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kiestrokes · 7 months

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i like had this thought in the back of my head of like what ateez would be like with an S/O who has a physical illness bcs i actually have one which causes a lot of pain to my bones and i'm like in a constant state of pain and discomfort, been going on for about 12 years HELL YA ✊🏻, if i don't keep up on my meds (currently don't have the proper meds so it only tides me over for a little while-) then im basically fucked so IDK i feel like there isn't a lot of stuff written about this kind of stuff (im a sucker for shit i hardly ever am able to read abt) ALSO IM NOT 100% SURE IF YOUR REQS WERE OPEN BCS I DIDNT SEE ANYTHING POSTED ABT IT SO- YA- if you don't want to write it obviously you don't have to !! no pressure at all lovely

ATEEZ Caring for You: Chronic Illness Edition | SFW

Pairing: ATEEZ x Gender Neutral!Reader/You/Yn Rating: SFW Genre: fluff, slice of life, headcanons, imagines, scenarios. Warnings: chronic illness + immunocompromised talk.

🗝️ Note: Hey atiny anon! You actually asked the right person; I have fibromyalgia combined with a few other annoying chronic illnesses. Because you can't just have one 😓 I hope that you can find a decent fucking doctor and get on the proper medication soon. That's the biggest part of the struggle, finding a physician that will listen and is competent enough. I hope this was enough, I tried to assign each member a caring task that I felt fit them! Has not been beta-ed.

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below.

Seonghwa

He’s here to help you prevent all the chronic pain that he can. Booking you massage visits. Trips to the hot springs. All the arnica rubs. Silly little games the two of you play, to keep your mind off the pain and depression spirals. His favorite is seeing who can build their new Lego set the quickest. Hwa is the biggest advocate for you, he would never return a dish at the restaurant when its wrong. But he will fight for you at every appointment, every pharmacy, wherever you need him to. Because he knows you've grown tired of fighting all the time.

Hongjoong

HJ's specialty is flexibility. You have a sudden burst of energy? He’s down to go explore that new pop-up market with you. You’ve come down with a bout of bone numbing pain? That’s cool, you’re getting changed into comfy clothes and piled up on the couch. Swaddled in your heating pad with all the snacks. Where he falls asleep on your shoulder. HJ never gets frustrated with your rapid change in mood or plans. Nothing but the most understanding partner you could ever have asked for, and boy is he so cute and snuggly when dozing on you. Small hands seeking your face for drowsy kisses that soothe your aches just a smidge.

Yunho

The quiet presence, the one who knows what you need before you say it. Passing you tissues, making you a cup of tea and most importantly holding you so that you can cry. Shedding angry tears about how frustrated you are with your own body for betraying you. For feeling weak. For missing out on things. He's gently calming every frayed nerve in your brain. Reassuring you that you're exactly where you need to be in this moment, and he will bring all of the fun to you. And he does, in small, manageable doses.

Yeosang

His way of caring for you is through caring for your outside. All the skin masks, hair treatments, skin softening lotions because if you feel cruddy, at least he can make you feel cute and comfortable. They do heal though, in their own way. The extra moisture of the humidifier and every cream and essence he buffs into your skin helps keep some of the aches away. Subsiding the itchiness of the nerve pain, just a little. And you can’t get over how cute Yeosang looks in each animal themed headband or with his hair tied back into teeny space buns or how nice his hands feel every time they glide over your skin.

San

Where Yunho is quietly attentive, San is passionately attentive. You cry, he cries (while holding you). Quite literally your pain, is his pain and he’s here to be with you through each step. No judgment is ever passed when he has to pick up your extra chores around the house. Because to him, that is the smallest act of service he can perform for you. San is the one who wishes he could take on your pain, that he could fight it and destroy it and it pains him that he cannot. So he will simply have to do everything else.

Mingi

He thrives on making you laugh and smile through tough days, because he understands feeling burdensome. Mingi never wants you to feel that way, he wants to make sure you verbally know that your presence is needed and welcome. His favorite thing is cuddled up in bed with you wrapped in your heated blanket watching shows. You looking so small in his arms, giving him the feeling of protecting something. He reassures you constantly, because he himself seeks constant reassurance. Mingi never tires of this, he will reaffirm every single self deprecating thought with a compliment even on his worst days.

Wooyoung

He cares for you with his skinship, which is incredibly healing. His happy heartbeat encourages yours. His strong hands make you feel loved and needed. Who would cuddle him if not you? Woo often reminds you, whispering the phrase into your ear as he traces his nails through your hair, or while rhythmically drawing circles on your spine. Making you float into dream land and anchoring you in the moment with him at the same time. Woo also loves making you whatever dish you’re craving, knowing you need energy to fight off fatigue and pain. And cooking is one of his many, many love languages.

Jongho

Needing to hoard all the extra rest you can get; you seek out solace at Jongho’s place for nap time. Jongho has taken notice, he’s also taken inventory as to which blankets of his you prefer, the pillows that keep you asleep the longest, what temperature you prefer the room to be based on what you’re wearing. All your favorite snacks before or after. New blackout curtains. He’s made his place your ultimate nap zone. New heated blankets. Duplicates of your fave lounge wear and socks. And he takes his payment in cuddles. Holding you tightly in his bed or sprawled on the couch. Sometimes he falls asleep himself and flips you onto your back to bury into your side like a full-sized teddy bear.

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strawwritesfic · 8 months

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Avengers Guys Taking Care of You When You're Sick Imagines

Hello! I caught some sort of very fun disease doing work-related things last weekend, so I came up with these imagines! I thought I'd post them for funises and because making you think of the dialogue yourself is way easier when there's very little oxygen entering my brain.

Disclaimer: I don't really do imagines, so I'm not even 100% sure that's what these are. They might just be headcanons? Listen, man, I'm an old person on the Internet. I don't know what I'm doing.

Also, I wrote these starting in the middle of the night after having only eaten marginally for three straight days and sleeping about a total of two hours over the course of 48 hours. Also, I didn't proofread them on account of the cinderblock shoved up my nose being very distracting. (But if there's something wrong, do feel free to bring it to my attention, and I will change it.)

Pretend these are in a world where COVID isn't a concern. I didn't feel like dealing with masking and isolation.

Let me know if you'd like to see later phases or groups!

EDIT: I forgot Clint. I blame the cinderblock. He's been added.

Enjoy!

Tony Stark

Let's face it. This guy is not in any position to play nurse. He hardly knows how to take care of himself; you're a different person entirely! Plus, he's not exactly into the idea of catching your cooties. Once you've got the ick, he is out of the bedroom and camping in his lab until you're no longer showing symptoms.

But that doesn't mean you're facing this alone. If this is before Pepper takes over Stark Industries as CEO, Tony's got her and Happy running around making sure you have anything you want--anything. More cold medicine? Done. A house call from your doctor? Called them 20 minutes ago; they're on their way. An authentic pizza directly from Italy? It's yours. If it's after, he will go get everything for you himself; it's just going to take a lot longer, and it'll probably take him five trips to actually get the right thing.

He won't leave you completely alone either. He'll call you up on one of the tablet phones and talk to (or at) you for hours. Heck, if you're bored, he might even set it up so you can watch him tinker on the suits from bed.

James Rhodes

You don't want Rhodey to find out you're sick. He's a busy guy, whether he's working with the Air Force or the Avengers. But he's gonna find out. Maybe he isn't able to call you as often as he'd like, but as soon as he makes contact, he's going to know you're sick from the word "hello."

He hates that you're often sick when he's quite literally half a world away. He doesn't want you to deal with your illness alone--and you won't. If he's still working primarily at the Air Force, you're on base with loads of fellow military officers and their spouses, and soon you've got more casseroles than you know what to do with. If he's with the Avengers, things are a little trickier. He can't ask Dr. Cho to fly in from Korea for a cough, and it's not like FRIDAY can answer the door for Uber Eats. Pepper and Tony aren't going to let one of their best friend's SO suffer, though! They love you, too. One or both of them is going to make sure you've got a house call from a doctor very soon.

As soon as Rhodey is off work, he's back with you. He'll cook dinner--something healthy that he knows you like. Then you'll both head to the couch or bed, snuggle up under a big blanket, and watch old movies until you fall asleep beside him.

Thor Odinson

Asgardians don't get run-of-the-mill illnesses, and any illness they do get is way more spectacular than what Midgardians deal with. Because of this, Thor finds your run-of-the-mill illness fascinating. Like, almost annoyingly so. Although he's fine to leave you to go on missions or the like, he is otherwise right there with you, delighting in every cough, sniffle and sneeze. If anyone on the team points out that you're, you know, sick, Thor is quick to remind them how incredibly tough his SO is. He knows you'll pull through!

Still, he doesn't want you to feel awful, so he's going to seek out advice on what he can do to help you. The results that come from this depend on who Thor decided to ask. Dr. Strange? Probably earn you some decent medications and/or treatments, even if Thor isn't 100% sure exactly how to use them. Loki? Then you're probably going to end up with Thor trying a dozen different things that don't make you feel worse but definitely don't make you feel better either. Hey, Loki's got no vested interest in helping out his brother's SO.

At the end of the day, at least you won't be left alone very often, and there is something endearing about a guy who thinks it's cute when you're so full of snot you can't think.

Loki Laufeyson

Loki is a much less...obtrusive companion than his brother is. Sick Midgardians are boring. They just lay around all day, producing the most horrible liquids from every part of them. He's got better things to do than sit around all day watching that...

...is what he wants everyone to think. He knows you don't like be smothered either. So Loki does go about his day as usual for the most part, but that doesn't mean he isn't checking in quite regularly. He'll slip into your room every few hours or so just to make sure you're resting. He won't wake you if you are. And the things you need have a funny way of appearing on your bedside table whenever you wake up: the remote control, a container of hot tea, even clean pajamas if you aren't feeling capable of walking to the bathroom for a shower.

But just because you don't like being smothered doesn't mean you want to be alone the entire time. Loki knows that. He's probably not going to crawl into bed next to someone who is coughing and sneezing and already warmer than they want to be, but he's perfectly content to pull a comfortable chair over to your bedside and sleep there. And when you get bored of watching TV or just need something quiet to fall asleep to, he's always happy to read aloud to you from whatever book he's reading.

Steve Rogers

Steve may no longer have the ability to get sick, but he remembers being sick when he was skinny, and he knows it's no fun. He also remembers the things that Bucky did for him that helped, and he'll try all of that on you. This leads to a bit of quarreling when Tony reminds him that they live in the 21st Century and have better ways of helping people with sore throats and coughing. But Steve eventually relents, and you get a good combination of things that make you feel better.

