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skzdarlings · 6 months

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final part: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 19k words)

warning for this chapter: the usual story dynamics plus explicit violence, intense peril, threat and injury to reader, graphic depictions of death, explicit sexual content.

Your father will be here soon. He kept his distance during the rescue operation but will reconvene with his team before the journey home.

You and Felix wake long before his anticipated arrival, when dawn is only just peeking into the hotel room.

You lay in bed, your head on his bare chest and his arms around you. You discuss the potential confrontation ahead. Last time you were taken, your father was less than sympathetic to your plight. Even though this was more his fault than yours, you are certain you will take the blame. He cannot take responsibility for a misstep. If he is fallible, he is weak, and that puts his whole existence in jeopardy. It must always be someone else’s fault.

Therefore it is likely he will punish you. Therefore it is likely he will ask Felix to do it.

“Felix,” you say when he does not look at you. He is staring out the window with a look of pure frustration.

“I know,” he says. “You want me to do it. Last time I…”

“Yes.”

There is no need to discuss last time. You both know he fumbled that exchange. Felix is meant to be the personification of resolute strength and obedience, the perfect soldier. His moment of weakness snared your father’s attention, as weakness always does. Your quick response remedied the situation well enough, but you will not be so lucky next time. The only thing worse than a moment of weakness is the persistence of it. He cannot hesitate again.

“If,” you say slowly, “we want to find a way out… then now, more than ever, we cannot give him any reasons to be suspicious of us.”

“I know,” he says, but his jaw is still clenched and his gaze is faraway.

“Felix.” You touch his jaw, minding the darkening bruise, and turn his face to yours. His expression softens when he meets your gaze. “Thank you,” you say. “I love you. I trust you. It will be okay.”

He cups your cheek and lifts your face. His looks at you like he is studying every small detail. Even though he must know your face perfectly – seeing it when he wakes, before he goes to sleep, every day for so much of his life – he looks at you like he is seeing you for the first time all over again.

You laugh when he flicks your bottom lip, the little pout he has long since called his weakness.

“You could convince the sky it wasn’t blue,” he says, and kisses you tenderly. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

Maybe it is the novelty of hearing that out loud, or maybe you will just be crazy about him forever, but you feel flustered. You laugh and squirm, your skin hot. It makes him laugh, the menace kissing down your throat just to make you wriggle more.

“Don’t let my daddy catch you then,” you tease, breathlessly. “He wouldn’t like that very much.”

The returned chuckle makes you shiver. You run your fingers through his hair but he grabs your wrist and pins it down. Your breath catches when he sucks a bruising kiss on your throat. He is usually so careful about leaving marks, but today he dips his head to the soft skin of your breast and bites a mean little mark into the tender skin, making you gasp and buck beneath his hold.

“No, he wouldn’t, would he?” Felix says, his deep voice dropping even lower. “What would everyone say, hmm? Your daddy, your guards… all those rich boys at those fancy parties who think they have a chance with you…”

“Everyone thinks I’m a frigid bitch,” you reply, joining his game, smiling knowingly. “And I am, aren’t I? Nothing but trouble.”

“Nothing but trouble,” he says with a grin. He flicks the covers off, then his hands are on your hips and he flips you as smoothly. You yelp when he drags you halfway down the bed, arranging you as he kneels behind you. “You can’t fool me, sweetheart,” he says. One hand curls around your throat and the other snakes down your backside. “Frigid? Mm. I don’t think so. I actually think you are very, very soft… and warm…”

His fingers slip inside you easily, wet from your previous lovemaking and wetter still from his voice. Every little breath and tortured groan has you twitching and gasping.

“Felix,” you say.

It is the right thing to say. You are clawing at the bedsheets moments later, hiccupping on each watery breath as he holds your hips and fucks you right down into the mattress. You press against it like you could disappear there, fucked into freedom, never to return to this dire world again.

You sink into the bed and float in your mind, sighing when he wraps his arms around you and covers you with his body. He is hot and whole and so alive, and everything seems possible while you are joined together. You have each other, completely and irrevocably. That is all you need to survive.

You finish not a moment too soon. You are nestled in his arms, kissing and kissing and kissing, flushed and satisfied and content, when reality comes knocking. Felix throws on some pants while you scurry into the bathroom and close the door.

Felix steps into the hall. Between the bathroom door and the hotel room door, you only hear muffled voices. Then a few clicks, then another knock, then you jump. You are wearing a blanket and it slips with your surprise. You adjust it frantically, but Felix says, “It’s just me.”

You crack open the door to Felix in a t-shirt and his combat pants. You recognize the tired lines on his face, cracks in the mask he is struggling to don. His reassuring smile is not convincing.

“Here,” he says, handing you some clothes. “Your father is here. He wants to see you at breakfast.”

“Of course he does,” you say, just for something to say, letting your frustration seep into your tone.

The bathroom tiles are cold under your feet. A sharp snap of sensation and a reminder of reality. Felix makes the world feel small in comparison to him, but the world is still there, ever turning with its usual machinations and politics and powers. You are still suspended helplessly in the centre of it all. Though you pushed the darkest truths to the corner for a few hours, making love and comforting each other, all those hurts and agonies are still there. You see it in his eyes, his glance flickering from here to there as he roams with his thoughts.

Neither of you have ever had a normal life and you do not know what to do with one. He has been making difficult choices since he was a child. Neither of you truly knows if you are making the right one now.

You do the best you can with a strong hug. It is a lingering, affectionate embrace, fitting your bodies together until you feel grounded.

Felix looks over your shoulder, catching his own reflection. You look back as well, his cheek against yours, your eyes meeting in the mirror.

“I couldn’t stand the sight of my own face,” he says, his voice low even though you are alone, like the words are fighting his tongue. It is hard to admit. He swallows hard but continues, “I hated the stupid kid looking back at me… I wanted to be someone better, someone who could actually do something right…”

You look at him rather than his reflection. When you touch a strand of blonde hair, he closes his eyes, as if he can feel the pad of your finger on a lock of hair, smarting more than his bruises.

“Is that why… the hair?” you ask clumsily. You do not know how to wade through ten years of emotion. Felix has coloured his hair regularly since the day you met him. The blonde suits him but it is clearly unnatural. It has not been soft in a very long time, coarse from repeated dye jobs.

The colour is just one more layer of his meticulous mask, crumbling in front of you as he nods and sighs. An admittance. He could not stand to look in the mirror and see that other version of himself, the boy he was, the boy who made all those mistakes. You see him, the years of questioning his choices, the impossible tether around his throat. There has never been a day he has not questioned his choices. Working for one bad man or another. Rescuing his friend or his lover. Letting violence happen or letting the violence use him.

You kiss his cheek, then below his jaw, threading your fingers through his hair. You scratch at his scalp, just a feathery light touch, one that makes him melt in your arms.

“I love you,” you say. You find it is an addicting word yet it never loses its potency. Your heart still races when he touches his forehead to yours, when he strokes your sides and hums a gentle sound of pleasure. “Things have changed a lot over the years. But we’re still here.” Still living your lives, even in broken bits, those stolen pieces you mentioned so long ago. “We’ve changed. We’ll change again. Things will happen and we’ll figure it out. But please don’t hate that boy anymore. I care about him a lot. I want him to be happy too.”

His face scrunches with the threat of tears, but he controls himself. He pushes the emotion into a laugh, though it is humourless. Then he closes the space between you and kisses you, cups the back of your head and holds you there until you are both satisfied.

“All right,” he says in a rough voice. “Get dressed. It’s going to be a long day.”

“You’ll be there, though,” you say.

“Always,” he says, a hint of amusement touching the corner of his lips. “I’m your bodyguard, hmm?”

You laugh and kiss him again.

“Right,” you say. “Always.”

Your father sits at a dining table in the penthouse suite. Behind him, a window wall flaunts the city skyline. Daylight casts a glow around him like some deified king lording over his petty kingdom. Guards loiter in the room and the corridor, keeping their eyes sharp as hotel staff prepare the table.

You sit across from him with the sunlight in your eyes, the usual position of discomfort and inferiority. He does not look at you, nor does he greet you, his eyes on his phone until the table is set. A staff member goes to serve him but he dismisses them.

“All of you, go,” he says, not just to the staff but his team as well. They filter out of the room one by one.

The penthouse is a ostentatious space, all white linen and gilded frames, tall ceilings and bay windows, but as the room empties, it becomes frighteningly big. Or maybe you just feel frighteningly small, his tactics working as they often do. Your father knows how to push your buttons because they are the same as his. He is scared. It makes him angry. He makes you scared. It makes you angry.

“Felix,” he says. “Stay.”

Felix is all that tempers you. He stands against the wall but you do not look at him, staring at your father until he finally looks your way. Despite the light, you hold his stare, feeling a modicum of triumph when he looks away first.

“Did they damage you?” he asks. His phrasing almost makes you laugh. Damaged. As if outside forces were needed for that.

“I’m fine,” you say. “My bodyguard rescued me. Your team was damaged, though.” You throw the word right back at him. You cross your leg and sit back, like you are as unbothered as him.

You know that underneath his cold exterior, he is anything but casual. He is letting his rage simmer as he builds to some awful retaliation. He was conducting a mission, sending his best asset on a job, and it was interrupted by your kidnapping. A kidnapping that nearly lost him more than his heir, but that same irreplaceable asset. An asset that previously made a mistake in front of his eyes. This is no longer a game, a squabble between a parent and child, but a real world crisis with dangerous consequences.

You should not provoke him, and that is why you do. Because provoking him is something you have always done and you need him to see you as that hapless child if you are going to beat him. You do not want to arouse further suspicion in him, that you are sitting here thinking about your own schemes, that you know more about his assets and operations than he could ever suspect.

So you toss your rejoinder and he catches it, as he always does, with a cruel smirk.

“There are more where they came from,” he says.

Returning like cockroaches and squashed just the same. If only a multi-generational empire could be toppled as easily. But your father is more than a man across a table; he is ten men in the corridor and more on the ground, he is paid staff and investors and a whole society.

Though you feign nonchalance, inside adrenaline pounds. Sweat gathers, your heart races. He is good at making you feel small, but at least it is predictable. The scene unfolds in your mind before it happens, the script playing before a single action is commanded. You will be scolded. You will be reprimanded. You will be punished.

“Felix, come here,” your father says.

You predicted he would involve Felix after what happened last time. The only question is what manner of punishment he will force from his hand. All you can do is trust Felix to play his role so you can play yours. You made it clear the physical pain was meaningless, that you could take whatever he inflicted. Just another inside joke between you. You will laugh about it one day.

You do not look away from your father. Your eyes are locked in a challenging stare, daring the other to break. You are scared, but you feel so much more than fear and rage. With your love for Felix, with the hope in your heart, you are an ocean of feeling and you are not ashamed of it anymore. You stare your father down and mutely convey that you are not broken, that he did not win, that he never will win.

His answer is the flick of a kitchen knife. It slides across the table and nearly tumbles right over the lip. It teeters within arm’s reach of you. It is tempting to look and consider its purpose with the trepidation you feel, but you do not. You tell yourself he will only hurt you so much, that putting you in true peril would surely be counterproductive to his overall efforts. Whatever plan he has for that knife will be a momentary pain you can recover from.

Then he says, “Felix.”

Felix steps into your periphery, the black of his fatigues a shadow at your side.

“Pick up that knife,” your father says. “Put it through your hand. Right through to the table.”

It is not the demand you were expecting, not by a long shot. As your father stares you down, steady where you start to waver, you realize this test is not for Felix. It is for you.

“I trust,” your father hisses the word, “you know the spot that will inflict the least permanent damage.”

The last time your father made this demand, you and Felix were kids at the start of your messy life together. Instinct propelled you to stop him. Over the years, you have mastered schooling your reactions. The girl who tackled Felix, the girl who sobbed while he was beaten, that girl learned to save her tears for later. Your father’s version of you is a cold, headstrong, hateful fool. She might stop Felix to combat her father, or she might let him suffer out of pure hatred.

Both options feel wrong. Regardless of what you choose, you feel like you are giving something away. You feel like your father will see right past it. He stares at you like he will find your secrets written on your face.

You have seconds to decide and that is not enough time. The moment passes you by. Felix plants his hand and takes the knife. Your father does not count him down. He watches you, willing you to make a mistake, to show your weakness. To prove him right.

You flinch when the knife thuds into the table, the soft reverberation of the wood accompanied with a gross little squelch that sounds too loud in this too big room. Your reaction is strongly stamped on your face, disgusted and upset. You look away to stop the tears that stab behind your eyes.

Everything that has happened, everything you have done, and you are right back here. After everything, he still ended up with that knife in his hand.

Your father rips it out. Felix catches his breath but does not cry out. You catch a glimpse of the bloody knife before your father tosses it on the floor, as if he is discarding something insignificant.

You slowly meet his gaze. He is still assessing you. You cannot tell if you passed or failed his test. By the scrutiny of his regard, it seems he does not know either. All you can do is look at each other while Felix bleeds beside you.

“You may go,” your father says, cold as the ice that locks your limbs. It takes you a moment to stir life back into them.

“Felix,” your father says. “You stay. We have business to discuss.”

You do not look at Felix. You cannot bear to look at him. On the escorted march back to your room, you are quiet, biting the inside of your cheek to stop any more unwanted reactions. Only when you are alone in the room do you let it out, an aggravated cry as you rip a pillow off the bed and whip it blindly across the room.

This was never going to be easy, but now it feels like the ongoing struggle between you and your father has led to an insurmountable deadlock. He has you enclosed in his fist and he is threatening to crush you in it.

You do not think he knows about the true nature of your relationship with Felix. He might suspect anything, an affair the last of it. Even a menial friendship would be a detrimental betrayal to him. All he sees is a smudge of a weakness in what should be the strongest cog in his machine.

He is testing you and tormenting you. He is perched on his pedestal, waiting for you to throw yourself at his feet in eventual penitence.

You will not. Not this time. Your father is expecting retaliation in the form of equal dramatics and you will not satisfy him. You will sit quietly. You will do what you have been doing, stealing pieces of your life in the silence and shadows. He controls a realm of power, affluence, and violence. You control yourself. Love has saved you all this time. It will be your means of escape for good.

You sit in quiet repose until Felix returns. Although you promised to remain calm, you cannot help but fuss over his injured hand. It has already been stitched and bandaged but you peek beneath the binding, almost gagging at the sight.

“All right, enough,” Felix says. He lifts your head and guides it onto his shoulder instead. You are sitting on the small loveseat under the window. You throw your arms around him and hold tight.

“I’m sorry,” you say, a tear sliding from your cheek to his shoulder. You sniffle.

“Don’t be,” he says. “I can take the pain. It means nothing. Sweetheart, he means nothing.”

“I know,” you say, but you sniffle one more time anyway. Gathering yourself, you lift your head to look at him. “What did my father want after I left?”

“I don’t fully know,” Felix says, the tenderness in his expression giving way to uncertainty. “He said he wants to continue the job,” Felix says. “He and Miroh, they’re both chasing these long-term investments in some government building contracts… Miroh has been getting in the way of your father’s deals, so he’s been mostly standing guard. Then he got intel that a significant asset of Miroh’s would be involved in securing an upcoming bid… And he thought… he thought with the right team he could… acquire whatever this asset was…”

“Chris,” you say, a breathless note. “That’s why he brought you on, isn’t it? He told you the acquisition was Chris.”

“If Chris was alive, if he was working for Miroh even after everything…” Felix swallows. He looks pained, like all these words are hard to say. His voice is rough and the words scratch like sandpaper as he forces them out. “Between me, your father’s back-up team, and the element of surprise… We had a chance of stopping Miroh’s subterfuge and getting… rescuing… Chris. Finally.”

But Chris might be dead. Your father might have killed him. Miroh has a vast artillery and the asset in question could be anyone or anything. It makes more sense your father was using Felix to eliminate this obstruction. That is what he always does. He uses someone like a thing, strengths and weaknesses calculated, and works them into his scheme.

You look at the bloody bandage, wrapped tight around that wounded hand, and you cannot bring yourself to vocalize these awful, pessimistic thoughts. You say instead, “But why would he want to continue the job now? You no longer have the element of surprise.”

“No,” Felix says. “We don’t. That’s because the job is over and your father is lying.”

“What?”

“Chris is dead.” Felix says it for you, with a hard set to his jaw that you recognize as a shield against emotion. He does not look at you because it exposes that vulnerable, human part of him, and right now he is fighting to maintain his composure. Cool, collected, he plainly states, “There is no chance of this job succeeding anymore. Miroh caught onto us. He interrupted us. Whatever we were after is not there anymore. Your father is just pulling my leash to see if I fight back.” He takes a deep breath before saying more. “He wants an excuse to question my loyalty.”

“He is provoking us,” you agree. There is a second of silence, both of you in contemplation, then you say, “We can’t let him.”

“If I refuse this job, he will just get worse,” Felix says. “If we try to run right now, we won’t get far. We need to do this right, we need to—”

“Take the job,” you say. “You said yourself, the job is over. My father is a bastard and an idiot but he would never risk sending his best team somewhere dangerous when he has nothing to gain from it. Call his bluff. Take the job.”

“I can’t leave you again,” Felix says, eyes closing as he clenches his good fist. “I won’t leave you alone with him again. Not right now, not like this. Sweetheart, if something happened—”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, wrapping your hand over his fist and gently uncurling his fingers. You nudge your nose against his chin, coaxing him to turn his head. He finally does, sighing as he looks down at you. You smile. “I’ll be safe in the house.”

“It’s more dangerous in there than out here,” he says.

“You know he won’t do anything worse than he’s ever done before,” you say. You look down when you touch the bandage on his hand. “We can take the cuts and bruises a little longer. Do the job, then come back to me. And who knows…” You kiss his cheek, a touch of comfort. “Maybe you’ll find the truth about Chris.”

“I know the truth,” he says, unmoved. “He’s dead.”

You do concede it is incredibly likely. If anything stopped your father from killing Chris, it was not morality, rather the practicality of breaching Miroh’s defences. But it sounds like Chris was trouble to Miroh, so it is possible there was no pushback.

It still breaks your heart to see Felix like this. The burden of this bargain has caused him strife for so long, but you can see how it motivated him too. As the hope leaves him, a light dims, and even your affection cannot ignite it.

“How do you know that?” you ask helplessly.

“I just feel it,” Felix says. “In my heart. I guess. I think, umm. I think. I think I’ve known for a long time. Maybe from the last time I ever saw him. But I needed to believe in it. I think I needed to believe Chris could be saved because then maybe—” He looks down at his injured hand. His fingers twitch when he fails to close his fist. “Then I would have done something good,” he says miserably. “Maybe then I could be worth saving too.”

“Felix. Baby.” You touch his face, still minding the bruise that grows more vicious by the second. It only adds to the ache in your chest as you look at him, beaten and battered for someone else’s sake. He has been taking hits every day since he was fourteen years old. Whether it was for you or his friend, he was willing to surrender his life if it meant even a possibility of saving someone else. “Felix, you have more heart and humanity than anyone I have ever known,” you say. “Everything you have ever done has been because of love, despite what they tried to make you otherwise. How can you not see what I see?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, the way he did this morning. He traces the curve of your cheek and brushes the subtle pout of your lips.

“You’ve always seen more than most people do,” he says. “You give me something else to believe in, you know?”

“Stop flirting,” you tease gently. “This is serious.”

He laughs, his smile soft but sincere. You kiss him slowly, until you are breathing the same uneven breaths, your hearts no doubt beating in tandem.

Then you pick yourselves up and prepare for what comes next.

Your father claims they will be gone for a week but you know it is not true. There is no real mission so they will return in a few days at the latest. For your part, you can only wait.

Even though you have a tenuous plan, it is still hard being separated from Felix. You remind yourself that you could not protect him in the field anyway, but logic is meaningless to your heart. You imagine a version of yourself that is possessed of so many skills, she could wipe out every obstacle without breaking a sweat.

But you are you. Your skills are more emotional than physical and right now that physicality is even worse than usual. You are lethargic from a brutal couple days, weak from the drugging, sore all over, and you cannot sleep well in an empty bed.

You wake repeatedly in the night, startled by a nightmare where you are being taken, where Felix is being beaten, where your father kills him and a dozen boys like him and all you can do is watch. The nightmares drag you into consciousness where you are barely eased, the reality of the world not so different from your nighttime horrors.

In the daylight, you maintain the healthiest disposition possible. You keep your distance from the security team, sitting in your room or quietly on the couch. You do not engage when they antagonize you. They grow bored of your presence soon enough, especially when they cannot get a rise out of you, leaving them with nothing to report to your father.

You expect the hours to drone endlessly.

Then you have a visitor.

You ignore the doorbell. The security team does not seem surprised by the interruption so you disregard it. Maybe it is just another member of the team.

You ignore the bell and the bustle of guards. You head to the kitchen to scrounge for some lunch instead. You hum as you chop vegetables, not paying any mind to the footsteps behind you. You expect it is a member of the security team, stalking you in the name of supervision. You turn to address him, a saccharine sweet smile at your face and a drole quip on your tongue, but your heart stops at the figure standing across from you.

“Hyunjin?”

You breathe more than whisper his name, like surprise has winded you.

You stand there, knife in hand, jaw hanging open as you stare into the face of your old friend. He is somehow even more handsome than you remember, long dark hair framing his face, eyes fierce and cheekbones sharp. An expensive blazer hugs his trim form. His boots resound with a softer thump than combat boots, so you should have realized it was someone else sooner.

You never would have guessed him. You have not seen Hyunjin in years.

“Hello, my girlfriend,” Hyunjin says with a smile, dazzling and beautiful and oh-so very fake.

“What are you doing here?” you ask tentatively, so perplexed by his appearance in your house that you do not know where to begin. You nearly pinch yourself to make sure you are not dreaming.

