Its Just So Good - Tumblr Posts

the fact that the first act of cannibalism in the wilderness isn't an act of survival but an act of intense grief. and the way shauna does it in secret. the way all her means of getting close to jackie have been unacceptable and shameful

Point-blank range

Edit: image whitout animation

VTMB Random Scenery

4/? Santa Monica Pawnshop Lodgings - Apartment 508

Bustopher and the boys, Moscow 2005

@the-cat-at-the-theatre-door

In my humble opinion, the broadway (pre 2016 revival) and hamburg costumes for Cats are the best I’ve ever seen. I can’t explain it, they’re so strikingly different in a way I haven’t seen from any other replica productions of Cats. They have so much character it’s crazy. They’re so solid and good. I could stare at a picture of them for hours

look. i'm sorry. really sorry for not just letting this die. but it bugs me. so suffer i guess.

If I saw a canonically trans character and said "well I prefer to write them as cis" people would be pissed at me, for good reason.

If I saw a canonical trans woman/man character and wrote them as a demigirl/boy and said "while the show just says she/he's trans, not that she/he's a trans woman/man" people would be pissed at me, also for good reason.

If a character was directly implied to be trans, and the creator confirmed later that they were meant to be trans, and I went "well it wasn't said explicitly in the show so it's not canon," people would be pissed at me, for good reason.

If the majority of a fandom did those things, we could collectively agree that the fandom is really transphobic.

You can sub this out for any queer identity with mainstream representation, and probably non-queer identities too.

So why is it considered acceptable to do these things to aspec characters?

Why are ships contrary to aspec identities the only ships against a character's canon queer identity that get popular?

Why are aspec people the only ones that get consistent ship discourse over our real identities?

Why are aspec people the only ones asked to sit back and take it?

Why is it on aspec people to not ruin allo people's fun in fandom, but allo people are allowed to ruin ours?

(The answer to all of the above is: aspec identities are viewed by other queer people as functionally straight and are treated as such)

Bittersweet

It's bittersweet to think about the damage that we do

'Cause I was going down, but I was doing it with you

Yeah, everything we broke, and all the trouble that we made

But I say that I hate you with a smile on my face

- Favourite Crime, Olivia Rodrigo

Description: One sleepless night in Hell, Emilia decides to find the kitchen and seek solace in cooking, but instead finds herself in the company of her mortal enemy and maybe-something-more, Wrath.

(I just wanted to write about Princewitch making Hot Chocolate, but it somehow turned into this...)

Many thanks to @city-of-fae for giving me her time of day to beta-read and help me edit this fic. She was the first person I found who wrote for KOTW and her fics are beautiful and you all should check them out. In conclusion, she's amazing. 💕

Hope you all enjoy it! Feedback is always welcome! ❤️

Goddess above, have some mercy. Emilia cursed as she turned over in her bed for what she thought was the thousandth time. Sleep had started to seem like a luxury to her over the last few days. When she'd first arrived in Hell, the sheer exhaustion had been enough to have her drained every night. After those initial days, however, it had started becoming common for her to stay up staring at the ceiling or to grab a book off the bed table and get lost in its world.

Currently, she debated going to the library to pick up something new, but ultimately decided against it. Wrath often worked there at night, making a strategy to annihilate some enemy. Perhaps it was her. She wouldn't be surprised.

After a week of hostility from both their ends prior to her wedding with Pride, they had decided to strike a deal. She could do all she wished in his House, and would even have access to all forbidden text in its library, but would not attempt to spy on his nightly planning or practice any magic she learnt from the books on him. Of course, this was only as long as he was out of the list of Vittoria's possible murderers. He hadn't lied to her during their time in Palermo together, she knew that. She had spent many nights analysing every word he'd said in answer to her accusations. None of them pointed to him being the killer. For now.

After a few more minutes of mulling over those events, Emilia finallly got up from the bed. The Goddess of Leisure wasn't going to bless her tonight.

She looked around her room, looking for something to occupy her mind with. The chamber was a thing of beauty, with golden carvings on its black walls and tastefully selected furniture on the same theme. Wrath's theme. Stupid suave perfect demon. Shaking herself, she glanced at the ceiling: a painting of a war she didn't know anything about, though she often tried to count the soldiers on the nights she lay awake. That didn't seem appealing today.

Sighing, she flopped down onto the sofa, and heard a low rumble from her stomach. She hadn't visited the kitchens yet- had purposefully avoided them. Cooking reminded her of her family, and she wasn't sure she was prepared for the homesickness that would bring. Most nights, her books helped her ignore any hunger she felt, but she didn't have their aid tonight. Would going to the kitchen be such a bad idea? Maybe she could use a little reminder of home. It didn't take long to convince herself as she stood and walked out of her room.

~

Emilia knew she was lost the moment she approached a stairway she hadn't seen before. It was grander, forked much more than the others. Cursing every goddess she knew of, she paced in circles, weighing her options. She could try to find her way back or-

She felt a door open behind her. She whirled around and saw a shadowed figure standing in the dark of the doorway, dagger in hand. Emilia froze, a dozen spells leaping into her mind. But as she prepared to cast a body-freezing spell, the person lowered his weapon and stepped out.

"I didn't take you for someone who would murder people in their sleep, witch." It was too dark for her to see Wrath's expression, but she knew him well enough to sense a hint of amusement as he looked her down and up. For some reason, she relaxed under his gaze.

Emilia raised a brow. "And miss the shock in your eyes when I finally kill you? I wouldn't risk that."

"Still overestimating your assassination skills, I see."

She rolled her eyes at that. It seemed so long ago when she'd summoned him in that cave. Shared cannolis with him. That memory brought a faint smile to her lips, and when Emilia brought her eyes back to Wrath, he was watching her intently, dressed in his signature attire: black trousers and black shirt with golden embroidery. There wasn't ever a moment he didn't look tantalisingly gorgeous.

She burnt those thoughts and threw out the ash.

"Would you happen to know where the kitchen is, demon?" She ignored the questioning look he gave her at the shift in conversation. "Well?"

He nodded slowly and without another word, started walking in the direction she had come from. Frowning, Emilia followed him. They walked in silence for less than a minute before she poked his arm.

"Are you taking me to your killing chamber?" She was only half-joking.

Wrath gave her a flat look and continued walking. So much for small talk.

After a few more minutes, they reached one of the palace kitchens. It was dead silent and yet, entering it, she felt an odd sense of comfort. As Wrath put some lights on, she noticed the room was minimal in its design and utensils. She suspected Wrath had deliberately brought her to that kitchen. It was modest- by his standards- quiet and not flashy. Exactly what she was used to from her family restaurant. Stupid suave perfect demon.

Said demon was presently leaning against the counter and observing her while she checked out the untensils and ingredients. She ignored him. He'd leave soon anyway.

Chocolate. How long has it been since I last had chocolate? Nodding to herself, Emilia took out a pot, a whisk, a few spoons, cocoa powder, sugar, and after looking around for a bit, milk, chocolate and cream. Why does a House in Hell have all of this readily available? She didn't know and decided that she didn't particularly care. After what felt like ages, Emilia was back in her element, and she wasn't going to spend this one night of peace thinking about the logistics of shopping in Hell.

She turned to put her supplies on the counter and stopped short as she noticed Wrath in the same position as before, his golden eyes- with flecks of black- a little darker than usual. She narrowed her eyes and looked down at herself-

Nightgown. She was in a nightgown. A black, thin-strapped, low cut nightgown. In her eagerness to get to the kitchen, she had forgotten to put anything else on....But Wrath didn't need to know that, did he? So, she put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows at him. "Like what you see, Your Higheness?"

Wrath looked away instantly and Emilia couldn't help her smug smile. It wasn't everyday one managed to fluster a Prince of Hell.

"But really, are you just going to lurk there? You have done your escorting duties. You can leave now. It won't be taint on your record of flawless etiquette."

He met her eyes again and opened and shut his mouth once. Sweet Goddess, I haven't ever seen him struggle for words.

Wrath cleared his throat. "Let us say- hypothetically, of course- if I were curious to see whatever human food you were making, how likely is it that you'd try and poison me?"

Emilia smirked at him. "I suppose you don't find my food to be a pollutant for your body anymore." He gave her another flat look and she mirrored it with one of her own. "It's a hot drink called Hot Chocolate. One of my favourites."

A thought came to mind, and she continued. "And the idea that you've been to the human world and never had it is making me question your sanity. You're welcome to try, but you will have to make it yourself. Unless you're incapable of cooking, that is." He scowled at the challenge. She smiled innocently at him.

"Very well, then. Tell me how it's done. Just know that, if in the end, you feel bad about your best skill, you brought it upon yourself."

Emilia winked at him. "Overestimating your cooking skills, I see."

Wrath walked over to her, undoing the buttons at his cuffs and rolling the shirt up to his elbows as he did. Emilia stared, suddenly more aware of her skin. Hadn't she once read a female lead describing her lover's forearms in vivid detail? It seemed strange to her then, but now, she understood her. Wrath looked up and caught her mid-gawking. The beginnings of a smirk appeared at his lips, but before he could open his mouth to undoubtedly mock her, she grabbed the pot and thrust it into his hand.

"I believe you know how to start a fire. So, get to work. No magic allowed." He raised his hands and muttered something that sounded like Yes, Your Majesty, but didn't speak further.

~

A few minutes later, they had a flame and Emilia had a headache, trying to get Wrath to add a little bit of salt into the rest of the mixture.

"You just told me sugar makes things sweet and salt makes them savoury. Why would we add it when we want this drink to be sweet?" He had his arms crossed across his chest, a gesture she associated with his pig-headedness.

She groaned as she tried to explain it again. "Salt balances the sweetness and enhances the flavour. It's not that complicated."

She held out a palm to him as he started to counter. "Why do you add gold on top of your black?" He thought for a moment and finally looked convinced as he added the pinch of salt she'd made him pick out. Thank goddess.

"Quickly now." He glanced sideways at her. "Please." She added begrudgingly. Why had she decided to challenge him in the dead of night?

"Now use the whisk to stir in circles and mix until there are no lumps."

Emilia stepped back to observe him, and when he started turning the whisk with enough force to break the pot itself, she finally cracked.

She doubled over in laughter, and when Wrath turned to look at her with a wary expression, she lost it all over again.

"Here." She went closer to him once she had some semblance of composure back, and put a hand over his holding the whisk. He froze but didn't pull away, so she started guiding him through controlled, gentle turns of the whisk. She was vaguely aware that she was still in a nightgown, but it felt ludicrous to pay attention to that when she could instead focus on the heat of his chest against her back. She could feel him looking at her and twisted her head to meet his gaze over her shoulder. The blazing fire she thought she had seen when he looked at her back in Palermo was back, and she was dazed to realise that she had missed and craved it ever since. His eyes- such frustratingly beautiful eyes- shifted down to her lips and back in the span of a second. She had no doubt he could hear her erratic heartbeat. Some part of her mind was screaming that this was dangerous territory. She was Pride's queen, but was a part of House Wrath. The dynamic was scandalous enough already.

But would it really matter if this scandal got a little more fuel?

A loud crackle in the fire brought her out of her haze, and she jumped back. No, she was acting ridiculous. Wrath was the flame, and she was the splinter of wood it burnt while crackling.

"Emilia-"

"You should put the pot on the flame." Her voice was shaking. Much like my sanity.

Wrath hesitated for a moment, but then did as she asked. They worked in silence for a while, before she ultimately had to tell him to keep stirring every now and then.

~

Emilia felt lost. Everything in this world was so connived. And Wrath, he was as much a mystery to her now as he was that first day in the cave. But he was also her one familiarity here.

He was a flame, yes. But she was finding it harder each day to stay away from him.

Could she not come near enough to let him keep her warm, but not enough to burn?

She watched him, but his attention was devoted to the boiling mixture, a faint smile on his lips. She stared. He was smiling. Not smirking, not grimacing. Smiling. It brought one to her face too. The first real smile since she'd left her home.

She went closer again, this time stopping at a respectable distance. "Time for judgement." She gave him a half-mocking half-encouraging smile. She was glad he didn't bring up what had happened some minutes ago. Grabbing a spoon, she brought one spoonful of the cocoa to her mouth and almost melted from the nostalgia it brought.

It tasted so much like...love. Just like how Nonna and Vittoria always made it. She closed her eyes and relished in its taste. She wanted to savour it as long as she could.

