#AND i have this scene in my mind where it's the evening

[yueebby]

the end times — gojo satoru

synopsis. gojo satoru thinks he’s going to die because you’re giving him the silent treatment. (aka your first big fight with gojo).

contents. hurt/comfort, ooc, lovesick!gojo, you give him the silent treatment and he goes crazy, he is so pathetic in this one, tw obsessive behavior (he makes it EVERYONE’S problem), gojo’s pov

notes. loosely inspired by that one scene from yakuza fiance. not proofread whats new

Gojo knows he’s screwed up the second he steps into the common area of Jujutsu Tech’s dormitory. The air feels thick, wrong. And then there’s you, curled up on the couch, a book open in your lap, but your eyes aren’t moving.

His grin falters for half a second before he masks it with his usual bravado. “I always knew you had a little freak in you, but reading your erotic books out in the open? Who knew my girl was such a perv.”

The joke usually earns him a laugh, a shove, maybe even a teasing retort. But tonight, the silence that follows is deafening.

The pit in his stomach grows.

“Sweetheart?” He tries again, waving a hand obnoxiously close to your face.

You finally react, swatting his hand away, but there’s no playfulness in the motion. Your eyes don't even meet his.

“You’re late,” you say flatly, still staring at your book. “Again.”

Gojo scoffs, irritation bubbling. Not at you, never at you, but at the damn book that’s getting more attention than him.

“Ah, you know how it is. Got held up in Kyoto,” he says with a shrug.

The words leave his mouth too easily. He doesn’t realize his mistake until you finally, finally look at him.

And it’s nothing like usual.

There’s no warmth in your gaze, no sparkle of amusement or exasperation. Instead, you pin him with a look so sharp it strips him bare, leaving nothing but the hollow weight in his chest.

“You missed our date.”

His breath catches. His throat goes dry. “I–”

“I’m not mad about that.”

Relief floods him too fast, too soon. His shoulders sag as he leans down, tilting his head for a well-earned kiss. “You’re the best. I swear, I’ll make it up to you.”

You pull away before he can touch you.

Gojo freezes.

“[Name]?”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “You know, it’s funny.”

There’s nothing funny about this moment.

His pulse thrums as you continue, voice eerily steady. “That your mission was in Kyoto. I mean, we have a whole sister school there, full of sorcerers ready to handle a first-grade threat. So why would they need you, specifically?”

His stomach drops.

He’s never been good at guilt, not when he’s spent his whole life believing he’s untouchable. But now, standing before you, unable to meet your eyes, it sits heavy in his gut.

And you don’t let up.

“Of course, I asked around. Thought maybe I was overthinking it.” A humorless scoff escapes you. “Imagine my surprise when I found out my boyfriend was too busy meeting with his future bride.”

Gojo’s mouth opens, but for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to say.

“That’s–” he starts, then stops because, shit, you’re staring at him like he’s a stranger. Like he’s someone you can’t trust. The realization makes his stomach churn.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” you say bitterly, arms crossing as you lean back into the couch. “I mean, I’d love to hear how you were going to explain this one, Gojo Satoru.”

Full name. That’s how he knows he’s really fucked up.

“It’s not–It’s not what you think,” he says quickly, voice unusually hoarse. His usual bravado, his charm, none of it is coming to him. He doesn’t even know where to start. “I wasn’t–I wasn’t hiding it. I just–”

“You just forgot to tell me that your clan is arranging a marriage for you?” you cut in sharply. “That slipped your mind?”

“No! Yes—Fuck, that’s not what I mean,” he groans, pushing a hand through his hair. He’s never felt like this before. Like he’s scrambling for footing on uneven ground. “I didn’t tell you because it didn’t matter, sweetheart. I wasn’t ever going to go through with it. You know that, right?”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Do I? I mean, Suguru seemed shocked when I didn’t know that these were recurring dates set by your clan.”

Gojo falters.

“You didn’t even think to tell me, Satoru,” you say, voice quieter now, but somehow even more devastating. “You didn’t think I deserved to know?”

His heart clenches. That’s not–God, that’s not what this is.

“Of course you deserve to know! But I—” he exhales sharply, trying to gather his words. “I just—Fuck, I thought it was stupid. I thought it wasn’t worth mentioning.”

You shake your head, looking almost tired now. “Right. Because I’m just supposed to assume you’d never go through with it. After your multiple dates with her. Because I’m supposed to read your mind, just like always.”

The weight of your words crashes into him, and Gojo suddenly realizes that this isn’t just about Kyoto. This isn’t just about one lie, one mistake. This is about every time he’s brushed things off, every time he’s let silence speak for him, every time he’s sat through those excruciating meetings, knowing he would never go through with it, but never once thinking about how it would feel for you to find out this way. This is about every time he’s expected you to just get him without him ever having to say a word.

This is about how, even after everything, you still don’t know how much he loves you.

And now, looking at you, Gojo is terrified that he’s already lost his chance to prove it.

“I’m going to sleep,” you stand up from your place on the couch. 

Gojo tries to follow you, “Listen, baby–”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now. I need some space.” you turn around to send him a teary glare and that stops him in his tracks. He had never seen you cry. And it tore him apart knowing that he was the cause. 

The sound of your door slamming echoes in Gojo’s mind. 

Gojo Satoru is the first one in class the next day.

He drums his fingers against the desk, restless in a way he can't explain, but he knows it has everything to do with the fact that he spent the entire night not sleeping. His mind was too busy replaying the way you had looked at him, no, the way you hadn’t looked at him.

He had left you alone and upset. He had made you feel like you were second to someone else. And worst of all, he hadn’t even realized it until it was too late.

“This must be a first.”

Gojo glances up as Suguru enters, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Gojo Satoru, on time? It must be the end times.”

He knows it’s a joke, but it might as well be the end times. Gojo doesn’t respond, just presses his lips into a thin line as he goes back to mentally reciting the apology speech he’s been revising in his head all night.

Then the shoji door slides open again.

You walk in with Shoko, your head tilted slightly as you whisper something to her, something he’ll never get to hear because you don’t so much as glance in his direction. Instead, you take a seat at the farthest desk, as if he isn’t even there.

A part of him withers away.

But Gojo Satoru isn’t one to give up.

If words won’t get your attention, he’ll just have to be Gojo Satoru about it. He leans back in his chair and stretches obnoxiously, before loudly exclaiming, “Yaga-sensei! Are those grey hairs from your recent divorce?”

He grins, waiting for the familiar sound of your laugh, for that little shake of your head, for you to scold him like always.

But you don’t even look at him.

Instead, he’s met with Geto and Shoko’s twin expressions of abject horror, and before he has a chance to register what’s happening–

BAM!

Yaga’s palm collides with his head, sending him face-first into his desk.

Even through the throbbing pain, he can only think about one thing.

You didn’t even react.

“And how exactly is she ignoring you?”

Shoko’s grumpy voice echoes through the morgue, where she’s been attempting to practice her technique. She’s clearly unimpressed that Gojo Satoru has decided to spam-call her instead of dealing with his own problems.

“She’s ignoring me, Shoko,” Gojo groans dramatically from the other side of the Jujutsu Tech campus, rubbing the fresh bump on his head as he stands in front of your door. “I’ve been knocking for an hour. She’s in there. I know she’s in there, but she won’t answer.”

“Maybe she finally got tired of your bullshit,” Shoko says dryly. “Honestly, I don’t know why it took her this long to hold you accountable. She’s let your bad behavior slide for way too long.”

“Why are we talking about me like I’m some kind of dog?!”

Shoko ignores him.

“From the sound of it, you really messed up. I mean, who keeps a marriage a secret from their girlfriend?” She pauses, then adds with a smirk in her voice, “Oh, right. You.”

Gojo groans, pressing his forehead against your door. “You and I both know that’s not what happened. But she doesn’t. And she won’t even give me the time of day to explain.”

Shoko sighs. “Give her time to cool down.”

“And what, let her decide she wants to run off and marry some other guy? Move to a cute little beach town in Enoshima, start a family, have three kids, and leave all Jujutsu sorcery behind?”

There’s a long pause before Shoko makes a disgusted sound. “O-oi. Keep your weirdly detailed fantasies to yourself.”

“I’m just being realistic,” he insists, clutching his flip phone dramatically.

Shoko promptly hangs up on him.

Gojo stares at the device for a moment before slowly lowering it, exhaling hard.

Then he rests his head against your door again, defeated.

But Gojo Satoru was never one to admit defeat, so he tries again. He returns to your door the very next morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

“[Name]!” he chirps. “I bought us some parfait! Let’s talk things over, yeah?”

Silence.

Not even the sound of movement.

But Gojo Satoru is not easily discouraged.

So Gojo Satoru comes again the next morning.

“[Name]!” he knocks again, this time balancing a slice of strawberry cake in one hand. “This is all my fault, so come out and let me apologize properly!”

Nothing.

Gojo sighs, leaning against the doorframe, about to knock again when—

Your phone rings.

His breath catches as he presses his ear to the wood.

“Hi, Suguru?”

His heart stops.

“Yeah, we’re still on for the movie. I’m just about to leave right now.”

For the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru understands what people mean when they say they feel like they’ve been punched in the gut.

Because you’re going to Suguru.

You’re not just ignoring him, you’re choosing someone else.

His fingers twitch at his sides as a feeling he doesn’t like at all creeps into his chest. It’s something ugly, something unfamiliar. Something that feels a lot like jealousy. Was that how you felt?

He wants to knock again, wants to demand that you open the door, look at him, let him fix this before you walk away from him any further.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he presses his lips into a thin line, shoves his hands into his pockets, and forces himself to step away from your door.

Forces himself to give you the space you deserved.

You don’t know why you relent so easily.

You shouldn’t. Not after the way he lied, the way he kept something so important from you.

And yet, when you hear him pacing outside your door, his nervous energy practically seeping through the walls, you feel something crack.

He’s been outside your room for the nth time this week. Every day, like clockwork, he’s knocked. Brought your favorite snacks. Talked to you through the door, filling the silence with his ridiculous banter, even when you refused to answer.

You squeeze your eyes shut, gripping your blanket a little tighter. You should stay angry. But you can't.

You sigh, pressing your forehead to your knee.

Maybe it’s time to stop punishing the both of you.

With a deep breath, you stand, crossing the room to the door. When you open it, Gojo nearly stumbles forward, mid-step in his pacing.

His eyes snap to yours, wide and filled with so much desperate hope it makes your chest ache.

And the way his face lights up like you’ve just handed him the entire world tells you that, maybe, you were never going to be able to stay mad at him forever.

But you’re here, leaning on your door frame with your arms crossed, your nails digging into your skin as you glare at the man who has spent the last ten minutes tripping over his words, looking wrecked in a way you’ve never seen before. His hair is messier than usual, lips are parted like he wants to say something, anything, but he doesn’t know where to start.

Finally, you scoff, breaking the silence. “If you don’t have anything to say, I’m going back into my room.”

“No!,” Gojo steps forward instinctively, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. And after everything, he is. “I screwed up.”

You give him a deadpan look. “Oh, really?”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, yeah, I really fucked up.”

Silence.

You should say something. You should demand an explanation, yell, maybe even cry, but you’re so tired. You’ve spent days twisting yourself into knots over this, convincing yourself you never meant as much to him as he did to you.

And then Gojo says it.

“I should’ve told you.” His voice is hoarse. “I should have told you after the first meeting. After the first second they brought it up.” He swallows hard. “But I was stupid. I thought if I ignored it, if I went through the motions, if I waited for the right moment… then it wouldn’t matter. That it would be over before you ever had to know.”

You shake your head, letting out a hollow laugh. “Satoru, do you even hear yourself? Do you get what it was like for me to find out from someone else? To hear that the person I–” you cut yourself off, but the damage is done. You see it in the way his breath hitches, in the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you.

“The person you what?” he asks softly, pleading.

You clench your jaw. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.”

Your shake your head. “You lied to me.”

“I know,” he says, and the sheer brokenness in his voice makes your throat tighten. “I know, sweetheart. And I swear to you that I never meant to. I never wanted to hurt you.” he exhales shakily, rubbing the back of his neck. “I swear on everything, I was never going to go through with it. I never even showed up to any of the dates, so they kept ambushing me under the guise of missions! I sat through every single one of those goddamn meetings thinking about how ridiculous it was, how there was only ever one person I wanted.”

He stops himself, inhaling sharply.

And then, quieter, almost afraid:

“How there’s only ever you.”

The words hit you like a fist to the chest.

Gojo watches you carefully, breathless, waiting. Hoping. He’s given you the truth, raw and unfiltered, and now it’s up to you.

And maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the way he looks at you like you’re the most important thing in his world that makes you believe him.

For the first time in a week, your lips find his, and Gojo swears he can finally breathe again. The warmth of your palm against his cheek, the way your fingers curl slightly as if grounding yourself in him. It’s enough to make him melt.

"You’re so insufferably cheesy, Satoru," you murmur against his lips, your breath warm, teasing. "It makes me so angry that I love it." A pause, a soft exhale. "But I forgive you."

His grin is instant, smug and shameless. "That was good, huh?" He tilts his head, cerulean eyes twinkling. "I’m willing to bet your heart skipped a beat."

You roll your eyes, but you kiss him again, slower this time, because, damn it, he’s right.

extra!

“I demand some extra loving!” Satoru sprawls dramatically across your bed, limbs hanging off the edge like a defeated king.

You barely spare him a glance, flipping a page in your book as you lie comfortably on your stomach. “And why, exactly, do you deserve that?”

He lifts his head, pouting. “I deserve it after a week’s worth of psychological trauma. Don’t think I forgot that you ditched me for Suguru.”

“Oh… that.”

“Yeah. That.” His voice is thick with exaggerated betrayal.

You finally look at him, a smirk tugging at your lips. “It was a fake phone call, Satoru. You were just so insufferable camping outside my door that I had to make up an excuse.”

His jaw drops. “Huh?!”

[covenofagatha]

Hii, can you please do the second part for Professor Agatha x athlete student, where Agatha uses her connections in order to help y/n to deal with the abusive coach? Maybe he pushes y/n to swim again on the next day, but Agatha appears and stops him. After it, she uses her connections in the sport administrative department, so they would offer y/n a medical disqualification from the team, because after seeing a doctor it turned out that she needs to get a surgery too? The university will pay for the surgery and y/n will keep the scholarship to finish her degree but she is not on the team anymore. At the same time her relationship with Agatha grows. Can you please include a smutt scene with dom Agatha face sitting?

(The first part was super! Thank you!💜

(I know it's a big request, but huge thank you in advance if you write it!)

Heyyy sorry this one took so long 😅 thanks to everyone who asked about it and got me inspired to write the second part

Swimming into her arms (part 2)

Part 1

Word count: 6.3k

Warnings: face-sitting, oral, praise kink, masturbation, fluff

You need surgery. 

The doctor is saying other things but it’s all kind of a blur now. The words surgery and torn meniscus and six to nine months for total recovery swirl around your head and make you feel dizzy. 

“You okay?” Agatha asks, gently patting your leg. She somehow had connections to a great orthopedic and they were able to get you in the same day. 

The two of you still hadn’t exactly talked about what happened earlier on the couch. It was haunting every conversation, every simple touch. 

At least for you. 

The ever-feared, stone cold Agatha Harkness had kissed you. Eaten you out. Made you come all over her mouth. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say to stop yourself from thinking too much about the memory, lest you get turned on again. You clear your throat. “When will I be able to swim?” 

The doctor purses his lips and your stomach drops. “With a tear this bad, it will be months before you can even start light physical activity. To get back to your level of practice, six months at the earliest? And that’s if it heals correctly.” 

You blink tears out from your eyes. There goes your scholarship. College as a whole. Maybe even Agatha, too. 

And now you have to pay for surgery on top of it? 

“Um, if I hadn’t swam yesterday,” you ask, voice wavering, “would it still have been this bad?” You pray more than anything that he says yes. 

He frowns and Agatha stiffens next to you. “Based on what you said happened in the weight room about just landing on it weirdly, that wouldn’t have done enough damage alone to make it almost a complete tear. My guess is that the swimming and the walking after made it a lot worse. Mostly the swimming.” 

You feel like you’re going to throw up. Because of your coach, your entire life is ruined.

He gives you a brace, pain pills, and crutches so you don’t have to put any weight on your leg and schedules your surgery for a week from tomorrow. 

You hobble to Agatha’s car with your professor in silence. You can tell she’s deep in thought, while you are just angry and hurt. She opens the door for you and helps you lay your crutches in between the seat and the console so you can get in. 

“I’m going to talk to the athletic director,” Agatha finally says. “Tell him about what your coach did and see if they’ll pay for your surgery. And then I’m giving your coach a piece of my mind.” 

You laugh but it sounds hollow. She reaches over to squeeze your forearm. 

“You’ll get through this. I promise and I’ll be there for you.” 

“What’s going to happen to him?” you ask softly. You know you shouldn’t care and you are furious with him, but there’s still some mixed feelings. 

But not for Agatha. She scoffs and says, “With any luck, he’ll be fired and never allowed to coach again. He shouldn’t be, after he put you in danger like that. It’s not okay.” 

Seeing her like this again makes warmth bloom in your chest. “Thank you,” you say softly, “for taking me to the doctor, for yesterday—for all of it.” You know you will have to call your parents and tell them, and you’ll have to tell your friends and your teammates and your coach, but for right now, it’s just the two of you in this little bubble. 

Would it be too much for it to stay that way?

Agatha’s hand moves from the gear shift to rest on the center console, next to your hand. Her pinkie brushes against yours, like she wants more but won’t take it. 

“I’m really sorry about all of this. I know how hard you work and how much effort it takes to be a student-athlete. I’m really proud of you.” 

Even though her words are nice, you still laugh bitterly. “I’m not a student-athlete anymore, thanks to my asshole of a coach.” 

She turns toward you, face stoic. You finally notice that she still hasn’t put the car into reverse to back out of the spot. “Why didn’t you tell me about him?” 

“I…I don’t know,” you say, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Deep down, the truth rings out inside you: you were afraid what he was doing was actually bad and she would say something to the school. It’s ironic now, that maybe if you had opened up about him, you might not be in this situation. 

It was easy to use humor to deflect how badly he treated you. But if you were forced to confront it, you weren't sure you’d be able to keep it together. 

Agatha sees the reluctance written plainly on your face. “Do you want to talk about it now?” 

You shrug. “I mean, yeah, he’s mean. He told me that I was damaged goods and no one was ever going to want me, he’s called me a toxic ringleader before, he said I was a difficult person to get along with. He constantly tells me that I’m not good enough and that I never will be.” Your nose stings and your cheeks twitch but you force down the emotion. “I fucking hated stepping onto that pool deck. Everyday, I just knew he was going to tear me apart. If there was a bad set, I just knew he was going to be on me, telling me to go faster and work on my stroke but nothing I did was ever going to be enough. And I—” Your voice cracks and you break off when you realize that Agatha is staring at you with so much sadness in her eyes. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says. One hand comes up to cup your cheek and you look away. 

“I used to really like swimming,” you tell her and tears gather and sting. You swallow roughly. “I used to really like it and now I hate it but now this is it. I’m probably never going to get back to the level that I’m at right now, and will I even want to get back in the pool after this? He just—he ruined it all and I’m going to fucking miss it.” 

The realization is a dagger stabbing you in the heart and you feel your cheeks dampen, taste saltiness on your lips. Agatha pulls you in for a hug and you ignore the jutting of the console into your ribs because it’s the only sort of comfort you have right now. 

“I’m sorry,” she mutters into your ear. “I’m so sorry.” She strokes your back and it’s hard to believe that just a few hours ago, her mouth was on you and you were feeling so good, instead of this soul-crushing numbness. 

The two of you stay like that for what seems like an hour and when you finally pull back because you don’t want to get snot on her shirt, you see her looking a little glassy-eyed too. 

She sniffs and puts the car into reverse and the drive is silent on the way to Agatha’s house as you contemplate what you’re going to do next. You only have a semester and a half left in college, maybe you can scrape together your tuition and you won’t have to drop out. Hopefully your parents’ insurance will be able to cover most of the surgery and you suppose you’ll be able to get a job in your free time now. 

When she pulls into her driveway, she quickly gets out and jogs over to your door to help you. It’s not easy with the crutches and you have to awkwardly maneuver them over your body to hand them one-by-one to Agatha. You then have to rotate in the chair and put your good foot on the ground first before gingerly resting your other toes down, keeping your knee bent just a little. She assists you in positioning the crutches under your armpits and then you slowly but surely follow her up to the porch with her looking back every few steps to make sure you’re okay. 

Getting up and over the threshold of the door poses a little problem so Agatha takes the crutches from you and grips one of your forearms while you do almost a little hop to get up into her house. She gives you an encouraging smile as she returns the crutches and then you make your way into her living room. 

She points to the couch—the same couch where she went down on you and your cheeks heat up—so you obey and sit down, swinging both legs over the side to lay horizontally. Agatha is typing on her phone absentmindedly so you stretch to the other side of the couch, grab a pillow, and pack it under your hurt leg so it’s elevated. The brace is uncomfortably digging into you and your skin is sweating underneath and you rack your brain for anything the doctor said about being able to take it off. 

Agatha still isn’t paying attention to you and you’re fairly confident that it won’t mess it up even more, so you unstrap the velcro, unfasten the straps, and your knee can breathe again. 

The adrenaline, and maybe the pain pills, have begun to wear off a little and your joint starts to ache. It’s not as intense as earlier, but it’s a dull throb that spikes through your body and leaves you shifting in hopes of relief. 

You’re about to ask Agatha for a bag of ice when she lifts her phone to her ear and spares you a glance. She looks stern at first, but once she takes you in, her face softens. You give her a smile that she returns before you hear a voice on the other line. 

Her face instantly fixes into her teacher glare. “Hey, Dave.” Your stomach turns. She must be talking to the athletic director, Dave Herron. “It’s Agatha Harkness. I teach at Westview. Listen, I need to talk to you about one of the swimmers on the team.” 

She pauses and pinches the bridge of her nose with two fingers, closing her eyes and shaking her head. Agatha gives you another look and purses her lips before waving a hand at you and stepping into a room off to the side, the office, you’re presuming. You meet her eyes one last time before she closes the door. 

There’s only tidbits from the conversation that you’re able to hear now, and if you were in a better condition, you would go stand right outside the door to eavesdrop. But for now, you’re stuck with piecing together the fragments. 

“No, you need to do something about this!” she hisses. “...the doctor said practice made it worse…no, she tried! He wouldn’t let her…the things he’s been saying to them—to her…and now she’s going to be punished…” 

It warms your heart to hear her standing up to the athletic director for you, but you also hope she doesn’t get in trouble for going to all these lengths for a student. You can’t help but wonder what’s going to happen with your coach. 

“Okay, okay…yes, I think an investigation is very much needed…I’ll talk to him, send me his number…that is very good to hear, thank you very much,” she says and then there’s quiet. You wait for her to come back out, but you hear beeping and a dial tone as she calls someone else. Who is the “he” Agatha was referring to? 

Your coach? 

Would she really call him, though? You start to get anxious at the thought of her directly confronting him, especially over you. He’s going to be furious if he finds out that he could get in trouble just because of you. 

“Hi, Brad.” Your brows furrow—who is that? You really wish you could hear more of the conversation. Even on Agatha’s side, you’re still missing important bits of information. “I just got off the phone with Dave…yes, it’s because of swimming…he wouldn’t let her!...has to have surgery now and it’s at least a six month recovery…graduates in the spring and will lose her scholarship…” 

There’s a few more minutes of them talking, but as hard as you strain your ears, you can’t discern anything. Either way, knowing that she’s exuding this much confidence and is bossing these two men around—over you nonetheless—makes you squeeze your thighs together. There’s a sudden ache between them, not that that’s any surprise. 

There’s something about Agatha taking control that turns you on. In class, when she’d get on students for being late or a stupid answer, or the way she would command the room would have wetness pooling in your underwear. 

Would it be allowed for you to tell her that now? Or do something about it? You’re not exactly sure where your relationship with your teacher stands, especially after her eating you out earlier. On this very couch. 

The door to Agatha’s office opens as you’re rubbing your face because of how head-over-heels you are for her and your attention snaps to her. She’s guarded as she walks over to you before sitting on the edge of the couch, careful not to bump your leg. 

You scan her face. “Everything okay?” The fire in your stomach is slowly flickering out with how serious she seems, but it’s not completely gone because there’s a gleam in her eye when she looks at you. 

“I talked to the athletic director. He’s going to suspend your coach and open an investigation into him. Westview’s going to bring in a third-party company to do it and they’re going to conduct some interviews. I’m sure you’ll get called in.” 

Nodding slowly, you think over what she’s saying. “All of that just because of my leg?” 

“Well, there’s been other complaints about him over the years. Very much along the lines of verbal and emotional abuse, just like what he’s been doing to you. But now,” she says, nodding to your leg, “he deliberately put you in a situation where you ended up actually getting more hurt. You told him that your knee was bothering you and he still made you swim and now you need surgery, that’s very serious. He might even get fired, depending on what everyone else says.” 

There’s a pit in your stomach. He does deserve it, you tell yourself. “And I’ll have to talk to the investigator?” 

Agatha lays a hand on your good knee and rubs circles with her thumb comfortingly. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But honey, I really think you should. He hurt you. In more ways than one, it seems. I can go with you, if you’d like.” 

You lean into her touch and close your eyes to soak it in for just a second. Then you shake your head and steel your nerves. “No, it’s okay. I should do it by myself. I can do it.” 

“And I talked to the athletic CFO, the money guy,” she adds with a smile. You prompt her with an eyebrow raise. “He says you don’t have to worry about your scholarship for next year, you can keep it.” 

“Wait—are you serious?” you ask with bated breath. It’s too good to be true. You won’t have to scrape together anything just to finish your degree. 

Agatha nods. “Yep. And they’ll take care of your surgery because you’re a student-athlete and it happened during school-sanctioned practice. So you don’t have to worry about anything.” 

Happiness and relief overcome you and you attempt to sit up straight and spread your legs so you can lean over and hug her. It works, kind of. You have to pull back after a second because the stretch hurts your knee and Agatha laughs. 

“I don’t even know what to say,” you admit. Agatha’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “I mean, thank you. For everything.” Your gaze drops down to your lap as you fiddle with your fingers. “If it weren’t for you, I probably would’ve gone back to practice tomorrow and fucked my leg up even more.” 

Her arm reaches over to tilt your head up by your chin. She strokes her thumb over your bottom lip and her gaze meets yours with a fondness you’ve only seen a few times before. “I told you I was going to take care of you, sweetheart. Thank you for letting me.” 

You smirk in what you hope is a seductive manner. “Well, can I take care of you? Seems fair that I should return the favor.”

“Oh, yeah?” she asks, playful lilt in her voice. Your eyes shine with eagerness and Agatha looks you up and down, heat in her scrutiny. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt your knee even more or make you feel like you have to do anything. We can say that we just got caught up in the emotions earlier and we’ll never have to talk about it again.” 

Chewing on your lip, you shake your head. “I don’t want to pretend that it never happened. I’m sure.” 

Her smile is genuine and she whispers, “Me, too,” before closing the gap and kissing you. Her hands clasp your cheeks and she’s holding you like water as she moves her mouth against yours gently like she doesn’t want to hurt you. 

You get impatient and slip your tongue into her mouth and she lets out a small sound of surprise before taking the hint and deepening the kiss. She sucks on your tongue and your teeth click against each other all while your core burns and aches. One of your hands winds up in her hair and the other on her hip, attempting to pull her closer, but when she starts to scoot forward, she accidentally bumps your knee and shooting pains race up your leg. 

Ignoring it, you palm her breast over her shirt and she hisses. She kisses you harder and rocks forward, putting some of her weight on you, and you break away because your knee is throbbing now. 

“Are you okay?” she asks and it’s so reminiscent of earlier when she had trouble fucking you. Only now, you’re not exactly sure how you’re going to be able to do this. 

“Yeah, I just,” you start, not sure how to voice your anxiety. You can’t lie on your stomach, you’re not sure she can put any weight on you without it causing pain, you can’t stand on your own. But you want her so bad you’re almost drooling. 

But Agatha knows. She tosses her hair back over her shoulder and gets off the couch before holding a hand out to you. Her lips are slightly swollen and pink, matching the tint that’s spread through her cheeks, and there’s heat in her eyes that sets your nerves ablaze. 

You take her hand and she pulls you up, putting your arm across her shoulders and helping you hobble over to the stairs. She takes you up them slowly, and while you’re sure there’s nothing sexy about you sweating and gasping for breath when you finally get to the top, her melodic laugh and the way she looks at you dissolves all of your worries. 

She leads you down the hall and to the first door on the right. When she opens the door, you get your first look of your favorite professor’s bedroom. The mahogany bed frame holds a king-sized mattress with lilac sheets and matching nightstands on each side. Across from the bed, there’s a vanity that’s cluttered, but neat. There’s pictures of the woods that are hanging on the light gray walls. 

“It’s very…you,” you say and Agatha chuckles before guiding you to the bed. You sit on the edge and watch her, still not sure what her plan is. 

Agatha reaches down to toy with the hem of her black blouse that she’s wearing, the same one she taught in earlier. It seems like a million years ago that you had her class. In just a few hours, everything has changed. 

She takes it off and your mouth drops open. Her abdomen flexes and you get the sudden urge to run your tongue over the lean muscle. And then your gaze travels upward and there’s a flash of heat through your body. Her bra is navy and plain, but it pushes up her breasts ever so slightly, making her cleavage swell. 

“Fuck,” you breathe and Agatha winks. 

The pain in your knee is gone when she unbuttons and unzips her pants and starts to inch them down her long legs. More and more pale skin is revealed, her thighs, her knees, her calves, until she finally kicks them off and stands before you in just her bra and black underwear. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, much like hers. 

“Please,” you whisper and she saunters over to the bed, pausing right in front of you, and gripping your hair to tilt your head up so you’re looking at her face. 

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” she croons.

You pant out a desperate“Yes.” 

She smiles and helps you take off your t-shirt, revealing your rosy sports bra, and gently pushes your head down and the rest of your body follows so you’re laying on your back on the bed, knees still bent and feet resting on the floor. 

You’re salivating as she straddles your hips, careful to watch your face for any sign of discomfort or pain, but you think your leg could be cut off and you wouldn’t even feel it. 

Agatha begins to work her way up your body, knees pressing into the mattress and making it dip as she moves and she lowers herself down to drag her covered cunt across your bare stomach. Your breath hitches—you can feel how wet she is. She leaves a trail of stickiness in her wake that you don’t ever want to wash away. 

When her knees stop right under your armpits, you rest your hands on her thighs and stroke the skin, feeling her tense underneath you. She’s looking down at you, hair framing her face, and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen someone more beautiful. Her dark eyes bore into yours and you shiver under the intense weight of her gaze. 

“Please,” you repeat softly, sliding your fingers up to play with the trim of her panties. 

She inhales sharply when you brush against her lower stomach and she shakily but cautiously moves her legs over your shoulders so her pussy is hovering right over your mouth. Even though the fabric of her underwear is dark, you can still see the wetness in the gusset and you suddenly can’t wait. You surge up to drag your tongue against the fabric and Agatha gasps loudly and her fingers fasten in your hair. 

“You didn’t even wait for permission,” she tuts and you have the gall to not even pretend to be sorry. Agatha’s tongue presses against the inside of her lip as she huffs before reaching down to slide her underwear to the side. 

Her smell hits your nose and you moan. Her pussy lips are swollen and glistening and you can see her clit poking out, just begging to be played with. Agatha drops down just so her cunt ghosts over your mouth and you wonder if she can feel how fast you’re breathing. 

“Can I—please, Agatha, I need to—” 

She tugs on your hair and nods. “Go ahead, sweetheart.” 

The instant your tongue delves through her folds slowly and tastes her sweet heat, you let out a low groan against her. Her head falls back, hair loose over her shoulders, but her grip on your locks remains strong. 

You flatten your tongue and do the same thing again and her breath catches. You tease around her clit, never giving her exactly what she wants, and Agatha begins to slowly gyrate on your face. 

“There you go, just like that, honey,” she says, encouragingly but also hoarse. Her praise makes your own clit pulse and you debate sliding a hand into your pants. 

Your tongue flicks against her clit and she makes a strangled sound so you do it again before sucking on it. Her hips buck, smearing wetness all around your mouth, and then you shove your tongue inside her entrance. 

“Oh, god,” she whimpers and drops more of her weight on your face. Her pubic bone is pressed against your nose so you tilt your head just the slightest bit to the side to take a breath out of the corner of your mouth. 

It makes you think of all the times your coach yelled at you for not breathing correctly while swimming freestyle. 

You smirk against Agatha’s cunt—you think you got it down. 

Her walls clench around you, throwing all thoughts but her from your mind, and you bring your tongue out of her pussy and drag it up to swirl around her clit. 

She’s becoming messier, liquid seeping out of her and into your mouth and onto your face. You suck on her again and she moans, not even bothering to take off her bra before she pinches her nipples. You can see them pebbled through the fabric and your own hips jerk and you wonder what it would be like to suck on those. 

“You’re doing so good, honey, making me feel so good,” she rasps breathlessly. Agatha’s eyes are screwed shut, hair bouncing, and her stomach flexes each time she grinds against you. You can feel the slickness between your thighs when you squeeze them together and you can’t help but sneak a hand down the front of your sweatpants and rest your fingers against your clit. 

Even the slight pressure makes you moan and Agatha jolts from the vibrations. You scrape your teeth against her clit as your tongue thrashes against her entrance and she makes a loud noise. 

When you curl your tongue inside her as deep as it’ll go, she gasps and grinds down harder. You can feel her clit pulse against your lips and your nose and the little sounds escaping your own mouth spur her on. Her wetness becomes a coat on the bottom half of your face and her smell and taste overwhelm all your senses until your head is almost spinning. 

“Such a good girl,” she groans and you press on your clit. Your walls spasm around nothing and your hips jerk. “You’re doing so good, baby, keep doing that. You’re so fucking good.” 

You keep alternating between sucking on her clit and rubbing your tongue against it and then shoving your tongue inside her. She rides your face with vigor, hand tightening in your hair and angling you right where she wants, and you decide to stick out your flattened tongue for her to use. 

She knows what you’re doing and she moans before settling her cunt down and rocking back and forth on you. Her clit drags against your tongue, throbbing, and you feel your own pulse. You begin to slowly draw tight circles on your clit and pleasure already begins to spread through your body. Her sounds go straight to your cunt and you feel your underwear soaking even more. 

“Fuck, baby,” Agatha whimpers and you rub your clit faster, your own hips starting to grind against nothing. 

Her rhythm on top of you starts to falter and fall apart and she’s now just sporadically writhing to take what she needs—you let her. You collect your own wetness from your underwear and press harder through the fabric. There’s a wet circle surrounding your clit and it just makes it easier to get more stimulation, even though there’s not a lot of friction. 

“God, you’re so good—fuck, sweetheart, I’m going to come,” she chokes out and then you feel another gush of wetness on your tongue and she pants loudly as she keeps riding your mouth through her orgasm. Her hands still play with her nipples and watching her head thrown back in ecstasy triggers your own orgasm from almost nothing and you buck up against your fingers and moan against her cunt. 

She keeps grinding until she becomes too sensitive and pulls up and you inhale deeply. Agatha moves a thigh over your head and settles onto her heels while she breathes heavily, looking down at you. You can feel how sticky and wet your face is, much like the mess in your underwear. 

“You did so good,” she says softly, reaching over to wipe your lips and you almost pull away so you can keep the taste of her lingering. You smile and lift yourself up to your elbows and then shift backwards to get the rest of your body onto the bed. 

Pain explodes in your knee as you bend it wrong and you gasp, eyes instantly watering. Your head drops back and you groan and frantically try to straighten your leg to get the ache to go away. 

It doesn’t work. 

“Hey, honey, are you okay?” Agatha asks, concern evident in her voice and you shake your head quickly. 

“It hurts,” you hiss. 

She thinks for a second and jumps off the bed before practically running out of the room. You stifle a sob when it only gets worse and she comes back not even a minute later with a glass of water and a pill between her fingers in one hand and a bag of ice in the other. 

With her help, you’re able to get fully on the bed and turn so you’re resting against the pillows. She puts one of the shams under your knee and holds the bag of ice there and then gives you the pain pill to take. 

You begin to cry quietly and she takes the glass of water from you, puts it on the nightstand, and then slides right next to you to tuck you into her embrace. She holds you while you shake into her arms and she presses soft kisses to your head. 

“Shh, I got you. I got you,” she whispers. “I’m right here, baby. I got you.” 

——

Six months later, the day after you graduate college, the doctor clears you to get in the pool. 

“Only twenty to thirty minutes,” he had told you, “and very minimal kicking. The moment your knee starts to hurt, get out and do your stretches. Make sure you ice it after. You’ll likely feel some light pressure and that’s okay. But do not push yourself.” 

You weren’t even sure if you wanted to get back into swimming. You had spent many nights talking with Agatha about it, but ultimately, she had convinced you that you should. 

Just to get some closure. And it wasn’t like you were going to compete or anything. Plus, it would be good physical therapy. 

“There’s my favorite swimmer,” your professor says when you get out of your car and walk over to her. She’s leaning against the wall of the natatorium, waiting for you. Your parents had taken you out for a celebratory brunch before heading home this morning and you hadn’t even mentioned swimming again to them. 

Only Agatha knew you were going to. 

You smile despite yourself and press a chaste kiss to her lips. Even though you’ve graduated, you still don’t want to get her into any trouble. 

Ever since the injury happened, you’ve practically lived at her house. She took you for your surgery and was right there after you woke up, as promised. She gave you more leniency than any other professor did and helped you constantly with school work and anything else you needed. She went to all your physical therapy appointments with you and held you while you cried from the pain or when you failed to meet a benchmark. She told you how proud she was of you for every slight improvement you showed and gently applied sunscreen to the nasty scar that stretched along your knee. Whereas you had a hard time even looking at it, she kissed it every night and told you that you’re so brave and strong. 

It made you believe it yourself. 

Agatha also was with you the entire way of the investigation into your coach. While you spoke to the investigator alone, your professor was outside of the room and pulled you into a warm hug the second you got out. And every time after when the investigator would call you to clarify or ask you about another teammate’s interview, Agatha held your hand. 

After the investigation dragged on for two months, your coach resigned before a verdict was reached. A hollow victory, but a victory nonetheless. 

She came with you to the championship meet in March to support your team and listened with an adorable smile on her face as you droned on and on about swimming and the girls at the meet and of course she didn’t miss the wistful look in your eyes when your teammates ran over to you or when you got excited about a fast time someone swam. 

And when you asked Agatha if she would come with you on your first swim back after hurting your knee, she kissed you and said, “Of course, honey.” 

“Just take it nice and slow,” she tells you now as she opens the door to the pool for you. The smell of chlorine hits you and the air feels thick, but you inhale deeply. Even though you’d never admit it to anyone but Agatha, you missed it. 

You set your bag on the bleachers right in front of lane one. She sits down and watches appreciatively as you strip off your shoes and socks, sweatshirts, and sweatpants to reveal your favorite lavender swimsuit. 

It’s your first time putting on your cap in six months and Agatha chuckles when the silicone snaps against your forehead and you wince. You give her a playful glare and she holds her hands up in defense. 

“Thank you for coming with me,” you say and she reaches over to take your hand briefly and give it a little shake. 

“Of course, honey,” she says and then smirks. “If I’d known how hot you look in your swimsuit, I would’ve come to all your meets.” 

