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januaryembrs · 21 days

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YOU'RE TOO SWEET FOR ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: @avis-writeshq says -

HELLO HELLO jumping on your 2k celebration reqs because 2K OMG SO DESERVED ‼️🫶

may i perhaps request a spencer reid x fem!reader fic please 🥹 maybe him post prison w new reader and she follows him around everywhere because she’s just instantly enamoured to him 🤭

thank you so so much lovely and congrats again !!!

Description: thirteen years in the fbi and ten weeks in prison does a number on Spencer, only when he arrives back in the office he meets the sunshine rookie that seems rather taken with him.

word length: 2.6k (this really ran away from me)

warnings: post-prison Reid, slightest age gap, Spencer dealing with coming home from prison, gun shooting?

authors note: hozier’s new song 'Too Sweet' + post-prison reid is a need, not a want.

He smelled her french vanilla perfume before he even knew she was there. But then again, it was all he could smell the minute she waltzed into the office with a tray of coffee, like someone had stuck a sweet dessert in the oven and baked it on full.

“Good morning!” She chirped, winding an arm over his shoulder and setting down a take out cup and a little chocolate donut on his desk, “Pen said you like chocolate, and I mean who doesn’t like chocolate, right?”

She was potent when she was so close to him, and in one single breath he caught a whiff of her shampoo, before she had flitted over to her side of the desk that sat opposite his, where Morgan once sat. Noticing his hesitance, mistaking it for discontent she paused, almost spilling her own beverage over the potted plant she kept by her keyboard, scrambling to set it on the surface.

“Y-you do like chocolate right? I mean they had strawberry too, I can switch yours with JJ’s, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind-” She splurged, and her face was much too worried considering it was a matter of a donut, particularly considering he was already eying up the way the thick chocolate was melting in the pastry bag.

“Chocolate is great, I love…” He held up the bag to read the label with squinting hazel hues, “Cocoa Caramel delight,”

He had never heard of it.

He had never even seen this brand, but he wanted to quell her nerves even in the slightest. The BAU didn’t have the funds for a new keyboard, let alone time to send her to the ER if she ended up spilling her coffee over her hand.

She seemed convinced, and he offered her a small smile, not exactly his most enthusiastic, but then again he hadn’t been much of a morning person since he’d come out of prison. He liked quiet, he liked a moment to himself before Penelope called them into the round table for briefing. But she was sweet, too sweet perhaps for the dark nature of their job.

He could already see it chewing up her perky disposition and spitting her right back out within a year. It happened to the best of them.

But she smiled back at him, a million watt grin that made him think maybe he was being a little cruel. She was still brand new, still trying to make friends and he remembered how hard he tried when it had been his first few weeks on the team. He turned his gaze away from her in shame, reading the way she’d written his name on the cup in a pink sharpie, framing it with two doodle hearts.

She all but skipped away, sensing he didn’t feel like talking much anymore, and he heard Emily exclaiming she was ‘A caffeine angel sent from the heavens,’ as she handed her the drink. He watched her braided hair disappear down the hall as she bounced over to Penelope’s lair.

He picked at the cocoa caramel delight with a kind of self loathing he was familiar with, the french vanilla still a saccharine sugar in his nose.

She caught him again; though this time he felt her bristle past his arm, watching the bullets pierce the target paper with an accuracy that only came from fourteen years of practice.

“Do you reckon you could teach me how to do that?” Her cadence was light and airy, and he had to stop himself from jumping, from slamming the butt of the gun into her nose on reaction, because he knew she meant well, even though she had no idea how damaged he was.

He was still out of sorts from having to look over his shoulder at every second of the day, and he was surprised he was holding it together so far. He supposed shooting the shit out of a target helped.

Because it was just her, looking at him with soft eyes and a smile that could start wars, and he knew she had no idea the effect she had on the walls he’d tried so hard to build in prison.

She must have mistook his look for annoyance, because she was quick to fumble with her own loaded gun, taking a step back in retreat, worried that she crossed some line she didn’t know he’d drawn.

“Or I could get Luke to show me, I didn’t mean to bother you, I just am really a shit shot and I know that’s pretty useless in the field-” It wasn’t until he flicked the safety on and took a step to follow her did she look at him again hopefully.

“No, I’d be more than happy to show you,” He cleared his throat, setting his pistol in its holster and stepping behind her as she lined herself up for the fake body meant to resemble an unsub, “We all have to start somewhere. Show me your form,”

She raised her arms up in front of her, aiming for a few seconds for the spot in the centre of the chest cavity, her finger reaching up for the trigger.

She shot once, her face hardened for the first time he’d ever seen, and they both watched the paper rip about half a foot down the unsub’s leg.

“See, in my head it’s hitting dead centre and then by the time I shoot it’s wiggling all over the place,” She explained, scratching her neck and frowning at the paper body, “I don’t suppose unsubs are willing to stand still and wait while the rookie figures out her shot,”

“Your hips are perfect, wide stance means you get more stability against the ricochet,” She tried not to simper at his words, or the way he sidled up behind her, his hands coming up to her shoulders as if he’d known her for years, as if JJ hadn’t told her how much he hated other people’s germs, “It’s in your shoulders you’re losing balance, try relaxing a little,”

But she couldn’t not when he was breathing down her neck, rubbing those long fingers over her shoulder blades trying to get her to straighten out her posture, hoping he couldn’t feel the way her chest rattled with nerves.

“Relax,” He reminded, trying not to chuckle when he felt her shake her arms out as a means of hiding the way her skin had warmed under his rough touch, “You know, my unit chief taught me how to shoot. I wasn’t at all good at it when I first started,”

“Oh really?” She asked, her breaths feather light as he reached around her and adjusted her grip on the gun, “H-he must have been a good teacher,”

“He was the best,” Spencer agreed, brushing off the fact she was all but putty beneath his hands, “Three steps for the perfect shot; front sight, trigger press, follow through. Always keep your head forward, always keep your dominant finger ready, and wait until you’ve shot to drop your stance,”

She looked up at him in admiration, and her soft smile was back as his own musk of laundry detergent and chamomile soap encompassed her as his arms did.

He brought one of those big hands to the back of her head, moving her with gentle ease to look back at the target, a slight chuckle in his voice as he spoke: “Focus, what’s step number one?”

“Front sight,” She echoed him, fixing her shoulders with determination as he dropped his hands and stepped away from her. Taking a deep breath, she murmured to herself under her breath the next step as her forefinger rested over the trigger. She pulled it after a moment of courage, and froze in spot as she watched it hit where the stomach would sit.

Not a perfect shot, but certainly a lot better than she had been doing.

Her eyes widened behind the thick protective glasses, and her hands became fists above her head as she squealed in delight.

“Did you see that- did you see!” She yelled over the sound proof ear muffs they both wore, and he was quick to grab the gun out of her swinging arms, clicking the safety on for her before she could end up blowing a hole in the ceiling.

“Very good, give it a few months you’ll be a natural,” He complimented with a smile as she clapped her hands in glee, buzzing on the spot as if she’d chugged five energy drinks or doubled up on her coffee for the day.

He tried ignoring the way his chest warmed seeing her so happy because of him, especially when she looked at him like that.

“You said you needed those files, Dr Reid,” She’d appeared again, like she always did, and he had barely enough time to glance up from the paper he was already inspecting before he was hit by the perfume again, and he looked up to see two bright eyes watching him hopefully. Her arms were piled high with easily a box full of folders he had asked Anderson to find for him, and he saw the way she strained slightly to keep them held tight.

“Jesus! Let me help you,” She prayed he couldn’t feel the way her heart thumping against the manilla folders as he leaned over to take them out of her grasp, the way her eyes fell to his light smattering of facial hair as his lips were little more than a few inches from hers. Even when his hands brushed hers, and he seemed to realise she was staring, watching her scramble to look somewhere else other than his amused eyes, embarrassed he’d caught her, “Thankyou. And just call me Spencer,”

“Thankyou,” She echoed, shaking her head with a girlish smile on her face, her cheeks warm with humiliation, “I mean you’re welcome, any time,”

For the sake of her self preservation he waited until she turned around to smile to himself, pretending he didn’t see the way she muttered under her breath, or that she almost walked straight into the filing cabinet on her hasty exit out of the office.

“Seems like you have a shadow,” Emily’s voice met him as he heard her heeled footsteps approach, and they both watched their newest team mate almost bump right into JJ as she kept her head down, stroking her hair nervously, “She was super excited to meet you when you were away, said she went to one of your guest lectures you did with Hotch a couple years ago,”

His brows shot into his hairline, something warm flourishing in his chest when he saw her peek back to see the two of them watching her, and she immediately darted for her seat for an excuse to turn her back to them.

Spencer smiled again, running a hand through his curled locks as if he was trying to think of something else other than the joy that had over come his features.

She certainly was charming, in an incredibly girlish way, and he wasn’t the only one who thought it. He hadn’t heard Penelope giggling so much since Morgan had left, nor did he miss the way Rossi and Emily watched her darting around in the field, chasing after her as if she needed one of those leashes people had for toddlers.

Or the way Luke had had to talk her out of bringing a stray cat back to the BAU just two days ago because ‘it looked sad and lonely’.

She was only eight years his junior, and yet he felt like the job had made him too hard, too mature, too tough against a softness like hers.

Girls had never really been interested in him, at least not for him as Spencer Reid, not as SSA Dr Reid. He had the occasional fling, even Maeve in the grand scheme of things had been a budding romance at best, and just the thought of Cat Adams viper-like eyes had him shuddering.

He barely wanted anything to do with women at the moment, at least that was what he’d told himself every night he’d been fighting for his damn life in prison.

But it was almost too easy to feel this way about her, like he couldn’t drink in her sweet smell or even sweeter voice fast enough, or bathe in her gaze that melted like rich chocolate when he took a glance her way.

He didn’t bring it up with her until they were the last few people filing out of the office.

“I can drive you,” She chirped, almost dropping the contents of her bag everywhere as she rooted for her car keys, and before he could protest, because it was like all he could see now was how eager to be around him she was and he wasn’t too sure he could keep himself from opening pandora’s box, she jingled her keys, that of course had crochet bluebells hanging from them and all but danced past him into the elevator. “Come on, you can have shotgun,”

“I’ll be the only passenger, doesn’t that mean I automatically have shotgun?” He asked, following behind her as she stood in the elevator with a beaming smile, her finger clicking the ground floor button a bunch of times even though it made no difference how fast the doors closed.

“Well, yeah, but it’s going to be the best shotgun you’ve ever had. I’m talking you can be Miss Daisy and I’ll be your Morgan Freeman,” And as if her spirit was infectious, he shook his head with a hidden chuckle.

There was a minute of silence between the two as she played with a loose thread on her cardigan, and it was then he took the chance to ask her the question that had been burning on his lips all day.

“You didn’t by any chance go to University of Pennsylvania, did you?” Spencer asked, noting the way her eyes fell to the floor and how she licked her lips nervously.

“Yeah,” She replied cautiously, fingers clenched tightly around her keyring, “I know it’s not Caltech, but it was pretty good-”

“Didn't you see my lecture with Hotch?” He asked, and his smile widened tenfold when her hands slapped over her cheeks that burned with horror, moving quickly up to cover her eyes, “Little birdy told me you were quite excited to meet me-”

“Oh, Emily,” She groaned, burying her face in her palms, avoiding his teasing expression like the plague, “I knew, I knew she was going to tell you, I’m surprised she didn’t tell JJ first, unless she did and our whole team know I was some crazy girl who liked the FBI agents so much she switched her major,”

“You switched your major for me?” He asked incredulously and he only laughed harder, one of the first times since he’d come home, when she groaned louder, turning away from him entirely.

“Shut up, I did not swap my major for you,” She bit back, and she finally met his gaze, her expression an embarrassed wince, “I just… liked the material. You were very compelling,”

“Did you have a poster of us?” Spencer wanted to stop teasing, knew he was being a little cruel, but how could he resist when she shrieked in between laughter, shoving his shoulder with mortification.

“No,”

“Did you kiss Hotch’s picture before bed like an obsessive fangirl?”

She gestured to him vulgarly as they left the elevator and headed for the car park, and it made a huge difference to the usual adoration she watched him with, but maybe, he thought, it made him like her even more.

“No more shotgun for you, you’re going in the trunk like an old rug,” She snapped, though he could tell she was still horrified by the way she avoided his delighted hazelnut gaze.

“Like an old rug?” He feigned hurt, but when they sat in her car, she finally looked over at him with something vulnerable and yet affectionate, like he’d seen her for all she was worth. He reached over the console to squeeze her hand gently, not missing the way her palm clammed beneath his and she struggled for words, so he continued for her, “That’s really no way to talk to your idol, you know,”

Spencer swore his chest felt lighter than it had in months watching her laugh like that.

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #matthew grey gubler x reader

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alotofpockets · 1 month

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Beat of my heart | Reneé Rapp x Reader

Where Reneé falls in love with her drummer and childhood friend.

Reneé Rapp Masterlist | Words: 1k

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If there was one take away from the Snow Hard Feelings tour for Alyah so far, it was that Reneé and y/n would make a great couple. She knew about her best friend's crush on you, but now after spending so much time with both you and Reneé, she could see that the feelings were mutual. Yet, neither one of you seemed like you were going to make a move any time soon.

Reneé was one of your childhood friends, you both went into the music industry, and you even wrote some music with her over the years. So, it was a no-brainer that when Reneé went on tour, you'd be her drummer.

Going on tour, and spending so much time with Reneé only made your feelings towards her grow. Exploring the cities in the day, performing in the evening, and travelling at night. You did it all together.

After another successful show you find yourself back in the tour bus with Reneé and Alyah. “Who’s up for another movie night?” Reneé asked, it had become one of her favourite ways to relax after a show. The three of you squeezed into Reneé’s bunk together, and put up a movie on the small screen. You hadn't realised how tired you were until you were about twenty minutes into the movie, and were struggling to keep your eyes open.

Reneé’s heart skipped a beat the moment your head fell against her arm, she tensed for a moment, but relaxed when she saw how peaceful you looked. Alyah watched the moment with a knowing smile.

Not even ten minutes later, Alyah looked over and saw that Reneé had fallen asleep as well. She snapped a quick picture, before she carefully got out of the bunk and headed to her own.

You wake by the loud sound of the end credits, and are a little disorientated. When you feel someone move besides you, you realise what happened. “Oh sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep on you. I should head to my own bunk.” Your slightly groggy voice melts Reneé's heart. “Oh no baby, you're good. I was pretty comfortable actually. Wanna scoot down and get some more sleep?” You're too tired to even hesitate about her offer, and scoot down in the bunk bed. Reneé puts the covers over the both of you.

Reneé laid down beside you. Your heart was beating out of your chest, at how close your faces were together. For a moment, all that the two of you do is stare at each other. You were studying every part of her face, the light freckles on her nose, the way her bangs fell over her face, her slightly parted lips, and her piercing blue eyes looking back at you. “You are so beautiful.” Your words are spoken softly, like they would disappear with the slightest gust of wind.

Reneé’s smile grows, “Thank you baby, so are you.” She reaches out her hand and starts running her hand through your hair, moving her face a little closer with every movement. Your hand finds her side, where you let it rest. When Reneé didn’t see any form of hesitation from you, she closed the distance between you. Her soft lips were moving in a slow rhythm with yours.

Kissing Reneé was both the scariest and most comforting thing at the same time. The softness in her eyes when she pulled away from the kiss, nearly melted your heart. “I've been wanting to do that for so long.” The blonde confessed. Your smile grows wide, “Me too.” Reneé lays down on her back, and pulls you into her side. “Come on, let's get some rest. Big day tomorrow.” You hum, and get comfortable. “Goodnight Nae.” The blonde kisses your forehead, “Goodnight baby.” It was a good thing you were already hiding your face into her chest, otherwise she would have seen you turn bright red.

The next morning when Alyah wakes up, the first thing she does is check your bunk, which she finds abandoned just like last night. She gets excited about even the thought of the two of you sleeping in Reneé’s bunk, which would at least mean a step closer to the two of you realising your feelings for each other. When she stepped closer she heard the two of you giggling, and without knowing what happened last night, she just knew that something had.

“Morning yaya.” Reneé greets her best friend as she heads into the seating area of the tour bus. “Oh yeah I bet it is.” With a knowing smirk Alyah looks up at her, finding a blushing Reneé looking back at her. “Spill.” Reneé slid into the seat beside her, “We kissed, and then cuddled, that’s it. It was amazing though, and I was kind of wanting to ask her out for breakfast, but I wanted to pass it by you first, since I don’t want to leave you out.” Alyah laughs, “Are you kidding me? I’ve been pushing you to ask her out for months! Yes, you go, and you go ask her right now.” Alyah was basically pushing Reneé your way in excitement.

“Would you like to go out for breakfast?” Reneé asked shyly. “Only if it’s a date.” You counter, making the blonde’s nerves fade instantly. “Definitely as a date.” Without hesitation, Reneé grabbed your hand and led you out of the tour bus, having arrived in a new city overnight.

After breakfast you walked around a bit before you had to head back to the venue for sound check. During the sound check you and Reneé were constantly goofing around, much to the enjoyment of Alyah and the rest of the band. Alyah filmed and photographed a lot of the tour, besides the crew who would capture everything in high resolution, the more retro shots that Alyah took were loved by Reneé.

