#this AU really hit a lot of boxes for me~!

[churipu]

hi ! can i request some headcanons of jjk men w a shy sweetheart gf ? any characters will do as long gojo's included, thank you sm !

jjk men & their sweetheart girlfriend

featuring. gojo satoru, sukuna ryomen, choso x fem! reader

warnings. college! au, just sit back and enjoy <;33

note. hii anon, love this request. for instance i always think abt jjk men with the most boisterous personalities having the sweetest partners, ty for requesting, hope you like it <;33

GOJO SATORU. honestly, i can see him taking interest in someone sweet and shy. i feel like he will gush over you a lot, he loves seeing your shy nature — he finds you really, really, really cute. so he can't help but poke teases at you sometimes knowing you can do nothing but to go along with it.

gojo first met you when you helped an abandoned kitten at the back of campus. he was out to find a place to relax and he saw you tending to a ginger colored kitten, feeding it and holding it like it's the most fragile being in the world. from that day on, he settled his interest in you.

he watched you caress the kitten full of love, mumbling out incoherent words and feeding it back to life. and when you left the kitten inside the box you made for it, gojo approached the feline. smiling out, intrigued.

gojo found himself asking people about you. geto, shoko, anyone and every single time he asked, their answers are just too basic, such as "oh, y/n..i know her, she doesn't talk much. seems rather shy, but she's really nice." or a "y/n? she's the nicest person i know". he needed to know more about you (but was forgetting the fact that he was doing nothing to know more about you but ask people), until shoko told him he should just talk to you.

here's the thing. who wouldn't know about a white haired male, with the most alluring blue eyes, is smart, popular, and practically one whole package?

gojo was actually (genuinely) surprised when you recognized him. it was like any other day, you were playing with the same ginger feline and you took notice of him and just went, "gojo, can i help you?"

"you know me?"

you giggled, "who wouldn't?"

i swore he felt like he was on cloud nine. every day gojo and you would meet up in the same place without any compromising— the two of you just decided that the back of your campus was that place. and every single day he gets to meet you, gojo falls in love deeper.

and so one day, he just casually asks you to be his girlfriend while you were playing with the ginger who the both of you named as "butter". and you looked at him with the (possibly) reddest face you could muster out. but accepted him nonetheless.

today, he's still in love as ever. gojo sometimes wondered how someone— a sweetheart— like you accepted to be his girlfriend. he gushes over you like a kid and takes pictures and videos of you doing random things (his phone is your own personal camera). gojo spoils you a lot (he's rich rich) so if he sees something that reminded him of you, just know that he won't think twice before buying it for you.

he's such a lovesick puppy that it's concerning sometimes.

most of the time you'd tell him he doesn't need to do all that, but he insisted and gets pouty if you don't accept the gifts he got for you. he loves his sweetheart girlfriend so much people get jealous of you.

"satoru, this is too much!"

"it's never too much for you, sweetheart."

SUKUNA RYOMEN. sukuna? having a girlfriend? i feel like he's fucking boisterous and annoying when it comes to women. he's probably one of those confident star athlete at campus who always make the team every season, and is never enough with one woman.

until he met you.

sukuna never understood the concept of "love" until he finds himself a mess in front of you, until he finds himself thinking about you in his games, until he gets jealous over people hitting on you, until he finds himself looking for you amidst the crowd, until he finds himself stop trying to hook up with random girls after his games.

please help him, he's so confused with this new feeling that he initially thought he was sick and needed help. he's never really talked to you outside of lectures— sukuna who usually skips out on a lot of lectures, suddenly attended them just so he could talk to you more and get to know you more.

"ya' new here?" obviously not, sukuna just didn't know how to start a conversation with you.

it's not like he hasn't done some research about you yet, he's asked his teammates, and them telling him that you were such a sweetheart that they couldn't even have the heart to hit on you.

"oh. um..no." you tell him, not even engaging in an eye contact.

he finds you really cute, but he of course, wouldn't admit that. so he just tried poking fun at you as a form of comfort (kind of like a love language). it shocked his professors that sukuna began popping in time for lectures and is never missing out on any, when in fact he was just there for you.

most of the time, sukuna and you would talk in lectures. out of there? sukuna would be with his friends most of the time, but it doesn't mean he wasn't looking for you in every turn he goes. and in every games, he would try looking for you to see if you came to support the team (him) or not, and gets really unmotivated when he can't find you.

so one day, he just—

"you should come see me play." he's straightforward alright, and he will do anything to get you to watch him play (he wanted to show off).

and you actually showed up just at the last second of his last season playoffs, and boy oh boy, he destroyed the other team (even his own teammates were surprised). he enjoyed that game most out of every other games, simply because you were there to watch him win. he felt satisfied.

you were the first person he approached after the game. and sukuna just settled that he couldn't wait longer, he just had to make you his that very second. and you accepted.

sukuna who usually messes with woman, settled for you and changed for you. he promised himself he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he hurts you, he just hated the thought of it (but still won't admit that).

he loves how shy you still get when he grabs your hand out of the blue, caresses your face full of love, plants soft kisses on your face, hell even as simple as complimenting you. but those are the things he love about you— and how you never judged him for anything but saw the best in him when everyone could probably agree with him being the biggest asshole (before he met you).

he's just so lovesick and dedicated to you. and p.s he puts you as his wallpaper, and i feel like he probably has a private twitter or instagram account just to post about you and fangirl over you although he acts like it doesn't bother him. one time you sent him a picture of you smiling with your usual peace sign, he had to step away from his phone for a bit and began air boxing (he saved every pictures you sent him and posts them in his private account with the cheesiest captions and hundred amounts of emoji smashes), he swore it would be the death of him if you find out about his accounts.

even with all that, all he would send as a reply would just be as simple as, "cute."

CHOSO. lord, help this baby— he's clueless to his feelings. and i feel like choso would be very confused about his own feelings that he had to ask yuuji about why he was feeling like that. yuuji is like his own personal relationship helper.

i feel like choso is popular in campus, but he doesn't know he's popular so he just accepts whatever people do and give to him as a sign of friendship. until one day he bumps into you, and you dropped your books, sounds cliche but it actually happened.

and choso helped you by grabbing a few fallen books, handing it to you. when you looked up to thank him properly, choso didn't know what to say or do. he just felt odd. like his heart's beating so fast that he can't help but to clutch on his white colored hoodie.

"thank you.." you bowed your head down in appreciation, and then left just before he could say anything.

choso blinked feverishly and wondered if he had caught the flu, so when he met up with yuuji, he went, "i think i'm sick."

when yuuji asked why, choso explained everything that happened, not forgetting to add a little cherry on top by saying, "i think that girl i bumped into gave me the flu."

yuuji laughs out loudly, almost crying. and choso is just there, wondering if what he said was that funny to yuuji, and to drive him further into his confusion, yuuji told him that it's probably a little crush.

"how can i crush someone i just met?" choso asks.

"it just happens, i guess. like an airport crush, ever heard of em'?" that day began choso's education on love.

for a few weeks, yuuji had to teach him everything about his feelings. and to confirm choso's crush on you, the two of them bumped into you one day (thank the heavens), and choso was quick to your aid when yuuji was the only person to slip and fall, while you were standing well with no harm done.

yuuji then understood about choso's little huge crush on you, even yuuji thought you were such a sweetheart he couldn't help but to gush a little over you— until choso stared at him, brows furrowed in jealousy.

"i don't like her like that, don't worry...i just find her to be such a sweetheart!"

choso was relieved when yuuji said that. then after that began yuuji's plan on trying to get choso and you together— which consisted in silly little and cliche pranks, such as sending a text to you then saying that he got the wrong person. or pressing the call button then saying he pressed it by accident.

you had to be honest, you went along with it, sometimes even holding up the call up to a few seconds just to hear both yuuji and choso talking in the background about how the plan isn't working.

well, they thought wrong. it worked.

yuuji honestly gave up midway and just handed it to choso to do whatever he wants to, so choso just comes up to you one day in front of yuuji too and straight up told you that he likes you. and yuuji has never felt so shocked in his life that everything would have ended if he told choso to do whatever the guy wants to earlier (yuuji thought choso was too pussy to do it).

and you accepted.

it was like a double kill for yuuji that day, but nonetheless he was happy for both you and choso.

still going strong after two years, choso still has the same amount of love and admiration for you (if not, even more). he still thinks you're such a sweetheart and he can't help but to get overprotective of you whenever you both go out. he's so proud of having you by his side, and is probably the type of boyfriend to spoil his girlfriend rotten but doesn't realize he's spoiling her.

"cho, too much." you tell him, a little nervous upon seeing how many plates of dessert he ordered.

"you love desserts," he said the obvious.

"i do, thank you," you didn't have the heart to tell him that it was probably too much for you, which proves how much of a sweetheart you are and you ended up finishing them all with his help, "that was great, maybe not so much in the future?"

choso wondered if he did the wrong thing, but you convinced him that it wasn't.

(spoiler: he still buys you a lot of dessert even after that).

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE !

#jjk x reader #jjk #fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna ryomen #gojo fluff #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #sukuna x reader #choso #jjk choso #female reader #jjk x female reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk sukuna #choso x y/n #gojo x y/n #jjk fluff

[hypewinter]

3 HC/AU Prompt Thingy (3)

1). Box Ghost hears he was powerful and feared I'm the Dan timeline, gets ripped

2). Jason, as a reverent can hit ectoplasm ghosts

3). Guys Night Out (choose whatever ghosts you want)

(I love making these and your the only one who writes for them, :))

Ok hear me out: Full DILF box ghost. Don't scroll away and just give me a second of your time ok?

Boxy gets swoll. Real swoll. His gimmick might still be dumb but now he's so strong that no one dares to point that out anymore. That being said, he is still the best dad ever to Boxed Lunch. I'm talking about helping her tie her shoes, being a willing participant in her tea parties, tucking her in at night, the works. He's such a good father that when Boxed Lunch asks for a super rare Orphan toy that was only ever distributed in Gotham, he immediately agrees to get it for her.

Johnny 13 hears about Box Ghost's little outing and invites himself along as he wants to get Kitty some new jewelry to make up for their last fight. Thus begins a wild night for Boxy and Johnny as they both have a heart to heart (now that Johnny 13 can't make fun of him for fear of being punted through a wall) plus they even bond over how much they love the women in their lives.

All is going well. The boys have done some fun stuff around the city, gotten up to a little mischief, and even picked up Johnny's apology jewelry. The only thing left is Boxed Lunch's toy. As they're scouring an abandoned warehouse full of discontinued toys that's when Jason drops it. He'd been getting reports of strange occurrences all night from his men and he'd finally been able to track it down to this warehouse. Of all the things Jason anticipated, it was not two weird looking metas going through boxes. But nevertheless he has a job to do.

He aims his gun at the two metas and demands they step away from the boxes. They don't. Why would they? They're ghosts, this human can't hurt them. Sure enough when Jason eventually fires at their knees after a couple of warning shots, the rubber bullets go right through. Jason is shocked to say the least. And now his mind is whirring a mile a minute trying to figure out how those two just did that. Meta powers? Hidden tech? How is he going to deal with this? He doesn't want to go through the embarrassment of calling for backup.

Johnny 13 on the other hand, is pretty peeved this guy won't leave them alone. He's ruining their night out! So he decides to scare him. Maybe that will make him leave. So Johnny gets right up in Jason's fac- er mask and lets out a pretty impressive ghostly howl if he does say so himself. Except instead of running away, Jason instinctively punches him. In the nose. And it hurts. A lot.

So now Johnny is reeling in pain, Jason realizes he can take care of these guys the old fashioned way and Boxy has finally found the Orphan toy. "Oh no!" I hear you say. "The fight of the century between Boxy and Jason is about to go down!" Actually no. Not really.

Box Ghost has been teaching Boxed Lunch about conflict resolution recently and he is not about to let his actions contradict his words. So he explains the situation to Jason. Jason for his part is a little miffed but understanding. You're just trying to be a good father. I get it. Besides these toys are just gonna collect dust in here anyways. Oh but you do have to return the jewelry. *Sad (and pained) Johnny 13 noises*

Jason kinda feels bad for the whole, punching Johnny in the nose thing (even though it was totally his fault) so he offers to take them to find non-stolen jewelry for Kitty instead. Thus the boys night continues! Now with extra shenanigans.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #winter answers #thanks for the ask! #who knows #they might even make this hang out a regular thing

[whispereons]

Oracle!Reader Part 5

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 4, Part 6

Warning, I guess? Like I said last part, my AU has death and voilence. This one also has frisky(?) moment, no full NSFW

You aren't quite sure how long you have been sitting on this bench. The cats you were watching have already grown tired and were lazing around. The smoke smell was still faintly in the air and the sky was the same blue as before.

Couldn't have been more than 10 minutes then.

You should get up and leave. But to go back to the main area is to back into the fray. And you really didn't want to do that. With a heavy heart, you got up and stretched.

A loud crash and bang from around the corner startled you. You peer curiously in the direction and a pained groan is all you can hear. You walk over and see opened crates on the floor with fireworks rolling out of them.

Carefully you step around the fireworks to get to the heart of the problem. Yoimiya was on the floor with crates scattered around and a bell near her. The usually peppy blonde was clutching her head with a pained expression.

"Did you just get hit by that bell?" You say with a smile. You struggle not to laugh as you hold your hand out to her.

"Unfortunately, I did. Ugh, that really hurts." She takes your hand and slightly jolts from the electricity that your skin brings. You notice her action but don't put much thought into it, you pull her up.

"If we don't pick up all your fireworks fast, we'll probably lose some." Yoimiya smiles brightly completely forgetting her lost battle with the bell.

"You would help me? That's great to hear, I'd be looking all over Inazuma City for them without you!"

You start picking them up with her as you leisurely talked with her. Truthfully you offered more for yourself, as selfish as it sounds you just wanted a distraction.

The nearly mind-numbing or annoying task, depending on how far they rolled was easier with the chatty woman. Yoimiya knew how to talk to people, truly an extrovert with great social skills.

"That should be all of the fireworks. At least none of the boxes broke." You close the last crate and wipe the sweat from your brow.

"All thanks to you. I wasn't expecting anyone to be around since the ritual was in session. It should be finishing up though." She has an excited smile as she speaks and picks on two crates at a time.

Eager to change the subject you grab the last box and are about to pick it up. "No wonder you dropped it, carrying three crates would be too much-ugh. Damn, how much do these things weigh?"

You hurriedly position the crate in your arms to a more comfortable position as your grip tightens. You weren't weak but these things were absurdly heavy. You glance at her holding two of these monsters. She's not fazed in the slightest by the weight.

"The weight isn't too much of a problem, but the size was my oversight. I couldn't see while holding all 3 boxes and hit that bell. Thank you for carrying that one. Just follow me, we aren't too far from the drop-off location."

You inwardly sigh at now being stuck with the weight. But... You glance at the Yae Publishing House. Better than being stuck with Yae. You follow Yoimiya as you get closer and closer to the main area.

"Have you heard the rumors?"

"What rumors?"

"About there being an oracle! Really, it's only spread among the kids. They keep telling me that an oni, his name is Itto, keeps telling them about how he met the creator's oracle."

So, it's already starting. At least it's staying between the children right now, by the time Yae hears about it and connects the dots you'll be gone.

"Maybe it's true. You'll need to meet that oracle for yourself to be sure." You shrug and bump her shoulder. Playfully she bumps you back.

"I would love to meet them! Believing in fantastical things is a lot of fun. And if it turns out that they're a fake then I'll light them ablaze." You were suddenly reminded of Itto by how she spoke such vicious words with a bright smile.

"What if they prove that they are an oracle? What would you do then?"

"Ask if there is anything I can do to be awakened! I traveled to Sumeru with the traveler, and it was the closest thing to being awakened. Awakened acolytes can see all sorts of sights and stories."

The sparkle in her eyes was full of joy, no doubt imagining what it would be like for her wish to come true. The thought of your very low primogem count made you want to cry. 'Sorry Yoimiya, I don't think anyone is getting pulled at this time.'

Arriving back at the ritual area you can see the dead bodies being moved away and the blood being cleaned. You doubt they'd be able to clean up all the ashes today.

"Such a shame I missed out on it. But I would rather supply my fireworks for the finale festival than watch in a sweaty crowd."

To think that everyone here has grown numb to sight... Do people become less than cattle once they are dubbed a sacrifice? You follow Yoimiya around the slowly dispersing crowd to the back.

Ayaka is giving orders until she spots you both. Quickly she comes over with a smile.

"I'm relieved to see that you were with Yoimiya. Thank you for watching over the oracle in our absence."

"Wait-What?! They're the oracle?" Yoimiya comically looks between you and Ayaka's smiling faces.

"You just let me talk about the oracle while not telling me you're the oracle?" You finally laugh at that. Setting the crate down, you sigh in relief and speak.

"It was entertaining, I promise I was planning to tell you before we split paths."

"I'm torn between being embarrassed and happy. At least you know my wish now." She deflates as she holds the crates with a pout. It's gone as quick as it came and she's back with a sunny smile.

"Well, then Ayaka please lead the way for me to put these fireworks away. I can't wait for the final ritual to see them light up the sky."

"You just saw them last week, you're insatiable for fireworks. Y/N, I'll meet up with Ayato, Thoma, and you in a little bit."

Ayaka smiles softly and beckons Yoimiya to follow her. Yoimiya smiles cheerfully and waves enthusicastically before hauling all 3 boxes. Does archery really make your arms that strong?

"Y/N!" A shout of your name and hard armor meets your back as you're hugged from behind. It was just a quick hug before you spin around.

"Gorou, all done with that soldier?" He smiles widely showing off his fangs. He's holding your arms with his gloved hands as his tail wags.

"Yeah, sorry about having to leave so suddenly. Are you feeling better now? You don't look as bad as before."

"I'm feeling a lot better now. I didn't worry you too much right?"

"I mean, I can't deny that I was worried but you're all better now so that's all that matters. Remember if you need to talk about it, you can always come to me. I'd prefer it that way."

His whisper is low, and you strain to catch it. But he smiles with a blush and it's enough to dissuade you. He's helped you a lot, you didn't want to be too nosy. He's also one of the few that hasn't used you for information about the creator too. It doesn't bother you but it's nice feeling like he hangs out with you because he finds your company nice.

"It's been some time since I've seen General Gorou this happy. Are you a friend of his?"

Motherfucker- How in the world did you manage to run into Kokomi fucking Sangonomiya!?

You hadn't accounted for her appearance since she's usually on Watatsumi Island. She's way too good, like facing a kinder, fishier Yae. Hell, she managed to beat Yae in TCG and find the card snatcher in that event. This wasn't Ei but meeting Yae and Kokomi on the same day has got to be bullshit.

While you were internally dying Gorou took the initiative to introduce you to Kokomi with a happy grin.

"This is Y/N, they're an oracle for the creator. They even have the Kamisato Clan's approval."

"That is quite impressive, allow me to introduce myself first. My name is Sangonomiya Kokomi, I'm the divine priestess of Watatsumi Island."

"It's an honor to meet you Sangononomiya? Sanganonomiya? Sanganomiya?" Your voice gradually lowers as you butcher her name. Honestly, you were just hoping she would dislike you and leave. You did not want to have another Yae-level battle.

Purple glossy eyes watch you struggle with her name in amusement. You even managed to confuse yourself on how to pronounce her name. She can't help but laugh bringing a gloved hand to her mouth.

"You must not be a native Inazuman. You can just call me Kokomi, as an oracle and Gorou's friend I can trust that you're a good person."

Gorou beams at his superior's approval and his expectant stare on you makes you feel even more trapped. So much for getting her to dislike you.

"Thank you for your generosity, Kokomi. I've heard here and there how good of a leader you are. Both in and outside of combat. Your citizens seem to adore you a lot."

At least you don't have to pronounce Sangonomiya anymore. She takes a step closer and peers at you. She's good but not impossible.

"Thank you but I believe you aren't that different from me."

What the fuck is that supposed to mean. Gorou holds your hand with a confused face. Was he always this touchy-feely in the game? You can't remember well with Kokomi staring dead into your eyes.

"I'm the divine priestess for Orobaxi, a god that Watatsumi Island worships despite being deceased. And you are an oracle for the creator. All living beings in Teyvat worship the creator, our jobs may have more similarities than you think."

"Are you saying this because as an oracle I am a communicator between the creator and the people? While as divine priestess you carry out the will of Orobaxi to protect your people?"

She smiles knowingly making her eyes squint a bit. "Precisely. Wouldn't you benefit more from staying on Watatsumi Island? Maybe not permanently but you could learn a lot from staying with us."

Wait what? Does she think that you came here to help Narukami Island? Not a bad guess since you do have the Kamisato's approval. Is she trying to poach you?

"This isn't well known but I'm on a mission for the creator. I can't share all the details, but it involves me moving around Teyvat a lot. I already have transportation to Liyue all prepared. Thank you for the offer but I'll have to decline."

Gorou and Kokomi both have disappointed expressions with Gorou's being far more dramatic. Or maybe that was his dropping ears and tail exaggerating his look.

"I understand, the creator must come first. If the tides ever lead you back to Inazuma, please come and visit Watatsumi Island."

As adapting as water, she moves past her rejection and smiles softly holding out her hand. You grab it and shake her hand until you feel a familiar feeling. The feeling of eyes watching you and ears listening to you strikes you.

You release her hand and Gorou speaks to her about something. You can't focus on what they are saying as the feeling leaves you chills.

It must be Yae.

Now that you think about it, isn't it weird how Gorou and Kokomi are in plain sight with no Yae? Her rival, punching bag, and an easy victim are all in one group, surely, she would not hesitate to come over. Unless she's with Ei.

Jumping to conclusions, you are definitely jumping to conclusions. Forcing yourself to breathe easily, you smile casually as you can finally hear what Kokomi and Gorou are saying.

"Your Excellency, I've already moved that emergency shipment to the boat. We can wait for you to finish meeting with the Electro Archon."

"You should go on ahead without me. Whatever she has called me for doesn't sound like a minor problem."

"Even so, leaving you in enem-" Kokomi's look makes Gorou shut his mouth and backtrack.

"Right, right. Sorry, force of habit. But I would still feel more comfortable waiting till you are done, your Excellency."

"Okay, I understand your concern. Please wait in Inazuma City until I'm done." Gorou smiles at Kokomi's acceptance.

"So, you'll be staying a while longer? It's a shame you didn't come a day earlier. I'm leaving for Liyue today after all." You join in when you get a chance. The last thing you want is for Yae to notice how aware you are of her presence.

Kokomo opens her mouth to speak when yells of your name can be heard across the plaza. You all turn to see Thoma waving to grab your attention while Ayaka and Ayato calmly stand and stare at you. Or are they staring at Gorou and Kokomi?

You give a wave back to let them know you saw them. Turning back with a small and slightly sad smile you hide your joy at a perfect escape option.

"And that is my transportation calling me. It's been lovely meeting you Kokomi despite the short amount of time we spent together. And Gorou, you were the highlight of this festival, I'll be sure to seek you out next time I come."

Gorou seems to swoon at your words while Kokomi smiles at your words and holds both your hands. Her stare is unnervingly deep into your eyes. Fisheyes in the game and in real life are much different up close.

"You are quite the fascinating person. Whenever you do come back, Watatsumi Island is more than happy to greet you with open arms."

Your smile is gentle matching hers despite how you're secretly sweating bullets. She releases your hands, and you see Gorou smiling at Thoma who is clearly glaring at him.

Unlike humans, animals bare their teeth to threaten. That little tidbit of information comes to mind when you see that Gorou's grin is a little ferocious. It all goes away once he sees you looking at him.

"Y/N, whenever you come back, make sure to visit Watatsumi Island twice as much time as you spent here. I can show you even more stuff than what I showed you here."

"I will Gorou." You promise before petting his head. You weren't sure when you would get to pet someone like this again so you wanted to take advantage of it while you still can. Gorou seems to like it as much as you do. His eyes close and his tail wags a little as he angles himself deeper into your touch.

When you pull your hand off, he pouts a bit but waves to you as you walk to the Kamisato's. You carefully peek back to see Kokomi say something teasing to Gorou that makes him embarrassed.

Yae conveniently turns the corner at that exact moment and scares Gorou. Seems like you dodged a bullet at poor Gorou's expense. But it also raises a question. Did Yae intentionally wait for you to leave to join the group? If so, is it because she feels bad or because she doesn't want you hearing what she has to say?

Deciding to leave it be you turn back to the Kamisato's as you approach them. Once you're in reach Thoma sweeps you into his arms and hugs you.

"What a warm welcome. Missed me that much Thoma?" You say with a smile as Thoma sets you down.

"Well, I have to! You're leaving today, I have to make the most of it." He smiles a little embarrassed as he avoids your eyes.

"Totally not because I pet Gorou?"

"Totally."

Ayato covers his mouth with his sleeve and coughs with a not very subtle "Liar" in between. Ayaka swats his arm with her fan and Thoma playfully glares at Ayato.

You snicker at the familiar sight of them fighting and almost trip over a firework stick. Your near tumble makes them all pay instant attention to you. Ayato and Thoma are quick to put a hand on your shoulders to steady you as Ayaka picks it up.

"It's a few are still missing. I'll have to send a servant to put it with the others later."

"Damn, sorry Ayaka I thought Yoimiya and I got them all. Will you have enough for the final ritual this month?"

"Oh yes more than enough. We always order extra just in case something like this happens. It's a shame you won't be here to see the final ritual." She looks to the ground sadly as she finishes.

"Ayaka is right, it truly is a shame. The final ritual is the cumulative of everyone's efforts and the fireworks look beautiful at night. I mean you could always stay until then. The Kamisato Estate is always open to you."

Ayato speaks with a purposefully convincing tone. What is up with people trying to convince you to stay? First Kokomi and now Ayato? Without thinking too deeply you reply.

"The journey from Liyue to Inazuma is pretty long and unpredictable. And there's no way I can freeload on you guys for some fireworks. Next time I come over I'll stay longer to attend it. Besides I can use the teleport waypoints."

The second you say that is the moment you regret it. Great going, now you'll be forced back to Inazuma in less than a month!

Too busy insulting yourself for your own stupidity you don't see how Ayaka and Thoma light up. Eagerly she writes down the date and time of the final ritual before placing it in your palm.

"Oh, that's perfect Y/N! Now you can continue being an oracle the way you wished and make it in time for the festival."

Ayato seems far too calm and smug for this whole thing to just be your own mistake. There's no doubt Ayato was waiting for you to mention teleporting yourself. Probably in case there was some prerequisite. Which you definitely would have made up if he mentioned it first. No one else to blame except yourself.

"Thanks, Ayaka, I'll do my best to attend." You slip the paper into your bag and smile warmly. You can't out right reject it now but maybe later on you can make some sort of excuse to avoid attending. Either way you have time and if you do have to attend...

Then your luck and lies going your way will let you have a firm standing as an oracle that won't allow Ei to suspect you that easily.

Maybe you're better off faking your death and living with the Aranaras. As the creator you should have some sort of influence on creatures. Hopefully...

"So, since the ritual is done and the festival is coming to an end, I should be on my way to Ritou. What boat am I taking?"

"That eager to leave Y/N? I would have thought you would at least let me bring up the topic seeing as we housed you all this time." Ayato's eyes are narrowed as he looks at you. His hand is covering his face and his voice sounds annoyed.

"I would never want to overstay my welcome in your estate. How could I take advantage of your kindness anymore then I already have? Besides wouldn't kind hosts like yourself avoid making your guests unwelcome by bringing up the topic of leaving. I'm simply doing you a favor."

You speak with a mocking kind voice and bring out the fan he gave you to cover your mouth. His annoyed voice melts away as he laughs softly at your actions. You crack a smile too until he tips your fan forward to reveal your face.

"This fan will be your ticket to the boat. As promised, I selected the best boat, the Crux will treat you kindly when you board the Alcor. Captain Beidou is said to be one of the best captains and a crew member by the name Kaedehara Kazuha was once a loyal subordinate of the Kamisato's."

That was actually pretty cool. Beidou is said to have defeated a hydra in her character entry. Plus, Kazuha was a really popular character. You were fond of them both and thinking of meeting them with no worry of dying sounded amazing.

At least until you remembered how the Crux was known for 'daring' adventures meaning batshit dangerous sailing. They could all survive it because they either have a vision or training. But you? You weren't a fighter, nor did you have any powers. It's that stupid dilemma about what to do when you inventible encounter enemies again!

"Thanks Ayato, the creator seems to trust them both a lot too. To get to Ritou I'll need to pass Byakko Plain and Konda village. And that little shore area with loads of monsters."

Ayato pauses when you mention monsters. He didn't forget that you can't fight right? You look to Ayaka and she's avoiding your gaze. You turn a little more urgently to Thoma just for him to smile nervously.

"You all forgot that I don't have any guards, fighting skills and powers, didn't you?"

"It's not that we forgot when we were making preparations Y/N. Originally, I was going to accompany you but the Shogun suddenly announced a meeting this morning that will be starting in an hour. Ayato and I will be forced to attend leaving Thoma the only one to take care of the estate in our absence."

You feel a bit more frantic. Maybe if it was daylight, you'd just take the risk but nighttime? You have no intention of dying to a hilichurl or any other monsters, humans included.

"Can't a guard come with me then?"

"It seems that's our only choice. The guards are necessary for the festival due to the large number of people. And the amount only heightens at night but it's a risk we'll have to take. Your safety is priority, you'll need two guards at least"

You feel a bit guilty knowing that you'll be putting the public in danger. But the chance of someone dying without two guards is much lower than the chance of you dying without a guard. It's not a bad thing to have survival instincts, you tell yourself to ease the guilt.

"Wouldn't a better idea be for me to accompany them instead?" Someone butts into the conversation (rude) with a horrifically familiar voice.

Clips of the scene "Traveler, you're so dreamy~" echo throughout your mind as you remember his first birthday art posted on Reddit during a crisis that only caused more chaos.

Heizou walks with confidence to your group smiling innocently. Like he wasn't just eavesdropping on everything. You want to scream.

Who fucking cursed you?! You managed to run into everybody you wanted to avoid! Except Ei but you were starting to doubt that you'll be able to avoid her too.

Thoma throws Heizou a suspicious glance before standing next to you protectively. You wish Thoma was able to protect you from whatever Heizou's intuition is telling him about you. There's a large chance he heard you be referred to as an oracle.

Ayato and Ayaka keep their composure as Heizou stops in front of them who are standing in front of you. Seems like they all don't want him close to you. Is it because he's part of the Tenryou Commission?

"My, what's the caution about? I'm an upstanding member of the Tenryou Commission. With a vision too! I prefer not to fight but I am good at it." His voice was even more melodious in person. If only it wasn't hiding the absolute trap, you know he has behind his back.

"Considering that you were eavesdropping on our conversation for a while, I truly doubt your words. You always abandon or delegate your work to other people too. Can I really trust that with Y/N's safety?"

Ayato's words are as sharp as his stare. His eyes are similar to the depths of the ocean waiting to pull their victims into the freezing water. It really reminded you of when you first met him. Your relationship with him has improved in bounds and leaps.

"Now, now no need to be so hostile. I'm under Madam Kujou Sara this time. She was worried about the oracle and asked me to check up on them. I am the only other vision holder that's awakened in the Tenryou Commission. I can promise you that they'll make it to Ritou, they'll probably be boarding the Crux, correct?"

Heizou, to his credit, is good under Ayato's pressure. Probably from dealing with Sara all the time. Thoma clearly doesn't trust Heizou, Ayaka is seemingly neutral on the matter and Ayato is weirdly against Heizou.

"Were you not listening early enough to be sure what boat Y/N is going on?"

How didn't you notice Heizou listening? You were able to spot Yae right away, yet you missed him?

"The oracle is clearly an important person as they are directly connected to the creator. Only the Crux could provide a level of safety fit for them."

You saw Yae first, so you were always on guard for her. Did you unknowingly relax around the Kamisato's therefore preventing you from noticing Heizou?

"All it took was a quick deduction. I'm a detective for a reason." Heizou ends with a smile. Ayato though less tense hasn't let up his stare. The tension is killing you, but you can't afford to stay any longer.

Heizou only offered to figure out the mystery behind you and his intuition probably had a hand in it too. Going with him does mean dealing with whatever questions he throws at you, but it seems to be your only choice. You can't risk staying any longer and running into Ei.

You move away from Thoma's side and place a hand on Ayato's shoulder. You smile trying to lessen Ayato's suspicion.

"He doesn't seem to be a bad choice at all. Going with him means I'll be safe and so will everyone else. Like he said, he's an awakened acolyte with a vision. Sara wouldn't send him unless she was truly okay with it. She's very cautious concerning these things after all."

Ayato looks down at you with a vague feeling of dissatisfaction. If it was up to him, he would accompany you himself. Better yet he would keep you in Inazuma. He knows Ayaka and Thoma would be more than happy with that too.

But the longer he looks at you the more he knows that what he wants just isn't going to happen or work. The nervous smile you send him makes his heart flutter. With a sigh he nods.

"If that's what you wish Y/N then Shikanoin can escort you to the boat." And if his subordinate that is already stationed there reports back that you never boarded the boat then he knows exactly who to blame.

You smile feeling relieved that you won't have to worry about dying on the journey. Looking to Heizou you feel that relief turn to exhaustion as you imagine what the conversation during the journey will be like.

"You're Shikanoin Heizou correct? I'm Y/N, an oracle for the creator. Although I don't appreciate you eavesdropping, I am thankful that you'll be escorting me."

You walk forward and hold out your hand to shake his. Heizou looks at the two Kamisato's and honorary Kamisato behind you who are giving him varying levels of glares. Flashing a smug smile to them he shakes your hand.

"Don't mention it Y/N. You can just call me Heizou, we'll be spending a lot of time together on this trip after all."

You can tell he's saying that more to rile up the Kamisatos, but you tactfully ignore it and release his hand. Time to play damage control! Fun.

You turn around to face them with a grin. You were honestly going to miss them, a lot more than you originally thought.

"I can't thank you three enough for helping me out like this. Whenever I visit Inazuma again, the first stop will be the estate. Probably when the final ritual is occurring. If there's anything I can do for you, let me know, okay?"

They all gave you their own version of goodbye.

"I'll be eagerly awaiting your next visit." A sad but happy face hiding behind a fan.

"Come whenever, I'll make you more good food!" An excited and slightly melancholic expression.

"Don't sound so sappy, you make it sound like you'll die." A gentle look that alludes to the longing hiding behind it.

You can't help but feel a sense of dread rise up. As if the next time you see them won't be as happy as you think it'll be.

But that's the future. The future can always be changed. You shouldn't get so hung up and worried about something that is so far away.

To ease your worries and the sorrow you feel at having to leave, you wave to them with a bright smile. You follow Heizou who already began walking to Inazuma City's exit.

He isn't speaking, just quietly leading you through the city. You don't bother trying to break the quiet like you did with Ayato. You don't need Heizou's attention anymore then you probably have.

Your eyes trail over Heizou as you follow him. You try not to stare at his exposed sides but judging by the smile he gives you... He definitely noticed. Slu-

"Are all oracles supposed to be as perverted as you?"

"What do you mean by perverted? If you take my glances at you as perversion, then you're the perverted one. Aren't you cold?"

"It's not that bad. I'm sure you're at least a little warmer with that mask on." Here comes the questions.

"It's broken, any heat I could retained is lost through the cracks."

"Then why wear it? Surely the Kamisato's would gladly fund you more masks. So, what's so special about that mask? Why even wear it?"

Unlike Yae who was only interested in toying with you, Heizou is looking to solve the mystery. Plus, you had him which means he must feel the pull you give off as the creator. What's the point of being the creator if it only leads you to more problems?

Like it or not you're stuck in this situation and his intuition is like an otherworldly sense. Staying silent might lead him to arrest you, you can't risk missing the boat. So, you'll need to lead him around, a plan that just might work due to his own pride.

"Well why can't I? My mask isn't hurting anyone. Is your instinct as a detective telling you that my mask is important?"

"My intuition you mean. You're smart enough to get the Kamisato's trust and Madam Kujou Sara's trust. And I have a hunch that, that mask is connected to your oracle status."

"Doubting me huh? Well, you can't arrest me for wearing a mask or just looking shady so let's make this journey fun." You say with a smile as you both pass farms and the huge tree at the edge of the city.

"What are you proposing?"

"I guess you could call it a game. Your intuition seems sharp enough to pick up on any bullshit I spew. Ask me any questions and I'll give you cryptic answers. Maybe I'm lying, telling the truth, deflecting or a mix of them all. A test of both of our skills. If you can figure out why I'm hiding my face, then I'll tell you everything."

You actually mean it. Mostly because Heizou wouldn't believe you if you aren't being honest. If he can actually wait and listen to everything, then maybe he won't immediately attack you.

You know it's a stupid chance, but you can't risk being here any longer. You want to stop feeling scared of thunderous skies and lighting chasing your every move.

Heizou is quiet as he watches you while thinking. Should he accept this? His intuition won't stop nagging him to find the truth behind you. What does he really have to lose playing with you like this? With a smile he finally responds.

"Alright, let's see if you can keep the truth hidden as well as you think you can. Is that mask special?"

"Not really, I only took it because it was broken."

"Why would you take a broken mask?"

"The price of course, well the lack of price I mean." You only fibbed a little there. You have to test how well he can pick up on lies.

He hums in acknowledgement. It's clear he doesn't fully believe it. The game was right to dub him as a prodigy detective.

"That mask has the trademark of Mr. Sanden. He's a bit of a perfectionist, he doesn't sell any masks he isn't happy with. So how did you manage to get him to sell it to you?"

He's got home advantage too. But remembering Heizou's past made you recall his hatred for sin. You can't help but worry that he'll react violently if you admit your theft. That's what selective wording is good for!

"You got me. Sanden didn't want to sell it to me, but he eventually did let me leave with it. I'm thankful since the mask has served me well."

"Are you wearing that mask to deter certain people?" That little bait was a good deflection.

"Well, you could say so. Maybe I committed a crime that would be revealed with my mask off. Or I'm hiding an ugly scar behind it that I don't want people to see. It could be that I'm living a double life and this mask is the only difference between my lives."

You shrug and pass by the spot where you met the Arrataki Gang. Not for the first time you missed them. Sara included, at least you didn't need to think hard and fast on how to fool her.

"What do you think is the truth? Are they all true to a degree? Or are they all lies?"

Heizou hums and holds his chin looking like a true detective. You look a little closer to examine the moles beneath his eyes. It was pretty cool how he had matching ones. He snaps his fingers and points at you with mirth.

"Sounds more like two lies and a truth. Or maybe half-truth would be a better description. That double life choice seems to be on the right track."

He wasn't wrong, but the answer was much farther than a double life. You spot the teleport waypoint that you activated after defeating those treasure hoarders and nobushi. Are the materials you collected from them still bloody?

"Believe what you will. I don't necessarily need to confirm whether you got the correct answer."

"Getting a little defensive aren't you. Seems like I should ask you a little more about this topic. Where were you born?"

"I actually don't know." It's true, you had no clue what hospital or city you were born in.

"Then where did you arrive in Inazuma? Watatsumi or Ritou?"

"Neither I simply woke up on Seirai Island." You know he'll probably dig around for more information about this topic once you leave but you're okay with that. How will he tell which story on your appearance is true or false?

"I find it hard to believe that you don't remember anything beyond that."

"I don't have many memories before becoming the oracle. Realizing what I have to do ordered by the creator makes me believe that my past-"

Your rambling is cut off by the scoff he lets out.

"Man alive, no need to start preaching about the creator that I've personally experienced. I don't believe your words about the creator at all. And we got quite off topic, didn't we? Tell me, did the creator order you to wear that mask?"

What a question. Perfect time to test deflection.

"Would you stop asking me questions if I say that the creator did order me to wear it? Would you even believe me if I said that they did?"

"No."

"So, you're just asking to fuck with me?"

"Not necessarily, all these questions are just steppingstones to the truth."

"Fancy way to say that you'll ask me anything and everything."

"Glad to hear that you've already accepted your fate." This little shit.

You slow down your pace while passing by the temple. You feel a bit tempted to enter it to admire the murals. Heizou stops to watch you stare up at it in amazement. For an 'oracle' you seem mesmerized by the temple.

You jump a little as Heizou slings a arm around your shoulder and pulls you along the path again. Konda village is in sight and his breath is fanning over your ear.

"So, tell me Y/N, do you at least remember what region you were born in? Or at least lived in before becoming an oracle? Y/N isn't a very common name, in fact you're the first person I've met with that name."

"Well, I'm quite sure I wasn't born in Inazuma. I wouldn't call Seirai Island a home either." You nearly whisper as you stare straight into his eyes. You refused to be psyched out, not after all the other authorities you tricked on Earth.

He lets go of you and walks a little ahead of you. Frowning in confusion you speed up to match his pace. You barely catch the way his smile wavers a little and his hand toys with the baton on his hip. Was the previous proximity affecting Heizou too?

"What's wrong Heizou? For someone who I pegged as the teasing type you sure can't handle your own consequences."

Heizou smiles a littler wider contradicting how his eyebrows furrow. There's a large chance you're a criminal, something like that shouldn't have affected him so strongly. So why did you? Why did the heat of your body and smell of something sweet on you make him fumble like that?

"Speak for yourself, your heart was beating out of your chest."

"Even noticed my heartbeat huh? Sounds like you've got some sort of crush."

"You wish now stop trying to distract me. In fact, what about those writings on the temple walls made you so distracted."

"They were writing?" You questioned instinctively and immediately regretted it. The smile Heizou wears is victorious.

"Yes, it was. Do you know how to read?"

"No. Or at least not that well."

"Heh so that's a yes, just not in this language."

"Basically."

"Interesting and very believable. That writing was very old, but it was written in the universal language with Inazuma dialect. Meaning you should be able to at least recognize it as writing, but you didn't."

You're nervous but you calmly cross the stone bridge into Konda village. Heizou seems to want to ask something but the yells from parents interrupt him.

"Takeru! Takeru, you little rascal it's bedtime! Where are you?! Oh, where is he?" An older woman is calling out for Takeru who seems to be a child judging by the bedtime.

"Futaba! It's nighttime, it's not safe to be out this late! Futaba!" A much older woman with white hair is calling out too. You and Heizou pass by them a little concerned.

The sky is darkening but it's not pitch black just yet. Those children should probably still be out playing or something. Heizou hums and sweeps his eyes across the village.

"After I drop you off, I'll come back to make sure those kids came back fine."

"Is it normal for children to play without supervision?" The thought of kids playing outside when there are literal monsters around sounds unbelievable.

"It's quite common especially around villages like this where only elderly and children live. This is a farming village too so they're likely playing on the farm."

You nod and follow Heizou to leave the village by going under the flimsy looking gate. The sickle you picked up and put in your bag on whim still makes you uneasy. Your gut feeling made you pick it up and you aren't quite sure what to do with it now.

"I haven't forgotten about your slip up. So, either you lied about knowing how to read or you know how to read in a different language that has no roots in the universal language."

This guys just does not miss a beat. As you get closer to the beach area that leads to Ritou, you see a teleport waypoint. You couldn't activate the one in Inazuma City due to the crowd and Yae but this one could be used to your advantage.

You stop at the waypoint making Heizou look at you in confusion. You place a hand on the waypoint and relish in the new gold color it turns. Smugly you look to see Heizou staring at the waypoint with a shocked expression.

"Man alive, how did you-?"

He's cut off by a scream. It sounds like a young boy and you both look at each other in alert. Immediately Heizou turns and runs down the steps onto the shore with you following him.

The scream is joined by another scream sounding like a girl. You and Heizou follow it to the right and run past the waterfall and follow the dirt path. Blindly passing by a hilichurl camp you see a Fatui Hydrogunner and an Electrohammer.

You freeze up in fear as you watch a boy be slung over the Hydrogunner's shoulder and a girl try to crawl away from the Electrohammer. Heizou wastes no time to deliver an anemo infused punch to the Electrohammer giving the girl a chance to stand up.

You take a deep breath and move closer to hold the girl. She clings onto you in fear as she weeps loudly. You watch in a daze as Heizou continues dealing blows to the Electrohammer. At least until the Hydrogunner makes his move.

"Freeze or the boy drowns."

All three of you freeze as the Hydrogunner points to his gun to the boy's head. The Electrohammer hits Heizou straight in the chest with the war hammer knocking him back.

"Heizou!" You yell as you watch him hit the ground harshly. You yelp in pain when you're suddenly lifted up harshly by your neck. Struggling in his grasp uselessly until he squeezes your neck and throws you over his shoulder. The girl cowers and cries as she's yanked onto the other side.

Heizou stands up but stays in place as the Hydrogunner keeps the gun to the boy's head. You're about to wrap your hands around the Electrohammer's neck when he speaks.

"I wouldn't do that unless you want the boy to get blown to pieces."

You freeze before hanging limply over his shoulder. Everything is quiet save for the children's sobs. The Electrohammer starts walking farther from the city and the Hydrogunner does the same but slower.

You can only watch as Heizou's furious face gets smaller and smaller. They bring you and the kids to a camp close to Araumi. You land roughly on the floor with rope tied around you. A Anemoboxer who was waiting at their camp ties up the kids and drops them next to you. You give one last scathing glare before they close the tent flap.

Tense, you wait a few moments until you hear the muffled sounds of them talking. You turn back to look at the scared kids next to you.

"Hey, hey it's okay. We're going to get out of this, okay? Did you see that guy with me? He's a friend and he's really strong too. He's gonna get us out of here."

Their sobs slow down at your words and they look up at you. They have little scratches and scraps from trying to escape the Fatui.

"I want to go home, I wanna see Granny." "Are they going to take us?"

You shush them quietly to stop them from working themselves up into a crying fit.

"Me and my friend are going to make sure you get home safe. Why don't you both tell me your names? Mine is Y/N and my friend is called Heizou."

"I'm Takeru and she's Futaba." Takeru speaks with a waver as Futaba nods tearfully. They're still scared and the conversation between the Fatui is slowly turning into an argument.

"It's nice to meet you both, now I need you both to be brave and stay quiet for me." They both nod and you smile trying to offer some comfort. You couldn't let them take you and the kids' hostage again.

The ropes are tight around your torso and wrists, but they underestimated you. There is a pole in the middle of the tent with a wheel but it's the gear behind it that matters.

Carefully you move your legs until they are bent underneath you. You stand up and stumble a little to the gear. You can feel the sharp edges around the gear and smile.

At first you try to cut the large rope around your torso, but the rope is too thick and strong. You move your back higher against the pole so that the rope around your wrists is the one being cut.

Takeru and Futaba watch you in a mixture of fear and hope. You smile when you feel the rope give away and fall to the ground. With your hands free, you struggle a little to shimmy your bound arms to your front.

It's like wearing a really tight shirt with your arms still in it. Uncomfortable but not super painful. Once it's done you move to your bag that was thrown on the ground. Carefully you kneel and open it.

The game screen is deeper in the bag, and you shove your hand in to select the sickle you took from Konda village. When you pull your hand out it's weakly holding the sickle.

The kids smile as hope becomes clearer. The argument outside is getting louder. Yells of "this wasn't the plan!" and "we have to do it!" are making you increasingly worried.

Carefully you maneuver the sickle to cut the ropes without cutting your own shirt. The ropes break and you stretch your arms to get the blood flowing.

"Alright, I'm gonna get you both free but you have to stay quiet and listen to me or we'll get caught again."

They nod eagerly and you move behind them. You cut off the ropes and they stand up in a flash. But the loud sound of a punch cuts your victory short. Takeru and Futaba huddle closer to you in fear.

You smile kindly and hold out your free hand to them.

"Hold onto me, be prepared to make a run." They nod and grasp your arm as the sound of fighting gets louder. You walk closer to the tent flap and lift it to see the outside.

Heizou is fighting them all with a few wounds. The hit he took earlier must still be affecting him. This was not a good match up. Although the elemental shields aren't up yet, it wasn't an easy fight.

The Anemoboxer and the Hydrogunner are both healing and the Electrohammer is giving heavy electro blows. Not even mentioning the swirl that's happening. Once those shields come up, Heizou will have even more work to do.

The minute they have one of you hostage is when the fight is over. You can't let that happen. You can dodge but the kids can't. You eye the path and turn back to the kids.

"Listen carefully, you saw that dirt path they took us on? You need to follow it back to where me and Heizou found you. Just stay there and wait, okay? If anyone that you don't recognize starts coming. just hide."

You would rather them go straight back to Konda village, but you didn't want them at the mercy of the hilichurls either. They tremble but nod at your words.

You look out the flap sneakily and suck in a breath as the Anemoboxer starts heading towards the tent you all are at. Quickly you throw it open and drag the kids out with you.

The fighting freezes for a moment as the flap hits the Anemoboxer in the face and you push the kids in front of you. The Electrohammer and Hydrogunner look at you in surprise.

"Run!"

This springs the kids into action and Heizou delivers a charged up anemo punch to the Hydrogunner. Rain starts to fall, and the elemental shields were thrown up. The Anemoboxer has just doubled in your dangerous rating. The Anemoboxer reaches out for you making you jump back.

You just need to keep the Anemoboxer away from Heizou who's dealing with the other two Fatui Skirmishers. You keep dodging and running circles around him. You were mostly afraid of him using anemo to pull you in.

The fights weren't like watching it in the game. These guys bleed even while encased in the war machines. You hear the groan of the Hydrogunner passing out and smile crookedly. Was this fight finally going to be over soon?

The Anemoboxer leaves you to fight Heizou and you finally take a breather. Heizou doesn't stick to the Genshin game rules either. His catalyst follows him as he mixes up his normal attack pattern. Horrible timing but it's really cool watching him use anemo in creative ways that the game never showed.

The enemies seem to be in a rougher state. There's a three way stand off as they all stop to catch their breath. You see movement behind Heizou and feel your blood run cold.

"Heizou behind you!"

Heizou follows your words and just barely dodges the water blast from the Hydrogunner that was slowly getting back up. With one last fully charged kick to the head, the Hydrogunner falls down. The loud crack lets you know that he may never get up again.

The other two Fatui don't let the opportunity slip. With the Anemoboxer dragging Heizou closer, the Electrohammer slams the hammer down onto Heizou. You clench the sickle in your hand tighter as you can only watch in horror.

You stayed out of the fight for a reason, you couldn't fight you would only be in the way. But that's not an option anymore. Hearing his pained groans as he's punched by the Anemoboxer swirling the electro and rain spurs you into action.

While the Anemoboxer's back is turned you sneak up and raise the sickle. The spot in his back with no armor covering it seems to call to you. You slam the tip of the blade straight into it making him cry out.

