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makeitmingi · 2 days

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Destined To Be A Girl Dad

Genre: Romance, Comedy, Cute, Fluff

Pairing: San x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Mom!Reader, Dad!San, Daughter (Choi Haeun)

Summary: When San found out you were pregnant with a girl, he could not be happier. You knew that she'll have him wrapped around her tiny finger but he'll gladly be a fool for his princess. And from the moment she was born, he prove it to be true.

Word count: 8K

Warning(s): Mentions of bodily fluids, giving birth, medical procedures, postpartum hemorrhage, (y/n)'s very stressed, scared, anxious and overwhelmed.

[A/N: This is a little 'flashback' chapter to when Haeun was born. I came across a lot of parents showing their newborn daughter and the dad's reactions just reminded me of San so much.]

San was rudely woken up by the sunlight that was streaming in through the gap in the curtains. Before he could even wake his brain, he got out of bed and went to close the curtains. He turned to make sure the sun wasn't bothering you. Thankfully, you were still fast asleep, unbothered by the sun.

"I love you." He leaned over to kiss your head, eyes scanning you to make sure you were comfortable and okay.

"San, I'm fine." You mumbled into your pillow, having felt his gaze on you despite being asleep. San chuckled, pressing his forehead against your temple lovingly.

"Just wanted to make sure you're comfy and safe, baby." He kissed your cheek.

"I'm the size of a whale, I don't even know what it's like to be comfortable anymore." You groaned.

"Don't say that about my princess. She's perfect, you're perfect." He laid down beside you, letting your rest your head on his arm. It was the best was to have you close to him since your belly was in the way.

"At this point, I just want my water to break already." You sighed in slight frustration.

"She'll come when she's ready. I know it's hard, baby. I'm sorry." He pouted, rubbing your arm.

"Want me to massage your feet or get you something?" He offered. With you going to give birth soon, your ankles have been swelling and bothering you so San has been very kind in giving you foot rubs whenever he can.

"No, can you just hold me?" You asked.

"Of course I can do that." San let you move on your own at your own pace to get yourself comfortable. You tilted your body so you could press your face against his chest.

"This should make you more relaxed." San whispered, reaching up to massage the back of your neck and shoulders.

"That feels good. You take such good care of us and she isn't even here yet." You melted into his touch.

"She's not born yet but she's here, she's a part of you. And I'll always take care of you and princess." San chuckled. With the massage and the sound of San's heartbeat, you slowly fell back asleep again.

"Sleep well." He stroked your hair.

Since you were due soon, San had taken some time off work. He still did his practices but there was less travelling just in case you went into labour.

Another thing is that ever since your pregnancy started, San has become a very light sleeper. He was always hyper vigilant and aware of your movements. Not that you wanted him to help you 24/7, he was just worried, he couldn't help it. So when he felt you stir and struggle to sit up, he opened his eyes.

"What do you need, baby?" San asked, sitting up just as you managed to stand on your feet and get out of bed.

"I'm just going to get more water, my bottle is empty. Go back to sleep, Sannie. I can manage it on my own." You giggled and put on your house slippers.

"I can get it for you, baby. I should have filled up your bottle for you before going to bed." He said.

"San, it's really okay. I can get my own water. And you did fill up my bottle, I just drank it all." You assured with a soft smile.

"Okay, call me if you need help." San told you. You hummed and left your shared bedroom to go to the kitchen. He didn't go back to sleep, he just sat there, waiting for a bit before going to help you.

"Sannie, do you want coffee?" You asked.

"I'm good, baby. I want you back in bed with me." He replied. He could hear you laughing.

CLANG!

"Baby!" San shot out of bed and rushed to the kitchen. You were standing there, the glass of water that was in your hand was shattered on the ground. You winced, knees starting to wobble as you held your back.

"Sorry." You groaned amidst the pain that you were in. Now San was worried you hurt yourself.

"It's okay, it's okay. Come. Careful." Holding both your hands in his, San guided you over the broken glass. He was grateful you were wearing the slippers Seonghwa bought you.

"Did the glass get you?" He sat you down and checked you, looking for any signs that you were cut from the glass.

"No, it hurts." You held your back.

"Braxton Hicks?" He bent down in front of you, helping you to rub your back. San knew that you have been having Braxton Hicks since you were going into labour soon.

"No, Sannie. I think it's real. The Braxton Hicks have never hurt so badly and it never reaches my back." You groaned.

"Oh........ OH!" It took a while for your words to sink in as San jumped to his feet.

"We should go to the hospital. Or should I call an ambulance? What should I do?!" He asked.

"Sannie, calm down. It's okay, breathe. It just started so we don't have to go to the hospital yet. But I should start timing how long they last and the intervals between them." You squeezed his hand as you reminded him of what the doctor told you, trying to maintain a smile as you felt him beginning to panic.

"Right, right. I'll help you. Let me clean up the glass first." San was reluctant to let go of your hand but the broken glass on the floor was a hazard to both you and him.

"I'm sorry I made a mess and can't even help clean it up." You sighed.

"No need to apologise, baby. You're in labour. You just focus on yourself and princess." He looked at you with an excited smile.

"You're such a goof." You chuckled. San shot you a flat look with a playful pout before returning back to cleaning. After he was done, San escorted you back to bed to rest.

"Are you timing your contractions? Are they getting more intense?" He asked as he retrieved towels.

"Still manageable." You groaned.

"Alright, come here, baby." San laid out the towels for them, knowing you would be stressed out if your water broke all over the sheets and the mattress.

"Careful. Easy..." He cooed, adjusting your pillow for you so you were comfortable.

"Shall I get you some food? A drink?" He asked.

"No but after the princess comes, I want a big coffee. A BIG coffee, Choi San." You held his collar to show how serious you were. With your pregnancy, you had to severely cut down on your coffee intake, which you did not really like.

"Of course, baby. Anything you want." He kissed the top of your head and went out to the kitchen to fix you snack. You did your best to stay distracted, watching San fancams on your iPad.

"Hey! I'm here!" You heard noises outside and put the iPad down. In came Wooyoung with a big grin.

"So, how's my god daughter doing?" He asked, reaching over to hug you.

"She's not here yet but soon, she'll be here in our arms. Just a little more." You chuckled, patting his back. Wooyoung was also very involved in your pregnancy.

"Even with the man right here, in the flesh, you're still watching his fancams?" He raised an eyebrow, seeing your iPad.

"It distracts me, okay?" Your cheeks heated up, closing the iPad before San could come in.

"Well, it definitely distracts you in one way because that's how my god daughter got here. And perhaps my future god children." He teased and you slapped his arm in embarrassment.

"Anyway, I brought you some food. San's too panicked to cook now but you should get some food in you." He told you. You laughed and nodded your head. Just then, San came in with a tray, plating up the food that Wooyoung had brought along with him. He placed it on the bed for you.

"Come on." Both San and Wooyoung helped you sit up properly so you could eat, even if San insisted on feeding you.

"Ah... Damn it." You cursed under your breath as another contraction hit you. San rubbed your back and let you squeeze his hand until the wave of pain would pass.

"So, how long can this last? Or rather, how long should it last until you go to the hospital?" Wooyoung asked.

"Dude, did you not read the parenting books I got you?" San asked his best friend in disbelief.

"Look, I tried my best to read two! I couldn't continue reading the other five." Wooyoung groaned and whined. You laughed and patted San's shoulder.

"It's fine. Basically, we time how long they last and the intervals between them. Then we go to the hospital." You replied.

"I already texted our OBGYN that the labour has started. She's ready when you are." San informed.

"When I am ready? More like when your daughter is ready." You chuckled. San cooed and kissed your temple. Even if you were full, you tried to eat at least half of what Wooyoung brought you. And you made sure both Wooyoung and San ate too.

"Trust me, you'll both need your energy too." You told them, holding the wall and slowly walking around. San had his bowl in his hand, his other hand held out to support you in case you fell.

"San, eat your food. It's fine, I'll manage on my own for a few minutes." You assured.

"No, I'd rather just be here by your side." He shook his head as he chewed his food.

"Is your go bag packed?" Wooyoung asked.

"Oh, I need my phone charger and the book from my nightstand." You replied. San was going to go but Wooyoung held his hand out to stop him, going into your room to retrieve the items for you.

"Don't know if you're going to be able to get much reading done with the princess here." San laughed.

"That's why I have you and Woo, right?" You joked.

"That's right. I am not leaving my princess' side." Wooyoung declared as he came out with your items, tucking them into the bag that you had packed and ready on the couch.

"You mean, my princess." San corrected with a glare. Wooyoung rolled his eyes. You laughed with a shake of your head. If the two were already fighting before your daughter was born, you can only imagine how much worse it was going to be when she actually gets here. Not the mention, the 6 other uncles waiting.

"She's not even here yet and you two-" You stopped mid sentence as you felt a pop.

"What?" San asked in confusion and worry. Until you both looked down and saw the trickle of liquid go down your leg.

"I think now's a good time to go to the hospital." San said and you nodded, feeling your cheeks heat up. You were frozen in your spot as the trickle was consistent.

"Text my parents. Tell them her water broke and we're going to the hospital now." San told Wooyoung as he pulled on clothes and grabbed you a hoodie that he knew would keep you comfortable.

"What's wrong, baby? Does it hurt?" San frowned, wondering why you haven't moved.

"It's dripping..." You mumbled, hiding your face in your hands.

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay, it's normal." San hugged you, rubbing your back. Tears welled up in your eyes, you didn't know what was happening, you just couldn't handle it.

"It's so embarrassing, I'm going to die." You cried. Even if you expected this to happen and knew it was going to happen, it still felt so embarrassing to have your bodily fluids leak out of you, especially in front of Wooyoung.

"(y/n), listen to me. This is normal, you're giving birth. There's nothing to be embarrassed about." Wooyoung assured.

"It's alright, hmm? Don't worry." San kissed your cheek, wiping your tears away. You nodded tearfully and squeezed San's hand as he slipped your shoes on for you and guided you out of the house.

"Careful, easy." San placed a towel on the passenger seat for you to sit before loading up the car and driving to the hospital.

"Oww..." You took deep breaths, feeling the pain become more intense and frequent.

"Sir, you can't park here." The guard said as San stopped his car.

"I know! I know! But my wife is in labour, can you help her? I'll move my car right after." San came out and opened your door. He watched as the guard called nurses to come with the gurney.

"I'll see you inside, baby." San squeezed your hand. You nodded and shot him a small smile before he got in the car and went to park.

Of course, you were slightly freaked out that you were now alone and without San, you were scared and nervous. But a part of you didn't want to make him panic even more so you took a deep breath and tried your best to calm yourself down, telling yourself that he'll be back by your side soon.

"Hey, (y/n)." Your OBGYN came into your delivery room. Since your water broke, the nurses brought you to the delivery room right away instead of checking you into a ward.

"Dr Min, I'm glad to see a familiar face." You smiled tearfully.

"Hey, I'm here for you and your baby. You're in safe hands." She patted your shoulder and began to check you.

"San's parking the car but he said he got you up to speed on everything? My brain's just a little foggy now." You admitted honestly, watching her put on her gloves.

"Yes, he did. Don't worry. I'll just check you now to see how dilated yet." She told you.

"I'm here! Is she born yet?!" San burst into the room, breathing heavily. The nurses in the room giggled at his outburst.

"Sannie, shhh. No, she's not born yet." You chuckled, opening your arms for him. As San made his way over, he smiled at Dr Min and gave you a hug.

"Looks like we're getting there but not yet. We'll have to wait a little more." Dr Min said, standing back up and removing her gloves to throw them into the bin. You let out a long, defeated sigh and San stroked your head.

"Thanks, Dr Min." San bowed his head.

"Don't be discouraged. Baby girl will be here soon." Dr Min smiled softly at you. You nodded and waved as she left the room. San pulled up a chair so he could stay by your side as the wait began.

"Are you sure you don't want anything for the pain?" San asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm okay. It's all on our princess, we'll wait until she's ready." You said, reaching up to hold his face in your hands.

"But you're in pain and I don't like seeing you in pain." He kissed your hand. One of the options that you and San had discussed was inducing or speeding up the birth but you wanted to push through.

"You're so strong, baby. You're a good omma." He smiled softly, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

"You do whatever makes you feel comfortable, okay? It's your decision." He assured.

"Thanks, Sannie. I just feel better with you here." You said. There was no other person you would rather have a child with. San was always there for you, always supportive and encouraging. He never pushed you to do anything you didn't want to do, he trusts your instinct and decisions for both yours and your daugher's wellbeing.

"You know I'll always be here for you and for the princess." He pressed your hand against his cheek.

"I just want her to be okay." You teared up. Hearing your suddenly serious words, San stood up from his seat, leaning over you. His eyes searched yours.

"Hey, hey. Where's all this coming from? Baby, you'll be okay. Both you and princess will be okay. I've got you both." He frowned.

"I know, I just suddenly feel so scared." You rubbed your eyes like a little child crying to her parent.

"It's normal to be scared. But don't be. Dr Min and everyone will take care of you." He comforted. As another contraction hit, you winced and squeezed San's hand. He rubbed your back soothingly.

"Let me get you some water. Breathe, baby." San poured cold water into a cup for you and held the straw out for you to drink.

"Thank you." You coughed slightly and grabbed a towel you bought to wipe your tears and sweat.

"Princess, I know you're comfy in there but omma is dealing with a lot of pain. Be a good girl and make it easy for omma." San said, pressing his ear to your stomach like he always did throughout the pregnancy. You ran your fingers through his hair.

"Ooh, she did not like that." San chuckled as both you and him felt her move and kick where his ear was. San pouted at your daughter but still planted a kiss to your belly.

"I'm gonna miss her kicks." San pouted at you.

"Alright, I don't know what you're implying but slow down, cowboy." You pushed his forehead.

A few more hours passed with San staying by your side and helping you through the contractions. Your parents and San's parents came, both mothers making sure you were okay and comfortable.

"Okay, omma. Let's see where baby girl is at." Dr Min came in again. San wiped the sweat off your forehead for you.

"Looks like we're ready to start pushing." Dr Min's head popped up.

"We'll be outside. Call us if you need anything." Your mom and Mrs Choi said, leaving the room to give you and San some privacy. They didn't want to overwhelm you further.

"I've got you okay? Don't be afraid, you can do this, baby. I know you can." San looked down at you and you nodded. With the guidance of your OBGYN, you began to push. San squeezed your hand and you tried your best to push. Even when you got tired, all the staff were encouraging to you.

"I can see the head. You're doing great, (y/n). Just a little more." Dr Min told you.

"She's out, she's out." Dr Min announced and clamped the cord, separating your baby from the placenta. You both watched as she handed the baby to the nurse practitioner.

"She's here." San excitedly looked over but still remaind by your side. Even as your daughter let out her first big cry.

"Go, see your princess, comfort her." You patted his hand. All you had to do was deliver the placenta.

"Cut here." The nurse handed San the scissors to cut the umbilical cord. He couldn't even stop the huge grin from forming on his face as he watched his daughter.

"Hi there, it's okay. Appa's got you." San cooed as the nurse placed the baby in his arms.

As much as San wanted to hold her longer, he knew skin to skin with you was more important. So he brought her to you immediately.

"She's perfect." San smiled as he lowered her down to you. You smiled tired and weakly, eyes blinking slowly. And before San could release her into your arms, your eyes closed and your head dropped. San's eyes widened in shock.

"She's hemorrhaging! Doctor!" The nurse yelled and Dr Min ran over as the machines beeped in alarm.

"Baby?! (y/n)!" San yelled out in fear. Your daughter began to cry and San felt tears in his eyes too. What was happening? What was going on? All he could see was your pale face.

"BP dropping. Someone take Mr Choi and the child to another room." Dr Min ordered.

"Please, save my wife." San begged as the nurse led him to another room.

"We will try our best, Mr Choi. Dr Min is the best. But now, you need to have skin on skin with your daughter." The nurse advised calmly and San handed the baby to her.

"Like this?" San removed his shirt, letting the nurse lay the baby against his chest. The moment she did, the baby calmed down.

"Please go save her." San cried. The nurse nodded and left the room. His parents and your parents came in, all panicked. Of course, San wanted this to be a joyous occasion, he waited so long to meet his daughter and now she was here, in his arms. But he just couldn't, knowing you were unconscious.

"What happened?" Your mother asked worriedly.

"I don't know. I think they said she's hemorrhaging. She was fine, all she had to do was deliver the placenta. I shouldn't have left her side." San cried.

"San, San. Calm down. (y/n)'s going to be okay. You need to be strong for her and your daughter." Mrs Choi told him.

"Okay." San took deep breaths. He and his daughter seemed to be able to calm each other down.

"She'll be okay." Your mother assured, wiping San's tears. San looked down at the baby that was sleeping on his chest. He gently kissed the top of her head.

"Omma will be okay." He whispered. Soon, another nurse came in with a baby basinet.

"How's my wife?" San asked.

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know. I need to bring the baby for her checks." The nurse apologised. San didn't want to let his daughter go, even with his mother around, he felt like your baby was the only thing that could comfort him now.

"Can it wait?" San pleaded. The nurse looked conflicted, unsure of what she should do.

"I'm sorry. But if there was a birth complication, we need to check. I promise I'll bring her back as soon as possible." The nurse said. San reluctantly handed the baby to her.

"Mr Choi?" Dr Min came in and San immediately stood up, even when his shirt wasn't fully buttoned up yet.

"Doc, how is she?" San felt like he couldn't breathe.

"She's fine. Out of the woods. Bleeding after birth is normal but she bled a lot. But don't worry, she's okay. She's recovering. I'll need to keep her here for a few days longer though." She informed.

"Of course, anything. We'll stay for as long as she'll need. Thank you so much." San bowed deeply to the doctor.

"Now go be with your wife. I had the nurses send her up to your ward already." Dr Min smiled and San went up to the ward where you were wheeled up to.

When San entered, you were fast asleep, probably tired for the birth and the huge loss of blood. But San knew you were a fighter. He hovered over you and kissed your forehead, feeling another round of tears threaten to fall. Obviously he didn't know the severity of the bleed but he knew he almost lost you.

"I love you. Thank you." He pressed his head against yours. As he took a chair to sit, he held your hand the entire time.

"You did good, baby. You did so good, you deserve to rest. She's perfect, an angel just like you. Sleep for as long as you want." San said to you, even though you were asleep.

When you woke up, you looked around in confusion. Until your eyes fell upon San, walking around with a bundle in his arms, singing softly.

"Look who it is, baby girl." San turned and realised you were awake.

"San..." You began to cry. San put your daughter back in her basinet and came over to you.

"It's okay, you're okay. I got you. I got you." He hugged you tightly, his hand resting on the back of your head. You cried into his shoulder and San felt a lump in his throat too.

"You did so good, baby." San continued to comfort you for as long as you needed.

"Can I see her?"

"Of course you can, baby! You're her mom!" San laughed and went over to pick up the baby that was beginning to fuss. But as San gently laid her on your chest, the baby calmed down. She blinked up at you and you smiled softly.

"Hi there. You're so cute... You're perfect. Did you name her yet?" You cooed and looked up at San, who was smiling at both of you. He shook his head.

"You should name her. You've let me make a lot of decisions in the pregnancy, you should name her." You told him.

"Baby, I let you make those decisions because it was your body, you were the one going through the pregnancy, not me." San laughed.

"But I do have one name that I like. Haeun." He added.

"Haeun, Choi Haeun. I like it. It's perfect for her. Welcome to the world, Haeunnie." You smiled at her. San gave you a kiss then kissed the top of Haeun's head.

Since you woke up, San called Dr Min to come and check on you. At the same time, the nurse taught you how to feed Haeun.

"You gave us a scare earlier but you're fine now, (y/n). Nothing major. However, I was mentioning that I would need you to stay in a little longer just for observations." Dr Min explained. You nodded obediently, too preoccupied with staring at your daughter that was drinking from you hungrily.

"Thanks, Dr Min." You and San bowed your heads as she took her leave. You smiled softly, watching Haeun grasp your finger in her hand as she drank.

"You must have been hungry, my love." You cooed.

"She has a big appetite like her dad." San grinned proudly at you, making you scoff.

After Haeun had her fill, she fell asleep. You couldn't get up so the nurse came in to help you with cleaning her and changing her diaper before wrapping her up in a swaddle.

"Oh, so that's how you do it." San said, looking over at the nurse's actions, his glasses on as he took notes on his phone.

"Hey, grandpa. Can I get a glass of water, please?" You teased. San's head whipped around to glare at you.

"You're lucky you're cute." He glared with a pout as he handed you the water. You grinned cheekily as the nurse placed the swaddled Haeun in the basinet and wheeled her by your side. But San constantly hovered over her.

"Let her sleep. Nothing will happen with her a few inches away from us." You chuckled. You and San enjoyed each other's silence, well it was more like San not being able to take his eyes off Haeun.

"Knock knock." The door opened and Wooyoung poked his head in with the others, all carrying flowers, gift baskets and balloons.

"She's sleeping." San quickly shushed everyone.

"Sorry, overprotective dad over here." You snickered. Hongjoong held up a huge cup of iced coffee for you and you swear you nearly cried at the sight.

"Lifesaver." You whispered gratefully and received the cup in your hands to take a big sip.

"Slow down, baby. You shouldn't finish it in one go." San stopped you, placing his hand to push the cup away from you.

"I pushed a bowling ball out of me. Please just let me have this." You begged. San sighed in defeat and let go, letting you enjoy your coffee. But of course, you did heed his advice and drank slowly.

"Oh my gosh... She's the most perfect little angel." Wooyoung cooed, trying to contain his squeal, leading to him slapping Seonghwa's shoulder. Seonghwa hissed and pushed Wooyoung away. Before they could all get too close, San stepped between them and the basinet, pointing to the sink.

"Wash first." San ordered.

"How are you?" Jongho asked, taking a seat by your side. You assumed San had told everyone about the complication after birth.

"I'm okay now. I think it gave all of us a scare but the doctor stopped the bleeding and I'm fine, just have to stay in here a little longer for observation." You shrugged.

"That's good." Yeosang hummed. You watched as San reluctantly let the boys carry Haeun.

"She's so cute when she sleeps." Yunho cooed over Wooyoung's shoulder.

"I have a feeling everything she does is going to be cute to all of you." You laughed. You trusted San to watch out for Haeun and help the boys properly hold her so you could relax.

"You should rest more. I'm sure you've been through the wringer. We brought you food too." Mingi told you, adjusting your blanket properly. You smiled gratefully, watching Seonghwa take a rice porridge out of the container for you.

"We didn't even ask her name yet." Seonghwa said, wheeling the table close to you so you could eat.

"Her name is Haeun, Choi Haeun." San smiled proudly.

"What a perfect name for a perfect princess." Wooyoung cooed softly at the baby in his arms. After a bit, Haeun woke up and began crying. San patted your hand and went to retrieve her from Wooyoung.

"Don't worry, appa's got you." He swayed, patting her back softly to soothe her.

"He's got it. Eat up, get your energy back." Jongho encouraged. You took a spoon and began eating, glacing over at San and Haeun.

"We should go, give you three time to rest." Hongjoong said, checking his watch. The boys came over to give you hugs while San watched with a frown.

"Stop hugging my wife." He whispered harshly, careful not to disturb the now calm Haeun. Only when he placed her back in the basinet, he happily hugged the members who congratulated him again.

"I can't believe she's finally here. The princess is finally here." San let out little squeaks of happiness as Wooyoung hugged him. Wooyoung nodded with a soft laugh and patted San's back. Everyone was waiting for your baby's arrival, even more so when it was announced that you were having a girl.

"We'll see you soon. Take care." Yunho waved as the boys all left.

"She's asleep, Sannie. You can put her down." You chuckled. San looked up at you with a disappointed smile.

"You can watch her. I want cuddles." You held your arms up. At that, San placed Haeun down and came to you. Luckily the hospital bed was big enough.

"Are you feeling ill? You have to tell me or inform the nurse." He said as you laid on his chest.

"I'm fine, Sannie." You squeezed his arm, snuggling closer to him. San He reached over you and rubbed your back.

"I love you. You did so good, baby. Thank you so much for giving me my princess. Really, thank you. I can't thank you enough." San repeated, planting many kisses on your head.

"There's nothing to thank me for, San. I'm lucky to have you with me and to be the one to have your daughter, you've been the perfect partner. You're such a great dad, she's lucky that she'll have you to raise her." You smiled up at him.

"You always speak so lowly of yourself, my love. I'm lucky to have you and her now. And she has the best mom in the whole wide world. So she's pretty lucky." He said.

"Yeah." You nodded, the both of you looking over at your sleeping child.

"Is it weird that I already love her so much? Like looking at her makes my heart hurts." San asked.

"Not weird, that's called being whipped. Or being a fool for your daughter. She's a few hours old and already has you wrapped around her tiny finger." You lifted up your pinky finger.

"Don't make fun of me." He whined.

"But she's finally here, San. She was inside of me and now, she's right there. She's laying there, sleeping, breathing on her own." You said.

"All thanks to you, baby. Now, you should continue to rest. You're not 100% yet, take all the time you need to recover." San reached over to lower the lights so you could sleep. Since you were still feeling weak, it didn't take long for the tiredness to wash over you and you fell asleep in San's hold.

You were woken up by Haeun's crying but San already jumped out of bed, going to her to scoop her up into his arms. As you turned up the lights, you watched San try to soothe her.

"She could be hungry." You rubbed your eyes tiredly.

"Are you okay to feed her? We can use formula if you still feel weak." San asked with a worried frown.

"I'm fine. I just need the pillow." You said. San nodded and let you carry Haeun while he put the 'U' shaped pillow under Haeun and around your waist so you wouldn't have to carry her full weight.

"Is this okay?" San asked, adjusting the pillow properly. You hummed and fed a fussing Haeun.

"Good girl, Haeun. It's okay." You stroked her head as she drank from you hungrily.

"My poor baby must be tired." San came and reached over, cupping your cheeks. You smiled tiredly, knowing that this is going to be your routine for a while. But it was comforting to see Haeun peacefully drinking and staring up at you.

"Awww, now you're nice and full, aren't you, angel?" You cooed as she released you so you could cover yourself up. Since you were still feeling weak, San helped you with changing her diaper.

"Post birth poops are awful." You groaned.

"Nonsense, my princess' poop doesn't smell at all." San grinned dreamily, cooing at Haeun who squirmed.

"There we go. All done." San gently lifted her up, pressing a kiss to her cheek before placing her back into your arms. Haeun stared at you and you smiled at her.

"Your dad has become such a fool for you, hmm?" You tapped her cheek and she grasped your finger.

"Don't call me a fool in front of her." San scoffed. You smiled cheekily and San reached over to pinch your cheeks for teasing him.

"She's asleep." You shushed San.

"You should sleep too, baby." San waited for you to be ready to hand Haeun over him. Once you did, he placed her back into the basinet and tucked you back into bed, getting in beside you. He couldn't sleep without you by his side too. San softly sang to you until you fell back to sleep.

And over the next few days, San took great care of you and Haeun. He prioritised your recovery and took over so many tasks, making sure you were not pushing yourself.

"Hello?" Wooyoung came in.

"Shh, they both just went to sleep." You said from your spot on the couch, nodding over to where San was asleep in your hospital bed.

"Stealing the patient's bed?" Wooyoung tilted his head with a snort as he looked at his best friend. Despite being asleep, San's hand rested on the edge of Haeun's basinet.

"How are you?" Wooyoung asked, sitting beside you.

"A lot better. Can't wait to discharge tomorrow. But I couldn't have done it without Sannie, he's been taking great care of us." You smiled.

"He is a good partner and dad." Wooyoung agreed with a hum. With San and Haeun sleeping, Wooyoung decided to cut up some fruit for you to eat.

"I'm grateful that Haeun is such an angel baby and I'm not just saying that because I'm her mother. She's so patient and loving, rarely cries except for milk or diaper changes. But I can 100% say, she's a daddy's girl for sure." You giggled.

"Of course she is. San must be ecstatic." Wooyoung rolled his eyes.

"I haven't seen the smile leave his face since the day she was born. Everything she does, he thinks it's the best thing since sliced bread." You smiled at a sleeping San.

"He's a fool for her already. But I can't blame him, she's perfect." Wooyoung shrugged and you pushed his shoulder.

"You are just as big of a fool for her." You accused. But deep down, you were glad that Haeun is going to grow up with love from everyone.

"Look who is awake." You were washing your hands when you realised Haeun had woken up and was just laying there without making a fuss.

"Uncle Wooyoung is here to see you, baby." You lifted Haeun out of the basinet and kissed her cheeks.

"Ack. Luckily we're in a hospital because she's going to give me a heart attack." Wooyoung fangirled as you placed Haeun in his arms.

"Haeun." San shot up, having realised the basinet moved slightly from when you picked Haeun up. His sudden movement had made you jump. He sat up and looked around in slight panic, only to see Wooyoung holding Haeun. He let out a sigh of relief and you went over, standing between his legs.

"She's fine, appa. Wooyoung's got her." You chuckled, running your hands through his messy hair. San put his arms around you to hug you and pressed his face against your middle.

"I didn't even know I fell asleep." He murmured.

"You've been working so hard, taking care of us. You deserve to rest too, Sannie." You comforted him.

"Look at your parents. They're gonna make uncle Woowoo puke." You both looked up to see Wooyoung talking to Haeun, holding her in a way that elevated her to see you two.

"She's smiling." You pointed at Haeun's brief, lopsided smile.

"She just loves uncle Woowoo the most." Wooyoung cooed. San didn't take too well to that comment and marched over.

"My baby." He emphasised, taking Haeun out of Wooyoung's arms. He smiled down at her, planting a kiss to her head. You just shook your head at them.

When it was time to feed Haeun, Wooyoung took his leave. As you sat against the headboard to feed Haeun, San massaged your feet, noting that your ankles were still slightly swollen so he put on compression socks for you.

"Are you still feeling sick?" He asked worriedly.

"No, I feel fine actually. So we can go home tomorrow." You smiled excitedly, looking down at Haeun.

"A-Are you sure? Because if you don't feel right, you should stay for a few more days until you're sure you're 100% well again. Maybe we should speak to Dr Min." San suggested.

"Sannie..." Luckily Haeun finished feeding so you could put her back in her basinet. You moved closer to San.

"What's wrong, Sannie?" You cupped his cheeks with a concern frown. You searched his eyes and all you saw was fear in them.

"I was just really scared. When you lost consciousness, there was so much blood. The doctor and nurses were rushing..." San struggled to breathe and you hugged him, letting him lean on your shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Sannie..." You hugged his head.

"I thought I was going to lose you..." He muttered softly, hands gripping your waist. You rarely see San cry so seeing him cry and be so vulnerable around you was indicative of how scared he really was. And for San, he always believed that he has to be your rock so he really tried to keep it in.

"You've been through a lot too, Sannie. But we're here for you, both me and Haeun. You don't have to go through this alone." You stroked the back of his head.

"You won't lose me, lose us, so quickly. I love you." You lifted his head and gave him a kiss, caressing his cheek.

"I love you too." San wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to sit on his lap.

"Baby girl's smiling at us." San chuckled. You lifted your head from his chest to see Haeun looking at the both of you, squirming in her wrap but her head turned to smile at you and San.

"Our baby. That's our baby." You smiled softly and San turned his head to meet your eyes, nodding in agreement.

"I still can't believe she's here. No more talking to her through the tummy." San chuckled.

"Well, before you know it, she'll be able to reply to you when you actually talk to her." You said. At your words, San held his chest dramatically, squeezing his eyes shut like he was going to implode at the thought of Haeun growing up.

"Alright, appa... Breathe. Don't have a heart attack here or I'll need to call the nurses." You patted his arm. San pursed his lips and just pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

"Thank you so much, Dr Min." You said as you hugged the doctor, who patted your back.

"Take care of yourself, (y/n)." She chuckled.

"Do we have everything? I feel like we're forgetting something." You heard San in your room, trying to pack up everything, making you and Dr Min giggle.

"You and baby girl will be just fine." Dr Min squeezed your shoulder and left while you entered your ward.

"Everything okay in here?" You asked.

"Just fine, baby. Whatever we forget, we can buy again. As long as I have princess and you, that's most important." San grinned, holding the baby carrier basket with Haeun sleeping soundly inside.

"Want me to carry her? Or get the bags?" You offered. San shook his head, holding Haeun away from you as if you will steal her and run. Even if the doctor cleared you, San didn't believe you were entirely recovered so he didn't want you doing any heavy lifting or anything strenuous. You just walked beside him.

"Also, baby. Even though the news is out that baby girl is born, KQ says that they'll do whatever it takes to keep her picture and name out of the press." San informed.

"Great, remind me to send them a thank you basket." You chuckled as you both walked to the car.

"Are you excited to finally go home with us, princess?" San cooed to Haeun.

"You're asleep and probably don't care as long as there's milk, right?" He continued to talk to her as he loaded the basket into the car seat inserts that he had already installed previously.

"She's so cute when she sleeps." You adjusted her blanket as you sat in the backseat with her while San drove.

"She's cute doing anything, please. She's our child, of course she's cute." San scoffed from the front seat and you shot him a flat look.

You stifled a laugh to yourself, imaging how things are going to be when Haeun grows up, she'll definitely be leading her father by his nose. Well, in his defense, he did warn you about how he would be if you got pregnant with a girl.

"We're home, princess. Home sweet home." San cooed as he helped to remove the carrier from the seat clips. You unlocked the door to your home and took a deep breath.

"Feels good to be home." You let out a content sigh. San chuckled and leaned over to kiss your cheek.

"I need a shower." You groaned. San hummed and let you go. But you didn't want to shower too long, wanting to relieve San for a bit.

"Sannie, I'm-" You came out of the shower to see him fast asleep on the couch, sitting up and holding Haeun to his chest, who was also still asleep.

"Aww, look at you two." You whispered and took your phone to snap a picture, a smile on your face.

Only when Haeun woke up and fussed then San woke up, immediately patting her back to try and soothe her.

"It's okay, appa. Take a break, I've got her." You smiled and took Haeun from him. San nodded with a tired smile and leaned back into the couch to rest. You leaned over to kiss the top of his head before walking to get Haeun's diaper changed. Then you checked if she was hungry before feeding her, sitting in your rocking chair.

"My love. You are so beautiful." You gently stroked her head as she drank from you. You softly hummed 'Mist' to her with a soft smile on your face.

"Thank you for being born." You giggled.

When she was done, you burped her and walked around with her in your arms, still humming to her.

"Look at your appa sleeping. He's been taking such good care of us, baby. He'll protect you and love you forever, you're such a lucky girl." You spoke to Haeun, who blinked up at you.

"My two girls." San woke up, stretching his limbs and yawning as he caught you and Haeun.

"You should sleep more, Sannie." You said, sitting by him.

"I'm good. You should rest more, the birth and everything must have been tiring on you." He stroked your head. You handed Haeun over to him, letting her rest on his chest.

"I'll heat up some food for our dinner. You should skin on skin with her if you can. Dr Min says it'll help." You patted his thigh and went to the kitchen to heat up the food that your mother and San's mother had helped stock in the fridge.

"Auh, go to sleep, precious. It's okay to sleep. Appa is here." You could hear San speak to Haeun.

"You're really destined to be a girl dad, San." You stood at the kitchen entrance, seeing San coax Haeun to sleep. He sat there, shirtless with the small baby against his chest.

"I am. I am destined to be this girl's dad." San agreed, smiling down at Haeun, who was slowly going to sleep.

"ATINY will eat this up if they saw you." You joked. San rolled his eyes but still posed for you to take a picture of him to save.

"So, we're establishing here that you'll be the one to discipline her while I'm the good one that comforts her when she cries right?" San grinned cheekily.

"We'll see about that." You scoffed.

"Thank you, baby. For all that you did and went through for my princess to be born." San leaned over to kiss you.

"You know despite everything, I would do it again. Couldn't have asked for a better partner and we know this girl is the luckiest little girl in the world with such an amazing dad and 7 chaotic, silly but great uncles who will always dote on her." You smiled softly and laid your head on San's shoulder.

"Yes, she will definitely grow up with a lot of chaos. I mean, look at her godfather. He's the definition of chaos." He chuckled.

You nodded, San was right but you knew the boys, especially Wooyoung, would make sure your little girl grows up with all the love in the world.

And that proved to be right because after a day of hanging out with Wooyoung, Haeun came back home and said her first word.

"Sannie!" She lifted her arms up with the biggest grin on her face.

"What did you say, baby?" You stifled a laugh. She repeated it again and you saw San freeze, unsure of how to react. She didn't call him 'appa' but his name was her first word.

"She said her first word." You reminded San.

"Still..." San gave you a look. He was big on respect and traditions, he didn't want Haeun going around calling him by his first name.

"No, not Sannie, princess. Appa. Can you say 'appa'?" San pointed to himself, bending down to her height so he would be at her eye level. You were having a field day and didn't have the heart to correct Haeun, she was just so cute.

"Sannie!" She giggled bashfully. San playfully lifted her up, making her squeal with laughter.

"I'm going to kill Jung Wooyoung." San turned to you.

"Sannie! Sannie!" Haeun gleefully wrapped her arms around San's neck, burying her face against his chest.

310 notes · View notes

kookiewithluv · 2 days

Text

✿—✧SPACE BETWEEN US✧—✿

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader

Genre: college au, friends to lovers, fluffy (?), angst

Trigger warning: it's super cringe!

Word count: 9k

Summary: You have been in love with Jungkook for ages but never said anything. When a surprise date turns into a dramatic showdown, his hidden feelings come crashing to the surface.

a/n: The characters and situations depicted in this chapter are fictional and are intended for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The portrayal of emotions and interpersonal dynamics is a creative interpretation and should not be taken as a reflection of real-life relationships or events.a/n: Do not use this story as your own. I don't allow translations or reposting of my work on any platform, including YouTube.

a/n: Yes, you're probably experiencing déjà vu—I'm reposting this without a single edit. After my last account got suspended for reasons beyond my control, I figured what better way to kick off my return than by sharing one of my cringiest fanfics? Honestly, it's pretty on-brand for me, don't you think?

@kookiewithluv 2024

You sat in your classroom, the hum of idle chatter around you barely registering. The lecture wouldn’t start for another thirty minutes, but you couldn’t care less. You just needed to be alone. The weight of recent events pressed down on you like a suffocating blanket, leaving you numb and confused. Your mind raced, thoughts tangled in a mess you couldn’t unravel.

Your phone vibrated on the desk, the screen lighting up with notifications. You glanced at it: 200+ texts and 28 missed calls from Jungkook. Without a second thought, you picked up the phone, turned it off, and set it back down. You didn’t want to deal with it, with him, with anything. Time seemed to blur as you sat there, your heart aching, your eyes glassy. But the tears wouldn’t come. They just sat there, stuck, like everything else inside you.

“Blush? Blush, are you okay?” Jungkook’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, as he spoke beside you.

You flinched, startled out of your thoughts. You hadn’t even noticed him sit down. Turning to face him, you were met with a sight that made your chest tighten. He looked so soft, so pretty in that moment—his pink lips curved into a worried pout, his hair falling messily over his forehead, half-covering those big doe eyes that seemed to shine even more because of it.

He reached out, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder, and called your name again. “Blush,” he said, the nickname rolling off his tongue like a quiet prayer. But you knew better. You did.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice filled with concern. You just shook your head and forced a small smile, turning away. What were you supposed to say? That you were what was wrong? That you’d fallen for him, knowing he’d never be there to catch you? The words were right there, lodged in your throat, but you swallowed them down, feeling them settle heavy and painful in your stomach. The ache clawed at your insides, begging for release, but you took a deep breath, holding everything in.

Jungkook was still watching you, his gaze piercing through the walls you were trying so hard to build. He gently cupped your face, turning you back to look at him. “Eyes on me. I’m talking,” he said, his tone soft but firm. The way his thumb brushed your cheek was so tender it almost broke you.

“You should—” he began, but the classroom door creaked open, and students started to file in, breaking the moment. He pulled back, checking the time, and you followed his gaze. Just as you both expected, Professor Min walked in, signaling the start of class. Relief washed over you, grateful for the distraction, for the escape. You silently thanked Mr. Min for his impeccable timing.

As the lesson began, you tried to focus, but your mind kept drifting back to Jungkook, to the conversation you’d narrowly avoided. Your chest felt tight, your heart heavy, but you pushed it all down, forcing yourself to stay composed.

The class went on, but all you could think about was how close you’d come to spilling everything. And how you still couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Class ended earlier than expected. Mr. Min had cut the lecture short, saying he had something urgent to attend to. The moment his words left the room, you were already packing up, hands moving frantically as you stuffed your notebook and pens into your bag. Your movements were jerky, almost desperate, as if the faster you moved, the quicker you could escape.

Jungkook was right beside you, his presence heavy like a storm cloud about to break. You didn’t look at him, but you could feel his gaze, those eyes you usually found so comforting now burning holes into you. As you zipped up your bag, you felt his fingers twitch, like he was about to reach out, but you didn’t give him the chance.

You bolted for the door, your steps quick and purposeful. Just as you reached the threshold, his voice—a smooth, velvety sound that usually made your heart skip—called out your name.

“Blush,” he said, soft and hopeful.

But you didn’t stop. You didn’t turn around. You didn’t even acknowledge him. For the first time, you ran away from him. Your heart hammered in your chest, each beat a painful reminder of what you were doing, but you couldn’t stop.

The hallway blurred as you hurried through it, eyes fixed straight ahead, refusing to look back. You knew he was still there, standing in the doorway, probably confused, maybe even hurt. But you couldn’t deal with that now. You just needed to be alone.

When you reached the canteen, you went straight to the farthest corner, away from the clusters of students laughing and chatting. You dropped into a chair, slumping down as you pulled the hood of Jungkook’s hoodie over your head, trying to hide from the world. Your hands fiddled with the hem of the hoodie, twisting and tugging at the fabric as if it could somehow ground you, make everything go away.

You curled in on yourself, your head bowed low, eyes fixed on your trembling hands. The familiar scent of Jungkook still clung to the hoodie, but instead of comfort, it brought a fresh wave of pain. You bit your lip, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill over.

In that moment, the bustling canteen felt a million miles away. All you could focus on was the way your heart ached, the way it felt like something inside you was slowly breaking apart. You wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything to release the pressure building up inside you, but instead, you just sat there, hiding beneath the hoodie that was his, trying to hold yourself together, trying to breathe.

You were drowning in your thoughts, the noise around you fading into nothingness. A voice yanked you back to reality, snapping the delicate thread of your spiralling mind. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

A light touch on your shoulder—soft, almost hesitant—tried to pull your attention. She already had it, though she didn’t realize it, because you still hadn’t looked at her. She stood to your left, leaning in slightly.

“Are you okay?” Lilith asked, her voice laced with concern. You kept your eyes down, refusing to meet hers.

Lilith. The campus beauty queen. The girl everyone adored. The girl who loved Jungkook. And everyone knew it, too. They rooted for them to be together, whispering about how perfect they’d be. The thought made your stomach churn, a bitter taste rising in your mouth. You hated it.

She continued, her tone gentle but insistent. “Jungkookie is worried about you. He was searching everywhere for you. You should talk to him. Should I call him—”

Your blood boiled at the sound of that nickname. Jungkookie. He hated that name, had told you so many times how much he despised it but never her. she kept calling him that, oblivious or maybe just indifferent. You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms as you struggled to keep your anger in check.