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alyahcs just posted to their story

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#renee rapp #renee rapp x reader #renee rapp x you #renee rapp x y/n #reneé rapp x reader #alyah chanelle scott #renee rapp imagine #renee rapp fluff

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honeyhotteoks · 5 months

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this night together - chapter twelve (j.yh + s.mg)

chapter twelve: home is always home

chapter summary: you were planning to tell them how you felt on saturday, but when things go sideways at the studio you find yourself running home as fast as you can.

warnings: this is the chapter i've been warning about for a long, long time. please read responsibly if you're easily triggered by any of the following topics - guy who can't take no for an answer, aggressive/sexist language, physical and verbal assault, panic/ptsd, physical injury/blood, hospitals, police interaction (mentioned), nightmares/night terrors, self harm (sort of?)

notes: please note, if you're reading this on or around 12.3.23 when i'm posting, i've put up three chapters at once. make sure you don't skip chapter ten and eleven! additional notes under the cut~!

pairings: alpha!yunho x alpha!mingi x omega!reader

genre: smut, a/b/o/omegaverse, angst, fluff, romance, polyamory

word count: 11.6k

previous chapter | next chapter | AO3

for my readers who aren't that familiar with a/b/o, i'm introducing something in this chapter that you may not have seen before. i wanted to add some context! if you're new to a/b/o, there is something that alphas have often called "alpha tone", "alpha voice", or just "tone". alphas in many depictions have the ability to lower their voice in a particular way that is seen as a strict command to an omega, and it triggers/activates their submission. this is something that can be used negatively or positively, but in this scene will be negative. there's also something called headspace/subspace that you will see referenced, and an omega can be put into headspace/subspace via alpha tone. it is a bit of a dissociative state where the omega can only really hear and understand commands. this can be used negatively or positively as well, but again, definitely not good in this scene. i hope that helps.... and happy/responsible reading!!

You really, really wish today was Saturday and not Thursday. Thursday just means you still have to get through Friday and then all of Saturday morning before your scheduled dinner with Yunho and Mingi and all the things you want to say are practically eating you up inside. But there’s a right way and a wrong way to tell someone you’ve been an idiot and you’re in love with them, and blurting it out in the middle of dance practice isn’t really going to help make this easier.

God, you hope they still want you.

On the plus side, this week has been insane. With the full crew back things are moving at a million miles per hour, and you’ve been in more meetings about what’s coming up next in the past week than the entire time you’ve worked for BB Trippin and KQ.

Your schedule for the next six months is frankly intense. Between preparing for year-end stages and working on the choreography for the newly debuting girl group, you’re juggling conversations about New World’s next comeback and the next round of touring. With the money coming in now there’s an opportunity to take more dancers, and that just means more late nights and early mornings getting everything right.

It’s after your third concept planning meeting of the week that you find two minutes to talk to Wooyoung, his bag already slung over his shoulder as he refills his water bottle.

“So, you’re going?” You ask him vaguely, trying not to tip off anyone else in the vicinity that he’s got a date.

“Yeah,” He nods, eyes flicking over your shoulder to see if San and Seonghwa are nearby, “I think I’m going to throw up,”

“No, you’re not,” You assure him.

“I might,” He whines, running a hand through his mop of long black hair, “I never know what to say to him,”

“Woo,”

“I know what to say to everyone, y/n,” He lowers his voice, panic evident in his eyes, “but every time Sangie smiles I go fucking blank,”

“Sangie?” Your eyebrow quirks, “Is that what we’re calling him now,”

“Shut up,” Wooyoung blushes.

“Wow,” You prod him softly, “you’re down so bad, it’s been like three days,”

“It’s so bad,” He grimaces, “this is embarrassing,”

“Now you see how I feel,” You smirk, “it’s kind of fun being on this end of things,”

“Please,” He rolls his eyes, “are you telling me you’re not panicking?”

“Oh, no,” You laugh, “I definitely am. It’s just nice to know I’m not alone here,”

“I was never this mean to you,”

You hold his gaze, just blinking, there’s nothing to say to that he doesn’t already know.

“Okay, fine,” He sighs, “but still, feeling like this,”

“Feeling like what?” Seonghwa’s voice shocks you both out of your quiet conversation and you both jump back from each other.

“Jesus,” You breathe, “you scared me,”

Seonghwa smiles, “Sorry,” he shrugs, “everything okay?”

“Perfect,” Wooyoung takes a step back and shakes his head, “totally good,”

Seonghwa’s brows come together in the middle, “You seem like something’s wrong, can I help?”

Wooyoung almost blanches, and you know he’s dreading telling San and Seonghwa about Yeosang, so you jump in to help. “Woo was just helping me figure out Saturday,” You cover and draw Seonghwa’s attention back to you, “you know, figuring out what to say to them,”

“Oh,” Seonghwa nods, but you can see that he doesn’t really buy it, “right,”

“Anyways,” Wooyoung starts walking backwards towards the exterior door, “I have to go, but you know, y/n, call me if you need to talk more later,”

“I will,” You nod, “I definitely will.”

Wooyoung knows that what you mean is that you want detailed date updates, and he almost looks mortified at the idea. He disappears fast, leaving you and Seonghwa relatively alone in the hallway.

“What is up with him this week?” Seonghwa asks, confusion on his face.

“He has a date,” You tell him quietly, “he’s kind of freaking out about it.”

“Oh,” Seonghwa glances towards the door where Wooyoung just disappeared, “that’s not that weird for him,”

“It is if he’s this interested after only a few days,” You say, “but don’t tease him. He’s kind of worked up about the whole thing,”

“Who’s he seeing?” Seonghwa asks.

“He should tell you that,” You beg off the gossip immediately, “just do me a favor and give him a little space to talk to you and San about it,”

“Okay,” He draws out the word, not sure exactly where you’re going.

“He’s nervous about upsetting the delicate balance,” You gesture towards him, referring to the carefully constructed relationship that is Wooyoung, San, and Seonghwa.

“He’s seeing another alpha?” Seonghwa jumps to that conclusion with ease, and you can see how he would get there.

You’re shaking your head before you can stop yourself, “It’s not that,”

That does surprise him, and Seonghwa’s eyes widen a bit, “Oh,”

“Right,” You nod, leading him to the conclusion as close as you can without spelling it out, “my point is, he’s nervous and he’s got a pretty serious crush, and he hasn’t said so but I think he’s scared you and San won’t approve.”

“I would never,” He stumbles over his words, “out of anyone, we would never judge him, he has to know that,”

“Hey,” You reach for Seonghwa, stepping a little closer so your voices stay low in the entryway as you brush your hand down his forearm, “he knows, he’s just panicking a little.”

“Should I talk to him?” Seonghwa asks, his eyes earnest.

“Not yet,” You shake your head, “he’ll figure it out, just don’t push him right now. I’ve never seen him this anxious,”

“I won’t,” He promises, “thank you for telling me,”

“Mhm,”

Seonghwa chews over your words a second and then decides to let it drop. With a sigh he refocuses on work, “Are you staying late?”

“Yeah,” You shrug, “I have some things to catch up on. You?”

“I need to track down San,” He says, “but then after that I’m probably heading out a little early,”

“Nice,” You nod, “still shaking off the jetlag?”

He nods, “Unfortunately,”

Down the hall you watch a few of the dancers gathering up their belongings, and then the door to the back office opens to reveal Yunho and Mingi, sitting close together and studying a computer screen as Jaemin leaves for the day.

“Well,” Your feet are already moving, “then I’ll see you later,”

“Sounds good,” He says, and then he gives you a knowing look, seeing exactly where you’re headed.

Before you know it, you’re moving through the people in the hall and trying desperately to come up with a reason for crashing their tete-a-tete.

“Hey,” You knock softly on the open door, “am I interrupting?”

“No, no,” Yunho smiles when he sees you and your stomach bubbles.

“We’re just watching back practice,” Mingi leans back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes.

“Oh, nice,” You say, and your empty words do little to fill the empty space.

“Do you… need something?” Yunho tries.

“Ah, yeah, sorry,” You scramble internally for something to say, “I’m staying late, but I’m kind of starving, I just didn’t know if you still had stuff stashed?”

“Sure,” He gestures towards the cabinets on the side wall, “whatever you want, help yourself,”

“Great,” You dash towards the cabinets, and you can’t even imagine eating right now with how fluttery your insides have been, but you snag a couple of protein bars anyways.

The silence is brutal. Not like before, not like the tense and uncomfortable angry silences of the past, but it’s still sitting there between you. Part of you wants to shut the door right now and just get it all out there, but again, you know you shouldn’t.

Mingi’s warm, chocolatey scent is richer in here, evident after a hard practice of working up a sweat and being given a chance to permeate with the door closed. You feel your body naturally relaxing at it, so comforting and familiar, and then you get the first pang of Yunho’s warm, summer rain.

You can hardly believe how you convinced yourself that this wasn’t scent sympathy when right here and now it’s so obvious they belong to you. You wonder if they feel it too.

“Are you okay?” Mingi’s voice snaps you out of your sudden daydream staring at the cabinet full of snacks.

“Yeah, yes,” You shut them and step back, “I’m fine, just a little tired.”

“Not sleeping well?” Yunho says, concern all over his features.

“I’m fine,” You wave him off, “just a busy week,”

“You don’t have to stay late,” Mingi offers, “I’m sure whatever you’re working on will still be fine tomorrow,”

“I know,” You nod, “but if I don’t get it out of my system I’ll just be thinking about it all night, you know how it is,”

Mingi nods, “Still, take it easy later,”

“I will,” You promise, and you start to turn towards the door when the words just bubble up out of your throat, “you’re both still free Saturday, right?”

“Yeah,” Mingi answers for them both, “are you?”

“Definitely,” You nod, “I just wanted to make sure, I’m looking forward to it,”

“We could do tomorrow instead,” Yunho offers, “after practice?”

“As long as you don’t have other plans,” Mingi cuts in, “for a Friday night,”

“Tomorrow works,” You jump at the chance, “I’d actually love that, I just didn’t want to crowd you when you’re adjusting to the timezone again,”

“It’s fine,” Mingi brushes that thought off, “I’d rather see you,”

“Yeah,” Yunho nods, “it’ll be good to catch up,”

You smile, “I want to hear all about the trip,”

“The trip,” Mingi says, just repeating your words like he’s weighing them out on his own tongue.

Something about his voice sends a sharp zing up the back of your spine.

Your body feels a little soft, relaxing bit by bit.

Yunho’s eyes flick over you, “Are you sure you need to stay late?”

Something your primal little brain cannot handle right now is the thought of your alphas being protective, not when you’re standing in this room encased by their scents that feel a little too right. Your stomach tightens and you pray that you’re not blushing pink at the flickering thought in your mind of them taking you home.

You need to get out of this room before they realize it.

“I’m good,” You tell him, stepping backwards towards the door, “but thank you, and dinner tomorrow is perfect,”

Mingi says something, you think he’s agreeing, but you’re giving another excuse over your shoulder about how you need to get back to it so you can make it out of this room.

Your heart is practically beating out of your chest as you leave the office and make it down the hall, heading for the studio room you’ve booked for the afternoon. You nearly run into Dahan and Minseok as you cut around the corner, but you apologize quickly and barely give them a second glance as you hide yourself away in one of the dance studios alone.

With the door firmly shut you lean back against the closed door and take a deep breath. These feelings are going to work you into a frenzy if you don’t get them under control. Scent sympathy is rare, an almost perfect match between an alpha and omega that makes every part of a relationship heightened, especially once that initial sympathetic bond is fulfilled with a claim. While they were gone you came to that conclusion slowly, the steady ache in your chest so clearly informed by the lack of them, but now that they’re back and here the realization of it collides into you full-force.

You love them, that’s true. But what’s more is how much you need them, and how much you hope they need you. You can’t let them realize it before you have the chance to say everything you need to say, and if you had stayed in that room a few minutes more they might have felt themselves. With the dinner moved to Friday you just have one more night to get through. One more night, and one more day of work. And then the chips will fall where they may.

With a deep breath you let the hammering of your heart slow and then you focus back on the work ahead. The more you pour yourself into work the faster these 24 hours will go, so you put your head down and get to it.

You work for a long time, probably too long, until your muscles are positively aching and any thoughts of Yunho and Mingi are drowned out by lyrics to the chorus of this song that just keeps looping in your mind as you try different patterns of footwork. Here in this bubble you don’t know who’s still at work, who’s left for the day, what time it is, or if the sun has set yet. You just know your own body and every which way that it moves to this one singular song.

Your hair is hot around your face, sweat clinging to your brow as you finish out the latter half of the choreography that you’re confident with. It’s fast, and includes so much up and down floor work you’re pretty sure you’d be passing out if you weren’t hydrating properly. Focused on your reflection in the mirror you gather your hair up and away and into a knot and then move to find your towel and water bottle.

The door to the studio opens behind you, and you glance back without really seeing who’s popping in, “Hey,”

For a split second it occurs to you that it might be Yunho or Mingi and your stomach flips as you start to turn.

“Hey, y/n,” Minseok’s voice is a bit of a surprise.

“Oh, hey,”

He looks like he’s just stopping by to grab something from the far desk in the corner. You’re honestly surprised that he’s still here, he had looked on his way out earlier when you bumped into him in the hall.

“Are you heading out for the night?” You take a drink of water and catch your breath, leaning against the mirrored wall behind you.

“Soon,” He nods, running a hand through his dark hair and snagging a sweatshirt hanging over the back of the office chair.

“Well,” You smile, “have a good night,”

“You too,” He says as he walks past you, but then his steps slow and you hear him sigh before he turns on his heel, “listen, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,”

“I hope you don’t think this is weird,” He takes a few more steps back towards you, “but I’ve actually been meaning to ask you something for a while now,”

“Oh,” Your eyebrows raise, and suddenly you can see everything in his expression. You know this look. You know the way men get when they finally rip off the bandage and change the equilibrium of a room, the moment they decide they can’t see you as just a friend. What absolutely terrible timing he has.

“I was thinking,” He says, a little pause before the rest and you hope you’re keeping your face nice and neutral, “do you think I could take you out some time?”

“Out?” The word leaves you.

He smiles, “Yeah, out, like a date.”

“I appreciate that,” You shake your head a little, trying to smile and keep things light, “but I don’t think so,”

His lip quirks and his nose scrunches and you suppose that if you were interested you might find this part of him charming, but you’re not, so it isn’t. “Are you seeing someone?” He asks.

“No,” You tell him honestly, “not right now.”

“So, I can’t get you to give me one chance?” He takes a step forwards, gesturing between you both and keeping his gaze hopeful.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” You shake your head, “we work together.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” He assures you, brushing past the boundary you tried to set with casual indifference, “don’t worry about that.”

“Still,” You shake your head, “but thank you for asking.”

You’re not at all thankful for him asking, but he’s nice enough, and it feels like the polite way to keep the status quo.

“That’s a shame,” He admits, his smile dropping almost entirely, “are you sure I can’t convince you to give me just one chance? I really do like you, y/n,”

“I’m sure,” That should be firm enough.

“I thought we were getting along well,” He cuts off the end of your words, “becoming friends.”

“I thought so too,” You straighten up off the wall behind you, tossing your towel over your shoulder and setting up to walk right out of the studio room if that’s what it would take to end this interaction, “I thought we were friends,”

You can’t help but emphasize the word friends, and you watch the moment his expression drops more, annoyance flicking through his jaw.

“I didn’t think you had such a problem seeing people you worked with,” He says pointedly.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s just that,” He shrugs, nodding towards you, “I didn’t think it bothered you. Considering.”

“Listen,” You lock eyes with him, “let it go. I’m trying to be nice about this, but I can be clearer. I am not interested in going out with you.”

“You don’t have to be rude,”

“Goodnight, Minseok,” You’re not staying for this.

“I’m a good guy,” He says as you start towards the door, “don’t, come on just stay a second,”

You keep walking.

“y/n,” He says, his voice startlingly close behind you, “stay.”

It’s like your legs stop working, an echoing strike of nerves down your spine and you stumble slightly as his hand closes around your wrist.

“Let go of me.” You start to turn towards him, pulling your arm back as you do, but he speaks again.

“Stop.” His voice is so low suddenly, situated smack in the center of his chest, a tenor you’ve never heard from him before. Your legs stop working all together, suddenly feeling like lead.

“Take your hands off me.” You blink hard, your head feeling a little full suddenly.

“I just don’t understand,” He bites, “we’ve been flirting for weeks.”

You can’t find the words to tell him that you being nice isn't flirting, but you’re stunned into silence. You can barely even think of a time when you had a sustained conversation with him where someone else wasn’t present. How could interactions that felt so routine to you feel so significant for him?

“And you’re just… not interested?” He scoffs, “You’re what, twenty-six? Twenty-seven? You’re going to start running out of good offers.”

So many things about Seo Minseok fall into place with just those words. The way that just a few weeks ago he barely looked at you, barely spoke to you. Always spending his attention on the alphas in the room around you, but never you. How when that tide shifted you thought, maybe naively, that he was just shy. But he’s not shy, not in the least. He’s just another alpha in a long line of alphas who look down their noses at omegas until there’s something they want from them.

“That’s really none of your concern,” You shake your head, “now get the fuck off me.”

“Be quiet.” His jaw sets hard.

So does yours.

A thousand thoughts run through your brain like a wildfire eating up a hillside of dry bark but nothing can make it past your lips. The tone of his voice has you rooted to the spot, his instructions not suggestions but strict commands. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard an alpha use tone, but it’s certainly the first time it’s been directed at you. You’ve heard stories, the way the primal omega brain surfaces even when you don’t want it to. You thought it was a bit of an overstatement, but now on the receiving end you can’t control your response to him and fear floods you.

“You talk a lot for an unmated omega,” He looks disappointed.

Something shrinks inside you.

His fingers tighten, his body suddenly closer, “But we can fix that.”

In a breath his hands push you backwards, your back suddenly cold against the mirrored wall of the practice room. Later, much later, you’ll discover that the reason your memory of this moment is patchy is a combination of your omega’s response to alpha tone and full dissociation. You’ll remember little pieces, quick sensations here and there. The same song still looping through the stereo, the sound of his deep inhale with his face pressed against your throat, the sharp pin pricks of his teeth as he seeks out the soft juncture of your neck and shoulder. The way your mind in one heaving breath both screams in rebellion and folds open in acceptance when he successfully locates your gland.

You suddenly can’t hear right, can’t think right. All you know is his teeth. The hot feeling of breath. He smells like burnt, bitter oranges. He’s talking again, saying something that your conscious mind can’t register, but your omega does, and you stretch your neck long to give him the access he needs.

