#I don’t know how to explain this well but

[reiding-writing]

Heyyyy, I think it would be soo cool if you could write a scenario where cold!reader actually works a case like idk but yk the typical talking w witnesses or family members.

I also would loveee to know what her interrogation style is like, morgen was always pretty aggressive and Hotch was always so straightforward etc. so I would love to know how she interrogates suspects.

Have a nice one, ly and ur work sm !! ^_^

THE REID TECHNIQUE. /spencer reid/

you volunteer to interview a middle-aged woman suspected of kidnapping a little girl.

cold!reader 4.2k series masterlist. main masterlist.

a/n | had this one in the works for a few weeks after learning about the reid technique in my forensic psych lecture ✊

The clock above the whiteboard marks every second with an unforgiving tick. It's been twelve hours since the child, eight years old, brown hair in braids, green jacket, was last seen.

You know too well how thin the margins are.

“Local PD has brought in a suspect. Margaret Ellery. Lives four streets over from the family. No hard evidence yet, just circumstantial.” Hotch discards his phone in his pocket.

You push off the table, the movement casual, but inside something sharp and certain slices through the haze. Margaret Ellery. The name means nothing to the others yet, just another possibility. To you, it burns.

“They've got CCTV placing her car near the park at the estimated time of abduction,” Emily says, flicking through images on her tablet. “No witnesses saw the actual snatch, but...” She hesitates. “It’s something,”

“Something," you echo, voice flat.

You can feel Spencer’s gaze flick towards you from his desk. You don’t look at him. If you do, he’ll see it—the thing coiling under your skin, the certainty you can’t explain.

You know it was her.

The others begin discussing who should lead the interview, voices overlapping—Emily suggesting herself, Morgan arguing the woman might respond better to a softer touch—and for a moment, you let them talk.

Then, calmly, you speak.

“I’ll do it.”

The words drop like stones into the room.

The conversation stalls. Morgan frowns, one eyebrow lifting. Hotch studies you, impassive. Spencer’s pencil stills in his hand.

You don’t volunteer for interrogations. Everyone knows it. You only step in when everything else has failed—the nuclear option. The last resort.

You have built your reputation on results, not likability. You dismantle people, piece by piece, until there's nothing left but the truth. It's not pretty. It's not kind. It's necessary.

But this time, without waiting for anyone to fail, you want it.

Hotch’s mouth tightens into a line. He doesn’t like it, but he also knows better than to argue when you make that face—the one you wear now, cold and still, like a weapon waiting to be drawn.

“Are you certain?” he asks.

You nod once. Precise. Final.

“She’s guilty,” you say. Not a question. Not a theory. A statement of fact.

“How do you know?” Emily asks, cautious.

You flick your gaze to her, then away again. You don't explain things like this. You never have. You just know.

Hotch’s brow furrows. “You’re sure?”

You nod once. Crisp. Certain.

“I can get her to talk.”

He hesitates. You don’t blame him. It’s not just that they’re worried about the woman cracking under your methods, it’s that they’re worried you will push too hard, dig too deep, and leave something broken beyond repair—something in her, something in yourself.

But there’s no time for cautious sensibilities. There’s a child missing. The longer they dither, the colder the trail gets.

Hotch considers for a beat longer, then relents with a sharp nod. “On your lead.”

Morgan shifts his weight, clearly cautious. “I’ll second,”

“No.”

Hotch exhales slowly, measuring you with a look that’s half reluctant approval, half silent warning. “You know the protocol.”

You incline your head with a sigh of exasperation. You know it backwards.

“I work better alone,” you say calmly, before he can open his mouth to suggest otherwise.

That’s non-negotiable. You’ve explained it a thousand times—too many cooks spoil the broth. Too many variables ruin the interrogation. One misplaced glance, one ill-timed question, one unspoken judgement radiating off a team member— it can destroy hours of work.

No one interrupts you when you’re working. No one even breathes too loudly.

Hotch nods once. Reluctant but resigned.

“Room Three,” he says. “She’s waiting.”

You turn sharply on your heel, the heels of your boots clicking lightly against the floor, and make your way down the corridor without looking back.

Behind you, the team watches you go in silence.

Spencer’s gaze lingers the longest.

He understands. Not completely—no one ever could—but enough.

Enough to know that once you step into that room, you’ll become something else. Something sharper. Harder. Merciless in your precision.

And God help the woman on the other side of the glass.

—

You pause outside the interrogation room, hand resting lightly on the door handle. Through the one-way glass, you see her: hunched, fidgeting, a picture of nervous innocence.

She’s shorter than you expected. Plumper. Her hands twist nervously at the hem of her cardigan.

She looks like someone’s kindly aunt. To the untrained eye, she might seem harmless. Sad, even.

You don’t let it fool you.

You close your eyes for a moment. Centre yourself.

This is not about rage. Rage clouds the senses. This is about control. Subtlety. Precision.

When you open your eyes again, you’re a blank slate.

The woman jumps slightly at your entrance. Good. She’s on edge already. You file the information away for later use.

You close the door with a soft click and cross to the chair opposite her, sitting down with a deliberate, unhurried grace. You say nothing for a long moment, simply studying her, letting the silence stretch taut between you.

She fidgets again, clearing her throat. Her eyes flicker up to meet yours and then away, unable to hold your gaze.

You watch her, utterly still.

Already, you can see the cracks beginning to form.

You offer a thin, perfunctory smile.

“Good afternoon,” you introduce yourself, voice low and even. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, alright?”

She licks her lips nervously. “I already told the others— I didn’t do anything,”

You tilt your head slightly. Not a challenge, not an agreement. Just an acknowledgement.

“Of course,” you say smoothly. “We’ll go over everything again. Just to be thorough.”

You slide a thin manilla file onto the table between you. The movement is calm, almost lazy.

In reality, every microexpression, every twitch of her fingers, every catch in her breath — you’re cataloguing all of it.

You see guilt. Not the guilt of a wrongfully accused woman, but the heavy, aching guilt of someone who knows precisely what they’ve done and is terrified of the consequences.

You suppress the flicker of satisfaction that rises in your chest.

This will be easier than you thought.

You fold your hands neatly on the table.

“Let’s begin.”

You watch her closely, noting the way her shoulders stiffen under your gaze. She’s nervous.

“I’d first like to briefly remind you that you don’t have to answer any question that you’re uncomfortable with, and you have the right to an attorney if you require one,” You keep your tone measured, almost conversational, as you begin. “This interview is being recorded, and can be submitted as evidence if needed in court,”

Margret’s response is nothing more than a brief nod, and you quickly move on.

“We’ve spoken to several people who know you, Margaret,” you say, glancing briefly at the file in front of you for show, though you don’t need to. You know the contents backwards already. “Your neighbours speak highly of you. Friendly. Involved. Always ready to lend a hand.”

She swallows, nodding a little. As if being agreeable will somehow absolve her.

You continue, letting the words come slowly, giving them weight.

“You knew the Hartleys quite well?”

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, hands twisting harder in the hem of her cardigan. “We… we live near each other, yes. I used to babysit for them sometimes, when Claire was first back at work,”

You incline your head, as if pleased by the admission. You knew that information already of course, but the fact that she’s supplying the truth to you early is a good sign.

“And you’ve stayed in touch since then?”

Her mouth twists slightly. “Not really. They… they got busy. New friends. Things change,”

You let the silence settle for a beat, as if considering that. Then you lean forward, just slightly, enough that the space between you shrinks.

“The thing is,” you say, voice still calm, almost gentle, “we have several witnesses who say they saw your car near Westwood Park yesterday afternoon.”

You watch her stiffen, the flicker of fear crossing her face before she can mask it. You press on, smooth and relentless.

“That’s the park where Elsie Hartley was last seen.”

Her mouth opens, then closes again. She shakes her head, a tight, jerky movement.

“I must have been passing through. I had errands— the shops—”

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “At four-thirty in the afternoon?”

She falters. You don’t need to press the point yet. Just plant the seed. Let it fester.

You sit back again, steepling your fingers lightly.

“We’re not here to attack you, Margaret,” you say, voice dropping slightly. Softer. Sympathetic. “We just want to understand what happened.”

Her eyes dart to the door briefly. You catch the movement, file it away. Already thinking of escape.

You won’t allow it.

“Things happen to people,” you continue, letting your voice thicken just slightly with understanding. “Painful things. Things that change how we see the world.”

You see the way she flinches, barely perceptible. A tiny tell, but enough.

Good. She’s listening now. Feeling now.

“Tell me about your daughter,” you say quietly.

Her face crumples before she can stop it, a raw flash of grief, there and gone.

She tries to cover it up, sitting up straighter, forcing a small, brittle smile.

“She… passed away. A long time ago.”

You nod slowly. “Nine years.”

Her hands clench into fists in her lap.

You lean in again, lowering your voice further.

“Grief can… distort things,” you murmur. “It can make you see injustice where there is none. It can make you desperate to fix something, to make up for what you lost.”

Her breathing has quickened. You see the pulse hammering at her throat.

“Sometimes,” you continue, “it makes people do things they never thought themselves capable of. Good people. Kind people. People who were simply… overwhelmed by sadness.”

She’s trembling now. Just slightly. You act as though you don’t notice.

“You saw Elsie playing in the park,” you say softly. “Maybe you thought her parents didn’t appreciate her enough. Maybe you thought you could give her the love your own daughter never got to fully experience.”

Tears are brimming in her eyes now, but she’s fighting them. Fighting herself.

She shakes her head weakly. “I didn’t— I wouldn’t—”

You don’t argue. You don’t contradict her.

You simply sit back, offering a small, understanding nod.

“Of course you didn’t mean for things to get so complicated. You just wanted to make things right.”

The denial is there, trembling on her lips, but you ignore it.

You pivot neatly, seamlessly, back to the facts.

“You said you were running errands,” you say, as if returning to a mundane detail. “Tell me about that. Which shops?”

She stares at you, panic flickering behind her eyes. She wasn't ready for the shift. That’s the point.

“I— I went to 7-Eleven. And then… the pharmacy. I had a prescription,”

You scribble something meaningless onto your pad, nodding slowly.

“The pharmacy?” you echo. “Do you have the receipt?”

She freezes.

“No,” she says after a moment. “I must have thrown it away,”

You don’t react. You just jot down another line.

“Which 7-Eleven?” you ask, tone still mild.

She blinks. “The one on Briar Lane,”

You hum thoughtfully, making another note. She’s lying. You know it. And she knows you know it.

You give her another moment to stew in her own fear before steering the conversation back.

“Funny thing, Margaret,” you say, lightly conversational, “we pulled CCTV from Briar Lane yesterday. The store, the pharmacy, the petrol station.”

You look up, meeting her eyes directly for the first time since you sat down.

“You’re not on any of it.”

The colour drains from her face.

You don’t press. Not yet. Let her feel the walls closing in. Let her suffocate on the inevitability of it.

She shifts in her seat, wringing her hands.

“I must have got the times wrong,” she mutters weakly.

“Of course,” you say smoothly. “It’s easy to get confused. Especially when you’re upset.”

She clings to the lifeline you’ve thrown her, nodding desperately.

“Yes. Yes, I was… distracted,”

You offer her a small, almost pitying smile.

“I understand, Margaret. Truly. No one’s here to judge you.”

Another beat of silence. You watch her, patient and unblinking.

“I can see how hard this is for you,” you say after a moment, voice softening again. “Reliving yesterday. Remembering what happened.”

Her mouth trembles. She presses her lips together tightly, like a child trying not to cry.

“I didn’t… I didn’t take her,” she says, almost whispering.

You nod thoughtfully, as if weighing her words.

“Of course,” you say again. Calm. Unthreatening.

Then, without warning, you steer the conversation right back to the beginning.

“Tell me again what you were doing between three and five yesterday afternoon.”

Her face crumples. She wasn’t ready for the cycle to start again.

But you are tireless. Patient. Merciless.

That’s the thing about interrogations — it’s not the dramatic threats or slammed fists on the table that break people. It’s the relentlessness. The subtle erosion of certainty, the slow dismantling of lies.

She tries again.

“I was at home, actually. I remembered— after the pharmacy I went home. I didn’t feel well.”

“Hmm,” you hum noncommittally. “Your neighbour said they saw your car leave around two, and you didn’t return until gone six.”

You tilt your head, watching her carefully.

“They must be mistaken,” she says quickly, too quickly.

You don’t argue. You just let the inconsistency hang there between you, a slow, toxic drip of doubt.

The denials come more frequently now, growing more desperate with each cycle.

“I wasn’t near the park.”

“I don’t even know where she disappeared from.”

“I just… I was having a bad day.”

You let each one slide past you without reaction, without resistance.

Each time she throws out a denial, you seamlessly redirect — not forcefully, not aggressively, but subtly, like water flowing around a stone.

Back to the CCTV.

Back to the witnesses.

Back to her tangled, faltering story.

You give her a moment to stew in her latest denial. Watch the way she clutches at the hem of her cardigan like it’s a lifeline. Her breathing is shallow now, you can almost hear it hitching every few seconds.

She’s trying to believe her own lies. Trying to build walls faster than you can knock them down.

You lean back slightly in your chair, as if relaxing, as if you have all the time in the world. Then you let your voice slip into a more analytical register.

“Let’s review what we know,” you say, tapping your pen lightly against the table.

The soft sound makes her flinch. Good.

“Your neighbour saw your car leave at two o’clock sharp. CCTV from Briar Lane shows you were not at the pharmacy or the store, as you claimed. In fact—” you pause, leafing slowly through the papers on your clipboard, letting the moment stretch, “—your car was picked up again. Not in Briar Lane. But parked a block from Westwood Park.”

You place a printed image on the table between you: the grainy still of a pale blue Volvo estate. Her car. The timestamp in the corner reads 4:14 p.m.

Margaret pales visibly, staring at it.

“That’s not me,” she whispers, voice breaking.

You arch a brow, slow and sceptical.

“Registration plates don’t lie.”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Her eyes are wild now, darting across the table, as if searching for some unseen escape hatch.

You press the advantage mercilessly, but with a surgeon’s precision.

“You told us you were at home,” you say calmly. “Yet your vehicle was a block away from the site of a child’s abduction.”

You let the words hang heavily in the air. They don’t need dressing up. They’re lethal enough.

“I just— I just parked for a bit. I wasn’t feeling well—”

You shake your head, slow and deliberate.

“No pharmacy visit. No store. No proof of you being anywhere else.”

You place another sheet on the table, another CCTV still, this time capturing her figure, blurred but unmistakeable, moving across the park entrance at 4:20 p.m.

“Witnesses place you in the vicinity. Cameras place you there. Your alibi doesn’t hold.”

Her lips tremble. You can see the walls crumbling now, piece by piece.

You don’t drive the knife in yet.

Instead, you shift your posture — lean forward, just slightly, closing the space between you by mere inches.

Subtle, calculated.

Not enough to threaten. Just enough to pull her attention inward, to focus it entirely on you.

You keep your gaze steady, non-threatening but utterly unwavering.

Your body language speaks louder than your words. I am your only way out of this.

Margaret's eyes flicker between your face and the photographs, her breath hitching audibly now.

You watch as the fight starts to bleed out of her.

Still, you’re careful. She’s fragile now. One wrong move and she’ll retreat into full panic, barricade herself behind the last reserves of her denial.

You soften your expression by degrees. Let the razor edge dull into something gentler. More… understanding.

Margaret sniffs loudly, wiping at her eyes with trembling fingers. Her composure is breaking apart under the sheer, relentless weight of the truth pressing down on her.

“I just—” she chokes. “I didn’t— I didn’t plan anything—”

You allow a small, almost imperceptible nod. Not agreement. Just… acceptance.

You lower your voice, pitch it softer.

“I know, Margaret,” you say quietly. “I believe you. You were overwhelmed. You weren’t thinking straight. You saw a little girl alone, vulnerable—”

“She was sitting by herself!” Margaret blurts suddenly, anguished. “Just swinging on those stupid swings— and no one— no one was watching—!”

The confession hangs there, raw and shaking.

You don’t react. Don’t let the triumph show. You simply soften further, offering a small, almost maternal tilt of your head.

“You wanted to keep her safe,” you murmur. “Like any mother would.”

Margaret’s face crumples. Tears spill over at last, fat and helpless.

You fold your hands neatly on the table. Stay calm. Stay steady. Be the lighthouse in her storm.

—

“She’s using phased psychological reinforcement,” Spencer says quietly, almost in awe. Like you’ve never quite been so alluring.

Emily glances at him. “In English, please?”

Spencer shifts slightly, tapping his fingers against the glass in a subtle rhythm.

“She’s employing the Reid Technique,” he explains. “It has nine stages that are worked through in order to achieve a state of psychological comfort that elicits more honesty from the suspect,”

“The Reid technique?” Emily raised an eyebrow.

“It’s uh, named after John Reid, he was a police officer in Chicago during the 1950s. It revolutionised formal interviewing, although it’s actually very difficult to implement in practice, because if the suspect catches on then they’re likely to shut down,”

He nods towards you, still composed, still relentless inside the room.

“She’s between stage four and stage five right now— Addressing why the suspect hasn’t confessed, and using mirroring tactics to keep the suspect engaged,”

Morgan hums low under his breath, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Sounds scientific,” he goads.

—

Margaret hiccups through her tears, twisting the sleeves of her cardigan into knots.

“I didn’t—” she whispers again.

You make no move to comfort her. You don’t offer tissues. You don't even shift your posture.

You simply remain present. Solid. Reassuring by your very stillness. In her shattered mind, you are the only constant left. Exactly where you want her.

You let the silence stretch just long enough for Margaret to drown in it, her sobs the only sound filling the sterile room.

Then, softly, so gently it’s almost a caress, you push the conversation where it needs to go.

“Margaret,” you say, voice low but firm, threading compassion through every syllable, “I’m not here to judge you.”

She drags her tear-reddened eyes up to meet yours, desperate and wide.

You offer the smallest of smiles. Not kind. Not cruel. Just human.

“You loved your daughter, right?”

Her face crumples. She gives a broken little nod, a whimper catching in her throat.

You lower your voice even further, until it's barely above a whisper. “And now there's this... ache. This emptiness. It’s unbearable, isn’t it?”

She presses her sleeve to her mouth, trying to smother another sob.

You let the moment hang there, let her sit in the shared understanding you’ve carefully, ruthlessly constructed.

“Were you trying to cause trouble, Margaret?” you ask, tilting your head ever so slightly, as if puzzled. “Or were you simply trying to give that little girl the love you never got to finish giving your daughter?”

It’s everything.

It’s everything she’s been trying to make sense of for the last twelve hours.

And you’ve handed it to her, neatly gift-wrapped, an explanation she can live with.

Her face crumples entirely.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” she wails, folding in on herself. “I just— I just saw her— all alone— they weren’t even watching her! She was just sitting there, swinging by herself, and I thought—”

She breaks off, hiccupping on a sob.

You remain silent, giving her the space to pour it out.

“I thought— she deserves better. Someone who’d see her. Someone who’d love her properly. I could— I could do that. I could give her what she needed.”

Tears stream down her face now, unchecked.

“She’s happy with me,” Margaret insists desperately, as if trying to convince herself as much as you. “She’s smiling. She’s laughing. I’ve never— I’ve never seen her laugh like that. Not once when she was with them.”

You allow yourself a single, careful breath.

But you’re not finished yet.

You shift your tone again, turning almost maternal, gentle and firm.

“Margaret,” you say, leaning in just a fraction, letting her feel the sincerity. “I believe you care for her. I do.”

It’s not a lie. Margaret does care. In her own warped, desperate way. “But she’s scared. She misses her family. She needs to come home.”

Margaret sobs harder, hands shaking so badly she nearly knocks the water cup off the table.

“Help me bring her home safely, Margaret. Please.”

For a long, fragile moment, she just cries.

And then, brokenly, she nods.

“She’s—” she mumbles through the tears. “12A, Eversham Court… I made up the spare room for her, I got her toys and clothes—”

She’s rambling now, stumbling over herself to spill every detail she can think of.

You don’t interrupt.

Outside the room, you know Hotch will already be sending officers to the location, moving fast but discreetly.

Time still matters. Every second counts.

Everything has been recorded. Every word, every sob, every admission captured, preserved, incontrovertible.

You stand slowly, gathering the papers with smooth efficiency.

As you move towards the door, Margaret’s voice breaks behind you, small and shuddering.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” she says again, voice thick with tears. “Tell them that. Please. Tell them I just wanted to love her—”

You pause, hand on the doorframe, and glance back over your shoulder.

Your face gives away nothing.

“I’ll tell them,” you say simply.

It’s not a promise. Not really. But it’s enough.

The door opens with a quiet click. Uniformed officers step inside, moving with trained efficiency.

Margaret doesn’t fight. She’s too broken to resist. She sobs helplessly as they read her her rights, the words barely cutting through her cries of apology. “I’m sorry,” she gasps as they cuff her. “I’m so sorry—”

You watch silently for a moment as they lead her away.

She’s still crying. Still apologising to no one in particular.

You feel no satisfaction. No triumph. Just the faint, hollow weight of inevitability.

You step back into the corridor, letting the door swing shut behind you.

The others are waiting. Hotch nods once at you, brisk and approving. Emily looks grim but relieved. Morgan mutters something under his breath that sounds like "damn," but you don’t linger on it.

Your gaze flicks automatically to Spencer.

He’s watching you the way he always does after you work. Not with fear, not with pity, but with something quieter. Something sharper.

Admiration. And something almost akin to academic attraction.

“Seven minutes, twenty two seconds,”

You don’t smile. You don’t say a word. You simply walk past him, your boots clicking steadily down the hall.

New record.

[twohearts-hs]

Dove & Captain: 6 - Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader Series

Words in Total: 6.1k

Pairings: Dr. Jack Abbot x fem!reader

Synopsis: She's his Dove. The ER nurse who is the definition of chaos, trauma and humour in scrubs. He's her Captain, gruff, emotionally guarded war veteran with a prosthetic leg and completely in love with her. Six years together, a mortgage, four dogs and the ability to conquer anything. This is a story of their life in one day. He is 49, she's 30. This is one day of their life based on the 15 episodes of 'The Pitt'. There will be little imagines of their relationship over the years.

Warnings: Swearing, Age Gap, Trauma, Medical Language/Procedure, Pregnancy, Miscarriage, etc.

A/N: This is a complete series of ~60k. I will post a few snapshots of their relationship over the six+ years they've been together.

Hope you enjoy :)

Series Masterlist

-

1800

Y/N was checking in on her patients when she heard over the intercom, “Code Triage, Emergency Department now.” She glanced up from what she was doing and looked around. Mass casualty. There was a mass casualty incoming.

            “What does that mean? Has that happened before?” she heard next to her. Glancing over, she spotted Santos saying that.

            Y/N met her eyes, and she sighed. “Incoming mass casualty,” she simply said. Everyone looked over to her.

            “Hey, what’s going on?” McKay asked.

            “Mass casualty at PittFest,” Robby said.

            Y/N walked over, hearing that, crossing her arms. “Holy fuck,” she muttered. “What do you mean mass casualty? Like a shooter?”

            Robby just stared at her and Y/N just nodded.

            “How many victims?” Mohan spoke up.

            “We don’t know. Expect the worst,” Robby replied.

            Just then Robby cleared his throat, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Ok, everybody listen up!” All eyes went on Robby. “There is an active shooter at PittFest. As the nearest trauma centre, we are going to be getting the majority of the victims. We don’t know yet how many we are getting, but we are instituting hospital-wide emergency protocols. We need to move every patient out of here. They either go home, they go upstairs, or they go to family medicine. Call your loved ones now if you need to. I can guarantee you, cell service will soon be overwhelmed. Eat something. Stay hydrated. Use the bathroom while there’s time, and meet back here for a full briefing in five minutes,” Robby explained.

            Y/N noticed a figure walking up behind him. Instantly, a smile came to her face, but she shut it down. Jack glanced at her, seeing her standing there with her hair down now, cardigan gone but exhaustion on her face.

            Robby then turned to see Jack. “Brother, I’m so fucking glad to see you,” Robby muttered, walking over to Jack and bringing him in a hug.

            Y/N pulled her phone out, sending a message to Beckett that dinner would be cancelled tonight as Jack and Y/N will have to work later due to an emergency.

            “I heard it on the police scanner,” Jack muttered as Robby pulled away. “How is she?” he asked, nudging at Y/N who was looking at her phone. “Did you figure out what happened with her this morning?” he asked, trying to get information.

            Robby just stared at him. Knowing well about the pregnancy, the miscarriage and how Y/N threatened him to never tell Jack.

            Robby didn’t answer right away.

            Jack narrowed his eyes. “Robby,” he tried, eye contact full on glaring.

            Robby exhaled through his nose, jaw tight as he shook his head. “She’s fine. Focus on the incoming, Jack.”

            Jack didn’t buy it. He knew Robby, knew the way his voice clipped when he was holding something back. But now wasn’t the time. He’d pull it out of him later.

            Across the room, Y/N was already moving – snapping into high-function mode. All serious now and all action. She tucked her phone away before starting to command the team to clear beds. Her exhaustion was shoved down, buried beneath adrenaline and instinct. She moved like someone who needed chaos, thrived in it.

            Jack watched her. His stomach twisted. He could see it – she was too quiet, too still in the eyes. Normally, she would’ve walked up to him by now.

            “You tell me if something’s wrong. I mean it,” Jack said lowly. “It’s Y/N. She’s my life,” he muttered. Robby just nodded, patting him on the back.

            “I know. Tough day, all I’m saying and it’s just getting tougher,” Robby replied. “But she’s fine.”

            Robby nodded.

            Y/N just went straight to work, pushing everything aside. Y/N moved patients alongside her coworkers.

            Y/N walked back up to the nurses’ station where Jack, Robby, Garcia and Dana were. He glanced over to her and sent her a small smile.

            “Hi,” she whispered.

            He nodded. “Hey, Kid,” he muttered. “I’m taking Primary ER.”

            “Have at it,” Robby replied. Y/N crossed her arms.

            “Who’s taking Primary Surgery?” Jack asked holding the vest and binder. He held it up, looking over at the crowd.

            “Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” Walsh replied.

            “Dr. Walsh,” Jack replied handing her the kit.

            “Anaesthesiology?” Jack asked.

            “Gladden will be down. He’s got four in place, more on the way,” Dr. Walsh replied.

            Y/N was grabbing a gown, some gloves as Jack started assigning roles to everyone.

            “Ok, this is yours,” Jack said, handing Robby an emergency belt of supplies.

            “Thank you. What do you got in there?” Robby asked.

            Y/N walked back over, next to Jack. “Got some goodies, Captain?” she asked, smirking. Jack’s backpack was filled with emergency supplies.

            He looked at her for a brief moment before looking back at Robby. “A couple of CAT tourniquets, hemostatic dressings, LMAs.”

            “We got plenty of that stuff,” Robby replied.

            “Butterfly ultrasound works off a cell phone,” Jack said, opening up the kit. Y/N leaned over to look at it.

            “Wow, all the bells and whistles,” she hummed.

            “Very cool,” Robby replied. “But we’re gonna send all the unstable chest and belly straight up to the OR.”

            Jack nodded. But as he was showing the ultrasound kit, Y/N spotted something that made her heart drop. He was wearing his wedding ring. The one he had when he was with Grace, his last wife. She stared for a second, blinking a few times before pushing that thought aside.

            He only wore it when he was having a bad day. Missing her. Y/N didn’t mind it. She was very supportive with his grief. However, today was not the day he should be thinking of Grace. Y/N miscarried today. Sure, Jack did not know yet, but he was grieving his last wife while Y/N went through something traumatic. Additionally, he only wore it while at home, never to work. He must’ve totally forgotten that we were wearing it when he left the house.

            Y/N forced herself to refocus, pulling her eyes away from the ring. Now wasn’t the time to spiral. Now wasn’t the time to feel anything.

            Robby turned to the crowd as everyone was gowning and prepping. “Ok, everyone. This is how it’s going to work. Our ambulance bay is now our Triage. EMS will be overwhelmed,” he began.

            “Go stand over there, Kid,” Jack said, leaning into Y/N as he pointed to where everyone else was standing, looking at Robby and Jack. Y/N nodded, walking over.

            “Most will probably arrive by car, several victims per vehicle. For all you newbies that don’t know, Dr. Shen is our night shift attending,” Robby said as Dr. Shen walked over and Robby patted his back. “John, I’m gonna put you on Point Triage.”

            “Cool,” Shen replied.

            “Triage will decide who goes where depending on their injury,” Robby stated, looking over at them.

            Y/N nodded, crossing her arms as she listened. Jack crossed his arms over his chest, biceps bulging.

            “Every department will have a designated primary who will oversee their staff. If you need someone, look for the vest. We’re all going to have walkies. We can get you whatever you need,” Jack explained, voice low, authoritative as he glanced over the crowd.

            “No patient goes into a room unless it’s a trauma bay, and they will have four patients each. We need to keep everybody out in the open so we can keep an eye on everything, ok? Triage is gonna assess and assign every patient to a specific zone with a coloured slap band,” Robby explained, gesturing to things. Then he pulled out a belt bag with different colour slap bands. “Patient who comes in with a red slap band,” he slapped it on his wrist, “goes to the Red Zone, which is the trauma rooms with overflow out here. These are the most critical patients who will die without immediate attention,” Robby stated. “Samira, where are you?”

            Mohan raised her hand.

            “You are here with Dr. Abbot, me and Y/N,” Robby stated. “Jack’s gonna run traffic.”

            Y/N nodded, meeting Jack’s eye, who sent her a curt nod. He knew she could do this. He taught her more than she needed to know as a nurse. She could perform like a doctor, and with two senior residents down, they needed Y/N. Then a smile came to Y/N’s face as she knew she was allowed to play doctor today.

            Jack just raised a brow at that smile, a silent facial expression of ‘Don’t get ahead of yourself’.

            “We have five minutes to try and stabilise the reds. After that, its OR, ICU or morgue,” Jack said, voice powerful, low but calm. Arms still crossed as he glanced around the room.

            “The south and central common area over there will be the Pink Zone,” Robby said, holding up the pink slap band. “That is for patients who will die under an hour without treatment. McKay and Javadi, you are over there, with help from incoming night shift and surgical staff.” Y/N glanced around before going back to Robby. “Yellow Zone is the North Corridor. Those are gonna be mostly extremity wounds, good vitals, talking,” Robby explained holding up the yellow band now. “Mel, you’re gonna run point there with Santos and Whitaker.”

            Mel looked frazzled. “Uh, what if…what if there’s a pulseless extremity?”

            Jack stared at Mel for a minute, then hummed. “Oh, if you can’t feel a pulse, check for Doppler flow with this,” he said, grabbing onto the butterfly ultrasound machine. “It’s a mini-ultrasound. Follow the screen prompts,” he told her, handing the machine over, eyes glaring into Mel’s. It was as if he was handing her his greatest possession, a subtle glare of ‘take care of this’. Y/N just smirked.

            “But yellow can change to a red if they go south. You got to stay on top of them, even if they seem stable,” Robby explained.

            “Ok, yeah,” Mel mumbled.

            “You got this, Dr. King,” Robby stated, nodding towards the resident. His eyes focused back on the crowd. “Green…minor lacs and sprains. They got to Family Medicine. Black and white bands are DOA, imminent death. Pedes is now our morgue. Let’s hope we don’t get too many of these,” Robby explained, looking over to Jack.

            Jack nodded, then looked back at the crowd now. “We’re a MASH unit now. There’s no charting, no electronic medical records, no board,” he said before pointing to the board.

            “How do we document treatment?” McKay asked, brows furrowed.

            “Oh, you’ll all get Sharpies, and every patient has a wrist chart to document treatment and procedures,” Jack stated, pointing to the wrist chart that Robby was holding up. “You run out of room, write on the patient’s forehead.”

            A snicker came from Y/N.

            “Really?” Javadi asked.         

            Jack stared at the med student for a second. “Yeah, really,” he stated.

            “Each wrist chart has a unique mass casualty incident barcode and patient number. That’s how the patients are gonna get identified,” Robby explained, holding the chart up.

            Jack nodded. “This is no-frills combat zone medicine. No ultrasound, no X-rays, no CT, no labs. Assess based on mental status and pulse strength. Every critical patient gets an IO, intubation, a unit of blood and a chest tube if needed. Everything you need…blood, drugs, bandages…everything will be in the Behavioural Health rooms. That’s our supply depot,” Jack stated, eyes glancing over the room, using his military, authority voice. “Um,” he muttered, thinking, “oh! Keep a couple of 11 blades in your pocket.” Jack leaned down to grab one, which was indeed in his pocket of his cargo pants. “Goal is to resuscitate ASAP so they’ll make it upstairs for definitive care.”

            “Trauma surgery and neurosurgery will decide who goes up to the OR immediately and who goes to the ICU for further treatment and evaluation,” Robby finished before looking over to Jack, who was looking at him. “Communicate. Ask for help if you need it. Trust your attendings,” then Jack and Robby fist bumped. “We will get through this together.”

            “Damn right we will,” Jack replied, nodding.

            Then they were dismissed. Y/N walked up to Jack, who was grabbing supplies. “Jack,” she called out, and he turned to her.

            “Yeah,” he muttered.

            “Tie me, please,” she said with a small smile pointing to her gown. He nodded as she turned her back to him. Jack’s hand came to her neck, pushing her hair aside.

            “Can I have a hair band?” he asked, and Y/N gave him one. Gently, he twirled her hair around, making a small bun before tying it. Then he tied the gown. He leaned into her ear. “How are you doing?” he whispered.

            “I’m fine,” she said, turning around. “You?”

            He shrugged. “Fine.” Though she knows his eyes were saying something else. They stared for a moment. “Are we still going to talk tonight?” he asked, voice low.

            She nodded. “Yeah, of course. But we need to get through this first, ok?”

            He nodded. “Just hate when you keep things from me.”

            Y/N nodded again. “I know. You will know soon.”

            A slow nod came. “So, there is something,” he stated, raising a brow.

            Y/N just stared at him for a minute, mouth opening slightly. “We will talk, ok?” she muttered, voice low now. “When I’m ready,” she added.

            Jack nodded, knowing not to fight her. “We’ve got this, Kid,” he muttered, fist bumping her. “Just keep your head on, listen to my orders and don’t pull anything stupid.”

            Y/N tilted her head and raised a brow. “When have I ever pulled something stupid?” He went to open his mouth to respond. “That ended up with the patient dying…” He shook his head, mouth closing. “Exactly.”

            “Listen, though,” he muttered, hissing tone.

            “Yes, Captain,” she replied, smirking.

-

The first patient was here. Jack and Y/N were in one of the trauma rooms as they worked around one another. It was as if they were back on night shift together, working like a well-oiled machine. Jack was wearing the orange vest that stated, “Primary Emergency MD”.

            Jack was intubating a patient. “I’m in,” he stated as Robby entered the room. “Kid, bag her,” he called out, and Y/N was already doing it as Jack glanced up.

            “O-neg is pouring in,” Y/N stated as she stood there, holding the blood bag and the oxygen bag.

            He nodded to her. “Good.”

            “Stronger pulse,” someone said. “I’ll take her up.”

            “Dr. Mohan, that kid came in with his mom. She says he’s deaf,” Robby stated.

            “Write that on his chart,” Y/N called out.

            Jesse came back in with a blood bag. “Ready with the O-neg.”

            “Wait, wait. Stop,” Robby called out from assessing injuries. “O-positive for males over 13, women over 55,” he stated as he walked over. “O-neg for everybody else.”

            “Hook me up,” Mohan called out.

            Jack came back over, placing an IO in. “IO’s in. Go with O-pos,” he stated. “When there’s no time, bone marrow infusion is as good as an IV.” He worked beside her. Then glanced over to Robby. “Robby, stabilise for the flip.”

            Robby came over as Y/N rounded back to help them flip the patient over to look at the wounds. “He’s got a wound on both sides,” Y/N muttered, looking it over.       “He’s gonna need two chest tubes,” she said, looking over at Jack, who just nodded.

            “Yeah,” he muttered.

            Robby agreed as well. “Need a hand?” he asked.

            “Hell no. I got two hands,” Jack replied before looking up, “and Y/N.” Then Robby was off. Jack started reciting orders to Y/N as she grabbed supplies and helped insert chest tubes with Jack.

            Robby came back over, looking over Jack and Y/N as they worked. “Not a lot of test tube output here,” he said.

            Jack held up a tube. “Looks like this one’s renal,” he said.

            “Golden ticket, directly to surgery!” Walsh called out. Y/N moved to pull the bars up on the gurney, unclicking the brakes.

            “That’s three out of four ORs down,” Robby stated.

            “Another four about to open and all 25 will be ready by the time we need them,” Walsh replied.

            “We could be buried by then,” Robby responded. As Jack, Y/N, Robby and Walsh started to move the gurneys out of the trauma room.

            “No, you won’t. We’ll blast through these, tying off bleeders and slapping on vacuum dressings. We’ll finish the job in a day or two when the dust settles,” Walsh replied as they moved.

            Then they jumped to the next patient. Y/N was already grabbing the oxygen bag, pumping oxygen through the tube.

            “Gunshot to the head,” Jack spoke.

            “Through and through,” Robby responded.

            “Yeah, we still got a strong pulse,” Jack replied. “This one can make it because the intracranial bleed can decompress through the bullet holes.”

“Wash, neurosurgery in house?” Robby called out.

“Yes, send him to the neurocrit ICU. They’ll triage from there,” Walsh replied.

Then they pushed the gurney off to surgery before jumping onto the next one.

-

Jack and Y/N were working, jumping from patient. Some stabilised, some to surgery and some died. Y/N wasn’t thinking about it, just getting her hands bloody and following orders.

            “Listen up!” Dana called out. Jack and Y/N glanced to her before back to their patient. “Central 7, 8, 9 is now the blood donor centre. Anyone who’s O-neg or O-pos, we need you to donate now. Hands where I can see them.” Dana threw her hand up while glancing around. People placed their hands up. “Ok, let’s do this.”

            Jack looked at Y/N. “Go donate, Dove,” he said before looking down. “You’re O-pos,” he stated before going back to the patient. “I’m going to do it soon,” he added.

            Y/N stared at him for a moment, swallowing. “I can’t donate,” she muttered, squeezing the oxygen bag.

            Jack’s brows furrowed. “Why can’t you donate? Have you already donated?” he asked, continuing to work.

            “No, I just can’t donate right now,” she responded.

            “Another nurse can take over. Go donate,” he said, voice gruff.

            Y/N sighed. “Jack, you’re not hearing me. I can’t donate,” she said again. However, she couldn’t donate because she was pregnant hours ago and had a miscarriage. People who are pregnant or who have had a miscarriage within six weeks can’t donate as she was less than 12 weeks pregnant.

            Jack finally looked up from the patient.

            “Why not?” he asked, brow furrowed, tone still clipped from the adrenaline. “You’re not sick. You’re not on antibiotics. No blood-borne diseases. What’s the issue?”

            Y/N kept her eyes on the patient, hand steady as she continued her job. But her face had gone pale, lips pressed tight.

            “I just can’t, Jack.”

            He paused, eyes narrowing, not because he was angry, but because she wasn’t telling him something. She never snapped like that unless something was wrong. Really wrong.

            “Dove, he said more quietly, leaning toward her. “What’s going on?”

            “Nothing,” she muttered quickly, eyes flickering from his and looking back at the patient. He didn’t buy it. Not for a second.

            “Y/N, look at me,” he hissed, voice low, not mad, but stern.

            Y/N glanced up at him. His whiskey-coloured eyes, jaw tight as he stared at her. His gown was covered in blood, hands were too with safety glasses on. They stared at one another. He raised a brow. “Why?” he asked, voice low. “Tell me now.”

            She stayed quiet for a moment. This was not how she planned on telling him, but she couldn’t lie. He’d stiff it out.

            “Y/N,” he said again.

            “You can’t donate blood within six weeks of miscarriage if you were less than twelve weeks pregnant,” she mumbled, looking back down.

            His gaze was still on her. Jack remained motionless. The world around them kept moving – monitors beeped, staff shouted vitals, the ER was pulsing with pressure and blood and trauma, but for Jack, everything stopped as he narrowed down at her.

            “What?” he said, not loud…flat. Disbelieving. Like his brain had frozen for a second and needed her to rewind. He was a careful listener. Never since she had known him was he someone who asked people to repeat things.

            Y/N swallowed hard, her gloves slick with someone else’s blood. She didn’t look back up.

            “You heard me. So, drop it,” she whispered. Then she went back to her work.

            Jack didn’t move. “When did it happen?” he asked.

            “I said drop it,” she responded.

            Jack’s chest rose slowly, like he was trying to control something deep, rage, grief, panic, all of it slamming into him at once with no space to release. He took a half a step back, jaw clenched as he stared at her.

            “Dove–“

            “Not now, Dr. Abbot,” she said. “We have patients–“

            “When were you going to tell me?” he asked.

            Y/N groaned, rolling her head back. “Tonight. I was going to tell you tonight.”

            His brows furrowed for a second, brain calculating, then he whispered, “You miscarried today, didn’t you?” he asked. “You were late this morning. Off. Blunt with me.”

            Y/N stared at him. “I was going to tell you tonight. Everything, ok? Everything. But, I will be honest, you coming in here wearing the ring she put on your finger as you said vows made me not want to tell you tonight because you only wear it when you’re not doing ok.”      Jack stood there, eyes locked on hers, his chest still rising too slowly – like every breath had to be forced. His jaw twitched once. Then again.

            “That ring’s not about her,” he said, voice low, thick. “It’s about loss. It’s about what I couldn’t fix. What I failed to keep alive. I rushed over here once I heard about this on the police scanner. Totally forgot it was on.” Y/N just stared at him, and he stared back. “You should’ve told me this morning, Dove. I literally pulled you aside and–”

            They stared at one another. “You have no right to be mad, Jack.”    

            “I’m not mad, I’m disappointed,” he said lowly. “Because we made this clear that we are in this as teammates, partners, and we don’t hide things from one another. We don’t suffer alone. We don’t debate about telling the other something because you’re being petty about something from my past. We’ve been together for six years, Y/N. You know better.”

            Y/N stared at him. Wide eyes as those words came out. She shook her head, then called out for another nurse. “Fuck you, Jack,” she muttered, handing the oxygen bag to Holly and she walked away.

            “Y/N!” he called out, but she continued to walk away from him. “Jesus,” he muttered before jumping back to his patient.

            Robby glanced over, seeing them, looking over at Jack, then Y/N as she went to a different patient. Why were they ending their normal teamwork? Was Robby’s question.

-

Y/N was with Dr. Mohan, trying to stabilise a patient. It might’ve been fifteen minutes since Y/N walked away from Jack. She could not think about that now. She needed to get through this without thinking about her personal problems. She was at work. This was the time to think about work.

            “Need some help with an airway!” Mohan called out as Y/N held the intubation tube with one hand and pressed a gauze on a wound with the other.

            “What is it?” Robby asked, coming over.

            “GSW to the neck with expanding hematoma and distorted anatomy – can’t intubate him. Probably hit the carotid,” Mohan explained as Robby jumped in. Y/N removed the gauze so he could look at it.

            “Ok,” Robby muttered.

            “I’ll do the airway,” she heard that distinct voice behind her. Closing her eyes, she glanced to Jack who looked at her for a moment before grabbing his pen light to check the pupils.

            “Ace, give me a 6.5 and a bougie,” Robby called out and Y/N moved, grabbing supplies.

            “I got the bleeder,” Jack said, flashing the pen light into the patient’s eyes. Then he looked up at Y/N. “Kid, Foley catheter with a 30 cc balloon,” he said, voice low and stern.

            “Are you donating?” Mohan asked as Y/N came back.

            “O-neg, yeah,” he muttered before looking at Y/N who gave him the supplies. She glanced down at his leg, the left one (which was not his prosthetic) had a bag attached to it with bandage holding it to his leg.

            Y/N scoffed, shaking her head.

            “It’s too bloody to see a bougie,” Mohan replied.

            “Not for this. Three-step process. Step one, scalpel,” Robby replied, slicing the patient’s neck. “Step two, finger. Step three, bougie.” Robby said as Y/N handed them supplies when asked for.

            The balloon inflated on the device once inserted.

            “Ok, railroad in the tube,” Jack muttered.

Y/N grasped the tube, helping insert it further.

            “Ok, bag him,” Robby called out as he grabbed the bag.

            “Dressing off,” Jack muttered. “Foley’s in. Blow up a balloon.”

            “30 cc’s in,” Mohan replied as they worked.

            “Clamping,” Jack said as Y/N took the bag from Robby, slowly starting to squeeze it to give oxygen. “Look at that,” Jack replied, smirking as he looked up to his audience. “Dry as a bone.”

            “Woohoo!” Robby replied, smirking as well. Then talked about the logistics of moving the patient to the OR.

            Once wheeled away, Jack stood in front of Y/N. They didn’t say anything, but she could tell through his eyes that he was sympathetic. He walked up to her, leaning in and whispering, “I love you. Ok?” Y/N nodded. He didn’t say it a lot. A man of few words when it comes to feelings, but he shows it in ways. So, to hear that, her heart warmed. “Come. Help me. You’re my sidekick,” he stated, nodding to the next patient.

            Jack walked over to his backpack, the camo one he brought everywhere with him. He was looking for things in it while Y/N stood next to him. “I found out yesterday,” she whispered. He looked over. “That I was pregnant.”

            He nodded. “Dana was the one who suggested it. Never crossed my mind,” she began to whisper as he continued to look in his bag. “So, I haven’t been keeping this from you for a long time. I worked the day shift yesterday, you came in for the night shift. I went home, saw you this morning. I just haven’t been able to see you one-on-one and I know you, Jack. You wouldn’t want me to tell you at work.” He nodded. “I miscarried around two p.m. today. Twenty-four hours, all it was between finding out about it and losing it.”

            Then he glanced over at her, seeing her leaning against the nurses’ station while he was fishing for supplies in his bag. He bit down on his lip. “Ok, we will talk more at home. Just,” he sighed, “don’t suffer alone. Ok?” She nodded. Then Jack spotted Robby and Mohan with a police officer patient. “Come,” he said, brushing her arm and pulling her to him.