“No,” you practically yelled, the word bursting out before you could stop it. Lilith flinched, her eyes wide with shock. She pulled her hand back, her fingers twitching nervously. But you didn’t care. You didn’t feel guilty. All you felt was anger—anger at yourself for losing control, and a burning hatred for her.

Without another word, you grabbed your bag, roughly shoving it over your shoulder as you pushed past her. She stumbled back slightly, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something, but you didn’t give her the chance. You stormed out of the canteen, your chest heaving with frustration.

The fresh air outside did little to calm you. You headed straight for the parking area, your steps quick and determined, each one pounding out the anger inside you. When you reached your car, you spotted it immediately and hurried over, yanking the door open.

You slid into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut behind you. For a moment, you just sat there, your breathing harsh and uneven. Then, with a frustrated groan, you tossed your bag onto the passenger seat, not caring where it landed. Everything felt too tight, too overwhelming. You buried your face in your hands, your fingers curling into your hair as you tried to steady yourself.

But the anger wouldn’t leave, wouldn’t let go. It bubbled just beneath the surface, a constant, throbbing ache that wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t ease. And all you could think about was how much you wished it would just disappear. How much you wished everything would just disappear.

Taking a deep breath, you gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to push all the swirling thoughts out of your head. With a quick motion, you pressed down on the accelerator, and the car roared to life beneath you. You didn’t hesitate as you started driving, focusing on the road ahead, wanting to leave everything behind.

But as you drove away, something caught your eye in the rearview mirror. Jungkook. He was running after your car, his face a mix of desperation and panic. You could see his mouth moving, probably yelling your name, but the sound was lost to the roar of the engine and the rush of blood in your ears. You didn’t stop. You didn’t even slow down. You just kept going, watching as he grew smaller and smaller in the mirror until he disappeared from view.

The ride home was anything but peaceful. The guilt gnawed at you, sinking its claws deeper with every passing mile. You tried to push it away, to convince yourself that you were right to leave, that you needed space. But the image of Jungkook’s face, the way he’d run after you, wouldn’t leave your mind. You’d ignored him all day, and you knew it must’ve hurt him. But you shook your head, refusing to dwell on it. You couldn’t handle that right now.

When you finally pulled into the driveway, the silence of your empty house greeted you. You parked the car in the garage, the engine’s hum dying down as you cut the power. The quiet was suffocating as you walked into the house, the echo of your footsteps bouncing off the walls. Your parents weren’t home. Again. Even though they had promised they would be. You let out a bitter chuckle, shaking your head at your own foolishness. Why did I even believe them? you thought. It was your birthday tomorrow, and once again, they weren’t there. Meetings, parties—whatever it was, it was always more important.

You made your way to the living room and sank down onto the couch, turning on the TV in a half-hearted attempt to distract yourself. But nothing on the screen held your attention. The images blurred together, the voices just white noise in the background. Your mind was too cluttered, too full of everything that had happened today, to make sense of anything playing out in front of you.

Frustrated, you got up and headed to your room, the emptiness of the house pressing down on you with every step. You didn’t have the energy to cook, the thought of food making your stomach twist. “Guess I’ll sleep hungry tonight,” you muttered to yourself, a hollow laugh escaping your lips.

You collapsed onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of your own breathing. But sleep didn’t come. No matter how much you tossed and turned, your mind wouldn’t quiet down. Thoughts of Jungkook, your parents, the loneliness that seemed to cling to you like a shadow—it all kept swirling in your head, refusing to let you rest.

You curled up under the covers, pulling them tightly around you as if they could shield you from the thoughts that wouldn’t leave you alone. But no matter how hard you tried, the weight of the day wouldn’t let you go. And so, you lay there, eyes wide open, the darkness around you feeling like a reflection of the emptiness inside.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the room was cloaked in darkness. The silence around you was heavy, oppressive, and as the memory of the day crashed down on you, the tears began to flow uncontrollably, streaming down your face at an unusual speed.

Tomorrow was supposed to be special—your birthday. Even if your parents weren’t around, you’d convinced yourself that Jungkook’s presence would make it memorable. This morning, you’d been brimming with excitement. But all of that shattered the moment you stepped onto the college campus.

The crowd had been the first thing you noticed—a sea of students gathered in an unusually large cluster. Your curiosity had drawn you toward it, and you’d squeezed through the masses, pushing past eager onlookers until you reached the front. What you saw made your heart sink.

Lilith and Jungkook stood there, framed by the throng of students. Lilith held a bouquet of flowers, her face radiant with a hopeful smile as she offered it to him. The sight was enough to tell you what was happening. She was proposing. Your heart twisted with a mix of dread and hope as you watched Jungkook. He looked visibly distressed, his hands trembling slightly as he took the bouquet. A flicker of hope ignited in you that he might reject her, but the moment he accepted the flowers, that hope was dashed. The crowd erupted in cheers, and your heart shattered into pieces.

As if the scene couldn't get any worse, it did. The crowd began chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The noise was deafening, each cheer driving the knife of betrayal deeper into your heart. Jungkook’s face flushed with a mix of frustration and embarrassment. He grabbed Lilith’s hand and tugged her away from the crowd, leading her toward a more private corner. You knew it wasn’t about him not wanting to kiss her in public; it was about him wanting to keep those private moments just for himself, away from prying eyes.

Recalling the memory now, as tears flowed freely and uncontrollably, your heart felt like it was being squeezed tight. The image of Jungkook’s nervous expression and Lilith’s hopeful eyes replayed in your mind, each scene a fresh cut. The darkness of your room mirrored the darkness in your heart, the weight of the day’s events pressing down on you with crushing force.

You clutched the pillow to your chest, your sobs muffled but relentless. Each breath came in shaky bursts, and you could feel the tears soaking through the fabric. The tears and the pain were all-consuming, leaving you with nothing but the hollow ache of rejection and betrayal. The silence of the room was deafening, broken only by the sound of your own brokenhearted sobs.

It’s funny how quickly things change. The person who once made your heart flutter with joy now seemed to be the source of all your misery. But it wasn’t his fault. He had no idea of your feelings. You never told him, and now you were left with nothing but regret.

The minutes dragged on with torturous slowness. The clock still hadn’t hit 10, and you were restless, your body aching from the weight of your emotions. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and closed your eyes, hoping to find some semblance of peace. Yet, amid the turmoil, a small spark of hope flickered within you. Maybe, just maybe, Jungkook would call when the clock struck midnight. Maybe, as he had done in the past, he would stand on your doorstep with a big bouquet of daisies, because he knew how much you loved them.

Hope brought with it a tangled mess of uncertainty and fear. Part of you desperately wished for him to come, to see him standing there with that familiar, warm smile. But another part of you feared what that would mean. If he showed up, you knew you might not be able to hold yourself back. The thought of begging him to love you, to confess your feelings, terrified you. You wanted nothing more than to be happy for your best friend, the one you loved with all your heart, without letting your own desires ruin his moment.

As these conflicting thoughts swirled in your mind, you became increasingly aware of the exhaustion that weighed down on you. Your body, worn out from the emotional rollercoaster, finally succumbed to sleep. You hadn’t noticed when the weariness took over, but soon you were drifting off, your breathing evening out as the turbulent storm of your mind began to settle into a restless slumber.

The harsh buzz of the alarm clock jolted you awake. You reached out with a groggy hand to silence it, grumbling under your breath. As you blinked your eyes open, a dull ache throbbed in your head, and you winced at the sting of light. Your eyes felt like they were weighed down by sandbags, red and swollen from hours of restless sleep.

With a groan, you rolled out of bed, stumbling toward the bathroom. Each step felt heavy, your body dragging as if weighed down by an invisible burden. You shuffled into the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror with a sense of numb resignation. The sight that met you was far from flattering. Your hair was a tangled mess, and your face was puffy and pale. You let out a shaky breath, your reflection mocking you. "Happy birthday, ugly," you muttered to yourself, bitterness lacing your voice.

You turned on the faucet and splashed cold water onto your face, hoping to wash away the remnants of the night’s tears. The brisk water was invigorating but did little to lift the fog in your mind. You brushed your teeth mechanically, the familiar routine providing a small comfort. As you stepped into the shower, the warm water hit your skin, but it did little to soothe the ache inside you.

Your thoughts kept drifting back to Jungkook. You’d hoped he’d come by, as he used to, or at least send a message. But as the minutes ticked by, it became clear you were wrong. You chuckled bitterly at your own foolishness.

He hadn’t called.

Not even a text.

It was as if you’d been erased from his life, replaced by someone new.

Finishing up in the shower, you turned off the water and stepped out, feeling cold despite the warmth of the steam. You walked to your closet with a heavy heart and pulled on a simple white tee and blue baggy jeans. You chose a pair of Jordan shoes, not because you don't felt like dressing up, but because you couldn’t muster the energy for anything more. The effort felt pointless when it seemed no one remembered or cared about your birthday.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you dressed, and the image reflected the hollow ache you felt inside. With a resigned sigh, you walked out of your room, ready to face another day, feeling like a forgotten afterthought.

You hurried out of your house, barely pausing to lock the door behind you. The cold morning air bit at your cheeks as you slid into the driver's seat of your car. Your movements were mechanical, driven by a deep-seated weariness. You started the engine and pulled out of the driveway, the rumble of the car filling the silence of your thoughts.

As you drove to college, Jungkook’s image was a persistent shadow in your mind. Each turn of the wheel seemed to echo with memories of him—his laughter, his smile, and the sting of his absence. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white, as you fought to keep your emotions in check. There was an undercurrent of nervousness you couldn’t quite place, a fluttering uncertainty that made your heart race for reasons you couldn’t define.

The drive felt endless, each minute dragging by as you replayed yesterday’s events. By the time you pulled into the college parking lot, you were nearly suffocating with frustration and sadness. You parked your car with swift, jerky movements, almost slamming the gearshift into park.

Stepping out of the car, you took a deep breath, trying to shake off the melancholy that clung to you. The walk from the parking lot to the campus felt like a trek through a fog. Your eyes were downcast, your footsteps heavy as you made your way through the bustling campus. You barely registered the chatter and movement around you, lost in your own turmoil.

You finally reached the canteen, its familiar smell of coffee and breakfast foods mixing with the lingering bitterness in your heart. As you pushed through the doors, the chatter and clatter of trays and dishes surrounded you, but you barely noticed. You moved through the crowded room, shoulders hunched, eyes focused on the path ahead. Finding a spot at a table, you sank into a chair, tossing your bag on the table, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you, as if the whole world was a muted blur around you.

You took a deep breath, getting up and walking to the counter, eyes scanning the options in front of you. The canteen menu was as uninspiring as ever, but hunger gnawed at your stomach, reminding you of your own laziness for not cooking anything. With a resigned sigh, you grabbed a plate of waffles and a cup of coffee, the safest bets in this lackluster spread. After paying, you turned to head back to your table, but something made you freeze mid-step.

There he was—Jungkook. His eyes darted anxiously around the canteen, scanning faces, moving with a restless urgency that made your heart skip a beat. For a brief moment, the urge to bolt gripped you, to just turn around and leave before he spotted you. But you shook your head, grounding yourself. He wasn't looking for you. He was probably searching for his new girlfriend, Lilith. The thought stung, but you swallowed it down and continued back to your table.

You set the plate and coffee down with a soft clatter, sinking into your seat. Just as you lifted the cup to your lips, ready to lose yourself in the warmth of the coffee, you heard it—his voice cutting through the chatter of the canteen.

"Blush. Blush."

His nickname for you.

His footsteps followed, growing louder as they neared. Your breath caught in your throat as you set the cup back down, unable to take that sip.

In no time, Jungkook was standing right in front of you, his presence commanding, and something was different. You forced yourself to look up at him, your eyes meeting his, only to be met with an expression that sent a shiver down your spine.

Anger? Why did he look angry?

His brow was furrowed, jaw tight, and his eyes—those usually warm, comforting eyes—were now darkened with frustration. You couldn't understand it. What did he have to be angry about? Confusion churned in your gut, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, words failing you. The air between you felt charged, heavy with unspoken tension, and you could feel the weight of his gaze bearing down on you, waiting for an explanation you didn't have.

"Why are you ignoring me?" Jungkook’s voice softened as he gazed at you, the anger in his eyes fading into something that looked like sadness. He tossed his bag onto the table beside yours with a thud, then crouched down in front of you, his gaze never leaving your face.

Before you could react, he reached out, grabbing the sides of your chair and turning it to face him. His hands found yours, gripping them tightly, as if afraid you might slip away. The intensity of his touch sent a jolt through you, weakening your resolve. It was a good thing you were already sitting, or your legs might have given out beneath you.

"Blush," he whispered, his voice so soft it barely reached your ears. The sound of your nickname on his lips made your heart clench painfully. God, you loved him—so much it hurt. But what did it matter? You couldn’t tell him. He had a girlfriend now. You reminded yourself of this bitter truth, feeling the familiar ache of heartbreak settling in your chest.

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your racing heart. Taking a deep breath, you attempted to pull your hands away from his, but he only held on tighter, his grip almost desperate. It was as if he feared losing you, like you were the one thing keeping him grounded. The intensity of his hold made your heart ache even more. Could it be? No, you must be imagining things.

"Why?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly. "Why are you doing this? I’m trying to talk to you, and you’re just… not talking to me. You ignored me yesterday too."

His words hung in the air, heavy with confusion and hurt. You stared down at your intertwined hands, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. What could you say? There were no words that could fix this. The truth was too painful to speak. You just wanted to disappear, to be anywhere but here. The realization that he didn’t even remember your birthday only twisted the knife deeper. You felt like crumbling into pieces, but you stayed silent, holding back the storm of emotions threatening to escape.

You wanted to ask him if he even remembered it was your birthday. Did he really forget you in just one day after getting a girlfriend? It wasn’t about him not loving you or you loving him—that was a secret you’d buried deep. But you were best friends. Did he forget that too? How could he stand here, blaming you, while he acted like nothing was wrong?

But you didn’t ask any of those questions. The words that escaped your lips were far different, softer, weaker. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook’s gaze locked onto yours, searching for something—maybe an explanation, maybe an apology. You couldn't tell.

“I was just… It’s… My parents aren’t home. And I was feeling sad and lonely,” you lied, trying to force a convincing smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

For a moment, his eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing. He seemed to believe you, and that only made your heart crack a little more. Where had that Jungkook gone? The one who could see through your smiles, who always knew when something was wrong even before you did. The boy who used to notice the sadness hidden behind your laughter was gone, replaced by someone who couldn’t even spot the lie on your lips.

He nodded, his grip on your hands loosening slightly. “I get it,” he said, his voice softer now, more understanding. But he didn’t get it. Not really. He didn’t see the pain you were hiding, the way your heart was shattering piece by piece.

You swallowed hard, biting back the words you wanted to scream. Instead, you just nodded, letting him believe the lie, even though it tore you apart inside.

Jungkook stood up and gently patted your head, his touch warm but distant. "It will be okay, hmm?" he said, his voice soft, almost comforting. You nodded, feeling like a fool. Will it ever be okay? No, it won’t. It can never be okay. You loved him too much for things to be okay. This love was too deep, too consuming to ever fade. The only way for it to end would be for you to end, or else this love would live on inside you forever. That thought terrified you—the idea of loving him for eternity, never being able to touch him, while time made him forget you. And yet, you'd be left with nothing but memories, trapped in a loop of unrequited feelings.

“Blush?” His voice pulled you back to the present, soft and filled with concern. He smiled at you, that sweet smile he always reserved just for you. But now, that smile only reminded you that he wasn’t yours anymore—if he ever truly was. Nothing about him belonged to you, and maybe it never did. You were just fooling yourself, weren’t you?

“Don’t think much. It’ll be fine. I promise.” His fingers brushed your face, his thumb tracing lightly over your nose—a gesture that used to make you laugh, that used to light up your world. But now, it only made you want to cry.

You forced a smile, the corners of your mouth lifting just enough to convince him, even though your heart was breaking inside. His touch, his words—they were meant to soothe you, but they only made the ache worse. You wanted to believe him, to cling to the hope he offered, but deep down, you knew better. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Jungkook smiled, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he pulled a chair closer to you and sat down. His happiness was infectious, but it only added to the heaviness in your chest.

"I have something for you," he said, his voice laced with excitement. "want to see it?"

You didn’t really want to see it. The weight of exhaustion was already pressing down on you, making you feel dizzy and drained. All you wanted was for him to leave, for this feeling of doom to pass. But you nodded anyway, forcing yourself to respond.

When his eyes lit up at your response, a small part of you felt a flicker of happiness. You watched as he reached for his bag, your gaze following the movements of his hands, wondering what he was up to.

He pulled out a large box of chocolates, and a genuine smile finally touched your lips. For a moment, the weight in your heart lightened just a little. You looked up at him, trying to match his enthusiasm.

"I know you love these," he said, holding the box out to you, "and I thought you were angry at me, so I needed to make it up to you."

You took the box from him, managing a laugh. "I wasn’t angry, but thanks," you said, your voice a mix of gratitude and something else—something you couldn’t quite name. He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture tender and familiar, making your heart ache even more.

But despite the sweetness of the gesture, the happiness didn’t quite reach your heart. A box of chocolates wasn’t enough to make up for what you really wanted—a simple “Happy Birthday” from him. Yet, you pushed those thoughts aside and leaned forward, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug, thanking him for the gift.

As he patted your head soothingly, you closed your eyes, willing yourself to feel the comfort he was trying to offer. But deep down, you knew that nothing could fill the emptiness inside you—not the chocolates, not his touch, not even the sound of his heartbeat close to yours.

You pulled back from the hug, your eyes lingering on his, those big doe eyes that seemed to hold the universe in them. He was everything you could ever want, the very definition of perfection. And maybe that’s why you couldn’t have him. He deserved someone better—someone like her.

He smiled at you, a warm, affectionate smile, and playfully squeezed your cheeks. Just as he was about to say something, a voice interrupted from behind.

“Jungkookie!” Lilith’s voice, sickly sweet and sharp, pierced through the air, making you wince.

Jungkook’s head snapped around, and he smiled at her, his entire demeanor shifting in an instant. She came striding towards you both, her high heels clicking loudly on the floor. Jungkook’s eyes widened in surprise, and even you felt a twinge of concern that she might stumble and fall flat on her face. But she didn’t.

And as much as you hated to admit it, a small part of you was disappointed that she didn’t fall. You wanted her to.

In no time, she was standing in front of Jungkook, her hand sliding into his as she pulled him to his feet. It all happened so quickly, like a flash of lightning. One moment he was sitting with you, his hands gently cupping your cheeks, and the next, he was standing beside her, her arms wrapped possessively around his left arm.

He brushed her arms away, his expression softening as he bent down to your level. “Look, I’ve got to go now. I… I have something important to do. Take care and eat the chocolates, okay?”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you with nothing but a box of chocolates and the emptiness gnawing at your chest.

You stared at the chocolates, the sweetness now a bitter reminder of everything you wanted but couldn’t have. It wasn’t the chocolates you craved—it was him. But all you got was this, while she… she had everything you wanted.

You turned deliberately back to your food, your appetite gone, but you forced yourself to eat anyway. The food tasted like ash in your mouth, but you swallowed it down, trying to fill the void that only seemed to grow with each bite.

The day dragged on, each hour blurring into the next. You didn’t see Jungkook again—not that you expected to. He was probably busy with his new girlfriend, and though you told yourself you didn’t care, the truth was harder to swallow. You cared. You cared too much. But you were tired of admitting it, even to yourself.

Finally, the day came to an end. You packed up your things, barely aware of your surroundings as you walked down the corridor, out of the building, and into the parking lot. Spotting your car, you headed straight for it, tossing your bag onto the passenger seat with a sigh.

Just as you were about to start the engine, you heard someone call your name. You glanced out the window and saw a guy waving at you. When your eyes met, he jogged over to your car, his expression nervous but determined.

Standing beside your car, he smiled awkwardly. “Hey! You probably know me…”

You shook your head, and his face flushed a deep shade of red. “That’s okay, I’m Jay. We’re in the same class. Literature?”

You nodded, waiting for him to continue, feeling the weight of his nervous energy in the air. He took a deep breath, then suddenly blurted out, “Will you go on a date with me?”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. His words hung in the air, and you processed them in stunned silence. But as you remained quiet, you saw the panic start to creep into his eyes, his breath quickening. Realizing he might be spiraling, you quickly stepped out of your car and placed a gentle hand on his arm, offering a reassuring smile.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said softly, trying to ease his nerves. “You don’t need to worry.”

He looked at you, relief washing over his face, though he still seemed uncertain. “It’s fine if you don’t want to. I’ll understand. You—”

His eyes lit up, a mixture of surprise and happiness flashing across his face. “Perfect! I’ll pick you up at 7 from your house.”

Your smile faltered slightly, the thought of giving out your address making you uneasy. “No, it’s okay. I’ll meet you there. Just send me the address.”

You exchanged phone numbers, his excitement almost contagious as he nodded eagerly. You still didn’t know him well. But at least this was something different, something that might distract you from everything else.

As you drove home, your thoughts drifted back to Jungkook and the emptiness that had taken root in your heart. But maybe, just maybe, it was time to try something new. To have a little fun, even if it was just to forget the pain, even if only for a night.

Time blurred by, and before you knew it, the clock struck six. Your phone buzzed with a text from Jay, providing the address of the restaurant. You glanced at the message before quickly getting ready, slipping into a simple black dress—nothing fancy, but short enough to make an impression. With one last look in the mirror, you grabbed your keys and headed out.

The drive to the restaurant was uneventful, your mind wandering as you navigated the familiar streets. When you arrived, the small vintage-themed restaurant immediately caught your eye. It was charming, with a warm, inviting atmosphere that made you smile. You stepped inside, scanning the room until you spotted Jay sitting in the corner, waving at you enthusiastically. You had to stifle a laugh—waving seemed to be his signature move.

You walked over, and as you approached, he quickly stood up and pulled out your chair with a shy grin. “Quite a gentleman, aren’t you?” you teased, unable to resist. His cheeks flushed pink, and he mumbled, “You look really beautiful.”

Settling into your seat, you felt a small flutter of satisfaction at his compliment. He ordered food for both of you, and the conversation began to flow naturally. Jay was nice—easy to talk to, with a soft demeanor that made the evening pleasant.

But then, mid-conversation, you noticed his hand suddenly move toward yours. He placed it on top of your hand, his touch tentative and shy. The urge to laugh bubbled up again, but you forced it down, deciding to let it slide. It didn’t feel right, but you didn’t say anything, noticing how nervous he was.

However, Jay seemed to misinterpret your silence. A few moments later, he scooted his chair closer to yours, his face inching toward you with a look that was all too clear. Your eyes widened in alarm, and you instinctively leaned back, creating distance. But Jay didn’t get the message—he continued leaning in, oblivious to your discomfort.

You opened your mouth, ready to stop him, but the words never left your lips. In the blink of an eye, Jay was on the floor, groaning in pain, clutching his side as he struggled to catch his breath.

And standing above him, fists clenched and jaw tight, was Jungkook.

His chest heaved with barely restrained fury, his usual calm expression replaced with something darker, more intense. His eyes, usually warm and full of mischief, were now cold as they locked onto Jay, who was still writhing on the floor. Jungkook’s hand twitched as if he was ready to strike again, but he held back, his gaze shifting to you.

He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, and your breath caught in your throat. His eyes hard and cold met yours, the anger in them abating just a bit, but his voice was soft when he spoke. “Are you okay?”

"Huh?" You asked, puzzled, and startled. For what really? In your head, you believed Jay didn't have any wrong intentions. But Did you say anything? No. You were too dumbfounded to pronounce a word.

"Blush, are you okay?" He repeated.

You nodded, though the shock was still coursing through your veins, making your limbs feel heavy. Jungkook’s eyes searched yours as if looking for any sign of distress, and when he seemed satisfied that you were unharmed, he turned his attention back to Jay, who was trying to scramble to his feet.

“Stay away from her,” Jungkook warned, his voice low and menacing. Jay paled, his eyes darting between you and Jungkook, clearly terrified.

You wanted to say something—to calm the situation down—but the words were stuck in your throat, tangled with the confusion and a hint of something else. Relief, perhaps? Or was it something more? Hope? But, for what?

Jungkook’s gaze hardened further as he looked at Jay and then again at you, his voice firm now. “Let’s go. You shouldn’t be here.” He held out his hand, and for a moment, you hesitated, glancing at Jay, who looked utterly defeated. But in the end, you placed your hand in Jungkook’s, letting him lead you away from the chaos he had just caused.

Jungkook grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the restaurant with a force that left you stumbling to keep up. His grip was tight, almost painfully so, as he dragged you toward his car, his jaw set in a hard line. When you reached the car, he yanked the door open and practically shoved you inside, slamming the door shut with a sharp thud. You wanted to tell him that you’d driven yourself, but the words caught in your throat. Something in the way he moved, tense and angry, made you stay silent.

He climbed into the driver’s seat, his movements quick and stiff, and started the car without a word. The engine roared to life, and soon you were speeding down the dark streets, the silence between you heavy and oppressive. The air inside the car was thick with unspoken tension, and you found yourself nervously fidgeting with the hem of your dress, your heart pounding in your chest.

You could tell he was furious; the tight set of his jaw, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him from losing control. The cold night air seeped in through the cracked window, brushing against your bare skin and making you shiver. Despite his anger, Jungkook noticed. Without a word, he reached over and rolled up the window before flipping on the heater.

“My hoodie’s in the back seat,” he said harshly, his voice cutting through the silence. “Grab it and fucking wear it.”

The words were gruff, his tone filled with irritation, but the gesture was astonishingly thoughtful. You turned around to reach for the hoodie, and that’s when you noticed it—an enormous bouquet of daisies and a cake resting on the back seat. Your fingers froze mid-air as you stared at them, a mixture of confusion and curiosity swirling in your chest. Are they for me? Did he really? Your mind raced with these thoughts. You wanted to ask him about it, but when you glanced at his face, the sharp angles of his clenched jaw and the angry flicker in his eyes made you think twice.

Silently, you grabbed the hoodie and pulled it over your head, the fabric soft and warm against your skin. It was far too big, swallowing you up like a blanket, and his scent, a mix of something fresh and woodsy, surrounded you as you took a deep breath. For a brief moment, a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. He really was huge, you thought, but the smile faded quickly as you stole another glance at him, his expression still hard and unyielding.

The drive seemed to pass in a blur, the tension in the car making every second feel like an eternity. Finally, you reached your home, and before you could even reach for the door handle, Jungkook was out of the car, moving around to your side. He yanked the door open with a roughness that made you flinch and grabbed your arm, pulling you out onto the sidewalk. His grip was firm as he dragged you toward the front door, his steps quick and determined, leaving you no choice but to stumble along behind him.

Your mind was racing, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened, but before you could process it all, you were inside your house, the door closing with a sharp click behind you, and he was standing in front of you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing like a drum in the tense silence that followed Jungkook’s outburst. The fear in your gut twisted tighter with every step he took toward you. You had never seen him this angry before. He was always the boy who had been your childhood friend, the one you fell for in middle school but never told. At first, it was fear of rejection, and later, the fear of losing him and your friendship kept your feelings hidden. But now, wasn’t he lost to you? Didn’t he belong to Lilith now?

“Why the fucking hell were you out with that idiotic being?” His voice was like a whip, harsh and cutting through the air. The force of his words made you flinch, your shoulders tensing as if trying to shield yourself from his anger. You caught a flicker of something in his eyes—was it regret?—but it was fleeting, quickly masked by his furious expression.

Before you could gather your thoughts or find the words to respond, he took two swift strides toward you, and suddenly you were face-to-face. The intensity of his gaze bore into you, a storm of hurt and pain swirling in his eyes. “Do you like him?” he demanded, his voice cracking with raw emotion. “Do you love him?” He didn’t wait for your answers, bombarding you with questions while his face remained inches from yours.

You tried to speak, but the words were trapped, your throat tightening. Jungkook's hands gripped your shoulders, his fingers digging in with a possessiveness that left you breathless. “Damnit, say something!” he shouted, shaking you slightly. “Why were you out with him?”

But instead of answering, you shot back a question of your own, desperation lacing your voice. “How did you know I was out with him, Jungkook? How did you even find me Jungkook?”

You didn't want to answer his question. Why should he care if you loved someone or not, when he had accepted Lilith’s proposal just the day before? Now he had a girlfriend. He had no right to demand answers from you.

His anger flared further, a deep scowl marring his features. “Does it matter?” he snapped. “Does it fucking matter?” His eyes were intense, demanding an answer, and he leaned in as if he might kiss you, his breath hot against your face. “Why don’t you answer me? Do you love him?”

The intensity of the moment, the way he was so close and yet so distant, made you tremble. “Yes, it matters! It matters to me!” you shouted, your voice breaking with the force of your emotions. You pushed him away, the shove more about your need for space than real anger.

Jungkook stumbled back, his eyes widening in shock. His face twisted with hurt, and tears began to well up, glistening in the harsh light of the room. He stared at you, his expression a mix of pain and confusion, as if your rejection was a blow he wasn’t prepared for. The sight of him—this person who had always been so sure and confident—crumbling in front of you left a sharp pang in your chest.

As you looked at his tear-filled eyes, a deep, gnawing guilt settled in your chest. Why did you still care so much about him? You wondered. Your love for him was consuming you, and it was tearing you apart. You opened your mouth to respond, but he spoke before you could.

“I came to your house to celebrate your birthday,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I wanted to surprise you. This time... I wanted to surprise you on your birthday, that's why I didn't wish you before. But. But when I got here, I saw you getting into your car; before I could stop you, you left, your car was already speeding up. I chased after you because I really wanted to make you happy. You were loo-looking sad all day. But, I lost you somewhere along the way, then sear-searched for your car for like forever. When I finally found it, it was parked outside that restaurant.” His voice rose with each word, and his eyes were wild with a mixture of frustration and hurt. “And the moment I walked in, I saw him trying to kiss you. You didn’t even stop him!”

The anger in his voice dissolved into tears. His shoulders shook as he struggled to breathe, the weight of his emotions crashing down on him. You could see the pain etched into his face, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

You moved towards him, your own heart breaking at the sight of him in such distress.

You moved towards him and wrapped your arms around him tightly, hoping to offer some comfort. “Jungkook, what's wrong?” you murmured, your voice gentle. “why are you crying? Please, don’t cry.” But he pushed you away, his hands shoving you forcefully. His reaction stunned you, and a wave of realization hit you. So this is how he felt when you pushed him away.

You tried again, but he pushed you off once more, his eyes filled with anguish. “You love him, don’t you? How long? Huh?” he sobbed, his voice cracking with pain.

Determined not to give up, you moved towards him again. This time, when he tried to push you, you held your ground. You guided him to the couch and gently made him sit down, his shoulders shaking with each breath. You stood beside him, your hand soothingly stroking his back. “Please, don’t cry,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady.

He buried his face against your waist, his arms clinging to you. “Why do you love him and not me?” he asked, his voice muffled but full of hurt. “I thought you love me.”

For a moment, you were frozen, staring at him in disbelief, questions swirling in your head making your heart ache further. He knew. He knew you loved him, yet he chose her over you. Now, he was asking you this. How could he? How could he ask this when he was with Lilith? Did he expect you to chase him while he enjoyed his life with someone else?

With a mix of frustration and sorrow, you pushed his hands away from your waist. His crying intensified, but you no longer cared. “How can you say that?” you yelled, your voice breaking. “You accepted Lilith’s proposal yesterday! You’re dating her now! And you’re telling me not to love anyone else?”

Jungkook shook his head vigorously, trying to explain. “I— I didn’t... She... I... No. Please,” he started, but you cut him off.

“You knew. You knew I love you. You knew I was upset!” you continued, your voice rising. “still, you left me alone with those stupid chocolates while you went off with her!”

He tried to explain himself again, but you interrupted again, your anger spilling over. “I didn’t want those chocolates! I wanted you!” you shouted, your hand striking his chest. “You’re a heartless bastard. I’ve loved you for so long, and you never cared! Was it too hard to fall for me? And, why crying now?”

Jungkook’s face twisted with frustration, he knew you love him, he always did, his mouth opening to say something, but you cut him off once more. “You always stopped me from calling you ‘Jungkookie’ or ‘Kookie,’ but you never minded when other girls did it!”

He was growing increasingly agitated, his face reddening with frustration. Without fully realizing what he was doing, he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you close. His lips crashed against yours, the urgency of the moment catching both of you by surprise.

For a brief second, you were frozen, his kiss demanding and intense. But then, you began to respond, your lips moving against his. The kiss was raw, filled with all the emotions neither of you could put into words.

He slowly pulled away, both of you breathing hard, your chests rising and falling rapidly. Your face was flushed, partly from the kiss and partly from the shyness creeping in. His eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. “I’m not dating her, Blush,” he whispered, using the nickname that made you feel like home for the first time in what felt like forever.

You blinked, your heart stuttering at his words. “What?”

“I’m not dating her,” he repeated, his voice steady yet full of regret. “Yes, she proposed, and I didn’t reject her immediately, but that was only because there were so many people around. I didn’t want to embarrass her in front of everyone.” His hand dropped to yours, holding it firmly. “I told her in private afterward that I love someone else. That I love you.”

Your breath hitched as he confessed, his gaze never leaving yours. “She said she needed help with a project, and after rejecting her, I couldn’t say no. So, I left with her, but I didn’t want to. I just... I’m sorry, Blush. I love you, and only you.”

You felt your heart skip a beat as his words sank in. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “And those names,” he continued, his voice low, “I never liked them. It always felt like they were calling a baby, but I didn’t care enough to stop them because... well, they didn’t matter to me. The only person who matters is you.”

His words wrapped around your heart, squeezing it tight. You couldn’t hold back anymore. You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down, crashing your lips against his. The kiss was urgent, desperate, full of everything you’d been holding back for so long. His arms wound around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

After what felt like an eternity, you broke the kiss, both of you panting, foreheads pressed together. “I love you too, Jungkook,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

His arms tightened around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he murmured against your skin. “I was just too scared to lose you.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. “You won’t lose me,” you promised, your hand cupping his cheek. “Not now, not ever.”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing as if he were savouring the moment. “That's a good thing because... I'm planning to keep you forever and ever and ever. I’m never letting you go,” he vowed, his voice firm, and you knew he meant every word.

Jungkook’s arms wrapped tighter around you, pulling you even closer, as if afraid you might disappear. His forehead rested gently against yours, his breath warm on your skin. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he looked into your eyes, the intensity of his earlier emotions fading into something softer, something tender.

“Happy birthday, Blush,” he whispered, his voice filled with affection.

Before you could even respond, he suddenly scooped you up into his arms, making you squeal in surprise. He laughed, the sound full of joy, as he began to twirl you around. The world spun around you, the colours of the room blurring together, but all you could focus on was him. The way his eyes sparkled with happiness, the way his grip on you was firm yet gentle, and the way his laughter filled your heart with warmth.

“Jungkook!” you laughed, holding onto his shoulders, feeling like you were floating. “Put me down!”

“Never,” he teased, twirling you faster. “Not until I’ve spun you around enough to make up for all those tears.”

Your laughter mingled with his, and the room filled with the sound of your shared happiness. Finally, when he slowed to a stop, he carefully set you down, though his arms stayed wrapped around you, keeping you close. You were both a little dizzy, swaying slightly, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was being in his arms, feeling his warmth, and knowing that he loved you.

Jungkook’s hands gently cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he looked at you with a smile that made your heart melt. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he murmured. “I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times, but it’s so much better than I ever dreamed.”

You smiled back at him, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers. “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” you confessed softly.

He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss on your forehead. “I'm sorry for making you cry. I won't ever make you cry again,” he promised. “I always knew you love me I just... I was... I tried to tell you many times but everytime it felt like it's not the right time, I'm sorry my love. I promise I'll make up for all those tears I've caused you because of my stupidity. Gosh! I just love you so much, Blush.”

You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but they were happy tears. You leaned into his touch, feeling safe, loved, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything was going to be okay.

Jungkook’s arms slid around your waist again, and before you could say anything, he lifted you off your feet once more, spinning you around slowly this time, his smile wide and full of love.

“Happy birthday, my love,” he whispered as he twirled you gently.

Part 2?

Wow, you made it to the end! Honestly, that deserves a medal or maybe some serious painkillers. If you’re still breathing and not currently plotting my demise for making you read this—congrats, you’re a legend. If you’re crawling towards me with murder in your eyes, don’t worry, I get it. I cringed so hard writing this that I think I bruised a rib.

I know, I know. This is like a bad joke that just won’t end. I’m cringing harder than you are. But hey, sometimes you just need to unleash your inner masochist and share the pain. I posted it because I felt like it. So, let’s bond over this collective trauma, or you can just plot my demise in peace. Either way, thanks for sticking around and surviving this with me. Here’s to us—brave souls navigating the wreckage of my writing. Cheers!

a/n: Let me know what you think in any way you like—comments, messages, carrier pigeons, whatever! I'd love to hear!

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always-just-red · 23 hours

Text

A/N: So I threatened a while back to write MC arresting Sylus since he literally won’t shut up about it. Thought this would be a silly fic but it ended up an angst-driven exploration of how his time with MC is probably finite and ill-fated?? Anyway Sylus is too soft for this, I’m sorryyyy (Sy I love you! I would never do this to you! ‘Didn’t it come from your imagination, though?’ Ssshhhh you don’t know what you’re saying!! 🥰)

To Remain Silent

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus has told you to arrest him one too many times...

Genre: Emotional rollercoaster honestly? Some angst, some comfort (and a lil spice for flavour)

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, vaguely established relationship, gets a little steamy at the end (mostly kissing tbh), artistic licence applied liberally since this would be WAY too risky for MC to actually attempt 😭😭

| Word count: 2.7k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sylus knows this isn’t real.

You watch him through the glass of his cell, and the subtle tint to it lets you know that he can’t watch you back. He’s sat on the single bench inside, leaning against the far wall, his long legs stretched out before him. His hands are cuffed— tucked away behind his back— but he still looks comfortable. More than comfortable: at ease. At home. Bored.

“You think I can’t feel those pretty little eyes of yours on me?” he mutters, head back, eyes closed. “I’m at your mercy, kitten. Are you really only going to look?”

You tap a button on the glass. “You should start taking this seriously.”

He smiles at the sound of your voice, but his eyes don’t open; there’s still nothing to see. “I’m taking it very seriously, sweetie.”

“I don’t think you are.”

The smile turns even more smug: a confession, all by itself. He sits up and leans forward, like someone who’s found a change of conversation to be interesting. His eyes open— managing to find you, somehow, and— can he see you? No. It’s an educated guess, he’s just selling it with confidence.

Leisurely, he rises from his seat and saunters over to the glass. “Let me see you,” he orders, then bargains: “Please? This is so very—” he toes the division— “one-sided.”

You can’t look him in the eyes, can you? This is hard enough without the windows to your soul baring your heart and your mind to him, like they always do. You should have worn those sunglasses he bought you for that undercover assignment. This is what they’re for, right? Hiding.

With a circular swipe of your finger, the glass before you clears and Sylus meets your gaze.

“Hi,” he teases.

You fold your arms across your chest. “Hey.”

“This is quite some effort you’ve gone to, kitten. And all for me, no less.”

“What effort?” you dismiss plainly. “You practically slapped those handcuffs on yourself.”

It’s not an exaggeration: from the cuffs to the ride here, not a single stage of his arrest has been resisted. The closest he’s gotten to a lack of cooperation was when you’d first restrained and dragged him from his study, where he’d been inclined to point out that the bedroom was the other way.

“Well, I didn’t want to cause a fuss,” he smirks. One of his hands is brought forward, and his handcuffs now hang uselessly from a finger. “Tell me,” he says, letting them swing as he holds your gaze, “what am I to expect now I’ve been so masterfully captured?”

You glance at the restraints, unmoved. “That isn’t for me to decide.”

A door behind you slides open, and— right on time— an altogether more impressive presence joins you before the cell. Sylus glances her up and down as the click of her heeled boots come to a stop; he has never met your captain, but he knows her face.

“You really cashed in all your favours, didn’t you, sweetie?” he observes. He turns to address the woman beside you: “We haven’t been introduced. I’m—”

“I know who you are,” Jenna interrupts, her tone as incorruptible as yours.

Sylus’s arm lifts, resting on the glass above you so he can tower over you, despite the partition. “Is that right?” he purrs absent-mindedly, dropping his head so he can speak into your ear. “Sweetie… I thought you could keep a secret.”

He’s goading you into your usual game, but the stakes don’t interest you. “You were wrong.”

You’re at your own table, dealing your own cards. Does he want to play? You think he might. His lips are curving at the delicious prospect of a challenge. You’ve given him a taste of it. He wants more.

Jenna is studying her clipboard, acting oblivious. She senses the impasse. Asks Sylus: “Do you know why you’re here?”

He huffs impatiently. “Enlighten me.”

“Sylus,” you scold.

Red eyes widen a fraction.

You see it.

Good.

…

Sylus thinks this might be real.

You said his name. His real name: the one with sharp, bloody strings attached. The one on all the posters. The one in your precious Association’s archives, linked to stacks of files and crime scene photos, most of which he isn’t even responsible for.

Sylus. You said: Sylus.

It was worthy of a grand reveal— the sort of plot twist that delivered the suspense of so many thrillers— but here you are, speaking it like it’s nothing. Not a slip of the tongue; not a mistake. And it’s different here. He’s not your Sylus. He’s theirs.

Their murderer. Their monster. Their convenient little scapegoat for everything dark and unholy.

The captain is reading him a list, reeling off every crime— each alleged sin. As if he needs a reminder. As if all the time in the world could ever let him forget. “Needless to say, Mr Sylus,” she summarises, “due to the nature of these crimes, you may prove exempt from our standard procedures. A case like this is… unprecedented. Onychinus has much to answer for. You have much to answer for.”

Sylus hasn’t really been listening; it’s all senseless bureaucracy. “You have the wrong man,” he says, because whatever you’re doing— whatever stunt this is— a confession is sure to derail it. You know that, don’t you? You must be counting on it: holding that guilty breath of yours and hoping he’s smart enough to not be Sylus.

You don’t look worried in the slightest. You must have an awful lot of faith in him.

He studies you, waiting for a small, deliberate smile or a moment of weakness. Give him a sign, don’t give him a sign— it doesn’t matter; he’ll find one. His intentions must be clearer than yours, because you step up to the glass to face him.

Do it, your silence says, even though the rest of you is illegible. You want to look? Look.

His eye could light like a crimson fire— could burn the truth out of you— but it won’t. It’s a promise he made what feels like a lifetime ago, not long after you’d met: Your thoughts and desires are yours to give, not his to take.

Even here. Even now. He’s a man of his word, after all.

Impressed? You smile faintly, but there’s no warmth to it. “Captain,” you speak, your eyes not leaving his, “can you give us a minute? Please?”

“Of course,” the woman answers with a nod.

Sylus does not see her go. He hears it: the retreating rhythm of her shoes. He feels it: it’s just the two of you, alone again. Well, the two of you and that ‘hidden’ camera in the far corner of the room. “Whatever game this is,” he grins good-naturedly, his teeth gritted, “it stops. Now.”

“It’s not a game, Sylus. I told you to take this seriously.”

“What are you doing?” he snaps, and that good-natured grin didn’t last very long.

Your hands land on your hips. “My job.” When he scoffs, you continue: “Did you really think this would end any other way? After everything you’ve done?”

