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sailorrlino · 3 months

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Rodeo | lmh (m)

𓆩⟡𓆪 Pairing: hitman!Minho x arms dealer! F. reader

𓆩⟡𓆪 Summary: Minho’s relationship with you is like a good weapon - uncomplicated, refined, and trustworthy. He likes it that way. When you appear on his target list, his relationship with you becomes quite the opposite - complicated, rough, and unreliable.

𓆩⟡𓆪 Word Count: 18,249

𓆩⟡𓆪 Genre: Cyberpunk | Smut | Angst | Peers to Something

𓆩⟡𓆪 Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

𓆩⟡𓆪 Warnings: Violence, world building, murder, discussion of murder, depictions of blood and fight sequences, brief mentions of drugs, depictions of wounds and treating them with syringes if you don’t like needles, explicit language, depiction of an anxiety attack, angst and self-doubt, Minho being an idiot, gun fights and scenes with weapons, some vague terms and references specific to the world building, sexually explicit content featuring oral (f. receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, cum eating, bodily fluids, and mentions of spit in several places. I think that covers everything, for the most part.

𓆩⟡𓆪 A/N: This is what happens when writers just write what they're inspired for. After almost two months of being unable to write, I got this random idea and I just went with it and took advantage of the moment and... genuinely had so much fun writing this. It got so much longer and more complex than I meant to, but I hope you enjoy.

𓆩⟡𓆪 A/N 2: This work is heavily inspired by Fallout 4, Blade Runner, Altered Carbon and the lovely song Rodeo by WayV. I imagine Rodeo playing during the shootout scene at the bar. Additionally, a fun fact: I use the nato alphabet to communicate Minho's targets and reader's target in this spells out 'reader' in the nato alphabet :)

𓆩⟡𓆪 Posted: Sunday, March 3 2024

𓆩⟡𓆪 Disclaimer: All members of Stray Kids are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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Any work is good work.

Minho isn’t so sure that his father would say that as he crouches down next to the body on the living room floor. His thigh muscles protest, aching and tight from hours of sitting crouched across the street in the chill of a high-rise building waiting for his prey to enter this very building.

Neon light bleeds through the foggy window behind him. The room is awash in watery pink as he pulls out his scanner with one hand and leans forward with the other, pressing his gloved fingers to the man's chin to push his head to the side. It rolls easily, giving a fleshy sound that might make someone squeamish as the man’s cheek hits the floor.

Any work is good work, Minho thinks as he scans the man's non-existent pulse with his watch. He sees the blue ring of the biochip flash beneath cooling flesh, his watch flashing green with a soft buzz. The man’s entire life flashes on the screen - full name, date of birth, ID number, blood type, and place of work. Everything about him casts a sickly green glow on Minho’s sharp face.

Tapping a few buttons on the watch face, he waits, holding his wrist near his mouth as the sound of a dial tone chimes once. It’s silent in the apartment, though he can hear the hum of airborne traffic a few blocks off as the roar of adrenaline winds down.

“Receiving,” a male voice answers. Minho doesn’t know who it is - he just knows he’s one of any of the Delegators who work for Collect Co.

“Collection request number alpha-echo-tango-delta complete, served by Collector 102598.”

“Collected alpha-echo-tango-delta confirmed. Please place a beacon before you leave. All credits for this Collection have been transferred to your account. Please wait five to seven business days before funds are available for use. Your next collection is in four hours, seven minutes, and eight United Seconds.”

The line goes dead. The glow of the watch makes him squint before he can lower his brightness, scrolling to his bank account. He sees the credits added with a transaction pending. When he was a kid, the number glowing at the bottom of the screen to indicate his balance might have excited him. Now, it’s just a number on a screen that confirms the power won’t go out at his apartment and that he won’t go hungry.

Minho’s knees crack as he stands. He groans and leans backward, pressing his hands into the small of his back. A series of cracks slither up his spine, making his eyes roll back as he shuts them for a moment and shivers.

He’s so goddamn sore.

Leaving the body on the carpet of the living area, he goes over to pick up the handgun resting on the counter. The energy weapon glows at his touch, syncing with his interface briefly before he holsters it inside his jacket.

While he is technically within the law to eliminate targets for Collect Co., Minho finds that most people find it unsettling when Collectors walk around with weapons. He hasn’t given much thought to what people think about him, but it certainly causes a lot less trouble when he looks like an average businessman going to and from work instead of a licensed killer.

The gun isn’t technically legal, either. He would probably get away with it if a United Enforcer stopped him. The hitmen of the privately funded but government-sanctioned Collect Co., do not technically outrank the government’s militia, but no one with a badge is going to tell a Collector no. Not if they can help it, anyway.

Tossing a beacon on the counter for the cleanup crew to track to the apartment and get rid of the body and clean, Minho heads outside into the rain. He ducks his head down against it, water sliding off the slicker jacket he hugs a little tighter. He feels warmth kick in and his mouth twitches at the sign of the heating system in the body armor on his chest is doing its job. A nifty little upgrade from you, he knows.

At the thought of you, Minho turns north toward the speed train, remembering that he needs an adjustment on his armor that is out of sync with his watch, and JumpPacks. He already used the last one about five hours ago and he feels the numbness of exhaustion buzzing at his edges, a warning sign that if he doesn’t get a jump or sleep he’s going to pass out.

Whichever comes first.

Smears of color splash across the wet sidewalk as he jogs down the steps to the train. It smells wet and foul, making him tuck his chin to his chest as he rushes to the fast-closing door of the train. He steps over the threshold just as the doors clang shut, the hissing of an airlock barely finishing before it launches forward.

He tenses to avoid being pitched forward into one of the standing railings. As the train rocks, the fluorescents above nearly blinding him, he finds a seat toward the back of an empty car. This late at night, there are only two other people in sight, both of them curled heaps of clothes on a seat, fast asleep.

Sleep tugs at him the moment Minho sits down. He has a twenty-minute ride to North Ward Three, dropping his head against the back of the seat and closing his eyes.

The light still hums behind his closed lids, making a splash of colors. There’s no sound save for the whine of the magnetic rail beneath his feet and the occasional mechanical creek as the vehicle sways.

He melts into the seat a little, limbs loose. Fuck he needs a JumpPack. The last forty-eight hours awake are wearing him thin at the edges, stretching him like fabric over a surface far too wide. The forty-eight-hour mark is when he starts to decline, and as soon as he starts to creep toward seventy, he knows it’ll get messy.

Minho is a lot of things, but he is ultimately human. The JumpPack can help him push beyond shaky hands, imagining things that aren’t there and the foggy thinking, but they won’t keep him sharp forever.

As if proving his point, Minho hangs somewhere between awake and asleep, suspended in a dreamy space where he can still feel the rocking of the train but doesn’t feel the ache in his limbs or the pressure growing behind his eyes.

He flinches when the chime echoes above him at the next stop, eyes flying wide for a moment as his gaze sweeps the train car, his hand on the inside of his jacket where he grips the handle of a very nice knife.

No one enters the car. It’s just him and the other two sleeping people - he isn’t sure they’re even alive, really - and he relaxes, cursing at himself. This time when he drifts, he does so with a little more awareness, hand tucked warm against his chest and wrapped firmly around the blade.

It’s a unique little knife, snug in the sheath that’s buckled to the leather harness under his jacket. The handle is firm and made from non-conductive material that fits his exact grip from the meticulous measurements you took of his hand. You crafted the blade from a metal alloy you’d been playing around with and lined it with a highly conductive silver alloy you’d perfected.

When the button on the end of the handle is pressed, 5,000 volts of lethal electricity pulses through the sliver, finishing off a victim if he manages to fuck up a killing blow. It’s saved his life a few times in situations like now when he’s exhausted and his guard is blurry, or when someone has decided to make him the target for robbery.

A lot of your little gadgets have saved his life. You like to remind him every time he visits you. He doesn’t mind, though. You’re an easy enough arms dealer - easier than anyone else in the city, really. You don’t ask the kind of questions that he doesn’t want to answer, and you’re always two steps ahead of him. Even your prices are fair, which he used to find suspicious.

But Changbin and Jisung both swear by your tech and your business, and Minho is just happy that he doesn’t have to worry about you trying to give him a shitty deal or fuck him over.

The Collection industry is made for fucking over. He knows the system can be fucked with, especially the closer to the top you get.

Almost everyone tries to fuck Minho over. More than once he’s shown up as a Collection Request. He doesn’t know if it’s the system trying to clean up after itself or someone pulling strings to get him out of their way. It’s probably both, but every time it happens, he’s managed to evade it.

A Reverse Collection, those in his industry call it. In a way, it’s sort of like a pop quiz. He gets attacked or shot at, and if he wins, he passes the test and reverses the Collection, earning him more time without any coworkers trying to murder him. The Delegators don’t seem to care which Collector murders the other, and he’s never suffered for coming out on top.

Any work is good work.

Minho snorts at the thought, feeling the deep twinge in his extremities as he rouses himself, the train coming to his stop.

Rain sluices the streets in North Ward Three. Here, the streets are busier with an assault of people, smells, and sounds. LED umbrellas float along like jellyfish as people walk from pleasure house to food stand to fight arena. The hologram advertisements and neon signs are louder here, inescapable.

“The United Republic stands for justice, equality, prosperity and freedom, bought by the noble sacrifice of the United Church. Join us today-” Minho presses the ad blocker on his watch.

Immediately the holograms vanish and there’s just the neon watercolor reflecting off the umbrellas as he walks down the stairs of Neon Rodeo, the orange lights making his eyes throb as he reaches the door manned by two guards.

They know him immediately but they scan the biochip in his neck anyway. When they’re pleased, they step aside and the door slides automatically, the base vibrating his ribcage as he steps into the dingy light, hesitating to let his eyes adjust.

True to the name, there is neon fucking everywhere. The servers are dressed in chaps with LED lights and glittering tassels, their cowboy hats flashing smiling faces on top of their head. The neon here is low-grade and covered in layers of dust, giving the air a dusky, burning sort of glow as he walks around tables.

Eyes follow him as he goes. The regulars are familiar with him, tipping their head in greeting though he doesn’t do more than watch them from the corner of his eyes. The servers all slow-smile at him, teeth too white and too glittering. He finds them more unsettling than attractive, and he quickens his step to the unmarked door at the back where Hyunjin sits on a stool.

Hyunjin is perhaps the most unsettling thing in the Neon Rodeo. His eyes are a strange grey, looking at Minho as he approaches. There is a predatory gaze in Hyunjin’s eyes that never fades, a sort of knowing in them that Minho can’t shake. Minho knows Hyunjin is entirely human, but every time he approaches the man, Minho is suddenly unsure.

Nightcrawler.

Minho has heard the whispers about Hyunjin. He believes them, too. Everything about Hyunjin is like a carefully balanced blade, ready to tip in either direction. His senses are honed to perfection and he has a habit of both blending in and standing out depending on his mood.

And he can kill. Minho has seen the lethal man in action a single time when someone tried to push past him into the Builder’s sanctuary. Hyunjin had been so fast that even Minho had a hard time keeping up, struck by how efficiently and quickly the former assassin moved.

Unnatural. Everything about him is uncanny, which is in line with everything Minho has heard about the underground sect of killers. What Minho does is legally sanctioned murder. The Nightcrawlers do something far more sinister, their skills going beyond the natural desire for order in the United Republic.

Agents of disorder and chaos. That’s what some say. Minho isn’t sure where his opinion lands on the spectrum, but he gives them a healthy distance and respect either way.

Even the way Hyunjin sits on the barstool is unnatural, one foot kicked up on the bar between his legs, the other stretched out in front of him as he leans forward, his hand on the front lip of the seat.

“Hello, Cowboy,” Hyunjin greets, voice deep and smooth.

His hair is blonde today, slicked back out of his face, the ends touching his shoulders. He’s dressed in a black button-up with a cow print pattern across the shoulders and white, beaded tassels outlining the pattern. His dark pants are tight and he makes no effort to hide the gun on his waist or the knife handle peeking out the top of his cowboy boot.

“I don’t like when you call me that.”

Hyunjin’s smile makes the hair on Minho’s arms stand on end. “I know, but I like it.”

The guard makes no move to let Minho in and he tries not to show he’s irritated. By the way the grin spreads on Hyunjin’s face, Minho can safely assume he isn’t doing a great job. “Is the Builder in or not?”

“Who is to say?”

“Just tell her I’m here.”

“If she’s in, she already knows.” Hyunjin nods toward an empty stool at the bar. “You can wait, Cowboy.”

Gritting his teeth, Minho turns on his heel to sit on the stool a few feet away. Hyunjin’s uncanny eyes follow him, never leaving him once. Minho ignores him in favor of asking for water at the bar, the headache pressing behind his eyes growing more intense with the loud music and the choking smell of cigars.

When the water comes back, it’s warm without ice. He glares at the bartender who has already moved on to paying customers. The water is tepid and a little sour, making him cringe. He’s pretty sure it came from the faucet, but he sips on it anyway, eying the grimy fingerprints on the glass.

A cowgirl slides up next to him, her pink vest pulled tight across her chest, showing sweat-slick skin. She smells like vanilla, the scent overpowering as she leans in, lacquered lips grinning.

“Don’t,” Minho grunts, sipping the water. “Not interested.”

“But you’re so pretty.”

A severe reprimand dies on his tongue as Hyunjin appears like a wraith, leaning in close to murmur, “Builder is ready for you, Cowboy.”

The cowgirl cowers away from the Nightcrawler, pressing up against the counter and fleeing as soon as he slinks away. If Hyunjin is offended, he doesn’t show it. He slips back onto the stool with that same eager lean, watching Minho through narrowed eyes as the Collector gets up and walks briskly to the now-open door.

Minho doesn’t turn around when the door shuts behind him, immediately cutting off all sound. The door leads to a step of steps, mirrored walls on either side with glowing orange light strips above them. He climbs the stairs as quickly as he can, his head swimming a little as he gets to the top.

The entire second floor is a massive, open-concept workshop. Tables covered with papers and instruments are placed in a chaotic maze, glowing screens with slow-spinning schematics and drawings giving the space a clinical, blue light. Workbenches with user interfaces hum along the corners of the room. Closed metal doors and offices stretch down a hall toward the pack, all under high-tech padlocks and surely protected with some sort of weapon system, if Minho had to guess.

Amid the organized chaos is you. The Builder.

Minho hates calling you that. He thinks it’s a little ridiculous of a title, but it suits you. There is nothing in this room you haven’t built and no weapon on his person that was not carefully crafted by you. He hesitates to watch you, standing at the edge of your luminescent domain as you lean over something, a small welding tool in your hand.

“Do you need a formal invitation, Cowboy?”

He doesn’t mind the name from you. He tells himself that it’s because, despite his predisposition to not liking people, he doesn’t dislike you. You’re easy to deal with, sort of like the weapons you make. You make his life functional and you’re to the point. He admires that, and he’s willing to take a little bit of prodding and joking from you as a trade-off.

Wordlessly, he floats toward you. You don’t look up to greet him, but you kick your foot out and hook the toe of your boot underneath the leg of a stool to pull it out for him to sit on. He can smell a hint of jasmine and amber wafting from where you sit, making him clench his jaw as he fights a shiver.

“I don’t have long,” he says, forgoing the seat. “Just need JumpPacks and wanted to drop off my armor. It’s having trouble connecting with the interface of the watch. I hit it pretty hard last night and I think I damaged the receiver.”

That gets your attention, drawing your sharp gaze up to him. But instead of dropping your eyes to his chest where the flexible armor stretches across his chest, you zero in on Minho’s face.

Your silence is uncomfortable, but he remains unmoving, willing himself to stay in place under your calculating gaze. You lean forward, eyes drinking him in, examining him the way you would a schematic for a weapon or a complicated piece of data.

Minho busies himself with looking at you in return. There’s a crease growing deeper in your brow and your pretty mouth - he doesn’t remember when he started thinking it was pretty - begins to dip, displeased at something you find in his face.

“When is the last time you slept?”

“Are you psychoanalyzing me?” You level a stare at him and he feels his mouth twitch. Minho thinks besides the occasional joke from Jisung - which he defines as Jisung accidentally hurting himself - you might be the only person who makes him want to smile. “Fifty-two hours, eighteen minutes and forty United Seconds.”

“No to the JumpPack,” you say finally. “Sleep.”

“I have another target in three hours, twenty-eight minutes and fifteen United Seconds.”

“Down the hall and second door on the right. Sleep for two hours. It won’t kill you.” He opens his mouth to protest you cut him off, “I’ll be done by the time you’re up. Take off your armor.”

His hands open and close. You’ve never declined a JumpPack before. You’ve definitely never offered sleep before. He stands buoyed by his confusion before he reluctantly sheds the jacket. It crinkles in the silence as he shucks it from his shoulder and neatly folds it, placing it on the stool you had intended for him to sit on.

Next, he sheds the holster, his gun, and a few knives clanking as he does. You seem amused by the amount of weapons he’s managed to shove in the leather straps and he shrugs a little at your arched brow.

Minho’s shirt is more armor than a shirt. It’s made from highly coveted synthetic material with hard but flexible geometric pieces stitched in that sync with his watch to turn on a light energy shield, pulse when there’s an energy weapon aimed at him, and generally keep anyone from being able to stab him. You’ve also added little things like warming sensors and anti-theft.

Delicately, Minho peels off the shirt. He marvels as it moves, surprised at the give and flex of the material every time. He hands it over and you snatch it, tossing it on your work counter as if it’s not the most expensive piece of technology he owns.

Immediately he’s covered in goosebumps. Your studio is bitter cold and you always wear sweaters and jackets with sleeves pulled over your hands. You’re dressed as such now, the too-long sleeves on your arms pooling over your hands as he stands there, trying not to shiver.

You pay no mind to his armor, instead standing up and twisting your mouth in a frown as your gaze skirts his chest and stomach. For a second he feels self-conscious, which he thinks is a little ridiculous as he glances down his chest. He realizes there is bruising blooming across him, spider webbing across to show when the armor unsynced and he took a few hard punches.

Minho holds his breath when you lift your hands, as though you’re going to brush the tips of your fingers over each wound. Your hands are smaller than his and far more delicate, nimble fingers reminding him of artists. His mother was an artist. Her slim hands and careful brushstrokes are one of the few things he remembers about her.

That, and that she chose to leave him.

Minho finds himself so hypnotized by your hands that your voice startles him when you say, “Three hours, twenty-seven minutes and five seconds, Cowboy.”

You drop your hands and step away. He nods and sheds his watch as well, handing it over. “Alright.”

With heavy footsteps, he follows the directions to the appointed room. He’s a little off balance, his hip catching the corner of a table as he goes. He curses loudly, hands shooting to his hip where pain blooms from the jab. Your laughter trills behind him and he scowls over his shoulder at you, but you’re unfolding his armored shirt.

Muttering under his breath, he goes to the hall to the second door on the right. He’s never been in the hall before, but there are several doors lining each side. He carefully tries the handle, glancing up at the ceiling where a camera stares at him.

The handle gives under his hand easily and he swings the door open to what looks like a very small and well-kept medical room. He raises his brows as he steps in and closes the door behind him. There’s no lock on the door, his finger brushing across the handle to find one. He thinks about grabbing the chair tucked into the desk and sticking it under the handle, but the thought evaporates as quickly as it forms.

He’s not in danger here.

Slowly, he trods to the cot. It’s a standard size with a thin mattress and scratchy blankets. Carefully, he sits down and immediately his body sighs. Minho’s eyelids flutter as he sags for a second, shoulders rolling inward as he curves in on himself, exhaustion pressing in.

He needs to take off his boots, but his arms feel heavy. He promises himself that he’ll do it in five more minutes before he gives up and lays down on his side, kicking his feet up boots and all onto the cot. The room is cool so he reaches for the blankets, uncaring that they scrape against his bumps and bruises.

The last fifty-some-odd hours begin to press in on Minho, a physical force that squeezes everything out of him until he’s fading fast into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

A gentle knock pulls Minho from a heavy sleep. He feels the dregs of it like a weighted shadow he can’t shake off, groaning and blinking at the ceiling a few times. His limbs feel heavier than ever and his neck cracks as he rolls it to the side to look at the room he’s in.

He suddenly remembers where he is, flinching a little as he sits up, movements jerky with nervousness. The room is still dark and cool, the itchy blanket falling to the floor as he sits and stares toward the door where there’s another knock.

“Come in,” he rasps, voice deep and rough with sleep.

A crack of light appears in the doorway as you slip in. You’ve got your arms full of stuff, using your elbow to smack the touchpad near the door. Dark orange light fills the room, gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt his vision but bright enough to see that the stuff you’ve brought in is food and several bottles of water and some sort of blue liquid.

Minho eyes all of it warily, straightening as you stand in front of him, holding it out. He doesn’t move to take it and your mouth presses in a flat, firm line. “I know Collectors don’t have to be smart, but I do assume you know how to utilize the main food groups of the pyramid.”

He can smell the jasmine and amber again, soothing. “Why did you bring me food?”

“Because you look like shit, Cowboy. Don’t go losing your mind over a small gesture of goodwill.”

Chagrined, he snatches the items from your hand. He immediately realizes that there are energy bars, protein bars, and packs of gel that will replenish immediate levels of hormones and vitamins. He eyes you curiously as he sets the pile on the bed next to him, ripping a foil back open with his teeth.

You cross the room to lean against the medical table in the corner, crossing your arms over your chest. When he doesn’t eat right away, you raise your brows, waiting. He pops the end of a gel back in his mouth and squeezes, immediately tasting blueberry and lemonade. It’s not half bad, making him hum in fascination.

That gets a grin from you, his mouth twitching at the corner again as he works the gel in his mouth to break it apart.

“Fixed your armor. How hard did you knock the watch?” His guilty expression tells all and you scowl. “It’s made with durast carbonate. It’s pretty shockproof.”

“Didn’t mean to. Some guy’s goons jumped me when I was calling in the Collection. It um… took a bullet.”

“How did they get the jump on you, hmm?” He stares. “Were you tired?”

Instead of answering, he tosses the empty gel back on the bed and picks up a protein bar. He looks at it, squinting his eyes in the dim light. It’s peanut butter flavored, which he enjoys. He rips it open with his teeth and tears into it, realizing just how hungry he is.

Minho has no idea when his last meal was. He thinks you know his line of thinking, but you don’t say anything more. You’ve already gotten your barbs in and you don’t intend to poke until he’s truly annoyed or embarrassed, which he appreciates.

Without another word, you push off the desk and head to the door, slipping back through to leave him alone while he chews absently.

Alone, Minho realizes the importance of accepting food from you without second-guessing it. He slows his chewing, contemplating about that.

Minho’s relationship with you is like a good weapon - uncomplicated, refined, and trustworthy. Your tech has never failed him, you’ve always been reliable for a fast turnaround time or understanding of what he’s asking for, and you’ve never sold information about him.

Ever. He had tried to buy information from you on himself through multiple channels and pseudonyms just to see if you would, but he’d been met with steely silence each time.

He eats with a little more enthusiasm as he realizes he does trust you. You’re as steadfast as the guns you build, and there is a confidence in that that he can at least resonate with.

Examining the contents of the blue liquid, he realizes it’s electrolytes and mineral compounds. As he takes long gulps, he realizes he feels infinitely better already, senses sharp, aches a little less terrible, and his headache is gone entirely. He’s not at a hundred percent, but he’s a hell of a lot better than if he had waited around for his next Collection.

When he finishes, he crumbles the trash together and tosses it into the incinerator. He hears the fire hiss as it destroys the waste and sends the fumes somewhere to be turned into energy.

In the main part of your lab, Minho spots you. He hesitates in the hall for a moment, watching you play with his watch. Movement in the corner of the room makes him tense up, hand going to the knife in his boot. He realizes it’s just Jeongin sliding across the room on a rolling chair, pushing away from his computer to examine what you’re doing.

Minho only relaxes marginally. He’s still getting used to seeing your apprentice in your workspace, and though the youth is excitable and intelligent, Minho refuses to let Jeongin near any of his builds. The trust he’s established with you over the last three years does not extend to apprentices he’s only known for a few months, no matter how much you trust them.

You trust the Nightcrawler too, and Minho cannot fathom why.

As though sensing you on the edge of the room, you turn and look at him over your shoulder. The corner of your mouth lifts up and you beckon him eagerly before hunching over whatever you’re working on again. He strolls over, crossing his arms over his chest to lean against your worktable on the other side of you, eyeing Jeongin on your other side.

“Hello, Collector. How are you today?” Jeongin asks politely, giving Minho a smile that touches his eyes.

Minho says nothing. You elbow him sharply in the ribs and he coughs, clutching his stomach as he mumbles, “Fine, you?”

“Doing great, thanks! This piece of tech is a marvel.”

“My watch?”

It is his watch. A green light flashes on the underside of the face, the bio scanner that connects with the one with his neck to monitor his nervous system. You push the watch toward him and he carefully picks it up, brushing his thumb across the cool, glass screen.

An interface lights up again. He can’t figure out what’s so special until you gesture for him to put it on. It fits nicely, the perfect size. As he slides it into place and looks at the watch face, a diagram of thin body armor comes up, spinning. Except it looks different than the diagram that he’s used to, giving you a questioning look. You point to the corner of the room at a mannequin.

He walks over to it, cocking his head to the side as he stops in front of it. It’s far different from the armored shirt he wears. The contraption is equal parts ribcage and the thorax of a spider. The material looks like leather but feels hard to the touch like metal.

Skirting his fingers to the hem, he bends the bottom of the shirt, watching as it flexes easily. It makes no sense to him how something could be so hard and flex immediately. If he were to guess, whatever the cloth is made from is a newer technology than he has access to. Perhaps more bio-engineered spider web.

Minho’s fingers skirt inside of it, brushing across a strange, prickling fabric. It doesn’t hurt, but he brushes his fingers back and forth, rubbing the material between his fingers. It’s abrasive, but he can’t imagine what it is.

Blue flashes on the diagram on the watch. He pauses and presses his fingers to the needle-thin fabric. The watch flashes again and lines of color light up on the diagram, showing his nervous system in different, complex colors. He raises his brows. It’s far more sophisticated than what he came in with.

“The needles,” he calls, not taking his eyes off the contraption. “Do they connect with me?”

“Yes. When you put it on, it syncs with your biochemistry.” You get up and walk toward him. “You won’t even feel them. They’re the smallest on the market right now, and incredibly accurate. They use them in military armor to report back live health reports and status during enfighting. They’re more accurate than the sensors lined in your last one.”

“What’s the point, though?”

You reach out and tap the watch. He watches curiously as a series of icons pop up, each a different color. “Inside of this,” you instruct, tapping the hard shell, “Is a series of chemical compounds. When you have on the armor underneath your shirt, you can tap to inject what you need. The needles don’t push deep, but they’re high-grade enough to break the barrier needed to disperse the compounds.”

Minho looks up at you, silent. You don’t notice his trepidation, carrying on as you go into salesperson mode, explaining everything. “Blue is elektrolytes,” you instruct, pointing to it. “Green is a chemical compound of cortisol and adrenaline. Yellow is endorphins and an incredibly high-dose painkiller.”

“And purple?”

“Jump,” you deadpan. “But a compounded version Jeongin and I have worked on that lasts longer with less damaging effect. You should be able to sleep easier after using it. And you won’t need several JumpPacks a day to keep going. I can give you refills too, since it’s non-addictive.”

Minho stares. “What?”

“What part didn’t you get?”

“This is for me?” You scowl but he immediately notices the way you divert your eyes. You glance up at the ceiling, shifting from foot to food. “This is worth a million United Credits at least. I can’t afford it.”

“Do you see a price tag?”

“You can’t give me this for free.”

“Of course I can. It’s just a prototype, so if it accidentally malfunctions and sends all injection options to your body at once and kills you, well…” You shrug. “At least you didn’t pay me. Consider yourself a test subject. I’ve never integrated the needle network into armor before. I don’t have the builds the military uses, just intel. I had to do it from scratch, so it might not work. Your current armor doesn’t protect you from plasma. This does.”

Minho doesn’t buy your bullshit for two seconds. He knows you wouldn’t give him this if it would risk killing him. For all your jesting and affectation, Minho has learned how to read you pretty well, and the way you blow him off and scoff tells him everything he needs to know.

It is a favor and a gift, and a new sort of olive branch that he is unsure how to accept or take from you. Taking this gift worth more than his entire salary complicates things.

Did you make this specifically for him? He’s not sure. But the fact that he wants the answer to be yes is worse than anything else he can think of.

Minho has peers. You’re a peer. Always have been. Anything else would complicate the simplicity of the relationship, and Minho immediately steps back and removes the watch. You watch him with razor-sharp intelligence, drinking him in as he holds out the watch to you.

“The one I have is sufficient enough, Builder.”

You snatch the watch from him, pivoting on your heel and walking with a ramrod-straight spine back to the table. For a second he thinks you’re going to kick him out but then you take a breath and melt into a smile, though a little sharp at the edges and not reaching your eyes.

“Fixed the connection. I also reinforced it again. Give me a moment to sync to your old armor.”

Old armor. As if the new one is still his. His stomach flips and he grimaces.

The affectation in your voice makes Minho uncomfortable. He doesn’t move, watching you tap viciously against the screen on your work desk. Jeongin spins a pen in his hand, glancing between the two of you nervously. When he notices Minho glaring at him, he grins awkwardly and pushes his chair behind one of the clear screens, his face distorted by blue lettering and diagram.

Wordlessly, you hand him the watch and turn away when he takes it. You say nothing else, moving on to a different project as Minho delicately picks up the shirt. He slides it over, feeling the warmth seep into his cool skin. He meticulously pulls the hardness with weapons on, followed by his jacket.

Fully dressed, he waits for you to say something. He doesn’t know what he expects - or wants - you to say. But he pauses anyway, eyes on your bent shape. His gaze flits to your hands, delicate fingers typing wildly, tense as you wait for him to leave.

It feels like a stone has sunk to the bottom of Minho’s stomach. He doesn’t move for a few minutes, torn between walking out and preparing for his next Collection and staying to… what? He doesn’t know. He has no idea what to say or do, but he feels the palpable shift in your mood.

So Minho chooses the easiest option. He nods to himself and heads toward the exit. You don’t spare him a second glance but he certainly looks at you out of the corner of his eye. Your jaw is clenched and you tap with a ferocity that thinks might shatter your desktop interface.