            “You’re doing a crike?” Jack asked as he stood next to the gurney.

            “Yep,” Robby replied. Y/N came over, taking over for Princess so she could go help another patient. “No skin hooks, no bougie…old school,” Robby added.

            “I got a tactical airway in my bag here,” Jack said, looking up and smirking as he brought out the kit.

            “What is that?” Mohan asked.

            “Fun. It’s a kit of fun,” Y/N muttered, chuckling. Jack and his emergency medicine supplies he kept at home…

            “It’s a control crike kit,” Jack said as he began to unpack it.

            “Oh, that’s perfect,” Robby replied. “Use that on the battlefield.”

            “Works in the pitch-dark when you’re under fire,” Jack replied pulling the supplies and starting to use them. “I can do these with my eyes closed.” Then he started to show Mohan how to do it. “The knife leaves a trach hook behind, so you can’t miss, right? Just,” he mumbled, inserting the knife and hook, “good. You slide in the introducer.” Jack was perfect at it. Absolutely perfect and he looked up to Y/N then back down. “Feel the tracheal rings. Good. Bob’s your uncle,” Jack said, pulling away. The crike was performed.

            Y/N smirked, chuckling and shaking her head.

            “That was incredibly fast,” Mohan replied.

            Jack glanced up and just shrugged as if it was nothing, no big deal.

“Ballon is up,” Robby muttered.

“Why don’t we stock these?” Mohan asked.

“No room in the budget,” replied Robby.

Y/N looked at Mohan. “They are like three hundred bucks for a kit,” she said, shrugging, connecting the tube to the bag so the patient could get oxygen. “Yellow on end-tidal,” Y/N muttered, looking up.

Everyone smiled and gleamed when Y/N said that.

“It’s ok now?” the officer behind her asked. The patient was a police officer on the table.

“Yeah,” Jack responded, nodding.

“Thank you, Dr. Abbot,” Robby hummed, smirking. Fist bumps went all around. “Ok, let’s pack the oral cavity with Kerlix and see how fast Head and Neck can take him up to the OR,” Robby said to the team. “Great job everybody.”

They all nodded and Robby stepped away.

Mohan looked at Jack. “What else do you got in your go bag?” she asked, grinning, impressed with his tricks and tools.

“Oh, just wait and see,” he responded with a hum before Mohan walked away.

Y/N looked at him as she continued squeezing the bag. “Impressive, Captain,” she whispered, and he looked at her, shrugged.

“You know how to do it,” he responded, “could’ve done it, Kid.”

Y/N stared at him. “You’re telling me now?” she whispered, yelled. “You seriously would’ve let me use your emergency crike kit on this patient?” Her voice was full of excitement but also disappointment because she missed her opportunity.

“Yeah, but you didn’t ask,” he hummed. “All my late-night date night teaching gone to waste,” he joked.

“You didn’t suggest it!” she scoffed. He just smiled at her wickedly. “Fucking tease.”

            However, before Jack could retort, someone screamed “Gun!” multiple times. Instantly, Jack’s hand was on Y/N’s back, commanding and pulling her down with him to the ground. His hand stayed there, glancing over at her, but she was more focused on seeing what was happening. She tried to look, but Jack pulled her back.

            “Stay down,” he hissed, looking straight into her eyes. Y/N just nodded.

            The SWAT team went over, grabbing the gun from the patient who had it strapped to his foot.

            “All clear,” Langdon called out.

            Y/N and Jack slowly stood up again.

            “Fucking hell,” she muttered before walking to another patient.

-

Y/N was with Jack when Leah came in, Jake’s girlfriend. Y/N was still working alongside Jack. “Jake’s here,” Y/N muttered to Jack. “With his new girlfriend, Leah. They went to PittFest together,” she told Jack. Jake and Beckett were close. Jake was seventeen and Beckett just about to hit twenty. The five of them – Jack, Y/N, Beckett, Robby and Jake have gone to events and or even camping trips together.

            Jack glanced up to look at Robby who was helping Leah.

            “Doesn’t look good,” he muttered to Y/N.

“Do you want me to go over there?” she asked him as he worked around her. “To Robby?”

            Jack looked at her, shaking his head. “Too many bodies, stay here,” he stated, then gave her commands on what to do.

            They continued to work together, but both would secretly look up to check on what was happening to Leah in the distance. However, it did not look promising.

            Jack glanced up at Robby. “What’s your next move, boss?” he called out.

            “Platelets, another unit. And then we can transfuse her with her own blood from the Pleur-evac to get ahead,” Robby called out. “Hang the cell saver.”

            Jack and Y/N met eyes and shook their heads together.

            “Squeeze all this in?” Dana asked.

            “No. Three-way stopcock on a 60-cc syringe,” Robby replied to Dana. “I’ll push-pull.”

            “Jack, this,” Y/N tried, but Jack nodded.

            “I know, Kid.” Then he looked over to Robby. “Not exactly in our mass casualty game plan,” he called over to Robby while squeezing a bag of blood into his patient.

            Robby continued to do compressions, and Y/N just shook her head.

            Minutes later, they overheard how Leah still didn’t have a pulse, compressions were still going, and several units of blood had been used. Jack muttered something under his breath. Something about Robby not being able to divide the work with the personal in this situation.

            “Jack, that’s his stepson’s girlfriend,” Y/N tried to reason as they worked.

            “I know,” Jack replied. “But if this were any other day, all good. But right now, we are in a mass casualty, and this is going against the plan. She is using up supplies,” he told her, briefing looking at her.

            “What if it was Beckett and he had a girlfriend–“ Y/N tried. Jack had been in Beckett’s life since he was fourteen. Y/N raised him since he was four after her mother ditched them. Beckett was like Jack’s son.

            “We are not playing ‘what if’ right now, Kid,” he stated. “This is not the time for that game. So, I’m not going to be answering that question.” Dana walked over to grab more blood from the cooler. Jack noticed. “Four units,” he muttered. Then he called out, “Blood is for the ones we can save.”

            Robby replied instantly, “She is right on the edge. One more can make the difference.”

            Y/N and Jack finished stabilising their patient. “O-neg. Monitor the pulse. She’s stable for trauma ICU if an OR’s not ready,” he called out to the nurse who was taking their patient away now.

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest as she looked at Dana. Jack then glanced up. The couple were looking at the charge nurse, raising a brow. Dana just shook her head. Jack instantly removed the safety glasses and came over to Leah. Y/N followed.

He stood next to Robby. Y/N kept her distance. “How many units so far?” he asked.

Robby took a deep breath, but didn’t answer.

“Four, plus the cell saver,” a nurse said.

“Last one?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know,” Robby muttered, shaking his head. “Dana, why don’t we try a little TXA? 1,000 milligrams of TXA might help her clot,” Robby spoke up.

“Got it,” Dana replied.

Y/N kept standing there, behind Jack. Her hand reached out but then pulled away. She took a deep breath.

“Bullet tore through her heart,” Jack muttered before looking at his friend. “Anyone else with a wound like this is pronounced dead in the field. You can’t keep up with the blood loss. If she were our only patient, we’d do a thoracotomy, maybe ECMO. But even then, I doubt we’d get her back,” Jack continued, voice low.

“Robby, we’re gonna lose ten other patients if you put all your efforts into saving this girl,” Y/N spoke up.

Jack glanced over his shoulder. “Exactly. Kid’s right,” he muttered.

Robby glanced over his shoulder, looking at the scene. Y/N’s eyes darted between Jack’s and then to Robby.

“Got the TXA,” Dana replied.

Robby looked back over. “Ok, push it fast, and we’ll do another pulse check. And then can you get me a vascular Doppler too, please?” Robby asked, looking at Dana.

Jack placed his glasses back on, looking at Y/N. She stayed quiet.

“GSW to the chest, faint pulse,” someone called out, and Y/N instantly turned, grabbing gloves and walking over.

“Jack,” she called over her shoulder.

Jack broke his eye contact with Robby to the incoming patient. “Intubation, IO, chest tube, and a unit of blood,” he called out.

“On it,” Y/N replied, then Jack came over.

They were working when Santos appeared in front of them. Y/N glanced over as Jack kept focus.

“Where’s Robby?”

“In BH-2 with the possible shooter,” Princess replied.

“Can you guys take a new patient?” Santos asked.

This made Jack look up to the intern. “Not right now. What do you got?” he asked, looking at her briefly before going back to his work.

“Hypotensive pelvic bleed,” Santos replied.

“Transfuse two units. We’ll get to it,” Jack replied. However, then Langdon called for Jack.

“Abbot! I got a carotid injury, popped a clot!” Langdon called out.

“I’ll be right there!” Jack replied, then he looked at Y/N. “Kid, take over. You know what to do,” he said, patting her on the back and leaving. Y/N jumped in.

taglist:

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@kmc1989

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@meowmeowyoongles

-

Hope you enjoyed. xoxo

Send in imagine requests for Dove & Captain!

Ava <3

[xylatox]

frostbite || psh

Awake and ready to read another Rain fic :) The synopsis literally enraptured me, I'm so glad I can finally read it!!

Writing this as I've finished sharing my thoughts, apologies its longer than intended hehe.

Sunghoon walked into the rink like a fallen prince returning to a ruined kingdom. — I wanna talk about a LoL character here so bad because of the simile used but I'll shut my yap on that today :)

Oh my god, the way you described how the cold was welcomed?? I am on my knees for thst expression.

I always love to read the writing of others because you always see the difference in the way things are said, the way certain things are articulated that makes them, well, uniquely them just makes me so happy to see. I love the uniqueness of us as humans. I'm saying all this to say, I love how natural you right Rain, it feels almost as if you are speaking to me; something that feels so comforting I'd say, never lose that part about you ♡

Not because he hadn’t heard, but because he had. Her voice sank beneath his skin like snowmelt — cold, but oddly soft. He hated that about her. Hated how she turned everything into beauty. How she made it look easy. — unfortunately I am very much Sunghoon in this moment. Especially from the standpoint as an ex-athlete, the grumpy, hatred feelings were definitely present with me when I was in that space.

Not because she was cold, but because she was warm — the kind of warm you feel right before the skin goes numb. Right before the blood stops moving. Right before the damage sets in. She had felt like that from the start. Quick. Unexpected. Beautiful.  — this is such a beautiful expression, oh my god.

“Sharing a rink with Park Sunghoon? Pfft. Easy. He’s just one very grumpy man with a stick. It’s basically like living with a thunderstorm. Moody, loud, and occasionally electric — but you bring an umbrella and move on.” — I can't help but think she's adorable

You didn’t speak. Not once. But you felt him. And somehow, that was worse. Every time he passed, your chest tightened just a little, remembering the way his voice had clipped those words this morning, how he’d tossed your world aside with a single breath. But the cold has a way of preserving more than just bruises; it clears the mind, too. By the time practice wound to a close, your hurt had melted into determination, soft and fierce. — god my heart hurts but not in the typical sense, it just :(( idk how to explain it. Also it's taking everything in me to not reference every other paragraph you wrote because I just love every moment??

God, from mc offering to help Hoon with his form (God bless her heart) and Hoon calling her Sunshine? which has like the most miniscule bite to it, i absolutely love it.

Also Ruka's behaviour at the rink, I want to comment on how off-putting it is, but I'll wait till later in the fic :)

Jake's girlfriend mention🤭Jake fic remembered😞 ugh fine I'll reread it.

“Hear me out. I’ve been thinking and don’t roll your eyes, this is important I’ve been thinking that maybe, just maybe, you need me.” He didn’t look up. You didn’t let it stop you. “Your form is off. I’m not just saying that to be annoying. I mean, I am annoying, but not this time. You’re straining the wrong muscle groups and you’re compensating for your knee in a way that’s going to make it worse. You’re going to tear something again and then you really won’t be able to play. And I know, I know I’m just a figure skater and you think I don’t get it, but we fall for a living. Literally. And we fall well. We learn to twist midair so the ice kisses us instead of cracking us open, and I could show you, I could help you—”  SHES SO CUTE😭😭😭😭😭 OH MY GOD SHE IS ADORABLE, forget Hoon I want her, she's such a cutie ugh.

Also the Sunshine nickname has me weak in the knees, it's so ahh??? I naturally am more of a grumpy cat person sadly but it's so heartwarming when people are just naturally so sweet. It nice to see it since I'm so guarded, living through her in this moment.

Bambi-on-ice :( a cutie pie

“Hockey’s the love of my life,” he said, eyes sharp like ice shards, like truth he’d carved out long ago. “That’s enough for me.” You tilted your head, letting your hair fall like a curtain of gold and starlight across your cheek. “That’s a sad way to live,” you said gently, not accusing, just… observing. “Everyone deserves to love. To be loved.” — I didn't expect to feel sad reading this :') I unfortunately see myself a bit too much in how Hoon is portrayed (which is absolutely lovely) and I think that's why it hurts to see :(

Ah, I am back to make my comment on Ruka and in fact, the distaste I had for her initially has increased ten-fold. I do not take kindly to people talking I'll of others especially when you don't know them or what they've been true...I'm annoyed 💀

He smirked then, small, fleeting. Like sunrise just peeking over frostbitten windows. “Heeseung says that all the time.” — I know Heeseung was mentioned earlier, but I'm going to particularly reference this one because the pancakes statement was so cute and Hee's cute like that (if it's obvious I'm Hee biased we ignore it :) ). I do love the moment between them at the diner, I think it's really sweet and shows the progression of their relationship

You blinked, surprised by the breach in his usual barricade. “It’s set to Clair de Lune,” you said quietly, suddenly shy. “I wanted something soft this time. Something like… falling in love with the sky.” — as a child when I played piano more often I was so obsessed with Claire de Lune :((

The mc talking so sweetly about Ruka just shows how wonderful she is as a person with no Ill intent towards her and Ruka just....disappoints somehow.

GIRL😭not her lying about seeing him after the mc just saw him. She's too sweet because I would've definitely mentioned just seeing him😭😭 girl be fr.

After you mentioned Claire de Lune, I went to relisten to it for the memories, and as I read, I feel like their story is like that song. Their feelings aren't obvious and in your face, but it's soft, slowly creeping in and it comforts you in the progression that their relationship takes.

AND THE KISS😭😭when it happens it feels like the highlight of the song begins, ugh I absolutely love it. Your writing is so inspiring Rain. And also laughing at Ruka (not literally but in a scorpio sense), I'm so glad she saw that.

HOW DOES RUKA MAKE IT WORSE FOR HERSELF???? OH MY GOD. I love that Hoon stands up for her :( ik it's like basic stuff but that means the world to me.

He didn’t say a word. Instead, his hands found your waist. Not rough or hurried, just certain. He pulled you into him like gravity had finally done its job. And before your voice could form another word, his mouth was on yours. Soft. Fierce. Unapologetic. Your breath caught in your chest, surprise flaring wide in your eyes, but you melted into him with instinct. There was no hesitation in the way you kissed him back. For a moment the ice outside, the night, the ache of the past, none of it existed. There was only the warmth of his touch, the sincerity of his hold, the vulnerability in that kiss.  — god. God.....God oh my wow. This??? Rain girl you left me speechless

He pressed you back against the lockers again — not harshly, never harshly — but close enough that you could feel every breath, every heartbeat, every inch of tension. His hands gripped your waist like he needed the contact to stay steady, like if he let go, the whole world might stop turning. “God,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick and rough and nothing like the usual sharp-edged sarcasm. “You drive me crazy.” — haha I am also being driven crazy rn

IM SO GLAD MC FINALLY MET THE BOYS!!! EEK!!

“Hey, Ruka! You made it, have you met everyone?” The sweetness in your tone was genuine, like you hadn’t noticed the way her eyes cut through you, like maybe this time would be different, like maybe she’d smile back and offer a polite nod. But she didn’t. — I will sob mc is so fucking sweet oh my god.

Also Ruka is so fucking evil? idk how else to phrase it but is it thst hard seeing people happy?

“Wait—please,” Sunghoon called out, breathless. You spun on him just as he reached the porch, voice trembling with hurt and rage. “Don’t.”— god my poor baby :(

“I love you.” — I will throw up. And he diednt follow this time I feel sick

“I just wanted to feel safe with you,” you continue, softer now. “I wanted to be seen. And Ruka… she hates me for reasons I can’t understand. I don’t want to be in competition with her. I don’t want any of this.” His hand tightens around yours. “I know. And I hate that I let her use me like that. That I gave her the opening. But I swear to you none of what I said was real. You are not a waste of time. You are the only thing in my life that makes sense.” You lean your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his in the cold air between you. — sorry for referencing this entire moment, I absolutely could not help it I feel so sick.

When you part, your foreheads stay pressed together. His thumb brushes away your tears. “I forgive you,” you murmur, voice trembling. “But please… no more lies. Not even the ones you tell yourself.”— god, I love the mc so much.

You're watching him. And he's not just skating. He's flying. — oh my god.

Rain. This was such a beautiful piece. It was so comforting, especially from the standpoint of someone who was an athlete who used to compete and got an injury. My place in the sporting world unfortunately was something bittersweet (being more bitter than anything else) but your piece bought me comfort, helping me realize that it isn't so bad to feel if that makes sense? I love that it showed a healthy approach of being able to still continue in the athlete world even though injuries happen.

There was something really healing when Hoon was able to go back on ice. After I got injured, it was left to fester, despite doing physical therapy, I still have pain to this day unfortunately. I left my world of sport 2 years ago not because of the damage (something I was willing to take) but the treatment.

I'm just saying all this to say, thank you, Rain :) ♡

FROSTBITE p.sh

synopsis ⤑ Sunghoon’s injury was comparable to the end of the world, at least for him it was. Having not been cleared in time to start practice with his team, Sunghoon is stuck practicing alone after hours, except he's not alone. Forced to share the rink with the practicing figure skaters was his version of hell, especially when one of them couldn't shut up about the fact that the world was their oyster and taking a positive look on life was the only way to live? How could he be positive when the only thing that made him happy was taken away from him. She had felt like frostbite sinking into his skin. Frostbite was quick, it stung and then it killed before you could even see it coming.

pairings ⤑ hockey player!sunghoon x figure skater!reader word count ⤑ 25k

warnings ⤑ smut, mentions of injury, grumpy x sunshine, ft. Ruka from baby monster, angst, probably more I'm missing...reader is heavily inspired by my yapping baby @beomiracles (serene).

crossing the line masterlist here.

Prologue. 

Sunghoon walked into the rink like a fallen prince returning to a ruined kingdom.

The cold welcomed him. Not with open arms, but with teeth. It bit through the seams of his hoodie, gnawed at the edges of his breath, and curled around the ache in his knee like a reminder. The air here was always sharp, always clean, always brimming with the promise of speed and sweat and glory. But tonight, it only felt hollow. Like an echo of the past, stretched thin over the bones of now. His blades scraped against the ice with a sound that used to thrill him. Now it felt surgical, sterile, like a scalpel carving open the truth he couldn’t avoid. 

He wasn’t on the team. Not really. Not anymore. Not while he recovered. And to Sunghoon, that meant the end of the world. Not playing hockey was his apocalypse. Jay said he needed time. Coach Bennett had nodded, voice clipped and clinical, masking the decision behind phrases like “risk mitigation” and “long-term recovery.” But Sunghoon knew what it meant: they didn’t trust his body, and maybe just maybe they didn’t trust him. What a load of bullshit. Sunghoon could play through the pain. He’s done it before. He wasn’t one to shy away from a little leg injury. Who cares, he’d push through. That’s what real pros did and Sunghoon would be a real pro one day. 

He clenched his jaw as the thought burned through him. His knee twinged again, and he tried not to limp, tried to walk like it didn’t hurt, tried to be the player he used to be. Every movement felt like a performance for an audience that had already left the theater. And then he heard it. A laugh. Light and lilted, drifting through the rink like glitter in a snow globe. He didn’t need to turn to know who it belonged to.

The figure skaters were still here. Of course they were. Sunghoon let out a groan, loud enough to be heard, sharp enough to cut. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. She was the worst of them. Not in talent, but in spirit. Always smiling, always talking like life was some golden sunrise just waiting to be kissed. She had that annoying, relentless optimism, the kind that made Sunghoon’s blood itch. It wasn't just naive — it was offensive. Especially to someone like him, whose world had cracked open and swallowed him whole. How can someone look at the world and life and all that it offers and be happy about that? Life chewed you up and spit you out like old gum whenever it had the chance. 

She was all light. He was the void that light avoided. Still, she twirled like the world had never wronged her. Every glide, every spin, every leap across the ice was effortless. She was a poem written in motion. And somehow, her presence made the silence of his isolation scream louder. He dragged a puck across the rink, his stick slicing through the quiet like a blade. The sound was dull, defeated. She didn’t leave. Of course not. She was too kind or too stubborn or too oblivious to understand that he didn’t want to share this place. Not with anyone. Especially not her. She skated past, the breeze of her motion catching his hoodie, lifting it for a fraction of a second. She left behind a sentence as light as her blades: “Pretty night, huh? Ice looks good.” 

Sunghoon didn’t respond. 

Not because he hadn’t heard, but because he had. Her voice sank beneath his skin like snowmelt — cold, but oddly soft. He hated that about her. Hated how she turned everything into beauty. How she made it look easy. But figure skaters didn’t know what it was to fall and stay broken. They didn’t know what it was to wake every day and feel your identity splinter under your ribs. They didn’t know how it felt to sit in the stands while your teammates practiced without you. Laughed without you. Moved on without you.  

He looked at her then, really looked. And for a moment, he thought of frostbite. 

Not because she was cold, but because she was warm — the kind of warm you feel right before the skin goes numb. Right before the blood stops moving. Right before the damage sets in. She had felt like that from the start. Quick. Unexpected. Beautiful. 

And by the time he noticed her, by the time he realized she was changing something in him, it was already too late. 

After. 

Sunghoon didn’t look at you again. Not when you moved like a falling star tracing soft-burning arcs in a frozen sky. Not when your laughter spilled into the rafters, bright as windchimes caught in a spring storm. Not even when you passed close enough for your perfume, warm citrus and something he couldn’t name to slip beneath his guard and settle in his lungs like memory. He focused instead on his own rhythm. On fury and fire, on the merciless repetition of sprints. Forward, brake. Backward, pivot. Turn. Drive. His blades carved the ice with the same fury that burned behind his eyes, every motion a prayer to reclaim what he’d lost. 

Jay said he wasn’t ready. Coach Bennett nodded like a verdict had been passed, and just like that, his kingdom of ice and glory had crumbled beneath him. Now, he ran drills alone in the shadow-hours, a ghost trying to resurrect himself one sharp breath at a time. This was supposed to be penance. Precision. Control. But then there was you. 

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not really. Not like that. Not with your reckless grace and your endless optimism. You spun where he sprinted. You leapt where he lunged. And you smiled like life hadn’t carved a hole in your chest and left you breathless in the wreckage. You were a contradiction. Light in a place he’d turned dark on purpose. 

Still, he moved around you. Like a storm steering around a cathedral. Like a soldier tiptoeing through a garden he didn’t believe in. Until you skated into his path. He didn’t see you at first, he was locked in the repetition, the heartbeat-thunder of his blades slicing the world into before and after. But then, there you were, gliding in without hesitation, your body all poetry and provocation.  

Sunghoon veered, instinct sharp and immediate. His edge caught. Balance tipped. His world lurched and for one heart-clenching second, he was weightless and helpless and human. He caught himself on the boards with a sharp breath, pain flashing down his leg like a warning flare. Behind him, your voice rose, bright, amused, infuriating.  

“That was a triple lutz of fury. You okay, Mr. Thundercloud?” He turned slowly, every muscle tight with the effort not to snap. 

“This is a hockey rink,” he bit out, eyes dark, voice heavy with disdain. “Not a ballerina recital.” 

You just grinned, like you hadn’t heard the venom — or worse, didn’t care. “It’s called figure skating,” you replied, the words wrapped in sunlight and sarcasm. “But I’ll let the insult slide… this time.” He stared at you for a beat too long. You were smiling. Like you’d won something. Like this was a game and he was your opponent. And for the briefest, strangest moment, he forgot how to breathe. 

Then he scoffed under his breath, muttered something bitter and small, and pushed off again away from your voice, your grin, your golden defiance. But your laughter followed him across the ice, light as snowfall, impossible to ignore. He skated harder. Faster. Angry at the sound. Angrier at the way it stayed. You were the flame he never meant to touch. But you’d already left blisters behind. 

The house loomed before him, golden-lit and quiet in the blue hush of evening. Sunghoon stepped across the threshold like a soldier returning from war, though the battlefield had only been frozen water and a girl who laughed like she belonged to the light. He limped. Not dramatically he would never allow that but enough that each step sent sparks of fire through his knee. His leg was screaming, a symphony of torn sinew and stubborn pride. He didn’t slow. Wouldn’t. Not for pain. Not for anyone. 

The frat house was unusually still for a Friday night. No bass shaking the walls. No shouted dares or the sound of someone racing through the halls with a fire extinguisher again. Just a soft, echoing quiet that pressed against the walls like an old quilt — threadbare, familiar. Heeseung was probably with his girlfriend, tangled up in the kind of love that softened even his sharpest sarcasm. And Jake, well, Jake had been quieter lately too. Ever since his girlfriend’s due date began casting long shadows across his smile. The house had learned to tiptoe around anticipation, around the hush of something sacred arriving. 

Sometimes Jay played his guitar in the evenings, those bittersweet chords bleeding down the stairs like spilled wine. But tonight, there was no music. Only the faint crackle of something cooking and the rhythmic clink of a wooden spoon against a pot. Sunghoon followed the scent to the kitchen, where Jay stood at the stove in a hoodie and sweatpants, sleeves pushed to his elbows, stirring something that smelled warm and nostalgic, tomato sauce, maybe. Garlic. Something close to comfort. 

Jay glanced up, eyes flicking to the limp before Sunghoon could hide it. “You okay?” he asked, brow creasing. “You’re pushing too hard again. You need to slow down.” 

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched. The words hit like cold water, shocking, unwelcome. He dropped his stick against the wall with a dull thunk, the sound far too final. “I don’t need your concern,” he snapped, voice low, bitter. “And I sure as hell don’t need advice from the guy who kicked me off the team.” 

Jay’s stirring paused. The kitchen seemed to hold its breath. “You weren’t kicked off,” Jay said carefully, like choosing the wrong word might light a fuse. “It’s a recovery period. You know that. It’s just protocol—” 

“Protocol?” Sunghoon echoed, a scoff splitting the word in two. “You think I care what the official term is? You benched me, Jay. You and Coach. And now you want to play big brother?” Jay turned fully now, eyes steady but tired. “It’s not about playing anything. I care, Sunghoon. That’s why we’re doing this. You’re not ready yet.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” 

“Someone has to.” 

There it was. The truth, bare and blunt. And it cracked something in Sunghoon, something already splintered beneath the surface. He stepped back, breath short, throat tight with all the things he didn’t want to admit: that the rink didn’t feel the same, that he wasn’t sure he’d ever skate like he used to, that you haunted the corners of his mind like a flame that refused to go out. He turned on his heel, ignoring the flare of pain that shot up his leg. “Whatever. Just—keep your advice to yourself.” 

And then he was out of the kitchen, storming up the stairs two at a time like he could leave the conversation behind if he moved fast enough. The pain chased him anyway. At the top of the landing, he paused, one hand on the railing, the other clenched into a fist. The house was silent again. Jay hadn’t followed. The scent of sauce still lingered, but it no longer smelled like comfort. It smelled like a life that was continuing without him. 

He exhaled shakily. And behind his eyes, he saw the rink. Saw you. Spinning like the world was made of light. Smiling like you’d never been broken. He hated that it stayed with him. Hated it more that he wanted it to. 

Your dorm room was warm in the way a lived-in space should be. Golden light pooled against the far wall like honey, slanting through the blinds in stripes, soft and sleepy. The hum of a quiet Friday night filtered in through the window, distant laughter, footsteps echoing down the hall, the occasional door creak or hallway chatter swallowed by plaster walls. 

Ruka was where she always was at this hour, curled up at her desk like a monk in silent study, her headphones draped loosely around her neck, textbooks spread like sacred offerings across the surface. She barely glanced up when you opened the door, nose buried in something with a terrifying title, highlighter held like a dagger mid-stroke. You didn’t mind. 

The two of you weren’t close, not in the way girls braided hair and whispered secrets into pillows at three in the morning. But there was a quiet kind of companionship in coexisting. She listened. You filled the air. She was younger than you, ran with a different crowd. 

As always, you started talking. Words spilled from your mouth like marbles from an upturned jar, clattering over every thought you hadn’t had time to process. You flopped onto your bed and kicked off your shoes, legs hanging over the side like punctuation. “I swear the rink was cursed today. I could feel it in the air — like the ghosts of last season were judging me. And someone — won’t name names — almost ran me over. Again. Do I have a sign on my back that says ‘human speed bump’? Honestly, it’s impressive how fast he moves for someone with a busted knee. Like, hello? Take a nap, eat a granola bar, embrace mortality or something—” 

You paused to take a breath, dragging your fingers through your hair. “Anyway,” you continued, flopping dramatically onto your back, staring up at the ceiling as if it held answers. “I survived. Mostly. Though Park Sunghoon nearly gave me frostbite with just a look. I swear, I’ve never seen someone skate like they’re mad at God.” That was when Ruka looked up. 

It was subtle — a tilt of the head, a flicker of curiosity beneath her steady gaze. But you caught it. The way her highlighter froze mid-air. The way one perfectly arched brow quirked in delicate, deliberate motion. “Wait,” she said slowly, voice soft but edged with intrigue. “Park Sunghoon?” 

You blinked, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Yeah?” 

“The hockey player?” 

You nodded, slower this time, as if each motion unlocked some hidden meaning. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, so rare and quiet it felt like catching a butterfly mid-flight. “He’s really cute,” she said simply. “I kind of have a crush on him.” And just like that, the air shifted. 

Not drastically, no thunderclap, no sudden gust, but in the way a still lake ripples when someone tosses a stone. The world tilted a few degrees. You stared at her. Not out of disbelief, but in the strange, dissonant surprise that came from hearing someone else say his name with softness instead of frustration. Because you had only ever spoken of Sunghoon with fire in your voice. Sharp-edged. Wry. Annoyed, mostly. 

But Ruka’s words were wrapped in ribbon. Gentle. Blushing. You laughed, more to yourself than at her. “Well, that makes one of us.” 

She looked at you then, really looked, head tilted, eyes curious. “You don’t think he’s cute?” You hesitated. The thing was… you didn’t know. Not really. He was all sharp lines and silent storms, the kind of boy who walked like he didn’t belong to the earth. Beautiful, maybe, but in the way wolves were, wild, cold, untouchable. 

“I think,” you said finally, drawing each word like a thread between your fingers, “he’s complicated.” 

Ruka smiled again, turning back to her textbook with a knowing kind of grace. “Those usually are.” And just like that, the moment passed. She was back to her quiet, and you were left staring at the ceiling again, wondering when his name had started tasting different in your mouth. Like something that might linger. Like something that might matter. 

Monday morning clung to the world like a yawn that never quite finished. The sky was that dreamy kind of blue, the color of notebook margins and sleepy eyes, and you were already two sips into your iced coffee, pretending it had magical properties. Your lecture hall buzzed softly with life, pages flipping, keyboards clacking, the distant groan of someone remembering they had a quiz. You sank into your seat and opened your laptop, but your fingers hovered above the keys like dancers unsure of the next step. Your mind? Miles away. Lost somewhere between calculus and chaos. 

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, drawing shapes in the condensation on your cup. “Finals are coming. Sure. Death approaches in a syllabus-shaped cloak. But we’re gonna be fine. We’ve survived worse. Like that chem lab last semester. Or the time you accidentally locked yourself in the practice rink because you thought the red button opened the door. That was fun.” You laughed a little to yourself, a soft musical thing, then added quietly, “Sharing a rink with Park Sunghoon? Pfft. Easy. He’s just one very grumpy man with a stick. It’s basically like living with a thunderstorm. Moody, loud, and occasionally electric — but you bring an umbrella and move on.” 

You told yourself this because optimism was your armor. Because the world was already heavy enough, and if you didn’t keep spinning, you feared you’d sink. And besides, you liked spinning. You liked believing that everything, in its own way, would bloom eventually. Your fingers tapped absent-mindedly on your notebook. You were mid-thought — something about figuring out a study schedule, maybe, with your chin resting in your hand, your eyes soft and unfocused, when the air in the room shifted. 

Louder voices broke through the usual murmur like a crack of thunder across calm skies. You blinked, sat up straighter. At the back of the lecture hall, four silhouettes gathered in a tight circle. You recognized them instantly. Jay’s dark hair, Jake’s easy posture, Heeseung’s lazy slouch. And Sunghoon, standing like a blade half-drawn from its sheath, tension coiled in every muscle. Their voices weren’t loud loud, but they carried. 

“I told you, I’m fine,” Sunghoon bit out, arms crossed like a shield. “You’re treating me like I’ve lost a leg.” Jay said something quieter — calmer — but you couldn’t make out the words. Sunghoon shook his head, jaw clenched. 

“I’m not some kid who needs babysitting. I could be out there with you. But instead? I’m stuck skating in circles with the goddamn figure skaters.” The words hit like a slap. No warning. No mercy. You blinked once. Twice. You looked down at your notebook, at the spirals you’d been doodling that suddenly looked like a fall. Like something unraveling. 

You weren’t surprised, not really. Not when you’d seen the anger in his shoulders, the way he moved like something had been carved out of him. Grief in motion. Frustration dressed in skates and scowls. Still, hearing it out loud… hurt. Just a little. Like biting into something sweet and finding the bitter underneath.

You forced a smile. Told yourself, He’s just mad. Just hurting. And people in pain say things they don’t mean. You knew that. You’d always known that. So you tucked the ache somewhere deep, beneath the layers of warmth you wrapped around your heart every day. You held your chin a little higher. Kept the sunshine burning in your chest even when the clouds gathered. 

Because that’s what you did. You stayed soft. You stayed bright. Even when the world gave you every reason not to. You glanced back at them one more time, just long enough to catch the storm still brewing in his eyes. Then you turned away. And smiled again. Even though this one didn’t quite reach your eyes. 

The late afternoon folded over the campus like a well-worn quilt, stitched in gold and quiet. Shadows stretched long and slow across the sidewalks, and the sky blushed softly, unsure whether it wanted to be day or night. You walked back to your dorm with your headphones on but no music playing, just the hush of your own thoughts echoing in the space between footsteps and fading sunlight. 

The building was its usual self: scuffed floors, sleepy corridors, the scent of someone's attempt at instant noodles clinging to the stairwell air. You climbed the steps like you always did, counting them beneath your breath like charms. 

One, two, three, four—everything will be fine.

Five, six, seven—you're stronger than this.

Eight, nine—just lace your skates and keep moving. 

Your key clicked into the lock, the door creaked open, and — Silence. Stillness, not unfamiliar, but… different. Ruka’s side of the room sat in its usual state of meticulous calm. Bed made like a hotel sheet ad, her books aligned like soldiers on her desk. But the chair was empty. Her headphones were gone. Her little desk lamp, usually the only star in your shared little galaxy was off. Your brows furrowed. She wasn’t the type to vanish without a trace. She was quiet, sure. Steady as a heartbeat. But dependable as gravity. On Saturdays, she studied. With her color-coded notes and an herbal tea steaming gently beside her elbow. A ritual. A rhythm.

You dropped your bag onto your bed and stood for a moment, frozen between thoughts. The silence was thick, pressing at your ears like water, and you almost called out her name, just to hear a sound bounce back. But you didn’t. You let it go. People have lives. Maybe she went out. Maybe someone swept her into a spontaneous adventure, a brief rebellion against her usual constellations. Maybe she just needed to breathe outside these four walls. You told yourself all of this, gently, while pulling open your bottom drawer.

Inside, your skates gleamed dully in the late-day light, blades catching the edge of dusk. You ran your fingers over the laces, the leather warm from where your dreams lived inside them. Then you pulled out your duffel, began packing with practiced hands, pads, gloves, that ridiculous fleece-lined jacket you never actually wore but always brought just in case. Each item folded like a promise. Each zipper, a punctuation mark. Each movement, a ritual. This is how we prepare. This is how we carry on. 

You glanced again at Ruka’s desk as you slung the bag over your shoulder, something quiet fluttering in your chest. Not quite worry, not quite longing. Just the awareness that something familiar had gone just a little bit strange.

You left the dorm with that feeling trailing behind you like a thread, caught in the breeze of your footsteps. Outside, the sky was starting to darken. Time to skate. Time to shine.

Even if someone else’s words still echoed like bruises in the back of your mind. 

The rink was a cathedral of echoes when you arrived, cold light spilling from the overheads like moonlight dragged down to earth. You stepped through the side door with your duffel swinging low and your breath fogging in the air, a silent offering to the frozen gods of routine. The chill kissed your cheeks the moment you entered, familiar and unbothered by your presence. The ice welcomed you without question unlike the boy skating circles at the far end of the rink, cutting lines through frost like he was angry at the surface itself. 

Park Sunghoon. 

You saw him the moment you stepped through the arch of metal and fluorescent glow. Sharp lines of movement, precise but edged with frustration, like a dancer trying to turn fury into choreography. He didn’t look up. Of course, he didn’t. You might as well have been a ghost to him, a passing flicker in his periphery. And still… his words from this morning clung to you like fog to a mirror. “I’m stuck skating in circles with the goddamn figure skaters.” 

You could’ve held onto that. Let it curdle in your chest. But you didn’t. You’d already chosen to let it melt like frost under sunlight. Because that was how you survived people like him, people with cold hearts and stormy eyes. You stayed warm. You stayed soft. Gooey, like a cookie. Even if his silence sliced like wind over bare skin. 

You moved toward the bench in the corner, began lacing your skates with steady fingers. A familiar rhythm. Loop. Pull. Loop. Pull. You took a deep breath. Told yourself that the ice was still yours. That joy could still be found here. And then you stepped onto it. The rink hummed beneath your blades. You skated a gentle warm-up, smooth glides and soft turns, tracing patterns in silence like a painter laying down the first strokes of something that might become beautiful. You didn’t look at him. Not really. But you felt him, like a shadow trailing just out of view. 

He kept his distance. Good. Let him.

You spun into your routine, finding the quiet joy in motion again. Practicing your turns, letting momentum carry you like a whispered secret. And then, a voice loud and shrill broke the icy silence between you two. “WOO! GO, SUNGHOON!” Your skate caught slightly on the edge of your turn, not enough to fall, but enough to blink you out of your trance. You slowed to a glide, turning toward the source. 

There, in the bleachers near the glass, waving like she was at a concert and not a cold, half-empty rink, was none other than Ruka. Your brows lifted before you could stop them. She had swapped her usual hoodie-and-headphones look for something more casual-cute. Perched on the edge of the seat like a cat in a sunbeam. And her eyes? They were locked onto Sunghoon like he was something out of a dream she’d once dared to whisper aloud. 

“Come on, you look great out there!” she called, clapping. “That last sprint? Totally NHL-worthy!” You blinked. Slowly. Sunghoon, mid-stride, skidded slightly, his jaw ticking as he looked over at her. Not a smile. Not a nod. Just the sharp exhale of a man who’d rather be anywhere else. His annoyance was visible in the set of his shoulders, the way he stared past her like she was fog on the glass, there but inconvenient. 

Your heart tilted sideways in your chest. Not because of the awkwardness. Not because Ruka was cheering for the very boy who had called your world a joke in a voice laced with disdain. But because you saw him. You saw how he stiffened under her praise, how his skates moved sharper, faster, like he was trying to outskate her words. Like kindness grated on him more than silence. Like admiration was a language he didn’t know how to read. 

You stayed still for a moment, one hand on your hip, the other brushing a strand of hair from your eyes. You watched the way he avoided your gaze with deliberate precision. Like even eye contact might unravel him. Then you took a breath. Pushed off. Returned to your own practice. 

Because the ice didn’t belong to him. And your light didn’t need permission to shine.

Still, as you skated, you felt something settle into your bones. Not quite sadness. Not quite jealousy. Just… the sharp awareness that everyone wore masks. Even the ones who scowled at sunshine and rolled their eyes at laughter. Especially them. 

The hours unfurled like ribbons across the ice, silver and slow. You and Sunghoon spun your separate galaxies across the same frozen sky, orbiting each other in careful silence. His skates tore into the rink with force, blades slicing like twin swords, while yours curved and dipped with the grace of moonlight slipping through branches. He was precision and thunder. You were rhythm and light. 

You didn’t speak. Not once. But you felt him. And somehow, that was worse. Every time he passed, your chest tightened just a little, remembering the way his voice had clipped those words this morning, how he’d tossed your world aside with a single breath. But the cold has a way of preserving more than just bruises; it clears the mind, too. By the time practice wound to a close, your hurt had melted into determination, soft and fierce. 

The locker room door creaked as you stepped off the ice. And there he was, Sunghoon, perched on the bench like a statue carved from winter itself. He sat hunched over his skates, fingers tugging sharply at the laces, his jaw tight, sweat painting constellations at his temple. You watched him for a beat. The way his leg trembled slightly. The sharp inhale when he shifted. Pain. Not just ghost pain, not the phantom ache of healing. Real. Present.

Your eyes narrowed, and the words came out before you could swallow them. “You’re doing it wrong,” you said, stepping forward, breath curling in the cold. 

Sunghoon didn’t look up. “Doing what wrong?” 

“Your stride,” you said, matter-of-fact but warm, like you were offering a cup of tea to a frostbitten soul. “That’s why your leg still hurts so bad. Your form’s all off.” 

He finally glanced at you, those glacier eyes narrowing, irritation flickering just behind them like lightning beneath snowclouds. “I’m what?” 

“You’re playing wrong,” you repeated, standing tall despite your worn skates, your cheeks pink from the chill and adrenaline. “You’re putting too much pressure on the outer part of your knee when you push off. You’re compensating for the pain, which is making it worse.” 

He scoffed. “And you’re what, a doctor now?” 

“Nope.” You smiled, brightly, undeterred. “Just someone who’s fallen on her ass about a thousand times. Figure skaters crash constantly, but we know how to angle our bodies so the impact spreads. It’s all physics. Leverage. Balance. Control.” He looked back down at his skates, tugging harder now, the muscle in his forearm twitching. 

“I can help you, if you want,” you offered, genuine, hopeful, stubborn. “Just with the angles. Not to overstep. Just to help you skate without pain.” He didn’t answer right away. For a heartbeat, you thought maybe — just maybe — he was considering it. That something in his storm-cloud gaze might soften. Then he snorted. “No thanks, Sunshine.”

The nickname was sharp, but not cruel. More like a brush-off wrapped in thin sarcasm, tossed over his shoulder like a towel. He stood, grabbed his jacket, and limped toward the exit, each step radiating quiet fury. You watched him go, your hands still resting on your hips, heart stung but not shattered. Because here’s the thing about sunshine. It doesn’t need permission to rise. It just does.

So you exhaled. Smiled again, just for yourself. And whispered under your breath like a promise: “Tomorrow, then.” Because you weren’t done. Not even close. The ice hadn’t melted between you yet.

You slipped through the dorm door with your skates still swinging from your shoulder, the scent of cold clinging to your hair like snowflakes that refused to melt. The hallway was dim, the kind of golden hush that only existed in the sliver of hours between late afternoon and true evening, and the air in your room felt just a degree warmer than the rink, barely but enough to sting your fingers with returning blood. And there she was.

Ruka. Curled cross-legged on her bed, laptop open, notebooks spread like wings around her. Her hair was tucked into a low bun, earbuds in, and she was scribbling something down with a pencil that had been chewed nearly to death. For a moment, you paused in the doorway. Something felt…off. Not visibly. Not loudly. But you knew people the way skaters knew their balance points — by instinct. You could feel when someone had shifted, even if they looked the same. She didn’t look up when you came in. 

Still, you offered a bright little sigh, a soft smile breaking across your face like morning light spilling across your pillow. “Hey, you disappeared before I left the rink.” You tossed your bag gently onto the floor and began tugging off your coat, the fabric whispering across your skin. “Didn’t even hear you leave. Were you skating again?” You played dumb, of course. 

Ruka blinked at her notebook, then slowly pulled an earbud free. Her eyes met yours. cool, calm, unreadable. “I wasn’t skating,” she said simply. 

You tilted your head, fingers pausing mid-zip on your hoodie. “Oh. So… what were you doing there?” 

it was a harmless question. Light as air. But her answer landed like a stone. “Just watching.” She turned back to her notes like punctuation, and you blinked. Something in her voice had been dipped in frost. Not biting, but distant. Measured. Not her usual soft-spoken stillness, the kind that let you chatter through silences without ever feeling unwelcome. No—this was different. This was cold. You stood there for a beat, hoodie half unzipped, heart tilting a little sideways. 

“Right,” you said, voice laced in artificial warmth. “That’s cool. I didn’t know you were a fan of the rink.” Ruka didn’t reply.

You let out a little laugh, quiet, the kind that fills a space just to prove you still can. And then, still smiling, you crossed the room and sat on your bed, your bones aching from practice, your mind unraveling in quiet questions. You didn’t press. You didn’t pry. That wasn’t your way.

But you thought about the way she had cheered earlier, about how her voice had filled the cold air with warmth meant for someone else. You thought about Sunghoon, skating like he could outrun something, and the way her gaze had followed him like he was the sun she’d never dared look at before. You lay back against the pillow, eyes on the ceiling. Sometimes, things shift before you see them coming. And sometimes, people surprise you in the quietest ways.

But still, you stayed kind. Stayed bright. Because even if the room was colder than you remembered, you refused to stop being the warmth. 

The night had softened by the time Sunghoon made it back to the house, the sky bruised with the fading violet of dusk, and the air bit at his skin like it resented his stubbornness. His leg burned. Not the sharp, immediate pain of an old injury flaring, but the deep, heavy ache of something being pushed past its breaking point. Again. 

The front door creaked open under his weight, and the warmth of the frat house spilled over him like syrup. thick and too sweet. Familiar voices tangled together just past the hallway. Laughter. The clink of plates. The low strum of Jay’s voice. He almost turned around. But pride is a chain wrapped around the ribs. And his wouldn’t let go. He stepped inside.

