#I stayed up until four A.M. reading it

[gavindna]

Binge read undead unluck last night because I watched the anime and loved it so much and now I’m really sad because Andy is so hot and so not real

#undead unluck #read the manga if you haven’t it’s amazing #I stayed up until four A.M. reading it #best decision of my life

[yanderecrazysie]

yandere bakugo! purge au? it’s time for the purge and its the perfect time to get his darling

I’ve been watching the Purge show with my little sister and we occasionally just text each other “The Giving is near, the Invisible awaits”. I love the purge movies so much, except the Forever Purge, I just didn’t like that one.

Title: 12 Hours

Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, Bakugou’s scary lol

Summary: 12 hours when every crime is legal but with a twist- if you kidnap someone, they’re yours forever.

“You’re sure everything is locked down?” You asked, biting your lip nervously.

Your boyfriend smiled at you, “State of the art system. There’s nothing to worry about.”

You gave him a smile, but you followed it up with a sigh. You had a lot to worry about. You had gotten a note in the mail, two days before the purge, that read:

Dear (Y/n),

This is a notice that a Level 5 person(s) has been given permission to hold you indefinitely if you are captured during purge hours. We recommend staying inside and taking precautions to protect yourself.

Blessed be our New Founding Fathers,

NFFA Personnel.

Someone had requested permission to kidnap you forever, as long as they captured you on purge night. Who it was, you couldn’t even imagine.

Your house’s defense system was practically a joke. You didn’t have the money to get fancy equipment like everyone else had. That’s why your boyfriend, John, had offered to let you stay with him during purge night.

The thought had crossed your mind that John could be the crazy kidnapper, but you knew that he could have you any time he wanted to, so there wasn’t any point in kidnapping you.

John had an amazing security system. Not as good as, say, the NFFA members had, but still very good. You felt mostly safe to stay with him, but there was still an ounce of fear that wouldn’t go away.

You had looked up what “Level 5” meant and had discovered there were five levels of dangerous people classified for the purge. Level 1 was the lowest and, well, Level 5 was the most dangerous.

You had an extremely dangerous person after you. Who knew what they would do to you after kidnapping you? Maybe they would torture you all year long.

Your boyfriend turned on the TV and, a few moments later, the announcement played.

“This is not a test, this is your Emergency Broadcast System announcing the commencement of the annual purge sanctioned by the U.S. Government. Weapons of class four and lower have been authorized for use during the purge. All other weapons are restricted. 

“Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity and shall not be harmed. Commencing at the siren, any and all crime (including murder) will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and Emergency Medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m. when the purge concludes. 

“Blessed be our new founding fathers and America... A nation reborn. May God be with you all.”

Even through the metal shutters, you could hear the sirens start. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“We’re in for a quiet evening, don’t worry,” John said, putting a comforting arm around your shoulder, “Should we get the wine out?”

“Yes, please,” you said shakily.

Your boyfriend walked over to the cabinets and pulled out a bottle of wine and a couple cups. He poured a generous amount of liquid into both cups and handed you one. You drank all of it in one go.

John laughed and refilled your cup, “It’s only 12 hours. That’s it.”

“12 hours is a long time,” you muttered, “A lot can happen in half a day.”

Ten hours passed uneventfully, the two of you watching the only channel that wasn’t showing highlights of the purge from cameras set up around the country or talking about the history of purging.

On the eleventh hour, someone knocked on the door. You froze in your seat, breath hitching in your throat from horror. Your boyfriend stood up, “It’s okay, no one can get in. I’ll check the front door camera.”

He checked the camera and smiled, “See, they moved o-”

The power went out. 

A beeping sound filled the house and then the scraping of metal as the shutters began to rise. The security system had been disabled and was reversing itself.

Even in the dim light, you could see that your boyfriend had gone pale, messing with the system frantically to try to reset it. 

Finally, he turned to you and said, “Get in the closet. I’ve got a gun and I’ll deal with anyone that comes inside.”

You were crying at that point, but you managed to nod. You ran to the closet and hurriedly closed it behind you. You pulled some clothes down from the rack and tried to use them to cover yourself. There was no lock, so you were absolutely toast if anyone looked inside.

You could hear the door open loudly, as though someone had kicked it open. Your ears strained, listening for any hint that your boyfriend would be okay.

A gunshot rang through the house and you hoped it was from your boyfriend’s gun and not the intruder’s. A loud, husky laugh followed the sound, “Nice try, extra.”

You covered your mouth as the sound of an automatic gun’s famous ratatata followed. You knew John only had a pistol. No doubt your boyfriend had just died. 

“Y/n”, I know you’re in here,” the voice said loudly, almost playfully, “Might as well come out now, so I don’t waste time trying to find you.”

You had less than an hour left. If you could just stall him until the 12 hours were up, maybe you’d make it out alive. 

Your breath hitched again as he came into the bedroom and you closed your eyes.

“Not under the bed. What about the closet?” You could hear the smirk in the intruder’s voice.

The closet door flew open and the clothes were pulled off of you. You looked up helplessly at the wild-haired blonde with blood red eyes as he crouched in front of you. He took your wrist in a crushing grip, grinning at you with victory, and hauled you up off the floor.

“C’mon, we only have one hour to get you home. Had to deal with a lot of shit tonight. But I’m sure your boy toy’s car will help us out, won’t it, baby?” 

You hadn’t made it the whole 12 hours. 

Your life was in his hands.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere one shot #one shot #yandere my hero academia #my hero academia #yandere bakugou #bakugou katsuki

[jisungsdaydreamer]

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

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

"It hurts to love you."

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

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

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

“I love you too, you menace.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You did.”

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

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

You start. “No!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“One… two… three.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, can you pass that over here?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why did you and Y/N break up?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll come with you,” Sunoo offers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let out a mirthless chuckle. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You return it. “You just did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is an apartment.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright.”

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

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

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

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

“Aren’t you overdoing it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously?” Minho looks shocked. 

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

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

You blink. “Sorry?”

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

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

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

“Of what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing much. What’s up?”

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

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

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

“Minho?” Your eyes widen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s just go.” Minho turns on his heel and walks out of the store, before waiting to finish the conversation, Hyunjin following closely behind. He doesn’t bother looking back.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything to Minho, falling silent in the rapidly approaching night. At times like this, Minho prefers to be left alone. But he isn’t, really. Not with the truth leaning over his shoulder, like an angelic superego. He tries not to think of it, however, or the fact that his heart is falling apart so violently in his chest. Although you and Minho are not together anymore, you’ve both now fulfilled a milestone: hurt each other beyond repair.

The convenience store encounter with Minho left you feeling guiltier than ever, even more than when you actually broke up with him. You should have been more understanding towards Minho; after suddenly ending things, you appear out with Terry. Even though you don’t see Terry like that, you are well aware of how it can look to Minho. After all, you’d react similarly if you found out that Minho and Minju are dating. But you hadn’t, because you know that Minho would never do that to you. 

You sigh, shutting the door to your room and collapsing onto your bed. After the whole incident, the air between you and Terry had been pretty awkward. While you still don’t know much about Terry, including his intentions, the topic of a romance had never been broached until Minho did it for you. He’d walked you back to your apartment, before wishing you a goodnight. 

Your phone sounds with a text, and you pick it up, curling into your pillow. It’s Terry.

terrypotter: just checking up on you terrypotter: how are you doing? bobaluvrr: better, thanks for asking terrypotter: glad to hear  terrypotter: and i also want to say that i’m sorry for any role i might have played in what happened today bobaluvrr: you’re good, terry. it wasn’t about you. i’m sorry for bringing you in

There is truth to this. No matter how much it feels like third parties have an avenue in furthering the split between you and Minho, the problem has always been internal. It’s truly between you both, hence, you’re not a couple anymore.

bobaluvrr: let’s change the subject? terrypotter: ofc terrypotter: wanna play would you rather?

You laugh in spite of yourself. It feels good to laugh, to distract yourself, but Minho stays like a stubborn mirage in your mind. Nevertheless—

bobaluvrr: game on. terrypotter: beaches or mountains? bobaluvrr: beaches terrypotter: sweet or salty? bobaluvrr: are u kidding? my username? boba?? terrypotter: LOL sweet then bobaluvrr: yes. terrypotter: spring or autumn? bobaluvrr: spring, duh terrypotter: and lastly, dogs or cats? bobaluvrr: DOGS terrypotter: u are 100% correct terrypotter: all of our answers are the exact same LMFAO

You think back to your first date with Minho. Before the whole soup fiasco, the atmosphere had been so awkward while waiting for the soup to arrive. This was months of tension and pining between you both, and now that the apex had arrived, neither of you were sure of what to say. Without thinking, Minho broke the silence by randomly asking you if you liked dogs or cats better. You were automatically enchanted by the bashful look on his face. From there on, for every single question he asked you, both of you had the exact opposite answers. For the longest time, your differences had felt charming, before they weren’t. 

Terry, on the other hand, shares so many similarities with you, beyond the strawberry ice cream betrayal. Both of you are outgoing, have a similar sense of humor, and like to be unabashedly yourselves. If a romance did ever blossom between you and Terry, if your friendship lasts your current heartbreak, you could be happy with him, maybe. You would never be insecure, worrying about what’s going on in his mind, because he would talk to you directly. You appreciate that so much about him. But whenever you look into his eyes, or whenever your hand accidentally brushes his, you don’t feel that electricity that had always coursed through you when you were with Minho. You’ve been searching for it everywhere since, but that spark just isn’t there; Taehyun’s just not Minho. Your heart calls out to Minho, no matter how much you wish it wouldn’t, and you can’t deny it any longer.

If there’s one thing that Minho has learned in the duration of his college years, it’s that work has no tolerance for those special ailments of the heart. His professors don’t give a crap about the fact that his girlfriend dumped him, or that his girlfriend has now apparently moved on with some pink-haired stud. No matter how much he wants to slam his laptop screen down and fall asleep to the rhythm of his shattered heart, he knows he can’t. His term paper will not write itself, and it matters, especially since he’ll be graduating this year.

“What will you do when we graduate?” You set down your iPad, flexing your fingers.

“A job at a good company. And then one day, my own business.” That familiar, dreamy look mists Minho’s eyes. 

You smile at him. “My handsome CEO.”

Minho tapped your nose with his finger, following it with a soft kiss there. “You are so cute.”

“I know.” You peek down at his notebook that’s full of graphs and lengthy strings of numbers. “This looks complicated.”

“Welcome to the life of a business and economics double major,” Minho laughs. “But you’re literally a pre-med student. I’m not going to complain when you have to memorize human anatomy and random proteins.”

“Don’t remind me.” You dramatically shudder, giggling at Minho. “But I don’t care, as long as one day, you’re CEO Lee, and I’m Dr. Lee.”

Your words shock both you and Minho, invoking a moment of charged silence. You both have never talked about getting married before. But before you can backtrack, a slow smile spreads across Minho’s face. “Dr. Lee… has a ring to it, don’t you think?”

You turn a bright red, but lean into Minho, kissing him sweetly on the lips. “Definitely.”

Minho clears his throat and shakes yet another memory of you away, trying to concentrate on the email open in front of him. Just minutes ago, he’d received notice that he’d been chosen for a position at Google, following graduation. Fucking Google. Every business major would kill for a job at Google. And not only that, but his employer noted in the message that they usually don’t even extend offers this early in the year, but made an exception for him because they wanted him so much. 

For a moment, he forgot all about the angst of the previous day, giddily jumping off his bed in a rare display of emotion, even if nobody else was around. And then he reached for his phone, opening up your contact and preparing to type in a text to you; for months, you knew Minho was anxious about his application to Google. But then he remembers himself; he’s now someone in your past.

Minho swallows roughly, staring at the blank space where his response accepting the offer should be. A moment later, he decides he’ll respond to the email later. But he doesn’t even have any time to chide himself before he notices someone standing in front of him. 

“Minju?” 

She looks down at him, either oblivious to his confusion or choosing to ignore it. “Hey. Am I interrupting something?”

Minho nods, waiting for Minju to sit down and get settled into her chair, trying not to let his bewilderment show.

At Jihyo’s party, he had needed some air after that stupid game of Truth or Dare, and even worse, your reaction to the question asked of him. Minho had escaped to the balcony, hoping for a moment alone, when Minju approached him. When she launched into a conversation with him about school, Minho realized that you probably never told Minju about the break-up. So he excused himself as politely as he could, explaining that you and him both broke up. He never really considered Minju as his own friend, and did not expect Minju to pursue a relationship with him any further.

“I’ll get straight to the point, Minho.” Minju exhales, looking him directly in the eye. “I like you.”

Minho sits up immediately, shocked. “What did you just say?”

Minju purses her lips. “I like you, and I always have. Go out with me.”

Minho shakes his head in disbelief, the confusion fading into anger. “You’re Y/N’s friend. How could you do this to her? How can you even look at yourself?”

“You’re not together anymore, it doesn’t matter,” Minju says, her voice wavering.

He scoffs, packing up his belongings and shoving them carelessly into his bag. “Don’t talk to me again.”

Minju grabs the sleeve of Minho’s jacket as he turns to leave, desperation in her eyes. “Be with me instead. I’ll make you forget her.”

Minho shakes her free, giving her a look of both pity and disgust. “I still love her, and I always will.”

And with that, Minho leaves without looking back, walking slowly and deliberately in thought. Was this what you meant when you told him that you weren’t sure if you were the only one? Was Minju the reason for the love of his life leaving him? A strange mix of both fury and hope washes over Minho as he exits the library and breaks into a run, barely eight out of his eight-thousand word essay written.

After you broke up with Minho, you forgot one very crucial detail: you didn’t unlink him from your Google calendar. One of the few things you both share in common is your organization, and when you were together, you both loved to plan things together and very ceremoniously add them to your shared online calendar. It became a game, trying to guess where the other was at random times, judging by their schedule. More often than not, the calendar proved to be a very useful tool in pinpointing each other’s locations. It’s why the brief surprise of seeing Minho standing outside your apartment door in the middle of the day on a weekday fades away quickly. You don’t have any classes scheduled today.

“Y/N,” he pants, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Minho. What are you doing here?” You cross your arms, resisting the urge to rush forward and hug him in all of his puffer coat glory. You used to make fun of him for that coat, all the time.

“I needed to see you. Minju told me,” Minho lowers his eyes, as if he’s nervous. “I need you to know that there was nothing going on with her. You have always been my only one. I promise. No one else. I miss you.”

Your heart wrenches in desire and nostalgia at the sincerity of his eyes. Of course you knew that he never cheated on you; this is Minho. But that’s not the reason why you have to remind yourself, once more, that you aren’t right for each other. Not in the long run. “I miss you too. And I know you didn’t cheat on me.”

Minho’s eyes fill with what you recognize as a mix of despair and tears, because after all, you’ve felt it in you too, before. “Then why? Why end it?”

“I feel like you don’t love me as much as I love you.”

The wheels turning inside of Minho’s mind and searching for possible reasons, immediately crash to a stop. “What?”

You shrug, drawing back your hands to tuck them into your lap, a habit that Minho has observed whenever you are nervous. “Remember when we were at that picnic with all of your friends? And Jisung and his girlfriend were also there? We were playing a question game.”

Minho nods slowly, still confused. “I do.”

“Felix had asked all the guys to think of why they love their girlfriends.” You look down at your hands, embarrassed. “Changbin had a whole list of reasons. But when it was your turn to speak, you had no answer.”

The recollection comes back to Minho like a tsunami. He hadn’t really ever thought much of that day; he always had trouble talking about personal things in front of other people, and he thought you already knew why he loved you. He didn’t know his inability to share something like that could hurt you so much, especially when he can write a whole book of reasons for why he loves you. Your smile. Your endless generosity. Your never ending patience for Minho’s antics. The way you always see the best in people, and how you light up the whole room when you walk in.

“Baby,” Minho starts, before realizing that he doesn’t have the right to call you that anymore. Reluctantly, he continues, using your name instead. “Y/N, I have trouble talking in front of other people. I love you so much, and if you know that, it’s all that really matters. A stupid game doesn’t change that.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “But see, Minho, I don’t know. I don’t know how you’re feeling half the time. Felix’s question was just the icing on the cake. I’m exhausted from wondering. Wondering if you love me. Wondering if I really know you. Just wondering all the time. I shouldn’t feel that way.”

I’ll try harder to be more open. I’ll work on myself. I just— please believe me.”

“I do believe that you’ll try, Min. It’s who you are. But I can’t force you to be someone you’re not, and you can’t force me to want different things. We’ll only end up hurting each other more.” Your eyes fill with tears. “It hurts to love you.”

Minho flinches at your words, and he sees the sorrow in your eyes, but you say nothing to soothe the burn. Nevertheless, he keeps trying, as if he didn’t notice the determination written in your gaze as well. “I know I was senseless. But please— I’m begging you. Don’t do this. Don’t leave, not again.”

You look away from him, a single tear sliding down your cheek, as Minho tries to hold back his own. The whole scene feels disturbingly like a few days ago, when you broke up with him in Morningstar. He had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. 

“I tried to understand you. I did. But don’t you think that being senseless about everything that was going on also means that you were that indifferent towards me?” You scrub at your face to keep from crying even more.

Minho cringes, hearing the truth in your words. Once upon a time, he cherished the silence you both could share comfortably, working independently in the happy company of each other. Now the quiet hangs in the air like smog, a heavy uneasiness that he never imagined around you. “I really thought I could change. I swear.”

You nod, a brisk movement that doesn’t match the tears glistening on your face. “You should go now. Please.”

And you turn your head, as if you can’t bear to watch him any longer. Minho turns, his head hanging down like he’s a sinner. A small, ugly voice in Minho whispers that he truly is one, for hurting you and letting you go. It implores him to fall at your feet and stay, insisting, breaking at you until you crumble into his arms, taking him back. But the part of him that carries the resolve is stronger by a thread, the one that fuels his despondent retreat from your heart.

Later, holed away in the place he would now have to call his home, Minho is left alone in the bed that he’d once believed to belong to you as much as it did to him. The nights cuddled together and the mornings after, when you woke up to each other in a halo of sunlight, all fade away into the prickling solitude that now constitutes his new reality. There is nothing left for him to do now, except looking out at the sky through his tiny bedroom window, wondering if you were both gazing at the same moon in the separate worlds you both now are in. He’d left you one last message before promising himself that he’d never text you again, and thankfully, you never responded. He didn’t think you would.

catservant98: I’ll always love you.

“The festival will end by the time we get there.” Jeongin lets out an exaggerated sigh, making a show of checking the watch on his wrist.

“Shut up. I need to lock this place up properly or my parents will kill me,” Seungmin mutters grumpily, as he carefully turns the key in the lock to Morningstar, taking his time. “It’s not my fault that I’m the owner’s son.”

Jeongin, donned in a Harley Quinn outfit, bounces on his toes in uncontained anticipation. “Hurry up!”

Seungmin tugs at the lock for good measure, before turning and swatting at Jeongin, who yelps and jumps out of the way. His detective hat, which he wore as a part of his Sherlock Holmes costume, falls off, and Jeongin grabs it. Usually, Minho would have laughed at the way Seungmin has started to chase Jeongin around, but he just glumly stares down at his sneakers, having no energy to join in. 

“You okay?” Chan notices Minho’s downcast gaze, slinging his arm around his shoulders. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Minho shrugs with one shoulder, out of options. “I’m fine. I have nothing else to do anyway.”

Today is Halloween, your favorite holiday of the entire year. It seems especially cruel to him, to have to confront this day without you by his side. It was never much of his scene, and he’d always been reluctant to dress up, but one look from your pleading eyes and he’d fold, decking himself in a cheesy costume and feeding you all the candy you desired. The night would always end in you both binging horror movies together because you were too scared to watch alone. The memory of Minho getting distracted, just watching you hide behind your hands the entire time, used to bring a fond smile to his face. Today, it makes him want to smash something into bits.

