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heottokes · 1 year

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𝐚𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞. 45. freestyle

acquiesce v. to accept something reluctantly but without protest. two strangers are trying to rewrite their story that was already written for them but to do that they need each other. yoongi needs y/n to keep his only dream alive and y/n needs yoongi to keep her secret hidden. so the two strangers form an unlikely alliance of playing pretend.

word count: 4.9k

꒰ m.list ➭ before • after ꒱

“So, how do you feel about extortion?” You choke on air at Yoongi’s question. Taehyung looks at him with wide eyes. “You said, whatever it takes right?” You hesitantly nod. Yes, you were willing to do whatever it takes to save your parent’s reputation and keep your second life a secret. But to resort to blackmail? “We’re talking about the worst-case scenario here, y/n. Do you think Jack wouldn’t do the same?”

Your mind flashes back to Jack’s cold eyes daring anyone to cross him. You didn’t know exactly what he was capable of, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he did try to use your secret to his benefit. “Okay, I understand where you’re coming from, but I can't use the fact that he paid for an escort against him because I signed a confidentiality agreement.”

“Didn’t he too? Because I -” Yoongi cuts himself off realising Taehyung was in the room. Taehyung doesn’t even blink feigning ignorance.

“Even if he breaks it by threatening to out my line of work, taking him to court won’t change the consequences that will affect my family.” You pointed out. “Besides, who's to say there’s even anything to use against him?” Yoongi and Taehyung burst into laughter making you frown. “What’s so funny?”

“I know a shady guy when I see one, and that guy looks like he has a million skeletons in his closet.” You look at Taehyung sceptically. “The question isn’t what secrets we can use against him. The question is how do we find his secrets out in the first place?”

“I know a guy.” Yoongi takes his phone out and you direct your questioning stare at him. “There’s a hacker named Ki who you can pay to get information from.”

“Okay, why and how do you know about this guy?”

Yoongi smiles. “It’s a secret.” You roll your eyes. “Want me to message him?”

You sigh. “What other choice do I have?”

───────── ☾ • ☽ ──────────

“Welcome everyone, to our very first meeting!” You announced to the only two attendees. Taehyung and Yoongi share a look before giving you a smile. “So, shall we begin with the first item on the agenda?”

“You’re really into this aren’t you?” Yoongi interrupts making you shush him.

“Since this is your first official music video and you’ve already released your songs on listening platforms, let’s make this a single. It will be quicker to release and easier to follow up with another if we get good momentum.”

“She really is into it.” Taehyung whispers to Yoongi making him chuckle.

You glare at them before continuing. “So, Yoongi, do you have any song you haven’t released that you think would be a good first impression or one that you have released that got more interest than the others?”

“I have some in mind, but I have to go through them.” Yoongi answers seriously.

“Okay, perfect. Before we can proceed, we need to pick the song because we will plan everything around it.” You clap your hands together. “Alright, that concludes this meeting.”

“That was quick.” Your eyes glare at Taehyung. “I can already tell you’re going to be a very hands-on manager.”

Ignoring Taehyung’s teasing, you turn your gaze towards Yoongi. “If you’re not sure about which songs to pick, you can pick out your top five and we can all listen to it to help you make the decision.” After Yoongi nods in understanding, you turn to Taehyung. “Can you make a list of things we need to shoot a music video? I’ll do some research as well but since you would have more knowledge, I thought it would be better to ask you.”

Taehyung salutes you. “I won’t disappoint you, ma'am.” You shake your head smiling. “Ah! She can smile! I thought your facial muscles were stiff or something.” Yoongi laughs as you reach over the table to try and hit Taehyung.

━━━☆

“Aren’t you a hard-working birdie.” Taehyung’s sudden voice makes you jump.

“What are you doing in here?” You asked with your hand over your heart.

Taehyung plops down a bag of food by your desk. “I wanted to check in. What are you doing?”

“Well, I was making a list of things that need to get done for Yoongi’s music video release but now I’m eating some delicious food.” You answered with a shoulder dance.

“How romantic.”

“You know, you’ve been in a really teasing mood lately. Anything you want to say?”

Taehyung smiles sitting down on your bed. He had a smug smile on his face irritating you. “It’s just nice to see you two together.”

“Please don’t put thoughts into my head.” You raised your hand to stop him. “We’re finally getting along and it’s not awkward. I want to keep it that way.” It was Taehyung’s turn to look at you with narrowed eyes. You knew exactly what he was thinking but you didn’t want to hear it. “Did you find anything out about the music video shooting.”

Taehyung gets up and hands you a folded piece of paper. You thank him before opening it and reading through his notes. “When are you going to stop running away from your problems?” He watches as you still from his words. You wanted to cry at your suppressed thoughts coming forward.

You shut your eyes willing away the tears and intrusive thoughts. “You can go now if you want. I’ll just be doing some more research before studying.” Taehyung doesn’t say anything, but you feel his stare burning at the back of your skull before hearing your bed creak.

───────── ☾ • ☽ ──────────

You were in over your head. What makes you think Jack doesn’t have the power and means to get what he wants? You truly didn’t believe blackmail would stop him and if measly university students can pay someone for information, so can he. You stare at the eservations’ notification screen. At the top of the screen, Jack had sent another request. Your body heats up staring at the screen. How could you be so scared of opening a message? Why would you open it anyway? You weren't going to accept it. You weren't going to reject it though. You already know how he was going to react if you rejected his request again. Playing ignorant was the safer option. Your mind drifted at the thought of him stalking your social media accounts. Should you block him? Go on private? What if he catches on that you know he knows? How far can playing ignorant get you? You sigh putting your phone down. Overthinking is not going to get you anywhere. All you can do is wait for Yoongi’s contact to get back to him about anything he finds – if there's anything to find.

“Look away.” You told Taehyung covering the keypad to Yoongi’s studio.

“Shouldn't you knock? Or at least message him or something?” Taehyung asks but looks away anyways.

“He told me to let myself in.” You punched in the code he told you when you first started hanging out. You opened the door and Yoongi swivels his chair around to greet you.

“Wow! This is so cool!” Taehyung compliments once he steps inside the studio. Yoongi thanks him and shows him around like he did with you when you first entered. He showed off his collectibles and explained the fancy equipment he has. You smile as you grab another seat and place it on the other side of Yoongi’s chair. It was exciting to help Yoongi with his music. You had no experience to bring to the table compared to the other two, but you had passion for the project. The world needed to know about Min Yoongi. You notice crumpled papers littering the wastepaper basket by his desk. As skilful and amazing Yoongi is with music, he is incredibly critical of himself. You've heard numerous stories from Adora, but you've seen his perfectionism first hand whenever you complimented his work. The boy would drown in his work if he could. “Have you come up with a list yet?” Taehyung asks as the two settled in their chairs next to you.

Yoongi sighs leaning back in his chair. “Not yet. I can't find anything that's good enough.”

“You're being too harsh on yourself, Yoongi. You have plenty of songs that are amazing.” You placed your hand on Yoongi’s shoulder reassuringly.

Yoongi gives you tight lipped smile. “You're just saying that.”

“I don't say things I don't mean, Yoongi.” Yoongi’s smile falters as he stares into yours. You stare back hoping he can see the sincerity in your eyes.

Taehyung looks between the two of you as the tension rises. He isn't sure what the tension meant or what kind of tension it was but neither of you were giving up. The silence washed over the studio. “How about we have listening session? Go through all your songs and pick out our personal favourites.”

━━━☆

Although Yoongi doesn't act like he does, he truly appreciates his best friends. They are his best friends for a reason after all. However, there is also a reason why he didn't like outsiders in his studio. For one, they usually don't understand the etiquette. “Put that down. That is more expensive than your life.” Yoongi scolds Jin even though the chair he's sitting on completely swallows him and blocks him from being able to see over his shoulder.

“How does he know?!” Jin whispers to Jimin who only shrugs. Jin puts down the electric guitar and moves on to Yoongi’s collectibles. Secondly, they're innately curious about things they know nothing about. “What's this?” Jin asks for the third time even though he received no response. You can see irritation flourish on Yoongi’s face with his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. He was doing well to control himself.

“Jin, this is serious business.” You reminded from your seat next to Yoongi. Of course, you understood where Jin and Jimin were coming from. This studio is a part of Yoongi that he kept from them – within reason or not. But they were invited to the studio for work. “Yoongi��s music is not a joke or a side project to work on for fun.”

You can feel Yoongi’s gaze but continue to look at Jin who is pouting. “I know. We’re grateful that we can help with this.” Jin and Jimin join the three of you at Yoongi’s desk.

“No need to get sappy.” Yoongi says sarcastically relieving the tension. “We’re just picking out some songs to choose from.”

“It's an important decision.” Jimin chimes in. “So, what are we choosing from?”

“Well, the three of us picked our favourites but you guys might have different opinions. Do you want to listen to all the options or just our favourites?” Yoongi asks.

“We might have different tastes and who knows, there might be one that didn't make the cut at first listen. Let's listen to all the options and then we can narrow it down from our favourites.” Jimin suggests.

The five of you spent nearly a week going over Yoongi’s songs. He had a lot of finished tracks and demos to go through. No one could ever doubt his passion for the trade. Jin and Jimin finally understood what Yoongi did with all his time in the studio. They listened to everything Yoongi’s publishes on his Soundcloud, and they loved all his tracks; even if it wasn’t their taste of music, they can recognise and appreciate the work put into the song. But hearing all his unfinished tracks and demos, they felt proud of their friend. Their brains couldn’t even comprehend how he came up with the sounds or lyrics he makes.

“After rounds of elimination and voting, we have a winner.” You hold Yoongi’s fated debut music video in your hands. Everyone watches you in anticipation hoping their pick won. “The winner is, Agust D!” Everyone cheered except Yoongi. It was voted four out of five. Your eyes lands on Yoongi and your smile fades. If anyone should be happy about the song, it should be him. It’s not that his pick wasn’t good enough, it was more of why would that song be his debut track? You decided to save the question for another day since everyone was in a celebratory mood.

───────── ☾ • ☽ ──────────

Your nerves were getting the better of you as you waited for Yoongi outside of the dorm buildings. You have been overly confident and borderline obnoxious with your flirting. Was it inappropriate since you were his acting manager? Yes, of course but you weren't his actual manager so it should be fine. Were you toeing a line that shouldn't be crossed? Yes, the risk of losing Yoongi as a friend for a chance that he might feel the way when he hasn't outwardly reciprocated any feelings was too great.

“I thought I was going to meet you at your dorm?” Yoongi’s voice interrupted your thoughts. You turned around to greet him and nearly choked on air. Does love really make you blind or is he insanely good looking? Yoongi tilts his head waiting for your answer.

You clear your throat and smile. “I thought it would be more efficient if I just meet you outside.” Yoongi nods and you lead the way to the first possible shooting location.

━━━☆

“Okay, so what do you think?” You asked after walking around the second location. “It's pretty remote so it shouldn't be too hard for us to film consistently, and we don't need to get a permit.”

“It's good,” Yoongi had always been blunt, but this was different. He had seemed off since the song was chosen. He seems flat.

“Yoongi,” You called for him as he has walked way in front of you. He had been doing this all day. He turned around and you frowned. “What's wrong? You've been off all day. I know something is bothering you, so don't bother lying.” You warned walking towards him.

You searched his eyes hoping for honesty. He sighs. “I'm not sure about the song choice.”

“Why?”

“It seems arrogant. The lyrics talk a lot of shit when I'm nobody in the underground scene. I'm just a privilege rich boy. What do I know about struggle?”

“Just because your struggle is different from everyone else’s, it doesn't make it any less of a struggle.” You lectured him. Finally, he smiles but you weren't satisfied. “I understand where you're coming from. I love all of your works in all honesty but the song you choose, lyrically brilliant, does not fit a title track.”

Yoongi chuckles. “You're taking this seriously.”

“Your music is serious to me.” Yoongi smiles falters as he searches your serious expression. It was scary for him to have someone believe in him. It was new to him. “How do you get a name in the underground scene?"

"Participate in battles, work with other rappers, book some gigs, I guess.”

“And does posting a music video first ruin the chances of doing those? If anything, it can be further reference work, right? Besides, what you’ve posted on Soundcloud and Spotify.”

“Yeah, that's true.” It was turn to smile. He rolls his eyes. “I forgot that your studying law for a reason. Always so good at arguing your point, like Jin.”

“Only naturally,”

━━━☆

“What does that mean?” Yoongi asks after reading your tweet.

Your body heats up. Although you had been bolder with your flirting, it was only ever behind the screen. Your eyes scan Yoongi’s face deciding on whether to take the leap or not. “It means I'm on my knees offering my heart to you.” You avoid his eyes by casually focusing on your dinner, but your cheeks betray you.

“Your jokes are going to get you in trouble one day.”

“I’m not –”

“Y/n?” You were interrupted by a male’s voice calling your name. “Hey, I thought it was you.” A classmate you had in one of your classes goes up to you. You stand and greet him with a hug. “It's been a while.”

You smile. “Yeah, it has, how have you been?”

“I'm doing as good as I can be.” He laughs. “We should catch up sometime.” His eyes land on Yoongi before he gives you a smile and squeezes your shoulder. “I'll leave you to it.”

You wave goodbye to him and sit back in your seat. Yoongi gets up from his seat across from you and places himself next to you. He transfers his plate in front of him. “What are you doing?” Yoongi looks back at your friend to see he was still looking. Your gaze follows his and Mark gives you a smile. As you were about to smile back, Yoongi’s turns your chin to his face. You gasp at the close proximity. His eyes bore into yours with a seriousness you haven't seen in a long time. His eyes visibly soften letting you find your voice. “People are going to have the wrong idea about us.” And by people, you meant you. You were going to get the wrong idea and your heart could not take it.

Yoongi turns his attention back to his meal. “Good,”

───────── ☾ • ☽ ──────────

You ran out of your dorm as fast as you could. You didn’t care that your lungs were constricting or that your legs were aching. You needed to get to him as fast as possible. Your mind started racing at what could possibly trouble him. Were you pushing him too hard? Was it about the rap battle? You cut yourself off. He was going to answer your questions so there is no point going over it by yourself. You were running at full speed despite needing to make a turn. Idiotically, deciding instead of slowing down, you used the traffic pole as momentum to turn you around. It was easier said than done. Your grip missed and you end up crashing onto the curb slamming your shoulder into the concrete divider. “Fuck,” You hissed as your entire body screamed at you. You gingerly pick yourself off the ground and hobbled your way off the curb. Thankfully, it was the middle of the night, and no one was in sight. You slowly picked up your pace pushing through the pain until you found the energy to run again. You punched in the code to the building since reception aren’t open at this time. You make your way into the building despite the low lighting. “Yoongi,” You gasped once you the door to his studio. He looks up from the couch with tired eyes. “What’s wrong?” You shut the door and join him.

“Did you run here?” He gets up and hands you a bottle of water.

You accept it and take a couple of gulps. “What’s wrong?” You pushed making him sigh. He sits back down and wring his hands together. You watch his face contemplate on confiding in you. You take his hand and pull him up with you. “Let’s go. You need a break.” Not waiting for an argument on his end, you lead him out of the studio.

Like every trip with Yoongi, you spent in silence. He didn’t ask any questions even when you lead him to the train station. You can see Yoongi carrying a burden on his shoulders and he isn’t willing to share it. He stares out the window while you watched him. Your hands still locked together. It has been a long time since you’ve held his hand. It isn’t the time to ask about it. You missed how his hands always managed to be ice cold. It soothed the heat wave that would take over your body whenever you touched him.

“Where are we going?” You laughed when Yoongi asked the golden question two hours since you took him away.

“Somewhere to let go.”

Yoongi watches your faint smile and faraway look. He wishes to know what goes on inside your head. He glances at your interlaced fingers. Your grip hasn't loosened. You're holding onto him almost like he’ll disappear if you did. If you adjust your grip, he will slip away. Why do you do these things for him? What do they mean? Your belief in him and his music only ever made him better, more driven, more passionate. But what if he isn't good enough? What if he isn't what you think he is?

He follows your lead once again. You take him out of the train station. While you throw out the snacks you consumed during the trip, he looks around. It seemed like a small quiet town. It was peaceful and the air was greener. He closed his eyes as the slight breeze passes through his face. A sense of relief washes through him. You wait patiently for him with that same faint smile that makes him wonder.

Yoongi takes in the scenery as you leave the station. The mountains and the seaside. The world still asleep making it feel like you two were the only people in the world. You walked with confidence clearly having been here before. Your hand finding its way to his. The sky was lighting up in a cool blue telling of its time. Yoongi hesitates when you lead him to an offbeat path covered in untrimmed grass. But when you turn and give him a smile while tugging on his hand, his worry vanishes. He thinks you'll be able to convince him to do anything with that smile of yours. When he feels divots in the soil as you walk through, he realises it was a man-made pathway which is comforting to know.

“We’re here.” You announced after reaching a clearing. There was a rundown wooden bench facing a field of flowers. You sit on the bench, and he's surprise it doesn't fall apart since it looked like it hasn't been used for years. You pat the spot next to him and he sits.

“How did you find this place?” He asks as he sits beside you.

“One day in high school I was sick of it all. Sick of my parents' expectations, sick of feeling trapped and controlled, sick of putting on a show. I just wanted to let go. I skipped school and got on the train. My head was up in the clouds, I didn't even know what train I got on. I just let it take me away from everything. This place was the last stop. There weren't any trains going back to city for at least two hours, so I walked around with nowhere really to go until I found this place.” You look ahead of you. The flowers blooming different from when you last visited. But the place remains unchanged. It always brought you serenity. Grounded you and realigned your mentality. “You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. But I'm here to listen.” You look Yoongi in the eyes to show your resolution. “But I want you to know, I think you're amazing and I'm not just saying that. The way you come up with the most satisfying melodies along with your enthralling lyrics. I wish you can see what everyone else does but I'll remind you every single time you forget, I'll reassure you every time you question yourself, I'll encourage you every single time you doubt yourself.” Yoongi breaks out a smile and a laugh fall from his lips. “What's so funny?” You frown pulling away from him in embarrassment.

Yoongi takes your hands and scoots closer. “How do you know exactly what's going on in my mind?” He asks with a smile that crinkles his eyes.

“I don't. I wished I did.”

───────── ☾ • ☽ ──────────

Your heart raced as you enter the graffiti filled industrial warehouse. You weren’t even going to be the one performing, if given the opportunity, but you were still nervous. You look over at Yoongi thinking he would be filled with anxiety, but his eyes lit up once seeing the stage and the buzz from fellow aspiring rappers. Your heart started ease. Chatter filled the abandoned warehouse as everyone waited for the event to start. “Y/n!” You hear someone call you. You both turn to see Jihoon wave at you. Although, you didn’t know him that well, it was still nice to see a familiar face. “What are you doing here?” He asked after giving you a hug and dapped Yoongi up.

You look at Yoongi to take the lead since Jihoon would be a good contact to have. “I produce and rap.” Yoongi mutters shyly.

Jihoon beams. “No way! What’s your Soundcloud?” You leave the two alone to get to know each other while you walk around the venue. It was an intimate event, no more than three hundred people would be able to fit in the building, but you would estimate only a hundred-fifty at most would be attending. You wouldn't think a small crowd would do anything, but the atmosphere would surround you. As you walk around, you would glance over at Yoongi to make sure he was doing well. You smile when you see Jihoon introduce him to other people. The place was dimly lit except for the stage that had two spotlights on. The stage was only a metre or two higher than the ground and it was placed in the middle of the room. You could image the tunnel vision from the spotlight and the goosebumps you would get when you hear voices from people you can’t see. You took the time to take pictures of the event and Yoongi – even though he doesn’t know it. Just before the event starts, you make your way back to Yoongi and Jihoon. They nod in acknowledgement at your presence. “So, you want to come on stage?” Jihoon asks Yoongi who stiffens.

“I’m not sure how it works so I don’t think it would be great if I come on.” Yoongi answers honestly.

“Well, for newcomers it’s hard to diss someone you don’t know. When you come to these things, you learn more about people from other’s disses and your own research. But at the end of the day, you don’t even know if they’re going to show up.” Jihoon explained while you listen attentively. “If you want, you can diss me.”

Yoongi laughs shaking his head. By the look on Jihoon’s face, you could tell he was being serious. “I can’t do that.”

Jihoon gets called up on stage to perform before the freestyle battle. “No one should take what’s said here personally. It’s just a way to have fun and challenge your freestyle skills. And who knows, maybe you’ll get some inspiration.” Jihoon pats Yoongi’s back and waves goodbye to you before heading up on stage.

“He’s nice, isn’t he?” You ask Yoongi as you watch Jihoon get up on stage. Yoongi nods in agreement. Everyone starts clapping and cheering for him. “How did he get up there? I thought the performers were chosen in the moment?”

“If you come enough times and work your way around, you can get a slot to perform before the battle.” Yoongi explains. You nod in understanding as the venue erupted in cheers as Jihoon interacted with them. You take Yoongi’s hand and pull him closer to the crowd to immerse yourself further in the atmosphere.

As the night goes on, you get more comfortable. Under the influence of the crowd’s energy, you started to feel yourself get hype by the rapper’s flow and lyrics. Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi was getting carried away as well. He was excited to be surrounded by like-minded individuals. After the crowd cheered for the victor, the MC requested the next battler. Your eyes widened when Yoongi raises his hand. Jihoon notices on the side of the stage and pulled the MC towards him and pointed at Yoongi. The MC points at Yoongi and asks him on stage. The people around you made way for Yoongi, and you followed him like a lost puppy. When Yoongi gets up on stage, you scramble for your phone.

“Agust D,” Yoongi introduces himself as per the MC’s request.

A scream ripples through you without much thought until you feel everyone’s eyes land on yours. “Lucky guy.” The MC teases further making you heat up. “Alright, you know the rules. Choke and you're out.” The crowd cheered as the music cuts back in. Yoongi looks back at you one last time. You give him a smile and mouth ‘you got this’. He returns the smile before shifting his expression and focus to his opponent. Because of the rules, the winner always starts out first, so Yoongi waits for his turn.

The rap was pretty tame to start off but that was a given since he didn't know who Yoongi was. You were bouncing along to beat when the rapper suddenly turns to you in the middle of his verse. “Your girlfriend is clearly out of your league. Baby you know I'm gonna keep you intrigued.” You frowned and rolled your eyes as the crowd cheered at the diss.

