#but like. even my friend will wood is on a little bit of thin ice | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chimivx · 2 years

Text

HAVEN. -> Lee Know x Female!Reader ( she/her pronouns )

summary: Hyunjin was never much of a boyfriend, making all of your friends wonder why you've stuck by him for so long. You know what they say though, love makes you crazy... Or, love makes you end up in your best friend backseat straddling his waist... Something like that... Right?

words: 10k

warnings: INFIDELITY themes all throughout, hyunlix, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking marijuana, smoking cigarettes, angry boyfriends ( if you can call it that ), brief zodiac sign talk lol, SEXUAL CONTENT, unprotected sex ( DONT DO THAT ), mature themes throughout every line of this mofo, p*rn w very long plot. If I missed anything PLEASE LET ME KNOW.

a/n: Hi, I dunno what this is. SKZ brainrot. This took entirely too long to write. I don't know if I like it, eek. Minho is a dreamboat. Enjoy!

“I’m just so, so tired,” Expels from your lips in a harsh whisper, your sigh that follows is as equally exasperated.

“Do you think I’m not?” Hyunjin’s tone packs a powerful voltage, enough to startle your bones. Maintaining eye contact with the boy's deep brown eyes, you furrow your brow.

“Hyunjin,” Raising your voice to a reasonable level, you place a hand on the kitchen table that stands between you and lean toward him. Using his full name, you make a mental note of how it affects him, the discomfort appearing in the slight scrunch of his button nose.

“You have not answered my question,” He sneers. With a dramatic groan you roll your head backward, staring at the ceiling for all of three seconds before focusing back on his grimace.

“We are breaking up right now,” You say with persistence, the crease in your forehead becoming somewhat permanent, “You seriously need this information?”

“Yes,” He snaps, then shifts into a softer energy, “I never thought you’d be the one to break my heart.” The kitchen goes quiet, the only sound heard is that of the ice machine in the freezer.

A moment passes with a stare-down, Hyunjin being the one to break it by shaking his head. A thin lock of his black hair drops over his right eye.

“I knew this… relationship was over a week ago,” He speaks with heavy intention, his words packing a punch, “I’m not oblivious,” His hair dances over his eyes some more as he shakes his head again, “But you know how I feel about you. I can’t believe you’d do something like this, you’re not even moved out yet.”

“Jennie,” You whisper, narrowing your eyes. Hyunjin’s expression falters.

“Lia,” You continue on, listing names of women he’s slept with since your situationship began, “Nayeon,” He seems to catch on, averting his eyes around the room as he scoffs, folding his arms across his chest.

“Even fucking Felix, Hyunjin, jesus!” Your laugh does nothing to mask the frustration weeping from your eyes.

“I never had sex with Nayeon-”

“It doesn’t matter!” You shout, your hands slamming flat on the table as your eyes widen, “Do you hear yourself?”

“I do, do you hear me?” He squinted his eyes, jutting his head to the side, “You fucked Minho,” He spoke slow, fueling the fury simmering within you, “Like a little slut, in the backseat of his car, in the parking lot of Haven, while the rest of us danced together inside.”

Swallowing hard, you refuse to shrivel beneath his interrogation.

“Hyunjin-”

“Two hours ago, I’ll add,” He smirks, finding it all a bit funny, “This happened… two hours ago. Does he know what happened yesterday morning? The moment we shared literally right here?” He presses a fingertip into the wood, narrowing his sharp, feline-like eyes.

“No,” You say, screwing your face in confusion, “Why does it matter?” Hyunjin takes his bottom lip between his teeth, sitting backward in the chair, folding his arms across his chest.

“I know some things,” He says, smug as he’s ever been.

“Enlighten me,” You whisper.

“Certainly,” Hyunjin huffs, holding up a hand for you to see. He taps his pointer finger, “Minho’s been after you for a while,” He taps his middle finger, “You’ve been after Minho equally as long,” He taps his ring finger, “You’ve got a type.”

“I do not have a type,” You say, glaring at his slender fingers that could have an obscene amount of control over you if Hyunjin really tried. Focused on your eyes, watching as they follow his hands that he places flat on the table, he chuckles.

“You have a type,” He reiterates, “Minho’s no better than me, he’s a bartender, if anything he’s worse.”

“Minho’s as clean as a saint!” You say, and Hyunjin chuckles, “He hasn’t been with anyone in ages, he’s a good guy.” Lowering his chin, Hyunjin glares at you through his lashes, speaking in a tone so low his voice has dropped a few octaves.

“Then, tell me why he fucked his best friends girlfriend in the backseat of his car last night?”

“Oh my…” You gasp, clasping your hands over your hair, grabbing it by the fistful, “I’m your girlfriend now!? You’ve never said that word, of course this would be when you’d use it.”

“You were my girlfriend when I fucked Jennie,” He shrugs. Your eyes go wild.

“That hurt,” You dig, “Fuck you.”

“Fuck you!” He curls his lip, eyes dancing around your exhausted appearance.

Dragging your hands from your hair to over your eyes, you rub the sleep away gently and sigh, placing your hands on your knees. Avoiding Hyunjin’s gaze, you stare down at the table.

“I think… I think I should go,” You offer, flickering your eyes up to catch his face of sorrow, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” He whispers.

“Like… like you’re sad,” Shaking your head, you speak from an empty heart, “You don’t hold an ounce of empathy for me when you go frolicking down the streets to pick up the next conventionally attractive person, and take them somewhere to hook up,” His expression doesn’t falter, “Some of them, we’re friends with, Hyunjin. So, yes. This relationship was over a week ago when you drove me to crazy town, to the point of no return,” His eyes are laser focused on yours, “You know, in a way, it’s like you pushed me right into his arms.”

Stepping inside dim lit, musty scented Haven was a bit like stepping straight into the Sahara, except the concrete floor was slick with spilt drinks, not dusty grains of sand. There were no windows either, just dinged up chestnut wooden planks for walls adorned with cheesy neon signs and posters of bands and other artists. Your personal favorite was the lit up pink flamingo with a bottle of tequila in its hand.

A year ago, when you and your group of friends started making regular appearances here, you compared it to Hyunjin and his stretch of a frame. The banter that followed the laughter was essentially what got the two of you together in the first place, sharing the right amount of sarcasm, sparking an attraction to want to slip beneath the sheets… or into a bathroom stall.

Sitting at the creaky bar now on top of a cushion on a stool that was flattened with age, you gripped an ice cold glass of Vodka Cran, twisting it on the napkin the bartender sat it down with. Staring at the flamingo holding the tequila, it was perched above a long mirror that ran across the entire wall behind the bar, one that was short vertically, giving you a beautiful view of the scowl you wore.

The pink and yellow glow of the neon lights used to be accompanied with giggles, with soft touches and sneaky kisses. Tonight, those acts of love had his arms wrapped around Felix where they moved in sync on the dance floor, three inches apart without shame.

Glancing over your shoulder you catch them cheek to cheek, rocking side to side. Felix’s hands seemed nervous, they were greedy, but tentative, his fingertips sliding up and down Hyunjin’s tight t-shirt clad torso. The younger boy's eyes were pointed down, listening with parted lips to whatever charm Hyunjin was spilling into his ear. A hex, a curse, an enchantment that would keep Felix at his beck and call for as long as he pleased.

The sight of their hips grinding, and their thighs slipping between the others knees used to be nauseating, however, it’s been occurring for two weeks, so it’s become tolerable.

At least it wasn’t a female.

Girls crawled out of the woodwork for Hyunjin, there was never a night where he wasn’t fighting one off of his hip. The boy could walk into a room, and in an instant have someone on their knees with just a look. Something about his aura, his lust fueled, mysterious facade of an attitude made them melt in his fingers like putty. Felix though, Felix was different.

The blonde haired boy taunted Hyunjin, insufferably oblivious to his flirting.

The two have been friends for a couple of years, coming together at about the same time as you had found them. There were nine of you total, a group that never hesitated to let life go, not taking it too seriously.

You all came with your quirks, your imperfections. You and Hyunjin were tied for ‘most self-destructive bitch’, while the others fit into every category, and somewhere in between, ranging from ‘funny guy’ to ‘cry baby’. Han took leadership of the funny guy’s, Seungmin fell into that in between grey area, and Felix made himself more than comfortable in cry baby territory.

Felix has a huge heart, Felix is a great friend, but Felix is a good boy, and he made it a game for Hyunjin without even knowing.

Once the Nayeon rift was over in your relationship, things were smooth for about a week, until Hyunjin got bored. That’s when Felix fell into his lap. Sweet sunshine, bright eyed, bushy tailed Felix, who had no idea what he was in for when Hyunjin invited him on a solo night out after a couple of days of slinking around him stealthily, buttering him up with empty words.

That night, Hyunjin pounced, and poor Felix had fallen in the trap, becoming another notch in the charismatic bastard's bedpost.

Spinning around to watch the show the boys were lost in, you lean your back against the bar, crossing your legs. The rips in your jeans stretched at the bend, the skinny white strings over your skin threatening to snap, much like your patience. Sipping from the straw in your drink, you shake the ice around in the half empty glass as you swallow, catching Hyunjin’s eye as he continues to twist about the floor, claws in his shiny new toy.

He stares at you for all of five seconds, then turns his chin to nuzzle his nose into Felix’s hair, closing his eyes, whispering more unholy nothings. His plump, pink lips moved effortlessly, everything about this act coming entirely too easy to him.

For god's sake, this was just his warm up, and Felix was already buckling at the knees.

“That’s still happening?” A polished, yet dreamy voice says beside you, having approached your frustrated energy after spotting you here alone from across the room. Shifting only your eyes to give him a look, you’re greeted by Minho’s silver hair and a quick eye roll as he sits down.

Dressed simply in a black t-shirt and dark pants, accessorized the slightest, taking a seat next to you was the first of many mistakes Minho was going to make tonight.

Your heart took a tumble at the sound of his voice, a slight nervousness sparking through your veins as you took in his appearance. Minho was buff, but he wasn’t built like a gym shark like Chan or Changbin. Instead the boy's muscles filled out the sleeves of his t-shirt enough to give Captain America a run for his money, and spending nights with him on the dance floor made you want to personally tell Chris Evans that America’s ass has some competition.

Holding a glass of jack and coke, Minho presses the lip of the cup to his own, rolling it side to side along the fat bottom, squinting out to the boys on the floor. His jaw is sharp, all of his features are, chiseled by Michael Angelo himself.

Taking a quick breath, you sigh and mutter, “Yes it is.”

Bobbing his head, Minho watches Felix press a swift kiss to Hyunjin’s cheek, then side eyes to see if you caught it too. To his pleasant surprise, that no longer held much of a shock value, your gaze was fixed where he balanced his glass.

Suppressing a smirk, Minho turns briefly to place the empty cup of melting ice on the bar before sliding his stool an inch closer to yours. He leans his back on the wood, crossing his arms. You could’ve sworn he flexed on purpose, his muscles seeming more defined than ever. With his chin lowered, he shot daggers at the handsy boys with dark eyes, and eyebrows slightly upturned.

That’s when you realized you were staring.

Swallowing, hard, you snap out of the trance he quite easily put you in, and sit up to compose yourself so you don't appear like a schlump.

“Is, uh,” Pausing to clear your throat, you ask, “Is Han here?” Taking a sip of your drink. Nodding with more of a purpose, Minho purses his lips and scans the room as if to look for his shadow of a friend.

“He’s here somewhere, Chan, too,” He says, glancing at you with a small smile. Returning it, you look back out to the dance floor, afraid that if you looked at him any longer your cheeks would turn pink.

“That’s great,” Your tone falls flat while Hyunjin brushes noses with Felix, pressed chest to chest. Following your eyes, Minho’s smile falters.

All of your friends were familiar with Hyunjin’s tendencies, the boy didn’t necessarily keep it a secret. When it all started they’d call him out and put him on the spot, but it didn’t change a thing. Born a Pisces, he was infatuated with the life of chaos, but conversations with your friends made you question if his star sign was right. You’ve never seen him practice unconditional love.

As much as it sucked watching a friend hurt another again, and again, he was still Hyunjin, and like you, unfortunately, your friends still loved him. Minho however, he’s been festering in bitterness since the moment he saw you fall for the charm Hyunjin was currently casting over Felix.

He knew off the bat he didn’t stand a chance, Hyunjin was like a drug. A relentless, karmic drug that's had you hooked for too long.

A spectator to the tumultuous year, Minho was livid Hyunjin snagged you first. You’ve always had more in common with the older boy, and if Minho had to guess, you only had one thing in common with Hyunjin. That, and your chilling attitudes, though Hyunjin was actively altruistic. You were caring, and thoughtful, and put others before yourself most times. Hell, Minho’s been standing witness to it for as long as he can remember, watching you get pummeled by Hyunjin’s emotional turmoil consistently.

When it came down to it, Minho was the one you’d run to, the guy you’d turn to for a shoulder to lean on, finding some sort of comfort in his ability to simply listen, without listening to speak. He would truly listen, and only share his thoughts if you asked.

Across the room, with Felix buried in his neck, you meet Hyunjin’s eyes swapping between you and the boy that were millimeters apart. Like you both caught it at the same time, you and Minho turn your chins to give each other a look. He wears an expression of worry cocktailed with fury.

“What?” You question, smirking, knowing he had plenty to say.

“Where’s the breaking point?” He asks, “When will you finally… snap?”

“Snap?”

“Yes, snap,” He chuckles, glancing at glaring Hyunjin momentarily, “I don’t understand how you can sit here and watch this happen.”

“Me either,” You mumble, a little white lie.

Twenty minutes at the kitchen table this morning with Hyunjin was enough to keep you on his side for another night. Sitting on his lap with his arms clamped around you, you held him as he sobbed into your chest, spilling muffled babbles of apologies and guilt ridden excuses for ‘why he is the way he is’, and that he ‘cannot live without you’. Endless empty promises, all he seemed to express, would keep you on a short leash, but what Hyunjin doesn’t know is that his cry for help this morning was pathetically transparent.

Felix gyrating against Hyunjin’s body, probably getting off on the dance floor in the middle of a crowd while the boy he was stuck to showed you the same eyes he had given you this morning was enough of a sign. Hyunjin didn’t give a shit.

“Snap,” You say. Minho raises his eyebrows.

“Excuse me?”

“Snap,” You repeat yourself, lifting a hand between your faces to literally snap your fingers.

“Okay, Thanos,” Minho mumbles, but you miss it.

Swiveling around on the stool, you slap your hands on the bar to stop yourself, leaning forward to grab the bartender who was tending to customers on the end. Minho follows you over his shoulder, arms still crossed, wearing a smug smile.

“You’re serious?” He spins around like you, bumping your knee with his along the way. The bartender comes your way, and after grabbing your order of six different shots, bustles away to gather it.

“Pretty sure,” You shrug, tilting your head so you’re a bit closer to him, “Might as well start listening to you after all this time.”

“That’s fair,” Minho’s lips twist into a smile, “Just hope you’re not lying.”

The bartender places six tiny glasses in front of you. With a thank you, you slide three of them over to Minho who raises a brow in question.

“What, lying like you?” You grill, peeking at his eyes before knocking back a shot of tequila.

“Me?!”

“I saw you with Han and Chan,” You smirk, happily watching him down two of the little glasses right after the other.

Wiping his bottom lip with his thumb, his brow creases, “What are you talking about?”

“You guys got here when we did,” You say, catching up to him in alcohol consumption, “Soon as Hyunjin walked away from me, I saw Han hyping you up to come over here.” Minho swigs his last shot, almost choking at the sound of your words.

“You keeping tabs on me?” He asks, squinting his eyes, closing the gap between you even more. Flickering your eyes to his lips that were wet with liquor, you look back up and only give him a smile. An innocent one that stirs up trouble as you down the last glass sitting on the bar.

Placing it back in line with a clink, you hop off the stool and hold your hand out. Unable to keep his gaze off of you, Minho swivels around, glancing at your open palm.

“Come on,” You coerce, wiggling your fingers. Laughing at himself, he snatches your hand to stand up.

“Where are we going?” He asks sincerely.

“I wanna dance,” You say, then step closer to him, lowering your voice, “And if you don’t want me keeping tabs on you, you have to come with me.”

“I’m yours,” He says, holding up his other hand in defeat. Dragging him along through the crowd of thirty other sweaty people, you peek backward at him and raise your brows.

“Famous last words,” You giggle.

“Wouldn’t choose any others,” He squeezes your hand, narrowing his eyes.

Distracted by Felix, Hyunjin misses the change of location, peeking back over to the empty stools after you’ve taken your place on the dance floor with Minho by your friends in the corner. Han and Chan were at a small table cradling their umpteenth drinks of the night, both of them breaking into widespread grins after spotting Minho in your grasp.

“Glad to see you’ve brought someone else along this time around,” Chan says, wrapping an arm over your shoulder, hugging you sideways. Han lifts his glass to cheers, taking a long sip afterward.

“Look at him,” You roll your eyes playfully at the two, then turn to Minho, “How can I say no?”

Clicking his tongue, Minho tilts his head back with a smirk, “Chill,” His voice has dropped several octaves within the twenty feet from the bar to the corner.

Biting down on your bottom lip in thought, you feel the wave wash over you. Gazing into his eyes that were laced with a type of passion you’ve never come face to face with, the wave more so crashed over both of you. These seven silent seconds shifted the entire night.

Minho looks over your shoulder to his friends sitting on the high top chairs, both of them gesturing to your back wearing suggestive looks of grandeur. Han and Chan have patiently waited, marinated in forced silence courtesy of Minho for a year, slowly dying inside the longer the two of you resisted the gravitational pull that’s tried for ages to tangle you up. All of your friends have actually, aside from Hyunjin who’s only suspected the pining. Han and Chan were two who were invested, using this moment to make their self proclaimed prophecy come true, ready to witness history happen in front of their eyes.

Catching Minho, you follow his eyeline and watch Han and Chan quickly pop into natural looking poses, focusing on one another and chatting about their drinks with silly little comments that ultimately meant nothing.

“Well that was slick,” You tease. Chan peeks up from his glass, lips wrapped around the tip of the straw, and gives you a wink. Han hides behind his drink, peering between you and Minho with a hidden smirk, puffing out his already chubby cheeks.

“Have fun,” He sings, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You guys are ridiculous,” You say, and turn to face Minho. His fingers tense around yours.

“Let’s dance,” He says, then pulls you into his body, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, leading you to the center of the dance floor.

Brushing by a dozen people your age, Minho finds a clearing with a smile and spins you around before finding the beat of the music himself. Keeping your hands locked, you sway with him, stepping a bit closer to close the gap.

Minho knew what he was doing, the boy was an expert when it came to moving to music. It never mattered where he was either, if he heard a beat he liked, one that he could feel in his soul, he was going to move. Like Changbin, Minho was musically inclined, his skillset extending far beyond just dancing. Tipsy enough to stand here with him without being intimidated by his extensive resume of talents, you take another step closer, bumping into his chest.

“You ever think about doing something with dance?” You ask over the music. Glancing down to where your bodies touched, Minho looks into your eyes and slips a hand around your waist without thinking twice. His fingertips press into your hip, continuing his sway, now holding you in place on him.

“God,” He mutters, shaking his head a bit, “You ask me that every three months, I think.” He smiles.

“I do,” You chuckle, placing an arm around his back, ignoring how it makes him take a sharp breath, “You just have a lot going for you,” His eyes soften as he listens to you, “Don’t you want to get out of this place? Do something huge?”

“Course I do,” He says, and though he wears a gentle expression, his tone is rough, “Don’t you?”

You would’ve stopped moving all together if you weren’t latched onto his body.

“I would,” You say quieter, his words striking your heart, “You know I would.”

“What’s stopping you?” His eyes zone in on you, already knowing the answer he wishes you would forget about. It takes you a moment to say anything, gulping out of sheer embarrassment. You peer to the side, trying to see if you could spot where the answer had ended up.

Minho unravels his hand from yours and places a finger to your cheek, turning your focus back to him. Flipping his hand, he drags the back of his fingers down your skin softly.

“Don’t look for him,” He says.

“What’s stopping you?” You ask, studying his defined features, “From moving on?”

You don’t expect him to open up, Minho was always a person who knew how to keep a secret, like those dads who dropped random trauma stories out of the blue unprovoked. Minho could’ve deflected his answer, he could’ve made some shit up, but swaying here together over the liquor stained floor he keeps his gaze on you, pressing his lips into a line, perking a brow.

A tinge of excitement surges through you, a short burst of the feeling to keep you from getting swallowed back up in Hyunjin. Minho watches you like you’re made of stars, his eyes unable to part from yours. It was you. You were the block preventing him from moving on.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” You say.

“Do I look like I care?” Minho nearly whispers, bringing his face down closer to yours. Pouting your lips, you sigh.

“Why didn’t you get to me first?” Your voice drops as your eyes flicker to his lips, your words flowing from yours with ease, like sweet, sweet music to his ears.

“He’s too pretty,” Minho tries to smile, pressing his forehead to yours.

“He’s a dick.”

“That too,” He says after a chuckle.

Dancing this way for a couple of minutes, holding on to one another beneath the cheesy strobe lights amongst the sea of human beings who didn’t care to look your way, your hands explored skin as your lips frustratingly ghosted each other. Minho took your waist with both his arms, his hands slipping down over your ass every few seconds, feeling too nervous to keep them there for too long. Your noses brushed, eyes locking for a bit before they’d shut between the shared air of pure intimacy.

Tossing your arms around his neck, his skin was dewy with sweat much like yours. The heat pumping in the closed off bar was always kicked up to a higher degree no matter the season, but tangled up this way with Minho you knew the bar wasn’t to blame for the warmth you were feeling.

Your mind was clear of any thoughts that didn’t have to do with the babe attached to you, running his hands over your body. Hyunjin and his treacherous reign of terror was gone, Hyunjin and Felix were dead to you. All that was left was the heat and the need manifesting around the two of you, revealing itself from underneath the love and the care.

Seeing Minho lick his lips slowly, seemingly hungry, warps your mind. His fingertips that once pressed into your skin were gripping you now with vigor, his eyes closed as he held you tight. When they open, the look he gives you makes your jaw drop with a heavy sigh. You're unable to do much else.

In a hurry, he tilts his chin and presses his lips to yours, this kiss long overdue. It’s packed with passion, and sprinkled with lust, deepening faster than it had happened.

Parting your lips, you slip him your tongue and nearly moan into his mouth. You feel him smile, dancing his tongue with yours, then he slides it along your bottom lip before biting it gently, pulling away, and letting go with a pop. Jaw agape, your eyes are wide as you stare in shock.

“Sorry,” He mumbles, but his eyes are dark, signifying he didn’t feel as guilty as he had sounded. There isn’t much for you to say, you weren’t upset. With a minute’s worth of kisses Minho rendered you absolutely thoughtless.

“Do it again,” You whisper. His eyebrows raise with surprise, and to your request he does not hesitate. The gap closes quickly, his lips on yours in a second, hot, wet and heavy. The first kiss, and the following, were anything but innocent and sweet.

Moving with intensity, Minho sighs within the kiss, his brows furrowing above his closed eyes. You feel his hands move up your back, making their home between your shoulder blades where he can keep you locked in place. Sliding your fingers up into his hair that was littered with moisture, you grip the silver locks and smile when you feel him tense up. A groan escapes him, one that deepens the arousal already pooling in your center.

“What are you doing to me,” He mumbles, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek just beside your lips. Giving his head a scratch, you smile, taking a deep breath. Tilting your chin back, centimeters apart, your eyes dance over his focused look, his lips parted and eyebrows twisted with need.

“Everything I’ve always wanted to do,” You brush your lips swiftly over his, taking them down to his neck, peppering the skin with soft, angelic kisses that set his skin ablaze. Bending at the knuckles, his fingers grip the fabric of your shirt, knotting it in his fists.

Tossing his head backward, eyes screwed shut, he’s guided by your lips, melting into your touch as your fingertips graze through his hair. Popping out your tongue between your lips, you draw a small circle in the valley beneath his jaw before wrapping your lips over the skin, giving it a suck, leaving a happy little mark there for him to find later. Dragging your tongue over it once more, you kiss it and look up to Minho.

His hands slide over your ass again, giving it a generous squeeze as he puts his forehead back on yours, slipping you a quick kiss. Dragging your hands down his neck, wrapping them around the front for a moment, you look into his eyes and smile. You’ve never seen him so flustered, Minho’s always composed, always in control. Never once have you ever seen him this desperate.

“Minho,” You half ask his heavy lidded state.

“Hm?” He hums, unable to say much. Placing your hands back behind his shoulders, you give him a sensual squeeze. Opening your mouth, you want to spill everything, everything you’re longing to do with him, but for an unbeknownst reason, nothing comes out.

Lifting a hand, Minho places it under your chin then shifts it to your neck, wrapping his nimble fingers around the base, giving it a gentle grab. Taller than you, he was above you, looking down into your eyes that have softened with submission at his touch.

“What was it you were gonna say?” He questions, parting his lips to subtly touch yours, depriving you of a kiss you were ready for. Rubbing his bottom lip on yours, he drags his tongue over the seam of your lips, then catches them in a kiss you’d be able to hear if the music wasn’t pumping.

“Want you,” You whisper when he parts from you, your lips wet with a slick that didn’t belong to you. Sliding his hand up your throat, pressing purposely with his palm, he passes your chin and places his thumb on your lips where you subconsciously give the pad a kiss.

Smirking, he pulls at your bottom lip, getting lost in your upturned brows and pleading gaze. He’s always wondered how this would happen, how it would all go down eventually once he had you. Hearing plenty of stories from Hyunjin over the months, he learned that you could be a real brat, Hyunjin bringing that out of you on purpose. Minho knew if he played the jerk, the tamer, you weren’t going to walk away fulfilled, wanting more. And he needed you to want more.

Hyunjin was good at what he did, but he never listened. Hyunjin was consistent when he was inside someone, but that’s where it would end. He had one mode, get in and get off, however, Minho had a trillion, and he was ready to figure out which one would have you writhing with pleasure, whining his name.

He believes he’s got part of the puzzle figured out already.

Toying your bottom lip with his thumb, Minho whispers, “Want to get out of here?”

“And go where?” You ask, hypnotized by his gaze that was always sultry. Smiling, Minho sighs in satisfaction. He had you.

“Out of here,” He breathes, touching your lips with his briefly, “Anywhere, so you can do everything you’ve always wanted to do, to me.”

There wasn’t a chance you were catching onto his game, or the way he was playing it. Minho was slick, and if anything, a tad more manipulative than Hyunjin. Playing the role of your knight in shining armor, appearing effortlessly perfect in every way, swooping in when Hyunjin started embarrassing himself, and Felix…

Minho knew what he had to do to get you, because like Hyunjin, you loved nothing more than feeling like you were in control. It warmed Minho’s heart to see you melt into him, and revved him up to no end knowing that you had no idea he had his hands on the wheel, not you.

You heart longed for him, more than the need between your thighs, so if you were going to do this it would mean catastrophe for the Hyunjin entanglement you’ve overstayed your welcome in. Though you meant what you said to Minho at the bar, you snapped, that didn’t mean there wasn’t going to be an ache within you over it. You loved Hyunjin. As ridiculously shitty as the boy can be, like, absolute garbage… You loved him.

“No?” Minho asks, pulling you from your spiral.

“Yes,” You say without a thought, your eyes darting between his. He raises a brow slightly.

“But?” His tone is gentle, coaching you along patiently.

“Where is he?” You ask, gesturing to the side with a shift of your gaze for a moment. Minho narrows his eyes, a disappointed curiousness clouding in his deep brown irises.

“Why are you worried about him?”

“Becau- Minho, please,” Widening your eyes, you plead with his, “You care about me?”

“Course I do,” He answers quick.

“Then tell me where he is,” You say, then touch the edges of your lips together, tugging him closer behind his neck, and whisper, “And after that, get us out of this sweatbox, and for all I care, you can fuck me senseless on the side of the goddamn building,” His eyes blow open wide, a small smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, “Just tell me where he is.”

“Don’t want to give him a taste of his own medicine?” Minho teases, engulfing your lips with his own messily. Whining into it, feeling your heart twist deviously, the offer was intriguing. Pulling back, Minho is wearing a wicked grin. “Don’t want him to see the perfect girl he's giving up on leave with somebody else?”

“Perfect girl,” You repeat under your breath with a laugh, glancing away, “Don’t try to talk me up, you’re already getting it, Minho. Where is he?”

Taken aback, Minho sighs and softens his smile. Maybe you could see through the game he was playing, which made you smarter than the Hyunjin he’d compare you to.

Tipping his head away from yours, he scans the room quickly and efficiently. Hyunjin and Felix were no longer on the dance floor, they had made their way to the corner of the room where Han and Chan chatted away. Many, many empty glasses filled up their table making Minho wonder how long the two of you have been out here making fools of yourselves around everyone, shoving your tongues in your cheeks.

Hyunjin was speaking to Chan, standing beside him and still towering over where the oldest sat on the high top chair. Chan didn’t stand a chance, though he carried himself as if he was six feet tall.

The long, dark haired boy seemed worried, his brows furrowed as he leaned into Chan to talk directly into his ear over the pumping bass polluting the air from the speakers. Behind him, pouting pathetically with his knees squeezed together, stood Felix, clinging to Hyunjin’s arm with his cheek pressed to his shoulder. His entire front side was pressed to Hyunjin’s back, and Minho could read his expression from a mile away, knowing Felix wasn’t embarrassed to just be talking to your friends.

That type of desperation could be sniffed out in seconds by a cat in heat. The way he gulped and breathed from between his pouted lips was a telltale sign, not to mention his brows that were twisted in need. Either he was hard, or, he came already and was hard all over again.

Minho’s had one too many talks about it with your friends. Felix was annoyingly soft-hearted, but he was an easy little submissive bitch.

Minho watches the four of them, Chan and Han keeping their chins down while Hyunjin looks out to the dance floor, his wild, bugging eyes scouring the crowd of people on the dance floor, probably looking for you. When he gets close, Minho spins you around so that his back is facing your friends, keeping you out of Hyunjin’s sight.