He laughs and it’s deeply sardonic. He’s no saint— to try to convince you he was would be a crime worthy of punishments far worse than this. But you know him. You know the line and what stands on each side of it: everything he’s done, yes, and everything he’s been made to take the fall for.

You wouldn’t do this to him. Would you? “You want to play pretend? Fine,” he hisses. He wants to wrap his Evol around that godforsaken camera and annihilate it. “You caught the big, bad boss of Onychinus— congratulations, sweetie. Sure. Let’s say that’s who I am. A man like that has power, right? So what’s to keep him— me— from escaping? Right now?”

“You’re not going to leave, Sylus. Wanna know why?”

He’s sure you’re going to tell him, and you do:

“Because you’re all talk. All smoke and mirrors. You want to go? Go. But there’s not a single person in this building who wouldn’t give their life to bring you back. Someone will catch up to you eventually, and what then?”

“I’ll have a lot of fun, I imagine.”

“You’ll do nothing,” you correct. “Because those people out there? They’re my friends. My family. You hurt them? You hurt me. Make all the threats you want, Sylus— we both know the truth.”

He towers over you, still, but it’s hard not to shrink at your next words:

“You don’t have it in you.”

Your eyes are sharp: whetted with resentment. Sylus is your reflection— your worthy opponent, always— but he just can’t look at you like that.

There’s a quiet hiss as you slide a finger over the cell’s control panel. White, neon light carves through the glass partition: two vertical lines that bleed upwards, either side of him, before bending to meet each-other. The glass between them shimmers, then fades.

Sylus stands on the precipice of the doorway, cool air crawling past him. He stares up at the camera, then down at you. Your arms have folded again as you watch him— a narrative of apathy.

“How about it, Sylus?” you ask bitterly. “Still think you can outrun fate?”

“No.” Not since it started wearing your face. Fate is you, putting a bullet in his heart, and him, waking up so you can do it over and over again. Maybe this is real. Maybe it isn’t. “What do you want from me?” he entreats softly, because you’ll get it— either way.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you sneer, and your hand shoots out, grasping a fistful of his shirt. You use it to drag him out of the cell, closer, lower, so that his face is mere inches from yours.

“No,” he repeats. “Say it.”

Your eyes burn like pyres: so dangerous, so beautiful, so suited to being the death of him. “I want you—” you begin, as they flit briefly to his lips— “to tell me…”

“What?”

“How you cheat at kitty cards.”

Oh. Oh.

You’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?

Sure enough, you drop his shirt and burst into laughter— irrepressibly you again. The fire in your eyes has simmered down into something warm, safe, and comfortable, and— gods— you’re even crying. You’re doubled over, holding your stomach as though it hurts. You lift a hand to wipe your wet cheek. “Your face,” you get out between gasps, “oh, your face!”

Yours is not the only laughter, but it’s the only laughter Sylus hears.

“We so got you, Skye!” Tara’s vaguely familiar voice resounds from an intercom.

There’s some confusing static with it— more tittering voices— and Sylus suspects he’s found himself the star of your colleagues’ after-work entertainment. He puts his hands on his hips as he looks up at the camera. “Is the whole office—”

“Yeah,” you manage, wiping away another tear. “Figured it would be good for morale. Good practice, too.”

“Practice?”

“Mmhmm,” you confirm with a hum. You’ve apparently gotten a handle on the hilarity of the situation, because you approach him with something close to composure. Meditatively, you smooth down the fabric of his shirt. Straighten his collar. “For when we catch the real Sylus one day.”

He captures your wrists; that’s a lot of tenderness for someone who just tried to give him a heart attack. Maybe he’s a little too rough, because you pout at him in a way that makes him instantly soften his grip.

“You ok, Skye?” you enquire with an ironic smile and an adorable tilt of your head.

His thumbs are feathering over your pulse points, and slowly, he leans in to deliver a message, just for you: “If I say no, will you make it up to me?”

…

Sylus knows this is real.

His mouth is on yours and it’s relentless, desperate; you made him wait for it. How long has he been wanting to trap you against the nearest wall, just like this, so he can kiss you until he forgets just how cold you can be?

He’s been very patient. He didn’t roll his eyes or utter a word of complaint when you’d dragged him to join your colleagues for dinner. It was your victory party, your ‘I made you look like an idiot’ party, but he was his usual, charming self, and your friends all adored him for it. They’d spun him the tale of his ‘arrest’— the planning, the preparation, and your lightbulb moment:

“Hey, guys, have you ever thought about how Skye kinda looks like Sylus?”

Only he could understand how wickedly clever it was. His eyes had sought yours as he listened, lazy, content, and so obviously biding his time. You’d smiled at him. He’d smiled back.

And he’d stayed smiling, even after the party was over and you’d had to walk a slightly-tipsy Tara home. She’d refused a taxi, insisted Sylus escort her— oh, and you could come, too! He’d lent her his arm: humoured every squeeze and chuckled at each remark about the size of it. You’d had to swat her away, in the end.

“I’m just teasing, y’know?” she’d giggled as the three of you arrived at her front door. “Skye knows I’m just teasing. You’re such a sweetheart, Skye. Imagine! You— the leader of Onychinus!”

She’d laughed, much too loud for such a quiet street, and with a less-than-subtle wink, left the two of you alone. Which is how you’d ended up here, in an alley around the back of her building, because it was Sylus’s turn to drag you somewhere.

His attentions have moved lower; there’s a subtle clink as his fingers find the clasp of your shirt collar and he peels it back, exposing your neck. His lips leave yours, trailing down, down— past the line of your jaw and over the soft, vulnerable column of your throat. You gasp as he brushes over a sensitive spot, and you could swear you feel him smile.

He’s always been passionate, but this is a different fire, fuelled by something you can’t ignore, no matter how much you want to:

Relief.

“Sy,” you murmur breathlessly, your hand in his hair, tugging gently. “Sy, stop.”

“Mmm?” he acquiesces, voice sinfully low as the cold evening air takes his place kissing your neck. His eyes shine like blood spilt in the dead of night— lingering on you. He looks drunk.

You lift a hand to cup his face and run your thumb over his cheek. “I’ll never let anything happen to you, Sylus. You know that, right?”

Those dark eyes find clarity with your words, full of apprehension for just how naive you can be. The future will turn on you just as quickly as a wild animal someone boasts about having tamed, and aren’t you foolish, thinking you can control something like that?

Besides, that’s his job.

“I know,” he says like he’s supposed to— ever the martyr, following the script. He goes to nuzzle into you again, but your hand is still tight in his hair and he groans as you use it to pull him back.

“I mean it,” you reassert, forcing him to look at you. You don’t care that it’s ridiculous. You don’t care that fate is so hot on your heels that you have to keep running. You’re tired. He’s even more tired.

Isn’t it nice to stop and catch your breath?

Pretend you have time: His gaze is full of faith and oh, the world is going to enjoy punishing the two of you. “I know,” he insists, because this is the second time you’ve fooled him tonight. You feel his hand on your face and you let him kiss you— again, then again— so achingly slow, so arrogant.

The world can wait; he wants to punish you first.

“Do you really want to know—” he distracts as he finds that sensitive spot on your neck again— “how I cheat at kitty cards?”

The pad of his finger is chasing the path of his mouth; it tickles. You whine: “Tell me later, Sy.”

“Ok,” he breathes against you.

Later. There’ll be a later.

Won’t there?

#🖋rach is actually writing #sylus x reader #sylus #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

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kykyonthemoon · 1 day

Note

Hello, i've read your work recently and i'm in love with your writing! If you mind can i ask where the reader somehow remember their past life and saying sorry to the love and deepspace character? I wonder about their reaction where mc feels really guilty at them. Thank you <3

Dear lonely-dreamer,

Thank you so much for the request. It took awhile but I finally managed to finish it. Since we know too little about Sylus (or even Caleb), I wrote for only the 3 first MLs. I might write something else for Sylus and Caleb later :3

Hope you like this piece. Have a wonderful day!

Lost. Found.

When you suddenly find the memories of the past lives, which you once lived with him.

── .✦ Character x Female Reader|MC

Included parts in order: Rafayel, Xavier, Zayne.

♡︎. Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, short, myths related.

♡︎. Word count: 2k1

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - currently closed.

Roam on, my love

down life's

long road

we will

be lost

and found

a thousand times

before

we meet again.

— ATTICUS.

Rafayel

Talia came to find Rafayel in the middle of the night, while you were still half asleep, feeling his warmth slowly fade from the space next to you in bed. You sensed a major event had happened, which was why Talia hurried here alone at such a dark hour, looking so terrified.

You had intended to go downstairs and make some tea for the guest. But as soon as you reached the stairs, Talia's voice echoed through the half-open door.

"He will not be the last Lemurian to be slain... You know that, don't you, Rafayel? That we don't have any time left..."

Your bare feet paused. The cold air from the stone stairway touched your palm, waking you up. Yes, you were no longer dreaming. This was real. As real as everything you had seen since touching that protocore. During a mission last month, you happened to resonate with a strange protocore. It caused you to perceive illusions, but not quite so. They were like recollections from your past lives, fragmented and sewn together in front of your eyes. The feud between you and Rafayel from a long, long time ago.

So you were aware that your tale and what Talia had said were related. Rafayel’s silence made her even more impatient. She added:

“They want her, Rafayel. They will come for you. I can’t convince them anymore… They will find her sooner or later. You already know the price…”

Time passed slowly in the dark corridor. You understood everything Talia had said, that the girl was you. What the Lemurians desired was inside your chest. You remembered, not everything, but vivid dreams told you what you had done to the Lemurians, to Rafayel.

But it wasn’t you. It was a completely unfamiliar version of you.

A moment after Talia left, you entered the room. The warm firelight from the enormous fireplace filled the room and illuminated Rafayel's slumped back. When he heard your footsteps, he turned around with a feeble smile and asked:

“Why are you out here, my princess? Did I and our unexpected guest awaken you?”

You gazed at him for a brief moment. After all, you understood that every time he called you princess, it was not just a loving pet name.

You moved closer and hugged Rafayel. You had not told him about your dreams or what you had recalled. That night, you were determined to tell him everything.

Rafayel was astonished. The warm firelight in his eyes blurred, and pure white pearls began to tumble to the floor.

“I’m sorry… Rafayel… I’m so sorry…”

Rafayel seized your hands, drew them closer, and kissed them with his lips.

"To be loved, it's not a sin."

His fingers tenderly wiped the tears from your face. He had waited so long for you to discover who you really were, and at the same time he hoped you would never know. That way you could live your days freely, not bound by the hatred of the past. Yet you still remembered everything.

Your breathing became heavy with each sob. You said:

“Rafayel… If you want my heart…”

"I want it to stay there," Rafayel said. "Within your chest. It's yours. Across the past, present, and future. I have never once regretted giving it to you. If you remember, you know I always try to rewrite our story, right?”

“But the Lemurians…”

“They are losing faith in me. I understand. But all I need is your faith. We will get through this and never be apart again. Do you understand?”

You did not dare to believe that there might truly be a happy ending for you and Rafayel. But in that moment, as you gazed into his resolute eyes, you realized that you would do everything just to stay with him.

Xavier

Lately, you had a hunch that Xavier was going to leave.

Ever since you returned from that mission, there appeared to be an unseen divide between you two. You knew it was not him, it was you. The mysterious protocore you accidentally came into contact with during the mission caused you to see things. The dreams were fractured, with no beginning or end. However, you comprehended them as if they were recollections from your former lives.

You kept it hidden from Xavier. He merely thought you were acting odd since you returned, but he would not compel you to say anything against your will. You secretly searched for evidence to back up what you suspected. And you found it.

You knew about the Backtracker fleet. You knew about Philos. And you knew about Lumiere.

Xavier kept everything hidden for your safety. And yet, you kept this a secret because you did not wish for him to suffer. Again.

You still did not know what to say to him, or how to compensate for his loss. He had sacrificed so much, for you. But somewhere inside, you still felt a little resentful that he had left you all alone. You knew he was ready to make the same decision as when he abandoned you at Philos.

“Go to bed early.” Xavier stroked your head gently. “In a few days, when you wake up, I’ll be by your side.”

Lie.

“Do you really have to go?” You hesitated. “I mean… You could have refused this mission.”

You could have stayed. You could have told me the truth.

"I have to go." Xavier responded. He gently squeezed your cheek. "But I'll be back shortly. Do not worry too much. Remember to eat well and skip any meals. Don't stay awake too late. It's getting colder; remember to stay warm. If you are bored and miss me, you may play the video games I recently purchased or watch the unfinished movies..."

It sounds like you're not coming back! You held back the tears and replied:

“If you don’t come back soon, I might have to watch them all by myself.”

“Then I’ll have to ask you to tell me the plots.” Xavier smiled. He lightly kissed your forehead. “I’ll leave now.”

You sat on the sofa, listening to his footsteps as they slowly walked away. A slight "click" was heard as the door closed.

His mission was only an excuse. A few days back, you overheard him and Jeremiah talking. He intended to use this expedition to stage a phony "missing case" to distract those who had betrayed him. With Jeremiah, he would lead them away from Linkon, away from you.

He chose to leave you. Again.

Warm tears streamed down your cheeks. All alone, what should you do? You recalled the scene in the past, in which you sat on the throne with the blessings of so many people, yet absolutely on your own. You had counted every star waiting for the day Xavier would return to you as promised. But he had completely disappeared.

This time, he pledged to return to you. This time, he would also break his promise.

You brushed the tears away. You had been thinking a lot in the last several days. You still blamed Xavier, but you understood why he had done so. And you had distanced yourself from him since you were unsure how to confront him. But, at this point, none of that mattered when you might lose Xavier again. Forever.

You raced out of the home. You did not care about the past. You had no concern what the future held. The most important thing to you right that moment was Xavier alone.

Unable to wait for the elevator, you decided to run. You caught Xavier standing outside, likely waiting for Jeremiah. You hurried over to embrace his back. To Xavier's amazement and your weeping, you stated:

“Don’t go… Xavier… Don’t leave me alone again… I’m sorry that I assumed you left me to find your true star… I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, that ever since I touched that protocore, I started remembering what happened in Philos… I know who you are. Who I am… So don’t think you can fool me again… This time, I’ll go wherever you go. Let me face it with you, okay?…”

Xavier did not have time to respond. You could feel his entire body shudder as a burning tear fell onto your hand, which he had just squeezed so tightly.

Zayne

"Doctor Zayne is out of danger. You can come in." Greyson's voice sounded out. Yvonne stood alongside him, relieved. You nodded at each of them and entered the hospital ward.

How strange, since in all the previous cases, it was Zayne standing here, and you were the one lying on the bed.

There was an attack on the outskirts of Linkon. You were sent to investigate, and Zayne had accompanied his team from Akso Hospital to treat the injured. While fighting the Wanderers, you encountered a peculiar protocore. It had drawn you into a bizarre realm where you appeared to glimpse the lives you had once lived, with Zayne.

You were not sure how long you had been there. It was like a dream, with no sense of time or who you were. You were lost down there, so deep that Zayne had given up everything to find you. The real Zayne, yours, in this timeline.

The price of bringing you back was him lying there, fighting for every breath, body covered in wounds and almost completely frozen.

The price of bringing you back was him laying there, battling for every breath, his body covered in wounds and almost frozen.

You lightly stroke his frigid hand. Zayne did not respond but his heartbeat remained steady. He would live. That was what Greyson told you, and it was all you held on to that moment.

Hope.

You stayed by his bedside all night, breathing life and all of your love into Zayne’s hands. When the first rays of the morning light woke you and the warmth returned to him, his eyes fluttered and gradually opened. You squeezed his hand.

“Zayne… Zayne… You're here!…” You cried out. You called for him and not completely him, but the Zayne of all the lives you had found.

Tears began to trickle down your pale cheeks. Zayne carefully wiped them away.

“Why are you crying?… I… did not go anywhere…”

You grabbed his hand and pressed your face against it. You kissed his hand aggressively, as if you were scared he would disappear again.

“I don’t believe you anymore… You lied… You always said that I would live a happy life in the end… But then, you vanished without a trace… Did you think you could fool me again this time?”

Zayne’s pupils widened. In an instant, his reaction shifted from astonishment to joy, then despair.

“I…”

"You know, right?" You dried your tears, halting whatever he was about to say. “You know that we don’t have just this one life. Right? You know that you disappeared in front of me in the jasmine field… You left me seeking for you among mountains and hills… This time, you really intended to leave me again… Do you believe that I could really live happily in a world without you?” You let out all your pent-up emotions through each word, each tear. Zayne stared at you with a mix of anguish and joy. You were aware of the same thing he was.

"I'm sorry…" Zayne spoke softly. His fingers cradled your chin and softly elevated your face.

“Why should you apologize?… After all… The one who is most at fault is me… Because of meeting me, Zayne…”

You trailed off. Choking. Your entire body trembled as emotions came to the surface. Zayne struggled to sit up, then drew you into his arms and embraced you hard.

“Because of meeting you, I learned what it means to love someone. Because of meeting you, my world is no longer lost in ice and snow… I chose you. It will always be you…”

You let out another sob. You clutched to Zayne. “I’m sorry… I’m really… I’m sorry…”

Zayne's weight was resting on your head as he kissed your hair. He rubbed your back to soothe you, like he always did.

“It's alright now… It’s alright… When I came to find you and get you out of the protofield, I thought I wouldn’t have the strength to go back anymore… Yet I heard you calling my name all night long… You helped me find my way back. You found me. You saved me… This time, I have no intention of letting you go ever again.”

162 notes · View notes

moonchild701 · 2 days

Text

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Finders Keepers

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[NSFW] ‼ 18+ >MDNI<

Summary: Dabi finds you knocked out in an alley at the end of your patrol. You're pretty, so he decides to keep you.

Pairing: Dabi/Hero Fem Reader

Content Warning: Noncon/Dubcon, Kidnapping, Nonconsensual Bondage. Spanking, Cunnilingus, Choking, Self Deprecation, Victim Blaming, Degradation, Mind Break, No use of Y/N

Word Count: 4.8k

Disclaimer: Character belongs to Kohei Horikoshi

A/N: We're switching it now! :D

My Masterlist

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You groan when you come to, head pounding as a dull ache pulses across your body. You attempt to move your arm to your head, to at least try to ease the pain there.

Except, you can't move your arm.

What the fuck?

Tugging harder, your eyes snap open to find that your arms are restrained above your head in tight ropes. They dig into the soft skin of your arms, creating harsh red lines as you thrash in your restraints.

Your eyes quickly scan around the room, finding it unfamiliar. Though the room is dark, you can vaguely make out a bed in the corner of the room, with plain sheets covering it, and a small wooden dresser next to it. Other than that, the room is bare.

You try to stand properly, to plant your feet firmly, but the position of your arms doesn't allow for more than the tips of your toes to touch the floor. You shiver as the cool air causes goosebumps to rise across your skin. At some point, your clothes had been removed, leaving you in only your underwear.

You try to remember what the hell happened and how you ended up here... you remember being on patrol, and stopping a mugging, the victim running for safety. Then a thud and pain as your vision blurred while the mugger lifted your head, makimg you look into piercing, golden eyes and everything goes foggy after that. You believe he made his escape after that, and you think you vaguely remember another pair of piercing eyes on you; a pretty blue.

But then you let out a soft curse as you remember that it was at the end of your patrol, and no one would really know something is wrong until the next day, because you already signed out on your comms; the mugging just happened to occur right after that, on your way home, and it's not like you could just let it happen.

Fuck.

You grunt in annoyance, panic beginning to bubble up in your chest. Who the hell kidnapped you and what did they want? The numerous senarios flashes through your mind, none of them pleasant as you're both a Hero and woman.

Neither of those things were a good thing to be when kidnapped, but together is worse, especially when you can't use your quirk for whatever reason.

They probably injected you with supressants......

Just as you were about to try to pull on the rope again, the door to the room slammed open, smacking harshly against the wall. You flinch at the sudden sound, and the fluorescent light that floods the room after a sharp click, sensitive eyes shutting at the brightness.

And as much as you tried not to, you felt a trickle of fear go down your spine as you shook.

Get it together!, you mentaly reprimand yourself.

You try to activate your quirk again, in vain, you know, and as expected, nothing happened. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Finally awake, I see. You tryna use your quirk, Sweetheart? Cute~." a husky voice coos mockingly; menacingly. You squint your eyes open, narrowing them at the figure as they shut the door behind them, before strolling further into the room.

"Don't bother tryin', Dolly. I injected you with enough quirk cancellin' serum to last....a while." His grin is sharp and dangerous, and you supress a whimper at now knowing just who has you captive.

Tall, healthy skin contrasting against the dark burn scars, secured by silver staples, and tousled midnight hair falling over pretty cerulean eyes...

The villain Dabi.

You've been captured by the League of Villains, and no one has any way of knowing, especially not for a while.

Fuck.

As much as you fear your situation and fate, you refuse to show it, glaring at the villain, waiting for his next move, which just makes him smile wider staples tugging at the edges. You need to be ready for anything... there's obviously a reason they brought you here, right? But you had not an inkling of what it could be, because you've never actually interacted with any of them, only knowing who Dabi is because of his prolific rapsheet and defining looks.

It's hard to miss the scars, obviously.

You silently debate with yourself on whether or not to just ask, before deciding why not. It's not like it would actually change your situation.

"Why did the League take me? I've never had anything to do with you..." you ask warily, eyes trained on the villain as he stalks closer.

Now standing directly in front of your bound figure, his smirk softens. He grabs your face, fingers pressed into your cheeks teasingly, turning your head side to side, inspecting, making you freeze, your eyes wide on him.

"I did."

You almost didn't catch his murmured words, but when they process, it just confuses you even more.

"What?"

Piercing, azure eyes meet yours, hot and calculating.

You stare back helplessly into the villains eyes, as he says, "I took you. The League has nothin' to do with this." His voice low, thumb rubbing at your cheek, as he tilts his head. "They don't even know you're here."

Your heart rate quickens, because you don't know if that's better or worse.

"T-Then why—" You silently curse yourself for letting the nervous stutter slip, but you're quickly distracted.

You get your answer.

He releases his hold on your face to slide the hand down to tilt your chin up gently, his middle finger stroking over a pulse point, thumb rubbing at your botton lip, as the other hand brushes up your side, ghosting over the skin there, and he breathes, gaze locked on yours, "You're fuckin' gorgeous, Sweetheart. I just had to have you." Your lips part in shock as your breath hitches.

Ah. He's crazy.

You don't want to be here, you want to be home, curled up warm and happy in the softness of your bed.

Fear washes over you, cold and consuming, and you have to blink away the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes

Because Dabi's lips curl into a smirk as he his eyes drag over your shivering frame, squirming in the ropes that still hold you suspended from the ceiling.

The hand on your chin releases to slide down, over your throat to your chest as he cups your breast through your bra, the other hand sliding down your side, toying with the waistband of your panties.

You gasp at the touch, desperately trying to move away from the hot hands violating your skin.

"N-no, no, get a-away from me." you say shakily. You're confused, frightened, and worried about what's going to happen to you.

This can't be happening.

Dabi laughs, soot tinted and condescending, quirking an eyebrow at you. His lips curl into a playful smirk as he gropes at your breast before grabbing your hips in both hands, pulling your suspended body flush against his, burying his face in your neck, rough scars and staples grazinging your skin.

And oh, you could feel the thick, hard bulge on your leg as he presses his thigh up against your core. You immediately start struggling against your restraints.

"No, no no no—"

Dabi sighs against your pulse, mismatched lips grazing the skin there

"Shut the fuck up, little hero." he murmurs, his hips moving against you as he slides you to do the same, grinding you on his thigh. You whimper at the friction, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Hah" his hot breath on your skin raises goosebumps where it hits,

Why, why, why—

Without warning, you drop; the scent of something burning wafts through the air and you realize it's the rope.

Before you have a chance to recover, Dabi drags you over to the bed by the short piece of rope like a leash, forcing you to stumble your way after him. He throws you roughly down onto the hard mattress, securing your hands to the head board with thick handcuffs after burning away the rest of the rope.

You choke on a sob as you struggle to get away from him. Looming over you, he burns away the straps of your bra, sliding it off and throwing it to the side, before heated hands are roaming and groping your flesh reverantly, familiarizing himself with your skin as he leans in to capture your lips in a bruising kiss.

You clamp your lips shut, but he just squeezes your cheeks to pry it open, tongue slipping in, licking into your mouth.

In a last ditch show of defiance, you bite down on the muscle, hard, the coppery taste of blood painting your tongue.

He pulls away with a curse, glaring up at you with a sharp coldness as he chuckles darkly, and with the blood trickling down the side of his mouth, he looks like the deranged villain you know him to be.

Wiping up the trail of blood with his thumb, he looks at the crimson staining his skin with amusement, before popping it into his mouth, sucking it off, and pulling it out with a wet pop. "Looks like you need some discipline, hm?" He hums, pulling away.

Before you can fully process what he means, he flips you onto your stomach, forcing your arms to cross awkwardly and uncomfortably, before gripping the waistband of your panties on both sides and tugging; his blunt nails dragging lightly over your skin as he pulls it over the swell of your ass, and down and off your legs.

And you shake, as your last piece of flimsy modesty is stripped from you and thrown carelessly to the side somewhere.

Where is everyone? Why hadn't they come to save you yet? How long had you even actually been missing for?

The thought is immediately cut off as Dabi lands a sharp smack to the exposed flesh of your ass cheeks.

Shocked, you gasp at the sting, pleading, "No, please, d-don't—!" Helpless against the villain, you whimper as he kneads and squeezes your ass, soothing the sting, decietfully gentle and placating, before your vision blurs as he lands another harsh smack against the soft flesh, followed quickly by another. Then another. Then another.

You sob pitifully, body convulsing in an attempt to escape Dabi's stinging touch; the sensitive skin turning such a lovely red.

Your breath hitches as you're suddenly flipped back over onto your back, and then Dabi is on you; looming over and surrounding you, face close enough to yours to feel his breath fanning against your lips, and you're not sure when he got rid of his shirt, but the heat wafting off of him is almost suffocating.

"Learned your lesson?" He smiles expectantly, sarcastically, and you just continue you sob.

"If you don't shut up, I'll have to fuckin' gag you." Dabi's voice is a harsh whisper, and you're viciously reminded that this man could turn the whole room into an inferno within seconds, turn you to ash in less. Though, he doesn't need to because his eyes are the same color as his flames and you already feel like you're being burned alive with them trained on you.

He grabs your face and growls, commanding, "Behave.", and swipes his tongue over your bottom lip before slipping in, and this time you let him, but you don't kiss back, though he doesn't seem to care.

You whimper when his hands wrap around your thighs, hot and firm as he forces them open, slotting himself between your legs, and he licks the sound out of your mouth.

He explores you warm mouth like he's trying to memorize it, kissing you stupid, and you're breathless by the time he's done. He eases down your chest, mouthing and licking and sucking at your bare tits, hot tongue playing with your nipples; the metal of his piercing was an overwhelming surprise to the sensitive buds, before moving back up the column of your throat. And you can't help but whine as scarred hands roam your thighs and up your sides, salty tears rolling pitifully down your cheeks, as you try and fail to calm your sniffling.

Though, when he speaks again, you shiver in more than just fear.

"Mm, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" He whispers against the shell of your ear, voice velvet, breath hot. "You'd love to be gagged and choked, like the sweet little whore I know you are, hm?"

Something between a mix of shock and shame wracks through you, as arousal pools in your stomach at his words.

No.

No, you can not be turned on right now. Fucking hell, Dabi is a man, a villain, who kidnapped you, for fucks sake, and now he's using your body as he sees fit. Nothing about this is okay.

And yet.

And yet, warmth creeps up your neck and cheeks as your pussy weeps, clenching around nothing.

In your dazed, shocked arousal, you don't notice what was coming until it's too late, as Dabi grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, before crashing your lips together in a searing kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth yet again. He sucks on your bottom lip, biting into the plush flesh as a sharp smack against your inner thigh makes you jolt in surprise.

"I asked you a fuckin' question, slut. You'd love that, wouldn't you?" Dabi's eyes are sadistic, wolfish smirk on his lips.

You tremble, your body warm all over as shame washes over you. You could still feel the sting of his slap to your thigh, could see the skin reddening and the bruises already forming along your chest.

A sharp squeeze to your thigh, much too close to your heat makes you squeak.

"N-no, no, I—"

His thumb brushes through the folds of your pussy, to your clit, as he bites down on the junction of your neck, forcing a moaning squeal out of you.

"No? Why're you so fuckin' wet then, hm slut?" He growls into your throat as he licks and sucks and bites at the sensitive skin there, rubbing his thumb against your nub, making you leak.

Your breathing picks up as you tug on your bindings in an attempt to distract yourself as you try oh so desperately to contain your noises, to not react.

And then you feel his thumb petting over your entrance, making you gasp and shake your head pleadingly as the thick digit slips in. You thrash and pull at the cuffs locking you in place, as the reality of your situation truly sets in.

"No, no. please, don't- I don't want—mmf!" You plead, getting cut off by a large hand cupping over your mouth. You try to scream and thrash against it, but he's too strong. As you feel the thick thumb pumping in and out of you, easily because of your slick, you sob, beginning to accept what's going to happen.

Your body would react to his touches, to the stimulation, it's only natural...but this is wrong.

So, so wrong.

But it feels so, so good.

You wail at the thought, feeling dirty and ashamed of yourself; too distracted to notice when Dabi pulls the thumb out, popping it into his mouth, groaning at your taste, before reaching to the side, and the dresser. You don't notice anything, until Dabi squeezes your cheeks, holding you still and forcing your mouth open. You make a pitiful, confused sound and he makes a show of making sure you see your panties in his hand, before he stuffs it into your mouth. You scream into the cloth, thrashing, trying to wiggle your way out of his grasp. Dabi just presses his fingers tighter into your cheeks, slamming your head back against the bed roughly. It of course doesn't hurt, but it does distract you long enough for him to cover your stuffed mouth with a thick strip of tape.

You scream against the gag, shaking your head, eyes wide; begging.

"I fuckin' warned you to shut up. No use in your pathetic beggin', baby, you belong to me, now." Dabi cooed, mocking; tapping your cheek condescendingly, before scarred hands are fondling and groping, pinching and squeezing, wherever they wander on your writhing body.

You sob as he roughly palms your tits, sucking bruises into your flesh, your tears flowing freely, eyes glassy and clear. Gorgeous. Licking up the salty tear track on your cheek, he breathes, "So fuckin' pretty when you cry, Sweetheart. Be a good girl, and let me make you feel good, yeah?", pressing a kiss to the corner of your eye.

And he will. He knows you want this, you just don't know it yet. Don't worry, he'll make sure to show you.

Swiping his pointer and middle finger across your other wet cheek, gathering your tears, he strokes your wet cunt with them, before slipping the two long fingers into you in one slow push. You scream, and you don't know whether it's out of despair or desire, but you couldn't deny that as fucked up as it is, Dabi fucking your literal tears into you was one of the hottest things ever, your cunt pulsing at just the thought of it.

Dabi groans as you cry on his fingers, barely giving you a second to breathe as they're dragging along your walls and crooking deep, before he's sliding it back out, and pumping into the tight warmth again and again.

Leaning forward, he places a kiss against your gag, before trailing kisses and nips down your throat, chest and stomach as he bullies a third finger in. You reflexively clench around him when he kisses your mound, the stretch making you breathe sharply, before he throws your leg over his shoulder; pressing the tip of his scalding tongue against your clit, rubbing in circles, then slipping in, beside his fingers.

And your brain blanks.

You give in. It's not like anything is gonna change anytime soon, so, well. Why not enjoy it.

Besides, if you say you've never at least thought the villain was hot, no pun intended, you're lying to yourself.

So, you let go.

Even with the acceptance, you feel embarrassment and self loathing flood through you, as you keen, high and needy, as you grind down on him, shoving your pussy further into his face, fucking yourself on his fingers and tongue, which....was a very pleasant surprise for Dabi. After all, he's the oh so, big, bad, scary villain that kidnapped you; that's violating you.

Yet here you are, grinding and moaning against him, like a needy little slut.

Pumping his fingers roughly, his other hand digging harshly into the flesh of your thigh, he groans against you,"Fuck, not complainin' so much now, hm?", dragging blunt nails along your sensitive skin and his hot tongue up your clit. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll fuck the thoughts right outta that pretty little head."

You moan lowly as your pussy pulses around his fingers, helplessly leaking at his words.

"Shit, Sweetheart. You're swallowin' my fingers so fuckin' good. Can't wait to feel you 'round my cock.", he breathes, hot breath hitting your swollen clit, pressing one last kiss to it before pulling away; your hips involuntarily jumping to chase his hot mouth, the cuffs rattling against the headboard.

Dabi smirks, his eyes wide, huffing out a laugh of disbelief, as you whine at the loss of contact, before pressing hot kisses along your hip bone, muttering into the skin there. "You're really just a little whore, aren't you? Actin' all innocent earlier like you didn't want it," he says mockingly, but you can hear the underlying awe in his voice, before he curls his fingers, twisting them, as he makes his way up your abdomen and chest; and he continues, "but really, you're just a little cockslut, huh?"

You moan loudly into the gag at that, but shake your head rapidly, denying it even as you know deep down that it's true; as you both know it to be true.

It becomes even more clear when he drills you with his fingers, thumb rubbing your clit, and you're a mess beneath him; writhing and moaning, and crying and grinding as he brutally nudges against that sweet spot inside of you; all while he peppers open mouthed kisses along your chest, taking his time, tasting your skin, sucking and nipping at your pearled nipples, his tongue hot and slick on you.

You moan and whimper into your gag, head lolling back to hide behind your raised arm at the continued the abuse to your sensitive buds and cunt.

And then they're suddenly taken away, as he releases your tit with a wet pop and withdraws his fingers with a squelch.

Your hips twitch and lift from the bed, chasing him in a silent, desperate plea for more. Dabi could see your stretched hole, clenching on nothing as it just wants to be filled.

He's more than happy to oblige.

"Aww you want me to fuck you, baby? Shit, look at you. Fuckin' needy, mm? Done pretendin' you weren't desperate for me to stuff you?", he teases, hungry eyes betraying his calm demeanor. You tremble, feeling so empty, as tears streamed down your cheeks.

"Fuck, you're already so cute, I don't know if I'll be able to control myself when I have you cryin' on my cock, Dolly." He groans, palming himself through his pants, as you wiggle your hips enticingly, legs spread and your puffy pussy on show for him.

And Dabi laughs, breathy and fond, "Slut. Fuck, c'mere." He says, the sound of his belt unbuckling and hitting the floor with a clang just makes you somehow gush more.

You look down in anticipation as scarred hands grip your thighs, holding them spread. Your cunt throbs at the sight of his cock, thick and veiny, long and so fucking hard; precum beading at the tip.

He grips his length, tapping his sticky cock head against your clit, dragging through your folds, coating it in your juices.

"Relax for me, sweetheart, don't wanna break you, hm?" He purrs, before pushing the thick mushroom head inside lightly, making you whimper.

Dabi's grin is predatory as he slides in all at once, in one slow drag, impaling you on his fat cock. He groans at the feeling of your tight heat wrapping around him so obediently, "Fuck, you feel so fucking good. Like you were made for me, sweetheart."

Your eyes wide and glossy, you couldn't help but moan at his words, at the delicious stretch, at the hunger in his eyes.

His thickness stretches you so good, almost painfully, but you could take it.

You were his good girl now, he would make you take it.

But you don't really have much of a choice now, do you?

You choke on a sob, body shaking and hands clenched into tight fists where they rest in the cuffs. Because the thought should bring nothing but disgust and fear, yet all you feel now is shameful want, as your pussy tightens around him, gushing.

"Haah, you take me so good. Mm, such a good girl, c'mon..." He mumbles, grinding deeper and deeper into you, his hips flush against you.

Your whimper is sweet even muffled by the gag, and Dabi's composure slips.

He pulls back before shoving back into you roughly, making you sharply breathe. Not giving you any time to catch your breath, he thrusts deep into your tight hole, snapping his hips mercilessly. A scarred hand grips at your tit, the other bouncing and swaying lewdly with every brutal thrust. The gag muffles your cries and whimpers, but the scream you let out when he hits your sweet spot is still loud.

You grind down to meet his thrusts, pleasure completely taking over as all rational thoughts are fucked out of you; unable to think of anything but the way his cock feels, stirring up your insides, reaching so deep you swear you could feel it in your stomach, and the single-minded need for more.

Dabi moans, slowing his thrusts, admiring the way your hips roll sinfully, bouncing yourself on the villain's cock. "Fuck, pretty little slut...", he breathes, "So fuckin' pretty when you're bein' honest, hm?" His hand gropes and pinches your breast, as he licks his lips, eyes trained on you.

When he took you, he certainly hadn't expected that you'd be such an eager slut, but he's definitely not complaining.

You whine, the shallow, uneven thrusts, making you needy for more, faster, deeper, as you rhythymically clench around him.

Releasing your breast, he wraps the heated hand around the expanse of your throat, squeezing lightly, feeling your quick pulse beneath his fingers as he rolls his hips to meet yours, slow and deep.

You moan and choke behind your gag, eyes rolling back in pure ecstasy. Dabi smirks cruelly, finally speeding up his delicious thrusts; your body forced to move further up the bed with the speed and strength, and he just drags you back down to take it, your little display of hedonistic pleasure inciting him.

A whimper escapes you as you feel the warm coil of pleasure spread through you, you're so close. Your thighs shake, your moans spilling in a sweet mixture of pleasure and pleading.

"Fuck, look at you. Gettin' fucked by a big, bad villain and you fuckin' like it. Your little Hero friends know you're such a goddamn whore?" Dabi grunts out, cock hitting your sweet spot so, so good, fucking you so, so deep, as he pummels your insides, giving your throat another squeeze.

You let out a choked, sobbing moan, back arching from the bed as you feel yourself just on the edge of your release. You look up at Dabi pleadingly, eyes pretty and glossy, wide and blown out, almost completely black with lust; your chest heaving as your cunt pulses around him.

"You wanna cum, little hero? Squeezing me like you wanna milk me." Dabi groans, hips beginning to stutter.

You nod frantically, eyes wide and begging, tears streaming down your cheeks, moaning desperately against your gag; the panties soaked with your spit and drool.

"Yeah? Fuck, you want my cum, baby? Shit, do it. Cum for me, slut." Dabi moans, pistoning into you, muttering, "Wanna see it, wanna see you fall apart on my cock"

The pleasure burns.

Back arching off the bed, toes curling, you cum with a scream; clamping down on his cock as you gush and squirt around him, your eyes rolling back; vision going white.

Dabi fucks you through your orgasm as he chases his own, growling, "That's it baby, fuck. I'll fill you up real good, and if it spills, I'll just fuck it back in. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Your pussy squelches loudly, his thighs smacking wetly against yours as Dabi continues fucking you, frantic in his desperation to paint your insides with his cum.

The feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him so good and the sight of you cumming from just his cock was enough to push him completely over the edge with a moaning curse. Buried as deeply as he could be inside of you, hips flushed and grinding against yours, his thick, hot cum pumps into you, marking you from the inside as his; branding you and filling you up.

He collapses on top of you, holding himself up on his elbows, not pulling out just yet; keeping you full and plugged. Chests rising and falling in heavy pants, you bask in the afterglow of what was probably the best orgasm you've ever had.

He gently removes your gag and unlocks the cuffs, freeing your hands, rubbing soothingly at the irritated skin of your wrists, pressing light kisses to the sensitive skin, before trailing his lips up your arm, over your shoulder and throat, to your own.

The kiss is slow, languid and savouring, and you moan softly into his mouth as he licks into yours.

He groans softly, before kissing down your throat, breathing out a short, hot laugh against the myriad of bruises littering your neck and mumbling against your skin, "Fuck, I can't let you go after that. I'm keepin' you, gonna take care of you, and if you don't love me now, I'll just have to teach you, I promise, Sweetheart. You'll be my perfect little cock sleeve.", nuzzling into you.

The words don't match his saccharine tone as they send a trickle of fear down your spine at the dark promise, but the fog of arousal clouds your mind, and you slump back against the sheets as he looms over you, eyes piercing through you.

You feel his hips begin to roll against you again as he grinds into your abused cunt, making you gasp.

He grins. He'll fuck you until you're gaping and dripping with his cum, cock branding his name into your sweet spot and he'll make sure you never forget who you belong to.

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#moonchild701 #mha #bnha #dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #my fics #mdni #mha smut #bnha smut

106 notes · View notes

pandora-writes-one-piece · 2 days

Text

Forever

@loose1cannon Thank you so much for your request! I was so hyped with the Ace one, but I need to apologise because my angsty wired brain might have made a poo-poo. I'm so sorry if it's too sad! 😫 I promise that the other part of your request will be happy, okay?? I hope you still enjoy it! ❤️

Source for pic

Forever

Word Count: 1270

Tags: fem!reader; angst, so much angst; NSFW; feelings; hurt; sorrow; grief; spoilers for what happens at Marineford; slightly NSFW

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: It has been a year since Marineford and you still can't cope with the loss.

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil (guys if you only want to be tagged for specific characters, please send me a message! I don't want to bother you with excessive tagging!!🙏)

|Masterlist|

Rain poured down from the skies mirroring your inner turmoil exactly. The steady downpour cast a sort of halo over your figure. It felt like a shroud. The site was eerily quiet aside from the sounds of the heavy drops crashing against the stone graves.

And for the thrumming of your heart.

An unsteady rhythm beating out of sync, skipping a beat now and then, as if it were missing something to make it whole. And it was.

Ace.

One year had passed since he left you, or since you lost him. Honestly, it felt like the world itself had lost him, since he belonged to everyone. He was life itself. And without him, there was only demise.

“Did you miss me, baby?” His tongue swiped against yours in desperation while his scalding hands roamed your clothed body. “I missed you so much. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. All day, every day.”

Ace was always so eager for you that his touch singed your clothes, leaving small burn marks on the hem of your shirts or on your jeans. It used to piss you off. You’d scold him saying you didn’t have berries lying around just to buy new clothes and that he should be more careful. He laughed it off, or kissed it off, murmuring that he could buy or steal all the clothes you wanted, or better yet, you could just walk naked.

A sob clawed its way up your throat and scratched it, yearning to get out, needing to be free, but you clamped it down and pushed it back into your insides to fester and rot like all the other feelings of grief, sorrow and despair.

No more crying. No more sadness. Ace wouldn’t want that. Ace loved your laugh.

“Laugh for me, Sunbeam!” You were both lying on his bed, sheets tangled on naked limbs and sweaty bodies, heaving from exhaustion and pleasure.

“No. I’m mad at you.” But you weren’t, you were just downcast.

“It’s just a month. I’ll be back before you know it.”

No, no. You can’t go there, this one is too painful. If only you insisted, if only you had pushed further. He wouldn’t have gone after Blackbeard and he would still be here with you.

Your knees hit the muddied floor with a soft thud as your hands clutched your chest. Slim fingers crumpled the drenched fabric as your breath left your lips in shallow, ragged heaves. “You weren’t supposed to leave me, Ace! Not like this!”

Your arms circled your torso in the only hug you allowed yourself these days: your own. It was nowhere near enough, but then again, there would never be another hug like Ace’s.

It was crushing, bone-breaking, suffocating. It was home.

“Ace!”