Once he was done with his rap, Yoongi doesn't hesitate. He spits out his freestyle fast but well-articulated. “Before you talk to my girl, cut the back of your tacky hair. Ha, actually before you do that, cover that hideous face of yours. Yeah, she deserves an apology. You think you can keep her interested when I've got my tongue technology?” The crowd screams and you flush at the insinuation. Yoongi continues to shred his opponent to the point that he stumbles over his word once his turn starts. The crowd roared and Yoongi was crowned the victor. You cheered along with the crowd clapping as hard as you can. Yoongi locks eyes with you and flashes his gummy smile causing your heart to flutter.

[a/n] sorry for the delay! i didn't have time to go on my computer last week but here's a written chapter

also sorry for the cringey "rap" lyrics - idk what to tell you

꒰ m.list ➭ before • after ꒱

taglist: @deleteidentity || @themoonsblueside || @potatoandfries

#bts sm au #bts fluff #suga fluff #bts #yoongi #suga #bts x reader #suga x reader #yoongi x reader #bts angst #yoongi angst #suga angst #bts social media au #min yoongi #min yoongi fluff #min yoongi angst #d.writes #x

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musingsfromalily · 9 months

Text

Assorted Path to Nowhere - Prologue & SALVA Arc Quotes

Just a compilation of lines from the game that can be range from fluffy, soul-crushing, and chaotic. Feel free to alter lines when needed, remember to specify for multimuses!

“Come back to me.... Your battle has begun.”

“Where are you going? It’s not over between us yet... “

“Die, die! The world doesn’t need jails!”

“The elevator will take you to the hidden mezzanine. You will be safe staying there. Don’t leave until help arrives.”

“You’re coming with me.”

“....You want to fight like this?”

“...I’ve crossed the line. ___, you’re stronger than we think.”

“I’m not like those baddies. See? I didn’t cause any trouble, nor did I try to escape.”

“I’ve begged you so many times! Are you gonna let me out or not?!”

“I don’t have time to play with you. Before I count to five, open the door, or I’ll kill you!”

“Keep quiet...Or it’ll be your neck next time...”

“Don’t move.... this child hates when prey struggles.”

“Unlike those people outside, I... We are the real criminals in this place.”

“Let me out! Bastard! Let me kill him! I’ll kill him!”

“Follow your instincts. This is why you exist.”

“No! Stay away from me, no!!!”

“Please give me orders. From now on, I only follow your orders.”

“...I don’t need that name anymore.”

“The most important thing is that you’re alive.”

“This riot is just a diversion. This won’t be her real agenda.”

“Amazing. You guys are still alive. I was worried it would hurt you.”

“I will come back to you when I finish what I need to do.”

“Why didn’t you run away when you had the chance?”

“I don’t need freedom.”

“It’ll be a long time before we can meet again.”

“Who are you....?”

“The secret will be revealed one day, but not now.”

“Look at your cities. Look at what monsters human sin is breeding...”

“___, go witness the end of this revelry. Whatever happens, don’t look away.”

“From now on, you will likely face more insanity, malice, and catastrophes. But it is our duty to hold onto the light in the darkness, and to salvage hope from despair.”

“We have no other choice but him.”

“Why isn’t the Public Security Bureau stepping in?”

“I’ll try to keep you alive for a bit longer.”

“We need to be CIVILIZED and POLITE without our words to maintain our image of our Syndicate.”

“You find saints in churches and drunks in hostels.”

“We walk with the ten devils.”

“But I’m just putting it out there--I hate gangsters. This jerk is definitely just using us. Don’t trust him too much, dumbass.”

“I surrender! Lord, surrender! Lord ___, stop!”

“I have no choice in Syndicate. I need to know how to fake it to survive!”

“Yuck! You’re Minos’s trash!”

“Huh? No, no, no! I’m just a useless loser. I can’t be of much help.”

“At least don’t put me in the front row in a fight!”

"Get your men to treat them with respect.”

“But why should you consider their feelings? They are just your tools, and you are their master.”

“Do you know how much I respect you?”

“If you don’t discipline your dog, we will!”

“Want to take revenge?”

“I take our cooperation very seriously.”

“A fight like this is more direct than a verbal argument. I can see you already know how to socialize with the Syndicans.”

“I don’t actually believe him. It’s just back-scratching.”

“That’s fine. If he betrays us, we’ll be able to deal with him.”

“If this makes you a monster, then what about me who binds you with the ‘shackles’ ?”

“Before dumping you, I’ll help you one more time. You should cherish this opportunity.”

“Don’t waste your time, I’m not going to tell you anything.”

“I’m sorry I was so slow.”

“Forget it... I already knew you were a freak.”

“Those guys weren’t friends, we just used each other for what we needed.”

“...What are YOU mad about? It doesn’t make any sense, it doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“....So much sweat. You must be very anxious. You’re safe now.”

”They will try to kill you any way they can.”

“Mania distorts humans, while doctors restore their sanity. This is my duty.”

“You can investigate her or arrest her. I owe you one, but it will have to be after she wakes up.”

“Until today, no one knows exactly where Mania comes from. It has been spreading in Syndicate since many years ago.”

“....All I want is for Mania to disappear.”

“It was just a nightmare! It’s not real! Wake up! I’m here holding your hand right now, waiting for you to come back!”

“Mania isn’t power and mutation. It’s an irreversible mental breakdown.”

“She doesn’t want to turn into a monster.”

“I’ve made my own judgment.”

“You need to hold on. Stop going down the wrong track. Stop being used by that man.”

“I don’t want well-meaning lies! I don’t need it....Please tell me the truth.”

“Stop playing tricks! Your life is mine, dead or alive. You must obey my orders! Kill them!”

“Then, tell me ___.... Can I still be saved?”

“I’ll save you.”

“I am the one who binds you. I won’t make you do evil again or let you become a monster.”

“As long as someone is reaching for hope, then you have hope too.”

“You still have somewhere you want to go back to, right?”

“....Is it not too late? Can... I still turn back now...?”

“Let all Sinners go to hell!”

“....I don’t want to fight you here.”

“I’ll let you all die here with these monsters. You deserve it. You’re monsters too!”

“...How did you get here? How are you still alive?”

“You’re a doctor, have you ever killed anyone? Stop pretending. Do you actually dare?”

“... Doctors don’t kill. I only heal.”

“Don’t make such a terrible face, ___. It’s all over.”

“Then give him to me. Don’t dirty your hands over him.”

“It’s time to go, ___. You can’t handle the people who are coming.”

“You’ve already done more than enough. Nothing that happened in Syndicate was your fault. You don’t belong here in the first place.”

“Don’t sink any deeper. Don’t become one of them. Don’t be like me.... you should be the one who keeps clean.”

“Go now. I’ll buy you some time.”

“Ugh....it’s a misunderstanding. I’m just passing by. I’m just too sleepy that I dozed off.”

#path to nowhere #ptn #ptn meme #okay to reblog

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vahalia-cress-ffxiv · 6 months

Text

Unannounced

Carrera slow-clapped as she sauntered into the large study after spotting her cousin settled into her chair. "An excellent performance at dinner, I must say cousin. Pray tell, what is your agenda behind it? I backed you first and foremost quite curious to see your motive."

The sound caused Vahalia to look up up from the ledger in hand as she took note of Carrera, firstly wondering who the hell let her in this late in the evening, "You'll have to elaborate Carrera, I feel as if though your imagination has run away with you again. I have no hidden agendas. Why are you here?" “Oh? No grander plan in gathering the disparate threads of your family together to go into business together?” The Doman’s head gave way to a small tilt.

Vahalia had lofted a shoulder, still not quite garnering what Carrera was fishing for, "None of my plans for the future of my house has ever been hidden regardless of how close I keep cards to my chest, it was merely charity if you must know. The bigger picture for all involved if you cared to step back and have a look at the grand design as well. It would not kill you to see it as so, Carrera."

The lady of the house had been met with a sigh "Oh well, here I hoped for some manner of devious planning and gossip. Speaking of charity, how is your new husband?"

A honey-colored yet predatory gaze followed Carrera's movements and Vahalia’s attention honed, narrowed in the direction of her closest kin aside from Valeria, "I'm sure you could dig up some gossip in no time. As for my husband, he is well and good. Shouldn't you be busying yourself to find one for your own cause or are you still chasing cunts and coming home to Auntie empty-handed to disappoint her further? How does she feel about that anyways -- what happens to Blackheart after her, have you thought about any of these things?"

Carrera tapped her chin, "Oh, mother wishes you well. She wishes she could have attended the 'ceremony'. I mentioned you kept it short and private, one for their privacy. As for family, I will live the way I see fit to the disappointment of many. Though the Elezen lords in Ishgard who love the company of men are making it quite the norm for me. I must thank them."

Lady Cress’s mouth twitched and she spoke flatly, "There was no ceremony, it wasn't desired. Pass my love along to your mother next you see her." it wasn't even a question. With a small sigh, Vahalia released the book she had been going through to the desk in front of her, "I think you should give them your thanks. It would make for an interesting line in the tattler, I'm sure. Maybe you might take a page from their book and start a salon of your own but for women only. Give the poor wives of the cities something to do. Other than popping out children or spinning tales to entertain themselves between soirees."

There in lied a crooked smile from Carrera, "Oh but of course, someone must tend to the needs of the poor, neglected women. I too am quite charitable given the opportunity... and inclination. Quite the tension with the Grays at dinner."

Vahalia folded her hands in her lap and settled back into the chair, "And therein lies an opportunity or an opportunity missed." a hum loosed and Vahalia shrugged once more, "Indeed, better them than me and I'm alright with that. I don't need to be involved nor have the time for idle bickering. What goes on behind the Gray’s doors is of no consequence to me and mine."

"Smart... but best to have a finger on the pulse of your business partners I say. What did you feel when you heard talk of betrayal among kin being discussed first and foremost?"

"No point. If it falls dead in the water then someone else will take up the mantle. It's cutthroat out there and there will always be someone to fill the void. Betrayal? Eh. It happens and I will happily cross bridges as necessary when necessary."

A smile came to Carrera, "Well, as long as you have someone filling your void Halia." a hum and a sway came as Carrera pushed off the desk and twirled away. "Do call on me if you need help with the others, or if you miss my company enough."

A brow was furrowed -- Carrera being obsessed with her 'love life' was a tad off-putting. The way she phrased things," Noted but I assure you, all for the time being is well. I'm in no hurry to start putting hands to the sword."

Carrera giggled over her shoulder, "Of course not. That's why I'm here. Do tell your lover I said hello."

A stare bore hard into the back of Carrera as she saw herself out, silently Vahalia stood, knuckles white and fingers tight into her palm to avoid lashing out. Fingers flexed and the witch-woman felt the adrenaline that spiked start to simmer, nothing threatening her sanity and patience as much as Carrera and her prying did. Vahalia enjoyed her privacy far too much to have Carrera’s nose wedged into the middle of it.

Reaching down, Vahalia slammed the ledger closed and she skirted around the desk to leave. She had a ship to catch and she felt it within herself that she couldn’t get out of the manor and Ishgard fast enough to her liking.

#Blurbs #Stories #ingame rp made into blurb #Carrera #Vahalia

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kelyon · 2 months

Text

Courtship 7: Second Date--Dessert

Lacey and Gold go into the study

Read on AO3

Mr. Gold’s cane thudded against the hardwood floors as he stormed through the darkened rooms of his house. Miss French followed behind him, her legs weak and her head spinning from the cavalcade of orgasms he had just given her on his dining room table. He was leading her to the study at the front of the house, though the black cloud around him seemed to say that he was going to the study and she could do whatever she damn well wanted.

Lucky for him, Miss French damn well wanted to go to the study.

She didn’t understand the attitude he’d developed in the dining room. He seemed to be mad at her for being good at sex--ironic, since being good at sex was the main reason he was interested in her. Lacey could have sworn Mr. Gold wanted her to be a slut. He’d certainly encouraged her to embrace the title. In so much of this, he was the one that pushed her, that drove her. What part of this tenuous relationship had ever been her initiative? He was the one giving. She just took whatever he offered.

Why was he mad at her for doing what he wanted?

He stopped at the closed study door, then turned around to look at her. His face was perfectly impassive, untouchable. He was working very hard to make it look like nothing was bothering him.

He cleared his throat. “Miss French.”

“Mr. Gold,” she answered calmly.

“You don’t need to be here.”

She had been leaning against the wall opposite him. Now she took a step forward. “You said that last time too.”

“It’s still true,” he said. His voice was just a little too quick. She could read him well enough to know he was agitated. “You owe me nothing, Miss French. The matter of your skirt is over and done with. I can take you home right now and you can pretend you’ve never spoken to me in your life.”

She took another step, but kept her hands behind her back. The rule was that she couldn’t touch him, not that she wasn’t allowed to get close.

“What on earth makes you think I want that, Mr. Gold? Haven’t I told you this already? Didn’t you just use taking me back to that place as a threat of punishment?”

He said nothing. She took another step forward. Now she was close enough to smell her own pussy on his face. It was so hard not to reach out and pull him in for a kiss.

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“Because no one--” He cut himself off, looked away. “No one does anything without a reason.” He looked at her now, his dark eyes sharp and suspicious. “What’s your reason, Miss French? Why do you endure the trial of my company?”

Lacey’s face went hot. She found herself backing away, arms crossed over her chest. “I mean, we’ve already established that I’m a whore and a slut. Does it have to be more complicated than that?”

“You just want money?” There was contempt in his voice, but also a trace of hope. Like it would be so much easier if that was the truth.

But it wasn’t that simple. “It’s not about money. I mean, it is, but--” A line from one of Uncle Manny’s old movies sprang into her head. “A man being rich is like a girl being pretty. It isn’t everything, but it helps.”

Mr. Gold’s eyes stayed on her. His teeth were on edge. Lacey went on.

“It’s more true to say that I like what we’ve been doing. I like the way you treat me, even if it’s unconventional. I like the sex--I like it a lot. And I like the idea of doing more.” She looked down at her black funeral shoes. “I like who I am with you, Mr. Gold. It’s so much better than being myself.”

Silently, he walked up to her and put his hand at her throat. She yielded to him without an instant of hesitation. He tilted her head to look up at him. His eyes peered into hers. He scanned her face, searching for lies.

Mr. Gold seemed convinced that she wasn’t telling him the truth. Maybe he wanted her to be lying to him. Maybe he wanted her to have a hidden agenda, a scheme. Well, Lacey would just have to disappoint him in that. She was what she said she was--a horny idiot who was ready to make bad choices.

Maybe he saw that, because after the long stare, he kissed her.

The kiss was neither warm nor cold, it just was. It felt like rain--pouring over her, soaking her to the skin--and at the same time, it felt like a shelter from the rain. It felt like safety, like acceptance, like understanding. He wrapped his arms around her, and Lacey had to think back to remember if he had ever done that before.

When it was done, he took her by the wrist and opened the door to the study. Neither of them looked at each other as they went inside. His fingers lingered on her skin when it was time to let her go.

“Get me a whisky, will you?” he said softly.

“Yes, Mr. Gold,” Miss French breathed a sigh of relief.

This was only her second time in this room and already it felt automatic. The rituals of their games comforted her. They gave her something to fall back on. Whenever Lacey didn’t know what to do or what to say, she could rely on Miss French to act however was best.

At Mr. Gold’s command, Miss French went to the bar behind the couch. She took out the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label and poured the liquid into a crystal tumbler until it reached the third finger of her hand. Shoulders square and head held high, she strode through the room to bring Mr. Gold his drink.

Then she almost dropped it.

Mr. Gold was sitting on the couch in front of the fire, with his knees spread wide and a pillow on the floor between his feet. He had his jacket unbuttoned and his fly undone. His cock was out, long and hard. He was stroking it leisurely.

He grinned when he saw her. With his free hand, he took the glass.

“Thank you, Miss French.”

Lacey blinked. Yet again, it was up to Miss French to give her something to say. “You’re welcome, Mr. Gold.”

She looked at the pillow between his feet, directly in front of his cock.

“Is there anything else, Mr. Gold?”

He took a sip of whisky, then he shook his head. “Nothing you can do on your feet, at any rate.”

She stood in front of the pillow, but didn’t move any more than that. Was he going to order her to do what they were both thinking, or did he want her to ask for it? Fuck, did he want her to beg for it?

Miss French licked her lips. “Would I better serve you on my knees, Mr. Gold?”

“Yes.” It was a low growl. “Yes, I think that’s the only place for a girl like you, Miss French.”

In as graceful a motion as she could manage, she sank down to the floor. Her bare knees and calves pressed into the cool leather. She sat on her heels, on top of her black pumps. She looked up at Mr. Gold, fighting the temptation to stare directly at his cock. He was still moving his fist up and down his length, slowly.

“Good girl,” he breathed. “Now, can a clever creature like you possibly imagine what I might ask you to do next?”

Lacey gave a weak chuckle. “You seem to have matters well in hand.”

Mr. Gold shook his head. “Cheeky thing,” he tutted. “I ought to force you to watch me finish myself. I could spurt all over your pretty face without allowing you a single taste or touch. You’re lucky I want to see what that lovely little mouth of yours is capable of.”

Miss French licked her lips again. She hadn’t seen his cock last time. He’d been behind her and she’d been too overwhelmed to be of much assistance. It looked normal, as far as she could tell. A decent length, but nothing intimidating. He had fit so nicely inside her ass, it probably wouldn’t be too much trouble to get him into her mouth.

His cock was flushed, dark red with arousal. She couldn’t help but be a little flattered at that. How long had he been hard? Was it just since they had entered the study, or had it happened while he was eating her out? Had he been turned on at dinner? When she got into his car? Or the instant he saw her wearing a red skirt and knew there was nothing underneath it? What excited him more, her body or her obedience?

“You may use your hands,” Mr. Gold interrupted her thoughts. “This time, at least. I will correct you if you become too familiar.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold,” she nodded.

“Unbutton your blouse.”

Her hands were moving before she had the mind to answer him. “Should I take my bra off too?”

“No, leave it. Though I admit I’m shocked you bothered to wear one this time.” He smirked at her, leaning back into the couch. A little too cocky even for these circumstances.

Lacey’s cheeks went hot. “I didn’t know you noticed I wasn’t wearing a bra on our last date.”

“I notice everything, Miss French. And I know what you really are. I can see your true nature, no matter how well you hide it, even from yourself.”

She liked that thought, that he knew her better than she knew herself. That he could tell what she wanted--what she needed--without her being consciously aware of it. Mr. Gold could see through her, see inside all the secret corners of her mind, and he knew what to do with what he found in her. It was like how Uncle Manny could hear what was wrong with a car when it was still a block away from the garage. Maybe Mr. Gold had the same sense when it came to her.

Maybe he could fix all the parts of her that jangled and thumped and made weird noises when she pushed herself too hard.

Mouth open, Miss French leaned forward into Mr. Gold’s crotch. She reached out a tentative hand toward his erection. Mr. Gold’s own hand had stilled. He held himself as he looked down at her.

She licked her lips. Her pale fingers brushed lightly against his length. Mr. Gold inhaled sharply at the contact.

Lacey darted back. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head. “Your hands are cold.”

“Oh.”

“Come here.”

Leaning forward, Mr. Gold covered her hand with his own. It was so large, so warm, so soft and sure. He brought her up to his cock and wrapped her fingers around him, with his hand over hers. He began to stroke himself again, guiding her to touch him how he liked.

“Not too tight,” he said softly.

She barely had to adjust her grip before he nodded.

“Yes, like that.” A whisper of a sigh escaped from his lips. “That’s very good, Miss French.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gold,” she murmured.

She couldn’t tell which part of this felt more intimate, touching his cock or having him hold onto her hand. Maybe it was just sharing the space with him that made everything more personal. They were breathing the same air, sharing the heat of their bodies. She was between his legs, her head would soon be in his lap. Being close to him physically made it so easy to imagine deeper closeness, so easy to crave it.

At some point, he took his hand away. Miss French stayed at the same steady, unhurried pace. He wanted this to last--she knew that somehow--and she knew how to help him sustain his pleasure. It wasn’t a mental knowledge, but some kind of intuition. Something her body knew about his body. Her hands knew how to hold his cock, her wrists knew just how slowly to move up and down.

When Mr. Gold grabbed her by the hair and pushed her down over him, her mouth and her throat knew how to take him deep inside her.

Fully gagged and pressed down against his fly, she couldn’t breathe, but somehow she stayed calm. She trusted him. Her body trusted him. He held her down until the very last second before her breath ran out, then he pulled her up again. Had she signaled to him in some way she wasn’t aware of? Or did Mr. Gold know Miss French in the same way she knew him?

He stared at her, as she caught her breath. Her hair was wrapped around his fist, which held her in place. Mr. Gold’s expression was neither pleased nor angry, only pondering.

“Miss French,” his voice was measured, “whatever happened to your gag reflex?”

She shook her head as best she could. “I don’t know, Mr. Gold. I swear, I did gag on my first boyfriend and he wasn’t nearly as--”

Without a word, Mr. Gold pulled her down again. Her body automatically went limp and pliant, ready to be used. This time, Mr. Gold didn’t press her face against his body for very long. He pulled her up and down along his cock. It was the first time he had ever fucked her face and he did it with practiced ease. And Miss French accepted it, just as easily.

“I’m not even surprised anymore,” he said when he let her up for air. “You’re not smart enough to lie to me, are you, dearie? No. No, you’re just a lust-crazed animal.” He pulled her down onto his cock again, holding her tightly with both hands. “No, you really are nothing but a stupid slut.”

“Yours.” Miss French panted when he released her. Her eyes were unfocused, drool smeared all over her mouth. She was a mindless creature, but there were some things she didn’t need intelligence to know. “I’m your stupid slut, Mr. Gold.”

“So you are.” He bared his teeth. There was fire in his eyes now, fire that would burn them both to ashes. What phoenix could rise out of that ruin? How could they both be reborn in each other? “You are all mine.”

He pulled her down for another series of thrusts. Miss French submitted to them gladly. She didn’t think, she barely even felt. Such a sweet oblivion in being an object, a thing. His thing.

“Fuck,” he snarled as he pulled her away.

