interactions to quick dinners and text messages. But you both have been together for nearly three years, and Minho had assumed that it was just the stress of senior year taking a toll on you both, nothing more. You both had been browsing apartments together just one month ago, finally planning to take the next big step in your relationship. He loves you more than anything in the world, and he so believed that you felt the same about him.

So when you sat him down yesterday at your favorite café, Morningstar Coffee House, and told him that you had doubts about your future together, he was shocked. Too fearful of what you were going to say next, Minho decided to take an abrupt exit out of the conversation, rushing out of the door by using class as an excuse. And now, he will be forced to confront a brutal reality, wishing he could have just gotten this over with yesterday.

A small chime alerts Minho to a new text message, and before he even reaches over to the coffee table to pick up his phone, he knows it’s you. 

bobaluvrr: we need to finish talking catservant98: do we really need to? bobaluvrr: morningstar at 8. i have class, pls don’t be late.

With an exasperated groan, Minho stands up, tossing his phone onto the couch. At the very least, he could use the coffee.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little extreme?” Soyeon scrapes the bottom of the pint of ice cream in her hands, frowning when her spoon doesn’t recover as much as she’d like.

“Maybe,” Sunoo answers for you from where he’s sprawled out on the floor, lying on his stomach while scrolling through his cellphone. Soyeon chucks a pillow at him, making him yelp and lift his hands up in defeat.

“This is for the best, Soyeon,” you reply firmly, stabbing your spoon into your own pint of rocky road and digging out a generous chunk. As you lick the spoon, you note that you barely notice the creamy goodness that always succeeds in cheering you up. Not today.

Sunoo sits up and sets his phone aside. “Literally last month, you said you wanted to marry Minho as soon as you graduated.”

You swallow harshly, remembering the exact moment Sunoo is referencing. It’s true that you wanted to marry your boyfriend— no, you still want to marry him, even now. But you meant what you said; breaking up with Minho is necessary to prevent any more heartache. You’ve been feeling this indescribable longing seeping into your heart for weeks now, silently pressing through all of your warning bells. It was a whisper in the wind beneath your lofty wings, telling you that one day, Minho was going to leave you. The last few days had been the final straw, forcing you to grasp your courage and do what had to be done.

“I know.” You hold your tears back. “But the situation has obviously changed.”

Soyeon takes your hand in her own, softly rubbing your palm with her thumb to comfort you, while Sunoo just rolls his eyes. “I still blame that bitch Minju. It’s her fault you’re feeling like this, if anyone’s.”

At the mention of Minju, your expression hardens. After all, you don’t exactly have warm regards for a backstabber like her, especially when she had pretended to be your friend just to get close to Minho. When you found out about her ulterior motive, it made the betrayal hurt ten times worse.

You had befriended Minju nearing the end of the previous year, after she sat next to you at lunch when you were alone in the dining hall. All along your short-lived friendship, you had noticed that she would only ask you questions about Minho or your relationship with him, but you brushed it off as an attempt to just get along with your boyfriend. You had no idea that she wanted to do more than that. 

At the beginning of the next semester, Minho mentioned that he had one class with Minju. Ever the optimist, you were pleasantly surprised, thinking that Minju could become friends with Minho as well. After all, it always took Minho forever to really bond with new people, and this would make everything easier. But the little things you kept overlooking built upon each other, forming a whole dam of distrust. 

First, there were all of the times you hung out with both Minju and Minho. While Minho always engaged in conversation with the both of you, if not more with you, Minju would actively ignore you just to talk to Minho. Once, you three visited an arcade together, and there was a game that involved picking teams. Minju immediately declared that she would partner up with Minho, so you had no option but to team with a stranger. But maybe she just wanted to get to know him.

And then you ran into Heeseung, one of Minju’s old classmates. Heeseung had no malicious intentions; he used to have photography class with Minju before she switched out, and needed Minju’s number to ask her for the pen he had lent her. It looked like Minju had changed her course schedule to share a class with Minho. But maybe that was just a coincidence.

The final piece that made you put together Minju’s puzzle was when Minho was dropping you after a date one night. He had kissed you goodbye, and you went inside, wondering if you should invite Minju over to watch some movies. You called Minju and asked her if she wanted to come over, but she claimed that she was very sick and couldn’t even leave her house, down with a high fever in her bed. Feeling sorry for your friend, you decided to whip up a quick batch of soup for Minju and walk over to her loft. However, you saw two people standing right outside the building. Upon closer look, you realized it was Minju and Minho, talking about something you couldn’t hear. But the sight itself was enough— Minju looked perfectly healthy and fresh. You could give the benefit of doubt to your boyfriend, but Minju had obviously lied to you. You ran away before either of them spotted you.

You shake your head, knowing in your heart that even someone like Minju couldn’t really end one of the most important relationships in your life. “It’s not just her. I’m tired of watching every other couple on campus, wishing Minho and I were like that. Everyone calls us perfect, but really, we’re not. I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one who cares. I’m just tired of everything, Sunoo.”

And it’s true. You’ve had enough of wondering about whether you love him too much, if you were being naive about everything. You have always been a very bubbly, social person, wearing your heart on your sleeve. You know that Minho is more of an introvert, and that it’s hard for him to express himself to others. However, you believed that with time, he would open up, at least to you. You found it as easy to confide your fears within Minho as it was to laugh when he tickled you. But communicating with Minho about his own feelings remained a difficulty. He still seems like such a mystery to you, and even if he wasn’t entertaining Minju’s whole plot, you feel like he isn’t as interested in you as you are in him. You hadn’t even bothered telling Minho the truth about Minju, because in the end, you doubt Minju would have troubled you so much if your relationship really was so unbreakable. 

Sunoo’s face softens, as he gets up to envelope you in one of his hugs. “I’m sorry if I came off too strong. I just want the best for you.”

Soyeon joins your little huddle, wrapping her arms around the both of you. “You are our best friend, after all. We can’t have our favorite girl being sad.”

A tiny flicker of hope ignites in your stomach. Whatever happens, you know you’ll have Soyeon and Sunoo by your side. You tell yourself over and over again that you don’t need anyone else but them, until you start to believe it.

It hurts Minho’s heart to see that you look more beautiful than ever as you step into Morningstar, even with your downturned lips and the reddened sheen of your sleepless eyes. He busies himself with the menu as you approach the table he’s sitting at, as if he wasn’t just watching you a moment earlier.

“Thank you for seeing me.” Your words feel oddly formal, especially taking into account your usual greeting for Minho was an excited hug and an avalanche of kisses.

Minho shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant and not as scared as he really is. “Yeah, of course.”

You scoot your chair closer to the table, clearing your throat. “Did you sleep okay last night?”

Unable to help himself, Minho rolls his eyes. “How do you think I slept, Y/N?”

You immediately flush, realizing how obvious the answer must be. “I was just—”

“Checking on me,” Minho interrupts you, sounding more wounded than angry. “Right after you tell me that you think maybe we shouldn’t move-in together and that you aren’t feeling the same about us.”

You reach across the table to take Minho’s hands in yours. He can’t bring himself to wrench them free from your hold. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“You did.”

“That wasn’t my intention. I just…” You trail off, gazing out the window. The campus is alive with the buzz of students waking up and going on about their days. It’s a gorgeous day for October, with bright sunshine and a cloudless sky— Minho hates it.

He looks away, not wanting to showcase how truly vulnerable he feels right now. “Why? Why this all of a sudden? Did I do something wrong?”

You start. “No!”

“Are you still upset about yesterday? I know everything is stressful right now, but I promise—”

You take a deep breath. “I can no longer trust you. I don't know if I’ll always be the only one. But it’s not you, it’s me.”

“Of course you’re my only one, what are you talking about?” Minho shakes his head, the desperation creeping in. “No. I promise I’ll try. I’ll be better. Whatever it is, we’ll get through this together.”

You slam your palms down on the table, making it shake. It shocks both you and Minho into a moment of charged silence. “We’ll only grow to hate each other at this rate. I need to end things with you now.”

“Y/N, please. I- I don’t want to break-up.”

You flash Minho a broken smile. “I don’t want it either. But I need to do this, for both our sakes.”

You stand up from your chair, and Minho finally breaks. Minho, who didn’t cry even when he fell into a ravine while hiking and broke his arm. Minho, who didn’t cry even when he was cut from the line-up for his dream internship in New York City. Minho, who never cries, sits in front of you now, the tears streaming down his cheeks and dripping onto his sweatshirt.

“Don’t go, please.” He makes one last attempt at getting you to stay, grabbing onto the arm of your jacket. 

You gently shake him free, taking your purse. You’re crying now too. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Min.”

Minho lets his arm fall limply to his side as he hopelessly watches you leave as quickly as you came. He always hated saying goodbye after every time you went out, but the thought of being able to see you the next day helped a little bit. Now, there wasn’t even that.

“One… two… three.” 

Minho grunts in effort, sweat slowly dripping down his neck at the arduous pace of each repetition.

“Keep going, Minho. You’re almost there,” Changbin says, leaning over Minho and supporting him on the bench press.

Minho barely hears him, flexing his biceps up and down, exhausted, yet determined to finish a set. He’s done nothing at all for the past few days, strangled with the inevitable grief of being broken up with. Minho sullenly welcomed trudging back and forth to classes. He went to bed early and slept in for as long as possible, and barely ate anything during the meals Chan forced him to have.

However, Chan finally became fed up with Minho’s mopiness, employing Changbin to drag him out to the gym and make him work out his feelings. And so, as he struggles under the backbreaking weight of the barbell, he yearns to feel a sense of accomplishment about something— anything.

“Ten! You’re done.” Changbin gently places a hand on Minho’s arm, willing him to stop, but Minho keeps going without toning down his pace.

Minho feels the excruciating ache burning in his muscles, the slow agony of pain rippling through him. Is this how you feel? Is this how much it hurts to love him? If so, he wants to live it over and over again, atoning for the reason you left him. He blames himself for letting you go, of course, but mostly for making you feel like you had to leave in the first place. He should have been a better man for you. 

“Minho, stop!” Changbin lifts up the weight in his own hands, racking it and staring down accusingly at his charge. “Are you crazy? You could have hurt yourself.”

“You lift more than that, and you’re fine. Give me that.” Minho reaches for the barbell once more, but Changbin places it on an even higher hook, forcing Minho to get off the bench.

“I’ve been doing this for years. You started after your girlfriend dumped you, four days ago.”

Minho rolls his eyes, picking up his towel and dabbing at his dampened skin. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“You were already thinking about her anyway.” Changbin pats Minho’s shoulder, grabbing his bottle of green juice and walking over to the rowing machine to start his own workout.

Without further protest, Minho retreats to the locker rooms, wondering if he’s being that obvious. Minho gazes into the clouded mirror, inspecting himself for any signs of sadness, but all he receives is an eyeful of his general look, a guarded expression that reserves smiles only for those who deserve it. Weird. Maybe Changbin is just telepathic.

Minho shoves his belongings into his gym bag and heads out of the gym, back to nowhere else but Chan’s apartment, his temporary home until he finds a better place to stay. After all, he thought you both would be moving in together, but plans change. 

As Minho makes his way down the sidewalk that leads to the university off-campus housing complex, someone throws a soccer ball into his path. Great.

“Hey, can you pass that over here?” 

Clenching his jaw in annoyance, Minho kicks at the ball as hard as he can, not caring about where it lands. He ignores the person’s confused shouts and keeps walking until he reaches his destination, not acknowledging any of the strangers he passed by. What does it matter, anyway?

“Gym go well?” Chan looks up from the cutting board, setting down his knife and wiping his hands on a dishrag.

Minho sighs, neatly fixing his bag next to his current post, the sofa. “It was fine. I’ll go clean up and be right back.”

“Hurry! Dinner’s almost ready,” Chan calls as Minho heads inside the bathroom, locking the door and cranking on the shower. 

Minho feels his body relax as he steps under the steady stream of water, but his mind remains tense. He’d gone to the gym with Changbin today because he thought he’d be able to get some peace of mind and forget about everything, but evidently, that hadn’t worked. All he can think about is you, you, you. He’ll deny it to his friends for as long as he can, but he isn’t sure how long he can keep lying to himself.

As he finishes, Minho steps out of the steamy bathroom and into the bedroom, drying off and quickly changing into his clothes. He walks into the dining area, where Chan has set up two bowls and is ladling pasta into each of them. When he was younger, Minho’s mother used to tell them that a good meal could ease a troubled heart. For her sake and Chan’s, he decides to eat well today, just for living.

Enveloped in a comfortable silence, Minho and Chan dig in, enjoying the spicy, cheesy penne that serves as an instant comfort food. 

“Thanks, Chan,” Minho says, looking up from his bowl.

Chan swallows his bite and pauses, placing down his fork. “For what?”

Minho shrugs awkwardly, trying to find the right words. By now, he knows he’s no good at speaking his heart. “For being there for me. For feeding me. Everything, I guess.”

“And for making Changbin haul your ass to the gym.” Chan grins at Minho, nothing but warmth in his kind eyes. “What are friends for, brother?”

Even though he feels kind of crappy, Minho smiles. “Yeah, man.”

Chan reaches over and smacks Minho’s back, laughing the sentiment off. But deep inside, Minho knows that Chan understands him. Whatever happens, his brother will be by his side. He tells that to himself over and over again, through dinner and the TV show that Chan turns on, until he starts to believe it. 

The next morning, Minho wakes up after finally getting a good night’s sleep. The much needed rest spurs him on to message you, something he’s been putting off for a while now.

catservant98: did you wake up? catservant98: how are you doing? catservant98: ??

You don’t reply to any of his texts. Minho knows that you’re not much of a morning person, but you would never miss class, so you have to be up. Every Thursday and Friday, both of you have Writing Seminar together, a course that is mandatory for every senior student at the university you both attend. When he first received his schedule, he had been elated that he shared a class with his girlfriend. Well now you are his ex-girlfriend, and he doesn’t know that being in the same room and unable to speak with you is a great option.

Nevertheless, Minho tucks his phone into his pocket, opening the door to the lecture hall. The moment he enters, his eyes find yours. You’re sitting in your favorite spot in the middle of the fifth row, but the seat next to you that Minho usually takes is already occupied by some other girl who’s busy reading a book. You didn’t bother saving him a seat, for the very first time.

You tear your eyes away from Minho’s piercing gaze, looking at the grassy lawn beyond the window behind you, leaving Minho to find a new seat. He sets his backpack down in the very back row, where no one else is, and sits alone, a sad new reality setting in. Thankfully, the professor enters and starts talking about some upcoming project, leaving Minho ample leeway to observe you. 

Your head is tilted down and you're focused on the open notebook in front of you. Although he can’t see your hand properly, he knows it’s moving as you sketch a little doodle onto the paper. It’s a habit that he always found enormously endearing, and as you tuck your hair behind your ear, Minho feels another pang in his chest. He will never be able to brush back your hair for you, ever again.

The moment class is over, Minho quits pretending he’s actually paying attention and hurries over to you before you can leave. You’re midway through stuffing your books bag in your bag when you notice Minho hovering over you. With a resigned sigh, you look up at him expectantly.

“I- I just wanted to check on you,” Minho says quietly, looking down at his hands like he’s a kid again, guilty of stealing a candy instead of impinging on your time. “And see how you’re doing.”

“I’ve been better.” You look away and stand up, gesturing towards the door. “I should go. Soyeon’s probably waiting.”

“Okay then.” Minho steps aside, letting you pass. You both had a lot of mutual friends; surely every interaction between you both will not be this awkward, right? 

Before you leave, however, you turn and look at him. “Let’s try to be civil and move on, okay? We’ll still be seeing each other a lot, so.”

Minho just stares at you, for a moment, before remembering himself. “Yeah, okay. Let’s try.”

You curtly nod and walk out the door. Minho isn’t so sure that moving on is what he wants. Of course he wants to get along with you, because having you in his life and not being romantically involved is better than not being involved with you at all. But he wishes the world— time, you, and even himself— would understand that moving on meant this loss in his life. Shaking his head, Minho heads out of the classroom and towards a hopefully better day.

“Are you sure this isn’t a bad idea?” You worriedly scan the increasing mass of partygoers. Usually, you love a good party; spending time with friends and making new ones is one of your favorite things to do. Tonight, however, you can’t help the bad feeling building inside of you.

Sunoo loops your arm through yours, leading the way for you through the swanky flat, searching for a place to sit. “No, it isn’t. You deserve to have some fun.”

“What if I see Minho?” You ask him, but you already know the answer. Of course Minho is coming to Jihyo’s birthday party; unfortunately, both of you were in the same large friend group, an aspect of your relationship that you used to cherish. Now, not so much.

He looks over at you, a challenge in his eyes. “And so what if you do? You told him you wanted to be civil. So be civil.”

“Right.”

You both find a place by the food tables, where boxes of pizza have already been opened to entice guests and bottles of beer chill in the cooler. After congratulating Jihyo and helping yourself to a few slices, you sit down on the couch next to Sunoo, trying to enjoy your dinner. After boba, pizza is your most favorite food on the whole planet, but even that can’t seem to soothe your nerves. You wish Soyeon were here too, but she’s stuck studying for an exam.

Noticing your restlessness, Sunoo whistles to a few people mingling nearby. “Hey, who wants to play Truth or Dare!”

Although outdated, Truth or Dare is a certified party hit for stressed college students like you all, especially if there’s alcohol involved. You’re just thankful for the distraction. Everyone quickly huddles around, buzzing in anticipation of either a comedy show or secrets being revealed.

“I’ll go first.” Chan says, stepping forward. If he’s here, so must be Minho. “Truth.”

Sunoo rubs his hands together in thought before piping up. “What’s your beef with your Student Council co-president?”

Chan immediately tenses, his cheeks turning red. “Shit. I’ll drink on that.”

Everyone whoops with laughter and cheers as Chan downs his beer, setting the cup down with a sour expression on his face due to the bitterness of the drink. He must really hate his co-president. The game continues, before you’re the only person playing who hasn’t gone yet. Unfortunately, your questioner is Mark Lee, a junior that’s notorious for his nosiness. You brace yourself for whatever invasive question he’ll come up with, but you aren’t as quite prepared as you think.

“Why did you and Y/N break up?” 

“Huh?” You follow Mark’s gaze to see him looking at Minho, who joined the game without you realizing. The question was meant for him, not you.

Minho says nothing, giving Mark the opportunity to keep talking. “I mean, weren’t you guys the golden couple of campus or something?”

Everyone quiets down, zeroing in on you and Minho for all of the wrong reasons. Minho’s eyes dart over to where you sit, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. You feel your skin prickle and your body heat up, the stress clouding your senses once more.

“This is stupid. Game’s over,” Minho declares while getting up, and everyone disperses, not willing to argue with him.

You stare down at your lap as Sunoo places an arm over your shoulders, pulling you close to him. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I had no idea Mark would ask that. What an asshole.”

“I’m fine.” You stand up, brushing off your skirt. “I’m going to go get a drink.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sunoo offers.

You shake your head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll come back.”

After getting some water, you wind through the impromptu dance floor that has now taken over the living space, everyone jamming to the raging music that thumps through the loud bass speakers that Jihyo had installed into her flat. You dodge a couple grinding up against each other and a pair of best friends swinging to the beat. Before you head back to Sunoo, you’re about to find temporary reprieve out on the balcony, but like a cruel universal joke, you see exactly what you fear most.

Minho leans against the railing, the evening breeze ruffling the chestnut hair that frames his handsome face. And next to him stands Minju, twirling her hair around her fingers while listening to what Minho is murmuring to her. Yours and Minju’s eyes meet, and she gives you the faintest hint of a satisfied smirk. Your heart drops and your feet want to give out right then and there, but you would rather die than fall apart in front of both of them. You turn on your heel and blindly march to wherever will rid you of the sight of the person you love the most speaking to the person you hate the most. 

That destination turns out to be the kitchen, as you march in and huff out loud as your body hits the kitchen island. There’s no one else there except for one other person with his upper body hidden by the refrigerator, obviously raiding it. At the sound of someone else entering, he shuts the fridge door and looks over at you. Taking in his faded pink hair and beat-up converse sneakers, you vaguely recognize him from somewhere.

“I was just looking for some carrot juice, that’s all.” The guy shoots you a sheepish smile. “I don’t do booze past 9 p.m.”

“Carrot juice? Don’t tell me you’re a fitness freak.”

He raises his hands in faux surrender. “Guilty. But outside of the gym, I’m Kang Taehyun. Or Terry, if we’re acquainted, and hopefully you and I will be by the end of the night. So call me Terry.”

You’re intrigued by this carrot-loving stranger. “I’m—”

“Y/N, I know. We have Writing Seminar together.” Terry smiles as the recognition hits you.

You slap your palm against your forehead, wondering how you could have missed him. “I’m so sorry. I guess I was always too distracted in that class.”

He waves your apology off with a twist of his wrist. “No worries. Besides, you’re a lot more memorable than me.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Thank you.”

In the brief silence that follows, you gaze up at the pattern of the tiling on the countertops, toying with the hem of your skirt. Once again, your thoughts flit over to Minho, wondering if he’s still talking to Minju. Terry notices you spacing out and speaks up. “Hey, are you okay?”

You look up at him like a deer caught in headlights. Suddenly, everything feels like too much, and you’re overwhelmed with your own emotions. You feel yourself tear up, and you’re immediately mortified for breaking down in front of someone you just met. 

Unfazed, Terry crosses over to you in three quick strides and gently touches your arm, concerned. “Hey, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

You swipe at your eyes, trying to collect yourself. “No, it’s not you. I broke up with my boyfriend recently. And it’s been… bad. God, this is embarrassing.”

Terry dips his head in understanding. “I noticed you weren’t sitting next to him as usual in class earlier today. Minho— that's him, right?”

You let out a mirthless chuckle. “Yeah.”

“Well…” Terry trails off, and you fear you’ve ruined the mood with your depressive recollection, but he smiles at you. “I’ll tell you something embarrassing about me. I have a fear of mint chocolate chip ice cream.”

A giggle escapes your mouth at the absurdity of his confession. “What?”

Terry nods solemnly. “Yes. Technically, I have a fear of visiting the dentist, but mint choco is close enough to the taste of toothpaste to give me the chills.”

You grin at Terry, the down atmosphere slowly fading away. “What do you like, then?”

“Water slides. Pleasure reading. And caramel popcorn with extra caramel.” Terry flexes his bicep. “Even a fitness freak needs his sugar fix.”

You roll your eyes in good humor. “You’re really something, aren’t you, Kang Taehyun?”

“I’m hoping that’s a compliment.” Terry runs his hand through his bubblegum hair, carelessly mussing it up. You find the messiness of his bangs absolutely adorable.

“It is.” You tap your nails against your cup, trying to think of something to say next. Generally, you have no difficulty in keeping a conversation going, but Terry seems to be content with that role in this one.

“Are you an Apple or Android kind of person?” Terry inquires.

You take a sip of your water, raising your eyebrow at him. “Where did that come from?”

“I was trying to think of a good way to ask you for your number.” Terry shrugs, that playful smile that you’ve now become familiar with coming back.

You return it. “You just did.”

Both of you exchange cell phones and type in each other’s contact information. When finished, Terry slides your phone back into your palm, and you don’t miss the light touch of his fingers against your own.

“I have to go find my friend now, Terry. But I’m glad I met you. Don’t forget to spam me with more weird facts about yourself.”

Terry laughs. “I won’t. Like I said, Y/N, you’re not easily forgettable.”

You hide your smile and leave the kitchen, lost in your own world, even as you run straight into Sunoo, who asks you what took you so long. When you finally get back to the warmth of your own room after the party, you sit down to get some homework done before bed. You notice your favorite keychain, a little cat charm, hanging off your ID card lanyard that’s strewn across your desk. Minho gifted it to you last year, stating that you needed something to remind you of him when he wasn’t there. After a moment’s hesitation, you unclip the charm from the lanyard and tuck it away inside your desk. You don’t need the reminder right now.

terrypotter: hey, good morning!! this is terry from yday btw bobaluvrr: hii!  bobaluvrr: omg ur user <3 i love harry potter too!  terrypotter: this friendship was meant to be.

You throw off your covers, hopping out of bed. Last night was proof that things could start out horrible and end well. You meant what you said to Terry; you’re happy you were able to meet someone like him. Even though you both only hung out for a few minutes, talking to him felt relaxing and uncomplicated, less of a puzzle and more like a game, unlike how it felt with Minho. You were tired of always guessing Minho’s thoughts, and so Terry’s habit of speaking his mind feels incredibly refreshing.

terrypotter: here’s a thought- coffee @ morningstar?  terrypotter: they make a mean breakfast bagel too, if ur up for it

You frown down at your phone, the lighthearted feeling fading into uncertainty. You are glad that Terry named this new acquaintance as a friendship, but still, he’s a boy— and a good looking one at that, too. You aren’t sure if getting coffee entails something potentially romantic down the lane, and if it does, it feels wrong, especially so soon after Minho. You definitely haven’t moved on, yet. After all, you once believed that Minho would be the man you would marry one day, and a tiny part of you still dreams of what could be.

bobaluvrr: i can’t :( promised my roommates breakfast terrypotter: aw that’s too bad

After a moment of thought, however, you text him again. 

bobaluvrr: but i’ll save you a seat in class today! terrypotter: see u then :) 

Strangely buzzed, you make your bed and get ready for the day, trying not to think of the fact that Minho is also in Writing Seminar with you and Terry. You don’t want him to give him the wrong idea, but then again, you both weren’t together anymore, so what does it matter? 