“What? Is he over there?” You ask. Minho nods, locking his eyes back on yours.

“Talking to Han and Chan,” He says with caution, studying you closely, “With Felix glued to his back,” You both share a chuckle, “But… it looks like he’s looking for you… or, us, rather.”

“Great,” You sigh. Minho presses his lips together, waiting for you to say anything else. For the hundredth time, he is not Hyunjin, if you were going to back out of this, he would let you.

Watching his mind come to a complete pause as he takes you in, you smile, then rise to your tiptoes to kiss him. Not once, but three times. On his lips, on his cheek, then his earlobe, where you whispered in his ear, “Let’s go.”

“You sure?” He questions, quite whiney, and you laugh.

“Minho!” Was all you had to say.

Strong hands move to your waist, flipping you around so that you could lead the way out of Haven without being seen by your friends. On the way to the door Minho’s fingertips press into your torso, sneaking underneath the hem of your shirt to catch a quick graze of your smooth skin. Sharing giggles, quick kisses and tiny suggestive touches, the two of you finally stumble out of the door after dodging a handful of others doing the same exact thing.

Outside on the cracked sidewalk there was a group of people passing around a joint, the smell of the drug smacking you right in the face as the heavy metal door of the bar shut behind you. Lined along the brick wall were others out here for a smoke, talking amongst themselves drunkenly loud. Twisting around in Minho’s arms, you toss one of yours around his shoulder and pop your brows.

“It’s a little crowded out here,” You joke. Rolling his eyes, Minho walks you over to the end of concrete, peering around the corner into the dark alleyway where two couples could be seen feet apart making out in the dull glow of the singular streetlight that stood out front. “You thought I was serious?!” Your tone is humorous, shifting into a laugh by the end of your words.

With darkened eyes, Minho snaps his neck to look down at you, shutting you up, “I want you so bad, I’ll fuck you right here in front of the stoners,” His voice is deep, and gritty, taking you by surprise. Minho smirks, “Don’t look so shocked, what did you think you were getting into? You’re messing with a Scorpio, babe.”

Speechless, you take your bottom lip between your teeth and press your thighs together, becoming unknowingly comparable to Felix who Minho just witnessed harboring the same issue. His sudden forwardness fueled the fire burning within you.

There’s no need for Minho to say another word. In the cool breeze of the night, he tucks you beneath his arm and hustles you past the bleary drunks, around the opposite corner you had started, leading you right up to his car. A recognizable black four door Range Rover that was always sleek and clean.

Wiggling free from his grasp, you give him a cheeky look and hurry ahead of him, yanking on the handle of the backdoor. Smiling, Minho fumbles in his back pocket for the key, unlocking the doors for you, his passion burning deeper as you turn to him with a grin when you finally get it open.

Climbing in one knee at a time, Minho steps behind you and smacks your ass gently, giving it a squeeze straight after. Closing your eyes, your cheeks flush as you crawl across the leather seats, pursing your lips with shyness. Adjusting yourself so your feet are on the floor, you look over to Minho when the door shuts and the lights start to dim.

He appears as flustered as you, unsure of what the next move is going to be. He was surprised he made it this far.

As if you sensed it on each other, you both scoot closer toward the middle, hands nearly touching on the cushion of the backseat. With every care in the world, you lean into one another, foreheads caressing the other, lips hovering with hesitation knowing that what was about to follow was going to change the trajectory of the drama that was your lives.

A tiny, bitty piece of you was shouting no, don’t do it, but Minho’s cut body, sharp jawline and pining eyes that were undressing you at the moment overpowered that piece of you, screaming, bursting at the seams with need.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Minho whispers in the silence, and it’s at this moment realize how quiet it had gotten from being in the bar, to being outside, to now being in his car. His eyes flutter shut.

Lifting a hand, you brush it against his soft cheek, and cup his chin, dragging your thumb along his jaw. Minho opens his eyes, not moving a muscle until you answer him. Smiling, you give him a slight nod before turning your head to lock your lips over his.

This kiss is immensely different from all the others shared inside, it’s actually leading somewhere. Aside from your hand on his jaw, only your lips touch. It’s soft, well thought out, and all a bit juvenile… until it’s not. A small sound, a subtle hum from Minho sets you off.

After a humiliating gasp, you’re climbing over into his lap, situating your knees on either side of his hips. Deepening the kiss, it becomes a wet, sloppy battle for who can move faster. Sliding your fingers up into his hair, he lul’s his head back onto the headrest and sighs, another whine leaving him seeming more desperate than before.

“I like that,” You mumble onto his lips, licking a stripe across his bottom lip. Taking a breath, Minho laughs within it, his eyes shut.

“Never had a vocal boy before?” He questions, tilting to the side as you work your lips down the side of his neck once more, littering the honey colored skin with as many marks as you possibly could. Lifting your chin with a pop, after sucking at the crook of his neck so hard he whimpers again, you smize.

“Not unless he’s calling me a slut,” You say, and his eyes pop open, glaring toward you.

“You like that?” He asks. Bringing your gaze back up to meet with his, you raise an eyebrow and shrug, licking your lips. Minho eyes you curiously, then like lightning, raises a hand off your waist to grip you beneath your chin, pressing his palm against your throat. Your jaw falls open in shock, the abrupt movement catching you totally off-guard. His expression hasn’t changed, he’s still eating you alive with his eyes.

“Forget how to use your words?” His voice is soft, yet entirely demanding, “Gonna have to talk like a big girl and ask nicely if you want me inside of you, you little slut.” Gulping pathetically, he feels it in your throat. There’s a whine that escapes you, one so quiet it could be missed if he wasn’t so enthralled with everything you did.

“Yeah,” He whispers, smirking devilishly, “You like that.”

“I do,” You breathe, answering him like he wanted you to, even if he was just messing around. You knew how to follow your rules.

“Oh my god,” He groans, releasing his grip on your neck to bury his face in it, marking your skin up just the same. Falling into his chest, tangling your fingers in his silver strands, your head falls back at the feeling of his lips on your skin, his teeth grazing along the sore spots he created. Grinding down on his lap, you moan aloud for him, one he returns, his lips vibrating behind your ear where he planted kisses.

“Minho,” You say, “Fuck this, I can’t wait,” You whine, pushing him away. With heaving breaths, he sits back, hands falling to your thighs the same as his eyes where he watches you start to mess with the button of your jeans.

Feeling a spark in his veins, his breath hitches in his throat looking back up to your eyes that were already looking back.

“Next time we can fool around, I just need you right now,” You mutter fast, getting your zipper down at the same speed. Minho’s smile is almost nonexistent. He’s repeating your words in his head, the two at the start wiping his mind of anything else that could possibly exist. Next time.

Grabbing hold of the waistband of your jeans, Minho helps to shimmy you out of them without bumping your head on the lined ceiling of his car. He tosses them beside him, placing his hands on your knees that straddled his lap again, and slowly drug them up your bare thighs, inching closer to the place that needed him most.

Cutting him short, not wanting him to touch you until he was as exposed as you- because you knew if he did you’d both get too lost in the pleasure, and you didn’t want to come unless it was on his dick first. Minho could hold his secrets, and keep them away from you as much as he wanted, but you knew one thing to be true. Minho wants nothing more than to touch you.

Unbuttoning his pants with haste, you release a breathy sound with a smile and pull his bottoms down to his knees as he lifts his hips with you on them to help you. Glancing between your bodies that were centimeters away, you were met with everything you hoped for and more.

“Jesus, Min,” You whisper, taking a deep breath, looking back up at him. Minho rolls his eyes and laughs.

“That’s affirming,” He mumbles, and you let his hands slide up to your hips, drawing dainty circles over the newly exposed sensitive skin, inches away from where he should be. Biting your lip, pointing your gaze down, you hear him laugh again.

“What?” You ask, obliviously cute, looking to him with wide eyes.

Minho lowers his brows in admiration and says, “It’s nice to know I’m bigger than him.”

“Oh, without a doubt,” You answer, nodding your head, your expression remaining the same.

Laughing louder, he squeezes the round of your thighs and takes a deep breath, leaning in to give you a quick messy kiss before saying, “Gonna show me what it’s like to fuck a little slut, or what?”

Reaching for his hardened length, he intakes a sharp breath between his teeth at your touch, his eyebrows furrowing. Lifting your hips, you keep your eyes on him, his head falling back to look up at you with parted lips. His hands are stuck to your hips, making themselves at home there, his fingertips massaging your skin carefully.

Lining him up, he’s right in place, both of you ready to go. Through shared breath, your hearts are racing, but you hesitate. Composing himself as best as he could, Minho swallows hard and shakes his head a bit.

“Don’t do it if you don’t want to,” He whispers, giving you the whole truth, you could see it in his eyes.

“I want to,” You whisper back, “I want you, I need you…” Leaning into him, you crash your lips onto his at the same time you let your hips settle onto his lap, his girthy length slipping inside of you with ease.

Gasping, a wave of euphoria washes over you, your back arching you into his chest as his hips thrust up into you once he felt your slick wrap around him. Releasing a moan together, you both laugh breathlessly and subtly shift as the overwhelming sensation sucks you under.

“Oh… my god,” Minho groans from his chest, digging his fingertips into your hips. While he mentally talked down his release to himself, you swayed your hips forward and back, just slightly, to get used to the stretch. It wasn’t painful, Minho wasn’t hurting you, but he was obviously bigger than Hyunjin, something you weren’t used to.

Your body was comfortable, that much was clear, at least you could both tell by the way he so effortlessly slid into you with a shrewd squelch.

“You okay?” Minho asks as you grip him around his shoulders, chest to chest. Nuzzling his face into your neck, he presses a few soft kisses, feeling how, like him, you couldn’t catch your breath. Nodding, you sigh, and suck in a gust of air through your lips.

“Yeah,” Whispering to him, you move so you can rest your forehead on his, meeting his eyes for the first time.

With just one look into his softened, heavy lidded eyes written in a language neither you nor Minho spoke yet, you feel him tense beneath you, a feeling that has you clenching around him without having even moved. Grabbing you tight by the waist he lifts you up so only the tip of his cock is sheathed.

“Jesus,” He mutters, his blown out pupils making you smile.

“Never thought sex would get you so spiritual, Min,” You tease.

“Shut up,” He smiles, letting go of your hips so you plop back down onto his lap. A loud moan escapes you, the sensation making you clobber your hands around him tight. “Mhm, still funny?”

“Hysterical,” You curl your lip, then kiss him with vigor, starting to move your hips over his at an unapologetic pace. Groaning as your lips ghost his with every bounce, Minho slides his hands up your shirt and drags his fingernails down your back slowly, sliding them back up to do it again before he holds the small of your back, guiding your movement.

For minutes you stay this way, riding him on the leather seats of his expensive car, filling the empty air with filthy sounds and profanities while your hands explore each other's bodies. Minho was right, you’d never been with a guy that was as vocal as him before, not even Hyunjin. All the other guys you’ve slept with held it in, kept the sounds to themselves as if they were embarrassed, but Minho let it all go. You were certain no one would sound as beautiful as him, though. It spurred you on, let you know he was feeling incredible, and sparked the race to your release.

“Love the way you sound,” You whisper, popping your tongue out to tangle with his.

“Yeah?” He breathes, catching your lips in a kiss.

“Yeah,” You sigh, planting your hips, and twisting them in a circle. Minho screws his eyes shut, giving you a nasty sound that makes you shake.

“Fuck,” He mutters, opening his eyes, “Are you gonna come?”

“If you keep whining like that, I will,” You say from behind clenched teeth, swirling your hips in a circle again, letting your eyes fall shut as he gives you what you want to hear. “Too soon,” You mumble, your knees involuntarily jutting into his thighs.

“No,” He groans, moving his hands back down to your hips, “Come,” He says, guiding you back into a bounce, “Next time we can fool around.” Copying your words, you give him a sly look.

Letting his hands coerce you along, every few tips of your hips you throw them in a circle, making him thrust up into you as his own release stalks him down. A guttural moan was enough to let him know he should do it again, and without thinking he does.

The two of you cling to one another, chasing your highs, singing songs of utmost pleasure for one another, the feeling within you being pulled tighter, and tighter, until it finally snaps. Your body presses into Minho’s harder than before, locking him in place as his hips thrust up into you to ride out your high. Feeling you squeeze him tight has him spilling into you after a few more relentless bucks of his hips, definitely leaving a couple of bruises on your hips with his fingertips.

Bodies radiating with pleasure, sucking in air, shaking in aftershock like you never have, you and Minho share a slow, exhausted kiss. Parting lips, you take a few moments to gaze at one another, reveling in the euphoric feeling for a while longer.

You’re the first to break the silence, glancing to the window beside you, giggling. A smile grows on his face as he watches you, then he follows your gaze and lets out his own chuckle.

“You ever see the Titanic?” You ask, and he makes a face of disbelief.

“Have I ever seen the Titanic,” He repeats with a dramaticized eye roll, then lifts a hand to swipe across the fogged up window. It wasn’t as perfect as Kate Winslett’s, but it held the same meaning.

“How am I getting off of you without making a mess?” You whisper to him, pulling your lips into a line with a laugh. Looking down at where he was still inside of you, he pouts his bottom lip, glancing around the backseat for anything to help you guys out. Placing a hand around your back he scoots forward, taking you with him, and slips a hand in the pouch that was on the back of the passenger seat.

“Shit,” He shrugs, sitting back on the leather, “Guess we’re makin’ a mess,” He sighs, looking at you with a sweet smile, “Wait,” He stops you before you can move. Wrapping both hands around your back, he shifts slowly and carefully, keeping all extremities safe from the car set up, and he places you on your back where he can slip out of you with ease.

“Genius,” You say sarcastically. With another shrug he smirks.

“What can I say?” He plays along, reaching over your head for the panties he pulled off of you a half hour ago. Maneuvering the pair of unflattering bikini cut underwear over your feet, he slides them all the way up and plants a kiss to the inside of one of your ankles. Blushing, you turn your cheek to hide, regretting your choice of undergarments.

Getting laid in the backseat of one of your best friends' cars wasn’t on the agenda for this evening, but here you were, with Minho helping you back into your jeans.

“Thank you,” You say, sitting up to put the button back together, and Minho, who was situating himself, shoots you a funny glance.

“Don’t thank me, you make it sound like-”

“For my pants, Min,” You laugh, leaning over to kiss his cheek. He opens his mouth to speak, then hesitates, letting it close, then open again. “You don’t have to say anything,” You whisper, and he huffs.

“But I feel like there’s so much to say,” He shakes his head, “I mean, are you kidding me? I have so much to say to you.” His tone of voice doesn’t seem to match the strength of his gaze that’s on you. Lifting a hand, you place it on his shoulder and give it a squeeze.

“I know,” You nod, your eyes wandering to the number you did on his neck, “I know you do, and I have… so much to say to you.” Looking into his eyes, the emotion within them shifted. What once was worried, and somewhat shameful, was now full of hope.

“Not now,” He says, and you nod.

“Not now,” You repeat. He maintains eye contact with you for a little while longer, then sighs and nods toward the door.

“Come on,” He says, then makes you laugh with, “It’s fucking hot in here.”

Jumping out of the Range Rover, using his hand to help you out, you and Minho both share smiles as you stretch your limbs like complete dorks. Slamming the door shut, Minho holds open his arms for you to fall into, burying your face in his chest.

Circling his hands over your back, you want to stay right here and melt into his touch, but a person standing on the corner of the street catches your eye. They’re leaning against the building with their arms folded across their chest, looking straight at you.

“Minho?” You get his attention with a whisper.

“Hm?” He hums, looking down at you, kissing the top of your head on the way. An act that makes your knees quiver at the moment.

“Hyunjin is right there.”

thank you for reading, I hope you’ve enjoyed this piece!

feedback is always greatly appreciated & helps artists immensely. we also all love messages & the audience’s input, opinions, and ideas.

leave me some here! <3

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issie-https · 10 months

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𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃, 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐒𝐎𝐍

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Mick Thomson X Reader(platonic)

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: No

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: N/a

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Mentions of blood, emotional exhaustion and injury

𝐀/𝐧: Guess who’s back, back again!! Sorry for the lack of uploads, I’ve had a tad bit of writers block but I’m here with some hurt for y’all!(also fluffy at the end🫶) **NOT PROOFREAD**

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

I flung the door to my apartment open and kicked my heels off as I slammed the door back closed. I'd been laid off from my job after five years after the company went bankrupt. I let the tears stream down my face as I stormed through the house. It wasn't a big, flashy job but it kept me on my feet, I could barely afford my apartment but I was still living there and I could afford a good meal now and then so I wasn't bad off.

I picked up a shitty vase and threw it at the wall, I wasn't thinking, I had no idea what I was doing. Shards of glass went flying, some hitting me as the rest just surrounded me. I wasn't thinking about the burning on my legs as I went over to the shitty dinner table and threw everything on it at the wall before punching a hole in the crappy, thin wood. I finally let the tears run down my cheeks as I went into the kitchen - I slid down the fridge and sat on the floor. It was at that moment, I realised I had stood on glass - the blood trail was dark, signalling it wasn't just a small shard of glass.

My cries grew as the pain and burning came to my realisation. I could feel the blood running down my legs and gushing out my foot at a slow rate. I picked up my foot and put it on my lap as I evaluated the cut - it wasn't so bad to the point that I'd die but it wasn't just a little scratch either. I cried louder as I thought about how I'd most likely end up homeless by the end of the month. I had no second option for a job, I had no idea what to do — I didn't want to ask any friends for help because I didn't want to seem needy or dependent on anyone. In my friend group, I've always been seen as the independent one - the mother of the group - every time one of the girls or guys got hurt, I'd always be there with a bandaid and a hug. Every time they went through a bad breakup, I'd be at their door with comforting words, shitty comedy movies and two tubs of ice cream.

I threw my head back against the fridge door, letting out groans and screams in annoyance. I had no idea what to do, where to go, who to talk to or which way is forward. I wanted to pick myself up off the floor, clean my foot up, tell myself to grow a pair, send out my resume and get a job. But I couldn't move - my body felt like it was frozen to the spot, the only movements I was making was the shivering and gasps as I cried. My chest felt heavy as I lay down on the kitchen floor, the cold tiles were in contrast to my burning skin. I felt my eyelids become heavy as I slowly drifted off into a slumber.

༺time skip༻

I woke up and looked at the clock on my oven, it read 1:27am. The kitchen was now engulfed in darkness, the night had eaten the city alive and dowsed the sky in stars. I crawled over to where the light switch was and pulled myself up using the counter. I was met by the bloody sight of my past foot prints and the small puddle where my foot had been sat while I was asleep. I hopped over to the sink, dampened a cloth and tried to clean the blood off the kitchen floor. Much to my dismay, it only smeared the blood opposed to cleaning it up. I could feel myself getting upset again as the tears started rolling down my cheeks. Every so often, a tear would land in the blood and mix.

I couldn't think again, but at the same time, I was only thinking. How to clean up the blood, how to get a job - where to get a job even. I gave up in cleaning and just left the cloth on the floor and slouched against the cupboards. I needed help, physical help, mental help. No one was here for me.

That was until I heard the front door lock click and the light from the hallway lit up the entrance to my apartment. I could see someone's shadow, it was tall. Possibly James or Mick.

I was right, Mick walked into the living room as glass crunched under his boots. He flicked on the living room light and his face contorted into both confusion and worry at the sight. "Y/n?" He yelled. "I'm in... the kitchen," I rasped as I raised my voice so he could hear me. "What happened?" He asked comfortingly. "Nothing," I said, rubbing my eyes to stop myself from crying. “Y/n, you’re covered in blood, so is the floor. There’s broken vases and a hole in your table. Don’t pull that ‘nothing’ bullshit now,” he stated as he walked into the kitchen. “I stood on glass,” I said as I looked at him. He came and sat down next to me and pulled me into his chest, “let me see.” I nodded slightly and pulled away from his grip. I turned and showed him the bottom of my foot. “How long has it been like this?” He asked. “Since… eleven roughly,” I replied, I was still trying to catch my breath as everything was a little blurry and my head was starting to pound. He inspected the cut before standing up, “where’s the first aid kit?”. “Next to the medicine cupboard,” I choked out. He grabbed the kit and sat back down in front of my foot and pulled it onto his lap, making me lie flat on the floor. “Okay, I want you to take deep breaths because I have to pull the glass out and sterilise it,” he spoke as he put a little pressure around the area. I took a deep breath in and as I was about to breathe out, he pulled the glass out - I screamed as tears began streaming out of my eyes again. The pain was like stamping on a million needles covered in barbed wire. He applied pressure with some gauze and wrapped my foot up in a bandage. “You won’t need stitches - thank god - but keep an eye on it,” he smiled as he secured it. “Thanks, Mick,” I gave a weak smile back. “Let’s get you in bed,” he said as he picked me up. “No, I’ve gotta clean,” I furrowed my brows as he walked over the broken glass and to my bedroom. “I’ll clean tomorrow, the others will help - I’m sure of it,” he comforted me. “But I ma-“ he cut me off by saying, “I know but I don’t care. You’re injured so I will clean.”

I’m so thankful for Mick, he’s never hurt me. None of the others have but Mick is always the first one to notice if I’m not okay. He’s always the first one to check on me.

He placed me on my bed, went over to my closet and pulled out two shirts. He held them up to me and I pointed at the right one - it was a Guns N’ Roses band shirt. “Do you still sleep in a shirt and underwear or do you wear pyjama bottoms?” He asked. “Depends if you’re staying over - I don’t wanna seem weird,” I replied. “You’re the weirdest person I know and there’s some competition with Sid there. So fuck it, undies or bottoms?” He laughed. “I usually just sleep in a shirt and my underwear,” I laughed back. He nodded and briefly exited the room, coming back with a pair of his pyjama bottoms in hand. All my friends - guys and girls - have stayed at my place at least once so the spare room is filled with their clothes from past visits.

Mick got into bed next to me and pulled me into his chest as he rubbed circles on the small of my back. “You okay now?” He whispered. I mumbled an ‘mhm’ and snuggled into him. I felt myself drift off to sleep, this time, my chest had butterflies and I had a smile on my face. I was happy.

#slipknot #mick thomson #corey taylor #joey jordison #james root #chris fehn #shawn crahan #paul gray #sid wilson #fanfic #slipknot imagine #author #writer #issie https

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iphigeniainaulis · 9 months

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φιλία means soul connection

This is definitely not me trying to make up for missing your birthday, @lorei-writes 😄 I’ve said it already, but it’s never enough, you know, when it comes to words of admiration. You’re our local glue, the ultimate, the only, the unforgettable one who spreads so much love and positivity. I’m happy to be friends with you. So, take this present and don’t forget that I never ask somebody about their OC without the intention of spoiling them later even if it may take a year or two.

Characters: Asra x Little Witch of the Greenwoods

Promt: Pollen, pollen, pollen everywhere~

“Look, this one is red! I’ve got it!”

“Yes, yes, I wonder how difficult it is with cards in your pocket.”

“Cards have nothing to do with it. It’s my intuition. Look, another one! Bet it’s gonna be yellow.”

“You’re pulling a card.”

“Yellow!”

It was August, and the city of Vesuvia was getting ready for the Night of Blossoming Iris to celebrate the end of the harvest season. On the night of celebration people poured out into the streets, and the whole Vesuvia was like one huge shining anthill. City roofs were covered with crystal garlands, bakers were delivering bread and mint butter, and musicians were playing lutes till dawn. When the celebration was in full swing, the Countess stepped on the balcony, lighting fireworks. They crawled in the sky like giant white snakes, turning into violets, dandelions, periwinkles, and their shining pollen was everywhere.

“Somebody got out of bed the wrong way, I guess.” His hand disappeared in the camp bag only to present Anna with a bundle. Smelling too good, to be fair.

“Just a little bit tired. Today the city was so busy.” She really hoped he wouldn't mention the blush touching her ears.

“I know how to help.”

“With…a poppy seed cake?”

“Of course. Is it possible for anybody to feel sad when they have a poppy seed cake?”

Anna closed her eyes. A familiar scent of woods in the stove, butter and sugar filled her lungs.

And then she thought about her.

Proud, with porcelain skin. Red hair wrapped around her thin neck like sables. She didn't know how to walk - only floated. In the evening she was with Asra at the shop. He held her hand. She laughed, all while being nothing but roses, chocolate and passion. Suddenly he got closer to tell her something, and that was when Anna lost it. Ancient vase dropped on the floor, sunflower seed blending with glass.

“Take it. You have a more suitable person to keep you company.” The witch jumped on her feet, looking hurt, being hurt.

“So, it wasn't my imagination.” The magician’s thumb found the spot on her wrist where veins were throbbing madly.

“That’s why you’ve brought me here?” She spent so much time in order to cover her scars, and yet they still existed in the most oblivious place possible.

“I wanted to help."

Why can’t he see?

“Tell me everything, moja dusza.”

And that was the final drop.

“You were meant to forget me just like everyone else did. I named you first.” She was doing good. It didn't matter that Asra’s fingers were covered with tears when he gently brushed Anushka's face.

“...and then I changed it. Asked you to join me in hell. Because I wanted to. Because I…”

She gasped for air but felt nothing but ice fire in her chest.

“...love you.”

White snakes burst into the rainbow. Asra’s broad shoulders blocked the view. Anna was trembling when she felt hot lips on her neck curving into a smile. He kissed her tenderly, reaching the place where her heart was beating so fast.

“I thought the witch would be scary, but you’re more scared than I am. Anushka. I lov…wait. Deep breath, no panic!”

Ginger freckles on her cheeks turned hot red, and the witch raised her arms in defense. With that gesture green bunches of magic dropped, sweeping the couple to the coolness of the night lake.

#the arcana #the arcana game #arcana #asra alnazar #asra the arcana #asra the magician

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the-sycophant · 1 year

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The Glaring Guest

The sliver of an open window was the only reprieve from a myriad of conflicting scents that clouded the entirety of the office. It was nearly suffocating, her head thrumming nice and slow to the pace set by her heart. It was a familiar array, disgustingly so, but the interesting view outside stifled that which was tearing through what meager patience she had.

Coffee, earthy and dark, accompanied the biscuits that were decorated gingerly with bright red fruits and colourful sugars. Cheeses of various acridity and region, crusty breads with herbed butters and sweet jams. Meat. Meat as greasy as the fingers that picked at the plates and just as thick as them too. Those fingers also held a pungent cigar, pinched between raw, bruised knuckles as the owner ashed it amidst the sampling of delicacies.

"The forests along the mountainside have been untouched for decades. Heretics still linger, as they do. Vermin, the lot of them. Even after our many attempts to quash their brood entirely...gods knows our men are spread thin these days. Who knows what sort of void nonsense could still be lurking—"

Mr. Barbinoux had been dealing with someone for weeks — some investor or entrepreneur or other — attempting to entice them with a business proposal and that some sort of occultist treasure horde lay deep within the mountainside. This bit she had heard several times over, but she let him speak even as her attention waned.

How gracious of her.

"Marlowe, my dear? What say you to that?"

A huff, delicate manicured fingers twisting at the satin ribbon tied at her breast as her neck craned away from the study of the unfamiliar airship with its unfamiliar workers. "What? Like some common mercenary?" It held little bite, iced blue eyes now too focused on the glistening river of oil and crumbs running down the highlander's chin and throat. Staining his collar, his skin. "And for some...filthy apostate, no less."

She nudged herself off the frame, feet silent on the warm fur of the hide rug as she swayed toward him, playful. "You've sent so many men into those woods," a sweet coo as she sat herself on one tree-trunk sized thigh, pressing the corner of the unused silk napkin to the corner of his too used mouth. "And I know I have a weakness for the needy, a mighty weakness," Marlowe's attention turned to his clothes, tapping a finger against one leather shank button of the man's vest, making circles as it strained desperately against the wool, "but are my skills not inadequate for how pathetic it all seems? Surely whatever it is your new friend is searching for needs a true professional?" She gave the stubbly line of his jaw a soft little kiss, an equally soft little tongue flicking out against his skin, "Sukhtau, perhaps?" Particularly indulgent with his flesh, that tongue moved down his throat, languidly lapping at the mess he made for himself.

"Qestir?" A snort. "Now now, Marlowe my dear," Mr. Barbinoux mumbled between the wet smacking of his lips, suckling noisily at the rings on his fingers to catch any remnants of flavour left from his meal. His chin tilted up as one thick arm came 'round her waist, only tugging her back when he felt teeth. "My sweet flower, you know I wish to please the family, help unburden you with that nasty debt of yours," and as he continued on as she listened her very best, she did, trying not to get too distracted with his attention as he kneaded into her side. Soiling her dress while he was at it too, the pretty thing that it was - ivory cotton full of layered lace trim and light as a feather, scandalous in how fine the threading was, only just hiding her barely there figure.

Fucking prick. She liked this dress.

She adjusted his necktie needlessly as he explained how much good the venture would do, how simple it would be to complete, how much it would please him and that she would get a new bauble. Those grimy fingers ruffled amidst the fabric, trying to find purchase on skin, callouses catching against ribboned stockings and the strap of a garter. It was ignored, his explanation and insistent groping, and she remained unhelpful to his advances and attempts in cajoling her.

Marlowe turned away from his touch to her cheek, denying them both. "Take me to Ishgard, then." A simple counter offer she knew he would easily accept, more so that she knew he had a trip on the books some weeks ahead. It mattered little to him as to why she wanted to go, she was sure. He only cared in that she did what he wanted in the end. She was the same.

"Excellent! Excellent. They will be most pleased, I can assure you. Now then, what is it our new friends desire?"

Content with sitting on his lap and feeding him in-between his chatter, she popped a piece of fruit into his mouth. He let her. "Gold."

"Surely not?"

A hum of approval, deep and delighted, nearly a purr. "Of course not, you smart man. No, they wished very much for someone to believe it was gold, so strongly in fact that their wants to be believed overshadowed everything else. I would not at all be surprised if one felt me fishing around inside their heads," she nearly sang in melodic amusement, intrigued with the idea despite the threat of it. "I find it very odd the amount of people coming in here wanting the exact same thing, don't you?"