As soon as the door opens, Minho is drowning in thumping base and synth again. Hyunjin leans on the stool, this time with his back against the wall and his glittering eyes focused on Minho. Though the former Nightcrawler wasn’t in the room, Minho has a sneaking suspicion that Hyunjin knows everything that happens in the Builder’s workshop.

Hyunjin’s smirk is all-knowing and Minho storms by him, hating him for it.

Rain no longer falls from a dark sky. Opaque, charcoal skies stretch above him, lines of moving air traffic creating layers of latticework. Looking at the watch - which shows his normal armor once more - tells him it's in the early morning hours now.

The streets are not as busy as the night before. There are still glaring advertisements and he spots a group of cloaked United Church members walking around to accept alms and recruit, but the energy is muted outside of the clubs and pleasure houses.

Morning commuters fill the speed train tunnels. United Travel Agents lurk in the crowd, watchful eyes on anyone causing trouble or trying to double up on the scanners as travelers pass through, machines charging their United Credits as they go.

Minho falls into the dull buzz of morning travel. Glancing at his watch, he knows he has enough time to go home and change. He likes to receive his calls while he’s at home anyway. He tries not to replay the last conversation between the two of you. The offer you’d made him. The meaning behind it, whatever it may be.

It’s nearly impossible, but he manages. Especially once he gets into his apartment, sinking into the routine of showering, changing, and sliding back into his clothes like a second skin. As soon as he reties his boots, his watch begins to ring.

“Receiving,” he answers, straightening up.

“Collection echo-tango-foxtrot-bravo has been assigned to Collector 102598. You have five United Hours to complete your Collection.”

“Collection accepted.”

The line goes dead. Minho slides his weapons into their holsters, then pulls on his rain jacket. It always rains in the city, like God is weeping for what he has become.

Any work is good work.

Minho leaves the apartment to take another life.

The water runs red in Minho’s shower. He stares it for a while, hot water rushing down his neck, shoulders and back in rivulets. It turns pink the longer he stares, the wound on his leg bleeding less and less.

The irony is not lost on him that if he had accepted your gift, he might not have taken a gnarly hunting knife to the thigh. He was lucky that it was an energy weapon, the blade cauterizing the wound immediately. He’d had to pick the wound back open to flush out the dead, burned skin and pour burning antiseptic on it.

Shifting, Minho examines the wound. Pain blooms in his thigh as he turns, making him suck in a sharp hiss. The wound is to the bone. He knows he’s lucky it was not a well-made weapon, the ion pulse too weak to sever his limb. Still, it’s a deep wound and it would surely fuck him up if he didn’t have the next twenty-four hours to himself.

If the knife had been one of yours…

A pulse of frustration echoes through him. He presses his closed fist to the old tile of the shower wall, feeling the dissonance between the scalding water and cool tile steady him. His knuckles are sore from the last Collection - which had gone wrong in every way possible - and he’s brutally aware of just how much everything hurts.

Yet the ache isn’t what bothers him. His Collection target getting the jump on him from inside intel isn’t what bothers him. Minho has had that happen enough times that he no longer feels surprised when a Collection knows he’s coming.

What fucking bothers him is the ripple effect of his rejection of your offer made.

Minho shuts off the water and steps out the water carefully. He can barely put weight on the leg, gritting his teeth as he grabs a towel and hobbles out of the bathroom, the steam billowing out into the tiny apartment and dissipating.

Blue neon lights from the shop across the way burn in his window. He hardly needs to turn the lights on in his own home to see in the dark, the ever-present glow of blue guiding the way.

Carefully, he sits on his bed. Another pulse of pain from the wound makes him shiver and take several deep, steadying breaths. He peels back the towel at the waist, revealing a single, thick thigh with a horrible cut right in the meat of it.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Walking around has made it bleed again, scarlet trickling toward the towel.

Trying not to disturb the wound, he reaches for the medical kit under the bed. The metal is cool to the touch as he flips the latches, rummaging around the bandages, antiseptics, and gels until he finds what he’s looking for.

Minho takes the single, long syringe and uncaps it with his teeth, spitting the cap on the floor somewhere. He flicks his hand a few times, holding it up to make sure there are no bubbles in the vial. Holding his wound carefully with one hand and with the syringe in the other, he inserts the needle deep into the flesh, the sting minor compared to the throbbing ache the cut itself emanates.

The compound burns as he injects himself. He clenches his teeth, pushing down on the plunger with steady pressure. He can already feel the numbness spreading in his leg as the local anesthesia takes root. He knows he’ll be itching when it wears off, the tiny nanobots working to stitch the muscle and tissue back together already making his skin crawl.

DeepStitch is an expensive thing to have. He pulls the syringe out carefully, glancing at the medical kit. It only came with one, meaning he was going to have to replace the vile. Medical compounds made for healing abnormal wounds cost a fortune, especially the type with micro-technology to assist the process.

Tossing out the empty syringe, Mingo lays on his bed, uncaring if he’s damp and in a towel. The numbness in his thigh spreads, making him shiver. He tries not to think about the fact that there are thousands of microscopic bots working on internally stitching his muscles an tendons as quickly as they can before the blood in his body deteriorates them.

The medical advancement of this world is beyond Minho, but he’s grateful for it as he drifts in a half-sleep. He finds it harder to sleep after using JumpPacks, his body unable to adjust from the constant state of false energy and adrenaline.

It makes him think about your stupid fucking offer again. A piece of armor that could sync with him and balance his hormones and chemical compounds at the tap of a wrist. Something that high caliber for a low-level contract killer was beyond him.

There was crazy, and then there was that.

Minho wonders if you’ve been charging him fairly, suddenly. He’s always thought the weapons and tech you provide him with were good prices. They were well-made but always within his budget, albeit he stopped looking at what you were billing him a long time ago. Now that he knows you’re willing to offer something that he’d only find on a United Praetor in the military, he wonders if you’ve been cutting him deals.

He’s never asked the others. Changbin and Jisung seem friendly with you, enough to make Minho wary about asking them questions. Though they’re the closest things that Minho has to friends, he doesn’t trust them whenever it comes to you.

Jisung already thinks it’s sweet that Minho is nice to you, and he hates that. Even if it’s true.

Time fades away as Minho circles his conversation with you over and over again. He examines every moment of it. When he can surmise nothing else of the interaction but you offering an olive branch of friendship, something a step beyond peers, he goes back to all of his other interactions.

He remembers almost every one of them.

Minho’s memory is fine-tuned. It has to be in his line of work. But the memories of you are particularly sharp. He’s able to recall the way you always poke fun at him to the exact line of his tolerance, the way you always know how to get in a good jibe without actually pissing him off. The way that you let Jisung and Changbin have it in front of him for his benefit, especially after they’ve irritated him, like you’re giving him a gift or saying I’m on your team.

Thoughts of you ultimately lead to other things like the way your eyes reflect the blue light of your many screens. Or the way you always smell like jasmine and amber. The way you pull your sleeves over your hands in sweater paws because it’s bitter cold in your studio to avoid explosions and corrosion of items. The way the nickname Cowboy runs so smooth off your tongue, making his toes curl.

Minho’s fingers twitch when he thinks about brushing the backs of his knuckles against your soft skin. He’s thought about it before and immediately cringed at the fantasy. Now, between exhaustion clinging to him and the numb limb, he doesn’t jerk away at the idea.

He finally falls asleep thinking of you and what it would be like to accept that olive branch.

The ringing of Minho’s watch wrenches him from sleep. He sits up straight in bed, gasping and hand shooting toward the nightstand where there’s a draw with one of his guns. He realizes that his wrist is vibrating and when he looks at the screen, he sighs with equal parts tension and regret as he realizes it’s work calling.

Fuck. He slept for almost twenty hours straight.

Clearing his throat, he answers. “Receiving.”

“Collection romeo-echo-alpha-delta-echo-romeo has been assigned to Collector 102598. You have five United Hours to complete your Collection.”

Information flashes on Minho’s watch and he feels the world disappear from underneath his feet. Your name, age, permanent place of residency address, and anything the government has both legally and illegally obtained flashes before him. He’s never even seen your full name before and there it is, glowing on his watch as he stares at the information.

It feels obscene to know any of this. He flicks his wrist, turning off the display. He doesn’t want to see any of it, doesn’t want to see when you were born, doesn’t want to see what ward you pay taxes in, doesn’t want to know your criminal history.

Minho’s ears are ringing. The Delegator does not confirm that Minho has heard or received the assigned target for Collection. Minho stares at the wall, his vision blurring at the edges as the name - your name - echoes in his mind over and over again. He hears it at the same rhythm as his pounding heart, pumping blood through his system as his watch flashes a high heart rate warning.

Your name. Your full government name and ID number. He’s only ever known your first name, but you’ve always been Builder to him anyway. Minho can’t remember if he’s ever said your name, and suddenly he wants to. He wants to know what it sounds like shaped by his mouth, what it tastes like on his tongue. Wants to say it so many different ways, laughing, smirking, sighing–

Three years and he can’t believe he’s never so much as said your name, and now that very name is on his list to kill.

Indecision roots his feet to the spot. This isn’t like a Reverse Collection where other hitmen try to kill him and he can get away with killing them instead, clearing his name for a little longer. This is a direct and finite order to eliminate you. There is no alternative to this Collection.

Irreversible.

Running his hands through his hair, he looks around his apartment. It looks unlived-in and completely impersonal. Just like the impersonal way he calls you Builder, as though not using your fucking name makes it more sterile. As if it keeps you further away from earning his trust.

Which you have earned. Implicitly. Minho can think of no one else he would let take care of him. That he would sleep or eat in the presence of. That he trusts not to kill him in his sleep while he’s unarmed.

Now he’s supposed to murder you?

Bile turns in his stomach. He hears the ticking of the clock on the wall. Every second inches closer to the decision he has to make.

Will he or won’t he?

Minho grabs his gun from the nightstand and walks toward the door.

He’s only a few steps toward it when he realizes he’s not dressed or prepared for whatever he is about to do - what is he about to do? He has no idea. All he knows is that he is dazed and his hands are starting to shake and his heart rate is climbing, his watch flashing a warning.

The room begins to tilt as his breathing comes out in haggard breaths. He stumbles a little bit, the blood pumping through him roaring in his ears. He belatedly realizes he’s having a panic attack, blindly trying to get back to his bed where he can sit.

What does one do during a panic attack? He has no idea, he’s never had one. He thinks of the last time he saw someone panic and immediately bends over to put his head between his knees, gulping air through his nose and out through his mouth.

What was it that Jisung said about panic?

It’s hard to remember. He thinks maybe there was counting involved, so he breathes in for seven seconds and then out for seven seconds. Does it again. And again.

Slowly, the world swims back into focus. He can feel the twinge in his thigh as he comes down from the momentary lapse of panic and judgment. When he trusts that he’s not going to vomit on his bare feet, he slowly sits upright, looking around the neon-blue room.

Quiet blankets the apartment. The world outside is faint. He can hear the clock on the wall as the minute hand moves, each marking the passing of a United Second. With a deep breath, he moves.

There are no thoughts as he goes. His mind is a single list of action items, marketing them off as he goes. Get dressed. Check his weapons. Arm himself to the teeth with things you’ve made him. Message Jisung a cryptic, one-word text that only the other Collector will understand. Arm a bomb. Leave.

It’s clinical.

Minho had always understood with absolute clarity the reality of his line of work. He’s always had a failsafe - or a killswitch, so to speak. From the first day of work, Minho’s only purpose was to kill until he died. He was always meant to die. And he tells himself that the single, little safe space he has in the world he started saving for… well. If you ever needed it.

Any work is good work.

Clouds hold in their rain. The night feels ominous. Minho glances up at the choked clouds, wondering what they’re up to. The Ministry of Weather controls the atmosphere in some parts of the city. Minho does not travel in those parts of the city - those assassinations are beyond the abilities of a Collector and reserved for Nightcrawlers.

Paranoia is imminent, but Minho tries not to look over his shoulder every five seconds. The mysterious nature of Collect Co. is still something he doesn’t understand, so it’s difficult to unravel the nature of his assignment. Without a doubt, whoever placed Minho as the Collector knows you supply his weapons.

That simple fact branches out into multiple possibilities. Perhaps the person who wants you gone simply thinks Minho is the best person for the job because he’s in your tentative circle of trust and a familiar enough face to slip through you’re defenses. Or perhaps the problem is him and they know he won’t complete the Collection, earning a job termination and his name showing up on the Collection list.

Either way, it’s on purpose. Of that, he knows for sure.

From his years working for Collect Co., there are only a few things that Minho is sure about. Delegators do exactly what their title suggests - they delegate kills. Callers are a tier above Delegators, calling the shots working the network of requests that come in for contracted kills. Legals do all of the paperwork and research before agreeing to a contract, and at the very top of the chain is the Floorman.

Beyond that, Minho has no concept of the hierarchy or who is hiring Collect Co. for jobs. There are obvious manipulations to the system and it’s impossible to work objectively within a private company that works with but not for the government, and Minho has little doubt that the financial benefactors are who really control assignments.

Which leads him back to the root of the question: why you? Is Minho the problem, or do you have enemies so large that they hold sway in Collect Co. He doesn’t consider that your deeds are nefarious enough to warrant a hit. What you do is illegal but you sell to the military, too.

So it begs the question: is it you or him who they really want gone?

Maybe it’s even a combination.

Still, he attempts not to seem paranoid. It’s easier than it should be, Minho’s mind so singularly focused on getting to you as he takes the train and traves to North Ward Three that he doesn’t have time to look around every corner or see if he’s being followed. There are other ways of keeping tabs on him, anyway.

The rain still holds as Minho gets off the speed train and ducks into the street. He keeps to the sides, activating his ad blocker as he’s immediately slammed by a screaming neon world. His gaze and gait must be sharper than he realizes, because people veer away from him, his energy repelling them.

From the corner of his eye, he notes Watchers - people responsible for keeping an eye on what’s going on in the street for their employer - take note of him. Some melt into the doorway of their workplace, and others call for runners.

Trouble. Minho looks like trouble and he can sense the shift as they catch wind of him.

The Watchers are no threat to him. Their entire purpose is to close the doors and pull back when they catch a sense of danger in the air. They’ll stay out of his way and won’t engage with him unless he threatens their clubs and shops.

Minho has little intention of doing that. He wants to make this as painless as possible.

Neon Rodeo burns like a dying sun. The orange falls over him as he jogs down the steps and lets the guards scan him. If they notice anything is off, they say and do nothing. Neon Rodeo is perhaps the only business without a Watcher, and it’s only because no one would dare interrupt the business with the Nightcrawler inside.

Synth rattles Minho from the ground up as he steps inside. The cowboy hats and their little smiling faces float like phantoms in the night. He only has a singular goal and he looks at no one else as he heads towards the back, sidestepping sweaty bodies and perfumed hair.

It’s full tonight, the weekend crowd packing the bar from corner to corner. It’s no matter. He cuts his way to the back where Hyunjin sits on a stool. Today, Hyunjin’s hair is blood red and his eyes are sharp, unnatural green. For a moment, Minho thinks of a chameleon before Hyunjin kicks a leg out and blocks the hall leading to the door.

“Your patronage has been terminated, Cowboy.”

Minho’s heart flips. Are you that angry with him? He drinks in Hyunjin’s dress and slowly his anxiety turns to understanding. Hyunjin is dressed in all black today. His shirt is armored and in place of pants with tassels are tactical trousers with pockets and weapons strapped to his thighs.

An assessment of the Nightcrawler tells Minho that there are weapons he doesn’t see. There’s a plasma pistol on his hip, a bandolier of small knives strapped across his chest, knives in his boot, and another plasma pistol on this calf.

Hyunjin’s fingers drum against his thigh as he watches Minho with those unsettling eyes. “Want to try, Cowboy?”

“I need to speak with her.”

“No.”

“I’m not-” Minho grits his teeth. “I’m not Collecting.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

Hyunjin knows. He doesn’t know how the Nightcrawler knows you’re a Collection on Minho’s list, but it’s clear in the way Hyunjin leers.

“Look, you can go in with me. Let me get her to safety.”

“And what do you think safety is, Cowboy? Even if you’re not lying, they’ll come after you too.”

“Listne, Nightcrawler-”

Hyunjin grins. It’s unnerving, and there isn’t much that unnerves Minho. “No, you listen. I tolerate you because I am ordered to. Now, I don’t have to. My only orders were to say no and to not harm you.” He leans back and spreads his hands and shrugs. The neon lights catch his blood red hair. “I’m always within my right to make a judgment call.”

“I’d never hurt her.”

“You’re not friends, last I checked.” Hyunjin cocks his head to the side. “You don’t have friends, right? That’s why you reject acts of faith?”

“What do you know of acts of faith, Nightcrawler?”

“You’d be surprised, Collector.”

Hyunjin is unmoving. Minho’s fingers twitch and Hyunjin’s eyes follow the movement. For a second, Minho wonders if he could beat his adversary to the draw. They could do it like an old fashioned movie, the bar the perfect setting for it. Hyunjin is totally unmoving and relaxed, not moving his hand toward his weapons.

He’s that confident in beating me.

United Seconds are ticking by. Every minute Minho doesn’t make his collection is time lost. He licks his lips ready to mount another argument when Hyunjin’s eyes flicker and look over Minho’s shoulders. His eyes narrow a fraction as they dart back to Minho.

“Here’s an act of faith. Let’s see what you do this time.”

The energy in the bar shifts. He feels the tremor go through the air and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. Minho turns his head to the side, not enough to fully look back over his shoulder but enough to see the group of Collectors disperse in the crowd.

Both, Minho realizes. The Collection had been for them both, and it was a good excuse to get them in the same place. He grits his teeth as he realizes how predictable he is. They might have come even if he didn’t arrive, but they might have sent a smaller force.

Glancing at Hyunjin, Minho watches as the Nightcrawler does nothing. He waits for Minho, raising his brows and smirking.

Act of faith.

Normally, Minho doesn't believe in public acts of violence. Collectors are mostly prohibited from killing in public or endangering the lives of United Republic Citizens unless entirely unavoidable.

Now, though, he causes a scene and pulls his gun, swiveling around and leveling it at the nearest Collector he has a clean line of sight on. He feels the hum of the weapon and the click of the safety as he squeezes the trigger, the pulse of the weapon barely perceptible as it fires.

Plasma weapons are bright when they fire. It’s nearly blinding in the dark as he shoots, screams shattering the bar as the world turns into pops of energy and sizzling air. He ducks down as someone shoots at him, instincts kicking in as he grabs the leg of a table and yanks it toward him.

Behind him, Hyunjin lets out a manic laugh and stands from the stool. He drops a small device next to Minho, drawing his attention for a second. Minho watches as it expands with a shimmer of translucent energy - a shield. He looks at the Nightcrawler who crouches with him, grinning as he peers over the table and shields with his green eyes.

“There are eight. They’re just going to pin us here and shoot at us like fish in a barrel.”

“Is there a way through that door?”

“Sure there is. If they want to melt it down, I’m sure they have plasma blades, judging from the look of their very nice weapons. They can’t blow it without leveling the street.”

“Does she have a way out the back?”

“No, then I would have two doors to watch.”

A spray of metal and plasma ricochets off the shield that has molded to the shape of the table. Hyunjin gestures as if to showcase his point and Minho grits his teeth. Peeking around the table, he can see patrons hiding under tables and covering their heads. Collectors stand spread out, fanning the entrance and blocking the way, but they don’t come any closer.

They want to make the Collection, but they don’t want to face a Collector and a Nightcrawler together.

“Aren’t you some sort of unmatched assassin, Nightcrawler?” Minho asks, checking the mag on his plasma gun. “Can you just take them all out? That should be light work for you.”

“I’m good at not being seen, Cowboy. I’m not inhuman.”

“Oh good, so you’re actually useless when visible?”

Hyunjin’s face darkens. “You’d be surprised how often you don’t see me.”

The threat isn’t lost on Minho but it doesn’t have time to sink into its full effect as bullets rain down on them. They cringe together to ensure they’re behind the shield, which whines under the plasma assault and flickers. Minho thinks it will hold, but it’s only as wide as the table it molds to and the table isn’t very large.

Hyunjin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a grenade. Minho grabs it, looking at him with wild eyes. Hyunjin pulls his hand away. “It’s a flash grenade,” he snaps. “I’m not going to kill everyone.” He pauses and smirks. “I don’t do that anymore.”

“That’s hardly less settling.”

“You know,” Hyunjin muses, pulling the ring from the grenad. Green light pulses on it slowly, counting down until it starts to release blinding white flashes. “One day you and I are going to have a talk about why you think your profession is so much different than mine.”

“One is legal, for starters.”

Hyunjin lobs the grenade. “Right, so what you’re doing right now? This is legal?”

Minho is spared from having to answer as the world explodes in white. He and Hyunjin move at the same time, letting the memory of where the Collectors stand as they close their eyes and shoot. Minho’s shot blind thousands of times and it usually pays off.

It does for the most part now, the pair of them dropping Collectors as they shoot. The white light fades and there’s only a single Collector left standing by the door, his gun aimed at Minho. He swivels to shoot, but a bullet hits the Collector in the shoulder, twisting him backward from impact as he squeezes the trigger of his gun.

The shot catches Minho in the shoulder, knocking him back a step. He curses but keeps his weapon trained on the fallen Collector until he hears high-pitched screaming. It stops his heart, the sound of the Collector’s voice reaching a level of madness that echoes even after he gargles and goes silent.

Minho looks at Hyunjin with an accusatory glare but Hyunjin juts his thumb behind him in answer, pointing to where you stand at the door with a heavy pistol in your and. Minho blinks a few times in surprise.

“I think the nano-tips work, Jeongin.” You glance over your shoulder where the younger boy stands on the stairs behind you, armed to the teeth. “Remind me to write that down.”

Silence stretches in Neon Rodeo, save the soft quivering crying and sparking sign that’s been shot over the bar. From the corner of his eye, Minho sees it flash between Rodeo and Odeo over and over again, bouncing between the two words as the ‘R’ tries to fight for its life.

Then there’s you.

You stare at him with a guarded expression, drinking him in. Your gaze lingers on his arm, reminding him that it does in fact burn where the plasma bullet graze his shoulder. Next to him, Hyunjin shifts. The Nightcrawler barely moves forward, sliding part of his body between Minho and where you stand in the doorway to your studio, Hyunjin’s hand resting on top of his gun.

“You gonna kill me, Cowboy?” Your voice wavers when you ask. By the twitch in your lip, Minho can tell you’re upset that it does.

“No. I want to help.” Hyunjin snorts and Minho is reminded of his earlier question. What do you think safety is? “Consider it an act of faith,” Minho offers and Hyunjin’s snickering turns to curiosity. “I’ve rejected yours in the past. Let me off you the only one I have.”

No one moves. Minho slowly lifts his wrist toward Hyunjin, displaying the information. The Nightcrawler looks it over and raises his brows, looking back at Minho. “What strange turn of events, Minho.”

It’s the first time Hyunjin has ever used his name. He says nothing as the Nightcrawler heads over to you, murmuring quietly. Your face is inscrutable as you nod and look over your shoulder, saying something to Jeongin. He nods fiercely, face set in determination that makes Minho’s mouth twitch a little.

The three of them join Minho wordlessly as he turns on his heels and heads up the stares. Hyunjin’s watch flashes and lets them know that the United Enforcers are three minutes out and they need to get where they’re going.

You take the lead then, hurrying out the door but not out into the street, ducking into a noodle shop three doors down from Neon Rodeo. You shout in United New Mandarin at the woman behind the counter, shocking him - not that Minho knows anything about you at all - and the woman waves you off.

Through the shop and into the stock room you lead everyone, hoping over bags of flower and starch until you reach a table that you climb up on and pull a vent from a ceiling. It’s far too large to be a normal vent, and his questions are answered when he realizes it leads to a small garage that faces the next street over.

Once into the garage, Hyunjin takes the lead out into the street, weapon up. Minho brings up the rear, falling into a defensive unit as you go. Jeongin walks closely behind Hyunjin, his steps a little clumsy but his head on a swivel.

Good, Minho thinks. Jeongin is alert.

“Decided not to kill me?” you whisper as you skirt out into the street and hug the building face.

Minho can barely hear you over the fabric you’ve pulled up over your face. He blinks and thinks to do the same, pulling the hood up on his jacket and sliding up a black gaitor over the lower half of his face.

“I was never going to kill you.”

“Hard to tell with you.”

“I… don’t have an argument.”

And he doesn’t. He realizes that he’s kept you at arm's length despite your best attempts to spark some sort of friendship. What reason could he do that other than sparing himself if he had to kill you one day? It makes the most logical sense.

“I thought we were friends.” That makes him pause. You notice a few steps ahead of him that he’s stopped, looking at you. “We stopped being just business acquaintances over a year ago, Collector. My normal clients don’t get to test my new hardware or request as many JumpPacks as you do on the house.”

“They’re on the house?”

“Of course they are!” you snap at him. “Do you not look at your billing, Collector? How do you know I’m not overcharging you?”

“I stopped looking once I trusted you weren’t robbing me.”

“See, that’s a funny word coming from you. Trust.”

A whistle catches Minho’s attention. You both turn to see that Hyunjin and Jeongin are nearly three-blocks away at the entrance of a nondescript shop. Color floods Minho’s face when he realizes the pair of you had stopped walking to have your argument and he curses himself as you start moving again.

“I do trust you.” You say nothing to his comment. “I’m sorry I didn’t accept the armor.”

“It wasn’t about rejecting the armor, Collector.” The world Collector sounds dirty in your mouth. He suddenly wants to hear you call him Cowboy again. “It was about rejecting me when I thought we were already friends. I was wrong.”

Hyunjin leads them down into an alleyway that is void of anything besides dumpsters and murky puddles. The smell turns Minho’s stomach but he resists the urge to gag as Hyunjin bends down to pull up a sewer grate. He flashes his flashlight inside and nods before jumping down and vanishing. There’s a light splash as he lands and calls up for Jeongin.

Minho crouches close to you as Jeongjin adjusts to follow Hyunjin down.

“You weren’t,” he says as Jeongin jumps. You turn to look at him, confused. “Wrong. You weren’t wrong.”

You look him up and down, hesitating. Hyunjin calls your name and you turn away from Minho, checking your legs and arms to make sure your pockets are zipped. Minho watches as you jump. He realizes his holding his breath until he hears your feet splash.

Quickly, he scrambles to the grate, pulling the top with him. Looking through the hole, he sees the orange light of glowsticks as you and Jeongin crack and shake them, lighting up the tunnel in a very small ring of light. Hyunjin has turned off his flashlight and looks up at Minho, gesturing for him to hurry.

Minho holsters his weapon and jumps down, bending at the knee as he lands to absorb the fall. His boots splash loudly in the tunnel, echoing for a few seconds. His shoulder wound aches as he straightens up. Hyunjin is already lifting Jeongin up to pull the great back over the hole. The scrape of metal on the concrete sounds much louder in the watery tunnel, making Minho cringe.

Looking both ways, he sees the sewer is less of a sewer and more of a tunnel. The cloth pulled over his face does little to keep out the rancid smell, and he winces when he sees fat, black rats scattering on the edges of the orange light.

Something touches his arm and he jerks, hand going to his gun. You lean back and apologize, holding out a glowstick. He relaxes and takes it, fingers brushing yours as he does. He instantly gets a chill down his spine, though his fingers are warm where they brushed yours.

Minho clears his throat and holds the glowstick up, looking around the tunnel. He can hear the faint echoes of dripping water and every movement of the group feels loud in the pressing silence of the dark.

“What is this?” he asks, looking at you.

It’s Hyunjin who answers, “Nightcrawler shit. You’re welcome.”

“Should we expect any of your former coworkers, then?”

“They’re not so bad.” Hyunjin unholsters his weapon as he begins walking south down the tunnel, throwing Minho a sharp grin. “It’s the Darklings I worry about.”

You fall into step behind Hyunjin immediately, ducking your head to murmur something to him as you go. The glow of your light gets farther away as Minho stands staring at Hyunjin, unsure if he’s serious or not.

Jeongin steps up next to Minho. “He was joking about Darklings, right? The People Underneath are a myth?”

“Have you ever heard Hyunjin tell a joke?”

Minho leaves Jeongin thinking about it before the younger rushes to keep up with him, feet splashing wildly.

Whether Hyunjin was joking about the Darklings or not, they don’t run into anything except rats and roaches in the underground tunnels. Minho finds himself itching to ask the Nightcrawler questions and demand where they’re going, but he doesn’t,

An act of faith.

It was an act of faith when Minho showed Hyunjin the safehouse on his watch. It was one of the few things that Minho protected more fiercely than his life, and he was hoping that when Hyunjin saw the coordinates, title of ownership, and Minho’s information, he’d gain a little trust.

Minho had been right. Hyunjin, though still sharp at the edges, has become unnervingly benign with Minho, addressing him by his name. It’s not much to most, but he knows among killers it’s a huge step. One that means a little more trust, if not at least peers.

You remain quiet for the most part. Your eyes stray toward Minho often and when he catches you looking, you don’t look away. Your gaze is hesitant and questioning, as though you’re trying to figure him out like one of the schematics on your screens.

Biting into a protein bar, he quickens his pace to fall into step with you. “What will you do with your lab?”

Your lips twitch. “Chemical fire. There’s a stop-line in the frame of the building so it should be controlled. I promised not to burn down Neon Rodeo when I established my office there.”

“Who owns that place, anyway?”

“Bangchan.” The name sounds familiar. “Reformed Nightcrawler.”

“You keep unusual company.”

“Better than none.”

That gets a little bit of a laugh from him. You smile when he does and he swears it’s brighter than the glowsticks you carry. “I deserved that one. I’m working on it, alright.”

“How do Jisung and Changbin deal with you?”

“The same way I deal with them.” You hum, nodding in understanding. For a few minutes, it’s just wet steps echoing in the tunnels. “What made you decide to come with me? I assume you have your own fallback plans.”

“I do, but I don’t know. I wanted to accept your olive branch.” You look at him. “I wanted to trust you.”

He nods. His gut twists a little at that, both anxious and pleased. He’d been right about offering an act of faith in return for the one he scorned. Now, he just has to keep you alive, which he grows more confident in doing.

“Where are we going?”

He looks up at you. “Hyunjin didn’t tell you?”

“No, just said to trust you.” Minho’s brows shoot up and you snort. “I know. Whatever you showed him convinced him.”