"The verdict, Your Majesty?" She opened one eye and closed it again. Wrath was smirking. Of course he was.

"You're not Emilia di Carlo, but you did a halfway decent job." She opened her eyes and smirked at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Maybe you do belong with Pride, after all."

"The Sin Corridor didn't think so. Keep being an ass and you'll find out why."

"I'm guessing because it knew how truly irresistible you find me. Or have you forgotten your little... hallucination back there?" How could she? It was mortifying.

She pointed her spoon at him as if it were a knife. "Bring that up again, and I really will consider stabbing you in your sleep."

He chuckled. "You don't have to make excuses for coming into my chambers, cara mia."

Cara mia. My darling. She blushed all the way down to her neck. Damn him. But that didn't have quite as much effect, considering their location. So she just glared at him until he chuckled again and got the pot off their flame.

Emilia brought out two mugs, and poured the milk out equally. Almost. She gave herself a teacher's bonus. If Wrath noticed, he didn't comment.

They stood leaning back on the counter, staring at the opposite wall, with a cup of hot cocoa in their hands. If she didn't know the position she was in and the events that brought her there, she would think she had found peace. In reality, though, she had managed to find a spot in the precise opposite of Peace.

"What other treasures such as this one are you hiding in your grimoire?" Wrath didn't have a single drop of milk on or around his mouth, while she was certain she had a whole lining around hers. How did he manage to drink like that?

"If I was hiding something, you'd be the last person I'd tell. But am I right to understand that the mighty Prince Wrath, with all this luxury, considers chocolate milk a treasure? Is that all I need to bribe him to do my bidding?"

"I deal in bargains, witch. Not bribes." He paused, conflicted on whatever he was about to say. As he looked straight into her eyes, all traces of emotion were gone.

"How are you, Emilia?" She started on his use of her name. He made it sound like a hymn. It made her wish he'd say it more often, perhaps in other, more pleasant situations. She shook such thoughts out. He'd asked if she was okay. Why did he care? Did he care? She wasn't expecting this display of...was it concern she sensed? No, it must have been a trick of her imagination.

"I'm in Hell, demon. I would say that's enough of an answer as to how I am." He didn't budge. She muttered a useless prayer and sighed. "I'm just trying to survive. And find my sister's killer while trying to avoid getting killed myself. In the midst of all that, I haven't thought about anything else. But that's not a road I'm prepared to go down tonight. Let me be delusional for a few more hours."

He nodded. "I'll drink to that."

"To delusion." She raised her own mug.

A part of her wanted to laugh at how childish it was to do a toast with hot chocolate. But then again, that was one of the less unusual things she had been a part of. They sipped their drinks in silence.

"I do understand now where Gluttony is coming from." His tone was dry.

She blinked. "How dare you associate my hot cocoa with him? Take your words back. Now."