But it was her turn to be ignored now, instead for favour of additional treats. Was she not good enough? Did she not dote on him as he wished? The docile part she played faltered, the concernment of his disregard stacking upon her foul mood from being awake so far into the day. Her pretty face twisted into something less so, the speed in which she gripped those nails into his chin making him sputter various bits of food at her cheek. He gave a hiss of displeasure when she squeezed. "Don't you?" She hissed back through teeth clickity click clicking together in a brief animalistic chitter. "Someone knows something." Marlowe insisted nastily as she picked out a biscuit with her free hand before offering it to him, pinching at his jaw until it opened. "Imagine if they instead wanted to slip in the middle of the night to slit your throat. This group you are meddling with—"

He batted away at her hand after a bite, and she obliged sourly as he wiped his cheek, then hers. "I doubt it," a grunt as she moved to straddle his lap, knees barely able to squeeze around either side of his hips as her slender arms circled about his neck. He chewed, swallowed. "But you'd be all the more happy for it, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, Hugo, you know I'd miss you terribly. All the good parts of you, at least." She pressed her breasts to his, agreeable now that his attention was where it should be. "And so many good parts you have! Practically a saint! Gods, what would we ever do without you?"

"Enough of that, and stop this Hugo nonsense." His disgust was exceptionally pleasing, her grin triumphant and annoyingly smug, but she said nothing further. "You will attend to the group going into the mountainside—"

She nodded with sweet 'yes sir's just the way he liked, allowing his explanation but not retaining it. The logistics of this little adventure could be left to someone else, and she'd just play stupid later to get out of being burdened with directing a group of some hired thugs. Gods forbid she do a smidge of work.

They'd figure it all out.

"And take our guest out with you. You may have the day with him."

Her attention finally turned to the strongest scent in the room, a wheezing and bleeding thing curled up on the floorboards. It was Mr. Barbinoux's own hands that had done the deed this time, and what a pitiful display of power and status it was too. She wasn't quite sure who he was trying to impress with the way he had his other lackeys hold their guest down whilst he did it, taking three of them to contain the now brutalized man on the floor. Vile. Weak.

But oh! How she ached just to press her lips to this battered man and taste his suffering, lick his wounds all better and make him feel so good for feeling so bad. The way he looked at her when she stepped beside him was so intoxicatingly livid, so full of defiant fury that she felt her heart and loyalty flutter. She wanted him to succeed in whatever it was he was sneaking around for, for whatever game he was playing. How exciting. "The entire day! Oh, you do love me don't you?" she chirped pleasantly, pressing her foot against the man's cheek, stockings soaking up blood as she turned his face with painted toes. He didn't even give her a grunt. Then again, he didn't cry out either when taking his beating.

Her head canted. He was a handsome thing, wasn't he? Even with his face all swollen and bruised - perhaps more so. She'd be punished severely for taking a taste of him, but she could imagine how his boiling blood would accompany the ache sizzling her insides. She couldn't be punished for that, could she? A girl was allowed to daydream and want. And she wanted.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," just as sweet a coo for him now, eager to see how this would all play out as she smiled down at him in adoration. "I'll take good care of you. Now let's go get you all nice and pretty!"

#stories | seditious spiritual saucy #why is this so long #who did this #what is grammar #me x run ons are the real otp #barbinoux

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aurieeeeeenyx · 2 years

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18,23,30?

i actually have no idea what ask game this is for but based on recency i'm gonna guess the soft asks one askjdhgiaehr

18. do you still love stuffed animals?

i actually never really had stuffed animals as a kid? or like, i had them, but they just kinda sat forgotten in the corner of my room, so i feel like that doesn't really count. honestly i think i've developed more of an appreciation for stuffed animals now that i'm older. especially plushies i love plushies oh my god my friend got me this sushi cat plushie for my birthday that looks like a calico shrimp and i love it so very much

23. favorite piece of clothing?

i recently bought this jacket that was labelled as a bomber jacket but feels way too thin and slightly flowy (100% polyester) to be one. it's a little oversized and it's black with floral patterns and it has thick cuffs and a floppy collar and the pockets aren't that deep but i still love it

the cuffs are actually sewn tighter (like there's a little bit of it bunched up on the inside) and the extra material is a bit annoying sometimes so i'm trying to figure out how to get rid of it without loosening the cuffs

anyways this is the recency bias talking but i think it's one of the best things i've ever bought

30. what reminds you of home (doesn’t have to mean house… just things that remind you of the feeling of home)?

ohhh boy. uhh laughing with friends, afternoon sunlight, the smell in libraries and basements with wood flooring, a little bit of noise in the background (like a youtube video or something playing three rooms away), lots of pillows, dried pork shreds, storing things in containers that are not the original container's contents, staying up late at night on my computer, red bean jelly ice pops, watching jack edwards or mina le videos or just blasting random songs while i clean, honeydew ice pops, milk tea / brown sugar boba ice pops, having the windows open in the evening

lowkey that was a struggle haha i guess i don't have many things i really associate with the concept of home? i feel like i don't really notice unless i'm in the moment, or maybe i just tend to describe these kinds of things differently

thanks for the ask!!

send me an ask!

#asks #yes i know theres a lot of ice pops on that list #i just really like ice pops ok my freezers always full of them #also im so sorry i havent been on tumblr in like forever and the few times i did come check i was too scared to open my askbox LMAO #so uhhh yeah merry christmas happy birthday the answer is here #thanks again!!

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frostbite-the-bat · 4 months

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yk what? i need to calm down i got nervous after learning that my brother's coming over, so here i am explaining one of my Poll Stories...! the ice hell story! stepping into ice cold frozen water in the middle of a forest story! overlaping with yuri on ice (and steven universe iirc LOL) phases...! it's not what you'd expect it to be, trust

This is an old one, dating back to approx 2018 (maybe late 2017??) i would've been around 14 at the time i think :skull:

so, back then, my best friend moon and i would hang out together a lot. talk about fandom stuff going to school and going from school, as a queer nerdy middle schooler would. this would end up with us having the same fandoms. not super relevant, but still funny to mention.

one of our favorite past-school things aside from sleepovers and playing games online and chatting about dumb shit always was going on hikes with our dogs. (rip moon's dog, who will go unnamed here but i love you forever and so does bertie. you were the best.)

we both live right next to a forest and some cliffs, it's funky here. so we go hiking there! we go up the hill, past the cliffs and then into the woods. where we then head to The Fabled Lake. actually it's not quite as in "middle of the woods" as you'd think, the road is close by but you still gotta trek through the woods a little bit before you get there. lil' zig zag path. but it's still not like we were like. 5 km deep into the woods away from civilization lol.

then you gotta down a hill past a few buildings, all of which have woods behind them as well. it's almost like a village. down this path my friend lives and a little further in in a street is where i live. so getting home would take a while anyway but it's not a hike through the woods anymore. this is a bit of set up for y'all

so, let's get to the juicy bits! we are on one of these hikes, it's the middle of winter. we play in the snow with our dogs and listen to music. we talk about what i'd be able to do if i had star stable star rider. we talk about our hashtag favorite yuri on ice memes. we sing steven universe songs. all's well! having a good time! we're still paying attention but i can admit we were just slightly, slightly careless whenever we got too deep into our talks.

we jokes about skating on the ice because, Yuri On Ice Phase, and i recall distinctly that moon's mom told us to NOT GO ON THE FUCKING LAKE ICE. we didn't! we knew it would be less frozen over than last time. (where we actually went on it) (after throwing rocks and boulders and sticks to see how deep the ice is. it was DEEP. the last actually cold winter that was ACTUALLY WINTER that i remember. i love global warming.)

but we knew it's be a bad idea, we like messing around and we aren't so stupid to just go there. though, eventually we get to the lake and we chat by it. we always stop there and let our dogs play together. usually we let my friends dog jump in the water after a stick then carry it back. since she had pretty thick fur and is a big energetic dog, we let her into the water. she'd break the fairly thin ice like an icebreaker to reach her goal of The Stick.

i kept an eye on bertie since he is a small dog, and can't stand even in the shallow water. but as we chat - he went on the ice. he is small and light enough for the ice to not break under him, and he clearly just wanted to explore and get closer to my friend's dog. but with the nervous look on his face and his slippery paws, he seemed to know this wasn't the best idea. (and i did tell him to come back but bertie doesn't always listen)

there was a bunch of big rocks there so he tried stepping one. at first he was successful, but the rock was wet and icy and slippery. so he slid down - and with all the force the ice broke under him and he was unable to go back up.

i notice instantly and i freak out as i see him trying to climb out desperately. he was in deep enough that i couldn't just lean down and grab him. so. i had to step into the frozen, ice cold, way below zero, water, so i could grab him and save him from the ice.

when i got him i fell over on my ass and grabbed my shoe to take it off and get the water out as it was basically flooded. i ended up taking off my sock too since it was soaked in ice cold water and. wet socks aren't comfy, but freezing temperature is worse. maybe not the smartest idea, i don't know, but HOLY HELL it started stinging like a bitch.

bertie was okay, he was shaking and moon held him close for a while until he got a little better. he's got fur and he runs around so he can warm up better. plus he was definitely just shocked from what happened.

moon and i wondered what we do since i wasn't in the best state and.. we REALLY didn't wanna call our parents because we'd be in trouble for going on the ice, even if in my case it was to save my dog. we just knew we shouldn't have been too close in the first place. plus, the reception there was a bit fucky so we'd need to move a bit anyway.

eventually i managed to get up and we leashed the dogs and moon helped me hop out of the woods by holding me up. eventually, i felt nothing in my foot anymore, so i just walked normally. it was odd, it both hurt but didn't at the same time. i just had to power through until i got home. i am not sure but i mightve sent a text to my mom? i dunno, my memory is foggy.

so moon helped me get back home (and helping wrangle two dogs - but i took over bertie eventually) (i mind you the walk we take is a DOWNHILL ROAD. like we were going DOWN not a straight road so it took a bit more energy to Fucking Keep Balance) and i walked past dad on the street doing stuff and i just wnet "i savbed tghe dog from tghe ICe Water. im gogign home".

when i got home my mom made me tea and i tucked myself into bed instantly and got warm clothes. my leg ended up being okay but. holy hell it was scary. but after moon and i had a funny story to tell, and our friend group being into YOI at the time we kept fucking joking about it like :skull:

aaaaanyways! that's the ice hell story...! be careful around frozen water guys i'm serious

#guzma's storytime

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nyc-uws · 1 year

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What to do with Orange Peels? GREAT LIST OF IDEAS!

What To Do With Orange Peels will give you some ideas on orange rinds and how not to let them go to unnecessary waste. Citrus peels not only smell amazing, but you can use them for cleaning, beauty products, in gardening, and as an ingredient for recipes.

If you’re looking for more articles on not creating waste, How to Use Leftover Ingredients and How to Dry Orange Slices will help you on your journey.

I use at least one to two oranges a day to make an orangeade or to add to my morning juice or smoothie. Throwing away the orange rind seemed like such a waste. I knew there had to be multiple ideas on what to do with orange peels.

Who knew there were so many unexpected ways to use the skin of this popular fruit?

Creating a Cozy Life Group

Since you clicked on this found this article on what to do with orange peels, I’m guessing you like all things cozy living. I created a Facebook group called Creating a Cozy Life with over 67,000 like-minded souls.

It’s a group where we share recipes, pictures of things that leave you in awe, and ideas on how to make your life just a little bit more snug. Join here to be part of the virtual cozy cabin.

Here’s What to do with Leftover Orange Peels?

Using Orange Peels for Cleaning

Yumiko Sekine, in her book Simplicity at Home, gives her favorite recipe for her own natural cleaner using fresh orange peels.

Orange peels have the perfect concentration of limonene oil that is great for cutting through grease and conditions wood surfaces. Simply peel one orange for every 1/2 cup of water and let simmer for 15 minutes. Let cool and pour into a spray bottle for a natural way to clean surfaces.

Leftover Orange Peels for Freshening the Garbage Disposal

Cut your orange peels into thin strips and add to your garbage disposal to eliminate bad odors. Turn it on and let the oils from the peels deodorize the garbage disposal. You can also use other citrus fruits like limes and lemons in addition to the orange rinds.

If you’re not ready to clean your garbage disposal, place the citrus peels in an ice cube tray and add water. Freeze the cubes and place them in a freezer bag. Use In the citrus peel cubes at a later date.

Remove Coffee Stains in Mugs

Coffee stains will disappear if you rub the pithy side of an orange peel on the inside of your mug.

Orange Rind Candle

A friend of mine loves to make candles out of orange rinds. She starts with a half an orange shell base and pours the wax in the rind with a wick. They look beautiful on her dinner table and she will often gift me with an orange peel candle.

Stove Potpourri

Make stove potpourri with a handful of orange peels, lemon peels, and a cinnamon stick to give you home a fresh scent with a citrus.

Using Orange Peels for Beauty

Invigorate Bath Time

Store your orange peels in a mason jar in the refrigerator. When it’s time for a bath, throw a handful of peels into your tub. The heat of the water will release the citrus scent, making bath time even more special.

As an extra bonus the citric acid in the peels will help slough off dead skin.

Orange Peel Powder

You can dry orange peels and grind them up in a food processor to grind into a fine powder. Store in a glass jar until you use the powder in recipes. It’s a popular ingredient in making beauty products at home for your hair, skin, or teeth. You can find different ways of using orange peel in beauty recipes here.

What to do with Orange Peels in the Kitchen

Make Candied Orange Peel

This is my favorite idea on What to do with orange peels. You can easily make your own Candied Orange Peel recipe at home. Make sure you take off the white pith, it makes the it bitter tasting. Here’s a recipe for how to make it on Epicurious.

Use Orange Peels for Zest in Recipes

There are a lot of recipes that call for orange zest. If you’re not going to use it right away, freeze the zest in a freezer bag for future use. Orange peels are loaded with Vitamin C and add an abundance of flavor.

Fresh Bouquet Garni

What is a bouquet garni you ask? It’s a French term for a bundle of herbs like parsley, thyme, and bay leaves. It’s usually tied together with fresh celery or leek. Adding a twist of orange peel will give even more flavor to your dish.

The French use these bundles to give flavor to soups, stews, roasts, and sauces.

Orange Peels for Tea Blends

If you enjoy herbal teas, you can make your own blends using dried orange peels. Mix it with herbs, florals, and even black teas for a wonderful combination.

Dried citrus peel has anti-inflammatory properties, which makes it a good thing for you body and taste buds.

Lump-Free Brown Sugar

Prevent your brown sugar from getting hard by keeping a 3-inch piece of orange peel in the container.

Orange Rind Bowls

If you want to add a little beauty to your table, use orange rinds as a bowl for ice cream, sherbet, or fruit ice is a simple way to impress your guests. It’s a great way to give visual interest to your dining table.

Orange Peel Cocktail Garnish

Your cocktails will be elevated to a new level with fresh orange peel garnishes.

Adding orange zest as a garnish to food makes an inviting presentation. Chocolate desserts look especially festive, topped with orange zest. The holidays are a perfect time to use the orange rind creatively.

Infused Water

Add orange peels mixed with other ingredients to create infused water is one of the easiest ideas for what to do with orange peels.

Orange Peel Olive Oil

If you like infused olive oils, you’ll love making your own orange olive oil. They are great to use in salad dressings. It’s easy to make with just two ingredients – oil and orange peel. You can find the recipe here on Epicurious.

Citrus Butter

One of my favorite ways to turn my meals from good to great is to make compound butters. Using fresh orange peel to make a citrus butter is a fun way to elevate pancakes, waffles, toast, English muffins, and even fish.

Homemade Orange Marmalade

Orange Marmalade uses fresh orange peel in thin strips as an ingredient. It’s the perfect idea when you are searching for what to do with orange peels.

What to do with Orange Peels in the Garden

Orange Peel Starter Pots

Use the hallowed-out orange peel halves as starter pots for seedlings. Fill half orange rinds with potting soil, seeds, and then water.

Plant the “pots” directly into the garden once the seedlings are mature enough.

Orange Peel Bird Feeder

Turning your orange rinds into homemade bird feeders is a fun activity for both kids and adults. They look so beautiful and vibrant against a winter backdrop.

Using Orange Peels for a Compost Pile

Adding your orange rinds to your compost pile to help make healthy soil is a perfect solution for what to do with orange peels. It’s good for the environment and will help you create the garden of your dreams.

Repel Insects and Cats

Use small pieces of orange peel as a natural insect repellant in your garden is a great use for your leftover peels. Cats don’t like the scent of oranges as well. If you have a problem with stray cats digging in your garden beds, simply scatter orange peel in the areas they frequent.

Decorate Snow Art

Saving your orange peels for snow art is a fun project to celebrate the holiday season. Look how cute these orange peel lips are!

We’ve reached the end of the What Can You Do With Citrus Peels? I hope you enjoyed it.

Let me know in the comments below how you liked What Can You Do With Orange Peels and your favorite ways to use them.

Make sure you join our Creating a Cozy Life – Hygge Style Facebook group. You’re not going to believe how amazing it is. Join here to be part of the virtual cozy cabin.

Please pin this leftover orange peels pin on your life hacks board on Pinterest so that you can refer back to it again.

Thanks for stopping by. I’m so happy you found us!

Orange Recipes You’ll Love

Easy Orange Dreamsicle Smoothie

More Posts You’ll Love

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https://montanahappy.com/what-to-do-with-orange-peels/

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luveline · 3 years

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a special friend, part two [Fred Weasley, George Weasley x reader]

tags: reader-insert, platonic relationships, friendship, can be read as romantic for either or both, hurt/comfort, mental health issues, implied/referenced self-harm, dissociation, quiet reader, shy reader, sad reader

relationships: fred weasley x reader, george weasley x reader

wordcount: 3.2k

read part one here

The common room was always so clean. The house-elves must work themselves half to death with effort, as you never saw a hair or speck of dust where there ought not to be one. The small refreshment table filled and refilled through every new day and the fireplace was always roaring on cold winter nights. It was especially cold that evening, and so the members of Gryffindor house benefited from a crackling fire and hot chocolate coming out of the ears.

You basked in the warmth of the flame, sitting cross-legged before it. A cup of hot chocolate cooled in between your hands, which were both laden with bandaids and germolene. Fred and George’s orders, of course. You were not to scratch, bite or mess in any detrimental way with your hands, arms or skin. If you did, you were to report to them for immediate bandaging.

At first, they’d simply been spelling each wound away. This had an opposite effect, as the freshly healed skin was perfect for picking whenever your mood turned - which was often. You found yourself blinded and basked in the light of being cared for by others, and although you may have preferred complete autonomy over your own body, you couldn’t say you minded the attentiveness of the twins. They’d made it their personal mission to prevent any self-harm, accidental or purposeful. You weren’t sure you even knew the difference half the time.

A quiet had settled over the room. It seemed as though each red and gold student was content to breathe in the smell of chestnut and pine in peaceful, companionable silence. You found yourself smiling kindly at each person who looked your way. You couldn’t imagine having done that before you had become acquainted with the twins.

Acquainted was a word you used to protect yourself. Friendly was too confident, too firm. You sometimes dreamt of horror stories where you, confident and comfortable, admitted how much you cared for them. In these dreams, they laughed in your face. Poked fun at your hope.

Of course, Fred and George weren’t cruel. If they felt that way, they certainly wouldn’t rub it in your face or make you feel embarrassed about it. But some shame never went away, and you carried it like an ever-burning torch.

Despite the pleasant warmth of the room, chills racked your spine at the thought. You pushed it from your head, attempting to think of anything else. You traced a pattern through the braided strands of the rug you were lazing upon, first the flames of a bonfire towering ten feet tall, then a mirror of the powdered sugar landscape outside.

Two warm bodies settled in the carpet on either side of you. A long arm wrapped around your shoulders confidently. The floral scent of your perfume mingled with the strong scent of burning caramel and something woody, the signature fragrance of the Weasley twins.

George moved first, plonking a stuffed toy into your lap. He positioned the neck carefully so that the teddy bear was sat as comfortable as you were.

“For you,” said Fred.

“An early Christmas gift,” George added.

The bear was spotted unusually like some sort of hybrid creature. You wondered where they could possibly have acquired such an artefact.

“We saw him and thought of you,” they said together.

That was rich. And maybe correct. After all, it was a weird looking plushie and you weren’t exactly renowned for your normality. You didn’t say much, simply handing off your cold drink to George without so much as a sideways glance and brought the bear to your face. You grazed your nose against its brown stomach and inhaled, breathing in its clean scent.

Both twins were used to the general quietness that came with your presence and didn’t pressure any response. You knew you should’ve said thank you, or even smiled gratefully, but you just couldn’t make your mouth move the way you wanted. You placed your hand on each brothers leg and applied the barest amount of pressure, hoping it showed gratitude.

“Well, I’m starving.”

“I’m so glad you said so, my brother.”

“Yes, I’m craving something savory, Gred.”

“Something juicy, Forge.”

“Such as?”

You looked between them like a muggle attending a tennis match, back and forth and back and forth. They ran circles around you for their own enjoyment, you assumed, but maybe also to make you feel more included.

“Y/N, fancy a trek to the kitchens?”

Before you could say no, or yes, or make up your mind and decide what it was you wanted to do, your stomach growled. Fred grinned wickedly.

They ushered you out of the portrait hole and down the stairs without preamble, flanking your sides like bodyguards. You didn’t mind, taking time to smile at the castle ghosts and portraits as you went.

The twins shot each other looks when they thought you couldn’t see. One said, how do you think she is? Another said, I think she’s however you think she is. Both said, she seems okay today.

It would feel a little patronizing if it weren’t so foreign - to have people care about your well-being so deeply they made changes to their day to see you and went out of their way to make you feel good; you’d find it condescending if it wasn’t so delightful.

That is to say, you felt conflicted. Happy that somebody cared, ashamed that they also felt concerned. They worried over everything these days, what you ate and what classes you had and oh, ghostie, do you need help with that? Y/N, sweetheart, let me carry that for you, lest your arms grow too tired.

It was… nice. It was nice, even if it was painful. Sometimes, it reminded you why you didn’t allow yourself the pleasure of friendship in the first place.

You hummed to yourself. Making sound had become a little easier. You weren’t inclined to say a whole lot, but allowing yourself to be louder, to take up space, had come easier the longer you spent with them. Neither Fred nor George minded if you huffed after too many stairs or if you clicked gobstones together at the foot of their beds.

The song was one of those cheesy Christmas numbers you’d heard on the radio. It was warm and comforting, bringing tears to your eyes if you thought about it too much. George slipped into song with you easily, humming much more loudly and obnoxiously. Fred just grinned to himself, keeping dutiful watch of the corridors.

You bubbled like a shaken can of coke by the time you arrived at the painting that enclosed the kitchen doorway, feeling too happy for your own good. Despite feeling very hungry, not a lick of fatigue or unhappiness tinged your mood, though the fuzzy numbness of every day threatened your well-being if you stopped to think too long.

The door swung open obediently after your half-hearted tickle insisted upon by the boys.

“What do you feel like, Y/N, sweet or savoury? There’s bound to be something you’ll fancy,” George said.

You held in a grimace. There were lots of things you wanted to try, the kitchens smelled like so many amazing things. The cloying smells of jam and treacle and custard, the hearty scents of gravy and roast dinner. It was too bad, then, that most everything you ate tasted stale. For years, your tastebuds had been slacking. During your worst days, food held no taste at all, resulting in your decreased appetite.

A tingling began in your fingers. You didn’t know what to say, or how to say it, how to convey that you didn’t really feel up to anything at all. You knew they would protest as they always did when you didn’t eat.

“Bread,” you managed. Bread was a safe choice. Dense enough to feel filling, easy to keep down, and bland to begin with.

Both boys were frowning but trying not to at your choice.

George moved forward, catching the attention of a harrowed looking house elf. They conversed with familiarity and soon you were being beckoned to a table that was relatively clear. Within minutes you were surrounded by bread, crusty rolls and sliced sourdough.

George casually nudged a bowl of tomato soup in your direction.

The surface shined with grease. It even had a swirl of cream and a sprig of basil afloat.

He looked at you, eyes pleading.

“You too,” you said.

This appeased him. The boys sat across from you with their own bowls, eating in the horrific way that teenage boys do. By the time they’d finished, you’d managed half of your own meal and two slices of bread. The nausea you experienced from just existing was starting to build, accompanied by the disappointment of your bland meal. You’d hoped an improved mood would help your appetite, but you still felt unsatisfied.

The boys grabbed a passing plate of tarts and ice cream.

Your good mood was wearing thin. You bit down on the tip of your thumb and stared at the grain of the table.

You bit down harder.

“Hey. Hey! Don’t do that,” Fred said, reaching forward as if to grab your hand. You pushed it under the table.

George pushed the plate of confectionary closer to you. “Chew on one of these instead, hm?”

You took it all back - this was patronising. Lovely and thoughtful and very, excruciatingly patronising.

You didn’t want to say no, or push it away, or eat anything else or even laugh it off. You wanted to do nothing. You lay your head down on the table, closing your eyes. You caught a murmur or two between them, though you couldn’t make out the words with your ear pressed so hard against the wood and the other covered by your falling hair. The table was smooth and cool under your skin.

A chair scraped against the floor. Footsteps. A broad hand against your back.

“You’re like a steam train running out of coal sometimes.”

You knew he was hoping for a response, a joke, a sign you’d been cheered up.

Through slow blinks, you could make out his face. Endlessly amused and a little sad, framed by the candlelight. He was beautiful, you thought absently. They were both beautiful.

“You okay?” he said quietly.

“Mm,”

“Mm? Is mm a yes or a no?”

“Mm,”

“Alright,” he said, rubbing a soothing path up between your shoulder blades and down again. It would’ve been dizzying if you could think straight, it made the numbness a little woozy. You preened beneath his touch like a pleased cat, feeling the unhappiness melt just a little.

It was crazy how affection could make you feel better, even if it didn’t always solve the problem.

Embarrassed, you mumbled, “you’re going to kill me.”

Fred smiled. “How so?”

“You’re fattening me up like a lamb to slaughter.”

He didn’t quite laugh, huffing through his nose. He really was very handsome up close. His hair was curling at just below his ears, a lush auburn colour that complemented his pale, freckle adorned skin. His eyes were a heart-melting brown so that his pupils were lost. The look he gave you was searing like he knew exactly what you were thinking about him. Your ears were tinged with heat, cheeks filling with colour.

He retracted his hand.

“Wrap some of those up, Georgie. Ghostie needs her bed.”

“It shall be done, brother mine!”

You smiled despite yourself.

For your birthday, the twins had gifted you a simple necklace. The chain was silver, reaching to just below your collar bone. It had no charm or jewel. It was perfect.

It helped you sometimes when you felt out of it to run it between two fingers or tug it gently from left to right, feeling the chain links rolling behind your neck.

You’d tried that, among every other coping mechanism drilled into your head by George and Fred over the past few weeks. You drew circles were you wanted to scratch, put plasters over fingertips you wanted to pick at. You took big breaths and did the stretches George insisted on. You even tried getting a full night’s sleep - nothing worked.

It filled you with guilt. You felt as though you were letting them both down by struggling.

You stared out the window of the dormitory at the sky, moonlight spilling onto your skin and staining your clothes a gauzy silver. You’d read once that sometimes when the planets were in rotation, you could see them as though they were as close as the moon.

This didn’t seem right to you. How could Mars seem so close? It was an optical illusion. The planets revolved around the sun, but humans had once thought they revolved around Earth instead.

It must’ve been a very strange experience to realise you weren’t as important as you thought. The Earth was just the Earth, spinning and wobbling its path through space.

You shook your head, feeling lost. It was ridiculous to project your feelings on the solar system. But still, you couldn’t help but feel like, despite its inhabitants and its systems, the Earth was so lonely.

Your necklace began to grow cold until it was almost like ice against your skin. One of the twins, or maybe both, had charmed it to change temperature. Cold usually meant, ‘Ghostie, you awake?’

You cringed against the sensation. Why couldn’t they booty call you like normal young men, throwing stones at your window with a boom box? Or, for merlin’s sake, an owl?

You grumbled to yourself, throwing the fleece blanket from your body. You were hardly dressed for company in knickers and a tank top, so you threw on a grey zip-up jacket and a pair of pyjama shorts that were hardly any better than the knickers. Luckily the jacket hung past the shorts. You wanted to care that you were dressed scantily, really, but the boys wouldn’t care and you didn’t have it in you to find something else.

You trekked down the stairs, your trainer socks slippery against the well-worn wood. Fred stretched languidly in front of the fireplace, a pack of exploding snap cards and a mountain of chocolate frogs beside him whilst George was sitting much more straight-backed on the sofa.

“I’m cold,” you said, announcing your arrival. The redheads turned to look at you over their shoulders. Fred rolled his eyes at you and flicked his wand. The necklace slowly heated until it was pleasantly warm against your collarbones.

You clambered over the back of the sofa with little grace, folding your knees underneath you and leaning heavily against George’s arm. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

“If I were a lesser man, I’d ask where your bottoms were, Y/L/N,” said Fred, shuffling the cards dexterously.

You raised your jacket wordlessly, exposing your bottoms.

“Wouldn’t you know, they were there the whole time.”

“You assumed the same as me, George.”

George didn’t reply, though his expression said he was similarly embarrassed.

“And do you always let girls you presume to be half-naked climb all over you?” you asked.

“So talkative,” George chastened.

“Don’t change the subject! I’m interested in the answer,” said Fred.

“Oh shove off! You insufferable tyrants.”

Ah, so he knows how it feels now, you thought. You looked up into his face, the line of his jaw.

You looked down at your legs, feeling fatigued. Smooth stretches of skin and fine hair interrupted only by thin white lines. The low light made them almost impossible to see. They shined like silver when you moved, caught by the light of a nearby candle. They felt a lifetime away now when a young you had used pins and quills and little carving knives to punish yourself for bad behaviour.

You traced a slightly thicker one with a pointed fingernail. You pushed it nastily into the scar, but it didn’t hurt.

You sighed.