“I’m back, baby. Missed me, Sunbeam?” With a little jump you were straddling his lap, legs wrapped securely around his waist as his hands rested on your ass. Your mouth devoured him while your fingers tangled in his unkempt greasy hair. “I guess that’s a yes.”

That smirk. Those freckles. The mischievous glint in his eyes.

Gone. All gone. Buried in front of you, six feet under and beneath layers of cold, unforgiving dirt.

Alongside your heart.

You tried to stifle your moans against the pillow, but he would have none of that. Stopping that sinful lapping of his tongue and removing his fingers from inside you, he lifted himself onto his knees and threw the pillow to the other side of the cabin. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

“Ace!” You whisper with a groan of frustration. You were just about to unravel when he left you feeling empty.

“Yes, sweetheart, just like that.” He aligned his leaking tip with your wet entrance and teased, pulling a little mewl from your lips. “But way louder.”

And you did what he told you to.

Was that the last time?

There’s no stopping the tears. You tried, you really did. But they were relentless. You have a million memories from the past and a million and one memories of Ace. You can’t afford to lose any of them.

"God, Ace, why?” The clenching in your chest expands and swells, taking up all the space inside. Filling you like a balloon and you feel ready to pop. How are you supposed to survive without him? One year was already hell, how can you survive another one?

And another one…

“Smile, Sunbeam!”

“You’re shining, love!”

“Ah, that laugh right there, I could die a happy man.”

“You make me feel worthy.”

“I can’t live without you, baby.”

“Don’t ever leave me. I wouldn’t make it.”

You didn’t leave him. You kept your promise. He was the one who left. And now how are you supposed to move on with your life as if what made you live wasn’t ripped apart from you? How is a sunbeam supposed to shine when there is no reflective surface?

How can you be light, when all you feel is darkness?

“Ace… This was never supposed to be easy, but I didn’t expect it to break me…"

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you.”

“You’re my life.”

“My happy, little Sunbeam.”

“My love.”

Getting up on wobbly legs you took another two steps forward. Your tears mixed with the rain, salt and water. Pain and grief. Hurt and sorrow. Reaching with trembling, frail fingers, you grabbed the remnants of Ace’s hat. It was torn and tattered, the beads were barely hanging on, but it was still there.

A desperate wail left your lips as you fell back down, your legs no longer supporting the weight of your misery. This time, you let the sobs climb all the way out. And you cried as you had never cried before. Sobs, hiccups and ragged breaths mingled with the sound of approaching thunder.

But none of that compared to the tempest inside. It roared, raged and crashed, drowning you in its violence, dragging you to the pits of sorrow and darkness and you had no idea how to climb out of there anymore. Not without him.

But then there was a sudden calmness. A break amidst the most violent of storms and then the echo of a whisper, soft and unmistakable.

“You’ll be okay, Sunbeam.”

Ace’s voice. A gentle murmur in your soul. Perhaps a conjured thought your troubled mind had made up, but you’d take it.

You clutched his worn-out hat against your chest, wishing there was still a lingering scent of him anywhere, but he had disappeared so long ago. The rain slowed down and was now just a gentle pitter-patter against the leaves and the graves.

A sunbeam peeked from behind a dark cloud and landed on your lap, near Ace’s hat and for the first time in a year you felt a sliver of hope on the horizon. You didn’t have Ace anymore, but your love for him would never fade or wane.

Your memories together would still be a part of you.

You would carry him inside you and remember him in those missing, uneven beats of your heart.

Maybe… just maybe, that would be enough to carry you through.

“I’ll be okay, love.” You forced a laugh. A bright smile like the ones he used to love. “For you, Ace. I’ll fight for you.”

The sunbeam on your lap flickered, faded behind a cloud and reappeared on Ace’s grave. Hope filled you and took back some of the space that grief and sorrow had claimed as territory. You’d learn to shine again, someday…

For him.

For Ace.

For your love.

#one piece #one piece x reader #x reader #op #ace x reader #ace x you #portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #portgas d ace #reader insert #Spotify

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ghouldtime · 2 days

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Neighbor! König Part 2

Part One

Part Three

After you expressed interest in his miniature collection, he actually actively OFFICIALLY invited you over one evening (and inside!)

It may not sound like much to most to be invited into someone's house but for him, it's the ultimate trust. His house is his private space, his sanctuary, where he goes to be without other people

He doesn't ever invite anyone inside unless necessary or they've truly gained his trust and being invited INTO his house, and actually into a shared space of one of the hobbies that matter the most to him?? Yeah, that's how he says he likes you

He's been working on his models and dioramas for so so long he's incredibly proud and can't help but to want to actually show them off to someone who wants to see

Usually most people don't care :( or think it's weird

But you've embraced it! You're so excited and he's over the moon, he's having the best day ever, if you do research and bring him gifts or show him some new ideas

He has exquisite attention to detail and INSISTS on everything being exactly the way he envisions it. And you notice! You actually notice. Which means you care about his hobbies, the work he puts in, and therefore him

It might be a bit early to say the L word but he's feeling certain ways

He may be a big dude but that doesn't mean he lacks fine motor skills. He's laying those tiny pieces of moss onto the cobble stones like a PRO

Miniatures allow him control over the environment, even if it's on a smaller scale, and offer a way to keep his hands and mind busy so he often throws himself into it

It also helps him relive happier memories. He's afraid of forgetting them and when he's stressing, it's his happy place because he can look at them and simply remember the things in life that matter

He'll ask you about a story you like or a favorite show or book or movie. That's his next miniature planned (in secret. Can't ruin the surprise, he needs to have it all perfect. He will either read the book, watch the movie, will study EVERY detail)

He will start to invite you over when he's having a painting night or is working on them. You don't have to follow his rules or do what he wants! He's just happy you're there and appreciating it

He will always have your favorite snacks and drinks in stock too. Need to make it fun and can't have you going hungry

If you want, he'll put on background noise! He's happy to make it immersive and to light a candle or put something in a diffuser to really set the scene you're going for. But he's perfectly happy to hangout with you as is

You'll finally get to hear him laugh and hear his really, really bad jokes. He has a dry sense of humor and most of what he says isn't even close to funny, he's awkward like that

But if you laugh? That's it, he's sold.

Time flies so fast when you're over, you don't even realize it's 3am

You don't need to go home! I know it's right across the street but he has a guest room and it saves you the trip in the morning. You have a whole nother round of characters to paint :)

Okay maybe it was an excuse so you could see the curtains he'd made and the pillows and he decorated the guest room with! Like actually tried decorating. They're made with love, that's what counts right?

Did he spray the pillows with his cologne before you came over? Maybe, but he won't ever admit to it

You can't complain. Not when he insists it's no trouble at all, you should stay over, and he does everything he can to make you comfortable.

And you're certainly not complaining when you wake up to breakfast in bed

He's so happy to finally have someone to share his life with, even if it's nothing official. He might not say it because words are hard, but he'll always show it in every way that he can 💚

If you look closely at the replica he made of his childhood home, you'll notice two figures in the kitchen who just so happen to look like you and him

Proud believer of König being just a guy! A guy with hobbies! A guy with a calm domestic life! Just because he's a private military contractor doesn't mean he's a constantly violent dude or a guy who lacks an immense amount of respect for boundaries. Sure, he gets really into his job when he does it, but that's his realm! That's his zone. That's why he's confident and having fun, he knows he's good

Outside of work, he's just a guy with a troubled childhood making the best of life and trying to find his own sense of belonging, happiness, and peace

Justice for König, he's not an insane perv or some freakytron or some stalker :(

144 notes · View notes

juustokaku · 3 days

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Confidentiality - Chapter 2. - yandere!ATEEZ OT8 x f!reader

Introduction: Joining a peer support group for mentally ill was a good idea for the last two times you were there. Then it's only natural for the third time to go well too, right?

Pairings: yandere!Hongjoong x reader, yandere!Seonghwa x reader, yandere!Yunho x reader, yandere!Yeosang x reader, yandere!San x reader, yandere!Mingi x reader, yandere!Wooyoung x reader, yandere!Jongho x reader

T/W: This story will include talk about mental health struggles such as body dysmorphia, paranoid thoughts and more. Dark themes are to be expected.

A/N: Big thank you to everyone who read the first chapter and reads this one! This chapter has a lot of focus on Jongho. I'm honestly not happy how this turned out, but I hope at least someone will find it enjoyable! I appreciate feedback, so if the story feels too slow for example, please tell me. Also, don't worry; there will be more about the other members later on in the story! I just don't want to make the pace or character development too fast or overwhelming. Please, forgive me; English isn't my first language.

Word count: 3 477

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometimes you really wished you had a car. If you just had the nerves to drive you wouldn’t have to wait for the bus in the icy air.

There was nothing wrong with the waiting itself. At least you usually had time for your own thoughts and breathing to settle down, when you waited for the bus, for your psychiatrist to invite you in, or for work to start. You always arrived to your work place an hour too early to minimize the risk of being late.

So sure, there was nothing wrong with waiting. The problem was that Jongho was standing next to you.

You had wished to not meet anyone from the peer support group before the inevitable. Life was already hard enough, and you didn’t need any more stress by seeing one of the madmen from the group on your free time. Although Jongho was seemingly less insane than Yunho for example, he was in the group for a reason.

You noticed how Jongho’s breathing was much calmer compared to yours. It would have seemed like he wasn’t breathing at all, if the soft fog didn’t form in the air near his mouth. That’s how silent he was.

The little glances you took in his direction weren’t probably as secretive as you thought, but you didn’t care that much at the moment. He looked mesmerizing as the sun was soon to set in the horizon, casting light on his handsome features.

Although he looked irritated that the Sun was shining directly in his face, you didn’t turn to look away. He narrowed his eyes, and you took advantage of the fact that he was blinded by the Sun and its rays reflecting from snow.

“Stop staring at me.”

You turned your gaze away quicker than it was humanly possible. How was Jongho able to see you looking at him? There was no way you could explain your actions without embarrassing yourself even more, so you just hung your head in shame. Maybe it would hide the blush on your cheeks. At least you could lie that it was just the cold air making your cheeks red, if Jongho happened to notice.

It felt like the silence would never end. A few cars passed by occasionally, and you almost wished one of them would have picked you up and saved you from this uncomfortable situation.

Suddenly you felt Jongho moving closer to you. A woman had squeezed in the bus shelter Jongho and you were already in. The small bus stop was getting way too crowded to your liking, although only three people were seeking shelter from the cold under it.

Jongho stood so close to you. You noticed his breath had quickened. His gaze was directed straight forward strictly. Even if you exploded next to him without warning, he probably wouldn’t move his eyes. He was clearly determined not to look at you.

The woman who just arrived could probably sense the awkward atmosphere too.

“Why didn’t you tell your last name?”

You didn’t know whether to be startled by his question, by the fact that he talked or that he even remembered that situation a whole week after it happened.

Jongho wasn’t as suspicious as Yunho but something about him made a shiver run down your spine. Even his way of standing was enough to make you think he was untrustworthy.

But it was possible – unlikely, but possible – that he was nothing more than socially anxious just like you. You knew at some point of your life you would have to trust people. Even the ones you had just met for the first time. Your whole life so far had been wasted by no-one else but yourself, because you were too afraid.

“I’m worried that people will use my personal information against me,” you answered, already preparing yourself to be laughed at.

It was so stupid. But it was inevitable for Jongho and the others to know about your condition and thoughts at some point. There was no use of a peer support group if you never opened up.

Against your expectations, Jongho just nodded thoughtfully.

“I see. It’s true that many people might do exactly that.”

Your eyes widened a bit. Getting confirmation that you were in possible danger was new to you. Your psychiatrist and therapist always told you to believe good about people unless they proved you wrong, but Jongho was telling you otherwise.

“You have to choose wisely who to trust. If anyone.”

“Do you trust anyone?” you asked Jongho before you could stop yourself.

Jongho was able to surprise you many times that day. You had expected him to get irritated by your question, to push you into the snowbank or under a car. Actually no, that was something Yunho would do.

Jongho’s face was stable and emotionless, but his voice betrayed him miraculously during the one word he said.

“No.”

“Can I ask you a question as well?”

“I wish I could say no,” Jongho replied to your nervous question.

You raised a confused brow. It’s not like you were some tyrant, so why didn’t he refuse if he so wanted to? You asked your question anyways.

“Are you going to the same bus as I am?”

“Yes,” Jongho put his hands in his pockets.

Before he could hide them inside the long, beige jacket, you noticed how red they were from the cold. He must have been freezing but played it off cool.

“Do you want my other mitten?” you asked.

Jongho couldn’t hide his surprise, and you were shocked at your own words as well. It was not like you to offer something of your own for a practically stranger to borrow. There was always a risk of him running off with your precious glove. He took a glance at your mittens.

“They’re really warm,” you hoped your attempt to persuade him would turn out successful.

A hint of something soft flashed in Jongho’s eyes before disappearing like it had never been there. He just put his other hand out, gesturing you to give the other mitten to him.

As you gave the glove to him, your fingers brushed against his cold skin.

“How did you know which bus I am taking?” you realized to ask.

There was a possibility that you couldn’t ignore; Jongho could be stalking you. In just a week after the first session, he could have found out everything about you, including what bus you always took!

“You already used your turn to ask a question.”

Why was he avoiding answering? It made you even more suspicious.

You made sure to sit as far away from him as possible on the bus.

When you arrived to the therapy room, you had sincerely hoped you and Jongho would be the first ones there. The thought of someone, especially Yunho, looking at you as you walked in through the door made anxious, acid bubbles pop in your chest.

“Y/N! Sit next to me and San today!” Wooyoung practically ran to you the moment you pushed the heavy door open to enter.

Glancing at San who was sitting on one of the chairs already, you noticed him flash a smile in your direction. It was a bit reserved yet kind unlike Yunho’s almost smothering, intrusive one.

Speaking of Yunho, you felt a tall presence looming behind you. Who else could it be? That rapper “Mingus Dingus” didn’t seem interested in tormenting you, and the others weren’t that tall. You could almost see Yunho’s shadow in front of you as he stood behind you.

“We should keep our original seat arrangements, don’t you think?”

Someone could have mistaken Yunho’s voice as gentle but it had a sprinkle of tension.

You flinched as Yunho put his hand on your shoulder to turn you to look at him. His grip was squeezing you almost like he was trying to control himself.

To Wooyoung and San’s disappointment, you nodded nervously to Yunho’s suggestion. Oh, how you wished you could have run off to hide from him behind San’s muscles, but you didn’t know how he would react to that if he was this irritated already.

“She’s just too afraid to say no to you,” Wooyoung pouted, “And I don’t blame her.”

Apparently, you weren’t the only one to notice Yunho’s scary antics.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The atmosphere felt suddenly freezing as Yunho’s usually cheerful voice dropped to a low, icy one.

“You’re hogging her all to yourself,” San chimed in.

Everyone in the peer support group had arrived and was watching your conversation intently. Luckily, the realization of that made Yunho back off. With one last glare sent to Wooyoung and San, he retreated back to his chair.

You sat between San and Wooyoung as the session started.

“Let’s start the meeting by telling everyone how we’re feeling right now.”

At Charlotte’s directive, the first turn was given – more like forced on – to Jongho.

“I feel neutral. Too calm, even. My thoughts, goals and wants are clear.”

“Do you think that’s a good thing?” Charlotte inquired.

“No.”

Charlotte looked intrigued by Jongho’s answer but gestured the person next to him to reveal their mood.

Yeosang cleared this throat nervously before speaking, “Nothing that different from the usual. I feel scared. The only thing different is that I feel hopeful.”

“Could you tell us why you’re hopeful?”

“There’s a person I’d like to get to know. But I’m afraid I’ll make a fool out of myself in front of them.”

If you had to choose someone who to trust in the group, it would be Yeosang. He was open about his feelings, which you knew isn’t easy, but seemed like he wouldn’t be dangerous.

You wouldn’t let him fool you into thinking he was completely harmless though. Any of these men could outpower you easily but you wouldn’t let them outsmart you.

“Okay, next is Mingus Ding- I mean Mingi,” Charlotte corrected herself quickly but already managed to earn a few chuckles.

You knew the stage name was silly, but still felt a pang of sympathy in your chest at how embarrassed Mingi looked, when people found the name humorous. It wasn’t an unknown feeling to you to get ridiculed, so you could relate.

“I was feeling pretty excited first but now I’m embarrassed.”

“What made you feel excited?” Charlotte asked curiously.

“I’m releasing a new single tomorrow.”

Wooyoung’s interest piqued, "How many listeners do you have on Spotify?”

Mingi’s face flushed red, “I’m a SoundCloud rapper.”

Yunho pat Mingi on the shoulder comfortingly and started describing his own mood next.

“I feel happy. I had a nice day at work!”

It was hard to figure out what to feel about his revelation. Just a few minutes ago he had been fuming, and now he sat there with his beaming smile. Had his mood really changed that quickly or was he tricking everyone as usual?

“Oh, great! What happened at work?”

“That’s a secret. We have a professional confidentiality agreement at work.”

“Just like here,” Charlotte smiled.

You could barely focus as Seonghwa started talking about his frustrating work day at a game store, because of Yunho looking at you.

Well, at least now you knew that his happy mood had been just a skillful act. His intense stare served as a reminder that you had made the wrong choice to sit next to Wooyoung and San.

“I feel stressed out. There’s still so much I have to do at work,” Hongjoong’s tense voice brought you back down to Earth.

“Did you relax during weekend?”

“No. I worked. I have to keep my company relevant in the eyes of the customers.”

It seemed to you like Hongjoong was some kind of workaholic. You shouldn’t have felt ashamed because workaholism was a real, possibly life-ruining condition, but you couldn’t help the feelings of embarrassment. Hongjoong was so successful while you had your ordinary work and no ambitious goals other than to feel better someday.

It was San’s turn to speak, “I’m sad and insecure. Some people at the gym looked at me weird again.”

You couldn’t understand why someone would look at San weirdly. Sure, you were intimidated by how handsome he was but when he smiled at you today, your heart was about to melt. His eyes were so pretty.

“What do you mean by weird?”

“Like they thought I was scary or would hurt them,” San answered Charlotte.

His sad tone broke your heart. He seemed shameful for making some people afraid of him, but was it really his fault since he didn’t act threateningly?

Before the pause got awkward, you realized it was your turn.

What could you tell? If you spoke the truth and said you were a little scared, would Yunho realize it was thanks to him?

But it was about time to start opening up. All these people were here because of their own problems. All of them had been mentally unwell for years probably, and now focused on only getting better, not planning to murder you. Even Yunho. At least you hoped so, because you were about to reveal your feelings for the first time.

“I’m feeling...” you looked around the room, trying to analyze everyone’s faces but your sight was getting blurry, “scared.”

“And why is that, Y/N?”

“Everything makes me scared. But I recognize it’s just my overthinking. There’s no real threat.”

Convincing others was much easier than convincing yourself. You could see other people nodding in sympathy at your words.

“I don’t think that’s just overthinking,” Jongho suddenly spoke up.

Charlotte turned to look at Jongho with warning eyes. You were already such a mess with your paranoid thoughts that there was no need for Jongho to fuel the fire.

“Everyone is a possible threat. There is possibly one even among us,” he continued.

“Jongho, stop.”

But Jongho didn’t care about Charlotte’s demand.

“Someone who presents themselves as a leader of justice may as well be a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Your heartbeat accelerated by every word Jongho let fall from his lips. Did he know something you didn’t?

Eyeing the room, you could see thoughtful, worried looks on everyone’s face. Everyone, including Yunho himself, knew who Jongho meant by “a leader of justice”. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Still, no-one dared to speak. An unwritten agreement of silence hung thick in the air, crushing you under its weight.

“Let’s move on to the next section,” Charlotte informed after a few moments.

“No! I haven’t had my turn yet,” Wooyoung whined, and for a good reason.

Soon enough, Wooyoung was describing his mood and past week, paying attention to the important details like what color the car that passed by was and how long he brushed his teeth.

The story continued for many minutes, and you were sure you’d be listening to him talk for the rest of eternity. Wooyoung’s next comment suddenly woke you up from your slumber.

“I also saw you, Y/N. You were so beautiful on your evening walk.”

A bit creepy, to be honest, but his intention was probably just to be sweet. You gave him a sheepish smile in response.

“Oh! I almost forgot to mention; someone was following you.”

Your smile dropped as you heard Wooyoung’s words. Feeling like you were being watched had always been a thing you suffered from, but that was just work of your “wild imagination” based on what your psychiatrist always told you. But despite all the medication he had prescribed you, the feeling had stayed.

Maybe you weren’t as crazy as you had thought.

“Oh, come on. Don’t scare Y/N like that,” Charlotte scolded Wooyoung.

“But it’s true!”

“Stop. We are moving on to the next section.”

You had never seen Charlotte so tense. But she masked her frustration well and changed the topic skillfully, like she had probably had to do many times before with difficult patients.

You couldn’t stop thinking about Wooyoung’s revelation during the other section as well. Yeosang was your partner in the next section, but your focus was completely on different things while he was talking.

“A-Are you even listening to what I’m saying?” Yeosang’s sad voice finally pulled you back from your anxious thoughts.

An instant regretful feeling filled you, and you hurried to apologize, “I’m so sorry, Yeosang. I’m... still thinking about the fact that someone had been following me.”

Yeosang’s body seemed to relax a bit, but his hands were still wrapped around his stomach as usual. He stole a glance at your face before staring at his shoes again.

“Okay, I understand. I would be worried too. Well, I am worried for you as well. It’s not like I don’t care about your well-being. I mean, I’m not in love with you! But people can still care although they don’t love each other, you know? But that’s not to say I would never be able to love you. I think you’re lovable. Everyone is. Well, maybe not everyone, but you definitely are!”

Wow. You did not expect that logorrhea to escape his pretty lips.

Your shock was clearly evident because Yeosang hid his face immediately and murmured almost inaudibly, “I’m sorry. Did I make you uncomfortable?”

It was official. Yeosang was the one you trusted the most. Even his rambling had been cute, but his sincere, caring apology made your heart ache in a way that wasn’t sadness.

You were surprised by your own attitude as well. It wasn’t like you to consider trusting someone after a second meeting. Although you’d be careful, you felt more at ease with Yeosang’s presence already.

“No worries. I think it was funny – in a good way.”

Yeosang smiled shyly in response and even managed to meet your eyes for a split second.

You two continued chatting away, at least tried to, although it was hard with both of you being so shy. Despite the moments of silence, you didn’t feel awkward. Anxious, yes, but that was because you genuinely hoped for your potential friendship to bloom. The instant connection between you two was as clear as day.

Sadly, everyone did not appreciate the fact that Yeosang had gotten closer to you than anyone had so far.

The house was starting to get void of people after the session finally ended. Your boots and jacket were on, your hand on the doorknob, ready to open the front door and freeze in the breeze of a winter night.

“There you are. I thought Yeosang had snatched you away.”

You turned around to see Jongho standing at the top of a staircase. His face wasn’t visible due to the low lighting in the room, but you recognized his stable voice.

“I’ve been waiting to get you alone,” he started descending the stairs by taking one step down.

“Why?”

Your ever so slightly trembling voice didn’t faze Jongho.

The stairs creaked a little as he took two steps down, “Do I make you nervous?”

“A little, to be honest...”

Jongho didn’t answer you. Only after he had taken three steps down, you gathered the courage to repeat your question.

“Why did you want to get me alone?”

“Make a guess.”

It wasn’t that you couldn’t come up with any reasons. You just couldn’t make any sense of the mess inside your head.

You saw Jongho taking more and more steps, getting closer. Like frozen in place, you could just watch him approach you. His blank expression left you clueless, having no idea what he could possibly want from you.

And soon enough, Jongho stood in front of you, looking in your eyes. You had felt much more comfortable with Yeosang’s avoiding eyes than the intense yet emotionless gaze Jongho was forcing on you.

The room was dimly lit and the lights formed shadows on his face. Earlier today, you had seen him at the bus stop with the sunlight shining on his face. It had been a beautiful sight. Now, the light was completely different. It was artificial, and although warm, it made Jongho look like a different person.

He reached for your hand before you could flinch away, and placed something in it.

It was the mitten you had lent him.

“Next time, sit beside me,” he said.

You were left alone, standing like a fool, as Jongho disappeared into the night. Millions of thoughts raced in your head, but eventually you pulled the mittens in your hands.

Just as you slipped your hand inside the warm mitten Jongho had given back to you, something fell out of it.

Your winter jacket rustled quietly as you reached down and picked up the object from the floor.

It was a small piece of paper. There was a handwritten sentence on it.

“You’re not as observant as you think you are.”

<- Chapter 1.

Chapter 3. ->

74 notes · View notes

rosie-read-that · 15 hours

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bad blood / scott miller x reader

summary: set after twisters. when scott initiates a lawsuit against javi and his new business partners, they choose to take you on as their attorney—no matter that you and scott were once high school sweethearts, that you still have his ring in your closet, or that things between you ended catastrophically six years past. this is business. no need to go down memory lane… right?

content warnings: f!reader, alcohol use, language, offscreen parental death, one open door scene (unprotected piv), couple angst, riggs is his own walking red flag, questionable legal ethics

word count: 21.6k (sorry, guys 😬)

author’s note: here it is! i tried to rein in the length, but clearly i failed ✌🏼 shoutout to @hederasgarden and @sailor-aviator for giving scott his fandom-approved surname. on a final note, i am not a lawyer, i took one (1) business law class in college, so don’t take my word on any of this and definitely don’t do stuff with your ex while he’s the opposing party in a case you’re working (but if it’s david corenswet, i meannnn… should anyone be blamed?)

PRESENT DAY OKLAHOMA CITY

Well-meaning, and with typical Arkansan practicality, Tyler Owens leaned back in his chair and said, “Javi, you need to chill out, man.”

Immediately, you knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“What makes you think I’m not? It's not like my entire livelihood is on the line or anything, so why would I not be chilled out?—Dammit!”

“Actually, lose the tie,” you suggested, having watched him fumble for the last five minutes. You were sure it was nerves that did it, not a lack of dexterity.

Javi sighed and let the two ends hang pathetically around his neck. “I thought I was supposed to wear one…”

“I think that’s only for court,” Kate put in, “like with an actual judge and stuff.”

“Maybe in the 1970s,” remarked Tyler under his breath. Javi glared. “Bro, it’s gonna be fine.”

“We should be out there, tracking tornadoes!” There was a mounted television in the little waiting area, playing a 24-hour news channel on mute. Javi gestured at the weather report. It was March, and Tornado Alley was looking active, “robust,” as the weatherman put it… not that your clients would know firsthand, seeing as they were stuck in a high-rise in the city instead of out in the fields of Sapulpa County. Kate and Tyler were watching the radar images with twin expressions of restless longing. Javi yanked the tie from his neck. “That son of a bitch knew exactly what he was doing, tying us up in meetings at this time of year.”

“Yeah, he did,” you replied. “I know it’s inconvenient as shit, but believe me, I’m going to do everything I can to get you back out on the field. There’s no reason for all three of you to be here. I mean, it’s the modern age: some of this could be a Zoom meeting.”

“You think we’re gonna Zoom in the middle of a storm?” Tyler quipped. Kate turned to him with a chastising look.

She was clearly just about as done as her other two partners, but a lot more level-headed about the fact that they were being sued for everything they had. Which you appreciated. Suits between friends and former business associates had a tendency to turn into mud-slinging wars, and there was nothing you hated more than a client stuck in denial. Kate was the opposite. She was cool-headed, calm. A happy medium between Tyler’s annoyed outrage (“who does this guy think he is!”) and Javi’s frustrated melancholy (“guys, I’m sorry, this is all my fault”).

Right now, Javi was sinking well into the latter.

“Just remember we’re here for you, Javi.” Kate rubbed a soothing hand across his back. “All the way. We know this is personal.”

“Yeah, which means it’s gonna get ugly. I hate the thought of our company going under because I had shitty taste in business partners, you know?”

“Well, you don't anymore. That’s character growth,” Tyler pointed out. “Now, I’m no legal expert, but as far as I can see, he’s got no legs to stand on—”

You held up a finger. “Uh, that’s not entirely true…”

“—and he’s going to come out of this looking like a complete and total tool. Which he is! If he wants to spend all this time and boatloads of his uncle’s money on a belligerent witch hunt, then so be it.”

“You mean our time, our money,” said Javi.

Kate looked at you. “If this ends up going to court, is it likely he’ll win?”

You sighed. “Okay, listen.” You sat on the coffee table. There was no avoiding the sight of three pairs of eyes with varying degrees of hopefulness trained on you, hanging onto your every word. Javi you had known before, but after a brief acquaintance, you’d decided that you liked Kate and Tyler too, had even spent an hour or two watching Tornado Wrangler videos on YouTube, and, while storm chasing seemed, well, kind of unhinged, their enthusiasm was contagious. They were passionate, not in a purely thrill-seeking or overly scientific way. They actually cared. And you wanted them to win. “The whole point,” you explained, “is that we’re trying to avoid this going to trial. If you’re looking to cut down on the cost to your bottom line—not to mention how this could drag on for literal years—it’s best to reach a settlement before this ever sees the inside of a courtroom. Either way, things are going to get a little worse before they get better. But the point is a clean break, right? When all this is over, StormPAR will never have any sort of claim over you. You’ll be free to chase storms, build your doo-dads—”

That got you a trio of chuckles. Good, let them think you were a meteorological idiot; all the better to make them feel like a united front.

“—and it’ll be like Scott and Riggs never happened.”

“Sounds good to me,” Tyler said, that steely determination from his old rodeo days coming through.

Kate gave a nod. “No matter what, we’ll be okay”

Javi put his hand on your knee. “Thank you… for everything. I know this has gotta suck for you too.”

“Who, me?” you asked, feigning ignorance. “I’m fine.”

“Mm-hm…”

“Do I not look fine?”

“You look great,” Kate said honestly.

“Miller’s gonna shit his pants.”

“Tyler!”

“Hey, we’re up,” your assistant announced, her fingers not pausing for a second as she typed on her phone. Abby may have the social skills of a polar bear, but her organizational skills were top-notch and you relied on her predatory instincts. Plus, you were sure that her geometrically perfect French bob had magical powers.

Signaling for the others to follow, you made your way down a hallway bordered by walls banded in frosted glass, the sound of typing and muffled phone calls familiar and yet not. This was enemy territory. Having you meet here instead of at the offices of Conway & Fine was a calculated move.

Before entering the conference room, you took Tyler by the elbow. “Please just… try to behave yourself.”

Me? He pointed at his face.

“Yes, you! Don’t provoke him—as a matter of fact, don’t even look at him—don't piss him off unless you want to make this a hell of a lot worse for everyone. Capisce?”

“I’ll be the picture of civility.”

You shot him a skeptical look.

“I’ll be a gentleman!”

You glared. “Tyler Owens, I’m holding you to that.” Adjusting your power suit, you put on your best Professional Face. “Alright guys, it’s showtime.”

Through the glass, your eyes landed on Scott. The temptation to bolt left you breathless, though you couldn’t say whether you wanted to run towards or far, far away. You wouldn’t. You were all too aware of the people standing behind you, counting on you, while Scott himself had been a stranger to you for the last few years.

You owed him nothing; this was simply business, you reminded yourself.

Simply business.

He turned his head and spotted you, and kept his eyes on you as you opened the door.

TEN YEARS AGO PARK HAVEN, PENNSYLVANIA

You’d been working on the same calculus assignment for the last three-quarters of an hour, the sound of rain lashing against your window doing nothing for your frazzled nerves. While math was by no means your obvious strong suit, you would have finished by now if you hadn’t spent most of it staring at the wall beneath your windowsill, bouncing your leg, tapping your pencil compulsively against the edge of your AP textbook and imagining all the ways in which your life could go horribly, unfixably wrong. An outcome that now seemed likely.

“You still have time, sweetheart,” your mom tried to say at dinner that night. She smiled at you and patted your hand. “It’s only March.”

“Exactly—it’s March!” you’d wanted to say, but bit your tongue. There wasn't any point; your mom would always believe you were capable of walking on the moon, which was lovely, you guessed. Or it would be, if all your classmates weren't overachievers and if a lot of them hadn't already received acceptance letters and stuck pennants to the inside of their lockers for all the rejects to see.

It was hopeless… you should’ve gotten an answer by now.

Tossing the book and papers away, you buried your face in your hands and tried to hold it together. The sleeves of your sweatshirt emanated a woodsy, clean smell, kind of like rain in a forest, and you breathed in deep to let it ground you.

Slowly, the intensity of the storm outside faded to background noise, no longer angry, insistent—it was only rain after all, only weather. You sniffed, feeling silly, and snuggled into the navy-blue sweatshirt, wrapping your arms around your knees. The gold lettering read NICHOLS ACADEMY ATHLETICS. On you, it was practically a dress, and you’d been living in it all week, ignoring Mom’s teases about how “you’re going to have to wash it at some point!” while your dad watched you pass by, saying nothing, only flipping the page of whatever biography he was reading, not wanting to comment or so much as reference your boyfriend of two years, who played center field on Nichols’s prize baseball team and from whom you’d stolen the sweatshirt after a date at the park.

Try as you might, your dad had never warmed up to Scott, but you thought it had more to do with an objection to Scott’s father rather than to Scott himself. The whole family’s trouble, he said once, prompting a fight that ended with you slamming your bedroom door and not speaking to him for two days, until your mom laid down the law and said she wouldn't have that sort of tension around the house.

He didn’t get it. Scott wasn't like his father—if anything, you saw the way his jaw tensed whenever he heard rumors (whispered, unless intended to get a rise out of him by a school rival) about the private club scenes, the drinking, the reckless gambling, the other women. Of course your straitlaced dad assumed the apple wouldn't fall too far from the tree, but you knew Scott. You trusted him. And, fine, so you were seventeen, but you knew you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him—it happened, didn't it?

Granted, this was why that damned letter was so important. It was the perfect plan… so long as Scott got into MIT, which seemed like a given, and you into Harvard, the culmination of four years of meticulous planning and candle-burning work. But what if it didn’t happen? Could your relationship survive the time and long distance? As much as you hoped so, you didn’t want to find out.

Out of nowhere came sharp rap at your window. Startled, you looked up to see a familiar face peering through the rain-lashed glass, and automatically you sprang to your feet. “Scott! What the hell were you thinking!” you hissed, mindful of your parents, probably in bed at this hour. He paused halfway through the window, pretending offense.

“Wow, okay, here I thought I was making a big romantic gesture…”

“You’re soaking wet! You could’ve fallen and broken your neck!”

As you lowered and latched the window behind him, trying to be as quiet as possible, he defended, “I’m a tree connoisseur. If anything, I’m a that-tree connoisseur and she’s never let me down before. Literally. Sturdy branches on her.”

He had a point there. The tree directly outside your bedroom window had played makeshift ladder to him over the last couple of years—not that your parents were any the wiser. If your dad knew, he’d go straight to the nearest hardware store and buy the ax himself. (What he would do with that ax, having never done a day’s manual labor in his life besides recreational fishing, was beyond you.)

You shook your head, watching Scott drip all over the hardwood. God, he was stunning.

And there was a chance you might lose him forever in a few months.

You felt the sting in your throat and behind your eyes. “I’ll go get you a towel,” you said, averting your face and turning towards the ensuite so you could get a few seconds to yourself. He caught you by the wrist and spun you into his body.

“Wait a minute, kiss me first,” he demanded, a cocky grin on his face. You managed to see a flash of it before his lips met yours. You closed your eyes in spite of everything, melting into the kiss, into Scott, because it was as easy as breathing and just as pointless trying to resist.

His cheeks were cold, his mouth warm. Coaxing. The pressure of his hands on your waist like an anchor in the storm. He was perfect for you. How could you belong with anyone else? It was impossible.

His tongue brushed your bottom lip, and it was a move so practiced, so instinctive, so perfectly well-known, that it made the fear swell in your chest again. You held onto the front of his rain-drenched hoodie, breaking the kiss. Your breathing was ragged. You felt you could burst.

“You’re insane,” you tried to cover, burying your head in his chest. “My dad will kill you if he catches you.”

He took a step back and tilted your face up, gently, by the chin. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you replied.

“Tell me.”

Instead of answering, you made your way to the bathroom and got a towel out of the linen closet. You could feel Scott’s questioning gaze, but he waited, rubbing the towel across his head, brows knitted together as you hesitated, still trying to hedge. “I just—we have that exam next week and I’ve fallen behind on calc and I think I’m going to have to start over on my AP Civ end-of-the-year project, and my mom—”

“Your mom’s great,” Scott interjected.

“Why, d’you want her?”

He pursed his lips. As soon as you said it, you knew that it had sounded kind of bitchy.

“Fine, okay. She’s great, she’s just… trying to help.”

“Is this about Drexler getting her Harvard letter? Because it’s only—”

“It's only March. Yeah. That’s what Mom said. But I’m cutting it close, right? Some people got their letters in December, Scott—December!” You looked down at your feet. “I’m not going to get in.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, it sure feels like it!”

“C’mere.”

“No.” You shook your head.

“Come here,” he insisted, tossing the damp towel onto your bed and holding your arms loosely, his hands stroking up and down. No matter how much you held onto the scent-memory of him on his Nichols sweatshirt, nothing compares to the real thing. He made everything better; and if not, he made everything feel like it could get better, because he was Scott Miller, and the world bent to his charm or else. “You’re going to get in,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “They’d be crazy not to have you.” And the thing was, despite being utterly convinced only two minutes before that the worst was inevitable, you wanted to believe him, wanted to convince yourself that everything would settle into place as it should.

Scott dipped his head to brush his lips against yours, a deliberate barely-there sweep that made your eyes flutter closed and your arms lace around the wide breadth of his shoulders. Scott’s hands traveled down your back, pressing into your hips until you were flush against the length of his body. You felt him smile as he let you deepen the kiss, and the little rumble of his almost-laugh pinged all the way down to your toes, warming you from the inside the way only Scott could.

As his mouth moved down to your jaw and then the side of your neck, you slid your hands down his chest and then stopped, feeling something other than the hidden planes of his stomach through the fabric of his dark hoodie. You pulled away. Scott’s face had frozen into a look of mild panic and his hands wrapped around your wrists, holding them loosely, which only made the alarm bells ring louder in your head. That was not the sort of face he would make if he was hoarding old receipts.

“Scott?” you asked. He looked away, exhaled, and let your wrists drop with a resigned expression. You reached into his pocket, pulling out a sheet of white letter paper folded into quarters, carefully and with Scott-like precision. “What…” you began, glancing at him briefly and opening the sheet.

At the top, in cardinal red: Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

You might have gasped. At the very least, one of your hands flew up to your mouth. “Oh my God… Scott…”

“We don’t have to talk about it now.”

“Scott! This is from MIT! You got in?”

“It's really not a big deal.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, his shoulders curved slightly inward.

Not a big deal? “Scott, shut up! You got in!” you exclaimed, aghast.

“You’re not upset?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” You set the letter down to the side, knowing he’d want to keep it—that so much as folding it and putting it in his pocket so he could make the ten-minute run to your house in the middle of a downpour must have been a minor sacrifice on your account. Because he wanted to tell you. Because he wanted you to be the first person other than his mom to hear the good news. “We’ve talked about this. This is your dream school, babe.”

“Yeah, well, it feels kinda shitty celebrating now.”

“Stop.” You reached up and gave him a peck on the lips, stroking his cheeks, resting your forehead against his. “I'm so freaking proud of you. You’re going to be the best, most kick-ass engineer.”

You looked into his eyes so that he’d know it was true, and for a moment you could tell he was letting himself feel the achievement—his shoulders relaxed, he caressed your hands gratefully, but there was something about his smile that signaled not all being well.

“I heard Mom talking on the phone with my uncle today,” he confessed.

“Your uncle Riggs? Down in New Orleans?”

“Yeah. She doesn't want me to know, but I heard her talking about college and…”

You placed your hands on his chest. “Is it that bad?”

He didn't like talking about it but you knew his father had made a few bad investments lately, and from your own dad, who had confided it to your mom in secret one night—not that he saw you lurking outside the kitchen, drawn by the mention of the name “Miller”—you were aware that he had made a truly catastrophic impulsive bet with some Swedish businessmen he’d been trying to impress. Add to that the drawn look on Mrs. Miller’s face whenever you saw her, and the overly sympathetic way your mom referred to “poor Pamela,” and you had enough evidence to assume that Scott’s father had royally fucked up this time.

“They’ve been talking about selling the house,” he said with a dark look. “I think my parents are going to split up… for good this time.”

“Oh, Scott…”

“So who knows? I might not be able to go to MIT anyway—even with this.”

“Are you okay?” you asked, aware that nothing got his back up more than pity. But you had to ask.

He shrugged. “It is what it is.”

This was a side of him you’d never learned how to handle, not even after two years of dating. For all that he was an expert at making you feel like the world was yours for the taking, when it came to his own struggles, he was a tightly closed book. Instead of admitting when he was hurt or disappointed, he resorted to indifference and the kind of dark humor that could put you in a bad mood if you weren't careful.

Right now, all you wanted was for him to know that you were there for him. Nothing you could say or do would make Ray Miller grow practical common sense or an ounce of familial consideration—you weren't even sure that he knew your name, despite being Scott’s long-term girlfriend; he was hardly ever home, and never present even on the occasions when he was. But you could state the obvious, just in case he’d doubted it for a second.

“Hey, I love you,” you said to him.

“I love you, too,” he replied. “Now, no more shop talk—why do you think I risked my neck climbing up here?” And just like that, the matter was closed, the dark look disappeared, replaced by the telltale lowering of his dark lashes as he dropped another kiss at the side of your neck, his arms tightening around you, turning you so that the backs of your knees hit the edge of your bed.

“And here I thought your intentions were pure,” you replied, trying to downplay the butterflies in your stomach.

“Darling, there’s no such thing… especially when it comes to you.”

“What an idealist,” you rejoined, then fell quiet when he kissed you again. Without missing a beat, he lowered you onto the bed, hands gliding beneath your sweatshirt with apparent purpose. “Scott,” you protested, “my parents are across the hall.”

“So we’ll be quiet. Or we’ll get caught. What's the worst that could happen?”

“Um, you flying headfirst out that window?”

He pretended to think about it, then, by the warm glow of your bedside lamp, you saw his mouth quirk into a smirk before he dove towards your lips, eyes twinkling. “I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a price I’m willing to pay.”

PRESENT DAY OKLAHOMA CITY

“The damages your client is seeking are absolutely unreasonable. I would even say they border on the ridiculous—and, quite frankly, even frivolous!”

“Frivolous! Your client founded his new company with StormPAR assets—”

“His assets!”

“—accumulated during his tenure as a business partner to my client. Assets which came out of the pocket of Mr. Riggs as well, might I remind you!”

“We were equal partners!” Javi exclaimed, no longer able to keep his temper in check. You supposed the moment you snapped at Mr. Rankin, Javi figured the gloves were off.

Maybe instead of worrying about Tyler, you should've worried about yourself.

Rankin stabbed a finger at the files stacked in front of him. “Exactly, and Mr. Miller deserves to be compensated for the financial losses incurred from your breach of contract.”

Javi balked. “What, I can’t decide to leave my own company?”

“You can do whatever the hell you want, just not with my money,” Scott said in a dangerous monotone. For the last half-hour you’d been trying not to look at him, focusing instead on his middle-aged bespectacled lawyer, but to say you weren't losing your shit would be disproven by the Montblanc you’ve been fidgeting with since the meeting began. When he wasn’t glaring daggers at his former business partner, you could feel the power of his gaze, daring you to meet his eyes again.