“Your dad called my dad,” Hyunjin says, his voice very light and casual, like he is picking up a conversation you paused an hour ago and not years ago. “He thought you needed company so you wouldn’t try running away off or something. So here I am. Ta-daaa. Company.”

Security shuffles past the kitchen. Hyunjin pauses, listening to the scuttle of their booted feet. When the din quiets, he smiles at you again. It does not reach his eyes.

“Hyunjin,” you whisper, laying the knife down. “What on earth is happening? Why are you here right now?”

Voices, laughter, the team in the other room. You and Hyunjin look at the door. His smile droops and he leans closer when he says, “Somewhere quieter please.”

You are still in something of a daze when you lead Hyunjin downstairs to the gym. A guard departs after giving the room a sweep, as if anyone or anything could have gotten down here with all the security.

Then it is just you and Hyunjin.

Hyunjin crosses the room, taking in the space and equipment. He whistles long and low while shaking his head. It makes you laugh despite everything.

“No, no, it’s nice,” Hyunjin teases. “I never saw this room before. But I always remembered your house was very small and understated.”

It’s a joke but you cannot force a laugh because his reminiscence sends you hurtling through your own memories. He turns and you see a younger version of him, just for a moment, beaming and bright. Hyunjin used to be the hopeful one, the person with a plan and ambition. He believed there was more to life and he believed he could achieve it. He was so certain that it sparked a flicker of hope in you. Now your flame is an inferno but there is no light or fire behind his eyes. He is so cold that it is hard to believe there was ever a flame.

“Hyunjin,” you say, imploringly. “What happened?”

“A lot,” he says. He puts his hands in his pockets like he feels at ease, but his eyes keep darting around the room, betraying his discomfort.

Though your friendship was short, it was substantial. You know him. Right now he is labouring beneath the weight of his performance, his charming expressions crooked, like poorly fitted clothes. He looks like an uncanny duplicate of the boy you once knew.

You step closer to him. He does not move, frozen in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets. When he eventually looks at you, it is with a slow lift of the head. You swear you can see a curtain drawing across his face as it happens. This close, you realize just how pale and wan he looks. He is grey at the edges, like he is fading away before your very eyes.

“Hyunjin,” you say, instinctively reaching out. He flinches away from your touch, then tries to smile like it didn’t happen. You do not hide your distress.

He finally drops the pleasant façade. His hands fall out of his pockets and swing at his sides. His countenance is even colder, his striking features sharper than ever as he levels you with a venomous stare.

“Don’t pity me,” he says. “I can’t stand it. I made my choices and I’m living with the consequences.”

“Consequences?” you ask. “Did they catch you trying to—”

“I never left,” he says. “I never even tried. I was close. I had a whole plan. A way to start over. But then...” He turns without any warning and walks to the mirror wall where he looks at himself. His hand hovers in the air, fingers curling. “I met someone,” he says. “And he wasn’t who I thought he was.”

When he does not elaborate, you step closer. You reach out to touch his shoulder, a consolation on the tip of your tongue. Before your touch even lands, he spins around and looks right at you.

“It turns out he was working for my father,” Hyunjin says. He speaks in a plain tone, conveying facts without any unnecessary sentiment, but you can see the red in his eyes as he strains to hold back emotion. “It was my fault for being so stupid. With the way things were going, I should have seen it coming. There is no such thing as selfless love. Everyone serves themselves in the end and I was stupid to compromise my well-being for someone else. I deserved the betrayal.”

“That’s not true,” you say without hesitation. He is talking about someone else but his words feel like a slap against your friendship too. You grab his hand like you can squeeze sense back into him. “I’m so sorry you were hurt,” you say. “But you can’t honestly think—”

“Hurt.” He chokes on the word and rips his hand back. “It nearly killed me. I wish it killed me. I wish I was anywhere but here. But I am stuck here because of my stupid feelings. Everyone has a weakness waiting to be exploited and you can’t trust anyone not to take advantage of yours.”

It sounds so much like your father that you stumble back. It resonates with a heavy slam against your ribs and the heart beating inside them. That heart feels so wrung out these days, swollen with so much love one second then shrivelled with pain the next. It throbs now. You are hurt just witnessing his pain. He has been betrayed and broken and he is unreachable in his grief. You can only imagine what he has endured to end up back here, in this house, with you.

You cannot blame him for guarding himself, but your combative side rears its stubborn head.

“There are good people,” you say. “There are people that can be trusted. You can trust me, after all.”

“I don’t know that,” he says. “We don’t know each other anymore.”

“That is definitely not true,” you say. You and Hyunjin clicked so well because your circumstances were so similar, your fears and pain the same. “We know each other perfectly, Hyunjin,” you say.

He looks away, blinking rapidly. His shoulders hunch. It looks so wrong for a man like him to curl in on himself in shame.

“Fine,” he says. “One person. It doesn’t make a difference.”

“One person makes all the difference,” you say. “Remember Minho?”

That one really makes him flinch. You are pretty sure a slap would hurt less.

“And Felix,” he says, his voice softer now. He scrunches his eyes shut like he can stop his pain with enough concentration. He pushes through and says, “He works for your father, doesn’t he? I remember him at that party. He was with the security team.”

“Yes,” you admit. “He works for him. In a way.”

“And you still trust him?” Hyunjin laughs. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “That’s just stupidity.”

“It is not.”

“He works for your father and takes his money and you still trust him not to betray you? That’s stupid.”

“It’s not.” Frustration bubbles inside you. You want to grab him and shake him around, like you can sift through and find the real Hyunjin underneath all this. “I know I can trust him completely.”

“You can’t possibly know that for sure,” he says. “He’ll betray you for the right price. Everyone has a price. You don’t think there’s something he’d trade you for?”

That does sting, if only infinitesimally, as you recall Felix and his conflicting desires. But you do not begrudge Felix for his life choices. He was an impressionable boy, raised to follow orders with no thoughts of his own. It made him wise in some ways and naïve in others. He fell into a bad bargain with a scheming man and found himself trapped. He was forced to make difficult decisions. It was not about choosing you or Chris. You would never make it about that.

“Felix loves me,” you say. “And I love him. You’re right. There are things he wants desperately. But he doesn’t have to trade me for it. He knows I would surrender myself willingly to see him happy. Just like I know, no matter what else happens, he will always come back for me. No matter where they hide me. No matter where I hide myself. No matter what men like my father do to him. We choose each other.”

“Everyone breaks,” Hyunjin says weakly. “No one’s that strong.”

“Not on their own, maybe,” you say. “We’re not alone.”

There was so much ice in his feigned arrogance that you are startled when Hyunjin starts crying. He covers his face with his hands. His shoulders shake and his breath hitches.

“Hyunjin,” you say, your own voice breaking. You rush up to him in a flustered hurry. You touch his head and his shoulders, trying to peer at him through his fingers. “Hyunjin, talk to me, please,” you beg. “Something else is wrong, isn’t it? Hyunjin, why are you here? Where are your parents? Why did my father call yours?”

“My parents are dead,” he barely manages to speak, gasping between his hiccupping cries. “It’s just me. They came for me and my father was difficult, he asked for too much, and they— and I—”

“They?” you say.

It is then you see it. You are clutching his shoulder and it tugs at his blazer. A shirt button pops open and your eyes drop to the exposed bruises across his collarbone. You blink in disbelief at the horrible mosaic beaten into his skin, angry welts of red and purple and yellow. It seems to go all the way down his chest. When you part the material of his shirt, something else catches your eye.

You freeze.

“Oh,” you say. “Hyunjin.”

He is wired. Someone is listening. Your father is listening.

You stop breathing for a moment. The world gets quiet. You look at Hyunjin. An old friend showing up at your house out of nowhere, presented like an offering. Jisung was not important enough for your father to remember, but Hyunjin is a different matter. He is rich if not wealthy. His parents were upwardly mobile, his father the kind of pathetic rich man who thought he was equal to a man like your father. Willing to do awful things to his own son to keep him in his clutches, then selling him to the highest bidder if it meant advancement. His only mistake was asking for too much when he was ultimately expendable. There are always more where he came from.

You want to be wrong. Your father is a busy man. He would not waste time finding Hyunjin and putting him through so much just for this, just to corner you into a confession. But you know he did. This is exactly what he would do. He moves like a coward, killing civilians and poisoning innocent boys, then he makes a show of throwing it in your face.

He always told you friendship was beneath you. What a way to prove it.

“I think you’ve fallen in with a bad crowd,” you say, forcing a laugh through the gathering tears.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, a tearful whisper. He touches your arms like he wants to hug you, but holds himself back.

“Me too,” you say. You warned him a long time ago that befriending you was dangerous. You wish you had been wrong.

You pull him into a hug and he immediately envelopes you, his arms around your shoulders and yours around his waist. He chokes out a sob and squeezes you so tight that your breath catches. Then he just holds you there.

You do not know if it is his cologne or his shampoo, but it smells so familiar. It takes you back to that treehouse, looking over a glittering neighbourhood as the sun set and he dreamed about the dawn.

“I still remember that rhyme, you know,” you say. The address of that cabin, written in a rhyming lilt that you never forgot. “If you ever have a chance again… promise me you’ll try…”

He chokes out another sob.

“How can you still care about what happens to me?” he asks. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” you say. It is spoken calmly, for all that it is a lie. “Promise me?”

He just nods, then pulls you closer again.

You cling to him for as long as you can. It gives you the strength to stay upright despite your shaking legs, even when you hear footsteps coming down the stairs. You brace yourself for the worst, halfway expecting the whole house to erupt in a violent explosion.

It is just a guard. He says, “Time to go, Hwang. Visit’s over.”

You want to keep hugging. You feel like you will fall through the floor if he lets you go. He is just as reluctant, but withdraws when the guard steps into the room. He does not look at you as he leaves, head down as he trails towards the stairs.

“Goodbye, Hyunjin,” you say.

It stops him for a moment. He nods then continues. There is nowhere else to go but back up those stairs.

You are left standing by yourself in the middle of the room. The mirror wall makes the space feel never-ending. You look at your reflection. You look so rough already, scarred from your kidnapping, tear-streaked from crying. Your hands tremble uncontrollably. You remember a younger version of yourself sitting in front of this mirror with Felix, for a moment feeling like a normal girl with her boy. His touch brought you to life. He made you feels things you thought you would never feel.

It will be your own voice your father plays back to you, your own confession betraying you.

You will not be sorry for it.

You look at yourself and wipe your face. You take a breath. You walk to the stairs, one step after another. There are guards upstairs but they pay you no mind. They have clearly received no orders, not yet. You could try to make a run for it, but you would not get far on your own.

Instead, you go upstairs to your room. You look around like it is the last time you will ever see it. You know that is not true, logically. Your father will not kill you, but there are fates just as devastating.

You walk through the room. It is plainly decorated with a mix of things owned by you and Felix. For all that this house is not a home, you carved a shared space in this room. You sit on the bed and study everything from discarded clothes to books to computer parts.

Something compels you to open the drawer on his side of the bed, that same single drawer you allotted when he first moved in. A ragged old beanie sits at the bottom of it, the first thing he ever owned. You fold it over in your hand and squeeze it like a talisman, like it will infuse you with some magic to endure whatever storm is blowing your way.

You cross the room and touch a few more things. You find some university textbooks and your heart aches with the desire to return to those times. You lived a fleeting few years like you were completely free, in love and happy and home.

You will probably never see Seungmin or Jeongin again, but it brings you some peace to know they will live good lives. You will never forget their willingness to intervene on your behalf despite the odds being so stacked against them. Maybe they were not very good at it, smacking chairs and throwing drinks, but you will remember them fondly. You wish you could say goodbye.

With that thought, you pause. Your gaze drifts to your computer.

You cannot say goodbye to Seungmin or Jeongin, but you can say goodbye to someone else.

You never wanted to risk contacting Jisung from home, just in case your father was found out. But everything is ending today, one way or another. There is nothing more you can lose. You will take some comfort in a final word to an old friend before you are sealed in this gilded mausoleum.

You sit at your computer. You log into the blank profile you made some time ago. It is hard to tell if you are nervous because your stomach is so twisted in knots already, but you think there might be some happy anticipation. You try to manage your expectations because there is a chance Jisung did not read the messages, seeing as they came from a blank account.

You should have known better than to doubt him. You log in to several new messages, laughing from the first line.

OH MY GOD!!!!!!!! IT’S YOU????? MY GIRL!!!!!!!

Okay sorry about that I am totally so cool I promise. I’m just in shock.

I know you told me not to, but just so you know, I spent a year trying to reach you...

Well, actually, I spent like four months crying my eyes out and being miserable and pathetic first.. On god, I eyed a jar of peanut butter with some serious thought for a minute there!!! But then no, no way. I had to keep going.

I tried to find you. Your bitch ass dad is famous because he’s an ugly rich loser so his properties are listed all over a million websites. I found the one in town where you must live and I rode my bike there a bunch of times but uhhhhh yeah much to my eternal disappointment I am not James Bond and that security system was insane. Don’t even get me started on when all the dudes in the army gear kept showing up.

On an unrelated note it’s way harder to buy explosives than you’d think.

Just want you to know I did try to get in there. You were never alone even if you felt like it.

But it sounds like you’re not alone anyway HELLLL YEAHHHHH she is getting SOOOME. All jokes aside I am crazy happy for you. You deserve it for real. He better be treating you right though or I WILL find a way through that gate and I WILL kick his ass. Just say the word and I will be there in a heartbeat.

He goes on for a while, the whole length of his message making you smile. When you did not respond, he sent a few more, spaced further and further apart from each other. The last message he sent was just a few days ago.

Hey I don’t know if you’re getting these. I like to think so. You don’t have to answer if you are. I know you are in a dangerous spot. Or maybe you’re not anymore and you got out. In that case, I hope you never read these. I hope you’re out there living your best life. Maybe we’ll cross paths again but if not, I count myself lucky for knowing you at all. I think we’re both slightly insane and everyone else I meet is way too normal haha.

What I’m trying to say is I miss you like crazy. I hope we can laugh together again someday. Even if we never do, let’s say we will. Keep smiling till I’m there. Catch ya later crazy girl.

You smile. Then emotion takes over, tears returning as you lay your hands on the keyboard to type a response.

You have just hit send when there is a knock at your door, then it is opened without your permission. You turn and look at the stoic guard who beckons you forward.

“Your father is home,” he says. “He wants a word.”

You nod. You spare one last look at you screen before logging out and shutting down. You are certain it is the last message you will get to send. A warmth fills your chest regardless. You know it will reach Jisung. His laughter and energy fills you with the strength you need to walk steadily out that door and down the hall.

Hi Jisungie.

Thank you for your messages. I just read them all now. It wasn’t easy for me to check them before, but I did it today because it might be the last time I have an opportunity to do so. My father found out about my love affair and seeing as it was with the one person he could not afford to lose, I have no doubt that a reckoning is on its way. I thought he was bad before, but he has only gotten worse over the years. I am sure this betrayal will put him over the edge.

I do not know what is going to happen. I was scared until I read your messages. They truly made me smile. You have always made me a little braver. I think I got less rebellious over the years because I got scared, but now… The worst has happened and I’m still here.

I will figure it out. But in case I never get the chance to talk to you again, I just wanted to say thank you one more time. I miss you too, Jisungie. I think about you so much. I wish I could laugh with you again, the kind of laughter where nothing is all that funny but we can’t stop anyway. Thank you for the times we did.

I am happy to have lived my life because I knew you. I appreciate all the good times so much more because of the hard times. You were a one-of-a-kind friend. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

Keep smiling for me.

Goodbye.

Your father is behind his desk.

There is no one else in the room. They close the door behind you. You walk calmly up to the desk and take a seat in your usual spot. You sit as straight as you can, perched on the edge of the seat. You are still lower than him, but you feel bigger and stronger than you have ever felt in your life.

Your father draws out the silence, perhaps waiting for you to break down. You stare at each other. When he opens his mouth to speak, you interrupt him. You are uninterested in games and dramatic embellishments, which you know he will indulge. You simply ask, “What did you do to Hyunjin?”

“I would not worry about the Hwang boy if I was you,” your father says spitefully. “You have bigger concerns—”

“And yet I am asking about him,” you snap. “What are you doing with him?”

“What I do with everything when it is no longer useful to me,” he says.

It is the answer you were expecting but it still draws your rage like a magnet. It punches out of you, your eyes wet with tears when you say, “You’re pathetic.”

“How many times must you suffer humiliation at my enemy’s hands before you understand that none of this is a game?” His voice rises as he speaks. “Do you want to be out on the streets? Do you want to be brutalized? Do you want—”

“I would rather die rotting in the sewers with Felix than spend even one more minute under your roof,” you say.

You wonder what surprises your father more: the vicious tone or your blatant confession. It stuns him into silence. You know you have disrupted his script. There is little sense in taunting you with your words if you utter them plainly before he can try.

“I see,” your father settles on saying. He presses a button on his desk and the buzzer in the corridor resounds. “Let’s put that to the test, shall we?”

The door opens and several guards usher inside. You spare them a fleeting glance before your attention narrows to the figure between them.

“Felix!” You stand but cannot reach him. He is surrounded by guards and they will not let you touch a hair on his head.

He moves like he is completely boneless, evidently drugged with something to make him bleary and slow. He thumps heavily onto his knees when they put him there. His eyes are hazy as he looks around the office. They pause on you, flicking up and down, then he smiles through the pain.

The pain. It is not just a drug. He looks like he went a few rounds with a cement wall, his lip split and his jaw bruised. His bandaged hand is soaked through with blood, the rest him as battered. His injuries disappear beneath his shirt and pants but you know it is not a pretty sight. You swallow down the bile in your throat before looking at your father.

“He’s your best asset,” you say. “You can’t lose him.”

“Oh? Can’t I?” your father asks. “Can’t I? Can’t I? You think you know something? You think you can tell me what to do? You, when all you do is destroy what I make? I give you everything and this—this is how you—” His yelling sharpens to a shriek before he starts breaking things. It pulls Felix further out of his haze, his eyes tracking the frantic movements as your father smashes a vase near your feet.

You think about that tiny shard of glass from last time, the miniscule thing that started it all. It makes you laugh even though nothing is funny. Laughter is an emotional output just like crying, so it pours out of you with no regard for the actual gravity of the situation.

It only worsens your father’s rage.

“Does something here amuse you?” he asks, but you are laughing too hard to answer. There is a vein throbbing in his forehead and you imagine it bursting. You imagine all your problems solving themselves as he drops dead from his own rage. The image is even funnier because you truly cannot imagine this man dying. He is a monster. If you stab him, you fear he will just mutate and come back worse.

“You want to laugh?” he snaps. He crosses the room to Felix. “Laugh.”

He holds out his hand and someone places a gun in his open palm. This snaps you out of your delirious giggles, a winded whoosh spilling out of you.

Your father does not execute action himself. He always puts the gun in someone else’s hand. The fact he is pointing it at Felix should tell you that his threat is not serious.

But he has never been this furious, his anger a white hot cascade of fire. Felix is just inches from the barrel of the gun. Even an inexpert marksmen like your father could drive a bullet between his eyes.

So the moment he grips the weapon, you shout, “Stop!”

Your father looks at you with a cock of his head, satisfied with your reaction.

Then he jumps back because Felix rushes to his feet, most of the fog dissipated. Your father’s stupid men did not think for a moment that Felix would repeat a strategy. Just days before he allowed himself to be captured so he could rescue you. It seems he has done that again, feigning the depth of his condition. He swings to his feet and kicks out.

His injuries restrict his movement. He is good at ignoring pain but his body overrides his consciousness. He fights nonetheless, struggling with the guards while you watch.

You look around for something that can help. You snatch a paper weight off the desk and prepare to throw.

Your father is a step ahead of you. Suddenly you are staring down the barrel of a gun, your father on the other end, fuming.

“No—!” Felix says before he is beaten down. With his attention diverted, a guard kicks the back of his legs. His knees buckle and he goes down with a groan.

You look at him then flick your eyes back to your father. You raise both hands and lift a challenging eyebrow.

“You want to do this?” you ask. “Really? After everything?”

“After everything,” your father says. “Exactly my words. A house, an education, unending protection. You want for nothing. All I ask in return is obedience and you cannot even grant me that. You have the audacity to betray me for this animal.” He waves the gun around like the clumsy, ungainly thing he is. It makes a few heads duck, including yourself. You fear this man will kill someone without even trying. It makes it hard to listen, which might be for the best, as he goes on a long tirade about privilege and position and loyalty.

He starts merely angry but it turns downright diabolical.

“And you.” He turns to Felix. “I dug you out of Miroh’s gutter! I made you a bargain! I gave your meaningless life purpose! You are nothing without me. How dare you think to take what is mine. How dare you think you are anything more than a dog. How long have you kept this secret? How am I supposed to trust it is the last? You are a liar. For all I know you are lying about everything. Is that it? Are you a spy, feeding reports back to Miroh? Is that why I can never succeed in my missions? Have you been—”

Felix bursts into laughter. His face scrunches with delight, his cheeks dimpled. The low rumble of his laughing voice sounds real, honest amusement at the proclamation. It fades to a sigh, then he looks up.

You have never seen such a dark glare shadow his features, made all the more horrifying thanks to his bloody injuries. It makes your stomach drop even though it is not directed at you.

“You fail at all your missions because you’re an incompetent idiot,” Felix says. “You couldn’t even control two children. What makes you think you can control Miroh?”

“Have you forgotten our bargain?” your father yells, waving the gun towards Felix again. “You lie and trick your way into my household and still expect—”

“Our bargain,” Felix spits the word and some blood sprays out. He spits the rest on the floor and shakes his head. “I know he’s dead. You killed him a long time ago.”