Fred and George were half arguing about something you didn’t catch, Fred through a mouthful of chocolate.

It was hard, always being miserable. People often criticized the moody for ruining the mood, but it wasn’t as if you could choose how to be. You wanted to wake each day and be happy and entertaining and absurdly good-natured, like the twins. It was an abject cruelty, then, that every day you woke up and felt the immeasurable dread of continuing on another day. Not even magic could help you with that.

You rejected Fred’s offer to play, happy to sit and watch the boys play. You let yourself slide into the space George had vacated, curling into a tight ball. Your stomach hurt.

Godric, there was always something fucking wrong with you.

You were frustrated. The boys could tell. Their game of snap was stretched thin, and you knew it was your fault. You wrinkled your nose at the smell of singed hair, restless. You squirmed against the warm leather under your skin, feeling sticky and out of sorts.

You closed your eyes against the aching and slept.

You woke up crying.

Fred shifted in his sleep. He was leaning against your legs, his hair and face smushed into the leather beneath you. George was facedown in the carpet. You pressed a hand to your mouth to muffle any sound.

The clock on the wall read 4 minutes past 4 o’clock in the morning. You’d only managed an hour and a half of sleep.

You couldn’t remember what you’d been dreaming. Maybe somewhere familiar. Faces you recognized. It didn’t matter, only the feeling of being crushed by the air. You reached out without thinking, grabbing Fred’s shoulder.

He roused gracelessly, blinking through squinted eyes at you. A hard sob rocked you to the core, the feeling of breathlessness sinking deep into your chest.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

You couldn’t answer. You grasped for his arm, begging him to do something, to save you. You felt as though you were going to run out of air.

“Hey, you’re alright. You’re okay. Let’s breathe, should we? Breathe with me.” He grabbed the hand you’d pushed over your mouth and brought it to his chest. You could feel him take a huge inhale and you tried your best to replicate it.

“Good! That’s good. You’re doing so well.” Another big breath, a long exhale.

“You feel that? The leather under you.” He grabbed your free hand and put it on the seat. “Feels weird, huh? Dimples and wrinkles.” He dragged your hand over the texture repeatedly.

A big breath.

Eventually, your breathing returned. The crying stayed.

“Don’t cry, ghost.”

You frowned. It was odd to be looking down at Fred instead of up. He pressed your hand tighter to his chest.

“Bad dream?”

“Don’t remember,” you whispered.

“It was just a dream. You’re okay. I promise.”

George snored. Fred rolled his eyes. You laughed through the tears, blinking the last of them away.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”

You knew he was telling the truth.

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titan-fodder · 2 years

Text

The Sun You Set

Pairing: Hitoshi Shinsou x Reader

Rating: M (mature; mdni)

Word Count: ~14K

Tags/Warnings: alternate universe - fairies, fem reader, grief, loss of a loved one, unspecified illness, mourning/coping, depression, light sexual content, hurt/comfort

Summary: Hidden by the trees and muted by beautiful, beating wings, you learn about love, loss, and the passage of time.

A/N: I don't know a ton about the fae other than some light research, and I did put a few of my own twists on them which I hope isn't disrespectful. This idea just popped into my head at the perfect time, and I took it as a sign. I needed to write this.

To Nyki: Thank you for sharing your love, passion, and inspiration with me even when you're gone. I miss you every day.

~♡~

What happened to the birds?

You remember the question repeating in your mind over and over as you stood in her apartment for the first time after.

There was nothing out of the ordinary. The TV remote was still sitting on the arm of the couch, a paperback book open and upside-down on the coffee table, a throw blanket piled on the floor where it had slipped from a cushion. There were dishes in the sink. A load of laundry in the dryer and a pile to be washed sitting outside of the open closet door.

What happened to the birds?

The cage was still there. Pressed against the wall, tiny feathers at the bottom, some strewn about the floor beneath the thin, steel bars. There was a bit of food left in their bowl, their little swing rocking back and forth despite being unoccupied.

Did someone take them in? Family, another friend, maybe a coworker? Or were they let go of? Could the little lovebirds you’d gotten so used to seeing and hearing be flying overhead unbeknownst to you?

As you helped tidy up—sorting through belongings, crying, smiling, and being so full of hurt you thought you’d explode, you couldn’t help but wonder… What happened to the birds?

That was six months ago.

The apartment has since been emptied and rented out. You have a few of her things—things she’d want you to have, things she wanted you to be interested in—tucked away in a safe place in your own home. Books and crystals, a couple decks of tarot cards, and little DIY projects she started but wasn’t given the chance to finish.

The mystery of the lovebirds was never solved. You’d asked a few people who were just as confused and curious as you, but eventually, the worry drifted to the back of your mind, too focused on making it to the next day to dwell on what seemed like a small issue in comparison.

Your life has gone back to normal. For the most part. You still think of your dear friend every single day, and when you do, that feeling of being soaked in ice water chills you to the bone all over again. The difference is that now you can power through. The difference is that now you can save your tears for the shower. The difference is that now everyone expects you to be okay.

You aren’t, but you can fake it.

And, over time, you’ve learned a few coping skills. Breathing techniques, the best modes of escapism, etc. What helps the most, though, is finding things that make you feel close to her again—watching her favorite shows and movies, listening to her favorite songs, reading her favorite books, and researching the parts of her life you knew about but never understood.

She’d always had an interest in the supernatural—practiced witchcraft, read tarot, and had a very particular interest in the fae.

That is why you are where you currently are: at the edge of the local park, staring into the trees that cast shadows over the swingset. It’s not a forest, just a small wooded area, one she spent a lot of time exploring. Sometimes you would text or call only for it not to go through until hours later. Sorry, I don’t get very good service in those woods. You asked her why she ever bothered going in there, just what was so interesting, but she’d just shrug her shoulders and tell you, venture inside and find out.

So this is you. Venturing. You have a bag slung over your shoulder filled with a few different necessities—snacks, flashlight, a trowel, some seed packets, and a very interesting book about what you may run into if you’re open-minded. Your hands are also full, clutching onto something you never would have thought you’d hold so dearly: a fairy house. Small, made mostly of clay with some moss strategically placed on the walls. Tiny pebbles cover the roof, and the door was cut out from a piece of wood, round where it’s nestled at the front of the dwelling.

You’re impressed by the craftsmanship—she must have put hours into this—but not so much the purpose. There’s no way anything will come of it, no way you’ll come back to see little beings inside or even around it.

But, she obviously wanted to put it down somewhere, to give it to something, be it the trees or the creatures she believed in.

But she can’t now. So, you have to.

The book in your bag is a sort of guide to the fair folk—little tips and tricks, what to do and what not to do if you’re given the chance to interact. Some are kind and playful while others are tricky and malicious. You’re not convinced you’ll run into any, but if you just so happen to, you know which kind you’d prefer to meet.

There’s a small pocket of your bag that’s easy to reach into, stuffed with little stones—some painted, some naturally bright and shimmering—and as you slowly make your way through the trees and brush, you begin leaving a trail of them. You drop some on the ground, set a couple on low branches. On top of a mushroom. In the middle of a sturdy bush. It’s both a path to you should anything wish to follow, and a path out of the woods, like bread crumbs only… shiny.

You don’t stop until you’re deep inside, hidden by trunks and branches, the echoes of nature around you, and this is when you realize that this little grove is bigger than you originally thought, feels bigger. It’s probably just a trick of your mind, the creeping darkness paired with the fact that you don’t know exactly where you are. As suspected, your cell service is dismal, but it’s okay. You’ll be okay. There haven’t been any reports of animal attacks in these parts in over a decade, so you’re not worried about that. There’s just that little nagging voice in the back of your head that tells you you should watch out for tiny tricksters who wish to whisk you away.

Impossible. You don’t believe in them. And, even if you did, why would they really want anything to do with you? There isn’t a single thing about you that could be considered welcoming. Even if you’re kneeling on the ground to place this tiny house at the base of a tree. Even if you’re planting seeds for colorful flowers that will one day sprout up around the clay walls. Even if you’re leaving a sparkling stone at the miniature doorstep.

All you’re doing is placating a need that was never and can never be spoken, hopefully bringing closure to yourself and the friend you lost.

“You're new.”

You startle hard enough to lose your grip on your trowel, the tool falling out of your hand and landing in the dirt with a soft thud. Neck prickling, you turn your head just enough to see a figure leaning against a thick tree trunk, arms crossed over its chest, head tilted to the side.

A male, tall and lean with unnatural violet hair that seems to shoot every which way. He’s dressed a little strangely, like he stepped out of a medieval play in his loose tunic and pants. Bare feet are speckled with dirt, but aside from that, he looks… clean—practically glowing even in the shade.

He’s beautiful.

“I—um—” You swallow, unwilling and unable to tear your eyes away from him as you murmur, “I haven’t been here before. Usually… Make it a point to stay out of places like this…”

He nods, and you see his gaze flick from your face to what you’re doing (what you were doing). “Then, what brings you here today?”

“This,” you motion to the dwelling then push yourself to stand.

“A fairy house?” He questions with a quirked eyebrow. He looks curious bordering on amused. “You believe in fairies?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you struggle to find the right words. I had a friend who did. The past tense hurts too much, though, and besides, outright denying it seems somehow disrespectful to her.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

The man takes a step forward, and you fight the instinct to back up, not that it lasts long as a beam of sunlight that shines through the canopy catches his face. There’s a radiance about his skin, like the gleam of the moon only during daylight hours. Even more striking are his eyes, nearly the same shade as his hair but with white pupils. You’ve never seen anything like it before, never imagined what that might look like, but it’s extraordinary and unnerving.

Otherworldly.

As if he knows what you’re thinking, you see the man toss something up in the air and catch it again, repeating the action absentmindedly, and you realize it’s one of the stones you left behind, a piece of quartz crystal you found on the beach months ago and decided to keep only to part with it today.

You begin to put things together, doubting yourself every step of the way. He doesn’t look like any of the pictures in the books, is much larger than you’d expected. There are no wings in sight, but—but—there’s something off about him, an energy you can’t quite place and can’t tell if you like or not. It’s not malevolent, but it doesn’t feel safe either.

Heart beating too quickly in your chest, you ask, or really begin to ask, “Are you…”

“Smart girl,” he grins, catching the stone for the last time then sticking it in his pocket. “What gave it away?”

“My imagination, probably,”

He hums thoughtfully, staring for a moment before moving on. “What’s your name?”

For the first time all day, maybe all week, your lips lift in a small smile. “Nope.”

“Nope?” He repeats. “That’s a strange name,” but his mouth is also curving. “For someone who doesn’t know what to believe, you’ve done your research.”

“Yeah, well, I was warned, I guess.”

You still can’t tell if you’re in danger or not, and you glance around to see if you’d be able to make a break for it with any kind of success. If you’re being honest with yourself, it’d probably take you a while to find your way out even if you weren’t being chased by something, so your chances are not high, and considering what he claims to be, you have a feeling he knows these woods like the back of his hand.

“Are you scared?” He pries, posture relaxed, non-threatening, bizarre eyes inquisitive.

Sighing, you lean against the nearest tree, careful of the house you’ve just secured. “If my research is anything to go by, not as scared as I should be.”

He looks at you, scrutinizes as if trying to figure something out, then eventually states, “You’re sad.”

You laugh only to mimic him, “What gave it away?”

Expression softening, he moves forward again, still open, still benign. “Would you like to talk about it?”

It’s an unusual offer coming from a stranger—would you like to talk about it, would you like me to listen—but when you go to shake your head, your mouth opens and you blurt, “I lost a friend.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he responds, handsome face pinching into something sore.

“This—” you point down at the fairy house, “—that was hers, and she never… I’m doing it for her. She used to come here all the time, and I just wanted to—to—”

“Feel close to her again?” He supplies.

You nod, the lump you’ve grown so accustomed to lodging itself in your throat. “Yeah.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

It’s such a simple thing to tell someone, something any decent person would believe, but it’s still nice to hear, nice to be validated. You’ve been so worried about what others would think if they knew how stagnant you’ve been, how you refuse to move on, but right now in these woods, there is no judgment.

Granted, he doesn’t know all the details, doesn’t know it’s been six months and you still have days where you can’t stop crying, but no one knows that. No one but you.

“Thanks,” you manage. “You don’t have to do that, though. I’m sure you have other… fae business to attend to.”

He chuckles, a grin morphing his face into that of an angel’s, and the lump in your throat is replaced by the breath that hitches there.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it,” he informs you. “And, between you and me, there’s not a whole lot to do in these woods.”

“No? No pranks to play or humans to lead astray?”

His smile fades, and it makes your stomach flip. There’s no look of ill-intent on his face, nothing that has you feeling fearful, but your pulse still quickens when he admits, “That was my original plan when I first saw you.” You swallow. “But… You’re already lost. In more ways than one.”

“Oh, and that takes the fun out of it?”

“Somewhat,” he chuckles.

You roll your eyes, deeming it safe enough to take up your previous place on the ground, grabbing your trowel once more. You’re not extremely surprised when the stranger also sits a couple feet away from you.

“I’m Hitoshi,” he introduces.

“Nice to meet you. Still not telling you my name.”

A quiet laugh, then, “The right choice.”

For a while, the two of you just sit in silence. You have questions, yes, but not enough energy to ask them. There are probably many inaccuracies in the books you’ve read, but if you’re meant to learn the truth, learn about Hitoshi, you figure you will in time. Right now, all you want to do is finish planting these flowers.

You suppose you’ve done your job, lured the fae to you—and surprisingly quickly. She would be happy to know that, know that you’ve been proven wrong and that you have no choice but to believe in them now. The job is still unfinished, though, the tiny “yard” of sorts in need of more scaping, so you’ll complete the task and consider it a success.

Hitoshi eventually starts making idle conversation, mostly about the woods. He obviously knows better than to ask you for any personal details just like you know better than to give them. So he tells you about the trees and the shrubs and the fauna, his voice deep and calming, and you wonder if he’s doing it on purpose, getting you to let your guard down so that he can pounce.

You also wonder if you care.

You’ve felt empty for a long time now. Maybe being in peril is what you need to start feeling whole again—a dark thought, but grief is a dark thing.

The sun is slowly setting, the temperature falling, and after patting down the soil just right, you think it’s time.

“Looks good,” Hitoshi says. “I know a few others who’ll enjoy this place.”

“Seems a little small for you,” you comment.

“For me, yeah, but not everyone.” He runs his fingers over some of the moss on the house then glances at you and wiggles his eyebrows. “We come in all shapes and sizes.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Hitoshi stands first, and you eye his hand when he extends it to you.

“It’s okay,” he assures. “You’re not just gonna fall under a spell at the touch of a finger.”

Even if you did, would that be so bad?

His skin is warm, an unfamiliar current seeming to pass from his to yours as you take hold of him and allow him to tug you upward. You mutter your thanks then swing your bag back over your shoulder, flashlight ready since it’s doubtful you’ll get back to the park before the sun fully sets.

“I can walk you out.”

“You make it seem like I’m leaving your home,” you huff out a laugh.

Hitoshi tilts his head the same way you saw when he first came upon you. “Aren’t you?”

“I doubt I’ve even seen the beginnings of your home.”

“Come back, and I’ll take you further in.”

You have to pick your feet up a little higher as you trudge through the woods, making sure not to trip over any roots or shrubs, and you can swear they’re thicker now than when you initially made your way. The leaves are louder as the rustle with the wind, chittering animals ringing out around you, sounding much too close, and you don’t realize how near you've gotten to Hitoshi until his hand wraps around yours again.

“I’ve got you.”

And, you believe him. For no real reason, you believe him.

Time dilates. It seems like it takes only a few minutes to get to the edge of the grove which doesn’t make any sense considering how much help you need as you stumble through the brush and startle at every little movement in the shadows of your flashlight. Your eyes finally adjust some when you step out of the trees, the sky opening up to display the full, bright moon hanging high above you.

Gently pulling your hand from Hitoshi’s, you hope you sound sincere when you thank him. Your voice and feelings in general have been falling flat a lot lately, so you hope he can somehow sense your gratitude.

“For what?”

“Sitting with me. Taking on the burdens of a stranger.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve spent time with a human. I forgot how fascinating you can be.”

“Yeah?”

“Fascinating and fragile.”

You pout but can’t exactly argue. Your heart was made of glass even before your friend passed away. Now that the glass has been cracked, a little tap in just the right place will shatter it completely.

“Glad I could provide some entertainment, then.”

“Not entertainment,” he shakes his head, that violet hair becoming even more mussed in the breeze. “More like… Refreshment. Strange but in a good way. Our worlds are pretty different, you know?” You just blink at him, and he snorts. “I guess you don’t. But, I could show you if you let me.”

“Trying to lead me astray again,” you only half joke.

“Maybe,” Hitoshi grins. “But only temporarily. I promise I’ll bring you back.”

Staring at him, you consider it, consider everything you’ve discovered today and how unfazed you are by it. It’s alarming, yes, but you’re either too numb to care about your views being turned upside-down, or you always knew it was a possibility (on a subconscious level at least).

“I bet you say that to all the human girls.”

“Then, you’d be surprised.”

You should head back home. It’s getting late, and you have work in the morning. As mystical this experience has been, it needs to come to a close. For now, anyway. You’ll more than likely find your way back to these woods, to the little fairy house, and possibly (hopefully) to Hitoshi.

He’s been kind, gentle, mysterious enough to fill some of the black holes in your mind with piqued interest. You’re grateful for that.

“You really should come back,” he suddenly speaks again. “I miss having a human friend. A lot of us back home do.”

“What do you mean?” You frown. “Is that common for y’all?”

“Not at all. We just got used to one a long time ago, another girl like you. We all really cared for her,” he tells you with a wistful sigh. “But, she… She died several months ago.”

Your lungs constrict painfully, vision blurring because you think… You think you know… “Who—what was her name?”

Hitoshi smiles sadly. “It took her a long time to tell us, but…”

The syllables blend together, a loud ringing paired with blood pounding in your ears blocking everything out. But you can still read his lips, can still read her name on them.

Your flashlight drops before you do, onto your knees, a dramatic pile of limbs as you clench your jaw and try to keep a wounded sob from tearing out of your throat. Your hands ball into fists, blades of grass getting trapped between fingers, and you should’ve—you should’ve asked. Why wasn’t that the first thing you asked him once you found out he was real? It’s all real.

You sense movement beside you as Hitoshi crouches, then a warm weight between your shoulder blades when he strokes calming circles over your t-shirt.

“You were here for her,” he whispers, and you nod against the ground, evening dew smearing against your forehead. “You’re the best friend she talked about.”

You sniffle, taking a shuddering breath before croaking, “She t-talked about me?”

“All the time. Never your name, just my best friend this, and my best friend that. Nonstop.”

Laughing quickly turns to weeping because it’s been so long. So long since anyone has spoken about her out loud. So long since you’ve been reminded that she exists outside of your pain and guilt memory.

“Come back with me.” Hitoshi’s voice is low but surprisingly desperate. “Come and meet everyone. Please. We need it—we need—”

He doesn’t have to finish. You’re dragging yourself back to your feet and wiping your face with the back of your hand. Bag resituated, you start for the trees again. It doesn’t matter what time it is anymore, doesn’t matter that you have responsibilities to attend to tomorrow. All that matters is this—this feeling of learning more about your friend and the company she kept. What better way to feel close to her than surround yourself with those she felt closest to?

Hitoshi takes your hand again, grip tight as he pulls you right back into the woods you just left. You can’t keep up with his pace, trusting him to catch you every time you lose your footing, trusting him to see what you can’t. Deeper and deeper—into the dark, past the fairy house, through thicker bushes, lower branches, until you are officially astray.

The ground becomes mossy and when you squint, you can see that it's growing everywhere, on every trunk, vines wrapping around the bark and hanging down from the canopy. It doesn’t look like the grove you stepped into originally, something entirely different. Something enchanting. That electricity you once felt on Hitoshi’s skin permeates the air, an indescribable aura that you can tell is vital to him and his kind.

“We’re getting close,” he huffs, suddenly swiveling and picking you straight up off the ground before he hops over a large root. Definitely would have knocked your teeth out on that one.

Through another dense curtain of vines, you see it—the twinkling, tiny, dancing lights in the distance. And then you hear it.

Fluttering. Beating. Wings.

Hitoshi shoulders through the greenery then sets you back down, and you’re surprised to find yourself standing on stone. It’s uneven and natural, but it’s sturdy underfoot. However, it’s the least interesting thing around you.

Jaw dropping, you let your eyes wander, taking in the tiny creatures flitting around, ducking into tiny dwellings on the ground much like the one you placed earlier. The path twists and turns between huge trees you swear you’ve never seen from outside of the woods, and each one has been crafted into a home, assumingly for the fae closer to Hitoshi’s size. As you slowly walk, you admire everything because it’s beautiful, like something out of a storybook, you never would have imagined—

"How have I never noticed this place before?" You ask in wonder.

"Cloaking," Hitoshi answers casually. "We hide ourselves on purpose."

The trail splits further down, a tree bigger than every other sitting in the middle of the fork. Vines wrap around it in what might be a purposeful way given the fact that they look to form a pattern, intricate and deliberate. The door is painted a dark red, and the steps leading up to it are littered with feathers that range in color, some the same scarlet as the door, others a stark white, all of them with stripes across them that you know to be a troublesome sign.

“This is Keigo’s house,” Hitoshi tells you, squeezing your hand as he leads you up the steps.

“Who’s Keigo?”

He smiles softly enough to make your fragile heart beat faster. “Keigo is who kept her coming back.”

On the top step, Hitoshi raises a fist and knocks twice, but doesn’t wait for a response before he’s twisting the knob.

“It’s Toshi,” he announces, then, “I brought someone I think you'll want to meet.”

It’s warm inside, both in temperature and in tone. Everything is odd at first glance, different from what you’re used to. There’s no furniture, but there are blankets and pillows arranged in what could be a nest. Shelves are packed with various objects, everything ranging from hair clips and children’s shoes to seashells and a very large jar of shiny rocks.

There’s a fire flickering at the edge of the room, a pit dug out of the wood and lacquered with a protective layer of something to keep the whole place from burning to the ground. It crackles and pops and casts a golden glow on the whole room, but it’s nowhere near as eye-catching as the figure that walks out from the back of the unearthly home.

Tawny hair is haphazardly pushed from his face, showing off sharp angles and eyes that are indicative of his inhuman status. He’s pretty more than he is handsome, in loose pants similar to Hitoshi’s but lacking a top, probably to accommodate the wings that are tucked behind him. Plumage, the same as what’s been left on the front steps, is strangely pigmented, waxy, and frail.

You have to note that all of the wings you managed to peek at from outside were tiny and luminescent. These look like they belong to a bird, not a fae. A sick bird.

“Hello, there,” he greets, words coming out warm but gravely, like his voice has started to atrophy.

You open your mouth to reply, but a chirping from above draws your attention. Peering upward, you see what look like hand-carved branches criss-crossing into the strange ceiling, and there on the lowest of them are two green lovebirds you could recognize anywhere.

You're emotional again, no surprises there. It’s impossible to speak with how tight your throat is, and Hitoshi seems to recognize this, so he introduces you—your role in all of this.

Keigo goes stock stiff, lips parting as his jaw drops a little. His wings just barely rise and spread, hands flexing by his sides, and then he breathes, "Is that so?" to which you nod.

He swallows deeply, head bobbing then gestures toward the mass of blankets on the ground, his whole arm trembling.

"Please. Make yourself comfortable."

You look at Hitoshi who jerks a thumb to where Keigo just pointed, walking over himself and making it easy for you to follow.

“You want anything to drink?” Your host asks, still slightly dazed from you suddenly showing up, you assume. “Not a lot to choose from, but I have water and nectar and, uh, leftover… tea.”

Something squeezes in your chest because you think you know where he got the tea from and why it’s still here.

“I’m fine.” Honestly, anything you put in your stomach would probably just come back up.

Keigo nods, “Okay,” making his way over and lowering himself to the ground across from you. “Well… hi.”

“Hi.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And, I had no idea you existed until now," you laugh, bitter and sorry and overwhelmed.

Keigo doesn’t seem to mind, the corner of his mouth twitching upward for a fraction of a second.

“Kind of hard to explain our existence to most people.”

Mind racing, you toy with the bracelet on your left wrist, feeling the individual beads, counting them without being conscious of it. You’re finding it hard to respond, hard to speak at all. You have so many questions but no idea how to ask them, so you blurt the first one that actually makes it to your tongue.

“How’d you meet her?”

He sighs. “Ssme way Toshi met you, I imagine. In the forest.”

So, it is a forest, not just some simple grove. There’s so much hidden inside, so much to explore. No wonder it drew her in.

“I think she was hoping to be found, though,” Keigo continues, eyes sliding to the ground. “Were you?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe you were and just didn’t realize it.”

“Maybe.”

Everything is silent save for the crackling fire. It gives you time to think, and you pull a knee up to your chest, resting your chin on it while your other leg curls around in front of your planted foot.

“She was looking for you?” You eventually question shakily.

“Not me in particular but our kind. She once told me that she always believed. She always knew.”

“Could sense us,” Hitoshi adds.

You don’t doubt it. She often talked about the fair folk in the time you’d known her—a new book about them, new stones she planned on setting out in hopes of attracting them, getting excited over flower and mushroom rings. It never bothered you or made you scoff, but you also never really knew how to reply, how to support her without having any real faith.

“She could sense a lot of things,” you mutter. “Doesn’t surprise me that it extended into realms outside of ours.”

Keigo lets out a breath of a laugh, his wings ruffling and dropping small feathers onto the floor around him. He isn’t healthy. Captivating like Hitoshi but void of the same glow.

You wonder if you appear the same way, missing the shine you once had.

“What was she to you?” You pry without thinking. “Your best friend or something?”

Humming, golden eyes finally meet yours again. “Something like that.”

You aren’t stupid; there was obviously more there, but you don’t know how a relationship like that would work and honestly don’t want to dive into it right now. You’re already so bewildered and don’t know how much more you can handle.

Keigo elaborates for you, though, and it could still be taken as something casual, but the emotion that dances within saffron is so utterly sincere, it brings fresh tears to your own eyes:

“I loved her very much.”

It hangs in the air for a long time, repeating in your head over and over until you're able to agree with three, unstable syllables. "So did I."

The conversation remains stunted, as if every new line spoken is one that needs to be reflected upon. It’s all so genuine and so hurt. Keigo tells you about how she was well-known in the fair folk community—well-known and well-liked. A deep spring of kindness, never averse to listening to the fae both old and young and never averse to sharing stories of her own.

“We found her fascinating,” Keigo says, and you remember the way Hitoshi used the same word to describe you just earlier this evening. “Then it morphed into something else. She was… Bewitching. Breath-taking.”

Despite the ache inside of you, his words provide you a strange sort of serenity. She was loved by more than just you, more than just her family. She experienced this warmth.

“She really was, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Keigo exhales like he’s trying to stay calm. “I’ve been around for a long, long time, and no one—no one—has ever lit up my life the way she did.”

You talk about her like this for a long time, not so much memories as much as her spirit. Keigo eventually sheds his first tear, silver streaming down his face that he doesn’t bother wiping away. Leaning forward, you take his hand and give it a squeeze as you hiccup through your own sobs.

Hitoshi has been mostly quiet, but he doesn’t hesitate in covering your free hand with his own, long fingers curling around yours.

And, that’s how it is for minutes, hours. You have no idea what time it is, but you don’t care. Even if you have to drink ten cups of coffee at work tomorrow (possibly today), this will have been worth it. Finding these people, making this connection—there’s no price that can be put on that.

“Please come back,” Keigo all but begs as the three of you stand. He finally wipes his face, scrubbing hands over his cheeks. “Please—I haven’t—No one else understands the way you do.”

You think Hitoshi might be offended by this, but if he is, he doesn’t speak up. Your relationship with her was different from Keigo’s, but so far, he is who you’ve been able to relate to the most. Her family has mourned her, yes. Coworkers and acquaintances have noticed the lack of her presence. But this cycle of grief you’ve been struggling with… You’ve felt so alone.

Until now.

“Y-yes. Yes, absolutely.”

Keigo hugs you tightly, and you have to wrap your arms around his neck rather than his back to avoid his brittle wings. You think you can feel his ribs cutting into yours, fingers curling desperately into your shirt until he lets go all at once.

“Toshi, you’ll walk her out, right?”

The other fae nods. “Of course,” then leads you out of the house, throwing an arm up in a wave and calling out, “See you soon, Kei.”

You chance a glance over your shoulder, sad to say goodbye but content knowing you’ll be back again.

The walk back out of the forest isn’t one you remember well. You recall Hitoshi’s hands on your waist, lifting you over more roots and thick shrubs, and then you’re at the park again, staring into lilac eyes and promising once again that you’ll return.

The short drive home may as well be as mythical as everything you’ve just seen. One moment you’re sliding into your car, and the next you’re in the apartment complex parking lot.

As you get ready for bed, you wonder if you just hallucinated the entire night. You’re exhausted and therefore don’t have the brainpower for a mental debate, but that doesn’t mean that tiny, unbelieving voice stops whispering doubt into your ear.

There’s a chance you’ll wake up in a few hours and have to come to terms with the fact that it was, indeed, all a dream, but God, you hope with everything inside of you that it wasn’t.

I need this, you plead with no one. I need them.

When you wake up to your alarm, you crack open sleepy eyes, vision blurring but able to make out something on the pillow just a few inches from your face.

A violet, its round petals spread prettily, three plump leaves on a stem that looks to have been cut rather than ripped from its place.

Not a dream.

You allow yourself to be relieved, almost happy. It's been so long, you almost don't recognize the feeling.

Hitoshi is waiting for you at the treeline the following evening, sitting cross legged while twirling a tiny white daisy between two fingers.

“Thought you might come here tonight,” he says as he stands.

“How could I not?”

You’re carrying the same bag as yesterday only lighter due to the lack of gardening tools, and your boots and jeans are a little better fit for a traipse through the forest than the tennis shoes you wore previously.

Hitoshi extends a hand that you take without question, and like that, the two of you disappear into the woods once again.