After showering and getting dressed, you stand in the kitchen so that the excuse you gave Terry won’t be a lie, scrambling a few eggs in the frying pan that Minho bought you last year. As the designated chef in your relationship, Minho used to cook for you all the time, whenever you came over to the apartment he shared with Chan and Jisung. Whenever he visited you, however, he complained that there weren’t enough proper cooking supplies for him to create a “proper culinary experience” for you, so he insisted on buying you some. 

When you nearly fainted, looking at the receipts for everything he bought you, he promised that you could make it up to him by bringing everything with you when you moved in with him. That’s how he very smoothly asked you to move in with him, and you accepted by attacking him with kisses. You both planned to find an apartment as soon as possible, since Jisung wanted to move-in with his best friend, and Chan was looking for his own place. The reminiscing smile on your face fades away when you remember that everyone’s plans came to fruition except for yours and Minho’s.

You don’t know if it’s the universe looping Minho into your life again and again, or if your treacherous heart just misses him so much that you can’t help but subconsciously cling to every last remnant you have of him. The sensible side of you knows it’s the latter scenario. 

“I smell food.” Sunoo ambles out of his room, looking like a lovable yet scruffy teddy bear. 

He tries to sneak a piece of fried egg from the pan, but you quickly push his hands away, wrinkling your nose. “Go brush your teeth first. I’m going to throw up.”

Sunoo rolls his eyes sleepily, but obeys, before Soyeon also comes out of her bedroom. Unlike Sunoo, however, she’s all dressed and ready for business, clad in her uniform of baggy jeans and a badass leather jacket that you adore. Soyeon pulls out three glasses and starts juicing a couple oranges to complete your meal, as you start plating the food.

“Thank you, my angel,” Soyeon blows you a kiss as you set the eggs and some slices of buttered toast on the table. You wink back at her as you both take your seats and Sunoo comes out to join you, still wearing his pajamas.

“And you, lazy ass? Wake up earlier so you can help out more. You never do anything.” Soyeon smacks Sunoo’s arm, hard, eliciting a cry out of him.

“Hey! I take on the emotional support role in this house,” Sunoo replies, aggressively biting into his toast.

“This is an apartment.”

Your two roommates trade their usual insults back and forth as you tune them out, picking at your own plate. Maybe it had been a bad idea, asking Terry to sit next to you. And it wasn’t even about how you could already envision your ex-boyfriend’s beautiful eyes full of betrayal, but more of how you’re coming off to Terry. What if he got the wrong idea, that you both were heading into something more than a friendship?

When you’ve escaped Sunoo and Soyeon’s bickering, you plug in your earbuds and walk to the lecture hall. The sound of your morning mix fills your ears as you enter your own world. While you cherish the people in your life more than anything, you treasure the times when you can slow down and just appreciate the fact that you’re alive and healthy. Gratitude isn’t something you feel a lot, especially taking into account recent happenings, but maybe you’ll start now. A new friend is always something to be thankful for—

You hear someone calling out and immediately pull out your headphones to see Terry next to you. 

“Hey, Y/N!” Terry falls into a synchronized step with you. “Did I interrupt any deep contemplation? The look on your face was pretty intense.”

You shake your head, accepting the coffee that Terry hands to you. “Thank you. And no, you didn’t. It’s nice to see you again, Terry.”

Terry smiles, sipping from his own cup. “Likewise. Ready for class?”

You’re about to naturally give him an affirmative answer, before you halt, remembering yet another moment with Minho.

“Who the hell is he?” Minho glowers threateningly at the guy next to you, pulling the sleeves of his button-down up to his elbows. The man quickly rushes out of the bar and into the rain, without even bothering to open the umbrella in his hands. 

You sigh loudly while Minho sits down on the stool the man was just perched on. “Was that necessary, Min? Poor guy just wanted to ask me about the book I’m reading.”

“That’s the pretense that all guys put up when they’re trying to hit on a girl.” Minho slides his arm around your shoulders, and despite your mild annoyance, you melt into his touch. He smells like a mix of cologne, rain, and fresh cotton sheets.

You look up at Minho through your eyelashes. “Is that what you did when you asked me out?”

Minho smiles lovingly at you. “I didn’t have to. You were down bad for me already.”

You shove him away in mock offense. “You were the down bad one! I remember your whole cheesy speech.”

“I don’t recall anything like that.” The smirk on Minho’s face fades in favor of a deep blush.

Laughing, you press a kiss to your boyfriend’s lips, and he quickly reciprocates. The truth is, you both were impossibly down bad for each other. And to be even more honest, you enjoyed it when Minho got like this; the feeling of being Lee Minho’s girl will never not excite you, especially when he was the one keen on enforcing it.

You sigh to yourself. While that was a pleasant memory without the context, you aren’t so sure it’ll be cute this time, when Minho reacts to you and Terry.

Terry holds the door open to the lecture hall, letting you go in first before shutting the door behind him. Most of the class is already assembled there, setting up their desks before the professor starts. You see that Minho’s also sitting, perched in the back again, but he seems busy rifling through his bag, looking for something. As you take your own seat, you don’t know if you feel relief at Minho not saying anything, or disappointment that he didn’t notice you at all.

Throughout the duration of class, you and Terry giggle together over the professor’s infamous random rants, but your mind keeps flitting over to Minho. You can feel his gaze on you and Terry, but when you turn, you see him immersed in his notes like he wasn’t looking at you in the first place, and you end up feeling stupid. Fearful of what Minho— or really, you— might do, as soon as class ends, you grab Terry’s wrist and practically pull him out of the door, ready to get out of there. Terry doesn’t question it, understanding the rationale for your actions. You appreciate that about him.

To make it up to Terry, you take him out to lunch, choosing a restaurant downtown. You love the views of the riverfront there, as well as their renowned spicy food. You block out the memory of all of the times you and Minho walked over here, hand in hand. You are entitled to lunch at your favorite restaurant, you remind yourself. Once you’re seated, the waiter comes over to your table.

“Chef’s special soup, please. Level-three spice,” you tell the waiter.

The waiter writes down your orders and walks away, leaving Terry to look at you with an amused expression. “Level-three? The food here is already spicy.”

You cross your arms. “I have a very high spice tolerance.”

“Alright.”

In no time at all, your waiter is back, setting down the food in front of you both. Terry immediately digs in, shoveling liberal spoonfuls of his mild fried rice into his mouth, leaving you to stare at your soup. You can practically smell the red pepper in the steam rising out of the bowl.

“Here’s my last warning before destruction,” Terry says, squeezing a lemon onto his rice. “Try some rice.”

You sit up, trying to look self-assured. “Nonsense. I can do this.”

Of course, you wish you hadn’t bragged so much, barely a few seconds after your first sip of the spicy broth. Your eyes start to tear up involuntarily, and Terry fills a glass of water from the iced pitcher and hands it over to you. You accept it, clumsily tipping the cool water into your mouth, as Terry gives you a knowing smile.

“Aren’t you overdoing it?”

The spoon in your hands nearly falls onto the floor in your shock at Terry’s words. “What did you just say?”

Terry gives you an odd look. “Um, I said, ‘aren’t you overdoing it?’”

You take a deep breath, the tears now flowing down your cheeks. But you know that they’re not completely due to the soup. “Wow.”

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Terry hands you a napkin, worry written on his face. He signals for the waiter to refill the water pitcher.

You smile ruefully. “Yeah, I will be.”

“I can handle it, Minho.” You give him a glare, placing the napkin on your lap and scooting closer to the table. It’s your first date with Minho, and you want to impress him so bad.

Minho nudges your leg with his own, and you try not to look flustered. “It’s okay if you want to order something else.”

You stubbornly dig your spoon into the bowl, gathering a large helping of broth and noodles onto it. “You like the soup here. So I want to eat it too.”

He just laughs, watching intently as the clear signs of regret manifest on your face. “Told you so.”

"What are you talking about?” You narrow your eyes, unwilling to admit defeat, even though you really, really want to. You drink the soup in careful spoonfuls, pretending it’s too hot, but you struggle to speak even in between tiny sips. “This… is.. so… delicious.”

Minho is now hysterical, losing his mind laughing at the look on your face when you bite straight into a whole jalapeno. “Aren’t you overdoing it?”

“Minho, you’re so mean!” You can’t bear it any longer, the tears gushing down your cheeks while you also laugh in both pain and genuine happiness at being here with Minho, at making him laugh. 

“Alright, alright.” Minho quickly goes and gets a large glass of chilled apple juice from the bar, handing it to you. 

When you’re finally calmed down, you wipe your mouth with your napkin and set the spoon down, metaphorically waving a white flag. You skip straight to dessert, opting to soothe your taste buds with cold ice cream, all while watching Minho in awe as he easily finishes his own bowl of soup. After paying for dinner, Minho takes you to a secluded section of the rocky beach bordering the river that runs straight through the city. You both walk in a comfortable silence, still at that point where your hands slightly touch as you walk, unsure of just holding each other like you so want them to. 

You look over at Minho, suddenly self-conscious. At this point, you see no point in faking anything; he’s seen you literally sob over a bowl of soup. “About the soup… I promise I’m not a braggy show-off. Honestly, I just wanted to impress you. Guess I did the opposite, though.”

“What are you talking about?” Minho shakes his head, all laughter from before gone. “I’ve never met someone who ate a bowl of soup here just because I like it. Not even Chan would try it, and he’s my best friend.”

You blush, illuminated by the combination of the moonlight and the glittering city surrounding. “Thank you.”

Minho stops walking, turning around to face you. “I know I told you this when I asked you to go out with me, but I suck at using my words, so I’m sorry.”

You copy his movement so you’re looking him directly in the eye. “I understand you, words or not.”

Minho looks down at the rocky ground, secretly fighting his own insecurities. “I’m trying, but I… I admit I’m not great at this.”

You try not to show how utterly charmed you are by his bashfulness. “To be honest, neither am I. You’re actually the first person I’ve ever gone out with. Nobody’s really been into me before.”

“Seriously?” Minho looks shocked. 

You now wonder if divulging that information in him was wise. Definitely not. “Yeah.”

Minho kicks a pebble into the river, watching it sink into the water. “Idiots.”

You blink. “Sorry?”

He scoffs, looking back at you. “I don’t know what kind of idiots you were hanging around before. How could no one be into you?”

You shrug, embarrassed. Your heart feels heavy, thinking of the things people used to say to you, thinking they were being funny but not realizing how much mere words were hurting you. “I’m kind of undateable, I guess. People tend to gravitate towards Soyeon. They say I’m more of the comedic relief. I don’t blame them, though. She’s perfect.”

Minho gives you an unreadable expression. “You have no idea.”

“Of what?”

He crosses that miniscule space between you both, answering you in a different way than you expect. His lips are full and sweet, and he tastes like your coffee ice cream that he stole a few bites from. The surprise you harbor quickly melts away when you shut your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck as he circles his around your waist. If it took this long to find the right person, then so be it. And you don’t know if you can say that this— your first kiss ever— is like the movies; it feels even better. 

“I may not be good with words, but I can say this: you are perfect.”

“You look kind of stupid,” Hyunjin says, cackling at Minho’s struggle to look over the top of the box in his hands while coordinating his movements. 

Minho gives Hyunjin a sharp look in response. “And you look ready to go into the air fryer.”

Hyunjin immediately tosses his phone aside and scurries over to where Minho is, taking the box out of his hands and transporting it into Minho’s designated bedroom with ease, looking over his shoulder fearfully as he goes. Minho smiles to himself, satisfied. 

He follows Hyunjin into the room, finding the latter boy dramatically smoothing out the bedsheets and straightening the pillows. Hyunjin side-eyes Minho’s entrance, earning him a smack on the backside and a great reason to get out of the room, leaving Minho in peace.

Minho quickly unpacks, neatly folding his clothes and stacking them in the closet, before organizing the rest of his belongings around the room. When he finishes, he falls back onto his new bed, staring up at the ceiling fan and observing it whir. Out of everything that’s happened, he knows he should be thankful; although Hyunjin is the designated comedian of their friend group— along with Jisung, of course— he values his privacy incredibly. So when Hyunjin offered to rent out a room in his apartment to Minho, he couldn’t believe his luck. Then again, he wishes he wasn’t in this position to begin with.

Earlier today, Chan insisted on going out to catch the football game that their university hosted. Minho had agreed, with nothing better to do— besides, he noticed that Chan was also having a rough start to his day, after being locked in the campus library all night with his co-president that he always conflicted with. Chan had stayed quiet for the entire time, staring out the window on the ride to the home game, but at least he had a happy ending. By the end of the game, things had changed for Chan, and for the better: he’d amended things with his co-president, and of everything that could have happened, they even emerged from the stadium as a couple. For Minho, however, things had been quite different.

Namely, there’s a new replacement for Minho. He saw you walk into class with Kang Taehyun yesterday, and he’d been so anxious to not let you see his reaction that he immediately busied himself with his backpack. The entire time, however, he was watching you both whisper to each other during class. He darkly observed Taehyun scribble something onto the corner of your notebook, and it had made you laugh. That was what Minho used to do all the time. By the end of class, Minho considered confronting you right then and there, without caring about anyone else, but you ran out of class with Taehyun before he could even move.

And to make things even worse, he saw you and Taehyun together at the game. Minho had to resist the urge to march down to your section and slap the flirtatious smile off of Taehyun’s face. But more than anything, he wanted to ask you if it was true. Did you really already start to move on with a new man? Is Minho really that replaceable to you?

“Hey, what are you up to?” Hyunjin cautiously sticks his head into the room, snapping Minho out of his reverie.

“Nothing much. What’s up?”

Hyunjin steps into the room, his silky shirt and pressed trousers a stark contrast to Minho’s soft blue t-shirt and gym shorts. “Wanna go to the convenience store with me? I ran out of snacks.”

“You and your snacks,” Minho teases, chasing after Hyunjin when he sticks his tongue in retaliation.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin successfully drags Minho into the convenience store, disappearing into the junk food aisles to get his fix and leaving Minho to wander around the store. Following the twisting row of frozen foodstuffs, Minho turns and crashes straight into you.

“Minho?” Your eyes widen.

Minho clears your throat, trying not to gaze at you like you’re a returned long-lost love. You are indeed lost to him, but he had class with you merely the day before. He needs to get a grip on himself. “You dropped this.”

He kneels down, picking up the tub of ice cream, and hands it to you after inspecting the flavor label. “Strawberry? You hate strawberry.”

You take it back hastily. “Yeah. You always loved it, though.”

That doesn’t satisfy Minho’s rampant irritation. “You wouldn’t even touch strawberry ice cream with a ten-foot pole before. What changed?”

“I just wanted to try something new,” you say, with what Minho observes as guilt.

Before Minho can respond, the person he wants to see the least rounds the corner and interrupts you both. 

“I promise, the strawberry ice cream here is amazing and— oh.” Taehyun walks up to where you are, standing slightly between you and Minho, before he looks down at you, ignoring Minho. “Am I interrupting something? I can go away.”

You shake your head, flaring the rage in Minho. “It’s fine. You can stay.”

“So you’ll eat strawberry ice cream with him, but not me.” Minho rolls his eyes, the humiliation inside him swelling like a balloon.

“Hey man, it’s nothing like that. I know she doesn’t like strawberry ice cream that much, but I practically threatened her to try it. J'adore strawberries,” Taehyun says in a joking tone, but Minho doesn’t miss the protective glint in his eye.

Minho has never been a violent person, but he balls his fists. The nerve. “Who the fuck even are you? You don’t know anything about—”

“What is your problem, Minho?” You cut in angrily. “If you’re mad at me, then be mad at me. Don’t take your frustrations out on Terry.”

What you said is perfectly sensible, Minho knows that. He doesn’t have anything against Taehyun at all; he doesn’t even know the guy. But all logic is thrown out of the window when it comes to you.

“Terry?” Minho scoffs at the nickname. “You know what, I am mad at you. Because seriously? Kang Taehyun? He isn’t even your type.”

Before Taehyun can say anything else, you respond to Minho’s jab, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “Right, because you were so perfect for me.”

The words hit him like a sledgehammer, and Minho starts in surprise— you’ve never talked to him like that before, ever. And neither has he. The regret is evident on your face as you shake your head, frustrated, like that came out wrong.

“I got the snacks!” Hyunjin announces suddenly, waltzing into the aisle, before he notices you standing there with Taehyun. “What’s going on here?”

You and Taehyun stay quiet, adding onto Minho’s misery. He wants you to say something, anything. He doesn’t even want an apology; he knows he absolutely deserved that insult. Still, Minho can’t help that horrible feeling rising inside of him.

“Let’s just go.” Minho turns on his heel and walks out of the store, before waiting to finish the conversation, Hyunjin following closely behind. He doesn’t bother looking back.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything to Minho, falling silent in the rapidly approaching night. At times like this, Minho prefers to be left alone. But he isn’t, really. Not with the truth leaning over his shoulder, like an angelic superego. He tries not to think of it, however, or the fact that his heart is falling apart so violently in his chest. Although you and Minho are not together anymore, you’ve both now fulfilled a milestone: hurt each other beyond repair.

The convenience store encounter with Minho left you feeling guiltier than ever, even more than when you actually broke up with him. You should have been more understanding towards Minho; after suddenly ending things, you appear out with Terry. Even though you don’t see Terry like that, you are well aware of how it can look to Minho. After all, you’d react similarly if you found out that Minho and Minju are dating. But you hadn’t, because you know that Minho would never do that to you. 

You sigh, shutting the door to your room and collapsing onto your bed. After the whole incident, the air between you and Terry had been pretty awkward. While you still don’t know much about Terry, including his intentions, the topic of a romance had never been broached until Minho did it for you. He’d walked you back to your apartment, before wishing you a goodnight. 

Your phone sounds with a text, and you pick it up, curling into your pillow. It’s Terry.

terrypotter: just checking up on you terrypotter: how are you doing? bobaluvrr: better, thanks for asking terrypotter: glad to hear  terrypotter: and i also want to say that i’m sorry for any role i might have played in what happened today bobaluvrr: you’re good, terry. it wasn’t about you. i’m sorry for bringing you in

There is truth to this. No matter how much it feels like third parties have an avenue in furthering the split between you and Minho, the problem has always been internal. It’s truly between you both, hence, you’re not a couple anymore.

bobaluvrr: let’s change the subject? terrypotter: ofc terrypotter: wanna play would you rather?

You laugh in spite of yourself. It feels good to laugh, to distract yourself, but Minho stays like a stubborn mirage in your mind. Nevertheless—

bobaluvrr: game on. terrypotter: beaches or mountains? bobaluvrr: beaches terrypotter: sweet or salty? bobaluvrr: are u kidding? my username? boba?? terrypotter: LOL sweet then bobaluvrr: yes. terrypotter: spring or autumn? bobaluvrr: spring, duh terrypotter: and lastly, dogs or cats? bobaluvrr: DOGS terrypotter: u are 100% correct terrypotter: all of our answers are the exact same LMFAO

You think back to your first date with Minho. Before the whole soup fiasco, the atmosphere had been so awkward while waiting for the soup to arrive. This was months of tension and pining between you both, and now that the apex had arrived, neither of you were sure of what to say. Without thinking, Minho broke the silence by randomly asking you if you liked dogs or cats better. You were automatically enchanted by the bashful look on his face. From there on, for every single question he asked you, both of you had the exact opposite answers. For the longest time, your differences had felt charming, before they weren’t. 

Terry, on the other hand, shares so many similarities with you, beyond the strawberry ice cream betrayal. Both of you are outgoing, have a similar sense of humor, and like to be unabashedly yourselves. If a romance did ever blossom between you and Terry, if your friendship lasts your current heartbreak, you could be happy with him, maybe. You would never be insecure, worrying about what’s going on in his mind, because he would talk to you directly. You appreciate that so much about him. But whenever you look into his eyes, or whenever your hand accidentally brushes his, you don’t feel that electricity that had always coursed through you when you were with Minho. You’ve been searching for it everywhere since, but that spark just isn’t there; Taehyun’s just not Minho. Your heart calls out to Minho, no matter how much you wish it wouldn’t, and you can’t deny it any longer.

If there’s one thing that Minho has learned in the duration of his college years, it’s that work has no tolerance for those special ailments of the heart. His professors don’t give a crap about the fact that his girlfriend dumped him, or that his girlfriend has now apparently moved on with some pink-haired stud. No matter how much he wants to slam his laptop screen down and fall asleep to the rhythm of his shattered heart, he knows he can’t. His term paper will not write itself, and it matters, especially since he’ll be graduating this year.

“What will you do when we graduate?” You set down your iPad, flexing your fingers.

“A job at a good company. And then one day, my own business.” That familiar, dreamy look mists Minho’s eyes. 

You smile at him. “My handsome CEO.”

Minho tapped your nose with his finger, following it with a soft kiss there. “You are so cute.”

“I know.” You peek down at his notebook that’s full of graphs and lengthy strings of numbers. “This looks complicated.”

“Welcome to the life of a business and economics double major,” Minho laughs. “But you’re literally a pre-med student. I’m not going to complain when you have to memorize human anatomy and random proteins.”

“Don’t remind me.” You dramatically shudder, giggling at Minho. “But I don’t care, as long as one day, you’re CEO Lee, and I’m Dr. Lee.”

Your words shock both you and Minho, invoking a moment of charged silence. You both have never talked about getting married before. But before you can backtrack, a slow smile spreads across Minho’s face. “Dr. Lee… has a ring to it, don’t you think?”

You turn a bright red, but lean into Minho, kissing him sweetly on the lips. “Definitely.”

Minho clears his throat and shakes yet another memory of you away, trying to concentrate on the email open in front of him. Just minutes ago, he’d received notice that he’d been chosen for a position at Google, following graduation. Fucking Google. Every business major would kill for a job at Google. And not only that, but his employer noted in the message that they usually don’t even extend offers this early in the year, but made an exception for him because they wanted him so much. 

For a moment, he forgot all about the angst of the previous day, giddily jumping off his bed in a rare display of emotion, even if nobody else was around. And then he reached for his phone, opening up your contact and preparing to type in a text to you; for months, you knew Minho was anxious about his application to Google. But then he remembers himself; he’s now someone in your past.

Minho swallows roughly, staring at the blank space where his response accepting the offer should be. A moment later, he decides he’ll respond to the email later. But he doesn’t even have any time to chide himself before he notices someone standing in front of him. 

“Minju?” 

She looks down at him, either oblivious to his confusion or choosing to ignore it. “Hey. Am I interrupting something?”

Minho nods, waiting for Minju to sit down and get settled into her chair, trying not to let his bewilderment show.

At Jihyo’s party, he had needed some air after that stupid game of Truth or Dare, and even worse, your reaction to the question asked of him. Minho had escaped to the balcony, hoping for a moment alone, when Minju approached him. When she launched into a conversation with him about school, Minho realized that you probably never told Minju about the break-up. So he excused himself as politely as he could, explaining that you and him both broke up. He never really considered Minju as his own friend, and did not expect Minju to pursue a relationship with him any further.

“I’ll get straight to the point, Minho.” Minju exhales, looking him directly in the eye. “I like you.”

Minho sits up immediately, shocked. “What did you just say?”

Minju purses her lips. “I like you, and I always have. Go out with me.”

Minho shakes his head in disbelief, the confusion fading into anger. “You’re Y/N’s friend. How could you do this to her? How can you even look at yourself?”

“You’re not together anymore, it doesn’t matter,” Minju says, her voice wavering.

He scoffs, packing up his belongings and shoving them carelessly into his bag. “Don’t talk to me again.”

Minju grabs the sleeve of Minho’s jacket as he turns to leave, desperation in her eyes. “Be with me instead. I’ll make you forget her.”

Minho shakes her free, giving her a look of both pity and disgust. “I still love her, and I always will.”

And with that, Minho leaves without looking back, walking slowly and deliberately in thought. Was this what you meant when you told him that you weren’t sure if you were the only one? Was Minju the reason for the love of his life leaving him? A strange mix of both fury and hope washes over Minho as he exits the library and breaks into a run, barely eight out of his eight-thousand word essay written.

After you broke up with Minho, you forgot one very crucial detail: you didn’t unlink him from your Google calendar. One of the few things you both share in common is your organization, and when you were together, you both loved to plan things together and very ceremoniously add them to your shared online calendar. It became a game, trying to guess where the other was at random times, judging by their schedule. More often than not, the calendar proved to be a very useful tool in pinpointing each other’s locations. It’s why the brief surprise of seeing Minho standing outside your apartment door in the middle of the day on a weekday fades away quickly. You don’t have any classes scheduled today.

“Y/N,” he pants, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Minho. What are you doing here?” You cross your arms, resisting the urge to rush forward and hug him in all of his puffer coat glory. You used to make fun of him for that coat, all the time.

“I needed to see you. Minju told me,” Minho lowers his eyes, as if he’s nervous. “I need you to know that there was nothing going on with her. You have always been my only one. I promise. No one else. I miss you.”

Your heart wrenches in desire and nostalgia at the sincerity of his eyes. Of course you knew that he never cheated on you; this is Minho. But that’s not the reason why you have to remind yourself, once more, that you aren’t right for each other. Not in the long run. “I miss you too. And I know you didn’t cheat on me.”

Minho’s eyes fill with what you recognize as a mix of despair and tears, because after all, you’ve felt it in you too, before. “Then why? Why end it?”

“I feel like you don’t love me as much as I love you.”

The wheels turning inside of Minho’s mind and searching for possible reasons, immediately crash to a stop. “What?”