The room is quiet for a moment. Your father is still holding the gun, though it dangles at his side. He and Felix stare each other down. Although Felix is kneeling, his sinister stare is far more terrifying than your father’s blank gaze. But then that empty gaze turns cold and your father smiles, one of those sharp smiles that opens like a slash across his face.

“Now how would you know that,” your father says, “if you are not a spy for Miroh?”

“One of Miroh’s men told us at the warehouse,” you interrupt. It earns you nothing but a wrathful glare from your father. He gestures to you and a guard puts a threatening hand on your shoulder.

“You will speak when spoken to,” your father snaps. He looks at Felix again. “Oh. Yes. You. Whoops. I very nearly forgot, it was so long ago when I killed your friend. Does that make you sad? Poor little boy. You should have remembered your place. Your kind are born to die for men like me.”

“Men like you,” Felix says. Mourning will have to wait so he laughs because he cannot cry. “You’re pathetic. Not a surprise, though, yeah? Since your father took care of everything before I killed him—oh. Whoops.” He tilts his head and smiles, speaking with the same saccharine tone your father just used to mock him. “It was so long ago. I almost forgot I shot your daddy in the fucking head. Does that make you sad? Poor little boy. You should have remembered your place and stayed behind your walls. You’ll never be a man like him.”

Your father has never looked so stricken. You did not even know his face could contort such a way. It makes him look very human for the few heartbeats that it lingers. You can almost picture a younger version of your father, breaking under the fist of his father before him.

Then he schools himself. Once more, the untouchable monster stands before you. The gun wobbles only a little when he raises it, taking aim at Felix.

“Stop!” you shout. You were just picturing the passing of generations, so maybe that explains why your panicked brain compels you to blurt, “You can’t kill him! I’m pregnant!”

This time every head in the room swivels towards you. Even the other guards do not hide their surprise. Your father stares, jaw agape, and Felix looks just as bewildered. You feel bad because you can see thought flickering behind his eyes, wondering if maybe you are telling the truth. It makes his face change, pain flashing. Panic seeps into his veins.

“Excuse me?” your father says.

You almost trip on the chair. Your knees knock and your voice shakes when you say, “You heard me.”

“I know what I heard.” At least it succeeds in garnering your father’s attention. He forgets about Felix entirely as he stalks towards you, gun clutched in his undoubtedly sweaty hand. “My problem lies in understanding how this can be.”

“Well,” you say slowly. “I can’t imagine you really want me to explain that—”

You father backhands you across the face. You careen into his desk, barely catching yourself.

“It could work in my favour yet,” your father says. “Start fresh. Fix where I went wrong with you. Because you are an irredeemable and entirely lost cause.”

This baby is not even real yet you panic at the thought. It unspools an infinite and horrifying future, this house an eternal monstrosity birthing a new generation of tyrant and monster. Hurting and contorting everyone in the family name for the sake of maintaining that vast estate.

This has to stop.

“Of course I am,” you say. You take a long, steadying breath, then you push yourself upright. You turn to your father and meet his gaze, aware of the gun but feigning complete nonchalance. “I can’t believe it has taken you this long to realize it,” you say. “You lost me a long, long time ago. You want to control everything because you’re scared of losing anything. But you’ve already lost what you were trying so hard to protect and you can never, ever get it back. I will not continue what your father started. I will not be what you have become. I am not like you and I am proud of that. I am proud that I love my friends, and Felix, despite how much you tried to stop me. But I am me and I am not scared.”

You dive at him, a vicious tackle spurred by that hurricane of emotion inside you. You tackle him so quickly that it takes the guards a second to react. The gun clatters to the floor as it flies out of his hand. He throws up his fists to protect his face when you swing down with all your might. What you lack in physical strength you compensate with drive, slamming your fists down without care for where they land, again and again and again.

Then someone grabs you by the collar and yanks. It is one of the guards, pulling you to your feet. Your father shrieks and hollers like a wounded dog, snarling and frothing like one too. He gets to his feet and swings at you.

Felix rises, struggling to reach you. You stretch out your hand, your fingertips touching before you are yanked apart from each other. You cry out, struggling in the guard’s death grip to no avail. Felix is fighting the other guards but his injuries put him at a disadvantage.

You are dragged away from the chaos. Your father picks up the discarded gun on his way.

“Take her outside!” he shouts at the guard, then turns to the mess in his office. “Don’t waste your energy. Shoot the boy.”

“No!” you scream, so guttural you hardly recognize the sound. You cry as gunshots ring in the office, but you lose sight of the skirmish as you are dragged, kicking and screaming, down the stairs and out the front door.

You curse at your father and the guard, bits of your shirt ripping when you fight to escape. You are smacked and twisted, your shoulder popping so painfully that it makes you wail.

“Stop it, stop it!” You are fully sobbing, either from pain or panic. It does no good as you are dragged into the night. The grand driveway is lit like a stage awaiting players, lamps and towers beaming over the pavement. The gate opens to the street beyond. It is pitch black. There are no other houses on this hillside, the estate sprawling across its expanse, so there are no streetlights. A black car is parked on the curb. It feels like a chariot to the underworld, black and swallowed by shadow. You are as good as dead. Felix might be truly dead.

You struggle some more but you are in so much pain. Your father is shouting directions at the guard and it splits his attention. His grip loosens and you successfully break free.

You do not hesitate. You run into the street, straight through the pitch black. If you run far enough, you will eventually reach a proper street leading into the city. You do not even care which direction you go. You just run, ignoring the screaming pain in your muscles as your feet hit the pavement.

A gunshot pierces the quiet night. You stumble to a stop, throwing your hand up over your heart. You touch your chest, expecting to find a bloody wound. But there is nothing, not a single drop. You were not shot.

You spin around and watch the guard fall to the ground, a bullet in his head. Your father turns too, holding his own gun at the approaching figure.

Your knees almost buckle as relief washes over you, Felix storming down the driveway with a gun of his own raised at your father. Felix is badly wounded, but even at his worst he is a far better shot than your father. They both know it too, staring each other down as Felix gets closer and closer.

“Stop where you are!” your father screams, his voice breaking.

Felix ignores him, gun still raised. Your father fires a shot that goes wide. Felix does not even blink as it ricochets off a wall. He walks calmly to the sidewalk where your father stands. He does not smirk or gloat. He just looks at the frightened man who terrorized the world to make himself feel better, and he lines up a shot.

Felix pulls the trigger.

Nothing happens.

His brow furrows before his face twists with fury. The gun has jammed or it’s out of bullets, but either way it is useless. He lowers his arm, the gun dangling from his hand as he stares at your father.

Your father just laughs, a ridiculous and semi-hysterical laugh as he stumbles back but never lowers the gun. Felix is much closer now. Even your father could not miss this shot.

Felix drops his gun and smiles weakly.

“She’s funny, you know,” Felix says. “And smarter than anyone I know. She picks up on things everyone else misses. It’s too bad you can’t see it. But then, you’re not like her.”

“Shut up,” your father snaps. “You have exceeded your uses, boy.”

You realize you are running. Even before the conscious thought reaches your mind, your body spurs you into action. Instinct commandeers control and you hand yourself over to it. Felix looks up just as you emerge from the dark. He sees your face for a split second, enough time for him to realize what you are doing and shout, “Stop!”

Your father’s finger is already on the trigger. A shot rings out and this time it does hit you, sharp and searing as you dive in front of Felix.

The gun hits the ground. Your father looks at you with petrified eyes. Felix catches you, supporting your weight as he sinks to his knees with you in his arms.

“Sweetheart,” he says, touching your face, your neck, your chest. “Sweetheart, look at me. Stay with me.”

The pain is excruciating, like nothing you have ever felt before. You cannot even tell where it is coming from. It feels like your neck and shoulder and heart all at once. It radiates and burns. The pain is so overwhelming that you do not notice the wet, tacky feeling of blood. You see it before you feel it, all over Felix’s fingers as he finds the bullet wound in your shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he says, barely more than a gasp. His chest is rising and falling rapidly. You scream in agony when he grabs your shoulder and squeezes it hard in his fist. “I know, I know,” he says. “It exited clean. There’s nothing vital there. You’ll be okay, sweetheart, I got you. I just have to staunch the blood. We just have to—” His voice breaks on a sob and he looks up at your father, his hand covered in your blood and his rage as red on his face. “We have to get her help. Now.”

Your father’s response is to pick up the gun. He nearly drops it, his shaking hands clammy, but he gets an unsteady grip eventually. He points it at Felix again.

“Are you fucking serious?” Felix shouts in aggravation. “Your daughter is going to bleed to death if you don’t do something. Put the fucking gun down!”

“Get away from her,” your father says. “Get away from her and put your hands up. I’ll get her help.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head then crying when pain lances down your neck. “No, Felix. Don’t.”

Your father will not take another shot at Felix, not with you in his arms. Your father might want to control you, but he does not want you dead. You are the only thing that is protecting Felix now. If he moves, he dies.

“Don’t go,” you beg. “Felix, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” Felix says. He looks up at your father, venom in his voice as he asks, “Are you really going to stand there and let your daughter die?”

“Are you going sit there and let her die?” your father retorts. “Get away from her and I will save her.”

You feel Felix twitch. He presses his fingers a little harder, stopping a rush of blood. It makes you weep and you plead, “Felix no. Please. I can’t watch that. I’d rather it end like this.”

“Don’t say that.” Felix looks down at you. His bloody hand is shaking, tears spilling down his cheeks as he looks at you. “Nothing’s ending. You’re gonna be fine.”

“It never ends,” your father babbles. He almost drops the gun when he trips over the lip of the sidewalk, stumbling backwards into the street as he stares at you. You stare back, wondering if it is your blurry vision or if he is really crying. All you can see is him wiping his face, the gun trembling in his hand. “It just keeps going,” he says. “Only I can end it.”

He is taking aim again. You cannot tell if he is aiming for you or Felix, maybe some half-baked delirious plan in his twisted mind to put you out of your misery and take Felix with you.

Felix does not have time to attack. He can only curl his body around yours to protect you from the shot.

Then a beam of light shatters the dark. It flies up the street, illuminating your father. He looks in that direction. Everyone is drowning in their sobs and it is all so loud that it takes a second to hear it: the heavy, growling drone of a speeding car, hurtling ever closer. The white of a high-beam headlight blinds your father with lightning hot intensity.

It is the last thing he ever sees.

Felix is as startled as you. You both cry out in horrified shock. He blocks your body to shield you from the sudden and unexpected gore. Noiseless convulsions tremble through your whole body as you stare up at Felix, not understanding what just happened.

You both look over as the car rapidly reverses, disappearing just as quickly as it came. In its wake is your father, or what remains of him.

Just like that, the whole world tilts on its axis.

You cannot comprehend what you are seeing. This man was a towering, nightmarish monstrosity, bigger than life and death, holding the world in his fist. Even he desperately believed in his own mythology. It seems impossible that he could be that nightmare but also be this, a broken and very human body, muscle and gristle and protruding bone, half flattened to the tarmac. A sudden and entirely undignified death, comically animal, and as lowly as everything he ever disparaged.

You and Felix stare at him, at the mess of his ruined dead body on the dark street. It is so, so quiet. The house is so still. The street is empty. You can hear the soft buzz of the floodlights.

You make a hurt noise. Felix looks down with a perplexed shake of his head. But he only has a moment to mind you, his mouth open with some unspoken thought, when you hear the car again.

You both look over, your heart racing and your blood spilling over his hand. He is wearing his most determined face, braced to face an adversary.

You do not know who to anticipate. It makes no sense for Miroh to be here. He would not have known anything unusual was transpiring at this house tonight. How could he know to send someone? Yet it is the only thing that makes sense. The only person who could have taken down someone like your father would be someone just like him.

You are braced for the worst when the car comes to a stop. The dead body looks more grotesque as the headlights flash over it.

The driver does not turn off the engine. You hear the patter of frantic footsteps before the silhouette is illuminated by the car lights. Wide eyes meet yours and your heart stutters. Your tears are halted by the face staring back at you.

“Oh my god,” Jisung says. “That was the bad guy, right?”

Felix reacts first, a bark of laughter made in disbelief as he stares at your startled best friend.

Han Jisung is both the same and different, with a flop of dark hair and big brown eyes, but years have passed, leaving him bulkier and more mature. He pushes a pair of glasses up his nose, the wide frames only exaggerating his eyes, making it very easy to hold his gaze when he looks at you.

“Jisung,” you say, and start crying all over again. “Jisung.” You cannot seem to find another word. You just gasp his name between sobs.

Jisung practically flies towards you, landing on his knees.

“Hey, stranger,” he says, carefully touching your cheek. “You’ve looked better, I’m not gonna lie.”

You laugh even though it hurts, reaching for him with a shaking hand. He takes it despite it being sticky with blood, cupping it safely in his own.

“You’re here,” you say. “How? Why?”

“Of course I’m here,” he replies in a soft voice. “I got in my car as soon as I saw that goodbye message.” He gently squeezes your hand. “You didn’t think I’d let you get away twice, did you?”

Your laugh is more of a sob, in too much pain to truly smile. Felix asks Jisung to help, showing him where to apply pressure. Jisung complies, holding you while Felix tugs off his shirt. It leaves him in a tank top, all his scars and bruises on display. You want to fuss over him too but he gives you no opportunity to linger, using his shirt as a makeshift tourniquet for your wound.

“So your boyfriend is Felix,” Jisung says while he works. “That’s great. I was rooting for you two crazy kids. Felix had a pretty obvious crush on you in high school. I didn’t say anything because you kinda seemed to hate his guts but I guess that’s not true anymore. You had some bigger bastards to hate. Speaking of, that was your dad I got right? I mean, I didn’t even think, I just saw him waving that gun around and I hit the pedal. Next thing I knew—ohhh shit, Felix, you’re really strong, what the fuck, man. Have you been working out—”

Felix scoops you into his arms and stands. His usual unwavering strength falters just a little, his injuries protesting his action. You tell him to put you down because it will do no good for you both to collapse. Jisung stands and helps steady you. They both lay a hand on your back, taking some of your weight as your feet touch the ground and you wobble.

“That’s my girl,” Jisung says. “Oh man, that’s a lot of blood, ha ha ha – AHH. No, it’s fine, we’re okay. Careful—”

“Jisung,” Felix says, looking past you to meet his eye. “Are you okay?”

A more than fair question considering how fast everything just happened. Jisung stops rambling and takes a few deep breaths before he answers.

“Okay, yeah,” he says. “Totally fine. For now.”

“Okay,” Felix says. “Because I need you to take her while I—”

Your ignore their conversation. Your eyes are on your father. You cannot even call it his body; it is a carcass. His lower half is gored but his face is mostly whole. You half-expect his mouth to open with a wailing shout. You are so distracted with the thought, you misstep and your weak ankles give out. You are spared a kiss with the pavement when Jisung catches you. It is a haphazard embrace, throwing his arms around you to keep you upright.

“Can you take care of her until I get back?” Felix asks.

“Uh-huh. Yes,” Jisung says. He puts his growing bulk to use and lifts you into his arms, bridal style. You cannot move your shoulder to lift your arms around him, but you rest your head in the curve of his neck as he carries you to his car.

His car. Hysterical giggles bubble inside you, quashed only by the physical ache of your body. Han Jisung really raced back into your life and annihilated the worst of your demons by driving right at him.

Years of nightmares and beatings and pain. Years of your father lording his power over you and the world. Years of believing he was terrifying and untouchable.

Jisung always said it was that easy. He was just a teenager, lookingat the impossible powers that surrounded his friend but believing whole-heartedly he could save her anyway. You argued and pushed him away, but he knew better all along. Jisung was not cowed by money and influence, not impressed or frightened by men like your father who ravaged the world and gloated about it. Jisung had no power or influence of his own but that didn’t matter. He saw his friend was in a bad situation and he wanted to save you. So he did.

He carefully rests you in the passenger seat. In the time it takes him to circle to the driver’s side, you break down crying. The pain exacerbates it, your body seeking release, but it is sentiment that pours out of your heart.

Jisung gets in, looking very startled. He adjusts his glasses.

“Did it get worse?” he asks, reaching for you with a bloody hand. You look at it, you look at him, very literally stained with blood on your behalf. He is staying composed but you can see the jitters under his skin. He just killed someone for you. It might have been a panicked, spur of the moment decision, but the end result was the same. Even though your father was not a good man, taking a life is a serious burden.

And here he is, placing that weight aside so he can check on you.

“Jisung,” you say. You wish your hands were not so dirty because you want to touch his face or hold his hand. You satisfy yourself with leaning towards him, touching your forehead to his cheek as you cry.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jisung says. He shifts so your foreheads are touching, his clean hand cupping your cheek. “I got you, okay? It’s over now. Felix is gonna take care of it and I’m gonna take care of you. It’ll be okay. Don’t be scared, all right?”

“I’m not,” you say. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You’re my friend,” Jisung says. “You don’t have to do anything to deserve it, okay? Look. I know what will make you feel better.” He reaches past you into the glove compartment. You have no idea what he could possibly have in there that will make you feel better while bleeding out of a bullet wound in the passenger seat of his car, the same car he used to murder your abusive father.

He fishes around then pulls out a bag of spicy peanuts, the same flavour you used to eat all the time in high school. Even though he was allergic, he bought them whenever he found them, just because he knew you liked them.

You take them slowly, staring at the familiar packaging. You sniffle.

“It was always going to be you, wasn’t it?” you say softly. You could cry all over again. “You really came back.”

Of course Jisung saved you. You realize now your father could never be bested by Miroh or someone like him. They would be locked in a perpetual stalemate, predicting each other’s every step, giving and taking and killing in a circle of violence with no end. But Jisung is not like them.

Whether the gesture was big or small, whether it was peanuts or a rescue, it was selfless, and someone like your father would never understand that. He never saw it coming.

“Well, yeah,” Jisung says. “My promise was forever, remember?”

You can only nod, bumping your heads together. Jisung wraps you in a hug then kisses your forehead before buckling in and taking the steering wheel.

“All right,” he says. “We can catch up after. Let’s get away from this place. It’s giving me the creeps.”

It is strange looking at your house on a news report. It makes you feel like you are watching someone else’s life.

You are stitched and showered, sitting on the floor of a twin bed motel room. You are still damp from the shower but each little trickle feels like blood, your jittery fingers constantly swiping at your skin.

Jisung sits behind you on the bed, his legs bracketing you, double checking your stitches. Felix said it was paramount to avoid a hospital or any other institution that would identify you. He told Jisung to book a room at a motel on the highway and wait for him, that he would stitch you up himself when he arrived. Jisung took the initiative, boasting some first aid training for his job at the grocery store.

“Usually I’m putting bandages on a cut finger,” Jisung said, hands covered in blood as he fixed your wound, “but this is, uh, similar I guess. Sort of.”

Felix arrived while you were in the shower. Now he is in there, cleaning himself and minding his own injuries while you and Jisung watch the evening news report. The blinds are closed, rain pelting the canopy over the balcony, but you are tucked away from the storm, hidden from the world as it mourns you.

“A devastating house fire is believed to have left no survivors on the premises,” the reporter says, backdropped with a video of an inferno ravaging your father’s house. “Police are still investigating, but among the suspected dead is a prominent local businessman and his daughter.” They show a portrait of your father and an old yearbook photo of you. That girl looks nothing like the battered woman you are now. You really do feel like you are watching someone’s else story end.

“Wow,” Jisung says, watching too. “How does it feel to be dead?”

You rest your head against his knee, sighing as you stare at the television.

“I’m not dead,” you say, staring at the photo of you. That girl might be dead, but you are very alive.

Felix accidentally swings the bathroom door too hard, the thud like a gunshot in your mind. You jump a mile out of your skin, digging your nails into Jisung’s leg unthinkingly.

“Ah ah ah ah—” Jisung grabs your wrist to pry you off.

“Sorry,” Felix says, truly apologetic. He closes the door with a gentle click then approaches. He sits beside Jisung on the bed, laying his hand on your head and looking you over. “How are you?” Felix asks. He pays no mind to the news report but that is likely because he is responsible for the story they are broadcasting. You know Felix would tell you every detail if you asked, but you decide you do not want to know how he moved the bodies around. It is enough to see the walls of that place burning.

He packed a few things first. A stuffed duffel bag sits on the other bed. Perhaps it should feel daunting, that all you have left is a single bag of necessities, but it feels freeing. You are not burdened by the weight of more. Your hands might be shaking and you might be hurt in more ways than one, but you can exhale.

You take Felix’s hands and kiss his scraped knuckles.

“I’m fine,” you say. “What about you?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he says. He looks more tired than you have ever seen him, but he manages a laugh when you pout at him. “Don’t do that,” he says, flicking your bottom lip. “Just some bad bruises, yeah? I’ll be fine.”

You know he is not fine but you respect his desire for peace. You can check his injuries later when he has settled.

“Well then, what about you, Jisungie?” you ask. You turn around to face him. “How are you?”

“Uh, honestly…” Jisung rakes his fingers through his hair then exhales on a shaky laugh. “I’ll let you know when I know. It’s all a bit—uh—”

“Yeah,” you say, taking his hand. “I know.”

You suspect there will be no proper words for a while. You cannot even think of recovery while your wounds throb. There are still gunshots firing in your mind. When you close your eyes, you see a body on the pavement. You expect a knock at the door and a gun in your face, even though there is no reason for that. Miroh is probably sitting back and laughing at the detonation of your father’s house. Your father’s people and investors will scramble over the company tomorrow. That world will turn without you. You will not miss it.

You struggle to sleep that night. You lay on your back to mind your shoulder but that is not your only grievance. Felix lays beside you where he belongs and Jisung is in the other bed, so you are not alone anymore, but your adrenaline will not dwindle. Now that you have a moment of peace, it feels more chaotic than ever.

When you start breathing harder, Felix wraps an arm around you.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers. He does not ask what is wrong. It is more than self-explanatory. You do not need to speak.