“It’s a safe house on Isla de Suenos.” You look up at him sharply and he gives a soft grin. “My mother belonged to a very well-off family. I’m not supposed to exist, and she had to decide at a young age whether or not I was worth throwing away her family and their power. A single safehouse purchased with offshore accounts and through a network of money-changing and bought secrecy is the only thing she could give me.”

“She didn’t choose you?” He shakes his head. You think about that for a second and he lets the words sink in, waiting for the pity, which he hates. Instead, you hum. “No wonder you don’t choose people either.”

Your candor is a relief. You don’t tell him sorry or try to comfort him. You accept this as a fact of life, a normalcy that a mother would choose wealth and power over a child. “There are no records tying us together, but the title of the house is under what my name would have been if she’d taken me. Lee. My family name would be Lee.”

“What is it now?”

“I don’t have one. My father was servant-class. We don’t have family names.”

“He worked for your mother’s family?” Minho nods. “Lee. I like it. Will you keep it?”

“Maybe. It’s who I have to be, now.”

“No longer the Collector?” He shakes his head. “Good. Perhaps I like you more as just Lee Minho.”

Minho bites back a grin.

By the time they get to the surface again, they’re just outside of the city-proper on the northeast shore. Here, the night is bitter cold as the salty air blasts off the ocean, dark waves rushing and receding against the shoreline.

They take a brief break once their topside, Minho gasping deep breaths of fresh air in as he gulps down water. Now that they can see without the glowsticks, they toss them into the trash and breathe in silence.

Carefully, Minho peers at the wound on his shoulder. It’s caterized from the heat of the plasma, but the burn hurts something vicious. He has no medical supplies on him, and he examines the chawed flesh with mild concern.

Seeing the injury, you get up wordleslly from the rock where you sit and come over. Your hand digs in one of your pockets and you produce a packet of burn gel and antiseptic, wordlessly gesturing to the wound. He nods and you offer a tentative grin before ripping the antiseptic open with your teeth, spitting the crinkling material on the ground.

With steady hands, you squeeze out the translucent gel on the tips of your fingers and peel the damaged parts of Minho’s shirt away from the flesh. He sucks in a breath when you apply the cool gel to the wound, the stinging of the antibiotic catching him off guard. You shoot him an apologetic wince before continuing to press it lightly into the burned flesh.

You smell like jasmine and amber. Minho breathes it in deep, a soothing scent mixed with the salty air of the seat just a few yards away. His eyes flutter shut as your fingers work his shoulder, deft and skilled like an artist.

“My mom liked to paint,” Minho says automatically, unsure where the comment comes from. “That’s one of the few things I know about her. She had artists hands. You have hands like hers. Graceful.”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t say I’m an artist but I do draw designs for weapons a lot.”

“It’s a kind of art.”

“I suppose it is.”

Your closeness makes Minho dizzy. Instead of chasing you away in the past, he lets you linger and spread the burn gel on his shoulder. He doesn’t open his eyes, letting the sound of the ocean and the press of your steady fingers lull him into a moment of relaxation.

He can almost pretend you both haven’t thrown your life away to head to some house he’s never been to with little to no plan but to arrive there alive.

“Does it hurt?” he shakes his head at your question. You voice is soft and raspy, rising the hairs on the back of his neck. You’re so close he can feel the heat radiating from you, making him lean in on instinct, seeking the warmth. “If you let me give you better armor, plasma won’t hurt you.”

Minho’s eyes flutter open. “You brought it with you?”

“Of course I did.” Your face is inches from his, eyelashes fanning your bright, glittering eyes as you look up at him. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Hyunjin’s voice shatters the moment before Minho can respond. “Hello, yes, the child and I are still here.”

“I’m not a child!”

“The child and I need to leave, however. Seungmin and Felix are waiting to escort us. I believe your friend left transportation for you, Minho.”

You whirl around. “You’re leaving? What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“I have some Nightcrawling to do with Bangchan and Seungmin. I’m taking the child to stay with Swan.”

Minho has no idea who Swan is. He sees the uncertainty color your face as you regard your guard - your friend. “You would do that? Take him to stay with her?”

“Of course. Swan likes strays.”

“I am right here,” Jeongin reminds everyone, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I’m not a child.”

Hyunjin grins at him. It’s real and not a leer, something that Minho doesn’t think he’s ever seen. Hyunjin grabs Jeongin by the shoulder, pulling him along before flicking his poison-green eyes toward Minho and you. “Enjoy your evening. I’ll be around, Minho.”

“Wait!” you bolt over to them, catching everyone by surprise as you throw your arms around the two of them and squeeze. The smile on Hyunjin’s face is so soft that Minho has to look away, equal parts something like jealousy and feeling like he’s intruding. “Here.”

You divest several items from your pockets, shoving them into their hands. Medical gels, a few gadgets, and a little Scorpion figurine that you shove into Hyunjin’s hands. He raises a single brow in amusement but you say nothing to the Nightcrawler, rushing back to stand at Minho’s side.

Hyunjin and Jeongin lift their hand in waves to Minho before turning and heading down the beach at a slow pace, their feet sinking into the sand. Cold wind whips at Minho as he stands watching with you silent by his side, waiting.

Without a word, he turns and beckons you, heading up the rocky coast before heading back down precariously to a tiny cove with a boat buoyed between the rocks. It’s hardly a safe-looking boat and he realizes it probably wouldn’t have carried them all, but it’s something.

Minho climbs into the boat carefully before helping you step down into it. The rocking water throws you off balance and he steadies you, hands tight on your waist. You mutter an apology but he doesn’t let go until he’s sure you’re okay, eyes searching.

A moment of tension passes, his fingers pressed into the fabric of your hips, your closeness overpowering the sea air again. You clear your throat and it passes. Minho lets you go as he finds the key and plugs it in to turn on the engine.

You busy yourself with untying ropes, your steps unsteady as the vessel moves unpredictably beneath your feet. Once you manage to get rid of all the lines, he begins to navigate out the cove backward, turning the wheel violently from side to side as he fights the tide.

Thankfully with every swell that pushes the boat into the cove, it drags it back out. It takes about three swells before the craft is pulled into the ocean proper and he throws the throttle in reverse, water rooster tailing for a moment as he does.

You join him at the helm and stand close as he turns it around and drives. Wind rips at his jacket, blowing back the hood. He’s thankful for the face cover fighting the icy wind, squinting as he drives in the late hours of the night across a rippling black ocean.

The water gets rough as he turns to the east, glancing at the coordinates on his watch every once in a while. Your hand shoots out to grab his forearm on a particularly violent dip. He curses, pain radiating from his shoulder as you do. You immediately shout an apology and let go, but Minho snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you tight.

For a second, you stiffen, looking up at him uncertain. He remains steadfast in his hold, willing his heart to slowdown as he drives, determined to keep you from falling off the boat and into the water before you can even make it to the safehouse.

You relax into him after a second, pressing closer and letting him hold on as you go. He relaxes when you accept his help, breathing out a slow breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

It takes almost forty five minutes, but the dark shadow of Isla de Suenos materializes in the night. The city is a spec of light on the misty horizon as the waves begin to slow down until he can let down on the throttle, bringing the boat to a troll instead of a plane.

The collection of islands that surround the massive, man-made mountain in the middle of the seat are all only about seven acres in size and are privately owned. The level of exclusivity is something Minho is incredibly unfamiliar with, and he gets nervous as they approach the barely visible shield surrounding the collection of islands.

“Minho, there’s a-”

“It’ll let us through.” He squeezes your waist on instinct, hoping it’s true. As the boat passes, he holds his breath. He feels the biochip in his neck flicker and then they’re through the shield. The water is falt calm on the other side of the energy wall, tapping gently against the hull. “It’s biometric.”

“And you were sure that was going to work?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly is not a great attitude in the invention field, Minho.”

It takes a second, but he realizes you’re calling him by his name and not Cowboy. He likes the sound of it on your tongue, though he doesn’t mind the diminutive.

Even in still waters, he doesn’t remove his arm around your waist, the protective instinct still high as he steers the boat according to his watch. Islands with lights hidden behind thick jungle and rockface slide past them.

The beacon on his watch flashes and he turns the boat, trolling to a long, empty dock ahead of them. The island is no different from the rest, covered in sprawling jungle and foliage that look monstrous in the ominous night.

Quickly, you tie off the boat and disembark. Your steps on the dock feel loud in the quiet night, the two of you hurrying along and up the shore until you hit the stone stairway that leads through the trees. Though he isn’t holding you close to him anymore, you still keep yourself pressed close, the back of your hands brushing as you begin the climb up the island.

Minho has no idea what the house looks like. He only knows that it’s coded to his biochip and that it’s always been there if he needs it. He doesn’t know if it’s stocked or if the electricity is on, or if it’s been raided and taken over. He doesn’t even know if there are codes to get access.

It is the most unprepared he has ever been.

A large estate springs up among the trees. The entire building is constructed on a platform with foliage and trees brushing along the foundations. It’s made up of windows and metal framing, the windows dark and hiding whatever exists within.

It is exquisit. Minho has never seen an estate or a luxury home before in person, but he knows that’s what this is. The thought seems a little silly as he leads you toward the modular home, steps quiet as he glances around. He cannot imagine that anyone but he and his could enter the grounds, but he’s still on edge.

At the door, there’s a single bioscanner. He leans his neck toward it, letting it flash over his biochip. The scanner turns green and he hears the hiss of an airlock. Glancing at you and shrugging, he tries the handle and pulls the door open toward him.

Inside, the air is cool. He steps in first, hand on his gun as he looks around the interior. It’s sparkling clean and decorated with dark wood furniture and greenery. He takes a few steps inside, flinching when automatic lights come on and cast a warm, gold glow in the house.

“You’ve been living as a fucking Collector when this existed the entire time?” you deadpan from the door.

No kidding, he thinks, turning to look at the multi-story wonder that is the home. It’s three levels of tropical opulence, making his head spin at all of the possibilities.

“I didn’t know what was here, honestly.” He turns to look at you and nods. You step inside and pull the door shut, tapping the screen beside it. The locks click in place again and with another tap, he sees the windows darken to privacy mode. “I assumed she didn’t leave me something grand.”

“It’s a good start on an apology. She’s still a bitch for leaving you and I think you should let me fight her.”

A ripple of fondness goes through him and he smiles at you, uncontrolled and large. You shoot a shy one back before looking away at the wonder of the home.

Unlike him, you seem to relax immediately, kicking your shoes off to wander around the house. He follows suit after a moment of hesitation, peeling the cover off of his face and kicking of his shoes. He leaves his holster open on his weapons, hands hovering near them as he follows you.

The house is extravagent. Smaller than he originally thought, with only three bedrooms and two bathrooms, but the spaces for each are massive and sprawling with greenery. It feels like the jungle is a part of the house - and he realizes it is, at least in the atrium. There’s a large pool and something that looks like a hot spring behind the house, hidden from the world by think palms and palmetto.

Each room is richly designed and cleaned, as though it has been kept for him all this time. He’ll have to worry about that at some point, unsure who has kept the house in such a presentable state while it’s existed.

After you’ve fed your curiosity, you drift to one of the rooms with a private bathroom. He takes the room across from you, feet dragging as the exhaustion hits him. His limbs feel heavy and peeling off his shirt with the injure arm makes him curse and hiss. He doesn’t bother looking in the mirror, knowing the old bruises from a few days ago are still there.

Steam fills the bathroom. He’s a little put out when he realizes that the stone shower has a wall of glass to reveal the jungle on the other side, but he realizes there’s no one to watch him. He shakes the uneasiness and steps under the scalding water, moaning as he closes his eyes and lets it run down him.

A screen with a dozen or more settings sits in the rockface of the shower, but he doesn’t know how to use them. He hits another button hoping for what is more water pressure and instead gets a heavenly waft of eucalyptus. He leaves the settings alone, settling for tranquility over scrubbing himself.

Minho doesn’t know how long he stays in the shower. His fingers prune and the crust and blood eventually peel away. He spends a short amount of time scrubbing his own skin, eager to get out of the shower and check on you.

Now that he has you, a new sort of stream of conscious has made itself permanent, always wondering where you are and if you’re okay.

Steam clouds the bathroom as he steps out, wrapping a towel around his waist. Water clings to him as he ruffles his wet hair, strolling out into the bedroom. He walks toward the table by the door, rifling through his things looking for medical gel.

A knock draws his attention and you open the door a crack, making a sound of surprise when you don’t expect to see him standing right in front of you. Your eyes dip down to where the towel is on his waist and back up, immediately opting to look at the ceiling.

Minho’s lips pressed into a firm line, trying to eat the smirk threatening to take over.

“Sorry, I assumed you were still in the shower. I - um - brought more gel for your shoulder.”

He steps away from the door, leaving drips of water as he does. “Come on in.”

“Are you sure?”

He shrugs and then winces, the burn pulling taught as he does. You enter immediately, shutting the door behind you and ripping the top off the packet as you do, eyes focused on the wound. You’ve got your fingers slathered in gel and pressing to his shoulder before you realize the forwardness, pausing to glance up at him.

Now, Minho does smirk. “I’m at your mercy.”

“Sorry. I know it’s hurting you and…”

“You don’t want me to hurt,” he fills in, remembering your words from earlier.

You nod and chew your bottom lip as you work. He studies you closely. He doesn’t know if it’s his acceptance that you’re more than just someone he buys weapons from, the exhaustion or the little sliver of feeling he’s always pretended wasn’t there, but Minho suddenly feels a little bolder.

A little braver.

“I never had a chance to thank you.”

“For what?” You throw the antiseptic on the table and rip open the burn gel. “Anything. Everything. I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you.”

“There’s a lot of things you haven’t said.”

“So let me.” You dart a look at him, nervous. When you don’t interrupt he continues, “You were right. We stopped being industry peers a long time ago, and I’ve purposefully ignored multiple favors from you to keep the illusion that simple relationships meant I couldn’t be hurt. Or hurt others.”

“And now?”

“I realize it was silly.”

“Hmm. At least you admit your faults, Cowboy.”

He smiles. You finish applying the gel, but you don’t move away from him. You linger, looking up through silky lashes at him. Your face takes on a dreamy look, mouth parted a little and he feels heat coil in his stomach at that look.

“Why’d you offer me that armor?”

“I was afraid of how often you were working. I knew you were getting hurt and I wanted to help. Why’d you reject it?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

There’s a long pause. Your gaze drops to his mouth. You’re only a few inches away, the ghost of your breath against his neck. “What if I want you to?”

Minho needs no other permission. It’s like a dam giving way, the past few days able to wedge their way in and open him up to let the rawness spill out of him. He surges forward, catching your mouth against his as he does so, hands shooting to your waist.

You don’t push him away. Worse, you melt into him like it’s natural, hands skating up his arms and around the back of his neck to pull him in closer to you. Your mouth is warm and minty and addicting, scattering his thoughts to the stars as your lips move against his.

Heat is trapped between your bodies. He feels like he’s burning up from the inside, squeezing your hips as his tongue brushes against your bottom lip. You open up for him easily, like you were always made to and he groans.

Every time he has ever held back from you fuels him forward. He presses into you, turning you to push you on the mattress. You go willingly, opening your legs to let him slot between them. He leaves over you, mouth hungry. Devouring. Ravenous.

You gasp between kisses, nails grazing down his flexing arms. He wants to fucking drown in you as he bites the edge of your jaw, tasting the soap on your skin. You smell like jasmine and amber, though now he can smell the eucalyptus too, driving him insane.

You.

The one thing he’s let himself trust. The one person he’s let in, even when he didn’t want to admit it. The one person he wants to have more than anything else.

Greedy hands scrape up his chest. Your fingers are warm and searching as he nips the tender flesh of your neck, tongue laving over the bite to soothe it. The sounds dripping from your mouth are so pretty, driving him inside as he traces his desire with tongue and teeth.

The fabric of your shirt scrapes against his skin, itchy and in the way. His hands pull at the hem and he hesitates, looking down at you through a heavy-lidded gaze and panting. You not frantically, hands pulling at his to guide the shirt upwards and off, revealing warm skin.

Minho wants to taste every part of you. You create art with your schematics and your weapons, but you are art. He worships you with tongue and teeth, hands brushing up your stomach to cup your chest. His tongue pulls a languid moan from you as he flicks it over the peak of your nipple.

Fuck.

He’s greedy, sucking gentle on your pert bud, ensuring to scrap his teeth along the sensitive flesh. You writhe underneath him, unable to remain still. His other hand works you too, tweaking your stiff peak as he trails spit-slick kisses across your chest to wrap his lips around that nipple too.

Minho looks up at you through his lashes. You’re a rendering of pleasure, head pressing into the bed, chest pushed up, a sheen of sweat on your collarbones and neck. It drives him wild, cock throbbing heavily as he trails his mouth toward, fingers pulling your pants as he goes.

Your fingers twist in the sheets. Everything he does affects you and he’s drunk on it, heart thudding in his chest as he drops down to his knees. His towel falls and the cool air makes him shiver. He feels the sticky tip of his cock brush against his leg but he ignores the ache between his thighs, fixing his eyes on what’s between yours instead.

Pretty and wet, all for him. For him. He gets to have you. But he doesn’t yet, making you wait and feel the personal hell it’s been for him to pretend he wasn’t yours as he kisses up your thighs, licking warm skin and digging his teeth in.

“Minho,” you half gasp, half wine. He smiles against your knee, giving it a gentle peck. “Please.”

“Yeah?” he switches legs, biting your calf. “Want it that bad?”

“Need it.”

He brings a hand up to your dripping cunt, dragging a curled knuckle through your wetness. You let out a keen and he grins against your leg even more, hypnotized by the way your petty little hole clenches at the contact.

Minho drags it out. Plays with you, dragging that knuckle slow-soft through your folds, avoiding your clit. You let out a sound that’s almost a sob and he chuckles, bringing his hand up to suck at the stickiness on his finger.

“Hmm. Sweet.”

“Bet it’s better from the source,” you shoot back, trying to make a jab and failing with how weak your voice is.

“True,” he agrees, leaning forward.

Your taste blooms on his tongue as he licks up your center, slow and patient. He savors the taste, humming as he does. You buck under his mouth and he grips your thighs, pulling you open. You’re warm and wet and perfect, and he listens to your breath hitch as he licks you slowly, making sure to circle around your clit each time.

One of your hands shoots to his hair. He doesn’t mind as you pull. The sting feels good and spurs him on, eating you out properly. He loves the sounds you make for him, loves the way your thighs twitch as he sucks your click into his mouth, tongue flicking over it.

It’s wet and messy and just the way he likes it, slick dripping down his chin as he presses himself in further, desperate to fuck you into sanity with just his mouth.

He doesn’t have a problem doing it. You buck against his face and he lets you, holding his tongue flat for you to grind against. Your fingers in his hair have him in a vice grip and he moans, a steady stream of mhmmm dripping sweet from his mouth into your heat.

“Fuck,” you gasp. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

“Come on,” he mouths against you. “Take what you want, baby.”

The endearment slips from him more natural than anything he’s ever done. His fingers squeeze your thighs as you undulate against him, his entire attention fixated on you as the begin to shake. Your hand twists in his hair and he groans, equal parts pain and pleasure as you come apart.

He hums in satisfaction, keeping his mouth working on you, drinking you in as you continue to tremble. The power trip that comes with seeing you come is unmatched, lighting a fire in him as he licks you to oversensitivity.

“Minho,” you beg, voice squeaking. He grins, kissing your cunt before he mouths his way back up to you, capturing your mouth with his. You’re eager to taste yourself, tongue licking at him more than anything, smearing your slick on his lips. He feels his eyes roll back. You’re going to kill him. “More.”

Minho would conquer the world and call it yours if you wanted him to. There’s nothing he wouldn’t give you. Pretending otherwise was the great folly of man, he realizes, as he shuffles you up the bed and climbs between your legs, standing up on his knees.

You watch him, pupils blown and fucked out as he heaves. He can hardly catch his breath as he reaches down to take his cock in his hand, pumping leisurely as he watches you. The way you look at him like you’ll consume him whole makes him shiver. He wants you to. Want you to burn him up until there’s nothing left.

Leaning down, he drops his cock out of his hand in favor of sliding a hand between you’re legs. You’re a mess of spit and cum, making the glide easy as he slips a finger into your heat to work you open. Your head falls to the side, giving him access to suck at your jawline as he fucks you open with his finger, adding a second when he knows you can take it.

Your hips roll up to meet his thrusts as he scissors his fingers open, pressing against your warm walls to push the stretch further. You’re putty in his hands but he’s a mess in yours, too. He’s shaking by the time he slips his hand from between your legs to press the crown of his cock at your entrance, hesitating.

Minho looks up at you. He already knows there’s no going back for him, three years of his own stubborn delusions robbing him of what could have been. But he asks, anyway. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been sure for a long time. It was you who needed convincing.”

“What a stuipd man I am.”

“Yes,” you agree. “But mine.”

That drives him wild. Simple words and yet the very action of you claiming him erodes the last bit of resistance. He pushes into you and goes slow with a considerable amount of effort, shaking and panting as he tries to keep it together.

You’re warm and tight and twitches of pleasure ripple through him from cock to stomach. Minho swears he comes alive for the first time as he seats himself in your cunt to the hilt, barely able to catch his breath as he ducks down to press his mouth against yours.

It’s not delicate, but it isn’t the same ferocity as earlier. It’s something else that lingers between madness and relief. He only begins to move when he feels your hips wiggle. He smiles into the kiss, retracting his hips before surging forward again.

Delirious. That is the only word that comes to mind as he starts to fuck you slow and deep. Your mouths bump together but you’re both breathing raggedly, shaking together. Your hands card through his hair, soothing and soft. His lashes flutter as he drops his head further. You press your lips against his forehead as he picks up the pace, letting your hands worship him as he fucks you.

How could he ever think he was sparing you from him? How could he ever make the mistake that if he kept on the fringes, you wouldn’t leave him ruined like this? It seems unimaginative now. Like something that was always meant to happen.

No wonder Collect Co. knew he would go running to you like a dog when they assigned you to him. Everyone else could admit it except him, an egregious error on his part.

But Minho has you now. Gasping his name and moving in his arms. Rolling your hips to meet his, your cunt clenching on his cock as he fucks you harder. He wants to dig into you and never let go. Wants to sink in to the very core and live there.

“Mine,” you growl as though you can read his thoughts. “Even though you tried not to be. You are mine, Lee Minho.”

When you say his full name like that, voicing the boy who could have been and now who is, he starts to come apart. His pace quickens as he chases your second release, holding you tight to him as he feels you clench longer and longer around him until you’re sobbing his name and spilling down his shaft.

Minho all but growls your name as he comes. Never again will you be Builder. You’re his. First and last name his to say. The acknowledgment almost makes him cry as he slows his thrusts, gasping for air as he tosses his head back, heat escaping between the two of you.

Finally, he stops fucking you, hands linked with yours as he leans up to catch his breath. He’s still seated in you, feeling the cum drip between where your ass is pressed against his thighs. He doesn’t care, feeling the sweat and the water from his shoulder drip down his back.

His arm burns where he’s used it. He’d been unaware of the pain while lost in you, but he feels it now, throbbing. He doesn’t care. He’d do it again a thousand times.

Slowly, he unravels from you. Your hands don’t let him go far, pulling him down next to you to roll toward. He smiles, tired and dreamy at the edges as he lets you. The bed is soft against his balmy skin, the cool air helping calm him down.

Finally, both of you can breathe. He knows that he needs to shower again, but he doesn’t want to get up. He wants to keep you near. Now that he’s all in, he wants to stay all in.

“We should call this place the Jungle Rodeo.” He cracks an eye open at you to realize you’re hiding a grin as you look up at him. “You know, since we can’t go back to Neon Rodeo.”

“What is it with you and rodeos?”

“You find Cowboys at the rodeo.”

“Oh?”

“And you’re here… so… it’s a rodeo.”

He blinks at you. “Your intellect is astounding.”

You laugh and it’s like taking a JumpPack straight to his bloodstream, a rush of energy and euphoria driving him upward and toward you. He smothers you with kisses, driving by the need to taste you again. You let him, giggling.

“What do you say then, hmm?” he growls, nipping your bottom lip. “Want to go for another ride?”

“That joke was terrible.”

“You know what they say. When at the rodeo.”

You laugh again and Minho is a goner once more, just like he was the first day he met you at Neon Rodeo.

TAG LIST:

@stayceebs97 @skzswife @bettybeako

#lee know smut #lee minho x reader #lee minho smut #lino smut #lee minho x you #lee know fic #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #lee know fanfic #lee know x reader #lee know x you

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momodita · 4 months

Text

snapshots. [—chilchuck tims]

TAGS / WARNINGS: gender neutral reader, modern au, minor pining, background marcille/falin WC: 1,000 NOTE: divorced father of 3 save me... save me divorced father of 3...

✗ MINORS / AGELESS / BLANK BLOGS DNI.

“Move over.”

Chilchuck’s voice startles you. The bowl in his hands is steaming: a hearty stew made with Falin and Marcille’s collective effort—(“Senshi’s tried and true recipe!”). A thick slice of bread perches on its rim. It smells just as heavenly as it did at dinner.

“Here?” you ask, stupefied. The armchair you’ve claimed is wide; there’s easily enough space to fit a Chilchuck-sized person, but your mind jumps—unbidden—to the reason he’d been late in the first place.

“Where else?” He nudges you with his knee. “As if I’m gonna sit near that love-fest over there.”

“You’re not welcome anyways,” Marcille tuts, midway through dipping the maraschino cherry from her sundae into Falin’s mouth.

“This is my apartment!”

You concede with a laugh: it’s just your bruised heart working overtime. The moment his body settles, shoulders touching, you stop being able to taste the ice cream Laios had scooped into your bowl. Existence narrowing to that point of contact with a familiar little rush.

It’s Laios’ turn to choose tonight’s movie, much to Marcille’s dismay—(“A documentary classifies! This is a really interesting one!”)—and he scrolls to find it as Chilchuck digs into his food.

Midway through, you engage him in a thrilling mock-battle of fencing spoons. Falin dozes, lulled from the careful stroke of Marcille’s fingers through her hair. By the time the credits roll, they’re folded onto each other, soft snores drowned out by music.

“They fell asleep again,” Chilchuck drawls, chin cushioned against his hand.

“Must be crashing after all that sugar,” Laios suggests, drapes a blanket over them.

“They were pretty high energy tonight. Eager to hear about how Chilchuck’s date went, I guess,” you tease, taking up the mantle with Marcille fast asleep. “You didn’t even tell us her name.” Keeping the tone casual despite the haunting little pit in your stomach.

(It’d been a shock to hear about it: for as long as you’ve known him, Chilchuck has been eager to keep his life private—even from long-time friends. And there’d been no signs of anyone—except you and your little group—coveting his time and attention; no extra, unexplained toothbrushes, no brands you don’t recognize in his pantry, no missed get-togethers.)

“Huh?” He gives you a look, confusion twisted in his features. The TV’s light illuminates a silver hair. “I wasn’t with any girl.”

Your brow furrows. “…His name? Their name?”

Chilchuck stares. This close—where the minuscule twitches in his expression are noticeable—it’s strangely evaluating.

“You know Marcille was joking when she said it was a date, right?” Heat sears along your cheekbones; embarrassment flushing hot under his gaze—the realization of your mistake.

“Of course I knew,” you say stupidly. Chilchuck’s eyebrow quirks. “Shut up. Don’t look at me like that.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Well, then if it wasn’t a date, who were you with?”

“Senshi,” he says. “He was—we, uh,” his eyes slide off to the side, “I asked him for a favor.”

“Oh?” you hum, relief and mirth creating a warm hum behind your ribs. “Looking to get a side hustle as a cook?”

“Not even close,” he grunts, looking away.

“Should we start calling you our little master chef?” You nudge him with a grin.

“Chilchuck is already quite good at cooking,” Laios pipes up without taking his eyes off the screen. “Maybe he’ll learn to make something else after mastering ramen.”

“Hey—”

“Ramen?” you ask, head tilting. “Like, the instant kind?”

Chilchuck splutters. “No!”

“From scratch!” Laios beams. “Senshi’s said he’s been making really good progress since his first day.”

“Oh?” you grin. “Our little master chef is gonna open a ramen shop?”

“Shut up. No way. Not ever,” Chilchuck grumbles, the high curve of his ear a soft pink.

“I hope you’ll make it for us one day—I love ramen,” you say. “Very tedious, though, so I’ve never done it myself.”

His face scrunches, mouth pursing together like he wants to speak, but doesn’t. His cheeks puff with air, releasing as a long, quiet sigh.

“Oh, hey, so after ramen”—you lean a hand on the chair’s opposite arm, boxing him in with a cheeky little smile—“you should look into French onion soup. It’s probably easier than ramen but caramelizing the onions takes so long—”

“You—!” he leans back, shoulders tense and eyes wide. “Don’t go making requests before I’ve even cooked anything decent.”

“Why not? I bet it’ll be great! You’re good with your hands, so soup is probably a piece of cake for you.” You watch—with no small amount of pleasure—as Chilchuck’s face flushes with vivid color.

“Get away from me,” he mumbles, but his tone is so insincere all you do is laugh. He knocks a loose fist against the inside of your elbow. A surprised noise jumps out; you retreat back against the chair, rubbing the spot.

“Mmh?” Marcille rouses with a sleepy hum. “What’re you requestin’?”

“Chilchuck is making us ramen,” you joke, relishing the way he knocks an admonishing leg against yours. “He’s our little master chef.”

“Oh, yeah. Did Laios end up spilling the beans?” Marcille yawns. Falin stirs, eyes fluttering. “Congratulations, you two.”

Chilchuck goes stiff beside you. “What do you mean?” you ask.

Marcille pauses, head tilting with a drowsy look of confusion. “Huh? Didn’t you ask why he’s learning to make it?” she asks. Falin tugs her sleeve.

You blink. “No. Should I have?” Marcille doesn’t respond right away, head bent to put an ear by Falin’s mouth, expression pinched as they whisper. Then, with a sigh, she reaches up to stretch.

“No. Never mind. Forget I said anything.” Laios is quick to grab her attention.

“Hey, so are you actually opening a ramen shop?” you whisper to Chilchuck.

“You’re such an airhead,” he grunts against his palm.

“I’m great,” you reply. His eyes meet yours, holding your gaze. When next he speaks, his voice is soft—acquiescing easily to your jest.

“Guess you are.”

