#I could take pictures of her day in and day out

[rosy-hollow]

Your husband, Sukuna, is a menace—but he can't say no to your even bigger menace of a daughter.

He already can't say no to you—the absolute sweetheart he had fallen deeply for—so how could he stand a chance against his five-year-old daughter, who looked so much like you yet had the wrath and fury to make even hell freeze over?

It’s Yuna’s first day of kindergarten, and you and your husband have already been called to the school because of your girl's… behavioral issues.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. and Mrs. Sukuna. I, uh… as you’ve heard, Yuna has been acting disruptively in school today. We’ll have to send her home due to her actions, but I sincerely hope this doesn’t happen again."

Underneath the table, your hand finds your husband's reassuringly, squeezing it to let him know you'd handle this.

"I apologize for any inconvenience, sir... but may I know the details of what happened first?" you ask politely, maintaining a calm facade. And if the two of you weren’t talking to your daughter's school principal, Sukuna would’ve kissed you right then and there—because the moment he opened his mouth, he’d probably have a restraining order filed against him in every country.

Despite your calm demeanor, though, you were practically seething.

You knew your daughter. Yes, she had quite a temper, but to act up in such a way that caused a scene? That didn’t sound like her. And if she really had, then something serious must've happened.

The principal nods, sighing bitterly. "Apparently, there was a squabble between your daughter and another boy on the playground… He ended up with a tooth knocked out in the end."

You blink, taken aback, frowning.

Your daughter, though prone to getting angry, would never resort to violence. You and your husband raised her better than that.

Your blood simmers slightly as you take in the principal’s disdainful expression and condescending tone. You want to punch it off his face—but you don’t, much to your own chagrin.

Your husband is squeezing your hand so hard it feels like your bones might snap, but you still rub your thumb comfortingly against his knuckles.

"May I speak to my daughter? Though this behavior is unacceptable, this doesn’t sound like her at all," you say, and the principal sighs, nodding.

"Yes, but please make it quick."

You nod, mentally flipping the man off, before exiting the room with your furious husband in tow.

There, just outside, sits your daughter—wide red eyes filled with tears.

"I-I’m sorry, Mommy..." she whimpers softly, and something inside you breaks as you rush forward to envelop her in your arms.

It takes everything in you not to hunt down the people who reduced your loving daughter to this mess. And you're sure your husband isn’t doing any better—years and years of therapy doing everything it can to keep his rage at bay.

"H-He said my eyes m-made me look l-like a m-m-monster, and t-then he pushed me, and so I just pushed him back, and then he tripped over his shoelaces and his t-tooth fell out—"

Yuna is full-on sobbing now, and you freeze, holding her tightly.

Wordlessly, you pick up the small five-year-old and hand her to your husband, a glint in your eye. Sukuna stiffens, swallowing hard. His grip on Yuna tightens slightly as he watches you storm inside.

He’s only seen you mad maybe four times in your ten years of marriage—if Yuna could freeze hell over when she was angry, then you were the devil incarnate herself.

You reenter the principal’s office, slamming the door behind you. Sukuna decides to be a smart dad and take his daughter down the hall, avoiding what is definitely about to be verbal homicide.

When you finally exit the room, there's an eerily peaceful look on your face. Casually, you dust off your shirt, approaching your husband and daughter with a warm smile.

Sukuna and Yuna exchange uneasy glances.

"So~ who wants ice cream?"

Yuna’s not uneasy anymore.

Sukuna sighs.

He loves his two girls more than anything in the world—he never, ever would have pictured himself being the calmer one in the relationship, but you never ceased to prove him wrong.

That’s what he loved about you, though.

A/N: i love when beefy men are down bad for me (this has never happened)

[sublimepizzastarfish]

Hope this helps!

"One day there was an anonymous present sitting on my doorstep--Volume One of Capital by Karl Marx, in a brown paper bag. A joke? Serious? And who had sent it? I never found out.

"Late that night, naked in bed, I leafed through it. The beginning was impenetrable, I couldn't understand it, but when I came to the part about the lives of the workers--the coal miners, the child laborers--I could feel myself suddenly breathing more slowly. How angry he was. Page after page.

"Then I turned back to an earlier section, and I came to a phrase that I'd heard before, a strange, upsetting, sort of ugly phrase: this was the section on 'commodity fetishism,' 'the fetishism of commodities.' I wanted to understand that weird-sounding phrase, but I could tell that, to understand it, your whole life would probably have to change. His explanation was very elusive. He used the example that people say, 'Twenty yards of linen are worth two pounds.'

"People say that about every thing that it has a certain value. This is worth that. This coat, this sweater, this cup of coffee: each thing worth some quantity of money, or some number of other things--one coat, worth three sweaters, or so much money--as if that coat, suddenly appearing on the earth, contained somewhere inside itself an amount of value, like an inner soul, as if the coat were a fetish, a physical object that contains a living spirit.

"But what really determines the value of a coat? The coat's price comes from its history, the history of all the people involved in making it and selling it and all the particular relationships they had. And if we buy the coat, we, too, form relationships with all those people, and yet we hide those relationships from our own awareness by pretending we live in a world where coats have no history but just fall down from heaven with prices marked inside. 'I like this coat,' we say, 'It's not expensive,' as if that were a fact about the coat and not the end of a story about all the people who made it and sold it, 'I like the pictures in this magazine.' A naked woman leans over a fence. A man buys a magazine and stares at her picture. The destinies of these two are linked. The man has paid the woman to take off her clothes, to lean over the fence. The photograph contains its history--the moment the woman unbuttoned her shirt, how she felt, what the photographer said. The price of the magazine is a code that describes the relationships between all these people--the woman, the man, the publisher, the photographer--who commanded, who obeyed. The cup of coffee contains the history of the peasants who picked the beans, how some of them fainted in the heat of the sun, some were beaten, some were kicked.

"For two days I could see the fetishism of commodities everywhere around me. It was a strange feeling. Then on the third day I lost it, it was gone, I couldn't see it anymore."

--Wallace Shawn, The Fever (1990)

[scribes-of-valar]

𝘉𝘰𝘺'𝘴 𝘢 𝘓𝘪𝘢𝘳

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| ᴄʟᴀʀᴋ ᴋᴇɴᴛ x fem! reader

「 ✦ A/N ✦ 」 I don't know what has creeped into my brain, but I've started rewatching the show and I literally wrote this in a day.

✬ summary ✬ Finally taking the plunge and ruining your friendship with Clark, you go on your first date but the next day he's acting like a whole new man. Not a good one. You don't know if your relationship can recover from his cruel behavior, but he's not going to give up so easily.

For the nth time, you stand before your mirror and find yourself dissatisfied. No outfit is right, each one is too little, too much, too slutty, not slutty enough. You haven’t even started on shoes yet, you would be in the grave before you were ready for this date. Throwing yourself down on your desk chair, you start tugging the stockings down your legs. 

You’re not sure why you thought tights would work during the peak of a Kansas summer, but you’re clearly not thinking much at all today. Head propped in your hand, you slump against the edge of your desk, fingers running idly over the scattered makeup on the surface. Even that hasn't gone right, your normal safeties failing you when you need them most. 

Maybe this was all a sign from the universe. You and Clark have been friends since you could walk, what if this stupid date was going to ruin everything between you?

Sighing, you reach for the only framed picture in your room. It’s silly, something Martha took when you were both too busy playing to see her. You and Clark, freshly five, sit around your old purple play table, the both of you covered in glitter and rocking some of the biggest tutus you’ve ever seen. You’re yelling at him in the picture, probably telling him to put his pinky up when he drinks his tea, and he’s just grinning at you.

It’s funny how that smile never changed. Something warm unfurls and blooms in your chest the longer you look at the picture. It’s Clark, he doesn’t care what you wear or if you’ve put on makeup or not. You both loved each other long before that was ever a problem, and it’s not going to start being one now. 

Sucking in a deep breath you put on the first outfit you’d picked out, a simple white sundress. You rarely get to wear it, anyway. Might as well test it out now. You check the mirror one last time just as someone knocks on your bedroom door. 

Clark calls out your name on the other side, sounding hesitant. “Sorry, um,” he chuckles and you can picture the way he must be nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “I got here a little early.”

You dart away from the mirror, kicking all the clothes under your bed. You slide the makeup into your desk drawer to be dealt with later. For now, you just need to make sure that he doesn’t see what a hot mess your room is. 

Sucking in a deep breath, you tug the hem of your dress down and shake off your worries. This is Clark. Your Clarkie, the boy you’ve tormented since you were a toddler. There’s nothing to worry about. 

“You’re always early, Clark,” you tell him with a soft smile as you open the door. 

His eyes widen slightly as he looks down at you. You did purposefully pick a dress that would emphasize certain aspects of yours. The pink flush on his cheeks is entirely worth it. Your eyes are drawn to the bunch of flowers in his hand and you grin. “Are those for me?” You gush, opening your door wider for him to step inside. 

“Yeah,” he holds them out to you, blue eyes stuck on yours. “I thought you might like them.” You bring them closer to your face, taking in the faint scent of the roses. 

“I love them, thank you,” you find yourself unable to stop smiling as you drop the roses in a glass of water by your bed. After building up your hopes and anxieties for a week because of this date, you're struggling to calm yourself down. 

Turning, you find him already looking at you with a soft smile that calms your racing heart just a bit. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a while,” he tells you, taking a step closer to you. His hands find your own, pulling you into him. “Not just the date,” he amends, smile stretching wider. “Asking you out. I think our friends were getting sick of listening to me talk about you all the time.”

You laugh, “I think they were getting sick of both of us. I feel so oblivious that it took me so long to realize you felt the same way.” 

He huffs, though his tone remains good-natured, “How do you think I feel?”

“Well,” you lace your fingers with his and step closer, “we’re doing it now, that’s what matters.” He ducks down and you feel your breath stutter, but he only leaves a brief kiss on your cheek, pulling back with a sheepish expression. A gentleman through and through. 

You’d never thought that knowing Clark for as well and as long as you have could be a bad thing. But now, sitting in The Talon and awkwardly dipping your fries in ketchup just to have something to do, you’re starting to realize it is. Being with each other nearly every day leaves you wanting for conversation. You both are already so caught up on what’s going on in each other’s lives that you’re struggling not to just bring up the weather. 

Clark groans and you startle, the noise breaking through the thick silence between you. He leans back in the booth, head resting on the edge and you find your eyes drawn to the strong muscles of his neck, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. 

Clearing your throat you glance away from him and push your plate away. “I didn’t want it to be like this,” Clark mutters, more to himself than you, but you hear him anyway. 

“It’s, well,” you pause, struggling for the words. Letting out a self-deprecating laugh, you shake your head. “I just don’t know what to do when we’re like this,” he peeks an eye open and you gesture between the two of you. 

His lips quirk up and he straightens once more. “I feel like I should be able to talk to you, same as always. But I don't know what to say, I don’t want to risk messing this up.” He trails off, glancing away from you and swallowing roughly. The same dreaded panic you’ve been feeling all week is thick in his voice. 

“Clark,” you utter his name lowly, reaching your hand out across the table. He’s slow to meet your eyes. “I feel the same way. We’re being stupid because I know that nothing you could say is going to change how I feel about you.” You narrow your eyes, taking on a teasing tone, “And you better feel the same way,” you scold. 

He huffs out a laugh, larger hand enveloping yours entirely and squeezing gently, “You know I do.”

You shrug, “Then we’re just being stupid, again,” you add, rolling your eyes. 

His eyes light up with mischief, a smile spreading as he stands from his seat. You jump back slightly, surprised by the sudden movement. “I’ve got an idea, come on,” he holds his hand out and you take it once more. 

You let out a surprised laugh as he takes off, dragging you out of the Talon behind him. “Where are we going?” 

He pauses for a moment, looking over his shoulder at you. It awes you, just how handsome he is. “It’s a surprise,” he winks and tugs you closer. 

“Your surprise is… the school?” You frown, taking Clark’s hand as he helps you down from the truck. 

“No,” he defends, shooting you a sarcastic look as he closes the door behind you. “We’re sneaking onto the field, like we used to. Maybe a little jog down memory lane will help,” he gives you a cheesy smile and you feel like you might melt.  

The sun hangs low on the horizon, its fading golden hues painting the sky in soft oranges and purples. The light catches in Clark’s hair, casting a warm halo around him. Sometimes he seems so overwhelmingly perfect that you wonder if you’ll ever be enough for him. Even when you were beginning to give up hope, he comes up with something so sweet, so thoughtful, that all you want to do is kiss him. 

Swallowing down the urge, you place your hand in his and let him lead you around the side of the school. “You know, we only used to do this to mess with the football players,” you tease. “Hard to do when you’re on the team, Clarkie.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Hey, we can still tear the seams on their jerseys- just not mine.” He throws you a grin, and it sends a rush of warmth through your chest.

The familiar path behind the school is darker now, but your steps fall in sync like muscle memory. The fence around the field looms ahead, a little more daunting than normal. It’s harder to climb in your dress, but Clark gives you a boost. One so strong you nearly fly over. 

Landing with a huff, you turn to glare at him as he pulls himself over with ease. “Too much torque in the thrust, Clark,” you grumble, brushing off your hands. 

He chuckles, throwing an arm over your shoulders as you both step onto the field. “Come on, we should get down there before the sun’s gone.”

Dew from the grass seeps its way into the thin fabric of your shoes as you walk toward the center of the field. The bleachers stand empty, the goalposts stretch high into the deepening sky, and for the first time tonight, you feel like you can take a breath. 

Clark shrugs off his jacket, laying it out on the grass and motioning for you to sit. You hesitate for a moment, but then you look down at the white fabric of your dress and decide you’re okay with sacrificing Clark’s jacket.

Clark lowers himself beside you, leaning back on his palms as he gazes up at the sky. The last streaks of sunlight fade, and one by one, the stars blink to life above you. You’ve always thought the sky above Smallville was different than anywhere else. As if the stars were reaching out to you. Considering your track record with meteors, it doesn’t seem that far off. 

For a while, neither of you speak. The quiet is comfortable, not at all like the stilted silence you’d felt in the diner. You’re content just being here with him, under the vast, endless sky. 

Clark is the first to break the peace. He shifts beside you, drawing in a slow breath as he disrupts the silence. “I’ve,” he hesitates on the word, “cared about you for a long time,” he admits, voice low and steady. “Longer than I ever told you.”

You glance over at him and find his gaze fixed on the stars. His jaw is tense, like he’s bracing himself for you to tell him this was all one big mistake and you’re better off as friends. A smile pulls at your lips at the ridiculous thought and you reach toward the small space between you both. Placing your hand over his, he finally looks at you. 

“I know things are,” he pauses, “a little weird between us right now.” He looks at your hand and flips his palm so he can lace your fingers together. “But I don’t want to lose what we have. If you’re willing to make it work, I am too.”

Your heart stutters, and for a moment all you can do is stare at him. At the boy who’s always been there, the boy who, despite everything, still makes your heart race. Your smile spreads, “Of course I’m willing,” you whisper. 

His breath hitches, and then he grins, the same grin that will never fail to make you lightheaded with infatuation.

Clark was meant to be here an hour ago. You’d made plans to go to a screening of some old movies at the theater. Sitting on the steps of your front porch, head propped in your hand, you look out at the farmlands around you. He only lives a few minutes away from you, you can’t fathom why he would be so late. 

You’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt, he’s not the type of guy to just leave you hanging. But there’s something humiliating about sitting out here all on your own. The wind has already fussed and ruined the hairstyle you’d so meticulously worked on. You’d already missed half of one of the movies. And the sun is beginning to set. 

Part of you is begging to just go inside and give up, but you're more stubborn half won't give in. Clark isn't like this, he wouldn't do something like this without good reason. 

A rumble sounds down the highway and your head perks up, crestfallen look replaced with something more hopeful. Getting to your feet, you grimace at the pins and needles tingling down your legs. Walking down the steps and getting a good look at the approaching motorcycle, your stomach plummets. 

Not Clark, then, though it’s odd to see someone beside you or the Kent’s driving on this stretch of road. Your hand tightens around the hem of your tank top as the motorcycle begins to slow as it approaches your house. Heart picking up, you take a step back toward the safety of the porch. 

Maybe they just need directions or maybe…

Your brain breaks for a moment as the rider pulls into your driveway. 

Maybe they’re Clark. 

Your jaw drops as he shoots you a smarmy grin, getting off his father’s bike and striding toward you with a swagger you’re unused to. “Hiya, sweetheart." You take a step back from him, brows furrowed. 

“Clark,” you spit his name out in shock, eyes darting between him and the bike. Knowing that he’s not dying somewhere in a ditch, your anger at being left waiting surges forth. “You’re an hour late because you were busy stealing your dad’s bike?” You demand, trying to ignore just how good he looks leaning against the post of your porch in that ridiculous leather jacket. 

“Sure,” he chuckles and rolls his eyes, brushing past you and heading back to the bike. “That’s why,” he snaps, like you’re slow. He straddles the bike and nods you forward. “You coming or not?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, you glance between him and the front door of your house. Again, giving him the benefit of the doubt, you choose to get on the back of the bike. Maybe this is all just one big act that he’s putting on to surprise you with something at the theater. 

He turns the key and you frown, “Helmet?” You ask weakly. He doesn’t respond, just laughs and peels out of your driveway. You squeal, grabbing on tight to his waist and burying your face in his back. 

This isn’t an act, and this definitely isn’t Clark. But whoever he is, you just got on the back of his motorcycle like an idiot. 

With every turn and rev of the bike, you prepare to feel the pavement beneath your palms. Still, as reckless and nauseating as his driving is, he manages to get you here in one piece. Though, where here is, you’re not sure. 

Clark swings off the bike effortlessly, grinning over his shoulder at a group of girls walking into the building behind him. He doesn’t seem to notice, or care, about the way your hands still tremble from the ride. You’d been too busy clutching onto him for dear life to pay any attention to where you were going and you’re starting to regret it. 

The building is nothing more than dirtied brick, the faded neon sign above the door advertising beer and live music. The bass thumps from inside, vibrating the gravel beneath your feet. From within, you hear jeering shouts, the telltale sounds of a crowd on the verge of chaos.

“Clark,” despite his odd behavior, you still find yourself stepping toward him and holding tight to his hand. The sheltered life of Smallville hasn’t exactly prepared you for backwoods, seedy bars. “Where are we?” You peer up at him and the glint in his eyes makes your stomach clench with trepidation. 

“Oh,” he laughs, tugging you toward the entrance, “you’re gonna like this,” he swears. Despite the way you dig your heels into the dirt, he keeps pulling, giving you no choice but to follow him into the bar. 

The air changes as you step inside, it’s worse than you thought it would be. Thick with heat and smoke, it pulses with the heavy bass of a song you don’t recognize. Multicolored lights flash across the writhing bodies on the dance floor. The scent of spilled beer, sweat, and something sticky clings to the air. 

Your fingers tighten around Clark’s arm as he moves forward, practically wrapping yourself around him. He weaves through the crowd like he belongs here. If you let go now, you know he wouldn’t stop, he’d just keep going, leaving you all alone in a place you want no part of.  

Clark drags you to the edge of the bar and slips a crumpled twenty across the counter. Wordlessly, and without checking for IDs, the bartender slides over two beers. Clark grabs one and to your utter shock, tilts it back, downing one long gulp. 

“You gonna stand there watching me,” he challenges, “or are you finally going to let loose and have some fun?”

“No, Clark, I’m not drinking. And neither should you! You’re driving us back,” you snap, eyes darting around the seedy crowd. 

Settling the half-empty bottle on the counter, he smirks, “Relax. We’re here to have a good time,” his tone almost sounds like a threat. Have a good time or else…

His gaze flickers toward the dance floor and your heart sinks at the mischief in his expression. “And I know exactly how to help you loosen up.”

Again, he gives you no time to protest or even form an opinion before he grabs you and pulls you toward the center of the dance floor. You feel like a leashed dog, no choice but to obey. 

The music shifts into something darker, slower, a sultry beat thrumming through the air. It charges the atmosphere of the dancers and the crowd sways, bodies pressed tightly together as they move with the rhythm. 

“Clark,” you glance around at the writhing bodies and swallow thickly. “I don’t-”

“Just one dance,” he cuts you off smoothly, voice low and coaxing. His lips curl up in a gentle smile as his hands find your waist. His grip is tight but not uncomfortable as he helps move your hips into the rhythm of the song. “Trust me.”

You hesitate, but it’s easier than you thought to simply fall into the slow, lazy grind of the dance. Your body moves in sync with his, despite the apprehension tightening through you. There’s something wrong with him, that’s clear enough. This isn’t the Clark you know, this is some bold, almost predatory version of him. 

One of his hands drifts up from your waist, dragging the hem of your thin tank top up slightly as his fingers brush against the nape of your neck. A shiver runs down your spine as his grip tightens, tilting your head back. You press your hands against his chest, eyes rounding in confusion. 

“Clark,” you whisper his name, breathless from the proximity. “What are you-”

He cuts you off, voice rough and breath warm against your lips, “Finally taking what I want.” His head dips down, lips capturing your own. It’s not the soft, gentle first kiss you’d always imagine you would share with him. This is hard, demanding. 

He’s claiming you, marking his territory as he slips his hand lower on your waist. He pulls you flush against him, hips pressing against yours. A heat slowly spreads in you, but it's overshadowed by the overwhelming feeling that this isn’t Clark. 

You push against his chest and you know he lets you go, the situation still under his control. He backs off with an irritated look, eyes narrowed down at you. 

Your breath comes in quick, uneven gasps as you stare up at him. “What the hell, Clark?”

“What’s your problem?” He snaps, hand flexing around your neck before dropping to his side. 

“You,” you hiss, eyes narrowing. “You’re not yourself, Clark.”

His jaw tenses, fists clenching by his side as he takes a step back from you. “Why? Because I’m finally doing what I want?” His voice is sharp, it bites at the fraying edges of your patience. The music around you picks up pace and somebody slams into you from behind. 

With a pained gasp, you stumble forward, rubbing the sore spot where their elbow had slammed into your ribs. Clark watches it all with a bored look. Gone is the gentle, considerate boy you’ve known your whole life. This boy before you is reckless and selfish, you don’t want anything to do with him. 

His attention flickers past you and you turn to follow his gaze. A pretty blonde sways in the middle of the dance floor, hips moving gracefully as her laughter rings above the music. Without a word or a second glance, he steps around you, striding toward her with the same effortless confidence he just used on you. 

Frozen by disbelief and anger, you watch as he slides a hand around her waist, murmuring something in her ear that makes her giggle. The crowd shifts again, blocking your view of the two. It’s for the better as you suck in sharp breaths, trying to keep the tears at bay. 

A lump clogs your throat and you rush toward the back of the bar, hoping there might be a bathroom to hide in. You just need a second away from the sweat and noise of the dancers. You stumble through a stained door and slam it closed behind you, wiping desperately at the tears rolling down your cheeks. 

After splashing cold water over your face and simply standing in there for a few minutes, you finally feel stable enough to go back outside. You’re just going to ask Clark to take you home and then you hope you never have to see him again. 

But when you return to the dance floor, heart still pounding its way up your throat, you can’t find Clark. You can’t even find the blonde. He’s acting like a jackass, but there’s no way he would just leave you. 

Right?

You rush outside, your stomach dropping like a stone when you see the parking lot. The motorcycle is gone. 

He left you behind. 

“Thank you,” your gaze stays trained on your hands, not ready to look at Lex. You feel his stare boring into the side of your head before he turns back to the road. 

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m glad you called me instead of trying to get home on your own.” He pauses, hand tightening on the steering wheel as he takes in a deep breath. “But what were you doing in a place like that?”

You slump in the passenger seat, rubbing a tired hand over your face. All you want to do is go home and wash this night away. You’re hesitant to tell him the truth, knowing he might give Clark hell for leaving you there. A part of you is still primed to protect him, but the other part, the one that was just left behind, can’t care. 

“Clark,” you tell him and his head whips around so fast you’re surprised you don't hear it snap. “He was acting weird tonight. Took me there and then left with another girl.”

“Are you serious?” He demands, sounding angry on your behalf. Right now, though, you don’t have the energy for anger. “Clark wouldn’t do that.”

You suck in a deep breath and finally look at him, “The one I know wouldn’t,” you offer vaguely, ignoring his confused expression. “Honestly, I just want to get home and never talk to him again.”

Lex chuckles a little, “You don’t mean that.”

“Try me,” you snap, glaring out the window. You’re debating calling Clark’s dad and telling him that Clark took the bike. If not just for petty revenge. Just the thought of it makes you feel tired. 

“I’m sure,” Lex starts, already sounding like he doesn’t believe himself, “he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for what he did.” You roll your eyes, giving him a deadpan look. His hand lifts slightly off the wheel in surrender. “There’s no excuse,” he amends.

“No, there’s not.” The car rolls to a stop and you look out the window, surprised to already be at your house. The porch light is off, your parents must already be asleep. “I really can’t thank you enough,” you tell Lex, offering him a weak but grateful smile. 

He waves you off, “Forget it, I’m glad I could help. If you ever need anything else…” He trails off, leaving the offer open-ended. 

You nod, opening the passenger door and stepping out. You’re just about to close it when something occurs to you. Clark always gives you a ride to school, you’re not going to have a way to get there after tonight. 

“Oh,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose in irritation. 

“What’s wrong?” Lex looks concerned and you offer him an apologetic grimace. 

“I actually do need something,” you tell him, sheepish and pleading. 

Clark wakes up with a fog clouding his mind, a dull pounding behind his eyes. Vague flashes of memory flicker through the haze. The sound of your upset voice, the thrum of music, and the feeling of your body pressed against his. It makes his cheeks flush with warmth, but none of it connects for him. Everything’s one frustrating blur. 

But he can figure that out later, his gaze drifts toward the clock on his nightstand and his eyes widen. He leaps off the bed, nearly tripping as he gets wrapped up in his sheets. He was meant to pick you up ten minutes ago. 

Clark throws on the first clothes he finds, raking a hand through his messy hair as he bolts down the stairs. His backpack is nearly left by the door as he rushes out. If he could, he’d run you to school. It would be so much faster, so much easier. But that would require explaining why he could do that, and he doesn’t think you’d appreciate him springing the truth of his abilities on you this early in the morning. 

You’re not exactly a morning person. 

He speeds down the road, the truck’s tires kicking up dust as he pulls into your driveway. Throwing the truck in park he doesn’t even bother cutting the engine before leaping out. Two steps at a time, he bounds up your front porch and knocks firmly on the door. 

His foot taps against the wood of the porch as he checks the watch on his wrist. If you hurry, you might both be able to make it to first period on time. After a minute of silence he knocks again, but he’s greeted with the same silence. 

He steps back, brows knitted together, and his gaze flickers toward the front window. He ignores the feeling of being a complete creeper as he peers through the glass. The house looks unnaturally still, none of your usual morning mess as you rush to get ready on time. The lights are off and he can’t hear anything inside. 

Your parents are usually gone before you even wake up. He can’t think of anyone else who would give you a ride. Or why you would even have anyone else drive you. A strange unease coils in his stomach and another brief memory flashes through his mind. It’s not much, just a pretty blonde smiling up at him. 

Jaw tightening, Clark turns back to his truck, climbing inside and heading straight for school. He’s sure everything’s fine. You probably had Chloe or Lana pick you up. Still, even with him being ten minutes late, he’s not sure how they would have gotten to your house before him. 

Pulling into the parking lot he frowns, greeted first thing in the morning by Lex’s ridiculously overpriced sports car. It’s parked right in front of the entrance and he wonders what business Lex would have at the high school. 

The passenger door opens and you step out, your bag slung over one shoulder. You turn to Lex, smiling as you give him a sweet wave. Clark watches it all with his shoulders tensed as something sharp and hot twists in Clark’s chest. 

He watches as Lex pulls out of the parking lot, jaw clenched in irritation. He throws the truck into park and gets out, heading toward the front doors. Inside, the hallways seem more crowded than usual but he still manages to make you out almost instantly. 

You’re at your locker, pulling out books as if nothing’s wrong. As if you didn’t get a ride with Lex Luthor and ditch him for seemingly no reason at all. 

Clark makes a beeline for you, tightening his grip on his backpack as he stops beside your locker. “Hey,” he calls, forcing a smile. “Did I miss something? I thought I was picking you up this morning.”

You don’t even bother looking at him, eyes stubbornly pointed forward. “Guess I made other plans.”

The coldness in your voice stops him in his tracks. His stomach drops, smile faltering as you continue to pretend there’s anything more for you to grab from your locker. “Okay…” He exhales slowly. “Did something happen?”

You slam your locker shut and he jumps. Whipping around to face him, your eyes are dark with anger as you glare up at him. “Really?” You snap and his eyes widen in surprise. “This is what you’re doing, pretending you don’t remember?”

Clark blinks, thrown off by the heat in your voice. “I-”

“Forget it,” you cut him off. You shake your head, looking tired. “Just leave me alone, Clark. Seems to be something you’re good at, anyway.” You whip around, storming off down the hall and leaving him reeling. He wants to go after you but you’re already slipping into your English class and he knows there’s no way he’ll be able to talk to you in there. 

He hovers in the hallway, stunned. What the hell happened last night?

His mind races, grasping at the fleeting memories. There was a bar, he’s not even sure how he found that place. He was dancing with you and then kissing you. His eyes widen at that, grimacing at the blurred memory of your rough first kiss. He’d been hoping for something a little sweeter than some backwoods bar. 

He remembers you being angry at him but that’s it. There are holes and gaps that he can’t remember no matter how hard he tries. There’s only one thing that could explain the reckless behavior, the memory gaps, and the way he felt like someone else.

Red kryptonite. 

His heart sinks and his head falls into his hands. He hurt you and probably scared you. You don’t even want to look at him now. Straightening up, he runs a hand through his hair and tries to think of a way to fix all of this. 

He’s not sure he can, not when he can’t even remember what he’s done to you. 

Admittedly, ambushing you outside of class probably wasn’t the best way to go about this. But he needed to make sure you couldn’t run from him. You walk out the door, books clutched to your chest, and head down. 

Clark falls into step beside you and you briefly glance up, rolling your eyes when you realize it’s him. You pick up your pace, clearly trying to put space between the both of you. “Wait,” he calls, stepping in front of you. “One chance to explain, please.”

You stop in the middle of the hall, uncaring to the students parting around you. “Clark-”

“I don’t remember everything,” he admits, voice low and desperate as he pushes through your objection. “But I know something happened. And I need to fix this.”

Exhaling sharply, you can’t seem to meet his eye. “There’s nothing to fix.”

That can’t be true. He won’t let that be true. “Please,” he presses. “Just… one chance.”

For a moment, you hesitate, teeth pressing into your lower lip as you take a step back from him. “Fine,” you relent, sounding wholly reluctant. “We’ll talk after school.”

Relief floods through him and he finally manages a real smile for the first time all morning. “Okay,” he utters, trying not to sound surprised. “Great, I’ll drive you home, and-”

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “Lex is giving me a ride,” he opens his mouth to protest and you shoot him a sharp look. His jaw snaps closed and he sighs. “I’ll meet you at your house later,” you tell him, leaving no room for argument. 

His stomach twists as you turn and walk away. Lex, he scoffs and shakes his head. When did the two of you get close? One bad night and you’re already done with him?

The thought should fill him with anger, but it only makes his worry grow. Whatever he had done last night must have been truly awful. He hates that there’s a chance he won’t be able to fix this. But what makes it worse is knowing that it’s all his fault.

Clark’s in his room when he hears you pull up to the house. He doesn’t waste any time as he heads down the stairs. “What happened to ‘I never want to see him again?’” Clark has no shame as he listens to your conversation. He doesn’t appreciate how comfortable Lex sounds teasing you. 