You pull it out in a hurry and jump back as the wound bleeds more. The Electrohammer looks at you in surprise giving Heizou a long enough breather to get back up.

The Electrohammer and Heizou go straight back to combat as the Anemoboxer faces you. His huge gauntlets swing around trying to hit you as he coughs up blood. The ground is slippery, and it makes your dodging a little harder.

You jump closer to the boxer making him throw up his shield in reflex. Using the rain, you slide around him and slash his thigh to limit his speed.

The sickle's weight was clumsy at first but the more you traded blows using it, the more you came to master it. Gritting your teeth, you quickly stand back up after slipping from the wet ground.

Silently you urge Heizou to hurry up, you weren't sure how much more you could take. Your mask was starting to crumble but you pushed it to the back of your mind.

The boxer runs up to you in a flash not letting you back away fast enough. Reflexes are what save you from a punch to the face as you crouch and roll away. He's still bringing his fist back to defend himself giving you an opening.

You can tell something is different as you swing your sickle. Something about you is different that makes you wonder if you'll be able to finish the boxer once and for all.

Electro crackles around the sickle as you puncture his chest. The electro-charged reaction and wound seem to do the trick. The boxer stumbles and gasps for air.

You watch in horror and relief as the boxer falls onto the floor. You really killed again, and you used elemental to do so. You don't have a moment to stew on that though as you hurriedly dodge the now furious Electrohammer. The war hammer slams onto the ground and Heizou is quick to kick a projectile anemo shot to his face.

It knocks him to the ground, and you watch with unknown feelings as the mask he wears breaks. The fight is over, you and Heizou won. There's no time to wallow in self-pity, not as Heizou stumbles with a dazed expression.

You're quick to support him and he lays his bleeding head on you. You gently move his arm to wrap around you and do the same for him. His wounds aren't life threatening or serious, but he's been bleeding for a while. You need to stop the bleeding first.

Helping him gently you move him to lean against a small boulder. In a rush you go back to the tent and open your bag. You take out some of the leftover medical supplies you kept (stole) from the Kamisato Estate.

Slinging the bag back on you hurry to Heizou. The rain seems to be letting up as you examine him. His head is bleeding from a cut, so you bandage it first. His shirt is dyed red, and you lift it up and wince at the sight.

Multiple bruises and cuts cover his stomach and chest. That's gonna be a bitch to bandage, especially considering how much damage his back too.

"Sorry Heizou, this'll hurt." Heizou only weakly groans with his eyes screwed shut in pain.

Pushing the shirt as high as you can, you start wrapping it around him. Not the best solution but it's your only one with so little supplies. Heizou's consciousness seems to come and go as you finish and fix his shirt.

The thought of Heizou closing his eyes and falling asleep in such a state worries you. What if he passes out from blood loss and dies? Thoughts like that rise up and you grasp for anything to keep him awake.

"Hey Heizou, if you can respond to me in words. I'll tell you a big hint to my secret."

His eyes focus on you a little more. That's a good sign, nothing like baiting a detective like him with leads.

"Well, *cough* what hint are you *cough* going to give me?" His raspy voice and coughs worry you, but they seem to make him more awake.

"You were really close on me having a second life."

"That's it? That's a *cough* crappy hint."

You laugh at his remark trying to hide your relief. The fear of holding another cold body of someone you cared about still plagues you.

"If you want a better hint then you better drag it out of me as I drag you back to Konda village."

You support him as he chuckles at your words. He does his best to not lay too much weight on you but that's hard when his head is fuzzy.

The walk is quiet and with him so close you relish in the sound of his harsh breathing. It lets you know that he's still breathing, that you didn't fail.

You don't want to think about the person you just killed. So, your mind analyzes about the electro you wielded through the sickle instead. It makes a lot of sense that you can use the elements through a weapon as a medium. How could you have not realized that possibility?

If you continued training with it, could you eventually use electro without a weapon? Probably not but the idea of shooting electro is cool, nonetheless.

Takeru and Futaba are waiting nervously in the spot you instructed. You smile at the sight and wait till you are closer to call out.

"Futaba, Takeru! Over here!"

They smile at the sight of you both and run to meet you. Futaba frowns in worry at the sight of Heizou and you injured. Takeru tries to help by supporting his other side.

Heizou buries his head in the crook of your neck to hide the grimace of pain as Takeru touches the wounded area.

"Takeru, Futaba can you guys guide us to Konda village? It's an important job since we don't want to get ambushed by enemies."

Eyes wide they nod and walk a little ahead. They survey the surroundings seriously and nod at you firmly to show that it's safe.

Heizou keeps his head on your shoulder and mumbles. "Thanks, guess you're as perceptive as I thought."

You huff in amusement and continue supporting him until you all get to Konda village. The two women that were looking for the kids earlier spot you all and rush over.

They both hug their respective family members with tears in their eyes. It's clear that the kids aren't over the dangerous encounter.

"Thank you so much for saving Takeru and Futaba. You both seem very injured, please come to my house. I have some supplies that can help you both."

The village chief approaches you and Heizou with concern. You nod gratefully and help Heizou into the house. There's a small cot on the floor and Heizou lays down on it slowly.

Konda Densuke, the village chief comes back with a fully stocked medical kit. It's more primitive than the ones you are used to in Earth, but it'll work well enough.

"I'll leave you to it, once you're done, please come outside. I'll have something that can help that young man."

Quietly you thank the old man and turn back to Heizou as the door closes.

"I'm about to get pretty personal with your body, that's not a problem, right?"

"Why are you asking as if you weren't doing that earlier? Of course, it's fine, just don't be so obvious with your staring."

"If you weren't injured, I would hit you myself."

He chuckles and removes his cracked arm guards. You focus on taking out the bandages and ointment out of the kit. You leave briefly to wet a rag with water and come back to see Heizou shirtless sitting on the cot.

He smiles up at you seemingly more aware and alert. His bandages around his torso are stained red. Smaller cuts and scrapes cover his arms and legs. The bandage on his forehead is bleeding a lot less than before.

You kneel beside him and carefully remove the bandage on his head. Heizou bears the pain of you wiping away the dirt and applying the ointment well. The new patch is put on his head and your hands move lower to the bandages around his torso.

After unraveling it, you feel relieved that nothing has become inflamed or infected yet. The bruises on his back and front are tended to before you clean the cuts. You firmly wrap the new bandage around his torso. He only tenses up as you finish.

"This is only a temporary solution. Once we get to Ritou you should see a doctor."

"I will, I promise but I must say. This is some pretty good work, like you have experience doing this kind of thing. Care to tell me who you've helped before?"

He really is a nuisance. He was almost killed in a bad match up with three Fatui Skirmishers and his first instinct after properly waking up is to question you?

"Seriously? Not even a thank you? And my expertise comes from taking care of myself if you must know." Scowling with no real annoyance you put away the remaining supplies back into the med kit.

Heizou laughs at your reaction before placing a hand on your shoulder. He rests his head on the opposite shoulder and speaks softly. What is with this guy and leaning on you?

"You're right, thank you Y/N. Even with my suspicions, I'm still thankful that you helped me and those kids. I'm hoping that whatever secret you're hiding isn't one I'll ever have to arrest you for."

HIs bare bandaged chest against your back makes you embarrassed.

"Aren't you a bit too up close and personal with someone you're suspecting?" You say stiffly as he proceeds to melt even further into you.

"Getting shy?" He whispers teasingly. His face is dangerously close to your neck making you tense up further. You already knew that he was a flirt but isn't he moving too fast?!

Your face gets redder as his breath grazes your neck. People have tried to trick you in numerous ways before. That includes pretending to have fallen in love with you for information. Seduction never worked on you due to how untrusting you are.

But in Teyvat? Where the characters you found comfort in and loved? It was hard not to be affected or overthink things like this. While you were avoiding looking at him, Heizou took his time admiring you.

The flustered look on your face, your fingers drumming on your thigh. It was adorable how nervous you were. For a split second he remembered how comfortable you were around the Kamisato, how brightly you smiled. Did you get all flustered around them like this too?

A flash of jealousy engulfs him, and his body seems out of his control. His teeth lightly nip your neck making you stand up in a flash. Your voice is steady, but your heart is beating out of control.

"I'm going to see what the village chief had for you. Just stay here."

Watching you leave in a hurry makes him realize what he just did. Man alive, what the hell made him act like that? Despite the slight guilt from overstepping a boundary, he honestly didn't regret it. If he had a chance, he'd probably do it again.

When you come back in with two plates and a cup. Your face was back to normal, and your posture was relaxed.

"They were nice enough to make us some food and a drink to help with your blood loss. It's some citrus juice so make sure to drink it all."

Sitting down next to him, you pass him the cup and a plate. You eat the food and Heizou follows your lead. It's fine if you don't want to touch on what happened. Frankly he's still unsure why he's become so enamored by you as well. But at least he has a better grasp on you and your secret.

After eating everything you both return the dishes and thank the chief. The elderly women, Takeru, and Futaba all come out despite the dark sky. They thank you and Heizou asking if you need anything.

"Don't worry, I'm just glad no one got seriously hurt." Heizou tries to elbow you with playful intent, but you move out the way with a smile.

"Why don't you both stay the night? Those injuries must still be bothering you. We have extra room."

You only had some minor bruising compared to Heizou. The cuts and scrapes were no more than an itch to you. These kinds of injuries were normal to you on Earth. And you really couldn't afford to waste any more time.

"Thanks for the offer but we have to get to Ritou before the stars come out. Please stay safe."

You wave to them one last time before arriving back at the shore area.

"Seems like there's no more children being kidnapped, let's get across this area fast."

Heizou on the other hand seems content to just stroll along. Well, that wouldn't work for you, you could not miss the Crux. You stop letting Heizou walk a little ahead of you. He notices your absence and stops to look back at you in confusion.

You run past him and grab something from his side. You slow your sprint a little to face him as you raise your prize.

"If you want your jitte back then you'll have to catch me!" Spinning around you face Ritou's direction and continue running. You can hear Heizou kick sand as he chases after you.

He honestly could care less about his jitte. It's the sight of you smiling brightly as he tries to grab you that makes him continue chasing you. The wounds and injuries from the fight still ache but it's worth the pain. You're worth the pain.

You'll be leaving soon. You might be a fraud. Logic says that being so fixated on you so soon is dangerous and stupid. Yet his smile never leaves his face as he finally snatches his jitte out of your hand.

His intuition screams at him that you're so much more. That whatever you're hiding will bring him happiness of a lifetime. That you will bring him that happiness.

You stumble onto the stone pavement in Ritou as Heizou keeps his hand on your shoulder. You're both calming down from laughing at him nearly falling face first into the sand.

"How didn't you see that pile of crabs? Too distracted by me to focus?"

"What if I was? You can't tell since you nearly passed out from laughing at me."

"You can't blame me for that! I would pay good money to have seen you actually fall face first."

You walk past Ritou's town square as the docks and inspection tent get into view.

"Money huh? Is that the currency in your old world?"

You continue walking casually but there's no denying how you almost froze up.

"Is that the conclusion you've come to after all the questions?"

"My intuition tells me that I've barely scrapped the surface but I'm all out of leads. For now, my suspicion is that you come from another world similar to the traveler. Although I'm not sure if the creator ordered you to keep your identity secret. You do seem to be an oracle for them."

Psychology really was amazing. By getting Heizou so worked up about your mask, you managed to have him believe you to be an oracle. The minor fact of you not being from this world makes him feel accomplished in a sense. You let him figure out one secret to hide a bigger one.

"You really are a great detective. No one else has realized I'm not from this world but you. But that didn't answer my original question in the game. It seems like you lost Heizou, no secrets for you."

Stopping at the end of the stairs Heizou looks at you seriously.

"I really hate leaving mysteries unsolved."

"Then you'll just have to handle me being the mystery left unsolved."

"What if I just took your mask off right now? We both know I'd catch you even if you tried to run. Or better yet I could arrest you for any stupid reason just to take it off."

You can't stop the laughter that bubbles up inside you. You wipe the moisture from your eyes as your laughter turns to giggles. The main reason you were okay with traveling with Heizou despite his intense need to solve mysteries is because...

"That would utterly destroy your pride. I know that you dislike fighting, that the moment you're forced into combat while solving a mystery is when you feel like you lost. You take so much pride in becoming a detective that having to resort to force would be a low you'd never stoop down to reach."

He turns away with a relaxed stance. His head angled to the ground with a nostalgic smile.

"Guess you must have found out some of my private information through the creator. But you're right, I would never do that."

It's quiet as you two resume walking to the inspection tent. Ah crap, does the fan work as an ID for you too?

There's no line due to how late it is but there is a familiar person.

"Sara?"

She turns away from the inspector and looks at you with some confusion. The sight of Heizou next to you, so close to you, makes her frown.

"Y/N, a pleasure to see you again. I can only assume that you are leaving under the creator's orders but what are you doing with Shikanoin?"

"But didn't you ask him to check up on me?"

...That little shit.

Sara glares at Heizou as you mentally put the pieces together. Sara sees Heizou as someone irresponsible. There's a very low chance of her entrusting someone connected to the 'creator' like you to him. She would rather do it herself.

Ayato was right when he said that Heizou tends to skip or delegate regular Doushin duties to others. And that's because he has no interest in those jobs. Sara probably knows that full well and would rather avoid that outcome. Plus, Heizou even asked where you arrived on Inazuma even though you already told Sara that you woke up on Ritou.

"Shikanoin, that is not acceptable behavior for a Doushin. What explanation do you have for yourself?"

Sara's stern voice bounces off Heizou who is far too used to it. You didn't bother stepping in. Not only were you curious how he got to know all your previous information, but the sneaky bastard deserved it.

"Madam you really can't blame me for investigating on my own accord. Not only have there been some subtle rumors about a mysterious oracle, but you kept glancing at Y/N during the festival. As Y/N already knows, I listened in on their conversation with the Kamisato Clan for a bit before introducing myself."

"Even still, you know the proper procedures to investigate something. Now that you've already interrogated them, you should leave them be- What are those wounds?"

Sara's exasperated voice turns cold when she looks closer at you and notices the minor cuts on you.

"Were you attacked on the way here? Not only did the oracle get injured but you also investigated them in this state?"

Maybe you should step in now, Sara seems on the verge of throwing him in jail.

"It's fine Sara, some Fatui were trying to kidnap two children from Konda village, so we stepped in. Honestly Heizou did most of the fighting and is the real wounded one."

You smile and finish with an almost proud laugh. "It was impressive how Heizou had me fooled this entire time. I'm not mad at all so don't worry Sara. But thank you for being so worried."

You softly hold Sara's hands and give a grateful squeeze before pulling away. You step past her to talk to the inspector. This was gonna be a nightmare. You don't see the competitive glare Heizou and Sara give each other.

As you are denied exit permission due to your lack of identification, Sara and Heizou step in to help you at the same time. After a few minutes of Sara and Heizou vouching for you as third-party authorizers, you hand over the fan.

That seemed to be enough proof for them to hand you a stack of papers to fill out. You moved the monstrous number of papers to a crate. Paperwork that you had to touch to read before filling out, what a joy.

"I'll be leaving first. The Shogun requires my presence for an important meeting. Shikanoin, I expect you to be at headquarters to finish all the new paperwork you earned after pulling the stunt you did. And Y/N please stay safe on your journey, may the creator guide you."

"Thank you, Sara, good luck at the meeting! Oh, and please tell the Arrataki Gang goodbye for me too!"

Serious as always, she nods her head before leaving. Heizou moves to stand beside you as you start tracing the words to become readable.

"Why are you touching the letters? You didn't recognize or read the words on the temple so how does touching it help?"

"To put it simply I can read the words easier after I touch them. But shouldn't you be on your way too? Don't think I've forgotten how beat up you are. Go see a professional before every medical building closes!"

"Man alive, are you trying to get rid of me so soon? Why I thought we bonded so well over our time together."

You know he's just playing and teasing but the answer you give is sincere.

"I did, I had a lot of fun. Despite how annoying you were at times, I really enjoyed playing around with all the questions and answers. But I would rather suffer through all this paperwork alone then let you stay with me as hurt as you are. So do us both a favor and see a doctor."

His eyes widen for a split second before settling into something calmer and sweeter. Have you truly bonded with him enough for him to let such a pure expression show?

"Since you were so honest with me, I'll go now."

You smile gratefully and are about to voice your goodbye before he pulls you close to him. You stand in a stupor as his chest presses against yours. His whisper is low and earnest.

"It was a pleasure to meet you Y/N. I eagerly await your next visit to Inazuma."

He releases you before walking away smoothly. Robotically you go back to the paperwork and fill it out. It's probably best to not take his words as anything deeper than friendly. Heizou has always been a flirty character, you were nothing special to him… right?

The stars are out by the time the paperwork is handed in and you have permission to leave. Not wanting to look at the identification card they gave you, you stuff it into your bag for later use.

The Alcor is huge, there is only one crew member awake on the deck and you climb the ramp to speak to him.

"Hello, my name is Y/N, this is the Alcor correct? Here is the fan I was told to show as my ticket." You give the fan to him as he stares at it tiredly.

"I never really expected someone to actually bring it at one point. You must be Lord Kamisato's guest of choice. Come in and enter the doors on the right. The voyage itself is 15 hours but taking into account other things, the trip will take a whole day. Go get some rest."

He gives you back the fan, and you nod in thanks. As you walk past him to the right side, a voice calls out to you from the docks. Curiously you go the railing and look down to see Yae there.

You frown in confusion at her appearance. She must have arrived after you put in the paperwork. Surely, she overhears what Heizou said. Even so, the sight of the sly kitsune makes you automatically stressed.

"Catch." Is your only warning before a small box is thrown towards you. Catching it swiftly, you open it to see a mask inside it. It's a gold accented fox mask specifically designed to only cover the top of your face. The shine and lack of marks make it clear how new and expensive it is.

"An apology for bringing up an uncomfortable subject to you in our conversation. The war has affected many people but it's those in your position that suffered in ways others have not. I hope that whenever you come back to Inazuma, you'll have a lighter heart."

You close the box and smile at her with gratitude. It's a perfect mask for that creeping feeling of dread. This is now the second mask you've obtained from stealing. This mask could have been something different for someone who actually suffered due to the war.

Silently you wave at Yae before she leaves without any other words. You watch her form disappear around a corner as whispers asking, "Where is Captain Beidou?" and "Did she drag Kazuha to drink with her again?" roll off you. You can deal with that later.

The walk to an empty room below the deck is a blur. Your few belongings are on the table as you lay on the bed. The Anemoboxer that you killed rises up in your mind like a tide.

They were kidnapping children, that should be enough justification for their death. You don't feel like arguing that point. You also don't feel like thinking on how you'll deal with any future Fatui members either.

Instead, you ponder about the sickle you used that was encased in electro. If you activate other Statues of the Seven, could you unlock other elements?

Those were the only thoughts you allowed yourself to think about as you gradually fell asleep.

Well this took a while. If anything I blame the fight scene and Heizou being flirty. I did use my decently built Heizou and fought that exact squad of Fatui. He defeated two before dying (it was raining) meaning the outcome of that fight isn't off. I'm experimenting with different yandere types and how the interact. I'm sure most people would write Thoma and Gorou acting nice and trying to one up each other by being kinder while keeping their rivarly secrect. But I thought it was funnier if they were outright hostile and were very bad at hiding it. In case anyone is wondering, I will not be writing full on smut. I'm not sure how far I'll take it in terms of stuff like making out but it'll probably never get past a kiss or two. Maybe I'll change my mind but never smut. I'm far too embarrassed for that.

I never realized just how many characters I had to write until I put the tags. I don't want to know how many words it is but it's 13k. Which is honestly pretty good, I was expecting like 15-16k. I'm very glad that I split the chapter. With Fontaine coming close and the trailer out, I'll probably spend more time playing to make up the primogems needed. Maybe more readers will join with the new hype or players will read less due to the new updates idk.

Taglist: @vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @sielt, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @conspicuous-mayonnaise, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifo, @sielt

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin impact #whisp's amateur work #genshin sagau #genshin impact x reader #yandere sagau #genshin impact sagau #sagau #sagau x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere heizou #yandere ayato #yandere sara #yandere thoma #yandere ayaka x reader #yandere yoimiya #yan yoi fans need to step up #yandere yae miko #yandere gorou #yandere kokomi #no yan kokomi fans either? #sagau cult au #genshin cult au #oracle au #so many characters

[staytinyville]

OUTLAW (1)

ATEEZ ot8 x Reader

Cowboy AU/ Wild West (it’s giving Red Dead Redemption)

New Fanfic for ATEEZ boys. I got no clue yet if it’s gonna be mature quite possibly but we get there when we get there. For now, I’ll be giving warning here if there is a chance of those things. Please enjoy!

You worked in your family's Inn, attending to the patrons who came and went. The Illusion Inn was built by your grandfather when he had left his hometown in search of work. This was back when the town was barely putting in the cobblestone roads and better infrastructures. When the revolution started hitting closer, the Inn was the first one to house all the workers who were coming to better the city. 

Now though, it wasn’t often that people would stay longer than a day or two, they were only traders moving along to sell their things. You had the select few who had some jobs to do in the area and stayed for longer, but most often than not the hotel always had at least one room open. 

It made working there a lot easier for you seeing as you had three other siblings ranging in age from 20 to 6. The eldest were all placed to work around in some capacity which made the load that much easier to handle. Since being the oldest you were told to manage the front desk as well as the bar while your father was busy handing out drinks to the men who were often seen coming in just for alcohol. 

Being a waitress for the saloon part of the hotel meant you got to meet people of all kinds of class. As well as stories from different parts of the country. Each patron came in with outlandish stories about their journey by horse to Cromer or the gangs they met along the way. 

It was the time in history where so many people found it easier to steal and kill for things rather than do work themselves. Everyone was struggling to some extent. No one was safe from poverty when it came to building a society that was barely starting. 

“I think the outlaw is moving this way,” Some man spoke to your father behind the bar counter. “I heard he shot up a bar in Sharpstown. You better be careful with your family.”

Your father met your eyes as you placed a tray full of empty glasses on the bar. You carried on with your work though, moving to clean the cups you had just cleaned up. 

It was hard to miss the large wanted poster that was plastered nearly on every building in town. The bold Dead or Alive really caught everyone's attention. While it wasn’t uncommon to find a wanted poster of someone, it was rare to have the government want them dead or alive. You must have done something extreme to reach that point. 

“Don’t worry about me, John.” Your father told the man politely. “I’ve seen plenty of outlaws come and go here. You just have to know what to serve them.”

You pursed your lips to keep from giggling at your father. You moved around him to get some empty bottles of liquor before going back to pick up more dirty dishes. It was a rather tame day due to being the middle of the week, so the saloon of the Inn wasn’t really packed. It was easy to forget about the outlaw and his travels.

It was around the time the saloon closed for the night and your younger siblings had all gone to bed that things seemed to change within the air. Your mother was moving things around inside preparing to lock the door for the night, when the sound of horses caught both of your attention. 

You saw your mother pause at the door, moving the stopper to hold it open herself. She spoke some words to someone outside before moving to allow them room to enter. You were quick to put the cash from the day into a box, locking it to keep the two men from seeing just how much you actually had. 

There were two of them, their styled boots hitting the wood flooring with a loud stomp. When they had walked through the threshold, they immediately glanced around the area, assessing the place. 

You weren’t one to shy away from your opinion on people. As a child you would oftentimes get in trouble because you would openly make faces at people. As you grew older and started working with the patrons of the inn you learned how to be more subtle about it. So while these men assessed the inn you took the moment to assess them. 

The tallest one walked ahead of the other, seemingly messing with the bands around his wrists. He only took a glance around the lobby before heading in your direction with purpose. He had a slim face with high cheekbones. The clothes he wore were meant to withstand the weather. He was decked out in leather and cowboy boots.

The other however walked with his shoulders squared, eyes moving about in search of something he might not like. Unlike the tall man, this one had a more stern expression on his face, he looked mature. He wore just about the same clothing as the other, however his pants seemed to stretch over thighs a bit tighter. 

It was especially hard to miss the police badges on their chest as you eyed them up. When they reached you, you had to look up as the man spoke to you first. 

“We would like a room.” He told you. 

The Inn was technically closed for the night so you couldn’t give them a room until the morning. You glanced at your mother first, the woman giving you a nod.

“Just one?” You asked, glancing behind him to his partner. 

“Just one. With two beds if possible.” He didn’t dare to move his eyes from you as you stared him down. 

He didn’t speak more on the subject, but you knew he was coming up with conclusions on his own about the place he had just entered. It left a bubbling feeling in the pit of your stomach to think this person would assume you or your family would bring harm to anyone. Maybe you would if threatened. 

“(Y/N).” Your mother cleared her throat. “Please give these kind officers the room in the back.”

“Of course.” You told her, moving along to get the key you needed. 

“Follow me.” You told them, not waiting to see if they had listened. You could hear their boots clicking on the floor so you knew they had. 

The room was on the first floor towards the back of the Inn. With the building stationed on closer to the outer limits of the town, the view from the windows was of the meadows and neighborhoods. Your grandfather had chosen the area to make it easier for travelers who came by horse or foot to find rest faster. Your home wasn’t that far, which meant oftentimes you all would walk back for a rest. 

“I am the attendant for the night.” You told them in a rehearsed voice. “Should you need anything, I will be in the front.”

With that you immediately left the room and back towards the front with a shiver going down your spine. They weren’t dangerous men from what you could feel, but they still left you with an uneasy feeling.

“I’m going to head home now.” Your mother told you. “Be careful. You know where the gun is.”

It wasn’t the first time it was your turn to take over the night shift. When your parents deemed you old enough to attend to the hotel alone, they took rest and shifted the load. There were other employees as well but they still put you down as someone to watch over the inn. Besides, compared to others they trusted you a bit more. 

It was midnight when you had finished going over the inventory and had decided to go to sleep in the backroom for the night shift worker. Before taking a nap though, you made your rounds around the inn to make sure there was nothing out of the ordinary. 

As you passed the two police officers bedroom, there was some shuffling heard but not enough to cause suspicion. Maybe they had still been awake. You shrugged your shoulders and moved along to take your rest. 

That was short lived when around 3 in the morning there was a lot of noise going on outside of the window. There was a good amount of cursing and arguments of trying to keep others quiet as whoever the group was seemed to move along the hotel's side. 

You kept the light off, hoping the street lamps would illuminate the aggressors. All you could make out were silhouettes cluttered at the end of the hotel. You tried to quietly open the window to peak your head out to get a better view. 

The building stretched for a good amount so the group hadn’t caught sight of you peeking in at them. You quickly glared when you noticed them huddled at the window that was meant for the last bedroom of the floor. It was the room where the officers were staying. 

With outlaws in mind, you were quick to put on your boots and a cardigan to cover up your pajamas. You rushed to the front lobby, doing a double take on the rifle leaning against the wall by the door. You made haste to grab it before rushing out of the lobby and into the foggy night. 

When you turned the corner, you raised the gun aiming it towards whoever you could. Before you could shoot to alert others, the last person seemed to have made their way into the window ungracefully. You cursed to yourself quickly rushing to see where they had entered. 

“Hey!” You screamed, rushing forward with the gun aimed right into the bedroom. Your eyes went wide as the barrel pushed into the stomach of the tall officer from earlier in the day. 

His arms were stretched above his head as he was about to shut the window. His eyes went wide as well when he realized someone was looking into the room. He moved to the side in a panic, eyes searching for his leader on what to do. 

As he moved out of the way, you noticed there were more men in the room than you cared to admit. You were more worried about how they all fit into the small space if anything. While your eyes scanned over all of them, you counted 6 new people in total. However the ones that seemed to stop you from scolding them were the two who seemed to be bleeding profusely. 

There was one on a bed, more than likely staining the sheets that made you internally cringe at having to buy new ones. Another was holding onto his shoulder as he seemed to sit across from the one sprawled out on the mattress. 

Just as your wide eyes swept back over the other men, your eyes caught the blue haired man who was looking at you with squinted eyes. 

“Grab her.”

Series Masterlist

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #choi san #ateez san #jongho #seonghwa #hongjoong #yeosang #wooyoung #jeong yunho #ateez hongjoong #kpop boys #kpop fanfic #outlaw #atiny #atz #wild west au #cowboy au #ateez ot8 #non idol au #ateez mingi #mingi x reader

[97-liners]

out of the frying pan and into your heart

jeon wonwoo x female reader

tags: college au, fraternities, fake dating, misunderstandings, childhood friends to lovers, this all could have been resolved with some proper communication, lots of pining specifically for em, fluff, rom com, best friend minghao, y/n is oblivious!!!

warnings: alcohol, weed, frats, american college setting

words: 9.3k

synopsis:

it starts, as it always does with this particular collection of friends, with shenanigans and cahoots.

well, more specifically, for wonwoo it starts with shenanigans, when soonyoung and junhui somehow manage to collide brain cells and write in to the school newspaper's love advice columnist about his crush on his childhood best friend.

and for you, the aforementioned childhood best friend and, in secret, also the aforementioned love advice columnist, it starts with cahoots when kim mingyu manages to convince you to fake date him so he can win some popularity contest for his frat.

for @notesof-mh

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It starts, as it always does with this particular collection of friends, with shenanigans and cahoots. 

Well, more specifically, for Wonwoo it starts with shenanigans, when Soonyoung and Junhui somehow manage to collide brain cells. 

He had barely been awake for 15 seconds when they had barged into his room, laptop in hands, just to show him the text in a pink-colored submission box surrounded by heart emojis. Wonwoo squints, the blurry words coming into just enough focus for him to make out what they say. “Dear Cherry, I’m a third year computer science student and I’m in love with my best friend, except I’m— what the hell is this?” 

He glares at Soonyoung who grins cheerfully and points again at the screen. “Read the rest, Wonwoo!”

Wonwoo sighs and continues reading. “Except I’m a huge awkward loser and she’s so cool and pretty, and I don’t know how to tell her I like her. What should I do?”

“Alright, hit send,” Junhui instructs, tilting the laptop away and laughing maniacally. 

Wonwoo pushes his hand across his face, trying his best to wipe away the last vestiges of sleep-addled confusion, and then he realizes what’s happening.

“Wait, you can’t do that,” he tries to protest, but Soonyoung giggles and clicks a button.

“No, this will be good,” Junhui says, plopping down on the edge of Wonwoo’s bed. “Minghao told me that whoever runs the advice column in the school paper is, like, a love guru, and she has four thousand followers on instagram. And she’s never shown her face, but she’s probably also really pretty.”

Wonwoo groans. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“Just trust us,” Soonyoung pats Wonwoo’s knee through the blanket, “this is a good idea.”

And for you, it starts with kahoots, when your chemistry lab partner, Mingyu, pulls your stool closer to his side and whispers a proposition to you.

“Do you want to be my fake girlfriend?”

You narrow your eyes at him through your fogged up department-issued safety goggles. “Are you insane? What kind of fumes are you on?”

“None,” Mingyu replies. “I’m Sigma’s nominee for the Greek God award at the inter-fraternity tournament this year and I’m the only nominee who’s single.”

“And so I’m your pick,” you respond flatly. 

Mingyu nods eagerly. His safety glasses slide down his nose, and he has to push them back up. “Yeah, you’re so pretty and cool, I think it’d be really impressive if I somehow managed to pull you.”

“Huh.”

“And,” he adds on, lowering his voice even more, “Jeonghan thinks my only real competition this year is going to be Jung Jaehyun from Nu Kappa Tau, and rumor has it you rejected him in high school. Twice. So I think it’d be pretty funny if we ended up together.”

You scoff and turn back toward the titration in front of you. “You can’t go up to people and ask for things like this.”

“C’mon, you know the winner gets free parking for an entire semester,” he whines. “Ok, how’s this? If you’ll pretend to be my girlfriend for the Greek God award, I’ll write our lab reports for the rest of the semester.” 

His offer makes you pause, and he jumps on that pause, wedging his way in there. 

“I’ll give you executive editing power, but I’ll do all the work,” he wheedles, “and I’ll give you a perfect peer eval at the end of the semester. I promise,” he puts a big meaty hand on your lab notebook and smears the ink under his fingers. “Kim Mingyu isn’t a liar.”

“I’ll conveniently ignore the fact that you’re lying about having a girlfriend to win this award, then,” you roll your eyes.

“That’s different, though,” he protests, “the award is dumb and meaningless and I really want it. But a promise made between buddies is important.”

He looks earnest, so you decide to lay off on him just a little. “When we’re fake-dating,” you sigh, “you can’t call us buddies anymore.”

“So that’s a…”

You groan, hating yourself for being so indulgent. “Yes. That’s a yes.”

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“Hold on Y/N, have you seen this?”

“Seen what?” You look over the top of your laptop screen, where you’re halfway through a paper on the Cuban Missile Crisis. 

Minghao, your co-admin of the school newspaper’s (infamous) advice column turns his screen towards you. “Someone wrote in calling themselves a huge awkward loser.”

“Huh,” you grin to yourself as you read over the message quickly. “That’s kind of cute, actually.”

“Of course you think it’s cute,” Minghao rolls his eyes. “I’m going to assign this one over to you.”

“Yeah, sure, but please,” you mutter, “can you be a bit more discreet about it?”

Minghao looks at you over the top of his glasses. “What, about us being Ask Cherry? It’s not as embarrassing as you make it out to be.”

“Be quiet,” you hiss, looking around, “someone could overhear!” You frown, and then quietly, you add on, “and it is embarrassing. I’m supposed to be a journalism major, and I’m here making up horoscopes and giving fake relationship advice three days a week.”

This is an overstatement, and Minghao rolls his eyes. You only make up horoscopes and give fake relationship advice one day a week (Mondays are for Matters Of The Heart, your schedule says). There’s also Am I The Asshole Wednesdays, a campus favorite, and Friday Free-for-alls, when you field confessions of all types. Dear Cherry, I need to get this off my chest. I’ve been using my roommate’s shampoo this whole semester, and today I found out that our two other roommates have also been using this roommate’s shampoo. He doesn’t suspect a thing. 

You hadn’t meant to end up in this position. You write serious pieces for the school newspaper too, reporting on the Student Government’s legislative sessions and the university’s semesterly budget for grants to culturally-centered student organizations. Those articles, you have your name attached to. But at the end of last year, the new editor-in-chief Jeonghan had approached you and convinced (strong-armed) you into becoming the new writer for the infamous advice column, Ask Cherry, since Cherry himself was quitting to make more time for other priorities.

(“And the kicker is,” you had complained to Minghao, “nobody will ever believe me.” Choi Seungcheol, fraternity president, football player, gym rat, jock, fuckboy extraordinaire— relationship advice columnist? No, it’s simply not realistic. 

“I’m sitting on the juiciest piece of gossip to cross my path in my entire life, and I can’t do anything about it,” you say dejectedly.

“Hmm.” Minghao doesn’t even pretend to be interested.)

But, despite your disastrous real-world love life, your clumsily dispensed life advice, and the completely made up horoscopes, Ask Cherry readership skyrocketed under your intrepid watch. Once, you told a reader that the albino squirrel that lives in the tree next to the physics building was a good omen, and the next day, rumor spread that an albino squirrel sighting would grant you an A on your next exam. For weeks after, people would scatter peanuts and pieces of toast by the base of the tree next to the physics building, until campus facilities had to fence the area off because raccoons were starting to show up instead. 

Minghao finding out had been a complete accident, after you had lent him your laptop to print out a paper that was due the next hour, but you had forgotten to minimize the window with your Ask Chrery submissions. Minghao, being someone who loves giving advice, both solicited and unsolicited, naturally joined in on this scheme of yours. 

“Anyways,” you shrug. You look up as Junhui steps into the public study area of the library and scans the tables twice before making eye contact with you, and then waving. “Minghao, did you invite the others over to study with us?”

“Yeah,” Minghao responds, raising an eyebrow at you. “You got a problem with that?”

“No, it’s just—“ you’re about to complain about never being able to focus on your work with the rest of them around, but the words die on your lips when you spot Wonwoo trailing behind Junhui with a bemused expression on his face and a cardboard tray holding bubble teas in his hands. You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. “Hey guys,” you wave over to them, clearing off the table space next to you to make room for them. 

“I brought you a taro milk tea,” Junhui announces, gesturing behind him, “and a Wonwoo to boot.”

“He made me walk with him because he didn’t know your favorite drink,” Wonwoo explains quietly as he slides the drinks onto the table and takes his seat next to you. “Are you working on that international relations paper?”

“Yeah.” You take your taro milk tea. No ice, 50% sweet, tapioca pearls and grass jelly, just the way you like it. 

“Do you think you’ll be done by Friday?”

“I will be free by then,” you promise him, punctuating your statement by stabbing your boba straw through the film covering the cup. You’d rather suffer through an all nighter on Sunday than miss your regular Friday night gaming sessions with Wonwoo, a tradition the two of you have kept up since both of you were in middle school and still playing Starcraft.

“Anyway,” Junhui leans over the table, resting his chin on top of his interlaced fingers. “I have a funny story.”

You tear your gaze away from Wonwoo. “Hm?”

“So, you know that advice columnist for the school paper? Wonwoo submitted a question the other day. Well, Soonyoung and I did, but for Wonwoo.”

You feel your blood run cold. It’s not that you’re ashamed of running a love advice column, but it’s more that you’re… embarrassed. And you’ve been running it in secret for so long that at this point, you can’t even fathom anyone outside of Minghao knowing. Maybe when you graduate, you’ll do an identity reveal, but you’re not quite there now.

“Can we talk about literally anything else,” Wonwoo grouses, somewhat to your relief. he glares at Junhui, but the effect is somewhat dampened when he lifts his bubble tea to his mouth and loudly slurps up some tapioca pearls.

“Yeah,” you quickly agree, not eager to have your secret identity exposed.

Junhui steamrolls on ahead, however. “So. If you’re reading the column and there’s a question from someone who has a big stupid crush, you know who it’s from.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Wonwoo? A crush?

“Junhui,” Wonwoo groans, digging his fingers into the bridge of his nose, brows furrowed in an expression of exquisite pain. 

Minghao, however, leans forward and lets his glasses slide down his nose. He laces his fingers together. “A crush? On who?”

Junhui and Minghao both turn to stare at Wonwoo, who flushes beet red. 

“Oh, hey guys!”

You feel a heavy arm around your shoulder and turn to see, to your abject horror, Mingyu, who scoots his way onto the bench to squeeze in next to you. “What are you doing here,” you hiss at your oversized interloper, but Mingyu just glances pointedly at the spot two tables down where a bunch of upperclassmen are sitting and chatting. You recognize Choi Seungcheol, the president of Mingyu’s frat, and you sigh and deflate. Fine. A promise is a promise.

You smile weakly at the other three guys sitting at your table. “Surprise,” you say flatly,” Mingyu is my boyfriend now.”

You’re momentarily distracted by a loud honking noise as Junhui narrowly avoids choking on his bubble tea and spraying the table through his nose. 

“Mingyu?!” Minghao sounds simultaneously dismayed and slightly judgemental.

“C’mon, dude,” Mingyu whines, slumping like a kicked puppy. You pat his bicep soothingly. “You don’t have to make it sound that bad.”

Minghao and Junhui share a conspicuous glance. Mingyu isn’t the type of guy you’d usually go for, but you think this reaction is a bit uncalled for. “He’s not that bad,” you find yourself defending your fake boyfriend. “Mingyu is nice, and he’s really tall.”

You blink. Mingyu turns his pout on you now. “Nice and really tall? Are you for real?”

“It’s true,” you scowl at him. “Are you here to study, or did you just come by to get on my nerves?”

“Okay, well,” Junhui interjects sharply, “Wonwoo and I should get going.”

“Wait, but you two just got here,” you attempt to protest, but Wonwoo, who had been quiet this whole time, stands up and slings his backpack over his shoulder.

“I’ll see you later, Y/N,” he says to you, before leaving along with Junhui. 

(It’s not until later, when you’re lounging with Minghao in the living room of your shared apartment, that it hits you, again, but this time with its full weight.

“Wonwoo likes someone,” you say out loud. It’s not a question.

Minghao glances up form his book at you with a frown plastered across his face, his brows creased with irritation. He evaluates you carefully over the silver rims of his glasses, which you know aren’t prescription but are mainly there to make him look elegant and intellectual.

“...yes,” he finally acknowledges.

You frown despite yourself. “I wonder who it is.”

“What does it matter to you,” Minghao scoffs, “you’re dating Mingyu, remember?”

“You can pretend to hate Gyu, but I know you like him better than any of the rest of us.” You really hadn’t been expecting to defend Mingyu twice in a day, but you suppose that’s life as Kim Mingyu’s girlfriend. “And anyways, Wonwoo and I have been friends since we were kids. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me earlier.”

“Yeah, he probably can’t believe it either,” Minghao mutters under his breath so quietly, you almost miss it. Then, in a louder voice, he chides, “don’t think too much about it, yeah? You still have to reply professionally to his advice request. His anonymous advice request.”

“Right,” you sigh dejectedly, frowning at your laptop balanced across your knees. “How do I tell him that he’s not a nerd and a loser without giving away that I know who he is?”

Minghao shrugs. “Maybe tell him to be patient. Or maybe tell him to try to start getting over his crush.”

You consider his suggestion for a moment. It’s appealing, but then the thought of Wonwoo wasting away in his dark bedroom, sighing as he pines over his unrequited love, flashes across your mind. “I just don’t want him to be sad.”)

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“C’mon, he was right on top of you,” Wonwoo complains. You can hear the creaking of his gaming chair in the background, undoubtedly as he rises from his reclined position to gulp down more of whatever energy drink he has in his mini fridge this week. You groan and dig your fingers into the junction between your neck and shoulder, trying with little success to work out the knot that’s developed over this last round of PUBG.

“Wonwoo, that’s the problem, I suck at close range,” you huff in response, “you know I get panicky and forget to turn off auto-fire.”

It’s game night, and you and Wonwoo have been at it for the past two hours. Your paper isn’t done yet, but it can wait. It’s been over a decade since the years when the two of you would spend your summers together playing video games and walking aimlessly around the neighborhood with half-melted popsicles, talking for hours. But even as your social circles diverted from his, it’s always been something of an unspoken agreement that for this, you’d always make time for Wonwoo, and he’d always make time for you.

“Another round?” You and Wonwoo both ask the question at the same time. There’s a pause, and then you’re both laughing. Even over the headset mic, Wonwoo’s laugh is loud and unrestrained. It feels like a secret, a side of Wonwoo that he saves just for you and for Friday nights spent on opposite sides of the monitor.

“So.” You’re still waiting for the next match to start when Wonwoo breaks the comfortable silence. “Mingyu?”

You fidget at the ties of your hoodie. It’s stolen from Wonwoo, and you’ve had it since middle school at least. “Yeah?”

“Interesting choice.”

“What does that mean?”

He makes a casual, noncommittal noise. “I’m just surprised. I didn’t see it coming, and you didn’t tell me about it.”

You open your mouth to tell him that it’s actually all a ruse, to explain the whole situation, but the hard, petulant edge to his voice makes you pause. Wonwoo sounds… upset. But not quite upset. Jealous?

“Wonwoo,” you laugh. Onscreen, the timer counting down to the start of the match appears, and you jam on the space bar to make your character jump over his character’s prone body. “Wonwoo, are you jealous?”

Over your headphones, you hear the sound of his gaming chair squeaking. “I’m not jealous,” he says, in a tone of voice that sounds exactly like Wonwoo when he’s jealous. 

“You are. Where are we landing?” You toggle to the map in the game and zoom in on the path that the plane is taking. The player count in the bottom starts dropping as other players jump out. 

“Blue marker, does that look good to you? There’s a few houses we can loot, and it’s not close to the flight path. If we get bad circle placement, you can shoot me in the foot, if you want. As a treat.”

“Yeah, fine. Lead the way, boss. Anyways, why are you jealous?” You suppress the flutter in your chest. There’s no reason for you to get your hopes up. 

“You’re my friend,” Wonwoo says simply. It feels like a heavy towel being thrown over you. “You used to tell me everything. Mingyu is… fine,” he admits reluctantly. “He’s a good guy. I’m happy for you.”

Your heart clenches. You want to say something soft and sincere, but instead, you return with a jab. “You can’t be upset at me for keeping secrets, Wonwoo. What was Junhui saying about you liking someone?”

“Junhui just says stuff sometimes,” he replies curtly. 

You frown. “Junhui isn’t a liar, though. Who is it?” You ask, despite everything in you telling yourself that you don’t want to know the answer. “Who are they? Maybe I can talk to them for you.”

He laughs humorlessly. “It doesn’t matter. She’s in a relationship with someone else.”

You almost sigh in relief, but you stop yourself just in time. Why are you relieved? “Oh, Wonwoo. That sucks. She doesn’t know what she’s missing out on.”

Wonwoo makes a noise that tells you he’s shrugging. “She deserves better than me.”

“Hey!” You sit up, straightening your spine in indignation. “Don’t say that. You’re great, Wonwoo. You’re criminally underappreciated. You’re smart and you’re so sincere and kind, and maybe other people don’t acknowledge it, but you’re really funny and interesting.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and the only thing you hear is the game audio as your character collects supplies and clears the building the two of you are in. “Let me know if you find any gun that’s not a pistol, by the way. I have a 2x scope on me.”

“Thank you,” Wonwoo replies. You know he’s not talking about the scope.

Even though the two of you are gaming individually in your own rooms, you want nothing more than to tug off your headphones and go down the two flights of stairs to Wonwoo’s apartment and give him a hug.

“I have an AKM and a bunch of healing items on me,” Wonwoo says, “come to me and you can have whatever you want.”

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It would have been much less embarrassing if you had realized it last week when you were walking to class and Wonwoo had stopped you in the middle of the sidewalk to pluck a fallen leaf from your hair with that stupidly fond expression plastered on his face; or maybe when you accidentally fell asleep in his bed during an afternoon study session and woke up later with your head on his shoulder, legs tangled together, the sound of his soft snoring puffing in your ear, his hand held loosely in yours. Maybe in another life, it would have been one of those soft, romantic moments, like something out of a coming of age anime. But no, because you’re you and your life is the way it is, the moment you realize you’re in love with Wonwoo goes like this:

It’s Sunday, noon already, and you’re in Wonwoo’s shared apartment. Junhui had let you in earlier when you had knocked at their door until your knuckles were sore. When you burst unceremoniously into Wonwoo’s bedroom, he’s still asleep with his glasses on, smudged and crooked, and his phone on his chest. You frown. “Wake up, Wonwoo. Did you fall asleep while watching dramas again?”

Wonwoo jumps slightly and lifts his head, brows furrowing. “Huh?”

“You said you’d go to lunch with me.” You extend your arms and spin to show off your cute, perfectly coordinated outfit, picked out specifically to match the instagram trap you’re going to. You even broke out the eyeliner and glitter eyeshadow to match the cute knit cardigan and wool miniskirt you put on. “What hat should I wear? The fuzzy bucket hat,” you hold up option one, “or the beret,” you hold up option two, looking down at Wonwoo expectantly.

Your best friend groans and collapses back onto the bed, eyes sliding shut. “Um. The beret.”

“Okay great, now get out of bed. Our reservation is soon and you still need to wash your face and get dressed.” You poke at his cheek, which is greasy from sleep and still bears the imprint of his pillow. 

“Can you get Minghao to go with you instead?” He doesn’t bother opening his eyes.

“Nope,” you respond, popping the ‘p’, “he has dance practice.”

“Mingyu?”

“He said he had a textile arts club meeting?” You frown. “I’m not sure what it is, but he’s been crocheting like crazy for it this week.”

“Um,” Wonwoo smacks his hand over his face, clearly trying to think of other options. He forgets, however, that he fell asleep with his glasses on, and ends up jamming the frames against this cheek. “Ow. Ok, what about, uh, Seokmin?”

You pout at him even though he can’t see it. “Wonu,” you whine, sitting down on his bed, “I want to go to lunch with you, though.”

At that, he finally cracks his eyes open. “Why?”

Because, you want to say, I don’t want to do this with anybody other than you. You briefly try to imagine doing this whole thing– dressing up, making a reservation, taking pictures and walking around town, huddling together in a cafe in the afternoon to watch the latest Nintendo Direct together– with anybody else, but you just quite settle on it comfortably. No. It has to be Wonwoo. Because Wonwoo is your best friend, because Wonwoo has always been there for you, because Wonwoo just gets you, better than anybody ever has, and every moment you spend with Wonwoo, you feel your mood lifting and relaxing. Because you trust Wonwoo and he trusts you, and because you know him, and you love him–

You love him.

Oh.

Oh.

You’ll have to process that later. “Because you have a car and you can drive me,” you tell Wonwoo instead, shoving the revelation down to the back of your mind and putting it in a box labeled problems for future me.

“Fine,” Wonwoo acquiesces, sitting up with enormous effort. His hair is still sticking up in all directions, making him look like a big dark dandelion. A part of you expects to see him in a different light, now that you think you love him, like there’s supposed to be cherubs singing and starlight in his eyes or something, but instead, you just see regular old Wonwoo. Your best friend. He doesn’t suddenly look like a vision sent from heaven, he just looks sleepy and crusty and a little greasy.

“Hurry up and brush your teeth,” you tell him, slapping him lightly on his belly and laughing at the resulting ouuff that jerks out of him, “you have morning breath and I can smell it from here.”

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From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Re: advice

Dear Cherry, my friend is in love with his childhood friend but she doesn’t love him back :( how do we make her fall in love with him? from anonymous

“Hm,” you sigh out loud, “I wonder if Soonyoung knows that the anonymous signoff is made moot by the fact that he emailed this one in instead of using the anonymous submission box.” You’re draped on the couch with your legs propped all the way up and your laptop on your chest as you scroll through this week’s Am I The Asshole Wednesday submissions.

“You can ignore him,” Minghao says, passing by with a full bottle of wine in each hand on his way to put them away in the kitchen. “I don’t think you should be giving any love advice when your own love life is a mess,” he sniffs. 

“You’re the asshole,” you announce, not looking up from your screen. “That was for you, Minghao.” Clearly, he’s still mad at you after you had revealed the whole Mingyu situation to him a few nights ago. You still remember the blistering look that Minghao had thrown at you, like you’re the dumbest human he’s ever had the supreme displeasure of knowing.

“I guess you don’t want to go to the dance team party with me, then,” your roommate responds smoothly, returning from the kitchen. It’s only 6pm, but Minghao is already dressed in a silk pajama set with a matching robe, lenseless glasses frames perched on the tip of his nose, smelling of strawberry-scented lotion as he pours himself a glass of wine.

You scowl at him.  “Fine. I don’t care.” Turning back to your laptop, you scroll past a few more boring submissions on your hunt for the truly salacious stuff your classmates get up to. “I wonder what Soonyoung is even talking about, though,” you mumble, half to yourself, as you click on the next interesting subject line.