#chilchuck tims x reader #chilchuck x reader #dungeon meshi fic #dungeon meshi x reader #snapshot fic #reader insert #food as a love language from me wow how new and exciting #momodita fic

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jayflrt · 8 months

Text

𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐒 28. 12th date’s the charm

YOU COULDN’T STAY CALM.

You were waiting for Saw X’s stupid post-credit scene to wrap up while your foot was tapping against the carpet floor anxiously. After you slipped up in the group chat, calling Heeseung your boyfriend, you could only wait and face the consequences after the movie. It was clear it was weighing on the others’ minds; you could see the corner of Sunoo’s mouth fighting to stay down, and although Sunghoon and Jungwon were high, you noticed them stealing a glance and playfully nudging each other.

But it was Heeseung you were the most concerned about.

His reaction was the most important one to you and, as if the world hated you, his reaction was the only one you couldn’t read. He sat completely still, staring ahead at the theater screen with his lips pressed together.

The screen went dark and the end-credits started rolling. Now, you had to deal with the aftermath of your text. It was one thing to let the word out loud, but over text? If you were able to unsend that message without anyone reading it before it went through, you would’ve.

Then, a horrifying realization struck you.

After you and Heeseung parted ways with Sunghoon, Jungwon, and Sunoo, you two would have to sit in a car together. Alone.

You felt your heart drop to your stomach.

It was clear that Heeseung had feelings for you. He was the one pining after you from the beginning, after all—having the entire workplace be aware of his (initially delusional) crush on you.

For some reason, though, you were still restless.

“I think I would just let my life end if John Kramer put me in one of those traps,” Sunoo blurted out as soon as your group exited the theater. You and Heeseung were finishing the last of your popcorn behind him.

“I’d survive it,” Sunghoon said. “I’m built different.”

Heeseung nudged you with his elbow, taking you by surprise. “Did you like the movie?”

You scrunched up your nose. “I don’t usually like gore, but I liked the story before they all started dying.”

Everyone turned their attention to Jungwon, who was strangely quiet. The guy was fiddling with the sleeves of his sweater, eyes cast down to the floor.

Sunoo asked, “You good?”

“He’s gonna get me,” Jungwon mumbled.

“Oh my god.” Sunghoon groaned. “For the last time, Jungwon, John Kramer’s a fictional character.”

“He’s real in my head.”

Heeseung let out a snicker. For every single date following your first failed one, Heeseung swore to stay completely sober so that his high wouldn’t interfere with your dates. You thought it was cute that he committed to it for you, but part of you also wanted to take care of him for once.

“Yeah, get this guy home. He’s gone,” Heeseung said, patting Jungwon’s back firmly. “Hoon, you’ve gotta stop spiking him.”

Sunghoon frowned. “Why do you think I spiked him?”

“Motherfucker,” Jungwon spoke up, raising his head with a sudden fire in his eyes, “I wouldn’t be this high right now if you didn’t leave your stupid cannabis-infused pretzels out on your table.”

“You also wouldn’t be this high if you didn’t steal my pretzels, so I don’t get why you’re complaining.”

“Didn’t he also accidentally drink your cannabis-infused coffee the other week?” Sunoo recalled, grimacing as he remembered Jungwon walking into Starbucks and attempting to order a cheese burger.

“Before that was the cannabis-infused Rice Krispy,” Heeseung mentioned.

“You’ve seriously gotta stop trusting whatever’s in Hoon’s fridge,” you told him, “or just anything that’s remotely edible around him.”

After some more commentary on the movie was shared, Heeseung made up some excuse about needing to get you home before it got too dark. The two of you had gone on dates that lasted well into the night, so your heart fluttered pathetically at the thought of him wanting to be alone with you.

You said your goodbyes to the three boys, reminding them to get home safe, and you and Heeseung parted ways with the group. It was cool outside, but you felt like your entire body was hot and buzzing as you remembered that being alone with Heeseung meant that he could potentially interrogate you about your accidental ‘boyfriend’ text.

He did nothing of the sort on the walk to his car. You and him cracked jokes about John Kramer all the way to the parking garage, and you started to feel the tightness in your chest unravel slowly.

That was, until you reached Heeseung’s car.

Instead of unlocking the doors, Heeseung’s hands slid into the pockets of his gray sweatpants as he leaned against the exterior of the car—right in front of the passenger door. You blinked at him, wondering if he was going to move, but he just held direct eye contact with you as the corner of his lip curled in amusement.

He cut straight to the point, saying, “So, your text…”

“My typo,” you corrected with an awkward grin.

He hummed. “No, you clearly typed ‘my boyfriend’ in the group chat.”

Your heart was racing. You could feel your pulse in your neck, your arms—every body part that was buzzing uncontrollably. This wasn’t how you wanted to confess to him. Not in a damn group chat, at least.

“Well, you’re not my boyfriend yet. You’re gonna be my passenger princess if you don’t hurry up and get in the car,” you started rambling faster than you could think, words spilling out before you were even able to properly filter your thoughts. “I’m gonna drive us home, then.”

As soon as you turned to walk around to the other side of his car, Heeseung reached forward to grab your wrist. With a firm tug, he had you stumbling right into his chest.

And, oh, you never realized just how big he was.

“H-hey,” you stuttered out, looking up to catch the smirk playing on his lips. “You’re not playing fair.”

“We never decided on any rules.”

Then, your back was pressed against the frame of the car, the cool metal chilling your flushed skin. You swallowed hard as Heeseung towered over you, his hands gripping your waist to hold you in place. Your heart was beating erratically at this point, but you didn’t want to budge and let him win just yet.

Heeseung dropped his head so that his lips were by your ear. You swore he could pick up on the way your breathing hitched because of his low chuckle.

“Come on.” His voice was silky and velvet as he murmured against the shell of your ear. “Just let me ask you out already.”

Although his words were irresistibly tempting, you were firm when you said, “No. I need to be the one to ask you out, and I didn’t wanna do it like this.” Your hand moved up to play with the loose strands of his hair at his neck. “Just wait a tiny bit longer for me. Please?”

Heeseung sighed, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “Well, I couldn’t ever say no to you, anyway.”

He pulled back to look down at you, still keeping his hands firm on your waist.

You held up your hand, making a pinching gesture with your pointer and thumb finger. “Just a little longer.”

“Mmhm,” he agreed. “Can I kiss you, though?”

Your face burned with the heat of a thousand suns. “K-kiss?”

“Like”—he poked your cheek—“right here.”

“Oh.” Still blushing furiously, you beamed and turned your cheek for him. “Go ahead, sir.”

With a soft giggle bubbling from his lips, Heeseung cupped your jaw gently so that he could press a chaste kiss to your cheek. He was dangerously close to your lips, and you knew that he intended on teasing you as much as possible.

Afterward, he pulled away and fished his keys out of his pockets. “I plan on kissing you for real once we’re dating, though.”

With that, he unlocked the car for you and walked over to the driver’s side. You had to catch your breath to regain your composure before you were able to get into the passenger’s seat.

On the way home, all you could think about were how pretty the stars were and how much prettier Heeseung was.

And, man, you really, really liked him.

prev | masterlist | next

SUMMARY ▸ in which you work at the starbucks where heeseung is a regular at (and considered a public enemy). also he only goes when he’s stoned off his ass.

#hi guys im making u read today 🤗#enhypen #enhypen smau #heeseung smau #heeseung fluff #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #heeseung imagines #lee heeseung #enhypen social media au #heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen drabbles #heeseung drabbles #enhypen reactions #heeseung reactions #enhypen scenarios #heeseung scenarios

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tvgals · 11 months

Text

‘ PRETTY IN PINK ‘

harvard professor! toji x black! elle woods! reader

getting into harvard law was a piece of cake, but somehow getting into your professors pants was harder!

cw: black! reader, age gap by like 15 years, set in 2001

ENJOY !

you pull your pink satin eye mask over your bonnet and stretch. today was the day, the day you’d finally get professor fushiguro to give in. you’ve had your eye on him since you were a freshman, his brood and sarcastic demeanor making him even more attractive. you hop out of your bed and start to get ready. after half an hour of doing what you need to do, you grab your bella louis vuitton tote and slide into your heels, walking out the door. arriving to your first class you’re already out of breath, not from the route there, of course not, but the fact your english teacher, is sitting on toji’s desk. laughing. you purse your lips together and stare, holding your designer purse in front of you. it didn’t take long for toji to notice the girl wearing all pink in his doorway.

“need something?” toji said in his oh so deep and gravely voice. “oh no! i was just about to ask a question but i see you’re already talking to someone. i’ll be on my way.” and with that you speed walk down the hall, the familiar clacking of your heels against the schools polished marble floor getting further and further. tears well in your eyes, but why? it’s not like you and toji are dating, and if you two were, you’d be sure you still wouldn’t let these fat tears roll down your face. you race to the bathroom and push your bottom eyelids up on the way, forcing them to close. once you arrive you take the biggest stall there is and sit on the toilet, hiding your face in your hands. after about six minutes of sulking by yourself, you hear another pair of heels clacking against the floor.

“y/n?” spoke your english teacher. “yes?” you respond, trying to make it seem as if you weren’t just crying. “toji doesn’t like crybabies. i know you’ve been trying to get in his pants and all, but don’t bring the whole class down because you can’t handle your urges.” and with that, she leaves, leaving you a dumbstruck mess. the day just started. it’s only 7:30 in the morning. you take a moment to regather yourself, and walk out. this has been terrible already. you walk into your first class and sigh, ten minutes late. you’ve never been late a day in your life! you plop down in an open seat and grab your notebook, jotting down notes when it’s needed. everyone has had their eyes on you since you’d came here, your bold style and personality attracting attention wherever you went. now was not a good day to have eyes all on you. your usual behavior being a stark contrast to your now sad and mopey one.

“y/n stay after class please.” you teacher slips in during a lecture, you were lucky you caught it unless you’d be in for a treat. class was over and you stood by your teachers desk. “yes?” you ask, fiddling with the straps of your purse. “you’re never late. is something wrong?” she asks. your calculus teacher was a nice old white lady who wore a huge pair of wired glasses. “nope. just tired from exams and stuff.” you chuckle, fidgeting with your hair. “okay okay. well, make sure you get your eight hours to stay beautiful.” she grins. you leave with a “thank you.” and go to your next class.

lunch rolled around and you decided to make your way into toji’s classroom, standing in the doorway as seductively as you could. “hey, toji.” you say, rocking back and forth on your heel. “y/n.” toji says without even looking up from the paper he was grading. “could i speak to you?” you ask, walking towards toji and stopping in front of his desk. toji looks up at you through his glasses a smirk adorning his face. “speak.” toji tells you, looking up at you fully. “is there anyway i could get extra credit?” you ask, putting your louis vuitton bag on his desk, starting to unbutton the top of your blazer. toji starts laughing, standing up and towering over you. you look up at him, swallowing hard.

“you think seducing me will get me to want you more?” he asks, pulling you into his body into the small of your back. he leans down into your ear, his breath hitting the shell of your ear. “because it’s working…” he says, trailing his hand down your skirt. you let out a sigh, bringing your arms around his neck. “lunch ends in 10 minutes…” you whine out, propping yourself against toji’s desk. toji looks up at you with a hungry stare. “better cum in 10 minutes then…” toji chuckled, pulling your panties to the side and slipping two fingers into your cunt with a groan. “look at you.” he grins. “what’s your grade?” toji asks, making casual conversation.

“a…b minus..” you whine, arching your back. “mmm…you’re a smart girl. i don’t have any idea how you have a b minus in my class. it’s as if you’ve been planning this for a while.” toji smiles, pumping his fingers faster. he was catching onto you. it was as if he knew your every move. when you only responded with breathy moans and a whine of “five minutes left…” toji grinned at you, curving his fingers — hitting that spongey spot in you. you arch your back and cum on toji’s finger with a high pitched moan. toji slaps his hand over your mouth and takes his fingers out of you, sucking on his fingers.

“go to class.” he says, popping his fingers from his plush lips.

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matan4il · 3 months

Text

911 ep 701 first watch reactions

(I don't think I have the energy to write proper Buddie meta, so here's me randomly squealing instead...)

LMAO In case you were wondering whether s7 of 911 will be subtle about their gratitude/debt to ABC for saving the show, the answer is a resounding no.

Also, I have lost a lot of respect for Frank as a shrink, but gained a lot of love for him as a sass king. "Did she win!?" The murderous look Athena gave him was priceless. I love her, too. She doesn't even need words to rule.

Man, nooooo. Don't give me a mutual "I love you" between Bobby and Athena like that.

"Go ahead and cut the green wire." Everyone and their sister: "Green? You said Red."

9-1-1 is the superior comedy they slipped into our drink, while we were here for our weekly action, suspense, drama and familial love.

Buck broke off with Natalia, and the show really did it like that. XD Every single person who rolled their eyes at this pairing during s6, we were all justified, but wow. The show really is the only forum to respect the pair even less than fandom does. And of course we find out about it in the middle of a scene built around Eddie being half naked, Buck watching him, with the camera specifically turning so we can discover Buck was initially covered by Eddie's body, and the angle change reveals him, when the whole thing wraps up with Eddie welcoming Buck back to the land of the living... Yeah, wonder what made Buck feel alive again. Don't know. 'Tis a mystery. We were given zero clues...

"I want the honeymoon life." *cries* Chimney is just such a good, good man. And okay, expecting your whole life to be a honeymoon's a bit unrealistic, but Madney are living together and they have a child. They know this. Chim knows this, but he still wants to go for it. Aim for the moon, you'll at least land among the stars, right?

Bobby baffled by Athena's reaction to Norman and Lola is hilarious.

I like how Chim has a great idea, but it's still obvious that it's gonna go wrong, because he can't help going overboard with it...

OMG, that scene with Eddie recounting to Buck what Christopher's date was like... If I were to write my Buddie meta, I would serve a three course meal just from that. I mean, the fact that watching Chris hanging out with a girl he likes, makes Eddie compare it to "hanging out with his guy friends" (when there's no lack of interest in this girl... in fact, it turns out that if anything, Christopher's problem is the opposite of a lack of interest) is so telling. There's a reason why that's where Eddie's mind went.

But then also... Eddie's trust in Buck got to me, the way he went to his best friend (not his own gf) for help with Chris. But that was still played with half a smile. But then Buck sort of disses himself jokingly, and Eddie won't have it. "You didn't end up like you." He sees how Buck worked on being a better person, even when Eddie wasn't there for the worst of it, and he appreciates it, and won't let Buck forget it. Meeeep. I love them.

Oh Chim. I was giving you so much credit, and then you went and bought that outdoors jacuzzi. lol Still love him. That's what Maddie's reminding herself of right now, too. ;p

Poor Hen, she was great in this ep, but none of it was really about her, she was comic relief, both with Chim and with the red wire. Then again, she was amazing in this, like she always is with everything.

Eddie and Buck were both so good with Chris this ep, MY HEART. Buck with getting him to talk about what's really bothering him, and Eddie with realizing exactly what his son needs, and how to give it to him. They completed each other. Neither one would be helping Chris without the other one. Tell me again how they're not soulmates?

In conclusion, I love Bobby saying, "Let's go prove one of us wrong," when they're both right. Something WAS going on with Norman and Lola, AND Athena was using them to avoid him.

Argh. That scene of the ship and its passengers being hijacked was rough to watch. </3 I'll still be here to watch the conclusion of this. That's the power of 9-1-1 for you.

It def felt like a great kick to the new season. We had lots of comedy and fun, some great tension, some emotional moments (especially with Christopher), but all in all, it's still clear that the whole thing's a build up to next week. Are you excited?

156 notes · View notes

skzhua · 6 months

Text

Caroling to my Heart

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Lee Minho x Female!Reader

Genre: Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Christmas love story, angst, fluff.

Word Count: 14,653

Warnings: Swearing, talks of regrets, mentions of alcohol, heartbreaks.

Summary: Christmas is meant to be spent with your loved ones. Minho stopped loving a long time ago.

A/N: Credits to my boyfriend for the general idea of the plot (story is all me, though)

November nearing its end, Chrismas was approaching quickly. Children playing in the snow, shops filled with decorations to sell for the holidays, sales everywhere for presents shopping, music playing everywhere you go; truly the most wonderful time of the year.

At least, that's what most people think.

Chan has always loved Christmas. He always took it as an opportunity to gather up with his college friends with whom life was always enjoyable. Jeongin had recently gotten a promotion at work which he took very seriously, Hyunjin finally opened his dog rescue center a few years back, Felix was happily getting married in the following spring, Seungmin had finally started to get recognition for his stand up comedy shows, Changbin had entered a production company with Chan, and Jisung was finally seeing someone after not daring to date for years.

And then, there is Minho.

Him and Chan used to be the closest friends ever, and Minho was always the life of the party. He messed around in college, got good grades, made his way up to become a successful lawyer. Overall, things had turned out pretty well for him.

What Minho considered as his biggest accomplishment was his lover. The apple of his eyes, the prettiest woman he had ever laid eyes upon, the sunshine of his life. Y/N was in the same major as him, one of the top students. It started out as a very typical college love story. He was annoying her, she found him funny, they were paired for a project, they got closer, and they got together in a matter of weeks. From that point, life was perfect. They moved out together after college, adopted a ton of cats, went on so many trips outside of the country... they even got engaged.

That was until Minho messed it all up, losing everything he loved the most in one go.

Ding dong.

Jumping at the sound, Minho takes a second to recover and puts the movie he was watching on pause. He checks the clock; it is 7 o'clock in the evening. He wasn't expecting anybody to visit him. Nonetheless, he goes over his front door and looks into the peephole. He isn't surprised to see Chan waiting patiently with a plastic bag in hands. He rolls his eyes in annoyance before letting his friend in, greeting him boringly.

"Hey, Chan," he says before yawning loudly.

The older man looks him up and down, analyzing every bit of his friend's appearance. "Wow, you look like shit."

Minho doesn't answer, giving Chan the death stare instead. "What do you want?"

"Well," he starts while allowing himself to get comfortable on the couch. "Jisung is presenting his new girlfriend to us and because you didn't answer in the group chat, I thought I would check on you."

"Tonight? No, I have to get up early tomorrow."

Chan's shoulders drop as Minho, once again, declines an invitation. "You haven't come to see us in months."

Minho shrugs, visibly not seeing a problem. "I'm just very busy. I have cases coming in all the time and I can't trust my associate to work on them."

"You're overworking yourself, a break would do you some good. Besides, we miss you."

It's not that he doesn't want to see his friends, of course he does. He just knows very well he'll only end up ruining the night by not being the funny guy he used to be.

"I don't know."

Chan takes a nicely ironed shirt out of his plastic bag and puts it on the coffee table in front of him, and stands up to walk to the door. "You're welcomed to drop by if you change your mind. It's at the restaurant we used to go in college."

"Why the shirt?" Minho's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Consider it as an early Christmas gift from me."

After throwing a small smile his way, Chan opens the door and leaves. Minho finds himself alone again, perplexed. He approaches the shirt and scrutinizes it. It's a designer piece which does not surprise him, Chan has always been the kind to go an extra mile for his loved ones. Looking at the clock again, it indicates 7:20 P.M. Does he still have time to go? It would mean he has to shower, get dressed, drive all the way to the restaurant... Right, that specific restaurant.

He will visit his friends, just not tonight.

2 years ago.

Christmas was the most important holiday to Y/N. It brought so much nostalgia to her and she absolutely adored every aspect of it. Baking cookies and go ice skating were part of the many activities she loved doing in December.

This was also the first year she had to spend it away from her family. She didn't regret choosing to study so far away from home but it hurt nonetheless. It would be difficult and Minho knew that.

Y/N had to work an extra shift that night if she wanted the day of Christmas Eve off. It was ridiculous, she thought. As if the restaurant really needed her to stay so late. Coming home, Y/N was so glad to finally be able to relax as she climbed up the stairs.

Meanwhile, Minho was waiting excitedly at the front door of their shared apartment. He made sure the gingerbread cookies were all ready to be assembled to construct a house, checked if the Christmas lights were working fine, and put a playlist of Y/N's favourite holiday songs on his speaker.

"Soonie!" he yelled frantically at his cat as he saw him get on the counter. "You don't want to ruin your mama's night, do you?"

He picked him up and brought it close to his body, petting his head lovingly. Needless to say, this couldn't be a cuter sight to have when Y/N walked in.

"Hey, my two favourite boys," she chuckled at them before taking in how well-decorated the home was. "Min, did you set up all this?"

Her boyfriend put his pet down before bringing her into his arms. "I did. You've been feeling off recently, I thought it'd be a good idea to cheer you up. And since Christmas is next week, why not decorate cookies for the occasion?"

"You made gingerbread cookies?!"

Y/N's eyes lit up from seeing the baked goods and she rushed to go sit at the counter. Minho smiled at himself, proud he had managed to lit up her inner light just a little.

"Thank Felix for these."

"Well, thank you Felix."

Present.

Minho remembers every night she came home from that workplace. He always tried to make her feel better each time, Y/N despised working so late but she somehow always stayed positive.

How much he misses her.

Minho gasps for air, sweat all over his body. He had another nightmare, nothing unusual. What is odd is the phone ringing nonstop at this hour of the day; 4 o'clock. Who in their right mind would call someone so early?

"What?"

The person on the other side of line doesn't respond, Minho can only hear them breathe unsteadily.

"Hello?"

"Minho," Jisung finally speaks. "Sorry to bother you this early."

"It's 4:00 A.M."

"I know, I know. Just, I'm getting worried about you and I can't call you tomorrow –well, today– or you'll say you're busy with work as always. You're not okay and I think you could use a friend."

Although not wrong, his statement fueled Minho with annoyance and frustration. He doesn't need help, or anyone for that matter.

"Minho?" Jisung speaks up again as he doesn't get a response.

"Good night, Jisung," he simply says with the intention of hanging up.

"Wait!" he hurries to stop him. "If you don't want to talk for your own sake, at least do it for mine. Not just mine, the other guys' too."

Sure, Minho hates talking about his feelings. Still, he's not a monster and cares a lot about his friends nonetheless. Feeling a bit obligated, he agrees.

"So, uhm, who's your new girlfriend?" he asks, getting uncomfortable already.

"She's a friend of Jeongin. Remember that girl he worked with in college? Well, that's her. She's so nice, I wonder why Jeongin hadn't introduced me to her sooner. She kind of reminds me of..." he trails off but stops himself before stepping out of line.

"I'm happy for you two. I'm sorry I couldn't come."

Jisung lets out a huff. "Thank you but I know you could have, you just didn't want to."

"That's not-"

"Don't lie, Minho," he cuts him off. "You didn't come because of her, am I right? Because of Y/N again?"

Minho can feel his heart tighten while his friends keeps going at it, insisting on speaking about her. He doesn't want to, is it so hard to understand?

"Let's not talk about her."

"That's the problem, Minho. You never want to open up about it."

"She left. What is there more to say?"

"How you're coping with all, how we can help-"

"The only thing you can do to help is leave me alone. I'm doing just fine. Talking was a bad idea, I should go back to bed."

"Min..." Jisung says in a desperate voice.

"Good night."

As he hangs up, he can sense it might have gone too far. Regardless, he discards his phone on his nightstand and buries his body in his bedsheets. He hears meowing coming from the entrance of his room. A second later, his cat Dori jumps on the mattress to come and lay next to him. Minho reluctantly cuddles the cat back, his last one he got with Y/N. Dori is technically her baby but she left so suddenly that Minho had no other choice but to keep him.

"Where are your brothers?" he whispers affectionately to the ball of fur who replies with some more purring. "Are Soonie and Doongie sleeping too?"

Chan is probably the only one able to get Minho out of his house, especially during Christmas time. Maybe it is guilt or shame that he feels, but Minho hasn't been so great ever since he had his early chitchat with Jisung. Shopping for presents wasn't what he had in mind when he thought of making up for it but Chan insisted it would be a good idea.

"Look," he says while pointing at the pig plush on the top of the pile. "It looks like Changbin."

Minho shrugs. "I guess it does."

"What about this?"

He looks boringly at the shirt Chan is showing. Yeah, maybe he should have done something else to make the most of his day off. A good meal at home seems so much more appealing to him.

"Come on," Chan encourages him. "Enjoy a bit."

"I am enjoying, look," Minho tries to convince him with a forced smile.

"Hmm, maybe it's time to go to the food court and take a break."

Dragging his friend behind, Chan moves from restaurant to restaurant in search of a meal for his lunch. After a while of debating internally, he settles for a hamburger. As for Minho, rice with pork seems to be tasty enough. They sit at a table and start to eat in silence. Minho looks around the place, watching people chat and laugh. He sees one couple in particular and they remind him too much of Y/N. Adverting his gaze from this spot, he focuses back on his food before speaking.

"I was thinking of buying a new hoodie for Jisung."

Chan is surprised his friend is even conversing with him but smiles. "A hoodie? Doesn't he have plenty of them already?"

"He does but he sent me a picture of one specifically the other day."

"Then you should buy it for him. Have you heard from him, by the way?"

Minho gulps. "No."

Although suspicious, Chan doesn't push it. They quickly finish their lunch and decide to head towards a clothing store to find Jisung's present. At a certain point, they unconsciously part ways as they look at different pieces of clothing. Minho would look for Chan but he has the hoodie to find. Chan is fine on his own anyway, he tells himself. He goes to the right section and begins to browse through each item. He frowns as he inspects them, not convinced these would be appropriate for his friend.

"Minho?"

He freezes in place. Has he gone crazy or has he just heard Y/N's voice?

"Minho," she says again.

Finally turning around, he is somewhat relieved that it isn't his former girlfriend, but her sister. "Deena," he greets her politely.

"It's been a while, wow. How have you been?" she asks cheerfully, too much in his opinion.

"Nothing much."

She seems taken aback by the short length of his answer. Minho used to be the nicest man she knows. Of course, she doesn't know the full story about what happened. Nonetheless, she still considers Minho as family. So seeing him so lifeless in front of her is quite a shocker.

"I'm in a bit of a rush but we should go grab coffee soon and catch up," she suggests but from the look on Minho's face, she knows she shouldn't have.

"I'm pretty busy."

"Alright," she answers, uneasy. "I'll see you around then."

"Yeah."

Without adding anything, he resumes to looking through the hoodies. Deena eventually leaves and Minho feels like he can breathe again.

He has nothing against his former "sister-in-law" but seeing her so unexpectedly is not something he has prepared himself for. He will go grab a coffee with her when he feels ready to.

Chan comes back a few minutes after with a couple of black shirts and an oversized pair of jeans he picked for Jeongin. As they wait to pay for their things, Minho can feel that Chan has something to say. It wasn't an abnormal occurrence but this time feels like it's eating him inside.

"What is it?"

Chan hesitates for a second. "It was Deena, right?"

He hums. "Yes."

"I'm running out of ways to tell you appropriately but you need to get your shit together. The girl did nothing to you and she seemed to be on the verge of crying when she left the store."

Minho rolls his eyes, like always. "What do you want me to do? Run after her and apologize? I didn't do anything."

"Exactly. Dude, everyone around you is getting sick of your way of dealing with what happened. Sure, your feelings are valid. This doesn't mean you have to inflict your pain onto us. We only want to help," Chan responds, not realizing his tone is increasing more and more.

"Always wanting to play the good savior, uh?" Minho scoffs. "In front of strangers too? Look, I don't need you to tell me how to be. You're not my dad or anything."

"I took you under my wing in college, of course I'm still looking out for you."

"That was back then. I don't need your pity anymore."

Chan's jaw clenches as the two men stare right into the eye. The cashier awkwardly calls for them to proceed to payment which breaks their staring contest. They hurry to pay before storming out of the mall, both of them fuming with anger. The moment they get into Chan's car, the latter explodes.

"This has lasted long enough. How long has it been now? A year?"

"Eleven months," Minho corrects.

"Whatever, same difference. My point is that it might be time for you to move on or at least stop being such a pain in the ass."

Minho's eyebrows raise as he lets out a chuckle. "I didn't know such strong words could come out of your mouth."

"Minho," Chan says in a warning tone.

"So what if I'm not as easygoing as before? You don't understand how it feels anyway."

"Help me understand, then!"

"You just wouldn't!"

He surprised himself by yelling so harshly. The hint of regret creeps up but he tries to hide it by looking away. They both know this is the end of this conversation, neither want to continue anyway. Chan starts the car and the ride home can't be any worse. The tension is so heavy, he swears he feels his body crushing.

Still in silence, he drops Minho off in front of his apartment complex and drives away. Face blank, Minho goes in his building and lazily enters the elevator. It's like he's in a daze, not fully aware of himself. Before he knows it, he's back home sitting at his counter with three cats waiting patiently in front of him as they expect him to fill their bowls with food. But he remains still and stares at nothing in particular. Has he gone too far this time?

In all of the people he knows, Chan is the last one he would have thought to snap at him so harshly. Most importantly, he never thought he'd yell at him for no reason. For the first time in a while, Minho allows one single tear drop from his eye.

Christmas has come. Well, almost. Work has been the same and no contact have been made with anyone for the last week or so. The lack of human interaction felt both good and bad, but mostly aching.

Every day is the same, Minho realizes. Waking up, eating a very mediocre peanut butter toast with coffee, scrolling through his feed on social medias, getting dressed, going to work, bossing his ass off in return of a less than decent pay, coming back home, eating, washing up, going to bed, sleeping, only to do the same all over again the next day.

In a way, he loves not having to think about planning things out. On the other hand, his life is becoming more and more dull with less of a purpose. Why is he alive for if it's only to do the same task over and over again?

For a change, Minho decides to start a Christmas film instead of rotating watches of the same five movies. A mistake he does is not reading the synopsis before pushing play on the remote. He settles comfortably on his couch while Soonie and Doongie cuddle next to him. Dori is somewhere nearby, playing with a piece of paper Minho had dropped on the floor earlier that week.

At first, the show is boring he thinks. The more the story develops, however, the more he sees the resemblance between himself and the protagonist. The movie is A Christmas Carol, one Y/N once had begged him to watch with her. Scrooge is very unlikable, there is no denying in that. But Minho tries to ignore the similarities he shares with him and keeps on watching the screen in silence. At some point, it simply became impossible to ignore the tightness in his chest. In an abrupt move, he turns the TV off, picks up his two cats, and heads to bed.

Christmas is so near, he thinks as he is watching his alarm clock getting closer to midnight. He really does his best to not make a big deal out of it but his mind can't stop having these images of Y/N, his friends, Christmas... everything. He can't escape pain, no matter what.