The living room glowed gold, lit by the low hum of lamplight and the occasional flicker of the muted TV. Jay was leaned back on the couch, an open water bottle in hand, while Jake sat beside his very pregnant girlfriend, who had her feet propped up on a pillow. Her belly rose like a gentle tide beneath her sweater, and her eyes shone with that ever-glowing light. soft, observant, and infinitely kind. Three heads turned as Sunghoon limped through the door, his hoodie half-zipped and damp with leftover sweat from practice. 

“You’re limping worse than yesterday,” Jay said, always the captain, always the voice of reason. 

Jake chimed in a beat later, his brows drawn in concern. “Why won’t you just rest, man? You’re not gonna heal if you keep pushing like this.” Sunghoon dropped his gear by the door with a heavy thud, his jaw tight, the pain crawling up his leg like a storm trying to find a place to land. 

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, not looking at them. “I don’t need a lecture.” 

Jay sighed, the sound edged with exhaustion. “It’s not a lecture, Hoon. It’s basic logic. You’re tearing yourself up out there. You think Coach Bennett’ll let you back in if you break yourself completely?” 

Sunghoon turned, irritation flashing sharp and raw in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be ‘breaking’ if you hadn’t pulled me off the ice in the first place.” 

“You’re not off the team,” Jay replied calmly, setting his bottle down. “You’re on a required recovery period.” 

“The same thing,” Sunghoon snapped. “Don’t split hairs.” 

A quiet cough cut through the tension, and Jake’s girlfriend — sweet as spring rain — shifted a little on the couch. “I think what they’re trying to say is… maybe listening to your body isn’t the worst idea,” she said gently, her voice like a balm. “I mean, sometimes we think we’re fine just because we want to be.” 

It should’ve landed like comfort. But it struck like a match. “Mind your business,” Sunghoon said sharply, the words out before he could call them back. The room froze.

Jake’s head snapped around, his eyes flaring. “Hey. Don’t talk to my girl like that.” The silence that followed was molten. Sunghoon’s anger flickered, dimmed, and died out in a single breath. He stared at the floor, guilt pooling heavy in his chest like sleet. 

“I didn’t mean…” His voice cracked, quieter now. “Sorry. That was—stupid. I’m sorry.” Jake’s girlfriend gave him a small, understanding smile. She always forgave too easily. That only made it worse. 

Sunghoon grabbed his water bottle and turned away, shoulders stiff, shame clinging to him like another layer of sweat-soaked fabric. He climbed the stairs slowly, every step a needle driven into the muscle behind his knee. When he reached his room, he shut the door softly almost tenderly and stood there in the quiet, staring at nothing for a long moment. The pain was still there, pulsing like a second heartbeat. But deeper than that — beneath the bruised ego and the battered pride was something else. 

Your voice, bright and persistent, kept echoing in his mind.

“You’re playing wrong.”“It’s all physics. Leverage. Balance.”“I can help you.”

Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling just a little. It had sounded ridiculous earlier. But now, with the pain sharp and unrelenting, and the silence of the room pressing in like a judgment, your offer didn’t seem so foolish. Maybe it wasn’t pity. Maybe it wasn’t an insult. Maybe you actually knew what you were talking about.

He sighed and sat on the edge of his bed, leg stretched out in front of him like a broken line. The ice, the skates, the ache, the quiet praise you gave him even when he hadn’t earned it… it all blurred together. And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t try to push the pain away. He let it sit beside him like a mirror. Maybe see you again tomorrow. And maybe… he’d listen this time. 

The sky was the color of wet pearls as you made your way to the rink, the kind of soft gray that promised rain but never delivered. Your skates were slung over your shoulder, biting at your hip with every step, and your breath came out in visible puffs that floated like little ghosts of determination. You were a girl on a mission, fueled by blind optimism and an unyielding belief that even the most frozen things could melt if you were warm enough, loud enough, kind enough. And Sunghoon? He was a glacier. But even glaciers cracked under time and pressure.

The door to the rink groaned open and welcomed you with that familiar chill, that bite of air laced with the perfume of ice and steel. You stepped in like it was a cathedral, reverent in your own way, eyes scanning the space that had become your evening altar. He was there. Already. Park Sunghoon. Laced in shadow and silence. 

He sat on the bench near the boards, bent over his skates, fingers threading laces with a quiet intensity, jaw set like it was carved from marble. His hair was damp at the edges, the kind of mess that spoke of someone who didn’t care enough to fix it but hadn’t quite let go of vanity either. The light caught on the sharp curve of his cheekbone, and for a moment you paused just a moment because something about him looked… different. He looked Less angry. Or maybe just tired of being angry. You couldn’t figure out which was which. 

You marched up anyway, smile already blooming like a sunflower on your face, warmth radiating off of you in a way the ice couldn’t fight. “Okay,” you said, breathless not from the cold but from the flurry of thoughts bursting behind your eyes. “Hear me out. I’ve been thinking and don’t roll your eyes, this is important I’ve been thinking that maybe, just maybe, you need me.” He didn’t look up. You didn’t let it stop you. “Your form is off. I’m not just saying that to be annoying. I mean, I am annoying, but not this time. You’re straining the wrong muscle groups and you’re compensating for your knee in a way that’s going to make it worse. You’re going to tear something again and then you really won’t be able to play. And I know, I know I’m just a figure skater and you think I don’t get it, but we fall for a living. Literally. And we fall well. We learn to twist midair so the ice kisses us instead of cracking us open, and I could show you, I could help you—” 

“Okay.”

You blinked.

“What?”

Sunghoon finally looked up. His eyes met yours, dark and steady, but not cruel. Not cold. Just quiet. “I said okay,” he repeated, voice low but clear. “Meet me here. Every weekday. 6:30 p.m. sharp.” 

You stared at him, stunned into something dangerously close to speechless. “Wait. Wait, did you — did you say yes?”

“I did.”

“Well don’t deny me — wait. What.” A ghost of a smirk, barely there, almost imaginary curved at the corner of his mouth. “Meet me here on time, Sunshine.” 

You laughed, half in disbelief, half in relief, the sound tumbling out of you like birds startled into flight. “Sunshine, huh? You really can’t help yourself with the nicknames.” He stood then, tall and limping slightly, but not so much that you missed the way his frame shifted lighter. Like saying yes had peeled off a layer of armor. Like hope, when it finally arrived, it didn't have to announce itself loudly; it just had to be there. “6:30,” he repeated. “Don’t be late.”

You saluted with mock seriousness, grinning wide. “Sir, yes sir.”

He rolled his eyes and skated toward the ice, but this time… this time he didn’t avoid you. Not entirely. And just like that, a crack had opened in the glacier. Small. Fragile. But real. And you, all sun and stubbornness, were ready to shine straight through it. 

The next day dawned with a sky stretched in pale watercolor, as if the heavens themselves were yawning awake. And you moved with purpose, energy stitched into your limbs like golden thread, skipping down the hallway with your skates in one hand and a banana in the other, mid-bite, mid-monologue about how today was going to be the day Sunghoon learned the art of surrender. Not to defeat — oh no but to gravity. To momentum. To pain that teaches rather than punishes. 

The rink was quieter than usual when you arrived, its emptiness echoing with the soft hum of the refrigeration system beneath the ice. The air was its usual crisp kiss, sharp enough to sting but not to bruise. Sunghoon was already there, of course, punctual and pouting. He sat on the bench with his skate half-laced and his hoodie still on, like a knight begrudgingly preparing for a battle he didn’t believe in. You practically twirled in, dropping your bag with theatrical flair. “Alright, Captain Crankypants,” you called out, voice bright and bell-clear, “today we begin with the basics. Lesson one: how to fall like a pro.” 

He groaned, long and low, as if your very presence was the headache he couldn’t shake. “You want me to fall? On purpose?” His eyes flicked up at you, unimpressed. “Yeah, that sounds super smart.” You beamed at him, entirely unbothered. “Not just fall. Fall well. There’s an art to it, you know. A science. A rhythm. You can’t just slam into the ground like a dropped dumbbell, you’ll wreck yourself that way.” 

He scoffed, standing slowly, testing his weight on that healing leg with guarded precision. “Pretty sure falling’s the last thing I should be doing if I want to get back on the ice with my team.” 

“But that’s exactly why you should,” you replied, tilting your head, as if the answer was written in the frost forming along the glass. “Because falling isn’t the problem, Sunghoon. It’s how you fall. We don’t learn to stop gravity. We learn to meet it, roll with it, get back up without it stealing anything more than our breath.” His eyes narrowed, a storm cloud gathering, quiet but looming. “That’s figure skating stuff.” 

“Exactly,” you chirped. “Which is why you’re lucky you’ve got me.” 

He looked at you like you were speaking in tongues. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” 

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, laughing as you tugged on your gloves. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” With slow reluctance, like a stubborn mountain giving in to time, Sunghoon followed you onto the ice. His strides were careful, a ghost of his former fluidity trailing behind each push. You watched him move with a softness in your gaze, knowing he was fighting something far deeper than physical injury. He was mourning a version of himself that had been left behind in the locker room that day, when his knee gave out and the world fell with it. You stopped near center rink and turned to face him. “Okay. Watch me.” 

You let yourself fall, dramatically and deliberately. A gentle twist of the hips, a tuck of the arms, a controlled slide that kissed the ice instead of collided with it. You rose just as quickly, nimble and unbothered. “See? Easy peasy, gravity is greedy but we’re smarter.” 

He muttered something under his breath, something about this being ridiculous, but you caught the way his lips twitched, not quite a smile, not quite disapproval. Just… conflict. And curiosity. “Try it,” you said, your voice dipped in sugar and sunshine. “Don’t think. Just fall. Trust that I’ll teach you how to land softer.” 

He hesitated, eyes flickering across the rink like it might mock him, like it might remember how once, not long ago, it had hurt him. But finally, with a sigh that could have been mistaken for wind, he crouched a little, awkward and stiff, and let himself go. It wasn’t perfect. Not even close. He landed with a thud and a grunt, half-turned and slightly off balance. But he didn’t scream. He didn’t wince. And he didn’t stay down. You clapped, delighted. “Not bad! You’ve got the makings of a Bambi-on-ice!” 

He rolled his eyes, but he was sitting up now, flexing his leg, and something in his face had shifted. A flicker of belief. A spark of possibility.

You offered your hand. He didn’t take it. But he stood on his own. And that, in your eyes, was progress painted in frost and stubborn hope. Practice ended in a flurry of silence and exhale, the kind that leaves your lungs aching and your limbs trembling from exhaustion masked as endurance. The rink had settled into a sleepy hush, the overhead lights casting silver puddles onto the ice like pools of moonlight spilled from a weary sky. Sunghoon had spent most of the hour gliding just beyond your reach, stoic and brooding, a storm cloud in a jersey, orbiting your sunshine in quiet, reluctant circles. But progress had been made. Not in leaps or bounds, but in small things: the twitch of a smile that he didn’t quite manage to kill, the way he didn’t protest when you told him his weight distribution was off. Tiny steps, quiet victories. 

You both sat now on the bench that bordered the rink, his skates half-untied, yours dangling from your fingers as you caught your breath. His hoodie clung to him in damp creases, his hair plastered to his forehead, and yet he still managed to look like he’d stepped out of some tragic poem. A sonnet of scraped ice and stubbornness. “So…” you began, voice light as lace, “about Ruka.” 

He didn’t look at you, only furrowed his brows deeper into the shadows of his lashes. “Who?” 

You turned slightly, lacing one skate in slow loops as you stole a glance at his profile. “The girl who was here the other day. Cheering for you like it was the Olympics.” Realization flickered across his face like lightning fast, dismissive. “Oh. The cheerleader.” 

You laughed, not unkindly. “She’s not a cheerleader, she’s my roommate. And she might have a tiny little crush on you.” Sunghoon groaned, tipping his head back as if the ceiling above might offer him divine rescue. “Great. Just what I need.” 

“What, adoration?” you teased, nudging his knee with yours. “Must be so hard.” He didn’t answer right away, his jaw working through something he didn’t say aloud. Finally, he muttered, “I don’t date.” 

You raised a brow. “Really?” 

“Hockey’s the love of my life,” he said, eyes sharp like ice shards, like truth he’d carved out long ago. “That’s enough for me.” You tilted your head, letting your hair fall like a curtain of gold and starlight across your cheek. “That’s a sad way to live,” you said gently, not accusing, just… observing. “Everyone deserves to love. To be loved.” 

He looked at you then, a long, lingering look, as if trying to decide whether your optimism was a costume or a calling. “I do love,” he said, softer this time. “I love the game. That’s all I’ve ever needed.” 

“But maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet,” you offered, voice barely more than a breath. He let out a short laugh — dry, not cruel. “Sounds like something out of one of those cheesy rom-coms you’d make me watch.” 

You smiled, undeterred, pulling your coat tighter around you as the cold began to kiss at your skin. “You’d be surprised what stories can teach you.” 

Sunghoon didn’t reply. He stood, the worn laces of his skates now untied completely, his posture tight, shoulders stiff with the ache he wouldn’t admit. He slung his bag over one arm and glanced at you, his expression unreadable under the dull glow of the rink’s overhead light.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, voice low.

“At 6:30,” you replied, standing too.

He nodded, already walking away, and you watched him disappear into the tunnel that led out of the rink, his shadow swallowed by silence. Still, even as the chill pressed into your bones and your breath misted in the air, you smiled. Because he hadn’t said no. And sometimes, that was the first word in a yes.

The frat house was pulsing, alive with sound and sweat and lights that flickered like epileptic stars. The bass thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat, the kind that didn’t come from within you but pressed on your ribs from the outside, trying to break in. It was the kind of night made for forgetting, flashing cups, flushed cheeks, dizzy laughter. But Sunghoon had nothing he wanted to forget, only things he was trying to survive. His body was a map of ache, his knee a smoldering ember, his back tensed and twisted, his temples drumming a painful rhythm. He should’ve gone to bed. Should’ve wrapped himself in the quiet and left the world to burn without him. 

Instead, he pushed through the crowd, ignoring the limbs that bumped against his shoulders, the haze of perfume and cologne, the drunk declarations and loud, sloppy choruses of songs everyone pretended to know. The lights made everything look fake — skin too bright, eyes too glassy. He moved like a ghost among the living. The kitchen was a marginally calmer pocket of air, though even it buzzed with tension. Soobin stood near the counter, arms crossed, stoic in a way that looked practiced. Yunjin stood in front of him, animated, eyebrows tight and lips moving too fast, too sharp. Sunghoon didn’t catch the words, but the emotion slapped against the tile floor like broken glass. Love turned into a battlefield over cheap beer and pride. 

Heeseung leaned against the fridge, sipping something bright and unholy from a red plastic cup, and Jay stood beside him, eyes flicking from Soobin and Yunjin to Sunghoon with a practiced detachment. “Rough night?” Heeseung asked, his tone too casual to be innocent. 

Sunghoon didn’t answer. He glanced at the tension in the room, the cracked silence in Soobin’s stance, the hurt in Yunjin’s voice. “What’s their deal?” he asked, jerking his chin in their direction. Jay shrugged, reaching for a half-empty bag of chips. “Who knows. Been like that all week.” 

“We try not to get involved,” Heeseung added, a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. Sunghoon gave a noncommittal grunt and moved to grab a water bottle from the counter. The cold plastic stung his palm, grounded him for a second. The kitchen smelled like too many people and too many drinks, but it was better than the noise outside. 

Jay leaned in slightly. “Hey, by the way — a girl was walking around asking for you earlier.”  

At that, something in Sunghoon stuttered some quiet spark of thought, unspoken and unacknowledged. His mind flicked to you, impossibly bright and smiling, always halfway through a sentence, your words cotton candy and conviction. It was a fleeting hope, gone before he could even name it. Then Jay nodded toward the hallway, where Ruka stood, wearing confidence like perfume and eyeing the room like she owned it. 

Sunghoon’s mouth twisted. The little spark of hope snuffed out before it could catch flame. “Of course,” he muttered. He didn’t wait for her to notice him. He turned on his heel and left the kitchen, weaving back through the crowd, avoiding her gaze like it might pierce him. He wasn’t in the mood for polite smiles or coy compliments, not in the mood to be someone else’s fantasy when he couldn’t even bear being himself right now. 

He was almost free, fingers brushing the door to his room, sanctuary just a heartbeat away when her voice cut through the noise behind him. “Sunghoon, wait.” 

He froze. Not in obedience, but in dread the way a predator might freeze in the moment it realizes it’s been cornered. He didn’t turn around. Didn’t slow. Just kept walking, because if he didn’t look at her, maybe she’d vanish into the static of the party behind them. But Ruka didn’t vanish. She chased. Her heels clicked across the floor like punctuation in a sentence he didn’t want to read. Then her hand was on his arm — cloying, too warm, too familiar. He yanked away from her grasp like her touch burned. And maybe it did. Maybe everything burned lately. 

She flinched at his reaction, then softened her voice into something apologetic and breathy, practiced like a song she’d sung too many times. “I’m sorry, okay? I just— I wanted to say something.” He said nothing, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the stairwell. “She’s not who you think she is,” Ruka said then, her voice low but sharp, like a knife being slipped between the ribs. “That girl you’ve been skating with. All that sunshine and sparkle? It’s a show. She’s not that happy. She's actually really depressing.” 

The words echoed strangely in the space between them, bouncing off the noise of the house and falling like lead at his feet. Sunghoon turned then, slowly, like something ancient and brimming with wrath. His face was calm, but his eyes — his eyes held storms. Not the kind that pass, but the kind that drown entire cities. “Mind your business,” he said, his voice cold enough to crack glass. 

Ruka blinked, taken aback. Maybe she’d expected amusement. Maybe she thought he’d nod in agreement or laugh, or at the very least, care. But he didn’t laugh. And he did care and that infuriated him even more. He didn’t wait for her response. He turned and stormed back down the stairs, shoving past strangers with empty smiles and red plastic cups. The house felt suffocating, bloated with sound and people and things he didn’t have the patience for. His skin felt tight, his heart loud, his thoughts louder. 

Why did it bother him? Why did her words sink under his skin like a splinter?

She didn’t know you. Not really. Not the way he’d started to. Not in the way you spoke about falling like it was an art form, not in the way you tried to fix him like he was something worth mending.  He shoved out the front door, the cold air biting at his skin like it, too, had something to prove. His breath left in bursts of fog, pain pulsing behind his kneecap as if to remind him of every bruise he carried, every truth he refused to name. 

He walked towards the diner that nearly everyone frequented on campus. Hoping and praying for some sense of solace. 

The booth by the window smelled of syrup and coffee and the kind of late-night grease that clung to the bones of a day too long lived. The diner was warm in the way a memory is warm, buzzing neon lights humming above like lullabies, and the soft clink of forks on ceramic drifting through the air like wind chimes in a storm's lull. You sat alone, chin propped up in your palm, tracing swirls in the condensation of your water glass, legs still sore from practice but your spirit untouched, untouched the way a flame dances even after the wax is nearly gone. Your plate was half full, pancakes cut into clumsy quarters, syrup pooling in the valleys. You were halfway through recounting your own day in your head out loud, of course, because silence had never been your companion when the bell above the door rang. 

You looked up. The words on your tongue stuttered into stillness. Sunghoon. It was Sunghoon. 

Still dressed in the hoodie he’d been wearing at the rink, his hair damp with sweat or melted frost, eyes dark with something that stormed just beneath the surface. He paused when he saw you, shoulders sinking with theatrical dread. Of course, he thought. Of course you’d be here, light personified, smile too wide for the hour and heart too open for someone who’d barely gotten a thank you out of him. 

“Sunghoon!” you beamed, like the sky had cracked open just to drop this moment into your lap. Your voice, effervescent as soda fizz, bounced toward him like a pebble skipping across water. He groaned. It was low, dramatic, and pulled from somewhere that wanted desperately to be annoyed, but didn’t quite make it. “Of course you’re here.” 

“Where else would I be?” you grinned, motioning to the seat across from you like you’d always meant it for him. “So… what brings you to this fine establishment at such a glamorous hour?” 

“I was hungry,” he deadpanned, walking over with the kind of gait that whispered of pain. He didn’t explain the limp, didn’t bother to soften his tone. “Why else would someone come to a diner?” Your smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew.

“Touché,” you said, then leaned in with a twinkle in your eye. “Want to sit with me?” 

He opened his mouth, likely to decline with something sarcastic and sharp-edged, but the words caught on the way out. Maybe it was your smile, or the glow of the booth light painting soft halos in your hair, or maybe — though he’d never admit it —i t was just that being near you quieted something in him, something he didn’t know needed quieting. “Sure,” he muttered. 

He slid into the seat across from you, his movements slow, like each inch of space between pain and stillness had to be negotiated. You didn’t mention the way he winced as he sat. You just smiled again, folding your hands in front of you like this was a normal thing, the two of you, alone together in a corner of the night that didn’t feel so lonely anymore. Sunghoon didn’t tell you what Ruka had said. He didn’t tell you how it sat on his chest like a stone, how her voice echoed in his skull like wind through a cracked window. Because it wasn’t his to say. And because, deep down, he already knew it wasn’t true. 

He saw you fall on the ice and rise again like it was a song your body knew by heart. He heard the way your laughter curved around your words and the way your voice filled silence with life, not noise. No — whatever Ruka thought she knew of you, it was only a fraction, and not the kind he cared to carry. Instead, he stared down at your plate, brows raised. 

“Pancakes at midnight?” he asked. 

You shrugged, delighted. “Midnight pancakes fix all problems. Haven’t you heard?” 

He smirked then, small, fleeting. Like sunrise just peeking over frostbitten windows. “Heeseung says that all the time.” 

“Well he sounds like a pretty smart guy.” You quirked, picking at your pancakes leisurely. 

Sunghoon huffed a laugh — small but still there. “Sure.” For a while, the two of you sat in something not quite silence, not quite conversation, but alive and breathing all the same. And in the quiet hum of syrup-sticky booths and flickering neon signs, something invisible began to shift. The hiss of the coffee machine behind the counter had become a kind of lullaby, murmuring softly beneath the quiet chatter of the few remaining night owls nestled into booths and barstools. Across from you, Sunghoon picked at the edge of a sugar packet, his fingers deft and idle, not quite meeting your eyes, but listening in that particular way he always did, like he was preparing to argue but got caught up in your melody instead. 

You sat across from him, legs tucked under you like a child curling into a story, your face glowing with the heat of possibility rather than the diner’s neon haze. And he watched you, not that he’d admit it. Not that he knew what to do with someone like you. “I’m going to make the podium this year,” you said, sudden and certain, stabbing a lone pancake piece with your fork like it was fate itself. “I don’t care what place. Bronze, silver, first runner-up to the crowd favorite. I just want to stand there, see the crowd, and know I didn’t fall flat.” 

Sunghoon blinked at you. “Figure skating finals?” 

You nodded, then grinned. “The big ones. My coach calls it the crown jewel. The end of the season, the whole year in a single performance. I tanked last time. fell on my opening jump and never recovered. My blade caught the edge, and it all spiraled. Couldn’t hear the music over the panic. I was supposed to shine and instead I… dulled.” 

The words weren’t bitter, just honest. You spoke of failure with a sort of reverent gentleness, as if it were a bruise you had long since accepted. It surprised him how freely you gave that part of yourself away. No dramatics. No self-pity. Just truth. He leaned forward, arms crossed on the table. “And you’re trying again?” 

“Of course.” Your voice was light, but sure. “I owe it to the version of me that cried backstage and promised to do better. I owe it to the dream that didn’t die just because I messed up once. Besides, we fall all the time in figure skating on ice, off ice. You just get up and do it again.” Something in him shifted at that. The ice in his chest cracked a little more, as if the warmth in your voice could thaw even the places he'd long buried under frost and fury. 

You caught the flicker in his eyes and smiled, like sunshine breaking through cloud cover. “Don’t look at me like I’ve grown a second head. You’re the one always brooding like the main character in a sports anime.” Sunghoon rolled his eyes, but the edge was gone. He stared at the last of his fries, then slowly pushed the plate aside. “You’re weird,” he muttered, almost like it was a compliment. 

You beamed, unbothered. “Takes one to know one.” And just like that, between the flicker of fluorescent lights and the taste of melted syrup, the world felt a little less heavy. He didn’t tell you about Ruka. He didn’t mention the ache in his knee or the fact that, for the first time in a long while, he hadn’t felt like lashing out or retreating. He just sat there, listening to you talk about your music selection and how you were planning to bedazzle your new competition costume yourself  “with enough rhinestones to blind the front row” and something quiet inside him settled.

He didn’t believe in miracles. But maybe… maybe he could believe in second chances. Especially the ones that came in the shape of bright eyes, chipped diner mugs, and a voice that refused to give up. Even on him. 

The night air was a velvet hush wrapped around the world, stitched with distant traffic and the occasional hum of streetlamp flicker. The diner door swung shut behind you both with a bell's chime like the last note of a lullaby. Outside, the cold kissed your cheeks and painted your exhales into fleeting ghosts, trailing behind you like forgotten sentences. You walked beside him, your boots crunching gently over old salt and fractured pavement, the glow of the diner still soft behind you. He walked with his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, shoulders tense, as if he were always prepared for winter — even in spring. 

But you, you carried warmth like it bloomed from your chest. You talked, because silence begged to be filled and your thoughts were too colorful to keep caged. "I always liked walking at night," you began, voice barely louder than the rustle of your jacket. "When I was little, my dad used to say the stars came out just to eavesdrop on our dreams. I used to whisper to them before bed. Tell them everything I was too scared to say out loud." Sunghoon said nothing, only shifted slightly, head tilted as though your words trailed behind his ears like music on low volume. His footsteps matched yours, deliberate, steady. Listening. Always listening. 

You glanced up at the sky, where stars flickered shyly through the sprawl of city haze. “Some nights, when I’m scared before a competition, I still talk to them. Like, ‘Hey, I know I biffed the last triple loop but if you could just not let me crash this time, that’d be amazing.’” You laughed lightly. “They’re probably tired of hearing about my spiral sequences.” He almost smiled. Almost. You kept going, because silence in his company no longer felt daunting, only deep. A pool that welcomed your words, let them sink in, soak through. He didn’t need to speak. He just needed to be there, and somehow, he was. 

“I don’t think people realize how lonely it is to try to be great,” you mused. “Everyone sees the sparkle, the applause, the medals. But they don’t see the bruised knees. The missed meals. The days where you cry on the cold rink floor because you can’t land a stupid jump you’ve done a thousand times. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just chasing a spotlight that’ll burn me up before I ever reach it.” Still, no answer. Just his steady breath beside you, vapor blooming and vanishing. But his eyes had that quiet fire, the kind that flickered only for the things that mattered. 

“I think… that’s why I don’t let myself stay down. Because even when it hurts, I still want it. Not the spotlight. Just the chance. To be better. To feel like I’m flying again, even if only for four minutes.” The street turned quieter, the neighborhood dipping into darker corners, sleepy houses pressing close together like secrets being kept warm. You stole a glance at him then, expecting — what? A laugh? A scoff? 

But Sunghoon’s gaze was forward, brows drawn in thought. He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t walk faster, either. He stayed at your side like a shadow that had chosen you. And then, after a silence long enough to count heartbeats, he said, low and rough, “What’s your program this year?” 

You blinked, surprised by the breach in his usual barricade. “It’s set to Clair de Lune,” you said quietly, suddenly shy. “I wanted something soft this time. Something like… falling in love with the sky.” He nodded once. Just once. And somehow, it felt like the biggest applause. You didn’t need him to say more. You didn’t need him to match your sunshine with light. He was the stillness where your words could echo and not be lost. And for that, you walked beside him in silence the rest of the way, the night folding around you both like a promise waiting to be made. 

The night had mellowed into something hushed and golden, a quiet that settled over your shared footsteps like falling petals. The city exhaled slowly, as if sighing into sleep, and still you walked beside him, two shadows drawn in parallel ink, aligned but never touching. Then, out of the hush, his voice rose like a single note plucked from a cello string, low and sudden. “What’s your deal with Ruka?” 

You blinked, startled by the sound, by the question, by the way his words cut through your stardust-thoughts like a falling star slicing the sky. You turned to him with raised brows, lips parted with a breath that hadn’t yet become a word. “Ruka?” you echoed, the name tasting foreign when it came from your mouth. 

He didn’t look at you, just kept walking, hands still in his pockets, his jaw set like stone worn smooth by time. It didn’t sound like idle curiosity. But then again, nothing about Park Sunghoon ever felt idle. You wrapped your arms around yourself, not because of the cold, but because something inside you had curled up, uncertain. 

“Oh, um. We’re not really close,” you said, the words spilling like marbles rolling across a hardwood floor — easy, but a little scattered. “She’s my roommate this year, just this year. My last roommate, Sakura, graduated early. We were kind of inseparable.” You smiled faintly at the memory, soft and aching. “She used to help me with my hair before competitions. Always had a bobby pin in her pocket, even if we were just going to the store. I miss her.” 

He said nothing, just nodded once. The moonlight caught his profile and painted it silver. “She’s really smart, Ruka,” you went on, feeling the silence ask for more even if he didn’t. “Always has her headphones in. Always studying. We talk sometimes, but mostly she just… lets me ramble. Which, you know, I tend to do.” You gave a light laugh, hoping the sound would cut the tension, soften the edges. 

But he didn’t laugh with you. He didn’t look at you. Just nodded again, like your words were being filed away in some hidden drawer inside him. And for a moment — brief and bitter and fleeting you felt a twinge. A single pulse of something dark and unfamiliar. It settled beneath your ribs like a secret. Jealousy. You didn’t want to call it that. You didn’t want to name the way your throat tightened when he asked about her, or the way your heart gave a suspicious little stutter at the thought of her name brushing his interest. 

Did he like her? The thought was ridiculous. Maybe. Maybe not. But it lodged in your chest like a thorn. And what surprised you most wasn’t the question. It was how much it mattered. You shook the feeling off with a practiced smile, the kind you wore in the mirror before competition, the one that told the world everything was okay, even if your knees were shaking. 

“She’s alright,” you said, voice light, breezy, so casual it almost disguised the knot in your gut. “But I think she prefers silence. I talk too much for her taste.” Still, he said nothing.

And you wondered, as the two of you drifted past sleeping houses and rustling trees, if you could ever stop wanting to know what was running behind his quiet eyes. Maybe he’d never say it. Maybe he didn’t even know it himself. But tonight, walking beside him through the tender hours of the dark, you wished he’d turn and say something that would loosen the twinge in your chest. Instead, he walked on. Still and silent. And you matched his pace, wondering if maybe that was enough. At least for now. 

The dorm room welcomed you with the kind of stillness that felt staged, like a scene waiting for the actors to step into place. The air was warm, tinged faintly with lavender and printer ink, the signature scent of shared space and sleepless study. You slipped inside quietly, the door closing behind you with a hush instead of a click. For once, your voice didn’t follow you in. 

You didn’t start with a story or a sigh, didn’t fill the silence with your usual cascade of chatter about a late-night craving or a skater’s cramp or how the moon had looked like a sugar cookie on the walk back. No, tonight you simply moved through the space like a ghost of yourself soft-footed, uncharacteristically quiet. Ruka was there, as always, hunched over her desk like a cathedral of discipline, shoulders drawn tight under the glow of her desk lamp. Her highlighter moved like a slow metronome across the page, precise and deliberate. But when you entered without a word, she paused. 

You didn’t notice at first. You were too focused on your routine kicking off your shoes, dropping your bag by the door, tucking your food container into the small fridge like you were sealing away the last hour of your night. The remnants of warm laughter and cool night air still clung to your skin, even as the fluorescent light washed everything colorless. It was only when she turned, slow and deliberate that you met her gaze. “I went to see Sunghoon tonight,” she said, her voice smooth but wrapped in something slippery. Something rehearsed. 

You blinked. Tilted your head. “Oh?” 

She nodded, looking back at her notes for a second like they might give her the courage to lie again. “Yeah. We talked for hours at his party. I just left from seeing him.” The words hung there like wet clothes on a line, dripping, sagging under the weight of their own fabrication. And you knew. You knew in the marrow of your bones, in the quiet thrum of your heartbeat still synced to the rhythm of footsteps beside Sunghoon’s. You knew because you had just walked home with him, the ache of his silence still pressed like thumbprints into your thoughts. But you said nothing.

You didn’t call her out or laugh or ask her why she thought you wouldn’t notice the lie curling like smoke between her syllables. You didn’t say, “Actually, I just walked home with him,” or, “That’s strange, he didn’t mention you.” No. Instead, you sat down at your desk, unzipping your jacket, fingers steady as you untied your shoes. You offered her a smile — small, polite, hollow in the middle and said, “That’s nice.” 

Ruka turned back to her notes, and you turned to face the wall, blinking slowly as if you could paint over the moment with enough quiet. And though you didn’t say it out loud, a strange new feeling began to settle beneath your ribs, something like suspicion, something like sadness. Not because of the lie itself, but because you couldn’t understand why she’d told it. What purpose it served. What it meant. But more than that, what unsettled you the most was how your heart gave the tiniest tug at the idea that she wanted Sunghoon to herself. That maybe, just maybe, she knew you were starting to want him too. And you hated how that made you feel.

By the time Sunghoon returned to the frat house, the storm of music and voices had softened into something gentler like rain losing its temper. The halls no longer throbbed with bass, just pulsed quietly with leftover laughter, the clink of bottles, the occasional shriek from the living room where someone was trying to revive a dying game of beer pong. The air smelled like stale cologne, cheap beer, and exhaustion.  

He pushed through the front door, body aching in ways he didn’t dare name, shoulders stiff with memory. The walk home had helped, a little. The diner even more so. Or maybe it wasn’t the diner, it was you. That smile. That damn voice of yours, all melody and motion, coloring every dull corner of his night until it looked like morning. He hadn’t even meant to go out. He just couldn’t stay there, not after the lies that curled out of Ruka’s mouth like perfume. 

Heeseung was sprawled across the couch with a bag of chips, half-asleep and still wearing his shoes. Jay sat nearby, nursing a water bottle like it was whiskey, his guitar leaning against the side table, untouched. They looked up when Sunghoon walked in, both of them clocking the shift in him, the unbrushed hair, the frown lines that had softened just barely, like something had tried to loosen their hold. Jay raised an eyebrow. “Where’ve you been?” 

“Diner,” Sunghoon muttered, heading toward the kitchen to grab a glass of water. His muscles cried out as he moved, his knee barking like it wanted to collapse. “You missed the show,” Heeseung said through a yawn. “Your little fangirl was here. Again.” 

Jay snorted. “Ruka. She was asking around for you. Whole place thought she’d get a kiss out of you before midnight.” Then came the question, as casual as it was crude, tossed out like a beer can into a bonfire. 

“So?” Jay leaned back, grinning. “You tap that?” 

The words hung in the room like fog, heavy and misplaced. Sunghoon didn’t even look up from the sink as he filled his glass. He stood still for a breath. Then another. “Hell no,” he said flatly. “I just went to the diner.” 

it wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t even irritated. It was simply true delivered with the sharp edge of certainty. A line drawn clean in the dirt. Jay let out a low whistle. Heeseung chuckled under his breath. “Didn’t know you were such a gentleman.” 

Sunghoon didn’t answer. He just sipped his water, jaw tense, eyes fixed on a spot on the counter like he was trying to smooth it out with sheer will.

Because what he didn’t say not to Jay, not to Heeseung, not even to himself was that he didn’t want Ruka. Had never wanted her. Not with her lipsticked lies and her eyes that always seemed to be searching for attention like it was currency. And yet, somehow, your voice kept echoing in his head like a melody he didn’t want to forget. “Falling is inevitable unless you can stop gravity.” He couldn’t stop gravity. Not on the ice. Not in his chest. And it was starting to terrify him. 

Monday came with the bite of wind and the soft shiver of pre-dawn blue, the kind of chill that kissed your skin and whispered promises of something new. The rink sat like a cathedral of silence, your shared sanctuary of sweat and bruised ego, laughter and aching limbs. The boards were cold. The air was colder. But you… you were warm, incandescent, still grinning as you laced your skates with hope braided into every loop. 

Sunghoon was already there, stretching his legs like the world had done him a personal disservice. He looked like he hadn’t slept well, but his eyes those, wintry things, found you easily, like a compass that refused to point anywhere else. His movements were stiff, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t complain as you chirped about your new routine, about your bruised knee from the spin you biffed on Saturday, about how this week felt like the start of something. He didn’t say much. He rarely did. But he skated. And fell. A lot.

You counted at least thirteen crashes before you stopped keeping score—some clumsy, some oddly graceful, all equally frustrating for him. Each time, he’d scowl, curse under his breath, and brush himself off like he was made of pride stitched too tight. But you never stopped encouraging him, your words a steady stream of sunlight spilling through his clouds.

“Better!”

“That fall was cleaner!”

“You angled your shoulder perfectly!”

He looked at you like you were ridiculous. Which, maybe, you were. But you were ridiculously happy to be here. With him. By the time the clock curled toward the last stretch of practice, he’d finally done it. Not a fall, but a landing. A descent that didn’t jar his bones, one where his body absorbed the impact like water receiving rain, smooth, natural, right. You gasped and your joy exploded out of you, bright and loud and uncontainable.

“You did it!” you cheered, skates clattering against the ice as you skidded over to him. “You actually did it, Sunghoon!”

He looked up from where he was still crouched slightly, his breath misting the air, eyes wide. And for the first time, the very first time, he smiled. It wasn’t a smirk. It wasn’t that half-tilted, cynical curl he used when he was being sarcastic or amused. It was real. Unburdened. And somehow, it made him look like a boy again, soft-edged, bright-eyed, touched by something other than pain or pressure. The moment lingered. Too long. 

His smile stayed, your breath caught in your throat like a fluttering thing. The distance between you thinned until there was only the sound of the ice humming beneath your skates, and then,  Then you kissed him. You didn’t think. You didn’t plan it. You just leaned forward, heart drumming in your chest like a war cry and a lullaby all at once, and kissed him — soft and sure, like the ice beneath your feet had whispered that you wouldn’t fall.

But he didn’t kiss you back. 

You pulled away instantly, horror creeping into your chest like cold water. “Oh my god—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—well, I did, but not like that—I mean I wasn’t trying to—ugh—Sunghoon, I just got caught up in the—” And then he was kissing you. Fast. Sure. No warning, no wind-up, just his lips on yours like punctuation, like a sentence he’d been writing in his head for days but didn’t know how to say out loud. You blinked when he pulled back. He looked stunned, maybe a little dazed. You were definitely breathless. And then, as if nothing had happened, you both went back to skating. Circling each other like stars in orbit silent, spinning, on fire. Neither of you mentioned the kiss. But neither of you forgot it. 

Outside the glow of the floodlights, just beyond the fragile safety of the rink’s boards, a shadow lingered silent and still like frost waiting to bloom. Ruka stood there, tucked in the hollow between concrete and glass, her presence cloaked by the buzz of overhead lamps and the trance of celebration that unfolded before her. She hadn’t meant to come. She had only wanted to stop by, to catch another glimpse of him, of Sunghoon in that candid, breathless space where his armor sometimes slipped. Maybe she would pretend it was a coincidence again. Maybe she’d bring him something warm, an excuse wrapped in a paper cup and a shy smile. But what she saw was not Sunghoon alone. 

Through the gleaming haze of the ice, through the rhythm of blades carving truth into frozen ground, she saw you. Beaming. Radiant in your joy. And she saw Sunghoon — grinning back. Not his usual strained grimace or practiced smirk. No, this smile was something else. Real. Unearthed. Unearned, in her eyes. And then, the kiss. Her breath caught like a gasp in winter wind. She pressed her palm flat against the glass as if to steady herself, as if to break through the divide between her and what she saw, a moment that didn’t belong to her but felt like it should have. That soft, charged touch of lips in the heart of the rink burned like a betrayal, even if no promises had ever been made to her. It was a kiss that seemed to split the ice beneath her feet. And she hated how gentle it was, how true. 

The rage came slowly, like an icicle forming drip by bitter drip. A seethe in her gut. A fire in her lungs. She had spent so much time watching, studying, calculating, positioning herself at just the right angle to catch his eye. She knew the timing of his strides, the way his brows furrowed when he was lost in thought. She had noticed him long before you had ever touched the same ice. And yet it was you — scatterbrained, sunny, ever-yapping you — that he kissed.

She backed away, breath coming out in little bursts of fog, eyes trained on the scene unfolding before her like a play she hadn’t auditioned for but still wanted a lead in. She didn’t care that he pulled away quickly. She didn’t care that you stammered your apology. All she could see was the connection, the tether stretching invisible and unbreakable between your smile and his rare, reluctant joy. She could feel the bitterness pool in her chest like ink in water, spreading fast and without mercy. You hadn’t seen her. Neither had he. You never noticed the fracture blooming quietly in the corner of the world you shared. But she did. And it stung, not because it was love lost, but because it never even had the chance to begin. 

The walk back to the dorm felt like treading on the edge of a dream, your feet barely touching the ground, your breath catching on the remnants of laughter that still lingered like glitter in your chest. The night air was cool, brushing your cheeks like a secret, the kind that only stars overhead seemed to know. You tucked your hands into your coat pockets, smiled like a secret was blossoming behind your lips, and tilted your face skyward, as if asking the moon to keep your moment safe. You had kissed him. Or maybe the moment kissed you, soft and strange and suspended in time, like a snowflake caught mid-fall. It didn’t matter who leaned in first, or that he hesitated, or that nothing had been said after. What mattered was the way the world tilted after. The way his eyes had widened before he kissed you back like something inside him had cracked open. Like he’d been waiting all along but just didn’t know it. Something had changed, undeniably and irreversibly, and it made your limbs feel like cotton, your thoughts like honey. 

There was a shift now. Subtle but seismic. You could feel it humming in the soles of your feet, echoing in the memory of the moment. You didn’t know what it meant yet, not exactly but something had softened between you two, and in that softness, you found a kind of quiet joy. When you reached your building, you entered with the reverence of someone carrying something precious. The hallway lights buzzed faintly, and your steps echoed gently down the corridor, a rhythm almost musical in its contentment. You reached your door and turned the knob, half-expecting to see Ruka with her usual mess of notebooks and headphones, wrapped in her silent storm of thoughts and solitude. But the room was empty. 

The lights were off save for the sliver of streetlamp that painted silver lines through the blinds. The air was still, undisturbed. Ruka’s bed was neatly made, her chair tucked in, her world untouched. And for once, you were grateful. You slipped inside and let the door close behind you with a soft click, as if trying not to disturb the fragile bubble that wrapped around your joy. There was something beautiful in the quiet, something that gave you space to breathe, to process, to smile without anyone asking why. You moved slowly, deliberately, putting away your things, peeling off layers like petals until only your giddy little heart remained.

And then, standing there in the low light, you allowed yourself to relive the glide of your skates, the crispness of the air, the look on his face just before he closed the distance. You pressed your fingers gently to your lips, almost to confirm they still tingled. It didn’t matter that you hadn’t spoken about it. Not yet. It mattered that it happened. It mattered that, for the first time in a long time, your heart felt like it had been seen. And for that, you let yourself float just a little longer on the dream of it all. 

The walk home was quiet, but for once, it didn’t feel heavy. Sunghoon’s limbs ached as usual, the kind of ache that seeped into marrow and muscle and made itself at home but tonight, it was quieter. Like even the pain had decided to take a breath, loosen its grip on his body and allow him a moment of peace. There was a strange calm moving through him, something light and unfamiliar. His mind replayed that kiss, not obsessively, but gently, like turning over a smooth stone in his pocket. The softness of your lips. The way you smiled before it happened. The burst of something warm and startling that bloomed in his chest when you leaned in, and even more so when he kissed you back. Like an ember flickering to life in a long-cold hearth. He didn’t want to overthink it, and yet, it sat with him now — steady, glowing, undeniable. But as the frat house came into view, that flickering warmth began to dim. She was there.

Perched like a stormcloud on the stone steps, her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, face streaked with tears that glistened under the porch light. Ruka. Her presence felt like a sudden cold front, a sharp drop in temperature, a wind that bit instead of kissed. Sunghoon paused at the edge of the sidewalk, every instinct screaming at him to turn around and disappear into the dark. But she looked up. And she saw him. 

He kept walking. Slow, steady, bracing himself. The steps creaked beneath his weight as he stopped in front of her. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and laced with quiet exhaustion. 

Ruka sniffled, wiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her too-expensive cardigan. “I saw you,” she said, voice breaking on the edge of accusation. “I saw you guys… kissing.” 

Sunghoon blinked at her, unimpressed. “Okay?” he answered flatly, as if that alone should be the end of it. But of course, it wasn’t. “She’s a fraud,” Ruka spat, sitting up straighter now, her voice rising with that familiar, jealous tension. “That whole sunshine act? It’s fake. She’s just pretending to be all sweet and happy. But it’s all a show. She’s actually, she’s miserable. She’s depressing. She’s not what you think she is.”  

He stared at her for a long moment. The wind rustled the trees, and somewhere in the distance, someone laughed a sound so far removed from the bitter drama at his feet. Sunghoon exhaled, slow and sharp like a blade pulled from a sheath. “You know what?” he said, voice like ice over steel. “Maybe you could stand to be a little more like her.” Ruka’s mouth parted in shock, but he didn’t give her time to respond. 

“She’s kind,” he went on. “She shows up for people. She cares even when she doesn’t have to. She’s loud and ridiculous and warm, and yeah, maybe that annoys the shit out of me sometimes, but at least she’s not hiding behind fake tears and whispering poison about other people to make herself feel better.” Her expression crumpled, her mouth trembling. 

“You don’t know her,” she whispered. “Neither do you,” he snapped. “You don’t get to decide who she is because she threatens your tiny little world.” 

Ruka’s hands curled into fists on her knees. “If you really want to know who she is, look her up,” she hissed, the venom returning. “Look up last year’s figure skating finals. Her name. Go ahead. See it for yourself.” He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. 