And then you’re under.

You’re dropping before you consciously register your brain entering a new, hazy middle space. It feels like being at the bottom of a deep pool, the sudden, immersive quiet. You understand that someone is talking to you, or around you, but all you can hear is the echoing tenor of an alpha, the words unclear, all cocooned in the water around you.

There’s a bang somewhere but it feels far away, and you feel pin pricks against your throat.

Minseok’s overwhelming acrid scent and heavy pressure against you is gone, the sudden loss of his weight leaving you off balance. You think you’re falling, or maybe you’ve already fallen. The world feels tilted, something hard and cold under your back. You smell something sharp and tangy, and there’s something loud in the room but you can’t understand it. Everything is white, bright and intrusive.

Mingi’s face swims into your vision, and you feel his hands on your cheeks. It takes you a minute to understand anything, but he looks upset, stricken and his cheeks are tinged pink with panicked anger. You want to reach up, soothe his brow and see what’s wrong, but you can’t lift your hand. Don’t move an inch.

“Jesus,” Mingi glances to his side, “he put her in subspace,”

Someone responds, but it’s muffled to your ears.

Mingi’s face darkens entirely, his hands leave you, “I’ll fucking kill him,”

He’s gone. There’s a scuffle to your side, but you can’t turn your head, you want to, you just can’t. Tears bubble in your eyes, emotion pulsing through you and your breath is tight and thready in your throat. A sharp, whining sob bubbles from your lips.

Warm rain swims through you, and Yunho’s there, sliding right into the spot Mingi left. His eyes dart over your face and then he looks to his side, his voice firm, “Calm down or get out of here, do you understand me? You’re scaring her,”

There’s a long beat, noises to your side again but you can’t understand it. Your stomach flips nervously, the place you’re stuck in your head throbbing a sharp spike through your brain.

Yunho’s warm, brown eyes settle back on yours, his face calm and easy, “Can you hear me, y/n?”

You can, but you can’t make your mouth work. Don’t move an inch.

“Can you hear me? y/n?” He asks again, his thumb brushing your cheek, “You’re safe, he’s not going to touch you again,”

The hard feeling of Minseok’s hands on your hips pushing you into the practice room mirror snaps inside you and you release a soft sound.

“You can hear me,” Yunho nods, “come on, wake up,”

“Yunho,” Mingi’s voice is close again, hard and steady, “that’s not going to work,”

“Why?” Yunho looks up to his friend, “she can hear me, she’s okay,”

“She’s in subspace,” Mingi pushes his friend to the side, coming into your eye line, “she’s dropped so far under it’s going to take more than that,”

“W-what do we do?” Yunho’s voice is shaky.

“Let me try something,” Mingi murmurs, and then his eyes lock squarely on yours.

Yunho slips his hand into yours, holding you tightly, but you can’t squeeze him back.

“Omega,” Mingi’s voice is firm, and it’s the clearest thing you’ve heard since sinking under the water, “Come up now.”

Don’t move an inch.

“You need to come up now,” His fingers tighten on your cheek, “listen to me.”

Don’t move an inch.

“Why isn’t this working?” Yunho asks, squeezing your fingers.

“I’m not sure,” Mingi’s voice is low, and then he shifts closer to your face, “y/n. Omega. Listen to me now,”

All you can do is manage to make a quiet, tight noise, and even to your muddled brain you can hear the tenor of distress.

“Come up now,” Mingi repeats, “right now. Listen to me, omega.”

You’re being torn in two, your primal brain fighting you every step of the way.

He swallows hard, his voice dropping low in his chest, “Don’t disobey your alpha,”

Suddenly nothing but his voice exists.

Mingi’s expression is cold, tight and ruthless, his rich tone cuts straight to your core, “When you’re given a directive, you follow it. Now,” He locks his hands on either side of your face and his next words are a pointed and perfectly clear command, “Come. Up.”

The room is so much louder than you thought a moment ago. There’s shouting outside and you vaguely register San’s voice amongst the mix. The music from practice is still on low. Yunho’s leg is bouncing nervously, the athletic fabric making a rhythmic swish with every bob of his knee. You can hear your blood rushing in your ears.

“I’m sorry,” You choke out, the first feeling that floods back into your body is intense shame.

“Oh my god,” Mingi’s expression crumbles and he pulls your limp body into his arms “you’re here? You’re with us?”

“M-Mingi,” Your vision clouds with tears again and every feeling that tried to course through your body while you were in subdrop crashes into you sideways.

“Shh,” He rocks you in his arms, “we’ve got you, we’re right here, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,”

A dull throb radiates through your skull and Yunho takes a sharp inhale, “She’s bleeding,”

“What?” Mingi pulls back, his hand searching your body.

“Here,” Yunho brushes the back of your hair, his fingers coming away with a small line of blood, “it’s not too bad,”

“What happened?” You reach for the cut at the back of your head, nervous tears coming up as you try to understand.

“You don’t remember?” Yunho asks.

“I’m,” You swallow hard, “it was practice? Or I was practicing? I had the room booked.”

“Yeah,” Yunho nods and squeezes your hand, “what else?”

The date. The hard set of Minseok’s jaw when you said no. His hands on your hips, his lips on your neck, the soft drag of his teeth and the flat of his tongue over your gland. Your shirt tearing when he hauled you up against the mirrors. Hands everywhere. Hands nowhere. The white ceiling. His voice, harsh and direct in your ears, the alpha tone unmistakable. Submit. Heel. Don’t move an inch.

Your mouth is suddenly hot and watery, and your hands are shaking, “I’m… I’m going to be sick,”

“Shit,” Yunho moves fast, sliding across the floor to grab the wastebasket that sits under the desk, pushing it into your hands.

You wretch instantly, shaking and heaving, losing the contents of your stomach into the plastic bin.

“Okay,” Mingi soothes, gathering up your hair into one hand and holding it away from your face, “you’re okay,”

“He touched me,” Your hands won’t stop shaking, his voice flooding back, and you heave again, “the things he said,”

“Shh,” Yunho shifts closer, rubbing a hand up and down your back, “you’re safe. None of that is true,”

“He talked to me like a dog,” You sob, “and I couldn’t move, he told me not to move and I just let him,”

“No.” Mingi’s voice is harsh and you twitch under his hands, “He used alpha tone on you, he wanted you to stop fighting and he said it in tone until you couldn’t hear anything else. You didn’t let him do anything,”

“I’ve never,” You wretch again, a dry heave with nothing to give and it makes your eyes watery.

“We’re right here,” Yunho murmurs, “you’re safe.”

When you’re sure your stomach will hold, you push the wastebasket away and drop back to the floor, your head throbbing, “I’ve never been in subspace,”

“You’re not there now,” Mingi soothes.

“I don’t remember,” You manage, looking down at your mussed clothes, “it’s so muddled I can’t remember,”

“What can’t you remember?” Yunho asks softly.

You’re pretty sure you’d register it if his attempt at claiming had been successful, if the word attempt should even be in consideration at all, but the end is so fuzzy you just have to know. “Did he… did we?”

“No.” Yunho’s firm, sliding in front of you so he can make you look into his eyes, “absolutely not,”

Your mouth tastes terrible, but it’s the overwhelming bitter smell of him on you that doubles it and makes you want to throw up again even though your stomach is empty.

“All I can smell is him,” You scrub your hands under your eyes to wipe away tears, “I can’t even breathe,”

“Take her,” Mingi says, “I’m getting water,”

Yunho pulls you into his arms, sitting back against the mirrored wall for some support and cradling you to his chest, “Come here, is this okay?”

“Make it go away,” You hold onto his shirt and sigh into his neck, “please, Yunho, please,”

“Just breathe,” He soothes you, “I have you,”

He smooths his thumbs over the glands in your wrists, easing the initial panic inside you, and then gently draws your head back with his hand, “It’s only me,” He murmurs, “you know I’d never hurt you,”

Yunho licks a long stripe up your neck, and instantly your body starts to release, tense muscles unlocking and your fingers falling slack. His scent washes over you, enveloping you tenderly.

“Y-Yunho,” you shudder as he licks another long stripe, moving to suck softly on the fleshy part of your neck that narrowly avoided teeth marks.

“Yes?” He kisses your neck softly, and licks again.

“Thank you for coming for me,” You exhale slowly.

He stills, sinking closer and resting his closed lips on your shoulder. When he breathes in you hear the catch of emotion, “I thought we were too late,”

“I’m okay,” You murmur, and it’s starting to feel true now that he’s washing away Minseok’s scent.

“God,” He sighs into your skin, “when I heard you scream… I’ve never heard anything that terrifying in my life, I’ve never run so fast,”

“Did I scream?” You don’t remember it.

“Bloody murder,” He nods, pulling back to look at your eyes.

“Yunho,” Your eyes flick up towards the open door of the practice studio, “where is he?”

His hands tighten on you, “Probably nursing his broken ribs. The guys have him,”

Your eyes widen, and the realization that he’s still under the same roof has you trembling in his arms, “He’s still here,”

“Not for long,” He murmurs, “we called the police,”

“But,” Your mind is spinning and you feel the weight of him on your chest once more, “what if he comes back?”

“y/n,” Yunho draws your eyes away from the door, “San and Seonghwa have him, and he’s in rough shape. He’s probably focused on trying to breathe, not thinking about you anymore. And even if none of that were true and he did come back,” he says, “I’d put him on the floor faster than you could blink. Mingi and I both would.”

Your muscles start to relax again, “Okay,”

“You are completely safe,”

Mingi reappears a few moments later, bottles of water in hand, and he smiles warmly, “Hey, you,”

“Hey,”

“Feeling a little better?” He asks, settling on the hard practice room floor and passing you an open bottle.

“I don’t know,” You murmur honestly, shifting in Yunho’s arms so that you’re resting on his lap with your back against his chest. You take a long drink of water and sigh.

“Listen,” Mingi smooths a hand across your thigh, “the police are going to want to talk to you. They’ll be here within the hour and then we’ll go to the hospital.”

“Why?” You tense.

“Your head,” He nods.

“It’s stopped bleeding,” Yunho assures you, “but he’s right, you could have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,”

“I didn’t realize you had a medical degree,” Mingi says, a little edge to his voice.

Hot tears well in your eyes at his tone, and you shrink back into Yunho’s arms. You know rationally he didn’t mean to scare you, he’s just worried about you, but after the day you’ve had you can’t help but shrink back in fear.

“Hey,” Yunho presses his lips to your neck, “it’s alright, Mingi didn’t mean it like that”

Mingi’s eyes blow wide, “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything,”

“I know,” You tip your head to the side to offer more of your throat to Yunho’s soothing touches, “I’m just not myself,”

“It’s okay,” Yunho says again, returning to your neck and peppering kisses across your gland, and something about this should feel intimate and awkward when you haven’t talked to them yet, but all you can feel is safe.

“Really,” Mingi reaches for you, but doesn’t touch you, “I just want you to let us help, and I’m so angry with Minseok I could kill him, but I didn’t mean to put that on you,”

“Mingi,” You take his outstretched hand, “I’m okay, you just startled me, and you’re right anyways. I’ll come to the hospital,”

He sighs in relief.

“After,” Yunho murmurs, “would you - I mean, will you please come home with us tonight?”

It’s strange how much you feel like it is home, despite only spending your heat there, months ago, so long ago now you shouldn’t still feel this preternatural pull.

“I don’t know,” You say, even though your body is begging you to agree, to stay with them and only them.

“I know it’s been different between us,” He murmurs, arms tightening around you, “but you know how I feel. I just don’t want you to be alone tonight, someone should be with you,”

“Someone you feel safe with,” Mingi adds, “if that’s us,”

“It is,” You lock your hand down on Mingi’s, “I’m sorry, this is… of course you’re safe, of course you are. I’m just,”

“Let’s talk about this later,” Mingi smiles, shooting a look at Yunho you can’t quite make sense of, but brushing your fears to the side all the same, “for now, let’s just get you taken care of.”

You shudder out a breath, letting the warmth and safety of their bodies sink into you. You turn into Yunho, resting your cheek on his chest and matching your breath in time to his. Your thoughts spin, bubbling over as threads of the incident come back to your mind and you press your eyes closed before the question slips out, “Why did he do it?”

Yunho wraps his arms around you a little tighter, dropping his lips to your hair, “I don’t know,”

Mingi clears his throat, “He’s about to hit his rut,” he says, “that’s what his excuse was. He said he’s… he kept saying how sorry he was, but,”

Your eyes snap open, “Sorry? He’s sorry?”

“Sorry someone interrupted him, maybe,” Mingi’s voice is hard, his eyes firm and unrelenting, “a rut doesn’t make you do that. Not like that.”

Yunho shakes his head in agreement, “Definitely not,”

You know that, of course you know it, but after seeing Minseok’s black eyes you’re not so sure. You had never felt completely comfortable with him, but in the past you would have chalked that up to personality differences, and in the past few weeks that had all started to change. He was the kind of guy you wouldn’t date, but you wouldn’t worry about bothering you.

You sigh softly, “He didn’t seem like himself,”

“Mm,” Mingi hums, non-committal.

“A rut doesn’t make it impossible to hear the word no,” Yunho says firmly, “you don’t become some mindless animal. What he tried to do… that’s… a rut’s an easy excuse.”

You tense up in his arms, a brief flicker of what could have been. His teeth in your neck, your mind spinning into submission.

“Yunho,” Mingi shakes his head at his best friend, glancing down at you to indicate that it’s not something you can hear right now.

“I’m sorry,” Yunho soothes, holding you closer if it’s at all possible.

Your chest tightens, “Can I… I need to get up,”

His arms relax immediately, hands shifting under your elbows to help support you while Mingi jumps up and offers you his hands to pull you up. Back on your own two feet you waver a minute, but you shake off the dizzy spell and try to get your bearings again. They're waiting on a razor’s edge, hands out and ready to intervene, but you’ve made it clear that for the moment you don’t want to be touched.

A shout from the hall leaves you jumping, but you register Wooyoung’s voice a moment later, “Where is she?”

“The studio,” San’s voice replies, “slow down,”

“Is he in the back office? Give me a fucking minute alone with him,” Wooyoung’s voice is murderous and you smile at how ready your best friend sounds to do battle on your behalf, “I’ll show him what an omega can fucking do,”

“Youngie,” San’s voice is even and warm, keeping things soft, “you need to calm down,”

“Calm down,” He scoffs, his voice getting closer as he travels down the hall and you know he’s almost at the door.

“I hardly think y/n needs,” San starts to say, but then they round the corner.

Wooyoung’s eyes are wild, searching and terrified, and something inside you shatters. San’s words die on his lips when he sees you, and in a startling moment of clarity you rush forwards and into Wooyoung’s arms.

“Shh, shh,” He wraps you up tight, one hand at the back of your head as he rocks you back and forth, “you’re safe, you’re in one piece,”

“Woo,” Tears come fast, and you bury your face in his chest.

“Stupid fucking alphas,” He curses into your shoulder and you can hear his breath hitched and clouded with tears of his own, “acting like they can take whatever they want,”

You’re sure the rest of the room is bristling at that comment but you couldn’t care less.

“You want me to break the rest of his ribs?” He kisses your head, “I’ll make it look like a fucking accident, I swear to God,”

“Woo,” You laugh into his chest, vision blurry with unshed tears, “stop, that’s insane,”

“I am nothing if not a little insane,” Wooyoung squeezes you, “and you and me? We protect each other, right?”

“Always,” You grip the back of his shirt like a lifeline.

The bond between omegas can’t be understood by a single other person in the room, maybe even in the building. You cling to each other in the middle of the studio floor, encased in this moment of shared grief. Of what you are and what that means. He shifts you in his arms so he can look at your face, cupping your tear stained cheeks.

The sight of his own tears makes yours come faster, “What did I do?”

His expression hardens and he shakes his head, sucking in a harsh breath, “Nothing, not a single fucking thing. Do you hear me?”

“Woo,” You want him to let you go. You want him to tug you close again.

He shakes your shoulders hard, and in your periphery you see Mingi take a half step forward as Wooyoung pushes back on your words, “You didn’t do anything. You’re existing, and he tried to take advantage of that. This isn’t your fault, there’s nothing you could have or should have done.”

You open your mouth to say something but he plows forward.

“Alphas take, alright?” He shakes you again, more gently this time, “We’re lucky. You and me, we found good ones, but alphas are programmed to take, and we’re programmed to give. He used it against you. Nothing else.”

Your breath hitches, and you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him cradle you again.

“Shh, shh,” He rubs your back, soothing you again.

“I hate this,” You manage, your face buried in his shoulder.

“I know,” He eases you, “I fucking hate it too,”

You hold each other a little longer until both of your tears start to subside. You stay steady in his grip, his fresh salt and cotton scent lulling you into safety. The buzzing of your brain starts to release, and the fear is still there under your skin but at least for now it’s low and letting you breathe.

Nuzzling into his shoulder you sigh, “What are you doing back here anyways?”

“San called,” He kisses your hair, “I broke several laws getting here,”

You laugh against his collarbone where his oversized t-shirt is pulled down, no doubt from the way your hands grip whatever part of him you can.

He rubs a warm hand up and down your back and when he speaks again it’s not to you, this time he addresses the alphas in the room. He clears his throat softly, head lifting up and away from yours, “So, who busted his nose?”

“Uh,” Yunho makes a small sound behind you, “that would be me,”

“Good,” Wooyoung says, “when she stops crying I’m giving you a handshake,”

You smile against his damp skin and shake your head, “I’m not crying, I’m fine,”

“Sure,” Wooyoung murmurs, but he doesn’t let you go, just strokes your back more until you settle further into him.

“The police will be here soon,” San murmurs, his voice staying relaxed and steady to make sure everything stays level in the room.

“Right,” Wooyoung sighs, “y/n, can I let you go? I don't have to if you’re not ready,”

You nod immediately though, unwinding your arms from him and taking a ginger step back. He gives you a soft smile, and you scrub the last of the tears from your face with the sleeves of your sweatshirt. He gives you a minute to stand steady and then turns to Yunho and Mingi who both look frozen and unsure of what to do or what to say.