You shrug, drawing back your hands to tuck them into your lap, a habit that Minho has observed whenever you are nervous. “Remember when we were at that picnic with all of your friends? And Jisung and his girlfriend were also there? We were playing a question game.”

Minho nods slowly, still confused. “I do.”

“Felix had asked all the guys to think of why they love their girlfriends.” You look down at your hands, embarrassed. “Changbin had a whole list of reasons. But when it was your turn to speak, you had no answer.”

The recollection comes back to Minho like a tsunami. He hadn’t really ever thought much of that day; he always had trouble talking about personal things in front of other people, and he thought you already knew why he loved you. He didn’t know his inability to share something like that could hurt you so much, especially when he can write a whole book of reasons for why he loves you. Your smile. Your endless generosity. Your never ending patience for Minho’s antics. The way you always see the best in people, and how you light up the whole room when you walk in.

“Baby,” Minho starts, before realizing that he doesn’t have the right to call you that anymore. Reluctantly, he continues, using your name instead. “Y/N, I have trouble talking in front of other people. I love you so much, and if you know that, it’s all that really matters. A stupid game doesn’t change that.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “But see, Minho, I don’t know. I don’t know how you’re feeling half the time. Felix’s question was just the icing on the cake. I’m exhausted from wondering. Wondering if you love me. Wondering if I really know you. Just wondering all the time. I shouldn’t feel that way.”

I’ll try harder to be more open. I’ll work on myself. I just— please believe me.”

“I do believe that you’ll try, Min. It’s who you are. But I can’t force you to be someone you’re not, and you can’t force me to want different things. We’ll only end up hurting each other more.” Your eyes fill with tears. “It hurts to love you.”

Minho flinches at your words, and he sees the sorrow in your eyes, but you say nothing to soothe the burn. Nevertheless, he keeps trying, as if he didn’t notice the determination written in your gaze as well. “I know I was senseless. But please— I’m begging you. Don’t do this. Don’t leave, not again.”

You look away from him, a single tear sliding down your cheek, as Minho tries to hold back his own. The whole scene feels disturbingly like a few days ago, when you broke up with him in Morningstar. He had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. 

“I tried to understand you. I did. But don’t you think that being senseless about everything that was going on also means that you were that indifferent towards me?” You scrub at your face to keep from crying even more.

Minho cringes, hearing the truth in your words. Once upon a time, he cherished the silence you both could share comfortably, working independently in the happy company of each other. Now the quiet hangs in the air like smog, a heavy uneasiness that he never imagined around you. “I really thought I could change. I swear.”

You nod, a brisk movement that doesn’t match the tears glistening on your face. “You should go now. Please.”

And you turn your head, as if you can’t bear to watch him any longer. Minho turns, his head hanging down like he’s a sinner. A small, ugly voice in Minho whispers that he truly is one, for hurting you and letting you go. It implores him to fall at your feet and stay, insisting, breaking at you until you crumble into his arms, taking him back. But the part of him that carries the resolve is stronger by a thread, the one that fuels his despondent retreat from your heart.

Later, holed away in the place he would now have to call his home, Minho is left alone in the bed that he’d once believed to belong to you as much as it did to him. The nights cuddled together and the mornings after, when you woke up to each other in a halo of sunlight, all fade away into the prickling solitude that now constitutes his new reality. There is nothing left for him to do now, except looking out at the sky through his tiny bedroom window, wondering if you were both gazing at the same moon in the separate worlds you both now are in. He’d left you one last message before promising himself that he’d never text you again, and thankfully, you never responded. He didn’t think you would.

catservant98: I’ll always love you.

“The festival will end by the time we get there.” Jeongin lets out an exaggerated sigh, making a show of checking the watch on his wrist.

“Shut up. I need to lock this place up properly or my parents will kill me,” Seungmin mutters grumpily, as he carefully turns the key in the lock to Morningstar, taking his time. “It’s not my fault that I’m the owner’s son.”

Jeongin, donned in a Harley Quinn outfit, bounces on his toes in uncontained anticipation. “Hurry up!”

Seungmin tugs at the lock for good measure, before turning and swatting at Jeongin, who yelps and jumps out of the way. His detective hat, which he wore as a part of his Sherlock Holmes costume, falls off, and Jeongin grabs it. Usually, Minho would have laughed at the way Seungmin has started to chase Jeongin around, but he just glumly stares down at his sneakers, having no energy to join in. 

“You okay?” Chan notices Minho’s downcast gaze, slinging his arm around his shoulders. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Minho shrugs with one shoulder, out of options. “I’m fine. I have nothing else to do anyway.”

Today is Halloween, your favorite holiday of the entire year. It seems especially cruel to him, to have to confront this day without you by his side. It was never much of his scene, and he’d always been reluctant to dress up, but one look from your pleading eyes and he’d fold, decking himself in a cheesy costume and feeding you all the candy you desired. The night would always end in you both binging horror movies together because you were too scared to watch alone. The memory of Minho getting distracted, just watching you hide behind your hands the entire time, used to bring a fond smile to his face. Today, it makes him want to smash something into bits.

“Let me know if you want to leave the festival early, though. Changbin can drive you home later.” Chan juts his chin out at Jeongin and Seungmin, who are now smacking at each other, while Changbin responsibly tries to pull them apart. “I have to make sure those two idiots don’t get in trouble.”

“Thanks. But you don’t have to worry about me.” Minho gives Chan a half-hearted smile. Chan looks hesitant, like he wants to keep talking with him, but he nods, focusing on the moonlit path in front of them. 

The roar of the annual Halloween festival that the university throws resonates throughout campus, drawing stressed students ready to throw aside their homework and party. But Minho is in anything but a celebratory mood; the last few weeks have been absolute agony. Ever since things fell apart. He just wants to go home and curl up into a ball under his covers, ready for this stupid night to be over. He didn’t even bother with a costume, choosing to stuff himself into his hoodie and make himself seem as small as possible. But he’s too tired to tell anyone, so he opts to stay quiet and gloomy on his own.

The gravel of the walkway crunches under their little group’s shoes, barely heard over the deafening sound of “Thriller” blasting on the DJ’s stereo. The entire main lawn of campus has been converted into a party space, crammed with different tents full of attractions, games, and souvenirs for students to indulge themselves in. There’s even a converted frat house that’s now a haunted house, as well as tables of snacks and lightsticks for people to wave around. Jeongin, Seungmin, and Changbin immediately zero in on the haunted house, running off to get tickets for it, leaving Minho and Chan alone. Two boys swaying together at the edge of the dance floor catch Minho’s eyes. He looks closer and notices that they both are dressed in an obvious couples costume, and it makes him think of you again— last year, he was Chucky and you were Tiffany Valentine, and you both won “Best Look” together, at the festival’s costume contest. Minho feels sick to his stomach.

“Oh my god, she’s stunning.” Chan’s eyes are wide, and Minho follows his gaze to a very pretty girl dressed in a white gown that seemed to float above her knees, two trailing pieces of fabric sticking out daintily from the back of her dress. An angel. 

She approaches him with a shy smile on her face, as she not-so-subtly checks out Chan’s own dracula costume. “You look good.”

“I— you’re pretty,” Chan stutters, and they both blush. 

Seriously?

“Thanks, Chris.”

Chan smiles lovingly at her. “You don’t have to call me Chris, you know. My friends call me Chan.”

“Chan,” the girl tests with a beam, before quirking her brow at him. “So I’m just a friend now? Not your girlfriend?”

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” 

And then they both start kissing right then and there, which doesn’t seem to faze anyone else around them, considering the fact that they are surrounded by other couples. Minho, however, has to look away, his stomach turning. Is this how everyone else felt when he used to kiss you, whenever and wherever he wanted? 

“Hey guys, I’m going to go find a place to sit,” Minho calls out to Chan, who barely notices in the midst of his make-out session. “You know what? Never mind.”

Cringing to himself, Minho makes his way over to the food tables, dodging at least five witches, seven ghouls, and six zombies on his way. He collapses onto the bench of an empty table with a groan, letting his head rest on the table before lifting it up like he’s been stung; the thump of the DJ’s bass seems to vibrate through the wooden tabletop, worsening his already horrible headache. What was he thinking, coming here?

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Minho looks up, ready to lash out at the intruder, before he notices it’s Hyunjin. He is so out of it that he hadn’t even recognized his voice. “I thought you were staying home and painting tonight?”

“Thought about it, but I kept getting distracted by all of the noise outside, and thought I’d take a snack break.” Hyunjin plops down on the seat across from him, setting a plate loaded with brownies, potato chips, and cookies cut into pumpkin shapes. He’s dressed in plaid pajama pants and a baggy sweatshirt to fight the October chill, the only one besides Minho who hasn’t dressed up. “Want some?”

Minho shakes his head, watching Hyunjin dig in. “Can I ask you a question?”

Hyunjin nods, his cheeks stuffed with food. “Sure.”

“Don’t you ever get lonely?” Minho fiddles with the strings of his hoodie, feeling his face heat up. He was never one for sentiments like this, but even though he and Hyunjin have more of a seemingly lighthearted relationship, they’re more alike than they think in how deeply they care about each other. “I mean, you’ve never even had a serious relationship before, but you’re like the most hopeless romantic I’ve ever met. How does that even work?”

Hyunjin looks surprised, at first, but quickly smooths it away in understanding. “I do get lonely sometimes. But I just occupy myself with the things I love. Painting, reading. Just because I’m a hopeless romantic doesn’t mean I can’t be realistic. And I have been in a serious relationship before, remember?”

Minho frowns. “Oh. Right. What happened?”

He notices Hyunjin’s eyes flicker with something— grief, maybe. But the emotion is quickly replaced with indifference. Hyunjin shrugs. “Let’s just say it didn’t work out. I love a good romance novel, but is it real life? No. I don’t do relationships. Not anymore.”

Minho stays quiet, unknowing of what to say. He never thought of himself as a huge relationship person either, but then again, that was before he met you. You changed his perspective on a lot of things, and most of the time, he thought it was for the better. Now, he feels empty, alone. He wants to match costumes with someone, and go bobbing for apples together. And he wants that someone to be you, only you.

Hyunjin must have noticed Minho’s melancholic contemplation, because he gives him a sympathetic look. “Is this about Y/N?”

Minho’s chest tightens at the mention of your name. “I don’t know, honestly. I just want to go home.”

“Same. I just came for the free food.” Hyunjin chews on a brownie, before swallowing. “Let’s go after I finish eating.”

Minho hums in response, pulling his hood over his head, as the rest of their group comes to join the table. Chan and his girlfriend, unsurprisingly, are discussing plans about some upcoming event for the Student Council. Jeongin and Seungmin, on the other hand, are immersed in a gleeful recollection about the haunted house with Changbin, who is dressed up as Woody from Toy Story. Everyone seems to have a role except him.

“That was actually wild,” Jeongin says. “If Jisung was with us, he would have fainted when he saw the chainsaw guy!”

Seungmin shudders, while Changbin glances around their table. “Hey, where is Jisung, anyway? And Felix?”

Chan breaks away from his own conversation as his girlfriend pauses to eat her slice of cake. “He’s handing out candy to kids at home. Meanwhile, Felix is Trick-or-Treating.”

Jeongin snickers. “Trick-or-Treating? What is he, ten?”

Seungmin grins evilly at Changbin. “At least he doesn’t have the height of a ten year old.”

Changbin rolls his eyes, but chooses to ignore Seungmin and Jeongin’s high-five at his expense, instead turning to Hyunjin. “Can I have a cookie? There are no more left.”

Hyunjin gives him a judgemental glare, but passes a cookie over anyway. “Where’s your girlfriend, by the way?”

Changbin stuffs half of the entire cookie into his mouth, licking the frosting on his lip. “She has work. But we’re going to meet up later tonight and watch movies. Wanna come?”

Hyunjin shakes his head. “I’m good. Minho and I are headed home soon anyway. Right, Minho?”

But Minho isn’t paying attention. His gaze is locked on none other than you and Taehyun, dressed in Hogwarts robes— you in Gryffindor, and Taehyun in Slytherin. He’s seen multiple people tonight sporting similar getups, and so both of you wearing Hogwarts robes doesn’t exactly entail a couples costume, but it makes his heart clench either way. Both of you are standing near the apple bobbing station, laughing and talking animatedly together. It hurts to see you enjoying yourself, while Minho has to struggle to keep himself together, to keep from breaking down on the spot. It hurts that he’s not the one matching with you right now, the one to be making you laugh, holding you on one of your favorite days of the year.

He watches as you and Taehyun walk closer to the haunted house. Your smile has now faded into an unsure expression, skeptical and tinged with fear. Taehyun puts his arm around your shoulders, evidently trying to assure you, before he leads you inside the house. Minho immediately springs up from the bench, fists balled up at his sides. You love everything about Halloween, except for one thing. You hate being in the dark, and so you had always avoided the haunted houses at every Halloween festival or any other event that you and Minho went to. Obviously, Taehyun doesn’t have a clue about your boundaries, and as always, you’re too kind to point them out.

Ignoring Hyunjin’s confused protests, Minho stalks after you and Taehyun, even though he knows that he should sit right back down. He told himself that he’d stay away from you if you didn’t want him, but if he even gets the slight sense that you are afraid, he’ll throw all reason out the window. He won’t let you go inside, not without him.

“Excuse me— you can’t go in right now. The haunted house is at full capacity.” The ticket collector stops Minho even though he shows her the ticket that Jeongin had passed out to everyone before. “Just wait for a few minutes for someone to come out.”

But he can’t. Not if you’re already inside. Minho steps back for a moment, and the collector glances back down at her phone. Before the collector can react, he rushes past her, running inside. She calls after him angrily, but he barely hears her. All he can register is the racing beat of his heart, and the faint screams deeper inside, wondering if one of them could be you. 

He whips past the ax-wielding maniacs and the corpse brides in tattered dresses, pushing past their horrible acting and all of the other props in his way to you. Minho feels his hoodie snagged against a cloud of fake cobwebs, and the fake blood on the walls is enough to make him gag, but he goes on. A desperate search in nearly every nook and corner yields nothing, and Minho curses the haphazard quality of the setup, nearly tripping over a loose wire. As he passes through a room decorated like a murderous hospital room, he hears a small whimper from behind the fake operating table. 

His senses perk up and there you are, sitting down with your knees drawn to your chest. With how his eyes have now adjusted to the dark, he can faintly make out your crouched body and the shine of your flowing tears. Immediately, he gets onto his knees, and envelopes you with his arms, firmly pulling you against his chest.

“Y/N, it’s me,” he murmurs, the scent of your coconut shampoo blocking out the stench of ammonia.

“Terry and I got chased by one of the ghosts and then got separated,” you mumble as you cry, shivering in his arms as he begins to rock you slowly. “I’m so scared, Minho.”

Minho looks at the tears still leaking down the sides of your face, and has to restrain himself from the instinct to kiss them away. Instead, he puts a steady hand to your skin, gently wiping them away. In this moment, you aren’t broken up. He isn’t your ex-boyfriend, and you aren’t his ex-girlfriend. You are the girl he loves, and him the very soul that has so vehemently devoted himself to even at such a ripe age, an inspiration and a shame to the vengeful spirits that govern your favorite holiday.

“I’m here now. I’m not going to leave you.” Minho gazes down at you. “Are you still frightened?”

You shake your head no, wide eyes clinging to his comforting presence. Minho gives you a small smile, rubbing your jaw softly with his thumb, a movement that doesn’t feel as inherently romantic as it generally would be. “See? You’re not afraid of the dark. You’re just scared of being alone in it. And that goes away when you realize something. You’re never really alone.” 

Both of you just gaze at each other in the dark for a few minutes, saying both nothing and yet everything to each other. He carefully rests his palm against your heart, gaging the beat until it slows down to its usual calm. Wordlessly, he helps you onto your feet, his arms still wrapped around you as you both navigate the maze of the haunted house. You don’t encounter any other of the actors, but at one point, you jump in Minho’s hold, spooked by the amplified horror sound when passing by a speaker. Steadily, you both make your way out together.

The first thing Minho sees as he steps out of the exit is the array of blinding lights that shine on his face, in addition to the glow of the raging bonfire that has now been set up for students to roast marshmallows. Then he catches that shock of pink hair in the small crowd gathered outside of the haunted house; Taehyun, distress written all over his features as he speaks to the security guards.

You and Minho, however, stay frozen on the spot, just staring at each other with a fresh uncertainty. Realizing himself, Minho lets go of you. Contrary to how you felt, Minho could always read you like a book. He practically memorized all of your expressions, able to tell how you were feeling in an instant. But the indecipherable look you give him is baffling, but before you can open your mouth and say something, Taehyun notices your arrival.

“Y/N!” Taehyun immediately rushes over, his breathing labored from sprinting the distance to you. “I’m so, so sorry; I lost you and tried to come back inside to find you, but they wouldn’t let me!”

Minho steps to the side awkwardly as Taehyun hugs you tightly, squeezing his eyes shut. Your tears are long gone, and you pat his back softly, giving him the comfort of your safety. “I’m alright, Terry. It’s all good.”

Taehyun pulls back to look at you, before turning to Minho, surprise and confusion on his features as if just registering Minho’s presence. You clear your throat, placing a hand on Taehyun’s arm. “Hey, could you give us a minute?”

“Sure. Of course,” Terry says, the stress on his face softening as he looks down at you. Minho recognizes it— it’s how he always imagined himself to look whenever he saw you.

You turn back to Minho as Terry walks away to a food stand, presumably to get you a warm drink. “Minho, I—”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Minho interrupts, unable to bear any more. He chokes back a sob, his eyes trained on your pained expression. “I need to go.”

“Minho, wait!” You grab his arm, and it places you both in the uncomfortable déjà vu of when everything ended. 

He looks back at you, swallowing his dread and pushing away the angsty alert of his brain, the command to let everything go and just take you back, then and there. But he wouldn’t be the man you had always loved, then. Not if he takes advantage of you when you’re like this, vulnerable and exhausted. Not when there’s a perfectly good man standing at a distance, hesitantly holding a cup of hot chocolate for you. Not when he knows that he’s lost his chance of ever getting you back from the moment he gave up on you both. Minho realizes that he doesn’t have the right to call you his anymore, when you’ve finally found a man who prioritizes you over his pride and his insecurities— a man who will treat you right, and will never make you wonder if you’re his only one. All he’s ever wanted is for you to be happy. That has to be enough for him. It will be.

Minho leans down before you can protest, kissing you on your forehead softly. You stay silent, looking up at him with those wide, inquisitive eyes, the very ones he fell in love with. “Stay smiling, always.”

And with that, Minho finally walks away, willing himself not to cry as he tries not to think of his heart breaking.

You watch Minho, dazed, as he walks away for the second and last time. It feels worse, somehow, than when he left your apartment, weeks ago. Minho had spoken to you so gently, inside the haunted house, calming you down in spite of the fact that you had so cruelly broken up with him, and then he proceeded to wish you his best, before leaving. You didn’t miss that note of finality in his voice, the one that told you that he wasn���t going to go back on his word. He had let you go.

You barely notice Terry approaching you, placing a warm hand on your shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

He hands you a cup of hot chocolate, as you stare at Minho’s retreating back before it finally disappears within the crowd of partygoers. “Everything’s fine. Thanks for this, Terry.”

Terry blinks at you, slightly unfocused. “Yeah of course. But… can I ask you something?”

You nod, sipping the hot chocolate. It’s so warm and sweet, and it feels wrong to be drinking it. It feels like you don’t deserve it. 

He hesitates for a moment, before speaking up. “What happened in there? In the haunted house?”

You bite your lip, still distracted by the thought of Minho; Terry’s question doesn’t pull at you as much as it probably should. “He just found me and helped me back. That’s all.”

Terry looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t, and you don’t question it. The rest of the night is clouded by an awkward rut that has originated from nowhere at all, one that you never guessed you’d experience with Terry. He walks you back to your apartment early, and waits next to you as you fumble with your keys. 

“Good night, Y/N,” he says softly, as you finally wrestle your door open. 

“Thanks,” you whisper back, too drained of energy to make one of the usual jokes traded when you both say goodbye. He tips his head at you like he always does, albeit in a less jaunty way, and steps into the apartment elevator at the end of the hall, flashing you one last little wave before the doors close. 

You turn back to your apartment, walking inside and locking the door behind you once again. This time, you don’t go straight to your bedroom and drop onto your bed, like you always do after a horrible day. Instead, you stalk over to the kitchen, which is illuminated by a single, flickering lightbulb. You tug open the freezer, fishing out a box from your emergency stash of ice cream, the one thing bound to be on stock at all times. When you went grocery shopping some time ago, you didn’t think that a crisis would hit so soon. 

Cracking open the lid of the chocolate ice cream, you take your scooper and place a bowl on the counter. After a second thought, you take out your blender as well, and scrape the ice cream into there instead, throwing in some milk and peanut butter as well. Tonight is a milkshake kind of night, you think, the kind that necessitates butterscotch chips and whipped cream as well, you note, opening the cupboard to get said ingredients. When you finish blending, you pour your icy salvation into a large tumbler and collapse onto the living room couch. You turn on the television, blankly staring at the screen while barely registering the dialogue playing. 

“That’s not a milkshake— that’s diabetes in a glass.” 

“Don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it.” You shoot Minho a pointed look as you chug down your shake, savoring the sound of Minho’s laughter even more than a hefty peanut butter and chocolate combo. 

It isn’t until you taste saltiness instead of the sweet milkshake that you realize you’re crying. 

callmeterry: can we meet? bobaluvrr: yes. see u @ morningstar

You stare into the bathroom mirror, checking your face one last time, inspecting it for bloodshot eyes and dry skin, the telltale signs of the tears that have now become a habit over the past few days. Ever since Halloween, things haven’t been the same since you and Terry. Although a fairly new friendship, you both spent a significant amount of time together after meeting at Jihyo’s birthday party. However, you haven’t seen each other at all outside of Writing Seminar nowadays— probably because during class, you’re too busy staring at Minho, who won’t even spare you a single glance. You’re determined to at least save your friendship with Terry, which is why you are so quick to agree to meet him.

“Catch you two later,” you call out to Sunoo and Soyeon, who both are slumped on the couch, watching One Piece over boxes of takeout butter chicken. 

The journey to Morningstar doesn’t take long, especially since the vastly approaching night has gotten you nearly jogging, regardless of how safe your college campus is. Although it’s been nearly a month and a half, you still can’t get used to not having the security and comfort of your boyfriend. Serves you right, you think.

You enter through the glass doorway of Morningstar, the door chime ringing and announcing your entrance to Terry. He stands up from the table he’s sitting at, walking over to you with the  genuine smile that you were fearful of not being able to see again. Terry looks heartbreakingly handsome, dressed in a long brown coat and wool scarf, an ode to the plaid shirt days and hot chocolate nights that you know you could have with him.

“Hi,” he says, pausing his gait when he’s a few feet away from you. Tentative, but still Terry. The bouquet of assorted flowers in his hands, however, isn’t. 

You can literally feel your face fall, as you stare at the certainly expensive arranged red roses and lilies. “I—”

“Don’t.” Terry’s smile doesn’t fade, but the slight sheen of moisture to his eyes is new. “ I know. I’d rather not hear you say it. Please.”

You’re speechless as he hands you the flowers, the refreshingly floral scent wafting up and screaming at you to wake up. You had a feeling, you knew how Terry felt about you. But you didn’t think he’d act on those feelings so soon.

“You know, I’ve been in love with you since August. You walked into the very first day of class late, wearing this gorgeous pink dress— and God, I was so whipped. I even dyed my hair the same color.” Terry laughs lightly, but you can see the heaviness in his eyes, the same thing that you feel in your chest. “I didn’t approach you, though, because I saw the way you were looking at Minho.”

You shake your head, still in disbelief. “Terry…”

“And then you walked into the kitchen at that party; it felt like a sign. But that can’t have been true, because the way you looked at him didn’t change. It never will.” He stops for a moment, taking in a shaky breath. “When you both broke up, I ignored my heart telling me not to dig myself deeper into this, to leave you alone. But I couldn’t, Y/N, because I thought that the risk would be worth it. And it was, you know. You are worth it.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, at a loss for words. You don’t know what else to say, whether it’s a reaction to how your friend is pouring out his heart to you, or the fact that he’s always known that you’d never be his.

The smile on Terry’s face is now a sharp contrast to the strings of tears that mar it. “Don’t be. It’s Minho. It’s always been Minho for you.” 

He turns, but you rush forward and block him. You can’t lose someone else. Not again. “Terry, wait! Can’t we be friends?” 

“Of course we can be. I’d rather have you as a friend than not in my life at all. I’ll move on, eventually. But you have to go fix things with him now.” He flashes you another one of his signature beams. It doesn’t have the same joyful effect on you as it usually does, now that it’s tainted with sadness. “I’ll see you next class. Hold onto him, okay?”

Terry leaves, and you stare after him at the door, dumbfounded, haunting the entryway of the coffee shop nearing closing hours. You never saw this confrontation coming, not today. And you didn’t want it to happen any time soon, not like this. But no matter how much you want to deny Terry’s words, you know they are the truth. You know what you have to do. Because love works in strange ways, you realize, and now yours needs to be made right.

“We shouldn’t be here.” You say, shaking your head. “It’s dangerous.”

Minho just stares at you, his eyebrow skeptically quirked in a way that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “It’s literally just a bridge.”

You glare at him, before looking out at the arched walkway that connects the wooded expanse of the university library to the rest of campus. According to university lore, any pair of lovers that walks over Forsaken Bridge together is doomed to suffer an untimely separation; hence, its ominous name. And you would rather look stupid for believing in superstition rather than risk losing Minho. 