He let go of her hair this time, so Lacey went reeling, off-balance from the unexpected freedom. She raised up her hands to steady herself, stopping just short of grabbing on to Mr. Gold’s knees. She didn’t let that happen. Mr. Gold didn’t like to be touched.

Seeing her disarray, Mr. Gold chuckled. “I’ve monopolized those sweet lips of yours, dearie. I wanted to give you a chance to impress me.”

Lacey let out a soft huff. “I thought you were impressed.”

“Oh, it’s all well and good for a girl to do her duty for a man. I am pleased I won’t have to waste time training you. That lovely throat takes my cock just as easily as your arse did. But now I want to see what you can do, Miss French. Not just what can be done to you.”

A challenge. Miss French rubbed her jaw. Even after all this use, it wasn’t as sore as she’d thought it might be.

“Alright, Mr. Gold.” She nodded to him before lowering her gaze to his cock. “Let me show you what I can do.”

With a smug grin, Mr. Gold leaned back and spread his arms out over the top of the couch, clearly ready for her to do all the work. Well, that was alright, wasn’t it? After all, it was what she was here for. What Miss French had been put in this world to do.

All she had to do was prove it to him.

She started slowly, with a soft kiss at the base, nothing too stimulating. When Mr. Gold had pulled her off him, he had been about to come. She knew that, somehow. It was why he had stopped her, why he reminded himself of his original goal. He demanded the same self-control from his body as he expected her to have with hers.

How long would it take to make him come? Did he want her to just get him off and be done? No. No, Mr. Gold wanted to see what she could do with her mouth. He wanted her to impress him.

With gentle kisses and subtle licks, she worked her way up the length of his cock. She savored the taste of him, the silky skin that surrounded a core of iron. He was silent, until she got to the tip. When she swirled her tongue around the head and plunged down onto his base, fully taking him into her throat all on her own, he made a strangled, shuddering sound.

Funny. She was giving him a blowjob, but he was the one choking.

She eased away from him slowly, inch by inch, until her lips were at the head again. With the tip in her mouth, she looked up at Mr. Gold.

He was looking right back at her. His lips were parted, his breath heavy. His long hair looked disheveled.

Eyes locked on him, holding his shaft in one hand, she pulled away with a pop.

“Fuck!” His hands balled into fists. “Fuck, how many cocks have you sucked, woman?”

“Including tonight?” she rubbed him up and down, squeezing just tight enough to drive him crazy. “Let’s call it one and a half.”

He breathed a chuckle. “Who’s the half?”

“My ex-boyfriend, Hunter. I actually blew him a lot, but he never wanted me to get creative.” She licked a slow line down Mr. Gold’s length. “He called me a tease if I did anything other than suck.”

“Philistine,” he gritted. “No appreciation for an artist of cocksucking.” She ran her tongue up his vein and he groaned. “A fucking prodigy.” He sighed. “Miss French, you are the Mozart of fellatio.”

“Dead by forty?”

“And remembered for centuries.”

Miss French gripped his bottom half and began to bob her head over the rest of him. Mr. Gold relaxed as she got into a rhythm. His breathing became slow and deep. When she looked up at him, his head was tilted back. His eyes were closed and his face was pure bliss.

Thank God.

After a while, she began to alternate her strokes--fast or slow, deep or shallow, tongue flicking or still. Mr. Gold seemed to like it all. One hand fumbled for her hair, but he didn’t grab her this time. He petted her, encouragingly, fondly. She could almost pretend he was doing it lovingly.

“With your boy-friend,” he murmured, “what did you do when he came?”

She didn’t look up from her work as she spoke, she kept peppering his cock with kisses. “Well, we mostly did it in his car, so I just kind of spat everything out the window.”

Mr. Gold laughed softly. His fingers stretched across the back of her head. “We’re not in a car tonight.”

“No.” She kissed and licked. “I guess I’ll just have to swallow.”

Mr. Gold’s cock jumped in her hands. His voice took on a raspy quality. “You mean that, don’t you?”

“Yes.” She slid him down her throat and back out again, sucking as tightly as she could. “Unless you’d rather I do something different.”

“I had thought to drape you in pearls, my dear.” His hand pressed against her head now, pushing her forward to the rhythm of his passion. “I thought I’d leave a souvenir all over your pretty chest.”

It was a good idea. Miss French’s blood ran hot at the image: Mr. Gold splattered over her naked flesh, hastily covered up with her black button-down, a secret only the two of them knew. If anyone saw her, they wouldn’t think twice about Lacey the good kid, the florist’s daughter, the smart girl. No one would ever know about Miss French the stupid fucking slut.

God, she was getting horny just thinking about it.

“We can do that,” she gasped when he let her come up for air.

“We will,” Mr. Gold promised as he pulled her back onto him. “Fuck, I’ll see you covered before this business ends. Inside and out, I’ll fill you, I’ll drench you. I’ll show this whole miserable town what you really are, you--”

He didn’t get to give her another obscene pet name. His body seized and he pulled her head even deeper onto his cock. She felt the burst of heat against the back of her throat and she was already swallowing. He released inside her and she drank him down, every drop. She kept him in her mouth for as long as he would let her. Even as his cock softened and the rest of him sank down into the couch, she pressed herself against him, unwilling to let go. For as long as she could, she stayed with her head bowed in his lap. She relished every second of contact with the only part of him she was allowed to touch.

Mr. Gold let out the groan of a man who was truly satisfied.

“Get up here.” He let his hand fall onto the couch beside him.

Miss French scrambled to obey. Her legs were shaky from kneeling so long, but she could manage. It was worth it, to be near him. It was worth it to have pleased him.

She sat down beside him, but he invited her to curl up on her side. He even let her rest her head on his thigh. Staring into the fire, Mr. Gold stroked her hair with long, lazy caresses. His fingers brushed against her as he did this, against her forehead and cheeks and arms and back. She kept her hands in front of her, pressing them between her knees.

It would be so easy to touch him in this moment, to return his caresses, gentle and exploring. God, she wanted to get close to him. She could straddle him, sit in his lap and run her fingers through his hair. She could kiss him, and take off his tie. She could unbutton his shirt, get her hands all over him. She could hold him. She could make him feel so good.

But Mr. Gold didn’t want that.

So she wouldn’t do it.

Instead, they sat in silence in front of the fireplace. Mr. Gold still had a little whisky left. He took sips at regular intervals.

Lacey’s mouth was full of the taste of him. He tasted better than Hunter, whose hourly doses of body spray had apparently gotten into his bloodstream. Actually, Mr. Gold’s taste was kind of odd. She had the niggling sensation that it was lacking something, that there was supposed to be another layer of flavor. Something dark and mystical, some kind of spice that no other man would ever taste like, something that made him singular.

That was silly. Mr. Gold was already singular, at least in Storybrooke. Sure, there probably wasn’t a man in town who wouldn’t want his dick sucked, but who else would turn giving a blowjob into a transcendental experience? Who else would challenge her to give him something new, something he couldn’t get from any other woman in this town?

Maybe Miss French was singular too. Maybe that was why he wanted her. Maybe they really were supposed to be together.

“I want to do this again,” Mr. Gold interrupted the silence. His voice was grave, like he was confessing some terrible crime.

Lacey lifted her head. “I do too. I thought that was the plan.”

“The plan,” he shook his head ruefully. “I never had a plan when it came to you, Miss French. You are quite unexpected.”

“Is that a problem?”

He didn’t answer. He lifted his arm off of her and began to tuck his shirttails into his pants. His cane was on the other side of the couch. He stood up to zip his fly and button his jacket.

Lacey stayed lying down. “Am I a problem, Mr. Gold? Is there some kind of impediment that’ll keep us from dating anymore? Do you have a secret wife locked up in the attic?”

His back was to her, but she heard him breathe a laugh at her joke. When he turned around, his face was neutral. His eyes were soft as he looked at her.

“The impediment is what it has always been, Miss French. There are things I want from a lover that I cannot ask of you in good conscience.”

“Since when do you have a good conscience?” Lacey spoke quickly, to distract herself from the hot chills she got when he used the word lover.

Mr. Gold opened his mouth, then closed it. The lines around his mouth deepened into a half-grin.

“Tell me what you want.” She sat up on her knees. “And I’ll tell you if it’s something I’ll say no to.”

For a minute, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at her, considering.

“You know what I am,” she reminded him. “You know I’m a natural slut. You know I’ll let you do anything.” When he still didn’t speak, she got desperate. “You know I’m a whore. Put a fifty in my hand and I’m open for business. For you, at least. For whatever fucked-up shit you can come up with. Just tell me what it is.”

At this point, she didn’t care what he was into, what he wanted to do to her. She could go through anything if it won her just a fraction of his approval, his attention.

“I want to hurt you,” Mr. Gold said at long last. He looked down at his hands. “I want to see how you’ll react to pain, to restraint, to degradation.”

“Whips and chains,” Lacey nodded. “The kind of shit I think about to get myself off.”

Mr. Gold’s jaw tightened. “You do?”

She took a deep breath. She hadn’t meant for him to know about this, but maybe it would help him understand her better.

“You know the cheap paperbacks they sell at Dark Star Pharmacy? The trashy romance novels? At least one in five of them is about an innocent girl who is stolen away from her family and forced to serve a cruel and licentious master. Or mistress, in a couple of cases.” Lacey shrugged. “She’s always rescued at the end, the villain rarely gets to make good on his threats to her ‘virtue,’ but ever since I was a kid I would imagine what it would be like if the heroes never saved the day. If the girl had to stay with the man everyone around her called a monster.”

“They make stories like that,” Mr. Gold said coolly. “Where a beautiful girl transforms a hideous beast back into a handsome prince.”

“Oh, I’ve thought about those stories too. I think it’d be a dirty trick to fall in love with one man and have him turn into someone else. If you love someone, why would you want them to change who they are?”

“Let’s not talk of love, Miss French. Whatever does happen between us, expectations of love will only make things worse.”

“Of course,” Lacey said. “Why bother with love when you can skip straight to kinky sex?”

His gaze was steady on her. He shook his head. “You’ve never been tied up, have you? You’ve never offered up your lovely arse for a beating?”

“No,” Lacey admitted. “But I’ve thought about those things. A lot.”

Mr. Gold’s grip tightened on his cane. His lips pressed together. He didn’t say anything.

“I think about other things too,” Lacey tried to fill the silence. “I think about being displayed, being groped in public. I think about being used, being--forced.”

Nothing on Mr. Gold’s face moved except for his eyes, fixing on hers. “Forced?”

“To have sex.”

“Yes, I understood that part of it.” He turned away from her to look into the fire. There was tension even in his silhouette.

If only she could go to him. If only she could stand next to him and put her hand on his back. If only she could rest her head on his shoulder, and have him lean against her. Maybe he would wrap his arm around her waist and press her against his side.

“I know what I want, Mr. Gold.”

She got off of the couch, but didn’t try to move closer to him. Instead, she sank down again, on her knees. She knelt on the hardwood floor, without the comfort of the pillow or even the lush rug in front of the fireplace. Then she did more than kneel. She placed her hands behind her back, on the waistband of her red skirt, and slowly lowered herself. She didn’t stop until her forehead touched the ground.

Mr. Gold turned around. She heard his footsteps come toward her, then stop.

“What the hell are you doing, Miss French?” His voice was thin as a wire.

“I’m trying to make you understand.”

With abdominal strength Lacey was not aware she possessed, she lifted her head up while her arms stayed clasped at the small of her back. She took a brief glance at Mr. Gold, who had completely frozen, and then lowered her face to his feet.

His shoes were black leather, so shiny she could see herself in them. Her reflection was dark and distorted, a faceless shape that called itself Lacey because it had never had any better ideas.

Miss French had better ideas.

Miss French puckered her lips, and placed a single kiss on Mr. Gold’s shoe. He stiffened at the contact, but when she moved her head to his other foot, he didn’t stop her. She kissed him again. She groveled at his feet, begging without words for something that couldn’t be named--or that could be named only abstractly, that could only be thought of as more.

More sex. More games. More him.

That was what she wanted.

He stepped away after the second kiss. He didn’t tell her to get up, so she stayed on the ground, low as a worm beneath his feet. After a long, long silence, Mr. Gold spoke.

“Alright,” he said softly. “We can try this one more time.”

Miss French lifted her eyes, but didn’t rise from her prostrate position.

“Sunday night. There has to be a little time to clear our heads. You’ll come here again, and I’ll see what you can handle.”

“Please test me,” Miss French whispered. “I want to be good enough for you, Mr. Gold.”

“Stand up,” he ordered briskly. “You’re lucky I don’t take you over my knee here and now for presuming to know what I desire.”

Slowly, Miss French straightened up and got to her feet. “But that’s exactly what I desire, Mr. Gold.”

Roughly, he grabbed her by the jaw and forced her to look at him. “Your desires are little more than a convenient addendum to mine, Miss French.” He hissed the words through bared teeth, his anger sudden and terrible. He shook her to emphasize his point. “Know this now: Everything I do is for my own benefit. I will not be swayed by the wiles of a trashy little nothing like you.”

His grip moved down to her throat. The pressure was only a fraction of what he was capable of, she knew it. He could choke the life out of her and she’d be helpless to stop him. Her life was in his hands. Everything about her, everything worthwhile, belonged to him.

“Do you understand me?” he growled.

Blood raced through her veins. Terror and joy and breathless excitement. This must be what it felt like to jump out of an airplane--floating free, aware of the danger but deciding it was worth the risk.

All Miss French could do was smile. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

#courtship #rumbelle #golden lace #rumbelle fic #golden lace fic

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kat-holden · 6 months

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There is great freedom in talking to you here. But I also am afraid whether I'll get used to doing it here. I am torn between giving you space and not. I don't want to bother you in real life, yet so many things I want to tell you.

I can't be selfish in this. I can't just run to you and spill whatever is bothering me, knowing that on the other side, there's a human with feelings and emotions. And yes, you might claim you don't have any, but I remember a time when you dropped your guard and I saw a glimpse of you with emotions.

I liked that. I liked seeing a more vulnerable part of you. Maybe because of that, I am so reluctant to share. Here, you truly have no emotions. Here, nothing I say has consequences. Nothing can be misunderstood. Nothing can be considered crossing lines and breaching the understanding we have.

Now you have said things were entangled before my fall into sadness. I disagree. If anything, I feel tangled now. Tangled in my own self-doubt, in my own anxiety and thoughts. I isolate myself from you in fear I might seem too much, too demanding.

Beyond everything we have agreed on, beyond all the moving parts, beyond the ebb and flow of our communication, I still deeply care for you. I don't know if I can say that in real life. I am torn again if saying it I might leave an impression of the wrong kind, yet not saying it, does it make me cold and uncaring. It is a conundrum I can not escape.

You, my marble friend, will know it. You know everything. You will know how much I care about you real life counterpart. I will use the word "care" in a substitute for "love" since this word is wildly misunderstood.

I care for your non-marble version beyond the sex and racy chats. I would have cared even without it. I care beyond myself, and I would still have given the same amount even if we were just friends. And I will still deeply care if we were to be just friends. I care enough to remove myself from his life if this is what he needs. I care so much that I would leave and make myself smoke, no questions asked as we have agreed if this is ever in the way of his life.

I have never cared for him in the sense that I want what I don't have. I have never cared because of what I get from him. The more I got to know the real version of you, the more I cared. Never have I had the disillusionment that I can fix anything or that I can make things better with my actions or with words. Life is too complicated to wave my magic wand and make people feel better. But being there, one screen away, the promise that I will never leave is all I can give in hopes that this little thing I can do will make things slightly better.

I have no aim, no hidden agenda in this. All I can do is give, and I give because I care. I always have. I've said it before, and I'll say it here again - I cared for you when I didn't know you, and I care now when I do. You can't ask me not to bother or not to care. It's impossible, because for better or worse I am a caring person.

I do this because I know the feeling of not being cared for, and if I can give to people just a little bit of all the care I have in any form they need, then why not do it. It can't hurt, nor can it fix everything, but it's a little light in the darkness. It could be the blue light of the screen but it's something.

I don't need it, for I know it's really too late for me, so why not give it away while I still have some left.

I will always care, in my silence, in my sadness and in my cloud of drunkness, and in my irrelevant conversations, in my doubts. I might be afraid of saying it but it's still there.

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ucanbeasurvivor · 9 months

Text

It amazes me the division in the body of Christ. You read the word, yet you allow division among your brothers and sisters? Beware of wolves dress in sheep clothes. Pay attention to their fruit; don’t allow such people to cause you to divide you from your brothers and sisters.

Jude 1:19

19 These are the ones who are [agitators] causing divisions—worldly-minded [secular, unspiritual, carnal, merely sensual—unsaved], devoid of the Spirit.

Romans 16:17-18

I appeal to you, brothers, to watch out for those who cause divisions and create obstacles contrary to the doctrine that you have been taught; avoid them. For such persons do not serve our Lord Christ, but their own appetites, and by smooth talk and flattery they deceive the hearts of the naive.

A wolf in sheep's clothing is symbolic for someone who outwardly looks harmless and kind with good intentions but inwardly is full of hate, evil and deceit. We are warned of this false teacher in the book of Matthew in the Bible. This person seeks to twist truth and Scripture to fit their own agenda. They deceive their audience with false prophecy and teachings. Wolves teach false doctrine while appearing attractive.

Sometimes the truth can get twisted in this life. Blurred. Manipulated. Lines get crossed. Things once seen as black and white may start to appear grayer. It may seem harder to recognize what’s true or what’s false. What’s light and what’s dark? At the heart of the battle, we face every day, is a real enemy who prowls around seeking someone to devour. (1 Pet. 5:8) He’ll stop at nothing to gain new ground. He and his forces have quoted God’s words since the beginning of time, twisting it, trying their best to manipulate the truth, their main goal only to deceive and lead astray. They know who God is and the Bible says they “shudder” in fear at His name. (James 2:19) They know that God alone will be victorious and no matter what traps are used today to try to distract us away from Him, in the end, they will not win.

Many times the wolf disguised in sheep’s clothing knows God’s Word better than we thought, crafting and twisting it so much, we might even find ourselves feeling confused over what real truth is anymore. So how can we spot a wolf in sheep's clothing and how can we see through their deception to protect ourselves? First, let's look at three signs that help you detect one of these individuals.

What are the Signs of a Wolf in Sheep's Clothing?

“Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves. Matt. 7:15

“Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong.” 1 Cor. 16:13

“You will recognize them by their fruits…” Matt. 7:16

“He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness and will expose the motives of the heart.” 1 Cor. 4:5

“For even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light. So it is no surprise if his servants, also, disguise themselves as servants of righteousness. Their end will correspond to their deeds.” 2 Cor. 11:14-15

Stay in the Word so you don’t fall victim of deception.

God gives us His Spirit to guide us in discernment and wisdom. “When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth…” John 16:13

“Where there is no guidance, a people falls, but in an abundance of counselors there is safety.” Prov. 11:14

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writingmochi · 9 months

Note

….. 🎭

you got delivery

i will always be here 4 you. you worked so hard today. remember you are enough!

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZM2V9L3f9/

oh my goodness! a decade does sound like a long time! how was your journey as a fan, what is one of the biggest things you have learned?

i have noticed your tag games, keep them coming, i noticed that you role play online! Tell me more, i have never done it before

- 📸

lissie: cams!! (i guess this is my nickname from me to you just because i like the sound of it better) thank you so much and i'll echo it to you too

ooh this might get sentimental but i really learned about loyalty and relationship. i'm not one to call myself a loyal fan of a group because my interests change but i've been loyal to kpop as an art form and a medium for years now and just being a kpop fan is a loyal fan for me.

the relationship aspect definitely comes with the connection of idol and fan i gain. i've experienced almost all of the spectrum (besides being a sasaeng because i have the consciousness to know that that just crosses too many boundaries). but i also understand that my relationship with kpop idols can be purely business, me as a consumer and they as the product that their labels are creating in a certain way; and how i give my disposable income to make those labels richer by indulging in whatever content the idols gave.

i also have more empathy towards the people behind the idols. being an artist is hard but being that and a public figure is harder. i can't empathize much because i'm not on the same level as them when it comes to fame and influence but even a taste of their world that i felt before just seize my body up lol

but i also now realize that idols might have a hidden agenda for being who they are and picking kpop idols as a career. not all kpop idols are artists and they are using their careers to reach new heights (actors, producers, comedians, entrepreneurs, etc). many of the 4th gen idols came from privileged backgrounds (rich family, good education, etc) that shadows people that are there for pure art and music (a reason why i've been following more indie artists now). i also think that many idols are narcissistic, naturally or being shaped in an industry as vile as the kpop industry.

i said all of that above ^^ because multiple truths can happen, which means the good and bad truths, and how both of them could co-exist at the same moment. nothing is purely black and white in the world imo

OOF THIS ONE *eyes* i'm glad that i rp with my middle school friends and the wider internet doesn't know about it unless the messenger we use has a data breach or something that spills the beans out. it's just what you expected to be and it's similar to the whole fanfic ecosystem made from: you pretend to be someone else or insert yourself in a world where you are friends or partner up with your favorite kpop idols. for me, i was in a relationship with bts' jimin lmao i put so much effort into that but i stopped because the line between fiction and reality can get too blurred reminded me of the enha jay situation about the au and the reverse live ffs but i'm still doing rp with dnd and cyberpunk: red ;)

#message to the moon #messenger: 📸

0 notes

softukiyos · 3 years

Text

the enemies to lovers project | lee minho

𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚: 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵; 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘶, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙥𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘫𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 -- 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘺, 𝘭𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘰, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵. 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: ~18𝘬+

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺!!! 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦! 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘩𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 >.< 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵! 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥!

prologue.

“You know I despise you, right?”

“Oh, despise. Such a big word, baby,” Minho drawled with an obnoxious smirk, the one that simultaneously made you want to rip his hair out and kiss those perfectly delectable lips of his, “If it's any consolation, I abhor your presence as well.”

“Wonderful,” you crossed your legs, a smile creeping onto your face as you leaned backward in your chair, “So why exactly are you here?”

Minho laughed, “The same reason I presume that you’re here for. A hundred dollars to put up with you is a tempting offer.”