Wrath huffed out a laugh, and Emilia figured that if a night of delusion meant that she could have a second of pause from her world crumbling around her, she'd take it with open arms.

~~~

Author's note: Okay listen, it's been a while since I wrote anything, so whatever feedback you all have, please send it my way! Don't hesitate at all. I know this isn't as romantic as most of you probably wanted, but I'm just a little hesitant to write elements of romance, because frankly, I don't trust myself much with it and don't want it to be awkward.

And yes, I went through all of Olivia Rodrigo's lyrics to find one to use as the track for this fic. I have no regrets.

Anyway, there...I did it @ghostiewriter . You better act on your end of our bargain now. I'm waiting. 👀

Also, shoutout to @feysandfeels for telling me about the endearment "Cara Mia" which I've been told is Italian for "My Darling". This concept lives rent-free in my head.

@ssardothien @kingandfireheart @evolving-dreamer @bookologist @godscursedd @sirendeepity @gwynlaithlunel @tea-istic @polaroidsintheocean @trowen @effervescent-bean @doesitmatterseriously @deepdive-with-aurelius @wrathscannoli + the 3 people I mentioned at different points above (Liss, Saarah and Luisa...I don't want to spam your notifs more than I have to, so tagging you once seems enough. 😂)

HER SOUL WAS SAFE WITH HIM

Why has the vote forsaken me😫😩 I need more Junnie, people😭

Can we get a little bit of werewolf!yeonjun this halloween? Pretty please 😶😘 That time of the year + the fic 2nd anniversary + the teasers for the next comeback are making me very eager for it. I know you already have almost too much in your hands juggling two ongoing fics and a serious job on top of a personal life, but it doesn't have to be much! Just a chapter 1.5 or a extended teaser, like a interlude between what you already wrote and what's to come, would be enough. It just seems so fitting for the moment! I know I'm being a little ridiculous by almost begging for it and if you ultimately don't want to, that's fine, I will understand... but I thought asking was worth the try hope I am not pressuring you too much, that's not the intention. love your writing! have a nice day 🤍

i suppose i can give 1 (one) small chapter this month. no promises though as like you know i have two series AND an appraisal and i'm preparing for an exam and a course + my job :')

if i were to give a small chapter, which boy would you guys want it to feature? and if you have any particular scenes in mind let me know lmao

AMERICAN PSYCHO — 2000, dir. Mary Harron

Oh my God THIS LOOKS INCREDIBLE!?!?! So glad to see Adjuration getting the attention it deserves!

Fanart inspired by the fic This is an Adjuration by @not-freyja

Legend protects unconscious fairy Hyrule in his hands - from chapter 26 (Time's sketch)

Please read this awesome fic^^

My PC is still under repair, so I unpacked my watercolors and gouache and can only draw traditionally. I haven't used gouache paint for 3 years, sorry the results are not neat.

Hope you like it ^^

Fanart for Distance Makes the Heart So Fucking Annoyed by @cecropiacrown

The latest chapter really got my dumb self tearing up 🥹

Bedroom mishaps. (Hyung line)

An Ateez reaction to getting into an embarrassing/awkward situation while intimate

Genre: fluff, smut (nothing too explicit, though)

Word count: 6 401

Warnings: mature themes (obviously), embarrassing moments and just awkwardness in general, lol

Dynamics: mostly sub!ateez-leaning or with no dynamics, except for mild dom!Seonghwa

A/N: So, this whole idea randomly came to me when I was reading @blu-joons​​‘s fic about Ateez getting a massage (which is why Yeosang’s scenario is kinda similar to theirs in the beginning, hope that’s okay!!) and my mind just kind of went on from there, haha. I’ve always loved reading fics about the more awkward/funny/weird parts of sex, so I’ve decided to write my own as well ♥ Hope you enjoy!

A/N 2: I’ve just posted the maknae version of this fic as well! You can find it here.

Keep reading

Ok but The Apology Song from The Book Of Life is better then any song in Coco.

Coco got good songs, but that song will forever hit differently.

thinking about them

I think something that’s really sweet and makes me so happy is that regardless of whether you use butch or masc, generally, all masculine presenting people LOVE head and back scritchy scratches. It’s a universal love. It’s so sweet. Melts my heart.

commission for lovely @etoilesbienne wielding a scythe is the new style

REPETITION / RARE LOVE

pairings: kim mingyu x fem!reader (ft. yoon jeonghan)

genre: fluff, angst, suggestive & sexual content

tropes: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers (except mingyu's the only idiot), pining, flirting

warnings: explicit language, banter, alcohol consumption, borderline jeonghan slander but it's okay because i would die for the man, has been proofread by me once but only barely. kazuha (le sserafim) is your roommate, huh yunjin is present.

WHAT TO EXPECT

it's simple enough: you and mingyu are perfect for each other. you've told him as much but after years of him avoiding the topic, you leave him alone. but when your long-time infatuation with jeonghan gets rejected, you have nothing to distract you from your desire to be with mingyu. all it takes is you making out with the wrong person and a can of beer for mingyu to come to his senses. (about 11k)

OR: maybe you don't hate repetition as much as you claim to.

SEQUEL OUT NOW!

“why are men on tinder actually vile?” you question out loud, not quite expecting an answer as your eyes continue to read the offensive opener you’d received from a recent match. mingyu, who’s crouched on the desk across from you, frowns.

“y/n, we’re meant to be studying,” he points out, “but also i thought you were over tinder?”

you look at him blankly, “i am! i just gotta finish what i started you know…”

mingyu looks deeply disappointed in you and you slide your phone across to him, “look at this message i just got! it’s disgusting! i don’t need to know if someone’s wet at the thought of—”

“god, y/n, do you have to scream?” he asks as he takes hold of your phone, busying his fingers probably with blocking the guy. you momentarily look back at your screen where the black document meant to be the outline for your final art history paper taunts you.

you sigh, looking down at your phone when mingyu returns it. “i paused your account and deleted the app.” you sigh yet again, “man! if you were gonna uninstall it without my permission you should’ve just deleted my account.”

“you’d just make another one anyway,” he shrugs, “plus, this way when you go back you’ll remember why you left in the first place.”

you grumble something under your breath but resume your attempts at writing. mingyu smiles a little as he goes back to his own work. a beat passes before, he puts his pen down again and when he sees you’re staring at your screen distantly, he asks, “did you talk to jeonghan yet?”

you gasp at the mention of your years-old crush, glancing around you as if you weren’t in a private study room (because apparently the only way either of you could get anything done was while talking to each other). “what?” mingyu continues, “one of us had to address the elephant in the room.”

“wow, you’re just the worst friend ever, aren’t you? it’s like you can’t read rooms at all. i clearly did not want to talk about jeonghan.”

“well, now you are. so you might as well be honest with me. did you think about confessing to him?”

you deflate, stomach suddenly uneasy, “no. i don’t think i will. i don’t need him to know.”

“you kinda do. y/n, look at me,” mingyu knocks on the wood to demand your attention, “it’s the only way you’ll ever have an answer.”

“i don't want an answer.”

“…”

"because i'm going to move on from him!"

"..."

“okay, well, i’m starting to! just watch me, okay? i have the agency to not be completely consumed by my very shallow attraction to a very attractive and impressive man.”

“right. you just used attractive twice in a sentence— and no, i don’t care if it wasn’t the same form of the word, you absolutely hate redundant things. and yet, you refuse to recognize the way out of this pattern of yours.”

“you are so tiring, mingyu, you know that? exhausting, even. i don’t want to do this anymore.” you shake your head at him, suddenly invigorated to finish this damn preliminary proposal of yours.

—

yunjin cackles as she plops down across from you in the dining hall, finding you scrolling ever so dedicatedly on pinterest. “what’s this?”

you look up at her with a pout, “i need a dress for hoshi’s little party. it’s in two weeks and i have zero options.”

“fuck, i knew i was forgetting something,” she grimaces in her typical huh yunjin way and shifts closer, “i need to find something for that too. can’t just wear a corset and call it day since he’s labelling it a formal and whatnot.”

“he really is the worst,” you agree, pausing to muse over a pretty white dress with red roses all over it. “hmm, what about this one?”

yunjin tilts her head and nods as she looks between you and the dress, probably imagining you in it. then, you sigh, “it’s just i don’t think red is my color like that.”

you’re about to elaborate when you hear a gasp from behind you, “that is simply not true!” you don’t have time to react when a figure slides in next to you. goddamnit, it’s jeonghan, you realize, trying hard to keep it together when his shoulder comes to sit next to yours. “you absolutely fucking rock the color red.”

“i do?” is all you can muster as yunjin chokes out a badly covered laugh. you glare at her, “what’s funny, jen?”

“hah, nothing, i agree with jeonghan, you’d look lovely in red.”

you frown, unconvinced as you scroll some more, feeling dizzy from jeonghan’s presence.

“preparing for hoshi’s party i presume?” jeonghan asks and you nod. “i’m so stressed, i have nothing and it’s approaching so fast.”

“you have time though,” he reassures but you’re quick to protest, “i’m not going to have any time next week because we’re organizing that night flea market. i’ll be running around campus so i need to take a trip this week.” the beauty of going to a college with an isolated campus: peace and you gotta plan every time you leave campus because there’s a singular bus that takes you to the city. it’d be a whole day trip for you if not for mingyu, who thankfully has a car that he can drive.

“ahh, tell me when you’re going into the city, y/n,” yunjin pats you, “i gotta go too.”

you nod and then remember, “right of course, i just remembered kazuha saying she wanted to come too.”

“nice,” yunjin approves, “we need all the opinions we can get. did you get mingyu to agree to drive you yet?”

“i texted him earlier but he hasn’t replied, which is slightly concerning because he may not know how to spell but he does write back very fast.”

jeonghan chuckles, “mind if i join you guys too?”

you stop in your tracks, turning to face him, “you wanna come shopping with us?”

he nods, that sweet smile of his plastered across his face, “yeah, i could use a new formal outfit. i’m tired of wearing the same black suit to everything.” he nudges your side, “plus, you guys could help me out. i can never decide on anything all alone.”

—

“maybe i should just not go,” you groan with your head in your hands. mingyu rolls his eyes, slapping your back, “why would not go? if your problem’s with jeonghan, he should be the one to stay back. not you.”

you sit back up, staring at the eggs in your plate. beside you, mingyu chugs his glass of orange juice, and you lean against him. “god, i hate him so much. do you wanna go see if the playground’s free?”

“right now?” mingyu looks at the time. it’s 11 am on saturday, still an hour from the time everyone agreed to meet in front of mingyu’s car, which is conveniently parked right across from the playground. as if following your line of thought, he grins, “alright. but you finish your food first.”

you sigh, “okay, mom, i will.”

five minutes later find you racing mingyu for the best swing in the playground— months of visiting the place had taught you the first swing was the only one that didn’t creak too loud and experienced the least amount of bumps during the ride. mingyu’s fast but you’re stubborn so you reach out for his arm midway, sticking your nails into the skin, knowing how dramatic he is about these things.

he gasps, “DO NOT CLAW ME.” strong as he might be, he slows down to rip your grip off. you seize the opportunity, getting a headstart and laugh when you reach the swing before him, sitting down firmly before mingyu can pull you away.

“that’s cheating, y/n, you know it!”

“hey, you’re the one that has an advantage. you go to the gym like eight times a week. i go like thrice a month.”

“sounds like someone’s lazy and whiny to me.”

you smile, “someone lazy wouldn’t win that race. and you’re the one that’s whining,” you point to his stance, his arms at his hips like an affronted toddler. he loosens his body with a pout as he walks over to the second swing. “whatever.”

time passes a little too fast for you two when you’re fighting like this because kazuha’s running over to you, breathless. “y/n! what are you guys doing?”

“zuha, hi! did you—”

“yep, i got your lip gloss.”

you chuckle, throwing your arms around her, “why are you the best roommate ever?”

mingyu scoffs, “what about you being the worst roommate ever?”

kazuha laughs, too nice to agree with him, “hey, that’s not true.” you hit him in the side, “you’re just jealous that you’re in a single. i guess money really does make people lonely.”

“i’d go for a double even if i was that rich,” jeonghan’s voice pops up from beside you. he sure has a knack for appearing out of thin air. “i couldn’t handle being alone.”

“not everyone can love themselves as much as i do,” mingyu shrugs, smugly as crosses his arms. “i’m self-sufficient like that.”

“if you guys are done, we should start moving,” comes yunjin’s voice from near mingyu’s car, “it’s already fifteen past 12.”

“i call shotgun!” yunjin shouts and you’re quick to fight back, “no way, i already called it.”

“if i didn’t hear it, then it doesn’t count,” she teases, leaning against the passenger side. you glare at mingyu, “i called it in front of mingyu! the driver is the one that counts.”

mingyu laughs at the petty fight, “y/n did call it earlier this morning.”

“that’s not fair! mingyu’s obviously going to take y/n’s side, you guys spend every breathing minute together. the rest of us don’t stand a chance.”

you smirk, “don’t be a sore loser, huh yunjin, you can call it when we’re coming back. if you remember to.”

“i hate you,” she mutters as everyone settles into the car.

“i’m open to music requests, dear friends,” you announce once you’ve started off. “but i reserve the right to reject any tasteless songs.”

“isn’t this the textbook example of a tyranny?” jeonghan breathes and you shoot him a look over your shoulder, “hey, the power comes with the seat. it’s natural selection.”

mingyu groans through laughter, “you know you don’t make any sense. just play some music.”

you roll your eyes, “he says as he laughs his fat ass off.”

“she’s just salty my ass is fatter than hers,” he mutters under his breath. the three in the backseat break into laughs at that, all at your expense as you gape at them. such betrayal.

“i don’t know why i call you friends. you’re monsters.”

kazuha pipes in, “y/n, are you calling your sweet roommate a monster right now?”

jeonghan is quick to join in, “honestly, i’d say kazuha is the nicest friend among us here.”

“fine, everyone but zuha’s out to get me right now.” the screaming continues for a little bit longer until yunjin and kazuha tire themselves out and pass out. you chuckle when you look at them, yunjin’s head bobs in the middle of the three until it hits kazuha’s shoulder, whose head then rests on top.

swiftly, you pull out your phone camera and capture the moment, sure to tease them later. as you’re clicking the photos, jeonghan’s face sticks into the corner with a sneaky grin and you shift the angle to include him. enjoying the attention, he shoots the camera a peace sign, followed by a little heart, and then a cheek heart and now he’s a bunny and then—