“It can’t be.” You cross your arms stubbornly. “I know so many couples that came here, and they ended up breaking up.”

Minho says nothing for a moment, just pondering your words, and you think he’s about to step back, allowing you to cross the bridge first, before following on his own. But then he grabs your hand, pulling you towards the bridge.

Your immediate reaction is to let out a small scream that cuts through the quiet night, and it’s quickly muffled by Minho’s hand gently closing over your mouth. “Trust me on this. Nothing bad will happen.”

You really want to remind Minho of what happened to Hyunjin and his girlfriend— well, ex-girlfriend— but you let him lead you towards your dreaded destination. Because you do trust him, more than anything. 

The balmy summer night sticks to your skin, a feeling that will soon give away to the crisp bite of autumn. You’ve already moved back onto campus to get a headstart on the teaching assistant position for your biology professor, but for the first time ever, you don’t feel sad or apprehensive at the thought of going back to college again. This was the gap in time that you once despised because it signaled the unfortunate trudge of school life: textbooks, homework, and stress. But nowadays, you think it to be a reminder of something better: Minho, Minho, and Minho.

Your boyfriend takes an easy step onto the bridge, his hand tightly clasped in yours. You trail after him more cautiously, hiding behind his broad frame like the bridge will come alive and attack you. “You better not ever break up with me, Lee Minho.”

He turns back to look at you as you both near the center of the supposedly cursed bridge, his lips pressed together in a way that suggests concealed laughter; knowing him, it probably is. “Never. Now close your eyes.”

With a grumpy sigh, you oblige him, shutting your eyes. “For what, Minho?”

“I need to tell you something.” His voice is soft, almost vulnerable. It’s a new color to him, compared to how assured and confident he always seems to be.

You crack open one eye, looking at him curiously. “What is it?”

He frowns, letting go of your hand. “No peeking!”

“Okayy.”

Minho takes a deep breath, right before he turns your world upside down. “I love you.”

Your eyes fly open, and Minho doesn’t complain this time, only gazing at you nervously, clutching his right arm with his left hand like he’s a little kid again. “What did you just say?”

Regardless of his uncertain body language, he looks you directly in the eye. “I love you, Y/N. And I know it’s too soon to say it, but it’s true. I love you, and you don’t have to tell me back, but—”

“I love you too,” you blurt out, and you both just stare at each other for a moment, in mutual shyness and surprise. You can’t believe how good it feels to finally say the words that were hanging off the tip of your tongue for the past few months since you started dating.

Minho’s beautiful face breaks out into a dazzling smile as he steps closer to you. “Then let’s make our own story for this bridge. Two people crossing the bridge together will be lifelong friends. And if they kiss, lifelong lovers.”

Your poor, racing heart can’t take anymore of this; what a man that you have found. “Kiss me, then.” 

Minho gives you a tender look, and in that moment, you wish you had a camera to capture it. You can’t seem to remember your initial fear of coming onto this bridge, not when you have a beautiful boy who gazes at you with nothing short of absolute adoration. You’ll follow him anywhere, if it means you’ll stay together. Always and forever.

From when you were a little girl, your parents painted fairy tales for you in your childhood bedroom, of handsome princes mounted on midnight stallions and towering castles set against sunsets. For the longest time, you thought them to be true, because by the time you might have grown up, you found your own handsome prince, who rode a secondhand bike instead of a horse, and his castle was the sweatshirt-strewn dorm room he shared with two other boys. Nevertheless, you so strongly believed you would get your own happily-ever-after, that it took you a long time to accept the thorns in the rosy brush that constituted your outlook on life. You had a hard time understanding your prince, sometimes, and ended up spinning your own stories to fill in the gaps you thought he created. It never once occurred to you that life would never be perfect, and that your prince could not be exactly who you dreamed him to be.

It’s why you stroll the length of Forsaken Bridge alone, materializing its dreary name with your head bent and hands tucked in your pockets. But you’re not surprised either, when you see your prince, standing on the very place where he made you a promise that you broke yourself. His crown is misplaced and his armor has lost its luster, but he’s your beautiful prince, still beautiful while heartbroken over you.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” you say softly. 

“I shouldn’t have.” Minho stares at the deteriorating timber planks beneath your feet. “But I can’t say no when it comes to you.”

You shake your head, sniffling lightly. You both hate and love him for being so understanding, so kind, even now. You hate yourself for it, too. “I broke your heart.”

Minho blinks, clasping his hands in front of himself. “There are so many things that I’m sorry and thankful to you for, but you know I’m not good at expressing myself.”

“That’s my line, Min.” You scoff through your tears. “I tried to force you to be someone you're not. And you respond by taking care of me, like you always have. And you listened to me instead of fighting. You walked away.”

“I wanted you to be happy. That’s all I have ever wanted. With or without me in the picture.” Minho shoots you a watery smile. “I love you, you know. I always will.”

You inhale shakily. “And I love you too. I was scared of being hurt because I love you so much. I shouldn’t have been so afraid of what I didn’t know. I should have tried to ask you instead of coming to assumptions on my own.”

“We’re in this together, okay?” Minho steps forward towards you, reaching up to hold your face in his hands. “Remember what I said? You never have to be alone. I’m right here, always.”

Minho rubs his thumbs over your tears, nothing but devotion in his eyes. You touch his arms, pulling him into a hug. “I know I ruined everything, but please come back to me? I’m so, so sorry.”

“Me too. And you ruined nothing.” He squeezes you. “We still have our whole lives ahead of us.”

You draw back from the embrace, smiling through your tears— for once, they’re the good kind. “I love you, Lee Minho. Let’s start over?”

“I love you too, Y/N.” Minho whispers, a grin slowly spreading on his face. “And I don’t want to ruin the moment, but can we begin by finding an apartment, please? If I accidentally drink Hyunjin’s paint water one more time I think I will literally die.”

You laugh, raising your eyebrows at him teasingly. “Only because you want to escape Hyunjin? Not because you love me?”

He rolls his eyes playfully, a light blush tinting his pale skin. “You know what I mean.”

“You should show me what you mean.”

“I should.”

Minho obeys your command, leaning down to meet your lips in a chaste kiss, before you grasp his waist, pulling him closer and deepening the movement. God, you missed this so much. You missed him, so much. Minho’s hands reach up to cup your neck as you trace endless love letters on each other’s lips, campus curses and bad faith banished from your lovestruck young minds.

“See? Looks like our story came true.” he whispers as you come up for air, nudging your nose sweetly with his own. “Lifelong lovers, we’ll be.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Minho kisses you once more and pulls back, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “This means forever.”

Check out the rest of boys' stories on Love Playlist!

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» 

AUTHOR'S NOTE

It feels so good to get back to Love Playlist <3 This whole series itself was inspired by the cute, college au vibes of the K-drama Love Playlist and its spinoff, Dear M. (starring NCT's Jaehyun, a must-see), but this story especially was heavily based on Dear M.'s second leads. Brownie points if you've noticed which hit superhero TV series I took a piece of dialogue from! I just adore that quote so much. Anyway, I'm a sucker for Minho and this story has a special place in my heart. Can you guess who is next?! And thank you for supporting me, always! -Dreamy

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

TAGLIST @chansburgah @hamburgers101@ajxreads @hash2013 @pixigreen @ana-marais98@ohish@chizumiyoshi@lilydaisyyy@jetblackbelle @143hyunes @yeahhspider

Network: @kflixnet

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #kflixnet #straykidsland #k-labels #lee know x you #lee know x y/n #skzwritingcafe #skzsummertimeconfessions #neverendingdreams #stray kids fluff #lee know x reader #skz fluff #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #skz angst #stray kids angst #skz oneshots #skz recs #skz reactions #minho x reader #lee know fluff #lee know angst #lee minho x reader

[slut4thebroken]

Closure

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jason Todd x reader

Summary | Under The Red Hood rewrite

Warnings | angst, fluff, murder lol

Words | 4k

Notes | My coping mechanism after watching under the red hood

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Blinding rage. That was all you felt as you stared at Bruce who was silent, waiting for your response. But even through all of the rage you still felt like you misheard him, that this couldn’t be true. 

“What?” You whispered, expression cold but on the verge of shattering any second now. 

“I’m sorry. But you have to understand, this isn’t the same Jason you knew,” 

“How long?” You asked, completely ignoring his response. 

“What?” Everything he was doing was making your blood boil. 

“How long have you known?” You gritted, vision going blurry with tears as your eyes started burning. He sighed and looked away from you for a moment. 

“Three weeks.” Despite your throat starting to close up and the nausea building in your stomach, you forced yourself to respond. 

“You knew he was alive for three weeks and you didn’t tell me?” You swore you almost saw him flinch at your tone. 

“I couldn’t have you going off and doing something to get yourself killed. Like I said, he’s not the same.” His calmness just added more fuel to the fire that was your burning rage. 

“What, you needed time to “take care of him” without me possibly intervening?” You spat. 

“No! I was trying to help him.”

“Bullshit! You really expect me to believe that you give two fucks about him when you put “a good soldier” on his memorial? He thought of you as a father.” The more your voice raised, the more it started to break. “If you really were trying to help him, you would have included me.” 

“I couldn’t have you getting hurt.”

“Stop acting like you were protecting me! Stop acting like anything he could do would be worse than how I felt after he died. You watched me grieve, Bruce. You-” Cutting yourself off with a choked sob, you looked away from him as hot tears burned a trail down your face. “You watched me sit by his grave and cry for hours.” You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm down. 

“You may have lost a soldier, but I lost the love of my life.” 

“I understand what you’re feeling-“

“No!” You screamed, then quickly lowered your voice again. “You don’t. You knew-” You swallowed down a sob and shoved his chest, not moving him at all. “You knew he was alive for weeks and you didn’t tell me.” Another shove. When he once again barely even swayed, you just continued hitting his chest, feeling your rage turn back into the heartache you’ve become accustomed to. “You knew- how could you not tell me?” There were hardly any words that didn’t break while you were speaking. You started hyperventilating the more you cried and the more you thought. 

Would he be as happy to see you as you would be to see him? Would he even want to see you? What if he doesn’t feel the same anymore? Bile rose in your throat at the thought. You genuinely aren’t sure if you can handle that on top of everything. 

Distantly, you heard Bruce calling your name, felt his hands on your shoulders. When you finally came out of your thoughts, you pushed away from him and ran to the front door. He called out, asking where you were going and saying it wasn’t safe to drive in your current state but you ignored him. He already knew where you were going. You wasted no time getting on your motorcycle and driving toward the city. 

You tried to clear your head long enough to figure out where he might be. But if this isn’t the Jason you remember, then all of that information is useless. You went through all of your conversations with Bruce and Alfred, even Dick. But you couldn’t remember any slip ups. It didn’t help that Bruce had been extra secretive this past month. Lastly, you tried to think of just anything a little weird that has happened recently. At first nothing came to mind, but you skidded to a stop once you remembered. 

Two weeks ago you got a call from an unknown number, which you thought nothing of at the time. You answered with a simple “hello?” and there was nothing on the other end. You only said “hello?” once more before the other person hung up. Could it be him? 

With shaky hands you took your phone out of your pocket and blinked away enough tears to actually see the screen. You stared at the number in your call history for only a moment before pressing it. The phone rang three times before the it was answered. 

“Hello?” You asked, clearing your throat once you heard how raspy your voice was. After just silence, you continued. “If this is who I think it is, please meet me. You know where.” You waited for a reply for only a few seconds, then hung up. 

Placing your phone in your pocket, you turned around and sped off. After only a few minutes, you arrived and hesitated. This is the bike you use on patrol… which means there’s an extra tracker on it… After not much debating, you grabbed it and climbed the fire escape. Once you were on the roof, you sat on the edge as your thoughts consumed you. 

This had been your’s and Jason’s spot since the moment you met because this was actually where you had met. You would sit up here for hours every day and just talk and laugh, sometimes cry and hug. Whatever it was, it was always with Jason. 

This was where he told you he was adopted and that his only condition was that the two of you are a package deal. This was where he told you he was Robin and showed you the suit, excitedly asking your opinion on how it looked. 

This was where you fell in love with him. 

As you cuddled on the rooftop, staring at the minimal stars above, you felt the vibrations of his chest against your cheek as he recited a poem. Truthfully, his soothing voice was lulling you to sleep, but you did your best to stay awake, wanting to keep listening. His fingers brushed through your hair, only aiding in your sleepiness. When he finished, you waited for more, but frowned when he stayed quiet. 

“Another?” You asked softly, leaning your head up to look at him. He gave you a small smile and gently pushed your hair, that had fallen forward, behind your ear. 

“I don’t get why you like it so much.” He was teasing you, but you gave him an honest answer anyway. 

“I like hearing your voice, feeling your chest vibrate. I like that you enjoy poetry so much that you actually memorize it, whether it be purposefully or accidentally.” Under the moon and the dim city lights, you could just barely see his cheeks go pink as he gave you a shy smile.  

“And I like knowing that you only recite poems to me. Feels like it’s our thing, you know?” Makes me feel special- like I’m the only girl in the world, is what you wanted to say. 

“How do you know I’m not reciting poetry to anyone else?” He mused. 

“Because you don’t have any other friends.” You chuckled, but it died off when you watched his smile start to fade. 

“I’m not sure I have any friends.” He said quietly, placing his palm on your cheek. You furrowed your brows in confusion for a moment, the second you understood, your eyes widened and your lips parted. 

You prayed that you didn’t misunderstand the meaning behind his words, then whispered, “I’m not sure I do either.” Suddenly very aware of your proximity, you felt your cheeks grow warm as your gaze fell to his lips. You couldn’t tell which one of you was moving forward, inching closer, only stopping once his lips brushed yours, making your eyes flutter shut. The anticipation only lasted another second before he moved his hand to the back of your neck and pulled you into a kiss. It was a little awkward, you struggled to concentrate because of the butterflies in your stomach and the way your head felt light, but you never wanted to stop. When he pulled back, you were both panting, foreheads pressed together and eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He whispered. You pulled back just enough so you could see him and he was mirroring your love sick grin. 

“Me too.” You whispered back, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek. You brushed your thumb over his lower lip, thinking about how you know what they feel like now and how they’re so much better than you imagined. 

“Another?” You said through a breath, forcing your gaze away from his lips to his eyes. 

“Poem or kiss?” The corners of his lips turned up as he glanced at your lips briefly. 

“Both.” 

You tried coming here after he died, hoping it would make you feel closer to him and give you a little bit of happiness in your otherwise dull world. Instead, you sobbed harder than you ever have in your entire life and haven’t been up here since. 

Absentmindedly trailing your fingers over your initials carved onto the brick ledge, you let out a shaky breath. You’ve dreamed about this time and time again, but never in those fantasies had you been so scared. 

A soft noise from behind you made you whip your head around. You clambered to your feet as you took in the man only a few feet from you. He was wearing a red helmet and what looked like causal tactical gear along with an assortment of weapons. This man was slightly bigger than you remembered, but it had to be him. You don’t know what you’ll do if it’s not. 

“Jason?” You croaked, willing yourself not to break down crying right now. You took a step toward him and when he took one away from you, you froze, heart aching even more. 

“Jason, I- please let me see you… Let me help you.” You begged, feeling your eyes start to burn again. 

“Funny. Bruce said almost the same thing.” Despite his words, there was no humor in his voice. 

“I’m not him.” You reminded. “I can help you, Jay. Please let me help you.” Your voice broke as you begged him. 

“You can’t!” He yelled, your heart breaking at the way his voice cracked. You took another step forward and when he didn’t move back, you kept going until you were standing in front of him. 

“Please let me see you.” You whispered. He didn’t move for a few seconds, probably deciding what to do. But eventually, he slowly lifted gloved hands and removed the helmet, letting it drop to the floor. You let out a choked sob as you finally saw him- saw that he was really here. His eyes, surrounded by a domino mask, were red rimmed and blood shot, lips pink and swollen as if he was biting them. 

“I’m sorry.” You whimpered through a sob. “I’m so sorry, Jason.” You brought your hands up to his face and he flinched back, but let you gently place them on his cheeks. 

“I missed you so much.” You whispered, swallowing down another sob. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. You wanted to ask how he’s alive, why he never came to see you, if he’s okay, if he missed you too. But you never got the chance. 

“You can’t see me anymore.” He said quietly, making your stomach drop. 

“What?” You breathed. 

“What I’m doing- it’s too dangerous for you to be associated with me.” 

“I don’t care what this risk is. No pain is worse than not being with you.” 

“I know.” He muttered. 

He stood well within the tree line, being extra cautious to not get caught. But he had to see you. Had to make sure you were okay, that you had moved on and were happy with your life. 

But that’s not what he found at all. Instead, he found your obviously malnourished and sleep deprived body sitting in front of his grave. At first you were just talking, he was just far enough that he couldn’t hear your words. But then you started sobbing. 

You sat in front of his headstone and just cried. The visual made him sick to his stomach. He ached to walk up to you, hug you until you stop crying like he would do on the rooftop all those years ago. But he remained hidden, only leaving after Alfred had brought you back inside. He was glad you at least had Alfred, since Bruce wasn’t equipped to help people deal with their grief properly. 

Only a week later, he called you. The second he heard your voice, he was just frozen. After he heard your voice again, he quickly hung up and then just fell to his knees and cried. He hadn’t felt that weak since the day he died. 

“I know. But I can’t lose you.” He added, tears welling in his eyes. 

“Jason, please. Whatever’s going on, I can help. You don’t have to do it alone.” He started shaking his head and bit his lip as he stepped out of your touch. 

“No. I’m not… I'm different, I’m not the same man as before- the one you fell in love with.” 

“I don’t believe that. If it were true you wouldn’t have come here.” 

“I came here to tell you to stay away from me.” He replied coldly, but you were used to his outbursts that were concealing fear and hurt. 

“And the call?” You stared into his blood shot eyes, trying to find some indication that you were right. All he did was stare back, so you moved forward again and wrapped your arms around him. He stiffened and kept his arms by his sides. 

Burying your face in his chest, you took a deep breath. He smelled different than you remembered. More like leather and gunpowder, but he still had that hint of Jason. And then the sob you had been trying to hold in, crawled its way up your throat. As you cried against his chest, you felt his arms tentatively wrap around you. 

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly. You barely heard him over the sounds of your cries. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” The nickname just made you sob harder and you started babbling incoherent pleas against his chest. 

“Please don’t leave, Jay. I can’t lose you again.” You managed to get out, hoping he could understand you through your cries. You tightened your grip around him, but he kept his hands placed lightly on your back, not pulling you into him like he used to. Before you pulled away, you slipped the tracker into his pocket. Honestly, it’d be a miracle if he didn’t find it. 

“Please.” You whispered. 

“I’m sorry.” Were the last words you got before he was grappling away from the building. 

Part of you felt bad for tracking him, but there’s no way in hell you’re letting him get away again. You just hoped he hadn’t noticed it yet. 

As you walked down the hall, the voices got louder until you recognized the one talking as Bruce. 

“But if I do that… if I allow myself to go down into that place… I’ll never come back.” 

“Why? I'm not talking about killing Penguin or Scarecrow or Dent, I’m talking about him. Just him. And doing it because… because he took me away from you.” Your heart broke at the way Jason’s voice trembled. 

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“That is so sweet.” Joker… You’d recognize that voice anywhere. You could faintly hear a gun being cocked. 

“Well you won’t have a choice.” Jason gritted. 

“I won’t.” 

“This is what it’s all been about. This. You, me, him. Now is the time you decide.” You heard, what sounded like, wood break as he paused. “If you won’t kill this psychotic piece of filth, I will. If you wanna stop me, you’re gonna have to kill me.” So that’s why the Joker is here. 

“You know I won’t.” 

“I’m gonna blow his deranged brains out! And if you want to stop it, you’re gonna have to shoot me. Right in my face!”

“This is turning out even better than I’d hoped.” Joker exclaimed, probably with a sick smile on his face. You could faintly hear something clatter to the floor and then footsteps. 

“It’s him or me. You have to decide. Decide now! Do it!” Jason only grew angrier the more Bruce ignored him. “Him or me, decide!” The second you heard a gun go off and Jason yell in pain, you ran inside. Jason looked surprised to see you, Bruce kept his face neutral so you weren’t sure if he knew you’d be coming or not, and the Joker looked absolutely fucking delighted. He burst out laughing and you picked up the gun that had fallen near your feet. 

“Daddy and his little boy wonder and now the girlfriend? This just keeps getting better!” 

You scanned Jason’s body, other than his hand he seemed okay. Then your gaze slowly moved to Joker laying at Jason’s feet. You kept the gun at your side but tightened your grip on it as your chest heaved in anger. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Batman starting to walk toward you so you pointed the gun at him, making him freeze. 

“Don’t fucking move.” You spat, watching your hand tremble. Bruce said your name, and the fact that he was so calm right now made you even angrier. 

“You don’t want to do this. You can’t come back from it.” 

“Don’t fucking tell me what I want!” You screamed. “He deserves to die. He- he took everything from me!” Your voice broke and you willed yourself to not start crying right now. 

“Aw look, she’s about to cry.” Joker cooed mockingly. 

“Shut up!” You yelled, pointing it back to the man on the floor and gritting your teeth. You were ready to put a bullet in his head, but you wanted him to suffer first. So you aimed it at his leg and pulled the trigger. And he laughed. He just laughed. Batman moving toward you again made you point it back at him. 

“Unless you want one too, I’d stay there.” You growled, specifically aiming for the part of his face not covered by the mask. You don’t want to kill Bruce. But if he gets in your way… you have enough rage that you might try. He stopped moving, but then turned to Jason. 

“You can stop this. You’re the only one who can get through to her.” 

“And why would I do that? She deserves some closure after what he put her through.” He all but shrugged, gesturing to the Joker. 

“This isn’t closure and you know that.” 

“Right,” You scoffed, “because closure is putting him in Arkham just so he can escape again.” You understood Bruce’s morals and why he does things the way he does, but after maybe the fifth time of Joker escaping, you at least would have figured something else out to keep him away permanently. “The fact that you’re not willing to kill the sick fuck who murdered your own son just so you can keep up this little game you two have, makes you just as bad as him. Maybe even worse.” 

“Batsy and I just have a special connection.” You didn’t even bother replying, you just fired the gun at his other leg, then pointed it back to Bruce. 

“He’s dying tonight.” You said, voice eerily calm. “Who pulls the trigger is up to him,” You motioned to Jason, but kept your eyes on Bruce, “but he’s not leaving here without a bullet in his head.” 

“Don’t do this. It won’t change what happened and you know that.” Bruce said, making you scoff. 

“I don’t care. You’re telling me if the man who killed your parents was right in front of you, you wouldn’t kill him?” He didn’t reply. He just stared at you and clenched his jaw slightly. 

“Jay, you or me?” You said, turning your head toward him but keeping your eyes on Bruce. 

“Bats, you’re just going to let them kill me?” He asked, probably with a smirk. 

“Go ahead, sweetheart. I had my fun before you got here.” You didn’t have to look at him to know he was smirking. 

“Hold off the bat, will you?” You asked, knowing Bruce would make some last minute move to stop you. 

“I remember it like it was yesterday.” The Joker smirked, looking up at you. “Poor little Robin, bleeding out, crying… waiting for you to come save him. Why is it that you never came?” You shot him in the stomach and Jason moved between you and Bruce when he started walking forward to stop you. 

“Did you not love him enough? Was he not worth saving?” He jeered, then started laughing. You slowly stalked toward him until you were standing above him. 

“You’re lucky I don’t have more time. I’d like to see you try to laugh after I cut out your tongue.” You spat. Lifting your leg, you put your foot on top of the hole in his thigh and pushed down, making him cry out. By now, everything else had drowned out. All you could focus on was him. The man who murdered the love of your life. Any doubts you might’ve had were immediately erased with that thought. 

“Any last words?” You spoke bitterly, leaning closer to his face. He opened his mouth to speak and you pulled the trigger, making him instantly fall to the floor, a pool of blood growing around his head. 

“No!” You heard distantly, but you ignored it and savored the moment. You never thought in a million years thought you’d have the opportunity to do what you’ve dreamed of. And now that you have, it’s like a weight was lifted off your shoulders. 

A hand on your arm pulled you back and you watched as Bruce towered over you, taking the gun and tossing it across the room. 

“What? Disappointed you’ll have to find a new person for your sick game?” 

“He would have paid for what he did-“

“He did pay. With his life.” You said sternly, pushing him away and standing up. You walked toward Jason, who had a new bruise on his face, and heard Bruce’s steps behind you. When Jason held up a detonator, he froze. He pushed the button and immediately grabbed your waist and pulled you to the window. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he jumped out and fired a grappling hook up to the closest building. As you landed, the bomb went off. 

“Do you think he made it out?” You asked. 

“Without a doubt.” He scoffed a laugh and you turned to him with a small smile. “We should probably leave though.”

“Before he has a chance to get to us.” You added with a nod. 

A week later, you were laying on the couch in Jason’s safe house with your feet on his lap. Both of you were reading a book, the tv quietly playing “breaking news” about Joker's death, until you spoke up. 

“Do you think I shouldn’t have killed him?” You asked, biting your lip and looking at him over your book. He paused and moved his own book to his lap as he looked at you. 

“I think if it’s haunting you, then you shouldn’t have. I would’ve done it instead. But if you’re glad he’s dead because of you, then no I don’t.” You mulled his words over in your head. Despite the fact that you got what you wanted, you felt… unfulfilled. 