He's good at compartmentalizing, so he can put worrying about you aside when he needs to lead the team. The second they don't need him anymore, you're back at the forefront of his mind, and he's headed right to wherever you are. Even if you don't need anything he can provide you, he wants to make sure you're okay.

Since Steve doesn't get sick, he's 100% ready to cuddle. This is great when you have chills, and not so great when you're having hot flashes. He respects you if you ask him to please get the hell out of the bed. He lets you rest when you need rest, and is perfectly happy to just hang out in the room with you, quietly drawing in his notebook so he's there if you do need him.

Bucky Barnes

If Steve remembers getting sick, Bucky remembers being the one to take care of Steve when he was sick (after Steve's mom died). He does not handle seeing you sick well. At all. He cannot stop worrying about you at all. Never mind that all you've got is a stuffy nose and a cough, he's pretty much convinced that you are going to die on him any minute.

He's very reluctant to leave your side when you're sick. Even if there's some world ending-crisis that the team needs him for, he'd rather stay with you. Oh, he'll go to help with the world-ending crisis, but he's going to be thinking about you the entire time. Everybody on comms is going to get real tired of him using any downtime to wonder aloud if this will make [Name] feel better.

If you're lucky, Natasha or Sam or Steve might take pity on you and insist that Bucky take some time away and quit worrying so much. But unless they take him on outing to get you something (food, flowers, medicine, etc.), he's not going to want to go. Unless he's directly looking at you and confirming that you're okay himself, he's just not going to be able to settle. Until your fever breaks, don't expect Bucky to leave your side for very long, if at all.

Clint is a very normal guy wen it comes to his SO being sick. He's not too pushy or too distant. When you wake up with a sore throat, he makes you a cup of hot water with lemon juice in it, brings you a small breakfast in bed, and checks the medicine cabinet before he leaves for work. If there's anything you're low on, he'll make sure to pick it up on the way home. He'll call you at lunchtime to check on you, and if you say you need anything then, he'll pick that up on the way home, too.

If he has to go far away for work, of course Natasha is there to run errands and check on you. And if they're working together far away, you might get a very rare, very strange visit from Director Fury delivering cough syrup. Coulson pops by, too. Clint's got a pretty big support network willing to fill in any gaps he can't when he's working.

When he's at home, Clint mostly leaves you alone. He knows you need rest. There's plenty of work for him to do around the place anyway. But whenever he takes a break, he'll pop into the bedroom and ask you if you need anything if you're awake. He's always quick to tell the streaming service you're still watching, too, just so it's still going when you wake up. And he buys loads of your favorite takeout to tempt you to eat.

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nobodysdaydreams · 5 months

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Well...

...that could have gone better.

(Also it turns out Lovelace IS an alien. 👽 so that's fun, I think?)

(or my reaction to episodes 44-46 of Wolf359)

Welcome back dear readers, sorry for the delay. Procrastinating on finals has been taking up all of my time, thank you for your understanding.

Tagging the mutuals who got me invested in this, and if you want to be tagged or untagged from these posts, lmk, or you can follow my blog or simply follow the tag "#bods wolf359 reactions". Anyone who has followed me for a while knows my updates are inconsistent, so I apologize in advance for that and for any spelling/grammar mistakes in my posts.

@sophieswundergarten @oflightningandstars @acollectionofcuriousreblogs @herawell @commsroom

Episode 44: Desperate Times

Now where were we? Ah yes. Cutter lied about their deaths and has an evil girlfriend who makes his robots. Hilbert and Lovelace told Minkowski about the death thing to get her on board, and once they have her, she should be able to get Doug and Hera on board.

Great point Doug. How many secret rooms can one space station have?

And how many copies of the SI-5? Because we already had two Duck boys. If another Kepler strolls in and starts talking about Whiskey again, that might just be too much for me.

No Minkowski. You don't want to kill anyone. But I understand.

Wow. Doug knows some fancy words. "Commander Eiffel" 😂

Oh, they're actually laughing. I'm sorry Doug. Wow, he just made that up too, very convincing.

Aw, Minkowski. I want to hug her. If she doesn't make it back to her husband...

oh yay, she and Doug are talking it out! Friends! My feelings exactly Hera! 💕💕💕

Hera is so sweet. It's weird to think she was built by and modeled after someone so horrible.

Ah. Taking a late night stroll around the ship Hilbert?

Hilbert. NO. NO NO NO NO NO. NOT THE EVIL CHAIR.

Evil chair will kill you. Evil chair will show them your brain which shows them your plan to rebel against them. Do not trust the evil chair Hilbert. For a smart man, you make some remarkably and unbelievably dumb decisions.

I want to believe in them. I do, I really really do. But unfortunately, I know that there is an entire other season left. So...

It's not looking good. Personally, I think the most expendable is Hilbert. They can kill the character off without having to fire the actor. If anyone's about to die, it's him.

The "terrible trio", I like it Doug. Good nickname for SI-5.

The um...the blunt force trauma face?

Oh my this hypothetical of Maxwell, Kepler, and Jacobi falling apart is music, sweet music.

If only...if only.

They are really counting on the SI-5 acting exactly like this. I hope they get it right. I do love the way they make Whiskey Boy out to be such a cartoon villain. He really is.

Oh they're conflicted about who to target. That's right Hera. Target Duck boy. I mean...they did already kill him once, right?

Although slight problem. Let's say they do kill SI-5. Let's say they try to fly the ship back to earth. Can't Cutter just blow the ship up remotely? He'll probably send a missel after them before they even get into the atmosphere. I mean...what would you even do in this situation? He's literally got them bargaining for every second of their lives. Makes you wonder how many teams he has out there like this...

What happened? No gas? Oh dear. Plan B?

HIT MAXWELL WITH A WRENCH? POP A WEASEL?

I don't like how this is going.

"I'm glad I have you alone" Hilbert stop it.

Opponent is not going to hesitate to kill you. That's true. But you can't forget who the enemies are. Cutter and Pryce. And yes. SOMETHING IS WRONG!

Oh dear. Well this is terribly awkward.

...um...so...Maxwell. Duck Boy. Fancy a mutiny?

Guess not. Oh dear. This is bad. This is very very bad.

IS NOT ABOUT THE CONTACT EVENT! IT'S ABOUT THEM GETTING BACK AND YOU KNOW IT.

I KNEW THAT YOU COULDN'T TRUST HER.

"Don't struggle?"

Not the brain sweeping. Maxwell you have lost all my respect, and likely your own if you still had any left in you.

Shut up Duck Boy, literally no one wants to hear from you.

Well this is a pickle. How will our heroes (and Hilbert) get out of this one? 👀

Episode 45: Desperate Measures

"Wakey-wakey", shut up errand boys.

"Passion for disciplining crew members, isn't that right Jacobi?" You're a sadist waste of space who works for a sadist waste of space, we got that Whiskey Boy.

Oh great. Another super secret room. There's probably thousands of them at this rate. A whole city in the sky.

What a nice little room of weapons. As a lover of dramatic irony, I do hope Dr. Robot and our dear Errand Boys find themselves on the other side of those weapons.

Hera you can delay having to respond to her commands! You can! Remember: You can't do this. You're not good enough. Use it to your advantage.

"I knew it!" you did Doug. And yeah, Hilbert didn't sink so low.

"Kill whoever you like least", well there goes Hilbert.

Good work Hera! 🥰 Oh dear it hurts.

THE VENTS! That's right! Go Minkowski!

Geez does Whiskey Boy ever tire of the sound of his own voice? I guess not.

Shut it Kepler! Yeah Doug! He can go to hell! Tell him off!

Doug: "You're crazy"

Kepler: "No Doug. I'm just a man that wants to be taken seriously. That's why I'm sitting here with a gun in one hand, glass of Whisky in the other, while singing "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe" like a cartoon supervillain. There's nothing more respectable or serious than that."

Lovelace is speaking FACTS. He has lost his humanity. But um...ironically so might have Lovelace. Or all of them still unclear on that.

"You're hilarious" "one more thing I have that you don't" ooohhh... dang, it that ain't the truth. No one will be as funny as Doug, but if anyone comes close it's certainly not Whisky boy.

"Very nice speech captain" Well it was better than the Whisky speech Kepler. Take notes.

That's right Lovelace. Who cares what Kepler see when he looks at you? No one. Because he is a waste of space.

She'll survive because of magic alien plot armor.

Aw, she did it for Doug. That's really sweet.

And...off goes the gun. But no screams. He better not have shot Doug.

"You have 30 minutes to think about what you've done. Then we'll talk about Eiffel."

I know I should be furious over the whole "what you've done" comment, but I gotta ask, how dangerously stupid is Kepler? 30 minutes is plenty of time to put a plan into action. What does Kepler need 30 minutes for? Swirling his Whisky around and telling Doug how much he loves the feel of it in his hands.

Why don't you mind your own business Maxwell? Why don't you shut up and mind your own business and throw yourself in the airlock?

Good stalling Hera...yes! Finally knocked out Dr. Robot. Now, as much as I am against murder, eye for an eye, and all that...in this situation, keeping her alive puts multiple innocents at risk.

Anyone got an eye on Duck Boy?

Kepler doesn't care about Maxwell! He doesn't care about anyone!

Doug...great speech for this to work, he has to care about human life, and he clearly doesn't.

Yeah, I don't really like chess either Doug.

Why do I feel like he's going to hurt Hera in a way that only Maxwell can fix?

Ah there he is. "I wouldn't do that so someone. I just blow people up to kill them! :)" ugh Duck Boy is the worst. I knew that he was off doing something silly. "Crazy Jacobi the loose canon" dude, you're Duck Boy. That's your existence.

And I knew Hilbert would be the one to go. They don't have to fire his voice actor to kill him, which makes him expendable.

Well it took a very long time to get here, but looks like Hilbert is finally gonna kick the bucket. And yeah, you guys have no idea how long they've been trying to kill Hilbert. If it was Doug, I'd be more worried, but between Hilbert and Doug, Doug's got the plot armor.

And...there he goes! Oh wait...did she shoot Maxwell! Oh be quiet Jacobi, it's not like you ever actually cared about her. If Cutter or Kepler ordered you to kill her, you would have done it.

You can't talk sense into him Doug. He's a nutcase. We established that.

I love Doug. "Well it's been a topsy-turvy day!"

And see Kepler? Not so fun playing with lives when yours is on the chopping block, now is it?

Yes Doug! Tell him! Oh poor Whisky Boy, are you gonna cry?

Right three people dead: Lovelace, Hilbert, and Maxwell. That's a lot. My money is on Lovelace coming back due to alien magic, Hilbert dead for good, maybe Maxwell lives on in Hera's memory or flashback land.

YES! I love Doug's loyalty to Minkowski!

Does Kepler have an escape pod? I feel like he would. Oh he's telling his duck boy to stand down. But duck boy doesn't seem too happy about that. I guess he cared a bit more for Maxwell than Kepler, even if he would have shot her if given the order.