you pull yourself away abruptly with a shaky laugh, “god, jeonghan, this isn’t a photoshoot.”

he laughs back, “ha ha, sorry, i can’t help myself. it’s so fun to tease you like this.”

you feel the blood rush to your face at that, so you turn to face the road completely, a weak, “fuck off” on your tongue. mingyu silently observes the interaction, not without a little side-eye that you don’t know what to think of. “you should get some rest, y/n, you didn’t sleep last night.”

you frown, surprised mingyu knows that and you don’t get to ask him why he knows that because jeonghan interrupts, “you guys sure are close. i was talking to hoshi the other day, he misses y’all a lot.”

“he does? he can just come talk to us whenever though,” mingyu replies, doubt tracing his tone. “i don’t think we’re exclusive like that.”

“right?” you agree, “we used to be so close to hoshi, too, and then he moved to the other side of campus this semester and now i have like one class with him.”

“i don’t know,” jeonghan says, “you should talk to him about it, but there’s always been something stronger about the two of you together.”

you shrug, “we always end up together. it’s not that deep i think. it’s just how it is.”

the topic ends there as jeonghan agrees and dozes off himself too. you, however, feel eerily awake. awake? no, more like unsettled. something in your nerves is off and you feel on edge. you’re a little spaced out after that, as you finally reach the city circle with all the shops crowded next to each other with a little mall in the center.

as everyone gets off and gathers their things, mingyu pulls you aside with a concerned look, “are you okay, y/n?” his grip on your elbow grounds you a little. you inhale, knowing better than to pretend in front of him, “yeah, just a little uneasy. i don’t know why. probably just tired.”

mingyu looks like he knows something more about your condition, “are you sure? we can take a break at one of the restaurants before shopping if you want?”

“nah, i’m okay, don’t worry. i’m a strong girl,” you smile, reasurring him with a pat to his chest, “i feel better now. thanks, mingyu.”

he frowns, hand loosening against your skin, “you never thank me, weirdo. don’t be so formal.”

“man, there’s no winning with you, is there?”

he chuckles as he pulls you after the others, “no, i’m insatiable.”

—

an hour into shopping, you realize why you hate doing this. everything is so overwhelming when you’re in the city, so many people, so many clothes. at least you have friends with you as you scan racks after racks, ending up with three potential dresses on your arm. you mutter a prayer in your head that you can find something nice here so you don’t have to walk more. this is already your third store.

the first one is a classic: a little black dress. it’s satin so it sits smooth against your skin and feels soft when you twirl around. it’s a little short for your liking, perhaps too tight against your ass. you turn to the side to get a better look. you take a photo and send it to mingyu, who you’d been going back and forth with. he’d last sent you a photo ten minutes ago: him in a stupid minion onesie. you’d cursed him out real well in response telling him to stop fucking around. he writes back fast.

big gyu: u look good

big gyu: kinda basic tho

you: yea i thought so too

you agree with that, putting the dress aside in case you don’t find anything else at all.

candidate number two is more over the top: a long red dress with little black patterns on it, with a leg slit on one side. getting into it was a whole struggle but you get it on finally. it fits well thanks to the slit which also shows off some skin. you’re hot in it: like literally. the long sleeves don’t help at all. but you look good too, the flare doing wonders for your figure. you pause, sending a photo hoping mingyu would be of help.

however, when mingyu takes longer than a minute to reply, you groan, already sweating a little. concluding that he’s probably changing or something, you peek out your curtain, hoping yunjin was still in the stall next to yours. you call out her name, straining your neck to see if there was anyone else you could ask for help.

you spot jeonghan walking around the shelves near the fitting rooms and before you can hesitate to call him over, he notices your head poking out. he raises an eyebrow, sending your heartbeat into a spiral. “y/n? do you need help?”

you clear your throat, “um, yeah, i need a second opinion on this dress.” jeonghan approaches your corner and you panic when he reaches for the curtain to draw it back. his eyes question you, “can i look?” you let go of it to let him in, a tiny little rational part of you wondering he needed to come inside the room to see.

“ohhh,” he exclaims as he takes you in, “you look amazing. told ya red was your color.”

you turn away from him a little, “this dress is hot.”

“it sure is,” he agrees and you blush harder, “no i meant, like literally. i’m so hot right now.”

jeonghan presses his lips together, giving away the fact that he understands but being the little bitch he is, he chooses the option that makes you wanna combust. he presses two fingers to your cheek and mumbles, “yeah, you are.”

you push his arm off, “yoon jeonghan! you’re such a damn flirt! get out of here.” you force him out of your space and he’s uncontrollably laughing as he lets you. “i’ve another dress to try so wait outside for me.”

“sure you don’t need a hand changing—”

“no, thank you very much!” you scream, greeted with more pleased chuckling. your phone buzzes, catching your attention. you lean down to look at it.

big gyu: niceee thats hot

big gyu: u should get this dress

big gyu: pls

big gyu: pls

you: …girl why are u begging me

big gyu: because.

big gyu: you’re getting this dress right

you: no i’d die of overheating in it

big gyu: and it’d be worht it

you: i dont like how enthusiastic u are about this...

you: wtv this one's rejected.

you: i still have another dress to try

you put your phone down to try the final dress. this one was a purple slip dress with white flower detailing. it was skin tight against your boobs and a little transparent, giving away your black bra underneath. and to contrast, it sat a little loose on your hips which was honestly not the worst look, keeping from the dress becoming too scandalous. you enjoyed this dress the most so far. that was enough, given the track record.

“you done, y/n?” you’re startled when the voice outside is mingyu’s instead of jeonghan. you pull back the curtains in confusion, “gyu? what’re you doing here?” mingyu stops short, “fuck, i like this one.” you flush a little when you notice his eyes settle on your chest for a beat too long. “that’s stunning, for real.”

you laugh. “look at you using big words. but yeah, i think this is the one.” you look over at him, “did jeonghan leave?”

“um, yeah, he said he had to use the washroom when i ran into him on the way,” he mumbles. you nod, a little relieved because you think you’d die if he saw you right now. “anyway, i’m offended you were showing him your dresses and then all i got was a photo.”

“hey, you were taking so long to reply that i had seek someone else out. he just happened to be her.”

mingyu ignores that and tells you to hurry up, “i need your help choosing something for myself.”

“ugh, alright, give me five.”

in the end, you decided you’d get both the classic black dress and the slip dress, you needed more dresses in general. wouldn’t hurt to have more. when you’re done checking out, you find mingyu in conversation with kazuha who’s smiling with a shopping bag in her hands.

“zuha, you get anything?” you ask. she nods eagerly, “yeah! i got this pink dress that jeonghan helped me find just now. it’s really pretty, i’ll show you later in the room.”

you falter a little at that, glancing at mingyu who’d told you he went to the washroom. ignoring the growing unsettling gut feeling, you inform her you’d found something too. “nice, we should have a try-on in the room later.”

“you guys!!” yunjin joins the group, “this is insane. i hit the jackpot and found the sexiest green dress ever.” you laugh, linking arms with her, “you should come over later and try it on with us.”

“ah, the beauty of womanhood,” mingyu grumbles beside you, and you shove him. “you’re not invited, pervert.”

his jaw falls open, “excuse me? what did you just call me?”

you press an index finger into his bicep, “don’t think i didn’t notice you checking my boobs out earlier.” mingyu’s cheek redden at the light-hearted accusation, worsening when jeonghan appears right at the climax of the argument.

“okay, okay, first of all, i wasn’t checking anything out!” he complains, “and-and well, they—”

jeonghan cuts him off, patting his back with an amused smirk, “it’s alright, buddy, it happens to the best of us.” everyone laughs at that, much to mingyu’s chagrin who then becomes pouty for the rest of the walk to the next shop.

“c’mon,” you pull him into the store, “my turn to stare at your tits.”

“god, would you drop it?” he groans as he follows you in. “it won’t happen again.”

you giggle, “it’s okay with me, gyu, because that just means the girls look good.”

he groans again, “i really don’t need to be a part of this.” he wanders off into the store, embarrassed. you let him go, looking at clothes for him separately. turns out shopping for mingyu is harder than the concept of it sounds. it doesn’t help that he’s an expert at criticizing the small detail in every item you choose for him. half an hour later, you’re tired of him.

as if on cue, kazuha calls you to tell you to come over to an asian restaurant nearby to grab lunch. you thank the lords as you pull mingyu away, “there’s nothing here for me anyway,” he grumbles as you meet up with the rest.

entering the restaurant, you spot kazuha and jeonghan at a table nearby. yunjin’s still on her way it turns out as you sit across from them, heart in throat for the worst reason possible: you’re jealous. you may be down bad for jeonghan but that doesn’t mean you’ve lost your ability to take a hint. trying to keep the thought from completely forming in your head, you make conversation with everyone, wanting to be better than this.

you want to avoid thinking about it so you’re quick to shut jeonghan off. he’s his usual self, joking around with everyone but he picks up when you’re not as receptive as usual. you hope he just thinks nothing of it, but you know that’s not possible when he approaches you after lunch as everyone else is washing up in the bathroom.

you’re outside alone, waiting, when he slightly pushes your shoulder to draw your attention. you gasp lightly. “jeonghan?”

“can i talk to you for a sec?”

you frown, “yeah, you’re talking to me right now.”

“come on, y/n, don’t be cold. let’s go for a walk.”

“but, the others—”

“i let mingyu know we’ll be back in a few.”

out of excuses, you silently follow jeonghan’s stride through the busy street. he makes conversation really well, easing you up in no time as he distracts you from what was on your mind. it’s illegal how smoothly he then proceeds to drop the act.

you’re laughing about what he’d said about hoshi’s drinking habits just now, when he suddenly goes serious, “i think i like kazuha.”

you freeze up at that, fighting the frown that itches closer, looking at him like you didn’t hear him. heart’s out of control right now, but at least you were already expecting this outcome. “huh?”

“sorry, i just thought you should know. i’m really into her and i was planning to ask her out sometime this week.”

you would love to pass away right now. immediately, you think you hate jeonghan for doing this to you. it’s clear from his behavior that he knows you like him and that he’s apologizing— he’s rejecting you before you have a chance to confess. he likes kazuha. he’s going to ask her out. you should know that.

you sputter awkwardly, “that’s great! good for you, jeonghan. and um, you really didn’t have to tell me. i’m sure kazuha would love to be with you.”

you never want to speak a word to anyone ever again and you're sweating ever so profusely, so you speed up a little, “and we should get going, no?”

sensing your mood, jeonghan follows along but says, “i’m sorry, y/n. i- i know you…”

you don’t let him finish because it would genuinely kill you to hear him say he knows you like him. “you don’t have to be sorry.” with that, you essentially leave your body. you move fast enough to reach the car, wordlessly getting into the passenger seat and yunjin somehow knows better than to fight you.

the car ride back is filled with music. not much chatter. you realize it’s partly your fault and silently dread being back in the room with kazuha, but to your relief, when you reach she doesn’t bring anything up. you’re too tired to do a try-on like you promised and when mingyu asks if you want to come over to his place, you tell him you’re feeling sleepy. and for once, you actually sleep after telling him that.

sleep is not as much of a comfort as you’d hope for it to be: less of an escape, more jeonghan-themed content. something about heartbreak and living the rest of your life, lovelessly.

—

the next week starts off hectic and you’re thankful for it this once. you could use the chaos of organizing an event to take your mind off things. a small part of you wonders if jeonghan was being merciful by letting you down and timing it so well. knowing him, that doesn’t seem so impossible.

you feel better than you’d imagined you would. you cried like once since the rejection. you didn’t need to worry much at this point, having realizing that it was less important that you’d made it out to be. mingyu, on the other hand, doesn’t give up his worrying, especially when he doesn’t see you until three days into the week. and that, too, because he gave up and thought it would be a good idea to invade your room, at one in the night.

his knocking wakes you up fairly quickly, since you’d only put your phone down a few minutes ago. you rush to the door, afraid of waking kazuha up. “what the fuck, mingyu?” you ask at the sight of him.

“what the fuck yourself! stop ignoring my messages maybe?”

you groan, stepping outside your room, feeling the cold air hit you in your night clothes. “why’d you have to confront me so late at night? can we do this tomorrow? when i’m coherent and not half-naked?”

mingyu falter as if he just realized the time, noticing your tank top and shorts. “i don’t care. i’ll give you my jacket but we’re doing this right here and right now.”

you sigh, knowing this was coming. “forget it, keep your jacket. i’ll go change and be right back.”

mingyu grabs your arm when you try to go back inside, “how do i know you’re not just gonna leave me here to die?”

“dude, my room’s right here. you can come watch me change if you fucking want.”

he lets you go, flustered when you offer and you laugh as you rush back in. in the darkness, kazuha’s voice startles you, “y/n? is everything okay? are you being abducted?”

“oh god, zuha, you scared me. and no, it’s just stupid little mingyu who wants to have a talk. i’ll settle this. go back to sleep.”

she groans, “god, you guys are just like my parents sometimes.”

you laugh at that as you slip into a hoodie and exchange your shorts for pajamas. when you return, mingyu’s sitting at the stairs in front of your room and you hit him in the back.

“ouch! fuck you!” he stands up with a glare, “also i heard what you said about me. why am i stupid and little? can you just choose one insult?"

“let’s go down if we’re gonna argue. zuha can hear us, too. and did you hear what she said after that?” when he seems clueless, you go on, “she said we remind her of her parents sometimes.”

he coughs, “her parents?? what are we, married?”

you roll your eyes, “married and sick of each other, apparently.”

“being zuha’s parents doesn’t sound so bad honestly. she’d be the easiest child to raise.”

“i feel like zuha would raise you if you were her father,” you laugh, “me too, probably.”

“who’d be the father then?”

your smile falls when an answer occurs to you, you mumble, “jeonghan,” sitting at a bench outside your dorm. mingyu joins you, equally solemn now.