You pretend to be offended but a giggle breaks free. “I probably would’ve been too distracted looking at you to swim fast. Oh, hey—are you the five-hundred freestyle?” 

Agatha looks confused. “What?” 

“Cause you take my breath away,” you say with a cheesy grin. She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “Are you a slippery pool deck? Because I’m falling for you.” 

She snorts adoringly and waves her hand. “Go get in the pool.” 

You give her one last puppy-dog look. “Are you a flipturn? Cause I’m head over heels for you.” 

Agatha shakes her head but a smile peaks through. “You’re cute.” 

With a smile, you peck her cheek and grab your goggles before walking over to the lane. Once you’re at the gutter, you pause and take a deep breath before looking over your shoulder. Agatha gives you an encouraging nod and you put your goggles on and jump in. 

The water envelopes you and the world goes silent and you just float for a second. Memories come rushing back to you, both good and bad, but you push them out of your mind and pull yourself to the surface. 

You gently kick off the wall and when you take your first stroke, you’re sorely reminded how out of shape you are. Water slips through your fingers and it feels like you’re moving through molasses but the ache in your shoulders is a good one. 

You feel alive. 

Twenty minutes passes by quickly and just as the doctor ordered, you don’t kick much at all, but when you do, there’s only a slight twinge in your knee and it goes away the more you move. 

When you get out, you can almost feel the dopamine pumping through your veins and you realize just how much you’ve missed working out. 

“How was it?” Agatha asks when you walk over to her. She hands you your towel and you graciously take it. Freezing and soaking wet after getting out is not something you’ve missed and no matter how hard you and your teammates tried to get the maintenance crew to turn up the temperature inside, they wouldn’t.

“It felt really good,” you admit honestly and she beams. “I think I want to start swimming again, just recreationally. Maybe a few times a week.” 

She slings an arm around you after you wrap your towel around you and fasten it into your swimsuit straps like a dress and slide your shoes and socks on. “That’s awesome, honey. I’m really happy for you. Your leg still feels okay?” 

“Didn’t hurt at all,” you tell her happily and she squeezes your bicep. 

Agatha leads you to the door before snickering to herself. “Hey, baby. Are you taper? Because you’re everything I’ve been waiting for.” 

Your laugh is hysterical. “Did you look that one up?” you ask once you can breathe again and Agatha shrugs sheepishly. 

She holds the door open for you and you walk out before interlocking your fingers and tugging her by the hand to her car. 

“I love it,” you say and a smirk plays on your lips. “Now hurry up and take me home so I can show you my breaststroke.” 

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1

[mamayura]

Revelator analysis: Marinette remembering the Umbrella scene incorrectly

You know what I find really interesting about the interview scene in "Revelator" where Adrinette retells how they met? Marinette is actually getting a few details wrong.

Mind you, no deal breakers. She got all the emotional beats down accurately. And I will only truly take this as canon anyway when the French original has her misremember things the same way. But for now, it's really interesting that MARINETTE is the one who gets a couple of details wrong about the moment she fell SO in love with Adrien, while Adrien himself is out here making no such mistake in the whole interview:

This is correct. Simple as that.

This one... is on very thin ice. In reality, Marinette had just left the building and noticed it was raining when Adrien started talking to her. Yes, she was ready to wait until the rain stopped, but she never truly got to the waiting part:

But, by all means, if this were only this detail, I wouldnt make this post right now. Even if, factually, she didnt wait, she just noticed it was raining and thought she had to wait.

But let's get back to this later because there is another layer to this that was the catalyst for me writing this. But for now, moving on:

This is correct again. Adrien, in fact, had an umbrella.

But here is the thing:

This is... straight up wrong. Objectively. What Marinette reacted negatively to was Adrien trying to be friendly and saying "Hi" to her:

He only offered his umbrella at the end, so Marinette claiming so confidently in "Revelator" that she at first turned down the umbrella is false. Adrien opened it for himself because he was the one standing in the rain for a bit while explaining his perspective:

I sure don't see any umbrellas being turned down here, Marinette. So what exactly are you remembering? Just saying.

From this point onwards, the Adrinette interview is accurate again because 1) it's about the emotional core of it, and 2) well, Adrien is then talking the most because it's about him and Marinette is mostly just adding to it. So, yeah...

Look, I don't wanna say that this is some deep betrayal of love and proof that Marinette's love for Adrien isnt real. Of course not. And again, there is still the chance that the line in question is right in the French original (though, I do gotta say, I doubt it because that would change the natural flow of the conversation)

I just find it interesting that the thing about THE Umbrella scene that Marinette gets wrong is the UMBRELLA itself and how and when it was extended to her.

Cause, well... This is not a documentary. Marinette is not a real life person who can mix some things up without it meaning anything. She's the main character and the main narrative tool of the story.

This is the moment SHE FELL IN LOVE WITH ADRIEN. Pretty much 80% of what she does in this show goes back to this moment. In story-telling practice, yes, her being the one who recalls that moment incorrectly should mean something.

Bad faith reading: it's a major indicator that Marinette is actually not as invested in Adrien and their relationship anymore as she was once upon a time. Her needs and desires have changed and that's causing problems now.

Good faith reading (and I genuinely mean good faith reading. Fucking BEST faith reading, in my opinion):

The details that Marinette gets wrong about the Umbrella scene actually correspond with the ending of "Strike Back" where Marinette's lightning moment happened with Chat Noir:

Cause if you combine Marinette's memories of the Umbrella scene with the Strike Back scene, then, yes, Marinette WOULD remember standing way longer in the RAIN before Adrien eventually came to her:

Not because that's how it factually happened in "Origins", but because she was alone in the rain for a solid bit before Chat Noir arrived in "Strike Back".

But the most important thing is that, if you combine the two lightning scenes, this objectively incorrect line actually checks out again:

Because the moment Marinette fell in love with Chat Noir was about him having extended his hand several times but her having pushed him away and held at arms length:

Marinette in the Umbrella scene didnt turn down Adrien's umbrella. Not only because that simply didnt happen, but also because Adrien only had the opportunity to offer it ONCE which she then immediately took. Chat Noir, on the other hand (is that a pun?), did offer the gesture she then fell in love with more than once, which she initially turned down, but eventually accepted.

So, again, worst faith reading: we were supposed to pick up on Marinette remembering the iconic Umbrella scene incorrectly which is supposed to subtly tell us that life has changed Marinette's feelings for Adrien for the worse because she's simply not the girl she was a year ago and the love she once wanted doesnt fit her needs anymore, so it's fading and getting drowned out.

Best faith reading: It's a subtle hint that the love she once wanted doesnt really fit her needs anymore, but the one that does more and more now is Chat Noir who, as we all know, is Adrien Agreste.

Though, no matter which one it is, one truth remains: Marinette remembered the UMBRELLA SCENE wrong and that means something.

[misguidedasgardian]

AMOR VINCIT OMNIA VII.

VII. Incantore

MASTERLIST

Summary: If you casted a spell on him, let it be, he likes it. 

Warnings: Use of she/her pronouns, reader has hair, Ancient Rome AU accuracies and inaccuracies, arranged marriages, age difference (Marcus is late forties reader is 20), cursing, we are shorter than Marcus, reader is touch starved, depression, angst, pinning, thoughts about "customary" roles of a woman in a patriarchal society (don't even know how to describe it haha), Marcus gets an erection :(, MIGHT MISS SOME WARNINGS

Notes: Ufff another chapter of which i had scenes written before the prologue! uuhhh that makes this one of my favorite chapters! hehehe this was actually going to be named “snake’s nest” but I decided to turn it into “Enchantment” or in my mothertongue…. “El embrujo”, which is a song by a chilean artist I love 😂 (MORE POST CHAPTER) 

Looking back now, it all made sense

The conversations between them, the looks they shared, the complicity. 

What you couldn’t wrap your mind around… was…

Why?

Was your mother oblivious to the fact that he loved her? you really doubted it, she was one of the smartest people you ever met. She was cunning and she always seemed to be planning ahead, and she couldn't tell her alleged best friend was looking at her like he could kiss the floor she was about to walk in?

The next thing you were asking yourself was… where did you come into play? Why did Marcus want to marry you? Is it true that they were lovers like the entirety of Rome seems to believe? Then again… why?

You seemed to have lost track of time, you even dozed for a little while, but you were shaking awake by Diana, if she wasn’t smiling, you’d be scared because of the way she awakened you from your slumber 

“What’s happening?”, you whined, rubbing your eyes

“The dominus is awake, domina”, she said with an excited smile, “he asked for you”. That truly surprised you. You stood up from the bed, you were still groggy, but you took a long gulp of the water you kept in your bedside table, and then you took a long breath.

You didn’t even think about what you heard him mumble in his fever, not now, if you brought those memories and the thoughts that came after back, you were not going to be able to face him right now. 

With practiced stoicism you walked back to his rooms, you realised this was the third time you had been here, they stood like the rest of the Villa when you came here, impersonal, plain, lifeless, except, he was there now, laying on his bed, smiling at you when you walked in.

You entered the space as you would enemy territory, not sure what to expect. but he signaled for you to come near, next to him, you did, you even sat at the very space you were yesterday. 

As you gazed upon him you were surprised to see the same man you had married six months ago, only paler, and hairier, he had this sickness clinging to his skin but other than that, he was the same man. but his hair and beard had grown a bit, by what his man told you, he had been feeling poorly soon after he reached Terraco, maybe he didn’t have the time to groom himself. 

“Wife”, he called, with a weak smile, “you stand as an apparition in front of me”, he seemed honest, but he sounded the same when he whined your mother’s name in a whisper of love. 

“I’m glad you are recovering your health, husband”, you offered, feeling your chest tightening.

“All thanks to you, the medicus told me”, he said, you wanted to cry, he seemed so honest, he grabbed your wrist, caressing the skin there, awaking goosebumps with his touch, “you brought me back with your caring hands”, he said.

Three months ago, you would have done anything for your husband to give that look that seemed too similar to adoration, but now it made your stomach turn.

“It was my duty”, you said with a soft smile

“You know… all those nights in Hispania, the only thing I thought about was you”, he confessed, you felt like someone squeezed your heart, “the thought of returning to you”

“Acacius…”, it felt like a plea for mercy

“I thought you called me Marcus”, he said with a dreamy smile. “The next time, I will bring you with me”, he assured you. “I won’t leave you here, I give you my word”, he promised, 

And you couldn’t understand his sudden change of attitude, not after his feverish confession. Was it all it was? the fever speaking on his behalf? it didn’t seem like it, it seemed like it was a very heartfelt confession, yet, there he was, looking at you like you were a divine being. 

“It’s alright”, you assured him, was he truly sick? Was he still feverish? Was he dying?

His words made your head spin, as they contradicted completely what he had mumbled in his sleep. It wasn’t odd that people murmured nonsense where they were going through a fever, you had heard it, but this particular phrase… regarding your mother… truly got to you.

Was there any truth to it at all?

“But I’m being truthful”, you mindlessly touched his forehead, to feel the temperature there, he closed his eyes, seemingly enjoying your caress, and you felt a mix of relief and concern. He catched your other hand in his too, with his big warm hands, he caressed the back of your with his thumbs.

You couldn’t believe what was happening.

“I believe you”, you said with a soft smile, you didn’t, not quite, but you were better than to upset a sick man. 

“How was your mother’s wedding?”, he asked, and that made you squeeze his hands, not even conscious about it. You looked into his eyes for any sign, for anything that would tell you he was upset about it. He loved your mother, now you understood why he was so quick to leave Rome…

“It was beautiful”, you said, and you found yourself wanting to hurt him. “She is now in Greece, on a beautiful boat made of gold”, to your complete surprise, he smiled, he seemed content.

“Good”, he croaked, his voice strained by the sickness he had caught, “she deserves a resemblance of peace, of safety”, he mumbled, and he truly seemed relieved.

“She does”, you tried, and smiled at him, softly. “I should fix you something to eat”, you said then, after a strange silence, an uncomfortable silence. But he didn’t let you free yourself from his grasp

“Thulia can bring us something”, he said dismissively 

“Are you feeling well, husband?”, you asked fearfully, he chuckled, and you found yourself liking the sound

“Never better, I swear it”, he said softly.

“I had Diana place offerings in the altar of Salus”, you whispered

“I’m sure she acted through your hands”, he said, you nodded, feeling strange, feeling completely lost for words or actions. His hands felt so warm and so good that you started to feel scared of the contact, of the way he looked at you.

Why? Why was he acting like this?

“You should rest husband”, you said softly

“I have been resting, for days”, he said, still with that silly smile on his face. 

“Acacius”, you began

“Marcus”, he corrected

You wanted to shout at him, to stop, to stop looking at you like that, like you were the most beautiful thing. He didn’t mean it, he only was thankful to you because you took his fever away. This was something… cruel… trying to give you hope. 

As he looked at you, he nodded slowly, he gave your hands a last squeeze and released them

“Thank you, wife”, he said softly, “Now more than ever I’m sure you were sent by the gods”, there was so much you wanted to ask him, to talk about, about Hispania, about what was going to happen now, in the middle of his consulate, was he going back out there? 

Diana entered with a soft smile on her face, bringing a bowl, by the smell you could tell it was soup, with pieces of lamb and vegetables, and Thulia had learned that you enjoyed a handful of oats with it, and she now added it to her delicious soup each time. 

You received the soup with your hands, scooted closer to him, and you started feeding him. 

He moaned with satisfaction at the taste of it, it was a good soup, you liked it.

“It was you”, he said, “the oats”, you nodded with a soft smile, “Delicious”, he said, he kept looking at you with those eyes of his, those beautiful brown eyes, that looked like those of a pup. You tried not to gaze at him too long.

You were feeling so many things you truly did not know how to deal.

You had been so scared for his life, then completely heartbroken for his dazed confession, then relieved that he was fine, and he was looking fine, and now you were trying to hold it together, to not fall for this…act… that he was performing. 

It had to be, right?

He looked so lovestruck, but again, it might as well be gratitude. 

Not love.

He didn’t love you, he loved your mother.

“You are going to recuperate your strength in no time”, you said, as he ate the last of the big bowl of soup. 

“thanks to you”, he insisted.

“Please husband”, you whispered, “you should rest”, you could tell he didn’t want to, but again, you could tell he knew that was a bit childish, so he barely nodded.

“You are going to be here when I wake up?”, he asked

“I will”, you promised him, “to give you some more of that horrible medicine that honestly I think is what made you wake up”, you teased, and you surprised yourself with it. He would have chuckled too, but he dozed off pretty quickly 

Once you made sure he was asleep normally, and breathing fine, you stood up from the side of his bed and you exited the room with the empty bowl in your hands.

Trying to hold the tears 

It was ironic, lately you felt as childish as ever, it was like you were a small child again, the days when you couldn’t hold the tears, you remembered a particular occasion, when you fell the last three steps of the marble stairs of the palace when you were playing with Lucius, and you broke in pitiful sobs. You were becoming a young woman, you were eleven, and yet, you fell down. More than hurt you felt humiliated, and that you’d realise, made you feel worse. Because you cried so much, legionnaires, a pretor who was visiting, and your uncle himself came to your rescue, treating you with reverence and care, as if you were a delicate doll.

That made you cry fat tears with even more sentiment.

This was like that.

You felt humiliation biting at your heels in every turn since you got married.

There was truth in his words, in each of them.

This trip, even though it ended endangering his health, it has served as a true revelation for him. 

From the second that he left you in that harbour that fateful day, he started to feel guilty, terribly guilty, about leaving you like this, you were clearly upset, and he was leaving early because he didn’t want to attend your mother’s wedding. 

Now that he was looking back at that moment, he found himself wanting to have done things in a completely different way. 

For once, he thought he was truly going to die if he witnessed Lucilla’s wedding to another man, but he was surprised to realise  while on the very journey, that he felt more guilty about the way he left you, than the fact she was marrying altogether. 

For seconds, he wished he had stayed, with you, as you had asked him to take you with him, and he had refused, you were right, many generals took their wives, and right again when you pointed out that Terraco was completely under the Roman Rule, the city had been founded by Romans, and it was true you were going to be safe.

So, in a third place, he had wished that he had stayed longer, to witness the wedding, and then, to take you with him after. He felt like you could be there for one another, that you would have soothed his pain, that you would have helped him to process this.

Like he believed before, he was mourning, and one of the things that let him realize this, is the fact that he found himself missing you.

For every mile that he travelled he found himself more and more plagued with thoughts of you… of your beautiful face that he left in the harbour, of the beautiful you looked on your wedding day, of the sweetness of your voice, of the way your eyes shined when you spoke about something you liked…

Then he felt conflicted.

Lucilla had asked him to marry you for him to protect you, not from him to… take advantage of you, not for him to defile you and lust over you.

He felt terribly guilty that day, when catched you in the bath.

He truly felt like the luckiest man on earth, even if for brief seconds. To be married to you, for having a beautiful wife that wanted to take a bath with him, that wanted him. 

You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. You were so willing, those first days, so full of hope. But he, using all of his strength earned in battles and wars, all his temple, had to break his heart to break yours.

He couldn’t do that to you.

You were married to him for him to protect you while he and Lucilla returned Rome to what it was supposed to be, not for him to take advantage of you. 

And then, he got so sick that honestly he thought he was going to die.

While they crossed the Mediterranean he honestly thought he was going to die, the ship moved over the tempestuous waves white the sails got windswept. The only thing he thought about, was your face, was the way he was going to leave you alone, meaning, more lonely than he left you already, he was going to leave you unprotected 

And then he woke up, all the way back in Rome, and that it had been you, the only one who was able to bring him back. If it was you instead of the medicus the first face he saw when he came back, he could have sworn he was dead.

But it was real.

You were so beautiful, sitting there on his bed, by his side, nursing him back to health, feeding him, touching his forehead. Caring for him.

How could he have been so blind?

It was you, this whole time.

Lucilla never loved him, not like he used to love her anyways. 

Yes, used to.

The only thing in his mind had been you, this whole time. 

And when he woke up, the sun was barely rising in the horizon. He took a long breath and when the first thing he felt was hunger, he knew, he was completely healed.

It was like magic, you, an enchantress who had bewitched him and healed him with her beautiful magic. 

He rose from the bed, a bit groggy, but hungry and empowered by the thought of looking at your beautiful face. And when he exited his room and walked through the hallway… he was certain of your magical powers.

His house… his villa… had turned into this beautiful and colourful temple.

He remembered your face, the night you had married, how you looked around.

He did not come from wealth, he was not the son of some patrician man, or a senator, he had to raise himself, and this is the house he had bought when he reached a point in his career he couldn’t keep living in the Insula he had grown up in.

So he bought this house from a Senator who had fallen from grace, it had been abandoned for years, and he hadn’t dedicated himself into turning it into a real home, he didn’t know how, he didn’t have the time.

The first time he saw you in contrast with those empty walls his stomach turned.

You looked like a beautiful flower he had plucked from the garden and placed here, in the place that lacked everything beautiful and cozy. 

But at the same time, he knew you could turn this house around to your image and liking. To do whatever you wanted with it. 

And you had… he stopped on his tracks when he found some man he didn’t recognize, barefoot, working in one of the pools, the one in the atrium, that was more decorative than 

When he came close to it he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

The image drawn in the pool….

“Stop right there!”, he froze at the rushed words coming from the shoeless man himself. He had stopped him with a flick of his hand. And Marcus was about to give him a piece of his mind, that a simple mosaicist had no business commanding a general of the empire of Rome, but then the crazy looking man was looking at him.

“You have the most patrician face i have ever seen”

“I am the dominus of this house”, he said strongly

“Yes! that you are”, he said, and was smiling like he had just discovered fire, “I couldn’t find what I was lacking in my composition but now it's obvious!” he said, grabbing his graying hairs.

Marcus shook his head and tried to ignore the image of your nakedness, forever embedded in stone, to keep looking at the rest of the house, of the beautiful paintings that now decorated the walls, of the beautiful garden you were growing in the heart of the villa, the tasteful furniture that now decorated every corner, the beautiful colors of fabrics and tapestries that hung as well.

He didn’t even care that his arcs might be empty by now.

His villa, your villa, was now a home… a place where a couple lived. That smelled delicious and looked devine, being a faithful portrait of the delicate and great taste of the domina of the house, of you. 

He was so in awe, he jumped when the doors of the entrance opened widely, to reveal a man who, by the looks of it, had run all the way to his house.

He was breathing heavily, sweating copiously, and when his eyes found him, his greeted him with a signal of his arm. 

“Salve, General Acacius”, he said quickly

“Salve”, by his fancy clothes he knew who might this man work for

“I’m an envoy of the greatest Consus Licinio Craso”, he said solemnly, “and his Wife, Lucilla, she has returned from Greece, and would come to eat super at the news of the General’s arrival”, Marcus barely nodded.

“We’ll expect her at sundown” he said, “please, serve yourself some water and food”, he said, the man nodded in appreciation and got lost on his way to the kitchen.

He found you in his own study, which you had also made beautiful, reading some scrolls he didn’t recognize, so you might have bought them as well. There were rests of breakfasts on the table, and he smiled at the way you were concentrating on reading that scroll, that from where he stood, looked like it was written in Greek. 

When you saw him, you jumped in place

“You shouldn’t be out of bed, Acacius”, you said hastily

“Marcus”, he insisted, but a smile was placed on his face, “I’m feeling much better”, he said quickly. “the house…”, he started. you looked at him in expectation, and maybe a bit of fear, losing the bravado you had gained in his absence

“You don’t…?”

“I love it”, he said quickly, and again… those damn eyes… looking at you… like that… “I’m so glad you make it yours, as you should have…”, he said, his breathing was heavy, his eyes dilated, he must still feel awful, you thought

“Please, go back to bed”, you murmured, taking a stand from his wooden table he used as a desk 

“I feel great”, he said with a soft smile, “I do”, you smiled

“I’m glad”, you offered, “but please…?”, you asked him, you grabbed his bicep, his skin warm under your tact, but not feverish, just… a healthy temperature, he let himself be dragged by you back to his room.

He noticed, a bit sadly, that his room was the only one in the house with no “you” in it. you haven't dared to come inside it while he wasn’t there, the thought made him sad. 

He gingerly let you lead him back into his bed, and he watched in awe as you commanded the house, Diana and Thulia now looked like his most trusted men, ready to fulfill his every command in the battlefield.

In minutes, he had a spread of food around him in his bed, and you had taken your place by his side.

Yes, your place, your rightful place by his side.

As Marcus looked at you help set his breakfast he wanted to be selfish, he found himself not caring about the age difference, about his mission, about how he was supposed to protect you. He cared about you as his wife, as the matron of his house, about… the future he could have with you.

Maybe he was still sick.

He wanted to let go of it all, of all that made him who he was, so he can finally take what he wanted, and not what he should… so he could treat you like his wife, and you could truly be a married couple with everything that entailed…

Everything…

You stuttered your movements because he was watching you so candidly, but you tried to ignore him as best as you could

And that look he gave you.

“Your mother…”, he started, as you had a bowl of food in your lap ready to help him, you stopped in your tracks, not ready for whatever there was to say, “is back”

“How do you…?”

“He sent someone ahead”, he said with a soft smile, “she is coming for dinner”, he said with a soft smile.

And as you looked into those beautiful dark eyes, and the happiness laying within them.

You started to confirm your suspicious 

He looked so hopeful, that he finally was going to see her again.

She looked for him to tell him she was back, not you.

“I’m glad”, you said, you fed him quickie, you didn’t even understood why though, his arms worked just fine, so you gave him the bowl filled with stew, bread, cheeses, left the pitch of water on the side and ran out of his room, leaving him completely alone.

You no longer cared much, he was safe, he was alive, you had helped in that, you had done your duty… you had no more reason to keep tending to him.

He was disheartened, he was not going to lie to himself, to watch you flee the run like you were being chased by something, but… he took comfort in the thought that you were making this villa your home, you were finding your palace in all of this. 

He didn't catch sight of you for the rest of the day. But he decided to take a bath. He was actually in awe of the paintings he found  in the bath room. 

Depictions of couples engaging in lovemaking, of goddesses and more. 

Is this what you… enjoyed?

He found himself… awakened… His manhood was stiff, making him uncomfortable, the thought of you, of your hands on him, of your naked likeness in the mosaic, of the paintings on the walls.

He also felt sick by only thinking of taking care of it in the bath you also used and enjoyed. so he pulled through it. Getting out of the bath and dressed, thinking about everything he could but your nakedness.

You were meant to be his to protect not to lust over….

That was like his new mantra. 

He thought about war then. About what everything meant, of him not being able to complete his mission, about him being back in Rome only three months after he went to Hispania, the legions were still out there. What was he supposed to do? never in his military career found himself in a similar position, he had never fallen sick and jeopardized his campaign.

What was he supposed to do now?

Meanwhile… you were spiraling.

You had gone with Diana and a faithful guard to the market to buy ingredients for the dinner tonight.

You were now resentful, your mother had let Marcus know, not you, that she was back, did that mean something? you were seeing things everywhere, you were becoming paranoid, and right now, you were focused on serving a delicious meal, to prove to both Marcus and your mother that you now where a grown woman. You actually didn’t know, consciously, what you wanted to achieve, but now you were determined.

And when you returned home, you spent the rest of the day making sure the villa was spotless, trying to stay out of Marcus’ way, who had called in his centurion, his most trusted man, who had come with him back to Rome, for a meeting, maybe one that decided if he was to stay here, or go back to Hispania to finish what he started. 

You felt so conflicted, you didn’t like him being here and acting like… like he was acting with you, and yet, the thought of him leaving again made your stomach turn.

And yet, before you knew it, you were receiving your mother in the Atrium, she wrapped her arms around your frame, pulling you close.

She even smells different, like spices and sea breeze, like lavender and the beach. Then she greeted Marcus, with kisses on both cheeks. Like they had done their entire life, nothing out of the ordinary.

Then why did you feel like someone had your stomach inside their fist and was squeezing?

Her skin had darkened, and she honestly looked happy, more happy, her eyes were shining, and she looked like she was glowing, her hair even looked more golden, if that was even possible, maybe it was the contrast of her tanned skin. 

She gazed upon the new walls of your home with wide eyes of admiration, she looked past the image in the pool in the atrium. 

She praised the way you had fixed the triclinium to accommodate you for dinner, and the spread that was there ready for you all to eat.

Marcus had this proud smile on his face, looking at everything with shiny eyes of admiration, including you.

You did not know what it meant, so you took position, laying on the sofas around a table where you had placed the spread of food. 

You wanted to eat, you were hungry, but as you sat there, looking down at your plate, you couldn't, you couldn’t take a single bite, your stomach clenching inside you. The hunger, as you looked up to your mother and Marcus deep in friendly conversation, turned to sickness, you wanted to throw up.

They were catching up, with his trip, of his health and her recent marriage and trip to Greece, you had always wanted to go to Greece, but alas, you never even left Rome. You looked at Marcus and his eyes were trailed on her. And you wanted to hear what your mother had to say… you did, you wanted to hear all about it, and also about Hispania, since you haven’t asked Marcus, because first he was recuperating and then you were ignoring him, so… 

There was indeed something new about this though, from one second to the next he would turn to you, to gaze upon you, to talk in your direction as well, or rather to see if you were spying attention to what was being said. You were staring at him, at the way he looked at you, and then at the way he turned and looked at your own mother.

Oh gods, where you loosing it?

“You haven’t eaten anything dear”, your mother pointed out with a soft smile, that smile that a bit ago would make you feel guilty for even thinking about something that was wrong, and now? You even resented it

“I'm not hungry”, you mumbled

“You haven't eaten anything since breakfast”, Acacius pointed out

More than your husband he sounded like your father 

“Are you unwell?”, asked Lucilla then, concerned washing her beautiful features, as you gazed upon her, you truly understood Acacius, she was one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen, she stood as Juno, mother of Gods, wife of Jupiter himself, and far removed from her… were you.

They constantly told you that you looked like your father, you didn’t know if that was good or bad, but none ever told you that you looked like your mother. 

That could explain many things…

You snapped back to reality when you felt Acacius´ thick hand enveloping yours, making you jump at the sudden touch, at the sudden warmth

“Should I fetch the medicus?”, he asked, as your mother, the concern twisted his face

“No!”, you said quickly, releasing your hand from Acacius' hold, the rash movement was perceived by your mother, who frowned at it, as both your hands above the table were two mice fighting for a piece of bread, who shouldn't be there in the first place. 

Marcus hand closed, grabbing thin air, still where you left it in between you. “I need some fresh air”, you choked out, your nose prickling with upcoming tears, “Could I be excused?”, You stood anyways, Marcus looked up at you and nodded, barely, eyes shiny and parted lips, as you were breaking his heart simply by leaving the triclinium 

You felt like you couldn't breathe, like there wasn’t enough air. So, you went to the garden, the small garden you had built that was barely blooming 

The sound of crickets far away and water of the fountain immediately soothed you; the air was fresh and smelled incredible, even know, the flowers that Thulia had manage to transplant from another garden outside these walls had manage to take in here, so the smell of jasmine meet you there. You plucked a beautiful flower from the plant near the entrance of the garden, and you sat on the sole stone bench by the fountain, the impluvium

You sank your nose in the soft petals, breathing in the delightful smell.

Your mother always had in hand lavenders, to hide the smell of the people of Rome, but you, as you could, always grabbed a couple of jasmine flowers to soothe your senses. 

As you sat there, hidden by the darkness that shielded the garden of the lights of the house around it, you looked back to where you came from, to the triclinium on the other side of the atrium, looming over you, closing you in, the one that was supposed to become your home, your safe haven, the home to your family, and children. Now you felt suffocated by it, like you couldn’t breathe in there, like you had in your back the weight of the entire building. 

You wanted to escape, to run away, you closed your eyes and you imagined the woods surrounding the west side of the city, the ones you could see from Palatine Hill. And once you were there, at least in your mind, you played a small mental game you used to enjoy when you were little. Surviving in the woods

You imagine you could take your horse, little provisions, and then gallop in the woods until you couldn’t see anymore, you wondered if you could make it out there, alone, could you hunt? Keep yourself warm? Could you hunt down wolves and meat for you to eat? You didn’t even know how to use the bow and arrow… but how hard can it be, really?

Could you find clean water and shelter? 

As a small child, the very thought made you tremble and made you be thankful that you didn’t have to, but right now, the darkness, woods and wolves lurking in the dark seemed much more enticing than staying here… Trapped, trapped, used and betrayed. 

You found your reflection in the water and gaze upon it, your face drawn in the water, it seemed a normal face, the same one you had gaze upon since you could remember, and you wondered what was wrong with you. Why didn’t Marcus want you?

You had many prospects that wanted your hand in marriage, and you could have been loved by any of them. Why did you find yourself married to the only man who didn’t want you?

A tear, followed closely by another ran down your cheeks

You wanted to love and be loved, you had so much love to give your chest burned with emotion, gripping your breaths hostage… this isn't fair… 

Tears turned to gasps, gasps turned to cries, and then to sobs, the water had been released and there was no controlling it anymore. 

“I don’t deserve this!”, you finally cracked, hiding your bitter tears behind the palm of your hands.

You felt so angry, so angry you were shaking.

You felt manipulated, you felt betrayed and used… You were feeling so many things that you believed you were going to snap, your body trying to relieve that tension in uncontrollable shakes.

You started to loose control of your own sobs, so much so you had trouble breathing 

“Domina!”, from a second to the next, Thulia was there in front of you, grabbing you softly by your shoulders, “breathe”, she commanded, and you did just that, took a long breath, she left you for a moment and when she came back she had something in her hand, “drink”, you didn’t even thought about it.

It was strong and smelly, but passing something on your throat made you relax a bit, and as the seconds passed, you realized that she had given you something to… calm yourself. 

And it worked, soon you were crying silently as your airways cleared and you could actually breathe freely. 

“Let me escort you to your room”, she said softly. You tried to shake your head, to say you needed to go back to your mother and husband, your mind became cloudy, the fear of them being together strangely present in your now idled mind. 

But you could barely walk as the seconds passed, but she was stronger than she looked, so she grabbed you and took you to your rooms.

Silence reigned at your departure. Both Marcus and Lucilla following you with their gaze as you left the villa

“What is going on?”, she asked, concerned as she looked at her friend

“I’m not sure”, he whispered, “I will make sure the medicus checks on her”, he assured her

“Is she with child?”, she asked with a small smile on her face

“No”, he said so surely, it made her frown. 

“You should check on her’’, she said after a long pause, he was going to say something, but then Thulia came with urgent eyes, looking straight at Marcus

“The domina was feeling unwell”, she said with warning “I have taken her to her rooms”, they both raised from the sofas quickly, “she is asleep”, she said, and it seemed so odd for Marcus, how could you have gotten sleep so quickly?

“What happened?”, he demanded, with his strong voice that made the sweet servant tremble in front of him.

“She was really upset”, she said, “she couldn’t breathe, so I gave her Valeriana to sleep”, she left quickly after that, leaving the both of them in the triclinium, sharing concerned looks. 

“Acacius”, she called, “did I make the right choice?”, it wasn’t a rhetorical question, her voice was tainted with disappointment, and it broke Marcus’ heart, “are you neglecting her?”, he wouldn’t quite use that word, but right now, as those words washed over him like a tidal wave, he came to the hard realization that maybe he had….

Did he?

“I’m so sorry…”, he whispered, “I thought I could… I thought that letting her have her space and her freedom was going to be enough, to keep her content, and to protect her”, he whispered. 

“Oh Acacius”, she sighed, “you might know how to conquer cities, but you know little of conquering women”, she said with a lament

“Lucilla, I am sorry”, he said, “I am here to protect her…”

“You married her”, she remind him, “I did not intent for you to keep her in a shelf”

“Lucilla”, he did not know what to do with this conversation.

“If you are not going to do this right, don’t do this at all”, she said, “we are breaking her heart Acacius”, she whispered sadly.

And now he didn’t know what to say.

You opened your eyes and you were met with your uncle’s deep piercing gaze, looking down upon you, those ghostly blue eyes, darkened by those deep dark circles under his eyes. 

“Uncle Commodus?”, your childish voice sounded so foreign, “what are you doing?”, you asked after you giggled

“I watch you sleep littlest princess”, he said simply

“Why?”, you asked him

“You sleep so peacefully”, he explained, with that sharp voice of his, “tell me something little one…”, you just looked at him expectantly, “do you sleep so well because you are so loved?”

“Ah!”, you awoke, shaken, sitting on the bed. Your chest ached and you felt your heart beating so hard you thought it was going to come out by your mouth.

It felt so real, like the former Emperor had been right there in front of you. 

When you came to your senses you realized you were in your room, the sun barely gazing upon the horizon. 

Marcus was right there, sitting on an uncomfortable wooden chair, he was asleep but as soon as he sensed you had shifted he opened his eyes slowly. 

Your mother was sitting on the other side of your bed. Had she slept here in your villa last night? Where is she and Marcus?... you looked back at him and you felt nauseous

“What happened?”, you asked, you felt groggy

“You were so upset, Thulia gave you something to make you sleep”, explained your mother, caressing your cheek, but unlike the times before, her touch made you uneasy, it didn’t soothe you.

She must have known

How could she not? you could even tell now as you saw the way Marcus looked at her, so, she must have known he loved her. 

She knew and she married you to him anyway, was all of this just some sick game to her? you never thought she could be so cruel, but the proof was there. 

“How are you feeling?”, your face turned to Acacius, he seemed really concerned. You looked at him, and then back at your mother, only the three of you in the room. 

You wanted to cry again

“I’ll leave you both alone”, said your mother with a shy smile, “I should go back home”.

“Actually…”, you said quickly, “I would like to rest, alone”, you begged them, they exchanged concerned looks and Marcus even had the decency to look hurt by your words

“Of course”, he said, rising from the stool by the side of your bed, and they both left the room.

You dozed off a bit after they left, your mind clouded with images of the past, of your uncle, of your brother, of the fear after your grandfather’s passing, the uncertainty. You were older than Lucius, you remember more vividly, your mother’s fear, the way she kept you guarded and in a separate wing at the palace, now you had the perspective of adulthood you understood why…. the attitude your uncle had, regarding your mother… the danger you were all in… 

Why were you dreaming about him now? After all this time?

Marcus himself entered your room slowly, looking at you with his big eyes. 

“I wished to speak to you, wife”, he said softly. You feared what he had to say, but he seemed relaxed, not like he was about to tell you he was divorcing you because he loved your mother and she loved him too and they were going to finally get married and abandon you…

You were spiraling

“Yes Acacius”, you said softly

“Marcus”, he said, frowning

“Marcus”, you offered. you played with your fingers nervously. 

“Wife”, he called, oh he wanted your whole attention, you raised your head to look at him, you still find it odd that he called you that, before he left for Hispania, he used to call you by your name only, “the medicus and I believe, that for my recovering health, it would be best if we retreated to the country”, he said, and that truly surprised you, “As you know, I have a villa at the edge of lake Bracciano, up north the Via Clodia”, he explained softly, and that truly sounded like a dream.

He seemed to relax once he saw your small smile.

Oh so he wasn’t going to run away with your mother, he wanted to take you with him, alone… 

“We should”, you encouraged, “we should go, for your health”

Something strange happened, as for the very first time since he was married to you, he seemed to truly… see you… he gazed upon you, upon your face, with something you would have liked to see on the day you married him. 

But he was… again… playing with you, probably.

But the thought of going to the country truly excited you. You could take Luna, you were certain she was going to be happy in the country, free and with all the grass she could eat… and you too… 

Maybe just maybe… you could hold on into a bit of hope.

PCN: I don't like it when chapters have too many "spacers", but i think this is neccesary, you know? to amrk a "change of scene", I ask for forgiveness for any writting mistakes, I was -as always- excited to post this! JEJEJEE

“El embrujo” it's a cumbia song from an artist I like 😂 the song states that "everyones" saying that this woman put a spell on him, on the singer, because he had have many lovers, but he loves her so much she probably “bewtiched him” and then he goes on and says “so what? if its true, let it be! Enchanted and bewitched by you, so what? I’m happy, do not broke this spell on me” hahahaha, Marcus is now somewhat enchanted and we don’t want anything to do with with! talk about timing!

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[red-cicada]

My week was weird so I was only able to watch Reanimator but ima try to get to bride and the rest at some point.

Here are my notes I took while re-watching re-animator these are not in depth at all, they are just whatever came into my head at the moment that's all I'm writing down for now. They are mostly random notes and not really in order at all.

Re-Animator Extra notes 

Dr.Gruber is a parental figure to Herbert 

He dies to something outside of the experiments while with Herbert, and in a panic herb reanimates him 

Hill and Herbert immediate beef 

Megan does not like Hill at all, ima have her have more beef with him 

Is Rufus megs or Dan's cat? Dan seems a bit indifferent to him, but Meg is very attentive to him. Dan does seem to pay attention to Rufus when Meg is there but Meg is very attached to him. 

Meg automatically recognizes Rufus but when Dan's talking to the dean he doesn't say it was his cat 

A part of me feels like this is the dean's fault, he heard Dan's out, and what happened and despite it all he didn't do as much to stop it all, he could have easily stopped Herbert. 

The only people the reanimated corpses pay attention to is Megan and Herbert which is why I feel they are the 2 dominant personalities. Dr.Hill has to lobotomize them for them to listen to him. 

There is so reason for Gruber to be back in the second movie when his head was literally crushed 

Dan and Meg are very sweet, very like a cheesy couple.