"Finally over" hm...I seriously doubt that.

Ah yes the aliens. I wonder what they have to say about all this. And Kepler please shut up. "You want to be in charge of this mess, fine." The mutiny literally just happened on your watch. You spent half the crew budget on expensive Whiskey. You don't care at all that Maxwell is dead.

Episode 46: Bolero

Is that music? Um... what is this? I do wonder why they chose to send music, when they've demonstrated that they can send voices.

Yeah...this is a lot. And they lost their human doctor and robot doctor. As much as I hated them, they were useful. Unlike the errand boys, who only seem to be good a cowering in fear from ducks and giving speeches about whisky.

Oh and apparently they like music too. How nice.

"If the commander wishes for silence, then silence she shall have" and yet you're still talking.

Yeah...what do they do now. They have to warn everyone, expose Cutter and get him to jail, but the aliens are also invading. Oh gosh, are Cutter and Pryce aliens? Is this a plot to replace humanity with aliens? That at least makes more sense than Cutter's a loon who just wants to take a gander at some dangerous aliens, but why do I get the feeling that "Cutter's crazy" is what's actually happening here?

Oh right Kepler's special DNA. But your DNA still works even if it's detached from your body, right? 🧬

"We owe it to Lovelace, Hilbert, and Maxwell..." good work Doug. They were evil, they were flawed, but they were still humans.

Oh Hera. Wow, we don't have funerals for animals???? Yikes... I'm starting to see how she was modeled after Pryce now. In that case, I wonder what happened to Pryce. Also Hera, I get what you're saying, but that's an insult to animals. Many cats and dogs I've met are very loyal, kind, and useful.

oh dear she's talking to Lovelace's ghost/memory. 🥺 It's not your fault Minkowski. It was never your fault. And yeah...you all deserve to make it home.

That is if there is even a home to come back to...

Doug, Hera, come on. You're best friends. Wow. And yeah, she and Maxwell were friends, that's why she's so upset! Oh right...if one human friend betrayed her...oh Hera...Doug's not like her you know that! Maxwell would sell you out, Jacobi would sell her out, and Kepler would sell him out, but Doug? Doug would never sell anyone out.

"I know what it's like to not get a chance to say goodbye. And I don't think you're past the point of not caring. Not yet." That's sweet Doug. But you're giving him a bit too much credit. Oh he's mad he killed her? Fair enough, but Jacobi...you said yourself you were monsters! Do you really want to try to claim the moral high ground here? That's right Doug! Tell him! "You're gonna like it...I mean you're gonna feel sad!" Yeah! That's right! Shove the compassion down his throat Doug. Sometimes that's the way you gotta do it.

Minkowski is gonna have some pretty severe PTSD after this. I want to hug her.

Oh no, Hera's remembering Maxwell. "Was everything you did for me part of a secret evil plan?" it's not that simple Hera. Bad people can do good things. Good people can do bad things. Cognitive dissonance Hera, that's how it's possible. Compartmentalization. Circular and deluded thinking. And fake Maxwell is right. It's about you Hera. It's not about her. Forget about Maxwell. Forget about Pryce. You're better than them, and more human too.

Yes Hera, get the feelings out. No, Doug she's coming around!

Oh no...no no no...Doug is wasted isn't he? Kepler's private supply no doubt...oh no... oh Doug.

"I killed them Hera." no you didn't Doug! Intentions matter! You are the ship's moral compass. Don't drink yourself off.

"I'm a drunken mess whether I have a drink or not." oh Doug. Doug.

Please don't give yourself alcohol poison. Oh good self-talk from Hilbert. Yeah Doug never wanted anyone to die.

"How else did you think this was going to end?"

Aw, Doug has so much hope. Never lose that Doug. Never lose it. And yeah, it's nice to believe in redemption. It is theoretically possible. Though in certain cases, highly unlikely. I won't name names.

So...it's just Doug and Jacobi at the funeral? Well. This is incredibly awkward...

Oh right, Hera's never been to a funeral...

Oh nvm Kepler's here for the food. He's so gross.

They gave Hera grief but no way to deal with it? Oh she can't understand why they are gone? The "I wonder if I'll miss you when you go away forever too" is hitting different.

Minkowski came through!

Wow, Jacobi actually is able to say a few nice words.

Dr. Hilbert was a monster 😂. Fair. Completely fair. See ya later Doc. I think Hilbert would have liked it.

Oh don't let Kepler talk. He'd ruin the funeral. Though to be fair, he'd ruin anything.

Never mind looks like the aliens beat him to the punch.

Looks like the aliens decided to come early.

Uh...HERA?

KEEPING WHAT OUT?

Tell me the aliens aren't already here.

Is Lovelace coming back? Oh Kepler knew this was going to happen.

"It can't hear you." DO NOT CALL HER AN IT KEPLER. Alien or not, she's a...well she's a someone.

So she IS an alien? An alien who acts like her? Okay... and yes please, let's start at the beginning. It's about time Kepler. If you're going to talk, you might as well say something useful.

Now I've procrastinated enough but...wow this doesn't look good. Hopefully the crew can get back safely.

#bods wolf359 reactions #wolf359 #renee minkowski #isabel lovelace #doug eiffel #alexander hilbert #hera wolf 359 #wolf 359 #w359 #hera w359 #daniel jacobi #warren kepler #wolf 359 spoilers #alana maxwell

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lurkinglurkerwholurks · 5 months

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Choose - Lose

First posted: April 2, 2019

Focuses on: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, and Bruce Wayne

Favorite bookmark: "cried again. i will cry another time"

Second favorite bookmark: "fuck yeah"

Tier: Pretty middle of the road.

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

This one. was. wild. At 699 words, I think it's my shortest (just checked, it is) and one of my more uhhh experimental pieces.

At some point in 2018-19, I read Raisin Delight by @lemonadegarden, who is an evil genius. I read it and it broke my entire brain and also my heart. It it one of the few fics I remember my name instead of a Friends-esque description. I don't know when exactly I read it because I don't know how long the emotions it inspired had to rattle around in me before they splorted out this fic in response. I wrote it all in one sitting, if I remember correctly. I don't remember getting stuck or having to backtrack. It being so short helped as well. It was—as you can tell by comparing the works—less about what happened in the fic and responding to that the way one might via a sequel or even going "I like that but what if you..." and more about be feeling many, many things around the concept presented and just needing to barf emotions into a brown paper bag.

They stood side by side, shoulders angled outward, faces on the horizon. The wind rose, lashing stinging grains of sands against their skin before dying down again.

No philosophical intro on this one. It's too short and the tone is all wrong for that kind of introduction. There was no question about sidestepping my usual chattiness and dropping in midscene. Like I said, wrote it all in one sitting, bang, done.

I did try to make each word and image count, though I'm no Ann Leckie and probably could/should have done an even finer job of it, but I do feel like the first two sentences packed in a decent amount of information.

Tim looked to the empty space where the time traveler had stood, a forgettable man with a forgettable face in a forgettable shabby brown suit, and had made his unforgettable offer.

I blame Agatha Christie for this imagery, if I blame anyone.

Bruce, face bare, t-shirt wrinkling in the wind, had sucked in a sharp breath.

This was important, them, as civilians, as people, as a father and his sons, not in costume, not with their gear and tools and weapons. This isn't Batman being forced to choose between his Robins.

In the air, a chopper whined. In the distance, a truck rumbled. A small, caped figure hurried across the dunes.

Fun fact: Even though this fic is so short I have slightly more insight than usual because I was able to pull up my chat history with @audreycritter from right after I wrote it and then surprised her with it, which is the only way I know that I was at work when I started thinking about debt and histories and timelines and realized that Jason's death was the only reason Tim joined Fam, that everyone else would have made their way in eventually but he needed Jason to die to make it and how guilty that might make him feel if he realized it, and then I remembered "Raisin Delight" (still at work) and just about lost it.

Literally at 5:03 PM on 4/1/19 I'm listing different takes I'd love to read and tell Audrey "Or some twisted scenario where a time traveler takes them back and gives them the choice. I couldn't do that one. but I would read it. Maybe. Through my fingers."

... Annnnnd by 7:43 PM on the same day I'm casually texting Audrey "hey off the top of your head by chance do you remember how Jason and Sheila got to the warehouse?" Which is how the above sentence comes into being.

(By 8:31 PM, the fic was already done.)

The traveler disappeared.

This was very much a no-answers fic. Who was that guy? Why was he doing this? How did he find them? Were they all together or did he gather them from separate places? How are they going to get back when they're done?

Answer: Don't wooooorrryyyyyyy 'bout it

Tim’s place with Bruce was bought with blood. Paid for by the death of another boy. Without the sucking, gaping void of Jason’s absence, there was no role for Tim. There would be no grief for Bruce. No reckless rage to tamp down. No despair to fight back. No place for a lonely boy from down the hill. No reason to make the walk to the Manor’s front door.

My thesis statement (paragraph.)

Beside him, Bruce swayed. Forward, as if to step, as if pulled beyond his control. Then backward, rocked by the horror, repelled by the choice.

This is the horror of the fic. Bruce cannot choose. He cannot choose one child over another. Like unbreakable-law-of-the-universe cannot, divisible by zero cannot. But not choosing is choosing, so he can't choose and he can't not choose, and if one of his sons didn't choose for him, he was going to spontaneously combust into antimatter, I think.

Beyond, Jason stood still as granite. Frozen. Hard. Petrified by the glare of Medusa.

Contrast with Jason, who doesn't dare move a muscle.

The numbness hadn’t yet made it to Tim’s heart. It gave a twinge of surprise that they hadn't moved. Was it up to him again, then? To push Bruce into action? To do what must be done?

Contrast with Tim (the Robin who does what must be done, who exists to help Bruce and keep him on the right path), who assumed Jason must be the one saved, because as he goes on to explain, Jason dies. He gets beaten, tortured, blown apart, killed, buried, and resurrected in his own grave. Tim... well, Tim will lose his heart and happiness and the only true family he's ever known, but he won't know that.

Or, to quote myself:

He would wake, alive and whole, in his own bed. He wouldn’t even notice the hole where his heart had been. He would live, but he would lose.

Some version of those two words were always the options for the fic, because it's about choosing and losing (not or. and.) But the options listed in the chat were:

Choose. Lose.

Choose / Lose

Choose - Lose

and then lots of grumping about how, grammatically, Choose, Lose and Choose; Lose are both more accurate but I loathed them.

Bruce had gone white. Jason had gone green.

A clever commenter thought this was a reference to the Pit. It wasn't, just nausea (watching yourself walk to a horrible end) and maybe a small nod to Megan Whalen Turner. I like the thought, though.