“You both got him off her?” He says, matter of fact.

“Yeah,” Mingi’s voice is tight, like he had been choking back tears of his own, and Yunho simply nods.

“Thank you,” Wooyoung tugs Mingi into a hug and squeezes him tight before shifting to Yunho to hug him too, “seriously,”

Once they break apart, you’re left all in a haphazard circle, and you can feel all the eyes on you. It makes you so tired, dizzy, ready to be done and just crawl under a blanket for the rest of the week. In the back of your throat you still taste bitter orange.

“Um,” Your voice comes out a little more scratchy than you want, and you clear your throat, letting everything fade.

“What is it?” Yunho asks gently.

You don’t know how to ask this, how to beg them to keep holding you together so you can just get through existing in this room. You sigh, the deep exhale making you dizzy again, and step towards him, “C-can I,”

He opens his arms immediately, letting you close the space so he doesn’t assume your needs, but as you collide with him again he responds perfectly, scooping you up into his arms and letting you wrap your legs around his waist. He supports you with ease, an arm under your thighs and another situated high on your back.

“Better?” He murmurs, smiling a little as you bury your head in his neck.

You nod into his neck, and then you allow yourself one tiny moment of weakness, listening to your body and what it needs for once over your anxiety. You mumble it into his neck, but he hears you when you say, “Yunho?”

“Yeah, baby?” His voice is so soft, quiet like he’s afraid of what you might say.

You don’t miss the way Wooyoung’s eyebrows go high at the endearment, but you ignore him and focus instead on the man holding you up, together, in one solid piece. You lift your head so he hears you clearly, “Will you please take me home?”

He goes still and turns his head just a little, “Your apartment or,”

“Take me home with you,” You repeat, “I want to go home,”

This will surely just make everything more muddled and foggy between the three of you tomorrow in the cold light of day, but you don’t care. Right now you just want to be home, in whatever form that means.

He exhales low and shaky, “Alright,” he murmurs, kissing your throat softly to help calm your trembling, “I’ve got you, let’s go home,”

A warm wide palm rests on the center of your back, and Mingi leans in close to catch your eyes, “y/n, can you look at me a second?”

You pull your head up from the crook of Yunho’s neck where you’ve just been taking deep steady inhales of wet earth and meet his eyes.

“Hey,” He smiles.

Your eyes dart between him and Wooyoung, who seems suddenly ancy. “What?” You straighten up a little more in Yunho’s arms.

“You can go wherever you want,” He starts off, “but do you want us to take you home, or would you feel more comfortable with Wooyoung? Or… Seonghwa, if… if that would be better for how you’re feeling,”

Yunho tenses a little, his fingers tightening where he holds you, and you can feel him physically holding himself back from saying a single word, from begging you to come with them.

You’ve made up your mind though, and within a second you’re shaking your head, “No, I want you,”

Yunho relaxes, his lips returning to your throat and you sigh.

“Then you have us,” Mingi assures you.

The sound of the elevators in the hall stop you all cold though, and San holds up his hands, “I’ll go see, it’s probably the police,”

The idea of talking to them suddenly makes you sick, and you’re sure it shows all over your face.

“It’s going to be fine,” Wooyoung jumps back in, “don’t worry, we’ll be there the whole time.”

You need this to be done. You grip down on Yunho’s shoulders, “I want to go home,”

“I know,” Mingi nods.

“Y-Yunho,” You’re scrambling a little in his arms, sudden panic swirling in your gut, and you twist to find his eyes, “please, get me out of here, please take me home,”

You feel it the minute he chooses you over anything else, “Okay, alright,”

“You need to talk to the cops,” Wooyoung shakes his head, trying to reason with you.

You’re trembling in Yunho’s arms and he shakes his head, “She needs to go,”

Mingi senses your heightened emotions too and you feel it when he moves closer, both of them shifting to protect you, “She can do this later,”

“I don’t know that that’s such a good idea,” Wooyoung insists.

“I couldn’t give a fuck,” Yunho grips you tighter, “we’re taking our girl home,”

“Your-” Wooyoung scoffs when he hears the words, “fucking alphas,”

“Who she wants to take her home,” Mingi points out, a distinct edge to his voice.

“Stop arguing,” You beg them, hanging onto Yunho’s shoulders, “please, please,”

“Fuck,” Yunho relaxes, stroking your back, “I’m sorry, of course we won’t, I’m sorry,”

Mingi brushes his hand over the back of your head and Wooyoung gives you an apologetic face, his defensiveness over you is understandable, but he also knows how you feel about these men and you watch him choose to hold his tongue.

A knock on the door brings you all back to the present, San handling the situation with more grace than any of you combined, “The police said that they can speak with you at the hospital and make it brief.”

You exhale heavily and nod against Yunho, “Okay, fine,”

“Are you sure?” Mingi strokes your cheek.

“I just want to be done,”

“Should we stay with you?” Yunho murmurs.

“Please,” You grip his shoulders.

“Alright,” He sighs, “Woo, could you… I’m sorry, can you grab her things? Let’s just try to make this quick for her,”

Wooyoung clears his throat, his eyes never leaving yours, “Yeah, I got it,”

“Uh,” San interrupts as you all try to gather your things, “Yunho, they want to talk to you first, they’re waiting in the back office,”

“Oh,”

“They have some questions,” San explains quietly, “but she she doesn’t need to be there for that,”

“Right,” Yunho nods and then presses a kiss to your hair, “can I put you down, sweetheart?”

Your chest warms.

“No, here,” Mingi cuts in, his hand sweeping over your back and you feel them shift you from Yunho’s arms to his, “come here,”

He settles you against his chest and you wrap around him just the same, soaking in the warm scent of cocoa and cinnamon. You let your eyes drift shut as you rest on his shoulder, “Hey, Mingi,”

“Hey,” He says softly.

“Thank you,” You sigh.

“Mhm,” He rocks you a little as he takes your bags from Wooyoung and slings them over his shoulder, the combined weight of it and you not fazing him at all, “I told you once I’ll always be here, I meant it,”

“I believe you,” You murmur into his throat.

You rest here, Mingi’s thumb rubbing a comforting line over the back of your neck.

“Time to go,” Wooyoung’s voice pipes back in, “there’s a car ready, Yunho will be there in a a few minutes,”

“Alright,” Mingi presses a soft kiss to your hair, “here we go,”

He carries you with ease, and you sink into the steady thump of his heart under your palm that’s keeping you grounded. Over his shoulder you watch Wooyoung walking with you and you see police officers down the hall. The door to the back office swings open and Yunho is leaning against the desk as he speaks with an officer. Seonghwa sits in a chair next to him, his head in his hands, blood coating his knuckles and the sleeves of his shirt. Something pulls in your gut, begging you to go to him, but then you’re outside and all you can feel is Mingi holding you as he ferries you into the car.

“Do you need anything?” He asks as he settles you into the passenger seat

“I don’t know,” You tell him honestly, letting your head drop back against the seat and taking a deep breath, eyes slipping closed.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Wooyoung jumps forward, “keep your eyes open,”

“I’m fine,” You tell him, but you still do what he asks.

“Just in case,” Wooyoung presses, “you shouldn’t fuck with head injuries,”

“He’s right,” Mingi murmurs, crouching next to you just outside the car, “and I’m sure you’re fine, but let’s just be sure, okay?”

“Okay,”

A noise just past the two of them makes you jump.

“It’s just Sannie,” Wooyoung assures you.

You nod and Mingi takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.

“Yunho’s almost done,” San announces, but he hurries to the car and leans in to check you, “doing okay?”

“Yeah,”

“Can you do something for me?” He cups your cheek to bring your eyes up to his.

“Mhm,” You nod again.

“I need you to just focus on us for a minute,” He moves to crouch next to Mingi, and then Wooyoung steps closer too, blocking out some of your peripheral vision.

“Why?” You fight the urge to turn around.

Red and blue lights flash in the car mirrors and you reflexively glance up at the rear view mirror, catching sight of an ambulance, and tension fills your stomach.

San reaches up and catches your face again, “Hey, look at me,”

You pull your eyes away, “Are they here for him?”

“Yes,” San nods.

“Is he badly hurt?” Your mouth feels dry.

There’s a pause and then Wooyoung sighs, “Don’t lie to her,”

Mingi clears his throat softly, “He’s pretty busted up,”

“Good,” You breathe.

San smiles, taking your other hand in his and smoothing his thumb over your knuckles. The sound of the doors catches your attention again, and you resist the urge to turn around once again. San shakes his head a little, “Just keep looking at us,”

“He really picked the wrong person to fuck with,” Wooyoung says, his hand resting warmly on your shoulder.

An image of Seonghwa and his bloody knuckles flashes through your mind and your breath quickens, “Is Hwa okay?”

Mingi’s brows draw together.

“He’s fine,” San assures you immediately.

“I saw blood,” You can’t articulate it exactly, the image is just static in your mind.

“It’s not his blood,” San promises, “we’re all fine, Seonghwa is fine,”

The sound of the ambulance doors swinging shut makes you jump.

“Shh,” Mingi squeezes your hand, “you’re safe, you’re with me,”

Everything in your body feels tense and stretched thin, but Mingi’s hand is solid in yours and you grip down on it, letting it tether you.

You listen as the ambulance pulls away, your muscles unclenching one by one as the sound of the vehicle fades.

“Woo,” You manage, “can you check on Hwa for me? And text me?”

“Yeah,” He assures you, “I got you,”

“Take a deep breath,” Mingi instructs you, “please, for me,”

You take a long inhale and meet his eyes and he nods as you let the breath out low and slow through your nose.

“Again, please,” He nods.

You breathe again, the same steady pace, “I’m tired,”

“It’s the adrenaline wearing off,” Mingi tells you, “but as soon as a doctor says you can sleep, you can rest,”

“Okay,” You nod.

San’s hand disconnects from yours and he starts to stand, “Yunho’s done,”

You twist in your seat to see him, Wooyoung stepping out of the way, and you can see Yunho jogging towards the car, “Everything okay?”

“Mhm,” Mingi keeps himself calm for you.

“That took forever,” He says, “I’m sorry,”

“It didn’t,” You shake your head, “don’t be sorry,”

“You should go,” Wooyoung interrupts, “get her looked at,”

You find your best friend’s eyes, “You’ll text me?”

“Of course I will,” He nods, “but right now just focus on yourself. We’re all okay,”

You nod, and your eyes feel heavy again already. You know they’ll be trying to keep you awake in the car at this rate.

“Let’s go,” Mingi nods, “can I have my hand back for a minute?” He smiles at you.

“Sorry,” You drop his hand, almost embarrassed at the way you’re clinging to him.

“Go,” San ushers Yunho towards the driver’s side, “if you need anything, we’re here,”

Before you know it everyone’s moving and your car door is shut. Yunho slides into the driver’s seat to your left and Mingi moves into the backseat behind you.

You meet Wooyoung’s eyes through the window and he rests a hand over his chest. He mouths a simple message - I love you, okay?

You nod and the car starts to move, but you know he knows you love him too.

Mingi shifts forwards in his seat as Yunho starts to drive, and his long arm reaches around to find your hand again. He laces your fingers together once and this time he doesn’t let go.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Later that night, the warm, rich scent of their apartment almost takes you out at the knees when you finally cross the threshold, so overwhelmingly comforting and enveloping that you want nothing more than to bury yourself inside the feeling for days. Mingi nearly runs into your back when you stop short in the entryway and Yunho’s watching you carefully as he hangs up your jackets.

“What?” Mingi nudges you gently.

There’s a million things to say. Things left unsaid after your last conversation, that fight you wish you could forget. The letter. All the things you were planning on confessing Saturday. The way you want so badly to erase today and just be with them. Every ounce of their soothing physicality after Minseok brings all your emotions up tenfold. Their tenderness almost chokes you. All the things you want to say are stuck in your throat. You need to get your head on straight. You need sleep.

“Hey,” Yunho waves a hand in front of your dazed expression, “are you alright?”

Not really. The hospital was long and awkward, seeing a glimpse of Minseok’s name on a hospital room door even worse, and the police had so many questions that all sounded fairly judgemental. Not to mention the probing questions from the hospital staff about your cycle and if you’re close to pre-heat. As if that matters at all. You settle for something a little less dire though, “I’m fine, sorry, it’s just been a while,”

Yunho’s ears darken to a deep shade of pink and he nods.

“You can sleep in my room,” Mingi offers, “like before. We can stay or not stay, it’s up to you.”

“I’d like to be alone,” You tell them, “if that’s alright,”

“Of course,” Mingi smooths a hand down your arm, “whatever you want.”

“Um,” You sigh heavily, “honestly I’m exhausted. I think I might just shower and sleep as long as you don’t mind,”

Yunho shakes his head, gesturing towards the hall, “Not at all, just… call if you need anything,”

You start back towards the bathroom, your eyes down and away from them, but Mingi calls out, “You remember where everything is?”

There’s no way you could forget, and you call back that you’re fine. You got it. You just need to be alone, alone is good, alone feels safe.

In the shower you scrub your skin raw, spending extra time and attention on your glands even though it makes your skin there puffy and red, pinpricks of blood at the surface of your skin and lilac bruises surrounding every edge. It doesn’t matter how comforting their scents are, nothing is taking away the deep intent of Minseok’s mouth on your neck - and the bitter, burnt citrus smell takes ages to wash away. By the time you finish, you’re about ready to collapse.

Mingi leaves you clothes again, folded neatly on his bed and ready for you. They’re nowhere to be seen, taking your plea for time alone seriously. He’s laid out a clean pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt, both fresh from the wash. The hoodie you had stolen during your heat lies next to it, and it’s a kind gesture, but suddenly you don’t want it. You want nothing.

You toss the hoodie to the side and start to climb into the bed, but that smells so heavily of cinnamon spice that you can’t think straight. You had just gotten used to blissfully smelling nothing after your shower, and so you strip the bed entirely, discarding all of the pillows and blankets and sheets into the farthest corner of the room.

The mattress is bare now, but once you turn the circulating fan off you fix the issue of the cold and his scent washing over you every time you try to close your eyes. You can still sense him, sense them, somewhere in the background, but here on the stripped bed in sterilized clothes with your skin rubbed raw, you can rest.

You drift into sleep this way, your head clear.

It doesn’t stay that way for long.

You’re not sure how long you’re asleep before you wake in abject terror, but it must be at least a couple of hours with the sky outside pitch dark and the apartment completely quiet around you. It’s obvious you’re the only one awake, but your brain can’t quite process it right. All you feel is shaking fear and the echo of hands pressing you into the wall, fingers in your hair yanking your head to the side, teeth grazing against your throat.

You scramble back, only to find the edge of the bed and you collapse off of it, ending up on the wood floor with your head spinning, Mingi’s bedside table lamp crashing down after you, a harsh flash of light pulsing through the room as the bulb breaks and gives one final dying flicker.

The pleading whine that’s caught in your throat sounds like a trapped animal to your ears, the pounding of your heart threatening to break your chest, blood rushing through your ears like a train. You can’t grasp reality, everything feels hazy and disconnected.

The door to your right bangs open, Yunho bleary and confused, but responding to your heightened state of fear within a moment. “Mingi!” He calls over his shoulder, “Mingi, get up right now,”

There’s a faraway faint noise from the other room.

Yunho skids to your side, careful not to touch you as he tries to meet your eyes in the dark, “Sweetheart, it’s just a nightmare.”

Part of you knows that you’re awake, safe and home, and not trapped in subspace with a threatening hand in your hair, but you can’t quite grip back to reality. You stutter out a reply, “I-I can’t breathe,”

“Mingi,” Yunho calls back over his shoulder again, “right now!”

“Please,” you whimper, part of your brain still lodged in the nightmare, “I can’t breathe,” Your hands cling onto the edge of the rug.

Mingi stumbles into the room now, half asleep but forced into consciousness and he’s shaking himself, catching up quickly, “What’s going on?”

You hear him, but your body is stuck remembering and you feel like there’s a weight on your chest, pressing you down harder, “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe,” you stutter.

“Sweetheart,” Yunho comes closer now, his body curling around you carefully with his face directly at your side, “it’s a nightmare, you’re safe.” His arms loop around you gently, but stay open in case you need to move.

“I can’t,” you shake your head, images swimming before you.

“You’re not there,” he tells you, “we’re home, you’re with us, me and Mingi,”

You wheeze, trying to regulate your breath.

“Get a light,” Yunho pleads suddenly to the dark room, and you can hear scrambling, “she can’t see where she is, get a light on.”

Mingi trips over the discarded lamp on the floor, and fumbles back to the lightswitch on the wall near the door, searching for it with his hands but reluctant to tear his eyes away from you. Suddenly the room floods with the overhead light, a stark fluorescent glow, and the black spots across your vision start to clear.

“I have you, I have you,” Yunho repeats, holding you to him.

Your hand searches blindly for Mingi on the other side of you and he collapses next to you both, taking your hand and moving in to cradle you from the opposite side, “Baby,” he murmurs, “look around, look where you are,”

Yunho’s hand on your thigh grounds you, and then Mingi softly touches your jaw to draw your gaze to him, “Look at me,”

Your eyes flick up. He looks tired, exhausted even, his hair a wayward haystack. You blink hard, “What happened to you?”

“To me?” Mingi’s brow furrows and he glances up past you to Yunho.

“You need sleep,” You manage.

Mingi laughs sharply and cups your cheeks, “I’ll sleep later. Can you tell me where you are?”

“Your place,” You manage, and you feel the nightmare receding back into your mind inch by precious inch, your breath steadying out.

“Yeah,” He sighs, “Yeah, that’s right,”

“I’m home with you,” You repeat, your fingers sinking into the plush rug beneath you.

Yunho swallows hard, fixated on the way you’ve called their apartment home, not their home, for the third time tonight. You watch the flicker of recognition in his eyes, but he lets it pass and so do you.