“Let me know if you want to leave the festival early, though. Changbin can drive you home later.” Chan juts his chin out at Jeongin and Seungmin, who are now smacking at each other, while Changbin responsibly tries to pull them apart. “I have to make sure those two idiots don’t get in trouble.”

“Thanks. But you don’t have to worry about me.” Minho gives Chan a half-hearted smile. Chan looks hesitant, like he wants to keep talking with him, but he nods, focusing on the moonlit path in front of them. 

The roar of the annual Halloween festival that the university throws resonates throughout campus, drawing stressed students ready to throw aside their homework and party. But Minho is in anything but a celebratory mood; the last few weeks have been absolute agony. Ever since things fell apart. He just wants to go home and curl up into a ball under his covers, ready for this stupid night to be over. He didn’t even bother with a costume, choosing to stuff himself into his hoodie and make himself seem as small as possible. But he’s too tired to tell anyone, so he opts to stay quiet and gloomy on his own.

The gravel of the walkway crunches under their little group’s shoes, barely heard over the deafening sound of “Thriller” blasting on the DJ’s stereo. The entire main lawn of campus has been converted into a party space, crammed with different tents full of attractions, games, and souvenirs for students to indulge themselves in. There’s even a converted frat house that’s now a haunted house, as well as tables of snacks and lightsticks for people to wave around. Jeongin, Seungmin, and Changbin immediately zero in on the haunted house, running off to get tickets for it, leaving Minho and Chan alone. Two boys swaying together at the edge of the dance floor catch Minho’s eyes. He looks closer and notices that they both are dressed in an obvious couples costume, and it makes him think of you again— last year, he was Chucky and you were Tiffany Valentine, and you both won “Best Look” together, at the festival’s costume contest. Minho feels sick to his stomach.

“Oh my god, she’s stunning.” Chan’s eyes are wide, and Minho follows his gaze to a very pretty girl dressed in a white gown that seemed to float above her knees, two trailing pieces of fabric sticking out daintily from the back of her dress. An angel. 

She approaches him with a shy smile on her face, as she not-so-subtly checks out Chan’s own dracula costume. “You look good.”

“I— you’re pretty,” Chan stutters, and they both blush. 

Seriously?

“Thanks, Chris.”

Chan smiles lovingly at her. “You don’t have to call me Chris, you know. My friends call me Chan.”

“Chan,” the girl tests with a beam, before quirking her brow at him. “So I’m just a friend now? Not your girlfriend?”

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” 

And then they both start kissing right then and there, which doesn’t seem to faze anyone else around them, considering the fact that they are surrounded by other couples. Minho, however, has to look away, his stomach turning. Is this how everyone else felt when he used to kiss you, whenever and wherever he wanted? 

“Hey guys, I’m going to go find a place to sit,” Minho calls out to Chan, who barely notices in the midst of his make-out session. “You know what? Never mind.”

Cringing to himself, Minho makes his way over to the food tables, dodging at least five witches, seven ghouls, and six zombies on his way. He collapses onto the bench of an empty table with a groan, letting his head rest on the table before lifting it up like he’s been stung; the thump of the DJ’s bass seems to vibrate through the wooden tabletop, worsening his already horrible headache. What was he thinking, coming here?

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Minho looks up, ready to lash out at the intruder, before he notices it’s Hyunjin. He is so out of it that he hadn’t even recognized his voice. “I thought you were staying home and painting tonight?”

“Thought about it, but I kept getting distracted by all of the noise outside, and thought I’d take a snack break.” Hyunjin plops down on the seat across from him, setting a plate loaded with brownies, potato chips, and cookies cut into pumpkin shapes. He’s dressed in plaid pajama pants and a baggy sweatshirt to fight the October chill, the only one besides Minho who hasn’t dressed up. “Want some?”

Minho shakes his head, watching Hyunjin dig in. “Can I ask you a question?”

Hyunjin nods, his cheeks stuffed with food. “Sure.”

“Don’t you ever get lonely?” Minho fiddles with the strings of his hoodie, feeling his face heat up. He was never one for sentiments like this, but even though he and Hyunjin have more of a seemingly lighthearted relationship, they’re more alike than they think in how deeply they care about each other. “I mean, you’ve never even had a serious relationship before, but you’re like the most hopeless romantic I’ve ever met. How does that even work?”

Hyunjin looks surprised, at first, but quickly smooths it away in understanding. “I do get lonely sometimes. But I just occupy myself with the things I love. Painting, reading. Just because I’m a hopeless romantic doesn’t mean I can’t be realistic. And I have been in a serious relationship before, remember?”

Minho frowns. “Oh. Right. What happened?”

He notices Hyunjin’s eyes flicker with something— grief, maybe. But the emotion is quickly replaced with indifference. Hyunjin shrugs. “Let’s just say it didn’t work out. I love a good romance novel, but is it real life? No. I don’t do relationships. Not anymore.”

Minho stays quiet, unknowing of what to say. He never thought of himself as a huge relationship person either, but then again, that was before he met you. You changed his perspective on a lot of things, and most of the time, he thought it was for the better. Now, he feels empty, alone. He wants to match costumes with someone, and go bobbing for apples together. And he wants that someone to be you, only you.

Hyunjin must have noticed Minho’s melancholic contemplation, because he gives him a sympathetic look. “Is this about Y/N?”

Minho’s chest tightens at the mention of your name. “I don’t know, honestly. I just want to go home.”

“Same. I just came for the free food.” Hyunjin chews on a brownie, before swallowing. “Let’s go after I finish eating.”

Minho hums in response, pulling his hood over his head, as the rest of their group comes to join the table. Chan and his girlfriend, unsurprisingly, are discussing plans about some upcoming event for the Student Council. Jeongin and Seungmin, on the other hand, are immersed in a gleeful recollection about the haunted house with Changbin, who is dressed up as Woody from Toy Story. Everyone seems to have a role except him.

“That was actually wild,” Jeongin says. “If Jisung was with us, he would have fainted when he saw the chainsaw guy!”

Seungmin shudders, while Changbin glances around their table. “Hey, where is Jisung, anyway? And Felix?”

Chan breaks away from his own conversation as his girlfriend pauses to eat her slice of cake. “He’s handing out candy to kids at home. Meanwhile, Felix is Trick-or-Treating.”

Jeongin snickers. “Trick-or-Treating? What is he, ten?”

Seungmin grins evilly at Changbin. “At least he doesn’t have the height of a ten year old.”

Changbin rolls his eyes, but chooses to ignore Seungmin and Jeongin’s high-five at his expense, instead turning to Hyunjin. “Can I have a cookie? There are no more left.”

Hyunjin gives him a judgemental glare, but passes a cookie over anyway. “Where’s your girlfriend, by the way?”

Changbin stuffs half of the entire cookie into his mouth, licking the frosting on his lip. “She has work. But we’re going to meet up later tonight and watch movies. Wanna come?”

Hyunjin shakes his head. “I’m good. Minho and I are headed home soon anyway. Right, Minho?”

But Minho isn’t paying attention. His gaze is locked on none other than you and Taehyun, dressed in Hogwarts robes— you in Gryffindor, and Taehyun in Slytherin. He’s seen multiple people tonight sporting similar getups, and so both of you wearing Hogwarts robes doesn’t exactly entail a couples costume, but it makes his heart clench either way. Both of you are standing near the apple bobbing station, laughing and talking animatedly together. It hurts to see you enjoying yourself, while Minho has to struggle to keep himself together, to keep from breaking down on the spot. It hurts that he’s not the one matching with you right now, the one to be making you laugh, holding you on one of your favorite days of the year.

He watches as you and Taehyun walk closer to the haunted house. Your smile has now faded into an unsure expression, skeptical and tinged with fear. Taehyun puts his arm around your shoulders, evidently trying to assure you, before he leads you inside the house. Minho immediately springs up from the bench, fists balled up at his sides. You love everything about Halloween, except for one thing. You hate being in the dark, and so you had always avoided the haunted houses at every Halloween festival or any other event that you and Minho went to. Obviously, Taehyun doesn’t have a clue about your boundaries, and as always, you’re too kind to point them out.

Ignoring Hyunjin’s confused protests, Minho stalks after you and Taehyun, even though he knows that he should sit right back down. He told himself that he’d stay away from you if you didn’t want him, but if he even gets the slight sense that you are afraid, he’ll throw all reason out the window. He won’t let you go inside, not without him.

“Excuse me— you can’t go in right now. The haunted house is at full capacity.” The ticket collector stops Minho even though he shows her the ticket that Jeongin had passed out to everyone before. “Just wait for a few minutes for someone to come out.”

But he can’t. Not if you’re already inside. Minho steps back for a moment, and the collector glances back down at her phone. Before the collector can react, he rushes past her, running inside. She calls after him angrily, but he barely hears her. All he can register is the racing beat of his heart, and the faint screams deeper inside, wondering if one of them could be you. 

He whips past the ax-wielding maniacs and the corpse brides in tattered dresses, pushing past their horrible acting and all of the other props in his way to you. Minho feels his hoodie snagged against a cloud of fake cobwebs, and the fake blood on the walls is enough to make him gag, but he goes on. A desperate search in nearly every nook and corner yields nothing, and Minho curses the haphazard quality of the setup, nearly tripping over a loose wire. As he passes through a room decorated like a murderous hospital room, he hears a small whimper from behind the fake operating table. 

His senses perk up and there you are, sitting down with your knees drawn to your chest. With how his eyes have now adjusted to the dark, he can faintly make out your crouched body and the shine of your flowing tears. Immediately, he gets onto his knees, and envelopes you with his arms, firmly pulling you against his chest.

“Y/N, it’s me,” he murmurs, the scent of your coconut shampoo blocking out the stench of ammonia.

“Terry and I got chased by one of the ghosts and then got separated,” you mumble as you cry, shivering in his arms as he begins to rock you slowly. “I’m so scared, Minho.”

Minho looks at the tears still leaking down the sides of your face, and has to restrain himself from the instinct to kiss them away. Instead, he puts a steady hand to your skin, gently wiping them away. In this moment, you aren’t broken up. He isn’t your ex-boyfriend, and you aren’t his ex-girlfriend. You are the girl he loves, and him the very soul that has so vehemently devoted himself to even at such a ripe age, an inspiration and a shame to the vengeful spirits that govern your favorite holiday.

“I’m here now. I’m not going to leave you.” Minho gazes down at you. “Are you still frightened?”

You shake your head no, wide eyes clinging to his comforting presence. Minho gives you a small smile, rubbing your jaw softly with his thumb, a movement that doesn’t feel as inherently romantic as it generally would be. “See? You’re not afraid of the dark. You’re just scared of being alone in it. And that goes away when you realize something. You’re never really alone.” 

Both of you just gaze at each other in the dark for a few minutes, saying both nothing and yet everything to each other. He carefully rests his palm against your heart, gaging the beat until it slows down to its usual calm. Wordlessly, he helps you onto your feet, his arms still wrapped around you as you both navigate the maze of the haunted house. You don’t encounter any other of the actors, but at one point, you jump in Minho’s hold, spooked by the amplified horror sound when passing by a speaker. Steadily, you both make your way out together.

The first thing Minho sees as he steps out of the exit is the array of blinding lights that shine on his face, in addition to the glow of the raging bonfire that has now been set up for students to roast marshmallows. Then he catches that shock of pink hair in the small crowd gathered outside of the haunted house; Taehyun, distress written all over his features as he speaks to the security guards.

You and Minho, however, stay frozen on the spot, just staring at each other with a fresh uncertainty. Realizing himself, Minho lets go of you. Contrary to how you felt, Minho could always read you like a book. He practically memorized all of your expressions, able to tell how you were feeling in an instant. But the indecipherable look you give him is baffling, but before you can open your mouth and say something, Taehyun notices your arrival.

“Y/N!” Taehyun immediately rushes over, his breathing labored from sprinting the distance to you. “I’m so, so sorry; I lost you and tried to come back inside to find you, but they wouldn’t let me!”

Minho steps to the side awkwardly as Taehyun hugs you tightly, squeezing his eyes shut. Your tears are long gone, and you pat his back softly, giving him the comfort of your safety. “I’m alright, Terry. It’s all good.”

Taehyun pulls back to look at you, before turning to Minho, surprise and confusion on his features as if just registering Minho’s presence. You clear your throat, placing a hand on Taehyun’s arm. “Hey, could you give us a minute?”

“Sure. Of course,” Terry says, the stress on his face softening as he looks down at you. Minho recognizes it— it’s how he always imagined himself to look whenever he saw you.

You turn back to Minho as Terry walks away to a food stand, presumably to get you a warm drink. “Minho, I—”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Minho interrupts, unable to bear any more. He chokes back a sob, his eyes trained on your pained expression. “I need to go.”

“Minho, wait!” You grab his arm, and it places you both in the uncomfortable déjà vu of when everything ended. 

He looks back at you, swallowing his dread and pushing away the angsty alert of his brain, the command to let everything go and just take you back, then and there. But he wouldn’t be the man you had always loved, then. Not if he takes advantage of you when you’re like this, vulnerable and exhausted. Not when there’s a perfectly good man standing at a distance, hesitantly holding a cup of hot chocolate for you. Not when he knows that he’s lost his chance of ever getting you back from the moment he gave up on you both. Minho realizes that he doesn’t have the right to call you his anymore, when you’ve finally found a man who prioritizes you over his pride and his insecurities— a man who will treat you right, and will never make you wonder if you’re his only one. All he’s ever wanted is for you to be happy. That has to be enough for him. It will be.

Minho leans down before you can protest, kissing you on your forehead softly. You stay silent, looking up at him with those wide, inquisitive eyes, the very ones he fell in love with. “Stay smiling, always.”

And with that, Minho finally walks away, willing himself not to cry as he tries not to think of his heart breaking.

You watch Minho, dazed, as he walks away for the second and last time. It feels worse, somehow, than when he left your apartment, weeks ago. Minho had spoken to you so gently, inside the haunted house, calming you down in spite of the fact that you had so cruelly broken up with him, and then he proceeded to wish you his best, before leaving. You didn’t miss that note of finality in his voice, the one that told you that he wasn’t going to go back on his word. He had let you go.

You barely notice Terry approaching you, placing a warm hand on your shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

He hands you a cup of hot chocolate, as you stare at Minho’s retreating back before it finally disappears within the crowd of partygoers. “Everything’s fine. Thanks for this, Terry.”

Terry blinks at you, slightly unfocused. “Yeah of course. But… can I ask you something?”

You nod, sipping the hot chocolate. It’s so warm and sweet, and it feels wrong to be drinking it. It feels like you don’t deserve it. 

He hesitates for a moment, before speaking up. “What happened in there? In the haunted house?”

You bite your lip, still distracted by the thought of Minho; Terry’s question doesn’t pull at you as much as it probably should. “He just found me and helped me back. That’s all.”

Terry looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t, and you don’t question it. The rest of the night is clouded by an awkward rut that has originated from nowhere at all, one that you never guessed you’d experience with Terry. He walks you back to your apartment early, and waits next to you as you fumble with your keys. 

“Good night, Y/N,” he says softly, as you finally wrestle your door open. 

“Thanks,” you whisper back, too drained of energy to make one of the usual jokes traded when you both say goodbye. He tips his head at you like he always does, albeit in a less jaunty way, and steps into the apartment elevator at the end of the hall, flashing you one last little wave before the doors close. 

You turn back to your apartment, walking inside and locking the door behind you once again. This time, you don’t go straight to your bedroom and drop onto your bed, like you always do after a horrible day. Instead, you stalk over to the kitchen, which is illuminated by a single, flickering lightbulb. You tug open the freezer, fishing out a box from your emergency stash of ice cream, the one thing bound to be on stock at all times. When you went grocery shopping some time ago, you didn’t think that a crisis would hit so soon. 

Cracking open the lid of the chocolate ice cream, you take your scooper and place a bowl on the counter. After a second thought, you take out your blender as well, and scrape the ice cream into there instead, throwing in some milk and peanut butter as well. Tonight is a milkshake kind of night, you think, the kind that necessitates butterscotch chips and whipped cream as well, you note, opening the cupboard to get said ingredients. When you finish blending, you pour your icy salvation into a large tumbler and collapse onto the living room couch. You turn on the television, blankly staring at the screen while barely registering the dialogue playing. 

“That’s not a milkshake— that’s diabetes in a glass.” 

“Don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it.” You shoot Minho a pointed look as you chug down your shake, savoring the sound of Minho’s laughter even more than a hefty peanut butter and chocolate combo. 

It isn’t until you taste saltiness instead of the sweet milkshake that you realize you’re crying. 

callmeterry: can we meet? bobaluvrr: yes. see u @ morningstar

You stare into the bathroom mirror, checking your face one last time, inspecting it for bloodshot eyes and dry skin, the telltale signs of the tears that have now become a habit over the past few days. Ever since Halloween, things haven’t been the same since you and Terry. Although a fairly new friendship, you both spent a significant amount of time together after meeting at Jihyo’s birthday party. However, you haven’t seen each other at all outside of Writing Seminar nowadays— probably because during class, you’re too busy staring at Minho, who won’t even spare you a single glance. You’re determined to at least save your friendship with Terry, which is why you are so quick to agree to meet him.

“Catch you two later,” you call out to Sunoo and Soyeon, who both are slumped on the couch, watching One Piece over boxes of takeout butter chicken. 

The journey to Morningstar doesn’t take long, especially since the vastly approaching night has gotten you nearly jogging, regardless of how safe your college campus is. Although it’s been nearly a month and a half, you still can’t get used to not having the security and comfort of your boyfriend. Serves you right, you think.

You enter through the glass doorway of Morningstar, the door chime ringing and announcing your entrance to Terry. He stands up from the table he’s sitting at, walking over to you with the  genuine smile that you were fearful of not being able to see again. Terry looks heartbreakingly handsome, dressed in a long brown coat and wool scarf, an ode to the plaid shirt days and hot chocolate nights that you know you could have with him.

“Hi,” he says, pausing his gait when he’s a few feet away from you. Tentative, but still Terry. The bouquet of assorted flowers in his hands, however, isn’t. 

You can literally feel your face fall, as you stare at the certainly expensive arranged red roses and lilies. “I—”

“Don’t.” Terry’s smile doesn’t fade, but the slight sheen of moisture to his eyes is new. “ I know. I’d rather not hear you say it. Please.”

You’re speechless as he hands you the flowers, the refreshingly floral scent wafting up and screaming at you to wake up. You had a feeling, you knew how Terry felt about you. But you didn’t think he’d act on those feelings so soon.

“You know, I’ve been in love with you since August. You walked into the very first day of class late, wearing this gorgeous pink dress— and God, I was so whipped. I even dyed my hair the same color.” Terry laughs lightly, but you can see the heaviness in his eyes, the same thing that you feel in your chest. “I didn’t approach you, though, because I saw the way you were looking at Minho.”

You shake your head, still in disbelief. “Terry…”

“And then you walked into the kitchen at that party; it felt like a sign. But that can’t have been true, because the way you looked at him didn’t change. It never will.” He stops for a moment, taking in a shaky breath. “When you both broke up, I ignored my heart telling me not to dig myself deeper into this, to leave you alone. But I couldn’t, Y/N, because I thought that the risk would be worth it. And it was, you know. You are worth it.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, at a loss for words. You don’t know what else to say, whether it’s a reaction to how your friend is pouring out his heart to you, or the fact that he’s always known that you’d never be his.

The smile on Terry’s face is now a sharp contrast to the strings of tears that mar it. “Don’t be. It’s Minho. It’s always been Minho for you.” 

He turns, but you rush forward and block him. You can’t lose someone else. Not again. “Terry, wait! Can’t we be friends?” 

“Of course we can be. I’d rather have you as a friend than not in my life at all. I’ll move on, eventually. But you have to go fix things with him now.” He flashes you another one of his signature beams. It doesn’t have the same joyful effect on you as it usually does, now that it’s tainted with sadness. “I’ll see you next class. Hold onto him, okay?”