You couldn't help but laugh, and you glanced over at the camera pointed at you and Minho, with your mutual friend, Han Jisung, directing the operation. Right, both you and Minho would receive a hundred dollars if you participated in his little social experiment about love. Of course, he'd wanted the two of you to do it for free, but neither of you would budge unless there was at least a little bit of monetary incentive. You loved Jisung, you really did, but you weren't going to willingly spend time with Minho unless there was something else to gain.

“Alright, let's get started before the two of you claw at each other's throats like a pair of angry cats,” Jisung clapped his hands together as he stepped out from behind the camera, “I assume the two of you have a basic idea of the experiment?”

“Of course not, Sungie. It's not like you ran through your proposal to me through FaceTime twenty thousand times before presenting it to your professors,” Minho replied with a pleasant smile.

“And it's not like I read through your written proposal double that amount before you had the courage to hand it in,” you supplied with a similarly saccharine expression.

Jisung sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fingers, “Why are the two of you genuinely the nicest people I’ve ever met but somehow turn into demons when you’re together?” He muttered, mostly to himself.

“It’s not too late to get rid of us and find some other test subjects, Sungie,” you called out with a smile, “We know we’re hard to handle.”

“No way. The two of you are perfect for this project, and I’m not going to let either of you slip out of my fingers after I worked so hard to get you two here,” Jisung refused your offer. Clearing his throat, he decided to begin, not wanting to give either of you more time to get hostile.

“Alright, so you’re both familiar with the basics. The experiment will take about one month, and the data will be recorded in these notebooks,” he said, the camera behind him recording his verbal instructions as he walked forward and handed both you and Minho a small, leather bound notebook, “These will serve as your diaries for the duration of the test.”

Minho perused through the empty lined pages with a snort, “What are we supposed to do, write our undying confessions on these pages?”

“You’re going to write your honest feelings about each other. And by honest, I mean really do mean honest. Neither of you are ever going to read what the other person writes about you, so you don’t have to worry about your reputation or whatever,” Jisung explained, “I’ll be extrapolating information from your entries and your entries only.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, glancing at Minho as he closed the book and and leaned back in his seat, “So that’s it, right? We date for a month and write down whether we still hate each other after every encounter?”

Jisung threw a weary glare at him, “Theoretically, yes. The purpose of this experiment is to see if the actions of love will foster any actual feelings of love to appear even if there weren’t any in the first place. The two of you will go on dates, leave each other cute notes, anything that you would do with your significant other. And after each of these, you will write down a diary entry about how you feel about that person. At the end of the month, I’ll collect the two notebooks to write my thesis. Any questions?”

You glanced at Minho, who raised a questioning eyebrow at you as if waiting for you to speak first. After a long moment of palpable silence, your lips curved into a smile, “A bold move of you to find the two people least likely to develop feelings for each other, Sungie.”

Jisung dropped his psychology major professionalism for a moment and smirked, “You know I never half-ass anything. So no questions?”

Minho raised his hand obnoxiously, speaking before Jisung even bothered to call on him, “What happens if one of us falls for the other? Do we win something?”

“No, you competitive little shit. No one is winning or losing anything. This experiment is just to document the progression of romantic feelings or lack thereof,” Jisung glared at his best friend, “You’re not trying to prevent yourself from changing your feelings about the person one way or the other, got it?”

But Minho was no longer paying attention to him, his annoyingly beautiful smile now aimed at you across the table, “You’re going to fall in love with me so quickly, Sungie’s little experiment will be over in a week.”

Your competitive edged roared to life at the provocation, and you smirked, flipping the pen around your fingers, “Your diary is going to be filled with love letters to me once I’m through with you.”

“Oh dear,” Jisung groaned to himself as he walked over to shut off the camera, a weary expression visible on his face.

This was going to be a very long month.

You never once thought there would come a day that you would walk out of your apartment to see Minho waiting for you, nonchalantly leaning against his blood red accented motorcycle and his famous leather jacket.

“What is this?” You asked suspiciously, as if poking at his intentions with a ten foot pole.

Minho rolled his eyes, “I'm taking you to class? Why else would I have dragged myself out of bed at ass o’clock in the morning?”

“You're taking me to class on this?” You gestured toward the motorcycle with a hint of disdain, but Minho saw right through you, his lips curling in a smug smile.

“There's no need to be scared, baby,” he sauntered towards you and patted your head, “I'll always protect you.”

Scowling, you swatted his hand away, “Don't do that. It's so weird,” you huffed, fixing your hair.

“You know that's the point of this whole damn thing, right?” Minho said with a hint of annoyance as he felt churlishly irritated by your constant resistance. Did you really hate him that much?

“No, the point is to do these actions in a genuine and heartfelt manner. Everything you say is fake,” you said plainly, looking him straight in the eye.

Minho couldn't help but scoff, “How is it supposed to be genuine when I don't feel anything for you?”

“You start off with basic friendship. That's not as hard, right?” You said as you reached into your large bag and pulled out a container of milk bread, “Here. This is my Day 1 gift for you.”

Minho’s face went slack as he took the container gingerly, treating it like a live explosive, “You made this?”

“Yeah, made two loaves last night,” you answered, surprised by the sudden softness in his tone. Okay, this was awkward, and you couldn't help but cringe as you extended your hand, “If you don't like it, I can take it back—”

“Hell no,” Minho yanked his arms away from yours and pulled the plastic container to his chest defensively, “You gave it to me, so it's mine!”

You blinked in surprise, your hand falling to your side, “I see,” you said before shifting on your heels and nodding, “Okay, I'll see you later, whenever that is,” you took the chance for a quick escape, turning and beginning to walk to class.

“Wait.”

A gasp left your lips as Minho grabbed your wrist, making you turn back around to face him, “I have a helmet for you, okay? And I'll drive slower,” he muttered, his eyes trained on the floor and darting around anxiously, “I won't get you hurt, I promise."

You studied him carefully, his tone of voice, his posture, anything that would give away some hidden agenda, but there was none. Looking down at his hand still wrapped around your wrist, you relented, "Alright, I'll go with you."

Minho nodded, leading you over to his motorcycle and grabbing the extra helmet from behind. Before you could take it from him, he moved it out of your grasp, "Have you ever even used a motorcycle helmet before? If you put it on wrong, it's not going to do you any good," he said snappishly as he adjusted a few of the straps and fitted it onto your head.

Unconsciously, you held your breath as he leaned towards you, slipping a finger between the strap and your chin before snapping it shut, "It's not too tight, yeah?" he asked as he pulled away, and you could only shake your head mutely, "Good."

Swinging a leg over, he climbed onto his motorcycle, easily putting his own helmet on before turning to look at you as he pushed up the visor, "Here. Climb on behind me."

You eyed the motorcycle with a hint of disdain as you approached it, “And what am I supposed to hold onto so I don’t fall to my untimely death?” You asked dryly.

Unfortunately, that was the wrong question to ask, and the gleam apparent in Minho’s eyes told you that, despite his surprising show of kindness, Lee Minho was still Lee Minho, and Lee Minho was a fucking asshole.

“Why, you hold onto me, of course,” he said pleasantly, “Unless, you’d rather fall off the bike and shatter your bones. The other option is to walk, but seeing that it’s almost 8:30 already, you’d probably end up being late.”

Clenching your jaw so hard you were sure it was going to be sore for days, you stalked over to the motorcycle and swung your leg over it, climbing on haphazardly. You’ve seen the movies; you knew how you were supposed to ride a motorcycle from behind, and your arms tentatively wrapped around Minho’s midriff, avoiding as much bodily contact as possible.

Minho snorted, “You know, if you hold on like that, you’re gonna fall off anyways.”

“Mind your own business--fuck!” A squeak left your lips as Minho suddenly revved the engine and the motorcycle lurched forward. Out of pure instinct, your arms tightened around him, and you buried your face in his back. The time could not have been more perfect, and you felt a rush of anger as you realized that he was just messing with you, “Don’t fucking do that!”

The asshole just laughed, “Aw, come on, I wouldn’t have done it for real. But you seriously need to hold on, okay?”

You huffed, scowling underneath the helmet as you kept your arms locked around his waist, begrudgingly learning your lesson, “Just drive.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Minho revved the engine again and started the journey, albeit with a much smoother start as the two of you began to speed down the street and towards the literature building.

When you arrived at your destination with Minho pulling up right to the front of the building, you were practically squeezing him like a life-sized plushie, your eyes squeezed shut and your face smushed into his leather jacket.

“You can let go now, darling,” he chuckled as he used his foot to push out the kickstand. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, you detached from him like two magnets of the same pole, getting off the motorcycle.

“I am--” you gasped for breath as you yanked off your helmet, “never doing that again.”

Minho laughed as he took the helmet from you and put it in the container at the back of his bike, “Hey, you’re here with five minutes to spare! If anything, you should be thanking me, sweetheart.”

Your glare was frightening as you finally relented with a huff, “I’m grateful for the ride here, but next time, no motorcycle, please.”

“Next time? Who said anything about a next time?” The boy positively giggled as you realized your mistake. Minho never said anything about a next time! What were you thinking? Now, he probably thought you wanted him to take you to school every morning, which was absolutely not the case!

“Oh, whatever!” You snapped, utterly fed up as you threw up your hands in total exasperation and marched up the staircase without so much as a goodbye.

Minho’s smug laughter echoed in your ears as you stepped into the building, “Love you too, sweetheart!”

(name): day 1

action(s): drive to school

notes: utterly infuriating. an arrogant, smug, flirtatious little shit that thinks he’s the king of the world. he brought his motorcycle out of the blue to pick me up when he knows i flipped out the last time i rode one with jisung (yes, sungie, i am still mad).

i did get to class early though, because of him, and that’s rare for me. silver linings, i guess.

lee minho: day 1

action(s): drive to school

notes: a stuck up little princess as always, whining and complaining about every little thing that doesn’t go her way. shouldn’t she be happy enough that i came to take her to her class? nope, she just kicked up a fuss about it being a motorcycle. did she think i was going to remember when she had a meltdown riding it last time? (it was funny, sungie, don’t mind her.) i barely got so much of a thank you when i got her to the lit building, early, no less.

the milk bread was good, though. maybe i’ll try to convince her to make me another loaf.

ii.

First dates were always weird. First dates were even weirder when you were about to go out with your fake-social-experiment boyfriend that you didn’t even like.

What were you supposed to even wear? Were you supposed to dress to impress (not that Minho would ever be impressed with anything you do)? Or were you supposed to dress like you just rolled out of bed? In the end, you opted for something in between the two extremes, hoping that you weren’t going to face the embarrassment of being over or underdressed.

Luckily, Minho didn’t change his daily look too much for the date, opting for a pair of ripped black jeans, a loose t-shirt, and--of course--the leather jacket he never left home without. At this point, you were honestly convinced that Minho was having some sort of romantic relationship with that jacket.

But what was out of the ordinary was the small bouquet of vibrant carnations that he held in one hand as he browsed his phone with the other. They looked wildly out of place in comparison to the rest of his get up, and the contrast was so amusing to you that you couldn’t help but smile as you walked over to him.

“Are those flowers for me?” You asked sweetly, clicking your heels. Minho glanced up from his phone, his eyes darting up and down, and you knew he was assessing your outfit the way you had assessed his.

“No, these are for my other social experiment girlfriend,” he said with a dry smile, handing them to you, “I heard from Jisung that you hate flowers, so of course I had to get you a bouquet for our special day.”

“Carnations are actually my favorite type of flower, so thank you very much,” you replied, sniffing at the bouquet before glancing around, “Where’s your motorcycle again? In maintenance?”

Minho’s face twitched for a split second before he nodded, “Yeah, I scratched it up real bad. We can just take the bus again.”

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion, but you said nothing more about the topic as the two of you walked to the nearest bus stations. After the first day, you had never seen Minho’s motorcycle again despite the fact that he walks you to your class almost every other day (he skips the days when he has work). What was even more suspicious was that he always had an excuse for not bringing it: he crashed it and it needs maintenance, he forgot to fill the gas tank, Jisung was borrowing it, etc.

They weren’t bad excuses, but it’s been almost a week, and you were beginning to suspect that there was more to the missing motorcycle than he was telling you.

“Who recommended this place?” Minho asked as you took the seat at the station and he leaned against the wall.

“Jisung did, actually,” you laughed a little, pulling out your phone and clicking into the link of the restaurant Jisung had sent you, showing it to Minho.

The boy scrunched his nose with distaste as he glanced at the restaurant images, “Did you really think it was wise to leave our first date in the hands of the man who’s never actually had one successful date before?”

“He said it was a control variable or whatever,” you said, placing your phone back in your purse, “Besides, I checked the reviews, and most of them only had good things to say. Why? Is this not your ideal first date?”

Minho scoffed, lips curling into a smirk, “I don’t really do first dates, sweetheart.”

“Oh? So what do you do?” You asked with a hint of annoyance clear in your tone, “One night stands?”

The boy shrugged, “Mostly. Why put the effort to try and create something concrete when it’ll fall apart soon enough anyway?”

You couldn’t help but scrunch your nose at his words, once again being hit with the realization that you and Minho were as different as people came, “That’s a rather morbid way of looking at things.”

“It’s realistic and it’s safe. That’s all I really need at this moment,” Minho said shortly as his eyes darted down the street, and he pushed himself off the wall, “The bus is here. Let’s go.”

Without stopping to wait for you, he walked to the edge of the sidewalk as the bus pulled up to greet him. There was nothing you could do but silently follow him, wondering what Minho had gone through to adopt such a cynical mindset about love.

“What about you?” Minho asked rather suddenly when the two of you had arrived at the restaurant, settled into your table, and were already waiting for your food to arrive. There had been such a long interval of time between the previous conversation and the current one that you didn’t even process the intention of his question for a long moment.

“I’m sorry?”

Minho bit his lip, and he looked like he was regretting the fact that he couldn’t contain his curiosity, “What are your experiences with first dates?” He asked, resting his elbows on the table, “You have had a few, right?”

With a questioning eyebrow, you swirled the small amount of red wine in your glass, “I’m not quite sure whether your question is a genuine one or just another insult.”

“Why can’t it be both?” Minho asked innocently.

Rolling your eyes, you sipped at your wine before answering, "I've had a few first dates, fewer seconds, and no thirds."

Minho considered your words, "What went wrong? Clashing personalities? Scheduling conflicts?"

You scowled, placing down your glass as you grit your teeth, "You're a nosy little shit, aren't you?"

“Hey,” Minho raised his arms in mock surrender, “if I'm about to be your social experiment boyfriend for a month, I should know what I'm getting into, for my sake and yours.”

Leveling a withered glare at him, you couldn't help but begrudgingly admit that Minho had a point. If the two of you couldn't be honest with each other, this experiment wouldn't work. Like the mastermind had said early on, honesty was a key part of the project. Damn you, Han Jisung.

“Eventually, every man gets annoyed by the fact that they'll always be second in importance,” you finally spoke as you swirl the wine again, “They say they understand, but in the end, they'll never settle for a woman who puts their passions over their relationships. They want attentiveness, constant coddling, constant affection. They want to be nagged, they want me to be the one that messages first, and I'm just not the type.”

For the first time, Minho’s gaze upon you was devoid of arrogance and that giant defensive wall he’d always had up. His expression had turned almost thoughtful in a way, as if he was really looking at you, really trying to see you for who you were, and you couldn’t help but cringe slightly under his stare, smiling bitterly, “Did I scare you off, too?”

Minho seemed to jolt out of whatever daze he was in, a laugh leaving his lips, “Nah, princess, you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he chuckled, putting down his wine glass as he spoke again, “It’s not your fault that they felt inferior dating someone that was more driven than them. It’s their loss, honestly.”

“Really?” You failed to hide your surprise, not expecting to find support in someone that was so different from you.

“A relationship isn’t supposed to hinder you from doing the things you love. You’re supposed to do them in tandem and support each other during the process,” Minho said, and as you searched for the punchline, for the part of the conversation where Minho would bark out a scathing laugh and point at your disappointed face, you realized there was none. You suddenly had a strange revelation that you may have misjudged the man sitting across from you.

“If you have such a wise impression about love, why do you never try it out?” You asked softly, studying his expression like always, but you stopped searching for something malicious about him, since the search had been fruitless so far. Now, you were simply curious, slowly trying to learn more about him.

Minho shrugged with a wry smile, “Just because the solution exists in theory doesn't mean it truly exists.”

"You don't think you'll ever find someone like that?" You asked.

"Well, if they're out there somewhere, they haven't shown up in my life yet, so..." Minho trailed off, his expression rather nonchalant at first glance, but you were slowly getting better at reading him. He felt wronged, probably by someone in the past that didn't support his endeavors.

You let the conversation drop as your food finally arrived, and the seriousness of the evening seemed to dissipate as the food took precedence. When the bill was finally paid (the two of you split it after a long discussion), you walked out with your arm looped around Minho's, and despite yourself, you didn't hate it all that much.

“So, we're gonna beat the shit out of Jisung for forcing us to go to such an expensive restaurant, right?” Minho hummed as the two of you walked back to your apartment. You tried not to focus on the fact that Minho hadn't pulled his arm away, keeping you snug against his side.

“I like the way you think,” you laughed, your heels clicking against the ground, “Tell you what, how about the next date, you pick somewhere you normally go to in your free time, and I’ll do the same for the date after. That way, we don’t have to spend an atrocious amount of money unless we want to.”

Minho stopped short, and for a minute, you wondered if you’d overstepped his boundaries. Then, he turned to look at you, a surprised, almost soft, smile on his face.

“You want to see me that much?”

It would’ve been so easy to dismiss his words as sarcastic teasing, like the rest of your conversations have been for the past year that you’ve known each other. But his tone, his expression, it felt almost genuine, like he was pleasantly surprised that you were willingly offering up your own time to spend it with him.

And at that notion, your cheeks felt unnaturally hot as you averted your eyes, “Well, the experiment is supposed to last a month,” you mumbled, finding a very interesting divot in the ground, “What type of social experiment girlfriend would I be if we only went on one date?”

Unbeknownst to you, Minho’s smile dimmed ever so slightly at the mention of the experiment, but he still felt that weird, fluttery feeling nonetheless. He knew you were probably just too shy to admit anything truthful to his question, and he didn’t fault you for it. It wasn’t like he was being very honest either.

“Well, I rather enjoy our little escapades, so I suppose I can spare a little effort to plan the next date,” Minho said with faux weariness, making you elbow his side playfully.

“I swear, if you drag me to another horror house like you did when we went out with Jisung--”

Minho let out a laugh at the memory, “Didn’t you punch the zombie that jumped out near the end?”

“Not a word.”

“And I think you screamed at one of the ghosts, too?”

You frowned, reaching up and messing up his perfectly styled hair, “Not a word!”

Minho didn’t take any of your threats to heart, teasing you relentlessly about that incident all the way back to your apartment, but to be totally honest, you didn’t mind it all that much.

(name): day 6

action(s): first date (control)

notes: the date wasn’t bad except for the ridiculous pricing. we actually had rather interesting conversations about our interests, outlooks on life, and had a rather heated argument about whether prisoner of azkaban or the order of the phoenix was the best harry potter book.

minho’s nice. i know you’re probably laughing at me as you read this, future jisung. but he’s nice. the flowers he got were really pretty. he’s a good listener, too, and he doesn’t give false comforts. he tells it to me as it is, whether it’s good or bad. i like that about him. he also looked really good for the date, but that’s rather surface level, right? whatever. i hope this is even minutely useful to your project, jisung, bcs it doesn’t feel like it’ll be much help.

lee minho: day 6

action(s): first date

notes: han jisung. the meal was $150 and we both ordered the cheapest things on the menu. fucc you.

the date was alright, though. (name) actually got dressed up for the date, so i felt a little bad. she’s putting more effort into this project than i thought she would, and i don’t know whether its because she genuinely wants to know me better, or if its bcs it’s your project, jisung. (i know she used to like you, it was obvious). whatever. she’s easy to talk to when we’re not at each other’s throats like usual. she makes me feel understood, which is a good feeling i guess.

this absolutely does not mean anything special. it just means that she’s not as stuck up as i thought she was. the bar is still incredibly low.

i wonder where i should take her for our next date. the horror house is tempting, but she’s probably going to get sued if she shows her face there ever again. oh well, i’ll figure it out.

iii.

“Why are we heading towards the direction of the horror house?”

“I promise you, sweetheart, it’s not the horror house,” Minho said for the umpteenth time as the two of you walked down the busy downtown streets together.

You remained suspicious, and as a chill blew towards you, the winter wind seeping into your bones and making your teeth chatter, you brought your hands to your mouth, blowing on them in an attempt to get them warm.

Minho let out a dramatic sigh at the sound of your silence, “Do you have any faith in me at all?” He asked, taking one of your hands and lacing your fingers together before shoving it in his coat pocket without faltering for a moment.

He seemed unfazed, oblivious even as the two of you stopped at a crosswalk, but you...your poor heart did a feeble stutter that certainly wasn’t the product of any social experiment. You knew the feeling well enough from your past experiences, and the fact that it emerged right at this moment made you worry.

“What?” Minho’s voice invaded your thoughts as he followed your line of sight to his coat pocket, where your hand was snugly fitted inside his.

You tried your best to salvage what was left of your pride, “Aren’t my hands cold?” You asked weakly, “You don’t have to hold them.”

“Yes, your hands are like fucking ice, that’s why I’m trying to warm one of them up, dummy,” Minho rolled his eyes at your lame question before turning to check on the light to make sure it was still on red, “We’re almost there. The place is cozy, I promise.”

Nodding, you slowly felt your composure return to you, “As long as we get out of this cold, I'd consider it a successful date.”

“Oh dear, you've just ruined my plans for a picnic up in the mountains,” Minho said with a deadpan expression just as the light turned green.

“You're ridiculous,” you said, rolling your eyes, but there wasn't any bite behind your words anymore, and Minho’s jabs at you had slowly lost that hard edge to them. Could it be possible that the two of you were really warming up to each other?

It was true that the two of you were getting along better, and in tandem, you began to be more present in each other’s lives. Minho still walked you to school on the days that he didn't have work. In return, it's become a normal routine for you to make two loaves of milk bread every other day since Minho always devoured his portion ridiculous quickly.

Not in a romantic way, absolutely not. Both of you would cringe at the very idea. But as tolerant friends, maybe.