Tears well up in your eyes again and you sigh, “I’m sorry about your lamp,”

“What?” Mingi’s brow furrows, “Who cares about that?”

“Still,” You manage, “I’m such a mess right now,”

“If you weren’t a mess I’d be more worried,” Yunho takes your hand in his, squeezing your fingers, “and you can take all the time you need to be a mess, we’re here.”

You slump forwards onto his shoulder, “I’m… so tired,”

“Let’s get you back to bed,” Yunho soothes, his voice soft.

You nod, letting them both ease you up to your feet, but when they turn to the bed Mingi makes a soft, confused noise, “Where?”

“Oh,” You gesture towards the corner where all his bedding is wrapped up in a ball, “I’m sorry I was just… it was too much,”

Mingi’s jaw tightens, the muscles in his neck jumping as he swallows hard, and you know he’s holding down so much anger, that someone could have scared you enough that any alpha’s scent became overwhelming, that your fear might extend even to them.

“Okay,” Yunho cuts in easily, “whatever you want,”

He eases you back onto the mattress, but the idea that they might be gone again strikes a deep lance of panic through your stomach and you grasp his arm, “Don’t go,”

“Are you sure?” He murmurs.

“Please,” You insist, tugging his arm again.

He eases down beside you, and Mingi crosses to the opposite side of the bed so he can follow suit, sidling up to your back but careful not to touch you until you make it clear that you want him to. You fold your arm underneath your head and rest yourself down, and when your hair shifts off your neck you hear Yunho’s sharp intake of breath at the sight of your tender gland.

“Baby, what,” He reaches for you, fingertips hovering, “sweetheart, what did you do?”

“I’m fine,” You murmur but when you feel fingers gently coast over the raw skin you hiss sharply in pain and both their hands pull back.

“y/n,” Mingi’s voice is low, shaky, and he scoops up your arm to check your wrists, finding them as swollen and bruised, “oh my god,”

“I know,” You murmur, letting your eyes drift shut.

“This is not okay,” Mingi sounds pained, “you can’t hurt yourself like this,”

“I’m okay, I promise,”

“We could have helped,” Yunho insists, “we could have scented you again, both of us, or called Seonghwa, or something, anything,”

“Seonghwa?” You start, but Mingi cuts you off as he pushes your hair further to the side to see more of your neck.

He makes a tight noise with his tongue against his teeth, “These look tender, Yunho’s right,”

“You scented me plenty,” You shake your head, letting your hair fall back into place, “but I promise, I’m okay,”

Mingi wraps his arms around you from behind, tucking you close to his chest and dropping his head onto yours, “You’re scaring me,” he confesses into your hair.

“I know,” You murmur, “but I wasn’t trying to hurt myself,”

“And now?” Yunho asks softly.

“I’m a little better,” You pull him closer, “I was overwhelmed earlier and… even you both I didn’t want, but now? I feel safer, clearer,”

Yunho kisses your forehead, letting his lips linger as you all get your emotions back in check, “Okay,”

“Can we stay just like this?” You nuzzle into him, pulling Mingi in closer behind you until you’re snuggled up so tight you might overheat .

“I’ll be wherever you want,” Mingi wraps his hand around yours and tucks them into your chest.

Yunho murmurs his agreement softly and you nod, letting their heat soak into your body and releasing your tense muscles bit by bit. You were supposed to tell them how you felt already, you need to get it out in the open before things get too blurry again, but right now you have to let it go.

Silence stretches between the three of you, their breathing even and low, and you’re not sure if they’re asleep or awake when you make your quiet plea in the dark but in a whisper you beg them to never, ever let you go again. At least for tonight, they hold you fast.

#this night together fic #honeyhotteoks fics #yunho x reader #mingi x reader #yungi x reader #yunho #mingi #yungi #ateez fic #yunho fic #mingi fic #yunho ff #mingi ff #ateez ff #ateez series

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izurou · 1 year

Text

most nights, katsuki will sit under the covers with his debriefing file and a blank, uninterested stare—flipping through the documents as you prance around the room getting ready for bed.

he’s seen you do this an endless amount of times, and has even been dragged into the commotion on numerous occasions—ending the night with a green face mask and a faux frown.

still, he doesn’t really get it.

of course, brushing your teeth is a given, and he won’t fuss about you washing your face—but the line has to be drawn somewhere, right?

pillow mist—the latest villain.

“babe, seriously?” he coughs, sitting up a bit as he sticks his tongue out and holds a hand over his throat. maybe, you went a little trigger happy with the black chamomile, but he’s being dramatic. “it’s in my fuckin’ mouth!”

“there’s an easy fix for that, y’know,” you smile, running your thumb and index finger across your lips in a zipping motion.

his eyes grow wide—not out of anger, or shock, but amusement. your smug comments are never ending and supremely annoying, but he fucking loves them—they’re cute. you’re cute.

he watches, tonguing at his cheek as you plop down in front of the large floor length mirror like a heathen—skincare splayed out in front of you.

you would do this in the bathroom, but you’ve been told not to by your boyfriend—who’s just looking to maximize his precious time with you, even if it means choking back the polluted air.

though he’d still argue that you are the only one who should be choking on anything while in the bedroom—not him.

“katsuki, stop that,” you laugh, catching his gaze through the reflection as your fingers run along your cheeks, working in your moisturizer.

“huh?”

stop what? existing? he’s just sitting there, hasn’t moved a muscle or opened his mouth in almost two whole minutes, and you’re telling him to stop? what the hell do you want from—

“you’re staring.”

oh, well—you’re wearing his shirt, the black long sleeve that hangs off your shoulder just a tad and drowns your hands in excess fabric. he gave you this shirt after your first night together, and while it’s no more than a piece of cotton—it’s special.

it reminds him of that morning, when you padded into the kitchen and asked what he was doing. he was making breakfast, obviously, but you insisted he come back to bed.

you were annoying, selfish—he had no more than an hour before he had to be at the agency, and you were asking him to skip the most important meal of the day to cuddle with you. unbelievable.

nevertheless, it was then that katsuki knew he was in love—with you passed out on his chest, in his shirt, just ten minutes before he had to leave.

so yes, he’s staring.

“am not,” he scoffs, keeping his eyes glued to you as you dab yet another cream onto your fingers. what the hell are you concocting over there? “i’m makin’ sure you don’t kill us with all that shit.”

if anyone were going to kill us—it would be you. the sentence pops into your head, but dies before it ever has a shot at tumbling out of your mouth.

maybe, that would’ve been something you said to the katsuki you first met years ago—but never to the one sitting in your bed right now. if you told the public what you did on that morning, you’re almost certain that half the population would be wondering how you lived to tell the tale—because no way in hell would the dynamight let that slide, right? everyone and their mother knows that his job as a pro hero is incredibly important to him.

but, not once in your relationship have you ever felt an ounce of unease, anxiety, anything, that’d make you doubt your safety for a single second—because you are more important to katsuki.

“you still with me?” he interrupts your selfish train of thought, pushing himself off the headboard to get a better look at your face. you’re a little zoned out. “fuckin’ fumes are gettin’ to you, huh?”

“i’m fine kats,” you grin, stepping back into reality as you screw the lid back onto your eye cream. you turn, sharing your smile with him.

“c’mere,” he rasps, leaning back onto his freshly scented pillow and discarding his papers onto the nightstand.

“or what?” you challenge, looking to rile him up a little before you inevitably go over there.

“you wanna find out?” he smirks, mind flooding with a tidal wave of lewd thoughts that he’s most definitely going to share with you later.

the voice in your mind screams yes, and you rise to your feet—shuffling over there in your slippers a little too eagerly, you’re sure.

you climb atop the covers and sit beside him—milliseconds away from opening your mouth to say something that would’ve gotten you into even more trouble—but he pulls you down for a kiss.

maybe he knew what was coming and saved you, or maybe this is you finding out. reason aside—he’s kissing you. slowly, his mouth moves against yours, and subtly, he tugs on the collar of your shirt—pulling you impossibly close.

“katsuki,” you sigh, running a thumb over his cheek as you lean your forehead against his. he’s pretty—strong, sharp features contrasting the softness behind his eyes. you know this look, it’s the same one he gave you that morning. gosh, how did you get so damn—

“hey,” he barks, grinning wide as he wraps a hand around your wrist. “you starin’ at me?”

#izurou #bakugo x reader #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo fluff #bakugo hcs #bakugo headcanons #bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #mha x reader #bnha fluff #bakugo katsuki x reader

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ystrike1 · 7 months

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Kiss the Bride - By Anchovy (8/10)

Kiss the Bride is a yaoi webtoon about a selfish, lustful, downright mean, modern-era Duke. He is literally the psychopathic rich guy. He thinks picking things up off the ground is beneath him, but is he a good yandere? Yes. Yes, he is.

Let me save you a ton of frustration. Plenty of people dropped this one, because it's a marriage of convenience story without the wish fulfillment. A Duke marrying a regular person (and a man at that) causes issues. A trainwreck. Ten trainwrecks. The couple actually doesn't spend time together after their marriage, because they're too busy dealing with the drama their marriage causes. It takes awhile for anything romantic to happen, but it's a nice dose of reality. It also makes the yandere part better. It's not easy for the Duke to have his way, and marry his true love.

He's gotta manipulate the press and the royal family (and his unfortunate male Duchess) to do it.

Javier doesn't want to have a kid. He thinks his Ducal bloodline should end with him, and he wants to spend a sizable amount of his father's fortune on...small business loans for the poor?

Wait...he sounds like a great guy what's going on?

Javier has made ending his line his mission in life, so he decides to rope his only "poor" friend into his problems.

The royal family is forcing him to get married, so he decides to go ham. Just absolutely wreck shit. He actually messes with the economy it's nuts.

Jaewon is a gorgeous tennis player who lives in Spain. Javier's country. He attended a fancy tennis training camp with Javier and a bunch of future pros a long time ago. He was the "poor but skilled guy". Javier was impressed by him, and he needs a contract Duchess.

Why?

Well, the royal family is traditional. Affairs are fine but divorce is not an option. Divorce messes with messy things like money and honor.

Jaewon is literally the only person Javier is willing to partner up with for life, even though he has not seen Jaewon in years.

This lights a fire in him, and he starts to make a plan. A plan within a plan. Does he explain anything to Jaewon? No lol.

He is literally so insane that he doesn't care if he's platonic or romantic with Jaewon. If he has to give up his lusty bachelor life it's Jaewon or nothing. Which is completely absurd because Jaewon isn't even his friend or anything.

Jaewon is shocked when he gets a blunt, short "marry me for the money I know you want some" proposal.

Like.

Buddy. My guy. Dude. You had an epiphany and you realized you would marry someone. You've been banging supermodels for a decade, but the royal family pressed a gun to your head and you immediately decided to go grab this one guy. You could have told him that romantic junk and skipped half the plot, but whatever I guess. Being nice to your one true love is overrated.

By the way Jaewon isn't an athlete anymore. He injured his leg in a car accident so it's over. He uses weed to cope with the pain. He has no money. He's gay and he developed a crush on Javier long ago. He's still got feelings, because they did have a secret relationship. A weird one where they never discussed their feelings.

They literally snuck around at night to hang out at tennis camp.

Let me explain.

Things got crazy back at Rich Boy Tennis Camp. Javier offered to buy a French village for Jaewon. Not villa. Village. The two men also started playing tennis together at night. Both of them kept it a secret from their friends as well, because they enjoyed spending time alone together. They did it every night. They started going on day trips together and skipping training...it's a whole thing. The other campers actually do start to assume they're gay.

In a panic Jaewon denies he is gay and he says its gross.

Javier says the same after he hears Jaewon's outburst. His heart has been broken, but he moves on. Javier is too good at hiding his emotions, and he's not a nice guy in general. Both men go into the closet....kinda? Javier isn't gay. He's bisexual. He doesn't get with other men after Jaewon because he's a public figure, and being a womanizer is perfectly normal for the 1%.

Also Javier lost to Jaewon at tennis on purpose so Jaewon could have the prize money, because he's poor. This hurt Jaewon's pride terribly.

Their communication issues worsened, and the two men never reconnected until now.

Jaewon has a crush, but he's not some scrub that will just bow and do whatever Javier says.

He demands a divorce like 8 times to get Javier to change his behavior and uh...it works? It gets the job done.

Javier offers him endless money in exchange for the marriage, but Jaewon needs time to adjust.

By the way.

Quick pause here.

Javier firmly believes Jaewon isn't interested in him. He just wants to give Jaewon castle access, and go straight back to his phonebook of emotionless lovers.

Jaewon is like...no...you have to help me get used to this life. No lovers for at least a year. Teach me how to be a Duchess.

Javier agrees, but he has his own orders. No more weed. Jaewon will be treated by a private doctor instead.

They sign some paperwork. Then the men are married, but the royal family doesn't want to recognize the marriage. They must wait for a formal answer from the palace.

I think alot of people dropped the story right here. Isabel. One of Javier's many flings. She is his secretary. Before he married Jaewon suddenly she was his partner. Then the second he got married he cut her off cold turkey.

This woman tries to ruin Jaewon's life. Not just his marriage.

Javier wants Jaewon to be comfortable, even though he says mean things. Isabel is supposed to be taking care of Jaewon, while Javier deals with backlash from the royals.

Jaewon doesn't move into the palace. He stays in his tiny apartment. Why? Isabel doesn't move him in. Isabel also speaks other languages with Javier in front of Jaewon, so he can't understand what's going on. So....uh...he doesn't move to a safe place.

News of the wedding breaks out.

Reporters swarm around Jaewon.

He's in actual danger.

Jaewon has to threaten divorce AGAIN just to get Javier's attention. Javier thought elite security guards had been placed outside of Jaewon's residence. The issue is Isabel was in charge so....the guards hired are worthless.

Jaewon finally moves in.

Jaewon and Javier finallllyyyy start attending events together. Everyone is amazed. The Duchess is a male commoner, but he is really handsome.

One of Javier's business pals, Keyar, immediately starts flirting with the Duchess.

So, what happens?

Javier is originally not jealous. Just a bit bitter, but he thinks Jaewon has no interest in men. So Keyar's comments about Jaewon will never be reciprocated. All of his flirting is meaningless unless Jaewon starts to like it.

Keyar tries to "win a night" with the Duchess with a tennis match too.

(Yeah)

When Javier needs allies later he enlists Keyar to care for Jaewon, after his fractured knee worsens and political issues flare up. He does it because he knows Keyar is one of the few that will never harm Jaewan.

It ends with a kiss.

Javier tries to ruin Keyar financially when he steals a kiss from Jaewon.

(Like dude...boundaries...if you put up clear boundaries this wouldn't have happened.)

Also Isabel gets fired in one scene. It’s hilarious.

Jaewon says "her or me?".

He snaps his fingers and Isabel is escorted out.

It's awesome, but a bit late.

This is Alfonso.

Jaewon's friend and weed dealer.

This was a turning point.

We find out that Javier is quite jealous. He has eyes on Jaewon literally all the time. He assumes Alfonso is a romantic interest too. He won't listen to reason.

He demands a complete cut.

No contact with Alfonso ever again.

So, what is the plan here?

An abstinent couple?

Jaewon finally admits he's gay.

The married men finally start sleeping together.

The stakes somehow get even higher. Remember those loans??? The funds allocated for the poor???

Yeah they're part of Javier's plot to marry Jaewon for real, and keep all of his money.

The royal family, obviously, tries to reject the marriage. Javier neglected Jaewon in favor of work to sew seeds to keep their marriage binding (forver remember no divorce allowed because tradition). He put on a show, from day one. He became a public LGBTQ+ ally. He doted on his Duchess in public for months. He also used the press to make Jaewon famous. He hid Jaewon's face from the internet and reporters, until the handsome beauty of the Duchess became a gossip sensation.

He declares that he will give up his title and cash to marry Jaewon, in front of the world.

They can be honest, finally, after almost a year of marriage.

The dominos begin to fall.

The entire loan investment project was all Javier. He lied and said he had other investors, but if he's not Duke the poor don't get their money.

He moves back into his castle with his husband.

He's a rude bastard, but he does always win in an entertaining way.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon #yaoi #kiss the bride

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respectthepetty · 3 months

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Cooking Crush Ep. 9 Cut Scenes

I've been reporting on the missing scenes from YouTube's version of Cooking Crush [first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth], but this week's really takes the cake!

Disclaimer: For those of you who watched the YouTube version and thought Samsee was overreacting, the uncut WeTV version did a much better job of showing why he was upset.

Samsee and Metha argued because Samsee refused to eat until his friends showed up. Metha was hungry and decided to eat, but Samsee kept saying his friends would be back soon.

Metha, who is used to being ditched by his buddies which the show has shown us this several times, tries to convince Samsee to just eat, but Samsee continues to argue with Metha and tells Metha that he actually cares about his friends unlike Metha. Metha takes all of the digs in stride, but Samsee continues to worry about his friends not being there.

Since Metha has eaten while Samsee has waited for his friends, Metha decides to get up to grab dessert, but Samsee gets more upset since Metha is treating Samsee's house like his own and follows Metha. Metha slips and Samsee catches him.

But he promptly drops Metha, to which Metha questions why Samsee would even catch him in the first place if he was just going to let Metha hit the floor by dropping him.

Prem ends up falling asleep in Ten's arms, and when he wakes up, he realizes it is much later and quickly rushes back to Samsee's house after promising to return early the next day.

This is in both versions, but this is why Samsee chokes Metha in the morning because he feels like Metha is making fun of him for being worried that he hasn't seen his friends since Samsee didn't see either friend the night before or the morning after.

Samsee hears Dy's conversation with Fire and supports Dy standing up to, what he believes, is Fire's mean behavior.

Prem, as Metha stated, headed out before everyone woke up to see Ten and make him breakfast.

During breakfast, Ten states he can imagine himself eating this exact breakfast with Prem every day for at least 30 years, and we get to see this image of them eating the same breakfast together in 80 years.

Skip ahead to the cooking show watching at Samsee's and Dy goes downstairs, only to be surprised by Fire who is in his heart-emoji era.