“did something happen between you two?”

“yeah. he rejected me when we went shopping that day.”

mingyu’s eyes widen, “what? you confessed?”

you shake your head, a strained smile, “he already knew. i guess i was obvious, but it’s still driving me insane that he rejected me without even giving me a chance to confess.”

“i can’t believe he did that. that’s conceited as fuck.”

“conceited or impressive, i can’t decide. but he told me likes kazuha and that he’s sorry. i genuinely wanted to die when he said that. he was cool about breaking my heart, too. lowkey fell a little harder for him.” you laugh at your own joke, but mingyu looks unhappy, jaw clenched like he’d tasted something bitter.

you hit his arm, “it’s not a big deal, dude. i was thinking about it the past few days and i realized i barely knew the guy. i just knew what he told me over the last year.”

after a pause, “and he’s one beautiful man, so there was that.” you smile a little.

“but he didn’t have to do it like that. he could just stop flirting with you, you know, or wait for you to come around and confess like a normal person,” mingyu says, “he’s such a little jerk.”

“hey, it’s okay, a little flirting didn’t hurt anyone.”

“yeah but he was leading you on, leaving you in ambiguity by doing that. he should’ve been flirting with kazuha, not you.”

“okay, now that’s starting to hurt,” you whine, pressing your forehead against his shoulder, “but i can’t really blame him, no? kazuha’s so precious.”

“don’t be like that, y/n.”

“what? be like what?” you look up, “didn’t you also used to be into kazuha?”

mingyu bites his lip when you bring his years-old crush up, “when will you forget about that? that was so long ago and it was barely serious. she’s too nice to be my type.” (what does that even mean? you wonder but don't have the time to ask.)

“sure, you didn’t want to change residence halls to be closer to her?”

“alright, how many times do i tell you that i did that because of you? why do you never believe me?”

“it just makes more sense the other way,” you mumble, suddenly feeling teary-eyed and hating that you were feeling teary-eyed, which only intensified the teariness in your eyes. “god, this is stupid.”

mingyu’s arm is around in no time when he notices you curling up, your lip tucked between your lips in anticipation, “hey, hey, c'mon, i thought you said it wasn't a big deal. so how come you're crying?"

“because! i feel lame. and because kazuha’s perfect, by the way. she’d probably cry too if she knew i was crying.”

he pulls you closer, “you’re not lame, y/n. you think i’d keep you around so long if i didn’t think you were insanely cool?”

you breathe through your tears, “you just keep me around because i’m insane?”

“insanely cool! open your ears, idiot.”

“you just called me an idiot. idiots are pretty lame.”

he sighs when he feels his tshirt get damper, your body so weak under his hold. he pats your hair softly, “sorry, that’s not what i meant. but seriously, y/n, you know i’m bad at saying this stuff but i seriously cannot stress enough how highly i think of you.” his hand moves to rub your back, “and you’re so much more than perfect, you know? like sometimes you don’t do a paper till three hours before and still get an A. and then, you come up with comebacks to my arguments in your own unique ways, and trust me, nobody can argue with me like you do.”

you pull away, “all right, now you’re embarrassing me. why do i sound like a bossy nerd or something?”

“you can be that at times. hey, but you forgot the part where you’re hot as shit. and also pretty.”

“i feel like that last part was an afterthought, mingyu,” you bite back a laugh, “you really only keep me around for my tits, don’t you?”

“dude, can you let me wholesome for once? i’m trying to console you, so would you stop playing devil’s advocate?”

“sorry, i’m just,” you hesitate with a heavy sigh and then, you blurt out, "i’m scared i’ll never fall in love. i’ll never find it at all.”

“now that’s some stupid thoughts you’re having,” mingyu shakes you by the shoulders, “you’ve just been blinded by your crush on jeonghan for so long that you haven’t explored anyone else at all.”

“are you volunteering to be my crush right now?” you ask, jokingly.

mingyu’s smirk catches you off-guard, “what if i am? it wouldn’t be the worst thing if i was your boyfriend.”

you feel yourself heating up a little for some reason, head in a daze from his earlier shower of compliments and now this. so instead of trying to make sense of it all, you press yourself into him in a hug. “yeah, it wouldn’t.”

—

“hoshi, you little shit!” you throw yourself around the guy when you spot him on the night of the flea market, the product of a long and actually insane week. he laughs when he realizes it’s you, pulling you into a hug, “bro, y/n, why is this my first time seeing in you in literal years?”

“i don’t know, i just kinda see you walking around sometimes. maybe if you actually showed up to econ class, i’d see you more.”

hoshi flinches, “you can’t be bringing econ up right now. that class is kicking my ass. i can’t keep showing up to that kind of humiliation.”

the two of you catch up at last, as people swarm around the different stalls set up along the college street. you were relieved after having finished this damn event. cheers to sleep, right?

hoshi tells you all about his new situationship with a guy in another class and how he’s regretting inviting him to the party tomorrow night. “why? believe it or not, people are more fun when drunk.”

hoshi rolls his eyes, “yeah, well, i couldn’t get any more fun. so instead i become incontrollable. an absolute animal.”

“right, i remember that. so you’re scared you’re gonna drive him off? i wouldn’t worry honestly. and if you want, i can keep you in check.”

he narrows his eyes in distrust, “you? you’re not much better than me drunk, okay? i feel bad for mingyu who’s gonna have to take care of you the whole time.”

you gasp, “wow, you’re taking mingyu’s side now? over mine? i thought we had something special.”

“you thought wrong,” comes mingyu out of nowhere, slinging his arm around hoshi’s shoulders.

“why are you here suddenly?” hoshi looks between the two of you, “i couldn’t not come to an event my lovely y/n herself planned, could i?”

hoshi laughs, “nice to see you two as jolly as ever. but also i must take your leave. i gotta go grab dinner soon.”

“hey, why don’t you come with us? we were gonna check out the new outlet the college opened.”

“oh, i would love to but i have plans with someone already.”

you nod your head in realization, “right of course, have fun. not too much, though. leave some for tomorrow.” he leaves with a full-toothed smile and you face mingyu.

he playfully pinches your cheek, “you confront him about missing us yet?”

you raise a shoulder in response, and as the flea market starts to fizzle out thanks to the darkening sky, your stomach grumbles. “let’s eat, please.”

ever since that night— you don’t want to say anything had changed between you and mingyu because your friendship had been long enough that even the slightest shift in dynamics would harmoniously just become the new status quo; the two of you had been through a lot together. but ever since that night, you’d been fooling around with him more, if that was possible.

it was along the lines of: less banter, more flirting? although one might argue that the former was just a derivative of the other. but semantics aside, this is what you know to be true: friends flirt with each other all the damn time.

that’s what you’re telling yourself when mingyu asks you to feed him some of the fried rice you’d gotten on your plate. and it was true: you’re almost a 100% certain that you’d flirted with every friend of yours, and that was just how it worked.

but intimacy came differently to everyone and mingyu’s just manifested in clinginess. he was pressed to your side for the entirety of dinner, and you couldn’t complain about the proximity. it was welcome, even, this form of friendship.

“you’re thinking too hard.” mingyu’s voice pulls you out of your little reflection session. “what’re you even thinking about? you should be all burnt out from all the work you did this past week.”

“i am,” you affirm, “but some things just don’t let up.”

he chuckles, patting your head affectionately as if to persuade your thoughts to let up for a while. it doesn’t help really, only gravitating the direction of the said thoughts toward kim mingyu even more.

“maybe repetition isn’t as bad as i always make it out to be,” you say, chin propped up against your fist on the table. mingyu had chosen a corner table of the newly opened eatery, next to a low window that glowed behind you in the remains of sunset as he shifted to completely face you. the sun had finally set. again.

“you’re right. routine is good for people.”

“but it doesn’t have to stay the same forever, you know?”

“hm?” mingyu can’t help but feel like you’re edging toward some underlying topic. you were like this since he could remember: you’d start off with some abstract and vaguely relevant concept (that had no doubt been plaguing you for a long time) and slowly circle around till he caught onto what you meant. you love playing games with him.

“repetition doesn't have to be redundant? i think there's something more subtle about it.”

he doesn’t know where you’re going with this, “but repetition is literally the same thing over and over?”

“yeah, but the ‘same thing’ itself can evolve,” your fingers knock against his, “i don’t know, i was just thinking about… us.”

“us? i guess we would be a good example of repetition.”

your gaze falls from his to find your hand instead, your fingers wrapping around his wrist until you’ve forced his palm open. his hand in your lap upside down, you pull at the fingers, “yeah, but we’ve changed a lot. for one, we fight a lot less. sometimes when i’m going to tell you a thought, you understand mid-sentence what i mean.”

“yeah, well, that’s what we get for knowing each that long. but really, what’s this about, y/n?” he captures your hand in his expertly, pulling your attention back to his face.

“do you ever think we should be more?”

mingyu breathes a laugh at that, a shiver running down his spine when he spots the solemn look on your face. and then, his smile turns grave. “y/n, we’ve talked about this before, haven’t we?”

“have we? every time i’m the one who brings it up and you kinda just shrug it off. no, don’t even try to argue with me. you shrug the serious stuff off. always.”

it’s true, mingyu admits in defeat, mind racing as he considers why you’re bringing this up now. the answer is easy: you were finally available. but he doesn’t say it out loud, like he never does. you’d confronted him about the state of your friendship before, unafraid to wonder out loud what it would be like if you started dating. you’ve received all forms of shut-downs from mingyu before so you figured you were the only one in an ambiguous place about your feelings for him.

if someone was to ask if you like mingyu, you’d probably say yes, but it’s more than that. you know better than to blindly fall for him. witnessing him in his relationships before, you know he can be ruthlessly cold to his partner once he’s out of love. you practice romantic love for mingyu: carefully because too much would definitely be dangerous.

“i have my reasons, y/n.” there it is. the strict mingyu. the rigidity in setting his boundaries was something you admired and aspired for when he exhibited it in the past. right now, you want to punch him.

you’re without a filter with him so it’s unfair when he treats you like this. you let him know as much: “i want to punch you right now. i’ve hidden nothing from you, and yet, there’s this wall you keep yourself behind. is this really one-sided?”

mingyu doesn’t know what to do with you right now, “y/n, why are you—”

“no, because it's not like i can't take a hint. so one minute you're flirting with me and then, you push me away like right now,” you point to his estranged fingers, “but then you act like nothing happened and go right back to being all intimate and touchy.”

“i just…” mingyu lets out an exasperated sigh, “i just don’t see the reason for labels. why do we have force ourselves into a restriction like that? we’ve always been above conforming.”

it’s your turn to sigh heavy enough your head hits the wall behind you. wasn’t this just his way of friend-zoning you back into silence? you’ve always been too embarrassed to push him this far because you don’t mean to hurt him. but you feel as though you’ve hurt yourself long enough now.

“so why’d you say that the other night? that it would be nice if you were my boyfriend?”

this leaves him speechless for a few beats and you continue, “that was just because i was heartbroken from jeonghan? you’re playing prince charming for me so i can go back to being your trusty little best friend?”

“y/n, you know that’s not true. i’m not playing anything in your life. i’m just being myself.”

you scoff, “you really are so fucking—”

“why are we actually fighting right now?” mingyu asks through an incredulous laugh, “this is actually so petty, dude, let’s stop. you know i love you, right?”

mingyu’s last resort makes its presence: a non-committal i love you. because at the end of the day, you’re still best friends. what was a little ‘i love you’ in today’s economy? nothing. especially when you’d hear him throw the phrase around all the time.

you stand up in defeat, “fine, let’s stop. you win.” you gesture for him to move to the side and he does so reluctantly when you glare at him like you’re genuinely mad. (you are.)

he follows you out the door, catching your elbow to slow you down. “don’t be like this. i know you’re mad at me.”

“i’m not mad. i'm tired and i just want to go back to my room,” you seethe, walking faster than him. he grabs hold of your shoulder turning you around.

“if you’re gonna storm off, at least go the right way.” you huff softly and let him steer you the right way to your dorm, hands still on you. you spend the way to the front of your room silently, waiting for mingyu to say something but he just does what he does best: take care of you.

as you reach the door of your room, he pauses, apologetic smile on display. “listen, let’s talk more tomorrow? get some sleep.” he reaches for your hair, tenderly running his fingers through the locks. there it is: the soft mingyu, his eyes wide as he stares you down for signs of stress.

his warm arm pressed againsts yours, you realize you don’t want him to just leave. you know the drill: tomorrow morning, he’ll text you to meet for lunch and everything will go back to being unsaid. maybe he’ll bring along seungcheol so you don’t bring anything up again. either way, it’ll be so natural you’ll think nothing ever happened. but you want something to happen.

so your hand settles around his bicep to hold on and partly to keep him in place. you lean in, “let me do one last thing and if you want to stop, i’m never bringing this up again. i promise.”

you don’t give mingyu a moment to react to your words and instead raise yourself up to his level, other hand on his chest, and press your lips to his. you kiss mingyu after the thirteen years that you’ve known him and the ten that you’ve wanted to. you counted the years just as you count the seconds that it takes for him to come to his senses and pull himself away.

he looks less upset than you imagined: more dazed. like he can’t believe what you’ve done. he looks at you with his lips parted and you have to tear your gaze apart, lest you should tear yourself apart with longing.

“y/n, i…” he looks away and that’s enough evidence you need. you step away from him, your easy smile back in its place, not before you pat his arm as it falls from you.

“it's okay. i understand. let’s be friends, mingyu,” you declare suddenly, catching him off-guard. you'd pulled all the stops and if he genuinely was uncomfortable with pushing the line between platonic and romantic, you would respect that.