“Should we have done it differently? Taken him somewhere so we could do more than just shoot him?” Before Jason’s death, you never under any circumstances would’ve admitted to regretting killing someone and wishing you had tortured them first instead. But grief can change a person... 

“Sometimes I think about that too. But I’m just glad he’s dead. Plus, he suffered plenty, what with you shooting him three times before killing him and all.” He chuckled almost proudly. 

“Aw man…” You whined, suddenly getting sad, making him confused. 

“What?” 

“I should’ve shot him in the dick.” You sighed and he burst out laughing. You smiled but didn’t laugh with him, too focused on finally seeing him happy since before he died. His laughter trailed off and he looked at you with pink cheeks. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He asked with a nervous smile. 

“I just- I like seeing you happy.” 

“You are so cheesy, you know that?” He chuckled, the love sick grin on his face mirroring yours. 

“I may be cheesy, but at least I’m not lit-nerd cheesy. I mean for god's sake, you literally recite poetry to me.” You smirked, making him scoff. 

“Fine. I guess I won’t anymore, since you hate it so much.” You could tell he wasn’t being serious, but your smirk dropped anyway. 

“Don’t you dare.” You warned, playfully narrowing your eyes at him. 

I’m so sorry idk how to end this lmao

#angst #fluff #angst and fluff #angst with a happy ending #rewrite #jason todd deserves better #under the red hood #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #Jason Todd is a lit nerd

[contentloadingandstuff]

Cheering them up - Male!Reader x Platonic!Klee & Platonic!Qiqi

CW: Male!Redeader, platonic characters. A little Jean x Male!Reader.

A lifeless stare traces over the approach to Bubu Pharmacy, pink eyes peeled for one thing, and one thing only. Despite her best efforts, Qiqi can't find them. 

There are no finches anywhere in sight. Not on the road, not on the cliffside, not in the flowerbeds. There are only pigeons. But Qiqi doesn't care about pigeons. They are ugly and stink of grime and decay. She doesn't like that smell. 

Qiqi sighs. If her memory was any better, she would be mad. After all, not a single of the little birds showed itself for the past two hours. She had to help Baizhu, so she wrote that down. In what way - the notebook did not specify. She also wrote that she will go and help after she sees a finch. Yet none of them did as much as fly by her. 

Something must be wrong. Qiqi's dried up brain attempts to process the situation. She has to help Baizhu, but she also has to see finches. Baizhu is in Bubu Pharmacy. Where are finches? Baizhu showed her finches one day, so they must be where he is - on Bubu Pharmacy grounds. But somehow they aren't here. Then maybe they are in the building? No. Finches need space to fly, even if they are small. That doesn’t make sense. 

Qiqi doesn’t notice you sitting right next to her, too deep in her considerations. You pat her head gently, attracting her attention. 

“Hello Y/N.” She replies, dry and emotionless as ever. You smile kindly.

“Hi. Looking for finches?” You take a quick glance around the area, but find nothing bird-like.

“Yes. But Qiqi can’t find any.” She sighs, looking down at the pavement. “This makes Qiqi… sad. Finches are nice. Qiqi wants to see finches.” 

You think for a moment. “Maybe they are scared of something?”

Qiqi is visibly processing the idea while you look around again, and then up at the sky. On the backdrop of blue, a black silhouette of a bird circles in the sky. You point up at it, and the zombie follows your mark.

“We have our reason. That’s a hawk. Hawks eat finches.”

Qiqi stares up at you. “Ah. Qiqi forgot.”

You pet her head again. “How about we go outside the city? Maybe they will be there?”

She nods. “Yes. Qiqi wants to see finches.”

“Alright then!” You get up, and gently grab her small hand. “Let’s go find you some finches.”

Qiqi stands up too, but she doesn’t move. Instead, you feel her tug at your sleeve. You look down, and find her big pink eyes fixed on you. 

“Y/N, carry Qiqi. Qiqi is… tired. Cold.”

You pull her up to your chest, Qiqi wraps her arms around your neck, and you begin your journey.

“Come on Jean. You know you want to~”

The Acting Grandmaster narrows her eyes, arms crossed on her chest. Her stare is unrelenting.

“I shouldn’t let Klee out after what she did. That bomb could have hurt someone.” 

You draw the sweetest smile you can manage. “Not even if I keep tabs on her?”

“Not even if you keep tabs on her. She will be out tomorrow.” 

Theatrically dropping your head, you sigh. Jean looks on, feeling a little guilty as you make your way to the door. You take the doorknob in your hand, but refrain from pressing it. 

“Jean Gunnhildr, the conqueror of children’s smiles, the destroyer of all that is fun.” You look back and look at her with the best puppy eyes you can muster. “Pretty please?”

Jean avoids your eyes, trying to hold back a smile. You’re so silly… She can’t restrain it anymore. She sighs and opens the drawer and pulls out black, metal key. You jog over to her and grab the item, feeling accomplished. 

“Just don’t let Klee blow things up. Please. I’m tired of handling the reports.” 

She looks at you with tired eyes, practically begging you to listen. Without hesitation, you press a short kiss on her lips. You turn around and leave the flustered, red faced Jean. On your way out, you wave to her. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep the kid on a short leash. And give you plenty of cuddles once you’re home to help you relax.”

You leave, closing the heavy door behind you as silently as you can. Klee’s room, better known as solitary confinement, is guarded by one knight, bored to hell. You wink at him as you slide the key into the keyhole, and turn it. 

“Go get a break. You look like you need it.”

You open the door. Klee’s elf ears immediately twitch, and she turns to face you. Much to your surprise, Klee’s wearing her Dodoco pyjama overalls, sewn for her by Noelle. At first she looks grim, but her eyes light up upon seeing you. “Y/N!”

She runs up to you as you close the door. She hugs you, barely reaching your waist. You scratch her head. “What’s up? Is my little grenadier sleepy already?”

Klee shakes her head. “No, but I can’t leave solitary confinement until tomorrow.”

“You look sadder than usual. Did anyone get hurt, Klee? Can you tell me what happened?”

Klee looks down, toying with her fingers. “W-well, I was out blasting fish with Dodoco, but then… um… one of my bombs landed too far and scared Mr. Fisherman. He told Jean and she told me to go to solitary confinement. She said mommy wouldn’t be proud.”

You smirk. Alice wouldn’t mind, judging by how she isn’t bothered by her child handling live explosives. But then again, her parenting methods aren’t that great, seeing as she barely interacts with her own child. 

You shake those thoughts and crouch down to be eye level with Klee. “I’m not sure about that. I talked to Jean, and she let me take you outside. You’re up for it?”

Klee’s expression brightened nearly instantly. She clapped her little hands and jumped up and down a few times, ending her joyous outburst with a bear (or rather cub?) hug. You can’t help but giggle with her. 

“Yay! Thank you, Y/N!”

“Remember to dress accordingly! It’s quite chilly outside. I wouldn’t want to see you sick, Klee, would I? I bet Dodoco would be really worried too.” You raise up and open the door. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

After putting on one of her warmer outfits and grabbing her backpack (Dodoco included), Klee practically sprints out the door. She finds you smiling brightly, but you shake your head. 

“Klee? Where’s your hat? Remember about the scarf as well.”

“Oops… I'll go get it now!"

Thanks for reading!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x male reader #genshin impact x male reader #fluff #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #genshin impact platonic ship #genshin platonic ship #platonic ship #genshin impact qiqi #qiqi #platonic qiqi x reader #platonic qiqi x male reader #platonic qiqi x you #platonic qiqi x y/n #genshin impact klee #klee #platonic klee x reader #platonic klee x male reader #platonic klee x you #platonic klee x y/n #kinda cute ngl #qiqi fluff #klee fluff

[imagionationstation]

Raph’s leader history is kinda messed up

First: Raph has a panic attack and puts his brothers in danger

Next: Raph has to care for his little brothers while their home/city is lost, their dad is dead, Leo’s in a coma, and there’s nothing that he can do about any of it

Finally: Raph gets a boost of confidence to lead and shows off to his brothers until the alien warrior that he’s leading drops off a high point to kill end himself after the misson and Raph’s given him exactly what he needs for his species to come and end the world

Bonus: (For those who fanon Mutant Apocalypse)

Raph gets caught in an explosion that kills his brothers except one who only isn’t dead because of a technicality and now he survives forever as an android with slight existential crisis’s sometimes- but anyway, now he has to lead his little brother who is only (alive?) because of Raph’s continued existence and he has to keep him safe and himself healthy so that Donnie doesn’t worry and also he has memory issues that leaves him unable to recall their brothers on bad weeks which hurts Donnie more than anything else possibly can since he technically can’t feel anything anymore which is Raph’s fault but he’s going to do everything in his power to keep Donnie with him because he can’t lose the only family that he has left-

#“Kinda” I express generously #tmnt 2012 #See what I see TMNT #tmnt fandom #teenage mutant ninja turtles #2012 tmnt #tmnt donnie 2012 #2012 donnie #tmnt raph 2012 #raph 2012 #2012 raphael #tmnt 2012 raphael #tmnt 2012 raph #2012 raph #tmnt 2012 donnie #2012 donatello #tmnt 2k12 #teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012 #tmnt leo 2012

[k-dokja]

Kayden break x reader please🥹🙏🙏

I have no idea what’s going on in the webtoon because I haven’t read it in months. Please have whatever this is.

“God fucking damnit!”

Kayden knew this was inevitable. He knew the moment he opened up to you and let your smile shake his world, you’d break his heart. It was an outcome he expected from the beginning, but for a time, he believed everything would be okay. Because he was strong, nothing would happen to you.

Then everything happened.

He was there, kneeling on the floor. Your body is limp in his arms. Red of blood warmed his hands. There was too much, too much that was outside of you and not inside. Your eyes are open and empty. They gaze towards the sky and take in nothing above. He was too familiar with this stare, familiar enough that it made him sick in the stomach to see it from you.

“No, not now,” not ever. Not like this.

He can save you, somehow. He can—No, he should’ve prevented this from happening to begin with. He should’ve been stronger. Maybe then, he would’ve been able to do something to make the pain stop.

God, anything to make the pain stop.

“Hey, you’ve been quiet for a while.”

Kartein’s statement is nothing more than a mere mention of his current stupor, but it annoys Kayden to have his peace disturbed all the same. Kayden clicks his tongue and returns to staring out of the window. The two of them have traveled far from Jiwoo’s home to attend to the Frame businesses. However, he had not expected to end up in this city again.

To say it brings up a few bad memories is an understatement, but Kayden digresses. This is a problem of his alone, Kartein shouldn’t be privy to it and Jiwoo has enough to deal with at the moment. Besides, if Kayden couldn’t tackle this problem alone, he would never get over it.

Seeing Kayden’s lack of response, Kartein doesn’t press. He only comes up to the window and admires the view outside. At this late hour of the night, no soul except for the desperate dwells the streets. It is comforting, in a sense, for Kayden to look down on these from a distance. It puts a space between him and the memories he wants to forget.

“Beautiful city, isn’t it?” Kartein says. “If I remember correctly, you were first known around these areas…”

“Yeah.” Kayden replies conversationally.

“Back then, you weren’t running alone,” Kartein’s remark makes Kayden flinch, but he doesn’t notice it, “what was that girl you were with…?”

Kayden frowns, “It doesn’t matter. She’s not here anymore.”

He can feel Kartein’s stare on him. It’s perturbing and unwanted. He never talked about this to anyone and if his luck was willing, he will go down to his grave with this.

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry won’t bring her back. Kayden bites down on his tongue to prevent his bad mood from taking control of his better senses. “Yeah.” It was a problem of his own. No one else should stick their neck out to help him deal with it. You, of all people, should have never done that.

If you did, then you’d be here now, with him. The thought put a bitter taste in his mouth. Cursed city and all the troubles it brings him. And the worse of it might be the fact that even after he got stronger and made all those who inflicted this pain suffered tenfold, no matter he begged and pleaded back then, the pain never stopped hurting.

Not now, not ever.

#Kayden break #Kayden break x reader #eleceed #fics #eleceed x reader

[genshin-scenarios]

Reunion: An Equivalent Thanks [Part 5]

Read the first series (Adopt a Wanderer) here! An AU where Scaramouche/Wanderer gets isekaied to your world - a found-family series.

Summary: Things start to settle into a routine. As much as the characters in the story were the same however, it'd be a lie to say that time hasn't changed both you and Kuni, for better or worse.

Wordcount: 2489

Warnings: contains spoilers of Wanderer’s story in the archon quest!

Part 4 &lt;-

Call him pessimistic, but Kuni expected you to be more resistant to his new personality. His way of speech, insults, or even just the knowledge that he’s not the ‘harmless, couldn’t-hurt-a-fly’ puppet anymore - none of it seemed to phase you, and a part of him grows irritated at how easily you accept him.

Things seem to be too good to be true. He’s aware you knew about his past and future, but aren’t you a little too relaxed about the version of him that’s committed atrocities standing next to you? 

What irks him even more is the way your actions seem to carry concealed worry. Your shoulders would relax every time he came into view, as if making sure that he really was there.

Just as ridiculous as his worries might seem to you, Kuni thinks it’s needless for you to wonder if he didn’t find your presence annoying. He continues to drop by day after day on his own accord, and while he often says it’s to make sure you’re still alive, it’s also not like there’s anything better for him to do. In mortal terms, this might be described as a hobby of his.

“Kuni?” You rub the sleep out of your eyes as you walk down the stairs, reaching the ground floor of the treehouse to see a lone plate on the dining table. The scent of spices had wafted in from outside, rousing you from sleep. “...Huh, not a soul in sight.”

You could’ve sworn that you saw Kuni from the window before you came downstairs - maybe he’s left already?

Peeking out from the door, you check the stove outside to see that indeed, the fire had just been put out. You recall that he’s been busy on missions given by Nahida, so that was probably his reason for leaving.

But…

“He doesn’t need to eat.” You mutter to yourself, picking up the pita pockets - still warm. You’re reminded of the days when Kuni started learning how to cook, making dishes from recipes he’s found online with a bit of guidance from you - and voila, the teacher had become the master. 

He’d always been quick at learning things though. And you’d be the last person to complain about having warm meals on the table after a long day at work.

…Maybe you should do something for him this time around. But what kind of gift would Kuni like?

For you to get a proper house? You could practically hear him saying it in his usual drawl, but shake your head to bat the mental image of him away.

Perhaps you could check if there were any imported teas from the city’s merchants? Briefly, your attention is caught by a breeze that nudges the door open. As you make your way to shut it properly again, your gaze trails toward the wildflowers growing nearby, and the Traveler’s quest with the Aranara resurfaces from your memory.

Gifting flowers was a sign of friendship. Perhaps it’s a little too optimistic to make him a flower crown, but you could just prepare both and see how it goes (definitely not because you were hoping to see him wear said flowers in his hair, noo…) 

As you busied yourself with your new tasks, you reflected on the events of the past few days. 

Kuni had asked you a few questions about the details of your memories and appearance here in Teyvat. 

When did your dreams occur? How long has it been in your world?

To be honest, you had some questions you wanted to ask him too.

How did you feel when the memories flooded in?

What did you think of the ‘me’ from the past?

Do you regret any of it?

Despite the questions that have crossed your mind when the moon was high and you had fallen into retrospection - Kuni’s actions up until now have always been a source of reassurance to you. In his own way, he was accompanying you as you adjusted into a foreign, new world - just like you’d attempted to do for him back then.

And maybe… just like you hadn’t realized in the past, you don’t think Kuni’s aware of just how much he’s helping you right now, simply by hosting and anchoring you down.

…Ah, the both of you really were a peculiar duo. Since when have you been so anxious about things all the time? Growing older really is a burden.

-

“So, how did you manage to find me back in the Avidya Forest?” With a bag hanging from your elbow as you peruse the shops in Port Ormos, you take a sip of your drink; mango and yogurt blended together, translating into a refreshing sweetness. “As much as I don’t want to sound deluded, it felt more like a trap than a coincidence when we reunited.”

Familiar music is playing through the streets. Kuni shrugs half-heartedly, watching as you look through a stall with kitchen gadgets. “You’re not wrong. At some point, the Aranara started gossiping about a strange person in the woods. They said you ‘glowed like Golden Nara’, but not in the same way.”

The information brings you back to the Aranara you met when you’d stumbled on your current home. It jumped in surprise at the fact you could see it, but was quick to peer around you and recognise you as a lost person. Such was the kindness of forest creatures. It’d told you the place was empty for many years, so it was safe to stay.

“Not the same, huh…” You muse. “I’m surprised I ‘glow’ at all. I can’t exactly do the same things they do.”

A part of Kuni feels irritated at your familiar, nostalgic tone. You’ve never actually met the other characters, but your words are uttered as if there was a strange kind of bond between you and them already. Frankly speaking, he thinks your memory might be holding them all at a too-high regard.

“What can they do?” There’s a hint of a challenge in his voice, meeting your questioning look with a raise of his brow. “I’m just curious. You say you witnessed their adventures as if it was a story from their point of view.”

You hesitate, thinking of what you could reveal without saying too much. You don’t mention anything about the Traveler’s abyss twin, more sensitive details, or their theorized origins. Though you’re sure Kuni probably has his own suspicions anyways, sharp as he is.

“They’re getting stronger with every adventure, enough to contend with the gods.” You give him a knowing look, to which Kuni scoffs.

“Irrelevant.”

“Hm.” You try not to laugh, deciding to let him off. He did also beat his own god-self, so you guess it’s a null point for Kuni. “They can swap between elements regularly by resonating with them. Teleport around using waypoints, have a roof over their heads from a certain teapot abode. And…” You pause dramatically. “At some point, become quite the detective and lawyer. Though I can’t tell if they’re good at singing or not, since one time their humming caused a glaze lily to turn into a whopperflower.”

“Anything else?”

“Nothing that stands out too much.” Glancing at him, you link your hands behind your back, causing your shopping bag to shift with you. “Not going to ask about yourself?”

“I’d get creeped out.” When you give him an offended look, Kuni rolls his eyes. “I had a recap of my entire life just recently, so hearing it again isn’t going to make me feel any better.”

“...You sure?” With a thoughtful pause, you shrug. “Then, I can tell you about the other characters the Traveler has met.”

For someone who plays themself off as an insignificant witness, you were quite the character yourself. When Kuni first heard about your arrival from the Dendro Archon’s familiars, he’d scouted the area where you were last seen. When he did manage to match your identity to the person in his memories, he’d almost gone to Irminsul at that moment to erase himself again (an overreaction, mostly). Yet within his cynical thoughts, something about how you were obviously struggling to get a hold on your bearings in the forest gave him pause. 

Despite how you were undeniably mortal - no outwardly powers or vision on your waist - there was something about the way you continued trekking forward that made Kuni unable to abandon you. He could have chosen to forget about his past incarnation’s memories, but something always pulled him back to reflect on it. 

Questions, interest, and a certain type of nostalgia that lives in the air; not quite isolated to the past as much as it was impossible to ignore, dangling before him in the present. It’s just tangible enough that he might be able to grasp it.

So he does. Because even if he was immortal, he couldn’t say the same for you. You could change, get hurt, or disappear.

…Have you changed? It would be ridiculous to claim you had not, seeing as people grew everyday. But so far at least, none of said changes has betrayed anything that mattered Kuni’s memories, save for one.

Have you always been this tentative? It might be the difference in environment, but Kuni’s certain you were never this wary back when he lived with you. You’d barge into the living room with a magazine asking him if he wanted to visit the place illustrated on its page, planning an impromptu trip. You’d bring him around your modern world and explain how things worked, say hi to the cat you’ve unofficially adopted, and ask him if he’s had a good time at the end of it all.

One of the weaponsmiths in Tatarasuna had mentioned before: ‘It was easier to brave the world when there was someone to be brave for,’ or something like that?

…Absolute rubbish. Just the thought of bringing you to meet Nahida already made a bad feeling crawl up his throat. The last thing Kuni needed was for an archon to do something that neither of you wanted.

“Oh, and there’s Kazuha!” You explain to Kuni, who hums on occasion to show he’s listening. “Kazuha has this really elegant way of speaking, it almost reminds me of a knight? He likes poetry, is really skilled in swordsmanship, and faced the Electro Archon at one point.” The way your eyes light up makes it seem like you’re talking about a celebrity. “He’s also a part of the Kaedehara clan, though I think you already know about that. Just a really nice person that gets along well with most people. He travels on the Crux with Captain Beidou.”

In truth, you’d only highlighted Kazuha because of Kuni’s relations to his ancestors, not realizing the way the puppet was slowly getting annoyed for different reasons. “You’re telling it like he’s the most charming person in Teyvat.”

You tilt your head, not fully understanding his vice. “Well… in terms of charm, there’s a few other candidates, like this magician from Fontaine.” You stop yourself though, raising a finger in the air to illustrate your point. “But anyways, there’s one more person I want to highlight!”

“...Last one. I think my ears are going to need maintenance after this.”

“He’s a person who’s lived many lives.” Your peppy tone melts into something more thoughtful. “—Not quite human, but with a heart that feels so deeply that those who met him during his early incarnations, couldn’t help but invite him into their tribe.”

Kuni stays quiet, but doesn’t make any move to suggest you should stop. 

“Unfortunately, a shadow had planted itself in place, which would interrupt their happiness.” Softer and quieter your words grew. “But what was broken here couldn’t simply be thrown aside and forgotten. Its cracks manifested anger. It witnessed a second life of harsher circumstances, and sharpens itself.

“Later on, he is picked up by the wind. He maintains a hard exterior, but his actions do not harm the birds that visit. He pays one of them company while it drags him around to its heart’s content.” You finally bring the narration to an end. “And… Said bird heard from some forest creatures that flowers were a symbol of friendship. So it tried to bundle together a gift of its own for the puppet with a heart of ash and embers, hoping to thank him for his companionship.”

“...You forgot the part where I committed many atrocities.”

“Just take my gift, won’t you?” You huff with feigned-annoyance, handing him the flower crown and box of tea. “If we ever visit another nation, I’ll make you new ones with their regional flowers.”

“And you said you weren’t broke.” Kuni’s words hold no weight though, as he runs his fingers over the woven flowers. “Making presents from the plants in the forest? Next you’ll fashion a spear and hunt a boar for dinner.”

“Isn’t that how adventurers do it anyways?!” You whirl away from him, crossing your arms. “And here I was trying to express my gratitude. Guess I should’ve just gotten you more tea instead.”

The sound of his vision lighting up reaches your ears. When you turn around to see what he’s done, Kuni is quick to place the flower crown atop your head, asking you to hold on to it for him. You were about to tell him it’s his gift when he takes three flowers from the crown, tying it around the metal ornament that frames his vision.

“Wearing that on my head won’t be very practical.” Once he’s done, the flowers grace the accessory naturally, as if grown from the glow of the teal stone. “Next time, just bring me the flowers. I’ll figure out how to use them myself.”

Next to his vision and the golden plume, huh? You’re in no position to complain about that. “...I’m glad you liked it.”

“Never said I didn’t.” Kuni shrugs, before taking your shopping bag and dropping the tea inside, carrying it himself. “Nothing else to surprise me with, right? If we’re done, we should head back before it gets dark.”

“Remember when you asked me why we couldn’t see the stars back in the city?” 

Ever the sensitive soul, Kuni responds to your nostalgia with frank fact. “It was so polluted that the stars weren’t visible.” Humans truly had their ways of impacting the world.

“That’s why I’m kind of enjoying the view of the sky in Teyvat.” You say. “The stars are twinkling so brightly, it makes even the night feel a little less isolating.”

Back when Kuni was living in your world, he’d thought of the stars as a witness to the exploits of the world below. Perhaps that was why his past-self had hoped that you’d both remain hidden under the clouds just a bit longer, so that his time living in that quaint but happy existence could remain just a little more.

.

.

.

-> Part 6

#kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin wanderer x you #genshin kunikuzushi #genshin scaramouche #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact reader insert #traveler wishes #genshin writing #genshin imagines

[usedpidemo]

Confide (fromis_9 Gyuri)

“Thanks for letting me come over. Um—” Jang Gyuri touches her index fingers together, cheeks burning red from shyness, while she walks around the dumpster house that is your living room. She tiptoes around the filthy junkyard that is your apartment, avoiding the soda puddles and junk food scraps that lie in the open for ants to scrap. “Sorry for ruining your Saturday night. I promise, this wasn’t how I wanted to spend my Saturday night either.”

God. You feel just as embarrassed, if not more than she does. 

Sometimes, you forget that Gyuri is an idol, a celebrity, a larger than life figure in the eyes of the general public. It’s almost like you’re ruining her image by her simply being there — a dirty, unclean apartment that belongs to someone barely hanging on financially. Thank goodness it’s on the sixth floor of a random building placed in a random place in the city. You’d drop to your knees in complete shame should those Dispatch cameras find someone like her hanging around a ‘peasant’ like you. 

Marie Kondo will probably file a lawsuit against you if she sees how awful your flat looks.

Though she might be larger than life, Gyuri is still your friend — even if you don’t communicate as much because of her idol schedules anymore. So when she called you an hour earlier asking for your place, you didn’t hesitate in the slightest to offer yours. She confided in you the most and would share her feelings and ask for your comfort. There’s something she sees in you that she’d look for you for support rather than with her members. 

“Sure, anything for my friend,” you say cheerfully while you hurriedly dust and sweep the floor — as if she didn’t give you an hour's headstart when she sent that text. She doesn’t appear bothered by it, but man, it makes you look apathetic when she’s dressed like a star in contrast to your simple homely shirt and shorts. 