It’s brighter outside as you make your way toward the world you only barely know. Not quite dusk yet, you can see the overcast sky through the branches, sun trying to shine through thick, ashen clouds. The deeper you get, however, the less light there is.

That is, until you step through that curtain of vines and find an air of magic and liveliness.

“A lot of us just woke up a little while ago, so this is, uh… I guess you could call it morning errands?” Hitoshi tries to explain.

You’ve read that the fair folk are more active in nighttime hours, but— “Errands? Like… like shopping and stuff?”

“We don’t shop,” he chuckles. “But, you know, trades being made, friends visiting friends, that kind of thing.”

“Right, of course,” you say like you can actually wrap your head around it all. In time, in time.

Keigo is sitting on the top step of his tree porch, looking in much the same state as last night. The difference here is that he isn’t alone. Perched on stairs below him are two others—a young man with a face so sharp it’s almost raven-like especially when paired with his jet black hair, and a youthful girl with pink markings on her face and dangle earrings. They’re the size of humans, and you would assume they actually were (humans, that is) if it weren’t for the wings you can see laying flat against their backs, stunning in both their size and pearlescent colors.

They’re introduced to you as Fumikage and Kyoka, and you are introduced to them as a friend. It’s a little awkward to stand there as they both stare at you in what could be wonder, but with Hitoshi’s fingers still laced with yours, you have no intention of turning away or hiding your burning face.

“It’s been very nice talking to you, Keigo,” Fumikage eventually bids, voice much deeper than you expected. “I’ll be seeing you.”

Kyoka stands alongside him, grinning down at Keigo now. “We'll be back, but for now, we have mischief to make.”

“Nothing too troublesome, I hope,” he chuckles with a shake of his head.

Fumikage winks, mouth pulling up in a subtle way, then rumbles an unconvincing, “Never,” before turning to you. “Very nice meeting you. I hope to see you here again.”

“Oh, you will,” you promise, and both he and Kyoka grin in response.

You watch as they make their way down the steps, and it’s only when they’re at the very bottom that you see them crouch and then jump, huge wings opening and carrying them up toward the endless canopy.

Keigo grunts as he pushes himself to his feet, then twists a few different ways to crack his back, some of his feathers floating to the ground.

“Come on in,” he offers, opening his door and letting you pass before him.

You can hear a short, murmured conversation behind you, Hitoshi asking, “Would you rather talk alone tonight?”

Then, “No, no, she trusts you, come on.”

Which seems a little presumptuous but also… Isn’t wrong. You don’t know Hitoshi—not his story, not his baggage, nothing. But something about him has you feeling lighter than usual, like when he’s with you, he’s blunting the force of some of your pain.

“You’re sure?” He questions once more.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Get in here.”

This time, the conversation flows a little easier, is a bit more laid back. Both Keigo and Hitoshi ask some questions about you, what your life is like, but they never ask your name. Not outwardly, at least.

“You’re smart like her,” Keigo hums, a knowing smile on his face after you’ve deflected one of those tricky inquiries. “It took me a long time to earn that from her—because it’s all about trust, you know? Was I going to use it against her, or was it something I just wanted to know?”

“And?” You prompt. “How’d you convince her?”

He shrugs, lifting a little cup of something you can’t identify to his lips. “I just waited.” He takes a short sip, then continues, “It’s funny because the fear is that if you tell us your name, we have power over you, right?” You nod. Yes, that’s what you’ve heard. That’s what she told you. “But, by the time she told me hers, it didn’t matter. She was the one with the power. I would’ve done anything she wanted me to.”

Again, you stay much later than you should, and again, Hitoshi walks with you to the edge of the woods and urges, “Come back.”

“I will.”

Tomorrow is a Saturday, so you’re able to sleep in as much as your exhausted body and mind require.

And, when you wake in the early afternoon hours, you find another small violet on your pillowcase.

This is your new normal—spending the day at work and then pushing yourself to spend hours in the forest. You can't make it every night, either too tired or despondent to the point where not even Hitoshi and Keigo can help.

But, most evenings you are here, sitting on the floor of the fae's home, sipping on water, eating snacks you brought for yourself because it’s been made quite obvious that your diet differs from theirs extensively.

Sometimes, it’s cool and casual small-talk, anecdotes shared back and forth. You tell Keigo about how she used to sing to her birds all the time, the little things chirping high above as you hum the tunes that still get stuck in your head. In return, he tells you how she insisted on taking sips of his drink every time she came over, that too-sweet nectar not made for human tastebuds, "And, her nose would scrunch up every time."

Then there are nights like this one where cool and casual were never an option.

“I just—like—” You have to take a deep breath, fighting through tears and the pressure on your chest. “It was like my world stopped, you know? Like—nothing else, there was nothing else—I couldn’t d-do anything, and I didn’t want to...” You allow a sob to bubble from your throat, wet and thick only to get cut off by another unsteady inhale.

There's a hand on your back, Hitoshi's, and across from you, Keigo's face is messy and blurry both from your own state and his, glistening silver running down his cheeks as he bites down hard on his lip.

"And it was like—like I'm mad at everyone else for moving forward. I'm so angry. And," you sniff and let out a sore laugh, incredulous with yourself as you try to explain, "Like, logically, I know that's not fair. I know that people die all the time, and it doesn't affect me, but this time—with her—nothing makes sense anymore."

And, maybe that's why it's been so easy to slip into their world. It doesn't matter if you can kr can't understand it.

"We had—" Keigo wipes his nose, voice hoarse now as he tells you, "We had a few ceremonies in the days after, and it was… like family coming together. And, I thought, given the emotion and support... shown throughout all of that, maybe I'd—I don't know—maybe I wouldn't feel so alone?"

"Keigo, you're not alone," Hitoshi tries.

"I am, though," the other argues. "But, I think it's because…"

"'Cause you wanna be," you finish. You lock gazes, and you know you've hit the nail on the head.

"I can be more—more honest with my emotions, if that makes sense. I feel like… When I'm around everyone else, I need to act like I'm okay, like I've done my healing, but I'm not there yet. And…" He looks back to the floor, scratching over the wood with one of his fingernails. "I don't know when I'll get there or if I even want to."

It's difficult to put a name to the feeling you experience then, like falling apart completely only to be caught—all your little pieces, all your broken words. Something works to put them back together.

You bend forward, curling over your own legs as you cry because finally—finally someone gets it.

"I feel like—I feel like moving forward means forgetting her. And, I can't do that. I—" Hands planted on the ground, you take a few heaving breaths. "I still have reminders, like, purposely. This bracelet—" you nod down to your wrist, "—and… and on my phone, I still haven't… I haven't been able to close out her obituary page since I opened it that first time."

Hitoshi's hand stroking over your spine might be the only thing that's keeping you from wailing like you want to, a soothing up and down motion.

"I think of her every single day, and I'm s-so afraid that if—if I close out the tab or take off the bracelet, there'll come a day where I don't think of her at all." You squeak as you battle with another cry climbing up your throat. "And, I'm not ready for that. I-I'm not ready to not think about her."

Keigo is nodding but pressing his palms into his eyes, and Hitoshi is scratching at the place between your shoulder blades. It's quiet save for the sniffles and hiccups until he speaks up.

"You're allowed to take all the time you need. Both of you."

You look over at Hitoshi, your lip quivering, face sticky with tears.

"There's no time limit here. You're the ones imposing these expectations, but I think everyone—I think they know you were her best friend, and Kei, we know how much you loved each other.” He pauses, eyebrows pinching as he thinks. “No one is just waiting around for you to stop mourning because this isn’t something that'll ever go away."

Only a fraction of the weight inside of you is lifted. It’s a nice sentiment, and part of you believes Hitoshi, but what if this is something you struggle with for the rest of your life? What if it’s something you want to struggle with?

“I just…” You swallow then cough, sinuses painfully full, nose raw from wiping it so often. “I remember, when I was younger, I went through a, uh… What my old therapist called a depressive episode.”

Hitoshi cocks his head to the side, all ears, so ready to listen, and you don’t know why.

“And, I got to the point where… Yeah, I was miserable. I—I didn’t feel any purpose, but it was… comforting in a way. Like, you get so used to that feeling, you almost start relying on it.”

That feeling had wrapped you up so tight, a hug so icy that it eventually made you numb.

This grief feels very similar to that.

That evening, when you say good night at the treeline, Hitoshi holds you by the shoulders, dipping his head so that he can look you dead in the eye.

“Don’t let it win,” he implores you. “You said you relied on that feeling. Rely on me instead.”

He gathers you close to him, one arm wrapping around your back, the other around your shoulders so that he can hold your head with a gentle hand. This hug is much kinder than the frigid embrace you’ve been falling back into, and though the ice is what’s familiar to you, Hitoshi’s warmth might be just as welcoming.

Sometimes you forget that Hitoshi is a fairy. His appearance is a bit inhuman—the violet hair and strange eyes, the lovely glow about him—but you’ve never actually seen his wings.

However, the first time you knowingly let him come to your apartment (he’s obviously been before), you are quickly reminded. The way he picks some of your belongings up to study them, not understanding the function of your filtered water pitcher or the way a TV works, it’s all a dead giveaway.

So, feeling comfortable enough around him after a couple months of spending time with him and Keigo, divulging too much personal information to both of them, you ask, “What’s your story, Toshi?”

“Hm?” He looks over at you from the small bookshelf, a crocheted Bulbasaur in his hand. Funny to think he has absolutely no idea what it is. “What do you mean?”

“I mean tell me about yourself. You know so much about me, but I don’t really know anything about you except for what you are and where you live, and even then, I’ve never actually been to your home.”

“I can take you there if that’s what you want,” he says with a shrug, placing the toy back on the shelf and turning toward you. “It’s kind of a lot to go into, though.”

“Your house or your story?”

“Story.”

Plopping down on your couch, you pat the spot next to you. “I’ve got time.”

Hitoshi shrugs his shoulders and paces over, the cup of water that’s downright mystifying to him clutched carefully in both of his hands now. When he sits, the motion is as graceful as a dancer’s, the cushions barely moving which is strange considering you’ve felt his weight against you, know that he is solid and stable.

“So, for this to make sense, I have to start at the very beginning.”

“That’s usually how stories go,” you tease with a hint of a smile.

Hitoshi rolls his eyes, his grin much more pronounced. “Not all of them, but anyway—are you aware that not all fae are born as fae?”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Um, no. I was not aware of that.”

He explains it to you as simply as possible—The Fae Folk For Dummies. There’s a spectrum of sorts: pure fairies (the tiny ones) who are created in that realm and never leave it, humans that find the fairies and go through a process to become like them (neither of these make a lot of sense to you, but it gets even stranger). There’s also the fairies that die and are reincarnated as humans, and vice versa, humans that die and get reincarnated as fae.

You have to stop him there, asking for clarifications on a few different things.

“Y’all can just stop being fairies if you want to? Leave it all behind?”

He nods.

“And—and humans can find y’all and decide they want to, what, change their species to be like you?”

“We’re a lot more alike than you’d think. The only difference is the wings and the magic.”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause magic isn’t a big deal or anything.”

“Well…”

And, onto another explanation: pure fairies obviously have the strongest magic while humans who make the change have the weakest. “We can do stuff like grow flowers, make little tiny rainclouds to water said flowers. Oh, and temporarily move small plants or roots out of the way.”

You squint at him for a moment. “If you can move them, why don’t you ever do that when you lead me through the forest?"

His cheeks take on a very light shade of pink, and he glances away. “No reason. I kinda forget I can do it sometimes.”

“Okay, next question,” you give him a break, though you know you'll continue to wonder about that for the rest of the night. “You said we can do stuff, as in you included, so does that mean that’s the type of fae you are? Originally a human?”

"Yeah," he confirms. "It was a long time ago—"

"How long?"

"Mmm, around four hundred years, I'd say."

"Oh, shit." For some reason, you were not expecting that. You know from your reading that their kind have been around for forever, really, but Hitoshi is so… youthful, like a human male in his mid-twenties.

"I had a not-so-great life in a colonial settlement—I mean, no one's life was great back then, but I really, really hated it," he says, chuckling afterward. "Anyway, there were stories about the woods near our home, that there were spirits, that something lived in there that was at fault for everything that went wrong."

"Let me guess. You decided to go exploring."

"Yeah. I was sort of planning it as an elaborate suicide, hoping there was something in there that would kill me, but instead I found Shouta."

You cock your head but stay quiet, thinking you probably feel a lot like Hitoshi does in your apartment—confused and oh-so curious.

"He was how I am now, a human who was led astray."

"I'm beginning to think that word doesn't mean what I originally thought," you muse.

He flashes a close-lipped, crooked smile but doesn't say anything in it, just continues with his tale.

"So, Shouta showed me everything, introduced me to everyone in the family back then. I think he could sort of sense that I was lost and wishing for a completely different life, so he offered me one."

It hits you that you've never met or even heard of this Shouta, and Hitoshi immediately sees the question in your eyes.

"He left about… forty years ago, I think? Met a human with big hair and a bigger heart and fell in love."

You sigh sympathetically, lacing your fingers with his the same way he always does. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. He's happier now, and it's not like I don't have others I'm close to."

"Yeah, but still…"

"It was sad, gave me what you would call abandonment issues—" he snorts, "But I'm grateful to him for taking me under his wing. Literally."

"Speaking of, do you lose those if you choose to join the human world?"

"Yeah, it's…" Hitoshi cringes. "It's brutal. They get cut off."

Your stomach rolls at the thought. "So, Shouta was a human turned fae, turned… human again?"

"Yes. He didn't know he'd ever not want to be one of us once he became one, but things change. People change."

"So… I'm confused about something," you pout.

"What is it?"

"You said when a fairy wants to be human, their wings get cut off."

"Yes."

"Then what's the process to become one? Some kind of transplant?"

"N—Wait, a what?" He stops, and you have to veer off for a couple minutes to explain what a transplant surgery is.

"Modern medicine," Hitoshi muses. "What a time to be alive. But anyway, I guess it's kind of like that? Wings get chosen for you in a sort of ritual then get sewn onto your back." You cringe. "Pure fairies cast a spell—that I still don't fully understand if I'm being honest—that makes the wings grow into you. So, I guess it's sort of like a surgery only with, you know, magic."

There are many more questions you have for him, and he answers them all without any argument or hesitance no matter how disturbing they may be. 'Lore' is the only way you can really describe it. You know it's their history, their traditions, but it's still all so fantastical to you. Even sitting here with a fae it's hard to believe.

They celebrate a few different holidays in various ways. Some of their hobbies are among the ones you researched (tying knots in people's hair, teleporting them to different places just for fun, meddling in dreams and personal lives, all very mischievous stuff). Others come as a surprise. They create and set out small fairy houses for any travellers passing through, make jewelry for one another, read books in languages Hitoshi says he can barely translate even after all these years. It's wholesome, familial.

"Do y'all, like, kidnap children?" You have to ask.

"I never have," Hitoshi answers with a hand on his chest. "I'm really just trying to pass the time and get a few giggles out of it, but I know there are more… malevolent fair folk out there who most definitely do things like that."

"That's frightening."

"Yeah. I don't really get along with those types."

Twisting on the couch, you cross your legs like a little kid, leaning forward, excited for storytime. "You've met some?"

"Well, like I said," Hotishi starts, reaching to put his cup on the table and then falling back against the pillows. "I've been around for a while, and in that time I've done some travelling."

"But, you always come back."

He glances at you from the corner of his eye and grins. "Always."

Hitoshi leaves in the late night hours, but it's not before he slips a hand in his pocket and procures one of the violets you're starting to grow extremely fond of. You lift your hand to take it, and when you do, he gently grabs your fingers and bends to kiss your knuckles.

"See you again soon?"

"Yes," you nod, suddenly a little breathless. "Soon."

Months pass, and you find yourself spending as much of your free time in the trees among the fae. It's such a nice escape from reality—your reality, that is—which probably isn't healthy, but it is what's getting you through each day.

Occasionally, you'll wake up in the morning and have that same question: is it all a dream? But each evening brings more friends to meet, and each morning brings a beautiful violet. You have quite the collection now, almost all of them in the pages of the books you've bought to learn more about these strange, incredible creatures. A few are sitting in a tiny vase on your nightstand, but as soon as they begin to wilt, they join the others.

Your relationship with Hitoshi is unlike anything you've ever experienced. From the moment you met, something began between the two of you, something natural, something unavoidable. You hold hands and lean against him during the deep discussions at Keigo's house. He wraps his arms around you when he can, still lifts you over dangers in the forest.

It doesn't bother you. It never has. You know he has the potential to be devious, a trickster, but you've never entertained the possibility for more than a few seconds. He's too kind, too empathetic. You simply can't see any story that ends with him hurting you.

Will this friendship turn into anything more? You're not sure. If it's supposed to, though, you have no problem in waiting for it to happen organically, to grow like the vines in the forest.

This evening finds you on the steps of Keigo's house, surrounded by the fair folk who have come to accept you into their world—their home. Fumikage, Jirou, and Kaminari all sit on the stairs below you, leaning on each other as well as the short banister. Fluttering above are Izuku, Yagi, and Shouto, small and stunning as the flap of their wings creates a sort of glimmer around them. There's also Ochako and Tsu, Neito and Itsuka, and so many others, all gathered, all happy to see you.

Keigo is regaling the crowd with a story from his mortal days, and you can't help but stare at the way his own wings stretch out behind him. They're brighter, softer, bigger. A sign of a healing bird and apparently a healing fairy. His smile these days looks more genuine than when you first met, wide enough to make the corners of his eyes—now twinkling—wrinkle at the corners. Your favorite thing about him just might be the way those two little lovebirds follow him, currently perched right on top of his head, unfazed by any of his movements.

That doesn't mean you don't still see his pain and loneliness from time to time. You can basically feel it, can tell which nights will be spent with the two of you crying to each other and which will be spent teasing and laughing.

It's nice. You never thought you'd get back to this. By no means are you finished grieving—you think you'll always be in some stage of the cycle. But some stages are easier than others.

"Now, I may be big in comparison to some of you, but when I was human, I was considered small," he informs everyone. "Did that stop me from picking fights, though? Absolutely not."

As you sit and enjoy the overall atmosphere, you feel Hitoshi start to toy with your fingers. Glancing over at him, you see that he’s already staring at you, looks like he has something he wants to say.

“What is it?” You murmur, not wanting to disrupt Keigo’s tale.

He nibbles on his lip for a moment, eyes sliding to the ground as he whispers, “Beltane is coming up.”

Beltane, Beltane—Right, the beginning of Summer, bonfires, new crops, etc.

“I thought humans were the ones who celebrated that?”

His mouth curls into a shy smile. “They do, but that doesn’t mean we don’t too.”

“What do y’all do then?”

Shrugging his shoulders, he lists off, “Dancing, decorating stuff with flowers, harmless little pranks, the occasional animal kidnapping if we can manage it.” When your eyebrows raise, Hitoshi snorts and hides his face in his shoulder so that he can laugh more freely. “It’s all—all in good fun, ai promise.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“You should come. Join in on the festivities.”

For a moment, you consider asking if he can recall a time you haven’t wanted to join in on anything since you met him, but another thought crosses your mind: “Did she celebrate it with you?”

Hitoshi’s expression softens. “Every year since she found us.”

That’s all it takes. You would have gone even if she never had, but knowing this was not only one of their traditions but also one of hers, there’s no question. You’ll go to celebrate the holiday and to celebrate her.

“Just tell me what I have to do,” you say thoughtfully.

His arm tightens around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Let yourself get lost with us. That’s all.”

You don’t go straight to the celebration, instead following Hitoshi into his home for the first time. It isn't quite as large as Keigo’s, but it is just as comfortable.

There’s a window carved high in the tree trunk, allowing the pink and orange from the sunset to melt down the opposite wall. His bed is up high, reminding you of a modern loft with a narrow staircase that leads up to the platform covered in a nest of bedding.

“Do y’all just not believe in mattresses, or what?” You ask as you flop down onto a few large pillows.

“This is way more comfortable than any mattress I’ve ever slept on.”

There’s a small shelf above you, decorated similarly to the ones at Keigo’s with assorted jars of shimmering objects, though Hitoshi also has a few wooden cups full of flowers, all of them looking like they’re still firmly planted in the ground rather than tossed in some water.

“Toshi, the mattresses you slept on were probably made of straw. I promise they’ve gotten better since then.”

“Still can’t beat this,” he states matter-of-factly.

Can do stuff like grow flowers, make tiny rain clouds…

It probably takes no effort for him to keep these little plucked bouquets healthy.

The only reason you’re here is because you asked to see his house— “You’ve been to mine so many times, sometimes without me even knowing, so I wanna see yours!”

It was not a difficult debate to win.

The festivities started earlier in the day, some preparing by gathering supplies while some of the younger fae flew off to play pranks, maybe steal some livestock from one of the few nearby farms.

“Y’all are menaces.”

“It’s kind of our thing,” Hitoshi shoots back with a wink. It’s been fun hearing the ways he’s picked up on your vernacular. He never quite spoke like some kind of ancient creature, but recently his chosen words have begun to change. He’s definitely stolen little phrases here and there to sound more with the times, and you know it’s from observing you the way he does.

You talk for a couple of hours. Hitoshi plays with the hem of the flowery dress you put on for the occasion, something you’d purchased at a Renaissance Fair (“Is that offensive?” “Not at all. It’s perfect.”) Its long skirt is a light mauve color, a white, flowing top cinched tight to your body by a floral corset.

“And, the flowers in your hair will tie it all together,” he’d mused.

Now, he watches as Jirou and Kendo braid Baby’s Breath and Spring Beauties into what they’ve sectioned off, creating a crown of wildflowers that have you feeling like some kind of princess.

When they’re done, you look to Hitoshi. “Pretty?”

He nods. “Very.”

The celebration is in full swing when you finally leave his home, every tree illuminated with sparkling lights and a huge fire in the middle of it all. Everyone is gathered around it, prancing and spinning as a cheery melody rings out from above, fairies flying gracefully as they blow into little flutes or strum on stringed instruments you’ve never seen before.

Who you know to be the younger fae, the children who may or may not have been kidnapped, dash around a maypole, holding colorful ribbons tightly in their small hands as they run and skip, sometimes lifting off the ground and letting their wings carry them.

Laughter rings out, utterly contagious as it echoes through the trees. For a few minutes, you just stand and watch, Hitoshi’s hand on your back, eyes on you and your reaction to all of it.

Then a figure is flying toward you, bright red feathers casting a shadow over his body, but you can still see the shine of his golden eyes. Keigo lands in front of you, immediately holding out a hand but grabbing yours before you can actually offer it.

Pulling you to the center of the frenzy, he's just as light on his feet as you’d imagined him to be. He twirls, carrying you with him as he moves with everyone else’s flow, getting lost in the energy and making sure to drag you into it alongside him.

And, you let him, hopping and prancing, holding both of his hands as he does yours, and when he smiles at you like he’s thrilled to be alive, you grin back so wide it almost hurts.

The tune is up beat, almost frantic, and as you dance to it, swinging from Keigo to Fumikage to the smaller fairies who flutter around your head, you fall into a trance. You close your eyes, the music guiding your body—your heart—and you laugh.

A hand catches one of yours, and you open your eyes as your fingers lace with someone else's, Hitoshi's. Your eyes widen as you take him in, a celestial being, light emanating from him as well as the large wings spread behind him. They're leaf-like in design but have the hues of an amethyst geode, dark violet at the tips that lighten to lavender the closer they get to his shoulder blades.

"You're beautiful," you tell him before spinning right into his bare chest.

He stares down at you as if enraptured, having to raise his voice to speak over the melody. "So are you."

The fire roars, shouts and claps echo upward, as celebratory chaos ensues. You dance with everyone you can but always find your way back to Hitoshi. High-pitched, mischievous hollers sound from the woods, and you turn just in time to see two horses race from one side of the crowded lot to the other, small, twinkling fairies clutching strands of mane and tail and crying out in elation.

Your jaw drops as you twist back to face Hitoshi, lips still quirking up at the corners, but all he does is show his teeth in a fake cringe that quickly turns to a chuckle.

It's disorder of the best kind, and you're so glad to be a part of it.

You sense more than see dawn approaching, your body growing fatigued, but it's a hard truth to admit considering how weightless you feel.

There's a voice in a far corner of your mind that reminds you you shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be laughing, shouldn't be dancing, shouldn't be enjoying yourself. Because she's not here to do it with you.

And, oh, you wish she could be. You want nothing more than to see her wearing the same gleeful expression that you are, know that she'd be even more dazzling than the fair folk who surround you now.

But, at least you can see that joy on Keigo's face, on Hitoshi's. At least you can feel it in your own smile.

The walk out of the forest is perilous as ever, but you hum the whole way, feeling graceful from dancing as you hop over the roots Hitoshi would normally carry you over, spinning over fallen leaves and swinging off low branches.

“Did you have fun?” He asks amusedly, already knowing the answer.

“Even more than I thought I would.”

“Did you think it would be disappointing?”

“Not exactly," you sigh, finally slowing down and huffing. “I just—you know, it’s been hard to have a good time. I’ve been a little more open to it with you and Kei, but…”

“You feel guilty whenever you enjoy something,” Hitoshi finishes, and you nod.

“Exactly. Like, I’m, I don’t know, rubbing it in her face?”

He sighs, then reaches out and catches you as you trip over a root that escaped your notice. “Don’t you think she’d want you to be happy?”

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Hate when people ask me stuff like that.”

“Because you know I’m right.” You think he might be smirking in the darkness. “She was your best friend. Of course she’d want you to find happiness again.”

“But, she’s not around to ask,” you argue. “What if she wanted people to miss her for longer than they have?”

“No one has stopped missing her." His tone sounds more serious. “And, no one is moving on. We’re all just trying to go forward, one foot in front of the other while honoring her memory.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Maybe I’m not ready to put one foot in front of the other.”

“And, that’s okay. Just know that she wants you to. Eventually.”

It’s time to change the subject, feeling that tell-tale burning in your eyes for the first time all night.

“Did she ever ask to be one of you?”

Hitoshi makes a little noise of contemplation. "Not that I know of. She asked about the process a couple times, how we deal with family and friends searching for their lost loved ones.”

“And, how do you?”

“Changelings,” he answers without missing a beat. “You know what those are?”

“I think I listened to a Podcast on them once,” you laugh airily. “They’re like… replacements, right?”

“I guess that’s the easiest way to put it. They have a bad reputation because humans associate them with children going missing and what not, but really, we use them to try to soften the loss. Or, really, hide it entirely.”

“So, you switch out the real human—the one who wants to be a fairy—with an imposter human basically.”

Hitoshi scoffs, displeased with this description, and he quickly tells you why.

“There’s hardly any difference between the two. Pure fairies with strong magic create a stand-in with the exact same personality as the original. It’s very rare that anyone notices they’ve been swapped unless the spell has been botched somehow," he explains, then begins listing off, "They interact the same way, have the same likes and dislikes, and honestly, I think trading one for the other is more humane than just taking that person away completely. Ignorance is bliss. Isn't that what you humans say?"

You can’t really argue that, though you can imagine the shock and hurt people must feel the few times a changeling has been discovered—the self-hatred that would come after a long timespan of not noticing any of the miniscule differences.

But, then, maybe it still is better than the alternative. Would you prefer to have a fake than nothing at all? Would you notice if she had been switched?

“Y’all can still be in our world, though. Like, you’ve been to my apartment. You’ve ridden in my car.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, do any of you ever consider visiting the people you left behind? Family? Friends?”

He shrugs. “Some. It’s probably the most common reason any of us change back into humans. Most of the time, though… We left that world because we liked this one better. A lot of us were running from something or trying to find a purpose."

You’re doing both of those, running and searching, and you wonder… Have you already found what you’re looking for? Is it right in front of your face and you just haven’t fully acknowledged it yet?

You make it to the treeline, then the parking lot, then your apartment, Hitoshi close to you the entire time. He does his usual ritual of looking around, finding new things that baffle him every time he visits. This time it’s the touch lamp by your couch and the suncatcher in your bedroom window. Shiny things, you giggle to yourself.

Once he’s had his fill, he joins you on the couch, kicking an ankle over his knee and leaning back with his hands behind his head. He’s handsome, somehow chiseled and delicate at the same time and always with that ethereal glow.

You talk a little more about changelings, a little more about your state of stillness, then about the celebration. Hitoshi turns toward you as he listens to what you thought, slowly and gently picking the petals from your hair, having to unbraid some with nimble fingers and giving his thoughts any time he deems fit.

“I’m really glad you came,” he says, hand dropping from your hair but catching just underneath your chin. He tilts his head one way, then the other as if examining you.

The intimacy of his touch is making you dizzy, but you’re still able to murmur, “I’m really glad I came too,” your eyes round but unable to focus on anything other than the featherlike grip he has on you.

Hitoshi’s next breath trembles on the exhale, and then he’s leaning forward, hand cupping your jaw as he emphasizes, “I’m really, really glad you came.”

His kiss is soft, lips slotting perfectly with yours. It’s a chaste little thing, but even so, it feels like new life has been breathed into you, if only for a moment.

When he pulls away, you nearly whimper, hands curling in his loose shirt in an attempt to keep him grounded to you. His eyes are fixed on you, flitting all over your face, trying to catch any sign of offense or discomfort.

He won’t find any.

Still so close, close enough to feel his breath on your lips—now lonely and yearning—he whispers, “Stay with me.”

You blink, unsure if you heard him correctly.

Stay with me. Stay with me.

Yes, that’s what it was. So, why can’t you comprehend it?

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but I can’t—I don’t want to be left behind.”

You back away, releasing the grip you have on his tunic as a confused frown overtakes you, eyebrows pinching, lips pursing until you speak, “What are you talking about? I’m not gonna—”

“You’ll die one day,” Hitoshi suddenly blurts, more effusive than he's ever been around you. “You’ll die, and I won’t, and I’ll just have to live having known you but not… being able to… to keep you.”

“Keep me?” You question. “Like one of your sparkly little rocks?”

“You’re not a sparkly rock. You’re not a possession. You’re—” He sighs, looking up at the ceiling as he ponders. “For a long time, I didn’t understand Kei, how he fell in love with a human. It seemed fruitless to me. What could really come of it?”