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In retrospect, Mingyu was definitely going to win that Greek God competition, even if Jaehyun from Nu Kapp put up a good fight.

Mingyu’s physique is certainly impressive, and the audience erupted when he won the (shirtless and oiled-up, for some reason) pushup contest, but his clumsiness eventually led him to lose at every other physical challenge. It was his overwhelming victory in the popularity vote and personality contest that got him to first place. It’s probably all because of his unwavering friendliness and his constant need for affirmation manifesting into an overwhelming desire to be helpful, but you like to think that maybe you helped too.

That’s why you’re here, in the kitchen of the Sigma house, absolutely wasted at the celebration party the frat is throwing in honor of Mingyu being crowned the best frat star on campus. Between the blunt that you, Mingyu, Minghao, and Seokmin, another friend in your year, had passed around upstairs, and all the shots that Mingyu had plied you with, you’re feeling weirdly bouncy and giggly and not entirely sure if you’ll remember this the next morning.

“Okay, so,” Mingyu mumbles, pulling you closer as the two of you nestle in a corner, away from whatever is going on at the beer pong table, “we should stage a breakup, right?”

You giggle against the hollow of his throat, arms looped over his shoulders. “Can we make it your fault?”

He whines like a kicked puppy. “Why can’t we make it mutual? Jeonghan would kick my ass.”

“Fine, fine,” you huff, not at all reluctant. “We should give it some time so it’s not suspicious, right?”

“Yeah.” Mingyu nods, accidentally knocking his chin against your forehead. “You’re so smart.”

“Which means I’m still on girlfriend duty tonight,” you conclude.

“Oh, come on.” Mingyu’s hands come down to rest at your waist, his fingertips skimming along the waistband of your skirt, eliciting a shiver from you when you feel his rough, warm skin against yours. “You make it sound like a chore.”

You sigh. Oh well, you could do much worse than Mingyu.

You’re not sure if it’s the weed or the alcohol, or maybe just jealousy at this fake version of yourself that’s happy with a boyfriend and not moping over an unrequited crush on your childhood best friend, but you find it strangely easy to lean up and attach your lips to Mingyu’s, feel the wet heat of his tongue in your mouth. and Mingyu, pliant under your grip as always, kisses you back, going along with it without a second thought.

“No offense,” he pants as he parts from you, “but I don’t think I want to hook up with you.”

You blink at him. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No, no,” he clarifies quickly, “you’re a good kisser, I just don’t want things to be weird between us, which I think might happen if we hook up.”

“If fake dating didn’t make things weird, I’m not sure that hooking up would,” you laugh, more of a giggle than anything. You attach your lips to his jaw, pulling him down towards you so you don’t have to crane your neck. 

“And also,” he nudges at the hair behind your ear with his nose, “you’re like, totally wasted right now.”

“You’re not sober either,” you shoot back, accusatory.

“More sober than you,” he shoots back. He’s right, though. His large stature means that he can hold his liquor much better than you. “It wouldn’t be fair,” he pouts, stubborn, “and I’m not a creep.”

“Fine.” You tug lightly at the short hairs on the back of his head. 

“Are… are you okay?”

Mingyu’s question makes you hesitate for a moment. You lean your flushed cheek against the jut of his collarbone. “I’m drunk,” you respond flatly.

“No, not that, you’re just usually not this…” you feel Mingyu gulp, “clingy.”

You wonder if you should tell him about Wonwoo and your stupid pointless crush that’s starting to feel less like a crush every time you’re with him and more like… something deeper. Something frightening, like a yawning chasm, just waiting for you to fall in.

You’re saved the effort of further deliberation, however, when Mingyu suddenly raises his head and interrupts your thoughts. “Hey, isn’t that Wonwoo?”

You lift yourself off of Mingyu’s chest and look behind you. True to his word, it really is Wonwoo, standing by the door, jacket on, looking at you like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“Huh, he doesn’t usually come to these,” Mingyu observes, tugging idly at the bottom of your shirt. “I wonder why he’s here.”

You think you know why he’s here, though. Earlier, back upstairs, you had excused yourself to the bathroom to take a quick breather. Through an alcohol and weed induced haze, you had belatedly realized that it’s Friday night, and you’re late.

you: cn you come pick me u you: at sigma wonu: are you ok? i’ll be there in a few you: sry im drunk you: wanna go home w u

Now, staring Wonwoo dead in the eyes, you realize with a jolt that you had never told him why you asked him to pick you up. You peel yourself off your fake boyfriend and stumble, clumsily, towards Wonwoo, trying your best to ignore the way the room spins around you.

“Wonu,” you whine reaching out to him.

He frowns. “Are you okay? What’s happening?”

“I’m drunk,” you tell him.

“I know.” He extends his arm and lets you cling on to him as you stumble into his torso.

“And it’s Friday night,” you look up at him.

“Yes.”

“We’re supposed to be playing Overwatch together.” You give him the best puppy eyes you can muster, and he blinks at you, looking flustered.

“Huh?”

“Overwatch,” you insist, tugging him towards the door. “Friday night. It’s Wonwoo and Y/N night.”

“Is… is this what you called me over here for?”

You nod and begin dragging Wonwoo out by the wrist. 

The cool air outside hits your flushed skin like a wave, like you’re jumping into a pool. Wonwoo is silent and lets you continue to cling onto him as he walks you to where he had parked on the side of the street, directly under a streetlight.

You slide into the passenger seat. Wonwoo hands you a bottle of water, cap already removed for you. “Hydrate,” he orders. 

“Sorry,” you whimper, somewhat pathetically.

He frowns. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I must be so annoying,” you mumble, feeling tears welling up in your eyes.

“No,” Wonwoo reaches out and takes your hand over the center console. “You’re not annoying.”

You watch him as he drives. He’s so handsome, your alcohol-addled mind supplies. 

“You don’t think I’m annoying?”

“Never.”

Wonwoo says it like a promise.

Silence falls over the two of you as he drives through campus, all the way back to the student housing unit that both of you live in. He turns off the engine, leaving a silence that feels even more all-encompassing. He looks over at you, face half hidden in the shadows and half illuminated by the orange lamplight outside. “Is Minghao home?”

“N…no, he’s back at the party.”

“Okay, we’re going back to my apartment, then,” he decides.

You blink. “Huh?” But you’re already stumbling out of his car and spilling onto the sidewalk, all wobbly legs and loose limbs. 

“I’m taking you back to my place,” Wonwoo repeats. “You need someone to watch you and make sure you don’t wander off and get lost in the city,” he explains drily.

“‘M okay,” you whine futilely. It’s especially unconvincing, since you’re still stumbling over your own feet and leaning against him. 

Wonwoo lets you rest your cheek on his shoulder and cling onto him as he lets you into his apartment, gets you a glass of water, and digs up a pack of makeup wipes from out of nowhere and sits you on his bed and starts to get to work. 

A small (very drunk) part of you bristles at the appearance of the makeup wipes, and you try to scowl, even as Wonwoo gently wipes at your smudged eyeliner. “Whose are these? Do you have a lot of girls over here or something?”

“They’re Junhui’s, he uses them,” Wonwoo explains. He dabs at one last spot in the corner of your right eye, then announces, “there, you’re all done.”

You open your eyes to see Wonwoo grinning dopily at you. “You’re cute,” you poke at his cheek, and he laughs quietly. Seokmin used to be afraid of him, he had confessed to you, and you wonder why, because the Wonwoo you know is so soft, so loveable, so goofy and cute. 

The Wonwoo you know is shy and awkward and doesn’t quite know how to fit himself into social situations. He’s clumsy and absentminded and needs someone to take care of him, to dote on him and give him attention.

The Wonwoo that you know, you’ve known since you were in second grade, standing over the boy you had knocked over with a rubber kickball, staring at him as he sniffled on the woodchips and glared at you through big watery eyes. That day, you decided right then and there that this boy would be yours, and now…

“Wonwoo,” you blurt out without thinking, “I’m in love with you.”

His breath catches. Wonwoo pauses, digesting your clumsily delivered confession, and then he makes the most awful expression you have ever seen on him.

It’s raw hurt, sharp, painful. His mouth twists and his brows furrow and he looks at you like you’re something to be afraid of. You hate it. You hate that you’re the cause of it, that he’s feeling this, whatever it is, because of you, even though you’re not sure why.

“Really,” you insist. You reach out to grab his hand, but he pulls away from you. “It’s true. I’m in love with you.”

You hear a sharp intake of breath. “You’re not,” he says. “You’re in love with Mingyu. You’re happy with him.”

“I’m not… I’m not in love with him,” you try to explain, but your liquor-numbed lips are clumsy and you trip over your words. You lean towards him, slanting your face up, because you want to kiss him so badly it’s all you can think of. Wonwoo shoves you back, hard. 

“Don’t,” he bites, voice sharp and tense.

“I’m in love with you,” you repeat, reaching out to him, but he pushes your hand back and steps away. Like he’s afraid of you.

“Don’t do it. You’re drunk.” His voice wavers slightly. “Don’t do something you’ll regret tomorrow.”

You shake your head, but Wonwoo looks at you with so much hurt and confusion in his eyes, you can’t bring yourself to argue. “Wonu,” you whisper, reaching out to rest your fingertips on his wrist, “please don’t cry.”

He takes a long, shuddering breath, eyes closed, and then when he exhales and opens his eyes again, his expression is impassive. Unreadable.

“Go to sleep,” he says flatly. “Tomorrow you’ll wake up and go back to your boyfriend, and you’ll be happy that nothing happened tonight.”

He closes the door to his bedroom, leaving you in the darkness.

(Wonwoo is cold.

He’s always a little cold, but in his haste to escape earlier, he hadn’t gotten a blanket or even changed into sweats before closing the door behind him, and now Wonwoo lays on the couch, his feet hanging over the armrest, staring at the ceiling. 

I’m in love with you, your voice rings in his head. Wonwoo’s cheek still burns where you had gently rested your hand earlier. If he hadn’t known any better, Wonwoo might have believed you and given in to his most guilty, far-off fantasy, the one where you love him back.

But Wonwoo does know better. He saw the way you were draped all over Mingyu at the party, the way you giggled into his neck when Mingyu slipped his fingertips under the him of your shirt. Mingyu is good for you, Wonwoo decides. Like you, Mingyu is bright and out-going, popular, well-liked, good at receiving love and gives it readily in return. 

Wonwoo closes his eyes, tries to push away the memory of your body curled into his, and wills his mind into silence so that maybe he can get some sleep tonight.)

You wake up, nauseous and hung over and feeling not at all rested, in Wonwoo’s bed.

Groaning, you swipe at your face, expecting to see a gloopy mess on your fingers, but your makeup has already been removed. You squint at the dim sunlight streaming in through the closed blinds, and you reach around blindly until your fingers close around your phone. 

There’s a smattering of random social media notifications and updates from group chats, but one notification in particular catches your eye.

wonu: i’m outside wonu: where are you? are you ok? wonu: i’m gonna head inside to look for you

You feel your cheeks flush as the memories come trickling back– your drunk texts, insisting that your best friend picks you up, kissing Mingyu, leaving the party with Wonwoo, clinging on to him like a koala…

Gathering your courage and steeling your woozy stomach, you stumble out of bed and throw open the door, poking your head out. Wonwoo is sprawled across the couch, undoubtedly playing some kind of mobile game, when he looks up at you. His hair is sticking up in every possible direction and his shirt is crumpled. “Hi,” he says, expression impossibly neutral.

“Hi,” you grin, waving lamely. “I feel like shit. I didn’t say anything weird or embarrassing last night, did I?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “You don’t remember?”

You shake your head. “I remember you picking me up from the frat, I think.”

For a split second, he looks relieved. Then, he puts his phone down and laughs at you. “You didn’t do anything embarrassing,” he grins, “except for abandoning your boyfriend at the party because you wanted to play Overwatch with me. C’mon, do you want to get brunch?”

You press your palms against your throbbing forehead. Your brain hurts, and you’re almost sure you half-remember telling Wonwoo that you’re in love with him, but Wonwoo is looking at you expectantly and you’d like nothing more than some french toast and a hot coffee right now, so you shrug. “Sure, lemme wash up and get changed in my apartment first.”

.

.

.

“Dear Cherry, my friend is hopelessly in love with his childhood best friend, who is currently dating a hot frat dude. Should he just give up? The moping is starting to bum me out and I’m worried my hair is going to fall out. Love, Wen Junhui.”

You wrinkle your nose at the message. “And has anybody ever told Junhui that the whole point of anonymous submissions is defeated when he signs his messages with his full name?”

Minghao looks up from the canvas he’s busy splattering paint on. It’s his semester final project, and you had promised to accompany him in the basement of the fine arts building as he works.

Instead of answering, he looks at you like you’re the densest human he’s ever had the misfortune of meeting. “Maybe he’s not trying to be anonymous. Maybe he’s trying to complain about someone we know.”

You squint at your laptop screen. “Who is this supposed to be about, anyways?”

This time, Minghao actually rolls his eyes at you. “Whatever. Have you broken up with Mingyu yet?”

“Yeah, we broke up two days ago. It was mutual, because Mingyu was genuinely afraid that Jeonghan would kick his ass if we said we broke up with me.”

The two of you had made a whole show of deleting all your carefully staged couple photos off your social media accounts, and then unfollowing and refollowing each other within the span of two days, because as the story goes, you and Mingyu had talked it over and are better as friends than as a couple.

“That’s nice,” Minghao says. He unscrews a jar of turpentine and starts to clean off his brushes. “Maybe you should respond to Junhui’s advice submission.”

You groan. “I’ll just tell him to tell his friend to get over it,” you scowl.

“By the way, what’s wrong with Wonwoo?”

“What do you mean?” You look up. Minghao is now attacking the canvas with a palette knife, carving some dramatic impasto into the paint.

“The last two times all of us hung out together, he’s been all…weird.” Minghao wrinkles his nose. “It’s like he’s some kind of guilty dog. He stares at you when you’re not looking, and then he looks away when you are.”

You chew on your lip, work now long forgotten on your idle laptop. Minghao is right. Wonwoo has been different, but not… different. He’s as unwaveringly weird as always, and he’s been texting you links to youtube cat videos and starting arguments on video game theories as always, but it feels like Wonwoo has been aggressively normal. Like how best friends are supposed to be. Light and easy.

“I don’t know. I feel like he’s been acting weird these days too, but I can’t figure out how.”

“You should talk to him,” Minghao says, like talking to Wonwoo about his feelings is easy or something. Or like talking about your own feelings is easy.  

“Or maybe I shouldn’t,” you sigh. Whatever is going on with Wonwoo, you’re just glad he still wants to hang out with you. You’re not entirely sure what you even did wrong, but you’d be willing to beg on your hands and knees for him to forgive you and to stick by your side. “Whatever. We’re gaming together this Friday, I’ll think about it then, I guess.”

.

.

.

“Wonu, I’m scared,” you whine into the mic. It’s another Friday night and the two of you are playing PUBG again. You’re in the endgame now– the original 100 has been whittled down to just 5 players remaining, including you but not including Wonwoo, who had been killed earlier and is now spectating you in-game like some sort of ghost. 

“Just sit tight,” he instructs. In your mind’s eye, he’s leaning back in his gaming chair, arms crossed as he observes your gameplay. 

“There’s gunshots,” you complain, “North? I think they’re hiding by those rocks. It sounds like they’ve got a good sniper rifle, too.”

“They don’t know you’re there. Just let the other teams fight it out. You have enough ammo?”

You huff. “I have like, twelve shotgun shells.”

“And you have the location advantage. Just sit and wait for now.”

You sigh, aimlessly panning the camera back and forth in your anxiety. “Fine,” you agree, because despite it all, Wonwoo is still better at this game than you are, and because you trust him. 

Seconds pass. The audio of distant gunfire in crisp surround sound keeps you on edge and tense, so that when you hear Soonyoung, one of Wonwoo’s roommates, you nearly jump out of your skin. 

“Hey, are you busy?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo replies. His voice is tinny and quiet, but still clear, like he’s slipped his headset off and mic is pushed away. “I’m gaming with Y/N. I’m muted, don’t worry.”

You’re about to shout and let him know that he’s not actually muted, but your curiosity gets the better of you when you hear Soonyoung’s next words:

“Right, speaking of Y/N, that reminds me. Did you hear that Y/N and Mingyu broke up?”

“Oh.” There’s a pause, and then you hear Wonwoo ask, “why?”

“Dunno. Mingyu wouldn’t give me any details. He said something lame, like that they’re better off as friends, or something.”

“Oh. When did this happen?”

“I think on Wednesday? At least that’s what Seungkwan told me.”

“Hm.”

“Anyways, isn’t that great? You can finally shoot your shot!”

“Are you insane, Soonyoung? It’s been less than a week!”

“Well, okay, fair. But next week? She didn’t seem too sad about it in class today.”

“That’s because she was in class. And anyways, this doesn’t change anything between us, so I’m not going to do anything either.”

“Are you kidding me? So you’re just going to keep it a secret forever?”

“Yeah. I’ll die before I tell Y/N that I’m in love with her.”

Oh.

You sit at your desk, staring at your monitor but not seeing anything. Very quietly, you press your fingers against your lips, as hard as you can, and feel the blood rushing past your ears. 

“I’m not going to ruin our friendship over nothing,” Wonwoo continues.

“It’s not nothing,” Soonyoung replies with a pout in his voice. “You’ve been in love with her for years. Since high school, at least.”

“She just sees me as a friend, that’s all,” Wonwoo sighs. 

Since high school. He’s loved you since high school.

You remember the way he looked at you after prom when he was dropping you back off at home. You had gone with him because the boy you wanted to ask you, some boring soccer player, had asked your friend instead, and Jaehyun had already asked (and been rejected by you) twice, and nobody else had asked you to be their prom date. And Wonwoo, awkward and quiet as he was, had fully expected to skip prom completely, but three days before you had shown up at his locker after school, desperate because you already had a dress and a group to go with and tickets but no date, practically begging him to go to prom with you. And without even thinking, Wonwoo had agreed.

That night, when he drive you home, you leaned your head against the car door with the windows rolled down and felt the wind on your face. At the end, when he parked his car on the side of the street in front of your childhood home, you looked over at him and told him. “I’m so glad we’re going to college together, Wonwoo. I want to be with you forever.”

And he had watched you as you said it, quiet, like he was breathless. Like you had said something terrible and incredible at the same time. 

It’s always been Wonwoo beside you, lazy summers spent playing video games, late night phone calls where you’d talk and he’d listen, after class in his car listening to the radio and eating junk food. Had he loved you then? With ketchup on your shirt and acne across your face and poorly box-dyed hair? And had you loved him then too? Before you even knew what love is?

The weight of it is heavy, settling in your stomach like a hot stone. It almost hurts, how much you feel.

You’re interrupted by a very loud spate of gunfire piercing your eardrums and making you jump,  shrieking loudly as you’re killed in-game. Onscreen, your bloodied character rolls limply down the hill as “Better luck next time! #2/48” flashes on top of your game stats.

“Aw, second place, so close,” you hear Wonwoo say. Then he pauses. “Wait. Was I not muted just now?”

“Wonwoo, I’m going downstairs,” you tell him.

“Wait–” his voice is tight and panicked, but you’re already tugging your headset off and grabbing your keys.

You nearly avoid tripping over your feet as you run to the stairwell at the end of the hall and fly down the two flights of stairs, to where Wonwoo is. By the time you’re banging at their door, you’re out of breath and flushed. You’re not sure if the pounding of your heart is from the exertion or if it’s from something else. Anxiety, maybe. Fear. Exhilaration.

Wonwoo answers the door. He looks exactly like you’d expect, with his rumpled tee shirt and sweatpants and bare feet, his glasses on and his bangs pushed back with the bunny shower headband you bought for him last year.

“Hi,” you grin breathlessly at him.

“Hi,” he replies.

“Can I come in?”

He takes a deep breath, like he’s steeling his nerves. “Yeah.” He opens the door wider and steps aside to let you in, and you follow Wonwoo to his room.

It’s dimly lit with the rainbow glow of his gaming setup and the ready screen for PUBG still up on one of his monitors. Wonwoo flicks on the overhead light, which throws the room into sharp relief. The sudden brightness makes everything feel more real, somehow. 

You sit on the edge of Wonwoo’s bed and pat the spot net to you, which he takes. “Wonwoo,” you say.

Wonwoo purses his lips. “How much of that did you hear earlier?”

“All of it,” you chew the inside of your cheek, drumming your fingers against the bedspread. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “You can pretend I didn’t say any of that.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Huh?” He stares at you with wide eyes.

“What you said earlier.” You pick at a loose thread poking from the hem of your shirt. “Did you mean it when you said you’re in love with me?”

He hesitates, frowning as a conflicted expression briefly flashes across his face, eyebrows drawing together. 

“Wonwoo?” You call his name gently to get his attention. “I’m in love with you too, Wonwoo.”

“I–what?” Wonwoo looks at you like you’ve brown another head. “But, you...  Mingyu?”

You furrow your brows at him. “Mingyu? Didn’t I tell you? We were just faking so he could win that Greek God competition and get free parking next semester.”

“Wait,” he sputters, “so all of that was fake? You were just pretending to be in a relationship?”

“Yeah. I don’t care about Mingyu, I have feelings for you, Wonwoo.”

“You.” Wonwoo takes a deep breath. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I did!” You widen your eyes, adamant. “At karaoke back in October. You, me, Minghao, and Junhui?” It had been after a particularly grueling set of midterms, and the four of you had gone out for some korean barbeque, followed by boba and an extended noraebang session. While Junhui was crooning to an old Cantonese ballad, you were squished on a couch with Minghao and Wonwoo, and the three of you were talking idly about Junhui’s most recent date.

It’s funny, you remember turning and mumbling to Wonwoo, did I ever tell you that Mingyu and I are faking our whole relationship for clout? But Wonwoo hadn’t responded, so you assumed that he didn’t care. Now, it’s looking more like he didn’t even hear you.

“I was asleep,” Wonwoo states in flat disbelief.

“You were asleep,” you repeat slowly.

“It was dark and I was tired. You didn’t notice that I passed out as soon as we dimmed the lights?” He raises his eyebrows as he defends himself, and you bury your face in your hands.

Click. The pieces are all falling in place.

“Wonwoo. I’m so dumb,” you moan. “I run the Ask Cherry column. All those messages from Junhui and Soonyoung. They were about you, weren’t they?”

“Messages? There were more after the first one?!”

“And they were about you being in love with me,” you recall. “This whole time, I thought you liked someone else. Someone who isn’t me.”

There’s a pause. You can hear the sound of Wonwoo’s PC whirring in the background. And then, Wonwoo starts laughing, choked and quiet at first, and then loud, incredulous, almost.

“God,” he gasps between laughs, “we’re both so, so stupid.” And then you’re laughing too.

In retrospect, it’s all ridiculous, this entire situation. You collapse back onto Wonwoo’s bed and laugh until your ribs hurt, and when you turn your head to the side, there’s Wonwoo laying beside you, glasses askew, grinning.

You giggle and reach out to straighten his glasses. “Hi,” you say to him.

“Hi,” he says back, getting up to lean on one elbow. “I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

You feel your smile widen so much, your cheeks hurt. “I’m in love with you, Jeon Wonwoo.”

He looks at you with so much fondness, it takes your breath away. It’s the way he’s always looked at you, you realize, since the two of you weren’t much more than a pair of kids.

“So, now what?”

“Hmm.” You pretend to think. “Can you kiss me about it, then?”

Wonwoo nods, and his hair flops over the bunny headband as he moves his head. “Yeah,” he says, “I think I can do that.”

.

.

.

(Afterwards, a lot less changes with your relationship with Wonwoo than you thought. After all, he was your best friend for much, much longer than he’s been your boyfriend. He still sends you cat videos at strange hours of the night, and he still sticks sullenly by your side during social outings. Friday nights are still game nights, of course, but now it’s mostly spent on your shared Stardew Valley co-op or cuddling in bed while playing Pokemon together. 

But one thing that changes is the kisses. You kiss Wonwoo whenever you can, because you have so much love to give him and not enough time in the day to tell him all the ways you love him. You try, though, to tell him every moment you can that he’s the cutest, smartest, sweetest, kindest, funniest boy in the world, and that he’s the best friend and boyfriend you could ever ask for.

Wonwoo has a harder time with his feelings, but you know, even without saying. It’s in the way that his fingers linger over your hand when he drops you off in front of your classroom, and the way he gives you first pick on all the best loot when you’re gaming together. And when it’s really late at night and the two of you are huddled under the blankets together, listening to the way your heartbeats collide, he whispers it too. “I love you.”

And, Minghao finally admits it. “Fine,” he grumbles reluctantly while the two of you are preparing the upcoming edition of Ask Cherry, “maybe you’re qualified to give love advice after all.”)

#2022svtgiftexchange #wonwoo #seventeen #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo fluff #97.yn #97.writings

[thelastofhyde]

you cut your hair, and take some space.

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 1 of 2 !

warnings. no use of y/n, age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, officer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, so much crying ( reader spends half her time crying over javi p which is honestly a mood ), violence, undetailed depictions of sa ( not javi ), smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 15k

hyde’s input. this was written over the course of four months and could easily be used in court to prove i am, in fact, unequivocally in love with one mr. javier peña. if you take the time to read it, just know i appreciate it so much. i really poured my heart and soul into this and, as someone who's been writing for years, it's been so long since i've written something so self-indulgent that's brought me nothing but joy to write. as the fic has surpassed 30k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it, i've decided to post it in two parts. part two will be posted within the following weeks.

(it'a nearly 4 am as i post this, please look the other way at any typos or editing errors.)

“i told you, corazón mia (my heart),” he can't meet your eyes. “made it clear from the start i wasn't looking for anything serious.” “i know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “but if it wasn't serious, why'd you treat me like it was?”

I cut my nose to save some face You cut your hair and take some space.

The mirror is not clean enough to see yourself.

Where there are usually your eyes, there’s a discoloured splotch of brown. A crack runs down the left of what should be your face. Someone’s taken it upon themselves to draw a cartoon penis just where your mouth is. But in your drunken haze and laser focus, you don’t care enough to notice. All you see is the spot where your nose is, a tiny ball of silver nestled just above your right nostril.

It’s something new to fidget with.

On the flip side, it stings like a bitch. Or, more appropriately, like the tequila shots that led you to this run-down tattoo parlour.

You wonder if, come the morning and mental clarity, you’ll regret it.

If you do, you’ll blame him.

Your night was going fine. Good, even. And, with a lack of good nights in the recent week, that was an accomplishment.

You’d dressed up, let loose, had fun. A friend on either arm and a drink close at hand, you’d giggled and gossiped your way through this impromptu girls’ night.

They’d ambushed you, in a way, forced their way through the barricade of tissues and take-out boxes into your apartment. A skimpy dress tossed at your head and four hands dragging you, limb by limb, into the shower.

Get some dinner, hit the town, get fucked up. That was the plan they set out for you.

You skipped dinner, dove head-first into the town.

You were careful all night to never speak of him.

One part fearful it would summon him, another part embarrassed to admit just who you’d gotten tangled up in. A third part, tucked away in a locked closet, ready to do it all over again.

And then it happened.

You didn’t say his name, no.

Not aloud.

You thought it, for just a second, hearing the person beside you at the bar order the same drink you’d watched him nurse time after time. It wasn’t him but, instead, a man far too short and a clean-cut kind of handsome to even begin to compare to the ex-agent.

But it was enough to make you want to leave.

Giving up your space, you’d made your way back to your girls and made up some little white lie, surprised neither of them called you out on it- what kind of bar doesn’t have white wine?

They left to find someplace with wine, you left to find some peace of mind.

The bar they dragged you into was familiar, the setting of many of your father’s stories. It only took you walking through the door, tugging down the dress-too-short, to hear your name called across the floor.

“Hey kiddo!�� Your dad’s a tell-tale kind of drunk, his eyes giving away even the smallest sip of alcohol he has. He was just tipsy, scooting his way out of a tattered booth to wrap you up in his arms. It felt as nice as it did guilt-inducing, knowing you’d been avoiding his calls all week since The Incident. A punishment to yourself more than one aimed at him. “You here yourself? Could join us for the night, if you like. Ain’t that right, boys?”

It was only then that you’d realised two men were sat within the booth, collars undone and ties loosened after a week’s work.

There were usually three of them.

"We’re just waiting on Peña." Oh god, it makes you feel sick. Heart in your throat, stomach at your feet. His name no longer feels real, not when spoken by anyone but you.

“And raising bets on his tardiness,” one of your father’s friends said. You recognised him from a few of the barbecues and Christmas parties your dad's thrown. He's nice, responsible. Married, to a woman his own age. “I’m saying he’s chasing some tail. God knows he could use some stress relief. Boy’s been wound up all week, nearly bit my head off for asking him about some files."

It’s a wonder none of the three men- one a retired lawyer, the other two members of the force- noticed the blood drain from your face.

“My guess is he’s pulled some muscle in his back and can’t get himself out of bed,” a nudge from your father’s elbow, delivered straight to your ribs. “Whatcha think, kiddo?”

You didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t get to give an answer.

“You need to quit speaking ‘bout me like you’re not a whole decade my senior, viejo (old man),” it came from behind you and threatened you to look. Like the foolish final-girl in a slasher, you ignored your basic instincts and glanced over your shoulder.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you know what you were hoping for.

Tired eyes, chewed lips, unkempt facial hair. A twitch of sadness drawn between his brows and the stains of cigarette ash on a worn-out suit.

Javier Peña was none of that.

The suit, grey. One that fit him all too well and had you wishing you could stain it with your drink.

The signature moustache, perfectly groomed, sitting perched above the bow of his pouty lips, rosy-red and fresh for picking.

His eyes have always given him away but, staring down at you in that moment, they read only as passive, unaffected.

It was like, nothing.

And, yes, that’s what you’d asked for- from now on, whenever you see me, can you at least pretend that none of this happened?

But he's smart enough to know you didn't mean it, right?

“Hey officers, sorry to interrupt but,” a hand curled around your arm. It tugged and you let yourself be inched away from heavy brown eyes and your father’s smile. “She’s ours for the night. We’re going clubbing!”

That was never part of the plan.

Neither was skipping dinner, though.

You caught the back of him as you were dragged away, some pleading from your father to take it easy and call me in the morning, and noticed it only then.

His hair, freshly cut.

“‘S getting too long,” a mumbled sort of thing, hidden in your neck, spoken against your pulse. A kiss placed upon it, and then another for extra measure. Fingers dragging through his hair, ridding him of the knots your very same hands had worked into them an hour of passionate touching ago. “Lo sé (I know).”

A pause of silence. The blissful moan birthed from nails on his scalp. And, then, “no. It’s nice, I like it.”

That puppy-dog stare, so particular to the cool-down moments between you, meets your own, chin propped up on your sternum. He’s sweet like this, honeyed skin and pleasant smiles.

“Yeah?” He asks, like he even needs to. “You like it, corazón (sweetheart)?” You opt for a hummed confirmation, finger tracing over the arch of his nose. “Guess I better keep it this way, then.”

Now he’s gone and chopped the overgrown curls off.

In a way, it feels like he’s cut you off with them.

We don’t speak cause it’s too tricky But if I’m tricky, why’d you kiss me?

The next time you see him, a wedding is taking place.

He sits on the groom’s side, you sit on the bride’s.

It feels unreasonable to be surprised by his presence. Why wouldn’t he be here, sitting four rows from the back, at his cousin’s brother-in-law’s wedding?

The bride is gorgeous, the groom is in tears. The priest drones on a little too long.

Somewhere between the exchanging of vows, and the ceremonial kissing, and the cheering of guests, your instincts get the better of you and you glance back at him.

He’s already staring right back, eyes ignited with something that weakens your knees and shakes your confidence. The newlyweds walk down the aisle, cut through your line of sight. He’s still staring at you when they’ve passed.

The reception takes place in the events room of some glammed-up hotel, the kind you can barely afford the one night you’re booked in for.

An open bar, a local band. The catering is tasteful, handpicked by the couple, and the table you feast at is so far away from his that you don’t get that chance to see if he chose the chicken or the beef.

You find a friend behind the bar, in the shape of a bottle and toothpick-impaled olives.

You dance till your feet hurt, slip away to your table, take off your heels. You’re back on the dance floor in time to catch the bouquet, too busy basking in the envy of the other women to notice his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

If it weren’t for the dent in your bank account made by the room you booked, you’d gladly dance away the whole night. But if a bed with a view costs double your rent, you’ll be damned if you don’t get to sleep in it.

So you stumble to the elevator.

Clutch your heels and flowers to your chest, struggle to remember your floor number. The fifth floor seems to ring a bell, but it might’ve been the eighth floor. Your room key! Maybe, you hope, that’ll have your floor number on it. You struggle with your purse’s zipper, trying your best to pry it open.

You succeed, but at what cost? Heels and bouquet tumble to the floor, thumping and clunking as they knock against it, flower petals falling loose.

You try to bend down, stretch your fingers out to grasp the clasps, seize the stems. A wave of exhaustion mixed with too much alcohol washes over you and you stand up straight again. Take a calming breath, do a little song and dance before reaching down again.

“Déjame. (Let me.)”

Scuffed shoes come into view as you’re halfway down, bent at the waist and holding your balance with one arm against a wall. You stand up straight, too fast, lose your balance and stumble forward.

He catches you.

For a moment, it feels like you’ve never left his arms.

“C’mon, let’s get you to your room.” You hate the way he ends his sentence, no term of endearment and no impure intentions.

He asks for your floor, you give him your key. He punches the number into the elevator and it shakes to life.

Neither one of you makes an attempt to part. There’s a chance he pulls you closer to him. You let yourself melt, regardless, muscles relaxing and sinking into his arms.

He’s still warm. He’s still steady. but his cologne’s different and it makes your eyes sting.

You’d warned him he was about to run out of his signature bottle, made a note to buy him another one for his birthday or Christmas, whichever came first.

“You look like you had fun,” he rasps out, eventually, as the elevator slips past the fifth floor.

“I did,” you tell a partial truth. You would have had more fun, if he’d stood at your side, ate at your table, danced in your arms. But you can’t say that, because he doesn’t want that.

“I’m glad.”

It turns out your floor is the ninth. He’s careful to guide you out the mobile-box, hand on your hip, pressing you to his side. Your heels dangling from one of his fingers and the bouquet gripped in his palm, smacking against his thigh every other step. A little down the hall and there you find it, your precious and expensive home for the night.

It’s easier to let him open the door, he tells you.

It’s easier to let him guide you to bed, you tell yourself.

Dropping the heels on the floor, he disappears out of your line of sight and you stare motionless at the ceiling above, buzzing in your brain and pain in your heart.

You’ve never shared a space like this with him, one that’s hollow and decayed. The shell of a creature that’s long abandoned it, grown too big for its home.

Your eyes sting all over again, this time enough to brim with unfallen tears.

A thud against the nightstand.

You roll onto your side and find he’s still here, a glass of water and some painkillers lay to rest at your bedside. The first tear gives way, running down your cheek and dropping to the crisp white sheets below. Even more fall as he raises a damp cloth to your face, wiping away smudged mascara and bringing your lips back to their natural colour.

The undressing is gentle and so unlike his usual impatience.

Fingertips drag down each inch of skin released as he unzips the back of your dress, tugging it down and folding it by your heels. The weight off your chest helps you breathe as he unhooks your bra. Left only in your underwear, the sheets ruffle as he drags them up your tired limbs and tucks them under your chin.

“Get in bed, please,” you plead like you have any right to ask that of him. “Javi.”

It’s the first time you’ve said his name since that night in May. His shoulders tense and release, his fingers smooth down his moustache. He looks like he’s going to fulfil your request, slip in behind you and wrap you up in his soft but steady embrace.

He looks like he wants to.

His back cracks as he bends down and presses a kiss.

Against your forehead, lips that linger.

Then, he stands up straight and walks out the door.

On the forehead, way up north Pressed the scar and found the source

Vermont, ‘98.

That’s where it all began.

Your dad, turning fifty.

Javi just hit forty.

It was someone in the station who had the wild idea they celebrate it together. The sheriff and the station’s rookie- really, a hardened, inching-out-of-a-fresh-retirement former DEA agent your father manipulated back into the force, some promise of a light workload and a hefty pension. With no need for money, you wonder why he ever accepted the offer.

Plans were set, money was put in a pot, and a wheel of fortune was spun. It landed on the northern state, a downpayment to rent a ski lodge placed within a matter of twenty-four hours.

Somewhere along the way, you’d been roped into joining this boys-only trip. Your dad argued you needed a break from studying. Your mother argued there needed to be a responsible adult to supervise your dad. and, well, a free holiday never hurt nobody, right?

Wrong.

The final evening, with a constant pounding of a hangover never-quite-nursed, a litter of bruises down your back from falling and a firmly closed chapter on any possible career as a ski prodigy you may have had, you trailed your way down to the only bar in the tiny ski town.

Textbooks on the table, glasses on your face.

A half-drank glass of cabernet, an empty plate.

Peaceful and quaint, until it wasn’t.

The cheer of a frat-boy out in the wild warrants the same response as hearing a lion’s roar in the dark of the Saharan night.

The kind you hear them before you see them, spilling through the door in their obnoxious jerseys and their face-painted cheeks. one wore the badge of honour, a giant Soon To Be shackled Married printed poorly onto the back of his jersey.

You put your head down, breathed more subtly.

The pride stormed their way over to the bar, pounding their fists onto the surface and gnashing their teeth, spit spilling down their mouth as they brutally tore into the bartender, demanding pints of beer and rounds of shots.

The key was to avoid eye contact, keep low and out of sight.

They dispersed through the area, sniffing out free booths and the occasional local to irritate out of their seats.

One of them found the jukebox and wasted his coin on blasting Pour Some Sugar On Me. The group of older women playing bingo scowled and made their way out of the joint, calling it for the night.

You got up to follow suit, hands slowly packing up your belongings and slinging your bag over your back.

Inching towards the exit, footsteps light as a feather.

“Woo! Look at you,” just as you were close to slipping out the door, a single member of the pack spotted you, prowling his way over. He already had his chest puffed out by the time you turned around. “Ain’t seen an ass like that since we left the city!”

Hardly charming. Tame, compared to other things frat boys have said to you.

“Why don’cha come join me and my buddies over there?” He nodded back at them, like they weren’t the obnoxious centres of everyone’s attention.

You were not scared of him, exactly. But you’ve seen where things can go. Heard about it, countless times, from your own father.

So you spoke with caution, gripping your bag a little tighter, “thanks, but I’ve got an early flight. Have a nice night-” He told you his name, like you cared. “Yeah, thanks, bye.”

And then you were stepping out into the quiet of the night.

Fresh air, cold enough to sting your lungs. You breathed it in like it was going out of fashion.

You barely got a moment to compose yourself before that grating voice was back in your ears.

“Oh don’t be a buzzkill!” He whined, you cringed. Took a step back, watched him move an inch. “It’s early, stay. Have a drink.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“To have fun?! C’mon, it’s too cold to be out here by yourself.”

“I have an early flight.”

“It’s just one drink, sweetheart. I ain’t asking you to sign your life away.”

A couple bumped past you both, weaved their way between you. His eyes trailed after them, your feet twisted around, carrying you away from him slowly, carefully. Best not to make yourself look like prey, not to this predator.

“Hey!” He called after you. Your steps sped up. “Where you going, sweetheart?”

It didn’t even matter that you were walking in the opposite direction of the ski lodge. You told yourself you would find your way back, once this lion was off your back.

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!”

The lion pounced, sank his claws into your back and ripped through you.

Your hand flew out to break your fall, the contents of your bag spilling out onto the sidewalk.

Pain, the kind that stings. It nipped at your knees, and your hands, and your eyes. Pushed it down, pulled yourself up.

He froze, maybe surprised at his own actions, maybe waiting on the chance to pounce once more, this time with his fangs instead of his claws.

You wouldn’t give him the chance. Filled your bag, collected your senses and ran.

It was tricky on frozen ground, trying so hard to not look back.

He followed and you knew it, heard it. Roaring and growling, chasing you down streets you’d never walked.

You slipped, momentarily, slammed into a wall. A crossroads, go right or go left.

You don’t remember which direction you turned.

“Quit running, you bitch!”

He was still following, how was he still following?

Caving in, you glanced over your shoulder and saw the blurry figure of him running after you.

He was getting faster. Maybe you were getting slower.

You came to a screeching halt, body smacking into something solid. Eyes shut, mind alive. You feared the worst, hoped for the best, expected to open your eyes and find yourself trapped in a dead-end, nowhere to run from this predator.

Instead, you heard your name. Called softly, at first. Gentle, coaxing you to pay attention. The second time it was more urgent, worried and aggressive. You sank deeper into the wall, felt your feet shuffle on the gravel below.

“...Gotta let me know, nena,” the wall pulled you back from it, a firm grasp on your forearms. Your eyes opened and met his. “Fucking Christ, look at the state of you.”

You’d not known much about Javier Peña at the start of the trip.

Your dad had mentioned something about a family ranch. Your mom let it slip that he’d enjoyed the pumpkin pie she’d brought to the station’s Thanksgiving feast.

There’d been one time you’d caught the end of a conversation between him and your dad. Nothing concrete, just some shameful mutterings about Colombia and Los Pepes. You’d left once you heard your dad start to comfort the man, deciding your intruding on the moment had already gone too far.

You now knew he liked his whiskey, no ice. His coffee, no milk. His bread, no butter.

He didn’t like the mess of mixing things, and you had to wonder if it had always been this way. Or had he learned his lesson, the hard way? Mixed the wrong things, burnt his own blessings?

“You’re bleeding,” he announced it, fresh news for you.

A pleasant warmth thrummed through your veins as he took hold of your hand, inspecting it under his scrutiny.

His thumb swiped over your palm.

Your mouth winced, your arm pulled back.

He held you in place.

Something visceral shifted in him, enough to coax you to glance at him.

He was looking past you, eyes a deadly killer stalking their prey. You followed their line of sight and found the lion at the end of the street. Standing still, arms at his side, eyes a little wider than you remembered them. You’d not really been looking, in the first place.

The former agent twisted you behind him, an effortless shield. Took an urgent step toward the frat boy, and then another three.

You grasped at his sleeve and tugged him back, didn’t let him stray too far.

“I’m fine,” you lied. He didn’t believe you, furrowing his brow. “I’m just cold.”

He seemed to hesitate, softened by a tremble in your voice.

He glanced back to see the lion was retreating, staggering his way back to the pride of frat boys. A perfect opportunity for him to attack, from behind and unexpectedly.

“Leave it, he’s not-” The sting in your eye got the best of you and a tear tracked itself down your cheek. You wiped it away with your scraped hand, leaving behind a smear of gravel and blood. “It’s not worth it.”

You said it not for the agent’s sake, but the boy’s.

The agent puffed out a breath of frustration, then followed your plea. Turned back to you, licked his thumb and swiped off the dirt on your cheek. Pulled you in, against him once more, and pressed a deliberate kiss against your forehead.

It was instinctual, no thought placed behind his action.

He did it because that seemed to be in his nature: to nurture.

“C’mon, the lodge is this way,” he pointed in some direction.

You didn’t bother paying attention, more than willing to follow wherever he led.

“Put this on.” It was not posed as an option, not when the agent tugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders.

Somewhere along the path, you realised you’d lost your key to your cabin. Your dad carried the other.

Officer Peña offered to take you to him, drinking down in the ski lodge’s bar with the rest of the men.

You shook your head, told him your dad couldn’t see you in that state.

He took you back to his own cabin instead.

Cleaned up your hands, put on the fire, poured you a drink.

Then fucked you into his bed, till you clawed and sobbed around him.

If you don’t love me, Why’d you act it?

Late june brings nothing but gloom.

You get bored quick, no college to fill your days. Pick up extra shifts, hope to combat the empty feeling in your chest with the rush hour traffic that torpedoes it’s way through the cafe.

Friends invite you out, you rarely go. They tease you’re becoming a recluse, and that just makes you want to shut yourself in even more.

Tonight, you’re appeasing them.

Some line dance event, downtown in a bar that’s only gimmick seems to be a worn-down mechanical bull. It’s missing a horn and no one seems to know why.

Truth be told, you don’t want to go.

You want to stuff your face with take-out while you melt into your couch, watching reruns of the first season of Friends and drooling over Joey till you forget about another smooth-talking, raven haired man.

Here you are instead, fighting against the cheesy cowgirl hat till it sits on your head correctly.

In the mirror, it’s still lopsided.

The clock sits at eight forty-seven.

They’re 2 minutes late.

You give up, decide to pretend you want the hat this way. Slip on your jacket, do a sweep around your apartment: windows locked, flat iron off, fridge closed. Grabbing your purse, you unzip it and wrestle around in it’s contents, searching for your keys.

You pull on something and- it’s a pack a gum.

Dive back in, search again.

An empty tube of lipbalm.

Third time’s a charm, you think, and try once more. Something scratches your fingers, coaxes you to tug it out and inspect it.

A broken earring.

A familiar car honk’s outside, you stay frozen in place, staring at the broken hoop and counting one, two, three.

Bile burns the back of your throat.

He opens on the fifth knock.

Any other night, he practically rips the door off it’s hinges and tugs you in, before you can so much as raise your fist for a second knock.

Maybe he was busy, on the toilet or on the phone. You don’t think too much into it.

He steps aside, lets you in. Stands so far away, it’s hard to read his eyes.

The air’s uncomfortably quiet.

You think’s it’s all in your head, self-doubt at an all time high after a bad day.

“My earring snapped today,” there’s a growing pit in your stomach, just from staring at him. He looks so distant, not present. Mind a galaxy away. "Your favourite ones, too. You know, the little hoops with-”

“The hearts dangling from them.” He finishes, on your behalf, and it’s the first green flag you see. Green enough to lull yourself into a faux calm.

The silence returns.

You rock backwards on your heels, glance around the apartment. Try to find what has changed, because this no longer feels like the place you’ve grown so familiar with. And neither does the man observing you from a distance, hands glued to his sides.

He should be touching you by now, in any way he could: his foot bumping against yours under his dining table, his hand trailing patterns over your shoulders as you settle into his side on the couch, his tongue delving between your folds as you lay splayed out on his sheets.

You notice his bedroom door is shut.

It’s never been shut before.

“Is- Am I-” You don’t have to find the words, but the courage to speak them. “Do you have someone over?”

He blinks, slowly.

It’s hard to tell if it’s from guilt.

“Because if you do, that’s fine!” It’s not. “I understand,” You don’t.

He doesn’t answer.

You keep talking.

“Totally chill, I’ll comeback some other night. Or, you can just come by mine! Yeah, actually, that sounds better. Won’t risk interrupting again-”

“This needs to stop.”

You don’t have to question it.

You do, anyway.

“What?”

“Us. This-” He’s pointing between you both, a little haphazardly. It’s like he’s rushing to get the words out, get it over with. Get you out his apartment. “Thing we’re doing. It’s done.”

“I don’t underst-”

He cuts you off with your name. “Why’d you come here tonight?”

He’s stern.

Not in the way that makes you want to bend to his will and indulge in all his sins. But in a way that makes you feel dirty, wrong. A child scorned for touching fire and getting themselves burnt.

“I,” you’re beginning to wish there was someone else in his bed, so she could stroll out of his room in one of his stupidly soft shirts and interrupt this conversation. “Uh, I had a bad day.”

“Okay,” he nods. Smooths a hands over his chin, pops out his hip. “What’s that got anything to do with me?”

Everything, you want to tell him.

For every single thing that went wrong throughout your day, seeing Javi gave you something to look forward to.

“I just thought-”

“You thought, what?” His face twists up, just like your insides. He’s angry and you’re the one to blame. “This isn’t a- I’m not your boyfriend.”

I know, you mouth.

Because you do know. Repeat it to yourself all the time.

When he calls to make sure you got home safe.

When you sneak off to pee in the middle of the night and are welcomed back to bed with a forceful tug into his chest, a sleepy, gruffed out ‘where’d you go?’ whispered into your neck.

When he picks up on the things you say, remembers silly things like your favourite toilet paper brand and the exact milk to cereal ratio you enjoy.

Javier Peña is not your boyfriend.

So why does he act like it?

“Look, kid, you’re young, and I know-”

Kid.

That makes you angry.

He wasn’t calling you kid when he bent you over your parents’ bathroom counter.

“Don’t call me kid.”

“And I know,” he pushes through your protest, keeps up the distance. “This can be a lot at your age. Don’t blame you for getting caught up. But whatever you think you’re feeling for me, it’s not-”

“Is this about the p-” The word won’t come out of you, so your change the verbiage. “The hospital? Because I told you, Javi. We’ve been safe. Safer than a pair of purity-ring wearing teenagers-”

“No, this is about me needing to do the right-”

At this point, you’re just interrupting one another.

Fighting to get in the next word, frowning at what you do hear.

He tilts his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, a groan leaving his cracked lips. You’d imagined him doing that tonight, but not like this.

Eventually, the back-and-forth stops.

Silence.

You take the lead.

“So, what? That’s it just... over?”

“I told you, corazón mía (my heart),” he can’t meet your eyes. “Made it clear from the start I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”

“I know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “But if it wasn’t serious, why’d you treat me like it was?”

It takes him a few minutes to answer. There’s a twitch, in his hand, reaching up only to drop back down at his side.

Usually, he wipes your tears before they get chance to fall.

The rug at your feet turns darker with each wet spot that drops.

“I got caught up,” his eyes seem so sad, so lost. Staring across the ocean of his living room, searching for a lighthouse to pull him safe to shore. But he won’t let you be that. “In the way you deserve to be treated, instead of some sleazy secret.”

He breathes out your name, the most painful melody you’ve ever heard.

“This has to end,” you’re unsure if it’s only you he’s attempting to convince. “Before someone gets hurt.”

Too late, you want to say.

You’re already being torn apart by his hands, and he’s standing ten feet away.

“Corazón, I’m so sor-”

The car honks, again.

You breathe in, and find it’s hard, snot piling up in your nose and tears splashing down your cheers.

Another honk.

You never make it to the line dance.

You curl in on yourself, instead, and fall asleep to the sound of Joey and Chandler’s bickering.

Love’s a verb And not a bandage

In retrospect, it’s hard to tell where the lines begin to blur.

A promise of casual, turned into something fragile.

Whenever you think about it, for too long, your mind carries you back to the same night. A few months after Vermont, you don’t recall the exact date.

All you remember is a pounding at your front door.

1 am. Too late to be causing ruckus.