Samsee is in the apartment visibly becoming more anxious worrying about his friends since Prem hasn't arrived yet and Dy is still gone.

This was in both versions, but I greatly appreciate that Dy shared that his father no longer speaks to him because, much like Fire, people tend to believe that happy queers are happy because they are accepted and have people supporting them, but sometimes happy queers are simply happy because we cannot let other people steal our joy and well . . . "fuck them hoes" even if "them hoes" are blood-related family.

So, all-in-all, Samsee was constantly worried about his friends and supportive of them only to find out they were hiding the truth from him when he would have accepted their choices, which was shown by how happy he initially was to finding out that Fire and Dy were seeing each other before it all went to hell in a handbasket.

Come give Samsee a hug, Metha, since y'alls friends keep ditching you two.

#Cooking Crush #cooking crush the series #uncut version on wetv #episode 9 #I think I got them all

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balillee · 2 months

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had to turn back to tumblr after a year of not using it to hate on the new atla adaptation

a few things

speedrunning through half of the story with the fire nation family is not a good idea, actually. lu ten was introduced far too early, and with it you delve into iroh's backstory, motivations and true character before you've even fully developed the whole 'silly old spiritual man who prefers tea and hanging out with his nephew over hunting down an 11-year old air nomad'. the lu ten funeral scene was fine as an addition, but it's not something for book 1. learning about lu ten is something we do in book 2 as it compliments the developing relationship between iroh and zuko with the fire nation as a whole. also, iroh seems a lot less cool. the show commits the grievous literary sin of always telling rather than showing, and by continuously telling us 'he's the famed general iroh, dragon of the west' you're not actually accomplishing anything. let him redirect some lightning you fucking cowards.

azula also seemed to exist for no reason. any of the correspondences to azula from zhao could have bypassed her entirely and could have gone straight to ozai or even the fire sages. she exists in season 1 purely to rush through explaining zuko and iroh far too early. the show exists as a guideline. FOLLOW THE GUIDELINE. THE GUIDELINE IS GOOD. EVERYONE KNOWS THE GUIDELINE IS GOOD. also make her fire blue. cowards

aang does not waterbend for the entire season, which means the window of opportunity for him to learn to bend the other elements before the arrival of sozin's comet is even shorter than in the original show. even the original aang, who the netflix adaptation changed because he was 'too childish and always goofing off instead of getting to the point' understood his responsibilities to learn the elements better than this new live action version - part of the reason for the gang to get to the northern water tribe was to find aang a teacher (not just katara), master pakku, because katara was not capable of teaching him at her novice waterbending level but even so they were still seen practicing together on multiple occasions.

this brings me to my next point. WHERE THE FUCK IS JEONG JEONG. aang in the original series understood the urgency of defeating the firelord before sozin's comet after speaking to roku very early on, not as late as depicted in the adaptation. currently, the gang don't even know that they're on a time crunch, and yet still the show refuses to let them take their time by going on side adventures. this leads into the episode where aang meets jeong jeong and tries to learn to firebend before he's even started earthbending at all, because he's still scared that he only has a year to master the elements. he burns katara while trying, which is the reason she learned she had the power to heal with her waterbending, we see how fucking sick jeong jeong is at firebending for the first time during the fight with zhao, and aang swears off learning firebending at all, which is one of his main points of conflict leading all the way into book 3. if we skip that whole episode, we have skipped meeting one of the members of the order of the white lotus. the show could think it's slick by omitting him to just have iroh as the white lotus' firebender, but that's possibly one of the worst changes they've made. the deserter was not a filler episode.

i know a lot of people were talking about this before the show even came out, but sokka is not sokka. in book 1, sokka is three things - funny, overconfident and sexist. in the live adaptation, he is kind of one of those three things. part of why sokka's arc is one of my personal favourites from the original show is the stark change you see from the start to the end of his story - he believes himself a leader but has no real tactical or combative experience despite telling all the fighters and warriors he meets about how impressive he is. and then at the end of the show he is a definitively strong leader, shown by leading the assault on the fire nation armada - his team being two of the show's most competent female characters, who he trusts and respects with his life. by omitting these traits from sokka's character, you remove a big part of why he's even there in the first place - his arc's beginning allows him to become the fearless leader that lead his team to defeating the fire nation army.

i also hate that aang meets monk gyatso in the spirit world. a big part of aang's conflict about running away is that there exists nobody in the world who can tell him that what happened to the air nomads was not his fault, and that there was nothing aang could do to stop it if he was there. the new adaptation decides against the inclusion of one of aang's primary internal conflicts by changing the 'running away from his responsibilities as the avatar because he's a terrified child' to 'getting some air', and then throws in meeting the spirit of monk gyatso to tell him all of these things that aang needs to learn on his own. once again, telling rather than showing.

and finally, my least favourite change - the agni kai. part of the reason why i personally think the agni kai is so significant to zuko's story is the fact that zuko intentionally refuses to fight. in the adaptation, zuko fights back against his father, and his father scars him simply because zuko hesitates. in the original series, zuko bows to his father and pleads for mercy, and refuses to fight at all, and that is when it cuts away to iroh and azula's very differing reactions to the altercation, zuko screaming in the background. the setting also irritates me, because in the original, the agni kai was a public spectacle for hundreds to see in an ominous chamber, while in the new show it looked like just a regular old family gathering in the sun. zuko's adaptation scar i also hate because it doesn't even look like a scar. it looks like a birthmark, or at best, a black eye. if you hadn't seen the original, you would only know that it's a scar because the show tells you that it's a scar. zuko's scar in the animated series is a definite physical deformation of his face, his face looks red and raw, and his eye is smaller likely due to how the tissue healed, and as the show goes on you learn that the severity of his physical scars reflect the severity of his emotional ones. the original show does a brilliant job at showing how, just through the scar and the banishment alone, that despite zuko's beliefs, his father has betrayed him time and time again.

#atla #netflix atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar live action #atla live action

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loveephia · 1 year

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TUTORING | kuroo tetsurō

sypnosis: in which you're falling behind in chemistry and kuroo offered to tutor you.

content: (🦷) tooth-rotting fluff, kuroo has a small crush on you, you're both third years, reader has round cheeks, reader with minor anemia hinted.

⚠ warning/s: none.

kuroo tetsurō watched as your hair kept falling on your face while you tried to answer the seatwork he made. out of concentration, a small part of your tongue was seen sticking out.

you tried to recall the answer to a certain question as kuroo only stared at you with his palm underneath his chin for support. "were you always this cute?" he thought.

when you finally remembered, your face lit up temporarily before scribbling the answer down.

kuroo then takes notice of the shape of your round cheeks. from this angle, he could've easily mistaken them for baos if it weren't for the pink tint.

"done!" you exclaim gleefully, presenting kuroo your paper.

"wow, that was quick. you sure you didn't cheat?" he teases. "haha, very funny." you didn't bother hiding the faux amusement in your tone, "even if i did, wouldn't you have noticed? i mean— what have you been paying attention to for the past ten minutes." you say.

"you." kuroo is tempted to answer. he hums, "yeah, i see what you mean."

it takes him a minute, a very long minute, to check your paper. you sit there next to him, moving the seat around in circles to help keep your thoughts off your score.

you hear kuroo click his tongue, and you stop the chair abruptly, making you see black and white spots momentarily. "w- what is it? did i get everything wrong?" you stuttered out of pure nervousness.

kuroo shakes his head, "why don't you see for yourself?" he hands you your paper, and before you could let yourself dwell in sadness, you look at the score.

a full mark.

your eyes widen. "what can i say? i'm a pretty good tutor if i do say so myself." kuroo smirks. out of all the adrenaline, you reach over to hug kuroo. "oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, kuroo!" you repetitively expressed your appreciation while kuroo's mind has gone blank.

you were hugging him.

"y- yeah.. it's nothing." kuroo, with his cockiness long gone, mumbles against your chest.

if a hug is what he receives at a made-up seatwork, he wonders what more he could get from an exam.

time skip.

exam season has finally ended. you got your chemistry result back, and you're trying desperately to find kuroo, the one who helped you get this high score.

turning every corner, shuffling down flights of stairs (even almost tripping in the process), you finally find kuroo. "kuroo!" you called out. the male turns around to face the source of the voice.

kuroo sees the smile on your face, your cheeks lifting up adorably. "looks like someone's happy." he says. you show him your score, and there it is.

a 94% written in red ink.

kuroo's facial expression says it all. it shifted from surprise to happiness in miliseconds. "that's amazing, y/n! i'm so proud of you." he pats your head in a congratulatory manner, returning the paper back to you.

"oh, kuroo. i really can't thank you enough!" you say, and that gives him an idea. there's a mischevious glint in his eyes, "maybe there is a way you could thank me."

"really?!" you said. kuroo hummed, now feeling bold, "how about a kiss?" he said, "after all, i did help write down your revie—" your lips land on his cheek quickly, almost too quickly.

"i was planning on doing that anyway without you having to ask," you admitted, "i'll see you tomorrow!" you bid your short goodbye and left.

kuroo stood there, dazed, as his fingers gently grazed over the cheek you kissed. "what are you doing to me, y/n..?" he quietly mumbles.

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!!#hq x reader #hq x y/n #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x y/n #hq hcs #tooth rotting fluff #hq kuroo #hq #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x you #kuroo imagine #kuroo x reader #haikyu x reader

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fictionallystable · 3 months

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Rating: Mature

Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games)

Relationship: Phillip Graves (Call of Duty)/Reader

Characters: Reader, Phillip Graves (Call of Duty), Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags: Author Has Played Call of Duty, Childhood Friends, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, slight age gap, Civilian!Reader, Pre-Canon, Jealousy, Angst, Kissing, Time Skips, Slight OOC Graves, Brother's Best Friend.

Words: 1,990 | Chapters: 2/5

Authors: @orphancains & @collinnmckinley

Chapter 2: The Dinner.

Chapter Summary: Your parents invite Phil and his new pretty girlfriend to dinner, and things take a turn but not for the better.

A/N: Here we are, the next chapter. I hope you guys like it :).

the fic can also be found on AO3

tags will be updated!!

Phillip was already out the door after hanging out with Matty at his house all day. Usually, he expected to run into you and even let you watch as he and Matty played video games. Sometimes you would even jump in and play for one of them. But you were locked in your room the whole time he was there. Phillip figured it was just that you were studying like your dad wanted you to. But when he said goodbye to Matty and walked away from near your bedroom door, he noticed that that was when you unlocked your door.

As he started walking toward his car, Phillip noticed that he’d left behind his copy of Madden in Matty’s room. Turning around, he cursed to himself. When he knocked on the door to your house again, this time your mother answered the door.

He gave her a stiff smile. “Hi, I just forgot one of my games in Matty’s room,” he said.

“Oh, I hadn’t even realized you’d left already, Phillip.” She glanced down at her watch. “It’s almost time for dinner. How come you’re not staying over? We’ve always got a spot for you at the table, as you know.”

Phil staying for dinner wasn’t unheard of. Usually his home was empty, and he’d end up ordering takeout on his dad’s credit card. But he was still testing the waters with a new girl he met, Marisa. And after his date with her the other day where they kissed after swimming, he thought maybe he could start taking things more seriously with her beyond a short summer fling.

He grimaced at your mother’s question. “Actually, I was going to have dinner with a friend of mine. Well, actually, she’s a girl I’m interested in.” He dug his nail into the palm of his hand when he realized what he’d said. Why couldn’t he just call Marisa his girlfriend?

Your mom leaned against the door frame, eyes widened slightly as she understood what he said. “Oh, I see now. I can see why you’d—”

“Even better!” your dad emerged from behind your mother. He was a tall, looming man, always dressed in a suit from work and his skin taut always taut from grinning. “Maybe you having a girl over will finally convince Matthew to start looking for another girlfriend. And someone better than that other girl. Never liked her.”

Your mother scoffed at her husband.

Your dad continued, “Phil, by all means, bring the girl over. You don’t even have to stay long if you don’t want to.”

Phil swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah sure I’ll—I’ll let her know she can come over.”

Your dad clapped his hands together proudly, while your mom retreated back into the house upon hearing this. “Fantastic!” he boomed.

You sat across from the dinner table from Phil and his new girlfriend. You tried not to stare, but peaked her a few seconds at a time to get a good look at her. She had long dark red, wavy hair that she wore in a messy, loose ponytail. Her eyes were green, her bands dusting her face just above them. Dark freckles littered across her otherwise pale nose and cheeks that she had painted with a noticeable blush. She could’ve been 16 to 18 years old, but you couldn’t tell. You’d never seen her before, aside from the brief moment at Phil’s pool. But she had to have gotten to know Phil from somewhere.

They talked and chattered for the first ten minutes of dinner, your dad refusing to let any moment go by in silence. You’d learned she was planning to go to college to become a travel nurse to see the world. The two had met when she was walking. You wanted to roll your eyes at this, but instead silently listened and idly stabbed your steak with your fork.

You hoped and prayed that she would just ignore you, so that you could ignore her. But she had to start asking you questions.

“Phillip told me you draw,” she started with a small smile. “I tried drawing when I was really into cartoons when I was a little kid , but I stopped.” It didn’t escape you that she emphasized the word ‘kid’ as she spoke, you never liked it when people treated you as such so to say that you didn’t like the way she said it would be an understatement.

Without thinking, you narrowed your eyes into a glare but said nothing back. Phil furrowed his brow in confusion at seeing you turn so taciturn. He’d hoped you and Marisa would get along great, especially since she had little sisters of her own.

Right next to you, Matty noticed how tense you’d become. When he spoke to you alone before dinner, you were calm and otherwise happy. Yet, as soon as you took your seat across Phil and Marisa, you grew deadly quiet. “Yeah, actually, she’s an amazing artist,” he spoke up. “She doesn’t just draw either, right? She also is pretty good at painting.”

Marisa didn’t say anything in return. The silence grew thicker and more suffocating, but Matty kept on nervously rambling in hopes that someone else would speak.

“In fact! One of her artworks recently won an award. In this magazine—I think it’s called MUSE , right?” He looked over at you for an answer and you reluctantly nodded. He still beamed as he bragged about you.” She’s even going to get some scholarship money for it.” But at this you only pursed your lips and wished you could disappear from being in the dinner table’s spotlight.

From the corner of your eye, you could see your dad shifting uncomfortably. You’d purposefully avoided telling him about your art winning a prize. He thought you were totally devoted to your other school studies this summer. But Phil instead folded his arms on the table, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s great! Congrats, Y/N.”

When you didn’t reply to him, Phil continued. “Maybe you can show the drawing to Marisa and I to have a look at it?”

Marisa hummed. “I never heard of that magazine. Did a lot of other people also submit their work, or was it just kids?”

Without uttering anything, you stood up from your seat, the legs of the chair groaning loudly as you did. You wiped your hands with your napkin before tossing it onto your plate. Until now, you didn’t realize your hands were trembling from your ire. You’d barely touched the food on your plate, but you could not stand to sit there any more. You refused to look back at Philip, or Marisa, or even Matty for that matter.

You could hear your mom, stunned at your behavior, calling for you as you stormed away. Matty rubbed his hand across his face in frustration, he understood your anger. It wasn’t just a drawing. It was an oil painting, something that you’ve been working hard to perfect, and he knew that Phillip flipping the conversation of your painting to one about Marisa and him would annoy you. And Marisa’s question felt like a bomb had gone off in the middle of the dinner table. In the corner of your eyes as you walked off, you could see your mom burying her face in her hands, and your dad’s face was hard as stone with rage. You knew you’d get an earful tomorrow.

But at that moment, you didn’t care. Seeing how Marisa and the others saw you as nothing more than a child who drew dumb doodles, and hearing how Phil reacted to the news of your prize sent a bitter feeling rising up your throat to your mouth. In your room, you once again locked your door. This time you did not cry out in sobs like you had days before, but a few angry, rapid tears streamed down your face before you buried yourself under your bed sheets.

Phil let out a sharp breath when he entered his car. He heard Marisa shut her door beside him as she entered too. He hadn’t imagined that dinner could go disastrous. Yet, here he was afterward with Marisa who also had permanent red blush across her cheeks from how riled up she’d gotten.

Before getting in the car, Marisa stayed inside the house talking to your mom about what sororities are worth looking into for college, while Matty and him lingered out in the front yard. Matty had never looked so serious to Phil, even though he’d known him since they were little kids.

Phil drove silently, Marisa looking out the window of his car with hard eyes while she clutched tightly onto her purse from her nerves.

“God, that was something,” she breathed out, taking her red hair out of its ponytail and running her hand through it. “Not exactly what I imagined this night would go.”

Phil opened his mouth to speak, but Marisa continued. “Honestly, your friend Matty’s sister is such a little shit.”

Still driving, Phil felt the muscles in his shoulders constrict and his jaw clench.

“Like, I tried being nice by talking to her about her drawings or whatever, but she was such a brat. I know she’s going through puberty and all, but— hello ? We all have to go through puberty. It’s not an excuse to be such a bi—”

Without letting her finish Phil turned quickly, slamming his foot on the brakes and stopping his car on the side of the road. He stayed still in his seat for a second before starting speaking to her with gritted teeth and voice so low she feared the worst. “Marisa, I swear to fucking god,” he took a deep breath before continuing “if you don’t stop talking about her like that, I’m going to veer us both off the damn road before you get home.”

Eyes wide and mouth ajar, Marisa clasped onto the window beside her in shock. When Phil turned to look at her, his eyes were hard and filled with what she could only describe as hatred in that moment. He breathed deeply again, pursing his lips and put his car slowly back into drive. The drive back was mainly quiet, aside from the sound of the car’s engine and the muffled music coming from passing cars. Phil couldn’t comprehend why he was feeling so angry, but then the words began to spill from his mouth without him realizing.

“She’s Matty’s sister,” Phil spoke with anger still lingering in his voice. “But I’ve known her for years, long enough that I know if she’s sad even if she doesn’t show it. That if she’s ever felt lonely, it becomes my responsibility to make her feel otherwise. We’re not related by blood, obviously, but what we have is beyond being related by blood. She’s my little sister. And I told you that before we even got in the car, but you clearly didn’t understand what I meant.”