“Yeah, well,” your voice loses its muffled edge as you open the passenger door. “I deserve an explanation.”

“Call me if you need anything,” Lex tells you as Clark opens his front door. Rolling his eyes, Clark jogs down the steps of his porch, heading toward you both. You turn over your shoulder, smile falling as you nod your head in greeting. 

Clark’s waited forever to finally tell you how he really feels about you. Years of pining all led to that one moment where you told him that you feel the same way. He’d finally gotten a chance with you, to be with you like he always wanted. He’s not going to let last night ruin everything. 

“Thanks, Lex,” you mutter, closing the passenger door and marching toward Clark. Lex lingers for a moment and Clark sends him a stiff smile and wave. Lex returns it with a smirk before driving off. 

“So,” arms crossed across your chest, you glance up at him with barely veiled apprehension. “Are we going inside?”

Clark glances back at his house and shakes his head. He holds his hand out to you and you give him a wary glare. “Please,” he asks, and after a moment you place your hand in his. He smiles and leads you to the barn. 

Call it nostalgia, call it desperation but whatever compelled you to actually hear Clark out can go bite it. He abandoned you at a club in a town you hadn’t even heard of. To go be with another girl, no less. You shouldn’t have even stopped to listen to him in the hallway. It’s a lack of self-respect, really. 

But there was something in his eyes that compelled you to stay. Last night, he’d been a stranger wearing Clark’s face. This morning, you saw the earnest sincerity you always do when you look into those pretty blue eyes of his. Giving in was an inevitability. 

Walking the familiar path to the barn you’re struck with a feeling almost like grief. Whatever could have bloomed between you and Clark feels like sand falling through your fingers. Unless he’s about to open those doors and reveal an evil twin, you’re not sure you could ever forgive him. 

Clark glances over his shoulder at you, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He throws the doors of the barn open and you roll your eyes at the dramatics. You slip past him and head inside, stopping short once you see what he’s done. 

Fairy lights dangle above the loft, illuminating what looks like a poorly built blanket fort. Christmas lights he clearly stole from his mom are hung haphazardly from the rafters. You can see the effort he put into making the barn feel special, even if the execution is lacking.

It’s the nostalgia of it all that makes you smile. Summer’s spent camping out in the barn, hidden away under blanket forts, and trying to scare each other with your bad ghost stories. It’s a time capsule of your childhood. And you know what he’s trying to do, how he’s trying to soften the hard edges of your resentment. You hate that it’s beginning to work. 

Clark heads up to the loft first, glancing over his shoulder and motioning for you to follow. You sigh, face blank as you work to keep up the cool exterior you feel slowly melting away. He offers his hand as you reach the top, and after a beat of hesitation, you reluctantly take it. 

Clark pulls you forward and keeps your hand in his as he leads you to sit down across from him. Sinking back into the plush pillows and blankets you prop your head in your hand, watching him with a bored expression. Sucking in a deep breath, he rubs his hands along the surface of his jeans, avoiding your eyes for a moment. 

“I didn’t want our first kiss to be in some bar.” He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck before finally meeting your eyes. “I didn’t want our first anything to be there. I wanted it to be somewhere like this, somewhere that actually meant something to us.” 

His throat bobs as he swallows. Then he leans closer, reaching across the space between you, his fingers curling around yours again. The warmth of his palm is comforting, even if you don’t let him see that. “I don’t want to lose my best friend. I don’t want to lose you, you have to believe me. What happened last night, it wasn’t me.”

Your expression hardens and you yank your hand from his, putting distance between you. Clark’s face flickers with hurt, but you ignore it. “Why should I believe anything you say, Clark? What happened last night was an eye-opener. Clearly, we’re better off just being friends.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, looking like you’ve just punched him in the gut. “You don’t mean that,” he murmurs. 

“Don’t I?”

Clark drops his head into his hands, fingers threading through his hair. His shoulders curl inward, and for a long while, he doesn’t speak. The silence between you stretches, thick with unspoken words. 

Maybe it would be better for you to just leave. Some space might do both of you good, and help you come to terms with the truth of it all. 

This was never going to work. 

Clark exhales slowly, then straightens, blue eyes meeting yours with an intensity that catches you off guard. “Alright,” he nods, some internal battle going on that you’re not privy to. “Stand by the window.”

Your brows furrow and you shake your head. “What?”

“Do it,” he tells you, tone firm, and you find yourself struggling for a reason not to listen. Finally, with a reluctant huff, you get up and go stand by the window. 

The golden fields stretch before you bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. The wheat sways gently in the evening breeze. Utterly boring and un-fascinating. 

You roll your eyes, “Clark, I swear-” 

A distant whistle cuts through the air. You whip around, expecting to see Clark behind you and instead find the loft empty. Your stomach tightens and you turn back to the window. A flicker of movement catches your attention, “What the…”

You press against the window, squinting at the field below. That’s when you see him. A very small Clark waves from the middle of the wheat, far too distant for how quickly he got there. Your breath catches and you find yourself waving back without thinking. 

There’s no possible way he crossed all that in under thirty seconds. 

But he’s not satisfied with just an impressive show of speed. Clark disappears and then reappears right below the barn window. Only, he’s not alone. 

Above his head, with terrifying ease, he’s holding a goddamn tractor. Your heart slams against your ribs. “Clark!” You shout, terrified this little stunt of his is going to end with him sandwiched into the dirt. He sets it down casually, as if it weighs nothing. 

A gust of wind pushes your hair forward and you turn sharply. Clark stands behind you now, cheeks flushed, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “What the hell was that?” You demand, eyes darting between him and the tractor outside.

“It’s what I wanted to tell you. What I’ve always wanted to tell you,” he concedes, his smile faltering slightly, his voice tinged with something vulnerable. 

Still stunned, you sink onto the couch as he begins to explain. About the crash landing. About his powers. How he’s different.  

Your best friend- your almost-boyfriend, is an alien. 

Of all the things racing through your mind, only one question comes to mind. “Why have you never told me?” You don’t ask him if he was from Jupiter or Mars, or if he’s got a secret eye hidden somewhere. You just want to know why he didn’t think he could trust you. 

Clark hesitates. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he says, “I was afraid you wouldn’t want me anymore. That you’d see me as some freak.”

You snort, “You’re an idiot is what you are.”

 His head snaps up, blinking at you in surprise. “Clark, why would I ever care about what planet you’re from?” You shake your head, a smile creeping onto your lips as you shift forward, kneeling in front of him. Your hands find his, squeezing slightly. Then, hesitantly, you reach up, cupping his cheek. A smile spreads across your face as he leans into the touch. “I care about you, not about what rocket you crash-landed in.”

“More of a pod,” he corrects and you shoot him a sharp look that makes him laugh. He sobers quickly, smile fading, “I understand if you can’t forgive me for last night.”

“Well,” you muse, tilting your head. “It wasn’t really you, right? It was that krypto- karo-”

“Kryptonite,” he grins a little at the way you stumble over the word. “And, yes, it was. I would never purposefully hurt you, but it’s not an excuse.”

“It’s actually the only acceptable excuse,” you tell him, rolling your eyes playfully. “That or evil twin.” Clark’s eyes widen slightly and you narrow yours. “Do you actually have an evil twin?” You shake your head, “Never mind, we’ll talk about that later.”

You glance up at the twinkling lights strung above, the warm glow making the loft feel impossibly soft, impossibly safe. “Clark?” You ask and he hums, already looking at you when you glance back at him. “We can always try that first kiss again.”

His smile, soft and sweet, mirrors your own. As you lean in, his arms circle your waist, pulling you gently into him. Your fingers thread through the soft tresses of his hair as his lips brush against yours, soft, lingering, right. 

This. This is what you knew it would feel like. This is home and safety, everything good in your life. You smile against Clark’s lips knowing that no matter what evil twins or toxic rocks come at you, you’ll face it together.

end. — I do not own the characters or the TV Show Smallville, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © scribes-of-valar 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[traveler-at-heart]

Doctor's In - Part 13

Summary: Your life in Boston after Wanda.

The air is cold, and just your luck, today you left the car outside of the building’s parking lot.

Maybe it’s not such a bad thing after all, as a cute woman is inspecting the black Corvette, in awe of the elegant and expensive car.

“Want a ride?”

“This yours?” she says, genuinenly fascinated.

“Yeap” you nod. “She’s a beauty, 490-hp 6.2-liter V-8 engine”

Do you know what those words mean? Not at all.

“My father and I used to fix cars. I need to send him a picture. Can I?”

“Sure, go ahead” you smile. “I’ll even take one of you standing next to it”

You pull out your phone.

“Oh, wait, I should have given you mine” the woman says, and you smile.

“Or you could give me your number and I’ll send the pics” you smile at her, offering your phone.

“Very smooth” she blushes, taking it.

“If you wanna talk about smooth, the leather seats are just…”

“Ugh, it’s too cold to take my motorcycle, can you give me a ride to the hospital?” Yelena interrupts, coming out of nowhere as usual.

“Shh, go away” you push her behind you.

“God, we’re gonna be late. Just skip to the part where you lie about texting the girl and get on with it” she mumbles, and luckily only you can hear her.

“Sorry, she’s being annoying” you elbow Yelena’s side. “I’ll send you the pictures, and my offer for a ride still stands”

“Well, alright then. Have fun babysitting” the woman comments, which earns her a glare from the blonde.

“Get in the fucking car” you mutter. “Why can’t you ask your mother for a damn car? She has lots of them”

“Like the one you borrow and use to get phone numbers? I don’t understand why you do it, you never call them”

“It’s not about having a date. It’s just fun to talk to girls. I never really did it outside of college” you shrug your shoulders.

You never call them because the thought of being with someone who isn’t Wanda is simply absurd.

But you don’t expect Yelena to understand it.

“I never ask for a car because then she’d be like See, I was right, a motorcycle was a bad idea”

“Get both, like your sister”

“No, because then she’ll say I’m copying her, like when she went to school with a green backpack and I got one that was similar the next day. But green has always been my favorite color” she rambles.

“Are all the Romanoffs this complicated?”

"Is your music taste always this random?" Yelena points at the screen. "Yesterday it was ABBA and now it's Metallica"

"Don't even think about changing it" you say, slapping her hand away.

You finally get to the hospital, parking in your spot, which is one of the best ones in the entire facility.

Melina is trying to convince you to stay beyond your three month contract, and she’s not shying away from providing a life of luxury, with a penthouse and a fancy car included.

If it wasn’t because you’re busting your ass in the ER, you’d feel like a sugar baby.

“Go and check on the people waiting, I have to sign discharges and look at some post ops” you tell Yelena as soon as you walk in, and she nods.

“Morning, everyone” you greet the front desk. “Is Patrick ready for his recital today?”

“Yes, he’s very excited” Nurse Roman says.

“Well, as a doctor I don’t feel comfortable saying break a leg, so let’s just leave it at good luck”

“That sounds perfect to me, Doctor Y/L/N, thank you” the woman says. You’re smiling until you notice the frown on Peña’s face.

“Don’t look at me like that. Not my fault you keep betting on Shelton when he’s literally playing against Alcaraz”

“Shelton is the future of American tennis”

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the resounding noise of your debt” you say, going back to the charts but keeping your palm open. You don’t look up until he gives up, putting a 20 in your hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, Peña. I’m so looking forward to Indian Wells and Miami back to back”

You don’t realise that Natasha is also at the front desk, signing a couple of discharge forms.

It’s been a month and you’re already friends with half the people who work here. Natasha’s glad, because it can be miserable to be isolated while you’re away from home.

The other side of her can’t help but feel really stupid too, because all this time she thought you were flirting and in reality, this is who you are with most people.

Now that’s a fast way to humble someone.

“Hi, Doctor Romanoff” you say, finally noticing her. “Ending your shift?”

“Yeah. How about you?”

“Starting a 48”

“Didn’t you just do one 12 hours ago?” she says.

“Yeah, but my brother and sister are coming over so I need the weekend off” you smile, actually excited. Natasha is probably one of the only people who could understand how good it is to reconnect with your siblings, but she’s been distant with you ever since you came to Boston.

So, you wish her a good day, and walk to the madness of the ER.

“Fuck my life, fuck it hard” you mutter when you notice who’s there. Ed Lorne, aka clown nurse. He’s a young one, practically fresh out of college and with an unhealthy obsession to behave like Patch Adams in that movie that always puts you to sleep (No disrespect to Robin Williams).

“Please tell me his shift is almost over” you plead to Yelena.

“Don’t be mean. He’s trying to make an impression”

“He already did and it’s a fucking awful one”

The fact that there’s no swear jar around has turned you into a sailor on leave. Not that you keep track, but if the twins could hear you, they’d be set for an Ivy League education.

Stop thinking about this, you mentally scold yourself, trying to breathe to settle that uncomfortable feeling at the pit of your stomach.

Yelena mistakes your frustrated sigh with a protest as Ed approaches you. Truthfully, it’s a bit of both.

“Top of the morning to you, Doctor Y/L/N” he says, removing an imaginary hat.

God, you’re gonna strangle him with a stethoscope.

“Guy in bed six has problems with urinating and I’m like well, more like ur-out of my bladder!”

“Boy, you’re really bringing the theater kid energy today, aren’t ya” you complain, ignoring Yelena’s smack on your arm.

“Why, thank you for noticing”

“No, that wasn’t a compliment. Check all of my post ops and medication, then fill out the medical records in the computer”

That should keep him busy for the next two hours and away from you.

“Evil” Yelena mumbles, but she’s laughing along.

You take care of a few people, ordering lab tests and other stuff that is quickly taken care of by the staff. It’s nice to have an ER that is never short on medical personnel.

You finish your exam on a patient just in time to get your daily call.

“Hello, Judas”

“Darcy!” you say, always with the same enthusiasm.

“I hate you” she repeats, every day since you left. Well, minus the first week. You didn’t have a phone at all. “Carol hates you too and you’re no longer invited to her wedding”

You can faintly hear Carol’s voice in the background, shouting that what Darcy’s saying is not true.

“I’m trying to get her to come back” Darcy explains. “Look pal, it’s either the good way or the bad way aka getting you in the Psych ward until you go back to your senses”

“I don’t suppose you could get my stuff and send it over?”

“No, for two reasons. One, if I see Wanda I’m going to kill her and dos, you belong here. So it would be stupid to send stuff that you’ll need when you’re back. Besides, how do you know Wanda didn’t throw them away?”

“I just do. Ok, it was nice being emotionally manipulated by you, but I gotta scrub in. Same time on Monday? Remember I’m seeing Zach and Jenny this weekend”

“Yes, get me all the deets on the gossip and yes, same time”

“Love you, pal”

“Screw you”

Darcy hangs up, but stares at her phone for a moment longer. She does miss you and even if she’s giving you shit for it, she understands where you’re coming from.

“Are these the CVs for Chief Fury?”

“Yes” his secretary says, carrying a couple of files. “He doesn’t like to read on the computer”

“Oh, here, I’ll take those”

And Darcy does take them. Straight to the trash can.

Gotta make sure the job’s open when you come back.

—

You’re out of shape. It’s been 27 hours and the work keeps on coming. It doesn’t help that Boston is so much bigger than Westview.

As you sit in one of the front desks, looking over paperwork and lab results, Ed comes in, holding a deck of cards.

“Pick a card”

“Did you get the lab results for Mrs. Pattmore?” you say, resisting the urge to slap the deck to the floor.

“No, they said it would take another hour…”

“Can you check again? Thank you”

Fortunately, he leaves and you sigh.

“He’s quite the character” a man shows up next to you, and you nod.

“He is very useful when I need urgent results from the lab. The technicians can’t stand him so they rather not see him around” you laugh.

 “I haven’t seen you before. I’m doctor Stephen Strange. Yes, that is my last name” he adds when you frown.

“Oh, nice to meet you. Yeah, I’m the interim Head of Trauma. Just until they find someone new”

“Huh. Not what I heard”

Well, there’s no way Melina will convince you to stay. But then again… you never thought you’d take the job in Boston.

“That’s definitely my plan” you assure him. “Were you on break?”

“Honeymoon. We just got back” he nods towards another woman who joins you, her smile wide. “Doctor Christine Palmer, meet… sorry, I didn’t get your name”

“Y/L Y/L/N. Congratulations to the both of you” you shake her hand.

“Thank you, how are you liking it here so far?”

“Everyone’s great” you say, but Christine catches your exhaustion.

“Lorne was just here asking to do a magic trick”

“Ah. That” she nods.

“Yeah” you get paged, and then wave at them. “See you around, and welcome back”

There’s a man coming in with a stab wound. Another shift from your work in Stark Hospital; the frequency of people who come in as a result of fights is a lot higher.

It was very rare to treat these kind of things in Westview.

“BP 130/70, no external bleeding or fractures” Yelena says and you nod, encouraging her to continue. “I want a chest X-Ray, transthoracic echocardiogram and blood work”

“The patient’s yours, Doctor Belova”

You’re honestly impressed. Yelena has been putting the work, and she’s very talented, especially while working under pressure.

“She has a good teacher” Melina speaks. The woman has a talent for knowing what people are thinking.

“Well, it’s in her blood, isn’t it? The whole Romanoff dinasty”

“Yes. By the way, this is your last patient. You’re not to be on call for so many hours in a week. The workload is very different here. And we will talk about a bonus so you can buy something to that girlfriend of yours to thank her for letting you be here”

About that.

Nobody knows Wanda kicked you out.

Except Yelena, but that’s because she kept asking about what Wanda said when you decided to come to Boston. The only way to shut her up was by telling her the truth.

It’s impressive that she’s kept the secret for so long.

“No need for a bonus, I’m doing my job as usual”

While you wait for the results of Yelena’s patient, the man begins to complain about pain between the shoulder blades.

“Lorne, book an OR and page Yelena” you say, knowing that’s a bad sign.

The blonde scrubs in as you begin the laparoscopy.

“What’s wrong? I’m still waiting on the results” she says, standing next to you.

“Pain between the shoulder blades is not a good sign for this type of injury. I’m seeing blood cloths in the anterior surface of the stomach and the liver. We’re switching to a laparotomy”

You find three lacerations in the liver and one in the stomach. Well, Melina’s plan didn’t work; you’re staying here for a bit longer.

As you move to inspect the pericardium, you look at Yelena, asking if she sees anything.

“No, it’s fine. Aside from the diaphragmatic perforation”

“And how are we closing that?”

“Ethibond suture with pledget” she answers after a slight hesitation.

“You’ll do it and I’ll be watching” you nod, moving aside. Truth is, your shoulder is hurting. It’s the old injury combined with the extra workload.

“Need any help?” Natasha walks in, and you shake your head no.

“I thought your shift ended”

“Came to do some post ops, and Doctor Romanoff asked me to help so you could go home”

“I’m fine” you lie. But Natasha stays in the OR, looking over Yelena’s shoulder.

“You’re making me nervous”

“Good. You could use some pressure. Y/N’s going soft on you” the redhead teases.

“I’m not!” you say, laughing. “I’ve been told I’m a great teacher”

“I’ve heard” Natasha nods.

Though Yelena takes a little bit longer than you would have, her work is excellent. Once you check everything’s done, you give the team instructions and scrub out.

“What are you doing with your siblings?” Natasha asks, joining you.

“Well, Jenny’s looking at NYU to apply. So I’ll meet them in New York, take them to a Broadway show. I was hoping they’d wanna go to the Met but not holding my breath for two teenagers to choose a museum”

“That’s fair. Have fun with your family” she smiles.

It’s weird to think about them as your family. They are, of course.

But to you, family is an entirely different group of people. One that you’ll never see again.

“Thanks. See you around” you nod, hoping to get some rest.

—

You never thought you’d be eager to see your family, but here you are, waiting in the airport, looking for Jenny.

As soon as she spots you, she runs towards you.

“Hey, kiddo”

“Make room for me” Zach says, jumping right in and making sure his sister has no room to breathe.

“You’re so annoying!” Jenny complains. Even if she’s three years older, Zach is a lot taller, being in that awkward teenage phase. “This trip was supposed to be just me”

“Y/N invited me” he says.

Well, kinda. He inserted himself in your conversations with Jenny, and as soon as he heard the words weekend in New York, he was ready to go.

“Well, I didn’t alter my girls weekend schedule for you, Zach. So just so you know, you’re getting a manicure and we’re plucking your eyebrows” you tease, walking them to where you parked. Of course they argue over who gets to ride in the front. “Alright, this is a rental. So, rule number one, no eating in the car. No throwing stuff at each other. No feet on the dashboard. And no one changes the music”

“Fine” they agree.

“First stop, the penthouse, then NYU”

Melina had heard about your trip and went out of her way to offer you everything at her disposal. Exclusive tickets, the Romanoff penthouse (apparently they have one in every major city), a reservation in a very nice restaurant.

You took most things happily. In a way, this is your compensation for emotional damages.

“So, what happened between you and Wanda?” Jenny says.

“Wow, can we at least have lunch first?” you accidentally hit the brake, making Zach hit his head against the headrest of your seat.

“I’m blind!”

“You’re fine” Jenny shushes him, turning to you. “I’ll tell you about our parent’s divorce”

“Ugh, deal. But you go first”

So, as you get food, Jenny tells you everything, with the occasional intervention from Zach. It’s nothing exciting, not technically. Their father finally realising your mother is an evil witch and taking their children away from her. It would have been ideal to do it when they were younger, but whatever.

“And you guys are doing good?” you ask, making sure things are better.

“Yeah… I just feel bad for her sometimes” Jenny admits. “Like what if she’s lonely or sad, you know?”

“That’s because you’re a good kid” you smile at her. “Let’s go get changed, we have to be ready for your college tour soon”

“What about your part of the deal?”

“Later” you say, trying to avoid talking about it.

By the time you reach the penthouse, you can’t help but admire the view to Central Park. It’s even bigger than the one they gave to you back in Boston.

“I want the biggest room” Zach says as soon as they drop their bags.

Of course, they’re engaging in a fight that involves some name calling and a lot of finger flicks on the forehead.

“You guys are worse than…”

They turn to look at you and you smile, trying to keep it together.

“Worse than…” Zach says but you shake your head.

“Nothing. Come on, better change fast”

Worse than Wanda and Pietro.

Will you ever stop thinking about her?

—

Earning the title of cool sister only takes a borrowed penthouse, Broadway tickets and exclusive seats at Yankees Stadium.

It’s day two and though you haven’t been able to convince them to go to the Met, you’re still enjoying yourself.

Kind of.

“So how long do these last?” you ask again, even if Zach explained the rules a dozen times already. “Ok, next time we’re going to the US Open because at least I’ll understand the game”

“So, you’re planning on staying here?” Jenny asks and you shrug your shoulders.

“There’s no plan for anything, really. I have two months left on my contract”

Zach goes to get more food and you keep watching the game in silence.

“Are you ok?” Jenny asks. Truthfully, though you’ve enjoyed spending time with them, Wanda’s been in the back of your mind more frequently than when you’re busy with work.

You can’t help but think about all the trips you never took with her, or wonder what she’d think about the city.

“Want the grown up answer or the big sister being brave answer?”

“I’d like the truth”

“Well…” you take a deep breath. “I’m not ok. I fucked up big time. I had everything I wanted within reach and just… I don’t know. Maybe it was never meant for me. It was too good”

“You are good enough for it, come on. Don’t say that”

“It’s hard to believe it when I hurt her so much. And the kids. But, it is what it is I guess”

“I’m sorry. If you wanna talk…”

“I know, sis. Thanks” you smile at her. All of the sudden you hear the crowd roaring and look up to see a ball that’s coming straight your way. You catch it, thinking nothing of it, while some people around you begin to speak to you. “What? Do I have to throw it back?”

“Are you insane?” Zach comes out of nowhere, taking it from you. “This is the coolest thing!”

“It’s a ball” you say, looking at the field.

“Nu-uh. It’s Camarena’s 50th home run. You know, the most promising baseball player of the season”

“Ok, if you say so”

Turns out it is a very big deal, as the player wants the ball back and is offering to meet you in exchange for it. You let Zach decide for the two of you, and his answer is an excited yes.

So, you take a couple of pictures and thank him when he hands you a signed baseball bat.

“Thanks, Carme…”

“Camarena” Zach elbows you. “I’m your biggest fan”

Yeah, you definitely earned the award to coolest sister, and it had nothing to do with all the money you spent. It came down to your ability to catch a freakin ball, like a competition with a golden retriever.

“We still have some time before we have to take the plane. What do you wanna do? You’ve been doing everything we want to” Jenny says, and you think about it.

“Let’s have a picnic in Central Park”

“Sounds fun” she agrees, while Zach keeps taking a million pictures of the bat.

As you walk around the park, you find something that unlocks a memory that was totally lost on you.

“Balto!” you point at a statue of the sleigh dog. They both look at you with blank expressions. “You’ve never seen Balto? Seriously?”

“I don’t know. Mom wouldn’t let us watch some stuff. She said it was silly to have a movie with speaking animals”

“That and Ghostbusters. But we never learned why”

“Oh, that’s because she and dad watched that movie on the day I was born” you explain while you pull out your phone to take a picture of the statue.

“Mom is such a bitch” Zach mutters and it makes you laugh.

“Come on, kid. Screw the picnic, I’m buying you the biggest burger we can find”

“See? I’m her favorite already” he teases Jenny and they begin to argue again. You hug them, staying in the middle to prevent a fight.

“Love ya both, kiddos”

—

Coming back to an empty house stings a bit more when you spent the weekend surrounded by playful banter and pleasant company.

The silence is unbearable and you know that at moments like this there’s only one thing that can make you forget.

So, even if you have to go to work tomorrow, you get changed and head for the usual club.

“Thought you found a better spot” Laura greets you as you approach the bar.

“Work was crazy” is all you say. No one knows your name, or what you do for a living. You just get drinks and dance to loud music.

“The usual?” you nod, accepting the glass of scotch. You enjoy it slowly for a bit, watching as some people dance and party. The outfits and the music are different from your time in college; plus Darcy and you used to go to shitty bars.

Either way, what hasn’t changed is how drunk people act; messy, unaware. You love it. No one’s asking if you’re ok, or why you're there.

“I was gonna buy you a drink, but you’re not done with that one yet” a woman offers with a flirty smile.

You finish what’s left of the scotch in one swift motion, and wink at her.

“There”

“Are you that thirsty, huh?” she teases, and you laugh, sipping from the new glass. “I’m Eve. You?”

“I’m… really thankful for my drink, Eve” you say, because you’re never gonna share your name with anyone else. “Wanna dance?”

The woman rolls her eyes, but follows you to the dance floor. It’s the perfect place to get lost, and avoid any conversation. The music’s loud, there’s people everywhere and you can simply disappear when you’re done.

It’s what you do best, isn’t it?

As you go out for another drink, there’s an impulse to talk to Laura.

“That was the name of a friend”

“What?”

“Laura. Well, not my friend. My ex girlfriend’s friend”

That’s about everything they have in common. This woman is covered in tattoos and has dark hair, styled in a mullet. Very Joan Jett, which is every girl’s type.

But my type is Wanda.

“Is that why you drink until I have to call you a cab?” Laura says, and you nod, taking a shot of tequila and asking for another one.

“Yeah. Come on, just one more” you plea when she’s doubting about giving you a third one. You pout and Laura rolls her eyes. “Thank you. Ah, I love this song!”

You blow her a kiss, running back to the dance floor. Wait, no, you don’t even know this song but it’s cool anyway.

And then the next one is good enough, until you’re a bit too drunk and have no idea what’s playing.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

To your disappointment, it’s a man.

“I’m fine!”

“Yes, you are” he says, putting his arm around your waist.

“I’m gay, dude. Stop it!” you push him away.

“Come on, you just need a good di…”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, not when your fist crashes against his nose.

Stupid move, as he’s tumbling to the floor, creating a commotion. You can tell he’s pissed when he stands up, but he never even gets to yell at you, because someone is pulling you back until you’re out of sight.

“You really are trouble” Laura tsks and you try not to laugh.

“He was an asshole”

“Yeah, he is. If it were up to me he wouldn’t go in at all. I have to get back to the bar. Stay here, drink some water. Then I’ll call you a cab”

“I’m sorry” you say, reaching for her when she walks past you.

“That girl did a number on you, huh?”

“I only have myself to blame” you smile sadly. “Thanks for the help”

Following the woman’s advice, you walk around the room, drinking some water and breathing to gather yourself. You’re vaguely aware of the pain in your hand, and remember that it was stupid to risk yourself that way.

If you can’t operate, Melina’s kicking your ass.

After a while, Laura comes back.

“Car’s waiting”

“Thanks… I owe you...”

“A cup of coffee”

You’re about to protest when she rolls her eyes.

“Not as a date. You have too many issues for me to handle. But I’d rather we stop meeting like this, with you starting a bar fight”

“Yeah, that’s fair” you smile, looking back before leaving the room. “My name’s Y/N, by the way”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N”

—

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

That’s all you can think about as you get ready for a 24 hour shift, sporting a massive headache and hangover.

You’re leaning against the elevator when the doors open, and you speak without opening your eyes, handing the keys of the car to Yelena.

“You’re gonna have to drive me today”

“Yelena already left”

You look up a little too fast, eyes meeting Natasha’s.

“Ah, jeez” you complain, feeling your head pound with the sudden movement.

“Rough night?” she says with a mocking tone, but then pays attention to your bruised knuckles, taking your hand. “What the hell? Are you ok?”

“Dude thought he could touch me and get away with it. It’s fine” you promise, though she doesn’t let go of your hand.

“You know mom’s gonna freak out when she sees this?”

“Don’t be a snitch, Romanoff” you say, stepping out of the elevator. “What are you doing?”

“Get in my car” she says, rolling her eyes. “You’re in no condition to drive”

“This is nice” you look around the Mercedes-Benz, reaching to touch the controls in the dashboard. Natasha slaps your hand away.

“Nicer than the Corvette?”

“Nah, let’s not get crazy”

“Did you have a nice weekend with the family?” she asks, rolling into conversation naturally.

“Yeah, we went to see Wicked because Jenny wanted to, then to a Yankees game where I caught the ball, which is apparently a big deal”

“It is, congrats”

“They made me buy some clothes that are not scrubs or…”

“Mini skirts? Like the one you wore last night”

“How did you…”

“My penthouse is in the same building, remember? Same as Yelena’s. Mom was smart enough to get a house away from everyone”

“Right”

“Doesn’t Wanda mind?”

That shuts you up real fast. And honestly? You don’t feel like lying. But as you’re about to answer her, she stops in the parking lot.

“Sorry, it’s none of my business” she mistakes your silence with annoyance.

“No, that’s not it” you explain, but then your phone pings. It’s a message from Jenny, sending you the Instagram post she made for the weekend in New York.

J: You made it to the gram!

Youths. You don’t even have instagram but click the link nonetheless. Yeah, those are nice pictures.

“Oh, you two came together?” Melina greets when she meets you in the hallway.

“Y/N can explain why” Natasha smirks and you glare at her.

“I was just feeling tired after the family trip”

“Natalia, who will be your plus one to the gala?” Melina changes the subject abruptly.

“I’m not taking anyone”

You direct your attention back to your phone, knowing they’re about to argue.

As you swipe through the pictures, a name catches your eye.

w.maximoff

What?

Does Wanda follow your sister?

She saw the pictures and liked them? Even if you were in them?

Don’t be an idiot, don’t think this means anything, she hates you, she’s better off without you.

The sudden urge to throw up has nothing to do with your hangover. You look around the hallway, and feel the desire to turn around and beg her to take you back.

You miss her too much, you can’t do this without Wanda.

Who are you kidding?

“Take Y/N” you hear all of the sudden.