You nearly trip over discarded shoes, curse earlier-you for assuming you would remember their existence. Undo the bolt, grab the key and then-

Pause.

This could be anyone, anything.

You check the peephole, find exactly who you were hoping for.

He’s on you like a moth to a flame, pressing you flush against him the instant he can fit through the crack in your doorway. Mouth on mouth, hands on waist. The door thuds as he closes it behind you both, you’re too distracted to notice.

You let him invade your senses.

Smell his aged leather and nicotine thrill. Feel his strong arms and bulging crotch. Hear his laboured breaths and muttered pleasantries. Taste his whiskey tongue and metallic lips-

You pull back. He follows.

It’s flattering, his inability to get enough of you, but you halt him nonetheless.

Cup his cheeks, pull down his face, and stare.

“My dad finally figure out who those panties in your glove-box belong to, Peña?” It’s meant to be a joke.

There’s nothing funny about his bleeding lip and split eyebrow.

He graces no response, dives back into you and submerses himself in your touch. Kisses you slow, with deliverance, his final mission to arrest all your sense of self till you turn yourself in to his embrace.

Only as you pass by those discarded shoes do you realise he’s inching you both deeper into the dark of your apartment.

This time, you do trip over them.

It’s okay though, Javi’s there to catch you.

He finds refuge in your neck, burrowing in deep, mouthing at the skin like a dog does a wound. Your arm shoots out to find a light-switch. A warm glow fills the apartment, bathing you both in an orange hue.

The gold of his skin shines brighter.

The red on his skin appears darker.

“What happened to you?” You don’t need to worry about him. And, yet, doing so comes naturally.

“S’not important,” it’s spoken against your skin, as if he intends to seep his gravelled tone into your pores and have it grow a new life for itself within you. A gentle scraping of his teeth sends a shiver down your spine. “I’ll tell you later.”

Later with Javi never seems to come.

‘If you’re not busy, I’ll make you dinner later.’

‘Keep it up and I’ll be fucking that attitude out of you later.’

‘I’ll get these back to you later.’

He’d never made you that dinner.

He’d dragged you into the station’s bathrooms and fucked the attitude out of you only seconds after.

You’d never gotten those panties back.

You decide to grant him no time for later. Shove him down into a seat at your dining table-for-two. Roll your eyes as he asks if you’re “gonna put on a show for me, corazón?”

The makeshift first-aid kit put together by your mother resides at the back of a cupboard, hidden by mugs and cups. It takes several minutes and a smashed glass to manoeuvre it out. You step over the pieces of glass and head straight back to the table, dumping out the contents.

You click your tongue, point your finger. He scoots the chair back from the table and you slip between the space. Press back against the surface, stand between his parted knees and do your best to not look down at the jeans that grant him no modesty.

Distractions are not welcomed, your patient needs tending to.

He’s insisting he’s okay, yet he’s hissing when you dab at the tears in his flesh with betadine. His hands find a place upon your hips and give a tight squeeze as you press butterfly stitches to his no-longer bleeding brow.

“I,” he starts up, an indefinite time of silence passing between you both. He shakes his head.“It’s stupid.”

“Javi,” you stroke your finger over his jaw, tilt his head back to meet your eyes. “The less you tell me, the more I’ll worry.”

It does the trick, unlocks his tongue.

“I was just wanting one drink, was gonna head home... Or to you, after. I had a shitty day at work and... You probably don’t care about that,” he has no idea you’ll hang onto those words for the weeks to come, wondering how to lighten his workload, ease his tension. “Heard some loud-mouth kid beside me at the bar, he was talking to this girl. She gets up to leave, he follows. I was just gonna go back to nursing my drink but-”

He hisses.

You’re pressing too hard on his fragile lip.

There’s no malice in his eyes as you pull your hand back, only soft and tender. He must sense your remorse for hurting him, chasing after your fingers and grazing a gentle kiss upon them.

A splotch of red stains your skin.

“Corazón,” he croons, shifts himself closer to you. His hands grip the backs of your exposed thighs, his chin presses into your lower stomach. A few movie-strand hairs cover the molten brown eyes that stare up at you. “You’re exhausted. Vamos, basta de preocuparte (C'mon, stop worrying), I’m fine. I just wanna crawl into your tiny bed so I can wake up to your bedhead and more back pains.”

It’s a tempting offer, and one you’ve given into far too many times acceptable for the casual agreement you both share.

A deep breath. Your hand lands on his cheek, his eyes flutter shut.

There’s bags under them. Heavy, dark. Bearing the exhaustion he hides behind charming winks and dashing smiles. Your thumb grazes over one and you ache to give him the rest he deserves, the rest his body craves.

“But, what?” You persist, pleading for him to continue his story.

Javi sighs, gives in.

He always gives in, to you, eventually.

“I just- I don’t know, it’s crazy, but I kept thinking of you,” his eyes reopen, sorrow buried deep in his soul and a worry-line etched into his brow. “In that bar. Alone, in Vermont, when you...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

He doesn’t need to.

“So what did you do?” It’s best to keep him talking, drag his mind away from whatever dark thoughts those memories bring up.

“I followed them outside,” he admits with a tinge of shame. “Tried to be subtle about it. Lit a cigarette, took a few drags, scoped out the street. Neither of them were around,” you’ve long abandoned the first aid kit, transfixed by the tight grip he holds you in, his hands smoothing up and down the backs of your thighs in an attempt to soothe himself. “I thought I’d maybe read into it wrong. Maybe she was into him, and they’d got a cab back to her place. Or his.”

He’s rambling.

Stumbling through words he deems unimportant, rushing to push out the thoughts that clog up his brain pipes.

You listen closely, swallow up every morsel he offers.

“It was just as I turned to go back inside that I heard something,” his hands no longer dance over your skin. They sit stagnant, halfway up your thigh, fingers flexed and nails digging into flesh. He’s burying himself into any part of you he can, rooting himself in your solid figure. “Rustling, or something. Coming from the alley. And I just... I felt my stomach drop. Followed after it. Found them, him-”

He chokes.

On his words, on his breath, on his failure.

You run a hand through his curls, soothe the lines off his face.

Bend down, drag him up, press your lips to the arc of his nose.

“Didn’t think, I just dragged him off. Punched him, a few times. Felt his nose crack under my fist.” He’s still pushing through, his earlier unwillingness to talk now a streaming fountain you can’t switch off. “I must’ve tripped on some glass, lost my balance. Gave him the space to get a few hits in, and-”

“Did you arrest him?” You cut him off.

He nods.

“Did you help her?”

Another nod.

“Did you get her someplace safe?”

This time, a reply.

“An officer checked her in at the hospital, stayed till her friend arrived.”

“Then Javi,” you make a point of saying his name, remind him of who he is when he’s not on duty. Not parading around with a badge and a gun, and answering to Officer Peña. The shift in his stare tells you it helps. “You did enough.”

A weight slips off his shoulders and he slumps further into you, eyes squeezing shut.

“I didn’t,” frustration steals the show, coursing through his voice.

“What more could you have done?”

“I don’t know... I could’ve-” He groans, like something pains him, and purses his lips. “I should’ve helped her sooner. Followed them, the minute they left. Shouldn’t have let...” A whiff of whiskey reaches your nostrils. Javi pulls you in tighter, breathes in the mixture of sleep-sweat and lingering cologne on the shirt you wear- Pink, the top buttons undone, left behind by him. “Shouldn’t have let you go out alone.”

You whine out his name.

The air is miserable, dragging through your lungs and staining them.

The chair creeks at the loss of his weight, knees straightening him up to his full height. Instinctually, you lean back into the table, head tilting to meet his broken eyes.

He’s searching for comfort, in the only way he knows how.

Slap a bandage over a bullet-hole, place a kiss upon his gaping-heart.

“Not everything about that night was so bad,” you play into his game, splay a hand upon his shirt. Trace a finger over a stained blood spot. “If I hadn’t gone out, then maybe we wouldn’t be...”

The words catch in your throat.

Partially because you don’t know what you are anymore. Boundaries crossed, lines blurring. Hands that hold and eyes that linger. Too close to be nothing, too reckless to be something.

But mostly because he kisses you.

Desperate, hungry. Groaning into your willing mouth.

He’s a man on a mission, to consume your soul right out your willing body. Unravelling you where you stand, he takes pleasure in peeling his shirt off you.

Hot mouth to hot skin, the tip of his tongue meeting the peak of your breasts. Your hands pull at his hair and he grips at your waist.

The descent into madness is quick, bodies melting together in a dance that’s unique, improvised, and yet always in sync.

He tugs at your panties and you undo his belt. He hooks your thigh over his hip and you anchor yourself to his chest. He teases you with a pinch to your clit and you torture him as you cup his heavy balls.

When Javi fucks you, he fucks with purpose.

The table thuds and scrapes along the floor with each punctuated thrust he gives, driving his cock deeper and deeper into your welcoming cunt, the coarse hairs at its base gifting you the occasional thrill of friction on your aching clit.

He’s slurring out curses and pet-names, lavishing you with delightful proclaims of what a pretty girl you are when you 'shut up and take my cock'.

When he does manage a full sentence of logical wording, his forehead’s pressed to your shoulder, his cum coats your thighs and the sweat between your frantic bodies holds you both together.

“There’s not a universe where this doesn’t happen, corazón,” you feel him softening against your thigh, yet you still delight as he drags a finger coated in his own spend up your folds. “Want you too damn much to miss out on you.”

Curling up into your bed that feels too big these days, you grip at the pink shirt and wonder when that changed.

When did Javier Peña stop wanting you?

And I’m spiritual cleansing (but the truth) Is I’m good at pretending (oh and you)

By July, things change.

The stud in your nose is traded out for a silver ring.

The lonely nights in your apartment turn into stumbling back home from some nameless club in the early hours.

Boredom leads to hobbies.

At first, you try pottery.

Four plates broken and a crumbled mug later, you put on your dance shoes.

Slip. Almost break your arm. Wrestle with the doom placed on your budding dance career. Throw out the dancing shoes, bring home running shoes.

You hate it, running.

You sweat, you ache, you exhaust.

But when you’re gasping for a breath and your feet pound into concrete ground, you don’t think about it.

The heartache.

The headache.

The agent.

You drop a few pounds, tone up your muscles. Watch your body’s shape outgrow your wardrobe, investing in a new one while clinging onto the items you love too much to lose.

Like the dress that now rests just below your ass, instead of it’s usual place mid-thigh. Or the sweater that once hung loose, that now hugs new curves and creases. The jeans that were tight now sliding off your hips.

The pink shirt still lives on one of your hangers.

But you’re not thinking about it, or it’s previous owner.

Not right now.

Now, you’re balling your fists and counting your breaths. Music blasting through your headphones, sweat dancing on your forehead.

The sun is warm on your back, even as it makes way for night to begin. This is the best time to run, dusk, you’ve discovered.

No kids loitering on park grounds, no threat brought on by the dark, no slow-walking pedestrians crossing your path.

You run your self-made circuit with freedom, switching off all your senses and emptying your mind.

Today, however, it’s more challenging.

The thought of him creeps through, no matter the effort you put in to fight it. Your father’s the one to blame.

You have to come, kiddo.

The phone-call still echos through your thoughts.

Because it wouldn’t be the same without you there.

You’d wanted a better explanation than that.

Then, you tried some lame excuse of already having plans.

You had no plans.

Bring your friends then! The more the merrier!

You nearly groaned out loud at his enthusiasm, but held back. Your father’s light didn’t deserve to be dampened by your shadow.

C’mon, kiddo! I’ve not hosted the annual barbecue since you were still wearing your braces!

You bit your tongue. Fought against telling him that, back then, there were no pretty-eyed, heart-breaking agents for you to worry about.

The whole station’s gonna be there, you have to come!

He said it, like that would persuade you.

Keep asking about ya, the whole lot of them.

The more he spoke, the less you wanted to go.

Just last night Javi was asking how you’re doing!

You’d hung up.

Immediately.

Called back, 3 minutes later. Mumbled an apology and an excuse- I lost signal!- and ultimately agreed to going to the damn barbecue.

Now, you run from the phone call, from the impending doom it brings.

All this heartache and pain, it’s not good for the soul.

Of course, being dumped is a lot easier when the person isn’t your dad’s closest confidant.

It gets hard to breath. Each pound against concrete shakes the cassette player glued to your hip. There’s a sting of tears in your eyes.

Until you come to a screeching halt.

Double over.

Place your hands on your knees.

Dry heave.

You pay no mind to the figure sitting a few feet away on a bench.

Nor to the dog that’s chasing it’s ball back forth between it’s owner’s throws.

You let the sadness flood your soul, deflate you like some discarded party-balloon.

You’ll have to see him.

Spend time near him.

Watch him laugh, and smile, and share beers with your father.

It’s unfair, and you hate him for putting you through this.

For not quitting the force.

For being your dad’s friend.

For not wanting you the same you wanted him.

Want him.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand. Try to stand up straight, get lost in the knots you’d tied into your laces. Sloppy and uneven.

You’re usually more careful.

You catch, in your peripheral, the figure on the bench move. Take it as your sign to compose yourself, get over yourself.

You pick your pace back up.

Manage only a handful-or-two steps.

Your feet fly out in front of you.

Land ass-first on the gravel below.

Beneath the sounds of Olivia Newton-John demanding you get physical, you hear a muffled sorry! yelled out. Spot as the dog rushes to grab it’s ball, halfway down the path thanks to your kick.

You groan and prepare to get back on your feet.

You’re met with a hand in your face, palm open and waiting for you to accept the open offer. You take it, no hesitation.

Big mistake.

The hand tugs you.

You glance up.

And meet the eyes of Javier Peña.

“Easy, tiger,” he coughs up a laugh, like you don’t wind him as you slam into him, full-body force, nerves on fire and all systems shutting down. “You trying to break my ribs?”

It’s no less than you deserves, you think.

And instantly regret it, heart turning blue at the thought of him hurt at your hand.

You take a few steps back, create a safe distance where you can’t smell the remnants of his last cigarette or count the eyelashes that line his eyes.

He asks you how you’ve been, and tries his best to smile.

It comes off as awkward. A crooked line across his lips.

You try to remember the last time he smiled at you and meant it.

You come up empty handed.

Maybe it was back in April. A hospital hallway, one hand clasping yours, the other peeling through the leafs of some medical pamphlet.

Or, was it after, on the drive home, back to his apartment, hand still holding yours while the other spun the wheel?

There’s a vague memory that toils in the depth of your mind.

Sharing an elevator, your heels in his hand, his lips on your forehead.

Wedding attire, a post-party glow.

It’s toyed with you since you woke up in that hotel room, driven half-mad by an image you can’t quite form of him tucking you into bed.

Had he smiled, then?

Had he even been there?

Or was he merely a product of martinis and negronnis-

His fingers grasp your chin, no warning, and tilt your face.

His eyes don’t greet your own. Instead, they’re focused on the centre of your face, inspecting you like a piece of evidence.

“Hmm,” he’s so close, you smell the mint of freshly bitten gum on his breath. Dart your eyes down, catch the glint of his badge poking out his pocket.

He’s still on duty, a tailored uniform contrasting the hair roused by stress. Maybe at his desk, in the office next to your father’s, hands running through his tresses to express frustrations, tensions.

Were they his own hands, or someone with longer, brightly painted nails? Your stomach turns at the thought, your loins warm at the memory of writhing in his desk chair, legs thrown over his shoulders whilst his own dug into the ground below, eager to please mouth and a happy to taste tongue working you to a orgasm muffled by your own hand.

He’d slapped your ass, kissed your cheek and sent you out his office door, wiping your own wetness off your cheek just in time to greet your father.

“You suit the ring,” his voice and a gentle breeze bring you back to the present. To the park. To the heavy feeling that hangs between you both. “I prefer it to that stud.”

“I- What?” Confussion.

You furrow your brow, wipe your sweaty palms over your thighs.

He just smiles, still crookedly, and brings his hand up to your nose.

Adjusts your piercing, swipes his thumb over your cheek.

It’s hard to breath, but you do it anyway.

Thank him, in a struggle to find your voice, with a whisper.

His eyes bore into your own, chase them as you look off to the side, watch the dog still chasing it’s ball and failing to catch it.

You wonder if it’s a cruel metaphor sent by the universe, a symbol of you and Javi.

And then you wonder if you’re the dog or the ball.

Or both.

“You never answered me,” his voice, honey, sweet on your ears. It melts away your other senses, turns you blind to anything other than him. “I want to hear how you’ve be-”

“Peña, if you don’t report your skinny ass to my office in 5 minutes and share a celebratory drink with me, I’m putting you on cleaning duties at our next poker night.”

A static-filled voice blares out his walkie-talkie.

Your father’s voice.

It’s enough to set things right, force your body to retreat from his.

He’s not your Javi anymore, desperate to hear about your day and kiss any aches away.

He’s Peña, your dad’s best friend, meant for nothing more than to be a passing figure in your life.

His eyes are heavy with emotion as he fishes out the device.

Maybe it’s sadness you see.

There’s definitely remorse.

Guilt, too.

“We... Your dad caught the guy that’s been breaking into college girls’ apartments.” He tells you, shares information that should help you sleep better at night. You’ve not done that since the last time he lay next to you. You watch him press down on the call button, hold the speaker up to his mouth. “Do that and I’ll shit in your shower, pendejo (asshole).”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d commit an indecency within your parent’s bathroom.

But none of that matter, anymore.

You’re already walking away.

Wringing your hands and hoping the tension in your limbs falls out.

He calls out your name, loudly.

Attracts the nosy eyes of people around.

People who know fine well who your father is, who Javier is.

You turn in time to see him half-jog, half-pace his way over to you.

He reaches out for your hand.

And quickly gives up on the thought of holding it.

“I’ll, um,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, grinds his teeth in an attempt to say something. “I’ll see you at the barbecue, right?”

He knows the answer.

You still give him it, “yes.”

Smile, uncomfortably brightly, before you turn and walk away once more.

You feel his eyes on you.

And pray he takes no notice of the sob that shakes your shoulders.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think I’m alright

You’re laughing but it’s mostly fake.

A courtesy, a polite gesture. A signal that you’re still listening, despite tuning out her voice five minutes ago.

She’s a nice lady, someone who works alongside your father. Specialised in forensics, she balances the darkness of her job with the brightness of her wardrobe.

Today, she’s paired a lemon-yellow skirt with a vibrantly orange camisole. She looks like a walking cheese cube.

You’ve known her since you were a kid, even if you can’t remember. She claims you used to stand on her desk, make a big spectacle out of nearly matching your dad’s height.

You’d got to talking to her after she helped you wipe ketchup off your chin.

That was half an hour ago, and the discomfort of wanting to be anywhere but here is finally settling in.

It’s not her fault. You know.

She’s not the one who roped you into going to this barbecue.

Your dad is.

And right now he’s stood on the other side of his backyard, half-drunken beer bottle in one hand and Javier Peña’s shoulder clapped under the other.

Even from here, you can hear him bragging.

So then Peña’s on his ass.

Chases this guy, whilst he’s driving down the street!

Catches him at an intersection, physically rips him out the car.

All while the man in question shrugs, sheepish. Dismisses your father’s praising.

He’s exaggerating.

The guy was barely going 5 miles an hour!

He stepped out the vehicle at his own will.

Sweat lines his forehead, shirt-sleeves hug his biceps, joy wrinkles his eyes.

He’s happy, at ease. Enjoying himself, in a way he was always meant to.

Something about him fits so perfectly in this picture: laughing with your father, complimenting your mother, playing fetch with your dog.

If you step inside the frame, it cracks.

Shatters.

And maybe he knows that.

Knew it all along.

Broke things off before you could try find a frame large enough to fit you all in.

And, though it hurts, you see why things had to end between you and feel relieved it happened before it was too late.

The feeling lasts all but four seconds.

“Kiddo!”

Your father’s voice is obnoxiously loud. Several of the party-goers turn their heads, follow his line of sight. Spot you, frozen in place, glass full of watered down lemonade and a belly full of dread.

It takes a moment, but you wave.

“Come over ‘ere!”

Not the response you were hoping for.

Still, you do as he asks. Smile at your mother, shuffle your feet, make your way across the yard. Do everything in your power to not look at Javi.

Even if the weight of his stare threatens to crumble you.

“You having a good time?” Your dad’s got this smile, big and dopy and oh so caring, that you can’t bring yourself to ruin with the truth.

“I’m having a great time,” you barely manage out before he’s squeezing you into his side.

The condensation on his bottle of beer seeps through the shoulder of your top, his arm secured safely around you.

He must be tipsy already, a buzz in his veins making him more affectionate than normal.

“I can’t believe it,” he laments, speaking to no one in particular.

In your peripheral, you fail to ignore tight jeans and a loose-fitting shirt.

It’s hardly buttoned, the top three undone and leaving a golden plain on display.

Perhaps you’re going crazy but he seems thinner, skin drawn a little tighter against his ribcage.

It’s not a sight you want to see.

It fills you with dread.

Pulling you out of your own head, you father continues to drone on.

“My little girl’s spreading her wings soon, going on her first adult holiday to-”

“London.”

Javi’s voice, interrupting your father, finishing his sentence.

All eyes snap to him.

Your own, wide and panicked. Scared. Trying so hard to dismiss how intensely he’s staring back you.

Your mother’s, amused and curious. Flicking back and forth between his face and her husband’s.

Your father, confused and perplexed, “I- Yeah...” He speaks slow and the arm on your shoulder slips down. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve been, you know?” Two hands dance in front of you, somewhere in the dark, intwining and unwinding. It’s a nervous habit, of Javi’s. You welcome the contact of soothing touches. “To London.”

That peaks your interest.

Enough to shift positions. Rip your hand out his own, roll onto your side and rest a hand under your propped up head. Your other, inevitably, finds its way upon his warm chest, rests over his no-longer-racing heartbeat.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been a few times, actually. I’ve got some friends out there.”

With Javi, friends could mean anything.

A fellow agent, a government official, a moonlight lover.

For all you know, this friend could be the Queen of England.

So it’s best you don’t inquire on it.

“Where do you recommend I visit then, Mr. Bond?”

“Mr... Bond?”

The room is dark, but you still notice the furrow in his brow.

You can practically hear it, in his voice.

“You know, like James Bond.” That’s the thing about jokes, explaining them makes you realise how dumb they are. “‘Cause you were an agent and you like London, and he’s an agent in Lon-”

He cuts you off in the way you like best: his mouth against yours.

The kiss is brief, and leads no place further than the simple act of wanting to silence you.

And, though it goes unaddressed, because it’s been too long since he’d last done it.

Even if he’d done so less than an hour ago, naked bodies intertwined on ruffled bedsheets.

“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard, corazón,” somehow, the words don’t bruise your ego.

Instead, they make you giggle and burrow your heated face into the crook of his neck.

His lips press against your hairline before speaking again.

“I’d need to write you a list of places to go, too many for me to pick one.”

“Maybe I need a tour guide,” a hand of his greets your back, strokes soothing motions back and forth. It’s lulling you to sleep, at last. “Y’know, show me all the places a real Londoner goes.”

“I could,” he pauses. Clears his throat. Pulls you a little tighter against him, till your limbs are tangled and it’s hard to tell where he stops and you start. “I could check my calendar. See how many holiday days I’ve got left. Could come with you, to London, if you want me there.”

It’s too late though.

You’re already snoring against his skin.

“How does he know?” Your mother shatters the silence, tone incredulous. “I mean, seriously, are you blind!?”

For a minute, it feels like she knows.

She knows why Javi knows.

You should be panicking.

Both of you should.

Should look away from one another, should wipe the guilt off your faces, should already be working on some excuse for when your mother exposes what once was between you.

But you aren’t. Neither of you are.

You’re just staring at each other, as if you’re working to commit each other’s face to memory.

“He knows because you won’t shut up about it!”

Your dad gives an unceremonious oh.

Your mom rolls her eyes.

Javi takes a sip of beer and looks off to the side, eyes breaking contact from your own at last.

“Ok but,” your father’s back to talking before you can fully work up the courage to leave. At least that’s the excuse you try give yourself, anything to distract from Javi. “I bet I’ve not told you what she’s decided to do on her travels!”

“You have,” your mother’s tone is pointed.

Javi laughs, sputters up a little beer back into the bottle. Tilts his head back, accepts his own backwash.

There’s a worn-out cigarette box squeezed tight inside the front pocket of his jeans.

You try ignore the fact he’d promised you he was working on quitting.

“Shh,” your father waves a hand in your mother’s face, dismisses her teasing with a playful wink.

Pulls her close, kisses her shoulder.

Gives both you and Javi a display of what a relationship is.

Open, celebrated, acknowledged.

Not secretive, dirty, scandalous.

Javi cuts the tension with a chuckle and a gentle shove to your father’s arm.

As his hand retreats back to his side, his knuckles brush your skin.

“She’s gonna get herself a christmas-tree decoration every holiday,” your father reveals. You’re frozen at the fact he even remembers you mentioning it. “What was it you said again, kiddo? So in the future, when you’re decorating the tree with your kids, you’ll think of the places you’ve been and tell them all about it?”

Your heart drops.

Javi’s seems to do the same.

For a moment, you worry he’s stopped breathing.

Till his chest rises and falls, no thanks to your father’s stupid rambling about you, and the future, and kids.

“Uh, yeah,” the ground can’t swallow you sooner. You’re already planning your exit, from this conversation and, hopefully, this party as a whole. Your dad’ll understand. You just need to tell him something came up. Or came out. Tell him you’ve got food poison. Blame it on some dodgy take-out the night before. “Something like that.”

But I’m actually bloody Motherfucking batshit crazy

There are moments in one’s life where they must question their own sanity.

You’ve lived plenty of such moments.

But none quite like right now, half-crouched in the middle of a grocery store aisle, peeping into the next one through a gap between two cereal boxes on the shelf.

And all because you heard his voice.

“This is what you’re craving?” Through the crack, you see him wave about something in his hand. It’s hard to see what exactly he’s holding, though.

He’s facing a woman.

She’s pretty.

With dirty blonde hair, piercing blue eyes that not even the shelves and produce between you both can block the shine of.

And a well-rounded belly.

“No, Javi, this,” she doesn’t say his name the same way you do- did. There’s a jovial tone, but there’s no awe, no seduction. Maybe that’s just what your bias hears. “Is what the baby is craving.”

You’ve never seen her before.

Not on the mantel of photos that line Javier’s television. Not at any of the station thrown parties. Not in his wallet, tucked behind the picture of his mom.

She’s a total stranger, to you.

But that doesn’t mean she’s a stranger to him.

A very pregnant, non-stranger.

“We gotta get this kid some better taste.”

His hand rests on her bump.

She welcomes it, placing her own against it to hold him in place.

The image of the American dream, a beautiful woman and a handsome man. The promise of a child, soon, half her and half him.

The blood drains from your face. There’s a lump in your throat and a sting in your eyes.

You won’t let it fester.

Take deep breaths, pretend there’s no shake in your exhales.

It’s not enough to stop the vicious thoughts that sink their jagged ends into the soft tissues of your brain.

Was she the reason things between you and him ended?

Had he got her pregnant, decided to stand by her, and found love along the way?

Was he with her, all along, while he was with...

Surely, he couldn’t have.

But, then, why couldn’t he have?

You were never exclusive.

You were never anything.

“Did-” Somewhere, between the aisles, Javi speaks in amazement. The smile is practically dripping off his words. “Did it just kick?”

Your heart’s palpitating.

Your hands are sweating so badly, they threaten to drop the box of Cap'n Crunch in their grasp.

Jealousy turns to misplaced anger, irrational in every form but impossible to conform.

Because, how could he do this to you?

Make a mockery of you, turn you into the other woman?

Love you so deeply and leave you so easily?

Settle down with this woman and her baby, yet run from you at the first scare of a-

“He’s a real kicker, ain’t he?”

At first, you think it’s spoken to you.

But, no, it’s too distant. Too far.

A third person enters your view through the window in the shelf.

He’s handsome, in the typical sense.

Blonde haired, a nice smile.

There’s a little girl in his arms, resting on his hip, half asleep and clinging to a worn-out giraffe doll.

“He?” It’s Javi who echoes.

“Don’t get him started,” the woman seems to beg, rolling her eyes.

The man nods, pride on his face, “I’m telling ya, Peña, it’s gonna be a boy. It needs to be a boy, ‘else I’m gonna be overrun by little girls.”

The woman must give him a pointed look, or a gentle nudge, for not two seconds later he’s following his words up with a tickle to the sleepy girl’s side and “little girls who I love very much.” Pause. He leans closer to Javier, hand covering one side of his mouth as if to block the woman and the child from hearing him. “I still want a son, though.”

“Olivia,” the pregnant woman strokes a hand over the little girl's head, coxing her to keep her eyes open. It’s hard to tell if there’s a drool mark on the man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you show uncle Javi your favourite toy?”

The bile in your throat burns more than ever before.

The misplaced anger bleeds into sadness, shame, embarrassment.

Here you are, going stir-crazy over a man who never wanted much of you in the first place, raising your heart-rate at the thought of him moving on from something that never even existed.

And there he is, fine as can be- in every sense of the word-, sharing laughs and exchanging smiles with old friends in the grocery store.

Friends his own age.

Worlds apart, yet nothing but a shelf between you.

Through the gap, you watch him lean down to the little girl’s eye-level. A twinkle in his eye, he happily tugs at the stuffed giraffe’s tail.

“Glad you liked it, Olive,” curse him, and his soft voice, and his gentle touch and his everything, for still forcing you to swoon over him, knees weak and ovaries treacherously screaming. “I had to go all the way to Africa to find him.”

The little girl perks right up at that.

Eyes widened, head off her father’s shoulder.

“Really?!” She’s amazed, and how could she not be? Javier Peña is beaming at her, ear to ear.

“Mhmm,” he nods, feeds into his own lie, ignoring the disapproving looks from the other man. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll go back next year and get you a zebra.”

“Quit lying to my kid, Peña.”

Javi, undeterred from keeping the little girl’s smile, rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue out at her father, huffing under his breath “Your dad’s a right grump, Olive.”

You begin to wonder how long Javi’s known this couple, how he knows this couple.

“Just wait till you’ve got your own kid and I’m feeding it lies.” The man punctuates his empty threat with a dull punch to Javi’s forearm. Javi barely flinches, unfazed. “Speaking of, when are you making me uncle Steve?”

In sync and apart, you and him both physically freeze.

Your breathing stops.

Javier stands up straight. Rolls his shoulders, scratches at the back of his neck, clears his throat and, “not any time soon.”

“Really? What about that girl you’ve been seeing, the-”

“That- We- It didn’t work out, we wanted,” you begin to see cracks in his facade. Fake laugh, solemn eyes. “Different things... I want, wanted to settle down but, yeah, no it was for her best that we-”

“Sorry, can I just,” your heart jumps in your chest, flying back so quickly from your peep-hole that you nearly knock over the person behind you. “Grab one of those?”

You nod, gain composure, watch the stranger pick up a box of cereal off the shelf.

They walk away and you’re left alone, again.

Your eyes flicker up to the shelf and-

He’s no longer standing on the other side.

You turn on your heel, ignoring your half-filled cart and book it out of the store before you fall apart.

Try as you might, you can’t shake off the weight of his stare as you pass by the check-out.

I kept it in, but it wrecked my organs So pour the gin and call Graham Norton

You wake up early.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re seizing the day.

Making the most out of your time upon foreign land.

The early bird gets the worm, and all that proverbial bullshit.

The truth lies in that you can not sleep.

Jetlag. Your body clock is at odds with the timezone.

Which lands you here: strolling upon the cobbled streets of Notting Hill.

A quarter past six.

Its barely light out, the sun still fighting to rise over the horizon and the streetlights still shadow your every step.

Colourful houses, cosy shops, a melodic thud each time your feet meet the ground.

It’s picturesque, straight out of a romantic comedy.

Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt more gloom.

In the silent bustle of a city awakening to a new day, you’re startled.

Trip over a cobble, nearly meet the floor, and just about save yourself from rolling your ankle.

Your ringtone is the culprit.

Loud, imposing. It scares a flock of birds off a wire and gains you a stare from a man stepping out his home.

Scrambling to get the clunky cellphone out your bag, you spare the screen a fleeting glance.

You question if it’s one of your friends, awakened back in your shared hotel room to find you’re not there, and press the green button.

“Corazón.”

It’s funny how one word can drain the blood from your face.

You swallow the lump in your throat, made of equal parts anger and sadness.

Anger that this is the first time you’ve heard Javier Peña’s voice in nearly two months.

Sadness that it sounds so broken down the line.

“I- Shit, I can’t tell if I’ve even dialled the right number...” He’s muttering in your ear, confused and at odds with himself, mouth a fountain his thoughts pour out of. “... Probably changed it or- Can she even receive calls all the way in-”

“I’m here,” it’s only a whisper.

It’s enough to shut him up.

Silence rings down the line, a static buzz that reminds you of the distance between you.

“You’re in London,” he states.

“I am,” you affirm.

He hums, sips something.

Ice clinks against glass, and you feel a little sick.

“How have-” His voice sounds strange. Muffled. Different. Maybe it’s the poor connection. “Was your flight okay?”

“Yeah,” you spare him the details.

The truth.

The boredom, the turbulence. The fact you’re dreading the flight home.

“I’m glad,” he sighs the words out, worry going with them. “Know you’re not the biggest fan of planes, kept thinking of you alone and afraid on it.”

“I wasn’t alone,” it’s defensive, and ironic.

You sure felt alone.

“That’s right, corazón, you weren’t,” something slips, rolls, smashes. Glass shatters and is met with cursing anger, an oh, shit! followed up by hollow laughter. “You’re never alone.”

“Are you...” The street’s a little brighter, a few cars have begun to back out of driveways and you’re still there, frozen in the middle of the street, phone pressed to your ear. “Drunk?”

“No, I’m javi.” If his laughter is anything to go by, he thinks himself the comic of the century. “Had a few drinks with your dad, sweetheart, that’s all.”

For a moment, it feels like you shouldn’t be here, in London.

You should be home, in Laredo, dragging a drunken Javi to bed.

Stripping him of his clothes, kissing his rosied cheeks, urging him to go to sleep. Leaving him a pair of painkillers and a glass of water for his breakfast before curling yourself into his soft arms.

You blink, and feel the familiar weight of a tear on your lashes.

“Why’d you call me, Javi?” It’s a desperate plea.

For answers, for clarity, for closure

“I wanted to hear your voice,” that’s too vague of an answer, too unfair of an answer. Your heart swells nonetheless. “Wanted to go to London, with you. I should be there.”

“It’s your fault,” that’s as cruel as you can bring yourself to be towards him.

Even then, it kills you to do so.

“’S half my fault. Joder (fuck),” you can picture him, leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. You wonder how much he’s drank, and if he spoke to any women. Maybe he took one home, fucked her nice and good before dialling your number. “Wanted to give you my answer, too.”

Someone bumps your shoulder on the street, walking past you.

You pay them no mind, vision blurred to the world around you.

“What answer?”

“Where you should visit, Mrs. Bond,” he says it, like it doesn’t send you into cardiac arrest.

You miss the nights like that one, tangled in your bed, smelling him on your sheets and feeling him against your skin.

He’d woken up first the next day, coaxed you out of bed with the promise of homemade pancakes and his head between your legs.

“There’s this little bar in Inslington, called the Distillery Club. The owner, he makes his own gin. You like gin, don’t you, corazón?” You nod, and it’s almost like he feels it. “It doesn’t look like much from the outside. Or the inside, either. But it’s some of the best gin I’ve ever had, in the greatest company.”

You try to picture him, sat amongst friends you’ve never met. Friends who don’t know your dad.

You try to picture yourself, next to him, scooting your bar stool closer to his.

The image doesn’t quite form.

“Want you to go there, get yourself a drink. Tell him Javier Peña sent you, and that you’ve not to pay.”

It’s like he’s given you a piece of his soul. A piece of his history, someplace he’s sought out refuge in his lowest moments.

Refuge he’s willing to share with you.

That tear finally gives way, dropping off your lash and rolling down your cheek.

You wipe it off with the sleeve of your sweater, before anyone can see.

“Promise me you’ll go, corazón.”

Your reply is instant, “I promise.”

“Ok, I’ll let you go,” it’s solemn, regretful, devoid of truth. You almost beg him not to, but that didn’t work last time. “Enjoy yourself, okay? Come home, safe.”

“Javi, I-” the line cuts off, disconnecting before you even finish. “Miss you.”

I’m gonna throw you down the river Your mum can watch it over dinner

“How you feeling, kiddo?”

You startle awake at your father’s voice, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Before you can give him an answer, you erupt into a fit of coughs.

“Not good,” he grimaces and slowly steps into your room. “Got it.”

Stepping off the plane, you’d managed only one night back in your own bed before the fever had taken over.

All it took was hearing your nasally voice over the phone for your mother to demand you come stay with them.

Just till you’re back on your feet, she’d said, like she ever needed an excuse to have you over.

She’s not quite adjusted to being an empty-nester.

Neither of them have, really.

“Actually,” your tone is matter-of-factly. “I almost smelt something earlier.”

“That’s great, kid!” And he means it, you know he does. Even if his shoulders slump at any sign of you feeling better and returning to your apartment. “Now we just gotta figure out if it’s your sinuses unclogging or your stench just growing more rancid.”

Try as you might to aim the pillow right at his head, he still manages to catch it inches from his face.

“Hey, I’m just saying! You’ve got the flu, you ain’t dying! Could be a little courteous to those who’ve gotta be around you and take a shower.”

“You’re literally in my room!”

“Which is literally in my house!”

Downstairs, your mother yells something unintelligible.

Likely, she’s telling you both to shut up and to quit behaving like children.

Making eye contact, you both can’t help the roll of laughter that comes out.

He steps a little closer, and that’s when you spot it.

Tupperware, clasped in his hand.

The contents are hard to decipher.

Luckily, your father spots you eyeing it.

“Your mom said ya wouldn’t be up for eating much but, if you’re hungry,” he pauses, at the foot of your bed. Tugs a little on the homemade-blanket you’ve had since you were in grade school. You wonder if he remembers making it with you. “One of the guys down at the station made you some stew.”

Your stomach growls, hungry and unfed.

The prospect of a hot, boiling bowl of brothy stew suddenly peaks your interest.

In fact, you can’t think of anything better.

“It’s a family recipe, he said it would cure ya right up.”

He’s popping the lid open, presenting the delicacy before your eyes. 

Immediately, you spot chicken.

Some corn cob, a couple lumps of potato, flakes of chilli.

You wish you could smell it, ingest it through your nasal canal and get a taste of it before you even put it in your mouth.

Your father continues, practically talking to himself.

“What’d he say it was called again, ga-sue-lay day ah-vay?”

“Cazuela de ave.”

A change into warmer, drier clothes.

Your hair still sits wet upon your head, but it no longer drips puddles onto his floor.

Thirty minutes it took him to drive from where he’d spotted you, walking soaked upon the sidewalk.

It would’ve only taken him seventeen minutes if he’d dropped you at your apartment.

And that fact is partly what warms your insides.

You watch him, tie discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone, strutting around his kitchen.

Objectively, you think, he’s gorgeous.

Yet the word somehow doesn’t seem like it’s enough to summarise him, when he’s making his way round to you, two ceramic bowls in his hands and a look of pride in his eyes.

He put his own bowl down first. Sloppy, uncaring, spilling a little of it’s contents over it’s edge.

And then yours. More careful, slowly, both hands guiding it down.

The scent alone is enough to have you salivating. 

Warmth and care, all encased in a bowl of brothy goodness.

“It smells delicious,” you inhale deeply, for dramatic effect.

And to get more of that meaty, comfort-food goodness.

Javi sits on the opposite side of the dining table, and you try hard to stop your mind from wandering off to visions of you both sat like this, out in public, in a restaurant.

A real date.

Only, this isn’t even a fake date.

You guys don’t do that.

“It’s- It was my mom’s recipe.”

Frozen in place, you wonder if the shock spills over your face.

He’s never mentioned his mother.

Or much about his family, really.

There’s the occasional comment about projects he takes on at his dad’s ranch, and tid-bits of information you hear across a dinner table that's set by your mother and seated by your father.

But you’re no fool blind enough to not realise the obvious.

A worn-out polaroid in his wallet, his mother smiles brightly in permanent ink each time he opens it. It contrasts her impermanence in the real world, dead and gone long before you became so much as a ripple in the lake of Javier’s existence.

Across the table, he’s relaxed. At ease.

Open.

His eyes, his mind, his heart.

And so you try venturing inwards, test his waters with a dip of your toe.

“Was she a good cook?”

Lukewarm, they appear, when he favours you with a tiny smile, his eyes staring somewhere off in the distance.

“No,” and he laughs at his own admission.

Not just a scoffed out chuckle, or a gesture meant to feign joy.

A full, hearty laugh, that shakes his shoulders and splits his cheeks.

It’s disturbingly beautiful.

You wonder if there’s a life where it could be like this, always.

Javier laughing at his own jokes, you smiling at his visceral joy, plates of homemade food filling the space between you.

“No, she, uh,” he restarts, relaxing a little bit. He wipes under one of his eyes with the back of his palm, a rogue tear breaching his waterline. “She was awful. She burnt every slice of toast she made, and even served an unbaked cake at one of my birthday parties. This dish is actually one of the few she knew how to nail.”

You can picture it, a young Javi, party hat on his head and a cheesy grin topped by rosy cheeks, eating away at gooey batter mix sprinkled in icing. 

It’s hard to imagine him complaining, or getting angry at her.

In spite of his reputation, and the career he’s undertaken, Javier Peña is a gentle soul, who nurtures and protects anyone he can.

A modern-day hero, a knight who’s exchanged his shinny armour for form fitting jeans and unbuttened shirts.

“Tell me more about her,” the words are out before you can reel them back in.

Because you like this feeling, and you like this Javi, reminiscing on his late-mother.

“She not only was awful at cooking, but she had the worst coordination too.” It’s like he’s been waiting to tell you this, with how easy he slips into doing so. “She was forever falling and tripping over herself. And her driving, god! Pops used to dig out his rosary each time she’d be out on the field, driving the tractor.”

There’s something intimate about him recalling details so many would see as flaws, whilst he sports the most earnest, heart-wrenching smile.

Like nothing about her was wrong, all of her perfect and angelic.

“She was brave, too. I’d like to think I’m just like her in that respect. She didn’t let anything stop her from doing things she set her heart on, and she never let her inabilities hinder her,” he’s getting a little emotional now, you can hear it in his voice, see it in the lump he swallows back. You stretch a hand across the table and watch as he leans on you for support, fingers interlocking with your own. “There was this one time when I was a kid, I was swimming in a river and got stuck in a current. She dived right in to save me... She didn’t even know how to swim!”

You don’t know what to say.

You opt for saying nothing, silence speaking more than a thousand words.

Give his hand a reassuring squeeze, feel him squeeze back harder.

Your stomach rumbles, but it doesn’t ruin the moment in the way you feared it would.

“Listen to me being a sap and starving my poor lady to death,” still, he tugs your hand closer and plants a kiss on your knuckles. You’re still trying to process the possessive adjective he’d used to address you. My. His. “Eat up.”

Both of you settle back in your seats.

You pick up your spoon, scoop up a piece of chicken out the steaming bowl and-

“Asi no, corazón (not like that, sweetheart),” he spews out, panicking to pry the cutlery out your hand. He ignores the questioning looks you give him. “You drink the soup first, eat the filling after. Like this.”

Leaning over the table, he scoops your bowl up in his careful hands and guides it up to your lips.

When your lips part and rest against the bowl’s edge, he tilts it and you feel it’s warmth invade your mouth.

And then your chest, branching out over your heart, your lungs, your stomach.

Horned-up bias you so often show towards Javier aside, it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

Like a hug on a gloomy, wet day, all wrapped up inside a ceramic bowl.

You hum, hands taking over his own to allow him back into his own seat, focusing his attention on drinking his own soup.

“Javi, this is...” You trail off, eyeing the small ring of liquid pooling at the bottom of the bowl. One more mouthful and you’ll get your taste of the stew’s fillings. “Amazing. Your mum would be proud.”

Instead of modesty, instead of 'thank yous', instead of bashfulness, Javier smiles, takes another sip from his bowl.

“She would have liked you.”

You stare across at him and find no jest in his eyes.

They’re as open as before.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. She always liked pretty girls smart enough to put me in my place.”

“Kiddo?”

You’re ripped out your own head by your father’s voice and his hand, waved repeatedly in front of your face.

“Hmm?” 

“You okay there? I was talkin’ to you but you seemed lost in thought.” There’s a little excitement in you father’s voice as he presses his cold hand to your sweated forehead, the prospect of you still being ill, still needing taking care of, filling him with the relief of keeping you in your parents' home a little longer.

“I’m- Yeah, just tired, s’all.”

“Ok, let me know when you’ve finished your food,” he presses a kiss atop the crown of your head, and you hold back the pointless comment of not risking getting himself or your mother sick. “Need to get the tupperware clean ‘fore I give it back to Javi.”

Your stomach twists and longs for the meal before you, while your heart shatters into pieces you doubt will ever be repaired.

#javier peña smut #pedro pascal smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña oneshot

[whohasthecards]

Hangster AU -- Firefighter Bradley & Best Buy Employee/Aviator Jake

AU where Bradley is a firefighter and Jake is still an aviator. Jake is on a long leave, probably because of the mission, and he takes another job to pass the time. He works at Best Buy.

Bradley comes to Best Buy to buy something, he's still in uniform, so Jake knows where he works at. And they snark at one another, but Jake manages to throw the box of what Bradley needs at him, smirking all the time.

---

"Can we stop debating the merits of 10 different wires and connectors and just give me the box, please," Bradley said exasperated as he held a hand out for the box this Ken doll was holding.

"Sure, here, catch," Jake said shrugging throwing the box lightly at him. "No need to get as red as your fire truck."

Bradley groans, rolls his eyes, and walks away. He was never wearing his fire department shirt in public ever again.

---

Bradley put his keys on in his bronco. And turn it. Engine sputtering.

"Oh come on," Bradley muttered, moustache twitching.

He stepped down again on the brake and clutch, twisting the key. Nada. Bradley groaned and hit his head on the steering wheel wondering who the fuck to call.

He jumped when he heard a knock at the window, seeing Ken doll, looking sympathetic.

He opened the door.

"Need a jump?" Ken-doll asked.

Bradley, sighed, "Yes please."

"Give me a sec to bring my car over."

"Thank you." ---

"Man, you've been having issues with the lights and radio, too? But you just replaced the bulbs, right?"

Bradley deeply sighed and rubbed the space between his eyes, "Yeah."

"That's fucked up, man, good luck, better bring it to the shop for the wiring."

"No comment on the wires on this one?"

"Car wiring is a whole another thing I ain't gonna touch, too much of a headache for me," Ken-doll said, flicking the toothpick in his mouth to the side.

"How do you know so much about wires, anyways? You work with it a lot at Best Buy?" Bradley said going back inside his truck to try to start it.

"Nah, not really, I studied engineering, and my other job. You pick some stuff up along the way."

"You studied engineering and you work at Best Buy!?" Bradley said fingers slipping from the ignition.

"Anything wrong with that?" Ken-doll said, raising a brow.

"No, I mean-- Oh look the car's starting," Bradley said flustered. "Thank you, man, I'm Bradley Bradshaw by the way, incase you need anything, I'm by the fire station." Bradley said holding out his hand.

"It's Jake, and if you need anything from electronic goods to repair, come to Best Buy for a wonderful service," Jake said shaking his hand and winking.

"Should add auto-repair to that slogan."

---

A series of events caused them to meet again. And they hit it off, go one dates and all that.

Jake likes listening to Bradley's stories about his job, and Jake tells him about some crazy customers he had to deal with.

Bradley never asked about Jake's previous job/other job, and Jake,,, forgot.

---

One day, Bradley's station gets a call for a jet having to do an emergency crash landing. And they have to make sure that the area is clear and be prepared for anything that might happen. If the pilot gets stuck or something gets lit on fire.

And they're listening in on the radio with the pilot and pilot's instructor telling him what to do. Calm, steady, smooth, and knowledgeable.

Familiar.

They arrive on scene, get the pilot out, and the instructor comes eventually in a rush.

"Is my pilot, okay?" A familiar voice asked.

"Yeah, we're getting him checked out at the hospital, nothing severe."

He hears the man sigh, "Good."

The man turns the corner, and his eyes flickered to Bradley for a moment, before focusing back on the fire captain.

"I'm Lieutenant Commander Seresin, thank you for helping during this incident."

---

"You work in the Navy!?"

"Yeaahhh--"

"You didn't tell me!?"

"I forgot!"

A pause.

"Also does the team know we're dating?"

"The station? No, why?"

"Wanna mess with them?"

"I'm listening."

#fanfic #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun fandom #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #hangster #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x bradley bradshaw #word vomited this stuff #hope it makes sense

[moni-logues]

The Surface

banner by @sailoryooons

Pairing: prince merman!Hoseok x sea witch!reader

Genre: fairytale AU/The Little Mermaid AU, smut

Summary: Prince Hoseok has only ever wanted one thing: to experience life on the Surface. You have only ever wanted Prince Hoseok. When he comes to you, desperate, claiming you are the only one who can help him, you decide to play along. You'll help him achieve his dream and maybe you'll satisfy your own dream, too.

Word count: 20k

Content: unprotected sex, oral sex (m. receiving), Hoseok has sex with someone but he thinks they're someone else, if you're incredibly squeamish, there may be some body/pain stuff that makes you go 😖, potentially a litt yandere-vibed

A/N: Happy my birthday eve to you, dear reader!!!!! This is my very first toe-dip into the world of fantasy/spn!! AND my first collab!!!!! Pleeeeaaassseeee read the warnings (and please!!!! let me know if I'm missing any or any are insufficient). I'm so excited; I struggled with plotting this fic and working out how to get it to do what I wanted and thid is actually v3.0 lmao BUT I'm really happy with it! And happy to be part of the Make Me Your Villain collab!!! Thanks to @daechwitatamic for beta-ng and yelling!!!!

*

Hoseok swam farther than he ever had before. Swam closer. He’d be inching forward and now he was close enough to be spotted; he knew that. He knew that that was too far, but he didn’t really care.

The first time he swam in this direction and saw the shadows of small boats cross over him, he’d bolted in a panic. Merpeople were not to be spotted by humans. Ever. So he’d raced away, not looking back.

But then he had the knowledge that humans sailed there. He knew that that stretch of water played host to life above its surface, too. They were little boats, not the huge ships he usually tailed. These were much smaller, with handfuls of humans sitting in them, pointing in the distance, holding little boxes up to their faces and lowering them again. Visible. Watchable. It was tantalising.