“Oh, you mean your uncle’s money?”

“Javi.” You touched his hand in warning.

“You weren't turning your nose up at my uncle’s money when you were trying to found StormPAR.” Scott gibed. In your periphery, you saw Kate rubbing her left temple.

“Me? I thought we were partners, partner.”

“Like you give a shit! You jumped ship, Javi—you jumped ship, set up shop with the opposition, then hired my ex-girlfriend so you could get away with robbing us blind!”

You gritted your teeth. “Mr. Rankin, control your client.”

“‘Control your client’?” Scott spat out, leaning forward and turning the dial up to ten. “What the hell is wrong with you? What are you even doing here?”

“My job, Mr. Miller.” This time you did risk staring him in the face, ignoring the play of light on his cheekbones, the shape of his lips, the triangle of exposed skin at his throat that you used to know so well. “I work for StormLab. You might find my presence objectionable, but that’s neither here nor there as long as my clients choose to keep me on retainer. If you don't like it, you’re free to leave and we can negotiate with Mr. Rankin directly.”

He said nothing. Scott was never at a loss for words unless he was well and truly pissed, the force of his intelligence diverted into barely suppressed anger. You could've heard a pin drop in that conference room. His hands were on top of the table, tense, almost shaking, and the rise and fall of his chest was visible even to you. Against your will, your brain threw up images of those same hands holding yours, threaded through your hair, brushing gently against the small of your back; those same arms drawing you close; the same mouth smiling.

You cleared your throat, shuffled a few papers around, and once again addressed the general room and Mr. Rankin. “Now, if you turn to page 16, you’ll see that Mr. Rivera is willing to formally sell his share of StormPAR for less than he’s entitled—if both Mr. Miller and Mr. Riggs agree to desist in interference with StormLab, which, need I remind you, was founded two-thirds of the way with assets entirely independent from the former. If this action’s purpose isn’t frivolous, then Mr. Owens and Ms. Carter should be removed from this suit.”

“Like hell,” Scott interrupted, prompting Javi to fire back with:

“What, you think we’re not good for it? I’ll have you know—”

“You expect me to believe you started your little company on the merits of an NWS salary and a fucking YouTube channel?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Tyler lean forward, ready to pounce. Rankin muttered, “Language,” and pushed his eyeglasses up his nose. You knew he was a personal friend of Scott’s uncle—you could also tell that he would rather be out on the golf course than in the middle of this friend-divorce and embarrassing squabble, one where his input seemed superfluous and his counsel went unheeded even by his client.

Scott went on, full of accusation. “You used StormPAR money, didn’t you?”

“If you want to request any financial disclosures…” you began.

“We’re talking.”

Bitch. “No, you’re berating,” you shot back.

Javi put his hand on your wrist. “It’s fine. Yeah—I guess if you want to look at it that way, if I was making a living off StormPAR and taking Riggs’s money, then yeah, technically my share of StormLab exists because of what we had.”

“Javi.”

“No. Fair’s fair and all that. I don’t want any part of it anymore. Hell, you can have it. But come on, man, don’t pretend you’re doing any of this because you’re broke. Even if I gave you half of whatever StormPAR’s worth, it wouldn’t make a difference. You’re mad that I left. I get it. Let’s settle this, you and me. Leave Kate and Tyler out of it.”

“You stole our data!”

Now, that couldn't stand. “He made the executive decision to share data with Mr. Owens’s team.” Sure, it was a technicality but it was a true technicality.

“Bullshit!”

You sighed. “Are we getting anywhere here, Rankin?”

The lawyer glanced down at his watch and shook his head almost mournfully. “It’s not looking likely.”

“Wonderful.” You stood up, gathering your things and motioning for Kate, Tyler, and Javi to do the same. “Well, we’re all very busy people and clearly meeting in-person is counterproductive. Shall we agree to make this a video call next time? My clients have places to be.”

“I’ll bet they do,” Scott mocked, staring not only at Javi but at his new partners for probably the first time all afternoon. “How’re your investors doing, by the way, knowing you’re getting sued for infringement, breach of contract and fiduciary duty…”

You wanted to strangle him. In a voice that matched him venom for venom, you turned to your assistant and said, “Did you get that on record, Abby? Please, keep going,” you urged Scott, “you might just win us a dismissal.”

After a moment of charged silence, you told your clients: “We’re done here.”

“You’ll be hearing from me,” said the reluctant Mr. Rankin.

You snatched the chrome door handle from Tyler. “Boy, am I looking forward to it.”

Outside, you didn’t stop until you’d turned the corner into another section of the office, not wanting to be within eyeshot of Scott when you gritted your teeth and let the mask of cool indifference fall.

“Well, that went…” Tyler trailed off, leaning against the metal doorframe of Copy Room 3. The smell of toner and ozone was strangely comforting, bringing you back to your professional self now that Scott and his stupid, handsome-as-ever face were out of view. That, and you were noticing that Tyler Owens in a corporate-adjacent setting didn’t sit well with you; you couldn’t decide whether it was the outdoor tan or the in-your-face belt-buckle that gave it away. Regardless, he seemed too big for the confines of a downtown law office.

“It went like a garbage fire,” you confirmed, “which means about as well as I expected.”

Kate crossed her arms. “So we’re going to court, then.”

“I’m going to keep pushing for him to drop StormLab from the suit.”

“That just leaves me,” Javi remarked, downcast, but still willing to take one for the team.

“I mean, Javi, dear, you did abandon the partnership without ironing out all the kinks first.”

“How was I supposed to know I needed to hire a lawyer?”

“Um, literally everyone knows you’re supposed to hire a lawyer,” said Tyler, “especially if you’re dealing with someone like Textbook Type A over there.”

Javi ran a hand down his face, then shook his head. “What can I say? I-I thought he was my friend.”

“I know.” You clapped your hand on Javi’s shoulder. I understand. “But sometimes all that does is make it worse.”

After a bit more commiserating you parted ways with the three, hanging back with Abby to touch base on a few points and clear up the rest of your schedule, which included a deposition in an hour-and-a-half and witness prep at 4:30. Understandably, you were in the mood for none of this and wanted nothing more than to retire to your apartment with a glass of red and a bowl of popcorn as big as your head à la Olivia Pope, but alas… you were trying to make junior partner.

No rest for the wicked and all that.

You released Abby for a late lunch and made your way to the bank of elevators after a brief pit stop at the restroom, side-eyeing the fancy automatic taps and the whiff of something hotel-like emanating from the vents. You’d have to tell the office manager at Conway & Fine to up your game.

Fishing your phone out of your bag, you pushed the elevator button and began scrolling through a frightful amount of emails—there were intraoffice communications and check-in requests from clients, a few items of junk not caught by the email filter, the latest newsletters from PennAlumni and the Oklahoma Bar Association, as well as an invitation to an old mentor’s golden anniversary celebration. You were in the middle of responding to this when Scott sidled up next to you, giving no indication other than the familiar scent of his cologne and the tap of shined leather shoes against the polished tile. Of all the bad luck…

“So what is this, some kind of a decade-old revenge plot?” he finally asked, disconcerting you with the fact that he was standing so close to you that you couldn't glance at his expression without craning your neck. “Maybe I should’ve expected it from you, but Javi? I didn't know he had it in him.”

“Go away, Scott. This is business.”

“Really, is that what you want to call it? He could've hired anyone.”

“Well, he chose to hire a friend.”

“Right…” A laugh. Dry, cynical. “And what's your excuse?”

You stared at the light above the door, willing it to flash green and put you out of your misery. “Believe it or not, my taking this case has nothing to do with you. Forgive me if I thought you could be a fucking adult about it—clearly I was wrong.”

Ding!

You walked into the elevator without looking back. As parting words went, you thought they passed muster. Except, instead of being a regular person and taking the next car, Scott followed you in, ignoring the outrage written plain on your face.

You looked at him as if to say, “Do you mind?” It was obvious that he didn't. Whatever composure he’d lost in the conference room had been regained now that it was just you, and him, and the shared knowledge that you would have avoided being alone with him if you could.

He stood next to you, towering. As the floor number inched downward from 22, you were all too aware of his presence: the Scott smell of him, the warmth of his body, and the brush of his dark linen jacket against your arm. You wished you handed discarded your own in the restroom; you needed armor, and while Scott had donned his as soon as he was able, he had caught you unawares, expecting him to play fair even when all the evidence of the last two hours had told you that “fair” was no longer in his vocabulary.

As if to illustrate the point, you felt him lean in, his voice the closest it had been in over six years. “You always did love making a show of taking the moral high ground. How’s the view, sweetheart? You must love getting the chance to look down on me for change.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Not bothering to contain your disgust, you stepped away from him, clutching your bag in a white-knuckle grip. For a moment you felt struck by lightning. There was a time when you knew the planes of his face better than your own—the slope of his nose, the variations of blue in his eyes; you knew the shade of his hair in every light; how to tell a false smile from the true. But this Scott… the one with the shuttered expression, the see-if-I-care set to his shoulders, “how’re your investors doing, by the way”… It wasn’t like those things came out of left field—Scott had always been capable of a certain amount of pride, petulance, vindictiveness, even. But it was like the best parts of him had been filed away, or else hidden so deep that you couldn't find nary a sight of them when you looked into his face. “What happened to you?”

You saw his jaw clench. “If you want to know, then you shouldn’t have left.”

8…

7…

6…

You took a breath. “That whole last year—you pushed me away and you know it.”

Instead of answering your honesty in kind, Scott hitched up his sleeve so he could glance at the time on his fancy Swiss watch, a present from Good Old Uncle Riggs on the event of his graduation from MIT. “Yeah, well, you made it easy.”

4…

3…

2…

The doors opened onto a vast lobby. Incredulous, you kept waiting for him to take his words back, to apologize, to so much as glance at you, damn it. When you saw there wasn't any point, you swallowed the knot in your throat, stepping out of the elevator car and feeling twenty-one all over again.

This time, he didn't follow you. He leaned against the back handrail, not reacting even when you mustered every remaining ounce of dignity to say, “Go fuck yourself, Scott.” Then you turned on your heel and walked away.

TEN YEARS AGO PARK HAVEN, PENNSYLVANIA

Once more on your bedroom floor. Scott sat at your back, his arms wrapped around you and his head bent over yours. “Hey, listen to me… we’ll make it work. I’ll call you every day.”

“With a full slate of classes? That doesn't make any sense.”

“I don’t care if it doesn't. Hey,”—he kissed your temple—“it’s you and me. That doesn’t need to change”

“You say that now…”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do.” You sighed. “It’s the hot nerds I don’t trust.”

You felt him laugh. “You’re a hot nerd.”

“Stop it.” But you smiled anyway, probably for the first time since you’d opened the rejection letter from Harvard. Concerned, your mom had called Scott while you were holed up in your room, ugly-crying into the bedspread, and it was enough to make you regret having been so bitchy about her the week before. She really had been trying to help… not that it mattered now that Harvard had given you the hard pass.

It wasn’t like you had no other options—you’d have been crazy not to line up a contingency plan or two. But Harvard had been your dream since you could remember caring about college. It was your castle in the sky, the thing that kept you going through four years of grueling hard work, a neverending grind of AP and Honors classes, student clubs and extracurriculars. And still it wasn’t enough.

“We regret to inform you…”

Well, not as much as you regretted it.

As if reading your mind, Scott wrapped his arms a little tighter, his tone light when he said, “UPenn’s nothing to scoff at, you know. You’re upset because you got into an Ivy League?”

“An Ivy League in Philadelphia,” you protested.

You didn’t add “and not the one I wanted” because you knew, objectively, that he and your parents and Ms. Andersson, your favorite teacher, were all right. You were incredibly lucky to have gotten into the University of Pennsylvania—the campus was beautiful, it was close to home, and, like Harvard, it boasted its own fair share of Supreme Court Justices and legal luminaries. It wasn’t like your future was in complete and utter shambles. You would still have everything you wanted… except Scott.

You felt him shrug behind you. “So what? It’s just a five-and-a-half-hour drive—or an hour-and-a-half by plane if we’re desperate.” You shifted so you could shoot him a funny look. “I might have googled it,” he admitted, “right after you told me you got in.”

“Of course you did…” The fact that he had started making plans without waiting on Harvard made you feel better; it meant he had every intention of making it work and maybe you were the downer, seeing the situation as near-hopeless when, really, there had to be couples who didn't let physical distance stop them from being together.

Glass half-full. All you needed was a little faith, a little more optimism.

“At least we’ve got the whole summer,” you said, trying to implement this new, sunnier outlook.

You felt Scott stiffen.

“What?” You turned around properly, anchoring your hand on the side of his neck. You had a minor panic when he wouldn't look at you, and at the guilt written on his brow. “Tell me,” you said.

“Uncle Riggs wants me to spend the summer down in NOLA—something about getting to know me better. I think he must’ve worked it out with Mom. She’s finally put the house up for sale, doesn't want me around when strangers start traipsing through and asking about whether or not she’ll throw in the vintage furniture for an extra few grand.”

At last, after years of painful back and forth, the Miller divorce was imminent. True to Scott’s prediction, “poor Pamela” had hired an attorney and filed paperwork on the very week he climbed through your window. So far his dad had been uncharacteristically passive, perhaps figuring he had put his family through enough, or else fearful of the very same Marshall Riggs who had been summoned from the rafters to come through for his sister after a period of long estrangement.

It was Riggs who had retained Pamela’s ace divorce attorney, Riggs who agreed to pay most of Scott’s tuition. Spending a few months with him seemed like the least he could do. You were disappointed. But you understood.

“When do you leave?”

“Two weeks after graduation.”

“So we have a month,” you said. “That’s thirty days.”

“More like twenty-six… and three quarters.” He smiled the same wistful sort of half-smile that was on your face, and you kissed him, savoring the familiar taste of mint on his mouth from the gum he chewed out of habit.

“Then let’s not waste a second,” you answered back.

He placed a kiss on your forehead. “I love you.”

When he said it, it sounded like a promise that everything would be all right, and in spite of your worries you chose to believe him.

PRESENT DAY OKLAHOMA CITY

For the last ten minutes you’d had trouble hearing Kate’s voice clearly over the phone, but you figured it was to be expected since she was calling from the middle of nowhere (at least to your urban- and suburban-bred estimation), and really, after almost three months of similar experiences, you’d grown tired of plugging your ear and saying, “Kate? Kate? You’re breaking up!”

On the upside, your cognitive skills had to be getting a real workout from filling in the weather-induced gaps in your conversations. Case in point:

“—bad luck with the last two, but I—feeling—building in the east—”

“Yeah, her Spidey Senses are tingling!” you heard Javi yell in the background.

Kate laughed. “Go away!”

“Ask her if she caught the livestream!” Tyler said, no doubt from the driver’s seat.

It sounded like she had you on speakerphone, so you spoke to him directly. “Ty, need I remind you that I have an actual job.”

“Ouch! Did you hear that?—thinks we don’t have real jobs!”

“I did not—”

The clarity improved, and you could hear the sound of car doors slamming and voices cracking jokes in the background, which usually meant they’d returned to Kate’s mother’s farm in Sapulpa, where StormLab kept a satellite office in Cathy Carter’s barn. It was makeshift, but what you saw of it during one of Tyler’s Facetime calls had a rustic charm completely at odds with the glass-and-chrome offices where Herb Rankin worked.

Actually, now that you gave it a moment’s thought, not even Herb Rankin fit into his office.

“Listen to her, the Big City Bigshot slumming it with the rednecks,” Tyler went on, earning a few spirited hoots and howls from the other Wranglers.

“Kate is from New York!” you objected. You waved an arm in the middle of your dim-lit apartment as if anyone could see you, vaguely aware that you were holding a pair of chopsticks and had probably sent a strand of shredded cabbage flying behind your couch.

This assertion was too much for Javi to bear. “Excuse me! Kate is OK to the bone, New York’s just where she keeps her apartment.”

Kate laughed as she said something you couldn’t catch, then Tyler’s voice came, audibly close to the phone. “Hey, that reminds me, where’re you from, again?”

“Pennsylvania.”

“That is not a Philly accent.”

You were about to say that not everyone in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania sounds like Rocky Balboa when Javi replied, “That’s ’cause she’s from the fancy part of Pennsylvania—but we don't hold that against her.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Tyler asked, “Wait, you’re not billing us for all this shit-talking, are you?”

You let out a snort, picked up your phone, and held it close to your mouth. “You know, maybe I should, Arkansas.”

At first you couldn’t work out what the hell was going on when Tyler broke out in “It's the spirit of the mountains… and the spirit of the Delta… it's the spirit of the Caaapitol doooooome,” but by the time the other Wranglers pitched in, with all the gusto of a drunk karaoke night despite being stone-cold sober, you understood that you had been treated to a rare and hopefully never-to-be-repeated rendition of one of the state songs of Arkansas. A short while later you hung up, cheeks sore and still laughing to yourself. The silence in your apartment was deafening by comparison.

Sometimes, you called them just because you lacked company. There wasn’t much to report on the Rankin front—as much as you had tried to negotiate on Javi’s behalf for a less hostile resolution, Scott insisted on keeping Kate and Tyler in the suit and seemed determined to take their tiff before a judge if his terms weren’t met.

Even Rankin seemed fed up.

Maybe it was a bad idea, maybe it was the two glasses of wine you’d had with dinner or the post-ballad high. Maybe you wanted to be the one to make StormLab’s problem go away. Whatever the reason, after you put the dirty dishes in the sink, you found yourself calling the one person you swore you’d never speak to ever again.

For good measure, as the dial tone rang you poured yourself another glass. When he answered, you nearly choked.

“Can we talk?” you managed to ask, swallowing down a mouthful of Syrah. There was a long silence on the other end. You didn't know if he had your number saved, if he knew who had called him, or whether he’d recognized the sound of your voice. You remembered that the last thing you had said to him was “go fuck yourself,” and added it to the mental list of why maybe you shouldn't have called him after all.

Tyler’s impulsiveness seemed to be as contagious as a rash.

Scott answered: “Not without my lawyer present.”

Okay, fair. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. He sounded clipped, like he’d rather be lowered into a tank of leeches than be on the phone with you. You were reconsidering the wisdom of your actions when he asked, “What do you want?”

Your eyes darted around the living room. Thinking on your feet wasn't new to you, it couldn't be, in your profession. But a part of you knew you’d taken a stupid gamble in pressing the call button, and now that the die was cast, you had to make it count.

You opted for the aggressive approach.

“Rankin says you're being uncooperative.”

You could feel the animus on the other end. “No, he didn't.”

“It was implied. No one wants to keep drawing this out, Scott. So, come off it. What is it that you’re actually looking to get out of all this?”

If he opted to tell you to go fuck yourself, you figured it would be fair play. This really was business, and not having to look him in the eyes made it easier to feel the rush of adrenaline that came with making a risky move in the name of work. You knew that technically, and in the strictest interpretation of the word, reaching out to another lawyer’s client crossed the line into inappropriate, but you were also a couple years beyond green. If you could cut out the middleman and get Scott to come to the table in a serious way, it would all be worth it. And Rankin could go back to playing 9 holes without losing face in front of his old school mate Riggs.

You waited for Scott’s response with bated breath.

“I want StormLab run into the ground.”

The answer came as no surprise but his tone did. Dark, intense, almost as bad as one of the nights he snuck into your room after a fight with his dad. It was the one and only time you’d ever heard him say he hated his father—his lack of control, his thoughtlessness, his inability to keep his word. Afterward he’d pretended he never said it, or rather, he was careful to never bring it up again, but you knew he had meant it.

And he meant it now. He wanted to take StormLab down. He’d succeed over your dead body. Javi and the others were counting on you.

You moved the phone to your other ear. “Right, well… that's not gonna happen, so any other alternatives?” You could feel he was about to end the call, so you tacked on, “Wait, just… hear me out, okay? Forget about Tyler and Kate—this isn’t about them, really, this is about StormPAR. Compromise on this one thing and you have a better chance of being compensated for what went down last year. You and Javi can just… move on with your lives. On paper it's about money, right? Riggs’s investment? So let’s settle this as soon as possible.”

“You and me?”

“And Rankin,” you added, your conscience getting the better of you.

There was a pause before Scott repeated, “You and me.”

“I don’t…”

“That’s my final offer.”

Alarm bells of a different sort rang in your head. On the phone was one thing, but in person, alone? Could you really sit across from Scott and keep your cool?

You had to. More than that, you wanted to prove to yourself that you’d grown up since you were twenty-one, that you were assured and confident and could handle messy things like sitting across from your ex. There were many things you regretted from that time; the one you regretted most was a reluctance to stand up for yourself. What was Tyler always saying? You don’t face your fears, you ride them. Frankly, you still weren't sure what the hell he meant by that, but it sounded a lot like “put your money where your mouth is.” At some point you had to choose to take action.

“Okay, fine,” you said. “When and where?”

“You busy tonight?”

You scoffed, casting a glance at your open laptop and the piles of paperwork lying on top of the coffee table. “I’m busy every night.”

“Perch. In an hour. Don’t be late.”

THREE YEARS AGO PARK HAVEN, PENNSYLVANIA

As a rule you’d been avoiding your hometown for the last three years, ever since your breakup with Scott. It was easier to stay in Oklahoma, where the possibility of running into someone who knew the Millers or would ask “are the two of you still together?” was slim. After your father died, you started to regret being such a coward. So much lost time… although your mom kept telling you that your dad understood the need to have your own life and never held it against you.

You held it against you, and all the more when your mom decided to downsize and move in with a friend.

After requesting two weeks off you got on a plane to Philadelphia and drove south to Park Haven to help her pack. You stayed up late, wore holiday pajamas, filled your hand with paper cuts, and inhaled about four pounds of dust in the attic. It was nice to spend time with your mom. All the old grievances seemed minor in comparison with the massive changes that lay ahead. Always one for sentimentality, sorting through boxes full of clothes, keepsakes, and old mementos put your mom in an especially chatty mood, and you soaked everything in, not having realized before how little you knew about your dad. He was so reserved in life, so buttoned-up, with clear expectations of himself and others that you were surprised to learn about his stint in an amateur dramatics troupe, the year he tried his hand at playing the alto sax, his fear of geese.

“Geese?” you asked your mom.

“Yes, geese. Those fuckers are vicious!” Having never heard your mom swear before, you froze while elbow-deep in a box of photographs dating back to the 70s. All she did was shrug and finish the rest of her margarita while lightbulbs flashed on her navy blue Rudolph sweater. “What do you want me to say? Parents have secrets, too.”

“Well, I think this parent went a little hard on the tequila,” you said.

Your mom plucked a faded Polaroid from the box. “You know… he didn’t look it, but your dad was actually a lot of fun. We both were. Then… life gets in the way, you start caring about PTA meetings and getting the HOA off your back…”

“Fuck the HOA.”

“Right on! Can’t say I’ll miss any of those jerks.” She sighed, and with a little shake of her head, put the Polaroid back in the box. “Sometimes I worry—” She stopped herself and glanced at you nervously.

“What?”

“Sometimes I worry that you think about us, about your dad and me, and that you don’t see us as having ever been in love. Especially after you and Scott—”

“Mom,” you warned.

“I know, I know, me and my big mouth.” She held up her hands, chuckling to herself. Normally you’d seize the opportunity to change the subject, but you were thinking a lot about how you could’ve been a better daughter, all the times you shut the door in their face because you didn’t want to feel scolded or uncomfortable, because you weren’t interested in what they had to say.

Your mom was trying to respect your privacy. The least you could do was not leave her with the impression that you thought she had a “big mouth.”

You reached across the box and touched her arm. “That’s not what I meant.”

“All I mean is… I know you’re not dating.”

“How do you know that?”

She grinned. “Mothers have their ways. I just don’t want you giving up, is all. If Dad and I weren’t the model marriage—”

“What are you talking about?” you asked. “Half of my friends have divorced parents. And even if you were divorced, the whole ‘nuclear family or you’re a failure to society’ thing is so five-decades-ago.”

“Well, good! Because I was happy—I want you to know that. Maybe it wasn’t the sort of romance people write songs about—God knows your dad had his faults. He wasn't perfect. No one is. But when you love someone… it’s less about keeping score and more about what you build. Together.”

She looked off to the far wall, where their wedding portrait sat propped in its frame, ready to be wrapped in old newspapers and put away. You turned around and looked at it, too—at your mom’s curly updo and poofy skirts, the sleeves that looked like pool inflatables, at least to your modern eyes, at your dad before his hair went gray, the sheepish smile on his face like he couldn’t believe he’d gotten away with the steal of the century.

You’d gotten so used to its presence in the living room that you couldn’t remember the last time you gave it more than a passing glance.

Lit by an alternating flash of blue and purple lights, your mom’s face was cast in an otherworldly glow. Then the spell was broken, and she was your mom again in an ugly Christmas sweater, smiling fondly at an old memory to which you weren’t privy. “For some reason, we brought out the best in each other. That mattered to us more than anything we ever did wrong.” And that was that, a twenty-nine year marriage summed up in a few sentences.

You said, “I guess that does sound romantic… in a super-practical, boring, construction-analogy sort of way.”

She laughed and threw a wadded-up newspaper at your head.

“Dad never liked Scott,” you said after a while, rolling the ball between your hands.

“What makes you say that?”

You threw her a pointed look. Her expression said, Oh, alright.

“He wasn’t disapproving, exactly. He was worried about you. Who wouldn’t be? Your first boyfriend, your first love… I don’t think he was quite ready to see his teenage daughter all head over heels over some guy on the baseball team. And the Millers, well… they had their issues, as a family. Maybe your dad didn’t want you becoming collateral damage. But, oh sweetie,”—it was her turn to touch your arm, Rudolph’s nose squished against the cardboard—“it was never about Scott. When you told us you were engaged, we were so pleased for you! And then a few months later… just like that…”

You swallowed the knot in your throat. How much time would have to pass before you could think of Scott without a tidal wave of sadness hitting you square in the chest? Collateral damage, that was one way of putting it. “I guess Dad was right, after all.”

“He never said ‘I told you so,’” your mom pointed out, “and he never would’ve wanted to.”

You squeezed her hand. “Yeah, I know.”

A phone call from your mother’s friend Rose prompted a break in packing. She went into the kitchen to discuss sideboard dimensions, and you went upstairs, where you were slowly going through your childhood bedroom and putting things in boxes marked Keep and Donate, or else in bags to be discarded when trash day rolled around.

You were almost finished, the walls empty of medals and photos, the corkboard of mementos lying in the recycling bin outside. Already it felt like a bedroom that had belonged to someone else, and while you were sad to know that, after the house was sold, you would never step foot in it again, the process of taking things down one at a time had given you a sort of detachment. There were items, like the snowglobe your friend Tash gave you when she got home from a skiing trip in the Alps in the seventh grade, that you had once thought you could never do without. But now Tash lived in LA with her wife and kids, and you hadn’t spoken much since high school except for a few text messages now and then.

You’d decided to keep the globe but you knew it would live in a box in your closet, a relic rather than an everyday part of your life in Oklahoma.

Speaking of closets, you tackled the wardrobe next, marveling at how many items would be considered “trendy” now that the fashion cycle had taken a turn—or God forbid, “vintage.” There were stuffed animals shoved into the top shelf, your old 50 State quarter collection, debate club certificates, a landscape picture from your senior year mock trial, and a shoebox falling apart at the seams.

You took it to the stripped bed with shaking hands, knowing you’d been dreading this most of all but that it had to be done, so why not now.

After you broke your engagement off with Scott, you’d gone home to lick your wounds. This was before you found a job, before you decided to move to Oklahoma on the literal toss of a coin, knowing only that you couldn't stay in Pennsylvania and that you needed a fresh start. Left with no other options, home had been your best bet, even though the weeks spent living with your parents and avoiding their worried questions had seemed at the time like cruel and unusual punishment. When you moved out you had left something behind, hidden beneath seashells and baubles and silly notes you had passed during class, movie stubs, train tickets, an inexplicable piece of gum, the collar that had once belonged to Clover, your old childhood dog.

You lifted a school ribbon and found it: a blue velvet box with a golden clasp. Your heart pounded in your ears. You took a deep breath, let it out again before lifting the lid… and there it was, glinting in the light of late afternoon.

“Honey, Rose wants to know if you’d like to join us for dinner at her place!”

Box, ring, and all tumbled onto the hardwood. Though you were alone, your mother calling to you from the bottom of the stairs, you felt incredibly guilty. “I’ll be right down!” you yelled back. You got on your hands and knees and slipped the ring back in its cradle.

It felt dangerous somehow, like a live grenade. But you couldn't get rid of it. When you went back home at the end of the month you packed it at the bottom of your suitcase and it’d been living with you ever since, moved from closet to closet, unseen but never quite forgotten.

PRESENT DAY OKLAHOMA CITY

The jewel twinkled in your hand, an oval diamond surrounded by small clusters and set in a ring of yellow gold. It was one of a kind. Scott told you he found it at an antique jeweler’s who dated it to the summer of 1880; it was a genuine Victorian piece, and for nearly four months it had been your most prized possession.

The same foolhardy impulse that made you call Scott and agree to meet him made you dig it out of your closet, right after you spent twenty minutes agonizing over what to wear and the state of your hair. This isn’t a date, you kept reminding yourself. If anything, it might be a trap. He was, after all, Marshall Riggs's nephew.

Letting your lesser sense win out, you slipped the ring on your finger and watched it catch the light. It truly was a beautiful ring. And it was sentimental, as though its selection revealed a hidden truth about Scott.

Its weight on your hand, present and comfortable, calmed your racing thoughts and the nerves roiling in your belly. You kept it on as you dressed and got ready, then chalked it up to a desire for punctuality when you rushed to the elevator, through the lobby, and into your waiting Uber still wearing it. The driver’s presence snapped you out of your momentary lapse in sanity. They were chatty, and the more you talked about work and the weather and what you liked doing in the city, the sillier it felt to be wearing your ex-fiancé’s engagement ring. Before getting out, you stuck it in the pocket of your linen duster… which was also, admittedly, kind of a stupid thing to do.

(You blamed Tyler for all of it.)

Located at the top of a fifty-floor high-rise, Perch was a bar and restaurant with full views of the city and a James Beard Award-winning chef. The atmosphere was relaxed and unfussy, the lighting unobtrusive, and the cocktails reasonably priced. At the door, the vest-clad host directed you through the assemblage of diners and beyond a decorative glass partition to the tables reserved for business meetings, minor celebrities, and men who didn’t want to be seen with their mistresses. Scott was there in rolled-up shirtsleeves. You watched from a distance as he rubbed his stubbled cheek and his pointer finger came to rest at the seam of his lips.

You would not stare at his mouth or let your eyes linger anywhere on his person. This was business, goddammit.

But hell if he didn’t look good. You hated that after all this time you still found him maddeningly attractive.

“Seriously?” he asked, casting a pointed look at the portfolio in your arms.

“Well, this isn’t a social call.”

“By all means.” He gestured at the seat in front of him, mockingly formal. You glanced at the coupe waiting on your side of the table, a cheerful yellow with a perfect white foam on top and a twist of lemon peel. “I took the liberty of ordering your usual.”

You sat down and set the portfolio to one side, adopting an air of casual indifference. “Actually, it’s not my usual anymore.”

“Really?”

“But thanks anyway. So, from previous conversations with Javi—”

“What is this mythical new usual?”

“Are you kidding?” you balked, narrowing your eyes.

“No, I’m just curious.” He propped his chin in his hand. Maybe lying had been a petty move on your part but you’d be damned if he forced you to backtrack and you came out of this looking a fool.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but at some point you’re gonna have to learn to live with uncertainty. Anyway—”

“You don’t have a new usual.” Scott smirked. “It’s still a gin sour and you’re just being difficult.”

“Difficult… Wow, okay! We”—wagging your finger in the space between you—“are not together anymore, so these mind games you’re trying to play are highly inappropriate and also kind of a dick move—”

“A dick move!” he repeated.

“Yeah, a dick move! Which I know is, like, your whole personality now—”

“Is it?” he laughed.

“—but I’m trying to settle this like an actual grown-up and all you’ve done for three months is make that very difficult for everyone involved!”

He rolled his eyes. “This is such a fucking boring conversation.”

Incensed, you had the fleeting thought to throw your drink in his face, but people only did that in soap operas. “You were the one who wanted to do this in person!” you fired back, shrill and drawing the attention of a server who promptly beelined to a different table and pretended not to hear. Which only made you wonder what sort of clientele frequented her section.

“And you were the one who called me,” Scott pointed out, “not the other way around.”

His being right made you even angrier. You had thought you were prepared, that magically you’d be able to have a civil conversation that settled the matter in a way that left you with your pride intact and StormLab the clear winner on the side of good. Clearly, you’d miscalculated. “You know what… fuck this.” After downing half your cocktail in a single gulp, you gathered the portfolio in your arms and made to stand before deciding that, actually, you wanted to get a few things off your chest first so that abandoning your PJs would be worth it. “I am so over this whole… fucking… stupid… mess. I’ve had actual divorces that were easier to mediate, Scott. Whole marriages—and not short ones either! Just take the fucking shares! Please… take the shares and go back to Riggs and leave us all the hell alone. We’re tired, okay? This is just… so unbelievably tiring. And fuck you, by the way—yes, it’s still a gin sour.” You finished yours, figuring that if Scott was paying, you might as well.

And now I’m ready to leave, you thought.

But Scott had other ideas.

“You spoken to your mom lately?”

“What?” You gaped at him, wondering if you were losing your mind. Was he? Was there a dimensional shift happening that you weren’t aware of?

“Pardon the observation,” Scott went on, “but you don’t seem… well.”

“Are you being for real right now?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

And how else could you mean it? was on the tip of your tongue. But the look on his face made you stop. No bullshit, no smug provocation. He was serious. Somehow, that was more unsettling than when he was fucking with you. It brought back too many memories.

“I was sorry to hear about your dad.”

He looked you straight in the eyes when he said it. You wanted to burrow into a hole in the ground—into him, if you were being honest. It didn’t matter how many years had gone by. A part of you was still twenty-seven and glancing at the door wondering if maybe, just maybe…

“Oh, I’m gonna need another one of these,” you whispered to yourself, stunned back into a seated position. The server came around and eyed your empty glass, asking meekly if you would like anything else. “I might as well,” you answered, sounding patently glum. All the while Scott kept a neutral expression, even waited until you had another drink—and a glass of water—in front of you, giving the server a soundless thanks before she scurried away.

Probably off to the kitchen to tell her coworkers about the crazy lady at B25.

“I thought about showing up to the funeral, actually,” added Scott when you had regained most of your composure. “But I didn’t know if I’d be welcome. Mom, being a firm believer in Emily Post, thought it’d be better if we skipped it. She sent flowers, though.”

“She what?”

“She sent flowers. Your mom never said?”

You shook your head. She must’ve been trying not to upset you. But you had been upset anyway, thinking about how Scott should’ve been there, how you had always expected him to show up and make things better.

All this time you had used his absence as yet another example of how little you must’ve mattered in the end. Which made no sense, because you were the one to break things off—and yet, that entire winter’s morning, you had bargained with yourself that if he showed up through those chapel double doors you would forget everything and beg him to take you back. It was too late for that. But knowing that he’d thought about going loosened a painful knot in your chest that you weren’t aware you even had.

You cleared your throat. “How’s your mom, by the way?”

“She’s doing all right. She’s part of a sewing circle, believe it or not.”

“Please tell me that isn’t a euphemism.”

“God, I hope not.”

You smiled involuntarily, picturing Pam Miller in her sweater sets and pearls. “I’m glad she’s doing okay. Your dad…?”

He picked up his drink, a Macallan on the rocks. It was his uncle’s drink, too. “I haven't heard from him in years. Guess neither of us ever saw the point.”

“Scott—”

“How’d you and Javi become an ‘us’ anyway? He never said.”

Fair enough. It made sense that he wouldn’t want to talk about his dad, let alone with you. But talking about Javi? When an hour ago he had admitted to wanting to bankrupt Javi’s company?

“I’ll be on my best behavior for the next”—he looked down at his watch—“fifteen minutes. Promise.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s better if we table all the personal talk,” you hedged.

“Better for whom?”

“Better for my clients. And better for me, too. We’re not friends.”

“We’ve never been friends,” Scott pointed out.

“Exactly. So why lie and pretend like we are?”

“Call it a term of this negotiation.”

“Scott…” Already this night was going nothing like how you’d planned. Your defenses had all the strength of a thin paper bag; he was in front of you, all dark-haired, blue-eyed, 6’4” reality and you weren’t unaffected. You wanted to keep talking to him, make the moment last… and all the more because you knew it had to end at some point. Scott would never be yours—not again. You’d made your peace with that a long time ago. But he has a right to know. Maybe if you could convince him that there was no grand conspiracy against him, he would be more amenable to Javi’s offer.

This is business, you reminded yourself. Redirect, bring it all back to StormLab.

“Fine,” you decided, settling in to tell the story of how you and Javi first met. “It happened maybe a year after I moved to Oklahoma City… I was out with a new friend and she took me to this bar after dinner to meet a bunch of people, one of whom was Javi. We get to talking, he tells me all about this new company he’s starting with a friend of his, says it’s a lucky coincidence or maybe fate having a twisted sense of humor because—”o

You broke off. You hadn’t considered how to broach this particular detail in the story. Obviously, Javi had no idea at the time how messy your backstory with Scott was. He had only thought to poke fun at his friend and seemed delighted to have solved a long-standing mystery for himself.

“So you’re the girl!”

“Come again?”

“The girl, you know. He has a picture of you in one of his old notebooks from college. What a small world!”

“What?” Scott prompted. You felt your face heating up and took a sip of water to hide it. You couldn't well omit the rest having already begun, but the knowledge that Scott had kept a photograph of you, whether by accident or otherwise, made you flustered then and it flustered you now.

You settled for: “He said he recognized me, and that he thought we might have a friend in common. Obviously, he meant you. He was dating one of Christa’s friends at the time—”

“Rachel.”

“Yeah. So he’d show up, be around… You know how Javi can be.”

“Like a persistent terrier.”

“Sounds like your kind of business partner.”

Scott looked away.

Not wanting to push things further in that direction just yet, you explained, “I work a lot, so it’s hard for me to make friends. Javi seems to make them wherever he goes. It’s nice having people like that in your life, to open you up, remind you there’s more to all this than billable hours and senior partner tracks. But we never talked about you. Not until this whole thing happened.”

“What thing did he say happened?”

Tread carefully now. Scott was watching you intently—if you said the wrong thing it might start a new argument between you and make his relationship with Javi a hell of a lot worse. In polished business-speak, you recited: “Just that you had a fundamental disagreement about the direction of the company.”

Your reward was a skeptical laugh.

“Also, that he might have left you on the side of the road during a tornado… which he feels bad about, by the way.”

“Not bad enough.”

“Scott, you can’t really want to ruin him, can you? I mean, this is Javi we’re talking about.”

“That’s not part of this discussion.”

“Okay?” you shot back. “I don’t remember agreeing to that condition.”

“You’re still at this table.”

“And that can easily be fixed!”

“All right, calm down.” Maybe it was you in danger of starting another fight. Scott, holding up his hands in a show of good faith, said, “I thought we were playing nice here, being civilized, acting like adults… What else have you been up to?”

“You want to know about my life?”

“Like I said, I’m curious. And seeing as this is a momentary parley, I plan on making the most of it.”

Again, you took in his face in search for any signs of subterfuge and found none, only the barest hint of levity in his eyes at your willingness to argue. It reminded you of the old days, when Scott would delight in teasing you for the sole purpose of seeing what your reaction would be. “Fine. But it’s going to be quid pro quo,” you demanded. “Call it a term of this negotiation.”

His mouth curved into a smile. Then he held out his hand across the table and waited for you to take it before saying, “Term accepted, counselor.”

In the end, playing nice with Scott turned out to be a lot easier once you’d established a few ground rules, mainly the stipulation that either of you could say “pass” if you weren’t willing to answer a question.

You went through the whole gamut of discussing your first jobs after college, gossiped about the old Park Haven crowd, the who-married-who and the who-got-divorced of it all. It turned out that, like you, Scott hadn’t returned to Pennsylvania much in the last few years. StormPAR kept him traveling through the Great Plains for most of the spring and summer, and during the rest of the year he lived in New Orleans, where Riggs and his mother lived. You got the sense that his life revolved around work, and that StormPAR, while not the be all and end all of his professional fate, had been an important part of it until Javi called it quits. You figured this explained, in part, why he took the loss so personally, and though you kept your thoughts to yourself you lamented that his one attempt to branch out for himself and away from his uncle—if you could call taking a major investment from Riggs “branching out”—had gone badly.

Either way, by the end of the evening you felt you’d been a little hasty in believing the old Scott had left the building for good. You exited Perch in higher spirits, glad to see that the night was clear and that the air felt good on your cheeks. When he asked if you were getting a car, you shared your desire for a long walk and he responded with mild horror until you explained that you didn’t live far. “Maybe twenty minutes? Thirty at most.”

“I’ll walk you home,” he insisted. You didn't argue because you were secretly pleased. The only thing you had to guard against was the urge to take his arm as you used to do. You felt giddy with it, which you were sure had to be the alcohol, but it was also the fact that Scott was here, in the flesh, that you were cracking jokes and sometimes even pulling smiles from his otherwise deadpan expression. You’d forgotten how that could make you feel like you’d won the jackpot.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re going to take this the wrong way,” you prefaced while walking backwards on the sidewalk, “but I have a really hard time imagining you as a storm chaser.”

“Excuse me!”

“I mean…” You stopped and full-body gestured. “I mean, look at you!”

“What?”

“Even your slacks are pressed!”

“Objection, why are you studying my slacks like a degenerate?”

“Don’t make it weird,” you replied, and fell into step beside him, if only to keep him from seeing that you were embarrassed by the implication that you might’ve been checking him out. “All I meant to say was—”

“That I don’t look like a rugged adrenaline junkie? Maybe ‘Rodeo Clown’ is more your thing these days.”

“Don’t—Tyler’s actually quite decent, you know.”

“But you knew exactly who I was talking about.” Scott snapped his fingers as if to say, Gotcha! as you ruefully shook your head. Something about Tyler Owens tended to evoke a Neanderthal-like competitiveness in certain men—Scott, being competitive by nature, fell for it all too easily.

“This is me.” You pointed at your building. It was a relatively new construction with climbing greenery and pop-out balconies where you’d lived for a year-and-a-half after a not inconsiderable raise, and the reason why you worked sixty hours a week.

“Can I come up?” Scott asked.

You whipped your head so hard that your temples throbbed. “That’s…” A no good, awful, terrible, ill-conceived, perilous idea?

Scott seemed to find your distress highly entertaining. “Jesus, would you relax?” he said. “I’m not asking to tuck you in—unless, if there’s someone—”

“There isn’t,” you hurried to say.

“Oh? How come?”

The knowledge that the man with whom you were formerly engaged was inquiring as to the current state of your love life with all the breeziness of do you have the time? was enough to make you believe in karmic punishment. “Like I said, I’m busy,” you managed to eke out, which only made him lift his shoulders as if to say, Then, what’s the big deal?

Scott Miller was good at that, getting his way.

“Fine,” you caved. “But only for ten minutes! Fifteen, tops!”

“Scout’s honor.”