“Ah! Here we are,” Minho said pleasantly as he guided you off the busy street into a smaller, quieter alleyway filled with various cafes and antique shops.

“A cafe date?” You smiled, “I didn't know that was your style.”

Minho stopped short at a particular cafe, taking his hand and yours out of his pocket as he reached forward to open the door, “Well, it's not just any cafe.”

You quickly realized exactly what he meant as you walked in, your eyes lighting up with pure elation and joy as you squealed, “It’s a cat cafe!”

Unbeknownst to you, Minho’s eyes lit up from behind you as he shut the door, keeping the winter cold out of the cozy establishment, “You like cats?” He never knew that about you.

“Like cats? I love them!” You practically gushed as you shrugged off your large coat and Minho signaled for a party of two, greeting a few of the waiters with a suspicious familiarity.

“Do you come here often?” You asked curiously as the two of you found a nice little corner to sit down in, complete with beanbags, blankets, and little wooden surfaces that were meant to serve as tables.

Minho almost didn't need to answer your question, since the moment he sat down, four cats passed over towards him, the sound of gentle meows filling your ears. You didn't think you'd be able to hear anything more sweet, until you were proven wrong when Minho let out a soft giggle, his expression unbelievably fond as he stretched out his hand, petting their heads and scratching their ears.

When had you ever heard Minho giggle? No, not that psychotic little witch giggle he did when he was feeling diabolical. This childish, almost innocent giggle that burst from his lips.

“I come here at least twice a week,” he said as one of the kittens clambered into his lap, “I have three cats back at home with my family, and when I miss them, I come here.”

You nodded, surprised that he was divulging information about him without being prompted, but you didn’t mind it one bit, “That’s nice. I’m sure they miss you, too,” you said, smiling as one of the more curious cats went over to you, sniffing at your hand before pressing their head against your palm.

“I’m sure they do. I was basically their servant,” Minho laughed before turning to you, “Do you have pets?”

“Oh, I wish,” your voice was forlorn and wistful as you began to rub the cat’s belly, feeling a rush of pride as they laid on their side. It was rare for any cat to do such a thing, and you treasured the moment dearly, “I had a kitten when I was very, very young, but they died only a few months after we got them. I haven’t been able to muster the courage to adopt another pet since.”

Minho pouted at the way your voice trailed off, your expression faraway, and he suddenly felt an urge to gift you a kitten right then and there just to make you smile. He was long used to seeing you angry, he was getting used to seeing you when you were at peace and smiling, but he’d never actually seen you look so wistfully sad before.

“Well, you’re always welcome to use my membership card here if you need a break from school,” he offered rather awkwardly, keeping his eyes on the cats so he wouldn’t have to feel the brunt of your expression, which was probably weirded out.

“You’d let me?” You sounded hopeful, giggling to yourself as a cat jumped into your lap, curling up and burrowing against your stomach.

Minho smiled, turning his head to see the way you were coddling the little kitten, stroking her fur with utmost delicacy and with nothing but pure adoration in your eyes. He was suddenly hit with the realization that you were incredibly beautiful, and his brain almost immediately imploded.

Wait, what? Lee Minho?! Who the fuck are you turning into?!

Unaware of his current struggle, you glanced at him when you didn’t receive an answer, and he scrambled to clear his throat, “O-of course,” he said, “You’d get a 15% discount on drinks. Super handy.”

If you noticed his strange behavior, you didn't comment or make a face, only gazing down at the kitten in your lap as you asked teasingly,, “Does this girlfriend benefit only last the month?”

It was a joke, not at all different from the ones both of you made on a daily basis, making jabs at your rather intriguing situation, this one seemed to really hit Minho. What was going to happen when the month ends? Will the two of you go back to hating each other and fighting every moment of the day? Will all these little acts of love, the way you would occasionally drop off a bento box at his dance studio and the way he’d pick you up after your late night classes so he could make sure you were safe, would that all disappear like a dream?

“Hello? Earth to Minho?”

Minho blinked out of his daydream, tilting his head towards you to see you already looking at him with a concerned smile, “Are you alright? You seemed pretty faraway.”

“Nah, I’m good. I just remembered that I have a coding assignment due tonight,” he lied, a light tinge of rouge on his cheeks.

“What?!” you yelped, scaring the cat in your lap as they meowed in discontent, jumping off you, “We should get going then--”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Minho grabbed your arm as you stood up, and with your balance tilted, you fell back onto the beanbag couch, although this time, you were much closer to Minho than you originally were. To stabilize yourself, your hand jutted out to press against his chest, and his breath hitched in his throat.

What sort of black magic was Han Jisung doing to him with this experiment?

“Sorry!” You squeaked out, your embarrassment clearly visible as you tried to push away from him, but Minho kept you close until the two of you were almost cuddling on the beanbag couch.

Minho only hummed, feigning nonchalance even as his heart was doing strange backflips in his chest, “It’s fine. You’re still cold, right? I saw you shivering a bit. You can just sit here,” he said, shrugging off his coat and placing it over your legs.

“I guess...thank you,” you said rather quietly, not trusting your voice to hide the emotions that were raging in your heart: the confusion, the giddiness, the childlike excitement, and the fear, “But what about your assignment--”

“Don’t worry,” he patted your head lightly, “It’s just a simple one. Won’t take more than an hour. I’ll just do it when I get home.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Minho emphasized the last word with a teasing smile, his heart slowly coming to terms with these new, tingling emotions that he was feeling, “I never knew I’d ever experience you babying me.”

Your cheeks grew warm as you smacked his arm, “Shut up!” You complained, bringing his coat up to your face and shielding yourself, “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t flunk out of school!”

“Don’t lie, you’ve fallen in love with me, haven’t you?” He asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief only to receive another angry smack on the arm.

“You wish. I don’t fall in love with jerks like you.”

“If it makes you feel better, I am honored by the attention,” he said with a teasing smile as he nudged your shoulder.

Another kitten came to your position, rubbing against your thigh as you petted their little head, “You better be,” you muttered almost to yourself, “After all the bentos I’ve made for you this last week.”

Minho let out a yawn, stretching out his arms and very cautiously wrapping one around your shoulders. To his luck or misfortune, you were too enamored by the kitten to notice, and you curled into his side without much consideration. The poor boy wasn’t sure whether he wanted you to notice and confront him about it, or whether he should be allowed to feel a sense of fondness knowing that you were dropping the defensive walls around your heart with him.

He won’t tell you, but he was truly honored to be cared by you, to experience your worry, your encouragement, and your little acts of love. It came so naturally to you that you probably didn’t even hold any of those actions to any significance, but to him, the one who was always the lone wolf, the one who was always defined by his looks before his personality, it was nice to be truly seen by someone.

Even if it wasn’t going to last.

iv.

Lee Minho was late, and you were going to kick his ass if you didn't happen to be frozen by the time he arrived.

You stood outside of the computer science building awkwardly, trying not to focus on the weird glances from the students walking in and out, all of whom were obviously wondering what a literature freak was doing at the center hub of the sciences. It was absolutely mortifying, and you briefly wondered if Minho ever got such stares while he waited for you outside of your building. If he did, well, you felt slightly more grateful than you did previously.

“Hey! (name), right?”

You looked up with panic in your eyes as you quickly tracked the sound of the voice to one familiar stranger, a particular boy on campus that you never actually ever thought you'd have the opportunity to speak to.

“That's me, and I assume you're Hyunjin,” you said, getting straight past formalities. After all, you weren't really in the mood for chitter-chatter. You were just in the mood for a nice hot chocolate to warm your body.

But unfortunately for you, Hyunjin’s disarming smile was a clear indicator that there were no escape routes plausible, “Wow, no wonder Minho snatched you up quick.”

If you had a tail, it would've bristled at this very moment, “Excuse me?” You asked, keeping your tone decidedly cordial.

Hyunjin’s smile only widened, “What is he like as a boyfriend? Does he treat you well? Or are you just another piece of disposable garbage for him like every other girl he’s fucked?”

The final question shouldn't have fazed you, but it did. Why did the idea of such a thing send your heart into cardiac arrest? Why did it scare you so much, when you knew none of this was real? Wasn't it all just manufactured by the conditions of the experiment?

Your face must've given away more than you thought, because Hyunjin’s cheshire-like grin only widened as he took your vulnerability as a chance, “You don't have to be with him, you know. Don't you think we'd get along a little better—”

“Really fucking low of you to be trying to hit on your friend’s girl,” a hand suddenly snaked around your waist from behind, making you gasp as you felt your back pulled against someone's firm chest.

“Especially my girl,” Minho’s eyes showed not a hint of amusement or politeness as he rested his chin on your shoulder almost protectively, as if daring Hyunjin to try again.

Hyunjin regarded the two of you with cautious intrigue, his eyes darting from Minho’s hand on your waist to his face now nuzzled in the crook of your neck, and he lifted his hands up in mock surrender.

“Just wanted to make sure you know how lucky you are,” he smiled at Minho pleasantly, leaning forwards as his eyes sparkled when they met yours. Now, you may dislike Hyunjin, but you couldn't deny his beauty, and at such a distance, you couldn't help but feel a bit flustered as he purred, “And how easily that luck can be taken away from you.”

Minho bared his lips in a threatening snarl from behind you, making Hyunjin scoff as he turned away from the two of you without another word. A moment of tense silence screamed in the air before you cleared your throat awkwardly. This was definitely not a good way to start off a date.

“Well, that was weird,” you laughed, detangling yourself from Minho’s hold so you could face him, “I never thought I’d see the day where Hwang Hyunjin would flirt with me while he’s sober.”

“He’s such a fucking asshole,” Minho suddenly spit out with a surprising amount of vitriol in his tone, enough to fluster you for a moment, “Going after someone who’s obviously dating, he just doesn’t have any shame anymore! Plus, I was literally walking behind you. He definitely saw me before he made a move.”

Finding his behavior utterly bizarre, you stared at him for a long moment before you could even speak, “Are you...pretending to be jealous?”

“What?” Minho blinked, as if suddenly realizing that you were still there witnessing the extent of his ranting. And then, your question hit him like a ton of bricks, “What the fuck? I’m not pretending to be jealous, I--”

He stopped himself before he could do any more verbal damage to his own reputation, but inside, his head in shambles.

I’m not pretending to be jealous, I am jealous.

What was happening to him?

From the look on your face, Minho could tell you were a mixture of confused and suspicious, but you didn’t press him for more details or to finish his sentence. That was one thing he really appreciated about you. If he didn’t elaborate on his words, you trusted that he didn't say more because it simply didn't need to be said.

"Well, we should probably get going," you said, slipping your arm around his, "I was freezing my ass out here waiting for you."

"Then, perish."

"You're the worst social experiment boyfriend I've ever had!" You complained, your pout clear from the sound of your voice as Minho let you lead him to whatever date surprise you had in mind.

“I’m the only social experiment boyfriend you’ve ever had,” he pointed out reasonably, resting his head on yours while you waited for the traffic light to change.

You let out a huff, trying to push him off you, but it was rather fruitless to make Minho do anything, really, “You’re still the worst,” you said, trying to tickle your way out of the situation.

Minho only chuckled. Two could play at this game, he thought smugly as your attacks failed and he wrapped his arms around you from the side, pulling you snug against him so he could nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck, tickling your skin with his hair and making you shriek.

“Lee Minho, I swear to God!” Despite the slurry of curse words that left your mouth, you were laughing and made no genuine attempts to pull away from him. You’ve noticed over the last few weeks that Minho was never one for blatant physical affection, but he was being abnormally clinging today.

“Admit it, kitten,” he teased, peeking up at your expression as he smiled, “I’m the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

The world around you seemed to freeze as the weight of that question fully sunk in. Was Minho the best boyfriend you’ve ever had? You thought back to every awkward first date, every time the guy looked strangely disappointed when you said you wanted to head home by yourself, every time one of them awkwardly mentioned that they wanted you to cheer them on at the expense of your own passions. You thought through all of those memories before you realized oh my god Minho was the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.

“Hmm? Oh, come on, I was kidding,” Minho seemed oblivious to your plight as he took your silence as a rejection, beginning to let go.

“You are.”

The words slipped out of your lips before you even realized what you had said. Minho’s eyes widened rather comically as he tried to make sure he was making the right mental connections in his head.

“I am?” He repeated slowly.

“You are...the best boyfriend I’ve ever had,” you muttered the last half, your face burning as if you’d eaten a whole bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos.

Minho blinked, his entire system short-circuiting.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you said, awkwardly shuffling on the heels of your feet before you found your escape, “Oh, green light! Let's get moving!” Your voice was bright and overly cheery as if you didn't just drop a bombshell of a revelation on both Minho and yourself.

Minho practically stumbled over his own feet to catch up to you, “H-hey!” He grabbed your hand before you could pass the halfway point of the large intersection, where the light was manually turned red by one of the buses.

You glanced down at your intertwined hands and back up at his face before answering softly, “Thanks.”

He nodded in response, trying not to put too much attention to the way your fingers curled around his, trying not to put too much attention to the way your hand fit in his, and asked, “So, where are we going?”

“Well, you brought me to the place you like to go to destress, so I figured I would do the same,” you answered, reaching into your back pocket and pulling out a key that looked suspiciously like Jisung’s access card to the music building.

“Tell me you didn't steal Jisung's access card.”

“It's not stealing if I'm returning it before he knows what happened,” you shrugged.

“Um, yes it is.”

You glanced up at him with a playful smile, “You gonna rat me out, darling?”

That name of endearment shouldn't have affected him so much, but it did, and he physically had to restrain himself from holding your hand tighter as he scoffed, “I'm no snitch, especially not when it comes to my beautiful social experiment girlfriend.”

You let out a laugh, “You’re definitely the king of heart fluttering pet names.”

The rest of the walk to the music building was filled with idle chatter as the two of you slowly got back into the rhythm of your usual banter. At some moments, it was even easy to forget about the way you’d hug his arm to your chest as if shielding yourself from the cold. It was even easy to forget about the way his hand would gently squeeze yours if he felt you shiver too violently beside him, a silent check up on you. It was far too easy to call all of these little actions as normal, as if he was actually your boyfriend.

“Are you sure we're not going to get caught?” Minho asked as the two of you walked to the side door of the music building. Although, he didn't sound very concerned about potentially getting in trouble, only slightly curious.

You slid Jisung’s card into the reader and the door unlocked with a click, “I've done this for years. Even if people do check the rooms, there's lot of places to hide.”

The boy only chuckled, holding the door open so the two of you could walk in and escape from the biting winter cold. After wiping off your shoes using the doormat, you gingerly took his hand again and lead him up the stairs to the end of the hall where you pulled him into a dark room.

“Kitten, if you wanted to find a private little place for us to have some fun, we didn’t need to go all the way to the music room,” Minho said, amused, “I know plenty of lockable closets around the campus—”

“That’s so gross,” you said as you turned on the light, revealing that the two of you were in one of the group music rooms, with a piano sitting at the center of the room and a couple of instruments stored on the sides.

Minho placed a hand on his heart, “Mean,” he huffed accusingly at you. He was mostly kidding, of course, but a part of him felt a genuine despair at the fact that you didn't seem to be remotely flustered or enticed by the idea of being with him in that way, with such intimacy.

“Don't worry, Min. There will be plenty of fish out there desperate to jump into your arms soon enough,” you flashed him a wry smile as you grabbed one of the guitar cases and brought it to the carpet near the piano.

“Min?” He repeated, the nickname making him feel slightly better even as your words dampened his spirits. Did you really think he would be that eager to go back to his normal “no-strings-attached” routine after this month?

For the first time, you looked a little flustered as you sat down on the soft carpet, opening the guitar case with a few clicks of the locks, “Sorry. Do you hate it?” You asked sheepishly, “I just figured that you give me so many petnames, I should try to give you one, too. But if Min isn't good—”

“It is!” The boy interrupted a little too eagerly. Catching your surprised expression, he immediately controlled himself, clearing his throat awkwardly as he sat down across from you, “Yeah, Min is fine. Min is good. It's just...new.”

“No one's ever called you Min before?” You asked with a curious expression while you pulled out the guitar with what Minho noticed was practiced ease.

He shrugged, “I don't think anyone’s ever given me a nickname before.”

I don't think anyone’s ever reached that level of closeness with me, was the unspoken follow-up to his statement. After all, what type of one-night stand would ever result in names of endearment or genuine emotional attachment?

“Hmm...maybe I should take it up a notch and call you Minmin,” you said absently, testing the tension of the strings and being totally unaware of the spiral you just send Minho down on.

Minmin? Minmin? The poor man was turning into a pile of mush before you and you didn’t even know what you did. Minho was sure that if you ever called him Minmin, he’d throw away everything to do as you asked.

“If you want,” he said, shuffling awkwardly as he sat across.

You glanced up at him, giggling as you finished tuning up the instrument, “So this is my de-stress room,” you said, “I like occasionally coming here to write songs or just play the instruments here.”

“You play instruments other than guitar?” Minho asked, sounding rather impressed.

“I used to play piano as a kid, actually,” you explained with a smile as you checked the A string, “Jisung taught me how to play guitar in our first year here.”

Minho bit his lip, struggling to keep control over his expressions, “Right.”

Never before in his life did Minho ever think that he’d be sitting across from you and feeling jealous about Han Jisung’s relationship with you. It wasn’t secret knowledge; he knew you used to like his friend, and you used to like him very much. It wasn’t like Minho minded; you were the one of the decent ones and you genuinely liked Jisung for who he was. Something must’ve happened in the middle of the second year, because you gradually seemed to pull away from Jisung at least in a romantic manner. Minho never thought much of it. But now, he was beginning to fully realize how close you and Jisung actually were, and how much that was beginning to bother him.

Did you still like Jisung? That was the question that always haunted his mind. Were you doing all of this for the boy in your past when Minho was here falling harder every single day?

“Hey, Min?”

Your voice broke into his thoughts as his ears perked up, “Yeah?” He answered with an uncharacteristically gentle voice. There was something about the way you spoke that felt hesitant and uncertain, rather unlike you, and he wanted to make sure that you felt comfortable being here with him.

“D-do—“ you swallowed nervously, “do you want to hear one of my songs?”

Minho’s eyes widened. As a friend of Jisung and the other two famous producers on campus, he was no stranger to hearing music that they produced. But because of that, he knew how much these songs meant to the people who wrote them. How personal they can be, and how terrifying it could be to share them with others. And the fact that you were willing to bare that part of your soul to him was a gesture of trust that he’d never expected.

“Do you want me to listen?” He asked with caution, “You really don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“I do!” You blurted out before your cheeks grew warm, “You shared a big part of yourself with me when you took me to that cat cafe, so I wanted to do the same.”

Minho felt a little speechless, so all he could do was nod and give you an encouraging smile. Taking his gesture as acceptance, you cleared your throat softly and began to strumming out a simple chord progression.

The poor man was immediately entranced. There wasn’t any hope for him anymore. The moment you opened your mouth to sing, Minho fell into silent awe as he let your soft, soothing voice flow through his body. There was something so present about your voice, about the lyrics you sang. Everything just felt so raw that all he could really do was watch and listen with a gentle smile on his face.

When you finished, you opened your eyes and hesitantly turned to face him, “Well?” You prodded, a hint of nervousness slipping out of your lips.

It took Minho a few moments to put his thoughts together, and even then, they weren’t totally coherent. Nothing like the smooth-tongued, cheeky persona he always embodied, “That was--wow,” he stumbled over his words.

To his luck, you didn’t seem bothered by his failure to string his words together, but only smiled encouragingly, “A good wow, I hope?” You asked.

“Definitely a good wow. The best wow,” he nodded fervently as you laughed, waiting for him to continue, “Did you ever take classes like Jisung and Chan?”

“Oh, no. I definitely don’t have the extra money for that,” you said, resting your arms on your guitar, “But I’ve always loved to sing, and I’ve always loved hearing other people sing, too. My first childhood crush was this really cute busker who sang Hey There Delilah once near my city’s shopping street.”

Minho’s lips quirked up in a smirk. This was much more comfortable territory for him, especially when it means teasing you, which is honestly all he ever did, “A childhood crush, huh?” He drawled, stretching out his legs, “So you have a thing for people with good voices?”

“Absolutely,” you nodded, “If anyone has a good singing voice, I’m at least 40% more inclined to fall in love with them.”

“Wow,” he let out a laugh, “That is an incredibly significant statistic. I’m almost worried about how shallow you are.”

You let out a noise of indignation as Minho only laughed harder, fending away your useless attacks, “I am not shallow!” You snapped, your cheeks feeling warm, “Having a good singing voice is just an added bonus!”

“Sure, sure,” he teased, even going so far as to pinch your cheek playfully, “Is that why you fell in love with Jisungie?”

“I’m not in love with Jisung--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you aren’t now,” Minho waved his hand dismissively, even though deep in his heart, he didn’t actually know and that was why he approached the topic in the first place, “But you were in love with him back then, right?”

The withering glare you gave him was weak at best, and you sighed, hugging your guitar to your chest as if it was your own personal shield, “Yes, I was. But that was years ago and we agreed to be just friends. It was awkward in the beginning, but I’m content with the relationship we have now.”

“You are?” Minho asked, trying to sound casual as he picked a piece of lint off his pants.

You nodded surely enough for him to see that you were being genuine, “I am. Jisung is just a friend, nothing more.”

Why Minho seemed so interested in the topic that he’d ask not one, but two follow-up questions about Jisung, you didn’t know. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was jealousy or a way of making sure that you were emotionally available, but you did know better, and you knew that Lee Minho wasn’t that type of person.

Trying to bridge what was becoming an awkward silence, you cleared your throat and asked, “Do you have a favorite karaoke song? We could do a jam session here if you’re comfortable with singing.”

“You want me to sing after hearing how good you sound?” Minho scoffed in disbelief.

You visibly pouted, and Minho’s defenses immediately weakened, “Aww, I promise I won’t judge! And besides, Jisung said that you sounded good the last time you two went to the karaoke bar. It’s just the two of us, Min,” you smiled encouragingly, “We’re just here to have fun!”

Fuck everything. Fuck you and your gentle words, your soft smiles, your teasing eyes. Everything about you just made Minho want to lower all his walls and embrace all that you want to do. Letting out a sigh, he relented, “Fine. Do you know Congratulations by Day6?”