Terry leaves, and you stare after him at the door, dumbfounded, haunting the entryway of the coffee shop nearing closing hours. You never saw this confrontation coming, not today. And you didn’t want it to happen any time soon, not like this. But no matter how much you want to deny Terry’s words, you know they are the truth. You know what you have to do. Because love works in strange ways, you realize, and now yours needs to be made right.

“We shouldn’t be here.” You say, shaking your head. “It’s dangerous.”

Minho just stares at you, his eyebrow skeptically quirked in a way that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “It’s literally just a bridge.”

You glare at him, before looking out at the arched walkway that connects the wooded expanse of the university library to the rest of campus. According to university lore, any pair of lovers that walks over Forsaken Bridge together is doomed to suffer an untimely separation; hence, its ominous name. And you would rather look stupid for believing in superstition rather than risk losing Minho. 

“It can’t be.” You cross your arms stubbornly. “I know so many couples that came here, and they ended up breaking up.”

Minho says nothing for a moment, just pondering your words, and you think he’s about to step back, allowing you to cross the bridge first, before following on his own. But then he grabs your hand, pulling you towards the bridge.

Your immediate reaction is to let out a small scream that cuts through the quiet night, and it’s quickly muffled by Minho’s hand gently closing over your mouth. “Trust me on this. Nothing bad will happen.”

You really want to remind Minho of what happened to Hyunjin and his girlfriend— well, ex-girlfriend— but you let him lead you towards your dreaded destination. Because you do trust him, more than anything. 

The balmy summer night sticks to your skin, a feeling that will soon give away to the crisp bite of autumn. You’ve already moved back onto campus to get a headstart on the teaching assistant position for your biology professor, but for the first time ever, you don’t feel sad or apprehensive at the thought of going back to college again. This was the gap in time that you once despised because it signaled the unfortunate trudge of school life: textbooks, homework, and stress. But nowadays, you think it to be a reminder of something better: Minho, Minho, and Minho.

Your boyfriend takes an easy step onto the bridge, his hand tightly clasped in yours. You trail after him more cautiously, hiding behind his broad frame like the bridge will come alive and attack you. “You better not ever break up with me, Lee Minho.”

He turns back to look at you as you both near the center of the supposedly cursed bridge, his lips pressed together in a way that suggests concealed laughter; knowing him, it probably is. “Never. Now close your eyes.”

With a grumpy sigh, you oblige him, shutting your eyes. “For what, Minho?”

“I need to tell you something.” His voice is soft, almost vulnerable. It’s a new color to him, compared to how assured and confident he always seems to be.

You crack open one eye, looking at him curiously. “What is it?”

He frowns, letting go of your hand. “No peeking!”

“Okayy.”

Minho takes a deep breath, right before he turns your world upside down. “I love you.”

Your eyes fly open, and Minho doesn’t complain this time, only gazing at you nervously, clutching his right arm with his left hand like he’s a little kid again. “What did you just say?”

Regardless of his uncertain body language, he looks you directly in the eye. “I love you, Y/N. And I know it’s too soon to say it, but it’s true. I love you, and you don’t have to tell me back, but—”

“I love you too,” you blurt out, and you both just stare at each other for a moment, in mutual shyness and surprise. You can’t believe how good it feels to finally say the words that were hanging off the tip of your tongue for the past few months since you started dating.

Minho’s beautiful face breaks out into a dazzling smile as he steps closer to you. “Then let’s make our own story for this bridge. Two people crossing the bridge together will be lifelong friends. And if they kiss, lifelong lovers.”

Your poor, racing heart can’t take anymore of this; what a man that you have found. “Kiss me, then.” 

Minho gives you a tender look, and in that moment, you wish you had a camera to capture it. You can’t seem to remember your initial fear of coming onto this bridge, not when you have a beautiful boy who gazes at you with nothing short of absolute adoration. You’ll follow him anywhere, if it means you’ll stay together. Always and forever.

From when you were a little girl, your parents painted fairy tales for you in your childhood bedroom, of handsome princes mounted on midnight stallions and towering castles set against sunsets. For the longest time, you thought them to be true, because by the time you might have grown up, you found your own handsome prince, who rode a secondhand bike instead of a horse, and his castle was the sweatshirt-strewn dorm room he shared with two other boys. Nevertheless, you so strongly believed you would get your own happily-ever-after, that it took you a long time to accept the thorns in the rosy brush that constituted your outlook on life. You had a hard time understanding your prince, sometimes, and ended up spinning your own stories to fill in the gaps you thought he created. It never once occurred to you that life would never be perfect, and that your prince could not be exactly who you dreamed him to be.

It’s why you stroll the length of Forsaken Bridge alone, materializing its dreary name with your head bent and hands tucked in your pockets. But you’re not surprised either, when you see your prince, standing on the very place where he made you a promise that you broke yourself. His crown is misplaced and his armor has lost its luster, but he’s your beautiful prince, still beautiful while heartbroken over you.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” you say softly. 

“I shouldn’t have.” Minho stares at the deteriorating timber planks beneath your feet. “But I can’t say no when it comes to you.”

You shake your head, sniffling lightly. You both hate and love him for being so understanding, so kind, even now. You hate yourself for it, too. “I broke your heart.”

Minho blinks, clasping his hands in front of himself. “There are so many things that I’m sorry and thankful to you for, but you know I’m not good at expressing myself.”

“That’s my line, Min.” You scoff through your tears. “I tried to force you to be someone you're not. And you respond by taking care of me, like you always have. And you listened to me instead of fighting. You walked away.”

“I wanted you to be happy. That’s all I have ever wanted. With or without me in the picture.” Minho shoots you a watery smile. “I love you, you know. I always will.”

You inhale shakily. “And I love you too. I was scared of being hurt because I love you so much. I shouldn’t have been so afraid of what I didn’t know. I should have tried to ask you instead of coming to assumptions on my own.”

“We’re in this together, okay?” Minho steps forward towards you, reaching up to hold your face in his hands. “Remember what I said? You never have to be alone. I’m right here, always.”

Minho rubs his thumbs over your tears, nothing but devotion in his eyes. You touch his arms, pulling him into a hug. “I know I ruined everything, but please come back to me? I’m so, so sorry.”

“Me too. And you ruined nothing.” He squeezes you. “We still have our whole lives ahead of us.”

You draw back from the embrace, smiling through your tears— for once, they’re the good kind. “I love you, Lee Minho. Let’s start over?”

“I love you too, Y/N.” Minho whispers, a grin slowly spreading on his face. “And I don’t want to ruin the moment, but can we begin by finding an apartment, please? If I accidentally drink Hyunjin’s paint water one more time I think I will literally die.”

You laugh, raising your eyebrows at him teasingly. “Only because you want to escape Hyunjin? Not because you love me?”

He rolls his eyes playfully, a light blush tinting his pale skin. “You know what I mean.”

“You should show me what you mean.”

“I should.”

Minho obeys your command, leaning down to meet your lips in a chaste kiss, before you grasp his waist, pulling him closer and deepening the movement. God, you missed this so much. You missed him, so much. Minho’s hands reach up to cup your neck as you trace endless love letters on each other’s lips, campus curses and bad faith banished from your lovestruck young minds.

“See? Looks like our story came true.” he whispers as you come up for air, nudging your nose sweetly with his own. “Lifelong lovers, we’ll be.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Minho kisses you once more and pulls back, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “This means forever.”

Check out the rest of boys' stories on Love Playlist!

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

AUTHOR'S NOTE

It feels so good to get back to Love Playlist <3 This whole series itself was inspired by the cute, college au vibes of the K-drama Love Playlist and its spinoff, Dear M. (starring NCT's Jaehyun, a must-see), but this story especially was heavily based on Dear M.'s second leads. Brownie points if you've noticed which hit superhero TV series I took a piece of dialogue from! I just adore that quote so much. Anyway, I'm a sucker for Minho and this story has a special place in my heart. Can you guess who is next?! And thank you for supporting me, always! -Dreamy

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

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Network: @kflixnet

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

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[kararisa]

darling, starling

— 5. unwritten rules — ✦ (wc: 0.4k)

You will never understand how people wake up before 10 a.m. and enjoy it. Scaramouche was your complete opposite in that regard, preferring to start his days egregiously early. But if you could help it, you'd stay in bed and sleep until the early afternoon hours, cuddled up in the warmth of your blankets.

But here you are, not comfortable in bed but instead seated on your sofa and half-heartedly watching some soap opera on the TV while you wait for the man of the hour to discuss a deal that could change both of your careers, for better or for worse.

The huge glass windows let in sunlight from the waking world, bathing the room in natural light. Scaramouche gives you a nod of acknowledgment as he sits down, a cup of way-too-bitter tea in hand. He takes off his reading glasses and leans back to look at you properly.

“You look like shit,” he greets.

You rub your eyes before glaring at him, “I wanted to catch you before you ran off to the nearby cafe to write your book. We need to actually talk about what we’re getting into in this deal.”

You take a breath before starting, “It’s not going to be easy dating me. Fake or not.”

Scaramouche’s words are dripping in sarcasm. “I know your food preferences if that’s what you're worried about.”

“That...” you groan. “That isn’t even what I mean and you know it; I’m being serious. You know how relentless the media can be when it comes to me. Rumors of us dating have been around since we were first spotted going out and about with our friends. And they’ve only gotten worse since you moved in with me.”

“I can take whatever the tabloids throw at me,” he shrugs. “Besides, my aunt works for The Akasha, remember? She has a lot of pull, not just in Sumeru.”

Is he even taking this seriously? His nonchalant air makes you think he doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation you’re getting yourselves into. He consistently interacts with his fans but maintains a respectful distance from them — you know he's capable of handling a life of fame.

But ever since you stepped onto the stage, the tabloids have followed you like a phantom — lurking in every corner and following your every move. Their eyes aren’t only set on you, though, but on every person associated with you. Scaramouche’s privacy has been invaded multiple times throughout your friendship with him, and he’s expressed his distaste for a life that's fully in the public eye in the past.

Why is he so determined to see this through?

“I doubt one editor-in-chief will be enough to influence the press,” you say.

“But she does control what stories get published,” he points out. “And if she approves articles about us being spotted together in public, it’ll be enough to get people talking.”

He has a point. Goddamn it, maybe he actually thought this through and this wasn’t just some half-assed plan he came up with at 2 a.m.

The two of you would have to set some rules, but that could come at a later date.

“Do we have a deal?” Scaramouche sticks out his hand.

“Yeah.” you take his hand and shake it. “We got a deal.”

✧— previous — masterlist — next —✧

summary:

rule number one: don't fall in love.

rule number two: no one can know about the deal.

rule number three: keep physical affection limited to the public eye. no kissing under any circumstances.

rule number four: break up after you release your album.

easy enough to remember. oh, and remember to not break the rules okay?

author's notes:

sorry for being inactive lmao i got depressed for a hot minute

nah cause why is scarayn banter so much fun to write

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[thecreelhouse]

part time soulmate, full time problem

Paring: Gator Tillman x Alt Fem!Reader (she/her pronouns) || MDNI!

Summary: Still snowed in, you and Gator try to make the best of this unplanned Christmas together.

Word count: 7.1k+

CW/Tags: rough sex, discussing/exploring kinks, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), cockwarming, brat/brat tamer dynamic, dom/sub dynamic, some femdom (if you squint), sub-drop, christmas fluff, hurt/comfort, aftercare

Series Masterlist // Read on AO3

A/N: apologies for taking up the tags!! I wanted to have this chapter out for christmas, but clearly I’m a little late lol. Still hope y’all enjoy it though!! And hope y’all had a lovely holiday weekend however you spent it <3

Day 5

When you wake up, it’s completely dark, and the bed feels… odd. You panic a little, sitting up fast as you try forcing your eyes to get used to the darkness around you. Your hands pat the bed around you, trying to find your phone to check the time, when you accidentally hit something.

“Ow… do ya’ mind?”

Or someone.

The previous night begins replaying in your head, catching you up to speed— you recall the sexual tension not only breaking but finally pushing the both of you to and over the edge. It’s not like there was a friendship to really ruin, but whatever the two of you had before wasn’t something you could return to.

“Y’good?” Gator’s voice breaks your thoughts; he sounds half asleep with a gravelly voice as he leans up, reaching over to you. His hand falls on your thigh, and the movement startles you, unable to see in the dark still.

You have so many questions bouncing around your head, unsure which one to pick to start. Without much thought, your hand gravitates to his on your leg, lazily grabbing it.

“We’re …. in your room?”

“Mhm,” His other arm finds you, clumsily trying to wrap his arms around your waist. It’s a goofy position, with you sitting up in bed, and Gator still laying down, hanging onto you like a koala.

“When did we go to sleep?”

Gator chuckles, muffled by the pillow his face is still buried in.

“Did I really fuck ya’ that hard that you don’t remember?”

“Ha-ha, very funny.” You finally find your phone, reading the time as 4:23 a.m. “Why the fuck am I awake?” A chill passes over your skin, prickling goosebumps along every inch of your body. You tense up. “Gator… did the power go out again? Is that why it’s so dark?”

“I mean… it’s four in the morning. That might have somethin’ to do with it.” He teases, and you roll your eyes, but it’s not like he can see. He’s gently pulling at you, trying to get you to lay back down. “Think it did go out, though. C’mere, I can feel ya’ shakin’.”

You slide back under the covers, and as you wrap yourself around Gator, you realize you’re both naked. “Jesus, no wonder why I’m fucking cold. I need sweats or somethin’—“

Gator’s grip tightens a little. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s definitely something you’ll have to get used to.

“Stay. I’ll warm ya’ up.”

“Okay, yeah, you’re warm, but I need, like… ten more blankets.”

“You’ll be okay, promise.” His voice is still low, filled with sleep, but there’s a playfulness woven within his words.

“What if I froze to death like… right now.” You joke, and he breathes a laugh, shifting around next to you.

“You won’t.” He slides under the covers, but you pay no mind to that.

“I could.”

“Christ, you never shut up, do you?”

You hadn’t even realized how much Gator had moved until he lightly bit the inside of your thigh. You jump and yelp, not expecting the sensation.

“You’re gonna knee me in the face—“ Gator grumbles, maneuvering under the covers to position himself between your legs; his hands hold your legs down roughly. “Stay.”

“M’not a dog, Gator.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” His breath is warm as it fans out across your core. You shiver, trying your best to stay still. “Dogs are more well behaved than you.”

“Okay, rude!” You’re about to go off on a tangent when his mouth meets your skin, giving your core an open mouthed kiss. “Oh m’god—“

Gator tilts his face upward, tongue trailing his motion while his nose brushes against your sensitive nub. You jump again, still sensitive from hours ago.

“Would it be better if I cuffed you again?” He’s talking against your folds, and the vibrations of his words make you whimper. “Yeah? Sounded like a yes.”

“N- no— I mean I- I like it, but I-“ Gator’s arms hook under your legs, pulling you as close to his face as possible before he continues. “But I— not now. I’ll stay st- still.”

He’s taking his time, tongue soft and movements slow, every so often sucking on your swollen clit. A high pitched whine leaves your lips while a hand dives under the covers, reaching to tug his hair. Gator groans into you at the action.

“Good girl.”

Those two words used as a praise from your ex-best friend-turned-enemy-turned-fuck-buddy make your mind melt.

Is that what we are now?

That’s not as mind melting as his thick, long fingers enter you, two without warning. With how turned on you are, though, they slide in with ease. His tongue keeps a steady, agonizingly slow pace on your clit, pausing to tease, “How’s a bitter brat like you taste so sweet, huh?”

Your breaths are shallow and whiny as heat blooms within your body, spreading wide. Throwing the blankets aside, you can just barely make out the outline of Gator between your legs; your head falls back at the limited sight, thoughts filling in the blanks for you.

“Gator…”

Fingers weaving their way through his hair, you tug him closer, hips rolling subconsciously as you begin riding against his face. His fingers are still fucking you, hitting your sweet spot, knocking the wind out of your chest.

It honestly stuns you how good Gator is at this. Your legs are shaking and tensing up around his head, but that only motivates him to continue, every now and then laughing into your skin at how easily turned on you are. You always thought he came off as one of those assholes who brags about having sex to make up for the fact that they really never do.

Clearly he’s practiced on someone… whoever that poor soul may be for dealing with his insufferable ass.

Every so often there’s an obscene smack of his lips as he releases suction off your clit; you can hear how soaked you are, but it’s not like Gator isn’t helping with the mess.

“Y’gonna cum?” He rasps out from under the blankets, feeling your walls tighten around his digits. His tongue flicks softly at your clit between his thoughts. “Feels like it, darlin’.”

Your walls constrict even further. “You really like when I call you that, huh?”

“Mhm…” You’re having a hard time finding actual words while he continues pleasuring you. “Think I’m c- close.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re gonna hate me in about two seconds.”

You’re still in a blissful, spaced out state, barely hearing him. “Wait, huh?”

Gator stops abruptly, fingers pulling out quickly as his face leaves your core. You feel empty and cold as he comes back out of the covers, and although it’s dark, you can see him grinning at you with glistening lips.

“Wh- wait- why’d you stop?” You’re not coming down from your high, you’re falling backwards rapidly with disappointment shoving you full force. Chest heaving as your breath settles from a ruined orgasm, you snap, “Gator, that’s not— I wasn’t finished!”

“Turn around.” Gator orders as he settles back beside you.

Your mouth hangs open, offended. “No! You ruined it, asshole.”

Gator forcibly flips you to your other side, facing away from him. In one slow but smooth motion, he pushes his cock into you with ease from how wet you got. Gator moans into your ear, sending shivers up your spine while you’re both breathless and speechless.

“Think we’ll be able to warm up this way, y’think?” Gator pulls you closer, back against his chest, slowly moving your lower half closer to go deeper. He finally fills you completely, with your ass held against his lap. “Why’d you think I was playin’ with you?”

You’re stunned. “You’re a fuckin’ jerk-off. You coulda let me finish at least.”

“You can leave if ya’ want.” Gator lets go of you, leaving you with the option to pull him out of you.

Shallow breaths from you fill the pause; you don’t move.

“You keep still until I wake up, and maybe I’ll reward ya’.” His arms wind around you again, holding you close.

“And if I decide to fuck you?”

“Fuck around and find out, brat.”

“No one seriously says that, certainly not with their dick inside someone else.” You laugh at his audacity and how corny he sounds. “What if I leave?”

Gator’s hands splayed across your tummy as he explores your body teasingly. One hand reaches up to the swell of one breast, flicking your piercing lightly. “Said ya’ could. Doubt you wanna, though.”

You’re making your best efforts to bite back a moan, “You don’t know what I want, asshole.”

“No? ‘Cause I think I’ve been pretty good at guessin’ so far.”

He wants to tame a brat? I’ll show him a real brat.

“If you guess three kinks, all consecutively correct, I’ll stay. You can do whatever.” You challenge, not waiting for him to agree or not. You’re calling the shots now. “One wrong guess, I leave, and you can keep yourself warm and cope. Got it?”

Gator doesn’t care for that attitude, but he’s never been one to turn down a challenge. “You’d be sorry if you left. What’s gonna keep you warm? That dildo half the size of me? Good luck with that, freak.”

“And what? You’d just have that fuckin’ sock and your questionable porn searches.”

Gator snaps his hips into you, already buried to the hilt, but somehow he reaches even deeper inside you. It knocks the wind out of you a bit.

“How come you can fuck me but I can’t fuck you?!”

This is getting ridiculous.

He pulls back, nearly pulling out, teasing the head at your entrance. You groan in annoyance and need.

“Let’s see…” Gator thrusts back into you, filling you up once more. You can’t stop the moan that tumbles from your lips. “You and I are more alike than you wanna admit—“

“We are not.”