he begins to say something but you don’t want to hear him speak, at least not right now when the sound of blood rushing to your head is the loudest it's ever been, and you certainly don’t want to falter again. you’ve decided. “good night."

—

mingyu should feel relieved. he really should be happy that you’re back to normal around him, friendly and playful like you’ve always been. he should count his blessings that you’ve accepted the status of your relationship with him as it is. but as he falls asleep that night, all that comes to his mind is the smile you’d sported as you asked to be friends.

it was all wrong: your lips against his, that was something of his dreams, not a reality he has to be escaping from. it replays in his head, your scent that he’d caught a whiff of now and then, whenever you’d wrap your arms around him. the heat of your skin he’d rationalize as the comforting presence of a friend for days later.

he’ll soon come to know how insanely stupid he’s being right now but until you knock some sense into him, he simply plays along with a sting he hides pretty well. he should, he’s been doing it for years now.

it’s the night of hoshi’s party already and he’s walking over to the location of the pregame, alone because according to a text fifteen minutes ago, you’re still not ready. you’d invited yunjin and some other friends to your and kazuha’s abode to apparently make the process easier, but if mingyu knows anything about the group, you’ve probably spent more time selecting the right song to play than get ready.

the door to dino and hoshi’s shared residence is already open as he strolls in, finding a group already on the floor, taking shots. he makes eye contact with jeonghan who beckons him closer and mingyu takes a seat next to him.

space is scarce so mingyu finds his arm pressed uncomfortably close to jeonghan’s, who oohs at mingyu’s fit, “ooh, you look positively sexy.”

mingyu grimaces, “do you have to put it like that?” he does look … positively sexy, mingyu admits, in the navy blue shirt he wore but— and here’s the punchline— with the buttons undone all the way to right above his navel.

“where’s y/n, by the way?” jeonghan asks, an eye at the entrance as he slides a shot glass toward mingyu. the question irks mingyu for obvious reasons and he keeps him waiting for a minute, waiting to down the liquid in glass (vodka unfortunately for his throat) to answer him. “um, she’s still getting ready. any minute now.”

“ha, that means she’ll be another ten. that’s a shame, i was hoping to pour her first shot.” jeonghan shrugs resentfully.

maybe the alcohol’s working faster since it’s been a while for mingyu, but his mouth runs faster than his head, “why’d you care? i thought you asked kazuha out a while ago.”

jeonghan raises a brow at that, “hmm. i did. but things did not work out so well. what with kazuha feeling guilty about y/n and… well, i also…”

“feel guilty?” mingyu asks, voice strained. he’s annoyed at having to listen to jeonghan’s side of the story. he could not care less about humanizing him and whatnot. he’s watched you suffer for far too long to be empathetic right now.

“yeah. and i thought i might like y/n, too, after all.” jeonghan says it so casually as if discussing his performance in a particularly challenging college course, not his feelings for a person who he’d recently rejected.

the word might pierces mingyu’s ears. the uncertainty behind it is in such stark contrast to his own… feelings toward you that he genuinely feels his breath heat up.

or maybe that’s just jeonghan when he leans over to refill his glass. “drink up, buddy.” mingyu’s just about ready to make a scene right now, shoving jeonghan’s hand off his back but suddenly jeonghan’s standing up, making his way to—

you. you’re here.

almost as soon as he catches sight of you, he looks away, pretending to give the vodka in his hand all the attention in the world, as he puts his lips to it and empties it. head is now light. that’s probably enough for now, he decides as he puts his glass down.

when he looks back up, you’re at the kitchen counter with yunjin and kazuha.. and jeonghan, who’s grinning as he hands out the bottles of fireball to the group, no doubt marketing it so convincingly that you’d think you came up with the idea yourself.

mingyu shoots to his feet, regretting it when his vision darkens but he pushes past, eyes focused on your figure— god, he forgot how hot you look in that dress. he tries to keep his thoughts in check as he approaches you, but it doesn’t help that your makeup’s even more meticulous than usual, eyes glittering and lips delightfully glossy.

he breaks into the space between you and jeonghan, arm against yours, catching your attention.

“my guy!!” you exclaim when you see him and then your eyes trail down to his chest and then back up to his face where his hair sits parted with the help of some gel. “you look like a slut. i love it.”

mingyu laughs, subjecting you to a similar once-over, “you’re one to talk.” your hair’s back in a bun of sorts, a rare occurrence because you seem to prefer have it around your face. he can’t help but pause at your exposed collarbones, the gold shadow you applied there earlier doing wonders to his already dazed headspace.

“is it already that part of the night where mingyu starts hitting on everyone?” yunjin complains, reserving the alternate version of her question (something along the lines of how impolitely he’d been eye-fucking you in front of everyone) for some other time as she nudges you to open the fireball in your hands.

you do so, looking at jeonghan who offers one to mingyu, which he refuses as he leans against the counter, hand silently at your back just in case. “you’re not drinking?” you ask, quietly enough only for the two of you, just in case he wasn’t comfortable sharing.

“nah, i just had two shots of vodka back there. trying not to mix for the sake of me tomorrow,” he mutters, patting your back encouragingly, “but let me know if you need help finishing that.”

jeonghan eyes mingyu on the side as the trio clink their bottles together and get to downing them. later, as things start picking up and more people make their way into the party, mingyu finds your arm. “do you want me to stay close by?” he frames the question in a way that you have an out, because he can tell that you’re still unhappy with him.

but you’re tipsy when your hand interlocks into his, “only if you’re going to dance like you mean it.”

the night goes better than you expect it to, especially since mingyu’s let loose for once. or perhaps… he’s always this carefree when drunk, palms kneading at your waist, keeping you close to his chest, which you try your best to not get too used to touching. he sure knows how to keep you on your toes (sometimes literally) even when wasted because you’re trying not to get too close. for you own sake.

that is until hoshi shows up beside you two, pulling you apart as he introduces you to a friend.. or a partner? you can’t hear in this state and just as you try to lean in closer to hear what he’s saying, you feel a presence at your shoulder, fingers poking you.

you turn to find jeonghan behind you, sloppy smile on his face as he screams something at you. you frown, asking him to repeat himself, hand on his bicep to steady yourself against the movement of the party.

“need to talk to you about something!” his words come at you, clearer. “right now?” you shout back, “what the fuck is it?” your body doesn’t want to stop moving so you groove against his side, and momentarily catching a glimpse mingyu’s heavy gaze on you. you almost completely stop then but jeonghan’s pulling you away, after him to a relatively emptier zone of the house.

you’re breathless, you realize, now that the spell of the music’s been broken. you rest against the damp wall behind you, uncaring as you look around for a liquid to quench your thirst. cunning as ever, jeonghan’s already handing you a plastic cup with a transparent liquid.

you narrow your eyes at him despite how wasted you are. “what’s this?”

he laughs, “i’m glad you’re vigilant as ever. this is water. cold. drink up.”

you comply, your throat throbbing ever so lesser after you’re done and you sigh in relief. “you might have broken my heart but you’re still an angel, jeonghan.”

“ahhh,” he exclaims joining your side against the wall. you frown when you take note of his fingers clasped together, almost fidgeting. yoon jeonghan, fidgety? that’s a first for you.

“actually, that’s what i wanted to talk to you about…”

when mingyu looks away from hoshi and his company to see if you were listening and when he finds out that you’re in fact in jeonghan’s embrace, he’s suddenly sober. and when your eyes find his for a moment, something in them changes and he calls out your name like a warning. but then jeonghan’s already leading you elsewhere.

mingyu wants to follow after you immediately but he realizes hoshi’s still talking to him. “hoshi, bro, can i find you in a while? i gotta make sure y/n’s okay.”

but hoshi stops him in his tracks, hand on his chest, “wait. please tell me you told her…?” he trails off uncertainly as mingyu catches on what he’s saying.

“i haven’t,” he admits, eyes still searching the crowd for you, “but i think it’s time that i do. only so much i can take.”

“that’s the spirit, man! okay, now go kiss y/n for me.” hoshi pushes mingyu with a start, not before the the latter shoots the man a glare and takes off in his search for you.

you’re still in that corner with jeonghan, who’s done narrating the past week’s revelations to you, all about his failed attempts with kazuha and his slow understanding of his real feelings about you. you’re far more unaffected that either of you was expecting, arms crossing in thought.

but then you say, “well, that’s fucking stupid. because i’ve realized i wasn’t as down bad for you as i once thought i was.” jeonghan’s smile falls a little with a disappointed sigh. “but,” you continue, “you know what i’m still curious about?”

when your hand creeps up jeonghan’s shoulder, he thinks he knows where you’re going with this. “i’ve wanted know if you’re really as good at kissing as everyone makes you out to be.” jeonghan’s already moving closer to you, enveloping your face in his hands, and his devilish grin’s spills out as his lips find your ear. “let’s find out?”

and that’s how mingyu finds you wrapped around jeonghan, making out like this was your last day living. and for a moment, he considers giving up and letting you have this. he even stops in his tracks in the crowd, his thoughts so easily drowned out by the music if he just lets go.

but his mind’s reeling when the sight of you kissing someone else just pushes him back a day ago when you were leaning up into him, soft breaths risking your lips against his and the way your body pressed into his just right. his feet move without a thought, then, shouldering through the bodies around the two in the corner.

you’re just pulling away from jeonghan to start to say something about how that wasn’t too bad when his body is lifted away from yours with an unannounced jerk. you gasp and then once again when mingyu’s face comes floating in front of yours.

“mingyu,” you breathe, unsteady from the series of events this past minute, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“what the fuck are you doing?!” he screams in your face, hands on both arms to keep you from moving. jeonghan’s walking to your side and you want to say something to apologize but you’re far too infuriated with the man in front of you to think.

“i don’t know! trying to get laid? finding happiness? love?!” you scream back with as much force. you call out jeonghan’s name, “i’m sorry. mingyu’s too drunk to—”

“jeonghan,” warns mingyu when the guy tries to break you free from his embrace, “can i have a minute with y/n.” it isn't a question.

jeonghan has the nerve to say, “maybe not. i wouldn’t leave you alone with her in this state.”

“oh, she’ll be just fine,” he replies and jeonghan simply looks at you for confirmation. but you’re still looking at mingyu, starting to tear up, head throbbing all at once. you stop fighting against his grip and mumble in defeat, “whatever.”

“if you’re going to lecture me about being bad, i don’t really want to hear it.” you’re back next to the kitchen counters with mingyu beside you. slowly, you sit yourself up on the surface, feeling exhausted. “i’ve heard it before.”

“no, that’s not what i’m doing. i just want you to stop and think clearly—”

you groan when you hear the beginnings of a typical you’ll regret this in the morning type talk, you slide off the counter and to your delight, you run into a guy holding up a can of beer for the taking. you’re quick to jump at it, grabbing it up from him and pulling the tab of the can open. just as you put the beer to your lips, ready to chug it, you feel it being pulled away, the next few moments occuring before you can comprehend anything.

suddenly you’re sitting back on the counter and your dress rides up when you feel mingyu push himself in between your legs. at first, you see his face close on yours and then the taste of beer meets your throat. no, it’s not just beer— it’s mingyu. his tongue spills onto yours, beer mixing with saliva and when you try to pull away, his hand at your neck tightens. you sit up straight and you feel his watch digging into your spine.

your head spins when you can finally breathe, inhaling only to cough out. heart in your throat, you look at mingyu in disbelief, “what the fuck!” but he’s already taking another sip of the beer and some of it slides down your throat into your dress, when his mouth finds yours again.

you’re weak in his arms, and the heat between your legs is only so rational. so you find yourself giving in and kissing him back when the liquid runs out, nails finding his scalp, earning you a deep groan that vibrates against your chest. that’s when he pulls away again, eyes finally meeting yours with an unprecedented intensity.

he leans in again, wet kiss against your cheek, followed by a grunted whisper of, “i love you so fucking much, y/n. it’s so hard to watch you run around with other men.”

you want to think you’re hearing things but mingyu doesn’t let you, another kiss right in the nape of your neck that sends shudders down your back. “i want to be yours so fucking bad. want to spoil you like you deserve.”

you swallow against the moan that rises in your throat, to pull mingyu’s face back to your eye-level, “then why aren’t you mine? why’d you push me away?” your voice breaks, betraying the pretense of indifference you try to prop up. his eyes soften, fingers brushing against your forehead.

his lips quiver and he sighs defeatedly. it’s a miracle you can hear him with all that noise around you. but you hear him clear as day against your hair when he finally says, “i’m scared. of loving you too much, of being too much. and i’m scared of losing you.”

mingyu’s imagined telling you these exact words before and how you’d react to them infinite times before but when you giggle into his collarbone, he pulls away with a blank look. your forehead is against his all over again and for the second time night you say, “that’s fucking stupid! if you were going to lose me, it would’ve happened a while ago.”

of all the things he’d imagine you saying in response, this was the simplest option, so unlike your usual overthinking self. maybe it’s the alcohol and adrenaline in your system speaking but mingyu somehow feels comforted, because maybe it really is that simple. it would’ve happened if it was going to. or maybe mingyu’s too drunk to make sense of it all right now.

so his lips are moving against yours once again, without warning, your breath all his when his arms tighten once against around you. you’re laugh grounds him enough to break away. you open your mouth to complain about the distance when mingyu’s back against your skin.

“shut the fuck up,” he groans, the command making you hotter than you’d like to admit. your legs close around his ass, pulling him closer and his hand slips across your boobs. the friction of his palm against the tight fabric of your dress makes you let out an undignified moan into mingyu.