Thankfully, Dori comes in his room to join the other felines which distracts him for a second, just long enough so he can finally fall asleep.

The clock indicates 11:55 P.M. when Minho is in a deep sleep and the only sounds that can be heard throughout the whole flat are the appliances running and the cats snoring. Maybe some snores are coming from the man himself but they are faint. Slowly, Doongie wakes up. He wiggles around to find a new comfortable position but fails and falls off the bed. Luckily, cats always land on their feet. He was going to hop back on the bed but a weird sound catches his attention. It sounds like a bell. Curious, he comes out of the room in attempt to find where it comes from. But nothing. Or maybe there is something.

A faint light can be perceived from the bottom of the front door. The cat carefully gets closer, lowering his body. In a single snap, something flies right from under the door and moving straight into Minho's room which scares Doongie well enough to go hide in his cat tree and let out a cry.

This immediately wakes Minho up as his instinctive cat dad senses take over but it is soon replaced with an unsettling feeling as he sees the bright light in front of him. He squints as it almost blinds him but he wants to know what it is. He can feel his heartbeat increase by the second as the source of light gets closer and closer. Holding his breath, he shut his eyes closed and moves his head away from whatever that is. Until he hears a sigh too familiar to his liking.

He dares to open his eyes and his shoulders drop at the sight. "Chan?"

It's not exactly Chan, it is more of a ghost-like version of him. He wears a very formal suit with his hair styled with gel and his body is translucent, making Minho very skeptical. This is a dream, he thinks. Chan is very much alive and very much not in his apartment. Certainly not after the events of the other day.

"I see you didn't even reach out to me."

Minho frowns and looks around the room as if to make sure he really is speaking to him. "What do you mean?"

Chan chuckles, his voice sounding more like an echo. "After our fight, dumbass! Come on, you weren't going to leave things as it is until Christmas."

He checks his alarm clock quickly. "Well, it is Christmas."

"In five minutes," Chan smirks at him. "I know the past few months have been hard on you."

"Great, even my subconscious is trying to fix me," he whispers to himself, loud enough that the ghost-like figure hears it.

"As in a dream?" Minho nods to the question only for Chan to laugh some more. "You're funny. Anyway, I'm not here for fun. I'm here to help you."

"You tried that already," Minho grumbles in an annoyed voice but receives a shook of the head as an answer.

"My human self tried, I haven't tried yet. You see, I only appear if I'm really needed and your case is a pretty severe one."

Minho tries to protest but is quickly shushed.

"Look, this is a night shift on Christmas Eve, I don't want this any more than you do so let's do it quickly. I'll send you three spirits tonight before it hits midnight. They'll guide you through your entire life and help you make the right choice. Got it?"

"Midnight is in five minutes."

"I know."

"But-"

"You'll understand," Chan cuts him off. "As for now, bon voyage."

Not even conscious that he had been awake —or dreaming— Minho hears a snap of fingers before opening his eyes widely and gasping for air as he wakes up. He is still somewhat confused, but rather glad this was simply a dream. He can feel that the sweat has gone through his pyjamas and makes a face out of disgust.

Quickly, he eats breakfast and freshens up before leaving for work. Yes, he is working on Christmas day. This might be the only way he can get distracted from everything going wrong in his life.

As he approches his work building, he notices a young man. He looks awfully similar to Jeongin but not quite. Curiosity gets the best of him, however, and Minho instinctively walks up to the man. He takes a moment to scan his appearance: he's shorter than Jeongin, has light golden hair and wears loose white streetwear clothing. He also takes notes on the grey of his eyes.

"Lee Minho!" he says cheerfully before Minho could let out a single word.

The man jumps in surprise. "Jeongin?"

He shakes his head as a no and smiles brightly. "No, my name is P."

"P..." Minho repeats slowly, slightly confused.

"Shall we go in?"

He doesn't wait for an answer as he begins to walk and Minho automatically follows him into his building, assuming this boy might be a new worker in his firm. They hop onto the elevator together and P pushes the button to level 7. As Minho is about to look for his own floor, he notices something odd. The building has 26 levels. So why the hell are the numbers going up to 30? He slowly turns to come face to face with the younger man who keeps a wide smile on his face, fear creeping in.

"Who are you?" he dares to ask.

"I told you, I'm P!" the boy repeats with an even bigger grin, almost creepy. "Short for Past."

Oh. Oh no. It all suddenly clicks in Minho's head. Either this is a dream occuring because of the movie he had watched before going to bed or this is his own story of A Christmas Carol. He pinches the side of his arm, hoping he would be back in his room but it only results to him hissing in pain.

"Do you remember your Christmas when you were seven years old?" Minho can only glare at him but P doesn't seem to care. "This might refresh your memories."

The doors of the elevator open right after and not only are they not in his workplace anymore but the setting is exactly as he remembers it from his childhood. They are right on the street of his parents' home. The street is empty, understandably so because of the light snow falling down and the cold weather. It is early in the morning and his childhood home looks much smaller than he remembers, and in a much poorer state.

P walks out first before turning around, encouraging Minho to follow. "Can they see me?"

"No."

The answer satifies Minho and he finally steps out of the elevator, letting himself get led by this Jeongin look-alike. He wonders why this specific time was chosen in all of his years of life. He ponders the idea of asking P but it soon vanishes when he spots his younger self coming out of the house with his parents observing him in a loving way. A knot forms in his belly. He hasn't talked to his parents since Y/N left. Are they doing okay? Maybe he should have called a few times at least.

"Can we bring one home?" younger Minho asks his mom, eyes full of hope.

"Do you want a kitten as your Christmas gift?" his mother asks and the child happily nods. "We'll go see the cats and I'll think about it, okay?"

Satisfied enough, he skips down the street while humming a Christmas song. Oddly enough, it is Y/N's favourite: Winter Wonderland.

Minho watches his former self with nostalgia. He remembers the moment perfectly. This was the first time he ever owned a cat after begging his mother to get one years after years. He had named her Nala, which he thought was very clever at the time.

"Can we follow them?"

P takes his hand, much to Minho's surprise, and they begin to float just slightly above ground and fly right to where his past self is. He doesn't question the spirit about how this works and resumes to watching himself coo at the cats. For a brief moment, his eyes advert from the scene and land on his parents. But there is something catching his attention. He sees his father emptying his wallet as well as his mom before they give it to the worker. His breath gets heavier as he looks back and forth from them to himself.

"Is this why my mother stopped going out for tea with her friends? And why my father couldn't take my mother out for dates? They used to argue so much about it..." Minho almost whispers.

"Parents make great sacrifices for their children," P says longingly.

"Why didn't they tell me?"

P shrugs. "Probably because you were a literal child but also because they didn't want you to feel bad."

"My grandmother would have helped us in an instant if she knew."

P shrugs again. "They didn't want help."

He easily catches on why the ghost brought him at this exact moment. Just in time, Minho gets a hold of himself and says in incoherent words that he won't fall for P's tricks. The latter isn't nearly fazed by this statement and he takes the man's hand to bring him back to the elevator in a quick flying trip.

After the door closes, Minho is relieved that he can finally go back home. That is until P pushes the button for level 18 which earns a frown from Minho.

"Aren't we done?"

"No, you have other things left to see before I send you back. Well, a few more years to see."

"And me at 18 years old was an important year?"

P sends him a knowing look but he acts clueless, as if he doesn't know what happened back then although it's painfully obvious he does. Denial is the best way to cope, isn't it?

The doors open to the hallway of his college dorm he used to share with Chan. He can instantly recognize the said-man and Changbin joking around before they walk in his dorm. Without waiting for P, Minho follows and freezes when he stumbles upon Y/N. This moment was merely over two months into their relationship but he could tell he already knew she was his everything at that time.

Y/N greets the two boys and encourages them to put their wrapped presents under the mini Christmas tree she had insisted on making to display in his small living room. Meanwhile, a nearly adult Minho is unwrapping takeout as he watches the scene with a huge smile.

"What took you two so long?" he asks, walking towards the group with the food in hands.

"Chan's fault," Changbin immediately accuses, earning a stare from the older man.

"Not true."

"I'm not the one who lost Hyunjin's present."

Hyunjin's eyes lit up. "You got me a present?"

A small smirk appears on Chan's face. "I got all of you a present."

"Even me?"

Minho's heart tightens. He still struggles to listen to your voice and because you were there physically in front of him, it pains him so much more.

"Even you."

"Can we open them?" Felix asks, eyes lighting up.

"After eating," younger Minho says in a stern voice. "Otherwise, you'll get your dirty ass hands on the gifts, or on anything for that matter."

Y/N glances at Jisung with a knowing smirk that his friend returns, something he hadn't caught onto back then. She still hastens to give Minho a hand with all of the food dishes, not forgetting to give a napkin to each person. He knows he can be a bit peculiar with keeping his place tidy and he never wanted Y/N to feel pressured with that. Still, it visibly seemed to have been a common issue she and Jisung had with him.

"Y/N, I thought you were supposed to go back home for the holidays," Seungmin tells with food already being chewed in his mouth.

"I was," she confirms. "Minho and I determined we wanted to spend our first Christmas together and, sorry, but I rather be here than with my aunts. They were going to be all over me about not knowing what I want to do with life, I can spare myself from it."

The whole group lets out a laugh as they go on with their feast before discussing all sorts of things. Hyunjin and Chan are in the corner laughing their asses off, much to Minho's dismay who is keeping a close look at his white carpet. Hyunjin has always been clumsy and this wouldn't be the first time he spills something.

Present Minho watches it all, fully aware of what is about to happen. He never regretted getting mad at his friend for a small spoil but this kind of behaviour is one of the many that contributed to his separation. He sees what P is trying to do by showing him this.

"I get the point, can we go?"

P chuckles. "After you know what."

In shame, he observes from the corner of the eye himself exploding at Hyunjin for staining the carpet, Chan nagging at him for doing so, the boys uncomfortably watching the scene as they back away from him... and he catches a glimpse of Y/N getting the necessities to get rid of the sauce stain, not even complaining.

"I think we're good here," he tries again to convince P.

He receives a playful smirk from the spirit. "Are you sure?"

Minho groans but, nonetheless, nods. "Please."

P is quick to grab his hand and fly right back into the elevator, doors shutting behind them. He does give Minho a minute or two to recuperate from the sight before pushing the button 24. Minho's eyes are stuck on the lit up number and gulps, feeling suddenly hotter. That was last year.

"Don't you have another Christmas to show me before..." he trails off.

He is met with no answer and has to settle for the tranquility of the metal box going up. Anxiety keeps letting itself known through his body the more the number rises. Finally, after what felt like eternity to him, the ding sound signals that they have reached the level.

"You might want to prepare yourself for this one."

Minho huffs and glares at the ghost as to tell him "no shit". The doors slide open and they are already in his apartment. At least, P was kind enough to spare him from reliving what triggered the actual argument.

His cats are all doing their thing as normally. All seems out of the ordinary until he feels footsteps through the ground. He takes a deep breath in and watches Y/N barge into the place, hair messy and tears streaming down her face. The guilt pit down in his stomach when he sees himself step inside after you, throwing his scarf carelessly on a chair.

"Are you going to talk at least?" he asks, looking down at Y/N who scoffs at her boyfriend's question.

How dare he is the one demanding explanations from her?

"Are you going to talk about it?" she questions back, crossing her arms on her chest.

"Oh, come on, I didn't do anything."

"Telling everyone you want to call off the engagement is something."

P hisses in a disapproving way. "Man, you outdid yourself with this one."

"Shut up."

Y/N still waits for Minho to speak up but nothing comes out of his mouth other than his unsteady breathing. In a swift manner, she walks behind the counter and fills their cats' bowls in the meantime of waiting still for her lover to say something. But the man stays where he is, observing his surroundings in awkwardness.

"Minho," she finally calls out.

"I didn't call off the engagement."

"Really? Saying getting married is bullshit isn't telling everyone you don't want to marry me?"

"It's not like that. I meant it's not a necessity for us to know we love each other."

"You don't get that marriages can mean something other than that, it's so much more."

"It's an excuse to spend thousands of dollars on things that will last a day or two at most."

Y/N buried her face in her hands as she let out a groan. "You've always been like this."

"Realistic?"

"No, a grumpy old man. You can't see the beauty in anything."

Minho smirks for a second. "I see beauty in you."

"Don't try with your sweet words, Lee Minho," she says, raising a finger up at him. "You know exactly what I mean. I can give you so many examples. Firstly, you never buy me anything on Valentine's day because it's a marketing holiday. Then, you want every single aspect to be perfect and at their exact place although life isn't like this. And finally, you just see the negative everywhere, always pointing out what is wrong. What happened to my sweet Minho who would smile at the slightest thing?"

He remains quiet as he sits on one of the dining table's chairs. Not knowing what to do next, Y/N copies his actions and gets seated in front of him. They don't dare to look at each other just yet but Minho most definitely wants to. His ego too big, he doesn't budge.

"Minho, please," she begged.

"Alright, it's enough."

P lets out a huff. "The action barely started."

Clenching his jaw, he doesn't insist more and settles on looking at the ground while the scene he had been trying to forget about for almost a year was happening right in front of him. Minho hates it, his heart is bleeding in pain.

"I've grown, maybe that's something you should consider doing as well," he hears himself say.

Curiosity gets the best of him and he can't contain himself from looking at her, he never knew how she had reacted to his words. The view he has in front of his eyes makes his heart shatter in an instant. He swears he can see her soul leave her body just now. Had he really done this to her?

"What- Min, I-" she tries to speak, but struggles.

"Y/N, we want different things now."

She chokes out on her tears, the ones that she finally lets stream down her face since she had been containing them. She hated crying, especially with Minho.

"No, we want the same things," she affirms, her voice breaking. "You've just become too obnoxious and focused on your career that you don't see it anymore."

"You think I'm the obnoxious one? Y/N, have you seen yourself?" Minho asks in a loud voice as he gets up from his chair. "You're so full of bullshit with your positivity and ignorance towards actual problems, it makes me sick. Take the cat, for example. We don't have space for a third one but yet, here is Dori who can't even behave properly. And your Christmas decoration is taking too much space too."

"This is about space now?"

"Yes, I need space! And I'm sorry I cancelled our last date but I just can't deal with you right now. You're in the way and I can't work and- Fuck, I don't know how to tell you but we can't keep on going like this."

Her breathing is becoming more unsteady while the tears are still flooding out of her eyes. Present Minho approches her and tries to put a hand on her shoulder, but it goes through. Right, he forgot. He is not really there.

"I didn't want to call off our engagement. But maybe I do now."

Slowly, she gets up and walks towards their shared bedroom which leaves a perplexed and helpless Minho standing alone in the middle of his dining room. He hears unknown noises and hesitates on whether he should go to you or wait. But again, his ego takes over and he stays right where he is.

Soon later, only a couple of minutes, he sees Y/N walk out of the bedroom with one bag and two suitcases full of her belongings. His face dropped immediately.

"You're leaving?" he asks, desperate. No answer. "For how long?" Still silent. "Y/N, please, I know we can figure it out."

Her lower lip quivers as she sobs some more, trying her best to ignore the man in front of her. She dares to walk towards their front door, not acknowledging her lover for one second.

"My love, please," Minho tries once more.

And just like that, she walks out, door shutting quietly behind her.

"We've seen enough."

P is about to say no when he catches Minho's watery eyes. He taps himself on the back mentally, he didn't think he would break down so fast. Taking him by the forearm, he leads him towards the elevator. The doors slide shut rather fast, which Minho is thankful for. In a careful move, P presses the ground floor button and the elevator goes down.

Once arrived, the doors reveal Minho's bedroom. It looks the same as it did the night before. Minho takes notes on that, it means his night is far from being over.

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep."

"You will," P reassures. "I'll leave you alone, now. It was my pleasure being your guide for tonight."

As the two men exchange a small smile, more as a form of respect, P begins to glow, brighter and brighter. So much that Minho can't even look at him anymore and is blinded. He tried to look away but even then with his eyes closed, the light goes through.

Suddenly, there's nothing.

The morning is brighter than he thought it would be. He swears he saw on the news the day prior that Christmas day was going to be gloomy. The blue sky with the sun shining is definitely a pleasant surprise.

Enough with admiring the weather, Minho finishes rapidly his coffee, grabs his briefcase, and heads out to work. As he walks towards his building, he can't help but think of his dream from last night. He did expect dreaming of Y/N but not having to relive the day she left so vividly.

As he is about to cross the road, he feels his body collide with someone which is soon followed with the feeling of burnt. He curses out loud and is considering telling the other person off. Only, it is someone he hasn't seen in a while and who has a face he definitely recognizes.

"Hyunjin?"

The man cocks his head to the side and frowns. "Are you Mr. Lee?"

Minho, as equally confused, nods. "You don't recognize me?"

The Hyunjin look-alike seems to take notice of his whereabouts and clears his throat. "I apologize, sir. This is my first year working as a guiding spirit. Shall we start over? Hi, my name is P."

Suddenly, Minho has flashbacks of his encounter with the boy of the same name. Was he still in the dream? Or was the Chan spirit saying the truth? He feels a lump growing inside of his throat as the P man in question goes on about himself.

"I'm sincerely sorry about the coffee I spilled, let me fix this," he says before splashing Minho's figure with gold dust. The stain instantly disappears. "Now, where was I..? Oh, right! I'm P, short for Present. I was assigned to you to review your Christmas of this year."

At this point, Minho doesn't have it in him to protest. Without saying a word, he walks in the building as P follows him behind. This one spirit is much giddier than the previous one. The moment he steps in the elevator, he does nothing but look around nervously. It is with a heavy sigh that Minho empresses himself to push the button next to 25.

"I thought I forgot something, thanks," P laughs nervously, receiving a glare in return.

The ride up is quiet and awkward but when the doors open, they both step out in sync and walk along the trail of snow. The Christmas market is an event that the real Hyunjin takes part in each year. He always contributed with an animal rescue center to help them give puppies up for adoption.

This year is especially important to him, it is the first time he does it with his own dog rescue shelter. For the occasion, a few of the boys promised him they would come by to encourage him. Including Minho.

Far from the distance, Minho sees Felix and Seungmin arguing about whatever while Chan greets warmly their friend who has just finished setting his booth up.

"Guys, come look at the doggies," he calls the younger men who rush to pet the furry creatures.

"I'd call this one Seungmin," Felix jokes as he picks up a baby labrador.

Hyunjin laughs at the comment. "Her name is Daisy."

"Not very original," Felix allows himself to point out to which Hyunjin chuckles again.

His laughs trails off while he looks around, brows furrowed. "Didn't Minho say he'd come too?"

Chan sighs heavily, giving one of the poodles some scratches. "I called him but he didn't answer. Plus, we had an argument last time I saw him so I don't think he'll come."

"About Y/N again?" Seungmin asks and Chan nods. "The number of times I told her to talk it out with him, she really should call him. The guy is getting on my nerves."

Minho's heart stops for a moment. Not only because he finally knows what his friend thinks of him but also because he apparently has been in contact with Y/N, without his knowledge. He thought all of his friends haven't heard from you since.

"I told her too but what can I say? They're both stubborn," Felix shrugs. "I thought of stopping by her place today to see how she's doing but Minho would kill me if he discovers."

"Oh, please. He'd kill you if you even mention her name."

The four men share a sad laugh before changing topics. Hyunjin is careful with each dog as he introduces them one by one. All of it becomes a blur for Minho, he doesn't know if he wants to leave now or listen more to it. As much as it hurts him, he can't help but be curious.

"Did you know this?" he finally says, turning his body towards P.

"I did read it on the report paper before meeting you but, hey, I don't know you all," he responds with his hands up in defense. "We can go see her if you want."

Minho ponders for a moment. Was he ready to face her once again?

"No. Not yet."

"As you wish. Your friends are having a party tonight if you didn't know. We have to see that."

"I know, yeah."

P takes his hand as they float away all the way to Changbin's house. Before setting foot on the ground, he can already see all of his friends with Felix's fiancé, Chan's wife and Jisung's new girlfriend. Everyone is there. Except him.

He carefully approaches the group inside the living room where the girls are busy putting the presents under the Christmas tree. What takes him aback the most is seeing a tall and beautiful woman coming down the stairs before placing a kiss on Changbin's cheek. Since when is he seeing someone? It takes everyone a few minutes to settle down and serve themselves drinks. Once everyone is sat, they hold their glasses up for a toast.

"Who wants to do the honours?" Jeongin asks and Jisung immediately gets up.

"Merry Christmas, guys! Thank you for this year and thank you to Changbin for hosting the dinner tonight," he says, bopping his head towards him. "And let's have a moment for our Minho. He might not be here but he's in our heart. Let's hope he can get back on the right track next year."

There is a pause in the room, everybody suddenly feeling a wave of guilt and sadness. They know they've done everything for their friend, but they still feel like they should have tried harder.

Minho, this time, doesn't try to contain his cries. He walks up Jisung and smiles, just a little.

"Thanks, Hannie," he whispers.

"To Minho," he cheers, holding his drink higher.

"To Minho."

P lets out a cough, grabbing Minho's attention. "Not to be a mood breaker but I think you should see Y/N."

"What do you mean?"

"See what she is doing at this exact moment."

He surprisingly agrees with no hesitation and they both float away to another neighbourhood of the city. One Minho isn't too familiar with. This must be why she chose to move there, somewhere she knew she wouldn't encounter Minho. They float down at the apartment's balcony and Minho can see her right away through the window.

"You can go through walls," P informs and he does as told.

He's surprised to see her alone with her sister. She used to be a social butterfly, he wonders what happened. Deena sets the table while humming to Christmas music and Y/N finishes up with cutting the ham. It's not as Christmas-y as it should be, it's rather sad. The atmosphere is sad.

"Need help with that?" Deena offers.

"I'm good, thanks," Y/N answers as she brings the dishes on the table.

She looks paler than he remembers, maybe because of the lighting. Her hair is longer and she seems to have dyed it brown. She's also much skinnier.

"Thank you for cooking," Deena smiles warmly at her.

"It's nothing," she smiled back and begins to serve herself a plate. "I would have definitely given a piece of ham to the cats if they were here."

Deena shakes her head. "How many times did I tell you that I can go get them back?"

Y/N shakes her head too and sighs. "He loves them as much as I do, maybe even more. Who knows how he would survive without them."

"He's not really surviving, if you want my opinion. You should have seen him at the mall the other day."

Y/N shrugs while playing with her potatoes. "He's coping in his own way."

Her sister lets out a groan, desperate. "Jeez, you two are so sad to see, it's depressing."

Well, if Minho wanted to be sure Y/N is still struggling with getting over their separation, he has his answer right there.

"I'll be fine and so will he. Besides, it's not like we lost everything. I still have you and he has the boys."

Deena deadpans at her and then points at her ring finger. Minho looks at it more attentively and allows himself to gasp quietly. Y/N still has the ring, the one he proposed to her with. After what he said to her, she still wears it?

She is quick to pull her hand off the table and cover it with her sleeve. "It's a pretty ring."

"It means more to you than that and you know it."

"He didn't want to get married and it's alright. We grew apart and it is what it is. Can we talk about something else now?" she says in annoyance.

"Y/N, Felix, when he called-"

"Stop," she cuts her off. "Felix doesn't know what happened. He doesn't understand."

"Okay, I'll stop. But just so you know, this is doing no good to anybody, especially the two of you."

Minho can't hear any more of it. In a second, he turns around and goes back to the balcony which indicates to P that the visit is over. The ghost throws some of his golden dust in the air and the elevator magically appears next to them. They step inside and press the button to the ground floor.

As it goes down, Minho is looking away from the spirit, he has a certain pride to maintain. P hesitates but decides to put his hand on the man's shoulder.

"Can I just say? In my whole year of working, this might be the only case where I really empathized with my client."

Minho moves his hand away from him and grumbles something under his breath. P doesn't hear it properly but it goes along the lines of "I don't need empathy, don't act like you care".

When they get to his room, the spirit is quick to take a leave, leaving Minho alone in his cold room. At least he has his cats. He has them because of Y/N's kind heart knew he needs them.

At least, maybe she still cares a little.

The formula is the same this morning. So much that Minho knows he isn't going to work and is still trapped in this weird loop of exploring his life. He doesn't bother dressing properly nor bringing what he needs for his job. He doesn't even change his cats' water.

The moment he walks in his workplace, it doesn't even take him a second to spot the ghost of his future. It's Jisung this time. Well, not him exactly.

"Hello, my name is-"

"F, I suppose? For future?"

The spirit, stunned, slowly nods. "Usually, people are happy to see me."

"I had a long night, buddy. Just show me what you have to show me and I can move on with my life."

F doesn't argue with him and he leads him to the elevator when he presses the button 30 right away. "We'll do the quick version since you're in such a rush. I would have gone through 26 beforehand but-"

"What happens next year?" Minho interrupts him.

"No, you want this to be quick. I respect that. It's Christmas anyway, I can make an exception."

"What happens next year?" he repeats.

F smiles knowingly before glancing at the button 26. Minho, hesitantly, goes ahead to press it himself to which the ghost responds with a satisfied smirk. Before he knows it, they already reached the level.

As the doors open, Minho soon recognizes Jeongin's penthouse. Looks like that year's Christmas is settled to be at his place. Jeongin is alone with Changbin as they seem to be preparing food and drinks for the guests they are expecting. It is soon confirmed when Jisung walks in without knocking, alongside with his girlfriend. In the following minutes, each of his friends, sometimes with a significant lover, come inside and the party gets louder and merrier. However, after Hyunjin arrived, it dawns on him that his future version himself won't take part on that year's dinner.

Just like the previous year.

After chatting some more about what they are up to in their lives (nothing much other than Felix getting married but everyone knows as they attended the ceremony), Changbin calls everyone for dinner and they sit around Jeongin's dinner table.

"Can I make the toast this year?" Jisung asks, earning looks from his friends.

"You did last year, I say our host of the night does it," Seungmin suggests and they all seem to agree.

So, a bit uncomfortable still, Jeongin gets up with his glass of wine in hands. "Thank you for another year of our usual Christmas party. I'm really glad all of you were able to come. Of course, we still have a thought for our Minho who won't be joining us, yet again, tonight." The guests exchange glances in agreement and let the youngest continue. "Merry Christmas and let's enjoy our meal!"

They cling their glasses together, wishing a merry Christmas to one another, and don't lose another second to attack their plates. Although it pains him to not see himself enjoy the feast with them, Minho is somewhat happy. At least, they still have each other.

"Why couldn't he make it, anyway?" Chan asks around the table, looking at anybody who might have the answer.

The only person to answer is, unsurprisingly, Jisung. "The last time I saw him was in September and he said he had some issues with the cats. I don't know if he was making up excuses but he seemed to be alright."

"It was a miracle he even showed up for my wedding," Felix scoffs, making Minho huff. "An even bigger miracle was that he didn't make a scene when he saw Y/N there."

"They left together, no?"

What Seungmin just said gives him some kind of hope. Wanting to be sure he would hear every detail, he gets closer to his friend who continues to speak on the matter.

"I know they drank a lot but has someone seen what they were doing?"

"He was cuddly," Jisung answers. "No, clingy as hell. Poor Y/N who had to drive him home."

"They could have made up then?" Chan questions and Jisung nods.

"But we all know him, he missed his chance to fix things again."

"I really thought inviting both of them would have put an end to their mishaps," Felix sighs, discouraged. "I'll send Minho a message later."

"We could call him all together?" Chan suggests but by the reactions of everybody, this is not an option.

Just like that, they change subject and continue to discuss cheerfully about everything and anything. F gives a sad smile to the man, who watches the scene feeling beaten. There must have something really wrong with him that his closest friends wouldn't even wish him a merry Christmas.

"Where am I while all of this is happening?" he asks the ghost.

Carefully, he is transported away from the penthouse and directly to his apartment. The moment he takes in the sight of his place, he sees how nothing much changed in a year. Everything is still where it was during the present year.

His hair is longer, he notices. Not only that but he grew a bit of a beard, a choice he questions a little. His cats are still doing their thing, none of them appear to be sick. What particularly catches his attention is the glass filled with a bright yellow liquor that is set next to him as he scrolls down through his feed on his tablet.

Is he drinking? He does have a few occasions where he'll consume alcohol but a glass full of whiskey is new.

Soonie jumps on the counter and, unlike what Minho would automatically do as of right now, his future self pushes the cat off. He gasps in horror and runs to catch his pet. Only, he did forget he isn't actually there and that things pass through his body. Fortunately, Soonie is fine.

"I should text her, at least," he hears himself say.

The man he sees is far from being remotely close to what he is. Hair messy, tie loosened and a beer belly growing; he wonders what caused him to let himself reach this point.

Future Minho opens his e-mail app and clicks on New Message. He is quick to find Y/N's e-mail address, which real Minho takes as a sign he must have done the same more than once in the last year. He tries to read what he is typing but the amount of typos is quite overwhelming. Despite that, he manages to make out a somewhat coherent note.

___

Hey,

I know I should probably not be writing this but it is Christmas today so, merry Christmas. Remember how we used to go out with the others and play stupid games until late? Then, we'd come home and I'd make you a hot chocolate before going to be? You remember all of that, don't you?

I miss it, and I miss you. I know I said I'll stop writing but you broke my heart, Y/N. How can I forget and ignore what happened? You left so suddenly for no reason. I should be furious, maybe I am. No, I know I am. I still can't help myself but longing for you.

Have a jolly holiday, even if it's without me,

Min xox

___

"Wow, that's pathetic," Minho breathes out after reading. He turns to face F and frowns. "That's a year from now?"

"Precisely."

"No, it can't be. I'm alright, I moved on."

F visibly tries to contain himself from speaking on that, but he can't. "You're one oblivious man."

"I am okay!"

F scoffs. "Sure. Now, shall we visit you at 30 years old? It's Christmas and I have others plans after this."

Minho keeps finding it ridiculous how these ghosts continue to act as if they are actual people. He's still dreaming, why would he bother imagining spirits with personalities?

He is soon led to the actual elevator of his apartment building where F presses the button quickly. Once the level reached, the doors open to a beautiful wedding reception, leaving Minho confused. He does not know anybody other than Felix, who is supposedly already married by then, who is engaged.

The two men walk around the room, recognizing a few faces, and Minho finally spots himself sitting with his friends. At least he isn't alone, he tells himself. He goes straight ahead to observe the scene where he is obviously bored and sick of being there. He does notice how his appearance seem much better than before with gel in his hair and a tuxedo well ironed on.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Chan asks him in a concerned voice.