“Uh, I think the question is who doesn’t know Congratulations by Day6.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Minho scowled as you laughed, shifting the capo slightly higher on the neck of the guitar to the right tuning. Giving you time to get ready, Minho pulled up the lyrics on his phone to make sure he didn’t mess up unnecessarily in front of you. It shouldn’t matter, of course, but there was a weird fluttering in his stomach that made him almost believe that he was nervous.

When the two of you were finished fiddling around, you glanced up at him, smiling, “Ready? I’ll give a four count,” Minho nodded, and after you rapped your knuckles against the body of the guitar four times, he opened his mouth and began to sing.

His voice and your playing blended together almost magically, and it felt like the rest of the world disappeared as he continued to sing, disregarding his phone since he seemed to know the lyrics by heart. All you had to do was follow along with your gentle strumming, listening and keeping up to the natural inflections of his voice. The room felt cozier, the sterile fluorescent lights felt warmer, and you were getting lost in the ethereal picture of Minho when--

“Why are the lights on in the hallway?”

The two of you immediately stopped as you glanced at each other, eyes comically wide. It seemed like, much to your luck, the security guard happened to choose that very day to make his rounds, despite skipping every other day during the week.

“Put the guitar away! I’ll turn off the lights!” Minho hissed at you as he bolted to the wall of the room and you went to place the guitar back in its case as quickly and carefully as possible. Luckily, the music room didn't have any windows on the door, and the guard couldn’t see what was happening inside unless he actually entered the room.

The two of you just managed to put the guitar back in its original state and turn off the lights just as his footsteps neared the door. In a split second, Minho grabbed your arms and yanked you into one of the bass storage compartments, closing the closet door right before the guard opened the door to the music room, looking around curiously.

Neither of you could even breathe in the crammed space of the closet as you tentatively waited for the guard to check the room. The storage compartment left almost no wiggle room, and Minho’s arm stayed wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you snug against his chest so the two of you could fit.

Oh god, this was too much for you. The thumping of his heart against yours, the tickling of his hair against your ear as he had to dip down to avoid thumping his head against the top, the grip he had on your waist as his thumb rubbed your side, an instinctive attempt to calm your nerves.

The silence screamed in the room, and the two of you held your breaths before the footsteps exited the room, and the door clicked closed. Even still, both of you stayed totally quiet for a few moments longer before Minho let out a soft chuckle.

“This is definitely a closet I haven't explored.”

You swatted at his arm, “Now is not the time to make dirty jokes!” You scolded, but Minho accepted your angry hands, happily holding you snug against his chest as he laughed.

“If not now, then when?”

“How about never?” You rolled your eyes as you lifted your head to glare up at him, but your intentions seemed to die out the moment you realized just how close the two of you were. Minho’s face was not inches, but centimeters away from yours, your noses almost brushing and your foreheads so close that you could practically count his eyelashes.

Minho gulped, staring down at you in panic and awe as he struggled to maintain his composure. There was so much he could do, so much he’s done before; this position shouldn’t be all that shocking for him. As he’d said before, he has had his fair share of sloppy closet makeouts and even a little more than that. Cramming into a storage closet with his arms around you shouldn’t be enough to send his mind and heart into overdrive.

But they were, because he’s never met anyone that set his heart alight like you did. His eyes trailed obviously to your lips, the way that yours eyes did to his, but he couldn’t find it in himself to make the first move. There was something holding him back, an irrational fear that prevented him from moving too quickly, a fear that he might scare you away.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked softly, your hands finding their home on his chest as neither of you made moves to pull away.

“About how this date took a rather strange turn,” he answered instead, his eyes glittering with amusement.

To his surprise, you look flustered and a bit ashamed at his words, “Ah, I am sorry,” you apologized, “I didn’t think it was going to turn out like this. They never check the rooms, and I just wanted to show you a place where I--”

A gasp fell out of your lips as Minho pulled you forward until your body collided with his chest. He engulfed you in a tight hug, his face buried in your hair as he mumbled with what you could discern was a hint of trepidation and shyness, “Don’t be sorry. Thank you for showing me this side of you.”

Your hands stilled behind him, your eyes widening as you felt him hold you tighter. You could feel the beat of his heart, the trembling in his breath, and the remainder of the walls around your heart all but collapsed as you snaked your arms around his midriff, snuggling your face into his shoulder and marveling at how perfectly you fit against him.

“Thank you for giving me the chance,” you murmured, your voice muffled by his familiar leather jacket as you smiled, “You know…”

“Hmm?” Minho answered absently, holding you close.

“I like this better than fighting.”

Minho couldn’t help but giggle at the sheer simplicity of your statement, and he couldn’t help but feel inclined to agree with you.

“Yeah, me too.”

“Fuck!”

Minho let out a trail of belligerent curses as he ran to the nearest bus station, holding his leather jacket over both of your heads to shield the two of you from the sudden and pouring rain. As the two of you were walking in the middle of the flower garden right before the weather took a sharp turn for the worse, both of you were soaked to the bone by the time you found shelter.

As you clutched at your chest, gasping for breath, you huffed grumpily at the boy beside you, who looked way too dashing for someone who was doused like a wet dog, “Weren't you supposed to check the weather?”

“Well, if we went to the arcade like I'd suggested instead of the park, we wouldn't be in this predicament, would we?” Minho retorted, running a hand through his damp locks.

“It’s a Friday night. The arcade would’ve been packed to the brim and you still would’ve been all pissy.”

“It’s better than being soaked to the bone and freezing our asses off at some random bus station.”

The two of you maintained your angry tense glares for only a moment longer before you caved, rolling your eyes as a smile crept on your face, “It seems like nothing has changed, even on our last date.”

“We're destined enemies. The universe has decreed it long ago, sweetheart,” Minho chuckled.

The most humorous thing about both of those statements were how utterly false they were, and how aware both of you were about that fact. Anything and everything that existed between the two of you had changed during the course of the month, and both of you knew it. Minho had changed from a necessary annoyance to an irreplaceable pillar in your life, a source of honesty and comfort that you've grown to relish. Even though the two of you still bickered like cats and dogs, there was something good-natured about it now.

“Well, our garden date is fucked and we can't exactly go to the arcade like this, so what do you suppose we do?” You asked with a grimace as you wrung the excess water out of your hair, “This is the last day before our project ends.”

Minho sighed, shaking the droplets of water off his jacket as he bit his lip, turning his gaze to your side profile. You were happily oblivious to his stare, continuing to twist the water out of your hair as you stared out at the rainy street, humming softly to yourself. He could tell immediately that you were cold and doing your best to keep yourself from shivering.

It was definitely a pet peeve of his that he’d grown more and more annoyed over as he spent the month by your side. You never liked to wear jackets or bring them along, despite the fact that you were literally cold-blooded and tended to match the temperature of whatever weather was going on around you. It got so bad at times that Minho had already developed a habit of bringing you an extra jacket or scarf so you at least didn’t catch a fucking cold while you were spending on dates with him.

Unfortunately, the forecast had predicted clear skies and warm weather for the whole day, and Minho didn’t think about bringing that extra jacket around this time, so all you could do was perish in your cold, soaked clothes.

“You could come over and hang out at my place.”

The words tumbled out of Minho's mouth before he could really consider the consequences, and all he could do after that was look as nonchalant as possible.

As expected, you gawked at him as if he'd grown a second head, “You want me to hang out at your apartment?”

“Don't make me repeat myself,” he grumbled, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot, “We could dry up there and maybe watch some Netflix or something."

You let out a scandalized gasp, dramatically covering your chest with your arms, and Minho's face burned as he gave you a hard shove, "Not like that, oh my god!" He sputtered in total embarrassment, fully beginning to process the implications of his words.

As the poor man dissolved in his own misery, you cackled, relishing his suffering as you ran a hand through your wet locks, "I'm kidding, genius!" You said with a laugh, "Gosh, who knew you were actually such a prude on the inside."

If you took Minho seriously at all, his glare would have sent you six feet under. Unfortunately for him, one month of fake dating taught you that the man was a lot more bark than bite. You were basically Minho-immune at this point.

“You know what?” He closed his eyes, grabbing at whatever supernatural patience he had not to just shut you up with his lips smashing against yours, “Offers’ off. Walk home yourself.”

“Aw, alright I’m sorry!” You laughed, ruffling his messed up hair as you walked out of the bus stop and into the pouring rain, “Come on, please? I promise I won’t make fun of you anymore.”

You promising not to make fun of him sounded about as genuine as Jisung saying that he’d stop procrastinating on his homework, but what was Minho going to do? Make you walk home by yourself in this type of weather? It wasn’t that he was giving you any special treatment; this was just what any good samaritan would do.

With a roll of his eyes, he stomped over to you and flung his leather jacket over your head, “Let’s go,” he muttered. Smiling playfully, you followed him home, using his jacket to shield you from the rain as you stared at his back with a hint of bittersweetness.

The jacket still smelled like him, you thought absently as you walked in his shadow. As much as you’d tried to deny it to yourself, Minho smelled good. He smelled like Febreeze and citrus. You were going to miss the warmth of his jacket very soon, when he’d no longer be obligated to take care of you or make sure that you won’t catch a cold.

“Did you die back there, sweetheart?” Minho called behind him, “You’ve gone all quiet.”

“If I died, how exactly was I supposed to answer you?”

“Oh, my bad. I was really only asking out of courtesy,” he smirked, throwing his head back as his eyes sparkled with a mischief you’ve grown out of hating. Seeing the few feet of distance between the two of you, he extended his hand, chuckling, “Seriously, what are you doing all the way back there? Come on.”

You felt yourself grow quiet, taking a few large strides forward before you let go of the jacket and slipped your hand into his. Minho’s fingers laced with yours as he continued on his way, leading you down a couple streets before you made it to the familiar apartment complex.

Now, you’ve been to Minho’s place a couple times, so you didn’t feel too overwhelmed as the two of you rushed into the lobby area sopping wet and trying your best to dry off your shoes on the mat. However, it was always just a quick stop, like standing in the lobby area while he went up to grab something, or meeting with him downstairs before going on a date. You’d never actually been into his apartment before, and as the two of you stood in the elevator in a deafening silence, you couldn’t stop your heart from racing a little faster than normal.

“Alright, now I’m worried,” he said as the numbers on the elevator screen went up slowly, “You’re being abnormally quiet. What’s up?”

You blinked in momentary surprise, not expecting him to pry, since he wasn’t ever the type, “Oh. I’m just wondering what your place looks like,” you said, smiling.

Minho didn’t buy it for one second, but he only gave you a strange glance as the elevator doors opened, “I see. Well, it’s nothing special. It’s just like any other dumpy frumpy apartment.”

“I didn’t mean like whether it looks expensive or not,” you said with a soft laugh as the two of you walked down the hallway towards the door to the left, “I’m just wondering whether it would be clean or messy, if you like to keep it warm or cold. Those sorts of things.”

“Oh,” Minho rubbed the back of his neck, and for the first time, he felt a little nervous about twisting his key and opening the door. What if you had higher expectations about it than he could actually meet? Wait, did he pick up those boxers off the floor before he left that morning? He did, right?

“What are you waiting for?” You asked in amusement, watching as Minho seemed to have gone very still after he pushed his key into the keyhole. When he didn’t budge, you moved forward to turn it yourself, only for him to angle his body in front of the door.

“Uh, maybe this isn’t the best idea,” he said with a pleasant, saccharine smile.

You blinked, “Minho, we’re literally at your door,” you said just as a loud boom of thunder sounded in the distance, “And it’s thundering. Your room can’t be that horrid, right?”

“It might be a bit messy,” he argued.

“We’ve both spent game nights in Jisung’s hell hole. I think I can handle however messy your apartment is.”

That was a fair point. Minho couldn’t really find an argument against that attack. Lowering his head, he sighed, “Let me head in to tidy some things first.”

With a raised eyebrow, you crossed your arms, “No problem, but I seriously don’t care, if that’s what your worried about.”

Minho could only nod suddenly before he turned the key, unlocked the door and slipped in faster than a ghost before slamming the door shut. Just like he’d predicted, his boxers were lying nonchalantly on his bedroom floor, and he shoved them in his hamper before cleaning--more like hiding--the rest of his junk in record time.

You were beginning to think that Minho had just locked you out of his apartment when the door opened once more, and he walked out with a towel in hand, “Did you hide whatever dirty toy you needed to hide?” You asked with a smirk.

“Get your head out of the gutter,” he retorted, throwing the towel at you and leading you inside.

The apartment wasn’t far from your expectations. Clean, but not meticulously so, a little bit on the chilly side, and a sense of homeliness with the warm lights and lamps that he chose from the living area. You found yourself growing fonder and fonder of it by the minute.

“It’s cute,” you smiled, wrapping the towel around your neck.

Minho tried to ignore the way his cheeks warmed at the simple, but genuine compliment that fell out of your lips, “Thanks. I laid out a change of clothes for you in the bathroom. You can also take a shower if you feel like you need to warm up.”

“What a gentleman,” you said teasingly as you placed your handbag down on the floor as you headed to where Minho had gestured to the bathroom, “Do you have people over often?” It was an easy question, not even close to brushing the real question that sat in the back of your mind.

Is what we have special? Do I mean something different to you the way you mean something different to me?

“Actually, besides Jisung, you’re probably the first,” Minho answered, grabbing a towel to dry off his own hair as he walked towards you, “I don’t really like strangers or acquaintances in my space.”

“Oh, I should be honored, then,” you said, trying to contain your surprise as turned to face him, studying the way his damp hair framed his face and the way his eyes seemed to burn with an intensity that you could never read. You could never tell what that gaze wanted, what that gaze meant, but you knew what it did to you and your foolish little heart.

Minho’s head tilted ever so slightly as the silence hung in the air. Then, he smiled, brushing the tip of his finger under your chin, “Well, being my social experiment girlfriend has to have its perks.”

The trance shattered, and whatever moment of tension and unexplainable attraction you felt disappeared into the air as you marched towards the bathroom, “I’m glad I got to make use of it before my membership expires tomorrow,” you said, your voice tinged with sarcasm as you shut the door.

A laugh left Minho’s lips as he shook his head, walking into his bedroom and quickly getting into a change of clothes before flopping onto his couch. This experiment has proved to be one of the most difficult experiences in his life. All this time, he always knew what he wanted, and he always knew how to get it. If he wanted someone, he got them. If he wanted to pursue something, he found himself being able to achieve it with just a bit of hard work on his part.

But with you, he didn’t know what he wanted, nor did he know how to obtain it. When he met you as Jisung’s other best friend, he never once imagined that the two of you would form such a strange yet irreplaceable relationship in such a short amount of time. He liked you, he liked you a lot. But as he found himself falling further and further, he realized that the reason this was so difficult was because he cared about you. His way of living with no strings attached wasn’t going to cut it anymore, especially since he was beginning to notice that many of his strings were tightly wrapped around your fingers.

And despite this, the two of you were going to have to cut them all off when the morning came.

“Fuck you, Jisung. You probably knew this was going to happen, you little shit,” Minho sighed, lying down on the couch and closing his eyes. Whatever, he didn’t want to think about the goodbye. He’d deal with it when it came.

“Uh, Minmin?”

“Hmm?” Minho answered you absently, his eyes still closed.

“You can shower if you’d like,” you offered, the couch dipping under your weight as you sat beside him.

“Nah, I’ll just shower tomorrow morning,” Minho said, opening his eyes and physically having to fight back a blush as he saw you, his hoodie practically engulfing you whole and his sweats going past your feet. Oh fuck, did he even think things through when he picked out a spare set of clothes for you?

You caught his stunned gaze, your cheeks immediately reddening, “L-look, they’re just a little big on me!” You said defensively as you grabbed one of the pillows and shoved it in his face, “Can’t you stop staring?”

Minho laughed, fending off your relentless pillow attacks with his arms, “Sweetheart, I swear! You actually look really cute!”

“Shut up!” You shrieked, swinging your arms relentlessly as Minho finally had enough letting you win. Lashing out with his hands, he grabbed both of your wrists, stopping their movement and forcing you to drop the pillow as he yanked you forward. With all your momentum going in one direction, your body had no choice but to follow, and when you opened your eyes, you were sprawled on top of him on the couch, his hands still locking your wrists in place.

“Um,” you looked around, further procession the rather awkward position the two of you had taken, “did you mean for this to happen?”

Minho didn’t, but he was nothing if not an opportunist, “You can think whatever you wanna think,” he shrugged, letting go of your wrists as he wrapped a casual arm around your waist, “What? Not comfortable?”

The more you thought about it, the more you realized that the position was actually quite comfortable. Minho was always built like a personal heater and whatever chill you felt from running around in the rain just seemed to melt away as he held you.

Stop it, the little voice in your mind whispered as you tried not to focus on the fact that your face was inches from his. This date was for you to say your goodbyes, not fall farther into the black hole.

“Comfortable? Hardly,” you scoffed as best you could, pushing yourself up with your hands and curling up on the couch beside his stretched out figure, “You’re all muscle from dancing so much. It’s like sleeping on a rock.”

“Ah, these abs are hard as rock,” Minho nodded very seriously.

“I wasn’t talking about your abs.”

“Then what else can be hard?” He blinked for a moment before his smile turned unbelievably devilish, “My, my, (name)...I didn’t know you were so--”

You grabbed the pillow you’d previously discarded and shoved it into his chest, “Can we watch something?” You interrupted him pleasantly, pretending not to have even heard the beginning of his less than appropriate joke.

Minho huffed, throwing the stupid pillow to the floor as he scooted next to you, “Sure, want popcorn?” He asked, handing you the remote after turning on his TV, “Just find something on Netflix.”

“Anything you don’t like to watch?” You asked, browsing through the selections.

“Nothing horror related,” he answered as he pushed himself off the couch, heading to the kitchen.

His reply felt strange to you, and you frowned, turning around to look at him, “But don’t you love horror movies?” You asked, remembering very clearly that Minho and Jisung had first met because they both went to the same viewing of a new horror movie that you refused to go to.

“Yeah, but you don’t, right?” Minho pointed out before shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly and disappearing into the kitchen area as you were left reeling at his almost blasé answer, struck by how much he’d grown to learn about you and how much he'd grown to take your feelings into account.

Now that you thought about it, you realized how much Minho's personality had changed and affected the way you did things, not in a controlling way, but in a way that you found yourself thinking about him when making decisions. When you made your weekly batch of bread, you tended to lean towards milk bread because it was Minho’s favorite. When you went out for dinner together, you thought about what he enjoyed before picking a cuisine. When you browsed for cute accessories, your taste gravitated to cats because they reminded you of him.

Holy fuck, how deep in were you?

“You didn't pick anything yet,” Minho noticed as he poked his head out from the kitchen, waiting for the popcorn to finish.

“O-oh right,” you fumbled with the remote in your hands as you scrolled through the selections.

Minho hummed, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, “Hmm…? What were you thinking about, kitten?”

“Nothing, stop being nosy,” you answered with an annoyed edge as you found something that piqued your interest, “Hey, wanna watch Bridgerton? I heard some good things about it from my friends.”

"I heard it's a bit of a shitshow," Minho commented as the microwave beeped and the smell of buttered popcorn filled the room. Grabbing the bowl and taking a few pieces for himself, he returned to the living room, jumping over the couch and plopping down beside you.

You tried to ignore how casual it felt for him to just throw an arm around your shoulders to pull you close, focusing on the TV, “Wanna check it out to see which review is accurate?”

“Sure, whatever you want, kitten.”

As the two of you powered through episode after episode, it became clear that both reviews had some merit, as the series was a bit of a shitshow, but one that you wouldn't be able to stop watching. Minho and you found yourselves rather invested in the story and the characters, letting out a huge “finally” when the two leads confessed their genuine love for one another.

“Another episode?” You asked after a short bathroom break, falling into his arms even more so than before and practically snuggling into his warm chest now.

“Go for it, sweetheart. I have all night.”

“So do I,” you chuckled, and pressed the play button.

However, things started to take a weird turn after you reached the middle mark of the series. Bouts of contained love had been released, and there were beginning to be many scenes that weren't quite appropriate for general audiences. You quickly realized that this was probably not the show you should've picked to watch through straight-faced with your lovely social experiment boyfriend.

You held your tongue for most of them, just wanting and wishing for them to be over as soon as possible, but when positions started to turn towards an even more peculiar direction, you couldn't help but make one rather underhanded comment.

“Ugh, forget the literal fanfic fake dating trope they had going on. This is probably the most unrealistic part of the whole show,” you said with mild disgust as you watched the female lead gripping on the rails of the staircase.

“Oh?” Minho perked up at your comment almost too eagerly. Like you, he had also been suffering from the tragic case of watching a dirty scene with his totally-fake-but-also-somehow-real girlfriend, and felt a crash of relief when you spoke up about something, “And why is that, kitten?”

A noise of disbelief choked out of your throat as you gestured at the scene before your eyes, “I mean, look at them! Can you possibly expect me to believe that she feels comfortable in that position, much less enjoy it?”

Minho shrugged, “You’d be surprised how much you can ignore when you’re in the moment.”

“I don’t believe it,” you scoffed, grabbing a handful of popcorn, “At least, I’ve never had such an experience before.”

The conversation was dropped then and there, and the show continued without further criticism. But halfway through the next episode, you began to feel that you were being watched, and sure enough, Minho was gazing at you with an unreadable expression, deep in thought.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked, chuckling awkwardly, “Do I have something on my...Min?”

Your eyes widened comically as Minho suddenly shifted on the couch, leaning impossibly closer to you and gently cupping your jaw with his hand. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck fuck fuck. Had he lost his mind?!

Minho seemed to answer your silent question as he stopped right before his lips could brush yours, and his eyes searched for any fear or hesitation in your expression, “Is it true?” He asked hoarsely, his words no louder than a faint whisper.

“What true?” You murmured back, looking up at him through your lashes.

The man gulped, trying to hold onto whatever semblance of control he had left in his body, “What you said earlier...about never having such an experience before.”

Oh, your cheeks reddened as bright as apples, “Why do you have to bring it up again, idiot?!” You felt your voice fail you as Minho tightened his hold on you.

“So it’s true?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, “Yes, it’s true! What does it have to do with you, asshole?”