Phil finally pulled up to her home, pulling in her driveway and parking the car. He thought the drive back would clear his mind, remind him that he still wanted to date her. But instead, he couldn’t look at Marisa without resentment and disgust clouding his vision.

“I think it’s best that we stop seeing each other,” he muttered, loud enough for her to hear.

Marisa stiffened before finally nodding quickly, still shaken by his reaction. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she noticed Phil continued to avoid looking at her.

Once she shut the door to his car, he breathed out before cursing to himself. He realized how tight his hands were around the steering wheel and attempted to loosen and move his fingers.

As he drove back home, he couldn’t help but feel more regret for tonight flooding him. He wanted to find a way to make it up to you.

#cod x reader #phillip graves x reader #cod fanfic #phillip graves fanfic #phillip graves x you #phil graves x you #phil graves x reader #graves x reader #Authors Has Played Call of Duty

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ourladyofoldgotham · 7 months

Text

right person (wrong time)

cillian murphy x male reader

NSFW 18+, minors dni

lovers to strangers to lovers, angst to fluff, smut

requested by @joy-dwaekki

3.5k words

summary

It's been thirty years since you last saw Cillian Murphy. When you reconnect at a film premiere, it brings up more than you expected.

It’s been decades. A life lived, oceans crossed.

You see him across the room and it’s like none of them ever existed.

In an instant, you’re swept back across time and oceans to land right back in that Cork apartment watching him leave.

The thing was that it was never supposed to end like this. Or at all. The two of you had plans together - plans that spanned the rest of your lives. He was going to be a rockstar. You were going to be an actor. In the back of your head, you thought you would be young forever. You’d always considered yourself a hopeless romantic, always given over to spinning tall tales about your future, but this was different. You thought it was different.

The two of you met at 19. You see him up on stage, the lights behind him like a halo, and suddenly you’re the only person in the crowded audience when his blue eyes meet yours. It was a whirlwind. He’d never been with another man before, and neither had you, but you learned together. You can see it clear as day still - a dimmed room, bouncing between your shitty apartment and his. His hands on your body, wide blue eyes and a flush creeping up along his freckled chest.

You should have seen it start to go downhill by August, ten months in. He turns down the record deal- five whole albums. He gives you a million excuses - his brother’s still in school, it’s not enough money for the rights. You know better. You see the way he pulls his hands back from you in front of everyone else. He can’t commit to you - to music, to the lives you built together - because it means losing everything else. If you didn’t love him so much you’d hate him for it. As it is, you aren’t sure.

That September, he went back to school. Law. You call him a sellout, joking around, but there’s something hollow behind his eyes. He won’t meet your gaze when he holds you anymore. You don’t even remember what the fight was about, now, but you know it was inevitable. It’s colder than your fights usually are - there’s no passion, only your anger and helplessness against a blank stone wall. You yell that if he doesn’t want to be with you, he should just go.

You watch him slam the door behind him as he goes. You hadn’t seen him since - until now.

That December, you’d set off for America. There was nothing left for you at home. In the glitz and glamor of Hollywood, you’d built a life of your own. You met a girl in a bar, then divorced her. You bought a house, even if the roof leaked during the occasional rainstorm. You got a few parts and then found your true love in writing, working as a film critic. You weren’t a big name, but you paid the bills and had a little extra. All through it all, you’d remembered him. You saw the little tidbits in the papers as he became a rising star- first in little theater productions, and then indie movies, and then bonafide blockbusters. You’d always managed to skirt around reviewing him, although it got harder when he started rising internationally. It had killed you to not review The Wind That Shakes The Barley - you hadn’t been back to Cork in ten years, but it would always have a piece of your heart - and you’re sure you missed out on a good few paychecks refusing to review Peaky Blinders at peak virality. Still, you could never bring yourself to do it. It wouldn’t be fair, you reasoned, to judge the acting of a scorned ex-lover. Nevermind that you could have never hated him. Whether your heart skipped a beat when you saw him due to anger or love, you were biased. Of course, your game of keep-away couldn’t last forever.

Oppenheimer was a cinematic groundbreaker. Nolan had brought practical effect film biopics back to the international spotlight like never before. It was a true masterwork, one that got the world talking. Of course, that meant that it was unavoidable for you. You were invited to the LA premiere, which meant not only poring over trailers and historical biographies but looking into the backstories of the main cast. You had a little experience with a couple other major members - you’d brushed with them at other premieres you’d worked - but you’d avoided everything Cillian you possibly could for years. Now, you had to dive headfirst into all of it. The first thing you learned about him was that he had a wife. Her name had been Yvonne - he’d met her at a show in ‘96, he said. It was just a couple months after the two of you had split up. You recognized her name vaguely. She’d been an artist, the mother of his two teenage sons. She seemed kind - just the kind of girl you’d have expected him to fall for. You wondered if he had ever told her about you. The second thing you learned was that had, in his case, was past-tense. She’d passed on a couple years back. He’d never talked about it in interviews much. He wasn’t one for publicity.

It was a bog-standard premiere as far as these things went. Red carpet, flashing cameras. You weren’t a star and you didn’t intend to be one, so you laid low. It was a good movie, you got a couple decent soundbites. The afterparty was one of the nicer ones you’d been to- quiet and contemplative in a dim hotel ballroom. You hear the delicate shatter of glass on hardwood behind you suddenly, and when you turn to look, his eyes are fixed on you. Haunted. You could never decide whether you were hoping he’d have forgotten you or whether it would have broken your heart if he had. It’s clear he hasn’t forgotten you, but you can’t tell whether he wants to remember. The moment slips away soon - he brushes it off to his castmates as a slip of the hand, nothing serious really, just a moment of clumsiness.

You have your answer. You turn back to the circle you’re chatting with, down the rest of your champagne, and don’t meet his gaze the rest of the night.

It’s not until you’re leaving at the end of the night that you feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn and there he is. He looks as handsome as he did the day he left, the boyish charm turning to something more distinguished. Tired, and thin, and gone greyer than you, but he’s still your Cillian from all those years ago. Something in your heart that’s been waiting for a long, long time starts to melt.

“Hi - I just wanted to say hello. You look sort of familiar, I thought I might know you.”

He’s tense, poised under a mask of perfect civility. You respond in kind.

“You might - I lived in Cork for a while. You’re from Ireland, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I grew up near Cork. I think I might have run into you back when I was doing music.”

“I think you might have. A good couple of times, actually.”

The night is cool for a Los Angeles summer. The streetlights shine gold down into the dim night. The question hangs in the air for a moment before you ask it.

“What do you remember?”

He pauses, the air still and heavy.

“I remember the north train we used to take on the weekends to the cities. I remember you wanted to be an actor. I remember you were my -” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “I remember you were my best friend.”

“Yeah. Your best friend.”

You turn away, your jaw clenched and start to walk away.

“I think I should head home. It’s late. It was nice catching up.”

You get to the bottom of the stairs before he speaks again.

“I never forgot, you know. I never forgot any of it. I couldn’t. I tried.”

He follows you down the stairs, leaving the milieu of the party behind. The two of you are standing on the sidewalk. The street is the quietest you’ve ever heard this city be.

“When I saw you tonight, it was like seeing a ghost. I had no idea you’d be here. But I knew you were in the city. I tried to find you. I… I needed to see you again.”

“Why now?”

“I…”

He takes a deep breath. You didn’t notice until now how tense he is. How frail he’s become. How quickly your youths have passed you by.

“I married a girl I met the month after I left. Her name was Yvonne. I told her everything. I loved her too much not to. She’s…”

He’s hesitant to say it. You see him twist his wedding band, still on his finger.

“She passed away. A couple years ago. She said I should find you. She thought… She thought I would need you when she was gone. I threw myself into my work, but she was right. When they told me I was going to LA for the premiere, it felt like a sign. I don’t think I ever stopped needing you.”

He reaches his hand to the halfway point between the two of you. Your hands remain at your sides.

“I always waited for you, you know that? I never loved anyone else. I met a girl in a bar twenty years ago that I could have loved for the rest of my life, and I broke her heart. You know why? Because of you. I can’t do it like this, Cillian. You know that. I can’t replace her. Maybe… maybe we need to leave the past where it is.”

You didn’t notice until now that there were tears rising to your eyes. You hate the feeling of it, willing yourself to stay stoic. Not now. You can’t cry now.

“I know you don’t mean it. If you really do - if you’ve really moved on, if you forget who we were back then, if you never want to see me again - I’ll go. I’ll go back to the party and I’ll go back to Ireland and we can pretend it never existed at all. But I don’t think you mean it.”

He grabs your hand. It still fits yours exactly.

“I’m not in the city for long. All I’m asking you for is one night.”

“And why should I give it to you? It’s been thirty years. Who says you know me at all now?”

You can’t meet his gaze. You know the second you look into his eyes again you’re done for. You never could say no to those blue eyes.

"I don't. But I want to. Please. Just give me one chance. We're old men now. What else is there left for us?"

You pull your hand out of his and you watch his face fall.

"I'm calling us an uber. You can stay at my house. Just for the night."

He nods, solemn. He puts his hands in his pockets, and the two of you stand there and wait until the headlights come around the corner, looking for all the world like strangers.

The ride home is quiet. You don't speak again until you're unlocking the door for him to come into your house.

"It’s not much. LA prices and all. But it's home."

"No, no, I like it. It's nice. Cozy."

"Always the flatterer. Sit down. I'll make you a drink."

He looks out of place sitting there on the dingy sofa in his perfect suit. You pour two glasses of whiskey and bring them over to the living room, sitting down next to him.

"So. How have you been?"

It's awkward. What do you say to the man you loved? How do you talk about the decades you spent without him?

"I've been… keeping busy. Work and all. Peaky Blinders is wrapping up, but Oppenheimer was pretty intense during filming. I didn't go home much. The house has felt too empty since… well, you know. I felt terrible for doing it, though. My sons - they're staying with my brother right now. I know they need their father, but…"

He trails off, slumping slightly in his chair.

"But I can't be the father they need right now."

He downs the glass of whiskey and sets it back down on the table.

"What about you, though? How's Hollywood?"

"It’s.. It's fine. You get used to it after a while."

"The good or the bad?"

"Both."

The two of you sit there quietly for a while. It's Cillian who breaks the silence first.

"Do you remember that apartment you had back in the day? The one with that one window that never shut right in the wintertime?"

"Yeah, the one with no wall decor or bedframe. Real bachelor pad. I loved that place. Having to move out after we ended things was sort of my last straw in terms of staying in Ireland."

"It was a comfortable bed for just being a terrible mattress though. Where did you find that thing, the dumpster?"

"Of course not, I had more dignity than that. It was on the curb."

He laughs. His laugh hasn't changed a bit.

"I have a real mattress now, though. My back's getting too old to keep on roughing it."

"With a bedframe? From a store? Hollywood has given you expensive tastes, I see."

“Yeah, living it up over here with my bed from a store. Might as well be on a yacht with blackjack and hookers, right?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve got a deck of cards around somewhere.”

“And the hookers?”

You raise your eyebrows at him.

“Well…. I was a pretty hot commodity back in my heyday..”

He grins at you over the rim of his glass.

“A hot commodity, huh?”

“Seemed to work well enough for you.”

You grin back.

“God, you’re impossible.”

You lean over, and before you know it, your face is just inches from his, your hand on his chest. His pupils are blown wide, his hand on the small of your back.

He closes the gap between you. He tastes like cheap whiskey and expensive champagne and water when you’ve been lost in the desert. You’ve never wanted anyone more. His hand caresses your cheek softly, holding you as you pull away, and it’s tender and nostalgic in a way that makes your heart feel like it’s about to shatter into a thousand pieces.

You tangle one of your hands through his hair and lean down over him. When you slide one hand under his shirt, his breath goes shaky. You kiss along his jawline and down his neck, and he throws his head back, biting his lip.

You trace your fingers along the bulge in his pants - he whimpers, already rock-hard under your hand.

“Nobody’s touched you like this in a long time, have they?”

He shakes his head.

“It’s been… god, it’s been years. Couldn’t remember how good it felt, couldn’t even get myself off. Wasn’t enough.”

There’s a desperation in his voice, a silent pleading. You want to give him the world. You’ll settle for giving him what he needs instead.

“Come on. We’re going to the bedroom.”

You take his hand and pull him up, guiding him to your room. He sits down on the edge of your bed, and you move to stand between his legs, unbuttoning his shirt slowly.

“Let me take care of you, Cill. Just for tonight.”

You toss his shirt on the floor somewhere behind you and push him back to lie on the bed, leaning over him. He pulls you in for a kiss as you strip him down.

“What do you want?”

“Fuck me. Please. I need you inside me.”

He’s beautiful like this, the flush high on his cheekbones creeping down his chest, his eyes wide and his hair messy. Gorgeous, even. It’s enough to drive a man crazy.

“Turn over. Hands and knees.”

He scrambles to obey you, leaning on his elbows with his head resting in his hands. He’s almost impossibly hard, dripping precum onto the sheets. You grab the bottle of lube out of the bedside table and warm it in your hands, stroking his cock before you slip the first slick finger inside him.

He tenses, and you slow down. You hear him take a deep, slow breath.

“Do you need me to stop?”

“No, no, it’s alright, it’s just… it’s been a long time.”

You wait to move again until you feel him relax around you, and when you curl your finger into his prostate he groans. You take your time opening him up, watching how he shakes under your touch, listening to his pretty sounds filling the room.

“God, stop teasing and just fuck me already!”

It’s sudden, startling in a way that almost makes you laugh.

“I’m not teasing, I’m getting you ready. It’s half the fun.”

“Well, I’m ready enough. Please. I need you inside me.”

You pause for a moment, movements stilling.

“I just… I don’t want to hurt you.”

The words hang in the air. Both of you know that you’re talking about more than just this.

“You won’t. I trust you.”

You pull your fingers out of him to unzip your pants and pull your underwear down, and he whimpers for a moment before you put him on his back and lean over him, pushing his thighs up.

You slick yourself up and enter him slowly. He’s hot and tight around you. The two of you had only ever gotten this far a handful of times back then, but it still felt just as incredible as it had the very first time.

You wait until he’s adjusted to you fully before you really start to thrust into him. One of your hands holds his, propping you up beside his head. The other runs all over his body as you kiss him, one of his hands tangled in your hair. He kisses you like you’re air and he’s a drowning man. It’s better than all the times you ever dreamed of him. When you dreamt of him, you never let yourself imagine that he would love you back.

“Fuck - Cill, I’m - fuck, I’m close.”

“Me too.”

He pulls back, his hand resting on your cheek and his thumb rubbing across your lips softly.

“You’ve been so sweet to me…”

He looks at you like you hung the moon just for him. Like the two of you, here, now, are the only two people on Earth. It’s as dark as it ever gets out here, but you can still see the tenderness in his eyes in the dim glow of the streetlights and the ever-awake city through your window. Something tugging at your heartstrings tells you you’d be able to see it in complete darkness.

“Always.”

You turn your head to give his palm a kiss and something in his expression melts.

Your forehead leans against his as your movements slow to a deep grind against his sweet spot, and before long he’s moaning as he cums over his stomach. You follow suit soon after, pulling out and stroking yourself overtop of him until your release is coating his chest.

The two of you lay there for a while, basking in the afterglow.

“My back’s going to be killing me tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Oh, absolutely. At least you weren’t bent in half like a contortionist half the time.”

“Hey, I didn’t hear you complaining.”

He laughs, soft and quiet.

“Do you want me to get you some water? I’m going to go get a washcloth or something to get you cleaned off.”

“Please. Water would be very nice.”

You kiss him on the forehead before dragging yourself out of bed to get a warm washcloth and a glass of water.

You’re back before long. Cillian grins as you walk back into the bedroom, turning on the lamp on the bedside table.

“Missed you.”

“I was gone for two minutes.”

“Still.”

There’s a melancholy in his eyes, one that you try not to think too hard about as you wipe the cum off his stomach and toss the washcloth in the laundry basket to deal with later.

You climb back into bed with him as he takes a sip of water. The two of you don’t speak. You don’t need to. Before long, he turns the lamp back off, and the two of you fall asleep holding each other in the soft summer night.

we heart old man sex also sorry this took like SO long lol

taglist

@lovelybucky1

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #cillian x male reader #cillian x reader #cillian x you #cillian x y/n

80 notes · View notes

renaiswriting · 1 year

Text

Whispers of Strength

Pairing: Xu Minghao/Reader

Summary: The idea of having your best friend tell you, "I told you so," once again was infuriating, but you were sick and he was all you needed.

Warnings: slightly angst (but like- barely, you won't even realize it's there) with soft/happy ending (?) | FLUFF

Word count: 4.2k

Masterlist

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

A sneeze was heard loudly echoing through the walls of the darkened room. It was around seven in the morning, and you were still in bed. Your alarm had stopped dreaming about ten minutes ago, but you couldn't find the willpower to get up and start getting ready for your classes.

The rest of the space shared with your roommate was awash in complete silence; there was no doubt that Minghao had left the bedroom a few minutes ago.

Unwilling to turn on the light on your bedside nightstand, you fumbled with the surface of your nightstand, finding a used handkerchief that you had left there in the early morning after struggling to sleep.

It seemed that no matter how much you blew your nose, one side of it was always completely unable to breathe.

Around four in the morning, you gave up, opting to breathe with your throat (something that was completely uncomfortable because you're not used to breathing that way).

After all, the cold air you had been exposed to the day before and the effort you had had to make to let oxygen into your body had ended up killing your throat, and now even breathing the smallest amount of air made you almost start crying.

A new sneeze came violently through your body, shaking you completely as it left your organism. At the burning sensation in your throat, you closed your eyes tightly, accepting the discomfort with resignation.

It was tiring; it felt as if thousands of knives were cutting the inside of your throat at the same time.