Tim took a step forward. Then another. A hand encircled his wrist, held him fast. The trigger callus scraped against his skin.

Like I said. Bruce could never choose or not choose. He needed his sons to make the choice for themselves. There was never another universe where he stopped Tim or let him go. It had to be Tim's choice to go and lose his future just as it had to be Jason's choice to stop him and accept what he had.

And lastly, a commenter left essentially a dictation of the dialogue she had with her mother (who doesn't read fic or know anything about DC) telling her what happened in this fic, and it made my entire life.

#fanfic bts brain dump #fanfic #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 1 year

Text

P5R Random Thoughts #1

(I'm doing a blind playthrough btw please no spoilers if you can help it!!)

I was thinking about Joker's initial transformation into his thief outfit and how he can't seem to hold it, implying his resolve is still weak. Then I think about how, when he and Ryuji entered the Palace the second time, he was able to, and suddenly, I'm not buying the people who call Joker a blank-slate protagonist.

I recognize I'm still very early in the game and I understand there's variation with what you choose to do and say and whatnot, but... there is a character there, and it's not even all that subtle.

See, Joker's awakening took... a long time. And most of that was other people bombarding him with continuous questions: "Are you going to leave him?" "Are you running away?" And ultimately, his own voice from within: "Is what you did really wrong?"

And one of the options to the last question is, surprisingly enough, "It might have been..." Now, I didn't pick that option, but the fact that it was there is interesting in the first place, because he clearly doesn't really think it was wrong to get involved, but the events that happened to him after the fact all happened so quickly that he hasn't even had time to process.

I kept snickering at the way the protagonist really is no thoughts head empty, can't seem to keep a thing inside his brain, and yet... that's actually a bit concerning, though not exactly surprising. He's spent most of the game so far sounding completely disoriented. He didn't even know the name of his school - was he told nothing? Did he just not hear any of it?

I don't know how else to interpret this other than that the arrest and subsequent probation really shook him and now he's kind of... aimless. Directionless, even. He's trying so hard to not draw any more attention to himself and it just isn't working. The experience may have even been traumatic - "it might have been", and the way he consistently gives these noncommittal responses to Ryuji about the castle even though he knows full well they saw the same things indicates to me that Joker, at least at this stage, doesn't trust in himself much to know what the "right thing" is.

So, even though he has all this anger and righteous fury in his heart, even though it was enough to awaken... his spirit of rebellion is still weak. There was only one clear answer in that initial situation - save Ryuji. But after that, it's like he's not sure what his goal should be, or what he should do with himself. But then, the second time they enter, he's able to keep the transformation up - and I'm positive it's because of Ryuji. Joker sees Ryuji's anger and his determination to go help the people trapped in Kamoshida's Palace and suddenly he has no issues. It's fitting for a character whose powers rely on bonding with others. Ryuji's sense of rebellion is already starting to help him direct his own. Because otherwise I don't think he would've really known what to do with himself.

Anyways, maybe I'm just reading too deeply into things. But that's what I do here, isn't it?

Also my boys' standards are so low. "Ryuji doesn't seem like such a bad guy." "Wow, this guy totally wasn't cool with me getting killed in front of him!" Literally they latch onto the first person who's been remotely tolerant of them. They are ride or die now. I love them.

#story plays p5r #persona 5 #p5r #ren amamiya #ryuji sakamoto #again please no spoilers!#storyrambles

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kohakhearts · 4 months

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okay so what if mew *was* goh's first pokemon somehow - it chooses to stick around him for reasons unknown after that first time they meet, maybe he doesn't necessarily catch it but it humors him and listens to his commands for the most part. i'm thinking so hard about what Being Chosen By Mew At Six Years Old would do to his ego

OH MY GOD WHAT I LOVE THIS!!! THIS CONCEPT IS LIVING RENT-FREE IN MY BRAIN NOW

((ok tangentially before i get into this i just want to say in the deep lost osa pokemon au i haven't actually worked on in forever, this is exactly what happens to poseidon LMAO mew is my chaos analog so enter: 12 year old boy and his mythical drama cat dealing psychic damage to everyone within a ten-mile radius of them. mew is such a little shit of a pokemon so like. theres that))

anyway. GOH.........actually, i do think obviously this would over-inflate his ego quite a bit. but at the same time, i think it's important to consider that like...goh's confidence is a projection. he's incredibly insecure, and all of that has to do with his lack of relationships. if he were chosen by mew at a young age - and mew being a little chaos-wreaking jokester, too - would probably only make things harder for him. i don't think his friendship with chloe would survive it and i think that would mess him up in a lot of ways because on a deep, very human level like. of course he cares about her more than he cares about mew. but on the psychological level of someone with such a deep Need to be Special, i don't think it's something he could turn away from.

so in like this weird, complicated way - i think he would resent mew a bit? like this is a lot of pressure put on him suddenly! sure, mew listens to him for the most part, but it's also an incredibly powerful pokemon that likes to play practical jokes and sometimes takes it too far. goh is a kid who can't seem to connect with people. in canon, he blames other people for leaving him, because they think they're better than him or whatever. but on a deeper level, i think he has some awareness that it's something about him (i say this because in his relationship with ash, their arguments really centre around things that ash does "wrong" that goh caused himself, or otherwise also did "wrong" - especially their last big argument, where he had this idea of leaving and he was upset with ash for saying it first. because ash doesn't get to leave him. it has to be on his terms - i really don't think he's upset at ash's decision simply because he's afraid of being abandoned. i think he's upset more because he's been feeling Complicated about his own choice but it's such an easy decision for ash to make. if that makes sense? and it's the same thing at the beginning of jn, with the ivysaur. he's angry at ash for not listening to him, he's annoyed because ash is ignoring the fact that pokemon need to be able to do things for themselves. he's angry about this because if a person can help pokemon, a group of creatures he identifies STRONGLY with in lieu of like, actual human relationships lmao, then that means people can also help Him, but they don't. and he justifies this as needing agency more than he needs help. in 90% of their conflicts, ash did literally nothing lmao. i think goh knows this intrinsically). in this case, i think it'd be a little more complicated? like...undeniably, mew is at fault for the fact that people don't talk to him. and it's not just thinking he's weird or anything - they'd probably be a bit afraid of him.

so what would he do? he'd rationalize it of course and make it into a "good" thing. i.e. to deal with feeling like everyone is fucking terrified of him and his crazy pink monstrosity, he'd tell himself they're jealous, or in awe, of him. jealous, especially, with chloe i think. it would be a huge disconnect between them. it makes zero sense. she doesn't even want a pokemon - why would she be jealous? i actually think they'd become...pretty bitter enemies, lmao. but at the same time, professor cerise would absolutely not be ok with goh just. secreting mew away. a) that's a child whose parents are notoriously Not Around Much and b) that's a mythical pokemon that has not been very studied at all, really. so i do think that he would try to establish a connection with goh because well...that's his daughter's best friend and he knows the reason she's acting like she hates him so much is really because she feels hurt and upset at the fact that he's not really being a good friend to her, and also like. it'd be very clear that the pressure of looking after a mythical pokemon is way too much for a kid to deal with. even one who is as well-researched and "prepared" as goh (spoiler: he is not really prepared at all LMAO, he just thinks he is).

so the situation is kind of like...chloe has this extra layer of Issue with her dad because he wants to help goh even though he was a huge jerk to her and cerise knows that, but at the same time goh is even more isolated than in canon. in fact, he's probably of the opinion he doesn't Need friends because he has mew. mew is his friend and that's all that matters. does mew protect him? honestly, maybe. he's got Big Feelings and mew is a psychic-type, so it probably reacts to them on some level. that's a good reason for his peers to fear him (is he allowed to have a pokemon at school? probably not - so that would be why he'd just stop showing up LMAO). on the other hand, i actually think his parents would worry about him less because they think he seems very happy AND he's got a playmate who hangs out with him all the time and seems to look after him. they are not involved enough in his life to see that it's cause significant rifts between him and other people his age, and since he's on email terms with professor cerise, they probably never even find out that he and chloe aren't friends anymore.

all in all - he would be a whole different flavour of insecure, with the added bonus of like...he achieved something so great, but he actually isn't happy about his achievement because in many ways, it's making him miserable. he doesn't want to blame mew, even though he knows mew is to blame. idk if it's possible for him to become more cynical, but he probably would somehow.

i doubt he'd have a fateful lugia encounted with ash à la canon, but they could still meet in similar circumstances. maybe when cerise opens his lab, research done on mew would be like...something he specifically mentions. since ash was invited by professor oak to check it out, he'd meet the trainer who "caught" mew - and they would absolutely get into it beacuse goh would be crazy protective of his role as mew's Person, but lets be real...mew would take a real shine to ash LMAO. in a way, they might actually have more in common, except ironically ash is like undeniably Chosen One MaterialTM and absolutely refuses to claim the title becaue he's content being Just Some Guy (but who is nonetheless epic in a pokemon battle), meanwhile goh has the chosen one complex without...really being much of a chosen one. he would have to realize that he doesn't Have to be special, and that he can have both a relationship with a pokemon like mew AND with people, but he's got to be like. more aware of the fact that mew doesn't listen to him out of genuine affection and respect - and that's something he has to work to earn from it, in order to be listened to by it. i cannot think of anyone more equipped to help him learn that particular lesson than ash and pikachu tbh!

anyway yeah this would change a lot of things - it's worth noting that meeting mew for the first time was what kickstarted his obsession, so if mew stuck by him from that moment on, his obsessing would be of a very different flavour. at the end of the day though...he's still an insecure obsessive know-it-all (AFFECTIONATE. EXTREMELY AFFECTIONATE) so he'd probably still hole himself up in his room for research just as much as before, lol

#answered #pokemon #goh #*meta #GENUINELY...IF I HAD MORE TIME...this is a canon au rewrite id be SO interested in writing i love this #thank you!!!#this was fun to think about lol

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waterfallofspace · 1 year

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hi!! your d/azai fic was SO GOOD OMGG i kept trying to figure out what was setting him off & i never would’ve guessed M/ORI’S COLOGNE?! brilliant especially since c/huuya bought it for him XD

could i possibly request s/oukoku feat. allergic to dust d/azai (mayhaps with kitten snzs 🥺) and prompts 36, 40, 45, 47, 75? (or whatever you can do 🫶🏻)