“What?”

“Take Y/N to the gala with you” Melina decides, making Natasha roll her eyes.

“She doesn’t want to…”

“Yes. I’ll go” you interrupt Natasha.

Anything, anything at all to stop thinking about the one person who made your life worth living.

“Then it’s settled” your boss nods, pleased.

“Excuse me” you walk away, hoping there’s a ton of work that can keep your mind off everything else.

There is, and you’re grateful for the distraction it provides.

“I’m exhausted. How are you managing with a hangover?” Yelena complains after a few hours.

“Get some rest,” you mutter, looking at the lab results. “The OR won’t be ready for another hour anyway”

Unfortunately, it gets very slow as the day progresses. Everyone in the hospital is focused on a kidney transplant that is happening next week.

You see a woman walk in with her son to the ER and approach them.

“Hello, I’m Doctor Y/L/N. How can I help you?”

“Hi, yes. My son fell and I’m not sure, I think he might have hurt his wrist”

You turn to look at the kid, who is probably ten or eleven, and he looks back at you scared.

“I understand. What’s your name?”

“Kyle”

“Hi, Kyle. I’m Y/L. Can I take a look at your wrist?”

It takes him a moment to nod, but once he does you take him to one of the hospital beds where he sits. As you put on a pair of gloves, he looks around, clearly nervous.

“Cool shirt” you make conversation, noticing his Yoshi shirt. “My favorite is Rainbow Road, but the best time I ever did was on Vanilla Lake”

“Really? My favorite is Koopa Troopa Beach”

“That’s a good one” you agree, applying pressure on his wrist. “Ok, I don’t think anything’s broken but we need an X-ray to confirm. I’ll walk you there, it will take a minute”

Thankfully, it’s just a sprain.

“You’ll just wear a brace for a week, I’m also sending some medication for pain. Now, you’re gonna have to hold up on playing Mario Kart for a bit, as the movement isn’t good for your hand. Take it easy and if there’s any more discomfort or pain, come back to the hospital”

“Thank you” the woman nods, relieved that it’s nothing major. You’re about to say goodbye when her son hugs you.

“Take care, kid”

As you watch them walk away, your mind goes back to Billy and Tommy.

You miss them so much.

“Everything ok?” Yelena asks when you leave in a rush, walking towards the stairs.

Instead of answering her, you go down the steps, until you push the emergency exit, breathing heavily.

Don’t cry at work, don’t cry at work.

It’s not working. You squeeze your eyes shot, pinching the bridge of your nose.

A sob leaves your lips the minute Yelena catches up with you.

“It’s ok. I’m here” she says, hugging you.

“I miss them”

“I know. I’m sorry” is all she says, allowing you to cry as you lean your head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be…” you finally gather yourself, wiping away the tears. Your face is hot with the embarrassment of being so emotional in front of Yelena.

“I understand. There’s nothing to be sorry about. Come on, you should get some sleep. I’ll cover the ER for a bit”

“Ok” you nod. But she still follows you to the break room, and as you lay in bed, Yelena makes small talk, asking about your trip and telling you some funny things that used to happen to her and Natasha when their mother would leave them to roam the city while she had board meetings.

As she tells you about her favorite things from the Met, your eyes feel heavy and you fall asleep, exhausted.

The younger woman looks at you, feeling a bit guilty. She understands that everyone in this situation is an adult, and sometimes relationships don’t work.

But it’s still hard to see you so heartbroken and lonely.

“Hey” Natasha walks in the room, and Yelena shushes her, leaning her head towards you. “Is she ok?”

“I don’t know” the blonde admits, closing the door behind her.  “What’s up?”

“Mom told me you’re bringing a plus one to the gala! I thought we agreed no dates for this one”

“Oh, yeah…” Yelena blushes, and Natasha tilts her head.

“Who is it?”

“So, what are you doing? Should we find you a date?” Yelena rushes to change the subject, walking with her sister to the cafeteria.

“No, Y/N volunteered. Or, my mother kinda forced her to”

“Maybe it will be good to have a distraction. She’s having a rough time”

Natasha stays silent as they get some food. To be honest, she has been distant with you. It was hard to get close again after all the hard words you exchanged.

Natasha was just trying to protect herself.

“So you’re not gonna tell me who it is?” Natasha insists after a moment of silence. Yelena laughs, shaking her head.

“You’ll find out soon enough”

—

You open your eyes to the sound of your pager. The OR was busy for longer than anticipated and you’re about to go and check if everyone’s ready.

While you yawn, you dial Yelena’s number.

“Hello?” you hear Natasha’s voice.

“Why are you answering Yelena’s phone?” you say, doble checking that you indeed called her sister.

“Oh, crap. I took her phone by accident”

“Hey” you step out of the room, and find none other than Natasha, ready to leave for the day. “Guess your mother bought these phones in bulk”

You show her the mobile Melina gave you, though you insisted in keeping your number. It’s identical to Yelena’s and Natasha’s and every head of department has one as well.

“Heads up, she might be tracking your location”

“What? Can she do that?” you say, shaking the phone. Natasha smiles at that.

She forgets not everyone is expecting the worst from Melina.

“I better go and exchange phones with Yelena” the redhead says.

“Sure, can you tell her that the OR’s ready? Thanks”

You leave, but then Natasha’s voice stops you.

“Do you wanna do something tomorrow?”

There’s a hint of shock in your face, but you nod and smile.

“Yeah, sure. Wanna come over to watch a movie?”

“Sounds good” she agrees.

“Alright. See ya then” you wave goodbye.

Between this and the gala, Natasha doesn’t know if it’s a good idea to spend so much time together.

She’s about to find out.

—

Natasha is questioning her choices as she knocks on your door, thinking it might be unwise to spend alone time with you.

She had felt like you both got some closure after the emergency surgery on that woman. And then, one week later you had shown up at her hospital, as if you hadn’t refused the offer a number of times.

As if the thought of leaving your precious girlfriend behind wasn’t the craziest thing in the world.

“Hey, come on in” you greet, opening for her.

“Love what you’ve done with the place” she teases, watching as the only real decoration is a Polaroid picture of you and Yelena that is taped to the fridge.

“I’m happy this thing came with furniture or we’d be having dinner on the floor”

“Martha Stewart would be proud” she says and you roll your eyes.

“Come on, food will be ready in a bit” you say, asking her to open the bottle of wine.

“Where’d you get it from?”  she asks as she hands you a glass.

“Uh, the grocery store?” you look back from the stove.

“Wait, you’re making it? From scratch?” she puts her glass down, looking over your shoulder.

“Well, not from scratch, it’s not like I made the pasta”

“I thought you didn’t cook”

“I didn’t” you smile, offering her a taste of the sauce. “But I got used to the finer things in life, like a good old homemade meal, and had to figure out how to get something done”

“This is actually really good” she says, surprised.

“I will give you a pass because I am also surprised that my cooking’s not so bad”

It must have been because you used to watch Wanda cooking all the time.

Ah, shit.

Maybe eventually you’ll go a day without thinking about her. Or not, and that’s your karma for being an idiot.

Once everything’s ready, you pull out two plates, and serve the food.

“What do you wanna watch?”

“Not sure, could we eat first?”

“Why, want to check that I won’t give you food poisoning?” you joke, but Natasha doesn’t laugh. “Oh, come on! I’ve never gotten sick and it’s been a month!”

“Let’s just eat”

“Fine, are you sure you’re gonna be ok talking to me? You’ve been avoiding me since I arrived in Boston” you comment, though you can’t be mad at her.

It was easier to blame her for your screw up that own up to it. You’re not particularly proud of it.

“I wasn’t sure if your girlfriend would give you shit for talking to me”

“We’re not together anymore” you blurt out, making Natasha stop chewing.

“You’re shitting me”

“She broke up with me” you shrug your shoulders. “So I quit my job and ran away like the asshole I am”

There’s a beat of silence, and you keep eating. You’re not expecting anything from Natasha, like pity or words of comfort. It’s just the way things are.

“I had no idea… I’m sorry. I feel responsible”

“Nat, don’t. Honestly, you weren’t wrong. I am attracted to you, and I didn’t set boundaries. If anything, I’m sorry for being a jerk and ruining our friendship”

She keeps eating quietly, and you know that she accepted the apology without making a fuss about it.

“Crazy, stupid love” you mumble after a couple of minutes.

“Yeah, I guess it can be”

“No” you snort out a laugh. “I mean that’s the movie I wanna watch!”

“Oh, I don’t know it” Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Of course not, it’s not a Bond movie. Come on, now that you’ve seen my food won’t take you to the ER, let’s get everything ready” you say, picking up the dishes. Maybe you’ll make popcorn, even though you are full.

“Wait a minute” Natasha says, and when you turn around, she’s got you cornered against the kitchen counter.

“Huh?”

“You said you are attracted to me. Not were. So you still are” she smirks, eyeing you up and down.

“Well, yeah. Have you seen yourself?” you stutter. It’s not helping that you’ve gotten used to physical intimacy and you’ve been craving it for the past weeks.

But that makes you think of Wanda again.

“I just… you deserve more than being a rebound, Natasha. And I am serious when I say I’m not staying beyond my contract”

You know you can’t be someone who isn’t heartbroken and in love with Wanda. But you can at least be honest about it.

“I know. It’s just fun to watch you get all flustered” she says with a sultry voice.

“Not funny” you say, pushing her away.

“Let’s watch that silly, corny movie now” Natasha rolls her eyes.

“You’re gonna love it”

“Doubt it”

As you suspect, she’s critizing Cal at every possible turn, calling him a loser. She’s also constantly texting about the hospital in between complaints.

“Hey!” she protests when you snatch her phone.

“I know we’re both workaholics, but you’re missing the parts with Emma Stone which are arguably the best ones. And this big reveal will blow your mind”

So, you put both of your phones down in the coffee table and take it as a win when she’s laughing at some of the moments in the film.

“Hannah is Cal’s daughter?” Natasha screams when you get to that scene.

“See?”

“Damn!”

“Bathroom break” you announce a while later, leaving the movie playing as you know the dialogues.

Natasha is actually interested in the movie when her phone rings and she picks up without looking away from the screen.

“Hello?”

She’s met with silence, which makes her actually pay attention to whoever called her.

Shit.

Wanda.

She took your phone.

But before she can explain or tell the other woman to wait, the call disconnects.

“What’s wrong?” you say when you return, sitting next to Natasha. “I know it’s sad, but I promise it has a happy ending”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry”

“Nat, you’re scaring me”

“I thought it was my phone, I picked it up. Wanda called you” Natasha says, handing over the phone to you.

“Oh” you tilt your head, shocked. “What did she say?”

“Nothing. She hung up. I’m so sorry”

“Well, maybe she just wanted me to get my stuff. That’s the only reason she’d call me, honestly” you say, returning to the movie.

“Why aren’t you freaking out?” Natasha insists.

“I don’t know” you confess. Maybe you’re in shock. It feels surreal to have Wanda call you, after everything she said to you.

You left your old phone at Darcy’s house before jumping on a plane. You only got your old number back after Melina gave you one of those fancy phones.

Now you wonder if she ever tried to call you.

“I should go”

“And leave me to drown in obsessive thoughts?” you say dramatically. “Look, what’s the harm here? That she’ll think the worst of me, and then what? We broke up. She kicked me out, I’m gone like Wanda asked me to. I’ll just text Pietro and ask if the kids are ok”

That was your real concern. You had a feeling that it could be a mistake or something very serious. And you’d always put your pride aside for the sake of the kids.

“We’re watching a horror movie now” Natasha snatches the remote as soon as the credits roll, looking for Insidious. “That will distract you for sure”

—

“You’re evil” you say when Natasha walks out, laughing.

“And you’re a baby”

“There was a demon! Sewing while that creepy song played. You’re sick, Romanoff”

“Sweet dreams, Y/N” she says, whistling the song as she closes the door.

Now you won’t be able to sleep.

But there’s also another thing in the back of your mind.

Pietro hasn’t answered which can mean that it Wanda's call was a mistake and he’s choosing to ignore you.

Or something so monumentally horrible happened that he doesn’t even have his phone on him.

“Fuck it” you say, trying to control your breathing as you dial back.

You begin to feel like an idiot, especially when it’s pretty obvious Wanda won’t pick up the phone.

Hands squeeze the device as you deal with the disappointment. You are about to hang up when you hear it.

Wanda, saying your name.

And for a moment, you feel like everything’s ok again.

[starmocha]

duuude mc making him delirious. next day at the hospital he's stillbworked up. mc sends him a text, it's her day off. he's loving, asks her how she's doing. she sends a 'fine 🥰' and he notices she's typying for a while, he's already holding his breath when she sends 'I can still feel you everywhere' with a pretty picture of her lower body, his shirt pulled up, her hand on top of her pink cotton panties. 'especially here' is the fatal blow that makes zayne think of an emergency and head home.

....oops........ 😔👉👈

Afternoon Lessons

Zayne asks Greyson to take over. No reasoning, no explanation, nothing. Greyson finds it odd that Zayne seems to be in a rush to leave, but seeing as the young surgeon has always been a workaholic dedicated to his job, Greyson dismisses this peculiarity, assuming there must be something urgent to make Zayne leave the hospital on short notice.

There is an urgent matter.

Zayne's minx of a wife has decided to play with fire this afternoon, so it's time she learns her lesson about teasing her husband like that when he is at work.

The moment Zayne arrives home, he comes into the living room, seeing his darling wife lounging on the couch in just her little pink cotton panties and his shirt, half-unbuttoned, and her breasts on display as she poses for some risqué selfies.

His phone buzzes.

She freezes.

Zayne opens the text message he has just received and smirks.

"My love, what was your intention for sending me these lovely photos of yourself?"

Slowly, she turns around on the couch to face him as he walks to her. She feels butterflies in her belly when she notices that hint of arousal in his gaze. Right when he sits down on the couch, she yelps in surprise, not expecting him to grab her suddenly and lay her over his lap, his hand has already pulled her panties down enough to expose her ass. Instantly, his large, calloused hand made contact, the slap has her crying out in both surprise and pleasure.

"Has my good girl decided to be naughty today?" he leans over to whisper in her ear, unknowingly making her stomach coil at how deliciously sensual his voice sounds in this moment. His lips find her neck as he continues in a lazy murmur, "That won't do...she could get me in trouble at work."

"Za-Zayne!" she cries out his name when he slaps her ass again, the sting hurting so good, she could feel a dampness between her legs.

Zayne smirks again, his lips on her shoulder. "One spank for every photo you have sent today."

She gasps, nervously trembling at his stern words.

She had sent him thirteen photos total.

[novascharms]

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

word count — 14.9 chapter index — next. chap.

c.w — smut, p in v masterlist

a.n — you did read that right. this has turned into a 15000 word monster... i'm not sure how it happened. ANYWAY. this is very late and i'm so very sorry. gramps went into emergency surgery, i started school and had the worst period cramps of my life but we all good, everything is much better now. i will be updating the other four parts very soon. (hopefully tee hee)

epilogue - part one

sunday, march 2nd

rafe was a heavy sleeper. you never knew that—not until now. he slept like a log, completely undisturbed despite the world moving around him. even with the sun pouring through the windows, turning his hair and eyelashes a shade of gold so soft it looked spun from honey, even with the familiar morning symphony of your family filling the house—your sister's giggles echoing from the yard as she played with your mom, your little brother waddling through the living room, bottle clutched in his tiny hands as he repeatedly bumped his head against rafe’s thigh—he didn’t so much as stir.  

he should consider himself lucky. you, on the other hand, could wake up from the mere sound of a door creaking open down the hall.  

you tried to imagine him in your bed instead of sprawled across your couch, head buried in your pillows, wrapped up in your blanket. would he sleep on the left or the right? hopefully the left, since you slept on the right—closest to the window, where the first light of morning always found you.  

did he dream? or did he have nightmares? did he mumble in his sleep? would you wake up to hear him speaking in slurred, sleepy gibberish, too out of it to make sense?  

did he sleep in sweats? pajamas? a button-up? shirtless? that felt very much like rafe, but you didn’t know. not yet, at least.  

did he linger in bed for thirty minutes before dragging himself up, or was he like you? someone who counted down from five to one and forced temselves up at one.

endless possibilities.

and something inside you whispered that you would find out. maybe not today. maybe not tomorrow. but the day would come, and when it did, you'd cherish it.  

you'd watch him just like you were watching him now, cataloging every detail—the way his lashes rested against his cheek, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. you’d memorize how his hair fell, how his lips looked impossibly soft, how the little crease between his brows never quite smoothed out, even in sleep. and you'd be allowed. 

you wouldn’t have to stop yourself from reaching out.  

you wouldn’t have to fight the urge to kiss him.  

because he would be yours. completely, irrevocably yours.  

“take a picture, it'll last longer.”  

your sister’s voice snapped you from your thoughts. you barely spared her a glance, still leaning against the archway separating the living room from the dining room, cradling a mug of now-cold tea in your hands.  

“go away,” you murmured, voice quiet but firm.  

she was right, but she could be right somewhere else.  

you'd been staring at him for well over fifteen minutes, still in your pajamas, unable to make yourself move, unable to be anywhere else. you had already called off work because the thought of leaving right now—leaving him—felt unbearable.  

were you one of those girlfriend? the kind who couldn’t stay away, who hovered and obsessed?  

girlfriend felt too soon.  

but then again, rafe had told you he loved you. twelve hours, thirteen minutes, and fifty-four seconds ago, to be exact. 

your dad passed by, replacing your cold mug with a fresh one, steam curling in the air. you thanked him absentmindedly, fingers wrapping around the warmth.  

what kind of boyfriend would rafe be?  

you already knew he was touchy, that he liked kissing, that he had a habit of nuzzling the tip of his nose against yours, of holding eye contact just a little too long when you weren’t paying attention. he liked to watch you, studying you as you tutored him, as you cleaned, as if every little thing you did was worth committing to memory.  

but what about the rest?  

would he bring you flowers? take you to the movies, or more late-night drives along the coast? would he want to sit on the beach with you until the sky turned soft with morning, or would he prefer extravagant dates, something grand and exciting?  

what kind of gifts would he like?  

would he appreciate personalized things—carefully written ‘open when’ letters, little boxes filled with things meant just for him—or was he more materialistic? would he want his favorite cologne, designer watches, the kinds of things that held status?  

or would he prefer something he could do? something he could experience—a trip, an activity, something he could share with you or his friends?  

you’d probably just get him all of it. just to be sure.  

you’d only had one boyfriend before—not that you and rafe were official yet, but still.  

being a girlfriend the first time had been… odd.  

like having a boy who was a friend, and sometimes he kissed you, and it was just… fine.  

but with rafe?  

it felt nothing like that.  

and god, you wanted to do it right.  

maybe there was a research paper somewhere on how to be a good girlfriend.  

not that it mattered. rafe made it easy.  

he made your heart stutter, your stomach twist, your cheeks burn. he made you want to be good to him. to be perfect for him.  

and maybe that was impossible.  

but you would try.

rafe stirred, his arm lifting sluggishly to rub at his eyes, fingers dragging through the remnants of sleep. the motion caught your little brother’s attention immediately, his tiny head snapping up, curiosity flickering across his face at the sudden movement in the room. once he realized rafe was awake, he held out his arms in a way that said 'pick me up before i hurl this bottle at someone.'

"hey, buddy…" rafe rasped, voice thick with sleep as he reached for him, lifting him effortlessly and settling him onto his chest.  

you stayed still, watching in silence, your body at ease yet your heart hammering against your ribs. it was as if you could physically feel it swell, stretching wide with a warmth so intense it made your breath hitch.  

and then, as if he could sense it, his eyes found yours. sleepy, unfocused, but piercing all the same. that disarming gaze of his tugged at something deep within you, pulling you toward him like gravity itself. god, you wanted to go to him. to press yourself against him, burrow into his warmth, tuck your face into the crook of his neck and let the rest of the world fall away.  

"morning."  

his voice was quiet, rough around the edges, heavy with sleep. it was almost ridiculous how the sound of it sent tingles through every nerve in your body, warm and electric, curling low in your stomach.  

"morning."

your own voice was steadier than you felt, but your feet wouldn’t move. he looked so cozy—messy hair, sleepy eyes, the laziest, softest smile pulling at his lips. he was huggable, he was yours, and the ache to touch him, to climb into his space, to sink into his warmth, made your fingers twitch at your sides.  

his head rested against the couch arm, eyes impossibly tender as they traced over you.  

"gonna stay over there?"

he was almost smiling, teasing, but something expectant threaded through the words—something hopeful.  

your little brother wiggled off his chest and padded away, but rafe didn’t look away, didn’t so much as blink. he was watching you now, watching the hesitation in your stance, the way your weight shifted like you were trying to resist something inevitable.  

"i'm enjoying the view."

you grinned, and the corner of his lips twitched, a smirk creeping in slow and lazy.  

"taking in the sights?"

you nodded.  

"like what you see?" his brows lifted slightly, smirk deepening. "hope i’m up to standard."

another nod, another hum of approval.  

and then, softer—almost pleading—  

"c’mere."

your body moved before your mind could catch up. one second, you were standing. the next, you were there, sinking into him, his hands finding your waist as your knees pressed into the cushions.  

the need to touch him was unbearable, searing through your veins, clawing at your ribs.  

and then, finally, it hit you—you can.  

as much as you want. as long as you want.  

because he was yours.  

not some far-off dream.  

not a delusion.  

real.

your hands found his chest first, smoothing over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin through the cotton. slowly, they traveled upward, fingers brushing over his throat, his jaw, until your palms cradled his face, your thumb tracing the high point of his cheekbone.  

rafe turned into your touch, his lips brushing against the heel of your palm.  

"sleep okay?" he murmured, though there was a knowing edge to it, a quiet concern that made your stomach twist.  

because you both knew why he was asking.  

last night, by the time you’d finally come inside, you were wrecked. tear-streaked, hiccuping, clinging to rafe like he was the only thing tethering you to the earth. you hadn’t wanted him to sleep on the couch. you had fought him on it, insisted, pleaded, but somehow—you weren’t even sure how—he had won that fight. maybe it was the exhaustion. maybe it was the way your body had already been shutting down from the sheer weight of the night.  

"me? i'm not the one who slept on the couch."

you narrowed your eyes, fingers still cupping his face, and his lips quirked at your pointed tone.  

"i slept good," he assured you. "hard surfaces are better for your back, you know?"  

you snorted, unconvinced. "got facts now, huh? copying me, cameron?"  

he chuckled, tilting his head against your palm, lashes fluttering briefly as he stretched out with a groan.  

"didn’t you know? i’m coming for your spot."  

your smile widened. "you sure you want that? i go to the library for fun, you know?"  

rafe made a face, and you laughed.  

"still want me?" you teased, only half joking.  

he tilted his head slightly, considering. for half a second.  

then, he kissed you.  

soft. chaste. a barely-there press of lips that still managed to steal the breath from your lungs. and god, you didn’t care that he hadn’t brushed his teeth yet—you’d kiss him like this forever if he let you.  

when he pulled back, his nose nudged yours.  

"the real question is…" his voice was low, careful, like he was treading unsteady ground. "will you still have me?"  

you exhaled shakily, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment, just soaking him in.  

the past twenty-four hours had been an emotional wreckage. you had him, then you lost him, then you had him again in the span of a few, heart-crushing, life-altering hours.  

it was enough to make your head spin.  

enough to make you terrified that you could lose him just as easily.  

"that's a silly question."

your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him close, and he melted into you, hands slipping around your waist, tugging you even closer until you could feel his heartbeat against your own.  

"is it?" he murmured, his fingers dragging along the length of your spine, leaving shivers in their wake.  

"it is," you whispered. "m’never letting you go."  

his hold tightened.  

"you promise?"  

the words were barely audible, spoken against your skin, fragile in the way only he could be.  

you squeezed him, felt his heartbeat against your own.  

"cross my heart."

after a surprisingly normal breakfast, rafe had stepped outside to take a phone call. judging by the rare, genuine smile pulling at his lips, you were pretty sure it was sarah. his sister was one of the few people who could make him look like that—unguarded, softened.  

you were elbow-deep in soapy water, stacking dishes into the drying rack, when your mom poked her head into the kitchen. her eyes twinkled with thinly veiled curiosity.  

“so,” she started, dragging out the word as she leaned against the counter.  

you turned, brows lifting. “so?”  

her gaze flicked meaningfully toward the glass doors, where rafe was pacing the length of your backyard, phone in hand. “do you have a boy who is a little more than a friend?” she asked, feigning nonchalance.  

a smirk tugged at your lips. “mm, are you asking if rafe is my boyfriend?”  

“am i asking if the boy who has been sleeping on my couch and practically living in my house for the past two months is your boyfriend now? yes, i just might be.” she deadpanned, eyes shifting between you and the boy outside.  

you smiled to yourself, wiping down a plate. “nope.”  

“no?” your dad’s voice came out of nowhere, making you nearly jump. you turned to see him standing in the doorway, confusion written all over his face.  

your mom echoed his disbelief. “no?”  

you nodded, amused. “not yet.”  

your dad huffed, crossing his arms. “not yet? well, what the hell is his plan? because i’m not about to have some kid walking in and out of this house—”  

before he could finish his sentence, the sliding door creaked open. rafe stepped inside, still distracted by his phone, but when the room fell into a tense silence, his eyes flickered up.  

his brows furrowed. “uh… hey, guys…” his gaze found yours, searching. “am i interrupting or…?”  

you shook your head a little too quickly. “no, no. they were just wondering what time we got home last night.” you turned to your parents, forcing a casual tone. “around ten, i think. you had only just gone to bed.”  

your mom pursed her lips before smiling at rafe. “uh huh. well, hope the couch wasn’t too terrible. it’s not exactly made for sleeping.”  

rafe waved a hand dismissively. “it was fine. i should’ve asked before crashing, it was kind of a last-minute thing.”  

your dad, who moments ago was seconds away from throwing him out, suddenly beamed. “that’s alright, you’re always welcome here, son.”  

you gawked at him, utterly incredulous, but he ignored you.  

your mom grabbed your dad’s arm, tugging him toward the hallway. “well, we should go because…” she shot him a pointed look, silently urging him to come up with an excuse.  

“because…” he faltered, then suddenly snapped his fingers. “we have children! yes, we should check on our other children. the little one’s been, uh… constipated lately—”  

their voices trailed off as they disappeared down the hall, leaving you blinking after them.  

“your parents are funny,” rafe murmured, stepping up behind you. you barely had time to react before he dropped his head atop yours, the warmth of his body settling against your back.  

“they’re weird,” you corrected.  

he chuckled, a quiet, deep sound. “they’re a little weird.”  

his breath was warm against your temple, the closeness of him making your chest feel tight in a way you weren’t sure how to name.  

“want me to help you dry those?” he asked softly.  

you nodded, unable to stop the smile curling at your lips. “here.”  

you handed him a mug, and he slid away just enough to grab a dish towel, falling into step beside you.

"were you on the phone with sarah?” you ask quietly, unable to hide your curiosity.  

rafe nods, still absentmindedly drying the dish in his hands. “yeah, she was asking if i was eating dinner with them tonight. we’re in that phase where my parents act super happy that she’s home—before they start picking fights with her.”  

your brows pull together. “they didn’t know she was coming back?”  

“no, they did. it was only really a surprise for me.”  

your stomach twists a little at that. “sorry it didn’t go exactly as planned,” you murmur, voice laced with quiet regret.  

rafe doesn’t answer right away. instead, he gently takes the cup from your hands, setting it down on the counter before his fingers slip around yours, warm and firm. “i’m the one who should apologize,” he says, voice thick with sincerity. “it happened at my house, with my friends. i invited you. i should’ve—i should’ve been better. if i knew—”  

“you already apologized,” you cut in softly. “a couple of times, actually. and it’s okay. you didn’t know.” you hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat. “i also have fault in this, you know?” you look away for a second before meeting his eyes again. “i was scared. scared to communicate, to let you all the way in, to trust you sometimes. i can say without a doubt that if i’d handled a few things differently, we wouldn’t be where we are.”  

rafe tilts his head side to side, clearly disagreeing. “you don’t have any fault in this.” he tugs you closer, guiding your arms around his neck. “how were you supposed to trust me when you already knew what i was like? maybe not in detail, but the vague image was always there—even before cora said anything. you were protecting yourself. it’s one of the most human responses.”  

your lips part, ready to argue, but he beats you to it. “but,” he exhales, a tiny smirk playing at his lips, “i doubt i’ll win this fight, so let’s just agree to disagree.”  

he kisses you once, then again, softer this time, like the words themselves weren’t enough to settle it. your lips twitch with a smile you can’t control.  

“agree to disagree,” you whisper against his mouth before pressing a few more kisses to his lips, unable to stop yourself.  

he lets out a small chuckle, brushing the tip of his nose against yours, slow and affectionate. you think you could live in this quiet forever.  

“what time are you leaving?” your voice is quiet, already heavy with the weight of missing him before he’s even gone.

“soon,” he murmurs, his breath warm as it brushes against your temple, “but i’m coming back.”

your brows knit together, searching his face, his eyes, the way his lips barely quirk like he knows something you don’t. “you’re coming back?”

he nods, fingers grazing the curve of your jaw like he’s memorizing it. “there’s this girl…”

your smile is instant, soft and knowing. “mm?”

“she’s been running through my mind for so long,” he says, voice dipping lower, threading through your hair, “and i’m crazy about her.”

your grin spreads, helpless against the pull of him. “sounds serious.”

“yeah.” he smirks like he’s got a secret, and god, you love when he looks at you like that. “and i haven’t taken her on a date yet.”

you gasp, pressing a hand to your chest in mock scandal. “you haven’t taken her on a date yet?”

he shakes his head, feigning shame. “shameful, right?”

“absolutely. they should lock you up and throw away the key.”

his laughter rumbles between you, deep and warm, and you wish you could steal it, keep it somewhere safe. “damn,” he grins, pulling you closer. “throw away the key and everything?”

you nod solemnly. “except… if you can redeem yourself.”

he hums, amused. “redeem myself?”

you tip your chin up. “mmhm. like telling her where exactly you want to take her.”

his lips hover over yours, his voice a murmur against your mouth. “no can do. state secrets.” he presses a kiss to you, then another, softer between each word. “and we leave at four.”

your head spins. you barely register what he’s saying because all you can think about is the way he tastes, the way his hands tighten on your waist like he’d rather not let you go at all.

then he pulls back just enough to tilt his head, studying you like he’s about to say something important. “you should tell your parents you’re sleeping at hazel’s house,” he says casually, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, “and bring an overnight bag.”

your eyes widen. “an overnight bag?”

his smirk deepens at your reaction. “mmhm.”

“are we staying at your house?” you ask, suspicion creeping in.

he chuckles, shaking his head. “give me a little more credit than that.”

you narrow your eyes but let it slide. “okay… how should i dress if you won’t tell me where we’re going?”

he exhales, like he’s carefully picking his words. “it’s… outside. we’re walking around. not hiking or anything, but walking. like, imagine a museum—but it’s not a museum.”

you blink. “imagine a museum, but it’s not a museum?”

he nods, his grin tilting. “and bring warm clothes to sleep in.”

your stomach flips at that. he must notice because he laughs softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “no, we are not sleeping outside.”

relief floods you. “thank god,” you mumble. “i’d do a lot of things for you, but camping? not one of them.”

rafe grins, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. “camping is actually fun, you know,” he teases, his words muffled in your hair.

you let out a tiny, skeptical laugh. “yeah, the bugs, the grass, the dirt… my dream.”

his chest shakes with laughter, pressing his lips to your forehead. “you’re such a pessimist. they’re not bugs, they’re just little critters. it’s not grass and dirt,” he grins, “it’s nature and fresh air, and it’s good for your soul.”