You want to roll over and bury your face in his neck, but you cannot move because of your shoulder. You suffice to hold his arm tight, closing your eyes as his protective embrace surrounds you. His heart beats against your body and you let it lull you into a gentle repose.

You do not sleep for long. There is morning light when you wake but it is a bleary, early grey light. Everything smells a little damp from the rain. This is a small motel, meant to serve as a momentary respite for passing travellers. You cannot stay here.

Felix wakes when you do. After a few morning kisses, he rises to use the washroom. Jisung is still fast asleep in his bed, his cheek squished and his hair a shaggy mess on the pillow. You smile, looking at him. There is a gap between the beds but he is close enough to touch if you stretch. You content yourself with looking, thinking about how lucky you are to have him again. It is a light and happy thought, but it darkens very swiftly when you recall what he did to save you. It is going to weigh on him, whether all at once or in pieces.

The weight of trauma will be a heavy burden, but you are alive to carry it. There are others who are less lucky. You think about Hyunjin and your heart strains, recalling his final miserable departure. Your father implied he had Hyunjin killed. If he was not bluffing to antagonize you, then Hyunjin did not stand a chance.

You are sniffling with tears when Jisung blinks awake. He mutters in groggy gibberish before reaching for his glasses. His tired voice is tinged with concern when he asks, “What is it? Do you need something?”

“No,” you say, wiping your tears. “I was just thinking I know where I want to go next.”

It is hard to talk about Hyunjin so you opt for vagueness over specificity. The boys do not question the subject of the cabin when you mention his name. You do not tell them he might be dead. You feel like if you speak it out loud, it will make it true.

It will take a week to reach the cabin by car. Jisung helps you loads the necessities into the back a truck that Felix procured, only questioning its seeming manifestation after the fact.

“I stole it,” Felix answers.

“You stole a car?” Jisung asks. It is a good thing the motel parking lot is empty because he practically shouts it, like stealing a car is the most horrifying thing he has ever heard. You remember how you had the same reaction the first time Felix stole a vehicle.

It makes you laugh when Felix draws his lips into a thin line, shaking his head at Jisung. He turns to you and says, “You two really are identical, you know?”

“What does that mean?” Jisung asks.

“I said the same thing the last time he stole a car,” you say.

“Dude!” Jisung whips around. “You stole two cars?”

“You know I’ve killed people, right?” Felix says dryly.

“Well yeah, I mean, who hasn’t,” Jisung says with a nervous giggle.

You whack him on the arm and shake your head. “That’s not funny,” you say.

“It’s a little funny,” he whispers while you roll your eyes.

Though you want to keep him at your side, it feels selfish to ask Jisung to come with you. He has a life here and he has already done so much to help you. But he surprises you by emphatically volunteering himself, saying he at least wants to help get you there.

“I don’t think I could just walk back into my normal life tomorrow like nothing happened,” Jisung says, tucking you under one arm. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen next. Can’t control it. But I know where I want to be right now. I’ll figure out the rest after.”

So you take to the road, your destination a small cabin far away from your old life. You stop along the way, at first for food and other necessities, mostly stolen by Felix, but then for pleasure when you drive through towns with interesting landmarks. On the clearer nights, you sleep in the bed of the truck.

You still do not stop for a real discussion. You indulge the mental break while you can, all three of you taking the time to literally stop and smell the flowers on the journey.

Bandages still need changing. Stitches need minding. The night before your anticipated arrival, you are in another motel room. You and Felix sit in the small kitchenette, playing cards at the tiny table, while Jisung showers and goes about his nightly routine.

You throw down a couple cards. You look at Felix while he studies his hand. The swelling on his face has gone down which is good for numerous reasons. He has been wearing a baseball cap everywhere, the brim pulled low, to stop people from staring.

There is a hard set to his shoulders. It has been like that for a few days. Even in your father’s house, there were moments Felix would soften, namely when he was curled up in your shared bed and the world seemed far away. Maybe he cannot relax because the world is so immediate now. It is strange that potential happiness can cause as much anxiety as its opposite. Perhaps it is because it is so unfamiliar. Your body only knows how to brace itself.

Felix was raised for that express purpose. Road trips and gardens and motel rooms was not in his training. High school corridors and uniforms once baffled him, the mundanity of everyday life more exhilarating and frightening than a battlefield.

You want to smooth his brow and soften his shoulders. He sits like he is holding a breath and you want to draw it out of him. A part of your stirs with arousal at the consideration, thinking how you could do that. You have always found your humanity in that intimate space. But you are both much too injured to try anything heavier than a kiss right now.

This time, you reach across the table and touch his cheek, with no intention but a soft caress. He blinks up at you, the cards forgotten. You do not know what to say. You just touch him.

He cups his hand over yours, holding it to his cheek. He looks at your shoulder and other bruises. It will take you a long time to heal, but nothing is infected. You do not know how his injuries are faring because he will not let anyone look at them. He claims he is fine. You know he is not.

“I love you,” you say. “I swear it gets stronger every day. Is that crazy? Not a day goes by where I am not grateful for you, just as you are.”

He closes his eyes and swallows. He nods.

“I love you too,” he says in a soft, low voice.

When Jisung leaves to get some dinner, Felix proves you wrong about lovemaking. You are too injured for anything vigorous, but he can still lay you down, can still stretch alongside you. He slips his hand beneath your waistband and touches you with long, careful strokes. You unravel in his arms, your sore spots aching but the pain worth the pleasure. You wrap a hand around the back of his neck and tug him down for a kiss. You kiss him until he sighs and rests his forehead to yours.

“Can I please see?” you ask.

He finally acquiesces. His scars are not too bad, more plentiful than painful. He hisses but exhales when you kiss your way across a couple worse marks.

“We’ll find a way to feel better,” you say, grazing your fingertips along his skin. You recall what Jisung said, about how you did not have to deserve love, you just had to accept it. “You don’t need to prove yourself anymore, Felix,” you say. You dance your fingers down his bare chest to his waistband, kissing his shoulder as he sucks in a breath. “Just be with me. Let me love you.”

“Always,” he says, dropping his head back as you touch him. He cups the nape of your neck, squeezing lightly as you flick your wrist and stroke.

You reach the cabin the next day. It is late afternoon when you find the right place, passing a few other cabins before you find a quaint but charming one in the midst of a meadow. The cabin itself does not flaunt much excess, but the meadow is flooded with flowers, a carpet of colour in the late afternoon light that makes it look like a something out of a fairy tale.

The only problem is the smoke in the chimney. The cabin is clearly occupied.

“Is this the right place?” Felix asks. He and Jisung were admiring the meadow while you stared at the cabin, heart palpitating when you realized it was not empty.

“It is,” you say.

“Maybe it’s Hyunjin,” Jisung says.

“It’s not.” You close your eyes. Hyunjin did not say anything about selling the property when you brought it up. But, then again, there was a lot happening in that final exchange. You made him promise he would try to get away if he could, but it might have been an empty platitude. He knew he was going to die. He knew you would never find out anyway.

The distractions of the past week flutter into nothingness as you reckon with the grim reality of the world your father left behind. You hang your head, swallowing hard.

Jisung and Felix stare at you, their faces falling when they realize what you mean.

“How?” Jisung asks.

“My father chased him down,” you say. “He used him. He discarded him. It’s what he does.”

“What he did,” Jisung reminds you. “And maybe Hyunjin got away. We did! That stupid hot weasel was a bitch but he was resourceful as fuck.”

“Jisuuung,” you say, smacking his arm.

“What? I’m not speaking ill of the dead because he’s not dead,” Jisung argues. “And if he was, he wouldn’t want me to suddenly be all fake and nice to him. I annoy him. That’s how I show my love.” He kisses two fingers and waves it at the sky, then flips his middle finger too. You laugh in spite of yourself, shaking your head.

Felix steps behind you and takes your hand. He kisses your cheek. A breeze blows through his hair, his hat in his other hand. The three of you stand in the meadow for a time, looking at the flowers as you contemplate what to do next.

The front door of the cabin opens. You all turn. An apology sits on your tongue, sorry for trespassing on someone else’s property. The sight of you is no doubt disconcerting. Despite showers and meticulous first aid, you all look very rough, three obviously tired and run down people, a little dusty from the road and streaked with dirt from your hike to the cabin.

You look at the person as they stand on the front stoop. Your brow furrows and the apology disintegrates on your tongue, a bemused question poised to take it’s place.

“Minho?” is all you manage.

You have not seen your first teenage crush in many, many years. He looks older but not too different overall. He is still very striking, even in his homey flannel and jeans, standing on the cabin stoop and looking at you with equal confusion.

“Do I know you?” he asks, which makes sense. You might have had a crush on him, but so did half the school. He was a popular guy. He knew Hyunjin but he only met you briefly.

You want to tell him that. You want to say you are friends with Hyunjin but you find it hard to say his name, especially with Minho gazing at you so innocently. Why is he at the cabin? Was he still friends with Hyunjin? He likely does not know he is dead.

You are spared your turmoil when Felix tugs on your arm, a sharp bid for attention. You look at him, bemused, and he nods his head forward. You look past Minho to the open cabin door as another figure steps into view.

All that twisted pain unspools in your chest. You nearly start sobbing in relief.

“Hyunjin!” You ignore the surprised look on Minho’s face and run right past him.

Hyunjin is standing in the doorway, looking wary until he recognizes you. Then his face breaks into a smile and those long limbs jump the porch steps. You trample a few flowers that have grown over the path, meeting in an embrace amidst sprigs of lavender and vibrant hyacinths. It is a very messy embrace, you and Hyunjin both forgetting you are injured. You crash together only to yelp, your shoulder smarting and his bruised chest just as tender. You laugh at each other then hug gently. When your cheek touches his chest, your eyes water.

“Am I dead after all?” you ask thoughtlessly, the beauty of the terrain and the embrace of your friend momentarily making you think so.

Hyunjin laughs and shakes his head. “I thought you were,” he says. “It was all over the news. I thought for sure—”

“I thought for sure you—” You overlap with him, both of you laughing again. “How did you get away?”

“Nothing special,” Hyunjin says. “I was being watched but they were waiting for final orders from your father. Then word got out that he was dead so they just left. I don’t know if they went to investigate or just abandoned post. I didn’t stick around to find out. I packed my things and disappeared the first chance I got.”

“We made a few stops on the journey over,” you say. “I’m not surprised you beat us.”

“I really thought you were—” Hyunjin shakes his head. “And that it was my—”

“It wouldn’t have been your fault anyway,” you say.

“That’s what I told him,” Minho interrupts, his tone quippy but his lips quirked up in a smile. He wiggles his fingers in a wave when you look at him. “So you’re the friend,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m the friend’s friend,” Jisung says, skipping into the scene and waving at Hyunjin. “Hey, man. Missed me?”

He is being playful but Hyunjin pulls him into a hug, very obviously surprising Jisung who almost falls right over. Poor Jisung’s face goes red as a rose. You remember his video about having a crush on his high school rival and can’t help but giggle into your palms.

Felix puts a hand on your shoulder, smiling cordially at Minho. “Hi,” he says.

“This is Felix, my—” You look at each other. You lips move as you look for the right word. Bodyguard is not strictly true anymore. Boyfriend and partner sound so very mundane, but you realize that is what you are now. “Boyfriend,” you say, feeling hot with embarrassment for no good reason. You suspect the little things will have you flustered for some time.

“Boyfriend,” Felix repeats, looking quite delighted for a second. You are certain only you see the flicker of sadness that follows. He blinks, his gaze faraway, but he covers it with another smile quickly enough. “Nice to meet you,” he says.

“I guess I’ll have to make a bigger dinner,” Minho says, playfully dry like the idea is a hardship, but smiling a knowing smile at Hyunjin, clearly very happy for him. “Come on then. Get inside already. You’re crushing the tulips.”

The cabin is one floor with a loft. The main bedroom, kitchen and facilities are downstairs, some extra makeshift bedding thrown together in the small sitting area by the fireplace. The upstairs loft is a small second bedroom, sparsely furnished with a mattress and blankets and little else. The ceilings are low but the space is blessedly private. You think it is some of the finest accommodations you have ever stayed in.

You throw yourself on the mattress, curling up with a pillow and blanket. Felix smiles and leans down to kiss the top of your head. When he pulls away, you take his hand, regarding him imploringly.

“Just gonna take a shower,” he says. “Wanna clean up, yeah.”

You nod. Even though you can see he is struggling with something, you let him go. If he is not in the mood to talk, you will wait. A shower will help him feel better.

He takes his bag and climbs back down the ladder. You mean to wait for his return, but you feel such calm at finally reaching your destination. The laughing voices of your friends float up to the loft, putting you even more at ease. You release a breath and lay your head on a pillow. The next thing you know, you are blinking awake. The sky is a purpling pink, the day drawing to a close. You can smell something cooking downstairs. Your friends are still yammering away. Hyunjin’s relentless giggles at Jisung’s goofy jokes makes you smile.

You climb down the ladder and wander into the main room. Felix was not upstairs but he is not with the others either. He must have finished his shower a long time ago now.

“Where’s Felix?” you ask, an edge of panic in your voice.

“He’s just outside,” Minho says from behind the kitchen counter. “He said he just wanted some air.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling a little foolish for panicking without reason. “Right. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry,” Minho says, winking to comfort you. You smile but nonetheless wrap your cardigan tighter around you, feeling a little embarrassed.

Felix has been glued to your side for ten years. Your instinct now panics in his absence, but you realize his absence is a good thing. He does not need to be beside you at all times. He is free to wander if that is what he wants. You are glad he stepped outside for some air, rather than sitting over you.

You step onto the small porch and look across the meadow. You can see a shape sitting among the flowers at the edge of the field, looking down the slope to the park valley below. You cross the flowers, minding where you step. The breeze parts your cardigan and you tug it closed. It is a somewhat clumsy walk overall. Your last few steps are a proper stumble over a rock. You miss it completely, distracted with what you find.

Felix sits with his back to you. You thought he was wearing a hat, but now you can see it is his hair. He dyed it a shock of pitch black and trimmed the edges. It is a messy, jagged cut that you will certainly have to fix later. You suspect he did not spend much time looking in the mirror.

“What’s this?” you ask. “Is this why you wanted to stop at that drug store?”

Felix looks up at you. The dark hair somehow makes his freckles stand out more. He looks different but still very handsome. You think you might be falling in love all over again, a little flushed inside as you sit beside him on the grass.

“Yeah,” he says. He runs his fingers through his hair, glancing up at the dark locks from beneath his lashes. He sighs. “And I don’t know why. I just…”

You put your arm around him, drawing him close to rest his head on your good shoulder. He falls against you, breathing out again. His shoulders droop, losing some of the tension that has plagued him.

“I don’t know what to do now,” he says. “I know this is all good, but I feel like I’ve done something wrong. Like I’m not supposed to be here. And I keep thinking about Chris. How I—” He rubs his face, then chokes tears. “What am I supposed to do with all this life, especially when I couldn’t give him back his?”

He cries properly now and you let him. There is no right thing to say, not that you can think of, so you just hold him until he has expended the worst of his pain through his tears. He takes a few shaking breaths before he sits upright, wiping his face. You rub a circle on his back.

“And you,” he whispers. “It’s like, I feel everything all at once. You call me your boyfriend and I’m happy, then I see you hugging Hyunjin and I think—he knows how to be a person. I don’t know how to be anything.”

“Felix, you know Hyunjin is gay, right?” you ask. You guarded that secret before but seeing as Minho is here at the cabin, you suspect Hyunjin is not keeping it secret anymore.

Felix stutters on a shaking breath, looking momentarily confused.

“Huh? He is?” he asks, then gets a little weepy again, saying, “That’s nice for him.”

“Oh, baby,” you say. You kiss his cheek and snuggle close to him, resting your head on his shoulder. “I don’t know what to say. I’m a mess too. I don’t know how to do any of this right. But I’m pretty sure grieving your friend makes you more of a person, not less.” You look at each other. You touch his cheek and stroke a thumb over his freckles. You think you have them mapped by memory, every last dot. “You’re not alone,” you say. “I want to be with you when things are bad, not just when they’re good. And you and me, we’ve known a lot of bad.”

He laughs, his breath dancing over your lips with your proximity. You smile fondly.

“I think it’s time we feel some good,” you say. “We’ll figure out what that means eventually. Together.”

He draws you close and kisses you, a sweet kiss that deepens. You cuddle when the breeze blows a little harder, the evening chill creeping into the sunset. Still, you do not move, sharing heat between you and sitting among the flowers until the pink has left the sky and a blue evening blurs into the purple wash.

Minho sticks his head out the door to call you in for dinner. You stand first and offer your hand. Felix takes it, then kisses you one more time. You walk back to the cabin, hand in hand.

Warmth wraps around you like a fuzzy blanket when you step inside from the cold. Hyunjin and Jisung are playfully arguing at the table, Minho standing over them and yammering some nonsense back. You and Felix smile at each other before joining them all at the table. After he has served the portions, Minho sits as well.

There is a moment of silence, everyone looking around the table at everyone else. They all looked flushed with warmth and life, Hyunjin smiling and Jisung beaming at you. Felix puts his hand on your knee under the table, squeezing softly. You look at him with another smile, then a laugh, a sound of disbelief that resonates with everyone. You are here, impossibly but truly. You have no idea what happens now.

“I’ll break the ice,” Jisung says. “Because I have a confession, while we’re all here, and Hyunjin has his hot boyfriend cooking us a meal. Hyunjin, my man, I’m sorry for being the dick of all dicks when we were in high school.” Jisung lays a hand on his heart and dramatically makes his confession. Hyunjin’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline as your goofy friend continues, “Turns out having an arch nemesis is super gay. And I was a stupid repressed bisexual who thought furiously staring at you for seven hours a day was a totally normal thing to do. Sorry, man. Congrats on the hot boyfriend, though.”

“I’m not his boyfriend,” Minho says. His elbow is on the table, chin in his hand. He is grinning at Jisung.

“Come again?” Jisung says.

“Not his boyfriend,” Minho says, laughing. “I’m his friend. He was in trouble and asked for my help. I’m a good friend so here I am, helping him get settled. I’m actually married.” He holds up his hand, proudly displaying a wedding band. He giggles some more. “He’s single, though.” He gestures to Hyunjin.

Jisung looks at Hyunjin who has gone very pink in the face. He glances at Jisung and laughs, covering his mouth to try and contain it.

“Oh. Oh. Oh. Yeah. Cool.” Jisung scratches the back of his neck, then his brow, then his chin. He taps the table and nods his head rapidly. “Awesome,” he says. “Well, I’m really glad we clarified that before I made a really ridiculous confession in front of everyone. That would have been super embarrassing for me.”

You all laugh, genuinely as Jisung soaks it in with a silly little grin. The sound of your collective delight fills the cabin before chatter begins again and you start eating.

You glance around the table while taking a bite. Your shoulder aches, and Felix’s bruises are still healing, and you will not be surprised if a nightmare jolts one of you out of sleep tonight. But you will wake beside Felix, you will comfort each other, and you will fall back asleep. You will wake up tomorrow and try it all again.

You know the times ahead will not always be easy. You are ready to make mistakes and try.

It is not a perfect ending, but it is a perfect beginning.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix smut #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #skz x reader

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privitivium · 2 months

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Hear me out, in a different timeline, reader had a lover when yan freak moved in as a roommate, everytime yan freak tries to get rid of the "unnecessary distraction" his reader is always there making him stop each time in his tracks

Each time he fails, he becomes more destructive, he starts taking out his frustration to his room, he doesn't want reader to see him like this, he really doesn't! But if that bitch keeps sticking around he might as well show it in action, thoughts?

nice thoughts... didnt understand the last part, but im digging the idea in general. got some perverted shit cooking in my brain,,,

the fucking freak whos so out of touch literally touches on you more than ur lover bro. Imagine that. ur lover is secure, of course, but seeing how this freak is with you,,, they dont appreciate him as ur roommate. they, and you, would hate him if they knew how exactly creepy he is,,, and i mean. you do know. you know lots of things. but... not to the extent of this guy standing outside the bathroom and jerking off to the mere sound of water slipping down ur body to the tile,,, you knew how much he liked you "as a friend", he was really affectionate n touchy in general and overall really nice!! you were oblivious. but anyway.

everytime he tries... seperating you two, you somehow stop him? and him taking out his frustration on his room? and then, you catching him? what... what would you do,,, laugh at him? it must be fate. Not being together... but he doesnt like fate. this freak being such a creepy little twerp and pressing his ear to the wall when you have your lover over, literally rolling around and flailing n sobbing quietly as he hears the soft fumbling of clothes and breathless moans trying so hard to keep quiet. [ wont b long b4 thats u n him... he's delusional :( ]

and obviously, oblivious to your little freaky friend sabotaging your lover, setting them up for failure when his own plans dont work out in the long game... like. FINALLY! theyre out of the picture n now yan freak can swoop in and be the loving roommate who also doubles as a fuckhole for you to pour ur feelings into !!! cmon, dont worry about them,,,, woahh doesnt his taut lil hole feel sooo good around ur thick cock? hm? why is he crying? well, you just feel so good dont woryr about it... [ soo super happy that hes crying tears of joy even while ur still distraught over ur lover while fucking him. ]

#yandere “freak” LOZL #x male reader #male reader #top male reader #x top male reader #dom male reader #x dom male reader #yandere x male reader #yandere male x reader #yandere male x male reader #yandere m x m reader #yea!!!^^^!*!*!