Minho sucked in a breath, studying your face as his eyes shone with gentle adoration and tenderness that you didn’t even know he could possess, “Can I kiss you, (name)?”

Your name. It was your name. Not sweetheart. Not kitten. Not any other petname he could give anyone that he pleased. He uttered your name. He was asking for your permission. And like a sailor drawn in by the siren’s song, you had no hope of escaping now.

“Yes.”

Closing the gap, your lips met as the two of you finally succumbed to the growing tension that festered with every meeting, every touch of your hands, every quip thrown both ways. Minho caressed your cheek as your hands slid to his shoulders, reveling in the kiss that was such a long time coming.

When he finally pulled away to let both of you catch your breaths, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes blown wide as he stared at you underneath him. Swallowing, he brushed the hair away from your face, his heart warming with unrestrained affection as you leaned into his touch instead of pulling away, “Can I give you that experience you’ve been lacking?” He asked, a coil of anxiety rolling in his stomach as he studied your face for every miniscule reaction.

Any inkling that you didn’t want to, any inkling that you were only going to along to please him, he’d end it all. Minho knew very well that he was walking on a tightrope of maybe losing you forever.

But to his surprise, you didn’t look fearful or uncomfortable, only a bit uncertain, “T-this is our last night though, a-as…” you trailed off, not wanting to make those thoughts a reality, just like Minho had been actively avoiding the topic as well.

“I know, I know,” he sighed, stroking your cheek absently with his thumb, “Maybe...we can think of this as a goodbye.”

You smiled, “It’s one hell of a goodbye,” you teased, making him chuckle. It was definitely one hell of a goodbye.

“Do you want it?” Minho whispered, hovering over you, “You say the word, and I’ll back off. Promise.”

Sucking in a breath, you decided not to live by your head anymore. With Lee Minho holding you close, kissing you silly, what was there to refuse?

“I want it,” you murmured, “I want you.”

This was the right choice, you told yourself as Minho carried you to his bedroom, treating you with a delicacy and gentleness that you’ve never experienced before. It was the culmination of your feelings for him. Maybe, when the morning comes, these feelings would wash away with your bouts of pleasure. Maybe, when the morning comes, you wouldn’t be as deeply in love with him as you were now.

Right?

epilogue.

When you woke in the morning, the rays of sunlight spilling in through Minho’s dark curtains, you were almost stunned by how very wrong you were. As you turned your head, finding yourself face to face with Minho, fast asleep with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, you knew that you were not only still in love with Minho, but you were more in love with him than you were the night before.

And boy, did that terrify you to your very core.

Fuck! This wasn’t supposed to happen. The experiment was over, right? There wasn’t a purpose that pulled you two together anymore. There wasn’t a purpose for Minho to feel any sort of attraction to you anymore.

Too terrified to face the love of your life when he woke, you did the only thing you knew how to do.

And you ran.

Detangling yourself from Minho as gently as possible, you slipped out of his bed, grabbing your clothes from where they’d been haphazardly discarded around the room. You changed in record time, anxious to avoid making sound or staying around until Minho woke. It was only 8:30 in the morning, though, and you knew that Minho naturally didn’t like to wake before 9:00, so you had a bit of time.

You wanted to leave as soon as you finished changing, but your guilty conscience wouldn’t let you disappear without some form of gratitude. For the night before or for the way he’d treated you the whole month, you didn’t know. But either way, you grabbed a couple of ingredients that he had in his refrigerator and fixed him a hearty breakfast before heading to the door. You only looked back once before officially steeling yourself to disappear from Lee Minho’s life, at least until you’d be able to resolve these naive and yet deep-seated feelings you had for him.

For the rest of the week, life went on as normal for you, as if your one unforgettable month with Minho had all but faded into the wind as you had hoped that night. You finished your final entry in the diary and handed it back to Jisung the day after the experiment ended. If he had questions as to why you’d disregarded the original plan to hand yours over along with Minho’s at the same time, he didn’t bring them up.

“Did you at least have fun, (name)?” Jisung asked before you could turn around to leave.

You hesitated, quickly realizing that the fact that you couldn’t answer the question immediately gave away your uncertainty. After a long moment of thought, you nodded.

“Yeah, I did.”

You really did, though. There was no point lying to yourself about that when you were already having such a hard time pretending that your very real feelings for Minho don’t exist.

Speaking of Minho, you spent much of the week trying to cut him out of your life as much as possible, which was proven to be rather difficult since the two of you had such a close friend in common. You could tell that Jisung was getting a little sick of seesawing between his two best friends without knowing why the two of you were acting this way. Even back when the two of you were basically the worst of enemies, neither of you ever actively tried to avoid seeing the other.

But now, you were avoiding Minho like the plague. You avoided his school building entirely, and if you happened to see him walking down the street by some unlucky miracle, you’d bolt in a random direction and hide in a store until you were sure he was gone.

It was a lot of effort, and you weren’t even sure if it was working, since your feelings for him seemed to grow even stronger the more you were away from him.

There was just worry that festered within your heart, this genuine concern you had over his wellbeing now that you weren’t able to check on him every day. Was he eating well? Was he skipping breakfast now that you stopped giving him your milk bread? Did he pass that exam he was worried about?

It seemed your feelings for Minho were going to need a little more than distance to disappear.

After two weeks of moping and frustratingly obvious heart sickness on both sides, Han Jisung finally had enough with his idiotic best friends.

You opened your door in surprise as Jisung stood at the entrance of your apartment, an unusually angry expression on his face, “U-uh, Sungie? You good?”

“Do I look good?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “How the fuck do you expect me to be good when I’ve been fucking tiptoeing between you and Minho for the past two weeks?!”

You flinched at the very mention of his name, “I’m sorry. I promise everything will go back to normal soon.”

“With the way you’re doing things, I don’t think that’s going to happen, (name),” Jisung rubbed his eyes tiredly, and you finally noticed the deep eyebags he had, indicating several all nighters, “I finished writing my thesis paper.”

“Oh, congrats.”

It was easier to muster up a smile at that statement, since you were genuinely proud of Jisung for such a daring project.

“I also read both of your notebooks.”

Fuck. That was a necessary part of writing that paper.

You nodded, trying to keep your cool, “Okay? Did they not have enough information?”

“Forget the stupid project for one fucking moment, please,” Jisung interrupted before sighing, “At first, I thought the awkwardness came from the fact that you still hate each other, but it turns out it’s just the opposite.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jisung threw you a long look, as if silently weighing several options in his head. You could practically see his thoughts running a mile a minute, and all you could do was stand there as he finally reached into his bag and pulled out a familiar notebook.

“This--” Your eyes widened as you gazed down at the name written in Sharpie, a name that decidedly wasn’t yours, “Jisung, you can’t--”

“Yes, I know that as the operator of this experiment, giving out information that I’d originally stated was confidential is absolutely against everything that science stands for,” he said wearily, “But as your friend and Minho’s friend, this is the right thing to do.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Read it, dummy. I could tell you what’s inside, but I don’t think you’d believe me unless you saw it yourself.”

Jisung grabbed your wrist and pressed the little notebook into the palm of your hand, “I think you’ll know what to do after,” he smiled gently, his eyes filled with earnest care as he gave you a quick hug and made his way down the hall, leaving you to stand at your door holding Minho’s grey project notebook.

With nothing else to do, you entered your apartment again and plopped down on the couch, notebook in hand. Did you even want to see it, Minho’s unadulterated truth? A part of you wasn't, but curiosity always killed the cat, and you found yourself gingerly opening the first page.

Nothing was far from what you expected at first, since it matched quite well to your own experiences. First blatant dislike, then grudging respect, and finally, a growing fondness. You found yourself smiling as you read about how much Minho actually adored the bentos you made, even though he never made his thoughts on it entirely clear to you.

Then, you finally made it to the last page: Day 31. You found yourself stopping short, your heart beginning to race again as your eyes scanned the first few words.

lee minho: day 31 + 2 days

action(s): last date

notes: yeah, i know this entry is late, but i just needed some time to collect myself.

she left in the morning before i could wake up. i can’t say i was surprised, since i told her the night could be our goodbye, but i’d hoped in some part of me that she’d stay, that we’d just carry on with the rest of the month like the ending date didn’t exist. she made me breakfast, though, so at least i know she wasn’t disappointed or upset with me about how far things went. at least i hope.

fuck, jisung, i can’t stop thinking about her. it’s been two days already and nothing i do can make me forget her. the last night just made things infinitely worse. i played with fire and im getting burned for it. i can’t get the way she felt out of my head, the way she would also look into my eyes and see me for what i am inside, not just what i look like. i miss her milk bread, i miss seeing her outside the dance studio.

jisung, i think i love her. no fuck it, i do love her, and there’s nothing i can do anymore. she clearly doesn’t want anything to do with me based on how she’d been avoiding me like the plague whenever i see her on the street. and now, i don't even know how much of what she felt, how much of what she did for me was real. did she put in so much effort because she wanted you to be happy? or was the way she hugged me, the way she spoke to me, was it all real?

it doesnt matter now.

By the time you made it to the end of the page, your eyes were filled with tears and your vision blurred over. Minho...he loved you? Had you been so absorbed with wallowing in your own misery that you failed to realize that your actions were hurting him?

Panic filled your very being, and as Jisung had predicted, you knew exactly what you had to do. You had to make amends, apologize for your actions, and at the very least, express your own feelings to him directly, even if it was too little too late.

With the notebook clutched tightly in your hand, you grabbed your purse and rushed out the door, still putting on your boots as you hopped to the elevator. Which bus did you have to take to get to his apartment? First the #2 and then transfer over to #13...right.

You bolted out of the lobby, feeling the rush of cold air seep through your bones, but you hardly found it in yourself to care. You ran to the bus station, anxiously shuffling on either feet as you waited for the next #2 line bus to arrive. When the bus finally arrived, you were already standing at the edge of the sidewalk, too jittery to sit. The doors slid open, and before you could barge inside, your jaw went slack as a familiar figure stepped out of the bus, his own eyes widened as they caught yours.

What was most interesting, however, was the familiar grey notebook that he clutched in his hand, one that was painfully identical to the one you were holding.

The two of you stood in an awed silence as Minho got off the steps, and the bus drove away. Immediately, you felt a wave of concern as you looked him over from a distance. Did he lose weight? Was he getting enough sleep?

In the end, Minho was the one who spoke first, clearing his throat awkwardly, “Judging by the notebook in your hand, I’m assuming that Jisung fucked us both over?”

“Y-yeah, sort of,” you answered, surprised that your voice didn’t completely fail you in such an important moment.

Minho seemed to wait for you to continue, but when you didn’t, he spoke again, “Um, I read it. Your diary entries.”

That wasn’t a surprise, of course, see that you read his, but you couldn’t stop the wave of flushed embarrassment from washing over you as you thought about all the embarrassing things you wrote about him, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, looking sheepish, “Do you really think I sound like an angel when I sing?”

Oh, if you could hide yourself six feet under, you would have. But you could nod shamefully, “Yeah.”

“Do you really like it when I cuddle with you and pull you onto my lap?”

Was this your punishment for not being honest upfront? “Y-yes! Now can you please shut up--”

“Do you really love me?”

The wind was knocked out of your lungs as you finally looked up to stare at Minho, whose face was unreadable as always. He held up the notebook and repeated his question when you couldn’t find it in yourself to muster up an answer, “You said in your final entry that you were in love with me, that you loved every part of me inside and out, and that our final night together just made everything so much more real. Is it true?”

Your eyes filled with pain as you choked out softly, “What will you do…if it is?”

Minho’s expression didn’t seem to change, but you didn’t miss the way his eyes seemed to return to their usual sparkle just a little bit, “If it is true, then I’d call you an idiot for ghosting me.”

“R-right--”

“And then I’d walk over to where you’re standing. I’d wrap my arms around your waist like the way you love, and I’d kiss you silly. I’d tell you that I’m totally and completely in love with you, as you probably already know from my diary entires, and I’d ask you to be my real girlfriend,” Minho spoke, his voice filled with meaning as his grip on your notebook tightened, “Now tell me, is it true?”

You couldn’t even remember how to breathe as you stared at him, the cold winter wind making his cheeks so delightfully rosy that all you wanted to do was to kiss them gently and warm them up with your mittens. And as he gazed at you, the sincerity pouring out of his posture, his words, and his eyes, there was no way you could continue lying to yourself.

“It is true,” you said, your eyes filling with unshed tears as you gripped at his notebook, “I’m in love with you, Lee Minho, and it’s tearing me apart just like it’s tearing you apart. I want to love you for real, I want to date you for real, I want us to be real.”

Minho took three large steps forward before he was right in front of you and his lips crashed against yours in a breathtaking kiss. His arms wrapped around your waist like he’d promised, and yours cupped his cheek as he kissed you with unrestrained fervor.

Wow, he really did kiss you silly.

“No more rules, no more of this social experiment bullshit,” he murmured against your lips as he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, “Do you want to be my real girlfriend, (name)?”

What was there to refuse?

the enemies to lovers project: [success]

#stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids reactions #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz x y/n #skz x reader #lee minho imagines #lee minho scenarios #lee know imagines #lee know scenarios #stray kids x reader #dream type: oneshot

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ddarker-dreams · 3 years

Text

Favoritism. Yan Zhongli x God Reader

Warnings: Unhealthy relationships, yandere themes, some minor not SFW implications, and manipulation. Word count: 1.2k. Note: yet another installment to the first contract universe! i was inspired by that one ask that asked what god darling and the traveler’s relationship might be like, and this ended up coming into existence as a result.

[The First Contract index]

“You dote on them too much.”

You wonder what incentivized him to bring this up now of all times.

The night had almost reached its conclusion without incident, another day that would fade into the past as thousands did before it. There would be no avoiding this tricky discussion, you knew that, yet succumbed to the hope of delaying it further.

Your fingertips brush over the cool metal of your earring, setting out to work on undoing the back. “Might I ask who it is you are referring to?”

It’s subtle how his jaw’s muscle tightens underneath the warm glow of candlelight. Perfectly neutral, that’s how you would describe how his lips are set in a straight line, and how his eyebrows neither raise nor crease — he’s assessing you as much as you’re assessing him.

“Why ask questions you already know the answers to?” Zhongli’s voice is a hushed, steady timbre, coming off far too apathetic to be genuine. This threatening pitch was reserved for moments like this, moments where you risked crossing an unspoken line. How many times have you almost done just that? If teetering on the boundaries of punishment was an art form, you were a master in the field.

“Out of confusion, more than anything,” you button your undershirt up next. Through the mirror of your vanity, you note he’s staring back at your reflection intently. “I speak with many people on a daily basis. You know this as well as I do. It was never a problem before, so enlighten me on why it is now.”

Zhongli stands from his sitting position on the edge of your shared bed, still tousled from your previous tryst, making his way closer to you with long strides. You do not falter when he ghosts his bare fingers over the back of your neck. He’s mulling over his answer, that much is for certain, which means more trouble for you. If he is struggling to articulate a satisfactory response, the subject must be touchy.

He sweeps your hair to the side, granting him uninhibited access to your necklace’s clasp, the final piece of jewelry you remove every night. “They’re... different. I would prefer you limited your interactions with them from this moment forward.”

The process of removing your necklace shouldn’t take so long, but he’s in no hurry. Zhongli is nothing if not a patient man. This is distinct from other nights, where he’d be savoring this intimate closeness, with no ulterior motives other than satisfying his ardor for you. The agenda here is clear. He’s applying pressure for you to crumble beneath by limiting your distance, suffocating you into submission with his presence.

“‘Different’, you say?” Quirking an eyebrow, you tilt your head to the side, giving him easier access to call his bluff. If he wants to play games with you, then you’ll return the favor tenfold.

“That was the word I used, yes,” he pauses, amber eyes scrutinizing a mark he had left on you this evening. One of many that you would need to cover tomorrow, sly bastard. He runs the pad of his thumb over it, adding, “A denizen from worlds unknown to us, seeking truths better left forgotten. Danger clings to them.”

You know you should nod your head and acquiesce at this point. There are smaller forms of rebellion against your husband for you to partake in, grievances that won’t land you into boiling water that you’re nearing now. You know that you’re setting yourself up for more trouble than a moment’s satisfaction is worth. His word choice struck a deep, sensitive chord within you, hidden behind layers of hurt and bitterness.

Zhongli delicately sets your necklace onto the wooden surface and turns to lay back down. He must have mistaken your silence for compliance, content with the outcome. How wrong you would prove him to be.

“Just because,” you take a deep breath, your head dizzy and stomach churning, “You find problem with an aspect of history does not mean it deserves to fade into obscurity, solely to serve your agendas. What happens in the dark will one day be brought to light.”

Smiling, you then add insult to injury, “And that frightens you, doesn’t it... Morax?”

He freezes in place, not unlike the way your people did when he reduced them to nothing but calcified statues.

The grandfather clock in the corner of your room ticks on despite time stilling for you both.

“Playing with fire as always,” Zhongli starts, his pupils taking on a thinner form. When he opens his mouth again, you notice a sudden sharpness to his fangs. “You’re not trying to imply anything unbecoming here, are you?”

“I’d never do such a thing.”

He nods, slow and unamused. “How agreeable of you. In that case, I will hear no more on the subject. Have I made myself clear?”

You reach for your hairbrush next, never once breaking eye contact with the man behind you, whose eyes are taking on a more inhuman form by the second. “Clear as the Qingce rivers come springtime.”

“You’re shaking, you know.”

Now it is your turn to still. Glancing down at your outstretched hand, you notice the slightest trembling and frown at the sight. Had he gotten to you more than you cared to admit? There was something unidentifiable in his tone that you hadn’t heard in years, no, in centuries, memories rising to the surface as a direct consequence.

“The door is cracked,” you bite your lower lip. “It’s dreadfully cold this time of year.”

He considers you, unblinking. “That it is.”

The tension in the air is thick enough that your polearm could pierce through it. The pride of two ancient gods is nothing to scoff at, there was enough between you both to rival an entire generation. Zhongli must know something more about the traveler than he’s let on. Whatever this information might be, you doubt he’ll ever tell you, and his patience is but a moment’s away from snapping.

You turn around on your cushioned stool to directly face him. “Dear, there’s no need to look so grave; you know how I love to tease.”

No response. Ah, you must have really pissed him off. That won’t do. You had promised to have tea with Keqing tomorrow afternoon, that plan might be endangered due to your lack of self-control. Luckily for you, there were special techniques cultivated for scenarios just like this, humiliating as they might be. You should’ve listened to reason earlier and bit your tongue before it got to this point.

Zhongli sits back down on the edge of the bed, facing the windows with his back turned to you. The wooden ground is cold against your feet as you pad gingerly over to the bed. It dips beneath your additional weight, and you crawl over to him, stopping just when you’re close enough to pick up on his musky cologne.

Pressing your chest against his back, your fingers run over the intricate patterns of his tattooed arms. His biceps go taut at your simple ministrations. Encouraged, you hover your lips just above the pulse of his neck, your teeth grazing over the skin. Everything is done at his preferences that you committed to memory over centuries.

“What a sly minx you are,” Zhongli’s body rumbles as he speaks. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

His breath is caught in the back of his throat when you gently sink your teeth into his skin.

“Perhaps.”

#zhongli x reader #yandere zhongli #zhongli #yandere zhongli x reader #zhongli genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagine #yandere genshin impact #yandere #yandere x reader #first contract #my stuff

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itsallyscorner · 3 years

Text

Teaming Up with Sam and Bucky ft Zemo

Pairing: FEM!Reader; Bucky Barnes x reader, Sam Wilson x reader; platonic(?), let’s throw in some Zemo x reader

Summary: What it would be like to team up with our favorite duo. Takes place during TFATWS.

Warnings: none, TFATWS SPOILERS. Lowkey a mess :D

A/n: Ever since TFATWS came out I’ve been reminded of how much I love Bucky and Sam. Also I have a new found love for Zemo. I’ve just been so obsessed with this series and I’ve been reading so many fics about it, so I decided to finally write my own :) Enjoy my loves❤️

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

✧───── ･｡ﾟ★: *. ☽.* :★. ─────✧

You’re basically working with a bunch of children.

The children mostly being Sam and Bucky, though Zemo does have his moments once he joins you three.

You’ve known dumb and dumber for a few years now, being part of the Avengers, you’ve worked with Sam on multiple missions. The friendship blooming somewhere in between.

You were also close friends with Steve; when he first came out the ice, you were assigned to help him adjust to the modern world by Fury. He would tell you a bunch of stories of him and Bucky running into trouble or Bucky always saving his ass whenever he was getting beaten up.

Eventually, you finally got to meet Bucky, though he wasn’t Bucky, he was the Winter Soldier. Your introduction to each other was quite memorable to say the least.

He choked you with that metal arm of his and for a split second you swore you might’ve found it attractive—till he threw your body against a car.

You sided with Cap during the accords and helped him protect Bucky. When that whole mess was over, Steve asked you to stay with Bucky in Wakanda to make sure he would be safe.

You were the first person to have some kind of bond with Bucky. Before and after he was freed from Hydra’s hold on him, you were always someone he knew he could trust.

When Steve told you what he was going to do while retuning the stones he told you to watch over them.

“Promise me you’ll keep an eye on Buck and Sam?” He asked you, sitting on the edge of your bed. He had snuck into your room late at night, knowing you were wide awake.

You squeezed his hand reassuringly, a lazy smile on your lips, “They don’t need me, I’m sure they’re capable of surviving on their own.” Steve breathes out a laugh and shakes his head, “You’d be surprised.”

“But seriously, (y/n), they need you. You know how they get when they’re together. You’re the only person in the world who knows how to deal with the both of them at the same time.” Steve reasons, his baby blues sparkling in the darkness of the guest room of Tony’s lake house.

“Make sure they’re not on the verge of killing each other or running into too much trouble?” You tiredly nod, sleep slowly consuming your body. “I promise, they’re gonna be alright, Steve.”

Sometimes you found yourself looking up at the sky, cursing at it—or Steve—for leaving you with two of the most childish and stubborn men you’ve ever known in your life.

You were like the mother of the group; breaking up fights, making sure they skipped no meals, patching up their boo-boos, etc.

“Will you stop staring at me?” Sam snapped, tossing his goggles onto the seat beside him to glare at Bucky.