“Do you want anything? Food? Drinks? I still have some lasagna and chicken—”

“It’s okay.” Gyuri lifts her hand in refusal, flashing a cute, humble smile at you and presenting her trademark eye smile. “No need to make me feel any better; you’ve already done more than enough by letting me in. I’ll just watch TV and sleep on the couch.” 

You’re worried. Her tone sounds so gloomy and downcast. A few times in the past she’s called you over the phone to express her problems, but this is different. There has to be a reason why she personally wanted to see you, but you don’t know what it might be.

Putting down your broom and dustpan, you approach her casually laying on the sofa. She casually kicks off her heels to free her congested feet.

“Is everything okay?” you ask. “What happened?”

She tilts her eyes up from the screen toward yours, curling her lips in a grumpy, sour expression. “What happened? Oh, it’s nothing. You don’t need to hear it.”

Strange. She would immediately spill the tea whenever you asked. Whatever it is, she must have been deeply hurt by it. 

“I’m your friend, Gyul.” Drop to your knees to lower yourself to her level. “Whatever it is, I won’t ever tell anyone. Only I would know how you truly feel.”

“Really?” She raises her eyebrows, her tone changing from despondent to joy. “Are you sure, though? It’s quite a lot.”

You reassure her with a bright, wide grinned smile. “No, nothing is quite a lot for my friend. I have all the time in the world to listen to you.”

Your answer raises her spirit. Of course there’s a reason why you’re her confidant, and more importantly, her best friend. 

“Okay.” Gyuri slides her legs off the couch, freeing up space for you to join her. “Sit here. I want to tell you everything.”

Without hesitation, you set yourself down on the opposite side of the couch, ears perking, ready to listen to everything that she has to say. 

Gyuri takes a deep breath, averting direct eye contact with you. You solemnly observe her as she tries to make herself comfortable. The tears in her eyes tell you that whatever she’s been through is still a fresh memory — an open cut in her heart. 

After a few minutes of crying, you try to grab a tissue and get up, but you feel a sudden tug on your arm. Gyuri’s own hand is pulling you back.

“Don’t.”

And that’s all she needs to say. You rejoin her on the sofa with a concerned look, then wrap yourself around her in a warm, comforting embrace. It takes a little bit before she eases into your hug and rests her head on your shoulder. The sight of a broken Gyuri, sniffling and sobbing like a baby almost makes you want to cry too—but you can’t. 

Be strong. Be strong for her. Those words repeat in your head like a chant. 

To hide the pain gradually seeping, you retreat behind shut eyes, pulling her even deeper into your clasp as she shares her pain with you. It doesn't matter how long it will take, there’s no way you’ll let her go until she ultimately feels better. 

Eventually, the sniffles quiet down, and you feel a small shove on your chest. Gyuri releases herself from your embrace, rubbing a finger on her nose and flashing that trademark eye smile a second time. 

“Thank you,” she whispers. “I needed that so badly. Thank you.”

No words can be adequate to respond to that, so you simply flash a soft grin, mimicking her trademark eye smile that elicits a giggle from Gyuri. You’re also met by a quick, playful elbow to the belly in retaliation. 

“God, you really know how to make me feel better,” she says with a chuckle. 

“You’re my friend, Gyul.” you repeat what you said earlier. “I’m here for you. Always.”

—————

“Damn, I can’t believe he’d do that to you,” you say with utter disbelief as you stare at the phone in her hand. On the screen there’s an endless stream of texts from her boyfriend, Jeonghan. Except he’s her ex-boyfriend now.

“Yeah, and just imagine how many times he’d done this.” Her fingers slide to show more texts from the dismissive punk, Jeonghan. Even though they’re laid out differently, the meaning and simplicity remains the same. 

> Stuck at work. Can’t make it. 

> Sorry babe; another day. 

> 🧡🙏

“Tonight was our sixth month anniversary too,” she continues, scrolling downward to her more recent exchanges with him. “We had it all planned out weeks in advance. I bought this beautiful dress because he liked it so much, and I booked him his favorite restaurant because we never had the opportunity to eat there together. Fuck, there’s a two month waiting list to get in!”

The more details she drops, the angrier her inflection grows. Even as you glance toward her, those furrowed eyebrows and steely glare show frustration even just thinking about it; how much more verbally speaking about it and looking at the evidence?

Her fingers stop at a certain time point. 8:29 p.m., the breaking point of their relationship.

> Hey, where are u babe? I’ve been waiting for 20 minutes now :)

> I gotta bail. Lots of paperwork and the boss is expecting results by tomorrow. 

> See you later tonight? 

She directs her index a little further down, focusing on her subsequent exchange back at him.

> Not a chance, dipshit. This is the last straw. Fuck you. We’re done.

“Just look at the audacity of this shit,” she grumbles, skimming through the rest of the conversation quickly. Bubbles and paragraphs from his side that are fruitless in salvaging whatever is left between the two of them. “He’s said more words to me through text in five minutes than what he’s said to me within the past two weeks.”

“I mean, what the hell does any of this even mean?” Gyuri shrugs her shoulders in disgust. Her sarcastic tone makes it apparent that he’s spewing total bullshit over the phone, and she’s completely appalled by his consistent failings as a boyfriend. “Trying to impress the boss? I guess his boss is more important than his girlfriend. Sorry I don’t sign your paychecks, buddy, but I have something to offer too, you know? Like, my bad I’m not a walking dollar sign!”

Her jokes elicit a small cackle out of you. That’s when she’s at her best—when she’s poking fun at the current situation, no matter how bad it may be. 

“God, why is he such a damn workaholic?” she continues, expressing lament at getting into someone like him. “He cares way too much about work to even remember me. He missed my birthday dinner for work. He skipped out on our Valentine’s date so he could secure the partnership with those foreign investors. I don’t even remember when was the last time we kissed anymore. Maybe New Years?”

A sudden stop. Then, she wistfully sighs.

“He kisses his boss’s ass more than he kisses me.”

“Gyul…” You reach out your hand to hold hers, which she allows you. 

The emotional rollercoaster continues, going from sullen to confident. “Well, I guess he can kiss my ass too.”

Dead silence follows for a few minutes. You expect her to break down in tears a second time, but she doesn’t. It’s a moment of quiet contemplation and rumination—one so that she can be firm at her decision to finally end things with her boyfriend. She doesn’t let go of your hand all throughout, confidently confiding her feelings to you. In exchange, your wide eyed gaze remains steadfast on her face. 

When she speaks again, it seems like there’s still a hint of sorrow.

“I really feel so bitter about tonight. Gosh, it’s so embarrassing to be stood up like that. One year of dealing with his bullshit.” A small tear begins to flow from her eye, which she quickly wipes away with her free hand. “I wanted everything to be perfect. Despite my schedules, I took two days off, had my hair and nails done, and bought this dress that he liked. On top of that, I even complimented it with nice lingerie to surprise him.”

Both your eyes and hers’ look down at the lacy fabric hiding beneath her outfit. For a moment, there’s a rush of blood in the place you least want it to be—until you mentally remind yourself that you’re just friends. You’re there as a source of comfort, not a rebound for her. 

“You bought lingerie?” you blurt. That curious side of yours is letting in a bit too much for comfort.

“Yeah,” she scans herself and even pulls a bit at the oppressive hem to give you a little more for your eyes to feast on. “Still have it on, too. See?”

You nod rapidly like an excitable dog until the red lights flash in your head, once again forcing you to remember that there’s only a thin connection of friendship between you and Gyuri and nothing further. Thankfully, she doesn’t see you comically slap yourself in the cheek to remind you of the fact.

She sighs again. “So much for preparing. Look at me, all dolled-up for nothing.”

Not really. You get the honor of seeing her like this, something that her ungrateful ex-boyfriend of his won’t be able to brag about.

“But yeah, I’m honestly glad to get all of that out of my system. Thanks for letting me ramble.” She turns her gaze toward you with a bright smile. “I’d rather spend my Saturday night with someone like you than crying and eating ice cream like a sorry bitch.”

“Hey, it’s all good. Anything for you to feel better.” 

You press your hands between hers to give her warmth and reassurance. What wouldn’t you do to make her happy again whenever she needs it?

“I never really got to say this, but you’re such a great listener. Whenever we talk, I feel like I can actually share things with you. I can freely have a conversation with you, and it feels so refreshing.”

“Really?” you blurt out, surprised as you’re not quite the talker, nor do you provide anything beyond surface-level advice when it comes to friends, and as close as you two are, Gyuri is no exception. “I’m just…here.”

“And that’s more than enough,” she replies, leaning her face close to yours. You suddenly feel incredibly tense, almost uncomfortable even, but you do nothing to stop her. “Like I said, whenever we talk, you don’t just hear me, but you understand me. Does that make any sense?”

“Um, kinda?” you reluctantly reply, fighting off your honesty with your priority to make her happy. “I sort of get it.”

“Okay, good. I thought I was sounding crazy there,” she says, retracting her head back as you internally breathe a sigh of relief. “Oh, and another thing.” You feel your body crash down to the couch as she suddenly pounces onto you like a predator from the bushes. 

“Did I mention you’re really good at maintaining eye contact? Almost like you can be an idol too, like me.” she continues with a giggle, laughing at her own joke. “Honestly, I find them attractive. I feel like I can stare into those beautiful eyes of yours forever.”

Your cheeks burn brighter hearing her compliment. She giggles as you awkwardly gaze back with twinkles in your eyes. You’re not sure what to do now: to let those restrained feelings of yours finally manifest, or just allow her to do whatever she wants, but keeping a clear line between your friendship when it’s crossed, and she’s tiptoeing close to that border.

Despite this, the trigger in your brain pulls itself.

“I like your eyes too.”

She flashes that trademark eye smile, sharing in your shyness with cheeks, bright and red as yours. 

“You like my eyes? You’re too sweet, thanks.” Her hands caress and squeeze your cheeks like a cat, molding them in her grasp like clay.

“Gosh, you’re so cute.” Gyuri continues to play with your face while you lay beneath her, completely powerless. “I feel like I could kiss you right now.”

If your thought cheeks couldn’t get any redder than the sun, now they are. Little by little, your restraint and willpower is crumbling away, but damn, if you aren’t trying your hardest to withhold yourself from making the first move against her consent.

“Then why don’t you do that?” you mutter. 

Her eyes light up and a wide smile forms on her face, as if a light bulb magically appeared above her head. 

“You’re right, why wouldn’t I? I’m single, after all.”

She doesn’t waste a second longer. The air around you tightens in a mere instant as her lips capture yours, and you feel as hot as the fucking sun with her weight pressing you down on the couch, her tongue invading your mouth, and her sweet little hum reverberating around your ears. Whatever space is left on that line, Gyuri has completely crossed it and back twice over. 

Allowing your senses to relish the new sensation, you slam your eyes shut as you both make out passionately. Her hands roam and explore your body, without care for the obvious discrepancy in the way you’re poorly dressed compared to her—she knows where it will all eventually fall in the end. It doesn’t matter. 

It also didn’t matter that you were acting defensive on the outside, knowing well that she was going to break you eventually, or that you were letting on more than she knew. A part of you wanted this to happen, and finally, here she is, letting her whole self onto you—mind, body, and soul as you dreamt of.

“Mmm,” she hums and drones between kisses, the tone bouncing between sweet and sultry. “Mmh, I’m sorry,” she has to talk between love pecks, which you admit, is a little annoying. “IIII-I really don’t know if you like the taste of my lipstick.”

Your response? To push her into your chest and continue making out on the couch. At points, you feel tugs on the fabric of your shirt and skin, while you blindly seek points to pull at her dress. Neither attempts at the other’s clothes result in any material being shed or torn.

Gyuri withdraws her lips from yours and clambers on top of you, using her hands as support on the sofa. 

“Wait. Before we do this, I wanna make one thing clear: I’m not doing this to get back at my ex. I have lots of pent up energy I want to release. I also really want you right now.”

You slowly nod, the realization of her intentions slowly passing through your head. 

“But I also really want to get back at him,” She lifts her eyebrows, as if demanding your approval for the deed. “Am I still making any sense?”

“Yes?” A form of dread lingers at the back of your mind, assuming that failure to respond within five seconds signals your end. Is this even cheating? But she said she’s single now, so it might be fair after all, or not? Should 24 hours pass before she should have done this? 

She dives in for a quick peck of your lips; a small dose of brain juice to get your shit together—or to mess it up entirely.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” she says disapprovingly, aware of your inability to give a proper answer. “Let me make it clear, then.” She dives close to your face again, whispering in your ear, “I want you to fuck me.”

She’s not even finished speaking, yet when her tone and demand sends shivers down your spine and raises the hairs all over your body. 

“I want you to fuck me,” she repeats, in her most lustful tone. “Fuck me better than he did. I’m all yours tonight.”

You don’t even question that she has had some sexual experience with that bastard, not when she’s openly inviting you to take her with open arms.

“We can do whatever you want.”

Before you can even think of what you want to do with her, she crashes her lips down on yours again violently, with a little more hunger, with a little more desire. Between the hums that escape her lips is an occasional soft moan, and you are more than willing to simply let her seize control, despite her request for you to take the wheel. If the night ended like this—with Gyuri, your best friend on top of you after a round of kisses and nothing more—you would be more than satisfied.

Somehow, she has some kind of ability to read your mind like a telepath.

Her arms reach around the back of her peach colored dress, interrupting the makeout session. You offer yours to assist her, and you’re rewarded as you clasp the metal zipper keeping it together. She allows you to run it down her body, which you happily do. Slowly slide the velcro down her expensive fabric as the previously hidden matching colored cleavage exposes itself for you, with shapely breasts tucked behind a mouth-watering bra. 

Gyuri does the rest, gently sliding the straps off her shoulder, pushing it down halfway. The way she’s positioned on top of you makes it difficult to completely remove, so she decides to get rid of it first, sitting up as the expensive piece of clothing ruins itself as it drops down to her legs. After a brief struggle, she kicks it off her feet and leaves it ignored on the floor next to the sofa. One half of clothed distractions gone. 

She immediately plants herself atop you, making sure her cleavage is center stage, drawing your attention to her chest. 

“Like the view?” she asks, rather stupidly knowing well you both know the answer.

Nevertheless, you nod approvingly as she giggles in response watching you openly lust for her. Then, it’s back to kissing and making out while laying on your couch again.

Disregard the lack of comfort you both feel on the sofa. The scent and flavor of her rosy lips on yours makes you forget about those feelings of hesitance and restraint. Gyuri’s also using you to give a mental middle finger at her former lover, though you wish she’d cut down on that and hope that your finger is planted on those tight lips instead—not just so she’d shut up but also so that you’d make her forget about him too. Such an opportunity will come, but for now, you’ll make do with the touch of her body, with your hands all over her, making her grimace and moan in pleasure.

“Nnngh.” 

She tries to distract herself from your touch with a few futile attempts to recapture your lips in a heated kiss, but you are simply too much and leave her breathless. Your fingers even graze the cloth of her underwear and bra, but you’re not ready to move to that stage just yet. 

“Be honest with me,” she lets out an airy purr. “We’ve been friends for a while. So I just wanna ask: Have you ever fantasized about me?”

Your heart drops as you struggle and squirm beneath her. The gulp in your throat is audible enough for her to hear. Seeing you vulnerable and weak for her like this, she flashes a taunting smirk. Contrast to it is that darned wholesome eye smile, making her appear like an angel and a demon all at the same time. It’s the little things in her body movement too: the slight tilt of her head, the seemingly innocent, caring hand on your cheek that’s building pressure on you, and the lift of her leg make it seem she’s playing you like a toy—no, you are indeed just a toy for her. 

“Hmm—” Gyuri playfully places a finger on her chin, briefly retreating her stare at you, yet you don’t feel like there’s room to breathe. “Have you ever thought about getting to feel me? To taste me? To fuck me?”

Something distracts her. She looks down, and the sight amuses her. There’s a hill growing between your groin, and she giggles at your body’s excitement. 

“O-Oh? Looks like your little friend is speaking on your behalf. Look at it; so excited to finally feel me.” she says seductively as you feel a sudden grip on your balls. Her hand rubs and squeezes around your clothed shaft, causing a small puddle to form on your shorts. “Then why don’t we make those fantasies come true?”

She hops off the sofa, strutting in the direction of your bedroom and hypnotizing your eyes towards her ass. “Let’s go to your room.”

Wasting no time, you jump off the couch as soon as you feel the air loosen around you, but as you prepare to zoom past her first, you suddenly stop.

“Lose your pants along the way there.”

Thank goodness Gyuri’s nowhere in sight as you shed your shirt, your shorts, and  your boxers like a drunk maniac as you slide toward your bedroom. It’s only when you slam the door shut once you’re inside when she turns around to find you completely naked and hard for her. 

“Oh fuck, you look so big,” she rasps as you cautiosly approach her, seated on the edge of your bed. “Bigger than my ex.”

She takes your thighs by force, positioning your cock right around her level—a perfect position to paint her white like the sheets.

“Mm, I’m feeling wet already.” Her whisper reverberates around your shaft, making you wince from the wave of her voice. “Why don’t I make you wet too?”

Gyuri takes your waist, pushing you with sudden force onto the bed with an audible thud and creak. Then, she clambers atop you again—a position you’re both familiar with by now, but neither of you are tired of. 

“Just lay down,” she whispers against your neck, which you comply with by resting your head down. Her lips peck your collarbones, followed by a soft nibble and graze. “Just feel my tongue trail down your body—from your neck, to your chest, to your stomach, and finally to your cock.”

She disappears behind your closed eyes. From there, your imagination and senses do the rest. There’s weight being pressed on your chest; you assume it's her hands. You want to grasp at something, to reconfirm that what’s happening right now is real, but there’s hardly a reason to when her delicate, smooth kisses leave you winded. 

You lay there, at rest, taking every bit of her lips on you at her command. Suddenly, a gasp escapes your lips. Your eyes light up. She meets yours halfway; she’s a lot farther than when she started. She’s now by your groin, the line between your girth and her lips incredibly blurry. She might as well be kissing it. Oh wait, she already has.

“Ooh, you liked that, didn’t you?” she asks in a coy, playful tone. As you try to nod, you feel your head spin and you’re more dazed. 

“You like it when I tease your cock with my little tongue?” she adds with a giggle.

Yes, fuck, of course I do—is what you’d say to her if she gave you an opportunity to breathe. Before you know it, she’s playfully slurping and licking your shaft. The gasps that you make grow a little louder in volume. 

“Mm, wonder what happens if I put the tip in my mouth a bit?”

The answer is instantaneous. A sudden moan rings through the bedroom; it isn’t her whine, it’s yours.

“Mm, I love that sound. It’s so hot. Moan for me again.”

It’s not a request, more like a demand. She wraps her tongue and takes your tip into her mouth a second time, earning another moan out of you. What follows is a constant stream of airy groans and precum milked with each entry in her mouth, licking your most sensitive parts like a popsicle. Her fingers envelop your dick in a bind, wanting to get a little more out of you through jerking your shaft at a slow pace.

“I, I, guh ughh—Gyul!” Your face contorts and twists in all sorts of expressions, much to her delight. 

“Bet I can make you cum right now.” She giggles before taking you into her mouth again.

Unwilling to burst so early, you shake your head. Mustering up whatever strength you have, you say, “N-no. N-need to p-put you deep in my mouth.”

“You want me to put the whole thing in my mouth?” She raises an eyebrow with intrigue. “Well aren’t you quite eager?”

She puts a finger on her chin again, as if very hesitant to follow through on the deed. “I don’t know if you can handle it. Sucking cock is a speciality of mine. Are you sure you want to, though?”

You don’t even hesitate to nod right away; at that moment, you’ve never looked so desperate and needy.

“Okay, you asked for this.”

Gyuri dives in again, taking almost your whole length in her mouth in a single swoop. Instead of her face, her hair, or any piece of her, you yank the sheets of the bed as you squirm and struggle beneath her, arousing her even more. Spit coats most of your shaft as the narrow space between you closes a little again, as seen with the occasional bump of her nose with your base. 

The moans you make grow even louder, accompanied by the sporadic hiss. If her lips weren't enough to send you into a frenzied spiral, the little bounce on her chest does. Her head movement is intricate, intent to arouse you and make you even more wanting. On top of that, there’s her drool and your leak that spills on her top, staining her inviting bra and cleavage. To her, It’s not a distraction but rather an invitation, an excuse to finally let them finally slip.

Speaking of, her mouth slips out your slippery dick abruptly, but not of her own accord. Finally, some room for you to breathe, but it only lasts for a moment, if not less. Just as quick as she spits you out, she immediately takes you right in again. Your cock is light play to Gyuri’s throat; she puffs and gulps it down her gullet playfully like she’s in need of oxygen, and you’re drowning deeper in pleasure and desperation to blast right in her mouth. 

You don’t realize that between intense thrusts in her maw, she’s already slid down the distracting bra off her shoulders, with the panties following suit. The contemplation lasts as long as your attention toward her, though. Look up at the ceiling, frantically searching for any other thoughts aside from the warm, aching pain building up in your groin. You don’t want the night to end like this, after so much teasing.

But it looks like you're not the only one buzzing desperately after all.

There’s a ringing noise that can easily be mistaken for the bed trembling. Gyuri frees your throbbing shaft from her throat, but replaces the iron grip of her lips with her fingers instead. “Oh? My phone is going crazy right now! I wonder who it could be.” She’s leisurely stroking you off while sarcastically taunting her ex-boyfriend. Could be literally anyone else, says the part of your brain that has regained some semblance of thought, but she’s mostly kept you in a prison of bodily pleasure, securely fenced by lust.

“Why don’t I show you what he’s missing?” Gyuri hovers atop of you, no longer away from a distance, her nakedness in clear view. You lay beneath, eyes twinkling, with an exhausted expression on your features. Her soft but lust filled gaze keeps your eyes locked on her, enough of a diversion that catches you completely unawares when her wet folds are speared by your stiff cock.

She bites her lips and closes her eyes as the new sensation invites itself within her tight walls. Her body squirms violently with the slow entry of your shaft. It’s almost like she’s never taken it hard, but she quickly acclimates to the new presence inside her when her hips effortlessly bounces on your waist. 

“Oh fuck, you feel so fucking amazing,” she moans, pressing her hands on your chest for stability. There’s no support for the instability that you’re feeling on your side, however. With just one slam of her hips, she’s left you completely heavy and weak, but you’d be lying if it wasn’t the most pleasurable sensation you’ve ever experienced.

As spent as you are, you want more. You need more.

Hold your arms out to grab Gyuri’s slender waist. Such a flawless body; perfectly sized busts that can snugly fit in your palms, lean waist that isn’t too thin, based on the moist trickle around her navel, a clean bush, and toned, shapely legs that can wrap themselves around your throat and smother you. Of course, the icing on this orange cake is the hot, wet sensation of her tight pussy suffocating your shaft, almost getting you to blow with just one pump. 

It only gets worse from there—or better, depending on how you look at it. 

Not only is Gyuri phenomenal at deepthroating, but also at riding you. Her hips rise and drop in gentle waves, the wet crashing sound of flesh filling the space between you. She leans her head close to yours with a starry eyed stare and disfigured grin from the overflow of pleasure surging her. Each bounce, each slick entry leaves you even more breathless by the second. There’s no momentum for you to swing upward despite the immense urge to fill her, to fuck her.

“Fuck, fuck, Gyul, you feel so damn good,” you say, gasping for air.

“You feel so fucking amazing, fuck, I—” Her loving gaze is snapped, her eyes shut themselves closed, her train of thought incapacitated by her wanton desire to feel every inch of you. It’s more than enough to give you space to thrust up and catch a small glimpse of your wet cock disappearing and reappearing between her stretched folds.

Gyuri is reduced to a moaning hot mess, only capable of producing two words, and they’re all you need to spur your arousal. 

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—”

Her filthy tongue repeats her utmost desire like a religious chant, a want for you to grant her desire for complete bliss. Her clean look is ruined within a matter of minutes, with frazzled long hair hiding her face, her lips gushing out spit like a feral dog, and behind the messed up appearance is makeup running down her gorgeous face. What a twisted, yet perfect way to conclude her night. Now, she was as dirty as you are.

Your bedroom becomes a soundstage for the lewd lovemaking you’re both doing. She’s riding you hard that produces echoes from skin clapping, the bed creaks sharper and in rhythm with her hips, and your moans are overpowered by her endless stream of profanities and her pitched whimpers. 

It’s the perfect image to fall asleep to—Gyuri’s breasts bouncing on top of you while practically waking the neighbors up with her coarse and salacious sounds. 

“Gyul, hold on—” The words escape you with utmost urgency, as if they are spoken before you even thought of them.

“No, no, want you to fuck me so hard that I can’t walk!” she shouts as she quickens her pace riding you, completely ignoring your voice. 

And for a moment, it seems like that would be your end. It isn’t until you grab and fondle her breast that her tempo suddenly slows down, then eventually to a complete halt. She comes to her senses to find her hair blocking her view, like that she needed any when she was in that state.

Brushing her hair away, she looks down at you. “What do you want?”

“All fours.”

Gyuri takes a deep breath, then gently lifts herself off you, releasing your cock from her soaked pussy with a plop. She turns around and positions her body on fours, as you wanted. Her face is high on the edge of the bed, and her backside is presented to you, with her stretched out cunt and white thigh highs in full view. Based on how wobbly her elbows are, she was close to trembling too. Like she said, fuck her so hard that she can’t walk. 