In the elevator car you stuck your hands in your pockets, searching for your keys only to find the cold hard metal of your engagement ring. You looked guiltily at the oblivious Scott, who was staring at the floor display with a contented expression and was none the wiser about your having worn it earlier in the night like some kind of weirdo. Should you give it back? At the time he’d wanted nothing to do with it, but was keeping it the proper thing? Was it good for you to even have it?

At last you found your keys at the bottom of your purse. You opened the door, trying to remember how well you’d tidied after dinner as he walked in, inspecting everything. You watched as his gaze traveled over the open-plan kitchen and living area—the work files, magazines, and old mail stacked on various side tables; the midcentury beechwood couch you got for a steal at a secondhand warehouse when you first moved; the shelves, filled with books and framed photographs and trinkets you’d brought from home; and the view from your window, which wasn’t nearly as spectacular as the one from Perch, but it faced west, and if you were home during golden hour you could see the other buildings lit orange and gold.

“Yeah, this is exactly how I pictured it,” Scott mentioned at last.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, it’s just… you,” he answered. Your stomach turned to knots. He made you feel seen like nobody else could, not least of which because you’d let him back when you were younger and less guarded. Your heart kicked wildly in your chest, urging you to go to him, go to him, explain everything, get him back, because he was the one. Then Scott looked away, pointing at a sad fern that sat on a pedestal next to your mounted TV. “You still can’t keep a plant alive worth shit.”

“Rude,” you fired back, grasping at levity in order to shove the other thoughts away.

Scott drifted back to your bookshelves, seeing a few paperbacks he must’ve recognized from your old room at Park Haven. “And yet you keep trying. Do you actually use any of these?” he inquired, motioning towards the half-dozen board games you kept piled on an open top shelf. There was Clue and Monopoly, Candy Land, Sorry!, Scrabble and Life.

“Sometimes,” you replied, “when I have friends over. Which hasn’t happened much this year, if I’m being honest.”

“Let’s play.”

You laughed. You didn’t believe him. He pulled one of the boxes out and took it to the coffee table and all you could do was stare, incredulous, as he took his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves, actually sitting on the floor and looking expectantly at you to join him.

“You want to play Life with me?” you challenged. “Doesn’t that seem a little…”

“And you call me uptight.” He waved you over, determined not to take no for an answer. “Come on, hotshot, live a little.”

Despite your better judgment, and after a moment’s panicked hesitation, you lowered yourself next to him. He still smelled the same, like rain and sandalwood and pine. You wanted to curl into his side and feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your ear, like you’d done on the nights he spent hidden away with you in your room. You had never gotten to live together; all you had were countable memories of waking up next to him and thinking, One day… one day we’ll have this every day.

As he set up the board, all you could do was stare at his hands.

SIX YEARS AGO NEW ORLEANS

Marshall Riggs greeted with you a double-kiss at the door, one on each side of your cheeks. Then he held you at arm’s length so he could look you up and down. “Would you take a look at that,” he said to Scott, “pretty as a picture! I suppose this is the part where I welcome you to the family?”

It was midsummer in Louisiana, on the hotter side of balmy and with the cicadas out in force. Shortly before you graduated Scott traveled to Philadelphia and asked you to marry him. Saying yes had been a no-brainer. You were in love, had put up with four years of distance and near-breakups, and now here was the culmination of all your compromise, communication, and hard work. For a second there you’d thought it would end badly; you were both in highly-intensive undergrad programs, there was only so much you could hash out over phone and video calls, and you were young. The question of “do we really want to make a life-changing decision at twenty-one?” had crossed your mind. But upon further reflection you realized that the answer was yes—had always been yes. And Scott seemed to agree.

In the absence of his father, “meeting the family” entailed paying court to his Uncle Riggs, a man you had spoken to a few times, at holiday parties and summer outings hosted by Pam, now settled in New Orleans and much happier than you’d known her before. But all those other times, you’d met Riggs as Scott’s girlfriend. Now you were his fiancée, with a fancy law degree and a diamond ring and everything, and while you would’ve preferred keeping your distance you knew this was important to Scott—that Riggs was important to him.

So you put on a smile and indulged the old man. Do it for Scott, you said to yourself. You’ve come this far. No point faltering while you were at the winning stretch.

You bowed your head. “Thank you for having us, Mr. Riggs.”

“Please, just Riggs,” he laughed. “Or Marshall—but only my ex-wives call me that.”

You soon found he had a way of twinkling his eyes that made you feel like you were sharing a joke. As he pointed out the features of his home—the old tapestries, the mural commissioned by Candice, his second ex-wife, the wall he knocked down because he wanted to “open up the space”, and his plans to expand the front garden, which, as it was, made the house look like it was in the middle of a tropical rainforest—he regaled you with stories about the people he knew, going off on tangents and bringing it back to the topic at hand. He was genteel and witty, and though he carried himself with Southern indifference there was no doubt he had power: he cocked his head, and a woman in an apron appeared with a tray of mint juleps; Scott held onto his every word; and when you were led into a dining room that might’ve fit forty or fifty at least, it was taken as a matter of course.

He pulled out your chair and sat you at his right hand because it was “the place of honor,” and Scott smiled encouragingly. You were doing so well.

You only wished that you could feel it.

“So, you want to be a big-deal attorney,” Riggs announced, digging into a perfect roast chicken. “What kind? Criminal?”

“Oh, no,” you replied. “Civil all the way. I’ve got a few offers but I want to shop around, make sure I’m making the right first move.”

“The right first move!” He pointed his knife at you. “I like that. By any chance, are you a chessplayer, sweetheart?”

“Can’t say that I am. My family are more into board games, really. Colonel Mustard in the library with the candlestick?” you explained.

He got a kick out of that. But he was partial to chess. “Opening moves—if you look at the big picture, they don't seem all that important. But well, in that case, why the hell’re there so many of ’em? Napoleon Opening, Greco Defense, Bled Variation, Balogh Defense… Sometimes how a thing starts dictates how the rest of it’ll unfold, from midgame all the way down to the end. If you're gonna do something, might as well do it right the first time or so I always say. Don’t I, boy?” He turned to Scott for confirmation.

“Yes, sir.”

“Yessir…” Riggs chuckled, spearing a roasted sprout. The ends of his bolo tie shifted on his neck. A turquoise the size of an acorn sat between his collar, and he was dressed to the nines—for your benefit, the guest of honor’s.

Nevertheless, there was something of the austere in his eyes. You couldn’t shake it when he put down his fork and sat back, looking from you to Scott, nodding like a king about to give his blessing to a pair of kneeling courtiers. “Pretty as a picture…” he repeated. “Look at you both—young, on the cusp, and none too hard on the eyes, if I do say so myself. A real golden couple on our hands! To opening moves”—he raised his glass—“may we always know when to make the right one.”

You raised your glass to be polite.

Scott leaned across the table. “Before you ask, yes, he is always like this.”

His uncle laughed, clapped him on the shoulder, and called for “champagne! To my nephew and his beautiful bride!”

As the night wore on, you convinced yourself that any discomfort was all in your head. You worked your way through three dinner courses, all impeccably cooked, and by the time the doberge was served you decided that you had judged the man too harshly. Sure, he was old-fashioned, but he was also jovial, polite, and he clearly doted on Scott.

“How nice it is to spend some quality time,” he remarked when Scott left the table, saying Pamela was on the phone. She wanted to know what plans you had for the rest of the week, whether you were still on for the garden fête on the 25th, and what dates you were considering for your engagement party, whether that would be here or in Pennsylvania, but I really do think you’d better do it here.

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” he said to Riggs, leaving you alone with his uncle. Now he had focused all of his attention on you, the full glare of his eye-twinkle and magnetic allure. He wasn’t a handsome man; it wasn’t about his looks—which were well past their prime—but about the knowledge that he could get almost everything he wanted simply by wanting it.

“It’s a shame we never did this sooner,” he went on. “Why do you think that is?” You shifted guiltily. The truth was, Riggs had always made you a bit uneasy. He had a reputation as a difficult man—ruthless, exacting, guileful, hard to please, and he liked doing business in the gray, always legal but never quite on the up-and-up.

Over the last four years, you may have avoided him on the grounds of self-righteous principle, but you couldn't admit to that if you were trying to leave a good impression.

You hedged, “I’m afraid law school doesn't leave much time to spare.”

“Very true… Not that I would know—it was always too much book learning for me, I’m a man of action,” Riggs explained, sipping his whiskey and looking happy as a clam. He had polished off two slices of cake earlier, but only because we’re celebrating. “Now, my nephew… he’s a bit o’ both, isn’t he? Either way, he’s got too much of his mother in ’im.”

You frowned, wanting to say a word in defense of Pamela. Riggs waved you off. “Don’t mind me, I’m just a silly old man with too many opinions. It tends to rub people up the wrong way—don't think I haven't noticed!” Another laugh, another narrowing of the eyes that could have been humor but which you felt like a lightning strike down your back.

He knows and you’re making something out of nothing struggled for dominance within your head, and still he kept on talking, forcing you to pay attention and leave the question unresolved.

He pointed in the direction where Scott had gone. “That nephew of mine—I don’t have any children of my own, did you know that? It never happened for me. Four wives and nothing to show for it—imagine that! But that boy… good thing his father never knew what to do with ’im—smart as a whip he is, and like a dog with a bone once he’s got an idea in his head. That part I’d say he got from me,” he said with a chuckle, wagging his finger in the air. He gave your hand a few avuncular pats and then kept it there, meaty and warm.

“I can see that you love ’im… I can see that you really love ’im. What bright, young, sensible girl wouldn't? You should see him ’round the office! He breaks hearts left, right, and center wherever he goes—a real catch, my secretary always says, and she’s been with me since Scott was yea-high. He’s got his mother’s looks, which I’ll say not to sound too self-serving, heh!” A slight tug on your wrist. You kept your objections to yourself, saying, He’s just a strange old man. As your discomfort grew, stretched to its very limits, he removed his hand and was back to being an innocuous grandfatherly man again. He seemed a little sad, wistful, even. Almost frail.

“I don’t know what I would do without him,” said Riggs, staring at his empty plate. “I really don't. Oh, here! before I forget—I have something for you.” He reached into the inner pocket of his cream suit jacket, extracting a long envelope which he slid across the table with a paternal expression, his gaze warm. You began to object, and, “Go on, now!” he insisted. “I don't hold with false modesty! Nothin’ but a waste o’ time in my book. Open it! Call it a graduation present to help you get started. Scott said your old man was taking some time off from his job, feeling under the weather.”

You opened the flap to find a check with more zeros on it than you could’ve reasonably imagined, payable to your name and typewritten in official font.

“Mr. Riggs, this is…” Your hands shook, you felt too hot in the enclosed dining room. Where was Scott? What was taking him so long? You slid the check in the envelope and tried to push it back to Riggs’s side of the table. “There is no way I can accept this,” you said. “It’s too much money, and while I appreciate the gesture—”

“Nonsense! It’s my pleasure and I won’t hear no can’ts or won’ts about it! I want you to know how well Scott’s been doing here since he finished school. He’s flourishing, all my business associates love him. I can’t possibly make do without him now.”

“I don’t understand,” you said, a pit growing in your stomach.

Once more Riggs pinned you with that twinkle in his eye. “I think you do, a smart girl like you. A man should sow his wild oats while he's young. I had a pretty young wife when I was his age. Marjorie, her name was. My first. It's true what they say—you never forget your first… By God, she was beautiful! and we had all these plans… so many plans! Dreams, really. But mine were always just a little too big for her, you understand, and at first that didn't matter much—we were in love. But then… the kids never came, and Marjorie had too much time on her hands—at the very least, she had more time on her hands than I did, that’s for sure! That gets to a woman sometimes.

“I know you won't have that problem, big city lawyer and all,” he said to you, as if in you he had the fullest confidence and he was speaking about other, less distinguished women. “But really, even if Marjorie’d been an ambassador to the United Nations she’d still have had a compunction about something or other… Ambition’s a hard pill for most folks to swallow.

“Now, you seem like a nice girl… really, I like you plenty! But let’s talk facts here for a minute. You are not the girl for Scott—not when he’s trying to become the man that he’s trying to become. The boy’s got the instincts of a killer. Really! All I’ve gotta do is stand back and look at him! But you, my dear, you’re nothin’ like him. You’ll never be. For most of my life, I thought the perfect woman would be someone to ‘balance me out,’ as they say. It’s taken me almost fifty years to find out that ain’t nothin’ but bullshit made up by Hallmark or whoever to sell us some cards. There ain't no use fighting one’s true nature. You and Scott are doomed to fail—if not now then in five years, if not in five then in another ten! You’ve seen the cracks, haven't you? He’s not the boy you met in Park Haven. He’s becoming his own man. He doesn’t need you anymore.”

You were almost too stunned to speak. Between the casual misogyny, the callous worldview, and the envelope that lay between you on the table like a coiled snake, you felt like you had left reality—there was no way this conversation could be taking place with Scott just in the other room.

“Let me get this straight,” you began, willing your voice not to shake, “you’re offering me money to break up with Scott because you think I’m not good enough for him?”

“No, no, no!” Riggs drew in close to you and took both of your hands, his face earnest and pained. “You’re getting this all wrong. I’m not some mustache-twirling villain trying to thwart the course of true love! You’re a wonderful girl, I’m sure Scott’s been very happy with you. But everything has its season. The time for moons and Junes and Ferris wheels is over. You can leave him to me now.”

“With all due respect, you’re out of your mind!” You slid your chair back, making an angry scrape along the tile. Riggs closed his grip around your hands.

“Sittdown before you wreck the boy’s life.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Did Scott ever tell you about his old man? How he squandered the family fortunes and left him and Pamela all but bankrupt? Now, me, I’d have done the decent thing—put a pistol to my head for all my sins—but the man has his pride, though I don’t know where-all he gets it from. You see Pam now, up in her French colonial sunning her face and drinking cocktails like the belle of the ball?” He pointed to his chest. “I did that. Scott’s shiny new diploma from M-I-T? Right again! Now, I don't believe in somethin’ for nothing. Everything in this here world has its cost, sweetheart. Everything. I have invested in that boy—not just money, but my blood, sweat, and tears! I won’t abide a loss. I won’t abide it.”

“Scott isn’t an investment,” you shot back. “He isn't yours to own.”

“And yet it would seem he’s worth more to me than he is to you. If he marries you, he and Pam won’t see another cent from me even if I have to drive past them through the gutter. I’m telling you I would throw my own sister out on the street for him—my own flesh! Can you say the same? Could Scott? Would he choose you over his poor, silly mother? Now, I highly doubt that.”

The crazy thing was, he seemed genuinely aggrieved by this predicament of his own making. In his face you could see him imagining the scene—him in his black town car, driving past Pam. And yet he remained immovable. Either you gave up Scott or he would make good on his threat.

It was callous, immoral. I have invested in that boy.

The sound of Scott’s shoes came up the hallway. Riggs folded the check into your hands and said, “Don't make a scene. Think about it.”

“What did I miss?” Scott stopped to kiss the top of your head before resuming his seat. You felt nauseous, your hands clammy around the paper you hid in your lap. To you, Scott seemed like he belonged in another world, another time—a Before-Time.

As you tried not to cry, Riggs smiled at him broadly and said, “Oh, nothing much. But I have a little present for you.”

He pulled a box from the bottom of his seat, crimson leather and beautifully stitched. Scott lifted the lid. Inside was a silver Patek Philippe, the watch he would wear when you saw him six years later, sitting across from you at a conference table with a strange coldness in his eyes. He showed it to you, beaming with pride, and while you couldn't remember what canned response you gave, you did recall that he pulled Riggs into a hug, and said, “Uncle, you really shouldn’t have…”

PRESENT DAY OKLAHOMA CITY

For nearly an hour you and Scott sat on the floor of your living room, playing at marriage and midlife crises and how many babies you would have, which on any other occasion would have made you hysterically laugh or, as Javi said on the night you met, remark upon the universe’s odd sense of humor.

But you were strangely levelheaded. If anything, you felt slightly out-of-body and yet entirely in your body, if that made sense.

You were aware of every piece put on the board. You watched the spinner turn in a rainbow of colors, the clack of the spokes sounding faster and faster before it slowed and then drew to a stop. You felt the couch cushions at your back. Scott’s shoulder brushed against yours sometimes, when he reached for one of the tiny bright pegs that went on top of the tiny bright cars. It felt like you were inside of a dream, and because dreams didn’t matter and had no consequences unless you let them, you started to ease into surrealism.

You played the game, and gradually your body began to relax. This was familiar to you—Scott taking it way too seriously, you poking fun at the furrow between his brows, the way you alternated between cold-hard strategy and chaotically negligent gameplay just to see a reaction flicker across his face. He stretched his legs out beneath the table, threw an arm across the seat-edge of the couch; sometimes, you would recline further back and your neck would touch his arm. You did it a few times, feeling embarrassed at first. But when you saw he didn’t mind, you let your head fall back, waiting as he picked a card.

Something was building beneath your skin. You felt restless, and a little reckless. Despite the law you laid down at the restaurant, you couldn’t stop your gaze from lingering. It lingered everywhere: on the hollow of his throat, the shape of his nose, the play of light across his cheeks, his mouth, the spaces where his white shirt gapped between the buttons and you could see his bare chest underneath. Oh, you’re in trouble… you said to yourself, and yet it didn’t matter. You didn’t care. This was a liminal space, a void where you could be honest and unafraid of the truth.

Even when Scott caught you looking, all he did was look back. He let the tips of his fingers touch yours when sliding a card from your hands, knocked his knee against yours. There was a time—or maybe you imagined it—when you felt his hand stroke your shoulder and you almost did something out-of-line. Because there was a line, blurred, but it existed; you kept within the bounds because you knew it was the sole condition to prolonging this state, so you bought owner’s insurance and traded in stocks, changed careers, had twins, repaid a loan (with interest) and made your slow and steady way to retirement at Countryside Acres.

At the end of the game, after all the remaining play money had been counted, it was Scott who said, “Looks like I win,” and all you said was, “Why am I not surprised?”

Then you glanced at the clock. “It’s late.”

“And we haven’t killed each other. How’s that for a détente?” Scott began putting all the parts away, pulling the pegs out of the cars first, sticking each one inside its appropriate little plastic bag. You would’ve thrown them straight in the box and not had a care in the world about it, but you liked that he did.

It was a Scott thing—patient, methodical, kind of annoying, and mostly well-intentioned. You sat back and watched him do it.

“Wow… they teach words like that at MIT?”

“They tried it out with our class—apparently, word was going ’round that STEM nerds lack empathy.”

You smiled. “Now where would they go and get an idea like that?” His eyes flicked down to yours. Having finished, he went back to reclining against the couch, one arm draped over his bent knee.

His gaze on your skin felt like a physical touch, and when it stopped at your lips, a shock of heat went through your body, from the crown of your head down to your toes. You watched him swallow. The urge to kiss him was vicious, urgent and unrelenting, and when you saw his mouth part, his tongue emerging to wet his lips, you thought, Now now now, but then Scott stood so fast he almost upset the table.

“I should go,” he managed to say, his voice ragged. He sought sightlessly for his discarded jacket, found it lying over the top of the couch, and he couldn’t escape fast enough. Frustration rolled off him in waves.

“Scott!” You scrambled to your feet. You might have touched the very edge of his sleeve, but he held up his hand to stop you coming any closer.

“This was a mistake.”

You went stock still. The spell was broken—this was no longer the dreamworld where nothing mattered, this was the Real World. The one where everything had been broken, not least of which because of you, and it was all a mistake. Calling him had been a mistake, meeting him had been a mistake, thinking that you could control anything you felt about him had been a mistake.

And now there was this: Scott raking his hands through his hair, turning in the middle of the room, almost a decade’s worth of anger and disappointment and confusion and, why not, maybe a little hatred thrown into the mix.

“You never trusted me!” he threw in your face. “And I mean never—even when we were in high school, especially not in college—”

“Why are you talking about college?” you demanded, your voice rising to meet his.

“Every time I called, it was like you were expecting me to tell you it was over. Every girl I so much as spoke to when you came to visit—”

“I was eighteen! What the fuck do you want me to say? That I was insecure and kind of an idiot? Yeah, no shit! I thought we’d moved past that!”

“No, we didn’t move past it because it never changed! Maybe it stopped being about other women, but then it was about work, about the time I spent shadowing at my uncle’s company. Do you have any idea how exhausting it was to keep having to convince you that I was all in? And what, somehow we went from that to ‘you’ve changed, Scott, I don’t think I like who you are anymore, Scott’—?”

“What the fuck? I never said that!”

“The night we had dinner at my uncle’s—the night you left! And again in the elevator—”

“Can we not do this?” you plead. “I thought we weren’t going to do this. We agreed!”

“Well, maybe I'm changing the terms.”

“Then this ends right here.”

There was silence. You knew it was coming, and yet it still hurt like a freight train hitting you square in the chest when he looked you in the eyes and said: “What else is new?”

You flinched. You felt your whole body recoil, your eyes sting. Your fault. The one who couldn’t stand up for herself, couldn't commit, who ran at the first sign of trouble. You and Scott are doomed to fail. Riggs had laid down his vision for the future and you had believed him, had chosen to believe him more than you had ever believed in Scott, or in yourself.

You’re not the girl for him. You’re nothing like him.

Hadn’t you always told yourself the same in the darkest recess of your mind? Hadn’t you, in truth, been just a little bit relieved when you packed your things and moved back to Park Haven, play-acting ended, no more trying, no more waiting for the other shoe to drop?

“I’m sorry.” Scott took an immediate step towards you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did,” you shot back with more vitriol than you intended.

“Don’t do that—don’t pretend to know how I fucking feel.”

“You forget, Scott. I know you.”

“I thought the whole point was that you didn't! That I was so… unrecognizable!”

“Well, you are!” you exclaimed, shouting again. “Suing Javi? Trying to take down his company? Being Riggs’s, what, fucking loyal dog—”

“Oh, spare me the hysterics…”

“Did you say it?” you cut in. “Did you really say you didn’t care about that town full of people?”

Scott froze. You watched his jaw clench, and you knew in that moment that he'd been counting on Javi’s discretion on that score.

If your intention had been to preserve any goodwill between them, that was all going up in flames now. Hell, after tonight, you and Scott might be incapable of being in the same room together, let alone working towards a peaceful resolution to a civil suit.

“You weren’t there,” he ground out. “There were other things going on.”

“Did you say it, Scott?” It was obvious that he had. The shame kept him from saying another word when you finally stepped around the coffee table. “But God forbid I say a word against Marshall Riggs, the undoubted patron saint of Tornado Alley. I'm sure his real estate empire only exists so he can share his considerable wealth with the downtrodden and needy!”

“What do you want me to fucking say? Do you want me to apologize for who my family is? I'm sorry if you find my uncle objectionable, but he is the only reason I ever made something of myself—you ever consider that? I’d be nothing without him—nothing! You think my father could have lifted a finger? Riggs is the only reason Mom and I made it through that summer. I owe him everything! So he makes business decisions you don't agree with—”

You scoffed.

“—but Javi knew exactly where all that money came from. He wasn't duped, I didn’t trick him… he made a choice. He made a choice! And then, what, Kate Carter comes along and he grows a fucking conscience? Give me a break…”

“And where the hell is yours! You think I give a shit what Marshall Riggs does? I care about you, you fucking idiot! Are you really going to stand there and tell me you’re happy? That it… that it feels good to know you’re suing your best friend, that you seemingly have no other friends, that you’ve hitched yourself to your uncle and the most you can say is you’re doing it out of obligation? You used to want more for yourself, Scott!”

He laughed at that. Rubbing his hand across his mouth, he regarded you with a derisive humor.

“Tell me, how’s the trust fund going? Your dad—he was always a pretty shrewd investor, right? and your mom’s family… they’ve got those boutique hotels along the eastern seaboard, the ones that get their pictures in the magazines and all over social media? It’s pretty easy to talk about wanting more for yourself when your father didn’t sink your family prospects on a deck of cards. I do what I have to do. Not that you’d ever understand.”

Money—had it been this big of an issue the whole time? Had you ignored it all the years of your relationship? Money… and jealousy of your father, Scott’s resentment towards his. You felt so blind, so stupid. The “cracks” Riggs had referenced had been there all along, and instead of talking about them you had stuck your head in the sand, worried that if you said the wrong thing all your insecurities would be proven right. That Scott would leave.

Scott… Did you ever stop to consider the damage that leaving him alone with Riggs might cause?

“You only think you can’t make it without him,” you dared to say. “But he doesn’t care about you.”

“What, not like you do?”

“No,” you affirmed. “Not like I do.”

Scott frowned at you. He appeared almost childlike, vulnerable. A boy calling “no fair!”, probably with Riggs’s voice in the background saying, Life isn't fair. “You don't get to do that. You don’t get to do that after all this time… you—you fucking left!”

“He offered me money. Did he ever tell you that? How he tried to buy me off to leave you? You talk about my trust fund, and it’s true—I grew up lucky, but we never had Marshall Riggs Money. There’s rich and then there’s capital-R Rich, the kind you only get when you’ve turned being a ruthless son-of-a-bitch into an art form.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Yes, you do. I can see it in your eyes—you know I’m telling the truth. I never liked him. What's more, he could tell I didn't like him, and he couldn't have that… no, not Riggs. He’d gotten used to you being his right-hand man and he wasn’t about to lose you. So he waited until you left the table—”

“I’m not going to listen to this.”

“—he waited until you left the table,” you repeated, almost toe to toe. You forced yourself to continue, even in the face of Scott’s patent distress. You couldn't live like this, not anymore. Keeping secrets, taking the biggest share of the blame. “‘If he marries you, he and his mother won’t see another cent from me even if I have to drive past them through the gutter,’” you recited. “Those were his words. I’m not lying to you—I wouldn't, not about this.

“He was never going to let us be together. Obviously, I didn’t take the money, but he was dead serious about his threat. And I was angry. I thought if only you’d stood up to your uncle before, if you weren’t blind to what he really was, I would never have been put in that position. So I took it out on you. I blamed you. And I said things…”

You faltered, remembering the night you returned to the hotel. You couldn’t stay, not with Riggs’s check in your pocket and the memory of his hand gripping your wrist. But Scott didn’t understand. He didn't know what had made you so upset, why you were throwing your clothes into your suitcase and talking about flights and returning his ring and about how it was time you stopped pretending. And, yes, you took to heart what Riggs had implied about other women. You weren’t picky. You weren’t careful. You just had to leave.

You were ashamed of it now. The knowledge of how you’d acted lodged in your throat like a stone you couldn’t swallow down. Scott remembered it, too. His eyes flickered this way and that, recalling, wondering how much of it was true.

“I said things to you that I wish I’d never… that I still think about, and I still regret, because I love—” Your voice broke. You placed your hands over his chest, then cradled his face, willing him to believe you, willing yourself to be brave. “I still love you, Scott. I love you. I should’ve told you the truth, but I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“No… you left,” he said weakly, bracing his hands around your wrists.

“I know I did… I know, but he can’t have you.” You kissed his mouth, once, twice, as many times as he allowed, and all the while you said the things you should’ve said that night in New Orleans. “I won’t let him have you… not this time… not again.”

Scott turned his head and the heat of his tongue met yours.

One second he was all coiled tension and the next he was all over you, walking you back towards the couch, kissing a trail down your neck, one hand tangled in your hair while the other was already up your skirt matching his strokes to the curl of his tongue. He laid you down on the couch, settling between your thighs, and even clothed the weight of him felt familiar—the pass of his hand up and down your leg, the way he liked to tease you by wandering just close enough to where you wanted before pulling away, distracting you with a searing kiss or a shallow roll of his hips.

In the past, there were times when he would draw it out for hours, taking you to the brink and back until you were sure you wanted to curse him.

At a friend’s New York wedding, he made you come three times before he entered you, and you weren’t too proud—now, with the real Scott on top of you, all over you, soon to be in you if there was any justice in the world—to admit that you had replayed that night in your head sometimes when you were lonely. When a bad day at work or an ill-advised night of drinking too much ended with you trying to chase sleep on the heels of an orgasm that was never as satisfying as the ones you got with Scott.

Even when you managed to make yourself come—really come, that full-bodied electricity-followed-by-deep-silence feeling—you had been all too aware of his absence. What was the point, you had wondered, if you couldn’t curl up next to him or listen to the steady flow of his breathing or hear him sigh into your neck when he wrapped his arms around you and went to sleep? What was the point if, upon waking, you wouldn't have Scott and his early-morning voice, the clarity of his eyes, the smell of the coffee he made in his stupidly expensive espresso machines? (God, you missed that coffee.)

It was Scott… it was only ever Scott.

The couch was a perilous place to be doing any of this. You weren't sure that he fit in it, for one, and for another, you were mildly worried about the potential costs of fixing a broken midcentury piece of furniture. Oh, well, you thought, life’s too short. Not bothering to undress, you pushed aside articles of clothing, hands bumping into each other, scraps of fabric pushed aside, belt buckle rattling as it landed on the floor, until finally he surged into you, gripping the side of the couch and burying a curse against your neck as you stretched around him.

He slid a hand below your hips and fixed the angle. The sex was hurried, messy and it had nothing of grace; it was imperfect and rather cramped, really, but all that mattered was how he felt. He felt like home. As you came, he entwined his fingers around yours, and then he finished, trembling, prolonging a wave of pleasure that took your breath away.

Don’t go, you want to say into his heaving chest.

Somehow, he turned you on your side so you could stretch along the couch. He wrapped his arms around you, stroking feather-light touched along your arm as his breathing slowed. You felt tired, hollowed out, but not in a bad way. In a quiet-before-the-storm way, when you can smell water in the air and the breeze picks up, and the world sits on the cusp of being new.

“I miss you,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I miss you too.”

After that, there was a silence so long it made you think he’d dozed off, but then he spoke again, painfully honest and a little scared. “I don't think I can do what you need me to do. I’m not… that’s not who I am anymore.”

“I think you are,” you said back. “I think he’s who you’ve always been.”

THREE WEEKS LATER

You were enjoying a rare weekend off from work. Figuring you could do with some real time off the clock, you’d let the office know you’d be holding all work calls and emails until Monday. Abby’s eyes had nearly popped out of her skull in a rare show of feeling, but after the emotional turmoil of the last few months, you knew you needed to walk around the city, have a massage, touch some grass, maybe eat a pint of ice cream in front of a frothy period drama—a true-blue staycation.

The morning after you and Scott slept together, you’d agreed that it was in everyone’s best interest to let things be. He needed time to think about a few things, and regardless of your shared history, you were still Javi’s lawyer. You distracted yourself by doubling down on other cases. It helped that dealing with Mrs. Richardson-Burkhardt and the four Barone siblings was as eventful as watching an HBO television series—between the scathing one-liners and last-minute twists, there was little bandwidth left over to think about Scott.

And yet you always managed.

For better or for worse, Scott had always been good at making you hope for things. Even when you wanted to err on the side of caution, expect the worst and thus avoid disappointment, just the fact that he loved you made you feel like anything was possible, like you could make things happen.

“We brought out the best in each other. That mattered to us more than anything your father and I ever did wrong.”

At a department store downtown, you watched across the way as a young couple studied a tray of rings at the jewelry counter, diamonds sparkling in the light. The woman grabbed her partner’s arm and pointed at one of the selections as if to say, “That one!”, and for a moment they were in perfect sync. The salesman offered up the band with elaborate flourish, the groom-to-be took his bride’s hand, slipped the ring on her finger, and they admired it together, the play of white gold on her black skin.

The woman beamed. So did he.

“Looks like we have ourselves a winner,” the pleased salesman declared.

After lunch and an overpriced iced coffee, you arrived home with a gift for the Travises’ golden anniversary party, a pair of gold-accented crystal champagne glasses you hoped would survive the flight. It would be nice to see your mom again, to reunite with your old college friends, and revisit old haunts.

The thought of going home no longer filled you with dread—for which, even if nothing came out of your night with Scott, if he decided that upending his life was too much for him to handle right now, you would always be grateful. For years, your idea of a worst nightmare was running into him and having the truth spoken aloud, plainly, and for both of you to hear. Nothing will ever be as bad as this, you told yourself.

But it was a half-lie. Not seeing him again would be worse.

Already, you felt his absence like a hollow in your chest.

On the kitchen counter, you saw that your phone began to ring. “Javi, how’s the weather looking?” you asked, putting him on speaker as you poured yourself some water.

“She’s a fickle mistress, I’ll tell you that! Hey, I just wanted to let you know… Scott called this morning. He says he’s dropping the suit.”

“Oh?”

“You don’t sound too surprised. Any of that you're doing?”

“No,” you replied, picking up your phone, “that’s all Scott. I haven’t spoken to him in weeks, actually.”

“Well, he sounded different. Still Scott, but a shorter stick up his ass, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I know a part of how everything went down was my fault—business is business, as my Ma always says. I sold him my share of StormPAR, which means I also have to pay back some of the money we took from Riggs. That’ll hurt like a—well, you know… I’m not the guy’s biggest fan these days. But if I don’t have to hear the name Marshall Riggs ever again, I’ll count myself lucky and say it’s a price well-paid.”

“And Scott?” you ventured to say.

“Honestly, I think he’s done with the whole thing. Sounds like he’s closing up shop, which makes sense. He’s a damn good engineer but kind of hopeless as a chaser.”

You laughed. “Yeah, I guess I can see that. Are you okay?”

“Me, or me and Scott?”

“Both.”

To Javi’s credit, he took a few moments to actually think about it. “Yeah, I’m good. You know me… I never stay down for long. Man with a thousand plans. Me and Scott? Man, I don’t know about that one… I did leave him by the side of the road. Ruined one of his immaculately pressed shirts.”

You snorted. “God forbid.”

“Yeah, God forbid. Listen, if it were up to me, I’d just let bygones be bygones. Life’s too short, you know. Shit happens… I don’t want to be a guy who burns bridges over money.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“What I mean to say,” Javi spoke over a sudden burst of wind, “is that if Scott ever wants to give me a call, I’ll answer. You can even tell him I said that.”

“Me?” You set your glass down with a clatter, heat rising to your face.

“Yeah, you! I’m not an idiot, hotshot, that history’s not gone ancient yet.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mhm… Anyway, the wind’s picking up. Kate’s off reading her dandelions.”

“You know, I kinda wish I could see her doing that…”

“Watch out, we might make a chaser of you yet!” Javi crowed.

You shook your head, said, “I wouldn't hold my breath,” but you were smiling. The sun streamed through your open windows and anything was possible.

Once Javi ended the call, you stared at your phone, wondering… And then you decided to be reckless one more time. Call it a calculated risk, you thought instead. You held the phone up to your ear and listened to it ring. The dial tone sounded a few times, and then it stopped.

He’d answered.

“Scott, it’s me,” you said, trying to relax the thrumming in your heart.

There was a pause and then you heard his voice: “Did Javi tell you?”

“Yeah, we just got off the phone.”

“Open your door.”

You made a face, glancing at the screen and holding it against your ear again. “What?”

“Open your door, UPenn!”

You dashed to the entryway, patting your hair, blotting your face, wondering if your shirt was wrinkled. When you pulled the door open, you saw Scott in full view, in the middle of the day. Not wearing white. The blue of his shirt brought out his eyes, which looked tired but less burdened, too.

He seemed lighter, if not happy then trying to get there.

“Thought I’d skip out on being a sore loser this time.” He gave a half-shrug.

“I don’t know, Miller… from here it doesn't seem like you're losing.”

He smiled at the floor, almost shy. And when he looked into your face you saw the boy you fell in love with at Nichols Academy, the one who took baseball too seriously, who loved Hemingway and your mom’s apple crisp, the one who sang bad Sinatra and got into fights and thought James Watt was something of a god. It was like the worst of the last few years had gone away, leaving only space for something new to grow, to be built—together.

“All I want is you,” promised Scott, taking you into his arms.

You stuck your hand in your pocket, extracted the ring you’d kept there for almost a month like a talisman, like a good-luck charm, and held it up to Scott. He stared at it, and then at you, with something like shock.

Something like awe and wonder.

“Don’t you know? You've always had me.”

And in that hallway, Scott Miller, a man who’d never cop to having a romantic bone in his body, spun you around and kissed you and wouldn’t have cared if your neighbor at Apartment 424 had noticed or if one of his investors appeared. Maybe there was something to Tyler’s corny catchphrase, after all: If you feel it, chase it—no matter the odds, no matter the obstacles in your path, because feeling it was purpose and inspiration and direction when you lost your way.

It took you a while, but you understood it now.

#rosie.fic #scott miller #scott twisters #scott miller x reader #scott twisters x reader

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endereies · 1 day

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PRODUCER!CHRIS X DANCER!READER INTRO

Pairing: Chris x reader

Contains: A sweet introduction to my new au! Mood board based on these characters!

Requested?: no

Author's notes: I've been creating mood boards and backstory all day so I hope y'all are ready. I have wanted to create something like this for a while so I'm glad i can get this out.

Word Count: 690

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✭ - MusicProducer!Chris x Dancer!Reader

༊*·˚ Producer!Chris created his profile through the musical world, spreading his name through hip-hop. It was hard to not know his name since it was plastered everywhere. Starting at 16 allowed him a lot of freedom and time to experiment with his music taste and find inspiration he craved. Years later at 21, he has discovered an audience around the world who adored him and his music.

Ever since he was younger he craved individuality from his brothers. Don't get him wrong, he adored them. It was simply the constant generalisation that spurred him to be different. He didn't want to be just one of the 'Sturniolo Triplets', he wanted to be him. He tended to be hard-headed and tempered, replaced with passion as he grew older. One thing he couldn't manage was his work ethic, Chris simply never stopped. He never felt burnt out by it. It was the amount of pure energy that became his fuel. His lyrics and melody embedded in each song would often stray from how he truly felt, no matter how much it shifted.

Being based in LA, California gave him easy access to opportunities. When his parents realized how much he enjoyed all the aspects of music and experimentation, they placed him in lessons for guitar. Starting out with hires and a simple acoustic guitar he was understanding his tastes more every day. Even if his siblings began to thank the silence, the support from them was immense. With technological advances and stretching his talents over multiple instruments with age, Chris moved over to production.

However he wanted to branch out more which led him to the idea of creating music videos. Following the success of his second album he aspired to become more creative. Ideas for each song swarmed his head and his production team was on board with almost any thought he shared. One of which being back up dancers for is stage performances.

Without a second thought, his team sent out applications across the state for dance studios to step up to this opportunity. Little did he know that Elite Dance Academy soon become his favorite.

༊*·˚ Dancer!Reader is an internationals champion amongst her dance studio troupe members. Her name was recognizable within the dance community, having won her nationals solo twice in a row. As a strong independent dancer, it's hard to miss her confidence on the stage. Dancing since she was 4 gives her about 16 years of experience to flaunt to an audience.

As a child, dancing became such an expresser of emotions when her words failed her. Whenever things got bad at home or she struggled with school, dance started to be the one constant she could heavily rely on. As the years went on, she was enrolled in Elite Dance Academy, starting in J troupe. Beginning at the bottom of her new studio simply meant she had to force chances to prove herself, that's when auditions rolled around. At the age of 18, she finally found herself falling into the same rows as A troupe members. These dancers were intense and she adored it. Finding her strengths in contemporary and hip-hop, she excelled. Y/n wanted her name known, and that's exactly what she got.

She was determined to place her name above the ranks, almost posing herself to injury. She never quite got the grasp of making friends within her troupe, only being close to an odd two or three. Yet when necessary, she showed teamwork which won results. While being independent, anxious feelings would occasionally spiral as a fear of not being the best. She had to succeed and she felt almost like a failure when she didn't.

After eavesdropping on a conversation, Y/n heard news of 'Chris Sturniolo' being interested in our dancers. She ran with that news. At home, she studied his name, finding his Spotify easily. The vast number of listeners shocked her and immediately, she pressed play on his most popular 'Angel Energy'. Obsessed with his music, she choreographed certain pieces of a routine.

She was prepared to make her name reach more than the dance world, including Chris's mind.

tags:

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@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckers @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @sleepysturn @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris

#sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris x reader #Producer!Chris #Dancer!Reader #endereies #kay speaks #©endereies

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lotuseye · 2 days

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better call higuruma!

he left her his number for emergencies. getting arrested was an emergency, right?

word count: 8,534.

genre: one-shot.

characters: hiromi higuruma & paralegal assistant.

notes: this is it, the most voted request from the poll. higuruma gets called by his sweet assistant in three in the morning from a police station. pwp. kind of an age gap, considering higuruma is in his late thirties and the reader is in mid twenties. smut smut smut. hiromi is a sweetheart. long fic. office spice. if you liked it please let me know in the replies, likes and reblogs are always welcome <3

good lord, it had to have been a crime, to be that goddamn electric.

the man, the myth, the legend. the empty office next to his has been the precious prize that decorated the ambitious dreams of all the seniors, all the fresh graduates - not because it had the reputation of being the most humane working conditions alongside the fattest paycheck in the midst of the firms who even refused to pay at all ( paying with experience unfortunately didn't cover anybodies rent, these days ) but because hiromi higuruma was all their aspirations and their dreams combined. standing for justice, standing for what was fair and right, standing for the wrongfully convicted, he was a breath of fresh air to the small group in the law school that really came for ideals bigger than an overflowing wallet or wearing sharp suits to pretend they are harvey specter.

all that, and also he was so fucking hot, there wasn't a single person that would manage to sit on that desk without daydreaming about being bent over it.

“ girl, that boss of yours, i'm telling you - if i was you i'd suck that man dry. ”

“ honestly, what are you even doing in that office? go drop a pencil in front of him or something! this is embarrassing. you are embarrassing. ”

“ shut up, ” she grumbles, managing to hit both of her friends with the same pillow as her face burns red. she had been muttering the same thirsty, unhinged comments with them under her breath a month ago but she wasn't his assistant back then and there had been no reality to it whatsoever. now, the depth of the water had risen. the stakes were simply not the same. “ it's easy for you to talk, you don't look him in the eye all day. ” she reminds them, to which they reply with a series of groans and rolled eyes, disappointment and disbelief clear on beautiful features. “ besides, ” she continues. “ i'm not stupid enough to fuck my boss and lose the best assistant paycheck in town. do you know how much electricity costs? water? heating? ”

“ fine, fine. don't fuck him then. ” one of them relents eventually, to lay on her stomach on the bed with a devilish grin, hands tucked under her chin. “ head don't count, though... ”

“ girl! ”

****

she only wishes she was blessed with enough fortitude to keep her thoughts on the same track, because as higuruma tries to explain the concept of an appeal to an agitated client of his, all she can do is watch him from her desk with her cheek rested atop her palm, every single task of the day flees from her, but how could it be her fault when he was standing with his hip rested against the edge of his oak desk, sleeves of his expensive shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms. so unabashed, she feels like a victorian man seeing the ankles of a woman for the first time and nearing comatose for it.