that’s when he knows he needs to take you to somewhere more private for reasons more than one. you’re too lightheaded to move yourself so mingyu’s carrying out the house without a word anyone you two came with. it’s only when the cold air hits you that you realize you’re outside.

you struggle against mingyu until you're back on your feet and stop. “where are we going? i’m— do i know you, mister guy?” for a second, mingyu’s heart sinks when he wonders if you thought you were just making out with a stranger. then, you say, “i need to go back and find mingyu. gotta kiss him.”

ignoring the blush that colors his face, he grabs hold of your elbow, “i am mingyu, idiot. and we’re going to my room.” you shake your head to clear your vision, eyes widening when you recognize him. your hand finds his face with a light laugh, “ah! it’s my big guy.” the name doesn’t help mingyu’s condition at all, so he’s pulling you after him faster than before.

back at the party, kazuha starts panic when she realizes she’s lost hold of you, unable to locate you anywhere within the party. she tugs at yunjin’s sleeve who looks over in concern, “what happened to y/n? i can’t find her anywhere.” yunjin laughs at that, covering her mouth with her hand. “don’t worry about her. i saw her and mingyu leave together earlier. she’s probably in heaven by now, if i’m right.”

“hmm?” kazuha pauses as a thought pops up into her head, “wait… did they…?” yunjin grins knowingly, “yup. it really was high time they fucked.” the former lets out a satisfied giggle, “i know. they were so obvious without even being together. i was getting tired.”

“you were getting tired?!” you gasp at mingyu later in the night, panting against his pillow. you’re on your back and he throws you a tshirt of his to sleep in now that your dress is… demolished. you look at it sadly out of the corner of your eye. “i really liked that dress,” you whine, as he picks the remains of it up with a somewhat smug grin, “planned to wear it out again.”

“i couldn’t risk that. you looked too good in it,” he chuckles to himself as he jumps into bed with you. you sit up, feigning anger as you slip the cotton over your head, warming up when the smell of mingyu greets you. “i don’t know if i could resist seeing your tits out like that.”

you hit his chest hard with a lighthearted scoff, “i knew it! you’re such a pervert. not just a pervert, you’re also a brute.” you groan as you rub your thighs together gingerly. mingyu props himself up, pulling you down into a hug, rubbing your back. “sorry, does it hurt a lot?”

“it’ll hurt more in the morning,” you relax in his arms, pressing a loving kiss into his hair, “should’ve known you went so rough. asshole.” you giggle when he pulls away in disbelief at the last insult.

“how could you—!” you roll away from him, laughing. he shifts closer, caging you against the wall behind you, “hey, you can’t say stuff like fuck i knew you’d have a big dick and then expect me to go all vanilla! do you know what that does to a guy?”

you shriek in embarrassment, “don’t bring that up now!” your ears redden when mingyu forces you by the chin to look up at him. “besides, where do you think the nicknames like big gyu and big guy came from?”

mingyu’s jaw falls open at the revelation and you break out into a fit of laughter at his mindblown expression. “how- how long have you been thinking about my di-”

you hit him to stop him, “ever since you kept pushing me away,” you run a hand down his side, sly grin on your swollen lips, “and i had to come up with something if i wanted to get myself off alone.”

with an exasperated groan, he falls against you, suffocating you as his body goes limp above yours. you let out a gasp when you feel him hardening against your leg and he speaks into your neck, “you’re seriously telling me i’ve been missing out on taking you like this for… for how long now?”

you kiss his cheek, hand slipping down his boxers with a soft exhale, “a while. and if you hadn’t come to your senses today… well, i’d all but given up on you today. when jeonghan kissed me, i was just going to—”

suddenly your breath escapes you, mingyu’s hand around your throat and his lips on yours with a loud grunt. he stops your hand in its movements, “please tell me you’re not talking about jeonghan while— fuck!” he gasps when you bite his lower lip to protest his hand on yours. his hand gives way and you’re palming the tent in his boxers again, pushing him down against the bed, so thankful he doesn’t have a rooommate in times like this.

you place a kiss at the corner of his lips and trail down his chest, shirt long gone, before muttering, “forgive me?”

—

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

i really want to write a more wholesome ending but have not the time or energy right now, so i'll be back with a shorter spin-off/ epilogue of sorts about how you and mingyu as a couple work out, how your friends react, some skinship, etc.

anyway, this is my official announcement that i've become a baby carat :] didn't know how much i was missing out on before svt so this is very fun. so far, jeonghan's my favorite little guy, although as is clear from this... mingyu makes me do things. on the roster are: minghao and joshua. hopefully there will be more svt fics in the future. no promises <3 goodbye friends and foes!!

working for the knife: chapter 11

chapter 11: pal-entine's day (link) Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Sister of Sin OC Rating: this fic is explicit. 18+ only, minors do not interact. this chapter also has a nsfw-ish drawing that I won't be including on Tumblr, so head to AO3 and read the chapter there if you want to see it 👀 Chapter word count: 4.8k Tags: Valentine's Day, Pal-entine's Day, completely platonic dinner, sex dreams, coming in pants (hehe) Read the entire work on AO3 here! (link)

Copia lays on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He’s paralyzed with indecision, and he keeps stealing glances at his phone next to him, willing Cecilia to text him first. He’d squandered every chance he had today to ask his question in person, wracked with a buzzy nervousness from the moment he woke up, and now, texting is his last chance.

He rolls over and grabs his phone from the pillow it rests on, holding it over his face. Opening up the messaging app and tapping Cecilia’s name feels like swimming against the current. He shouldn’t be this nervous, because he’s just asking her to come over to his apartment tomorrow for dinner. As a friend. A work friend. A work friend he definitely has feelings for, whose tongue he sucked into his mouth very recently. On Valentine’s Day. Fuck.

[7:52pm:] hi :-) do u have plans tomorrow tonight?

He presses send and fights the urge to throw his phone across the room. Before he has a chance to do so, his screen lights up with three little dots, and then a response from Cecilia.

[7:52pm:] No, I don’t think so! Just dinner with you. What’s up?

[7:53pm:] do u want to come over after work? at like 7? I’d like to make u dinner. As a friend.

[7:53pm:] A work friend.

[7:53pm:] but a real friend too :-)

Send. Copia groans and squeezes his eyes shut. What an absolute, unmitigated disaster this is turning out to be. She’s going to say no, he just knows it, and he feels incredibly stupid for even asking. His phone chimes, and he dreads picking it up, dreads reading Cecilia’s response, because he knows she’s going to say no, and -

[7:54pm:] yes sure! Sounds fun! Any occasion? Can I bring anything?

Oh. She must not realize that tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. Thank you, Unholy Father. It’s not even on her radar. He heaves a sigh of relief.

[7:54pm:] it’s valentines day! but we can make it… pal-entines day :-) hehe

[7:55pm:] oh! The days are blending together for me. That sounds so nice. I’ll see you tomorrow for Pal-entine’s Day.

[7:55pm:] I’ll see u tomorrow night. and also during the day for work. and also for breakfast? buona notte sleep tight!!

[7:55pm:] breakfast as usual sounds great. Good night Copia 😌

Copia is absolutely giddy. He’s been trying so hard to chip away at Cecilia, and this feels like a lowering of her walls or a lifting of the curtain, no matter how slight. He’s willing to forgo the promise of any kind of romantic involvement as long as it means getting to know her. Even when their conversations veer toward a vulnerable place, Cecilia feels remote. Deep down, he knows it’s not about him, but he still so desperately wants her to let him into her heart.

He hops off his bed to wander into the kitchen. It’s small but it gets the job done, and as lovely as eating with Cecilia has been this past month, he likes having the option to cook, too. Without looking in his pantry, he knows he has the ingredients for penne alla vodka, which is easy enough to make between the end of the workday and the start of their plans. He also knows that Cecilia is a vegetarian; it’s an old college habit that she kept up with because the food at her university’s dining hall made her so violently ill that she swore she would never eat meat again. Is it too romantic, though? He waves the thought away; it’s pasta, he’s Italian, it just makes sense.

Would dessert be overkill? He doesn’t think so. He’s simply being a kind host and cooking a nice dinner for a dear old friend. Nothing more. He cracks open the fridge and finds a few bottles of wine already chilling, which is one less thing to worry about tomorrow. With what he has on hand, he knows he can make chocolate mousse now and let it set in the fridge overnight. Pleased with his plan, he claps his hands together and gets to work. 

--

What felt like the world’s longest workday has finally come to a merciful end, and Cecilia is back in her room, scrutinizing her reflection in the mirror. Is this a date? she wonders, leaning in and reapplying her eyeliner. She hasn’t been on any kind of proper date in years, and the notion feels a little foreign to her now. Thinking about what to wear tonight has been stressing her out all day. Her wardrobe has felt extremely stale lately, consisting mostly of habits in a variety of cuts and lengths, neutral-colored oversized sweaters, and a smattering of business-casual slacks. She also has a dresser full of lazy clothes, but this is not a lazy clothes occasion. She’s thumbing through her hangers, feeling exceptionally boring, when she spots it - a flash of color peaking out through the tans and blacks.

Cecilia grins and pulls the hanger from the rack. She’d almost forgotten she’d brought it with her - one of her prized possessions. A few years back, she splurged and treated herself to a Marimekko linen dress, light pink and splotched with big, blobby crimson flowers. It was professional enough that she could wear it to work, but it felt like such a treat to own something bright and loud and not from H&M. It’s been gathering dust in her closet since her return. Neutrals became her go-to in her teen years, after her mom made an idle comment about color washing her out. You’re pale and blonde, Cecilia, it just doesn’t suit you. Her mother’s words still needle at her, but she tucks them away. The dress is perfect for tonight.

Cecilia puts the dress on and likes what she sees when looks in the mirror; she looks like a field of poppies in bloom, soft and bright. Inspired, she rummages in her small box of cosmetics and pulls out her singular tube of red lipstick. It’s a little cooler, a little pinker; a stunningly beautiful woman at a Sephora told her once that she was a bright winter (whatever that meant) and she should try this shade out. Mesmerized and wholly convinced, she paid more than anyone ever should on a tube of lipstick and never wore it again after she left the store. She smudges the color over her mouth, pressing a tissue to her lips to dab off the excess, and blinks at her reflection in the mirror. Maybe the beautiful Sephora employee was onto something; Cecilia feels like she’s glowing.

In a moment of confidence, she dabs a little lipstick onto her cheeks and blends it out with her fingers. Much to her surprise, she doesn’t look like a clown; she looks pleasantly flushed and rosy and… actually really good. She can’t remember the last time she felt this pretty. Her hands reach behind her neck to unclasp her grucifix necklace, but she decides to leave it on after a second thought. Instead, she finger-combs her hair and picks up her phone to check the time. 6:50pm beams back at her. Cecilia exhales, shivery, and feels butterflies flutter in her stomach. It’s not a date, she tells herself. She can’t bring herself to ask, then why does it feel like one?

Cecilia makes the quick walk from the dormitories to Copia’s apartment in record time. She convinces herself she’s trying to get out of the cold quicker, that’s all. The curtains covering the living room windows are drawn, and a warm glow beams out into the dark night. She knocks on his door, and a muffled "come in, it’s open!" is shouted in reply. She lets herself in and is greeted with the lingering smell of garlic and onions frying in oil. She steps out of her shoes and hangs her purse on the coatrack by the door. He’s tidied up the living room since she was last here; his various piles of paper and collections of trinkets are stowed away out of sight. She pads into Copia’s small kitchen and sees him puttering around, a nonna-looking apron tied around his waist.

"Copia, it smells so good in here!" she says. "What’s on the menu?"

Copia turns to face her and her heart skips. He looks achingly handsome; he’s wearing a black button-down shirt, unbuttoned low enough that curls of his chest hair are peeking through. The freckles that speckle his face drift down over his throat. His gold grucifix necklace, the same one he’s had for ages, catches the light, glinting. His sleeves are rolled up, offering her a glimpse of his firm, hairy forearms. He may as well be poured into his black pants for how tight they hug his thighs. He’s not wearing shoes, walking around the kitchen in black socks patterned with orange jack-o-lanterns.

"Cosí bella, Cecilia," he exclaims, sweeping her into a hug. The uncertainty that seems to plague Copia elsewhere is absent; she can tell that this is somewhere he’s comfortable. "You look so lovely. Have I ever seen you not in black?"

She’s blushing, matching the color of her dress. "Probably not since I’ve been back, no. Or maybe ever? I guess I do wear a lot of black. The whole Sister of Sin thing doesn’t help in that department."

"But you look beautiful no matter what," he replies, only slightly bashful.

"I could say the same for you," she says. She wishes they had the kind of relationship where she could pinch his cute little butt in those deliciously tight pants, but she decides to keep her hands to herself.

Copia kisses her cheek, all sweetness and no heat, and it makes Cecilia blush. How desperately she wants to bridge that gap between friendship and romance; how badly she wants to have it all. The strength of her desire makes her head spin.

"Would you like a glass of wine, topolina?" Copia asks. "Dinner is almost ready. I just need to ah, sauce the pasta."

"That would be lovely. Thank you, Copia. For all of this. I haven’t celebrated Valentine’s Day in probably a decade," Cecilia replies.

"Pal-entine’s Day," responds Copia with a wink. He peels himself away from Cecilia and takes a twirling step over to the fridge. She smiles; she doesn’t think he realizes how endearingly cute he is. He pulls out two glasses and a chilled bottle of red and pours Cecilia a glass. "Please, make yourself at home," he says, handing her the glass.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asks, sitting at his little wooden bistro table in the corner of the kitchen. Her heart catches when she thinks of Copia eating here alone.

Copia hums, considering. "If you wanted to set the table, that would be very helpful," he replies. "Dishes are in that cabinet and utensils are in the drawer below." He gestures over his shoulder behind him as he pours penne into a saucepan simmering on the range.