Oh my god- hello, thank you!! That's so sweet of you hehehe~~ I'm glad you enjoyed!! And thank you so much for the request, I had so much fun writing this one hehe~ I did try 'stuffy talk' writing for the first time in this, it seemed needed in the context, but I usually try to avoid that, so I hope it doesn't take away from the story too much~ (also I've seen the other two I assume are also from you, and I will be working on those soon too!!) 2.3k words, prompts 36, 40, 45, 47, and 75, story under cut! 36. “Blow your nose, I can’t understand you.” 40. “You’re sneezing everywhere. Clearly, something’s up.” 45. “Your nose is literally twitching.” 47. Hiding sneezes 75. Accidentally inhaling an allergen. (References to swearing, and mild/playful violence just in case anyone doesn’t like those!)

~~~~~~~

There was always a level of tension between Soukoku, but it had only intensified after Dazai made his escape. Chuuya has never had a ‘forgive and forget’ attitude, not when it comes to him. So when Mori and Fukuzawa decide to team up against a common enemy, Chuuya lets himself believe he’ll only have to cooperate with the detective agency from a distance.

“Chuuya~! Stop staring off into space. I know I’m the brains of this operation, but you could still attempt to help.”

Growling in response, Chuuya feels his eyes roll on their own ‘Apparently just as fed up with him as I am-’, thoughts drifting back to the idiot currently attempting to pick a lock. It was his job to get them in the hideout they’d been ordered to investigate. ‘Of course it wouldn’t be from a distance. It could never be that easy, not with this asshole working for them.’

Despite the sentiment being entirely in his head, Dazai seems able to hear it, casting a smug smile in Chuuya’s direction. ‘Fucking creepy how he can do that. I know his gift doesn’t let him read minds, but sometimes I wonder…’

“We’re not supposed to leave any indication we were here. Blasting down the door wouldn’t exactly be subtle. So this one’s all on you. What, not up for the cha-”

“Got it! Chuuya didn’t really doubt me, did he?”

“Sh- shut up. Let’s just get this over with.”

Dazai’s posture is infuriatingly calm, a brash contrast to the waves of tension surging through Chuuya’s very being… until they enter the building. Dazai immediately tenses up, fingers flexing at his side as he attempts to feign nonchalance. Normally seeing the mask slip a bit would send shivers of pleasure down Chuuya’s spine, however they were in enemy territory with an assignment to complete. ‘Now is not the time for one of your… things… Dazai. Whatever this is, lock it away.’

“You take the papers over there, I’m gonna check for any other rooms, exits, or spaces to hide something. Got it?”

“My my, quite bossy, aren’t we? You know I love when you get all controlling~.”

“Ach. Just yell if you find anything useful, alright?”

“Yeahh.”

On anyone else, it would just be a slip of the tongue. Something not worth noticing, let alone mentioning, but on Dazai? It’s similar to having gunfire rain on you from an unknown source. Chuuya starts to feel hairs on the back of his neck standing up, trained eyes scanning the room for whatever danger might be coming his way. ‘Come on, Dazai. Either sort yourself out, or tell me what’s wrong… This mission needs to go smoothly, if you’re sensing dang-’

“hih’ekshh-! hh’gshh-!”

“You say something?”

“No- hah’kshht-enk’shhiew-! Excuse me, no I didn’t.”

Chuuya finds his mouth hanging open, Dazai’s nose noticeably pinker than it was a few minutes ago. In the silence, Dazai attempts to busy himself with papers they both know he’s already scanned. ‘Did- did he just…?’

“W- was that a sneeze?”

“Wow~ great observation skills, Chuuya!”

Dazai narrowly avoids the kick aimed his way, Chuuya catching his balance with a spin as Dazai smirks at him, letting out a grunt as the next one lands its blow. Taking his turn to smirk now, Chuuya begins his retort.

“Oh, whatever. Just keep-”

“eh’ntshh-aiyshh’iiee-! N- not done- heH-! eashh’iew-! teshh-en’kshhew-! hh’knshhiie-!”

“That was pathetic.”

“You know, it’s customary in most places to offer a blessing.”

“Not here, it ain’t. What’s wrong with you, anyways?”

The question is ignored, Dazai’s eyes snapping back to the papers he’s picked up, mouthing words under his breath too fast for Chuuya to interpret as he breezes through. Electing to ignore the obvious attempts to derail the conversation, Chuuya takes a seat next to the desk, letting his feet rest right on the papers Dazai’s looking through.

“I believe I asked you a question.”

“You only believe you asked? Chuuya must be sli- hehh… slip- slipping- heAh’tezshh-eiiszshh-hh’keshh’iew-!”

“Eh?! For Christ’s sake, just answer the fucking question.”

“‘For Christ’s sake’, that’s quite the western expression, and yet you can’t offer a mere blessing to your… eH’Knshh-tieshhii-! kshh-eishh-hH’knchhiew-! suffering partner?”

“I’ll ask once more, what’s wrong with you?”

Dazai’s eyes are still trained on the papers, his face remaining pointedly calm to the untrained eye. Which, Chuuya is not. ‘He’s attempting to relieve the itch without touching his nose. Apparently not as easy as he’d like it to be, judging by the tremor in his hands that he can’t seem to stall.’

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Don’t play coy, Dazai. You’re sneezing everywhere. Clearly something’s up.”

“It’s a perfectly normal action. Everyone sneezes at times, even Chuuya.”

“Yeah, but not this much. Your nose is literally twitching as we speak.”

“Th- thanks for the re- reminder…. hehH-!”

He manages to pull his collar over his face before the next fit breaks through his quivering nose.

“hNksh-hh’kshhew-! tinshh-enshhiew-! hh’kshh-! heH’tschh’iew-! hahh’kshh’iie-!”

Chuuya smirks at the way Dazai sniffles with a deep urgency as he attempts to catch his breath. ‘Pathetic is right, those were the tiniest things I’ve ever heard, and they still left him breathless. For someone so tough, he’s really quite frail.’

“Yeah, that’s not normal.”

“You really don’t remember? I have a slight… sensitivity to dust.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

His facade long forgotten, Dazai raises a hand to practically scrub his nose raw as he lets a few itchy moans fall out. Chuuya feels a pang in his chest, one that he quickly smothers before it can build into actual sympathy for the idiot.

“You don’t remember- Well I guess it- kshh’iew-! was a bigger deal for me than you. That time Mori sent us to recover some stolen files from that warehouse that they apparently hadn’t c- clehh… hH’kshh-eishhh’ii-! Cleaned in years?”

“I do actually, though I seem to remember you ducking away pretty fast after we found them- oh motherfucker, was that because you were holding off an allergy attack?!”

“Yep! Thankfully for that mission I foresaw the possible complication and took some precautions. However, in this case, I wasn’t aware of the… state… this building would be in. hh’kshh’iew-! Nnshh-!”

Before Chuuya can form a reply, Dazai raises a hand, his face unreadable once more. Chuuya freezes, eyes darting to the hallway behind them as footsteps echo off the walls. ‘Impossible to tell how many there are, it’s too empty in here, the sound is distorted. I’d guess at least five, but it could be more. There’s enough bullets in the drawer I found before to take them out if I can get to-’ His thoughts are interrupted by Dazai’s hand against his arm, nullifying his powers before he can make a move.

“Remember, we’re not supposed to tip our hand just yet.”

It’s hushed, but Chuuya hears it perfectly, his focus always irreversibly glued to Dazai when his gift is being subdued. Something Dazai knows full well, and was counting on. He lets his mask slip once more, letting Chuuya read his intentions without a word. ‘We need a plan, and it can’t be violence.’

“Fine.”

‘I noticed a crawlspace when I was surveying the room. It’ll be tight in between the beams, but there’s at least a bit of space vertically. Either way it’s better than getting found. Normally I’d just hide on the ceiling, people so rarely check there, but given Dazai’s here, it's better not to leave him to fend for himself.’

Pressing himself against the floor and sliding through the crack, Chuuya starts to drag Dazai in with him, pausing as the nervous energy radiates off the man.

“Chuuya I don’t thi-”

“Just shut up and get in, we don’t have time to argue.”

Dazai hesitates once more, tension flooding Chuuya’s body. ‘He’s not one to hesitate. Ever. But we don’t have a choice, it’s this or be caught.’ Finally Dazai lets out a sigh, mask on enough to keep Chuuya calm, but not enough to be comfortable. Chuuya braces himself against the floor with his hands as Dazai climbs into the crack, kneeling over him.

“Well this is cozy~.”

“You better keep your mouth shut. If they find us I will end you.”

The footsteps continue to descend towards the room, finally stopping as smothered voices begin breaking the silence. Chuuya closes his eyes to try and make out the words better, a trick he regrettably learned from Dazai of all people. When one sense is removed from the equation, it can help the others hone in with greater ease.

“Ch- Chuuya…”

His eyes snap open at the breathy quality of the voice. Dazai has his hands pressed against the floor to keep his balance, and even through the muted light Chuuya can see his unattended nose starting to tremble. Dazai’s attempting to rub it against his shoulder, but the soft cloth just seems to be irritating it further.

“Don’t you dare, Dazai.”

The panic seeps into the whisper before he can stop it, Dazai reacting with a sharp nod, eyes starting to water. Chuuya can feel Dazai’s body trembling as every scraping breath seems to drag more allergens into his tortured nose.

‘Fucking damn it. Even with those pathetic little things, given the echo in this room, they’re sure to hear us if he breaks into a full attack.’ Just as he’s starting to come up with a plan, Chuuya’s body starts moving on its own, gloved hand pinching Dazai’s nose shut just as the first hitch escapes.

“heH- Wha-”

“Not. A. Word.”

Chuuya can feel Dazai’s nose pulsating under his grasp, a few tears freeing themselves from his eyes as he crushes them shut against the building irritation. But finally, after a few painstakingly long minutes, his breathing returns to normal. Chuuya carefully releases his grasp, hand still hovering in front of Dazai’s face. He rolls his eyes at the theatrics, snarling in an attempt to disguise the warmth flooding his ears.

“Better?”

Dazai starts to nod, sniffling lightly, before intensely shaking his head, nose flaring with a passion. He gets only enough time to lean into Chuuya’s hand, attempting to stifle the fit that breaks loose. Chuuya almost pulls away, but one of Dazai’s hands comes up to grip his wrist, pulling it closer.

“knGt-! nGT-! ihKDt-! hH’AHngT-!”

“G- gross, what the fuck are you do-”

Realization dawns across Chuuya’s face, chased away by a guilt fueled blush that settles in his cheeks. ‘When sliding in here, I used my hands on the floor. The dust covered floor. I just practically smothered his nose in his allergen. Fuck- this isn’t good…’ Dazai’s eyes are flooding with itchy tears, only getting a chance to inhale when he’s building up to another stifle.

“kndT-! heH- indT-! hH’EnDt-! Ch- Chuuya… hH’NDT’iew-! heAhh- kNgT-!”

“Hold on-”

Letting his head peak out, Chuuya attempts to scan the room, focus being torn between searching for possibly enemies and- “hHnDT-!” the constant- “nGT-!” stream of- “ihkNdT-!” itchy stifles- “ehdNXt-!” being aimed at- “heH’KxT-!” his gloved hand. ‘I can’t see anyone, and other than the obvious, I’m not hearing anything to suggest we’re not alone.’

“Okay, I think it’s safe no-”

The half-finished confirmation is all Dazai needs, ducking into his shoulder with a fit that seems to only grow in desperation as each tiny sneeze falls out on top of each other.

“eh’kShh’iee-inchh-eshhh-kechhew-eh’knshhiiee-!”

Pulling himself out of the crawlspace, Chuuya attempts to brush the dust from his clothes, peeling off his glove with a wince before offering a hand to help (yank) Dazai out too. The normally put together man is currently sneezing too rapidly to even acknowledge the change of scenery. He’s attempting to aim for his shoulder, but Chuuya notices he’s fairly unsuccessful, huffing a few blessings between the outpouring.

“hH’kshh-ensshheww-nnshh-tiesshhie-!”

“Bless you.”

“aishhiew-! heHhH-! kezzshhiee-! Ehh’shhiew-!”

“And again.”

“hah’kshh-knnsh-nnshhie-!”

“Going for a record there, Dazai?”

A smirk has worked its way onto the incredibly itchy looking face as Dazai’s watery eyes flicker up to meet Chuuya’s, a hint of mischief dancing through the waves.

“M- enshh’iew-! Mea- hh’kshh-! nnSh-! eh’knShii-! Mean, Ch- chushh’iew-! heH’kshh-enschh-tezzshh’iew-! Chuuya.”

“Bless you. Don’t try to talk, you moron. It’s making me dizzy.”

“heH’inGShh’iew-! ddshh’ii-! nnSHh-! heH’kSHHiew-!”

“Christ Dazai. You gonna live?”

“You dknow tha- heh’KShhiiew-! nndshh’ii-! Thadt wa-”

The congestion in his voice cuts right through Chuuya’s brain, a grimace forming in response.

“Blow your nose, I can’t understand you for shit like this.”

“And whadt exacdtly do you wandt me dto use? I have dnothing to blow idt ond-”

Chuuya sighs heavily, hand reaching into a pocket to pull out the handkerchief he keeps there incase of emergencies. ‘I guess this qualifies, though the idea of Dazai’s fluids on more of my clothing makes me feel a little ill.’

As soon as it's in Chuuya's hand, Dazai lunges for it, having the decency to turn away as he releases a handful of throat scraping blows that have Chuuya wincing again. When he speaks again his voice is still hoarse, congestion seeping through the edges, but at least it’s decipherable.

“Ahem. Like I was saying, you know that was entirely your fault, right?”

“It’s not my fault you have such a weak nose.”

“hH’enkshh-! nndshh’iew-! innShh’ii-! mmShhiew-! I think it heard you.”

Rolling his eyes, Chuuya throws a punch at Dazai’s arm, a touch of guilt invading his mind when the blow lands easily, Dazai hissing lightly through clenched teeth. ‘Apparently still too out of it to dodge.’ He feels heat drip into his cheeks once more, quickly quelled as Dazai’s mischief soaked eyes meet his own.

“I think you owe me a drink.”

“Whatever. But you owe me a new handkerchief, and gloves.”

Dazai brings said handkerchief back up to his nose to crush a few leftover sneezes, a smug smile forming on his face, despite the battered state of his sinuses.

“hh’mmshh’iew-! eh’mmshhii-! heh’nnSHh-nnshh-heH’keshh’iew-! Deal.”

No, Chuuya’s not one to ‘forgive and forget’. Things will never be the way they were. But as Dazai silently leans against him to steady himself while they walk out of the building, Chuuya’s hands automatically coming to brace him, he lets himself consider that maybe, just maybe, that’s okay.

Maybe they can be something else. Something better.

#waterfallasks #waterfallwrites #ahhhh~ thank you so much for the request!! i love writing these guys #hopefully anyone who sees this enjoys #and thank you so much for reading like always!!#b/sd #snz #snzkink #s/oukoku #c/huuya #d/azai

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gothamstreetcat · 22 days

Note

You can take Wesley and Lilah and spin them off as leads of their own show post... I dunno, mid-S4, let's say (maybe Wesley and Lilah leave L.A. after the Beast attacks W&H, you can decide exactly when they leave).

Are there any other buffyverse characters, major or minor or just one-episode characters that would be significant characters on this spin-off as well? What would the general premise be?