“no, i’m a realist. and ‘critters’ do not sound better than bugs.”

his laughter softens, something deeper settling in his eyes as he looks at you. his arms tighten, holding you like he’s grounding himself in you, in this moment, in everything you are.

“you’re good for my soul,” you whisper, barely a breath between you. “that’s enough ‘good for the soul’ for me.”

his body relaxes against yours, the air shifting, something warm and certain pressing between your ribs. he leans down, lips brushing the top of your head, his breath stirring your hair.

“think it’s enough for me too, baby.”

you’d read somewhere that the brain falls in love in 0.2 seconds. a fraction of a moment—less than the blink of an eye—and suddenly, chemicals flood your system. dopamine, oxytocin, adrenaline. the same kind of high that leaves people breathless, euphoric, addicted.  

you never really believed it. 0.2 seconds? seriously? your brain had to have more fight in it than that. love seemed more complex, something slow-building, something earned. but now, pressed against rafe’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek, the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his arms wrapped securely around you—you realize it wasn’t just true. it lasted a lot longer than that.  

and god, were you in trouble.  

eventually, rafe pulled himself away, murmuring something about needing to shower and change. he promised he’d be back at four, but you were too restless to wait. by two, you were already ready to go.  

you cleaned your room, checked over your schoolwork, called off volunteering, helped your mom downstairs—anything to burn through the extra energy buzzing beneath your skin. and still, there was too much time left.  

with nothing left to do, you were ready to just lie in bed and stare at the ceiling until you got a text from your friends.

“hey!” you greeted, too bright, too excited.  

three pairs of eyes blinked at you through the screen, varying degrees of shock and mild concern staring back.  

“hey… y/n,” hazel started cautiously, brows furrowed. “are you okay?”

only then did you remember—they had no idea what had happened after ivy left.  

by the time you finished telling them everything, their reactions were wildly different.  

hazel, unsurprisingly, remained skeptical. her lips pressed into a thin line as she folded her arms, eyes narrowing in that way that told you she was biting back several very strong opinions. “you need to be careful,” she warned. “i wouldn’t have taken him back on principle.”  

you rolled your eyes, already bracing for a future where hazel inevitably fell in love and her poor, unfortunate partner suffered under her stubborn, unshakable sense of justice.  

devon, on the other hand, was thrilled. she’d always liked rafe the most, but devon liked everyone that could make her laugh. and since she found almost everything funny, her enthusiasm wasn’t exactly a surprise. “this was all adriana and cora’s fault,” she declared confidently. “it only seems complicated because of misunderstandings.”  

honestly, she wasn’t completely wrong.  

ivy was the last to react, but only because she needed everything explained twice. she kept getting lost in the names and timelines, but once she caught up, she leaned back, thoughtful. “i get where hazel’s coming from,” she admitted. “but… i’ve never seen someone look at another person the way rafe looks at you.” she shook her head, like even she couldn’t believe it. “he’s in love with you. and i think you guys deserve a real chance.”  

your chest tightened, an ache so sweet it almost hurt.  

hazel made valid points. you couldn’t deny that things could have been handled better, that rafe had a past, that there were risks.  

but love had to count for something.  

the way he touched you like you were something delicate and precious, the way he kissed you like he’d been starving for you, the way he looked at you—like you were the most important thing in the world.  

you had to see this through. you deserved to try.

by the time the conversation was winding down, your phone buzzed with a message from rafe—here—and before you could even process it, the doorbell rang. the timing made you smile, a giddy, unshakable thing that only grew as you imagined him just downstairs, waiting for you. waiting to kiss you the moment you reached him, to pull you close in the car, to sit beside you, hands brushing, the warmth of him something you could sink into.  

there weren’t enough words to describe what it felt like to be in love with rafe. he was lightning in your veins, a thrill in your pulse, the kind of presence that made your skin hum and your heart stumble over itself. every bit of him exhilarated you—the way he looked at you, the way he laughed, the way just existing near him felt like standing at the edge of something breathtaking.  

“alrighttt,” ivy teased from the tiny rectangle on your laptop screen, dragging out the word with a knowing smirk. “go get your man before you implode.” she waved a hand, shooing you off.  

“i’ll text every hour, okay?” you added, mostly directing it toward hazel, who nodded, lips quirking.  

“have fun!” devon grinned, throwing up a thumbs-up.  

“fun with protection,” hazel added flatly, and your jaw dropped, eyes going wide.  

“hazel!” you gasped, half-laughing, half-scandalized.  

she only shrugged, entirely unbothered, and waved you off as you ended the call.  

you shut your laptop, the nerves settling in properly now, fluttery and insistent. you rushed down the two flights of stairs, your heart thumping louder with each step, and before you even reached the bottom, you could already hear his voice, deep and familiar, threading through the hallway.  

“no, the season’s over,” rafe was saying, his tone easy, patient.  

your mom hummed, and then—ohhh, drawn out like a realization had just dawned on her. “so, it’s like the seasons of the year? like winter, fall—”  

you nearly winced before you heard rafe chuckle, cutting in quickly, “no, no, no.” he sounded amused, not condescending, his usual charm at play. “it’s one season. the season runs from mid-august to mid-november. that’s when we play in the big arenas. the rest of the year is off-season training, then pre-season prep, and sometimes, we have non-official games against other teams.”  

“mm,” your mom nodded, absorbing the information. as you stepped up behind her, she turned, startled for a second before her face softened. “oh! i was just talking to rafe about his soccer schedule—it’s quite intensive, actually.” her expression shifted to that motherly concern she always wore when she thought you were stretching yourself too thin.  

you bit back a grin, already knowing what was coming.  

“it’s like what i tell y/n, you know?” she said, turning back to rafe, who raised his brows, clearly entertained. “always with her head buried in those books. i keep telling her, anything with ‘too much’ or ‘too little’ in front of it is bad. too much studying, and her little head might break.” she sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “i worry—”  

“okay, mhm, i know, mom. i know,” you interjected, nodding quickly as you looped an arm through hers, gently steering her toward the living room before she could launch into another full speech.  

rafe, for his part, was valiantly holding back a laugh, his lips twitching as he watched you usher your mom away. you shot him a look, but the fondness in his eyes made your stomach flip.

“your mom complaining because you study too much? that’s unheard of.” rafe teases the moment you step back into the foyer, an embarrassed smile tugging at your lips.

“my mom is unheard of,” you correct, but the words barely register as you take him in. he looked good. he always did, but tonight—tonight he looked unfairly good. black cargos, a deep green sweater snug against his frame, the edge of a white shirt peeking out beneath it. his hair, effortlessly tousled in that way that made him look like he had just rolled out of bed—but you knew better. he did that on purpose.

before you can say anything else, he hooks a finger into the hem of your shirt, tugging you forward. you don’t resist, smiling as the space between you vanishes.

“hi,” you murmur, tilting your chin up as his hand cups your face, thumb brushing featherlight over your cheek.

“hey,” he breathes back, leaning in—so close you can almost taste the mint on his breath. but just as his lips are about to touch yours, he stills.

his voice drops to a whisper. “your sister is staring at us.”

your eyes snap open in horror. mortified. and annoyed.

sure enough, when you turn your head, there she is, standing in the hallway like a tiny executioner, arms crossed, smirk sharp.

“take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you mock, throwing her own words from this morning back at her.

without a beat of hesitation, she pulls out the little flip phone your dad gave her.

“oh my god! don’t actually take the picture!” you gasp, exasperated. behind you, rafe’s quiet chuckle vibrates through your back.

she doesn’t even acknowledge you, just huffs, arms crossing tighter. “dad!” she calls out, voice ringing through the house. “y/n won’t let me take a picture of her and rafe kissing!” she storms off.

you squeeze your eyes shut, dying inside, but rafe only laughs again. the sound is warm, reassuring—just like the way his arms slip around your waist, pulling you against his chest.

“you look pretty,” he murmurs, lips brushing over your shoulder, lingering. “and you smell good.” his mouth trails higher, ghosting over your neck, his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

your fingers tighten in his sweater as you exhale, tilting your head just enough to capture his lips in a soft, fleeting kiss. “thank you.” your voice is quieter now, just for him.

you pull back slightly, hands drifting to his shoulders as you study him again. “hmm…” your grin curves slow, playful. “you look nice, but i still can’t tell where we’re going from this outfit.”

he smirks, leaning down for another kiss, this one deeper, slower. when he pulls back, his voice is lower. “that’s kind of the point with surprises.”

you laugh softly as he grabs the duffel bag from your hands.

“we should get going.”

you nod, stepping away. “yeah, i just need to say bye to my parents. i’ll be right out.” you’re already turning when he murmurs his agreement, stepping out the front door.

inside, you find your parents in the living room. your mom is braiding your sister’s hair, her fingers moving with practiced ease.

“hey, i’m heading out. i’ll see you guys tomorrow after school?”

your mom glances up, eyes sweeping over you like she’s checking for something. “you don’t have a thicker sweater? it’s quite cold.”

“it isn’t that cold, she’ll be alright,” your dad interjects, offering you a thumbs-up. “just text us when you get to hazel’s, alright?”

you nod quickly, then turn back to your mom. “i’ll take my good coat, and worst case, i’ll ask rafe for a sweater.” you offer her a reassuring smile.

she studies you for a beat longer, then softens, giving you a warm nod. “okay. have fun.”

you turn on your heel, snatching your coat from the wall hook in one fluid motion before stepping outside. the crisp air rushes to greet you, cool against your flushed cheeks, curling around your skin like a whisper of excitement. the door clicks shut behind you, sealing away the warmth of inside, but you don’t mind—not when rafe is here, waiting.

he leans against his car, fingers idly playing with his keys, the metal glinting under the dim glow of the streetlights. he’s distracted, his head tilted down, but the second you step out, he pauses. his eyes find yours instantly, scanning your face, his lips parting just slightly. “all good?” his voice is gentle, edged with something soft, something careful.

you nod, unable to contain the giddy energy bubbling inside you. your feet carry you to him quickly, almost skipping, like a child running toward something they’ve been waiting all day for. “all good, good, good.” you beam up at him, stretching onto your toes to press a quick, eager kiss to his lips.

his chuckle is quiet, warm, but his arms instinctively settle around your waist, keeping you close. “you’re happy,” he observes, amusement laced in his voice.

your grin widens as you nod. “i’ve got every reason to be.” the words are as much for him as they are a reminder to yourself.

his nose brushes against yours, the smallest touch, but it sends a shiver down your spine. “i love seeing you smile,” he whispers, like it’s a secret meant only for you.

and because it’s him, because it’s always him, you smile even more. “i love you.”

his forehead rests against yours, his eyes locking onto yours like they hold the whole world inside them. “i love you too, baby.”

the drive to your destination is both too slow and far too fast, stretching time and collapsing it all at once. you want to savor every second, but you also ache to get there, wherever there is.

every car ride with rafe is something special. even the short ones, when he’d drop you off at the retirement home, where you’d linger in his car long after he had already parked, just talking, stretching the moment, neither of you wanting to leave, not ready to say goodbye. but the long ones? those were the best. time felt slower then, like the world outside the car didn’t matter, like all that existed was the steady hum of the engine, the soft music threading through the speakers, and the effortless conversation between you.

talking with rafe was easy. being with him was easy. you were always full of things to say, stories to tell, and he was always ready to listen, to laugh, to add his own thoughts like your words were puzzle pieces he was eager to fit together. the soft melody playing in the background only made it all feel more domestic, more right, like something you could do forever.

“remember when we were at the beach, and you said you should have more fun?” he asks suddenly, breaking the quiet hum of conversation.

you nod, thinking back to that day, the way you had sighed and confessed it like it was a secret. “yeah. this is something fun?”

he grins, nodding. “it is.”

your mind spins with possibilities. “is it…” you pause dramatically, narrowing your eyes at him, “roller skating?”

his laugh is easy, shaking his head. “you already guessed that one.” he tilts his head toward the windshield. “we’re almost there, though.”

your gaze follows his, and in the distance, bright lights glow against the night sky, unmistakable and familiar. your heart stutters.

“the fair!” you nearly scream, your excitement bubbling over into your voice. you turn to him, wide-eyed. “oh my god, i haven’t been back in years. i never—”

“find the time?” he finishes smoothly, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

you nod, eyes shining. “thank you, thank you!” the words spill out as you grab his face, pressing frantic kisses all over his cheeks, his nose, anywhere you can reach. he just laughs, letting you, his hands resting on your waist.

“this is gonna be so fun.” you bounce slightly in your seat, your gaze snapping back to the road, watching as the fair grows closer, the colors sharpening, the lights glittering. anticipation buzzes under your skin. “i hope you’re ready to spend the next fifteen hours here, because i am not leaving until we’ve played every game. oh! we have to go on the ferris wheel.” you turn back to him, eyes pleading. “and we have to do the duck fishing game! a lot of people find it kinda boring, but i always loved it as a kid. you get fun prizes!" you ramble, the memories flooding back, making you smile at the thought of it all.

"anddd!" you continue, as rafe parks the car and unbuckles your seatbelt for you, "we can do the can knockdown and the basketball shootout! though i’m not very good at that..." you tilt your head, biting your lip.

"basketball shootout? that’s my game," rafe says, his tone teasing yet reassuring. "don’t worry, i'll show you how to score." a grin spreads across your face, and you can’t help but lean in, kissing him again, your lips lingering against his, sharing a moment of warmth.

when you step out of the car, rafe briefly checks his parking, but you're too eager to wait. you tug gently at his hand, your excitement bubbling over. "okayyy! let’s go!" you urge, practically bouncing on your toes.

"okay, someone’s excited," rafe murmurs with a smile, pulling you close, his arm sliding around your shoulder as you both start walking toward the fair, the lights ahead like a dream come to life.

the fair was alive with energy, a constant hum of voices blending with the sounds of laughter and music. the air was thick with the scent of cotton candy and popcorn, and you could feel the vibrant pulse of excitement as people swarmed the grounds. scattered among the crowd were a few familiar faces from school, most of them nodding or waving at rafe from a distance, though there were one or two who actually stopped to chat with him for a moment.

you dove into the carnival games, clearly more excited than anything else. your enthusiasm was contagious as you breezed through everything, from the ring toss and pick-a-duck to the basketball shootout, can knockdown, and the bb gun shooting booth. you even tried your hand at the hammer strength test and the wheel of fortune. each game offered a prize, and by the time you were done, you had racked up so many stuffed animals that rafe had to make a quick trip to his car to stash a couple in the backseat. you kept only the one he won for you, clutching it close as if it were a prized possession.

"i’ve got a perfect name for him," you grinned when rafe returned, slipping his hand into yours. you hugged the bear tight to your chest.

"yeah?" he asked, a curious glint in his eyes.

"rafe jr!" you exclaimed, your face lighting up with mischief.

rafe paused, turning to look at you with a playful smile. "he’s your son. isn’t he adorable?" you ask him.

"i think he’s our son," rafe said, his tone teasing but warm.

you hummed thoughtfully, "yeah, from nine a.m. to ten p.m., he can be our son. but at night, he’s all yours. i need my eight hours of sleep," you joked, and rafe gave you a mock disapproving look.

"unbelievable," he muttered, feigning indignation as he took the bear from you. "give me my son. you don’t even deserve him," he laughed, shaking his head as you giggled.

"let’s do the mirror palace," rafe said suddenly, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the next attraction.

"oh, no," you groaned, a playful whine creeping into your voice. "i suck at mazes. do you know how many bruises i've gotten because of this place?" you complained as he led you into the line. he wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you close.

"you were probably between six and ten years old the last time you were here," he teased, his lips brushing your shoulder. "but don't worry, we’ll stick together. i’ll make sure we get out without any bruises."

you couldn’t help but smile at his reassurance, finding comfort in his presence. "okay," you agreed, your voice soft. "can we do the ferris wheel too?" you whispered, hopeful.

he gave you a tender smile and nodded. "we’ll do the ferris wheel, baby," he whispered back, his voice low and soothing as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. you smiled faintly, feeling the warmth of his affection, and he kissed you again, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled away.

the line for the maze isn’t long, and rafe makes the wait feel like nothing at all. "hey, two tickets, please," he says, voice low but casual as he pulls his wallet out, handing over a stack of bills. the cashier, with a soft smile, takes them, passing back two tickets with practiced ease. "here you go," she says, her tone polite but robotic, "no running and no backtracking. have fun." the words sound like a rehearsed mantra, something she'd said to every other person before.

"no backtracking?" you ask, your voice tinged with nerves as rafe laces his fingers through yours, pulling you toward the entrance. "what if we get lost? what if we—"

"baby, we won't get lost," he laughs, that deep, confident sound that always manages to settle your racing thoughts. he pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. he presses a soft kiss to the side of your head, the warmth of his lips grounding you. "this is a game for little kids. we’ll make it, no problem." you can’t help but smile, knowing he’s probably right. you nod, taking another step forward into the maze, the twisted corridors pulling you further in.

the maze is oddly quiet, aside from the occasional echo of laughter or giggling in the distance. the floors beneath your feet are dotted with glowing lights that form shifting patterns, while above, the ceiling is impossibly high—so high that you can't quite make out its end, thanks to the mirrored surface reflecting everything around you. it all feels like a strange dream, the kind where you’re falling endlessly but never quite hit the ground.

"god, this is so weird," you mutter, as rafe gently tugs you back just in time to avoid you running into yet another mirror. "i swear, we’ve been down this hallway already." you stop in your tracks, scanning your surroundings. rafe continues walking, but his hand, still clutching yours, halts him after a few steps.

"we haven’t been down this hallway yet," he says, looking over his shoulder at you. "i’d know." his tone is teasing, but you can’t help but raise an eyebrow.

"all the hallways look the same," you protest, "how would you know?"

"i’m a pro at this," he grins, tugging you closer. "you just don’t believe me." his hands settle on your waist, his fingers brushing the fabric of your shirt. "or trust me," he murmurs, lips barely grazing your ear as he pulls you even closer.

"i’m too young to die, and i can’t die in a maze, rafe," you whine softly, your voice barely audible. he chuckles, the sound warm against your skin.

"don’t be whiny," he teases, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before you can even respond. your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, pulling him closer.

"i’m not whiny…" you protest, though the words are muffled as his breath fans across your lips. your eyes flutter closed, and you exhale softly, the warmth of his presence overwhelming in the best way.

"really?" rafe’s voice is low and teasing as his lips brush against yours, barely making contact. "because you sound pretty whiny to me." his hands slide up your back, sending a chill through your spine as his lips trace the curve of your jaw. he pulls you flush against him, his body pressing into yours with a teasing urgency.

"rafe…" you sigh, words getting caught in your throat. you want to beg him to kiss you, to press you up against one of these endless mirrors and kiss you until you're breathless, but somehow, the words won’t come. instead, you lean into him, your lips chasing his in desperate need.

"yeah, pretty girl?" rafe’s voice is rough, husky, and it makes your knees feel weak. your heart races in your chest as you try to form a coherent thought, but all you can focus on is him. his presence. the heat between you. your lips are barely a breath away, and you lean in, chasing him as your fingers tangle in his hair.

he pulls away just enough for you to feel the loss, his lips brushing against your skin. "tell me," he insists, his voice barely a whisper, but it carries an urgency that makes your breath catch. he kisses everywhere but your lips, trailing soft, teasing touches along your jaw and neck. his nose skims your skin, the sensation making your body shiver.

"want you to kiss me…" you manage to murmur, almost begging, your hands tightening in his hair. rafe hums, the sound vibrating through your chest.

"wasn't too hard now, was it?" he whispers, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing mockery of what you’ve been yearning for. and before you can respond, his lips crash against yours. it’s frantic, hungry, as if he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you. you’re pushed up against the mirror, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of his body.

his hands find their way to your waist, pressing you harder against him as his tongue slips into your mouth, coaxing a soft gasp from you. the kiss deepens, and it’s no longer just a kiss—it’s consuming, overwhelming, a blur of heat and touch. the world fades away, and all you can think about is rafe. his lips. his hands. him.

the kiss drags on, relentless, until you’re both left gasping for air. rafe pulls back slightly, brushing his lips against yours with a soft smile. "don’t think that’s ever gonna get old," he murmurs, his voice low and satisfied. he takes your hand, tugging you along deeper into the maze.

eventually, though, he does get you both out. you’d almost lost hope twice, ready to scream for help, but somehow, you made it out together.

with his hand nestled in yours, fingers laced together like a quiet promise, you wandered through the fair, the golden glow of string lights casting soft halos over the crowd. laughter and the distant chime of game bells filled the air as you played a few more rounds, the scent of caramel and fried dough clinging to the night. finally, you reached the ferris wheel, its towering silhouette outlined against the deep blue sky.  

"line's a little long," rafe noted, eyes flicking toward the slow-moving queue stretching toward the ticket booth. he exhaled, rolling his shoulders back. "i'm gonna head to the food stand and grab us something small while we wait. that okay?"  

you nodded quickly. "okay."  

he leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against your lips before you could say anything else. you caught his sleeve as he pulled away, adding, "can you also get me some water?"  

"mm, be right back," he murmured, squeezing your fingers before slipping into the crowd.  

left alone, you took the moment to respond to a few messages, the ferris wheel’s bright lights reflecting in your screen. the line inched forward, and just as you pocketed your phone, rafe reappeared, pressing a warm pretzel wrapped in a napkin into your hands.  

"here," he said, and you quickly took a bite, the buttery salt melting on your tongue.  

"you didn't get anything?" you asked, noticing he only held your bottle of water and a can of coke.  

"not hungry enough for anything right now," he shrugged, tucking his arm around your shoulder as the line moved forward again. without a second thought, you held up your pretzel to his lips.  

he grinned and took a bite, murmuring a muffled, "thanks," as he chewed. you smiled and leaned up, pressing a kiss to his cheek.  

at the register, rafe pulled out his wallet, handing over cash for two tickets. standing closer to the wheel now, he tilted his head up, studying it. "jesus," he muttered under his breath. "when you're this close, it’s really high..."  

you grinned, nudging him. "got a little fear of heights you forgot to mention?"  

he rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. "no fear of heights," he countered, feigning nonchalance. "just didn’t think it’d be this tall."  

when the attendant swung open the little cabin door, rafe let you step in first before sliding in beside you. the seat was softer than expected, and as the wheel began its slow ascent, he draped an arm around you, settling comfortably.  

"you can see the whole island from the top," you mused, eyes sparkling as you glanced at him.  

rafe smirked. "yeah?"  

"mm-hmm," you hummed, then added mischievously, "and don’t worry—it goes reallll slow."  

he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "i’m not scared of heights," he insisted.  

"uh huh." you shrugged, taking another bite of your pretzel.  

the cabin continued its gentle climb, and a small window near the side caught your attention. curiosity got the best of you, and before rafe could react, you popped your head out for a better view. the wind brushed against your face, cool and sweet, but before you could even take it all in, rafe's hand was gripping your waist, tugging you back in with a firm urgency.  

"okay, that's enough," he muttered, brows drawn together, his jaw tight.  

you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up as he shot you a glare that wasn’t nearly as serious as he wanted it to be.  

if he wasn’t so tense, you might’ve asked to go again. but seeing the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his grip on you lingered even after the moment had passed, you decided against it. you’d spare him—for now.

ooh! a photobooth!" you yell out, excitement bubbling over as you grab rafe’s hand and pull him toward the big red box in the distance. the glossy surface gleams under the carnival lights, and you practically bounce on your feet as you take in the example pictures displayed on the side. “look at this! i think it’s new…” your fingers trail over the smooth panel, eyes scanning the details. before you can even turn to ask rafe if he wants to take some, he’s already ducking inside, reaching back to tug you onto his lap with effortless ease.  

“let’s see…” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin as he scrolls through the options on the screen. you pull the small curtain shut, enclosing the two of you in the intimate space, the air thick with anticipation. “black and white or color?” rafe asks, his chin resting on your shoulder, voice low and unhurried. you tilt your head in thought before deciding, “uhh… black and white.” the choice feels right, timeless. you fish out a couple of coins from your pocket, sliding them into the slot with a soft clink. 

“okay, ready?” rafe asks, his blue eyes flickering with amusement as he watches you. you nod, grinning. but then a thought crosses your mind, and you blurt out, “wait, how many does it take?”  

“four, i think,” rafe replies just as the first flash goes off. instinctively, you stick your tongue out, only realizing after that your hair is a mess. laughter spills from your lips as you quickly try to smooth it down, but rafe is faster—his fingers weave through the strands, gently fixing it as the countdown begins again.  

“oh, god, the countdown is so fast!” you squeal, both of you scrambling to pose, but it’s useless—you end up just laughing at each other, faces flushed with amusement.  

“that one is cute. look at your smile,” rafe grins, tilting his head to study the preview. your cheeks warm at his words, a touch of shyness creeping in. rafe notices, his own smile softening before he leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek just as the third picture snaps.  

the final countdown begins, and rafe’s fingers—gentle yet firm—grasp your chin, turning your face toward him. “last one,” he murmurs, a teasing glint in his eyes. you don’t hesitate. instead, you wrap an arm around his neck, pulling him in, lips meeting his in a kiss just as the last flash goes off.  

when you pull away, rafe chases your lips for a second, stealing another soft kiss before finally letting you slide off his lap. you push the curtain open, stepping out into the cool night air, the distant hum of carnival rides and laughter filling the space around you.  

seconds later, the photo strip slides out from the machine. you grab it eagerly, holding it up. “they came out so cute! look!” you beam, showing rafe as he steps beside you.  

his gaze flickers over the strip, a small smile tugging at his lips. “they did. the black and white looks good,” he agrees, his fingers effortlessly intertwining with yours as you both start walking again, your eyes still fixed on the little captured moments.  

they were perfect.

"i had so much fun, thank you for bringing me here," you say, glancing at rafe as the two of you walk through the parking lot, the cool night air settling over your skin. the distant hum of traffic, the flickering neon signs, the soft scuff of your shoes against the pavement—it all feels like a dream you don’t want to wake up from.  

"i’m happy you liked it," rafe replies, his voice carrying a certain secrecy that immediately piques your curiosity. "but the date’s not over yet."  

you blink at him, lips curling into a smile. "it’s not?"  

he shakes his head, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. "nope. one more surprise. now get in." he nudges you playfully, holding the passenger door open like the perfect gentleman he pretends not to be.  

your heart flutters as you slide inside, excitement buzzing through you despite the dull ache creeping into your feet. the night is stretching on, dark and velvety, but instead of feeling tired, you feel alive, giddy with the thought that the evening isn’t over yet.  

"can i try to guess this one?" you ask the moment you buckle in, eyes gleaming with anticipation.  

rafe chuckles, shaking his head as he starts the car. "you know, it wouldn’t kill you to let it be a surprise. ever heard of ‘curiosity killed the cat’?"  

"and what brought it back?" you counter smoothly, neatly tucking the photobooth pictures into your bag. "the truth."  

he scoffs, tapping his fingers against the wheel. "even if i gave you hints, you’d still be terrible at guessing."  

your mouth drops open in exaggerated offense. "no! your hints just suck!"  

"oh, my hints suck?" he laughs, shooting you a knowing look. "i literally said you might walk away with some prizes, and you thought i was taking you to a casino."  

you roll your eyes but can’t fight the smile stretching across your face. "it was a solid guess! a casino is a place where you can win things!"  

"try thinking about why i asked you to bring warm pajamas."  

you pause, tilting your head as you study him. he’s taking you somewhere cold, that much is obvious—but where? and why?  

the rest of the ride is spent grilling rafe, who remains infuriatingly tight-lipped, dodging every one of your guesses with a smug grin. the city lights blur past in streaks of gold and red, and eventually, the car rolls to a stop near the docks.  

you step out, scanning your surroundings. the air is thick with the scent of salt and freshly grilled seafood, the restaurants nearby buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses. but none of this explains why he told you to bring warm pajamas.  

he takes your hand and leads you past the restaurants, past the shops, past everything—until you’re stepping through a smaller, tucked-away entrance that spills out onto the docks, where at least fifty boats are lined up in neat rows.  

"are we getting on a boat?" you ask, glancing at him in surprise.  

he still doesn’t answer. just pulls you along, his grip firm but gentle.  

"rafe, i—"  

the words catch in your throat.  

because suddenly, you see it.  

a boat, different from all the others, its edges wrapped in warm golden lights that twinkle against the dark water. flower petals are scattered along the deck like something out of a dream. a table is set for two, draped in crisp white linen, with two gleaming cloches covering the plates beneath. and above it all, the sky is painted in breathtaking shades of pink and lavender, the last remnants of the sunset bleeding into the horizon.  

you don’t move. you don’t breathe.  

rafe steps onto the boat first, setting the bags down before turning back to you, his expression softer now, almost nervous. he holds out a hand. "c’mon."  

your fingers tremble as they slip into his.  

"rafe," you whisper, voice barely above the lapping of the waves, already feeling the sting of tears gathering behind your eyes.

rafe reaches behind you, fingers brushing against the back of the chair as he grabs something—then, turning back to you, he reveals a bouquet of flowers.  

"before you say anything, i just need to do this," he murmurs, voice quieter now, as he hands them to you.  

your hands tighten around the bouquet instinctively, but you barely register the softness of the petals, too caught up in the way his eyes flicker, how his throat bobs as he swallows.  

"there's a note inside," he continues, rubbing the back of his neck as if he's trying to steady himself. "i wasn’t sure if i’d be able to say what i needed to say, so i wrote it down. but now that you’re standing right in front of me..." he hesitates, glancing down at the bouquet, then back at you. "i think i want to read it to you."  

your breath catches.  

he reaches into the bouquet, pulling out a small, neatly folded note, his fingers careful as he smooths it open. the sun is dipping lower, casting everything in gold and amber, and for a moment, you just watch him. the glow of the fading light makes his features impossibly soft, the strands of his tousled hair illuminated like something out of a dream.  

his eyes scan the paper, then flicker up to you. he exhales sharply.  

"god," he mutters under his breath, shaking his head slightly.  

your brows pull together. "you don’t have to—"  

"no, no," he interrupts quickly, waving a hand. "it’s not that. it’s just... you—" he exhales again, almost frustrated with himself. "you look really good right now. i can’t think straight."  

your heart stumbles over itself.  

heat spreads across your cheeks, and you bite back a grin, stepping closer to him. "you’re awful."  

"i’m awful?" he scoffs, tilting his head at you, a smile curling at the edges of his lips. "you’re the one over there, completely wrecking my concentration."  

his voice is soft, teasing, and the way he’s looking at you—like there’s no one else in the world—makes your chest ache. without thinking, you rise onto your toes, pressing your lips to his in a gentle kiss.  

he kisses you back, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. but as soon as your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, he pulls away with a pointed look.  

"see?" he murmurs, shaking his head in mock exasperation.  

you throw your head back in laughter. "okay, okay! i’m sorry! you have my undivided, uninterrupting attention."  

his lips twitch into a smirk before he clears his throat, bringing his attention back to the note in his hands.  

his voice is steady as he begins to read.  

"last semester, our science teacher told us that romantic love activates the same brain regions as drug addiction—especially the dopamine reward system."  

he glances up at you briefly, the corner of his mouth lifting like he already knows how silly he sounds. but he keeps going.  

"at the time, i didn’t think much of it. honestly, i probably forgot about it five minutes later. but a week after our first tutoring session, that random fact came rushing back. because by then, i wasn’t just falling for you—i was being consumed by you. every little thing you did, every quirk, every expression. the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something so intricate i could barely follow. the way you smiled. the way you blinked, even."  

he pauses, his jaw clenching for a second before he continues.  