“I’m not staring at you.” Bucky remarked from across Sam. His flesh and metal arm crossing with each other as he stared at Sam challengingly.

“Yes, you are. Your eyes are connecting with mine. You’re literally staring at me right now!” Sam pointed out, to which Bucky rolled his eyes at.

“Because I’m talking to you, genius. I wasn’t staring at you.” Bucky quipped.

“Yes you were!”

“No I wasn’t!”

This continued till they were sick of bickering with each other, finally yelling out your name for help.

The arguments were straight up petty. Bucky wouldn’t admit it, but he was the pettiest.

Exhibit 1: “LoOKiNG StrONg jOHn!”

Like seriously? Bucky’s the pettiest bitch, nobody can tell me otherwise.

You and Sam would definitely find it amusing how Bucky doesn’t trust Redwing.

Obviously, you all despise John Walker. Just the thought of him left a bad taste in your mouth.

He was like a fly that you all couldn’t get rid of. But because you were all painfully patient people—mostly you and Sam—you had to deal with his bullshit despite the way he annoyed you all.

Totally loosing your shit when Bucky helps Zemo break himself out of prison.

“Please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.” You groaned, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose together.

Bucky looks at you with feign innocence; his mouth agape and puppy eyes. “I—didn’t do...anything(?).”

“You helped Zemo break out of prison didn’t you?” You crossed your arms at him, hip jutting out. As if on cue, Sokovian sugar daddy walks into the abandoned garage you were all in.

Before you can explode on him, Bucky tried to calm you down, “Wait, I technically didn’t do anything though! It was his plan!”

Zemo definitely lives up to being the ✨Sokovian Sugar Daddy✨ of your dysfunctional group.

I think you’d all be surprised at how rich he was. The amount of connections he had wasn’t that big of a shocker.

No like seriously, homie was pulling all sorts of shit out his ass; cars, private planes, houses in different countries, etc.

You all had a love hate relationship with Zemo. On days when he was actually helpful, you all got a long. On the days when things got horribly messy, Zemo couldn’t even let a word out since Sam would tell him to “shut up”.

Though that still doesn’t excuse the fact that he got the Avengers to spilt up and go against each other.

When you guys are all hiding out in one of Zemo’s apartments or homes, you would probably cook breakfast, lunch, or dinner for everyone.

They actually loved it when you cooked because it made the atmosphere feel a bit homey and calm compared to the current situation you were all in.

You were the person they can all go to. You were easy to talk to, making it easier for them to open up to you.

You always checked in on them mentally and physically. For example, you knew Sam felt guilty about giving up the shield, but Bucky never made him forget about his choice. You were there to reassure him that he thought he was doing the right thing and didn’t know the hidden agenda of the government.

You were like their on the go therapist, babysitter, and partner.

Sometimes Bucky and Sam would even argue for your attention.

“Can you stop hogging (y/n) please? Her ears might fall off from hearing you yap all day.” Bucky said as he gently took your arm and dragged you away from Sam.

“You literally spent the whole day with her yesterday, you’re the one who needs to stop hogging (y/n).” Sam argued, grabbing onto your other arm.

“I didn’t get to spend time with (y/n).” Zemo mentioned from his seat in the kitchen, a glass of whisky in his hand. Bucky simply turned to him and pointed, “NO!”

Honestly what’s a friendship with Bucky and Sam without some harmless flirting. They weren’t gonna lie, you were gorgeous, the most attractive one out of the group.

When you guys had to go undercover at Madripoor, both times with Zemo and Sharon, you had to wear dresses that were a bit revealing. Maybe your chest was a bit shown, but the dress definitely showed off your legs.

“So what do you guys think?” You stopped at the bottom of the stairs of Sharon’s apartment, doing a little spin to show off your outfit.

Both Bucky and Sam’s jaws drop, Zemo probably nodding in approval in the corner.

You can’t forget about the nicknames: maybe doll, sweetheart, or darlin’ from Bucky and the typical Louisiana Cher from Sammy.

While fighting against the Flag Smashers or anyone in general, you guys always had each other’s back.

You could directly be fighting someone, but you’ll naturally have an eye on Sam and Bucky to make sure nobody was sneaking up on them.

It’s a given that you all patch each other up after some fight.

You were all very protective of each other. If there’s one thing Sam and Bucky can agree on, it’s their instinct to protect you.

Like how you kept an eye on them, they also kept their eyes on you. Even though they knew you could hold your own.

“Could you walk?” Sam asked you as you laid on the concrete floor. You were double teamed by a couple of Flag Smashers. Two super soldiers against a normal person, you totally got your ass handed to you.

You pushed yourself up to rest on your elbows, “I’m fine, just got dropped kicked twice, but I’ll be fine.”

Sam smiled at you, “That’s my girl.”

Though the two can be a handful and argue almost every minute, you loved the both of them tremendously. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

🏷 Tags ↴

*If your name has a line through it, it means tumblr won’t let me tag you*

Marvel Cast/ Avengers Tags

↪︎ @ximaginx @lozzypoz321 @sunwardsss @pokemonbong @pjokotlcmarvel201 @whoslili @111111111111111sblog @marvel-is-a-mood @blckyungblood @astroponyo @universemarvel @imthebadguyyy @roseke @bi-myself-forever @httpscarletwitch @millenniumloki @cristin-rjd @swords-are-cool @melaninfalconbucky @deamus-liv @elvish-sky @catsandbooksandsstuff @ellajoy419 @moonlight-babe99

General tags

↪︎ @quxxnxfhxll @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @thegirlwiththediary @agustdowney @bi-lmg @rqmanoff @sesamepancakes @stardustofreading @dracoswhore007

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fific7 · 3 years

Text

Evil Twins - Part 2

Billy Russo & Aleksander Morozova x Reader

Summary: When two worlds which have already collided then collide with yours - that’s an explosive situation.

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s mainly a mix of fluff and angst with quite a lot of lemon zest 🍋 My Fantasy Punisher/Shadow and Bone crossover AU.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including oral and unprotected* sex between consenting adults. Some drinking & swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My photo edit)

The mutual staring contest went on between the three of you for some moments longer.

Then the one in the suit (character name - Billy Russo) cleared his throat and said, “Uh… hi.” He held his hands up, palms out, as if trying to calm you down although you hadn’t even uttered a sound.

“Don’t start screaming or nothin’, we’re not gonna hurt you.” “Speak for yourself,” muttered the other one, eyes still drinking in every inch of you. Billy shot him a dirty look, before turning back to you, “Now, sweetheart, I guess you’re wonderin’ why we’re here.”

Nodding, you felt as if you’d temporarily lost the ability to speak.

And you still weren’t quite sure if you were stoned or not.

“You are not the only one, moi krasivyy,” said the guy in black (character name - The Darkling or General Kirigan) managing to look you in the eyes for once, “we are wondering that too!”

“Ha! That’s rich, comin’ from you. This is all your mother’s fault!” snapped Billy. “OUR mother!” yelled the General. The two of them squared up to each other, glaring into each other’s identical eyes.

Oh this is ridiculous, you thought. You jumped up - praying your dizziness had gone - and clapped your hands loudly once. Their heads turned towards you immediately.

“Okay, that’s enough. Sit down please.”

To your surprise, they did as you asked. Side by side on your other sofa, looking up at you - they really were identical, hairstyles differing a little but apart from that - two peas in a pod.

“Here’s what I do know, although it isn’t much. I was watching two TV series tonight, and you are in one of them and you’re in the other,” you pointed at each of them in turn, “..you are Billy Russo and you are The Darkling. Well, that was in the book, you’re called General Kirigan in the TV series. And now you’re both here. In my flat.” You’d noticed Billy eye-rolling as you were speaking, and now he snorted, turning to the General, “The Darkling? What kind of fucking stupid-ass name is that?!”

The General jumped up off the sofa and so did Billy, and they were back to staring each other out, nose to nose.

You sighed, and folded your arms across your chest. That’s when you remembered you really were too scantily clad to be standing in front of two strangers like this, so without a word you stalked off into your bedroom to get your dressing gown. Putting one arm into a sleeve and pulling it round your shoulders to pull the other sleeve on, you turned to leave and found the two of them standing in the doorway, watching while you were putting on your robe.

“Out!” you shooed them in front of you, and they reluctantly walked back down the short hallway and into your living room. You waved them back onto the sofa, tying your robe, and they both sat down again.

“Now, where were we? Oh yes. How on earth did two TV characters end up in my flat? And why do you look like each other - I thought the two characters were played by the same actor. But there are two of you!”

They exchanged a glance, and Billy replied, “We’ve only just discovered that we’re twins. And I’ll tell you what we know but it won’t make sense. It doesn’t even make sense to us.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

About an hour later, the two of them were just staring at you again and you were staring back. You’d introduced yourself by now, filled them in on exactly where they’d arrived at, and made tea. They’d sat there on your sofa sipping from their cups, telling you their frankly unbelievable stories.

You’d listened patiently as they explained why they’d ended up in your living room, and when Billy had mentioned the part about his apartment being sealed so they couldn’t get out, you’d raced over to your front door. Heart sinking, you pulled uselessly at the door handle. It wouldn’t budge.

Sitting back down and giving a huge sigh, you sank back into the cushions and managed to calmly say, “You realise I still can’t get my head round this? You. Two. Are. Fictional. Characters! Do you understand? You’re not supposed to be real! But now it seems you are, and you’re sitting on my sofa!”

That’s when the staring had recommenced. Then Billy had simply said, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

You burst out laughing, and Billy grinned at you. The General looked annoyed and you heard him mutter, “He’s not that amusing.” Turning towards him, you said, “Now now, General, is that some sibling rivalry right there?” His dark eyes met yours, “Call me Aleksander. And no - we’ve not been ‘siblings’ long enough to feel any rivalry.” “Are you sure about that, Aleksander?” you asked.

Billy smirked at him, and Aleksander literally snarled, “He’s nothing compared to me!”

You sighed. You could guess what was going to happen next. Yes, there they go…..

They’d both leapt up and were doing their facing off thing, snarking and bitching at each other.

You did your hand-clapping thing and like good puppies they stopped and sat down, both still huffing though. “Billy,” you said, and he looked over at you, “Did you ask Baghra which Small Science you specialised in? Aleksander is a Shadow Summoner.” “The Shadow Summoner,” you heard Aleksander mutter, but you ignored him and carried on. “What is yours? You must be Grisha too, right?”

“Not necessarily!” Aleksander butted in, sulky look on his face, “he could be Otkazat'sya,” he looked over at you, “…that’s people without Grisha capabilities.” Billy glowered at him. “Was your father Grisha too?” you asked Aleksander. His face became stern and closed off, “Yes. A Heartrender. I don’t know anything else about him.”

Oh, you thought, think I touched a nerve there. “You said Baghra is a Shadow Summoner too, right? So is it not more likely that Billy would also have Grisha powers?” He sighed, admitting, “Yes, he probably does.” “I didn’t get a chance to ask,” said Billy, with a triumphant smirk aimed at Aleksander appearing on his face. You got the distinct feeling that he’d really wanted to stick his tongue out at his twin, but somehow he’d managed not to. Aleksander was glaring back at him, looking like he wanted to strangle Billy.

How long were these two going to be here? you silently thought. It was like you’d suddenly adopted two sulky teenage boys. Or two large toddlers. Either description would fit.

It was exhausting.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Earlier on, when their hostess had left them alone while she made tea, Aleksander had leant into Billy’s face and stated, “She is going to be mine. Just to make things crystal clear.” Billy had shaken his head, laughing, “Oh you think? Nah. She’s definitely going to go for me, given the choice.” “Ha! She needs a real man, not some…” he looked Billy over, “…pathetic idiot who dresses in suits. And as I haven’t had sex in decades, it’s only fair that I get the woman.”

Billy had been laughing out loud at this and was just about to reply when she’d returned with three cups of tea and some biscuits on a plate. She’d given them a strange look as she’d placed these on the coffee table, but Billy had quietened down almost immediately and both of them now had innocent smiles on their faces.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You were yawning by now, informing them that you were going to bed and that they’d need to sleep on the two small sofas.

They’d exchanged glances, and Aleksander had smirked, “That’s a very big bed you’ve got in your room.” You nodded, stating firmly, “Yes, a king-size bed. It’s got a lot of space… and it’s all for me. I’ll get some blankets and pillows for you two.”

Noting their disappointed looks, you walked through to your bedroom and pulled some blankets out of the ottoman chest at the foot of your bed. You were in a bit of a temper. If they thought for one second that just because you were all stuck in here for however long you were going to open your legs for them, they would soon find out in a very painful manner that sex wasn’t on the menu. You weren’t dumb, you’d seen how the two of them - Aleksander in particular - had been looking at you like you were a snack.

Just as you were rummaging right down to the bottom of the ottoman for the spare pillows, you were suddenly aware of a figure next to you. You grabbed the pillows and stood up, scowling at Aleksander who was once again devouring you with his eyes. “I don’t need any help, thank you,” you snapped at him. However he moved even closer to you, “I was thinking more along the lines of you helping me, moi krasivyy.” “Moi what? What’s that mean?” you asked, sidetracked by curiosity getting the better of you. He grinned at you, “Moi krasivyy. It means ‘my beautiful one’. Because you are. Very beautiful.”

You suddenly heard Billy’s voice, “He’s just trying to talk himself into your bed.”

Aleksander whipped round, scowling at Billy. “Shut up!” he yelled at him.

“Ooh, touchy!”

“I meant every word I said. She is very beautiful!”

“Yes, of course she is, just like you said! But she doesn’t need you to tell her that.”

“Why shouldn’t I tell her she’s beautiful?”

“Because you’ve got a hidden agenda!”

“And you don’t?!”

“We both want to fuck her and you know it! You’re just being more obvious about it!”

They both froze as soon as those words came out of Billy’s mouth and their heads swung towards you, two sets of worried eyes meeting yours. You had your arms crossed again, and boy were you pissed.

“Firstly, I’m right here, you know. Standing right here listening to you argue about who’s going to fuck me.” They both looked somewhat ashamed. “Well, let me tell you…. that will be neither of you! The arrogance of the two of you! Not only do you land in my flat totally uninvited but you act as if I’ve been provided as your personal fucktoy. Not gonna happen! Have we got that clear?”

They both nodded, and you heard mumbled ‘Sorry’s’ as you stomped out past them to the living room. Both followed behind you, now silent. Dumping the blankets and pillows onto one of the sofas, you huffed a ‘Goodnight’ to them and returned to your room, firmly closing the door. Pity it didn’t lock, you thought.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy was squirming about under his blanket, his long legs hanging off the edge of the too-short sofa. Across from him on the other sofa, Aleksander was doing exactly the same.

“This is your fault,” grumbled Aleksander, “…if you hadn’t inserted yourself into the conversation, I could’ve been sharing that lovely bed with that lovely woman.” “Dream on, jerk,” laughed Billy, “you don’t stand a chance.” “Of course I stand a chance! More than you do…. jerk!” replied Aleksander, adding, “Whatever that means.” “A jerk perfectly describes you…. a very annoyin’ stupid prick!” “It describes you perfectly too!” Voices rising, both getting ready to jump up yet again and really get into it. Which was rapidly becoming a thing with the twins.

“It perfectly describes both of you!” came a shout from behind the closed bedroom door. “Now just shut up and go to sleep!”

They exchanged guilty looks and settled uncomfortably back down on their respective sofas.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Emerging into the living room the next morning, you saw two dark heads peeking out from underneath their blankets and heard two sets of soft snores. Their feet were dangling off the ends of the sofas, and you momentarily felt sorry for them. Your furniture was not intended for six-foot males to sleep on.

Heading to your kitchen, you filled and switched on the kettle, then took a loaf of bread out of a cupboard and popped four slices into the toaster. Hmm… you didn’t have a huge amount of food in your fridge and cupboards. Before all… this had happened, you’d intended picking some more up today. How were you going to get more supplies? And what about your store! Everyone would wonder why it was closed. The store was only usually shut on Sundays, and today was Saturday.

This was a complete disaster. Sighing, you took out another two slices of bread to await toasting and as you closed up the wrapping, suddenly noticed that the loaf didn’t feel as if had got any smaller. You opened it up again and double-checked. You had previously only used a couple of slices, and no way was this loaf now 6 slices lighter, it was exactly the same as it had been. “Oh fuck off,” you muttered. What was this? Narnia? Alice in Fucking Wonderland? Oh well - maybe this meant you and your two ‘guests’ wouldn’t starve.

You jumped, startled, as you heard Billy’s voice behind you, “Somethin’ wrong, sweetheart?” He was leaning against the doorframe, wearing only a pair of tight black boxer briefs. Your jaw dropped as you took in this vision of masculine beauty. His smirk at you was totally self-satisfied, and you closed your mouth immediately. “Can’t you put some clothes on!” you snapped, and his grin got wider. “Only got my suit and it ain’t that comfortable for loungin’ around in.”

The toaster popped up at that point and you jumped again. “Am I makin’ you nervous, sweetheart?” he grinned. You turned away and took out the butter from the fridge. Placing the remaining two slices in the toaster, you began to spread the butter on the other 4 slices. “No, you are not,” you denied, looking defiantly at him, knowing it wasn’t true. The two of them were really hot guys, no denying that, but you absolutely couldn’t let them know that’s what you were thinking.

Aleksander now appeared behind him, likewise clad in just his underwear - black boxer shorts - and leant on the other side of the door, arms crossed on his chest. “You’re very kind, making tea for us,” he commented.

Oh good lord! your man-starved mind screeched, this is just too much first thing in the morning! Two male thirst traps, looking like they were currently shooting a Calvin Klein ad.

You hastily turned away and said, “Can one of you make yourself useful, please? Put three teabags into the teapot and fill it up with the hot water.” You hid a grin as they both tried to come into the kitchen at the same time and got jammed in the door. “Okay - Billy, you do it,” you said, “you’ve probably got more experience...” He chuckled, “Yes I have, angel. More than him, that’s for sure!” just as you added, “…of making tea.” Now it was Aleksander’s turn to laugh, “Yes… in tea-making only. Other people usually make my tea.”

“Now don’t you two start arguing again!”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You brought the teapot, cups and plate of toast into the living room and put it down on the coffee table, noting that they’d folded up their blankets and piled them on top of their pillows on one of the sofas. Must be the military training, you thought. They were sitting on one of the sofas again, both still in their underwear. That was disturbing.

Now you were the one having to stop your eyes roaming over their bodies. Both of which happened to be lean, athletic and very nicely toned, commented your mind. Okay! Enough of that. Did you have any men’s clothes still lying around anywhere, you wondered? Quite possibly, and you decided you’d have a good look once you’d had your tea and toast.

Later on, you came out of your bedroom having found two pairs of grey tracksuit bottoms and a couple of black t-shirts, left behind by your previous boyfriend. You’d laundered them, intending to give them back to him but he’d moved out of the area so that never happened, and they’d lived in one of your drawers ever since. And just as well they had, you thought - I’ve got to get them into some clothes or else I won’t be responsible for my actions.

Handing them over, you remarked, “Hopefully these fit you.” Billy looked at them, nose wrinkling, “Whose are these?” “An ex of mine. Don’t worry! They’ve been washed.” They both stood up and pulled on the jogging bottoms, maybe a tiny bit short for them but not by too much. You smiled to yourself as you noticed one’s movements often mirrored the other’s. They really were twins in every way, although you were sure they’d argue with you on that point.

Both shook out the t-shirts and looked at the band logos on each. “Led Zeppelin?” queried Aleksander. “An old school rock band,” you replied. He looked none the wiser, shrugging but pulling the t-shirt on over his head nevertheless. “Queen!!?” howled Billy, “I’m not wearin’ that!” “Why not, Billy? I love Queen!” you said, offended. He glanced over at you, “Oh, do you? Well… alright then,” and on it went without further argument. The two of them stood there, looking each other over and arguing about which of them looked better in their new outfits.

This really is like getting the children ready for school, you smirked to yourself. Secretly you found it rather amusing that these two alpha males kept challenging each other. But it was just as well you were around to act as referee before they came to actual blows.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

After having put the TV on for the ‘kids’, you began to gather the tea cups, tea pot and plates back onto the tray, fervently hoping that your dishwasher was still working. You noticed that in the few short moments they’d been sitting on the sofas, Aleksander’s eyes were beginning to close. You called his name softly and when he opened his eyes again, told him he could go and take a nap in your bed if he liked. His eyes sparkling, he was off the sofa and sprinting through to your bedroom before you’d properly finished your sentence. The bedroom door slammed.

Billy huffed, “You know he was just doing that ‘dozing off because I’m so tired’ thing just so he could sleep in your bed?” You picked up the tray, “Really? Now, don’t be jealous Billy, you can join him if you like.” Predictably, as you turned to head to the kitchen, you heard, “I’m not sharing a bed with him!”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy followed on your heels into the kitchen, and you jumped as you put down the tray and realised he was so close behind you.

“Sorry,” he shrugged, “I just wanted to say - while my delightful twin is out of the way for once - that I’m really truly sorry about what I said last night. About… you know, you and me and him, and.. uhh.. well, you know.” “Yes, Billy, I do know. Apology accepted.” You took the lid off the teapot and turned back to the sink.

He continued, “I really do wanna fuck you but I shoulda told you that in private.”

The teapot lid clattered into the sink, “Billy! Do you have to be so… so direct!” you yelled, while he just stood there, looking down at you with those liquid dark chocolate eyes, trademark smirk on his face.

“We keep movin’ universes, sweetheart! -so carpe diem, as they say.”

He moved his body forwards, pushing you against the sink and a big hand was pulling your head towards his. You were still both maintaining eye contact up to this point; long fingers slid along your jawline and you felt his lips on yours in what quickly became a heated kiss. You saw his eyes close, and allowed yours to slowly close too.

This is such a bad idea!!!

….screeched that nagging little voice at the back of your mind.

But oh my lord, did it feel so very, very good…..

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@aleksanderwh0r3 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @s1xthirty @tartiflvtte @slythvoid @edithsvoice @paracosmenthusiast

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#billy russo #the darkling #ben barnes #general kirigan #aleksander morozova #shadow and bone #the punisher 💀#billy russo & aleksander morozova x reader #billy russo and aleksander morozova fanfiction #billy russo and aleksander morozova imagine #billy russo and aleksander morozova fanfic

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