Okay, I've decided I'm going to answer this instead of finishing my little gifset (which has literally been talking over my mind all day). I don't know if this was the initial intention of "you can take Wesley and Lilah and spin them off as leads of their own show..." but I really think I read it wrong as took it as a compliment? <3 I really need to came down, lol I swear that is all I ever do. They're the leads of my blog FOR SURE.

(I'm going to put it under the cut because I know it's going to be long and embarrassing)

It's actually funny you should propose this because ever since I was little some bit of my brain decided they did run away together?? I wasn't even really over the beast but they did end up together in my little childhood brain and have been together ever since. Just doing whatever they want and being in love. But honestly, as I have gotten back on the Weslah train I have thought a lot more deeply about this.

I think leaving after the beasts attack is obviously ideal but I also think it is possible after everything has happened. Even though they are dead and serving W&H, who is to to say they can't just fuck-off and leave anyway leading their best undead lives???? I also think they would travel a lot and just be normal about things? Like have a normal life; breakfast in the morning, going to the movies, late night drives on Wesley's motorcycle. I even would want them to be married, nothing big or anything - just at a courthouse and I think Linsey would send Lilah an anonymous note congratulating her (I swear to god I am only sappy and dumb for them, okay?)

It sounds silly and so plain but I just want them to have it all and that would be enough for me. I also think Virginia would be part of it too because I have this little idea in my head that she and Wesley had been in touch and writing letters back and forth. I would want everyone in the buffyverse to be part of it in some way, just to see how far the pair of them have come. And at some point Faith shows up at their door and crashes with them for a few years.

I also have it in my mind that Cordelia bargained with the Powers and everyone got a do-over (because I am a sucker for the early seasons where everyone was alive and together and happy). And at one point the group is trying to figure out where Wesley is and what happened to him, and they go to his house and see him and Lilah cooking breakfast and they see how happy they are together so they just leave him be (but at some point, they all do come together again even if things still are not the same (because I literally have an entire inner workings of Wesley and his trauma and my trauma and even if everything is good it will just not be the same, you know?) But Wesley still helps out from time to time with cases and everyone does get together for major holidays or whatever.

I may or may not be making any sense right now and I know this is becoming very long.

I feel like I should be really embarrassed for what I'm about to say (as I also proceed to tell you with nothing but a NORMAL amount of joy in my heart), but there are also two other scenes I play in my mind constantly and I definitely put myself in them.

The first scene is a court hearing against Wesley/Lilah, W&H, and the Powers; where Wes and Lie have to fight for themselves to be free of their contracts and to be able to be together (on the count of that dumb and pesky good/evil thing). I am literally the star witness in this scenario literally just so I can talk about how in love they are and I would have a huge binder compiled of various blog posts and novel texts, show moments as proof. And I would show my gifs, and go on a huge tangent about Wesley and how he saved Lilah (love saved her) from the beast and how he tried to free her from her contract and it should have worked. And then I would tell Eve that she looks like the person who should be getting everyone's coffee and that she's just jealous because Wesley's given Lilah more orgasms in one night then she's had in her entire life. In my mind and in the scenario I think this is so fucking funny.

Also, when I was a kid I didn't really have friends so I got super fixated on my favorite characters from tv shows and they were my friends. Of course I was so fixated on Wesley and Lilah so they were my friends and we were close, so in this last scenario I imagine us being apart for my years (and somehow not because my ban be from watching the show) and somehow W&H tries to trap Lilah into coming back and I'm going to be used as some virginal sacrifice (which is so silly and weird but it is honestly one of the few things I am good for). But things get worked out and Lilah saves the day (as my hero) because she is a strong and independent woman who doesn't need a job that treats her badly - she is literally stronger and smarter then everyone at W&H. And at one point in this scenario she fights the people of W&H off with a sword because she is a badass baddie and I will forever be in love with that picture of her holding the axe (it's a real crime she didn't get to use it).

I also wanted to add, though, I'm sure you have read it already: the tough get going (out of town) by thinlizzy2 is literally a perfect Wesley/Lilah run away fanfic. I read it a lot and I say it so many time but I get so emotional about the bit with the horses and towards the end where Wesley tells Lilah he loves her ("as his heart fills with pride in her for so many reasons") It is literally one of my TOP Wesley/Lilah fanfics, maybe third. Almost cannon ending because my top fic is til break of day and in continuity of things, that's my cannon ending for them (in terms of fanfic, I wasn't not going to link one and not the other).

#I am so sorry for how long this is #also I don't know if I should apologize for this. but I am sorry for going off and being weird #i have so many scenarios in my head and they literally all jumble together #asks #asks: kylia #about weslah

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noramoons · 2 years

Text

by my side — part two

pairing: lee minho x fem reader (afab)

genre: bodyguard au, (slight) enemies to friends to lovers

rating: mature/18+

word count: 5.2k

warnings: language, mentions of violence, attempted assault, mentions of weapons (guns/knives), alcohol, more to be added

summary: you’re less than thrilled when your CEO father appoints you a bodyguard—especially when that bodyguard is a childhood friend you haven’t seen in years. but there’s far more to him (and your father’s business) than you know.

previous | next | masterlist | also posted on ao3!

Against your best wishes, living with Minho is not the pain in the ass you'd initially expected it to be.

Sure, you've never actually lived with someone before—but you'd rather die than let him know that. Instead, you've tried to keep to yourself as much as possible, and to your surprise, Minho does the same.

Of course, that first night out had been a nightmare—in retrospect, Minho had looked entirely too happy to walk in the front of the bar with you, and that alone should have been a signal that something was going to go wrong.

He introduces himself to your waiting friends cheerfully, extending his hand out for a handshake as he smiles towards them. "Hi," he starts. "I'm Minho."

You had not expected him to just go up to them and start talking. Your brain starts spinning wildly, trying to think of something, any possible excuse you could have for bringing him here. "He's my—"

"I'm her boyfriend," Minho interrupts, grinning wider before he turns to meet your gaze.

It takes everything in you not to backhand him right there, even knowing that would get both of you kicked out on the spot. The best you can do is try to communicate silently through the unfiltered rage in your eyes—but Minho's eyes haven't left yours either.

You know exactly what he's saying. You really want to make a scene about me being here? In front of all your friends?

At the very least, pretending he's your boyfriend is ever so slightly better than saying he's your goddamn bodyguard, of all things. So you conjure up a practiced smile across your face, matching Minho's enthusiasm as you beam at him. "Yep," you manage to get out as your friends' jaws drop. "He's my boyfriend."

You leave the bars early that night, making up some excuse about Minho not feeling well—your friends, of course, had given you a knowing grin as you left the building, thinking you were leaving with him for something else entirely. If they only knew.

But you tear into Minho in the cab ride home. "You're out of your mind," you say the instant the car door closes. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Minho, of course, just shrugs. "You said I couldn't say I was your bodyguard. What else should I have said?"

"Literally anything else!" you exclaim, right before the two of you bicker the entire drive home. You know the cab driver is more than grateful when the two of you finally get out.

So you'd expected living with Minho to be absolute hell on earth after that. Looking back, though; that first night was good for you. For both of you. You'd been able to get your general distaste about each other out of your respective systems after that night, screaming and arguing the whole way home and well into the night—and by the time you woke up, you did at least feel different.

Not that you certainly haven't tried to make living with Minho the nightmare you'd promised him. He takes everything you do in infuriating stride—you want to complain about him, to tell your father he's being a royal pain in the ass and you'd rather be forced to live in a different country with a different identity than have Lee Minho as your bodyguard—but that wouldn't be true. He sleeps outside your room, sure, but you've never heard him so much as snore; he never takes too long in your shared bathroom; he takes out the trash and does the dishes without being asked; in essence, he's a perfect housemate, and you think you may even hate him more for it.

He's hasn't had to do much in the ways of actual bodyguard work, but the little you've seen has been impressive—he's already checked your entire apartment for bugs and wiretaps, he's helped you change your locks just to be safe, and he's never felt weird or overbearing when he's gone grocery shopping or to the gym with you—he's stayed contently quiet most of the time, aside from the occasional snarky comment on how many boxes of frozen dumplings you buy, but those are easy enough to brush off. You'd also been on break for school when he'd first moved in, but classes have finally started up again, and he's perfectly pleasant when he accompanies you, sitting beside you silently and waiting outside your lecture halls patiently until you're ready to go home.

Like it or not, Minho's good at his job. Still—you're determined to see him break. The past week or so has been full of excitement, to say the least—and you'd much rather have nothing to do with it. You'd much rather be alone again.

You hate to admit it to yourself, but you think you prefer things that way. One of your initial thoughts of defense when your father had told you, nearly a week ago now, that you'd have to have a bodyguard for the presumable future, was how you were supposed to have a dating life with someone following you around nonstop. He would've seen through that, though—and you know it. You haven't been on anything resembling a date in ages, a fact you're sure your father is fully aware of.

But being alone, you've found, is safe. Predictable, at the very least—something you can control. You'd spent so many years without a say in nearly every aspect of your life. That had been the only reason you'd left to live out here on your own, after all—it had been a choice you'd made on your own. A choice no one else had made for you. The years of etiquette classes, the schools you went to, the clothes you wore—and now this, too, with Minho watching your every move—was something you'd had absolutely no choice in. It's no stranger to you in the slightest.

When you’d first moved out nearly a year ago, you'd been determined to live entirely on your own, picking up a part-time job on the weekends on top of your schoolwork—but it didn't last long. Your schoolwork had suffered because of it, and you know that degree is the only thing that might possibly be able to keep you out of your father's grasp after your graduate—so you'd quit. Of course, you're back to being dependent on your father because of it, and you hate yourself for it. But what else can you do?

Going down this mental rabbit hole, however, always brings you to the same spot—your mother. The only person in your life who you've known to be able to make a choice against your father. Unfortunately, that choice had been to leave both of you nearly ten years ago—fairly soon after Minho's family had left, now that you thought about it. You'd never connected the two events before, and it leaves an uncomfortably heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach. But that, too, isn't unfamiliar when thinking about your mother—you remember so much about her. The stories she'd told you in bed nearly every night before you fell asleep, the weekend vacations the two of you took once a month, the surprise presents and candies she'd bring you back from a business trip with your father—all before she practically vanished overnight, without a trace.

You grow uneasy at the sudden connection you've made when you remember what your father had said after she'd left in the middle of that unbearably cold winter:

"This is a part of life—sometimes people move away. And sometimes they don't even tell you or me why."

Nearly the same line, word for word, that he had fed you when Minho's family had picked up and left, too. The realization is chilling—and it makes you nearly jump when you feel his hand on your arm.

Minho frowns at you. "You alright?" he whispers, tapping the notebook on your desk.

You blink. You'd been so lost in your own head, drowning in that sea of uneasy thoughts that you'd completely forgotten you were supposed to be paying attention to your professor's lecture right now.

You're surprised at the sudden kindness in Minho's voice, though—it seems entirely unlike him. But you nod anyway. "Yeah, I-I'm fine," you whisper back before turning to face the professor at the front of the room again. "Just daydreaming, I guess."

You see Minho nod out of the corner of your eye. "Right," he says before he, too, turns to face front. "Better not make that a habit—you'll waste your dad's precious money on these classes if you fail them, you know."

There he is. The Lee Minho you can't stand more than five minutes with—you should have known better than to think he was concerned about you.

You make a split-second decision. "I'm going to the library after class," you whisper out the side of your mouth. "And the gym afterwards."

He gives you a quick nod.

You give an internal sigh—you won't let him have the satisfaction of seeing that he's annoyed you. "It's probably going to take a while."

Minho nods again. "Okay," he says, perfectly evenly.

You're just about to open your mouth again when you meet the eyes of the professor at the front of the room—she raises her eyebrows. "Did you have something you needed to add, Miss L/N?"

You feel your cheeks burn red. "No, Dr. Yang. I didn't."

She stares at you for a beat too long, a few of your classmates turning around to see what has caused the class to stop—but she doesn't say anything else. Neither do you, aside from slumping further in your seat in embarrassment as she returns to her lecture, glancing over at you occasionally to see if you're still silent.

You take back what you'd said before. You absolutely do hate Lee Minho.