"i couldn’t understand why i couldn’t stop thinking about you—why you had settled so deeply into my mind, in my bones, under my skin. and then, suddenly, i did. that fact from last semester snapped back into place."  

his voice is quieter now, more careful, like every word is something he needs you to hear.  

"you’re the first thought in my mind when i wake up and the last thing i think of before i fall asleep. you are my favorite part of every day."  

you feel your breath hitch, your hands tightening around the bouquet.  

"i will always feel sorry for anyone who never gets the chance to know you the way i do—to be wrapped in your kindness, to hear your laughter over and over, to know what your lips feel like, to be loved by you."  

his gaze flickers up to yours, a quiet intensity in his eyes.  

"you are extraordinary, and i know you’re going to go places neither of us can even dream of."  

he hesitates, his fingers gripping the edges of the paper slightly, like the words are heavier now.  

"if you’ll let me, i’d be honored to stand by your side for as long as you’ll have me."  

a beat of silence.  

"will you be my girlfriend?"  

you don’t realize you’re crying until you’re frantically wiping at your face, nodding—nodding so hard it almost makes you dizzy.  

"yeah?" rafe breathes, a laugh slipping from his lips as he pulls you in.  

"yes!" you cry, grinning through the tears. "are you serious?"  

his hands cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears as he shakes his head with a soft smile. "you can’t cry on our first date," he whispers, resting his forehead against yours.  

"you can’t make me cry on our first date," you sniffle, voice barely above a whisper.  

"touché," he murmurs.  

and then his lips find yours.  

the kiss is slow, unhurried—like he has all the time in the world. like he wants to take his time. his fingers slide into your hair, holding you close, and when you press against him, you don’t know if you want to smile or cry all over again.  

but you do know one thing.  

there is nowhere else you’d rather be.

rafe pulls away, his lips barely ghosting over yours as he exhales, his nose brushing against your skin like he’s memorizing the feel of you. “let’s sit, yeah?” his voice is low, gentle, and you nod, but not before pressing the softest kiss against his lips. he smiles against your mouth, then steps back, pulling out your chair with an effortless sort of grace. you settle into the seat, placing your flowers carefully beside you, the delicate petals brushing against your arm.  

your arms tighten around yourself as you take in the scene before you—an intimate table set under the open sky, flickering candlelight casting golden hues across the linen, the sound of the waves lapping gently against the boat. it’s beautiful, breathtaking, and it knocks the air right out of your lungs. your throat tightens as tears well up, your voice trembling despite your best effort to steady it. “how did you plan this all in one day?”  

rafe’s brows knit together like the question itself is absurd, and he reaches across the table, his hand warm as it closes over yours. “one day?” he echoes, shaking his head, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. “baby, i’ve been planning this for two weeks. three if you count the seven days straight i begged my dad for the boat.” he says it so matter-of-factly, like it was the most natural thing in the world to spend weeks making something perfect just for you.  

your breath stutters as you swipe at your damp cheeks with the back of your hand, overwhelmed. “t-this is…” the words get caught in your throat, and rafe watches you, his face soft with affection but laced with the slightest bit of concern.  

“baby.” he moves before you can blink, dropping to his knees beside your chair, his hands resting on your thighs as he looks up at you, all blue eyes and steady presence. “if i knew this would make you cry this much, i would’ve just taken you to mcdonald’s.” his lips twitch into a teasing grin, and the laugh that bubbles out of you is watery but real. you lean forward until your forehead touches his, exhaling shakily.  

“no, n-no, it’s perfect… i j-just…” you try to gather yourself, grounding yourself in the way his hands hold you like you’re something precious, something he never wants to let go of. you breathe deeply, eyes flickering between his. “i think i’ve been telling myself for so long that i didn’t want this—the romance, the grand gestures, all of it. convinced myself i didn’t need it, because it’s easier to not be disappointed by something when you’ve made yourself believe you never even wanted it in the first place. but now…” you swallow hard, your fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt. “this whole date, this entire day… it’s been incredible. and i can’t believe i let myself miss out on you for almost two decades.”  

rafe’s gaze flickers with something unreadable, something deep. he cups your face, tilting it ever so slightly. “i’m here now,” he murmurs, the words like a vow. “and i’m not going anywhere for at least another couple of decades.”  

he pulls you into his arms before you can respond, guiding you against his chest, his chin resting atop your head. his fingers thread into your hair, grounding, soothing. “i’m sorry i’m such a mess,” you mumble into the warmth of his skin.  

“you’re my mess,” he murmurs, lips pressing softly against your temple.

it takes five tissues and a few deep breaths before you’re composed enough to properly sit down and eat. you lift the cloche, and immediately, the rich steam curls into the cool evening air. the scent hits you next—warm, savory, mouthwatering, like something fresh out of a five-star kitchen. your eyes sweep over the dish, taking in the careful presentation, the attention to detail. “this looks delicious…” your voice is tinged with awe as you glance up at him, suspicious. “who made this?” a part of you half-expects a chef to step out from behind the mast.  

rafe leans back in his chair, smirking. “i did.”  

you arch a brow. “no, you didn’t. you were with me all day.”  

his grin deepens as he watches your skepticism unfold. “where do you think i went after i left your house this morning?”  

you narrow your eyes, still not convinced. and he just laughs, shaking his head like he can’t believe you’d doubt him.

"i should probably explain how i planned all of this," he says, voice smooth, almost sheepish, like he's letting you in on some grand secret. you nod, twirling your fork into the soft, buttery pasta on your plate, waiting for him to continue.

"this boat is my family's, but really, it's my dad's. no one touches it without his permission, and he’s very… very particular about it." rafe exhales a small laugh, shaking his head as if recalling some past scolding. "but i wanted to do dinner here. thought it’d be more fun, more private. so i asked him—begged him, really—promised i wouldn't break anything, or at least, i'd try not to." his lips curve into a smirk before he leans in slightly, his voice dropping as if this is the part that matters most. "and finally, when i told him i really wanted to impress you… he said yes." he watches your face, gauging your reaction. "i think he likes you, which is a first."

your heart lightens, the weight of uncertainty easing just a little. his father likes you? you hadn’t been sure.

"really? he seemed a little…" you hesitate, searching for the right word.

"frigid?" rafe supplies, already nodding like he knew that’s what you were going to say. "yeah, he’s cold. has a hard time showing affection, all that shit. but he’s a good dad. we have our ups and downs, but he loves us, wants the best for us—most of the time." there's something almost distant in the way he says it, like he's repeating a fact rather than feeling it, but you don't press.

he exhales, shaking off the moment. "anyway, the plan was always dinner. but then, after i picked you up from the elderly home two weeks ago, we went to the beach, and you said you wanted to start having more fun." he glances at you, eyes twinkling under the warm glow of the string lights. "so i started thinking—what’s fun? i mean, dinner’s great, dinner and a movie is great, especially with you, but i wanted something more. i thought about a roller rink, ice skating, maybe an aquarium or the zoo. but the fair just felt… right. versatile, fun, a little chaotic."

you smile, warmth settling in your chest. all of those options would have been perfect, because they'd be with him.

"initially, everything that happened yesterday wouldn’t have happened," rafe admits, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his features. you nod, a little sad at the reminder.

"the plan was simple. you’d stay over at mine, we’d be lazy, stay in bed till noon. my parents and wheeze were coming back at two, so i figured i’d leave you with her for a couple hours. topper’s dad owns the yacht club right by the dock, so topper set it up so we could use their kitchen. i was gonna cook, come back, pick you up, take you to the fair, and text topper when we were close so he could go back, heat up the food, plate it here, and leave." rafe shakes his head, smiling at how much effort it had taken. "same plan, really, except we were at your house instead of mine. i cooked, picked you up, took you to the fair, texted topper fifteen minutes ago, he came, reheated everything, plated it, and left."

you stare at him, stunned. "jesus… that’s…" you start, grinning as you shake your head in disbelief.

rafe laughs, running a hand through his hair before picking up his fork. "yeah. and i hope you like it, because this is literally the only meal i can make."

you chew, smiling against your bite. "you know, you could’ve saved yourself a lot of time if you just ordered the food."

he shrugs, like the thought had never even crossed his mind. "i wanted to cook for you."

your heart stutters, just a little. "well, it’s really good," you admit, nudging his foot lightly under the table. "even if it’s the only meal you can make."

he grins. "better than nothing."

it took nearly two hours to finish eating, though neither of you minded. conversation flowed so easily, conversation leading to laughter, to teasing, to the occasional soft gaze that lingered just a little too long. the food sat half-forgotten between you, growing cold while you got lost in each other. the whole evening made you forget—truly forget—every dark cloud that had loomed over you in the past months. none of it mattered here. none of it existed. all that was real was this moment, the warmth of rafe's presence, the way he looked at you like nothing else in the world held his attention.  

after the last bite, rafe took the wheel, guiding the boat a little further out into the open water. not too far—just enough so the shore looked like something out of a dream, the golden glow of restaurant lights stretching across the waves, bars and shops humming with distant life. you curled up together on the bow, your head rising and falling with his steady breath, his arms wrapped securely around you. the throw blanket, already there like it had been waiting for this moment, draped over both of you. when you tilt your head up, you find his eyes already on you, like he had been watching you all along.  

"thank you for this," you whisper, voice barely louder than the gentle slosh of water against the boat. "this has been the most fun night." your eyes glisten in the soft light, emotions swelling in a way that makes your heart ache in the best way.  

"you don’t need to thank me," he murmurs, brushing his lips over yours, a fleeting, teasing touch. "i did it with pleasure. you’re my favorite person to be around, baby."  

your smile is small, but it holds so much, and you find his lips again, kissing him once, then again, and again, unable to stop yourself. "still gonna thank you," you breathe, nuzzling into him. "i would've been happy with just a mcdonald’s date, but you went the extra… extra mile. you didn’t have to do that."  

rafe scoffs, his face twisting in a way that tells you he hates the mere thought. "you’re too good for a mcdonald’s date," he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. his lips trail down your jaw, slow and deliberate. "you’ve gotta know your worth…" the words are a murmur against your skin, his mouth lingering along your jawline, up to your ear. his teeth catch your earlobe gently, the softest bite, and your fingers dig into his bicep instinctively.  

"please…" the word leaves you in a breath, but the way it sounds—soft, needy—makes rafe tense for a beat.  

he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. you’re so close your noses brush, sharing the same air. he’s asking you something without speaking, his gaze searching yours. you nod, slow and certain, and then his lips are on yours, the kiss stealing the breath from your lungs as he eases you down onto the soft cushions beneath you.  

the kiss is dizzying, has your mind floating, thoughts scattering like grains of sand in the wind. rafe kisses you like he’s been starving for it, like tasting you is the only thing that makes sense. his hands are impossibly warm, feverish against your skin, and soon he’s caging you beneath him, pressing closer, deeper. his lips leave yours only to travel down your neck, and your breath stutters, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.  

"rafe…" his name is barely a whisper, a plea, as your hands tug at the fabric of his shirt. you need him closer.  

he doesn’t make you wait. his shirt is off in a second, discarded somewhere in the dark, and his hands skim the hem of your top, fingers toying with the fabric before he pauses. his gaze finds yours again, softer this time. "you’re sure?" he asks, voice quiet, careful.  

you nod, your hands sliding into his hair as you pull him in, kissing him slowly, deeply. "i’m sure," you murmur against his lips.  

he pulls your top over your head, tosses it aside like nothing else matters but this. his mouth is on your skin immediately, mapping you out with slow, careful devotion, like he has all the time in the world. he kisses down your neck, lingers there, like he wants to memorize the way you shudder beneath him. his lips trail lower, between your breasts, his tongue and teeth leaving red marks behind—deep, burning reminders that you’ll feel long after the night is over.

"god, you're so fucking beautiful," rafe groans as he unhooks your bra with a precision that should be concerning—but the thought barely forms before his mouth is on you, his lips wrapping around your nipple, and suddenly, you can’t think at all.

your breath catches in your throat, a soft, shuddering gasp spilling from your lips as heat shoots straight through you. your fingers tangle in his hair, instinct taking over as you pull him closer, urging him on. "oh… oh—" the sound escapes you in a breathless whimper, pleasure twisting sharp and sweet through your body. your free hand fists the throw blanket beside you, lips parting as your head tips back into the pillow. the sensation is overwhelming, toeing the line between pleasure and something almost too intense, too much—but you don’t want him to stop.

rafe switches between your nipples, sucking and teasing until they’re left swollen, aching, but before you can even process the sensation, he’s moving lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. the warmth of his breath sends a shiver through you, but your mind stays hazy, pliant, following wherever he leads.  

two firm taps against your thigh. "up," he murmurs, and without thinking, you obey, lifting your hips like it’s second nature. he strips you bare in one swift motion, your skirt and underwear slipping down and away before you can so much as blink. the cool air kisses your exposed skin, but the heat of rafe’s mouth follows a moment later, his lips dragging slow, purposeful kisses from your lower stomach downward, inching closer, closer—  

your breath catches. he pauses. his gaze flickers up to meet yours, something dark and unreadable swimming in his eyes. "tell me you want it."  

at first, the words sound like nothing more than a demand, thick with lust. but when you really look at him—when you see the way he holds himself there, waiting—you realize he’s asking for more than just permission. he’s asking for certainty.  

"i want it," you whisper, the plea slipping out without hesitation, breathy and soft. "please…"  

something shifts in his expression, something unreadable yet electric, and then he’s gone—no, not gone—he’s there, right there, between your legs, his mouth stealing the very breath from your lungs.

the moment rafe’s tongue drags through your folds, pleasure slams into you so hard your mind blanks. your hands fly to your mouth, muffling the moan that tries to rip free, but it does nothing to quiet the way your body trembles beneath him. his grip tightens on your thigh, firm and unyielding, holding you in place as his tongue plunges deeper, tasting you, savoring you like a starving man.

everything else fades—thoughts, time, reality—until the only thing left is sensation. his mouth. his tongue. the slow, torturous way he builds you up, pushing you higher, higher, until you’re on the verge of tears.

"rafe… rafee…!" his name tumbles from your lips in a soft, breathless cry, your hips rolling helplessly against his mouth, desperate for more, for anything, for everything. your back arches, fingers tangling in his hair, clutching tight like you don’t know whether to pull him closer or push him away.  

he doesn’t stop. not as your body trembles, not as pleasure coils tighter, hotter, unbearable. not as tears burn the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it. he keeps going, tongue lapping and lacking along your sweet cunt, dragging you to the very edge of bliss until you’re trembling, right there, ready to break—  

and then he pulls away.  

"no… no, no—" the whimper leaves you before you can stop it, pure desperation twisting in your chest as your hands fumble down between your thighs, chasing the release he so cruelly denied. but before you can touch yourself, rafe tsks, catching your wrists with ease.  

"uh-uh," he murmurs, his voice thick with something dark and dangerous. still gripping your wrists, he rises to his knees, unbuckling his pants with deliberate slowness. the hunger in his eyes makes your breath stutter.

his bulge alone leaves little to the imagination, but when he finally pushes his pants down, your lips part slightly, breath hitching as you take him in.

you'd seen him before—felt him before, had his cock in your mouth, remembered how he'd stuffed your mouth, memorized the way he stretched your throat—but somehow, the reality of it fitting inside you hadn’t fully processed until now.  

your pulse quickens. there’s no way. no way in hell—  

but rafe is already leaning down, tilting your chin so your gaze locks with his and only his. his eyes are molten in the dim light, steady and unshakable as he brushes his lips over yours, a whisper of warmth. "trust me, yeah?" his voice is low, rough, but so, so gentle. "just gotta trust me… i’ll make you feel good, i promise." it's hard not to believe him.

your stomach flips, nerves twisting with something softer, something deeper. slowly, you nod, and rafe rewards you with a lingering kiss—soft, patient, meant to soothe.

as his lips trail down your jaw, your arms instinctively loop around his neck, pulling him closer. he keeps you distracted, kissing you deeply, pulling you under his spell as his hands guide your thighs apart.  

your breath stutters when you feel him there—thick and hot, his tip gliding through your slick folds, teasing, testing. your body tenses. "r-rafe…" you stammer, voice unsteady, eyes flying open to meet his.  

he’s already watching you.  

"you’re okay," he murmurs, pressing a reassuring kiss against your lips, his thumb stroking your hip. "you’re alright."  

then he’s pushing in, forcing your cunt to expand and take all of him and your eyes fill with tears.

your walls stretches around him, foreign and overwhelming, a gasp breaking free as you clutch at his hair, fingers curling tight. the stretch is slow, unrelenting, inch by inch as he sinks deeper, forcing you to take him, molding you to fit him.  

"breathe," he urges, his voice firm but soothing, and only then do you realize you’ve been holding your breath. you exhale shakily, thighs trembling around his hips.  

"fuck," rafe rasps, his forehead nearly touching yours, breath warm against your lips as he sinks into you, slow but deep, stretching you, filling you completely. the moment he starts to move, sliding in and out of your slick, trembling heat, a shudder wracks through you, pleasure blooming so intensely it steals the breath from your lungs.  

your nails dig into his shoulders, your body clinging to his instinctively, overwhelmed by the sheer depth of sensation. "oh god—rafe, god—" his name spills from your lips in a broken sob, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, not from pain, not from anything but the unbearable bliss of having him like this, of being his.  

you wrap your leg around his waist, and his body answers before his mind does, his hips rolling forward, pushing deeper, pressing impossibly close. a guttural groan rips from his throat, his hands gripping your hips like he never wants to let go. "fuck, baby," he groans, voice thick and ragged, "you feel so fucking good…"  

he thrusts into you again, and again, and again, each movement more intense than the last, like he’s trying to carve himself into you, like he wants to ruin you for anyone else, as if you weren’t already his.

rafe’s fingers dig into your hips, gripping so tight you think you’ll wear his bruises for days, a mark of this moment, of him. his thrusts are relentless, slamming into you, pushing you higher, higher, until the pleasure is so consuming it’s nearly unbearable. the ocean roars around you, but it’s nothing compared to the symphony of moans and breathless cries spilling from your lips, to the desperate slap of skin against skin as he takes you apart piece by piece.  

he looks wrecked—utterly, beautifully ruined—his jaw clenched, eyes dark and hazy, drowning in lust, in you. "fucking christ," he grits out, voice wrecked, nearly a growl, his head tipping back as your walls flutter around him, gripping him like you never want to let him go.  

you can’t think, can’t form a single coherent thought beyond the white-hot pleasure slamming into your every nerve. he fucks you senseless, over and over, hitting that devastating spot inside you again and again until you’re sobbing, whimpering, utterly wrecked beneath him.  

"rafe… m’gonna— i can’t— n-need—" you babble, voice breaking, tears slipping down your cheeks as the pleasure coils tighter, unbearable, uncontrollable.  

"hold it," he pants, forehead brushing against yours, his own restraint fraying, his body trembling with the effort. you want to obey, want to listen, but you can’t—god, you can’t. "please… please!" your voice is nearly unrecognizable, high and desperate, trembling as he shifts, lifting your thigh higher, forcing himself even deeper.  

"just a little longer, babygirl," he rasps, mouth trailing over your parted lips, kissing you like he’s savoring your surrender. but you can’t kiss him back—you can’t do anything but take it, take him, take every last ounce of pleasure he gives you.  

"i c-can’t… can’t—!" your body is wrecked, overstimulated, pushed past the point of reason as he pounds into your already trembling, sore cunt.  

"that’s it," he groans, voice tight, desperate. "so fucking good, baby… doing so good for me." his rhythm falters, thrusts growing sloppy, more frantic, his control unraveling as he chases his own high.  

"cum, baby."  

his words crash over you like a tidal wave, and before you can even process it, you’re breaking—shattering—pleasure detonating through you so violently your vision goes white. your entire body trembles, clenches, your mind floating into oblivion as you come harder than you ever have, tears slipping from your lashes, lips parting in a silent scream.  

your heart is racing, hammering so wildly you think it might just burst right out of your chest.

rafe eases out of you carefully, and you wince at the overwhelming sensitivity, your body thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure. his hands are on you instantly, soothing, tracing gentle circles along your waist as he watches you with quiet concern. "you good?" he murmurs, voice low, intimate, like it’s just the two of you in the whole world.  

even as exhaustion settles deep in your bones, as every muscle in your body hums with the ache of what you’ve just done, you nod. "that was…" you trail off, searching for the right words.

rafe’s lips twitch, but he stays quiet, waiting, his blue eyes filled with something unreadable. then, playfully, he tilts his head. "good..? bad..? overwhelming..? underwhelming..?" he teases, voice soft, coaxing, and that boyish grin—the one that always gets you—spreads across his face. even like this, damp skin glowing under the moonlight, hair a wild mess, he looks devastatingly beautiful.  

you smile, stretching out the anticipation before answering. "really, really, really…" you pause just to see him raise a brow at you. "good. like, seriously, mind-numbingly good."  

rafe chuckles, the sound warm and low, and he leans in to press the gentlest kiss to your lips. "yeah," he whispers against your mouth. "you did give me that impression."  

you laugh, giving his chest a weak shove, and he just grins, sinking down beside you with a deep, satisfied sigh. his arm curls around your waist, and instinctively, you tuck yourself against him, head resting over his heart, listening to its steady, soothing beat.  

a few beats of silence pass before he breaks it, voice amused. "you know there’s a bedroom down there, right?"  

your head snaps up, eyes narrowing. "rafe. are you serious?" disbelief laces your voice as you gesture to the makeshift bed and the throw blanket tangled around your legs. "we had sex here when there was a perfectly comfortable bed waiting right below us?"  

he’s already laughing, pulling the blanket higher over your shoulders as he tugs you even closer. "but now you can say you’ve had sex under the stars," he offers with a smirk, like it’s the best selling point in the world.  

you roll your eyes, but your lips betray you, curling into a smile as you settle against him again. "yeah, that’s really something i’m gonna go brag about," you say dryly, and rafe chuckles, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.  

your heart swells, impossibly full, and when you lift your head, his lips graze yours, the touch so light it’s barely there. then, in the quiet, in the peace of the night, he whispers, "i love you…"  

you kiss his nose, his cheek, then his lips, slow and tender. "i love you too."

a.n —  they finally did it. YAY. i hope this was up to everyone's standards. more coming soon. leave a comment cause i rlly love to chit chat with y'all!

chapter index — next. chap

taglist — @rafeysworldim19 @my-name-is-baby @pogueprincesa @fveapplestall @chalametlover444 @slutglimreqpers @uarmyhopeworldwide @junxe3 @bakuhoethotski @wintercrows @magicalflowerstranger @kinderwh0r3 @bigjuli444 @singlethreadofivy @stylestarkey @squirreljoe

let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist & interact with post to remain tagged <3

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"You are." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

To Daryl, you are different, you are special, you are everything. But when his jealousy over a "prank" from your friend leads to a misunderstanding you can't resolve, and an incident the next day that nearly costs you your life, it causes Daryl to have a huge revelation about his feelings for you.

@artsynana: heyy dear!! i was wondering if you could ever write something with some soft jealous daryl x reader at the prison era, btw i love the way you write daryl🥰

A/N: Hi love. First, sorry! I didn't know you had left a request :( but thank you so much for doing it. This is a little short and different :( and a little more dramatic, but I really hope you like it♥ And for your words, thank u again! I think I write Daryl a little bit off the character, but I guess it's because I picture him like that hehe

Daryl Dixon is not a possessive person, never, but he is not made of steel either, that’s why he’s unable to stop jealousy from creeping up on him.

The night is ending inside the prison, the heat of the day floating in the air, but the still warm weather seems to hang over Daryl almost in a suffocating way. As he continues to wait for his dinner, he has a panoramic view of you across the dining room, sitting in the long steel chair, elbows on the table, always accompanied by that pretty boy Sean, with his stupid green eyes and that stupid smile, following you ever since Daryl rescued his group from the governor.

And Daryl hates not being able to hate you for the senseless jealousy that you make him feel now, as he thought he did in the past.

Daryl hated ​​you for being fearless, like the afternoon you showed up to save his ass back in Atlanta, like a force of nature, like a fucking storm–sweeping away the little peace he managed to find at the end of the world, shaking his own with your magnetic presence. But he also hated how your strong gaze could rest, turning you into an angel when he could see the tenderness in your soft smile, and your dreamy eyes when things got a little bit better in that grey world.

The secret of his hate was because of your selfless, wild and free heart, and that fucking dimple that formed on your left cheek, so yeah, he fell hard for that, he fell hard for you. But no one knew about your relationship, everyone blind to those little displays of affection: the casual brush of your hands, the secret smiles, the way his hand rested on the side of your neck before he kissed you.

“You're like… staring much. Don't you think?" Carol chuckles beside him, making Daryl look away from you as he takes his plate. "Damn, pookie, you are not subtle at all."

She continues with the bland jokes; the same ones she’s been making since Carol caught the way Daryl looked at you.

"Shut up." He hisses, turning his attention back to the food.

But Carol is not ready to give up.

"I once read that when a feeling is silenced, bottled up or imprisoned, the eyes, the lover’s gazes scream everything."

Daryl frowns, confused.

"What the hell are ya talkin’ ‘bout?"

She chuckles, crossing her arms.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just saying that maybe you should start making it clear to everyone that (Y/N) is with you."

He clears his throat, but the heat on his cheeks burns more than the sun on that season.

"Ya knew?"

"No. You just told me." Carol turns around towards the pot to serve herself a plate, Daryl narrowing his eyes at her, even if she isn’t looking at him.

"But, uh... like what?" He asks after a few seconds, hoping that Carol will understand the question without him having to spell it out for her.

She shrugs.

“I don’t know. Maybe approach her not only when you two are alone.”

Carol smiles at Daryl, walking away to leave him with the weight of his thoughts.

Daryl Dixon is a strong man, to survive, to protect, but as a boy who grew tall but is still a boy on the inside, he feels lost with the feelings he keeps inside him, not knowing what to do with them. He had had casual encounters in bars, but was too drunk to even remember, to even care about them. But you are different, you are special, you are everything. That’s why, even with his heart hammering in his chest, Daryl walks over to the last table, eyes fixed on your profile, his sometimes noisy mind disappearing the rest as he sets his plate down on the table before sitting down next to you, ignoring the confused look from Sean, who was silent for a second in shock before resuming his story of a past life on his farm with the rest.

“The lake water is cold during that season…” He keeps talking, oblivious to the way you hold your breath when you feel Daryl's fingers on your lower back.

But out of nowhere, his hand begins to seek out the skin beneath, a light touch over the edge of your black t–shirt until he finds the warmth of your flesh. Your back arches slightly beneath his calloused fingers on your skin, but you try to control your body as your dirty thoughts begin to overflow.

The small group is so wrapped up in the funny anecdote that no one notices the way Daryl leans in close.

"Breathe, peach, ‘fore ya pass out."

His words are the jolt back to reality, and you let out a breath as you squint, your hand darting from your lap to his leg, only to pinch his skin over his pants with your fingers. As a reflex, his leg jumps slightly, but Daryl takes the attack with a smirk that is almost imperceptible to the rest of them, but not to you.

"Isn't that right, (Y/N)?" Sean glances in your direction, catching your gaze and a confused expression that silently prompts him to repeat his question. "You told me you dated a guy who looked like me."

Confused, you clear your throat.

“Yeah. Uh, but we separated long before all this...”

Mary nods, a young woman who came with Sean’s group.

“Wow. He must have been really handsome. But did you love him, (Y/N)?”

Your skin feels cold again when Daryl's hand leaves your body, even if your skin feels boiling hot when the attention falls on you like the midday sun in that stifling season. As if someone had put their hand on your throat until it was blocked from air, your uncomfortable laughter comes out muffled, but you don’t answer before changing topics. But it's sad that after a short while, Daryl stands up to go to his own cell, his thoughts run wild about the jealousy he feels about that guy, thinking that there was someone who made you feel something when, for him, you were his first everything.

When dinner time is over and everyone returns to their cells, you find yourself timidly entering Daryl's cell only because his door was still open, but staying close to it. He’s lying on his back, eyes fixed on the arrow in his hands just to keep himself busy.

“Hey. Uh, can we talk?”

“’bout what?”

His voice is flat, not a single emotion in it.

“About what happened in the dining room with Sean.”

 “What ‘bout it?”

You shrug, even if he isn’t looking at you.

“Don’t know exactly, but I think I made you feel uncomfortable.”

Daryl scoffs.

“Ya didn't make me feel anythin’.”

His words form a lump in your throat, completely silencing the truth you were going to tell, just because your own anxious mind tells you that you don't make him feel anything, at all, like never, and that is painful.

“Okay, uh, I don’t want to force you to talk so… I guess I’m gonna go. Oh, we'll leave early tomorrow for the run, by the way.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

You sigh, walking away.

But jealousy is an irrational force, but a force of nature that resembles a hurricane, or any destructive phenomenon inside a timid and fearful mind: that’s why when the early morning arrives and the first ray of sun shines on the horizon, Daryl decides to switch places with Glenn, just so he wouldn't be stuck with his thoughts of you in a car for hours.

However, the day grows tedious for him, even in the small details like the wind blowing dust into his face, or the way the walkers keep piling up against the fence, taking the place of the lifeless body when Daryl stabs his knife into their skulls. But before his ocean–blue eyes can see the car returning at a worrying speed, his ears can hear the horn, like a desperate call that makes his heart wake up frantically.

“Someone is hurt.” Carol tells him, a second before they start running towards the main fence.

Maggie and Rick are closer and they open the gates, the car raising tornadoes of dust until it stopped inside the prison. Michonne steps out of the passenger seat as Daryl and Carol arrive to meet her, Bob and Glenn following as she begins to narrate the horror story.

“… and one of those men was behind me, (Y/N) shot him but another stabbed her in the abdomen.”

The back door of the car is open, but like a roller coaster of emotions, Daryl’s heart is so up that it threatens to stop because of the fear, as if it stopped pumping blood to replace it with an infinite void. But he refuses to listen to the death whispering in his ear that you won’t make it as he carries you, arms under your shoulders and knees.

“Call Hershel!” He says, to whoever is faster as Daryl starts waking fast, because, even though he wants to run to catch the seconds that seem to slip away, your body feels as fragile as porcelain.

And it’s crazy, it’s wild the way Herself has to perform a surgery to control the bleeding on the same table where the night before your and his playful fingers had teased each other, minutes before ruining it all with your silence and his jealousy. But when it's all over and the madness has cleared like a thick fog, he finds himself sitting on the edge of your bed, taking in the way your closed eyelids make you look like you're just asleep and not unconscious.

“She will make up, Daryl.” Carol says softly, standing close to him. “It’s late, you should rest.”

He shakes his head.

“Nah. I’m stayin’ here with her. Don’ want her to be alone when she does.”

Carol nods, knowing perfectly nothing will change his mind.

“Okay, Pookie, I will come to check on you both in the morning.”

She kisses his forehead, but Daryl is too absent to notice as she leaves the room. The entire prison falls into a deep sleep, and Daryl can hear the almost imperceptible sound of your breathing fighting against the almost deafening silence of his world, telling him without words that you are there, and that you are not going anywhere. But after a while, Daryl lies down on his right side, still close to the edge of the bed to give you all the space you needed, but able to leave only that small space between his body and yours.

“Fuck… now I know I love ya, peach.” He whispers, shy and scared you can hear him even like that. “That seems to be the only answer to why I almost lost ma shit when I saw ya there… bleedin’ out. Jesus, ya would probably laugh if ya saw me here now scared to death like a damn child.” Daryl tries to laugh, a nervous little laugh that falls to a heavy sigh. “Please, wake up, okay? I promise I’ll be better.”

But since there is no answer from the other end, his words hang in the air for the rest of the night, even after Daryl falls asleep. However, as the sun begins to peek through one of the prison's tall windows one more time, your eyelids open slightly, the world in front of you blurring for an instant, until your scattered senses become one and focus on the pain pounding your abdomen.