“ hey, ” like he heard her thoughts, he calls, head tilting to catch the glimpse of the poor new grad that sits idle in her desk, who almost jumps in the office chair with how caught off guard she is, immediately fixing her posture. currently not paying any attention to the way she stumbles on her response, he makes the gesture of a pen and paper as he continues nod alongside to whatever the client is saying at the other end of the line. “ mhm, i see. the thing is, an appeal does not guarantee the withdrawal of the verdict... ”

she grabs the first pen she could get her hands on on her desk, half running to his office across the narrow hallway that separates them with open doors, thin heels clicking sharply against white polished marble. he presses the receiver of the phone to his shoulder when as she delivers the pen, offering a small smile & mouthing a thank you as he quickly returns to noting whatever he was trying to explain to the client. she attempts to return to her own working quarters, but he stops her with the simple motion of raising a hand, then gesturing kindly to the leather chair in front of his desk. she fixes the hem of her pencil skirt, clearing her throat as she sits down. higuruma remains on the phone, and she quietly glances around his office.

she's been here very briefly a few times, but as she started around a month ago she still hadn't found the chance to get familiar with her work space. this seemed like a good opportunity, a pastime as she waited for him to finish up. his office was neater than the rest of the spaces she's seen so far, paperwork kept neatly tucked in folders that had tags on them, books cleaned and tasteful desk spotless. it was old-school, everything about it, from the rust color of the walls to the choice of chairs & coffee table, but it had a certain vibe to it.

“ sorry about that, ” she doesn't realize that he hangs up until he speaks, snapping her gaze back to find him settling back on his cream colored chair with a kind smile plastered on his face. “ i just wanted to check in with you for the next week. have i told you that i won't be here yet? i'm entrusting you with the office, you don't gotta cover everything - just delay clients till' my return and keep at your daily tasks, alright? ”

he won't be here the next week, and she's blinking, slightly panicking over the fact that she is in the stage of her new job where she relies on him to teach her the way he operates. “ of course, sir, " she says still, unwilling to be a monument of failure in front of the only man she so desperately wishes to impress, so desperately admires. “ i'll make sure it all runs smoothly. ”

“ you'll do great, sweetheart. fix the long face. ” he says with a bantering gleam in his storm of eyes, and she nods, attempting not to sigh like she wants to every time he calls her one of the things he seems to like to call her - sweetheart or doll, mostly, and she knows he doesn't have an ounce of ill intention behind it, he is just trying to be polite to her and ease her anxieties like a good boss would but her stupid crush on him makes her ironically think that she would be less stressed out if he was a bully, or an asshole. at least she wouldn't be blushing like an idiot, unable to string a coherent sentence together. he reaches over his desk, grab one of the small note cards and scrabble something on it with the pen that she's brought him minutes ago. “ this is my personal number. call me if there is a situation you can't get out of or if you get confused, okay? ”

the card is carefully folded in her palm, and she manages a “ thank you, sir. ” before she slowly stands up again, thinking they are done. “ is there anything else i should know about? ”

“ yes, there is one thing. ” he says, and she watches his smile get a bit bigger, a bit softer. “ you don't need to call me sir. just call me hiromi. we're a team, now. i don't do the hierarchy thing. ”

hiromi. she shifts her weight from one foot to another without even realizing, unaware of the way her own lips curl in the corners with how sweet she finds the whole sentiment, dimples on her smile lines deepening. “ okay... hiromi. " she gives it a shot, hesitant, but she knows she's hit jackpot when he breaks out into a full grin, pleased and proud. “ atta' girl. ”

****

a situation she could not get out of.

he probably did not fucking meant being stuck in the police station with a bloody gauze wrapped around her hand.

“ i swear to god, i'm going to kill you one of these days, ” she murmurs to her roommate who indirectly was the culprit of the fact that they had been sitting in plastic chairs, with the not so kind implication that they could not leave because the guy she had broken a vase on the head of was hell-bent on pressing charges and she couldn't even bring herself to think about the terror of what happened, too engulfed in the embarrassment of being here and the fear of losing her job stuck in her throat like a lump that wouldn't go away. higuruma was so, so firing her on the spot.

but still, there isn't anyone else she can think about calling when they call her that she has a one phone call right, the wrinkled paper he wrote his number on still bunched in her palm as she stares at it endlessly. “ isn't your boss a big shot lawyer? ” her roommate tries to help but she doesn't, the sound of her voice only providing further frustration. “ please call him, please - i don't know how else to get you out of here. ”

“ maybe i wouldn't be here when you didn't bring a fucking thief home straight from the street, ” she nearly spits out with anger, still angry, even if she doesn't meant to be. her roommate is probably even more scared, thinking she brought a thief home who pretended to be there for a one night stand, waking up in the middle of the night to half her jewelry gone and the guy trying to sneak away. she doesn't know how she rolled out of bed with the scream, how she gathered the strength to grab the vase that sat idle in the dresser in the dark and swung it with such precision a head was split open. the guy needed eight stitches, they told her. “ don't you ever think? ”

“ you'll have all the time in the world to scold me, ” her roommate pleads, pulling the phone out of its box and handing it over with begging eyes. “ just call him first, please. ”

she almost secretly hopes that he doesn't pick up, but she's not that lucky.

“ hello? who am i speaking to? ” voice hoarse, drowsy, but still having answered his phone, she loses every single syllable she's ever learned before she manages to utter out a meek greeting and her name. “ i need your help. ”

“ what's wrong? ” now not so drowsy, his tone sharpens with worry, considering it is two in the morning. she hears a shuffle of the sheets, and the most embarrassing part of it all - this guy was her boss. not a friend, not someone she was close enough to call in a situation like this, not even someone she wanted to make a witness of this god-awful situation. this truly was not her best night. “ i'm so sorry, ” she apologizes profoundly, shaking her head, rubbing her temple. “ i- i shouldn't have called this late, i'm so sorry... ”

“ tell me what's wrong, ” he repeats, cutting her apologies in half. “ where are you? ”

teeth sinking into her cheek, she tugs on a loose string of her sweatshirt. “ in a police station, ” she confesses. “ my... my roommate brought home someone, the guy tried to rob us and i hit him with a vase and now they won't let me go. ” how idiotic the entire thing sounds. how she's ruined it all even before it's begun. an assault charge on her background, what a pretty look. it wouldn't matter, that he was a thief or who was right or wrong - she had more to lose. “ i don't know what to do, ” she exhales harsh, gaze rapidly growing blurrier by the second. “ would it burn my career, if the charges came through? ”

“ are you okay? are you hurt? " he rarely answers any of her questions, too calm in the face of her panic but not nonchalant. still, she is not in the head-space to find the words, trying her best not to burst into tears. “ 'm talking to you, doll. take a deep breath, okay? let's try again. are you hurt? ”

“ no, ” she manages to mutter out, but even that sounds like a lie with the way her hand keeps throbbing with a shrill pain. “ i don't know, my hand hurts, but it's not bleeding anymore. ”

“ good fucking lord, ” he exhales harshly, then she hears the sound of a door shutting close in the background, the beep of car keys. “ i just got out of the house, alright? tell me which station you're in, i'll be there in fifteen. don't panic, you're not staying there. i'm coming to get you. ”

it's not until she sees him that she lets go, honestly. the serenity his words brought her was beyond comforting, but the way his presence brought her such relief was inexplicable. hiromi walks inside the station with a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt he's barely managed to put on and she is lingering on the edge of losing it all. he is explaining to an officer that he is her lawyer when his gaze finds her, closing the distance with a few steps. “ ssh, it's okay, sweetheart - you're okay. lemme' see your hand, ” he gently grasps her bloody hand makes her wince with pain, but watching his heavenly visage contort with anguish is not any better. “ let me deal with this, then we'll take care of this. ” he glances over her, gaze searching for the same officer. “ wait here. ” he mumbles for her to sit again on the chair, and disappears from her line of sight.

he returns around half an hour later, her roommate having left to go back home and see what was taken and what could be mended for the report. “ come on, we're leaving. ” he holds her coat in his hands, waiting patiently to put it on. she glances between him and the officer he came back with, her head pounding with a migraine caused by the stress and the florescent lights that killed every last one of her braincells. “ wait, how, he said he was going to press charges- ”

“ he's not pressing shit, ” hiromi exhales, clearly frustrated with the whole thing and she immediately feels the guilt swallow her whole. ” come on, let's take you to a hospital. your hand is not looking good and i'm not letting you go home like this. ”

so she finds herself in the passenger seat of his audi, as guilty and shameful as a human being possibly could be as they sit in the parking lot of the hospital after a quick rush into the ER. they had taken a look at the heel of her palm and stated that it wasn't as deep as to require stitches, but still to be cautious they had properly dressed it and bandaged it with the advice that she should change it every few days to avoid infections. it was a lucky call, really, that she managed to get away with something as small as a cut. things could have been a lot worse.

“ i'm sorry, ” she apologizes again, glancing over at hiromi hesitantly, her fear having petrified in her face. they are settled in the car in silence, just taking a moment to register it all before he eventually starts the engine. somehow, he manages to look worse than she does with the dark bags under his eyes and that stern expression. she has a terrible habit of assuming she is the one to blame for whatever unfortunate incident. “ i didn't mean to stress you or frustrate you, i panicked and didn't know who else to call. ”

“ oh, doll, who else would you call? ” he glances back, to meet her gaze, and the tenderness in it feels like the very proof of her ruination, trying real fucking hard not to burst into tears. she hasn't shed a single tear yet, which had been eerie on its own. “ i wish you'd call earlier, i wouldn't have even let them take you in the first place. you haven't done anything wrong, okay? what you've been through is terrifying. and even if it doesn't feel like that right now, you were really brave. ” he reaches to collect the tear at the corner of her lash with his thumb. “ you've got nothing to apologize for. you were brave. ”

yeah, that does it. a blink later, she is sobbing her lungs out in a car that probably cost more than an entire year's rent of hers, shoulders trembling next to a man that simply has no business being as caring as he is with her. “ c’mere, it’s okay. ” the toned arms she had been busy admiring a few days ago now wrap her in an embrace that warms her inside out, her face pressing flush against his sternum, tears soaking through the navy blue cotton. his palm cradling the nape of her neck, his chin tucked atop the crown of her head as he just hushes her gracefully. it soothes her, the steady beat of his heart, the scent of his cologne in her nostrils, the slight vibrations that echo through his ribs, the soft rub of his fingertips against the pressure points in the columns of her throat. “ i know you feel guilty, ” he murmurs, half muffled against her hair. “ but there is no need to be. did your best, yeah? i’m proud of you. ”

is it really necessary, for him to be like that when she’s like this? scared of how truly comfortable she is in his arms, she withdraws slowly, but lacks the strength to detach from him completely - her forehead falls on his shoulder and he keeps her like that, still cradled against his chest, still safe & secure. her stomach is churning. he was the sweetest man she’d ever known, trying to be caring at the expense of himself, and she spent most of her time daydreaming about him. it feels vile, it feels misleading. “ i think you should just fire me. please just fire me. ” she confesses eventually with a plead, hiccuping once, uninjured hand coming up to rub at her face, tears wetting the entirety of her cheeks now.

“ what are you talking about? ” hiromi asks, confused, sliding a knuckle underneath her chin to tilt her head up so he can see the flushed cheeks and the avoidant gaze. she doesn’t like the frown on his face, more concerned than offended. “ fire you for what, honey? for getting robbed? for almost getting hurt? ” he shakes his head, rubbing her chin with a tsk tsk sound. “ don’t be ridiculous. when i said to call me for an emergency, i meant it. fix the long face, now, i hate seeing you like this. ”

she doesn’t mean it.

when he stares at her for a second too long and he consumes every single sense from her sight to her hearing, invading her lungs & her veins, her nails already pressing into his biceps through the thick material of his sweatshirt. she doesn’t mean it, when he holds her chin and looks at her with those heavy lidded rust brown eyes, burdened with the beautiful curse of thick lashes and she is tilting her head alright - until her mouth brushes against his, and every single cell in her body explodes with the trembling anticipation of the taste of him, of what it feels like to be held by him.

the worst part is that it’s not her, that pushes all the ethics out the door- it's him that kisses her like he wants to devour her - with a sigh so heavy it forces her to gasp alongside, eyes fluttering shut and entirety of her easing like a ragdoll in his hands. the adrenaline of the night pumps still strong in her veins, senses dialed up to eleven for a newfound breath as she relishes with the taste of him on her tongue, lingering of coffee. he pushes his tongue inside her mouth, demanding the same access he has given her, and her hands dive into the short raven strands, groaning into his mouth, and it truly is so fucking shameful how she’s imagining the strong hands that keep her close to slide down to her hips, yank her atop his thighs -

“ oh my god, ” instead he withdraws, wide-eyed.

“ i’m so sorry, fuck, ” he gasps, one hand reaching to wipe the saliva that had wet his chin from how sloppy the kiss was, lips red-kissed and swollen as she stares at him like a deer caught in the headlights. he’s never looked so baffled and terrified before, and her stomach is churning with the way he trips over his own words, now completely pulling away from her, reaching over her without ever meeting her gaze to grab the seatbelt and buckle her in, indirectly making sure she would remain away from him. is this happening? she can’t tell, everything registering too late as she just blinks, watching him with unfocused eyes as he starts the engine. “ i shouldn’t - i shouldn’t have done that, i’m so sorry. i’ll drop you home. ” then the engine roars, and she remains in the large seat unable to think of a single thing except for wondering how it was possible for her to feel even worse after everything. hiromi is dead silent, with eyes not leaving the road once, and she feels her world slowly collapse around her.

what the fuck was that?

****

he was not seeing the pearly gates.

what kind of a sick, twisted man would be fisting himself beyond the locked doors of his office with the imagination of his assistant between his parted legs, looking up at him with those doe eyes of hers as she bobbed her head up & down, choking on the thick girth until her eyes watered-

“ oh, god, ” he gasps hard, empty hand flying to tuck the knuckle of his index fingers between his teeth, eyes rolling to the back of his skull as the warmth of even the imagination of her spreads through his limbs, shifting in the chair to ease his hips, slowly easing onto the comfortable leather. his head falling against the back of the chair, eyes fluttering shut with heavy breaths he is trying so, so hard to keep steady, beads of sweat trickling down the corner of his thick brow, the thousand dollar dress pants unzipped and loose around his waist. he can almost imagine her there, feel the soft strands of her hair sliding between his fingers, hear the sweet moans. what a cliche, what an overused trope - the man that wants to fuck his assistant stupid on his desk, it feels like a cheap porn, it feels humiliating.

but it’s the truth, and he knows it in the marrow of his bones. was it the final succumb to the teasings of his colleagues, when they kept teasing him endlessly about the sweet girl with arms filled with the folders he’s asked for and cute little heels clicking against his tiles? how endearingly she called him sir and how he loved the dimples that indented the corner of her smile lines? how he looked forward to heading out to the office every day, how he longed to hear her chime a good morning to him as soon as he walked through the doors. no, he didn’t just want to fuck her-

he was so smitten with her, he was beyond saving.

“ ‘m sorry, ” he gasps, both to the memory of her and himself, how unable he is to stop his fingers from tightening around his cock, angry red tip swollen and leaking on his lap with how fucking close he is. “ ‘m sorry, baby, i can’t- i can’t help it, ” he is whispering apology after apology, like she’d hear it, like he’d be forgiven for being so wanton, for being absolutely irredeemable. she had no idea, just across the hall, probably reading the files he’s given her this morning without being able to look her in the eye- it was horrid, to see how much the newfound tension and awkwardness between them hurt her but how could he maintain the same closeness, when he didn’t trust himself not to push her on the armchairs in front of his desk and bury his face in her sweet cunt until she couldn’t remember anything but his name-

that does it, the pure imagination of her arching beneath him into his nose & his mouth, desperately tugging on his hair as she called his name over and over again - hiromi, hiromi, hiromi! he’s spilling in his own lap without being ready to take care of it, breath getting knocked out of his lungs with a toe-curling tsunami cascading down on him. he cums for what feels like minutes, fisting himself through it, seizing on the chair in euphoria, as stiff as a rock before he rides it out eventually, a soft warmth embracing him inside out as it renders him limbless in his seat. he doesn’t want to look down at the mess he’s made, his shirt & pants beyond saving, his cum dripping from his fingers and palm. “ fuck, ” he breathes out, lips pressing into a thin line of shame as he grabs the box of tissues from his desk, sighing as he cleans himself up, face still flushed red and skin slick with sweat.

he needs to figure this out, one way or another.

****

she’s so fired, she doesn’t even have the inkling of hope in her as she silently awaits for him to hand her the resignation papers for her to sign for a clean break. she’d sign them without word, even having prepared a small apology talk in her head about how he was a wonderful man and a brilliant lawyer that deserved every good thing that were to come his way- and she was just an idiot who blew it all up by not being the first dumbass who returned a favor with a kiss but by being the first moron that lost the best job opportunity they could have ever found. this is why she couldn’t have good things- because she was simply incapable of not ruining it by blowing it to pieces.

it didn’t help that he barely even looked at her after that night. the quick banters and the shared chuckles in the safety of their offices and hallway were reduced to avoided eye contact and simple, short sentences regarding the work they had to do. she had arrived to the work the morning after the incident fully prepared to be called into his room and demanded a conversation about what happened, but instead, hiromi conveniently said his polite good morning to her and passed her office like he didn’t back out of a kiss he devoured her with. without an ounce of acknowledgement, he moves forward like the night had never taken place and it rattles her to the point of paranoia. days chase days, a day or two become a full month that’s passed with waking to every morning asking herself if today is the day. it burdens her nerves, her smile growing more & more strained with each hour, each day. the dream job of dozens now her arch nemesis, dragging her feet each day like an ostrich that wants to bury her head in the sand.

until she grows reckless and restless with it, until the strain on her sanity reaches to its brink and forces her to knock on his door with delirium ( yeah, they were closing doors and all, now) and yanks on the handle without waiting for a response, too agitated & frustrated.

“ hello? ” hiromi asks, half confused and half demanding an explanation for the sudden intrusion, his hands on the file he had been reading, his glasses tucked neatly on the bridge of his nose. “ what can i do for you? ” he asks, lacking every bit of warmth, and the cold it leaves her with is unbearable. the roof of her mouth aches with the taste of him, not having slept one night in rest since she knew what it was like to be in his arms. her sigh is exasperated, shifting her weight from one foot to another as she near damn slams the piece of paper she had brought with herself on his desk, atop his work. “ what is this? ” hiromi asks, an eyebrow arched as he reads the header- letter of resignation.

“ you won’t fire me, fine, but i can’t do this. ” she explains, standing in front of his desk, chewing on the inside of her cheek. there is no fear, having abandoned all her hesitations by the door as she walked in, knowing she wouldn’t be in this room again. it had been a nice opportunity to have, but dragging the dead weight of something that didn’t belong to her didn’t feel right. didn’t feel good or fair, and she couldn’t keep fighting the feeling that she was somewhere she wasn’t wanted in. “ i am so, so deeply sorry i kissed you- i shouldn’t have done that, it was insane, ” she shakes her head vigorously, stammering as her hands raise in surrender. “ i was truly going through it and i lost it for a second. it was horrible of me, and i can never regret it enough. but i can’t keep working here when you refuse to talk to me or even look me in the eye. so…” she breathes out, shoulders trembling. “ please just sign my resignation and free us both. i think we both suffered enough. ”

he stares at her, expressionless, blinking between his assistant and the paper that had been presented to him. it feels like the silence stretches for minutes, before he slowly leans back. he finds her gaze, thoughtful. “ do you, really? ” he asks, curious more than anything. “ regret it, i mean. ”

he just knows where to hit, which bone to twist to get the most visceral reaction out of her. she thinks back on it, the way he gripped the nape of her neck, how he pushed his tongue into her mouth and let his teeth graze her lower lip, sloppy & desperate. he is sitting in front of with the same dark pupils, with the same poker face, and she can’t lie. “ no. ” she corrects her lie, figuring she owed him that much. “ not really. i’m sorry i lost this all and i’m sorry i made you uncomfortable, but i don’t regret what… what that felt like. ” the roots of her hair is burning, and he nods slowly, like there is anything to consider at all with her confession.

“ and what did it feel like? ” he pries further, and she groans in protest, nearly squirming in her place with the pressure that overwhelms her. “ you’re being impossible, ” she tells him, now taking her frustration out on him, not knowing any better, not knowing how to handle the situation at all. “ why are you trying to humiliate me, like i’m not embarrassed enough? is it funny to you? ”

“ no, sweetheart. ” he rises out of his desk, reaching to his full height, and even the mere gesture is enough to have her jaw close right back up, shutting up immediately. he travels around his desk, nearing her but not quite closing the distance. “ do you think it was funny for me, to be locking that door and fucking my hand here thinking of you on your knees? do you think it was funny for me to not being able to look you in the eye without thinking of kissing the breath out of your lungs? ”

was she truly hallucinating now, or was this a fever dream? because there was no way it was true. she blinks once, twice, trying to register what she hears. hiromi takes a slow step, reaching to cup his chin between his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger, and the memories keep flooding back. a beautiful dejavu that ended in such heartbreak, but her she’s already feeling how her knees are failing her, forgetting how to breathe when he stares her down without an ounce of reservation. it was all abandoned now, abandoned the moment she kissed him and he kissed her back. “ do you understand how fucked up is that? ” he asks, no louder than a hoarse murmuring, gaze trailing her features. “ i’ve never laid a hand on anyone in this office before, let alone my assistant. let alone a girl like you. do you understand the position you’ve put me in? do you understand how wrong this whole thing is? ”

she’s dizzy, and there is nowhere to go from his hold, except to tilt her head up, wide-eyed and breathless. her mouth feels so, so dry, her tongue heavy in her mouth. “ i won’t tell anyone. ” is so pathetic if she could see herself from an outside perspective she would be jumping straight out the window with the second hand embarrassment. that’s how much she wants this man, enough to mutter a pathetic plea just to be the girl who got railed by her boss in his office, just to be the girl she had nightmares becoming. she will have to forgive herself, sometime in the future, because this is not something she can resist- hiromi is an obsession she wouldn’t be able to satiate herself with if she’d tried, especially when he stands chest to chest with her, when his thumb brushes her lower lip. he stares at her mouth endlessly, but this time she knows better than to kiss him first, this time she knows better than to come on too strong and terrify him away.

coming on too strong she fears, but it is his hands that slide underneath the back of her plush thighs to turn her and push her flush against the edge of his desk, forcing her on top of the polished wood. “ hiromi, ” she gasps, but it’s futile- he kisses her so fast the world tilts on its axis, whining with the last remaining braincell that her pencil skirt is too stubborn to let him settle between her legs, to which hiromi responds by sliding his rough palms across her thighs and hike up, until it is bunched around her waist. ever the problem solver, ever the crisis manager- he’s barely even touched her and she is already a puddle of limbs in his arms, wide-eyed and overwhelmed and confused. “ hiromi, ” she pleads again, unsure what she’s asking for, man’s mouth having trailed down her jugular, teeth grazing against the column of her throat.

“ ssh, ” he is so tender with the hush, she can’t even be frustrated at how inherently mean it is. her hands travel the broad, sinewy shoulders of his, trying to hold on without collapsing, not trusting herself to carry her own weight but hiromi doesn’t even allow her that, reaching to grasp her hands and pin them on the desk behind her. “ i’mma need you to hold out for me, yeah? ” he’s moving downward before she can even register the request, barely being able to plant her hands back and arch for support, gaining a groan from hiromi who is already on his knees, skilled fingers impatiently tugging on the buttons of her slim fit indigo dress shirt. “ so fucking beautiful, ” he murmurs but there is no telling if he’s talking to her or to himself, nuzzling his face into her navel when he reveals the creamy soft skin. “ you’re so fucking beautiful, sweetheart, god, you have no idea what you’re doing to me, ” he teeths at her hipbone, drags his tongue across her abdomen, leaving a cold trail in its wake, still sloppy. veiny hands grasp her thighs to move them over his shoulders, fingers carefully bunching the linen fabric at her waist, revealing the blue pair of underwear she’s already soaked through.

she wants to say something, do something, but there is no focusing when he stares at her clothed wetness as intently as he does, instinctively trying to shut her legs to which he replies with a “ uh-uh, keep ‘em open, ” he mumbles, pressing an experimental thumb right to her clit, drawing a groan and a jolt out of her. bingo. “ oh, baby… ” he murmurs, dazzled and mesmerized as she squirms on his desk, breathless and whimpering with hands grasping the edge of his desk, hips rutting into his hand desperately as he starts to draw tight circles, making her shudder. “ hiromi, ” she repeats his name for the thousandth time, chest heaving. “ please, please. ”

“ i know, i know, ” he trails, nosing at her through her underwear, then hooking his middle finger to the side of her panties to pull them aside, reveal the glistening folds & throbbing clit, moaning with the bare sight of it. “ oh, sweetheart, you’re drenched, ” he stares truly enamored, and she’s speechless, face scrunched up in overwhelm. he forces her to tilt her hips, manhandling without shame as his mouth hovers over her quivering cunt, warm breath tingling without ever closing the distance. she’s about to beg once more, beg him to do something, anything, but he’s too good for that- when his admiration is done, her leans over to spread her open with two fingers & lap at her like a man starved and she forgets every thought she’s ever had, breath knocked out of her chest, seizing on the desk. hiromi couldn’t care less, so goddamn happy to be between her soft thighs, pressing his tongue flat against her swollen bud and rub the pulsating hole with his thumb, eyes closed shut, moaning on cloud nine and letting each sound vibrate in her stomach. he is eating to his heart’s content, downright messy, and there is nothing to do but for her to take. “ taste so good, ” he mumbles against her, worrying her clit between his teeth, changing his thumb for a middle finger as she trembles on top of him. one hand flying to grasp onto his hair, raven strands bunched in her fist as she grinds shamelessly onto his mouth, onto his nose. “ oh my god, ” he whimpers, tongue licking at her dry lips, trying to protect her sanity. “ oh my god! ”

“ there you go, jus’ like that. fuck my face, baby. ” he encourages her to grind, using the opportunity to slide his finger inside her and feel it get swallowed whole by the gummy walls, exhaling so hard with the feeling she suddenly remembers that they are in his office and the door is unlocked. “ the door! ” she whisper-screams, eye-widened as she tries to fight inescapable surrendering to how good his finger feels nestled inside her, how well it stretches her out. “ the door, hir- oof, ” there is no finishing her sentence, because he’s curling it against the soft spongy spot inside her and her eyes are rolling back to the back of her head, almost drooling on her shirt. “ don’ care, ” he grumbles with the focus and effort it takes him not to pound her on the spot, worrying another finger inside her instead, sucking on her clit lazily. “ you’re not getting off this desk until you’ve cum on my fingers, ” so unabashed, he grips her hips even tighter as if to prove that he means his point. “ scared people will see you like this, doll? ” he kisses her clit lovingly, and at the same time curls and bullies that one spot inside her she’s clenching around the thick fingers on the spot, shaking violently. “ then you better cum. ”

she doesn’t need to tell him, he can probably tell by the way she squeezes onto his fingers like a vice, seizing on top of him as her hips violently rut into his face, cumming endlessly as he moans alongside her, still pumping his fingers inside her leisurely to help her ride it out but having released her clit to leave wet kisses on the inside of her thighs. “ there it is, good girl, such a good girl, well done, honey. ” he keeps uttering nonsense, but fuck if they don’t feel good, leaving her as a sweaty mess on top of his desk with mascara on her cheeks & flushed cheeks. it takes her a moment, laying on top of the desk, eyes fluttering shut as she tries to catch her breath. holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck. she doesn’t remember the last time she came that hard, doesn’t remember the last time someone made her feel that good. hiromi sounds pleased, humming contently as he slowly withdraws his fingers out of her and she barely catches the way he places them atop his tongue, licking them clean.

“ you’re trying to kill me, ” she concludes, dead serious, and he offers her the sweetest smile known to mankind before he disappears out of her vision, then she hears the sound of a key turning in its lock, as promised. “ i can’t have people seeing my baby like this, no? ” he hums, sultry as his fingertips trace her thighs, lodging himself between her legs once more, staring at her through half lidded eyes, pleased with what he sees. and all she’s thinking about is that he’s called her his baby. his. “ you left me alone, ” she doesn’t know where it comes from, the choked out confession, with the bottled emotions spilling between them, his fingers coated in her release. “ you didn’t- you didn’t speak to me for weeks…”

his expression changes, lips pursing into a thin line. “ i thought… ” he breathes out, unsure how to word anything at all. “ i thought it was the best thing to do. it’s not fair, doll, you don’t understand- i’m your boss. ” he sighs with exasperation, that excuse having long left the office by now. “ you would have hated me, you would have thought i was a creep, you would have… ” he shrugs, not wanting to talk about it any further. “ i can’t abuse my power. not ever, and especially not with you. you’re fucking brilliant, do you hear me? ” he tilts her chin to himself. “ you’re brilliant, you are the best that i’ve ever seen at your job- and you are not going to lose it or feel like you didn’t earn it because i can’t keep my hands off of you, alright? ”

oh. oh. rendered speechless, she just stares at him, vision blurring with a single blink. he had been trying to save her from him the entire time she thought that he was leaving her behind. “ i love you, ” she confesses, and it sounds wrong the moment it leaves her mouth- like it’s something she said in the heat of the moment, or something she said randomly without emotion, but the world hadn’t heard something truer than that. “ i think i’m in love with you, hiromi. i know ‘t sounds stupid and i know you don’t believe me, but i really do. ”

now it’s his time to be left devoid of words, frozen in his place, and as she thinks she’s said the wrong thing again, he leans down to gather her up in his arms. “ c’mere, ” she goes as she pleads, letting him pull her flush against his chest and lift her off the desk, to settle on the comfortable armchair with her spread out on his lap. he shifts them, until he slides further down, in a position where he can comfortably roll her hips up into hers without strain, his face nuzzled in the crook of her neck. “ want to hold you just like this, ” he murmurs, large hands kneading her ass to force her into a languid movement alongside him, leaving her wide-eyed on top of him, with the way he sits so, so heavy & hard between her legs, the button of his dress pants catching at her sensitive bud with each movement and making her jolt. “ hiromi! ” she keens, nails digging into his shoulders through the thin shirt. “ i know, baby, i know, ” he coos in her ear, muffled against her collarbone, skin slick with sweat. “ ‘t feels good, lemme have this for a second, i promise i’ll make it up to you. ”

it’s way too much, and he is way too merciless, she is gushing all over his pants, expensive black linen soaked underneath her, hiding her embarrassment by forcing her face against his neck, hiding there with lazy moans spilling out of her with each roll of his hips. “ you’re making a mess, doll, ” he murmurs, kissing the shell of her ear, holding her still by the large palm on her ass, cock strained against her through layers & layers. “ does it feel that good? you wanna cum again? ” her nod is so pathetic, it’s an abomination at that point, clenching and convulsing around nothing. it feels so good, the slight burn and the way that her rubs against her clit in the best angle possible. “ can you cum like this, baby? can you do that f’ me? i know you can do it, ” he encourages her. “ make me proud, atta’ girl. ”

make him proud she does, her hips stuttering and jerking on top of him, eyes rolling as she whimpers, hiromi thrusting slowly underneath her. “ look at you, so perfect, so perfect f’ me, ” he praises, and it goes to where all the precious things go in her heart, mewling with exhaustion on top of him. her face is peppered with endless kisses, his hand cradling her head and brushing through her now mess of a hair. her arms go around his neck, nuzzling into him tiredly, still riding out the aftershocks of her second orgasm. “ oh, i’ll never get enough of you, ” he confesses to himself. “ i’ll never get enough of this, how are you even real? how is this even real? ”

“ you promised, ” she whines, grinding into him once, and he breathes out an airy chuckle. “ i did, haven’t i? ” his sly hands reaches between them, unbuckling his belt in one swift motion, pulling himself out of his pants and he barely even needs to pull before he springs out, rock hard, leaking. she is unaware that she’s been staring, dazed at how mouth-watering it looks, how much she wants to get on her knees and get a taste of it until she hears hiromi sing for her. he’d look beautiful, with his head tipped back, face contorted with pleasure. but the man has different plans, it seems, because it takes him less than a second to grasp the base of his cock, drag it alongside her soaked folds leisurely before he lets his tip catch at the throbbing entrance. “ i’ll do all the work, okay? ” he speaks, tired but content, holding her steady. “ you just relax against me and let me take care of you, yeah? you’ve been so good to me, let me care for you, honey. ”

and who is she to say no to that? laying herself on his chest, she shifts her hips, and that same second hiromi gives it an experimental push, both of them groaning at the same time when he pops inside her with a quick suction, walls clenching around him, unsure if they want to suck the pressure in or push it all out. she gives out a low cry on top of him, hiromi swearing underneath his breath, giving it a few more inches, feeling the way she envelopes him. “ oh my god, ” he gasps out, hands on her hips, and she can feel him trembling with how much he tries not to bury himself to the hilt inside her, how much he’s trying to keep himself in check. “ oh, what the fuck, t’s so good, t’s too good, ” he slurs his words, head tipping back as he slowly pulls out to push right back in, her keeling on his chest. “ hiromi, fuck, ” she cries out, trying to adjust to the size of him but it feels impossible- not when he holds her the way he does, when he fucks her the way he does, slow and steady, without ever truly bottoming out, still considering her first.

“ you feel amazing, ” he says in disbelief, feeding her poor cunt one more inch every time he thrusts back inside, and she’s trying to keep herself from passing out on his lap, arms around his neck, holding on for dear life as he splits her open without a care in the world. “ wanna’- need to go faster, sweetheart, ” he frantically whispers in her ear, hips stuttering. “ i can’t like this, need more, can you take it? ” can she take it? “ yes, yes, yes, ” she’s babbling with a high-pitched whimper and before she knows it he pries her hands from his neck, grasping both her wrists in one hand and bounding them behind her back as she uses them as leverage before he-

oh, so this is what he meant- hips shift and the very next thrust buries him balls deep inside her and she chokes on her air, near damn screaming his name, especially with the way he starts to fuck her with reckless abandon, his empty hand flying to press his palm over her mouth to keep her quiet. her cries are muffled in the soft, sweaty skin, eyes rolling back and sopping cunt clenching each time he hits that spot inside her that makes her see stars, a constant mewling as she turns limbless in his lap as he praises her without end, a plethora of “ you’re being so good f’ me, ” and “ good girl, you’re so beautiful, ” ringing in her ear as he makes sure that no one will ever make her feel the way he does. she’s crying his name by the time she’s spasming around him, her third orgasm ripping through her like a bullet train as hiromi keeps pounding her without pause. “ keep cumming on my cock, jus’ like that, doll, don’t stop cumming, ” and she can’t, not when he doesn’t let her, doomed to take it all without a single complaint.

then he starts falling out of rhythm, as well, letting go of her mouth but not of her hands . “ oh, i’m so close, ” he grunts against her hair, thrusts getting more erratic, hips jerking. “ i’ll figure it out, ” is the first thing she says when she gets her ability to speak again, damp strands of hair stuck in the sides of her face, a total mess on top of him, gaze half-lidded. he glances up at her, searching for the truth in her eyes, to make sure she isn’t saying something she’ll regret in a second, asking if she’s sure. she responds with a meek “ please, ” and that’s all it takes for hiromi to slam his hips into her ass one more time, spilling inside her and letting them both moan with the feeling of it. it feels warm, it feels wet. she is viscerally shaking on top of him, collapsing with weak knees, and hiromi catches her in his arms, already having released her hands. “ good god, ” he exhales, head rested against the back of his chair.

they stay like that, nestled against each other, as a pile of dead limbs and long inhales, him still twitching inside her. her head remains rested against his chest, comfortable in his lap, comfortable not having to look at him in the face, knowing she wouldn’t be able to take the weight of his gaze at the moment. he’s everything to her, he’s so vital to her, it aches.

but he does something even harder, even more difficult. arms wrapped around her shoulders, tenderly rubbing her back, he rests his mouth against the shell of her ear and whispers an “ i love you, too. ” she stops dead in her tracks. his breath hitches in his throat, but he doesn’t back down. “ i do. there’s no helping it. i’ve tried. ” he lets all the air out of his lungs, fingertips tracing her spine. “ there’s no getting over you. there’s no one else like you. ‘m sorry i was an ass to you. you just really had me whipped, didn’ know what to do with it. ” she chuckles heartily at the confession that gets a bit adorable at the end, and when she pulls back just enough to see his face, she sees the smile she’s adored for the first time in weeks. it feels like seeing the sun after a hurricane, seeing a rainbow. “ there you go, ” she whispers, pleased, tracing his mouth with her fingertips. “ i’ve missed this smile. ”

“ are you ripping that resignation, or should i set it on fire? ” hiromi murmurs, grinning lazily at her, taking the sight of her in, seemingly pleased with his masterpiece. she drapes herself on his chest. “ dunno’. are you doing the honors of explaining this to the HR or should i? ”

he loses the grin so fast, exchanging it for a roll of his eyes and a groan instead. “ too soon to go back to all that, ” he murmurs, placing a loving kiss on the crook of her neck, holding her close. “ lemme’ go a second round, then we’ll consider. ”

“ hiromi! ”

#✧.* writings.#𖤓 hiromi higuruma.#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen angst #hiromi higuruma smut #hiromi higuruma fluff #hiromi higuruma angst #hiromi higuruma x you #hiromi higuruma x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader

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coolemmasulivan2 · 2 days

Text

Rewinding Us | 5

Pairing: Mason Mount x Reader

Summary: You and Mason built a love story over five years, but after an accident, your memories are wiped away, including any feelings for your constant bickering “rival”. Can you remember your love story with Mason, or will you have to start all over?

Word count: 3582

You can read part 1 here, part 2 here, part 3 here and part 4 here | Bonus Text Messages here

Don't wanna close my eyes Don't wanna fall asleep 'Cause I'd miss you baby And I don't wanna miss a thing

You hated him! At that moment, you truly hated him. But deep down, you knew the truth: you couldn't sleep without him.

"You're sleeping on the sofa, Mount!" You exclaimed, your voice laced with irritation.

"Come on, Y/n! Seriously?" Mason replied, disbelief evident in his tone. "It wasn't my fault. The girl lost her balance and fell into my lap. It's not like I grabbed her—"

"Stop defending her!" You retorted. "She obviously did it on purpose. She knew I was watching."

You'd been at a birthday party of a family member when the girl you despised since childhood had made a scene, falling into Mason's lap just to piss you off. Your boyfriend, ever the gentleman, had played along, making it seem like everything was fine.

"It was just an incident, it wasn't a make-out session." He shouted as you stormed into the bedroom.

Grabbing his pillow and a blanket from the wardrobe. "Here!" You said, throwing them at Mason, who was sitting on the sofa. "Have a nice night." You said sarcastically, walking away. Mason let out a sigh as he heard you slamming the bedroom door.

An hour or two passed, but you were still awake, tossing and turning, feeling the emptiness beside you. Alone in the bed, staring at the ceiling, you knew you'd exaggerated. Vanessa had always been annoying, but you'd let your jealousy get the better of you.

With a groan, you sat up. You had no problem sleeping alone when he was away, but sleeping alone when he was so close was torture.

Getting out of bed, you walked out into the dark living room. The moonlight filtering through the windows provided the only light.

In the living room, you saw Mason sleeping soundly. Your first instinct was to grab a pillow and hit him, but you resisted the urge. How could he sleep so peacefully without you?

Gathering your courage, you shook his shoulder gently. "Mason?" He mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. "Mase?

"What?" He whined, his voice filled with sleeplessness. He didn't open his eyes.

"Come back to bed!" You said, your voice barely a whisper.

He groaned and shifted, trying to get comfortable. You started walking away, but Mason grabbed your wrist, pulling you back.

Without hesitation, you lay down next to him on the sofa, instantly relaxing as his warmth enveloped you. Mason quickly put his arm around you, his face nuzzling into your hair. Within minutes, you were fast asleep.

You opened your eyes as you felt Ace jumping from the bed. You had left the door slightly open, and with the help of his keen nose, he'd pulled it open and escaped, leaving you alone staring at the ceiling.

The memory left you mute. Each memory felt like reliving it without actually controlling your body, like watching a movie from the inside of the main character. It was a bizarre and unsettling sensation.

Letting out a sigh, you got out of bed. It was still early, but sleep was out of the question. You left the room barefoot, yawning as you walked. You could hear Mason's soft voice, talking to Ace, and without realizing it, you smiled.

He was sitting on the sofa, writing something on paper. Ace, ever the playful pup, was trying to bite his hand playfully.

"Ace, stop it!" Mason exclaimed, laughing at the silly young dog. "Dude, I'm trying to leave a note. Let me write."

You leaned against the wall, watching them, but the dog quickly caught your presence. Ace's ears perked up, his tail wagging excitedly as he bounded towards you. Mason turned, a smile spreading across his face.

"Morning!" He said, his voice warm and welcoming. He was already dressed, ready for the day.

"Hi, Mason!" You replied, returning his smile. "Morning."

As Mason's gaze briefly lingered on your legs, a blush crept onto your cheeks as you realised you were in your oversized t-shirt and panties. You self-consciously tugged at the hem of your shirt, pulling it down.

"Are you leaving already?" You asked, changing the subject.

"Yep!" Mason confirmed. "Training starts in twenty minutes."

"Sleep well?"

"Best I've had since your accident." He replied, his eyes holding a hint of affection.

You nodded, a warm feeling spreading through you. It seemed that having Mason back home had a calming effect on you both.

Ace sat down at your feet, watching you and Mason with curious eyes, sensing the awkwardness.

"I made coffee!" Mason announced, gesturing towards the kitchen.

"You didn't have to."

"I know. But you don't know how to make coffee." Mason said with a playful grin on his face. You opened your mouth, pretending to be offended.

"Rude! Weren't you supposed to be nice? And supportive?"

Mason chuckled. "Sorry!"

You rolled your eyes playfully, hiding your smile. "Want to have breakfast with me?"

Mason's eyes widened, and he bit his lip. "I can't! I'm already running late." He glanced at his phone, then paused, a hopeful look in his eyes. "But… can I take you out tonight? A date?"

A blush crept onto your cheeks as a warm wave of excitement washed over you. "Tonight?"

"If you're busy, we can—"

You shook your head quickly. "I'd love that."

Mason's eyes lit up. "Tonight's good?" You nodded, a grin spreading across your face. "I'll pick you up at 7 pm!"

"Okay!"

You clenched your teeth, your voice rising. "You're a pig, Mount!"

"And you're a spoiled brat!"

You were in Ben's house, having dinner when your casual and usual banter escalated into a heated argument after Mason made a stupid comment about a girl he had slept with.

"Would you like someone to say that about your sisters?" You demanded, crossing your arms over your chest.

"What did I say?" He protested, his voice laced with frustration. "You're twisting my words."

"Yeah, right!" You said sarcastically. "Because she'd love to hear what you said about the night you spent with her."

Mason let out a sarcastic chuckle. "Y/n!" He said, his voice low and dangerous as he stepped closer. "If you're jealous, just admit it."

"You disgust me." You spat, your eyes filled with anger.

"The feeling is mutual." He replied, his voice cold.

Mason strolled onto the green pitch, a wide grin on his face. While he was always a cheerful guy, his teammates could sense that something extra special was going on. Bruno, noticing the twinkle in his eye, couldn't resist asking.

"What put you in such a good mood today?" The Portuguese player asked.

Mason chuckled. "Just the usual. Happy to be playing football."

Bruno raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, but there's something else."

A mischievous glint appeared in Mason's eyes. "I'm taking Y/n out on a date tonight."

His teammates erupted in cheers and whistles, their excitement infectious. Lisandro wrapped an arm around Mason's shoulder and ruffled his hair playfully. "So, what's the plan, Romeo?" He teased.

Mason grinned, a touch of pink colouring his cheeks. "I'm not sure yet. I want to make it special."

Lisandro nodded approvingly. "Need any help planning? We're all here for you, mate."

"Yeah." Bruno agreed.