For the first time in a while, you feel the pressure in your body loosen, even though Gyuri isn’t the heaviest woman. Gingerly get up and position yourself behind her ass, ready to take her on her fours. Line your stiff, wet cock on the edge of her entrance, eager to finish.

“What are you gonna do, babe?” She looks back at you, appearing a little tired, but desperate. “I need your cock inside me again—fuck!”

You aggressively enter her cunt from behind, prematurely breaking her sentence. Her nails claw into the edge of the bedsheets, holding on as you fuck her. Hard. You’re much more relentless than when she rode you, pounding and thrusting her with your whole girth filling up and stretching her pussy as deep as you possibly can. 

“Oh, oh fuck—that’s so damn fucking deep, give me more! Fuck!” 

Just when it seems like her mind is going down into that familiar zone once more, her phone buzzes. Again, you’re not the only one trembling due to Gyuri’s influence. She giggles as you ramp up the pace, the slaps of wet skin growing louder than the first time.

Looking back at you a second time, she sees the determined, fiery look in your eyes and giggles. “Guess you heard the phone. Someone must sense how good you’re making me feel right now.”

“Shut up, just fucking take it.” A burst of frustration and anger takes you and you redirect her gaze away from you, pumping in her faster and faster. Not only do you want her to be incapable of walking, but you also want her to finally shut up about him. 

“Pull my hair, make it fucking sting. I can handle it, I want it—fuck!”

You didn’t need to be told twice. A fistful of luscious hair in your grasp, the handful of her ass on the other, as you control and dominate her from behind, snarling along with your emphatic, deep plunges, coating and spilling even more of her slick all over your shaft and on the sheets.

One deep thrust, and out comes a moan from Gyuri. A sharper, completely different one from any other that renders her breathless and gasping for air for a moment. 

“Oh shit, oh shit, that felt so damn good. Do it again.”

Somehow, lightning strikes twice. You impale her deep again, nearly recreating that same moan from her. Repositioning your shaft inside her cunt, this time with your palms all over her reddened ass, you piston her with furious intensity. The continued ringing of that damned phone stirs you up even further; might as well be a timer to when you eventually climax.

Then there’s the ever so talkative Gyuri, who just can’t help but build that fire in your loins. 

“You hear that? My phone, right? He’s so mad he lost me tonight,” she purrs huskily between moans. “He’s so fucking mad that this pussy is all yours tonight, and that you’re much better than he could ever be.”

The thin line that is your patience couldn’t be any more slimmer, you want to tug her hair again—

“And he’s so fucking mad that you can make me cum.”

“Please, fuck, Gyul—” Tug on that hair and hiss in her ear as you continue your steady, furious assault on her cunt. “I don’t care anymore; I’m so fucking close.”

“Good. Then you better not stop, because I’m going to cum soon too.”

“Tell me where.” In the midst of the heat, you nibble her ear, leaning close to her face, showing a little sign of affection. A little distraction from the twitching you feel in your cock.

“Anywhere, babe. Anywhere you want it. I’ll let you do the one thing he never got to do. Whenever you’re ready. I want to cum with you, too.”

To no avail, you try to recapture her lips once more, nearly pressing your entire weight on her in the process. Your hands are no longer on her ass, instead they’re intertwined with her own hands. Knowing she’s ready whenever you are, you want to savor her pussy’s hot sensation a little longer, even for just another second—

“Fuck!”

The words tumble from your mouths in perfect sync, a flawless, near-indistinguishable cry. Burying your cock deep in her pussy, it leaves you both over the edge, inadvertently making you dangle off the bed too. Despite this, your grip is stable enough to pour your every drop of seed into her womb. Not a single ounce wasted, all of you finally giving in to her, as she has given herself to you. 

For a moment, you feel your body on the verge of collapse, but you muster enough strength to pull back, regretfully leaving her painted, slicked up mess of a cunt, and fall onto the bed once more. 

Gyuri’s body teeters on falling off the bed or onto you. Against your expectation, she rests on her side, narrowly avoiding a possible fall again. The room suddenly falls silent; an air of tranquility passes through the place as if nothing happened. 

You lay down with a wide smile on your face, relieved and content. A perfect ending—

“Holy shit,” says Gyuri between deep, heavy panting. “I thought you were good in bed, but I didn’t know you had this in you, like fuck.”

Not even an intense, rough pounding can shut her up. 

She weakly crawls back to your waist, resting her head close to your shaft. 

“Mm, your dick looks a little dirty. Let me clean it up.”

You wince as her tongue wraps itself around your flaccid shaft again; thankfully it’s only a couple of leisurely, lazy licks instead of an intense vise grip, enough to clean the cum off your tip and sides.

“All clean.” She giggles as she looks at you. “Mmm, we taste great together.”

Resting her head on your thigh, she looks up at the ceiling, then she sighs. “Thank you. This was what I really needed. You made me feel good. No, you didn’t just make me feel good. You made me feel better—about everything. This was fantastic.”

An air of silence follows. Then, you say, “Of course, Gyul. You made tonight great, and it’s all because of you.”

Just as she’s about to speak, there’s that damned phone ringing again. 

“Ugh, does he ever shut up?” She rolls her eyes in disgust, then turns to you again. “Hey, do me a favor and turn off my phone.”

You’ve never been more in a rush to follow a command. Leaning to your right, grab her phone and slam the ringer off. Then, you leave it where it should have been from the very beginning—on the floor with the rest of her clothes to be completely forgotten.

She crawls up to your head, laying right beside you. “Thanks.” Then, an intimate kiss on your cheek.

When she brushes and caresses your cheek, you turn to her with a loving, tender gaze. She returns your look with her signature eye smile and pleasant grin. You were no longer friends. You’re lovers now.

“Can you do me another favor?” she asks with a soft tone.

“Sure, what is it?”

Gyuri leans her head ever closer to yours. “Could you fuck me again? I want to make sure I get my money’s worth from this outfit, and that entails a few more orgasms, for the both of us. What do you say?”

As if the invitation wasn’t enough, her hand reaches down to your cock, slowly stroking you back to hardness. Then, you pounce and get on top of her, eager to fulfill her request. She blushes and giggles as you shower kisses on her neck and collarbones.

“Mmm, it looks like you have more endurance than my ex too.” 

(A/N: Woo happy birthday present to me! Jokes aside, I seriously contemplated whether to even write this, as of course, she's no longer a fromis member and the wound might be still be fresh in the hearts of some readers. (I've even examined other female idols to fit the role but at the end, it was always her) It's very sad we'll never get to see her as an idol again, but I'm looking forward to fromis and actress Jang Gyuri's new paths. Anyway, this might be a new normal for the blog moving forward, as I have only two weeks left of break before college starts back up again, where the writing will be even more slower as class leaves me even more mentally drained than I already am. Why am I so damn unmotivated and unfocused? Anyway, thanks for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #fromis 9 #jang gyuri #gyuri

[theminecraftbee]

i’m thinking again about that post-empires concept where lizzie and jimmy both forget who they are thanks to their curse but end up in the same harbor town, and lizzie ends up picking up jimmy to help her run her scam tourist shop, and they get into shenanigans. and jimmy’s like “my boss is insane” and lizzie is taking advantage of jimmy’s very bully-able face and honestly, they could have ditched each other a while ago but they’re having fun so they stick together.

meanwhile, joel - or, well, one of the joels, he’s finally figured out though that ‘being a hivemind’ isn’t a normal state of being - has found them as a trader from the last standing city on the continent empires stands on, a mezalean trader bringing things that no one else can get anymore. and he... knows who they are. but he also can’t just tell lizzie and jimmy because, one, he tried that and they both panicked and then, worse, forgot again, and two, it feels probably kinda rude to tell someone that he’s their husband when she wouldn’t know that? so he’s just in heartache, which is a horrible state of being for a joel to be in. he’s not made to experience emotions like heartache. loss isn’t a thing mezaleans normally like, deal with, what with the hivemind retaining the memories, but - there they are, and he can’t tell them who he is, and here he is, hurting like, a lot. but he won’t just leave them, either, so he becomes their reluctant third member that helps them get out of problems and brings them things and ends up surprisingly often the voice of reason if only because he can’t lose them again, even if he doesn’t quite have them anymore.

anyway so lizzie finds a book about an ancient cursed ocean treasure and gets it in her head that she and jimmy should go hunt for it. and joel is like. okay. their curse is making them forget everything i try to tell them about who they should be and it’s tearing me apart. but if i like. trick them into breaking it themselves... curse can’t undo that, right?

and so an adventure begins and i don’t know if they succeed or if they’re just doomed from the start but end up forming a family almost in the shape its meant to be again or what, and i don’t have the time/energy to write this, but... i think about this au a lot, with lizzie and her underling jimmy and then joel, their friend (and unbeknownst to them, their link to a past life they’ve lost).

i mostly also just think about empires!joel and the seablings a lot to be honest,

#empires smp #joel smallishbeans #ldshadowlady #jimmy solidarity #(he does not have a consistent tag on my blog but i THINK i'll use that? maybe?) #anyway just. just them #them. #i think about my headcanon about joel as a hivemind too a lot incidentally

[flowercrowngods]

okay due to popular demand (3 people mwah!), here's all i have on prisoners ranger!steve, bard!eddie, and the royal entourage accompanying the diplomatic mission that went so horribly wrong

Steve’s whole body is made of pain, and has been for the past few days. His feet are aching and raw from trying to keep up as they were bound to horses and dragged along. His skin is chafed and bleeding where the unforgiving rocks have managed to destroy his clothes after one too many falls, and every smallest of cuts feels like his body is nothing more than a pulsating mess. 

Worst of all, though, is the dizziness. He doesn’t know if his head is still bleeding or if the wetness he can feel running down his temple is his body’s testament to the unfamiliar heat, but it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. 

There’s only pain. And nausea. His eyes are open but he needs a second to understand what he’s seeing — and what he’s seeing is a ceiling made of sand coloured stone. Distantly, he hears a door clanging shut, but that might just as well be a memory. 

He’s going to throw up. Tough luck when you don’t even know where up is. 

A groan leaves his mouth as he tries to take a deep breath and fails miserably. Instead, he can add two broken ribs to the list of misery. 

Gods above — whichever of them are listening — he’s tired. But he fears that if he closes his eyes, he might not open them anymore for the sheer release that would bring. He can’t sleep, can’t rest, not when— 

“Easy now,” a gentle voice interrupts his less than coherent thoughts and just moments later, a tender hand is combing through his blood-crusted hair. “You shouldn’t move, my friend. There’s nowhere to move to anymore.” 

Steve frowns, his brain trying and failing to provide any information at this point. The hits to his head must have been worse than he thought if his short term memory refuses to work with him anymore. 

“We have reached Capital City,” the voice continues and Steve has to blink the fog away to make out its owner. When he does, it must show in his eyes, for the worry in Theodore Munson’s eyes makes way to the briefest of smiles before returning even stronger than before. “Do you not recall?”

Steve just stares up at him. That’s all his wrecked body and mind allow him to do right now. That’s all they want to do when gentle hands comb through his hair and chase away some of the pain. 

It is then that reality slowly comes back to him and he realises where he is. Where they are. What is at stake if they fail any more, if they decide to torture information on Elanor and William out of them — out of him. He’s not sure how much he can take. They have been held prisoner for weeks. Steve has been hurting for even longer.

Shame rises in him and he has the urge to apologise to Jim, to explain, but moving his head to the side, he sees that his old master isn’t any better off. He appears to be sleeping, his face bruised, and a teary-eyed Maxine is wiping blood away from his face with a piece of her cloak. 

Steve blinks once, twice, and takes in the man who practically raised him, watches the steady rise and fall of his chest and listens, beyond the pulsing rush of his own blood, that his lungs are not rattling. Shame makes way to satisfaction when he sees that none of their party has taken as many hits, kicks and punches as himself. His distractions have worked, then. 

That’s good. Now if only they didn’t make him so nauseous. So tired. So…

“Don’t fall asleep, Steven,” Eddie demands, and the world tilts slightly, which makes everything worse until… soft. It’s softer now. 

Eddie has moved him so his head is resting in his lap now. 

“You don’t look too good, Ranger. Sleep is dangerous in your state, no matter how badly you might need it. Give it a few hours, please.” 

A beat passes where Steve tries to process the words that are just too many. Since when does Eddie talk with him so much? 

“Lies,” he says after a while and with greater effort than should be necessary.

“Lies?” 

“I look very good. You just can’t see it under all the blood and the bruises.” He tries to crack a smile, but even the huffed breath jolts his head too much. 

Eddie does him the favour of a brief chuckle, and Steve feels better for it. Lighter. Light is good, he finds. Maybe all he has to focus on is Eddie and his hands working out the clumps of dirt and blood from his hair, maybe all he has to do is make him smile and the world will be a bit less painful. 

His world narrows down to all the ways Eddie is close to him and it does keep him occupied, but it also gets his mind wandering, the adrenaline of the past days wearing off. 

“Keep doing that and I will fall asleep,” he says after another beat of silence. Fall asleep and dream. Dream of what this could mean. Dream of smiles that make me feel lighter. 

“Keep doing what?” Eddie asks, and Steve senses a trick to just keep him talking, no matter how slurred his speech is. He needs a moment to remember what he said.

“This,” he says eventually, and Eddie only hums. Finding words is hard. He tries. And tries again. “Being gentle.” 

Another smile, and Steve wants to close his eyes to keep it there to hold on to. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my friend.” 

“Can’t not be gentle?” He’s losing force on the consonants. The pain is getting stronger, his nerve endings more frayed and his vision blurry. This is familiar. He gives himself another quarter of an hour at most before he will lose his consciousness, no matter how hard he tries to stay here. With Eddie and his wavering smile. 

“Not with my friends, no.” 

This time it’s Steve who smiles at the word friends. He likes to be Eddie’s friend. The man, as it turns out, is admirable, he’s strong, he’s wise when he wants to be and gentle with young Maxine. He’s kind, he’s quick-witted and patient, and his hands are impossibly soft. 

“I know you said not to sleep, and I’m not normally one to deny a well-respected bard’s command, but…” He swallows. Words are hard. He’s not sure they come out as planned, but he perseveres. “I’m afraid I have to prove to you now how stubborn the Queen’s Rangers can be.” 

Another hum from above him and Steve opens his eyes he hadn’t even noticed closing. The world is fading, but still Eddie is at its centre. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up, then, stubborn Ranger.” 

Will you smile at me still? Steve wonders. 

“Always,” Eddie says, but before Steve has time to wonder if someone else has said something, darkness has swallowed him whole.

———

Steve wakes to something cold touching his forehead, moving to his temple where suddenly a jarring pain wrecks his body and he can’t quite suppress the flinch. 

“Forgive me,” comes a quiet voice from above and Steve opens his eyes to the darkness of a cell, only faintly illuminated by the flickering light of a torch somewhere and the redness of the setting sun. “But I am glad to see you awake.”

The voice belongs to Eddie, who is looking down at him, a piece of cloth in his hand. Gently, he presses it to Steve’s forehead again and the cool sensation comes back, gentler this time. It takes a moment for Steve’s tired and frayed mind to catch up with reality, but when it does, he realises that the bard is washing away the dried blood and cleaning his wounds. 

What an odd picture they must make.

“Tell me,” he says before he has time to consider his words. “Is it normal for a bard of Northlands to take care of wounded Rangers?” 

“No,” Eddie says and there’s something to his voice Steve can’t quite identify. He’s not sure he likes it, not sure what it does to his insides. “There are never any Rangers there.” 

Even through the dim light, Steve can see the mirth in his eyes and it makes him laugh – if only briefly, for his body is quick to remind him that any sort of movement is a bad, terrible, truly horrid idea. He just barely manages to suppress a groan, but nothing could get past the bard’s eyes, and his hand moves from Steve’s forehead to his cheek almost immediately. 

“Careful, my friend. You shouldn’t be laughing.” 

“Stop making me laugh, then. That would make it all so much easier.” There’s no heat behind his words and he doesn’t even try not to lean into the touch. 

Eddie hums but stays quiet otherwise and keeps wiping Steve’s face clean, watching his every reaction. A frown slowly forms between those brows and Steve wonders what that is for. Did something happen while he was out of it? Time passes differently in the desert, yes, the sun and moon following different paths, but he can’t have been unconscious for more than three hours. It is barely yet nightfall, their cell colder than before. 

Three hours. And Eddie still sits cross-legged with Steve’s head on his thigh. 

Guilt and embarrassment shoot through him and he wants to move, wants to get up and release the bard from his demeaning task of playing nurse to a wounded Ranger, but his ribs protest and his head pulses with white-hot pain before it sends his world spinning again and Steve sags back into the warmth of Theodore. 

“I must be painting the most pathetic picture of her Majesty’s Rangers. I swear, most of us are better than this.” 

It comes out light hearted as always, despite the pain it leaves inside his chest to be presenting himself like this. Representing all Rangers to the kingdoms of the South with his weakness. All that on top of losing Will. Again. 

He closes his eyes against the pity he is bound to see in Eddie’s eyes. 

“You paint a picture of bravery such as I scarcely saw it before. Never in my life did I see a man move so slowly, so unseen unless as I was looking right at you. You are excellent with the sword and the bow, and even the weapons of the desert folk are natural to you. I can imagine the pain and suffering you have seen, some of which you must have caused in the name of justice, yet you carry inside yourself a light-heartedness that is refreshing to say the least.” 

Steve swallows, has never been good at taking compliments, and luckily hasn’t been in the position to accept them in quite a while. 

“Light-hearted?” he rasps. “You can’t be talking about the same Rangers I know, surely.” 

“I was talking about you, Steven,” Eddie admits quietly, and his voice is so tender when he says his name that it makes Steve’s breath hitch. 

“Oh,” he says intelligently. Swallows. “Then the head injury must be severe.” 

“Admirable of you to hide a concussion for so many days. I think healers of all kingdoms would have a lot of questions for you if they knew.”

Steve huffs and smiles through the pain of his undoubtedly broken ribs protesting. “My apologies, Eddie. Queen Joyce of the West and Sir James himself would both have my head if I taught you our concussion-hiding ways.”  

“A pity,” Eddie says and there’s that smile in his voice again that doesn’t show on his lips, at least in this light. Steve doesn’t care, though, as he smiles up at him. 

This moment in time belongs to the both of them as Steve finds he can’t quite look away, and it’s not the pain that keeps him. 

Eddie opens his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it again. The frown reappears between his brows and Steve wants to reach out and smoothen the creased skin above his nose. If only moving his arm didn’t require such strength that keeps evading him, the night weighing heavy on his limbs.

After another minute, Eddie does find his words, though they are quiet this time. “I worried.” 

“About what?” Steve asks when he doesn’t continue. 

Eddie resumes his endeavour of washing the crusted blood from his hair and face, the sensation soothing his skin but not his nerves. Steve does reach up this time to still his hand, and the bard meets his eyes again. 

“That you wouldn’t wake up.” It comes out small, void of that usual easy confidence. 

Steve swallows every comment on the tip of his tongue about how the rest of their group could easily keep Eddie entertained without any concussions bothering them. It’s not often that he has control over his tongue, but in the face of such open worry and vulnerability, his heart aches and he wants to say the right thing. 

“I’m awake, Theodore Munson. It takes far more to put me out for good.”

It’s a lie, he knows. It would not have taken that much more, but Eddie doesn’t need to know that. 

“Don’t let them hear that, they will take that as a challenge.” 

Steve only gives a non-committal hum and closes his eyes again. If he didn’t, the darkness of the cell and the kindness in Eddie’s eyes would have made him say stupid things like, Let them, if that means everyone else is safe. That would surely dim the light in those black eyes and very likely make Jim throw a boot at him. And Steve really doesn’t want to have to deal with either of those things. 

Eddie resumes his task of gently cleaning him, and Steve gets the feeling that the bard must be doing it for himself just as much as for him. It’s something to keep himself occupied, and the way he talks betrays his intentions in turn of keeping Steve awake and occupied, too. 

A gesture that is almost too kind to bear, as dusk turns into night and the silver light of the full moon illuminates their cell. 

———

Jim lies just a few feet beside them, and now that his eyes have had the chance to adjust to the darkness properly, the concussion already weaker than it was earlier, Steve can see that his eyes are open. Or, one eye is; the other is swollen too badly. Another wave of guilt and shame clouds his senses for a moment and he has the urge to ask forgiveness. He feels responsible, even though he knows Jim would hit him over the head if Steve so much as mentioned that.

His eyes cut back to Eddie above him when a yawn interrupts the bard’s steady movements with the cloth that is barely wet anymore. 

“You never got any rest, did you?” he asks – stupidly, because the moment the words leave his lips Steve remembers the very reason for Eddie’s wakefulness. He winces before the other man even gets the chance to answer. “Right, my fault. Forgive me.” 

If the ground beneath him could open now, he would have a banquet in its honour. With a groan, he moves to sit up and free Eddie of his dead weight, the motion pulling on his cuts and bruises, irritating his broken and burning ribs in a way so sudden it steals his breath for a second. Steve is well acquainted with pain, but the all-encompassing nature of it right now is thoroughly unwelcome.

Hands come up to steady him, guiding him to sit up and lean against the stone wall, his own shoulder coming to rest against Eddie’s, who only slowly lets go of him. 

“Thank you,” Steve breathes, looking at him out of the corner of his eyes. 

“It’s hardly a question of fault,” Eddie says in that calm, soothing way of his that keeps making Steve want to reach out and hold on. Hold him. “And it was no hardship to stay and… be gentle.” 

Something in the back of his mind wants to tell him something but it’s too foggy to grasp. 

“Gentle,” he says, inquiring, as though saying the word out loud would tell him its meaning. 

“Even Rangers of the Kingdom deserve gentle hands and smiles. Even if they are too badly beaten and concussed to recall their request.” 

Eddie’s words aren’t making sense, but what they do is make his heart beat faster for some reason other than shame and embarrassment. He presses his lips together and tries to find his voice.

When he finds it again, it’s barely more than a whisper hidden in the moonlight. “Allow me to return the favour, then. Rest, Eddie. Find some sleep while I ensure it is safe.” 

Something shifts in those black eyes and Steve wants to chase it. Eddie cast in silver light of the moon is different than the golden figure of the past days. Less imposing and more… fragile. Gone is the teasing, replaced with something more… More. It suits him, the light of the moon, as much as it makes Steve’s heart and mind race. 

“Will you smile at me still?” Eddie asks at last, and even the darkness cannot veil the quiver in his voice. 

Steve is reminded of something he must have dreamed of earlier, but he cannot focus on that, not with the way the moonlight catches in those dark curls that have managed to slip out of the band keeping his hair bound at the back of his skull. Not with the way it illuminates the twitch of his lip or the impossible way he is looking at Steve still. 

“Always,” he says before he can even think about it. Always, he thinks. However long that may yet be.

Another smile twitches and tugs at the bard’s lips, lingering in its nature as he closes his eyes and leans his head against the wall behind them. It can’t be comfortable, and Steve has half a mind to offer his own lap, but there is something about seeing Eddie so calm. He doesn’t dare to interrupt him. 

He waits until Eddie’s breathing has evened out before he gives in to the urge to brush the treacherous curl behind his ear. It leaves his fingertips with a tingling sensation that makes him want to do it again, so he does. Sitting there, trying to breathe through his broken ribs and his fluttering heart, Steve doesn’t dare to do it a third time, as much as he yearns for it. 

He rests his own head against the wall, too, and watches the bard, because watching him is easier than letting his gaze wander and be reminded of the situation they’re all in. 

The moonlight guides his gaze towards Eddie even as he tries to look away, and Steve watches as it caresses the bard’s features in such a way as though that is what it has been sent here to do. 

It makes Steve smile even as the ache in his chest grows stronger. He is starting to realise what this is, and he’s too weak to fight it. Not in this prison cell, not in this foreign country where the sun is out to kill you and the moon will watch you shiver helplessly. 

How could he fight the moonlight and its tender caress, the world tinged in silver as he lets it work its magic on him? Only a fool would be able to resist. 

“Steve.” 

He just barely manages not to flinch as Jim’s rasping voice rips him away from his musing – no, his yearning. Turning his head, he finds his eyes in the dark, though he can’t make out any question or command in them. Has Jim caught him? Does his old mentor know his thoughts regarding the bard, has he seen the twitch in Steve’s fingers as he refused to let them reach out and touch? 

Jim’s silence is as good a command as any, and summoning all his might not to let his face betray the pain shooting through his body, Steve gets up with a suppressed groan and walks over to his old mentor. 

As slowly as possible without giving away the pain that feels like his ribcage is being both torn apart and pressed together, he sits down beside Jim, guiltily thanking the swollen eye and the darkness, for he seems none the wiser to Steve’s injury. 

“Don’t do that again.”

Steve freezes, his thoughts tumbling over themselves trying to figure out what exactly Jim refers to — the guilt still warring inside him insists that there are many things he should not have done. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, feeling like he is but a green student again, getting berated by his mentor after he did something wrong. 

“Take a beating for me. I understand why you would do it for the others, but—” 

“Jim,” he tries to interrupt him with a gentle sigh, but the old man won’t have it. 

“No, Steve. They hate me more than you, we don’t need you riling them up and making things worse for yourself.” 

“I will not let them break your arms and ribs, James. I can take it, I’m—” 

“If you say you’re younger, Steven, I’m going to throw you out of the window..” 

An innocent grin spreads his lips and he inclines his head, meeting Jim’s good eye. “But I am.” 