So he went back. Hung around and waited for a while. Did it again. Watched a boat sail over him and eventually drop anchor near the cove. Went back a third time. Saw the humans jump from the side of the boat into the water. Hung back.

The next time, he swam closer. And the time after that, closer still.

That particular day, he had time. Lots of it. There was nothing calling for his attention, nothing tying him to any place, so he edged closer and a little closer, until he could see so clearly their spindly legs kicking ineffectually through the water, their weird feet and tiny toes. He had never seen humans so close before. He wondered if anyone had. They were fascinating. They dived down and kicked back up, their limbs moving in the water to keep them afloat. They turned on to their backs, looking just like seals from below. They squealed and laughed and talked and Hoseok watched it all with rapt attention. What he wouldn’t have given to approach one. To have made contact. To have asked them all his questions.

He wished he had someone to tell. Someone who would receive the information with not even wonder—his hopes were not that high—but interest. He didn’t have anyone to share his discoveries with, his treasures, his excitement. No one else understood. Some people thought he was weird; others thought his interest in the human world was downright wrong.

But his excitement was palpable that day, floating so close to the humans, he could hear their voices. He could even just about make out their words. And then their speech took on a more urgent tone; there was more frantic splashing, some flailing of limbs. He looked around himself and rose until his head bobbed out of the water. He watched the humans spin, searching for something, pointing this way and that way, calling to each other, looking.

He wanted to help but he didn’t know how. He dipped back into the water and skirted around the edge of the group – still unseen—and then it hit him. He had been so focused on the humans that he hadn’t seen it.

The rip tide tugged him sideways with a vicious spinning force. He was lucky, because he lived in the sea and this was far from his first rip. It might have taken him unawares, but he was able to right himself and spiral through to the other side.

That was when he saw what they must have been looking for.

The rip had tossed him out on the other side of a sharp, rocky outcrop on the west side of the cove. It jutted far out into the sea, sheltering the shore from western winds, and he saw a human woman struggling to the surface.

Her limbs were slow and her face kept dipping under the waves until eventually, she just floated, barely moving at all, moving only with the rhythm of the waves. Hoseok watched with dread and fear curdling the excitement in his stomach. She was too still now, her face too low in the water. Something wasn’t right. There was something unnatural about the way she was lying there, suspended in the water.

Hoseok didn’t think before he acted. He kicked his fins and swam to her, wrapping one arm around her torso and hiking her upwards so her face was out of the water. He dragged her, swimming backwards, towards the shore. He was grateful there was a shore; the other side of the cove had nothing but sheer cliffs and sharp rocks.

He didn’t know what he would do when he reached the shingle beach, but being on land had to help, didn’t it? Land was where the humans belonged.

Hoseok dragged her as far out of the water as he could manage—which wasn’t very far because his tail churned the stones and wouldn’t propel him forwards, so he dragged himself, as well as this human woman, until only her legs were splashed by the waves.

He looked down at her, anxiety churning in his gut. How did humans die? Was she already dead? The thought was nauseating. He knew humans had hearts like merpeople did, so he pressed his hand against her chest and felt nothing. He pressed a hand against his own chest. Felt nothing. He pressed his fingers against the large artery he knew ran down his front and felt nothing. He pressed them to his neck and almost felt something, moved them around until he found the spot at which he could feel his blood pushing against them. He immediately transferred his fingers to the same position on the woman and felt the same thing.

He let out a heavy breath. Relief. At least she wasn’t dead.

But she also wasn’t awake.

“Hello?” he called lightly. “Uh, hello? Are you ok?”

She remained unmoved, but he could barely hear himself over the pounding of his frantic heart; maybe he was too quiet? Maybe merpeople couldn’t make noise outside of the water? He tried again but it elicited no response.

He watched her carefully, listening, training his ears towards her, tuning out the roar of the waves and the squawk of seagulls and the distant sound of voices. He concentrated hard, breathing carefully to slow his own heart, to quiet the thump of it against his ribs and the rush of blood through his veins. There was a wet gurgle as her chest rose and fell, coming from her mouth, but sounding from deep inside. Hoseok knew humans breathed through their mouths, not having gills of their own. So he knew she was breathing.

She was both alive and breathing. He sighed with relief. He could let his worry go and lean into his fascination.

He had never seen a human like this. Close enough to touch—he had touched her. Her hair was the colour of the sun, even wet through; the curls stuck to her skin and Hoseok dared to reach out and brush them from her face. As he took his hand back, he noticed he was shaking. Drops of water on her skin sparkled like gems, glinting in the daylight. The sun was hot—far hotter than he’d ever felt it in the water—and bright. The heat of it burnt away the water on her skin almost too quickly to notice. Hoseok didn’t think she looked all that different from a mermaid, not really. The legs made a difference, sure; she had no gills in her ribs; the webbing in her fingers was reduced to nothing, each digit separated down to the palm. But really, what difference did those things make?

He thought her a wonder. He thought her the most beautiful, fascinating thing he’d ever seen. Her rosebud mouth, lips open and plump. Her skin was smooth and dark; he looked stark next to her. Her torso was whole, one expanse of skin stretching around her back and ribs. Hoseok placed a hand to his gills, fingers playing along the edge; they were flapping uselessly in the dry air. He smoothed them down with his hand, imagined his torso like hers, uninterrupted.

He lay with his tail next to her legs. He tried to picture it split in two, tried to picture himself walking on two feet, upright. He wasn’t the longest merman, but how did that compare to humans? The woman by his side seemed long—were all other humans, too? He figured he would probably never know and the rarity of this moment, the precarity of it, dented his enthusiasm a little. But, he reminded himself, for the rest of his life, he would have this. This human woman, lying next to him, seen by him, touched by him. He wondered how many other merpeople had done that.

He’d heard the horror stories, of course, the kind that teachers tell students to scare them away from the surface. He had never believed them, not entirely. There were bad humans, sure, but there were bad merpeople, too. And looking down at this human, this woman, he knew she was good. He felt a fluttering in his chest that made his breathing hitch. Made him feel almost breathless.

He wished she would wake up and see him. That wasn’t allowed, of course. It was absolutely forbidden to make your presence as a merman known to anyone who lived on the surface. But, who had to know? Just this once. Just this once, Hoseok could have his dream come true, couldn’t he?

She blinked once, then twice, and rolled over to cough and splutter, and he panicked. The tranquillity of the moment was gone. He heard the sound of seawater hitting stone as she choked and it spilt from her lips. He didn’t know what that meant. He watched her back heave as she coughed and was gripped by an intense fear. He wasn’t bad; he didn’t break the rules; he didn’t have the stomach for it.

He was diving in the water before she had rolled back, before she had a chance to see him or even notice him. He had disappeared before he’d even made the decision to disappear. Maybe that was close enough. So much for his wishes to be seen. He just wasn’t brave enough.

Back in the water, he shuddered and realised he could breathe again. With his heart rate finally slowing, he swam towards home, his mind pre-occupied with daydreams about coming back to this shore, seeing more humans, learning some more; pre-occupied with the panic and relief and adrenalin of his last ten minutes.

Pre-occupied as he was, he didn’t see that his movements were being tracked. He didn’t see a royal aide, following at a distance, and then moving off towards the royal chambers when they made it back to court.

He didn’t see you either, though you could see him.

* * *

His mother came to see him the following day.

“Hoseok,” she began, in the quiet, stern voice that had always scared him as a child. “Do you think your father and I are stupid?”

He blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that and couldn’t see the reason behind it. That worried him. He was walking into a trap.

“No, of course not,” he answered, honestly.

“Then it will not surprise you if I say that we do know where it is you go in these waters.”

His blood turned to ice.

“We are all very well aware of your... interest in the surface. In humans and all their detritus.”

He opened his mouth to argue back but the expression on his mother’s face stopped him.

“We know you hunt out shipwrecks and follow boats along trade routes, searching the carcasses of their vessels for rubbish, hoping and waiting they might drop something valuable. We know how close you have got, Hoseok, to exposing yourself to the humans.”

He gulped. He knew he was in trouble. Probably a lot of trouble. He didn’t know what his punishment would be.

“We are not going to permit this any longer.”

That rankled. He was almost 21. An adult in any world. Permission? He found his voice.

“I wasn’t aware I needed permission to go anywhere.”

“You’re a prince, Hoseok, of course you need permission. And you no longer have it. So Sebastien will accompany you through your days for the time being, to ensure you do not go where you should not.”

“For the time being? How long is that exactly?”

His mother looked at him, impassive.

“For as long as your father and I tell him to.”

Then she swam away without bothering to say goodbye. Hoseok didn’t have any time to react before Sebastien was by his side.

“Good morning, my prince.”

Hoseok bit back a spiky retort and swam away, with Sebastien following at his fins. His mother couldn’t be serious. He was being chaperoned? It was an indignity. It was infantilising. It was entirely unnecessary. He flexed his hands into fists and out again, balling and stretching as he swam, as he carried on in his head the argument he wished he could have had with his mother. This would not do.

As he realised where he was swimming—with his new bodyguard—he stopped suddenly. He had been inadvertently leading Sebastien to his happy place, his treasure trove, the place where he kept all the so-called ‘human detritus’ he saved. He was sure his parents didn’t know about that and he didn’t want them finding out.

He swam away, ignoring Sebastien chatting idly at his side, and wondered just exactly what his parents knew. Had they seen him save that human woman? Had they seen how close he had come to being discovered? Is that what this was all about?

* * *

Hoseok looked miserable. Oh, he was smiling, and you were sure he was saying all the right things. But you knew. He was not enjoying his birthday party. There was nothing dazzling in his smile, no halo of light around his head. His laughter rang out, hollow and pitchy, not at all like the tumbling bells it usually was.

No, the prince was miserable. You were sure of it. You had noticed that he had been followed—was being followed—by one of the court’s highest-ranking aides; you saw him behind the prince at every turn, like a shadow, like a ghost. Maybe that was the problem.

You had been close as children, you and the prince, for a time. In that period when you were free, when society meant nothing to you, when prejudices and family feuds still hovered above your heads, out of reach. You had been friends and you felt it then, too, his brightness, his warmth. He didn’t care that the adults treated your family poorly; he did care that they treated you poorly. He didn’t know or care about what the adults said; neither did you. You were friends, the two of you, thick as thieves.

Then one day, all that hovered above you came tumbling down, pouring over you both like ice-water. It became more difficult then, to spend time together, to be friends. He never outright said it, broke up with you in a friend kind of way. You just ‘drifted apart’ because he was welcomed in where you were shunned; he was celebrated and everyone did their best to forget you ever existed.

You should have expected it. He was the prince, after all. And you were a sea witch. People said you were evil; the rumour had it that your whole family was. Matriarchal, and that was just the first problem. You had power. Your mother had had it. Your aunt. Their mother. The way you were told, it went back right to the very beginning. You were the latest in a very long line of very powerful witches.

It took you a long time to understand why that was used against you. You had power. Wasn’t that a good thing? You could do magic. You could achieve things no one else could. You could have made the entire sea a better place for everyone and everything living in it. But no one wanted your input; no one wanted to listen, to hear you. They wanted you to stay quiet. They wanted you to hide.

What boiled your blood was that you did. You stayed at the back, hid yourself away in a cave far from where the royal court lived: merpeople in coral towers and you, tangled in seaweed every time you so much as shook your head. You were older now and you knew full-well why they did it.

They were scared of you. They had always been scared of your family, but now, since the ‘tragic’ death of your mother, they were scared of you. Because you had a score to settle. Because you had a reason to hate them. You had vengeance on your mind.

Vengeance and Prince Hoseok.

Because no matter how much you hated it, no matter how much you didn’t want to want him, you did. You looked at him and your chest hurt with longing and your stomach roiled with hatred. How could it be that you could feel two things at once for the same person? You chose not to examine it these days. It had gone on too long and you were used to it. It felt like your natural state of being: hatred and love in equal measure. Fear and power.

No one had ever tested you. Not really. People came to you for silly little things like love potions and spells to make them smarter or charms to ward off hermit crabs from their gardens. No one wanted to see the full extent of your abilities. So you didn’t quite know what they were.

You toiled, testing yourself on little creatures, to see what you could do to them, how much you could transform them, how creative you could get. There had been a lot of failures at first, of course. So many. But then you started to succeed. And now you never failed. Everything you turned your hand to worked. Your mother had always said you were a natural and now you believed it, too.

You thought you could turn yourself into one of them if you wanted. Not that you did want. Never. Ever. You wouldn’t debase yourself, wouldn’t shame your ancestors with an attempt. But you could do it. That much you were confident of.

You were also confident of just how well you knew the prince. Better than he knew, you were sure. He probably didn’t realise quite what an open book he was to you. It was an open secret that he had a thing for life on the surface, but you saw so much more than that. He had never been able to hide from you: his enthusiasm, his wonder, his furtive glances around himself, the swift flick of his tail as he snuck between two large boulders, the fluidity and flexibility of his body the only things enabling him to sneak through. His little collection. Though ‘little’ wasn’t really the word for it, not anymore.

You had been to see it just once before. It was almost enough to impress you. His discoveries, his treasures, were displayed with such care, it almost touched you. These things, this tat, that he had found floating on the surface or buried in the seabed, he loved them. He treated them like something precious, not like the trash it so clearly was to the humans. It made your heart ache a little: his naivety, his innocence, his propensity for flights of fancy, his dreamy insistence on seeing the good in things, in people. In humans.

It was an open secret, this obsession of Hoseok’s, but it concerned his parents. Sure, he was only the youngest of seven sons—he wasn’t the heir—but he was still a prince. That made him valuable and important. It also meant he had to keep up appearances and it simply would not do to have a Prince of the Royal Court enamoured with... up there. So they had instructed one of their aides (a creeping, odious merman whom you avoided like the plague) to follow Hoseok around, to make sure he wasn’t getting himself into trouble.

Yes, you nodded to yourself, that was exactly what had happened.

*

Hoseok was getting sick of being followed around. It wasn’t even just that he couldn’t go to the surface; he couldn’t get a single minute of peace! Sebastien was always there and it was starting to grate quite uncomfortably.

He wasn’t enjoying the party and he was getting tired of pretending to enjoy it, so after taking a quick scan of the room, he turned tail and left. Sebastien followed, but Hoseok chose to ignore him.

“Leaving a party early?” you said lightly, as you caught him leaving the room. “Leaving your own party early? That’s not like you.”

His smile was a little tight when he flashed it your way.

“It’s only my party by technicality. No one will miss me.”

You merely raised your eyebrows slightly and raised one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

“I notice that you are also leaving,” he countered.

“Ah, once the host leaves, everyone else is free to go.”

His brow wrinkled a little and he scoffed.

“Don’t call me the host.”

“Careful,” you joked, “Sebastien here might tell your parents you’re being ungrateful. Look at all this opulence they prepared for you.”

He was about to spit something not entirely kind back at you before he realised that you were taking the piss. He rolled his eyes inwardly at himself. Of course you didn’t care. You never went in for this stuff anyway. He was surprised you had even shown up.

“I am being ungrateful. I would like them to stop looking out for me, stop doing things for me, stop-” he said, coming to such a sudden halt that Sebastien crashed into the back of him, “having me chaperoned like a child just because I like to swim a little farther than others.”

“I’m not sure it’s the distance they’re worried about.”

“Whatever. They just don’t get it. They think it’s dangerous.”

“What is?”

“The surface. Humanity. They think my collecting scraps from the seabed is somehow going to threaten all undersea life, trigger an apocalypse or something.”

“Ah.”

“They just don’t get it. They don’t get it. It’s not like I’m going to go up there and act like I’m human-”

“No? You could.”

He scoffed.

“Oh yeah, just go and flop around on the beach with my tail and my gills and everything. Great idea.”

“... You know I’m a fucking witch, right? I literally have the technology.”

Hoseok stopped suddenly again, looking at you, a little aghast, a little trepidatious. Then he laughed.

“Yeah, sure, one human coming right up!”

You laughed along with him, letting the subject drop, letting it be a joke. It had to be a joke with Sebastien listening in. But you were serious and you needed Hoseok to understand that you could do it. If he asked.

* * *

You thought about it more in the following days, as you watched the prince and his tormentor float around in the water. Hoseok couldn’t even blink without Sebastien there to watch him. You could feel his frustration, his impatience; you could see the dullness diminishing his shine; you could see the time it took for his lips to stretch into his signature heart-shaped smile expand—sometimes they barely made it at all. Was it the annoyance and inconvenience of having a chaperone in itself, or was he pining for a little adventure? Itching for a treasure hunt, fingers twitching to dig through sand and find something broken and useless to take back to his cave of wonders?

The whole sea knew. The prince was being monitored. The prince was being kept on a lead. A short one. There were whispers and gossip and speculation. The worst of these rumours was the one that told you his parents were doing this to get him ready for marriage. That he had been betrothed to a princess in the Caspian sea since before he had even existed and now they had both come of age, the marriage negotiations could begin in earnest.

That would not do. You could not have that.

Your own fingers were twitching; you were as frustrated as the prince, trying to work out a way to expedite this whole thing, to get things moving.

Someone’s hand would have to be forced, you realised. But whose? And to do what?

*

It hit you, quite suddenly, as you were drifting off to sleep one night. You had been picturing Hoseok amongst all his ‘objet d’art’: his happy face, his preening and polishing, his voice ringing out in a sweet, little tune—the one you liked to catch in your shells and store for later. It was obvious.

With each day that passed, the prince’s frustration grew. As did his misery and his little, daydreamy desires to experience life on the surface. With each day that passed, his parents were obliviously telling themselves that Hoseok was forgetting about it. He was integrating better with his peers, no longer always off on his own adventure; he was finally getting over this little ‘phase’.

It, actually, you thought to yourself as you caught the fleeting idea with a snatched hand, would work out quite nicely after all. You just had to be careful about tipping the scale.

*

Sebastien wasn’t stupid (you couldn’t get to his position if you were), but he wasn’t exactly sharp. You engaged him in a little idle chat while the prince was dining with his family. Commented on the prince’s interest in life ex-marina. Sebastien had responded a little too eagerly, sharing a little too much (not that he knew he was doing it—not sharp) so it was very easy for you to drop in that you had noticed the prince hadn’t been visiting his little shrine much recently. Sebastien played off his reaction so terribly that, even had you not been so perspicacious, it would have been clear he was bluffing, that you knew far more than he did and he was embarrassed by it. You shrugged, as if the conversation meant nothing to you, and glided away, certain that the seed had been planted.

All you had to do now was wait for it to sprout.

*

It took even less time than you expected. The sea over the next couple of days was a flurry of anxious activity. No official word had gone out, but something was happening and everyone knew it. Aides were everywhere, in every corner, under every rock, in every reef. The king and queen had an awful lot of staff at their disposal, so it wasn’t long before one of them turned up something very interesting indeed.

It was even quicker that the King stormed down to the prince’s little cave of wonders to give Hoseok what for.

You hung back and watched. Watched Hoseok’s face as it moved from dismay to anger, to fury. You had never heard him angry like that. It was thrilling. It was exciting. It was, you hated to admit it, sexy. He swam forward and you heard him confront his parents, heard his outrage.

But how his father roared. How he hovered above Hoseok, his youngest child, with a face like thunder. How his shouting rippled through the water, carrying it farther than you were sure he’d have wanted.

Hoseok put up a good fight, but he had no power. He wasn’t the heir; he had no leverage, not really. So, his father took his trident and destroyed everything. Even the very cave itself. It was rubble by the time he turned his back on his son and swam away. It was sand. Hoseok was left staring at what used to be his most prized possessions, his secret joy.

It almost hurt when you saw his face, his distress and despair. You watched him sink to the seabed and sob, then you turned around and swam away. You didn’t want to watch that. You didn’t need to. You just had to hope that it worked like you intended.

You slunk back to your cave—your presence having never been noticed—and waited for the prince to come to you.

*

Hoseok knew they were just things. He knew they were things most people would consider rubbish, garbage, trash, waste. But they weren’t rubbish to him. They were prizes. They were trophies. They were secrets. They were hints of another life, another way of living. They were like the key to a code. If he collected enough, maybe he would understand what life on the surface was like. Maybe once he had enough human things, he would be able to experience Personhood by proxy.

He had always known he would never go there. Could never go there. It just wasn’t done. Not even for a prince. Especially not for a prince. But his parents couldn’t order him to stop dreaming. So he dreamt and he collected and he treasured. He knew no one approved of what they called his ‘obsession’ with the surface. He didn’t care. They didn’t understand. They didn’t see what he could. They were so entrenched in their own, bigoted ideas that they couldn’t open their minds for a second to the possibility that maybe humans weren’t so bad. Maybe they had their problems, but they also had their wonders.

Even outside of his personal curiosity, he had always thought that some sort of treaty with the humans would be advantageous. They were lucky, in his sea, that the water was kept mostly clear, that oil spills only reached them as news. Their unfavourable interactions with humans were limited, but Hoseok knew that wasn’t the case elsewhere. He thought, if they could communicate with them, that maybe agreements could be reached. A relationship with the world on the surface could be mutually beneficial.

No one else saw it that way.

He sat on the sand and wept, cried, sobbed, for his secret little things that were no more. No longer secret and no longer there. He scooped up fragments of them in his hand and let them drift back down. He sifted through rocks and pebbles and sand to see if anything had been left intact, if anything was salvageable. But his father was thorough. And powerful. And there was nothing left.

* * *

The flurry of activity stopped and was replaced by an awkward tension. No one had seen the prince since the argument with the king. No one dared approach either king or queen, not even the other princes. People moved so slowly through the water, as if they were scared to cause too much of a ripple. The rhythm of everything had been upset.

For no one more than the prince. He lay on the sand next to what used to be his happy place for hours, until the sea grew dark and he should have been back at home with his family. The very thought made him sick. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t. The thought of seeing his parents again made bile rise in his throat. His blood boiled with an anguished kind of anger he had never experienced before.

Once he had stopped crying, he spent some time staring around in disbelief. He couldn’t believe that all his things were gone, but he also couldn’t believe that his father had done it. The royal family was a Happy Family, officially, but they were also usually happy in actual fact. Arguments were few. Discord uncommon. There had been little cause for friction amongst them in his life. He wasn’t used to this. He and his brothers fought as kids, but never seriously; no one ever tried to rebel in any meaningful kind of way. It was a peaceful kingdom and that peace started at the very top.

Or so it had been. Even that had been destroyed now. Peace was the very last thing on the prince’s mind. He was torn between his anger and his despair. He wanted to hurt his father, very badly. He wanted to show his father that he wouldn’t let this stop him, that not even the King could break him. He knew he was right about humans, about humanity. He would show him. He also wanted, with a kind of frenzied desperation, to set off over the oceans and retrieve a new artefact for each and every one that he’d just lost.

As time passed and the sun disappeared from overhead, his whirring mind, his racing heart, began to slow and a tiny spark of hope burst in him. There was a way, he had realised. Or, he thought there might be a way. There was a possibility. There might be a possibility. If anyone would have the answer, it would be you.

*

He called your name and it roused you from a mid-morning nap. You sauntered to the cave mouth and your face pulled into surprise at the sight of him.

“Prince Hoseok, what are you doing here?”

He looked a little hesitant, peering behind you at the darkness of the cave, wondering what lay back there, if all the rumours were true. He knew you. You had been close at one point. He knew you so this was fine. He could trust you; he knew he could. You weren’t going to hurt him. You weren’t like they said. Well, in one way, he hoped you were; he hoped you were every bit as powerful as people said because, lord knew, he was going to need some powerful magic. Powerful magic the likes of which could topple the royal family, people said. What care did he have for the royal family now?

 But, the evil part... He hoped that wasn’t true. You’d never given him cause to believe so before.

Still, waiting at the entrance to your home (your ‘lair’ as some called it and Hoseok was never sure if they were joking or not), he felt timid. Small. Not like a royal prince, but like a supplicant. Which, really, he supposed, he was.

“I’m here to ask you to do something for me.”

You couldn’t deny your intrigue. You gestured for him to follow you inside.

He did so slowly, his eyes darting around at all your shelves, full of stuff, fuller even than his own treasure trove had been. He couldn’t imagine what might be in all the containers, what secrets or tonics or poisons they might be holding. He had no idea what it was you did, really. You were the Sea Witch and that was bad enough for most people to never ask anything more... Until they needed you, of course. Hoseok had never needed you, not until now, so he had never paid your work much attention. You flew under the radar for the most part, which was entirely by design.

“Ok,” you said, as you perched yourself on a soft bed of anemones that Hoseok didn’t dare touch. “What can I do for you?”

He took a deep breath, a steeling breath.

“I want to be human.”

You pretended to be surprised, but that was exactly what you had been hoping for. Only an idiot would have been surprised by his request, especially given what had just happened.

“Human, huh? Finally pulling the trigger?”

He looked reluctant to say any more. You raised one eyebrow at him and held his gaze. He looked away.

“My parents don’t understand a thing. They don’t know anything about humans. I want to know. I have to know. They-... My parents can’t control me.”

You shrugged and nodded and caught the look of surprise on Hoseok’s face as you turned to gather some ingredients from the other side of the cave. He hadn’t thought it would be that easy.

It wouldn’t be.

You gathered the necessary items and tipped first one, then another, into the large conch you used for mixing spells.

“You... you can do it?” he asked and you chose not to be offended by the question.

“Of course I can.”

“You... will do it?”

“I will.”

The relieved smile on his face could have lit your cave for weeks. His teeth shone and his eyes sparkled as he laughed and clapped his hands. Victory.

“Thank you! I don’t know how I can repay you.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, sunshine. There are conditions to all this, you know.”

His face settled back into seriousness, his brow knitting above his eyes. He nodded fervently.

“Yes, of course. I understand. What do I need to do?”

You paused, leaning one hand on the edge of your giant shell and looked at him with a firm, fixed stare.

“You get three days,” you told him. “Three days as a human. You’ll be human before lunch, so noon on the third day will see you turning back as you are now.”

“Oh.”

His disappointment was palpable, but that worked to your advantage, too. You forced a light chuckle.

“I’m good, Hoseok, but I’m not that good.”

(You were, in fact, that good, but he didn’t need to know that).

“Of course! Yes, three days. That’s great.”

“There is a way you can stay longer than that, but it’s not in my power.”

“What does that mean?”

You pushed off the ledge and rounded the basin, coming to a stop in front of him. You didn’t miss the two inches that he scooted backwards away from you. At a different time, under different circumstances, this might have offended you, but you had a reputation; you could hardly blame him for his timidity. He had never seen you do anything like this before.

“You have to put down roots.”

“Right... What does that mean?”

“You have to find a human woman and plant a seed.”

Hoseok continued to look at you blankly, until you rolled your eyes.

“Fornicate. Copulate. Mate. Breed. Fuck.”

His eyebrows shot towards his hairline.

“Oh... Within three days?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No!” His answer was too quick and his blushes beetroot. He cleared his throat. “No, it’s fine, but... You said plant a seed. You mean... a child?”

“Mhmm.”

He blinked, his mind reeling. You gave him a second to process.

“How do I guarantee that? It has to be a child? There has to be... it has to...?”

You nodded.

“If you want to stay up there, you need some connection to it. You need a tether. Just how it works.”

“Oh, right...”

He was nodding, but he wasn’t looking at you. You could see his eyes were far away; he was thinking.

He was worrying. Would three days be enough? And bringing a child into this? Could he? Doubt was beginning to creep in at the sides, but he couldn’t let it. He had to see this through. It felt like his only chance. And you’d already said yes. You could do it. He could almost taste it, he was so close. He had to keep going. He could deal with the seed problem later; he could hardly think about putting down roots when he didn’t even have legs to stand on. First things first and the first thing was becoming a human.

“There’s also something else I need from you,” you told him.

“Anything.”

“I just need a little piece of you. In order to make this work, I need a little tether to you.”

“You need to tether to me? But doesn’t that keep me tied here?”

You liked it when they asked questions. You smiled, benignly, but your eyes glinted wickedly.

“It keeps you tethered to me, the one with the magic? The one who’s transforming you? We can skip that step if you like, but then the spell will do absolutely nothing.”

“Oh.”

He blinked and then nodded.

“Ok, makes sense. Yeah, ok, what do you need?”

“Come here.”

You beckoned him to your side and he obeyed quietly. You took his hand in yours and plunged it into the shell; then you placed your other hand on his chest.

“Hold still; this won’t hurt.”

“What are you taking?”

“Just a little bit of soul.”

He flinched and you had to tighten your fingers around his wrist to keep it there.

“Relax, you won’t even notice it missing. And keep still, I need to concentrate.”

You closed your eyes and tapped lightly on his chest with your fingers, looking for a tap. Once you found the spot, you dug your finger in a little harder, focused hard and turned it on. You channelled it through Hoseok’s arm and tipped it into the shell through his fingers.

You were right: it didn’t hurt. He felt a weird pulling sensation in his chest and then it dragged down his arm; it was a little uncomfortable, certainly something he’d never felt before, but it didn’t hurt exactly. He wanted to look and see what his soul looked like, pouring out, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes.

His soul was sweet like nectar and it shimmered as it settled atop the other ingredients. You could feel its pulse, strong in Hoseok’s heart, its rhythm airy and delicate with a stable bass. You liked it. You liked it a lot. You could feel your own shimmer in response to it; you could feel your heart flutter when you let a little of him inside it. You bit your lip to stop a smile. Once you had what you needed for the spell, you siphoned off just a little extra for yourself. Nothing he would notice – you were always careful about that.

You held him there a minute longer, just absorbing, marinating a little. Sometimes this was the worst part of the job. Some people’s souls were vile, horrid, dark, acrid, smoking things; the taste they left in your mouth wouldn’t shift for days. This, though, was delectable. If you’d had another plan in mind, you might have taken more, maybe even all of it; you weren’t sure how you managed to stop yourself.

You shouldn’t have been surprised by its sweetness. It was Hoseok. He was like that. Of course his soul would be pure as sunlight itself. It was the lightest soul you’d ever held. Almost light enough to make you feel bad for doing all this.

Almost.

“Ok,” you began, letting him go and creating a little more space between you. “We’re done.”

Hoseok opened his eyes and looked down at his tail.

“We are?”

You laughed, not unkindly.

“Yes. You might want to start swimming while I finish this off. Surface is a long way up from here.”

“Oh. But... it’ll work? I’ll be...-”

“It’ll work. Trust me. And take this.”

You thrust a little package, wrapped in fisherman’s netting, into his hands.

“Now go on. Get.”

He nodded, first a little uncertainly, but, as if he was convincing himself, each bob of his head grew surer until he was turning around and swimming straight out of your cave and up, up, up.

You gave everything in the shell a swirl, a mix, let it coalesce, then you placed your hands on the bottom and forced heat through them, so much heat that the concoction boiled, the sea water steaming around you. It bubbled and it boiled until there was nothing left in the shell but a pearl. You picked up this pearl and placed it into a clam. You shut the clam over a cord and tied it around your neck. You were going to want to keep this one close.

*

Hoseok was swimming so hard he barely noticed it at first. Then his tail was tingling. Then it began to hurt. Hurt enough to slow him down, to almost stop him completely. It was a wrenching, tearing, searing kind of pain that made him cry out, that made dark spots dance in front of his eyes and his head feel light. He couldn’t quite tell if his tail was moving or not; there was blinding pain and very little else, but he knew he was getting close to the surface. He couldn’t stop now.

In the space of three kicks, his tail became two, and Hoseok was overwhelmed by the agony of saltwater in his wounds. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t look, couldn’t do anything but try not to die. Try not to drown. He kept kicking, kept pulling with his arms, but his fingers were no longer webbed and they didn’t grab the water like before.

Swimming as a human, it turned out, was every bit as inefficient as it looked. He tried to move his legs in tandem, to kick and flick like he did with his tail but they wouldn’t cooperate; they couldn’t bend like his tail could, didn’t have the flexibility. Every movement sent a fresh surge of pain racing through him and he was finding it hard to breathe through it.

And then he stopped being able to breathe at all. He clutched at his ribs with one hand, expecting to feel his gills, but there was nothing. He opened his mouth to gasp and his throat was full of salt water in a way that felt wrong, uncomfortable, painful. In a way that made him panic. His lungs were burning, his throat was burning, his legs were burning; everything, everything, felt like it was on fire.

His heart was humming, beating so fast it vibrated against his ribs. He couldn’t think clearly, coherently, at all. It was all just a screaming panic, shouting and squealing and howling for him to get out, get out, get out of the water.

When he finally broke clear of the sea’s surface, he choked and gasped and coughed up water. It stung in his eyes and the taste of salt was so strong, it made him gag. He looked about himself to find the nearest shore and saw none in sight. He knew where he was; he saw the sea, his underwater kingdom, in his mind and he knew how to find the nearest shore. He just had to get there.

*

He dragged himself out of the waves, spent. There wasn’t a single muscle in his body that wasn’t crying out; he had never found swimming difficult before. It had always been as easy as breathing, but that, too, was difficult as a human. He swallowed seawater that made him sick, accidentally breathed it in and choked, found his breathing growing laboured and heavy when he was still miles from shore.

He lay on the shingle beach for a while, waiting to feel something other than pain. Pain and heaviness. Every movement was an effort. Every movement took active thought, especially his legs. He pushed himself into a sitting position and turned his attention to the package you gave him. He unwrapped it and unfolded fabrics—soaked through, of course. Hoseok had seen people wear clothes in books before but he’d never seen any in real life. He wondered where on earth you got them from. He briefly wondered if he wanted to know.

And despite everything: the pain, the exhaustion, the fear, the dread that was starting to settle in his stomach as the adrenalin faded, Hoseok was excited. He had human garments in his hands. They were his and he was about to wear them. He was human.

Human.

*

The awe and wonder didn’t last long. The friction of the fabric against his skin was almost unbearable. Was his skin sensitive or were the fabrics rough? He couldn’t tell but he could feel each tiny swish, each brush against him as he moved, with every swing of his arm and every step of his feet. It felt like the top layer of his skin was being slowly rubbed away, his soft, supple skin becoming red and raw and oh so sensitive.

The steps hurt, too. The shingle under his feet felt almost pleasant compared to the torching pain he felt in his legs. Like they were being cut open every time, like he was splitting his tail over and over and over again, the torture wouldn’t end.

He felt so heavy. Leaden. Like he barely had the energy to lift his feet at all. He put this down to the swim, the physical trauma, the lack of sleep he’d had that night. But he’d never felt the weight of his body so heavily before. In the water, he floated. The water kept him buoyed; the water supported him, carried him; he moved through it like he weighed nothing at all. On land, he felt no support. On the contrary, he felt as if the air itself were pushing him down, keeping him stuck to the ground, as if it didn’t want him to move anywhere.

It wasn’t at all like he had expected. He wished you had warned him about the pain. He wished he had known a little more before walking into this – literally walking! He was walking! On two feet! It was agony.

Trying to keep his head straight, he knew the first thing he should do was find food. He’d swum so far, he needed something. His stomach was gurgling in an angry, acidic roil that made him feel faint (or maybe that was the pain or the exertion or the atmosphere or or or). He was lucky that this beach was narrow and the town close. The shingle quickly gave way to grass, which was only slightly soothing on Hoseok’s feet, and then the grass gave way to paving.

He followed the path in the only direction it went and it wasn’t long before he found people. Humans. So many of them. He stood, stock still, watching them. It was overwhelming. The sights and sounds and smells of them. There was food grilling, and children laughing, and market hawkers soliciting, and Hoseok had no idea which way to turn. He could barely think at all. He needed-

He didn’t know what. A rest. A break. To sit down? He walked to the nearest chair – a metal frame with metal seat, next to a metal table – and sat; the chair scraped backwards slightly and the scratch of it on the ground brought a man out from the cafe the chair was sitting in front of.

“Hey, you can’t sit there!” the man called, looking none too happy. “Customers only! Those chairs are for customers only!”

“Oh, oh ok,” Hoseok spluttered. “I can be a customer. I can buy, uh-”

“No! We’re not open yet! No service!”

Hoseok thought then that it should be fine for him to sit down if they weren’t open, if there were no customers yet, but the man continued to shout, to shoo him off, so Hoseok stood and moved away. He would just have to try again a little further down the road.

That cafe might not have been open, but there were market stalls with edible wares already cooked and out for consumption. He took a skewer proffered by a weathered old lady and ate it gratefully, even though it was dry and hard to chew. She then held her hand out expectantly and it was at that moment, Hoseok realised he had nothing to trade. What could he offer? He considered the neat, net package that you had provided his clothes in and brought it out of his pocket. He tried to hand it over but the woman started cursing at him in a language he didn’t understand. He backed away from her aggression and this was clearly the wrong move. She grabbed a large metal spoon and came around the side of her table, raising it above her head.

Hoseok ran. He hadn’t known he could run. Would have claimed not to be able to if you’d asked him to at that moment, but the panic set him going and his feet stomped, painful step after painful step, until he was, once more, breathing heavy and laboured, a sharp pain between his ribs stabbing him with every inhale.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

*

He eventually sat at the side of the road, wondering how he was supposed to navigate this world he clearly knew nothing about. He had been arrogant in the sea. He thought he knew everything there was to know about humans. He had learnt about their culture, he thought; he had studied their ways of life, he thought. It was nothing compared to the real experience of being here. Nothing was how he expected. He was woefully unprepared.

Tears pricked in his eyes and he tried to keep them at bay because he had wanted this. He had asked for it. And you had done it for him. Hoseok realised with a shock just exactly what position this had put you in. The prince was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t told anyone what he was doing. The only person who knew was you. If they found that out, lord knew what kind of trouble you’d be in. They’d have your head if they thought you had brought him to any harm.

But you’d been willing. Supportive even. So he had to make this work. He had to make it worth it. For him. For you. He would make it work and he would return to the sea to explain everything: to show what he had achieved on the surface, to prove to everyone that humans weren’t like they all said. To prove that you had been the truest, kindest and most loyal friend he had. That you had given him all of it. That you weren’t like they all said, either.

He blew out a deep breath. There was a lot riding on this.

He knew he would eventually need somewhere to sleep, somewhere safe. He walked back towards the centre of the market and found a nice-looking woman selling necklaces.

“Excuse me,” he began, warily. “I need somewhere to stay.”

Her friendly smile faltered a little, frozen on her face as she tried to parse his words.

“Ok?” she finally returned.

“Can you tell me where I can... Is there somewhere I can sleep?”

“Uh,” she said, her face twisting into a kind of confusion that Hoseok felt he was being judged by. “I mean, you can get a hotel or something?”

“Ok, where do I get one?”

The woman looked around her, to see if anyone else was really hearing this. She shrugged.

“There are kind of a lot around. Take your pick. There’s one right there.”

She pointed over Hoseok’s shoulder at a white, stone building, and Hoseok’s smile was all the bigger for the relief he felt.

“Thank you!” he called, already making his way towards the hotel.

But things continued to be difficult. He didn’t have a ‘credit card’ for the hotel staff to ‘hold’. He didn’t know what that meant. They told him he couldn’t have a room if he had no method of payment. He tried to offer something else; he was a good swimmer, he said; he could dive for pearls? The two staff behind the reception desk gave each other the same look the woman on the stall had given him. They explained that they only took cash or credit. He didn’t have either of those two things.

He left the building and sat by the road, because there was nothing else he could do.

He tried so hard not to let doubt creep in, not to feel despair, not to start desperately wishing he had thought about this a little longer. He tried to remember things he’d learnt about the human world – things that would help him. But it was already so different here from what he had expected.

The stories he had grown up hearing about human interactions with his kind were awful; humans were brutal and cruel and hunted merpeople for sport. That kind of thing. But he thought they were kind to each other. They had a society. They governed each other: elected officials who were entrusted with their cities and countries. They made art and sang songs and raised animals whom they kept for companionship, rather than labour. Humans were resilient and tough and brave, social creatures. They came together in crisis and performed heroic feats to help others out of danger. Those were the humans he had imagined.

The ones he had experienced so far were not like that at all. Maybe they knew, he thought; maybe they could tell already somehow that he wasn’t one of them. He was different. He hadn’t even been a human for a day yet. Maybe he was doing things wrong. He was sure he wasn’t walking right—the pain made it impossible. He had shown up from the beach in clothes that had barely dried, were caked in salt. His hair was stiff and tangled with it, too. His face felt tight and rough. Maybe they were right to mistrust him.

But how could he fix it? What could he do?

He couldn’t stay there, sitting on the ground. People walking past were looking at him; it made him nervous. No one had been able to show him any generosity or kindness and the darkness of night was starting to cover everything. There were artificial lights hanging from every door, a warm glow from every window that served only to bathe the shadows in a dim, greyish light. Nothing was black, as it was in the deep ocean, but it was all muted, hard to make out, indeterminate. Scarier.

He had to get out of sight. He had to find somewhere safe that he could stay for the night. That was the most important thing.

As hot as it had been when he first arrived on the surface, he could feel the chill now. There was something naked about being out in the air, with no water surrounding him, enveloping him. Even through the fabric of his clothes (which still scored his skin with every movement), he felt the air move, felt it stiffen his skin and raise the downy hairs there. He needed shelter. He needed to be far away from people, for now. He needed to be sure that, if what the merpeople said was true, he would not come to harm this night.

It was with a heavy, sinking heart that he made his way back to the beach. He fell upon the shingle and didn’t even have the energy to cry out, to sob like he wanted to. He had never experienced pain or exhaustion like this. He had never felt so out of place—not just in this world, but in this body. Did all humans feel like this? Heavy and sore and stiff, with the world pushing down on you? His legs were still screaming; they were as unblemished and unmarked as they had been when he’d first checked them twelve hours ago, but the pain was so convincing, he thought he would look down and see his tail, mutilated, bloody, split in two just like he’d asked. 

He made his way very slowly, very carefully, to the end of the beach and the edge of the shore. With the cliffside to his right, there was protection from wind, at least, and it was deserted of people. He shuffled forward and sat with his legs straight out, letting the waves wash over his feet.

That was when he cried. He cried with abandon, without thought, without hope, with an aching, broken heart. He couldn’t quite believe that it was happening this way, that all of his dreams were crumbling in front of his eyes. He wouldn’t believe it; there was good in this world and he was determined to find it, but he had never felt so out of his depth. He had no idea what to do. He had no one, nowhere, nothing.

He looked at the waves as they splashed over his feet (feet!) and he imagined sinking into them, imagined them encroaching further and further onto the shore until he was swallowed up by them, swimming, drowning. Could he drown? He was human now and humans could drown, but he was really a mermaid... Would the magic revert? He remembered what you had said about keeping a tether to him; would you know if he were drowning? Could you see him now, pathetic and weeping?

You could. With his pearl at the bottom of your basin, you could conjure up his image and watch his drama play out in the rippling water.

But the sight didn’t bring you much joy. You worried that you had overestimated him, overestimated the humans. You had spent time on the surface but it was still a foreign world; you didn’t know everything. Maybe you should have prepared him a little more, lent him a little of your human currency. You had expected his grace and charm to carry him at least through the first night but he was a different person now. Well, he was a person, not a merman anymore. He was literally out of his element. A fish out of water.

You chuckled to yourself at that one. Then you frowned and rested your chin on your palm, pondering ways that you could make this work if he couldn’t do it on his own. You fingered the clamshell on your necklace and an idea started to form.

It could work. It wasn’t how you had envisaged this whole thing going but... It could work.

With a sigh, you placed the pearl safely back in its clam and floated off to your inventory: a powder there, some shellfish here, gathering together everything needed for yet another expensive spell.

If you need something doing, you thought to yourself ruefully, you’ve got to do it yourself.

* * *

Hoseok was starting to shiver on the shore—something that he had never experienced before and something he would be quite happy to not experience again. The way his muscles trembled and his skin hurt, still raw from the fabric, but bumpy now with goosebumps that made the friction all the worse. He took his feet out of the water and asked himself forlornly what on earth he should do, but he had no answer.

He scanned the horizon out to sea and saw nothing but washed-out darkness looking back at him. He scanned the beach and the land and his attention was caught by a light, wobbling in the darkness and growing larger. It was only when the person holding the lantern stepped foot on the beach that he could see there was a person behind it at all. If he had been less tired, less sad, less hungry, he might have worried, or he might have rallied and put his best foot (foot!) forward, or he might have hidden. But he could do none of those things. He sat and watched a young woman approach.

“Goodness, are you alright?” she asked, when he was close enough to see her form but not her face.

She wore the same thin shoes that a lot of people in the town had been wearing, barely covering her feet, and long, flowing fabric danced on the shingle above them. He could just about make out her light hair and her petite height, but the rest of her remained a mystery.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Hoseok replied, knowing that he was lying but not knowing if she would see that.

“Are you sure?” she queried. “It’s not safe to be out on the beach alone at night like this. I saw you sitting here and I thought you might be in trouble.”

A glimmer of hope flicked in Hoseok’s heart. Could it finally be: a human who was like he had always dreamt humans would be? Kind? Generous? Could he tell her? Could he share his woes? Would she ease his mind? Was this what he had been waiting for?

He decided he had no choice because his only other options were to drown in the sea or starve on this beach.

“I am in trouble,” he began. “I have nowhere to stay, no food, no money. I have nothing. I don’t know what to do.”

He tried to stop his voice cracking, but it cracked of its own volition. He didn’t want to be pitied; he just needed to be helped. But beggars can’t be choosers, he reminded himself.

“None at all?”

You took a couple of steps towards him, still not close enough that he could see your features clearly, but enough to suggest trust, to suggest comfort.

He shook his head in return.

“You should come with me.”

You could see the surprise on his face, the hope that lit it, the worry that creased his brow.

“Just for tonight,” you continued. “I can give you a bed so you can rest. You really shouldn’t stay out here all night.”

Hoseok rose to his feet, biting hard on his bottom lip to stop himself crying out as the pain surged once more.

“It’s not far,” you said, before turning back the way you had come.

Hoseok followed your lantern, back up the beach, down the path, and into the town. You led him into a narrow alley with a single door at the end. It was this door that you opened with a quiet creak, then you led him inside and up a single flight of steps.

“It’s not much,” you said, attempting to sound somewhat apologetic as you opened the door to the apartment.

It was sparsely decorated and the linens were grey in a way that suggested they hadn’t always been. The lightbulb in the ceiling was naked and dim. The plant on the windowsill looked crisp and parched.

You lived comfortably underwater, despite your status as social pariah, because people wanted your little potions and spells and you could charge through the nose for them. On land, it was more difficult. Humans weren’t interested in trading for things; they wanted cash and nothing but. That made it more difficult to be comfortable here. But you had shelter and food and that was more than the prince had.

Hoseok was nervous. He hadn’t known what to expect but somehow, this wasn’t it. He had heard of the way humans warred with one another, the way they oppressed and exploited other classes, the way most of them starved whilst the few indulged. This was so much more mundane. Nondescript. Boring. Homely.

He took a look at the woman now that he could see her properly in the cold light of the apartment. She was beautiful. Not unlike the woman he had rescued from the beach, he realised. Dark skin that somehow shimmered, golden hair that almost looked like a halo with the way it reflected light. Her eyes were dark, too, deep and rich and warm. She felt familiar to him, somehow, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. He knew she wasn’t the same woman from the beach, not quite, but there was something about her that he felt he knew, had seen before. It comforted him, quieted his nerves a little.

“I don’t have much to offer,” you interrupted his thoughts with a shy chuckle. “But it’s better than sleeping outside.”

“This is wonderful. I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me. It has been a difficult day and you are the first person who’s shown me any kindness. I don’t know how I can repay you for that.”

You giggled and it sounded like chimes.

“You don’t have to repay me. Pay it forward; if you help someone like I’m helping you, that will be enough.”

Hoseok wondered for a second if he had fallen asleep on the beach and was dreaming this. Because this woman, she was everything he had dreamt; she was what he had been hoping for. The flicker of hope in his chest grew into a flame and he shivered as a warmth rushed through him.

“Would you like something to eat?” you offered and Hoseok jumped at the chance.

You gave him bread and cheese and watched him eat them, at first tentatively, and then with great gusto. Of course, he had never tried these things before, never eaten human food. You placed some fruit on the small coffee table he was eating at and he devoured that, too. His eyes widened as he bit into a pear, ripe and juicy, sticky sweet nectar dribbling down his chin. He hummed with delight and you saw the sparkle return to his eyes.

You knew what you were there to do but you were enjoying this moment. This was the Prince Hoseok you knew; this was how he should be: bright and smiling, his crescent-moon eyes alight with laughter. You sat next to him and picked at some food, too, not really tasting it because the sweetness of the moment was far too strong.

Hoseok only stopped eating when you stopped giving him food, when you only had enough left for a small breakfast in the morning and nothing else. He sat back, resting on his palms, and sighed happily.

“That was the most amazing meal I’ve ever had!” he exclaimed and you laughed.

“You are very easily impressed. There are far more exciting things to eat here; I simply cannot afford them all.”

He shook his head.

“Not at all. That was wonderful. Thank you so much.”

With his stomach finally full, his fatigue hit him full in the face and he yawned widely, a quiet wail escaping his throat.

“You must be exhausted. Please, take the bed. I can sleep on the sofa,” you said, gesturing towards the bed that sat against one wall.

Hoseok thought the bed looked huge and the sofa, small. He thought about what the right thing to do would be. He couldn’t sleep in the bed. It wouldn’t be right, would it? But he was so tired and in so much pain. He looked at the bed longingly, imagining himself stretching out over its surface, letting it take his weight. He imagined it feeling like water, like being carried on the waves, weightless. He looked at the sofa.

“Please,” you repeated. “Take the bed.”

Every manner, every point of order, every etiquette lesson was screaming at him to say no, to refuse, to offer to sleep anywhere but the bed. To not inconvenience you, to not put you out, to not cost you even more than he already had, to not trespass any further onto your kindness. But sleep was calling, louder and more insistent. His wrecked, ravaged body was screaming.

He nodded shyly and offered a quiet thanks before rising and slipping, sore and worn, beneath the sheets. He was asleep before he even had the chance to notice the way the bed fabric, too, brushed rough against his exposed skin.

You watched him. He looked peaceful; his face smoothed of any worries or concerns. He made a fine human, you thought. He was tall and lean and, despite the pain you knew he was suffering, he didn’t let it show: he’d walked straight and held himself high. Royal blood, you assumed.

You wondered how much you would have to engineer this to ensure success. Despite all you knew about the prince (and you knew a lot), this was a blind spot. He had hesitated when you told him of his conditions; the idea of a child had alarmed him. Maybe he would decide he didn’t want to stay human after all.