“Fuck off, Ruka,” Sunghoon said, and his voice was calm. Steady. Done. He pushed past her without another glance, the door slamming shut behind him like the end of a chapter. The warmth inside him didn’t dim this time. Not completely. In fact, it burned brighter now not in spite of her words, but because of the fact that he’d chosen to ignore them. That he’d defended you, and meant every syllable. He didn’t need to search your name. He didn’t care about the past you carried like quiet luggage. Because when he looked at you, all he saw was someone who got back up. Again and again. And that, more than anything, was real. 

Upstairs, behind the closed door of his room where the noise of the party below had faded to a dull, insignificant hum, Sunghoon sat on the edge of his bed like the silence itself had weight. It pooled in the corners of the room, settled on his shoulders, curled around his ankles. The warm echo of your kiss still lingered, on his lips, in his chest but so did Ruka’s voice. Sharp, needling. Insistent. “Look it up. Last year’s figure skating finals. Her name.” 

He didn’t want to. He knew better. He should have let it die on the doorstep where it belonged. But curiosity was a sly little creature. It nudged at him like a breeze slipping through a cracked window, whispering just look until he caved. So he did. 

With stiff fingers and an unsteady breath, he typed your name into the search bar, letting muscle memory carry him when intention hesitated. The first result glowed like a ghost: “Skater Meltdown at Regionals – Full Clip.” A thumbnail of you frozen mid-fall, your face blurred by motion, your body crumpling like something once fluid and graceful now shattered. He clicked play. 

The screen lit up with harsh white ice and the sound of polite applause. There you were, twirling onto the rink, arms extended, posture poised, the embodiment of elegance. And then it happened. A stumble, a miscalculation. The slip. The crash. You hit the ice with a sound that wasn't picked up by the microphones, but he could feel it all the same, sharp and echoing in his bones. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst came after. The camera didn’t cut away. It kept rolling as you stood up, only to fall again. And again. And again. Until your hands were shaking and your breathing was uneven and your eyes — oh, your eyes — were wild with disbelief, glazed with tears that refused to fall quietly. 

You broke. On camera. In front of judges and coaches and strangers and teammates and the faceless audience of the internet. You wept, not just from pain, but from something deeper, something raw and human and jagged with betrayal. You shouted through your tears, voice cracking like thawing ice, about how people only came to see the crash. How they clapped louder for the break than the recovery. How they waited for failure like it was a performance. Sunghoon felt something crawl into his throat and settle there — tight and aching. Not pity. Not embarrassment. But fury. 

Fury at Ruka, for daring to use this as a weapon. Because what he saw wasn’t weakness. What he saw was someone who got back up. Someone who, even in the middle of a storm that stole her breath and shattered her pride, still stood. Still tried. Still gave the world her tears because hiding them would’ve meant giving up entirely. He didn’t want to close the video. But he did. And then, with that same fire that lived in his limbs when he skated, he opened his phone and typed fast, not giving himself the chance to rethink it.

Sunghoon [11:43 PM]: Meet me at the rink. Please. 

It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t even a plan. It was an instinct, pulled from somewhere honest and immediate. Because he needed to see you, not just the practiced, cheery version of you that lit up rinks and rooms, but you, unfiltered, unguarded, as real as you’d been in that video. He needed you to know that it didn’t scare him. That it didn’t change anything. No. If anything, it only made him want to fall with you. And this time, not get back up alone. 

The rink was dark when you arrived, the overhead lights low like the stars were keeping secrets. The air was biting, laced with the cold whisper of ice and memory. Your breath puffed in clouds before you, and your heart thundered a frantic beat in your chest. You’d gotten Sunghoon’s message and hadn’t hesitated, you didn’t even change out of your practice clothes, just threw on a coat and sprinted across campus as if your soul had sensed something fragile waiting on the other end. The moment you stepped inside, your voice echoed in the stillness. “Sunghoon?” 

No response. The silence felt unfamiliar, too thick, too full of unsaid things. You found him in the locker room, perched on one of the benches, still in his practice gear, his elbows resting on his knees, head bowed. The second you saw him, panic flickered behind your eyes. Was he hurt? Was something wrong? “Are you okay? Are you—oh my god, did something happen?” you rambled as you rushed to him, your hands fluttering over his arms, down to his knees, then back to his shoulders like you were checking for breaks or bruises. “Why did you call me? Are you hurt? Did you fall again? Why didn’t you just text what happened, Sunghoon, seriously, what is going—?” 

He didn’t say a word. Instead, his hands found your waist. Not rough or hurried, just certain. He pulled you into him like gravity had finally done its job. And before your voice could form another word, his mouth was on yours. Soft. Fierce. Unapologetic. Your breath caught in your chest, surprise flaring wide in your eyes, but you melted into him with instinct. There was no hesitation in the way you kissed him back. For a moment the ice outside, the night, the ache of the past, none of it existed. There was only the warmth of his touch, the sincerity of his hold, the vulnerability in that kiss. 

When he pulled back, your fingers lingered near his jaw, your gaze flickering with confusion. “Sunghoon… what’s going on?” He looked at you like he was still catching up to his own heartbeat, his voice quiet but steady. “Ruka showed up at the house. Told me to look you up. Last year’s finals.” 

The words dropped like ice in your stomach. You stepped back, just slightly, and your body stiffened before you could stop it. “Oh.” Sunghoon saw it immediately, the way your shoulders curled inward, how your eyes shimmered with tears you didn’t want to spill. Your lips parted like you wanted to defend yourself, but no argument came, only the truth, raw and trembling. “I had a breakdown,” you whispered. ���A really bad one. I’d been practicing that routine for weeks, getting up at dawn, going to bed at two, skipping meals, skipping sleep. I thought… if I could just nail that trick, I’d prove I was more than just the bubbly girl with the pretty smile. I was exhausted and wired and terrified. And when I fell… it was like the world collapsed with me.” 

You paused, voice cracking. “But I got back up. I always do. Even when it hurt. Even when the crowd didn’t cheer.” Sunghoon stood, eyes never leaving yours, and took your hands in his — warm, calloused, steady. “I know,” he said simply. “I watched the whole thing. And you — you — were the strongest person I’ve ever seen.” 

Your lips quivered. “But I broke down. I was angry and ugly and scared and—” 

“And you got back up,” he said, firmer now. “You didn’t stay on the ice. You didn’t let it define you. I—” he exhaled, voice softening, “—I was going to quit. When I got hurt, when it felt like everything I’d worked for just vanished, I wanted to give up. I didn’t see the point.” He reached up, brushing a tear from your cheek. “But then I met you,” he continued. “And you reminded me that even when it hurts, we keep skating. That it’s not the fall that defines us, it’s the moment after.” 

A silence stretched between you, delicate and profound. And in that stillness, you smiled. Not the bright, performative kind you wore in hallways and crowded rooms, but something quieter. Realer. “Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t need to reply. The way his fingers laced with yours said everything. The space between you fizzled like ice cracking under a sudden flame. There was a flicker of hesitation in your eyes, an instinct, perhaps, to hold back but it crumbled under the heat of the moment. Your hands were still curled inside his, trembling slightly, not from fear but from the rawness of being seen. 

Then you kissed him. No hesitancy this time. No uncertainty. You surged forward, your mouth finding his with a quiet kind of desperation, the kind that had been building for weeks, hidden behind teasing words and soft glances, behind shared practices and unspoken understandings. His lips met yours like a dam finally breaking, and suddenly you were both lost to it. 

Sunghoon responded with a heat that startled even him. His hands slid from your waist to your back, holding you like he was afraid you might disappear. Your fingers curled into the hem of his shirt, clutching at the fabric like it could anchor you to something real, something burning and alive. There was nothing cautious about it now, the kiss deepened, mouths parting with breathless urgency, tongues tangling, exhales catching like thunder on the edge of a storm. You gasped softly against his mouth when he walked you backward, your spine brushing the cool lockers behind you. The contrast only made you shiver more, and he kissed you again to chase it away. His hands were in your hair now, cradling the nape of your neck like you were something precious. And you were, he kissed you like you were rare, like you were the first warmth he’d felt after winter. 

Your body curved into his as if you’d always belonged there. You could feel the way he was holding back, restrained despite the tension humming through every inch of him. And maybe that’s what made it even more electric, knowing how tightly he was wound, how carefully he moved against you even as his breath quickened and his hands lingered. “Sunghoon…” you murmured against his lips, dizzy from the intensity. 

He didn’t answer, not in words. But the way he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, the way your breath hitched, the way your hands trembled where they clutched at his chest was its own kind of vow. The air between you felt heady, thick with longing, the room humming with the pulse of everything unspoken. You weren’t sure how long you stood there in the glow of the locker room light, locked together in something fierce and tender and brand new. 

But when you finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, the silence that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt full of everything still waiting to be said, still waiting to be felt. And neither of you ran from it. No, you welcomed it like an incoming tide washing over your heart and your entire being. Your forehead stayed pressed to his, your breaths mingling in the space between like steam curling from a fresh cup of tea. His hands still cradled your face, thumbs brushing gently over your cheekbones as if to memorize the texture of your skin, like maybe touching you was the only way to make sense of the storm inside him. 

You whispered his name again, barely a breath, and that was all it took. He kissed you once more, slower this time, deeper. There was a reverence in it, a kind of awe like he still couldn’t believe you were real and here and kissing him back. His hands slid down from your face to your waist again, and he pulled you in until there was nothing between you but heat and air. Your fingers wove into the dark strands of his hair, curling just slightly at the ends, tugging him closer in the most delicate, desperate way. 

The kiss grew from soft to smoldering, like fire catching slowly at first, then flaring brighter when the wind shifts. His lips moved against yours with more certainty now, more hunger, and yours responded in kind. It was dizzying, this exchange of breath and want, of emotion too big to name. Every brush of his mouth against yours made your knees weak, every sigh from his throat made your heart race like a drum in a thunderstorm.  You tugged at the hem of his shirt, not to take it off, but just to feel the warmth of him under your hands, the dip of his back, the rise of his spine, the solidness of muscle beneath skin. He shivered under your touch and kissed you like he was unraveling. 

He pressed you back against the lockers again — not harshly, never harshly — but close enough that you could feel every breath, every heartbeat, every inch of tension. His hands gripped your waist like he needed the contact to stay steady, like if he let go, the whole world might stop turning. “God,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick and rough and nothing like the usual sharp-edged sarcasm. “You drive me crazy.” 

You laughed softly into the kiss, breathless and glowing. “Good crazy or bad crazy?” 

He kissed you again instead of answering, and the answer was everything. For a long, lingering moment, the rink, the cold, the ice, the noise of the world, all of it faded away. There was only the warmth between you, only the taste of each other’s names on your tongues, only the ache of something new blooming fast and bright like spring breaking through the frost. 

With your back still pressed against the cold metal of the lockers you allowed yourself the luxury of tracing your hands up and down Sunghoon’s broad chest, feeling every contour, every muscle beneath your palms. Filthy thoughts filled your head as Sunghoon’s lips trailed down the expanse of your neck and collarbone. A gasp fell from your lips as he sucked on the skin where your neck met your collarbone. 

“Oh!” You squeaked, running your hands through his hair fisting the tufts in your nimble hands like your life depended on it. “Sunghoon…” Your voice trailed with heat laced in the words, want. “I want you.” 

“You want me?” He hummed, continuing his exploration of your neck. “How badly do you want me?” He was toying with you, playing with your need for him — your want. 

“So bad.” Your voice was airy — needy almost. His smirk said he loved it, the way you were willing to beg for him and willing you were. You don’t even remember the last time you’ve been touched so intimately, with someone you cared for so fiercely. The pure lust and adrenaline coursing through your veins had left you feeling like you were ablaze. 

“Beg for it.” His voice was sharp — stern. It was so so hot. The way lips let your body, the way his eyes searched your traveling down your body drinking you in. The way your chest rose and fell as red hot searing need coursed through you. You do anything he asks of you at this moment, anything. 

“Please” You whimpered, hands grabbing at his hoodie. “Please, fuck me.” Your voice was sweet and light your eyes wide as you stared up at him. “I need it so bad.” 

“Fuckkkk” He groaned and next thing you knew his hands were under your thighs lifting you in his arms in one fail swoop. “I can’t resist you, Sunshine.” 

“I don’t want you to.” You pant as his hands find your skirt lifting it enough to show your panties. It was going to be quick, dirty. And that's exactly how you needed him. 

“Take me out.” He hissed at you. Your hands reach for his sweatpants pulling them down just enough to release him from his boxers. He was hard, of course. The tip red and angry with need. Your hand made a fist around his shaft pumping up and down. 

“Oh fuck.” He groaned, his forehead falling forward to meet yours. “Touch yourself before i fuck you.” 

You listened carefully, moving your other hand down, pulling your white cotton panties to the side and rubbing at your sensitive nub with your fingers. “Oh my god.” You whined out. “Please Sunghoon, please” 

“Just a little bit more, baby.” He cooed, “You’re almost ready for me.” 

“I’m ready now.” You couldn’t contain the whimper that threatened to fall from your lips. “I need you, so bad.” 

“Okay, Sunshine.” He nodded, taking his length in his own hand all the whilst holding you up against the lockers. “I got you.” 

Sunghoon’s gazed fell from your face to where the two of you met, his tip slapping against your entrance like a knock. A gasp leaving your lips the instant he pushed into you — creating a beautiful stretch you felt through your entire body. 

Sunghoon started with a slow pace, allowing hips to tap against yours lightly. It was almost romantic the way his forehead rested against yours. His breath fanning your face with short pants. You were in love with this feeling — in love with this moment and how it consumes you whole. 

“Faster.” You whined, hands gripping Sunghoon’s shoulders with white knuckles. You were trying to ground yourself, the pleasure taking you to a whole other planet entirely. “Faster please Sunghoon.” 

Sunghoon said nothing, his only response was the quick motion of his hips against yours. The sound of skin slapping filling the silence of the locker room like a melody, it was a tune you’d grow to love if given the chance. “Oh– my god.” You chanted. “Oh my god.” 

“You close?” Sunghoon grunts, his voice gritty and harsh. “Take it.” 

“Yes.” Your head was weightless as it bobbled up and down in tune with Sunghoon’s harsh thrusts. “I’m so close.” 

“Gooood girl..” He cooed in your ear. “Cum for me.” 

Your end splashed into you like a tidal wave, washing over your body in an overbearing pleasure you’d never felt before. Your thighs trembled in Sunghoon’s hands as you rode out your high. Sunghoon falling suit, moaning your name like a mantra. You had never felt more connected to someone then you did in this moment. Tied together a web of emotion and something that felt so close to love. 

You were falling in love. It was fast and blinding and scary but it was true. You were falling in love. And you hoped and prayed Sunghoon was too. 

By the time you situated yourself it was almost too late into the night to try and sneak back into your dorm room. Plus the thought of seeing Ruka right now with the knowledge of what she had done had been sickening. Sunghoon offered for you to stay at his place and you were in no position to turn the offer down. You allowed him to take you home. You allowed him to worship your body until all hours of the night. And most importantly you allowed yourself to fall in love deeper and deeper as the clock ticked on. 

The morning sun trickled through the blinds in gentle stripes, painting golden bars across the sheets tangled around your legs. The air was still tinged with last night’s sweetness, a lull of warmth that lingered between your skin and his, and the scent of cold air and something distinctly him like mint and pine and a little bit of wild. You stirred slowly, your limbs heavy but content, the kind of ache that whispered of a night where nothing was said aloud but everything was understood in touches, in sighs, in the soft tremble of lips pressed together in quiet devotion. 

Sunghoon was already up, standing near the edge of the room, half-dressed and slipping his hoodie over his head. The light hit his face just right, catching the soft curve of his cheek and the tired determination in his eyes. He looked like someone ready to face something, and for once, not run from it. You sat up, the covers pooling around your waist like the soft folds of a curtain falling back. “You’re up early,” you murmured, voice still raspy with sleep and something sweeter. 

He glanced at you, and there was a flicker in his gaze, that rare smile he barely gave anyone, small, crooked, a secret stitched between two hearts. “I’m going to talk to Jay,” he said, adjusting the sleeves of his hoodie. “I want to ask him… to let me play again.” For a second, it felt like everything stopped. Not because you were surprised — no, you’d seen it coming, inching closer each time he took a fall and got up again, each time he looked at the ice with something softer than hate but because this was a moment of return. A full circle. A boy broken now choosing not to stay shattered. 

You smiled, and it was bright enough to make the room feel warmer. “You should,” you said, voice thick with pride. “You’re ready.” He stepped over to the bed, leaned down, and kissed you, quick and soft, like a promise sealed in the hush of morning. It wasn’t heated like the night before, but it burned all the same, quiet fire beneath skin.

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him like the final note of a song, leaving you alone with tangled sheets, sunlit silence, and a chest full of warmth. You fell back into the pillows with a sigh, fingers brushing your lips. Something had shifted. And you knew, with a certainty that reached down to your bones, that things were only just beginning. 

The cold kiss of the arena hit Sunghoon the moment he stepped through the doors, but it felt different now, less like an echo of pain and more like a memory rediscovered. The air smelled of ice and rubber and worn leather, a scent that once haunted him, now stirring something in him that almost felt like peace. Almost. He walked toward the rink, skates slung over his shoulder, confidence stitched into the rhythm of his steps. The moment he stepped past the glass, heads turned. Jake was the first to notice, eyebrows lifting in surprise, his helmet tucked under one arm. Heeseung followed, stopping mid-lace with a crooked smile playing at the edge of his mouth. Jay’s brows drew together in disbelief, and even Soobin looked up from where he was adjusting his gloves. Coach Bennett, stoic as always, stood at the edge of the rink with his clipboard like it was a shield. 

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Jay muttered, not unkindly, but wary. 

Sunghoon didn’t flinch. “I’m here to show you I’m ready.” The words settled into the air like frost, and no one moved for a moment. Coach’s lips pressed into a flat line. “Sunghoon…” 

“I’m serious,” Sunghoon said, voice sharp as skates on fresh ice. “I’ve been training, I’ve been pushing myself. I’m not here to sit on the bench and clap for everyone else. I want to play.” There was a silence, heavy and cautious. Jake rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Heeseung, who gave him nothing but a tight nod. “You’ve been through a lot,” Soobin offered gently. “It’s not about wanting. It’s about being cleared.” 

“I am cleared,” Sunghoon snapped, the warmth from earlier that morning slipping through his fingers like melting snow. “I’m cleared, I’m stronger, I’ve been working every goddamn day. But every time I come back here, you all look at me like I’m broken glass.” Coach Bennett looked down at his clipboard, unreadable. “It’s not about doubt, it’s about safety.” 

“Bullshit,” Sunghoon muttered. His jaw tensed, breath fogging in front of him. “You think I’d put myself back on this ice if I wasn’t ready?” Still, they didn’t move, didn’t soften. And something in him snapped, not the injury, not the tendon, but something deeper. A flare of frustration bloomed in his chest, blooming red hot. Heeseung, trying to defuse the crackle in the air, said, “Maybe just keep training with the figure skater—” 

Sunghoon’s head snapped up, and without meaning to, without even thinking, the words spilled out sharp and cruel. “I’m done wasting time with that ballerina on ice.” It felt like the words echoed, like even the boards flinched from them. A sting curled behind his ribs the moment it left his mouth, regret instantaneous, but pride, wounded and loud, kept him from pulling it back. “I want to come back to the real game,” he added, voice quieter, but iron-edged. “I’m done sitting out while you all pretend like I don’t exist.” 

A thick pause. Coach Bennett looked at him long and hard, then said slowly, “You can skate at next week’s practice. We’ll see then.” And just like that, it was done. But the victory tasted hollow on his tongue, and when Sunghoon sat to lace up his skates, the chill of the words he’d thrown, not at them, but at you, clung to him like frostbite. 

In the dim hush of the arena’s far bleachers, behind a column of shadow where the sun dared not reach, Ruka sat like a ghost in waiting, silent, calculating, and out of place. The buzz of the overhead lights hummed above her, flickering faintly, illuminating the sharp gleam in her eyes as she angled her phone just so. Her hand was steady. Patient. She shouldn’t have been there, wasn't allowed, wasn’t invited but Ruka had learned long ago that the world didn’t bend for those who asked politely. It bowed for the ones who took what they wanted. And right now, what she wanted was to unravel the ribbon of warmth that had started to thread its way between you and Sunghoon, to cut it with precision, to remind the world of who belonged in the spotlight and who didn’t. 

Her phone was already recording when Sunghoon stormed in, voice clear and edged with fire. She leaned forward, breath caught, her ears tuned sharply to every syllable. And then, there it was. The perfect storm. “I’m done wasting time with that ballerina on ice.” it hit the air like a slap, reverberating across the rink, and Ruka’s mouth curved into something that might have been mistaken for a smile if it weren’t so cold. Her thumb paused just long enough to ensure it had been captured, every inch of his exasperation, the tension in his voice, the pride bleeding into his posture. She tucked the phone into her coat pocket like a prize, one she’d deliver when the time was right, when the sting would land deepest. 

She didn’t care if Sunghoon hadn’t meant it. She didn’t care that he might already regret it. She wasn’t after truth, she was after control, and perception was always stronger than honesty in the court of whispered judgment. As the team fell into uneasy silence, she slipped out like a wisp of smoke, unnoticed and unseen, her heels light on the concrete floor, her breath misting in the chilled air. The doors of the arena sighed open and closed behind her with a hush. Outside, the sky stretched pale and gray, the wind carrying a sharpness that mirrored her resolve. 

Ruka wasn’t stupid she’d seen the way you looked at him, the way your smile bloomed for him like the first flower of spring. And more than that, she’d seen the way he looked back, that faint, unguarded flicker that once might have belonged to her but now seemed to burn only for you. So fine, she thought. If fire was what it took to make him see, then she’d set the whole thing ablaze. Let the ballerina dance on thin ice. She’d make sure the cracks came quick.

The front door creaked open with a burst of wind and sunlight, and Sunghoon stepped inside, shoulders high and heart thundering like blades against ice. His cheeks were flushed, not from the cold but from the triumph still coursing through him like static. The house was quiet, a rare lull between chaos, there you were. Sprawled across the living room floor in one of his oversized sweatshirts, your legs curled beneath you, your eyes bright as twin stars as they landed on him. The moment you saw his face, your own lit up like the sky on New Year’s Eve. 

"Did they say yes? What did they say? Oh my god, are you back? When do you start? What did Jay say? Wait, did Heeseung—" Your words spilled out like a melody, fast and tumbling and effervescent, each one building on the last in that way only you could manage. It was a deluge of sunshine, and Sunghoon didn’t answer — not with words, not yet. Instead, with one smooth movement and a grin tugging at the corners of his lips, he crossed the room in three long strides, swept you up with one arm around your waist, and kissed you. Firm, grounded, and breath-stealing. The kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for permission because it already knows it’s home.

You let out a delighted squeal, half-laughter against his mouth, your hands flying to his shoulders as your feet dangled above the floor. “I take it they said yes,” you murmured when you pulled back, breathless, the corners of your mouth lifting in that way that always made his chest ache a little in the best way. “Yes,” he said, barely above a whisper, but his voice held so much more than just agreement. It was relief and victory and hope. “Practice starts next week.” 

You beamed like you had swallowed the moon whole, eyes soft and full of a pride that wasn’t loud, but deep and unwavering. “I knew they’d say yes,” you said, cupping his cheek. “You were born for the ice.” He kissed you again, this time slower, with a touch more reverence, as if he was grounding himself in you. As if your faith in him was the thing tethering him to the world. And maybe it was.

He set you gently down, but your arms remained looped around his neck, unwilling to let go just yet. You leaned your forehead against his and closed your eyes for a beat. “I’m so happy for you, Hoon.” His name on your lips still made something in him tremble. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You would’ve,” you whispered. “But I’m glad I got to watch you do it anyway.” Outside, the wind whispered promises against the windows, and inside, in the soft glow of late afternoon, Sunghoon realized that somewhere between all the broken things, the injuries, the pressure, the pain he had found something whole. You. 

That night, the frat house was glowing, music vibrating through the walls like a heartbeat, laughter spilling out into the cold night air, the scent of cheap beer and cologne wrapping around the porch in a familiar haze. When Sunghoon leaned against your doorframe earlier, looking all casual with his hands shoved in his pockets and a soft smile threatening the edge of his mouth, asking you to come with him to the party, your yes had come quicker than your breath. There was no way you’d miss it not after the week the two of you had. So now, walking in beside him, hand ghosting near his like some secret tether, you tried not to look too amazed at the wild warmth of it all. Lights strung from the ceiling blinked like dying stars, red cups swirled in every hand, and voices collided like waves. It was chaos, but it was the good kind, the kind where possibility clung to the air like perfume.

Sunghoon didn’t even hesitate. He kept his hand on the small of your back, leading you through the crowd with a quiet confidence, and then he said it, just loud enough for the group clustered near the kitchen island to hear. “This is my girl.” It took you a second to process the words. Your heart leapt to your throat, and your smile tried to hide behind the cup in your hand, but you felt it. The gravity of it. How he said it so simply, like it wasn’t anything new, like it had been true for ages and he was just now stating a fact everyone should already know.

His friends turned toward you all at once, a mix of grins and raised brows. Jay was first to reach out, pulling you into a quick, one-armed hug. “So you’re the figure skater.”

You laughed. “Guilty.”

“I’m Jake,” said the one with dimples, his voice warm and curious, like he’d been waiting to meet you. “You’re way too happy to be hanging out with Sunghoon.”

You giggled and nudged your shoulder into Sunghoon’s. “I think I balance him out.”

“Or drive him insane,” Soobin added dryly from the couch. His arm was loosely slung around a girl who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. She was beautiful, no doubt, sleek and poised, but her smile was more of a formality than anything real. That had to be Yunjin. She gave you a quick nod. “You’re very…bubbly.”

“Is that code for loud?” you asked, grinning wide. “It’s okay, I get that a lot.” Soobin cracked a half-smile, and even Yunjin let out the tiniest huff that could’ve been a laugh if you squinted. Still, there was tension between them, an invisible thread pulled too tight. They stood close but didn’t seem to touch, not really. Their words skipped past each other like stones across water, and you wondered what storm brewed quietly behind their silence. Heeseung leaned in then, arms crossed, eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon. “She’s the opposite of you, man. Like…completely.”

Sunghoon only shrugged, sipping his drink with a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. I know.” And the way he looked at you when he said it like it wasn’t a flaw, like it was the best thing about you, made your chest bloom with something warm and wild. You reached for his hand, and this time he didn’t hesitate. His fingers curled into yours like they belonged there, like maybe they always had. The music shifted into something slower, the kind of beat that made everything else fade, and the crowd swayed around you like the sea. You weren’t quite sure how the night would end, but for now, wrapped in the golden hum of laughter and light, with Sunghoon by your side and your name spoken like something precious between strangers who might become friends you were exactly where you were meant to be. 

The night had curled itself into comfort, like a candle-lit secret shared between strangers now growing familiar. You stood with Sunghoon and his friends in the corner of the room where the music wasn’t too loud, where voices could still dance freely. You were mid-laugh, something Jake had said, your face lit with that easy, golden joy you wore like a second skin. Sunghoon stood close to you, his arm brushing yours every so often, eyes softer than anyone had seen them in weeks. You didn’t know it, but he’d been watching you like you were a lighthouse in the storm, something to steer by. And then the room chilled.

It was subtle at first, just a shift in air, the way conversation dulled, footsteps falling heavy behind the group. You turned before Sunghoon did, and there she was. Ruka. Her presence bled tension into the moment, a sharpness that made smiles go stiff and gazes flick downward. She stood with her arms crossed, dressed like she belonged and yet looking so out of place. You smiled at her anyway, your voice honeyed and warm.

“Hey, Ruka! You made it, have you met everyone?” The sweetness in your tone was genuine, like you hadn’t noticed the way her eyes cut through you, like maybe this time would be different, like maybe she’d smile back and offer a polite nod. But she didn’t.

Instead, her lip curled, and her voice dropped low, sharp enough to wound. “Drop the act.” The words sliced through the air like glass breaking. The laughter stopped, your own breath hitching slightly as confusion passed across your face. “What?” you asked, softly, not in disbelief, but in the kind of gentle hope that maybe you’d misheard her.

“I said,” Ruka stepped closer now, venom twisting in her pretty mouth, “drop the fucking act. The bubbly sunshine girl thing? It's fake. And everyone here’s falling for it, but it’s pathetic.” A heavy silence fell. Jake blinked, Soobin muttered something under his breath. Yunjin folded her arms tightly. And beside you, you felt Sunghoon stiffen, like his muscles remembered rage before his mind caught up.

“Back off,” he said, his voice low and dangerously calm. But Ruka only laughed, a cold, humorless thing that curled at the edges like smoke. “Really? You’re defending her?” She looked at him, eyes glinting with something twisted and triumphant. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who said he was wasting his time with the ‘ballerina on ice.’”

You froze. The words hung between you like frost. You turned, your head tilting slightly toward Sunghoon, expression unreadable. But he was already shaking his head, already stepping forward. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, voice rising, urgent. “I was pissed, I was trying to prove I was ready to play again, and I said something stupid—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Ruka said smoothly. “They can hear it for themselves.” She pulled out her phone, unlocking it with the ease of someone who’d been waiting for this moment. The recording played loud and clear, his voice unmistakable: “I’m just wasting time with the ballerina on ice. I want to come back to the real game.”

The words hit like a slap. Your chest ached, something invisible curling tight around your lungs. You stood still, perfectly still, like movement might make it worse. The others glanced between you both, some awkward, some stunned. Heeseung winced. Jay looked furious. Jake muttered, “Dude,” under his breath. Sunghoon reached for you then, eyes wide, desperate. “I didn’t mean it—” You didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away. But your smile, your radiant, effortless smile — wavered. Only a flicker, barely there, like a candle in the wind.

The music faded. Or maybe it didn't, maybe it still pulsed behind you, still thudded with the bass of cheap speakers and louder laughter, but in your ears it was gone. Replaced by the sound of your own heartbeat — wild and feral, pounding like fists against a closed door. Your cheeks flushed hot, but your hands had gone cold, and everything in the room blurred with the sting of unshed tears. Your eyes found Sunghoon’s, but it wasn’t safety you felt.

It was betrayal. And shame. Shame so sudden it roared up your throat and turned the warmth in your chest to something molten and broken. “Wait—” he whispered, stepping toward you. You pulled back.

He looked like he’d been struck, like the reach of his hand had meant everything. Maybe it had. But you were already moving, weaving between people, ignoring the murmurs and awkward stares, the way the group parted like water around you. Your heels scraped the floor. Someone said your name, maybe Jake, maybe Heeseung, but you didn’t turn back. You pushed through the door and into the yard where the cold night air hit your face like glass. You breathed it in too fast, too hard, hoping it would drown out the heat of humiliation clawing at your throat. The stars blurred above you, cruel and glinting. Behind you — footsteps.

“Wait—please,” Sunghoon called out, breathless. You spun on him just as he reached the porch, voice trembling with hurt and rage. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t mean it,” he said, voice cracking. “I swear I didn’t mean it.”

“Don’t lie to me.” You tried to keep your voice strong, but it wavered at the edges, shivering like frost under sunlight. “Don’t act like I didn’t hear it. Everyone heard it, Sunghoon.”

“I was angry,” he said. “They wouldn’t let me play, I—I said something I didn’t mean because I was desperate. I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t.”

“You called me a waste of time,” you whispered, voice breaking now. “You said I wasn’t the real game.” His expression collapsed. “That’s not what I meant—”

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to want something that bad?” You laughed, but it came out brittle and sharp. “To work every night until your legs give out? To fall and fall and fall and keep getting up? I gave everything to this. To the ice. To you.” Tears spilled hot down your cheeks, and you hated how fast they came, how they betrayed the tremor in your heart.

“I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for you to kiss me. I didn’t ask to be anything more than the annoying figure skater who shares your rink time.”

“You’re not—don’t say that,” he said, stepping closer. But you stepped back.

“I should’ve known better,” you said, voice low now, shaking. “You were always going to go back to them. To the game. And I was just practice. Just something to pass the time.”

“That’s not true.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “You’re more than that. You mean—fuck, you mean everything.” And then he said it.

“I love you.”

The words cracked the night in two. You stared at him, eyes wide, breath stolen clean from your lungs. But it was too late. You shook your head, tears still slipping down your cheeks, chest heaving. “Don’t say that now.”

“I mean it.”

“Then why did you say that?” The question hung between you like a blade. And he had no answer. Or maybe he did, but not one that could stitch the wound he’d just made. So you turned. You turned before he could see the way your whole body broke in half. Before he could see the shiver in your spine and the way your hands curled into your coat like it could somehow hold you together. You walked. Past the yard, down the sidewalk, away from the party that once felt like light. Sunghoon didn’t follow this time. And maybe that’s what hurt the most.

The days pass like shadows beneath your skates, faint and fleeting, yet always there. Each morning you wake with a hollow echo in your chest, a silence that’s grown too familiar. You lace up your skates like armor, wear your routines like battle hymns. You skate harder now, faster, carving the ice like it wronged you. Blades slicing through your thoughts, breath fogging in the cold as you spin through everything you can’t say. You haven’t spoken to Sunghoon since that night. You’ve seen him in passing, walking across campus, laughing with Heeseung outside the rink, nodding at Coach Bennett with that quiet intensity in his eyes, but you never linger. You turn corners when he comes close. Pretend not to hear when his voice drifts from down the hallway. You are your own silence, sharp and unyielding.

The dorm is no better. Ruka has become a ghost, and you let her be. You don’t look at her, don’t respond to her passive remarks or the way she sighs when you walk in. She’s tried to speak, maybe once, maybe twice, but you shut her out with the same coldness she once offered you. You spend more time out of the room than in it. Your application to switch dorms is in the system now, a silent wish sent to the stars. All you can do is wait. But the nights… the nights are the worst. Sleep doesn’t come easily anymore. Your mind replays everything, his voice, his kiss, the look on his face when you turned away. You wonder if he’s been practicing. You wonder if he hates himself for what he said. You wonder if he meant it.

That night, the silence in your room presses in too tightly, the hum of your mini-fridge too loud, the shadows too long. You grab your skates and your coat. The rink calls to you not just as an escape, but as something close to home. Familiar. Honest. The moment you step inside, the air hits you like memory. Cold. Quiet. Unforgiving. You walk past the front lobby, past the empty locker rooms, and step onto the bleachers with the intention of warming up slowly, maybe skating alone under the low light until the sun peeks over the horizon. 

But you stop short. Because he’s already there. Sunghoon. Alone. On the ice. He’s skating, not perfectly, not as fluid as you’ve seen before, but he’s trying. Focused. Determined. His brows are drawn together, the sweat at his temples shining under the low rink lights. He doesn’t see you at first. Doesn’t hear the way your breath catches. You don’t move. You watch him glide forward, stumble slightly, then correct. He exhales, pushes again. Again. And again. He’s practicing. Your chest tightens. 

At first, you want to run. The moment you see him standing there beneath the pale glow of the rink lights, alone, waiting, searching the dark for something like hope, your body tells you to turn around. To vanish into the quiet of night and not look back. You’ve been skating circles around your own heart for days now, tightening the laces of your silence so securely that the thought of unraveling them in front of him makes you tremble. But it’s too late. His eyes catch yours, and you freeze like a deer in the frost. The tension between you snaps taut.

“Wait,” he says, voice catching, breathless. “Please—don’t go.” You don’t speak. He steps closer, every movement slow, like he’s approaching something delicate, something sacred. His eyes are wide and shining in the cold, like he’s on the edge of something, begging not to fall.

“Just talk to me,” he says. “Please. I—I need to say something.” You don’t know what compels you to stay. Maybe it’s the quiver in his voice or the way your name falls from his lips like a prayer. Maybe it’s the days of silence, heavy as snowfall, finally breaking. But you nod. You sit. And you listen. “I’m sorry,” he says first, and the words drop between you like stones sinking into a still lake. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You don’t look at him yet. You’re afraid to. Afraid that if you do, your heart will unravel right there on the ice. He keeps going. “When you first asked me if I believed in love, I told you I didn’t. That it wasn’t real. That it was for other people, not me. And you, you just smiled like you knew something I didn’t. You said I just hadn’t found the right person yet.” You lift your eyes to meet his. He’s closer now. Kneeling in front of you, his palms flat against the boards, like he’s anchoring himself to you.

“I found her,” he whispers. “I found you.” The words hit you like a gust of wind, unexpected, sharp, and tender. You blink, and the tears finally come, soft and shimmering, gliding down your cheeks like melting snow. His gaze flickers, worried, but you raise a hand, just one, and rest it over his.

“What you said that night…” you begin, voice cracking like a brittle branch. “It hurt, Sunghoon. God, it hurt. But I don’t think it was the words, not really. It was the moment. The humiliation. Being exposed in front of everyone. Like I was something to be mocked.” He looks like he might cry too.

“I just wanted to feel safe with you,” you continue, softer now. “I wanted to be seen. And Ruka… she hates me for reasons I can’t understand. I don’t want to be in competition with her. I don’t want any of this.” His hand tightens around yours. “I know. And I hate that I let her use me like that. That I gave her the opening. But I swear to you none of what I said was real. You are not a waste of time. You are the only thing in my life that makes sense.” You lean your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his in the cold air between you.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” you whisper.

“I mean every word,” he breathes. “I love you.”

Your lips tremble. And before either of you can speak again, you kiss him. It’s not the fiery kiss of confession or the desperate press of need. It’s gentle. Forgiving. It’s two broken pieces finding a way to fit again, not quite perfect, but perfectly trying. His arms circle your waist, pulling you in close, grounding you as your fingers brush his jaw, his neck, his hair. The kiss deepens with every second. Not in heat, but in heart. Like a vow passed between mouths too tired for words.

When you part, your foreheads stay pressed together. His thumb brushes away your tears. “I forgive you,” you murmur, voice trembling. “But please… no more lies. Not even the ones you tell yourself.”

“I promise,” he replies, voice raw. “No more.” And in that quiet, ice-slicked space between apology and absolution, you feel it, that something between you hasn’t shattered. It’s only just begun to bloom. 

Epilogue. 

The arena hums like a living thing, buzzing nerves and echoing chants, the chill of the ice rising into the rafters like ghosts of old games, old dreams. You sit somewhere in the middle of it all, wrapped in a scarf and a soft coat, heart thudding so loud it’s almost a drumline. Your fingers are clasped tight in your lap, your breath fogs in little puffs before your lips, and your eyes are locked on the rink like the story of your whole life might unfold across its frozen face. It’s his first game back.

Sunghoon. And you can’t remember the last time you were this full of feeling, pride, nerves, joy, a fragile ribbon of fear, but most of all, love. Love so big and bright and burning it feels like a comet carved into your chest. The lights above dim slightly, just a flicker, and then the team is called out one by one. The crowd roars like a wave, cresting and crashing with every name announced, jerseys flashing, skates hissing against the ice as the players appear. And then, there he is. Sunghoon skates out like he’s flying, his form clean and sharp and easy, like every moment he ever doubted himself has been burned away. The crowd cheers louder, not because they know the whole story, but because they can feel it. The comeback. The storm stilled. The boy who refused to give in.

You feel breathless watching him. And then, mid-glide, he turns his head. Finds you in the crowd like a compass always knows where north is. His eyes catch yours and in that moment, the noise fades. The arena, the lights, the cheers — all of it vanishes, melting away like frost under the sun. There’s just him. And you. He points at you — simple, easy, certain. And then his mouth moves, slow and deliberate.

“I love you.” Three words mouthed without a sound, but somehow louder than thunder. Your chest caves in, and a laugh breaks from your throat, trembling and tearful all at once. You nod, hand over your heart, mouthing it back: I love you too. And in that charged quiet between you, across ice and lights and distance, the ache of the past slips into something softer. Something holy. The game begins but you're not really watching the puck.

You're watching him. And he's not just skating. He's flying.

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[kithtaehyung]

seven days (monday) | jjk

title: monday series: seven days: masterlist | prologue pairing: fuckboy!jungkook x reader(f) genre/rating: m (18+) ; angst , fluff ; roommates to lovers au summary: after a long ass day at work, all you wanna do is sleep. but jungkook has made dinner reservations, and this whole bet is off to a rocky start. warnings: a whole lot of sass (jk and reader), hand holding??, yes that is a warning, jk wears a tank, tension, embarrassment, snide comments, kookie is too fine and it HURTS!!, leather, dance king jk, reader bby is stressed as hell TT, roommates to idiots, anxiety, overthinking, kissing (????), general cuteness bc this jk is a loser and i love him :(((, reader is a queen, i wanna fight this jungkook but what's new lol notes: 7days is back on the menu, chatttttt!!! if you've been waiting since forever i wanna see hands up in the audience hahaha notes 2: just a little extra warning here but he’s unbelievably confident in this one yet a big softie and it HURTS😩 drop date: april 28th, 2025, 9:13pm est word count: 11k🗯️🗯️ taglist: sign up here (i check every entry so read the rules!)

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Monday is gnawing on your final straw.

Meetings, reports, decisions—everything has warning signs attached and you’re quite close to heeding them and finding the nearest exit. Literally, figuratively, and expeditiously. 

Fuck. 

That means you might have to job hunt soon. For two jobs to compensate for how much you’re making now.

Why, oh why, did you choose the condo you did? And why did you pick a condo in the first place? Apartments would have been just fine for your needs and you could’ve been saving more for a fallout like this.  

Well. You know the answer to that first question. 

And it’s an answer you don’t regret.

Thinking back to that day, you still remember the way the lobby looked. How plants lined glass walls, how people occupied various mid-century chairs like they were paid background extras in a film. 

More specifically, you remember seeing a vaguely familiar boy barrel through the revolving doors, dark locks whizzing about and paper clutched tight in his tatted hand. 

Ignoring you entirely, he cut the line just as you were about to inquire about a tour—everyone including the concierge pinning him with disgust. 

“Back of the line, Mr. Jeon.” 

“She can wait, just—”

Your memory spun with that even more familiar last name, but you still couldn’t quite place where you knew this asshole from. 

“—and I have it here. Also, why are you calling me th—” 

“The rent is already way past due. We’re listing your unit.”

“Anj.” 

“Mr. Jeon.” 

“You know I have the money.” He sounded so rushed. So desperate. “I just forgot cus my roommate left—” 

“You forgot for three weeks—” 

“I was helping them move that whole time!” 

Sighing, you checked your phone and determined you were gonna give it two more minutes until you trekked to another building. 

But you had heard a mountain of good things about the place, and that particular day was the only free one you had to check it out.

So you waited. Because anything would beat staying in a cramped apartment with someone that clipped their toenails on a weeping living room table.

“Look. I have two months’ rent right here, plus extra.” Hair still frazzled, so-called Mr. Jeon hastily slapped his paper down before sliding it forward. “And I can even live by myself if I need to.” 

“Doesn’t matter if you have the money or not,” Anj explained, voice as snipped as her fresh bangs. “The unit’s already listed in the system.” 

“Since when?” 

A merciless click echoed from her keyboard, and you knew exactly what was coming before she hammered home, 

“Now.” 

“Anjali…” 

You tried so hard to hide your face.

If anything, you scored a jackpot in people watching that day. Observing the interaction, you wondered what the hell this man did to the concierge to get this pathetic but hilariously hostile treatment. 

“Sorry, Mr. Jeon. You can apply for it again,” she offered with a flit of her hand, “If none of these nice, patient people in line take it.” 

Just like that, it was the final, abrupt end of the battle. The defeated dropped his head back in loss before reclaiming his paper with a sad flourish. 

And to this day, you don’t know what compelled you to speak up when you did. But you will always remember the reactions to your curiosity, 

“What does it look like?” 

Both him and Anjali whipped their heads so fast you froze. While the concierge appeared shocked, there was something in that boy’s eyes that strangely matched how you felt. 

Did you look familiar to him, too? 

A ping from your computer kicks you back to the present, and your rapid blinks make you realize you’ve been spacing out at your desk for minutes now. 

But you notice that the alert’s for the end of your shift, and you quickly wrap everything up before heading home. 

Straight back to the very condo you secured to save Mr. Jeon Jungkook’s ass. 

Sleep. 

That’s all you need right now. 

Beautiful, wonderful, ever-evasive sleep. 

But the only thing you get when you unlock the door is a flurry of activity, wave of music, and skittering of paws.

“There you are!” Your roommate yells as your legs are knocked by his furry companion. “Hurry and get ready!” 

When you shout back a droning rejection, Jungkook splashes the hallway with the most disrespectful tank and jeans you’ve ever seen him wear. 

Fuck, he’s flipping on a leather jacket over his shoulders, too? Your purse immediately slips from yours. 

Nope. He needs to stay where he is. There’s no reason for him to keep walking closer but he’s doing it anyway goddamn it you don’t have the brain capacity for this! 

“Didn’t you read my texts?” 

“No,” you readily admit, moving to reach your room before Jungkook can block your path. 

Too late. 

Damn, his cologne is fantastic.

It almost distracts you from the way he casually leans on your door. And the way his voice drops a whole octave when he reveals, 

“I’m taking you to dinner, remember?”

The butterfly on your heart is shooed away. “Where?”

“Not telling.”

“Seriousl—”

“But we gotta leave soon.” 

Your bed is so close. And yet so, so far. 

But damn, whatever Jungkook’s wearing proves way too enticing. You almost fold on its grip alone. Is this a new scent? Is he trying something different? 

Nope, focus. You want—need—sleep. 

With a sliver of hope, you reach for an out, “Does it have to be tonight? I just wanna be in bed.” 

“I’m not opposed to that.”

“Jeon.”

Wait. Is that the first time Jungkook’s said something like that to you? Sure, you’ve both been suggestive with each other before, but that? That felt… 

“I’m kidding!” He laughs, though his eyes are revealing truer angles. To your relief, though, the saucy reaction is short lived, giving way to a regular yet pitied tone,

“The next open slot is in two months.” 

What the hell? Where the fuck are you going? “You mean I got five minutes to prep for some fancy place I can’t know the name of?” 

“Uhh, no.” When Jungkook backtracks down the hall, his steps are as fast as his corrections, “You have two. And you don’t have to dress nice!” 