He sees the hand coming, shooting out from below, but his range of motion and reflexes are still heavily impacted by his injuries that he can’t manage to get out of Jim’s reach in time. Before he knows it, Steve loses his balance and falls flat on his back without any grace but with all the more agonising pain. 

Nobody would have been able to hide broken ribs and a nearly split skull like this, but Steve still mentally kicks himself as the wheezing groan of pain leaves his lips.

All traces of mirth leave Jim’s expression and everything turns into worry as he, too, sits up with a groan to check over his former apprentice. 

“By the Gods, Steve, are you okay?” 

Another groan that is supposed to be somewhere between “Just peachy” and “Fuck off”, but even that sound is pathetic with the way the air has been pushed out of his lungs at the impact. All he manages is a whimper, and he doesn’t try to open his lips for more than that.

He doesn’t even attempt to sit up this time, can only try to catch his breath and breathe through the agony with more wheezing, rattling whimpers. Hands hover over him in the dark, but he shakes his head rapidly, scared that Jim would try to touch and feel the injury, only to find a broken rib or two. Or five, at this point.

His lungs don’t work right and he can’t quite catch his breath. It is only experience that tells him this is normal, this will pass, he will breathe right again. Hopefully. 

“For God’s sake, why would you hide an injury like that, Steve? Why would you… You idiot!”

There is movement around him in the cell, the others waking up from Jim’s anger and worry and guilt, but Steve keeps his eyes closed lest the tears fall. 

“Breathe,” Jim tells him, and Steve finds that to be a wonderful idea, actually, so he tries. And he tries again. “Yes, good. Breathe, Steve. It’s all going to be fine, you’ll get through this.”

“Have to,” he presses, barely any sound to his wheezing. “So you can throw me out of the window.” 

“Fucking moron,” Jim mutters, though Steve can hear the emotion in these two words. It makes him smile despite the situation.

“S–sorry,” he wheezes again, and trusts that Jim understands that he means more than his sarcastic retorts or the hiding of the wounds. Sorry for losing Will again. Sorry for not saving Elanor in time. Sorry for failing the mission. Sorry for being weaker than you need me to be. Sorry for—

“It’s alright, Steve,” Jim promises and there are fingers in his hair again, wetness running down his cheek. Did the fall open his head injury again? The situation must truly be dire if Jim is being outright gentle and worried. “Just don’t do it again. Let me take them next time.” 

He wheezes again, but won’t make that promise. If their captors come back, he knows he won’t sit and watch them hurt his friends, won’t sit and watch them treat Jim the same way they treated him on the journey here. 

It takes a moment for the world to right itself again and for the cell to become quiet, but somehow Steve manages to get his breathing under control and the pain subsides from agonising to miserable, like before. He rolls his head and looks at Jim through a blurriness in his eyes that he has to blink away. 

“You think we’ll make it out of this alive?”

Maybe it’s the pain clouding his mind, maybe it’s the darkness that has always made it easier to ask such questions, but Steve finds the words falling from his lips easier than they should have. 

Jim’s expression that just a moment ago has been filled with worry and anger sobers now, and Steve doesn’t quite like what he sees. 

“Will is still out there,” he says, evading the question and answering it in the same moment. 

“Yeah. He is,” Steve says, not sure if he believes it or not. Not sure if it changes anything. “You’re right.”

They stare at each other for a moment, the moonlight catching Jim’s eyes in a way that highlights the emotions in them. The desperate hope that Will is out there, alive, and reunited with his sister — they have their ways of finding each other against all odds. Always have. Steve likes to believe that they won’t stop now, that a desert can’t keep them apart. That they found friendly faces who won’t betray them, and bring them home. 

Bring them home even when Steve and Jim can’t follow them. And Maxine. Princess Elanor would turn the desert into an ocean before she left Maxine to die. But down in their cell, the ocean would leave them to drown all the same. 

Jim has hope, though, and Steve decides to follow his mentor again. Just for tonight, when all he feels is pain, when his head is being split open, his chest crushed and bursting, his limbs bloodied and bruised. Just for tonight, he will allow himself not to think, not to worry, and to trust Jim blindly like he did all those years ago. 

“Sleep, Steve,” Jim says then, and only now does Steve realise how tired he is, his eyes closed long ago.

He spends a brief moment thinking about Eddie and the promise he made the bard to be there when he wakes up. It’s silly, because he’s merely a few feet away, but it still hurts to have abandoned him to lie there by himself while everyone else has company. When he never moved while Steve himself was asleep.

“You should sleep, too, Ranger.” A sudden wave of warmth washes over him when he hears that voice with its foreign inflections. “You both need your rest, I can stay awake for some time to keep watch and wake you up at the first sign of danger.” 

“Eddie, I really don’t mind—“ 

“I insist, Ranger James. You two have taken the most of their hatred and displays of power, it’s the least I can do.”

Jim seems to hesitate for a moment, but Steve doesn’t open his eyes to look. His lids have become far too heavy, even heavier still when a certain hand is back in his hair to comb through it in even movements, mindful of his wounds. He doesn’t fight the secret smile this time. 

“Well, if you insist, bard,” Jim finally concedes, never one to really pass up an opportunity for sleep. “Good night to you, then.” 

“Goodnight, my friend,” Eddie says in that calm, kind manner of his that is still new to them, and Steve feels as though he breathes easier for it. “And you, Steven,” he lowers his voice, appearing closer now, “truly are a fool.” 

“Oh?” he says, wishing that it wouldn’t hurt to laugh or even just to huff. “What happened to brave, kind-hearted, and whatever else you said earlier?” 

“You can have those back when you stop lying about being injured.” 

“Keep them then,” he says, and it’s meant in jest, but that doesn’t translate well when you barely have enough strength left for a voice, he finds. 

“Sleep,” Eddie repeats, gentler this time, though he sighs long and hard after. “You impossible man.”

It makes Steve smile again, even as an impenetrable darkness wraps around him. 

He’s sure that the hum and the whispered, “I see you’re keeping your promise still,” are figments of his imagination, his tired mind playing tricks on him. But it’s a dream he likes to sink into, filled with moonlit skin, gentle hands, and kind words.

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume@steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround@pukner@i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic @bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @awkwardgravity1 (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently) and also @ashipwreckcoast and @universal-gay and @marismorar bc you asked me to post the thing (and also b!)

#steddie fic #steddie #steve x eddie #this isn't really anything but also it's everything to me rn like it's literally what keeps me sane i go about my day and think of them #and all the tenderness and angst in that prison cell #this is a ranger's apprentice inspired au if you will but nobody knows what that is in my experience lmaoo #dio words #sorry tag list gang this aint really a thing you don't have to look at this i'm really just posting this for three (3) people who asked

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 15/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

PART THREE

Ellicott City, MD

The moment she pulls Abby’s bedroom door closed, she feels tears sting her eyes. 

She’s beginning to seriously consider the possibility that she’s having some kind of psychotic break. She was so sure, so sure that her dreams were real memories, that Mulder was a real person. But that man in the coffee shop saw her as a complete stranger. There was no flicker of recognition, no I swear I know you from somewhere, I just can’t place it. 

But the moment she begins to accept that conclusion, all the questions come tumbling up and knock her off kilter again. What about the medication? Who orchestrated her taking it, and why? If Mulder isn’t real, where did her dreams come from? If Michelle isn’t hiding something, why is she so doggedly trying to keep Dana under her thumb? What about the song, and what Abby said to her at the bus stop, and every other little thing that doesn’t quite make sense?

She’s bent over the sink in the master bathroom, splashing cold water on her face to calm the puffiness in her eyes and wash away her tears. What does she do now? She certainly has no intention of seeing Michelle again, nor taking the medication, but what if her dreams just keep getting more frequent, more intense, more…revealing? What if she’s never sure whether the people in her life who claim to love her are lying right to her face every day?

“How was your appointment?” Cal asks, and she startles, reaching blindly for a hand towel. 

She blots off her face, trying to decide what angle to take. Should she interrogate him, or play dumb? She could let him hold her, try to find some kind of comfort in his gentle touch, but she suspects that her distrust will hold her back from actually receiving it. 

“Um, okay,” she says blandly, tossing the towel back over the rack and reaching for her moisturizer. She avoids looking at him, both in their reflection in the mirror and the flesh and blood man, her husband, standing beside her. “Actually, I think I may stop going. I don’t think she’s the right therapist for me, in terms of client-provider compatibility.”

“Oh?” Cal says, and she can hear the concern in his tone. “You sure that’s a good idea, mija? She helped you before. And you seem…you seem like you’re having a hard time.”

She flicks her eyes to his in the mirror and her belly twists. He looks bereft, much like he did in her first days home. Lost, and hurt, and missing his wife so badly. She was here for a moment, but she’s gone again, and either Cal is genuinely concerned for her or he is putting on an Oscar-worthy performance. 

“I am,” she says softly, looking at the sink. “I feel like…like something’s not right.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, taking a step closer. 

The hair on her arms stands on end, cortisol spiking. Danger. 

“I don’t know,” she says shortly. “I don’t—I need some space.”

Her heart is thrumming, and she flashes her eyes to the bathroom door. Cal is standing in her path to it, and she’s not sure if he’ll try to block her from exiting. She’s not sure of anything, anymore. 

“From me?” he asks, wounded. 

How she can concurrently feel so much affection, empathy, and wariness for the same person is nauseating. She stares at the countertop, hot tears running down her cheeks. She wishes she could go back to his birthday, to that little sliver in time where she knew who she was and her place in this world. When she let him hold her, and touch her, and love her, without wondering if those touches were born of deceit. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. 

She hears him suck in a shuddering breath, followed by a sniff. 

“What did I do wrong?” he asks tightly. “Just tell me, and I’ll fix it. I just want—” A pause, a series of sharp breaths as he tries to regain composure. “I just want you to be happy, Dana.”

Her face contorts. What is happy? Where is happy? Another place and time, perhaps. 

“I’m sorry,” she says again. 

She steps away from the counter and avoids his eye as she passes by him and exits the bathroom. He doesn’t try to stop her, nor does he come to her in the guest room, though she’s sure he can hear her racking sobs and the start of her waking from another dream. He gives her the space she requested, and it feels like a bottomless chasm. 

-

His fingers are twisted up with hers under the soapy water. He lifts them up and out, wrapping both their arms across her torso as he takes two steps back, towing her along with him. Dishwater runs off her elbows as he spins her around and then pulls her close, his hand on her waist and hers on his shoulder. She looks up at him, finding that impish half-smile on his mouth that makes her heart ache. Overwhelmed, she rests her head on his chest and listens to the rapid flutter of his nervous heartbeat. They sway in lazy circles around the kitchen and she feels the heat of his mouth against her scalp, a featherlight kiss followed by the brush of his breath as he sings.

“At first I thought it was infatuation, but ooooo, it’s lasted so long. Now I find myself wanting to marry you and take you home.” 

A flash flood of every emotion shocks through her veins, heightening her senses. Fear, excitement, arousal, love. 

“Fuck, Scully. I love you.” 

“I love you, too.”

-

Dana heaves a sigh as she walks through the sliding glass doors of St. Agnes, tepid vestibule air ushering her from the antiseptic halls of the hospital into the warm, sun-drenched afternoon. 

She moves mechanically through the motions of her day while a storm rages just beneath the surface. Outwardly, she is wan and unemotional, smiling when social convention calls for it and forcing dry laughs from her throat in response to Tiffany’s jokes. Internally, she is raw and unsettled, on the constant verge of tears. She has no plan, no next steps, other than to keep living this life that she woke up to one chilly April morning. She’ll get Abby from the bus, pick up Peter, make dinner. She’ll live, in a literal sense. She’s been shocked to learn how much living can feel like dying. 

She’s passing through the narrow space between cars in the parking lot en route to her BMW when she senses the presence of another. Instinctually, she lifts her head and squares her shoulders, projecting confidence and strength. Fishing her keys from the pocket of her lab coat, she readies them between her fingers like talons. 

“Dana Scully,” says a male voice, and a cold wash of fear runs down her back. 

Still walking, she turns her head in the direction of the voice and sees a man. Thirties, clean shaven, short, dark hair and a narrow jaw. He’s standing near her car, one hand in the pocket of his leather jacket, which strikes her as an unseasonable wardrobe choice.  

“Can I help you?” she asks, freezing in the middle of the aisle. If she comes any closer, he could pull her between two parked cars, obscuring them from view. 

“I was actually thinking that maybe I could help you,” he says haughtily. 

“Please leave me alone,” she says, taking one step back in the direction of the hospital. If she can make it back inside, she can ask a security guard to walk her to her car. 

“I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say,” the man says, taking a step forward as she slowly retreats. 

“About what?” she asks shortly, prepared to turn and run. 

“About Mulder.”

Her ears short out and then begin to ring. She looks at the man, scanning his face for clues. She must know him. He called her Scully. Her survival instincts war with her need for answers. 

“You know Mulder?” she asks, and the man smiles. 

“Quite well. I know you quite well, in fact. I know you don’t remember me, but we go way back, Agent Scully.”

Agent?

“What do you want?” she asks, her tone petulant and childlike. 

He shrugs. 

“Nothing, other than to tell you what I know.”

“What do you know?”

The man looks around, then back at her. 

“Not here. We need to go somewhere more private.”

Dana scoffs. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she says firmly. 

The man sighs. 

“Fair enough. How about…there’s a little park near here with chess boards on the tables. Meet me there in twenty minutes?” he suggests. 

Dana waits a moment, trying to read him. He doesn’t seem as though he wants to harm her, but he also doesn’t strike her as someone with good intentions. But if her options are to die trying to find out what happened to her or keep living the way that she is, it suddenly becomes an easy decision to make. 

“Okay. Twenty minutes.”

The park is busy on a summer afternoon, children slowly trickling in as they finish up their school day. She’d called Amanda from across the street on her way over and told her that something came up, asking if Abby could go over to their place after school for a while. She’s not sure what to expect from this impromptu meeting, and decides to wait a bit before worrying over who will pick up Peter from daycare. 

She spots the man already at one of the small cement tables with a chess board etched into the surface. He’s arranging the pieces with black on his side, white on hers, using one hand with the other tucked into his lap. She approaches cautiously, waiting until he sees her and motions to the seat across from him before she sits down. 

“You any good at chess?” he asks, and she stares at him. 

“Who is Mulder?” she asks, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice. 

“I’ll tell you,” he says, “but you have to at least pretend to play. It’s risky meeting in public like this, and I can’t afford to draw attention.”

Once he’s finished setting up the board, he looks up at her and lifts his eyebrows. She picks up one of the pawns on her side and moves it two spaces forward. 

“Who is Mulder?” she asks again. 

The man picks up one of his own pawns and moves it one space forward. 

“He’s your partner. Or he was, anyway.”

“Partner?” she repeats. “We were in a relationship?”

He nods towards the board and she moves another pawn. 

“Well, yeah, actually. But you also worked together.”

She blinks at him. 

“Is he a doctor?” she asks. 

The man gives her a perplexed look. 

“Fuck, I think I need to start at the beginning,” he says, shaking his head. He moves a pawn and then sits back. 

“Who are you?” she suddenly asks, realizing that it might be helpful context. 

He tilts his head to the side, pondering. 

“You can call me Alex,” he finally says, motioning for her to take her turn. 

“Okay, Alex,” she says, making her move. “Will you please tell me what the hell is happening to me?” 

Her voice is tight and shaky, and he seems to realize that continuing to obfuscate won’t be fruitful. 

“Your memory has been erased,” he says coolly, casually, like it’s a thing that happens all the time. “Going back to 1992, before you joined the FBI.”

“The FBI?” she repeats. “I didn’t—I missed my interview,” she tells him, remembering what Cal told her at O’Blarney’s. 

“No, you didn’t,” he corrects. 

She continues to move chess pieces when it’s her turn, and Alex quickly collects all her pawns as she does not have the wherewithal for strategy. Memory erased? How is that possible?

“You were partnered with a man named Fox Mulder, working in a division known as the X-Files. The two of you investigated unexplained phenomena, and after an impressive number of years, you finally got around to fucking.” He pauses, looking up at her to gauge her reaction. “Or so I’ve heard,” he adds with a smirk. 

Her mind feels like an oversaturated sponge. Unexplained phenomena? Memory erasure? What about Cal? What about the kids?

“Anyway,” he continues, “earlier this year you got a little too close for comfort in terms of obtaining tangible proof regarding one of their more nefarious programs, and the guys at the top decided it was time to find a permanent solution to what they called their ‘Mulder and Scully problem’.”

She waits, her chest heaving. The questions are so innumerable she can’t decide which to ask. She just wants him to keep talking. She advances a knight. 

“There’s a project that’s been in development for decades, known as Spurious by those involved. After Roswell, it became clear that there would be a need to alter the memories of the general public in order to keep state secrets safe. You and Mulder became guinea pigs, in a sense, and the big guys are shitting their pants right now because it clearly didn’t work.”

He looks up at her and she stares back. She could not have anticipated that actual answers would leave her even more profoundly confused than a lack of information. 

“I don’t understand,” she says quietly, her eyes wet. 

“I underestimated how hard this would be to explain,” Alex huffs, running his fingers through his hair. “Everything you woke up to in April: Cal, the kids, the job at St. Agnes, your swanky colonial in the ‘burbs, none of that is real, Agent Scully. It’s a farce, a fabricated life designed to keep you from remembering.”

The validation is sickening. Even though she knew, in her heart of hearts, that something was off. She knew in her very bones that they did not belong to her. And still, she feels a gut-wrenching surge of grief. 

“Then who are they?” she croaks. 

Again, Alex shrugs.

“People no one would be looking for. I don’t know, exactly, but I’d guess they came from the prison system, foster care. It’s not a bad deal on their end, to be honest. I’m sure they’re much better off than they were before.”

“But they know me,” she counters, finding herself disbelieving despite everything. “They remember things that happened before. And my mother—”

He holds up a hand to stop her. 

“You’re not understanding the scope of this, Scully. To pull this off, they had to act on a national scale. Every person you’ve ever encountered has had their memories of you erased, and sometimes replaced with new memories, depending on how closely you knew them. Everyone, Agent Scully, including your mother.”

Her mouth hangs open, rooting for words. It’s incomprehensible. 

“How?”

“A combination of things. I won’t claim to understand the tech, but they discovered a way to selectively block memories in the brain. Once that procedure had taken place, they found that daily medication to suppress long term memory recall helped keep things from triggering the memories back into the conscious mind.”

“Numerol,” Scully says quietly under her breath. 

“Hm?” Alex says, then continues talking. “That’s just on the memory suppression side, but in order to create new memories, there’s a chip implanted in the base of the neck that stores them. Between the procedure, the chip, and the medication, their trials were highly successful.” Dana’s hand moves to the back of her neck, feeling the small, raised scar there. “It’s also a tracker, so they can locate you if they need to. As long as that thing is in your neck, you can’t hide from them, Agent Scully.” 

Her eyes snap up to his, finding a genuinely stern expression on his face. 

“But to answer your question, they did it with the Manatua virus outbreak.”

Dana narrows her eyes at him, recalling what her mother said. 

The vaccine was awful. People were vomiting, passing out. It was so painful, they started using general anesthesia to administer it. But the virus was so aggressive, it had to be done.

“Why?” she asks, flabbergasted. How could she, Dana Scully, be important enough to fabricate a national pandemic? 

“To keep you and Mulder separated,” Alex says, capturing her queen. “Together, you’re a threat. He’s got his own little set up out in Philly, a wife and a dog and all that shit.”

“His wife has had her memory erased?” Dana asks, comparing her life to Mulder’s. 

“No,” Alex answers flatly. “They actually did know each other before. You knew her too, and didn’t like her much. This is a big redemption for her, given how badly she fucked things up last time they brought her in. They faked her death just to get her the hell out of there, and I guess this was her way back in. She gets Mulder, and a chance to get back into the inner circle. My guess is that she’ll be willing to go to great lengths to keep it that way.”

Dana absorbs this, realizing that her greatest fear—that Cal is somehow involved—is Mulder’s reality. 

“Why not just kill us?” she asks. 

Alex sits back and smirks at her.

“Valid question. They wanted to, but someone in the ranks preferred to keep you alive. Seems like he successfully made the case that doing a test run on the Spurious Project was the best of both worlds. They get to separate you and Mulder while proving out the success of the program. Or at least that was the hope, but your little run-in with Mulder in Baltimore has them scrambling.”

A cold slice of fear cuts through her. 

“Why are you helping me?” she asks, still not trusting him. 

“Let’s just say I have a bit of a bone to pick,” Alex says as he re-sets the board. “Despite my significant contributions to this effort, I have yet to be fully compensated.”

“You want money?” she asks, wondering if this is all a twisted attempt to extort her. 

“Not necessarily,” he says with a one-shouldered shrug, “though it wouldn’t hurt. I just want to see them go up in flames.” He looks up at her and his expression softens. “And I’m somewhat attached to you and Mulder, as a duo,” he admits in an apparent moment of earnestness. “It’s kind of…wrong, you two not being together.”

Dana swallows, thinking of her dream. 

“What do I do?” she asks. He’s given her many things, but a way forward is not one of them. 

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” Alex says as he stands. Dana stands as well, feeling alarmed. “I guess that’s your call. But the reason I contacted you is to make you aware that you’re no longer safe. They know you remember Mulder, and that you aren’t taking your medication. It’s only a matter of time before they come for you.”

“What will they do?” she asks, a wave of nausea rolling through her. 

“Not sure,” Alex answers honestly. “They might try to run you through the program again, or they might just kill you.”

“I should find Mulder—”

“That’s probably the worst thing you could do,” he interrupts. “Mulder doesn’t remember you, and they’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way. If you try to contact him, they will kill you, Agent Scully.”

After holding her eye for emphasis, he turns and begins to walk away. 

“How can I find you again?” she asks, panicked. 

Alex turns around, walking backwards as he calls to her over the din of the park. 

“You can’t.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic

[coramatus]

A Unovan in NYC outline snippet

A reunited Emmet and Ingo slowly figure some things out between them.

Meanwhile, Emmet is helping a freshly washed Ingo get set up for the night. He insists that Ingo take the bed and he’ll sleep on the floor. Ingo tries to insist that he has a bedroll and will be more comfortable on the floor anyways, not wanting to steal Emmet’s bed. They go back and forth on this before Emmet sighs and throws his bedding on the floor. Ingo is startled, wondering what he’s doing when Emmet declares that they’ll both have to sleep on the floor. He offers Ingo a cheeky grin. This way they get to sleep side by side again!

As Emmet sets up both his and Ingo’s sleeping spots, Ingo feels more hesitant about everything. He’s unsure of where he fits in Emmet’s life anymore. Hell, he hadn’t remembered he even had a sibling until Arceus told him he needed to go fetch him barely a day ago. The fact that he needed to physically see Emmet to finally remember his name makes him feel intensely guilty.

Emmet senses Ingo’s brooding and asks him what’s up. Ingo tries not to worry Emmet and just says he’s just thinking. Emmet considers this for a moment before reassuring Ingo that he already knows about the amnesia.

Ingo is shocked, wondering how Emmet knew, to which Emmet explains that he found a book on Old Hisui that had a few passages on him, one of which mentioned his memory loss. Ingo says he isn’t sure whether to be relieved that he doesn’t need to offer a painful explanation or uncomfortable that someone saw fit to give him a place in history.

To his confusion, Emmet makes a weird face, snorting that someone else saw fit to do even more than that for Ingo. Ingo asks what he means but Emmet brushes it off, saying he’ll explain when they aren’t so tired. He pats the bedding, telling Ingo to get over here and go to sleep.

As Emmet slips under the covers and settles in, Ingo sets his things aside. He quietly looks around Emmet’s room, noting how well his brother settled into this world. He finds pictures of unfamiliar train designs and subway system maps mixed with curious, marked up charts of unknown stats. Although for a universe without Pokémon, Emmet sure seems to have a curious number of Pokémon-themed trinkets scattered about…

After turning off the light, Ingo slips in next to Emmet. His brother is quick to affectionately bump shoulders with him. He asks how Ingo is doing, to which Ingo replies that he’s a bit overwhelmed. This is a lot to take in all at once, this universe, this city, even Emmet is a lot for him to handle. Emmet seems sad at this and asks Ingo if he can hug him. Ingo is quick to agree, which brightens Emmet’s mood. Emmet considers that a good sign that Ingo is more than ready for Emmet to return to his life. As Ingo thinks about it, Emmet rolls over to hug him, snuggling against him with a happy sigh.

“I missed you so much,” Emmet says, his voice hitching with emotion.

Ingo isn’t sure what to say until he’s struck by a dawning realization.

“This entire time, I couldn’t remember you… I… I still missed you too, Emmet,” he whispers in awe. A sheen of tears builds in Ingo’s eyes as he pulls back to stare at his brother’s dimly lit face in open wonder, as if he’s truly seeing him for the first time. He raises his hand to gently cradle the side of Emmet’s face in his palm, his calloused thumb brushing over his brother’s cheek. Choked with pain, his words border on a sob, “Everyday, it hurt how much I missed you. But I didn’t even know I was in pain until I finally got you back.” Ingo softly bumps his forehead against Emmet’s, his voice brimming with an overjoyed smile, “Emmet, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Emmet whimpers with a wet sniffle, his tears freely flowing as he presses his forehead back against his brother’s.

They hug again, unwilling to let each other go, even as they doze off together into a sound slumber.

#pokemon #pokemon legends arceus #pokemon black and white #pokemon black 2 and white 2 #a unovan in new york city #submas #subway boss ingo #warden ingo #subway boss emmet #coramatus’s writing