“No? So you’re not into orgasm denial? Or edging? ‘Cause you’re somehow wetter than last night.” You can’t help your walls hugging him tightly; Gator laughs lowly into your ear. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Okay,” you rasp out, “so that’s one you got right. Big deal.”

Gator wraps one of his arms around your throat, flexing his muscles as he tightens his hold. Your eyes roll back as you feel the slight pressure create that lightheaded feeling you craved since last night.

“Well, yesterday I guessed you’re into degradation, and that was right…” Gator’s slowly fucking you, earning more gasps from you. “That always seems to go hand in hand with humiliation… M’confident you’re into that, too.”

“What? No- no way—“ Gator rolls over onto his back, still inside you, before continuing to slowly fuck up into you as you lay on top of him. “Ah- fuck!”

“You can try to lie all you want darlin’, but your cunt’s got no problem tellin’ me the truth.” He shifts, sitting up against the bed frame and pillows, pulling you onto his lap as he continues fucking you. You fall back onto him, head lolling over his shoulder, hoping it’s too dark for him to see you cry over how good this feels.

“Gator, please…”

One arm wrapped around your waist, the other reaching over to lift your head again. It’s kind of awkward, but he makes it work. You only know your faces are nearly touching when you hear his panting directly in front of you. His hand weaves his fingers through your hair, tugging from the back of your head to keep you in place.

“So that’s two…” He grunts as he bucks his hips roughly into you, causing you to cry out loudly, breaking the silence in the house. “… fuckin’… did y’know your pussy’s made for me? ‘Cause it sure fuckin’ feels like it.”

“Gator c’mon, this isn’t… this isn’t fair…” You’re whining against his lips, wanting, needing him closer, as if this wasn’t close enough already.

“That’s not what y’were callin’ me last night.” He pushes into you completely, filling you up and driving you insane.

You’re ready to cave into his self-entitled attitude and give him the third answer if it means you’ll finally get off.

“Daddy, please… I just wanna cum,” You cry, throwing any dignity or care to win this out the window and into the freezing cold. “I’ll tell you, I- I can tell you.”

Gator roughly pushes you forward; you fall into the bed face first as he grips your hips, pulling them up to meet him as he kneels behind you. He wastes no time slamming into you from behind, skin on skin slapping, echoing out into the dark room.

He grabs your arms and pins them behind your back, fucking you with a steady pace, while another hand wanders to your ass, finger toying ever so softly with your tight hole.

“Y’gonna tell me? Maybe it’s this, yeah?” His teeth are gritted as he continues his taunting. “Bet y’love getting fucked here, too.”

Your face turns to the side, even though you can’t see him, and you cry out; between his words, his thrusts, and his touch, you’re so close to the edge again.

“Bet it’d feel like heaven fuckin’ ya’ with a pretty lil’ plug in here… make you feel— fuckin’ fuck—“ his hips stutter, “you’d feel so full… you’d love that, huh?”

You’re not even denying anything anymore, you’re done hiding it all from him. What’s the point of keeping your turn-ons and kinks a secret when he’s already causing you to come undone.

“Love… love feeling full, daddy… want you to fill me up everywhere…” You’re in a trance at this point, and he chuckles at your obvious dazed state of mind.

“I know baby, m’gonna give you what you want… one sin at a time.” His thrusts are making you cry, full on sob from how good he feels this deep inside you. His balls slap against your clit, only adding to the rising pleasure deep in your core. “C’mon, gimme one more thing, and I’ll let ya’ cum.”

Your face turns into the bedsheets, muffling your loud sob of pleasure.

“Jesus… m’close… you— tell me, tell me what y’want…”

Gator sounds like he’s beginning to fall apart. You can’t find words to string together into a coherent thought for him, racking through all the things that turn you on and get you off that you can admit to him.

“Sl- sleepy—“ You manage to moan out, sticking your ass out further towards him. Gator takes it as a sign to ram into you with all he’s got. “The- the sleep thing- the- ohmyfuckinggod—“

There’s not much warning between either of you; simultaneously you both reach your high, filling the room with all sorts of pornographic noises as Gator fills you with his arousal. You feel his cock twitch in you as you continue squeezing him with your walls, milking him for all he’s got. He falls forward onto you, letting go of your hands in the process. Your cunt twitches and throbs around him as you ride it all out.

Your legs shake, and you collapse onto the bed fully, bringing Gator down with you. He’s breathless, still inside you, kissing the side of your face and neck sloppily as he whispers a handful of praises to you.

The two of you lay exhausted like this for a while, losing track of time as your heart rates settle together. Eventually, Gator rolls off of you, groaning as he slips out. You can’t bring yourself to move, but you hear him trying to maneuver around the pitch black room, bumping into some things here and there, followed by curses under his breath.

A curtain slides open a little as Gator pulls on it, letting the orange glow of the sunrise spill in. You’re squinting before you bury your face in the bed again. You can’t bring yourself to even try to move; every inch of your body feels weighed down, drained and buzzing with an afterglow.

The bed dips before you hear, “Darlin’, pick your head up f’me,” and Gator’s gently lifting your face off the sheets. He carefully turns you on your side, but you groan, not wanting to be moved at all.

The light isn’t harsh, in fact, Gator made sure to open the curtain just a tiny bit, enough to make the surroundings visible enough. He’s wiping away your tears clumsily with his fingers. “You alright?” You nod, but your bottom lip pouts and trembles a bit before tears well up in your eyes again. “What’s goin’ on?”

Gator slides next to you, laying down and taking you into his warm embrace. You curl in towards him, tears still falling.

“Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head quickly, “No, daddy, m’just so… so…”

Quickly, Gator recognizes the state you’re in, just like last night. Softly, he asks, “Do you deal with sub-drops frequently?”

“Felt so good,” You murmur, eyes growing heavy. “… Sorry for crying.” Gator runs a hand through your hair, pushing it from your face. He’s watching you protectively, pulling the blankets over you.

“M’glad it did, darlin’, and you’ve got nothin’ t’be sorry for.” Gator sounds tired himself, but he refuses to sleep until you do. “We don’t have to talk now if you’re tired. You should go back to sleep. You did so good for me.” He kisses your forehead, and that’s the last thing you remember before drifting off to sleep.

Gator’s quick to follow you in dozing off, too.

——

It’s nearly noon when you start to stir, cozy and warm in bed. In fact, you’re much warmer than earlier. Sure, Gator helped you warm up before going back to sleep, but there’s extra warmth and comfort right now. As you stretch, you realize you’re under several more blankets than earlier, and you’re back in Gator’s sweatshirt you borrowed days ago.

Slowly you began to wake up more, realizing how sore you were, but your mind was replaying Gator’s kindness in aftercare. It’s the second time he’s done that. You didn’t even expect him to know what aftercare was, so it was a complete shock that he cared for you like that.

Honestly… it was a complete shock that Gator cared at all.

After taking your time to get up, you go through your morning routine, grab some warm slipper socks, and the crochet project you recently finished before heading downstairs. As you pass the living room, you toss the project onto the couch before continuing on.

The power’s back on, and you find Gator in the kitchen making food. He’s in a worn sleep shirt and plaid pajama pants, whistling while he’s flipping pancakes.

He’s just full of surprises while you’re snowed in together.

“Alright… who are you, and what did you do with the real Gator?” You’re floored at the sight before you. “Seriously, when did you learn to make anything other than cereal?”

He looks over his shoulder, grinning at you, “What? You hate pancakes now?” His eyes travel down your body, admiring the way you look in his sweatshirt. Then, he laughs, but it’s not mean spirited; “You put those thick ass socks on, but no pants? No wonder why you're always cold.”

You pay no attention to his comment on your lack of pants. “I didn’t say that,” You shuffle over to him, arms weaving around his waist from behind while you rest your head on his back. “You were so mean before yesterday. Now you’re so… different. What happened?”

Gator turns the stove off before turning around, still in your arms while he looks down at you. He looks tired, like, really exhausted.

“Did you sleep?”

“A lil’, but then you kept stealin’ the blankets, and I got tired of being cold, so I figured out the whole power outage thing.” He shrugs as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. As always, he smells like that sickeningly sweet vape, but it’s kind of growing on you. “Then I couldn’t fall back asleep, so I tried shoveling a path from the front door… but the snow’s too thick. Not like we can really go anywhere anyway, plus, it’s Christmas, so everywhere’s closed—“

“Gator, you need to sleep,” You interrupt him. “You coulda’ stolen the blankets back. M’sorry, I didn’t realize I was doing that.”

Again, he shrugs. “Eh, you needed more sleep than me. And then I remembered how we used to make pancakes after sleepovers as kids, and I-“ He stops as his face turns red from being sentimental. “- I dunno. I don’t have a present for ya’, so I hope this makes being stuck inside with me a lil’ better.”

Your heart ached; it spent so long mourning the past, mourning the friendship you had with Gator, steeling yourself for the present and how mean you’d be to each other— you never expected to be… here. Not in Gator’s arms. Not in his house. Not in whatever the ever loving fuck is going on between the two of you.

But you’re here, and suddenly you’re feeling awful for how mean you’ve been to Gator, too.

“I… I-“ You stop yourself, too tired to start questioning what changed so drastically between the two of you. And honestly, you knew the whats and whys, but it didn’t answer everything.

As if he could understand your unspoken thoughts, Gator spoke up, “We… don’t gotta talk about it. Not right now, at least. Or ever, if you don’t wanna. Just didn’t want your Christmas to be a total bust.”

You could cry. This was the Gator you knew from years ago. Not some try-hard asshole cop with no care for anyone other than himself. Your arms squeezed around him tighter.

“Jesus, you’re gonna break my ribs, darlin’.” He says jokingly.

“Sorry,” You sheepishly smile as you pull back, arms swinging to your sides. “I, um… I wanna talk about it, but maybe after pancakes? Not tryin’ to cry into them.”

Gator doesn’t respond, just nods and kisses the top of your head before going back to making food.

——

“I think the last time I watched this was with you,” Gator mumbles while messing with the TV remote. The two of you found It’s A Wonderful Life on one of the countless streaming platforms.

“So, not since high school?” You’re pulling a blanket up over the both of you before snuggling into his side on the couch.

“Yeah, guess so.” He looks over to you, but his eye catches on something on the other end of the couch. “Is that the thing you’ve been workin’ on?”

Your face heats up as you grab the crocheted item quickly, balling it up in your hands. “Uh- yeah. I just didn’t have anything to wrap it with, but this is- well- it’s silly, but it’s for you—“ Your voice grows small, worried this was a stupid gift idea. Gator’s brow quirks as he looks at you, then back at the handmade gift in your hands. “It’s- okay, so you totally don’t have to like it. You probably won’t. That’s okay I won’t be offended—“

“You made something for me?” Gator’s face softens at the sentiment, even though you haven’t even explained what it is or handed it over.

So, you do, you push the item from your hands into his before looking away, embarrassed. “It’s— okay, so, like, it’s cold here and you’re always out here refusing to like, cover your face when you should because seriously the wind hurts, and I- I dunno, I just wanted to make something to keep you warm, but you totally don’t have to use it or anything. I get it’s kinda’ lame and not your thing.”

Gator unfolds the yarn-made gift; it’s a neck warmer. It’s made with a smaller size yarn, with stitches near perfect, aside from a few wonky ones here and there. It’s in shades of black and grey, and buttery soft.

He holds it, unable to look away as he admires how fucking long it must have taken you to make every damn stitch. And here you are, talking it down like it’s no big deal, like it’s silly and thoughtless, and that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“You didn’t start this while you were here, did you?”

You cross your arms sheepishly over yourself, almost trying to shrink into your spot next to him. “… No, I.. I, uh, started it on the plane. I was— god, this is so goofy, but I wanted to give something to you as, like, a peace offering, or some shit. I still hated you— or, well, I thought I did, when I got here, but I still cared about you, too. Still do. I didn’t expect all of… this,” You motion quickly between the two of you, hand flip-flopping back and forth, “to happen, y’know? So it’s totally okay if you’re not into—“

Gator cuts you off with a kiss; it’s clumsy, a trait you’re quickly getting used to with kissing him, but it’s well intentioned. You smile against his lips before he pulls back, confused with the butterflies in your tummy.

“Sorry for that,” Gator laughs, looking back down at the gift. “I love it. Really.” He sounds so sincere, for once. “I know the guys at the station would give me shit for it… but I’m definitely gonna wear it under the flimsy old one I got.”

“Gator, it’s okay, you really don’t have to—“

“Quit puttin’ yourself down. This was… this was really thoughtful, darlin’. You worked hard on it… you didn’t have to make this… why wouldn’t I use it?” Again, the sincerity drips from his kind words. He pulls it over his head, smirking at the immediate warmth. “Kinda like a hug from ya’.”

“Okay, now I know you’re not actually Gator.” You tease, fending off any emotional tears trying to start up. He laughs, but it’s kind of… sad. He knows how awful he’s been to you since the moment he pushed you away years ago. He pulls you closer, laying down and bringing you with him. The two of you face each other as you lay on your sides. “I got no clue how we went from hating each other to this so quickly, but I’m… I’m glad we got snowed in together.”

“Well, when ya’ have two horny bastards snowed in together for several days, I guess somethin’s bound to happen, huh?” Gator jokes, earning an eye roll from you. “When this is all said and done, y’know, the snowed in thing… if this was just a brief thing, could we still be friends at least?”

You hadn’t thought about what would happen when this storm ended, and every time your thoughts began to try unpacking what the two of you had become, you pushed it aside. Maybe out of fear? Stress? You had no idea.

Now’s as good of a time as any to figure it out, I guess.

“I think— well, no. I know I had disdain for you for awhile, mainly for the way our friendship ended… but if we’re being honest,” You take a breath in before a hard admission, “I like ya’, asshole. I think I always have. Being stuck together kinda helped me figure that out, I think.”

“Ya’ sure got a charming way with words, freak.” Gator teases back. “M’sorry for being an asshole since pushin’ you away. It still doesn’t excuse the way I left, but I… I think I was scared shitless over my feelings for ya’.

“Watchin’ you grieve over Willow… I just wanted to protect you, and the only way I knew how was protectin’ ya’ from me and my fucked up shit. Figured if ya’ had one less thing to worry about, grievin’ would be easier to handle.” He wraps his arms around you. “N’I wish I got to know the real you, instead of makin’ fun of ya’. I wish I never made you feel like you had to leave town. I’m sorry.”

“Fuck, I didn’t want to cry,” You laugh while tears well up in your eyes, ducking your head into the crook of his neck. “All I ever wanted was your honesty, Gator. Thank you for tellin’ me that.” His hand lifts to hold the back of your head gently, keeping you close to him; that breaks the dam for you, so you resort to joking bluntly, “At least the animosity led to great sex.”

Gator chuckles, “That doesn’t have to stop, ya’ know.”

You pull back to look at him, keeping a straight face. “What? The years-long bitterness between us? Or the sex?”

His face falls as he glares at you, unamused.

“Hm… let me think about it, it’s a tough call,” Your playful sarcasm earns a lighthearted scoff from Gator. He ducks into your neck, and when you expect him to start kissing, he obnoxiously blows raspberries into your skin. You squeal at how it tickles, trying to push him back. “Gator!”

“What?” He’s smirking against your skin, you can feel it. “Just tryin’ to help ya’ decide faster.”

“Sheesh, fine,” You giggle, squirming in his grasp. He doesn’t let go. “I meant the sex, asshole. … I do like being a pain in your ass, though.”

“Yeah, you’re a fuckin’ pro at it,” Gator murmurs, blowing another raspberry into your neck. You’re wiggling out of his grasp, but he pulls you back in. “What happened to watching the movie?”

“Someone decided to distract me.”

Gator finally lets go, holding his hands up, “I didn’t do nothin’.”

You side eye him before rolling over, reaching for the remote on the coffee table to start the movie, leaving him to spoon you. You can’t see the smirk he’s got on, but you can absolutely sense it.

———

The movie’s an hour in, and you’re casually watching, while conversation pops up here and there between Gator and you. It’s lighthearted, or just reminiscing on the past, but one thing leads to another, and Gator can’t help asking the question that’s been on his mind all day.

“Hey, earlier when we were talkin’ about what you like,” He starts off so casually, as if it wasn’t while he was drilling you into the mattress. “You mentioned something about ‘the sleepy thing’… did that mean—“

“S- somnophilia?” You squeak out, and you feel him nod behind you. “Mhm, I just was, uh, having a hard time with words.”

Gator lets out a breathy laugh, tickling the edge of your ear. “Just checkin’,” he’s cuddling closer into you from behind, pretending to innocently brush up against your backside. He’s already getting hard. “Giving or receiving?”

You’re trying to focus on the movie, not on the fact that his throbbing member is against your ass, barely covered by his sweatshirt you’ve been wearing. “Both, if the other person is okay with it, obviously. Why?”

You knew why. You just like hearing him talk about what he’s into, and secretly, you’re enjoying this whole guessing process with your own kinks.

“I just like learnin’ about ya’, got a lot to catch up on.” Gator nonchalantly answers as one hand travels down your thigh slowly, then back up. He repeats the motion, causing goosebumps to rise along your skin.

“More like you just like learning about my kinks,” you deadpan, about to turn around to face him, but he stops you, holding you in place.

“Watch the movie, it’s almost over.” Gator’s order comes out as a whisper as he kisses your neck slowly. You shiver, trying to pay attention to the screen, but you’re more focused on how he’s touching and teasing you.

His hand caresses up your leg one more time, high up your thigh, passing under the hem of the sweatshirt. As he grips your hip, he groans, only feeling bare skin. “Darlin’, where’s your underwear?”

You’re holding back any noises he’s trying to pull out of you, answering in a strained voice, “Upstairs…”

Gator digs his fingers into your plush curves, nails scratching at your skin. “Why’s that?”

You try turning around again, but whine when he faces you forward. You huff out, “You know why.”

“Ohhhhh, okay, got it.” Gator’s fingers crawl towards your heat, cruelly tracing the skin around where your folds begin. You squirm, trying to get his touch closer to where you need him most, but he pulls back, gripping your hip again to keep it in place. “You have a hard time staying still, huh? Needy lil’ thing.”

“Gator, stop teasing.” You groan, pushing back into him despite his forceful hold on you.

“Teasing? Dunno what you’re talkin’ about, babe.” He swiftly pulls his pants down, freeing himself before sliding between your thighs. His length rubs along your cunt, causing you to mewl and reach back to him, trying to find something to hold. “Never met a girl who gets this wet so fast.”

“Yeah? Out of, what, the other two or three girls you’ve ever fucked?” Your hand lands on his leg, digging your nails in as he rubs against your clit, but he shoves your hand back to you.

“Hands to yourself.” He murmurs while rubbing the head of his cock against your clit slowly before finally pushing in. “This what ya’ wanted? What you hoped for when you came down here without pants on?”

You’re adjusting to his size; for the third time he’s inside you, it’s still a big stretch, one that makes your mouth fall open as your eyes roll back.

“Uh-huh,” you breathe as he fully stretches you out and fills you up. Your walls tightly hug around him, and he shudders once he’s in to the hilt. “Why? Is there a problem with that?”

“Nope, just didn’t expect a lil’ thing like you to be an insatiable slut.” He grunts, starting a slow pace of fucking you. He pushes your sweatshirt up, grabbing at your tits while he’s groaning into your ear. “Fuck, I love how soft y’are.”

That makes you roll your ass back into him, “Y’haven’t even heard everything I like… or what I’ve done, how ya’ gonna call me a slut without knowin’?”

“Not yet, but you’re gonna start talkin’ if you want me to keep fuckin’ ya.” He pulls his hips back, nearly pulling out completely. “Go ‘head, brat. Tell me.”

“Fine,” You intentionally clench around him as he pushes back in, pulling a loud moan out of him. Bluntly, you admit, “Pretty much everything you were lookin’ up.”

“Fuckin’ knew it. Fuckin’ told you we’re—“ A strangled gasp left him as you tighten around him again. “We’re more alike than you wanna admit.”