“But you—!”

The speed demon is back in his room before you can hound him. 

Muttering to no one, you agree with his last statement, “Good, cus I will not.” 

Well. You know two things. 

One: there’s no way this man is lasting ten days at this rate, much less seven.

And two: there’s absolutely no way you’re dressing up for whatever this is. Too much chaos went down at work for you to care about a fake dinner date with Jungkook. 

You’re going for the food the food the food. Nutrients, sustenance, anything that satisfies the tiger that you are not paying a pet deposit for. 

This better be worth the exhaustion. 

Pushing your door open, you immediately take big strides towards your awaiting closet, already knowing exactly what you’re gonna wear.  

Reservations two months out? As if.

How nice can this place really be?

Fucking opulent, apparently. 

This is where Jungkook meant when he said there was a place he wanted to try? The most expensive, lavish, influencer-riddled establishment in the city? 

When you recognize the damn near estate you’re pulling up to, you regret not caring about appearances and start sweating in your joggers. 

This whole bet is a prank! 

Because your roommate most definitely saw you for a whole minute before you both rushed out of the condo. How could you not remember? He eyed you as soon as you re-entered the hall to join him, and the back of your neck still has leftover chills from his steady staring. 

That whole time he saw what you were wearing and he didn’t say shit? “Kook, what the fuck?” 

“What?” 

“This is the place you wanted to try?” 

As Jungkook rolls up to the valet line, you get an annoying display of long fingers on his steering wheel. 

So you look out the dark window instead. 

“Nah, I just wanted to take you here. There’s a dessert place I wanna try after,” he explains with a smirk, little pieces of your sanity littering his passenger seat. “Don’t worry, I’m paying.” 

Though you’re thankful he’s footing the bill—because you did not budget for shelling out a whole check tonight—you still sputter while taking in all the beautiful, pressed outfits walking inside. “It’s—I would’ve—Fuck, why didn’t you tell me I’m underdressed?” 

They may not even let you in with what you’re wearing.

“Relax, roomie,” Jungkook pips, which stresses you the hell out. “I’m not dressed up either but they know me. We’re good.” 

Lies. He is a liar and the heat behind your eyes will set his pants ablaze. “They know you.” 

“Uh huh.”

When it’s your car’s turn, crisp uniforms rush around as you brace for utter shame. Not even the new car smell that still lingers in Jungkook’s car can keep you calm. 

Thank everything holy that you fixed yourself above neck. That one split second decision saves you a sliver of embarrassment. 

But you’re still in fucking sweatpants and sneakers. And a humongous hoodie. 

God. 

There’s no way this isn’t a set up.

No matter what, you’re holding yourself in high regard tonight. And that starts with greeting the valet with a bright smile as he opens your door, “Thank you so much.” 

“You’re very welcome, Ms. Jeon.” 

Miss what. 

Your manufactured grin has some defects as you nod, gripping your bag as you exit the vehicle. When you turn, you see your current annoyance chatting it up with the other valet, wind pushing your sweater into your increasingly sweaty back.  

Huh. They do look chummy.

Was Jungkook actually being serious?

“Have a good night, Mr. Jeon!” 

“Thanks, Dio! Take good care of her, yeah?” 

“As always.” 

Between witnessing the valet talking to your roommate as if they were friends, and having said roommate’s last name thrust upon your person, you can only stare. 

This is so weird. 

But you click back into focus as Jungkook moves to join you, channeling all the energy you usually harness for professional outings and executive dinners. 

Because even though you don a calm expression, you waste no time clutching his offered arm extra tight. Contempt buries itself in your low comment, “You’ve got some nerve, Kook.” 

“Thanks!” 

“Not a compliment.” 

“Ouch.” 

As you stroll through the grand entrance, you flare with conflicting feelings when he softly pulls you close. Subtle hints of luxury wisp into your nose, which compete with the warm feeling of his body feeling so solid against yours. 

Heavens above.  

Unbothered, he whispers back, “You’ll thank me after we eat.” 

“I look like shit.” 

“You’re perfect tonight, Ms. Jeon.” 

Nope. No, no, no, you will not acknowledge the fluttering in your stomach. Absolutely not. 

“Don’t call me that,” you seethe, smiling at the waiter before you’re led to your table. 

And despite the stares you’re drawing, there’s something else that’s distracting you even more. Something that has your brain swiftly forgetting everything you’ve been fussing about. 

Jungkook has lowered your arms so that he could lead. 

By holding your hand. 

His fingers feel so large around yours, his palm a strange but soothing mix of smooth and comfortable heat. Immediately, you feel a little more relaxed, which is strange considering you should be the exact opposite right now.

And as he guides you to sit in a chair that’s been pulled out for you, all you can do is follow in silence. 

Because your fingers had fit so… 

“Looks like they let anyone in here these days.”

Both your ears perk up before your fingers curl hard and fast. 

Did you really just hear that? Did they really have to say something when you’re in a shit mood? Because they’re the next table over and therefore within launching distance so now you have to do something about it— 

“Well, yeah,” Jungkook pounces before you do, snagging your look of confusion and signaling for you to follow along. When he rests leather forearms on tablecloth, he pins the couple with a cheeky smile. “That’d be pretty shitty if they didn’t let you two in, right?” 

Okay. Staring at long, tatted fingers flexing before tightening into a fist, you have to admit: anyone defending your pride is hot as fuck. 

And Jungkook being the one to do it? 

All thoughts you’re thinking have no place at the table.

The man laughs as he gets up. “Sure,” he scoffs. “Enjoy the meal, kids. Filet’s the house favorite.” 

“You sure?”

All eyes snap to your roommate. 

Scratching the bottom of his jaw, Jungkook looks into the air, scrunching his brows ever so slightly in mock-thought. “Pretty sure it’s the tomahawk, but. Maybe it changed since last week—Eddie!”

Your eyes follow his stare behind you to see a staff member waving before heading over. 

When he gets closer, you realize your roommate called over not a waiter… But a manager? On a first name basis?

Well, shit.

Your tongue pokes your cheek in high amusement. This couple next to you is lucky they just paid their bill or else they’d have to endure a whole meal of Jungkook sass. The man’s partner already looks like they’re gonna raise hell when they get in the car.

“Hello, Mr. Jeon! Always good to see you.” 

Inwardly—and maybe also outwardly—you’re holding in your grin as they vacate before your super petty date can even get the clarification out,

“Same! House favorite is the filet now?”

“Ah, no. It’s still the tomahawk, but the ribeye’s also very popular.”

Jungkook calls out to the retreating couple instead of the guy in front of him, cupped hand bracing his cheekiness, “Thanks, Eddie! Good to know!”

When he shifts back in his seat, he watches Eddie check behind him before raising a brow. “Did they give you any trouble?”

“Nah.” Jungkook smiles at you before settling into his chair. “We got it.” 

You can only blink, conflicting feelings warring in your stomach and making it spin. If you wanted to smile, it’s certainly coming out strained because that guy’s rude comment did catch you off guard.

To be fair, you are dressed up the most casual out of all the people here. But maybe your confidence is also weakened from the whole day, causing anything else to get a punch in. On top of the fact that you would never come here on your own unless you struck gold. 

But that does beg another question. 

Why does Jungkook look so at home this easily? His outfit is casual, too—leather jacket floating in a sea of suits and ties, for goodness sake. How does he do it? Has he actually been here that often?

Maybe it’s the way he carries an aura you have to fight to conjure on your best days. 

“Will the lady be having the usual tonight, Mr. Jeon?” 

Ah. Scratch that.

It’s because you’re the hundredth woman he’s taken here. And somehow all of you have been provided the same meal. 

Just like that, the haze around your brain vaporizes, leaving you glaring at wide eyes. 

So much for protecting your pride!

“Ah, umm,” Jungkook stutters, ears alight with embarrassment. “Not this time—I mean, no.” 

Mm. At least you’re relishing the way he’s tripping over himself.

“Apologies,” Eddie rescinds, looking just as alarmed. Good. “Here’s our menu for tonight, and we have a few specials that you can view on the first page.”

“Thank you,” you answer for your roommate, and you feel avenged when he visibly knows he fucked up. Feeling cheeky, you fire off, “What is the usual for us Ms. Jeon’s, if I may ask?” 

Both men freeze and seek each other before you get your stiff answer, “Ah, umm. Yes, our wedge salad, plain with house-made dressing on the side.” 

“Great.” 

As soon as you open your menu with finality, you can sense the tension radiating from your audience, inwardly proud of speaking out. 

Because this whole bet, or prank, or whatever it is? It is not gonna go the way Jungkook thinks it will. 

Even though a wedge salad with some accoutrements does sound pretty good. But who are you to back down now. 

When Eddie moves away—or scurries, rather—you shoot lasers of disappointment over your dimly lit menu. 

Which Jungkook very intentionally ignores.

But he’s not getting away that easily. If he’s gonna rope you into this mess, you’re gonna fight back. 

“Charming start,” you mutter.

“Sorry.”

Looking up in earnest, you notice something odd about your fake date.

He looks… Genuinely upset. Borderline disturbed.

Well. It’s his fault in the end. 

But is that really the expression of someone pranking their roommate? If it is, he could even pursue acting if his social media accounts don’t pop off. 

Focus. Actually read the words on the menu instead of staring. What are you hungry for? Everything here looks and sounds amazing so it’s gonna be hard to choose…

Your eyes slide over your hardy pamphlet one more time. 

And as Jungkook keeps watching the candle flick between you, something else stirs in your chest. 

Acting or not, he’s quiet as fuck. Which is making you more uncomfortable than anything else because he just lit up confronting that couple for you. 

A resigned sigh escapes your lips. “It’s okay.” 

He lifts his gaze.

“But at this rate, you’re definitely losing this whole thing.”

His laugh doesn’t have his whole heart inside. “I just… I’m sorry. That wasn’t… Wasn’t cool.”

“We’re good,” you assure, your softer side clutching the reins for a moment. “I can play wifey if you’re paying, yeah?”

At this, Jungkook seems to lighten up a tad, though you catch a hint of what you’ll later realize is shyness. “Yeah,” he confirms with a slow drawl. “Get whatever you want, Ms. Jeon.”

“How considerate.” 

“Anything for my date.” 

Your brows pinch for a moment, and you quickly remind yourself of what just happened with the manager. “Rip. I’m definitely getting more than a salad.” 

“I know,” Jungkook replies, palming his menu with a smirk on his lips. “Between the two of us we’re gonna blow my whole stack.” 

“We’re getting apps?”

“And sides.” 

“Wine?” 

“Fuck yeah.” 

“Hell yeah, bro.” Your mouth betrays you when it stretches sideways. But you can’t help it because this is where you’re comfortable. You’re not in an expensive restaurant on a date, you’re just having dinner with your roommate. 

Your very attractive, super sauve, completely senseless roommate.

Pulling at your hoodie, you let your amusement loose as your shoulders finally relax, “Good thing I wore this then, huh?” 

When Jungkook knowingly smiles with lips pressed, you feel like the only one in the room. 

And maybe like you got the whole prank thing all wrong. 

Damn. 

Everything you’ve eaten so far has you transcended into a higher plane. 

Truthfully, you can’t even recall a better meal than this, and the way Jungkook looks while he digs into his ribeye is how you feel inside. Satiated, content, and upset at how good the food tastes. 

But it’s not just the meal that warms your belly. The small bits of talking and joking you’ve been having with him have helped you forget the multiple vibrations you feel in your purse. And the wine has certainly helped relax some tightly-wound muscles. 

“Om mah guh,” you groan, this swallow as good as the last. “Can I live here instead?” 

Your roommate laughs with a mouthful of food. “Mmhmm.” 

“Good.” You reach for a sip of your drink, noticing that you’re both making good headway on all the plates. Taking a much needed break, you slump back in your increasingly comfortable chair before gazing at chandeliers. “Cus I think I just ate my month’s rent.” 

“You aren’t even paying!”

“Oh, yeah.” You beam at shining bulbs. “Sucks for you.”

Jungkook’s laugh could be recognized miles away, you muse.

But good god.

Haughty establishment be damned. Even if one of these light fixtures crash onto a table, you’re still gonna be rubbing your grateful stomach and sporting a drool line.

Another quick puff of amusement shoots across the table, but you don’t get a response because a lighter voice floats above you instead, 

“Hey, baby.” 

Huh? 

Brows furrowed, you leer down your nose before straightening, wondering who the heck is oh shit this woman is gorgeous. And tall. 

Which makes Jungkook’s offhanded greeting so comical. “Sup!” 

The girl seems unfazed, manicured nails caressing his shoulder. “You were supposed to call me tonight.” 

Ouch. Did he double-book your date on a booty call with a goddess? 

A mere wallflower, you silently pull out your phone as Jungkook reluctantly looks upward—and you know in your heart it’s because the bite on his fork was meticulously made. “Oh. Did I say that?” 

“You said so last week.” 

Yikes. 

“I say a lot of things.” 

Double yikes. 

Your lips smush into a line of pity when you see a pair of eyes roll. Emotions seem to blend together in your ribcage now, but you really should care less. This isn’t a real date. 

Regardless of how you feel, this lady could grace the cover of a magazine if she hasn’t already. Why hasn’t Jungkook abandoned your table to follow her out the door? 

“Whatever, I guess. Have fun with your…” Sudden judgment makes you blink. “Friend.” 

Triple yikes. 

Good riddance! Forget anything you were thinking in her defense. She doesn’t deserve him with that sour attitude, and you’re completely saying this as his roommate. And friend. Duh.

You’re about to unleash some choice words before Jungkook simply smiles. “She’s my date,” he proclaims while looking right at… you? “And I will.”

Well.

That gesture was a little shocking.

But it could be staged. Is this girl just acting? Just another part of this bet? 

Nah. There’s no way he would go through this elaborate of a prank just to mess with you. Right?

Right?

Jungkook finally takes that huge bite of his concoction as the woman hums and struts off, and you can’t help but blink at him. Once. Twice. Two more for good measure. 

When he notices your bewilderment, a word is blocked by chewed protein, “What?” 

“She was hot.” 

“And?” 

Something akin to pure disbelief shoots out of your nose. “You’re gonna pass that one up?”

As expected, you have to wait a second as he finally swallows. But you’re willing to do that because if he talks with a full mouth one more time you’re gonna—

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m with you.” 

Gonna… You’re gonna…

What were you complaining about again? 

Jungkook has to be kidding. He has to. For goodness sake, you’re a bloated mess in sweats and there are tons of tens walking around. 

You’ve picked up on the stares. More than one person has given your roommate glimpses and double-takes. You’ve just ignored them because you were famished, tired, and knowing you won’t be doing this little stunt forever. 

But after seeing how adamant Jungkook has been, you at least admire his commitment. The efforts shown tonight have been quite endearing. 

Maybe you can start treating this like an actual date, too.

Leaning forward, you rest casual elbows on the table, shielding your chin with clasped palms. “If you’re serious… what do you usually talk about on these things.” 

You ask this to show that you’ll try. An olive branch extending above herbs and coagulating butter meant to assure him. 

So why does Jungkook look thrown off to hell? “On dates? Uhh…” 

Great. You concede to paying more attention just to fall for his styled hair. And of course it looks even better when he rakes through his locks! Does he really have to do that? Damn it, damn it, damn it. 

“They usually do most of the talking.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s true!” 

If that’s true, you kinda feel bad. Aren’t dates supposed to be how you get to know one another? Both people should be talking and finding similarities to build connections. Or at least to keep things interesting. 

“Well,” you scoff, “What do you wanna talk about?” 

“Oh. Hmm.” 

Silence remains your only response for a heavy set of seconds. And you relax your hands with each passing tick, your heart kinda sinking alongside their descent. 

Jungkook almost looks… unsure. Lost. 

This wasn’t your goal in the slightest. And now you feel a little bad for asking, even if it was just a genuine question. 

A slight furrow in your brows stems from the tiny pang in your chest. Something inside of you wants to reach over and grab that nervous hand tapping his silverware, but you can’t move. It doesn’t feel like the time. 

You don’t wanna do this to yourself again, either. 

But after some clinks and chatter around your table, your date pulls out a topic,

“There’s a new d—”

Loud buzzing makes both of you jump, eyes slinging to the phone lighting up on your side of the table. 

Shit, you forgot to put it back in your bag.

Swiping it quick, you stare at the screen before wincing, because you finally got somewhere with substance. 

But these calls won’t stop. They’re not gonna stop until you answer them. 

“Hold that thought, okay?” You ask with sorry eyes. “I need to take this.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Jungkook responds quick. But his face gives a lot more away than he intends. “I’ll, uhh. Be here.”

You nod in return, not quite telling him what you want to say. 

But wading through stares with your phone against your ear shifts your mood entirely. 

And maybe one day, you’ll admit to your roommate that you wanted nothing more than to keep talking to him instead. 

That was a mistake. 

You really shouldn’t have taken that call. 

Using a warm towel to fix what you can of your face, you stare at determined eyes before steeling resolve. Get back out there and back to Jungkook. This whole thing took you way too long. 

God, that was a huge mistake. 

Shuffling back into your chair, you notice that a lot of the plates have been bussed and your napkin replaced with a new one. 

“Fuck,” you whisper. “How long was I gone?” 

“Who was that?”

His sudden question makes you pause on the way down, but you sit anyway. He doesn’t need to know. “Oh, it’s…” Waving your hand, you shoo any doubts he has in those starry eyes. “Whatever. I’m back now. What were we taking about?”

“Who called you.”

“No one, Kook.”

“Are you sure cus you—”

“Stop,” you cut him off, looking away before he can pin you down with one confused stare. “I just.. It’s no one, okay?”

Jungkook hesitates, but he answers, “If you say so.”

Your stare is long. 

Because he looks ready to fight. 

Or ready to just leave and find someone else to continue the date with, you don’t know for sure. Do you have a bias on which one it’d rather be? Yeah. But you’re so thrown off by that stupid ass call. 

Sighing, you fiddle with the posh tablecloth before clearing your throat. “So.. What were you gonna tell me?”

More hesitation from across the table. But you expect it, so it hurts less. “There’s a new dance I wanna learn.”

Oh? 

Immediately, your shoulders relax a tad. You didn’t think he’d talk about one of his hobbies. Truthfully, you assumed Jungkook would mention something about his car or gloat about only working when he wants to. 

This is a welcoming twist. And one you can somewhat follow since you know about his steadily growing account and dance skill. “Which one? Show me.” 

“Yeah?” Sparkling, your roommate takes out his phone, swiping away notifications—a lot of notifications—before thumbing through. “Hold on, lemme find one.” 

You look around, seeing that some people here are elders and anticipating their disgust when Jungkook inevitably plays the video out loud. 

“Here.” 

Doing exactly what you thought, he shows a dance to a popular song that you’ve heard before. Is this why you’re hearing it everywhere? Whatever it is, it looks more complicated than the ones he’s posted before. 

But knowing he picks stuff up quick, you figure he’ll have it down by tomorrow. So the only logical step is to tease him and test his memory, “Bet you can’t learn it by the time we finish.” 

“Our date?” 

“Our food.” 

Jungkook gawks. “But we’re almost done!” 

“So? You can do it.” 

“What do I get?” 

“I’ll pay for dessert.” 

“Done. Have fun paying, I’m getting everything.” 

When he watches the video, you press a hand over his phone just as he tries to block the swipe. And you fight hard to not react to his fingers covering yours. “No cheating.” 

“What!” 

Sliding your hand away, your voice gets more stern to hide your heartbeats. “Gotta make it hard somehow.”

His cheeky eyebrow tick snatches your breath before he goads, “I’m listening...” 

He’s listening? What did you… Oh. He’s a problem. Blowing off his innuendo, you roll your eyes. “Whatever, you get what I mean.”

More notifs slide onto his phone, and you hum while Jungkook swipes them away in groups. “Fine. But you’re gonna record me and watch me win.” 

“Done.” 

During the rest of the meal—which prolongs from both of you still ordering—you can tell he’s committed, his body subtly doing the moves as he mouths the lyrics. “You’re trying the dance, huh.” 

“Shh.” 

The night goes on, and the restaurant fills closer and closer to the brim. It’s after the ninety minute mark that you notice just how many people know your roommate. At least, people in a place like this. 

Girls keep coming to visit. But not all of them are hostile or rude—most of them are actually really sweet. Some people invite him to places, others remind him to be somewhere. One very handsome guy even asks if he’s going to some pre-release party tomorrow. 

“That’s tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, dude. Open the group chat once in awhile.”

After Jungkook laughs and jokes along with the guy a little more, he watches him say bye to you before leaving with his own date. 

You’re left amazed, eyeing him signing the bill you know is massive. “Damn.. how many people do you know in this town?” 

“Uhhh…” He scratches his neck. “Don’t be surprised if this keeps happening.”

“Super.” 

And he dons that same uneasy look in his eyes.

You come to the conclusion that you don’t enjoy it. 

When another group of people approach the table, Jungkook subtly changes up the way he converses. Instead of just talking to them, he fully introduces you and even mentions what you do for a living. 

And this little change causes a beat inside your chest. 

As you’re about to answer one of their questions, your phone buzzes again. And it’s yet another thing that you have to pick up. 

Fucking hell, why is all of this happening tonight? 

So caught up in inner turmoil, you don’t realize how everyone’s looking at you as you hastily stand. And when you quickly apologize and excuse yourself, you hate how you catch Jungkook’s eyes right before leaving. 

This time? He looks downright upset. 

Shit, you can’t handle all of this right now. You know you’re definitely gonna be talked about as soon as you’re out of earshot but it’s too late to recover. 

So you rush away yet again.

That call doesn’t take long, but it’s still just as terrible to go through. Now you’re really just ready to cut the night short. 

“Who keeps calling you? You okay?”

“No one you know,” you sigh, a bit shocked that Jungkook even asked that second question. “But don’t worry about it. Let’s go home.”

“Home? Not dessert?”

You eye him again.

Damn it. He looks like a puppy that is determined to be adopted, and you know you can’t shake that image from your mind the rest of the night. 

Because yes. You do want to go home. You want to go home, shower, and dive into bed because no, you are not okay.

But after double checking your maps, you make a decision. For your self-proclaimed date and for yourself. 

“There’s a parking garage nearby,” you surrender as you stand. “Go park at the top.” 

The night sky looks a lot different from this height. Which doesn’t say too much because of all the city lights, but at least you have less obstruction to that vast dark ocean. 

As prominent stars shine above, you lose any previous thoughts, palms curled and resting against the warm top of Jungkook’s car. 

If only you could swim across those mingling blues. Weightless. No stressors or toxins entering your life, only flowing out and dissipating amongst planets and moons. A stellar massage; an out of this world escape. 

“Why are we up here?”

Your sigh is slow on the release. “To see if you earned dessert or not.”

When you look his way, Jungkook’s eyes twinkle brighter than stars, which is all you needed to validate your impromptu decision to come. 

Another olive branch. 

But your roommate slowly rounding his car makes your thoughts slip off the damn track. The rooftop lights contour his features just right, and when he leans right next to your arm, your ability to steer back in your lane vanishes. 

“Didn’t think you were this invested,” he hums.

To which you slowly cut back, “I kinda just wanna see you lose.”

Jungkook’s teeth bite a corner of amused lips in response, and it’s the most tempting he’s looked the entire night. Fuck you need to look away he cannot do that ever again.

“Record me then.”

Why the fuck did his voice get so low!

Turning back, you slide your hands off the car—certainly not because they’re shaking. “Gimme your phone.” 

The proximity has been getting to you. But Jungkook’s sudden hesitation breaks whatever spell he just casted. 

Makes sense. He was very quick to swipe away any notifications that you may have seen. Privacy or whatever he’s afraid of, you’re gonna stay wary of what could be in that thing. 

But to your utter shock, Jungkook has his whole screen in view while he swipes into quick settings to turn on Do Not Disturb. And he hands it over while his words come out small, 

“All yours.”

Static flits in the air as you slowly take it, watching him observe your expression and realizing he’s giving up a lot with this one gesture. 

And you don’t know what possesses you to do this, but you pocket his phone in your hoodie pouch before taking your own device out to silence, as well.

Although worried, you sacrifice this tiny moment of time to give him the same courtesy. It’s only gonna take him two tries maximum, right? You won’t miss anything in those sixty seconds. This is just an equivalent exchange. 

“And yours,” you murmur, handing him your phone to keep, too.  

It shouldn’t mean much. Honestly, it shouldn’t mean anything. 

But the way Jungkook looks at you? I feels like no one else exists anymore. Your universe has shrunken to two, and the way one of you is inching forward it feels like you’re about to be k—

“You shouldn’t have done that,” is all the warning you get before Jungkook speeds off.

Speeds off? What the actual fuck!

“Are you fucking serious!” you call out as you chase him across empty parking spaces, watching his hair bounce with his swooping laughs as he’s… raising your phone above his head? “Jungkook, I swear to god—”

His laughter continues as he keeps running, and you quickly run out of breath but you push forward because what the fuck is he doing with your phone? Is he checking every notification you didn’t swipe away or checking your call history or—

A whoosh of breath flies out as you run right into his laughs, and you’re grabbing at his jacket and yelling until you notice that he’s…

Recording? 

Jungkook was just filming himself running away?

“Ah, you’re faster than I thought,” he grins to your camera. “Thought you’d be a turtle.” 

“Kook!”

“Come here, turtle,” he says before wrapping a quick arm around you. Asking right to the camera, he continues, “Where’d you learn to be so fast?”

You outright frown at the lens. “I am not a turtle.”

Jungkook bursts into laughter again. “Ah, what are you then,” he asks again, watching himself on your screen while you perpetually pout. “A sloth? A snail?”

“Annoyed.”

“That’s not an animal!”

“Give me my phone!” You spring into action, leaping for your device as he stretches away while laughing even harder. Your body fully smushes into his in your pursuit, and while your arms are sailing through the air your heart is leaping into the clouds. 

It’s always been obvious your roommate is rock solid but holy fuck. 

Don’t give up now. You’re grabbing his leather sleeves and he’s chortling all throughout your struggle. But you think you can get it if you just— 

“Wait, wait!” Jungkook stumbles from your full weight jumping forward, and he attempts to stay upright but suddenly you’re rushing towards the ground in a full fall oh shit! “Fuck—!”

You fully expect pain shooting through your hands, or your hips, or your elbow, brain rushing through ideas on how to fall properly—

But all you feel is the plush yet solid force of Jungkook’s front, held together in a leather layer as you both shoot out groans on impact. And all you can get out is a tiny, 

“Ow.” 

“You okay?” 

A lot of things are competing for your realization. Like the way Jungkook is between your body and concrete, and the way he’s the one looking at you in concern. 

Not to mention the hand fully pressing you against his front. 

Oh no no no, you’re getting flushed just thinking about how he feels. Or how he saved you from any injury. You can already imagine how it’s gonna sound in the video playback when you squeak, but you’re so embarrassed that you just want it over with. “Why’d you do that?”

“Me? You’re the one that jumped me!” 

“You could’ve just given me my phone.” 

“That’s too easy.” 

Shit, you need to get up. His eyes are shimmering and he looks way too happy for a guy that just broke your entire fall. When you try to push off, you’re quickly held a little bit tighter. 

And your brain skids to a halt as you look at his cocked brow. 

“Say sorry first.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me,” he quips. “Say sorry and I let you go.” 

Ah. If only it was always that easy. 

Pursing your lips, you glare. “I’m sorry for giving you my—Kook!”

He laughs at your miserable attempt to escape his tickling, correcting you in sing-song as you squirm. “You gotta mean it, babe.” 

Immediately, you stop. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Why not?” 

You don’t really have an answer. But giving guys a general look of annoyance is usually enough to convince them. So you pull out your last hope. 

“Okay, okay,” he concedes, reluctantly peeling his fingers off your side and letting you stand. “I won’t say it for now.” 

Once you get off of him, you feel a little strange. The same feeling from your handholding earlier comes back in full force, but you do your best to shove it away. 

You don’t need that right now. This is just an experiment, so not even lying on top of your roommate can get to you. 

While dusting yourself, you miss the chance to give Jungkook a hand. So you’re silent as he shows you your phone—the video stopped and your screen black. “That okay?”

“Mmhmm…”

“Sorry,” he apologizes, though you don’t know what for. “We can record now.”

You huff as he unlocks your device with your face, and you debate pouncing again before he reassures, 

“Just pulling up the song. Damn, your screens are organized!”

You don’t acknowledge his compliment but watch him pull up the right app. And you let him play the song on loop in his pocket before relaxing. 

“Okay, you can start. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

“K.”

Through his screen, you watch Jungkook slowly jog into frame until he’s a good distance away. Already knows exactly how far to be, you muse, wondering just how often he really does these videos. 

And he preps because he knows the challenge part is coming, so you steady your hand and watch in amazement as he really does know all the moves. 

But you’re feeling a little cheeky. And a little in the mood for revenge. 

So you wait until he’s fully done with the dance to tell him you weren’t recording, which makes him groan, 

“Really!”

“Looks like you gotta do it all again,” you shrug with mock-pity. 

So he plays the song from your phone again while you wait, and once again, Jungkook is a skilled… dancer… 

A message banner from a name you vaguely recognize slides onto his screen, which throws you off because you literally saw him put it on DND. 

Wait. If Jungkook still gets her messages in this mode, then…

You realize what that could mean, and it kinda throws you off because you feel like you intruded on something you didn’t mean to. 

Damn. 

“How’d that one look!”

Shit! You were so thrown you didn’t even watch him! “Uhh.. Do it again,” you tell him, trying hard to hide the hitch in your voice. “You can do better.”

“Well, damn!” This guy’s smile really isn’t fair, even from far away. “At least you’re honest.”

Yeah. Right. 

When Jungkook does it again, no notifications show up and you watch him diligently this time. 

It’s perfect. Exactly how you thought it’d be. 

“That one was the best one,” he chirps, jogging over to take his phone and have you both watch it again. Looking at you with a lopsided curve, he boasts, “I win.”

“Fine, fine,” you admit with a fake grin. “Maybe I’m the one that wanted dessert this whole time.” 

He laughs. “Do it with me.” 

Do what? The dance? Absolutely not. “Me? Hell no.” 

“Why not!” 

“I would look like a fool! No.” 

A hand juts out to pull you just as you try to scurry away. “Nah, come on! I’ll show you, come here.” 

Ugh. You hate how he’s truly just vibing, taking you along for the ride. 

But in a last show of grace, you allow yourself to give in. Focusing on anything else besides those phone calls—and that notification—could be good anyway. 

So you stand next to your awaiting date, nodding for him to get on with it and teach. 

Grinning, Jungkook shows you simple moves and you somewhat get them. Something with your feet here, another move with your arms there. It’s a bit shaky at first and you have to keep watching him dance, but you have to admit you’re doing better than expected. 

But there’s a move with your hips that you can’t quite get, and you feel stiff as hell. Honestly, you’re not even mad at your dance partner for laughing because you know you look silly. “Give me a break,” you shout with a laugh, to which he chuckles harder. “You know this one is hard.” 

So, in very Jungkook fashion, your roommate comes over to steady his hands on your hips. “Here,” he says in a whisper, “I got you.”  

And you scoff out a laugh. “Oh. I see.” 

In full teacher mode, he asks in shock, “Wait, you got it already?” 

“No, like”—you shake your head—“I see why you did this.” 

Jungkook pauses before chuckling, smug whispers flowing into your ear, “Is it working?” 

Huh. Just like his boldness from before, you’re liking this side of him. The one that’s just going for it, whatever the challenge may be. 

Turning slightly, you catch his features in your peripheral. “What if it wasn’t?” 

Slowly, Jungkook’s grip gets a little tighter as he leans in, one of his hands sliding up just enough for his thumb to slip under your hoodie. When he asks again, his tone lowers an octave, one you haven’t ever heard this close, “This better?” 

The text, the text, the text. 

You breathe hard, swallowing before stepping far out of his embrace and sputtering, “I think I got it! No practice needed.” 

He switches demeanor immediately. “Oh? So we can record now?” 

“What.”

Jungkook half runs to the nearest concrete railing to prop his phone, grappling your wrist before you can scurry out of frame. “Just try it! Play the song on your phone.” 

God. You were only gonna learn the dance, not be recorded! This is way too much embarrassment for the night. 

As the video records, you’re so adamantly against it that you stand in full grump mode, your dance partner only stopping when he sees you not doing it.

You kinda enjoy his pout. “Hey!”

“I can’t!” 

Again with those eyes. No wonder this man gets whatever the fuck he wants whenever someone comes over. “Just once.” 

Your arms cross you like a shield. “If it’s horrible, you’re deleting it.” 

“Fine.”

You give him another look, but he’s not budging. At all. 

So you slump in defeat and prep for the worst. 

The video records again, and you move through the steps, knowing your memory helps you even though your muscles can’t quite do everything accurately. Honestly, you’re a bit proud you can get through the dance wait why are you dancing solo!

Freezing, you turn to Jungkook watching you with a dropped jaw. “What now?” 

Excited eyes crease as he points to your feet. “You did the moves!” 

“Wasn’t I supposed to?” 

“Yeah, but”—his amusement peppers the night with color—“I didn’t expect that.” 

“You told me to!” 

He laughs again before running excitedly to his phone, and you are so confused. But you feel a little accomplished that you surprised him, and he then tells you to record him one more time. “I can’t lose to you.” 

And when you watch him finish the dance, you lock eyes with him over his phone. 

That was the best he’s ever danced for a video and you both know it. 

When he proudly holds his device on the way back to the car, you quietly smile as he decrees, “I’m posting this tomorrow.” 

“Why not now?” 

“Wanna edit first.” 

You give the sky one more look. “Oh. I thought time mattered or something.” 

“Huh? I don’t care about the time. I just post whenever.” 

“Sounds right.” 

At least the time you’ve been spending on the parking garage is nice. Looks like the change in location has been a nice distraction from—

Great. Another fucking call. 

Both of you glance down at your phone, and you quickly bring it up to your ear to hide the caller ID, wincing at his forlorn look before you motion your exit. 

“Do you really have to—”

When the caller starts to talk, you make one stride before your elbow is softly grabbed. 

And when you give Jungkook a desperate shake of your head, he pinches his brows before letting you go. 

God, your roommate looks so lost in his car. 

The breeze stings as you walk back, and your heart tugs a little when Jungkook starts driving over as soon as he sees you’re done. 

Just get through this last part of the night. One more stop and then you can both end this pitiful charade of a date. 

You’re about to reach for your door when Jungkook pops out of his side. “I got it.” 

Oh. That’s nice of him. “You don’t have to—”

“Am I keeping you from something?” 

Stilling, you watch as he stops at your side, car exhaust hitting your nose as his car runs. “No, no, it��s…” 

Jungkook watches you peter off, his face falling hard enough to make you regretful. When he looks at the ground, your chest caves. “We can just go home.” 

“What? No. You won the bet, I don’t need pity.” You know it’s sour but you’re stressed and losing this one good thing will make it a thousand times worse. “Sorry.” 

“We don’t have to go.” 

“Dude, it’s fine.” 

“I don’t want it anymore.” 

Well. Shit. 

Way to be the first person in the universe to ruin a good time with Jeon Jungkook. A good night, no less. What’s the prize? Feeling like absolute garbage. 

This guy took you to the nicest place in town, defended you against stuck-up assholes, and even broke your fall on concrete. What the fuck have you been doing the whole night? Those olive branches don’t mean shit if you’re gonna take them away, too. 

Sighing, you muster the courage to put on a brave front. Offering one last, genuine invitation, you compromise, “Then let’s do the dance one more time.” 

“It’s okay.” 

Fuck, that hurts like hell, but don’t give up. Stop being a total asshole. 

Gathering even more courage, you reach out to lift his beautiful chin. “Look at me.” When he does in silence, you finally apologize, “I’m sorry, okay? I should’ve told you these calls might happen but I didn’t even.. I didn’t even think about it.” 

“They’re making you miserable,” he accurately summarizes. “And you won’t tell me who's doing this to you.” 

Soul breaking, you stare at the ground. “I’ll tell you if I really need to, Kook, but.. Not right now.” 

“Why?” 

Many, many reasons. But you’ll spare him the time and misery when you swipe at nothing on his jacket. “Because I can handle them on my own for now.” 

There’s a beat of silence followed by another. But it’s not as awkward as they had been throughout the night. This one feels much lighter, like your apology lifted the brick of stress pushing down on you until now. 

Is that because Jungkook’s now offering to help you carry it? “I’m here, you know,” he starts, his turn to hold your chin. “Even if we aren’t dating, I got you. Okay?” 

Smiling the tiniest you can manage, you wait until his hand is back at his side. “Are you gonna tell me that’s what roommates are for?” 

When Jungkook starts to grin, you let yours spread a little wider. “Something like that.” 

Okay. You can do this. 

He’s just your roommate and this is just a date. You’ve been letting life beat your ass the whole time you could’ve been leaning into this whole thing, and that sucks. 

But even though you can’t change the past, you can change what happens now. 

So you let yourself laugh when he does, and you give him one more chance to embarrass you. “Are we doing this dance again or going back home so I can finally sleep in peace?”

“In peace?” His dropped jaw makes you giggle. “Nah, we’re definitely recording again.” 

This time, you both stand a little closer so you can fully be in frame. And it takes a few tries—one solely because Jungkook purposely moves to cover you, making you shove his laughing ass out of the way—but eventually you do get a decent take. 

After watching it over in the car a few minutes later, you’re so impressed that you even want him to send you the video. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m sending all of them.” 

“What, why?” 

His eyes shine way too bright as he starts descending through the parking levels. “So that they live in our message thread forever.” 

“You sneaky bi—wait, this is my song!” Your hand is already jutting out to turn up the volume before Jungkook can react, already forgetting what you were yelling about to break into an upbeat rendition of an old classic. 

“Wait, I wanted to—”

“Too bad! This is my shit.” 

When you start to sing, Jungkook can only watch before grinning at his windshield, joining in until you’re both belting everything out, “We’re in heaven…” 

Letting your window down, you scream lyrics out into the empty garage, barely hearing Jungkook cackling at your side. 

For a moment, you feel free. Music up, breeze through the windows, and the prettiest singing voice by your side hitting every note in the book. 

If only you could both do this forever. 

After a much livelier car ride than the first, you’re both walking to your door, sharing a look and knowing exactly what the tiny laughs are about. 

Who goes back to the same home after a first date? 

As he opens the door for you, a thanks slips from your lips before your shoes slide off your feet. And while the door closes with a click, your mind goes over the whole night like a sped-up tape. 

Prank or not, bet or not, it ended up being fun. You hope the same for your roommate, though you’re truly expecting him to confess and say he’s done pretending. So he can get on with his life and seeing other people like that girl. 

Your ribcage jostles. 

“Thanks for dinner,” you murmur as he finishes taking off his boots. “That was the best I’ve ever had.”

When Jungkook straightens, he gives you a lopsided smile. “Good,” he responds before flicking his bangs out the way. “But no taking calls next time.” 

Wait. After all your bullshit today, there’s still a next time? “Uh, I don’t know when I’d be able to—” 

“Trust me. This one you’ll like.” 

Rip the bandaid off. Just do it before things go where they shouldn’t. He’s already starting to say what’s in store for tomorrow but you can’t even entertain it because of what you saw. “I don’t think this will work.” 

Caught mid-sentence, Jungkook snaps his mouth shut before tilting his head. “Huh? You didn’t have a good time?” 

Damn it. Why is he still only asking about your experience? Didn’t he have to sit through all your absences? This is already getting too hard to break off and that’s not a good sign. “No, I did. I meant the whole, umm. Ten days thing.” 

“Because you’re already convinced?” 

“Because we live together, dummy,” you remind him, walking into the hall before he blocks your path. Pulling excuses out of your ass, you continue, “At least I get to have time away from other people I date. Not keep seeing them in their underwear.” 

“You like it.” 

You tsk. 

“It’ll be fine!” 

Arms folded, you pin him with a glare. “You bring girls over like four times a week.” 

“Why would I right now? I’m with you.” 

Something about that makes your heart pulse a little faster. But you can’t. You can’t do this when you know something you shouldn’t. Or maybe something you should, since it’s pretty damn important? “And no one else?”

“No one else,” Jungkook immediately answers. Which is weird considering what you accidentally saw earlier. If he’s flat out lying, you really can’t do anything else with him anytime soon. 

“Are you sure, because…” You sigh before looking down at his pocketed phone. 

Say it. Say exactly what’s on your mind because this isn’t some drama where communication is somehow last on the list of priorities. Real people talk it out, so talk it out. “Look. I kinda, umm. Saw someone text you when I was recording.”

You watch his expression change a tiny, tiny bit. But it’s enough to warrant your decision, “If you’re already seeing someone, I don’t wanna—”

“Who?”

You blink. “Uhhh.. Kyla? Kira?”

Your roommate suddenly starts to grin lopsided. “Kala? She’s my friend from like, second grade. We still game together.”  

“Oh.” Well. That was a lot easier to talk about than you expected. “I just thought… Yeah.”

The way he softens while looking at you makes you feel both dizzy and a little shy. You would pay a significant amount to know what he’s thinking right now, despite the troubles hitting you all through the night. 

“So cute.”

Ah. Never mind. “It’s not cute,” you huff. “Just being reasonable.”

“Yeah. Cute.” 

But he breaks contact to take out his phone and messes with it for a bit. When he clicks it to lock, he holds it up in a slight wiggle. “There.” 

Your head tilts before he explains,

“Yours come through now, too.” 

Breath caught, your whole body seems to buzz. The air around your hoodie starts shifting and heating, and your question leaves in a shocked whisper, “You’re taking this seriously.. aren’t you.”

Jungkook’s eyes never leave yours. “Yeah.”

Why the hell is he trying so hard? For you of all people? 

Last time you checked, the two of you are friends but it’s never been more than that. What’s gotten into him in the last month or so? Did something happen that you missed completely? 

Because if this isn’t some big joke... is this energy around you what you think it is? This chemistry molding into something scary and exciting all at once? It’s terrifying you because, if this is something he wants for real, you may take things further than they’ve ever gone.  

But the spark dissipates when Jungkook looks away. Eyes a little lowered, he asks, 

“It’s just ten days, right?”

Ah. Of course. He’s just competitive, that’s all. 

Smiling tight while you lift your nose, you hum. “Seven.” 

“Too easy.” Jungkook then stops to look at the ground. “It’d be easier if you didn’t keep walking off, though.” 

He got you there. You really don’t have any excuses other than your much lower level of effort. “I… Yeah. Life is really… I’m sorry.” 

You don’t want to tell him just yet. Especially since the night had quite the lovely ending. “But honestly, I really thought you were just doing all this to mess with me.”

“Well, I’m not.” Shucking his jacket off shoulders that haunt you, your roommate steps aside to let you finally pass. 

And reminds you about the motherfucking tank underneath fuck—

“Besides.” 

You blink at the hand on your arm. 

“I can mess with you any day.”

Oh? Bold once again. Attractive once again. But you aren’t gonna let him have just anything he wants. At least, not without seeing how far he’s willing to go. “Not if I don’t let you.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” You lift your chin. “You don’t scare me.”

Stepping in front of you, he gets so close there’s no space between your front and his protruding pecs. “Even like this?”

You try not to show your swallow. “Uh huh.”

When he leans in, you do your best not to react when he rasps out, “And this?”

Another gulp.  “D… Duh.” 

But you’re pretty sure he hears that one because he gravitates to your neck. So close that you can feel his breath on your throat, cologne wrapping you up in wild thoughts and even wilder decisions. “But not this, right?”

Say no, say yes, say no no no. ��...No.”

Then. Just when you thought he couldn’t get any cheekier. His lips brush right against your neck as he asks his last question,

“Here then.”

Your flinch and dip out of his way is so quick that you don’t even realize you moved, and his laughs paint the hallway with mirth at your expense.

A hand slaps over the very spot he touched. “Kook!”

“What?”

That felt way too good but came out of nowhere. Feelings are creeping into places they really shouldn’t, and you’re so caught off-guard that your lips flap but don’t do much else. “You… you can’t just…I—”

“Relax,” he giggles. “I wasn’t gonna do anything else.”

Snapping back to reality, you bring yourself to express what’s really on your mind. “Just saying,” you huff, walking off. “You should still ask..”

“Wait, wait!” 

You turn, not anticipating the next thing out of his mouth.  

“You’re right,” he breathes out as he skids. “I’m sorry.” 

Relieved he didn’t take what you asked for as joke, you allow yourself to relax again. 

But of course, with Jeon Jungkook, there’s always more. “Can I do one more thing?” 

“What.” 

“Lemme do what I always do after dates.” 

Deadpanning, you drone, “We’re not having se—” 

“It’s not that.” Pinning him with disbelief, you watch him smile. “Not this time, anyway.” 

Another roll of your eyes. 

“Just trust me.” 

“Fine.” 

He takes your hand and leads you to your bedroom door, and you try your hardest not to bunch your shoulders. 

But something interesting happens that makes you more curious than anything else.

Jungkook stops when you get to your entrance, and he turns to just stare at your face. So calm, and so quiet. 

You don’t quite know what you look like right now, but the way he smirks before going in for a kiss gives you.. an.. idea.. 

He kisses your cheek? 

When he pulls away, his eyes sparkle as you question so bluntly he laughs, “That’s it?” 

“Told you,” he reiterates through a sly grin. “Why?” 

“I mean..”

He chuckles before leaning in slow. “I mean if you insist—” 

Immediately stopping his playful ways, you panic, “Wait, I mean—I just—” 

“Dinner and a kiss is all it takes to win, huh?”

“No, that’s not..” God, he is not funny right now! “One more wouldn’t hurt. I wasn’t ready.” 

By the way Jungkook freezes, you’d think he had turned to stone. But on second glance, he’s just watching for any hesitation or lie in your words, so when he finds none he leans back in.

The second kiss is just as light and innocent as the first. 

But this time, he doesn’t move as you swivel your face to watch, mouths so close and noses softly bumping. 

And the universe shrinks once again. Your belly twists with trembling butterflies and Jungkook’s cologne has clung to him so nicely and your calls have you wound tight and you really just need a distraction so maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just—

“Go to sleep, roomie,” he whispers with a deadly smirk, moving away before you can even respond. “You gotta get up early.”