But still, you turn your head slightly to the side when your peripheral vision catches a body beside yours, smiling weakly at the image before you. Daryl's hair covers part of his closed eyes, but his slight frown reflects his concern, even if you don't know that.

You raise your arm until your hand touches the skin of his face, soft flesh under your fingers.

“Daryl?” Your voice brings him back easily, walking him up from that terrifying dream as he sits up, his hand cupping the side of your face just to feel that you're actually awake.

"Ya okay, peach, ya okay."

“Am I? Since when I’m here?”

Daryl sighs, but he decides to mask his fear with humor, just because he feels like he can spill all his feelings for you in a single second.

“Jus' a day, but ya took yer sweet time to wake up, woman.”

“Sorry.”

You chuckle shyly, but his gaze turns soft.

“Nah. Don’t be, I’m jus’ so glad ya came back.” Concern allows him to smile slightly, before telling you that he's going to go find Hershel.

The examination lasts a few minutes, until you two are left alone, again.

“Daryl…” One more time, your voice pulls his eyes towards yours the moment he sits back down. “Sean was messing with you. You know? I was going to tell you about it that night before all this, but you didn’t want to listen and I didn’t want to push you to.”

Embarrassed, Daryl lowers his head a little bit, watching you through his long hair.

“M’ sorry, peach. I was jealous of ‘em and I ended up sayin’ the wrong shit again.”

Them.

“Daryl, that’s exactly what I was going to tell you that night. There was never another guy, Sean made up that story to get a reaction out of you because even he can see how much you want to kick his ass every time you see him coming." You chuckle. "Besides, he’s gay.”

Daryl blinks, confused like never in his life.

“He is?”

You nod.

“Yep, really gay, but don’t worry, Sean has a crush on Glenn because you look too intimidating for his like.” You want to laugh, but you can see his own shame sinking his heart heavily, feeling the pain and guilt for letting you go alone, because Daryl is a protector: that is in his nature.

And when things went wrong, that weight fell on his shoulders.

"Sorry, I think I screwed this thing between us."

And in a second and with an overwhelming strength, you can see his eyes becoming teary with all the feelings he has inside him.

"No. You didn't, Daryl, unless you want this to end."

But he shakes his head.

"No. I don' want it to ever end."

You nod softly.

"Good." When your hand catches his, Daryl clings to it, but you don't force him to talk because you know better than anyone that it was difficult for him to express himself. "Now come, lie down and try to sleep. Okay?”

He nods, laying down next to you, too overwhelmed to speak his mind at that very moment, his hand still holding yours even after he falls asleep when his mind can no longer carry the full weight of his thoughts. But while he does, you can't help but smile slightly, because now, awake, you are convinced that his voice saying I love you was not just part of the dream you were having, sweet words you hope you can tell him soon.

[nilla03]

“𝘽𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣' 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙨“

𝑃𝑙𝑜𝑡： 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑐 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑛！

𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠： 𝑎𝑐𝑢𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔，𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡， 𝑙𝑎𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑎𝑔𝑒，𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑛，ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛

The baby monitor cast a dim glow on your nightstand, the soft static filling the silence of your empty bed. You had just put your daughter down for the night, her tiny body finally relaxing after hours of fussing. Your body ached, exhaustion creeping into every limb, but sleep was the last thing on your mind.

Not when Armin still wasn’t home.

You sat at the edge of the bed, fingers curled around your phone, staring at the unanswered texts. Where are you? Are you coming home? Armin, answer me.

Nothing. Just like the last few nights.

Your stomach twisted as the familiar wave of resentment crawled up your spine. This wasn’t new—him disappearing for hours, showing up in the middle of the night with vague excuses. You used to believe him when he said it was work. Used to tell yourself that being the provider, the one out handling things, put pressure on him.

But you weren’t stupid. You knew what a man smelled like when he’d been around another woman.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs made you stand, heart pounding. Heavy footsteps echoed through the quiet house, his movements unhurried, like he had no reason to hide anything.

That only pissed you off more.

By the time he reached the top of the stairs, you were already there, standing in his path with your arms crossed. His blue eyes met yours, and for a split second, something flashed across his face—guilt? Annoyance? He covered it quickly, running a hand through his messy blond hair.

“You’re up?” His voice was calm, like you weren’t standing there ready to rip him apart．

You scoffed. “Yeah, I’m up. Because unlike you, I’ve been home taking care of our daughter all fucking day.”

Armin exhaled, rolling his shoulders like he was already tired of the conversation. “（ఌ）don’t start with this right now. I told you, I had things to—”

“Things to handle?” You took a step closer, fists clenched. “You mean someone to handle?”

His jaw tightened. “Watch yourself.”

You ignored the warning. “No, you watch yourself,” you snapped. “You come home smelling like another bitch, after leaving me here alone again—”

Armin’s eyes darkened. “I told you, it’s work.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Your chest heaved, your breath sharp, but Armin just stared at you, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t even trying to deny it anymore, and that shattered something inside you.

Your vision blurred with tears as rage bubbled up, making your hands shake. Without thinking, you grabbed the first thing in reach—a picture frame from the hallway table—and hurled it at him.

“Fuck you, Armin!”

He dodged it easily, the glass shattering against the wall. His lips pressed into a tight line, but he still wasn’t raising his voice.

That only made you angrier.

“You think you can just do whatever you want?” Your voice cracked, frustration choking you. “Leave me here to raise our baby alone while you go fuck around? Do you even give a shit about us?”

Armin’s calm façade snapped.

In a flash, he had you pinned against the wall, his hands gripping your wrists. His breath was hot against your face

“Say that shit again,” he growled.

You struggled against him, but he didn’t budge. “Let me go.”

Armin let out a low, humorless laugh. "You know nothing," he muttered, shaking his head."You sit in this house and assume shit about me, but you have no fucking clue what I do when I'm out."

His eyes were dark, tired, but there was that usual mocking glint behind them, like he found this whole thing entertaining.

Your jaw clenched so tight it hurt. "You-"

"Lower your fucking voice," he hissed.

His free hand pointed toward the nursery door down the hall. "She is sleeping."

Before you could get another word in, he picked you up completely, his veiny arms manhandling you so quickly made you wince before he dropped you onto the couch, your body bouncing against the cushions as he ripped his shirt over his head. The glow from the streetlights outside cast harsh shadows over his toned chest, the dark ink of his tattoos.

You didn't get a chance to admire him before he was on you again, his hands yanking your thighs apart, his weight pressing you down into the couch.

Your hips rolled up into his, your nails digging into his biceps as you dared to push back.

"You think you can just come home smelling like another bitch and I'll just-"

Armin cut you off with a bruising kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, swallowing your words, stealing your air. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling hard enough to make your scalp burn.

"You think I touched her like this?" he taunted, lips brushing against yours, his hands roaming, gripping, possessive. "Think I let her talk back to me the way you do?"

His rough hands spread your thighs, gripping the tan inner skin so hard you could cry before rubbing his fingers beneath the soft fabric. He moved your panties to the side

Feeling how soaked you already were, how easy it was for his fingers to slip through your folds, teasing, taunting.

shoving two fingers inside you without warning, making you cry out. "You were just screaming at me, now you're dripping down my fucking hand?"

Your head turned to the side refusing to look at how pathetic you really were

"That's my girl," he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours. "Always talking shit, but always taking everything I fucking give you."

You didn't even have time to respond before he was ripping your panties off, shoving his jeans down just enough to free his cock, his tip red and angry already leaking, aching to be inside you.

He spread your folds, fucking into you, his hips snapped into yours. He was so mean, one hand gripping your throat while the other pinned your wrists above your head.

"This what you wanted?" he taunted, his hips snapping against yours, knocking the breath from your lungs. "Wanted me to come home and put you in your fucking place?"

You whined, back arching, your body overwhelmed by the way he was owning you.

"Look at you," Armin sneered

“F-fuuck you armin!” You could cry at how good this felt, you let out a choked out whine while his grip was tightening around your throat, forcing you to meet his eyes.

the way your legs twitched with every deep thrust. "All you do is bitch and whine, but look at you now-taking this dick"

You glared up at him, tears burning in your eyes, but your body betrayed you. Your walls clenched around him, your thighs tightening as if to keep him from pulling away.

Armin chuckled, shaking his head. his free hand grabbing your jaw, squeezing your cheeks. "You were just throwing shit at me ten minutes ago, now you can't even think straight, can you?"

he sneered, picking up his pace again, slamming into you now, dragging a scream from your lips. "Think you get to tell me what the fuck to do? You don't run a fucking thing"

Your head was spinning, your hands twisting in his grip. "I hate you," you choked out, voice shaking.

"Yeah?" He pulled out completely before slamming back inside, knocking the breath from your lungs. "Then why's this pussy sucking me in, huh?"

You sobbed, nails digging into his arms, body shaking with every brutal thrust.

"You don't get to hate me," he murmured, voice dark, low. "You belong to me, baby. This pussy?" He grabbed your thigh, spreading you wider, fucking deeper. "Mine. That little attitude?" He dragged his lips against your ear, his breath hot. "Mine. You can scream, throw shit, slap me all you want, but at the end of the day?"

His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur.

"You're still gonna let me fuck you like this."

Your body was on fire, your pride crumbling with every rough snap of his hips, with every filthy word he spat down at you.

"You gonna cry, baby?" Armin taunted, watching the way your lashes fluttered, the way your thighs trembled. "Go on. Cry for me”

Your lips parted, a choked, desperate moan escaping before you could stop it.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body still trembling from the force of everything. His body was still pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling with every breath.

Armin stayed there for a moment, his hands lightly gripping your waist as if to keep you in place, as if he needed to keep you there.

But then, his voice cut through the tension, low and a little rough, like he'd been holding something back the entire time.

“I didn’t sleep with anyone else”

You froze, your chest still heaving as you slowly turned your head to look at him, unsure if you'd heard him correctly.

His eyes met yours, unwavering, dark with an intensity that matched the rawness of the moment.

"You think l'd do that to you?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, but the question hung in the air like an accusation.

"I've been working late," he continued, his tone softer now, almost coaxing, as if trying to ease the tension between you. "But it's been work. Nothing else. I swear."

"You sure?" you murmured, still unsure, your voice shaky.

"Yeah, baby, I'm sure."

𝑈𝑔ℎ 𝑖 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑟𝑡𝑏𝑎𝑔 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑛 <3

[taesanluv3r]

i confess.

han taesan x reader

inspired by an idea from my pookie bear @myugjh03 <3 yn falls in love w the admin of her school's anonymous confessions account, cute v-day dance, eunchae of lsrfim as yn's bestie! no warnings really, maybe a cuss word or two - also the texting parts yn's texts r bold and italicized n other characters r just italicized!! enjoyy

wc: 5,349

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

staracademy_fess has requested to follow you!

yn ln yawns as the notifications on her phone blurred into her vision. her eyes glanced up towards the time, sighing when she decides it might finally be time to get ready for school.

the girl hums along to the tune blasting off of her tiny pill-shaped speaker, wrapping herself in a robe and beginning to exit the bathroom. she sits at her vanity after putting on her clothes, resuming her usual morning routine. the song playing gets cut off by a familiar sound, "who dare to text me when i'm so busy?!" she quotes the famous meme, cracking herself up as she reaches to pick up her phone. "huh?" she says out loud, questioning the message request that had just popped up on her screen.

staracademy_fess replied to your story: 'realest opinion ever.'

her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 'that's so random...' she thought. yn knew of the account; an instagram page made by a student at her school where people could send in anonymous tips. it was a recent thing, the account just randomly popped up about three weeks ago, when the school had just reopened after the holidays. it was an interesting blog, and she wasn't going to lie she quite enjoyed scrolling through it's posts every now and then. 'this is so gossip girl' she'd say as she giggles at an anonymous tip dissing her ex-situationship.

but what was so random?

well, for one, she had no clue who ran the account. and for them to be replying to her story like that? seems a bit friendly for a stranger don't you think? still confused, yn decides to take a screenshot of the floating notification. she enters her password and runs straight to the messaging app to text her best-friend.

does this confess account reply to everyone's story or am i special?

the girl hits send before reverting back to the mirror in front of her, checking her reflection as she continues doing her make up.

well ik he follows everyone...but i never heard of him replying off of people's story????? maybe he likes you pookie lol

her friend's response puts her into a deep thinking session. 'he?...you mean this is a guy?' she wonders what she should do next. should she respond to him right away? is he really a him? who is he? was her friend right? does this person like her?

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"i don't know though...i mean he's really sweet and funny and he matches my energy..i just lowkey wished i knew who he was"

yn ln and the anonymous admin of their school's confess account have been talking for about a week now. it all started when she had finally decided to reply to his random text...

realest opinion ever.

she recalls the message, a response to her instagram story. it was a picture of her laptop - on it, a screencap of kurt cobain in his iconic green cardigan playing the guitar. the caption was, 'if the doctor told me i had an hour and thirty three minutes left to live, trust i will be watching this video on my death bed!'

what do you know about nirvana mtv unplugged 1993 🙄

her cocky and satirical reply was the first thing that ignited their witty relationship. what he said to her following that was something along the lines of, "more than you, i bet".

as they began to have long, daily conversations with each other, yn ln was beginning to find out more and more about him. by the one week mark she had figured out his age, his major, his hobbies, favourite foods, colours, songs, even his childhood dreams. she knew almost everything about him! well, if you take away the fact that she didn't really know anything about him at all...not his name, not his face, nor who he really is.

that didn't stop her though. she liked him. that much she knew. she liked how he typed, she liked his opinions, she liked that he matched energies with her, most of all she liked that he seemed to like her too. and a girl like yn would never let anything come in between her and someone she liked - no, not even an anonymous identity. i mean, it was only about time until he revealed himself, right? she can wait.

"so you're practically e-dating this guy...and you don't even know who he is? aren't you curious at all? what if he's a creep? or worse! what if he's...ugly"

eunchae, the girl's best-friend, squeaks, already thinking of every worst case scenario available. yn rolls her eyes, "first of all, we aren't e-dating! second of all, maybe i can see through his looks? i'm not that shallow!" she accidentally yells out the last part of her sentence, earning weird looks from the other students in the hallway. eunchae giggles, patting her friend on the back as they begin to walk to their classroom.

on the way there, yn continues to ramble on and on about her anonymous lover, starting to make guesses of his identity, "what if he's hot, that would be so incredibly perfect...like imagine if he was one of the boys from myung jaehyun's friend group...they're all hot". her focus was so out of it that she fails to see the boy crouching down near the lockers. her eyes grow wide as she stumbles over him, tripping and falling right on her ass.

"ow...fuck that hurt" she whines, still seated on the floor. laughs escape the mouth of her best-friend, who was busy recording yn's epic fail instead of helping her up. she rolls her eyes before they scan to find the poor boy she tripped on. this poor boy, however, was definitely not who she thought he was.

yn gasps when she comes face to face with none other than han taesan, one of the popular seniors from that friend group she was just yapping about. yeah, myung jaehyun's one, that's right...the one with all the insanely and unnecessarily hot people.

"are you gonna get up or...?" his voice shakes her out of her thoughts, "huh? oh! right...ahem...sorry" she clears her throat, avoiding eye contact as she begins to pick her things up and off of the ground. she doesn't know for sure but the girl swears she could feel him smile at her from behind, her assumptions proven true when she catches him giggle. "what?" yn asks, voice going all snarky all of a sudden. it catches taesan by surprise, "nothing...i just think you're cute, that's all" her eyes get big again, "m...me? cute?" she was sure her face was bright red by now. he laughs again, a lot more cocky this time, a smug look on his face like he knew something she didn't.

"see you around, yn" the boy says, beginning to walk away. 'he knows my name?' she thought, watching as he stops in his tracks and turns to face her again.

"oh! and maybe watch where you're going next time"

he was gone after that, chasing the school bell into his classroom. "what was that about? see you around, yn" eunchae wonders, mocking the guy's tone of voice as she repeated his words. "beats me...weirdo" yn says, resuming her own trek towards her math class. "you can't call him a weirdo if you're the one who tripped on him" her friend's words make her scoff, "well he didn't have to be so cocky about it!"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

and then what happened?

yn ln flops onto her bed, biting her lip softly as her fingers move to type. she was texting him, you see, she was texting her mystery man. it became a routine for her to do so, coming home after school and telling him all about her day. well, if there was anything significant about her day that is. otherwise, they'd be sending each other silly reels and song recommendations - which, as much as she loved it, did get a bit boring and substance-less after a while.

luckily - or, unluckily? - for her today, she had a fun story to share with him.

and then i totally freaked, and he was being so insanely annoying and cocky about it...like dude you're hot, we know that! doesn't mean you get to be all asshole-y

she sighs in frustration as she remembers the events of a few hours ago, waiting patiently for a text back. it usually didn't take long for one, the anonymous guy was a pretty fast texter. however, for whatever reason this time, it seemed to be taking him years to type. yn is confused, 'what could he be typing?' until alas, the bubble on his end stops moving, a message replacing it.

maybe you should've watched where you were going. i mean you DID trip on him cause you weren't focused

the girl's heart stops for a moment. there was something wrong with his text, yet she couldn't for the life of her tell what it was. it just felt...odd - like the person she had just been chatting with disappeared into thin air. there was a hint of passive-aggressiveness in his tone; maybe she was overthinking it...i mean it wouldn't be the first time he was cold and sarcastic with her. that's just how he is.

you know what's funny? that's exactly what he said lmao...no way...don't tell me the man behind this account is THE han taesan LMAOO

yn didn't think much of it when she typed up that response, she knew there was no way in hell such a popular and handsome guy like taesan would run such a dumb and silly confession account...right?

shit...have to help my dad set up a new TV, ttyl

their conversation ended there. again, she paid no mind to it's sudden end. she knew he'd reach out to her again a little later, possibly to moan and groan about how much of a hard time he had setting up the television.

yn only began to worry when that didn't happen. it had actually been hours since their last conversation and he hadn't squeaked a single word to her - not even a single stupid reel, not even a song recommendation.

where'd he go?

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"why do you look like that?" eunchae asks, sitting beside her best-friend at the school cafeteria. "like what?" the girl replies with another question. "i don't know...maybe like you just witnessed someone kill off your entire bloodline?" yn rolls her eyes, not uttering another word. "you've been looking gloomy all week...ever since..." eunchae gasps, "is this because of when you tripped over han taesan? cause if it is...girl, i can delete the video if you want me to" this time the girl looks at her friend in disbelief. "oh god, it is because of that, isn't it? girl, you should've just said so and i would-" she doesn't let her friend finish. "you took a video?! and no it isn't because of that...but you took a video?!"

eunchae chuckles as she nods, "i promise i'll delete it...but if it's not cause of that...then what?" yn sighs, "if i tell you, promise not to laugh?" she asks, some kind of a hopeful gaze in her eyes. her friend nods enthusiastically, "when have i ever laughed at your misfortune" - "eunchae. i'm serious" her face is stern, not even a hint of playfulness, and her friend obliged.

"it's the confessions guy..." yn starts, her voice quieting down as she trails off. "you mean your mystery lover boy?" the girl nods, "we haven't texted in four days now..." eunchae's eyes widen in shock, "what? why?!" she seemed just as furious as the girl was. "that's the thing, i don't know! last time we talked i was telling him all about tripping over taesan...he was being unusually cold and dry...then he left to help his dad set up a new TV and then he never texted me since..." her voice was glum, like she was genuinely lost and upset about this whole thing. her friend's gaze softened, "have you tried reaching out to him first?" yn shook her head, "i don't know why...i just can't bring myself to"

eunchae pats the girl on her back, "hey...what if you just give him a few more hours, and if he doesn't text you then just text first, how about that?" yn sighs, "do i have any other choice?" the other girl smiles as she shakes her head, "nope!"

later that day yn ln goes home from school, still feeling like shit. she frowns as she turns her speaker on, a loud ding sound letting her know the bluetooth was connected to her phone. a tune begins to fill the gaps in her room, reality by richard sanderson, one of his favourites.

the girl groans as she throws herself onto the bed, not caring enough to change out of her uniform. she rolls over to lay on her back, staring up at the posters on her ceiling - namely, the giant one in the middle, a poster of the guy who had brought her and the anonymous boy together in the first place. before she even realized, yn had begun to talk to it.

"oh, kurt...whatever should i do?! this is all your fault. if i hadn't put your stupid performance on my story that day then he wouldn't have replied, we wouldn't have talked, i wouldn't have fallen in love with him...i don't even know his fucking name! kurt...how cooked am i? i spend every waking hour thinking about him, guessing his identity, wondering what i did wrong to have him ignore me like this! it's unfair...why does every relationship i get into end this way?"

the last bit of her unscripted monologue brings tears to her eyes. it was true. yn ln had quite the history of horrible relationships. hell, some wouldn't even consider them relationships. the first guy she dated only did it because he was dared to, the next guy decided he was actually into his own sex half-way through their one week long relationship, the last guy she was with - well, she was never really dating him, he was a dick and she was naive enough to like him for his looks and status. all in all, she's never been successful in the love department - she found that no one really got her...until he did.

"why is it that the one guy who actually understood me has to be some fucking anonymous admin...i mean, seriously? and even then...it seems i blew it already, didn't i?" yn whines, starting to get annoyed at the fact that her posters stayed quiet - duh, they're posters! she rolls over again, just far enough to reach her phone. the girl wasn't planning on doing anything on it, but like clockwork her fingers naturally lead her to his chatroom. she stared at it, as if staring would do anything to fix the situation she was in. that is, until it did.

the animation on his side of the chat, indicating that he had begun to type, sent her heart flying. her eyes went wide, mouth dropping opened as if she were going to scream - she didn't though, her parents were home. yn bites her lips, her face so close to the screen she swore she could feel how her eye-sight worsened by the second. and then the animation stopped, a second later it was replaced with a body of text.

are you going to the v-day masquerade dance tomorrow?

that's it? yn didn't know what to think; so she didn't, she let her thumbs do all the thinking for her.

YOU DONT SPEAK TO ME FOR FOUR WHOLE DAYS AND YOU DONT EVEN START WITH A HI? A SORRY????

look, i'm sorry about that i just...i was doing a lot of thinking and stuff

she rolls her eyes, 'what a lame excuse' she thought. still, she couldn't stop herself from smiling softly, she really missed him.

about what??? what could you have possibly been thinking SO much about that you don't talk to me!??!?!

well that's the thing...i was thinking a lot about us.

'huh?' if yn ln wasn't confused all week, she was definitely confused now.

wdym us?

it takes him exactly four minutes and twenty seconds to reply. she knows this because the moment she sent her text, how was your day? by beabadoobee started playing, and it ended the minute his message came in.

will you meet me at the masquerade dance, or no?

for some reason, his words annoy her a bit.

i don't know anything about ur appearance and u expect me to meet u in a dark gym hall where every guy is wearing a suit and a MASK??

well that's the point, love. i trust you'll know it's me in the moment...unless you're not curious about me at all then that's fine i guess we'll just never meet

what a bitch. she's intrigued though.

fine, i'll see you tomorrow then

see you there 💖

yn ln genuinely smiles for the first time in four days, laying down on her back to stare up at her posters again. "well kurt, it seems this love story isn't entirely over yet...you think he'll finally reveal himself to me tomorrow night?" she asks out loud, as if the pieces of paper she talked to could respond. "shit!" she exclaimed all of a sudden, sitting up straight.

"what do i wear?!"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"does this look dumb or...?"

yn ln asks for the nth time, twirling around in her thousandth outfit idea for her best-friend to judge through their face-time call. "ew no, i liked the last one better, this one doesnt match your mask- wait try the last dress with that one fluffy bolero you have" eunchae's voice came out a second late due to the connection issues, but yn could understand her just fine. "okay wait let me try that" she says, disappearing from the camera's view and into her closet.

"how's this? cute right?" the girl smiles, spinning around to give her bestie a full 360 view. her dress was a light baby pink and it was short, stopping right above her knees. she wore a pair of tights underneath to prevent getting dress-coded, and a pretty white faux-fur bolero over her shoulders to shield her from the cold. her whole outfit matched perfectly with her silver mask, fine specs of pink and white glitter decorating it's surface. "yes! love it!" eunchae cheered, "what shoes are you wearing?" - "i want to wear the pink platforms...but what if he's short and then our super sweet kiss scene gets awkward?" she caught her friend rolling her eyes through the screen, "wear the white mary janes then, it matches your bolero anyways"

"okay...make up time!"

the girl spends the next few hours touching up her looks for the big night. she stares in the mirror over and over, making sure there wasn't anything abnormally wrong with her. yn slumps down onto her bed, careful not to wrinkle her dress. she sighs, an odd sensation bubbling up in her stomach.

"what am i so worried of?" she asked, eyes lingering at her reflection. the pinging of her phone removes her from her trance, a smile replacing the fearful look on her face as she read the message, his message.

you're not having second thoughts, are you? let me know when you're there

it's all or nothing now.

after making sure she didn't forget anything, yn jumps into the passenger seat of her dad's car. "you good, kid?" he asks, noticing the uneasy look on his daughter's face. "huh? yeah, i'm good, dad...let's go" the man nods, "whatever it is, i'm sure this'll fix it!" he said, a pointer finger reaching out towards the radio, pressing play. the girl laughs as a nostalgic tune enters her ears, black or white by michael jackson. "remember when you'd beg me to play this on the way to kindergarten?" she nods along to her dad's words, beginning to sing along to the song with him.

they make it to the school's campus in no time, stopping the car right at the drop off zone. "thanks for driving, dad. sorry i didn't tell you sooner...didn't think i was coming until i got asked" the man shakes his head, "anything for you, kiddo - can i ask why you won't tell me who the lucky boy is?" yn smirked, "i would love to, dad...i just...don't know who he is either!" that response made mr. ln's eyebrows knit together in confusion, but before he could ask anymore questions, the girl had waved him goodbye and disappeared into the building.

"oh, yn...whatever you're up to...please don't hurt yourself"

yn puts on her mask before entering the gymnasium; the usually sweaty and sports-full area had been completely turned into that of a ballroom. valentine's day themed decorations hung on every corner, hearts and bows completing the scenery. the girl smiles, wondering why it took her this long to ever attend these annual school events. 'who knew this dump was capable of looking so pretty?' that was the last clear thought she had before her conscience returned to reality. all of a sudden the heart-shaped lanterns weren't all that lovely, the romantic music playing earlier had turned into loud and hardcore techno, and worst of all the people inside the gym with her seemed to have multiplied by tenfold.

at this point it was getting too much to bear. she could barely see out of the tiny eye-holes of her mask to begin with, how was she supposed to find her mystery man in this crowd? a second away from panicking, yn escapes the rowdy gym and finds solace in the quiet hallways. she pulls her mask off for a moment to breathe, a hand clutching onto her chest - maybe this is why she never cared to go to these dances.

the girl reaches into her hand-bag, pulling out her phone. her thumbs danced against the screen and she opened up instagram to text her anonymous date.

where r u???? it's too loud i hate it i wanna go home

he replies right away.

agreed, i'll wait for you in your classroom...it's quiet and empty here

yn doesn't text back, simply nodding to herself. she gulps and takes in a deep breath as she pulls the mask over her head again. she straightens her back, walking towards her classroom and stopping right at the foot of the door. she could see his figure through the textured glass windows; he faced away from her, all she could make out was his black suit and the back of his head, where the ribbons of his mask dug into his hair. this was it. she was finally inches away from meeting the boy she had been so in love with the past few weeks, inches away from knowing his real identity. yn couldn't wait another moment - yet, at the very same time, something was stopping her from entering the room. a sense of severe nervousness rushing through her veins.

he must've felt her lingering presence and she watched as the figure inside the room turned in her direction. both masked, identities hidden, yet it felt like they could see right through each other. as if telepathically, yn felt him call for her; though he didn't utter a word. with that, the palm of her hands finally came in contact with the door, pushing it forward ever so slightly and allowing herself in.

"hey"

yn gasps as he speaks to her for the first time, his voice doesn't sound foreign at all, but she can't remember where she'd heard it from before. "hey..." her tone is more hushed than usual, breathy as she walked closer to him. they stood beside each other now, staring out the classroom's window, and up at rising moon. the girl can't help but stare at him, scanning everything that was visible to her. he's here now, flesh and skin in front of her. his dark hair, his pale skin, his tall build, his pink lips, and his milky brown eyes hidden behind his deep maroon coloured mask that covered the top half of his face. but still, she hadn't a clue who he was.

the mystery man chuckles, breaking their silence. "you can stop staring at me, yn...i'm not going anywhere" she opened her mouth to reply but nothing came out, she couldn't speak no matter how hard she tried. the pair went back to looking out the window in silence, there was no sense of awkwardness in the air though. in fact, it was nothing but comfortable.

"i like you"

it takes yn a solid ten seconds to process the words that came out of his mouth. even after they sunk into her mind she stood frozen, shocked. "w...what?" the boy's smile is visible, "i like you, yn...do you like me too?" there's a hint of playfulness in his voice, it was as though this whole ordeal wasn't too big a deal to him - unlike the way it was to her.

"i don't even know you...how am i supposed to tell whether what i feel for you is real or not?!" her tone was a lot stronger than she had planned, she gasped and slapped a hand to her mouth. she didn't mean to yell, the pressure of the situation stressed her out in ways she swore no one could imagine. the masked boy didn't fight back though, she could see his eyes softening beneath plastic that covered his face as he stared into her own. they held eye-contact for what felt like ages, no other sound apart from the loud beating in their chests. "yn..." he calls out for her, though his previously playful tone was long gone now. "yeah?" she questioned, barely above a listenable decibel.

"can i kiss you?"

her eyes get big and the girl contemplates for a second. she decides that the only correct answer was yes. besides, this was the moment she'd been yearning for all week, wasn't it?

her slight nod was all the confirmation the boy needed before he took a step closer towards her. he leans down until they were just a single breath away from one another. his hands were cold as they pressed lightly against her blushing cheeks, pulling her in. suddenly, the pair was devoid of space, their masks making a clinking sound as their lips crashed against each other's. the kiss was intense, more than anything else; a hint of desperation in the way his hands snaked down to her waist, her own ones placed against his neck.

the growing moonlight illuminated the scene, neither of them planning to let go any time soon. as the kiss began to get more passionate, yn's fingers found their way into his hair, playing with it's ends then moving up to where the ribbons of his mask sat in a knot. she doesn't give it another thought, pulling on the strings until they came undone. the boy gasps, eyes widening as they finally pull apart, the plastic material falling to the ground between them.

a breath escapes the girl's lips, her eyes beginning to water at the sight in front of her. a mixture of shock and confusion painting her complexion as she furrows her eyebrows. she can't even bring herself to blink, this was too unreal. the mystery identity of the boy she had fallen so deeply in love with...

"t...taesan?"

he sighs.

"y...yeah"

yn takes in another deep breath before ultimately breaking into a fit of laughter. "why...why are you laughing?" taesan is the confused one now, watching through knitted brows as the girl before him pulls herself together. "nothing...i just didn't think it was really you..." she said, beginning to remove her own mask. the boy's eyes glimmer a little, "what?" she asks, tossing the silver plastic onto a desk. "you're so pretty" he says, reaching his hand out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. she smiles, leaning her face into his palm.

"thank you...and i'm sorry" taesan tilts his head to the side, "for what?" she laughs again, "for bitching about tripping over han taesan and calling him an asshole...i had no clue i was talking directly to him...sorry" the boy chuckles, "yeah, that was kind of mean you know?" he pouted dramatically, something about his face made her heart skip a beat. "is that why you totally ignored me for four days after?" he was taken aback by her sudden inquiry, "maybe...sorry about that, love" her cheeks turned a deep shade of pink from the nickname. "but you know..." taesan speaks again, stepping closer and slipping his hands into hers.