MEG SLAPPING DAN SHE ALSO NEEDS TO SLAP HERBERT 

Hill stealing Herbert's notes ( why was Herbert so easily subdued in this scene? I think he already made up his mind about killing Hill when he was first threatened, the mentioning of taking away Dan also probably got to him) ( okay I forgot that in the deleted scenes it kinda insinuates that hill is like hypnotizing / mind controlling Herbert into giving up his notes??? Also he cried at the mention of Gruber also one of the reasons why I think this whole obsession with the work, a part of it comes from unprocessed grief )

Notes on Meg

Meg does NOT like Herbert from the minute they meet 

She is immediately fighting with herbert ( they are like 2 dominate animals to me fighting over territory ) 

Megan has to be a student in the medical school right? Like there is no way she's just walking around the hospital just cause she's the dean's daughter, she has to be studying something.. 

Megan is very clearly a very smart character, emotionally and academically. She locked in so fast on who Herbert was as a person. 

She takes over the head of the household after her mother died. When did she die? I'm assuming either when she was in school or early in her medical studies 

Megan was the one who said they needed to keep Herbert there to get more evidence on him. 

Meg doing her own research on herbert 

They give meg so much more character and context in the deleted scenes, she's so smart, and aggressive, and way kinder and forgiving then she needs to be. 

Notes on Dan

Dan is so submissive he is so easily put into situations by those who are more dominant in personality ( Meg and Herbert ) 

He listened to them so easily, his convictions are so small, he clearly has a distaste for what Herbert is doing, he has a better standing in the hospital and is physically stronger than Herbert, if he didn't want to do any of this he could have easily stopped it all. 

Bro literally did nothing to stop herb from re-animating rufus, bro was like “ no…stop “ in such a soft way, and he did absolutely NOTHING to try and physically stop herbert, in fact his fucking eyes where following herberts hand with the syring the whole time bro is so intrigued. 

Herb however has a dominant personality, and Dan seems to need someone like that to sort of give him some stability. Meg has the same effect on him, I think it's just Dan's own curiosity that makes him lean into herbert. 

Even during the attack of that first reanimated corpse Dan wasn't the one to kill him, it was herbert. 

Dan was the one who first said he wanted to kick herbert out 

Dan had no issue with Herb until Herbert did something bad 

Notes on Herbert

Worked with Dr.Gruber, Parental figure 

First Corpse he Reanimated on his own without Gruber 

Gruber died due to something outside of the experiments Herbers panic led him to Reanimation 

Hebert being very dismissive of Dan and anyone else at first 

Very small expression for the most part a deadpan face, easily and quickly switches from each expression 

The first major expression he makes is when he sees the basement in the house 

Should of put that money in dans pocket 

He also has beef with megan

He doesn't like megan cause she's getting in the way of his experiments ( telling dan not to let him rent a room ) 

But he's indifferent to dan in this moment

Medical posters and books all around herberts room, he's a bit messy ( i would think is this from being indifferent to his space, not necessarily from him being a messy person ) 

I don't think Herbert killed Rufus, I do think he took that opportunity of having a dead cat to experiment. 

Herberts humor is very corny, small pranks ( scaring dan ) and stupid puns 

“ you haven't done this to people?” Personally the reason I think Herbert reacted the way he did was because the only person he DID reanimate was Gruber and that wasn't necessarily a good moment for him. 

He ties his shoes with the rabbit ears method lol 

Doesn't even wait for the doors to close to start working bro is just so excited 

I think he was so desperate to reanimate another corpse because he was trying to recreate the situation with Gruber, and understand what happened and what went wrong ( his version of processing new emotions ) 

There is such desperation in Herbert to keep using the reagent to keep getting more information to process. I do truly believe this is an autistic thing, he got new information that he doesn't know how to process or understand so he's continuously trying to recreate that scenario to learn about it more. 

I don't think Herbert is misogynistic, I just think he doesn't like Meg. He doesn't treat any other woman the way he does meg ( in the first movie, but then it's just francesca too also just 80s writing  ) 

He knows he can convince dan to do his bidding but he also knows megan can easily do the same 

Herbert is such a bad liar but he gets away with shit because he's rich and white. 

He does this thing when he's concentrating where he will either stick out his tongue, or pout. 

Even when saving Meg he insults her. 

I always forgot the lobotomy scar on his head, ill have to give myself a mental note to draw that in from now on.. 

Herbert was so ready to die here, what's important is his work, his notes, as long as that lives on He isn't important.

End of notes

I obviously need to work on my Meg and Dan, I've been putting so much of my energy into Herbert lol.

I hope you guys like my notes, when I get through all the re-watches and these basic set of notes, ill come back with more in depth notes and thoughts of things, theories and ( super ) rough concepts.

this is all very basic, and very small, I am not a writer, nor do I think I have the most interesting or best takes on things, but I'm hoping with time and effort something good can pop out.

they should make a show like Hannibal but for re-animator, and they should let me direct and write and also let me play Herbert West

[lesfir]

Ascended Astarion reaction to “I'll do it. I'll become a mind flayer”.

One of the interesting moments in Astarion's Ascension arc – in scriptural and cinematic point of view - is when Tav informs Astarion that they is not afraid of becoming an illithid.

(for Astarion, illithids are “it”. Justified by lore they lose all personality when they become one, except in the rarest of cases, it's Illithid roulette where the chance is far from 50\50)

Astarion clearly expresses that he doesn't want this and partly in an ironic (sassy) way.

And then this happens:

NodeContext: Trying to be assertive, but faltering

He looks at Tav straight in the eye, but then he thinks for a second, “if not… If it's unavoidable”. puppystaron

A whole body language here is just as brilliantly done.

There are many gestures in this scene before these two phrases, he suggests using the hammer with a pointing gesture “look, we have this other option.” But I'll focus my attention on these two. In the beginning Astarion “indicates”, he wants to show authority and say “no” clearly, then he “crosses out” in the air with his index finger such a suggestion, clenching the fist of his other hand. He's also outraged - he waves his arms around - no, no this all won't happen. That's his emotion. Then he realizes that it is simply impossible to say “no” to this, it is necessary to solve this problem, Astarion opens his palms as if to say “wait”, “then we will think”. Here, too, he wanted to be confident, assertive. And this is his faltering moment, his left hand clenches a couple times for seconds. Realizing that he's confused he wants to pull himself together, clenching both fists again already from his desire to be firmer, confident.

“We'll figure it out. I am sure”.

Next part main analytics of what he's talking about and how deep it is.

He's faltering exactly on the word “I”. Maybe it's here because: And who am I? A worm, weak and pathetic - who never amounted to anything. Astarion heard this throughout the 200 years of his torment. Cazador had insinuated it to him all along - the helplessness and doom of his condition. He's used to a position where he just has to resign himself to it. It's the aftermath of his deep wound.

And then it clicks “no”. We won. Cazador is dead. And I am Lord. We'll figure it out. “I am sure of it”.

He wants to, very much, his feelings here play colors and all the developments that have taken place. But the practical side of the situation… which he realizes inside makes him have feelings and think thoughts he would never want to think about - loss. And what kind of loss? His love.

I've written about the “We” part of the big analytics here before. Astarion uses it many times. This moment is special and precious because he uses "We" in a stressful and dangerous situation, when his confidence after a grand victory and freedom is suddenly shattered again. And his wound is open.

Astarion is used to no one helping him. His usual phrases are “trust no one”.

I remember in situations of danger, he showed only distrust that anyone could help him except himself. That's quite a lot.

When the emotional contact happens in act 2 his feelings with Tav become deeper and true. (although in Act 1, Astarion felt something that was just building up to wanting real and more)

This moment is important because:

- he expresses his “I”.

- that he doesn't just say “We” when he's proud and puffed up. “We rule, we are beautiful.” He says “We” when a problem needs to be solved. That's what makes this We special. And under stress that he's even stuttering (!). It's a huge step, as if to say, he doesn't push Tav away, his first thought on how to solve this problem - relies on us. It's also a comfort to him. In addition, his tone becomes very soft - he's trying to calm Tav down so they can figure something out, too. Including “wait” gestures are the soothing “take your time, calm down, we'll think about it” movement.

As soon as he felt the pain from his wound, he remembers the most important. It's his trust and confidence in each other.

We can do it together.

At the end, I suggest enjoying Astarion against a backdrop of blue space nebulae.

[whatsupsonnyboy]

Drunk in my mind | Joseph Quinn

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Joe and you (actress!reader) met during the filming of a romantic thriller, you two struggle to keep your undeniable chemistry professional. But when intimate scenes push your limits, the line between acting and reality begins to blur.

wc: 5.9K

warning: fluff, slow burn, co-stars to friends, friends to lovers, mentions of sex, swearing, overthinking, angst

a/n: heeeeeey, i know it's been ages, so sorry, but you know how life could be! anyway, i recently got lot of free time so i decided to pick up writing this precious man. This one just got on my mind while listening a podcast, originally it was going to be a one shot... looks like it's gonna be more parts to this! Hope you enjoy it 😌

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open  | masterlist

He was feeling really excited about the whole thing. The whole project was kind of a dream if he was honest, the story was captivating, the arc of his character was interesting and challenging and the chance to work with Mark as a director was more than anything he could have dreamt of. He felt like the whole universe was playing on his favour, as if it was saying “hey, here you have, you deserve it”, and that could only make him feel grateful and lucky. 

He had known since the very first moment he accepted the role who his co-star was going to be. He remembered how worked up he felt—the incredible chance to work with such a talented and young actress, someone with that kind of range. It was exciting, a little intimidating even. The thought of it made his heart race a bit. So when the two of you finally met, he couldn’t help but like you instantly.

And he had noticed that you liked him too. The chemistry between you two was undeniable, something neither of you had tried to hide. It wasn’t just about the physical attraction, though there was plenty of that. No, it was something deeper, a connection that he couldn’t quite put into words. There was an admiration there, something rooted in the way you thought, how you carried yourself, your mind… it fascinated him. And he felt that same spark from you, even if neither of you dared to acknowledge it fully. In an environment like that—so close, yet so professional—it was delicate. Neither of you wanted to be the first to cross a line that could jeopardize everything.

The first few days of filming were a blur of getting to know each other on screen, but it didn’t take long before it was clear you two clicked on a deeper level. Not even two weeks into the filming, and you had found yourselves spending almost all your breaks together. The quiet moments during meals, those late-night chats after a long day of work, felt like they meant something more than just passing time. You'd wander around the city on free days, both of you enjoying the shared silence between laughter and conversations that didn’t always make sense, but that somehow felt significant.

Joe would sometimes catch himself watching you when you weren’t looking, studying the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about something you were passionate about. He’d love to listen to you for hours, about everything and nothing, and that feeling of connection lingered in the air between you. The way you made him feel heard, understood… it was rare. And judging by the way your gaze would linger on him, he could tell you felt the same.

But there was always that unspoken tension—the fragile balance between admiration and attraction, and the fear that crossing that line would change everything. Especially there, in that professional environment, where neither of you could afford to lose focus.

The more time he spent with you, the more he liked you. He found himself continually impressed by the way you worked—the passion you poured into every scene, the incredible talent you demonstrated even in the smallest moments. It wasn’t just your skill; it was your intensity, your energy, the way you approached everything with such genuine depth that it left him captivated. He couldn’t recall ever feeling that way about anyone else. Sure, he had admired colleagues before—he could still remember how stunned he had felt working with Denzel back in Gladiator, or the first time he shared a scene with Lupita. But none of that compared to what he felt now. This was something different, something unexplainable. And it was delightful. Getting to do a romance thriller for the first time while working with someone like you made everything feel effortless.

He found himself looking forward to every scene with you, not just because of the professional challenge but because of how naturally the two of you clicked. You seemed to challenge him in the best way, pushing him to reach new emotional depths, yet there was always this lightness between you both that made working together seem easy.

He had even forgotten about the sex scenes —the very thing that had made him hesitate when he first agreed to the movie. He had done intimate scenes before, of course, but this was different. When he had read the script, he had known it would be a whole new level of vulnerability. But as the filming drew closer, it felt almost like an inevitable tension was building between you two. It wasn’t just physical; it was mental, emotional, a strange but undeniable connection he couldn’t quite put into words.

Edith, the intimacy coordinator, had talked to both of you, together and separately, several times already. At first, it had made him feel calm, safe, almost like everything was under control. But the more time he spent with you, the more that sense of control started to slip away.

The idea of the two of you being semi-naked on a bed, pretending to have sex, sent a shiver down his spine. Not a bad one, not a good one either. No, it was something far more complicated. It felt… unprofessional, and yet it was so much more than that. The goosebumps that had run through him when you kissed him during the first take a few days ago… they had lingered. The memory of that kiss wasn’t just physical; it had settled deep in his stomach, making him question everything. And the worst part? He was afraid to be the only one who felt it.

He couldn’t let this happen. He liked you, of course… as an actress, as a co-worker, as a friend even. But that was all, right? He couldn't allow his body to suddenly want you in a way that went beyond professional respect. Oh God, he was feeling ridiculous. He was supposed to be a professional, and that’s how it had to stay. But how the hell was he supposed to act casual about you being above him, with nothing but a thin piece of cloth separating your bodies? Your breasts close to his face as your eyes locked with his, looking at him as if he was the only man in the world. How was he supposed to resist that?

He could certainly tell the difference between reality and acting. But how was he supposed to teach his body that distinction? The worst part was the guilt. Guilt because of how unprofessional he felt. Guilt because he had let this go so far without acknowledging what was happening inside of him. It had been so easy to let his guard down around you. He had felt so comfortable with you from the start, so at ease in your presence, that he hadn’t even stopped to question his own feelings. Now it felt like he’d jumped into this situation without looking at the consequences.

But now it was too late to undo those feelings. The scenes were scheduled to start early next week, and he had no idea how to handle this newfound tension between you. How was he supposed to manage those feelings—this raw attraction—within the next two days? He didn’t know if he could control it. Production had given the entire crew the weekend off, and he was left with two options: spend the weekend with you, in town, facing the intensity of his growing feelings, or retreat to London and try to pretend none of it existed.

He could already feel how difficult it would be to run away from this. Because it somehow felt like he was running, but taking a little space felt like the best, he could still book a flight, go back home and try to clear his head. Joe wasn’t sure that it would work, but at least he had to give it a try. 

It wasn’t something weird of you to appear out of nowhere in his hotel room with a pretty nice plan that would immediately convince him to get out of the hotel. But that night he was going to force himself to do things right. 

“What do you mean you can't?” you asked in a laugh. 

Joe tried to stop you at the door, but it was worthless. He couldn’t even articulate a word at the look you gave him as you made your way in his room. 

“You leaving?” you asked then. “Where you off to?” 

You looked at the carry-on luggage on the bed. All what he needed for a weekend out was already packed. 

“Home” Joe simply answered and the inquiring look in your eyes made him go on. “I thought it’d be nice to see my mum and friends”. 

“Oh, I see”.

You seemed disappointed, and Joe felt like there was something else you wanted to say so he remained silent. 

You didn't. 

“I’ll be here on Sunday night”.

Why had he said that? It felt like he was explaining himself, he needn’t, you hadn’t asked for it either. 

“Have a good weekend Joe” you said, with fake sympathy and left the room afterwards.

He couldn’t explain how awful he felt the moment he heard the door closing, or even why he was feeling that way. But he was not going to stay and figure it out, he would let that to Monday Joe. 

-

You couldn’t understand a single thing. It was nonsense. One day he would treat you like you were the most beautiful and fascinating creature in the entire planet, the next, he would run back to London without a single explanation. Not that he owed you one, because you two were nothing but co-workers. Explanations were for people who were romantically involved, weren’t they? And Joe and you were nothing like that. 

Because spending every single moment of your free time with him didn’t mean you felt anything for each other. It just meant, you liked each other, as co-workers. You just enjoyed each other's company in a job environment full of unknown people. 

It was nice to have him around. Somehow, it made you feel like you were just hanging out with someone you hadn’t seen in a while, as if your paths had crossed before, in another time, another place. Talking to him about anything felt effortless, like catching up with an old friend, which was a rare gift. He had that gift.

You had heard the rumors, of course you had. Almost everyone who had come across Joseph Quinn always used the same words: “nicest of the guys,” “damn funny,” “witty sense of humor,” and “incredibly sensitive.” And all of them were spot on. But it was more than that. You couldn’t help but admire how much he made you feel seen, how, despite the attention and praise that followed him, he managed to make you feel like you were the only one in the room when you spoke.

At first, you were simply delighted by how everything had aligned so perfectly. The chance to film a movie with Mark, one of the most promising directors in the current industry, was already a dream come true. And then there was Joseph Quinn, the charming, talented British actor whose reputation had already preceded him. From the very beginning, everything was going better than expected. Mark’s direction was an experience in itself—eccentric and demanding, but exciting and fulfilling all the same. But Joe… Joe was everything you could’ve dreamed of and more.

From the moment Heather, the casting director, introduced you to him, you felt a spark. That dreamy look in his eyes, the sunglasses perched atop his head, holding back the honey curls that were starting to grow long again, and that stupid, adorable accent that made your heart skip a beat. He was effortlessly charming, but it wasn’t just his looks or the humor he carried so naturally; it was the way he made you feel at ease, the way he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you, listening to you as if your thoughts were as valuable as his own.

You could clearly remember the way your stomach flipped the first time he asked you how you were feeling after the first day of shooting. You had felt terrible, after a night of no sleep. Leaving home for a long time was always kind of torturous, especially when it meant sleeping in a bed that wasn’t yours. Such a small, silly thing, yet it had made everything feel off.

But you were sure your lack of sleep and the consequent irritability had gone unnoticed. Or at least you had thought so, until Joe insisted that something was wrong. You hadn’t expected him to notice —especially not so early, not after just one day of filming. But he had, and the way he looked at you, like he really cared, made you feel like you owed him a little real kindness in return. After all, he was the only one who’d truly seen through your facade, despite all your efforts to hide how miserable you were feeling that day.

You two had ended up in his room, ordering the fanciest food you could find on the service menu, and watching the first Netflix blockbuster you both could find on the smart TV. There was something calming about it.

You had fallen asleep quickly, almost immediately after a few spoonfuls of the seafood rice Joe had ordered. The need for rest was bigger than your hunger. And strangely, falling asleep in Joe’s bed had been incredibly easy, a stark contrast to the nightmare it had been to even try to fall asleep in your own room the night before. Maybe it was just exhaustion, maybe your body was begging for rest—maybe it was the warmth and scent of him next to you that made it feel like you were safe, like you weren’t alone in this strange place.

You remembered waking up to the sound of Joe’s alarm blaring, and the embarrassment quickly rushed through your body as you realized you had fallen asleep in the bed of a stranger who also happened to be your co-star. It felt like the worst possible thing in the world at that moment, but Joe didn’t seem to care at all. He emerged from the other side of the room, where there was a sofa-bed, and you realized he must have let you sleep alone while he stayed there, keeping his distance. His smile when he looked at you was warm and soft, the kind of smile that made you feel... something you couldn’t quite name. He asked if you had a good night, and you could only nod, still blushing a little, but now, with a hint of warmth spreading in your chest.

However, the night he disappeared you weren’t feeling delighted at all. You had almost felt abandoned. Absurd, you knew, but couldn’t help it. And that really pissed you off. Because you didn’t even have the right to feel like that. Joe was just your co-star, your almost friend maybe. So all the rage and the frustration were useless. 

You didn’t want to waste more time feeling like that, and you knew that if you stayed at the hotel the whole weekend, it would turn into endless hours of overthinking. So you fixed yourself internally, as if you had just gotten up from a fall and texted Sam. 

She was one of the supporting actors in the films, and she was really nice and fun. She loved being out so it meant you’d probably get no rest for the next 48 hours, but that was better than to go over and over the same thoughts in the loneliness of your hotel room. Alcohol and loud music seemed like a better choice.  

-

It hadn’t worked. He knew it the moment he was back to the filming location, he probably had known a long before he entered his hotel room, but opening the door of the suite made it land hard on his chest. There was that feeling all again, as it had never left, just had gone undercovered for a few hours. The terrible urge to go running to your room and kiss you, hold you, run his fingers through your hair as you rested your head on his chest. 

He was done. He was finished. All the repressed feelings and unsaid words were pressing on his chest like a ton of rocks, making it hard to think, to breathe. It was like the world had shrunk, and all that mattered was this impossible attraction, this desperate need to be near you. He couldn’t even remember feeling this helpless about anyone before. It was almost unbearable. 

He hadn’t said a word about it back home, maybe he should have talked about it with a friend, could have helped… but he had been so determined to be distracted about the whole thing, that going over the matter hadn’t really been an option. It had probably been a childish choice, but regretting it then, in the loneliness of his hotel room, within a few hours to go and face reality, was pointless. 

Someone was knocking the door just a couple hours after he had finally been able to fall asleep. Getting to sleep decently had turned into an impossible mission with hundreds of intrusive thoughts constantly hunting his mind. And now, he would not only feel miserable, he would look like it too. Edith instantly pointed it out the moment he opened the door. Not helping at all. 

She was there to talk to him before getting to the set, Joe knew she was going to be there, he also knew he was going to talk to you after. Another talk for you two was awaiting the moment before entering the set. So he kind of knew he could still do something… maybe he could talk about how not exactly comfortable he was feeling about the sex scenes, but how was he supposed to do that. First, those scenes weren’t exactly the problem. Second, then what? What was he expecting to happen? 

Joe ran again through every single fake scenario that had haunted him for the last weeks while he was showering and getting ready. Edith was waiting in the living area of the suite, and as soon as he heard Joe out of the bathroom she started with the questions. 

“How was your weekend off?” she politely asked.

“Mm, great” he simply replied. He knew the small talk was her way of not jumping straight into asking about being ready to get naked in front of a camera. “How about you? You get some rest?”. He asked, trying to not be a dick with her. 

Edith explained how she hadn’t fully taken the days off, though she’d rested a bit. She spent most of the time working on the shooting protocol and handling some logistics. She told Joe they were aiming to wrap up everything in one day, two at most. She mentioned details about the environment—how she’d been adamant about lighting, the silence during the shoot, and limiting the crew in the room.

Despite knowing she was saying all those things to make it look like a friendlier scenario, it just had the opposite effect on Joe. When he entered the room Edith was in, she didn’t even try to hide the concern in her face at Joe’s appearance. 

“Are you feeling alright, Joe? If you feel sick or something we could talk to Mark and postpone everything”. Her tone was soft, and for a second Joe really thought about it. 

He could play sick. He could try to slip out of the situation for at least two or three more days… maybe he could fix his mind. Try to put in order some thoughts and see things in a different way. But that wouldn’t work unless he talked to you about it. That was what he had to do. Confront his feelings about you and explain how fucking nervous, no. How fucking sick it made him the idea of getting an erection in the middle of filming, and how violent it would be for you and for him, and for everyone in the damn room. Maybe you would be comprehensive. Maybe you would even laugh about it. Or maybe you would think that Joe was a complete idiot, an unprofessional guy who couldn’t take control of his own body for a few hours. 

“No”. He hissed, almost unconsciously. “No, I… just need to eat something” he lied. “I’m fine”. 

Edith raised an eyebrow, skeptical. It was like she could hear every word of his internal struggle. She pressed on, asking if something was worrying him. Joe shook his head, offering no further explanation. She didn’t want to push, but he could feel her concern. She then mentioned she’d be there for the whole shoot, that he could ask her for anything he needed to feel more comfortable. She even casually suggested a jockstrap if that was something he was worried about.

Before leaving Joe’s room he specifically mentioned how she knew that these scenes could be stressful, and sometimes even awkward, but that he could totally trust her about anything he didn’t really feel like doing. He also told Joe that lots of actors have a hard time about getting unwanted erections, but that was something really natural, because despite him being an actor, his body didn’t necessarily acknowledge that. She concluded by assuring him that everything was going to work just fine and left Joe to go to your room. 

Joe didn’t really know how to feel about that information, it somehow made him feel better and at the same time made him more anxious to become one of those actors she was talking about. 

-

Saying Joe looked terrible was an understatement. He looked sick, pale, distant. You’d tried asking him, but he responded with nothing more than a monosyllabic grunt, eyes averted. The coldness, the avoidance— it rattled you. What had changed? Why was he acting like this now?

First, the sudden withdrawal, and now, the silent treatment. It made no sense. Especially now, when you were on the verge of exposing yourself in front of him. It made the whole situation even more uncomfortable. You needed this to be over, more than ever.

Edith offered a few more directions, calming words, and encouragement before the two of you stepped onto the set. The space was intimate: Edith, Mark, a few techs, Laura and Henry —just the essentials. The air buzzed with anticipation, but it didn’t throw you off. You’d done this before. You’d been through much more explicit scenes. And Mark and Edith had been nothing but professional and supportive, so the only thing that made you nervous was Joe.

Neither of you exchanged a word while Mark ran through the sequence, explaining the shots and movements. You nodded in unison, your eyes never meeting his.

Minutes later, you were pinned against the wall, Joe above you, his body hovering just an inch from yours, his hands firm but cold—one gripping your arm, the other on your hip. His touch felt distant, almost mechanical, and when your eyes met his, you caught a flash of something you couldn’t quite place—nervousness? Anxiety? But you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

You both stood silent as Mark called “ACTION.” Joe delivered his lines. You laughed on cue, and then he leaned in for the kiss. This time, his lips found yours with such intensity, it startled you —a hungry, almost desperate kiss that stirred something deep within your stomach. You didn’t have to fake it. The chemistry was still there, you could feel it, even if you both had to keep up appearances for the crew.

But the more you kissed, the more strained his body became. His hands were tense. The roughness in his touch grew harder, sharper. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t like how he used to kiss you, with that mix of admiration and passion. It was stiff, forced. Something was off.

The rest of the scene went downhill. Joe seemed to withdraw further as the shots progressed. His body, rigid as a board, betrayed every word he spoke. The tension was palpable. When it came time for the bed scene, the air felt suffocating.

You straddled him, your torso barely covered by the robe. His gaze never left your body, but his eyes held no warmth, no connection. Instead, they were guarded, cold. As you lowered yourself onto him, he swallowed hard, his whole body stiffening beneath yours.

You couldn't ignore it anymore. His discomfort was suffocating.

“Are you okay?” you whispered, despite the growing unease.

He nodded, a faint, bitter look crossing his face before he turned his gaze away from you.

Before you could speak again, Mark gave the signal to get into character. The cameras rolled, and you tried to keep your focus. But God, it was so painfully obvious.

You shed your robe, and when Joe let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh, the silence in the room felt deafening. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. The whole scene felt like it was falling apart.

You repeated your lines, but Joe’s response was hollow, distant. He ran a hand over his face, visibly frustrated, but still unwilling to acknowledge what was happening.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered, his voice low but lacking conviction. "Let’s start over, I—I wasn’t ready. My bad.”

You did it again, hoping that maybe, this time, things would fall into place. But when you leaned in for the kiss, he was stiff—his lips barely responding, his movements robotic. The chemistry was gone, replaced by an uncomfortable stiffness that everyone in the room could sense.

Mark stopped the scene, his face a mixture of confusion and frustration. "What the hell is going on? This is not the energy we’ve had for weeks. Where’s the chemistry?" His voice cut through the tension like a knife.

You both stood there, silent, trying to navigate the gap that had appeared between you, both of you utterly confused by the growing chasm between your previous connection and the awkwardness that now stood between you.

You tried again, but after a couple of failed attempts, the scene became more and more artificial. Joe’s responses were mechanical, his body unyielding, the chemistry as absent as it had ever been. Mark, now visibly frustrated, demanded answers, but neither of you had any to give.

By the sixth attempt, Joe couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved you aside, freed himself from your hold, and pulled his robe around his body. His face was twisted in anger, his frustration spilling over as he muttered under his breath.

"This is ridiculous," he spat, walking away, leaving you and the crew behind, still trying to understand what the hell had just happened.

Mark instantly followed Joe out of the set, maybe to try to talk to him or to calm him down, but it was clear that something had broken. Everyone in the room fell silent, watching as Joe stormed out. It was like the tension in the air was a living thing, pressing down on everyone. You felt paralyzed for a moment, unsure of how to react. He wasn’t like this at all. You had never seen Joe like this—nervous, frustrated, and overwhelmed. It was as though he had completely closed off from you, and you couldn’t understand why.

You stood there, holding your robe, feeling utterly exposed in every way. It wasn’t just the physical vulnerability of the scene—it was emotional too. Joe’s behavior had sent a confusing signal, and suddenly the chemistry that had felt so natural seemed impossible to grasp.

Edith was quick to approach you. “Take five,” she said softly, gesturing towards the corner of the set. “We’ll give him some space. Let’s reset.”

You nodded silently, walking away from the set as the crew murmured among themselves. They were all so professional, but you could tell they were uncomfortable. It wasn’t just the awkwardness of the scene anymore—it was Joe, and the way he was falling apart in front of everyone.

You found yourself in the small lounge area, sitting down, trying to breathe through the confusion. What had happened? What was wrong with Joe?

It wasn’t long before Edith came over to sit beside you. “You okay?” she asked, her voice full of concern.

You wanted to tell her that you were fine. You weren’t. But you didn’t know how to explain what was happening.

“Do you think he’s okay?” You finally asked, your voice tight. “I mean… is he...?”

Edith hesitated. “I don’t know,” she said gently. “He’s been off the whole morning. He seemed like he was pushing something down, but I didn’t want to pry.”

You bit your lip, frustration bubbling up again. This whole situation felt so... off. Everything was supposed to be smooth. The chemistry, the camaraderie, the work—it had all been seamless until now. And now, it was like a wall had gone up between you and Joe, and you had no idea how to break it down.

“We’ll talk to him,” Edith said, after a moment. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out. Just try to take a break. Don’t overthink it.”

You nodded, but your mind raced. It didn’t make sense. What was going on with Joe? Why couldn’t he just talk to you?

After a few minutes, Mark came in, looking more serious than ever. “We’ll have to reschedule for tomorrow,” he said, eyes scanning the room. “Take a break, everyone. I’ll talk to Joe, and we’ll figure out where we go from here. I don’t want to push this.”

With that, the set slowly emptied, leaving you alone in the quiet of the lounge. You felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. Something was wrong, and you had no idea how to fix it.

On the way back to the hotel Edtih tried to talk to you again but you weren’t feeling like it, so you politely refused and went to your room alone. You needed to rest for real. You needed a shower and to hide under your bed until it was 2026. You were feeling ridiculous, exposed, frustrated… you were not even sure why you were feeling like that, no one, not even Joe said that any of it had been your fault, but yet you were feeling responsible. 

And that overwhelming feeling made you more upset if it was possible, because it was truly unfair. You were not irrational though, you knew you couldn’t blame Joe for the way you felt, but at the same time he had been a dick for the last 72 hours or so… how could you not feel as if you had done something wrong. Maybe you had, you could deal with that, but why wouldn’t he come clean about whatever the hell was upsetting him? 

You couldn’t stand being in your room all alone chewing over the same thoughts, you needed answers, so if Joe wouldn’t be brave enough to talk this out, you were. You put on some jeans and a hoodie and with your hair still wet you left your suite and walked to Joe’s. 

Maybe he wasn’t even there, he should have since he had claimed to not be able to keep up with the shooting. But it didn’t matter, you were determined to talk to him even if you had to wait there for hours. 

He gasped your name when he opened the door, eyes widening in genuine surprise. He didn’t look as bad as he had this morning —but he still wasn’t quite himself.

"We need to talk," you said, but Joe didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

"Joe, seriously."

"I… I wouldn’t even know what to say," he confessed. At least this time, he looked at you.

"Well, I do. So at least you're going to listen."

He didn’t argue. He just stood there, silent, watching as you walked past him into the living area. When he finally followed, he sat on the armchair across from you. Something about that —his distance, his passiveness— made your anger flare.

"You’ve gotta be kidding me, Joseph Quinn." Your voice was sharp, cutting through the silence.

Joe opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him the chance.

"How dare you? What kind of psychopath makes me believe he cares, that he's comfortable with me, that we're friends—only to turn around and act like none of it meant anything? What was it, Joe? Just a game? A fucking joke?"

"I care about you," he whispered, but you weren’t done.

"Oh, you care? Funny, because all I see is someone who’s been acting like a complete asshole for days. And for what? I don’t even fucking know. But you know what I do know? That this —whatever the hell this is— is cruel."

Joe stared at you, his expression unreadable. Not a single word. No excuses. No explanations. It was infuriating.

"And now, you just sit there like you have nothing to say? Nothing about the filming, about this morning, about how I fucking feel?" Your voice was rising, the frustration pushing you past your breaking point. "How could you do that?"

Joe finally stood up, his movements restless, his frustration mirroring yours.

"You want me to talk?"

"Of course I fucking do!"

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room, looking as torn apart as you felt.

"Then you should know—I was never pretending. Never," he shot back, his voice raw. "I do fucking care about you. You're important to me, okay?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "Then act like it."

Joe exhaled sharply. "I don’t know how, alright? I already told you—I don’t know what to say. What do you want from me?"

"The truth, Joe. That’s all I fucking want." Your voice cracked, and for the first time that night, it wasn’t anger driving you. It was exhaustion. Defeat. "I just want you to be honest about what’s wrong with you. With us."

Joe looked away. His silence was worse than any argument.

That was it.

Your chest ached as you turned to leave, blinking fast to keep the tears at bay. Joe said your name in a whisper, but you didn’t stop. He called it again, louder, but you kept walking.

You were almost at the door when you felt his hand wrap around your arm. Firm, but not rough. Desperate.

"Let me go, please," you whispered, voice shaking.

Joe didn’t move.

"Joe, please."

He heard it then—the way your voice broke completely. The way you were crying, whether you wanted to or not.

"Look at me," he begged. "Please."

You couldn’t. Instead, a quiet sob escaped, and your body gave up fighting. That was all Joe needed to pull you in, his arms locking around you. You didn’t resist.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, again and again, his voice breaking as he held you tighter.

You turned in his hold, but instead of meeting his gaze, you buried your face in his chest, hands gripping his shirt. He cradled the back of your head, his touch tender in a way that made it worse.

Because he still wouldn’t say what you needed to hear.

[whosashan]

Hello, hi! Sorry for my bad english.

Can I request Jealous!MC where there’s a new colleague whom everyone respects (lets say shes only in Linkon for a week for a short mission) but MC sees how that colleague lowkey and subtly flirts with Xavier? (y’know how guys can be dense at times)

he sets boundaries though, it’s just “colleague” tries to push her luck— for the ending m not so sure, how about Xavier catches on and bluntly turns her down and makes it up for MC? :3

thank you!!!!!! you r very talented🫶🫶🫶

Me? Jealous?

PAIRING: Xavier x mc!reader

SYNOPSIS: Watching your new coworker grow a little too familiar with your boyfriend sent a sharp, unwelcome heat curling in your chest—an emotion you’d never dare to name, let alone admit.

A/N: Thank you for the request. I twisted it a little, so hope you won't mind. I'm not really good at writing jealousy-related stuff, but I hope I'll get better with time!! Hope you enjoy!

Xavier - your sweet, devoted lover. A man of quiet strength and effortless charm, wrapped in an air of aloof detachment that only made people want to be closer to him.

Somehow, despite his reserved nature, he had a gravitational pull. Perhaps it was his unshaken confidence, the way he moved with the quiet assurance of a skilled hunter who had nothing to prove. Or maybe it was that face—carved with sharp angles and softened by golden strands that always seemed to fall just right. Whatever the reason, people wanted him close.

You never minded. In fact, you were proud. Admired, respected—a man like that was yours, after all. And Xavier was never one to indulge in unnecessary conversations or fleeting acquaintances. His world was small, intimate, built on a foundation of loyalty and shared trust. You had never been given a reason to worry.

Until now.

Standing next to Tara, your stomach twisted as your gaze locked onto the scene unfolding across the room.

A woman—tall, poised, exuding an effortless confidence—stood by Xavier’s desk, leaning in just enough to blur the lines between casual and intentional. She had the look of someone who had never been denied, her gaze slow and deliberate as it traced the sharp lines of his face before slipping lower, taking in every inch of him like he was something to be appraised.

Like he was something to be claimed.

Your jaw tightened.

She wasn’t subtle. Her eyes lingered, drinking him in like a fine wine, her expression betraying nothing but intrigue and unspoken intent. If you didn’t know any better, you would have mistaken her for a predator, circling its prey with the patience of something that had never known hunger.

“Who the hell is that?” Tara’s voice was low, hushed, but tinged with the same disbelief you felt.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

“She’s the hunter Jenna assigned for the new mission,” Simone’s voice cut in, her sudden presence making you jolt. “They say she’s one of the best in the field.”

Your lips parted slightly. “The captain of the aviation department?”

Simone nodded, watching your expression carefully.

She was young for such a high-ranking position, but that wasn’t what unsettled you. What unsettled you was the way she carried herself—like she already knew the outcome of a game you hadn’t even realized you were playing.

And the worst part? Xavier seemed oblivious.

His responses were polite, clipped, maintaining the professionalism expected of him when speaking to a superior. He didn’t return her lingering gaze, didn’t acknowledge the subtle shifts in her tone, the way her lips curved when he spoke.

And yet, it still made your blood simmer.

You hated it—the feeling curling in your chest, the way it coiled around your ribs like something dark and unspoken. You didn’t want to name it. Didn’t want to admit that, for the first time, you felt something dangerously close to threatened.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Xavier. Quite the opposite.

It was her.

"She’s supposed to be here for a week or so,” Simone added, eyeing you warily as if she had just glimpsed a side of you she wasn’t quite sure how to handle.

Tara shot her a nervous glance. You didn’t miss the way they exchanged looks, as if silently agreeing that this was unfamiliar territory—you were unfamiliar territory.

Finally, your feet moved before your mind had time to catch up.

You wove through the room with careful, measured steps, every movement precise, controlled. By the time you reached Xavier’s side, you had already tucked away the wildfire burning beneath your skin, smoothing out the edges of your expression into something unreadable.

Xavier turned at your approach, and in an instant, everything about him changed.

His guarded expression softened, his posture easing as that rare, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Warm. Familiar. Yours.

The woman noticed.

“Ah, Y/N.” Her voice was smooth, practiced. She straightened slightly, taking you in with an unreadable gaze. “I’ve heard about you.”

Your eyes met hers, searching, assessing.

“All good things, I hope?” Your words were polite, but there was something beneath them—something carefully measured, just shy of warning.

She didn’t answer. Not really. Instead, a slow smirk curled at her lips, her amusement flickering like the first embers of a fire.

She turned back to Xavier, dismissing you entirely.

“Well, Xavier,” she mused, her voice taking on a honeyed lilt, “I hope you’ll consider my proposition.”

And then she walked away, hips swaying just enough to make her intentions clear.

Your fingers curled at your sides.

“What was that about?” You turned to Xavier, making no effort to hide the edge in your voice.

He blinked, glancing between you and the retreating figure. “…She wanted to meet up to discuss something about the mission.”

Casual. Dismissive. Utterly oblivious.

Xavier reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your skin in that familiar, grounding way. It was instinctive, absentminded, as if he had done it a thousand times before and would do it a thousand times again.

It was enough to ease some of the tension in your shoulders. Almost.

Because while you trusted Xavier implicitly, one thing was certain:

You were not about to let someone like her think she had a chance.

And with the welcome party set for later that week—a gathering meant to formally introduce the aviation captain to the association - it was the perfect moment to make sure she knows he's yours.

Yes. This was going to be fun.

...

Having heard about the party, you weren’t about to let the opportunity slip through your fingers. This was your chance to ensure the captain understood something crystal clear—Xavier was not, and never would be, one of her playthings.