Oh. Why did your heart just scream? “Right… I do.”

“Good night.”

“Good night…”

Before you can snap out of it, Jungkook is already walking away. 

After everything you did tonight, he still stayed. Still had fun. And even did more than he needed to for you despite being left alone at every turn. 

…And quite honestly? “Kook?”

He turns. 

Fuck this fake dating game, fuck the bullshit you’ve been dealt tonight. “Was that really how you wanted to kiss me?”

Jungkook pauses in the hall, jacket dangling from his fist. “Fuck no.”

You swallow as your breath turns shallow. Thinking too hard about all the shit you’re gonna go through soon, you let loose just this once. 

“Then show me.”

Leather abandoned on wooden floorboards, your friend, your roommate, your enormous new problem returns with a purpose, gripping your head in his hands and—

Fuck, he’s a great kisser. Your lips connect and it’s lights out, flashing through your veins and speeding down your limbs. Rushed and impatient, his hands slide all over your arms, running up back to your neck to hold it tight. 

“You taste so fucking nice.” 

Your reply is devoured, his grip strong but not crushing, tongue sliding along your plush like it’s nothing. 

Yes, yes, yes. This is exactly what you needed all along. Nothing occupies your mind other than thoughts so dirty Jungkook would never let you live them down. 

Suddenly, you’re delightfully shoved against your door, groan spewing into his lips as you grapple for his bare arms. If he’s chuckling, you can’t bring yourself to care. All you can think about is how fucking good this feels. 

And how fucking wrong it is. 

Maybe that’s what adds to the thrill. The knowledge that roommates should never jump into this, no matter how electric things can get. 

But fuck it. 

Maddeningly, though, Jungkook keeps his hands just within boundaries, which surprises you and yet irks the monster in you all the same. When he shifts his lips, the kiss deepens, and your eyes shut even tighter as something taut and muscular shoves between your legs. 

Fuck, this feels good. Too good. Borderline forbidden and stepping across way too many lines but you can’t fucking stop. 

“Careful, babe,” you hear him coo. “Keep going and we’re fucking all week.” 

What? What did he just say what are you doing to make him… 

Holy fuck, were you humping his leg? 

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, breaking away and holding him at arm’s length. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even—” Air immediately washes over your heated cheeks and into your desperate lungs, and you have to fight to catch your beating breaths. “Something just happened, I—”

And looking down does you no favors because there is a very, very obvious bulge in your roommate’s pants oh god what did you do? 

Your wrists are held by calm hands as Jungkook peels you off his shoulders. When he leans forward, your body’s caged in by his sheer size alone. 

“Thanks for the dessert, roomie,” he simply whispers to your lips, swiping a finger across your nose before backing up to go to his room. “See you tomorrow.”

And just like that, you’re left alone in the hallway, mind swirling and swirling.

Well. When you invited him to make a move, you expected to be charmed because it’s him. 

But out of all the goddamn outcomes, you didn’t expect anything like that.

A hand slides up to grab the spot above your beating, pulsing, racing heart.

These seven days are gonna age you an eternity.

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tbc. :)

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🦋 ahhh how do we feel !! | wanna be tagged? 🦋

A/N: we're in heaven... OHHHH HO HO we are in it now!!! good god the amount of things in store for these two... honestly it's gonna be a good ass fun ass tiring ass ride hahaha. hope everyone is ready! A/N 2: second part is in the works and uhh, remember what i said before? the spice levels are basically gonna jump from 0 to 100? yeah that's gonna happen again lmfaooo these two are quickly jumping up my favorites list asapppp🦋  ++ feedback box (new!): ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that aren’t okay with reblogging with a review, commenting on this, or sending a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a feedback dropbox :D ⇥ here!   ++ ⇥ masterlist 

[ashwhowrites]

Hello hello my wonderful friend!

I’m not sure if you’ve done one of this trope before, you’ve written so many so it wouldn’t surprise me! But this may be a little different? I’d like to request sex pollen trope with Eddie and then some miscommunication and angst with a happy ending. ❤️❤️

I was thinking maybe they’re in the upside down and some weird plant/mist/etc down there does it? Or honestly it doesn’t have to be so literal. Whatever way to get the sex pollen effect you like best. But basically the whole older group is affected, whatever happens with the others is off-screen. Reader and Eddie have both been in love with each other forever but she doesn’t think Eddie likes her back and Eddie thinks she’s way beyond his league and wouldn’t ever want him. The sex pollen happens and then after when the group is embarrassed and getting ready to move past it a few comments are made by the others like “I’d never have done that in my right mind” or like joking comments about “let’s forget this ever happened”, “my eyes - I need bleach!” Basically trying to make light of it and move past it. And Eddie makes some kind of joking comment as well, sure that reader is mortified to have done that with her best friend. Reader is devastated because she hoped that it might have meant something and that he’d meant what he’d said to her during as much as she had meant what she said to him. She distances herself from Eddie which upsets him but he understands (thinks it’s because of the pollen stuff, not his comment). He’s talking to Steve about it one day, unsure what to do to fix it and Steve is confused. Apparently the others (minus Jonathon and Nancy or whoever you prefer to ship as an established couple) all just touched themselves with the exception of the established couple. The pollen didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do, it just made you crazy horny and more uninhibited. It also didn’t make anyone else say things, or compel them to say things. They were in control completely. Cue realization. Eddie goes to reader, confronts her (“did you mean what you said?”), she’s like please don’t do this, you said yourself *insert joking comment*. He reveals what he learned from Steve. Reader is embarrassed and blushing but realizes Eddie said some things during too. Actual confessions happen, happy ending, tears and kisses.

I feel like I did an awful job of explaining but don’t feel like you have to stick exactly to that mess above. I just wasn’t sure how else to describe the idea I’m going for? I’m just wanting the Ash spin on sex pollen trope that has your signature delicious miscommunication angst and then happy ending. Full creative control is yours obviously and I’ll be happy with it because you wrote it and you’re my fave 🥰

My first take on sex pollen trope so 🤞🏻 I hope I do it justice. I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it! Thank you for requesting ❤️

Mysterious plant

⚠️smut

It was summer break, Y/N, Robin and Eddie just graduated, Nancy and Steve needed a break from the work life, so they all decided to take a camping trip. They packed all their stuff into Eddie's van and hit the road before sundown.

The trip was everything they needed. Time in the sun, time away from responsibilities, and a whole lot of drugs and alcohol. They only spent a few nights there, before they headed back. None knowing they were bringing something back with them.

"Yo, is this poisonous?" Eddie asked as he reached forward to touch a strange looking plant.

"Don't touch it!" Y/N warned him, slapping his hand away. She looked down at the plant, truly having no idea what it was.

"Nothing I've seen before. But we are in the woods so we probably shouldn't touch it," Nancy said as she looked down at it.

They all surrounded it as they looked at it. A gust of wind came and ripped the roots right out of the ground. The dirt flew up and made them cough as it filled their nose.

"Welp, at least it's dead now," Robin said as she coughed. The strange plant caused them to cough for a good few minutes as they packed everything up.

As Eddie drove them back, he felt a little funky. His body was getting really warm and he could feel himself sweating.

"Is anyone else hot?" Y/N asked from the passenger seat. She cranked up the AC.

"Yes," Steve groaned as he uncomfortably shifted in his spot in the back. Nancy and Robin groaned in agreement.

Eddie couldn't help but speed as the air continued to get thick and hot.

~

"Finally!" Eddie groaned as he walked into his trailer. He quickly tore off his shirt, throwing it in the bathroom as he walked to his room.

Y/N ran a towel under the sink, putting it on her forehead as she tried to soak in the cold water. She closed her eyes as she took deep breaths. She heard Eddie walking around and the sound of him running the sink. She kept her eyes shut as she focused on not getting sick from how overheated she was.

Eddie splashed the water on his face, letting the droplets run down his naked chest. His mind was blank as all he could feel was how hot he felt.

He turned off the sink, quickly tying his hair up. "You want to change? I've got some boxers you can throw on," he asked. For the first time since leaving, he looked at her.

And this different feeling ran through his body. A shiver up his spine. He always had the hots for her, it was obvious she was attractive. But he'd never make a move on his best friend. Not after all the years they spent together and the friendship they created. He knew he had feelings for her, but his body was practically aching as he looked at her.

She opened her eyes to answer him, words stuck in her throat as he stood in just boxers. She gulped as her body seemed to have a mind of its own. She felt her face burn as she shifted, feeling a pool of wetness between her thighs. She knew for a fact it wasn't because of the heat.

She had a thing for Eddie for years. Started as a little schoolgirl crush and developed into something much more when they both went through puberty. He grew into his body and she's been dealing with falling in love with her best friend for a while now.

Eddie was nowhere near the type to be in a relationship. So, she figured not to bother wishing on a star he'd feel the same. She was always so good at keeping her composure, which is why she was shocked that she couldn't form words as he stared at her.

He must have felt something too. Because the longer they stared at each other, the longer their bodies craved each other.

"Uh, sure," she finally got out. She pushed herself away from the counter and walked to his room.

Eddie didn't feel in control of his own body as he followed her. He was a nice guy, he knew to give her privacy. But it was like he had no choice, in a trance as he walked in. She could feel his eyes on her, and she loved it. Normally, she would push him out but something in her wanted him to watch her.

She turned as her body smacked into his. She gasped as she could easily feel his hard cock against her. She looked into his eyes as she stripped off her shirt. She held her breath when his hands wrapped around her, palms against her back as he slid up and unhooked her bra.

She didn't feel nervous or self-conscious as the material fell to the floor. His hands skimmed to her hips, holding her softly. All his mind was focused on was the burning heat in his stomach and the throbbing of his cock. He wasn't worried about it being his best friend, he wasn't taking the time to be in awe of her naked chest in front of him, he needed to fuck her.

The only thing both of them could think about.

He was fast as he smashed his lips on hers. The simple kiss brought moans out of them as they gripped each other. The kiss was messy and desperate, trying to relieve the sexual tension they felt. But it only edged them on. Their tongues danced with each other as he pushed her down on his bed, keeping his mouth on hers.

She rubbed her thighs together, the amount of wetness she felt was indescribable. She had never been this wet before. She could physically feel her cunt throbbing and her clit ache to be touched.

When he pulled away, a line of spit connected them from his lips to hers. His eyes bored into hers and it was as they were communicating without words.

In quick movements, they stripped each other. Their hands were fast and uncoordinated as they tried to feel every inch of each other.

Her hands burned as they ran up his chest and then down his back. The feeling of his skin drove her insane and she wanted to feel more and more. He shivered as she touched him, his hands moving to her chest.

His cock twitched as he massaged her breasts, fingers rolling her nipples as precum leaked out of him. She thought having his touch would settle the fire in her stomach but it only fueled it more. They both understood there was no reason for foreplay, too impatient as their bodies ached.

Eddie could barely think straight as he shoved himself into her. Loudly moaning in bliss he felt her wrap around him. She whined as she felt him fill her up, wasting no time as she moved her hips.

He pressed his lips against hers as he began to thrust into her. He felt insane as he fucked her as fast and hard as possible. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head as he hit every spot inside of her. Their sweaty bodies rubbed against each other.

He pulled away as he panted into her face. Both had no control as their moans filled up the room. He could feel his toes curling from the way his balls slammed against her. It was something he wanted for so long and it was way better than he imagined.

"More, please. I need more," she whined as she clawed at his back. His body felt perfect against her. She was addicted to every part of him. The smell of sex and sweat made her arch.

She shivered as he laughed. A dark mocking laugh.

"Yeah? Fucking beg for it, slut,"

She figured she'd gasp at his words but all that came out was a loud moan. She should have known he was dominant and rough.

"Fuck. Please! You feel so good. I just need more. I'll take anything just fuck, please, something," she begged.

Eddie kept his focus on fucking her as he reached for his nightstand. He yanked it open, mindlessly searching. Y/N felt her cunt pulse with excitement as he pulled out a small vibrator. She wasn't surprised Eddie would have sex toys hiding somewhere. She tried to make a mental note to look back at the nightstand in the future.

She jolted as he pressed it against her clit, the vibrations adding more pleasure.

"Moan for me, beautiful. I've dreamed of hearing you moan my name," he whispered as he flicked the vibrator on a higher level.

She gasped as her bundles of nerves reacted to the new vibration. She also loved knowing he thought about this before.

"Eddieeeeeee," she moaned as she clawed at his back. Her back arched as she felt herself cumming. She's positive this was a record speed for how quickly she needed to cum. "I need to cum, Eddie."

"Good girl, cum for me, baby. Let me fuck you through it," he encouraged as he allowed himself to get close. "Can I please fill you up?" He begged.

Her eyes rolled in the back of her head as she continued to cum. Her ears loved the sound of his choked begs.

"Yes,"

The second she said it, his stomach snapped. He tossed the vibrator to the side as he used his fingers. She squirmed as her clit burned. Moaning as he continued to fuck her.

"Oh my God, FUCK," she screamed as her cunt grew sensitive. Every thrust and circle pained her as another orgasm started building.

He dropped to his elbows as he gave his final thrusts, hot spurts of cum painting her insides. Both moaning at the feeling.

She figured the heat and burn would disappear, but nothing changed. Her cunt was soaked and now pulsing for more. Eddie noticed it within himself too, his cock already hardening inside of her.

He looked up at her, a sexy smirk as he slowly began to slide himself in and out of her. He watched her face to see how well she'd take him again. And he didn't see a slight bit of discomfort. She moaned, moving her hands down to his chest as she softly clawed.

"I'm not ready to be done with you, can you handle more?" He asked, halting his movements in case she wanted to be done.

"Yes, but I want to ride you," she admitted as she placed her palms against his chest and pushed. He slowly slid out of her.

A huge smile crossed his face as he dropped on his back, wrapping a hand around his cock. He slowly jerked himself as he looked at her. "You're breathtaking."

She blushed as she moved on top of him. She placed her hands on his hairy thighs and sank down on him.

"You'd kill me if you knew how many times I've thought of you in this position," he moaned as she began to bounce on him. He gripped her hips and helped her move her hips.

"I probably should but this feels too good to care," she moaned. Her body was feeling things she had never known before. She couldn't get enough of how amazing he felt inside of her.

He laughed, sitting up as he wrapped his arms around her. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she used the new balance to bounce faster. He sucked on her neck, loving the taste of her sweat. She yanked out his hair, letting his curls fall on his shoulders.

"Why did we never think to do this before?" She asked as she shivered in pleasure. They could've been doing this for years at this point, instead of robbing themselves of how amazing their bodies worked together.

He released her neck as he pulled back to look at her. He was sure it was an in-the-moment comment, but he thought the same thing for months. "Didn't think you'd ever see me that kind of way."

Her hips slowed at the honesty in his voice. Her heart melted for him. She rolled her hips forward as she brought her arms around his neck. The closeness made the moment more passionate as she looked into his eyes. "I see you in the best kind of way."

He smashed his lips on hers, thrusting his hips up to fuck her as she moaned into the kiss

It didn't matter how much they touched each other. Or how deep he was in her. The burning desire for each other wasn't lessening. It was making them want it more and for it to never end.

She rocked her hips against him, feeling a familiar burn in her stomach. Eddie felt every strand of his hair soaked in sweat, sticking to his face.

"Fuck you're so beautiful, so wet, so perfect around me," he praised, biting his lip as he fucked up in her as hard as he could. "I could fuck you for the rest of my life."

Her heart pounded at his words. Breath hitching as she bounced on him. "Yeah? You promise?"

"Is that what you want? To be wrapped around my cock forever?" He whispered as her breath fanned his face. Her body reacted to him by squeezing around him. "Fuck do that again."

She repeated the action, loving how he let out a long moan. "Tell me you want it too," she whispered, her lips inches above his.

"I want you for the rest of my life," he admitted. He shocked himself by saying it but he meant it. "I think I'm in love with you."

She froze on top of him, blinking a thousand times. Did he just admit he was in love with her?

"No, I know I'm in love with you," he corrected. His hands ran up her back, holding the back of her head as he brought her lips against his.

She kissed him back. She moaned into his mouth as his left hand moved down to her clit. She pulled away, smiling in pleasure and bliss.

"I love you too," she confessed. Her forehead was against his as she felt her orgasm building. She rocked her hips against him, soaking in the feeling of his fingers on her clit. "Make me cum."

"My pleasure," he smirked, cockily circling her clit as she began to fall apart.

She felt her stomach burn with the familiar feeling, she leaned down and sank her teeth into his shoulder as she came again. Eddie growled out at the feeling, loving the harsh sting as she broke his skin.

~~~

Eddie woke up to the sound of a phone ringing. He rubbed his eyes as he looked around. His room was a mess, everything scattered everywhere, shit was falling off his walls, and his desk was no longer together properly.

The ringing continued, and Eddie felt a body next to him move. A reminder of who helped him create the mess. He gulped as he looked over at her. She was still asleep, on her stomach as she faced the other direction. He slowly got up, hissing as he stood up straight. A burning sensation ran all over his back, he wrapped his sheet around him and he practically limped as he walked to get the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Eddie. I talked to Robin and Nancy, and we all think something was up with that plant. We are going to meet up to talk about it, can we meet at your place? Call Y/N too," Steve said. Eddie agreed to meet them and hung up.

He walked towards his room, Y/N awake as she held a blanket around her body as she looked for her clothes.

"Morning, um, Steve wants us to meet here to talk about something," back to his shy self, Eddie turned around to give her privacy.

"Okay, yeah. Just gonna go get ready!" She squealed as she gathered her clothes and ran towards the bathroom. Once the door slammed, Eddie changed into new clothes. His body was sore which made everything harder, he was curious if her body was in any pain.

He held his shirt in his hand, waiting for her to exit the bathroom.

"Oh! You um, still are...not dressed," she said as she awkwardly tried not to look at his naked heavily marked chest. She felt her face burn as she saw all the hickies and scratch marks.

"Yeah, I kinda need help with my back. Could you put this on me?" He stood up and handed her the small tube of ointment. She gasped as he turned, his back far worse than his chest.

"Oh fuck, is it bad?" He asked upon hearing her gasp. She was embarrassed for what she left behind, but also enjoyed having her mark all over him.

"Just a lot of them. This might sting," she warned as she began to rub the ointment along his skin.

Just like that, the same fire burned in his stomach as she touched him. But this time, his brain was awake and active. Making him think logically that whatever happened yesterday only happened because of that damn plant.

He couldn't get excited by the feeling of her hands rubbing his back. Or how her breath hit his skin and made his spine straighten.

After she finished, he turned around. As they stared at each other, the air got thicker. She blew out a nervous breath.

"Can we talk quickly? I want to talk about some things we said last night." She asked

"Maybe after?" Eddie asked, feeling like he needed to throw up. He was nervous about what she wanted to say and he wanted time to deal with it.

"Um, yeah," she nodded. Her stomach turned with anxiety. She didn't want to wait. She wanted to clear the air about what happened and she needed to know how he felt about it. She turned around and walked out to his living room, needing to be out of his room and the aftermath of themselves.

Eddie took a few deep breaths and walked out. He walked to his front door and left it unlocked. He wanted to sit next to her but he felt terrified. So, he sat on the opposite side. Y/N felt the blow to her chest but tried not to show it. They never sat this far apart. The air was awkward as they sat in silence.

A loud commotion came from outside as everyone traveled in. Steve, Robin and Nancy all stood in front of the couch.

Steve awkwardly coughed as he started, "So, Nancy and I did some research about the plant we saw. I'm going to be blunt, I did things I wish I never thought of."

Y/N scrunched her face, uncomfortable with the idea of her friend sleeping with each other.

"I can't even look at myself," Robin laughed as she tried to make light of the situation.

"Moral of the story," Nancy said as she rolled her eyes, "It was a sex pollen plant. And we are moving past it and nothing happened!"

"Sex pollen?" Y/N questioned out loud, "Never heard of it."

Eddie was silent as he listened. It was confirmed that the plant was the reason all of that happened. He knew he wanted to do it because he liked her. But she did it because of the damn pollen.

"Wanna go get food?" Steve asked as he clapped. Everyone nodded, ready to move on from the awkward conversation.

Y/N grabbed Eddie's hand before he walked out, "We still need to talk."

"It was the pollen, it's okay. We can move past it like they all did," he explained. She dropped his hand and accepted his answer. Clearly, there was nothing else behind what happened.

She was absolutely shattered. And it hurt that he refused to talk about it. He admitted he was in love with her and now wanted to pretend it never happened.

~~~

A few weeks passed and Y/N tried to be okay with not expressing how she felt to Eddie. She tried to fake it and return to normal. It seemed everyone else did.

Robin, Nancy, and Steve didn't seem like anything happened between any of them. Y/N was never going to ask for details so she had no idea who got involved with who, and she was fine with not knowing.

Y/N walked up to the small diner as the gang was meeting for breakfast. She walked in and everyone was already sitting. She slid in on the end next to Eddie.

"I wish I could bleach my eyes so I wouldn't have the vision of it anymore," Steve laughed. The table laughed with him and Y/N wasn't sure what the topic was.

"I know. I'm ashamed of my own body. I didn't think it could do all it did," Robin shivered.

"Me too. I feel like I can never go to church again," Nancy groaned as she covered her face.

Y/N figured it was about the recent event they all moved on from, except her.

"All I know is if I see that plant again, I'm walking away because I never want to experience that again. Horrified from that night" Eddie laughed. The table joined in but Y/N felt a kick to her gut.

She hugged herself as she felt embarrassed. Was having hours of sex with her that horrible? She'd be fine to do it all over again but that's where they were different. She was in love with him and he got infected. She meant what she said and confessed, and it was all a joke to him.

"What about you? You haven't said anything about what you did," Steve said as he looked at her. Y/N felt her body burn as everyone turned to look at her.

"I'd prefer not to talk about it," Y/N said. She didn't want to say anything after the horrific comment Eddie made.

Eddie gave her a side glance, slightly relieved she didn't say anything. He was sure she was horrified by what she did with him. And wanted to take back everything she said. Which is why he kept hiding from the conversation he knew she wanted to have.

They accepted her answer, finally moving on from the topic.

~

The second Y/N got home she allowed herself to cry in the comfort of her room. She admitted everything to that boy and he wanted to erase the night from history. She felt crushed and heartbroken.

She should have known Eddie wouldn't touch her that way without a substance. She should have known he wasn't the type to say how he felt and that everything he said wasn't true.