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yanderederee · 28 days

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I love your work and your whole blog is just so amazing! I would like to request letter A for Baji from Tokyo revengers. Thank you, have a nice day dear! :)

This one’s going to be longer than normal— sue me. Read more cause it’s long

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Baji Keisuke is a very intense person. When he feels strongly about a person, it’s hard not to notice. He goes out of his way to give Pah’s dog extra attention when he’s away, carries Mikey to and from places when he falls asleep randomly— everyone feels at ease when they’re with Baji because he is a safe person that they know they can trust.

So for his significant other; of course he’ll show his affections openly. Though it may look like less like romantic affection than it would a doting mother (does that make sense?)

Baji will wholeheartedly take care of you.

You have a stomach ache in public? He rubs your back and finds a place for you to sit, or takes you home immediately if you want. Even if he’s not entirely sure how to fix your issues, he’s dutiful in the way he cares for you.

Order something you don’t like at a restaurant? You got two options, you two can swap meals (because he doesn’t care what he eats as long as you’re happy), or he’ll order a safer option for you.

Can’t sleep? He’ll be half delirious, but he’ll stay on the phone with you and let you chat while he mumbles back replies to make you feel better. Battery might be shot tomorrow but he only uses it to stay in touch with you anyway.

Leaning into romantic affection: not so much into the casual stuff like hand holding (he’s a little squirrelly and gets frustrated if his arm is locked down for too long), but loves looping his arm over your shoulder and holding you close to him at all times. It’s more than showing people you belong to him, it’s also the comfort having you near brings him.

If he’s sitting and getting stir crazy, he’ll play with your fingers. It eventually becomes a fidget of his so he doesn’t realize he does it, but everyone else does.

Likes cuddles, specially holding you. He loves feeling you wrapped up in his arms and pressed into his neck. He could get lost in thought and lay there for hours thinking of all the things he adores about you.

If you fall asleep, he’ll stare at your face; gently pat your hair or trace your features… he’s star stuck thinking about you.

Also shows his affection in protecting you. Can not stand when other people waste your time. If you’re enjoying the conversation then sure, he’ll endure. But if you show any sign of fatigue or annoyance, he’s quick to swoop in and come up with an excuse to get yall going.

That goes for his own friends too. If anyone so much as gives a backhanded comment about you, (I.e: she’s leeching all of your time Baji/Cant you go anywhere without her?/she’s fine but I don’t like having her around/etc), he goes off. There was nothing fucking wrong with you and if you were content being by his side, then he would happily keep you there.

“Fuck you say? Ain’t no one ask you, so keep your shit shut.” He can get really aggressive with his language and dialect, don’t try fighting him further than that, it will end in fists and blood.

Speaking of, is happy to beat the shit out of anyone for you. There’s not a lot that is beneath him. (More on this @/Blood) He doesn’t hit girls, but he will pull their hair and scream in their face for a long time until they get the picture to not mess with you.

Overall: Baji only becomes an intense yandere if other people get involved. If it’s just the two of you, he’s extremely doting and careful with you, but does his best not to stir you into complex feelings that might cause you to leave him.

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galactic-magick · 11 months

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Less Talking, More Kissing: Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: You tell Miguel that every time he gets mad at something he has to take you aside and make out with you.

Words: 1.0k+

Warnings: slightly suggestive

Author’s Notes: 100% convinced that if Miguel just got a kiss kiss he wouldn’t be such a dick.

It’s no secret to anyone in the Spider Society that Miguel is an angry man. Understandably so, considering what he’s been through. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect the entire team negatively. His anger often clouds his judgment and his ability to sympathize with others, and you know he’s aware of it. People don’t listen to him when he gets irrational and dramatic, and quite frankly he’s sick of not being taken seriously.

You know it’s partially a side-effect of his mutated DNA, giving him a bit of a feral, animalistic side that’s difficult to fully turn off, but when he comes to you feeling hopeless, you’re more than happy to do what you can. You’ve been together for a long time now, and you’re the one person he fully trusts.

“You’re the only person who can actually keep me grounded, you know,” he mumbles into your neck, cuddling you close on the couch. “How do you do it?”

“Nothing special,” you giggle as his fangs slightly tickle your skin. “I just love you as much as I can,”

“Even when I’m a jerk?”

“Especially when you’re a jerk.”

He groans, adjusting position so he’s propped up above you, “I wish I could just make out with you whenever I get like that. You’re the only one who can calm me down,”

You smirk, “Who says you can’t?”

“You...you want me to do that?”

“Why not?” you shrug. “If I have the power to turn you into a nicer guy, even if it’s temporary, why not let you do what you want with me?”

“Don’t tempt me, love,” he growls, leaning down to kiss you.

“I’m serious!” you push him away playfully. “Just try it tomorrow, okay? See if it works,”

“You’re too good to me,” he grins, leaning back down to capture your lips.

It’s not long into the next day before he needs you. He’s alone, glaring at his monitors and getting increasingly frustrated at all the issues rising across the universe. He tells Lyla to send you in, and before you can get a word out to ask what’s wrong, he grabs you and slams you against the panels, kissing you passionately until he gets all the irritation out of his system.

This continues to happen several more times over the next few weeks. At first it’s limited to only times when he’s alone, but eventually it bleeds into times others are around as well. Anytime he starts to get heated in some sort of mission briefing or meeting with people from the Spider Society, he’ll step out to call you and get his fix. People start to wonder why Miguel keeps randomly leaving meetings for 10-20 minutes and then returning completely composed, but none of them are about to complain that he’s gotten nicer recently. He’s been yelling a lot less and is overall a less negative person now, and people are a lot more chill around him now. They don’t feel scared to talk to him, and they’re finally listening to him as much as he wanted.

The day he hears about the newest anomaly on Earth-1610, though, is when his coping mechanism is really put to the test.

You haven’t seen him this angry in quite a long time, as he goes on and on about something involving a spider biting a kid in the wrong universe, and that kid’s actions causing the creation of a dangerous super villain. He tells the newest recruit, Gwen Stacy, to go to that universe and check it out, but to avoid Miles at all costs. She retaliates, due to Miles being a close old friend of hers, but Miguel doesn’t back down. He reminds her once again of what’s at stake and how important it is to maintain canon events, refusing to listen to her point of view.

“Miguel.” you take his hand and pull him aside, waving to the others. “We’ll be right back. Just need to take care of something,”

You take him out of the room and push him into the wall, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down to you and kiss him ferociously.

“Mmph-” he grunts. “They just-they just don’t understand…”

“I know sweetheart, I know,” you sigh as he kisses down your neck, lightly biting the skin. “But you really were being a jerk in there,”

“I could’ve been worse. I was holding back,” his hands graze and squeeze down the sides of your body, making your squeak at his strength.

“She’s just a kid, Miguel,”

“A kid who doesn’t know what she’s talking about-”

“Alright,” you cut him off. “Less talking, more kissing,”

He does as he’s told, continuing to kiss every piece of skin exposed. His hands move from your hair to your waist to your legs, and he lifts you up from under them. He turns you around and slams you against the wall, pressing into you while your hands cling to his giant shoulders.

“I need you,” he growls.

“You still have to go back in there eventually, you know,”

“But I haven’t gotten all my anger out yet,” he smirks against your lips.

“How much more do you have?”

“Enough to last all night, sweetheart,”

Your stomach flutters, and you slither your fingers into his hair. You’ve created a monster.

“Hey man,” you hear a voice several feet away. “Can we go home now or what?”

Miguel drops you down and you turn to see Hobie, Gwen, as multiple Peters from the mission briefing staring at you. You both feel your faces grow hot.

“Lyla will finish giving you all the details of the mission and then you can go your separate ways, yes,” Miguel speaks up.

They nod and awkwardly walk away, and Miguel grabs your hand and starts storming down the hall.

“Now they’re never going to take me seriously,”

“You don’t know that. Sometimes showing people you have a soft side actually makes them respect you more,”

“Hmmph,” he grunts, pulling you inside your shared room at the end of the hall.

You laugh, “Still need to get that anger out?”

“You have no idea.”

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #spiderverse

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blegh-110 · 2 years

Text

Have I found you, flightless bird? (1/?)

Pairing: Soft!Dark!Tangerine x Fem!Reader

Summary: A compulsive psychopath takes an interest in you and will do anything to have you all to himself.

Chapter Warnings: Stalking, bullying, obsessive behavior, criminal activity, murder, violence, bad parents (let me know if I missed anything)

Word Count: 8.1k

A/N: Yeah so I thought I wasn’t going to be able to finish this until Wednesday, but I was surprisingly able to write. This is the very first time I am writing a fan fictions, so I’m begging on my knees for you to be nice and respectful. This first chapter is really going to be backstory and setting the scene. And please keep in mind Tangerine’s accent, it makes the reading fun. It’s also unedited. Happy reading! :)

There were no words to describe the ache and tiredness in your body as you slowly walked towards the train station. Your day at work was awful to say the least, with the amount of extremely rude customers and your masochist co-workers, you had broken down in the freezer of the fancy restaurant three times. Each silent cry had made you increasingly tired, both mind and body, so you wanted nothing more than to crawl into your bed and let it all out.

Unfortunately, that would not happen for a while, as you lived a long distance away from your workplace. The reminder of this had almost made the tears in your eyes fall in frustration, but by some miracle, you took a deep breath and kept them at bay.

You breathed a sigh of happiness as you spotted the Bullet Train and almost started crying again, but out of relief instead of tiredness. You were excited when the train was first built, it was marketed as the fastest train in the world, which meant you would get to your small apartment in about an hour instead of two. The train was also incredibly nicer than the one before it; the seats were more comfortable with the hard plastic traded in for fabric, there was a nice woman who served snacks and drinks every thirty minutes, it was cleaner, and just overall better.

One perk about your job was that all workers received a Bullet Train card with unlimited rides, which you were thankful for. The regular cost of going back and forth between your work and home everyday was far too expensive. There was also a discount for the snacks and drinks the woman brings around, which you would often take advantage of to keep yourself awake for the ride home.

You quickened your steps as you got closer to the train, wanting to sit down, eat a fish-shaped biscuit, and get out of the harsh, cold wind. Which reminded you of another thing; you needed to get another jacket, the one who had on was doing absolutely nothing to shield you from the weather.

Although there were many negatives for you living on your own in Japan, the one positive was that you were away from your family, as harsh as that may sound. Your mother and father weren’t particularly happy to hear that you were studying abroad in Japan, then again, they were never happy nor satisfied with anything you did. No matter how hard you tried at anything, they never showed any interest or care, they were always too caught up in each other.

They fought. A lot. And that messed you up badly. From the shouting and door slamming, to one of them being gone for days at a time because they couldn’t stand the other. It all took place at night, which made you nervous to fall asleep. You were awakened countless times in the middle of the night to your mother and father shouting at one another, it had made you anxious to fall asleep and frightened of loud noises. Then the morning would come, where they would act like nothing had happened and like they did not just traumatize their child. And it would start all over again the next week.

The worst part was that you didn’t know how not normal all that was. After complaining to your mother that you don’t like them fighting and going away, she would respond with, “Couples fight, it’s normal.”

No comfort or solace to your distress and anxiety. And you went on with your day, shaken up from the events but it was ingrained into your head that there was nothing to be upset about because couples screaming and throwing things and leaving is normal.

As you stepped onto the train, the warm air and clean smell made you feel better emotionally. Only an hour of waiting, and you would be in your apartment and mattress on the floor. You sat down and got comfortable, not noticing the blue eyes staring at the back of your head from the door.

—

Two Months Prior

You sat motionless in your seat, getting lost in the blur of the world through the window. It was an easy way to turn off your brain for a small while and just stare at the many lights and people, it was nice. But you were pulled back to reality when you heard another voice with a thick accent.

“Fuckin’ hell, stupid asshole. I can’t get a fuckin’ break with this prick, I swear.”

Your eyes widened at the man’s language as you heard his heavy footsteps come closer, only for him to stop abruptly when he noticed you.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I–” The man paused when he got a good look at you, and you didn’t notice it, but he was transfixed by you. And the feeling was mutual. You had never seen such a gorgeous and handsome man as the one standing in front of your seat. His frame was huge, covered by a pretty blue suit and eyes, his hair was medium length and slicked back. But what really got your attention, surprisingly, was his thick mustache. You were never really attracted to mustaches, much less the 90’s pornstache, but it was the cherry on top of all his good looks. While you were mesmerized by him, he had gotten a hold of his words and continued.

“I didn’t see there was a lady in here, my apologies for my language, love.” He said softly and walked away quickly, leaving you in a small daze. The combination of his looks and change from a harsh to a gentle tone gave you butterflies, the thought of someone changing their whole demeanor to make you comfortable was nice.

And love. He had called you love. Love. Love. Love

Although the interaction lasted not even fifteen seconds, you were replaying it all in your head and analyzing every small detail, not wanting to forget the small amount of time that someone extremely attractive gave you the tiniest amount of attention, respectfully.

You had forgotten about him throughout the next few days as you had more important things to think about. The same could not be said for him.

He had the tendency to be compulsive and take stuff, taking what he wanted as soon as he saw it without asking and no apologies. He liked the thrill of stealing, it gave him a sense of accomplishment for outsmarting the owner or the system, it was an addicting feeling for his ego.

And other times, most times, it was for no reason and his body worked faster than his brain, going immediately for the item without thinking. Soon enough his brain turns on and he asks himself why he did it, which is then followed by a short scolding from his brother. Through it all, he never really regrets taking what he wants, it was just another thing for him to mess with and kill time, and maybe be of use.

But this was said for small, unimportant items; snacks, toys, pens. But never was he interested in taking a person. In fact, he was really never interested in people anyway, the only exception was his brother. And now, apparently you ever since that first interaction.

It was very late in the night when that happened. Someone had taken the suitcase filled with money from him and his brother, and their stress would only increase when their employer would check up on them and make sure they had the money. So he was on the lookout for the one who had taken it.

His focus should’ve solely been on the job, and murdering the thief with his bare hands, but his mind would wander to the pretty girl he saw earlier. He had seen many different people in his life, but something inside, the compulsive part, wanted you. And like the previous times he’d taken something, there really was no reason why he wanted you, he just did.

As he walked away, his mind and body were screaming to go back, toss you over his shoulder and continue on. But he was on a very serious mission, and he didn’t want anything to happen to you. He eventually got the suitcase back, shooting the man who had taken it. Before going back to the carriage he was sitting in, he would have to pass you again. He quickly went to the small bathroom, wiped the blood off his face, fixed his hair, and smoothed out his suit.

To say he was disappointed when you didn’t notice him the second time around would be an understatement. He was livid. How could your attention be through the window and not him? Especially when he went out of his way to look decent for you? That would need to change, he thought to himself as he slammed the briefcase on the table and sat down. The carriage he was in was next to yours, so he had the perfect view of the back of your head if he looked through the glass window of the door. As he was thinking of different ways to snatch you without anybody noticing, his brother came into view, sitting across from him.

“Oh, good. You’ve got the case. I was getting worried there for a second. You really are a right Thomas, Tangerine. Hardworking and cheeky and all that, you know, you should try to watch it sometime. You barely sat through the fir–”

“Lemon, could you shut the fuck up right now? I can hardly hear myself think with that shit your talking about-”

“How could I forget your kindness and compassion? Jesus, I don’t remember Thomas being a massive dickhead-”

“And I don’t remember giving a fuck about Thomas the Tank Engine. Now, shut your mouth before I shoot m’own head off, fuckin’ twat.” Tangerine rolled his eyes and stared at you again like you would vanish into thin air if he took his eyes off you.

Lemon smiled mischievously, he loved to push Tangerine’s buttons. It was a good way to pass time and amuse himself, and he knew Tangerine didn’t mean any of the harsh words he said. Not about killing himself at least. While thinking of his next choice of words to piss him off more, he noticed that look in his brother’s eyes. The one where he was ready to pounce, attack, then kill.

He got nervous, wondering if Tangerine hadn’t finished the job and failed to kill whoever took the briefcase. Lemon followed his eyes and they landed on you in the next carriage.

“That the one who took the briefcase?” Lemon asked, ready to put a bullet in your head, he was already standing up. “What, no-”

“Don’t worry, you sit tight and I’ll get the fucker.” Lemon whipped out his gun and almost made it to the door when he was suddenly tugged back down so roughly that he almost fell to the ground. “What the fuck are you doin’? Sit back down, you wanker. She didn’t take the case.” Tangerine hissed and released his deathly grip on Lemon’s jacket with a shove.

“I said sit back down, asshole. God, do you ever think before pulling out a gun and shooting the first person you see?”

“I don’t know, do you ever stop and think before you take something and shove it up your ass? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were ready to kidnap that woman.” One thing Lemon was exceptional at was reading people like they were an open book, a skill taught to him by Thomas the Tank Engine. Which meant he could easily see that that was what Tangerine was currently planning on.

“C’mon, mate. You can’t be seri– you better be pulling my dick.” Lemon whispered, taken aback by his brother’s actions. He knew very well of Tangerine’s compulsive stealing, and he knew he was good at it. It came in handy when they needed to steal something important for their missions. And despite slapping Tangerine’s wrist when he would commit petty theft or larceny, it was slightly entertaining. And the times he did kidnap someone, they would plan it together and execute it together, but only if they were relevant to their missions. And you were not relevant to them at all.

“No, I know, I know.” Tangerine sat back down with surrending hands in the air, knowing what he was thinking was fucked up. That didn’t mean Lemon wasn’t going to put salt in the wound and rub it in.

“That is a real fuckin’ person right there, not one of your stupid bubbly waters or Momomon stuffed animals.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Tangerine defeatdly said and put his head in his hands, disappointed in his own thoughts and wants. Lemon sighed, he knew Tangerine didn’t want to feel this way, but he couldn’t help it. So he decided to save time and do what he always did, help his brother.

“Why do you want this girl?” Lemon knew he wouldn’t receive a proper and detailed answer. Therefore, the shrug he got was no surprise. But he wouldn’t let Tangerine go through with the kidnapping without properly processing his thoughts.

“I don’t know, mate. You should’ve seen her. She looked so wretched and miserable and sad, I just want the poor little thing. It was like staring at a bunny that was run over and shot at.”

“Well, this could just be a bad day for her. Maybe she isn’t so sad all the time.”

“But what if she is?”

“Then she’ll get through it like all the adults in the world.”

“What if it’s too much for her?”

“What if what’s too much for her?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know!”

“And that’s the issue, Tangerine. You don’t know fuck about her and you want to save her or some shit. See if you really want her and you’re not going to toss her aside when the thrill is over, then you can be a fuckin’ hero or whatever.” Tangerine nodded his head as he watched you buy a fish shaped biscuit and a strawberry soda.

Lemon made some good points. Tangerine would need to know if what he was feeling wasn’t temporary, so he waited a week to see if his feelings had changed for you. And they hadn’t, they had only gotten stronger.

He woke up alone thinking of you wrapped up safely in his arms, to feeding you a healthy breakfast when he ate by himself, to jumping in his arms when he came back home from work, to fucking you when he was back in bed with his hand wrapped around his cock. And all these thoughts only increased when he saw the state of your life.

After Tangerine realized he wanted to keep you, he shamelessly watched your every move for the next two months. He followed you to your apartment and to the exact number you were staying at. Because of your long hours at work and staying awake on the train, you were too sleepy to use all your senses to their full capacity. Tangerine shook his head at how you didn’t notice him following you, anyone could just come up to you and shove you into their room. Silly girl, he thought, you won’t have to feel this way anymore when I get my hands on you.

Next, after Tangerine found out your living place, he actually broke his way in after you had left for work, this time with Lemon. Your apartment was easy to get into, all he had to do was jiggle the knob a few times and roughly kick it open.

“What a fuckin’ shit hole, mate, she really lives here?” Lemon scrunched his nose at the stained brown walls and dirty carpet. He was also surprised at how small your place was and how little furniture you had. “Good god, her fuckin’ couch is missing a two of its feet and a cushion. This is no way to live, tsk, tsk.”

“Lemon, you’ve amputated limbs and killed people, and this has you shocked? I’d appreciate it if you’d shut the fuck up and help me out, yeah?” Tangerine said, making his way to your room.

“What exactly am I helping you out with?” He asked, turning around to the tiny kitchen and opening the fridge.

“Anything about her really, I just want to get to know her.” Tangerine shouted while studying your bedroom, trying to get a feel for your personality and what you like. A butterfly comforter with matching pillows but the mattress was on the floor, I’ll buy a similar bed set and you’ll sleep in my arms in an actual bed. Lots of books piled in the corner, I’ll get you the biggest bookshelf I can and I’ll start reading as well. Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury. The Awakening, Kate Chopin. A Room of One’s Own, Virginia Woolf. Tangerine focused on memorizing each novel and its authors.

Next to your books were your CD’s. Tangerine did the same thing, taking the time to memorize your favorite artists and their albums. Next, he opened your closet, not much was there except five plain t-shirts and two pairs of jeans. And that was it. There wasn’t much else to do in your room as there were literally only a few items. And it took everything in him to stop himself from taking anything.

“And you think breaking into her house and snooping around is the way to do that?” Lemon snorted, snapping Tangerine out of thoughts. “Shit, man, does she eat? There’s nothing in here but water, butter, and tangerines-... tangerines. It must be fate.” His brother ignored him, heading to the bathroom where he found a toothbrush, toothpaste, cleanser, deoderant, shampoo, conditioner, and bodywash.

“Oh, I know why now. Her job doesn’t pay shit.” At this, Tangerine walked back to the living room to find Lemon holding what he assumed to be your paycheck.

“Lemme set that,” And he snatched the paper from his hand, “Y/N L/N. She works at Kaiseki Ryori. That’s like two hours away from here, what is she doing there?” Tangerine asked himself. That’s why you looked so tired. After a whole day of work you had to wait another two hours before getting home, wait no, one hour because of the Bullet Train.

After snooping around some more, Lemon reminded Tangerine that they had some business to attend to, some people to assassinate. On the way there, Tangerine was thinking of his next move, and he decided that going to your workplace would be good.