You’re not confused anymore, but you are getting irritated, and he can see that.

“I’m not saying it to be mean, I promise. I’m trying to tell you that I understand it now, I understand that feeling of falling despite being able to fly.”

Poetic, but then, you’ve always thought of him as such. Even if his spoken word isn’t exactly flowery, he’s proved it with his actions.

“If you don’t feel the same way, I know there isn’t anything I can do about it, but please… Please consider it.” Both his tone and his expression are nothing short of pleading, hands even clasped in front of his chest.

Upheaving your entire life is definitely something you have to consider. Your feelings for Hitoshi however…

Letting out a long breath, you rise from the couch and shake your head. You see him deflate out of the corner of your eye, taking this as a rejection, but you slip into your bedroom to grab the book on your nightstand, the one you’ve probably read over a dozen times at this point.

Back in the den, Hitoshi is standing, rubbing the pads of his fingers over his palms as a nervous habit. You walk the heavy book over to him, holding it out as your arm trembles from the weight. From where you stand, you can see the way the pages are lifted in some places, the gaps between sections, but you know Hitoshi has no idea.

“Are you… Giving this to me, or—”

“Look Inside.”

With a lifted eyebrow, he takes the text and flips it open. You watch the way he softens all over. His shoulders relax, the fearful look on his face melts into something much lighter, and his lips part in a tender smile.

All of the violets he’s gifted you, kept close by at all times. They aren’t nearly as bright as they once were, but here amongst the printed words, they are safe, not only reminding you of your newfound direction in life but of the kinship it’s led you to.

“All of them?” Hitoshi breathes in awe, running a finger over one of the flattened stems.

“Since the very first one.”

After what seems like forever, those lilac eyes meet yours, relieved and very, very fond. He carefully closes the book, stepping past you to place it back on the small table, then turns and grabs your hands.

“You don’t have to make a decision right this second, but…” His lips curl into a smirk, “Just know I’ll be going absolutely out of my mind until I get an answer.”

Fingers twitching where they’re held, you gaze at him through your lashes, emboldened by his outward confession and your more subtle variation.

“I think, um… I might know a way to distract you from your impending insanity,”

His attention belongs entirely to you, and you think you can feel his beating pulse under the tips of your fingers brushing over his wrist.

And, then you pause.

“Wait, is that something we can actually do? Is it gonna break any fairy laws or anything? Do we—oh my god, do we have the right parts?”

Hitoshi laughs, the sound deep like his voice, and rich with delight.

“One, no laws to be broken here, and two, we definitely have the right parts,” he finishes by pulling you flush against him, and you immediately feel that he’s spoken the truth.

Your breath is thick as you nod, fists balled in his shirt again but not for long as Hitoshi quickly lifts you off the ground, hands at your thighs as you wrap yourself around him.

And, that’s how it stays—after shedding clothes in the bedroom, he and his shimmering wings curl around you. Legs tangle as your hands stay glued to one another’s faces, desperate kisses showered between the two of you. Eager and exploratory, you feel Hitoshi for the first time, just as he does you. You’re pressed together head to toe, moving in tandem as hips form almost wild circles, and in the midst of all of it you breathe your name against him.

Hitoshi shivers then says it back to you, repeating it over and over like he's trying to taste it. He’s beautiful. Everywhere. His wings catching the early morning sun rays that shine through your window, his torso lithe and toned, and his length seemingly made for you, sliding inside of you as if that’s where it belongs, where he belongs.

Two parts of one whole, it becomes apparent that this is how it was always meant to be. Fate had plans for you both, and you think—you think even if she hadn’t died, you still would have found your way to Hitoshi.

His rhythm is slow and deep, makes you gasp with every drag and glide until your back is arching and your eyes are watering. He swallows every sound you make, murmuring against your parted lips, “Stay with me, stay with me, I love you.”

You fall apart cradled in his embrace, pulsing and quivering, and as you ride it out, Hitoshi buries every part of himself in you, his face in your neck as he groans low in his throat and lets himself tip over the edge after you.

Both of you pant and tremble, legs still locked, mouths still swollen from fervent kisses. With your head pillowed on his chest, you trace patterns up and down his sternum, enjoying the way he shivers when you ghost over particularly sensitive spots.

You stay swaddled in that calm fog, eyes heavy, head full of everything and nothing at the same time.

Yet, you know that what you say next isn’t born of bad judgement or exhaustion. It’s out of curiosity—possibility.

“So, um… Changelings, huh?”

You don’t even have to look to know that a grin is splitting his gorgeous face.

Hitoshi dips down just enough to kiss the crown of your head, humming into your hair, “Just say the word, love.”

She was sick. Sicker than you knew, possibly sicker than even she knew.

And, that’s why it came as such a shock. Yes, she’d been in the hospital for a couple of weeks, but you’d heard she was stable, that she was getting answers, and that’s all you’d ever wanted for her. She had been so hopeful, looking forward to the future, and then…

You can still remember the feeling that accompanied the news, the cold knife that sliced into you. You remember the way your breaths started to come faster and faster, the way your mind spun out of control—no, no, how could this happen, what is happening, she can’t be gone, she can’t.

Another friend had to talk you down, made you tea and rubbed your back, but you’ll never forget the ache that followed for weeks, a pain you wouldn’t wish on anyone.

It’s physical, visceral, like something has been carved out of you. Everything hurts. Opening your eyes in the morning hurts. Raising a fork to feed yourself hurts. Telling yourself to inhale and exhale hurts.

Because she’ll never do any of those things again. And, there’s guilt in knowing that.

Some days you just wish she would come back. Others, you wish you could take her place.

But, neither of those will happen, so you do what you can to feel close to her: spend time with her friends who are now your family, perform rituals and spells that they’ve taught you—the kind for healing, for inner peace, for self love, and most of all, for remembrance.

You learn the ways of the fair folk, understanding them more and more as you take on their practices, their magic, and it’s during these times, when you're flying up to the beautiful forest canopy, hand-in-hand with Hitoshi, that you feel her presence most.

What happened to the birds?

They're soaring right beside you, singing their song as you sing yours.

I love you. I miss you. But, I'll be okay.

#shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinsou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #tw grief #tw loss #tw depression

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theunholygrails · 3 years

Text

Foolish Games Part 2

Masterlist

A/N: Introducing new characters and some drama! Percy is still sexy as ever :'(.

Warnings: BJ

I woke up to a door slamming so hard it joined the symphony of my pounding headache. I groaned, hoisting myself over the back of the couch to investigate to intrusion. A brunette head of long sweeping hair rushed through the foyer, barreling towards the kitchen. A familiar mop of black hair hurried after.

Reyna was speaking so fast in Spanish my brain scrambled to keep up. I noted lots of curse words followed by a series of sentences too fast I was surprised she even knew what she was saying. Percy was answering in slow measured words, probably fighting a hangover of equal measure. I ducked behind the back of the couch, reaching for my phone plugged in on the coffee table.

It was noon. 2% battery and a couple messages from friends. Nothing from my ex thank gods. Five from Annabeth being nosey. I opened my uber app, squinting in the sunlight breaking through the cream curtains. I managed to get my driver secured.

A door slammed and I winced, peaking to check that they were in another room. I did not immediately spot my dress in the chaotic. I grimaced remembering the midnight swim. When I sat up I finally noticed the white tshirt I wore and the basketball shorts. And then I went rigid remembering what happened after the swim.

“Motherfucker,” I whispered.

Now I really had to get out of this house. I checked the arrival time of my driver. Three minutes away. Great. I made my way on shaky knees to the large wooden front door. My keys were still in the collection dish. I grabbed them quietly and turned the door handle a fraction of an inch before another door slammed open and Reyna came barreling back into the foyer, brown eyes landing promptly on my guilty ass. Behind her, Percy pursed his lips into a thin line and raised both of his hands to lay on top of his head. His biceps strained nicely against the thin t shirt.

“The fuck is this?” Reyna whispered.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” I babbled.

“It’s just Noa, Rey. Gods,” Percy said.

“I can see that, Percy!” She snapped. I was glad her spear was not strapped across her back this morning. “Why is she sneaking out of my house in your clothes?”

“People were swimming last night. Her clothes got wet.”

“I’m sure the fuck they did.”

“Zeus, Rey! You ended it with me. Why does it even matter?”

“Because I still fucking love you! I’m sorry, okay?” She burst out crying and Percy instantly pulled her against his chest. The memory of being in those arms drove me out the door like a nest of hornets.

~~~~

“I’m just saying. You have nothing to feel sorry for,” Annabeth paused to sip her iced coffee. “Unless they get back together and then you sleep with him. But as of right now, you’re good. Trust me. Been on the Percy train. We’re still friends. You’ll get over it. Just a harmless rebound for both of you.”

I groaned, laying my chin on the cool metal table parked outside our favorite coffee shop positioned between our New York apartments. Just two Manhattan women enjoying their Sunday afternoon. The air was cooling as fall neared. I pulled my baseball cap closer to the top of my sunglasses.

“Should I call him?”

“Maybe tomorrow. Let him deal with his relationship drama. Reyna is a lot to deal with. Still nothing from fuckface?”

“Nope and that’s fine.”

“Good for you. We will hydrate you, get you a good dinner, hit the gym before work in the morning and then get back on our bad bitch mental track. Agreed?”

~~~~

“Good Monday, yogis,” I chirped from my desk at the corner of my studio.

The third class was beginning to trickle in and I was settling into my rhythm. Hot yoga was next and hopefully I would sweat out all the negativity I’d allowed lately. I was in the middle of emailing back a potential client when someone rapped at the wood of my desk. I glanced up to a blonde male who waved gently.

“Heya, sansei Noa,” he said.

“That’s karate. Can I help you?”

“Do you do trial classes?”

I hit send on my email and closed my laptop. The guy was built like a poser with the defined muscles and chiseled jaw but his voice was soft and tempered. He was clean shaven and dressed like a basic gym bro.

“Normally you have to schedule them beforehand because of class size,” I gave my standard answer.

“Right, my bad. Sorry. I was just passing by the front and it looked like the kind of place I needed right now. Can I go ahead and pick a date then?”

I was staring too long into his pale blue eyes, honed in on the polite response. A nice change from the daily demanding consumers. “You know what? Ive got space right now if you like? Have you ever done hot yoga?”

A brilliant white smile showcasing sharp canines. “My favorite.”

“Perfect. I just need a name, number and email to get you a file started.”

He leaned large hands on my desk. “It’s Luke Castellan.”

Before he could give the contact information, I cut him off. “Wait. I know you.” His tanned skin paled significantly.

“I…”

“You’re supposed to be dead!” I blurted out.

His eyes skated around the room and he leaned in closer. “That’s not supposed to be public knowledge. I assume you’re a demigod?”

“Luke, you trained me. We took fucking sculpting together. The Apollo table was right next to the Hermes one for fuck’s sake.”

He winced. I heard a murmuring from the rest of my class I was disturbing with my volume. I collected my shock finally. “Take a seat if you want. We should talk after class. I need to start.”

“Okay. Thank you. I’m sorry Noa.”

I waved him off and walked over to my yoga mat. I sat cross legged and drew in an even breath to smooth out my emotions.

It was a slow 30 minute class. Each pose and movement dragged on. Finally, I dismissed the group and nodded Luke outside. He was waiting on the bench outside of the studio I split renting with a few other instructors. I sat next to him, wiping sweat from my face with the towel slung over my pink sports bra.

“Alright, talk,” I said.

“Not much to say. I was given a second chance at my hearing. Here I am. Starting over.” A shrug of well-defined shoulders. The muscles flexed beneath his gleaming sweat. His red tank top stuck to his chest and stomach. “I wish I remembered you, truly. That time is such a blur in my life.”

“It’s ok. You were a lot older than me and to be honest I had a massive crush on you so I probably hid most of the time.”

A surprised smile slipped across his lips. “I’m assuming the betrayal helped you get over that?”

I laughed outloud, slapping his knee. “No shit! So where are you staying these days?”

“Just around the corner actually. Got a job at the local gym.”

“Yeah I bet the fuck you did.” I squeezed his forearm between both of my hands. I wanted to roll my eyes at me falling back into my school girl giddy at him. Betrayal of the gods aside. He was even more gorgeous than ever. The scar down his face gave him a dark sexy vibe. Like a bad boy even though he claimed he was rehabbing himself now.

“So how, did you feel about the class?”

“I mean, I’d like to sign up for it a couple times a week, that’s for sure. And I’d like to take you out to dinner to make up for not remembering a beauty like you.”

I almost bit my cheek biting out the response of “Yes!”

“You’ve got my number,” he said, chuckling quietly. “I’ve got to get to work.” He shouldered his gym bag and excused himself.

The bike back to my apartment was spent reliving my tween fantasies about bad boy Luke. I opened my apartment door and screeched seeing a man sitting at my kitchen counter. Percy turned to face me.

“You know you live in New York? You should really lock that.”

“It was!” I snapped.

A quick grin. “Yeah. But it was easy to break into.”

I dropped my bag onto the floor and brushed past him to get a protein shake from the fridge. “I have to shower and get prepared for my night classes.” I told him.

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t either.”

He paused, studying my face in the shitty lighting of the single bulb hanging between us over the counter. “Are we good, Noa?”

“Of course. What’s a little head between friends?”

“Okay…I can’t read you. Can you not play tough just for a minute?”

I chugged the shake and set the bottle down between us. I leaned my arms on the chilled counter, bun knocking against the light. “Honestly, Percy. I’m fine. We are good.”

“Reyna moved back in.”

“You’re engaged again?”

I drank from the empty bottle to give myself something to do. He watched me with those green eyes. He’d known me for far too long. He was nearly impossible to deceive, but I was determined today. The fact that I had dreamt of fucking him two consecutive nights was irrelevant if he was off the table. Even if his lips did look incredibly juicy tonight. Even if they had done near illicit things to me just nights ago.

“I don’t know. She said she wanted to work on things. And it’s her dad’s house, so I can’t ask her to go and I don’t want to go to my mom’s and admit defeat.”

“You know you could stay here, Perc.”

He worked his jaw silently, then rubbed his hands over his face. “Thanks. I do know. Even if we aren’t officially back together, I think we should work on it…” he trailed off.

“And not tell her about you eating me out?” I leaned closer because I was mean to both him and myself. Because I knew this top combined with this angle gave him a simple opportunity. And he took it.

His tongue slid out between his lips as his eyes flicked down, stayed, then dragged deliberately back up. “Probably not,” he agreed.

For a long moment neither of us said anything. He had more to lose now than me. We were no longer on equal playing fields. So, I left the ball in his court. “I’m going to go shower.”

I was done washing in the first ten minutes. The second ten was giving him a little wiggle room to decide. I had my hand on the faucet to cut off the water that was beginning to go cold when I heard the door creak open. I watched through the fogged glass, catching a hold of my breath. I watched as he tugged his shirt off. My stomach flipped over itself when he reached for his jeans. What had I done?

The opening door let in a rush of cool air, perking my skin to attention. My eyes raked unapologetically over his naked, aroused body. His dark hair quickly slicked against his stubble covered jaw. His eyes were no longer the sea green but murky like the deep water of the ocean.

“Hey,” he said quietly, cautiously.

“Hey,” I giggled, reaching out to touch his rough jaw. He winced, catching my hand with his. “We probably shouldn’t kiss again.”

“Sure, whatever you want, Percy. What can I do to you?”

He groaned, turning his mouth into my palm, scraping teeth against the vulnerable skin. “Touch me,” he said.

My free hand instantly planted against his chest, scraping at the muscle. His eyes fluttered closed, head tilting back to expose his throat. I slid my other hand into his thick hair, tugging it tightly between my fingers and pulling to grant myself more access to the strong column of his neck. I bit it first, backing him into the tiled wall when he shuddered. I kissed over the reddening skin and moved my hands to his flat stomach, feeling the shuddered breaths beneath my touch.

“Like this?” I asked.

His reply was unintelligible. I kissed down his chest, moving my hand lower still as I went. When my fingers brushed over the v-line of his hips, I shifted my route away from the center and to his thighs. An annoyed grunt escaped his lips. “Hush,” I scolded, getting my knees under me. The now cold water was hitting the back of my neck and flowing down my body. I placed my hands on the inside of both his thighs, trailing them upwards and upwards until he nearly contorted when I gripped him. He let out a scandalous string of curses that quickly turned to moaning silence when I took him into my mouth.

He unraveled in minutes and I let him cum all over the breasts I had teased him with earlier. I rose in front of him, my own rosy cheeks mirroring his. “Now we’re even.”

#percy jackson smut #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson #logan lerman smut #logan lerman fanfiction

242 notes · View notes

yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

bad boy good thing x.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 8, 711

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a/n:

so here is the mini monster chap !! i know I said this was going to be a drabble series but I clearly got carried away LOL

anyways, no spoilers for this chap but I can say it's one of my favs that I've written and I think we see oc getting the comfort that she deserves (and needs!)

and also !! this is my first time updating a series on tumblr and it feels *exciting* hehe, I hope you enjoy this chapter c:

let me know your thoughts in my asks!! i'd love to hear what you think so far :3

all the love and I hope you're having a great

day/night/evening/afternoon wherever you are ❤️

“Open up!”

The only person that would opt to yell to get your attention than ring on your doorbell like a normal person would be Yena. And it helped that you immediately recognised her voice from the first syllable she uttered. That and you were currently moping in your living room with lactose-free ice cream, courtesy of Jimin that dropped it off a day ago when he heard that you were ‘sick’. Even if you hadn’t seen him face-to-face, you remember him softly hoping you’d get better.

You don’t know why she’s at your door, but you’re already on your feet to get her when you hear her begin to mutter curses directed at you behind the thin wood of your entrance.

“I can hear you!” You call.

“Well bitch then open the damn door!” She snaps.

You roll your eyes, and so far with the number of times you’ve hung out with her, it’s safe to say that the two of you were comfortable. You never knew how fun having a girl best friend was until you met Yena, and sure it’s only been a little under two weeks since you’ve gotten to know her through various messages and FaceTimes, but you feel like she’s your friend soulmate.

And when you expressed that to her over a FaceTime call a few nights back, you remember her gagging all while you flush and attempt to take it back. You know her candidly calling you bitch rather than your name was her saying she felt the same.

You pull the door open as she stands there with her eyes narrowed into slits, eyeing you up and down before she scrunches her nose.

“There’s a thing called a shower that you should look into. You look like a rundown version of long-haired Noah Beck.” She grimaces when she eyes you up and down.

You scowl. “You did not just compare me to him.”

She clicks her tongue before she shoves you aside by shoving a plastic bag of the takeout food into your arms and steps into your apartment.

Yena ignores the glare you shoot at the back of her neck when she looks around your living room, scrunching her nose like she was here to inspect your room than pay you a visit.

“Did someone die in here or was that just your will to live?”

You scoff. “Wow. Drag me.”

She waves you off before plopping onto your couch while you sigh, immediately heading to the kitchen to prep the food she brought over.

“For a moment I thought you were dead.” She confesses casually.

When you return with bowls and plates, with the cutlery to match—you give her a dry look before you’re taking your seat on the floor; attempting to hide your half-eaten tub of ice cream, which Yena immediately spots.

“So your first instinct was to yell at my door in hopes that I wasn’t actually dead?” You ask dryly.

She picks up your ice cream and grimaces at it, silently judging you for the flavour before she gives you a shrug.

“Yeah. I was hoping that your spirit would confer.”

You snort. “And the food?”

“A peace offering.” She tells you like it’s obvious.

You sigh, you loved Yena—you really did. She was all over the place and random, but it was a refreshing difference that you needed in your life from the usual law and order you often opted for.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your concern,” You tell her, pulling out a container to see your favourite lemon chicken as you eye her suspiciously. “But what brings you here? I told you I was sick.”

Yena scoffs. “And sick you are, bitch. What kind of sick person devours ice cream? Sure, you look the part but your diet says otherwise. Don’t think I didn’t see the empty packet of snickers in the trash.”

You scowl.

“I recovered yesterday.” You lie, taking a bite out of the chicken.

Yena rolls her eyes and you know she doesn’t believe you. She leans into your couch while she watches you eat, “Namjoon texted me that you may need some company.” At that, you choke.

Her eyes widen as you hit at your chest to get the food to go down, eyes still wide at her revelation.

“Why would he do that?” You cry.

“Girl, I know you’re not trying to deflect—you’re literally about to choke and die.”

You glare at her. “I’m fine.” You cough for good measure, then you’re levelling another serious gaze at her.

“I’m fine.” You reiterate with an emphasis on your state even though you were anything but. “I don’t know why the hell he thinks I need company.” You mutter under your breath.

At this, Yena’s face softens as she leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees while you avoid her gaze; idly poking at your food.

“I don’t know either, and you don’t need to tell me anything.” She says softly. “That’s all I’m here for. To be your company, whether you need it or not.”

You don’t know how much Namjoon told her over a text message, but you don’t think it’s much. Purely because he didn’t seem like a snitch and he was too respectful to ever let other people into the business that wasn’t his own. Even at the thought, you want to groan because you essentially lured him into thinking it was okay for him to kiss you while you were … you don’t even know what the fuck was happening anymore.

“I—” You say weakly, and all Yena does is offer you a comforting smile.

For some reason, the fact that she’s here right in front of you after you spent the day crying and feeling like your heart has been repeatedly stomped over with the addition of your rumination—it feels nice to have someone with you, even if it’s just their presence.

But the way she doesn’t look at you and expects something out of your conversation makes you feel even more overwhelmed, and that’s probably why the dam breaks.

Yena’s eyes widen as she immediately darts out to wrap her arms around you when you end up in violent sobs. You don’t know why you’re crying but you are, and you’re tired of hiding things, your feelings and your intent just to pretend like things were okay.

“It’s okay.” She strokes your hair and it feels warm, like a mother comforting a crying baby and you realise that this is what friends should feel like.

“N-no it’s n-not!” You cry into her shirt and it’s messy, but she doesn’t seem like she minds. Especially when she supports your pliable frame.

“You wanna talk about it?” She asks softly, giving you a kind smile.

You sniffle, staring forward as you feel your eyes swell with the escalation of your tears.

“I don’t know.” You whisper.

She hums, “It’s okay not to know. You don’t need to know everything.”

“I’m just so tired, Yena.” You tell her in a hushed breath.

“Life is difficult.” She admits. “It’s natural to be tired.”

You’re thankful to hear that she doesn’t comfort you with blind optimism. She’s real and she acknowledges how shitty things may be, and frankly, you didn’t need another wannabe altruist telling you that things will get better. You knew that, everyone did. But when you’re at rock bottom and all you see is darkness, you’re not looking for better. You’re looking for a reason to continue.

“Can I say something?” She asks. The way she looks at you is soft and open, and non-judgemental. You feel safe.

You nod your head, teary eyes staring up at her.

“You’re not responsible for anyone’s feelings except your own.” She looks at you so seriously that you nearly feel your breath escape. “There are things that you can and cannot control—and the latter usually falls under the people around you.”

You suck in a breath, and you wonder how she’s so spot on without ever touching on the true context.

“Namjoon texted me but I didn’t come here because he asked me to. It’s because you deserve to have someone be around you when you’re clearly not okay.”

“I’m—”

“You’re not.” She blinks, and you almost pout at her firm tone. “And that’s okay. I don’t need to know what happened to justify how you feel. You could’ve stubbed your toe and feel like absolute shit and I have absolutely no right to judge you on how or when you feel emotions.”

You wonder where she’s been your entire life and why she was only in your life now.

“But the thing is,” She sighs. “You don’t always have to choose between something or the other. Sometimes you need to choose yourself.”

You stare up at her in awe because Yena was cool in general, her laidback and unbending personality was mainly what drew you to her because you’d argue you were the opposite. Even if Jungkook’s words stung, you could take it at face value and accept that it was true.

You were uptight and you were a bit of a prude, and for the longest time, you always resented that aspect of you. But you realised with Yena, she had traits that were resented in a woman as well. And you realise that you’d never be perceived the way you want unless you perceive yourself in a positive light first.

So when she speaks to you so sternly, yet with a tone of care as she picks apart her words so carefully—you realise what you have to do.

“I think I like Jungkook.”

Yena pauses for a brief second, but you don’t see any judgement in her face. Just confusion, a warranted emotion you don’t blame her for having.

“I figured as much.”

Your eyes widened, “How—?”

It’s almost like a repeat of the first night at the football game when you befriended each other, but she only shoots you a gentle smile.

“Call it a woman’s intuition.”

You blink, fiddling with your fingers before you stare up at her, continuing your drawls.

“And we kissed.”

At this, Yena cocks an eyebrow up, “Was this recent?”

You fiddle with your thumbs before you sigh and push yourself up.

“Thing is …” You mumble, “I’m not like that.”

You don’t answer her question because you can’t think of a proper enough response to tell her that yeah—you did kiss him, amongst other things that you foolishly allowed yourself to indulge in. You knew Yena wasn’t judgemental but you also knew that you couldn’t retrieve your words the moment they left your mouth. It was your own judgement that stopped you from saying the things you really wanted and it sucked, royally. Because you could tell that Yena wasn’t out here to crucify you for being … liberated. She just wanted to be there for you.

Yena scrunches her eyebrows in confusion as she allows your words to settle, pondering a response.

She settles for a huff, “Care to elaborate?”

“I don’t … do things like that.” You say softly. “I’m shy and quiet. I’m not active in the social sphere and I only have three friends that I can reach out to if I wanna hang out. But even then, I don’t … I don’t like partying, or drinking, or loud spaces. I’m awkward and horrible at social interaction let alone being able to navigate my romantic feelings. And … I felt so bad about it.”

Yena’s eyes soften, but you can’t look at her just yet. Not when this is the first time you’ve ever laid yourself vulnerable, emotionally that is, to someone that wasn’t just the confines of your thoughts.

“I always wondered what it’d like to be confident, to be liked on campus and not just be known as the smart girl.” You whisper. “My entire personality was built around my achievements and I didn’t know what else to do. What if … what if I peak here and fail after?” Your eyes are wide in despair, and you feel your lips quiver when you speak.

“You’ll never know.” Yena reminds you gently. “You won’t know who likes you or what people say about you—but you’re going to be hearing your own thoughts 24/7 and that’s what kicks you down or drives you further.”

You sigh, nodding your head.

“It’s just … Jungkook and I were close. We grew up together even if he’s younger than me. But we just got along well and he … he saw me. He used to comfort me whenever I’d tell him how pressuring it got and—I feel so stupid because he probably says that to everyone and I fell for it.” You chuckle with no emotion, staring at the stray thread poking outside of your couch pillow.

“Have you spoken to him about your feelings?” She asks softly.

Immediately, you scoff and the sour emotion peaks through again.

“He’s made it clear what he wants to hear from me.” You mutter.

Yena purses her lips before resting her hands gently on your shoulder.

“You’re not answering my question, ______.” She chides gently.

You nibble on your bottom lip and shake your head. That earns a sigh from her as she wraps her arms around you once again, resting her chin on your shoulder as you allow yourself to feel the comfort of her warmth.

“He kissed me first and we did things together.” Your lips quiver when you recall the memories, “A-And he’s with Jennie. I just …” You flutter your eyes shut, “I don’t want to say that I’m the other girl but I feel a lot like a second option and it sucks.”

Yena doesn’t ask, and she doesn’t need to. She doesn’t need to justify why you felt the way you did, so she holds you tighter.

“Babe.” She gently turns you to look at her with both hands resting on your shoulders. “Did you talk to him? Properly? Do you really know if he’s with her?”

“I think them kissing proves enough to me.” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re being so hostile, especially to Yena.

She purses her lips, “You kissed him and you aren’t together.”

You wince and she shoots you an apologetic look. She sighs before reaching out to squeeze your hand, all while you stare at the ground to level out your emotions.

“I’m not saying that you can’t feel the way you do. But I’m offering objectivity here. Men are … they’re blunt creatures and that’s the biggest difference between men and women.” You furrow your eyebrows as she takes a deep breath before she continues. “And the idea that we’re equal? No, we’re not. I’m not talking about our systemic positions in society but on an emotional level. Men take things surface value and work with it, they don’t stop to think about the layers of feelings that go into interpersonal relationships with friends, family or lovers. Women? We go big or we go home. All we see is the big picture and sometimes the little details get lost in translation. This isn’t me justifying Jungkook playing home with you or Jennie at the same time, but offering you a perspective that may be hard for you to see because you aren’t him.”

It was true, and you hated yourself for being aware but not putting action based on your own thoughts. Yena only reaffirmed the idea that you overthought every single interaction and maybe that was why you were the one that was hurting.

That, or you and Jungkook had horrible communication problems that neither of you was ready to face just yet. But how could you? When the two of you were on two different wavelengths and you were trying to be just enough for him while he was jumping off pedestals to see you.

It didn’t feel nice, and it sucked because he was the same person that comforted you and broke you all at once.

“I’m scared.” You whisper.

She smiles at you gently, patting your head gently as you peer up at her with tears between your lashes.

“And that’s okay.” She reassures you with a soft voice, “The only thing scarier than being scared is not feeling at all.”

Before you go to where your heart tells you to—your mind is the only thing that keeps you rooted in some form of rationale. That’s probably why you’re outside of Namjoon’s dorm. You don’t think you’ve ever paid his place a visit despite him telling you his address on multiple occasions, usually opting to hang out in public yet serene places where you were able to get a breather.

Your feet feel heavy and your fist is raised, but it barely moves. Especially when you’re just eyeing his door like a deer caught in headlights. You’ve rehearsed the apology on your tongue a million times, even if you don’t really know what you’re apologising for. But you feel like you must, particularly because you’ve senselessly let him see all of the feelings that you were trying to suppress in hopes of retaining the same ones he had for you.

You take a deep breath and deliver the first knock, the vibrations making your arm feel weak.

But you’re tired of always surrendering to bigger and more frightening things that you could understand. So you purse your lips and play the waiting game.

It seems like a long twenty minutes that you wait, but in reality, it’s only two when the door swings open. You brace yourself to see Namjoon, apology already sitting on your tongue.