"you should really watch where you're going next time!"

the familiarity of his statement sends the girl through a trip of deja vu, "you know that's technically your fault...i was thinking about who you were after all, and then i couldn't focus and then i tripped!" he smiles, "does that mean you like me too?" she rolls her eyes, "i never said that" - "but you never said you didn't"

yn ln sighs in defeat, watching the smug grin that was making it's way onto han taesan's lips. "how about you kiss me again? maybe after that i'll know whether i like you or not" the boy laughs, "you just want to kiss me, i think that's proof enough" she shakes her head in disbelief, "shut up, please?" - "make me"

and with that the space between them vanished once more, their noses bumping and their breaths short as they kissed. it didn't last as long as their last one, separating for air after the first two minutes. "okay...i confess..." yn says as she catches her breath. "mhm?" taesan hums, staring into her eyes.

"i like you too"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"oh, that's my ride!"

yn waves, signaling for her dad to come towards her. the window of the passenger seat rolls down, and the pair are met with a sleepy looking mr. ln.

"hey dad, this is my boyfriend, taesan!" the girl chirped joyfully, shooting her dad a smile. "uh...hello, mr. ln...it's nice to meet you!" the boy has a hopeful look on his face, biting down on his lip worriedly as the older man began to eye him down. "nice to meet you, kid! you better be treating my princess right...if you break her heart" - "dad! stop scaring him! we just got together, don't shoo him away"

both the guys laugh at yn's outrage. "bye, taesan. thanks for tonight, is it too early to say i love you?" the boy smiles, "thank you. and no it isn't, i love you too...and" he pulls her into a hug, leaning closer to whisper into her ear, "it's too scary to kiss you in front of your dad so i'll do that another time"

taesan watches as yn gets into her car, "i'll pick you up tomorrow, yeah? we could get froyo and go to the record store and-" he gets cut off as the girl's dad butts in. "record store? you into music, taesan?" he nods excitedly, "yes sir! love it more than anything in the world...well, maybe not as much as i love your daughter" the older man scoffs, "that's what i like to hear...how you getting home, kid?" he asks, "i'm driving. my car's parked over there" he pointed towards the parking lot and the two guys share a few more nods.

"well then, get home safe, kid"

"i will, thank you. you guys get home safe too! um, text me when you're home, okay?" yn smiles up at her boyfriend, "mhm! see you tomorrow, bye!"

she rolls her window back up as her dad begins to drive away. "i like him" her dad says all of a sudden. "yeah?" she asks, wanting confirmation from her father who just nods.

"i like him too"

the end.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

ahhhhh this fic is kinda longggg i was working on it for six hours straight TT tysm to eli my pookiebear for this awesome ideaaaa i hope i did it justice <3!! also yn ranting to her cobain poster and then taesan getting along w her dad a bit at the end is so cutesy so true!!!! anyways, thx for reading - i hope u liked this one! reblogs n feedbacks r always appreciated :3 love, kona.

[hypnobeauty]

a chance encounter - a cho hyun-ju x reader (part 10)

summary: a story about how you and hyun-ju met and the following years of your relationship. masterlist cw: no use of y/n, reader is afab, violence, transphobia, homophobia if you squint, misgendering, hurt/comfort, boomers. a/n: sorry girls 😭😭 enjoy xx comments are always welcome

gongju [공주] - princess eomma [엄마] - mom appa [아빠] - dad

taglist: @strayteez3staner @dekiruxxx @jeongteen @sunnysurvives @3leni @etta-huracan @honeyhyunju @basoressia @antisocial-aina @googie-jeon @christinamadsen @deernat @vvlwvvy @psychobitchsthings

part 10. love despite everything

for 28 years of her life, cho hyun-ju had another name. she was the second child of cho tae-joo and lee mi-sun, and grew up in a respectable neighborhood in seoul. her father was a former military officer turned factory supervisor—stern, disciplined, and deeply rooted in traditional korean values. her mother was a homemaker for most of her life before taking a part-time job at a local hanbok rental shop once her children were grown.

she had an older brother, cho won-jung, five years her senior. won-jung as always the golden child—the one who followed the expected path, got good grades, served his mandatory military service without complaint, and married a woman their parents approved of. he worked as an accountant in a mid-sized firm in seoul and had two young daughters, whom hyun-ju adored from afar but rarely saw.

hyun-ju’s childhood was strict but not entirely unkind. her mother was warm in the ways she was allowed to be—tucking her into bed with gentle pats on the head, making her favorite meals when she sensed something was wrong, and smoothing her hair when she cried. but her father’s presence loomed over the household like a shadow. he was a man of discipline, a man who believed in hierarchy and respect, who saw emotions as weaknesses and deviation as a personal failure.

when hyun-ju was fourteen, she gathered the courage to talk to her school counselor about the feelings she couldn’t quite name—the unease in her body, the way she never felt quite right being called a son, the way her reflection in the mirror felt like a stranger. she didn’t know the word transgender yet, only that something about her existence felt fundamentally wrong.

but instead of support, the counselor betrayed her. she told hyun-ju’s parents.

that night, her father didn’t say a word at dinner. but after the dishes were cleared, he called her into the living room. her mother stood to the side, wringing her hands, eyes red-rimmed. won-jung was out with friends, unaware of what was happening.

the first slap came before she could even get a word out. the second came when she tried to explain. the third came with words that burned more than the strike itself.

"i raised a son, not a freak."

after that, the subject was never spoken of again. but something shifted in the household. her father became colder, stricter. her mother, though still kind, became more distant, as if afraid to touch something fragile. won-jung never knew what had happened, only that his little sibling became quieter, more withdrawn.

and so, hyun-ju buried it all. she threw herself into school, into sports, into the rigid structure of the military, hoping that if she followed the rules well enough, if she became exactly what was expected of her, the feelings would disappear.

they didn’t.

they only grew stronger, suffocating her until she had no choice but to confront them.

*

one day, two months into your relationship, hyun-ju had excused herself to the kitchen, leaving you momentarily alone in her living room. you leaned back against the couch, letting your eyes wander over the small but carefully arranged space. it was so distinctly her—neat, structured, but not cold. there were touches of warmth in the small things: the folded blanket draped over the armrest, the half-burned candle on the coffee table, the framed picture of the two of you from a date at the han river, tucked between books on the shelf.

then your gaze landed on another framed photo, slightly older, wedged between a row of novels and a small ceramic dish holding loose change. it was a family portrait.

you leaned forward, picking it up carefully. the frame was simple, the glass slightly smudged, as if it had been handled often. the photograph itself was well-preserved but had a noticeable crease running down the left side, where part of the image had been folded inward.

at the center sat an older man with a hardened expression, his back straight, his mouth set in a firm line. his presence in the photo was commanding, his eyes sharp even through the faded colors of the print. to his right stood another man, slightly younger, with similar features but a softer gaze—hyun-ju’s brother, you assumed. to his right, a woman with a warm, gentle smile.

your lips curled into a small smile. “that’s your mom, isn’t it?” you called over your shoulder. “you look just like her.”

from the kitchen, she let out a quiet chuckle. “yeah. i used to hear that a lot growing up.”

hyun-ju reappeared with two mugs of tea, setting them down on the coffee table before walking over. she glanced at the photo in your hands, her expression unreadable.

your fingers brushed over the folded edge of the picture. the crease was deliberate, worn from time, as if it had been pressed and re-pressed over and over again. you could still see part of a black uniform—a military one, from the looks of it—and a shoulder, but the rest of the person had been hidden away.

your brows furrowed slightly. “who’s this?” you asked, carefully tilting the frame toward her. hyun-ju hesitated. for a moment, she simply stared at it, her lips parting slightly before pressing into a thin line. she reached out, running her fingers along the edge of the fold, almost absentmindedly.

“it’s me,” she said finally, her voice quiet. “or… it used to be me.”

a strange heaviness settled between you. you looked at the photograph again, at the careful way it had been altered. it wasn’t torn, wasn’t discarded—it was still here, still kept, still important. but a part of it had been hidden, erased just enough to make it bearable to look at.

your chest tightened and you glanced up at hyun-ju. her gaze was fixed on the image, but she wasn’t really looking at it. her mind was somewhere else—somewhere far away, in another time, another place. you reached out, covering her hand with yours.she exhaled softly, but she didn’t pull away.

“i can’t face him,” she admitted after a long pause. “but the photo… i can’t let go.”

you nodded slowly, squeezing her fingers. “because it still has your mom. your brother.”

she gave a small nod. “yeah.”

you hesitated for a moment before saying, “one day, you can all recreate this picture.” your voice was gentle, but sure.

hyun-ju let out a quiet, almost bitter laugh. “that’s… optimistic.”

you tilted your head, watching her carefully. “it’s possible.”

she finally looked at you then, really looked at you. there was something in her eyes—doubt, maybe, but also something softer, something longing.

she didn’t answer right away. instead, she reached for her mug, taking a slow sip, her fingers lingering on the ceramic. then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “i hope you’re right.”

you smiled, shifting closer until your shoulders touched. “i usually am.”

that earned you a small smirk, a tiny shake of her head, but she didn’t argue. for now, that was enough.

*

the familiar creak of the front gate, the scent of home—your mother’s favorite lemongrass scent—wrapped around you like a childhood memory. you grinned as you fumbled with the keys, calling out before you even stepped inside.

"eomma, appa! i'm home!"

hyun-ju chuckled beside you, shaking her head at your enthusiasm. "you're so loud," she teased.

"it builds anticipation," you shot back, nudging her playfully.

the moment you stepped inside, the warmth of the house enveloped you. it smelled like crisped fish and garlic, like the sweet tang of gochujang simmering in a pot. the wooden floors creaked under your socks as you slipped off your shoes, and before you could take another step, your mother appeared, wiping her hands on her apron.

"gongju!" she exclaimed, beaming as she cupped your face, pressing loud, exaggerated kisses all over it.

"eommaaaa! you're embarrassing me in front of hyun-ju!" you whined, though you didn’t pull away.

your mother scoffed, waving off your complaint. "nonsense." she turned to hyun-ju, who stood politely to the side, her hands neatly clasped in front of her. "this must be your friend, yes?"

hyun-ju bowed deeply. "nice to meet you, ma’am."

your mother made a dismissive sound and pulled her into a firm hug instead. "no formalities, yes?"

hyun-ju let out a small laugh, surprised but pleased, as she bent down to return the embrace. she was so much taller than your mother that it looked almost comical.

your mother pulled back, squinting up at her. "aigoo, you're tall! good, good. you can reach the top shelves."

you rolled your eyes as hyun-ju chuckled, clearly charmed.

"gongju, come," your mother said, already tugging you towards her sewing room. "i've fixed the clothes you left here last time."

you squealed in delight, grabbing hyun-ju’s wrist and dragging her along.

your childhood bedroom was gone, replaced by bolts of fabric, a sturdy wooden sewing table, and a mannequin draped in a half-finished hanbok. but in the corner, your old single bed still remained, the only relic of your past life here. you were thankful your mother had long since thrown out your cringeworthy 2pm and one direction posters—hyun-ju would never let you live them down.

after gathering your clothes, you left hyun-ju with your mother while she took her measurements for a vest she had been working on. you wandered into the kitchen, where your father was setting the table.

the man was quiet, reserved, but affectionate in his own way. he glanced up as you entered, offering a small smile before returning to his task.

"smells amazing, appa," you said, grabbing chopsticks to help set the places.

he nodded. "i made your favorite."

you beamed, nudging his shoulder lightly. "you're the best."

he hummed in response, but you caught the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

by the time your mother and hyun-ju returned, the table was set, and everyone took their seats. hyun-ju sat beside you, her posture straight, respectful but not timid. you knew she was nervous, though she hid it well. her hand was resting lightly on her lap, close enough that you could reach for it if you needed to.

dinner started off as usual—your mother chattering about the neighborhood, your father grumbling about his back pain but refusing to see a doctor, and him asking about "that silly ha-neul girl," as if she were an extension of you. the food was delicious as always, the table filled with dishes you grew up eating—grilled fish, kimchi jjigae, japchae, and perfectly steamed rice.

everything felt normal. until it wasn’t.

you cleared your throat, setting your chopsticks down carefully. hyun-ju must have sensed the shift in you because her fingers brushed against yours under the table, grounding you. you laced them together, squeezing lightly before speaking.

"appa, eomma… we have something to say."

the room stilled.

your parents exchanged a glance, your father’s grip tightening around his spoon. "go on," he said, his voice even but cautious.

you inhaled deeply. "hyun-ju and i are not just friends," you said, steadying yourself. "we're partners."

your father frowned slightly. "partners?"

"yes, appa. we're in a relationship. she's my girlfriend."

silence.

hyun-ju was the one to break it, her voice calm but unwavering. "sir, ma’am, i love and respect your daughter very much. i'm very grateful to have her in my life."

your mother exhaled sharply, shaking her head. she set her chopsticks down, rubbing her hands together as if trying to process the words.

"this is unnatural," she murmured, her voice laced with something between disbelief and distress. "you were never like this before."

"we raised you properly," your father added, his tone not angry, but weighted with something worse—disappointment.

you felt a sharp pang in your chest.

"appa, eomma, this isn't something that just happened. it's not a phase, not something i was influenced into. this is who i am."

your mother shook her head again, her hands gripping the edge of the table. "maybe… maybe we should see someone. a shaman, perhaps. there could be—"

"eomma," you interrupted, your voice firm but not unkind. "there is nothing to fix. this is not a curse. this is me."

she looked at you, truly looked at you, as if trying to find something in your face that would tell her this was a joke, a mistake. but all she found was certainty. your father sighed, rubbing his temple. he didn’t argue further, but the silence between you felt heavier than words.

the rest of the dinner was quiet, the conversation reduced to murmurs about work and tv, but it was hollow, a forced attempt at normalcy. when it was time to leave, you bowed politely, hyun-ju following suit, and stepped outside. the night air was crisp, the silence between you thick with unspoken words.

"that was… expected," you murmured, exhaling slowly.

hyun-ju’s fingers found yours again, warm and reassuring. "i'm sorry."

you shook your head. "it's okay. they’ll come around. they just need time."

she studied you for a long moment, her gaze searching. then, with a small nod, she squeezed your hand. "okay."

*

two weeks later when your mother called, asking you to pick up hyun-ju’s vest, you knew what it meant. she wasn’t ready to say the words, to admit outright that she was trying, but this was her way of extending a white flag. a small, hesitant step forward.

you and hyun-ju arrived after work, the house feeling as familiar as ever, but the air between you and your mother was different—less tense, less uncertain. hyun-ju changed behind the folding screen while you sat on the edge of the bed, watching your mother as she sorted through a box of fabric.

"how’s appa? still getting night shifts?" you asked, trying to fill the silence.

"stubborn as ever," she muttered, shaking her head. "his back is getting worse, but does he listen? no."

you smiled softly. some things never changed.

hyun-ju emerged from behind the screen, rolling her shoulders in the vest. it fit her perfectly, the fabric hugging her frame in just the right way. your mother stood, pins in hand, stepping forward to inspect it. she pinched the fabric at the sides, tugged lightly at the hem, then nodded in satisfaction.

"it’s perfect," hyun-ju said, admiring the fit in the mirror.

your mother sniffed, crossing her arms. "of course it is. i'm good at what i do."

you laughed, shaking your head. then, without warning, she turned to the two of you, pointing a firm finger in your direction.

"look, i don't know how you're going to do it," she started, her tone serious. "but i want grandchildren."

hyun-ju choked on air. you stared at her, wide-eyed. "eomma—"

"ahh, don't laugh, i'm serious!" she scolded, swatting your arm. "children! not cats, huh?"

you and hyun-ju exchanged a look before bursting into laughter. your mother huffed but didn’t push further. instead, she turned back to her sewing, muttering something under her breath about "at least one baby, just one."

and just like that, you knew everything would be fine.

*

it started with small comments.

"you know, my mom asked about you today," you’d mention over dinner. or, "i think my dad actually likes you. he said you were ‘very tall, like a volleyball player’ that’s his way of complimenting people, you know." or, "they came around, hyun-ju. i really think yours can too."

at first, she would only nod, offering a small, unreadable smile. but you could tell she wasn’t convinced. then, one night, as you lay together in bed, tangled in each other’s warmth, you tried again.

"i think you should try talking to them," you murmured, tracing soft circles on her arm.

hyun-ju sighed, her body tensing slightly. "i don’t know, aein. i don’t think it’ll be like how it was for you."

"you don’t know that," you pressed gently. "they might surprise you. my parents did."

she was silent for a long time, staring up at the ceiling. then, quietly, she said, "you don’t know what you’re asking."

you propped yourself up on your elbow. "hyun-ju, i know they’re traditional, but they’re your family. they love you."

she let out a bitter chuckle.

"love me?" she repeated. "do you want to know what happened the last time i tried to talk to them about this?"

you frowned. "what do you mean?"

she exhaled, rubbing her hands over her face, as if bracing herself. then, she told you.

"i didn’t even know what being trans was back then," she began, her voice quiet, but steady. "i just knew that something was wrong. that i didn’t feel right. that i didn’t fit."

she swallowed. "so i did what i thought i was supposed to do. i went to the school counselor."

you already knew this wasn’t going to end well.

"i told her that i felt… different. that i didn’t understand why i hated being called a boy, why i hated my name, why i felt sick every time i looked in the mirror."

her fingers tightened into fists. "she told my parents."

your breath hitched. "she what?"

"she called them in. she said i needed ‘guidance.’ that i was ‘confused.’"

she let out a shaky breath, staring at the ceiling again, as if the memory was playing out above her.

"my father didn’t say anything at first. he just listened. nodded. and then, when we got home, he beat me so badly i couldn’t go to school for a week."

you sat up fully now, staring at her in horror. "hyun-ju—"

"he told me that whatever ‘nonsense’ i was thinking, i better forget it. that i was a boy. that i would always be a boy. and if i ever embarrassed him like that again, he’d make sure i regretted it for the rest of my life."

she turned her head to look at you, her eyes unreadable. "so, i forgot it. i buried it. i didn’t speak about it again for another ten years."

tears blurred your vision as you reached for her, pulling her into your arms. "i’m so sorry, aein. i shouldn’t have pushed you. i didn’t know." she held you back just as tightly.

"it’s okay," she murmured. "you didn’t know."

you pressed a kiss to her temple, vowing silently that you would never, ever let her go through something like that alone again.

*

a month later, hyun-ju surprised you.

"i want to see them."

you hesitated. "are you sure?"

"no," she admitted. "but i need to do this. and i want you there."

"of course," you said immediately. "i’d never leave you alone in a moment like this."

the drive to hyun-ju’s childhood home stretched longer than it should have, the silence between you thick with unspoken fears. she had barely spoken since you left the apartment, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. the tension in her shoulders was palpable, her breath measured but too controlled, as if she was trying to stop herself from unraveling before you even got there. you could feel it radiating off her, a quiet storm she was trying to suppress.

you reached over, resting your hand on her thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. "you don’t have to do this, aein," you murmured, your thumb stroking small, soothing circles over the fabric of her jeans.

she swallowed hard, her gaze locked on the road ahead. "i do."

you nodded, though you still weren’t sure.

hyun-ju had chosen a time when she thought her father wouldn’t be home. she had calculated everything—the hour of the day, the likelihood of his errands, the small window in which she might be able to see her mother alone. but as she pulled up in front of the house, something in your gut twisted. it was bigger than you imagined, a nice two-story home with a tall iron fence, the kind of place that might have once felt warm but now seemed hollow, abandoned even with people still living inside. you glanced at hyun-ju, her face unreadable, her fingers twitching slightly against the steering wheel.

"are you ready?" you asked softly.

she didn’t answer right away. then, after a long pause, she unbuckled her seatbelt and nodded. "let’s go."

you followed her to the front door, standing just behind her as she rang the doorbell. seconds stretched into eternity. then—

the door creaked open, revealing an older woman with soft, lined features and tired eyes.

her mother.

she froze the moment she saw hyun-ju. her lips parted slightly, her brows knitting together in confusion. she whispered an unfamiliar name, sounding jarring in your ears.

hyun-ju’s body stiffened beside you, but her voice was steady. "it’s hyun-ju, eomma."

her mother’s expression faltered, her gaze flickering to you, then back to hyun-ju. "can we come in?" hyun-ju asked, her voice softer now.

there was a brief hesitation, the kind that felt like a lifetime. then, in a hurried motion, her mother stepped aside. "quickly," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid someone might hear.

she ushered you both inside, glancing over her shoulder nervously. you barely had time to process what was happening before a deep, sharp voice cut through the air.

"what the hell is going on here?"

the warmth of the kitchen vanished in an instant, replaced by something thick and suffocating. hyun-ju went rigid beside you. you turned, and there he was—her father, a tall, broad-shouldered man with graying hair and a face hardened by time and bitterness. his eyes landed on hyun-ju, and his expression twisted into something ugly.

"what is this?" he spat, his voice thick with disdain. "why are you here? dressed like—like this?!"

hyun-ju opened her mouth, but before she could speak, her mother stepped between them. "please, just—"

"no!" he barked. "i want to hear it from him. what the hell is this? some kind of joke?"

you saw it then—the way hyun-ju’s fingers curled into fists at her sides, the way her shoulders tensed as if bracing for impact. she had been here before.

"appa," she started, her voice calm but firm. "i came to talk."

"talk?" he let out a cruel laugh. "you want to talk? after embarrassing this family? after throwing away everything we gave you? you want to talk?"

hyun-ju stood her ground. "i didn’t throw anything away."

her father scoffed. "you were my son. my youngest. you had a future. a career. you thought i didn't know you left your station? and you threw it all away to—what? play dress-up?"

your blood boiled. "she’s not playing dress-up," you snapped before you could stop yourself.

his head whipped toward you, his eyes narrowing. "who the hell are you?"

"someone who loves her," you shot back. "and someone who won’t let you treat her like this."

a flicker of something dark passed over his face. then, before you could react, he shoved you—hard. you stumbled back, catching yourself against the table. hyun-ju moved instantly. she shoved him back, her voice sharp, furious. "don’t touch her."

her father laughed. "ah, there’s the son i raised."

the words landed like a slap. hyun-ju’s entire body went rigid, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. then she lunged again, shoving him harder this time and her mother wailed.

you moved quickly, stepping between them, pressing your hands to hyun-ju’s chest. "hyun-ju, stop," you whispered, your voice urgent but gentle. "this is what he wants. let’s go."

her breath was ragged, her hands trembling. but then she looked at you. and slowly, painfully, she let go. you grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door.

"don’t you ever come back here again!" her father shouted.

hyun-ju didn’t look back.

*

hyun-ju was silent as she walked to the car, her hands shaking so badly she fumbled with the keys. you took them from her gently. "i’ll drive." she didn’t argue.

the car ride home was suffocating. hyun-ju stared out the window, her face blank, her hands clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had gone pale. you didn’t speak. not until you pulled into the driveway, parked the car, and turned to her.

she was shaking. without thinking, you reached over, unbuckled her seatbelt, then your own, and pulled her into your arms. she broke. her entire body shuddered against yours as the first sob tore through her. you held her, running your fingers through her hair, whispering, "i’ve got you. i’ve got you."

minutes passed. maybe hours. when her sobs quieted into soft whimpers, you pulled back just enough to press kisses all over her face. "i’m sorry it had to be like this, aein," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion.

she nodded, her eyes red and puffy. "let’s go inside, yes?" you said softly. "take a warm shower, drink some tea, and relax together. just you and me. sounds good?"

she sniffled and nodded. inside, she showered while you made tea. when she came out, hair damp, face exhausted, she crawled into bed beside you, resting her head on your chest. the sound of your heartbeat steadied her, grounding her in something real, something safe.

"did you ever tell your brother?" you asked softly.

she hesitated. then, "no. he doesn’t know anything."

you exhaled, running your fingers down her back. "maybe one day."

she didn’t answer.

but as she lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of your heart, she realized something—no matter how much the world tried to tear her down, no matter how many times she was told she wasn’t enough, there was one undeniable truth.

she was here. she was loved. and in the quiet, in the space between heartbeats, she knew—she belonged.

[nonightingalesinberkelysquare]

WARNING FOR GOOD OMENS SPOILERS!!!!

FURTHER SLIGHT SPOILER WARNING FOR THE FOLLOWING BOOKS: The Bone Clock by David Mitchell, You Only Call When You're In Trouble by Stephen Mcauley, and Bibliomaniac by Robin Ince.

Edit: Photos by @polychromicron-persei-8 !!!!!

So I'm sure a lot of the fandom have seen the pictures posted by a very lucky fan who saw the production of good omens happening out in Scotland today!!

However what I'm not seeing people talk about is a hidden gem in the reblogs.

SOMEONE HAD MANAGED TO GET A PICTURE OF THE BOOKS IN THE WINDOW!!!

Naturally, I had to go and do my research to see if these books give us any clues or serve any other purposes other than decorative purposes

AND LET ME TELL YOU

These are the the books visible in the window:

I'll go through them one by one

(Please bear in mind, I haven't read any of these books personally!! The only information I have on them are the little bits I found online in a very rushed attempt at research!!!)

Okay firstly

"The Bone Clocks" by David Mitchell

Now, this is the one that I struggled to make sense of the most out of the three.

The story appears to follow a runaway teenage girl who is a "lightning rod for psychic phenomena." These visions are said to reorder reality and send her into a real life nightmare.

However,

It also states that there is a boy who eventually crosses paths with her and who's story "comes together in moments of grace and extraordinary wonder"

As I said, I've never read these books and the only link I could begin to make with this is the idea of a "supernatural being meets another supernatural being and what they can do when they're together defies anyone's wildest dreams" story, similar to what we have seen and could see in GO3.

The next book is where it gets FARRRR more interesting (in my opinion)

NOW

THE TITLE? INTERESTING ASF.

IS AZIRAPHALE IN TROUBLE? OR EVEN CROWLEY?

The quotes are literally taken from the amazon listing itself, but I'll just point out the bits that stuck out to me personally.

☆ "is it ever okay to stop caring for others and start living for yourself?"

And I'm skipping a HUUUUGE chunk of the story here so apologies

☆ "Tom does what he's always done - answers the call."

☆ "Thus begins a journey that will change everyone's life and demonstrate the beauty or dysfunction (or both?) of the ties that bind families together and sometimes strangle them."

THAT LAST QUOTE REALLY STICKS OUT TO ME. Personally, I'd say that could possibly relate to the heaven and hell divides?

But furthermore, we were told prior to the whole NG situation that Aziraphale and Crowley aren't talking.. so could that mean that as soon as they begin speaking once again, they have the power to leave heaven and hell behind? Perhaps stop the divides?

And last, but certainly not least

Now, keep in mind that this particular book is nonfiction and appears to be written from the authors own point of view as he aims to visit 100 bookshops in 100 days.

This has a relatively short description from what I can see right now so I'll put it in here

"Bibliomaniac takes the reader on a journey across Britain as Robin explores his lifelong love of bookshops and books - and also tries to find out just why he can never have enough of them.

It is the story of an addiction and a romance, and also of an occasional points failure."

This one interested me SO much because it SCREAMS Aziraphale character development sort of thing? You know?

I really struggled to find any spoilers for this one whatsoever but one website did mention the author's love for vintage books, which he only ever reads as and when, as opposed to focusing on just one book.

I just thought this was SO SO SOOOOO interesting, and if anybody has any differing thoughts/interpretations or has even read the books, the comment section is a safe space to do so!!! All theories/suggestions are welcomed (any hate WILL be blocked, don't test me).

OR MAYBE THIS ALL MEANS NOTHING AND IM JUST CLOWNING FAR TOO HARD?!??!??!

[alluramiura]

hyunju x animal lover reader <3

word count: 535 words

warnings: fluff, g/n reader (edit: i actually think hyunju refers to reader as “sweet girl” once, sorry 🙏), intended lowercase, i did a mass amount of projection in this one

authors note: inspired to write this by this post. i hope i did it justice. i lost my headphones so i rawdogged the writing process of this. 🥲 enjoy

hyunju is an amazing girlfriend who loves every aspect of you. she especially loves how much you adore animals.

she loves the way your eyes light up when you see people walking their dogs, immediately asking politely if you can pet them.

she loves the way you keep cat food in the house ever since you came across a stray cat that was hungry but you didn’t have anything to feed it (you cried).

she loves the way you ramble about the “animal of the day”, spewing random facts about random animals she’d never even heard of.

(”did you know that female great spotted kiwis only lay one egg a year despite having two ovaries while most birds only have one?”

“no baby, i did not.”)

she loves the way you talk about all the pets you want, a new animal catching your interest each day.

(“have you seen fennec foxes?? they’re sooo tiny and adorable and they’re like balls of energy…i want one so badly! i don’t think it’s legal in korea though…”)

(“rabbits are so cute….did you know they stomp when they’re angry? it’s the cutest thing! we should get one some day.”)

she loves the way you have tons of stuffed animals in varying sizes, in varying species of animals, all them them having names of their own.

(“good night, baby…oh wait! how could i forget snowy? could you grab her for me, hyunnie?”

…

“that’s jett.”

…

“that’s angel.”

…

“that’s—actually, i’ll just get her. thanks though, love.”)

she loves the look on your face when she surprises you with a date at the zoo, walking around with you as you point to almost every animal and tell her facts about them. she loves how adorable you look in all the pictures she takes of you posing outside the containers of various animals.

she loves how when it’s late at night and you’re cuddling together, there’s youtube videos on the tv playing from your playlist of animal facts.

(“y’know, hyunju…i know i talk about animals a lot and that i can’t possibly have a favorite, but i think i do have a favorite.”

hyunju, who was half asleep, opens an eye as she raises an eyebrow. this was news to her. you had finally settled on an animal to call your favorite? she never thought that would happen.

she opens both eyes, propping herself up onto her elbow, resting her cheek in her palm.

“really? and what animal might that be, sweet girl?” she asks softly, absentmindedly reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“well, i’ve recently been looking into maned wolves. they remind me of you, in the way they look.” you say, smiling softly as you lean into her touch, wrapping an arm around her.

she lets out a small chuckle at that. you’re so adorable.

“is that so?” she asks, wrapping her own arms around you and running her fingers through your hair.

you nod softly in response, a yawn leaving your lips.

“well, i’ll look forward to hearing all about maned wolves when we wake up tomorrow.” she says, pressing a kiss to your forehead.)

yeah. she loves your adoration for animals.

[kiwriteswords]

For the trope day could we please see maybe celebrity reader and hotch? congrats btw!

Walked in and dream-came-trued it for ya [Aaron Hotchner x Popstar!Reader]

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 2k|| AN: I keep seeing so much queen Sabrina Carpenter stuff around the Hotch fandom these days; she's who I envisioned reader to be like here--but obviously open to interpretation of whatever popstar you would want to be! I lowkey could never picture this happening, but it was fun, nonetheless. This is also likely my last story I'll do for trope tuesday because they take a lot of time, haha. Unless I do a short drabble!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, speculating bau team!, gossip!!, Penelope Garcia is your biggest fan!!!, you're a superstar who sells out stadiums, even rossi knows this!, mysterious!hotch, more of a fun one-shot than anything too fluffy, very team-focused, non-bau!reader

Summary: Hotch has been in a great mood, oddly enough, and when one day, he hands over tickets to Penelope for her favorite singer of all time--you--the team really begins to wonder where Hotch is spending his free time.

The bullpen of the BAU was unusually animated for a Monday morning. Derek leaned back against his desk, arms crossed, watching Reid flip through files at an astonishing rate while Penelope hovered over both their shoulders, her curiosity practically buzzing.