The screen of the phone that had been charging all night on your bedside table lit up, revealing that Minghao had sent you a message.

Minghao: You're on your way? I forgot my book for Economics III.

If the idea of skipping class had even appeared for a millisecond, it was completely gone.

I couldn't skip class now that Minghao had spoken to him.

Because skipping classes would mean having to tell Minghao that she was not going to attend, and it would involve having to admit that she had made a mistake.

Minghao had entered the same university as you in the same year. You had been studying the same major and attending the same classes from day one, but you hadn't seen or heard his name until you both found yourselves in the same dorm.

Minghao had requested a roommate change due to having constant problems with the one he had before, and you, being forced to get a new place to sleep that wasn't expensive, had no choice but to sign up for the college dorms.

Minghao had been the quietest person you had ever met, and that was a lot coming from you, who within three years had talked to, at most, about five people.

Was it any surprise that you had never seen him? Not really.

Making friends has been an extraordinarily difficult task for you ever since you were a little girl. For many years, you forced yourself to try to meet different people and keep in touch with them, but you soon discovered that if you didn't write to them, they never did.

And so you gradually began to drift further and further away from everyone, keeping only three friends who had shown that they cared about you as much as you cared about them.

So, at the beginning of your university career, you had promised yourself to focus more on your studies than on making friends, so you went to class, took notes, and when you finished, you hurried straight to the library to continue studying in complete silence for another three hours.

At first, living together was really awkward. Minghao didn't seem to know how to deal with you, and you didn't know how to deal with him.

And it was even more awkward when you passed each other in class because neither of you knew whether you should greet each other or just ignore each other.

Luckily, the relationship started to improve as soon as finals came around because both of you had a lot of studying to do and each of you had your own doubts.

They began to meet in the living room, sitting late at night reading and rereading the same books.

That's how they went from awkward roommates to roommates.

Your friendship began to forge when Minghao found you sitting in the bathroom with the door open and your phone in hand, crying uncontrollably.

That had been a bad week; not only were you extremely busy with all the group work and homework due in the various classes, but also the first exams had started, and you had failed one. So receiving a text message from your (at the time) boyfriend telling you that the relationship had come to an end was not in your plans, and as expected, the situation got the better of you.

Minghao stayed by your side all that night, making you tea and watching those movies you loved so much, and he didn't share your feelings towards them.

Becoming friends with Minghao meant that you had basically been adopted by the group of friends he had, and that meant that every two or three weeks they would get together somewhere to eat and take some of the stress out of college.

And it had been one of those get-togethers that had brought about the current state you were in at those moments. If there was one thing Minghao always took pride in, it was telling you how right he was with everything he advised you:

"Don't drink five cups of coffee before you go to take your exam because you're going to feel like going to the bathroom the whole time."

"Don't lend money to that person; you barely know them."

"Don't put so much spice in that food; it will hurt your stomach."

And in every one of them, he had been right.

So, when Minghao looked at the weather on his phone and noticed the low temperatures, I sighed deeply.

I had been thinking about wearing a certain outfit for almost a week, but it wasn't warm at all, and the solution of putting a jacket on top, which Minghao proposed, was not to my liking.

"The cold is psychological." You spoke to the reflection on the other side of the mirror. From there, her eyes connected for a few moments with Minghao's, sitting on your bed.

"And the fever you're going to get is also going to be psychological." Minghao responded by rolling his eyes. "Don't be stupid; you're going to get sick."

"But you all look ugly!" I cried in frustration, walking over to my various coats and studying them one by one.

"Wear one of mine," Minghao shrugged, too intent on what was happening on the phone in his hands, "it's not that much trouble."

The topic wasn't touched on again; Minghao seemed satisfied with the 'I'll think about it later' answer, and you just prayed that miraculously the sub-zero degrees would disappear.

"Which one are you going to want?" Minghao asked, entering your bedroom with a knock on the door. In her hands, she carried three different coats, all black.

"None," I replied, still finishing touching up my makeup, "thank you."

Minghao frowned, "But it's getting five degrees below zero." Minghao reminded you incredulously, "What are you going to wear?"

"I'm going to go like this; inside the restaurant, it's not going to be that cold."

"Yeah, but in the ten-minute walk to get to the restaurant, it's going to be cold."

"It's only ten minutes; how bad can it be?"

Minghao rolled his eyes, muttering "whatever'.

It was worse than just bad.

Even today, underneath the warmth wrapped around your body from the blankets, you could feel the cold you had experienced the day before.

You: Where is it?

You: "I'll be there in half an hour."

Once again, you blew your nose; it was already red and burning every time the handkerchief touched the irritated area.

You looked as horrible as you felt.

You were just praying that the makeup would cover up any traces of discomfort.

Minghao was sitting in his usual seat; his hand was extended in the air, catching your attention.

He had reserved the seat next to you so that the two of you could sit together.

Your head was throbbing and your body felt weak, but you were determined not to let Minghao notice your condition. So you walked quickly to the seat next to his, pretending that the ragged breathing and sloppy movements were only because you were still tired and not because of the discomfort you felt.Taking a step felt like walking on the sand at the beach, only this one weighed about seventy pounds and stuck to your feet.

"Did you bring it?" Minghao asked as soon as your body settled into the seat. You nodded in response, still not confident that your voice came out at all well. You had tried talking out loud in the bathroom before, and it seemed as if a demon was struggling to speak.

You pulled a large book out of your backpack, relieving the bag of the extra weight it didn't usually carry.

Minghao sighed in relief, stowing it in his own backpack.

While he was distracted, you pulled out a handkerchief from inside your backpack, quickly wiping your nose, and hiding it back in your jean pocket in time to talk to Minghao.

Luckily, Minghao filled much of the conversation, leaving you with the job of reacting or mumbling occasionally to his stories.

The economics III professor entered the classroom, and everyone automatically fell silent.

As the professor began to speak, you discreetly reached back into your bag and pulled out the pack of tissues you had hidden, realizing that the tissue you had grabbed earlier wasn't going to be enough for the rest of the class and that the professor had no intention of slowing down today's class just because you were feeling under the weather.

The professor asked a question that your brain didn't pick up on at all; you just weren't there.

Physically, you were there, but your brain didn't pick up on any of the difficult words your professor was saying.

Your notes reflected it; they were a mess.

You hadn't even managed to make a coherent sentence; most of them stopped mid-sentence because you couldn't keep up.

Minghao looked at your notes, trying to find some word he probably hadn't been able to understand, but he frowned as he looked at your notes.

This was unusual.

Usually you even wrote whenever the teacher took a break or took a breath, so why were you a mess today?

"I read this before," you excused yourself, "it's all in the book."

Which you weren't too sure would do any good since you hadn't even touched that book in the last week, but Minghao seemed to agree with that answer as he quickly rushed to write down what the professor was saying.

Suddenly he stopped speaking, his eyes traveling to the faces of the students in front of him.

You settled into your seat, sitting up straight and adjusting your posture.

You could make out a cough forming in the back of your throat, so you quickly cleared your throat softly, disguising the tickle that threatened to trigger a coughing fit at any moment.

Minghao looked at you with a worried expression. "Are you okay?" he asked.

You quickly smiled at him, shaking your head. "I'm perfectly fine," you reassured him, your voice sounding louder than it really felt. "I'm still very sleepy."

Minghao nodded, looking at your face for a couple of seconds before dropping the subject and turning his attention to the class.

You reached for your water bottle, hoping that the cold liquid would help quell the feeling that you were about to start coughing.

Taking a deep breath, you scolded yourself.

It was just a cold; for God's sake, it wasn't the end of the world, and it was stupid how much it was affecting you.

You stirred in the seat, trying to find a comfortable position to ease the persistent muscle pain.

As you attempted (and failed miserably) to keep your mind in the present, your brain was constantly repeating the same thing over and over again.

"He warned me about this; why was I so stupid? I should have listened."

"Next time, I'll not be this stubborn..."

"Just a little longer, I can make it through the day; just one more hour...

The painkillers you took on your way to your class were not helping at all; it felt as if you hadn't taken them at all. A sudden wave of dizziness washed over you; everything was moving. You stopped writing for a second, until it got better. Minghao turned to look at you, noticing you were not writing anything down. You send him a smile in return, forcing yourself to focus on the teacher's words and desperately trying to appear engaged.

The class finished with their teacher reminding them to read the next two chapters of their book for the next class.

"Shall we go home?" You asked, already rushing to the exit.

"Oh, Jeonghan asked to study together at the library this morning, and I told him we would be joining them, but if you don't want to-"

"Oh, no, yeah! Yeah! Let's go!" You forced a cheerful smile, hoping your eyes didn't give away how dead you were actually feeling.

"You sure? They will understand if you want to go home." Minghao asked you once again just to make sure. In response, you nodded, already heading to the library. "Wait!" Minghao rushed to grab your wrist and say, "We should eat something; I'm starving, aren't you?"

If anything, you were feeling like you were about to throw up because of how bad you were feeling. but you nodded nonetheless.

"You have barely touched your food." Minghao commented with a frown. Today was slightly better than the day before; the sun was kindly warming everybody under its rays. The group had agreed to move from the library to the concrete seats and tables outside so they could all have a small lunch and talk for a little bit before starting to study.

"I'm still kind of full from breakfast." You replied, your fork moving the noodles from side to side.

"Breakfast happened almost five hours ago; you can't possibly be full for that long." Minghao replied, at the same time that Jeonghan moved closer to you, his hand coming into contact with your forehead.

"You're hot."

"Thank you, I know." You replied, biting your lip seductively at him and pushing his hand away from your forehead with a smack.

Jeonghan's hand came back to your face, this time holding your chin and moving your face from left to right. "Your cheeks are red as well; I think you might have caught that virus that's going on around campus."

"What virus?" Mingyu asked. Your tallest friend was finishing his own lunch, liking his fingers, and eyeing the food you had in front of you.

"The one everybody is talking about, Seungcheol got it last week." Jeonghan replied. "He has been throwing up once every hour." Minghao frowned, checking your forehead himself.

"I'm fine, just not hungry." You replied, pushing your food in Mingyu's direction.

"Nah-ah," he shook his head, "if you're sick, I don't want to have it."

You tipped your tongue. "Such an ungrateful brat."

"I've got finals next week; I can't be throwing up!" He defended himself. "Trust me, if you weren't sick, I would eat it."

"You should probably go back home and sleep." Minghao suggested.

"I told you I'm fine!" You snapped, closing your eyes for a second to control your emotions. "I'm totally fine; I just want to study and get over it. Please"

Mingyu sighed, "Fine, but you're buying us coffee. If we're putting up with this attitude, this is the last thing you can do for us."

You bite your tongue, shutting down the need to tell Mingyu to go and fuck himself. "Fine."

"Race 'til the bus stop! Let's see who gets there first!" Mingyu shouted, taking advantage of his long legs.

It wasn't fair; in two strides, he had outpaced the others.

Jeonghan started running as fast as he could, as did Minghao.

You took a deep breath; your body was screaming for you not to.

It was already under too much stress from whatever it was battling at the time (a virus or a cold, or at worst, both) for you to demand that it use what little energy you had left in a race.

But you knew that if you didn't run, others would again insist that something wasn't right.

"I won!" Mingyu sang happily; he was the only one standing up; Jeonghan was laying down on the ground, trying to catch his breath; and Minghao was sitting with his legs wide open, both breathing quickly.

"No shit Sherlock." You commented sarcastically, sitting next to Jeonghan. "At least give us a chance."

"I would usually do it, but today you weren't even trying." Mingyu frowned. You rolled your eyes. Running has only made you breathe with your mouth, and the cold air that was entering your body only caused more harm.

"What do you mean?"

"You're sick." Minghao said calmly, "Just as I told you." He reminded you, looking straight into your eyes.

"I don't know what you're saying." You denied. Minghao shook his head. Taking his own scar from his neck and softly wrapping your own neck with its warmth.

"Stop it; you sweated it!" You faked disgust.

"Stop acting like a five-year-old." He said it coldly.

You froze in your spot, stopping to try to take the scarf off your neck.

You could feel Jeonghan and Mingyu's eyes on your discussion. You felt your cheeks and eyes turning from pink to red in embarrassment.

"I don't."

"Yeah, you do," Minghao replied calmly. "I told you to wear a jacket, and you didn't."

"Stop acting like my dad." You complained, standing up as the bus started coming near the bus stop.

You went first, trying to get as far away from Minghao as possible, hoping that both Jeonghan and Mingyu would understand it and save your ass from Minghao's nagging that was just waiting for you.

But of course, they were completely assholes and chose to sit together two rows behind both of you.

Minghao paid for his ticket, walking towards you.You avoided looking at him for the first five minutes, knowing he was looking at you—or the window, since both were in the same direction—in the reflection of the window.

"I'm sorry for reacting that way." Minghao whispered near your ear, not wanting the people next to them to listen to their conversation. "I didn't want to upset you."

You looked at his reflection for a couple of seconds before choosing the words you were going to use.

"I know," you started, turning to face him, "and I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier."

"If you were feeling that bad, you could just tell me; I would have given you my notes after class."

Minghao looked sad.

and seeing your friend sad made you feel sad.

"I'm sorry, it's just that the whole "I told you" thing is so annoying."

"But I did, in fact, tell you so."

"I know!" You exasperated. "I know you did! You always do, and it's insufferable. For me, it is. I feel like I can't make any mistakes because, at first sight of them, you're the first one to point them out." You left it all out.

"I don't." Minghao said, looking confused. "I didn't say that to make fun of your mistakes or anything like that. Never. I just want to point out that I did tell you because most of the time you just shut people down as soon as they say something you don't like, but sometimes you need to hear that."

"You're stubborn, extremely stubborn." He continued. "And that stubbornness will get you hurt or sick sometime." Just like right now."

Your emotions were all over the place, and now, at the slightly rice voice from Minghao, you were ready to boil your eyes out.

Minghao saw your watery eyes, stopped talking, and painted his face with worry.

"Don't cry, oh my god, I'm sorry, please don't cry."

Minghao wrapped his arm around your shoulders, awkwardly bringing you closer to his body, trying to comfort you by hugging you.

"I'm sorry. "I'm such a dick; you're already sick; please don't cry."

You wanted to tell him that it was okay, that you were in fact mostly crying because of how horrible you felt and how exhausted, both mentally and physically, you felt, but instead, you rested your head on his shoulder, letting the tears run freely on your face and wetting Minghao's hoodie.

The warmth that Minghao's body emitted was comforting; it was like having your own personal sun.

The sweet smell from his shampoo invaded your nose, making you feel safe in the familiarity of the smell.

It was nice to let all the tears out. It was like finally acknowledging how awful you had been feeling since you woke up.

It sucked.

Minghao brushed your hair, cleaning your cheeks from the old tears.

"We're almost home." He whispered, noticing that you were way calmer now that you had let everything out.

You nodded, closing your eyes and focusing on Minghao's delicate touch on your hair, trying to come back to reality.

The bus stopped, and you both went down, walking towards your shared dorm.

"I'll prepare you a bath." Minghao said, letting you take your time taking your shoes off.

"It's okay; you don't have to."

"I want to; it's my "I'm sorry for being a shitty friend" way to apologize."

"But you're not a bad friend." You corrected him.

Minghao smiled, disappearing into the bathroom.

You went to your bedroom, looking for your favorite pajamas. The only thing you wanted to do was take a bath and sleep for the rest of the day.

Minghao called you, letting you know everything was ready, leaving the bathroom all to yourself to enjoy the rose bomb bath he had.

The water was warm, and it smelled so good.

It felt so good in your sick body.

Your muscles are finally relaxing.

You stayed there until the water started to get cold, and as you started to get dressed, the smell of chicken soup hit you.

Minghao was waiting with the table seated.

"This is my mom's famous chicken soup," he told you, filling your glass with more water. "She always made me drink it whenever I was sick, so enjoy it; it's delicious."

"Wow, he's so humble; he compliments his own food." You joked but tried it anyway, your empty stomach welcoming the food with eagerness.

"So? How's it?" Minghao asked, looking attentive to your every move.

"Delicioso!" You answer in a terrible accent.

"Is that Spanish?" Minghao asked, confused.

"It's really, really good!" "It brings the Spanish out in me!"

Minghao laughed, saying, "There's more if you want; you should really eat well; you barely ate today."

You nodded.

He was right.

"Stay tomorrow; I'll take care of taking good notes so you can study later, okay?"

"But I'll feel better tomorrow."

Minghao rolled his eyes. "You'll go to class and spend two hours attempting to take notes while your mind is everywhere but the class; let your body and mind relax for tomorrow. It's just one day; it won't hurt."

You were about to start an argument, but you remembered the words Minghao told you earlier.

"Okay." You replied instead, "But make sure everything's in Korean, please, or at least let me know in advance if there's anything in Chinese. I can barely deal with a second language while sick; I don't think I'll be able to deal with one I don't speak at all."

"Sure thing, let's watch a movie." Minghao proposed, deciding that it would be best to watch it in your bedroom, just in case you fell asleep.

"What do you want to watch?" You asked him while getting comfortable under the blankets.

"Whatever you want." Minghao replied, logging into his Netflix account from his laptop. "I'm fine with whatever."

"Mean girls?" you asked.

Minghao nodded, watching the movie.

You knew Minghao wasn't a big fan of that movie, but you appreciated the fact that he was watching it with you.

"I want to cuddle," you confessed; this was something your mom always did when you were a kid, and we're feeling particularly sick.

Minghao didn't say anything; he moved behind you, doing as you asked.

"Thanks." You mumbled.

"Don't fall asleep; we haven't even gotten to the pink Wednesday part yet." Minghao joked.

"Tomorrow is Wednesday; we should also wear pink." You said your mind was half awake, half asleep.

"The only oink thing you're going to wear tomorrow is going to be your pajamas, but sure, let's do it." Minghao agreed.

You smiled.

Your eyes were burning from exhaustion.

And without thinking twice, you let your kind shut down, allowing your body the rest it wished for the whole day, feeling safe in Minghao's arms.

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