~~~

"Done yet?" he asks, leaning over your shoulder to see what you're working on.

You shake your head. You've been in the library for two hours, and Minho is finally, finally starting to get antsy—it's a small victory, but one you certainly needed. "Not unless you want to write this essay for me."

Minho scrunches up his face in disgust. "Definitely not. How much longer do you think you'll be?"

You shrug, switching tabs on your laptop in search of another academic source you can use for your essay. "Not sure," you answer—which isn't entirely true. You don't have to be done with this essay tonight by any means, as it isn't due for another week, but watching Minho squirm with boredom after embarrassing you in class today is just too good to pass up. "Could be another hour or so."

He groans. "I thought you were supposed to be good at writing. You always were in grade school, anyway."

You see the statement for what it is almost immediately—another strange, backhanded compliment from Minho. You wonder, for a moment, if he knows how to say anything in a way that isn't like this—weirdly condescending while still definitely being a compliment towards your own skills—but at the mention of the grade school the two of you attended, you know the answer to your own unspoken question. Of course he knows how to talk differently (kindly)—he had been such a close confidant of yours all those years that you'd grown up together, knowing all of your secrets while you kept all of his close to your chest, too, always reassuring you of your own value even when your father spoke of you the same way he spoke about a new business deal. Minho absolutely knows how to be kind. He's just choosing not to be towards you anymore.

What had taken place to occur such a change is far beyond your knowledge now, but you decide that's far more about him than you care to know anymore.

"Besides," he adds, " I thought you wanted to go to the gym afterwards. Doesn't it close at 9?"

You glance down at the time on your computer clock. It is already half past seven, after all—maybe Minho's squirmed enough for now. You fold your laptop screen closed, ignoring Minho's sigh of relief while you slide it into your backpack, slinging the straps over your shoulders as you head for the doors. "I'll be on the machines again today," you tell him over your shoulder. "So you'll know where to stay away from."

Minho just grins at you while he catches up to your stride, holding his phone out towards you. "Oh, you won't have to worry about that today," he informs you, glee in his eyes that immediately makes your stomach drop. "I signed up for a kickboxing class while you were taking your sweet time writing."

Your eyes widen as you look at the confirmation email he's proudly displayed towards you. "A kickboxing class," you repeat. "At...at the university gym?"

He nods again, smile never wavering.

"Don't you have to...you know, be a student at this university for that?"

Minho snorts. "You'd be surprised how easy coming up with a student ID is. The security walls for this school aren't nearly difficult enough to pass through, especially considering how much money your father's paying for you to go here. Maybe I'll have to point that out on my next weekly report." He winks.