Mason chuckled. "Thanks, guys. I'll keep that in mind."

You closed the door as quickly as you had opened it, but Mason's foot was stuck in the gap, preventing it from closing completely.

"I just want to talk!" He said, his voice low and insistent.

"I don't want to talk to you. Go away." You replied, pushing against the door.

Mason shifted his foot, allowing the door to swing open slightly. He then placed his hand against it, blocking your attempt to close it. "I want to apologize."

"You already sent a message. Now go." You snapped, your patience wearing thin.

Mason let out a frustrated sigh. With a forceful push, he opened the door wider, causing you to stumble backwards.

You rolled your eyes, heading into the kitchen where you'd been preparing dinner. Mason followed, closing the door behind him. Your house was cosy, filled with the comforting scent of vanilla.

"Can you please stop for a second and hear me out?" He pleaded.

You stabbed the knife into the wooden cutting board. "What do you want, Mount?"

"We need to talk about it and you know it."

"No, we don't." You disagreed, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn't help but glance at his lips, a forbidden memory flashing through your mind.

"You kissed me back!" He said. Your hand instinctively went to your neck, the sensation of his lips lingering there. "If you didn't want it, you would have pushed me away."

"We were drunk!"

Mason furrowed his eyebrows. "No, we weren't."

"I WAS!" You shouted, your denial fueled by fear and confusion. The only sound in the room was the soft music drifting from another part of the house.

"You're lying." Mason insisted, his voice filled with doubt. The thought that you might have been drunk that night shattered his heart.

He was right, you were lying, but you couldn't bring yourself to admit it. Your relationship with Mason was a mess, exactly as it should be. The idea of having feelings for him was unthinkable. It had to be.

"I was drunk." You repeated, swallowing hard. "Kissing you was the last thing I wanted to do." Your voice trembled as you spoke, your heart breaking slowly, painfully. "We've been fighting since the first day we met. What do you expect? This isn't a fairytale. We're not going to fall in love and live happily ever after."

"Why not try?" Mason asked, his voice filled with hope.

You let out a sarcastic chuckle. "What?"

He walked around the kitchen island and stopped beside you, his presence suddenly making you feel hotter.

Mason took a deep breath. "I don't know what's going on, but every time I see you, I want to kiss you." He looked down at your lips, his eyes filled with a vulnerability you'd never seen before. "That silly bet, when I kissed you, made me realize that maybe there was something there. And the other night when we kissed, it just confirmed it."

You muttered, "Stop it."

"I like you, Y/n!" He confessed his voice barely a whisper.

You stared at him, unsure of how to respond. Part of you wanted to push him away, to deny the feelings that were starting to stir within you. But another part of you was drawn to him, to the intensity of his gaze, the warmth of his touch.

Mason leaned in slowly, his eyes seeking your permission. You felt a flutter in your chest as he drew closer, his breath fanning against your lips. With a trembling breath, you closed your eyes and let him kiss you.

You were rummaging through the fridge, searching for ingredients for lunch, when the doorbell rang. Ace barked and raced towards the door, his tail wagging furiously. You followed him, swinging the door open to find your friend and coworker, Dianne.

"Di!" You exclaimed, your eyes widening in surprise. "What are you doing here?" You pulled her into a warm embrace, missing her presence after her two-week holiday.

"I just arrived." Dianne replied, her smile radiating warmth. "Since it's your day off, I thought it would be a great chance to catch up and introduce you to someone."

You glanced behind her to see a woman petting Ace, who seemed to have taken an immediate liking to her.

"You've grown so much, Ace!" The woman exclaimed, her voice filled with affection. "You're such a good boy."

You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to place her. "Do I know you?"

"We do! Very well, actually." The woman stood up and smiled at you, her eyes sparkling affectionately. "It's nice to met you again, Y/n. I'm Anouska."

Mason sat nervously in the driver's seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he parked in front of your parents' house. He glanced over at you, who was calmly looking at the house in front.

"Are you sure about this?" He asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You turned to face him, a reassuring smile on your lips. "Of course I am."

He nodded, but his anxiety didn't subside. He remembered how much they used to hate each other. It seemed almost impossible that they were now in a relationship.

"What if they don't approve?" He asked, his voice filled with doubt.

Y/n squeezed his hand. "They will. They'll see how happy we are together."

Mason chuckled nervously. "Yeah, I guess they've been watching us hate each other for so long, they'll be shocked to see us actually getting along. It's like watching a cat and a mouse suddenly become best friends."

You laughed. "Don't be so dramatic. They'll come around." You grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at you. "Look at me! I'm with you. You make me happy and you treat me right, and that's exactly the kind of man my parents want me to be with."

Mason looked at you with adorable puppy dog eyes. "I love you, beautiful."

You smiled. "I love you too."

You sat at the restaurant, laughing at the stories Dianne and Anouska were sharing about your times together. It was a really nice get-together, full of laughs and memories.

You learned that Anouska was Luke Shaw's wife, one of Mason's teammates. The realization brought a wave of excitement. You remember Luke since you had always been a football fan.

"I can't believe I know Luke Shaw!" You exclaimed.

Dianne and Anouska chuckled. "Luke's not the only player you know." Dianne replied.

"I know, I know!" You said, a smile spreading across your face.

"He really likes you." Anouska said, making you blush. "He's always saying that you're the best thing that happened to Mason. We had some good times together. When you moved here, we did a bunch of double dates."

"It's a shame I can't remember." You said sadly.

Dianne gave you a reassuring look. "You will! Everything's going to be fine."

"Yes." Anouska agreed. "And we're here to help you in any way we can." Just as Anouska finished speaking, her phone rang. "Sorry, love. It's Luke." She said, answering the call.

While Anouska chatted quietly with Luke on the phone, you asked Dianne about her trip to Spain. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she talked. A contagious smile played on her lips.

As Anouska finished her call with Luke, Dianne and you turned to face her.

"Luke sends a kiss to both of you." Anouska announced, a smile playing on her lips.

"Sweet as always!" Dianne replied.

Anouska placed her phone on the table. "Y/n Y/l/n, when were you going to tell us you're going on a date with Mason?"

Dianne's jaw dropped in surprise. "What? When?"

You bit your lip and played with your earring. "Today!" You whispered, your cheeks blushing.

"Where is he taking you?"

"I don't know. He's picking me up at seven."

"What are we doing here? We need to go shopping!" Anouska exclaimed, jumping out of her seat.

Mason knocked on the door at exactly 7 PM, his heart pounding in his chest. On the other side you took a deep breath and opened the door.

He looked up, prepared to speak, but at the sight of you, he fell speechless. You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

"Hi!" He managed to stammer out.

"Hi."

"You look... wow, you look incredible." He said, his eyes scanning your figure.

You were wearing a red dress, heels, and your hair was styled in a messy yet elegant braid.

"Thank you." You said, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. "You don't look too bad yourself."

He was dressed in a classic black suit and a simple white shirt. He looked handsome. Incredibly handsome.

"Are you ready to go?"

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. As you stepped out of your house, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement.

The restaurant was a charming and intimate space, perfect for a private date. Mason had chosen it carefully, knowing that you wouldn't want, and neither did he, to be interrupted by his fans during your time together.

The food was exquisite, and with Mason's company, you barely noticed the time passing.

"My family is coming next weekend, and they would love to see you." Mason said, his voice filled with nervousness. He quickly added: "Only if you're comfortable, of course."

Your heart skipped a beat. Over the years, you got to know Mason's family. They had always been incredibly kind and welcoming, and for the past five years, they had been your own family. However, the lack of memories made it a bit daunting.

"I…" You hesitated.

Mason gave you a reassuring smile. "Don't overthink it, Y/n. They love you, but if you're not comfortable, it's okay."

"I'm just… The only memory I have of them is from seeing them at your games at Chelsea."

"I know, I know." Mason said, understanding your hesitation. "Just think about it." You nodded. "They love you as much as I do." You said, blushing slightly at the mention of love. Mason didn't seem to notice. "They miss having you around." He continued. "Summer is always asking about you."

A warm smile spread across your face. "I really want to meet her! I guess I was her favourite aunt!" You joked.

"Yes! You still are."

You sat down on the carpet, helping Summer with her puzzle. She was wearing a floral dress almost identical to the one you were wearing.

"Where's Uncle Mase?" She asked, looking around as she noticed you were the only one sitting beside her.

"He's with the baby. Your little sister!" You replied, searching for the missing piece of her puzzle.

"Hmm." She grumbled, her pout evident. You looked up to see her looking upset and a little jealous.

"What is it?" You asked gently.

"He's always with her!" She was jealous and it was just the cutest scene ever. "I want him to play with me."

You chuckled at her adorable jealousy. "I know, pumpkin, but your sister is very little and Uncle Mason needs to give her lots of cuddles, just like he did with you when you were born."

She shrugged, her pout softening slightly. She looked at you for a moment.

"Can you give me cuddles, Auntie Y/n?" She asked, her voice small.

You were surprised. Cuddles were typically a Mason and Summer thing. "You want my cuddles?" She nodded eagerly. "Of course I can give you cuddles!" You said, smiling. "Let's watch Moana and cuddle on the sofa."

Just as you and Summer were getting comfortable, Mason entered the room, a playful grin on his face. "Hey, I thought I was your cuddle buddy!"

Summer cuddled more against you. "Antie Y/n is my favourite now."

"Mason, what are we doing here? It's late." You whispered, your voice barely audible in the empty parking lot.

Mason smirked at you and grabbed your hand, pulling you towards one of the stadium doors. A security guard in a black uniform opened the door for you, and Mason thanked him.

As you and Mason walked hand-in-hand onto the pitch, you couldn't help but feel a sense of astonishment and wonder. You had never been inside the pitch before.

"This is incredible!" You said, looking around in amazement. Mason squeezed your hand.

Mason led you to the center of the pitch, and you were surprised at how extensive it felt.

"What do you think?" He asked, his voice filled with excitement.

You were speechless. "I can't believe you all ran around this for 90 minutes. It's huge."

Mason laughed. "We got used to it." He lay down on the grass and gestured for you to join him. "Come here. Lay down."

It had been a beautiful day in Manchester, with the sun shining. The night was warm, and the grass was dry.

"Look at the sky!" Mason said, breaking the silence.

You followed his gaze and found yourself mesmerized by the vast expanse of stars above. The city lights created a soft glow, illuminating the night sky like a painting.

"It's beautiful." As you lay there, gazing up at the stars, you couldn't help but feel a deep sense of peace. "Is this the part where you'll teach me where to find the Great Bear?"

Mason chuckled. "I'll leave that to another date." You laughed.

You raised an eyebrow. "And who told you that we'll have another date?" Mason looked at you, a hint of panic in his eyes. "I'm just kidding." You said, laughing.

His face relaxed into a beautiful smile. "You're going to be the death of me." Mason turned to face you, his eyes filled with a soft intensity. "I'm glad you're here."

You smiled. "Me too."

You both gazed at each other, caught in the moment. It felt like time stood still. As you both leaned in. You could feel Mason's breath on your face, your heart pounded in your chest.

His lips met yours, a soft, gentle touch that sent a shiver down your spine. You kissed him back, feeling a sense of peace and contentment wash over you. You cupped his face, felling his beard against your palm and Mason pulled you closer, deepening the kiss.

As you pulled away, breathless and exhilarated, you knew that this was just the beginning. You were falling for Mason, and it felt incredible.

#footballer imagine #footballer x reader #football imagine #mason mount fluff #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagines #mason mount #mason mount imagine #mm7

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towriteloveontheirarms · 3 days

Text

I missed talking to you (modern!bodyguard!Criston Cole x Reader)

synopsis: He was hired to protect you. However, he does so much more.

warnings: age gap, smut, p in v, fucking in the bathtub, semi public sex, afab reader

word count: 2.4k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1 @bucknastysbabe

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by me

The room is dark, safe for the dim glow of a TV illuminating a small space around itself. The sound of the video that had been playing for the past couple hours is drowned out by growing frustration. The clock on your phone shows a more than ungodly time, that brings you to huff and turn around a little more forcefully than necessary, the bed protesting against the way you let yourself fall back on it carelessly. But to no surprise even that doesn't work and so, with a groan you force yourself to get up. The idea was that walking around and grabbing a snack could potentially help. Hopefully. And so you sneak out of the room to the kitchen, where you are met with Criston Cole, the bodyguard your father had hired for you.

“Shouldn't you be long asleep?” The tall man asks with a gruff voice.

He remembers you wishing him a good night, hours earlier. The clock showed past 4am now.

“Yeah, I should.” You chuckle bitterly. “I'm just gonna make some tea and then I'm gone again.”

Cole nods silently and continues to drink his coffee. His beautiful dark eyes are trained on your neck the entire time you wait for the kettle to cook the water inside. You can feel them like a warm sensation spreading through your back. You had long since stopped to wonder what might be going on behind the windows to his soul. Deciding that, whatever it may be, would forever remain a mystery to you. At times your friends had commented though that it looked like he wanted to eat you or that he looked ready jump in front of a bullet for you. The latter was easy to ignore. He was your bodyguard after all. The first was less so.

Your train of thought is broken up by the kettle whistling. Carefully you put it in a cup along with the tea. The cup gently warming your hands. It's comforting.

You turn to Cole once more and not again. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Is his quiet answer, accompanied by another short nod.

And with that you are off to bed.

Multiple days pass idly by without any further happenings, when your friends words get to you. He looks like he wants to eat you. No matter how much you try to lie to yourself, the thought itself, without being thought into much, is a rather exciting one. So, one evening while you relax in the bathtub, you work up the nerves to test that theory.

“Criston, could you come in here for a moment?” You call through the door in the loveliest voice you can muster.

“Yes, miss? Do you need anything?” His voice comes through a crack in the door immediately.

“Don't be shy. Come in. And how often have I told you not to call me miss?” The amused lilt in your voice is clearly noticeable.

“O-of course...” Even though you are entirely covered with foam his eyes stay focused on the ground before the tub. “What is it you may need?”

“It's not nice to not look at the person you are talking to, you know?” You put on a small pout. Though it comes as a surprise when he looks at you, the tan skin of his cheeks erupting in a dark cherry colour.

“My apologies, mi… My apologies.” He mumbles hastily, expectantly awaiting your answer to his earlier question.

“Criston, I’m bored.” You make a show if yawning and stretching your arms over your head. “Can you join me? Please?”

The plea is met with him choking on his own spit. Coughing violently, tears shooting into his eyes as he does so. “I think that would be most inappropriate. In fact, I´m not even sure if I should be in here right now.”

"Awww, come on? My father is not gonna find out and I could really use some company in here." Propping your chin up on one arm on the edge of the tub, you dunk your other hand just below the surface, pulling it out to flick the little droplets in the direction of his chest.

You see the resolve in his eyes, but it is slowly wearing thin. Not that it looked particularly strong to begin with. A bit of fluttering with your lashes and he is basically gone, looking like he is ready to pounce on you as the two of you hastily remove his clothes and settle in the tub together. Exchanging heated kisses as he lifts you into his lap, tongues exploring each other’s mouths as your hands commit every inch of the other´s body to memory. The loud moan as he enters you is muffled by one of his rough hands over your mouth, trying desperately to keep anyone from hearing what the two of you are doing. The water and foam slosh against the porcelain, yet the only thing able to swallow both of your moans is the bruising, breath stealing kiss that dogs up your mind like the hot water does the room. Your hands travel over his chest restlessly, eliciting a new deep groan every time your fingers brush against the sensitive peaks. At the same time Criston’s rough hands massage your lower cheeks, lightly spreading them as he guides you up and down on his hard length. All the while your wet chests rub against each other, a sheen of sweat covering your bodies from the heat in the bathroom and your exertion.

Your moans and groans echo through the room and bounce off the tiles, but the longer you go on, the less either of you can bring yourselves to care about being caught. As the knot in your stomach draws tighter, your hands go up into Criston's dark hair to pull his head back. Resting your forehead against his, your noses touching, yet neither of you moves in to close the kiss again. Rather just remaining like this as the movement of your hips grows more frenzied from enjoyment, breathing into each other with loose hanging jaws. The dizziness resulting from it seems to only add to your sensitivity. Criston's strong arms bring you down harder and faster on his lap, eliciting even louder sounds from your lungs and pulling tears of pleasure from your eyes. The salty droplets rolling over your cheeks before joining the water that encompasses the two of you. His body begins to shake uncontrollably and before you can ready yourself, the waves of an orgasm crash over him. Despite the tremors, Criston keeps thrusting into you until you join him in the throes of his ecstasy. Fucking you through the climax until your legs still. Only then he unceremoniously lifts you off him and sits you down in the tub and dries himself off, getting dressed to stand in front of the door to take up his duty once more. Your eyes follow his every move all the while, beginning to shiver as the now cold water seeps into the still warm skin. Neither of you dares to utter a word. Silently vowing secrecy as to what had just happened. A promise Criston keeps a little too well as he only speaks to you when entirely necessary from that moment on.

The party was boring you already. Your father had wandered off to network as soon as you had arrived about a half hour ago which had stretched to eternity. Sitting at the bar you nursed a glass of wine, staring holes into the fabric of space and time as you hoped it would be over soon. And while you were lucky enough to not be bothered by any of your fathers’ coworkers, the holes Criston Cole's dark eyes burned into you didn't go quite as unnoticed as he probably would have hoped. The warm sensation has become a sort of normality ever since your moment in the bath. Spreading out from the pit of your stomach, as the brown eyes roamed over your body in the fancy dress that you couldn't wait to get out of as soon as you came home. Downing the red contents of the glass, you stand up and wander off through the long corridors, knowing that the dark-haired man would follow.

Your mind is set on clearing up his avoidant behaviour. Once you are far away enough for the sounds of the party to have fainted to a quiet buzz in the back of your ears, you finally turn to the man that followed you like a shadow.

“Do you plan on never talking to me ever again?” You ask him with crossed arms and a huff falling from your lungs.

Frustration is etched onto both of your faces and filling the air around. “I´m sorry. I wasn´t aware my job required to also be your friend.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. If you regret fucking me so much, why didn't you just resign and safe everyone this stupid farce?” You argue back.

Promptly you feel the cold wall press against your front in an opposite sensation to his warm hand quieting you with a hand over your mouth once more, bringing back memories of your shared moment in the bathtub.

“Shhh or do you want anyone finding out?” He hisses into your ear, yet further down you can feel something hard press against your lower back. Pushing back against it elicits a low groan from the dark-haired man. A deep, throaty growl follows directly after as he finds the back of your neck and shoulders. Kissing and biting along your skin, his free hand tightly grabs your hair to pull it out of the way.

"Are you going to behave if I let go of your mouth, hm?" Criston's voice is barely above a husky whisper against the shell of your ear.

"Yes, I promise. I just need you so bad" you are just as desperate as he is.

In this state he could have asked almost anything of you and once his hand is removed from your mouth you would have agreed to it in an instant.

"Good girl... I'll make it good for you, but you have to be quiet. Can you do that?"

You can only answer in a hurried nod.

“Good.” Criston whispers.

The hand that was previously clamped over your mouth finds its way down your body and bunches up the fabric of your skirt until his fingertips brush against the lace of your panties.

“You knew this would happen, didn't you? Such a dirty girl.” he rasps, grinding his hips against you a bit harder. “Someone should punish you.”

“Please, punish me.” your voice shudders along with your breath.

When you turn your head to look at him your eyebrows are pulled down and drawn together in a pleading tone.

At the promise of a punishment your heart can't help but beat faster. Your lower lip immediately fits between your teeth, biting down hard to suppress the moan trying to escape as his palm makes harsh contact with your ass.

“Better be quiet. Otherwise, someone might find out what a dirty girl little miss perfect really is.” Criston taunts you.

The next slap is delivered even harsher, causing you to bite down on your lip until a very faint coppery taste introduces itself to your tongue. The hand rubs over the reddened flesh, soothing the stinging pain while Criston’s other hand snakes its way into your panties.

In response you press your behind closer to his front, feeling him groan in your ear as the movement of his hips speeds up. Instinctively you begin to rub against his fingers circling your clit. Whining from the stimulation. Stuttered breaths stumble from your lips as you desperately try to keep quiet. Only for your heart to be sent into overdrive as Criston lets go of your rear to turn your head and crash your lips together. Your hands claw at the wall, trying to find some purchase as your body gets rocked back and forth with every thrust against your backside. All the while thick digits enter your heat, curling upwards to play with your sweet spot immediately. The palm of Criston’s hand still rubs at your sensitive clit, making you see stars through half closed eyes, quiet moans get barely stifled by the hungry crashing and lapping of joined lips. Easily to be heard by anyone who would pass by you by chance, and they only grow more frantic. The air gets pushed out of your lungs entirely as you get trapped in tighter between the cold hard wall and the warm, tall body behind you, pushing you against it more. A wet tongue darts out to lick over the shell of your ear.

Criston begins to tremble with ecstasy first. A wet spot growing on the fabric separating your back from his front. Breathy groans fan hot over the side of your face and teeth nip at your earlobe. All of a sudden you freeze in bliss. Eyes rolled back and pressed tightly together, lips parted loosely in a silent scream all come together to a mask of unmistakable and unmatched pleasure. It feels as if your heart stops right along with your breath as waves of energy pulse through you, pumping the blood exceptionally fast through your veins to heighten your sensitivity as your whole body shakes and trembles in the little space between the wall and Criston's tall frame.

“I didn't regret what happened.” He whispers into the quiet, pulling your eyes from fixing your dress with a start.

“What?” The question is the only thing that comes to mind in the moment.

“I didn't regret it.” Criston repeats a little louder. “I just needed some time to process it.”

“Have you processed it now?” Even though you feel stupid for asking, the question is out before you can hold it back. “Because I would like to do it again if you are up to it.”

The dark-haired man nods. “I would like that too.”

“Good.” You smile at him, your eyes softening as they meet his. Together the two of you make your way back to the event, hoping your absence hasn't been too noticeable.

“I kinda missed talking to you.” You admit to Criston, the words barely above a whisper over your shoulder. A last quiet moment between the two of you, to make the rest of the night more bearable.

#ser criston #ser criston cole #criston cole #criston cole x reader #criston cole x you #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon x you #hotd x reader #hotd modern au #modern house of the dragon au #modern hotd au #house of the dragon fic #hotd fic #hotd smut

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callalillywrites · 2 days

Text

Shooting His Shot Part 1

The original version of this story is something I've been wanting to expand for a while now. I finally got my chance, and it's become one of my most indulgent stories yet (I think). What was 1200 words is now over 8000 and split into two parts. Part 2 will be available in a few hours.

I had so much fun with this AU that I could easily persuaded to expand the universe a bit more. Ideas are already forming for a few of the other characters, but I'll hold off until I know others want to see them as well. It's not like I don't have plenty of other stories to work on anyway. 😊

The gif below is somewhat the look I was going for with Steve in this fic though he's given a suit jacket to wear. But yeah, this is it. One of my favorite looks of his btw.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Other notable characters: Bucky Barnes, Jake Jensen, Sam Wilson, Ari Levinson, Natasha Romanoff, Peter Parker, and honorably mentioned Curtis Everett

Word Count: 4350

Summary: Steve owns a steakhouse that you used to frequent before your ex came into the picture. Now, your ex is gone, and you're ready to head back to the one place you've always felt welcome and wanted. What neither you nor Steve count on is his staff, led by Bucky, launching a full-one assault effort to get you two together. It's time the two of you realize your feelings for one another.

Warnings: abusive ex (Reader's), pining, so much pining, fluff, two ridiculous idiots in love, a whole bunch of matchmakers

A/N: This is a completely self-indulgent story made like one of those cheesy rom-com which is my bread and butter at this point. It's proofread, but any mistakes are my own.

I also do not give permission for my work to be copied or posted on other sites or fed into an AI machine.

PART 2

*****

A few hours before dinnertime rush begins…

It might be his day off, but Steve’s made it such a habit that he can’t stop himself. After all, he keeps hoping that you’ll walk back in the door of his steakhouse one day. Even if it’s been six months since he’s last seen your smiling and pretty face.

To help the hours pass, Steve turns to their books and reviews them. He might as well work on payroll for the week and get the checks ready for the following week. While he’s at it, he might look at their orders and see how they’re sitting as well. Maybe he should venture into the kitchen soon and speak with Bucky about their upcoming inspection. Not that they weren’t ready, but one can never be caught unawares. Besides that, they pride themselves on having one of the cleanest kitchens in the county.

As if conjuring up his best friend, Bucky stands in the doorway with one of their famous lunch specials.

“You’ve been at it long enough, punk. Take a break and eat something.”

Without waiting for an answer, Bucky steps into the room and sets the plate down on Steve’s desk, careless of the few neat piles Steve’s created that morning.

Steve stares at the plate for a few seconds before his stomach makes it known how empty it is. He probably shouldn’t have skipped breakfast after the workout he pushed himself through that morning.

While Steve takes a bite of food, Bucky sinks into one of the other chairs and sprawls himself out. He pulls out his phone and grins at whatever he finds waiting on his screen.

“What’s so funny, jerk?”

Bucky shakes his head, content to sit there and wait for Steve to finish the plate.

Knowing he won’t leave without Steve eating everything, Steve takes another bite. Each new fork or spoonful, he shoots Bucky a look, only getting a smug smirk in return. When Steve finally finishes the plate, he sets it aside and goes back to his computer screen. He’s almost certain Bucky won’t be sticking around too long, having enjoyed the small break he’d gotten in feeding Steve.

When one of their cooks happens to walk by, Bucky notices, too, and shouts out, “Hey, we get that order from the bakery down the street yet? I wanna make sure they sent along some of their best treats.”

Steve’s attention returns to Bucky.

Before he knows it, Bucky smacks his knees and pushes to his feet. With an efficient movement born of years in the kitchen, he grabs up Steve’s empty plate and turns toward the door.

“Hey, punk, you might wanna freshen up. We’re getting a special guest tonight. Maybe this time, you’ll man up and shoot your shot.”

Steve’s brows furrow at Bucky’s words.

At least they do until Jensen walks by with an excitement Steve hasn’t seen in a few months.

“Did you hear, Boss Man?” Jensen asks as he tells Steve about the reservation that’s just come in.

A reservation for one in your name.

*****

You check your new outfit a final time in the mirror, satisfied with your efforts. The makeup you’ve chosen for the evening is minimal since you’re only interested in pleasing yourself.

Almost a year wasted with a man who never appreciated you. A man who wanted to shape and mold you into some ideal that you could never be, never wanted to be.

Six months without visiting one of your favorite places in the entire world. All because that same man had been so jealous of the attention you got from everyone there but especially from one Steve Rogers.

Oh, you can only hope that you might see Steve again that evening, having missed his sweet smile most of all these last several months. He’d been one of the first there to make you feel welcome. One by one, so did the others, but you always came back because of Steve.

Part of you wishes still that he would’ve made a move on you during one of your many visits to the steakhouse over the past few years. Maybe then he would’ve saved you all those months with someone less deserving of you and what you had to offer.

He never did though.

So, you accepted the two of you would just be friendly toward one another, just like you were with all the others there.

You can live with that.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself as you grab up your jacket and purse.

A final glance in the mirror to ensure your outfit is still perfect for the night you have planned. It’s during this time that your phone pings with the arrival of your Uber.

The ride to the steakhouse takes you through the familiar streets you’ve missed. It amazes you how much they have stayed the same though there are some changes that surprise you. Your favorite used bookshop’s doors have shuttered, but the café you used to visit almost every morning still thrived. A couple of new tiny shops have opened while others remain with a couple that have closed. The eclectic collection of shops was what drew you to this area in the first place when you’d been looking at universities.

Anger fills you for a moment at how manipulative your ex had been with your routine and your life. How could you let him work you like he did? How could he take the very things that made you happiest because he couldn’t handle his own feelings of jealousy and inadequacy?

So many of the hours you used to spend on these few streets, window shopping and getting to know the owners of the shops. They’d been lost to you when you let your ex into your life. Friends lost because of him. You could only wonder what they’ve been up to these past months while you’ve slowly descended into a level of hellish isolation you never wished to be in again.

As the steakhouse appeared in front of you, you perk up. Your hands automatically fidget as they run over your outfit to ensure the few wrinkles from sitting in your Uber didn’t remain when you step out in a few minutes.

A part of you hopes that Steve and all the others haven’t forgotten you.

Yet, why would they remember you?

Friendly or not, you’re still just a customer to them. A good tipper, sure, and always courteous to every employee from the bussers to the owners. You’ve never had a reason to complain about the food or the service from them, and you always tried to make sure they had no reason to complain about you.

Over the years, you’ve even gotten to know a bit about each of them. Jake’s inability to flirt despite giving him lessons whenever he served you. Nat’s intense loyalty to those she works with and her regulars, including you. Sam’s sweet but serious nature. Bucky’s strive for perfection with each dish that leaves the kitchen. Ari’s innate ability to know just what drink you need the moment you step inside (always a mocktail for you). Peter’s awkward friendliness that’s just downright infectious.

Then, there’s Steve.

Oh, you’ve learned a lot about him over the last couple of years.

He’s never been one to back down from the rowdier customers, standing firmly on the side of his staff. It’s something you’ve seen firsthand a time or two, and you’re always impressed with the way he manages to keep his anger in check. At least, inside the restaurant. You’re not unaware of the bloody knuckles he’s come back in with after escorting these obnoxious customers from his place. No doubt they deserved it, but you did worry about the consequences for him and the possibility of pressed charges.

Steve’s also been the first to lend a helping hand to those less fortunate in the neighborhood. If it’s not a free meal to help refill their empty stomachs, it’s offering them small tasks for which he handsomely pays them, even those that take less than ten minutes. He always makes sure they get enough to help through the day or even a few days. You’ve seen the kindness that comes from him and his staff, and it’s one of the many reasons your crush on him hasn’t dwindled over the years. No, it’s blossomed in ways you kinda wished it wouldn’t. There’s little hope of him ever seeing you as anything more than a valuable customer.

You’re brought out of your reverie when your Uber driver clears their throat.

Embarrassed, you quickly apologize and wrap up your business with them, stepping from the car and waving them off.

The large wooden doors leading into the steakhouse speak of an understated elegance and welcome that calls out to you. Beckons you to enter the establishment and know you’re among friends, among family.

It’s a feeling you’ve missed greatly these last several months.

Taking a breath, you pull one of the doors and step into the small entryway. The glazed inner doors don’t hide the rich interior within though they do lend some privacy to those already inside. The place is packed as usual with some guests standing or sitting on either side of the entryway, waiting for their tables.

You smile as you catch sight of a familiar face standing next to an unfamiliar one at the host stand.

Without hesitation, you open the glazed door while your smile widens into a full grin. “Well, well, well, aren’t you looking spiffier than ever, Sam?”

Sam’s head shoots up and his smile matches your own. He steps around the stand and closes the distance between the two of you. A low whistle comes out as he moves his finger in a circular motion, getting you to give him a small spin. Another whistle escapes him.

“You are a sight for sore eyes. It hasn’t been the same since we last saw you here.”

The soft reprimand isn’t missed, but you don’t hesitate when he embraces you, his forgiveness as quickly given. In your ear, he adds softly, “He hasn’t been the same.”

Your brows furrow at this new piece of information.

Yet, you’re not given a chance to think on his words before Sam’s sweeping you away from the foyer and deeper into the steakhouse.

“Come, your table isn’t ready just yet, but I know some other people who want to see your lovely face again.”

Within a few more steps, he’s pulling out a barstool at the full bar off to the side of the steakhouse. Another friendly face turns to greet you with a big grin on his fully bearded, handsome face.

“Ari,” you say with another genuine smile for the man behind the bar.

Sweeping his longer than before locks from his face, Ari flashes you a grin of his own. “Gorgeous, long time, no see. How’ve you been?”

“Doing much better since I dropped the one-eighty anchor weighing me down.”

Ari’s grin grows. “Good riddance. For your good fortune, I have just the thing for you. One of my newest concoctions that I think you’ll enjoy. On me.”

“Oh, no, I can’t let you do that.”

You’re not allowed to go any further as Ari’s large hand settles over yours. His gaze softens into one of sheer fondness and full sincerity. “Yeah, you can. We’ve all missed you. It hasn’t been the same since you stopped coming in.”

“I’m just a customer,” you say, not fully understanding.

Ari shakes his head. A sympathetic smile takes over his original welcoming grin. “You’ve really no idea what you’ve been to all of us, have you?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer, setting about mixing various ingredients in the special station he created some time ago. You lose track of all that he’s mixing and matching until he finally pours the concoction in a glass and tops it with a tiny umbrella in your favorite color.

The explosion of flavors that come has you wiggling a happy little dance on the stool. While you can’t help thinking the mix shouldn’t work, it does in ways that are pleasant and hits you with a burst of such happiness. It’s such that you can’t help taking another long sip.

“Oh, you’re a true genius, Ari.” Your words are punctuated with a sip. “Mm, I love it. I’ll have to make this a standing order every time I come in from now on.”

Beaming, Ari taps the bar. “I’m holding you to that, gorgeous.”

Another customer ends up taking Ari away, but it’s just as well. You’re more than content to continue sipping your new favorite mocktail, one of many Ari’s presented to you. The man’s a notorious flirt, watching him rake in several tips over the next few minutes, but he’s also a connoisseur when it comes to alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages.

He comes back at the same time Sam reappears.

“Your table is ready, pretty lady.”

Saying a quick farewell to Ari, you take Sam’s offered elbow and allow him to lead you to what you believe is your usual table.

It’s more than a little surprising when he sweeps past the main dining area and through a hallway towards what you assume are the back offices and other personnel only rooms. He doesn’t stop until he pushes open a door and reveals a table set for two in a private room.

“What’s all this? Sam, what’s going on?”

Sam merely grins as he leads you to the table and holds out your chair for you. It’s only after he’s given you a menu you don’t need that he says, “I’m trying to make sure Bucky wins the bet this time.”

“Bet? What bet? You have a bet that concerns me?”

Rather than answer, Sam shoots you a wink and disappears through the door, closing it softly behind him.

A moment later, soft music drifts through hidden speakers. The melody is low but romantic though that does little to answer any of the questions this evening’s brought so far.

*****

Steve’s just finishing up the last of the paperwork when Bucky barrels into his office.

“She’s here, punk.” Bucky slams his door shut and gives Steve a thorough though quick once-over. “Is that what you call freshening up? I’m never going to win my money back from Sam if you keep this up.”

“Aren’t you slammed right now? What are you doing here?”

Bucky waves his hand in dismissal. “Everett’s got it for the next few minutes. I’m here to make sure you don’t mess this up a second time.”

Steve’s trying to follow his best friend. Really, he is.

Bucky just isn’t making much sense at this point.

“Mess what up? Buck—”

Another wave of Bucky’s hand has Steve going silent. Strong hands move his chair out of the way before he’s being tossed a garment bag.

“I had Nat pick this up before she clocked in. It should still fit, so hurry up and put it on. You can’t keep a beautiful woman waiting too long.”

Still not following but at least complying for the moment, Steve unzips the bag and finds a nice button-down shirt with what appear to be new pants. A suit jacket completes the look though he’s unsure why he needs such clothing.

“Nat’s got a good eye,” Bucky muses aloud as Steve pulls the ensemble from the bag. “That color will certainly impress her. Now, come on. We don’t have all night here.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve hurries to change his clothes.

If Bucky’s going to be like this, it’s easier to just go along and figure it out along the way. At least that’s been Steve’s experience every time Bucky’s been excited about something. It goes for everything from the latest technology to the ladies, and it’s been like this since the two became friends so many years ago.

The only time it really changed was the six months or so after they both discharged from the army. While they’d both seen combat, something happened to Bucky that he still refuses to discuss most days. Those were the hardest months of their friendship, but Steve refused to walk away, even when Bucky practically shoved him out the door a few times over.

Their eventual takeover of Bucky’s grandparents’ restaurant helped give them both a new direction and strengthened their friendship into something stronger than before they’d enlisted together.

His thoughts clear as he finishes putting on the shoes Bucky hands him, also in Steve’s size.

“Better?” Steve arches a brow at Bucky in question.

Another thorough once-over has Bucky reaching out and unbuttoning the top button of Steve’s shirt. A quick tug of the collar soon brings a grin to Bucky’s satisfied features. With a nod, he says, “Better. Let’s go win your girl, punk.”

*****

You aren’t left alone for long as Jake and Peter come into the room. While Jake’s carrying several items rather precariously, Peter follows him with flatware in their signature napkin wraps.

The fancy cloth’s colors have changed, you note, from a deep blue to a burgundy red. It’s a sign the steakhouse is gearing up for their fall season. Each season has its specific color as you learned from Nat some time ago. Something started by Bucky’s mom back when she and Bucky’s dad ran the restaurant.

“Hey, Pete, how’s school going?” you ask as the younger man moves out of Jake’s way.

Your gaze briefly leaves Peter’s face to take in the small crystal vase with a mini bouquet of seasonal flowers. Their signature glasses follow it on the table as well as everything else one might need at a steakhouse. The table soon overflows with all the items those in the main dining room have though the table itself is a bit too small to accommodate so much.

Peter pulls your attention back to him, saying, “I graduated a couple months ago. Classes at university aren’t bad though they’re not leaving me as much time to work as I’d like. Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers promoted me to server as my graduation gift. They say I earned it.”

“Oh, I have no doubt you did.” You grin at him, quite proud of him. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

“It’s okay.” Something in Peter’s voice tells you it’s not really, but he’s also not going to hold it against you.

Hoping to make amends for your absence in some way, you turn to Jake. “Well, maybe I can make it up to you if Jake here doesn’t mind sharing me with you tonight. I’d love to do something for such a momentous occasion, Peter. I know how hard you’ve worked through school and in school.”

Jake nods quite enthusiastically. “Not a problem with me. Nat might complain though.”

“No complaints from me,” Nat calls from the doorway, walking past with some plates from the kitchen. “He should be joining soon. Jensen. Parker, make sure he doesn’t screw this up again.”

“We’re not miracle workers,” Jake quips.

With that, Nat’s gone though you can make out her laughter down the hall.

Turning back to Jake and Peter, you ask, “Who is he? What is he not supposed to screw up?”

The two exchange a glance before Jake clears his throat and mumbles, “Boss Man.”

It might’ve been some time since you’d been at the restaurant, but you know Jake only calls one man that name in this place.

Steve.

You’re not sure what Steve has to do with you or why he’d be joining you. After all, you only made a reservation for yourself. The thought of someone else joining you hadn’t entered your mind.

Yet, you can’t say you don’t like the idea. You, in fact, really like it. It’s been something you’ve wanted for as long as you can remember and every time you’ve come here single. If only he had made a move, then maybe you might believe that he’s interested in you now. Nothing in the few years you’ve known him has hinted that he likes or liked you the way you like him.

Before you can get too far down that rabbit hole, another voice breaks the quiet of the room.

“There’s the most beautiful doll in the world.”

You smile as Bucky enters and pulls you from your seat for a hug.

“We’ve missed you around here. My kitchen staff has suffered dearly with your absence. Lost all their inspiration without your unique combinations.”

Shaking your head, you accept his kiss on your cheek and give him one in return.

“I’m sure you keep them on their toes plenty. It is nice to be back though. I’ve missed you all, too.”

Before he lets you go, he whispers, “If the punk is too dumb to shoot his shot, I just might if it means keeping you around. You light up this place in ways it hasn’t since my ma retired.”

Tears prick at your eyes, but you blink them back.

Leave it to Bucky and the others to make you feel so special even after such a long time being gone. It’s your sincerest hope to never stop coming here, not letting anyone keep you away from somewhere you’ve always felt welcome and wanted.

“You’re very cute,” you whisper back, “but you’re not really my type.”

He chuckles, not offended in the least. It’s not the first time you two have had this conversation. It probably won’t be the last, either, which suits you just fine.

At last, he releases you from his loose hold.

“I should get back to the kitchen. Don’t need Everett or the others to burn it down.”

You shake your head fondly. “Give Curtis more credit than that. He’s a wonderful sous chef, and you’re lucky to have him. I’m glad you took my thoughts to heart where he’s concerned.”

“How could I not? You’ve never led us astray before,” Bucky says, shooting you a wink and a farewell nod. His heavy footsteps can be heard on their way back to the kitchen where he’s always felt his most calm.

When your gaze follows Bucky’s path, it soon collides with the one person you’ve been hoping to see all day.

Your smile grows once more. It’s almost certain your cheeks will be sore in the morning from all the smiling you’ve done this evening. In a breath, you say his name.

“Hey, bijou,” he says, his voice low but warm.

You do your best not to fidget, to seek out any invisible wrinkles in your outfit.

It’s taking everything in you to keep your gaze locked with his even as you take in the navy-blue suit he’s wearing. No tie and the top button unbuttoned does something for him in ways you’re wholly unprepared for. This man is too handsome by half, and he doesn’t even know it. How fair is that to any poor woman who happens upon him?

At last, you find your voice. “You look handsome. Big date?”

He doesn’t get the chance to answer as Nat walks by again. She’s wearing a big smirk when she says, “If he’s not a complete idiot, it is.”

Your confusion isn’t lessening while Steve sends a look at Nat though he relaxes a bit, his voice almost amused. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

“Not only are my tables handled, boss, but I have time to make sure you win your lady.”

You don’t miss the way Nat’s gaze trails to you, her smirk intact, before she returns her attention to Steve.

“Don’t mess it up,” she says, moving away, “boss.”

The offended incredulity on Steve’s face has you fighting laughter. You’ve never seen him quite so put upon and by his staff, no less. It’s not like Bucky doesn’t tease him from time to time as you’ve witnessed. This is the first time though that the rest of the staff has joined in. You honestly can’t help wanting to laugh at the spectacle, even if you don’t quite get what they’re trying to do and what it has to do with you.

Steve seems to shake himself when his gaze finds yours. His throat clears before he finally says, “You are stunning, bijou. Special occasion?”

“Yeah. Celebrating me.” You can’t help the heat that rushes into your cheeks as you say the words. They’re so much easier to consider when you think them, but saying them aloud is something else entirely. You quickly add, “I also really missed this place.”

I missed you.

You manage to keep that thought from spilling out, leaving you open for rejection.

Eager to keep that thought from coming out, you glance around the sparsely decorated room. It’s clear this wasn’t a private dining area before, but no clue exists on what it was before the others must’ve hastily redecorated this space. For what purpose, you can’t say with any certainty.

Yet, there is a hope.

The room might not have much, but it does have enough to appear something cozy, something charming. Maybe a bit more mood lighting, then the others would succeed in whatever they were creating.

When your gaze finally returns to Steve, you swallow.

He remains in the doorway, but the look he has while watching you is something you’re not wholly prepared for. One corner of his mouth is curled upwards while his eyes are soft but focused solely on you. It’s almost like he hasn’t stopped looking at you as you take in the room. That’s a heady sensation indeed for you as you haven’t experienced that ever.

Not any of your exes. Especially not Brock. Not in the way Steve’s doing anyway.

There’s wonder and perhaps longing staring back at you.

It’s that look that compels you to ask, “Would like to join me? I mean, if you don’t have anywhere else to be.”

“I’d really like that if you’re sure you don’t mind,” he says, pushing off the doorway.

You shake your head. “I don’t mind.”

*****

Main Masterlist

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #x female reader #steve rogers fanfiction #shooting his shot #restaurant au #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #jake jensen #peter parker #sam wilson #ari levinson #fluff #matchmaking

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