With Tara and Simone’s help, you looked nothing short of lethal. Your makeup was flawless, enhancing every sharp edge and soft curve of your features, making you appear both untouchable and irresistibly tempting. Your hair was styled to perfection, cascading in a way that made you feel like a walking temptation, and your skin glowed with the scent of the perfume Xavier adored—the one that always seemed to awaken something predatory in him, darkening his gaze whenever you wore it.

And the pièce de résistance? A dress—the dress. Baby blue, the color of summer skies and lingering daydreams. It clung in all the right places, teasing with just enough skin to drive anyone who laid eyes on you to the brink of madness, yet leaving enough to the imagination to make them crave more. You knew the effect it had on Xavier. Knew the way his eyes darkened, how his hands twitched as if resisting the urge to pull you close and claim you on the spot.

And tonight, you planned on making sure everyone knew it too.

You had chosen to surprise him, arriving separately so he wouldn’t have a chance to drag you back to the safety of his arms before you had even stepped through the door.

The club was dimly lit, pulsing with the deep bass of music that thrummed beneath your skin. The scent of alcohol, expensive cologne, and faint traces of smoke clung to the air, mixing with the hum of conversation. Association members littered the room, some drinking, others caught in quiet discussions about missions and assignments.

And then you saw him.

Xavier was easy to spot—even in a crowded room, he stood out like something carved from myths, his golden hair catching the glow of the overhead lights. Dressed in his usual understated yet effortlessly attractive manner, he leaned against the bar, engaged in polite conversation.

But then his eyes found yours.

For a moment, he stilled.

And then—oh.

It was subtle at first. The slight parting of his lips, the way his grip on his drink tightened ever so slightly. His gaze dragged over you, slow and deliberate, before snapping back to your face, sharp and hungry. If he had been holding a conversation, you wouldn’t have known—it was as if the world had ceased to exist around him, leaving only you.

Your lips curled into a knowing smile as you strode toward him, reveling in the way his pupils dilated, his usual composure slipping for just a fraction of a second.

You were used to catching Xavier’s attention. But tonight? Tonight, he was absolutely enthralled.

And of course—your lovely new colleague took notice.

She had dressed for the occasion as well, a deep crimson gown hugging her form, exuding confidence. Perhaps she had the same plan you did—to steal Xavier’s attention, to lure him in with beauty and presence.

But she had made one miscalculation.

Xavier’s attention wasn’t hers to steal.

You reached him just as she did, her voice silky as she tilted her head, a charming smile gracing her lips. “Xavier, I must say, you clean up well.”

Xavier, who had just barely managed to tear his gaze from you, turned toward her with his usual polite indifference. “Thank you, Captain.”

She placed a hand on the bar beside him, inching just a little too close, feigning casual conversation. “You know, I never did get a proper answer about my earlier proposal. A meeting—just the two of us. I think we could make an excellent team.”

Your blood simmered. The sheer audacity.

But before you could even open your mouth, Xavier did something that made your heart skip a beat.

He stepped back. Just enough to create space, his movements smooth yet unmistakably intentional.

“I appreciate the offer,” he said, voice calm but firm, “but I’ll have to decline. I don’t mix work with anything that could be… misinterpreted.”

The captain faltered for a fraction of a second, clearly not expecting such a direct rejection.

Still, she recovered quickly, letting out a light laugh, as if amused rather than deterred. “Oh? And here I thought you’d at least consider it.”

Xavier’s gaze flickered toward you then—brief, knowing, filled with something warm and unshaken. And then, with the faintest hint of amusement lacing his voice, he spoke again.

“There’s nothing to consider.”

The words were final. A dismissal. A line drawn in stone.

The captain seemed to realize that any further attempts would be futile. With one last lingering glance, she lifted her drink to her lips, her expression unreadable, before turning away and disappearing into the crowd.

You exhaled, finally allowing yourself to breathe.

And then—Xavier’s hand was on your waist, his grip firm as he pulled you flush against him.

“Enjoying yourself?” His voice was low, edged with something darker, something teasing.

You tilted your head up at him, pretending to consider. “Hmm. Maybe. Though, I was a little concerned for a second there.”

Xavier’s lips twitched, his free hand tracing idle circles against your lower back. “Oh?”

You smirked, eyes gleaming with something playful. “I mean, she’s confident, gorgeous, highly respected—”

Xavier cut you off with a quiet scoff, his thumb brushing over the exposed skin of your waist. “So are you.”

Your laughter was soft, but before you could say anything more, he leaned down, his lips ghosting just below your ear.

“I only see you,” he murmured. “I only want you.”

A slow shiver ran down your spine.

You turned to face him fully then, hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. “Good.”

He smirked. “Good?”

You leaned in, your lips just barely brushing his before whispering, “Because you’re mine.”

Xavier’s breath hitched—just barely, just enough for you to catch it—before he let out a quiet chuckle, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I am.”

And with that, he kissed you—slow and deep, in a way that left no room for doubt.

A statement. A promise.

And a reminder to anyone who had dared to think otherwise.

[al1x00]

Guess who's back🫣 HII KATY HOW ARE YOU MY LOVE?😚 ALSO A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE AU?!?! HELL YEAH

Ngl I read the first lines before anything else and I was prepared for the worst LMAO glad that Yuri's so comprehensive tho (love her sm)

"After our trip to the beach, I know it's his" GIRL?🫣OOP🤭

"And as for the guitar, he put a sticker of your face right on the crack and the mortherfucker kisses it before every show for good luck" WAITT THAT'S SO CUTE :((

I feel like Hobie would for sure take the responsibility if an accidental pregnancy happened, he's not the type of person to leave it all behind. ALSO, I feel like he'd be a huge ass girl dad (and also a huge misandrist LMAO)

Damn James you got a great timing to go piss huh😒

HELPPP YURI AND NED DRINKING AWAY THE EXHASPERATION BYE I'M DEAD

They're like "pass me the wine, I need to get drunk and forget about this" HAHAHA

KATY HOW TF DID YOU MANAGE TO WRITE THE UNDEAD TO BE THAT TERRIFYING MY GODD I HAD CHILLS ALL OVER. That scene where the horde starts to get in the house is written SO WELL ISTG, I can picture it perfectly in my mind.

You can literally feel the anxiety, the chaos of it all, the ABSOLUTE HORROR OF IT KATY YOU'RE A GENIUS YOU OUTDO YOURSELF EVERY GODDAMN TIME

The fact that Hobie immediately thought of what to do if him and R got somehow separated:( He's too loving for his own good

The burning house is giving the start of TLOU ngl

NOOO NOT THE FUCKING TRUCK AND HORDE THEY GOT SEPARATED BWAJFJSKOFF MY BABIESSS😭😭😭

Okay so the infection is like- instant. Once you're bitten you become one of them, right?

TWO FUCKING MONTHS HAVE PASSED?! GOOD GOD THAT'S SO MUCH TIME.

THEY CAN'T EVEN DIE?? Imagine how scared Hobie was when he was just taking a bath and he feels a hand around his ankle- I'd never set foot in any body of water ever again, no matter the size of it.

The voicemails :( I'm not even halfway throught it and I'm already starting to sob KATY YOU OWE ME A THERAPIST

OH HELL NAH PLEASE TELL ME HOBIE IS OKAY AND HE DIDN'T TURN INTO A SEA CREATURE

"It feels like your heart is out of your body, missing somewhere else" I'M SOBBINGG THEY LONG FOR EACH OTHER SM😭😭😭

"Looks like you already took the load" JAMES😨- YOU LITTLE SHIT OMG

My heart literally jumped out of my chest when R almost jumped from the bridge- for a second you had me thinking she was about to die (but then I remembered it's a Katy Special tm)

"The PG version please" HELPP I'M CRYING

"Mudwood Manor" BDAS REFERENCE BDAS REFERENCE BDAS REFERENCEEEEE

AAAAAAA

HOBIE'S ALRIGHT THANK GODDD MY PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED

Aww poor Hobie :( the way the situation remembers him of when he was younger actually breaks him. That and how he's already acclimate with how dangerous and difficult the whole situation is. He deserves all the hugs in the world.

The way R for a second didn't even realise it could be Hobie on the other side of the door or how she thought she was just going crazy and imagining it all

NOOO JAMESS GODDAMN IT :((

NOT R CRADLING HIS HEAD IN HER LAP AND FIXING HIS HAIR KATYY STOP MAKING ME SOB.

UGHH THE ENDING IS SO BITTERSWEET I LOVE IT SM. The life among the death, the gore and the blood and Hobie's hug just makes me want to bawl my eyes out of their sockets I swear.

KATYY I MISSED READING YOUR FICS SM AND COMING BACK TO THIS WAS SUCH A NICE EXPERIENCE SO THANK YOU SM. I know I've said it before but I SWEAR I'll get around to read IPOB because I'm so damn curios abt it🤭🤭. But this was such a great read, it's got me in a chokehold now ngl.

End of Beginning

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 18.7k

Synopsis: When the world seems to come to an end, life starts. Death looms and a virus has taken over. Life as you know it has ended and all you ever want is to see him again.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), CW pregnancy, vomit mention, TW blood and gore, CW injury, TW violence, CW death, CW guns, suggestive content, zombie apocalypse AU, established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst.

Navigation

You stare intensely at the two little red lines on the plastic stick. Heart beating out of your body while the muffled sounds of the party rattles the locked bathroom door. Your breath hitches in your throat, mouth dry and hands shaking from the mere sight of the three pregnancy tests having the same result— positive. There's no doubt about it as the double lines are as clear as day.

“Fuck.” Yuri says the exact same word you have in mind.

“F–Fuck.” You breathlessly say, voice trembling while you haven't moved an inch from where you're standing in front of the sink.

“What're you gonna do?” Yuri asks beside you, hand placed right on your shoulder as you start wobbling in place, afraid that you might keel over on the harsh tiles. “Are you gonna tell him?”

“I–I’m not sure.” You roll the simple silver band around your pinky finger. One that was given to you by Hobie a long time ago.

Finally lifting up your eyes, you stare at yourself in front of the mirror. You look disheveled, hair a mess from the concert. Your clothes still smell faintly like bile and the floor of a pub. The eyeliner around your eyes is smudged, and lips bare from all the wiping you had to do after getting sick all over James’ parents’ bathroom. You feel like a bloody mess.

It was Yuri's idea to run to the chemist's and buy different packs of tests for you after she walked in on you heaving out your dinner. Damn Yuri and her smart ass.

“I thought it was food poisoning from the shawarma we ate.” You deflate, tears threatening to spill over as you sit on the toilet.

“That place near the post office?” Yuri sighs, leaning against the cold tiles as her voice echoes around the bathroom that's as big as your living room.

You rub your palms all over your face, elbows placed atop of your knees as your body folds over itself in an attempt to calm down. There's a rock in the pit of your stomach, face clammy and lips wobbling. The soles of your feet feel numb, ebbing up to your legs and further towards your chest until it reaches your shaking hands. Your leg keeps bouncing up and down, as if it has a life of its own. You don't hear your best friend calling your name as blood rushes in your ears.

“Hey,” she kneels down in front of you, bare knees freezing from the tiles but seemingly not caring for the sensation as her kind eyes stay on you. Her leather skirt pools around her, a blob of black framing under her. “You okay?”

“Y–yeah, it's that place near the post office.” a tear slides down your cheek, and you're quick to wipe it away.

Yuri holds onto your knee, stopping the bouncing of your legs as she cups it with her palm gently and looks into your eyes. “Please don't tell me it's James'”

You pause, staring straight at her with a glare. “Bitch.”

She laughs, the sound bouncing all over the walls. “Mate,” her hand grasps your own, fondly rubbing at your sweaty palm. “You and Hobie have been together since the dawn of time. trust me, after our trip to the beach, I know it's his.”

You crumple in place, a smile slowly appearing on your lips as you hide your face. “God, you'll never let us live that down.”

“Seriously, we had to wear our noise cancelling headphones.”

“Stop!” Chuckling, you feel a bit lighter from her teasing. Just a tiny bit.

Yuri mirrors your smile, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “What are you worried about, hm?”

You sigh, “you know what I'm worried about, Yuri.”

She shrugs and makes a face. “No, I don't, so don't waste both our time and just tell your best mate.”

Rubbing your eyes with your index finger, your entire body starts feeling the pin pricks all around you. “I just—” she patiently waits for you to gather your words. “What if he doesn't want it? That he'll leave me all because of…” you wildly gesture around your stomach.

“Are the hormones getting in your head already?” You give her a stern glare. “Babes, remember the time you accidentally broke his favourite vinyl?” You nod, wincing at the memory. “And that one time you dropped his guitar while attempting to clean it?”

“Please don't remind me, I have nightmares of breaking more shit.”

“Well, you might not remember that he never got mad at you.” Yuri smiles, taking your clenched hands and holding it in place. “He even placed the vinyl in a frame and made it look fucking cooler than before with its shattered pieces. And as for the guitar, he put a sticker of your face right on the crack and the motherfucker kisses it before every show for good luck.”

You chuckle, tears sticking to your lashes.

“All I'm saying is, he's not gonna fucking leave you because of this.” She beams at you, eyes shining from the bright light of the bathroom. “If he does, then I'm gonna help you raise that kid. But before that I have to bury him and you're gonna help me find a quiet and secluded place for him.”

You laugh, head falling down on Yuri's shoulder. “You really think so?” Your voice is small as she rubs your back.

“I know so, babes. Besides, this is his fault too.” You sniff and she holds onto you tighter. “And I know Hobie, he takes responsibility for shit he does. The one thing he truly loves in this world besides his guitar is you.” She whispers, love rolling off of her as she comforts you. “I've seen the way he looks at you, and that's not the look a man gives to someone he's ready to up and leave because of a baby.”

Your heart steadies in place as your mind flickers back to his face. Yuri's right, all those years of being in love with him, and the many years of being together would tell you that he won't bolt away from the product of all those years of loving each other. But there's that one thing you're worried about too.

“But—” you start and Yuri lifts your head up, scrunching your face in her hands.

“No buts!”

“Yuri,” you say, despite your squished lips and cheeks. “The band is just gaining traction, what if this—”

“I'm going to stop you right there.” She stands up, boots thumping on the tiles as she helps you stand up from the toilet and grabs a tissue to clean up your tear stained cheeks and messy mascara. “This won't stop us, and we'll learn to juggle it with you.” Gently patting your eyes, she smiles softly. “Don't forget, you're part of this band too.”

A smile manages to wiggle itself on your face with Yuri's bright encouragement. She does have a point, and you can't help but imagine Hobie kissing your baby's chubby cheeks, or the baby having his smile and his eyes. And the thought of him cradling them to sleep while the baby’s little lashes flutter close. He'll be a good dad, but at the same time you don't want to spring this huge news on him when his career is just starting to propel him and the band. You don't want to be the one to hold him back. Yes, you have options, but this is the product of your love, *years of that love. Maybe you'll be a good mother, for now, you have to be brave and tell him.

“I just manage the gigs, you guys can live without me.”

“Tell that to our lead guitarist.” Nudging your shoulder, she places you in front of the mirror. “We've got your back, alright? Do you think a baby will stop him from making music?”

“I don't know, Yuri. But thank you.” You nod appreciatively, swallowing thickly at the woman standing in the mirror. Will you still look like this in nine months? Will you be happy with your decision in nine months?

“Just tell him, or he'll be able to sniff it out like his surprise birthday party last year.” She gently shakes you in place, trying to get a smile out of you.

“I'll tell him, don't worry. He deserves to know.” You whisper as someone knocks on the bathroom door, their muffled words telling you to hurry up.

“Good, because it's his fault.” Yuri grabs another tissue and wraps all the tests and places it in your palm.

“Not entirely.” You chuckle out, and she makes a disgusted face.

“Augh, I swear you two are like fucking rabbits.”

You snort as you pocket the pregnancy tests. It feels vaguely heavy inside the front pocket of your jeans.

“You ready? Or do you need one more hug?” Yuri opens her arms, expecting for you to wave her away, but instead you step into her arms, embracing her. She hugs back wholeheartedly.

“Thank you, Yuri.”

“Anytime, lovely.” She kisses your temple, wiping away the kiss mark. “I can't wait to buy baby shit for whatever spawns out of you.”

“I can already tell you'll be a great aunt.” You say with a hint of sarcasm.

She scoffs, “of course I will be!” Wrenching the door open, you're met with James’ disgruntled face. “Jeez, do you need to pee that bad, Jameson?”

“Yes! Move!” He pushes Yuri out of the way and she shields you away from his elbow. “Why do girls always go to the loo together!”

The two of you shuffle away immediately before you get a sight of something that will surely make you hurl once again.

“Christ, it's because of all those beers he's been chugging.” Yuri walks next to you, eyes roaming around for the familiar punk’s back to bring you back to him.

“And to think that he has an army of groupies.” You find that your hand unconsciously meets with your stomach, protecting it from the rambunctious party goers.

The party is in full swing as you and Yuri go down the long winding stairs of James’ parents' mansion. Drinks are passed around, amber liquid sloshing out of the glasses and cans. Speakers play one of the band's songs, a loud punk anthem that adds fuel to the already on fire party. Expensive Arabian carpets now smell of beer and piss, crisps crunching down on your shoes, impossible to step around it when the place is packed with sweaty and dancing bodies. It's a miracle that nothing is broken or else James will never see the sun again after his parents see the aftermath of their million euro home.

“There's Ned!” Yuri guides you towards the makeshift bar which is actually the kitchen's island where bottles upon bottles of liquor sits on its previously pristine marble.

“Where the fuck have you two been? Hobie's practically going insane looking for you!” Ned exclaims as he pours you and Yuri a glass of gin.

You scrunch your face at the drink, stomach churning from the smell alone, and Yuri saves you by taking both glasses and chugging each of them without gagging or missing a beat.

“Whew!” The glasses clinks as she places it both down. “Thanks, Ned, I was getting thirsty!”

Ned blinks, and looks impressed at the feat. He sighs, ponting at you. “That was for her, I'll just pour you another one.”

“No!” You and Yuri collectively gasp.

“I mean—” you start, “I've been feeling sick lately, remember? I don't think drinking will help my stomach.” Yuri nods her head enthusiastically, agreeing with you.

“Right, I did tell Hobie that the shawarma place near the post office had a health violation last year.” Ned looks at something behind you, or someone.

A familiar arm loops over your shoulder, the comforting weight keeps your stomach from doing flips and hurling what's left of it onto the marble kitchen. His front is right behind you while his free hand has managed to wiggle itself into your backpocket.

“They said they're under new management, Ned.” Hobie chuckles out, warmth seeping through you.

You look over your shoulder, only to be met with his amber eyes that look almost golden under the light. He smells faintly of after concert musk and your own perfume that he keeps saying is his lucky charm. Smiling, he cups your chin with his palm, giving you a chaste kiss.

He scrunches his nose, smiling at you. “Did you brush your teeth?” His face then morphs into concern, brows furrowed and hands squeezing your side, fingers grazing your stomach. “We can go home if you feel too sick.”

“I did, don't worry I didn't use anyone's toothbrush, I just used my finger like a caveman. And please don't be a worry wart, it's nothing I can't handle, Hobs.” You lean against his shoulder, feeling infinitely better now that you're in his arms. Now that you're looking at him as he gazes at you with so much affection, you start to think that your worries feel silly.

“I don't think they had toothpaste back in the stone age, love.” He nuzzles your temple, nose tickling your hairline.

“Archeologists beg to differ.”

“Yeah? You an archaeologist now?” He flirts back, palm still cupping the back of your neck and thumb rubbing along your jaw. His rings are cold against your warm skin, comforting you further.

Yuri and Ned roll their eyes and tries to ignore the public display of affection while mixing in drinks and then downing it in one go. Like a couple of exasperated parents.

“I could be if I wasn't too busy being your manager.” You hold his hand as he kisses the tip of your nose. “And fluoride existed during the olden times, y’know.”

Hobie leans back, brows knitting together before a smile etches on his handsome face. “Really?” He says with a lilt in his tone. “This your way of sayin’ bye to the band?”

“Nope, someone's gonna miss me too much.” You whisper against his cheek, kissing him lovingly.

“I'm sure Ned will live.” Hobie laughs, embracing you as he sways you to the music.

“Don't bring me into this, bruv.” You and Hobie laugh at the look on Ned’s face.

Yuri stares at you and smiles, wordlessly telling you to tell Hobie the news. With a deep inhale, you twist around to cup Hobie's face and look at him with a serious expression. The glint of your ring urges you to continue.

“Can we go somewhere quiet? I need to tell you something, Hobie—”

“Oi, have the lot of you seen this?” James comes running in, flip phone in hand as he shoves the screen in each of your faces until Hobie takes it.

“That you finally washed your hands after taking a piss?” Yuri crosses her arms over her chest as she closes the distance and peeks over your shoulder.

A shaky and grimey video plays a scene of someone blowing out their birthday candles inside a restaurant. The celebrant claps while the guests cheer for them. It's all normal and happy at first then the camera zooms in on the background, right on the window where a man who looks like he's drunk, staggers and limps towards the restaurant window. Then a sound of an oncoming car skids to a halt but too late to stop in time. It hits the man dead on as he flips and flies over the car until his face meets and grinds on the asphalt, leaving a blood trail. Chaos ensues as the shaking of the camera moves towards the streets while onlookers yell and try to call for help.

“Fuckin’ hell, mate, what did I tell you about showing us these kinds of videos.” Ned groans then leaves to go tend to the makeshift bar again.

“No, no, just watch!” James pleads, shoving the screen in front of the band's faces but Ned just shakes his head. “It's bonkers!”

“C’mon, bruv, you can't jus’ show us shit like this.” Hobie moves the phone away from you, but you chase the screen with your eyes as you see the last bit of the video showing the man standing up like nothing happened.

Hobie tries to close the phone to save you from the sight but James snatches it and continues to show it to everyone else. Hobie tries to manoeuvre you away but with James' increasing insistence, Yuri takes one for the team and yanks it out of his hand and pockets it.

“No phone for you until you shut the fuck up about it!”

“Yuri! That's bullshit! That's mine.” James reaches for his phone but Yuri dodges him. “You're not my mum!”

“You tried to show us some live leak shit! No, absolutely not.” They fight like siblings while Yuri swats his roaming hands away.

“The bloke stood up like normal and his eyeball was hanging out of his sockets!” Their arguing falls into the background as Hobie leads you towards the corner of the kitchen.

“You alright, love? Not too queasy?” Hobie rubs your stomach, still unbeknownst to the growing life inside of you.

Taking his hand, you let it rest on your belly. “I'm fine, nothing I can't handle.”

He smiles, squeezing your hand and chuckling. “That's my girl, always so bloody tough, eh?”

“Yeah, that's me, tough as nails.” You nervously chuckle as if you weren't about to burst into tears a few minutes ago.

“Now, what were you about to tell me?”

“I—” you're suddenly out of words. “Can we go somewhere quiet first?” The raging bass of the music is starting to give you a headache, shaking through your skull.

“This serious then?” Worry flickers in his mind, and you know that he's trying to remember if he did something bad. “Did I do somethin'?” And you were right.

You shake your head, palms splayed over his chest whilst you lay down the lapels of his spiked denim jacket. “You didn't do anything wrong.” Your voice is gentle yet it wavers a bit from your own worries.

What if you don't do good for this kid? What if being a mother isn't for you? What if— your attention flits over to a staggering figure appearing from the hill. The shadow gets closer towards the house as you see them through the ceiling to floor windows of James' home, the glass is just situated behind Hobie. Everyone seems to not notice the person as it sprints on the grass. Their head dips back, as if the speed they're running at has their own head lolling backwards from the momentum.

“Is this because of me accidentally leavin' puddin’ on the table and having ants…”

Hobie's voice fades in your ears as your eyes stay on the figure that's coming towards you.

They're quickly gaining speed.

“Love?”

The party goers don't seem to notice the guy, continuing to dance and drink about all merrily. Your body freezes in place, mind going haywire, electricity running down your fingertips and stomach flipping upside down. It's as if your senses warn you of the figure, as if your innate fear response is acting upon itself.

Hobie cups your cheek gently just as the man gets closer, barefooted, shoulder bent at a harsh angle and blood dripping from his eyes.

Then more appear right on the hill, running like they've injured themselves, moon shining down behind them, bathing their shadows in silver light. They look like regular people, except for limbs that flail around, and mouths agape— the blood smeared all over them has your senses telling you to run.

Your breathing stops.

In a blink, there's a horde of them coming your way.

“Oi, you alright? You gonna be sick?”

“Run—!” As you say it, a loud smash can be heard as the first figure you saw comes crashing inside the house. People scream and dodge broken glass.

“Shit!” Hobie shields you away immediately, arms enveloping around you.

“What the fuck?!” James yells, trainers stepping on glass. “My parents are gonna kill me!”

Everyone looks at the body laying on the floor, around him lays plastic cups and crisps. He bleeds slowly into the marble floor, staining it with a puddle of warm crimson. You swear you saw smoke appear from within.

“Someone call an ambulance!” An acquaintance of the band yells as everyone else pauses to stare wide eyed at the still body.

“F–Fuck!” Yuri curses as she takes out her phone from her pocket, fumbling with it in a panic that causes the phone to slip from her grasp and onto the puddle of blood. “Shit.”

She takes a step closer to take it back, and you quickly yank her away. Everyone's attention is on the lone body, but yours are on the oncoming crowd that are running down the hill.

Yuri and Hobie follow your line of sight, gasping in place as they see a dozen or so figures running at breakneck speed.

The rest follows as the guttural groans get louder.

“What the fuck—!” Just as Ned says it, the lone body twitches on the floor and lifts his head up, revealing a grotesque slashed face with shards of glass embedded in his rotting flesh. Blood dribbles from his mouth, strings of drool and crimson leaving his cut lip. His veins pop out, black and blue. “What the fuck!”

You grab a knife from the bar, and you tug Hobie away. “Everyone, run!”

Glass smashes underfoot as everyone rushes to get to the exit.

Yuri holds onto your arm whilst Hobie takes the front. He holds onto your hand in a tight grip, shoulder smashing into the panicking crowd to get you out of there.

Bodies are packed into the doorway as people try to get out. Screams ring out behind you, screams that will haunt your dreams as tearing flesh accompanies the horrific sound.

“Fuckin’ move!” Hobie squeezes himself out in between panicking bodies, hand still grasping around yours. He yells your name, eyes set in a panic as blood splashes across the walls and expensive paintings.

You don't dare look back at the carnage as you manage to get out while your hand is around your stomach protectively.

“C’mon!” Hobie yanks you away, no time for gentleness as he leads you towards the car. “Fuck!”

The two of you run on the yard, the street filled with cries as people funnel out of the house. Neighbours come out of their houses, porch lights flickering on.

You notice the lack of hands around you as you look back at the house. “Yuri!”

Hobie pauses for a second, looking for the rest of his band in the midst of chaos and screams. Faces whizz by, but none of them look like them. With his heart plummeting down to his stomach, he continues to run and snatch you out of your worried stupor.

You stagger on your feet, the cold February air nipping at your cheeks. “What about the others?!” You cry out as Hobie unlocks the car and practically shoves you inside the passenger's side. Face unreadable. “Hobie!” He slams the door shut and goes around the hood to get inside.

He takes a breath for a second, hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, and eyes wild as he stares at the rearview mirror.

You grasp his hand, fingers trembling around his palm. “We need to wait for them.”

Swallowing thickly and with a shaking hand, he inserts the key in the ignition and starts the car.

“Hobie, we can't fucking leave them here!” You cry out, head turning towards the house where you see limping and bloodied bodies exit the place.

More and more come out, all covered in crimson, eyes eerily wide, and jaws permanently set ajar, mouths frothing and dripping with blood. They sniff the air as a few of them pick apart the stragglers left writhing on the grass.

“What—What the fuck are they?” Hobie watches as they rip and tear into bodies like they're wet paper. Limbs fly about, severed arms and legs fling out before landing on the former pristine grass.

“I—I don't know.” Your hand grips the knife tightly. “Do you see them?” You whisper, afraid of being heard by the creatures.

Hobie roams his eyes around, frantically looking for the band. He licks at his lips, sweat dribbling down the back of his neck. “...no, do you—?!” A fist bangs against the window, the face belonging to it seems familiar, whoever it was, they break his window with ease after a couple of punches. The tattered arm reaches inside, trying to grab at Hobie. “Fuck!”

You scream, and Hobie, in his panic, steps on the gas.

“Hobie!” The car speeds off into the suburban streets but whatever or whoever it was they still hold onto the side of the window, groaning, eyes bleeding and trying to bite at him with his golden teeth. “Fuck off!” You yell, holding onto the grab handles above to propel your legs over Hobie and kick them out of the car.

They fly away, body rag dolling, skidding into the asphalt and leaving a trail of blood.

You huff, heaving back into your seat as Hobie glances worriedly at you. “Are you okay?” You ask, adrenaline filtering through your veins.

He checks himself over, and finds nothing of note. “Yeah,” he reaches for you, palm cupping your cheek. “You?”

“I–I think so.” You look down at your shoes, finding specks of blood staining your trainers. The hula girl on the dashboard dances to the hum of the car, completely unbothered.

“What the fuck is happening?” Hobie asks as his attention turns back towards the road, carefully steering in through the neighborhood.

“I think what James showed us…” you try to catch your breath, hand placed on your stomach. “...is that— it's happening here too.”

“Love.” He exhales shakily, trying to even out his breathing and expel out the panic. “I think that was the pub owner.”

“What?” You look back, only to see the grand houses fading away. “Who?”

“The fuckin' guy who tried to grab me.” He gestures behind him.

Your face morphs into horror as realization flits over you. “What the fuck.” Looking back again, you only see the dark road. “That can't— he was at the party with us!”

“Do you think it's contagious?”

“What?”

“They looked like they were sick, like fuckin'— like rabies.” He waves his hand wildly.

“Rabies?”

“I don't know— all I know is that he was bloody fine the last I saw him.”

“If it is contagious, we need to know how you get it so we can avoid it.” You sit back down, hand still holding onto the small knife you grabbed from the bar. He nods, eyeing you from his peripheral.

The car grows quiet for a minute as you and Hobie ride towards the city.

“We left them there.” You say solemnly, eyes staring straight at the buildings in front of you.

“They're alright.” Hobie says matter-of-factly, hands clenching around the wheel.

“Hobie.” You say his name with tears in your eyes.

“I know they are.” He grabs your hand, squeezing it three times before letting go. Another minute passes in heavy silence. “If…” Hobie starts, heart heavy. “...If we get separated—”

“Hobie—”

“Jus’ in case, love.” He pats your thigh lovingly. “Jus’ in case, we meet back at the houseboat. And if that doesn't work or you can't get there…” he inhales shakily, afraid of losing you in the chaos. “D’you remember that cabin we rented out last year for our anniversary?” You nod, hand reaching for his elbow. “We'll meet there, right? Tell me you understand, love.”

“I understand.” You say with haste. The frantic look in his eyes has you reaching for him, hand placed in between the headrest and the back of his neck as he leans against your touch. “We'll be okay, Hobie.”

He swallows thickly, fists tightening around the steering wheel. “You come first, remember that, y–yeah?” His voice cracks as he runs a rough palm over his face. “Whatever happens, we stay together.”

Just as the words escape his lips, the car passes by a burning building on the side of the road. The embers flicker in and out, flames illuminating the darkened road in its yellow glow. The fire devours the whole place, warmth felt through the windshield, kissing your cheeks. You and Hobie share a heavy look, recognizing the place as the same diner you two had your first date together. It doesn't bode well, and it doesn't help with your churning stomach.

“Love.” He calls you softy, grasping at your hand that rests on your stomach.

You didn't even notice you were holding onto your belly until he touched you. “Yeah?”

“You alright?”

Hobie turns the car further into the highway as you two come across more cars than before, all leaving the city unlike you and Hobie.

“Y–Yeah.” You lie through your teeth, eyes watching as an ambulance whizzes past you towards the city. “What’s your plan?”

“We need to go home and then sail on the houseboat. I bet whatever those things were can't bloody swim.”

“Hobie, the houseboat can't handle waves from the sea.” You say as you instinctively knead at his nape.

“I know, love, we'll stay close to the rivers—” He abruptly stops talking, eyes following an empty bus stopped on the road. It looked normal at first, but when you stare into it longer, the bloody handprints on the windows make your skin rise. “We'll be fine.” His tone says that he's not just reassuring you but also himself.

A helicopter passes by above you, blades whirring and fading away as it goes out of the city. The familiar streets are filled with people, all lugging bags and their children carried on their backs as they try to leave the place. Your palm curls around your shirt, a pit in your stomach weighing heavily.

“I think we should turn back.”

“Back to where?” Hobie doesn't mean for his tone to be harsher than it was. “There's nowhere else.”

You almost jump in place when a jet plane whooses past, leaving behind a trail in the clouds. “Somewhere that isn't crowded.”

“We're in London, love, everywhere is crowded.” Hobie stops the car as you two hit traffic. “The world is endin’ and there's still fuckin' traffic.” He honks the horn in frustration, muscles straining under the harsh push.

The sound rings in your ears as you look around you. Pedestrians have a solemn look in their eyes, clutching at themselves. A few limp in place, ankle swollen or leg bleeding from the worst day in their lives. Your mind wanders back to Yuri and the others, wondering if they're alright, or if they're injured and limping like the strangers around you.

Hobie turns on the radio, flipping through the usual music channels to get to the news. The sound of the emergency broadcast has you and Hobie covering your ears from the shrill sound. He lowers the volume down from the last music jam you two had on your way to James'.

The radio cackles for a moment, signal fading in and out as static cackles. “Stay….home…danger…bite.”

“Useless piece of shit!” He punches the radio, suddenly, instead of the broadcaster's voice, an ear piercing boom can be heard from your right. The knick-knacks on the dashboard fall on the floor. “Fuck!” Hobie instinctively puts his arms around your head, shielding you.

The explosion reverberates, shockwave echoing through the city as it hits the car and breaks all the windows and windshields. Glass shatters around you whilst screams erupt all around the streets.

“What was that?!” Your ears ring, a piercing sound deep inside your ears. Hobie says something, mouth opening and closing but you don't hear him through the shrill deaf tone. “What?!”

He grasps at your face, pointing at the black smoke billowing from the distance. You follow his finger, seeing fire and brimstone, the heat from it searing your cheeks. “—we need to go!”

You stare back at him, eyes wide at an oncoming truck heading your way. It runs through cars like butter, flipping metal and ripping flesh. You don't have time to run, so you embrace him— The only way you know how to protect him.

—

Hobie wakes up with a flaring pain on his temple. Skin aflame as gashes and scratches mar his flesh. His vision fades in and out, and his throat dry as he swings upside down in his seat.

Panic sets in immediately, blood rushing to his head. The car is a mess, trinkets that were on the dashboard are now strewn across the car's ceiling. Glass shards littered around, and metal folded and creaking as he moves. He yells your name, throat stinging, chest heavy as he looks beside him.

He only sees a splash of crimson on the seat.

“Love!” He cries out, rough and bloodied hands trying to push away several metal rods piercing in between him and the passenger's seat, fencing him out. It almost split the car in half.

“F–Fuck! C’mon!” Looking through the cracks, he spots an opening before him and a trail of blood. That's probably where you must've gone.

His hand trembles as he feels through the seatbelt and releases it with a click. He falls down harshly, body folded against himself. Breath wheezing, he inhales through the pain.

The thought of you injured and alone was enough fuel for him to squeeze himself out of the window and into the street. Glass nicks his body, scraping against his skin. He bites his tongue, hands scruffed and bleeding.

Hobie falls knees first into the asphalt, body aching and various cuts bleeding on the cold grey ground.

With a deep inhale, he pushes himself up, palms splayed, and feet boosting himself up. His muscles scream in protest as blood dribbles from his brow down to his lashes. He finally makes it up, standing on unsteady feet.

Hobie goes back to the car, arms reaching towards the backseat where his guitar case lies. His fingertips brush along its rough leather until he manages to get a hold of it. He yanks it out of the back, a miracle that it's even intact after the crash. There's no care when he takes it out of the car, case smashing loudly against the broken shards of glass and banging on the metal door. As long as he has it back, he doesn't care about the damage.

There's a sudden animalistic groan in the distance.

On trembling legs, he turns around. His whole body freezes as he sees piles upon piles of cars littered around. Death lingers in the place, rotten flesh and drying blood wafting over his nose.

You have to be alive. You have to be.

As he starts to stagger around the car to climb over the debris and over to you— he falls back on the hood from the sharp pain stinging on his cranium; hip hitting hard on the metal. The sound bounces off the concrete street, and he hears the sudden shuffling of feet, then running footsteps.

Hobie lifts his head up, seeing a crowd— no, a horde sprinting towards him as they appear behind the flipped and broken down cars. All gnashing teeth and bloodied fingers trying to rip him apart.

Without a choice, he bolts away in the different direction you might've gone.

—

Warmth kisses your skin as you lay on the soft mattress. Face squished on the pillow as arms wrap around your body.

“Morning, Hobie.” It was all a bad dream then, nothing but a nightmare fuelled from watching a horror movie before bed. You run your knuckles over his cheek, he still doesn't stirr. “I know you're awake, Hobs.”

You take his cheek, palm resting along his jawline. He feels cold. “Hobie? You okay?” Sitting up, you try to shake him awake. “Hobie? Are you sick?”

His body immediately flings up, sheets flying off his body as his hands wrap tightly around your neck. The amber eyes you love are now a pair of bloodied rubies in his eye sockets. Blood drips from his lips, skin bubbling and melting off his skull. Blue and red veins snake along his flesh, curling around his eyes and lips.

“H–Hobie!” You claw at his hands, ripping away his skin, feeling it crust under your nails.

He chokes you firmly, and you gasp awake.

Your eyes meet with carnage, fire and smoke hitting your face as a breeze passes by. The once normal London streets look like a car junkyard. A throbbing ache spreads through you as you see the hula girl on the floor, crimson splashed on her ukelele.

“Holy shit, you're finally awake!” The least likely person you thought you'd meet up with taps your cheek. James' face is drenched in sweat and blood, shirt caked in drying blood as he shakes you awake once again.

“J–James? How?”

“I need to unclip you, okay? You're gonna fall.” Before you could say something or even wait for your mind to wake up fully, he cuts your seatbelt off with a knife and you fall headfirst into the car's ceiling. Pain blooms on the back of your neck as you feel aches and pains all over. “There, we need to fucking move, Y/N.”

“No, where's—!?” You twist in your seat, sitting up and weakly pushing him away as you turn towards the driver's side. Hobie is still strapped in his seat, sitting upside down, arms dangling from his sides. He's unconscious but breathing.

“Hobie.” You try to squeeze your hands in between the metal crammed in the car that divides your side from his. The beloved car has seen better days. “H–Hobie, fucking wake up!” The tips of your fingers brush along his shoulder, feeling his warmth against your skin. “Please!”

James yells your name, tugging you away. “We'll get him out! But we need to hurry, they're coming!”

“Who?” A low rumbling groan echoes out from the chaos. In your headache, you finally remember what happened.

“You need to get out of the car and I'll try to get him out. You won't go far with your leg.”

“My leg?” You look down, gasping as a large gash runs down your hind leg. Blood trickles from the wound as shards of sharp glass sticks out of it. “Oh f–fuck!” Immediately, pain shoots up. A blinding pain that has you grasping at James’ shoulders and biting down your lip.

“Yeah, I know, calm down.” James pats your back and brandishes the same knife you took from his house. “I'm going to jump over the cars and cut him loose, okay? Stay here.”

You nod, biting down your yelps of agony. Your hand wanders down to your stomach out of fear for the life inside.

James leaves your side, grunting and grasping at his bleeding arm. You watch him carefully as he tries to find a foothold on a side mirror attached to something that doesn't even look like a vehicle anymore with its crushed metal and shattered glass. Ageing blood drifts in the air, clotted and drying while screams and screeches echo all around the city. There's a low rumble of helicopter blades somewhere, and sirens fading in and out.

James still struggles to climb up over the pile of cars. You turn your head, glancing at Hobie in hopes of him waking up from his dreamless sleep. There's drying blood trickling on his temple, lips split and bloodied. Adrenaline makes your hand shake, his words echo in your mind— “you come first.” He'd want for you to not just sit there wait for him to wake up, so with a determination to survive in your eyes, you reach upwards to grab a scarf you know you've placed inside the console. Things tumble out as you open it, polaroids, keys, guitar picks and the blue scarf you've been looking for.

You hear James' grunts as you gingerly pick up a picture of you and Hobie on a random day at the beach. That day was freezing cold with the waters nipping at your skin, but you two didn't care as you chased each other on the frozen sand. With trembling fingers, you hide the picture inside your jacket pocket.

“F–Fuck.” You bite your tongue as you take out pieces of glass out of your leg. A tear slides down your cheek as you remove the last one that was buried deep inside your muscle. Inhaling, you flick your eyes towards James who's halfway up the pileup. “Okay.” Cinching the cloth tighter and tighter around your leg, you breathe in through your nose, mouth clamped shut to prevent a shrill cry from coming out. Tying it neatly, you finally take a deep exhale of air.

“Shit!” James yells, foot slipping off a bloodied hood of a car as he tumbles down on the hard ground. He groans, sitting up and cradling his behind.

“You okay?” You ask, swallowing down your fear as you quickly glance at Hobie, who's still unconscious. If you take too long to get him out, the blood rushing to his head won't be good. “James.”

“I'm good— fuck!” An arm suddenly reaches from within a crushed car, skin mangled, black blood oozing from the wounds. James crawls backwards into a car, the loud bump and his screech could wake up the whole city.

“James— shit!” You clamber out of the car, leg immediately shooting up a wave of pain that has you almost curling against yourself. With another look at Hobie, you limp towards James and help him up. “We need to get Hobie out!”

“Yeah—” his eyes turn wide at something behind you. “Fuck me.”

As you look over your shoulder, you see a wave of people clambering out of the destroyed cars and appearing from the side streets. The moon gazes behind them, a spotlight on their shambling bodies and shadows dancing on the pavement as their hands open and close, trying to grasp at you.

With your heart stuck in your throat, you grab a piece of metal laying at your feet. Its sharp edges sting your palms as the smell of the rusted iron meets with your nose. You look at Hobie, eyes tearing up at him sitting there alone and defenseless. You murmur an apology before smacking the metal against the hood of a car.

“Over here!” You scream, throat burning and legs inching towards an opening towards the alleyway.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” James tries to grab you, but you nudge him away.

“Getting them away from him!” You hammer away at the cars around you while you limp towards the alley. “James, come on!”

The rotting corpses follow you as you and James shimmy in between a downed car and a truck. Their running footsteps thud in tandem with your heart, metal pokes and scratch you but you carry on with gritted teeth.

You make it out of the pileup, immediately turning around to grab James by the collar before one of the shamblers takes a hold of him. Their fingers graze his back, almost ripping his shirt apart.

“Come on, you fuckers!” You yell, banging the metal rod around the walls whilst James guides you backwards.

The corpses struggle to get out of the small space, pushing at each other as bodies quickly pile up over the cars and spill over the cramped alleyway. A few hit the ground in a crunching noise, but the rest pay them no heed as they jump over their heads, stampeding over them while they desperately try to get to you.

“We need to run!” James grabs your arm, quickly looping it over his shoulder to help you bolt away. “I've got an idea!”

Before you could fully turn away, you see a glimpse of Hobie in between the piles of bodies and metal. He sits there, undisturbed and safe.

“Go!” With tears in your eyes, you sprint away despite the searing pain in your leg.

—

Hobie quickens his sprinting, wind whizzing past him as he almost tumbles towards the docks. Wood creaks under him, heavy boots thumping against the old wood and water logged planks.

It looks like he outran the corpses, but he can still hear them heaving out a throaty groan like they're in pain. He's not taking any chances as he quickly makes time and jumps over the side of his houseboat the second he sees its well loved façade.

“Shit, shit, shit.” His knees hit the deck and an almost blinding pain lights his joints on fire.

He grasps at his knees, body laying against the cold wood. Despite the pain, he unties the rope tether from the dock, using his muscle memory and ignoring the fear to quickly untie it. The ropes fall down into the waters, sinking down into the depths.

With a deep inhale, he crawls towards the welcome mat that he still remembers you got for him as a housewarming gift. That was before you were dating, but he already loved you back then— still does, a lot more now. Turning it over, he grabs the spare key and climbs back up, using the doorknob as leverage.

With his hands shaking, he opens the door in hopes of seeing you waiting for him patiently inside.

The door creaks open, and he's only met with dead air and darkness.

Hobie bites the inside of his cheek, trying to calm himself down as he makes his way upwards and towards the steering wheel. The framed pictures of you two and the band whizzes past him in the dark, all smiles and laughter etched in each photograph. He makes it up to the wheel, immediately inserting the key in the ignition as the whole boat lights up like a damn Christmas tree.

The bloodied and bloated corpses appear from the street, shrieking as they see him standing in the boat before racing towards him.

Hobie doesn't steer the boat just yet, eyes roaming around the docks, hoping, wishing that he would see you sprinting towards the houseboat you two shared.

But with every inch the dead comes close to him, he has no choice but to sail away without you.

He promises to find you, even if it kills him.

—

Your lungs burn from the running, feet sore and feeling like you're sprinting on hot coals. It's torture, pair it up with your nausea and your various wounds, you feel like you're better off as the dead’s meal. And yet, you still run with James leading you towards a pub.

His shoulder hits the double doors, bursting it open and pulling you through it and locking the doors with a propped up chair all in quick succession.

You stand in the middle of the room with a wild look in your eyes as you see a handful of people peeking out of the bar.

“Get out!” One whisper yells at you, and James finally joins your side.

“Absolutely not, mate.” He shakes his head, taking your hand, he leads you towards the back of the place. “I own this bloody place.”

You whip your head towards him with shock. “What?”

“Technically my dad does.” He whispers to you as he continues to lead you to an office while the survivors follow you with their heavy gaze.

“And here I thought JJJ only had that radio show.” You say as you close the door behind you to shut off the stares.

James rummages through the desk, trying to find something as you roam your eyes around the sparse room with a few accolades framed to the walls and its business permit. Behind the oak table lies a large cabinet with a lock on it. And to the other side of the wall is the back exit. There's not even a framed picture of his family in it, not even of James.

“One thing about my dad is that he loves yapping, drinking, and…” he grins, showing you a ring of keys. “Guns.”

“Guns? That's—”

“Hard to get here? Yeah, he had to pull some strings.” He immediately turns around, crouching down to unlock the cabinet. “The real deal is at our house, and you already know what happened there, this is just a small part of his collection.” A muffled curse escapes from his lips as he tries to find the right key in the dozen or so keys.

You look at the window from the office, seeing the survivors beginning to stand up and staring at you with curiosity. Without missing a beat, you close the blinds with a quick tug. You can't risk it, not when you've seen too many apocalypse movies with Hobie. Fuck, Hobie, your heart squeezes at the thought of him. You should get back to him using those guns, saving him like in the movies.

“How'd you find us, James— shit, have you seen Yuri and Ned?” You lean against the table as a wave of pain ebbs through you. Your hand grasps at your stomach, trying to calm yourself down.

His hands pauses, “...no, no I haven't. We got separated too. We all ran out towards another house to get help but when I looked back they were both gone. Then I jacked a car to get to the city— to my mum and dad, hopefully. That's when I saw the pileup and your car.” He clears his throat, sniffing and wiping his face with his sleeve. “I'm sure they're fine though, this is Yuri and Ned we're talking about.”

“Yeah, I hope so. I'm sure your parents are fine too.” That means Hobie is all alone out there. “James, we need to get back to Hobie.”

“I know, boss.” He says your nickname that he dubbed to you when you took on the mantle of being their manager. “No man left behind, I promise.” The cabinet finally unlocks, revealing a pump action shotgun and a pistol. “Thanks dad.” James grabs the backpack next to the gun, filling it up with as much ammo as he could put inside. “Help me with this.”

You nod, quickly kneeling down to shovel in ammo. Your leg hinders you to fold it, but despite the stabbing pain, you still crouch. “After we get Hobie, we'll hop onto the houseboat then we'll go out and find Yuri and Ned.” The boxes of bullets rattle as you shove it inside.

“Solid plan.” He takes the shotgun and loads it in with shells. You gawk at his expert movements. He shrugs, “of course he taught us how to use these things.”

“Perks of being friends with the royal family I guess?”

James makes a face, nose scrunched up. “Never went to their hunts, dad said I would've pointed it at them instead.”

You chuckle, “that's probably true.”

He smiles, handing you the pistol. “You know how to use it?”

“Uh, point and shoot?” You take the weighted gun in your hand.

James takes the gun and shows you the safety, “right means pew pew, left means no pew pew.” He then takes a cartridge and loads up the pistol and shows you how to load it yourself. “Just pull this back right after and you're good.”

“What if it jams?” You ask as he gives it back to you.

“Like in the movies, huh?” It's your turn to shrug. “That rarely happens with a gun like this. But if it does, you run like hell, okay?”

“Okay.” You inhale, letting your hand acclimate to the weight. “I never thought that there's this side of you, James.”

“I was really into watching doomsday preppers when I was younger. I guess the doom mongering kinda stuck with me.”

You chuckle, “we're kinda stuck together until we find them. How do you feel about that?”

“Fucking lucky that I got the fittest member in the band.” James jokes, nudging you as he puts on the backpack. He stands up, giving you a helping hand that you take.

“Not going to be fit for much longer.” You groan as your knees creak from under you.

“C’mon, you're not that old.”

“I don't mean it like that.” You inhale, “I'm pregnant, James.”

“Shit, is Yuri the father?”

You push him playfully. “Fucker.”

“Congrats? Shit timing though.”

You shake your head with a small smile. You feel lighter now that you've told someone else. “The worst fucking timing. I haven't told him yet— I was about to but then you know.”

“Yeah, the fucking dead rises again.” He walks over to the backdoor, unlocking it.

“Should we help them?” You gesture towards the window and the bar.

James sighs then nods. “Yeah, actually we should—!” The door opens and out comes a stumbling wall of decaying flesh. He immediately fires at it head on, blood and guts spraying at you and the walls as your ears ring from the loud shot.

You take James by the back of his collar, tugging him backwards into the bar as the loud shot has brought more visitors to funnel into the office.

You yell ‘run,’ but you can't hear your own voice.

James points the barrel behind you as more and more appear. You quickly open the pub entrance, flinging away the chair as chaos ensues inside.

Your hearing comes back just as the screams start.

James tries his best to help, shooting at anyone who comes close to the survivors but he can't protect himself and them at the same time. He's backed against a table as he reloads. Fountains of crimson splashes out of the bodies as the corpses rip and tear into their insides.

A few escape, pushing past you to get out into the streets. But most fall into the jaws of death.

Soon, the oaken floorboards and marble bar is covered in guts and bone.

“James, we need to go!”

James struggles to reload with his shaking fingers, with a deep inhale, you point and shoot at a corpse who came too close to him. He cradles his ear, wincing at the sound as he retreats towards you. The body staggers back, but your bullet missed the head, ear no longer there.

You take the opportunity to pull him out just in time as bodies pile up and spring over to you, you see a glimpse of one of the survivors with a huge chunk taken out of their face, twitching and writhing on the floor before they stand up and bite at the air with their bloodied teeth.

You don't have time to ponder what you saw as you and James run towards the docks.

Your leg aches but you carry on with the pain, you feel blood seeping through the measly bandage while you run. James holds onto your elbow, making sure you don't lag behind as you blindly shoot behind you.

James leads you back to where he found you and Hobie, his feet skids to a stop but when he looks inside the driver's side, Hobie's gone.

You almost cry at the sight. But you hold onto hope. “The docks!” James immediately understands as he lets you lead this time.

Muscle memory guides you towards the side streets where you and Hobie use as shortcuts to get home faster. Shoes thudding against the pavement, shots echoing in the dark as smoke and fire billows all over the city you call home.

The smell of the river has you running faster.

Muscles screaming to stop, you heave as you bolt over to the houseboat. Only to be met with nothing in its place.

“What the fuck?!” You scream, gun tightly around your hand. “Where—?!” Turning around, you roam your frantic eyes across the familiar dock, but the red paint of the houseboat is nowhere to be seen, only the rope that was tied around it is left floating on the water.

“Where is it?!” James yells, reloading his gun before making quick work of the corpses that fall down with a bloodied thud.

With a heavy heart, you pull James away and back into the streets. “It's not here!”

You're half relieved and afraid of what might've happened to him. Hobie might've woken up and went to the houseboat in hopes of meeting you there. But he had to leave, you know he wouldn't have any other choice in the matter if he chose that. But another half of you thinks that he perished along the way, that the houseboat is now floating along the Thames with its captain writhing and stumbling inside the very place you both cherished.

You shake the thought away, focusing on surviving for him and for the life inside you. He's alive, you know he is.

“Over here!” James pushes himself inside a broken metal fence, helping you squeeze inside as the horde catches up to you. You feel the heat of their bodies against your back as they desperately try to wrap their rotted fingers around you.

He pulls you, shooting at any stragglers as your destination gets near. A tall building stands before you with its shiny windows that reach high into the sky, and rotating doors that remind you of a fancy hotel.

“Keep running!” He yells, arm still holding onto you for dear life.

“Fuck, my leg!” You almost stumble, but James comes back to you and grabs your arm and places it around his shoulder.

“I'm sorry, we're almost there!” He yells, panicking as he bares half of your weight for you.

The two of you pass by a pub that's filled with screams of terror echoing out instead of the sound of music that you're used to. The windows are painted in crimson, splotches of blood marr the historical walls inside like spider lilies spread across the glass. There's still people in there, fighting for their lives as you see a flash of light and hear a loud bang that has your teeth rattling inside your mouth.

The horde splits off towards the sound, leaving you with a dozen corpses heading your way.

Your adrenaline filled heart flips as you see the name of the pub, and it's the same one you were in just mere hours ago with Hobie.

“In here!” James pulls you back into the present, pushing you towards the rotating doors and into the empty lobby.

You make it inside just in time before the dead get to you. James grabs the metal rod in your hand, using it to lock the rotating doors by placing it in-between the glass.

“It's not gonna hold on for long, we need to go up!” James grabs your hand, yanking you towards the stairs. “Seventh floor!”

You don't have enough time to gaze upon the expansive lobby with its marble floors and crystal chandelier. It seems as though the place lies untouched by the calamity outside.

Your mind goes on survival mode, running, dodging bared teeth, climbing up the stairs, shooting, kicking a corpse away from your ankle. And then sprinting upwards towards the winding stairs.

James couldn't risk it with the elevators, knowing that it could get stuck in between floors or worse, the dead lurk and wait inside.

The condo door is in sight, just when James trips and falls face first into the harsh ground. You look at the crawling corpse, who's rotting hand is wrapped around his ankle.

Without wasting time, you take your foot up, stomping down on their skull in a sickening crunch of brain matter and bone.

Eyeing down your deed, with its mess marked on the once pristine floors, James pulls you away and towards the door. Within a second, he inputs the code on the panel and the door clicks open. He pushes you inside and shuts the door with haste.

There's banging outside the door, and you're left standing in the hallway with James pushing a bookshelf towards it as a barricade.

You don't notice him calling your name as you stare at your bloodied shoe with brain matter sticking to its heel.

“Hey.” James grasps your arm, panting and eyes wide awake. “I need help with the door.”

With a firm nod, you take your mind off of what you have done, and whilst you push shelves against the door, you could only wish that Hobie's alright and he made it to the boat in one piece.

—

Hobie's stuck alone in his boat. With nothing but the waters and the fish to keep him company for two months, he sails towards the north where the cabin, the designated meeting place, lies. His hand tightens around the wheel, lips chapped, scruff scratching him, and bags dark under his brown eyes. He feels as if he's going sea crazy out here. Hundreds of worries have appeared in his mind, and most of it consists of you and your whereabouts.

Without the knowledge of you being alive and breathing, he keeps seeing you in his dreams. The last two months have been a nightmare for him. And it has gotten worse with every day that passes without you by his side. Now he knows why Yuri and the others always joke that they shouldn't separate the two of you lest the other won't function or go stir crazy. He only hopes that you're doing better than he is.

His eyes seem to circle around the sticker of your face on his guitar, right where you accidentally scruffed it. You two always talked about sailing the whole world on the houseboat, ignoring the fact that the boat can't withstand the harsh waves of the ocean. But it was a good dream nonetheless. If only you could be here with him, it's not sailing around the world, but the water at night would be a sight to behold for you.

The waters around the country have gone wilder by the week, he sticks to the beaches and the coast where he can control the houseboat better. Where the water isn't too rough around the old ship.

The boat isn't built for seafaring, or even long journeys. If the houseboat collapses against the rough waves before he could get to the small fishing town you two stayed in, his hope would dwindle, but he'll stay determined for you.

He can already feel your arms around him when the reunion happens. Or is that his mind playing tricks on him once again?

At least he has enough provisions to last him a few more weeks out in the open. But in time, he has to go dock the boat and scavenge for food. He doesn't need to load up with gasoline when the houseboat runs on solar. Thank fuck he built that before shit hit the fan.

The virus seems to have wrapped its teeth around the world. Marks of death lay waste to every city he sails by. Piles and piles of bodies, half burned by the very people who once knew them, afraid of the walking death that could savage them too. Cities now lay empty or crowded by snarling corpses. Some were lucky enough to build walls around a small commune, but it was obvious that they didn't want newcomers with the mounted guns and patrolling armed forces around it.

With every port and dock he passes, he looks for you and your familiar face. He hopes that with every wave and tide he conquers, you're getting closer to him. But whenever he passes by a coastal town, or a beach he once visited with you, he could only see the dead awaiting for him on the sand, like old friends waiting to be reunited with him. Their eyes are long gone, white scleras and crimson irises staring him down with their maws agape, biting at air and inhaling through their rotten lungs.

The shamblers, he calls it, or them, the former humans that were sadly infected, can't swim, but they also can't drown. So swimming in the water poses a risk of getting bitten by one of them that are treading the sea floor. Hobie doesn't risk getting into the sea after a limp hand wrapped around his ankle when he decided to take a quick dip.

In the past two months since then, he misses you, misses the way he would wake up to your face, arms wrapped around him and protecting him from the harsh morning cold. He misses the way you would smile and laugh. He misses the sound of your footsteps walking around the boat, sometimes he hears it at night when he's in between sleep and the waking world. Missing you was an understatement, he longs for you, longs for you to be alive and back beside him. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but no one told him that the ache would be unbearable.

Hobie once hated the mundanity of life. The way he plays his loud music in the speakers, now he can't even turn on the stereo when every sound could bring the dead to him. Even the radio that he has taken for granted, one that you would always turn on in the morning without fail, now only plays static. Or the repeating sounds of the emergency broadcast over and over again. He sometimes wants to chuck it out of the boat and into the depths, but he remembers how much you loved the old radio and how you would sway to the music. So now he lets it play static, the sound keeping him company throughout the night instead of you.

The information pamphlet that the government tossed from an airplane glares at him from where he taped it on the side of the controls. Hobie still remembers the whirr of the engine above while the papers drift down like snow.

The drawings remind him of the ones in airplanes where they tell you what to do in case of a plane crash or how to put on your seatbelt. He feels like he's in a never ending plane crash heading to nowhere. The words ‘body fluids,’ ‘infected,’ ‘bites,’ and ‘ten seconds’ are engraved in his mind.

He once tried to call your phone in hopes of you answering it but he only heard your voicemail. In the rocky waters and the solemn sky, your voice echoes and presence felt through the speakers. He kept calling you after that just to hear your voice again and again until cell services stopped working.

He's utterly alone.

With a sigh, he steers the houseboat towards an empty dock. The wood creaks as he steps out, bag slung over his shoulder and rope itching against his palms. After taking a quick look around for danger, he ties the rope around the dock, securing his home before grabbing his hammer from his belt.

He stretches his arms and legs as if he's about to run a marathon, he probably would be after he tried to restock for supplies a few days ago. He can still smell the stench of rotten flesh and blood in his nose when a horde chased after him.

Like always he tries to find the evacuation area where you might be, or where other people might be. He would steer away from other survivors, but if there's doctors and a lot of people around, he's sure that they can be trusted. A gathering of people in the apocalypse could spell danger, but it could also be hope.

He treks along the empty street, nothing left but dusty shops, and abandoned cars on the road. There's no stench of death that lingers around the place, or blood splattered along the shop walls. Hobie guesses this town was one of the lucky ones to be evacuated before the virus got to them.

His hypothesis seems to be right when he spots a military vehicle abandoned on the side of the road. Peeking behind it, he doesn't find anything, not even a shambler waiting to bite at him behind the tarpaulin. He wonders what happened to this place.

Every place he encounters has him asking the same question, could you be here?

As he enters the large stadium, it's evident that it's long been abandoned.

Scattered boxes and tents lay where its occupants last left it. Needles and bloodied bandages are strewn across the painted floor and on the court seats. Hobie stands where the general seats would be, right in the middle of everything and with him having a good vantage point of the whole place. A breeze passes by, and papers fly ahead of him.

It’s completely empty, even if he scavenge for supplies in here he won't find anything.

Just as he's about to leave, he hears a clunking sound from the middle of the stadium. His hands hold onto the railings as he narrows his eyes towards the movement from behind the tents.

There, a couple of black clad strangers emerge from within, all holding onto their own blades.

Hobie immediately ducks down, hiding behind the wall and railings.

“This place is shit, there's nothin’ left!” One says, voice echoing.

“Keep your bloody voice down unless you want to wake the dead.”

“How fucking poetic of you.”

Hobie has managed to avoid the dead and the living, the dead a lot easier, but people are harder to get away from. He hasn't killed or maimed anyone, unlike the apocalyptic movies he had watched with you and the band. He tries to avoid it, staying away from staining his hands with red. The shamblers used to be human too, under all the rotten flesh and dead eyes, they once had a life, a family, someone that cared for them. So as much as he can, he only stuns them.

He has never encountered other people before, on his ship, the only faces he has seen are the ones in photographs. He always wondered where everyone went, if there's a huge ship somewhere carrying the whole world behind its metal back. Finding the strangers is comforting in a way, a way that he wasn't left behind to rot and survive on his own. That there are still people out there, living and breathing ones.

But it's clear that you're not here.

With a thudding heart, he slowly crawls on the dusty floor, gloved hand and knees dirtied by the muck and grime.

Hobie tries to not make any noise above the whistling wind and rustling trees. He avoids fallen bottles, and scattered paper plates. The voices fade behind him, the doors where he came from just in his line of sight.

He shifts left and right, crawling as he adjusts his belt. Your voice telling him that he needed a new one rather than the barely holding on rope echoes in his ears. He curses himself for not listening as he keeps adjusting the falling thing.

His breath quickens, pulse palpitating as he makes it to the door. His palm reaches for the doorknob, still kneeling down. But as he stretches himself, the hammer hanging from his belt falls.

Hobie gasps, fingertips brushing along its handle, trying to catch it. It falls down loudly on the floor, metallic clanging sounding like a death knell.

“What was that?!”

“Fuck.” Hobie, without wasting time, grabs the hammer and runs for his life.

The door swings open, the warmth of the sun greeting him. His boots thump loudly on the pavement, leaving his pursuers in the dust.

“Get back here!” They gain speed as their footsteps get louder, a cacophony of breaths and blades unsheathing. “He has supplies, get him!”

Hobie turns a corner, his destination still too far from him to see. His legs are starting to ache, chest aflame as he navigates the town that he thought would be empty.

“Shit!” He makes the mistake of looking back, finding three people now running after him. Wait, three?

A shambler joins the chase, eyes bloodied, arms trying to grasp at the couple.

“Behind you!” Hobie tries to help as they're too focused on trying to catch him.

Just as the man wielding a fire axe turns to look behind him, the shambler catches up and grabs him by the neck, taking a chunk out of his face.

His screams of agony would bring Hobie nightmares, but the guttural yell of grief from his companion would be etched in his mind forever.

“Wilson, no!” He cries, trying to help the other as blood sprays the pavement below.

The dead doesn't let go, maw properly set into his skin.

His pursuer cranes his neck towards the frozen Hobie, eyes pleading with him for help.

Hobie should help, could help. His mind is in scrambles as screams echo around the small town, waking the dead that hides in the forgotten homes. He swallows thickly just as the sound of running footsteps roar from further within the town. So he turns around, running away from the scene as more and more join in, hearing the screams of terror ebb out like a dinner bell.

He doesn't sleep that night, the faces of those strangers are painted behind his eyelids, faces contorted into pure fear. And yet he left them, had to leave them or he might've been caught with them. Died with them, died with strangers who tried to take his things and perhaps his life.

Hobie doesn't want to die amongst strangers, nor be forgotten and lost within the numbers of the dead. To be left for dead is his greatest fear, losing you was the closest he got to feeling that fear. If It's his time, he wants it to be with people he knows, people he loves, not wasting as a husk of himself in a place he doesn't know.

He lays awake in the same bed you once shared, the pillows still smell like your shampoo, and the room has lingering scents of your perfume. His eyes are heavy and lashes sticking to one another. The chipping paint of the ceiling morphs into shapes, the pub he played at, the band's faces, and you, smiling at him like always.

Closing his eyes tightly, he wretches the vision from his mind. He needs to stay sane. As he stands up from the bed, mattress creaking from his weight, he wraps your cardigan around himself, clinging onto it like a child's toy.

The ship rocks back and forth to the calm waves. Stars dotted along the sky while the moonlight stretches across the shining waters. Hobie sits on the deck, where you two would usually drink morning tea at, and where you'd be sitting when you're waiting for him to come home from a gig.

Everything reminds him of you, there's no escaping it, even if he doesn't want to. He doesn't know if it’s the only thing keeping him sane all alone, or the thing that's slowly making him bonkers. Either way, the memory of you keeps him company in the end of the world.

He brings his knees to his chest, chin propped up on it as his eyes follow a dot in the horizon. The moonlight shines on it whilst it moves on the water.

Fear grips him as it continues to move closer to his boat. The shadow moves from side to side, at the mercy of the waves.

Hobie stands up, putting on your cardigan as he makes his way up to the wheel. He steers the boat away from its way, now seeing it as a large cruise ship that's aimlessly floating on the water.

There's no light nor voices coming from it, only the familiar scent of decomposing flesh, and the sound of low groans.

He steers clear of it as he sees a face peeking from the side, eyes unblinking, red almost shining in the light of the moon. He swears he saw it grin at him.

As he swivels the wheel, he lets the ship pass quietly, letting it carry the dead on its empty voyage.

Hobie decides to get back into bed then, eyes too heavy, body too tired. His head lands on the pillow, sleep taking him into its calm arms.

—

Hobie wakes up to your thumb brushing along his jaw. He cracks an eye open, and your smile beams at him.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, me.” A smile spreads across his cheeks, your familiar warmth and scent felt through his bones. His eyes feel so heavy, and you're so warm that he could fall right back to sleep.

“You’re loopy today.” The pads of your fingertips graze along his stubble. “Are you tired, Hobie?”

“Yeah, love.” He breathlessly says, smile etched on his lips as the sun shines behind you, bathing you in warm light. “Where have you been?”

“I was waiting for you.” You tilt your head with a smile. “You sleep like the dead.”

He chuckles, hand grasping on your waist. “I was lookin’ for you in my dream.”

“Yeah?” You chuckle above the sound of wind chimes. “Did you find me in your dream?”

“I haven't, not yet.” He sniffs, and yet can't smell your shampoo or perfume.

“Maybe you should wake up then, continue your search?” You whisper, voice gentle as your hands cup his cheeks.

Hobie grins tiredly, eyes half lidded. “You're already in front of me, what is there left to find?”

“You have to wake up, Hobie.” Your fingers pinch his skin, nails digging into his cheeks as the sun is replaced by darkness. And the warmth in your eyes turn stark white.

“Ow, what?”

“Wake the fuck up!”

Hobie jumps off the bed, head hitting the hard wall of the houseboat as thunder rips through the wood while lightning flashes outside. He can still hear the last echoes of your scream in his ears.

“Fuck!” The whole boat shifts to the side, dangerously close to tipping. His things are knocked from their place, glass shattering and making a mess of the bedroom. If he doesn't get up to the wheel, the waves might break the boat in half.

He panics, grabbing his windbreaker, and boots in the other. As he climbs up the steps, he puts it on awkwardly over your cardigan and as best as he can with his shoelaces loose.

Rain battens down on the houseboat, wind howling outside. Hobie zips his jacket on, taking a breath before opening the door.

The water smacks him right on his face, sharp rain drops stinging his cheeks. He slams the door closed, bracing the wind as he shields himself with his arm.

“Shit!” The slippery floors made it hard for him to find a foothold while the waves shook and turn the boat all over like he's in a blender.

Hobie grips the side wall, trying to keep his balance to get up the steps to the controls. The waves splash and slap his body around, completely drenching him from inside and out.

The winds howl a dreaded tune, one that sailors would run away in fear. Dark waves loom overhead, sea salt on his lips, and seafoam spreading by his feet. All he could do is brace for impact.

—

The city in front of you is still burning. Skyscrapers that used to reach the heavens are now nothing but flaming metal and acrid dark smoke. James had warned you not to stay too long on the balcony when the air outside leaves less to be desired, especially in your condition. James has been pleasant company, but the life growing inside you has made it extra difficult to stay in a good mood. Especially when the one person you want to be next to you is missing.

It feels like your heart is out of your body, missing somewhere else.

Your eyes glance over to the Thames, the water is dark and glimmering under the embers of the city and the moonlight. Despite the crackling of fire and low groans of the dead in the streets, the city is quiet, dead quiet.

You long for the days when the sound of a guitar rips through the morning hours of sleep. Hobie would always apologize with a smile, but you know he has taken the position of your personal alarm clock whenever he would wake up earlier than you. Nowadays you would wake up to James trying to pick up a signal from a CB radio he found during his runs through the building. He said it's to contact the rest of the band, but you can always hear him trying to call for his parents when you're in bed and alone with only the polaroid of him, and your baby to keep you company.

It's been two months since you found out, two months without Hobie. You try not to worry too much, telling yourself that he's alright and probably faring better than you and James. But you only do it for the baby, you know all that worrying would bear down on them. Even the prenatal vitamins James found for you from one of his neighbours wouldn't help if you kept on crying through the night with your chest sore while mumbling Hobie's name.

According to the pregnancy book you found, something that was probably owned by James’ mother, your baby is as big as a raspberry now. You already feel bloated and you dread trying to run away from the dead when your belly gets bigger with time. It also said that in three months the baby will be the size of a lemon, the thought makes you realize how long it has been since you've held fresh produce.

James' parents' condo is big, too big for just two people. You've been stuck within the four walls for months now when you can't step out of the building without the city's horde lunging at you. James and you decided to wait out the dead after you read in the government pamphlet that they like to travel in hordes and they tend to leave when there’s no one left to infect or eat. You've seen that the infected are beginning to thin out, but not fast enough.

The place isn't uncomfortable at all; it's probably the best place you could wait it all out in. It's all pristine white walls and modern furniture that must've been worth more than your houseboat. You've taken the guest room with its king sized bed and hundred thread count sheets. It has its own bathroom, and a bathtub to boot. And yet your mind keeps going back to the houseboat where you and Hobie were happy and content. You hate the fact that he's been missing for two months of your life, two months of the pregnancy where you imagined you two would lean on each other. Not spending it all with James, he's kind and patient, but he's still not your Hobie.

You try not to gaze at the river again, but you keep failing each time. The hot chocolate you made sits abandoned on a small table beside you as the wind blows against your cheeks. The scenery doesn't change, it hasn't changed in two months, but you hope and wish that one day the familiar red paint of the houseboat would appear on the waters with Hobie on it.

With a tight grasp around the binoculars, you take a peek at the waters. Your eyes roam around the same docks where you last saw the houseboat, like before, there's nothing.

James thought that giving you the binoculars would help quell your anxieties, but whenever you look through it, you could only see the faces of the dead staring back at you. You could only hope that you don't— would never see a familiar face among the horde.

The sliding doors to the balcony opens, and out comes James' head peeking through it. He gives you soft smile, blond hair tousled in the wind, and a beard needing a trim. The light from inside the condo spills out into the balcony. You always thought that the city's electric grid would run out within a few weeks, but it's still going strong.

“Hey,” he sighs, gazing at how you grip onto the binoculars and down to your growing stomach. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” you inhale, lower back aching and stomach feeling heavier than yesterday. “Just sightseeing.”

He steps out, still wearing his dad's hunting vest, and his mum's silver bracelet. “Anything new?”

You shake your head. “I thought I heard a gunshot from somewhere, but I couldn't find where it came from.”

James sits down next to you with a groan, hand reaching for the binoculars. “Let me try.” You give it to him, hand subconsciously twirling the ring around your pinky. “Where do you think it came from?”

“West, just by the park.” You cradle your stomach, the growing belly still feels alien to you. But at least now the morning sickness is gone, but your feet look bloated inside your socks.

James hums, looking through the binoculars with intensity. He takes it off his eyes after a minute, shaking his head and giving it back to you. “Yeah, nothing, just a few of the infected.”

“Why are you still in your hunting vest? You already got us enough provisions to last us a couple of weeks.”

He looks down at his appearance, “sorry, I can't seem to just shrug it off.” You know what he meant by it, and it's not the vest he's talking about as he cleans off the grime under his fingernails with his thumb nail. “Does it bother you? I'll take it off.”

You stop him from taking the vest off. “No, it's fine, keep it on if you like.”

Nodding, James puts the beige vest back on. “Is your leg still hurting?” he glances at your leg that's perched on the railing.

“Just sore, is all.” You inhale, thumb drawing circles around your belly. “Putting it up helps.”

“If I just knew how to treat it properly before—”

“You did a good job, James.” You reach for him, palm resting on his arm. “If it was just me I would've thought of cutting it off or something.”

He smiles, patting the back of your hand. “How’s Hobie jr?”

“Fine, just like yesterday and the day before that.” You chuckle. “How are you holding up, James? I should be helping you out there.”

Scoffing, James flicks the back of your hand playfully. “You'd just hold me back, preggo.”

“Hey,” you say with a laugh. “All I'm saying is that you need someone to watch your back. Or at least help carry the load.”

He looks at your stomach then over to your face with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Looks like you already took the load.”

“You little shit!” Slapping his arm, he lets out a feigned yelp. “I'm serious, I could really help.”

“If something happens to you I wouldn't be able to live with myself, boss.” James looks at the distance, eyes darting over to the river. “Besides, I can handle it.” He flexes his arm, smacking his bicep.

You sigh, watching him with a strained smile and shining eyes. You blame the hormones. “Okay, but when you move up another floor again, I'm coming with.”

He shakes his head, chuckling and taking your mug of hot chocolate, taking a sip from the lukewarm drink. “Yeah, no.”

“James.” You say sternly, “come on, what if you get trapped up there alone? Ned would kill me if I get his best mate killed.”

“First of all, I'm nobody's best mate. Yuri is yours, and Ned is Hobie's. Second, I have a fucking gun and have been doing this alone for weeks now. I'll be fine.”

Your tone grows soft. “You're my best mate too, James. So is Hobie's, Yuri's and Ned’s. You're our friend, and if it was anybody else in your position, I would offer the same, and fight you just as hard.” You lean close, arms over the armrest as he stares at you. “I don't want you to fucking die in here alone. Especially when I can still do something to help. Because in a few months I won't be able to.”

“Do you think they're alright out there?”

“Don't change the fucking subject—”

“They have to be okay.” James licks his dry lips, swallowing down the lump in his throat. You've had this conversation before, and it always ends the same way.

You nod, chest heavy and hands shaking. “They are, I know they are. They're tough, our band will hold on.”

He swallows thickly, looking away at you and instead staring at the dark drink. The previous conversation wedges in his mind. “I just— I think I just want to be useful, you know? Because I know this stuff, shooting and shit. So I gotta use it to protect you and the baby because that's all I know.”

You feel tears prick at your lashes. “You've always been useful, James. You're our drummer, the music's shit without you.” He chuckles, sniffing as he gazes at the ruined city. “We're a band, we protect each other. And I've seen you do other shit with expertise, shooting is not all you know.”

He turns to you, smiling gently. “I do make a really good pot of stew.”

“The best.” You smile back, tugging at his hand and holding it fondly.

His face turns solemn, eyes downturned at your intertwined hands. “Can you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Can— will you end me if I ever get bitten?”

“James—”

“I've seen them closely, Y/N, I know they're in pain. I don't want to end up like that.” His voice breaks at the end, thumb brushing along the back of your hand, staring down at it. “The pamphlet said you have ten seconds before you turn, that's plenty of time to reload.”

Your lips wobble, head shaking before you inhale deeply. “...Okay. If that's what you want.”

“Y–Yeah, I want that.”

“It won't get to that, I promise.” You don't know that, but you promise him anyway.

“Thank you, boss.”

“Can you promise the same thing for me too—?” Before you could finish your words, the lights shuts off, and you see the wave of darkness ebb through the city. “Shit.”

“I think we need to get to that cabin sooner rather than later.” James utters in the dark.

—

After weeks of waiting and preparing in the darkened condo, with some luck and a miracle, you and James manage to get outside of the condo and even get to ride in his parent's lexus.

You shut your door as quietly as you can, heaving and laden with sweat as you're covered from head to toe in thick winter clothes; so if an infected gets to you, their teeth won't be able to penetrate the cloth. Patting your stomach, the roundness of it is still unusual for you now that you can feel the baby move around.

James mirrors your befuddled look, sweat dripping off his brows and beard sticking to his chin in what could be an uncomfortable feeling. He nods at you, smiling as he grips the steering wheel. All the bags and guns are thrown in the backseat, together with a baby bag that James managed to find in one of the flats.

“We fucking made it.”

“God, I could fucking kiss you right now, James.” You joke, reaching over the center console to briefly hug him.

“I wouldn't say no to that.” He chuckles out, patting your back before turning on the ignition with a shaky hand. “To the cabin we go!”

The engine stirs up immediately, a thrumming sound of victory. James presses a button on a small remote, prompting the automatic garage door to whirr awake.

You laugh, but the sound of running footsteps behind you has your stomach sinking. Looking behind and over the seats, you see a whole horde of them gunning for you and James. It's the building’s residents.

“We need to go!”

“Seat belts!” James revs up the engine and without missing a beat, backs the car towards the bodies as blood sprays all over the windows.

Clicking on your seat belt, you hang on for dear life as James panics and turns the steering wheel around to face the garage doors.

“James!” You yell as more and more clamber their way to the sides. The car jolts, wheels squeaking but not moving as blood and guts fly about.

The sound of the garage door’s metallic clanking has more of the infected join in, the stragglers left by the rest of the city's horde. The sun peeks through the opening, shadows of the stumbling and running crowd managing to squeeze through.

“The wheel's fucking stuck!” James presses down on the pedals, but the car still doesn't move.

You yell when a banging sound erupts from the backseat. Right on the glass, bodies and faces are squished in between it, blood and ripped skin kissing the car's window.

“I need to get out and—” James panics, but before he could grab the shotgun from the backseat, you're already holding onto it. “What—?!”

The loud reverb of the shot stings your ears as the glass of the back window now lay shattered all over your things.

“What the fuck, Y/N?!” James yanks the gun away and you surprisingly let him.

You crawl towards the seats, ignoring the broken and bloodied glass, and quickly ripping the bag zipper open as you grab a molotov cocktail from the arsenal you and James prepared exactly for situations like this. You only have a few minutes before your opening closes and before the horde gets back up.

Without questioning you anymore, James helps you by fishing out his lighter, clicking it once until the cloth lit up the whole car.

Just like Hobie taught you, you toss it through the opening you made within a half second.

The bottle flies over the dead, their heads turn towards the heat and light as it lands directly at them with force, shattering the glass and spreading the fire.

The guttural screams would haunt your dreams, but when the car lurches and the infected gather around the warmth and leave the car be, you smile victoriously.

James drives off, car hitting the streets with a metallic slam and wheels smoking. He hoots and hollers, smacking your side ecstatically.

“You absolute beauty, you!” He laughs, fist slamming against the car's ceiling.

Buildings whizz by, grinning back at James. His smile flickers away as his eyes move down to your lap. You suddenly feel a stinging ache on your palms.

With bated breath, you look down, blood pooling all over his mother's mink coat.

“It's probably fine—”

“Stop the car!” You yell as the car skids to a stop near the bridge. Opening the door, you immediately bolt away from James and climb up the wall of the bridge, standing precariously on the ledge as you look down at the Thames.

The sound of the car door opening has you looking back at a concerned James, the gun in his hand means that you both have reached an understanding.

Big Ben looms over the distance, its clock face standing still just like the world has. Just like you have as you count down to ten.

Your laboured breaths rise above the sound of the rushing river below you. It's dark depths calling for you.

Five.

“It's okay, boss, I—I think you're fine.” James utters but the tears in his eyes says that he has the same worries as you. “Ten seconds have already passed.”

Four.

“T–The glass had their blood, James.” You show him your blood drenched palms. “It might take awhile.”

“It won't fucking take you. Get down from there please.”

Three.

“The pamphlet said it transfers through bodily fluids—”

“Get the fuck down.”

Two.

“I can't.”

James slowly inches towards you, gun holstered.

One.

Your breathing rises, blood dripping from your wounds. “I think—” James yanks you away by the coat’s hem, dragging you away from the ledge as you land against his chest. Your cries are muffled by his own coat.

He shushes you gently, holding you in place. “You're good, see? Still alive.”

“I'm sorry, t–that was pathetic.”

“Pathetic? Nah, just melodramatic.” He sighs in relief, leaning away as he holds you at arm's length. Patting your cheek, he sees your left eye twitching briefly before stabilizing. “Let's get the fuck away from here. We have bandages in the car, come on, boss.”

You wipe all your tears, nodding and trying to calm yourself down. “Okay, we have a reunion to go to.”

—

“So, tell me about this cabin?” James asks while a storm brews in the distance, dark clouds looming over the trees on your right. “We have four whole days of travelling, might as well tell me about it.”

“What?” You ask, head still not screwed on tight on your neck after what transpired a few hours ago. The bandage around your palms are rough against your thumbnail, incessantly picking at it anxiously. The ring around your pinky is stained in red, you should clean it later.

“The cabin, tell me about your time there with Hobie. The PG version please.” He chuckles, eyes straight on the road as he carries precious cargo.

Shaking your head, you look over to him while a pair of beaded bracelets dangle from the rearview mirror. “It was nice, we went there for our anniversary.”

“And?”

“And?” You scoff with a smile. “That's it, we spent time lounging around the place and in the morning we would go out to eat and sightsee.”

“You have a way with your words, boss.”

“What do you want from me, James?” You shift in your seat, arms wrapped around your growing belly. “A narration?”

James shakes his head with a growing grin, eyes flicking to you briefly. “No, I'm just making conversation to fucking get you out of there.”

“Out of my seat?”

“No, your fucking head, emo. You've been quiet this entire time.”

“Oh,” you sniff as thunder rumbles from a distance. “Well, thanks.” You can't tell him that his annoyance actually worked and kept you distracted for a little bit, or you'll never hear the end of it. “The cabin was just an hour away from the town. It was pretty, you know, in a cabin in a horror movie type of shit.”

He chuckles, finally victorious. “Why? Is there a permanent smell of carcass around the place, oh! Or like dolls hanging from the ceiling?”

“That’s fucked up!” You chortle, smacking his bicep playfully while he mirrors your smile. It's nice to be finally out of the damn building you've been stuck on for almost three months. “No, there was none of that, just a bunch of antique furniture that looks older than me and Hobie combined. I remember the guy who owns it described it as, ‘rustic’ and ‘remote.’”

“That place is definitely haunted. Like someone died in there or some fucked up ritual.”

“Oh, you think you can do better?” You jab his side, earning a guffaw from him as he flinches away, stomach ticklish.

“Uh, yeah!”

“Of course you can, rich boy.” You roll your eyes, legs folding to rest on the seat with you, arms wrapped around it as you perch your chin atop your knees. Thunder rolls around, grey clouds now looming over the highway that's littered with abandoned cars and luggage.

“We have a farm further north— a fucking rest house more like.” He sighs, eyes fond as he remembers a memory. “We used to go there every winter with the whole family, go sledding and shit. Until the whole drama happened between my dad and aunt.”

“I'm sorry, James.”

“Nah, don't be. I was a kid, barely remembered the whole tiff they had. I just miss my cousins is all.” He shrugs, clearing his throat as he continues to drive steadily. “There's a huge chance that they might be there, y’know the whole family and stuff.”

“You planning on going there?” You ask, voice turning soft.

“Yeah, I think so— well, after we meet up with Hobie and hopefully the others.”

You smile, hand reaching to grasp reassuringly at his bicep. “Sounds like a good plan, James. We'll come with you, as support and definitely not to test out the hundred rooms you guys probably have. What's the name of the place?”

“Mudwood manor.” You nod, taking note of the name. “Dad's gonna have a heart attack if he ever saw you lot. He's still not over what happened two years ago.” He chuckles, hand patting your own in appreciation. “Thanks, boss, for everything. I think I wouldn't have made it this far without you.”

You shake your head, tears making your vision blurry. You blame the hormones. “That should be my words, not yours.” James mirrors your expression, inhaling deeply to get rid of the lump in his throat. “If your parents ever saw you now, they'd be proud of you. I'm proud of you.”

He subtly wipes away at his eye. “You gonna name the kid after me now?”

Laughing, you pat his arm before letting go. “Maybe, I'm seriously considering it.”

“Shit, really?” He says with disbelief. “James Junior, wow.”

You wince, making a face. “Probably not with the Junior. Ew.”

The two of you laugh as rain now pours over the car, drenching the pavement. The sound reverberates through the metal, and the broken window doesn't help with tamping down the sound.

You look over your shoulder, finding that the tarpaulin that you hastily stuck on the hole is hanging on.

“Hey,” James pats your knee, eyes shining despite the dark clouds and pouring rain outside. “We’ll make it there.”

“I know.”

“Let me worry for the two of you, okay?” He glances at your stomach, your belly button is beginning to protrude through your shirt.

“Careful, you'll have worry lines.”

“Birds find worry lines fit, boss.”

With a roll of your eyes, you pinch his arm. “Focus on the damn road, Jameson.”

—

“Wake up, Hobie.”

Your voice yanks him from deep slumber, hard pebbled rocks digging into his skin as he rises from the coast.

He aches all over, arms throbbing, knees screaming in protest as he kneels down on the rough rocks. His heavy eyes roam around the beach, finding nothing but miles of the rocky coast with its boulders piled up high, edges smooth from years of waves lapping around it.

Rain bears down on him, ears ringing from the sound of rain hitting the hardened ground. His body shivers, eyes straining from the downpour.

A sound of knocking wood from behind takes his attention. Looking over his shoulder, he finds the remains of his houseboat, all shards of wood and glass, memories scattered and floating in the cold dark water.

A scream almost escapes out of him. Hand covering his mouth, as he keels over to the rocks, palm digging harshly into the beach.

It was his home and yours for almost ten years, and it was his only salvation, his safety while he was out treading the waters. And it was his one reminder of you. Everything in it had memories, both fond and somewhat awful, but they were his, and now it lays in the bottom of the sea. Picture frames floating with the seaweeds, shoes and clothes tangled around drifting wood.

But by some miracle, his guitar case floats in between two rocks, knocking against the other, in tune with the waves.

Hobie, with whatever's left of his energy, stands up on wobbly legs. There's scratches all over his skin, all searing pain that almost had him falling back down on his knees. And yet he continues on, legs weak, feet barely moving towards the guitar case.

Salty water hits his feet as he shivers, he treads on until the water reaches his waist. The cold and salt exacerbates his injuries, with clenched teeth and shuddered breath, he reaches for the only thing that's left of his home.

The thick leather brushes along his fingertips, hands wrapped around it as he tugs it closer to his chest. Hobie shakily hugs it, a sob pushing through his carefully built wall as he cries atop it like it's a casket that's about to be buried.

His head lays on top of it while rain pours overhead. And his tears are carried by the salty waves.

—

Hobie lugs around whatever's left of his houseboat. All shoved inside a tattered backpack that was once yours. Your charms still clink against the other, and pins still clinging on the fabric. His hand holds onto the guitar case, afraid of opening it and seeing the damage on his guitar. So he carries it around, a heavy weapon that contains his most precious memory. He can still see the sticker of your face on the guitar, he hopes that it's still intact.

He's drenched from head to toe as the storm persists on his back, as if fate is playing with him.

It's bad enough that he had to trek the rest of the way towards the cabin, but the storm keeps following him, as if it's pursuing him and hindering him from finding you. With each town he passes, he sees less and less of the dead. Some lay withered on the ground, chest cavity opened, guts spilled all over the pavement while they desperately tried to reach him with their skeletal hand.

They seem to be dying out, or the virus can no longer keep them upright, not when the host is already decomposing. And now it desperately seeks a new host, even when their jaws are barely holding on, skin blanched and bones bleached by the sun.

Hobie passes by countless evacuation centres just like the one he saw before, and they all sit there empty just like the others. Medical tents lay fallen on the ground, gurneys broken and beaten beside dirty syringes and bandages. Despite that, he checks all of them thoroughly for a sign from you, anything that would indicate that you passed through. But he has seen none.

He feels like the last man alive.

He scavenges and rests in empty houses, careful not to wake the dead that might be hiding within the deep crevices of the town. Every night, he lights a fire, small enough to warm him and not let out smoke that would signal other people that could hurt him for what little he has. Hobie knows how to survive, he went through it during his teenage years, and he never thought that he had to experience it all over again. The uncertainty of where your next meal would be, the dangers lurking around every corner; and not trusting other people to help you. His old self is rearing his head again, peeking through his flesh that you once affectionately held in your hands.

When he finds you, would you see the same person you loved? Would he see the same person in you again after everything?

Hobie's own mind is his enemy. Back on the boat he only worried about hallucinations or delusions that could plague him in the dark. But out here, where the dead lurk, everything and anything could kill him. Even his own head.

It's been a week of walking, through rain and the dead, he finally makes it to the same woods that he once shared with you.

The gates of the cabin squeak in the wind, metal gates swinging around as the breeze picks up, fluttering his lashes.

There's a walkway leading towards the house made out of pebbles, pebbles that remind him of the coast, the same grey shade as the clouds, all rounded around the edges. He roams his eyes over to the cabin, all oak and dark yellowed windows. A porch sits in front with a rocking chair that gently moves back and forth in the wind. The perfect place to rest at the end of the world.

A wind chime clinks from somewhere, and as he cranes his head to the left, there sits under a pile of strewn out branches and leaves, a car, one with a shattered window at the back and side mirrors ripped from the hinges. Bloodied specks dot around its silver paint, scratches and bullet holes mar what was once pristine.

Hobie swallows thickly as he opens the gate, there right above the squeaking metal, a loud shot can be heard from the inside. He jumps in place, hand tight around the rusty metal. Then a guttural cry, one that sends shivers down his spine.

He runs on the path, stones rolling down as he makes his way towards the cabin. His hand wraps around the doorknob, finding it unlocked.

Pushing it, there's resistance from the other side. And as he stares down, he sees a pool of blood slowly spreading over the floorboards.

Panic sets in, as he pushes hard on the door.

“Get the fuck away!” Another shot echoes around as birds fly away from their perches outside.

Hobie heaves and stares at the bullet hole on the door. It missed his head by a couple of inches.

With wide eyes, he stares through it, body frozen as he sees you in the dark with a gun pointed right at him. For a second he thought that he's dreaming again. But he wouldn't dream of something so horrible as he sees what's in your lap.

“Why won't you just die?!”

Hobie dodges before another shot takes out a chunk of the door. Flinging his body towards cover, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. “Love? It's me!” He can barely recognize his own voice.

“Oh god.” You cry, and a smacking sound can be heard. “I'm already going crazy.”

“No, you're not, it's me, love. It's Hobie.” He then calls your name, soft and filled with fondness that it has you dropping the gun on the floor, metal clanging on wood.

“Hobie?” But he can still recognize your voice.

“Yeah, don't shoot.” His whole body shakes with trepidation.

“Hobie!” Your sobs get louder as he opens the door, letting out the pungent smell of blood and letting in sparse sunlight that filters through the dark clouds. “Hobie?” He stands there, hand on the doorknob as he looks down at you and the body laying on your lap. Maybe you are going crazy. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Hobie looks down, staring eye to eye at a dead shambler with a hole right in his head that was blocking the door. Then he gazes back at you with James' head laying right on your lap, eyes closed, blood pooling down the bullet hole in his head and down your legs.

His hand trembles at the sight of his friend, eyes watering, painting you in water colours of blood and gore. Chest sore and stomach in knots, he closes the distance. His eyes land on you, bloodied yet alive. Then he looks down, the familiar ring around your pinky is murky and covered in red, and then he sees it.

“H–He asked me to. James, he— he saved me again.” You stare at him with wild bloodshot eyes, hands drenched in crimson as you tremble and fix the blond locks on his head. “He got bit. I'm so fucking sorry.” There's a huge chunk of his neck missing.

“Are you—?”

“No, it didn't get m–me.” You heave, barely getting your words out as you stare into his eyes.

He kneels down, hand reaching down and towards your stomach. “Are you pregnant?” His hand is warm, and he feels real. You feel real.

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “I tried to tell you before—”

His arms engulf you, holding you close, breathing you in, death and all.

A/N: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you liked it ❤️

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[sketchtastrophee]

might finish this some time, for now its just a shaded sketch 😔 supposed to be after that incident where he got out and killed a bunch of employees

im gonna toss out a prediction abt what a ch5 trailer might look like 😈 (also sorry for not posting for a month)

ok so for the ch4 yarnaby trailer we got a direct continuation of where we left off in ch3. i have a feeling we won't be getting anything like that for ch5, at least not initially. i anticipate the opening scene of ch5 to be either

the red smoke we see at the end successfully knocks us out. we wake up in a new location (having been taken there by someone else) and the game begins there instead of where ch4 ended

we have to escape the room we were in at the end of ch4 before the red smoke takes effect. maybe once we get the door open, huggy breaks down the entrance which starts a chase (it'll be funny if he falls down a pit at the end of the chase)

the one where we get taken could work for a teaser, but i've got something different in mind that could be pretty cool for a trailer

rq IM GONNA LAY OUT SOME ASSUMPTIONS. i'm not sure if ch5 is the last, i've always assumed it would be. i don't know how and why there would be a need for ch6. i'm also assuming that the prototype will be the main villain of this chapter and at one point or another will have his design revealed

OK SO FOR MY PITCH..

before prototype blew us up poppy ran off. that tunnel/vent thing she ran into probably leads back to the prison and prototype is going to find her before he starts looking for us, which leads me to my idea... how awesome sauce would it be if we get a cinematic trailer of the encounter she has with him? i have no doubt he's going to catch her eventually, so it'd be really cool to actually SEE it. they wouldn't have to reveal his full design, maybe just his eyes or a tiny portion of his face in the dark (that'd be fucking terrifying 😭 wtf). keep in mind this would be posted after the arg, which honestly might reveal partially what he looks like

ALSO RELATED TO HOW HIS DESIGN SHOULD BE REVEALED... i think he should be revealed in a cinematic trailer, NOT the game NOR a gameplay trailer. ofc u could show him in both of those things, but i think the initial reveal should be given its own trailer

the reason for this is because there's no good way to show off the model in-game. there's a lot of things that could go wrong. if it isn't a cutscene with a forced camera perspective the player might not even be looking. their graphics could be on low which would dampen the reveal as well. if it's a chase or a boss fight we wouldn't have any time to get a good look at him either.

a gameplay trailer would obviously force you to look at him but i don't think it'd do him enough justice. considering how important he is, you probably want the reveal to be the main focus and everything leading up to it would cater to that. there'd need to be proper build up which is why a cinematic trailer just sort of works better in this instance

ik it would kind of "spoil" it, but i don't see any benefit to having that reveal in-game. ofc, even if you did a full reveal in a trailer, that doesn't mean we have to see him in the light. this works better bc you get to be VERY specific about what you do and don't show. the lighting, sound design, camera work; all of it gets to be fine tuned

anywho its hard to see the text on the walls with the shadows, so here's the drawing without those layers

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Just Us...and Doja Cat

Pairing: Jack Harlow x Girlfriend!Reader

Author's note: Based on my own jealousy of Doja starring in Jackman's new video. That should be me.

The music video was a full-blown production—set design, high fashion, multiple scene changes, and celebrity cameos everywhere. Jack had pulled together an insane lineup: SZA in a futuristic scene, Bad Bunny dancing through a neon-lit hallway, and then there was her—Doja Cat, with her signature smirk and magnetic energy, paired with Jack for the flirty centerpiece of the video.

You were playing Jack’s love interest in the final scene. The story of the video was that Jack spent the whole video chasing after a dream girl (played by Doja), only to realize in the final moment that you were the one he was meant to be with.

It sounded great in the concept meeting. Romantic, even.

But watching them shoot their scenes? Watching Doja drape her arms over his shoulders while he delivered his lines two inches from her face, all with that signature smirk you knew too well?

Yeah. Suddenly it wasn’t so cute.

You leaned against the craft services table, trying not to glare as Jack and Doja laughed at something between takes. Urban, holding the camera as always, caught a glimpse of you chewing your straw with narrowed eyes.

"Everything good?" he asked, smirking.

"Peachy," you replied, not looking at him.

Urban kept recording. "Should I tell Jack his girl’s about to flip a table?"

You glanced at him. "He should already know."

Later, Jack found you sitting on a prop couch, scrolling your phone with your legs crossed, giving very much unbothered but totally bothered.

"You good, baby?" he asked, crouching in front of you, that charming smile softening his face.

You shrugged. "Totally. It’s just, you and Doja look real comfortable."

Jack’s smile widened. "You jealous?"

You rolled your eyes. "No."

Jack leaned in, brushing his hand against your knee. "So if I asked you to run that line again where she touches my jaw, you wouldn’t mind?"

You stared at him. "Try it and find out."

He laughed, slipping his hand into yours. "Come on. It’s acting. You know the whole video leads to you, right?"

"Yeah, but she’s having a little too much fun in Act One."

Jack leaned closer, voice low. "Don’t worry. I made sure my favorite part of the video is the ending—when I kiss you on that rooftop and the whole city lights up."

You raised a brow. "Smooth."

Jack grinned. "Worked, didn’t it?"

By the time they shot your scene—the rooftop kiss, all city skyline and glowing lights—you had cooled off. Jack pulled you in, his hands on your waist like he was right at home, whispering right before the take:

"You know it’s always been you."

And when the director called “Cut!”, you didn’t move right away. Neither did he.

Urban, of course, caught it all. And later that night, he posted a screenshot from the kiss scene with the caption:

"Don’t be fooled. She almost tackled Doja two hours before this."

You commented: “Still might.”

Jack replied: “I survived. Barely.”

[maimura]

i read this at 2am ( anything for a lili fic tbhhhh ) and now i’m FINALLY writing a reblog for this 😆 !!! i am actually really glad that i ended up reading this like six hours from now because i LOVE childhood friends to lovers . and i feel like jaehyun is just so perfect for this ++ the little spin lili added was really nice SO spoilers ahead ^^

SO the beginning was really cute 💔 i just love a good heartfelt and adorable moment and to just start it off with that is PERFECTION ! ( but then again… u know thats going to hurt later on . )

LIKE LITERALLY AFTER THAT WE GET A “what if… i won’t be here tomorrow?” LIKE OH. OH OKAY. ALREADY PUTTING THE DAGGER THROUGH MY CHEST. already knew what was going to happen after that and still reading it happen… ESP WHEN Y/N LITERALLY WENTTTT TO HIS HOUSE 💔 that hurt even more… like…. why did i have to hear from somebody else that you moved when you could’ve told me 💔

AND THEY FREAKING DID THE PINKY PROMISE guys … its such a little thing to say / action to do but i always seem to still take promises to heart LMAOOO so yes … we take promises seriously over here … and when they finally meet again and jaehyun not remembering… THAT WAS SAD ?

like you can tell y/n is simply just not trying to make it obvious that she knows him, however you can see that its still on her mind during the interactions with him… AND YOU DONT EVEN KNOW IF YOU SHOULD ACT MAD BC JAEHYUN IS STILL SO SWEET

and when y/n got him things that he liked / say things that they only knew… just to see if he remembers or not…. bye that stings bc this girl just wants to know if he really did forget her 💔💔 like while reading i genuinely thought this guy just simply forgot and was waiting for them to get along as in like a fresh restart .. AND THEN HE JUST CALLED HER THE SAME NICKNAME HE DID IN THEIR CHILDHOOD. BOYYYY WHY IS HE PLAYING WITH US RIGHT NOWWWW

lwk that was valid for y/n to get upset because… why are we acting like we don’t know each other when i’ve done things from our childhood that WE should know and you’re still acting like im someone new 💔 AND LIKE ESP WHEN SHE CONFRONTED HIM ABOUT IT… AND HES STILL TRYING TO LIE LIKE PLEASEEE DROP IT 💔💔

but he didn’t 💔 and then shinyu came into the picture… GUYS (one of) MY BND BIAS AND MY TWS BIAS YOOOOO . this is My destiny…. LMAO BUT i love the sweet bond between them and jaehyun noticing them sharing that bond instead of it being her and him…

like yeah jaehyun why would lie and set yourself up 💔 do we see the consquences of your actions (jkjk) but regardless, i’m glad he ended up actually had always remembered and he was just too committed to the act due to fear ( BOY 💔💔💔💔 ) AND THEN THE SCENE WHERE JAEHYUN WAS SERENADING HER OOOOOOOOUHHHHHH THATS WHAT IM TALKING ABOUTTTT

ugh they are so cute . LIKE AND THEY KISSED TOO OH MY GOODNESS GRACIOUSSSSSSS THIS IS THE ENDING WE WISHED FOR 😝😝😝😝 ( im sorry shinyu 💔 ) this is the sweetest ending yet Yes i am gracefully taking this.

THANK YOU LILI FOR WRITING THIS BANGER AND DEDICATING IT TO ME 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 you are spared…. This time ☺️❤️‍🩹 !! im glad i stayed up a little bit longer to read this <3

　ᅠ ✿　ᅠ REWIND TO YOU 　　────　ᅠ ( myung jaehyun )

𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀your reunion with one of the most important people in your life, myung jaehyun, was not like what you hoped for at all. instead of a heartwarming session of two best friends meeting each other after a decade of lost contact, you’re facing a person who seemed to forget a meaningful childhood spent together, like it meant nothing at all.

　　　ᅠ 명재현 ⠀⠀◜◡◝ ⠀⠀𝒇 shy!reader ⠀wc 14.6k ⠀ genre fluff angst childhood friends to lovers high school au ⠀ contains mentions of food skinship random ocs some bnd members and shinyu ⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net , @onedoornet

　　　ᅠ 　　　ᅠ BEST ENJOYED WITH .. l i f e i s c o o l by boynextdoor, amnesia by boynextdoor, in bloom by zerobaseone, teenage dream by stephen dawes, unfinished business by neriah, if i say i love you by boynextdoor, old with you by grentperez, but you by ikon & serenade by boynextdoor

　　　ᅠ note ᅠ from ᅠ 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈 ! ᅠ i hope all of you enjoy this spin i made out of the usual childhood friends to lovers trope! and soph.. i dedicate this to you (Pls Spare me), and if you ask, yes i will dedicate every single leehan and myungjae fic to my wifey!

　　　ᅠ ＞︿ 　　please leave feedbacks 　　& 　　reblog

 “I HATE YOU, MYUNG JAEHYUN!”

Your screams echoed through the playground, accompanied by Jaehyun’s loud giggles. You took a deep breath as you chased him around, your hair flying behind you. Jaehyun had ‘cheated’ when the two of you were playing hide and seek a few minutes ago—he went on asking around the other kids if they had seen you. And one of the stupider kids did tell him that he saw you inside the slide. 

Jaehyun was quickly out of breath as he was laughing his heart out while running, and you caught up to him pretty quickly. You launched yourself at him, tackling him to the ground. You hit his chest several times, pouting. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Jaehyun said, blocking your hits. His laughter died down, but that insufferable grin was still glued to his face. He was obviously loving all the attention he’s getting from his best friend—even though she’s sitting on top of him, sulkily pinning him to the ground. 

“It’s unfair,” you huffed. You eventually stopped hitting him, but you were still a little upset. How could Jaehyun win, especially by cheating?

“I’m sorry, Sunshine,” he said, his dreadful smirk morphing into a small yet soft smile. “You’re just too good at hide-and-seek.”

“That doesn’t mean you can cheat,” you replied, a pout still evident in your expressions. 

Jaehyun pursed his lips, and for a while, he stayed silent—the gears in his brain working to think of a solution for you. “What about this—let’s go to the convenience store and buy some Pepero or whatever you want. It’s on me!”

You couldn’t stop a smile from erupting on your face. The key to your heart was the simplest thing in the entire world: food, and Jaehyun knew this—and he often used this fact to its fullest potential. It didn’t really help that he’s your best friend, too, so he clearly knew what your favourites were. You weren’t exactly complaining, though. Jaehyun liked to tease you, and as compensation for making you a little pouty, he’d buy or offer you some food.

A win-win situation for seven-year-olds.

“Okay!” you agreed cheerfully. 

And that’s how you found yourself, happily munching on Pepero and chocolate churro chips on the way back to the playground from the store. Jaehyun walked next to you, holding a bunch of candy in his hands. 

You were munching on your snacks, and were just about to thank him for the Pepero when Jaehyun leaned in, stealing a big bite of the Pepero from your hand. 

You shrieked in shock, pouting after realising what had happened. 

“Jaehyun!” you whined, hitting his arm.

Jaehyun giggled. “You snooze, you lose,” he teased with a stupid grin. 

You crossed your arms, huffing. “Some best friend you are.”

Jaehyun’s grin immediately faltered. He quickly broke the chocolate chip cookie he was nibbling on in half, handing you the bigger piece. “Here. Best friends share, right?”

You eyed him rather suspiciously before taking it. “Fine. But you owe me for life.”

“How does that work?” Jaehyun asked, tilting his head slightly. 

“We’d have to be best friends forever,” you replied. The look on your face was enough to tell how serious you meant your words, even for a first grader. “That way, you can always buy me food every day.”

“What if… I won’t be here tomorrow?” Jaehyun asked. You immediately turned to him, confused. That wasn’t what you expected from him as an answer. 

You took a minute of munching through your chips for you to analyse Jaehyun’s doubtful expression. “What are you talking about? Don’t be silly,” you shoved his shoulder. “You’re always here.”

Jaehyun smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Then, promise me—let’s be best friends,  no matter what happens.”

You paused, staring right into his eyes.  

Jaehyun looked at you, his face mixed with some kind of fondness and amusement. “Promise me, Sunshine?” he asked, holding out his pinky in a solemn promise. “Best friends forever.”

You returned his gaze, a smile forming on your face as you linked your pinky with his, sealing the promise without a second of hesitation. “Always.”

The words echoed in the air, and from the way the winds caressed your skin, it’s like the universe had taken note of your promise to each other. 

However, you were completely unaware that this would be the last day you’d spend with him. 

The next afternoon, after completing tasks that your mother had told you to do, you rushed to Jaehyun’s house—a few mere blocks away—with a bag of homemade cookies in hand. A big smile was painted across your face, you were excited to surprise Jaehyun with the sweet treats that you had baked with your mother last night. 

But something was wrong. 

The front yard, usually scattered with Jaehyun’s soccer balls and bicycles, was oddly empty. The windows were shut tight, and the driveway—where his father’s car was always parked—was vacant. 

You felt your heart thump hard against your chest. Your grip on the paper bag tightened, and you approached the front door. 

You knocked. 

Nothing. 

“Jaehyun?” 

You knocked again, harder this time. 

“Myungjae? It’s me, Y/N–”

“Sweetheart? Who are you looking for?” 

You turned towards the voice straight away. It was the old lady who lived next door, the one who always made sure to give you and Jaehyun a popsicle whenever you two passed by her house. She had a gentle yet unreadable smile on her face. You ran up to her, head spinning with a dozen questions. 

“Where’s Jaehyun?” you asked her. 

“My dear…” she began, her voice soft. “Jaehyun left early this morning.”

You blinked. The words were heavy, but you couldn’t understand what they meant. “Left? Where?”

“They moved away.”

Nothing made sense. Jaehyun moved? No one had said anything about moving. 

You looked back towards Jaehyun’s house, hoping that the door would swing open and that he would come running towards you, grinning like he always did. 

But he didn’t come. 

The house was quiet, empty. 

Your throat tightened. “But he promised to play. He said he would… stay.”

The lady kneeled in front of you, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I’m so sorry, my dear.”

You bit your lips, and you didn’t realise you were crying until you tasted salt on your lips. 

Later that evening, you had found yourself wandering back to the playground, the noisy chatter of kids playing around fading into the background. The paper bag still in hand, you walked around aimlessly. You could still hear Jaehyun’s laughter ringing in your ears, the sound of your footsteps blending with his as you two ran around. 

Jaehyun was gone.

And he didn’t even say goodbye. 

You sat down at a bench overlooking the playground where the two of you always played, staring at the place where you both had linked pinkies and made a promise. A promise you had believed in with all your heart.

A promise that, it seemed, only you remembered.

“I’LL see you after school, sweetie,” your father says into your hair. You set your lips into a line, nodding timidly. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” your mother asks, appearing from behind your father. “We can always accompany you to school–”

“Darling,” your father reminds your mother by putting a gentle hand on her arm. “Our Y/N will be fine. She’s almost eighteen now, I’m sure she can handle it all.” 

You give your parents a reassuring smile before walking away, each step bringing you uncomfortably away from home.

The morning felt weird, anyway. You’re here, in a new school, in a state you’ve never set foot to before. The air here feels like a heavy fog, clinging to your chest as you stand in front of the towering school building. You could feel the weight of an agonising unknown pressing down on you. It’s a sensation that you could never get used to, despite the sun peeking through the clouds, and the bustling cacophony of students around you. You stand at the gates, fingers tightly grasping the straps of your backpack. You take a deep breath, remembering your mother’s advice to help overcome your nerves. 

You walk into your new school, the new feeling of being somewhere so unfamiliar enveloping you. It feels different from the school you left behind—the campus is bigger here, the hallways seemed endless and much wider, and each turn made you feel like you’re lost in a looping maze. They even have a separate building for the library.

You find your footsteps slowing down as you reach the middle of the common area, unsure of where you should go. Your eyes dart here and there, desperately trying to find some kind of clue that could help you. 

You had always been the quiet one, preferring to keep to yourself, listening more than you talked, the one that often found herself slipping to the background of a party and corner of classrooms. Currently surrounded by boisterous students, each seeming to know what they’re doing, you feel slightly overwhelmed. The school map you opened on your phone suddenly feels too complicated for you to understand. 

Suddenly, something solid crashes against the back of your head, causing you to stumble forward, the impact hard enough to make the books you’re holding fall to the ground. 

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!”

You turn to reply, but find your words stuck in your throat. 

A tall guy in a basketball jersey stands before you, his hair tousled in an athletic tangle. He picks up the ball—the solid object that hit the back of your head a moment ago—and scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. He gives you a sheepish smile, trying his best to convey how sorry he is—but you’re too focused on his sharp features and messy brown hair. It’s all too familiar. 

Myung Jaehyun. 

Before you could say anything, he leans down and picks up your books. He hands them to you, a charming smile replacing whatever backward expression he had earlier. “Careful there, newbie,” he says, teasing. “Wouldn’t want to be trampled on your first day here, no?”

You take your books from him, dazed. 

He doesn’t recognise you. 

You watch as he jogs back to his friends, spinning the orange ball in his hands. You stand there, exactly where he left you, unsure of what to do next. 

YOU’RE sitting alone at lunch, perfectly at peace with your packed lunchbox. You sit quietly, not wanting to stand out. This is your first day at a completely new school, and the last thing you want is to make yourself the centre of attention. 

Unfortunately, fate had written that this was your first mistake. 

You’re about to enjoy your lunch in the comfort of solitude, a figure that you didn’t expect to see, again, slips into the seat in front of you.

“Hey, newbie,” you hear Jaehyun say as he takes a seat. “Eating alone?”

You simply nod, not knowing what to say. 

“So, um,” Jaehyun finds himself stuttering after not receiving a reply from you. “You’re the new student, right? That explains the self-introduction in class just now.”

You nod again. Seeing the pitiful look on his face, masked poorly by a confident demeanor, you decide to reply. “Yes. I just moved here.”

Jaehyun’s face lights up like a lightbulb. 

“I’m Jaehyun, if you didn’t know that,” he grins. “I’m in your homeroom! My seat is behind you.”

You noticed that, of course. Who wouldn’t recognise someone whose laugh echoed throughout the room, brightening the atmosphere like the rays of a bright spring morning?

You give him a small smile. 

“Your seatmate, Sanghyeok, is my friend! He told me you seemed… er, lonely,” he hesitates for a while, “so I came up with a genius plan,” Jaehyun reveals with a grin that you’re a bit too familiar with. 

He’d always flash that big smile towards you whenever he wanted to propose a plan, but didn’t really want to take credit for it, in case it was a little too ridiculous. 

“What is it?” you reply. 

“We should be friends,” Jaehyun responds, and your eyes widen almost immediately. 

What does he mean by that?

Your heart begins to race, not just because you’re shocked to see Jaehyun, who was once the most important person in your life, after so many years—but from the fact that he naturally is taking charge, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like it came to him with no hesitation. 

“It’s all good! I talked to my friends—Sanghyeok, Sungho, Yoona and Minji—about this, and they all seem pretty cool about it.”

“Oh,” is all you’re able to manage. Everything is moving a little too briskly, and you’re feeling a bit dizzy from how fast things are escalating. 

You feel your brain short-circuiting. 

Just like that?

No hesitation? No ‘wait, Y/N? Is that you?’? No recognition?

You swallow hard. 

“Thank you?” you say, wary. You take a small bite of your sandwich. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Jaehyun beams, and as if on cue, he waves towards a group of people behind you. You turn around, eyes slightly bulging at the way Jaehyun’s friends are quickly approaching your table. You recognise Sanghyeok, naturally, and the girl with a bubbly smile that you assume would be Yoona, but the rest of his friends are new faces for you. 

Jaehyun barely left any room for you to process anything. 

As quickly as they came, the air begins to smell like snacks and sports equipment—a strangely uplifting scent. 

“Guys, meet Y/N!” Jaehyun announces as soon as his friends arrive, putting away their things. “She’s the new kid I told you guys about.”

You look at him for a few seconds. 

Jaehyun is beaming with a smile, and the way he introduced you with such confidence, like you’ve been best friends since forever, makes your heart thump in a weird way.

“Wow, that was fast,” the tall, broad shouldered boy comments, whistling playfully. “Already claiming her as one of us?”

Jaehyun puffs his chest out. “Of course, I have a talent for spotting good people–”

“Hi, nice to meet you, Y/N,” Yoona quickly says, rolling her eyes at Jaehyun. She takes the empty seat next to you. “We’re in the same homeroom. My name is Im Yoona.”

You give her a polite smile. 

A girl with sharp eyes and an amused smile displayed on her face slips into the seat next to Yoona. “So, did he actually ask if you’d like us to sit with you, or did he have you sit here unwillingly?”

You hesitate. “Unwillingly…?”

“Shut up, Minji,” Jaehyun grumbles as the entire group bursts into laughter. 

“That’s Jaehyun for you,” Sanghyeok, your desk mate, says to you. He then gives you a warm smile, just like earlier. “Do you like how KOZ Academy is so far?”

You take a little bite out of your sandwich. “It’s fine. I like how big the campus is.”

“That’s what I always brag about this school,” Minji, who’s been quiet for a while, adds in. The smile on her face is relaxed. “I’ve been here since freshman year, and I still can’t fathom the way we have a swimming pool and tennis courts.”

You nod enthusiastically, recalling how you did see the facilities she mentioned in the school map. 

“Speaking of that, should we give the newbie a tour of the school?” Jaehyun suggests, his face lightening up with excitement. He barely swallows his food as he’s giving you a bright, friendly grin. 

“You speak of her like she’s not in front of you,” the tall boy sighs. He turns to you, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry. Y/N, isn’t it? I’m Sungho.”

You nod. “Yeah. Nice to meet you.”

“Do you want us to give you a tour of the school?” Yoona asks. She gestures to Jaehyun. “Don’t worry, this dumbass won’t be in charge of it.”

“Hey!” Jaehyun exclaims. 

“You’ll just show her the boring parts of school,” Minji chimes in. 

Jaehyun makes a bewildered expression. “I will not–!”

“Remember the time when Sanghyeok first came to this school? You showed him all the unnecessary classrooms that you didn’t have time to show him where the lunch card machine is,” Sungho adds, laughing.  

Jaehyun rolls his eyes. He passes you a snack. “You’re all so dramatic. Anyway,” he says, shifting his gaze to you. “Don’t mind them, Y/N. You’re welcome here—just sit back and relax.”

You nod, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that it’s the only reaction you’re able to give them so far. You’re not so sure that you’re able to relax when all these new faces have their eyes on you, but surprisingly, their energy isn’t too bad. It’s welcoming, bustling with a friendly spirit. It’s uncomfortable, sure, but it’s not unkind. 

Jaehyun passes you another snack he grabbed from Sanghyeok’s stash, and something in your chest begins to warm. 

Maybe it’s not too bad at all. 

THE next day feels like a dream. 

You arrive at school pretty early, and much to your surprise, you’re greeted warmly by Yoona, who also happens to arrive at the same time as you. She hops off the bus and jogs towards you, catching up to you as soon as you park your bicycle. 

“Good morning, Y/N,” she smiles at you. 

You mirror her expression. “Good morning.”

“It’s still early… Do you want to go to the common area?” Yoona suggests. “I’m sure the rest will already be there.”

You simply nod. “Cool. Let’s go.”

Yoona links her arm with yours, and together, you walk towards the common area. It’s bustling and loud despite it being only half past seven. Most of the energy radiates from Jaehyun and his group of friends: the boys are tossing a basketball up and down—even though they’re clearly indoors, and they shouldn’t be playing with a ball inside. Minji sits on the sofa nearby, leaning back as she lazily reads through a novel, completely unbothered with the ruckus around her. 

As soon as you arrive, Yoona puts her bag down, sitting down next to Minji and they both begin chatting about whatever topic that comes to mind. You, however, aren’t used to this kind of energy—fast-paced, full of jokes and friendly banter. You sit at the edge of the sofa, unsure of how you’d insert yourself into the conversation. 

Jaehyun, on the other hand, is thriving. As always. 

“Bet I can make the shot from here,” he brags, crumpling a snack wrapper in his hands. He gestures to the trash can, located at the far corner of the room. 

“No way,” Sungho scoffs. “That’s, like, ten feet away.”

“You’re all talk, MJ,” Sanghyeok chimes in, laughing. 

Jaehyun smirks, turning to you. “Yo, new kid. Believe in me?”

You meet his eyes, blinking profusely. “Uh…” 

The group laughs, and Jaehyun gives you an exaggerated gasp. He puts a hand over his chest in a dramatic manner. “Wow. The hesitation? I’m hurt.”

“Well–” you say, pausing. You’re unsure if you should say what your thoughts really are, or if you should play it safe. You bit your lip, suddenly feeling self-conscious of the way you’re sitting.

“You’ll miss, definitely,” you quietly mumble. 

For a second—one that felt way too long—Jaehyun stares. 

Then, he throws his head back, laughing his lungs out. “Yo, she’s got a bite! I like her.”

You gape at him, not knowing what to respond to the grin he flashed at you amidst his loud laughter. Your face begins to burn, but the others are nodding in approval.

“Good job,” Minji pats your shoulder. “You’re keeping him humble.”

Sanghyeok hands you a juice box, grinning like his gesture is a kind of initiation. “You’re officially one of us.”

You hesitate, but eventually accept it. 

“Told you you’d fit right in,” Jaehyun says, nudging your side as he grins. 

And just like that, you find yourself smiling back. 

YOU’RE not sure if it’s just you, or it’s that Jaehyun does not remember you at all. It has been quite a long time, you admit that, but you don’t think that it’s reasonable for someone to completely forget someone so important, no matter how long you’ve been without them.

So, for the following weeks, you decided to test the waters, to see if Jaehyun truly did forget you, that if you’re just a passing memory in his childhood. 

“Jaehyun!” you exclaim, running up to the soccer court. The boy perks up, his eyes lightening up as he watches you jog up to him. He was scrolling animatedly on his phone, but when he heard his name being called by you, whatever that he was interested in was tossed aside. 

“Are you done with soccer?” you ask, panting slightly. 

Jaehyun nods. 

“What’s up, newbie?” he then grins, wiping off his sweat using the towel hanging around his neck. 

You cringe slightly at the nickname. “I have a name, you know.”

Jaehyun laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, Y/N. What’s wrong though?”

“Nothing,” you reply. You then rummage through your backpack, bringing out a bunch of strawberry fruit roll-ups. You give Jaehyun a small smile before handing them to him. “Here, I thought you’d want them after practice.”

Jaehyun beams, delightfully grabbing the candies. He opens one of them, and when he’s about to put it in his mouth, he pauses mid-action. His eyes turn straight to you, looking fixedly into your gaze. “Wait.” 

You bite the bottom of your lips, trying to contain yourself. 

“What?”

“How’d you know I like these?”

Your eyes bulge slightly, and you quickly purse your lips together to mask a smile. You knew Jaehyun liked these—ever since you started being friends with him, he had made it clear that he liked everything and anything that tastes like strawberries. You remember spending a lot of time in your childhood, trying the various breeds of strawberry, as well as strawberry candies and snacks that Jaehyun had shared with you; and over time, you just naturally knew specifically what he liked.

And turns out, the five foot seven inches high school senior that’s standing in front of you with a baffled expression on his face still does like strawberry flavoured things. 

He is the Myung Jaehyun that your heart holds dear, even after so many years. 

You shrug. “Just a feeling.”

Jaehyun places the fruit roll-up in his mouth, his gaze still trained on you. In his eyes, you can see that he’s questioning your words. But as the candy melts in his mouth, the doubt begins to dissipate, and his charming smile reappears. 

“Thank you,” Jaehyun’s grin twinkles. He grabs another candy and pops it into his mouth.

“These things are crazy—I can’t get enough of how good they taste!” he begins to chatter as he packs his things, his movement as swift as the speed of the words coming out of his mouth. When he’s done, he stands up straight and looks towards you, the expression in his eyes cheerful and full of energy. 

“Let’s go?” Jaehyun prompts. 

You adjust your backpack’s straps on your shoulders. “Go… where?”

“Home?” Jaehyun replies, perching up his eyebrow. He looks at you like you’ve asked the dumbest question he’s ever heard. “You live in my neighbourhood, don’t you? I always see you cycling home from the grocery store on Saturdays.” 

You hesitate. 

The fact that you do live in the same neighbourhood as Jaehyun does is bothering you in ways you’d never thought it would. It reminds you of the painful separation you faced in your early years of life, and to be hit with such a strong déjà vu years later, you’re not sure if you can handle it. 

Seeing you waver, Jaehyun wears his bag on one shoulder, putting his other arm around you. Your shoulder tense, feeling weird at how he’s so completely at ease with you, like he’s grown up with you for years. 

“It’s okay, Y/N,” he says, his voice oddly absent from the cocky confidence he usually wears. Instead, his voice is comfortingly firm. “C’mon, let’s walk home together.”

As he walks with you to the school gate, the warmth of him being close to you makes your heart ache in ways that are alarmingly familiar. 

IT’S been a few weeks of you trying to execute your attempts at making Jaehyun remember you. But, of course, your efforts decided to fail you. It’s annoying—the way he’s obviously out there treating you like you’re the greatest friend he’s ever had, yet whenever you bring up an old joke or an old nickname that you used to call him, he puts on this confused face that makes you want to slap him and yourself. 

One day, during an afternoon study session, you and your friends had pushed your desks together to mug up upon your studies. You were seated between Yoona and Sanghyeok, and directly in front of you was Jaehyun. 

Tired of solving math problems, you began watching Jaehyun solve a math problem, leaning over his desk. His brows were furrowed deeply, showing how tricky the math problem was. And you notice one thing. 

He was subconsciously sticking out the tip of his tongue slightly. It clicked inside your head, and a roll of memories came playing into your sight. His habit is still the same—exactly like he used to when the two of you were playing jigsaw puzzles. 

You snorted to yourself. “You still do that?” you whispered to yourself. 

However, your whisper was loud enough for your friends to catch. “Do what?” Yoona asked, perking up from her physics homework. 

Her question pulled the entirety of Jaehyun’s attention, and his eyes were locking with yours at once. He had a questioning look on his face, and he didn’t say anything, waiting for you to answer. 

Your eyes widened, and you immediately shook your head. “Nothing,” you stammered, looking away as you bit the inner corner of your cheek.

A few days after that, you were sitting on the bleachers of your school’s soccer field, your homework sprawled over your lap. Jaehyun had made you and the girls come over to watch him, Sungho, and Sanghyeok play soccer at the field. You and Minji didn’t want to at first, but Yoona saw it with a positive note—you were sick of studying at the library every afternoon, so studying at the field could be a nice change. 

It was a windy November afternoon, and autumn was giving way to winter, so every single gush of wind felt like a harsh bite to the skin. You squinted, trying to do your homework as you fought with the wind and the coldness it brought along. You’re not too interested in sports, and it didn’t help that you got there when the match was already halfway through, so you didn’t understand a thing that was going on. 

One thing for sure is that it was quite an intense match. 

“I’m not sure if this was a good idea,” Minji muttered. She shoved her hair into her coat, zipping it up. “My hair is flying everywhere and I can’t even see Sanghyeok. How am I supposed to do anything?”

“Sanghyeok, huh?” Yoona laughed. “You can see them a bit—see, look!” she exclaimed, pointing at the slightly smaller figure of the boys, fiercely in their game. “Sungho and Jaehyun’s about to score!”

Hearing that, you immediately looked up from your homework, your attention officially snatched away from the assignment. You watched intently as the game progressed: Sungho, with the ball in his control, dodged a tackle, swiftly running through the field before powerfully passing the ball towards Jaehyun, who effortlessly scores their winning goal. 

It’s a friendly match between your school’s soccer team and another school, but the celebration that roared through was something else. 

Sanghyeok pulled Jaehyun and Sungho into a bear hug, ruffling both their heads. You heard Jaehyun’s victorious laughs and screams echoing around the air. You smiled.

Soccer has always been one of his passions, and seeing him flourish in it makes your heart bloom in ways you never imagine it would. 

You were proud of him, and it’s a refreshing feeling that you never got to feel years ago, when seven-year-old Jaehyun was telling you all about his soccer dreams. 

After freeing himself from Sanghyeok, Jaehyun ran up to the bleachers. Much to your surprise, he was headed straight to you. He came up to you with a pleasant grin, his face flushed with sweat. 

“Hey, I did it,” he said, breathless. He brought his hand out for a high-five. 

And before you could even think, you stood up and clasped his hand in the old secret handshake from your childhood with him. It came to you like second nature—you couldn’t even stop yourself. 

Jaehyun stiffened, his hand still clasped around yours. 

You were equally as shocked as he is. 

Why did you even do that? 

And what was that reaction?

However, Jaehyun was quick to react—he laughed it off, quickly redoing it into a normal high-five. He gave you another grin before turning away to chug water, leaving you confused and unconvinced. 

Now, you’re not too sure that Myung Jaehyun actually forgot you. 

This theory was drilled into your head even more after another incident or two. 

It was a random Tuesday, where Jaehyun had dragged you and the girls to accompany him to do soccer drills at the field with his team. 

“Remind me why we need to do this again,” Minji grumbled, slumping against the seat. 

Yoona sighed, stifling back a grin. “Because MJ said so.”

“I don’t understand! Why can’t we just wait for them at the library? We need to study anyway,” Minji complained, stomping her feet in frustration a few times. 

“They probably just need some moral support,” you chimed in, watching absentmindedly as Jaehyun is making his team run around the field. 

“They’re seniors already, they should be done with all this,” Minji huffed. 

Yoona shrugged. “You know how they are with soccer.”

“Absolute maniacs,” Minji commented, shaking her head. 

You simply nodded and chuckled along to their conversation, eyes trained on Jaehyun coordinating his teammates in soccer training. The actions then became repetitive, and you quickly got bored. You stared off into space, zoning out. Then, without you realising, a soccer ball from a group of freshmen that were practicing near your seats came flying directly towards you. 

Before you could react, Jaehyun instinctively stepped in front of you, shielding you from the ball with his body. 

The ball bounced off him with a thud, and you gasped. You rushed towards him, Minji and Yoona following you from behind. 

“Jaehyun, are you okay?” you asked frantically. 

Jaehyun picked up the ball, turning slightly to give you a grin that tells you that he’s okay. “I’m okay!” he answered, flexing his bicep. “See?” 

And the memory hitted you like a truck—all this reminded you of the time when the two of you were kids, when Jaehyun would always stand in front of you during dodgeball insisting “you’re too small to get hit!”

A quiet gasp escaped between your lips. “You always do this,” you muttered. 

Jaehyun, who was about to walk back to his teammates after tossing the ball back to them, turned to you. “Do what?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. Your eyes narrowed—you could tell that he was feigning innocence. 

“Never mind,” you said, giving him a tight smile. Jaehyun nodded, and you watched him jog back to his teammates, carrying out the practice like usual, a million thoughts racing through your mind. 

He remembers. 

The next week, on a Thursday, you had just gotten back home from your after school Chemistry class—Jaehyun and his mother had dropped you off. After cleaning yourself up and changing into your pyjamas, you sat down at your desk, wanting to get some homework done before you ate dinner. 

Then, your phone pinged with a text notification from Jaehyun. 

hey sunshine

Are u done with the english hw? i wanna see how u did it

Sunshine. 

The nickname that Jaehyun used to love calling you when the two of you were kids, and used to live only a few houses away from each other back in your old neighbourhood. He used to call you that because, quoting him, your smile was as precious as the sunshine on a winter morning. You didn’t—and still don’t—genuinely smile often, but Jaehyun was one of the only people who could trigger it out of you with not too much effort. 

The nickname meant a lot to you. 

You stared at the message in a daze, and when you finally were about to reply, the text was gone. 

y/n, i meant

sorry

You held your hand against your chest, heart pounding like crazy. 

“What the hell was that?” you whispered to yourself. 

So he does remember. 

IT’S a Friday, and you’re sitting down at your desk, unable to focus your brain into another set of math problems. Instead, you sit there, pretending to read through your completed English essay while sneaking glances at Jaehyun. He’s laughing about something with Minji and Sungho, effortlessly conforming with his friends, flashing that same stupid grin that you’ve always remembered from your childhood. 

Your fingers curl around the edges of your desk. 

How could he look so familiar yet feels so distant like a stranger?

You desperately want to believe that he’s forgotten—too much time has passed. But deep down, you know that it doesn’t make sense. He’s too comfortable around you, too quick to include you too. He’s too at ease around you, especially for someone who’s apparently just met you for around two months. 

And the worst part? Your heart is still skipping a beat every time you look at him. Your heart still reacts the same way it did when you were kids—probably even more defined now—cheeks turning pink at his gestures, heart warming at his voice. 

This isn’t fair. Nothing is.

You watch as he ruffles Minji’s hair, annoying her by ruining her hair that she spent an entire morning trying to perfect. He laughs as she swats his hand away, hissing curses at his face. 

He used to do that to you. 

Your grip tightens. 

Maybe you’re just overthinking it. Maybe he really did forget, after all. 

But you can’t just get it out of your head—the way Jaehyun treats you, the small, fleeting glances and the way he easily includes you in every conversation he has and everything he does. It makes you doubt yourself. 

And why do you even care so much?

You turn away, biting your lip. It’s stupid. Everything is just so dumb—you shouldn’t be jealous or feeling worked up about some boy that happened to still be the most important part of your life even after so many years. You shouldn’t even bother yourself with something that happened years ago. You know you shouldn’t hold on to memories that you’re not even sure he still held. 

But you are.

And that fact alone is making you despise everything.

BY the end of the day, you’re lazily packing your bag after the last bell rang. You’re drained after an entire week of classes and endless assignments, and you don’t know if you can survive your after school Math class. Beside you, Sanghyeok is also packing his bag—but he’s doing so at a much faster pace than you are. He gives you an acknowledging smile, a piece of bread in his mouth, before walking out of the classroom. 

“MJ, are we going to the extra football practice coach said we’d have earlier?” Sungho asks, stacking his books into an organised pile before sliding them into his bag. 

Jaehyun looks up from his phone, humming. “Yeah, I’ll go. I’m the captain—can’t miss any sessions, can I?”

Sungho nods in agreement, but before he could say anything in return, Jaehyun’s focus is already shifted to you. 

You’re packing your bag slowly, as if by doing that, you’re able to avoid going to your after school class. You zip your backpack close, feeling someone’s gaze boring into you. You look up, turning towards the source of the tingling sensation. 

“Going home already?” Jaehyun asks, an idle grin displayed on his face. 

You slip your arms into your puffed coat. “Yeah,” you nod, “I have extra class.”

“Let me walk you home,” Jaehyun says, zipping his bag shut smoothly. He swings it over his back. 

“Jaehyun, we have practice,” Sungho reminds. He’s already at the door, gesturing with his chin. 

Jaehyun swats his hand, without even looking at his friend. “It’s fine—you can go first.”

As Sungho leaves with a sigh, Jaehyun grins at you. “C’mon. Let’s stop for some tteok skewers while we’re at it too.”

You stare at him, eyes unblinking. 

Is he being serious? Why is he always insisting on walking you home? Doesn’t he realise what his actions are doing to you? 

Your frown begins to deepen as you recall Jaehyun’s treatment of you ever since you transferred to KOZ Academy: always next to you, effortlessly handing you snacks and drinks—specifically the ones you always preferred, always seeming to prioritise you over everything else that he has; walking you home, buying you food as often as possible, and all the other little things that made your heart somersault. 

You don’t want any of this. 

You don’t like how conscious you are of yourself whenever he’s around. You don’t like how he makes you feel like you’re the most important person in this world. You don’t like how he makes you all smiles—you despise the way he easily brings you out of your shell. 

You clench your fists. 

This is ridiculous. You are being ridiculous. 

Jaehyun has been nothing but very kind and welcoming to you since you first came here. He has included you, so naturally nothing seemed awkward or forced. He introduced you to his friends, and they were all so welcoming you feel like you’ve been friends for ages. He treated you like any other classmate, normal and friendly. 

And that is the problem. 

Because you know that, to Jaehyun, you’re just like any other person here. You’re just a normal classmate. Not the girl who used to braid flowers into his hair as the two of you talked under the shade of the oak tree, chatting your afternoon away. Not the girl that he used to enthusiastically greet every day, eager to share his strawberries. Not the girl that he swore he’d never leave behind. 

You know you mean as much to him as much as his other friends do. You know that his stomach doesn’t do this funny dance whenever you’re around. You know that his cheeks don’t become warm whenever he hears your voice. You know he doesn’t look forward to seeing you every day, like it’s one of the only things that keep him going. 

Your throat burns with this feeling. It’s stupid. You hate whatever’s going on—the faint sliver of hope that Jaehyun just might remember you after all. Maybe he was just pretending. 

But for what?

Because everytime you look into his eyes, you don’t see the Jaehyun you cherished with your entire heart. All you see is someone, still the same Myung Jaehyun, who had long since moved on. 

You’re fine on your own. You know that. You’ve always been. 

You’ve always been by yourself, you didn’t realise how fun and fulfilling it’d be when there’s a special someone in your life. 

When Jaehyun left with no warning ten years ago, you had thought it was the end of the world. You had put yourself through the painful process of moving on, of finally accepting that maybe Jaehyun wasn’t meant to be yours forever all along. 

But then, Jaehyun reappeared. He made his way back into your life, a decade later, as smoothly as the way he first introduced himself to you as a four year old. 

Yet he had the audacity to treat you like you’re a new friend. 

You close your eyes for a quick moment, trying to suppress all the memories that are rushing back into your head. 

“C’mon, Y/N, you’ll be late for your class,” Jaehyun says, tapping your shoulder. It brings you back to reality, and without realising, you’re staring sharply at him with that alarming sensation of tears collecting in your eyes. 

Jaehyun, of course, is quick to notice this. His grin fades into a frown. “What’s wrong? A-are you sick?”

You inhale sharply, taking your bag. “No,” you say, slowly shaking your head. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Okay,” you hear Jaehyun quietly responding as you walk past him. You walk out of the classroom and into the hallways, too tired to even stop Jaehyun from following you. You let him accompany you to the after school tuition centre in town, silently waving him goodbye as you watch him cycle back to school. 

You turn around, sighing. 

YOU know you’re about to hit the end of your patience. 

Your school is hosting a winter festival, organised by juniors and sophomores, a few days before winter break. It’s fun when you think about it, but not as much when you’re paired with Jaehyun for a game. 

The school courtyard is bustling with students, all bundled up in wooly scarves, mittens and puffy jackets, gathered together at the booths set up for your school’s winter festival. The ground is carpeted with white, fresh snow, and a large part of it had transferred into a battlefield for snowball fights, complete with stacks of hay, snowbanks, and random objects as forts. 

“Sorry Y/N,” Yoona says, setting her lips into an apologetic line. 

You shook your head, sighing. Everyone is already paired up with each other—Minji with Sanghyeok, Yoona with Sungho—and you’re left with Jaehyun for the snowball game. You look at Jaehyun, who looks very eager. 

“You’re with me, Y/N!” he exclaims, sliding his arm around your shoulders. His smile is bright and, as much as you didn’t like it, it makes you smile too. 

“So we’re going to draw some sticks and see which teams are going to go against each other,” Jihyeon, one of the juniors in charge of the snowball game booth, says as she comes up to you and your friends. 

“You can go first,” you say to Minji, and she nods. 

She reaches her hand in the cup Jihyeon is holding out, and pulls out a random popsicle stick. The edge of it is coloured red. 

“It’s red?” she asks, a little confused. 

Jihyeon smiles. “That means you’ll be competing against another team who pulled out a red stick!”

“That’s us!” Jaehyun, who’s standing next to you, suddenly exclaims. He holds a red popsicle stick in his hand. You turn to him, slightly surprised. You didn’t even realise he had been picking a popsicle stick for the two of you. 

“You don’t mind me picking for us… Do you?” he whispers to you. You give him a small smile before shaking your head. 

“I don’t mind.”

You and Jaehyun are going against Minji and Sanghyeok for the snowball game, while Yoona and Sungho are fighting against another pair of seniors. Jihyeon gave each team five minutes to make as many snowballs as possible. You and Jaehyun worked your best to form the snowballs—you weren’t too good at handling cold snow, but Jaehyun seemed to be the best at it. 

“We’ll win this,” Jaehyun says to you, crouching down behind your side of the area. You crouch down next to him, awkwardly nodding. 

He smiles at you in reassurance, and some kind of positive energy fills you up. 

And before you could even process any of it, Jihyeon blows the whistle, indicating the start of your snowball fight. A chaos, made out of crazed giggles and snowballs crashing against bodies, begins to erupt, and you lose sight of Jaehyun in the middle of it.

Jaehyun is immediately in his element—his snickering laughter ringing through the school courtyard as he hurls snowballs at Minji and Sanghyeok. He ducks and dodges behind a snowbank, his chequered brown and red scarf flying behind him like a flag. 

You’re standing awkwardly behind a stack of hay tall enough to cover you, holding a snowball with both of your hands.  Jaehyun suddenly lands next to you, and as soon as he sees you, he tilts his head with a smirk. “Y/N,” he says loudly against the frenzy, “you’re supposed to throw the snowball, Sunshine, not hold on to it like a favourite teddy bear.” 

Jaehyun gives you a teasing grin before dashing off to hurl more snowballs towards Sanghyeok, triple the amount he just threw to his face moments ago.

You remain there, standing still. 

Sunshine? What was that? 

Your cheeks turn pink underneath your knitted scarf, and it’s hard to tell whether that was caused by the cold or from the way that Jaehyun’s grin made your heart flip. 

You watch as Jaehyun plays around in the snow, his giggles resonating around the air. You stand there, your heart thumping loudly in confusion. 

He definitely remembers. 

You absentmindedly take a step back, clutching the snowball in your hands harder, the stinging cold no longer bothering you. 

A second later, Jaehyun arrives next to you, almost slipping. He pants, and despite that, he’s still grinning joyfully. He locks his gaze with yours, and upon noticing your expression, his smile falters a little.

“Y/N?” Jaehyun asks, “are you okay? Why aren’t you playing?”

“‘Sunshine’,” you state plainly, eyes unblinking. “What was… that?”

Jaehyun freezes. He opens his mouth, but for a while, nothing comes out. He stares at you, something unreadable clouding his eyes. The wind blows at his messy hair, flopping against his forehead. 

“What are you talking about?” he asks, chuckling rather sheepishly. 

You narrow your eyes. You’re not letting this go. “Jaehyun,” you press on. “Answer me, Myungjae.”

Upon the nickname, his eyes widens.

Jaehyun hesitates, and for a while, it looked like he was about to give you the answer you desperately wanted. However, your hopes were crushed as a snowball from Minji came hurling towards your direction, crumbling upon impact against your hair. Jaehyun’s eyes widens, and his focus turns back to the snowball match.

“We have a minute left,” he says, rushingly grabbing several snowballs. He’s about to turn to Minji and Sanghyeok, wanting to throw more snowballs at them—but he pauses. He leans close, brushing snow out of your hair with his free hand. 

Your breath catches in your throat. A rush of warmth goes up your cheeks, despite the raging emotions and thoughts in your head. 

He’s too close. 

Jaehyun chuckles. After making sure all of the snow is gone, he ruffles your hair, trying his best to make it look okay again. “There,” he says, his voice low and comforting. “All good.”

You watch him turn his focus back to the snowball frenzy, unable to utter a word. You stare at him, his grin decorating his already handsome face. Your heart claws against your chest as you try your best to pull your eyes away from Myung Jaehyun, who looks too gorgeous with his brown hair adorned with sparkly snowflakes. 

You know he’s lying. You know he remembers. 

But why is he doing all this?

THE last bell of the day rings, the entire school erupts in a chatter of celebration. Students run out of their classrooms, walking out with their friends as they chat the rest of the day away. Several student council members are doing several of their last duties of the day, making sure that everything is perfect before leaving the school for a month. 

You’re at your locker, double-checking everything. You make sure to stuff your bag with things that you’re not too confident at leaving at school for a month—your chemistry textbook, the mirror that your old friends got you. You also made sure to replace the tape that’s holding up the polaroid pictures of you and your family, hoping that it’d stay up for longer this time. 

Your eyes linger around the polaroid of you and Jaehyun—taken at the young age of six. It was the first day of school, you vividly remembered. 

You used to look at that picture with a bittersweet, reminiscent feeling. You always used to look at that picture with some kind of hope that you’d meet Jaehyun one day. 

But now, you can’t do that anymore. 

You glance at Jaehyun’s direction, a few metres away from you. He’s at his locker with his friends, Ricky and Sungho. He’s laughing, as always, and he’s effortlessly blending in like he always did. He’s enjoying his time with his friends, like he didn’t just spend the last few months unknowingly ripping you into pieces. 

How could he be so carefree when you’re feeling like this?

You hate it. So much. 

Too much.

You hate how your chest aches whenever you catch Jaehyun looking at you, the way he looked at you like any other classmate, betraying the years you spent together. You hate how he seemed to have easily erased you from his past, like you meant absolutely nothing to him. You hate how he seemed to have forgotten you so heartlessly, when you have spent years holding onto him. 

But now, you can’t hold it in anymore. 

Jaehyun had finished his conversation with his friends, and now he’s walking towards you, tossing his ball up and down, flashing that same easygoing smile that had captured your heart—and something inside you snaps.

“Do you really not remember me?”

Jaehyun pauses, his eyes bulging and his footsteps halting. 

You didn’t mean to say it. 

You had spent weeks bottling it all up, second-guessing yourself amidst all the mixed signals. You constantly told yourself that it didn’t matter, that Jaehyun truly did forget you, and that it had been too long for him to even remember you as much as you remember him. 

You can’t just bottle it in any longer. 

Jaehyun blinks, clearly taken aback. “What?”

You exhale sharply. You can’t take it back anymore. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

JAEHYUN bangs his head against his bedroom door, regretting every single thing he’s done. 

Why did he even do that?

After he said goodbye to Ricky, who was going on a winter vacation to Italy, he turned to you. He approached you, subconsciously having that same stupid lovesick grin that his lips somehow form whenever he’s around you. He’s walking towards you, like how he does it every other day.

Usually, you’d greet him with that adorable little smile of yours. 

But today, he was smothered with a menacing glare and a question that he doesn’t expect instead. 

“What are you talking about?” Jaehyun said, trying his best to sound innocent. He was unable to pry his gaze away from you, but he hoped that you didn’t catch the quiver in his eyes. 

You didn’t say anything for a while, and he watched as whatever emotions you had swirling in your beautiful eyes changed into a solid look of hurt and betrayal. 

Jaehyun felt his heart drop to the floor. 

It’s like everything stopped, and his stomach began to twist, the memories rushing back as they played through his mind like a broken film tape that he couldn’t stop from playing. 

“You really, really don’t remember me,” you said, quiet with a humongous amount of hurt. Your voice cracked, and Jaehyun’s heart began to crumble because of it. 

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Jaehyun replied, forcing out the words as firmly as he possibly could. 

His words felt like acid on his tongue. Jaehyun had told this lie many times before, but today, it felt more painful than the others. But Jaehyun did it anyway, over and over again.

Because it’s easier than admitting the truth to you. It’s easier than having to acknowledge the feeling that’s twisting his heart, hurting his chest. 

You exhaled shakily, and for a second, Jaehyun swore that he could see through you—your eyes searching him, like you were finding the real Jaehyun, who had been the one that promised he’d be your rock until the end of time. 

And the fact that you still had that effect on him—making him feel like he’s on Cloud 9—after all these years, only made it worse for him. 

“You’re lying,” you snapped, your eyes starting to sparkle with unshed tears. Your voice began to rise with every word you uttered. “You do remember me. You remember everything. Don’t you?”

His heart began to thump loudly against his ribs. He had never seen you so worked up like this, he had never heard you raise your voice like this. 

Jaehyun stared into your eyes, the truth burning at the back of his throat. He hesitated, almost spitting it out. 

But in the end, he swallowed it. 

“I don’t get it, Y/N,” he countered, trying to sound confused. Though, it didn’t sound convincing, even to him. “Maybe we’ve met before, in-in the past, but I truly don’t remember anything.”

Your gaze stiffened, and the desperation in your expression faded. Jaehyun kept his guard strong—he couldn’t let you see him crack, even though the weight of your disappointment was heavy on him. 

Then, after a minute of silence that felt too long, you gave him a straight smile. 

“Okay,” you whispered. You slammed your locker close and immediately walked away, not giving Jaehyun a chance to say anything else. 

He wanted to chase after you. But he couldn’t. 

He watched you turn away, and as the doors closed behind you, he felt the loss crumbling upon him, heavy and unbearable. 

YOU’RE not even sure why you’re feeling like this, but you are angry. Upset. 

Who wouldn’t be, especially after witnessing the only person who made you feel truly understood shun you out, saying that he doesn’t remember you?

You didn’t really like leaving your messages unread and unreplied, but for the first time, you let your text channel with Jaehyun clog up. 

It’s the morning of Christmas, and you wake up to almost fifty new texts from Jaehyun alone. You don’t open any of them, but you couldn’t help but read some of it from the notifications bar. 

y/n, did i do something wrong?

y/n, are u okay?

y/n, i can’t believe u declined to go snowboarding 2gether yesterday. we had so much fun!!!

okay fine. i shouldn’t have used that tone

honestly it kinda sucked to not have u around

i know u’d like seeing the sunset from on top of the mountain

y/n i hope u’re eating well

y/n, did u go see the big christmas tree in the city centre? i’m in front of it rn. 

y/n. merry christmas. 

enjoy your day

You sigh, turning off your phone. It pained you, probably just a little bit, to ignore all of Jaehyun’s attempts to reach out to you. You did feel a bit sad that you’re missing out on fun plans that he wanted to do with you—but what could you possibly do? You know you’re not ready to face him without baring your teeth at him. 

You enjoy the day with your family, happy to see them after a long time, especially your cousins and grandparents. You ate a lot of good food, took a lot of pictures, played a lot of games with your nieces and nephews, and of course—exchanged many memorable moments and laughter with your family members. 

You were playing in the snow with your little cousins, your heart stinging a little. Not from the cold, but from the memory that you have associated with snowball fights—Jaehyun. There was something warm about hurling cold balls of snow that made the tips of your fingers red. Maybe it was because you were fond of the person smiling at you during that time, or maybe because the way snowball fights produce heartwarming laughter reminds you of the person that you’ve cherished for so long and how his laughter fills your heart with joy.

Your mother called you inside, and after shaking off all the snow from your coat, you joined everyone else for the gift unboxing time. You got many gifts from your family and friends alike, but when it came to the largest box addressed to you, you can’t help but feel a little pang in your heart. 

Who was it from? 

You flip the card attached to the gift, the world going completely silent for a second. Your eyes widen at the sight of Jaehyun’s name scribbled onto it, along with a short message. 

Merry Christmas. I hope you enjoy this.

“When… how did this get here?” the question escapes your mouth almost instantly, but you know that’s not what you really wanted to ask. 

“A boy came off to drop this just now, when you were playing in the backyard with the kids,” your aunt replies, handing you a piece of brownies. You put it in your mouth, chewing slowly as you try to process her words. “I asked him if he wanted to come in and talk to you, but he refused and ran away so quickly I didn’t have time to stop him.”

You merely nod, unable to say anything due to the heavy feeling pressing down your chest. Slowly, you rip the wrapping paper open, holding in a breath you know wasn’t necessary. 

You didn’t know what you expected. 

An apology letter, maybe. 

Or something that he remembered that you always liked. 

But instead of that, your hands are holding a gingerbread house kit and a store-bought Christmas card taped to it. 

Whatever hope you still had remaining for Jaehyun fades, and your jaw clenches. 

It’s time to stop. 

“LOOK, it’s Shinyu,” Yoona nudges you, giggling rather uncontrollably. You glance at his direction, a little wide eyed from how blatant her statement was. 

You’re walking with Yoona and Minji to your school’s library, located in the middle of campus grounds. You’re almost there, when you spot Junghwan—or more famously known as Shinyu, and his group of friends walking in the opposite direction. 

“Shush,” you whisper. “Why are you making this such a big deal?”

“‘Cause he’s such a gentleman, duh,” Yoona replies, deadpanned. Though, that kind of expression on her face lasts only a second. As you and Shinyu’s steps grow closer to each other, and heat begins to rise up to your cheeks, Yoona couldn’t hold her smile back. 

“We’re just friends,” you state, dismissing whatever she’s about to say. You shove your hands deep into the pockets of your puffed jacket, and you set your gaze straight ahead. 

Yoona gives you a raised brow. “I never said you guys weren’t. Are you saying that you guys are more than that?” she asks, the octave of her voice going higher. 

“Someone’s excited,” you mumble. You quickly turn to Minji, desperate. You’re going to walk past Shinyu and his friends anytime now. 

“Min, help,” you plead between gritted teeth. 

To your surprise, Minji laughs, putting her hands up. “I’ll always defend you, but this time, I can’t—you and Shinyu are too cute for me to prevent it.”

Your heart skips a beat, and your mouth is agape. Though, before you could say anything to counter Minji’s remark—that’s already making her and Yoona laugh—Shinyu is already next to you. 

“Hello,” he says, his voice sweet like honey. 

You freeze in your steps, and you quickly turn to him. Shinyu, standing much taller than you, has a fresh smile plastered on his face–the sincerity of it feels like it’s only for you. Though, you don’t want to get your hopes up for anything. You and Shinyu had recently started becoming friends, right after winter break ended a few weeks before this: he’s in your English and PE class, and he often sits near you when you’re studying in the library. You always see him playing basketball after school, too. 

You give him a small smile. “Hi, Shinyu.”

“Where are you going?” Shinyu asks. He nods in acknowledgement to Yoona and Minji. 

“Library,” Minji replies, looping her arm with yours. “Do you wanna come with us?”

Shinyu glances towards his friends, who’s talking amongst themselves.

“I promised my friends I’d come to study with them in the common room,” he says, before shifting his gaze back to you, and there’s some kind of determination shining through. “But you know what?”

Flustered, you blurt out. “What?”

“Yo, guys, I’ll be studying in the library,” he announces to his friends. Some of them roll their eyes, but eventually, they all agree to meet up after school. 

“Let’s go then?” he says, flashing you a smile. 

Yoona clears her throat, and even though muffled, you can clearly hear her giggling. You press your lips together, nodding. You’re feeling shy for no reason. “Okay. Let’s… go.”

Shinyu grins, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

The four of you walk to the library—Yoona and Minji, to your right, are giggling their hearts at the way Shinyu’s walking to your pace, his position perfectly shielding you from the sun. 

You force yourself to look forward the entire time, Shinyu’s presence suddenly making you feel beet red. Unknowingly, you’re smiling to yourself—Shinyu is well-known amongst your peers for his good manners, and undoubtedly, he’s one of the nicer people you’ve met. You lost count of the amount of times he’s taken care of you, especially when you’re studying. 

You chuckle. 

Shinyu’s not bad. 

“Someone’s in love, huh?” Yoona jests, pushing the library door open. You jolt back to reality, scowling at her. 

“I’m not in love,” you whisper sharply. “Also, shut up, he’s next to me.”

Yoona throws her head back, unable to contain her amusement anymore. You ignore her snickering in the back, and you walk inside the library, clutching the straps of your backpack as you try to find a table with enough seats for all of you. 

As you’re looking, a familiar voice pulls your attention towards its owner. 

“Y/N!” you hear Sungho call you, his voice quiet but loud enough for you to catch. He motions for you and the rest to come over. Yoona and Minji notice this, and they immediately jog over, delighted to see the boys. 

However, you’re a little sceptical. 

Your eyes meet with Jaehyun, who looks rather wide-eyed to see you. You hesitate, your footsteps heavier than before. You haven’t been really talking to him ever since school reopened after winter break, and this is the first time you’re facing him directly. 

Shinyu notices your mood drop. He leans to whisper, “are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, and as far as I know, ghosts don’t really appear in the day.”

You almost burst out laughing at Shinyu’s wooden remark. You bit the bottom of your lips before tugging Shinyu’s sleeve. “Let’s go sit with them?”

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice suddenly shaky. 

You nod. “I’m sure they’ll be okay with it!”

You’re not too sure what made you feel so brave to do so—but you pull Shinyu towards the table that all your friends are sitting at, gesturing for him to sit next to you. Jaehyun, who happened to sit directly in front of the seat that you’re claiming as yours for the day, watched with a dumbfounded expression on his face, his jaw dropped. Yoona and Minji smirked, seeming to know what you’re doing, but  Sungho and Sanghyeok looked a little hesitant. 

Other than the sharp gaze that Jaehyun gave you, lingering a little longer than you’d like, you notice nothing wrong with him. 

Not until an hour into studying together. 

Shinyu, Sungho and Sanghyeok had gotten along quite well, and you often find yourself trying to stifle your laughter at their jokes. You also saw Minji, who was quite hard to impress, laughing along as well. 

You’re mid-laugh when you notice it—Jaehyun’s easygoing demeanour has disappeared. He no longer had that grin that rose higher on one side of his face, one that he displayed when he was amused at something. 

Instead, he’s staring. 

Not at you, but right at Shinyu, who’s sitting next to you, chatting animatedly about a variety show he watched last night with his sisters. You couldn’t help but observe the boy sitting in front of you—his jaw tight, his fingers obnoxiously tapping against the table. It’s obvious that something is bothering him, given that his bright energy had dimmed. 

Normally, Jaehyun would add in to the conversation, spicing things up with a joke here and there, lighting up the atmosphere with his contagious laughter.

You were about to ask Jaehyun about it, but Shinyu is quicker than you thought. He leans in to show you a video on his phone, something related to the funny moment in the variety show that he watched last night.

Your attention is almost immediately pulled towards Shinyu and his phone, but Jaehyun’s actions tugs you back to him harder. 

He pushes back his chair with a loud, audible scrape. 

“What the hell, man?” Minji hisses. 

“Y/N,” Jaehyun says, not even looking at anyone else. “We need to talk.”

“Huh?” you splutter. You thought you made it clear that you don’t want to talk to him.

Jaehyun stomps towards you, and before you could say anything to counter, he grabs your wrist and pulls you away to a far corner. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, as soon as Jaehyun stops in his steps. You’re more confused than angry, the entire incident that happened before winter break pushed to the back of your mind. 

Jaehyun mumbles something, but you can’t hear him at all. 

“Sorry, what?”

“I said nothing,” Jaehyun replies, his eyes narrowing. 

His reply, rather sharp, startles you a little.

And that makes you a bit worked up. “What’s up with you?” you scoff, rolling your eyes. 

Jaehyun doesn’t reply. Instead, he runs a frustrated hand through his hair, muttering to himself. His eyes dart here and there, as if he’s trying to find some kind of answer. You stand there, silent as you watch him do his thing, not knowing what to do as a response. 

After a while, Jaehyun does something that wasn’t even in the list of things you guessed he’d do—he unzips the hoodie he’s wearing and places it on your shoulders. You stare at him with bulging eyes, mouth agape.

What is he doing?

Before you can even do or say anything to stop him, Jaehyun guides your arms into its sleeves, zipping the hoodie up for you. He takes a step closer to you, leaning close to grab the hood behind your head. 

You feel your breath stuck in your throat. 

He’s. Too. Close.

Jaehyun, his gaze showing how focused he is at this, pulls the hood over your head, tugging it slightly so that it’s secured. His eyes find yours, and for a moment, the world around the two of you freezes. 

You clear your throat, and Jaehyun’s brought out of his trance. 

A fake cough escapes him, and he shoves his hands into his pocket, acting cool before he starts walking back to the table. 

“Jaehyun?” you call after him. “What’s this?”

Jaehyun looks back at you. “Nothing. Just keep it on. You get cold easily, don’t you?”

You go back to your seat, feeling extremely weirded out. What’s up with this guy? 

A part of you tells you that he’s trying to mark you as yours. 

You grimace, shutting up that tiny part of you. 

He doesn’t even bother to remember me, so why would he do that?

JAEHYUN’S behaviour just keeps on getting weirder and weirder. You really tried your best to tell yourself that it’s not a big deal—but at this point, nothing can convince you that Jaehyun’s not being weird. 

You could recall quite a few moments of him being rather significantly bitter, for a reason that you’re not even aware of: one of them being a free period before lunch on a Wednesday, where Shinyu came over to you to ask you a few questions about Math. 

You had barely even managed to reply to Shinyu’s request before Jaehyun suddenly got up from his seat, clapping his hand on your shoulder. 

You turned sharply towards him, shocked at both the impact and the unexpected gesture. “Jaehyun, what—”

“Y/N,” he interrupted, loudly, “I just remembered! I owed—I mean, you owe me something! An answer. About… about something!”

“What thing?” you frowned. From what your memory serves you, there’s no such thing—

“The, uh—” Jaehyun waved his hand vaguely, glancing at Shinyu, who raised a brow at him. “You know? The thing we talked about yesterday. Super important. Can’t wait. Urgent. Like, right now.”

Before you can even open your mouth, Jaehyun grabbed your hand and pulled you a few steps away. 

Shinyu, grabbing his papers, shook his head. “At least be subtle, dude.”

Jaehyun, hand still clasped around yours, narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Shinyu chuckles. 

You looked back and forth between the two guys, sighing heavily. Just what is going on?

Another similar moment occurred the next week, at lunch on a random Friday, where Jaehyun was annoying the living daylights of Shinyu for some stupid reason that you’re not too sure of. Shinyu, being the absolute angel he is, completely dodged Jaehyun’s attempts. He remained next to you, chatting about whatever topic that came to mind. He also made sure to include the rest of your friends, and to give you any part of his lunch that he noticed you liked—that extra crispy chicken or the cream cheese bun that he hadn’t touched yet. 

Shinyu had to leave a bit early because his basketball coach had something to discuss with him. He bid you farewell, and as soon as he was out of earshot, Jaehyun immediately perked up, smiling like none of his attempts at making Shinyu pissed off ever happened. 

Tired of the same kind of thing happening each day, you decided to confront him about it. At first, you didn’t want to—afraid that you’re just imagining things, but after discussing it with Yoona and Minji, you knew it’s for the best. 

“You’re acting weird,” you finally said, eyes pointed straight at Jaehyun. 

Jaehyun paused midaction, his noodles slipping down from his chopsticks. “Are you talking to… me?”

Minji punched his shoulder. “Stop being so dense, idiot.”

You nod in Minji’s direction, before turning back to Jaehyun. “Yes, you.”

“Me?” Jaehyun scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not being weird.”

Sungho snorted in his drink, and Sanghyeok shook his head. You bit back a smile—you’re definitely not imagining this. 

“You glared at Shinyu for five minutes. Did not blink.”

“I did not.”

“And you interrupted every time he spoke.”

“Coincidence.”

You gave him a deadpanned look. “You literally dragged me away mid sentence more than two times.”

The falter in Jaehyun’s cocky gaze tells you that you’re right. 

Jaehyun groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, maybe I’m acting weird. But it’s not because of him. Not because of Shinyu. I just—” 

He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

You stared at him, more confused than ever. 

Jaehyun avoided you gaze, and that confirms everything you’re questioning

“...Right.”

He’s definitely acting weird. 

JAEHYUN is in a mess. He doesn’t know what he’s doing—and he definitely doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do either. 

He knew, from the moment you stopped even reading his messages over the winter break, that he’s truly messed up. But he doesn’t really know what to do, and the only logical solution in his head is the option that he wants to avoid the most. 

Jaehyun is dragging his feet through the hallways, dodging noisy students chatting and huddling in groups at the lockers, when he hears a familiar voice talking as he’s passing by. 

Shinyu. 

The guy that gets on Jaehyun’s nerves whenever he’s around you—the audacity that he has to be flirting openly with you, to show off the fact that he might have a bigger chance with you than Jaehyun ever will. 

He wasn’t paying attention at first, and had his foot out to step away already.

“I think I’ll do it in the courtyard,” he hears Shinyu say, “it’s the most perfect spot. Besides, Y/N likes the marigolds there.”

Jaehyun feels his heart stop, his body freezing mid-step. 

He barely registers the students passing him, hitting his shoulders multiple times. Shinyu’s words sink in, heavy and dangerous. 

“Damn,” another voice speaks, “so you’re really confessing? On Valentine’s day?”

“Yeah, of course,” Shinyu replies confidently. “I mean, Y/N’s amazing. I’d be an idiot not to try.”

“Doesn’t she see you as just a friend?” a voice points out. 

Shinyu sighs. “I know, but what’s the harm in trying?”

“She’s quiet, though, isn’t… she?” another voice asks. 

Shinyu shrugs. “I don’t mind, she’s perfect in my eyes anyway.”

Jaehyun’s stomach twists. His fingers are clenched into fists at his sides, and he knows he should just walk away. 

But his feet won’t move.

Jaehyun stands there, his heart hammering violently against his chest. He frowns, pretending that whatever he heard didn’t get under his skin at all. 

Shinyu is confessing. To you.

And the worst part is Jaehyun has hardly any idea what to do about it.

JUST as he thought his day couldn’t get worse, Jaehyun spots Shinyu running up to you after the last bell rang, a bunch of snacks in hand. He intercepted you from Jaehyun, who was on his way to you, a box of Pepero in his hand. 

It slips from his hand, falling on the ground.

Jaehyun knew. 

From the way your eyes begin to light up whenever you see Shinyu, and the way your smile is just so bright whenever he’s near. The way you talk more and more, prompted so effortlessly by Shinyu. The way you look like you’re glowing when you’re with him… it hits Jaehyun.

He’s going to lose you. 

His vision becomes blurry as he stands in the middle of the courtyard, as still as stone. Jaehyun can’t ignore this any longer. 

He can’t ignore the way his heart is eager whenever he sees you. He can’t ignore the way the world seems a little less gloomy, a lot less lonely when you’re around. He can’t ignore the way his chest hurts, like it’s about to burst, whenever he sees you flashing that adorable, rare smile around anyone else. He can’t ignore the fact that he feels like he’s about to throw up flowers everytime he sees you with Shinyu, all giggly from whatever he says to you. 

He just can’t disregard the fact that he has obvious feelings for you, that he still loves you after all these years. 

Jaehyun had always known those feelings, pushed away deep in his stomach, but these past few weeks—it keeps on growing larger and larger, more urgent and more consuming. The small flutter in his chest when he watched you laugh, the feeling that settled comfortably around him whenever you look at him with those warm eyes, and the overwhelming ache when you’re around Shinyu. 

Jaehyun had tried his absolute best to ignore it. 

But now, watching you interact with Shinyu—sharing snacks, smiling so shyly with him—it made Jaehyun extremely aware of himself. Shinyu, your fellow classmate who seemed to know exactly what to say, the one who made you giggle and smile the way Jaehyun used to always do… the feeling hits Jaehyun differently. 

Jaehyun felt like the ground underneath him was about to crumble, and the earth was about to eat him alive. His heart twists so painfully it makes him feel like he wants to run and hide from the shattering realisation that you might never look at him the same way he has always looked at you. 

He wishes that he had been more courageous, more brave to admit to you that you’re his world, and he’s orbiting you—that you hadn’t left his mind, ever since he left ten years ago. Not even once. He wishes that he had been more valiant, and that he told you, the first time he bumped into you, after a decade of not seeing his favourite person—that he missed you dearly. Your laughter, your smile, and the way that it’s reserved only for him to see—he wishes he said that to you the first time. 

Honestly, Jaehyun wasn’t even really sure why he lied to you. Sure, he was scared, afraid that you might not remember him at first. But after a while, he just didn’t want his feelings for you to be out in the open. He knew you remember him—but he was simply terrified. 

What if you didn’t like him the way he did? 

What if he’s the only one that’s feeling like you’re the most important person in life?

Jaehyun was too afraid of you rejecting him to stop lying. 

Though, he thought that his way of showing his feelings, rather subtly in his opinion, through little acts of service could make you notice. 

Even so, Jaehyun knew that it only made you more confused. 

He really wanted to be happy for you—he really does. You deserve all the goodness in this world, and you deserve to be happy with someone who looks at you the way Jaehyun looked at you all this while, but his chest twists with a blazing jealousy: an emotion he never thought he’d feel when it comes to you. 

It’s not fair. 

Not to you, not to him. 

How could he be so stupid? How could he be such a loser, a coward? 

Jaehyun takes a shaky breath in. He could tell, from the way you looked at him, and from the way your eyes crinkle when you smile at him, that you had no idea. No absolute idea about the chokehold you have on him—the way every shared moment, every glance and every smile is carved into his soul. 

You have no idea how much he’s hurting, from the way you’re clearly upset with him, the way you’re growing closer to Shinyu, and the way you’re slipping away from his reach with every passing moment.

But then, something clicks in him. He’s not going to let the ache, the jealousy and the frustration take the reins—he’s no longer going to shrink back into the shadows. 

This is going to be his moment. His time to shine. Jaehyun could feel the determination settle firmly in his chest, and his mind begins to come up with a plan. The fear and the doubt is burned to ashes, and it’s no longer going to hold him back. 

He had been such a fool. 

This time, no more hesitating. No more waiting. No more wondering what if. 

If he wants you, he’s going to fight for it. 

He’s not going to let himself lose you to anyone else. Not now. Not ever. You’re his best friend, his rock, his confidante. You understand him in ways others don’t, and he knows you more than you even know yourself, even after all these years. And if anyone is going to make you realise that, it’s him. 

JAEHYUN hadn’t meant to walk this way. 

It’s the night before Valentine’s day, and somehow, his feet had brought him to your house, a couple blocks away from his own. He’s in a new neighbourhood, and the house he’s approaching is new, but the feeling is familiar. 

He slows to a stop, staring at your house—remembering how it used to be some kind of second home to him. It’s a new house in a new state, but Jaehyun could still remember sitting on the front steps with you, munching the afternoon away with your mother’s homemade snacks. He still remembers doing homework with you on the porch, laughing at the way you huffily grumbled under your breath when it came to difficult questions you couldn’t solve. He still remembers building a pillow fort in your living room, calling it your ‘secret base’. 

His fingers curl around the strap of his guitar. 

Have you ever realised how much you mean to him? How much do you always mean to him?

A gust of wind blows through the quiet street. 

Jaehyun stares at your window, the warm glow radiating from inside. He swallows hard. 

It’s now or never. 

Taking a deep breath, he takes a step forward and begins picking his guitar. 

YOU shove your headphones down your neck, heart thumping fast. 

What’s the noise outside?

You walk towards your window, nervous upon hearing the melodious guitar and the singing muffled by the bricks in your walls. 

“Man, I'm so nervous to death

I relax my stiff lips

I might fail miserably like this

I might mess up

Hi, the weather's nice. Wanna take a walk?

My shy voice is just for you!

Ah, please, don't say no

Oh, I won’t beat around the bush

From my head to toe

No, even my heart’s under pressure…”

You recognise that voice. 

Jaehyun. 

What’s he doing here, in the middle of the night? 

You peek through the curtains—and your assumption is correct. There he is, Jaehyun, standing rather awkwardly in front of your driveway with his guitar. 

Your eyes widen. He’s singing. 

Or more accurately, screaming. 

“I love you, baby, baby, baby

I’ve been screaming the whole neighborhood knows 

I like you!

My neighbors go, yah, yah, yah

Let's get some sleep, yoo-ooh, oh-oh

I swear you'll like it.”

You close the curtains sharply, turning your back to the wall. Your face begins to feel hot, and your breaths turn to short, ragged gasps. 

You close your eyes, trying to drown Jaehyun’s voice out, but you can’t. 

Slowly, you open your eyes again, letting yourself to hear him out.

And soon enough, you realise the meaning behind the words he’s singing. 

“Ah, please, don't say no

Oh, I don't want to be just friends

From my head to toe

No, even my heart's under pressure!”

You push your curtains aside, taking in the view. You expect him to be singing rather calmly, but instead, you’re greeted with Jaehyun, kneeling on the road as he’s serenading you. 

“I love you, baby, baby, baby

I've been screaming the whole neighborhood knows 

I like you!”

You barely processed what he just sang. 

One second, you were in your room, standing frozen as your breath hitched at the sound and sight of Jaehyun’s singing echoing through the neighbourhood. 

Next, you’re running out of the house. 

You didn’t think—you just ran. 

Your parents, who were alarmed by Jaehyun’s singing, didn’t even have time to react. You flew past them, socks sliding across the wooden porch, nearly tripping down the slippery steps. 

“Y/N! Your coat—”

Too late. 

“I love you, baby, baby, baby

I've been screaming𑁋”

You bolt towards Jaehyun, crashing into him with so much force he barely had time to catch his guitar. 

“𑁋the whole neighborhood knows 

I like you𑁋oof!”

From the door, your dad raises a brow. “...did we miss something?”

Your mother merely chuckles, smiling knowingly. 

“You really—” you gasp, your breath visible in the air, “—had to do this in front of everyone?”

Jaehyun grins, entirely unbothered. “Of course.”

You cover your face with your hands—you were embarrassed, at first, but now it’s not even about all that. Your body is trembling, not from the cold nor embarrassment, but from the overwhelming warmth that is engulfing you. 

Jaehyun gently pries your hand away. “Hey,” he says softly, his grin now a gentle smile, “did it work?”

Your lips part. “What? Did what work?”

“Making you fall for me.”

Jaehyun barely had time to flash you another of his smirks before you fling yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. 

He lets out a startled laugh, stumbling back slightly. “Whoa—hey, what’s–”

“You’re so embarrassing,” you say against his jacket, your grip tightening. “And loud. And ridiculous.”

And just so, so cute. 

Jaehyun giggles, running a hand through his hair. “So,” he says, and you pull away to look at him. “How was it?”

You look at him with slightly narrowed eyes. “How was what?”

“I just serenaded you. That basically means you have to date me now, right?”

You gasp, hitting his chest. “Jaehyun–!”

“I mean, that’s like, a rule or something. I put in all this effort, to sing to you on a very cold winter night—made myself look completely ridiculous, and now you have no choice but to fall for me. That’s how it works,” Jaehyun continues, a smug look on his face.

You roll your eyes, to hide the obvious flush in your cheeks. “You’re unbelievable–”

“Unbelievably charming?” he cuts you off, wiggling his eyebrows.

“No. Unbelievably embarrassing.”

Jaehyun dramatically gasps. “Excuse me, that was romantic. I even practiced the song! Twice!”

You swat your hand, face burning, but he catches it. 

You stare at him, wide-eyed, your heart dangerously racing. 

“Y/N, listen… I know I can be a lot,” Jaehyun begins, his voice softer and more serious now. His grip on your hand tightens. “And you’re quiet and reserved, but I think we fit perfectly. With each other.”

You want to say something, but you keep your silence—you don’t really trust yourself to say anything in the state you’re in. 

“You know why?” Jaehyun continues rambling, his grin morphing into one of the most lovesick smiles you’ve seen, and you find yourself mirroring it. “I love making you smile, and I want to always keep on making you smile until, like, forever—”

Your heart makes a backflip, or something, but you feel your face flushing even more. “Jaehyun, stop–”

“And if you don’t like me back, that’s fine. That… is… totally okay! I will totally accept rejection gracefully, I’ll just be heartbroken for like, ten years—”

“Oh my god—”

“—but if you do like me, please tell me before I make a bigger fool of myself.”

Jaehyun pauses, catching his breath. His eyes find their way back to you, and in the silence he’s left between the two of you, you can’t hold yourself back anymore. 

You grab the front of his jacket and yank him forward.

“Shut up, Myung Jaehyun.”

And you kiss him. 

Jaehyun lets out a startled sound, but it isn’t long before he melts into you, his hands gripping your waist as he kisses you back, deep and eager. 

It isn’t shy. Nor is it soft. 

It’s everything—messy, desperate, and full of all of the things you couldn’t say to him.

By the time you pull away, Jaehyun is a breathless mess. He blinks at you like you had just punched him square in the face. 

It’s certainly out of character for you, you know that, but you didn’t expect Jaehyun to look absolutely smitten. 

“...Well.”

You pant, glaring up at him. “There, you finally shut up,” you mumble. 

Jaehyun licked his lips, his grin slow and teasing. “…You can do that anytime.”

You gasp, shoving him. 

Jaehyun giggles, grabbing your hand before you could run back inside. He pulls you close, and places your arms around his waist, in the warmth of his jacket. 

He rests his forehead against yours, your noses brushing. 

“So, are we official now, or do I need to sing another song?”

You look at him, your heart beating with a certain answer. 

I love you.

Though, of course, you’re too embarrassed to say that to him. You smack him before hiding your face in his chest. 

“Shut up, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun only laughs, and a warm feeling fills you up. He pulls you closer, hugging you tight. “Okay, sweetie, I think that’s enough singing for tonight.”

― © htaesan, 2025.

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀want more like this? check out the 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

[trombonechurchill]

Contact

BuckTommy, 1.2k words, rated T

Instead of doing my several sentences sunday (thanks for the tags @staciesometimeswrites, @ambernotember, and @leashybebes ❤️) I accidentally wrote a whole ass ficlet instead.

Many thanks to @jacki-daytona for the original lights anecdote/idea mwah

Tommy realizes pretty quickly that they'll need to be a bit more careful when flirting at work. It's easy to forget they're not the only ones who know Morse code. --- Or; 3 times Buck and Tommy used Morse Code for fun and 1 time it was serious.

It starts when Evan gets the lights.

"Look, look, Tommy, I can use the app change the brightness or- Or, even the color. See? Instant mood lighting," Evan says, plunging the room in a deep blue that makes Tommy feel like they're underwater.

Tommy's not sure he gets the appeal, he's never had any trouble with an old fashioned lightswitch, but Evan seems happy.

Read the rest here or on AO3

As it turns out, Evan mostly uses the app to annoy and pester him when he feels like Tommy's not giving him enough attention, the lights flashing dangerously when Tommy's spent too long in the den despite Evan calling dinner ready more than 10 minutes ago.

Personally, Tommy quietly likes it when Evan uses it when they're on separate shifts. The light flashing a friendly hello or good night as Tommy lies in bed, the gentle reminder that Evan knows his schedule and is thinking of him.

Though Evan's most resourceful use of the app might just be Tommy's favourite…

Tommy's been reading peacefully for more than an hour, undisturbed, just long enough to get suspicious about Evan's absence, when the lights start flashing.

Two quick flashes and a hold. Two more quick flashes and a hold. Then one quick flash, two longer, and a final quick flicker before the lights resettle. Tommy lowers his book.

The lights flash again, pattern repeating.

Tommy watches, puzzled and entranced as the pattern repeats insistently too more times before Tommy sets down his book, shaking his head with immeasurable fondness as he makes his way back to the bedroom where he has no doubt Evan has holed up.

"Evan. Did you learn Morse code so you could use our lights to ask "U UP"?"

It only escalates from there; becomes their own secret language, best used for things that feel too big for words.

Or for messing with their friends.

"They're doing it again," Chim stage whispers suspiciously from his perch behind Tommy.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Evan says loftily, shifting slightly in his chair across from Tommy, toe of his shoe trailing gently across Tommy's ankle where their feet are tangled under the dinner table.

"We're not doing anything, Howie," Tommy says, deeply serious even as his own foot slides up the curve of Evan's calf, pressing gently in warning. It's doing everything he has to keep this little game of footsie appropriate while he's at work but confusing Howie is definitely helping. "Evan's telling the truth, I really can read his mind."

Evan, the perfect partner in crime, nods enthusiastically. Tommy can see where he's biting his cheek not to laugh.

"Okay, okay, one more time, I need hard evidence here if I'm gonna believe Tommy's really going all Sixth Sense on me."

"I'm still alive, Howie," Tommy sighs, mentally chalking up another movie for movie night at Evan's confused expression.

"Shuhshushshh," Howie flaps a hand, clicking his tongue before raising his arms for silence. "Okay, Buck. I've drawn another card, here we go," Howie finally says grandly.

There's a pause, Evan narrows his eyes dramatically at whatever playing card Howie is currently hiding behind Tommy's head.

Tommy feels Evan's toes tap.

"Two of Clubs," he starts, cut off immediately by Howie's howl of disbelief.

Tommy realizes pretty quickly that they'll need to be a bit more careful when flirting at work.

It's easy to forget they're not the only ones who know Morse code.

"Right, fire's out, 118 will be staying at the scene to monitor for hot spots," Bobby announces as they regroup, the 217 and other units all quietly (or not so quietly) celebrating being dismissed from the scene as the 118 groans and readies themselves for several more hours of tedious baby sitting.

"Good work out there, Firefighter Buckley," Tommy says, palm thumping warmly on Evan's shoulder as the crews disperse, his fingers lingering just shy of what might be professional as Evan's hand comes up to cup his elbow, smile bright under his visor.

"You too, Firefighter Kinard," Evan says back, a little breathless, fingers tapping aggressively along the underside of Tommy's arm as their hands slide away. Tommy only gets half the message through his turnouts but it's enough to make his ears red.

"I'll see you at home," he promises, eyes heavy and hot on Evan's face.

"Y-yeah," Evan says with a hopeful swallow, watching as Tommy starts to step away. "Oh-" Evan starts, pauses. Keys his radio. Keys it again a few more times. It chirps several more eclectic beats as Tommy backwards frogmarches his way away from Evan, head spinning as he translates rapidly in his head.

"Yeah. Yeah we can definitely do that," he says thickly. "Jesus, Evan-"

"For the love of GOD, I can understand you," Eddie calls from back near the 118's engine. "I think I need to go rinse my ears out," he says, stomping around the other side of the water tanks. Tommy hopes he's not going for the hoses.

"Sorry Eddie!"

Tommy knows it's risky. Doesn't have a lot of time to think between the gun being shoved in his face and the chopper being forcefully boarded. His heart's in his throat as he field's the ATC hail, taking one last breath.

He rattles off a usual check in with dispatch and flight control, voice even and level as the nose of the helicopter as he takes the route his new passengers have so kindly and clearly laid out for him, along with what happens if he tries to deviate.

"Wait, Dispatch, can you also pass on a message for Evan? 118," he says, gripping the controls tight as the gun sways dangerously back into his field of vision. "Just-" Tommy nods in understanding to his kidnappers, taps the microphone a few times in burst of nervous energy. Repeats the motion. "Just, tell him that I'm gonna be late for dinner."

S.O.S

Buck barely waits for Athena to give the all clear as he bursts onto the helipad, chest still heaving from his sprint up the stairs. It helped to get his blood pumping again, heart still a frozen thing, barely pumping blood thick with dread since Josh had passed on Tommy's message.

They already have Tommy loaded onto a gurney as he mounts the pad, oxygen mask fixed in place as they set the rails in place. If Tommy's breathing that means he's alive. He's still here.

Buck can barely speak as he curls over Tommy's prone form on the gurney, grateful for Athena's presence to delay the paramedics as long as they dear. He's forehead to chest, the steady thump of Tommy's heart in his ears and Buck can finally breath again himself.

Tommy's hand comes up, gentle, trembling as it cups Buck's face, strokes the apple of his cheek.

"Hey," Buck says, softly, relief and misery and sheer elation bubbling in his throat at the sight of Tommy's blue eyes peeking at him through hooded lashes.

"Hey," Tommy mouths back, thumb still tracing soft circles in Buck's skin before he shifts it, taps out words too heavy, too important to be anywhere but pressed into Buck's skin.

I/LOVE/YOU

[noxiatoxia]

okay, i’ve been obsessing over your komaeda translations and i must know… given the unsure way he talks in the japanese (lots of filler words), does his dialogue change much after he learns the truth? late ch4, i mean. when he starts being condescending to everyone. i’m also very curious about his big speech about wanting to be called the ultimate hope

Hello, anon! Thank you for the message and interesting question! And thank you for the patience!

So, there's three questions here if I'm understanding:

Does Komaeda's speech pattern (sounding softer and using filler words, or generally downplaying his words) change later into ch.4?

When Komaeda starts rambling about hope, does he speak more clearly and more confidently?

What is the nuance in Komaeda's "hope" speech on the laptop?

I will answer all 3 in this order.

(Also, for anybody confused.... here's my post talking about how Komaeda uses filler words, and here's my post talking about how Komaeda's speech was deliberately changed during the earlier beta to make him sound less confident in himself.)

So, question number one:

1. Does Komaeda talk more rudely, use less filler words, or talk more assuredly in ch.4?

Hmm...I don't think so. He still uses honorifics for everyone (-san for girls and -kun for boys), he still uses sa and ne to the same amount, and he does not seem to devote any sort of rude speech for the most part. It is only his words that change, and not the way he speaks them.

My memory is horrifically bad, so please keep that in mind...I asked my friend @kaiokentimesten for help, and was provided with a good number of lines he remembered from ch.4/5 of Komaeda saying rude things, and I looked them up in the Japanese version. All lines were said in his usual speech formations, so there was no change. Again, the words he spoke just happened to be ruder, but they were said in the same tone.

I will show an example.

KOMAEDA: おっと、安易にハムスターを例に出すと、 脱落した彼に怒られちゃうかな? KOMAEDA: Oops. How clumsy of me to use hamsters as an example. Do you think that loser* would've gotten mad at me if he were still here?

*Komaeda does say "dropout" and it's used for people who have been eliminated in a game, or failed a test/exam/otherwise didn't "make the cut". I just think "loser" works better as a translation.

Nothing changes about Komaeda's speech here, he talks the same as he always does. He's just saying meaner words.

(I don't know where the translators got "weakling" from...that's nowhere in the text.)

The only exception I can think of is the beginning of Trial 4. Souda remarks they talk about the murder weapon, and Komaeda three times goes, "Ha?"

It's a funny scene, but significant because, as far as I know, this is the only time Komaeda uses this word.

(I could be wrong, but I'm totally coming up empty right now...please correct me if I am!)

は ha, is very rude. It means "What?" or "Huh?" but is a very rude way to say it. People like Kuzuryuu and Oowada love using it, and Hinata uses it a fair amount, although even Hinata - who's whole design philosophy, as pointed out by the SDR2 artbook, is to be more masculine and ruder than Naegi was - uses え e more often.

え e, うん un, ん nn, あれ are, are more casual but non-rude ways to say "What?"

Komaeda always used one of those first four from what I can remember, or simply 何 nani, which is probably the most neutral way to say "What?"

So to see Komaeda use this is surprising.

This is different than ははは, はっ, or あはは which are normal laughing sounds.

Oh, before we move out of Chapter 4, here's a mistranslation I want to point out (or, less mistranslation, more very direct translation where the joke is lost in English).

KOMAEDA: じゃあ、始めようか。シンキングターイム...ってヤツだね。

Komaeda isn't a stranger to randomly injecting English words into his speech - a quirk that I feel is used to show he's a bookworm/otherwise intelligent (that's just my thought) - and in those instances, instead of translating directly (because using English in English loses the nuance that using English in Japanese does) I would replace it with bigger, more obscure English words.

But this is actually not one of those times.

Another thing Komaeda is no stranger to is making random pop culture references. He does it more than you would think for a character like him.

While "Thinking Time" isn't a reference to any specific Japanese media per se, it's Japanese game show lingo.

For example, a tough question is given to the contestants, and they have 30 seconds to think of the answer before being forced to give one. These 30 seconds are called "Thinking Time".

I don't know the English equivalent. I know there's a countdown timer in stuff like Jeopardy and Minute to Win It, but I don't think they say anything. Sometimes it's "You have [x] seconds, good luck!" Or "and...start!" or suchlike.

I guess in that case, this line is better localized as:

KOMAEDA: Let's start! You have 30 seconds on the clock...good luck!

(I chose 30 seconds because that's how long the "Make your Selection" part lasts maximum).

2. When ranting about hope, does Komaeda speak more clearly, more confidently?

Yes!

In scenes like post- Chapter 1 trial, where Komaeda monologues to the audience for a few minutes before being knocked out - where he is rambling on and on - his speech is noticeably smoother with less pauses or filler injections. I would also venture to say the way he speaks makes it sound like he is stating facts, that he is very confident in his assertions.

3. Komaeda's Hope Speech on the laptop

Firstly, I want to point somethings out...unrelated to the hope speech itself, but just fun to note.

The garbled, loud noise you hear sometimes where Komaeda is speaking is not gibberish (listen here, volume warning). For whatever reason, the English version did not have Bryce Papenbrook record lines for this, and still uses the Japanese version.

It doesn't reveal any new information, sadly. And I can't make out the second one...but it's highly likely in that line I linked that Komaeda is saying 希望は絶望なんかに負けないんだ or "Hope will never lose to despair."

When it comes to the scrambled text...I've never been much of a decoder, but I can point some stuff out.

For one, I'm 99% sure the Japanese team probably provided the translators with the full, unscrambled text so they could better translate it.

That said, it's not impossible to figure this out.

<まじむかつく+超Ｙさしい２こんなにEEものｇ１０２＄うRしｓ～＝～＋いｄｓねうれOｒｚ』

まじむかつく is a term that means "extremely irritated" hence "seriously pissing me off".

The + is the same in both version, I assume it means "and".

The next part needs a little explaining. In Japanese, all consonants (for the most part) are followed by a vowel. on a Japanese keyboard, if you do not finish typing the character, only the consonant shows up.

for example, な is "na". but if you only type the n and don't follow with the a, you get ｎ.

There's a lot of Japanese slang based off this. To type ん you have to type "n" twice. so, a slang form of konnichiwa (こんにちは) is shortened to こん, konn. But it got shortened even further to こｎ.

so, 超Ｙさしい requires a bit of guesswork, as there are several sounds that start with "y", like ゆ yu, よ yo, や ya. the さしい at the end tells us it's an adjective.

超 in this case means "very", like "very expensive" or "very awesome".

Likely, Yさしい is やさしい, which is either "kind" or "easy".

This makes 超Ｙさしい either "extremely kind/nice" or "extremely simply/easy".

Official translators wrote it as "hella nice", aka "very kind".

Beyond that I start to get bad at this xD I don't know where they get "I can't believe something odd like this is only $102".

The 2 may be に, as 2 in Japanese is pronounced に(ni), and に is a particle.

I think the ＥＥ Is to be read like いい (ii) in Japanese. And the ｇ might be が (ga)?

超やさしいにこんなにいいものが１０２＄

こんなにいいもの would be "Such nice stuff" or "Really good stuff".

が at the end could be "But..." or "However..." but if the 102$ is connected somehow, then it may be an object particle.

Maybe it's "Really good stuff gotten easy for $102"

But that isn't fully true to the official English version, so maybe they were provided with more clear words to translate from. Like I said, I'm no good at codes.

The last part is easy though. うRし follows the same rule as before. うれし Ur(e)shi(i), which means "happy". I don't know what the "s" is, since it seems the sentence picks back up at いｄｓね, as うれしい is the full word. "d s" is probably d(e)s(u) with the ne particle at the end. うれしいですね, which means "I'm happy!"

And I'm guessing Orz is the emoticon.

Okay, sorry for rambling. When it comes to the actual speech, there is something interesting to note, albiet small.

The English version is correct in its translation, and the only thing I have to offer is the nuance behind how Komaeda makes his requests.

He says stuff like, "Respect me" "Praise me" "Build a bronze statue of me" and such. And he requests all of these by saying ～てくれ ~tekure.

I don't think Komaeda ever uses this outside of this speech. てくれ can be seen as rather rude. Though the formation looks like an imperative (very rude), it is not, since at it's core, てくれ means you are asking someone to do something for you, not ordering them. It is still the rudest way you can "request" something though.

It's not as severe as Komaeda yelling 黙れよ (damare yo) in 2.5, but it's close behind.

It does show he is being very callous and assertive in this scene, truly a 180 from him being casual but still respectful. This sort of demanding request tone coming from Komaeda is surprising, I feel.

Otherwise...there isn't really any nuance to add, I'm afraid. The speech is rather straight forward and the English version translates it well.

I hope this answers your questions!

[see-arcane]

Re: Carmilla, Episode 11, The Story THOUGHTS

Ohhhh, this one was tasty. Just as an overall note: the storytelling cadence from Burgon and the ambient background were perfect in framing the whole thing. It sounded so plush--give or take the machinations of 'Millarca' and company

in the tone of an old friend, and calling me by my name, opened a conversation with me, which piqued my curiosity a good deal. She referred to many scenes where she had met me—at Court, and at distinguished houses. She alluded to little incidents which I had long ceased to think of, but which, I found, had only lain in abeyance in my memory, for they instantly started into life at her touch

Something is up with Millie's 'mother.' She can't just be an uncannily good performer--though she obviously is--because she has names, places, and events backlogged to mislead her target. Either she's a literal mind reader or Millie is and the murmured conversation before Mama starts acting was her passing useful information along.

I never saw anyone more taken with another at first sight, unless, indeed, it was the stranger herself, who seemed quite to have lost her heart to her.

^^^ This line is what grudgingly makes me give our future meeting with a certain golden-spectacled eleventh hour visitor a little leeway. We're coming up on a chapter where it will be stated that vampires, Carmilla included, are wont to put on a performance of romance and courtship while only wanting to dine and dash. To that assumption's credit, the General's experience does paint Millie in exactly that light. Because Carmilla, by choice or by craving, absolutely puts an act on for Bertha. Not to the level that we've seen her genuinely fixate on Laura, replete with plans to run away with her, but Millie is very much a Casanova. She does charm, seduce, drink, and move on to the next victim.

That isn't to say the assumption holds for her relationship with Laura, or even that the assumption is correct for every type of vampire, but. Yeah. Carmilla is a heartbreaker and a life taker and, leaving aside the eyeroll-inducing 'eVil LeSbIaN aFtEr YoUr DaUgHtEr!!1!' nonsense, she is very much the same kind of hunter as Lord Ruthven, if not nearly as sadistic. She's out here wooing pretty and virtuous young things until she gets what she wants and then she's out of there. RIP.

“I spent the interval in cudgeling my brains for a conjecture as to the identity of the lady who seemed to remember me so kindly,

(vibrating in Jonathan Harker) CUDGELING BRAINS QUOTE SPOTTED!! oh yeah and also

a gentleman, dressed in black, who looked particularly elegant and distinguished, with this drawback, that his face was the most deadly pale I ever saw, except in death. He was in no masquerade—in the plain evening dress of a gentleman; and he said, without a smile, but with a courtly and unusually low bow:— “‘Will Madame la Comtesse permit me to say a very few words which may interest her?’

Wait. Who are you?

“And with this injunction, playfully given, she walked a little aside with the gentleman in black, and talked for some minutes, apparently very earnestly.

About what? Who is this??

But at this moment she returned, accompanied by the pale man in black, who said: “‘I shall return and inform Madame la Comtesse when her carriage is at the door.’ He withdrew with a bow.”

WHO IS THIS WHO ARE ANY OF YOU MYSTERIOUS CARMILLA CREW

Really though, I wonder. I've seen a lot of theories about how the Comtesse might/must be Millie's real actual vampire mom or at least her sire, but that's never clicked with me, especially considering the Lore (tm) we unearth later. I'm more and more certain that her entourage has to land on one side of the coin or the other:

A) They're all vampires, or at least being steered by a main sire who parses everyone out in a new hunting territory.

B) Carmilla is the leader, coordinating a human crew's actions to plant herself near a desired target. Either she's paying them or coercing them. Because if this was truly a family affair, I'd have to wonder just why (SPOILERS) they all keep their distance and piss off into the horizon when [REDACTED] finally puts Carmilla in peril and puts her down.* If any of the crew are actually attached via love, where the hell will they be when Millie needs them?

ANYWAY

11/10 I am craving the next chapter

[otnesse]

It also helps that, when giving an eulogy towards a fallen Jedi in one of the EU comics, Mace made it VERY clear it's indeed okay for a Jedi to mourn, which was FAR better than Yoda's advice to Anakin (I'm sorry, but that was just the WORST advice he gave to Anakin, and you can't even blame Anakin for holding out on him since Yoda explicitly read his mind when doing that test on him).

Heck, if anything, Mace was probably one of the few Jedi besides Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon that Anakin truly respected, and in fact, George Lucas also indicated that, besides obviously wanting to save Padme, part of the reason why Anakin did his action against Mace was also partly because he feared MACE was going to descend into the Dark Side (which, to be fair, considering Mace was about to kill a disarmed opponent, did have some justification there).

EDIT: My only real issue with Mace, though, was his role in the novelization, more specifically the scene elaborating on the event where Obi-Wan reluctantly agreed to the Jedi Council's insistence at Anakin spying on Palpatine. More specifically, this exchange between Obi-Wan and Mace:

"You don't know how much Palpatine's friendship has meant to him over the years. You're asking him to use that friendship as a weapon! To stab his friend in the back. Don't you understand what this will cost him, even if Palpatine is entirely innocent? Especially if he's innocent. Their relationship will never be the same—" "And that," Mace Windu said, "may be the best argument in favor of this plan. I have told you all what I have seen of the energy between Skywalker and the Supreme Chancellor. Anything that might distance young Skywalker from Palpatine's influence is worth the attempt."

Especially the bolded part. Though to be fair, that was more a point against the Council as a whole and not just against Mace specifically, but still... his rationale and final point for why Anakin should be used as a spy (which, BTW, proved to be a VERY stupid idea in the end that if anything acted as a major catalyst for why Anakin became Vader) comes across less as a desire to protect the Republic, or even attempting to expose Palpatine as at the very least Sith-influenced, but more of a way to keep Anakin under their thumb, which not only already gave the Jedi the bad image of being treasonous to the Republic, but even ended up betraying their own Jedi Code's stipulation of not being attached (a truly terrible plot point, but still... I would have respected them for being consistent with their code no matter HOW terrible it might have been).

Beyond that, and probably also Mace being indirectly responsible for Dooku becoming a Sith Lord, Mace is probably one of the better Jedi ultimately, up there with Qui-Gon.

I'm Jedi Critical until the day I die, but the one thing I can fully agree with the Jedi defenders on is that Mace Windu really got screwed over by both the movies and the fandom. He wasn't even that mean to Anakin compared to someone like Yoda, who was a lot harsher to Anakin imo. All of Windu's concerns about Anakin are justified. He's skeptical about Anakin being the Chosen One because there is absolutely no evidence for that other than Anakin being more powerful than the average Jedi. I honestly think Windu was looking out for Anakin in his own way. He's basically saying it's not smart to put all the Jedi's eggs in one "chosen one" basket, which is true. If more people had treated Anakin like a normal Jedi the way Mace does, he wouldn't have been under so much pressure. And I don't think it's "mean" at all to say that a 23 year old is not emotionally mature enough to be a master. It's kind of true, especially based on Anakin's actions.

Like, I think the Jedi screwed Anakin over in a number of ways, but I don't get why the fandom targets Mace specifically? I honestly think he was trying to do the best thing for Anakin. And I like to think that they were genuinely friendly with each other. They almost died together in CW. That's gotta be a pretty big bonding experience.