"Stop with that, I'd leave if I wasn't fine," Minho rolls his eyes.

"You haven't spoken to her, though."

"You really are good at observing, Chan," Minho responds in a mocking way and the older man simply sighs.

Suddenly, the entirety of the room begins to cheer loudly and clap. Minho tries to follow their gaze to find out who they were waiting for. After moving around to see through the dozens of head, he finally spots her. And him.

Y/N. It's her wedding. And she invited him of all people?

His brain short-circuits and he feels his heart pounding faster and faster. He can't think properly anymore, the only thing he can vividly see is her. How she smiles at every single person who congratulates her. How she clings onto this man as if her life depended on it. But most importantly, he sees how her smile just gets sadder when her eyes stop on him.

He knows time stops for the two of them before they walk towards each other. He knows so many things are still left unsaid. Gaining back his consciousness, he follows himself to watch what is about to happen.

She hugs him, a bit awkwardly. "I didn't think you'd come. Thank you."

"Congratulations," Minho says, retracting from the hug as fast as he can. "You two make a fine couple."

"Thanks," she chuckles. "Look, Min-" she starts but Minho shakes his head.

"Don't, it's okay. Enjoy your day."

Grateful, she sends him one last smile and moves to thank other guests. Chan, at this point, can do nothing else but pat his friend's shoulder. Surprisingly, Minho doesn't budge. He does, however, let one single drop fall from his eye.

"That's it?" he exclaims, now looking at F. "I'm not even trying? I just gave up? What even happened between then and that moment?"

"I've shown you plenty, you can figure it out by yourself," F says calmly and then begins to walk back to the metal box.

Minho, refusing this as an answer, runs to join him hastily. "Who's this guy, anyway?"

"Does it really matter? You two are not together anymore."

"Yes, if it can help me to prevent this."

"So you don't want her to be happy?" F perks an eyebrow making Minho groan in frustration.

"I'm asking you what I need to do to change this. It can't be like this. I'm the one who's supposed to marry her."

F smirks as they walk in the elevator, presses the button to the ground floor and finally looks at the man. "You know what has to be done, you're just afraid."

"Of what?"

"Oh, please. Stop with the act. How has the last year really been like for you?"

Minho gulps, already feeling himself choke up. "I-" he starts. "It's been hell."

F nods. "What else?"

"Y/N was right, as she always is... I'm the one who lost myself with time. I did want to marry her and I did not think she was obnoxious. Certainly not..."

He starts to cry, heavily this time. There is no more hiding or denying, he just said it all out loud. Regrets and pain, that's what's been eating him. He sobs as everything finally hits him so brutally. He lost Y/N for good. Or he will lose her for good if he keeps acting the way he does.

And his friends, the only people who stick with him through everything. The ones he keeps pushing away in fear of himself.

"You're home," the spirit says, interrupting the moment.

Minho doesn't hesitate to crash into his bed and sob some more. Even if F wanted to leave so badly, he doesn't think he should just yet. Cursing at himself, he comes to sit on the bed and pats the back of the broken man.

"It's alright, let it all out. You've had a rough night."

Minho hiccups and sniffles before glaring at the ghost. "No shit."

"You know, I think you can fix this."

Minho shrugs. "I've been horrible to everyone."

"You acknowledge it, that's a start. From there, only you can decide how things will be." F looks at his watch for a second and gasps. "I'm late for my next human! Good luck with everything."

Minho doesn't watch him leave. He is still crying but he has no more energy. He desperately wants to wake up, but mostly, he wants to see Y/N.

Minho doesn't wake up until the later morning. With the dream he just had, the sleep deprived guy seriously needed more than eight hours of resting. He does miss out work but, honestly, is not bothered the slightest. In fact, he is grateful he won't be working today.

After feeding Soonie, Doongie and Dori, he determines he should catch up on the gifts he planned on offering to his friends. Walking to his home office, he pulls out the wrapping paper he hadn't touched in a while and begins to wrap each and every single one of the presents he bought. He is definitely happy to have made some purchases the day he went shopping with Chan.

The task does grow tiring and boring after a while. To keep himself motivated, he plugs in his speaker to play some music and hums alongside the lyrics. He hasn't done that for a long time. As he is about to skip the current song playing on his playlist, his solo karaoke session is interrupted by a call coming in.

Not bothering to look at the contact, he answers happily. "Merry Christmas, you joined Lee Minho. How can I help you?"

The other side of the line is silent but he can hear that there is someone. Frowning, he repeats himself to encourage the person to talk.

"Minho, it's Changbin."

"Oh, hey! How are you doing? I was about to call you to ask what you wanted me to bring for tonight."

He senses that his friend is quite taken aback and he smiles proudly to himself.

"You're coming?"

"Unless I wasn't invited-"

"No, no," Changbin cuts him. "You're always welcomed, you know that. I'd just expected you to say you have work or something."

"I was supposed to clock in but I didn't feel like going to the office. Oh, by the way, can I ask a favor from you?"

"Uh, yeah, go ahead..." Changbin replies, skeptical.

"I know you're still in contact with Y/N."

Changbin, on his side, freezes. "How did you- Min, I swear we all wanted to tell you-"

"I'm not mad. I just wanted to know if you could possibly invite her and Deena for dinner, please? Don't tell them I'll be there, though."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, I want it to be a surprise."

He doesn't say anything for a minute, processing what is happening. "Then, I'll invite them and say you aren't coming."

"Good! See you tonight! And tell your girlfriend I'm excited to meet her!"

He doesn't let Changbin question him on how he learned about his girlfriend and hangs up. Resuming to his activity, he stops when he sees Soonie playing with wrapping paper. Filming him, he coos at him before giving him loving scratches.

"I won't ever hurt you, I promise," he tell his cat, recalling what happened in his dream.

When he has finished with wrapping his gifts, he goes to his closet to find an appropriate attire for the night. For the last year, he hadn't wore anything other than work clothes and sweats. The nice shirt Y/N once bought him catches his attention. The dark green buttoned blouse seem to be a perfect match for his black clean pants. He changes fast and does not forget to add a few pieces of jewelry to finish his look.

He is all set to go. But one look at himself in the mirror at his entrance stops him for a moment. It suddenly clicks that he is a couple hours away from seeing Y/N again, for real this time. Although terrified, he has found some peace with it from the events of the previous night. He wants to make things right.

And one thing he can do just now is call his parents, the ones he has been ignoring for a year. He did expect his mother to cry but certainly not his father. Both incite him to come to his hometown in the following days and he can't refuse the invite. Not when they are begging with their puppy eyes.

"I'll come for New Year's, does it sounds okay?"

His mother nods vigorously through the screen of his phone. "Will Y/N be coming with you?"

He might have left out that he isn't with her anymore. Seeing the look on his parents' faces, he does not have the heart to tell them yet. Instead, he goes with a safe answer.

"I'll see with her if she can clear her schedule, but no promise."

"Tell her she's always welcomed here whenever. Merry Christmas, son!" his father wishes him adoringly.

He smiles, feeling suddenly nostalgic. "Merry Christmas to you two!"

And he hangs up.

Before going to Changbin's place, he doesn't forget to stop at the Christmas market to pay his friend, Hyunjin, a visit. Mentally preparing himself to face a pissed off Chan, he strolls between the booths and stops at a few of them. Some are selling soaps, a lot of them in fact. Others sell clothes they crocheted themselves and a few offer samples of their baked goods.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin's golden locks are easily found from afar. Minho also spots Chan, Seungmin and Felix. He has a heavy case of déjà-vu when he sees the four of them discuss with frowns on their faces.

Discreetly, he walks towards his friends who don't take knowledge of his presence yet. That is until he arrives right behind Felix.

"-stopping by her place today to see how she's doing but Minho would kill me if he discovers," the man is telling the others, oblivious that Minho is hearing everything.

Seungmin gulps and nods his head towards him but Felix cluelessly frowns. Hyunjin does the same which finally makes him turn around and come face to face with Minho. His eyes grow twice their sizes and his mouth opens slightly in shock.

"Hi, Yongbok," Minho says, unbothered. "Cute puppies you got, Hwang."

Hyunjin smiles, thankful. "Do you want to pet one? I've got this chihuahua that looks like Kkami."

He doesn't have the time to answer when a small dog is suddenly placed in his arms. With no complaint, he pets the puppy affectionately. The four men look at him, rather confused, and say nothing. They simply have no idea on how to react to this.

"Minho, what I said about Y/N- She- Uh... We-" Felix stammers out his words but Minho interrupts him.

"I know and it's all good. She is your friend too, I can't be mad at her for wanting to keep you all around."

"I see you've made some thinking," Chan finally speaks up, eyes stern.

"You can say that... I'm sorry about the other day, you were right. I shouldn't have shut you out of my life," he admits, much to his own surprise.

"Apology accepted," Chan grins. "A little birdie told me you asked Changbin to invite Y/N and Deena for dinner."

Seungmin's eyes lit up. "So you changed your mind? You'll come?"

Minho huffs. "I never said I wouldn't come."

Hyunjin sneers. "I know someone who'll be ecstatic about that."

The girl paces the floor nervously, biting her nails as she waits for her sister to arrive. Even if Changbin assured to her that her ex-fiancé wouldn't be attending the party, she can't help but feel like he will find out. She already feels guilty for keeping contact with his friends, who knows how he would react if he learns she went to celebrate Christmas with them.

As Deena finally walks in the apartment, she lets out a heavy sigh of relief. "Finally!"

Her sister rolls her eyes. "It took me barely five minutes to get here."

"Still," she chuckles sheepishly. "Thank you for coming with me."

"What would you do without me?" she exclaims dramatically. "For real, it's very nice for them to invite you. Especially after last year. Plus, it's better than our sappy sister date night."

Y/N lets out a small laugh but resumes automatically to biting down her lower lip in nervousness. Deena notices it but doesn't comment on it. Instead, she rushes her to leave, saying they will be late otherwise.

In the car, Y/N can't wait any longer. She has worries and needs to let them out or she'll go mad.

"What if Minho ends up showing up?"

Deena gives her a look but answers nonetheless. "He won't. And if he does, he'll have to suck it up and be an adult about you being there."

"Do you think he'll get mad when he discoverd that I still talked with the guys?"

"Y/N, for fuck's sake, it's not your problem to deal with! He's the one being a little bitch. Besides, you're not with him anymore."

"It doesn't mean I want to hurt him... and..."

She doesn't complete her sentence since she knows Deena must have understood right away. Y/N is still hopelessly in love with Minho. As much as she believes that leaving was the right thing to do, there were so many instances where she tried to convince herself that he'd change if she goes back to him.

She knows, deep down, she might be right on that.

"I can't believe you're actually here with actual presents!" Jisung almost yells as he brings his friend into a warm hug.

Hyunjin scoffs. "Let the man breathe! See, Min? I told you."

Minho taps Jisung's back a few times as to tell him to let go but he refuses, tightening the embrace. Jeongin is the one to break them apart to be the next in line to hug Minho. Everyone is baffled by his change of heart but they look past it and are simply grateful to have gotten their friend back.

"So? Is she coming?" Minho asks Changbin once he greeted everybody one by one.

"She confirmed she is."

Chan frowns and takes him by the shoulders. "Are you sure you want to talk to her?"

"Things were left unsaid, I need to clear this out once and for all."

Ding dong.

Oh. Now things are getting a bit too real, and panic begins to settle throughout his entire body. With once glance exchanged with Chan, it somehow reassures him. Still with his heart beating fast, he retreats himself behind the group as Changbin goes ahead to open the door.

She looks just like he remembers, stunning. There is, however, a hint of something he can't quite understand. She is paler and shyer. Past that, she is the same. While hugging everyone with her bright smile on her face, she shines. Minho is not too sure if he wants to ruin her brightness by letting his presence known. Looking around nervously, we wonders if this was a bad idea after all.

Before he can escape, he hears his name being called from afar; Jisung. Cursing at him mentally, Minho steps aside from behind Hyunjin and waves, embarrassed.

To no one's surprise, there is a moment of awkwardness settled in the room. While Minho is too ashamed to look back at her, Y/N can't rip her gaze away from him. She can't believe he is actually there. She has to make a mental note for later to smack Changbin for lying to her.

The moment is interrupted by Deena, thankfully. "Hey, Minho! I didn't think you'd be here."

"Hi Deena," he replies in a small voice.

This seems to be enough for the others to resume to their thing: Changbin taking his guests' coats to the other room while his girlfriend offers drinks, Deena putting the presents under the Christmas tree, Chan's wife and Felix's girlfriend sitting in a corner to discuss... Y/N, however, does not budge. Not until everyone leaves the entrance, revealing Minho standing in front of her.

"You dyed your hair?" he finally says, more or less to break the weird tension between the two.

She chuckles and runs her fingers through her longs brown locks. "I did, I thought a change might be good."

He nods as he puts his hands in his pockets, rocking his body back and forth. Now what? He knows he wants to talk about the obvious, but how?

"You're wearing that shirt," she points out with a smile. "It fits you well."

"Thank you. Your dress is cute."

"Thanks. I haven't wore this in a while."

"In a dress or not, you're cute either way."

She blushes. It's not as bad as she thought, they can at least do small talk. Still, this is far from being what she was used to with him. It suddenly snaps in her mind how much she missed him.

"I'll go get a drink, you're welcomed to come along," she offers which makes Minho smile.

Changbin's girlfriend makes no complaint when Minho asks her to make a specific drink, one Y/N would always get when they were together. It does not get unnoticed by the latter and she is amazed he remembers such details even after not speaking to each other for a whole entire year.

"You seem to be doing good," he comments once they get a hold of their alcoholic drinks.

"I'm not too bad. I joined a new law firm and, hopefully, they'll let me work on a case on my own."

It pains him to know she is still struggling with work, this was never an issue for him. "One day, someone will recognize your competence."

"Easy for you to say. I've heard you climbed status and have your own office?"

"Which one of the boys told you that?"

By the look on her face, he has managed to surprise her. "So you know."

He takes a sip of his glass and shrugs. "It did hurt a little that nobody told me but it's alright. You needed them as much as I did."

Her eyes soften. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm the jerk here. I pushed you away to the point you left and after you did, I was so close to losing all of my friends. You did nothing wrong."

She moves her head to the side, unsure on how to react. "We both made mistakes."

He scoffs. "Maybe, but you have to admit I did things way worse than you."

"It's alright, we're okay now. It wasn't meant to be."

His heart tightens and he scoffs once more. "What if it was?"

"Minho-"

"No, Y/N, listen to me for this one. Please." The gleam in his eyes convinces her and she nods for him to continue. "I don't know exactly what happened, it might be work, but I lost myself at some point. I never thought weddings were bullshit, not once in my life. My dream the moment I met you was to put a ring on your finger."

Minho stops himself and gives a scan around to make sure nobody is watching. He is thankful when he realizes his friends are busy with watching a funny video on Felix's phone. With no hesitation, he takes Y/N's hand and moves her sleeve up to reveal her engagement ring, still beautifully worn on her finger. Embarrassed, she is quick to retract her hand back in hiding. How did he know if she has been hiding it as soon as she saw him?

"And I think you might still want that."

Her eyes get watery when she forces herself to stare back at him. "This year has been... a lot. I was not ready to remove it just yet and, I guess I just got used to wearing it."

Although tempted to correct her as he know the truth, Minho does not insist any more. Instead, he sends her a look that says he understands. Almost as if it was planned, Chan calls everyone in the living room to open the presents and to, as they do every year, make a toast.

It takes a few minutes until everyone is sat and silent but once they seem good to go, Chan nods his head at Minho. "Why don't you do the honours this year, Min?"

"Oh, um..."

"I think it won't be appropriate if it is anybody else other than you," Seungmin adds to which the others seem to agree on.

Reluctantly, he gets up from his seat and clears his throat. "First of all, I'd like to apologize for the way I've been acting. I was going through a lot and I shouldn't have imposed it on you, I'm sorry. Second of all, thank you all for sticking by my side although I was a total asshole."

"Heck yeah, you are," he hears Changbin jokingly respond.

"Something else I want to mention," he continues, ignoring his friend, "is how much regret I've felt this year. Y/N?"

All eyes move to her figure by the mention of her name. She looks at Minho, feeling a bit intimidated, but smiles to let him know she wants him to go on.

"I've never loved anyone else more than I have with you. I am aware things were not ideal but you brought the best out of me. I'm sorry I had to be the one ruining this for us. I love you still and I can only wish you the best from now on." He gives the others a last glance before raising his glass. "Thank you Changbin for hosting this year's party, and merry Christmas!"

Even though the entire room cheers and applauds in response to Minho's sweet speech, Y/N is not mentally there anymore. Her mind going wild, she can't think straight other than what Minho has said. She undeniably still loves him, more than she'd like to admit. But is she ready to let him in again?

"Hey," Deena calls her out, shaking her away from her thoughts. "You might want to figure some things out with lover boy."

Her face grows red. "You think so?"

"He just left outside to go for a walk but I'm sure he isn't too far yet. Go join him."

"I don't know..."

"Y/N, stop being in denial. You still love him, he still loves you, he obviously wants you back... Just go get him already."

Slightly intimidated by her sister, she doesn't need to be told twice to go grab her coat and boots, and walk out the door. She expected for him to be at least further away on the street but it is definitely a surprise to see him sitting down on the porch. His back facing her, she quietly approaches him and sits beside him.

There is a moment of quietness before he finally looks at her. "It's snowing."

She chuckles. "Thank you for the info, Mr. Obvious."

They share a laugh and both go back to watching the snowflakes fall. It's calm and peaceful, Minho loves it. It painfully reminds him of many occurrences where they'd watch outside the window for no reason on snow days.

"That was a good speech you just made."

He smirks. "I know."

His playful demeanor is something she doesn't remember seeing in the last moments of their relationship. It feels nice to see him back, as himself.

"What you said earlier, did you mean it?"

He frowns. "The part about regrets? Yeah, I mean, I was an ass and it didn't help me getting better so... I just know I want to fix it."

She shakes her head. "Not just that. The part about still loving me."

He moves his eyes from the snow to her own and she looks at him expectedly. She is so pure, he hates himself from even thinking he had hurt her. Carefully, he takes her hands in his and sets himself just a bit closer to her while still giving her space. He feels the sweat on his forehead, waiting for either getting rejected or getting the love of his life back. Either way, he has to say it. He's been putting it off for too long.

"I meant every word I said, I still and will always love you. How can I not? You're sensitive, smart, beautiful, and so caring. You always put me before yourself. So far, you were ready to give up your cats so I could have them because you knew I needed them."

"Minho-"

"No, you don't get to interrupt me until I'm finally done saying what I have to say. Y/N, never once did I think you were obnoxious. You see beauty in everything, something I'm incapable of doing and that's what bugged me. It bothered me how you are so perfect while I am not even close to be as loving as you are."

She scoffs with a knowing smile pending on her lips. "Now, I'll have to cut you here. You don't see yourself how I see you, Minho. Why do you think I fell in love with you in the first place? You have your own little ways of showing affection, each cuter than the other. I don't mind the rest because I know you do love me."

"I hurt you," he argues sadly.

"And I forgive you, just as long as you don't do it again," she grins, tightening her grasp on his hands.

Minho raises an eyebrow in confusion. "You forgive me... As in-"

"Don't make me say it, I have my own pride too."

Minho wipes away his tears he hadn't realized were starting to fall on his face and doesn't lose another second to bring her close to him and crash his lips onto hers. They're just like he remembered and maybe better, sweet and soft. At that point, both of them are crying. Only this time, it's not because they are hurting. So many feelings are said through the kiss and not a single one is coming from pain. It's sereine and warm, Minho can feel his whole body get lighter.

"Fuck, I missed you so much," he says when they break away, holding her close to his chest. "I'm never letting you go again."

"You better," she chuckles through a sniff.

The door behind them opens wide with more than seven pairs of eyes on them. Minho blushes while Y/N hides herself in the crook of his neck.

"So we good? Everything is sorted out? Please, the food is ready and I'm starving," Jisung complains, receiving a smack from Changbin.

"You're not starving and let them have their moment!"

Jeongin sighs. "I think the moment was already ruined.

The couple, who are still sitting, explode in laughter before getting up and joining their friends in the warmth of their home where Changbin's girlfriend has selected a nice Christmas playlist to complete the ambiance. Music Minho recognizes to be Y/N's favourites. A coincidence? Probably but he likes to believe it isn't.

While the boys congratulate him for being back together with his love, Minho looks outside through the window one last time. He isn't too sure if what he sees is right but four figures seem to look at him proudly.

While nobody is watching, he mouthes a "thank you" before the silhouettes fade away in the wind.

Minho still doesn't know to this day if what happened that night was real or not. One thing for sure is he can't be any more thankful for these spirits. Most importantly, he is finally in a happy place.

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whatdoeseverybodywant · 2 months

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You're the Only Girl for Me - Chapter 17

I KNOW I SAID I COULDN'T FIGURE OUT WHAT TO WRITE NEXT BUT I WENT BACK AND RE-READ MY FIRST VERSION AND I'M INSPIRED LOL... 🙃

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

All OC Characters belong to me

Series Masterlist

taglist: @christinabae @southerngirl41 @reci1996 @jeyusos-girl @jeyusosgirl

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@leaderofthebadbitchbrigade @bonni-98 @raya-hunter01 @abadbitchblogs

5 months later...

July 16th 2021

Airielle glared over at where Josh was standing talking to the rookie that just got called up from NXT. Y’all are not together anymore. He can talk to who he wants, she thought. She looked over at Trinity when she sat down. Airielle rolled her eyes at the smirk on Trin’s face.

“What Trin?” She said with more attitude than necessary. She had to real reason to be upset though. She had broken up with Josh and he was allowed to date freely now. Just thinking about him dating someone else had her left eye twitching.

“Damn girl. I’m sorry.” Trin laughed and looked over to where Airielle was glaring at. “I’m still so confused. Not even five months ago, y’all were happy as hell.”

“Yeah well,” she shrugged. “Things change” Was all she said as she looked back over in Josh’s direction. She arched an eyebrow at him when they made eye contact and scoffed when he smirked and winked at her. He said one last thing to the rookie before making his way over to where Airielle and Trin were sitting.

“Sup Trin. He said as he sat down. “Airielle.” Airielle rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse, pretending to look for something. Trinity rolled her eyes, tired of the two of them already,

“Anyway. Samantha wants to have a girls night tonight, you in?” She asked Airielle.

“I can’t. I have a date tonight.” Airielle said, looking at Josh out of the corner of her eye.

“What? With who?” Josh asked, turning his attention to Airielle. He clenched his jaw when she smirked over at him.

“Why, Jealous?” She asked, chuckling when he glared at her. “I have to go film my Total Divas introduction. I’ll catch up with you later.” She said to Trinity as she stood up from the table and walked away.

“It’s been five months, what the hell happened between y’all. Y’all were so in love.”

“Still am,” Josh said as he turned his head in the direction Airielle had gone off to.

AIRIELLEJONES

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trinity_fatu: orange is your color bestie (❤️ by author)

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“Why you aint tell me you could bowl like that?” Airielle shrugged and let out a laugh as Raymond pushed her a little. “Girl you hustled me out of fifty dollars.”

“Why you ain’t tell me you sucked at bowling?” She teased back. “I ain’t never seen so many gutter balls in my life.” She said as they walked off the elevator of the hotel and started walking towards her floor.

“Well shit. Aint nobody tell you so look so good tonight.” Raymond said as he checked out Airielle. She rolled her eyes playfully then froze at the sight of Josh leaning against the wall next to her room door, he had his head turned and was staring straight at them.

She watched as he narrowed his eyes once they fell on Airielle and Raymond linked hands.

“What are you doin’?” He asked her confused, eyes still trained on their hands. Airielle sighed and let go of Raymond's hand and folded her arms over her chest.

“What are you doing out here?”

“What are you doing?” He asked again, ignoring her question. Raymond looked between the two of them.

“Imma just go.” He said, scoffing when Airielle wouldn’t break her staring contest with Josh.

“You said we was moving too fast and you needed time to heal yourself.” He pointed in the direction Raymond had gone off to. “Going on a date with another man ain’t healing yourself Airielle.”

Airielle sighed and unlocked her hotel door with the key card and held the door open for Josh to enter.

“So what you was gon fuck him tonight then text me telling me how much you miss me?” Airielle scoffed as she sat on the bed to take her heels off.

“First off, it wasn’t actually a date other people were there too and I do miss you Josh.” Josh let out a sigh and crossed the room, crouching down in front of her so they were eye to eye with each other.

“So what are we doing then?” Airielle shrugged and let out a groan, throwing herself back on the bed, covering her face with her hands. “You was there for me when I was going through all the shit with Tracy, why won't you let me be there for you now?” Josh sighed when he heard Airielle sniffle. He grabbed one of her arms and pulled her back into a seated position.

“I can’t do this right now.” She whispered, tears sliding down her face. “I love you, I really do but.” She sighed “You have to give me time.. I want to be the best version of myself for you.”

“Fine.” Josh nodded, giving her a kiss on her forehead before standing up and walking towards the door. He opened it and turned back around. “Don’t let me catch you with homeboy again Airielle.” He blew her a kiss before walking out of the room.

soooo.... how we feeling about this chapter?

I tried to just make chapter 16 the last chapter, but I just love this couple so much lol.

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 19 days

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Am I the asshole for not inviting my friends friend to my wedding?

👰‍♀️

We’re all women in our mid 20s. I have this friend Fran* who I was friends with in hs lost contact and re-connected with. Fran js friend with Tisha who I was friends with middle school and some of hs and not gonna lie I ghosted her (I’ll explain later.) Fran and Tisha are super close.

I got engaged recently. And I’ve been planning a wedding. Fran likes wedding stuff and wants to watch the process with me. However she’s been inviting Tisha to our lunches without telling me Tisha is gonna be there. It’s uncomfortable because when they ask about my wedding Tisha always has something to say. “I’m thinking about a spring wedding” “the weather is awful here in the spring time” (example).

So for some info. When in school Tisha started using me as a butt a lot of jokes as the years went on. She was always trying to call me dumb, and project her insecurities on Me. (Tisha does/did have a hard life). I ended up telling Tisha some issues I was going through and later she used it to make a joke saying I was dumb for letting that sorta stuff happen to me (not super dark but still a dick move). She loved to use me as a therapist in private and love to make fun of me in public. Something snapped in me, and every time she was be rude to me I’d say something like “that’s a weird thing to say” or is look her up and down and just make a face. When she’d asked to cheat off my papers I’d tell her she wouldn’t want to cheat off my stupid answers. I was lucky I had other friends that I just hung out with to avoid her. She never asked for answers and I never expected her to.

I went to college far away, lived away for awhile and then moved back to work at a start up that has been awesome.

When I reconnected with Fran it was awesome. We mutually reached out since we both liked the same restaurants in the area.

Fran would try to get me to wanna hangout with Tisha and try to plan something and I told her that Tisha is a good person, but I don’t really need to reconnect with her. She would “respect” that until later she would ask again. I never told her the details because I still questioned if I was being too sensitive or not about Tisha. Not gonna lie I do pity Tisha and I hate the idea that someone like that ever did intimidate me. She’s just a reminder that I was ever awkward. Fran hasn’t asked me for the whole story. However I couldn’t avoid Tisha forever. Fran would throw a party and Tisha was there. And I knew she would be. And she was the same.

Tisha fran and I are all bisexual. When I’d hang out with them they’d sometimes refer to me as a lesbian or a wasted lesbian because now I’m marrying a man. I’d tell ‘em I’m uncomfortable with that since I’m bisexual. Fran respected it, Tisha would “forget”.

Tisha dropped out of college and I did for a bit. I told her I did the same and she would just tell me the career she was doing was so much harder than mine that I couldn’t understand how hard her life is. (It was a hard program, and she does have a hard life but again it’s that “I have it worse Olympics”) Tisha even made a joke that I got a job I wanted and I didn’t even needed to finish my college program for it since I got the job before I got my degree. I just said yeah I’m a quick learner.

I don’t see Tisha much, maybe 3 times a year before. So I just figured I’d roll with the punches because I love Fran she is awesome. Tisha kinda brings fran down too. They both kinda enable each other to be down in their dumps. They’re not dating but they’re like each others plus ones. I’ve been helping fran budget, opening new banking accounts and getting a credit card that’s good for her. Fran was grateful and tisha heard she said we were bowing our heads to capitalism.

Anyway ever since I got engaged fran has been brining Tisha everywhere. I had planned on telling fran privately, I don’t want it hanging out with Tisha, but also Tisha is not coming to my wedding. Before I could do that, while we were at lunch, TISHA MADE THE ASSUMPTION SHE WAS A BRIDES MAID.

I asked her why did she think that and she said we’ve been friends longer than fran and I. I said you’re not invited, we don’t talk privately, we don’t text, we don’t hang out, and you don’t like my fiancé because he’s a man. Fran was shocked and said couldn’t Tisha be her plus one and it’s uncofortable to talk about events someone isn’t invited to. I said that they both have been asking about it. The lunch ended.

Fran has been asking me to consider letting Tisha ve her plus one since dating is hard. Tisha thought the things I mentioned were objectives so now she is texting me, and said she wants to meet my fiancé to get to know him so she can go to the wedding.

I was trying to be nice by never mentioning to fran I really hate Tisha, but now they’re both upset and I regret not being mean. I feel like an asshole.

#aita #am i the asshole

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hotvinimon · 5 months

Text

You are his, right ?

Yandere gym bro x reader

Plot : Inviting casper for a sleepover

Author’s note : The images are not mine. I don not support this kind of behaviour and highly condemn these activities. This kind of behaviour is not tolerated in actual life. Reader is portrayed as pick me girl who is asking for it.

Warnings : MDNI. The images are not mine. Credits to the owner

Join my taglist - Here

Hangouts with Casper were now a part of your daily routines. From your friends to coworkers to neighborhood gossip aunties and even your baker, everyone came to know about Casper. Anywhere you went, Casper appeared suddenly and even matching your outfit. What a coincident right ?

This is what soulmate is, isn’t it ? You are his soulmate right ?

“Hey Caz, I think we should head back it’s getting dark.” you suggested. “ I guess you are right “ Casper smiles silently cursing all the powers who are working to keep you from him.

“Here you go sweetie” Casper drops you at your home in his car. “Cas, I was wondering if you could stay for a while, I have something to show you.” you asked. Casper frowns and acts like having a deep thought. “hmmm… recent studies say that a man should never say no to his cute girl, so of course I would love to stay for ever a while.“ you laughed at his silly joke.