There were two and a half days left. That was plenty of time, you decided. You wouldn’t push; he was too delicate for that, especially after his first day’s misery. You would cushion his fall, pick him up carefully, and slowly show him both what the human world was really like and what it could be like with you. You would delight him and impress him and he would give himself to you. He would. You were sure of it. He would fall into the world that you would show him and he would give himself to you, body and soul.

You fingered the clamshell still tied around your neck. It held the pearl you created when you turned Hoseok into a human. It now also held the pearl you created when you turned yourself into one.

* * *

The thing about royalty, the thing about the privileged, who’ve never really experienced hardship, for whom doors have always been opened, is that they are resiliently optimistic folk. Everything has always gone their way; naturally, they assume it always will. Even now, after everything that happened to him yesterday, Prince Hoseok was beaming. He was enamoured. He was full of awe and wonder. He was experiencing the human world as he thought it would be.

Because of you.

It was taking a lot out of you, truth be told, because you didn’t have the riches you needed to show him a human experience comparable to his underwater life. He wasn’t a royal here; he wasn’t anyone at all. Doors didn’t open for him and they didn’t open for you. But Hoseok had his charm and you had charms of a very different sort. So you were making it work, but your nerves were rising; with every bit you put in, you told yourself you had better pull this off. You had better seal the deal, make good on this bargain you had made with yourself, see through to the end the promise you swore to your dead mother and her dead mother and all the dead mothers back until time began.

It was your biggest show. It was your hardest work. Your magnum opus.

Or it would be. If—if you could do it.

Hoseok couldn’t let on that this was his first time on the surface; he couldn’t tell you he was really a merman, that a seawitch had transfigured him, that his legs were really a tail. It was too risky, too dangerous. But he kept forgetting that that meant he had to try to hide his enthusiasm, his surprise. Everything here was new to him. Everything here was fascinating and wonderful and intriguing and he could barely contain himself.

He had no backstory. He had no lies to tell. And he hadn’t noticed that you hadn’t asked. But it was dawning on him that, if he were to have a life here, he would have to think of something to tell people about where he came from. But he didn’t have the time, right now, to think of it. There was far too much to attend to. Too much to see, too much to do.

It would have been overwhelming were it not for you. If he’d had to continue doing this alone... well, he wouldn’t have. Couldn’t have. If you hadn’t found him on the beach last night, where would he be? Sinking beneath the waves? Starving on the shore? You had lifted him up and now you were carrying him along, tethering him to the earth, providing him a guiding string to hold. He had never been so grateful for anyone in his life.

Not even the sea witch.

“What do you say?” you asked him, shortly before sunset on that second day.

Hoseok tried to think, but it didn’t really matter to him and he was so overstimulated, he couldn’t have made a decision if he’d wanted to. He shrugged.

“I’m happy to go wherever you like!”

“Hungry yet?”

He shook his head. He had sampled one of everything at the market after lunch and had to spend half an hour sitting quietly so that it wouldn’t make a return journey up his throat. He was still very far from hungry.

That was exactly the answer you were hoping for.

You led him away from town, towards the west where the land rose in a grassy slope, steep and getting steeper, until you reached the top of the cliff. You walked up to the edge and turned to see Hoseok hanging back, looking nervous.

“Scared of heights?”

Hoseok didn’t know. He had never really experienced ‘heights’, wasn’t quite sure what that meant. But the wind was stronger up here and he knew, without having to look, that the sea was a very long way down. It couldn’t be dangerous if you were doing it, he reasoned, but he’d heard too many stories of humans falling to their deaths from cliffs like these – sometimes deliberately, but often not.

You held your hand out to him and his stretched back before he’d even noticed and he inched forward until you could take it and tug him a little further and a little further still. His heart was in his mouth as he craned his neck to peer down into the foaming waves as they crashed and broke against the rock face. You didn’t let go of his hand.

“It’s very high,” he stated unsurely, not knowing if it was really.

It felt high. It looked high to him. But, in a way, everything was high. The sea had depth, not height. It wasn’t the same thing. He might have wagered that it would be, before now, but looking down to the sandy seabed from high above it was very different from looking down at the sea from the cliff edge. Something to do with the environment maybe.

Maybe the fact that he couldn’t fall off the sea and plummet to his death. Maybe that. He’d never been in mortal danger; the sea was a safe place for him and he had all the protection he might have wanted (more than he wanted, actually); he hadn’t really appreciated it until yesterday, when he had nothing and no one.

Now, he had you.

It had occurred to him. The condition of his staying a human. The three days he had to plant a seed. It kept occurring to him. It wouldn’t stop occurring to him. Not when you smiled, not when you showed him yet another wonder, not when you took his hand in your own. He wasn’t sure if he could do it. For a start, he wasn’t completely sure how all that worked with human bodies. For another, he didn’t know if you would want to. He didn’t know what human culture dictated.

You were beautiful. About that, he had no doubt. Was he attracted to you? Yes, he had decided he was. Did he trust you? Yes, as much as he could trust someone he’d just met; as much as he could trust a human. Did you feel the same way? That was a mystery he didn’t know how to solve. You had stretched out your hand to him; you had paid for him to be fed; you had let him sleep in your bed; you had taken him into your home. It suggested something, but he didn’t know what.

Just as it had the day before, his ignorance alarmed him. His recklessness in coming still surprised him. The weight of his deadline pressed down on him and he shuddered, involuntarily.

He looked concerned, you thought, distracted. You could tell he didn’t really like being so high above the sea; you wondered if it were a merman thing or a Hoseok thing. Being neither, you couldn’t know. You took pity on him and led him back down the cliffside, keeping his hand in yours as long as he would let you.

You assumed you would have to lead, that he wouldn’t take charge of the situation—judging by what you had seen so far. You mulled it over as you wandered slowly back into town. He had never really had to work for it, you supposed. He was a prince. And beautiful. And charming. And kind. He had everything going for him, which meant he had the entire sea throwing themselves at his feet, desperate to be picked. He probably didn’t know the first thing about seduction, about attraction—not really, anyway. It struck you then that there was every chance he’d be a really bad lay. There was every chance you would be, having never done it as a human before, but that was besides the point. The idea of Hoseok disappointing you left a sour taste in your mouth but you ignored it; that was not what you were there for. Good or bad didn’t matter. There was one objective and one only. Your own pleasure, your own, secret, little goals were neither here nor there. You had to stay focused.

Because it wasn’t going to be easy. You knew that. That was half the reason you hadn’t planned to do it yourself anyway (or so you told yourself...). It was going to be harder for you than some random stranger. You knew that. It was going to be horrible, you knew, looking into his eyes when he learnt the truth, when he saw you—the real you—for the first time on land. You could picture it: the shock and betrayal, the fear and hurt. It gave you pause. Because you hated him, hated who he was and what he stood for and everything about the systems and society of the place you both lived. But you also loved him, loved his smile and his eyes, his heart and his soul. You wanted him to be yours forever. You wanted him to choose you. He never would. Not really. If he knew you were here, if he knew the human holding his hand was really the sea witch who’d sent him up there, he wouldn’t choose you.

The shocked, betrayed face. The frightened, hurt expression. You sighed heavily, without meaning to.

“Are you ok?” Hoseok asked, his head tilting to the side.

You smiled brightly back at him.

“Of course! Just starting to get a bit peckish. Shall we eat something?”

Hoseok wasn’t really hungry. The market food was still solid in his stomach. But if you wanted to eat, he’d eat. He’d do anything you asked. He owed you everything.

More, in fact, than he knew.

* * *

You’d been distracted through dinner, which had been fine because, without the food to focus on (Hoseok barely ate), he could look around at everything else. He could fire questions at you (questions that were far too revealing—not that he noticed) and comment on his surroundings and commentate with barely any input required. That meant you could contemplate your task. You’d had to rush into this whole thing, take the reins with very little notice at all. This was not how you usually operated.

You were meticulous and organised because you had to be. Always on your guard because you had to be. Everything you did came with its own audit trail because you couldn’t afford to make mistakes. You had seen what that had done to your mother at far too young an age. Not that she actually made the mistake. But when you don’t have the proof of every action you’ve taken and word you’ve said, they can make it look like you did whatever they say you did.

You ate slowly, not really tasting, not really savouring. Your mind was busy, calculating. You had a day and a half left. 36 hours, give or take. There would be another night after this one. You didn’t relish the idea of leaving it until the last minute, but you could spoil the whole thing entirely if you pushed too hard, too fast. So you decided to wait.

*

Hoseok was determined, this time, to do the right thing and let you sleep in your own bed. He was embarrassed at the way he had behaved the night before: how greedily he’d eaten, how quickly he had relegated you to the sofa. It made him cringe. And then you had spent the whole day playing hostess to him: showing him around, paying for everything, keeping him company, and answering his questions.

His debt to you was beyond belief. He knew he should leave. He knew he should make his own way. He knew he could not rely on you – not even for the rest of his three days, if that was all he would have. He had to find a way to survive independently. He knew that. He had to pay you back. He had to make things right.

“I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight,” he announced when you returned back to your shabby apartment.

You pretended to be surprised.

“Oh, no,” you replied, “not at all. Take the bed! It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“No way. It’s your bed. I slept on it last night when I really shouldn’t have. Please. Take it.”

You shook your head, scrunching your nose and grinning stubbornly at him.

“No. You.”

He sighed, but the corners of his lips twitched anyway.

“We may have reached a stalemate,” he announced, with solemn mock-seriousness.

You hummed, thoughtfully, running a finger along the bottom of the bed as you stepped closer to him.

“A compromise, then,” you said, poking a finger into his chest.

“And what is your compromise?”

“Well…”

You weren’t shy. Not when you were being yourself and not when you were pretending to be a human. But you were good at acting like it. You looked down and then up at him through your lashes, a small, reluctant smile traced on your lips.

“We could… share?”

You raised a hand to your face, covering your mouth, looking at Hoseok and then away and then back to him, eyelashes fluttering.

The genuine surprise on his face gave you butterflies. You could see his hesitation, watch his mind weigh his options, calculate the costs and benefits of each. He knew too little to have anything to guide him. Anything but you. And you had suggested it.

So it had to be ok, right?

“Share?” he asked, buying himself another moment to think it over, to consider what all this might mean in relation to the condition he had to meet.

You nodded, lip trapped between your teeth.

“Ok!” he answered brightly, hoping it was the right response, and inwardly breathing a sigh of relief when you beamed back at him.

It would be easy to love you, he thought and the sentiment caught him off-guard. He had to be realistic about human life. He wasn’t a prince here. He had nothing. But when he looked at you, he felt rich. He felt like his dream was within his grasp. You were everything he had ever hoped for. He could stay here forever with you, couldn’t he?

He wasn’t going to do anything tonight. Ask or proposition or… or god knew what else. It was too soon. Too early. There was still time. He told himself, there was still time. Still time for him to wake up from this dream he’d fallen into when he met you. Still time to commit to it forever.

You took the left side and Hoseok the right. You curled onto your side, facing him, with the covers pulled up to your eyes. He lay on his back, moonlight from the open shutter illuminating his face in a sharp line that crossed him and left you in the dark.

You watched him for a while: not sleeping, though he had his eyes closed.

“Hoseok,” you whispered. “Where are you from?”

His eyes opened and went to the window.

“Somewhere… close but also very far away.”

“You mean like, culturally?”

You saw him nod.

“Yeah. Where I come from is… very different. More different than I thought.”

“How come you came here?”

He shook his head, eyes trained on the ceiling.

“I had to,” was his simple answer and you let it hang there in the darkness, waiting for him to add to it. “I think I could have stayed, but I’d have got old and I would have looked back and I’d have regretted it. I’d have regretted staying there my whole life. I’d have regretted not seeing everything this wo- this place has to offer. I needed to experience it.”

“Do you like it here?”

He let the question go unanswered for some time. So long that he wondered, after he’d spoken, if you’d fallen asleep in the interim.

“I like some of it. I like you.”

It made your stomach swoop. Even if he wasn’t talking about you. Just the human you were pretending to be. You wondered how a real human woman would have responded to that.

You changed the subject.

“I thought I was seeing things when I first noticed you on the beach.”

A slow smile formed itself on Hoseok’s lips.

“You were… You saw me.”

You reached out and poked his arm.

“I didn’t want to go home not knowing you were ok. If I’d woken up in the morning to a news story about… well, I couldn’t have lived with myself. I realised, as I approached, that you weren’t really in danger. You looked like you were waiting for something. Someone.”

His smile turned rueful and his eyes flicked again to the window, outside of which you could hear but not see the waves crashing on the shore.

“I was,” he said, his voice a low whisper. Then he turned his face away from the light to look directly at you. “I was waiting for a miracle.”

* * *

You no longer had any concerns about the success of your plan. You had no doubt that Hoseok would go along with anything you wanted to drag him into. You didn’t know if he knew what his feelings were, but you did.

It was your own feelings that concerned you.

You hadn’t spent time with Hoseok like this since you were much younger. He was addictive. His smiles and his laughter and the way his eyes gleamed bright all the while. You could feel your resolve crumble and you knew it was bad when you realised it didn’t bother you.

You began to try to re-think things. Reformulate. Work out a way that maybe there could be a future, after all.

Originally, this was where it stopped. This was where your scheming—and your life—would end. You felt the guilt of having had no children: no one to pass your powers and your knowledge down to; you also felt free because you had subjected no one else to a life like yours. It was a heavy burden to be who you were down in the water. But it wouldn’t have mattered much once you were dead, which you were certain you would be at the end of all this. You can’t just ‘kidnap’ the prince, ‘mutilate’, and ‘trap’ him and live to tell the tale. Many had died for less. And you were fine with that. You were living to avenge every woman in your family, every witch, every creature under the sea who lived shunted into shadows, left out of the light, less than. Had been for years.

And for years, your only source of light, the single little gemstone glittering in your heart, was Prince Hoseok. Prince Hoseok and his angelic face, his musical laughter, his charm, his lightness, his brightness, his everything you weren’t and could never be.

You would get to destroy it all in one fell swoop. A beautiful, perfect demise.

Now you weren’t so sure. Weren’t so sure you could do it. You could do it; you weren’t sure you could go through with it. These feelings that you thought you were so used to, not controlled by, not swayed by anymore, were threatening to overpower you. You felt the tendrils unfurl, in the deepest pit of your heart, sending out shoots and roots, embedding themselves further into the bitter, twisted muscle. You could feel them growing through your veins, buds springing up like goosebumps on your skin. You felt them every time his hand accidentally brushed yours, every time you fed him some new food and barely grazed his lips with your fingers. Every time he laughed. Every time he looked at you. Every time. All the time.

Hoseok allowed himself to relax. You liked his company. You wanted him around. He hadn’t tried that hard to leave you—because he had no one and nothing and nowhere else, but also because he recognised that you wanted him to stay. He had realised that, whilst so much was different up on the surface, he was the same. And people liked him. Always had. Yes, he was a prince and there was always a contingent of the sycophantic and the boot-licking, but he had always been well-liked, even amongst his brothers, amongst the entire royal court. He was popular. He was fun. He was funny.

And he was enjoying himself.

He had twenty-four hours. That was enough. He’d make a decision. He was confident in that. He would make a decision soon and he would live with it, whatever it ended up being. He wasn’t pushing himself to find the answer just yet.

He was enjoying himself.

You took him dancing. It felt risky, given what you knew about how much pain he must still be in, how uncoordinated he might be on his two feet, but it was an opportunity to get closer, to show him something new, to show him something you could do. Because you loved to dance. Really only came to the surface to do this one thing.

Certain sea creatures danced, but not like humans did. It wasn’t the same without the sound of feet on floorboards, wasn’t the same without the weight of gravity trying to keep you down every time you pushed up. You weren’t exactly a fan of humans (certainly not in the way Hoseok was), but they had got this right.

Your worries had been unfounded. Hoseok’s legs were feeling better already, he thought, or he was just getting used to the pain. Either way, he wasn’t suffering like he had on the first day. He was a terrible dancer, make no mistake. He couldn’t understand the way people moved their legs, the way their feet moved so quickly they were almost blurs. He tripped and stumbled and crashed about but none of that seemed to matter to you, so it didn’t matter to him either. You held him close and pulled him up and around and twisted and turned and skipped and span until his head was dizzy.

He had never experienced a joy like it.

*

You took him on a short carriage ride, because there was somewhere else you wanted him to see. It wasn’t that far, really, but you didn’t want him to have to walk and a carriage was as new an experience to him as everything else was.

You made it drop you just far enough away that it wouldn’t spoil the surprise. You gave Hoseok nothing, answering none of his questions, not saying a word, because you were holding your breath to wait for his reaction.

And there it was.

You saw his eyebrows, first raised and then knitted together, and then softening. His eyes widening. His mouth dropping open slightly, in the way that made it perfectly heart-shaped. Then he turned his eyes on you. Was this it? Was this the thing you wanted him to see?

It was.

Like a sea of green grass with hundreds – no, thousands – of red flowers floating on the waves. Hoseok didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t seen anything like this before. It was as if he were in another new world. The red-headed poppies were so numerous, you almost couldn’t see the grass underneath; there was merely a suggestion of verdant growth propping up the riot of colour. What were these things and how did they grow in such great number?

He had been taught, growing up, that humans had no respect for nature. That they ripped up land plants and built over grasslands; they destroyed forests and valleys and wetlands all for their own ends. They would rather look at glass and concrete and chrome than the kaleidoscopic views the natural world had to offer. He had believed them, because he had heard the true stories of what human activity had done to sea life; he had received the messages of the reefs dying and oil spilling and nets catching up all sorts of things they shouldn’t. He thought, trying to give them the benefit of the doubt, as he was always wont to do, that maybe the nature on land wasn’t like the nature in the sea. Maybe things were different up here. Lots of other things were.

Now he saw that he had been entirely wrong. Acres of land lay before him. Acres of useful land that could have grown crops or laid foundations to buildings were ablaze with the bright, bright red of flowers he’d never seen before. And the humans let it happen.

As his surprise gave way to pure, wide-eyed admiration, he noticed that the humans were experiencing it the same way he was. He saw them with their cameras, taking their images (as you had explained to him that’s what they did), keeping the sight forever more. He saw them smile and laugh and frolic. He saw them and saw himself in them. He saw, also, the goodness he had always known was there. The spirit and love and joy of humanity. It was here, in these fields. It was here, in his heart. It was here, standing next to him; you, watching him expectantly, a nervous smile trying to tug your bottom lip from between your teeth.

“Wow,” was all he managed to say.

* * *

It was his last night. What might have been his last night. What could be his last night. Hoseok felt tense. Nervous. Almost sick.

He had decided. He was going to stay. If he could. If he could make it happen. If you wanted it.

He knew he had a home to go back to, if you didn’t. He would always have these three days. No one could take them away from him. And if that’s all he got, if three days on the surface was all he ever got to experience, then so be it. He was putting himself in your hands: himself, his heart, his dreams. His body.

The problem was that he didn’t know how to tell you that. He didn’t know how any of this happened on land. He didn’t know what he could or could not say, or do, or suggest. Which is why he had to leave it up to you. He’d just get it wrong.

It was Hoseok’s last night and you were wondering if you were just imagining the way he was looking at you, wanting him to be looking like that. You could bend reality, but that didn’t mean you always saw it clearly. The heart had tricks of its own.

But you had the advantage over him, because you knew his secrets. You knew that this would be his last chance; you knew that you were his only option. You knew that he wanted to stay. You couldn’t be sure if he wanted to stay enough to sleep with you.

You had suggested wine at dinner because you knew it was what the humans drank and knew it made them silly and loud and boisterous; you knew it lowered their inhibitions and made them do things they often regretted. You didn’t really know how you would react to it—your body was technically human now but you’d never been drunk before—but it had left you feeling warm and a little giddy. It had, blessedly and as you had hoped, made this whole thing easier to think about.

Because your head was spinning a little too fast to think about the bigger picture: the whys and wherefores of how you got here, how he got here, the purpose of this whole thing. You could really only think about the splendid slope of his nose. The way his shallow philtrum led to the smooth, rounded peaks of his cupid’s bow. The tiny, dark freckle there that waited, begging to be kissed. The perfect symmetry of his dimples as he smiled.

You hadn’t indulged in this since you were small. Hoseok had been your first crush. First, last. Only. As a pre-teen, you’d been silly with infatuation over him. Memorised the maps of his freckles and exact proportions of his body. You’d floated around in the sea, daydreaming about him for hours on end, not realising how far you had strayed until your mother had come screaming after you, pulling you back and warning you about being so unaware of your surroundings.

You remembered those feelings now. The fizziness in your limbs and heavy twisting in your gut. Like old friends. Hoseok, too, was an old friend. Your oldest. Your only. Now and, if you got this right, forevermore.

Hoseok had accepted the first glass of wine but recoiled at its taste, unable to believe he’d found something on the surface he didn’t like. You had then explained to him that it was technically a poison and he had been aghast to see you continue to drink it, to look around and see so many other humans doing the same. Every minute brought him something new.

You took his hand as you walked back from dinner to your apartment. It was warm and soft and you were grateful for it. Hoseok was grateful for it, too. His clothes still rubbed at his skin and so much of him still hurt, but your hand in his did not.

You didn’t let go when you reached the door, didn’t let go when it shut behind you and you let the lock click. You tugged him a little closer to you, took his other hand, kept his eyes on yours as you moved closer still.

You hadn’t done this before.

Hoseok hadn’t done this before.

You’d seen it done. You understood the concept.

Hoseok had no idea what was coming, but he had decided what he wanted. He had decided to trust you. And he’d decided to trust his gut, too. If humans were anything like merpeople (and they were), at least some of what was to happen would be instinctive.

He hoped, anyway.

You didn’t say a word, though you had planned to. You had scripted a kind of shy proposition, an awkward hobble of a speech in which you would say and ask and tell. But you abandoned it. Or rather, it abandoned you. Not a single word of it left in your head. So you stopped using it: your head. Stopped thinking.

You pressed your lips to his like you’d seen humans do.

The candle in Hoseok’s heart roared, its flame reaching up his throat and into his mouth. He didn’t have time to think. His body acted for him. For the first time since he crawled onto the shore, his body was feeling something that wasn’t pain. Was feeling something familiar. Something hot and deep and aching.

He didn’t mind the taste of the wine on your tongue, thought it was sweet, actually, had lost the acidic tang of the alcohol that made it poisonous. This kiss was like every kiss that had come before it, but also, nothing like them. Absent, the tang of salt. Present, the wet heat of your mouth and his. Absent, the way he could breathe through his gills. Present, the breathlessness that made him pull away before you pulled him back. Absent, the modest nudity in which the entire undersea world lived. Present, a kind of shy, self-conscious awareness of his hidden body.

An enormous, embarrassed awareness of the bulge in his trousers, the way it couldn’t be hidden. He had been horrified to see it, when he had washed up on the beach, two-legged and naked. He couldn’t believe that humans just walked around with everything on display like that (he had known this already, would have remembered if he’d been in his right mind); he’d felt awkward and conscious the entire time, sure that everyone could see, that it was obscene, that humans couldn’t really live like this?

But never more than now, as it strained against his trousers, which hadn’t been tight thirty seconds ago and were now constraining him in a way that bordered on painful. He kept his body away from you, more difficult now that your hands were skittering up his arms and down his chest, slipping back up his skin underneath his shirt, trying to pull him closer.

You felt a little bit dizzy. Sure, the wine, but also, this. Hoseok. The sweetness of fruit in his mouth. The heat of his skin. The sensation of a kiss—something you’d never experienced before, that you had seen, that had disgusted you—was nothing like you’d imagined. If you had thought about it, if you’d been thinking rationally, you might still have been disgusted by the way your tongues rolled over each other, swapping saliva, the way you could taste him, taste the fruit he’d just eaten. But you weren’t thinking rationally. You weren’t thinking at all.

You were feeling. And it was like nothing you’d ever felt before.

You gave into it.

Hoseok gave into it.

It was, as the humans say, like riding a bike. Though you hadn’t done that either.

Hoseok stopped thinking about it when you removed his shirt and stepped out of your dress. Legs were new to him. That was true. The human arrangement of body parts was new to him but they weren’t all that different once everything was out in the open. You had lit a fire in him and he was happy to stoke the flames. He was burning again, all over, inside and out, but it wasn’t painful, wasn’t torture. It was exquisite. New and familiar at once. Intoxicating.

You fell to your knees and Hoseok thought you had stumbled, bent down to help you up, but you stopped him, shook your head, and he stood straight.

Then you took his thick, heavy cock into your hand and licked the top. You wrapped your lips around it and pushed yourself forward, gliding your tongue along the underside, hollowing your cheeks and sucking. Hoseok gasped and almost fell to his knees himself. He didn’t know what this was, assumed it was a normal part of human sex, briefly wondered if sex actually was different here, if this was the entire act. Then he felt the head of his cock press against the back of your throat and his mind was wiped clean of thought. Replaced by a kind of urgent static that made him want to buck his hips, fuck into the hot clutch of your throat.

You had seen humans do this. You weren’t sure if you were doing it right. Not at first, anyway, but Hoseok had a pained look on his face, his mouth hanging open, his chest heaving as he panted, and you knew that was the reaction you were supposed to be eliciting. You could feel the twitch of his dick as it hit your throat, as you gagged lightly around it. You could just about hear, over the roaring of blood in your ears, Hoseok moaning, your name tumbling from his mouth like a prayer.

You were aching between your legs. You were hot and sticky and you could feel it dripping from you. You felt your walls clench and had the sudden, immediate need for Hoseok’s cock there, not in your mouth. You let it fall, wiped your eyes and your mouth and Hoseok was pulling you to your feet, crashing his mouth into yours, his hands frantic and grabbing.

Neither of you was thinking a second beyond what was happening. Gone were your concerns with your long-planned acts of vengeance. Gone were Hoseok’s worries about committing to life on the surface, about leaving his marine life behind, bringing a child into the world. Gone was the pressure of your subterfuge. Gone was the pressure of all his lies of omission. Gone was everything outside the four walls of this apartment. Gone was the whole world beyond your body in his hands, his body in yours.

Hoseok found that legs made all this much easier. They probably wouldn’t under water, but here, he saw their benefit. Saw the upsides to having two of them, of having them jointed at two places and not twenty. As he knelt over you on the dingy grey sheets of your bed, he almost laughed at the image of him trying to do this with a tail. Maybe there were some upsides to this human body after all.

He placed the tip of his cock at your entrance and pushed his hips forward, a little experimentally, testing the motion, the movement of his hips. He fell forward onto his hands, eyes closed, a long, gasping moan trapped in his throat.

He hadn’t known that humans had it so much better.

Would’ve done this days ago if he had.

You were hot and tight and wet and it was all Hoseok could do not to come right there and then. He paused, trying to catch a breath, gather himself, not lose it all as soon as he had begun.

It was excruciating for a second and the whine you’d let out wasn’t pleasured but pained. You were grateful when Hoseok stopped, though you didn’t think it was for you. Is this what it was like? You had thought they liked it. That was the point, wasn’t it? Humans mated for fun, not just for procreation. You had to assume fun would follow. It had been fun up to that point. It had been its own exquisite kind of pleasurable torture waiting for something to stuff you full.

But now he was and it was like being split down the middle. You wondered for a second if this was how it had felt for Hoseok when he grew legs. Then he started pushing his hips forward again and it tossed all thought out the window.

“Are you ok?” he asked, looking down at you with a frown of genuine concern.

You nodded. You nodded some more. You couldn’t speak because the pressure in your centre was overwhelming, the pain like nothing you had felt before. But you couldn’t stop. You wanted it. You wanted him. You had never been pushed out of your mind like this, brought into your body so viscerally, so violently, with such care. Hoseok brushed a strand of hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked.

“No.”

You pulled him down to you, down to his forearms, so you could kiss him, so his chest touched yours, so you could distract yourself from Hoseok with even more Hoseok. With your tongue in his mouth, you allowed yourself to cry out as he pushed further. He swallowed the sound and returned his own. You were trembling, your muscles shaking, your skin sticky with sweat.

So was Hoseok.

The pain wasn’t registering anymore, even though he knew it was still there. All he could feel was your cunt squeezing hard around him; it made him dizzy with pleasure. His stomach was churning, twisting; he was bracing trying to make this last.

Because he’d forgotten the point of it. Forgotten that the ending was the bit that counted. He wanted to feel you, he wanted to touch you and taste you and luxuriate in the human experience of this. He hadn’t imagined it but, if he had, even his wildest dreams wouldn’t have come close. Mermaids? He’d never go back.

He paused, to give you a moment, to give himself a moment, a breather. He kissed you, luxuriating in that, too: the way you tasted like no one else he’d ever kissed, the way your mouth was warm and wet, your tongue soft and supple. He liked the way his breath caught in his throat. He liked the way he found himself panting. He even liked the way his shoulders were starting to ache from holding his body up. Liked the way he could feel every muscle of his posterior chain move when he slowly, tentatively began to draw his hips back, when he tipped them forward again, when he set a slow, smooth motion that he found came easily to him.

Having a human body was exhausting. It was hard work. It was heavy all the time and never supported. It had been torture in the truest sense, with every step Hoseok took stabbing daggers into his legs. But he could see the benefits now. Well, he could feel them. He felt more embodied than he ever had before. Somehow separate from the world in a way that made him feel so much more connected to you. You weren’t two small parts of a larger whole. You were the whole.

He had spent time pondering the ways in which air was so different from water. He often thought water came off the better from the comparison. But this was changing everything. It was exhausting and painful and he was so aware of each and every part of his body. And with that, came a gut-churning pleasure that made his eyes water and his head spin. Water had nothing on air.

You weren’t sure it was pleasurable yet. The sharp pain had subsided and the little grunts and groans that Hoseok left in your mouth were sweet enough, but it wasn’t pleasure. Not yet. You were sure it would come. Didn’t mind entirely if it didn’t tonight. There would be other nights.

You hoped, you prayed, there would be other nights. Because it might have been pain, but it was the sweetest pain you’d ever felt. A pain that you somehow longed for, even as you longed for it to end. A pain that made you feel wanted. A pain that connected you to another living being in a way that you never had been. A pain that, in a moment of intense clarity, you realised connected you to women, human women. All human women who had experienced this since time began. You understood a little about their myths about the origin of man, and sin, and punishment.

You understood it. How this could be punishment. How it could be pleasure, too. How it could be worth it.

Hoseok could feel it coming. He was desperately trying to beat it back, to delay its onset, to make this last and last and last. He never wanted it to end, but he could feel his muscles tightening, feel his cock jumping with every thrust. Pleasure was coiling like a spring inside him, boiling rapidly, boiling over.

You gasped alongside him when he came, when his hips and breath stuttered and he filled you with ropes of hot cum. His body was heavy on top of yours, in a pleasing, crushing kind of way that grounded you. At that very moment, neither one of you was thinking about the consequences of what you had just done. What it could mean. What it meant for your best laid plans. You were lying, listening to the soft rushing of your breath and the hammering of your hearts.

*

It came to you, first, and you didn’t want to think about it. Because you were so full of feeling for Hoseok; feelings that you thought had faded, that had embedded themselves in you in a way that made them fade into the background, made you almost forget they were there, were screaming at you now. In technicolour. Surround sound. Unignorable. Undeniable.

But had you just destroyed him? Destroyed his life? His family?

That had been the intention. Bring down the royal family by having one of their own shun the sea for life on the surface, mate with a human. They’d have known it was you—it couldn’t have been anyone else—and they’d have executed you without trial. But it would’ve been worth it because, forever more, there would be a line of the royal family that ran human, that ran amok on the surface, that no one below the waves would ever be able to forget. It would have been their undoing without doubt. Whatever betrothals lay in wait for the princes would be broken; whatever treaties that were depending on them dashed; the reputation of the family would be in tatters. It would be over for them.

Which was what you had wanted.

But as you lay, absent-mindedly stroking Hoseok’s hair, naked and sweaty and sticky, with a penetrating ache still radiating through your core, you thought about how much that would hurt him. You saw the betrayal on his beatific face and your stomach flipped with fear. Because it wasn’t meant to be you lying here. And that made a difference.

Because you had seen him. You had kissed him. You had had him move inside you. You had loved him your whole life long and now you had to tell him that you had ulterior motives. That you were working against him. That all of this had been the result of your careful manipulations.

There had to be another way. There had been another way. That was how you had designed it. You weren’t supposed to be in this front-row seat. That was the point.

But it was too late now. And you needed a way out.

Maybe he never had to know.

Maybe you could make this work.

*

Hoseok’s eyes were fluttering shut. He could barely keep them open. He didn’t know if he had just secured his existence here or not. He didn’t know how to guarantee a child. Wasn’t clear-headed enough at that moment to know, for sure, if he wanted one.

He wanted to stay. Oh, he wanted to stay. He couldn’t go back now. But a child?

He felt wicked. He thought about what you might say if you ever learnt the truth. The betrayal. The way he used you for this.

He felt like a coward. He was a pampered prince who had achieved nothing on his own. He had turned to a sea witch in the midst of what amounted to a king-sized tantrum. She had risked her entire existence bringing him here. He had barely survived on his own. You had rescued him. Given him food and shelter and company and the greatest pleasure he had ever known.

He knew he couldn’t tell you the truth. Not if he wanted any part of this to continue.

Because he did. He wasn’t just using you. He wasn’t sure he was using you at all. He liked you. He wanted you. He wanted to stay, not just on the surface, but on the surface with you.

It felt too big. Too confusing. Too difficult. He was a coward, after all, so he closed his eyes and decided to see what the morning would bring.

You noticed his breathing slow, grow heavy and deep, his body relaxing further, his weight pressing down on you harder. He was asleep. That gave you time, you thought. To think of something. Some way out of this. Some way to stay in this.

But your own eyelids felt heavy, kept dropping of their own accord, and you kept losing your train of thought. You gave into it; you would wake early, go out and buy something for breakfast, figure it out in the morning.

#bts fanfic #hoseok fanfic #hoseok x reader #bts x reader #hoseok smut

[hwaslayer]

project: make you love me (jyh) | eight.

♣︎ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: yunho can’t stand how you’re so wrapped up in the notorious campus fuckboy, park seonghwa. he would gladly love you the way you deserve, despite being shy, awkward and the complete opposite of seonghwa. thus, when he finds himself spending more time with you over literature reviews and random study sessions, he decides to take on the challenge to win you over.

—pairing: jeong yunho x f. reader x park seonghwa

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers/friends to lovers, college au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 3.2k

—chapter content/warnings: scary movie night with friends!!, flashback scene with seonghwa 😅, snuggles, holding hands, yunho is the sweetest and super gentle with oc 🥺, a kiss on the cheek hehe, the next two updates will also be very crucial for these lovebirds!! 🖤

"What else should we buy in this aisle?" Chaery slowly pushes the cart down the chip aisle.

"Dude? We already have so much chips." Seungmin points at the popcorn boxes, nachos and other chips already sitting in the cart. "We haven't even gone to the desserts yet."

"Kim Seungmin, we are hosting a scary movie night. Back to back scary movies." She pauses to glare at him. "Of course people are going to look for food. We need to over-compensate than under-compensate." She continues to lecture him.

"She's kinda right." Soobin shrugs. "Gotta be good hosts." He shows the big pack of sour worms in his hand. "Sour worms?"

"Yes, but for decoration!" She grabs the bag and tosses it into the cart.

"Decoration?"

"Yeah, I'm going to put it into a fancy jar and organize it all cutely." Chaery giggles, making you shake your head as you trail behind with Soobin. 

"Can we please just eat these normally?" Seungmin continues to bicker with Chaery as they finally lead the way out of the aisle and onto the baked goods/dessert section. Soobin tucks his hands in his pockets, looking down at you with a smirk. You furrow a brow, confused as to what he's smiling like that for.

"What? Weirdo." He laughs and shakes his head.

"Oh, nothing." You playfully hit him on the bicep. "Ouch!"

"You can't just look at me then say that."

"Nah. It's nothing serious. But, Yunho is still coming right?"

"Yes." You squint your eyes at him.

"Goodluck making sure Chaery stays quiet."

"Oh hush, she'll be fine."

"Mhm." He wiggles his eyebrows.

"Just friends, remember?"

"Hm." Soobin hums. "We'll see about that tonight."

"Choi Soobin, what is that supposed to mean?"

"Scary movies are the best environment for PDA."

"Or, scary movies are just a good environment for friends in general."

"Mm, no." Soobin shuts you down, making you scoff. "But, we can say that if it makes you feel better."

"It does." You continue to squint at him. "You guys are such instigators."

"Sorry." He smirks. "Just know I think it's adorable." You make a face and roll your eyes. "On a more serious note, have you heard from Seonghwa?" You shake your head.

"Not really. Not after I told him we should end things." You shrug. "He can be mad all he wants, but I'm done with it. He doesn't realize he's wrong."

"Good." Soobin scratches at his temple. "What if he ends up running back to you, though?"

"No, I highly doubt that." You say lowly. "Why?"

"Just wondering. I, um, was just reminded of when Seonghwa never wanted to join in on movie nights or our kick-its. I know it's a small thing but it meant a lot to you. It's nice knowing Yunho is making the effort, even as your friend."

"Mm, yeah." You look at your feet as you continue to walk alongside of him.

♣︎ FLASHBACK

"Hwa." You gently nudge him while lifting your head from his chest to look at him directly in the eye.

"Hm?" He hums, eyes still glued onto his tv screen in front of him. The both of you lay in his bed, his apartment awfully quiet after San and Mingi left for a late night fast food run. Seonghwa's fingers gently trace circles on the edge of your shoulder, his expression flat as he continues to watch the show that's on.

"We're having a movie night at the apartment in a few days. You should come." He lets out a small, pathetic chuckle before shaking his head.

"I don't know."

"Why not? You never come even though it's just my roommates and a few of our friends."

"Exactly. I don't know your friends like that, so why would I go?" You furrow your brows and lift your head from his chest.

"So wouldn't you take that as an opportunity to get to know them?"

"What makes you think your friends are interested in getting to know me? I know they don't like me." Seonghwa has a small smirk forming at the corner of his lips.

"Because they're my friends at the end of the day. They'll still try because they know it matters to me. Just like me asking you to do the same with them."

"It's just weird. I don't wanna be around people who don't like me. On top of that, I know they're your friends, but I'm sure they truly care less." He sighs. "Sorry, I just don't see myself doing it."

"Not even for me?"

"Why do you have to form it that way? You're trapping me into the situation." You roll your eyes, throwing your leg over him to start getting dressed again. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

"I'm being honest, Y/N. I don't see the point of this." He sighs and tries to grab at your wrist. "You don't have to act like that. If it really makes you feel better, I'll do the next one. Okay?" He says just to give you what you wanna hear, though he doesn't mean it and he'll find another way to get out of it.

"Nevermind. Just forget it."

♣︎ END

"My point is.. people always realize after they lose something good. I just don't wanna see you get hurt by Seonghwa again, is all." Soobin chimes in again.

"Thanks." You give him a small smile. But, it immediately fades when you both hear Seungmin and Chaery bickering over the types of dessert they should buy, and whether or not Chaery should arrange a small charcuterie board last minute. Soobin cuts in and tells Chaery not to, while grabbing a pack of freshly baked cookies for dessert. He takes the cart from them and heads towards the self-checkout, making you laugh at how frustrated he's gotten in the past few minutes. When you and your roommates finally get home, you all get washed up and clean the apartment to start setting up the food at the table.

You're excited to see Yunho tonight, especially since you both haven't seen each other over the weeks due to tremendous amounts of tests, papers and projects. But, he still checked on you through random texts and calls, keeping it short for the sake of deadlines and letting you get rest. But, you missed Yunho, his company. You missed the random walks. You missed the McDonald's runs. You missed seeing him in the library— which, you haven't really gone to just because you've been spending more nights studying with your roommates comfortably in your apartment.

You remember asking him if he was still down to come tonight, reassuring him that he wasn't obligated and that you'd completely understand if he had other things to do. To be honest, you were ready for it. You were ready for Yunho to tell you he indeed did have other [better] things to work on.

'Nope. I'm gonna be there.' 

Is what he surprisingly comes back with when you tell him. When you heard his response on the other line, you felt your palms get a little sweaty, nerves starting to get to the best of you. How could you keep him entertained? Did he feel pressured? Did he even want to go? What was he going to think of you with your friends?

He is going because he is genuinely interested in going, right?

You couldn't help but overthink.

"Hey, what're you thinking about?" Chaery looks at you before unloading the chips into a big bowl.

"I hope Yunho didn't feel pressured or obligated to come."

"Are you kidding?! Absolutely not!" She sets the empty bag aside. "If he didn't want to come, I am certain Yunho respects you enough to be honest about it. But, I genuinely think he wants to come and just hang out with you." Chaery brushes your hair back. "Don't think that way, babe. If I were him, I'd love to spend time with you, too." You chuckle and roll your eyes.

"Please. We are just friends."

"For now." She winks with a playful pinch to the arm. "Promise he will enjoy himself."

"Thank you." You poke out your bottom lip. "So, how can I make myself useful?" She laughs.

"You are always useful. But, a bit of help with organizing the snacks would be great! People are gonna be here soon." You chuckle and help her set up the rest of the snacks, spreading the decorations across the table shortly afterwards. 

Just as she had mentioned, your friends started arriving quickly— all falling into your apartment one by one. You start to worry a bit when Yunho hasn't arrived, anxiously fiddling with your fingers and checking your phone. You head into the bathroom to relieve yourself and take a moment to calm down.

If he didn't want to be here, he would just say so.

You let out a breath and swing the door open, eyes landing on the front door ahead.

"There you are! She's finally done doing her business—" Your eyes widen when you see Yunho standing next to Seungmin, furrowing your brows at your roommate for having no filter most of the time.

"Seungmin." You say with clenched teeth, making him laugh.

"Kidding! Jeez." He gently taps Yunho on the arm with the back of his hand. "Anyway, I'm gonna help Chaery with the rest of this stuff in the kitchen. Feel free to grab whatever you need and get comfortable." Seungmin jogs over to the kitchen, leaving you and Yunho alone.

"I honestly thought you were gonna back out last minute." Yunho raises a brow before laughing a bit.

"Is that what you think of me?" You shake your head. "I told you I wanted to come."

"I'm glad you didn't change your mind." You smile up at him. "Hungry?"

"A bit?" You laugh and show him to the food, letting him greet your friends and roommates on the way. Yunho helps himself to a slice of pizza, while you take two— getting a bowl of chips and popcorn to share before you plop onto the couch and set your things down on the coffee table. Everyone is pretty much situated at this point, all sprawled throughout your living room while waiting for the first movie to play.

"Okay! Is everyone ready?!" Chaery asks, making sure everyone has their food before beginning.

"Let's go! Play it!" Hyunjin responds excitedly from the floor. And with that, the first movie begins: The Devil Inside.

Of course, with any scary movie, things can start off slow. It gives the illusion that it may not be as bad as you think— when indeed, it eventually does get to that point. Yunho sits next to you on the couch, hugging close to the arm rest to give you space in case you needed it. But, he feels your leg brush against his and he feels himself loosen up. He doesn't feel so tense when you set your plate back onto the coffee table and give him a few gentle taps on the thigh, asking him if he needs anything with that pretty smile of yours. He almost gets lost in the way your eyes twinkle when you look at him, the way your smile feels so genuine.

You are warm.

You are safe.

"I'm okay." Yunho responds to your question with a low whisper. You give him a small nod before proceeding to eat your food while watching the movie.

As the movie progresses, there are a few moments when you've already had to sit back and cover your eyes, the scenes too intense for your liking. Yunho actually hates these movies, truly. He can't stand them because he hates the visuals, the sounds. He doesn't really know where he lies about all this stuff, he truthfully wouldn't know how to explain it. But, he just doesn't like it. It's unsettling, and it's not his cup of tea. Of course, probably stating the obvious for most people.

The point here is that even if you had told him about the movie choice beforehand, he'd still show up. Because he genuinely wants to be here with you. He'll take any time he gets outside of school purposes.

"Oh shit!" You jump from the loud sound, instantly covering your face and digging it against Yunho's shoulder. He laughs at you, before wrapping his arm around your waist— pulling you closer to his body. 

"It's okay, it's over." He chuckles, looking at you while you continue to hide behind your hands.

"Don't lie to me!"

"I would never. I promise." 

"Ugh." You whine. "I'm sorry, I'm gonna hide from time to time."

"It's fine, I don't mind." 

"Really?" You look up at him as you find your body comfortably resting against his, Yunho's arm still wrapped around you to keep you there. He simply nods with a small smile, subtly biting onto his bottom lip when he feels you adjust in your position and scoot even closer. Yunho is trying his best not to be stiff, awkward; but in all honesty, he likes having you close and he just wants you comfortable. 

"Really." He whispers as the intensity in the movie climbs again. You smile at him before returning your attention to the tv, Yunho's hand gently resting on your thigh. 

"Dude." Seungmin whispers over to Chaery and subtly nods in your direction. "Cute."

"Stop." She harshly whispers back with a playful tap to the chest. "Leave them!"

"Says you." Seungmin bites back sarcastically before earning another hit on the bicep. 

You continue to let Yunho hold you, hand gently resting against your thigh as you keep close to him. He draws tiny circles on the surface of your leggings, making you silently giggle to yourself from the ticklish feeling due to his gentle touch. At some point, your hand lingers near his, but you're too afraid to make the first move [if any]. So, you don't. You can barely focus on the movie because you're too busy deciding if you should just say fuck it or not.

The movie says otherwise, though. Especially when a loud jump scare happens yet again.

"Oh my god, can they stop doing that!" You jump, hands coming up to cover your face.

"Y/N, watch the movie." Yunho teases, trying to pry your hands away from your face.

"Only if they promise to stop the bullshit." You joke.

"Okay, I'll call them and discuss." Yunho successfully pries your hands off after that statement, eyes peering into yours to check if you're okay. He doesn't necessarily let go of your right hand, letting you lace your fingers with his. 

"You're funny." You giggle. 

"At least you're laughing, though." He smiles. "Promise the rest of the movie won't be that bad. I got you, okay?"

"Okay." You nod, sinking back into your position against Yunho, hands still laced together. 

"Comfortable?" You smile at him.

"Mhm. If you are."

"Don't worry about me. As long as you don't feel threatened by the movie." You let out a small laugh.

As the movie continues, your position shifts in a way where you're almost laying onto Yunho, while he continues to have an arm wrapped around you and his hand locked with yours. Being with Yunho makes you feel comfortable, and the movies seem less threatening with him here. You can handle scary movies for the most part, but having him feels like a warm blanket on a cold, snowy day; having Yunho feels like the one sunshine ray poking through the clouds.

Yunho is safe.

The rest of the movie goes on, with Yunho being there to soften the blows of the remaining jumpscares. Before the next movie, you run to grab a few more snacks, with Yunho still welcoming you in his arms just like before. When the second movie gets rolling, things continue in the same manner with him. No one is really batting an eye, but everyone is also aware that you and Yunho have gotten closer lately. They try to mind their own business, except they all can agree on one thing: You deserve better than Park Seonghwa. You have been happier without him.

That's all that matters.

During the second movie, Yunho continues his subtle acts of affection— little pinches on your thigh, squeezing your hand, caressing the surface of your hand with his thumb as his way to console you, teasing you whenever you hide;

Nothing more, nothing less.

And it brings you so, so many butterflies. Yet, you're still not really sure of what you feel for Yunho. Maybe you're scared, maybe you're overthinking? Maybe Seonghwa was partially to blame since you're afraid of getting hurt. But, what you do know is that you hate when the movie marathon comes to an end because this means your friends go home, Yunho goes home. 

Everyone does their role in helping you and your roommates clean up, even though you've reassured them that they didn't need to. With that, the house is clean under half an hour, friends bidding their farewells shortly after. Yunho sticks around to make sure nothing else is needed, giving you leverage to join him outside once your roommates thank him for his help.

"What a night." Yunho laughs at your statement just as he slips back into his shoes, throwing his hood over his head. 

"Exhausting?"

"A bit." You giggle. "I can walk you to your apartment—" Yunho shakes his head.

"No, then who is gonna walk you back?" He smirks. "We'll go back and forth." You snort.

"Fine." You cross your arms and look up at him. "Did you have fun, though?"

"I did have fun watching you cover your eyes and accidentally hit me from time to time." You laugh.

"Hey!"

"Kidding. I did." He chuckles and gently taps you on the tip of your nose. "I'll be okay on the walk over."

"Okay." You smile. "Thank you for coming, and for being my shield?" You say in a questioning tone and Yunho smiles.

"Of course." You walk closer and open your arms for a hug, immediately wrapping them around his waist when he pulls you in. You hold your position against him for a bit, taking in his scent while he continues to hold you. 

Yunho is warm.

Yunho is safe.

When you finally pull back and look up at him, you hesitate with your next move. But, with the way Yunho continues keep his gaze on you, you almost feel like he's expecting your next move. Maybe he'd like it? You can't exactly help yourself, either. He was so sweet and gentle with you earlier, and he didn't have to come tonight. He didn't have to, especially not knowing anybody besides your roommates. Yet, he did. And he was there by your side the entire time.

You can't exactly help yourself.

So, you toss the overthinking out the window, tippy-toe and give Yunho a chaste kiss to the cheek. He smiles a bit, ears instantly hot and red.

"Seriously, thank you."

"You don't need to thank me, Y/N. I like your company." He digs his hands into his pockets. "Get some rest."

"Okay. I will. Goodnight, Yunho."

"Goodnight." He bites onto his bottom lip before turning on his heel for the lonely walk back to his apartment. It's a little past midnight and Yunho really does feel the loneliness the farther he gets from your apartment. When he steps into his own, he kicks his shoes off and gets ready for bed. As soon as he slips into his covers and his head hits the pillow, he can't help but think of you.

You.

Tonight, Yunho doesn't think sleep will find him. But he's okay with it for once. Because it's you— you're the reason why sleep won't find him. You're the reason why he's been happier.

You.

And he hopes you feel the same way, too.