“Maybe, but I might be more intense than you can handle, tough guy.” You’re doing your best to stay focused, but the way he fills you up is starting to make you dizzy with pleasure. “Wax play’s one.”

Gator scoffs like it’s nothing to him, but his cock twitches inside you, telling you otherwise. “Okay, and?” He snaps his hips into yours, sharply hitting your g-spot.

“Fuckin’ hell, Gator…” You whine as he does it again. “Cryin’. Forget the name for it but I like it when it feels so good it hurts. Or it’s too much. Overstimulation, too.”

“Big deal.” He tries ignoring how he’s throbbing inside of you.

“Breeding kink.”

Gator chokes on air, making you laugh.

“Spit kink.”

“You- huh? That’s a thing?” Gator’s pace stutters along with his words.

“I like takin’ control too. Not often, but it’d be fun with you, that’s f’sure.”

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck—“ Gator’s trying to keep it together, but just the thought of you dominating him is about to make him lose it. “What else, darlin’? There’s gotta be more with a slut like you.”

“Impact play… only the light stuff, though,” You’re grabbing Gator’s hand, bringing his fingers to your mouth. In between lightly sucking on them, you admit, “Oral fixations, too.” He’s unable to hold composure, whining into your neck and biting down; you push his hand away.

“L- light stuff? Like what?”

“Spankin’, but that’s common. Who doesn’t like that?” You’re enjoying the way he’s falling apart behind you. “I like bein’ slapped though. Only when it’s consensual. Oh, haven’t done it yet, but I wanna have a threesome before I die, so there’s that.”

“Wh- wait, what have you done?”

“I’ll let you figure that out, daddy.”

Gator can’t control the orgasm that sneaks up on him, hard and fast. He spills into you, filling you up as his moans echo around the room. He’s got a death grip on you as he sloppily finishes, twitching and tremors rolling through his entire body.

“Aw, Gator, it’s okay baby,” You taunt in a sweet voice dripping with venom. “It’s hard hearin’ all that while you’re buried in this tight cunt, huh? Poor thing.”

He’s panting and groaning, aftershocks still controlling his body. “Shut- shut up.”

“You can stay in me, it’s alright.”

Gator goes to pull out, but you push back into him.

“Hey Gator?” You drop the sweet act, mocking him from earlier. “Stay.”

His cock twitches even as it’s going soft. “I’m not a fuckin’ dog.”

You shrug. “You’re gonna stay here until I get off, got it?”

“Fuck— baby, please, it hurts.” Gator pleads, overstimulated. You shake your head.

“Thought you wanted to hear more, but you can leave if ya’ want.” Gator doesn’t move. “Thought so. Hm… what else is there? Pretty much everythin’ you like, I do, too, but it goes both ways. Would love cuffin’ you to the bed, leave ya’ there with a vibrator tied to ya’. Listen to you pathetically plead and moan for a break from another room.”

“Jesus fuckin’ christ, darlin’.”

“Would you be a good boy for me?” You ask, grinding down on his cock, already becoming hard again. Still, he’s over sensitive, crying out at the intensity of pleasure flooding back. “I can take care of you too, Gator.”

His hips involuntarily buck into you, and he cries out again.

“Knife play is appealing, but I haven’t found anyone I trust enough yet for that.” You admit, hand reaching down to touch yourself. Gator beats you to it, playing with your swollen clit. You constrict around him and arch your back, crying out. “You ever do it?”

Gator shakes his head while he’s against your shoulder. “N- no, been too nervous or never— oh, god—“ His cock kicks in you, fully hard and throbbing again.

“C’mon, Gator, you can give me one more, can’t you?” Your sickeningly sweet tone is back, both mocking and encouraging him to cum again. “I’ll let you do somethin’ different this time.”

His head perks up, glancing over your shoulder at you. “What’s th- that?”

“Cum on my face, daddy?” You ask softly, and that ignites something in him. His hips piston into you roughly. “Tell me when you’re close.”

Only seconds pass before he’s stumbling over his words, “I— m’gonna- I have— baby please—“

In a fluid string of motions, you pull off of Gator, sliding to the floor on your knees, mouth wide open with your tongue stuck out, waiting for his release. The sight alone is enough to finish Gator off; shakily, he pushes up to aim his arousal at you, spilling all over your face and into your mouth. Some ends up in your hair, on his sweatshirt, and the floor, but he doesn’t care. He can’t give a flying fuck when the hottest girl he’s ever known is on her knees for him, happily waiting to be covered by his release.

Gator falls back onto the couch when he’s finished, completely drained- figuratively and literally. He watches you swallow with a smile, still an absolute mess everywhere else.

“Fuck… I wanna kiss ya’ so bad,” Gator breathes. You figure he’s hesitant because his arousal is all over your face, but you shrug.

“I won’t tell anyone if ya’ do.” It’s not a big deal to you, and you always found it silly how most men found it gross or “not manly”, but you know Gator was raised on toxic masculinity, believing even something like this should be embarrassing. “Promise.”

Gator waits a beat before murmuring, “Fuck it, c’mere.” Before you can move, he pulls on the collar of your sweatshirt, leading you off the floor and onto his lap. His lips are on yours in an instant, hesitant at first, then he gets into it, tongue running along your bottom lip, tasting himself as he keeps kissing you, groaning into your mouth.

You pull back, breathless, and notice he’s got a tiny bit of his own mess on his face now. You point to his nose, “Y’got somethin’ there.” He rolls his eyes.

“That was gross,” Gator mumbles, but he doesn’t look disgusted. “… Why’d I like it?”

“Because it’s hot. Sometimes that’s all the explanation you need.” You’re dying to collapse into his arms, but you desperately need to wash your body and clothes. “I need a shower, you joinin’ me?”

———

“I just realized, you never got to finish, did ya’?”

You’re in a content haze when his words pull you back to reality. “Oh. Guess I didn’t. S’okay, I don’t mind, I got to make you feel good.” You smile with heavy, hooded eyes, exhaustion catching up to you.

The two of you are in the old porcelain tub, Gator holding you as you lay back on him. You’re both clean by this point, just enjoying the warmth of the water and one another. It’s comforting enough to make you drowsy. You begin drifting off to sleep, and Gator notices, gently shaking you awake.

“Darlin’, we should get out first before you fall asleep.”

You shake your head, eyes still heavy. “Too much effort.”

Gator laughs softly, “Hey, I still have that big air mattress, maybe we can blow it up and put it downstairs? Keep watchin’ movies? Or whatever you want.”

Your eyes open a little at that, and you nod. “Yeah, that’d be really nice, Gator.”

“M’sorry I didn’t have anything to make cookies or any holiday stuff like that.”

“S’okay, we still made it a good day.” You murmur, trying to fight sleep. “Thank you for today, Gator.”

Gator’s watching you drift back to sleep, feeling guilty he has to wake you back up, but for a second, he admires how at ease you seem while so close and vulnerable with him.

“We did,” He agrees, shaking you awake again before pushing you up off of him. “But it’ll turn bad if ya’ drown in the tub. Let’s go set the mattress up so you can get your sleepy ass to bed.”

#gator tillman x fem!reader #gator tillman x y/n #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman smut #my fics #sorry I’ve been flooding the tags!! im done for a bit after this one i promise!! #just felt bad i didnt get this posted in time for christmas lol but close enough whatever #part time soulmate full time problem

[aviteirs]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ loving gojo satoru is cruel

note: hello dazzling you, you who by some miracle (algorithm) ended up here reading my little story, but I’m grateful, grateful that you took your time to even read this. This is my first time writing something like this so, crossing my fingers like Ken, hopefully you will like it.

“sadly too many of us stay together far longer than we should because it’s easier to say I love you than it is to say I don’t” - Beau Taplin

pairing: Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

synopsis: you understand your relationship has become toxic but after so many years with Gojo, you still love him and can’t let go.

warnings: pure angst, mention of cheating, sorcerer!Gojo x non-sorcerer!reader, hurt, did I tell you it’s angsty?, toxic established relationship

The room is dark and quiet, you’re on your bed staring at the glow in the dark star stickers scattered across the ceiling. Those stars a beautiful surprise he had given you some time ago right after you confessed you were having trouble sleeping due to recurring nightmares.

“Now you,” he points to the ceiling and you giggle, “my loyal star soldiers are in charge of keeping my precious princess safe when I’m not here,” he says giving you that grin you have come to adore and you laugh thankfully, cause maybe it is childish or sappy, no, maybe he is childish and sappy but you don’t care, you’re just so happy, he makes you just so happy.

You keep staring.

The stars don’t glow as much anymore, you notice, just a dim light remains and for a moment you think that maybe they are like you, they keep fighting cause they’re hopeful that things can go back to normal and that they can go back to glowing just as bright as they did before. A stupid thought you push aside.

You keep on staring for what feels like an eternity until the sound of the apartment door opening snaps you back to reality.

Turning your head, you glance at the clock sitting on the bedside table beside you.

2:35 a.m

There was a time, not too long ago, where you would’ve excitedly jumped out of your bed to welcome home the beautiful man of your dreams after days of not seeing him, courtesy of the long missions he’s always getting. And he would happily throw his things on the floor and remove his mask, just so he could open his arms for you to melt in, immediately kissing you with the same hunger and need and love as you.

You pretend you’re asleep.

A few minutes later you hear the bedroom door open. Keeping your eyes shut, you hear him call out your name. Your heart clenches. You ignore him. He waits for a few second then you hear him getting into the bathroom and re-emerging again, plopping down beside you. He must be really tired cause he immediately falls asleep.

He’s so close, you can feel the heat radiating from his body, so you try your best to even out your breathing in an effort to calm and stop yourself from shaking him awake and demand lies answers from him.

Thanks to his sorcerer friend you know he arrived four days ago.

He has been here for four days and didn’t tell you

As a non-sorcerer you are prohibited from knowing details of the missions they are given, being strictly confidential and all. Fortunately, your boyfriend never was the one to respect or follow rules so you always knew everything, and this time was no exception, so naturally you knew there was another sorcerer, one you’d met before, accompanying him. Safe to say it was a very awkward meeting when three days ago you bumped into him at the supermarket.

“Nanami?” You blurt out, stupidly staring at the blond tall man as if he has grown another head. He gives you a confused look before he greets you as politely as ever.

“Sorry for sounding weird,” you immediately try to explain yourself, “I thought you were also going with Satoru to that trip but I must’ve heard him wrong or something.” You try not to show any hint of emotion when he gives you another confused look and says, “I did go, the mission was cut short so we arrived yesterday. I thought you knew.”

For a very foolish, or maybe hopeful, moment you wanted to believe your boyfriend was just busy giving his report to those annoying higher ups he’s always whining about.

Unfortunately, you knew him better than to allow yourself to believe that.

So you decide to wait, that’s all you seem to be doing lately anyway, for him to choose to come home. To come home to you. While also doing the impossible of not giving in, grabbing your phone and reaching out to him and ask stupid questions like where is he, who is he with, why he still hasn’t come home.

Stupid questions because you know their answers, of course you do, it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. Sudden disappearances with no explanations, the once long texts and calls reduced to just the occasional hello, forgetting dates you both had already planned, his credit card purchases showing one too many gifts that you never received, lipstick stains on his shirts that could never be yours, you have never worn those shades of lipstick after all. But love is blind, love is stupid, love is forgiving that person over and over again because you don’t know what’s worse, them hurting you or the thought of never seeing them again. So you stay, despite the obvious lies that it’s all in your head cause he would never do that to you and the continuos heartbreaks, you stay.

Love is cruel.

Loving Gojo Satoru is cruel.

Life is cruel as well cause you are painfully well aware that you can’t bring yourself to hate him because, even as much as you want to, you can’t solely blame him for how toxic this has become. You have to admit it is also your fault, yours and your stupid stubborn heart that prefers the crumbs of a dead love you refuse to let go than learning to live a life without him in it.

After all, you open your eyes and turn your body to face him. Strands of that beautiful white hair of his fall to his face, his long eyelashes flutter softly and he snores softly, he is so cruelly and painfully beautiful, you lift your hand to caress him but you stop yourself just in time.

No matter how many times you tell yourself to let go and be over with this, you still love him, you love him so much it hurts.

And it will continue to hurt, cause maybe you’re just too weak to let him go or maybe he’s too much of a coward and a selfish bastard to not tell you the truth, he doesn’t love you, not anymore, not how he used to. Or maybe it’s both, but either way you won’t can’t let each other go.

#jjk x fem!reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #toxic love #gojo satoru #nanami kento #jjk angst #angst #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen angst #gojo angst

[psychedelicprincess]

Hearts / Wires

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN!Reader

♡ Summary - What a hard man to read, he is. Secretive, mysterious, fragile. You want to find a way the cut through the wires that hold his heart back from feeling; anything to get through his tough outer shell. Acquaintance, friend, lover. Anything that keeps you close to him. The problem? He isn't ready to let anybody in yet.

♡ Content Warnings - Mentions of injury, mentions of rough feelings, romantic confusion, lots of joking around, mentions of marriage, mentions of death ... nobody actually dies.

♡ A/N - Hii! I just got back into writing, so this may be rough. Anyways - please enjoy reading! Feedback is appreciated!!

Word count - 1.8k

(Many, many anatomical terms! This is my way of studying for anatomy class lolllll....)

Nothing can save me now, it’s what I believe. 

“Snap out of it,” He muttered against your ear. “We have things we need to do.” You glance up at him, gathering your thoughts and running your hand down your shirt in an awkward attempt to cease the wrinkles. 

“Right. Sorry, L.T.” He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even dare to look your way. “Whatever. Don’t call me that. You’re wasting time.” He scolds, breaking the airy silence. You hear his radio crackle to life, a familiar voice chattering on the other side. Simon gets up and stomps away, leaving you sitting in your torn, mangled desk chair alone.  

You barely register when your radio goes off, signaling a soldier on the way to your infirmary for a gash. You grab the radio softly, confirming that you’re there, your meek voice barely signaling your presence. 

An argument with your “friend,” if you could even call him that – it felt more like slight acquaintance sometimes, wasn’t part of this morning's schedule. He had gotten a nasty infection just below his right clavicle, and you fought him with the fact that he was not fine at all, and you needed a closer look. Of course, Simon is a stubborn man. It took you multiple attempts to get him to finally peel his clothes off to the point where you could see his collar bones. 

After examining and cleaning his wound, he decided he’d had enough and got up, berating you for wasting time on something so unnecessary and walking out into the four-a.m. darkness after pulling his clothes back on the way they were before. Such a confusing man, he was. 

You push past your thoughts and take a swig of water before guiding your patient onto the infirmary bed, putting a new pair of medical gloves and a new medical mask on. 

♡

The infirmary was quiet today since you had stayed back, that was until Simon came back in the afternoon with a fresh batch of wounds, ranging from near the ulna down to his tarsals. His pants were torn, same as his right sleeve, you’ve never seen him this butchered before. 

“What happened to you?” You ask, still taking mental notes of every visible injury. “Mind your damn business.” He snaps. You glare at him before regaining composure, beckoning him to sit down on the freshly made bed.  

“I’m going to need you to remove as much clothing as possible,” You start, “Or at least as much as you’re comfortable with.” He thinks to himself for a moment. “No.” 

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean no, Simon. I can’t see anything through that fabric, I'm not a fucking X-ray machine.” He looks up at you in disapproval. “I don’t want to be here. I was forced – this was against my will. I’m bloody fine, dammit.” He starts to stand up, but you’re quick to push him back down. This shocks him enough to stay in place, mindlessly and silently staring up at you. 

“I’m going to examine you through your clothes first. Stay put.” You turn away to replace your gloves once more, retrieving a folder with every single injury you’ve ever treated Simon for. You think about it for a second, you’ve seen him so much, you wonder why he still seems to dislike you. Maybe he’s just like this with everyone, but you don’t want to bring yourself to believe a human could be this cold. 

You walk back over to him, opening the folder to a clean incident report sheet and starting your examination near his fibia. You massage your way to his tibia, feeling for fractures. It’s hard to tell through the thick, layered clothing he was wearing. Not wanting to give up, you drag your hands up to his femur, past his patella. Your hand doesn’t compare to the size of his thigh, especially while sitting down. The intense muscle build he had going didn’t seem to help either. 

You can feel his gaze on you, deciding you’ve examined his legs to the best of your ability, you move to his arms. Feeling from his humerus to his carpals, his stare never weakened, instead, it felt stronger. You’re holding his right hand up now, before averting your gaze over to his. “...What?” You ask. “What?” He reciprocates. “You’re staring at me.” “Well, what else do you expect me to look at?” You fall silent at his response, starting to toy with his fingers.  

His ring finger feels off. As you worked up to his distal phalange, the finger seemed to get more disoriented. You must’ve touched it wrong while deep in concern because he flinches. 

"Did that hurt?" You drop your fingers back to the proximal. He doesn't respond. You huff and take his silence as an embarrassed 'yes'.

♡

"...Are you almost done?" He breaks the silence, "We aren't even five minutes into the examination." You groan, locking eyes with him for a long moment, watching his pupils dilate. "Now you're the one staring at me." He adds quickly. "Okay?" Your tone is confused and careless, sounding almost sarcastic. Once more, the room falls silent as you finally conclude the exam. "Now it's time for the fun part. Stitching you back together." You hop up, placing the sheet of paper down on your desk to fill out later. Simon would never let you examine him long enough to fill it out while you examine him.

"You seem rather excited about that part," He says, making you look back at him with a satisfied grin, "Fuckin' weirdo." You stifle a small laugh at his words. "You're funny. Veeery funny." You say, trying to sound as uninterested as possible. His heart skips a beat, but it goes unnoticed. "Funnier than you," He scoffs, "Wanna hear a joke?"

You ponder for a second. "Hit me." You finally say. He looks up at you, seemingly trying to force eye contact. "What happens to suicide bombers when they die?" You furrow your eyebrows and look down at him. "...What?" "They go everywhere."

You take a second to process what was just said to you, completely frozen in your spot as your nose slowly scrunches up. "That was.. Definitely a joke." You continue collecting the items you'd need to aid him. "Indeed."

Your thoughts are racing with denial of the fact that you're so infatuated with this man, his stupid joke didn't phase you, other than the fact that it was horrendous. Did you really like him that much? You've never even seen his face. His personality wasn't exactly to die for, either. Yet, something drew you to him, every time you spent "alone time" with him, the rope that intertwined your hearts grew thicker and stronger. It felt like his heart was made of blades, every time he managed to cut you away on accident - or maybe it was on purpose - you'd have to build the rope stronger again. His cold-hearted attitude didn't seem intentional, it's not like he ignored you or--

"Wake up. Don't got all day. Stitch me up already, Doc." You're pulled from your thoughts abruptly, giving a nervous laugh. "Sorry. On it." Your mind clears and you turn your gaze towards him. "...You still need to take your clothes off." You remind him, and his face drops, you could tell by the way his eyes phased from wide awake to half-lidded. "I've already told you no." He bites. "And I've already told you I can't see through your clothes."

The clock ticks as you both sit there in silence. He tries to get up. "Simon - Sit back down, now. You aren't leaving." He groans and complies. "You can't keep me here forever." "Oh, but I could."

He looks up at you, disgusted. "We both know that wouldn't do any good." You faux pout. "I could use the company." "I'm not exactly what you'd call good company." You cock your head to the side. "What do you mean by that?" He doesn't respond, so you decide to drop it.

♡

"Wanna hear another joke?" He asks. You're halfway through the stitches on his upper arm, after practically begging him to let you do your job. "...Okay." You nod. "Want to know how you make any salad into a caesar salad?" He questions. You glance up at him, signaling him to continue. "Stab it twenty-three times." His joke took a minute to process, but once you got it, you looked even more concerned than the last time. "How did you come up with that?" You ask. "I didn't." You cock a brow. "What?" "Oh, nothing."