You didn’t corrected him. It means you are his. You are his, right ?? All his.

“YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO CLOSE YOUR EYES DAMMIT” you shrieked. “My eyes are closed” Casper laughs. You pout and whine. “Fine Fine here. “ Casper closes his eyes as you settle something in his hands. He opens his eyes and found an I-Pad??? “Are you giving me this I-Pad back ?? Do you not like it sweetie ?? Should I give you something else for our 100 days anniversary ???

Yes. you and Casper celebrated your 100 days of friendship relationship. On which he took you out for dinner date and surprised shocks you by giving you everything that you had set an eye on for past 100 days.

“ Cas.. I can’t take this. This is too much “ you relented. “ This isn’t too much. further, I even lost the receipts, I can’t even return them. Wouldn’t it go waste now ?? Do you not like the gifts ?? Do you want me to buy something else for you ?? do you not like me anymore ?? Are you going to leave me ??? “ And you could do nothing but accept them when you saw fat tears rolling down the man baby’s flushed cheeks, not noticing the smirk he had while you hugged and soothed him. It took you all night to make him believe that you are not going anywhere.

Like, you could even do that until he is alive.

“No Caz~. I’m not giving you the I-pad back. I really liked it. “ you blurted out quickly to not hurt the boy’s feelings again.

“I want you to open the I-Pad and see what I have made.” you smiled. Casper let out the breath that he had held for so long. He opens the screen and almost faints when he sees a cute doodle of him and you clicking a selfie followed by other doodles that you had made from your recent pictures. “ I know this is stupid and-” “this is not stupid. This is so good. Can you send me those ???” Casper cuts you of and begs you for the pictures, which you send him immediately.

After an hour

“I think I should leave, it’s quite dark” the male suggested. You looked out the window to witness the light. “ Are you dumb Cas??? It’s so dark and foggy out, you should stay here for ever tonight. “ It’s alright. I don’t want to cause any problems" Casper suggests silently begging universe to make him stay. “ Well, if you don’t know, I would like to tell you that recent studies say that a man should never say no to his cute girl.” you quoted in a heavy voice (imitating Cas), to which you both laughed and Casper got to stay.

“ How about we order a takeout and pick a movie ??” Casper recommended. “ I would really appreciate that, but I think we should change to something more comfy. How about you take a bath first. I have some oversized clothes that might fit you” you suggested. “I like the sound of that” Casper replies.

You hand Casper a pair of your oversized sweats and a shirt ( with acted more like a compression shirt ). Casper enters your bathroom and the smell of your cologne fills his senses and faints him one more time. His breath becomes heavy, mind started melting and legs started shaking. Suddenly his eyes fell to the laundry basket which was tucked in corner only for him to see. He hopes you don’t mind some of your things panties being stolen.

After all you are his, right ?

“How about iron man ???”

“Horror”

“Spider-Man ???”

“Horror”

“Twilight ??”

“Horror.. Casss…… Please… I can handle it” you pout and cross your hand tightly on your chest. Which may or may not have lifted your assets, showing of something pointy through your silky nightwear. And Casper couldn’t argue further. Who was he to say no to your tight hugs during the movie ?? Who was he to say no to you when you asked to sleep with him because you were afraid ?? Who was he to say no when you cuddled him and rested your head in the crook of his neck in the sleep ?? Who was he to say no when you stuffed his face in your chest and traced his back in sleep ?? Who was he to say no when your thigh accidently brushed his bulge in sleep ??

You were really testing him. Weren’t you ??

Tag List - @daytej, @keepghostly

Requests are open.

Join my taglist - Here or let me know in the comments ;)

#yandere boy #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere community #yandere oc #male yandere #tw yandere #yandere gym bro #yandere fic #yandere imagine #yandere stories #yandere x darling

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pyramid-of-starrs · 8 months

Note

from your kinktober masterlist I like 3!! 💘

Due by 11:59

Kinktober request: 3 Lab partner Hyunjin, Sensory Deprivation

Pairing: Ex best friend Hyunjin x Chubby Fem Reader (wrote as a black/poc character but anyone can have brown nipples lol)

Summary: The fall semester was going great until you are paired up with your ex high school best friend (and crush) Hyunjin. You two decided to do your assignment at his dorm but then a question about human intimacy and senses has you and your partner experimenting on each other.

Word Count: 3.8K (lol these were supposed to be drabbles btw)

Kink: Sensory Deprivation

Warning: Enemies to lovers, oral sex (F receiving)

Minors dni

"Okay class that concludes our lecture for today, please check the google doc that I sent to you all for your group assignment and who you will be paired with, you are dismissed." Your professor said as he ended class, before you put your iPad in your bag you checked the assignment and that’s when your eyes got wide. You rushed down the aisle of the classroom to the professors desk while everyone was leaving, slightly out of breath from speeding over.

"Excuse me sir there has to be some kind of mistake here." you said as you huffed. The professor knew it would be you to say something after he assigned you with the person he did so he continued to pack up.

"There is no mistake Ms. L/N, that is your partner for this assignment."

"B-but sir! You know me and that snake don't get along and I actually take your class seriously he is just here for credits, please sir just reconsider. I can give you so many reasons why this isn't a good idea." You continued to talk and spew put reasons and ideas for a solution, your professor sighed and considered if he even got paid enough to deal with people like you.

"Alright, alright enough! Listen Ms. L/N sometimes in life you have to deal with people you don't want to, I'm sure people have felt that way about you, I will not be changing the class pairings just to accommodate you. No one else has an issue." He said finally looking at you.

"But sir he wasn't even here today! I'm sure if he was, he would say the same th-."

"He already knows and has agreed to it, have a good day Ms. L/N." Your professor interrupted you to say, leaving out the room, as he walked in a man with a long slim body build walked in almost as if you summoned him.

"I guess you heard the great news huh?" a smiled creeped up on the boys face like he was teasing you.

You scoffed at him. "God fuck off Hyunjin." even the name leaving your lips tasted bitter, it wasn't always like this, you and Hyunjin were actually close back in high school. Back when you were just the chunky nerd and Hyunjin was the scrawny dork, you two were an inseparable pair, but then senior year rolled around and Hyunjin went away for the summer and came back bulkier and cute little Hyunjin became hot hunk Hyunjin. The people that ignored him those 3 years finally gave him attention, they invited him into the inner circle, and he was finally accepted, leaving you behind. You tried not being bothered by it but the communication between you two started to fizz out, prom time came around and you and Hyunjin made a promise to go with each other since you both didn't plan on dating anyone and it was obvious you two liked each other but you two didn't see that. You walked up to Hyunjin at lunch time which was bold since he sat with the "popular kids" now and asked him about prom and when you two should start planning but one of the girl spoke before he could reply.

"Ew why would Hyunjin go to prom with a fat loser like you?" she said laughing at your question.

"I-I'm not a loser! Plus, me and Hyunjin already decided to go together years ago, so butt out!" you replied while gripping the sides of your lunch tray.

"Oh, fatty has some sass, well sorry but he's going with me now, better find someone else, if that's even possible." Her and a few of the other girls started to laugh while Hyunjin sat back in silence, your eyes met, you hoped he would say anything, but the words never came out.

"Hyunjin is this true?" you questioned in a defeated tone, his eyes moved to look down at the table because he saw the tears start to gloss over your eyes.

"I'm sorry Y/N... I forgot about our promise." his ferret like eyes looking over you.

"Oh... well okay, sorry to bother you then..." you walked out the lunch room before tears started to stream down your embarrassed face. You didn't even bother going to prom, after graduation you got into your dream school that was luckily far away from home, but of course you and Hyunjin both applied, and he was accepted as well. You didn't know he got in until he walked into your Human behavior class, his shoulders were broader, and his once short black hair was now almost shoulder length, God he was gorgeous, and you hated to admit it. You chose to keep things how they were and avoided speaking to him, deep down your feelings were still hurt and that made you want nothing to do with him, but fate had other plans.

"As much as I would love to stay out of your way Y/N this isn't something we can avoid." His voice was like silk.

"It could have been! Why would you tell him you were okay with working with me Hyunjin!" your frustrations grew, even looking at his beautiful sleek face invoked so much emotion from you.

"Because I AM okay with it Y/N..." his reply made your heart skip a beat and that just pissed you off more.

"Whatever this assignment is due on Sunday at 11:59 so let's just meet up Saturday and get everything done, I'm busy with my other class work so that's my only free day."

"Can't, I have a showing for my art class that night, I would love for you to come." An innocent smile plastered on his face.

"Pass." you said trying to not let the smile affect you.

"How about Sunday then? Since facilities will be closed you can come over to my dorm and we can cram that night, the assignment is the study of human interactions, and we got intimacy so it should be pretty easy."

"Fine, take my number I'll text you when I'm on the way." you took out your phone and you two exchanged info.

...

Sunday was finally here, and you stood outside of Hyunjins dorm waiting for him to let you in, the cold fall winds blew, and you were grateful you opted to wearing jeans but the choice of a plain white crop top and an open hoodie may have not been the right one. You wanted to look like you didn't put in a lot of effort even though you made sure to get your hair done and lashes and nails refilled yesterday, but that's just self-care, right?

The door to the dorm hall finally opened and Hyunjin stood on the other side of it, he had on a beanie and his reading glasses.

"Y/N thanks for coming come in." you followed Hyunjin into the dorm and down the hall to the elevator, you noticed his hair spilled out the back of the beanie, was this really your high school best friend? His back was wider even though his frame was still small, he wore shorts and his legs that you use to tease him about got thicker and even grew hair, then you noticed his veins on his fore arms from his rolled up sleeves, a lot of feelings were going through your mind but then you can't help but recall how he iced you out and let his friends treat you horribly and you were back to being ready to get this whole thing over with.

Once you reached his room, he scanned his key card and opened the door.

"Come in, Mi casa es su casa!" he said as he happily welcomed you, Hyunjin was always a bit of a genius, so he was placed in the honors dorms that were just nice studio apartments, looking around it was actually pretty nice, plants and paintings around the apartment, it was neat and on the coffee table there were snacks and drinks. You walked in and placed your laptop bag on the floor next to the couch and removed your hoodie then took a seat, you reached into your bag and took out your laptop.

"I got some snacks and stuff for us, and we can watch some TV or play some music while we work."

"Let's just get this over with." you said as you started to type away on your laptop, Hyunjins small grin dropped, and he grab his laptop to work with you. Some hours of silent work passed and you were kind of exhausted, it was still an hour and a half till the deadline and you realized you haven't said a single word to Hyunjin, you were at a portion of the assignment that you had to work together on and that meant asking for help and that made you gag mentally.

"Hey... section 16 says we have to work together so..." you said softly.

His eyes bounced over to you.

"Oh, you made it to that section finally, yeah let's do it!" He was so eager to be working with you, happy to finally be back in your presence even though you hated it, a win was a win in his eyes, he missed you so much and just couldn't say it especially since he knew you hated him.

"So, it says that a humans senses is a large part of human intimacy, which two senses are the most important and give some examples and reasons why. Work with your partner on what happens when those senses are taken away and write their reactions in a document." you gulped nervously when you finished reading out loud.

"Okay what senses do you think we should pick?" his body turning to face you.

"Maybe sight and touch, but how would we test that?" you both sat and pondered until Hyunjin made an "Ah" noise.

"I got just the thing." he didn't explain further and walked off to the closet next to the bathroom down the hallway then returned holding two red silk pieces of fabric in his hand.

"After I talked to our moms a couple weeks ago about my hair your mom sent me some silk scarfs and bonnets to make sure my hair didn't get damaged since I'm growing it out."

"Why are you still talking to my mom?"

"Because she loves me." He stood there looking at you, he was very serious it was almost cute.

"Whatever, what are we supposed to do with them?" you said after you rolled your eyes.

"How about one of us blind folds the other and ties up their hands and we can see how we feel about different touch points and sound triggers." His suggestion was actually good, and you hated that.

"Okay, let's rock paper scissors to see who gets tied up and blind folded." a very dumb suggestion to make because you lost horribly and now, you're sitting blind folded with your hands tied up in front of you. You two decided since the bed had more space to do everything it would make the most sense to experiment there. You sat on your legs while Hyunjin sat Criss cross apple sauce, you were both facing each other while Hyunjin read off instructions on his laptop.

"So, lets test how heightened your other senses are, I'm going to say some phrases and you tell me how it feels." you nodded in response.

"You look beautiful today Y/N."

"W-what!" your face immediately heated up.

"Sorry, I'm just reading from the list, did that make you feel shy?"

"I-I guess..." you could feel a pit in your stomach.

"Okay I'll put that down then." you could hear him start to type on his computer.

"Hey! Don't write that!" your face was hot thinking that someone would read that Hyunjin was making you feel shy, you could hear him giggling.

"I think you're very cute Y/N." you started fidget a bit at his words.

"Am I making you feel anxious or nervous?"

"A little..." the typing continued.

"I love you Y/N." there was a moment of silence, your stomach was in your ass.

"O-okay." your voice going hoarse, he didn't ask anything but continued to type

"Okay, it says to whisper into your ear to see if there is any changes." You heard him get off the bed and move around it, you really should have read the instructions before you agreed because you didn't recall this at all. You felt him standing behind you, so you scooted forward to give him room on the bed to sit down, he took a seat behind you, his chest inches from your arm and back, your heart started to race.

"Ready ?" you could feel him close to your ear, his breath passing by.

"Yes."

"I missed you Y/N." The phrase was like hammers breaking down the wall you built to keep Hyunjin out.

"Alright." you replied.

"Do you feel the same way?" Hyunjin asked.

"...kind of..." there was a pause before he moved forward.

"I'm sorry for hurting you Y/N."

"Is this on the list?" you turned your head a bit despite not being able to see him

"Yes, does this make you want to accept my apology?"

"Maybe." you turned back to your position and Hyunjin continued.

"I'm sorry I hurt you and made you feel abandoned" he said, this couldn't have been on there, right?

"Hyunjin I-" you tried to interject but he continued.

"I'm sorry for not sticking up for you and I'm really sorry I didn't keep our promise."

You sat there listening to his apology, you wanted to hit him, but you wanted to hold him more than anything.

"How does that make you feel Y/N?" he questioned.

"Like I'm talking to someone I loved..."

"Lastly we'll incorporate touch, I'll have to touch the areas with exposed skin is that okay?" he moved on, you nodded to answer.

"Can you answer with words please?"

"Yes." you replied a bit swiftly.

His hands touched your shoulders, his long finger glided over your skin giving you goosebumps, he started to lightly brush his fingers up and down your forearms and arm. You moved his lips closer to the shell of your ear, his lips grazing you.

“You smell so good Y/N, you still use the same vanilla scent?”

"Th-thank you." You started to feel a tingling sensation in your core that made you squirm a bit.

"I really missed being this close to you and touching you like this." His hands danced around your skin, one hand going from your arm to lightly pass over your chest and neck and repeating that motion, you started to inhale and exhale quietly to calm yourself.

"I missed it too..." not being able to see or touch him back made everything he did and said more intense, you started to move your hands to try to loosen the scarf, but you could feel Hyunjins hand land on yours.

"Naughty little Y/N trying to end the experiment early we aren't done just yet." he said into your ear, you squeezed your thighs together to cool the heat pooling in your core and lightly whimpered, you could feel Hyunjin drag his soft lips down your neck while his hand lightly cupped your breast, his touch was so gently yet you could feel the intense yearning he had for you.

"Please Hyunjin..." you started to beg in a whimpering tone.

"How does this make you feel Y/N?" you didn't reply, you somewhat didn't want to admit the feeling you had after harboring this much anger toward him.

"I can't keep going if you don't reply baby."

"I feel like... I need you... I need you now please." you couldn't see it, but a devious smile crept up on Hyunjins face.

"Good girl." was the last thing he said before stepping off of the bed and pushing you back, you could feel him getting back on the bed and then on top of you. Though you couldn't see you could feel the pressure, Hyunjin removed his hat then lifted your arms up to the beds rail style headboard, you thought that he was untying you but instead he tied your hands to the headboard, you tried to tug them down and couldn't. He dove face first into your neck, you felt him kissing and sucking your skin while his hands traveled back down to your breast to lightly grope and massage them, your body felt so sensitive like you could melt under his touch you couldn't help but to squirm and buck your hips as you moaned. Hyunjin lifted your shirt and bra enough for your breast to plop out, he moved down your body to begin to suck your pretty brown nipples, you continued to gyrate as your heat got more sensitive and needy.

"P-please Hyunjin, at least untie me." you said as you wiggled under him to try to loosen your binds, Hyunjin continued to leave a trail of kisses down your stomach then stopped at your jeans to peel them off your legs leaving you in your wet pink lacy panties. He sat on his knees on the side of you, taking his long finger to your core to glide them between your wet clothed walls, he made sure to take extra time to rub circles on your sensitive nub while you continued to moan at the unbearable sensation. He continued to rub you and watched as you wiggled and squirmed from his touch, enjoying the show.

"Does it feel good Y/N? Do you want me to touch you more?" His voice adding more fuel to the fire in your core.

"Yes please, I need you so bad Jinnie." you were so desperate for more of him you even called him his old nicknamed, Hyunjin hissed at your pleas and decided you earned more, he finally removed your panties, once off he could really see just how bad you needed him, your slick was pouring out of you and your pussy was begging to be touched, he reached up too your face to remove your blind fold but kept your hands tied.

"Look Y/N, look how bad your pussy has missed me, you're so wet for me." your eyes took a second to adjust then you looked down, you hadn't even noticed you had your legs spread nice and wide for Hyunjin and your pussy was soaked.

"I want you to watch while I finally do to you what I've wanted too for years." he returned between your legs and left a few kisses on your lower belly, his hands gripped and mushed your thick thighs then he moved to leave lingering kisses on them, he kissed down your thighs and made it to exactly where you wanted him. He wasted no time peppering kisses on your heat then licking a few stripes, his arms wrapped around your thighs then he started to eat your pussy like you were his last meal. Your head dropped back onto his pillows, you wanted to grab his hair but the scarf binding your hands wouldn't allow it, instead all you could do is buck your hips into his face more. Hyunjin continued to lap up your juices then started to suck your aching clit like a sucker causing you to yell out his name followed by multiple curse words, thank God the honors dorms were soundproof to encourage a healthy studying environment. Your pussy started to pulse around nothing, and you felt your orgasm coming, you started to feel dizzy because this was the most sensitive you had ever felt.

"Please, Hyunjin I'm gonna cum please untie me." Yet your begging fell on death ears, Hyunjin was pussy drunk on your sweet taste, a taste he missed out on for years because of your falling out, he thought about how you would taste on his tongue or how your pussy would feel around his dick for so long and he was going to enjoy every moment of this. After the incident in high school Hyunjin no longer felt good about coming around you, he felt guilt when he would see your face and was too much of a coward to apologize. After not seeing you after graduation you could imagine how fast his heart raced when he saw your name on the class sign-up sheet for Human behaviors 101, it wasn't a needed class for Hyunjin since he was going into art therapy and many other choices but any chance he got to see you he was going to take it. Now thanks to that class here he was about to have the love of his life cumming on his face.

Your hips continued to move up and down, your moans never stopped just like his tongue. You saw a white flash as you came on Hyunjins face, he continued to eat you out as you came down from your high, you wanted to push him off as you started to feel over stimulation kicking in but all you could do in yell for him to stop. He finally detached his face from your core with stings of your slick connected to his chin.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself, I've wanted to do that for so long." he said while trying to catch his breath.

"Really?" you looked up at him with innocent eyes.

"Of course, Y/N, I was serious when I said I loved you." he moved next to you swiftly to untie you then to cup your face and give you reassurance.

"I love you too Hyunjin..." you both looked at each other with a longing gaze before your lips connected, you could still taste yourself on his lips and tongue as the kiss got deeper, then you remembered why you were even here.

"Mm, oh my god what time is it the assignment!" you said, Hyunjin reached to the nightstand to grab his long forgotten about laptop.

"Shit... 12:01" you both looked at each other then laughed.

"Welp, I guess we'll just ask for an extension tomorrow, visiting hours are also over so I guess you gotta stay here." He looked at you with lust filling his slit eyes.

"Fine but you're getting tied up next."

#hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin smut #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x black reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #writenbypyramidofstars

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seireiteihellbutterfly · 2 months

Text

Sunflower Sorrow - A Hanahaki Tale

A/N: Thank you so much @actuallysaiyan for making the pretty banner! And for reading my drafts and reassuring me multiple times that the story wasn't garbage.

All original artwork is credited at the bottom of the post.

Pairing: Higuruma x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, mentions of pain and death, PIV sex, clitoral and vaginal fingering, oral (fem receiving),

Summary: The reader finds herself infested with Hanahaki, right at the cusp of beginning to date her long time crush.

Higurma Masterlist

Your eyes open blearily against the sunlight pouring in, feeling like you’d much rather stay in bed than anything else. There’s a strange feeling in your body, almost like you’re about to come down with the flu, your chest feeling tight, and your throat feeling dry. Which is strange because you were fine when you went to bed.

You groan as you roll over under the covers. Now was not the time to be getting sick. You wonder if you’re even well enough to go to work. Almost instinctively, your hand reaches for your phone, squinting against the backlight as you check your messages. A smile graces your face as you see a text from the man you had been out with last night.

I know this was just our second date, but I’m already thinking about a third. I’ve enjoyed our time together recently and would like to see you again. I guess get back to me? Oh, and I hope kissing you good night was appropriate. 😅

“Hiromi,” you mumble under your breath, feeling a rush of happiness flow through you as you read his text. The man was incredibly sweet and transparent and you loved that about him. Dating in your thirties was hard but he had given off some very positive signals over these last two dates and you couldn’t help but want to set up a third one quickly. You liked being around him, he was laid back and almost goofy, traits that most men seemed to lose at a certain age. Maybe if you recovered from this flu fast enough you can meet up with him over the weekend.

I’d love that. I’m a little under the weather right now but if I’m feeling better by the weekend we can make plans? I’d like to see you again too. And yes, the kiss good night was totally appropriate. 😊

You text him back, heart fluttering as you hit send. You’re glad you had finally bitten the bullet and asked him out. There were signs of interest, but you had been secretly admiring him from afar for the better part of a year now. He was very gentlemanly, opening doors, asking if he could hold your hand, and checking in on your comfort while you were with him. A lawyer turned sorcerer, he talked passionately about his past cases and the interesting events that sparked his path into Jujutsu. On the first date, the both of you had been so wrapped up in conversation it took the poor waiter a minute to get a word in edgewise to ask if either of you had wanted another glass of wine.

He was so impossibly handsome, the thick black hair and rich mahogany eyes, that crooked smile that came onto his face when he was amused by something. It was a wonder how he was still single. Just passing by him in the hallways made your heart pound, so sure that his greetings to you were just platonic and nothing more. There were so many other talented people in this institution, that you didn’t possibly think he could have any interest in you, convincing yourself those brief glances he gave you were imagined.

But after last night’s kiss…so soft and patient, the lingering of lips, his large hands resting courteously on the small of your back, resting his forehead on yours, unwilling to let you go. Your hand had gripped the lapel of his coat, his scent flooding your senses, something woody and spicy that made you want to bury your face into his neck. Sure it’s only been two dates, but you couldn’t help but imagine what your life could be like with him. It felt like a guilty pleasure admitting it to yourself, but it wasn’t hurting anybody. It’s not like you were clawing at his door begging to move in with him. You were just really attracted to him, smitten, perhaps was the right word.

A small ding from your phone shows a response from him.

I’m sorry you’re not well. Yes, please get better soon, and let’s plan something for the weekend. I totally wasn’t waiting for your text by the way. You just happened to catch me on a break. 😉And I’m glad the kiss was appropriate.

His text makes you giggle. How could someone be this adorable? The lucidity of his intentions was refreshing, with no awkward back and forth of painfully crafted messages trying to sound casual. He was making his interest plain, making it easier for you to let down the wariness of sounding too eager. It was a pleasant change of pace compared to some of the other dates you had been on. You hoped this would go somewhere. You wanted it to go somewhere…

A sudden coughing fit overtakes you, racking your body as you feel something come up your throat. You reach for a tissue from your nightstand…and then look dumbstruck at what falls into it.

You stare at the yellow flower petals, each about an inch long, covered in pale pink mucus. A feeling of dread and anxiety fills you and you crumple the tissue, trying not to think about what you just saw. Your brain races. What could it be? Cancer? Was there a cancer that made your insides turn into tapered flower petals? Or maybe those weren’t flower petals but a tissue of some sort? The feeling of tightness in your chest gets worse. Maybe a visit to the doctor’s wasn’t a bad idea.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

Shoko places your X-rays against the lightboard and frowns. You’re no medical expert but even you can see what the problem was. You stare at them with morbid curiosity.

“Are those…?”

“Sunflowers, it looks like,” Shoko confirms, the large circular flowerheads unmistakable. “And they’re growing very fast. Your lungs will burst if they keep up at this rate.” She throws away her gloves and looks thoughtful.

“It’s strange how recently a lot of Hanahaki cases have popped up. We had Nanami in here a few weeks ago with the same thing.”

“And Nanami is in perfect health,” you interject, hoping Shoko is about to tell you a cure. “What is it? A pill? Surgery?”

Shoko purses her lips and then faces you. “Hanahaki can be removed surgically. However, you’ll lose whatever feelings you have for the person that caused it.”

Feeling like you’d been doused with a bucket of ice water, all you could say was, “Oh.”

“But you’re dating Higuruma, aren't you?” Shoko asks.

“It’s only been 2 dates,” you admit. “But it’s going well.”

Shoko’s expression remains impassive but she continues in a gentle voice. “But it’s obvious you’ve wanted him for much longer than that. The size of these flowers…How long have you loved him?”

Your chest tightens uncomfortably, this time not just from the flowers. “Who said anything about loving him?”

“The flowers don’t grow unless it’s love. But it looks like they were growing slowly and then when you started dating, your feelings intensified and caused them to bloom faster. Hanahaki rates vary from person to person depending on the level of emotions involved.”

A nervous ripple passes through your body at the thought. You remembered the way you had yearned for him after the kiss but were worried about scaring him off. Who confessed their love for someone on a second date?

“Is there any way to slow it down?”

Shoko shakes her head no. “The only thing that helps is when they return your feelings. Romantically.”

“I see.” There’s a moment of silence before you double over as another coughing fit grips you, a blob of red and yellow falling into your hands along with a few black and white sunflower seeds.

“Couldn’t you just tell him?” Shoko helps you get up to the sink in the examination room. You wash your hands and spit out the flower petals that are stuck in your gums. “I mean, he wouldn’t be dating you if he wasn’t interested.”

“You don’t tell a guy you love him after two dates!” You wipe your mouth and grip the counter trying to think. You glance at the X-ray, wondering.

“How long do I have?”

“It’ll worsen over the next few weeks now that the plants have started to bloom. Beyond that…it’s difficult to say. The more time you spend with him and he doesn’t say he loves you, it’ll only accelerate the process. You’ll feel little moments of relief, followed by an even stronger relapse.”

For the first time since this morning, you felt genuine fear. What if Hiromi didn’t feel more for you? What if after a few more dates he decided you weren’t what he was looking for? Were your only choices waiting for him to love you back or to have your feelings surgically removed?

“Am I going to die from this?” The words leave your throat in a whisper. Shoko flinches and appears to struggle with how to word her response.

“I hope not. I hope for your sake he does feel the same way.” Shoko hesitates before continuing. “I don’t want to alarm you but…if it truly becomes critical, have you considered having a plan of action?”

A tense silence passes between you both as you weigh her words. “I hadn’t. But…” You consider the words. “Is it worth dying for love, Shoko?”

“I can’t answer that for you. I can only say that I don’t wish to see you suffer.”

You drop down into one of the chairs, covering your face with your hands, trying not to cry. You had never wanted anyone quite in this way, trying to brush it off as a crush but the feelings never went away, always persistent, weighing down on your thoughts at all times of the day. You remember the tender way he’d looked at you after the kiss, brushing strands of hair behind your ears, gently drawing you against his chest, a cozy moment. He certainly seemed to be fine with the pace things were going at and hadn’t asked if he could come in like some men had after such a short time.

“Is there any chance that he’d…love me back in that way?”

“If he harbors those kinds of feelings for you then yes. But given that the window is narrowing, the sooner, the better.”

But what if…

Your mind resolves, and you sigh, finalizing on a decision. “Shoko.”

She looks at you curiously, hearing the change in your voice. Yes?

“I want to live no matter what.” Your hands ball into fists and although the notion makes your heart clench, you tell her your decision. “If my health declines, I want to be kept alive with special medical intervention. But if it gets to a point where the Hanahaki is going to be fatal to me… Please surgically remove it.”

Shoko looks at you surprised. “Really?”

“Really. Don't leave it up to chance.” You rub your eyes wearily. It felt like a cruel joke, longing for Hiromi for so long, then when you finally started dating it ended up triggering the Hanahaki at a faster rate. “I may love him but…I mean I have a life too. If it gets that bad… it would imply he doesn't feel that way…and he may never feel that way. It may sound selfish but… I want to live.”

“I get it. You don't have to explain to me.” Shoko pats your shoulder. “But considering your life is on the line maybe don't hold back in showing him how much you love him?”

You laugh humorlessly. “How many men do you know who respond well to a woman saying she loves them after 2 dates?”

Shoko sighs. “Fair enough. I wish you luck.”

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

You hadn't set the third date. After the intense conversation with Shoko, you just felt like you needed to be by yourself.

The bed felt so comforting but sleep eluded you as the coughing worsened, shaking your whole being. You got up countless times to clean yourself in between and finally having had enough, dragged yourself out of bed to grab a pot from the kitchen, heaving into it, watching with horror as it filled. After 24 hours, it had progressed from seeds and petals into partial flower fragments, bunches of petals stuck to a portion of the flower head falling out of your mouth.

Your head throbbed, feeling like it could burst. Almost self-pityingly you think about what life would be like if you hadn’t asked him out. Eventually, it would have made no difference, the Hanahaki would’ve grown despite that, you muse to yourself, feeling the scrape of stems and roots embedding their way into your organs. How did things change so fast? You were fine and one kiss later…

Your phone buzzes, and you barely manage to pick it up, looking at it with one eye open, your pulse racing as you see his name.