♣︎ taglist: @s-nsanshine @soupbinlily @tyongff-ff @jiminiscricket @g1g1l @staytinyinmybpack @woomyteez @gfksz @bitchwhytho @savluvsmingi @thisisntmyrightera @hyukssunflower @miriamxsworld @tmtxtf @kuromibabe04 @lmnhead @carrietwrites @tournesol155 @persphonesorchid @txt-yaomi @marsattacks @mxnsxngie @h-nji @mundayoonimnida @jalapeno-princess @nakiiko @asjkdk @kunikku @idkwgoh @kyeos4ng @agust-d2 @araknoid @bintific @primoppang @betray-the-light

#yunho fanfic #yunho series #jeong yunho series #jeong yunho fanfic #ateez series #ateez fanfic #ateez #yunho #yunho x reader #jeong yunho x reader #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #yunho smut #yunho fluff #jeong yunho smut #jeong yunho fluff #jeong yunho angst #kpop fanfic #kpop imagines #hwaslayer: project make you love me

[mochiwrites]

thinking about your secret husbands au

just imagined the hermits getting frustrated they aren’t getting together (I guess before Scar and Grian learn they’re trying to set them up)

and they’re like “if anyone’s going to say anything it’d be Scar, right? he just needs to know Grian is also pining”

so they go up to Grian, secretly voice recording or something, and ask “do you love Scar”

and Grian’s so confused like “of course I love him???”

and they go to Scar with the recording and show it to him like “see he loves you now go talk to him”

and Scar is also very confused like “…i mean i would sure hope he did”

and the hermits just get more frustrated bc they assume he interpreted it like friend love and is just being oblivious again, when really the rest of them are the oblivious ones

“Scar! Scar come here real quick!” Tango’s urgent whispers catch the man’s attention. He lifts his head up from the chest he’s currently got his head stuck in.

“Oh hi Tango!” He smiles, stepping back from said chest. The lid falls shut as he turns his attention to the other. “What can I do for you, my flaming friend?”

“Nothing much! I’ve just got a little disc here I want to show you,” Tango hums, twirling said disc around in his hand. He waves it around so Scar can see it. “I think you’re really gonna wanna hear this one.”

Scar’s eyes light up as he looks at the disc, “Well I do enjoy a good disc. Hit me!”

Tango grins at him in return before setting a jukebox down and sliding the disc in. Scar walks up to it, staring down at the box with interest.

There’s a soft skip in audio before someone begins speaking, Scar instantly recognizes it as Tango’s voice, “Hey G! You got a sec?”

“Ahhh, yup. What’s up?”

At the sound of Grian’s voice, Scar’s lips lift in a soft smile. To this day, Grian’s voice remains his favorite sound, next to his laugh. Oh, and the cute little bird noises he makes. And he can’t forget how he sounds when Scar — he’s getting off track.

“I’ve got a bit of a random question for ya. How do you feel about Scar?”

“I’d question why you’re asking me this, but knowing you and the others, I don’t think I want to know.” Grian’s laugh comes through, and Scar’s smile melts just a bit. “In answer to your question, I love him.”

At Grian’s confession, Tango rips the disc out, looking at Scar. “See! The guy loves you man! Go talk to him!”

Scar blinks, puzzled as he looks up at the other. “I mean… I sure hope he does. I just talked to him this morning.” They had a lovely breakfast together, even! Jellie accidentally knocked over her water bowl, and Grian had laughed his heart out when Scar slipped on the leaking water. “And I’m seeing him again later! I talk to him a lot?”

Tango groans, face palming.

#mochi speaks #mochi writes #secret husbands au

[koorminii]

COLLEGESLUTS.COM — IDEA 686 | HHJ

Part one of the CSC series. You can find this series’ masterpost here. This can be read as a stand-alone, but you may have questions that will be answered in future installations. Keep in mind this is the intro.

There are three things you hate more than anything: 1. Your english Lit. professor, 2. Frat parties, and last but most definitely not least, 3. CollegeSluts.com and their founders. There are three things Hyunjin hates more than anything: 1. College, 2. Back alley blowjobs, and 3. The frustrating desire to fuck you silly.

PAIRING: hyunjin x f!reader

GENRE: enemies to lovers; smut; crack; angst; college au

WC: 17k…. fear me! (also broke my record!!)

WARNINGS: reader is going through it and will continue to go through it. there’s no development for them at all in this installment i apologize (😭) reader calls skz sex-crazed demons, she’s very confused but not irrational, there’s not many warnings besides for the smut— profanity, alcohol consumption, mentions of alcoholism, annoying characters, insanely inexperienced reader, bet making, one-sided hatred, hyunjin wants to figure you out & thank god for that otherwise this series wouldn’t exist, sexual tension bottled up as hate bc yn is stupid. virgin/corruption kink, loss of virginity, overstimulation, dirty talking, unprotected sex…, creampie, fingering, pussy eating, teasing, breast play, and i think that’s it…

A/N: hi angels, i finished this in three days somehow and even though i didn’t plan on this being my post for 400, we hit it recently so this is it! and it’s fitting since a lot of people are waiting for this series <3 I hope you enjoy the first installment, feel free to share your thoughts in the comments, my ask box, or in a reblog! & lmk if you want to be added to the taglist for this fic or my permanent one which is linked below! i hate writing the introduction to a fic and if you feel like this entire one-shot is pointless i promise it’s not 😭 there’s a lot of drama to come soon but i had to establish some things first!

i managed to make a playlist for this series! please enjoy 👩🏾‍💻

mlist; taglist; navi; | ⇦ previous | next ⇨

There are three things you hate more than anything.

Your english lit. professor

Frat parties

last, but most definitely not least, collegesluts. com and it’s founders.

It’s the literal bane of your existence, the reason why it’s so hard for you to sleep at night, and the one thing that makes your skin itch even more than the fuzzy sweaters your grandma knits every winter season.

Maybe if the creator of the site wasn’t such a douchebag, and maybe if the site users weren’t even worse, you wouldn’t abhor it as much as you did. But that’s a lot of maybes— ones that create a reality much different than your own and don’t make you feel much better.

You were first introduced to the hellsite in your second year of college— only made a year before. After you found out, age twenty hanging high over your head and no longer a fresh face in the school system, you’d tried and failed to get it shut down. Multiple times.

Happy, carefree people, would just ignore its existence— get on with their life, allow people to be college sluts in peace, but you couldn’t do that. Only you saw it for what it was, right? A sex site for college-goers to ruin their lives before it even started. Everyone else was too blissed out, a hand shoved in their pants every night as they watched their classmates fuck each other without fail. Only you could really see—

“Hello, can you hear!?”

Your eyebrows furrow at the voice behind you and your shoulders tighten when a finger pokes harshly at your skin.

“What?” You groan, rubbing the section of your arm that was unjustly abused. “Can you just be nice like a normal person?”

“Well, you’re an asshole so why would I be nice to you?”

“Fuck off Seungmin. What do you want?”

The only thing that betrays the fact that he heard you at all is the laugh that echoes behind you. Your chest tightens in response, and you fold your arms over your chest.

Kim Seungmin. A close fourth on your list of things you hate more than anything else. He was one of the users on the-site-that-must-not-be-named. A platinum member actually, a fact that always made your skin burn even in the coldest of weather. He was even friends with the site creators, and you wouldn’t doubt he had a hand in making it completely. He’d never been shy in supporting his use of the site, because nowadays regular cam sites were somehow uncool. He even had shirts with the college sluts logo in big, bold, letters. He was a part of one of the things you couldn’t stand. A big part of it even, but you ignored all that so you could call him your best— and one of your only— friends.

Kim Seungmin is first on the things you love, and that automatically removes him from the list of things you hate. When an arm slings itself across your shoulders you barely react, simply steering you both in the direction of your first class. It’s too early to deal with your best friend, and especially his toothy remarks and sarcasm, but you don’t say so and simply allow him to talk your ear off while you concern yourself with more important things.

Things like Hwang Hyunjin and Christopher Bang. The admins of College Sluts and the cause of the twitch in your brow. Sometimes the amount of hatred you felt for the two amazed you. To others, they were college boys— hotter than most, smart, talented, promiscuous. They had a good personality, a future, and were people a lot of other people got along with (and their other friends but you won’t get into that lest you pop a vessel).

To you, it’s agree to disagree. In short, they’ve got everyone totally fooled. Only sex-crazed low lifes actually managed to create a porn site. It’s one thing to think of it, sprawled around their dorm rooms knocked off their ass and barely sober, but it’s another thing to actually do it— work hard on it, execute such ideas— it’s completely baffling to you. How can no one see how perverted that is? You don’t even know what to call it, but the fire that erupts in your gut is enough to tell you that it’s bad.

There’s a bunch of girls and guys crowding around them, laughing and hugging and touching. Touching as if they were in the privacy of their home and not outside where others could see. It makes your chest heat up, and makes weird maggots swallow up your stomach, leaving a tingly feeling in its wake. You hate it. They’re demons. Sex-crazed demons.

“God, I’m starting to think you’re like anti-sex or something.”

You grunt.

“Literally we’re just walking by and you look like you’re contemplating murder.”

You hum.

“Jesus,” Seungmin sighs, shaking his head before waving over at his friends. More like his sinner acquaintances. Don’t get it wrong, you’re not overly religious or particularly shameful— despite how you might seem— but it’s something about that entire group (Seungmin sometimes included) that makes you feel like breaking something. Choking something? Crying? Screaming? You’re not sure anymore.

When you catch Hyunjin’s eye he smirks and you frown. Just the sight of him is enough to make your head hurt and your knees weak. At least, that makes sense to you. The rest of the student body? Not so much.

You hoist your bag up on your shoulder and tear your gaze away from him. Your building isn’t much farther and if you squint really hard you can pretend you don’t see Hyunjin approaching from the corner of your eye. It’s a hot day and when he sidles up to you, shoulders almost touching, it gets much hotter.

“Hey,” he greets, slapping palms with Seungmin and holding one down low for you. Your hand hesitates, almost greeting him in return before you slap his arm and send a glare his way.

“Bye,” you grit, turning your head away from him and grabbing at Seungmin’s arm. “I have somewhere to be.”

“Loosen up!” He calls, his long legs easily catching up to your fast pace. “I just wanted to say hi to my favorite girl.”

Your breath stutters the tiniest bit but you ignore it, not bothering to grant that remark an answer. Hyunjin is flirty. Too flirty. Stupid flirty. The kind of flirty that gets girls like you all riled up even when you’re supposed to be hating him, even when you’re supposed to curse the very ground he walks on, and it just makes the dreadful maggots in your system start up their annoying fluttering.

Seungmin doesn’t say anything, even when your grip on his arm tightens at a painful rate. You will your heart to stop beating so damn hard and for your entire body to stop reacting so easily to him. You don’t even know him so why does he hold so much influence over you? Someone like him? Someone who spends their time and their intelligence on a haphazard college porn site? No. No way.

“What do you want, Hyunjin?”

The devil with the long brown hair, and soft cheeks, and cute dimples takes the chance to lean close to your ear, making sure you hear whatever it is he has to say.

“Don’t be too mad at me, bug. I just wanted to tell you that you look gorgeous today.” Hyunjin pats your cheek, smiling before he leans away, turning back the way he came.

“See you later.”

And that’s that. The sex demon comes to set your cheeks ablaze and leaves once he’s done, letting you deal with your muddled feelings on your own. Once you start walking again, ignoring the stare boring into your cheeks and the confusing pounding of your heart, there’s only three words on your mind.

Fuck Hwang Hyunjin.

There are three things Hyunjin hates more than anything:

1. College

2. Back alley blowjobs

3. The frustratingly clear desire he has to fuck you silly.

Hyunjin isn’t sure when he realized it exactly. He doesn’t even know why he reacts to you so strongly. If you were anyone else he probably wouldn’t give you a second glance. He’s sure of it. Maybe it’s the desire to want something you can’t have, or the fact that you aren’t groveling at his feet.

It’s not like Hyunjin has any idea of why exactly you’re so hellbent on hating his guts, nor does he really care all that much. So you don’t like College Sluts, that’s your right as is anyone else’s, but it’s not like he’s shoving the damn shit in your face. He minds his business, manages his porn site, and does it all with a smile on his face. You, though? It’s a miracle he’s seen you smile once. And that was when he wasn’t paying attention and knocked into someone carrying a full tray of food.

Chan laughs at him all the time and so does Minho, wondering if he has some weird kink for wanting people who clearly don’t want him back, but more and more he’s thinking that isn’t the case. He’s always been bold, always been a bit flirty even when he wasn’t trying, and he knows he’s easy on the eyes. It’s not a secret, but your reaction to him isn’t one of disdain or clear attraction, but rather confusion, and that confuses him.

He flips the mic in his hands, switching between cradling it and flinging it every which way. The speakers of the karaoke system effectively drag him from his thoughts as the music gets louder and Jisung spins Felix around on their makeshift stage. Whoops and hollers echo from around them, the rest of their friends cheering at the performance in front of them. Hyunjin can’t bring himself to laugh even as a smile threatens to take hold of his features.

“Yo, what’s up with you?” Jisung plops down beside him, slinging an arm around Hyunjin's shoulders as puffs of breath leave his lips. “You’ve been sitting here brooding. What’s going on?”

“I don’t brood,” Hyunjin argues, though he maneuvers his body so he can tell Jisung exactly what has him brooding. “It’s just— I’m still thinking about Y/n.”

“Bro.”

“It doesn’t seem weird to you?”

“Weird that she’s just not interested? This is a new low, Hyunjin. Not everyone is gonna be attracted to you—”

“I know, but that’s not what I’m saying. Doesn’t her whole attitude towards us seem a bit excessive? All over a website.”

“It’s not your typical website.”

“Sung, it’s probably one of the safest porn sites out there because of how exclusive it is. No one but students here can get on it.”

“Does she know that?”

“That’s my point,” Hyunjin sighs, running a hand through his hair before starting again. “If she doesn’t even know the full details of the site, how can she possibly hate it? Hate us?”

Jisung pauses, looking back towards the stage. It’s true that all eight of them have thought about this at least once. They know there’s people who hate the website, who steer clear of it in all instances, but none who have made petitions and gone to the superintendent requesting an audience about it. No one who’s actively been so hateful to them specifically, refusing to look in their direction unless it’s to send a glare their way.

“Maybe there's another reason?” Jisung offers, sending Hyunjin a sideways glance. “I mean, maybe she just hates porn.”

Hyunjin snorts at that. How can anyone hate porn?

“You’re laughing but I’m dead serious. Has she ever even had a partner?”

“How the fuck would I know?”

“You think about her 24/7. I wouldn't be surprised if you knew what she ate for breakfast.”

“Not fucking funny.”

Jisung barks out a laugh, falling over into Hyunjin’s space. “Don’t worry, you’ll get over it soon.”

Hyunjin isn’t so sure but he nods anyway, allowing Jisung to go back to the stage for the next song. Hyunjin knocks back his drink, throat constricting barely at the bitter taste. He doesn’t care. He really doesn’t, but there’s something weird about your behavior and he’s more than determined to figure it out. Maybe he needs to just mind his business but fuck that, he thinks, no one is gonna hate him for no reason. Maybe he’s a little too riled up at that, maybe Jisung is right and this is a new low. Maybe he just really can’t deal with rejection well. Maybe.

Minho’s screeching into the mic does it’s hardest to ruin Hyunjin’s night, but the way the rest of his friends tackle him and attempt to steal the mic just makes him laugh, leaving a warm feeling in his chest. This is all he needs— his friends and a good drink to put a smile on his face. And the college porn site he worked very hard on, of course.

The group only gets through a few more songs before they decide to leave, deciding to ignore the fact that some of them have classes in six hours or that they’ll be nursing a bad headache for the entirety of it. Hyunjin is one of them. He laughs along with his friends as they walk, and he watches them from where he stands in the back.

Jisung has his phone out and is making a concerned face, typing furiously on the device. Either they’re having technical issues or his girlfriend is getting on his ass once again. Minho has an arm slung around his shoulders, laughing at whatever it is he’s typing and whoever it is that’s typing back. Next to them Felix and Jeongin have joined hands and Felix swings them back and forth, giggling as he does. Jeongin pretends he doesn’t like it, like usual, but Hyunjin notices the hint of a smile on his face. He always notices.

Chan and Changbin are quiet on either side of him, walking in the tranquil quiet that’s always rare for their group. It feels incomplete— Hyunjin wishes Seungmin could’ve come. He doesn’t know how the boy manages to be friends with the creators of the CSC and also be friends with its #1 hater. Maybe he’s selling secrets, telling you everything about the site, all its loopholes and glitches. Maybe he’s working against them now, coming up with a plan to shut them down once and for all, though Hyunjin doesn’t know if that’s possible.

Right after those thoughts trickle into his mind, he thinks about Seungmin wearing the handmade “merch” for the site, and doesn’t entertain them any longer. It would be ridiculous— even for him— to think that someone who repped college sluts like it was their brand would ever work even harder to tear it away.

The knot in his throat that’s been squeezing at his airways since earlier that night relaxes just a little. He’s never actually said this to anyone, but just as much as he thinks about why you hate him, he thinks about whether Seungmin will hate him too; about if he’ll lose a friend due to reasons he’s not even sure of. As much as he thinks about why you hate him so badly, he thinks about why he doesn’t hate you right back. He wonders why he— instead of wanting nothing to do with you— wants to know everything about you. Why he wants to understand you when you’ve made no effort to understand him, or worse, made up your own mind about who he is without even attempting to entertain the idea that maybe you’re wrong.

Hyunjin has lived his whole life suffering from other people's ideas of him, from their expectations that they held with no prior consultation with him, from the perfect picture of him in their minds that didn’t correlate with the real Hyunjin. He’s had his fair share of wondering, thinking, wanting. And it’s disappointing to see how even after all this time, since childhood, nothing has changed. He’s always wanted what he’s not allowed to have, but it’s not for lack of trying.

They don’t arrive at their frat house quick enough. As soon as the door opens into the building Hyunjin feels like falling asleep on the couch. It wouldn’t be the first time, but he’s also not sure what last happened on that couch. Between spilled drinks and sex that was too rushed to even make it to a bedroom he’d rather take his chances on an actual bed. Chan doesn’t bother to turn the lights on when he comes in, and the seven of them shuffle around each other, spilling into the living room or into the kitchen to grab drinks and snacks as if they didn’t just come back from eating.

Hyunjin knows he’s been distant all night but he can’t be bothered to care as he sends a quick good night his friends’ way and makes his way upstairs. The house holds eight other boys besides them and he’s surprised none of them are downstairs or hanging around even at the late hour. Though, Hyunjin reasons, most of them have girlfriends and the few others that don’t are seniors and probably pull all-nighters in the library or some shit.

Hyunjin doesn’t want to think about that. The year only started back up again a few months ago, he doesn’t need to be thinking about work anymore than he already does. He makes a good living even without a real job, so he’s taking shit day by day. It’s not like anyone else is much different. Most of his seniors are cramming because they were so carefree. Hyunjin doesn’t think about the implications of that either.

The softness of his bed is long overdue and his body sinks into the plush bedding. He strips off his shirt and pants, not bothering to make his way to a shower or put pajamas on or do anything really. He has five hours before he needs to wake back up and this is nothing if not a power nap that won’t help him get through any lectures the next day. Or, later that day rather.

Hyunjin doesn’t concern himself with that though, because there’s only one thing that’s on his mind when he falls asleep and when he wakes up, and that’s what he’s going to say to you tomorrow morning in the first class of the day.

The first thing you manage to think of when you wake up is how best you’re going to ignore Hyunjin today. You’ve been brainstorming, wondering which response will humble him the best, maybe make him speechless for long enough that you can get away. If only those getaways could last forever, you sigh, pulling a fitted tee over your head. It’s low-cut, makes your cleavage pop just a little bit more, and you add a necklace for that exact reason.

You’re not the sex-crazed demon that the CSC most definitely are, but you do like a little attention every now and again even if you don’t get that much action. Or any, really, and you’re just fine with that. It’s one of the reasons why you don’t like the CSC. There’s no reason to sexify everything, and that’s exactly what they do. People can get by just fine without it.

Just fine? Seungmin would probably jab, but he’s not here right now and he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You are just fine, but the mention of the-site-that-must-not-be-named just fills your stomach with stones and ignites your nerves like nothing else does. To you, that’s more than enough proof that it’s the CSC’s fault— not yours.

Anyway, today is the day you have to see Hyunjin bright and early, which always manages to set your day off to a bad start. No one should have to deal with him at this time of day, or any time of day, and you pity the ones that do. Seeing Chan isn’t rare, but he doesn’t talk to you like Hyunjin does. He stares every now and again, gives you a lazy smirk, and is generally sexy as much as it pains you to admit it, but he doesn’t bother you. Though you know he probably talks about you. His stares are too knowing, way too insightful even when you don’t really know each other.

The rest of the boys you’ve talked to on a few occasions. They aren’t as insufferable, but they are associated with Hyunjin and Chan and are, in fact, involved in the upkeep of the-site-that-must-not-be-named. To you, that’s more than enough reason to at the least dislike them. You don’t hold soft spots for any of them, except maybe Felix who seems way too sweet to be a sex demon, but then again, it’s always the nice ones.

Besides, it doesn’t matter what they say to you or don’t say, or if they look at you or not, or if they even know you exist. It really doesn’t matter. You shake the thoughts from your head vigorously, ashamed at the fact that you spent the first hour of your morning on them. It’s unbecoming of you. It’s good to remind yourself not to actively concern yourself with any of them, and simply fight for the site’s demolition like you’ve been doing.

Seungmin says you have no life, but Seungmin also wears T-shirts with cartoonish, glittery pink boobs and the site’s name in glittery cursive letters. You don’t think Seungmin should have an opinion.

The last time you attempted to do anything about the site was roughly two months ago, a month after school started back. You took your time to settle in, fall into a routine, and get your work and classes in order before resuming your mission. It was arduous, brainstorming and juggling school work, but it was your responsibility since no one else would work hard enough.

A quick shuffle through any of your things would tell people you were a perfectionist— articulate in your placement of items and the way you did things. Even taking the time to plan certain outings to a T, determined to make sure everything goes well. It’s not a secret how obsessive you get over things and how uncomfortable or incomplete you feel when things don’t go your way, when you have to follow someone else’s idea of how things should work. It’s the reason why most people don’t get along with you because to them you’re too controlling, too compulsive and dominating.

When you were a child that fact had bothered you. It was confusing— that was just your nature, and you wouldn’t have survived your childhood without it based on the way your parents lived. When kids would shun you, treat you like something sticky at the bottom of their shoe, it hurt your young heart. You felt apologetic simply for acting the way you always felt like you should act, for doing the things that left you satisfied after. Now, in college, no one demands classmates to get along, no one can shun you in the cafeteria and force you to eat in the library. If they don’t like you it’s fine with you, frankly it doesn’t matter. You have one goal and one goal only, and once that’s over with you can move on.

When you step out of your dorm the sun is blinding, shining down with unforgiving rays of light. All you can do is squint, tilt your head down a little and wish you had a hat. The walk to the Art’s building is long, but feels longer with how warm it is. The heat shimmies its way under your clothes and into your skin, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes.

The scenery on the walk there is always breathtaking though, the pavement that makes up the pathway to the building is closed in by blades of grass that have been cut and trimmed to perfection. Rocks make up the border between them— large smooth stones that vary in size but are more or less the same oval shape. There’s an entire garden full of all types of flowers, Gardenias, Lilies, Irises, Tulips, and even some you can’t name. At the entrance of the building there are bright lights that illuminate at least 25 feet in front of it at night, and wide hedges that have been designed to look like swans, their necks curved in a way that if they were moved next to each other they’d be forming a heart. White flowers grow inside the hedges serving to make the entire scene look more beautiful, and as much as you hate walking there, the view is unmatched.

The Art building has always been your safe haven, Art in general being your home away from home. It took a long time for you to feel comfortable studying it— always caught up in the what if. What if you can’t make a living from it? What if you end up not liking it as you grow older? What if it’s not a sustainable career? Questions that still plague you often, and stop you from putting as much of your heart in it as you’d wish. These classes are somewhat self-indulgent. A way for you to escape from the hectic mess that is your life, away from the stress of work, from the anxiety of what comes next, and from the infuriating instances that continue without your control— away from the things you can’t control so you can run to things you can. So imagine your horror when you found out Hwang Hyunjin was in the same class as you. At the same time. Doing the same thing.

It felt like your escape wasn’t yours anymore, and that the stress from your day followed you everywhere you went. It wasn’t enough for Hyunjin to pester you often— he had to be everywhere you were too.

You take a deep breath to calm your nerves, setting your shoulders and regain the poise you take pride in– carrying yourself with the confidence you wish you had. It doesn’t take long for you to make your way to the entrance of the building, as you walk, having been kissed by the scorching light of the sun and brushed against by dewy blades of grass. It feels surreal and staggering to be outside alone so early in the morning, yet peaceful, for you know that it will be long before you get this chance again.

“Bug!”

Oh no. no no no. You walk faster, hoping to make it inside before Hyunjin can catch up to you. Hyunjin is never this early. He either comes right on time or late to the frustration of your teachers and peers although no one would ever say it to his face. You can hear his feet against the pavement louder and louder as he comes closer to you, catching up just when you take the first step up the stairs to the entrance.

“You didn’t hear me, bug?”

“Stop calling me bug.”

“Sorry, bug,” Hyunjin laughs, putting a heavy arm over your shoulders and bringing you closer.

You roll your eyes so hard it feels like they’re gonna stick. Maybe they should so you don’t ever have to see Hyunjin again. Maybe he’d think you look scary like that, your eyes rolled up forever. Maybe then he’d leave you alone.

Hyunjin is annoying. He always acts like you’re his friend, but you know it’s fake because why would he want to be friends with you, someone who hates everything he works hard on and hates him as well to an extent. It seems overly fake and forced to you, so you don’t ever entertain it. The last thing you need is to fall for it and then be made out to look like an idiot when he eventually embarrasses you.

“It’s too early.”

“It’s never too early, pretty.”

“It’s always too early to be dealing with you,” You groan, wrenching his arm away from where it laid over your shoulders. “Why are you talking to me?”

“Why not?” Hyunjin asks, seemingly unaffected by your attitude towards him. He shoves his hands in his pockets, his shoulders raised up to his chin in a shrug. “I like talking to you.”

You snort, looking up at him with eyebrows raised, “You like talking to me, the one person— possibly in this world— who absolutely hates you, and barely spares you the time of day?” You ask, tilting your head in mock confusion. “I’m sure this is the longest we’ve ever had a conversation, but nice try.” You squeeze his cheeks, hard, and when he swats your hand away you can’t help the giggle that you let out. If his cheeks felt like dough under your fingers you’re choosing to ignore that, wiping a hand on your jeans with way more intensity than needed.

“But see,” Hyunjin starts again, “We’re having a conversation right now and neither of us wanna choke each other.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m barely resisting the urge to punt your head like a baseball.”

It’s silent for a moment before you both burst out into a fit of giggles. Hyunjin braces himself against his knees as he laughs, his hair falling over his face as he does, and you’re not much better— staggering where you stand to laugh with him. It only takes a few seconds for you both to calm down, and slowly the reality of what happened catches up to you.

“Do you even punt baseballs?” Hyunjin snorts, and you just laugh harder.

“I don’t know, Hyunjin, if you haven’t noticed I’m at the arts building not sports.” You wheeze, fighting through another laugh. “Now I’m just imagining your head flying over the gardens.”

Hyunjin lets out another chuckle but shivers a bit at the thought. He waits for you to calm down, your giggles turning into small huffs. A hint of a smile still remains on your cheeks, and the sun shines down so strongly on your features it feels like he’s seeing an angel— like divinity right in front of his eyes. When you straighten up, he can see every movement. The way you position your bag upright, the way a bit of your gums poke out from your lips. Your lips, soft, glossy, and look the most perfect in a smile. He can see the way your eyebrows lose the tension from your laughing fit, the way the crinkle of your eyes lessen as your face relaxes. He can see everything, so he can also see when your lips fall back into a firm line, when your eyebrows go back to that angry stance they always hold when you’re around him. The way your shoulders stiffen, and the grip on your bag tightens. He can see everything, and he reminds himself the only time you laugh is when he’s the butt of the joke.

“I’m going to class,” You murmur, walking the rest of the way up the stairs and into the building without looking back or waiting for him to respond. Though Hyunjin wonders what he would’ve even said.

I’ll come with you.

We can sit together.

No, you both can’t do anything together, and more and more Hyunjin wonders why he even wants to.

“You were laughing with Hwang Hyunjin? The sex demon??” Your friend hisses from next to you, stringing a lock of hair behind her ear. “You?”

“Yes, me, Jieun.” You huff. “I can barely believe it either. What did he do to me? I hate him, I can’t show weakness by laughing around him.”

“Honey,” Jieun laughs, leaning towards you, “You can laugh. Honestly the fact that you ran away after is hilarious.”

“I didn’t run away.”

“You ran away.”

“I didn’t run.”

Jieun settles on you with a heavy stare, face slack, and you roll your eyes. “Fine, I walked away.”

“I don’t know how either of you take each other seriously.”

“I don’t take him seriously.”

“Yeah you do, babe. You refuse to laugh around him. That’s very serious.”

You snort.

“And the fact that he gives you the time of day when this is the dumbest feud possible… I just don’t understand it.”

“It’s not dumb.” You sputter, smoothing your hand over the glossy wooden desk of the classroom. “It’s…” You trail off, staring into the large windows at the side of the room. You cock your head and lean forward, jaw slack when the sex demon himself waves outside. “Oh what a stalker.” You growl, throwing up the middle finger in his direction. “He’s got his little posse following him too.”

When Jieun makes to wave back you smack the back of her head and groan when she gives you an affronted look.

“What was that for?” Jieun exclaims, bringing a hand up to rub against the back of her head.

“Don’t fraternize with the enemy,” You hiss, folding your arms over your chest and staring back at your professor.

“Are you gonna explain the feud—”

“No.”

In your opinion, class doesn’t end quickly enough. You split with Jieun at the entrance, the both of you going in opposite directions, and attempt to reorder your frazzled mind. So you laughed. A lot of people laugh at people they hate. Plus, he laughed too— so why should you be overthinking it? You’ve laughed before, in situations you weren’t supposed to, and this is no different. Now you just need to make sure it never happens again. You nod to yourself as you walk, pulling out your phone to make sure Seungmin is already at the meeting spot.

The sun is still just as ruthless as it was earlier, but a light breeze grazes your skin and rustles the trees along the sidewalk and in the field in front of you. There’s a bunch of picnic tables, some occupied and some of them not. There’s groups of friends sitting under trees, some couples, some of them alone; reading or completing assignments in the nice weather. You spot Seungmin a few tables down, a brown sweater over a collared shirt and cute glasses perched upon his nose.

You take your time walking to the table, letting your skin soak in the warmth and tranquil peace of nature. When Seungmin spots you he shuffles over, giving you some space to sit next to him and you do, mumbling a small hey before knocking your head against the table.

“You’re going to a party with me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Seungmin… Hi, how are you? How was your day? No, I’m not.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“Well, unless you’re going to drag me, no I’m not.”

“I just might,” Seungmin sighs, “Why are you so difficult?”

“Difficult? You’re the one being difficult. I don’t want to go and you’re telling me it’s not a choice.”

“Because it’s not.”

You let out a groan, a long torturous one that has people turning their head to a straight faced Seungmin and you who’s head is still knocked against the table. When people think it’s stopped it starts all over again, a guttural groan filled with displeasure and frustration that loosens your chest when it’s done.

“Are you done?”

“Leave me alone.”

“It’s on Saturday. I can pick you up.” Seungmin says instead of arguing.

“Today’s Thursday.” You whine, just stopping yourself from letting out another groan— one that wouldn’t ever stop for as long as you have to deal with Kim Seungmin and his annoying, snarky, bossy self.

“…. I’m aware.” Seungmin says, and you don’t even have to look at him to know he’s making a face like and so what?

“I can’t stand you, I hope you know that. No type of warning, no preparation… I don’t party. I need at least two weeks to mentally prepare myself and another two weeks to get an outfit.”

“Damn.” Seungmin says, but he rubs a hand against your back, lightly pushing you to lift your head from the table. “Listen, I’ll help you. And it’s being thrown by people I know so you don’t have to worry. I don’t think many people throw college parties a month in advance but I’ll keep that in mind.”

All you can do is nod, waiting patiently as Seungmin finishes whatever assignment he’s working on. You’ve already completed the ones you have, the pro of not having much else to do and being on top of things always. Everyday you both meet up here, either at a table or under one of the trees and talk. Read, finish assignments, or even eat snacks. There have been some times where you meet there and then go somewhere else together, rarely off campus but it happens, and you get something to eat or go on a mini adventure. It’s the highlight of your day and you’re sure it is for Seungmin too, but you’d never admit that to each other. You don’t have to, though, because you’re both always on the same wavelength especially when it counts the most.

Though now he’s given you something else to worry about, that being this sudden party. It’s no doubt being held by a frat house, and you have an inkling which house it is. You haven’t asked, trying not to pop the bubble of secureness that surrounds you. You can go to a party being held by the CSC. You can, and you will, and if it isn’t being held by them then that’s even better. You try to convince yourself you really don’t care at all, but the thought remains. Can you really enjoy yourself at a party being held by them? You don’t know why it bothers you so much or why you feel so uncomfortable having a good time around them, but you just keep repeating the same thing to yourself over and over. It doesn’t matter.

“Jieun told me what happened this morning.”

“Of course she did.” You sigh, staring ahead at the group of squirrels running up a tree. The people under it startle when leaves start to fall over their heads. “We just left each other, how did she find the time to text you all that?”

“She called me,” Seungmin cackles, braces on full display as he scribbles furiously into his notebook. “Every story I hear about you and Hyunjin is against my will.”

“Every interaction between me and Hyunjin is against my will,” You counter, shifting so that you face him. “What did she say?”

“That you laughed with him and it embarrassed you. That you’re confused about your feelings towards him.”

“So are you two my therapists now? I’m not confused. I don’t like the things he does— I don’t like his carefree attitude, how he has no problem talking to me like we’re friends. I don’t like- No, I hate the fact that so many people fucking praise him because he created some crude porn site.”

Your heart rate picks up, your hand gripping at your jeans as a poor attempt to conceal your growing frustration. “I don’t like the fact that no one else sees what’s wrong with it. We shouldn’t have a fucking porn site for college students? I don’t think we should know what we all look like under our clothes and I’m tired of everyone acting like I'm the crazy one. He’s the perverted one, the weird one. Who the fuck thinks of something like that? It’s not just him, it’s all of them.”

Seungmin ponders your words, the grip on his pen tightening ever so slightly. “Hyunjin is a good guy. All of them are, and if that’s how you feel then why do you talk to me? I use the site, I'm their friend, I’ve helped them out when making it. Aren’t I weird and perverted too?”

You sigh, “Seungmin…”

“Help me understand. Because if you can stand to be around me, then why can’t you be around them? Or try.”

“It isn’t the same and you know it. It’s easy to ignore it when it’s you. That’s them. They are the CSC to me. A reminder of everything I hate, what I want to get rid of.”

“But why the hell does it matter? People want to use the site and that’s why they do. No one is fucking forcing it.”

“You guys just don’t understand it. None of you do. It’s like you’re blinded by it or something.”

“We’re grown adults, Y/N,” Seungmin growls, “We don’t need you to be a guardian fucking angel.”

“Don’t make me out to be the bad guy, just because all you fucking care about is sex or some college sluts, like can you actually be that shallow?”

“Why is it so hard for you to see reason? Do you see how angry you’re getting at me for asking a simple question? You asked me what Jieun said and I told you.” Seungmin spits, shutting his book with a slam.

“Stop asking me about that site. Stop making me seem like some confused hateful person just because you’re too dense to understand where I’m coming from. I’m not confused, I know exactly how I feel. I try not to bring it up because you like the damn thing so much, and you can’t seem to hold the same courtesy for me.” You stand from the seat, settling a dark glare at Seungmin’s angered form.

“Fuck your friends, fuck that site. Stop talking about me like I need guidance.”

You’re not irrational. You’re not. You have every right to be angry. Seungmin is your friend. Jieun is your friend. They’re supposed to be there for you, not gang up on you. You feel alone, so alone in everything you fight for, in everything you aim to conquer— as if the things you stand for don’t matter. It reminds you of middle school all over again, of high school— having people look at you like you were something from another planet. Someone people had always failed to understand. It’s lonely. You’re not irrational.

You didn’t blow up. You’re not angry. You’re frustrated, yes, but you don’t blow up. You don’t get mad. You aren’t irrational. Anyone else in your position would feel the same, right? Anyone else would be upset because it feels like your friends always take the side of the people you despise more than anyone else. Why aren’t they on your side? Why don’t they believe you? Why don’t they understand? It makes you feel stupid. It makes you feel like you have no right to feel the way you do. It’s lonely.

You’ve never been irrational. You’ve always had a good grip on your feelings. Always. And when it feels like the grip loosens it’s always the cause of something relating to the CSC. It’s proof that it’s what the root of your problems is. It’s proof that the CSC needs to be gone so you can finally go back to normal. So you don’t feel like the odd one out. So you don’t have to feel so upset. Because you’re not irrational. You have every right to feel this way. You don’t get mad. You’re not angry. You don’t blow up.

You control everything, you control your actions, your emotions, and you make sure to hold control over your environment— of how things play out for every second of your life. This feels like it’s running out of control. That the CSC brings havoc in your life no matter what— even when you try to ignore it, it comes running back to fuck you over even further. You’re not irrational. You’re not confused. You don’t get mad. You don’t. You don’t blow up. You control everything.

The sun hides right when you need it. You pretend tears don’t blur your vision, you pretend that the suddenly gloomy environment doesn’t affect you the way it does. You pretend that the once comforting breeze doesn’t feel sharp against your exposed skin. You pretend because when things run out of control that’s all you can do. Pretend you’ve got it handled, pretend that you still have a grip on things, pretend that you understand. You’re not irrational. You have every right to feel this way.

You never argue with Seungmin. Playful bickering from time to time or you two being rude to each other but always playfully. You’ve never cursed at him so maliciously, spoken to him like he was someone random, as if he wasn’t your best friend. You’ve never done those things— but you do when the CSC is involved. You never get pissed at Jieun, even when she’s annoying, even when she acts like the only thing important in life is the new boy she’s talking to— You don’t get mad. You’re not mad now, but you’re something. Something fiery, and everything always goes back to the CSC. You’re not irrational. You’re just the only one who understands.

Right when you see the blurry form of your dorm building it gets blocked by a large body and you slam right into its chest. You can barely see in front of you and you know your face is screwed up into the worst form imaginable, tears falling with no control. Without your control.

“Sorry, excuse me,” You laugh wetly, sidestepping whoever is blocking your way and running up the steps to your dorm. The sooner you fall into your bed and cry this out, the sooner you can forget about it. The sooner you can apologize and move past this weird limbo of feelings. It feels like purgatory, stuck in the in between, not sure which direction you’ll end up going in. It’s full of unsureness, of frustration. It feels like a loss of control. It angers you, makes you feel like nothing is going right.

But you don’t get angry. You’re not irrational. You don’t get mad. You pretend, because that’s all you can do.

Hyunjin is confused.

The last thing he expected to see this morning was you laughing, but now, he realizes the last thing he ever expected to see was you crying. Eyes glossy with tears, a nose rubbed raw, face screwed up into something pitiful.

Hyunjin doesn’t know a lot of things. He doesn’t expect a lot of things, but most of all he doesn’t know how to continue after seeing it. He doesn’t expect to care so much, not after the way you’ve regarded him. After the way you’ve both regarded each other. He doesn’t know why he can’t walk away and say nothing when he knows he should. If he brings it up you’ll get defensive, be embarrassed, be angry. He shouldn’t say anything.

He keeps walking, frowning slightly at the gloomy clouds. It was so sunny less than an hour ago. Things change so quickly, it doesn’t make any sense. He thinks back to earlier that morning, the light that shone on your face with every laugh you let out. He thinks back to just a few seconds ago. How dark shadows fell over your face as tears ran down your cheeks.

The walk is more automatic than anything else. He doesn’t take the time to stare at the scenery, he doesn’t look at the people around him. He barely sees the ground in front of him as he walks, his mind not registering what’s right in front of his face. He’s too caught up in you. Like usual, wondering why you do the things you do, why you feel the way you feel, wanting to understand. What did he do? What can he do to make you feel better? How can he make you hate him any less? He wants to understand, he wants to listen, to talk to you, to be near you. It confuses him.

His phone vibrates, pulling him from his thoughts. It’s chan, texting about the party on Saturday, and he sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He’s so tired, tired of running around for parties, tired of attending to the site, tired of waking up early for classes. He just wants a second to sit down and relax, to not worry about you ruining the one thing he’s worked hard for, to not worry about what class he’s flunking, about what party he’s expected to attend, to not worry about why you were crying in the middle of the afternoon. He just wants a moment to collect his thoughts and free his mind.

HJ: I got it

BC: alr cool, put it in the cabinet with the lock, you know how Hyunjoon gets

HJ: Fuck, is it that bad?

BC: he’s an alcoholic bud, it’s that bad.

Hyunjin laughs a little, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. He wonders if Seungmin told you about the party yet and grimaces, wondering if that’s the reason why you were crying. If it is, he’s not sure who needs to get a grip. You, for hating him so bad, or him for continuing to try and get you not to. It takes a lot of effort for him to continue the power walk back to the frat, but he arrives sooner than later, stuffing the bag of drinks inside the cabinet and locking it shut. He thinks it’s a bit ridiculous that they have to lock the alcohol up as if they have small kids running around, and also wonders the effectiveness when Hyunjoon lives in a frat house and is an adult who can buy his own alcohol.

It’s Thursday afternoon but he finds that he’s not as excited for a party as he should be. Usually, he’d be bouncing on his heels, counting down the hours for it to start, and realizing he’s so caught up in everything else going around he doesn’t feel that normal excitement that he so often does. He makes sure to fix that, shaking the unnecessary thoughts from his head, pushing responsibilities to later. He has a party to prepare for and he's gonna act like it.

The rest of the boys don’t get back till later— they’d given Hyunjin the responsibility of buying cups and drinks and shitty snacks while they went off somewhere else. Hyunjin can’t keep track of what they do especially if he’s not joining, so he focuses on doing what he’s supposed to in order to make this the best party of the year so far. His frat has always held the record of best parties— has always held their winnings in high regard as well, and he’ll be damned if he gets the cold shoulder if he’s the reason the party isn’t as good as it should be. Most of all, he’s thinking about what he’s gonna do during it.

Hyunjin is not shy on having sex— never has been, never will be, and more often than not he’s having it. Sure, that may be expected since he made a literal porn site, but Jisung also had a hand in it and he has a girlfriend. Felix doesn’t have one-night stands often, nor does Seungmin. It’s different for all of them.

He knows there’s a few girls that have been actively trying to get in his pants, knows that he’s been trying to get into theirs, but he can only hope he can focus on them for long enough to do so without thinking about you. If you come, he knows that there’s no chance he’ll think of anything else, and he’ll probably spend the entire night just getting you to laugh again. To get you to explain to him why. why why why. It’s confusing, but he pretends it doesn’t matter.

Thursday comes and goes too quickly, and Friday does as well. The day isn’t over yet, it’s only the afternoon, but the implications of that make you anxious. Make your nerves ignite far more than they should.

Seungmin didn’t answer your calls for the rest of that Thursday. Didn’t read or respond to a single text until you decided to leave him alone. Jieun called, but you didn’t answer. You think the way you felt towards her is the way Seungmin felt towards you. Maybe something worse, so you gave him space and took some for yourself, a moment to really think about what made you react the way you did. You don’t think you’re in the wrong, you still don’t think you could’ve reacted any other way and you’re not sure what that says about you.

You take another bite of your sandwich as you walk down the street from the Art store, your phone cradled in your other hand and a drink poking out from the opening in your bag. It’s hard to mentally prepare for things that you don’t know anything about. You don’t know where the party is, who’s hosting it, how long you’re expected to stay. Thought that’s if you’re even still going. You want to take Seungmin’s silence as an answer that no, you aren’t, but you also don’t want to assume that and then he shows up at your door and you’re not ready.

You don’t want to go, not at all, but if it made Seungmin happy then you would. If he didn’t come to pick you up you briefly entertained finding your own way to the party and cornering him, forcing him to hear your apology before leaving and soaking your pillow with tears. But you don’t know where the party is. You also briefly entertained the idea of calling Jieun and asking her, but you’re not interested in the lecture that would come from that. You still don’t appreciate her words about you to Seungmin and the implication of them. Seungmin is your friend, you can tell him what happened all by yourself. You don't need Jieun to play messenger.

You swallow the last of your lunch and throw the wrapper in the nearest trash can. You want to start a new painting, one that can unleash the frustrations of your life as it is right now, and you can only do that by getting some new supplies. You save up constantly for this exact reason— for the ability to buy whatever your heart desires whenever it desires it. You dip your toes into whatever interests you, and all concepts of Art satisfies you more than anything. Writing whatever you desire, taking pictures of the things you find beautiful, painting whatever you want— it gives you the control that fuels you more than anything else.

The art shop by your university is quaint, always quiet and never very full, yet always filled with high quality supplies and fully stocked. You’ve made friends with the old lady who owns it and her daughter, constantly going there just to buy something in order to catch up with them on whatever has happened since your last visit. They’re like the mother and sister you never had, people who feel more like family than your own. It’s partly for that reason that you’ve made the trek there, hoping to get some advice for the things you’ve been feeling before going to the party that’s undoubtedly being held by the one group of people you despise.

The bells above the door jingle when you step in, and you let the smell of paint, chalk, crayons, pens, and faint air freshener soothe you. It’s just as cluttered as it’s always been— stacks upon stacks of sketchbooks and canvases on one side situated next to the easels and small desks. The paints have a section of their own, oil, watercolor, acrylic, matte, and more— on the opposite side there’s pens and crayons, colored pencils, oil pastels, and sharpeners of all shapes and sizes.

The walls are covered in paint as if before bringing in all the items they’d had fun splattering the walls in color. It’s messy, unruly, cluttered, and barely organized— so it doesn’t make sense to you why it comforts you so much. When you see a small form hobble out from behind a stack of books a smile forms unbiddenly on your face, and the small old lady smiles back.

“I missed you, dear,” She scolds, wrapping you up in a hug. “It’s been too long since you’ve come to visit.”

“I know, I’ve just been busy Ms. Yang. I missed you.” You sigh, rubbing your nose in the soft fabric of her sweater. She smells like paint and flowers— she smells like home.

“Sam will be here soon, she’d love to see you.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice. I need to talk to her too.”

“I can tell, child. You look stressed.” She sighs, shuffling behind the counter and sitting on one of the other seats behind it. “Get what you’re looking for,” She says waving a hand dismissively towards you.” I won’t make you explain it twice.”

You huff lightheartedly, making your way over to the canvases and picking one of medium proportions. You’re still not sure what it is you want to paint, but you know whatever you’re feeling is strong enough that you grab Oil paint, needing something rich and vibrant and something sharper to contrast the muddled and cloudy image of your mind.

It’s before long that you settle on a brand you normally buy, and the set of bells signal someone’s arrival into the shop. You turn your head, expecting to see Sam and her long curly hair, beautiful in its volume and her tawny brown skin, but instead you’re greeted with the sight of straight brown hair, swept behind the ears of a tall man, a mole under his eye and the reason for all your problems. You don’t know why you react the way you do, but with your items cradled in your hand you sprint behind a large stack of sketchbooks and hold your breath, staring with wide eyes at the cans of paint at your feet.

What the fuck is Hwang Hyunjin doing at your shop? This is your safe place— your safe haven. A part of you curses the ground he walks on, hopes that the store is too messy and cluttered for his liking, prays that he proves he’s as shallow as the company he keeps and that he leaves and doesn’t come back. Another part of you hates yourself for being so ridiculous. For letting your personal feelings about him delve so far that you’d think something like that. Sam and Mrs.Yang deserve the business, deserve the money, deserve the customers. You shouldn’t hope for anything different— but it still amazes you how he never fails to intrude on the things you hold dear. To intrude on the things you want to keep to yourself.

You don’t move from the spot you’re in. It could’ve been ten minutes, an hour, even, or maybe it was only thirty seconds, but you only peek out when you hear Sam’s voice ring through the shop. You survey the room, stepping out from your hiding spot when you confirm that Hyunjin is nowhere to be found. Though, you don’t think you could’ve hid regardless by the way Sam calls your name.

“Hi, Sammy,” You smile, coming up to pull her into a hug. She grips you tightly, her kinky hair tickling your cheek and her clothes smelling faintly of vanilla and roses. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, hun,” Sam smiles, albeit a little sadly as she looks over your face. “What’s wrong?”

“Hey, don’t leave a poor old lady out,” Mrs. Yang huffs, “Come over here and tell us both about it.”

Without even saying anything they’ve already cheered you up, your steps feeling lighter as you make your way behind the counter and sit on one of the three seats. You sit between them both, their eyes set patiently but concerningly on you.

“I don’t know, really,” You start, and then, you tell them. About your argument with Seungmin, about how lonely it is feeling like you’re the only one feeling this way, about how much the site angers you— how it makes you feel. You tell them about Hyunjin, about how he doesn’t stop bothering you no matter how much you make it obvious you don’t want his company. How much that frustrates you, as well, and about how the lack of control over the entire situation, and over the CSC’s place in your life makes you uncomfortable, and about how the CSC itself makes you feel things you’ve never felt before and how much that scares you. You can barely describe the way it does, and who else can you blame besides its creators.

When you’re done it feels like you’ve vented a lifelong event, it makes a heavy weight lift itself off your shoulders and the heavy silence that remains doesn’t feel like judging, but rather them trying to understand— soaking up the meaning of every word you said in an attempt to place themselves in your shoes.

“I think,” Sam starts, “That your cluelessness about your feelings towards the site in general turns into anger, and the fact that the boy,”

“Hyunjin”, You offer.

“Yes, I think his attempts at speaking to you only worsen it somehow, like you’re being cornered by this weird feeling that you don’t understand and it makes you even angrier.”

“You said your friend is a part of it?” Mrs.Yang interjects, a wrinkly hand kneading your shoulder.

“Yeah,” You murmur, “He’s good friends with the group and he loves the website.”

“That probably doesn’t help then,” She continues, “If you’re surrounded by people who know what they like or enjoy something you don’t like or don’t understand, of course you’re going to feel angry. You feel like the odd one out.”

“I think more than anything you need to figure out if it’s really anger you’re feeling, and if the only reason why you hate this website is not because of its purpose but because of your lack of control over it.” Sam finishes.

“I can’t say I agree with it either,” Mrs.Yang grunts, “It’s not something I think college students need to be worrying about. Things like that stick with you, but it’s their choice to indulge in it, Y/n, you can’t control that.”

You sigh. You guess so, but you still feel like you need to get rid of it. You’ve been slacking, not paying attention to it as much as you should because of all the chaos it’s creating. It’s been a while since you’ve done a petition or made a list of ideas as an attempt to shut it down, but for now it seems like enough to just hate it. They can’t change your mind. Not Seungmin, not Sam, not Jieun, not Mrs.Yang, not Chan or Changbin or Minho— not any of them, and especially not Hyunjin. You just want to be hateful in peace and you don’t know why you don’t seem to be allowed to do that.