You were thoroughly confused, nonetheless, you were glad he was easing up. You also drank in the sound of his voice like liquor, you wouldn't mind if he told you horrible jokes for hours.

"Where did Joe go after getting lost on a minefield?" He asks. "Where?" "Everywhere."

That one actually made you laugh. Finishing his stitches, your mouth is agape as humorous laughter spills.

"So you do think I'm funny?" He cocks his head. "That depends on if that joke was a 'Simon-original' or not." You giggle. "Simon original? What the fuck? Are you shittin' me?" "No, no. I would never." You smile, and he shakes his head. "You know what I think?" He asks. You hum. "I think you're a dirty little liar." You gasp. "Simon Riley! Not until marriage." He's confused until he realizes how degrading he sounded. "Smarten up." He growls. "I'm as smart as they get." You shrug.

Marriage now paraded his mind. Of course, he'd never admit that. He didn't want to get married. Pssh...

"Speaking of marriage..." You interrupt his thoughts. "Would you ever get married?" You interrogate. "...No."

"Oh. I would. I've wanted to get married since I was little. Sometimes when I'm alone and bored in here, I think about my dream wedding." You confess. "C'mon, you've had to have thought about it at least once or twice."

"I never said I didn't think about it..." His voice trails off into a quiet whisper. "Can we drop it?" You notice how his tone has changed, realizing you've probably just crossed a boundary.

It's silent, almost deafening as all you can hear is the weather outside. "I'm really sorry for bringing that up, Simon. I didn't-"

"I'd get married to you." You're taken aback at the sudden interruption. "...What?" He rolls his eyes. "Never-fucking-min-"

"...I'd get married to you, too." You interrupt him this time. He's completely silent now, as were you. "Would you, now?" You can sense his bold aura washing away. You gulp. "I would. Matter of fact, I'd throw on a white dress right now and kiss you and call you my husband."

Your cheeks heat up, your tone coming off in a joking way. "What are you waiting for?" He's not nervous anymore, relishing in the way his words make you smile.

"M'waiting for you, Simon."

#simon riley #cod mw #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley imagine #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #soft #fluff #simon riley fluff #call of duty mw2 #mw2

[fluffyhare]

Like Real People Do ♡ (Casper x Avery)

☁️ Summary: Casper moves to a new town. A peaceful morning longboard ride along the boardwalk leads to a chance encounter~! This story is written in first-person (Casper's) perspective.

☁️ Warnings: Light tickling (accidental + clinical setting), mild injury (no blood or gore), death mention (no actual death). Loneliness/insecurity mention.

☁️ Author's Note: This is my first fic (ever, lol, not just with these characters) so I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know if the tags/warnings are wrong and I will fix them. I am so thankful for the support and love I have received for my characters, it means so much to me.♡

This is a series now!

Part 1 *you are here

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

If you just got here and want to know more about my characters, you can read my comic starting right here!

"Alright, go ahead and lie back," the doctor instructed as she pulled the extender out from the examination table. I did so, swinging my legs up and planting my socked feet on the extender. Goosebumps rose on my arms as the cold vinyl was easily felt through my thin t-shirt. My eyes traced the borders of the sterile white ceiling tiles, my lips pursing as I prepared to be examined. "I'm just going to feel your belly, okay?"

“Just,” I thought.

"Okay," I sighed, and then locked my teeth together. Perspiration formed between the vinyl and my clammy palms, and a familiar heat began to creep from my ears across my cheeks. Invisible under my soft layer of pudge, my stomach muscles knitted together. As she leaned over the table, I avoided the doctor's eyes, as if one glance would betray some emotion a little too complex -- a little too personal -- for a routine checkup.

She lifted my shirt to the bottom of my ribcage, prompting a shiver as the cold air rushed over my bare skin. Her icy fingers began to unceremoniously probe my stomach; starting above my bellybutton, she pressed and prodded in a seemingly random pattern. Toes curling, I tried to steel myself, to compose my face in a mask of indifference, even as I felt my blush deepen. My belly trembled as her fingers traveled down each side, then lower, pressing into the spots just inside each of my hip bones. I twitched, my composure faltering. Mercifully, I was able to quash my giggle into a sound more akin to a cough.

“Did that hurt?”

“Ah, no, it's just… sensitive,” I answered, cleaning my throat to lend more credibility to my coughing.

“Okay, good. You can sit up now.”

I sat up – a little too quickly – cursing myself as my head spun.

“Well, you're very healthy. We'll keep an eye on that low BP, just make sure you stay hydrated, exercise, yadda yadda, you know the drill,” she prattled as I prepared to leave, jamming my feet into my shoes without untying them.

I checked out at the front desk and got in my car. Once safely in the driver’s seat, a relieved sigh rolled from my chest. In the privacy of my sun-bleached and beat-to-hell Versa, I could admit, at least, in my mind: while I enjoyed being ticklish, it did make doctor visits a challenge at times.

Back at home, the rest of my Saturday proceeded without incident. My new job offered weekends off, a pleasant change from the unpredictable schedule of my previous position. Since I had just moved to Port Oleander, though, I didn't have anyone to spend them with. Most of the time, that was okay; I was pretty introverted, but I did get lonely sometimes. Well… more often than I liked to admit.

Standing over the sink, I ate dinner – leftover chicken with rice and green beans – while watching YouTube on my phone. I took a shower and brushed my teeth. In bed I watched the ceiling fan spin in the dark, trying to follow the tips of each blade with my eyes, until it gently hypnotized me to sleep.

+++

When I awoke, the room was dark and still. Rolling over, I grabbed my phone and checked the time, blinding myself with the backlight I had forgotten to turn down. Four a.m.

I mopped a sweaty hand over my face. For no reason I could discern, I had been waking up three hours before my alarm every day for the past month. With no hope of going back to sleep, I would scroll on my phone, waiting until it was time to get out of bed. Today felt different, though. While I would generally awaken groggy and irritable, today, I was restless and alert.

Summer was hot and humid in my new city, so I pulled on a pair of cargo shorts, my most breathable binder, and a loose t-shirt. “It’s supposed to be nice today. Maybe if I ride my longboard, I'll run into some other skaters and make a friend or something,” I thought, then blushed in spite of myself. Not very many people skated anymore, especially not in my age group, and even if I did run into someone… would they want to befriend a visibly queer person like me? Would I even be safe? Oleander seemed generally more open-minded than my hometown, but since moving there, I had already been the recipient of enough sour looks to make me gun-shy.

I shook my head to stop the spiral.

“All I can do is try.”

+++

Yellow streetlight bathed the boardwalk pavement as I made lazy, wide carves down the vacant street. Aromas of coffee, food and ocean spray enveloped me as businesses began to open. The smooth pavement was a refreshing change from the rough sidewalks where I had grown up, and with my wheels gliding like marbles on glass, I barely needed to push. Clean, cool air filled my lungs and whistled through my short hair, pulling negative thoughts from my mind. It was more than a plank of wood with some metal and wheels attached; it was a magic carpet, and I lived to fly.

I thought it was a glass bottle catching the light as it bobbed in the surf, but as I looked closer, I became more convinced that it was not a single object; it didn’t just shine, it glittered, as if someone had spilled a container of sequins in the water. Unlike debris, though, the sparkly mass did not follow the swell of the waves. Seeming to act of its own accord, it moved toward the coast and then back, vertically upward and then down, hovering just above the water. Squinting in the pre-dawn light, I could have sworn it had a smokey, blurry haze around it, too. There was something distinctly alive about its movements. Transfixed, I watched it move almost playfully as it bobbed and weaved along the coast.

I surfed along the boardwalk, watching the sky lighten in shades of red and orange as it prepared to welcome the sun. It was my first time visiting the boardwalk since moving to Oleander, and as I coasted, I came to a pier that stretched way out into the water.

“That might be a cool place to watch the sunrise,” I mused. Angling my feet into a turn, I felt my wheels roll over the wood slats, gently vibrating my feet up to my hips. I was surprised at how soft the wood felt; it rattled a bit, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The pier was dotted with awnings and folded-up stands, but no vendors had opened yet, and I was glad for the lack of pedestrians to avoid. I pushed hard as I cruised down the pier, feeling the cool salt spray on my bare arms and face. As I looked out across the water, something caught my eye.

By the time I looked up, it was too late. I slammed my foot down to brake, but the slick wood did nothing to stop my forward momentum. My arms pinwheeled as my stomach connected with the guardrail at 10mph. It was only then that I realized just how high the end of the pier was. Shock and vertigo seized my body as I flipped over the rail, hands grasping uselessly at empty air. The next few moments of my experience proceeded as a flashback.

I was nine years old, crying on a beach chair at the public pool. I had jumped off the high-dive for the first time, my skin stinging and red as my dad wrapped me in a towel and sat beside me. He rubbed my back. “You were brave for jumping, angel, but you gotta be careful how you hit the water next time, okay? Water is just like concrete if you’re too high.”

“I wonder if I’ll see him again,” was my last thought as I plummeted into unconsciousness.

+++

The first thing I became aware of was a high-pitched whistle, followed by a musty scent, like wet stone and paper. I opened my eyes to a small, circular room.

Across from me, just beyond the foot of the bed I was lying in, was a red door. The walls were white-painted brick and featured bookshelves that practically exploded with books. “This isn't a bedroom with some books,” I thought, dazed, “it’s a library with a bed in it.” From every available wall space hung scientific illustrations of all kinds. Above my head, a tall window flooded the room with sunlight.

I tried to sit up, causing pain to radiate from my stomach. I was hurt, and this wasn't a hospital, meaning I was in someone else's home… in someone else's bed.

My mind scrambled to fill in the blanks. I woke up too early, again. I was skateboarding. I could smell pancakes and coffee. I wanted to watch the sunrise from the end of the pier. My feet tingled as I recalled my wheels rolling over the wooden slats; it seemed to go on forever. Did I make it to the end? Wait… what was that in the water?

Whatever happened next must have led to my injury. Did someone attack me? I couldn't remember seeing anyone on the pier, but maybe I was wrong. Did I fall?

Immediately, I checked my clothes. They weren't wet, which meant I didn't hit the water, but my back felt a bit damp… perhaps from sweat. How long was I unconscious? Frantically, I jammed my hands in my pockets, looking for my phone. Not only was it gone, so were my wallet and keys. Fuck!

With some difficulty, I kicked my feet out from under the heavy quilt and tried to stand. For the first time, I noticed that the bed had a small table beside it. All my effects were there, along with a glass of water and some over-the-counter painkillers. I urgently checked my phone.

“Six P.M.?!”

I had been sleeping in a stranger's bed for at least eight hours. No, probably even longer. I thrust everything into my pockets and made for the door, feeling a flash of fear that it might be locked. Mercifully, it wasn't.

The door opened with a creak that was loud, but did not travel as the hallway was incredibly small. Stairs led both to and from the tiny landing, going so far in each direction, I could not see where they terminated. Whipping my head around, I looked out the window. I could see nothing but sky. Was I in a tower?

I heard movement from above me. Whoever it was that brought me here was coming back. I started to descend the stairs, as quickly as my aching stomach would allow.

“Wait, stop, please!” A man's voice called down the spiral corridor.

I didn't stop, though. Racing down the steps, I practically tripped over my own feet as I scrambled to escape. Maybe he didn't kidnap me – he did leave all of my belongings, after all – but I wasn't sticking around to find out. My heart thundered in my chest as sweat broke out all over my body. The stairs seemed to go on forever, and I could hear the stranger behind me the whole time I ran, begging me to stop.

“Please, you'll hurt yourself! Please stop!”

When I finally reached the bottom, I threw open the heavy door and gasped as I was met with a cold spray of seawater in my face. Far in the distance, across miles of ocean, I could see the coast. Desperately looking from side to side, I saw that the tower was surrounded completely by water. There was no escape.

“Please… don't go any further. There's no way off this island. Please, I don't want you to get hurt.”

A hand on my shoulder made me jump. As I spun to face the stranger, all the blood drained from my face.

I was stricken by how tall he was, dwarfing me by at least a foot. His skin – if you could call it skin – had the appearance of thick white smoke trapped in a bottle, seeming to billow and roll beneath the surface. Most strange of all was his head. I could see the faintest outline of a human-shaped face, but it expanded outward from the sides and top, forming rolling peaks like a cloud. In the center were two large eyes, the irises and lashes of which were both stark white. Despite the creature’s fantastical appearance, he wore a simple blue button-down shirt and slacks.

Suddenly, I felt sure that I had died on that pier. Perhaps I fell. Perhaps I was still falling even now, synapses grasping at straws, presenting a frenzied hallucination before death. I could feel my grip on consciousness slipping, like flat shoes sliding on ice.

“Please don't hurt me,” I whimpered, fighting the pressure behind my ears and eyes.

“My dear, you being harmed is exactly what I am trying to prevent.”

“What are you? Am I dead?”

“I'll explain everything, okay? Please come back inside,” he pleaded, offering me his hand. My strength was fading fast. Deciding that the risk of trusting this stranger was preferable to collapsing in his doorway, I took it.

+++

Like the bedroom I had awoken in, the lighthouse kitchen was filled with sunlight as I sat at the table. Riding above the ever-present scents of sea, stone, and paper, the dining room air was thick with bergamot and lavender.

“I know it's summer, but I drink hot tea year-round. Would you like some?” he asked.

I suddenly became aware of just how thirsty I was, having been unconscious for so long, followed immediately by a frantic jog down the longest staircase of my life.

“Please,” I croaked.

I watched the back of the cloud-man’s head as he prepared the tea, my brain immediately connecting the loud whistle I had awoken to with his old-fashioned kettle.

He took a seat across from me, porcelain clattering softly as he placed the teacup and saucer in front of me. I sipped, relieved at the familiar and comforting flavor of earl grey.

“Listen… I'm… very sorry. It's really my fault you ended up here… that you got hurt.”

I looked up from my tea, brow furrowed. His eyes were pained as he stared at the vinyl kitchen floor.

“I was collecting sea glass and I lost track of time. When it's dark, humans can't really see me, so I usually do it at night,” he glanced up at me, the faintest hint of blue tinting under his eyes, “when I saw you watching me, I was just going to disappear into the water… but then I saw you hit the end of the pier. You hit it so hard. I got to you before you fell into the water, but you were already unconscious. I didn't know what to do... so I brought you here, to my lighthouse.”

His face was a mask of apprehension and regret. I had no memory of hitting the guardrail, but it did explain the bruise across my stomach.

He continued, “I’m not a medical doctor, but I've read many of your medical textbooks. I… examined you, while you were unconscious, to make sure you weren't seriously injured. Professionally, of course!” The blue tint under his eyes deepened and spread a bit as he stole another glance at me. Was he blushing?

I offered a humorless laugh. “Well, I'm glad you didn't take me to the hospital, my insurance doesn't cover that, and god knows I can't afford it. I've fallen off my skateboard before, it's no biggie. I'm sore, but I don't think it's, like, serious,” I supplied casually, trying to comfort him.

He perked up, just a little.

“I'm really very sorry, and I'm sorry if I scared you, too. I know that seeing me must have been quite a shock. I've read many of your books, and watched you on TV and on the computer, but I've never met a human before.”

Reality began to settle on me. I still wasn't totally convinced that I wasn't flailing in midair, moments from death and hallucinating vividly, but if this was real… then this was the coolest shit that had ever happened to me.

“Even – and perhaps, especially – if am about to die, what's the harm in playing along?” I thought.

“What… are you?” I asked.

He brightened a bit more, even managing a shy smile now.

“I believe in your language, the closest word to describe me would be ‘elemental.’ I learned that from one of your Dungeons and Dragons books. And, I do actually have a name,” he gained a bit of confidence here, giving a little hand flourish, followed by a bow, “Doctor Avery Nimbus, at your service.”

I giggled, and as I did, Avery’s face lit up; his grin was so big, it curved his eyes into half-moons. For a moment, I could swear the room was brighter, and a warmth spread through my chest.

He proceeded, “And you are…?”

“Well, my name is Casper. I'm just your regular ol, garden-variety human.”

“Casper, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said, extending a hand across the table. I clasped it gently, his large hand almost completely enveloping mine. His skin had an interesting texture, too; it was cold and soft, much softer than human skin, and I could feel the swirling tempest beneath it, like storm winds against a window pane. He held my hand for just a tick longer than I expected. By the time I looked up, he was already looking away.

“Ah… it's starting to get dark, now. I should take you home,” he said softly.

I frowned. I had so many more questions. A pit grew in my stomach as I thought of returning to the mundanity of my life after this experience, but I couldn't just drop everything, could I…? Besides, I was afraid of overstaying my welcome. I had been sleeping in his bed for hours.

“How do I even get home? You said there's no way off this island, and I didn't see a boat out there…”

Avery beamed again. This time, there was a sly twinkle in his pale eyes.

“Allow me to show you.”

+++

I gasped as Avery hoisted me into his arms, easily carrying me princesses-style despite my extra pounds. The night wrapped around us like a star-studded cloak, Avery's body nearly invisible in the darkness. He stood on the rocky edge of the tiny island, the crashing waves spraying us with salty mist.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Oh, god… as I'll ever be,” I whined, my hand clutching the fabric of his shirt.

“Then here we go~!”

With that, Avery leapt upward with incredible force, propelling us into the night sky. My stomach dropped as I squealed, memories of the drop-tower ride at my hometown amusement park flooding my mind. I hated that ride, but my brother always made me go with him. Avery was trembling, though, and it took a moment for me to realize it was because he was giggling.

“I always love takeoffs,” he tittered, and then began to walk across the air in slow, bouncing leaps. The cool night wind caressed my cheeks as I leaned into his chest, blushing and grateful he couldn't see it in the dark. Looking down on the city below us, I could see where the black of the shore met the twinkling yellow of the boardwalk lights. In that moment, I forbade any further notion of this being a hallucination; even if it wasn't real, I was going to live as though it was.

+++

My feet kissed the ground just outside of my door. Looking up, I stared into the glittering blackness of Avery's face, the bits of ice in his cloud-head catching the lights around the apartment courtyard.

“Will I see you again?” I asked.

“If you like, certainly.”

“Can you come back tomorrow night?” I blurted out, blushing brightly -- and now, there was definitely enough light for him to see it.

For the first time, Avery laughed a real, genuine laugh. It was a symphony that started as a tinkling of giggles, crescendoing into a hearty boom that rattled my chest like a thunder clap, tickling my ears and making them flush.

“Absolutely, dewdrop.”

#tickle fic #tickle fluff #tickling community #casper and avery #like real people do #fluffylore #writing #my fic #romance #tickling #ocs #my ocs

[shizzlepianist]

“good morning, dr. spengler..”————————————————-

a/n: WOOOOO my first EVER oneshot! excuse how terrible this may be, the last time i remember writing anything related to oneshots/fanfics was when i was about 11? soo if this is terrible then my sincerest apologies 😭

this is essentially an introduction between (Y/N) and Spengs, after you call for a Ghostbuster to come check out a paranormal experience happening in your home, and it just happens to be Egon.

FYI: This story uses the title ‘Miss’, when the character is being addressed, so just putting that out there first! Also, as I’m sure you’ll already know, (Y/N) and (L/N) refer to your first and last name.

There is also a usage of the word ‘God’, used in an expression-y sort of way, so if that offends anyone then please do let me know so I can change it for next time!

enjoy!! :)

———————————————————————

An abrupt clattering coming from your kitchen was what woke you up at nearly 4 a.m.

Thoroughly disturbed, you sat bolt upright and turned on your bedroom lamp, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and slowly moving out of bed to go investigate the mysterious noise.

Another bang.

You jumped about a foot off of the floor, before continuing and not letting your downright fear get the better of you.

Eventually, you reached the kitchen, and turned on the light. Three china plates had ‘mysteriously’ fallen out of the cupboard and smashed onto the floor. Little pieces of plate were scattered all over, much to your disappointment. As if on cue, a growling noise came from your pantry door. It took you less than a second to fling the door open and investigate what the noise was.