But he would have to wait another week as him and Lemon were piled with work to do. But that didn’t stop Tangerine from making sure you got home safely. Only a few nights allowed him to get on the Bullet Train and sit a few seats behind you, where he noticed you really enjoyed eating fish shaped biscuits and some sort of fruity soda, the flavor always changed.

Alternatively, if he didn’t have enough time to ride with you, he would break into your apartment in the middle of the night, to again, make sure you got back safely. But he could hardly do either because he had his own work to do and he couldn't afford to check in on you every night. So he installed a tiny camera in your living room, which was difficult to hide because you had barely anything in your apartment. He was about to put the second camera in your bedroom, but decided against it, he didn’t want to be too invasive.

A month had passed and he was glad he installed the cameras, it really was much easier to see if you were in your apartment through his phone. He smiled at your sleepy state going to the kitchen and eating a tangerine, thinking you were the most adorable person he had ever seen.

He was sitting outside across from your complex. He had finally had a day off and planned on watching you some more, this time at your workplace, Kaiseki Ryori. While waiting, he watched you get ready through the phone.

Although Tangerine found your tiredness cute, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for you having to get up extremely early for work. And also the fact that you don’t eat much for breakfast because you couldn't afford anything else besides fruit and water.

This will change soon when you have me, darling. I’ll have a nice, big breakfast ready for you when you wake up every morning.

He had also made up his mind about you working in your soon to be relationship, you simply were not going to. You weren’t going to do anything but be his and only his. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious about your job.

He watched as you walked through your apartment door. Tangerine turned his phone off and waited for you to exit the complex. Just then, his phone had alerted him that he had gotten a message from Lemon.

🍋: how’s it going? Did you get your ticket

🍊: pretty good, just waiting for her to come out of her building. Then I’m following her to Kaiseki Ryori. And yes I got my ticket

🍋: how romantic, just don't let her see you

🍊: no fucking shit, I’d be stupid to let that happen

He rolled his eyes and put his phone away when he heard the doors open, his heart stuttering at the sight of you as well as hurting when he saw that you were obviously freezing cold in your thin jacket. Tangerine didn’t want to get too close in fear of being seen by you, so he waited until you turned a corner to start trailing behind.

Various bakeries and cafes were open, one of them he saw you going into for the first time, staring wide eyed at the fresh pastries. You were in there for only a few minutes, chatting with the male barista behind the counter. Whom, Tangerine will admit, was quite attractive and way too close to you and smiling way too much. He watched as you laughed at something the man said, Tangerine’s anger was increasing as the seconds went by. Shouldn’t your fucking drink be ready by now? How can you even afford that shit anyway with your pay?

Just as he was about to enter the cafe and shoot the barista between his eyes, Tangerine’s phone range. Fucking Lemon again.

“What the fuck do need that’s so fuckin’ important?” Tangerine hissed into the phone and placed his gun back into his pocket as he continued to stare at the two of you having a lovely time talking about whatever. He started to calm down as he saw the barista finally give you your food and drink. You walked out of the cafe with a small smile as the hot drink warmed up your hands.

“Calm down, mate. I was calling to tell you about her boss, it’s not good.” At this, Tangerine‘s full attention was on his brother. But as soon as you were a good distance away, he walked into the cafe. “Hold on.”

“Good morning, what can I get for you?” The barista, Axel, his nametag wrote, said with a smile. Stupid fuckin’ name.

“I’ll just have whatever the last person had.” Tangerine said, rolling his eyes, his anger and annoyance rising again for having to talk to Axel.

“Okay, that’s a chocolate croissant and a small caramel macchiato, is that goo-”

“Yes, that’s fuckin’ fine,” He couldn’t stand hearing him talk, he wished Lemon hadn’t called so he could’ve shot Axel and his stupid face. He spoke to Lemon “Alright, what did you find?”

“Who are you talking to? Do you need me to come down there?”

“No, Lemon, I’m fine. I won’t fuckin’ ask again, what did you find on her boss?” Tangerine was full-on irritated. And swearing in every sentence he said showed that. He just wanted to get to you as quickly as possible, but what's-his-face and Lemon were in the way of that. Even though they really weren’t doing anything. When Tangerine was mad, he took it out on everything.

“Shit, alright. I found that this man, Akihito, has a criminal record. Robbery, grand theft auto, harrassment, fucking manslaughter, and the list goes on, mate.”

“Jesus fucking christ, alright. I’ll deal with the asshole later. Can you hurry the fuck up, please? I’ve got shit to do.” He yelled at the worker, who scrambled to pour milk in his caramel macchiato.

“It’s ironic since the guy’s name means brightness and compassion, I’ll tell you Tangerine, he’s no Thom-”

“Lemon, if you mention that shit show again, I swear the next time I see you, I’ll shove my gun up your ass and shoot. And I’ll do it with a fuckin’ smile on my face.” Then he hung up with an annoyed groan.

“H-here you go, sir.”

“Where the fuck is my croissant, I swear to god-” Tangerine wanted to smash this guy’s head onto the counter as he watched the man hurriedly grab his pastry and place it in a bag. Can he do anything right, what do you see in him? It better be nothing, love.

“Thank you for takin’ your sweet fuckin’ time, mate, I really appreciate it, ya cunt.” Tangerine snatched the bag and drink, surely crushing his croissant, and quickly made his way out the door before he heard a quiet mutter. “Asshole.”

Tangerine froze with his hand on the door and snapped inside, he was filled with so much rage that he could feel his face flush and heart beat. He slowly took his hand off the bar of the door and turned around, seeking just a small bit of joy out of the pure terror on Axel’s face.

“I beg your pardon… what did you call me? Because if I heard your correct, you called me an asshole. And that’s a lot of nerve for someone who works minimum fuckin’ wage, how about you do your fuckin’ job right and I won’t shoot you, hm?” Tangerine pulled out his gun and held it to Axel’s forehead.

At this point, Tangerine’s words were shot to kill. He didn’t care if Axel or another customer would call the cops. His patience had quickly worn thin and he wanted to make Axel pay for it.

Axel nodded his head with tears in eyes and violently shook from fear. Tangerine hummed, satisfied, but still held the gun up.

“What’s that right there?” Tangerine motioned his head to the glass cabinet. “T-that’s daifuku, sir.”

Tangerine shook his head, urging him to continue while he cocked his gun, “Yeah, and what the fuck is it, c’mon I already told you I don’t have all day.”

Axel’s tears flowed down his face and his breathing stuttered as he tried to keep himself composed, “it’s m-mochi stuffed with anko and d-different fillings including, strawberries, jam, or coffee-flavored filling.”

“Gimme the coffee-flavored one,” Tangerine said and kept his eyes on Axel the entire time, he wanted to pressure him more in case he messed up again. Then he’ll have more reason to keep on torturing him. When he got his treat, he put his gun back into his jacket pocket, but not before taking the stack of napkins on the counter.

“I’m not paying for it, asshole,” And he walked out and looked at his surroundings, making sure no one saw the whole exchange, “miracle no one saw that.” And he finally made his way to the Bullet Train.

When he got there, he noticed you sitting through one of the windows, eating your croissant and sipping your drink, still with tired eyes. And once again, Tangerine was swooning. His bad mood slipped away with every step he took.

Tangerine did what he always did when he got on the train with you, stay far away enough to keep an eye on you. And that was it. For the whole hour the train traveled, all he did was watch you. And while he felt happy to see you, you dreaded going to work.

For the whole time you worked there, the ride to Kaiseki Ryori filled your stomach with an anxious burn that stayed there until you clocked out. Then you would sit back on the train, exhausted but thankful that the day was over. But then reminded that you would have to go in the next day, and then the next, and then the next. And the anxiousness as well as the depression would return.

You often wondered when your life would change for the better. When would you finally save enough money to buy a new, bigger, cleaner place? When would you find a new job that didn’t make you cry everyday in the bathroom? When would you meet a group of people that could be your friends?

You just wanted to feel content when you woke up. But you awake thinking God, I have to do this all again?

You thrived on praise, on people telling you that you were doing a great job. It gave you a small push of confidence that led to you feeling good about yourself and made you willingly work harder. But with no friends or decent people around you to give you support, it was impossible to feel positive and optimistic.

Along with this, you were incredibly lonely in the love department. Not only did you want someone to love and appreciate you, you wanted to give love to someone else so desperately. Someone who would do anything and everything just to see you. This would also give you another reason to be happy. Since you came to Japan, there has been an empty hole in your chest waiting to be fulfilled with the love you felt for someone.

This combination of low self-esteem and loneliness, as well as the lack of money, made it difficult for you to go out and enjoy yourself. There were a few times when you mustered up the courage to get out of the safety and familiarity of your apartment and go to one or two shops, but that was only two or three times a month. You would go straight back to your small apartment after seeing a group of friends that were your age eating and laughing together, happy together. The same thing was said when you saw a happy couple walking down the street, holding hands and staring at another with so much love that you felt a mixture of jealousy and nausea.

If these didn’t make you feel bad about yourself, then going to your favorite shops and seeing that you couldn’t afford anything made you go back. You would get overwhelmed seeing a beautiful dress or a cute t-shirt, and knowing you didn’t have enough money for it. Or a book you’ve been wanting to read or the newest phone or a better stereo for your cd’s or a flat screen tv.

There were even times when you didn’t even make it to the next street because you felt as if everyone knew how pitiful your life was and they were laughing at your misery. Those days were especially bad. You would go back to your apartment, crawl into bed and cry for hours. Crying because you felt pathetic for not even being able to walk down the street, crying because you had no one to wrap their arms around you, crying because there was no one in your life to tell you that it will eventually get better and that you were a strong person to get out of bed everyday and face a mean world.

Tangerine knew of your many crying sessions, it shattered his heart into a million pieces everytime he heard your choked sobs and stuttered breathing. It somehow hurt even more not being able to see you, as you were in your room, he couldn’t even see the state of your agony and pretend he was there. Lemon would have to hold him down and stop him from running to your complex, breaking in, and giving you the love you craved.

You sighed heavily when you realized the train had slowed down at your stop. The mental preparation on the way there was never enough, you could already feel the headache on its way and the exhaustion deep in your bones.

The walk to Kaiseki Ryori was hard. You knew what was to come in about ten minutes, that’s why you took your time walking. But you always felt guilty for this. Although you weren’t treated nicely at work, something inside your head reprimanded you if you decided to give yourself a break. It was your brain telling you that you didn’t deserve to be selfish for even a few minutes, maybe it was the pressure you and others put upon yourself in highschool to always work to your fullest extent. And that no one got anywhere in life if they decided to take a minute for themselves.

You arrived at the restaurant and you saw two of the cooks walking together. They saw you and you immediately wanted the ground to swallow you.

“Hey, Y/N. Really cold out today, huh? I really like your jacket by the way.” One of them said with a smile on their face while the other one snickered. You gave them a tight lipped smile. You weren’t stupid, you knew they were actually making fun of you. And it sucked knowing you couldn’t call them out on it because they were being passive aggressive. If you dared talk back, they would make themselves a victim and say they were only giving you a compliment and that you should be thankful, and you would look like the asshole.

Then they would run to the boss and say you were being rude to them, and you would get called into his office for a little chat about your future working at Kaiseki Ryori. This chat included Akihito telling you that you need to be nicer to your co-workers or you would be fired. He also told you the first time that you needed to be a better waitress, and he sent you on your way back with no advice on how to become better.

“I’ll get the door for you, Y/N, there you go.” The other cook smiled and held it open for you and you knew what they were about to do. “No, thanks. I’ve got it.”

“Y/N, you’ve had this talk before, don’t be ungrateful and I won’t tell Akihito.” God, they were like fourth graders that never grew up, you thought. How could they be so immature and nasty at their age, they were older than you and acted this way.

You sighed in defeat and walked through the door. Even though they have done this countless times, your heart always stopped when one of them stepped on the back of your shoe roughly and made you fall on your hands and knees on the dirty floor of the kitchen. This time, your boss had walked by. You were hopeful he saw the whole situation and would finally believe your claims that your co-workers bullied and messed with you on the daily. But the two cooks squeezed the tops of your arms in tight grip that made you wince, and pulled you back up on your feet.

“Y/N, oh my, god! You need to be careful or you're really going to hurt yourself one of these days.” One of them said with a faux pout and a worried voice that was too realistic. You huffed with tears in your eyes from the pain of landing on the hard ground and because of the humiliation. Your knees still hadn’t healed from the last time they did this a few days ago, and because they do this so often, your knees were always a shade of dark blue and purple.

Tangerine was fuming at his spot across the street. He had watched the whole thing unfold and wanted to go up to the two cooks and kill them. Drag a blade across their neck and watch as they bled to death and choked on their own blood. Maybe kidnap them and set them on fire, have them die slowly and painfully. Then he thought of a better idea, one that required a certain venomous snake. He decided he had seen enough and left to begin executing his plan. But it had killed him to walk away from you.

“You two are very kind to help her, now get to cleaning. The one who closed last night didn’t properly clean the place and I need you three to do it.” Akihito didn’t even bother to ask if you were alright, focusing his attention and gratitude to the two on either side of you. Sometimes you thought that he was in on the harassment, turning a blind eye at first, maybe giving the bare minimum of care, then laughing in private.

“But we need to prepare the food, Akihito! And you know how long that takes!” The one on your left whined in a way that hurt your ears. He nodded his head before he said, “Yes, I understand. Go on then.”

The two released their bruising grip and walked away, leaving you alone with the boss. He looked at you in irritation, “Well get to work miss L/N! I’m not paying you to be absolutely useless.” And he walked away. Although he left, you nodded your head.

The next thirty minutes were spent with you, once again, trying to keep your hot tears from falling. Which made it even more difficult to wipe down the counters and sweep the floor because the tears blurred your vision. And you didn’t want to wipe them away because it would give it away that you were crying, even though a few people already knew. And some of them did feel bad for you, but they didn’t want to risk being another victim alongside you.

You sighed heavily before putting on your apron with shaky arms. Kaiseki Ryori had opened barely ten minutes ago and tables were already filled with customers. You felt an extra long day hurdling at you and there was nothing you could do but get through it with as little damage as possible.

Surprisingly, it was not as bad as other days, it was pretty normal. Your co-workers, especially the cooks, liked to mess with you for entertainment; giving you the wrong meals and purposely messing up the food because they knew the customer always blamed the waitress and not the cooks. In the end, the customers always cursed you out for not doing your job correctly.

As soon as your very long shift was over, you bolted through the kitchen, shoved the door open, and started your journey back to the bullet train. Before you left, you had wanted to steal a small bag of ice to put on your bruised knees, but the first time you tried that, you were stopped by one of the cooks because according to them, “We can’t waste any food.”

While you got comfortable on the train, Tangerine was in the middle of buying some Boomslang venom from The Hornet. Who was as annoying and difficult to negotiate with as others say. But he eventually got the venom and quickly made his way back to Kaiseki Ryori, where he saw the two cooks leaving. Perfect.

The next few days at work were great. The two cooks who participated the most in making your life miserable had not shown up, which made your days significantly easier to get through. But you couldn’t help but feel a little strange. As horrible as they were, they took their work seriously and would rather die than miss a day of work at Kaiseki Ryori.

Your relief was soon taken away and replaced with terror when Akihito informed the staff why they had been missing. According to him, they were just found dead in their homes. You felt sick as he gave the gruesome details; blood had come out of their eyes, nose, and mouth. And their throats were swollen and closed up. Your mind had begged him to stop talking when he kept going, “Yeah, I guess one of them fell down and completely broke their neck and cracked their skull. It’s horrible.”

What happened next made you scared to even come out of your apartment. Akihito was murdered the same way as the cooks.

Your emotions were everywhere. How were you supposed to feel? You were ecstatic to never work with them ever again, but that was only because they were dead. You felt guilty and disgusting for even being just a little bit joyful to never see them again.

Kaiseki Ryori got a new boss immediately and he gave everyone a day off. Which was not enough. How could anyone go back after they had just found out their co-workers died grotesquely? But they did, and it scared you how normal they seemed. You were still shaken up and had questions and concerns.

Who did this to them? Why? Am I a target? I need to be more careful when going back home. And I really need to get a new lock for my door. But I don’t have the money for that.

Also, when you say things went back to normal, that also meant they still continued tormenting you as well. You thought the murder of the two cooks would for some reason stop them.

Through all of this, you just felt confused and lost. What made it worse was that you had no idea what to do and had no way to communicate your jumbled thoughts. On top of that, your parents kept trying to call you, but you would let the phone ring until they got the hint that you were “busy”, and they would stop calling. It was always hard to get through their calls, but at the moment, you were in no state of mind to deal with them. But with each call you chose to ignore, the more anxious you got because you knew their anger increased each time they couldn’t get a hold of you. It had finally got to the point where you couldn’t let it go on anymore, so you picked up your phone and dialed your father’s number with shaky hands.

“God, please don’t pick up, please don’t pick up, please.” You hoped and prayed they were actually busy, unlike you.

“Wow, she finally has some goddamn time to talk to her parents.” Your father said with an annoyed tone. You wanted to throw yourself out of your window.

“Yeah, sorry. I’ve just been a little busy with stuff. Sorry, dad.”

“Busy with what? Last time we talked, you were a waitress not someone of importance to the world.”

“I know, but I’ve just had stuff to do-”

“Stuff more important than your parents?”

“No, I-”

“Is that Y/N? Give me the phone” You heard your mother yell and you cringed. Not ready for her unwanted subtle views and judgements of your life. The conversation went smoothly at first, but you tensely waited for some sort of remark from her.

“You know, I really don’t like the choices you’ve made, you’ve seriously messed everything up.” Your mother said bluntly. This surprised you, she usually only made a small comment that you could easily bounce off from. But she never downright told you how she felt, you only had a strong feeling.

“I really don’t want to talk about it, please.”

“Well, I surely want to talk about it, right now.”

“Mom, please, I don’t feel comfortable-”

“No, this is where you zip it and listen, Y/N. Your father and I raised you to be outstanding and extraordinary. You had the perfect grades and the ambition and the attitude. What happened to my daughter?” You had no clue what to say. What would someone reply with if their mother just told them they were no good anymore?

“I don’t know, I just got a little tired I guess.” You uttered, feeling the formation of the ball in your throat and the stinging in your eyes. You took a deep breath as quietly as possible, you didn’t want your mother to hear you crying.

“No, you got lazy and incompetent. And it was such a shame and an embarrassment to witness all your capability go down the drain. I had to- we had to watch as other parents celebrated their own children head off to college and get amazing opportunities. And what were you doing? Packing your stuff and running off without a second thought. You wasted all your potential to be a waitress? In Japan?”

“Mom, please-” Your voice wavered, the ball in your throat becoming bigger as well as the tightness in your chest. You felt yourself about to shatter with no one but you to pick up the pieces after.

“No, no, you don’t get to be upset and cry. I’m the one that should be upset! My only child left me for god knows what. Tell me.”

“What?” You whispered. You hoped you had heard wrong. This was a conversation you were not ready to have, ever.

“I said tell me. What was so wrong with your life or what you lacked in your life that you had to move away from your father and I?”

It was silent for such a long time, or maybe that’s how long it felt and it had only been a few seconds. Memories you repressed deep into your mind had floated to the surface and swallowed you whole, adding more fuel to the anxious burn in your stomach.

“I don’t know, you and dad just fought a lot and it scared me. Dad would always leave, too. I-I just became anxious around the house, a-and the pressure I felt on me made it worse. I couldn’t handle it anymore, I just had to leave, mom. I’m so sorry.” You sniffled. It hurt to talk when you wanted to let it out and cry.

“Honestly, Y/N, this is just ridiculous. I have had more than enough. Come back home right now, I mean it.” The tone in her voice was the same one she used when she wanted something done immediately. But you would rather work with the two cooks again than go back.

“Mom.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to.” You said quietly.

It was silent for a minute, then you heard some muffled noises, as well as your dad calling out for your mom. You assumed she had dropped the phone and walked away.

“Well, you’ve really hurt your mother and I, Y/N. I hope this little trip was worth the pain you have caused us.”

“Dad, please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” And he hung up.

You sat frozen on the couch and tried to keep yourself together. But you didn’t go very long and you let out a pained wail that devastated Tangerine through the camera. He had seen enough of your life and was officially done waiting, he needed to get you out of there now.

Once he had you, he would be the one who treated you like you deserved to be treated. He would hold you in his arms as you cried and with the most gentle touch, wipe away your tears. He would whisper that everything is going to be okay, comfort you with so much love that you felt safe.

He would take care of you, make you never have to worry about a single thing ever again. He also wanted to be the one who made you smile. He had only seen it a few times and your lit up face was ingrained into his brain. He wanted to read your books to you and listen to your music with you. Things Tangerine never thought he would do, he wanted to do with you. He would be that person who did anything for you, and all you had to do in return is love him. And if you didn’t, he’ll show you that he’s the one for you and vice versa.