You should’ve dropped a text, you knew that. But you decided against it because you haven’t spoken to Namjoon since what happened a few days ago. Neither of you speaking about the kiss or the way your eyes glistened when you saw Jungkook and Jennie together.

“____?” He asks confusedly.

You give him a meek smile, “Hi. Can I come in?”

He blinks at you, and you notice he still has his glasses that he usually forgoes during the times you’ve hung out—and you feel a little guilty for catching him at a bad time.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Sure.”

Namjoon steps aside and you’re welcomed into the space of his living room. The first thing you notice is the interior, and how … Namjoon it was. It’s both cluttered and neat, the palette of his furniture matching the overall vibe he emanated. His furniture is mostly wood, light sandalwood that makes it feel all the homier.

And you tell him such, “You have a very homey place.”

Namjoon turns his head to look at you right before he plops himself back onto his couch where you see the bits and pieces of paper scrambled across the floor and the couch. Even then, he was able to look so welcoming even though you reckon he has a right to be hostile—for a reason you came here to apologise for.

“Thank you.” He flushes, patting a spot in front of him for you to take your seat.

When you settle, the atmosphere turns strained when you mull over your words so that you wouldn’t stumble over them. You practised, you did—about a hundred times before you came here and you thought you were ready to apologise and put things behind you but it’s proven difficult when all he does is look at you in earnest.

“Not that I—uh—mind,” He mumbles, “But is there a reason why you’re here?”

You blink at him as you ignore the quiver in your heart.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt.

“_____ why are you—”

“You didn’t deserve what happened the other day.” You interject, voice soft but unwavering when you force yourself to look at him as his eyes widen.

“I wasn’t the one that saw something I shouldn’t have.” He reminds you with a frown.

You swallow, “I kissed you. And you …” It wasn’t helping that he was looking at you so gently as he awaits your continuation. “You didn’t need to save me back then, Namjoon.” You end in a whisper.

Namjoon reaches out to grab your shoulder, touch gentle as he searches for your eyes.

“I didn’t save you …” He tells you tenderly.

“It’s not just that!” You exasperate while you throw your hands up in the air. “I-it’s everything … from the way you treat me and the way you look at me. You didn’t need to do any of that and you even—” You trail off, fluttering your eyes shut. “—what did you say to Jungkook right before we left?”

Namjoon’s eyes enlarge as his grip becomes tense against your shoulder. You can almost see the way his mind kicks into gear as he thinks of a response.

“That—I—does it matter?” He huffs.

Your eyes soften, “Namjoon.” You force yourself to look at him even if now he was the one that tries to avoid your gaze. “What did you say?”

Namjoon tightens his lips before he sighs deeply, head dropping forward before he looks at you.

“I told him to be honest.” He says softly.

You furrow your eyebrows, “To be honest …?”

“I know you have feelings for him.”

Your face blanches when Namjoon basically exposes you. It’s one thing for you to be self-aware of your complicated feelings towards the other boy. But when someone else points it out, especially when it’s Namjoon—the boy who’s been nothing but kind and patient with you while you’re too busy being caught up in your emotions—it’s like a slap across your face.

“I-I don’t—”

“You don’t need to lie to save my face, ______.” He chuckles dryly, eyes darting away as he tries to neutralise his expression. You wince at the spite he establishes, but you know deep down that Namjoon isn’t angry at you. No, he was far too understanding to be. Disappointed? Frustrated? Sure, but never angry,

The silence answers for you when you look away this time, eyebrows scrunched as you attempt to navigate the conversation. You came here to apologise, and to be honest.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“Don’t.” He takes a deep breath as you flinch. “Don’t … apologise.” He sighs.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on, Namjoon.” You murmur apologetically.

He shoots you a half-hearted chuckle, “You didn’t do anything. Really.”

“But I did, Namjoon. I kissed you back.” You frown.

“That doesn’t imply anything. I kissed you, and you reciprocated. We all kiss someone and not mean anything by it.”

You flinch, and you’re familiar with that more than anyone else. The reminder only stings because it makes you realise that you were not much different from Jungkook, the same person you’ve claimed to have messed with you and fucked you over.

“I’m—”

“Please don’t apologise anymore.” He says. “I already feel like shit.”

You smile sadly at him, “How do you manage to be so nice even when other’s do you wrong?”

Namjoon sighs, then he grabs both your hands in his. “You didn’t wrong me, _____. It’s not your fault you don’t feel the same way I do.”

“How did you …” You trail off.

“How did I know you had feelings for Jungkook?” He chuckles. “The same way he knew I had feelings for you.”

You purse your lips, eyes dropping to your lap. “It’s not that simple, Namjoon …” You say softly.

Namjoon smiles at you gently, “Is it?” He gently nudges your knee with his so that you’d look at him. “Life is simple. It’s not easy. But it’s simple.”

You scoff even if a small smile teases your lips, “You really are a philosophy major, aren’t you?”

The two of you grin in tandem before he purses his lips, possible mulling over something before he faces you.

“The two of you are close so … why beat around the bush?”

Your eyes flutter shut, shaking your head. “Like I said, it’s really not that simple.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but it’s not to mock or taunt you. Namjoon simply sees a naive, yet an intelligent girl who doesn’t see what’s right in front of her.

“Remember what I said? I’m a simple guy.” He reminds you, lips in a grin. “Try me.”

You snort, but you’re still nervous. You still remember that he has feelings for you, so you’re hesitant. And he immediately recognises the guilt-ridden expression that you mar.

Namjoon shoots you a stern glare, “Don’t overthink it.”

You sigh.

“Jungkook and I …” You start, fiddling with your thumbs. “We grew up together.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes and shoots you another one of his bland stares. “I know the history. I just want to know why?”

You furrow your brows, “Why?”

“Why the two of you insist on being so emotionally constipated.”

You gape at his audacity, and you’re glad the atmosphere isn’t as tense because Namjoon simply snickers at your reaction.

“I am not—!”

He waves you off, “Really?” He adds dryly.

You purse your lips and relent, even if you didn’t want to agree with him—you knew that he was … right. To a certain extent.

“We kissed.” You blurt.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, “That’s not surprising.”

You shoot him a dry look before he raises his hands in defence.

“He was my first kiss.”

At this, Namjoon’s widen.

“When you were in high school?” He pries.

You flush, embarrassed that you had to tell him otherwise.

“Two months ago.” You mutter.

Namjoon splutters, and you can’t help but glare at him when he quite literally chokes on his spit. You know you caught him off guard, but him rubbing salt in the wound that’s relatively fresh makes you scowl.

“Oh.” He clears his throat. Then he repeats, “Oh.”

You scoff, “Yeah. Oh.”

“Then … what happened?” You know he’s treading carefully with you when he asks you his question softly.

You purse your lips, and you recall every single moment you’ve shared with him. From giggles to hushed kisses, to intimate touches and sweat-stained sheets that have you gasping for air. You remember it all, and they meant … they meant the world to you, but just a speck in his memory.

“Things escalated and we … did stuff together.” You wince.

Namjoon nods in understanding, he gestures his hands around, “Like—”

“I’m a virgin.”

Namjoon blinks.

“And for the longest time, I felt embarrassed about it.”

“Oh.”

“I struggled to find my footing between being sexually liberated and being a woman because for the longest time I thought those two were mutually exclusive. For me, at least.” You say softly.

Namjoon only stares at you.

“And I always wanted validation from someone else to tell me that what I was doing was the right thing to do. Or the supposed thing to do. Never what I really wanted to do.”

“Not that I’m uncomfortable but … why are you letting me in on this?” Namjoon asks with a raised brow.

“Because I want to do something for myself for once.” You whisper.

“Okay …?”

“Why do you like me? Even if I’m … boring and not as sexy as other women?”

You sound pathetic, and the first person you find yourself comparing yourself to is Jennie—a beautiful, confident woman who looked so assured in herself.

“You’re not—”

You groan.

“Namjoon.”

“Okay.” He sighs. “If you’re asking me if I care that you’re a virgin, then no. I really don’t. Because frankly, that concept to me is false and problematic. Whether or not you’ve had sex or not isn’t any of my business.”

You duck your head.

“And I like you because you’re interesting. You’re funny and you’re assured in your own way. You don’t need to be a certain standard of pretty or sexy or whatever for me to like you. I like you because of the time we’ve spent together and that I’ve gotten to know you. The real you and not the person I admired from afar but the girl who throws in jokes out of nowhere but fits so well with the situation. The girl who’s willing to spend three extra hours of her time to help with content that wasn’t prescribed to her. I like you because I’d like to think I’ve grown to understand who you are.”

Namjoon says all of those things while staring at you straight in the face and you feel compelled to cry. Because no one has ever been so honest with you and you hate that your heart can’t reciprocate what should be an easy feeling that comes naturally.

“Fuck.”

His eyes widen.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He coos, a hand petting your hair gently as you sniffle.

“It’s not, Namjoon. Everything sucks because everything is so complicated. Why can’t I just have feelings for you instead?”

It’s selfish, and Namjoon winces. But you’re so overwhelmed that you miss it, and Namjoon is too nice to point his own feelings out.

“You don’t pick and choose your battles, _____.” He murmurs softly.

“That’s not what my mom told me.” You whimper.

He chuckles, “Yeah. Most people like to believe that because it makes them think that they have a choice over the bad things that happen in their lives. But in reality? They don’t. No one decides what happens to them. You pick and choose how you react to things. How you deal with situations and what you make out of those situations is what you can choose to do. You don’t like me, and that’s fine. You don’t have to just because I’m nice to you, _____. Being nice is the absolute bare minimum and something that everyone should feel and do.”

Your face crumbles, “Why are you so wise?”

Namjoon smiles, “I’m not. It’s called offering a different perspective. Just because I see things one way doesn’t make me any better than you who sees things in another. That’s why we meet different types of people throughout our lives. The good, the bad, the in-between. There’s always something people offer to us in the midst of chaos.”

You sigh.

“I’m sorry, Namjoon.”

He pats your head, “I said don’t apologise.”

“No, but I want to. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and you picked up a shitty situation to be in when Jungkook and Jennie were at the library. Even right after I kissed you. That was … a horrible thing to do. I shouldn’t have done that just because—just because I was confused … you don’t deserve that.”

He doesn’t look angry, and that’s even worst because you want him to react, to call you a bitch and say that you were a horrible person.

“I don’t.” He shrugs while you wince. “But a lot of the times we don’t deserve a lot of things that we get. And that’s okay. You did what you thought was justified then, and there’s nothing you can do to change it. But you’re hurting too, and you’re confused—that’s what drove you to do the things that you did, and even here. That’s why you’re apologising to me, right? Because you’re not as confused anymore?”

You shake your head.

“I am, I’m still so confused.” You whisper.

“Then let me offer you another perspective.”

You look up to him with big eyes as he smiles at you gently.

“You have feelings for Jungkook.” You immediately flinch, even if he didn’t hit you. But Namjoon continues. “You’re trying to keep the picture as simple as you can even if it hurts you in the process. But

“You don’t understand, Namjoon … we … did things … that I’m not proud off …”

“You don’t have to—”

“He was my first kiss. My first … sexual experience. Even if it was just … third base,” You cringe, but Namjoon isn’t judging you at all. “A-and that’s all I was to him. An experience.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Do I, Namjoon?” You say softly. “He said things to me that were so hurtful. And a stupid part of me forgives him but it still hurts every time I think about it and when I see him with Jennie.”

You whisper the words Jungkook’s said to you, and for the first time, you see Namjoon’s jaw harden. The most emotion that wasn’t rationale you’ve seen in Namjoon ever since you first arrived.

“I know it hurts.” He murmurs, holding you close. “And I really don’t want it to seem like I’m justifying his words … but would you want to hear me out?”

You purse your lips and nod nevertheless.

“Jungkook isn’t a bad person.” You blink, you never thought he was. “I know you don’t think he is but you want to. Because of the things he’s said to you because why would a good person say those kinds of things, right? But the world isn’t black and white like that. There’s a grey area where 99% of the population falls into because we operate on emotion and sometimes we say things that we may feel but not necessarily believe in.”

“Jungkook … he’s still young. And I know we’re in college and stuff but he’s still three years younger than I am and two years younger than you. He’s spoken to me about how hard it was to adjust to a high school life where you, Jimin and Tae weren’t a part of. And I don’t know about you but if the only friends I’ve ever known suddenly left because they had to … I wouldn’t know what to do either. He was at a point in his life where his environment played a huge part in the values and internalised beliefs he had.”

You look away as you reflect on his words, nibbling on your bottom lip.

“He mixed around with different groups of people, and I hate this saying but it’s still a common belief to many—especially people his age, almost out of high school. But the ‘boys will be boys’ mentality is more than just misogyny and sexism, but a culture where it feeds off complacency and peer pressure. Jungkook suddenly had to shift from three, good friends who were progressive and influential in an objectively good way to people he was obliged to like because they were his peers.”

You gape at him, purely because you knew that Namjoon was smart and wise but his introspection leaves you breathless and enlightened.

“But that doesn’t change the core of Jungkook,” Namjoon says. “He’s still Jungkook. He doesn’t know how to ask for things that he wants without feeling like he’s betraying his masculinity. And again, I’m not justifying his actions because he’s a grown man too. But he’s lost, and the only thing he knows to uphold this sense of masculinity is by being sexually liberated. Even if he conflates his own emotions with his endeavours.”

“I … I don’t even know what to say Namjoon.” You murmur, eyes looking up through your lashes.

“You don’t need to say anything. I just want you to be honest to yourself, not anyone else. But yourself.” He tells you, carding a gentle hand over your head.

You fiddle with your thumbs.

“What do you want?”

Despite you confiding two different people, you find yourself at a convenience store at 12AM, scarfing down ramen from a cup noodle because your mind was a funny place when it was muddled with a hundred different thoughts. You knew sleep wasn’t an option for you either, and you were hungry. But somehow you didn’t have anything back in your apartment that screamed ‘I’m in a crisis’ enough for you to eat.

Which is why you’re here, while the cashier keeps his eyeball to himself when he sees yet another college student who’s probably having their third mental breakdown of the day.

It is, but not for the right reasons, you think dryly.

You think you’re alone until the chime of the bell momentarily distracts you and you turn your head to acknowledge the next lone customer who may be going through their own set of issues, or had a fucked up sleeping schedule.

But you’re not expecting to make eye contact with Jennie, out of everyone or any stranger you could’ve come across.

She spots you, shoots you a weird look that has you nearly choking on a string of noodles before she moves on to what she came here to do and stops at the snack section, skimming through her options before she settles on a pack of shrimp chips. Your heart churns because they were Jungkook’s favourite. You don’t want to wonder why she picked them.

You turn to your noodles, scarf them down some more because you want to eat your thoughts away even if you’re half-considering to call Jungkook, tell him you wanted to talk. But you knew that if you spoke to him now when you were still sorting out your thoughts, you’d end up in a situation you won’t be ready to deal with.

So when you poke at your food and sigh to yourself, you almost miss the way the stool beside you scrapes against the floor as you cringe.

You turn to shoot a petty glare at the person, and you see Jennie; casually tearing open her chips and popping one into her mouth

You blink at her, and you’re left even more speechless when she juts her hand out as if to offer you a shrimp cracker. Like it was a weird symbol of a truce. Even if you weren’t really … enemies.

“Want some?”

You stare at her, and before you can think twice your lips are moving.

“The crackers or your company?” You say dryly.

Her eyes widen, and so does yours. You didn’t expect to say your exact thoughts and you don’t think she expected a quiet, timid girl like you to have said that—out loud at least. Like Yena said, everyone has a mean bone in them. Some longer and larger than others, but they were still there.

“Wow.” She huffs, but she doesn’t seem offended. “Rude, much?”

You wince and feel compelled to apologise. “Sorry.”

She waves you off and you feel odd to be sitting next to her. You always expected her to be more malicious, a lot more of a bitch. And you frown to yourself because you suppose it’s your own preconceived notions of her due to the association she has with Jungkook that had you thinking of her that way.

“What’s someone like you doing here on a weekday?” She asks off-handedly.

The term ‘someone like you’ doesn’t sit well with you, and you scowl.

“I’m eating. What does it look like?” You retort, and Jennie only raises an eyebrow at your response. Much like an angry kitten.

“Damn, I was just asking.” She mutters under her breath, “I’m hungry. Needed a snack.” She shakes the crackers in front of you, “You sure you don’t want one?”

You can’t believe her as you gape at her easy-going state when she thrusts the bag of crackers into your face yet again.

“No.” You furrow your brows, gently pushing it away as she shrugs her shoulders.

“It’s good.” She reasons, and you don’t know why she’s so adamant about having you take one.

The irrational part of you thinks she wants to poison you, to eliminate you for good so she won’t have to deal with your pathetic pining over a person that wasn’t even yours.

“I know.” You mutter. “I tried it before.”

Jennie nods her head slowly, observing the content of the packet on the back before she turns to face you, “Jungkook introduced this to me. Didn’t see the appeal but it’s addictive.”

You freeze, and your ramen soup is getting cold with the way you haven’t prodded at it for a while and in the air-conditioning in the convenience store. You feel your stomach drop, especially now that your initial suspicions were confirmed.

“That’s nice.” You grit. It really isn’t.

“Did he introduce it to you?” She asks with a tilt of her head.

Why you’re still talking to her, or why she was bothering to talk to you when she’s ignored you all this while—you aren’t sure. But you still answer her despite the spite that forms in your chest.

“I introduced it to him.” You inform.

She hums, unbothered. It only irritates you more.

“Is there a reason?” You huff. “Why you’re here?”

She raises an eyebrow, “I’m hungry?”

You scoff. “No.” You slam the table ever so slightly because even if you were annoyed and confused, you weren’t that brave and you didn’t want to cause a scene at a convenience store at midnight. “Why are you here. Talking to me.”

Jennie blinks at you, then stares at you for seconds too long that you flush under her unwavering stare before she ends up in a fit of giggles. You almost think she’s here to mock you, to call you out on your pathetic and humiliating pining for someone who doesn’t care about you the same way you do to him. But she pats you on the shoulder, and you want to think it’s condescending but it doesn’t seem that way at all.

“You’re an acquaintance. You looked like you needed the company.”

You frown, “I don’t.”

She rolls her eyes, munching on another chip.

“You do. Your posture looks depressing.”

“Excuse me?” You scowl.

“It’s true.” She shrugs. “You don’t seem the type to be here wallowing unless it’s really bad. You seem like you have your shit together.”

And because your mind is already muddled and confused, and filled with irrational thoughts. Her words set you off, and you seem to be underrating or overreacting more than usual. So you snap, you shove your cup aside that the soup nearly sloshes out and send her a glare so blazing that Jennie’s caught off guard.

“And you think you know me well enough to gauge whether or not I’m ‘like this’ or the type to have a perfect mental breakdown regimen because I’m smart?” You seethe. Jennie’s eyes widen. “I have mental breakdowns like every other student and I binge eat when I’m stressed and I fuck up from time to time. I curse, yes! I see your face. Oh does she not curse? Well, look at me, bitch. I can curse like a motherfucking sailor at sea when the fishes come because I’m human. I’m just like you. So fuck off with your ‘you seem like you have your shit together’ because I don’t and I’m so fucking annoyed with your stupid face whenever I see it because it only reminds me of Jungkook!”

The silence is defining, even the cashier stops counting his bills for the night because you don’t hear the rubbing of money together. You feel his stare on your back, and more pressingly, you feel Jennie’s shocked expression linger on your face, and now that you’ve come down from your rage. Your face heats up in embarrassment.

You don’t even recall what you said, except for the fact you’ve mentioned her and Jungkook in the same sentence. And your face pales.

“I …” She chokes.

You flush, before you’re turning away, snatching your belongings to leave and forget this convenience store and never return because you don’t think you can show your face here ever again.

But before you’re able to make a run for it, a hand grabs your elbow that stops you from moving any further.

“This is already as embarrassing—” You exasperate, trying to snatch your arm away.

“For a girl so smart, you’re really dumb, aren’t you?” She deadpans.

You gape, finding enough strength to retrieve your arm as you stare at her with a dumbfounded expression.

“Excuse me—?”

“Firstly, let’s unpack what you just said because there are a lot of things that need to be dissected here.” She says blankly.

You scowl, “Look I don’t—”

“One.” She blinks as if she was doing a presentation for a course and not talking to an alleged acquaintance. “I don’t think you should act a certain way just because you’re smart. You’re entitled to your own mechanisms and I’m not judging you for them. I was simply pointing out my own observations, and I’m sorry for being insensitive.”

You’re stunned to silence, because did Jennie just … apologise to you?

“Two.” She says. You listen silently. “I think you have things you need to talk to Jungkook about, and frankly—I would’ve stayed away if I knew that the two of you were a thing.”

“We’re not a thing!” You cry, face flushed.

She shoots you an unimpressed look, “Really. So that oddly targeted blow-up was because of your mental breakdown and not because you don’t have feelings for Jungkook?”

She’s the third person to call you out the same day, or within the first one in the next. And it’s even more embarrassing because it’s the girl you’ve compared yourself to countless times because of your own insecurities.

“Yes.” You snap childishly.

Jennie sighs, gesturing for you to sit on the stool. You want to defy her out of spite, but you’ve already gotten this far into the conversation and you feel like you’d miss out on something if you left now.

“Why are you mad at me?” She asks.

“I-I’m not mad—” You weakly protest.

“You are. There’s anger in you and if it’s not directed to Jungkook then it’s directed to me. Is it because I’m a woman?”

Your eyes widen, “What—?”

“Let me reword that,” She sighs. “Is it because I’m the woman with Jungkook?”

You flinch at her declaration, especially since she indirectly confessed to being with him, while you weren’t.

“I don’t …” You trail off in a whisper.

“I don’t blame you for being angry.” She says. “But I need you to understand that I would never have done anything with him if I knew that the two of you were together.”

“We’re not.” You blink, and her unimpressed look is still there that makes you speak a little louder. “We’re not together.”

She opens her mouth to say something, then shuts it. You see her furrow her eyebrows before she settles for a response that comes a few moments after.

“Okay, then if you’re not together then why the resentment?” She puts it so simply and now that you’re listening to her, you feel a lot stupider.

“I just …” You croak, fiddling with your fingers, “I don’t …”

She sighs, “Listen. We’re both women here. I know how it feels to be left in the dark when it comes to things like this but there’s no point in being angry at me when in reality it’s Jungkook you need to talk to. If you aren’t together then I don’t understand why you’re angry with me—or with him.”

You sit there in silence, nearly pouting like a scolded child.

“You’re his type.” You say softly.

Jennie pauses before she raises an eyebrow.

“And you believe that?”

You furrow your eyebrows, “I mean, of course?” You mumble, “You’re pretty, confident and sexy. Any guy would like you.”

For a moment, you think you’ve said too much. Looked to vulnerable. But Jennie doesn’t do the typical mean girl thing where she laughs in your face and threatens to expose you. Instead, her eyes soften, and her hand reaches out to hold yours.

“____.” She calls your name gently, and you look away, embarrassed. “You’re pretty. You’re confident. You are sexy.”

You flush, “No. I’m not.”

She scoffs, “_____, there isn’t a set definition of what a pretty woman is like. Nor is there a one-dimensional understanding of a confident woman. There are confident women who strut in their walk and commands all the attention in the room. But there are also quiet, assured women who are intelligent and confident in their capabilities. Both of them are so different, but the one thing that they have in common?” She prompts as your eyebrows furrow. “They’re both women who are worthy of love.”

You blink up at her when her tone goes softer.

“I don’t think I’m Jungkook’s type.” She tells you.

But for some reason you need to deny it, again.

“I think you are.” You mumble, “You’re … you. And you’re probably … experienced.” You cringe at what you say, and you’re mortified if you need to explain yourself to her. But Jennie immediately picks up on it, and you don’t notice how she tenses for a split second but recovers immediately.

“We’ve done things together, yes.” You feel your heart shatter, “But you don’t have to do anything with him for him to like you.”

You sigh, “Maybe. But that's the only way he’s ever wanted me.” You say so softly that Jennie almost doesn’t catch it.

Jennie’s face softens much more, turning into a much gentler expression as she nudges your chin to look at her. And when you do, you feel wounded. You feel so much less assured than you were when you were raging at her. You hated it, how she treated you so kindly when she should’ve been cursing at you like you did to her.

“Do you want to know something?” She asks.

You nibble on your lips before you nod your head.

“If someone doesn’t want you. It’s not because you’re lacking. It’s because they’re lacking the sense to perceive you in a way that recognises your inherent worth to be loved.”

Your breath hitches and Jennie continues.

“I’ve had instances where men didn’t want to sleep with me because I was too confident, too sexually liberated for them. As if who I slept with mattered because it wasn’t them. It was never going to be them.”

“I didn’t sleep with Jungkook.” You tell her, voice soft as if you needed to clarify.

“And you don’t need to. You don’t need to sleep with anyone for them to want you. If Jungkook only wants you for your body then he doesn’t deserve you.” She points out.

You feel your heart clench, and the realisation coming from Jennie only hurts even more.

“But he’s important to me …” You whisper.

“What’s important is not always what’s good for you.” She informs you with a gentle smile. “Your sexuality is yours. And if you want to sleep or be sexual with someone, you do it because you want to. Not because someone coerced you into doing it.”

Your eyes widened, “N-No. Jungkook didn’t force me. I consented. To all of it.” You murmur, “I wanted to do it. B-But I just felt so … lacking? In comparison and … since then all he’s came to me for was just … that.”

Jennie nibbles on her bottom lip, “Jungkook’s not a bad person.” She says softly. And she’s the second person that tells you that. So you know it’s a true reflection of his character.

“I know.”

She smiles, “We both do.” She nods, “But he’s misguided. He’s never had the ability to be with someone he really cares for and I think when that happened—he dealt with it the only way he knows how to.”

You furrow your brows, “But he’s with you.”

She shakes her head with a small chuckle, “No. Not emotionally, at least.” She informs. “And he doesn’t care about me. I know. He’s always kept me at arms-length away, and I’m fine with that because I don’t like him like that either.”

You blink, and your ears turn red. “H-How do you—?”

“How do I separate lust from affection?” She laughs. “It’s because I can. Not everyone can do that, and Jungkook is one of them.”

“But you just said that he didn’t care about you.”

“I’m not talking about me,” She smiles sadly.

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion until you realise what she was implying. And you don’t want to assume anything, never. Because hope was the one feeling that was worse than fear and you didn’t want to subject yourself to that just yet.

“Oh.” You mumble.

She nods, squeezing your hand.

“I think he misses you.”

You purse your lips.

You missed him, too.

705 notes · View notes

aliasimagines · 3 years

Text

It Was You All Along // Dave Lizewski

requested by a lovely anon 💕

Can u write dave x fem!reader where reader Always had a crush on him but he kinda ignored reader bc of Katie but then someone popular asks reader out and he gets jealous and y/n dresses up super hot and he realizes he fucked up

word count: 1809

a/n: i hope this is close enough! ❤️ (i couldn't think of a different title but this one reminds me of Agatha All Along xd)

"Hey, Dave! My folks are gone for the weekend and I thought we could have an X-men watch party. Wanna come?"

"Sorry I can't, I'm hanging out with Katie."

"Again?" you ask a bit louder than intended,causing a few people to look at you in the hallway. You continue with a lower voice "Aren't you like, tired of all the lying? Like, what if she finds out that you're not actually gay, hm? Cause you know she will, eventually."

"Why do you care so much?!" Dave says, clearly frustrated.

You raise an eyebrow.

"Oh why would I? Maybe because we have been best friends since diapers, you stupid asshole!" you say not caring if some students hear you or not, anymore. "But you know what, you are right. I shouldn't care. Go play pretend with Katie but don't come to me, crying when you end up getting your heart broken."

"Don't worry, I won't." he snaps back. And you turn around and leave but not before flipping him off. You felt the angry tears rolling down your cheeks as you zigzagged between the chattering teenagers.

You couldn’t believe how Dave could be so blind! He only had eyes for Miss Perfect. Whom by the way, is a real bitch and would go back to ignoring Dave or calling him a freak if it wasn’t for his little gay act.

Somehow you made your way over to the restroom and locked yourself into one of the booths.

Dave couldn’t even see you as a potential “love-interest”. Eventhough you were the one who always were there for him, you were always there when he called, running to him like a lost puppy. And he couldn’t even care less. And you hate him for it. But you hate yourself more for still liking him.

It’s not like you can do something about it, if you could, you would have. But that’s not how it works, so you are just crying your guts out on the toilet trying not to think about Dave.

In all honesty, you have no idea how you made it through the day. You almost cried during biology but you caught yourself after a few lonely tears. You could feel Dave’s gaze on you but there was no way you would look at him. As soon as the last bell rang you were out of school, hurring past Tod and Marty, not being in the mood for them either.

The next day wasn’t any different, you didn’t hang with Dave, Tod and Marty like you normally do. You didn’t sit with them at lunch, instead walked over to the only empty table you saw and placed your tray there. You mounched on your food, completely unaware of your surroundings until you hear the chair next to you being pulled out. You look up to see Matthew Greendale, resident hottie of the school sit next to you.

"Hey, sorry, it's not a problem if I sit here, right?" he asks. You eyed him suspiciously.

"No, it's fine."

It's fine?! You mentally scold yourself. You never even spoke to this guy, outside of literature in first year. Why would he sit next to you?

"I didn't want to sit with all the other "popular jocks" he answered you unspoken question while taking a bite of his canteen-hamburger. “They’re fun and everything but it’s nice to get away from them sometimes.”

You think of your friends who are sitting a few tables away and you can’t help but agree with Matthew.

“Yeah, I feel you.” you say without thinking.

“Hey..We used to sit next to each other in freshman year, didn’t we? It’s y/n ,right?”

You nod with a smile, honestly being surprised that he remembers you.

“Yeah!”

“I haven’t really seen you around a lot. But when I do you are always hanging with those comic book nerds.”

“Hey! Comics are great.”

He puts his hands up in a defense.