A vast, cloudy setting appeared in front of you, and an ancient building could be seen in the distance. “Z U U L”, cried a demonic voice.

That was it. The pantry door was slammed, the kitchen light was turned off and you were running back, screaming. Once you reached your bedroom, you wrapped yourself in the covers and tried desperately to fall back to sleep. No luck.

A few hours passed, and it was now a reasonable time to get up. You didn’t dare go near the kitchen, so you stayed in your apartment living room and turned on the TV.

You didn’t pay much attention to the TV for long, as you had your head stuck in a magazine you had found at the local newsagents. That was, until, you heard an advert on television.

“Are you troubled by strange noises in the middle of the night?” questioned a friendly-looking man, whose name tag read “STANTZ.”

A second man, named “SPENGLER”, asked, “Do you experience feelings of dread in your basement or attic?”

“Have you or any of your family ever seen a spook, spectre, or ghost?” inquired the third, “VENKMAN”.

Stantz continued, “…if the panswer is yes then don’t wait another minute. Pick up your phone and call the professionals.”

“GHOSTBUSTERS,” they said in unison.

“Our courteous and efficient staff is on call twenty four hours a day to serve all your supernatural elimination needs,” Stantz informed.

“We’re ready to believe you!” was the final sentence of the advert, but even before that you had already picked up your telephone and dialled the number on-screen.

Within seconds, a Long Island accent spoke down the phone.

“Hello, Ghostbusters, how can I help you?”

“Uh… t-… there was some strange noises coming from my kitchen this morning, like bangs, and.. and clatters, and then when I checked, three of my plates had been thrown on the floor and smashed. And then, and then… I heard snarling coming from my pantry, and there was this creature in there saying “Zuul.”Could you send someone to come check it out?” You said in one long, quick sentence.

“Absolutely, just let me know the address and I’ll send someone straight to you,” the lady replied.

Sure enough, you gave her your address. “Thank you!” you chimed, before putting the phone down and tidying up a little before the Ghostbuster arrived. Playing back the advertisement, you looked at the man whose name was “SPENGLER”.

He is incredibly handsome, you thought. You were hoping on the inside that Dr. Spengler would come and analyse the scene that had occurred in your-

Knock, knock.

Jeez, how close is the Ghostbusters’ office?

You opened the door to meet a tall, bespectacled man with a charming smile and slightly curly hair.

He held his hand out and smiled, “Dr. Egon Spengler, nice to meet you.”

“Good morning, Dr. Spengler,” you replied, your tummy filling with that butterfly feeling.

“Where was the ghost activity that happened this morning? Janine, our receptionist didn’t tell me anything except your address and that you needed some help,” he chuckled, making your heart skip a beat again.

“In there,” you pointed to the kitchen door.

“Okay, has there been any more phenomena since you called?”

You shook your head.

Egon held a device in his hand that had little arms protruding out of it, slowly lowering and then getting higher, then lower, and so on, and made his way into the kitchen.

“Oh, jeez, it seems you really did need our help,” claimed Dr. Spengler, directing his eyes to the pieces of china plate laying on the floor.

“What is that thing?” you asked, motioning to the thing he was holding.

“This is a PKE meter, we use them pretty often. It helps us detect how much supernatural activity there is in an area. If the arms are at a low height, then there’s little to no activity and no need for a full-blown bust. If the arms are right at the top, then it’s serious and we have to deal with it immediately. At the minute, the level of paranormal activity in your kitchen is just over halfway, which obviously isn’t ideal but not the worst.”

“Ohh,” you responded, nodding slowly.

Shuddering, Egon turned his attention to some gooey green slime that was collecting on the edge of the plate cupboard.

“Great. Ectoplasm,” he collected a little bit in a small plastic tub, before asking, “…would you mind coming back to the firehouse, just to run a few tests and to further investigate your phenomena?” questioned Spengler.

“No, no, I wouldn’t mind at all,” you smiled, leading Dr. Spengler out of your apartment, locking the door and heading down the building stairs to the Ghostbusters’ car.

When you arrived at the firehouse, the three scientists you had seen on TV, Venkman, Stantz (who had both introduced themselves to you as Ray and Peter) and Spengler were all asking you questions and running tests. Sticky pads wired up to a machine were attached to your temples, and you could see it was being managed by Dr. Spengler.

“What do you think it was that caused your plates to smash, Miss..?”

“(L/N). (Y/N)(L/N). Uh, I mean, I think it was a ghost or a spirit that did it, hence why I rang up this morning. I think it’s something like a… a.. poltergeist? Isn’t that a ghost that throws things?”

“You are absolutely fantastic, Miss (L/N). Absolutely phenomenal, that’s correct,” called Dr. Venkman, smiling and applauding you.

Egon rolled his eyes. “Venkman, will you quit trying to chat up our clients, please?” he remarked, while adjusting the tabs on your head and looking at the screen to his left.

Both you and Ray laughed, while Venkman’s facial expression was stone cold.

“I don’t think he found that very funny,” you laughed, which made Stantz roar with laughter again, and Peter leave the room.

“Alright, so your tests all seem to be normal, so that means whatever paranormal entity is in your apartment hasn’t reached you, thankfully,” concluded Egon, gently removing the testing tabs from you.

Picking up your bag and coat, you thanked the boys for their help, and made your way down the firehouse stairs.

You were swiftly followed by the Ghostbusters, who waved goodbye to you and asked you to call back if anything else happened.

As they turned away to walk back up the stairs, you called out,

“…Dr. Spengler?”

He turned on his heel quicker than he had arrived at your apartment. “Hm?”

“I- I’d like to give you this,” you slid a piece of paper with your number written on it into his hand, and smiled.

He looked down at it through his glasses, lifted his head up and smiled back.

“Thank you, Miss (L/N). I’ll make sure to give you a call at some point. Thanks again for calling this morning,” he put his hand on your shoulder, failing to wipe the smile off of his face. He was smiling like an idiot as he removed his hand from your shoulder and walked away.

When you had finally left the firehouse, you let out a sigh of relief mixed with infatuation.

God, he was handsome.

———————————————————————

ending a/n: help i feel like this is gonna be a flop with a capital F loool , if you enjoyed this let me know and i’ll make more ig?? have a great day/night everyone 😌😌

#egon spengler #ghostbusters #ghostbusters 1984 #egon #egon x reader

[itsvickytoria]

Eddie's Secret Admirer

Eddie isn't sure when he started getting the notes. Sure, he'd been used to finding notes in his locker, but they're all for scheduling a drug deal. So when he first opened a note written with a pink gel pen, and some of the prettiest handwriting he’d ever seen; he thinks there must be a mistake. All the note says is "your hair looks so soft and beautiful today". But he keeps the note anyways.

It's written on this really nice paper, the handwriting is beautiful, it's a compliment, and it actually smells really good. He didn't notice at first but it smells of citrus and vanilla. It now lives in the breast pocket of his leather jacket.

But then, the very next week, he gets another note. "Your eyes are like warm pools of chocolate.” It's the same paper, same handwriting, and same citrus and vanilla scent. The i's are dotted with hearts again and signed with an 86.

He realizes that it is intentional, this note and the first were put in his locker, for him. The blush that creeps up on his face roots all the way down his chest.

The second note he puts in the nicest shoebox he has in his bedroom, he thinks the note deserves its own place.

He gets a second note that week. "I promised myself I'd only leave you one note a week but your speech at lunch today really inspired me.”

At least now he knows whoever this is from has lunch with him.

----

His box smells of citrus and vanilla; it's started permeating through his room. Even Wayne started to notice; he had condoms thrown at him and a "it's okay if you have girls over son, just be safe.”

At least his uncle left it at that. Dustin , on the other hand.

Eddie has made the mistake of leaving his jacket in the Hellfire room for a quick bathroom break. The kid wanted to grab an extra die and found his first note instead.

Dustin at least has the decency to wait and bring it up while it’s just the two of them in his van. After being peppered with questions, his little sheep decided that it was his goal to find whoever was leaving these notes.

He gets four more notes before Dustin comes huffing at him in frustration.

"It's like they're a ghost! I got here early at seven a.m. and didn't see anyone. I stayed until five and didn't see anyone! And the signature? An 86?! There are 86's everywhere!" This only made Dustin more determined and driven to find whoever was leaving the notes.

By mid-November he got a note that read "You know, you're not what I thought you'd be like. You're more amazing than you realize." He knows how he looks to the cliques of the school. A delinquent, trailer trash, druggie, a failure, waste of space, waste of time.

But this note, no, these notes, made him feel good. Like someone wanted him there, like he wasn't a waste of space, or a waste of time, or just some drugged out super senior.

Eddie is desperate to know who’s peppering him in these compliments and heartfelt confessions. He has someone he wants the notes to be from. But it's an unreasonable wish. She's out of his league and in a relationship.

Whoever this is, now knows his locker code. It's not hard to guess, it's just 6-6-6. He keeps his lunchbox on him at all times so there's nothing in his locker but old notebooks.

Now along with notes, he finds small treats waiting for him. A box of M&Ms with an additional note on them saying "just as sweet as you.”

It’s Eddie's new favorite part of the day. The notes still only come twice a week, but it isn’t always on the same days. He doesn't think his attendance has ever been this good before.

His teachers definitely notice the difference, thinking. They thought he’s finally serious about passing and putting in effort. His science teacher asks him to stay after class and announces that because Eddie is finally ready to really try, she's set him up with a tutor, whom he’ll be meeting three times a week during study hall.

His tutor is none other than Chrissy Cunningham, the girl he's had a small crush on since the middle school talent show. With her warm smile and oversized pompoms she waved around during the talent show, cheering the loudest for his band after they finished their piece, it felt like she was his own personal cheerleader.

Eddie knows he was screwed before tutoring even started, when he entered the empty classroom that'd been designated as their tutoring room. He sees her, all soft florals, bright smile, and shining eyes, ande knows he’ll never be able to come back from whatever ledge he just fell over.

If he’s disappointed by her cotton candy scent when he sits down he wouldn't tell a soul; not even Dustin. He knows it’s impossible that it's her but a sliver of him still had hope.

She’s an amazing tutor. Patient, smart, explaining the topic in such a way that Eddie understands. She even lets him fidget, walk around, something all the teachers hated.

"I've read that some students have an easier time if they're allowed some sort of outlet. It allows you to focus more. I'm going to ask the teacher if she'd let you try it like this for a test." Chrissy was doing all of this for him , some nobody.

It works, Chrissy worked whatever magic she has over the teacher (who doesn’t she have control over? The whole school eats out of her palm) and got him the opportunity to do his next test in a separate classroom that he was allowed to fidget and walk around in.

Eddie is more surprised about the results of his test than Chrissy. He got a 71%, that's the highest grade he's ever gotten in science. From now until the end of the year, he's allowed to take all of his tests in another room. Apparently the word had spread to other teachers and they banded together for Eddie to have his own test classroom.

His grades are rising and he spends more and more time with Chrissy. He likes to think he knows her pretty well now.

She has a habit of blushing and biting her lip when he smirks at her, she can’t hold eye contact for too long, she seems to relax as soon as she enters their classroom, her eyes light up when she sees him in the halls, she loves to babble on about topics she found interesting, she shows interest in D&D, sometimes her eyes study his face always ending their gaze at his lips. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to like another woman the same way.

None of this means anything though. Chrissy is a nice girl, she's nice to everyone, and wants to make people feel included. He can't help but feel special the way she looks at him. He knows he shouldn't because this is just who Chrissy is. Eddie needs to shake these thoughts from his head.

And he’s able to, he finds his new note in his locker. A smile graces his face before he even opened it. And when he does, the air in his lungs is sucked out of him.

"I've been yearning for you from afar. My heart jumps when I think of you. I don't think I've ever felt this way. Utterly in love." His heart is hammering, he feels loved and wanted. He feels a tinge of guilt: he loves Chrissy the same way his admirer loves him.

He gets the note before the tutoring session with Chrissy. She has worn her hair down today, the red in her hair glowing because of the sun, cotton candy perfume hit his nose as he walked in.

She’s fidgeting today, it’s not like she hasn’t done it before but it heppens when he has snacks out. He learned early on during their sessions that Chrissy is bad about eating. The more he watched her in the lunchroom the more he worried. It looked like she never ate.

He made it his goal to be as nonchalant as possible when he got snacks out during their tutoring time. He simply lays them on the desk, opens them, eats a few here and there and offers Chrissy to have some at any time. It worked, she was a grazer much like himself. Eddie even packs healthier treats to share with her. His train of thought is interrupted when she blurts out,

"I broke up with Jason!" Her face is bright red, her eyes won’t meet his. It’s quiet for a few beats, like his mind went blank. A smirk grows on his face.

"Well thank God. I think our Princess could do a hundred times better than some fake altar boy." She finally looks him in the eyes and gives a soft smile. She looks so proud of herself. He feels his heart soar with pride for her as well.

Somehow after she admits that to Eddie the air in the room feels heavier. They part ways from the tutoring room that day, giving each other an awkward wave goodbye.

Eddie feels giddier than he had in a long time. Chrissy is finally free from that asshole. He knows what Jason is capable of and he’s afraid that one day he’ll blow up and Chrissy will be at the end of his anger.

-----

At the next tutoring session, he arrives before Chrissy. Eddie hears the door shut behind him, Chrissy is a minute late and apologizes to him profusely. He turned around and his mouth went dry, she has her hair partially up with a red ribbon, a large cream sweater, and a short black skirt. She even has those cute socks on that go up to her knees. She looks beautiful, like she was glowing.

Eddie gives her a wave, unable to speak, and decides he should probably let himself breathe at some point. To calm himself down, he inhales, expecting that cotton candy scent to fill him. But instead he’s hit with the unmistakable scent of citrus and vanilla.

He chokes and lets out a cough to cover it up."You uh, you smell nice today." Wait, shit. "Not that you don't always smell nice, but it's a different scent!" he rambles out, hoping she doesn’t misunderstand. He has to ask her about the scent, maybe she and his admirer shop at the same store.

They get to studying. It’s almost winter break and first semester exams are coming up. Chrissy writes notes down next to Eddie for another class, using a red gel pen.

He does a double take. Her handwriting has always looked familiar but he was never able to put his nose on why. Wait a fucking second …

Stuffing a hand in his breast pocket he rips the note out and opens it. He grabs the notebook she was writing in and hears her protest die in her throat as she looks at him. He studies the note and her notebook. There’s no mistake, this is her handwriting.

Chrissy was leaving him notes this entire time?

Eddie turns towards her and is greeted with her side profile. The tips of her ears are beet red. He feels a blush bloom on his face and his heart palpitates in his chest, threatening to beat out.

"C-chrissy, look at me please." He didn't mean for it to sound so pitiful, but’s was so full of hope. She turns slowly towards him, her whole face as bright as firetruck and hands shaking softly.

He covers her hand with his,trying to relax her. She grips his hand, like it’s the only thing grounding her.

"Was it you?" he whispers. Unable to speak, she nods, tears springing from her eyes.

This woman, who he’s been crushing on since the middle school talent show, apparently feels the same for him. It’s almost unreal. He sees how scared she is, but to think that anyone would dare reject Chrissy Cunningham is beyond him.

"I-I’m sorry if I crossed any lines. I just couldn't hold it in anymore! You just inspire me so much and I wanted to make you happy,” she sobbed, the dam breaking.

Eddie wraps his arms around the girl and pulls her close, her head in the nook of his neck. Rubbing her back gently, he whispers reassuring words to her.

"You have no idea how much I hoped it was you, Chrissy. I didn't think it was ever possible. You were in a relationship and so out of my league.And learning that it was you right now? I don't think I've ever felt this happy. I feel like my heart is going to burst." To drive his point home he takes her hand and places it over his chest.

"I didn't know how else to tell you. And I used my favorite perfume. Jason only liked my cotton candy perfume." Eddie scowled, of course he'd tell her which perfume she couldn't wear. Oh he's going to love messing with Jason for payback. He’s no longer worried about the repercussions it’ll have on Chrissy, so he doesn’t have to hold back any longer.

"I love all of them and I've kept every single one.,” he confesses. Her stormy eyes meet his own, searching for more.

He leans in closer, peering down at her lips and dragging his gaze back up to her eyes, a silent question being asked. She nods her head softly, giving him permission.

Their lips meet in the middle. It feels like no other kiss he’s had before — soft, hesitant, and so full of love it’s almost overwhelming. His hand cradles her face, keeping his lips on her own as he tries to pour all his feelings into the kiss. It works because he feels her body relax more. Her hand holds the back of his head pressing him closer to her, deepening the kiss.

They part, faces flushed. It was such an innocent kiss, but their breath was taken away.

"Chrissy Cunningham, would you do me the honor of going on a date with me?"

"I'd love to, Eddie Munson."

-----

They've been dating for a few months now. Eddie enjoys sneaking into her room after her parents have gone to bed. Chrissy is in the shower when he enters, so he had the room to himself. On her desk is an open notebook, he recognized the pink gel writing and let his eyes wander over the page.

"I want to run my hands through your silky hair as your head lies in my lap. I'm humming along to a love song you let me play. You're telling me about your latest d&d campaign."

More and more notes like this in the notebook. He realizes that she had drafts of what she was going to say to him. Chrissy Cunningham is a nerd.

"Eddie, what're you looking at?! Stop!" Chrissy whisper-yelled at him, trying to take the notebook away. He distracts her with a sweet peck on the lips.

"Sweetheart, you wound me. I could've been getting these this whole time?"

#stranger things #mood board #stranger things season 4 #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #aesthetic #chrissy stranger things #chrissy #chrissy deserved better #chrissy x eddie #hellcheer #protect eddie #eddie #eddie and chrissy #eddie x chrissy #eddissy #munningham #st4

[sipsteainanxiety]

Could I request headcanons on how Bakugo would act having a hyperactive S/O who has a especially hard time getting tired at night

i am. so sorry this is late af skfhsdkf before i answer this im just gonna plug this fic rq bc i was reminded of it LOL it's just what u asked for

bakugou loves his sleep. we all know he's in bed at eight, the old man, and once he's out, he's out. he's one of those really deep sleepers, yet he wakes up at even the slightest of things if he senses them.

he's gotta wake up early for his shifts and so he likes being well-rested for them. he doesn't particularly like having to wake up early of course—he'd much rather sleep in (who wouldn't?). but well, he had a job to do and he wouldn't let his urge to sleep stop him from being a hero.

for so long—so many years—he had grown accustomed to his set routine and sleep schedule. it was practically ingrained in him—he wouldn't alter it for anything. on days where he had to stay up later than usual or wake up earlier, he'd be so grumpy. his friends quickly learned that he needed his beauty sleep lol.

but then... he met you. and he fell in love.

once you moved in with him, though, he quickly learned that you were not... the easiest person to deal with when it came to sleep.

he loved you, he really did, but fuck you were hyper at the latest times of night. you would be up on your phone or laptop, watching shows or typing away.

at first, he left you alone, figuring that you would eventually come to bed or adapt to his own sleep schedule. but the first few nights where he didn't fall asleep with you tucked into his chest, he found himself waking up crankier than usual. and he knew he was fucked.

sometimes he'd wake up with you curled up in bed next to him. but at other times he'd find you passed out on the couch in the living room, your laptop still open on the little table in front of you.

there was one time he woke up randomly at three in the morning to find you fucking baking cookies. it was a nightmare.

he didn't blame you, no. never got too upset at you or too angry. but he was always tired once eight or nine hit, and he didn't want to sleep without you. he liked having you in his arms as he slept and he knew he couldn't let this shit slide anymore if it was starting to impact his own sleep. he was getting exasperated, at this point.

he came up to you one evening as you were reading something on your phone and stared at you until you looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"'m stagin' an intervention," he said bluntly. when you asked what for, he replied, "you 'n yer shit sleep schedule."