You unknowingly owned all of Tangerine’s heart. And he wanted to own yours.

~~~

A/N: First chapter done! The next one we’ll actually see them interacting which I’m so excited to write. Comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated, they are what fuel me to keep doing this. I’ll also shave your eyebrows off if you don’t comment/reblog :)

#tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine imagine #tangerine fanfiction #bullet train #bullet train imagine

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thatone-brightstar · 1 year

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Paint stained kisses -Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader-

a/n: Everyone say thank you to the sweet @beebslebobs for the idea on this oneshot that was originally just an insta post from my TB & TF universe!

Here's a little sweetness to alleviate the chest pains that chapter 10 may have caused on some of you. It's part of the same story, but it can totally be read separately if you'd like

BUT if you haven't read it and you wanna… here’s the link to that:

The Bear & The Fox -Carmy Berzatto x Fem! Reader-

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: Your and Carmy's day off.

WARNINGS: Smut ahead, oral sex (female receiving), p in v, dirty talk if you squint, reader is on birth control but isn't mentioned (wrap it up IRL tho), minors DNI but you'll do what you want so don't say I didn't warn you.

“That was the worst french toast I’ve had, like, ever…” You groan, kicking your soaked sneakers to the side as soon as Carmy throws the door open.

“My eggs Benedict were pretty good.” He answers from behind.

You roll your eyes with your back to him and scoff. “Obviously, sis wouldn’t dare serve you something awful.” You turn to your boyfriend, a mocking smile curled on your lips. “‘Anything else I can get you, chef? I can also offer you something that isn’t on the menu…’ wink, wink.”

The exaggerated kissing noises you make towards him pull a chuckle from his chest as he combs his fingers through the wet strands of hair. You roll your eyes again and pad to his speaker, soon filling the room with the soft notes of an instrumental song. The warmth of his hands brush over the sides of your waist and rest delicately over your navel as his chest presses to your back, causing the moisture of his sweater to transfer onto yours.

“So, what I understand is you’re jealous someone was hitting on me?” Carmen whispers between soft kisses on the valley of your shoulder.

“No, I’m jealous your food was better than mine-” You answer, swatting his hands away and earning another soft laugh that fills your ears with joy as you walk into his room.

You’ve grown used to the lovely sound, more common the longer you spent by his side, as if the walls he held up were slowly chipping away with your constant presence. You softly hum to the music from his stereo while you rummage through the drawer that holds a few shirts you’ve hauled to his place in the past couple weeks.

He had emptied it out after finding your things bunched up and wrinkled inside your backpack by the sofa. You found it completely adorable when, in search of a shirt of his to sleep in, instead you found your own clothes - neatly folded in perfect squares- occupying the first drawer in his closet. He didn’t mention it and neither did you. Knowing Carmy and his silent acts of love, mentioning it would only shy him back into his shell and the progress you had made over the months of going out was something you weren’t willing to lose.

You pull out a blue washed out ‘The Original Beef of Chicagoland’ shirt that still smells like his body wash and pull it over your chest, then a pair of shorts and some socks to pad around his cold floor while taking out your supplies from the waisted tote bag inside your backpack. You only have a month or two until the showing and even though it might seem like enough time, to you it wasn’t. Every time you tried to concentrate on an idea for your set, your mind would go blank, thoughtless and frustratingly empty. You could blame it on the prospect of a deadline, maybe painter’s block, but you knew it was more than that.

You’ve used painting as an outlet all your life. Most of your favorite works came from a place of hurt, anger and most times sadness. But now they had all been shoved into a corner and replaced by a sense of calm and overall happiness and while you’re glad most of the dark thoughts have left, now it was harder to conjure up any idea that seemed good enough to be presented in front of hundreds of people.

You rub your face in frustration and pull your hair out of your eyes into a bun, then drop criss-crossed by the window of Carmy’s room, acrylics, brushes and sketchbooks flooding the floor. The gentle lull of the chords mix with the shuffling from the kitchen and a smile forms on your face as the source of your lack of inspiration walks into the room, shirtless and cradling a bowl of diced fruit in his hand.

“Here.” Carmy mumbles softly, passing the bowl to you and leaning down to place a gentle kiss over your hair.

You take it, mumbling a quiet ‘Thanks’ through your smile and pop a piece of the tangy peach in your mouth before setting it on his nightstand.

“How’s the brainstorming coming along?” He takes a seat in front of you, back leaning against his bed and lighting a cigarette.

Without answering, you stretch your arm to him, sketchbook in hand and stare mesmerized as he flips through the pages, lit tube dangling from rosy lips. You keep taking bites off the savory fruit to avoid biting your lip instead because the view in front of you is just that fucking good. Baby blues flicker towards you without bothering to lift his head and the way your legs twitch trying to close has a smirk forming over the cig.

“What?” You say defensively.

“Nothin’.” He accentuates with a raise of his brows. “What’s wrong with these?” He asks, giving you the book back turned to a page harboring a few sketches of the sea, shore and shells.

“They’re not good enough…” You admit, tracing your finger over the print his thumb left when it smudged the charcoal. “They don’t make me feel anything- art’s supposed to make you feel something. How can I call myself an artist if it doesn’t stir anything in me!?”

“Hey-” He puts out the smoke on the ashtray over his night stand and scoots to you, making a space for you between his arms. The heat of his naked chest and compression of his arms do wonders to dull out the rising pounding inside. “You’re overthinking it. Maybe take some time off… what do you do when you’re frustrated?”

“...paint.”

Carmy gives you a small snort, genuine and lighthearted, that blows a few wild strands of hair and has you looking up to his glowing face with a tiny grin. You suck the corner of your lip in concentration, the angle in which he has you cradled can only be described as holy. Strong jaw and nose angle perfectly into your line of vision and you have to refrain yourself from kissing the soft tip of it multiple times.

“How ‘bout you make one of those abstract paintings? Let the brush guide you- or whatever-”

“I could paint you…” The words escape your lips the second they materialize in your head.

He pulls his head back slightly, brows drawn up in confusion. “What, like one of your french girls?”

“No!” You manage to answer through a fit of giggles that you’d be ashamed to let out if you hadn’t gotten so comfortable with him already. “Paint on you, as in over you.”

You strain your neck up to catch his lips in yours, the stubble that covers his chin scratching over your tender skin. He smiles into the kiss, very well feeling your intentions of trying to distract him with what you know he likes the most: you.

“It’ll help…” Sultry breath fans his lips and clouds his thoughts with the taste of peaches, fresh and sweet. “Yeah?”

Carmy can only nod, still hooked on the taste of your lips and the stretch of your smile when you get your way. He groans when you pull away, goosebumps rising over the exposed flesh of his chest as you move to take his pillow and sheet from the bed and place it over the ground, beside his legs. He sighs, but obliges anyway, unhooking his stiff thighs and laying belly flat over the hard ground.

“Can’t we do this on the bed?” He speaks over the soft material of the silk pillow sheets you had bought solely for him.

“I don’t wanna get paint on the bed.” You shrug. “Don’t move, it’s gonna tickle a bit…”

The first stroke of the brush gives him chills as the cold paint glides over uncharted territory. He finds it strange, but not uncomfortable and once he gets used to it, it even feels calming. Your soft hums to the tune of the music, the rain pattering outside and the rhythmic strokes have him slowly lulling away into an almost relaxed state, at least what he considered relaxation.

You smile gently down at his long and slow breaths, tracing with your brush over the small beauty marks that map his pearly skin like constellations on an explorer’s map. While one hand holds the brush, you use the pads of your fingers to press down gently over the strained muscles that don’t seem all that relaxed, pulling a groan or two every so often and enjoying all the little sounds he makes.

You spend the time just admiring him. The way his shoulder blades flex when he wraps his arms under the pillow, to the two very pretty dimples that peek just above the waistband of his sweatpants.

“You’re not doin’ much painting…” He mumbles, voice thick and groggy from sleep, while your nails rake rhythmically along his ribs.

“I got distracted…” You bite your lip and pull your phone from under the brushes to snap a picture of your wonderful view, then you lean down and place a sultry kiss where his shoulder blades meet.

“Fox…” He warns through your kisses, the pet name sounding at home between rosy soft lips.

“Bear…” You tease back with a smile, you knowing how much he liked you calling him that.

In a second, you sink down your teeth over the plush skin and he visibly shudders under you. You barely hear him mumble something to himself, before he’s turning to his side and using one strong arm to pull you down to him. Your vision spins and a squeal comes out, only to be shoved back into your throat with the force of his kiss. You’re caged between his arms, torso pressing you to the ground and mouth roaming wet and mercilessly over your own.

The few seconds of air you fill your lungs with when he separates to pull the thin shirt over your head can only do so much to alleviate the burning in your core caused by his strong stare. You raise to your forearms and his lips latch immediately to your exposed collarbone, starving and pleased with every whimper he pulls from you.

“You wanna play chef, let’s play-“ He teases and without wasting time, pushes himself off you into a seating position, thighs spread out just enough for you to sit over them after pulling you to him again.

His enthusiasm is evident in the growing bulge that begins to rub on the inside of your thighs and with the help of your toes on the floor, you rock your hips forward enough to feel his fingers twitch over your waist, digging deeper into the flesh. A soft and shaky moan caresses your lips, motivating your movements as your fingers scrape up his neck and get lost in the messy strands.

His smile stretches over your joined lips. “Anything for you… chef.”

You can feel his Adam’s apple bob with a chuckle as you kiss down his neck, sucking and nibbling hard just under a thin tan line where you assumed his shirt would cover it up, hopefully. His hips jerk upwards with strength, ripping a gasp from your chest, then another squeal when he wraps a secure arm around your waist and hoists you up and off the floor. Your knees squeeze over his hips and your arms wrap around his shoulders in surprise only for a moment, before feeling the soft sheets and the mattress underneath.

Carmy’s lips brush down the exposed skin of your chest, his wet tongue lapping over the hardened nipple of each breast has your knees separating and making room to fit his hips perfectly. He lets go of your tender skin too soon, peppering saliva stained kisses down the middle of your abdomen. As his knees fall to the ground, dexterous fingers pull at the hem of your shorts in a torturously slow fashion, making you lift your upper body on your elbows and direct an impatient glare. Your hair has fallen off its bun somewhere between the floor and the bed, glowing like a dark halo with the few rays of sunshine filtering through the open window and it’s gripping at Carmy’s chest.

“Baby, please…” You moan eager and annoyed, trying to shimmy your hips to quicken the process.

The cold air hits the bare flesh of your cunt and ignites goosebumps that Carmy kisses away as he finishes sliding the fabric over your feet.

“Fuck, so wet already. Just for me, huh?” He mumbles to himself, breath blowing over the exposed skin and causing a jolt of need to travel deep inside.

You swallow down the thick pool of saliva that drowns your mouth at the sight of his beautiful face between your legs. “Bear, please I need you to-” The phrase is cut short by your gasp.

Long digits rub tauntingly over your slit, coating in the arousal caused only by him. He’s too eager to continue teasing you, too entranced with the way your pussy glistens with the bare idea of him that all he can do is look up at you through his brows and lap at the wetness with a firm tongue. With just the first taste of you, he’s hooked, like a starving man afraid they’ll take away his only source of life.

Your groan throws your head back with force and makes your eyes lose focus. Strong hands grip at your hips, rooting you to the mattress while your feet fall over his shoulders. Your hands try to find anything to hold on to- hair, sheets, pillow and even your own thighs- but the constant assault of his skillful mouth makes your fingers lose their grip on anything in your reach.

“Fuck baby-you’re doing so, so good-” Your praise makes his cock twitch inside his pants and he uses one of his hands to frantically pull the waistband down, stroking himself with a similar speed to his mouth.

Whimpers cascade from your lips and pool over your chest with every slurp and lick that echoes in the small room. You force your blurry eyes to focus down, only to be met by piercing black and a thin ring of deep blue staring up at you. His hand spreads over the sweet spot where your thigh meets your hip bone, digits concave the flesh in a way that reminds you of the ancient marble sculptures. There’s a predatory air about the way his jaw tenses in concentration while eating you out, hard muscle digging deep into you and curving your back off the sheets.

Your nails dig into his scalp with every stroke of his tongue and the scorching sensation crawling over your thighs only grows with the bump of his nose over your swollen clit. A hard yelp scratches its way out through your exhausted lungs, motivating him to speed up his movements and add a finger into your dripping cunt. His groans and moans vibrate into your overstimulated area, causing the orgasm to hit you out of nowhere.

A chorus of ‘fuck’s that vary in volume ring inside Carmy’s ears -along with the pulsing walls compressing his finger and tongue- but he refuses to budge. Instead he continues to rub your clit with the bridge of his nose until your breaths have settled long enough for moans to turn into words and not the unintelligible mumbling that makes his chest swell with pride. He pulls his own hand from around his cock afraid he’ll burst before his favorite part, distracting himself by placing gentle kisses over your spasming thighs and rubbing along the lengths of them as he crawls over you.

There’s a blissful smile over your face that only grows with the sweet pecks of his lips making their way up your skin. You open your eyes when the mattress dips under his weight beside you and you prop your head up on your elbow, mimicking his stance. Your eyes are glossy with post-orgasm bliss as your hand lifts to his face and your middle finger traces over the prominent line of the nose you love so much. His skin is smooth with your slick and you can’t help but pull your finger back and pop the tip into your mouth, never losing his stare.

His neck loses grip of his head, messy curls falling in frustration because, how is it that the smallest thing you do can rile him up so fucking quickly? A death between your legs, he thought, would be the happiest demise.

With the thought present in mind, he circles your waist tightly and drags your body over his into a seating position. You throw your leg over his parted ones in sweet anticipation, knees hovering over the sheets while your arms fall on his shoulders and you pull him up to your mouth. The taste of peaches and tobacco mixing with your arousal have you panting and grinding your folds over the firm head of his cock.

“You want me to fuck you?” He whispers in between kisses, using all his strength to not slam into you already. He just loved to hear you say it, have your pretty lips pout around the word that had been used to taunt him for so long, needy for you to give it another meaning. "I gotta hear it, baby, c'mon-"

“Fuck yes, chef- please fuck me-” Your thighs quiver with want, mouth completely disconnected from your brain as the words tumble down. “Please, chef? Pretty, pretty please?”

His eyes grow soft and his dick hard at the way you whine your words, hips rocking along his length leaving him delirious and pussy-drunk before he’s even inside you. Carmy plants a firm hand at the base of your spine, using it to guide you down his stiff cock until the last bit of air is pushed out your lungs.

“Fuck-” You groan, throwing your head back then letting it fall over his shoulder as he lifts you up and lets you drop over and over again.

Your hands dig at his back, clawing over undried paint you’ve forgotten is there and smearing careless streaks of blue and pink over his chest. The beautiful sound of smacking skin and his breathy moans growing louder around you go straight to your core, igniting the tingling sensation that runs up and down your thighs once again.

His eyes can’t seem to look away from your face, too bewitched by the way your lips hang parted and the fine layer of sweat covering your skin. While his hand rounds your body and runs circles over your nub, his teeth latch onto the breasts bouncing in his line of vision, pretty bruises flourish and decorate the skin with his own personal mark.

“Bear- baby- fuck-” Fragments of a sentence is all you’re able to utter, pushed out and punctuated by the snap of his hips increasing in speed.

You feel every one of his thrusts too deeply inside you from that angle, along with the constant nibbling over your tender breast and you think you might just go mad from the overstimulation. You roll your hips along with his when the tension in your navel begins to grow. One hand circles his neck and buries inside sweaty locks while the other tries to grip onto the wall for any sense of stability. Your legs tremble, the tension builds and without warning, your grip on his cock pulls the air from his lungs as he feels you spasm around him and come with a gutural gasp.

Carmy digs into the skin of your hips lifting you up for a few more thrusts before the tightness of your walls grows too much. His neck flushes red with the force of his release, the groan vibrating next to your ear makes the thin hairs on your body rise with chills.

The drained energy finally catches up to you both and Carmy lets gravity pull him down to the comfort of the soft bed, holding you tight in his arms and pulling you down with him. You’re too blissed out to warn him about the paint still fresh, now pressing over the white sheets disparaging the bed.

It’s only when he turns to carefully place you beside him- arms secure around you- that you open your eyes and notice the array of smeared paint covering both your chests and around his neck. The laughs rippling from your chest are too contagious for Carmy to stay quiet, joining on once he gets a view of himself and the lilac prints around your face that match with the size of his thumbs.

“See?” He whispers once you’ve both run out of laughter, sapphire eyes dancing around your glowing face and hand traveling up to caress your cheek. “I was right about the abstract painting…”

"Yeah..." You grin back. "And so much for not wanting to get paint on the bed..."

**********

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha, @yum-yahgurt, @pussy-f41ry and that’s it lmao

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horsechestnut · 2 months

Text

Batfamily Chronological Reading List

Here it is, a massive list of Batfamily comics all sorted by issue release date so you can read them in the order they were originally intended to be read in, or easily reference back to what happened when. Do you want to know what Dick was up to during A Death in the Family? Need to know if Cass was around yet when Steph had her baby for your fan fic? Just a completion-ist with too much time on your hands like me? Then this is the list for you!

About six months ago I was trying to read my way through some old comics and getting insanely frustrated trying to figure out the order they went in. There are lots of reading lists online, but none of them gave me what I truly wanted: the order of individual issues rather than comic runs or collections. I also couldn't find any that featured all of the Batkids. So I took all of the reading lists I was using, found the On-Sale-Date for each of the issues mentioned, found a few other lists to fill in some gaps, and complied them into chronological order.

This list features what I consider to be the main 8 Batfamily members: Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Damian Wayne, and Duke Thomas. It is by no means every appearance of these characters, but it is hopefully all of the important ones and then some. By no means do I suggest reading all of these (unless you're slightly insane like me), it's more of a reference guide than a read list.

Some Disclaimers:

This is still a work in progress. You'll notice that the first third of the list is much more detailed than the more recent entries. That's because I haven't read them yet. As of now I've only reached Batgirl 2000 #15, but will continue updating as I go through (I'm hoping to finish sometime within the next 12 months).

This is not a Batman list. I have included some issues about Bruce that I feel are important to the overall story, but if I were to include all of his important issues it would make the list unusable. You should still be able to follow his character arcs through his role in the comics listed here.

I needed to cut off somewhere, so anything released after December 31, 2023 was not included. I may go back and change this later, but not any time soon.

I do not want to discredit any of the Batfamily members not included here (ie Kate, Helena, Jean Paul). They are all important to Bruce and Gotham in their own way, but again I needed to cut it off somewhere or I never would have found an end.

For any edits you wish to suggest, please do so through this form. Any suggestions given not through this form will not be considered, and as it says in the form, I also will not consider any that don't have an explanation.

Finally I need to say thank you and give credit to the people who's reading lists I used to create this:

cazzam - New and Improved Cassandra Cain Reading Guide

Comic Book Herald - I used both their Complete Robin and Complete Batgirl Read Order Lists.

The Comic Book Treasury - I used both their Robin Reading Order and their Duke Thomas Reading Order

Comic Book Wire - The Signal Reading Order

Daily Jason Todd - Jason Todd's Reading List

Stephanie Brown Wiki Chronology Page

The Unoffical Guide to the DC Universe was also an incredible help with sorting out timelines, and all of my On-Sale-Date information comes from Grand Comics Database (GCD).

I hope you guys enjoy and find this useful! I'm happy to answer any questions, and if something isn't clear feel free to let me know!

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siyooungi · 7 months

Note

Can u make like yunjin from le sserafim and fem reader having an argument like about how yunjin forgot about important stuff and the reader is giving her the silent treatment and then it turns into fluff

A/N: as i’m rereading your request, i just now realized you wanted an argument- i’m sorry, i only included the silent treatment part!! (pls forgive me.. i hope you still like it.)

Pairing: Yunjin x Fem!Reader

Idol: Huh Yunjin (Le Sserafim)

Warning(s): None!

Your relationship with Yunjin was filled with love and happiness, as most relationships should be. However, there was one recurring issue that had been nearly driving you insane—Yunjin's forgetfulness. Yunjin seemed to forget important things, like special dates and even plans that you had made together.

After another forgotten event, instead of you expressing your grievances, you simply chose to remain quiet. You didn’t even bother reminding her before she left your shared apartment. Though, your attire should’ve rang some bells in her head, it did not. While you weren’t dressed formally, you were dressed well enough for her to tell you intended on going somewhere. But no, she simply complimented you and gave you a kiss, not bothering to put two and two together.

See, as a date idea, you had made a reservation at a restaurant that Yunjin loved, but your girlfriend had completely forgotten about that and went to spend time with some friends instead. By the time she came back, you were sitting on the couch flipping through channels and changed into more comfortable clothes. She happily plopped down beside you, ready to tell you all about her day and how much fun she had.

Yunjin was completely oblivious to the fact that she was being subjected to the silent treatment. She continued to talk to you as if everything was normal, only to be met with your silence. Confusion flickered in her eyes as she realized that something was amiss. She was used to doing all the talking in the relationship and was overall more talkative than you, but you were oddly quieter than usual.

"Love?" Yunjin called out tentatively, her voice filled with concern. "Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?" Still, you remained silent, refusing to acknowledge her, leaving her in the echoing void of your silence.

Like a puppy wanting attention, she scooted closer to you and brushed her fingers against yours, hoping for a response. To no surprise, you simply kept your gaze fixed forward. Though, you didn’t brush her off or move away, providing her a short relief since you weren’t preventing her from touching you.

“Baby..” She leaned closer, her breath tickling your ear, hoping that proximity would melt away the tension. It affected you, of course. She’s simply your weakness, but you were still upset with her. So, you suddenly stood up and made your way to your shared bedroom. Without skipping a beat, she was right on your tail from the moment you put a foot forward. She trailed behind you, not far but not too close either.

“Why are you ignoring me?” The taller woman asked as you opened the door, having her close it behind the two of you. As expected, you didn’t give her a response. You acted as if she wasn’t there and went into the bathroom, planning on getting ready to wine down for the night. She watched you through the mirror, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed.