How are you feeling? Still sick? 🥺

A smidgen of relief is felt in your chest, surprising you, as you take in a breath that hurts just a little less. He was checking in on you. Would a man do that if he wasn’t interested? Was there hope that he may feel more for you? You try to calm your wandering thoughts, knowing it wouldn’t do you any good to imagine things that he hadn’t explicitly stated.

Unfortunately 😔 I'm sorry but I don't think we can make that third date this weekend. Rain check? I hope work was good today.

Ding.

Work was fine. Yes, we can certainly hold off until you feel better.

Before you can reply he sends another message.

Do you need anything? I wouldn't want you to struggle while you're sick.

Butterflies flutter amongst the blooms in your chest. You did want to see him, but Shoko’s words come back to you, about how spending time with him without any promise of returning your feelings could worsen things even more. Additionally, the state you were in made you want to immediately decline the offer. You didn’t want him to see you like this, pale, hacking up bloody mucus flowers, pining for him like a lovesick dog. You grip your phone wondering how to reply, then carefully word your text.

I think I’m ok. Besides you don’t want to see me sick. Not a pretty picture.

Ding.

I’m sure I’ve seen worse. But I promise not to run away screaming. 😄 What do you say?

Despite it all you laugh, noting with wonder how you didn’t feel as bad as you did a minute ago.

Ok, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. 💀

Ding.

Noted! I’m bringing soup! See you in 30.

30?! You scramble up suddenly, then hang over the edge of the bed as more flower bits force their way up your throat, falling into the grotesque potpourri pooling into the cooking pot. With as much speed as your exhausted body offers, you dump the flower vomit into the toilet, quickly rinse the pot in the kitchen, and throw together an outfit appropriate for company. You add a little blush to your cheeks and some lipstick to remedy the pale sickly quality that your skin has become.

You’re jittery when the doorbell rings. Taking a deep breath, you open the door, revealing Higuruma, looking so casual in jeans and a tee rather than the suit he wore to work. He was carrying a bag and there’s a slight twitch to his lips as he looks at you.

“I’m disappointed,” he says good-naturedly, stepping inside. “Where’s the horrifying red nose and dripping snot? The messy hair and phlegm-covered tissues? At least tell me you have those droopy eye bags?”

“They’re hidden with concealer,” you admit, biting your lip to avoid smiling goofily at his presence. You feel a strange sensation in your body, almost like the parasitic flowers were retracting to allow their host to breathe a little before resuming their consumption of your flesh.

“Concealer! The ultimate trick. Do you think I should wear some? Look at these.” He points to the just visible bags under his eyes and you give up, laughing heartily, the growing blooms inside you only slightly painful.

Higuruma grins at you. “Well, they do say laughter is the best medicine. However, soup, as promised,” he says, brandishing the bag, “And decongestants, and a little dark chocolate. Because it’s the best.”

You take the bag from him trying not to blush. “Thank you, Hiromi. You didn’t have to come over. I appreciate it so much.”

“Aw, it’s no trouble. Besides you don’t let people you like suffer. Well not alone anyway.”

Your heart constricts in your chest as he says he likes you but you try to play it cool, leaves and petals stirring in your heart and lungs. “Oh? Wasn’t aware you liked me.” You try to sound nonchalant as you say it, but secretly hope he’ll say a little more, something more concrete which would imply there’s something stronger between you two. Something that might take away this dreadful thing growing inside you…

“Really?” He widens his eyes playfully and covers his mouth pretending to be shocked. “Oh no! All my efforts have gone in vain!” He drawls dramatically. “What good is bringing someone soup if they’re unaware you like them?”

You place the bag on the kitchen counter and cover your mouth as an unruly snort of laughter leaves you, which you use to hide the twinge of disappointment you feel. Well, at least he didn’t deny that he likes you. That was a start, and it could progress from there, in a best-case scenario.

Your chest contracts suddenly and you quickly grab a napkin and stand at the kitchen sink, coughing up more foliage, trying to be discreet, attempting to soften your coughing as the fragmented sunflowers fall out of your mouth. Higuruma walks into the kitchen at the noise and you hide the napkin in your hands, wiping your mouth.

Unlike before his face is lined with concern, and he waits for you to turn around. You try to smile reassuringly, your lipstick smudging from wiping your mouth.

“You don’t have to hide being sick in front of me you know,” he says softly. “We’re both adults. What’s life without a little mucus?”

You throw away the napkin and shake your head. “We only just started seeing each other. Helping someone when they’re sick is more of a sixth date thing.”

Higuruma contemplates your words, leaning his hip against the counter. “Well, we’ve worked at the same place for a year. So that plus two dates…I think it comes close. Your lipstick is smudged by the way,” he adds, tapping his upper lip to indicate where you should clean it.

You wish he wouldn’t look at you like that, like you’re still pretty even when you’re hacking up blood, literally dying from how much you love him. You hastily swipe a finger over the color, and when he doesn’t comment further, you assume it’s gone.

“Well…thanks.” You take out a bowl to pour some soup. “Do you also want some?” you offer him.

He shakes his head no. “Here let me.”

His large hand takes the bowl from you while the other picks up the takeout container and he deftly pours steaming chicken noodle soup into it. “I can bring it outside for you. C'mon, sick person’s privilege.”

It was odd being ordered around in your kitchen, even if it was in this endearing manner. You shake your head. “You and your chivalry code.”

“I thought women loved it when men waited on them like this! Maybe I should double-check Reddit.”

How did he manage to do this to you? Your stomach is doing flips and it feels like for a brief second, the Hanahaki has frozen, allowing you a moment of clarity. Being near him was like not knowing your head was underwater until you took in that first gasp of air and felt it expand in your lungs, life flowing back into your veins.

You settle on the couch and accept the bowl from him. He sits down on the opposite end, crossing a leg over his knee, and turns to look at you.

“I think the remote’s on your end. Feel free to put on anything.”

“Anything? What a treat. I had come fully prepared with a list of rom-coms but I’m glad I can put on anything.”

You roll your eyes as you swallow the hot soup, savoring how it slides down your throat. “Rom coms? Why?”

“Isn’t that the default for when you’re sick?”

“Is that the default when you’re sick?” You probe him teasingly, noting how you don’t feel the irritating brush of the flowers as much as before. It almost felt easier to breathe with him around.

Sheepish, Higuruma grins at you and rakes a hand through his hair. “It might be. It’s too early to reveal my secrets.”

“Oh? And when would it be appropriate?”

“After a third date.”

You glance at him, spoon halfway to your lips. He hastily adds, “After you’re feeling better of course!”

You busy yourself with the bowl to hide the blush that was threatening to make itself visible and swallow zealously. As mentioned, he puts on a rom-com and you finish the soup, feeling warm and cozy. You’re wrapped in a blanket and Higuruma has remained politely at the opposite end but as he sees your eyes beginning to droop he offers his shoulder.

“No, it’s ok…I’m fine here…” You mumble, trying to focus on the movie but the Hanahaki is beginning to take a toll on your body.

“It’s all right y/n. I guarantee I’m comfier than a couch cushion.” Seeing your hesitation he chuckles. “I promise to behave. Just…c’mere. I wasn’t joking when I said people shouldn’t suffer alone.”

He scoots over to the middle and helps you tip over slightly, placing an arm around you as the side of your cheek rests on his shoulder. The effect was instantly soporific. You couldn’t believe it. He was here…and yet so far away. You struggle to remind yourself that nothing was solid, that this was all still in the beginning stages, and that plenty could go wrong.

But the yearning is stronger and you let yourself indulge for a brief moment before your brain switches from consciousness to sleep. Hiromi, warm, gentle, sweet Hiromi, here, next to you, on your sofa in your living room. Letting you use him as a pillow. It was like plucking a private daydream from your brain and shaping it into reality.

If you could disperse the little moments like this…could you possibly slow down the Hanahaki enough that you could date him a little longer until it was appropriate to tell him you loved him? And perhaps when you did…he would say it back?

You smelled that familiar scent of wood and spice, memories of the kiss lulling you to sleep. His hand rubs the side of your blanket-covered arm, steady and comforting.

“You smell nice,” you mutter almost imperceptibly but he hears it and his heart skips a beat.

“I’m glad you think so.”

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

Monitors beep and there’s an IV in your arm. Shoko peers anxiously into your face as you come back to reality. Things had taken a turn for the worse. You had been floating in and out of consciousness for the past few days.

“I need to know everything that happened. I’m sorry, I know you don’t feel like talking.” Shoko helps you sit upright in the hospital bed and hands you a glass of water which you sip weakly. “But I need to figure out when I should start the special interventions you mentioned. I have all the labs. But I need to know where you are emotionally if I have to make a call about surgical intervention next.”

You take a few breaths of oxygen from the mask in your hand before steadying yourself to speak. Every inch of you hurt. Your body prickled as you tried to suck in a breath, your mouth dry and your words raspy. Living was simply draining right now.

“Four days ago, Hiromi visited me at home. He wasn’t aware of how sick I was. And I didn’t tell him.”

Shoko’s eyes narrow. “Why?”

You shake your head wearily. “It just didn’t feel right. He put me to sleep. When I woke up, I was laid out on the couch and Hiromi was gone. I felt a lot better and got myself to bed. Then the next day, I was in pain. So much pain. It felt like one of my lungs had burst. Like a million thorns were scratching the inside of my heart and throat. That’s when I called you.”

Shoko paces back and forth as she ponders on what the next best step would be, looking exasperated. “Y/n. I told you that being with him in this unrequited manner will only cause the Hanahaki to spread faster. You should have said no to him coming over. The closeness and then his absence, plus the lack of admission of any romantic feelings made it grow alarmingly. Your heart and lungs are almost purely plant now.”

You lay back against the pillows, taking the most shallow breaths possible to alleviate any further discomfort. “How long? Before…?”

Shoko sighs deeply. “I will have to do the surgery tomorrow.”

You had known deep down that she wouldn’t have any better news. Tears fill your eyes as you stare at the ceiling, dripping down your cheeks and onto the pillow. Your voice quivers are you talk.

“Wow…I really thought…I had more time than that. I thought…we’d go on a third date. Maybe a fourth. And by the fifth or sixth, enough time would have passed that it wouldn’t be weird if I said it.” You press your hands over your eyes and a sob passes from your lips. “I really wanted it to be him Shoko. My end game. I guess…it wasn’t meant to be huh?”

Shoko pats your arm sympathetically. “It’s not that you won’t ever fall in love again. It just won’t be with him.”

“Ah, but that’s the thing Shoko. Would anything else feel the way this feels?” You let yourself think back on every little interaction you ever had with Higuruma. Every tiny second where the two of you had been in the same room, or just passed by each other at work. The way his eyes danced as he laughed, little crow’s feet forming at the corners. And the fact that you’ll never find out if rom-coms were his go-to when he was sick. It was so bittersweet, to be so close yet so far to the addictive idea of almost knowing what it would be like to be loved by him, yet too late to escape the effects of the Hanahaki.

“Can you find him for me Shoko? I just…need to see him one last time. Before…you know.”

Shoko’s eyes are contemplative, but she nods. “Let me see if he’s on campus.”

“And Shoko?”

She already knows what you’re about to say but listens anyway.

“Please don’t tell him anything. The last thing I need is him pitying me.”

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

Higuruma checks his phone and can’t hide his disappointment when he sees you haven’t replied to his last few texts. He’d been careful not to wake you when he laid you down on the sofa and quietly crept out that night. He’d been sure to text you to let you know you hadn’t been abandoned, but that he didn’t want to encroach on your boundaries and was looking forward to seeing you again. That was 4 days ago. Had he made things awkward without realizing it? Had you ghosted him?

He told himself it couldn’t possibly be a simple case of ghosting because you hadn’t been coming into work either. He was positive he hadn’t misread the signs. You were comfortable and relaxed around him. There was no reason for you to avoid him. Had your illness worsened? The ideas turn over and over in his head as he wanders the halls of the vast Jujustu High campus, then comes out of his reverie as someone calls his name.

“Oh! Shoko, hi.” He greets the brunette as she approaches him. Her expression looks tight as she nears, and she seems unsure of what to say.

Shoko knows she’s obligated to hold her silence, but in this case, she can’t bring herself to do it. “Can we find a place to sit down? There’s a lot that needs to be said and I’m not sure there’s a lot of time left.”

“Time left? For what? Is this about y/n?” Higuruma feels uneasy but allows Shoko to direct him toward a bench in the well-maintained courtyard.

Shoko does her best to explain everything concisely; the origin of the Hanahaki, its unexpected acceleration, and how you would be heading into surgery tomorrow to get it removed. Higuruma listens quietly but it’s clear from his expressions and the way they turn to shock and horror as Shoko describes it that he’s feeling this on a personal level.

“Unrequited love eh?” He runs a hand over the back of his neck and takes a deep breath. “Who would’ve thought?” Higuruma mulls this over in his head. Was there someone else he wasn’t aware of? He shouldn’t be surprised. You were so beautiful after all, and with your Jujutsu talents, courage, and principles, it wasn’t that much of a shock. It couldn’t be him…he was new to everything, needing help, always feeling like he was one step short. He looks to Shoko, needing confirmation. “And do we know who the mystery man is?”

Shoko looks at him pointedly and he frowns for a second thinking. “What? Is it someone I know? Am I supposed to pass on a message?”

Shoko impatiently tapped her foot against the ground, biting her inner cheek, her expression almost becoming a glare as she prayed he’d have the epiphany soon.

A lick of irritation passes through him. “Shoko, trust me when I say I want her to live. I'm dating her right now, but if there’s someone else that she needs to be well, I’m not selfish enough to stand in the way of that.” His heart clenches at the thought but if it was a matter of life and death, he couldn’t deny you that.

To him, you were the moon, the lovely, elegant, marker in his sky, and he was the ocean, hopelessly drawn by your gravity, yet never getting close enough to grasp you and make you his own, waves crashing down into salt and foam after each failed attempt.

Feeling like she might burst, Shoko begrudgingly gives him another clue. “There’s no other man.”

“There isn’t? Then…” He’s silent as the meaning of her words suddenly dawns on him, making him blush. The realization is stunning. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was. But it’s always been you. Now let me make this very clear. If you do not have any feelings for her that are equal to romantic love, then there’s nothing else that can be done. I’ll take her to surgery and remove all of it. She deserves to live.”

He falls silent as her words wash over him. “And that…would take away everything right?”

“It will. She’ll forget everything. All those times she felt her heartbeat quicken when she saw you. The dates you had. You bringing her soup. She’ll forget and her feelings will become purely platonic.” She looks at him appraisingly and waits for an answer.

“I…” The words catch in his throat and he feels an unbearable guilt wash over him. He was responsible for putting you in this state. It was his fault you were now hovering between life and death. He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose and takes a calming breath. Nothing about him was steady at the moment. He was a knot of nerves, worried for your safety.

“I do love her,” he admits. “For the longest time. It’s just…you can’t blurt out things like that. Scares people off.”

“So I’ve heard,” Shoko says, trying not to sound sarcastic. “But you were dating her. That must mean that you have feelings for her.”

“Who says ‘I love you’ to someone after 2 dates?”

Shoko’s eye twitches menacingly and Higuruma leans away, looking slightly apprehensive at the expression. “What is it?”

“Nothing just that you two…are very similar.” She sighs, massaging her temples.

“So, what do I have to do now?” Higuruma looks at her helplessly. “I don’t want to be the reason she’s suffering. If I tell her I love her, that’s it? The Hanahaki fades? Because I’ll do it. I’ll tell her over and over. Anything to make it right.”

“That would certainly help but the state that she’s in…verbally making your feelings known would still require her to remain in the hospital for a few weeks.”

“What else can I do?” Higuruma looks at Shoko with sincerity. “Whatever she needs, I’ll do it.”

Shoko clears her throat wondering how to put forth the matter. “Well, while the verbal affirmations would ease her discomfort, physical love would definitely speed up her recovery.”

“So hugs? Kisses? I held her on the sofa while she slept. I can do that again, I’ll cuddle her until she feels better.”

Shoko lets out a sigh, wondering how much more explicit she would need to get. “We are very much short on time, so let me ask you this. What’s the usual culmination of romantic love?”

“What? The culmination of romantic love? It’s…it’s…OH.” His eyes widen as the realization washes over him, turning his face a brilliant shade of crimson. “Doesn’t that cross a line? We’ve only ever kissed, and it was only once.”

“I’m sure she won’t mind if it saves her life. Besides, I can’t imagine her denying it if it’s you.”

“Ah, thanks?” he says uncertainly, not sure if it’s a compliment. Still flustered, he rakes his hands through his hair, trying not to feel embarrassed. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve loved this. To make love to someone as gorgeous as you? It would’ve been a privilege. But the added complication of you being sick added a layer of uncertainty. But he knew he’d have to figure it out.

Feeling like she’s finally gotten through to him, Shoko smiles at him softly. “Just…let yourself love her naturally. It’ll fall into place. You’ll figure it out.” She pats his shoulder reassuringly. “Think you can take some time off? Stay at home with her?”

He nods, feeling his resolve strengthen. “Of course.”

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

The hands that carry you are warm, large, and gentle. Was this it? Were they taking you to surgery? Shoko had given you something strong for the pain. Had she found Hiromi? You couldn’t recollect talking to him. Maybe he was out while you were hospitalized. Well, so much for that…

It was all going to be over soon. Shoko would extract the Hanahaki from your body and the next time you saw Higuruma, you wouldn’t feel a thing. Life really was cruel.

But something felt different. Instead of being moved to a cold surgical platform, you felt yourself being placed onto a soft bed, the familiar smell of fabric softener surrounding you. Were you home? Was the surgery already over?

A presence lays down next to you, gently drawing you closer, and as you inhale, you recognize the fragrance of woody spice. Hiromi was here? How? Were you dreaming? That must be it. You were post-op and experiencing whatever pleasant sensation the anesthesia gave you until you woke up.

You feel your face being caressed, your hair brushed away, being pressed tightly against his chest as his lips skim across your temple.

“Y/n. I’m so sorry.” His voice sounds regretful. “I guess…I was an idiot. I was so unsure about how you felt, when in fact, it was quite obvious. And I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t want more. Because baby, the things I feel when you’re near me. They take my breath away. I thought the worst thing that could happen was that you would decide you didn’t want to see me anymore. I was wrong.”

His embrace tightens, and he adjusts so that your head rests on the crook of his neck, your breath falling sweetly on his skin. “The worst thing is seeing you like this, knowing I put you in this state. Why has society made dating so hard? Why are we shamed for feeling things too soon? Or too late? I think it should be different depending on the people involved. Some people feel it early. Others feel it down the line. I guess I’m one of the former. I just know.”

He kisses your forehead, and when he speaks next, there’s a crack in his voice, raw emotion coming through. “I love you. Always have from the moment I first started as a sorcerer. You leave me in awe. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner. I love you, y/n. I love you so much.”

You stir slightly, listening intently. Did he just…?

“You have to get better. Remember how on the first date, you told me that you’d love to visit Paris someday? We’ll go. Just us. After you’re well. I don’t care what society deems normal anymore. We’ll go on our third date. Because you deserve it. Because I love you.”

His words permeate your body, a curious sensation because it feels like they entered your bloodstream, and were being absorbed into your heart. The tightness of the root system embedded into your veins withdraws, and you feel your breath becoming less labored.

“Please wake up darling. You have to wake up.”

He presses his lips against yours, full of tenderness and passion, and when he pulls away, he sees color coming into the previously pale and chapped lips. He kisses you again, and it’s bliss, his hands combing through your hair, stroking your back, and you take in a deep breath, the relief feeling ecstatic, your blood humming in your veins, almost purifyingly. Compelled to react, you move your lips gently, feel him still and pull away incredulously, and look down at your face.

“Y/n?” There’s so much relief on his face as he looks at you, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks.

‘Hey,” you manage to rasp, feeling that same purifying sensation, like the flowers in your body were contracting ever so slightly, making room for you to breathe.

Higuruma lets out a soft laugh, then rests his forehead on yours. “Oh my…you’re awake. You’re going to make it darling, don’t worry.”

“Do you really love me?”

“I do. So much. I don’t know since when. I just knew I did.”

The fortifying effect of those words brings back strength into your body and you raise your arms, wrapping them around his neck.

“Hiromi. You have no idea how happy I am that you’re here.”

“Oh I think I have you beat there darling,” he says weakly, nuzzling your neck. “I wasn’t sure when you’d wake up.”

He kisses you again, slow and gentle and your mouth opens to accept his tongue, reveling in the taste, feeling every inch of your body respond to his touch. His hands roam under the back of the thin T-shirt you’re wearing, anchoring themselves onto your shoulders, inhaling your scent as he tries to breathe through it all. He strings a line of soft kisses from your jaw down your neck, stopping to savor the way your pulse felt as it beat with vitality inside you, before coming down to your collarbone. A gasp leaves your lips, fingers tangling with his hair as he does so.

The noise brings his attention back to you, unaware of the desire pooling into your veins where the flowers were starting to withdraw. Your cheeks had a healthy glow, a flush settling into them as he pulled you against him.

“Are you ok with this?” He asks, his fingers tracing circles on the back of your neck, waiting for a response.

“I am. More than ok. Just…don’t stop now. I need this.” You lean up and kiss him, electricity sparking between the both of you. “I need you.”

Hearing you needed him switches something on in him and he groans against the passion of your kiss before burying his face in your neck, nibbling the soft flesh, listening to the flow of breath running through you. His hands sneak up under the front of your shirt and rest against your breasts, letting the heat flow into them, feeling your nipples perk up against his palms before he squeezes, his mouth leaving wet kisses between the crook of your neck and shoulder.

“Please…” you whisper into his ear, the word spoken with so much urgency that he almost loses control. He finds the hem of your shirt and pulls it off, taking in the sight of your lovely body, the pebbled nipples ripe for sampling. He pulls one into his mouth, causing a quiet moan to leave you, and begins to tease the other, rolling it between his thumb and index, listening to your cues as he increases the friction and pressure.

You feel like you're on a cloud, pleasure tingling into every crevice of your body, sighing, losing all other thoughts except for the man in your bed. “Hiromi,” you call his name in a breathy tone, cradling his head as he suckles, heat gathering between your legs. How long had it been since you were touched in this way? Held like you were precious, kissed like you were ambrosia?

Hiromi observes the way color comes back to your body as he teases you, watching with mild fascination as the pert nipple between his fingers changes color, life coming back into you.

Your eyes close against the gentle ministrations of his tongue and fingers, the moans becoming whimpers as need takes over. When he finally lets go the need for more contact with his skin was overwhelming. You fist the fabric of his top and pull it off, and he allows it without any questions. Your eyes roam over the broad, tanned chest, the cloud of black hair on his chest leading into a thready trail that crawled lower like a lion’s mane, hidden by the waistband of his jeans. For a moment you stare, drinking in the sheer masculinity of it all, the hard planes and defined muscles, contrasting against the softness of your body.

Almost shyly you run your fingers through the patch of hair before coming down to place a kiss between his collarbones, hear his breath strangle before continuing down, feeling all the muscles in his abdomen tense up as your lips follow the happy trail, delighting in the way he reacted when you nibbled around his bellybutton.

“Y/n you’re making me crazy.” he grits his teeth, struggling to keep a hold on his sanity. You had just recovered, he shouldn’t be rash or grab you but you were making it very hard to ignore the rush of want pouring into his bloodstream. It was so surprising how these acts of love, even briefly, had brought you back from the edge.

He slides you back up, sees the vitality glittering in your eyes, and crushes his mouth to yours, letting his body speak for him as he runs a hand down your smooth skin, pausing to knead the soft squish of your belly, his hand slipping under the band of your shorts and underwear, bringing them down to reveal the curve of your ass which he grabs possessively, savoring the fat, pushing your lower body against his throbbing erection. He slowly grinds against you, paying attention to your body but you aren’t pulling away from him, rather, it appears to make you crave more, the way your hands fumble at his back, holding on to his shoulders and pressing your face into his chest.

Hiromi’s hands move to your front, repeating the action of pulling the waistbands down, exposing you to his hands. As he slides your clothing off, your legs part for him unashamedly, the throbbing in your sex unbearable, feeling your chest becoming free of the previous pressure that was suffocating it. Grasping your mound in his large palm, he feels for the edge of the swollen labia and massages, grasping the moistening flesh between his fingers and applying pressure, causing you to arch against his hand, the noises you make music to his ears.

He gently parts the folds of your sex, seeing the slick from your arousal gathering at the entrance of your core, begging to be touched. He looks back up at you and you nod, the small sign of consent all he needed before he plunges his tongue into the most heat of your cunt. The knowledge of knowing he was here at such a sensitive spot on your body sends a thrill through him and he licks up, finding the base of your swollen clit, letting his tongue flick against it, satisfaction flowing through him as you hum your pleasure at the action. Laying his tongue flat, he slides up and down, unfazed when you move against him, trying to build a little more friction.

He lets his middle finger circle the entrance of your pussy, teasing until you raise your hips slightly before sliding in, the digit feeling so wonderfully filling, curling upwards to find the little patch inside you that makes you take a sharp breath before becoming so wonderfully pliant and soft under him. He inserts his ring finger, and your sighs become a crescendo of gasps and moans, writhing under him, holding the pillow to remain grounded as the ache in your core becomes unbearably sweet, blossoming from the center and filling your body with a thrum of pleasure.

You sob as the orgasm hits, all the muscles in your body contracting before pleasurably spasming, your cries becoming shrill as it passes, feel Hiromi’s tongue slow down and continue to nudge against your clit, ensuring he squeezed out every drop of pleasure from you before pulling away from your core.

You’re a sight to see after that, body rosy and flushed, a fresh vigor visible all over, hair messy and splayed across the pillow.

“Y/n…you’re so beautiful,” he rasps as he crawls back up to you, licking your juices off his fingers before covering your mouth with his. Shivering from the climax, you taste yourself on his tongue, gripping the back of his neck as though afraid he might slip between your fingers if you didn’t hold onto him hard enough.

“Do you…ahem…” He suddenly turns shy but powers through. “Do you happen to have condoms? I kind of…forgot...you know with everything that happened.”

Your lips quirk and a peal of laughter leaves you, and he joins in, smiling, cupping your face tenderly in his hands. “Top drawer,” you answer him. “You went to the drugstore a couple of days ago and bought decongestants, but not condoms?” you tease him.

“Who knew I’d be having sex a few days later?”

“We were dating! It was bound to happen.”

“Oh really? So that’s what happens when people are dating?” he teases you back and it’s your turn to blush, but he’s being sweet about it, brushing your noses together, and pressing feather-light kisses all over your face. He slides off the bed to finish undressing, and you watch him, fascination all over your face as his cock slips free, long and veiny, leaking precum, throbbing with hot need. He fumbles through your nightstand before finding the little wrapped packet, rolling down the condom before joining you back in bed, cuddling you close.

“Ready?”

You nod, a look passing between you both, before he positions himself and starts entering, the push of his tip feeling exquisite, going inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to him, feeling your fingernails scratch his forearms as he starts to bottom out. He holds still, your eyes meeting, your mouth slightly open as your pussy involuntarily spasms around him, feeling wonderfully stretched out.

He starts moving, hips rolling deliciously to set up a rhythm, leaning forward to kiss you as he does so, arching his back to ensure your G-spot wasn’t missed with each stroke. It was so artful the way he made love to you, your body so responsive to everything, and he gathered you in his arms, both of you looking into each other’s eyes.

“I love you.” He buries his face into the crook of your neck and you lock your ankles around his waist, mewling as he thrusts into you.

“I love you too,” you mumble, mind in a haze, feeling nothing but pleasure flowing through you. Your breathing has changed, no longer ragged and shallow but to a full-bodied draw of air, so refreshing as you both touch and caress each other.

Your body starts the familiar sensation of tension gathering in your belly, coiling, waiting for release. Misty-eyed, you look at him, knowing he’s been watching your face all this while, looking for cues.

“I’m close…” you whisper, touching his cheek, tracing the outline of his lips as you move with him.

“Let go for me…I’ve got you…” With a cry, your second orgasm grips you, more powerful than the first, and you barely manage to keep your legs locked around him.

“Hiromi…Hiromi…” his name falls from your lips, and his movements become a little sloppy, feeling his own orgasm nearing, and not too soon, he falls off the edge, cock twitching inside you, as he rides out the wave of pleasure.

It was the best sleep of your life afterward, wrapped up in Higuruma’s warm and secure embrace, cheek resting on his chest, and listening to each other’s heartbeats as you both dreamt.

When you wake up, it’s the middle of the night and Higuruma is awake, peering at you through the darkness.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispers, petting your hair.

“I can’t, I have the distracting problem of having a handsome man in my bed.”

“Hmm…And this is a problem, how?”

“I want to keep looking at him. Makes for bad sleep.”

A deep chuckle leaves his throat as you cuddle against him.

“So out of curiosity, if I wasn’t conscious by the time you started up, what would you have done?” You lean up to look at him, legs tangling under the covers.

“Oh, Shoko reassured me that kissing you would bring you around.”

“Yeah, but what if it hadn’t?” you press, curiosity building.

Higuruma makes a funny expression, like he’s weighing whether or not to divulge something to you.

“What is it? C’mon, tell me!” You lightly slap his chest and he sighs, defeated.

“Well, Shoko gave me a letter of medical necessity.”

Your face turns blank. “She…what?”

Higuruma takes his phone and pulls up an official-looking email with an attachment. Trying not to laugh, he reads out, “I, Dr. Shoko Ieieri, hereby state, that in the event that F/n L/n is only partially conscious, or fully unconscious, the giver of medical services, Mr. Hiromi Higuruma, has my complete medical consent to make physical love to the patient to ensure her life does not fall into jeopardy. This medical order shall remain in effect until F/n Y/n becomes fully conscious and capable of making her own decisions. See she signed it and everything.”

He tilts the phone screen so that you can see, and you cover your mouth as you try to stifle your laughter. “I can’t believe Shoko!”

“I’m sure she wrote it as a joke,” Higuruma says amusedly. “She was very confident that kissing would wake you up sufficiently.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe my doctor wrote a note advocating for sex to save my life.” You bury your face into his chest and the both of you laugh uncontrollably.

“So is it a safe bet to assume we’re having another date?” he teases, pressing a kiss to your neck.

“I’ll have to think about it. I’m joking!” you add hastily, seeing his expression grow stony. He sighs, dramatically shaking his head.

“Guess I better get used to this. Looks like it’s going to be part of my life for a long long time.”

He kisses you again before you can retort. You smile up at him, knowing he is yours.