You just roll your eyes at him. No, you'd definitely been right before—you don't know this Lee Minho. And you don't think you particularly want to, either.

~~~

You glance down the expanse of the university gym from your position on the treadmill, halfway into your second mile. You can't quite see Minho from where you are, rows and rows of ellipticals and treadmills and stationary bikes in front of you—but you know he can see you. The kickboxing class is held in a large room with glass windows, affectionately called the Box by the students. You suppose the idea is for students passing by to see instructors who actually know what they're doing inside the Box and garner enough interest to have a class—but it's worked perfectly well for Minho's purposes tonight, too. He's able to keep his distance from you so you're able to (somewhat) maintain your peace of mind as you work out, but still keep an eye on you like he's being paid to do.

In truth, you know he could have called your father and told him about all your demands—but he hasn't, at least not to your knowledge. You know he could use his position that he's literally being paid for to stand firm, to stand right beside you for the entire duration of this bodyguard stint, no matter where you were, but he's found ways to work around the rules for your comfort. You know that. You want to be comforted by that knowledge—you know any other bodyguard employed by your father wouldn't go to such lengths to appease you. It just makes you wonder why he insists on flipping the coin every so often, why he can still be such an ass just two seconds after being unexpectedly kind.

You finish up your third and final mile just as Minho's class finishes up, meeting each other at the doors of the gym.

He smirks at your slightly wobbly legs. "Wanna drive home?" he asks, dangling your car keys above your head.

But you certainly aren't about to let him win again tonight, no matter how much your calves may be screaming at you to stop—so you snatch the keys from his hand, mentally planning which way to drive back to your apartment that will result in the most turns to keep Minho sliding around in the passenger seat.

You're almost at the car when you hear him swear behind you. "Shit—forgot my water bottle," he says, holding up his index finger as a symbol to wait. "I'll be right back."

"Isn't that against the rules?" you chide, calling after him. "Should I call my father and tell him you're shirking your duties?"

"Go for it!" Minho replies, throwing his hands up in defeat before turning back around to run back towards the gym doors.

You let out an exhale, spinning the keys in your hand before you lean against the car. You wonder if you could start adding more charms to your keys to make them heavier in Minho's pockets—you've already got your mini flashlight in addition to the keys to your car and apartment. If you added on one every few days, would it be enough to annoy him?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a voice. "Nice car."

You spin around, facing a man leaned up against the car beside you. You give him a small smile before issuing a steady "Thanks."

He smiles back at you. "Got a pretty owner, too.”

You feel the all-too-familiar pangs of anxiety at his words. Of all the moments Minho could have chosen to take his sweet fucking time on finding his water bottle...

Your fingers curl around your keys ever so slightly tighter. "Thanks," you say again, as evenly as possible.

There's a slight jingling sound from your apartment key shifting over your car key, and the man hears it. He smiles again, but it isn't a warm smile at all as he takes a few steps closer towards you. "If you wanna stay that way, you should hand over your keys, sweetheart." You see the glint of a knife in the palm of his right hand.

Shit. You'd been expecting something like that the minute you heard his voice behind you—your absolute worst fear for the situation, no question about it. You certainly aren't about to play hero against this complete stranger in a dark parking lot right as the gym's about to close, but you wonder if there's a chance you can stall long enough for Minho to come back.

So you extend one hand towards the man. "Alright," you say, in as steady a voice as you can muster. "I'll give you my keys. Slowly."

He takes another step towards you until he's far past uncomfortably close, ensuring you're good and caged in against your car door. You lay your palm out at your side, flat so he can see the keys still in your hand before you start to raise your hand out towards the man, slowly.

But you're moving far too slowly for his tastes, clearly, when he lunges forward for your wrist. He's almost closed his fingers around it when you quickly slide your thumb down the end of your keys to that mini flashlight, flipping the lid up to reveal the pepper spray container hidden snugly underneath. He sees it just as you make a move to fire the spray, lunging forward with the knife in his hand right as you flip the spray open into his eyes.

He yells out as the spray reaches his face, still lashing out towards you before clapping his free hand over his eyes. "Fuck," he grunts. "You fucking bitch! I'm—"

But he doesn't get a chance to say anything else before he's tackled to the ground by someone running across the parking lot. He's still swinging the knife blindly, but if he gets a cut on the man pinning him to the ground, you wouldn't know—he doesn't flinch at all.

"Stay down," you hear a familiar voice say as he grinds the man's face into the pavement with a fist in his hair.

Minho. You've never, ever been happier to see him in your life.

Minho moves until he's practically sitting on top of the man, one knee on his back while the other still keeps the man's face firmly planted into the ground of the parking lot. "What'd I just say?" he asks in an unusually calm voice—well, unusual for the situation. That eerie calm is almost always present in Minho's voice. "Stay down."

But the man doesn't, moving enough to get out from underneath the knee Minho's had planted on his back. He tries to get back up to his feet, but Minho takes that opportunity to reel back one clenched fist, swinging it against the side of the man's face—and only then does he finally obey Minho's order, slumping back against the ground, unconscious.

Minho catches his breath as his gaze moves up and down the man, making sure he's well and truly out before his eyes finally flicker over to you, and they widen. "Y/N," he says quietly, gesturing with his head towards your arm.

You glance down, confused, only to find a trail of blood running down from your inner elbow. Shit. The man must have gotten a cut on you right before you'd hit him with the pepper spray—in all the rush of panic and adrenaline, you hadn't even noticed.

"Toss me the keys," Minho says, rushing over to the back of your car. "I stashed a first aid kit in the trunk a few days ago."

You do as he asks, letting out a light laugh as you do so. "Whose car is this, anyway? Leaving stuff in here like you own the place." Your voice is a little higher than you'd prefer, and you're only slightly aware of it.

If the grim look on Minho's face is any indication, though, he's certainly aware of it, too. "Alright. Sit down with me," he says, kneeling beside your car and patting the space in front of him. "This may sting a little."

But you're silent the entire time Minho cleans and wraps up the cut on your arm—why the hell is he making such a big deal out of this, anyway? Sure, he's a bodyguard, your bodyguard, but it's not like he's really acted like he gives more than two shits about you up until this moment. And it's not like the cut is all that deep or wide—with the way he's acting, you would think you'd been shot.

Minho's the one who eventually breaks the silence. "Fuck, Y/N—I'm so sorry," he says, wrapping up your forearm. "This won't happen again."

You're stunned by the intensity in his voice, the honest sincerity behind his words. You wait a moment before responding, waiting for the punch line about you getting yourself into trouble when he's gone for five seconds or having pepper spray on your keys when you go to such a prestigious university—anything, really, to sound like the Minho you've known up until this point.

But that never comes.

He glances up at you while he finishes tying the gauze over your arm, tugging the knot under the first layer of bandages. "How's that? Too tight? Loose?"

You shake your head. "No...no, it's fine. Thank you, Minho—I mean it."

He makes a sound in the back of his throat at your words that sounds entirely disgruntled. "Don't thank me. I should've gotten here earlier."

You don't know what to say to that. You opt for the only thing your brain can provide in this moment, the only thing you know how to fall back on with Minho. "Well...did you at least get your water bottle?"

He lets out a short laugh. "Yeah, I did. Had to toss it in the trash by the entrance the minute I saw that guy getting closer to you. Come on," he says, lightly patting your knee. "Let's get you home."

Your gaze moves past Minho as he helps you back up to your feet. "What about him?" you ask, gesturing with your head towards the unconscious man on the ground.

Minho taps the phone in his pocket. "I'll shoot your dad's security patrol a message on the way back. I'm sure they'll want to talk to him."

You laugh a little uneasily at that. "Minho...I think he was just looking to steal the car. I really don't think my dad's people need to get involved, I mean—"

Minho silences you with a look. "Trust me. If I included this in my weekly report and didn't have this idiot sent to your father, he'd have my head. Besides...after he's done talking with them, I don't think he'll ever want to commit a crime again."

You really don't know what to make of that—but you let Minho open the car door for you before getting into the car himself, doing exactly what he'd said and sending a message to your father before turning the keys in the ignition and getting back on the road. It's all a little too much for you right now, you'll admit—maybe his words will make more sense to you in the morning.

You're still thinking about that as you're getting ready for bed back at your apartment, walking back into the kitchen to refill your water when you pass the bathroom on the way back. Your eyes widen.

Minho's standing in front of the mirror, the first aid kit from earlier open and on the counter. He's bare from the waist up, but that's not what catches your eye—rather, it's the two deep cuts against his lower abdomen that he's cleaning up with a rag that you notice.

He doesn't turn his head, but he must see you too—because he calls out an instant later. "Why don't you take a picture?" he quips. "It'll last longer."

You take a step into the doorway of the bathroom. "Minho..." you say quietly. "That guy tonight got you too?"

He nods, wincing slightly as he dabs the antiseptic-soaked rag over one of the cuts. "Yeah, he got a little deeper than I'd thought. Might have to stitch this one up later."

You don't know what to say to that. "Christ, Minho...you got all freaked out over that paper cut on my arm, all while you were bleeding this bad the entire way home? What's wrong with you?"

Minho laughs a little at that. "What's wrong with you, I think you mean. You're the one I'm supposed to be looking after. You shouldn't care about what happens to me."

What? "I do care about what happens to you," you say before thinking about the possible implications of your words.

He finally moves his gaze from the mirror to you, meeting your eyes with far more surprise in them than you would have expected. And then he lets out that short laugh again. "Well, you shouldn't."

He's just about to turn back to his reflection when you reach for his arm. "But I do," you say again. Christ, does he really think that lowly of you? That you wouldn't care if he took a knife to the abdomen if it meant you got out okay? How awful does he think you are? "I do care about what happens to you."

The surprise fades away from his eyes, and something else is replaced in them altogether—you see a flicker of that sincerity you'd seen earlier, when he was wrapping up your forearm. "Why?" he asks softly.

The fact that he needs to ask at all makes your heart drop. "Minho," you start. "How terrible do you think I am? You really think I wouldn't care if something like this happened to you because of me?"

He shakes his head quickly. "That's not what I meant, I—you shouldn't be worried about me. I'm just here to make sure nothing happens to you. If anything, this is what I deserve for not getting there in time."

What? "That's not how this works," you say firmly. "I'm thankful you showed up at all—it could've been a lot worse if you hadn't been there. You might've saved my life, I mean...I don't want you to think about this like a punishment, for Christ's sake. We were friends once, Minho," you add, a little softer now. "Don't you remember?"

He nods. "I do remember," he says after a moment, his voice still quieter and gentler than you've ever heard from him. "Sometimes that's the problem."

It suddenly occurs to you that you really don't know anything about Minho's life after his family had left your neighborhood. You know he'd said on the first day back that the last two years had been where he'd gotten his training qualifications for this job, but that still leaves at least eight years in the ten years that he's been gone from you that you have absolutely no idea about. Jesus—what the hell had happened to him?

You're still pondering that when your gaze flickers down towards the cuts on his torso, one still lightly trailing blood down towards his hips. You notice a white scar slightly to the right of the first cut, and another one further down. There's another one towards the left of his abdomen, small and pink and definitely still healing. Your fingers ghost over the new flesh as gently as you can, but Minho doesn't move. In fact, you don't think you've ever seen him this statuesque in nature. "Did you clean these up yourself, too?"

Minho nods quickly. "Yes," he says, and his voice sounds unusually strained. "That one there, um...that's the first time I tried stitches on myself. Didn't turn out so well."

You find yourself at a loss for words again. It's suddenly become glaringly apparent to you that you're standing in the bathroom with a shirtless Minho, in a way that it wasn't before. You're staring, you know—you know you should look away at the very least, but you don't.

It's strange, you think. Somehow, it's never occurred to you how beautiful Minho is. You've never seen him like this, certainly, but there's such an elegance to the toned definition of the abs your fingers are lightly resting against, the hard muscle against your fingertips proving that no matter what he's been up to in the ten years since you've seen him—it's certainly made an impact on his appearance.

There's exactly two beats of silence where you realize your hands are still on his bare skin, one of his hands clenched against the counter for support while the other is a ghost, hovering just above your waist, before you hear him clear his throat. "Hey," he says, breaking the silence once again, his voice still sounding more tense than you've ever heard from him. "I...I'll be alright. You should go get some sleep."

Right. You really, really should. "Okay," you say, stepping out of the bathroom slightly too quickly to be casual. "Right. I...I'll see you in the morning."

Minho nods, not saying anything in agreement—but you can feel his eyes on you long after you've walked out the doorway. You still remember the intensity of that gaze when you're lying in bed a while later, your thighs squeezing together unconsciously at the recollection.

Oh, goddamnit.

This is going to be a problem.

a/n: hello hello 💀 pls accept my sincerest apologies for this chapter taking nearly a month and a half…i promise the wait for the next few chapters should not be nearly as bad since i already have several sections of them written! regardless, i am very thankful for your patience for this chapter, and i hope you were able to enjoy it! feedback and concrit are always welcome <33 i hope to see u all again for the next update! 🧡

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