“Oh no! I didn’t mean it as an insult. Some comics are good, my little brother made read one last month. It was actually great.”

“What comic was it?”

“Oh, uhm..It was about some kind of blind dude in a devil costume.”

“Daredevil?” you ask with a giggle.

“Yes, that one!” he laughs too.

The two of you continue talking until the end of lunch break. He is surprisingly fun to talk to and he even offers to walk you to your next class after lunch. You had such a good time you didn’t even think about Dave, heck, you didn’t even notice him literally glaring daggers into Matthew.

“What’s up with you, dude?” Tod asks snapping Dave out of it.

“Yeah, Dave. What the shit is going on with you and Y/N?” Marty asks too.

Dave forrows is eyebrows. Yes, what the shit is going on with the two of you? Every since yesterday's 'fight' with you he can't stop thinking. About how he spends most, if not all of his time either with being Kick-Ass or, rather with Katie. It used to be different. He spent every second with you and he just threw you away so he could maybe get laid. And sure, Katie may be hot as fuck but she is.. Well, she is not you.

"We had a fight, yesterday. I.. And she was right." he explains with a grimace. "But why the fuck is that Greendale asshole is with her?"

"You jealous or something, dude?"

"Wha- Of course I am not jealous! Why would I be? You guys are nuts."

Jealous… The word rolled around in his mouth like a new flavored milkshake he never tasted before.

Could he be… Jealous? He never thought of you that way, you were always his best friend. Just that. But.. The more he thinks about it the more he can't stop that twist like feeling in his stomach.

That night he can't focus on crime fighting. All his thoughts are tied to you. Whether he likes it or not, memories of you keep popping up in his mind. How didn't he notice your beautiful smile before? And your laugh? It's like a beautiful melody. And… Gosh! When did he become such a sappy teenager? Oh and another thing.. He kept trying to think of something else, anything else like Katie for example but he doesn't care anymore!

Dave goes home early with a frustrated growl. The remaining hours of the night he spends with tossing and turning and daydreaming instead of sleeping.

(the next afternoon, Atomic Comics)

Dave bangs his head against the wood table once again. A tired groan leaves his lips when he hears Tod almost choking on his iced coffee.

"What the tunk, Tod?" Marty and Dave ask almost at the same time. The dirty blonde haired boy keeps pointing outside the huge window that they are sitting next to at Atomic Comics.

"Is that fucking y/n?!"

Now all three of them look outside the shop and see you, all dressed up nad seemingly waiting for someone.

"Holy fuck!" Dave whispers. He stares at you, with his mouth a gap before jumping up from the booth they were sitting at and rushing outside the store.

"Y/n! Y/-" he yells almost tripping on thin air.

"Dave?" you question, quickly turning towards him. Damn, you missed him. No! Yeah, you did… "What do you want?"

"What do I- What, can't I talk to you?"

"If you wanted to talk you would have in these past days!" you say. Yes, you might have missed him, but it's not like you're gonna show it. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I am waiting for my date to show up."

"Your.. Your what, now?!"

"My date"

"You can't go on a date!"

"And why is that, Lizewski?"

"Lizewski? Really, you're calling me by my surname? Are we in such a bad place right now?"

"I don't know, you tell me. Are you going to tell me what i can and can't do, hm?"

"I didn't mean it like that. I just…"

"What, it's fine when you say it but when I do it with you about Katie I'm the bad friend?"

"No,it's just-"

"Sorry. Matt's here." you point to the street across the road where you saw the boy walk towards you. "I gotta go."

You start walking away but Dave grabs your wrist.

"Please, don't." he mumbles.

"Why not?" you snap at him but your expressions soften upon your eyes land on his saddened face.

"I- because I don't want you with him. O-or anyone."

You raise an eyebrow.

"What?"

He took a deep breath before looking around. Matt was waiting patiently by the traffic light so he could cross the road. Dave quickly began explaining.

"You were right. About Katie. I was such a dickhead, I am so sorry, y/n. I am sorry for ignoring you over her and and.." from the corner of his eye he sees the traffic light turn green. "Shit! I don't want you to go out with Greendale cause I.. Because I like you. Like really fucking like you. And oh my god you look so fucking hot in this outfit, not that you're not always hot but holy shit. I know we are just friends and you don't think of me that way but I ju-"

"Oh my god! Do you ever shut up?" you yell before pressing your lips to his. Dave stumbled back a little, but quickly recovered and kissed back. Your hands cupped his face and his hands grabbed your waist in response. You both tilled your heads, deepening the kiss earning loud knocking from Marty and Tod as they watched the whole scene through the window. Not that you noticed any of it. You didn't hear the passing by car honk at you nor the yells or whistles. You also did not notice Matthew walking away with a sad smile after seeing the two of you. Your touches intertwine and you're pretty sure you heard Dave moan slightly which causes you to giggle into the kiss. You both pull away gasping for air. You look down at your shoes, hoping to hide your flushed cheeks. Dave scratches his back and looks around nervously only to see his two idiotic friends making kissy faces. He lifts his middle finger for them before clearing his throat.

"So.. Khm.. I guess you like me too?"

You let out a soft chuckle.

"Yeah, I do." you say looking at him with a smile.

"That's.. Fuck. That's great." he replied genuinely happy. "Wanna get out of here?"

You nod and you take off. You take Dave's hand and he intertwines your fingers with a smile. Maybe he is truly a superhero. He helps people and he gets the girl of his dreams. The happy ending.

Dave Lizewski taglist : @sethcohenluvr @your-hispanichufflepuff

#dave lizewski x reader #Dave lizewski one shot #dave lizewski imagine #kick ass imagine #kick ass x reader #kick ass one shot #gif not mine #aaron taylor johnson #alias imagines

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

Text

cuffing season /// Ushijima x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: [Shiratorizawa fanweek day 5—Firsts] You convince your boyfriend to try something new in the bedroom, but as it turns out, old habits die hard.

A/N: Heard it was Shiratorizawa week 👀 technically I did originally post this on day 5, but I had to repost bc of tag issues, whoops :P Let’s pray it works this time!! edit: apparently it’s still not listed in the tags :<

The song that I mention is Bruno Major’s Old Fashioned (although it doesn’t fit the tone of this fic in the least).

Tags/warnings: mild bondage, size kink, rough sex!!!, marking (bruises/hickeys/etc.), power play/power exchange, reader tries & fails to dom Mr. Ushijima 😳, all characters are adults

Look, Ushijima’s a great boyfriend. Perfect, almost. Sure, he may not be the most expressive guy, but you’ve been dating him long enough that you’re able to pick up on the little gestures that tell you that he cares about you—the way he presses his face into your hair when you hug him after you’ve been apart for a while; his hands stroking circles into your skin when you fall asleep in bed next to him; all of it. He’s everything you could possibly look for in a man, except for one not-so-little issue:

The sex.

Because Ushijima, your sweet, wonderful boyfriend, who kisses you so gently it’s like he thinks you’ll fall apart if he’s not infinitely careful with you, is for some reason incapable of exercising the same degree of restraint (or any restraint at all) when you’re in bed together. When it comes to sex, your boyfriend is a fucking animal. And you’re not really sure how much more you can handle.

Maybe your concerns would seem petty from an outsider’s perspective. It’s not like Ushijima doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and it’s not like you don’t want to have sex. You’re attracted to him, of course you are! Almost 76 inches and 190 pounds of pure muscle, a body that looks like Michelangelo could have carved it from marble, and that beautifully solemn expression that had you salivating over him from the stands before you even knew his name? You want to have sex with him, you’re just fairly certain you can’t, not when it always ends up with you completely and utterly wrecked, so spent you don’t even have the strength to lift your hips off the mattress so he can wipe his cum off your thighs.

Look, anyone in your position would feel the same way. It’s awful and you’ll never admit it to him, but you almost broke up with him after the first time you two fucked. You knew going in that it wouldn’t be easy—the man radiates big dick energy and boy did he deliver—but it was just too much.

That first time had started off so innocuously, with you inviting him to your place for a nightcap after your sixth date. You’d set candles and put on your romantic sex playlist for a nice backdrop to let him hold you in his lap and make out—how the hell had you gone from that to having him rut you into the mattress, your belly pressed into the sheets and ass arched up so he could pound into you so forcefully that your rickety bed smacked into the wall hard enough to rattle the furniture with every movement, and you couldn’t even hear it over the sound of your own moaning? You hadn’t changed the playlist, and it felt downright obscene to listen to Bruno Major croon about love and courtship while Ushijima fucked into you like he was trying to carve the shape of his cock into your pussy.

You’d had to call in sick the next day because you could barely walk. The bruises from where he held your hips had taken weeks to fade, and by that time he’d already given you new ones. To his credit, Ushijima felt bad when he saw the evidence of how rough he’d been and he promised to take it easy on you next time…but after a few more rounds of mind-numbingly savage sex you learned that the man apparently doesn’t know what ‘take it easy’ means.

To be fair, at least some of it is your fault. You really shouldn’t have offered to go on the pill as a three-month anniversary present to him. At least before, he had to give you a break while he changed condoms after he came; now he has no reason to hesitate, instead going for round two (and sometimes round three) without pulling out. You never thought you’d see superhuman stamina as a bad thing, but…

“You don’t get it! It’s like getting fucked by a stallion. I need to plan to have three days to recover whenever I take him home with me,” you whined to your friends over cocktails when they told you you shouldn’t complain about a good thing—after all, Ushijima is just as committed to your pleasure as he is to his own, and there’s never been an occasion where he didn’t get you off before fucking you himself (probably at least a little because there’s no way in hell you’d be relaxed enough to take him otherwise).

“Can’t you just tell him to go slower?” one of your friends asked. “If he doesn’t listen to you, then that’s fucked up and you need to dump him.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t listen. If I tell him to stop, he stops,” you sighed, stirring your drink with the straw and watching the decorative sprig of mint fall under the surface to be overtaken by a chip of ice. “It’s like he can’t go slower. He’s not adjustable—it’s either crazy brutal or nothing, and then neither of us get what we want. Like a vibrator you can’t turn off the highest level. I don’t even think he realizes in the moment how intense it is for me.”

“Aren’t you ever on top? You can set the pace.”

“I’ve tried, but Ushi just—“ you made a gripping motion with your hands and mimicked raising something up and setting it down vigorously— “like, bounces me.”

One of them raised an eyebrow and then her eyes widened. She turned to your other friend and the two of them whispered to each other for a bit, then shifted back to you. “Tie him up,” she said with the air of an elder imparting sage knowledge, and your other friend nodded.

“Oh, come on.” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m serious. Guys usually love it when girls are in control, you just need to take the initiative. Get him tied down and then you can show him exactly how you like it. Let him feel like he’s at your mercy for once.”

The idea had seemed unthinkable at the time, but you hadn’t been able to forget it—which is why after weeks of contemplation, hours of research, and a single extremely awkward trip to a sex shop, you’re now crouching over Ushijima’s naked chest, wrapping a leather cuff around one of his wrists.

“Are you sure that this is something you want to do?” Ushijima asks in that weighty baritone that makes you shiver with need. He doesn’t pull away, but he eyes your actions warily as you thread the chain of the cuffs around a rung in the center of your headboard and reach over to do the other side.

“…Yes,” you tell him, a little less firmly than you would have liked, and you lick your lips to try to make up for how suddenly dry your mouth is. “Anyway, isn’t that my line? We don’t have to do the cuffs if you don’t want to. I won’t force you.”

“It’s alright. You and I both know you couldn’t force me, (Y/N).” Dark eyes pin you down and it’s incredibly unfair how much power he has over you even when he’s the one chained to the bed.

Ushijima’s right, obviously—if he didn’t want to be exactly where he is right now, he wouldn’t be. You’re sure as hell not strong enough to force him to do anything he doesn’t want to, but he didn’t have to say it like that.

“Okay then…good,” you reply, adjusting the straps of the cuffs to accommodate for how stupidly thick his wrists are. When you’re satisfied that they won’t chafe but he can’t get out of them without your help, you sit back next to his chest and admire your handiwork. Ushijima lays on his back, naked, relaxed, even with his arms stretched up to your headboard and cuffed there. He looks good, mouthwateringly good, and you’re ready to get your hands on him when you remember there’s something you need to get straight first. “Wait, before we—before I do anything, remember— what do you say if you want me to stop?”

“…Vanilla,” Ushijima says, reciting the safeword you decided on when you were hammering out details, although the look in his half-lidded eyes is telling you very clearly that he has no intention of needing to use it.

Privately you agree, but everything you’ve read on the kink blogs you’ve been trolling for research tells you that a responsible adult doesn’t put cuffs on their partner without deciding on a safeword first, and you’re determined to do this by the book. “Good boy,” you say, and the diminutive feels awkward in your mouth until you see Ushijima’s reaction—the flash in his eyes, a minuscule hitch in his breathing next to you, and the scrape of metal against wood as he gives a light pull at the cuffs.

With everything safe and accounted for, you give a final tug to the chain to ensure it’s secure, then inch back and swing one leg over the broad expanse of his chest so you’re straddling his abdomen (and he’s so damn big that there’s a twinge of soreness in your thighs just from sitting on top of him). Fuck, he looks good like this, all spread out and pinned underneath you, so masculine and bulky that you’re feeling your pussy get wet just from watching him watching you.

It’s not often you get to appreciate him like this—usually you’re too focused on not losing your mind from how deeply he’s fucking you—so you savor it, massaging his shoulders and sliding your fingers down his sides, tracing the smooth skin with a feather-light touch and then dipping to kiss under his jaw. Feeling more than a little devious, you let your teeth graze over the thin skin at the base of his neck and with your chest pressed into his, it’s not hard to feel his sharp intake of breath.

“The marks...my teammates will notice.”

“Maybe I should stop, then,” you murmur against his skin, lifting up just enough to brush over his nipples. He stiffens, and once again you hear him tugging at the cuffs.

“…Don’t. I want them to see,” Ushijima says, and once you have his permission you don’t waste any time in latching your mouth to his skin and sucking. It’s been ages since you’ve given anyone a hickey. Usually you’re the one marked up like a teenager after Ushijima has his way with you, so this is a nice change of pace, especially when you can feel him flexing underneath you.

Well, kissing is nice…but you’re getting impatient and you know he is too. Once you’re satisfied that your hickeys are going to show up nice and bright red around his neck like a collar, you sit back, walking your hands back on his chest, stroking over his abdomen and giving a little roll of your ass on top of him. Ushijima’s hips twitch—unconsciously, you wonder?—and he glares at you in a way that tells you in no uncertain terms to hurry up and let him fuck you.

And damn it, something about that look has you feeling weak. Needy. Obedient. But this time you’re supposed to be in charge, so you smirk and lift your hips, pulling your body back so his cock is nestled between your legs, not quite touching your pussy. He’s already hard—no surprises there, considering how intently he’s watching you as you mess with him—but you only take a second to stroke his cock up and down before shifting up so he can see you slick your fingers up in your own pussy.

“(Y/N)…” Ushijima’s voice is low, annoyed, and he looks hungry. But you’re so amazed at how wet you are under your own fingers that you don’t bother to pay attention to him shifting his position under you to try to get stimulation. Your juices are literally slicking up your own thighs, just from chaining up your boyfriend and teasing him a little? You should have done this a long time ago.

You push two fingers into your pussy and pump them a few times, making sure to angle your hips so Ushijima can see them go in and out. The stretch is almost uncomfortable for a second and you wince a little before schooling your expression, knowing you’re about to have something a lot bigger than two fingers stretching you open. Ushijima catches it though, and he frowns, trying to sit up before remembering the cuffs that are holding him back. “Let me—let me do it for you—“

“No, stay down,” you say quickly, using your other hand to push him back into the mattress while you continue to touch yourself. Ushijima lets you (and there’s no doubt in your mind that he is letting you), but his eyes narrow as he zeroes in on the way your fingers are glistening with your own pussy juices.

God, you’re—you’re supposed to be in control, aren’t you? So then you shouldn’t be feeling like this, eyes drifting closed as you fuck yourself on your fingers, letting your lower knuckles rub against your clit while you try to curl them to rub against your g-spot. Ushijima’s been spoiling you…you can’t remember the last time you’ve had to do this yourself, and as you feel the tension building up slowly you catch yourself wishing it were him fingering you instead.

His fingers are just so thick. And long, and so rough. You bite your lip thinking about the way he does it when he preps you to take his cock, mashing his palm into your clit, petting along inside you and scissoring his fingers and… “Mmh,” you hum, holding back a real moan for Ushijima’s sake.

There’s another click of the chain sliding over the headboard wood and it reminds you that he’s right there, you could just uncuff him and he could touch you and fill you up with those thick fingers, make you cum, make you cry. But the urge to seek your own pleasure is outweighed by the image he’s making as he looks at you, his expression almost angry in its intensity now that he’s watching you do this to yourself and he has no way to get his hands on you.

“Ahh—“ you whine, letting a real whimper out at the thought of what you’re doing to him. “Ushi, Ushi, do you wanna touch? Wanna touch me?”

His head ducks into a hasty nod and his jaw clenches at the strain of having to ask for what he wants instead of just taking it like usual.

The longer you touch yourself, the closer you’re getting…but you don’t want to cum, not just yet. You draw your fingers out of your dripping cunt and open them up in a V, showing off the juices that connect them, the evidence of how wet you are for him. “Mmm, I don’t think so. I think there’s something else I want in me instead.”

And then you’re reaching to the side for the lube, squeezing a healthy dollop into your palm and then wrapping your hand around Ushiijma’s cock. And—fuck, he’s big. Sure, you’ve had sex with him plenty, but no matter how often you take him, you never stop feeling absolutely torn up after. A tingle of trepidation races up your spine at the thought of riding him like this—can you even put it in by yourself?

Even just looking at it is intimidating. He’s painfully hard, cock flushed red and bobbing up against his lower stomach every time you let it go, and, Jesus, how is it even possible that this thing would fit inside you? When you wrap your hand around him your fingers don’t touch; he must be thicker around than your own wrist.

Halfway. That’ll going to be your goal tonight, to take him halfway. And even that…is going to be a stretch.

The anxiety must show on your face because once again you’ve got Ushijima straining at the cuffs. “(Y/N)—“ he spits as you stroke him up, nudging your palm against the tip. “(Y/N), you need to finish first. Let me make you cum.”

“No, this time I want to—I’m gonna cum on your cock,” you say, adjusting your position so you’re kneeling above him, the head of his cock sliding between your lips. “Gonna cum on your big cock, Ushi, okay?”

His cock jumps in your hand at the provocation. He’s glaring at you, but he’s also leaking precum, the sticky fluid mixing with the lubricant. You give Ushijima a moment to say the safeword if he really doesn’t want you to, and when he stays quiet you raise yourself up a little more and line the head of his cock up with your weeping slit. You hold your pussy lips open with your fingers, easing your thighs down and pressing the head into you and—

“Oh—oh—oh, fuck, oh fuck, Ushi—“ you stutter out helplessly.

It’s been almost two weeks since he last fucked you. One week, six days and about three hours, and at the moment this measure of time seems unreasonably important because it’s been almost two weeks since you last let Ushijima split you in half with his ridiculously huge cock.

You’re not ready, should’ve prepped more, should’ve let him make you cum like he said—fuck, it feels like you’re losing your virginity—and the mixture of dismay and relief that spills over you when the thick swell of his head pushes past that tight ring of muscle is almost nauseating.

The tip? Seriously, just the fucking tip, and you’re already delirious, shaking, your thighs quivering on either side of his. It’s taking all of your strength to keep from going slack—but you know if you do, his whole cock is going to slide up into you and even thinking about that has your cunt clenching and unclenching around what you’re able to fit inside.

“Do you need help?” Despite the strain in Ushijima’s voice at being teased like this, there’s an undercurrent of amusement. He clearly doesn’t have faith in your ability to take him deeper by yourself.

It’s this—this quiet arrogance, this belief that he knows what’s best for you and he’s the only one who can give it to you—that gives you the guts to convince yourself to lower yourself down onto his his cock until you’re literally gasping for air. It fucking hurts, but you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of hearing you say it; instead, you brace your hands against the stiff muscle of his chest and try to focus on the way his cockhead is pressing into your g-spot.

Halfway…he’s gotta be at least halfway in, right? You sneak a glance up at him and bite back a curse at the look on his face, serious as ever, so focused on the place where your pussy is reluctantly eating up his cock that you feel your insides tense up around him again.

You don’t even know how it’s possible for you to get tighter around him but somehow you must be able to, because you hear Ushijima grunt underneath you, and his muscles contract under your palms as he tries again to sit up. When he can’t, he hisses in frustration. “Move…now. Or I won’t be able to control myself.”

Funny, aren’t you supposed to be the one controlling him? But it sure as hell doesn’t feel that way when you’re barely able to stay upright just from trying to ride his cock. You nod desperately, chin jutting up and down like a bobblehead, and lift your hips up off his cock until just the tip is left inside. When you push yourself back down you can’t help whimpering at the feeling of him stretching you, sliding up into you, that stiff, wet cockhead dragging over your g-spot.

By now the pain has faded into an uncomfortable stretch, like leaning too heavily into a foreign pose in yoga, enough that you’re able to feel the arousal building in the pit of your belly and hold onto it as you rock your hips up and down him. The pace is slow—almost too slow; you marvel at yourself for wanting it faster—and there’s a fair amount of Ushijima’s cock that you’re not able to take, but this is really all you can handle.

“Mmm, Ushi, fuck, you’re so big, so big and hard inside me, feels so good on your cock—“ you moan, knowing you sound less like the dominant partner in this position and more like you’re teasing him, pushing his limits.

Ushijima’s breathing is heavy. Labored. He’s trying to hold himself back. “(Y/N), deeper—take me deeper, now.”

Part of your brain vaguely recognizes that he isn’t supposed to be giving the orders here, but you’re too drunk on the feeling of fucking yourself on his cock to complain, so you lower your hips and try, but it feels like you’re just too weak to do it yourself. “Ushi please, it’s too much, too big, I can’t, please—“

And your pleading must sound like an invitation, because his eyes flash and you feel him shifting the position of his legs behind you—and then he bucks his hips up and his cock sinks into your cunt, pushing up into your gooey insides until the head is pressing into the tight opening of your cervix.

“Ahn—?” you squeal, startled. What? He—what? Fuck, it’s deep, it’s so deep, you can’t hold yourself up so you flop downward, holding onto his shoulders for dear life, “ohhh Ushi pleasepleaseplease” and you barely hear yourself over the lubed-up slap of his pelvis against your skin.

Fuck, it feels like he’s knocking the breath out of you. Feels like you can’t fucking breathe like his cock isn’t just pushing against your stomach but your lungs too, can’t breathe so you bear down on his shoulders try to hold yourself up try to let yourself adjust but—

Ushijima’s in control now.

Not that he ever wasn’t, you’d think if you were capable of thinking except you’re not because as you try to situate yourself make yourself relax around that monster cock filling you up, he’s not giving you a moment to catch your breath, instead thrusting up into you at his usual breakneck pace. Apparently he doesn’t need to use his hands to make you bounce—you’re not even moving yourself now, just trying to hold still as his hips slam his cock inside you again and again and again, and again, rubbing up against that sweet spot in your pussy so quickly that you think you might go crazy from it.

“Nngh, so tight,” he growls, and you can tell from the way the words are choked out that he’s gritting his teeth. You almost want to roll your eyes—of course you’re tight, anyone would feel tight around him—but it feels like if you do your eyes might roll back in your head so you don’t.

Jesus fuck, you can’t even understand how long it’s been but you do know that it’s absurd for you to want to cum already, only the thick mass of his cock pushing into you is somehow hitting all the right buttons, just like it always does. Even if it’s rough you want more. By now you’re trying to meet his thrusts, rolling your hips in time with him fucking you open, doing your best to participate but really it’s all you can do to even stay still with how roughly he’s fucking you. “Ushi, fuck, so deep, wanna cum I wanna cum please let me cum—“

“Touch yourself,” he commands breathlessly because he’s still tied to the headboard and he can’t do it, and you barely have the strength to pick one of your hands up off of where you’re scratching into his shoulder and pull it down to rub at your clit.

It’s not enough and you whimper desperately, you don’t want your own fingers, you want Ushijima’s, you want him to touch you. You’re probably saying it out loud by now, begging him to put his hands on you—his eyes widen and then the sound of the metal cuff chain grating over wood reaches you—you can see the skin of his wrists get lighter from lack of blood flow, he’s pulling at the cuffs, pulling too hard, he’s going to hurt himself, you have to stop him—and then you hear a snap.

Aw, shit. The bed.

The thought comes in a singular moment of clarity as you watch the rung Ushijima’s chained to separate itself from the rest of the headboard, splintering, the nail that held it in place looking pathetically flimsy next to the veins bulging in his arms as he slides the chain away from it. He flexes his hands, forming fists and then unclenching them to restore the interrupted blood flow, and then you’ve only got a second to prepare yourself before he’s upright, dragging your hips up to meet his.

“Ushi, Ushi, Ushi, I want, please, I want you,” you beg, but you didn’t really have to because you’re pretty sure there’s no force on Earth that could stop him from holding you up so he can fuck down into you with a ferocity that could be mistaken for anger if you weren’t certain it was really lust.

The entire bed is creaking and rocking against the force of his movement, but you don’t really have the headspace to worry about more property damage considering he’s got you supporting yourself on the mattress on your back and shoulders, your spine curled up so he can kneel and still have your hips aligned with his, your legs dangling bonelessly on either side of him.

Fuck. Holy fuck. You open your mouth but words don’t come out, only a choked whimper, but if you could speak you’d be saying yesyesyesyesyes, touch me.

Despite your inability to speak, Ushijima picks up on what you need and then along with his cock carving its way in and out of you you’re getting the feeling of his fingers padding over your clit. Rough and callused, not gentle, nothing like the way you touched yourself earlier, but you’re starting to realize you don’t mind the aggression. In fact, it’s good, it’s so good, so good you’re gonna cum.

You’re gonna cum.

A long, drawn-out whine is spilling out of your lips before you can stop it; you wrap your hand over your own mouth out of shame or maybe courtesy to your neighbors (although by now they’ve probably invested in earplugs after listening to you squeal like a pig on Ushijima’s cock dozens of times in the past). Still, as your climax rocks through you shove your thumb between your teeth to bite down on it, but the sharp pain is nothing compared to the pleasure.

“Ushiiiii—“ you sob around your own fingers. Your spine arches—or rather, you try to arch your back but you can’t, not with Ushijima’s full body weight pressing into you and keeping you pinned to the mattress.

It hurts, it feels good, you’re seeing stars, you’re hearing Ushijima snarl as your pussy tightens up and convulses on his cock. His one-handed grip on your ass gets painfully tight as he abandons whatever pretense of restraint he had left and pumps his cock into you so hard and fast you’re pretty sure the headboard isn’t going to be the only thing broken, but you don’t fucking care because you’re cumming, you’re cumming, you’re cumming so hard you think you black out for a second, holy fuck.

It’s only when you hear Ushijima’s panting breath and feel him pulling your hand away from your mouth that you regain your grip on reality. “You’re bleeding,” he says, holding your hand up and inspecting the shallow indentations your teeth made on your thumb.

“…You broke my bed,” you reply tiredly once you’ve gotten in a lungful of air, what feels like the first full breath you’ve been able to take since he put his cock inside you.

“I’m sorry,” Ushijima tells you, although he doesn’t look particularly sorry.

You roll your eyes. “Did you cum?”

“Yes. When you did.” Without him holding you up there’s nothing to prevent you from sliding down off his softening (but still unfairly impressive) cock. You’re certainly not strong enough to keep yourself in position.

Even if he hadn’t confirmed it, you’d still be able to feel the familiar heat of his semen plastering your insides, and once your still-sensitive pussy is exposed to the cool air your inner muscles squeeze involuntarily but hard enough to force some of his cum out—you sense it, hot and thick, dripping out of your pussy to smear against your thighs. “Can we take a bath?” you ask, knowing you’ll barely be able to walk over to the bathroom, much less stand under the shower unassisted.

Ushijima nods and moves off the bed. “I can carry you,” he adds when you try to stand up and your knees almost give out before you flop back onto the mattress.

At this angle, with you sitting and him standing in front, it’s difficult not to see that despite cumming literally less than two minutes ago, he’s already getting stiff again. Jesus, is he even human? After how hard you just came, the thought of letting him fuck you again is giving you something stronger than butterflies, but you look up at him and offer anyway. “Wait, do you…um, want to go for another round?”

Ushijima’s gaze meets yours and then travels over your body underneath him. You must look like a mess—sweaty, hair all fucked up and tangled, body still shaking with the aftershocks of your climax and barely able to sit comfortably on your aching pussy—and you guess he sees how jittery (nervous?) you feel because for the first time since your relationship started, he shakes his head to turn down an offer of sex. “No, I’ll take care of it. Let’s clean up first.”

“Okay,” you sigh, releasing a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and raising your arms to let him pick you up.

“(Y/N).”

When Ushijima doesn’t move to carry you, you frown. “Hm?”

“The cuffs.”

Oh, right. The black leather is wrapped around both of his wrists, chain still intact. Apparently these cuffs are stronger than your headboard. Good quality. Too bad they’re going in the trash. You make quick work of the release and then undo the straps carefully, massaging over the light pink marks on your boyfriend’s wrists once they’re free.

“Sorry, did it hurt you? I didn’t mean to—I mean, I just wanted…” You trail off, feeling infinitely embarrassed that despite all your claims of dominating him, he still ended up with the upper hand, cuffs or no cuffs. And you liked submitting to him. There’s no denying that.

“It didn’t. And…I enjoyed having you on top,” Ushijima tells you, lifting you effortlessly into a princess-carry now that his arms are free.

“Yeah right. We’re never using those again,” you scoff, tucking your head into his chest as he carries you to the bathroom. “My boss is going to get mad that I keep taking sick days every time I have sex with you. I’m just going to throw the cuffs out.”

From your position, so close to him, you can barely see the upward quirk of his mouth that would be as good as laughter for anyone else. “Don’t get rid of them. I think…next time, I would like to have you wearing them, (Y/N).”

Well, fuck.

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