She hated that she was the only one who seemed to have true feelings about what she did. The rest of the gang clearly could move on. Eddie didn't mean anything, and she was stuck feeling everything.

~~~

Y/N had to distance herself a bit from Eddie because everything was still hurting. She couldn't face him knowing she meant everything she said and did. He'd probably laugh in her face if he knew that.

Eddie noticed the distance, but he understood why she needed it. She fucked the freak and now had to deal with the thought of it. He was disappointed that the events ruined their friendship because that's what he was scared of the most. He spent days ignoring how he felt for her so she didn't leave. And now, she is gone.

He went from spending every day with her to nothing at all for two straight weeks. He missed her.

He called Steve over for help, which meant he was desperate.

"Y/N has been a ghost to me for like two weeks. I don't want to rush her or anything, but I mean, we are all in the same boat. We all were infected by that pollen and did things with each other. But you three all moved on like nothing happened. How did you do it? How can I make it easier for her?" Eddie asked question after question.

Steve looked at him, confused, "Wait, did you two sleep with each other? Like as in you and Y/N had sex!"

"I don't understand how you are confused by that," Eddie rolled his eyes, "obviously we had sex otherwise there wouldn't be an issue!"

"Wow," Steve said, a slow smirk forming on his face, "you guys really fucked? Was she any good?"

"I'm about three seconds away from decking you in the face," Eddie growled, "You have Nancy, don't worry about how Y/N is."

Steve backed up from the threat but laughed at Eddie's clear jealousy. "Alright, calm down. Clearly, she's all yours; I got that. Nancy, Robin and I were all alone when we dealt with the pollen. I did research on it and everything. It's basically just a pollen that makes you crazy horny, barely able to satisfy it and that's why it continues on for hours. None of us had sex with each other. It doesn't make you desire whoever is with you. That's not how it works. So whatever you and Y/N did, came straight from your guys. Just with a push," Steve explained.

"But maybe it's because we were together when it happened! So we desired each other" Eddie tried to explain.

"I was with Nancy in the same car when I started to feel it. Touching her or sleeping with her never crossed my mind," Steve said as he crossed his arms. He leaned back against Eddie's couch, "You my friend are in love with her and that's why it happened."

"Woah now," Eddie laughed, "I never said anything about love."

Steve rolled his eyes but a playful smile on his face. "Don't bother trying to cover it. I told you, I did all the research. It doesn't make you feel anything you haven't already felt. And it doesn't make you say anything you didn't mean. Whatever happened between you two, happened because of how you guys already felt."

Eddie soaked in his words, his stomach fluttering as he thought about everything they said during their time together. "So, let's say she admitted to loving me and something like that. That's the truth? Not the pollen?"

"Bingo," Steve smiled as he leaned forward, "So, seriously, how was it?"

Eddie rolled his eyes, but a smile broke on his face. Steve shoved him as he saw the smile.

"You totally are into her!"

"Oh shut up!"

~

Eddie was terrified to face his feelings but he wasn't going to be the reason he lost her. The only way she's allowed to leave his life is by her decision. He'll never drive her there and he'll beg before she does.

All he had to do was admit he was in love with her. He was doubting himself, but losing her forever scared him more than any confession. He already had the suspicion she felt the same, if what Steve said was true. It gave him comfort he wouldn't be shooting in the dark.

He softly knocked on her bedroom window, the moon his only form of light. She took a deep breath as she flipped her lamp on. Only one person knocked on her window, and truthfully she missed him. She quickly got out of bed and walked over, unlocking it and allowing him inside. She shivered as she felt the cold night air, shutting the window.

"Well, at least you are prepared for me to stay. That has to be a good sign," Eddie tried to joke as she closed the window, instead of leaving it open for an early exit.

She smiled at him and walked to sit on her bed. "You don't have to be so nervous," she said as he stood in one spot. "You can sit. I won't bite you."

"Liked it last time you did," he joked back as he sat next to her. The joke landed flat as she awkwardly looked away. "Moving on. I just want to check on you. I understand things are a little weird for us. But I don't want you to think I'm not here for you."

Her heart swelled at his words, she turned to look at him with a soft smile. "I appreciate that. I'm sorry I've been weird. I just needed more time to move on. But I've missed my best friend."

He ignored the sadness he felt when she called him her best friend. He was glad he was, but he wanted to be something more to her. A best friend that's in a boyfriend.

"Did you need more time to move on because you meant what you said?" He threw the question out there like a grenade. No warning as it landed in her lap.

She hugged herself, looking down at her lap. "We don't need to do this, Eddie." She heavily sighed, "You said it yourself that we can move on like they all did and I don't want to make you relive such a horrifying memory of what sex is like with me."

Eddie kicked himself as the words were tossed back at him. She remembered what he said; that meant it stuck with her, and he felt like an asshole.

"I found out from Steve that none of them had sex with each other. It was just us," he explained. That caused her to look at him.

She shrugged as she thought it over, "probably because we were with each other."

"That's what I said. But it turns out, the pollen makes you crazy horny and nothing else. Steve said everything we did and said was because it was already in our body, the desire and tension. The pollen was just a push."

She looked at him horrified, her body burning in embarrassment. "That was far more than a push!" She covered her face with her hands. She liked the idea of blaming the pollen for the crazy shit she did to her best friend. It was embarrassing enough to have a crush, but now she did every sexual fantasy she thought of with him, and it was because she wanted to.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to die more because he knew she loved him or because he knew she wanted to fuck him.

"But isn't it nice to know we wanted to?" He asked, trying to remove her hands but she wouldn't budge.

"No, Edward. I want to cry in a hole and disappear. Because now, you know how I feel and I can't even blame it on that fucking plant!" Then it hit her, he couldn't blame the plant either.

She slowly removed her hands as she looked over at him. He was bent down as he tried to look into her eyes. His brown eyes looked at her with worry and softness.

"You...you said things too!" She gasped, pointing at him. "You! You told me you think about me sexually all the time. And that you-"

Eddie covered her mouth with his hand, "Yeah, I was there, gorgeous. I don't need you to remind me." He blushed embarrassed. "I meant the other things I said too."

She had never seen Eddie so serious. Not a single twinkle of tease in his eye or a twitch of his mouth. He slowly removed her hand.

She couldn't believe it. Years spent thinking about how good they'd be together, how much more love she could offer him if they went past friends. And it was truly something that could happen. She teared up at the thought. All the hurt she felt pining after him and it all was worth it.

He cupped her face as the first tear dropped. He wiped it away, licking his lips. "Are you okay?"

"Do you want to do this?" She whispered, looking down at his lips.

"Yes," he said without hesitation. Then finally, his lips pressed against hers. She eagerly kissed him back. She had been craving to do this again and she figured she never would. But fuck, she's glad she was wrong.

Eddie softly pushed her on her back as he crawled on top of her. The kiss deepened as he moved his hands down her body, swinging her leg around his waist.

She ran her fingers through his hair, head in the clouds. She pulled away, moving her hands to rest on his shoulders as she looked up at him.

"I love you," he whispered as he leaned in to press his forehead against hers. His eyes staring into hers, his warm hands on her hips.

"I love you too," she smiled, leaning up to softly kiss his lips.

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123 @emxxblog

[natsredbra]

Tough graded

summary: Lottie thinks you’re mean - repeated tutoring sessions and a party proved her wrong!

pairing: Lottie Matthews x fem!reader

a/n: i hate this lowk but that happens with all my other stuff anyway soo

warnings: angst at the end, none other (mostly fluff and lesbian yearning)

word count: 3.5k

taglist: @towabirdno1fan, @minariiis, @feralnataroni, @lesbabe6, @radioactivesweet, @flurpe ,@ashliami, @johnnytoothpick @ikeepgettinglostwithchairs, @wompingburg

Lottie Matthews was a sweetheart. Everyone knew it. She was a popular girl, at least in a sense that everyone knew her. To be honest, she didn’t have many close friends, most of them being people she simply hangs out with.

Then there was you. You were just another student in Wiskayok High, with an average life, average home and average friend group. You were also familiar with Lottie, having being the first person she talked to once she moved from New York.

It was freshman year, and you’d never seen her before, her tall, seemingly confident appearance intimidated you a little. Somehow, you rubbed her up the wrong way that day and since then, she kept her distance. You didn’t notice it or pay much mind to her, but you always felt like she avoided you.

———————

“Settle down, class. We’re about to start.” Your chemistry teacher called out, preparing for the lecture as she attempted to calm a classroom of noisy teenagers down.

You sat in your admittedly uncomfortable chair, doodling in your notebook. At this point, it was as if the clock was going backwards. Ms Greene was in her own world, explaining something that might as well have been in chinese. Did I mention you don’t know dick about chemistry? And who could blame you, it’s not like any of this is actually important in the real world.

Fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt, your mind wandered. You remembered you had leftover sandwich from your lunch, and were eager to eat it on your break. You also tried to come up with a plan on how to convince your parents to let you go to Jackie Taylor’s party on Saturday. But just as you were planning the dialogue, your teacher spoke something you deemed more significant.

“So I graded your tests, you mostly did okay. Shauna - kudos, the only 100.” The professor spoke, and you knew exactly what was to come.

“Y/N, come see me after class.” She said, looking at you through her glasses. There it was.

You dreaded the moment but once the bell rang, instead of exiting the classroom and getting your paper on your way out, you stayed back, waiting. It was like a walk of shame at this point.

“You wanted to see me?” You inquired dreadfully.

“Yes, I did. I take it you know why?” The woman said, sounding disappointed. Why would she be fucking disappointed, she’s not your mother!

“Guess so.”

“You got exactly 38%. Now, I’m wondering why that is? You told me you tried harder, you said you understood the curriculum.” She exclaimed, handing you your exam. Lots of the color red.

“I know! But it’s like whatever I study never shows up!” You defended, clutching your backpack.

“Well I’d hate to see you fail. So that’s why I thought of something else. Tutoring. I think it’d be very beneficial for you, a peer could provide an easier explanation.” Ms Greene said as if she discovered warm water, making you internally roll your eyes. “And I have just the perfect girl for it.” She continued.

Before you could protest, or say anything really, you could hear the door open again.

“You asked to see me?” Lottie Matthews, in all her glory said once she walked in. “I’m sorry I missed class today there was this-“ She started before the teacher cut her off.

“No, no. I know the situation, it’s perfectly fine. I wanted to talk to you about tutoring your friend from class here. She needs all the help she can get, and frankly I think you’d be perfect for it.” She explained and you were baffled with the implied insult.

Lottie on the other hand looked like her cat just got shot.

“Um- I just don’t know if I’d be right for that.” She said with an insecure tone, which was dismissed.

“No, as I said- after Shauna you’re the best in class, and god knows that girl has a lot on her plate. Thank you for your help, miss Matthews.” Greene said, leaving no room for argument on Lottie’s side.

You felt awkward. The tension was eating you alive and you weren’t even sure why there was any as you two stood, looking everywhere but each other.

“You’re both dismissed.”

“Right.”

———————

The library felt suffocating with how quiet it was. People your age all around you, focusing on their studies just as you did, though they made it seem so effortless.

Lottie sat across from you, reading a book for her english class that you didn’t catch the name of as you answered some homework questions.

“I don’t get this.” You said in an annoyed tone, making her raise her head in uncertainty.

“Well that’s why I’m here. What can I help with?” She asked with a sweet smile. Overdo, much?

“This. None of these structures make sense and they all look the same!” You complained, louder than one could in there which earned you a dirty look from the librarian.

“What do you mean though? It’s pretty logical, this one is connected with this carbon cause-“ Lottie started, getting a bit closer to you to see the paper properly. That was, until she noticed you seemed entirely uninterested in what she had to say.

“Are you listening? I’m trying to help you.” She asked in that tender tone that always laced her voice. Lottie was very hard to truly piss off.

You felt kind of bad when you noticed how genuine she seemed, it almost melted all your rough walls down. Once you looked up at her you were met with big, rich brown eyes that glowed in the golden colored afternoon sun. Her lips rested in a slight, disappointed pout as she fiddled with the pencil between her fingers.

“Sorry. Yeah, show me.” You apologized with a sigh, leaning forward to better see what she was speaking of.

Lottie gave you a small nod and smile, really showing off those rosy cheeks. Well she was beautiful, but who didn’t know that already?

You really did try your best to pay attention to whatever she was saying, she did put her all into it. But it was difficult, after her hand brushed with yours when handing you an eraser, or when she flashed you a big, toothy smile every time you got something right.

Okay, okay. You’ve had a crush on Lottie Matthews for ages, so what? What wasn’t there to like? She was smart, athletic, nice and so damn cute. But it’s not like she’d ever notice you. You simply weren’t in her league.

What did Lottie think though? She thought you hated her. Thought you were rude and arrogant. You never spoke to her unless it was a grunt that passed as a reply even though you cross paths so often. You avoided her like a plague when it came to seating arrangements in class. Once, you wouldn’t even let her have a cigarette.

But this all felt different to you both. To Lottie, she thought you finally broke the ice - she savored the sweet voice you used in a sentence like a bottle of good, fancy wine. And you learned she might not have been so out of reach after all.

The session you had stretched on, and once you finally understood some of the schoolwork you needed to do, your conversation bent into something more casual. Getting to know her was nice.

She told you about how her parent’s divorce affected her. You learned she, quite begrudgingly, went to her dad’s at New York every two weeks. She also said that her favorite kool aid flavor was Black Cherry, and her favorite candy bar was a snickers.

“So, when should we meet up next?” Lottie asked as the talk slightly died down.

“Well tomorrow is fine by me. We have that test on Friday.” You replied, packing your books again.

“Oh, sure! You know, you can come to mine. Might be less distracting.” She offered with a tinge of hope that you did not catch onto. You just thought of the fact that you were about to go to Lottie Matthews’ house. A nice one, you’ve heard.

“Okay, yeah. Let’s go to your place.”

—————

See this is how you found yourself in this situation. God knows you were too afraid to talk to her, yet your questionable chemistry grades brought you together and that is why you were right there, standing in front of her house and too antsy to ring the doorbell.

However you couldn’t stand here and hope she got a radio signal about your presence, so you did. Not a moment later, a chipper Lottie as usual, answered the door.

“Hi! I’m glad you found the house. Kinda on the down low.” She said, moving from the doorframe to let you in.

You gave her a small “yeah” as you entered. Not only was it on the down low, it was gorgeous too. Very expensive and high end furniture, paintings that seemed like they could belong in the Louvre. Though the prettiest thing there was Lottie.

She might’ve had her hair in a messy braid, wearing a striped white and pink shirt with a pair of gray sweatpants, but she still made it look cool and classy.

“Balls.” You muttered as your eyes landed on an immense, glistening chandelier in the middle of her living room.

“Oh, my mom bought that when we got the house to piss off my dad and drain his bank account.” Lottie said way too casually, “Let’s go to my room.”

As you followed her upstairs you tried your best not to let your eyes rake over her lean from, but it proved to be hard. She really did look good - and it checks out, she’s a soccer player!

You wondered how strong her legs must’ve been, she could definitely trap you under-

“I’m sorry for the mess, the maid is coming later today.” Lottie said apologetically, tossing some clothes from her bed for you to sit on.

Her room was much different from the rest of the house and resembled Lottie herself. Girl band posters all around, a floral bedding, and photos of her soccer squad scattered all across her room.

“This is cool. I like the little bee.” You said, picking up one of the frames your gaze landed on. A picture of her and Jackie Taylor warmly smiling to the camera with a bunch of team spirit makeup.

“Oh, thanks! I just took that one about a week ago, I like keeping stuff like that.” She said, coming up behind you to take a look herself.

Right now, you could smell her perfume. Something sweet, vanilla and roses maybe - casually on her, as if it were part of her skin.

She slowly walked back to the bed, patting the spot next to her as she got her textbooks out.

You waltzed over there too, hugging your knees to your chest as she sorted everything.

“Can I ask you something first?” Lottie blurted, looking up at you with an unsure expression- made your chest flutter a bit.

“Of course.” You simply replied as you fiddled with the sheets under you.

“Did you like- hate me or something?” She asked with a nervous giggle, obviously a bit flustered.

“What, no I- wait, why would you think that?” You questioned back very invested, turning to her fully and bringing your knees to your chest. She repeated your action.

“It’s just…since we met, there’s been this weird thing between us both. I don’t think I did anything, but if I’m wrong, you can tell me.” Lottie spoke softly, voice sweet as honey as she hugged her knees.

“You didn’t. I was just being an ass.” You admitted, suddenly feeling a bit stupid for how you treated the girl. She obviously didn’t deserve that.

In fact, let’s take a quick look onto the day you met her.

~ You sat in a stuffy classroom full of people you went to middle school with just a couple of months ago, feeling the light breeze that the window cast.

It was a bit much, all the pre class yelling at eight in the morning along with the wind slapping your face repeatedly, but you pushed through it. When you raised your head, you saw something that was quite interesting. Which was rare for freshman year of high school.

A taller brunette speaking to your teacher that checked her schedule before nodding her head, likely a “you’re in the right place” signal. The girl she talked to wasn’t hard on the eyes either.

Oh shit, your seating mate wasn’t in here! She was definitely gonna seat her with you. How are you supposed to talk to such a hot girl again? Okay, now you’re just overthinking it, she could be nice.

“Hiya!” She cheered once she sat down, extending a hand, “I’m Charlotte. Everyone calls me Lottie though.”

You took the hand she put out, saying your own name sheepishly.

“Um…are you in any clubs or sports teams?” She asked, clearly trying to make conversation. Though it wasn’t clear to you.

“No.”

“Oh okay! Well- shit, I hope I’ll catch up with all the studying. New York is different with this stuff.” Lottie spoke, though you didn’t dare meet her eye. You might’ve passed out.

Somehow, what she said sounded weird to you. Maybe a little entitled? But she didn’t seem the type. That was, until you caught eye of the watch she wore. Was it real fucking gold? Likely. This girl was so out of your stratosphere.

“I think you’ll be fine.” You replied with a tight lipped, unwelcoming smile. Really, you didn’t mean for it to come off that harsh.

All she could do was sit in silence. She pissed you off already, somehow. Great work Lott! Was it even possible to make an enemy before a friend in a brand new school? Apparently. And anyway, her dad was her biggest one so it wasn’t such a foreign concept to her.

~ ”I understand.”

“Huh?” You inquired further, a tad confused and spaced out.

“I understand, trying to protect yourself for any reason. I get it.” She said again in that quiet tone which made you always want to pull her in for a deep, soul lacing kiss.

“Thank you.” You whispered as your eyes beheld hers. There was a sempiternal longing in them, something you’d never seen in anyone else.

“I don’t know why, but I really get you. I feel like…I know what’s going on with you, even though I don’t. We should definitely keep hanging out.” Lottie proclaimed happily, her voice still low.

You could see it in her eyes, that she was telling the truth. That she was genuine. You could see everything in her eyes. She could not hide or shy away from you.

“Me too. I feel the same way.” You said in a smoky tone.

She moved a bit closer, slightly forward until your knees touched. Just as she was about to speak again, there was a knock on her door.

“Lottie sweetheart?” A woman called out, likely her mother. She didn’t wait for an answer before pushing the door, and Lottie jumped as if electrocuted.

“Hey! We were just-“ She started, sitting flat on the bed and keeping her hands in her lap.

Mrs Matthews took a look around the room, then a long one at you.

“Go on. What were you doing?” She asked, her tone bordering on accusatory.

“This is my tutee mom. We were studying.” Lottie rushed, pointing to the books next to the two of you as if to make a point.

“Right. So, what did you need help with?” Lottie’s mother honeyed, turning towards you. Her lips curved in a smile, though it made you feel a certain unease.

“Chemistry. Ms Greene put us together.” You wheezed out, trying to ignore the slight charge in the air.

“Wonderful. Dinner’s at six. Let me know if your friend is staying.” And with that she left the room, leaving you with both of the previous and brand new tension.

“So should we start-“

“Are you coming to Jackie’s thing on Saturday?” Lottie asked, hugging her knees yet again.

“If my parents let me, yeah.”

“Good. Try to be there, okay?”

—————

Yeah, of course that’s how you ended up there. Since you did amazing on your test the previous day, with the luxury of Lottie’s help of course, you were able to persuade your parents into letting you go.

That’s why you’re now grabbing a glass of absolutely horrid spiked punch in Jackie’s glamorous kitchen, with an attempt to calm your nerves.

You’d only gotten to the party - maybe half an hour ago? And you definitely still weren’t buzzed enough to talk to Lottie.

There she was, in all her glory, wearing a slip dress to a fucking high school party. A purple one with her hair down and in its natural wave.

The shoes she wore were her signature doc martens with which she’d likely be buried in. In one hand rested a solo cup, filled with either the god awful liquid you drank or beer. Between her middle and pointer finger was a lit cigarette.

She looked entirely dazzling in the dimly lit room, filled with escapades of sin and Lottie’s silfira. Or that’s how you saw it in your reverie at least.

She surveyed the room for you as if no one else was there, mouthing you a “hi” as the guy next to her, some kid from her history class, continued to talk her ear off.

Politely she excused herself, leaving him bewildered as she walked over to you.

“How are you?” Lottie asked over the loud speakers, leaning onto the island next to you as she offered you a drag of her cigarette.

“I’m okay. Little bored though.” You said, sipping your drink again.

“Well we have to fix that don’t we?” She exclaimed in her usual chipper tone, moving over to face you. You could smell smoke, alcohol and cherries on her lips, since she stood so close to you.

“Do we?” You pondered jokingly, or not. Her idea of fun was likely something you’d regret in the morning, in terms of embarrassment at least. She was quite intoxicated too.

“Yes, we do! You know, I’ve never seen you dance.” Lottie teased, running the rim of her cup over her bottom lip.

“That’s because I don’t! Especially not here.” You interjected, gazing around the place.

“Oh come on! Dancing is fun, okay? I’ll even do it with you.” Lottie practically begged, gawking at you with those pouty eyes no one has ever said no to.

Fuck it. A month ago you’d give anything to dance with Lottie Matthews. Better yet, to be noticed by Lottie Matthews. This was a one time opportunity and you couldn’t let yourself pass it up because of slight insecurity and anxiety.

“Let’s go.” You muttered, downing the rest of your drink. Once you did, Lottie cheered a little, grabbing your hand and dragging you to the dance floor.

Her balter made you feel slightly better about your own moves, or better yet the lack of thereof. She let her hands wander, pressing her chest against your back as she trailed your abdomen to the beat. You could only follow her movements and remind yourself how to breathe here and there, of course.

She was warm and inviting against you, making your hips move with ease. Everything was easy around her. She was amazing to talk to, talk about. You decided to try your luck, moving around and pressing your chest against hers.

She seemed as surprised and as happy with the action as you were. The charge between you was inevitable and couldn’t go unnoticed.

Just as you wrapped your arms around her neck, there seemed to be a shift. Something in her eyes - those that were like a book for you to read, something overcame them.

She jolted away slightly, making you stumble back.

“Lottie, what’s wrong?” You yelled out over the obscene noise.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” Lottie stammered, you couldn’t hear her but you read her lips well enough.

She gave you one more mordant look before scurrying off, pushing past the drunk teenagers as she left you behind. Turned around five times to check on where you were as well.

But you? You stood there in absolute shock. All the booze you consumed made your mind hazy, and you could barely believe what was happening. For a whole week, there had been a “will they won’t they” vibe between the two of you and what? Now she just runs off?

No, this was your fault. Your fault for making yourself believe and hope for a person you always knew was out of reach, untouchable for you, even. Lottie must’ve been embarrassed of you, that had to be it.

Anyhow, for a moment you stood there all alone, mean, unwelcome tears burning in your eyes as your whole body felt numb - other than the pounding headache that started to wash over you. How did it come down to this?

[frostedfragments]

exclusive tutorial drabble: mc is ovulating and decides to visit her bf at work warnings: semi-public sex, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, desk sex, zayne manages not to cum in his pants this time! claps for zayne!! note: i have no other explaination other than i am ovulating...and i remember someone on ao3 or on here wanted to see et!zayne react to a blow job so here u go! also i wrote this on my phone at 3am so pls if there are errors....ignore

Zayne knows from the moment you slink into his office that you’re up to something. You’re looking at him with bright, dilated eyes and a flush in your face that he knows far better than he ever thought he would. 

His hand lifts off the mouse as you close the door behind you, a soft click signalling to him that you’ve no intention of leaving soon. 

“Hey, you okay, beautiful?” 

He’s working late, again, and he hates that you’ve had to come all the way into the city, to the hospital to see him. He feels like he hasn’t seen you properly in days between your work schedule and his. The last time he spent a night with you was when the two of you watched a sad movie about a dog and you cried into his chest for an hour afterward, a hot water bottle clutched to your stomach. 

Now, this is a side to his girlfriend he knows very well, but he is uber aware of the fact it’s only five PM and he has a surgery scheduled in thirty minutes. 

“No, I missed you,” You reply as you round the desk, stopping by his chair. His instinct is to reach out and take your hand, so he does, kissing your palm in apology for not being home to see you more this week.

You smile, but there’s something that flares in your gaze, something that has Zayne’s stomach warming dangerously. 

“_____ -“

“I’m ovulating,” 

He blinks, lips parting at the frankness of your tone, and he frowns a little, “Oh, I see,”

He’s a doctor, and also not an idiot, he knows exactly what you’re telling him. What he doesn’t know is how he’s gonna take care of your problem while he’s in his office, minutes from going into a surgery that won’t have him home for hours.

“I’m working, my love,” He says softly, hoping it’ll soften the blow, “you know I’d love nothing more than to carry you home to bed myself but I only have thirty minutes -“

“That’s fine,” You say, plopping your bag on the table before moving his chair so he is facing you properly. He is about to protest when you drop to your knees in front of him, “I only need ten,”

All coherent thought and the entire catalogue of speech trickles from his mind and out of his ears as he gazes down at you kneeling between his legs. Your hands are already on his belt, tugging and pulling it free, and he can’t hide the erection that stiffens down one side of his slacks, hot along his thigh. 

His hand reaches out to grip your wrist, stilling the movements, and he briefly hesitates, a reluctance to stop you gripping him in a weak hand. You’ve never done this, never had your mouth on his cock for longer than a few seconds, and by the flinty determination in your eyes as you stare up at him, you have no intention of letting Zayne move you away this time.

“____,” He sighs, hardly sounding convincing to his own ears, his hand is already loosening its grip on you, and you tilt your head coyly.

“You don’t want me to suck it?” 

If he wasn’t hard before, he certainly is now. He swallows hard, glancing at the door as your wrist falls from his grip and you quickly resume your work of undoing his slacks and slipping into the waistband of his briefs. He’s a weak little man, so desperate for every inch of you. He’s had you in more ways than he can count in the few months the two of you have been dating officially, and Zayne isn’t sure it’ll ever be enough. To cross this final line, to have your pretty red lips wrapped around him, he’s not sure he’ll survive it.

Your hand is firm, gripping his cock and pumping it a couple of times, a ragged sigh falling from Zayne’s lips. He’s never fucked in his office before, but the image before him is more familiar than he would like to admit. He can’t quite believe one of his most sordid and frequent dreams is coming true.

Your hot breath lingers for barely a moment before your warm, wet mouth is on him, tongue laving at his slit. His eyes roll back as his body becomes boneless in the desk chair, hands white-knuckled on the plastic arms. 

“Jesus…fuck, baby - just like that -“ His voice sounds reedy and breathless, cock twitching in your grip as your hand pumps the couple inches you can’t quite reach. For your first time, this is unreal, and Zayne is slowly losing his mind with the way you bob your head in his lap like you’re as hungry for him as he is for you.

He’s constantly on the verge of coming when you’re touching him, or under him, sometimes even when you look at him. Most times you only have to glance at him across his apartment with heat in your eyes before he’s got you bent over the dining table within a few minutes. 

You’re moaning, enjoying him just as much as he enjoys you, your thighs spread wide on the carpet, a hand snaking beneath your skirt. He knows the moment you slip your fingers against your clit by the way your lashes flutter, eyes flicking up to gaze at him. You remind him of a succubus, like in one of the weird, animated porn videos his friends used to show him in college - eyes heavy-lidded, long lashes fanning over your cheekbones as your plush lips surround his dick. You look at him as if you’re about to suck out his soul through his cock, and he doesn’t have to think twice about whether or not he would let you if it was possible.

“I wanna come inside you -“ He pants, already knowing he’s too close, far too close, and he’s thankful that you’re touching yourself so he can lose himself in you. He’s not sure he has the time to get you wet and ready for him, and he has a feeling he won’t have to. You grunt in protest when he pulls you off him, his slacks falling to his knees when he stands to drag you up and push you down so you’re bent over, sprawled on his desk like every fantasy he’s ever had come to life. He tugs to your skirt, tugging your thong down to your knees, your round ass bare for his hands to wander. If he had the time he would enjoy the view before him a little longer, explore every sweet inch of you. He’s blessed by the sight of your damp pussy, pink and ready for him, and he slips in a finger if only to hear you sigh. 

“So good at sucking my cock, beautiful girl,” His voice is nothing but a rasp against your ear, digging deep until you moan, a needy, keening sound that has him glancing up at the door again. Your wetness is already leaking out around his digit, his fingers slick as they noisily pump in and out. Zayne can’t help but wrap his hand around his dick, feeling it pulse in his palm. He thinks fast, covering your lips with his palm as another groan builds in your throat, “Who does this cock belong to, huh?”

“Me,” Is your muffled reply, and he huffs out a laugh, pulling his fingers from your tight, wet entrance.

He positions himself against you, his shirt nearly soaked through with sweat as his hand trembles against your hip, “That’s fucking right. It’s yours. All yours,” and he slides home. You groan against his palm, hands sliding on the glass surface as Zayne begins to drill into you, a quick, steady pace that has the photos of the two of you beginning to jostle on the desk..

He glances up at the door again, the frosted glass showing nothing to the corridor outside, and yet a sick thrill rushes down his spine as he silently hopes someone knows that you walked your beautiful ass in here simply to spread your legs for him, and that he’s the one getting to fuck you over his desk. Nobody else. 

He manages a few more hard thrusts before you tense, a garbled moan against his palm before you tighten up on him like a dream. The clench of your pussy sets off his own orgasm, one that leaves his thighs trembling. He’s panting, laying over your back and softening inside you when his pager beeps - time for his surgery.

He’s not even sure he can walk, never mind stand for the next six hours.

You wiggle under him, glancing over your shoulder before he drops a wet kiss on your neck.

“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Dr Zayne,” You giggle, and Zayne smiles as he presses another kiss into your hair.

[msmk11]

hey! I’m kinda new to requesting anything so sorry if I mess it up 🤦🏽‍♀️

I was just wondering if you could write some angst + fluff about poly! marauders + Lily x fem reader. I love your writing style 💕 I don’t have any specific trope, maybe the miscommunication one?

Have a nice day 💕 thank you in advance

Hi lovely! I’m so sorry this took wayyyyyy too long for me to respond to, but here is my best try!

If your partners ask, you’ll deny it. But, yes, you are, in fact, hiding from them right now and sulking.

Why?

Because you’re too clingy. Apparently. You know they hadn’t meant for you to overhear it. They thought you were still asleep. But you did.

“They're clingier than Pads and Prongs combined” Remus had said, “and my limbs starts to hurt after a while when I can’t move with them on top of me.”

“I get so hot too,” Lily complains, “it’s too warm in the summer for cuddling but they insist.”

They hadn’t needed to name names, you knew Remus and Lily were talking about you. And you felt awful. You’d always worried you were too clingy and annoying and now it’d been confirmed.

You’re back in bed again, buried under the covers with a sleeping Sirius next to you. Of course, your skin itches to curl towards him, but you ignore your screaming instincts. Instead, you grip onto the pillow beneath you even tighter and huff frustratedly.

While you lay there agitated, you hear the door to your shared bedroom open. By the footsteps alone you know it’s James returning from his morning workout to take his shower. His heavy trod pauses near your “sleeping” body and then you feel his warm fingers dust across your cheek. Against your wishes your eyes flutter open and you’re met with James’ handsome face and lovely curls slicked with sweat.

Despite his protests that he smells after the gym, you quite like his musky scent of cologne and sweat. You always demand at least ten minutes of cuddle time with James post-gym before he showers just so you can soak up his scent.

So when you don’t instantly reach out to pull James down on top of you into bed, he frowns.

“What’s wrong, angel? Are you sick?”

He presses a kiss to your cool forehead.

“Nothing is wrong,” you murmur into the pillow.

“You’re not begging for your morning cuddles,” James pouts.

You wanna kiss that pout off his lips.

“I’m just not in a cuddly mood this morning.”

A voice behind you scoffs and Sirius’ tattooed arm suddenly snakes around your waist, pulling your back against his chest., “that’s bullshit. You’re always in a cuddly mood.”

“And your post-gym cuddles are always my favorite part of my morning,” James adds, “What’s going on, angel?”

“Tryingtobelessclingy,” you mumble under your breath.

Sirius kisses your bare shoulder, “you gotta speak up sweet cheeks.”

“I’m trying to be less clingy!”

James’ eyes widen and Sirius’ grip tightens at your petulant tone.

“Why the hell would you ever do that,” Sirius responds, his voice heavy with horror, “are you trying to kill me?”

“What he means,” James clarifies, “is that we love your clinginess. What put the idea in your head that we don’t adore how much you wanna touch us?”

You go quiet and bite your lower lip.

“Well?” your most dramatic boyfriend huffs impatiently.

James gives him a scolding look.

“Rem and Lils,” you nearly whisper.

They both go incredibly still and silent- more than you’ve ever seen them- and then Sirius is clambering over you and taking two steps at a time down to your living room. You sit up startled and James wraps his arms around you, pulling your head back against his chest. He kisses your temple, “I’m sure there’s an explanation for all of this.”

Despite the feigned indifference on your face, you’re quite relieved by James’ embrace and Sirius’ quick action.

Three sets of footsteps pound up the steps and you’re suddenly being fawned over by four pairs of hands.

“Dove, please let us explain!”

“Baby, you only heard part of the story.”

“I’ll always cuddle you as much as you want.”

“Let them take a breath.”

The last is said by James and your other three partners freeze and drop their hands.

“Sorry, dovey,” Remus murmurs softly.

Lily tentatively sits by your knee with pleading eyes, “just let us explain.”

“Not sure if you both deserve to explain,” Sirius answers stubbornly.

“It’s okay my love, you tell Sirius,” and you pull him down on your lap as you sit in James’ lap.

He nods quietly and takes your fingers into his, playing with them gently.

You watch Sirius as you murmur, “it’s okay if I’m too clingy. I’m sorry that I’ve made you both uncomfortable.”

A pair of pale fingers that belong to your girlfriend hook under your chin and force you to look into her green eyes.

“Baby, don’t apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong, I promise. You just caught the wrong part of the conversation.”

Remus clears his throat, “yes, we were calling you clingy.”

Your heart drops.

“But,” Remus insists, “we didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”

“You said it hurts your limbs when I lay on you for too long. And Lils said she gets too hot.”

They both have the decency to look embarrassed.

"Both are true," Lily confesses, "But that doesn't mean we want you to stop. We all love your cuddles very, very much."

"I just don't want to be a burden."

Your girlfriend places a kiss between your brows, "you're never a burden. Just think of it like this- sometimes Sirius' yapping gets a little much, or Jamie's worrying, or Rem's grumpiness, and my stubbornness. But you love us all the same, right?"

You hesitantly nod, "of course."

Remus squeezes your free hand, "there you go. It's just the same. We may whine a little, but that doesn't mean we want you to stop."

"And you better not, or I'll never let you hear the end of it," Sirius promises.

You believe him, and you believe Lily and Remus too. How could you ever distrust one of them when James is holding you so tightly, Sirius is touching you so softly, Lily is saying such pretty words, and Remus is looking at you so warmly?

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Tribulations Part 1

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: 14.6k

Summary: Arguing with Wanda leads to more stress than usual for both of you.

A/N: Here's the angst (FINALLY). It will be two parts just because it's so damn long!

Warnings: Angst, arguments, sickness, discussions about death/end of life.

Money. 

Of all the things that you thought you’d argue about with your wife…well this wasn’t in the top ten. 

Neither of you had ever really considered money an issue in your marriage. It certainly wasn’t a point of contention like you’ve heard it can be with most other couples. You both make plenty of money, sure Wanda made a lot more, but it wasn’t as if either of you were ever stressed about money. 

For this reason, you’re not sure how a simple conversation about getting affairs in order had caused an argument. 

That said, when emotions were running high, sometimes both you and Wanda were guilty of saying things you shouldn’t. 

This conversation started because of an issue that you and Wanda were far more used to fighting over. 

Her job. 

She’d been out last night, like most nights of the week, and one of her meetings hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped. She’d been sitting down with one of her suppliers to renegotiate terms, but she’d somehow offended him along the way. She couldn’t quite remember what she’d said that made him so upset. Was it the previously agreed upon 10% fee increase, or was it the fact she was only signing a 2-year contract instead of a 3 year? 

All Wanda really remembers is that the table between them had been flipped and guns started going off. After the table hit her in the face and broke something, it actually protected her from being shot more than once which she was grateful for. She was only a little less grateful after she went through surgery to repair her zygomatic arch and remove the bullet from her side. It was just a flesh wound, but this fact only made you feel a little better when you arrived at medical to visit your wife. 

She admittedly had looked a little rough with the bruising beneath her left eye that extended down her cheek. The careful suturing along her face was unlikely to leave a scar she’d been told, but that didn’t stop it from looking gnarly right after surgery, and for weeks afterward. 

When you’d seen your wife lying in bed with a grimace and a horrendous looking bruise you’d panicked. You’d already been briefed by Steve as usual, but even he wasn’t able to appease your growing anxiety this time. 

You’d been at work when he called you, and it took you longer than you would have liked to leave. This stress was compounded by Wanda’s appearance, and you may have been a little blunter than you usually were after she was hurt on the job. 

“You need to get out Wands.” 

You usually didn’t start the conversation like this. You of course asked how she was feeling first, but usually you’d sit with her for a bit and fuss over her before you asked her to explain what happened. You’d barely waited two minutes and Wanda’s shame at being hurt quickly was overshadowed by annoyance at your insistence that she quit.

“It’s not that easy, Y/n.” 

You of course knew this and you told her this, but not in the best way. This had probably been the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

“Well obviously, Wands, but you need to try harder.” 

“How do you propose I do that, Y/n?” 

You had been too focused on the discoloration and swelling around her eye to think of anything particularly plausible. 

“I don’t know, Wanda, but you need to leave before you get killed.” 

Unsurprisingly, Wanda had given you the silent treatment for an hour until you finally left her alone to return to work. You were more upset by the fact that she’d gotten hurt than anything else, but you’d taken your fear and frustration out on her which you felt guilty about. You’d been distracted for the entire time you’d attempted to stay at work that night. You figured you just needed time to calm down while Wanda needed to focus on getting better. She shouldn’t have to worry about you and your insecurities right now. You’d visited her for two days at the compound after work until she was discharged and set free to go back home. 

You’d been hoping that she would return home and take time off of work, but that hadn’t happened. Wanda had to make up for lost time, and you had been so mad you just went home and didn’t speak to her for nearly 24 hours. 

When Wanda finally came home the third night after her surgery, she found you in the living room working on something that surprised her. She barely greeted her dogs as she eyes the words ‘last will and testament’ and wonders what the hell you’re doing. 

She doesn’t realize that she’s asked this out loud until you turn around and shoot her a slightly annoyed look. You look tired like you haven’t slept well, but she doesn’t even have time to consider this right now. She focuses on your scowl and the pen that you’re holding in a white-knuckled grip. 

“What does it look like, Wands? I figure we need to be responsible.” 

Wanda’s response is so quick it almost gives you whiplash. She sounds offended and it doesn’t take you long to figure out why. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

This is when you realized that you hadn’t paid enough attention to your wife. Not only was she in pain and stressed about work, but now you were surprising her with wanting to have your will updated. 

You honestly had just wanted to make sure that everything was in order. Did you leave all of your money to Wanda or Yelena? Check. You did the same for nearly everything else except for one thing that you plan on leaving Natasha. You decided that you weren’t going to tell Wanda about that because even though it is ancient history, you had a letter stashed away that you wanted to give her in the event that you die before Wanda. 

Wanda had sat down beside you waiting for your response, and you just glared at the paper in front of you before you claimed that it wasn’t personal. 

“I just want to be prepared.” 

Wanda frowns at this but she doesn’t argue as she considers asking to read it. It’s not entirely her business even though she’s sure you’ve left her most everything, but she does wonder. Still, she knows she should focus on the reason why you’re doing this tonight, and she can’t help but sigh in defeat. 

“It was a fluke, detka. It won’t happen again.” 

You’re still on edge and Wanda’s empty promises just grate on your nerves. You have been with her for years and you know better than that by now. You know that she can’t guarantee that she’ll be safe, and this truth is a bit harder to stomach tonight. You shake your head before setting down your pen and turning to face your wife.

“So I should just wait until you die to worry about this?” 

Despite knowing that this question is designed to antagonize Wanda, you can’t help but be a little desperate. You know that the only way, the best chance, for Wanda to be safe in the long term is to quit. You’ve talked about it a dozen times in the past year alone, and you both agreed that if you were going to start a family, both you and Wanda had to be as far away from her business as possible. 

This is what you’re thinking about when you ask Wanda to reconsider her career choice in the cruelest way you can. Selfishly, you want your wife by your side for years to come, and you want to stop having to worry about her every time one of you leaves the house. 

You see Wanda’s face fall and you know you’ve made a mistake, but you can’t stop. You unconsciously choose to channel your fear into the least productive line of questioning that focuses on something you couldn’t care less about at the moment. 

“Is all of your money under just your name? Am I the beneficiary or will it all be left to your brother? How does that even work when it’s all earned illegally?” 

You watch as Wanda’s frown turns into an ugly sneer, and you feel yourself tense. You wish you could take a moment to breathe instead of panic, but unfortunately when your wife’s concerned this can be difficult. 

“Are you seriously asking me if you get my money right now? Is that all you care about?”

Even as she asks this, Wanda knows that this isn’t the case. You’re both extremely riled up about different, yet related issues and it’s making you say stupid things. You stand up nearly throwing your chair back onto the floor causing the dogs to jump in surprise. Boone is sitting beside your chair and Rogue stands behind Wanda as you blindly lash out and send the papers in front of you scattering across the floor. Rogue jumps in surprise and ducks behind Wanda while Boone stands up beside you. 

“I don’t give a shit about your money, but we need to start somewhere. It doesn’t seem like you want to admit that you’re never going to leave your job!” 

You and Wanda just stare at each other in silence for an agonizingly long time. It’s Wanda who finally speaks up because you’ve finally said your piece. You’ve voiced one of your greatest fears and you have nothing else to throw at your wife. Wanda eventually just rolls her eyes before storming toward the garage. She doesn’t want to be around you right now, not if you’re just going to keep pressuring her into making a difficult decision. She has a headache and shouting at you has only made it worse. 

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.” 

You don’t manage to respond before you watch both Wanda and Rogue escape to the garage. You hear the door open only moments later, and you’re not exactly shocked to hear her car start and back out leaving you and Boone to think about what you’ve done. 

The morning after your argument with Wanda is worse than you thought it would be. You wake up alone in bed with Boone lying in the hallway right in front of the stairs. The fact that Wanda didn’t come back last night leaves you equally annoyed and upset, but mostly at yourself. You go through the motions of getting ready for work,  but you manage to check your phone a half dozen times for a text or call from your wife. 

Nothing. 

You guess you don’t deserve a check in after last night. 

Wanda didn’t have a much better night away from you. She woke up with her entire left side throbbing and Rogue at the foot of the bed. She forgot to take her medications last night, and she’s certainly regretting it now as she tries to sit up. Her side burns and she bites her lip to keep from screaming as she finally manages to get to her feet. She doesn’t waste any time going to her purse and grabbing the two medications she’d been given a few nights ago. 

She slowly heads to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and something to eat. She’s starving since she skipped dinner last night, and the sight of Rogue following her reminds her that she hadn’t grabbed any of his food before leaving the house. She sighs in defeat as she sets her glass in the sink and looks to the pantry for suitable alternatives for him. She ends up just making extra eggs and toast to give him which feels ridiculous, but Rogue doesn’t seem to mind at all as he munches away at his breakfast on a plate that looks just like hers. 

Wanda is sitting at the table where you’ve always eaten dinner while at the compound when she thinks to call you. She bites down on the urge and swallows it with her slightly burnt toast as she shakes her head. She needs time to think about everything that’s happened in the last week. She’s still not feeling up to talking to you yet, but she has to admit that you make a good point.

You’ve been wanting Wanda to quit her job for years. She’s honestly considered doing it for nearly that long. However, there’s always been something stopping her from taking the chance and leaving the mob. She’d always claimed that it was a dangerous and tedious task untangling herself from the criminal empire she’d run for longer than a decade. 

The risks of leaving herself and by association her family vulnerable never sat well with her, but this wasn’t what kept her from quitting her job. 

She’d never told anyone, certainly not you, but she was terrified of leaving her job. She was afraid that doing so would change everything, and once she had no mobster job, no secret appeal, you’d become bored of her.

It felt silly and conceited, but Wanda knows that becoming a stay-at-home mom, which is the ultimate goal, isn’t nearly as exciting as what she does now on a daily basis. There’s an irrational, or perhaps fearful, part of her brain that’s telling her that quitting will ruin your relationship. You’ll realize that without all of the excitement and danger, that she’s nothing special.

Wanda’s only tried to think of comparable careers that she could pursue to keep this from happening, but it wasn’t realistic. If she was going to leave the mob, she couldn’t try to do anything else. She needed to take a break from work, perhaps permanently, and then stay on the right side of the law for the rest of her life.

She knows she’s been lucky to avoid being charged and going to jail, but at some point, her luck will run out. 

Similarly to how she escaped a few days ago, although not unscathed, she knows that one day she may not make it out. The idea of dying from an injury sustained while working makes her pause and drop her fork back to her plate. She ignores Rogue’s whine as he sits beside her with sad, hungry eyes. 

The idea of leaving you in this fashion makes her blood run cold. She never wants to leave you alone and unprotected, hell she never wants to leave you period, but the idea of blindsiding you in this way…

She pushes her chair back from the table and grimaces as she stands and takes her plate to the kitchen. She sets it in the sink before she stands at the counter staring off into the living room but not seeing anything. She thinks about what would happen if she died. Would someone come after you? Her family? She hates to think of you being hurt, or worse, but the thought of you grieving her death makes her a little nauseous. She makes some coffee and nearly chugs it as she thinks about how she’d feel if she was in your position. 

She has to admit that you are far more patient than she would be. If she had asked you to leave work as much as you had, and been told no for so long…she’s not sure she would have tolerated it. She likely would have threatened to leave you by now, and although she’s pained by the thought, she can’t help it. Her anxiety would make it near impossible to sit home alone night after night not knowing if you’d come home. 

She disappears into the bathroom to change the bandage covering the wound on her side. It’s been cleaned up and closed but it’s still oozing because it’s impossible not to move at all. As she looks into the mirror she pauses before taking off her shirt. She focused on the red line down the side of her face and the splotchy skin beneath her eye. She’s stunned that she didn’t end up worse off after that night. 

As she thinks about this, she can’t keep her mind from wandering to you. 

She’d seen your apprehension when you first came to visit her after her surgery. She’d been in pain and drowsy, and she’d just wanted to cuddle with you. She’d been prepared for some anxiety and was ready to offer reassurance, but your resolute request that she quit caught her off guard.

At first she’d thought that you were mad at her for getting hurt. She’s certain you were worried too, but she’d thought that this had been overshadowed by anger, and she still believes this.

She spends most of the morning scowling as she tries to work out what she wants to do. She needs to do something, and although she’d intended to work, a call from her brother told her that there was nothing to do. He was taking care of everything so she could have the day off, and no amount of arguing with him would change his mind. 

So now Wanda’s mildly irritated at her brother too when she decides that she’s sat around for long enough. She doesn’t want to walk around the compound if she can’t work, so she decides to take more pain meds and take Rogue on a walk around town. 

She retreats to the bedroom once again to figure out the easiest disguise she can so she can get some air as quickly as possible.  

You’re struggling to get through the day at work while Wanda’s busy picking between two different blonde wigs. You slept like shit and it’s caught up to you so quickly that you’ve been forced to drink coffee while at work. This is something you’ve managed to avoid for years, and it’s not something that anyone at work misses. You receive shocked, both kidding and serious, looks when you walk through treatment with a cup of 50% coffee and 50% milk. 

You stifle a yawn as you try to focus on your next appointment. It shouldn’t be too difficult, but then again nothing was very easy for you when you were fighting with your wife. You could name fewer than half a dozen times that you disagreed enough to avoid one another for any period of time. You sigh at the thought and push your way through the treatment area door so you can head up to your office. Your assistant is still taking a history so you probably have time to drop your coffee off at your desk and delay the inevitable. 

You slouch in your seat in front of your computer and stare at the screen without really seeing it. You ignore the glare and the schedule in front of you as you consider how you could have gone about this differently. 

You loved your wife. That wasn’t even a question. 

The real question that you’ve been wrestling with for years was far less straightforward. Most of the time you tricked yourself into not thinking too much about the risks associated with Wanda’s work, but incidences like a few nights ago caused your anxiety to ramp up. You think about Wanda’s reassurance that everything will be fine, and you’re honestly sick of hearing it.

You’re sick of trying to believe it. 

Maybe it had worked when you first met her because you didn’t know any better. You hadn’t gone through everything you have now. You’d seen and experienced too much of the collateral damage that came with being with Wanda, and now you were just tired.

You don’t get to dwell on this as your phone goes off and you’re being summoned for your appointment. 

You’ll think about this later. After all, you’re not sure that you’ll be seeing your wife tonight. 

Wanda had made the uncharacteristic decision to wander downtown among the bustling city life for her walk with Rogue. Not only had she wanted to be distracted, but she hadn’t wanted to be alone. She knew her mind would wander too much if she went on a hike or anywhere more secluded than where she was now. She was wearing her favorite blonde wig and sunglasses that covered most, but not all, of her injury.

Her first stop after she’d found parking was a pet store. She’d found the closest thing to the food you had for Rogue at home, but she’d been unable to buy it without a prescription. She’d only considered bothering you for one for a millisecond before she saw an entire shelf of human grade dog food as she went to put up the bag she’d chosen. She eyes the boxes carefully and realizes she’d basically be feeding Rogue soup, stew, or some other wet food. This was too messy for right now, so she just grabbed a bright blue bag of kibble that had salmon in it. Rogue loved salmon which you learned after he’d stolen an entire fillet from the kitchen counter when you had your back turned. This thought reminds her of the only real requirement you had for your dogs’ food. 

Something about avoiding grain-free. She couldn’t manage to remember the reason at the moment, but that mattered little as Rogue started to whine and nudge her hand with his nose in excitement. She decides to focus on him for now and hurries to check out. She’s going to try and focus on him today instead of herself if at all possible. 

This is how she found herself sitting in a fairly crowded park with a bag filled with dog food, two new bowls, doggy bags, and jerky treats. Rogue had been good about wandering around so far, but Wanda knew it was never a bad idea to have treats when she took him on walks. He was sometimes triggered by someone running or something too loud, and the only way she’d ever been able to snap him out of his fear was with food or cuddles. 

“Sorry for the delay, bud.” 

Rogue didn’t seem to mind as he scarfs down his new food with gusto. She just rolls her eyes before pouring some water into the spare bowl with a sigh. She glances around behind the cover of her sunglasses and people watches for a few minutes. She follows a cyclist down their path toward the lake and to the gardens beyond before her attention is stolen by a loud squeal. She looks around for the source and nearly melts at the sight of a child, probably no older than 2 or 3, smiling widely as she reaches up for her father. 

She jumps excitedly and Wanda watches as the man leans over and hoists her up high in the air. The squealing resumes as the toddler is spun around under the watchful eye of a brunette who’s following the duo with a stroller in one hand and a purse in another. Wanda feels a surprising pang of envy at the sight, and has to look away before she makes a face that might be misunderstood. She reaches out for her dog who’s now sitting beside her as he does his own survey of their surroundings. He’s panting as he stands up seemingly ready to continue walking, and Wanda just sighs in defeat. She packs up the mess before slowly getting to her feet with a slight grimace. Her pain meds have kicked in, but her side still aches with too much movement. 

She’s probably going to regret this outing later, but for now she’s just going to use it to forget. 

In the few minutes it takes to walk down to the lake, Wanda’s mind has already begun to wander back to you. 

She follows dutifully as Rogue leads them around the water past groups of sunbathers and families having picnics. She only has to slow him down once when he starts to pull at the gates of the flower garden. She knows that she shouldn’t go in there since he’ll try to dig something up, but there isn’t a sign that says ‘no dogs’ so she doesn’t fight him. 

As she follows her dog as he explores the grounds, Wanda thinks about to the last time when she truly felt free of responsibility. 

Was it when she was in elementary school and she didn’t know what her dad did for a living? Or was it after, in middle school when she learned about the family business, but still had no idea that she was going to be the one to take it over? She had always assumed it would be her brother. That he would be mentored by their father until he retired.

She’d never expected to be orphaned and then thrown into everything. 

Sometimes she was still surprised that she hadn’t run the business into the ground. 

She wonders what her life would be like if that had happened.

Would she have still met you, or would her life have gone in a completely different direction? Maybe she would have had to flee and start all over with her brother.

Wanda hisses when Rogue yanks on his leash at the sight of another dog. She’s quick to redirect his attention and tell him to sit until they walk past. She gives him a treat before making a turn into what looks like a sea of flower beds. 

“Behave.” 

Rogue already has his nose in the dirt of one of the rose beds, and Wanda sighs in defeat. 

“Rogue no. Come on.” 

The dog whines but he continues on his way without additional protest. Wanda lets him wander around for a bit longer until she needs to takes a break. She needs to sit down and the first place she finds is luckily in the shade. She’s exhausted from her poor night’s sleep and pain, but she still doesn’t want to go home yet. Or rather to the compound. 

She startles when Rogue jumps up to sit beside her on the bench, but she’s too tired to tell him to get back down. He luckily just sits down and pants as she closes her eyes and leans back against the bench. She grimaces when her shoulder hits something hard, and she turns to investigate, but she stops short. 

“Rogue no!” 

Her shepherd’s mouth is already closing around a colorful tall flower with so many petals it’s ridiculous. The pink scatters but a fair amount disappear into Rogue’s mouth as he sucks them down like he’s starving. Wanda stands up quickly and ignores her body’s protests as she quickly yanks Rogue away from the flowers. Wanda curses under her breath as she glances back at the ruined few flowers whose petals have fallen onto the bench. It’s only as Wanda traces their path and considers sweeping them away that she spots the plaque. This is what she must have been leaning again since the rectangular metal sign had raised letters that she definitely felt digging into her skin. 

When she sees what it says; however, she stops breathing. 

Foxglove (digitalis purpurea)

She’s been married to you long enough to have a running list of things that are toxic to pets. The most common ones that she can never forget are onions, garlic, grapes, and dark chocolate.

Some are more regional toxins such as a type of weed you told her about because you found the name entertaining. 

Then there was Foxglove: a cardiotoxic plant. 

Wanda quickly turns to Rogue when she realizes he’s still chewing, and she drops to her knees so quickly she shocks them both. 

“Rogue, open your mouth. Spit it out now!” 

Wanda wrenches open the shepherd’s mouth and he nearly bites her in his surprise, but Wanda grabs his tongue and does her best to grab the remaining soggy petals that she sees. She grimaces and then cringes when Rogue starts to gag and even more saliva and macerated petals fall into her hands or on the ground. She looks to the small pile on the ground knowing that it isn’t nearly all of them, and she curses under her breath before standing up. 

She was already sweaty, but now she’s also shaking as she hurries to the closest exit while reaching for her phone. She can’t remember where the closest emergency vet is, and despite not being ready to talk to you, she doesn’t hesitate to call your number.

You’re in the middle of an appointment so you aren’t able to answer your phone. You don’t even hear it vibrate as you examine a dog that weighs nearly as much as you do. Well at least you’re trying to, but it’s difficult given that he’s just walking around in circles and pushing you around with his massive body. 

“Do you think you could hold his leash while I listen to him?” 

When you don’t answer your phone for a second time Wanda leaves a quick message before she calls Steve. 

She is probably about a twenty-minute walk from the car and she’s not sure how long it will take to get to the ER. She’s panicking because she can’t remember how long it takes for signs to show up after eating the flower, but the fact that it causes heart problems is enough to nearly send her into a panic attack. 

“Hey Wanda.” 

Wanda barely greets her friend as she tries to explain what happened while she leads Rogue out of the park. He doesn’t understand her urgency, but luckily he’s keeping up with her as she rushes to get them to the car. 

“Steve. Where are you right now?” 

When he tells her that he’s about an hour away with Bucky, Wanda curses under her breath. She grows tense and ditches the bag from the pet store on a nearby bench. It’s slowing her down and it seems like she needs to hurry up. 

“Can you look up the closest ER clinic for me please?” 

By the time Wanda gets Rogue to the car, he still seems fine, but she doesn’t waste any time heading toward the hospital. It’s about a 15-minute drive, and Wanda makes it there in 10. She’s so worried about getting Rogue taken care of that she doesn’t notice how his demeanor changes immediately when he realizes where they are. He digs his heels in and she practically has to drag him through the front doors.

“I know, Rogue. I’m sorry, but this is on you, bud.” 

It’s not until she’s facing a receptionist that she realizes that she just walked in here without a plan. She is luckily still wearing her sunglasses, but she nearly says her real name as she speaks up. 