"my sleep schedule's not that bad—" you started to protest, but he was having none of that.

"bullshit, you went to bed at four a.m. last night," he hissed out. you gave him a sheepish look and fiddled with your phone.

"okay fine, maybe it is bad. but i just have a hard time sleeping!" you told him.

"no shit." he huffed and crossed his arms. "'m gonna help ya." you only gave him an uncertain look.

he was patient with you. he did his research. he made you try teas that would make you sleepy, had you try melatonin, made you do extra work during the day to tire you out, even had you try to do a 12 hour fast to reset your circadian rhythm. he wasn't going to give up, no sir.

he set up a rule that you couldn't use any technology after eight, to prevent you from staying up even more with all the artificial light in your face. you protested weakly at first, but you knew he was doing this for your own good.

some of the things he did worked. but not all the time. and he eventually had to come to a compromise with you when it became clear that you just couldn't fall asleep as easily as he did.

and so, you settled on going to bed with him whenever he would retire for the night. you let him curl up into your side or wrap you in his arms. sometimes you'd just wait until he would fall asleep until you'd pull up your phone on its lowest brightness setting to play around on it. other times you'd be on it from the start and would let him tug you close to him as he'd peer over your shoulder until he'd fall asleep.

it wasn't perfect, no. but it would do. and eventually, you found yourself falling asleep easier and easier whenever you were warmly tucked against him, listening to the sounds of his soft breathing.

#me typing this out at 2 am: man bkg would hate my sleep schedule #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou headcanons #bakugou x you #this was lit rally just me projecting im ngl #is it obvious tht i've done all those things i listed to reset my sleep LMAOO #damn now tht i've typed this out its so similar to lori's wtf #lori if u see this im sorry i tried to make it different :skull:

[scarfacemarston]

Rest of the alphabet here. M: Mornings (How are mornings spent with them?)

Abigail is an early riser. She's one of the first people awake at camp, and it's the same at Pronghorn and Beecher's Hope. However, she would prefer not to speak until she's had her coffee. From there, she sets breakfast for everyone and starts her morning chores. She admits it's boring. Modern Au has her helping Jack to school. She drops him off, but once he's old enough, she sometimes takes him to the bus. From there, she works on the ranch or the garden before moving to even more house chores. 

However, I can see a partner / John, trying to convince her to sleep in with cuddles. It sometimes works, but she knows she's basically the one in charge in the morning. Having Jack, she knows she doesn't really have a choice to but get up early - Canon and modern. 

N: Night (How are nights spent with them?)

She goes to bed EARLY. She knows she's an old lady for it. She wants to be in bed by ten. She will go out with friends if she can find a babysitter, but that's rare. She's usually tired from working since 6:00 /7:00 a.m. Plus, finding a babysitter is hard. However, she's always happy to have company over to watch TV with her, play cards, or work on a craft. She'll watch cooking shows, knitting, and the occasional movie with Jack. Sometimes she'll watch "Fixing" shows with John - She's lost, but he's happy. She also loves to read. Sometimes it's agricultural or ranching magazines, sometimes it's a mystery novel.

 In Canon, it's knitting, listening to Jack read, sitting by the fire and singing, and really not much else.

O: Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Abigail is absolutely not an open book. She is quiet but polite and even friendly. She is definitely the mom friend of the group, whether she likes it or not. She is the type that appears extroverted but truly isn't. Part of her feels it is her duty to look out for those who need someone. She is reliable and intelligent, and it's why people, like even MOLLY, come to her for advice. Despite this, she reveals very little about herself. She was even careful around Sadie, but in time, she began to let people in. She is only so secretive because of the numerous people who have hurt or disappointed her in the past. Hosea is the only one who truly knows and understands her. 

P: Patience (How easily angered are they?)

This is a tricky one. She seems easily angered, but remember the YEARS she put up with John being nasty. That was at least four years, and it was tumultuous with reuniting and then John leaving, reuniting, John leaving, and so on. Of course, she's going to be sensitive to whatever he does. 

However, Abigail HERSELF is patient in that she never truly gives up on him in the main story. It's why she doesn't take Hosea's advice to leave. The epilogue is different because that was an additional several years of putting up with John's attics. It was, again, desperation. 

She also has a lot of patience with Jack, which anyone with children knows can be very difficult. She deals with many things thrown at her but stays quiet most of the time to not make a fuss. TLDR: unless she is truly triggered, like with John or Grimshaw, she can be cool-headed - even with Micah.

#abigail roberts #abigail marston #rdr 2 #van der linde gang #john marston #abigail marston x reader #john marston x abigail roberts #jack marston #sadiegail #sadigail

[oldsargasso]

ficlet: divide a life

so I watched the final ep of pit babe, then I took a nap and woke up devasted anew at the lack of Dean, especially at Way's graveside memorial. ~590 words, g. Dean-centric

It's almost three weeks after the fact that Sonic lets Dean know about Way's death. Dean's been doing what he's been ordered to do: turning up six days a week to pick up rubbish and tidy gardens and at all times, staying far away from P'Babe and Charlie. The rest of X Hunter hadn't been included in the order, but they'd chosen their side fairly obviously. It's not like Dean could be angry with them for it, either; he wished he too could be far away from himself.

it was Tony is all the message reads, with a singular attachment of a photo. Pale white stone, neat letters spelling out P'Way's full name, the dear date of his birthday and the cold date of his passing. The grief of it shears Dean in two.

The functioning half of him catches the bus to his assigned park, where he puts on the gloves he's given and stows all the discarded plastic strewn across the grass into a bag that gains a new hole every time the wind ripples across it. It's the strong stoic half of him that eats lunch at the same table as the other four people who did something wrong, under the carelessly watchful eye of their assigned supervisor. Nobody talks. He's given a second bag and sent out searching again.

It's this half that holds him together, smooth as polished stone, until Dean's home safe again.

The kitchen tile is cold under his cheek; his shoulder aches from how he's been lying. The only light around is what's coming in from the streetlights. The first time he met P'Way had been at the garage: a rare moment when it hadn't been the constant package deal of Way-and-Babe. Dean had been recently eighteen and so eager he'd thrown up twice early in the morning of his first day at X Hunter. P'Way had been politely welcoming. He'd smiled at Dean, told him he was happy Dean'd joined the team, clapped him quick on the shoulder before disappearing back into the guts of his latest daily driver.

The guy who lives upstairs is moving furniture around, by the sounds of it. When Dean had won his first minor race, the team had celebrated at the bar. Well, they'd been there for P'Babe's major win, first and foremost, but Dean had also won, so it was part of the whole party. P'Way had bought him a special drink to congratulate him. It had burned as Dean had sipped it slowly, lingering over it because P'Way had stayed with him the whole time, clinking their glasses together with a grin and making conversation about life outside the track.

Dean can't actually remember which was the actual final time he saw P'Way. He'd heard the tale of what he did to P'Babe thirdhand from Uncle Alan, but it's hard to reconcile the Way that could do something like that with the P'Way that once picked him up at four A.M. from some asshole's house after he'd given Dean far more of a dose than he'd told Dean he was going to and was planning on taking advantage of that somewhat aggressively. P'Way had taken the idiot out with one easy punch and carefully shoved Dean into the backseat, letting him shake his comedown through to the sound of pointed silence.

Here and now, there's tears on his face, a tightening his chest like when his mum left, and the tenderising knowledge that one of the foundational pillars of his last five years has been taken out completely.

#my fic #pit babe #dean didn't even get to go to way's graveside memorial and I will never be over it #like what am I supposed to do THAT'S MY TERRIBLE BABY

[koreanbibliophilegirl]

(Part 2 of incorrect quotes for my dsmp superpower AU ig)

Also forgot to mention last time, I got half the quotes on this post & ALL of the ones on the post you're currently reading from ScatterPatter's Incorrect Quotes Generator!

Welp yeah that's all, uhhhhhhh enjoy??

-

Punz: Where are you going?

Purpled: To get ice cream or commit a felony, I’ll decide on the way there.

-

Tommy: What the f*ck is wrong with you?!

Wilbur: Wow, you could start with a 'good morning'.

Tommy: Good morning. What the f*ck is wrong with you?!

-

Tommy: Must be hard not being able to laugh.

Techno: I do have a sense of humor you know.

Tommy: I've never heard you laugh before.

Techno: I've never heard you say anything funny.

-

Eret: Go to Hell.

Ant, tearing up: I wish I could.

-

(A younger Phil and teenage Techno talking)

Phil: Jail is no fun. I'll tell you that much.

Techno: Oh, you've been?

Phil: Once. In Monopoly.

-

Eret: God, give me patience.

Ant: I think you mean 'give me strength'.

Eret: If God gave me strength, you'd be dead.

-

Skeppy: You're the love of my life and my best friend, I would do anything for you.

Bad: I want you to eat three meals a day and have a decent sleep schedule.

Skeppy: Absolutely not.

-

Eret: Don’t worry, I have a few knives up my sleeve.

Tina: ?? I think you mean cards?

Foolish: No, she does not.

Eret, pulling out knives: I do not.

-

Purpled: Oh just so you know, it's very muggy outside.

Quackity:

Quackity: Purpled, I swear, if I step outside and all of our mugs are on the front gate entrance path...

Purpled: (Sips coffee from bowl)

-

Wilbur: Am I going too far?

Techno: No, no, no. You went too far about seven years ago. Now you're going to prison.

-

Tommy: You f*ckers don’t know about my knife stick. It’s a knife taped to a stick and it’s the ultimate weapon.

Techno, not looking up from his book: Spear.

Tommy: BLOCKED.

-

Wilbur: You're right.

Techno: That's... That's an unusual phrase for you. Did you just learn it?

-

Purpled: In light of what you did for me, you can hug me for four to five seconds.

Tommy: FORTY FIVE SECONDS?!?

Purpled: No! Four to five seconds!

Tommy: Too late!!!

-

Techno: If there's going to be a big dramatic scene, wait until I get back.

Phil: Of course. I can't flip this table by myself.

-

Dream: Someone will die.

Sapnap: Of fun!

-

Niki: How many kids do you have?

Phil: Biologically, emotionally, or legally?

-

Hannah: I'm 10 times funnier and sexier than you.

Sam: 10 times 0 is still 0 though.

Hannah: Joke's on you, I can't do math.

-

Ranboo: Do you take constructive criticism?

Purpled: I only take cash or credit.

-

Wilbur: So that's my plan.

Kristin: Are you alright with constructive criticism? I don't want to sound mean.

Wilbur: No, go ahead, I want to hear it.

Kristin: It f*cking sucks.

Wilbur: That's not constructive criticism.

-

Niki: I prevented a murder today.

Puffy: Really? How'd you do that?

Niki: self control.

-

Hannah: Look. I may not be a saint, but it's not like I've killed anybody. I'm not an arsonist. I've never found a wallet outside of an IHOP and thought about returning it but saw the owner lived out of state so just took the cash and dropped the wallet back on the ground.

Sam: Okay, that's really specific, and that makes me think that you definitely did do that.

-

Techno: We need a distraction.

Phil: Is anyone here good at jumping up and down and making weird noises?

Clingyduo, whispering: Our time has come.

-

Ranboo: What time is it?

Tommy: I don't know, pass me that saxophone and we’ll find out.

Tommy: (Plays sax loudly and extremely out of tune)

Jack: WHO THE F*CK IS PLAYING THE SAXOPHONE AT TWO IN THE MORNING?!

Ranboo:

Tommy: It’s 2 A.M.

-

Tubbo: What do you think Eryn and Aimsey will do for a distraction?

Ranboo: They'll probably, like, make a noise or throw a rock. That’s what I would do.

(Building explodes and several car alarms go off)

Ranboo: ... Or they could do that.

-

Hannah, trying to ask Tina out: Would you like to stay for dinner?

Connor, hanging upside down from the ceiling: WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY FOREVER?

-

[Part 1] [Part 3]

#Lilly's dsmp superpower au #dream smp #dsmp #tommyinnit #technoblade #wilbur soot #purpled #philza #ranboo #tubbo #aimsey #aimseytv #erynstreams #eryn cyberonix #hannahxxrose #eret #antfrost #niki nihachu #nihachu #captain puffy #awesamdude #misstrixtin #mumza #punz #skeppy #badboyhalo #bbh #tinakitten #foolish gamers #Lilly tries to meme

[eletricheart]

Queen of a heart

(Mira Kano x Reader)

part 2 here

*image creds to owner

ps: I only watched the show, haven't read it

ps2: my timeline in here is worse than at the show so pls ignore it for the plot

Word count: 1.155

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

You were on a work trip when it happened. Using the city as a two day rest between negotiations meetings ended up not only leading you to an alternate reality but a deadly one.

Your first game was simple enough, a three of diamonds based on ethics, almost as if it was made for you. Afterwards, it wasn't hard to find the beach, they were still at the beginning of setting up the place so your help was welcomed.

After a few days you got used to this new world, of course the games were challenging but the prospect of creating a society made you feel a bit closer to home. The other inhabitants were nice but you rarely went past pleasantries with them, except Ann.

You both became friends after you supported her decision to perform autopsies on some of the dead. It wasn't a best friends relationship but you protected each other and that was enough in borderland.

Mira arrived around the tenth day of The Beach, quickly rising above the hierarchy due to her six of hearts. However, some still believed she needed a test, so that's how you two started talking.

You were meant to supervise her game, going only you, Mira, Ann and Chishiya. The game was in groups, four people would head to a room where they would be separated into two partners, difficulty being nine of hearts. Leaving you and Mira in one room, Ann and Chishiya in another, which meant you weren't playing together.

Instead, your game was partnered with Mira and against two other girls. All you had to do was be the first to press the button at the end of a small maze, well, with a blindfold and countless noises varying from snakes to chainsaws. It was a game of trust, since not knowing if the threats were true or not.

You can't say the game was easy, after all, walking blindfolded through an unknown path while listening to screams was definitely frightening. But you trusted her, and won.

The four of you went back to the beach discussing the game and deaths of the other players, morbid but it was better than going insane with guilt. You obviously gave Mira a good evaluation, you did return without a scratch.

In consequence you both got closer, going from small talks to 2 a.m conversations about humanity.

Mira was crazy, not in a bad way, but still crazy. She would talk for hours about heart games and get happy when you showed genuine interest. She would constantly do minor manipulations to people in order to achieve whatever she wants at the moment. And lastly, she seemed to truly enjoy the new world, of course it wasn't wrong to like it, but all of the destruction was too much for you.

However, you adored all of her traits, finding her unique in a special way.

Your feelings for the woman were quite obvious to anyone, following her around and staring with heart eyes were definitely giving you away. She knew of it, how could she not, you would shower her with presents and affection.

At first Mira wanted to use your feelings, or so she thought, it's quite easy to believe in a lie, especially a well told one. She just didn't want to admit that being by your side was because she worries for you, or that she holds your hand to stay sane or that she adores your gestures when you get excited about something.

You both danced around your feelings for a long time, until Arisu showed up and right after it, Hatter died. Unlike you, Mira knew what was going on, and for the first time in a long time she wasn't thrilled about a Hearts game.

Before the game started, you were both at the roof counting stars when she kissed you. It wasn't rushed or intense, it was slow and meaningful, as if it would be the last time this would happen.

Mira left you with Ann after the game began, you were worried for her but if there was a chance to end the challenge you had to take it, so you helped your friend.

You didn't see Mira when the figures game was initiated, none of the others could tell you what she had done. So you carried on, kept looking for her but never straying too far from one of the group members.

You spent more time with Kuina, she would always assure you that Mira was fine, you never really believed her.

When the King of Spades was defeated you looked an absolute mess, multiple wounds, none too deep, but a lot of blood. And you still carried on for the Queen of Hearts, going in with Arisu and Usagi, trying to forget the pain of seeing Ann bleeding out, because you had to finish this, for them.

You weren't stupid, deep down you knew but chose to ignore it. Everyone kept telling you she was fine, or looked at you with pity. It was simple, she either died or was one of the figures.

You weren't surprised to see her on the rooftop, not even with the game she chose. You just stood aside and waited.

It wasn't a surprise when she got in their heads and played as if they were just pawns in chess.

What surprised you was when you started crying. You can't even remember how it started, just that it happened.

For a moment Mira forgot her goal and just ran to you. She embraced you while the others regained consciousness, and waited until you calmed down.

It's funny how she was supposed to be the Queen of Hearts when her own doesn't belong to her anymore. If only you knew how she would give anything to you, even life.

She asked Usagi to stay with you while the game came to an end. You closed your eyes during the play, not bearing to watch when you knew the finale.

You only looked again when hearing her little "I won", running to hug her and beg for her not to leave you again. You wouldn't let her go, not even when the time was getting to zero, you just couldn't.

You fell down when she died, clutching to her body, sobbing, asking anyone to help you, to fix it, to switch places.

When it asked if you wanted to stay you said no, not without her, you asked for both to leave, again and again until everything stopped.

You woke up in a shared hospital room with a few bandages and a very painful headache. Looking around only to find a woman laying next to you with bandages on her head and a breathing tube.

She seemed weirdly familiar but you couldn't quite remember her, so you went back to sleep and hoped to meet the woman when she wakes up.

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

masterlist

#mira kano #aib #alice in borderland #mira kano x reader #queen of hearts #def crazy #mentally fucked #fanfic #non canon #angst with a happy ending #power of gay #spoilers

[dizzymoogle]

So in my Big Fish fishing journey, the only Shadowbringers Legendaries I've attempted so far are Cinder Surprise and Ealad Skaan. I have gotten a bite on Cinder but that's about it. The others I haven't even attempted...until today.

So I log on this morning randomly....it's 5 a.m...and I notice Lancetfish has a window coming up in 17 mins. Mora Tecta, the fish needed for fisher's intuition to catch Lancetfish is coming up in 11 mins.

I have not attempted this fish so I pull up the "Fisher's Guide to Eorzea" by Fruity Snacks and read up on it.

Great, Mora Tecta has a five min window...is a rare bite, tends to get away and break your line a lot. It's rare to get both fish for the buff in one window so most people get one fish in an earlier window then sit around in the Tempest waiting for the next window that lines up with Lancetfish....which could mean HOURS waiting in the zone.

So I'm like yeah this probably isn't happening but I'll make an attempt. I'll come back in four hours when the next windows line up.

I go out there, there's already another fisher there waiting. I cast my line out, surface slap the first fish I catch. Another fisher shows up before the window pops.

Window opens and we all start casting for the Mora Tecta. The fisher that was there first gets one about a minute or so in....I see her line dipping super low. The guy next to me goes "nice!" in say.

Timer is ticking down. Less then three mins left on the window and I finally get a !!! bite. I land it

Okay....got one. lol

Ain't no way I'm gonna get a second one and I ain't staying around for four hours till the next Lancetfish window but we'll keep casting.

Less then a minute left on the window:

Okay so this happening now ROFL

Now I have my buff (that lasts 11 mins thank god) and the Lancetfish window is coming up in one minute and it has a five minute window.

Switch baits, cast out and surface slap another fish. Now I'm ready. Ain't no way I'm getting this fish but an attempt will be made lol

Mora Tecta window closes. Poor dude that showed up with two mins left on the window ports out. First fisher sits on the ground for a minute then yells "gl" then ports out

Guy that was next to me has been targeting me cause I see him looking at me. He comes over and sits next to me while I start casting out for Lancetfish. I have an audience for my upcoming failure lmao

I'm casting out, using Chum every cast. Two mins left on the window, phone rings and I'm talking to my husband while all this is going on...and then I get the !!! bite....and I stand up when I go to hook it!

LMFAO the guy that stayed was jumping up and down while I was reeling it in

Then he starts cheering at me with the glow sticks when I get it

I'm just standing there in shock after he ports away lmao

SO THAT HAPPENED LMAO

Well anyways there goes alllllllll my luck for the other five Shadowbringers Legendary fish lol

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv