#And let some of the chapters pile up before I get back to reading it.

[mechazushi]

None of the voices are what I had I'm mind. . .

YOU AINT GONNA CATCH ME COMPLAIN' THO.

[gothicada]

ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘᴀᴄ

first pac for this page!

content will include romance, career, finances and your future of 2025!

paid tarot readings here

THE PILES:

[PILE ONE, PILE TWO AND PILE THREE [LEFT TO RIGHT].

PILE ONE

❦ FUTURE OVERALL? ⬎

CARDS ⟶ {6 OF COINS, THE LOVERS VI, THE SUN XIX, ACE OF WANDS, STILLNESS XII and THE STAR XVII}.

♇ this pile will likely have a really good future, a lot of working, a lot of potential and attention being given, they would be a feeling of balance and gratitude, feeling happy, and even getting into relationships, or feeling more confident, better about yourself, there could be something you achieve, that you won't expect to achieve, and you could feel like your voice and needs are being heard.

♇ you could be gaining attention, intuitively i am hearing people from this pile could be manifesting new beginnings, new opportunities, and you will see them coming your way quickly, specifically since the ace of wands is in this pile. a lot could be going on for these people, but mainly good things, like partying and being around loved ones. people who chose this pile might've felt insecure about not feeling needed but those negative thoughts are likely going to go away. there's 2 sixes in the reading, and when that happens it means something favourable will be coming your way, new people in your life that have pure intentions, and having the ability to relax.

♇ im happy for this pile, because there's pure happiness here, seeing the world differently, instead of seeing the world as half empty, people who have picked this pile will start to see the world as half empty. starting new chapters with less stress and actually believing in yourself, starting over and not looking back, this spread also speaks of being more sexually expressive, trying out new things you havent thought about doing before.

♇ as this is a pile that likely going to start something new, you guys will be starting something new that you wouldnt expect. people who picked this pile will start to see something differently, and even be more happy about life, good things will be coming their way, there could be something you might sacrifice, like a habit, a person or something, but doing this would be for the greater good.

♇ whatever you would be sacrificing, would make you feel like a huge weight would be lifted ff your shoulders, maybe people who picked this pile would be letting go of a friend that was draining, but it's likely something you were supposed to be doing moments ago, and you could be stepping into something that aids you to express your creative side, whether it be drawing, singing acting or anything make-up/fashion oriented, you will be happy.

shuffled songs ⟶ [lovin you by minnie riperton, bonbon by era istrefi and ouragan by mattyeux featuring videoclub].

❦ ROMANCE OVERALL? ⬎

CARDS ⟶ {Six of Cups, THE CHARIOT VII, Eight of Swords, King of Coins, Four of Swords and Nine of Cups}.

♇ overall, the romantic life will be sweet, could be getting into a relationship with someone who makes you feel warm and protected, a bond where the two of you would be very understanding with each other, a lot of yearning going on between both sides, but the six of cups and the chariot does imply that it could be someone you've spoken to before, or someone who might remind you of the past. [the chariot is ruled by cancer/moon].

♇ some people who have picked this pile could be in long-lasting situationships, connections you can easily get yourself out of, but you're stubborn to let go because of the past and memories you made with such person. people who have picked this pile might have a negative outlook in their romantic love life, could think they're not loveable but even though this can sound cliche, this could be happening because you're actually not putting yourself out there.

♇ because the people who picked this pile actually have so much potential to be in a good relationship, but if you are someone who has the potential to get into a relationship, whoever you will get with could be really scared of losing you, they could be the type to do anything to keep you close to them, though with the lack of wands here, they're likely lowkey about it, but they'll show it through little things, like urging you to stay, be with them all the time etc.

♇ if you are someone who could be going through complications because of a relationship, i do see the likelihood of everything calming down. even though the four of swords can speak of stress, it usually changes wherever it is beside, because it is between the king of coins and the nine of cups, i see a sense of relax, if you are someone who could be getting a significant other, this person would be very calming, will know what you like, what makes you tick etc.

♇ you will be feeling comfortable, and could even be indulging in sex, self-pleasure if you remain single. what im seeing for this pile, is that no matter what happens in the end you'll be okay, because you will be emotionally fulfilled with, or without a partner, and you will feel pretty and look beautiful! if you do get with someone, it's likely someone who is successful/very attractive.

shuffled songs ⟶ [bitch by allie x, washing machine heart by mitski and oxygene by fally ipupa].

❦ OCCUPATION OVERALL? ⬎

CARDS ⟶ {JUDGEMENT XX, ARES IV, JUSTICE XI, Ten of Cups, THE FATES X and DEATH XIII}.

♇ interesting spread, people who have picked this pile would be doing really well. a big transformation happening to these people, i do think whatever you are doing you would be an inspiration to those around you, they would be learning from you, adoring you, and if this is about school, you could be doing really great. you could be finding a calling, one you didnt expect, but it'll come to you.

♇ whatever occupation you are doing will lead you to much success, you could be someone who might have a guide, or you will be the guide as i have insinuated in the last paragraph, but whatever you will be doing will bring you happiness. you wouldnt expect this, especially with death being at the end, and this doesnt mean it's a bad thing, it'll just be totally different to what you are used to now, so it might take you some time to get used to.

♇ the occupation you get yourself into will make you feel belonged, because your thoughts/ideas would be things people would take seriously. you will be able to provide for yourself, but i do warn you to handle your finances with logic and practicality, even if you will likely get good finances, do be aware with how you manage your excitement with your money.

♇ if you are someone who is struggling, there's a big chance this occupation will get you back to your feet, if you are someone who is working at a job, you would likely get a raise, something unexpected but good will happen for you, and it's something that was always supposed to happen, there are some cards here that likely scares other people, but many of the end outcomes will be good, trust me. there's 2 tens in the reading and this usually means that there can be and ending but it'll open to a new good beginning, you'll see that everything happens is for the best. there's also 2 zeros here and it speaks of countless possibilities.

♇ and i know the death card here is really scary, but it strengthens my idea of a new beginning happening for these people, something that'll make you happy and understand that you should allow life to handle itself, it'll teach these people that you shouldnt force things to go one way because it'll disrupt the process. there's also a lot of 1 numerology here and this is another beacon of a new beginning, be happy for yourself pile 1! :)

shuffled songs ⟶ [show me how by men i trust, say yes to heaven by lana del rey and save your tears by the weeknd featuring ariana grande].

PILE TWO

❦ FUTURE OVERALL? ⬎

CARDS ⟶ {Four of Wands, Five of Swords, Five of Wands, THE FATES X, Ten of Coins and Queen of Wands}.

♇ well, you are in for a ride pile two, but in the end everything will work out for you guys. there could be complications happening with the family, someone spiteful, or you being upset about something, or a relative just bringing issues that causes chaos. you could be someone who might have a bad experience with someone, but for this pile i am feeling it could be a cousin/family? someone who might get away with many things because people are used to their behaviour.

♇ not a really good spread in the beginning, but everything will be just fine, as the end does have the ten of coins and the queen of wands. but this pile can be competing for something? having to prove yourself to someone, to a bunch of people, so you can get accepted for a status/role? if this is not a conflict you already know is happening, then it is likely someone randomly expressing their anger towards something that they have bottled up for a moment, could be you.

♇ you would feel like you are continuously going through ups and downs, you don't know what the week would have in store for you because it feels like it wants to whoop you, but i think the conflict that would be happening would be conflict you might have been stalling for a long time, so it was bound to happen. some of these people who have chosen this pile might find it hard letting go of people. there are 2 fives here, and when that happens it usually means conflict and having the themes of getting rid of instability and accepting change.

♇ though when all of that shit is done and dusted, you will feel relieved and released and happy to accept that positive change that wants to make way into your life. even if the ten of wands is not here i see the likelihood of prior challenges then you receiving a glow up because of it. whether it be glow up with your personality or looks, either way you will be feeling good about yourself :).

♇ like when this is all over, you would be feeling like you are the hottest shit in town, as i said in the previous paragraph, glow up of the century. and you could find yourself speaking to a woman in your family more, perhaps they're someone who had conflict with the family and they would be telling their side of the story? its very specific, but either way, there'll be a woman in your life that'll be very important.

shuffled songs ⟶ [under your spell by snow strippers, your face by wisp and sour switchblade by elita].

❦ ROMANCE OVERALL? ⬎

CARDS ⟶ {Queen of Wands, Princess of Coins, Seven of Cups in RX, King of Cups, King of Wands and Priestess of Coins}.

♇ well, romance would definitely be something for you guys, but you would appreciate the life lessons it'll give you. i do think the people who picked this pile would likely get into a connection with somebody, something very intense and passionate with someone, and it could be someone you go to work/school with.

♇ this connection could get very obsessive, both sides would be addicted to each other, and it'll be hard to hide it. someone could be obsessed with divination and could do readings on the said party or the energy of the bond. but this can also mean someone could be looking over signs and repeating symbols.

♇ there's an indicatory of immaturity, but it could be due to the queen of wands energy. this bond could be a missed opportunity, and it could imply you could have 2 options because of the king of cups and wands. even though both parties would be obsessed with each other, someone would be thinking from their emotions less than their logic/mind. and this can be both people because there's no swords here.

♇ whoever this person is, they would likely be more rational, but the king of cups being here does imply they would be acting based on their emotions. queen and king of wands being in the same spread, the two of you would be able to match each other's energies. and the other person wouldnt be able to handle it, so they might want to do things to prove you dont have power over them, in which you do.

♇ when it comes to people they care about, they're someone who is patient and protective, and you'll see that side coming out often when you're around them more. there's 2 kings in the reading, this is someone you likely work with, and the 2 kings do symbolise the fact that either way, they would be the more mature person within the connection, and there's many court cards here, which shows much people would be involved in this mix. he said she said.

shuffled songs ⟶ [turn me on by kevin lyttle, fresh laundry by allie x and boy's a liar pt. 2 by pinkpantheress featuring ice spice].

❦ OCCUPATION OVERALL? ⬎

CARDS ⟶ {Nine of Coins, Three of Coins, Seven of Cups , King of Wands, Queen of Wands and Ten of Cups}.

♇ whoever picked this part of the pile, lucky you! you will be comfortable with what you're going to be doing, and with the nine of coins and two other court cards king and queen of wands, you can be someone who is self-employed? and your business is likely going to be buzzing, speaking with more people and marketing yourself and people being easily pulled by you and your content.

♇ if you're not someone who has a job but goes to school, there's great indicator of everything going well for you, but remember to always stay in track. you would feel a creative side of yourself come out more, and you might even collaborate with other people, but i do think the majority who have picked this pile would likely have people reach out to them to join or to get advice.

♇ i'm hearing the status "hot shit" like whatever you're doing, you're going to be popping and your reputation will get higher. if you're someone who is looking for a job, this spread heavily implies you'll get a good career. you could be taking the lead for something, and this could put stress on your shoulders but the ten of cups at the end indicates that you'll be good anyways.

♇ this is a really great spread, because i do think you would be getting so much attention, and it could be over-whelming [with the seven of cups] but it'll be something you would get used to, almost as if you were made for it. you would feel more beautiful and appreciated in your occupation and with the three of coins, this shows that other people would be speaking about your creation/what you have done to others.

♇ for this spread, it's like a wish come true, being in an industry you always saw yourself to get into and accomplishing and making a name for yourself very quickly. howbeit, with the coins in the beginning of the spread, it could insinuate some people might've been in their occupation for a brief moment, but the progress was comfortable either way. you will feel like you've made yourself proud.

shuffled songs ⟶ [when you feel lonely by mavado, the box by roddy ricch and get lucky by daft punk, pharrell williams and nile rodgers].

PILE THREE

❦ FUTURE OVERALL? ⬎

CARDS ⟶ {Ten of Cups, TEMPERANCE XIV, Princess of Coins, Ace of Swords, Nine of Swords and THE HIEROPHANT V IN REVERSE}.

♇ the future for this reading is likely very good but there'll be some hiccups but i think it'll be fine overall. you will feel balanced and you will be attempting to balance your schedules, specifically things you're going to learn. you could enter a course or learn something new you could be very serious about and you might consider it to be something that could aid you to get your life on track.

♇ and i do see the possibility of people here wanting to right their wrongs, manifestation happening and learning how to be patient. but people who picked this pile could be people who are having to learn how to handle time and being patient. majority of the people who have picked this pile could be students and they could be anxious about something but this implies that the worries you have could be easily handled.

♇ you could be gaining more information about something and i know this has been implied in the previous two paragraphs but it is very strong in this spread that a form of knowledge will be coming whether it be about education or about secrets, but i do see the possibility of it being secrets, something that might throw you off and worry. the people who pick this pile will be going through a lot mental wise and that could be one of the things you would be wanting to balance.

♇ you could end up being a subject of gossip and there could be something that just ends for you, whether it be friendship, education or a hobby. but there is potential of the spread telling you that over-thinking could lead you to self destruction. believe in yourself! you could also be planning to do something that is authentic/different to the people around you and you could be worried about how other people might see it.

♇ i do see you doing something you might not supposed to be doing, but this spread could be warning you to not do something immoral. try and always remember who you are, people who picked this pile likely has the possibility of spiraling the most and even finding it hard to remember themselves. on the other hand, this can manifest into you becoming someone you truly are and having to learn not to care how other people would perceive you.

shuffled songs ⟶ [k. by cigarettes after sex, waking up in vegas by katy perry and mysterious girl by peter andre].

❦ ROMANCE OVERALL? ⬎

CARDS ⟶ {Ten of Swords, Two of Swords, Seven of Cups, Three of Swords, Princess of Coins and Four of Cups}.

♇ wow. so, good luck to whoever chose this pile. people who picked this pile are likely the people who are the heart-breaker or they would be the person who is heart-broken. treating people with kindness is a very big theme for this reading, and i do think whoever picked this pile are likely on their last straw when it comes to their romantic love life, you guys can be people who were heart-broken in the past so you have a hard time opening up to yourself to new people.

♇ people who choose this pile likely have many options, three cards imply that, two of swords, seven of cups and the four of cups. but these people likely dont want to take a leap because fear is a huge indicator here, or people who have picked this pile will be people who do not want to get into a proper relationship yet and could be looking for a fling, whereas the other party will be upset that they're truly not opening themselves to be loved.

♇ on the other hand, this spread can be advise to not allow your delusions to come up with the most delusional outcomes. there can be someone in your life that you could want, you might put them on a pedestal, but when it comes to romantic connections the person might lack and even be speaking to other people. if you are someone who is already in a romantic connection with somebody there's a high chance of conflict happening. rude words being thrown across and cold shoulders.

♇ and i think because of how hectic things will go for people, they might turn to things that isnt about romance, like becoming a better version of themselves, studious, or someone who is more perceptive about types of people who want to return to their lives. howbeit, this spread can also be for the people who are obsessive, wanting to seek out a specific result because you WANT and YEARN for something to happen, but im sorry it is just not the case for you guys.

♇ there's a lot of dissatisfied feelings here, yearning, wanting more. doing countless tarot readings on an event or on someone. you could also be giving so much love to other people but you're not receiving the same energy back, this spread implies that you are likely giving it to the wrong people. you need to value yourself and go to spaces where you are seen and valued.

shuffled songs ⟶ [with me by dvsn, christian woman by type o negative and amber by 311].

❦ OCCUPATION OVERALL? ⬎

CARDS ⟶ {King of wands, Princess of Swords THE BIRTH 0, JUDGEMENT XXI, THE WORLD XXII and THE HERMIT IX}.

♇ when it comes to career, people who picked this pile have such great potential of starting something where you're intellect and precision will be a big tool. people who picked this pile will be taking charge and feeling more bold about the opportunities they have, there's much mental stimulation going on and this could be because you would be given a new project or you would be someone who would be opening a side business, or could think about opening one.

♇ this could also mean that if you are someone who is signing up for a job, there is likely going to be other people competing for the spot you want. yet intuitively, i am getting to 75%-95% of people who picked this pile will be getting the spot they want, and they would be able to make a space for themselves to fall back financially that'll make them comfortable.

♇ people who chose pile three will finally be following their instincts, taking a leap and a chance to believe in themselves finally. and i believe that people who take a risk have good judgement because they would finally be accepting that their life is in their hands and time is their best friend. there's much communicative energy going on, it implies that there's much marketing yourself going on.

♇ these people who picked this pile will be going through a wake up call, it could involve them finally realising what they're supposed to do with their lives. [the hermit is also in this spread and it pinpoints that there would be people who would second guess themselves]. howbeit, this reading shows that people here would finally find their calling and it would bring them much joy.

♇ on the other hand, there could be people who picked this pile who are likely people pleasers. they would be happy that they've finally found their calling, but they could have this pressure of "realising" that other people would not like their career, that people around them expect them to do something different. though, the hermit in this reading shows that this life is yours and should not be in the hand of others. plus there's 2 two's here [JUDGEMENT 20 and THE WORLD 21]. and this hints towards a partnership where both energies are balanced and both parties will be bringing out confidence within that'll aid to a positive outcome

shuffled songs ⟶ [alejandro by lady gaga, god complex by violent vira and turn it up by pinkpantheress].

paid tarot readings here

[maybefae]

Your First Impression of Your Person

Pile 1 - Pile 2 - Pile 3

Remember, this is a general reading and it may not resonate for everyone or completely. Tarot is a tool to help guide but you are responsible for your actions and life, you choose your path.

I was leaning more towards a romantic partner that you are going to end up with that will have a significant place in your life but take it as it resonates for you.

Tips!

|Pile 1

Tarot: Eight of Swords (horizontal), Death, The High Priestess, Seven of Pentacles, Ten of Cups (horizontal), Page of Cups, Four of Pentacles, The Star (reversed), The Fool

Oracle: The Ladybug and Sweet Pea (happiness), The Chipmunk and Laurel (success), The Otter and Cattail (peace)

This person is someone that your soul has been letting you know was coming with certain signs or messages. And this could be someone you wished for, but there is a strong sense that this person was just meant to come into your life. It’s like you wished for this person and didn’t know that they were gonna come in whether you wished for them or not. I believe fate and freewill coincide together and this is one of those grey areas. 

Your person comes in either when a new chapter starts for you or this person comes in and triggers it. Whichever this new chapter is happening, there is a feeling of uncertainty and pessimistic caution - as if trust had been bruised. You almost feel like a wolf backed into a corner and someone is encroaching on your space and you’re trying to decide if they are safe or if you need to bite your way out of a situation. I don’t know if the new chapter has left you feeling a little vulnerable or if you did your little spells (writing down your persons characteristics, a letter from their POV of you, or moodboards), but it took longer than you expected so you developed a resentment of some kind. You’re skeptical of them. It’s like a “oh, now you decide to show up when I don’t want you anymore.” But you know that you still do but your own expectations have hurt you. Your person has done nothing to you.

In fact, you decide to give them a singular cup with caution to see if they can fill it because you still want them. You’re treading lightly and they realize this. They genuinely want to offer you ten full cups and you realize that quickly with how much they bring to the table. They do bring you a lot of happiness and peace, which their entrance into your life probably wasn’t anything grand. Their peaceful stroll into your life probably made you skeptical as well as angry. “But they are what you need(ed).” You probably expected something dramatic because of past people or situations and when you didn’t get that from your person, it felt unsafe. You may have some doubts and think “this wasn’t what I wished for.” But it was, deep down it was. And your wishes were a success.

I think you will be very emotional after dropping the wall finally. I think they will do something that will show you that they love you early on and it will make your walls instantly fall. There’s a feeling of guilt for being so resentful and angry towards your person and you may not know how to forgive yourself. But just know, your person says that you have nothing to be sorry for. There could be a moment when you decide to tell them this and your tears will be dried by them.

|Pile 2

Tarot: The Hierophant, The Hanged Man, Nine of Pentacles, Nine of Swords, The Empress, Ace of Wands, The Lovers, Four of Wands, The Star

Oracle:  The Eel and Iris (safety), The Boar and Pumpkin (confidence), The Snake and Fern (starting over), The Skunk and Magnolia (protection)

Before I pull the cards, I ended up shuffling face up for a moment. Your person may show you all their cards upfront so you know what they want, their boundaries, and their feelings towards you. There isn’t any pussy-footing around feelings and playing games. They are too grown for that and they take love and relationships very seriously. I had to go back and pull an oracle card I say while resetting the deck and it was The Eel and Iris card which represents safety in this deck. There are two messages here. They will leave if they don’t think you are safe. They are slimy in the way of being able to get away if you start to play with their heart, not that they are a player and wiggle in and out of your life. Absolutely not. And they offer you and your heart a lot of safety by presenting all their cards to you right away. They don’t play games. If it’s important, Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls could hold significance.  - Just from getting all these messages without pulling any cards, or just from this one oracle card, I have a very strong feeling about this message. They get to business in a very determined and sure-footed way. They are dependable.

Now that I pulled the cards, my top messages are correct. You will find their confidence very attractive because it doesn’t come off in a cocky way. Their confidence comes off just in a sure and stable way. They made it very clear to you that they find you “absolutely breathtaking” as soon as they got to talk to you (and in the same moment, they ask you on a date and your NUMBER, not your social media.) I think they will also be very attractive and not someone you expect to be attracted to you. They are very successful -  everything else in their life is in line but they don’t have a lover. They are very picky so you should feel lucky they chose you. They are looking for commitment, something serious. For some this could be marriage but if you don’t like that idea, make that clear right away because they will like how you’re sure of your wants. They will respect it, especially if you make it abundantly clear that you want something committed and long term outside of legal bindings. 

There is a lot of sexual tension in this pile. And there is a very wealthy energy coming off the both of you, especially with how formal I felt writing this. It was like I was writing a contract. 

I think that they will also let you know pretty early on that this could be a start over for them and they are giving love one more try before giving up. Maybe they could’ve given up before hand but you two got sexually involved and it led to them giving the both of you a shot. With them laying their cards on the table and you laying down yours, it creates a very stable foundation for the both of you to grow off of. This feels like a very mature energy, maybe 30s? There is a feeling of creating some sort of foundation for yourself, even it you could just be starting your foundation then.

|Pile 3

Tarot: Three of Swords, The Hierophant, Ace of Wands, Judgement, Knight of Wands, Queen of Cups, The Hermit, Nine of Cups, Temperance, Strength

Oracle: The Wolf and Rose Hip (guardianship), The Vulture and Asphodel (upheaval), The Sheep and Blackberry (devotion)

The Three of Swords instantly jumped out when I started shuffling. And before I started, the knight of cups was at the bottom…I believe your person wanted to bring your own heartbreak to light first and foremost. I don’t believe this card is part of your impression of them. This feels like a combination of their opinion of you combined with what you think of them. There’s a deep feeling of heartbreak from you but I don’t think you’ve given up on love, you really just want to finally meet the person you’ll spend your life with. The love of your life. This pile isn’t for someone seeking something temporary.

Pile 3, your person is the love of your life. They truly love you and I think that is why they wanted me to talk about you first. They come in very protectively, a wolf guarding their sheep. It’s not that you’re fragile but they have a good understanding that you are sensitive and a soft soul, which brings out their protective side. I think you welcome it because there is a feeling of instant safety you get from this person, like finally finding shelter to stand under while the rain clouds clear up. They instantly light up the passion you had for love again because they come in with the same passion, which isn’t inherently sexual either. This passion comes from a place of safety and comfort from each other, it’s like finally experiencing a love that isn’t so intense. Puppy love…maybe love that is usually experienced when you’re younger. There is a sense of them bringing back light-hearted fun, that love doesn’t have to be so taxing on your soul (and it shouldn’t be). 

There is a message of, “your patience will be rewarded.” 

They see you as an angel, pile 3. And they are merely your knight and they offer you so much devotion. I know this should be your first impression of them but I think you see this practically right away. “Light dawns on marble head.” They bring you out of the hermit phase and show you that they have all nine cups and you only need to bring your one cup so you can have the Ten of Cups together. They don’t expect anything other than your presence, you just have to show up and give them love. That’s all they expect from you and I think that comes as a surprise to you because people had expected so much of you and stripped you of it all so you were left empty. It probably took you a long time to fill your own cup again. They bring new and wanted change even though it may come with some uncomfortability from your end. 

Dividers: @inklore

[troublesh00terfaery]

BELOW 18 PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT. THIS WORK IS NSFW! KEEP OUT! [THIS WORK IS PURELY FICTION] | Pinned Navigation | Chapter one of CREDENCE | [Alhaitham x AFAB! Reader] Synopsis: In the heart of Sumeru, thrives the peaceful and unique kingdom to which governed by the monarchy. A young prince experiences a strange succession of dreams to which a mysterious woman comforts him. Wouldn't it be delightful to make this dreams into a reality? Words: 5.4k (NOT BETA READ)

Tags: AFAB! Reader, slight teasing, Prince! Alhaitham x Goddess Reader. Pronouns for AFAB reader are she/her. Alhaitham slightly obsessed with you. Alhaitham raging thoughts about you (look at what you did to this poor man!) So far, this will be main tags, more will be added on the following chapters. A/N: OKAY, I SINCERELY APOLOGIZE FOR NOT BEING ABLE TO UPDATE FOR MONTHS. I know I should've posted this around August but I was so busy and experienced writers block so I went to travel and did girly stuff just to get back on track so I sincerely apologize for the very late upload. I'm currently working on the third part since I planned on making this having four chapters. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this and upcoming chapters! - xoxo Circe𝜗𝜚 [Credits to this beautiful artist for the Alhaitham fanart, this was one of my inspos for this work!]

TAGLIST: @ayumneedsleep @zetianzz @surfacecigarettes @flwerie @yxnnu (If you want to be tagged for the upcoming chapters, comment to do so!)

This was rather unexpected, you thought to yourself. He was different and that bothered you. Was he not satisfied to see the literal woman of his dreams come to life? The thought itself made you furrow your brows as you tagged along him and his pet.

Upon reaching his study, the motif itself was very much like the monarchy and himself. Cabinets filled with scrolls and another separate cabinet that are yet to be filled with scrolls of whatever he is working on. His study was open and wide, the heart of his study was his huge table decorated with weighing scales and papers piled up and two papyrus papers were scattered open in the middle that somehow looked like a map that is yet to be filled up.

"Have a seat," Alhaitham spoke, instructing Jihad to sit down to which the feline responded with a chuff before settling himself down and yawning.

You stood there by the door that was just closed and watched him unfold in his usual setting. I guess Alhaitham would call this his own man cave. He gazed at you and heaved a sigh. "I meant you, of course. Have a seat, don't mind Jihad."

In return, you only replied with a small nod and found a seat just beside the cabinets. You decided not to sit and to stand and observe the scrolls piled up. Your eyes are busy with the tags and labels of each scroll. Alhaitham on the other hand kept sitting by his table and crossed his arms.

The probing has begun, he asked numerous questions to which you replied. He didn't ask where you came from, he was objective, thus only questioning matters regarding the further regions of the sands. From hidden mausoleums to locations to mark, he continued to seek the pursuit of knowledge for the expansion project. It was quite strange, here you thought that he would be asking you rather personal questions. It did bother you but of course, it would not let you falter.

"Your highness..." one of his servants came inside after knocking. "...it is dinner. The young lady is invited to eat as well, said your father."

Alhaitham replied with a nod before the servant left. He then gazed back at you before he stood up and spoke.

"You heard him."

Oh the knock of this guy. You thought.

Dinner was quite fine, the sorts of foods that would satisfy one's appetite. Alhaitham exchanged a few words with his father and his father to you. At some point, the question directed towards you was answered by Alhaitham.

"Please eat, I will answer my father's questions." He whispered to which you only replied with a slow nod as you took a spoonful of the desert.

The following days were the same, this time it was different. You were actually helping him out with the mapping. You could see how delicate and neat he works with the maps. Not only that, he was detail oriented as well. Asking you questions about what was within that small area or what notable features did it possess. He was indeed more than just a prince with a face, he possessed an aristocratic and wise quality.

It was because during mapping sessions, guards and scribes would randomly enter his study chambers and update him with the ongoing plans and treaties that he, of course, would indulge himself and the queries.

"If you'll excuse me, I will return in a short while." He left his markers and tools used for outlining the maps scattered at the table. You replied with a small nod and watched him leave the chambers whilst talking to one of the scribes.

This day, the mapping was almost finished but he was summoned by his father. Leaving you alone in his chamber. It was afternoon and the chamber was filled with rays of the sun that beamed, highlighting small spaces within his study. Come to think of it, no matter how busy this man is, his study was undeniably neat. Not a single scroll was misplaced nor scattered around the floor. You would expect that this man had no time to organize yet his room differs from your expectations.

His study was a wide room with an open space in the middle with a long and rectangle shaped table. Beside it was a red sofa filled with plush pillows on each end. You took the liking of comfortably sitting and observing the space he usually works on a daily basis. A whiff of the incense laced your nose, inhaling the comforting scent. A little while later, Jihad entered the study with a big yawn as he slowly walked towards the sofa.

He was a big feline but such a baby when his prince was near him, demanding for rubs. As you stayed in the palace for quite some time, Jihad has grown fond of you. He would greet you with his successions of chuff or nudge his head against your knees, a cue to pet him to which you spoil him. Surprisingly, Jihad took the big pillow he usually sleeps in by dragging it with his teeth and placing it near your feet and comfortably laying himself for a short nap.

"You know what, Jihad..." you spoke, stretching your arms and back before you took one of the pillows and patted each side. "...a nap doesn't sound bad after all."

And just like that, you lie down and slumber visits you. On the other hand, Alhaitham was discussing with his father. The usual one, expedition and mapping. Not until his father mentioned how you were.

"What do you mean?" Alhaitham asked, not looking at his father as his eyes were too fixated from the pieces of figures in his father's embossed maps.

"Do you even know her name?" The king paused from placing a few more pieces.

"That's rather a strange query, your grace." He took one of the pieces, a triangular shaped piece, and placed it near two smaller pieces with the identical shape.

Of course, he didn't know your name. It didn't cross his mind to know or ask what was your name. Not that it didn't curious him, he simply just didn't feel it. Now the thought of what your name was, he recalled addressing you as 'hey' or 'woman' a couple of days ago. Strange and certainly infuriating.

"Do you know her name then, father?"

"My, of course, son."

"Good for you."

The king only sighed at his rather indifferent attitude. Truth be told, he was genuinely curious about you. Everything about you was a mystery that is yet to be revealed. In an outward perspective, he did not care. To which you and probably the king, finds strange.

He was quite aware of how you and his woman of dreams looked alike and how similar your voices were. On top of that, the little fluid and elegant manners you had as you carried yourself in helping the young prince further expanded his curiosity. He found you rather strange but in his mind, you and that woman of dreams of his were different and he rejected the idea that it was you personified.

"She's quite a pretty woman herself, don't you think?"

"Hm, she is, I suppose?"

The talk about you went on for hours, only for Alhaitham to reply in such a stingy way.  After a few more talks, the prince decided to go back to his study to check the scrolls.

It was the same routine everyday, to the point that it seemed like a loop that never ended. At this point, your plan seemed like a written reminder that you somehow never did.

"The expedition begins in two days, I suggest you get your best sleep since we're heading to the sands." Alhaitham spoke, without looking at you, afterall, he was a busy man with a scroll on his right hand and a pen on his other hand.

"I'm coming?" You stopped petting the feline.

"I will accompany you with a few of my chosen travelers and men."

"Oh..."

"Your ladies have also prepared your tent and things, do you wish to bring anything else?"

"Uh...I-I suppose I'll be thinking about it."

"Hm, tell me what you'll be bringing so I will get them to prepare it. Understood?"

"Yes," you replied, looking at him as Jihad nudged his head gently against your cheeks and chuffled. "Thank you."

Come to think of it, your world revolved a bit of eating savory meals, having to experience luxurious baths almost everyday, a free stroll around the extravagant palace, watch people do stuff for you, dressed up with the finest silk offered by the palace, and of course, having a premium closeness to the prince by being his aid. Suitable just for a goddess like you. But alas, do they even try to know what you truly are? Does HE know or even try to know you? Shame that you will never know.

It was no doubt that the prince had a charming face and a mysterious personality that entices a few faces from different kingdoms. Princesses and high ranking courtesans seemingly throwing themselves to the young prince's feet, offering themselves to him as an act.of devotion. To which of course, he politely declines. These ministrations and how he reacts to it somehow made you curious over the past few days that you couldn't help but want to ask. However, you decided to ask a different and a more serious query.

"Alhai- I mean, your highness, is it okay if I ask something?"

The young prince stopped what he was doing and slowly turned and tilted his head, enough for you to see the side of his face.

"Call me 'Alhaitham', we're in my chambers." He spoke. "I'd like you to call me by my name, so refrain from addressing me formally."

"Why so?"

"Is that what you're initially asking then?"

"No."

"Hm, then I'll only answer you if you do as I say." A small smile formed on his lips.

Truth be told, Alhaitham wasn't fond of questions. It was like a meticulous task for him and it tired him out. However, there are such exemptions to these matters especially when it comes to you. Of course, he could only think of it as a way to return his favour because you had assisted him for almost a month on his ongoing expedition. Think of it as him being a gentleman.

You slowly nodded with his instructions and slowly said his name. It was new, you were so used to calling him with his honorary titles, but the prince himself granted you permissions to casually call him his name. Oh, what a beautiful name, you thought to yourself.

"Alhaitham."

"Hm? What is it?" He slowly shifted his body, dropped his pen and scroll to his table, and faced his body to you. Now he was welcomed with this... rather innocent view of yours. You were sitting by his carpet while his dear feline rested its big head on your lap. Your sincere eyes meeting his hawk-like gaze, plump lips, and such beauty.

Alhaitham wouldn't deny it but your beauty would be considered as the realm's delight. Such beauty you behold, he wonders what kind of alchemy create such ethereal beauty like you. And then he realized something, your beauty alone had a choke hold on him and he realized it late.

"I have come to notice that you have suitors, women coming from different regions." You started slow but with an obvious topic to which you already prepared the rejection of answering your curious query. "Why do you not entertain them?"

You asked, seemingly patting the head of Jihad yet you never really looked at him.

Alhaitham paused for a moment, and pondered, what the real answer is to that question. Was it an academic curiosity that urged him to convince his father to explore the desert that genuinely kept the young prince  in a hectic place? Perhaps the idea that marriage was far from his perspective as of the moment, considering he never was in a position to rush matters that revolved around tying bonds with anyone? Does he even see himself falling for someone? Of course, but when will he start to do so? Was there really a remarkable person that could persuade the heir to the throne?

He only stared at your petting to his Jihad as he sighed, he wasn't really sure what to tell you. Although this question wasn't new to him considering the king has nagged him about it ever since he was of age, he somehow had a peculiar feeling. He silently commended you on how you questioned him about serious matters, but as an outsider to his personal life, you really had the guts to ask him.

Maybe answering you wasn't much of a hassle, after all he had the time in the world to either reject your query or keep your growing curiosity company.

"I suppose if I tell you, then you will keep it a secret?"

The answer he gave you made you look up to him, never in beat would you think Alhaitham would set aside his usual work for a question that can be answered with a word or two. You slowly gave him a small nod, signaling that you had your senses focused on him. Alhaitham picked up your nod and took his chair, gently dragged it, and placed it just in front of you. He sat and slowly lowered his upper torso to level your face. The proximity between you and him now closer, finding yourself having a close up view of him and the very details of his astonishing beauty.

"How about this," he whispered, he was serious but there was a hint of playfulness in it. You couldn't tell if he was either serious or not, he was, after all, unpredictable. Something he had naturally. "I'll give you three statements, two of which are lies and one is the right answer."

"...and?"

"Of course, you have to guess the right one. In return, you will be doing the same." He crossed his arms and rested against the comfortable seat of the chair. Laid back and composed as ever. "If either of us had the wrong guess, a dare will compensate for it."

"I never expected the young prince to be playful, might as well amuse me by playing truth or dare?" you let out a low chuckle and caressed the feline's cheek with your thumb. Alhaitham replied with a soft scuff, since when did you start to get that kind of sarcasm?

"I'm keeping your curiosity company, might as well leave you and Jihad alone so I can work peacefully."

Never in a millennium had a man genuinely amuse you in such humor. Come to think of it, he was always serious and never replied much nor replied. You have to conclude that he was like a living machine, so to witness him in such proximity in this situation was never on your plate.

"Alright, young prince," you cleared your throat and now looking at him, your attention undivided. "Entertain me, if you please." a soft reply, you spoke.

Upon your response, Alhaitham let out a ghostly smile before he shifted his position. Alhaitham started, positioning himself by leveling you. He leaned once more, whilst he rested both his  arms at each thigh, arms supporting his weight and legs partly spread.

"The kingdom of Sumeru is vast and yet to be discovered. Despite our lineage being at the throne for years, some parts itself is yet to be uncovered." he started off. Each word leaving his mouth made you gently nod, absorbing the words he said.

He continued his story coming from his past royal lineage being unsuccessful of searching through the vast sands due to the lack of equipment and knowledge of what lies ahead. Among the few of his ancestors have passed because of unexpected circumstances of their expedition during their reign. Fortunately, through the sacrifices of his kin, the present throne is able to push through the expedition and further survey of the area.

"The sands fascinated my curiosity since I was a young scholar." he crossed his arm yet he kept his gaze focused at you, never breaking it. As if he really had no intention of keeping his eyes off you, not that you'll escape. "I have no intention of taking the crown to begin with, I intend to spend my time as a man who seeks knowledge and the grain of wonders of the dunes of Sumeru."

You replied with a hum, that somehow adds to your hypothesis regarding him finding you and how this curiosity and ongoing questions somehow simply align themselves to give you answers. You weren't in a rush nor had the realization you had initial questions about how he was determined to expand his knowledge and the past aspirations of his kin to broaden their expansion.

"That leads me to saying that I do not wish to marry." Alhaitham's tone was relaxed and monotone, leaning by the soft backrest of the chair he sat.

Shifting, he rested his right hand by the arm rest and his left hand supporting his head as he paused. He looked at you, observing your curious face as he took a pause. Surprisingly, he somehow found himself pleased with this view. Not that he felt that he was superior looking down on you, it was more of how you looked. How effortlessly you made him look at you in awe with your beauty. Those curious and innocent looking eyes you had, spoke for you. It felt like you didn't even have to utter a word for him to digest what you're thinking. Perhaps it is true what they say: the eyes never lie.

"Why?" you gazed at him.

"I am not in a rush nor has it ever crossed my mind," he replied.

"I doubt."

"Who are you to doubt me?"

You let out a soft chuckle with his question.

"I don't doubt you, my prince." you replied. "I doubt how it never crossed your mind."

Alhaitham, interested with your answer, slowly let his curiosity tiptoe. Perhaps it was the perfect time to open your subject to him. The reason why you are here, the reason why you're infront of him, and why he even has the opportunity to speak to you. Of course, you didn't want to surprise him with everything. You had other plans, after all, who doesn't like the chase?

"Perhaps not marriage."

"Then?"

"Perhaps you had someone in mind." you lowered your voice but sure enough that Alhaitham heard of it, he never recalled anyone being so pesky in his mind. He was after all a busy man, he was.

"How can you confirm this suspicion then?"

"I think that leads us to me answering your little game, your highness."

Delightful but terribly annoying on how you seem to know or even assume he gave out the wrong statement but alas, he would never know your true potential if he did not give you the chance to speak. He never belittles anyone's academic and intellectual capability, it was just that he never truly had to try hard to prove anything. But here you are, it seems like someone like you knows how to bite.

"Go on."

"Based on the structure of your statements, I concluded that you were telling the truth regarding the matters of your family's lineage dating back and your history with the dunes." you started, confident but sure. You sat upright but never forgot to pet the asleep feline by your thighs.

"This also leads me to sum up that you do not have plans nor initial plans with the crown, I can recall a certain interaction with the king. He mentioned, nonverbatim, that 'the prince truly amuses me for he is the only heir of this dying lineage of kings, yet he spares no time to reckon keeping up this dynasty of honorable kings.'" With a smile, you looked at Alhaitham.

Perhaps the young prince looked down on such a peculiar woman like you. He often had the perception that you were just an odd woman looking for trouble near the site. He wasn't new to women performing such an act just to get his attention. That in case he was presumably correct, he paid no attention at all. Truly, you were more than just a delight to his study chambers, you intrigue the young prince.

Your assertion kept the young prince amused. In a way he could never comprehend with simple words. Something ignited inside him that his chest felt heavy, in a sense that it also wanted to break free. He could hear the hitch of his inhale and heavy yet silent exhale. 

There was something about you that kept Alhaitham's feelings exalted at the present. For such an ethereal looking woman with a peculiar habit of surprising anyone, you did so much aside stir up feelings from him that he could not comprehend what it was. It was warm yet a chill would run his spine. 

“Perhaps you can say that marriage itself has never been in the status as convenient to you but to say that you had no person to think of intrigues me a lot, sir.”

“You're doubting me?

“I distress your majesty, perhaps let us put it in this way…” you sat up and fixed your posture. Surely, this would sound ridiculous but oh well, better have said it then regret it afterwards. 

“You’re assuming then?” Alhaitham argued, keeping up his neutral expression while internally being entertained with her little show. 

“No-” you said. 

“Suggesting?” 

“Your highness-”

“Are you a matchmaker then?”

With his rapid interruption, you heaved a heavy sigh, admitting defeat as his interruption unfortunately got through your nerves. You didn’t wish to be annoyed at the young prince, it was pretty much obvious that he was doing it on purpose. Alhaitham somehow finds it rather…amusing. 

“Your highness, I think we should call it a night.” you closed your eyes, trying to compose yourself. “You have errands tomorrow.” 

Alhaitham let out a low chuckle, seemingly enjoying his small victory of trying to get into your nerves. 

“Ah, and they say escape is defeat.” Alhaitham shifted his seat and made himself comfortable by leaning onto the back cushion of the seat. His eyes gazing at your defeated look, eyes looking away and your plump lips pouting. He was never the type to exasperate anyone just because he wanted to lest he never experience the annoyance from someone who does it randomly. 

But here you are, looking incredibly annoyed yet delicately beautiful without any effort. He must admit that he never came across any woman with such sharpness and wit, still blessed with her beauty and grace. 

“Apologies, I must have you at wits end.” He spoke as he stood up from his seat.

He walked towards the center of his chambers. At the center of his chamber lies a square pool filled with varieties of fresh flowers and lotuses that float the pristine water. He took one nilotpala lotus and a single zaytun peach and sat back at his chair just near you. 

You watched him closely come back to his seat. He placed the zaytun peach just at his table for he kept both of his palms busy with the lotus. 

“I do not think this is an appropriate gift for making amends with you but…” he looked at the damp and freshly bloomed lotus in his palm before he gazed at you. “...allow me to offer this lotus to you, they say it only blooms at night to reveal its beauty.”

He gently took the flower and handed it over to you. Taking the flower, you placed it and carefully cupped the delicate lotus. You never had the opportunity to see it bloom, thus this was a sight to see to you. 

Unbeknownst to you, Alhaitham came to know that you had taken a liking to these delicate lotuses. He observed you sit by the pool of the garden, looking at your reflection and the lotuses that are yet to bloom. He knew you would sit hours just for it to bloom but to no avail, you eventually wasted your afternoon just for it to bloom. 

“This is a nilotpala lotus.” you spoke, observing the intricate parts of the flower up close. You had a waft of its floral and sweet scent. “I’ve always wanted to see them bloom but I do not get the opportunity to see them fully bloom.” You looked up to him with bliss and with a smile.

“Is that so?” He knew, of course. He wouldn’t say it. Perhaps this would be his reward and somehow, he felt a sense of contentment seeing you in such bliss. He took the peach, effortlessly tore it in half, and gazed at you

“Truth is, your answers are all correct.” he admitted defeat with a sigh, he slowly took a bite from the other half of the peach, his eyes never leaving you. Upon hearing him, a little smile formed your lips. 

“So, you have someone on your mind?”

He then propped himself by sitting at the red carpet, just in front of you

“Indeed,” he answered.

You were surprised by the prince’s offering. He was acting unusual in a way that intrigued you. He was the busiest person inside the kingdom and never did he spare time for such trivial matters that would slow him down. And now, he’s eating a peach in front of you. You could only watch him savour the sweet peach, another bite and the juice of the fruit ran down to his chin. 

Instinctively, you wiped the juice from his chin with your thumb. He caught your wrist, guided it near his lips, and pressed your thumb gently to his lips. Upon your thumb making contact with his lips, he briefly closed his eyes before he bore and gazed back at you. Alhaitham’s eyes were half lidded and seemingly focused on you, never did it cross his mind to let your thumb break from his lips.

You were dumbfounded by the sudden action, as much as you wanted to break free from the contact, you found yourself unable to do so. As if you turned into a statue, unable to react nor say a word. For a few moments, the both of you stayed still as if trying to savor every second of the moment. 

He took the opportunity to study your face. There was no doubt that you looked exactly just like the woman in his dreams. There was no flaw, no inadequacy, no spot for him to point out and convince himself that you are not her. You are her, he’s starting to believe. For days, he never had any particular dreams about that woman again. Could it be that the dreams were no longer needed because you are here? The mysterious woman in his dreams was in front of him, thus the dreams were no longer active, he theorized. 

“My prince,” a soft and hushed voice called his attention back and it was you, flustered and heart racing from such sudden intimacy the prince showed. 

He only let out a small chuckle, pressing a small kiss by your thumb before he looked at you. “Who are you, really?” 

He gazed at you with such curious and longing eyes, as if trying to decipher and unravel the hidden divinity of you. He then kissed the knuckles of your hand, to the back of your palm, his lips touching and leaving kisses through your arms, now reaching to your shoulders and leaving a small peck to your shoulder. He then drew his lips closer to your ear, inhaling, before he spoke. 

“Tell me, please.” he rested his forehead to your shoulder, his ministrations leaving you breathless and speechless. Your body started to heat up from the proximity between you and Alhaitham. He left a single kiss by your neck before he cupped your cheek and gazed at you with such intensity. 

He gazed at you, expecting that your eyes might at least give him answers he is looking for.  You could only return the gaze with your doe like eyes scanning his face with visible frustration etched in his face. There was so much intensity between the proximity between the two of you. No words uttered from thereon, only deep breaths and fervent exchange of gaze. 

Your faces were inches away, almost like the space between the two of you was edging the both of you. Alhaitham was the kind of man who knows what he wants, he had no business with being indecisive nor mingling with people being indecisive even at the most little matters. But at this very moment, this proximity had him questioning his ability to recognize and decide. Seems like his logic and to rationalize was slowly slipping away from his mind.

“Won’t you?” he whispered, his cheek against your cheek. This was completely different from the dreams he had with you. This was the closest thing for a dream to come true. You could feel your cheeks and nape heat up. Goosebumps running through your skin, his delicate touch seemingly adding more fuel to the fire. 

And when he couldn’t resist you anymore, Alhaitham left a soft and long kiss against your plush lips. This was beyond comprehension, everything was happening all at once. A while ago you were anticipating a plausible argument and now, the esteemed and sought after prince of Sumeru is at your level and kissed a goddess who hindered herself from the growing world. 

Just before Alhaitham could deepen his kiss, a presence of two women entered his huge chambers. Just by the hallway, stood two ladies-in-waiting. They didn’t dare to interrupt nor get closer to the rather peculiar situation between the prince and you. They couldn’t comprehend what it was since Alhaitham’s back was facing them, and the kiss was angled in a rather hidden manner. As curious as they may seem, they dare not to probe their majesty.

“Your highness, we apologize for interrupting,” one of the ladies spoke, her head hung low.

Alhaitham slowly broke the kiss, his eyes half lidded. You couldn’t deny it; this man was attractive– no, he is a beautiful man. To say that he is simply attractive is an understatement, what more when the prince himself yearns more kisses from you. Upon hearing one of your ladies-in-waiting speak, you quickly hid your face by his side, as if wanting to disintegrate yourself from the embarrassment. 

“Hm,” Alhaitham hushed. “What is it?”

“We came here to escort our lady back to her chambers. It is late and she was supposed to sleep an hour ago.” she spoke, softly. 

Hearing this, Alhaitham let out a ghostly smile. “Yes, your lady here has fallen asleep on my carpet.” 

Your brows furrowed from his answer but you knew it was a better reason than telling them what had actually happened.

Alhaitham looked at the ladies, instructing them with his usual tone as if nothing happened. “Prepare her bed, I will be carrying her to her room.” 

To which they nodded and left his study chambers

And just like that, Alhaitham picked up a soft white linen from his bed and carefully covered your body so that it would not be exposed by the cold breeze of the evening. He carried you in a bridal style and still you never spoke nor looked at him again. Everything was fresh and surreal, you kept thinking about it and you never noticed that you were already being laid by him at your bed. 

You quickly hid your face upon reaching the bed and covering yourself with the blanket. 

Alhaitham only looked at you, but deep inside, he knew what you felt. He could’ve done so much if he wasn’t interrupted but he also knew it was better that things do not escalate as he wanted to know more about you and what you truly are. 

One of the ladies escorted him out of your room when he spoke.

“Be sure to fill her vase with fresh padisarah flowers by the morning.” he stopped his track as he reached outside her room. “See to it that you get a big jar and place nilotpala lotuses to it, let her tend to it once it arrives.” 

The lady nodded in response. 

“Dress her tomorrow, we will be having a stroll by the royal garden and city.” 

A/N: See ya guys on the next chapter. If you wanna be tagged, comment! | Pinned Navigation | Chapter one of CREDENCE |

[calypso-rt]

ᴏʙʟɪᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ

ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ x ᴘᴏɢᴜᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | 1.6k

ᴀ/ɴ: ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋ, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ :)

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜɪɴᴋꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴀꜰᴇ ꜱᴇᴇᴍ ᴀʙꜱᴏʟᴜᴛᴇʟʏ ᴇɴᴀᴍᴏʀᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ…ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴏʙʟɪᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ..

Stolen glances and lingering eyes should’ve been enough proof of the growing attractions.

But you and Rafe Cameron were the epitome of obliviousness.

Everyone could see it, I mean, even Rafe’s own idiotic friends noticed. The Pogues, despite their distaste for Rafe, could see it too. It was obvious from the moment he first met you…

It started months ago when you moved to the Outer Banks and snagged a summer job at the island’s country club. You were new to the chaos of island life, with its clear divides between the Kooks and the Pogues, but the country club seemed like neutral ground…well, not at all actually, but at least you were valued as an employee.

Rafe had strolled in one muggy afternoon, exuding an air of careless confidence. He was there to pick up his sister, Sarah, but you didn’t know that yet. What you did notice was how his sharp blue eyes locked onto you when you fumbled with a tray of drinks.

“You’re spilling,” he said flatly, gesturing to the condensation pooling on your tray.

“I’m fine,” you replied, your tone clipped, though you felt your cheeks warming.

But instead of brushing it off, Rafe grabbed a few napkins from the counter and handed them to you, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment. It was such a simple gesture, but you noticed the hesitation in his hand, as though he was reluctant to let go.

From then on, he started showing up at the club more often. At first, it was always with a reason: picking up Sarah, meeting friends, golfing. Yet somehow, he always ended up near your section, lounging in a chair with an iced tea, his sunglasses pushed up to his hair as he watched you dart between tables.

“You’re working too hard,” he teased one day, catching you mid-sprint. He was perched on the edge of a barstool, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show off a hint of a tan.

“Some of us don’t have the luxury of lounging around all day,” you shot back, though the way his lips twitched into a lopsided grin made your heart flutter.

As the weeks passed, the small gestures piled up. He’d linger in line just long enough to exchange a few words, his voice soft but teasing. He started carrying a spare pen in his pocket because he noticed you were always searching for one. Once, when a storm rolled in out of nowhere, Rafe showed up at the back door with an umbrella and waited until your shift ended to walk you to your car.

“It’s pouring,” you said, exasperated but touched by his effort.

“And?” he replied, tilting the umbrella slightly so more of it covered you. “Can’t have you getting sick.”

You didn’t see the way his friends smirked from across the lot or the knowing glance Sarah threw his way. But when you whispered a soft “thank you,” he smiled down at you like you’d handed him the moon.

You didn’t need to say anything else. 

Everyone knew.

It was only a matter of time.

And so here you were lounging on the sand on a little beach day. The waves were high and the sun was ablaze, illuminating your skin in a golden light.

Days like these are when the Kooks and the Pogues came to an unspoken sort of truce and shared the beachspace. They both knew where the best surfing spots were.

Lost in your little book, a shadow casts over you, and you look up to see him.

All sunkissed skin and salt-blown hair.

That easy arrogance he wore like a second skin.

“Missed the early morning waves,” you tease, perching your sunglasses on your nose as you smirk up at him, eyes glimmering in the sunrays.

“Yeah, well,” he drawled, dropping his board into the sand beside you, “not all of us have the luxury of sitting here pretending to read.”

“Pretending?” you scoffed, closing the book with an exaggerated snap. “I was deep in a chapter about existentialism before your shadow interrupted my enlightenment.”

He tilted his head, squinting at the cover. “It’s a romance novel, isn’t it?”

“It's literary fiction, thank you very much,” you said, holding the book closer to your chest in mock offense.

“Sure it is.” He sat down beside you, close enough that the side of his knee brushed yours. A deliberate move, but one he played off so casually that it would’ve gone unnoticed if your heart wasn’t already doing flips.

The others began to catch on. From the water, JJ paused mid-paddle, tilting his head like he was trying to process the scene in front of him. “Would you look at that? Rafe Cameron’s gone soft,” he muttered, elbowing Pope. “Swapped his surfboard for a... muse or something.”

Pope snorted. “More like a sparring partner,” he shot back, though the amused glint in his eyes was impossible to miss.

Under a nearby umbrella, Sarah watched the whole thing unfold, her lips quirking into a knowing smirk. Rafe was leaning in again, saying something to you that made you laugh, and for a moment, it was like the rest of the bustling beach didn’t exist to him. “Oh, he’s a goner,” she muttered, shaking her head but unable to stop smiling.

“Want a surfing lesson?” he asked, his voice low enough that it felt like a challenge.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you actually offering, or is this just an excuse to watch me wipe out?”

“Can’t it be both?”

It didn’t take much convincing. Soon, you were out in the waves, teetering on a board that felt way too narrow while Rafe stood waist-deep in the water, coaching you with infuriating patience.

“Bend your knees,” he called, arms crossed as he watched you wobble.

“I am bending my knees!” you shot back, nearly toppling over as a wave rushed past.

“Not enough. You look like a baby deer learning how to walk.”

“Keep talking, Cameron, and you’ll find yourself eating sand,” you threatened, though your laugh ruined the effect.

And when you inevitably fell, tumbling into the water with a dramatic splash, he was there. Not with mockery, but with a hand outstretched and a smirk that was far softer than it had any right to be.

“See? Told you it’d be fun,” he said, pulling you upright.

“You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you’re smiling.”

By the time you made it back to the beach, your hair a salty, tangled mess and your cheeks sore from laughing, everyone had noticed.

The months of summer passed by until it was time.

The Midsummer's party was in full swing. Golden lights strung through the trees, laughter and music mingling with the warm summer air. The Kooks were in their finest, flaunting their tailored suits and flowing dresses like it was a royal ball instead of just another night on the Outer Banks.

You had promised yourself you’d stay on the edges, blending into the background with the other staff. But somehow, Sarah had roped you into wearing one of her old dresses, a soft blue number that fit you almost too perfectly.

Rafe saw you the moment you stepped into the garden.

For a second, he didn’t move. His tie hung loose around his neck, his hair slightly mussed like he’d already run his hands through it too many times. But when his eyes locked on you, the easy confidence he usually wore seemed to falter.

He found you by the drinks table, nervously picking at a stray thread on your dress.

“You clean up well,” he said, sliding next to you with that familiar smirk, though his voice lacked its usual teasing edge.

“And you almost look respectable,” you replied, glancing at him with a soft smile.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. For once, he looked unsure, like he was debating whether to say what was on his mind.

“Listen,” he started, shifting his weight. “I was wondering if you’d want to…if you’d go with me. To this thing.”

You blinked, confused. “You mean the party we’re both already at?”

“Yes. No. I mean…” He groaned, looking away for a moment before turning back to you. “I want you to be here with me. Not as Sarah’s friend, not as the girl working the summer. Just… you and me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you couldn’t resist teasing him. “That almost sounded like a confession, Cameron.”

“It is,” he admitted, his voice softer now, his usual confidence replaced by something more sincere. His blue eyes never left yours, and for once, there was no sarcasm in sight. “I like you. I think I’ve liked you for longer than I’d care to admit... but I didn’t want to mess it up.”

You raised an eyebrow, unable to hide your smile. “So you’ve been overthinking this, huh?”

“Maybe just a little,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “But now I’m thinking it’s about time I stopped.”

You stared at him, speechless for a moment, before breaking into a grin. “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

He laughed, a genuine sound that made your heart skip a beat, and then extended his hand with a crooked grin. “Well? Are you going to leave me hanging here all night or what?”

Without overthinking it, you placed your hand in his. “Lead the way, Cameron.”

As he tugged you toward the dance floor, the chaos of the party felt like it faded into the background, the noise dimming to nothing. It was just you and Rafe, moving together, the unspoken tension finally slipping away. 

[ckret2]

Chapter 92 of Bill Cipher using his involuntary human girl disguise to give Agent Powers the manic pixie nightmare femme fatale treatment: the last step in Bill's plan to trick the agents into leaving Gravity Falls has been executed; and Ford gets an opportunity to prove he really is the twin of professional con artist Stanley Pines.

When Powers pulled into the motel parking lot with Goldie, Trigger and Dale were already there, leaning against their car, with Trigger holding a laptop balanced on one arm. Dale gave Goldie a puzzled look as the pair joined them. "Why is she...?"

"She's cleared to view this material," Powers said brusquely. "Now, let's see what's in this file."

For added security from passersby, they piled into the government vehicle, Trigger and Dale in the front, Goldie and Powers in the back. Trigger awkwardly positioned the laptop on the center console so that all four of them could see it, and then he opened up the flash drive's folder, revealing well over a hundred reports—Powers did not remember making that many reports. Together, they began skimming through the documents.

It was like being sprayed with a fire hydrant of information as his memories rushed back in.

Report after report about weird things happening in and around the Mystery Shack. They exchanged concerned murmurs during the first couple of files—"Do you remember any of this?" "No."—before they fell silent, simply reading about the paranormal hotbed of the century. Ghosts, rogue AIs, a zombie attack—some he'd remembered, some he hadn't—and yes, Powers had been able to vaguely recall the zombie attack, but only as a memory so distant and abstract it felt like a dream. But he couldn't recall how they'd been attacked by zombies.

Until now.

Their investigation had apparently discovered Stanford Pines had an extensive criminal history under multiple names, was hiding some kind of doomsday weapon in the shack, stole radioactive waste from a... government facility...? hm.

Goldie nudged Powers and muttered, "Hey. Weren't you investigating here because a tipster reported there was somebody dangerous in the shack?"

He nodded slowly. "Could be."

Trigger was frowning deeper and deeper with each report. "How could we have just forgotten all of this? I wrote half of these! I—I remember them now, but... but now it feels like I never didn't remember." He looked at Powers in confusion. "We... didn't remember this earlier, did we? Didn't we have no idea what was happening in this town...?"

"We didn't," Powers said firmly.

"I think something's coming to me," Dale said. "About the doomsday weapon. I only came into town at the end of your investigation for the big raid on the shack—"

"I completely forgot about the raid," Trigger said with quiet horror.

"—but I—I remember the gravitational anomalies. Gravity kept turning off and on. Our cars were floating around."

"We were trying to find the doomsday weapon beneath the Mystery Shack," Trigger went on. "Somebody found a secret door in the gift shop..."

Powers murmured, "The moment we lost our memories."

For a split second, from his peripheral vision, Powers saw a flash of something almost triumphant in Goldie's face before her expression turned serious again. It nearly confused him until he recalled that only the other three of them were having their normal lives upended by the discovery of what had been done to their minds. For Goldie, there was no normal life to upend. She already knew her mind had been destroyed by at least one encounter with the Blind Eye. What was a horror to them must have been a relief to her: the missing pieces finally falling back into place.

He took her hand; he wasn't sure whether for her comfort or his own.

Trigger scrolled quickly through several more reports—by now, just glimpsing the first few lines of each report was enough to unlock the buried memories. "This is everything we should have known last summer."

"It fills in all the gaps," Dale said. "It doesn't explain how we forgot it all, but..."

"Maybe some kind of... psychic defense field...?"

"Anything's possible. Once we get that equipment to scan the walls for electronics..."

Powers had tuned out Trigger and Dale's conversation. He was thinking about Stanford Pines—the con artist with multiple PhDs who had spent most of the seventies in several countries at once, according to everything their investigation had dug up. His past was so muddled they'd even entertained the possibility that there were multiple people who'd used Stanford Pines's identity—he had a dead twin brother (allegedly), it was difficult to tell whose trail was whose. But after everything he'd learned today, he'd begun to wonder about Stan Pines again.  About how he'd managed to find that radioactive waste. About his doomsday weapon.

"Memory gun," Goldie said, dragging Powers's attention back to the present.

Trigger and Dale stared at her. "What?"

She nudged Powers, "We found blueprints in the museum for a gun that erases memories—and a huge cache of stolen memories. Some secret society in town has been using it."

"Society of the Blind Eye," Powers said, taking over the explanation. "They're in cahoots with the Department of Cover-Ups to keep sensitive information secret. There's more than one active Bureau case in town." He took a deep breath. "We were on more than one Bureau case in town."

Dale's brows shot up in surprise at the same time Trigger's furrowed in confusion.

"Obviously, there's only one explanation," Goldie said, reaching toward the laptop to tap a picture of the Mystery Shack taken during one of their stake-outs. "Whatever's going on here—the DCU doesn't want anyone to know about it, including us. They called their friends in the Blind Eye to wipe our memories and keep us away from the Mystery Shack."

"'Our memories'?" Trigger echoed.

"She's with the Bureau." Powers could explain the rest later.

Goldie's theory was sound—but. But he couldn't believe Bureau's own parent department would treat its agents that way. He didn't want to believe it.

He was too afraid of the possibility to believe it.

Surely there must be another reasonable explanation. "Or, the Blind Eye betrayed the Department—and us."

He could tell by the look Goldie shot him that she hadn't considered that possibility. "Huh. It could have," she conceded. "It doesn't... doesn't quite sit right with me."

"None of this sits right with me." What did Powers do now? The agents in this town were drowning when they hadn't even realized they were in hot water. The Blind Eye, the Trembley case, the Pines case... There was something big in this town, and the police were in on it, the Bureau was in on it, he was in on it—and he didn't even know what it was or who he could trust.

But he knew where he could find out.

As Powers opened the car door, a look of panic flashed across Goldie's face. "Hold on, where are you going?"

"To the Mystery Shack. It's time we finally get to the bottom of this. I'm not leaving until I see what's behind the vending machine and find Stanford Pines."

"Whoa-whoa-whoa! You've gotta be kidding me! Tell me you're kidding me!" Powers was only halfway out of the car when she caught him by the lapel and tried to drag him back into the car. "You'd have to be crazy to go back! It's obvious somebody higher up on the food chain than us doesn't want us snooping in there—"

"Or a rogue local cult," Powers said.

"Either way!" Her grip tightened. "You got your mind erased for going there last time! Do you want to get brainwashed again?!"

The thought terrified him. But the thought of not finding out what was happening terrified him more. He couldn't afford to think about what might happen to him; he pushed the thought aside. "This time is different. They won't be expecting our arrival and they won't have time to set up—whatever they did last time," Powers said. "And even if they do, we'll be split up. That way at least two of us will remember. Trigger?"

"Yessir!" Trigger hopped out of the car after Powers.

"But—but you can't," Goldie said desperately.

"Why not?"

"Because—" Her mouth hung open for a second as she tried and failed to think of a counterargument. Then, with a low growl of frustration, she dragged him into a kiss.

For a moment he hung there, half in and half out of the car, one hand on the back of the seat and the other hovering in the air, uncertain what to do with itself, until it finally settled on Goldie's waist. And for a split second, Gravity Falls and its horrors were a thousand miles away.

But only for a second. And then he put his hand on Goldie's shoulder, gently pushed her back, and tugged her hand off his suit. Her hand was so small and delicate compared to his; and her grip was so tight he was almost afraid he'd hurt her prying her off.  "I know," he said softly. "I know. Me too." 

Her face was flush with rage, her eyes wide with terror. "But—it's—too dangerous. You know it is."

"I know. But we're all in danger until we know what's going on." He had more people than just himself to worry about. He had to worry about his team.

His whole team. Goldie had already lost so much; what would happen to her mind if she lost any more?

She struggled a moment longer to think of another argument; then let out a noise that was half sigh of defeat, half groan of frustration. "Fine. Just... Get out of here before I give into the urge to break your knees."

####

"You two are cute," Dale commented.

"He'd be cuter if he did what I said," Bill muttered. Why couldn't everyone simply obey him at all times without question! He'd even pulled out the desperate kiss routine, humans were supposed to be suckers for that corny trash! He flung himself back into his seat with an indignant huff.

The plan had been going perfectly until now. He'd convinced Powers that the government and the Blind Eye were working together. He'd convinced Powers that they'd been brainwashed. The agents opening the flash drive and discovering what they'd forgotten was supposed to seal the deal. It was the key to his plan working! It was supposed to convince the agents that their own government was behind whatever was happening in the shack and they should stay out of it. It should have terrified Powers out of Gravity Falls! Not made him charge straight back into what looked like an obvious trap!

And if he found the portal... If he got his hands on either one of the Stans and dragged him downstairs too, where he could see Bill had started repairing the portal...

Now what?

Bill scooted behind Dale and leaned around the shoulder of his seat. "Hey, you should go through the rest of the reports. Maybe there's something else important we forgot."

"Good idea." Dale settled the laptop on his knees. "Powers said you're... with the Bureau?"

"Yep, proud eagle. Cryptology expert," Bill said.

"Oh." He gave him a mildly surprised look. "Sorry, I don't think I remember you."

"No prob, Bob, I don't remember the Bureau either!"

Dale nodded slowly. "Riiight. Memory-erasing gun."

"Bingo," Bill said. "Powers and I'll tell you the whole story when we rendezvous. But maybe we should focus on the reports first, don't you think!"

"Right, of course." Dale turned his attention to the laptop.

And Bill slid out his phone and kept it behind Dale's seat, where he wouldn't notice Bill typing.

####

UNKNOWN: STAR GIRL WE HAVE A PROVBKDM

UNKNOWN: PROBLEM

UNKNOWN: APPARENTLY PANIC MAKES THUMBS SHAKE! I HATE FLESH SO MUCHH! HA HA!

MABEL: Who is this?

UNKNOWN: ITS BILL I STOLE A PHONE NOT IMPORTANT DONT TWLL ANYONE

(Ah. Mabel should have guessed that. She added his number to her phone.)

BILL: POLWERS AND TRIGGER ARE HEADWD TO THES HACK

BILL: THIA WASNT PART OF THE PLAN

BILL: TELL THE STANDS TO HIDE

BILL: STANS

MABEL: OK! I'm looking for them!

MABEL: What went wrong???

BILL: IDK THEY DIDNTR REACT LIKE THEY SHOUDL HAVE

BILL: POWERS SHOULD BE TOO TEIRFIFIED TO GET WITHIN A MILE OF THE SHACK INSTEAD HES ONT EHW WARPATH

BILL: HES FIGURED OUT WAAAAY MORE THAN HE SHOULD HAVE IDK WHATS GOING ON UNDER HIS STUPID OPAQUE SKULL

MABEL: Did they figure out we tricked them??? 🙀

BILL: NO HE BUYS IT FOR NOW. HE RAN THE WHOLE MARATHON HE JUST REFUSES TO CROSS THE FINISH LINE 

BILL: BUT IF HE GETS HSI HANDS ON THE STAND WHO KNOWS

MABEL: OK, I warned them!

BILL: GOOD! TELL THEM THEY CANT HIDE BEHIND THE VENDING MACHINE PWOERS IS HEADED THERE FIRST

MABEL: Ummm... Grunkle Ford isn't hiding. 

MABEL: He said he knows how to handle this.

BILL: NO NO NO NO NO

BILL: WAHTEVER HES DOIGN HE CANT DOT TAHAT

BILL: STAR GIRL LISTEN CAREFULLY

BILL: I NED YOU TO SCREAMJ IN HIS EAR UTNIL HIS EARDRUM RUUPTIURES. THAT SHOULD SLOW HIM DOWN

BILL: IF IT D OESNT WORK BITE HIS EAR OFF YOUR RBRACES SHOULD REALLY SHRED THE CARTILAGE 

MABEL: He asked you to send whatever you can think of that the government people know about the agents but we shouldn't know.

BILL: WHY????

MABEL: IDK!! He went downstairs to get something.

MABEL: But it sounded important!

BILL: FGINE

BILL: IF THIS GOES WRONG ITS O NHIS ARROGANT LITTLE HEAD AND TELL HIM I SAAID SO

BILL: BUT DONT SHOW HIM MY TPYOS

####

"That vending machine might be booby trapped," Trigger said as they walked toward the shack's back door. "We lost our memories just as it was opened."

"We'll find Ramirez. He must know how to get behind the machine without triggering the trap." Beyond that, Powers intended to demand that Soos produce Stanford Pines—and, if he couldn't do that, then he'd better produce some damn good answers. Powers raised a hand to knock.

A voice behind them said, "It seems I got here just in time."

Trigger and Powers whirled around. Standing on the lawn—as casual and jarring as meeting a ghost from your childhood nightmares in the grocery store soup aisle, like running into something that hadn't quite ever been real—was the superior officer who'd taken their flash drive last summer.

"You!" Trigger said. "What are you doing here?!"

The officer barked, "Stopping you two knuckleheads from blundering into the same mistake you made last summer! And you're lucky I am. If Director Gunn had done his job right and contacted me, you wouldn't have made it this far."

A jolt of alarm shot up Powers's back. Director Gunn had sent them to Gravity Falls. Or allowed them to go—he'd been reluctant to let them continue on this case. Nobody outside the Bureau should have ever even heard the code name "Director Gunn."

"Instead," the officer went on, "I had to find out what you were up to from museum security when you triggered their silent alarm! Mr. Jake Armstrong," (Trigger flinched in surprise) "Mr. Gary Walter," (and then Powers's back went stiff) "just what do you have to say for yourselves?"

He was important enough to know their names. They didn't even know each other's names.

Powers took a deep breath. "That we want to speak to Stanford Pines."

The officer snorted, and for a fleeting second his stony expression cracked as a smirk curled up one corner of his mouth. Powers couldn't believe it. He genuinely thought their request was funny.

And that—that, of all things—was what finally cut through his anger enough for a little fear to trickle through.

"Well," he said, "I'm afraid you get to speak to me."

####

Bill stared at his phone as if the force of his glare could will it into coughing up another text from Mabel; and because of that, he saw the bright colors in the emoji of Mabel's next message fifteen minutes before the message itself actually arrived, and several minutes before the message was close enough that he could actually read what it said:

MABEL: 🎉🌈😎 We won!!! 😻☀️💃

He reread the message several times, as if he expected the future message to blur and disappear as they slid sideways into a less lucky timeline. But it remained clear—a future so probable it was almost guaranteed.

How the hell had Ford done that?

####

"As you may have guessed by now, this building isn't just a cheap tourist trap," the superior officer said. "What happens in here goes over your head, gentlemen. It goes over your entire bureau. It's a matter of international security."

"Why?" Powers demanded. "What's under this shack?"

"A top secret facility," the officer said.

"For what purpose?" Trigger asked.

"That's top secret," the officer said. "This whole affair is so classified that you should never have been assigned to investigate in Gravity Falls in the first place—but it was also so classified that we couldn't tell you there was something here you shouldn't be investigating. A SNAFU we're implementing measures to prevent in the future. And you two can help by leaving and never thinking about this place again."

It all clicked into place. Of course the Mystery Shack was a government facility.

He'd almost put it together earlier, but had been too distracted by the horror of realizing all he'd forgotten—but it was odd that Stan Pines had known exactly where to find that radioactive waste, much less how to get it all in and out of the facility in one night, wasn't it? Almost as if someone else had given him instructions on how to get it. Odd that based on the reports they'd found in the flash drive—and their resurfacing memories—it seemed that Stan had been on the verge of using a doomsday weapon... and then hadn't. As if it were a test. Odd that a "superior officer" had just so happened to come by so soon after the doomsday weapon's near activation, right after they'd forgotten everything. As if he were already on site.

It would have been utterly astounding if it wasn't so disgusting. The Department of Cover-Ups had covered up their own tracks so heavily that they'd gotten investigated by their own sub-department. And who had paid the price?

"It's too late for that," Powers said. "We already investigated it, we know something's happening here, and your attempt to make us forget failed. And I think we have a right to know what's in here that was worth erasing our memories over!"

"I'm afraid that's not possible," the officer said.

"Why not?" Trigger demanded. "All we want is to see it! We're not going to tell anyone—we're on the same side!"

Powers was closer to the shack than the officer was—and for the moment, the officer was focused on Trigger. Part of him was tempted to turn around, kick in the door, and head straight for that vending machine. If it came to a fight, it was two against one.

The officer said, "Because you already know too much! In fact, I'd be giving you the same treatment you got last year if I wasn't so sure that forgetting what happened again would just make you come straight back to town searching for it again."

Powers was suddenly acutely aware of the strap across the officer's chest leading to a shape at his hip that could only be seen when his coat moved just right—a shape the size of a bulky gun. And suddenly, the idea of turning his back on the officer seemed impossible.

"And you should consider yourselves lucky you get to leave with your memories," the officer went on. "The side-effects of repeated mind wipes aren't pretty. You've got a genetic predisposition for Alzheimer's, don't you, Mr. Walter? Your mother?" (Angry bile surged up his throat. His mother had been in a memory care facility for the past two years.) "We don't know yet if the gun exacerbates those odds. I'd hate for you to help us find out."

"Then you could have let us go last year!" Powers said. "If you'd just told us we'd stumbled into some secret operation and sent us home, we couldn't have done anything about it!" And if he was honest with himself, it wasn't the secret happenings under this second-rate tourist trap that bothered him. In this job he'd seen everything from A to Z—aliens to zombies. He doubted anything could truly shock him. No—what really bothered him was how he'd been kept from finding out. "Why didn't you just let us go last year?"

"For one thing, that's not how my department operates." (Powers had assumed Gravity Falls was an aberration. What made him so sure people weren't getting their memories erased all over the nation? What did he really know about how the Department of Cover-Ups worked?) "And for another," the officer said, "we needed a good excuse to test the long-range memory gun. And there you were, with several dozen men."

There you were. The words hit like a hammer to the heart. In the corner of his eye he could see Trigger turn toward him, looking for guidance; but Powers couldn't turn to meet his gaze. There they were, convenient guinea pigs for a weapon of mass amnesia. Was that all their government saw them as?

While Powers was feeling the bottom of his stomach drop out and plunge into the dark as his life upended itself, the officer's expression didn't even twitch. His stare was stony and unsympathetic, the creases in his cheeks and between his brows sharpened by the hard line of his mouth.

But although his expression didn't change, his voice did. It dropped into a wholly different accent, slower, smoother—and far more menacing. "You see, we'll take any measures necessary to ensure that this town's secrets... remain buried." The chill in the officer's voice seemed better suited to the dark hidden chambers collecting dust under the museum, the cold cavern beneath the angel in the graveyard. The man with the voice from the Blind Eye's stolen memories looked directly in Agent Powers's eyes and said, "Is my meaning clear?"

Powers's throat went dry.

Trigger had immediately tensed when the officer changed his voice, even though he couldn't know what it meant. (Or did he? Had he heard the voice once and forgotten, Powers wondered? Was it coming back?) "Sir, what's going...?"

"Yessir," Powers said hoarsely. "Perfectly clear."

The ghost of a smile twisted one corner of the superior officer's mouth. "So. What is going on here, agent?" His voice had returned to his usual gruff, militant bark. That was his real voice, Powers realized; hearing him in person, it was much more obvious  than it had been in the recordings just how fake his British accent was. He must be working with the Society of the Blind Eye undercover—which meant this was his real job.

Powers should have listened to Goldie. She'd been right. It was stupid to think the Blind Eye might have backstabbed the government. The Blind Eye was the government.

In his mind's eye, he could see his own face twisted in terror, his arms strapped into the same chair where Goldie had been restrained as she'd lost her mind—just another video amongst the thousands that had been literally forgotten in the museum basement.

He swallowed hard. "Weather balloon," he said. "Or—or meteor shower. Nothing happened here."

The officer nodded sharply. "You're a smart man, Mr. Walter." He turned to Trigger. "What about you, Mr. Armstrong?"

Trigger gave Powers a bewildered look. For a moment, he looked ready to argue; but a sharp look from Powers deflated him. "Nothing unusual to report, sir," he said grudgingly.

"Good." The superior officer tilted his head. "I think your car's over there."

Powers could feel the hairs on the back of his neck raising as he walked away. He had to force himself not to glance over his shoulder to see if a memory gun was pointing at his back.

"What was that?" Trigger whispered. "Do you know him from somewhere else?"

"I'm afraid we all do."

"Where would—?"

"Later." Not until they got back to Dale.

And Goldie.

####

(Another chapter where I don't think I made any changes due to TBOB except futzing around with department names. But for TBOB-unrelated reasons, this one went through HEAVY revisions: initially Powers accepted Bill's version of the story much more easily, but then I went, no. We should terrify Bill a little first. And give Ford more to do.

I thought this chapter was gonna be the wrap-up, but then it doubled in length so I split it in two lmao. Next week for sure. Let me know what you think!!)

[pagesfromthevoid]

I literally can't stop thinking about Thunderbolts and how emotional it is. I desperately want to eat snacks with Bob in his reading nook

OKAY BUT SAME. I have a book nook and I just KNOW that man is so content in his corner because it’s my favorite spot too. With one of those big comfy chaise chairs?? Hear me out….

For the first few months after the Incident™️ (as the Thunderbolts group chat has deemed it), Bob isn’t very social. He feels bad, and he’s waiting for any and all of this…niceness to go away.

It always does.

The one thing he finds solace in is this little corner by the window that he’s deemed his. At first, it’s just a pillow and some throw blankets he piles up and sits in because that’s all he really has. But then, a chaise chair shows up one day. Nothing fancy, but big enough for at least three people for some reason.

He tests the waters because he was really content with his little blanket corner. But the chair is really nice, and it’s so comfortable. And it’s nice to have because he sleeps better when he’s around the others so he naps whenever they’re around in the corner.

Then a bookshelf shows up. Not a big one. Just one of those Billy bookcases from IKEA. But it’s sitting there, with the stack of books he had collected set up neatly on it. There’s empty space for him to add more. It’s hard to focus on books for long periods of time but that’s okay, because now he can just…set them on the shelf.

More books show up slowly over time. Little sticky notes from the team on the covers, telling him they thought he’d like them (he uses them as bookmarks).

You leave him a book one day. Bright pink sticky note on the inside cover that says:

Thought of you when I saw the cover. I hope you like it. Let me know —I’m reading it too.

He has to out the note in the back because he gets distracted, reading it over and over instead of the actual book.

He’s about halfway through the book a month later, still trying to focus on it, when he finally feels like he can kind of talk about the book without sounding stupid.

He waits for you to walk by before he says anything.

“Hey, I’m —I’m almost done with that book,” he says, holding it up.

He swears to god that his heart melts when your entire mood shifts. You’re excited, and your smile is contagious and god, he made you smile like that? Can he keep doing that?

“I haven’t had a chance to read it in a week or so,” you explain, but you hold up a finger. “Give me a sec, I’ll be right back.”

And you are right back. Book in hand and a bag of chips. And you don’t even hesitate to take up the empty space next to him, opening to the last page you left on. Bob almost cries when he sees he’s only a chapter behind you.

“Catch up, and we can talk about it.” You offer, settling into the chaise —though you’re careful not to touch him. He appreciates that you don’t mind he’s a little alarmed by touch but he’s too happy to care. He settles in close to you, shoulder brushing yours gently.

The two of you are too absorbed in your book to notice that members of the team keep dropping things off on the shelf.

Yelena brings a bag of M&Ms. Ava two cups of tea. Bucky doesn’t leave anything, but he watches with a soft grin. They ban Alexei from bugging you two, but he leaves a pizza for actual dinner. And John is about to leave condoms —mostly as a joke —but Bucky smacks him upside the head. Then the arguing starts.

That’s what brings you two to attention for the first time in a few hours.

Bob wouldn’t trade it for the world though.

[moonstruckme]

can we get sleepy reader x sleepy remus where they just the most perfect night routine designed for sleep

Can I get a nighttime routine with sleepy remus is the real question (pleasepleaseplease)

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 613 words

Remus likes to keep the thermostat low at night, so you’re burrowed under your thick comforter, lying on your stomach with one of your legs stuck out awkwardly to touch his. Your boyfriend is sitting up half out of the covers (you don’t know how he can stand it) and sipping chamomile tea while he reads. 

Ordinarily you’d be reading too, but you’ve fallen into a stint of obsession with sudoku. The light from your candle warmer casts an orange glow over your notebook, your bedroom pleasantly saturated with the smell of bergamot and caramel. You’re partway through your sixth box of the nine, and you’re starting to doubt your ability to finish tonight, though you’re loath to leave a puzzle half done. 

It’s the fault of the warmth emanating from Remus underneath the covers, and the light sound of pages flipping, and the pleasant ache in your muscles from the stretches you make him do every night even though you don’t love having to get up and do them either. It’s the softness of your sheets, and the chirping of crickets outside your window, and worst of all the unbelievable plumpness of the pillow squished underneath your elbows, where it’d be so easy to drop your forehead down to rest above your notebook for only a minute…

“You’re getting tired.” Remus sounds amused. 

You turn your head, and he looks it too, his eyes honey-gold in the warm light. There’s a soft curve to one side of his mouth. 

“I thought nothing could distract you from your reading,” you accuse. 

“You can.” He folds the corner of his page, closing the book. His mug clinks as he sets it on the nightstand, empty. “Ready to turn the lights off?” 

“I haven’t finished the puzzle,” you argue. 

“It’ll still be there in the morning.” He puts his book next to his mug. 

“And you’re not at the end of a chapter,” you say as he takes the pen from your hand and the notebook out from under you, piling them neatly on top of his book on the nightstand. 

“Silly as it may sound, the same principle applies to book chapters as sudoku puzzles.” 

You can’t find it in you to argue further, humming your acquiescence as you turn onto your side and cozy up to him. Remus smiles and slides down beside you underneath the covers. He lets you worm your fingers under his ribs, touching the tip of his warm nose to your cold one. 

“One of us still needs to turn off the candle lamp,” he whispers. 

You groan. Resignation finds its way into your boyfriend’s expression even before you make yours as pleading as can be, eyes big and pitiful. 

“Can you do it?” you ask sweetly. 

Remus sighs as he gets out of bed, and you press your lips together to quell a smile. A few seconds later, the candle warmer’s light clicks off and he’s slinking back in beside you, long limbs still warm. 

“Thanks, handsome.” You take one of his hands in yours, kissing it and pulling it with you as you roll over and snuggle your back to his front. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, a smile in his tone. He slides his other arm underneath you. The room is nearly pitch black, only some silvery-blue moonlight bleeding in from the window along with the cricket sounds, and Remus’ cinnamony scent blurs together with the ones from your candle. 

“Night,” you sigh, already half gone. “Love you.” 

“I love you, too.” Remus’ voice sounds considerably softer now. He lays a soft kiss on the back of your head, palm splaying flat over your chest. “Night, darling.”

[ariestrxsh]

brattamer!matt x brat!reader

🥀 content warning: smut, sneaking around, degradation, oral(f!receiving), rough unprotected sex, hair pulling, getting caught, enemies to lovers

🥀 summary: despite him being your worst enemy, you and matt can't keep your hands off each other, and you get even riskier in your sexual encounters

dividers by @/cyberangel-graphics

Hatef--k

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

[ back to Hatef--k masterlist ] ↖

"You're even crazier than I thought if you think I'm sleeping on the couch," Matt sneered at me while we stood beneath the warm water. "It's not like you're going to be sleeping there the whole night. Just for the first little bit until we can both sneak into your room," I loudly whispered, rinsing the conditioner out of my hair. Matt rolled his eyes, but he didn't fight me on it. I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower and onto the fuzzy bath mat.

My heart dropped when I realized not only my clothes were on the tile floor of the bathroom, but so were Matt's. I turned to him with a stunned look and whispered through my teeth, "Nick knows." Matt looked at me confused, "what are you talking about?" I pointed at his bunched up clothes thrown haphazardly into a disheveled pile near the door. There's no way Nick didn't see them when he poked his head into the bathroom earlier, and he was certaintly smart enough to connect the dots.

"A pile of clothes doesn't mean shit. It could have been from earlier," Matt suggested, shrugging his shoulders and wrapping a towel around his waist. "Yeah, but you didn't shower earlier. You showered with me, and now your wet hair is going to give us away, too," I groaned, admiring the way the little droplets on Matt's chest slowly rolled down his stomach, trying to think on my feet but getting distracted by how hot he was. "Clothing on the floor is not a dead giveaway for anything. No one knows until they catch us in the act. If anyone asks you, deny, deny, deny. Until then, you assume they know nothing," Matt responded in a hushed voice.

I dried myself off and got dressed, making sure to gather my towel, my clothes, and most importantly, my vibrator. I peeked out of the bathroom door, looking both ways before glancing back at Matt and whispering, "The coast is clear." The two of us tiptoed down the hallway, and Matt snuck back into his room before anyone saw while I realized I'd left my bag in Nick's room. Shit.

I was nervous to face him in case he asked me a question I couldn't answer or was going to try to get me to admit what Matt and I had been doing. I knocked on Nick's door, hiding my vibrator under the towel I was holding. When Nick opened the door, he already knew what I was there for, "hey, need your tote bag?" He inquired. "Yes, please," I grinned at him as he let me into his room to grab it. "I can take your towel and clothes and put them -" Nick began to say, reaching out for the mess of fabric in my arms. "No!" I cut him off. "Thank you, Nick. But you've already done so much for me. I can take these to the laundry room myself." Nick shot me a look like he knew that I was being weird.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" Nick asked, staring inquisitively at me as if he could read the answers on my face. "About what?" I asked, playing dumb and avoiding eye contact. I was used to playing dumb to get boys' attention, but this was the first time I'd played dumb to try to get the attention off of me, and for some reason, it was way harder. "You're acting weird," Nick commented. "Well, everything's fine. Thanks for asking," I told him, grabbing my bag, carrying my heap of clothes, and concealing my vibrator underneath the fabric while I made my way into Matt's room.

A couple of hours later, Nick and Chris had both fallen asleep in their rooms, and I decided to text Matt, who was downstairs on the couch. "Please come up here. I need you more than anything right now," I typed out and hit send.

A few minutes later, Matt quietly came into the room, closing the door silently so no one would hear the door latch. "Needy little whore. Need me again, huh?" He whispered, shooting me a devious smile. I nodded and chewed on my lower lip. Matt pulled back the blanket that covered me and looked at me hungrily as he examined my naked body that lay vulnerable in front of him. "Get on your hands and knees. Now," Matt demanded. "Make me," I told him, not moving a muscle. He brutishly grabbed me by my waist and flipped me over in one fell swoop.

Before I knew it, I was on my stomach with my face buried in a pillow, and Matt's skillful hands were tightly grabbing either side of my hips. "Put your ass in the air, and if you don't listen to me, I won't let you cum tonight." Fuck. Matt knew how to get me to do what he wanted. I reluctantly obeyed him, surrendering all power to him, considering he had my orgasm-to-be in the palm of his hand and could crush my dreams at any moment he decided to pull away and leave me to my own devices.

All of a sudden, I felt his hands on my bottom and his soft, wet mouth as he began to graze my folds. I let out a soft moan while Matt continued teasing me. "You love getting eaten out from the back, don't you, you little whore?" He asked in a hoarse whisper. "Mhmm," I whimpered back. Matt moaned against my pussy, sending a vibration through my core while he prodded me with his velvety tongue. He spread me open and started suckling on my clit while he flicked his tongue across it. The combination of the different parts of his mouth working together while he had me bent over drove me wild.

Then he teased my slit with his finger and gently slipped it into my hole. "Oh my god," I sighed. He picked up the pace, causing me to bite on my fist to keep from screaming out his name. "Don't you dare cum yet, you little bitch. You'll finish when I tell you that you can," Matt growled, which brought me even closer to the edge. There was something about not being allowed to cum and not being able to make a whole lot of noise that made it significantly more difficult to keep myself from doing both, but having those limitations placed on me also made this particular sexual interaction even hotter.

My mind started to wander. What if I did let myself make noise? What if Chris and Nick did catch us? What if Nick could hear us through the wall and he was thinking about what a little whore I was for sneaking around with his brother? What if Chris walked in on us and wanted to join? I knew Matt would think I was such a little slut if he knew what thoughts were playing on my mind.

He explored every inch of the vessel between my legs, lapping up all my wetness and probing me with his finger. I did everything in my power to hold on, and right before I tipped past the point of no return, Matt ceased all stimulation. "No, no, please. Don't stop," I begged him, traumatized from all the times he had edged me over the course of the day and terrified he was about to do it again.

Instead, I felt his erection poking me while he felt around for my entrance. I delighted in the sensation as he pushed in his throbbing cock. "Oh," I gasped as he thrust his hips forward, stretching me out. "Little slut. Love getting fucked from behind," Matt grunted, starting to roughly pound me. He was right. I did love it. "What if we gave my brothers something to listen to, hmm?" He smugly laughed as if reading my thoughts. "Oh, fuck," I whined before I buried my face in the pillow to keep my desperate sounds muffled. "I know you wanna get caught, fucking whore," Matt huskily said into my ear. His thrusts were calculated, methodical, and drawn out.

"Faster," I moaned out louder than I meant to. "Beg for it, cunt," he rasped. "Please. Faster," I pathetically called out. "It doesn't sound like you really want it," Matt responded back, laughing to himself. "Fuck, Matt. Please fuck me faster and harder. I'm begging you," you pleaded with him at a slightly higher volume than before. "Jesus. I didn't say beg louder," he hushed me. "If you don't start fucking me harder and faster right fucking now, I'll scream your name until the whole house is awake," I threatened, looking back at him. He rolled his eyes and obliged, clapping into me with all his strength and stamina while I did my best to keep my whimpers to a minimum while he grabbed ahold of my hair and pulled on it.

"Please let me cum," I breathlessly begged. "Not yet," Matt gruffed. "Matt, please, I can't hold out much longer," I cried out, vision blurring and legs trembling. Matt's moans started to become more careless and less restrained. I could tell he was starting to get close as well. "Cum on my cock right this second, you little whore," Matt grunted while he fervently bucked his hips, using his grip on my hair as leverage.

I immediately felt my orgasm wash over me like a wavering tide that was determined to pull me under, and I surrendered to it. I was a moaning, writhing puddle of a pathetic woman beneath Matt as he finished into me. I could feel his member pulsing inside of me, enhancing the pleasure for us both. I couldn't get enough of him. I couldn't get enough of the power he held over me, and he knew it.

"Matt, please sleep here with me in your bed tonight," I begged him after he pulled himself out of me. "Of course, sweetheart," he said in a kinder voice, pulling me into his chest and kissing me on the lips and then again on my forehead. I was taken aback by his sudden gentle demeanor, but I didn't question it. I relished in how soft his presence felt wrapped around me, how safe I felt, and how at home I felt in his arms. I nestled myself into his neck and held onto him tightly. I didn't want to admit it, because Matt was disgusting, vile, and perverted, and there were times I wanted nothing to do with him, but in that moment, I found myself wishing I were his. We slowly drifted off to sleep intertwined with one another..

The next morning, I awoke to the sound of Nick's voice. "I knew it!" He exclaimed, and I panicked, realizing Matt was still in bed with me, spooning me while we both lay naked under the covers. "Fuck," Matt groaned, waking up and rubbing his eyes. "It all makes sense now," Chris said, standing on the other side of Nick. "I knew you guys hated each other a little too much," Nick smirked, putting the pieces together. Matt and I glanced at each other wide-eyed and embarrassed by having been caught. "Does this mean you're gonna ask her out, Matt?" Chris smiled, nudging his brother.

"You know, you guys have no boundaries," Matt responded, grabbing his pillow and hitting Chris in the stomach with it. "I don't get it. Is this just a hate fuck or are you in love with her?" Nick wondered, smiling at Matt. "Both. Now get the fuck out," Matt replied, launching the pillow at both his brothers. His response surprised me. Did Matt just admit to being in love with me?

"You guys are asking me questions that we haven't even had a chance to discuss yet, so if you could kindly get the fuck out of my room, I'd appreciate it. Thanks for putting us on the spot."

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 14

˗ˏˋ laundry day ˎˊ˗

"Doing laundry should be a normal activity—not something that brings out a whole new set of revelations about Jungkook you were not even fathoming. And you don’t know if it’s helping old ladies, tying your shoes or collecting stupid vynils—but you don’t like how it’s throwing off your whole perception of your annoying roommate."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8k

content: laundry rooms, old ladies that have a vendetta against you?, jungkook being a decent human being, batman socks, vynil revelations, humanizing jungkook and not liking it

✧ author's note ✧

Hello again little gremlins! It’s your girl, Kiki—back with another dose of Jungkook being emotionally compromised and having weird feelings about vulnerability.

SO. This chapter is… fairly slow-paced, which, duh—have you read my stuff? I went HAM on the introspection here, but I think it was so needed. Sometimes we need this type of chapter to balance the narrative out. I think it’s worked out beautifully, but do let me know your thoughts at the end.

About the goal thing! In case you’ve been living under a rock (or you don’t check my Tumblr regularly—which, fair), I have decided to switch my update schedule system.

Previously, I had been working with a weekly schedule as you all know. This has been quite easy for me to maintain because I work with hyperfixations, and basically ADHD.

The thing is… it’s a 2 month cycle.

I’m basically on week 7/8 already.

And that brings me to The Point. Goal-based update system. Which just means I’ll continue posting as long as we reach the established goals in every chapter. I’m going to be creating a whole post explaining how it works, but, long story short—as long as we reach either the goal in Tumblr OR Wattpad, we’ll be getting more chapters!

This is basically a self-regulation thing. I am self-aware (luckily) and I know how to work with my ADHD—but for those who don’t know; it’s heavily tied to dopamine. Which just means (I’m not gonna get nerdy I swear), I basically need engagement to trick my brain into staying motivated. Otherwise dopamine hits get slowly weaker and at some point I literally cannot bring myself to write.

WHICH SUCKS. Because I do love my stories, and I love sharing them. But burnout is real and brains work in funny ways and I can’t really fight my ADHD or brain chemistry (trust me I wish I could). So this is how you guys are going to help me tame this bitch. WE RIDE AT DOWN. 🤝

And before anyone asks—no, this is not up for debate. This is not something I’m “considering” or “open to feedback on.” This is me taking care of my mental health and working with my ADHD instead of against it. It’s not an “excuse,” it’s just how my brain operates. If that bothers you… I literally do not know what to tell you.

Anyways, as always, I love you all, I’m reading all your comments and reblogs and asks, and do check the note goal at the very end! 🩷

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

It's fucking weird how some people's clothes have a gravitational pull, like they're magnets and your body is just helplessly metal. 

You're wearing his sweater. The same one that's been mocking you from your desk chair for the last twenty-four hours, just sitting there in all its navy blue glory, smelling like rain and testosterone and bad decisions. You don't know why you haven't tossed it back into his room yet. It's been staring you down all morning, a silent accusation of...something.

But now it's almost midday on Sunday, and your pile of dirty clothes has reached critical mass. Your laundry basket is basically a textile Mount Everest. You'd wear something clean, except there isn't anything clean left—not unless you count the questionable tank top you found at the back of your drawer that you're pretty sure you wore to a frat party sophomore year.

So. Jungkook's sweater it is.

You tell yourself it's just practical. Totally logical. It's uncharacteristically chilly outside, the first whisper of almost September creeping in, and you need something to cover your ridiculous pajama shorts for the trek to the basement laundry room. They're flowery and pale pink, paired with an equally ridiculous oversized t-shirt featuring a cartoonish sunflower with the words "HAVE A SUNFLOWER DAY!" emblazoned across your chest in neon yellow.

Not exactly the look you'd choose for running into anyone with functioning eyeballs, but it's Sunday, and your give-a-fuck meter is hovering at absolute zero.

It's not like you're going to run into anyone important anyway. Miguel the super probably won't be down there; he's usually sleeping off his Saturday night till at least 2PM. And the chances of meeting some hot neighbor—your future spouse who'll be so charmed by your sunflower ensemble that they'll propose on the spot—are basically nonexistent.

Actually, scratch that. 

Even if some dream person did materialize in the laundry room today, they wouldn't see the sunflower masterpiece because it's hidden under Jungkook's stupidly oversized hoodie. The one that somehow hangs past your shorts, making it look like you're not wearing pants at all, which is a whole different kind of disaster.

Whatever. It's warm. It doesn't smell like him anymore. (It does.) And you're just using it. Borrowing it. Temporarily occupying its fabric space.

You scoop up your overflowing laundry basket and wrestle it onto your hip. The elevator in this building moves with all the urgency of continental drift, so you opt for the stairs. Three flights down isn't horrible, especially since the laundry room is conveniently right next to the stairwell exit.

"Just put it in his room later," you mutter to yourself, adjusting the hoodie. 

You could've done that yesterday when he tossed it at you, but you didn't, and you're not thinking about why.

You check your pocket for quarters and detergent pods. 

The whole ritual is familiar now—Sunday laundry day, another week of adulting successfully completed without burning the building down or getting evicted. Not that the bar should be that low, but hey, after the month you've had, you'll take the wins where you can get them.

As you start down the stairs, the hoodie falls past your hand, and you absently tug it back up, trying not to think about how the collar brushes against your cheek or how the cuffs hang past your fingertips. 

And you definitely aren't thinking about the fact that you're surrounded by the scent of him with every breath you take.

Because that would be weird, right? Being conscious of wearing your roommate's clothes? The roommate you occasionally fuck? The one who took you to buy a vibrator yesterday before subjecting you to lunch with his overly-protective friend?

Right. Not weird at all.

You're just doing laundry, in ridiculous pajamas, wearing his hoodie because it's practical. That's the story, and you're sticking to it—even if the sleeves smell faintly of his soap when you lift your hand to push your hair out of your face.

The stairwell is quiet, just the echo of your worn-out sneakers slapping against the concrete steps. You shift the basket to your other hip, huffing slightly under its weight. 

Maybe you should've done laundry sooner. Maybe you shouldn't wait until you're literally out of underwear every single time. 

But then again, maybe you should focus on the stairs and not on the fact that your bare thighs occasionally brush against the soft inner lining of his hoodie.

Adulthood is just a series of mundane chores punctuated by questionable decisions. And today, apparently, that includes wearing Jungkook's hoodie to do your laundry.

No big deal. You'll wash your clothes, return his sweater, and the universe will continue spinning on its axis, completely unaffected by your poor wardrobe choices.

The door to the laundry room is propped open with a cinder block—probably Mrs. Patel from 4C forgetting to remove it again. You shift your basket one final time and head in, already mentally claiming the good dryer, the one that doesn't sound like it's harboring a demon when it hits the spin cycle.

It's just laundry day. Just another Sunday. 

And the laundry room is still a goddamn joke.

Because let’s be real—whoever thought six washing machines and four dryers could service an entire apartment building was either a sadist or never did laundry in their life. 

And on Sundays? 

It's like watching vultures circle a carcass—everybody desperate for their turn at the machines, glaring at anyone who takes too long to transfer their clothes.

Dona Ramirez is already there, of course. The seventy-something retiree who treats the laundry room like her personal kingdom and you like an invading barbarian. She's currently guarding the Good Dryer—the one you had mentally claimed seconds ago.

Just. Fucking. Great.

She looks up as you enter, lips pursing like she's just bitten into something sour. Her eyes travel from your face down to your bare legs and back up again, judgment radiating from her in palpable waves.

"Good morning," you mutter, aiming for polite but landing somewhere around constipated.

"Hmph." Dona sniffs, turning back to her women's magazine. "Young people these days. No shame."

You bite back the urge to point out that it's literally just your legs showing, not your entire ass. It wouldn't matter anyway. In Dona's world, anything above the ankle is basically pornographic.

Shifting your heavy basket to your other hip, you make your way to the only empty washing machine—wedged in the back corner, naturally. The one that sometimes stops mid-cycle like it's having an existential crisis. You slam your basket down with more force than necessary.

"Careful with the machines," Dona mutters without looking up from her magazine. "They're not getting any younger."

Neither are you, standing here taking shit from the laundry room gatekeeper.

"Sorry," you say, not sorry at all.

You start sorting your clothes, creating separate piles for darks and lights. Dona continues to flip pages, totally unbothered. Or maybe bothered. You can’t tell and frankly don’t care. 

As you're separating your darks, something catches your eye. Orange hair. Lots of it, actually, clinging to your black leggings and that navy shirt you wore when you were studying on the couch last week.

Griffin.

That little furry infiltrator has been shedding all over your clothes again. Despite the fact that your door is always closed. Despite the "no pets" clause in your lease that Jungkook blatantly ignores. Despite your best efforts to maintain some semblance of a cat-hair-free existence.

And yet...

You find yourself smiling slightly as you pluck a particularly long orange strand from your favorite black sweater. The traitorous little shit must have snuck into your room when you were in the shower yesterday. You'd caught him curled up on your bed when you came out, looking entirely too comfortable and completely unapologetic about the invasion.

He'd just blinked at you lazily, that slow "yes, I know I'm not supposed to be here, and no, I don't care" cat-blink that somehow manages to be both insulting and endearing at the same time.

You should be annoyed. You should definitely tell Jungkook to keep his feline menace away from your clean laundry basket. You should not find it even remotely charming that Griffin seems to have decided your clothes are his second-favorite napping spot (right after your pillow, the little asshole).

And yet here you are, pulling orange fur off your black clothes with something dangerously close to fondness. 

What the fuck is happening to you?

Maybe it's sleep deprivation. 

Or maybe it's the fact that Griffin is actually kind of cool, for a cat. 

He doesn't have that typical cat superiority complex—he just genuinely doesn't give a shit about anything except food, sunbeams, and antagonizing Jungkook. 

It's a lifestyle you can respect.

Plus, he has this way of curling up next to you when you're reading, just close enough to leech your body heat without actually admitting he wants your attention. It's like living with a tiny, furry version of his owner.

Not that you'd ever admit that particular observation out loud.

You dump your dark clothes into the washing machine, mentally calculating how much detergent to add. Dona shuffles to check her wash cycle, eyeing you suspiciously like you might try to sabotage her laundry when she's not looking.

"Cold day," she comments, which is probably the most conversational she's ever been with you.

"Yeah," you reply, not looking up from measuring detergent. "Came early this year."

She hums disapprovingly, like the weather is also your fault. "Wearing your boyfriend's clothes won't keep you warm forever."

For a split second, your brain halts. 

Boyfriend? What boyfriend? And then—

Ah. 

The hoodie.

Jungkook's hoodie that you're swimming in.

Something about her smug certainty, that look that says she's got you all figured out, makes you want to burn the whole goddamn building down. Or at least throw a very minor wrench in her worldview.

"It's my girlfriend's, actually," you say, the lie sliding off your tongue with practiced ease.

There. Take that, you judgmental old bat. Let's see how your 1950s sensibilities handle—

"Even worse," Dona sniffs, not missing a beat. "Girls these days, always stealing each other's clothes. You'll never build a proper wardrobe that way."

Wait, what?

You blink, momentarily thrown. That's... not the reaction you were expecting. No pearl-clutching. No horrified gasps. Just... practical fashion advice?

"I—"

"My granddaughter does the same thing," she continues, adjusting the scarf around her neck with arthritic fingers. "Comes home wearing her girlfriend's sweatshirts, twice her size. Looks like she's drowning in fabric. No shape whatsoever. You young people and your oversized clothes." She clicks her tongue. "In my day, we wore things that fit."

Well, shit.

So much for your brilliant plan to scandalize the old lady. 

Turns out Dona's not a homophobe—she's just a fashion critic. Equal opportunity judgment for all. How progressive of her.

"Right," you mutter, feeling weirdly chastised. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind."

"Hmph." She turns back to her laundry, seemingly satisfied that she's dispensed enough wisdom for one day.

You're still processing this unexpected twist when the laundry room door creaks open behind you, letting in a draft of cooler air. 

You don't need to turn around to know who it is. 

Something in the atmosphere shifts immediately—molecules rearranging themselves, air particles getting all excited, the very fabric of space-time bending to accommodate his presence.

Or maybe that's just your pulse doing that annoying thing where it decides to race for no good reason.

"Well, well, well."

His voice is sleep-rough and amused, and you can already picture the exact expression on his face without looking. 

That stupid half-smirk. That cocked eyebrow. That look that says he's caught you doing something you shouldn't.

You turn slowly, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fact that you're suddenly, acutely aware that you're wearing his fucking hoodie over your ridiculous pajamas.

Jungkook stands in the doorway, laundry basket propped against his hip, looking unfairly good for someone who's probably just rolled out of bed. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in tufts. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and those stupid gray sweatpants that look way too good on him, and his feet are bare—the absolute psychopath. Who walks around a gross apartment building with no shoes?

His eyes drop immediately to the hoodie, and his eyebrow arches even higher.

"Interesting fashion choice, Phoenix," he says, lips twitching.

Your face heats. "Laundry day," you say, as if that explains everything.

As if borrowing—okay, stealing—his clothes is a perfectly normal response to having nothing clean to wear.

"Clearly." His gaze sweeps over you, taking in the edge of your floral shorts peeking out beneath the hem of his hoodie. "Sunflower PJs? Again?"

"It's laundry day," you repeat, like maybe he didn't hear you the first time. Like maybe that's a valid excuse for looking like you raided a middle schooler's closet. "Everything else is dirty."

"Hmm." 

He steps fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him, and moves to the washing machine next to yours. 

Puts his basket down. 

Stands too close. 

“But the hoodie isn't yours."

It's not a question. It's a statement, delivered with that infuriating confidence he always has, like he's so sure of himself, so certain of how this interaction is going to play out.

"I found it in my room," you say, turning back to your washing machine, pretending to be deeply interested in the cycle selection. "Must've gotten mixed up in my stuff."

"For a whole day?" He snorts, and you can hear him starting to sort his laundry beside you. "Interesting that you decided to wear it instead of, I don't know, returning it."

"It was convenient," you mutter, jabbing at the start button. "And it's cold."

"Right."

You can hear the smile in his voice without looking at him, and you don’t know why you notice without even having to gaze at him. 

Damn your body and its complete lack of dignity.

"You're late, boy."

Your head whips around at the sharp change in Dona's tone. Not softer—definitely not softer—but different somehow. Like… Less venomous, more... familiar? 

The old woman is glaring at Jungkook, but it's not the same glare she gives you. It's like the difference between a loaded gun and a water pistol.

"Sorry, Miss D," Jungkook says, and there's something in his voice—a hint of warmth?—that catches you completely off guard. "Overslept."

"Hmph. Young people." Dona shakes her head, but there's no real bite to it. "My sheets need folding. These old hands aren't what they used to be."

"Sure thing." Jungkook nods like this is a completely normal request, like random old ladies demanding his manual labor is just part of his Sunday routine.

What the actual fuck?

You stare between them, waiting for Jungkook to tell her to fold her own damn sheets, or at the very least look annoyed at being bossed around. 

But he just continues sorting his laundry like this is fine. 

Like this is normal.

"You know her?" you ask, keeping your voice low as Dona bustles over to check her washing machine.

Jungkook glances at you, one eyebrow raised. "Yeah?"

"Since when?"

He shrugs, separating a dark shirt from a pile of whites. "Since I moved in? She lives on the fourth floor."

"And you just... help her fold laundry? Voluntarily?"

"Sometimes." He's not looking at you now, focused on his sorting with more attention than dirty clothes really require. "It's not a big deal."

"Is that why she doesn't look at you like you're gum on her shoe?"

He huffs a laugh. "What?"

"She fucking hates me," you whisper, gesturing discreetly at Dona's back. "Every time I see her, she looks at me like I personally invented avocado toast and killed all the mom-and-pop stores."

"Maybe you just need to help her fold her sheets," he suggests, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

"Or maybe you've charmed her with your stupid dimples and your fake nice-guy routine."

"Fake nice-guy routine?" His eyebrows shoot up, and he looks genuinely amused. "Is that what you think this is?"

"Obviously," you mutter. "Nobody is actually that helpful without an agenda."

He studies you for a moment. Then, speaks. "Yeah? What's my agenda with Dona, then?"

“I don't know yet. But I'm sure it's something nefarious."

"Nefarious," he repeats, and now he's definitely laughing at you. "Sure, Phoenix. I'm playing the long con with a senior citizen. Really working that angle."

"Wouldn't put it past you.”

"Right." He tilts his head to the other side, still smiling slightly. "Well, while I'm busy being fake nice, you might want to turn your machine on. You've been standing there for five minutes and it's still not running."

You glance down at your washing machine, which is indeed just sitting there, silent and unhelpful. Fuck. Your finger must have missed the start button in your rush to look like you knew what you were doing.

You jab the button again, harder this time, and the machine finally lurches to life with a groan that sounds suspiciously like judgment.

"Boy," Dona calls from across the room, "come help with these detergent bottles. They're too heavy."

"Coming," Jungkook calls back, and he's moving before you can say anything else, crossing the room to where Dona is struggling with an industrial-sized bottle of Tide.

You watch, equal parts confused and suspicious, as he takes the bottle from her. They exchange a few words you can't quite hear over the rumble of the washing machines, and then—what the fuck—Dona actually pats his arm. Like he's her grandson or something.

Like she doesn't find him utterly repulsive.

Is this why she likes him? Because he lets her boss him around and carries her detergent? 

That's... kind of pathetic, actually. 

You thought Jungkook had more of a backbone than that.

But still. It's weird. The cold, calculating part of your brain catalogs this new information, filed under "Jungkook, Things That Don't Add Up About." 

It's growing into a pretty substantial folder these days.

You turn back to your washing machine, pretending to be deeply fascinated by the cycle display, but you're still watching them from the corner of your eye. Trying to figure out what his deal is.

"You need groceries this week?" Jungkook asks, voice low but not quite low enough that you can't hear it. "I can swing by after my studio session on Wednesday."

"Do I look like I need charity?" Dona snaps, but it’s not fueled by anger. If anything, she sounds... embarrassed?

"Not charity," Jungkook says, voice even. "Just a neighbor thing."

"Hmph." Dona busies herself with folding a dishcloth. "Well, if you insist on playing delivery boy, I do need milk. And those crackers from last time."

"Got it." Jungkook nods, like this is just normal. Like he's not going completely out of his way for someone who doesn't even seem particularly grateful.

You frown, trying to make it make sense. 

Maybe... maybe it's a hustle? Maybe old ladies tip really well? Or maybe he's building up good karma because he's secretly done something terrible and needs to balance the cosmic scales?

The two of them chat for a bit longer, and you can't quite hear all of it, but you catch fragments—something about Dona's doctor's appointment, something about Jungkook's classes, something about a recipe for chicken soup.

It's all so... domestic. So weirdly normal. So completely at odds with the Jungkook you know—the one who teases you mercilessly, the one who fucks you against walls, the one with the sharp edges and the arrogant smirk.

You're so busy trying to reconcile these two versions of him that you almost miss it when Dona's voice rises slightly.

"...since Hector passed, and these new delivery apps, they charge so much..." Her voice wavers, just slightly. "...shouldn't have to pay an arm and a leg just to get groceries when you can't..."

Jungkook says something too low for you to catch, and Dona makes that "hmph" sound again. But this time it sounds different. Almost... vulnerable?

"Well," she says, louder now, "you're the only one who bothers to check. The others in this building, they see an old woman and they look right through her. Like I'm already a ghost."

Oh.

Oh shit.

Something uncomfortable twists in your chest. An emotion you don't want to examine too closely. Something that feels a lot like…

Shame.

Because that's exactly what you did, isn't it? You saw a grumpy old lady and decided she was the enemy. You never once considered that maybe she was just lonely. 

That maybe she uses sharpness as a shield. 

The same way you use sarcasm as one. 

"Not a ghost yet," Jungkook says, and his voice is gentler than you've ever heard it. "Still kicking my ass at dominoes every Thursday."

"Language," Dona scolds, but you can hear the smile in her voice. "And don't you forget it. I expect a rematch this week."

"Wouldn't miss it."

Wait. He plays dominoes with her? Weekly? What the actual fuck?

And now you feel even worse, because apparently Jungkook—the guy you've been dismissing as an arrogant player with no depth—has been spending his Thursday nights playing board games with a lonely old woman.

While you've been doing what? Watching Netflix and judging everyone's life choices?

Great. Now he's making you feel like an asshole without even trying. That's just perfect.

You turn back to your washing machine, genuinely focused on it this time, trying to process this new information. Trying to fit it into your understanding of who Jungkook is. 

It's not working very well.

When you hear footsteps approaching, you pretend to be busy. You don’t know why you can’t look at him in the eyes right now.

"Sheets are folded," Jungkook says, sliding up next to you. "World is saved."

"What a hero," you deadpan, still not looking at him.

"Someday you'll appreciate my many talents," he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "Speaking of which, nice hoodie."

You finally glance at him, and yep—there's that stupid, self-satisfied grin. Like he's caught you doing something embarrassing. Which, to be fair, he has.

"It's practical," you say, tugging the hem down where it's riding up. "That's all."

"Sure," he agrees easily. "Very practical to keep my clothes. Much more practical than, say, returning them."

"You want it back?" You make a show of starting to pull it off. "Fine, take—"

"Keep it," he says quickly, and the way he says it—not teasing, not mocking, just simple and straightforward—catches you off guard. "It looks better on you anyway."

You freeze, hands still at the hem of the hoodie, not quite sure how to respond to that. It feels like a trap somehow, like if you accept, you're admitting to something. To what, you're not exactly sure.

"Whatever," you mutter, dropping your hands. "I'll wash it and give it back."

"No rush." He turns back to his own laundry, a small smile playing at his lips.

For a moment, you just stand there, watching him sort his clothes. Then you look away, annoyed with yourself for gawking.

"So," you say, as casual as you can muster,  "you're like, what? The old lady whisperer?"

He glances at you, eyebrow raised. "What?"

"You and Dona." You gesture vaguely in her direction. "The whole..." You wave your hand, trying to encompass whatever the hell it is you just witnessed. "...thing."

"The thing," he repeats, clearly amused. "Very specific."

"You know what I mean," you huff. "The helping her fold sheets thing. The grocery delivery thing. The dominoes thing."

His movements pause for just a fraction of a second, so brief you almost miss it. "You were eavesdropping?"

"It's a small laundry room," you point out. "And you weren't exactly whispering."

"It's not a big deal."

"Playing dominoes with an old lady every Thursday isn't a big deal?"

"It's just dominoes," he says, like that explains everything. 

Like it's completely normal to spend your free time entertaining your elderly neighbor when you could be, I don't know, literally anything else that twenty-something guys usually do on a Thursday night.

"And the groceries?"

"She has trouble carrying them up the stairs," he says with a shrug. "The delivery apps charge too much. It's not a big deal."

"You keep saying that," you note, studying his profile as he focuses very intently on separating a blue shirt from a white one. "But it kind of is. I mean, how many people in this building even know their neighbors' names?"

"Maybe they should. Maybe it wouldn't kill people to look up from their phones once in a while and notice the actual humans around them."

You blink, taken aback by the sudden intensity. "Okay, damn. Sorry I asked."

"No, I'm—" He exhales sharply. "I just don't like talking about it, okay? It's not a thing."

"Why?" you press, genuinely curious now. "Why is it such a big secret that you're apparently a decent human being?"

“It's not a secret. I just don't..." He shakes his head. "I don't do it for attention or whatever. It's just the right thing to do."

"So you don't want me to know you do the right thing?"

"I don't need a fucking gold star for basic human decency," he snaps, and now there's definitely an edge to his voice. "I'm not looking for a pat on the back. I'm not trying to—" He breaks off, stuffing clothes into the machine with more force than necessary. "Just drop it, alright?"

You raise your eyebrows, watching as he jams quarters into the slot with unnecessary aggression. It's almost like he's... embarrassed? No, that's not quite right. More like he's uncomfortable with you knowing this side of him.

Like he doesn't want you to think he's actually nice.

Which is weird, because most guys would be falling all over themselves to prove they're nice guys. To get those good-person points. To make sure everyone knows what a saint they are for helping the little old lady with her groceries.

But Jungkook seems genuinely annoyed that you found out. Almost defensive about it.

It's... interesting.

Weird.

"Fine," you say, lifting your hands in surrender. "Consider it dropped. Your secret identity as a decent human being is safe with me."

He exhales sharply through his nose, still not looking at you. "Thanks."

You both lapse into silence, the hum of the washing machines like tiny droplets of silence between both of you. 

Across the room, Dona is bustling around the dryers, muttering to herself about settings and temperatures. You sneaks glances at her, seeing her in a different light now.

Not just a grumpy old woman. 

A widow. 

Someone who lives alone and has to rely on the kindness of neighbors—specifically, one neighbor—for simple tasks like carrying groceries. 

Someone who's lonely enough that a weekly dominoes game is something to look forward to.

It makes your chest feel tight in a way you don't particularly like.

"Boy," Dona calls, breaking the silence. "What cycle for delicates?"

"Gentle, cold water," Jungkook calls back without hesitation, like he's some kind of laundry expert. Like this is a normal conversation they have all the time.

"Hmph," is Dona's only response, but you notice she follows his advice, adjusting the settings on the dryer.

"She likes you," you observe quietly.

Jungkook glances at you, then back at his machine. 

"She tolerates me," he corrects. "There's a difference."

"She doesn't even tolerate me."

"You've never offered to help with her sheets."

"I didn't know that was an option," you say, crossing your arms. "There's no sign-up sheet for 'Old Lady Sheet Folding' in the lobby."

He snorts, and just like that, the tension from earlier seems to dissipate. 

“Maybe there should be. Building-wide rotation."

"I can see it now," you say, following in on the joke. "'4B gets Monday sheets, 6A takes Tuesday sheets...'"

"'If you find yourself assigned to Wednesday sheets, please be aware that those are the cat-hair sheets,'" he continues, adopting a serious tone. "'Lint rollers will be provided.'"

You can't help it—you laugh. 

It's brief, just a small burst of amusement, but it's genuine. 

And when you glance at Jungkook, he's looking at you with a strange expression, like he's seeing something he didn't expect.

"What?" you ask, immediately self-conscious.

"Nothing," he says, turning back to his machine. But there's a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Just wondering if I should sign you up for Thursday sheets."

"Don't you dare," you warn, but it’s too soft. "I have enough on my plate without adding geriatric sheet duty."

"Could be worse," he says with a shrug. "Could be Tuesday sheets."

"What's Tuesday?"

"Bingo night." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Dona goes hard on the snacks."

You stare at him, once again thrown by this glimpse into a life you didn't know existed. "You're kidding."

"Only partly," he admits with a grin. "But seriously, Tuesday is when she does her big laundry loads. Always complains about the folding."

"And you know this because...?"

"Because I pay attention," he says simply, like it's obvious. Like everyone should just naturally notice these things about their neighbors. "It's not that complicated, Phoenix."

There's no judgment in his voice, but you still feel oddly defensive. Like you've been caught failing some basic test of humanity.

"Well, we can't all be saints," you mutter.

"Not trying to be a saint," he says, a hint of irritation creeping back it. "It's just—" He exhales sharply. "Never mind."

You watch him from the corner of your eye, trying to figure out what button you just pushed. Why this, of all things, seems to get under his skin.

"Sorry," you say finally, surprising even yourself. "I didn't mean to make it weird."

“It's fine."

"It's cool that you help her," you add, feeling awkward but pressing on anyway. "Seriously. Not everyone would."

"Yeah, well." He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. "Like I said, it's not a big deal."

"Right." You nod, getting it now.

He really doesn't want the recognition. 

Doesn't want the attention for doing something decent. 

You both fall silent again, with Dona’s muttering as your only company. It's not uncomfortable, though. It's just... quiet. Companionable, almost.

Which is weird, because you don't do companionable silences with Jungkook. You do heated arguments and sarcastic exchanges and intense fucking. 

Not... this. Whatever this is.

"You ever play dominoes?" he asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

You blink at the unexpected question. 

“Not since I was a kid."

He nods, considering this. 

"Dona's always complaining that two players is boring. Says it's meant to be played with more people."

You wait for him to continue, to make the obvious invitation, but he doesn't. Just stands there, pretending to be deeply interested in the cycle display on his washing machine.

"Are you..." You squint at him. "Are you trying to ask me to play dominoes with you and Dona?"

"What? No." He scoffs, finger pressing random buttons. "Just making conversation."

"Right."

"I'm just saying," he continues, eyes fixed on the machine, "that if you ever… I dunno, find yourself bored on a Thursday night… There’s always dominoes."

Is he… Is he actually inviting you to his weird geriatric game night?

And if so, why? 

It's not like you've shown any interest in spending time with the elderly. Or with him, outside of the very specific context of fucking each other senseless.

"I'll keep that in mind," you say finally, not committing to anything.

"Cool."

"Cool."

Another silence falls.

You don’t say anything.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you’re still wearing his hoodie. And he’s still standing too close. 

And for a moment—just a brief, fleeting moment—you wonder what it would be like. To sit around a table with Jungkook and Dona, playing dominoes on a Thursday night. To see that side of him—the side that helps old ladies with groceries and remembers how they like their sheets folded.

It's a weird thought. An unfamiliar one. And you push it away almost as soon as it forms.

Because that's not what this is.

That's not what you are. 

You're roommates who sometimes fuck. You're not friends who play board games together.

"Boy," Dona calls from across the room, breaking into your thoughts. "What cycle for cotton?"

"High heat, Miss D," Jungkook calls back, and just like that, the moment—whatever it was—is broken.

He turns back to his sorting, and you turn back to yours, and everything goes back to normal. Or whatever passes for normal these days.

But you're still wearing his hoodie. And you're pretty sure you're not giving it back anytime soon.

Sometime later, you're leaning against the wall just outside the laundry room, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. 

Your thumb drags across the screen without purpose, not really taking in whatever the hell you're looking at—Instagram? Twitter? Does it matter? The washing machines finished twenty minutes ago, but Jungkook insisted on carrying both your loads like some kind of laundry martyr.

"I got it," he'd said, waving you off when you tried to grab your basket. "Go ahead."

So here you are, waiting, because it feels weird to just leave him down here with your underwear. Even though he's definitely seen your underwear before. In significantly more compromising contexts.

From inside the laundry room, you can hear the murmur of voices—Jungkook and Dona in what sounds like a heated debate about fabric softener. You catch fragments: "ruins the absorbency" and "smells nice" and "didn't raise my Hector to use that chemical garbage."

You roll your eyes. How is this your Sunday? Standing in a dingy hallway while your fuck buddy debates laundry techniques with a geriatric neighbor?

The door finally swings open, and Jungkook emerges, arms loaded with both laundry baskets stacked precariously on top of each other. His biceps flex as he adjusts the weight, and you're definitely not noticing that. 

"Ready?" he asks, nudging the door closed with his foot.

"Been ready," you murmur, pocketing your phone. "Some of us don't need an hour-long consultation about dryer settings."

"She has strong opinions about lint," he says, absolutely straight-faced, like this is a normal follow-up to any conversation.

"Fascinating." You push off from the wall, heading for the stairs. "Let's go before she recruits you for a lint task force or whatever."

He just grins, following behind you. 

The stairwell is narrow and poorly lit, with concrete steps that have seen better decades. 

You're a few steps ahead when you hear it—a dull thud followed by a muttered "fuck."

You spin around to see Jungkook stumbling backward, nearly dropping both baskets as his free hand flies to his forehead. There's an exposed pipe running along the low ceiling that you always duck under without thinking—you're not particularly tall—but apparently nobody warned Jungkook about it.

"Shit." The word leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and suddenly you're moving toward him, hands reaching out automatically. "You okay?"

He looks momentarily stunned, both by the impact and by your reaction. 

"Yeah, just—"

You're already on your tiptoes, fingers brushing his hair away from his forehead to check the damage. There's a red mark forming, but the skin isn't broken. His hair is softer than you expected, still slightly damp from his morning shower, and he smells like—

Wait.

What the fuck are you doing?

You freeze, suddenly aware of how close you are, of your fingers in his hair, of his eyes fixed on yours with an expression you can't quite read. 

Neither of you moves. 

His eyes dart between both of your pupils. 

"Um," you say intelligently, dropping your hands like his forehead is suddenly made of lava. "Be more careful. We don't need you more idiot than you already are."

Smooth. Really smooth.

His lips twitch, but he doesn't call you out on whatever the hell that sentence was supposed to be. "Thanks for the concern."

"I'm not concerned," you say automatically, already turning back toward the stairs. "Just don't want to deal with your concussed ass if you knock yourself out."

"Right." His voice follows you up the stairs. "God forbid you have to care about something."

"Exactly," you agree, not looking back. "Caring is for suckers."

You're halfway up the flight when you hear him grunt as he shifts the laundry baskets. It's a lot to carry, and the stairwell is narrow, but you're definitely not offering to help. That would imply you care, which you just explicitly denied. So.

There's a moment of shuffling footsteps behind you, then: "Wait a sec, Nix."

You turn, ready with some smart-ass comment about his head injury affecting his ability to climb stairs, but the words die in your throat. He's set both baskets down on the landing and is now kneeling on the step below you, looking at your feet.

"What are you—"

"Your shoes," he says, nodding at your sneakers. "They're untied."

You glance down. Sure enough, both laces on your ancient Converse are dragging on the concrete steps, a tripping hazard waiting to happen.

"I know," you lie. You didn't know. "I was gonna fix them later."

"Later, like after you face-plant on the stairs?" He's already reaching for your shoe, his big hands deftly gathering the laces. "With my luck, I'd have to call an ambulance, and they'd blame me for pushing you."

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of falling," you mutter, but you don't pull away.

Instead, you just stand there, weirdly frozen, as Jungkook—the guy who regularly makes you come so hard you see stars—ties your shoelaces like you're a fucking kindergartner.

His head is bent in concentration, dark hair falling over his forehead, partially hiding the red mark from the pipe. His hands move with practiced ease, looping and pulling. 

It's such a small thing. So mundane. So ordinary.

So why does your chest feel tight?

"There," he says, finishing the second shoe with a final tug. "Crisis averted."

He glances up at you, still kneeling, and something in his expression makes your stomach do a weird little flip. It's probably just the angle. The way the shitty stairwell lighting catches on his features. The lingering effects of morning caffeine making your pulse do stupid things.

"I could have done that myself," you say, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.

"I know." He shrugs, pushing himself to his feet and picking up the laundry baskets again. "But you didn't."

You don't have a good response to that, so you just turn and continue up the stairs, acutely aware of him following behind you. The only sound is your newly tied shoes against the concrete and his slightly labored breathing as he carries the laundry.

It's weird. 

This whole morning has been weird. 

First the hoodie, then Dona and the dominoes revelation, now this—Jungkook tying your shoes like it's nothing.

Like these small, casually intimate gestures are just things people do for each other.

Maybe they are. Maybe this is all completely normal roommate behavior, and you're the weird one for overthinking it.

It's not like he meant anything by it. 

He's just like that, apparently—the kind of guy who helps old ladies with groceries and plays dominoes on Thursdays and doesn't let people trip on their shoelaces. 

It's not personal. It's not about you.

He's just nice sometimes. In between being an absolute asshole who drives you crazy.

It doesn't mean anything.

It doesn't mean anything at all.

You finally make it to the apartment door, fishing your keys out of the pocket of Jungkook's stupid hoodie and hold the door open for him because he's still stubbornly carrying both laundry loads, despite your begrudging offer to take yours back.

"I can carry my own shit," you'd said on the landing between the second and third floors, trying to grab your basket.

He'd just smirked and swung it out of your reach. "I got it."

"I'm not helpless."

"Never said you were."

"So give me my laundry, asshole."

"Nope."

And that was that. Because apparently this is the hill he wants to die on. Stupid, stubborn, impossible man.

Now he strides past you into the apartment, annoyingly unbothered by the weight of two full baskets. 

You absolutely do not track how lean his arm muscles are as he sets them both on the table near the main door.

You definitely don't track the line of his shoulders as he rolls them back, working out the tension from the climb. 

And you certainly don't follow a bead of sweat as it trails down the side of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

Because that would be pathetic. And you're not pathetic.

He starts rummaging through his basket, brows furrowed in concentration. Then he looks up, confusion clear on his face. 

“Wait, I'm missing a sock."

"Huh?"

"A sock." He holds up a single black sock with little Batman logos on it. "I should have two."

You stare at him blankly. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Did you see a sock drop or something? On the stairs, maybe?"

"Why would I be looking for your socks?" You cross your arms. "I have better things to do with my life than track your Batmans."

"Fuck it," he sighs. "I'm going downstairs again."

"Seriously? For a sock?"

"It's my favorite pair." He's already heading for the door. "Be right back."

And then he's gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click, leaving you standing there next to two baskets of laundry and feeling weirdly... abandoned? 

Which is ridiculous. It's a sock. He'll be back in five minutes. 

Get a grip, bitch.

You stare at the laundry baskets on the table. His and yours, side by side. 

Why did he insist on carrying yours? It's so stupidly... nice. And Jungkook isn't nice. He's arrogant and annoying and makes you want to pull your hair out. He's not supposed to tie your shoes or carry your laundry or play dominoes with old ladies.

It's throwing off your entire understanding of him, and that's irritating as hell.

You hate him. You definitely hate him.

Except that's getting harder to believe by the day.

The sound of a door opening breaks into your thoughts, but it's not the main door—it's Yoongi's room. Huh. Like seeing a bear outside hibernation season.

He shuffles into the kitchen, looking about as close to death as you've ever seen him. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in weird tufts like he’s barely managed to lay down on a horizontal surface. The bags under his eyes have bags. His t-shirt is wrinkled in that "I've been wearing this for days" way, and he's moving with the careful deliberation of someone who hasn't slept in approximately three centuries.

"Working?" you ask, because it seems like the only explanation for this zombie-like state.

"Unfortunately." His voice is rough, like he hasn't used it in hours. Maybe days.

He doesn't elaborate, just heads straight for the coffee maker. 

You don't ask. Not your business. 

Besides, you've got your own shit to worry about—like why you can't stop thinking about Jungkook carrying your laundry, or tying your shoes, or the way his hands moved when he was folding Dona's sheets.

God, you need a lobotomy.

Your gaze drifts around the apartment, trying to focus on literally anything else. It lands on the record collection displayed on the wall next to the TV. There must be at least thirty vinyl albums. You remember when Yeji was over last week, she mentioned them—commented on how eclectic the selection was.

You'd just shrugged and said they were Yoongi's. Because they had to be, right? Music producer, always holed up with headphones... it makes sense.

"Nice collection," you say, nodding toward the wall. 

You're not sure why you say it. Maybe to make conversation. Maybe to confirm your assumption. Maybe because some part of you suspects they're not Yoongi's at all, and you want to know what else you might have missed about Jungkook.

Not that you care about his likes or interests or anything. That would be dangerously close to caring about him as a person, which—ha! Absolutely not.

"Huh?" 

Yoongi turns around lazily, coffeepot in hand. He follows your gaze to the wall of records, and then—he scoffs. Actually scoffs, shaking his head like you've just said something so stupid he can't believe it came out of your mouth.

"Have you even checked them?" he asks, tone dry as the Sahara. "They're mostly Mayer."

You blink.

Mayer? As in John Mayer? As in the songs Jungkook plays on his guitar sometimes?

As in "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room"—the song he played that night in his room when he taunted you through text messages and you were stupid enough to actually walk in?

"They're Jungkook's," Yoongi adds after a beat of silence. "Not mine."

"Oh." The word falls from your lips automatically, small and insignificant, completely inadequate to express the weird reorganization happening in your brain. "But he doesn't have a record player?"

Yoongi just shrugs, pouring coffee into his mug. "Doesn't mean he can't collect them."

You stare at the vinyl collection with new eyes. Each album carefully chosen, meticulously arranged. A physical manifestation of something Jungkook cares about, something he values enough to collect even though he can't listen to them. Yet.

Something unwinds in your chest. A tight, small knot of... what? 

Surprise? 

Interest? 

Whatever it is, you don't like it. Don't want to examine it too closely. Because it feels dangerously like the beginning of seeing Jungkook as a whole person, not just the asshole who happens to be good in bed.

And that's not what this is. That's not what you are.

The door swings open, and there he is—stupid grin on his stupid face, waving a Batman sock in the air like he's just found buried treasure.

"Found it," he announces, triumphant. "It was stuck in the dryer door."

You give him the blankest stare you can muster. "Congratulations. Your sock journey is complete."

His grin just widens, completely unfazed by your sarcasm. "Thanks for the moral support, Phoenix. Couldn't have done it without you."

"I literally did nothing."

"Your energy kept me going."

You roll your eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck in the back of your head. He just laughs, that warm, rich sound that does absolutely nothing to your insides, and starts gathering his laundry.

"Later," you mutter, turning away before he can see the corner of your mouth threatening to twitch upward.

You grab your laundry basket head straight for your room, shutting the door with perhaps more force than necessary.

Safe in your own space, you fish your phone from your pocket—and see three missed calls from the same number. 

Ah. Barnes & Noble. 

Seems like you got the job. Which is good. Great, even.

This is what responsible adults do—get jobs, pay bills, build sensible futures. Not collect vinyl records they can't play or help old ladies with their grocery shopping or carry their roommates' laundry just because.

Normal, practical, boring adult stuff. That's what you're about.

Except now you can't stop thinking about those records on the wall. About what else you might have missed. About who Jungkook actually is when he isn't being an infuriating, cocky asshole. About—

About nothing. Because you don’t care. 

He’s Jungkook. Rogue. The infuriating roommate of yours that leaves towels everywhere and can’t be bothered to clean his own mugs. 

You toss your phone onto your bed and start aggressively pulling laundry from your basket. 

You've got shit to do. Clothes to put away. A job to call back about. A life to live that absolutely does not revolve around wondering why your roommate collects vinyl records or helps old ladies or ties your shoes when they're untied.

It doesn't matter. None of it matters.

(Except that it might. Just a little. And that's the most terrifying thought of all.)

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[spellbound-rosehearts]

TEXTBOOKS AND TENSION : CHAPTER 3

yuu’s deal with leona is no longer a secret, and her friends have many questions.

pairings: leona kingscholar x yuu

warnings: none

notes: another chapter for you guys! i hope you’re enjoying and excited for the rest to come!

part 1, 2, 4

yuu sat cross-legged at the battered coffee table, spreading out her notes and textbooks, trying to mentally prepare for an afternoon of group work. the place was even more drafty than usual, the wind blowing hard outside, but she had piled up blankets, put out a tray of snacks and brewed extra tea, hoping it would be enough.

grim, who had been eyeing the snacks since she set them out, was already sneaking a handful of chips. his tiny paws grabbed at the pile with an alarming speed.

"grim!" yuu scolded, glaring at him over her notes. "i told you to wait until everyone gets here. you can't just eat all the snacks!"

grim swallowed his mouthful of chips and grinned at her, his whiskers twitching. "they’re good! you can't expect me to resist when there's food this tasty."

“you’re going to give yourself a stomach-ache at this rate,” yuu sighed, giving him a pointed look. "at least save a few for ace and deuce." grim just snickered and shoveled more chips into his mouth.

across the room, leona was stretched out on the old, creaky couch. he wasn’t napping for once. instead, his eyes were flicking back and forth between the papers he was scribbling on and the spelldrive team’s playbook in his hands. but every so often, his sharp eyes would glance up to where yuu was sitting. he wasn’t exactly paying full attention, but there was a watchful air about him, like he couldn’t help but absorb whatever was happening in the room around him. just his instincts, maybe.

yuu caught one of his glances and narrowed her eyes. she was trying to read through a dense section of her notes, and despite how much she was concentrating, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was paying far too much attention to her.

“you could at least pretend to be busy,” she said dryly, breaking the silence.

leona’s lips twitched into a half-smile, then he looked back down to his scribbled notes. “pretending? i am busy,” he drawled. “i’m planning a game strategy, not slaving over some stupid schoolwork.”

yuu let out a soft laugh. “at least i’m doing my stupid schoolwork,” she said, raising an eyebrow playfully. “you know, the thing that actually keeps you enrolled here.”

“and what’s your point, herbivore?” leona glanced up from the playbook, giving her a pointed look. “don’t act like you’re any better. i’ve seen how you’ve been glancing at that paper without actually doing anything.”

yuu huffed, half amused, half annoyed. “you’re impossible.”

he grinned. “and you’re too serious. you should take a lesson in relaxation. i happen to be an expert in that category.”

yuu shot him a side-eye and returned to her work, muttering, “i’ll relax once i actually finish this.”

before she could say more, there was a loud, impatient knock at the door.

“they’re here!” grim shouted, running to the door.

yuu scrambled up, smoothing down her sweater as she crossed the room. when she opened the door, ace and deuce stood there, backpacks slung over their shoulders, looking a little wind blown.

“hey, hey, we brought you some hot chocolate!” ace declared, handing her a steaming cup like he was presenting a treasure.

deuce took a swig of his own cup, and then gave her a more sincere smile. “got the research notes you asked for, too.”

“hot chocolate? gimme some of that!” grim yelled up at them, eyes sparkling with excitement.

deuce looked down at him, crossing his arms. “sorry, grim, cats can’t have chocolate.”

grim huffed, his tail flicking. “but i’m a special kind of cat!”

yuu couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking her head. “no hot chocolate for you. but if you actually pull your weight on this project, maybe i’ll get you some tuna later.”

grim’s ears flattened as he muttered under his breath, but the promise of tuna seemed to get him moving, and he reluctantly turned to walk over to the table, grumbling about the injustice of it all.

yuu stepped aside to let the two boys in, but the moment they entered, they both slowed, staring past her into the living room.

at leona.

sitting there.

causally sprawled out on the couch like it was his house.

the silence hung awkwardly for a beat.

ace rubbed his eyes and squinted, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “is… that leona kingscholar?”

“maybe we’re in the wrong building?” deuce suggested, shifting uneasily on his feet.

ace leaned in toward her, lowering his voice like leona couldn’t clearly hear him from six feet away. “yuu. blink twice if he’s holding you hostage.”

leona flicked his gaze up at them and yawned before dropping his eyes back to the page.

yuu stifled a laugh. “he’s not holding me hostage, you guys. he’s just… here.”

ace gave her a look. “just here? seriously?”

grim, who had been listening intently, snickered from his spot on the floor. “yeah, ‘just here.’ he’s always here.” he flicked his tail in leona’s direction, eyes narrowed with sarcasm. “at this point we need to start charging rent.”

leona didn’t even blink, just stayed focused on his papers with that trademark lazy smirk.

deuce looked baffled. “you… you’re letting him hang out here?”

“it’s complicated,” yuu muttered, walking back toward the couch and starting to clear space for their group project. “we have an…arrangement. he needed somewhere to get away from savanaclaw sometimes, and i owed him a favor. so he’s allowed to crash here.”

leona finally looked up and scoffed, but it sounded more amused than irritated. “yeah, i needed a place to crash. had no idea it would come with a tutoring job.”

“you make it sound like it’s some horrible deal,” yuu said, rolling her eyes as she straightened a stack of papers. “you get a place to escape your responsibilities and i get some help with my schoolwork every now and then. seems pretty fair to me.”

deuce looked between the two of them as they bantered, still a little confused. "well, i guess that makes sense. you’re both... helping each other out." he gave yuu a warm, sincere smile. "and if you're getting help with your schoolwork, that's pretty nice of him."

ace plopped onto the floor, crossing his legs like a kid. “man. you could have asked for any favor and you decided to willingly crash here?“

deuce immediately frowned he nudged ace with his elbow. “don’t be rude! ramshackle’s… a little rough, yeah, but it’s still yuu’s home.“ he shot yuu an apologetic smile.

grim snorted, stuffing a pawful of chips into his mouth. “a little rough is an understatement! we’ve been placing bets on how long until the roof falls in on us!”

yuu gave a small laugh, setting down her cup of hot chocolate. “no, that’s fair. ramshackle dorm’s not exactly five-star living.”

“tch, maybe not,” leona finally spoke up, tossing the papers he’d been scribbling on onto the floor with a lazy flick of his wrist. he shifted, slinging an arm over his eyes as he stretched out fully on the couch. “but the good thing about this dump? no one comes botherin’ me here. it’s quiet, peaceful…even the ghosts mind their business. i like it that way.”

ace made a judgmental face and looked over to yuu, but she just huffed a laugh under her breath, strangely warmed by the comment.

deuce started unzipping his backpack, pulling out a notebook. “it’s kind of weird though, right?” he asked a little more quietly. “you two being…friends?”

yuu faltered slightly at the word, glancing instinctively toward the couch where leona lounged, utterly relaxed, as if he hadn’t heard. but she knew better.

friends?

she wasn’t sure that’s what they were. not exactly. he didn’t talk much. he teased her sometimes, in his dry, sarcastic way. but he showed up. he helped her without hesitation. he listened, when it really mattered.

it was something.

“i guess,” she said simply, but her cheeks flushed pink.

ace pulled a pencil out of his bag, grinning. “it’s cool. unexpected. like you feed a stray once and next thing you know, you’ve adopted a lazy housecat.”

“watch it,” leona’s deep voice drifted from the couch without lifting his arm.

ace chuckled and leaned back, glancing at grim. “that’s how yuu got stuck with grim too.”

grim’s ears flattened, and he shot a glare at ace. “excuse you! i’m not some stray- i’m practically royalty around here! yuu’s my hench-human y’know!”

deuce cleared his throat awkwardly, clearly trying not to laugh. “uh, anyway, project time?”

yuu nodded quickly, grateful to get back to focusing on their work.

they spread out papers and started planning, sketching diagrams, debating answers. every so often, yuu caught leona peeking an eye open to glance at them, sharp and assessing, but he didn’t intervene.

it wasn’t until ace and grim started arguing that leona broke his silence.

“you’re both wrong,” leona said, not opening his eyes.

ace blinked. “excuse me, professor?”

leona turned his head, lifting his arm just enough to shoot him a dry look. “wrong. it’s second law. not first, not third. you’re mixing up your fundamentals.”

deuce double-checked his notes and winced. “… he’s right.”

grim bristled, puffing out his chest. “i was closer than you, ace!”

“yeah, yeah,” ace muttered, slouching in defeat. “guess the lazy housecat knows a thing or two after all.”

leona smirked, dropping his arm back over his eyes like he couldn’t be bothered anymore. “you’re welcome, by the way.”

yuu just shook her head fondly and went back to her work, hiding her smile behind her hand.

as the hours dragged by, the sun set and the project continued, yuu had caught herself glancing at leona more than once. despite his usual indifference, he stayed, eyes half-lidded, occasionally making a sarcastic comment or two, but never actually leaving. he would help them every once in a while, tossing in advice when they got stuck, correcting their mistakes with the same laid-back tone.

he had no real reason to be there, no need to stick around, but he did. and yuu couldn't help but feel that maybe-just maybe-this odd, reluctant bond they shared was something more than just an arrangement. leona’s presence felt like it was becoming a quiet part of her routine, something that was comfortable, and yuu didn’t mind it as much as she thought she would.

[kamaluhkhan]

TIME TO PRETEND

pairing: luke castellan x gn!poseidon!reader word count: 5k chapter summary: you're the eldest child of poseidon and the hero of the last great prophecy. you left your demigod life behind after defeating kronos. now, years later, you find yourself back at camp half blood for the summer.....which means dealing with luke castellan, and all that history (tension?) left unresolved between you. warnings: some nicknames for reader are based on female characters (mermista, sailor neptune) but they're still written as gender neutral. reader has tattoos. mention of alcohol + death (post-titan war). spoilers for the entire pjo (book) series, mostly references to the last olympian. timeline is all over the place but set in the early 2000s for vibes. no betrayal (au where chris was the one who sided w kronos and led the titan army) so slightly ooc luke <3 author's note: welcome to another product of my pjo hyperfixation !!! i wanted to finish the nemesis!reader series first but it's summer and i felt like reworking my tsitp series in a camp half-blood setting with bb luke. so prepare for childhood friends to lovers drama! summertime vibes! nostalgia! angst! would love to know what y'all think about this and if you want a part 2 so feel free to scream at me in the comments. otherwise, enjoy and thanks 4 reading 💙

♪: time to pretend by mgmt

YOU’VE GOT MAIL!

1 new message 

from: LukeNotSkywalker

to: Mermista86

subject: you are GETTING that record deal

Hey,

Your demo CD just came in the mail — and, Connor as my witness, I’ve already listened to it five times!!! 

It’s amazing. You’re amazing. The label would totally lose out if they didn’t sign you. 

Things have been pretty chaotic around here, with the summer term happening soon. Speaking of which: are you coming back? Chiron gave me the list of returning campers and counsellors this morning and said he hadn’t heard from you, so I thought I’d ask. I know you’ll be busy with the band, but if you get the chance, it’d be really great to see you.

Anyways, I’m leading the next Shield & Sword session, so I’d better go. Talk soon ;)

- L

FOUR YEARS LATER

TURBULENT WATERS? ALT-ROCK BAND MIDNIGHT SIRENS HIT ROUGH PATCH AFTER LEAD GUITARIST GETS INTO VIOLENT ALTERCATION 

the cover is the nail in the coffin: a blurry picture of you, an electric blue guitar forgotten at your feet, lunging forward into a crowd, with your bandmates on stage behind you in shock. 

you’d gone all this time without any major incidents, and one stupid chimera managed to burn down everything you worked for in one fell swoop.

“that’d be $8.50,” the cashier informs. 

you tear your attention away from the magazine, instead fishing through your pocket for some change. meanwhile, the cashier furrows their brow, leans down slightly to get a better look at you underneath your sunglasses and baseball cap. 

“hey, do i know you?”

“nope,” you say instantly, slapping a $10 bill onto the counter. “keep the change.” you gather your pile of necessary roadtrip supplies (slushies, m&m’s, and goldfish) before rushing out the door, your half-brother trailing behind you.

you slide into the driver’s seat, set each slushie in a cup holder, and hand the rest to percy once he’s slipped into the passenger side. 

“seatbelt,” you remind him. you shake your hair out after removing your baseball cap disguise. “i promised your mom i’d be responsible.” 

percy does as he’s told, though not without mumbling about how he’s practically an adult and a demigod who’s been in much more dangerous situations than a car ride up to long island. you just tell him to put on some music, even though he has a point. he’ll be 18 in august and you’re only five years older, but the fact is that you gave sally jackson your word. 

plus — you’re his older sibling, so gods forbid you let him get hurt. a seatbelt seems like a band-aid solution for one of the most powerful demigods out there, but still.

percy flips through a few radio stations while he sips his blue raspberry slushie. when he doesn’t find anything good, he opens the glove compartment and surveys your music collection before sliding a cd into the stereo. 

instantly, the familiar sound of david bowie’s voice eases the tension in your shoulders.

“good choice?” 

you nod and percy smiles triumphantly. you reach over to steal a few goldfish from the bag he just opened and ruffle his hair playfully, for good measure. 

you’re perfectly happy, driving along a long island highway while getting lost in the glam rock world of ziggy stardust, but it isn’t long until percy interrupts: 

“are you finally gonna tell me what happened, or do i have to read it from some trashy gossip magazine like everyone else?”

“well, your dyslexic ass can barely read so….”

you look over at him briefly, and laugh when you see him stick his slightly-blue tongue out to you. 

“at least my dyslexic ass is actually decent at ancient greek. luke told me you failed the reading test, like, a million times.”

your heart twinges at the mention of your old friend. 

friend.

if you could still call him that. 

thankfully, percy doesn’t give you much room to dwell on the past, too focused on your drama-filled present.

“so, what is it? you got kicked out of the band? lost everything? have nowhere else to go?”

you roll your eyes at his dramatics. “i did not get kicked out.” 

“then, what happened?”

“just the usual.” you shrug. “monster attack, mortals who can’t see through the mist. i tried to explain it away after — something about how i saw someone in the crowd attack another person and i stepped in to help. most people bought it, but the media loves drama and the label’s worried i’m a flight risk now. apparently, everything will blow over if i just keep a low profile for the next few months. so….no. i didn’t lose everything.” you take a deep, like when anyone other than children of poseidon are about to go underwater and they’re not quite sure when they can come up for air. 

“i just don’t really have anywhere else to go,” you finish.

“damn.” percy offers you a blue shark gummy (or whale - you and percy had already debated the shape of the candy that sally packed for the trip, and the jury’s still out). you gratefully accept. “well, i know it’s not the best reason, but i’m excited to spend the summer together.”

despite everything, you find yourself smiling. 

“me too, kid.” 

“it’d give me a chance to kick your ass in sword-fighting.”

“you wish!” you nudge his shoulder, both of you giggling. once the laughter’s died down, you glance at percy once more. “hey – did you tell anyone i was coming?”

percy shakes his head. “why?”

you take a long swig of your drink until you’re on the brink of brain freeze. 

“no reason.”

it’s just after lunch when you arrive at camp half-blood. 

you weren’t sure what you were expecting — maybe not some futuristic technological developments that had been discovered within the years you were gone, but definitely not for camp to look pretty much exactly the same as when you left. 

instantly, you find comfort in the familiar scenes: a dragon, peleus, guarding the magical borders; dryads and satyrs picking strawberries in the fields next to the forest; chiron standing near the central guidepost, greeting and guiding every camper in the right direction.

chiron smiles down at percy and practically does a double take when his eyes land on you.

“mx. l/n! it has been a while. are you here to drop off your brother, or do you plan on staying for the summer?”

before you can answer, someone appears behind him. 

“perce! hey!” 

“hey, luke.”

luke gives him a side hug, and percy shoves him away with a laugh when he ruffles his hair. it’s then that luke acknowledges you, though he looks like that’s the last thing he wants to do.

“i thought i’d never see you again. what are you doing here? ”

chiron turns to you expectedly. “i believe you have yet to answer that question of mine as well.”

“staying for the summer…” you adjust the shoulder strap of your backpack, uneased by luke’s cold demeanor. “i hope that’s okay.”

“of course!” chiron’s smile grows wide, eyes crinkling. “you’ll resume your position as head counsellor of cabin 3.”

“so i’m dethroned? just like that?” percy guffaws.

you nudge percy’s shoulder. “fulfill the next great prophecy, and then we’ll talk.” 

percy rolls his eyes playfully. luke, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to appreciate your tongue-in-cheek remark. his jaw tightens, and he suddenly finds a deep interest in the clipboard he’s holding.

chiron clears his throat, likely sensing the tension. “yes, well, i’m sure you remember how things work around here. if not, mr. castellan has been keeping this ship afloat. he's always here to help.”

“always.” luke smiles, but it’s elastic, threatening to snap at any moment. someone calls his name, and he walks away to deal with whatever chaos is waiting for him.

summer — age 15

you weren’t exactly conscious when you first arrived at camp half-blood. 

apparently, coach hedge, a satyr and protector, found you just in time and had to practically drag you up half-blood hill after a particularly gruesome fury attack. 

when you woke up and saw luke sleeping next to you in a chair, his curls overgrown and falling onto his eyes, you thought you had died and gone to elysium. 

you took in your unfamiliar surroundings. some sort of infirmary, with only your best friend next to you, the one you hadn’t seen in almost a year since you’d parted ways. 

then, you remembered what was happening before you passed out; it was more likely that you were being tricked into a false sense of security by that fury, who definitely planned on devouring you later.

with a newfound sense of urgency, you decided it was time to get out of there before it was too late. you were reaching for your knife when you felt a hand grab your shoulder. without losing a second, you twisted your body around, weapon at the ready.

whoever it was watching over you sure looked like luke. he was wearing a bright orange shirt and leather cord necklace with one clay bead. another point of difference was the jagged scar that cut across his left cheek.

“it’s just me,” he said, gently. “you’re fine here. you’re safe.”

you weren’t convinced, kept your knife in front of you to keep distance. “prove it.” you narrowed your eyes. “tell me something only luke would know.”

“you’re left-handed.”

“that’s a great observation,” you scoff.

“storm is your favourite x-men character.”

“that’s a very popular opinion.”

“your aunt would make us mango lassi after swim camp when she got home from work,” luke tries for the third time. “and, my mom - she used to call you ‘starfish.’”

your heart skipped a beat.

that was the confirmation you needed. 

the knife dropped from your hand, clattered on the wooden floor, as you pulled luke in for a hug. you were greeted by a familiar scent, that pear shampoo luke loved because it made his hair so soft, mixed with the smell of fresh pine trees. 

“it’s really you,” you mumbled into his shoulder.

despite sleeping for gods know how long, you were exhausted. you rested your weight into luke, but he didn’t seem to care.

“it’s really you. i thought i’d never see you again.”

“where are we?” you asked, breaking away to face luke. you ignored the wooziness you felt throughout your body; luke seemed to sense it, his grip around you tightening. “are annabeth and thalia here, too? how’d you get here?” your thumb traced the unfamiliar scar on his face. “what happened? are you okay —”

“i-i’ll answer all your questions, but you lost a lot of blood.” luke guided you to lay back down in bed. “we’ll explain everything. just get some rest.”

a third scenario entered your mind: this was all a dream. you’d close your eyes and when you opened them again, luke would be gone. you’d be alone again.

you couldn’t let go of luke’s hand, even as he tucked you back into bed. you tugged his wrist, silently urging him to join you.

“will you stay with me?” you finally croaked when he continued standing. 

luke looked at you, and you nodded once as final confirmation. then, he removed his shoes and slipped into the bed next to you. it was luke, all sweet pear and soft curls and strong heartbeat, and you held on to him in fear that he might slip away.

“always,” he whispered.

during the orientation video you were later shown, you learned that camp half-blood’s motto is keeping young heroes safe (mostly) for over three millennia!  

luke had used that word, too. safe.

chiron told you this was to be your new home as he walked you to the poseidon cabin. he told you that you were safe now, though you noticed how the word almost got caught in his throat. he gave you a sad smile you didn’t quite understand.

you did wonder, at first, if those words were true: this place, a home for you and other children of gods. somewhere safe.

and, well.

you came to understand chiron’s general melancholy a few weeks later, and every week after that. he was used to training and sending heroes off to their potential death, and you would be no different. stolen lightning bolts, deadly quests, cryptic prophecies. a pending war between divine forces you had been entangled with long before you knew. heartache and betrayal and loss beyond measure. 

but, there were other things, too. 

annabeth, fitting in perfectly at the athena cabin, continued being her genius self, leading her team to victory every capture the flag game. she was extra patient in helping you with ancient greek, especially after chiron had given up.

chris rodriguez, luke’s half-brother, would tell you jokes from across the dining pavilion, knowing that you hated sitting alone at the poseidon table. michael yew, son of apollo, taught you how to play guitar at the bonfire one week; you’d ask for more and more lessons until you could start playing on your own. charles beckendorf made you a celestial bronze sword that shone like that burst of light when the sun hits the ocean at sunset. it transformed into a ring that you would never take off, unless in battle. you might not have gotten along with mr. d, but you spent free time picking fresh strawberries with his son, castor. you made matching friendship bracelets with silena beauregard, who was really the only person you confided in, about how you maybe possibly felt something other than friendship when it came to luke. she told you about her crush on clarisse larue, the daughter of ares whom you would always partner with during sparring practice. you taught ethan nakamura, who didn’t have his own cabin as the child of nemesis, how to properly hold a sword. thalia’s tree stood tall at the top of the hill where you almost bled to death, protecting you and everyone inside the magical borders. you, annabeth, and luke would share a picnic there every thursday.

you had been on the run for so long, always looking over your shoulder for monsters, sleeping with one eye open to be one step ahead of death, jumping from one place to the next so quickly to avoid danger.

so, yes. 

it was nice to stay in one place, where you knew you were as safe as demigods could be. it was nice to spend your time learning and training and laughing instead of just surviving. 

it was nice to have a place to call home. and people to call it home with.

now 

the first week passes in the blink of an eye, and it’s like you never left.

tie-dye, volleyball, strawberry picking, kitchen duty, and cabin inspection. 

luke has everyone on a tight schedule — one, you notice, conveniently places the two of you at opposite ends of camp at all times.

still, you catch up with clarisse and the stoll brothers, spend time with annabeth and percy, say hi to pollux and katie gardner and others you vaguely recognize as five years older than what you remember. there are also a lot of faces you don’t recognize at all.

of course, you try not to think about the faces you wished you could see: friends you grew up with and would never have a laugh with again, younger campers you had trained who would never grow up. all lost because of the gods and the titans and a prophecy you never asked to be a part of. 

it’s a side effect of being back here; their ghosts are harder to ignore.

again — trying not to think about it.

anyways.

climbing wall, armory, sword-fighting practice, archery field, and free time on the beach.

to conclude: capture-the-flag, a friday night camp-half blood tradition.

you’re praising annabeth for her latest strategy that led to blue team victory when you notice luke. he was also on the blue team, but instead of celebrating with the rest of you, he’s speaking to someone who’s wearing a red helmet. they seem to be in a heated discussion, one that luke is not wanting to continue. his tells are the same, after all these years: the impatient tapping of his foot, his eyes searching for an out.

you give it to him.

“sorry, i need to borrow this guy.” you say, grabbing luke’s wrist. “camp emergency.” 

if the person said anything, you didn’t hear it, because you were already dragging luke away from the crowd, towards the armory shed. 

“what’s the emergency?” luke wonders, brows furrowed in concern. he has deep shadows under his eyes, too. keeping the ship that is camp half-blood afloat has clearly taken a toll on him. 

“you wanting to get out of that conversation. you’re welcome.” you wink at him; luke flushes, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s annoyed, or if he's just flustered. “so, are you gonna keep ignoring me the whole summer?”

you put your helmet on one of the shelves and turn back to luke. you expected him to start removing his armor as well, but he doesn’t. he just glares at you, arms crossed over his chest.

so, he’s annoyed, then. 

“what do you expect?” luke hisses. “you can’t come back here and pretend that everything can be like it was when we were kids. things are different now, especially between us.”

you decide to take him up on his challenge. 

“oh? tell me, luke, what exactly is different between us?”

luke shakes his head in disbelief. you remove your chest plate, and that’s when the tattoo on your waist becomes visible. it’s a magnolia, like one of the flowers that bloomed on the tree outside may castellan’s house. 

something in luke softens, then. he sighs. 

“you could have at least given me a warning.”

he storms off, and you’re left half-armored, wondering what he meant by that.

you figure it out once a few of you settle down for a late-night, underground poker game, and you’re trying not to stare at luke’s hands.

it starts with you telling yourself that you’re just trying to predict what cards he’s holding, figure out if he’s bluffing, and if he’s about to lose everything he’d so confidently bet on. 

but then you notice the silver thumb ring that thalia got him for his 17th birthday. you notice an array of hair ties and elastic bands he keeps just in case a camper needs them, and woven bracelets given to him by his admirers. you notice how the tattoo on his wrist is covered. (it’s hidden well, but you know it’s there — you’d gotten one of a wing, the kind that might be found on a pair of magical red converse, at the same time)

you also notice the forest green painted on luke’s nails, the same shade worn by the person beside him.

van, the new head counsellor of the hephaestus cabin. you’d seen them at staff meetings, but you somehow did not notice that they were dating luke. 

he moved on — is that why luke needed a warning? is that what's changed between you?

it’s fine. whatever. so what if luke has a new partner? it’s not like the two of you were anything, officially. 

luke has a new partner. they’re wearing matching nail polish. they’re one of those couples.

well, van is also wearing a nickleback shirt and luke hates nickleback, unless that fundamental part of his personality changed, too. 

“yo, sailor neptune. you in or not?” travis brings you out of your daze, by using a nickname luke once called you.

back before becoming heroes, when you and luke were just kids, you’d watch cartoons in his living room on saturday mornings — x-men, she-ra: princess of power, teenage mutant ninja turtles, sailor moon. a lifetime ago.

you look around the table and see that everyone has been waiting for you to take your turn. even luke raises an eyebrow at you.

“yeah.” you clear your throat and throw some chips into the centre. “i’m in.”

you have decent enough cards to keep you in the game, and you’re comfortable that you can play the odds in your favor. the stoll brothers are good liars, you know that, and so is luke. malcolm pace is good at strategy, but thankfully not as good as his half-sister annabeth. pollux, who had invited you to the game, already folded along with butch, the son of iris who has a rainbow tattoo on his bicep to prove it. beside you, lou ellen, daughter of the hecate, contemplates her next move. clovis has fallen asleep, true to their title as head counsellor of the hypnos cabin. you can’t get a read on van, but they keep raising the stakes so confidently, and you’ve always liked a good challenge.

soon enough, it’s only you and van in the bet. when it comes time to reveal your cards, you curse yourself for overplaying your hand.

“good game,” van says to you as they collect their winnings. “you really had me going there.” 

“yeah.” your smile is strained, but it’s there nonetheless. “tried my best.”

“guess the curse of achilles doesn’t help as much in poker as it does in capture the flag.” 

“excuse me?” you raise an eyebrow.

luke, who had one arm casually draped around van’s chair the entire game, pulls away. “van, maybe don’t —”

“it’s not like it’s a secret, luke. they’re the prophecy kid, everyone knows they bathed in the river styx to be able to fight kronos. it’s camp legend.”

other than you, luke, and van, everyone else is occupied with something else. connor busies himself shuffling the cards, while lou ellen, malcolm, and pollux get up for more drinks. it seems like butch and travis have their own bet going to see who can balance the most chips on clovis’ forehead without waking him up. 

van waits for an answer. you’re a little queasy, and it’s not from the wine pollux managed to snag from his dad’s office. you’re suddenly faced with the reality that your life is reduced to a legend. you try your best to swallow that feeling, of being made into a greek tragic hero while your heart is still beating, and your life is still a mess.

“that’s relevant, why?”

“just that some people might consider the invulnerability thing an unfair advantage in physical competitions like capture the flag,” van explains. “increased strength and all that.” 

“that would mean nothing without a good strategy,” you counter.

“that’s what i said,” luke grumbles. 

you recognize van now as the person luke was arguing with earlier. it must have been about this. 

about you. 

“okay, y’all were best friends, so luke is obviously going to take your side.”

you’re not sure what stings more: friends or were. 

“although, he never really talks about you, which is weird because you’re, like, famous in and outside camp.”

ouch. that definitely stings the most. luke winces slightly, almost like he feels it, too.

“alright, alright,” connor interjects, shuffling the cards in his hands. “another round?” 

you’re the only one who decides to call it a night. everyone says goodbye; even van, who’s blissfully unaware of the effect their words had on you. luke avoids your gaze. the game continues without you.

percy’s snoring provides enough cover as you sneak into your shared cabin. you try to sleep, but it doesn’t come easy. 

you feel the spot underneath your rib, the one spot you’re truly vulnerable, ache.

summer — age 17

for the first time in your life, you couldn’t breathe underwater. you were swimming in acid, and your skin was melting away.

at least, that’s what it felt like to bathe in the river styx. achilles could have mentioned that, but all he gave was a cryptic warning about anchoring yourself to what makes you mortal.

you really tried at first. you thought about your friends at camp. you thought about percy, about your aunt back when she was still around. you even thought about may castellan, burnt cookies and saturday mornings.

the pain was too much, though. 

you were forgetting where you were, who you were. with every passing second, you were dissolving into nothing.

“if you wanted to go for a swim, you should have told me. i would have worn my swimsuit.”

luke’s voice echoed across the waves. you tilted your head up to see him sitting on the dock above you, his feet dangling into the water. he had rolled up his jeans to just above his ankles so they didn’t get wet, but his shoes were still on, which was a bit strange. the sun made his eyes look like burnt amber, his teeth sparkling as he smiled at you. 

okay. cool.

you were at camp. it was mid-afternoon, free period. the two of you had been at the edge of the lake, until you became impatient and jumped in, fully clothed. behind him, you could see that annabeth, thalia, and percy were waiting for you on the shore. they were each wearing orange camp shirts, which was also strange; you couldn’t remember a time when you were all there together, as campers.

“we better go, sailor,” luke said, amusement laced throughout his words. “come on. those cabins aren’t gonna inspect themselves.”

luke extended his hand to you. when you hesitated, he added:

“i can’t do this without you. will you stay with me?”

you reached up and grabbed luke’s hand.

always.

you emerged from the water, catching your breath as you collapsed on the sand. 

“oh gods. are you okay?”

your cousin, nico diangelo, son of hades, knelt down next to you. he tried to check your pulse, but you waved him away. your eyes searched for luke, but he wasn’t there, despite feeling the ghost of his hand in your own. 

oh.

you weren’t at camp; you were in the underworld. it was nico’s idea for you to take on the curse of achilles so that you’d be strong enough to face kronos. 

“did it work?”

you got up, a bit uneasy on your feet at first. nico helped steady you, his hands cold on your skin.

you felt….stronger wasn’t the right word. you felt adrenaline coursing through your veins, like you could swim across the biggest ocean without pausing once. like you could defeat an entire army and not break a sweat. maybe even take down a titan or two while you're at it.

you needed to see luke again, to meet him and the others in manhattan before it was too late.

“let’s hope so.”

now

you always loved mornings at camp half-blood. the beach was particularly beautiful at sunrise, the water peaceful.

the morning after that impromptu poker game, you need that peacefulness to wash over you. you’re awake after a rather sleepless night, deciding to go for a quick run before breakfast. you get dressed and grab your mp3 player, as quietly as you can to avoid waking up percy (who, truthfully, could probably sleep through a hurricane anyways). 

you jog from one end of the beach to the other. you set a steady rhythm, somewhere between the beat of your music and the sound of waves gently washing over the shore. when you make your way back down to where you started, you notice someone sitting nearby.

luke doesn’t say anything when you first sit next to him. he’s wearing a dark blue hoodie over his usual orange shirt, a cigarette tucked behind his ear. you imagine that he confiscated it from a camper on the way here. 

“morning,” he finally whispers, eyes fixed towards the ocean. 

you shiver, and not just from the cool morning air. you’re reminded of the last time luke spoke to you so softly, the last time you’d caught an early morning sunrise together. such a contrast to where you are now.

“morning,” you finally reply. 

as the sound of waves fills the silence between you, luke surprises you by taking a lighter out of his pocket. he lights the cigarette and takes a puff. then, he hands it to you. 

it’s such an odd, though not unwelcomed, gesture. a peace offering, you figure, but it’s just so not luke that you can’t help yourself.

“is golden boy luke castellan, offering me contraband? what planet am i on?”

the hint of a smile creeps onto his face. “like i said: things are different now,” he echoes his words from the night before, but this time you don’t sense any hostility.

you take a drag of the cigarette. your fingers brush against his when you return it to him.

you decide to offer a peace offering as well, and present to him one of your earbuds — he accepts. you have to slide across the sand to move closer to him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

i’m feelin’ rough, i’m feeling raw / i’m in the prime of my life….

as the song plays, you glance to see luke nodding along, tapping a finger on his knee to the beat. he lets the cigarette smoulder in his other hand.

we’re fated to pretend / to pretend / yeah, yeah, yeah….

when the song is over, luke turns to you. 

“new group?” he brings the cigarette to his lips, then gives it back to you.

“kinda.” you inhale, letting the smoke warm your lungs before explaining. “this is considered they’re breakthrough album. they’re from connecticut, actually.”

“oh, yeah? guess that’s where all the talent is from.”

luke bumps his shoulder against yours knowingly. you feel your cheeks heat up at his praise, his witty sincerity.

this is familiar — you and luke, at the beach, sharing music. it’s familiar, and for a few moments, you can act like there isn’t a wall between you, of unresolved feelings and harsh words. you can pretend that nothing has changed.

“you know, nickleback are from connecticut, too. which means you just called them talented.”

luke coughs on some smoke as he exhales with a laugh. “what? no i didn’t!”

“in a roundabout way. i always knew you were an undercover fan,” you tease.

“i have better taste than that.”

“do you?”

“you’re fucking with me,” luke deadpans.

you crack a smile. “yeah, i’m fucking with you.”

“gods, you scared me for a second,” he laughs, and you can’t help but follow. luke glances at you and the sunshine highlights his smile, his dark brown curls, the ever-changing color of his eyes. golden, radiant. 

you shiver again, looking away. before you know it, you feel something draped across your shoulders.

“i’m not sure van would like it if i was wearing your hoodie.” you joke, but your words are laced with a bitterness you hope luke doesn’t catch. unlucky for you, luke still knows you too well, whether he likes it or not.

“you don’t get to do that.”

“do what?”

luke scoffs. “be jealous.” 

“well, you don’t get to tell me how to feel.”

“so, you are jealous?”

you exhale sharply; you can practically feel the wall between you two reappear.

“it’s too early, lu. and i’m too hungover to deal with this.”

there’s nothing more left to say. you get up, throw his hoodie on the sand, and walk back towards your cabin, the beach and luke further away with every step you take.

it makes sense that way: you were always the one to leave first.

[ghost-in-the-hall]

Fall For Me (Poly! Sleep Token x Fem! Reader) - Pt. IX

Part 9 has finally arrived!!! This chapter we begin to move into winter as the first big snow storm of the year hits (really funny that I'm getting around to publishing this in the dead of the July heat lol). Everyone's finally starting to settle into the dynamic which will lead to some... Interesting interactions while the five of them are stuck in close quarters. I am still having issues with getting everyone tagged because Tumblr hates me, but if you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know! Thank you so much for reading!

WARNINGS: Some suggestive behavior

My Masterlist! ~ AO3 Link! ~ Tip Jar!

Part VIII - Part X

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“Do you think the storm is going to be that bad?” Vessel asks. “It’s all we’ve been hearing about on the radio for the past few days.”

“It’s probably going to get pretty nasty. They’re expecting most of the town to lose power.” You bounce your leg nervously, watching him pause to go over his mental checklist in his head. “Would you, um… would you like to stay with me?”

He chuckles as he approaches the counter, “Scared of the big, bad snowstorm, lovey?” He teases with a smile.

“I’m not scared.” You snap back instantly, rolling your eyes. “It’s just,” Vessel didn’t miss the way the concern immediately crept back into your tone, “you’re so far out in the woods; what if something happens and no one can get out there to help.” His expression softens, reaching up to caress your cheek. You can't help but lean into his touch, his palm warm against your skin.

“If you’re more comfortable with us here, we’ll stay. Besides, do you really think I’m going to turn down a chance to spend more time with my girl?” Your cheeks grow warm as a flustered smile spreads across your lips. You still hadn't gotten used to Vessel so adamantly declaring you as his.

“Good,” you respond, trying your best to appear confident, “I need someone to keep me warm.” You smile coyly at him, making Vessel chuckle.

“Well, feeling bold today, are we beautiful?” His expression darkens slightly as a devious glint appears in his eyes. Your pulse immediately quickens as he offers you a sharp smile, his massive form towering over you, “You want to be in my arms, pretty girl?” He coos, making your face burn. He leans down, bringing his face in front of yours. “I'll hold you all night if that's what you want.” He whispers. He can't help but laugh slightly at your flustered expression, calling you cute as he straightens back up. “I'll be back in about an hour with the others. Let us take care of dinner tonight; you deserve to be spoiled for once.”

“Just be safe, okay? Everything always gets a little crazy around here on storm days.” He takes your hand, slowly bringing your knuckles to his lips.

“I'll be back before you know it.” He smiles sweetly. “Promise.”

While Vessel went to get the others, you took the time to make preparations. You were lucky enough to have the store beneath you; if you lost power, the fridges and your supply of ice would be sufficient to keep things cold for a while. You gathered all the candles and extra blankets from around your apartment, piling them up in one area with your other emergency supplies. You can’t help but smile when there’s a knock at your door. You squeal as III’s large hands wrap around your waist, lifting you effortlessly from the floor. “There she is!” He exclaims excitedly, spinning you around in a hug. You’re suddenly sandwiched between him and IV; you let out a pleased hum as III slots his lips against yours, IV peppering your face with kisses simultaneously.

IV nuzzles his face against yours as III pulls back. “We missed you, doll.” You spin around, slipping into IV’s arms, letting him hug you close as III starts bringing things into the kitchen. He sways you gently in his arms, taking a moment to memorize the feeling of you being pressed against him before pulling back. “I'm going to help the others set up.” He smiles, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

II pushes through the door, arms full of what appeared to be pillows, as he struggles to keep his grip on all of them. “Want some help with that?” You offer with a giggle.

“That'd be great, thanks.” He responds with a chuckle of his own. You smile coyly at him, your arms sliding over his shoulders as he saunters up to you. “And how are you doing today, beautiful?”

“Much better now that you're all here.” You respond softly.

He hums approvingly, “That’s what I like to hear.” He trails a finger along your jaw, carefully tilting your chin until he can easily kiss you. Even the gentlest kisses from II always managed to take your breath away, and now was no different. “You just hang back and relax, love. Let us handle everything.”

Your heart always felt so full whenever all five of you were together. You would never get sick of how lively the group of them made you and your home feel. “Here you go.” You smile as IV slips a glass of wine into your hand, collapsing onto the couch at your side. Vessel, II, and III were currently bickering over something in the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone for what felt like the first time in forever. “I have something for you.” He states softly. He takes your hand, rummaging around in his bag with the other until he produces a small, brown leather notebook. “Here.” He offers it to you; you can't help but smile at the gift.

“What's this?” You ask curiously. You open to the first page, and IV’s messy script is the first thing you see. ‘For my favorite girl, hopefully, this makes up for all the times I should have bought you flowers.’ You flip to the second page to find a perfectly preserved pressed flower. A bright orange bloom sat atop a stem of tiny green leaves; the date IV must have picked it, and the flower's name should have been written in the upper right corner. The rest of the book followed a similar pattern. A collection of vibrant reds, purples, and golds filled the rest of the pages. You could tell how carefully every flower was handled just by how it was presented to you on the page.

“Whenever I find a flower I think you'd like, I press it in a book. That way, you can keep them forever without them wilting.” The gesture was so sweet you blinked rapidly to clear the tears from your eyes.

“Thank you, IV, this is incredible.” You set the book carefully down on the table, reaching out and pulling him into your arms. He wasted no time melting into you, his arms circling your waist as he returned your embrace.

“You make me really happy, you know that?” You smile, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“So do you.” You both reluctantly separate from each other. You rest a hand on IV’s cheek, smiling softly at him as you study how his features curve under the fabric of his mask. You carefully take his face in your hands, guiding him forward to kiss his forehead. He smiles, letting out a deep breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

“Dinner’s ready!” You both jump as you hear Vessel call from the kitchen. He stands, helping you from the couch. IV pulls you into his side, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Let's go before it's all gone.” He chuckles

You stood at III’s side, helping him clean up after dinner. “That food was amazing.” You remark, making him chuckle.

“I try my best.” He responds humbly. “Working with whatever we can grow or hunt, I want to ensure it, at least, tastes good.” You finish drying off the wine glass you had been using earlier, pushing yourself up on your toes to struggle to reach the top shelf. III chuckles; you freeze as you feel the warmth of his body creep up your back, nearly making you drop the glass in the process. “Need some help, love?” He whispers, making you shiver. His long arms can easily reach up to set the glass back in its spot. His hands find their way to your waist, lifting you from the floor to put you on the counter easily. “I can finish up here; you can just relax.” He chuckles as you pout in response.

“You cooked dinner; the least I could do is help with the dishes,” you protest. He places his hands on either side of your waist as he leans closer.

“I think the least you could do is let someone take care of you for a change.” He whispers, making your cheeks grow warm. He studies you, a playful expression growing on his face as he realizes your flustered state. His hands leave the counter, massaging your plush thighs before they slide to your back, pulling you closer to him. You felt so small in his hands, but he still easily towered over you from your position on the counter. He ran his hands soothingly up and down your sides. You forced yourself to stifle the soft whine that threatened to leave you at the feeling of his strong hands against your body. “You're always so worried about taking care of everyone else. When was the last time someone did the same for you?”

Your heart slammed against your ribcage, your thoughts growing fuzzy as you began to feel like putty under III’s touch. “But–” he hushes you softly as you start to argue.

“You deserve to be spoiled.” He says softly, lifting his mask enough to kiss you. “I want to make sure that you are.” You let out a pleased sound as he pushes into you. Your hands roam over his chest; you groan at the feeling of his muscles tensing under your palm. This kiss with III felt different than the others you had shared. This one was noticeably more intense and needy than when you kissed him. His fingers massaged into your muscles as he desperately sought to have you any closer to him than you already were. His breathing was heavy when the two of you finally separated; you could feel the way his hands trembled slightly against your skin.

“What's wrong?” Worry is immediately prominent in your tone.

“Nothing, doll.” He responds gruffly. “It's just if I keep kissing you like that–” he trails off with a chuckle.

“Too bad it's not just the two of us.” You respond under your breath. III’s gaze snaps to you, unsure if he had heard you correctly or not at first. You glance up at him through your lashes, and III could have sworn in that moment his heart stopped. You lean up, placing a gentle kiss on his clothed lips. “Hopefully, that’s not the last time you kiss me like that.”

“Trust me, you don't have to worry about that.” He smiles in response.

“Are you two done in there or what?” You hear II call, “Did we really have that many dishes?”

You giggle, “We should get back to the others.” He chuckles, nodding his agreement.

You found yourself seated in Vessel’s lap; your legs stretched over IV’s legs as he held your hand, your feet resting comfortably in III’s lap as he made easy work of massaging away all the tension in your muscles. II sat on the floor in front of the couch, holding your free hand in his own and bringing your knuckles to his lips every so often. You had thrown on a movie, some mindless holiday comedy that everyone seemed content with. You leaned into Vessel’s chest, letting your head fall against his shoulder. He smiles at you, carefully reaching up to tuck some hair behind your ear. “You less nervous now, love?” He asks softly.

“How could I be nervous? I have all of you within arms reach.” You giggle. He hugs you close, the two of you enjoying the chance to be so close to each other. Just as your eyes grew heavy, your apartment was plunged into complete darkness. “Shit.” You curse, attempting to hurry out of Vessel’s lap; you pause when he gently squeezes your hip.

“II.” He states simply.

“On it.” Before you could ask what was happening, a match was struck to life. But all the candles were on the other side of the apartment; there was no way he could have gotten over there–

“I'll get the stove started.” III stands, placing your feet in IV’s lap. “These two better do a good job of keeping you warm.” He chuckles, quickly pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he passes by.

You didn't have to lift a finger. Before you knew it, the wood stove was warming the living room, candles casting a soft orange glow over the entire space, and a mug of tea warming your hands as you sat sandwiched between IV and II on the couch. The night sped by as you found yourself playing card games, laughing to the point your sides hurt as you witnessed them bicker and repeatedly get caught trying to cheat. “I'm not counting cards!” II protests.

“You absolutely are!” III argues, “Don't think I can't see you counting on your hands!” II opens his mouth to respond, only for III to cut him off, “Disqualified! You are disqualified!” II groans, admitting defeat as he throws his cards on the table.

Vessel wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “You're looking a little tired, love.” You couldn't even attempt to argue as a yawn forces its way past your lips. “Let's call it a night.” He announced, helping you from the floor. “Goodnight.” Vessel leans down, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Goodnight, Ves.” You smile, slipping into his arms for one final hug. You exchange your good nights with the others, reluctant to leave them even though you would only be in the next room. You could hear them all get settled as you lay in bed, your apartment eventually becoming deathly quiet once again. You lay there for what felt like hours, and it had only been about 20 minutes when you checked the time. You sigh, sitting up in bed. You stare at the door, debating whether any of them were still up. You toss back your covers and leave your bed, wincing slightly as the floorboards creak beneath your feet. You carefully crack open your bedroom door, glancing into the living room only to find Vessel still awake, reading a book under the low candlelight. “Everything alright, love?” He asks quietly. It took you a moment to respond, surprised that he realized you were there.

“I just can’t sleep.” You admit sheepishly, opening the door just wide enough to reveal yourself. He closes the book he was reading, setting it on the end table behind him.

“Come here, sweetheart.” He beckons you closer with a nod of his head. You carefully maneuver around the others, who had found a comfortable spot on the floor for the night. Vessel opens his arms for you, allowing you to crawl into his warm embrace. You cuddled into his chest, the heavy weight of his arms around your waist immediately lulling you into a new state of comfort as you melted into him. He tilts his head back; you swallow thickly as you realize just how nice it would feel to have your lips trail along the skin of his neck. You quickly shook the thought from your mind as he blew out the candle. “What’s troubling that pretty little head of yours, hm?” He purrs. You were finding it hard to concentrate. Vessel’s body was so warm every ache in your muscles simply seemed to vanish as you allowed your fingers to trail over his bare skin. He smelled of damp earth, musky incense, and the subtle sweetness of freshly cut flowers.

“Can I ask you something?” You whisper, looking up at him despite the fact you could barely make out the outline of his face.

“Of course.” He responds in the same quiet tone. He adjusts his position, hoisting you up higher on his chest to bring your face closer to his. “You can ask me anything you like, love.”

You could feel his lips brush against yours as he spoke; the feeling was enough to send a shiver up your spine. “Do you think about me?”

“Love, the image of you never leaves my mind.” You can’t help but smile at his response. “I can’t even begin to describe how special you are to me.” He carefully cups your cheek in his hand, his thumb trailing across your jaw. “I must not be doing a very good job as your boyfriend.” He jokes with a chuckle. “There’s got to be some way for me to prove how crazy I am about you.” The edge of his mask bumps against your cheek as he pushes it off his face. His hand carefully cradled your head, guiding your lips down to meet his. You could feel his heartbeat racing under your palm. He kissed you hesitantly at first, his whole body rigid as he waited to see how you would respond to such a bold gesture from him. He had kept you at arm’s length since he met you, not because he didn’t care about you. It was the exact opposite. If he wasn’t careful, Vessel felt he could easily find himself becoming infatuated with you, something that could cost him dearly if you ended up stabbing him in the back like so many others had in the past. Yet, over the time he had known you and the short time you had been together as partners, your affection for him never wavered. Goosebumps erupted across your skin as Vessel slid a hand under your shirt, his tough, calloused hands rough against your back. “There isn’t a second that passes by where I’m not thinking of you; the sound of your laugh, the way you smile, the way you seem to fit so perfectly in my arms; I am always thinking about you.” He confesses breathlessly against your lips. You let out a soft hum of approval as he crushes his lips against yours again, struggling to stay quiet but not wanting to risk waking the others. You felt like you would die if Vessel stopped kissing you. He groans at the feeling of your hands timidly wandering his body, shaky fingers tracing along the outlines of his muscles as your lips melded perfectly to his. He kissed you until there was physically no air left in his lungs. You struggle to steady your rapidly pounding heart. You rest your hand on the side of his face, gently trailing along the peak of his cheekbone. He caught your hand in his, startling you slightly at the abruptness. He brings your knuckles to his lips. “No matter how much I would like to keep kissing you, you should probably get some rest, love.” He says with a chuckle.

“Now, how is that fair?” You ask coyly, “You make me wait all this time to kiss you, and I only get to do it once?” He tilts your chin up with his thumb. You could feel him smile against your lips. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Your eyes flutter shut as you’re met with another euphoric kiss, “but you have to get some sleep.” You grumble out your reluctant agreement, placing one final chaste kiss on his lips before settling against his chest, your eyes feeling heavy as your adrenaline wears off.

You’re woken up the following morning by a knock at the door. You sit up, wiping away the sleep in your eyes as you try to make sense of your situation. You had fallen asleep in the living room last night after coming to see Vessel; you remembered that much. All four of them were already awake and much more alert than you were at the sudden disturbance. “Relax, I’m sure it’s just the plow guy or something.” You reassure them. You stand, shivering as all the warmth is rapidly stolen from your body. You unlocked your door, opening it just enough to peer outside. Your stomach dropped at seeing the police officer on the other side.

He greets you with a familiar smile, “Got a second to talk?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List can now be found in the comments!

[pimosworld]

Stranger in my house

Pairing-Moon boys x F!reader ( Secretly Jake x f!reader) Marc Spector x f!reader/ Steven grant x f!reader

CW-18+,MDNI,Angst,Fluff,Insecurities, inaccurate depiction of DID, reader is semi aware of Jake. Protective Marc, Steven being sweet as always. Established relationship with Marc and Steven.

WK-1.6k

Summary-Snippets of a life where Jake struggles to stay in the shadows.

A/N- Dedicated to my moonknight babes. I have not forsaken you.

[Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

You notice him one day.

  A year into your relationship and Marc is fed up with Steven and yours overflowing books on the floor of the flat. “We need another bookshelf.” He grumbles at your suggestion because he would just get rid of some if he had the choice. 

  That’s how you find yourself curled up on the couch with some tea and ironically a book while you watch Marc put together the new shelf you and Steven picked out. 

  It was ornate with cherry wood accents and came with a miniature ladder to help you reach the top shelf. You didn’t think it would be too complicated but it seems as Marc stares at the pages like they are ancient hieroglyphics, you may have caused a bit more of a headache than you intended. 

  He mutters something incoherent under his breath ‘déjeme ver’. You don’t bother to ask if he needs help when the scowl on his face deepens even further into an almost unrecognizable version of your boyfriend. 

  You glance up occasionally to watch the way his back strains against the tight black t-shirt, or the way his ass looks in his jeans when he bends over. Marc and Stevens movements are so unalike and yet even now the way he stands up and straightens as he rolls his neck is so unlike Marc. 

  You stop ogling to resume your book and find yourself several chapters in when you look up to see it finished. “Oh honey, it looks so good.” 

  The look he gives you when he turns around is more of a smirk of amusement. You glance down briefly to mark your page before standing from the couch to inspect his handy work. You don’t notice the way he’s watching you as you slide your hands along the smooth wood shelves. You grab a few of your favorite books that were piled on the floor and strategically place them in some specific secret order that no one but you is privy to. 

  You turn to him and wrap your arms around his neck, waiting for him to scoop you up as he usually does. His hands hover hesitantly at your waist and then he pulls you flush against him. You almost have no room to breathe as you chuckle lightly into his neck. You swear he smells your hair before he abruptly lets you go. 

  “Hi love, do you like the bookcase?” Your sweet Steven has a slightly wild look in his eyes as waits for your response. 

  “Of course I do, we picked it out together silly.” You lean in and kiss him on the cheek and he relaxes at your touch. “If you’re listening Marc, I love it, since you disappeared on me.” 

  “Right ya…Marc. He says you're welcome.” 

  ****

  You notice one day

  You had spent all afternoon preparing a special dinner and dessert for Marc. The flat is adorned with candles and smells of fresh pasta and apple pie. 

  When Marc walks through the door you can see it written all over his face. He doesn’t say anything about you making his favorites because technically it’s not his birthday. It’s the day after. 

  You enjoy each other's company in comfortable silence as you wait for him to finish. He raises an eyebrow at you as you hand him a small box, unwrapped because then it’s not a birthday gift. 

  He opens it slowly to reveal his watch that broke months ago, the small hand ticking away right in front of his eyes. 

  You should thank her mate

  She didn’t need to do all this for my birthday 

  Well it’s technically not anymore is it? 

  He doesn’t say anything but you decide to press on with your plan. Even if it’s not exactly the reaction you were expecting at the very least he’s not protesting it. 

  “I have one more thing.” You stand from the table and head to the kitchen to retrieve the apple pie on warm in the oven. To you it’s just a dessert, a non cake related dessert that just so happened to be his favorite. Steven helped you with the vegan crust because he was not about to let Marc have all the fun. 

  You return to the table with a slice and a fork to share. He stares at it for a moment and your heart sinks a little. 

  “I know what you’re going to say…”

  He cuts you off before you can finish, he stands so suddenly it startles you. He kisses you slowly at first, savoring the way you moan into his mouth. His hand is on the back of your head and the other around your waist and it feels so different. It’s like you’re sending him off to war and this is the last kiss you’ll ever share. Your lungs burn from lack of air but you don’t want to be the first one to break. 

  He pulls away as you look up at him. His eyes are squeezed so tightly shut as he tries to catch his breath. 

  “Honey,look at me.” 

  His brow softens as he opens his eyes revealing that deep chocolate brown, with a look that could only adorn your sweet Stevens face. 

  “Thank you, love.” 

  ****

  It goes like this for a while. You noticing him…him noticing you. 

  You notice as You quirk your eyebrow at him in the kitchen when he picks out the tomato on his sandwich and drops it in the trash like it personally wronged him.  

  “I thought you liked those?” 

  He notices After a long day at work in shoes you know we’re too uncomfortable he picks up your feet and places them in his lap. He rubs them at first bordering on painful that settles into something soothing. His fingers brush the bottom of your feet and you flinch at the ticklish feeling. He tsks at you under his breath and you still your movements when you meet his unfamiliar eyes. 

  You notice When he doesn’t hear you enter the flat. He’s at the kitchen sink washing dishes, shirtless in those gray sweatpants you love. He’s humming some tune you’ve never heard as you place your things down and toe off your shoes. You didn’t mean to startle him as your cold hands met his side and he turned quickly knocking a glass off the counter. 

  “Mierda quédate ahí!” You don’t speak Spanish but you’re too stunned to move anyway. He grabs you with one arm around your waist and carries you like a duffel bag over to the couch away from the glass. 

  “Sorry love, clumsy me. I’ll get this cleaned up.” Steven doesn’t look at you as he grabs the broom from the closet. 

  ****

He notices when he slinks in through the window in the early hours. It’s still dark outside as he strips himself of his moon knight clothes, the blood only distinguishable on his hands. As he slips past you to the shower he can see your shallow breaths while you lay out flat on the bed. 

  After a while you feel the bed dip beside you as you try to calm your breathing. He wraps his arm around you as he pulls your back flush to his chest. His breath is hot on your neck and you can feel his heart beating rapidly against you. 

  “You’re a terrible faker mi amor.” Your breath hitches in your throat as he speaks the words into your ear. 

  “You have to slow down your breathing if you want to pretend to be asleep.” His voice a low growl as he places his hand on your chest. You can feel him take slow deliberate breaths as you try to match the rise and fall of his chest. ‘así’

  “This isn’t how you lay when you're asleep.” His hand leaves your body momentarily and you miss the heat of his touch. He grabs your thigh behind the knee and pushes it gently until it’s bent. His hand slowly guides you to your stomach while his other arm supports the weight of your head.‘es mejor’

  He envelopes you under the blankets and it takes all your willpower not to roll him over and straddle him. You don’t even know him. He buries his face in your neck and sniffs again inhaling your scent. You’re practically skin to skin in your satin slip dress and his bare chest and boxers. 

  “Is this okay?” His voice barely above a whisper as you nod your head. His lips ghost over your back before he kisses your shoulder. It’s those soft sleepy kisses adorning your body until the real sleep claims you both. 

  ****

  You awake to the feel of cold sheets beside you as you feel around for him. A sliver of light hits the room from the bathroom door slightly ajar. 

  “I swear to god Jake, if you fuck this up.”

Jake -he has a name

  It’s mostly Marc speaking idle threats as you listen in to a one sided conversation. Whatever his reservations may be, it's none of your business. You do know that he would never do anything intentionally to fuck this up. 

  Your boyfriend exits the bathroom still dressed only in his black boxers. “Love…we need to talk to you about something.” 

  He sits on the edge of the bed as he rubs circles on your legs under the sheets. 

  “I know.” 

  They knew…it’s why they can’t be mad when you finally talk about the stranger. You fell in love with him a long time ago. The one they tried to keep a secret. He no longer wanted to be kept in the dark. He loves you too much. This stranger in your house. 

@chichimisaki @simpforbritgents @casa-boiardi @missdictatorme @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @melodygatesauthor @missbeverlyhills

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Dejeme ver-Let me see

Mierda quedate ahi-Shit stay there

Asi- just like that

Es mejor- that’s better

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (7.5)

chapter 7.5: limbo

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; minho's pov; non-explicit smut, kissing, grinding, implied unprotected sex; alcohol consumption, non-linear storytelling (jumps around a few random scenes before we get back to the present that picks up from the end of chapter 7), cursing, the final line :-?; not that unedited i am so so sorry lol word count: 5.6k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / series masterpost / taglist

Wishing fountains, we pray for change in the dark Moving mountains, we end up right where we start The world’s not falling apart But you and I, baby we are

Wishing Fountains - Bad Suns

“What does it say?” Minho asks.

You sigh, your eyes trailing the words on the small piece of paper in your hands before you shove one half of the fortune cookie in your mouth. It seems dry; you look like you can barely swallow it.

“Bullshit,” you say simply, a little bitter before you hide behind a mask of indifference, turning to him as you ask, “Yours?” 

He breaks his own fortune cookie in half, pulling out a similar piece of paper that reads, “‘Jeg elsker deg’ means ‘I love you’ in Norwegian.”

You're both lying on a fluffy rug on the floor of your bedroom, with an empty bottle of rosé sitting somewhere near your head. “That’s... random,” you say, casting your eyes to the ceiling. “But I mean, at least it’s kind of educational. Now you know a phrase in Norwegian.”

“Sure,” Minho laughs, testing out the syllables in his mouth and butchering them in the process. “Who would I even say it to?”

“Impress your future girlfriend with your worldly knowledge. Or say it to Hyunjin, I’m sure he’ll swoon and blush like a schoolgirl.”

“That’s the last thing I want. He’s already clingy enough as it is.”

“Alright. Well, your loss then.”

He only hums in response. “You’re really not gonna tell me what yours is?”

“I told you. It’s bullshit.”

“Wanna tell me why the fortune cookie is evil at least? I’ll fight it for you.”

You roll your eyes, shoving at his shoulder with a playful scoff. “It just got me thinking, that’s all.”

“About what?”

It takes a minute for you to gather your thoughts into one semi-cohesive pile. 

“Just… reminds me how I don’t really fit into anyone’s life,” you start, your voice coming out a little small and timid before you seem to let the alcohol give you enough confidence to say what you want. “I don’t feel like I’m worth anyone’s time. Everyone’s going to outgrow me eventually, if they haven’t already. Their lives will only get bigger and bigger, and they’ll have to leave me behind at some point. All that space but none for me.

“I think I’ll be stuck like this forever, in this fucking… limbo. And I know it’s dramatic because we’re still young and we’ve got our whole lives in front of us and whatever else that people say. But it feels like wherever I go and whatever I do, my life will always be this small while you all move on. Chan and Jess, Seungmin, Changbin, Felix, even Hyunjin and Jisung when they’re not too busy being idiots. Everyone’s got everything all planned out, and they have other things to fall back on if those plans don’t work out. If I fall, I think I’ll just keep falling until I hit rock bottom.

“And you… you’re gonna do great things too. You’re gonna live your life and it’s going to be a good one, and you’ll forget about me too. A few years from now, when everyone’s already moved on, I’ll just be a girl that you used to know. I’m just a stop along the way.”

Then you pause, and the laugh you let out afterward is choked up and not at all sincere. You rub your hands down your face, groaning a little when you say, “Ugh, that was depressing. Sorry, it’s the wine. Forget I said anything.”

You have beautiful eyes, that’s what Minho has always thought, the kind that holds all the universe’s sparkles and all its sadness too, a bittersweet balance. The kind that makes one want to stop and admire for a while. He loves when they light up before the joy gradually spreads across your face, like watching the sun peak over the horizon before it colors the sky with ethereal pinks and purples and blues. You’re a wonderful sunrise, his favorite part of every day.

He even loves your faraway gaze when you’re here but you’re elsewhere simultaneously, hiding in your eyes musings that are privy to nobody else. You’d stare into the distance and he’d watch you the whole time, wondering if any of the thoughts that occupy your mind are about him.

Minho has an urge to take you into his arms and hold you tight and tell you that everything’s going to be okay. That no one’s going to forget about you because you’re not someone who can be forgotten so easily, let alone be forgotten by him. That he isn’t going anywhere if it’s not by your side, that he wants to be in your life until you decide you’re sick of him, not the other way around.

He wants to tell you he loves you because that’s the truth. He was gone the minute he saw you at that stupid party years ago when you had walked in shyly with Chan and Jess. You had tried to make yourself smaller in a roomful of strangers, but you’ve always been the only one Minho could find in a crowd.

Years and years from now, when he thinks back to his youth, the highlight reel that will pop up in his mind will be of his idiot friends and the good memories they’ve shared with one another. How they laughed and cried, how they fell and got back up together time and time again.

And at the center of it all will be you. Green grass, blue skies, his golden days and you, the focal point of his youth.

He loves you. Would it help, or would it scare you?

He doesn’t let himself debate that question for long. Regardless of what the answer is, now isn’t the right time. So instead, he says, “For what it’s worth, everyone’s just taking it one day at a time, even if they seem like they have it all planned out. You’re not falling behind. You’re going at your own pace, who cares about other people?”

You turn your head to stare at him, your cheeks flushed with a rosy tint from the wine you had shared and a pensive look on your face. He can’t tell what you’re thinking, but he holds your gaze anyway.

“And I can’t speak for anyone else, but you’ll always have me. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

A quiet moment passes. If Minho focuses hard enough, he thinks he might be able to hear the faint beats of your heart.

His gaze flickers to your lips for barely a second before it returns to your eyes, quick enough for it to escape your notice.

Then, you’re holding yourself up on one elbow and shuffling into his orbit until you’re right by his side. He doesn’t move a single inch; he only watches as you get closer, and closer, and closer until there’s no more space between the two of you. He blinks, and in that split second he misses the way you let your eyes shut as you lean down to press your lips to his.

He’s surprised, but pleasantly so.

You taste like rosé, like something he’s always known that he wants to chase.

It stuns him enough that he forgets to respond, his mind focused solely on the feeling of your soft lips on him, the scent of your jasmine perfume and how you’re so warm pressed against him like this.

Maybe it’s the stillness of his body that shocks you out of it, because you pull away after a few seconds with an instant look of mortification in your eyes, trying to scramble back to your original spot on the rug like you’ve just committed an unspeakable sin. Running away, he thinks, is your first instinct.

But Minho is just a tad quicker than you are. He doesn’t let you stray very far when he props himself up to cup your face with one hand and bring you back to him.

He’s kissing you again and for a brief moment, he feels like he could die.

You don’t break from him this time. Instead, you’re kissing him back just as deeply. You let him lower you back to the floor as he holds himself up above you, his tongue slipping past the seal of your lips while his thumb strokes your cheek softly, keeping you there in his loose hold so you could still run if that’s what you want to do.

But you stay with him, your hands trailing up the expanse of his chest to find purchase on his shoulders, your legs parting so he could perfectly slot himself into the space that you’ve allowed him.

When he rocks his hips into you experimentally, you bite on his bottom lip, a whining sound from your throat comes out muffled against his mouth.

He strays just long enough and far enough so he could look into your eyes, with your pupils blown much darker than they had been at the start of the evening.

He says your name, the gentlest sound in the world, then a question. “What do you want?”

Minho half expects you to overthink your answer and come back to your senses, to choose flight because it would be the easier option.

But you don’t. There’s a dazed look in your eyes as you lock onto him, and there’s something underneath the pool of lust in your gaze that leaves him breathless and wondering.

“You,” you say quietly, “I want you.”

And it’s with this simple answer that you pull him back to you again, not the other way around. You kiss him more fervently than before if that’s even possible. When he slides his arm around your waist, you let him pick you up to cross the few steps it takes to get to your bed, his lips never leaving you even after he has laid you onto the mattress. They follow the path where your jawline leads down to your neck, then where your neck meets your collarbone, and he savors every little whimper that you make for him even though he’s barely touched you yet. There’s hardly any patch of skin that he leaves unkissed, and when he reaches where your shirt begins to hide the rest of you from him, he only looks up at you, quietly asking for more permission.

You don’t give him a verbal answer. You take matters into your own hands, lifting your top over your head and flinging it somewhere on the floor.

Then your bra follows to join your shirt, wherever it may be. Minho assumes they’ve landed on the bottle of rosé, only guessing by the sound of the glass being knocked over and rolling around. He’s not sure but he doesn’t care about it enough to look, not when he’s got you right here under him, so beautiful and so willing that it makes his head spin.

He’s imagined this before, just a few times whenever he's drunk enough to let his mind wander without the guilt that comes with it when he’s sober. He has wondered before what it would feel like to kiss you breathless and have you kiss him back, to touch you in ways that no one else ever has, to taste how sweet you are and feel your warmth. None of it is appropriate, not at all platonic. He’s well aware of it.

It's been years, ever since Minho met you at that party when he was 19 and you had been too awkward to start a conversation. Years of walking with you in the rain after class, sharing umbrellas that are too small to shield the both of you but it’s okay, because he doesn’t mind leaving half of his body exposed to the harsh weather as long as the rain doesn’t get on you. Years of making sure you get home safely after nights out with your friends, years of insisting that he sees you walk inside your building and up to your floor whether it's 11PM or 4:30AM. Years of lingering glances, of pretending he isn’t bothered whenever Felix offers to introduce you to someone, of smiles sent your way that are far too endeared to mean nothing at all.

Years of loving you in silence because he’s your friend first and foremost, and his friendship with you means more to him than the feelings he has for you.

And yet...

He’s here in your bed, watching you with mesmerized eyes as you take off the rest of your clothes before helping him discard his, as you kiss him just as deeply as he’s wanted to kiss you for the longest time, as you keep pulling him into you even when he’s already as close to you as humanly possible. His lips on yours, his heart pressed against the other side of yours. His fingers intertwined with yours when he slips inside of you, and how your hands stay interlocked the entire time you’re wrapped together. You cling to him so tightly, as though it would hurt you if he were to ever let go.

It’s the way you look at him, like he’s the only person that exists in your universe. It’s the broken moans that you give him, the nonsense babbles that make his chest swell with pride at the knowledge that he’s making you feel so good that the only thing you know how to say coherently is his name. It’s the heaven between your thighs, absolutely divine and infinitely better than any fantasy that he could ever let himself indulge in.

Just for tonight, Minho can pretend that you're his, even though he knows that he’s already been yours since the first time you met. He’s been yours for as long as he can remember, even if you don’t know it yet.

Later on, when he’s collapsed next to you on the bed, there’s a safe distance between your tired bodies and a certain tension in the air that’s heavy with the consequences of your actions. When he takes your hand, the one that’s shaking as you grip the sheets between your fingers, it alleviates some of that anxiety.

“The fortune cookie, what did it say?” he asks, like you’re simply continuing the conversation from before.

You let out a nervous chuckle. “Seriously?”

He gives you a lopsided smile, rubbing his thumb over your skin. “Seriously.”

You purse your lips as you look at him for another second before you cast your eyes to the ceiling again, like you’d done just an hour ago. “It said ‘You’ll be loved.’”

You are, he thinks to himself. You’re loved.

“Open wide.”

You give him a look, to which he only responds with a shrug and a sly grin. 

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you say, but you take the spoonful of chicken soup that he offers you anyway. You can’t focus on the taste but it’s warm and the relief you feel is instant when it soothes your throat.

You’ve practically been on bedrest for the past three days, slowly rotting away in your apartment with a bad strain of the seasonal flu until Minho came over and unleashed his inner mama bear on you. Now here you are, wrapped up like a burrito on the couch (Minho insisted; he wouldn’t have it any other way) while he spoon feeds you homemade chicken soup.

You were stubborn about it at first, as one could probably imagine. When you told the group chat that you wouldn’t make it to movie night at Chan’s place last weekend, you were adamant that you would be able to sleep it off and bounce back in no time, despite Minho offering to make you some food and bring over some meds and cough drops.

The symptoms worsened overnight though, and you developed a fever along with a cough that’s worse than any you’ve ever experienced. When Minho called you to make sure you were still alive, you could barely even speak.

He hates your cavalier attitude when it comes to taking care of yourself. He hates himself even more for believing in your nonchalance and not bulldozing his way over sooner.

“I’m enjoying this because I was right,” he says, feeding you more of the soup. “I told you instant ramyeon wouldn’t cure you.”

He lets his I told you so triumph go easily, even though he suspects that you have much more to bite back at him if you could get through half a sentence without wanting to hack your lungs out. You make a noise, and he isn’t really sure if it’s one of agreement or protest but it’s most likely the latter. He thinks it’s cute that you close your eyes after every spoonful, lazily eating like one of his cats back home whenever they’ve run out of energy. You’re probably tired and can’t wait to get into bed.

When the soup is finished, Minho fetches you your meds and a glass of warm water. He doesn’t know if the scrunched up face you make after every pill is because you hate the bitter taste or if the tablets keep dragging against your already sensitive throat on their way down, but he strokes your hair all the while you wash it down with water, a gentle hand on your head as if to say You’re doing well.

He tucks you in bed not long after, despite your weak protests as he carries you to your bedroom.

“Oh my god,” you had managed to croak out. “I’m not that helpless.”

“I know,” came his response and a teasing smile. “Just let me take care of you for once.”

You’re pliant once you’re laid gently on the mattress though, idly watching Minho as he wraps the duvet around your shoulders and fluffs your pillows just the way you like. This is awfully domestic, he notes, and he can’t help but lean down and press a kiss to your forehead, not when he’s absolutely endeared by the way your tired eyes try to keep themselves open just so you could look at him.

When his lips leave your warm skin, he thinks he might’ve imagined the blush that colors your cheeks.

But he blinks, and you’re still flushed, your lips slightly parted as you stare at him, mild surprise evident in your drowsy gaze.

Something passes over the two of you, a kind of silence that he isn’t accustomed to when he’s with you. It isn’t bad, it’s just… strange.

One beat, then another. “Want me to stay with you?” he asks.

He knows you’d say no, and yet he can’t help the disappointment when you tell him, “You don’t have to. Go home, Min. Thanks for taking care of me today.”

“You sure? I can take the couch. It’s fine.”

“I’m sure. Chan and Jess said they’re coming to check on me in the morning.”

Minho lets out a hum, and purses his lips.

“What?” you ask.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you look like you want to.”

“Just… y’know,” he starts, gauging your reaction all the while, for any signs of physical discomfort or otherwise, “I like you like this. You’re not hiding when you’re like this.”

“You like me frail and on the verge of death?”

He rolls his eyes, pretends to flick at your forehead. “You know what I mean.”

When you giggle, it’s immediately followed by a wince, like the movement is hurting your sensitive throat. “Do I hide when I’m with you?”

“Sometimes.” He moves his hand to caress your face, gentle fingertips tracing the apple of your cheek. Surprisingly, you let him, if only for a little while. “It feels like you’re always ready to leave.”

“Are you worried I’m gonna run away?” you ask, covering your hand over his to move it away, but you still let his touch linger when you only lower his hand to your neck, where he starts twiddling your hair between his fingers. It feels like you want him close, close enough that it matters, close in a way that still lets you have control over how it matters. “I physically can’t. I’m sick.”

“Does that mean you’ll run away when you get better?”

You seem to ponder the question for a moment. You’re holding onto his wrist and Minho is almost certain that you can feel his pulse. He would do so many things for you if only you’d let him.

When you answer him, you keep things light but your tone is soft, gentle in a way that tells him your sentiment means more than the words you cherry pick on the surface.

 “No, I have finals in two weeks.”

The first time that Minho gets to wake up next to you, nothing feels real. Not the pleasant scent of your shampoo greeting him the minute he opens his eyes, not your soft breath fanning his bare collarbone where you lay with your head tucked into the crook of his neck, not even the feeling of you in his arms, safe and warm, as though this is where you’re meant to be. None of it seems like anything other than a dream.

When memories of the previous night come rushing to the surface, it also brings back the annoyance he felt watching Yeonjun openly flirt with you at the party, and the bitter feeling that accompanied the reminder that Minho couldn’t even really do anything about it but stand idly by. 

But you stir in his arms, and all of the annoyance and bitterness goes away. Because you’re here with him and not anybody else. There’s a certain ego boost knowing that he’s the one you kiss, the only one you allow in your most personal space. To know you is a privilege, and it’s one that you grant no one else but him.

Last night, something happened. Something changed, he felt it when you were the one who asked him to stay. You let him put his shirt on you, let him hold you as you slept, even welcomed his embrace and snuggled further into his body in a way that you’ve never done before.

How you kissed him just hours prior, how you looked at him… God, he thinks he could just spill all of his secrets if you did it again.

But when you open your eyes, Minho is already pretending to be asleep again. How would you react? He’s curious to know. Would you scramble away the second the realization kicks in that you let him break your rule? Would you leave his side and act all nonchalant about it when you inevitably have to face each other later? He’s willing to bet that you would.

But you surprise him again. He feels you watching him for a moment, then your touch ghosts upon his features. It almost makes him falter in his act, your gentle fingers tracing his temple, his cheekbones, the slope of his nose down to his lips. There’s a sigh that you exhale, and he misses your touch the very second it leaves his skin. He itches to bring you closer to him again.

So that’s what he does. Minho keeps the facade going, pretending like he’s now just waking up with his limbs stretching out. You stiffen when he hugs you tighter, but you soon relax after he starts stroking your hair. 

Nothing has changed for him, but can you say the same?

“Dude!”

Minho flinches into action when a voice calls his name right by the car window, loud enough to startle him even through the thick layer of glass. When he turns his head, he finds Changbin’s face all pressed up against the window, struggling to hold three bags full of supplies that are threatening to spill out. “Help me with these!” his friend says.

It’s the week of Jisung, Felix and Seungmin’s birthdays; you lot tends to go all out for the quadruple birthday bash every year (Chan’s birthday is only 11 days later after all). Seungmin’s family has a lakeside cabin a couple hours from the city, that’s where everyone goes to unwind for a long weekend with plenty of food and even more drinks. This year, it’s no different.

Minho and Changbin are on drinks duty, tasked with picking up all of the alcohol and refreshments for the weekend ahead. He doesn’t really know what the rest are doing, just that you and Jeongin are babysitting Hyunjin to make sure the latter doesn’t deviate from the proposed budget and go way overboard when getting snacks and decorations. You sent Minho a text a while ago, a video of you facepalming and rolling your eyes before you flip the camera over to show Hyunjin and Jeongin bickering like children over a mega pack of chips.

Once everything is in the car – cases of beer safely loaded into the trunk, bottles of water and soft drinks set in their designated plastic bags in the backseat, Changbin comments from the driver’s seat, “You looked weird. You were smiling.”

Minho only stares at him for a moment, a neutral expression on his face as he blinks those typical Minho blinks, before he turns his head to the other side to lean against the window.

He was thinking about the first time your tradition started, the first year Jess had to drag you on the trip. She used to do it often; you were shy in the beginning.

He’s got a favorite memory of you, and it wasn’t you and him sitting together on the bank of the river during the sunset, while the others were in the water, splashing around and having the time of your lives (you two were the only ones who couldn’t swim, but it was okay, you didn’t feel like you missed out on anything because at least you had each other).

His favorite memory of you wasn’t running into you in the middle of the night when he went into the kitchen for some water and you were out by yourself on the adjacent balcony, sitting with your chin resting on your folded knees and the crescent moon for company. He stayed there for a moment, dazed, wondering if he was still dreaming or if it was just you. When Minho finally made his presence known, you told him you couldn’t sleep and he suggested that you break into Hyunjin’s secret ramyeon stash, because going to bed with a full stomach always made him feel better whenever he was restless. 1:58AM, you ended up almost burning your hand on the stove, too busy trying to keep your giggles down when he made a stupid joke.

Minho’s favorite memory wasn’t of you falling asleep on his shoulder on the drive back either, with you squished in the backseat between him and Felix, and your light snores reminded him of Soonie whenever the cat would doze off on his chest. It wasn’t any of these moments, even though he thinks he might’ve loved you in every instance.

His favorite memory of you was the evening before that trip had to come to an end, the last night you all spent together before you had to leave your safe little bubble. It was after dinner and some drinks, everyone was buzzed and the air was crisp, chilly every now and then. When you were gathered on the dock overlooking the lake, each holding a sparkler that Jisung had prepared, you were laughing. Everyone else was laughing too, but yours was the only sound Minho could focus on.

“Be quiet. I’m gonna take a nap,” he tells Changbin, ignoring the comment entirely as he closes his eyes. “Wake me when we get to Chan’s.”

The lights, and your friends, and the moon hanging high up in the sky like a guardian angel back then.

You were watching how it all reflected so beautifully in the rippling waters below. He was watching you.

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

His question hangs in the awful silence as you stare at him. Minho can see your nails digging into your palms where your fists are clenched, your glassy eyes and the frown between your brows, like you’re trying your hardest to hold back tears. Why else would you be so upset?

He’s known about it for a while, or at the very least, he’s had an inkling of how you feel about him. He knows he isn’t in over his head when he says there’s a certain glow that radiates from within you when you’re together, a side of you that’s tender and at peace, one that he’s never seen you show anyone else. The way you look at him, it’s the same way that he looks at you even if you don’t realize it yet, or maybe you just don’t want to admit it out loud.

It hasn’t been one sided for at least some time now, he knows it.

But it’s frustrating to watch you try so hard to fight it. He’s the only one holding on, and you’ve been willing to let go at every turn.

“See what?” you challenge.

This isn’t how he planned to ever say these words, but the moment is here whether he likes it or not. It’s staring at you both in the face even if you are doing your best to hide from it.

Minho holds your gaze for a few seconds before he steps toward you again. This time, you stand your ground.

“You asked me if things changed for me and I said no. That was the truth, I never lied to you. We’re friends but that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen you as something more from the beginning.”

He pauses there, watches your eyes and how you take it in. They soften a little, filling up some more as you process his words. There’s surprise in the look that you wear, sure. A little confusion, yes. But most of all, you just look sad. When you call out his name, he can tell by your tone that it’s a warning, that you’re about to run away for real this time if he presses on, and yet he can’t stop until he says his piece.

“If you want me to spell it out for you, I’ve had feelings for you since we first met. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for so long that I can’t remember what it feels like not to love you, and it drives me crazy that you don’t see any of it. The thing that makes me even crazier, do you know what it is? I think you feel something for me too, but you won’t admit it to yourself and you always resort to shutting down instead of facing your feelings. How much longer are you going to run away from me?”

When the first tear unintentionally spills over from the corner of your eye, Minho knows he’s struck a nerve. He wants to reach out and wipe away the tiny stream that rolls down your face but you beat him to it, wiping at your cheek in angry motions.

“You’re wrong.” Your voice is tight when you tell him, “I don’t have feelings for you.” It’s the only thing that you address.

Sometimes, he searches for your answer at the bottom of a glass, or on the other end of looks that seem to linger just a beat too long. But as he’s standing here, right now, he finds it in your hesitation to speak, in the lie you give him when you finally do.

It’s the answer he’s always wanted and yet, the knowledge brings him no satisfaction at all. It only lodges a lump in his throat, an overwhelming sense of dejection when he sees how hard you’re trying to fight this.

“I know you,” he sighs after a moment, a little defeated. “I know when you’re lying.”

“Maybe you don’t know me that well after all.”

You’re stubborn. You’ve always been stubborn.

Minho takes another step forward. It feels like it’s a step closer to the end as you both know it, because how else is your relationship going to come back from this? He sees the slight shake in your shoulders that you try to suppress, but he’ll always be the one to notice. 

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he says quietly, his final resort. A challenge but it sounds an awful lot like a plea. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible that things can take a turn for the worse in just two weeks’ time. The last time you both were here, you’d kissed his endeared smile and held him so impossibly close to you. Now, everything is falling apart, the seams coming undone one by one. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”

Minho meant what he said, about how loving you drives him crazy sometimes. Even when you’re breaking his heart, he still thinks you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. A noticeable sting settles in between the cracks of his ribcage at the sight of your quivering bottom lip, your balled up fists and his own reflection in your glassy eyes.

“Do you want me to say it so badly?” you ask, and he can only stare at you when your voice comes out harsher than it was before, though it cracks toward the end as you try to keep up with the facade. “Fine, I’ll say it.”

It’s not what he asked, but it’s confirmation nonetheless. It’s acceptance but not how he wants it to be. Acceptance that you do love him, and yet, you say it in a way that he’s never expected to hear from you.

“I don’t want to love you.”

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 28.08.2024]

[sapphicandgraphic]

The Girl Next Door

Synopsis: A new neighbor turns Melissa’s world upside down.

Chapter: 1/10 (The Party)

Series Warnings: Slow burn, angst, drama, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, protective Melissa, fem reader, age difference, WLW

Chapter Warnings: Drinking and drugs, adorable banter

____________________

Chapter 1

Melissa’s eyes fluttered open. For a moment, she wasn’t sure what had woken her up. Then the unpleasant thump of bass resumed and she growled, kicking the tangle of sheets off her legs as she reached for the alarm clock on her bedside table.

“12:30 in the morning,” she muttered. “Fuckin’ unbelievable.”

Groping around in the darkness, she pulled on a pair of faded Levi’s and an oversized sweatshirt. Stumbling through the living room, she pressed her eye to the peephole and confirmed the coast was clear before unlocking the door and stepping out into the hall.

The unit directly across from hers was decorated in streamers and hand-drawn posters. The biggest one read “Welcome Home, Hotshot!” in black sharpie. Balling up her fist, Melissa pounded three times on the door.

You were standing in the middle of your new kitchen, just cracking open another beer when you heard a dull thump-thump-thump at the door. The counter was littered with half-empty liquor bottles, solo cups, and melting bags of ice.

“Can somebody get that?” you called over the crowd, tossing the bottle cap in the sink. “It’s probably the pizza.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and then pressed the cool bottle to your forehead, enjoying the relief against your flushed skin. Between moving back to the states, signing your lease, and successfully begging your old boss for a job, you were running on fumes.

A few moments later, Boone appeared at your side. His eyes were red and he had a spliff perched between his lips.

“There’s a woman at the door asking to speak to the owner of the apartment,” he said, pouring a shot of Jameson. “She seemed pretty pissed.”

You rolled your eyes, plucking the shabby little cigarette from his mouth and taking a quick drag before stubbing it out. “You can’t smoke in here,” you told him.

Boone snorted. “Copy that.”

You grabbed another beer from the fridge. Then, stepping over a pile of half-unpacked cardboard boxes, you shuffled around the edge of the packed party and down the short foyer.

One look at the redhead on your doorstep confirmed that she was definitely pissed. But your friend had failed to mention that she was also gorgeous, especially with her long hair tangled from sleep. Your eyes were drawn down to her pink lips, a flirtatious impulse suddenly overtaking you.

“You’re way too hot to be the pizza delivery guy.”

For a moment, you thought she might laugh. A series of emotions danced across her face—surprise, suspicion, disgust. Then she landed on outrage.

“‘Scuse me?”

You winced, scrubbing a hand over your face and blinking hard.

“Sorry,” you said, suddenly wishing the floor would swallow you whole. “I’m very jet lagged. And a little drunk.”

You stepped out in the hall properly.

“Let’s start over,” you said with an apologetic smile. “I’m guessing you’re one of my new neighbors?”

She didn’t smile back. “Ya guess right.”

Her low, raspy voice sent a pleasant shiver down your back. You popped the top of the beer and offered it to her. “Want to come in? We’ve got food on the way and plenty to drink.”

Melissa placed a hand on her hip, fixing you with an incredulous look. Twenty years ago, an invite from a pretty thing like you—tall, tan, with a tipsy glow on your face—might have been enough to tempt her inside.

“Turn down your shitty music,” she said bluntly. “Or I’m calling the cops.”

You laughed and she raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “Did I say somethin’ funny?”

“No, no,” you hastened to explain. “It’s just…it is shitty music, isn’t it? Some Polish guy in on the aux and his playlist is a bunch of electronic house trance...”

You trailed off, distracted by the adorable frown on her face. She gave you one last puzzled look before starting to turn away.

“Wait—” you stepped forward hastily, stumbling a bit, not eager to let this woman out of your sight. She was like a firecracker, short fuse just begging to be lit. And you had a thing for danger.

Melissa rounded on you.

“Did I not make myself clear, hotshot?” Her eyes flickered to the shabby poster over your shoulder, clearly unimpressed. “Some of us got work in the mornin’.”

She noticed the furious blush that rose in your face.

“That’s a nickname,” you mumbled, before setting the beers on the floor and introducing yourself properly. Your outstretched hand hung in the air between you for a few seconds until she gripped it briefly. Her skin was soft, warm.

“I just moved back to Philly,” you explained. “I’ve been living abroad for a couple years.”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “I don’t need your whole life story, kid.”

“Sorry,” you smiled, charmed by her prickliness. “Guess I’m a little rusty at making small talk.”

“Well ya got about a hundred people in there to practice on,” she said, flicking a tired hand toward your apartment.

You chuckled. “Ironically, I’m not so great at crowds,” you admitted, rubbing your neck awkwardly. “Sort of why I went AWOL in the first place.”

Melissa paused. All your bravado from a few seconds before seemed to slip away. She noticed the shadows under your eyes, the shy way you were smiling at her. Maybe she had been a little too harsh.

Then a particularly loud song crescendoed inside the apartment behind you, and she snapped out of it.

“See, you’re doin’ that whole life story thing again, hon,” she said, dropping your hand. “Tell those jabronis to pack up the DJ booth.”

She was about to disappear inside her apartment.

“Your sweater’s on backwards,” you called.

Melissa stilled, hovering on the threshold. Her back was turned, so you missed the small smile that hooked to the side of her face.

“Go to bed, hotshot,” she said, with none of her previous venom.

Then she was gone.

Chapter 2