“Seriously, Spence, you didn’t notice anything different about Hotch last week?” Derek asked, his tone teasing but genuinely curious.

Reid, without looking up from his reading, adjusted his glasses. “Well, he did leave on time every day, which is statistically significant for him.”

“Leaving on time? That’s an understatement. The man was practically sprinting out the door at five o’clock. And he smiled--actually smiled--at me yesterday,” Penelope chimed in, her eyes wide with the thrill of the gossip.

Emily, walking in with a cup of coffee in hand, joined the group. “Don’t forget, he also took a personal day last Friday. When’s the last time Hotch took a day off that wasn’t for something work-related?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Exactly! Something’s up. Hotch is seeing someone; it’s got to be.”

Reid finally looked up, curiosity overcoming him. “But who would it be? I mean, we practically live at work. When would he even have the time to meet someone?”

Penelope twirled a strand of her brightly colored hair, thinking. “Oh, my sweet geniuses, that’s the million-dollar question! I could do a little cyber snooping--”

“Penelope, no hacking into Hotch’s personal life,” Emily cut off, her tone half-serious. “But I agree, it’s odd. He’s even been more... what’s the word?”

“Chill?” Derek suggested with a chuckle. “For Hotch standards, anyway.”

The group’s laughter was a mixture of disbelief and genuine amusement, just as Rossi walked up, a knowing smile playing onhis lips. “Talking about our fearless leader’s mysterious new habits?”

Derek nodded, welcoming Rossi into the conversation. “Rossi, you’re the profiler extraordinaire with all the life experience. What’s your read on this?”

Rossi stroked his chin, pretending to ponder deeply. “Well, if I were a betting man--and I occasionally am--I’d say our boy Hotch might just be reminding himself there’s more to life than case files and jet fuel.”

Reid’s brow furrowed in thought. “It’s statistically rare for individuals in high-stress jobs to make sudden changes to their behavioral patterns without a significant emotional or personal catalyst.”

“Exactly,” Penelope squealed, delighted by the support for their theories. “He’s got to be dating someone. This is just like those romance novels where the broody, mysterious man finds love and starts changing his ways.”

JJ laughed, sipping her coffee. “Let’s not get carried away. It could be anything--maybe he’s just taking up a new hobby…or maybe it’s Jack.”

“But a hobby that makes him leave work on time and take days off? That’s not just any hobby; that’s a passion,” Derek countered, his smile suggesting he was thoroughly enjoying the speculation.

The group quieted as Hotch suddenly appeared, his pace steady and his expression unreadable as always. He paused by their cluster, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Morning,” he greeted, a small, almost imperceptible smile on his lips. “I trust we’re all ready to focus on the real mysteries at hand today?”

Caught in their own theories, the team straightened up, mumbling their morning greetings. Hotch’s gaze lingered for a moment longer than usual, giving nothing away.

As he walked off towards his office, Emily whispered to the group, “See? Happier. I’m telling you, there’s definitely something--or someone--new in his life.”

Rossi chuckled, watching Hotch disappear into his office. “Or maybe our esteemed unit chief just decided it’s time to start living a little. Either way, it’s good to see.”

The team nodded in agreement, the mystery of Hotch’s unusual behavior lingering in the air, adding a layer of intrigue to their day. Derek grinned, clapping his hands together.

“Alright, let’s get to work. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll crack the case of the Happy Hotch.”

Laughter echoed softly among them as they dispersed to their desks, the day’s work ahead, but their minds still occasionally drifted to the enigma of Aaron Hotchner’s uncharacteristic lightness.

Days after the team's animated discussion about Hotch's peculiarly cheerful demeanor, Penelope Garcia was in her vibrant lair, surrounded by her kaleidoscope of tech and trinkets.

The sound of a catchy pop song filled the air, and Penelope couldn't help but dance and sing along to the tune, her voice echoing slightly off the walls lined with monitors.

She was in the middle of a particularly enthusiastic chorus when a knock at the door made her jump. Swiveling around in her chair, she saw Hotch standing at the entrance, an amused smile barely touching his lips.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," Hotch said, his eyes twinkling with a hint of humor.

Penelope chuckled, brushing off her surprise with a flamboyant wave of her hand. "Oh, it's nothing, Sir. Just enjoying some tunes while I work. You know, fuel for the brain!"

Hotch nodded, his gaze drifting momentarily to the colorful post-it notes of affirmations on her screen. "I couldn’t help but overhear. Do you like this artist?" he asked, nodding toward the speaker from where the music still played, though now at a lower volume.

Penelope’s eyes lit up, eager to share her enthusiasm. "Like her? I adore her! She’s all about empowerment and fun, and her beats are just infectious. Plus, her lyrics are, like, super relatable. She's a total queen!" Penelope exclaimed, not missing the opportunity to promote her musical taste.

Hotch's smile grew a bit as he listened to Penelope’s gushing review. "I see," he said, his voice filled with a warm, curious tone that Penelope rarely heard from him. "Thanks, Garcia."

With a final nod and a mysterious smile, he turned and left as quietly as he had arrived, leaving Penelope staring after him, slightly confused but smiling nonetheless.

She shrugged to herself and turned the volume back up, diving back into her work with the music as her soundtrack, her mind briefly wandering to wonder about Hotch’s sudden interest in pop culture.

"Maybe he’s getting a life outside those case files after all--and a decent taste in music..." she murmured to herself, her head bobbing to the beat as she focused back on her screens, the mystery of Aaron Hotchner adding yet another curious, albeit lighter, layer to her day.

The following week brought an air of excitement that seemed to linger around the BAU, particularly around Penelope Garcia's tech-filled lair. The atmosphere was thick with disbelief and joy as Penelope, unable to contain her excitement, recounted a recent encounter with Hotch to JJ and Emily.

"You guys will not believe this!" Penelope beamed, her hands animatedly waving the prized items in the air. "Hotch--our Hotch--just handed me these!" She fluttered a pair of tickets like they were sacred texts.

JJ and Emily leaned in, eyes widening as they caught sight of the tickets. "No way! How did he even get those?" Emily exclaimed, her skepticism matched by her amusement.

Rossi, overhearing the commotion as he walked in, joined the group, a curious smile playing on his lips. "What's all this about?" he inquired, peering over to see what had stirred up such excitement.

Penelope held up the tickets with a theatrical flair. "These, my dear Rossi, are tickets to see none other than--" she paused for dramatic effect, "--the popstar we were just talking about last week! And not just any tickets--Hotch got them for me!"

Rossi's eyebrows shot up, a clear sign of his surprise. "Those tickets? I heard on the news this morning that they were impossible to get. The show sold out in minutes," he commented, adding to the bewildering nature of Hotch’s gift.

Before Penelope could respond, Derek Morgan swooped in, his hand snatching the tickets from her grip to inspect them himself. "Let me see these," he said, his voice a mix of suspicion and awe. Flipping them over, his eyes scanned the details, and a slow whistle escaped him. "Ladies, these aren’t just any tickets. These are front row. Front. Row. Do you realize how good these seats are?"

JJ laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "This is insane. Hotch pulled some serious strings. Front row to see a popstar like her? That's not just pulling strings; that's a whole concert orchestra at work!"

Penelope snatched the tickets back from Derek, clutching them close to her chest. "I knew Hotch had a secret side to him!" she exclaimed, her previous theories about his recent behavior seeming to find validation. "This is like, the best thing ever. I can't even--"

Emily leaned in, her voice low and playful. "You know what this means, right? You're going to have to get all dolled up, Penelope. Front row means you’ll probably be on camera!"

Penelope’s grin widened at the thought, already planning her outfit in her mind. "Oh, trust me, I will be camera-ready. Our stoic unit chief might just make a fangirl out of me yet!"

Rossi chuckled, shaking his head as he watched the excitement bubble over. "Well, I'll say this," he mused, "it's nice to see Hotch letting his hair down a bit, even if it’s in his own unique way."

“Whoever he’s seeing’s got some serious connections,” Derek shared. 

The group nodded in agreement, the mystery of Hotch's recent behavior adding an unexpected but welcome layer of camaraderie and speculation among the team. As they dispersed back to their tasks, the buzz of excitement remained, the BAU team finding a rare moment of lightness amidst their usual, graver responsibilities.

At the concert, JJ and Penelope stood in the front row, the pulsing lights and thumping beats of the music wrapping around them like a vibrant cloak. You were the popstar that Penelope (and the rest of society) could not get enough of.

Your performance had a cascade of dazzling visuals and soul-stirring vocals that had the crowd roaring with excitement. Each song seemed to resonate perfectly with the audience, a mix of chart-topping hits and beloved classics that had JJ and Penelope singing along, lost in the nostalgia and the thrill of the night.

They felt like they were sixteen all over again.

As the concert progressed, the atmosphere turned electric, each track bringing a new wave of cheers from the audience. You moved with a grace and confidence that commanded attention, your presence on stage both mesmerizing and awe-inspiring. The night was already unforgettable, but it was about to become even more so.

Before launching into the next song, you paused, your gaze sweeping over the crowd with a playful yet intense look.

"This next song," you began, your voice ringing clear over the din, "is a very special one. It’s for the grumpy man who changed my life. He's from here, and guess what? He's here tonight. Supporting me, despite having the most important job out there."

The crowd erupted in cheers, curiosity piqued by your heartfelt introduction. You continued, your eyes twinkling with emotion and mischief, "And because he’s here, supporting me, I want to give a shout-out to someone very special in the audience tonight--Penelope!"

Penelope’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide with shock, and JJ turned to her with an expression that mirrored her disbelief. "How does she know your name?" JJ whispered her voice a mix of excitement and confusion.

Before Penelope could formulate a response, you launched into a flirty, romantic ballad, your voice soaring as beautifully as the lyrics. As yo sang, you glanced toward the VIP section, and with a sly wink and a blown kiss, you acknowledged someone standing there..

Driven by curiosity and an overwhelming sense of wonder, JJ and Penelope followed your gaze. There, among a few shadowed figures in the VIP section, stood none other than Aaron Hotchner. His usually impassive face wore a soft, almost shy smile as he acknowledged the kiss with a slight nod, his eyes locked on the stage.

He was dressed in a black button-up and jeans--a far contrast to his usual attire. He looked relaxed…happy. Maybe not singing along to the words, but he sure knew them. He inspired them. 

The realization hit Penelope like a wave. "Oh my god, JJ, Hotch is her boyfriend? Hotch is the grumpy man who changed her life?" she gasped, her voice a mix of shock and delight.

JJ laughed, shaking her head in amazement. "Looks like we've been underestimating our boss's ability to keep secrets," she said, her eyes twinkling with humor and newfound respect for their unit chief.

As the song ended and you took a graceful bow, the crowd’s applause was deafening. JJ and Penelope clapped and cheered along, their hearts full of joy and their minds buzzing with the night’s revelations.

The concert continued, but for JJ and Penelope, the evening had transformed into something even more magical--a story they would share and reminisce about for years to come, the night their grumpy boss was revealedto be the secret boyfriend of a popstar, right before their very eyes.

[rwshfordgirl]

"SO, HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY TO US."

all the images were taken from pinterest.

where after a long time without seeing each other, he appears at her house by surprise.

pairing: kenan yildiz x reader!

a/n: i don't have a honest opinion about everything i wrote here 💔 but I hope you like it!

𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬

I just spent three hours of my life sitting in the uncomfortable chair in the college library, the only place where I can study in peace without being disturbed by my roommate.

Three hours disconnected from the world outside campus, without giving a sign of life to my family and boyfriend. I was five minutes from home when I picked up my cell phone to check messages, my parents sent photos of landscapes unknown to me and Kenan asked if I had arrived home yet. I sent hearts in response to my parents' photos and sent a photo of myself walking towards my house to Yildiz. This one, in turn, saw the message as soon as I sent  and sent a photo of himself in response. 

"Miss you so much, pretty boy." I sent an audio, holding back tears. I almost sat down on the sidewalk to make a video call with Yildiz and say that I would drop everything here just to go be with him. "I miss you too, aşk" I felt my heart melt after the audio he had just sent.

Three months without seeing Kenan. I feel my chest hurt all the time, I miss being at home with him, I miss his hugs, taking silly pictures with him, going out, watching him play in Turin, I miss everything that involves him. Seeing him every day on my cell phone screen is not enough, but I can't go to Italy right now and he can't come see me either.

I almost kicked a rock when I walked past a restaurant on the corner of my house and saw couples enjoying Valentine's Day. Oh shit, I wish Kenan was here right now.

I also wish I could describe everything I felt when I got close to my house and saw a figure sitting on the last step of the stairs, all dressed in black and with a hood over his head. I ran because I knew it was Kenan, I knew it was him, I think I would recognize him even if he had been completely disguised. He got up as soon as he heard my footsteps.

Yildiz wrapped his arms around me and spun me around. I felt my eyes fill with tears,,"Did you miss me?" he asked while still hugging me, his voice muffled by the urge of my hair. "You still ask? I was willing to get home and buy a ticket to Turin." Yildiz's hands left my back and stopped on on my cheeks. "Juventus gave us two days off, but I can only stay here until midday tomorrow." he explained.

Before responding to what he had just said, I made sure to place our lips together, a kiss of longing. Three months without it almost killed me. "Let's go in, I'll order something for us to eat! I just want to stay glued to you until it's time for you to leave."

I intertwined our hands and pulled him into the house, a note right at the entrance  indicated that my roommate would be spending the night out, I almost jumped for joy. instead I took my boyfriend to my room.

"I think we should go out instead of eating here, what do you think?" he sat in my desk chair "Seriously? you want to go out instead of staying here with me?" I pouted and he nodded with a playful smile on his face "I'll be with you either way." he pulled me close, his legs were behind me and his hands were on my back. "I missed you so much, love" he said before taking my hand and kissing it. "You missed me and yet you want to go out instead of sleeping with me?" I joked with him "but I missed you too, baby boy."

"I brought you something." He said, taking a small box out of his jacket's inside pocket. "Happy Valentine's Day, love." He handed me the object. Inside the box was a necklace with a black circular pendant. "Look inside it." He said, and so I did. "I can't believe it, Kenan! How beautiful." I felt my eyes watering when I looked inside the pendant and saw a thumbnail of a photo we took together on our first date, surrounded by the phrase "I love you" written in several languages.

I hugged Kenan awkwardly due to the position we were in. "Thank you so much, love! I really loved it." I kissed his cheek before sitting at his feet. Kenan ran his hand through my hair and bent down to kiss my forehead. "Promise not to be mad at me? Your gift isn't here because I ordered it online and asked for it to be delivered to your house." He chuckled before answering me "Of course I won't be upset about that, silly!" Another kiss on the forehead "Do you want to know what it is?" He denied "I want it to be a surprise." We smiled together "So, happy Valentine's Day to us."

Kenan's chin was gently resting on my head and I knew he was smiling even without seeing it. "So, shall we go out to eat something? I'm starving." I asked, "You know what, do you want to go?" I rolled my eyes playfully, "Let's go, I know you want to."  I stood up and gave him my hand, intending to help him get out of the chair. "I promise I'll lie down with you watching all the movies you want, as soon as we get back." He hugged me as soon as he got up. "I don't want to watch movies, I want to lie down just admiring you." he gave me a little kiss.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Call Sign: Heartline

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader, Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x Daughter!Reader

Summary: Maverick's daughter and Rooster grew up together, bound by their fathers’ legendary friendship and their own shared dreams of flying. When they both get accepted into the Top Gun program, it feels like destiny—until Hangman enters the picture. With his effortless charm and undeniable skill, he throws her world off balance, igniting a rivalry with Rooster that runs deeper than competition.

Maverick's daughter and Rooster had been inseparable since childhood. Their fathers had been best friends, and that bond had naturally extended to them. Growing up, they had spent endless summers racing dirt bikes, sneaking onto airstrips to watch jets take off, and dreaming about the day they’d follow in their fathers' footsteps. When they both got accepted into the Top Gun program, it felt like fate.

"We actually did it," Rooster had said that first night after finding out. He had grinned, his excitement barely contained. "We're gonna do this together. Just like we always planned."

And for a while, it was just like they imagined—training together, pushing each other, celebrating victories, and laughing over the losses. But everything changed when Hangman entered the picture.

The first time she met Hangman, she was completely charmed. He had that cocky smirk, that easy confidence that made it impossible not to take notice. He shook her hand firmly, looking her right in the eye as if he had already decided they were going to get along.

"Maverick’s kid, huh?" he had said, grinning. "Guess that means flying’s in your blood."

She arched a brow. "And you must be Hangman—the guy who thinks he’s God’s gift to naval aviation."

He let out a laugh, clearly delighted. "Damn right. And you must be the one who’s going to give me a run for my money."

Before she could respond, Rooster let out a scoff, shaking his head. "Don’t waste your time with him," he muttered. "He’s just another arrogant guy who thinks he’s better than everyone else."

She smirked, tilting her head as she glanced back at Hangman. "I don’t know, Rooster. I think he’s kinda cute."

Hangman shot Rooster a victorious grin while Rooster groaned, already regretting everything.

He was cocky, arrogant, and insufferably charming. And somehow, against all odds, Maverick’s daughter found herself drawn to him.

It started small—arguments laced with teasing, accidental touches that lingered too long, stolen glances when they thought no one was looking. It wasn’t until one night at the Hard Deck, when Hangman pulled her onto the dance floor, that Rooster really noticed.

The jukebox played something slow but playful, and Hangman wasted no time taking her hand and spinning her toward him. "C’mon, sweetheart. Can’t let all that fighter pilot training go to waste—show me what you’ve got."

She laughed, cheeks flushing, but let him lead, his hands steady on her waist as they swayed and twirled around the floor. Every move was smooth, effortless, as if he had done this a hundred times before. And with every step, every flirtatious grin, she felt herself slipping further into his orbit.

"You’re just showing off now," she teased.

Hangman smirked, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush her ear. "Wouldn’t dream of it. I just like making you blush."

She rolled her eyes, but the warmth spreading through her said otherwise. A giggle escaped before she could stop it, and Hangman’s expression softened at the sound.

From across the bar, Rooster’s stomach twisted as he watched them, her laughter echoing over the music as Hangman spun her around with practiced ease. He tried to ignore it, telling himself it was nothing. But when he saw the way she looked at Hangman—like he was something she couldn’t look away from—he knew it was something.

At first, Rooster told himself it would pass. That she was just caught up in the moment, in the thrill of competition. But then he overheard Coyote mentioning that she and Hangman had gone on a date, and everything inside him snapped.

That night, he found her on the airstrip, staring up at the stars.

"So," he started, voice tight. "You and Hangman."

She turned, eyebrows furrowing. "What about me and Hangman?"

Rooster exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I just—I need to know. Is this just a thing, or... is it something more?"

She hesitated, then exhaled shakily. "It’s not nothing... but I hope it can be."

He let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "I should’ve said something sooner. God, I should’ve said something years ago."

She blinked at him. "Said what?"

"That I love you," Rooster admitted, the words tasting foreign on his tongue. "That I’ve always loved you. And that no one will ever understand you like I do."

She inhaled sharply, but before she could respond, Rooster was already stepping back. "Just—just forget I said anything. I just needed you to know."

She took a step forward, as if to call after him, but the words caught in her throat. Her hands clenched at her sides, her mind spinning. How had she not seen this coming? Or maybe she had, and she just refused to face it.

But before he could walk away completely, she found her voice. "Rooster, wait."

He stopped, his shoulders tense, but he didn’t turn around.

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding. "If you wanted me so bad, why did you wait until I was in love with someone else?"

The words hung between them, heavy and raw. Rooster finally turned, his expression unreadable, but she barely registered it because the realization hit her like a jet breaking the sound barrier.

She was in love with Hangman.

She hadn’t known it until she said it out loud, until the truth formed and escaped her lips before she could stop it. And judging by the look on Rooster’s face, he knew it too.

It was too late.

Her breath was shaky as she turned back toward the airstrip, hugging herself against the cool night breeze. The weight of his confession pressed down on her, and suddenly, everything with Hangman felt... complicated.

The sound of approaching footsteps made her tense. Hangman.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.

She swallowed hard, nodding, but when she met his eyes, she wasn’t sure she believed it herself. "Yeah. Just—just a lot to think about."

Hangman studied her for a long moment before nodding. "You wanna get out of here? Clear your head?"

She hesitated but eventually nodded. "Yeah. I think I do."

The next day, Rooster barely spoke to her. They were paired up for a training mission, but every time she tried to make conversation, he shut her out. His responses were clipped, his gaze distant. Finally, after another failed attempt, he turned to her, eyes cold. "You don't get to act like nothing happened. You chose him, so go fly with him."

She flinched at the sharpness of his words, the weight of his disappointment settling heavily in her chest. The Rooster she had always known, the one who had been by her side through everything, felt impossibly far away.

Flying together wasn’t the same. Their usual rhythm was off, their once effortless teamwork now strained. She could feel the tension in every maneuver, every second of radio silence between them. Then, in the middle of a high-intensity exercise, something went wrong.

Rooster’s jet malfunctioned.

"Rooster, you’re losing altitude!" she called through the comms, panic rising in her throat.

"Damn it, ejecting!" he responded just before the radio cut out.

Back at the base, chaos erupted as they lost contact with him. The rest of the squadron had returned, but Rooster was stranded, his jet down behind enemy lines in the exercise zone.

She didn’t think—she just moved. Racing toward the hangar, she threw on her helmet, ready to jump into a plane and go after him.

"Hey! Stop!" Maverick’s voice cut through the panic, his hand closing around her arm before she could climb into the cockpit. "You’re not going after him."

"I can’t just sit here!" she snapped, yanking against his grip. "He’s out there, alone!"

"And you going after him without a plan is just going to make it worse," Maverick said, his tone firm but not unkind. "I’ll go."

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to nod, but as she listened to her father take off, her fingers dug into her arms. Every second felt like an eternity as she paced near the comms, waiting for his voice to crackle through. Then, suddenly—silence.

The radio cut out.

Her breath hitched. "Dad? Dad, do you copy?"

Nothing.

A horrible, crushing weight settled in her chest as panic clawed up her throat. Her mind spiraled into the worst-case scenarios. First Rooster, now Maverick—both gone? It felt impossible, unbearable.

Hangman stood nearby, watching her, watching the way her body tensed like a wire about to snap. His expression shifted, his usual cocky smirk nowhere to be found. He had never seen her like this before—utterly wrecked, desperate, terrified.

And that was when he made his decision.

"Screw this," Hangman muttered, turning on his heel. "I’m going in."

Hangman launched into action, breaking protocol without hesitation. "I’m not leaving him behind," he had said simply before taking off.

By the time Hangman got to Rooster, the situation was grim. Rooster had landed safely, but his radio was down, and he was out of options. Hangman’s voice was the first thing Rooster heard in the static.

"Bradshaw, you still breathing down there?"

"About damn time, Seresin. You here to rescue me or gloat?"

"A little of both," Hangman quipped, relief laced in his tone. "Now, let’s get you out of here."

When they returned to base, she was the first one there, waiting on the tarmac. The second Rooster climbed out of the jet, she nearly collapsed with relief. But her gaze flicked to Hangman, who looked at her like he knew exactly what she was feeling.

She ran straight to Rooster.

"Are you okay?" she breathed, hands gripping his arms as if to make sure he was real, that he was actually standing in front of her.

Rooster let out a slow exhale, his eyes searching hers. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

Her throat tightened. "I thought I lost you. I thought I lost both of you."

His expression softened just a fraction, then he let out a breath. "You didn't. You could never lose me." His voice was quieter now, more certain. "But we need to talk. Because I can’t keep doing this if I don’t know where we stand."

Tears stung her eyes. "I know I have to earn your trust back. And I will, Rooster. I swear."

He studied her for a moment before nodding. "Then start now."

Without hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. Rooster stiffened for a brief second before exhaling, his arms coming around her just as tightly. She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing him in, grounding herself in the fact that he was here, alive, safe.

She squeezed his hands one last time before stepping back, inhaling deeply. With that, she turned and found her father, still pulling off his helmet. Without thinking, she ran to him next, throwing her arms around him.

"Dad—"

Maverick caught her, hugging her tightly. "I'm here. I'm okay."

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with watery eyes. "Dad, thank you. For going after him. For always coming back."

Maverick gave her a small smile, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I always will. I know how much he means to you. Which is why you have to do right by him."

She swallowed hard, blinking back tears. "I know, Dad. And I will. I just—I never wanted to hurt him. I never wanted to hurt any of you."

She buried her face against his shoulder, taking a moment to just breathe before she pulled away, wiping at her eyes. Finally, she turned to Hangman, who had been watching silently from a distance.

She walked up to him, her chest still heavy with emotion. "Thank you," she said softly. "For saving them—they're the two most important men in my life."

Hangman studied her for a moment, then let out a breath. "I get it. Rooster's always been there for you, and your dad—he’s your hero. I wasn’t trying to take their place."

She shook her head. "I know that. But because of you, I still have them. And that means I can finally let myself love the third most important man in my life."

His smirk was softer than usual, his green eyes filled with something deeper than confidence. "Then what are you waiting for?"

Before she could answer, he pulled her into his arms, lifting her off the ground as he spun her around. A breathless laugh escaped her, but before she could say anything, his lips were on hers. The kiss was deep, consuming, and filled with everything unspoken between them.

[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — golden hours, golden hearts : chapter 022 !

one week passed in a blur.

by the time you got home from your latest interview, exhaustion clung to your limbs like a second skin. you barely had the energy to kick off your heels before stepping into your apartment, but the familiar scent of something warm and savory made you pause.

"you're finally home," mitsuki's voice rang from the kitchen.

you blinked, surprised. "su-?"

"don't act so shocked," she huffled, turning to face you with a wooden spoon in hand. "you barely eat properly when you're working, so i figured i'd make something before you shrivel away."

before you could respond, another voice chimed in.

"she's right, you know."

you turned toward your couch, where hyoma sat comfortably, scrolling through his phone like he belonged here.

"you too?" you sighed, setting your bag down.

hyoma smirked. "mitski dragged me here. but i won't complain if it means free food. ...and maybe gossip?"

"obviously," mitsuki said, placing a steaming bowl in front of you. "now, eat."

the three of you settled into the living room, plates balanced in your hands as you sat on the floor around the coffee table. mitsuki had made something comforting. stir-fried vegetables, crispy tofu and rice.

"you should just move in at this point," you mumbled between bites.

mitsuki grinned. "tempting. your apartment is so fancy and i'd get to eat dinner with a celebrity couple every day."

you shot her a look. "we're not-"

"yeah, yeah," she waved you off. "pr relationship, i know."

hyoma leaned back against the couch. "do you think it's working, though? the pr part, i mean."

you hesitated, setting down your chopsticks. "i mean... i guess? they still talk about the picture he posted and how it has to be me because i posted my outfit a few hours later."

mitsuki smirked, propping her chin up with her hand. "oh, they know it's you. the internet detectives are crazy. some of them even matched the museum's lighting to your story."

chigiri huffed a quiet laugh. "people are invested."

you sighed, dragging a hand down your face. "great. love that for me."

mitsuki grinned. "i mean, you did sign up for this. and let's be so for real right now, sae knew exactly what he was doing when he posted that picture."

chigiri nodded. "it was a smart move. subtle, but not too subtle. keeps the mystery going."

you rolled your eyes. "yeah, yeah. pr genius, whatever."

mitsuki tilted her head. "you sound... almost annoyed. don’t tell me you’re regretting it?"

you hesitated. were you? no. not really. it was just... complicated.

"i wouldn’t say that," you muttered. "it’s just weird, you know? everyone analyzing my every move, acting like they know we're together even though we didn't do anything yet."

mitsuki hummed, tapping her nails against her glass. "well, that’s the point, or not? keep people talking, keep the mystery alive. that’s what makes it fun."

you sighed, leaning back into the couch. "fun for them, maybe. i just have to sit there and pretend i don’t see the comments saying 'oh my god! sae's mine!' or 'back off!' like damn, you don't even have a chance, the fuck??"

"you did sign up for this," hyoma pointed out, shooting you a knowing look. "and let’s be real, it’s not like you haven’t dealt with this kind of thing before."

"yeah, but this is different," you frowned. "it’s not just me anymore. it’s him, too. and he’s not exactly making it easier."

mitsuki perked up. "oh? what’s sae doing?"

You waved a hand vaguely. "just… being flirty with me ...lowkey? he texts me almost every day and is chalant instead of nonchalant. everyone says he's a dick to everyone.and now, cryptic captions, just enough interaction to keep people guessing. and then he does stuff like take that picture of me at the museum and post it without tagging me, but making it obvious enough that everyone figured it out anyway."

"that’s called marketing, sweetheart," mitsuki teased. "besides, you don’t seem that mad about it."

you opened your mouth to argue but stopped yourself.

hyoma smirked. "see? you don’t even deny it."

"whatever," you muttered, picking up your chopsticks again. "enough about me. let’s talk about suki’s thing with michael."

mitsuki nearly choked on her drink. "I DO NOT HAVE A THING WITH MICHAEL."

hyoma grinned. "oh, please. you literally just admitted you liked kissing him."

"that is not what i said!" mitsuki protested, but her face was already turning pink.

you and hyoma exchanged looks before bursting into laughter.

—

later that night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the soft hum of the city outside barely reaching your ears. the room was dark except for the dim glow of your phone screen resting beside you, notifications lighting up every few seconds, but you ignored them.

your mind was too loud.

the wedding was in two days.

your flight to kyoto was tomorrow morning.

you had to meet his whole family.

and you had to spend an entire weekend playing the perfect girlfriend to sae itoshi.

you exhaled sharply, rolling onto your side. it wasn’t that you couldn’t do i. you had played your part well so far. the public was eating up the “relationship,” and sae… well, he was playing along just fine. but this was different. this wasn’t just posting cryptic photos. this was attending a family wedding together. his family would be there. people who actually knew him. who would be watching you both closely, scanning every detail.

would they believe it?

would he even bother keeping up the act when no cameras were around?

you pressed a hand to your forehead, willing yourself to stop overthinking. it wasn’t like you had a choice. the flight was at 7 am, and you needed to wake up in a few hours.

still, sleep didn’t come easy.

—

the next morning, you forced yourself to get up despite the lack of sleep, dragging yourself through the motions of getting ready. you did your makeup with practiced ease, throwing on something comfortable for the flight, something that still made you look put-together.

after calling a cab, you made your way to the airport. the usual rush of airport energy, people moving in every direction, announcements echoing, felt almost comforting, like a routine you could disappear into. you breezed through security, checked in, and found your gate.

you grabbed a seat and plugged your airpods in, deciding to zone out and pass the time.

the gate area slowly filled with passengers, people bustling around, the soft murmur of voices mixing with the distant call of another flight being called. you settled in, the familiar feeling of travel settling over you.

you adjusted your bag and got comfortable in your seat, scrolling through your phone to distract yourself. the thought of sae and the wedding was still there in the back of your mind, but you didn’t let it take up too much space.

until someone slid into the seat next to you.

you glanced up, slightly annoyed that they had to sit right next to you, only for your eyes to meet a familiar pair of sharp, lazy ones.

sae.

your heart skipped a beat as you stared at him in disbelief. “what are you doing here?” you asked, barely able to mask the surprise in your voice. he was supposed to be in madrid, preparing for his own flight to kyoto.

sae, as nonchalant as ever, grinned at your reaction. “can't i fly with my girlfriend?” he asked, almost as if reading your mind. “it’s not every day i get to spend a few hours in the air with my favorite model."

chapter 021 > here > chapter 023

taglist is open ! <3

back to golden hours, golden hearts

a/n: oh no forced proximity

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