You leave the shop feeling lighter, but also like you didn’t actually get any good advice. Sure they validated your feelings, but that’s it. You’ve been trying to figure out your feelings. You know why you’re frustrated, and even though it felt good to be validated it also felt like a waste. You hold the bag of art supplies closer to you as you walk. The sun is setting, painting the sky reds, and oranges, and purples— and you think maybe you’ll paint that. To represent the end of the turmoil that surrounds you, as something hopeful.

You relish in the soft slope of your shoulders, in the relaxation you so rarely feel nowadays, and walk briskly to your dorm so you can fall into your bed and try to forget about the fact that there’s a party you’re supposed to be at tomorrow.

And as if the thought brought it on, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out quicker than you’d ever admit and a relieved smile pulls on your lips when you see it’s from Seungmin.

pup: be ready by 9

you: ok!!!!!

you: i miss you

There’s no more responses but you don’t let that dampen your mood. He still wants you to go with him and that says enough. You do feel terrible about the way you acted— the way you’ve been acting— but you know it’s justified. You’re not irrational. Not at all.

If you collapse at the foot of your bed, art supplies sitting on the floor by your feet, and a paper by your head titled #686, no one has to know.

This Saturday has not been a day of relaxation for you. You didn’t have any plans, though instead of enjoying the peace you so rarely received, the day consisted of you running around your room with a frazzled energy following behind like a ghost. At first you contemplated showing up in a sweater and jeans; no makeup, no jewelry, just you and a lazy fit— but realized that would only bring you even more stares than if you dressed as slutily as possible.

It’s with a black leather mini skirt and a black, lacy, low cut long sleeve tucked inside that you finally allow yourself to relax. You’re probably dressed way too flashily for a college party, but you can’t entertain any thoughts like that or you’ll spend the next three hours obsessing over it— and that’s three hours that you don’t have. Knee length boots stare at you from the door and it’s with a sigh that you walk to the door and put them on.

There’s more reasons to be nervous than just the party, between the inevitable walk with Seungmin to the encounter you’re most definitely going to have with the CSC and all of its users, you’re out of your element. There’s not enough deep breaths to make you calm down, there’s no method available to help clear your mind. Your heart races much more than should be healthy. It feels like hell, even, and all you can do is let this plethora of nerves run its course.

When your phone buzzes with Seungmin’s ‘I’m outside’ text, it almost feels like your heart stops. Fuck, Seungmin’s gonna ask who you’re all dressed up for, gonna ask why you’re so nervous. Why are you all dressed up? Why are you even going? It’s too much, too much of not knowing, not understanding, not feeling right. What will it take to get you to feel right? Like in freshman year when your biggest worry was whether or not you were passing your classes, now it feels like that's a lifetime ago. Like you’ve encountered way too much to even consider anything like that— not that you need to worry about it anyway. It was supposed to be a carefree year for you. You’re always on top of your responsibilities, always prepared, and nothing ever changed that until you went on that site for the first and last time.

You stop, relax your shoulders, take a deep breath that’s otherwise pointless, and step out the door. You curse the day you ever went on that website. It’s why everything is all messed up now, but you rid those thoughts from your mind. You’re determined to have fun tonight no matter what, and no matter who’s there.

Seungmin waits at the door, A button-down hanging off his shoulders and jeans. His hair is combed back and he’s ditched the glasses.

“Hey.” It comes out meeker than you’d like, a little too timid for what your relationship with Seungmin is.

“Hey,” he smiles, the braces you love so much on full display. Your best friend is beautiful, and it’s with a pang to your chest, it’s with seeing him now— so welcoming and so normal with you— that a small part of you realizes maybe you have been being irrational. Maybe you have been acting too strongly, but then you remind yourself that you’ve never been irrational. Never.

“So I’m guessing we’re going to the CSC’s dorm?”

“You’ll fit right in,” Seungmin laughs, starting to walk. You struggle to catch up to him; it’s been so long since you last wore heels that it’s hard to get used to. You don’t grace his comment with an answer, simply relishing in the soft nightly breeze and the shine of the moon. The stars glitter from above you, light years away yet so visible. So sure of their stance in life. You don’t think stars blow up at their best friends, or feel confused, or feel lonely.

You arrive at the party all too soon. From a block away you could see people drunk, staggering in the same direction, and from down the street you could hear the bass of the music, but the warning signs weren’t nearly enough to prepare you for the actual sight of it. It’s like the typical house parties you’d see on TV, but louder and more nerve-wracking. People hang out in front, the music loud enough for them to enjoy even from outside the building. Lights flash from behind the window, an array of purples, greens, reds, and blues. You can see people's shadows from behind the curtains over the front windows, and you feel like you’re about to throw up.

“Oh god,” You mumble, taking a few shaky steps inside. You can't do this. You’re gonna freak out and embarrass yourself. You can almost feel the anxiety seeping from your pores, and the word no repeats over and over in your head like a mantra.

No no no no no.

You can’t do this, but you do it anyway. Stepping inside the party is a feat in itself, and you can’t tell if your hands are shaking from the strong bass of the music or because of pure anxiety. The music knocks into your body so strongly that your knees buckle, barely able to hold you upright. At any moment you feel like you might collapse.

You can’t do it but you do it anyway, taking one step and then another, and when the door closes behind you, you resist the urge to turn back and run away. The party is full of people— so full that it’s impossible to walk anywhere without bumping into someone, and despite your best efforts you do get stares. Whether it’s because of what you’re wearing or if it’s because it’s you at a party being held by the CSC… you’re not entirely sure. You don’t think it makes a difference. You try to ignore it, act unbothered, and it must work because after a while they look away, murmuring something or the other about what you’re doing there.

Seungmin drags you away from the door and to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge and cabinets like it’s his home. You take in the somewhat chill vibe of the kitchen compared to everywhere else. It’s not nearly as full, but there are couples at opposite ends acting as if it isn’t a place where food is kept.

You take a few deep breaths, reassure yourself that you can do this, and even if you can’t you’ll do it anyway. Seungmin doesn’t say anything, just pours you something sweet and fruity in a red cup and hands it over with a raise of his eyebrows. You drink it way too quickly and you know you’re gonna regret it later, but you need the effect it’ll bring. The faux calmness that’ll help you get through the night. Though with how full the party is you think that you won’t be able to see the hosts anytime soon if at all, and that’s enough to bring your heart to a stuttering stop before it resumes its beating in a much more slow paced manner. You’re still not calm, but you’re doing your best.

“Try to relax,” Seungmin chides, his gaze heavy where it bores into you. “Everything will be just fine.”

You nod, taking a more calculated sip of your drink this time. You let the music relax you instead of startle you— focusing on the beats and the melody— on the lyrics, instead of the volume and how it makes your body tremble. You can do this.

When you finally feel like you’re able to relax, Seungmin parts from you, saying there’s some people he has to see. You’re an adult, so you can handle being alone for a few minutes. Eventually, though, the few minutes turn into something longer. You wonder if maybe Seungmin is still upset with you— you didn’t speak much about it on the walk like you thought you would. Honestly, it was mostly silence, and you didn’t think much of it before but you are now. You hold your drink close to your chest, dubbing it your life line for the night.

You last all of thirty minutes before you feel like you’re getting too hot— the building only gets even more stuffy as more people arrive, all of you packaged like a can of sardines. You take the fleeting burst of confidence to leave the kitchen and go to the backyard, hoping that it’ll be a bit more peaceful (as peaceful as possible considering the music blasting), and allow the fresh air to graze your skin like a soft blanket. You sit down on one of the benches in the backyard, leaning your head back and closing your eyes. What will it take to feel at peace? Maybe there’s nothing you can do. And it’s with these thoughts that you do exactly what you shouldn’t do at a party, wallowing in self pity and confusion. You’re so caught up in these thoughts that you don’t notice when someone else joins you.

“Hey, bug.”

Your head whips up faster than what’s comfortable, and you barely hide the wince that struggles to leave your lips. Hyunjin speaks again before you can respond.

“Don’t leave, alright. Please?” He asks, sitting down beside you and smoothing his hands over his pants. “Can we talk?”

“About?”

“About us? About you? I’m tired of running in circles and I want to know why you hate me— the CSC so much.”

You’re silent for a moment, contemplating, thinking. You should get up, leave the backyard and this party altogether. You should ignore whatever it is Hyunjin has to say because he’s the reason for all this, right? Why is he always pretending he doesn’t know; acting like he wants to get to know you? Acting like it really matters how you feel. Everyone wants to understand, everyone wants to know why, but you don’t even know— but you’ll never admit it outright. You’ll never say the one thing that’s been your driven principle for the past year is something you’re unsure about. All you know is that it’s bad, that it’s made you feel ways that were foreign to you, and in order to regain control you need to get rid of it. No matter how anyone else feels about it, no matter who gets upset with you along the way. You need to do it.

Your voice is soft, but not meek. For once, you’re gonna get this entire experience off your chest. “When I first went on the site in the beginning of freshman year I was curious,” You start, glancing at Hyunjin and feeling the tightness in your chest return when you realize he’s already looking at you. “At first, I was curious, and then I was confused. I clicked on a few videos— I scrolled for a while— and I started to get this weird feeling. The more I watched the videos, the more I scrolled through pictures and posts, the feeling got stronger.”

You feel so stupid, but you continue. If Hyunjin makes fun of you he’s just proving your assumptions correct. “I’d never felt that way before and honestly, it kinda scared me, and it was annoying that I didn’t understand it. I didn’t do anything after that. I ignored how fast my heart was beating, how my body was reacting, and never went on that site again. Slowly, that confusion turned into anger— it’s not normal. The way I felt wasn’t normal, and that’s why I think that site needs to get shut down.”

“Bug…” Hyunjin laughs a little and you want to be offended, but you can tell it’s more shock than amusement. “Bug have you ever had sex? Or.. touched yourself at all?”

Your mouth opens and closes comically, but Hyunjin is patient, waiting and watching carefully for you to speak. “Is that what’s important?” You finally say, your eyebrows furrowed and you’re ready to defend yourself if need be. “No, I haven’t.”

“God, bug this is…” Hyunjin squints at you, “I think you were aroused.”

You splutter, feeling your heart rate spike in embarrassment. “What!? No. No.”

“That weird feeling? That heat in your gut,” Hyunjin says, and to punctuate he lays a large, warm, hand over your stomach. “You were horny.” This time, Hyunjin’s laugh is one of amusement, but you're too distracted by how big his hand is, splayed over your stomach and so warm it feels like it’s burning through your clothes.

“Hyunjin, the feeling— no, it doesn’t make sense.”

“Bug, if you’ve never ever been aroused before somehow, of course it felt weird. Holy shit.”

You don’t say anything, but Hyunjin continues before you can get a grip on your thoughts.

“I can’t believe this is the reason why you’ve hated us for so long, I honestly can’t believe it.”

“Hyunjin… that feeling wasn’t pleasurable. Control is pleasurable. I didn’t have a grip on anything that day and barely regained it on the days following. You can’t convince me that getting rid of the CSC won’t bring back a sense of normalcy. You can’t, and even if you’re right, I think that morally, the site is still wrong, and I’m not going to stop trying to shut it down.”

“There’s so much about the CSC you don’t know about, and there’s so much more to pleasure than control.” Hyunjin sighs, clearly more at ease now that he realizes you’re just confused. You don’t know, really, why you hate them. That’s clear. You’re stubborn though, he can tell, and even if this idea he has works— he’s not sure you’ll stop until you get what you want.

Earlier that day the CSC received an email from the dean, threatening that they’ll start looking into all that their site entails because of how often you keep badgering them about it. It’s starting to create a murmur between staff, and they’re growing increasingly frustrated. All that means to Hyunjin is you’re finally breaking through their resolve, running them down enough for them to consider shutting it down or supervising more intensely. Hyunjin can’t have that. None of them can. When Hyunjin approached you tonight he expected to have to beg— to have to plead with you to stop meddling. The site is bigger than you know, more important than some college stupidity. It rakes in a lot of cash, and he can’t have such petty reasoning stop that flow.

Hyunjin’s voice is husky as he continues and his words send an undeniable shiver down your spine “I can show you that the site, and sex by association aren’t bad at all. Mentally, you’re confused and physically, you’re pent up. We can’t have that can we, pretty girl?”

“No, we can’t.”

Wait. What? Yes, we can. Yes you can. You’ve been doing just fine right? You don’t need Hyunjin’s help. He’s not gonna change your mind because your mind doesn’t need changing.

“You can try to shut us down, but at the same time let us help you.”

“Us?” You murmur, attempting to understand what exactly is happening.

“All of us, the CSC can help you figure out what you’re feeling, right? We can help you decide what to do.”

“…You can help me?”

Hyunjin hums, removing his hand from your waist and trailing his finger along the skin just above the hem of your shirt. His fingers dip over your cleavage, tug at your necklace, up and up until your chin is in his hand, and he turns you to face him as his lips brush your cheek. “I want to see who will succeed first, so let me show you that there’s more to pleasure than control.”

He can help you. Out of all the people who ask you why, who say they want to understand but don’t try, he’s the one who’s offering a solution. As annoying as he’s always been to you, as much as he’s always embodied something you hate— the person who’s embedded such foreign feelings in your mind— he wants to help you. He wants to try, and he’s not telling you to stop your goal either. He’s not telling you it’s stupid, he’s not getting angry. He doesn’t make you feel irrational. You’re not irrational. You have a goal and it’s one you’re gonna complete, but… it doesn’t hurt to try, right? And if you succeed, if you shut them down and Hyunjin fails— if the CSC fails you’ll win. You’ll win and prove that you were right all along.

“Go easy on me.”

“Of course, bug.”

You keep your eyes downcast in embarrassment as Hyunjin whispers against your skin, his fingers gently turning your chin up and over to the point of focus. His lips. Pouty, sinfully crimson, curving upwards so surely, like they themselves know their effect on people. They look so soft, so wet. You want to feel them, and it’s as if Hyunjin’s read your mind because his lips are on yours before you can even blink.

“You just kissed me,” Your voice is airy, breathless, and usually you’d be embarrassed.

“Can I do it again?”

There’s a simmering, boiling tension both of you have been ignoring but you’ve lost the will to care about hating Hyunjin or Chan or the CSC. Momentarily, you’ve lost the will to feel much at all but a burning desire to take away any negative emotion you feel. You’re sick of it, sick of feeling confused. Last night you’d dealt with it by crying your eyes out, before that you’d dealt with it by having a screaming match with your best friend, and now you’re ready to look for something to fix it. This just might be the best way to start.

“Not outside.” You whisper, your hands clutching the fabric of Hyunjin’s shirt with such an intensity you’re afraid it’ll rip off then and there.

The trip inside and upstairs is a blur. You’re sure if anyone saw you they stared, wondering what you two were doing together, wondering what you were going upstairs for. It’s a blur, nothing is clear but what you’re going to do at this moment, and with Hwang Hyunjin of all people. Of what you’re going to do in the future, with the CSC of all people, what you’re gonna do to them— what you’re gonna allow them to do to you— that’s the only thing on the forefront of your mind. Not about who’s watching, not about who wants to know. It’s about you. You’re the one in control, you’re the one who gets to decide. You’re the one who needs to know.

Warm. You feel warm all over, pressed against Hyunjin with his thighs spreading yours open, warm in his tight embrace. Your hands are clutching at his clothes, at his arms— It’s so hot, yet somehow the constant cool air of the room makes you shiver.

“W-what do I do?”

Hyunjin chuckles, his voice the softest you’ve ever heard it. “You don’t have to do anything, pretty. Let me handle it.”

Letting Hyunjin handle anything doesn’t sound like a very good idea to you in any instance, but in this case you let him. You’re otherwise clueless in this area and frankly, if you want his help you’re going to have to accept it when it’s given. His mouth lands back on yours, a certain kind of desire running through the kiss. His hands are all over you. Trying to grab at every inch he can, and you try your best to kiss him back with equal intensity— to move your lips against his with the same fervor.

Your heart kicks up an irritating notch when Hyunjin slides a warm hand up your shirt. You can feel the way his fingers ghost over your skin with an unnatural intensity, as if his touch is amplified tenfold. And if Hyunjin had imagined this during late nights, cock shamelessly fisted in his hand as he dreamt of you pushing your panties to the side for him to enter your tight hole, no one has to know.

“Look at me, pretty,” Hyunjin growls, your eyes opening at his command against your better judgement. His pupils are dilated, staring down at you with a foreign intensity. The way he looks at you is an awakening, and with a small burst of confidence, you bury your fingers into the collar of his shirt, bringing him down for another kiss. It’s a little awkward with your inexperience, all teeth and clumsy movements until he takes the lead. His lips feel like heaven and you want them everywhere, want to kiss him forever. You want to sink his soft groans into your skin, keep the taste of him on your tongue for the rest of your days as he licks into your mouth, coaxing feelings out of you you've never felt before— kissing you into blissful dizziness.

"I wonder why you're so pretty, hm? Been torturing me for months, sweet thing," Hyunjin teases, pressing your thighs farther apart, tongue pushing against yours, his lips cherry red. You want to kiss him again. "I don’t think you really hate me, bug.”

Your breath hitches when his hands move to your skirt, slipping under the hem and holding the fabric tightly. God, you feel so bare. Like Hyunjin is looking at you from the inside out. When he pulls your skirt down slowly, so slowly it feels like time stands still, all that’s on your mind is him. His breathing, his touch, his warmth. When your pink, lacy panties come into view the chuckle Hyunjin lets out is so deep it feels like a heavy blanket over your mind, soothing you yet igniting something in you that you didn’t know existed. God, you’re in the demon's bed but you feel like you’ve gotten a taste of heaven, and when those soft, cherry red lips ghost over your skin, trailing over your pelvis, leaving light kisses along your skin, all you can do is jerk in his hold. You’re so sensitive. So, so sensitive.

His hands grip your waist tightly and his lips trail upwards, the bridge of his nose pushing your shirt up until it’s so high your breasts threaten to fall, smothering Hyunjin’s face underneath them. You shiver at the thought, those sinful lips pressing kisses against the skin of your breasts; what would it feel like? Would it feel like this? This feeling that you’re still so unfamiliar with?

"Pretty girls deserve to know what it feels like to have me right here,” Hyunjin starts, leaning down to press a trail of kisses to your inner thigh. He bites and marks along the fleshiest parts, chuckling at your quiet whimpers and yelps. You didn’t know you could make sounds like that. He slides a hand up between your thighs and rubs between your folds, still covered by your lacy panties. “Did you come to impress someone tonight?” Hyunjin murmurs, before splitting them to rub your clit through the fabric. You feel like falling as he circles between your thighs, a gasp hiccupping at the base of your throat before it gets stuck— you can’t make a sound.

You faintly hear the rustle of clothing and the absence of Hyunjin’s touch, opening your eyes to see him pulling his shirt off, biceps flexing as he does. He’s so big, and fuck, his whole body could cover your own if he really wanted. He towers over you, caging you in and surrounding you from all sides. When his shirt is off and thrown somewhere to the floor, he looms over you, his hands pressing into the bedding at either side of your head, and all you can do is gasp— your eyes widening at his proximity.

“You okay?” He whispers, and you nod.

“Yes.”

It’s breathless. It’s not you. It’s not the person who wanted nothing to do with Hyunjin only a day ago, but you want answers. You want clarity. And right now, you want this.

Hyunjin wastes no time after your confirmation, his fingers slipping under your panties and ghosting over your skin. He lets out a harsh breath at the feeling where you’re otherwise silent, trusting that he knows what to do. When a rush of cool air blows over you though, your legs close instinctively, and Hyunjin hums, “Stay with me, bug.”

“I’m here,” You respond, slowly spreading your legs back wide and allowing him to pull your underwear down until they’re hanging off ur ankle, your arousal sticks to the fabric, but with a flick of his wrist they’re gone. They’re gone. Oh god. You’re really doing this. You take a deep breath, and when a warm hand comes to cradle your cheek you lean into the warmth. It’s okay. You’re okay.

Soft lips press against your skin, tainting the unmarked flesh with bites and bruises. He paints your neck purple and blue, fingers ghosting between your thighs, tracing and playing with the obvious wetness coating your arousal. His mouth travels upwards, pressing against your own as he claims your lips in a devouring kiss. Everything is on fire, hot and burning as lust begins to entirely consume you for the first time.

A small moan slips past your lips as he dips a finger into your slick, warm cunt, and you clench around the digit almost immediately as instinct. The cool air and your nerves make your thighs tremble, but it doesn’t seem to affect Hyunjin— not at all— if the way he keeps eye contact with you while he fingers you slowly is any indicator. Painfully slow. You don’t know if this is to help you or torture you, and you can’t help the way your thighs tense under his ministrations.

The man before you reaches his other hand towards the hem of your top to pinch the edge of it between an index finger and thumb, and pulls the cloth away from your skin.

His eyes bore into yours: “This okay?”

“Fuck, the more you ask me the more nervous I get.”

“Okay, okay. I don’t wanna make you nervous.”

“Just… be nice to me, Hyunjin. Okay?”

Hyunjin smiles, and you exhale, relaxing into Hyunjin’s sheets and letting his musky cologne consume your senses as his touch roams everywhere else.

And then finally— yet all too quickly— the shirt is tugged away from your breasts and they fall freely as Hyunjin eagerly leans closer. His nose presses against one of your hardened nipples, and you watch his pupils dilate quicker than you thought was possible. He’s barely holding back the urge to fuck you dumb, and the finger that still thrusts slowly into your cunt stutters in its movements.

Look at you. His eyes roam over the look on your face, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth, bright eyes glazed over and hooded in a bliss that’s otherwise foreign to you, a particular ease directed towards him. Then he shamelessly let his eyes drop down to your thighs that tremble even harsher under his gaze. The action only forces his mind to run wild. He can’t help but wonder how you do it— looking all innocent— being all innocent but acting like you’re not. Like you’re so sure. You’re confused, god, you don’t know what real pleasure is— and it’s Hyunjin’s job to teach you. Fuck, did he want to be under you, gazing up at your through half lidded eyes, hungrily eating up the sight of you bouncing on his cock like the slut you could be.

He dipped his head down, holding your breast in his large hand and rubbing over your nipples with his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened bud. Your hands automatically perched themselves on his shoulders, and he grins, moving the finger thrusting into your cunt harsher, faster.

“Oh, god,” You moan, loud, your grip on his bare shoulders tightening ever so slight. His skin was warm under your fingers— soft and smooth and fuck if it didn’t feel good.

He groans, cock stiffening more than it already had. At this rate he was probably going to cum in his pants untouched, but he held himself back. He wanted to do this right— show you all that pleasure could be. He moved his mouth from your nipple to slip lower, down lower and lower still until he came face to face with your arousal.

“Fuck. You’re driving me crazy.”

“Oh- oh Hyunjin help me, please,” You pleaded, his shoulders too far to grip onto; your hands instead finding his hair, running your fingers through and pulling when he nosed at your clit, groaning heartily when your wetness clinged to his skin.

It’s with a lick to your clit that you wail, your thighs threatening to close, and they would have if Hyunjin’s hands hadn’t reached out to force them down, pushing further and sticking his face into your arousal with more fervor, licking and sucking with such vigor that it felt as if he was trying to devour you. Your thighs trembled with every movement of his tongue, poking and prodding at every inch of your cunt, his nose dug against your clit and for a moment it felt like you were seeing stars. Your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth letting out uncontrollable moans.

You didn’t think it’d feel this good. But, you remind yourself, control feels better. You can’t let him change that— he won’t change that.

The obscene sounds that came from his actions should’ve embarrassed you, but nothing like that came to mind. Hyunjin was relentless, and you couldn’t even think of anything more than the feeling of his hair between your fingers and his tongue slurping at your cunt.

You tried to quiet your moans by clamping a hand over your mouth, but sitting up and watching the way he sucked and licked at your arousal made your head spin. He made the action so nasty. So filthy. He was wild yet careful. But what did you know? All you knew was that it was driving you insane and you didn’t know anything could feel this good.

Besides control, of course. And you assume, the eradication of the CSC would, also.

Suddenly, your stomach tenses, your body locking up, and you quickly cream all over his tongue, shaky moans slipping through your pretty lips. Your thighs shook from the aftershock, trying to come down from this feeling. Afterwards, Hyunjin’s actions felt too harsh. He didn’t change pace at all, but it felt like your body was going to arch its way into oblivion. Unable to ignore the sensitivity of your body any longer, you pushed against his head until he stopped, attempting to catch your breath.

“You okay?”

You hum, begging the beating of your heart to soften, though as soon as it finally did you looked back at Hyunjin and saw his pants sliding down his legs. His toned, muscular legs, and it started its harsh beating once again. That wasn’t it? Of course, that’s wasn’t it, but fuck. You don’t know if you can handle anything more.

The headboard of his bed knocks against the wall as he climbs back up on the bed, moving his body closer this time and instead of only his chest hovering over you, this time his legs cage you in, one on either side, as your heart pounds itself into oblivion.

One hand supported his weight on the pillow by your head while the other was preoccupied, curled around his cock as he stared down at you— something akin to a beast in his gaze. Tip reddened and precum oozing from the slit while he groaned. The tingly feeling in your groin was coming back, similar to the fluttering you always felt whenever Hyunjin would come bother you. It intensifies when Hyunjin wraps your legs around his waist and pulls you closer to him, your body dragging the bedding from under you and you yelp.

He rubs the tip of his cock against your twitching folds, teasing actions feeling more like torture before he finally sinks in. Slowly, deliberately, but you still tense. It’s scary, having something stick itself inside of you.

“Relax,” Hyunjin murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Stay with me.”

You do your best, forcing your body to relax, as he sinks deeper and deeper still. Hyunjin grunts softly when you clench down on him, and he sighs as you blink dazedly up at him.

Pretty eyes are locked intensely on your cunt, Hyunjin watching the slide of his cock as he thrusts inside. His hair is plastered along his sweat slicken forehead, and he sinks back into your slick walls with another languid roll of his hips.

“Fuck you’re so tight, baby.”

You moan, high and light, your eyes fluttering closed in bliss while Hyunjin’s chest expands with a shaky breath. He rolls his hips into yours— sinking his cock into your virgin cunt saying the filthiest words you’ve ever known before his words break off into a moan, his tone lower and deeper than his playful one. Tonight you’re seeing a whole new side of him— a new persona. This isn’t the annoying Hwang Hyunjin who bothers you and calls you ‘bug’, this is the Hwang Hyunjin everyone else knows. The one you hadn’t met yet.

“Oh, please don’t stop— be nice to me,” You babble, your hands grabbing at whatever you can— his shoulders, his back, his hair; and that’s all it takes before he suddenly takes up a pace that’s a little faster, rougher as your pussy squelches, wet and messy while your arousal smears along your thighs and the sheets.

Your body jolts with each thrust, pussy clenching around him as Hyunjin moans—every twitch and squeeze of your pussy leaving him breathless. “Come on, baby,” He pleads, and you don’t know what to do. You’re too lost in the haze of pleasure that’s taken over you— you can’t hear past the slap of your skin and Hyunjin’s groans in your ear. You know you’re moaning, but you can barely hear yourself. It’s all Hyunjin. Him all over you, surrounding you, making you feel good.

He grunts as you clench down on him with another roll of his hips, sinking deeper into you with each thrust. “That’s it, pretty,” he grunts, “Taking me so well, fuck. So greedy for me.” And again, you feel that strange feeling before tensing up, your body convulsing and arching up as Hyunjin’s thrusts grow more frantic— harsher and harsher as he groans gutturally in your ear with one last thrust long and deep, and when something shoots deep inside, you shiver one last time before your body sinks into the mattress and Hyunjin’s weight cases you in.

You feel boneless, lethargic with your movement. You feel when Hyunjin gets off you, when he closes your legs after slipping your underwater back on. You hear it when he sighs, something light and satisfied, and you barely manage to answer when he asks you how you feel. You can’t do much more than sigh, but it seems like enough for him— like that was the exact answer he was looking for. You succumb to blissful sleep right before the door shuts behind Hyunjin.

“Hear me out,” Hyunjin sighs, a lazy smile on his features even still. You’re no joke even if you might not know it yet. “I think it could really work.”

“You want us to convince Y/n to what? Leave us alone or..?” Jeongin says, leaning against the table in the kitchen.

The party has long been over, there’s a mess everywhere but it’s empty except for the eight boys and you knocked out in Hyunjin’s bed. Jisung sits sprawled on the couch, head twisted ever so slightly to betray that he’s listening to the conversation, Jeongin leans against the table and Chan has his arms folded where he leans against the wall serving as the entrance between the kitchen and the living room.

Minho downs a bottle of water by the sink, and Changbin leans against the fridge, leveling Hyunjin with an intense look. Felix and Seungmin sit on the couch opposite Jisung where they have a full view of everything and everyone.

“She barely even knows what porn is, so I said I could convince her the site isn’t that bad— and is something she could grow to like, if not love.” Hyunjin explains, his eyebrows raising in wait for the retaliation that’s sure to come.

“Why should we?” Minho asks, with a swallow, “If she doesn’t like it, honestly what does it matter.” Heads nod in agreement.

“Listen, they’re starting to consider whatever the fuck she’s selling them at those little meetings, and I got an email about investigation if this keeps up. If we fail to change her mind, we can at least distract her enough for the heat to lessen a little.”

Chan nods, “I don’t think it’s a bad idea.” He shrugs, looking over at everyone in the kitchen. “We change her mind, then we got one less problem to deal with.”

“And if we don't?” Changbin asks, tilting his head at both Hyunjin and Chan. “And if this is just a waste of time?”

“It isn’t,” Hyunjin assures, “Trust me.”

The rest of them don’t argue, but Hyunjin feels Seungmin’s gaze boring into him from the couch, feels his questions burning at the tip of his tongue, begging to be let out, so he leaves before they can succeed.

“We can talk about it more later, but I think it’ll work. It’s a good deed, and I know how much you guys love those.” Some scoffs and laughs fill the room, but Hyunjin is already halfway up the stairs, a plan forming in his mind and a pleasant smile growing on his face.

a note from iris: this chapter was late because of that long ass smut scene so i hope it was enjoyable and that this wasn’t 17k worth of a snoozefest 😭 i’m sorry it’s late!! so sorry but it’s still friday even if it’s 11 pm <3<3 not beta read not nothin so pls.. spare me.. and i hope you liked it !!!

not-so-mini taglist (there’s so many of y’all !!???): @chrisbahng @seonghwatoothless @bubblelixie @199719932000 @imsuchasimp00 @hyu-hl @oddinaryfelix @raspbinniecreme @fa3body @kittykatkrissa @andreaswrld @hattorihaechan @lachinitaaaaa @j-0ne25 @bangchanbabygirlx @ni-sh @green-orangeade @sincerely-skz @exclusivej3ss @elizalabs3 @lili-kims-blog @curiousgworge @midsoulz @sawadabegum @reighlee-greaves @lotus-dly @blcar @impossiblewritingrebel @yourhwngness @idek-at-this-point-lol @multihoe-net @hyun-bun @hwan-g @ughbehavior @rindomo @awesomelycoolworld @springdeity @todolyn @meowminhosblog @hyunelixies @emotionalwreckkk-blog @seungschacco @avyskai @cvfechan @jeyelleohe @vvsmydiamonds127 @chriscentric @simpforpunzngl @be-a-spacequeen @svintsandghosts @myjisung @hanjiesgf

*** if your tag didn’t work make sure your blog is visible! if i somehow missed you when tagging i offer a sincere apology <3

#hyunjin scenarios #skz smut #skz scenarios #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x female reader #hyunjin smut #hyunjin angst #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin imagines #skz x reader

[abbysdruidess]

˜”°•.˜”°• headcanons about you and abby's wedding - modern au •°”˜.•°”˜

wc: 1.1k

warnings: wedding w modern au(obvs), crying, tooth rotting fluff, allusions to sex, no use of y/n

a/n: lmk what you guys think of this one and whether you'd like more of reader and Abby in this universe! don't hesitate to send any requests<33

this is sort of on theme with a previous fic where abby proposes to you, this one can be read as a standalone though:))

❦ after the proposal, you guys hurrying too much to get the wedding off the road and on the rails- you're still extremely proud and giddy to call each other your fianceé, and you've sent about 100 pictures of your wedding ring to everyone.

❦ it isn't until one night where you're having dinner over at jerry's that he brings up the wedding preparations and you're like oh shit, you two kinda need to haul ass and start sending invites.

❦ you decided on a small affair, only your immediate families and close friends over. I imagine that in the insistence of your future brother in law Lev you sent out RSVP invitations that were ocean themed with cute little sharkies on the front that say in a vast ocean of people we found each other(💀). A lot of people found them pretty funny though, and Lev was pretty excited about them.

❦ on par with the beach theme of your engagement, you decided to have the wedding on a beautiful beach resort in the beginning of June-not too hot, not too cold;)-with the ceremony and the reception on the shore.

❦ of course, you couldn't leave out the bachelorette party! You and Abby travel to Vegas with your respective friend groups for a weekend of clubbing and partying in general. And lets be fr, someone from either of two groups ends up getting lost and you have to recover him Hangover style. Thank God you didn't arrange for it the day before the wedding.

❦ the days before the upcoming event are mostly a blur, both of you making last minute arrangements about the food, the flowers, the music. Your gown with the final adjustments is delivered and you have to hide it in a fridge box in the basement so Abby won't take a peek.

❦ "But baaabe, I just wanna see what it looks like! You know this stuff about bad luck isn't actually legit." "I know, but it will be more exciting to see the final look at the wedding. I promise you."

❦ finally the big day is here! And let me just say, as a very emotionally constipated person, you'd probably be a little teary eyed all day long. When you put on your gown and look at yourself in the mirror and realise that holy shit, I'm about to marry the love of my life, my Abigail, she wants to spend the rest of her life with me. And this just hits you all at once and a few tears run down your chin.

❦ if you have any wedding traditions from your culture that you'd like to honour, Abby would be 100% down for it. It makes her feel closer to you, and part of the new family she's going to be in. She also really likes listening to its origins and what it's supposed to represent. In my country, we do this thing where the wedding squad writes all their names down in the couples' shoes and by the end of the night whoever's name is the most smudged is the one who's going to get married first. Let's be real, if they did this, it'd probably Manny whose name had almost disappeared and he'd freak the fuck out.

❦ once you're ready to walk down the aisle, and you glance at Abby you let out a small ᵍᵃˢᵖ at the sight, with Abby dressed to the nines and a glowing expression on her beautiful face. Her mouth also formed a little O at the sight of you, ready to become her wife, looking so so happy and a slightly teary eyed.

❦ during the actual ceremony, you two keep stealing glances at each other, smiling kinda goofily like :]. You two are goobers fr.

❦ for the vows, I think the game establishes that Abby is a big bookworm, so she chooses something perhaps from Emily Bronte or Jane Austen. Of course this isn't the entirety of what she wrote, she just finds it more accurate to express her love for you through someone's else perfectly adept words.

❦ once the reception kicks in, you're carefully wiping tears from your eyes so you don't smudge your makeup, and take some photos with the wedding party on the beach. You're accepting everyone's congratulations for your newlywed status, and settling down to prepare for your first dance.

❦ you had decided on dancing to Por Una Gabeza, and had actually rehearsed the slow tango a couple times so your movements are synchronised. By the end of the dance, you're in each other's arms, cheek to cheek simply enjoying the moment.

❦ by the time you've finished you meal, the party is in full swing, and you join in for a few dances until you decide on a cake break and allow Yara to be Abby's dancing partner. By the way, your wedding cake? Exquisite, chocolate ice cream with strawberry.

❦ I also imagine you guys doing the whole tossing the bouquet thing and -surprise surprise!-it ends up on Manny's lap on accident. He almost leaves.

❦ by the night, you're both clinging to each other, ready to resume your lives as Mrs and Mrs, and also ready to break into the bridal bed. Seriously, you can feel Abby's fingers feeling up your thigh and she's been whispering the things she wants to do to you all night. By 2 in the morning you're home, very much exhausted by the preparations and the emotional high, but also very ready to let Abby peak what's under your bridal gown.

❦ for wedding gifts to each other? She hands you two tickets for some exotic island you guys always talked about going, and make it your honeymoon. You get her an antique vinyl record player, because she had always been going about getting something to listen music to while cooking. Needless to say you both love each other's gifts:D

❦ a week or so after the ceremony you receive the photographs, and Abby makes it her duty to hand them on every corner of the house. Seriously, at some point, you could see a photo of you two in your field of vision pretty much about everywhere.

❦ her favourite one remains in her desk, one where you two are about to leave, sweaty and drunk, the camera capturing your musky faces as you sit on her lap clinging for dear life. It's so sweet and endearing, and it reminds her why she married you in the first place.

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x you #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson headcanons #abby anderson fic

[rookiesbookies]

So im so upset, i accidentally deleted an ask.

Here’s the sex doll price fic I got asked for, and i outlined out they work my beloved anon, im sorry😭

—————

So I saw your question and I outlined how it works more in this post (if you havent seen it) and Im getting ready to write the Konig piece, however I want to make it really special so im going to hype it up a bit more and here’s a Price one because I felt like writing him!

Price’s story of getting bought goes much like all the other’s. His lady is lonely one night, flips through some infomercials because there’s nothing good on and she figured they’d be entertaining she guessed? It was a better idea than Steinfeld reruns for the fifteenth time, and nothing streaming was updated or good. It was a rare mood.

It came on for the dolls and she fell in love with the way he moved, smiled, his eyes. It was like the tv knew how much she loved the soft eyes of an older man.

She slid off her couch and onto the floor before she punched in the number on the phone to call, saying she wanted Price.

It took time before he was there. She felt different, he has been marketed as a companion robot on the tv. One that could walk, talk, cook, clean. It would be nice having someone to take care of the house while she was at work.

When the mystery box was on her doorstep with the gibberish, she assumed what it was based on the size.

It took a long time of struggling to get it through the door. She tore into it almost immediately. She didnt even get him out of the box before she planted a soft kiss to his lips, just as the commercial said. His eyes fluttered open and she was met with the same soft eyes she first saw.

He was swift. Reconnecting his lips to her and moving out of his box without much effort. She slid back to make room for his large form, when she hit the wall he crawled over her.

“I was told you were a companion,” she said softly eyes, trained on his lips then flicking up to his eyes.

“Companions do lots of different things. There are plenty of different types of companions, love.” His rough hands came up to her face, thumb grazing over her lower lip. “It just so happens to be my directive to be a certain kind of companion.”

Her body felt like it was on air the whole time, like her nerves were cushioned by personal clouds as he worked.

He was swift, putting her on her hands and knees before working off her pants and underwear. His mouth connected with her lower lips and began work. He was delicate but hungry.

Once he got her what he deemed wet enough he used his knee to move her thighs apart, pulling his pants down.

“Breath, love.” He whispered sweetly into her ear after spitting into his hand, rubbing it over his cock, “remember to breath.”

He let it rest in her for a long time. She fell onto her forearms, debating letting her mouth hang open so drool could fall.

He was rhythmic and juicy. Everything she imagined. She was so high up she almost didn’t register she was about to cum until it happened. He didn’t seem to orgasm, surprisingly, but he didn’t seem to care, maybe he did - well she had no clue. He picked her up and wondered her home until he found the bathroom, drawing her bath before washing her gently and putting her to better not long after drying her.

Worth every penny.

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, check out my AU list for more like this. Don’t forget to leave me a comment (i always try to respond) or a request in my inbox (i also try to respond to these when I can), a reblog, or even just a like to let me know what yall want to see!

#cod x reader #call of duty #captain price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #price mw3 #price mw2 #captain johnathan price #price x reader #cod price #captain john price #john price #cod sex doll au

[andreaheartscats]

Ellie Williams

tw! mention of sh

-> Ellie Willams comforting reader about self harm.

-> modern AU.

a/n: this is rather long and im sorry guys if it was bad and if it has any grammer mistakes!! i tried my best fr :')

It was winter, your favorite time of the year. Maybe because of the cold air that would hit your face when you step outside or maybe the fact that you could wear long sleeves without anyone saying "how are you not hot?!" or "arent you sweaty and hot under that hoodie?"

It was the weekend. You were in your dorm you shared with one of your very good friends, Ellie. She didnt know about your problems, mostly because you thought she doesnt care about them. She was just your best friend and also smoke buddy.

Oh but boy were you wrong.

Ellie was out, buying some stuff for dinner. It was already dark outside. While she was out, your feelings got the best of you and all of your stress and anger bolied up till it exploded.

Few little tears slid down your face as you open your box that was mostly empty besides some random stuff you had and your blade.

The drom room was pretty heated up so it would sometimes get too warm. Thats why you were in a short sleeve shirt while Ellie was out.

Bringing the blade to your wrist, you went across it rather harshly. One, two then three times you did that when you heard the door open. "baack! got some chips for the movie"

You heard Ellie say, but you were unable to form words at the moment. Quickly rushing, you put your blade in the hidding spot and throw on a zip up hoodie as you step outside your bedroom to greet her.

Your eyes were stained with tears and you put up a weak smile for her when she faced you. Of course Ellie noticed that. She alwalys does. And she saw those healed up scars, of course she has. But she never pointed them out because she didnt want to make you feel uncomfortable.

"Hey.. you good?" she asked you in such a sweet tone as her eyes frown a little. Shooting you a rather sad smile with concerne over her face. Taking some time to process what she just said you nodded with your head "yea. 'm good."

As she heard your words she knew something wasnt right. You werent really yourself for the past few days to be fair and she had every right to be worried.

Placing the bags on the counter she walked towards you. A soft smile spread across her face as she put her hand on your shoulder.

You looked at your shoulder where her hand rested and then back at her. "you know, you can tell me anythin' babe." those words echoed through your ears as she said them. And something inside of you snapped. You felt safe with her, you always did and she made sure you knew that.

A tear dropped from your eye, then another and another. And finally you were full on sobbing as she brought you close to her hugging you tightly while you cried into her chest.

Ellie didnt mind that, she didnt care if you stained her shirt with your tears. All she wanted was for you to feel better. After you let it all out and calmed down a little she pulled away her hands gently rubbing on your upper arms as she looked at you.

"come on"

she said in a low and soft vocie as she gestured to the couch.

For a moment you two sat i comfortable silence while she examined your face for sime kind of a answear and patiently waiting for you to speak up. But all you did was stare at the ground while tugging onto your sleeves. The stinging of your fresh cuts made you uncomfortable, it burned.

Your eyebrows frown together as the burning sensation got worse. Ellie noticed your face and she grabbed your hand to hold it gently. Her hands were rough but they felt nice.

"whatchu making that face for.."

She said a little worried. She noticed you tugging at your sleeves a lot and so she let out a deep sigh out that felt like it was trapped in her forever.

"bae..are you hurtin' yourself ?"

she always used pet names even if you were just friends. but she finally decided to ask you. of course she knew the answear to her own question but all she wanted was to mske sure she was right, she didnt want to make assumptions.

And when she asked you that, it felt as if the whole world stopped for a bare moment. you squeeze her hand as you nod your head, scared to even say anything or look at her.

Ellie lets go of your hand and squeezes your cheeks as she makes you look at her. "its okay that you do.." she pauses for a moment "well..its not but you know what i mean."

Ellie lets out a little chuckle making you yourself laugh a little as she caressed your cheek gently.

"i just want to help you, alright? please let me help you."

after you heard her words she looked down at your wrist as if waiting for something. you finally understood and lifted your sleeves reaviling your scars, some healed some not.

Ellie quickly runs to the bathroom as she took a wet paper towle and some bandages. She cleaned the cuts gently as you wince in pain slightly. After she cleaned your cuts, Ellie wrapped the bandages around your wrist not too tightly but not to loose.

"thank you Els..i-"

she cut you off as she hugged you tightly. you gave into the hug. it felt safe and warm. You felt safe and warm with her. After pulling away she looked at you with a smile on her face.

"how 'bout we watch a movie, yea?"

of course you agreed and for the rest of the night you were cuddled up close to her while she traced gentle touches across your bandaged wrist.

#video games #fiction #fanfic #headcanon #x reader #writters #writing #angst #comfort #fanfic writing #writter #writting #writers on tumblr #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams the last of us #ellie the last of us #ellie #ellie x reader #the last of us headcanons #the last of us x reader #the last of us #tlou headcanon #tlou headcanons #tlou #tlou2

[kimchitaebae]

Loving a Tomboy? • JJk

❝Fuck you Jeon Jungkook!❞

❝Oh..I'd rather like to fuck you.❞

➤pairing: Jungkook x tomboy!reader

➤genre: fluff, a lil angst, smut, love triangle, neighbour au.

➤warning: contains mature theme, a lot of swearing, protected and unprotected sex, rough sex and lastly lovestruck Jungkook who's gonna give us a lots of heartattack out of cuteness (｡ŏ﹏ŏ)

➤word count: 1.3k

➤reader have specific name!!

➥prev.chapter┆index ┆ next chapter

Chapter: 3

"what?!? He really did that???" Your best friend Jimin said while laughing. "Park fucking Jimin, I didn't called you to make of me." You glared at him as he tried to sushed himself but broke in to laugh somehow. "You! Get out! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!" You screamed as he got silent while laughing silently.

"Do something Jimin! Please help me!" You said as you faked a cry. Jimin just rolled his eyes as he wrapped his hand around your shoulder. "In this situation I don't think I can do anything. You just go with flow and just listen to his orders. If you ignore his orders then it's gonna be your loss." He said staring at you as you nodded.

"Oh c'mon, you need to be chill. You didn't told your real identity, then it's all good." He said as you again nodded. "You wanna eat something?" You asked making his eyes widened. "Yes yes fried chicken!" He said as you smiled. "Then order them also for me." You pointed at his phone with a smile as he groaned. "Why are you like this?" He asked quitely as you shrugged. After all you are a broke millionaire.

"Okay then I'm going. See you tomorrow." He said, standing infront of your door as he gave you side hug. You nodded with a smile. That time the guy who you are starting to hate so much came out of nowhere. "Lil boy...I was about to call you." Jungkook said with a sarcastic smile as you rolled your eyes. Jungkook came near to you as he noticed Jimin. His eyes travelled to Jimin's hand which was wrapped around your shoulder then to his smiling face staring back at him.

"Joon come you have so much work to do!" Jungkook said as he pulled you by wrist which caught you off-guard. He then wrapped his right arm around your shoulder as you glared at him. "I'm not your fucking slave Jeon." You replied as he just gave you a annoying smile which you hate the most. "I guess You already have forgot about our deal? Do i have to remind you again?." He asked innocently making you tensed but you hide it. "No need bro." You said as just rolled his eyes.

Jimin watched you two bickering as he cleared his throat to got your attention. "You must be Jeon Jungkook right? I'm her- I mean.. I'm his friend Park Jimin." He said extending his hand. Jungkook stared at him for some minutes before extending his hand also to shake. "It's.. It's great to see you. I'm shocked that you are friends with him. I thought our Joon is lonely bitch." Jungkook said with a laugh making Jimin's eyes widened.

"Why did you hit me?!?" Jungkook screeched while rubbing his arm, where you hit him. "What made you think that I'm a lonely bitch?!? Then you are what? A fucking dog?!?" You yelled at him as he backed away a little listening to your piercing voice.

"Joon..I have to go. I'll meet you tomorrow." Jimin said gaining your attention as you smiled. "Okay then see you tomorrow!" You said as you saw him left.

"Now now you come with me." Jungkook pulled you by your wrist to his place and closed the door behind him. You went inside his appartment and saw the surrounding in mess. There were big boxes placed in everywhere. "Now what i have to do?" You asked as you sat down on his couch. Jungkook's eyes got widened as he hurriedly came to you. "Get up! Who told you to sit?!" Jungkook screeched again as you looked at him with a glare. "woh woh woh! I know i caused you a little mess but that doesn't mean i can't sit on your couch!" You said as he looked at you.

"Well I can't trust you. Everything in my house are expensive. You have already caused big mess. You know how much did i had to pay? 500 dollars!" He said glaring at you while your eyes got widened. "Well I'm sorry. Now what i have to do?" You shrugged your shoulder while he just stared at you with a scowl in his face.

"You have to organize my clothes, the kitchen supplies and equipment and also my room." He said. "That's too much work!" You said as he just shrugged. "You know i don't have a single energy to argue with you. I have so many things to do! Now go and do the work and one thing...be careful with my things." He said as he went to his other room. You stood there as you mocked his face. "What a bitch." You mumbled.

It's been 3 hours you have been organising the house. You have already done with the kitchen and washroom. Only left his room. You were organising his clothes as you found a bunch of Calvin Klein underwear in different colours. You picked up one as you stared at it disgustingly. "Hey God, I pray you to give me enough energy to bear with this bitch." You said as you faked a cry.

At that time your phone buzzed in your pocket. You took out your phone from your pocket as you saw your brother has texted you.

Yoongi boongi😾:

Yujin where are you?I'm already home.

Your eyes widened as you checked the time. 11.30 pm. Shit it's too late!

You:

I'm coming! Wait!

You got up from the floor as you went out of his room. You were finding Jungkook but couldn't find him. After searching all over his rooms, you founded him sleeping on his couch like a baby in the living room. You felt your anger suddenly getting increased. "This bitch-" You mumbled but didn't said anything. You took a last glance at him as you left his place.

You went to your place as you saw your brother relaxing on the couch. "I'm sorry. I was at the new neighbour's place." You said as you sat down beside him. He looked at you and saw you smiling. "New neighbour? She or he?" He asked while scrolling through his phone as you got tensed. "He. Don't worry he is a good friend of mine." You said as he nodded silently and didn't said anything. You let out sigh which got unnoticed by him. Good friend my ass.

"Well i bought some dinner for us. Let's eat together." He said as he got up from his seat and handed you the food. "Brother why don't you take a shower? You will feel relaxed. Then we will eat together." You said looking up at him as he nodded. You flashed him as he also smiled. Your and your brother's face literally match with eachother. He patted your head and went to his room.

"Hmmm! So good!" You said while munching on your food like a beast who haven't eat for years! "Slow down Yujin..will you? It's all yours all right?" Yoongi said as he wiped the corner of your lips. You just flashed your boyish smile to him as he just laughed a little. "Well i can't control myself when it comes to food!" You said as he nodded while laughing.

"Yujin I'm thinking about raising your allowance." He said as you gave double thumbs up to him while eating. He just stared at you while you eat. He didn't miss a little gestures of your while you eat. He just loves and adores you so much. He can't imagine a single day without you. You mean the world to him. "Eat well my little sister Yujin-ie.." He said as you nodded and munched on your food. He felt great full to have you as his little sister.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook #bangtan #bts ff #jhope #jimin #jin #namjoon #taehyung #yoongi #kimchitaebae #bts x reader #bts