Cecilia grabs plates and knives and forks and sets them down on the table. There’s a small basket of folded cloth napkins already pushed against the far edge of the table. She feels a bit out of her league; her meals were takeout for years, and with the swift transition into dining hall food, she hasn’t set a table in years. She doesn’t think Copia is the kind to care about proper table setting but feels self-conscious regardless.

Copia steps over to the fridge and takes out a large wooden bowl of salad, setting it in the middle of the table. "Mangia, mangia," he says, smiling. "I made penne alla vodka. I remember that you don’t eat meat. I hope you like it."

Cecilia brings her hand to her heart. "That’s so sweet of you to remember - and to do all of this. I’m so touched, Copia. Truly."

His smile deepens. "Mountain Ghoul has occupied himself in the greenhouse, so the salad is all vegetables he grew. It’s just a green salad - lettuce and herbs and such - but he assured me that it will be delicious. And I made chocolate mousse last night for dessert. Please - get some food."

It’s more than Cecilia could have asked for, and she thinks she might cry. She’s tickled by the thought of Copia melting chocolate over a double-boiler last night and roping Mountain into his sweet scheme sometime today. She piles a small plate high with salad, which is dressed in a simple citronette, and portions saucy red-orange noodles onto the larger plate. Copia pours himself a glass of red, swirling it, and waits for Cecilia to finish serving herself before he does the same.

Cecilia reaches across the table and grasps Copia’s hand - ungloved, she notes. She catches his gaze and while his green eye seems shy, like he wants to look away, the white eye blazes hot. It sends a shiver down her spine, and she crosses her ankles under the table. "Thank you again," she says. "This is so lovely."

She’s looking at him so fondly, and Copia feels his breath catch. "The pleasure is all mine," he replies.

They sit there like that for a moment, hand-in-hand, before the food calls their attention and they begin to eat.

"How was the rest of your day?" Cecilia asks. She toys with the hem of his pants with her foot and doesn’t miss the way Copia blushes.

Copia finishes his bite and sips his wine. "It was okay. Like any other Wednesday, I suppose. This is the highlight of my day, by a long shot." It’s Cecilia’s turn to blush, now. "Do you know what I found out, though?"

"Hmm?" Cecilia hums with interest.

"And I know we do not really care for the the saints, but Saint Cecilia is the patron saint of music. Did you know that?"

"I did, actually," Cecilia replies. "I asked my parents about that one time. I thought it was weird. They said they just liked the name." She shrugs. "I think they were really into Simon and Garfunkel at some point."

Copia laughs. "Breaking my heart, shaking my confidence daily. If she is up there in the great beyond and cares at all about the task at hand for this Satanist, Saint Cecilia a fickle muse."

Cecilia laughs in response. "Songwriting isn’t going well, I take it?"

He frowns slightly. "Not well at all. It feels like there is a big void where inspiration should be, you know? I wish I had someone to ask about this but -" He takes a sip, shakes his head. "But they are not here anymore. I feel sometimes that Sister Imperator set me up to fail." It’s no secret what fate befell the previous three Papas, and it’s clear to Cecilia that Copia is uncomfortable with being the successor to the role after his predecessors met such a gruesome end. "But, eh, let’s not talk about work anymore tonight, okay? This is a night for pals."

"I’ll drink to that. To pals." She offers her glass out to Copia as a toast.

"To pals," he replies. They clink their glasses and continue on with their meal.

They talk and eat and drink. Copia gets on the topic of movies, and he rattles off a list of his favorites, most of which Cecilia has never seen. 

Have you no culture, dolcezza? 

All I did was work for a straight decade. Cut a girl some slack!

More time to spend with you, then. Getting you cultured.

Copia rinses their dinner plates and stacks them in the sink for a proper washing later while Cecilia puts away leftovers and tucks the container away in the fridge. She’s taken by how simply domestic and cozy this is, and her gut twists when she realizes that she could have been missing out on years of this, had things been different. They kill the bottle of wine after they finish dessert, and Copia uncorks a second.

They make their way to the living room. Copia sits on the couch, balancing his wine glass on his knee, and pats the space next to him. Cecilia saunters over and sits next to him, tucking her legs underneath her and curling up against Copia. She feels him go stiff, as if he can’t quite believe what’s happening, before relaxing into the touch. She’s feeling warm and pliant from the wine.

"Copia, I -" she starts. He looks down at her, and she freezes. The words feel heavy in her mouth; it’s been a while since she’s drank, and she’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or her own nerves that are giving her pause. "I know that I’ve been, um, remote. Emotionally remote. Closed off? I’m sorry." It comes out in a rush of words.

"Don’t be sorry," he says, reaching forward and setting his glass on the coffee table.

"I’m bad at this," she admits. "I don’t have much practice."

"We can practice together," Copia replies. "This is a new thing. For you and me."

Cecilia feels like she’s going to cry. She’s not even drunk; she’s just an emotional drinker, which is why she doesn’t do it often. She feels emotional enough already without the warm, uninhibited lull of alcohol in her veins. "It’s just - I feel like you’re going to judge me. If I tell you."

Copia doesn’t need to ask what Cecilia is talking about; the unspoken ending to the sentence is what happened the night I left. "Why would I be judging you?" he asks instead.

Cecilia sighs. "It’s dumb. I feel like you’re going to judge me for what happened, or judge me for not telling you sooner. But it’s hard to talk about."

"I can promise you Cecilia, I won’t judge you." He holds out his pinky, and she hooks hers around it. "It is sealed. The pinky promise is the most sacred ritual of them all."

She giggles. "Thank you," she says simply.

"I’m here when you’re ready," Copia replies.

Cecilia exhales in a warm rush and curls in closer to Copia, resting her head on his shoulder. He kisses the top of her head, soft and sweet. Physically, she feels so safe and so cared for. She wants to beat herself up about that emotional boundary being so hard to cross. "Do you want to watch some trash?" she asks, looking up at Copia through her lashes.

"For you, I will watch trash," he replies with a laugh. Leaning forward carefully, trying not to jostle Cecilia from where she rests against him, he grabs the remote and turns his television on.

Over the sound of housewives fighting with each other, he can hear the gentle rasp of Cecilia snoring. He looks down, feeling his eyes get heavy too, and sees that she’s asleep. He’s not far behind her.

Copia knows he’s dreaming, but the hazy in-between of what’s real and what’s not is hard to discern. Cecilia has roused and has padded from the couch to the kitchen and back again, sipping a glass of room-temperature tap water. She’s wearing that beautiful dress, but it blurs and shifts into a cascade of poppies dripping from her naked body.

Wordlessly, she sets the glass down on his coffee table and drapes herself over Copia. He puts his hand on her hips, and her body feels sun-warmed, soft. A deep sense of contentment washes over him. His mouth goes dry and he swallows, nervous. Cecilia settles her hips down firmly on Copia’s, then rolls herself forward. The action reverberates around them, wavy and resonant like ripples on the surface of a lake. He can feel the press of her heat on his cock, which is quickly getting fat against the seam of his pants, and whines.

"Do you know how long I’ve waited to do this?" she asks in a dreamy, ringing voice that’s not quite her own. She leans in toward Copia’s face, achingly slow, and he shudders bodily when he feels her breath ghost over his mouth. His fingers dig into the meat of her hips, feeling her flesh give pliantly beneath his press. A stuttering exhale leaves his body.

Finally, mercifully, she brings her lips fully to his, and Copia feels like his heart is going to burst through his chest. His tongue darts out and brushes her lips, a request, and she opens her mouth fully against his. He licks against her tongue, her teeth, and the sweetest moan leaves her mouth and vibrates against him. The buzz of it settles into the marrow of his bones. He groans and snakes one hand up to the nape of her neck, grabbing a handful of hair and tugging, exposing the pale column of her throat to him. He moves his mouth down down down, biting, sucking, marking. Blood-red flowers bloom under her skin in his wake. "Mine," he growls.

"Yours," she whimpers, rocking her hips against his, searching for a little relief. Even though his clothes, he can feel that she’s dripping, darkening the crotch of his trousers where her cunt rests. Copia throbs beneath her, achingly hard, but he’s so desperate to take his time with her, touch everything she’s offering him. Maybe, his dream-self thinks, if I tear her open, she’ll let me inside. He longs to lick at the meat of her heart, into the vulnerable, trembling part of her she lets no one see. Merely at the thought of it, he moans.

Through a slow-motion blur of hands, Copia toys with one of her nipples, rolling it under his thumb and teasing it to hardness, while he grasps and suckles at her other small tit, laving, lavish. He switches sides, takes her other nipple between her teeth and bites gently. She makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat, and her hips jerk forward. He can feel her heart fluttering like a small bird in her chest. Her hands are in his hair, tugging enough to sting and mussing it out of its neat, slicked-back style. He knows it’s a dream, but it feels so real. Cecilia is drenched, slick soaking through his pants, and he feels like his dick is fucking up into her, rhythmic and rolling, while she humps him. He can feel her everywhere in him, everywhere around him. It’s dizzying and all-consuming.

As if reading his mind, dream Cecilia whispers, "please fuck me" and stands up, throwing off her cape of flowers and standing fully naked before him. She strips Copia with care, touching every inch of his exposed skin reverently as she removes his clothes. Her fingers caress the slope of his shoulders, the softness of his chest, and the slight curve of his belly as they work their way down. Copia can’t help but pant under her touch. She hooks her fingers under the waistband of his underwear and he shivers. She smiles knowingly before pulling them down and off. His cock stands achingly hard and flushed dark between his legs. "Your freckles are like stars. A constellation," she says, laying herself down face-up on the couch. Her hair is splayed out beneath her like a halo.

"My flower. Cara mia. You’re blooming," Copia says, slotting himself between her legs. She’s so, so wet, drenched down to her inner thighs, and Copia can’t wait to get inside her. He spreads her lips open with the vee of his fingers, and he can see her hard, pretty clit throb in time with her heartbeat. A pearl inside a shell. He dips down and licks her. Her clit twitches under his tongue. She’s swollen and glistening, unfurled for him like the petals of a flower. Copia pulls his face away from the apex of Cecilia’s soft, pale legs. He lines up the head of his cock with her pussy and fucks himself inside. She’s so soft, so hot around him, and he wants to lose himself to her completely. They moan in unison, a harmonic convergence, and Copia lets himself surrender to the billowing feeling of the dream. It’s slow and unhurried, time stretching out before them in a shimmery mirage. Nothing is real except the two of them and where they meet as one. Nothing has ever felt as right as being inside Cecilia.

Dream-Cecilia is moaning his name, cupping her breasts and squeezing around Copia’s cock as he pushes into her. The loveliest wet noises are coming from between her thighs as Copia thrusts, lazy and deep. He licks a stripe across her chest and tastes the hot copper of blood, the salty tang of sweat. "Is this what you wanted?" he asks, panting against her skin.

"Open me up, let yourself in," she sighs, pushing her hips up to meet his pelvis and rocking against him. "You’re inside - so deep inside me -" Her back arches as she moans, Copia knows that his cock must be pressing against that sweet spot inside of her with every thrust of his hips.

"Is that it? Is that the place?" Copia coos, licking into her mouth. "Does that make you feel good?"

"Yes, Copia, please, please, please-" With a gasp, Cecilia’s pussy starts fluttering; the sensation makes his blood hum. She’s so close, and he wants nothing more than to tip her over that sweet edge. She gasps again, and Copia can see tears like dew in the corners of her eyes. 

"Just like that? Are you going to come for me?" he asks, breathless. Cecilia whimpers and nods, arching her back even further off the couch and rolling her hips against Copia. The wave inside her crests and breaks, and she chants Copia’s name like a prayer as she comes. He feels himself becoming undone, the tightly wound thread of his arousal close to snapping. He’s fucking into Cecilia with short shallow snaps of his hips through the rhythmic contractions of her orgasm, gasping and grabbing and panting and possessing and -

"Sathanas!" Copia gasps and feels himself jerk back into his body, snapping his head forward.

Cecilia wakes with a start. Her limps shoot out and her head drops from Copia’s shoulder. "What was that?" she wheezes, heart racing. "Are you okay?"

Copia feels hot and woozy, and he’s suddenly hit with the slimy sensation of cum cooling inside his boxers. Shit. Shit. Did he really just come in his pants like a horny teenager? Mercifully, the living room is dark except for the blue glow of the television and his pants are black, sparing him the shame of being seen like this. Embarrassing.

"Ah - yes. Yes. I am fine," he says, trying to be as natural as possible, scrambling to grab a decorative pillow from the floor and discretely place it over his crotch. "You know - the wine - sometimes it gives me the strangest dreams."

Cecilia huffs a laugh of agreement. "Don’t I know it. It’s been a minute since I’ve drank. I was out cold. Dunno if I dreamt, though." From the television, the low din of a salesman’s enthusiastic voice is advertising a bizarre kitchen appliance on an infomercial. It must be at least midnight. A bitter tannic film sits heavy on her tongue. "Um… I guess I should be going. We do have a normal day ahead of us tomorrow, unfortunately. This was really lovely, Copia. Thank you. I’d… uh… like to come over again for dinner sometime. If you’ll have me." She smiles shyly, stomach twisting with a ruminating anxiety.

"I’ll - eh - I’ll always have you," he replies, not bothering to over-explain what he means. She can decide for herself, and almost any interpretation would be correct.

Cecilia rises to stand, stepping into her shoes. Copia, still feeling the need to not make things awkward, stands up, dropping the pillow back onto the couch as inconspicuously as he can. Again, he says a silent prayer to the Unholy Father, thanking Him for black pants.

He unlocks the door and opens it for Cecilia. She leans in to give him a hug, and he tilts his damp pelvis back and away from her as best he can. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything. He thinks about kissing her full on the mouth but doesn’t act on the desire.

"Thank you," she says again, breaking their embrace and giving him a little wave. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

"Buona notte, Cecilia," Copia replies. He reaches for her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. He’s looking at her with his mismatched eyes, and the heat of arousal pools in her belly. She brings the same hand up to his face, tenderly sweeping her thumb across his cheekbone, before stepping outside and closing the door behind her.