She just couldn’t figure out what she did and was frustrated that she couldn’t rack her brain for a memory to pop up. Knowing you wouldn’t verbally tell her, she marched out of the bathroom with a mission in mind:

Recall what she forgot this time.

So, she decided to look around the bedroom. She looked for any possible notes, if she misplaced something, literally anything. Well, that was until she looked up at the calendar above your desk. Yunjin walked closer so she could read the writing—when she spotted it, she wanted to give herself a facepalm over and over again. In red pen with hearts and exclamation marks was the name of her favorite restaurant and “date” written beside it.

Just as she turned around, you were exiting the bathroom. All she could do was freeze because she didn’t expect you to be out so soon. Not that you were paying her any mind anyways, she thought. You completely walked past her to lay down on the bed, her eyes trailing you as you did so.

Yunjin's worry turned into desperation as she tried different approaches to break through your silence. She went to your side of the bed and kneeled next to you, holding onto your hand. She was once again shocked that you let her touch you, her eyes widening slightly before she composed herself. "Love, I'm so sorry." Yunjin whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Please, talk to me."

But you stayed resolute, your silence unyielding. Yunjin's heart sank, and she sighed in defeat, plopping down on the bed with a heavy thud. Her eyes, once filled with determination, were now filled with sadness and longing.

Time seemed to stretch on as Yunjin watched you, her gaze filled with an unspoken plea. She desperately wanted to fix things, to make you smile again, but she didn't know how. She contemplated her actions, realizing the impact her forgetfulness had on you, and regret washed over her.

Suddenly, Yunjin had an idea. Determined to break through your silence, she sat up and reached for her phone. Swiftly, she typed a message and sent it to your number:

"I know I've messed up, and I'm truly sorry. I promise to be more attentive and remember all the important things. But I need you, my love. I need your voice, your laughter, your love. Please, let me make it right."

Your phone lit up on the bedside table, causing you to glance at the heartfelt message. Your heart softened as the read the text on the screen. You turned to Yunjin and saw the sincerity in her eyes, causing you to crack. You couldn't ignore her any longer. With a small smile, you finally gave in to her cuteness, unable to resist her genuine efforts.

Opening your arms for her, she immediately embraced you. It was a hug so tight that one would assume she was afraid you’d leave. You would never do that, but she felt like she lost a part of you when you weren’t speaking. "Thank you.." Yunjin murmured into your shoulder, her voice filled with relief.

"I promise, I'll do better. I love you."

You melted into her embrace, feeling the warmth of her love surround you. The tension that had filled the room dissipated, replaced by a renewed sense of connection and understanding. You both knew that despite the occasional arguments and moments of frustration, your love for each other would always bring you back together.

“I love you too.” You finally spoke, causing the brunette to squeal and roll over, bringing you with her. You couldn’t help but laugh at the action as it resulted in you being on top of her, still within her embrace.

Yunjin rested her head back onto the bed, looking up at you with a smile; another thing you could not resist. With the close proximity, she puckered her lips, causing you to smile at the gesture. You knew what she wanted, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to give in to it. She still had her arms around you so she shook you a little, basically pleading.

“Come on..”

You rolled your eyes playfully before placing a quick kiss on her lips. You were met with a look of disbelief, which made your smile widen. You knew that wasn’t enough to satisfy her, but you loved messing with her and it seemed fair to do so after what happened this evening.

You hummed, contemplating whether you should give in to your girlfriend’s wants, or what she would consider her needs. “Don’t think about it, just do it.” You heard her mutter beneath you, causing you to raise your eyebrows.

“Then work for it.” You spoke against her lips, earning a groan from the woman and evoking a chuckle out of you.

And work for it, she would.

#fem reader #le sserafim #huh yunjin #le sserafim yunjin #yunjin imagines #yunjin x reader #kpop #kpop girl groups #lesserafim x reader #lesserafim imagines #lesserafim scenarios #siyooungi

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huhjxn · 1 year

Text

eavesdrop part II

kim chaewon x fem!soloist!reader

chaewon realized her mistakes and now her mind is plagued with the thoughts of you. she wanted nothing more than to apologize for the damage she's done but it isn't as easy as it seems.

! : swearing, angst (with fluff), harassment, stranger danger, chaewon is sleep deprived

4.0k words

read part I here.

"I'm craving pork belly right now," you said as you looked at your best friend, Kim Sunwoo. "Dude, same. I dreamt of eating pork belly and kimchi last week and I've been craving since," he replied.

"I ate pork belly yesterday with Sooyoung unnie and Hyeju," Park Chaewon said with one of her eyebrows raised as though it was such a big deal. Actually, it really was for both you and Sunwoo.

"Wow, I don't mind you ganging up on me in PUBG but this?" Sunwoo said, rolling his eyes, "Traitor." Gowon smirked as she saw how you looked so betrayed, and continued raising her brow to further provoke you.

"She's so annoying, I swear to god," you said, turning to face Sunwoo, making sure to sound like a Regina George dupe, "Like that face that she makes? Chaewon seriously gets on my nerves every single time."

As a result, Gowon shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes at you. You gave her a look that she always does, which made Sunwoo laugh.

Twisting and turning on her bed, a frustrated Chaewon finally sits up and grabs her phone from her nightstand. The glow of the screen was burning her eyes, partly because of its brightness and partly because it's 3:09 a.m. and she hasn't gotten even a minute of sleep. Yena's words kept echoing in her head together with the cruel words that she uttered to you which was accompanied by her bitchy actions.

To say that Chaewon felt guilty would be an understatement. It's been four days since Yena visited her in HYBE and she's been having a hard time sleeping, her mind replaying her encounter with you endlessly. She knew that she needed to make things right but how could she?

Chaewon remembered how she wanted nothing more than to apologize to you when she saw you at Music Bank two days ago. Seeing you stand there laughing with Gowon made her freeze; she watched how happy you looked, your eyes sparkling with joy, the smile on your lips were reaching your eyes, and your overall aura just looked so at ease. It was the complete opposite of you back when she confronted you in her dressing room. Chaewon also knew that if she interrupted you, that beautiful expression plastered on your face would leave faster than the speed of light.

She didn't want to do that; the expression that you wore made you look like a ray of sunshine, and Chaewon doesn't want to be the reason why thunderclouds would dull you up, even if she knows that she already plays that role in your life.

Looking back at her phone, Chaewon felt awful because she wanted to have a decent rest but the thoughts in her mind won't let her. Suddenly, she felt her stomach grumble. 'Well, I don't have anything better to do anyways,' she thought.

Chaewon got up from her bed and grabbed a stray hoodie from her desk chair, and got out of her room, making sure that she wouldn't make any sound. As she was about to go out, she heard footsteps shuffling behind her, "Are you going out?"

The short-haired girl turned around and was faced with their tallest member. "Yeah, I couldn't sleep," Chaewon said exasperatedly, "So I decided to go out and get food."

Yunjin nodded tiredly, rubbing her eyes, "Can you get me some chips too?"

Chaewon smiled at the girl before responding, "Of course, I'll be back in a bit," she said as she exited their dorm.

In all honesty, Chaewon had no idea what she wanted to eat. She is starving, yes, but the amount of thoughts that were already occupying her head was so much that she couldn't think of what to get despite seeing numerous convenience stores as she walked.

The girl decided to enter the next convenience store, knowing that she doesn't have enough energy to walk any longer. Grabbing the basket, she browsed the shelves and searched for the chips that she knew Yunjin liked.

While checking every aisle, Chaewon felt goosebumps all over her skin, which was somewhat unusual. She dismissed it because it was probably just because of the temperature. She then proceeded to grab a few snacks for Eunchae, and decided to settle for a packed meal that needed to be reheated at the counter.

As she was about to pay for her stuff, she could see a figure of a person by her peripheral vision, but decided to pay no mind to it. Besides, it's normal for sleep deprived people to buy at convenience stores at this time… right?

The girl handed her card to the cashier. After paying, the cashier left to microwave her food, so she decided to look behind her and just as she expected, the figure was gone. The cashier returned to the counter to hand her the food, which Chaewon grabbed with a small smile that reflected her exhaustion.

Chaewon left the store and opened her phone to send a quick text to Yunjin,

are you still up? i just left the store, i'm omw back

After hitting send, she placed her phone back in her pocket. It was still relatively dark, and most of the stores were still closed which meant that there were only a few sources of light on the street. Suddenly, she felt goosebumps once again and the unsettling feeling of someone staring at you. As she was about to look behind her, she felt a body collide with hers.

"Kim Chaewon," The girl felt her whole body freeze. She dreaded for something like this to happen, and she now regrets going out, "You're Kim Chaewon, right?" The strange man asked her, his hand on the girl's shoulder, hindering her from making any sudden movements.

She knew how risky it was to wander through the streets at this time, especially since she's alone. Chaewon could feel the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. 'This is all my fault,' she thought. For once since meeting Yena, her mind was occupied by something that wasn't you, but this frightened her. Nothing could ever prepare her for the danger that she's faced with right now.

Due to her lack of response, the man forcefully shook her, and that's when the tears ran down her cheeks, then suddenly, she heard a voice speak.

"What do you think you're doing?" Chaewon shut her eyes tightly, she felt the man shuffle behind her before he spoke, "Oh, I'm just talking with my girlfriend, we were just arguing but everything's fine and there's nothing here that concerns you."

Chaewon felt the man grip her shoulder tighter, which made her groan in pain, "Are you sure about that? She doesn't seem to be fine."

Suddenly, it clicked. Chaewon did her best to look behind her, and despite her blurry vision due to the tears filling her eyes, she was able to meet your worried pair of eyes. Then, it felt like everything happened in slow motion. Chaewon saw you clench your jaw before lunging towards the man and grabbing him by the collar.

"I swear to god," The short-haired girl shuddered at the calm yet threatening tone you used, "I may not look as strong, but I can definitely take a scrawny guy like you, so unless you want to end up with broken limbs, I suggest you to leave."

You felt immense anger as you stared into the man's eyes which was filled with both worry and annoyance. He tried to pull back, but your grip on his collar was too tight that your knuckles turned white. Suddenly, you let go of his collar which made him lose his balance and fell.

"Fucking bitch," you heard him mutter as he dust himself off then ran from the scene while you made sure to watch him leave. Chaewon stood there silently, not knowing what to do nor what to say. She was grateful for your help but now she doesn't know how to deal with you. With all the pent up stress both from the fears from her situation earlier and your presence, she felt herself cry harder that she couldn't contain the sobs that she let out.

Suddenly being aware of your surroundings once again, your eyes traveled to the girl and you could feel your heart break at the sight. "Chaewon sunbaenim," you said, unsurely. The said girl looked up to meet your eyes but all you could see was the pained expression that she wore. You opened your arms with uncertainty but all the hesitation washed away once the girl lunged forward and wrapped her arms around your waist in an embrace.

Chaewon could feel your arms wrap around her body tightly, and at that moment, she knew that she was safe. No one could hurt her. You were there.

"Are you hurt? Did he hurt you? Should I call the cops?" You asked calmly, but the short-haired girl could hear the concern laced in your tone, and she couldn't help the fluttering of her heart accompanied by the warmth of her cheeks, "No," Chaewon answered weakly, "I'm fine, I just—"

Chaewon was interrupted by her own sobs. She felt embarrassed that you had to see her in such a state but the negative thought quickly left her mind as she felt your hand caress her hair and your other hand rub circles on her back, "Let's get you home, okay?"

You waited for the girl's response and you felt her nod. She untangled herself from your embrace and you couldn't help but miss the warmth that she provided. Chaewon started walking before you, and as she was about to reach for the food that she bought which were now on the floor, you held her hand and grabbed the bag with the other.

Chaewon looked up to your face but your eyes were already locked on hers, "Lead the way," you said with a small smile, and the girl could feel her heart explode.

The two of you walked in silence and Chaewon could feel your grip on her hand tightening every now and then as though reassuring her that you were there and that you wouldn't leave her side.

Eventually, you arrived at their dorm and Chaewon slowly unlocked the door before stepping in. "Chaewon unnie, what took you so long?" Yunjin asked before seeing you at their doorstep, "Oh, Y/N-nim, hi!"

You smiled in response as the taller girl ushered you into their apartment. "I was confronted by a stranger, but Y/N saved me from getting harassed," Chaewon said, the exhaustion in her voice was obvious even as she tried to hide it.

Yunjin's eyes widened at the revelation, but decided to drop the topic after getting a look at her leader. She knew better than to pry. The said leader went straight to her room as your eyes were locked on her. After seeing her enter, you handed the bag to Yunjin who accepted it with a smile.

You were about to leave when Yunjin's voice interrupted the silence, "Thank you," she said, quietly. You stared at her in question before she continued, "I heard from Yena unnie that you and Chaewon unnie aren't on good terms," she mentioned, and you wanted to give Yena an earful for not knowing how to keep a secret.

The taller girl smiled at you before continuing, "But I'm really glad that you helped her out." You gave Yunjin a genuine smile before replying, "Of course, I'm sure that if the roles were changed, your leader would've done the same."

She nodded at your words, "You should stay," you stared at her with wide eyes before she tried to clarify what she meant, "If you're not busy, I mean. I think you should stay with unnie for a bit, until she realizes that she's safe."

You nodded before agreeing, giving her one last smile before going towards the direction of Chaewon's room. The pounding on your chest was pretty much uncontrollable, but you chose to ignore it and knock on the girl's door.

"Come in," you heard Chaewon's muffled voice before your hand reached for the doorknob and entered her room. Her back was facing you but it did nothing to ease your nerves, "I just wanted to make sure that you're all settled before I leave," you uttered, hesitantly.

There was a long silence, and you were just about to retreat and leave when you heard her respond, "Can you stay?" Chaewon's voice was soft and unsure, and deep inside, her fears were eating her alive because why would you choose to stay with her when the last time you spoke with each other, she was such a douchebag to you. Despite that, she decided that there's nothing more to lose, "Please?"

With her back still facing the door, Chaewon could hear her heart pounding. After a few seconds, she heard shuffling and the sound of her door closing. She expected it. You didn't have any reason to stay. Her shoulders dropped at the realization that once again, she's all alone, just as she expected.

What she didn't expect though is for her bed to dip behind her, and for a hand to reach out and stroke her hair. Chaewon's tears began to resurface.

"Of course," you said, glancing at the back of her head, where your hands were playing with some of the strands of her hair, "I'm here."

You stayed.

Her tears started to fall and all she could feel was how drained she was with the week-long overthinking and the incident earlier, but at the same time, you were there with her. She had you, and it feels like that is all she needs at the moment.

You heard a quiet sob coming from the short-haired girl, and you have never felt so lost than you did at that moment. What happened earlier surely struck terror into the girl, and you had no idea how to console her. As a soloist, you were simply responsible for yourself and you didn't have other members to care for. On the other hand, Chaewon came from a 12-member group and is currently a leader of a 5-member group; the difference between the two of you is very noticeable.

All of a sudden, the girl turned and in an instant, you were met with her tear filled eyes. It was cut short because Chaewon wrapped her arm around your torso in a flash, hugging your body closely as though she was clinging for support. And at that moment on, you wanted nothing more than to hold her close regardless if you were on good terms or not.

Chaewon didn't know what came over her; with a sudden boost of confidence, she wrapped you in an embrace, knowing that it is all she needs to get rid of the unwanted thoughts that were clogging her brain. Unexpectedly, she felt your arm drape on her back, pulling her closer to your body as the other hand stroked her hair calmly, and Chaewon could swear that she's never felt more comfortable than she did at this moment.

"You should get some sleep," your quiet voice echoed in the silent room, "You don't have to worry about anything, I'll keep you safe."

The short-haired girl nodded weakly as she felt more tears fall onto your shirt. Chaewon was glad that her face was buried on your body because without a doubt, you would have seen how red she was if her face wasn't hidden.

Despite the fatigue that she felt, Chaewon didn't want to fall asleep just yet; she wanted to enjoy your company and how you held her so tightly against your warmth. Unfortunately for her, the exhaustion is already taking a toll on her and as the minutes passes, her eyelids started getting heavier, and she couldn't help but succumb to the deep sleep that awaits her.

Her body felt heavy all over as she awoke. That was the first time in a short while where she was able to get a good and uninterrupted sleep. However, instead of feeling recharged, she felt as though her body was underneath an elephant and she refused to get up.

But as she was just about to go back to sleep, she realized that her comfortable source of warmth was gone. She tiredly looked around her room and saw that you were nowhere to be found, and there weren't even any signs that you were there.

Chaewon felt disappointed but there's really nothing she could do about it. It's not like you were obliged to stay with her. Heck, she was a bitch to you, you didn't owe her anything. Perhaps she just might even be too spent last night that she imagined everything that happened in her room.

Knowing that there's no way she could sleep without your presence, Chaewon groggily got up from her bed before exiting her room. As she stepped out of the comfort of her private space, she was met with the scent of cheese balls, ramen, and fried chicken which made her stomach growl, 'Right, I wasn't able to eat my food,' she thought.

She then went straight to the kitchen area where she froze at the sight. There you were, cooking instant ramen while your back was facing the girl. 'She really stayed?'

"Y/N?" Chaewon called out hesitantly. You turned around, a bit surprised at her voice suddenly appearing behind you, "Hey," you said, a small smile forming on your lips, "You're awake."

Chaewon mirrored your expression as she slowly approached you, "Yeah," She looked at the wall clock that showed 12:56 p.m. "I'm sorry, I overslept, where's everybody?"

You returned your focus to the ramen, transferring the contents from the pan to the bowl, "Don't worry about it, I'm glad you were able to rest," you said, "Yunjin and Eunchae went to Kazuha and Sakura sunbaenim's dorm."

Chaewon nodded before taking a seat at one of the chairs. You placed the bowl on the table and prepared the plates and utensils that you and Chaewon were going to use.

The two of you ate in silence aside from the noise coming from the utensils and Chaewon humming at the cheese balls that you made. After having your meal, Chaewon picked up the used dishes and placed it on the sink. You followed her, watching her movements closely.

"I don't mean to pry," you spoke softly, "But how are you feeling?"

Chaewon leaned on the sink as she faced you, "I'm feeling much better now," she uttered softly, she looked up to meet your gaze and it took everything in her to maintain eye contact. She watched as you grinned, "That's a relief."

There was a short moment of silence until the girl cleared her throat, "Listen, Y/N," she started, "I would like to thank you," Chaewon said, studying your face, "I don't know what would've happened if you didn't show up."

You responded with a tight-lipped smile before speaking, "You shouldn't worry about it," you sighed before continuing, "You're stronger than you think, I'm sure that you would've been able to take him down even without me," you said, light-heartedly.

Chaewon gave a small chuckle before getting serious once again, "Also, I've been wanting to talk to you," she started. The short-haired girl lowered her gaze to the floor, avoiding your curious eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Chaewon prepared herself to finally say what she's been meaning to tell you, "I wanted to apologize," she said, softly, stealing a glance at you but immediately returning her gaze to the floor as though it is the most interesting thing that she ever laid her eyes on.

"I was so rude towards you after the shoot, I said mean things, I–" Chaewon inhaled deeply before speaking, "I'm really sorry. I was such a jerk."

Chaewon finally found the courage to meet your gaze and continued, "You didn't deserve any of that, and I'm really sorry," she felt her heart pounding, finding your expression frightening because she couldn't read you one bit, "I overheard you talking in your dressing room once, and I thought that you were slandering me."

"It was wrong for me to immediately assume that you were talking about me without properly confronting you about it, and my actions during our confrontation were inexcusable," Chaewon dropped her gaze once again, her hand subtly shaking because of the nerves, "I'm really sorr–"

"I know."

Suddenly a pair of hands wrapped around Chaewon's shaky ones which caused the girl to widen her eyes in disbelief, she looked up and was finally met with your eyes, "I know the reason behind your meltdown," you started, "I was just waiting for you to approach me and apologize."

Chaewon stared at you curiously, "What do you mean you know? How?"

You chuckled at her confused expression and the absurdity of your answer, "Yena unnie," Chaewon already knew what you were about to say, "Our friend can't really keep a secret, you know?"

The short-haired girl nodded, her cheeks tainted with pink hue due to embarrassment as well as realizing how close your distance was, "I can see how you could misinterpret what I said that day and why you were upset."

You grinned at her and said, "But you still have to make up for it, don't you think?"

Chaewon smiled shyly before asking, "How can I make it up to you?" You could feel your cheeks heating up; the way Chaewon looked at you made you weak in the knees.

"That depends on you," you said, your voice was barely audible, but due to your close distance, Chaewon was able to hear you loud and clear, "How do you plan to make it up to me?"

Chaewon's right hand let go of yours which she quickly placed on your shoulder. You stared at her in question, but she only grinned in response as she moved her hand onto your neck.

"Does it really depend on me?" she asked looking into your eyes for the go signal, "You might not like it," she said, with a hint of hesitation in her tone.

"Try me," you could feel your cheeks heating up and you're scared that Chaewon might take notice of it as well, "I am an appreciative person, I'm sure I'll be grateful regardless."

The short-haired girl smirked, taking that as her go signal. Chaewon leaned in closer and you could practically hear your heart pounding, so you closed your eyes in anticipation.

'She's so adorable,' Chaewon thought, rubbing small circles on your neck with her thumb. She leaned closer until she finally planted a soft kiss on your cheek which barely touched your lips.

After a few seconds, the girl pulled away, searching for your eyes to see your reaction, and she was met with a somewhat disappointed stare, "You know what?"

Chaewon tilted her head in question like a lost puppy before you continued, "I take it back, I don't think I'm an appreciative person," the girl laughed at your statement, her eyes twinkling with joy, "You weren't grateful with what I gave you?" she asked light-heartedly.

You shook your head no, "Definitely not," you said with a pout, and Chaewon wanted nothing than to kiss it away.

And so she did.

Suddenly, you could feel her soft lips on yours and if Chaewon didn't hold onto you, you were sure that you would have melted right then and there. You removed your grasp on her hand and held onto her waist for support, before kissing back.

You could feel her other hand travel to your cheek to keep you closer. Chaewon tilts her head to deepen the kiss, and you just let it happen.

When the both of you pulled away, Chaewon was breathing heavily while you chuckled, "What's funny?"

"We finally did something about that annoying tension," you said, still chuckling. Chaewon laughed with you before replying, "And I'll do it again and again."

And so she did.

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