“Hi, my dog ate almost an entire foxglove plant about 45 minutes ago.” 

The subtle widening of the brunette’s eyes confirms Wanda’s fears and she barely resists the urge to throw Rogue’s leash at her when she simply nods. 

“Okay, can you tell me your name and your dog’s name? I’ll call someone up to triage him.” 

Wanda gives them her fake name which luckily matches the credit card she has on her before she turns her attention to Rogue. He’s tense and his gaze is darting around the room at any sign of movement. When he sees someone come out from the back and head towards them, he somehow grows even stiffer. His ears fold back and he steps back immediately. The woman in scrubs seems to understand, and she just offers Wanda a smile before gesturing toward the scale along the wall behind her. 

“Hi, my name’s Antonia. Can we see if he’ll let us get his weight?” 

Wanda immediately regrets tossing the treats she’d bought because those would have helped a lot. She walks with Rogue to the scale, but he steps over it twice, avoiding it as best he can before Wanda has to bodily lift him onto it. She’d usually be more patient, but time is of the essence and this is likely important. 

Once Rogue jumps off the scale he steps behind Wanda’s legs and tries to hide when Antonia reaches out her hand. 

“92lbs, great. Now I’ll borrow him so a doctor can examine him and try to induce vomiting. Is that okay?” 

That truly is the million-dollar question. As soon as Wanda nods and tries to step out of the way when she hands over the leash to the brunette, Rogue begins to try and pull away. He starts to thrash his head and whine in an attempt to get free. Wanda hates that she didn’t have time to ease him into this, but this wasn’t something that she could have planned. 

She does her best to try to calm him, but he must know that he’s going to be taken away and he doesn’t do well with strangers. She reaches out for him to keep him from getting out of his collar, and as soon as her hands are on his back he starts to cry out in distress as he bucks against her hold. 

“Rogue, hey, it’s okay. Rogue, look at me.” 

She reaches out for her dog’s face and turns him toward her with as reassuring smile as she can manage. He’s panting and his hot breath is fogging up her glasses, but she keeps them on as she scratches his ears and kisses the side of his head. 

“I’m sorry, I know you hate being here, but they’re going to help you okay? You need to behave.” 

Almost as if he knows what Wanda’s saying, Rogue whines in protest before he throws out his tongue and manages to hit her injured cheek. She cringes but doesn’t hesitate to pull him close so she can whisper in his ear.

“I love you my sweet boy. I’ll be here waiting for you.” 

Wanda stands up and when Rogue immediately starts to look around frantically, she grabs his leash with a small smile as she turns toward the very patient tech. 

“I’ll pretend like I’m going with you, if that’s okay?” 

The brunette hesitates but she second guesses it as she just nods and leads the way. She scans an ID badge and opens the door for Wanda to walk through. Rogue unsurprisingly isn’t very willing to walk through, but a firm tug and another whispered reassurance is enough to get him through the door.

Wanda tries to ignore the multiple people, at least two doctors, in the room and the pets they’re looking at. She doesn’t make eye contact as she holds out Rogue’s leash and starts to sneak out. Rogue doesn’t catch on immediately, but then he spins around and lunges as he tries to follow her. He nearly takes the tech’s arm off, and his anxious cries make Wanda tear up. She hates to leave him here, but he needs to be treated by someone, and you weren’t available. 

Wanda’s hand finds the door handle, and she retreats before Rogue can get too worked up. She holds up a hand to him and speaks in a tone that he recognizes but only partially acknowledges in his heightened state of anxiety.

“Settle. I’ll be back. I promise.”

Wanda ducks out before she can second guess her decision. She forces herself to walk away despite how hearing her dog cry makes her want to cry too. She goes back to the desk because she’s sure there’s paperwork to fill out. After that’s done, she’s told that she should get an update as soon as a doctor looks at Rogue. She just nods before retreating to a secluded corner of the waiting room. She sits in the sun despite being hot because it’s the only way she can justifying keeping her glasses on. She takes them off briefly to clean them, but she doesn’t dare look around before slipping them back on.

She pulls her phone out again before trying to call you again. 

“Hi, you’ve reached Y/N. Leave a message.”

Wanda sighs in exhaustion, annoyance, and defeat before she leaves you a slightly passive aggressive message. 

“Y/n. I’m at the emergency vet on the East side with Rogue. Call me back when you get a chance.”

You get a moment to breathe about an hour later, and at this point Wanda has been briefed on Rogue’s progress, or lack of so far. You’ve had a hectic afternoon and you only just get to grab your phone when someone else pulls your attention away. You drop it back into your pocket to address the possible emergency that’s waiting in treatment. You haven’t even gotten to eat lunch yet, but the presence of a vomiting dog luckily helps curb your appetite. 

Wanda’s sitting motionless as she listens to a doctor tell her about Rogue’s reluctance or simply failure to vomit. 

“If we can’t get him to vomit, we can administer activated charcoal to try and neutralize the toxin. The problem is…” 

Dr. Cohen briefly considers how difficult it was to give Rogue his injection of apomorphine. He was still very stressed and he attempted to get away from anyone who tried to touch him. He became an almost 100lbs bucking bronco and not only was this dangerous to everyone involved, but it was going to make treating him impossible. 

She recognized the name that Wanda signed in under, but she’s never met you so she’s unsure of what you look like. Since time is not on her side, or Rogue’s, she decides to cut to the chase.

“Are you Dr. Y/l/n? I saw the name you checked in under.” 

Wanda seems a little surprised by this question and she looks up at the blonde before shaking her head. She turns away because she can feel her face aching and she’s suddenly self-conscious about it again. She only briefly considered what people must think of her coming in here with her sunglasses on. Either she’s under the influence, or she’s hiding something. 

“No, that’s my wife. Sorry, that would probably make everything easier to explain.” 

Wanda offers a self-deprecating smile and luckily it seems to move things along. The doctor smiles back before she shakes her head despite her response.

“No that’s okay. I was just curious because Rogue’s not letting us put an IV catheter in and that will be important for what we need to do.” 

Dr. Cohen explains how foxglove causes GI symptoms such as vomiting and diarrhea, but it can also cause a slow heart rate, arrythmias, and even death if it’s not treated promptly or aggressively. Since Rogue didn’t vomit, this makes things a bit more complicated, and higher risk. Wanda feels herself stiffen at the idea of her dog getting so sick and having to stay here overnight, but she pushes this aside. She’ll do whatever is necessary for him to be okay. She doesn’t care how much it costs or how long he needs to stay here. Although she knows that he’ll hate it. 

“Typically, if we can’t place a catheter while they’re awake, we would sedate them. However, given what Rogue ate we don’t want to do anything to lower his heart rate if at all possible.”

Wanda just nods in understanding before she pictures her scared dog not letting anyone touch him. She isn’t sure he’s ever had to be hospitalized, certainly not since they rescued him, so she’s sure his vet experience was limited. 

She takes a deep breath as she tries to push aside her terror at the guarded prognosis she’s been given, and focus on the now. 

“Okay, that makes sense. Can I do anything to help?” 

Dr. Cohen hesitates because what she’s going to ask is unconventional, but she was hoping that Wanda was a vet. The fact that she’s married to one at least suggests that she might understand protocols and how sometimes their goals and patient compliance don’t always align. 

“I shouldn’t be asking, but do you think he would be calmer if you were in the room while we tried to place the catheter?”

Wanda didn’t answer immediately because although she was sure that she could calm her dog down, she wasn’t sure if it would be enough. She wanted to try and help though so she nods before standing up and following the doctor back to the treatment area. 

“Okay, let’s give it a shot.” 

Wanda immediately realizes how much the small team of techs have tried when she arrives to see her dog standing as far away from the duo as his leash would allow. They had different treats, an e collar, a muzzle, and what must be catheters and tape scattered around the floor. Wanda doesn’t have time to ask where they’d like to start before Rogue spots her and comes running for her. He barrels into her and she grimaces when he jumps up on her and bats at her with his paws. She swallows a curse when her side spasms before she shoots Rogue a glare he doesn’t see. 

“Rogue, sit down.” 

It takes him a couple of seconds to comply in his excitement, but he sits in front of her and pants happily as he tries to ignore everyone else’s existence. She looks down to him and holds out her hand with a small smile. 

“Lie down. Wait.” 

Rogue listens before Wanda turns towards the techs and Dr. Cohen who are standing by watching.

“How would you like to do this?” 

After slathering a tongue depressor with squeeze cheese and offering it to Rogue to gauge his interest, Wanda reluctantly takes a muzzle that has some cheese spread across it. She was told that her involvement with this required extra precautions, and although she’s fairly certain that Rogue won’t bite her, she doesn’t have the energy to argue. She also doesn’t want to drag this out. 

“Here, Rogue, want some more?” 

It takes him a few seconds to fall for it, but when he does, he has cheese on his face and Wanda can move the straps behind his head and secure it. She tries to ignore how everyone is just watching her, and she speaks only to Rogue. 

“Alright, bud I’m going to buckle this and it might make a loud noise. “

As predicted Rogue flinches a little but Wanda scratches his head causing him to look up at her between his furious licking. She keeps petting him as she looks to the two techs that have their supplies in hand. 

“Tell me where I need to be so I’m not in your way.” 

As Dr. Cohen watches her technicians get on their knees beside Rogue and his mom, she’s surprised by how knowledgeable the blonde seems to be. She figures it must come from being married to a vet, but she didn’t seem to trip up at all with this process. She wonders if Rogue’s had to be hospitalized before, but she realizes it doesn’t really matter. He obviously trusts the blonde, and he’s already getting his catheter wrapped as Wanda holds him around his neck and distracts him with cheese and kisses. 

Once they’re finished and Rogue’s eaten all of his cheese, he stands up quickly. He shakes out his leg with the catheter briefly but he doesn’t try to go for it. Wanda keeps scratching him before her hand goes to the buckle behind his head. She turns to Dr. Cohen with a look that she can’t decipher past her glasses.

“Can I take this off?” 

Rogue doesn’t seem too bothered by it, but that’s likely because his mom is nearby. She is about to nod, but she stops short as she spots the cone that’s still lying on the floor.

“Yes, but we’ll need to put a cone on so he doesn’t chew at his catheter.” 

Also so he doesn’t bite us when you leave. Dr. Cohen doesn’t say this, but she’d be naïve to think that Wanda doesn’t recognize this. 

Still, the blonde removes his muzzle before reaching out for the e collar. Rogue obviously knows what’s about to happen, and he starts before taking a step behind his mom. 

“Rogue, close your eyes. Bedtime.” 

Rogue immediately falls on his side and covers his eyes as he pretends to sleep. Wanda sighs in defeat and she rolls her eyes when she realizes this won’t work. She turns behind her to get a treat that she can use to lure him. 

“You’re too smart, Rogue, but luckily you’re very food motivated.” 

And dumb enough to eat a poisonous flower. 

Rogue stands up when Wanda waves a treat in his face, and she tells him to sit again before holding up both the cone and the treat. 

“Wait. No wait.” 

Rogue lets her put the cone over his head before he lunges for the treat when she tells him okay. Wanda’s fingers are spared from the savage chewing that Rogue starts while Wanda tries to secure his cone. One of the techs comes up and helps her thread some gauze through the base of it, and luckily Rogue doesn’t protest too much. 

“That went better than I thought it would.” 

Wanda just nods before she realizes what comes next. She’s going to need to leave again, and it wasn’t until now that she realized why coming to help was a bad idea. Rogue’s already up on his feet and leaning against her heavily as he watches her expectantly. He must think he can leave now that she’s back, and the idea of leaving him again makes her chest constrict. 

“It did. We’ll take him to the ICU to set him up for monitoring and fluids.” 

Wanda nods before she moves to leave them to their work. She’s a little surprised when she’s asked if she’ll walk him to his run. The idea of him fighting them every step of the way is enough for her to agree. 

“Okay, Rogue. Let’s go to your temporary digs.” 

On the way, Dr. Cohen tells her that she’ll start supportive treatments, but monitoring for the next few hours will be important. One of the techs returns with a bowl full of wet food mixed with something black, ah charcoal. Rogue sniffs at it and when it’s placed in his run he just looks at it before turning back to Wanda. She just waves him in before reaching down to take off his leash once he’s inside.

“Go on, bud. Don’t pretend like your curiosity didn’t get us into this mess.” 

Rogue allows the door to be shut behind him, and Wanda just watches as he eats from the bowl behind the window. She turns toward Dr. Cohen who’s watching Rogue eat. 

“Thank you for your help. I hope to be able to call you with good news soon.” 

Wanda just nods before thanking the doctor and heading back to the lobby. She’s exhausted and by the time she’s sitting back at the window the sun has disappeared. She reaches for her phone to call you again and when she gets your voicemail again, she’s torn between being angry and terrified. 

“Hi, you’ve reached Y/N. Leave a message.”

Wanda waits until the beep before she signs audibly. She tells you that Rogue’s eaten an entire fucking foxglove plant and that he wouldn’t vomit. He was administered charcoal and was going to be hospitalized until they could figure out how he would respond. 

She doesn’t even say bye before she hangs up and turns off her phone. She’s annoyed and saying it all out loud made her anxious again. She hates that she was so distracted, and she didn’t see Rogue try to eat the flower. She’s cursing herself for leaving the compound at all because despite wearing glasses, her headache is back and she’s so stiff she needs to lie down. That said, she doesn’t want to leave until she knows what’s going on with Rogue. She wants him to keep doing well, but she’s afraid that when her update comes in a few hours, that it won’t be good news. 

She slouches down in her chair before sighing in exhaustion. She honestly shouldn’t have even left her bed this morning. She should have tried to sleep the day away to make up for last night. She shakes her head at the idea of actually being able to sleep. She was so on edge that nothing she did would make her sleep except maybe taking far more of her pain medication than she should. 

She doesn’t realize she’s wrong until she’s awoken by someone shaking her forcefully. She sits up in surprise and turns immediately to see the technician from earlier shooting her a near frantic look. She sits up, not even noticing that her wig is a mess and her glasses are falling off her face. 

“Mrs. Y/l/n, I’m sorry to wake you, but Dr. Cohen needs to speak with you.” 

This doesn’t sound good and Wanda has to resist the urge to check the time as she stands up and nods quickly. She takes a moment to straighten her hair and put her glasses on top of her head. She may as well abandon this part of her disguise. She catches a glance at the clock and realizes it’s nearly 8pm. She’d slept for two hours. 

She doesn’t get to wonder where you were before she’s standing in front of Dr. Cohen. The blonde looks a lot less relaxed than when she last saw her, and Wanda can’t help the way that her heartrate jumps and her entire body tenses in anticipation of what she’s about to say. 

Wanda barely notices as the blonde reaches out to place a hand on her arm as her words register. 

“Rogue’s coding, we need a decision about what you want to do next.” 

Wanda sits up with a start as her eyes fly open behind her sunglasses. She looks around frantically before she sees a clock and determines that it’s only 7pm. She groans under her breath as she removes her glasses and cleans them off with her sleeve. She’d barely been able to see through Rogue’s saliva, and given that it’s dark it’s impractical to keep wearing them. Still, under the bright fluorescent lights of the lobby, Wanda can’t help but slip them back on. She’s certain of the impression she’s giving off, but she doesn’t care at the moment. She’s more concerned with keeping her identity a secret opposed to hiding her injuries. Wanda sighs in defeat as she lies back against the chair again and reaches for her phone. 

She’d turned it off and isn’t surprised to see that she’s missed some calls. 

She ignores them for the moment as she fidgets nervously in her seat. She’s wondering if her dream was a sign of what’s to come, and she can’t help but force herself to her feet to check in on her dog. 

Wanda doesn’t make it to the desk before the sound of the automatic doors opening catches her attention. It’s mostly the labored breathing that makes her turn around, and she’s equal parts relieved and annoyed to see you looking stressed and out of breath as you hurry into the lobby.

“Hey, Wands. I’m so sorry I’m so late. How is he?”

You speak low enough for no one but Wanda to hear, but she still stiffens at the sound of her name spoken in public. She shakes her head before walking toward you and leading you back to her seat. She figures you can both check in on him once you have been given a rundown of what happened. 

You seem confused but don’t argue as you sit beside Wanda and listen to her tell you about Rogue. 

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything since they set him up in the ICU. I’m just worried since he ate the whole thing and I was only able to get some of it out of his mouth. I just…I hate this. “

You frown in sympathy as you watch your wife tear up. You watch her push her glasses up her nose before she gives in and pushes them onto of her head. You reach out for her with a questioning look and you try not to notice how she hesitates before leaning into you. 

“I hate that I was distracted and let this happen. I should have just stayed home.” 

Wanda’s crying harder now and you wrap your arms around her shoulders as hers fall to your waist. She hugs you back despite her aching side. That reminds her she’s probably due for more meds right now. Wanda sighs as she tries not to think about her poor dog, or how she’s still upset with you after the argument you had yesterday. 

It seems like forever ago, but the irritation is still there so Wanda pulls away before she really wants to. You notice and you can’t help but sigh in defeat. There’s too much going on right now to talk about what happened last night. You reach out for Wanda’s hand and are grateful that she doesn’t tug it away. She looks down at your joined hands before meeting your gaze with a distant look. 

“It’s not your fault. Rogue can’t help himself sometimes. He’ll be well taken care of here though, and we’ll do whatever he needs.” 

Wanda simply nods as her mind wanders back to her dream. As short as it had been, it was jolting and making her consider everything she’d been told when she first got here. She thought about the forms she signed, that she’d barely read, and she sighs before turning and leaning back in her seat. 

“Do you think I should have put him as a DNR?” 

You hadn’t been expecting this question and your frown deepens as you think about it. Rogue was a young healthy dog, but if he coded it likely wouldn’t be while under anesthesia. It was during this time that CPR was the most successful, so if he happened to flat line while lying in his run, it was going to be due to the side effects of the foxglove. You hate that you can’t reassure Wanda that this won’t happen, and what’s even worse is that you won’t give Wanda a straight answer. 

“I think that it’s your choice, Wands. He’s your dog and you know him best.” 

Wanda’s tears begin to fall again and she cringes as she wipes them away. You glance at the bruising around your wife’s eye and it honestly looks much worse under this lighting. You figure that’s why she was wearing her sunglasses earlier, but maybe it was just part of her disguise. You watch as Wanda struggles to reach into her purse with trembling hands. You don’t realize what she’s looking for until you hear the sound of pills rattling. 

“Do you want help?” 

Wanda shakes her head but says nothing as she finally manages to open the bottle and takes two instead of one. You don’t comment and you wait until she’s swallowed them dry before opening your mouth. She beats you to it though as she squeezes her eyes shut and takes in a shaky breath. 

“I don’t want to lose him, Y/n. I can’t lose him.” 

You squeeze her hand again but don’t say anything as you both become lost in your thoughts. 

You imagine that Wanda must feel as lost as you would if it was Boone who had gotten himself into trouble like this. You would want to do whatever possible to help him and you wouldn’t care how much it cost. You wouldn’t want him to suffer, and you’re not sure you would have done anything differently from Wanda.

You watch as she struggles to come to terms with her dog’s mortality for so long that you don’t realize that someone’s snuck up on you. 

“You must be Dr. Y/l/n.” 

You look up to see a blonde in a white coat, and immediately you sit up in recognition. This must be Rogue’s doctor. You offer a small smile before you stand up and hold out your hand. You don’t notice Wanda jump in surprise at the new arrival, but she recovers quickly as she stands as well. She’s anxious for an update and the appearance of Rogue’s doctor means that there’s something to report. 

“Yes, but Y/n is fine. It’s nice to meet you Dr. Cohen.” 

The blonde smiles in agreement before glancing to Wanda briefly. She offers a small nod before she motions for the couple to sit down. Only you do, but it’s brief before you’re back up on your feet beside your wife. 

“You too. I have an update on Rogue.” 

The doctor begins to detail how Rogue did well for the first half hour on fluids and pain medication, but he’s since started to show signs of toxicity. He’s had some GI upset and was obviously lethargic. His ECG showed that his heart rate had dropped considerably since intake. When you hear the numbers, you try not to react especially since you notice that Wanda’s watching for your reaction. She realizes that none of this is good, but she’s just not sure how bad it is yet. Neither doctor is saying it despite her desire for them to do so.

Finally, you frown as you recall what you know about foxglove toxicity. Mild cases are treated supportively, but you’re not sure if that’s where Rogue is yet. 

“Is he starting to have arrythmias yet?” 

When the blonde nods you sigh as realization hits you. This is what you were afraid of. You turn suddenly when you feel Wanda fall into you. She doesn’t realize that she’s swayed and is struggling to keep her footing until you grab her arm. You quickly help her sit down, but she’s not aware of what you’re saying. She’s fixated on the fact that her dog is having issues with his heart.

He could die.

You sit down beside Wanda a couple of seconds later, but at this point Dr. Cohen is gone. You asked what the next move was and she explained the antibody treatment that they luckily had in hospital. It was ridiculously expensive, but you didn’t care, and you told her to do whatever she could to help Rogue. 

The bill could be as much as a car, and you’d pay for it without question. 

“Wands, hey. Can you look at me?” 

You’re on edge from the unresolved argument and trying to get through the day regardless, and that stress compounded with your worry for Rogue is making you near desperate for some relief. You still somehow wait patiently as Wanda struggles to pull herself from her spiraling. It takes a bit of coaxing, but eventually Wanda turns to you with her eyes filled with tears. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You frown and you open your mouth to tell you wife that she doesn’t have to apologize for crying. You want her to do what she has to in order to cope, but you don’t get a chance to tell her this. 

“It’s okay, yo-.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been dragging my feet. I-I know I need to—I need to get out.” 

Your jaw drops but you can’t manage a response as you fail to process what Wanda’s talking about. Luckily she doesn’t leave you hanging for long. 

She sits up and takes a deep breath before she squeezes your hand tightly. You nearly flinch but instead you meet your wife’s troubled gaze. 

“I’m just scared about what will happen if I leave. What you’ll think of just me, but that’s…it’s selfish of me. I can’t let you be scared for me every day. That’s not fair.” 

You hesitate because despite this being what you wanted to hear last night and this morning, you’re not sure why Wanda’s brought it up now. You struggle to find words and you’re still floundering when Wanda turns fully to face you. You focus on her tear-stained cheeks and the bruises that are faintly visible beneath her make up. She gestures to her face when she realizes what you’re looking at with an exasperated sigh. Luckily you can tell that she’s not upset with you. 

“I mean look at me. This hurts like a bitch, but the worst part is that I can’t promise…I can’t guaranetee it won’t happen again. I don’t…” 

Wanda trails off and you try to say something but you only manage a couple of words before Wanda keeps going. You realize that she has a lot to get off her chest and she wants to do it all at once. You don’t argue despite feeling that this isn’t the best place. That said, sometimes you can’t really predict when these things will happen. 

“I don’t--.” 

“I don’t want to fight with you. No-not now, or ever, but especially not when Rogue might…when he might-.”

You open your arms almost before Wanda falls into you with a barely stifled sob. You don’t bother looking around because you don’t really care if anyone’s watching you. You don’t want to make Wanda feel any worse than she already does. You’d rather figure out a way to make her feel better, but since there’s not much you can do about Rogue right now, you figure hearing her out is best you can do right now. You hold your wife tightly as she turns to whisper in your ear. You stiffen at what she says before you let out a heavy, relieved sigh. 

“I just want us to be a family. Y-you, me, the fur babies, and a human one eventually.” 

You take a moment to sort through your many thoughts before you land on what you eventually say. You squeeze your wife one more time before you pull back so you can meet her gaze. You hate to see her cry, and you hate even more that you’re not sure you can do anything about it.

“I appreciate you saying all of that, Wanda, but we don’t need to worry about that now. Let’s focus on Rogue, and revisit this when he’s home recovering. Okay?”

Wanda wants to argue because she wants your forgiveness so badly. She doesn’t want to be at odds with you right now, but she knows better than to believe that she should always get what she wants. She just nods before she looks back up only to realize that Rogue’s doctor had left. She turns to you in confusion, and you prepare to fill in the gaps. 

“Where’d--? What did you tell her to do?” 

Dr. Cohen returns to the ICU in a noticeably better mood than when she left a few minutes ago. She glances to Rogue who’s still lying on his side as he had been for the past twenty minutes. She sighs before turning to Antonia with a small smile. 

“We’re going to start him on the antibody therapy. Can you go grab it while I calculate the dose?” 

Antonia only nods before she jumps up and heads for the pharmacy to grab the drug. She’s glad that Rogue’s parents were able to afford this treatment because watching the shepherd’s heartrate drop over the past hour had been discouraging to say the least. The terrified dog had gone from sitting in the far corner of his run to pacing as he had vomited and had diarrhea, before he laid down and seemed to fall asleep. After cleaning him up a little, which he barely even flinched at, the shepherd practically collapsed in the middle of his run and stayed there. 

She hopes that he responds well to the therapy. She’s seen dogs die from ingesting a single petal, let alone an entire flower…

It’s not until 10pm that you finally get Wanda to come home with you. After talking to Dr. Cohen once more after Rogue was started on the antibody treatment, you’re both told that it could take him hours to respond positively. They had approval to give another dose if necessary, and after being reassured that she’d receive a call about any negative changes, Wanda’s walking arm in arm out to the parking lot with you. 

As soon as you step onto the sidewalk you feel Wanda sigh heavily as she practically stumbles to her car. She must be exhausted. You are and you only worked all day. You didn’t stress for the entire day like she did. You catch her hand before she can retreat to her car and drive herself home. 

“Let’s carpool, okay? I can come back for my car once we pick up Rogue.” 

Wanda doesn’t hesitate as she reaches into her pocket and hands over her keys. You unlock the door and watch as she collapses into her seat before you walk over to the driver’s side. You glance back toward the hospital with a sigh before you take a fortifying breath for the trip home. 

You’re glad that Bucky’s already dropped off Boone when you arrive because that’s one less thing to worry about. You greet your dog with muted enthusiasm as you watch Wanda wander aimlessly into the house. She goes to stand in the living room before she starts to look around with a frown.

“Fletcher?” 

You just look to the stairs where you hear muted footsteps, and you can’t help but smile when you see your wife’s cat rush toward her. Wanda doesn’t react to her immediately since she still semes dazed, but eventually Fletcher makes her presence more obvious. She meows loudly before reaching up toward Wanda with searching eyes. Wanda reaches down easily and lifts her cat into her arms with a sigh. 

You just watch as she cuddles with her cat for nearly a minute before deciding that it’s time to eat something. You’d been busy all day, and hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. You’re certain that Wanda’s in the same boat, so as she seeks comfort in her cat’s presence, you and Boone head to the kitchen. 

It’s only a few minutes later that Wanda seems to realize that you’ve left her, and she wanders over to watch you cook. She’s so exhausted she thinks that if she sits down, she’ll pass out straight away. For this reason, she’s probably going to need to eat standing up, but she can’t help but feel a little uneasy about what happens next.

You two are both back home after a long exhausting day, and the last time you spoke in the house was to have an argument. Wanda barely addressed the issue at the hospital, but as she watches you heat something on the stove, she’s worried she’ll need to pick up where she left off. Otherwise, you both will be in for an uncomfortable night. 

She doesn’t realize that you’re thinking the exact opposite as you stir the soup in the pot in front of you. You don’t want to focus on your argument right now. Not when you know that Wanda’s mind is all over the place, and she’s distressed enough to breakdown in public. You appreciate what she said earlier, but you don’t want her to make such as important decision under duress, only to regret it later. 

You turn around to grab two bowls from the cabinet, and you pause just long enough to see that your wife really does look stressed. Stressed and exhausted. You glance to Boone who is greeting his sister as she finally decides that she’s finished being cuddled. This inevitably makes you think about Rogue and how although he doesn’t seek out her attention, he’s been a good brother to Fletcher. 

Thoughts of your pets makes you sigh slightly, and by the time you come back to the counter where Wanda’s standing with dinner, you decided to get right to it. 

“I don’t want us to stress about anything tonight except Rogue. We can worry about everything else later, if that doesn’t seem unreasonable? I just think it will be easier…for both of us.” 

You turn away before Wanda can respond, but when you return with spoons for you two, you see her frowning. Wanda’s deep in thought and she’s trying to push down her urge to resolve this argument now. She knows that you’re right about this though since every time she tries to think about the future she can’t help but wonder if Rogue will be in it. 

Finally she sighs in defeat as she accepts a spoon and sits down in the chair she’s just been standing behind. She nods before watching as you move to sit beside her. There’s so much she wants to say to you, but right now she’s going to do as you ask and try not to worry too much about what’s on her mind. 

“Okay. Until Rogue comes home then.” 

You offer her a smile before the two of you begin dinner in companionable silence. 

Rogue’s tail thumps against the papery pads beneath him as he blinks away some of his exhaustion. He’s not sure how long he’s been here in this run, but it feels like it’s been days since he saw his mom. Sure his perception of time was off from his frequent naps, and he didn’t feel well at all, but he was certain it had been too long since he was dropped off here. 

He hasn’t tried to stand in a while. His entire body feels too weak, and the thought of mustering up the energy to even roll over made him nauseous. He glances out of his run to see the same blob of purple that has been following him since he got here. His vision is a little blurry, but the tech in purple scrubs who’s been assigned to him is always nearby. He missed the last check in when he was asleep, so he’s surprised when she comes up to his run a little bit later with another bag of fluids, a couple of syringes, and that dreaded thermometer. 

He hated the thermometer. 

“Hi Rogue. Are you feeling any better?” 

Antonia has been watching his vitals carefully and things seem to be improving slowly but surely. Since starting the antibody therapy, Rogue’s heart rate has increased by ten beats per minute and his arrythmias were less frequent. Still, he was very weak and had spent most of the time sleeping. His fluids kept him hydrated when he started to vomit, and the pain medication helped him feel a bit better. The anti-nausea medication that had been given an hour ago was still taking time to kick in, or at least it felt like it. 

The antibody therapy was administered every 12 hours, so Rogue had about 10 to show enough improvement to go without another dose. Antonia is still a little amazed at how much the treatment costs, but she’s not going to get too hung up on it. She’s just glad that Rogue’s family is able to pay for it. She just hopes that it won’t be in vain. 

She saves the task of taking Rogue’s temperature for last because he hates it. Even in his sleep he seems to jump in surprise, and the couple of times he’s been awake he’s whined. Most of the time he’s been too weak to do anything else, but this time he actually yelps and his head, cone and all, shoots upright in protest. 

“Sorry, bud. This is important.” 

Rogue just grumbles in response before he keeps trying to shift. He manages to almost sit upright before he flops back down in exhaustion. He doesn’t completely fall back though as Antonia uses her free hand to steady him, and only a few seconds later, both of them are helping him sit upright. 

“Do you want to sit up? Here.” 

Antonia grabs Rogue’s shoulders and helps him rotate so he’s upright before moving his lower half to follow. She pushes him a bit against the side of his run so he doesn’t have to hold himself up. She reaches out to pet him before she gathers up her supplies and stands up to head out.

“Also, no fever, so that’s good!”

Rogue doesn’t look enthused from where he’s propped up against his blanket, and he just stares at her blankly.

Antonia feels bad for him, so she decides to leave him be. Although it’s not as obvious given how sedate he is, she tries to keep in mind that he’s a highly anxious dog. For this reason, she doesn’t linger, and she leaves him with water, replaced pads on top of his blankets, and restarts his fluids. She returns to the tech station to update Rogue’s chart just in time for the clock to strike midnight. 

Her shift ends at 5am, and she’s hoping that Rogue will show more improvement by then. She glances at the dog whose eyes are now closed and sighs at she returns her attention to the screen in front of her.

She’ll just have to wait to find out. 

Surprisingly, the most awkward part of the night for Wanda was not crying in the middle of an ER clinic in front of her dog’s doctor. Instead, it was the decision of where to sleep that night, or rather whether or not it would be appropriate to sleep in bed beside her wife. She had gotten ready for bed quickly given the late hour, and changed her clothes before she realized that you were in the room with her doing the same. You seemed a little less on edge about all of this, or you were just hiding it well, while Wanda was exhausted and a ball of tightly wound nerves. She hesitated long enough for you to understand her dilemma, but you only got into bed before pulling the covers back enough for the invitation to be clear. 

“Come on, Wands. We need sleep. I’m sure you’re more tired than I am, and I’m close to passing out.” 

Wanda’s skeptical look disappears before you notice it, and she just nods before she tries not to feel weird about being in bed with you. In the past, the two of you rarely argued for longer than a day, which meant most of the time you didn’t have to worry about going to sleep angry. She didn’t have to worry about not being able to sleep due to being upset with you, and she didn’t have to wonder if you were upset with her. 

As of now, she really couldn’t tell and that was adding to her stress. She was considering if she should have just slept at the compound again when you reach out for her. You wrap your arms around her waist and sigh tiredly before shooting your wife a worried look. 

“I’m sorry you’re so stressed and worried about Rogue. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you today.” 

Wanda hears that unsaid apology behind your words and she sighs too as she turns to face you. She feels a slight pinch in her side and the grimace makes her head ache, but she ignores it for now. She focuses on you and how your concern becomes a contrite expression before her eyes. She watches you fidget a bit before planting a kiss on the exposed skin of her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry about how I approached the conversation of your retirement. I shouldn’t have hit you with it so soon after being hurt…while you’re still hurt. I was scared and that made me selfish which wasn’t fair to you.” 

Your head dips down as you try to hide your face, but Wanda reaches out to catch your chin. She’s frowning but she’s not even really sure if it’s more because of her own actions or yours at this point. Everything is so jumbled in her head right now that all she can offer you is a small smile. 

“Honestly, detka, it’s your turn to be selfish given how long I have been. We’ll have a real discussion about what quitting would look like for us, but as you said, let’s just try and rest tonight. Okay?” 

You can only nod in response before you settle in next to your wife. It’s nearly midnight, and you both have no idea what awaits you tomorrow.   

The first time Rogue stands up after his treatment, he nearly falls over. He’s very wobbly and it’s very disorienting trying to balance himself, let alone walk with one paw in front of the other. He only makes it a couple of steps out of his run before he falls to the ground with a whine. It’s at this time that his walk outside is aborted and he’s steered back into his run by two techs. 

Dr. Audrey Cohen stands by and observes Rogue as she looks at all of his vitals throughout the night. He’s done surprisingly well and his ECG has almost completely normalized. The occasional dropped beat is the only abnormality, and now of course, she realizes ataxia. That said, it’s hard to say how long this has been present since this is the first time they’ve attempted to take him outside. He has a urinary catheter in and they’ve minimized moving him since he was so critical. He’s not doing great by any means, but seeing him have the drive to at least try and stand and walk is encouraging. 

Audrey looks at the time before considering how she’ll report all of this to his parents after rounds. She figures that he has a good chance of recovering, but the bloodwork that she’s about to run may tell her whether or not another dose of the Digoxin F-ab is warranted. 

She waits until Antonia is finished collecting his blood before speaking up. 

“I’m impressed with how well he’s doing. Maybe after talking about his case at rounds, we’ll decide if he need another dose.” 

Antonia turns to her with a small smile before nodding as she stands after collecting her samples. She’s been working as an ICU tech for nearly 8 years, and she’s closing in on her self-imposed deadline to go to vet school. She’s applied for the current cycle, but she won’t hear back for a few months. She’s anxious of course, but she’s also grateful that her job offers her ample opportunities to continue learning. Especially rounds. 

Typically, there are rounds between the technicians and then the doctors, but rarely do they do rounds together, unless it’s one on one when transferring care. Since expressing her interest in vet school a couple of years ago, she’s been allowed to sit in on doctors rounds whenever they have enough coverage. 

“Sounds great. I’ll be ready. I only have Humphrey’s treatments to finish.”  

When you and Wanda wake up, you realize that the distance you’d put between the two of you did not last through the night. You honestly don’t mind because it’s nice to sleep beside her again after the argument you’d had. That said, you realize very quickly that your hand is in the wrong place. 

Wanda woke up a while ago, but she hadn’t been able to force herself to do anything but lie beside you. She was still exhausted after yesterday, and she didn’t want to spoil the peace that she’d somehow managed to find during the night. 

Well, the source or the cause isn’t exactly a surprise to her. She has always slept better when you were beside her, but she’d been woken up by the pain in her side. The ache from her still healing wound forced her into consciousness and she had to stop herself from immediately moving away from your touch. 

She did a great job up until the pressure became unbearable when you tried to pull her closer as you slept. She hisses under her breath, and she hears you curse before you pull back quickly.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” 

Wanda’s already nodding despite her grimace as she turns away from you with a sigh. She stares at the ceiling for a moment before turning to face you. She sees your worried expression and quickly offers you reassurance that she’s fine. Well, she could feel better, but her side doesn’t even hurt anymore now that there’s nothing touching it but her clothing.

“It’s okay, it was mostly uncomfortable. It’s time for my next dose of pain medication though.” 

Wanda places her hands on the mattress preparing herself to sit up and grab her medication from the bathroom, but you beat her to it. You nearly fly off the bed as you hurry to grab what Wanda needs. The redhead opens her mouth to protest, but she falls short when her phone starts vibrating on the bedside table. 

“I can get them. I’ll be right back.” 

Wanda reaches out for her phone and frowns when she doesn’t recognize the number. She figures that whoever is calling her before 9 in the morning must have something important to tell her. She just hopes that it’s not work. 

“Hello?” 

Audrey was grateful that she was able to call Rogue’s moms with relatively good news. His bloodwork looked near perfect, and a second attempt to get him outside after rounds was more successful than the first. He was far more willing to follow someone outside until he realized that he wasn’t actually getting to leave. Getting him back into the building was difficult, but luckily Audrey’s plan was to get him out within the next 24 – 48 hours. Max 72, if she had her way. 

She’d decided to call the number that was given to them at check in despite knowing it wasn’t the vet parent. She figured that it was the right thing to do given that she’d brought the dog in. If she was lucky, you’d be around to listen in as well. 

“Hi, this is Dr. Cohen. I’m calling about Rogue.” 

There’s a pause as someone shifts in the background, something drops, and someone mutters a curse. Audrey has to remind herself to keep a straight face despite being alone in her office. A few moments later she’s nearly smiling. 

“Yes, hi. We’re both here, thank you for calling.” 

Once you’re settled beside Wanda, you both listen as Dr. Cohen relays how Rogue has done in the past 12 hours. You’re glad to hear about his progress, and you can tell that Wanda’s relieved which of course makes you happier. You both agree that one more treatment would be a good idea, and they planned to check back in later this afternoon. Depending on how he was doing, they would be able to visit him. Wanda hoped that it was a good idea. Despite wanting to see her dog she didn’t want to make his stay any more stressful by seeing him only to leave again. You’d convinced her that a visit from her would make his day, and hopefully he wouldn’t be there for too much longer anyway. 

After the call, you can tell that Wanda’s already a little bit brighter. She greets Fletcher with what the tabby deems appropriate enthusiasm, and she responds in kind by practically climbing Wanda like a tree. You stifle a laugh as you hurry to get coffee made and breakfast sorted. You feed Boone and then let him out before stepping back into the kitchen in front of the stove. 

Wanda watches as you cook her an omelet, and she laughs so hard she nearly snorts when she watches you make another smaller one that she can only imagine is for your dog. 

“For both of them, if she doesn’t touch it, Boone will happily help her.” 

Wanda isn’t surprised that Boone scarfs up his ¾ of the omelet while Fletcher sniffs her portion suspiciously. She nibbles on it before she begins to eat with more intention. It’s just eggs, a small amount of cheese, and spinach, but that’s apparently enough for the tabby. 

“Aw she loves it! How cute.” 

You smile at this before you make yourself a larger omelet and sit beside Wanda at the counter. You sigh in exhaustion as you nearly collapse into your chair. You slept well last night, you slept great honestly, but you were still worn out. You’re grateful you don’t work today and that you can focus your attention on your wife and pets.

You’re not sure if Wanda plans to work today, but the fact that it’s nearly 9 and she hasn’t touched her phone beyond that initial call from the vet gives you hope. You don’t dare ask because you don’t want to be disappointed, so you two mostly eat in silence. Wanda’s thinking about what she’ll fill her day with while she’s waiting for news of Rogue.

“Do you have any plans?” 

You’re still considering this yourself when Wanda asks you, so you shrug before mentioning all you’d come up with so far. 

“Not really. Other than getting outside at some point to enjoy the weather. What about you?” 

You wait with bated breath as Wanda shakes her head with a sigh. You noticed earlier that she hadn’t bothered with makeup today. Certainly not enough to cover up the bruise around her eye and the thin line of sutures from her surgery. It looks worse today and you frown in sympathy at the idea of Wanda being so stressed and hurt yesterday. You reach out for her hand and smile when she squeezes yours in return. 

“Not at the moment. My face hurts more today, so maybe I’ll get to take it easy.” 

You love the sound of this, and you smile widely as you consider all that you can spend the day doing. 

Despite waiting anxiously for news, the day flies by with you and Wanda spending the morning watching TV before taking a short, slow walk outside. Boone was excited to get around, and Fletcher actually tolerated her harness and leash today, at least for a bit. For the last ten minutes of the walk, unsurprisingly, Fletcher had managed to get Wanda to carry her. You find it difficult to even roll your eyes when you see how happy the pair look, and Boone keeps you plenty distracted with his antics.

After forming a small pile near the deck of the many sticks Boone decided to try and carry with him, you lead your dog back inside. It’s nearing 4 and you could use another nap, or at least a snack. Boone’s on the same page, and after getting his post-walk treat, he takes it over to his bed and lies down. You grab both your and Wanda drinks as the redhead tries to take off Fletcher’s leash. You set the two glasses on the coffee table before falling onto the couch. You stifle a yawn as you wait for Wanda to join you. 

Wanda’s just sitting down after wiping as much cat hair off her as possible when her phone rings. She starts in surprise and is about to jump back up to retrieve it from the kitchen, but you beat her to it. 

“Let me get it.” 

Wanda doesn’t argue, but she turns to watch as you walk to the kitchen and grab her phone from the counter. It’s the vet again, Wanda had saved their number after the call this morning, and you hand her the phone with a smile. 

“It’s for you.” 

TBC

taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta

Masterlist

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 12)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings:

Word Count: 2957

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11)

_________________________________________

“I’m still not sure I understand,” you say, rubbing the grit from your tired eyes. “Would you mind walking me through it one more time?”

You swear you see Emerie roll her eyes in exasperation. You’re not even upset with your new tutor, it’s late, and you’re just as annoyed as she is, but there’s something about the way she’s explaining biological bases of behavior that you’re just not getting.

It doesn’t help that your entire week has been a juggle of avoiding almost everyone in your life.

You’ve felt just as sick as Gwyn was the night of her birthday all week long. For more reasons than one.

For one, you kissed one of your best friend’s cousin. For the second time. After she deliberately told you not to, and you agreed. For two, Rhysand hasn’t stopped trying to contact you since the incident, which you haven’t been able to stop thinking about. You haven’t answered him once, too worked up about the possibility of word somehow reaching Mor.

And the worst part is, you don’t even know if Gwyn remembers what she witnessed that night. Your legs around his waist, his hands gripping your butt. Mouths fused together, so tightly, so desperately. You had no intentions of stopping yourself, couldn’t if you wanted to. You’ve been thinking about his mouth pressed against yours since the very first time you kissed, and with a few drinks in your system, your confidence was off the charts. There was no one to stop you from taking what you wanted, what you both wanted, until your roommate barged through the door to catch you in the act.

You’ve been skirting Gwyn, walking on eggshells around your apartment, spending as much time as you possibly can outside your dorm, tucked between stacks of books in the library, hiding out in the commons. You’ve even gone as far as finding a dingy diner named Rita’s to hunker down and try to instill psychology into your brain. It’s mostly empty, and you’ve sort of befriended the waitress, or maybe she feels bad for you, growling down at your books in a futile attempt at studying, because the Shirly temples she delivers to your table somehow never make it onto your bill.

You’ve even managed to find a new tutor, though she’s about as good at teaching you as Rhysand is.

“I’ve already told you,” she points to the diagram in your textbook with the tip of her pen a little more forcefully than you’d like. Frustration furrows your brow, and you manage to keep your glare aimed at the book. “The cerebrum is the part that starts and manages conscious thoughts, and the cerebellum is the part that processes and regulates signals between other parts of your brain and body.”

It sounds like she’s read it straight from your textbook. Wait a second. You squint at the highlighted text right beside the photo. She is reading this right off the page!

You could fucking do that. You have, and you’re still just as confused. You need some real-life fucking examples, or you’re never going to pick this up. You have a practice quiz on Thursday, and even though it doesn’t count toward your grade, you want to do well.

Do well on the practice, ace the exam.

Simple.

Or, it would be if you could fucking understand.

You set your jaw, grinding your teeth. Rhysand would be so much better at explaining how all of these brain functions work. He’d even give you real life examples and flash cards to help you out. Emerie is doing none of that. She’s spent about half of the hour you’ve been here scrolling through her phone, and you’re pretty sure you’re just prone to having easily distracted tutors.

What have you put out into the universe to be gifted this back?

“Okay, I think I get it now,” you lie. If anything, you can come back to this. Emerie’s phone lights up on the table beside her and you slyly check the time. 8:30. Gods, when did it get so late? One minute, you were tucking your drawing pad in your cubby after the life drawing class you signed up for and the next moment, you’re seconds away from stabbing your pencil into your eye in the middle of the study room at the library. “Can we move onto the next thing?”

But Emerie isn’t even listening to you anymore. She’s frowning down at her cellphone, completely engrossed. Her face scrunches in the same disappointed look you’ve seen from her thrice tonight before she begins tapping a response.

You’re almost impressed at the number of letters she punches in in such a short amount of time. You’d hate to be the person on the other end of the phone with the essay of a message she seems to be writing. It must be almost as bad as being on the other side of her tutoring skills.

You decide to use the reprieve to check your own phone. There’s a message from your mother, something about a conversation she had at the convention her work sent her to. You don’t really understand what she’s talking about, so you click out of the thread with an air of disappointment. There aren’t any other texts.

Rhysand’s name calls to you like a siren. You hover over the chain, sadness curdling your stomach. You made the right decision to cut him from your life, but you’d be lying if you said it was easy. You’ve missed his flirtatious nature, the feeling of being wanted by someone, even if it was just for fun. You miss how helpful he was in your tutoring sessions, even if he was late on more than one occasion. You miss his violet eyes, gleaming with mischief as he teased you. You missed the curve of his wicked smile, the way they slotted perfectly against yours—

The door to your study room opens, drawing your and Emerie’s attention.

Your breath hitches as the very boy you’d successfully avoided for five days and counting saunters through the door like he fucking owns the place.

Your heart stammers in your chest at the sight of him. You don’t know how he found you, tucked away in the most discreet room in the library you could find. You would have invited Emerie over to your dorm room to study, if it weren’t for the whole avoiding your roommate’s thing you have going on right now.

Rhys looks just as fuckable as he did the last time you saw him. A waffled, white shirt stretches across his broad shoulders. The sleeves are shoved up to his elbows, offering you the perfect view of his forearms. To your dismay, he’s not wearing those sweatpants you love to see him in, but the dark wash jeans that fit snugly around his hips do just as much justice. A Velaris U snapback sits backwards atop his dark hair that curls around the edges post shower. You swallow hard, trying very hard not to think about how he’d look in the shower, toned body on display and water cascading down his muscles, down between thick thighs and dripping off the tip of his cock.

You clear your throat, cheeks heating as Rhys tilts his head. There’s a hint of a smile on his mouth, like he knows exactly where your mind went, because he’s thinking the same thing. His eyes trail slowly across your face, down your chest and torso to where the table hides the rest of your body.

Good thing, so he doesn’t see the way you have to clench your legs together.

“And who are you?” Emerie questions, but with her dry tone, you don’t think she really cares all that much.

You do, however.

“I’m her tutor.”

Emerie’s caramel eyes flicker between you and Rhys with a flash of intrigue. You hold your breath carefully as she decides if the captain of the hockey team looming over you is enough hot gossip to stay for the show. Anyone would be interested in watching this play out, but your new tutor seems less than interested in Rhys’ interruption.

Maybe she thinks you’re a lost cause, you think as she silently begins packing her things without so much as a mumble or an apologetic glance in your direction. If she is thinking there’s no hope for you in psychology, she’d be right. It’s been over an hour of working through the questions you got wrong on your last test and all you’ve managed is one corrected answer and a whole lot of mind-wandering to the boy who currently stares at you like you’re across from him in a faceoff. His brows are flat, eyes sharp, mouth drawn in a firm line.

“You’re not,” you insist vehemently. Maybe Emerie will stay if you refuse to give your attention to Rhys. Your warning glare does nothing to deter him. He doesn’t falter. His shoulders don’t wither under your harsh look. He stands tall, straightens his shoulders even, and stands his ground.

Rhys’ lips quirk when your tutor stands. Your attention is diverted to Emerie as she slides her backpack over her shoulder. “Emerie, please—”

“I’m sorry,” she shakes her head solemnly. Rhys’ triumphant smirk quickly disappears when you whirl his way. You’re about to give him a verbal lashing when Emerie slows by his side. She holds her hand out and your jaw continues its descent toward the floor as Rhys proceeds to tug out his wallet and hand her a wad of folded bills.

His trickery slides down your spine like an ice cube down your shirt. What the actual fuck? He paid Emerie to get you here, all because you’ve been avoiding him? A part of you is flattered, but the feeling is smothered by his cunning. You knew Rhys was sly in the rink, but you didn’t know that extended into his daily life. Not like this.

“Thanks, Rhys.” Emerie shoots you a ‘what can you do?’ look and shoves her way from the room. Your shoulders fall in defeat, your mind reeling. Has she ever even taken a psychology class? You want to slam your head into the open book on the table. Surely, that will be more help than the hour you just wasted as an unknowing pawn in Rhysand’s little game.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Rhys starts, and flames course through your veins. You can feel the path they inch to your cheeks, anger flushing your skin bright red. How dare he? How dare he pay someone to pretend to tutor you so he can ambush you?

Good, then I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. You give yourself a mental pat on the back. You’ve made it nearly an entire week without reaching out to Rhys no matter how many times you typed out responses went unsent or fell asleep to your text threads. Small wins.

“And you’ve just ruined my night,” you snip back, slamming your book shut. The test you’d been working through is trapped between the pages, squashed in half, but you’re too annoyed to care. An off-center crease on your paper will be something to distract you from studying later. “I can’t believe you faked me out like that! Is she even in psych?”

Rhys winces and that’s all you need to know. Frustration presses hot behind your eyes, prickling your sinuses as it tries to escape. You could explode on him right now, but you bite your tongue. He doesn’t deserve your words or your tears.

“Not technically, no,” he answers sheepishly, but you’re much too angry to think about how cute Rhys is when his face scrunches in concern like that. You avert your eyes and chuck your book into your bag. “Was she any help?”

Of course she wasn’t any help. Although, that means the single question you reworked and corrected is either another small win or you need to double-check your work.

You don’t deign Rhys with a response.

“Look,” he says when you exchange your pencils in the front pocket of your bag for your headphones. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to show up this late but watching film ran late, and I swear I was going to help you study, darling, after I had the chance to talk to you.”

“We have nothing to talk about,” you reply stubbornly. You can’t even look at him right now.

“We do,” he argues. He rounds the table and plants a hand on the back of your chair, keeping you from sliding back to make your escape.

You can feel his breath on the back of your neck. You can’t turn to peer over your shoulder because you know it will bring you face-to-face, maybe even so close your lips might brush. You fight the shiver that crawls up your spine at the thought, the warmth that pools between your legs.

“Please, Rhys,” you sigh. Your gaze is drawn to his broad body like a magnet as he lowers himself into the freshly unoccupied chair. Staring at you with those determined, violet eyes tugs at the wound in your chest you’ve been trying to plaster shut all week. “Can we be adults about this?”

“Sure,” he shrugs, kicking his chair back on its hind legs. “You start.”

You pin him with an unimpressed look.

“Fine,” he rolls his eyes. “You can’t tell me that kiss didn’t mean anything to you.”

“It didn’t,” you respond all too quickly. The fact that your eyes have fallen to the table again doesn’t help your façade.

In truth, the kiss meant more than it should have. You haven’t felt that sudden rush in a long time. You were left buzzing afterward in more ways than one, could still feel the shape of Rhys’ lips against yours all the way back to your dorm that night, could still see that hungry look in his eyes. Even the sight of Gwyn retching into the toilet afterward didn’t chase that image away.

“Liar,” he argues.

“It can’t mean anything, Rhys!” You bite. You cross your arms tightly over your chest and stare at the table, swallowing tightly.

The silence that falls is heavy. His stare is heavy. Everything is fucking heavy.

Suddenly, you’re exhausted. All you want to do is slink your way home and curl up beneath your blankets and avoid everyone for a little bit longer. You hadn’t expected Rhysand to drop in on your tutoring session, nor set up your tutoring session for you. It’s late, and your test is in two days, and you don’t feel any more confident in the material than you should.

You don’t want to fail another exam. You need his help.

After a beat of silence, Rhys asks softly, “Why?”

“Because Mor is my friend,” you repeat for the umpteenth time. You force your gaze to Rhys and your chest aches at the concern on his face. He’s normally so rugged and cocky, winking and smirking, to see him like this needle’s holes in your chest. “And I won’t ruin our friendship over a guy.”

“I can handle Mor,” Rhys says like all of this is so easy. Maybe for him, it is. He’s her family, and she can’t stay made at him forever. You on the other hand, have no such ties. If she found out that you went behind her back to be with Rhys…you don’t know how you’d recover from that. You know Mor, and you know that while she’s confident on the outside, your betrayal would scar her deep inside. “Just give me a chance.”

“It’s not that simple, Rhys,” you respond with a sigh. You wish it were. You wish you could slide from your chair onto his, straddle him and hold him close, let him console you with pretty words and soft kisses until you’ve relaxed enough to keep studying.

You’d love to see him outside of school, outside of hockey, where you can have all of his attention, but there are too many factors that play into being more than friends with Rhys. You need to pass this class, and he has so much on his plate you don’t even know how he has the time to sleep, let alone date.

“It could be.”

You shake your head. You would give him the chance, but you don’t know how. Your fears rear their heads and bare their teeth. The loss of a relationship with one of your best friends in the entire world.

You couldn’t do that to Mor.

Rhys must see your inner turmoil. He plants his chair back on the ground and places a gentle hand over yours to stop you from wringing them together anxiously. Oh. You didn’t even know you were doing that.

Emotion pricks your sinuses as the warmth from his hands spreads throughout your body. He strokes a thumb across the back of your hand, and your bones ache with the need to flip your hand and intertwine your fingers with his. But you can’t. You can’t do any of it.

His eyes are soft when you’re able to look at him.

“It won’t happen again, I swear,” he promises, though there’s a sad twist to his mouth that tells you he doesn’t quite believe it’s possible. He’s telling you right now that he wants more, but he’ll give you the time that you need, as long as you need it.

You don’t tell him that this is going to last a lifetime.

“We can…we can be friends,” Rhys says like he doesn’t like what he’s agreeing to. You don’t like it very much, either. “Just…don’t replace me as your tutor.”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @judig92 @se7enteen--black-blog @thecraziestcrayon @cherry-cin @itsinherited @justafictionalnerd @bookishbroadwaybish @405rry @w0nderw0manly @bbykaixx @marina468 @taechvita @marigold-morelli @esahintzkanen @miakxn @ssmay123 @webvics @shylahstarzz @yourallaround-simp

[docrobinavitch]

say goodbye like you mean it | part two

dr. robby x f!charge nurse!oc content: 18+ mdni, domestic violence, explicit sexual content, swearing, vague age gap (oc mid to late thirties) words: 4.8k PART ONE

synopsis: gwen keating is still adjusting to her new role in the pitt while juggling her feelings for dr. robby. a case comes into the ER that threatens to jeopardize everything she's built. a/n: thank you all for the love on part one!! i hope you all enjoy this next part. there will be at least two more.

The ER had adjusted quickly to Gwen’s presence over the next month or so, showing her the same deference they showed Dana. After a couple of weeks, Gwen began covering all her shifts and Dana only came in once a week to see how she was doing. The transition was going smoothly.

It was a Monday morning and the shift change was beginning to occur. Javadi and Santos watched as Robby came up behind Gwen, a hand on the small of her back as he said something quietly in her ear. She smiled and placed a hand on his forearm, saying something indistinguishable to them.

Santos popped open a Redbull, “They’re definitely fucking, right?”

Javadi looked at her with wide eyes, “You think so?”

“All I know is I have never seen Dr. Robby so goddamn happy,” She sipped her Redbull, “It makes me nauseous.”

Javadi smiled, “I think it’s sweet.”

The truth was, though there had been gentle touches, loaded glances, and light flirtation between them, nothing further had occurred since that night at the bar. And the tension between them was taut because of it. It didn’t interfere with their jobs, but the yearning was palpable in every glance.

They were discussing supplies, Gloria, and the usual who could be discharged and who was still waiting for a bed upstairs. 

“We had a couple nurses call out sick just before the shift change, so you’ll be seeing more of me with the patients to compensate,” Gwen said as she looked through the charts on the iPad.

“Okay,” Robby nodded, “Do we need to call anyone in?”

“Um,” Gwen blew out a breath and her hair fluttered around her face with the breeze, “We really don’t have anyone on call today. If it gets really bad, I’ll have to call some people from the night shift, but that’ll leave them short. We might be able to manage without.”

Robby shook his head, “Have you told Gloria?”

“Yeah, but she gives me the same excuses she gives you.”

At that moment, McKay walked by with a woman in a wheelchair, tears streaming down her face as she clutched her abdomen. Her wrist was very clearly broken as well.

“Dr. Robby?” McKay said as she passed, “Could use your help with this one.”

Robby nodded and grabbed some gloves, “Gwen?” He turned and faced her walking backwards, “Would you like to assist?”

She didn’t need to be asked twice. Porting her iPad, she grabbed a pair of gloves and jogged after him.

Dr. McKay presented, explaining that the woman had fallen down the stairs, and broken her wrist on the fall. She recommended some X-rays and they examined her abdomen for internal bleeding or broken ribs. Gwen noted with some apprehension that some of the bruises on her abdomen appeared days old rather than hours. The doctors didn’t seem to notice.

And then the husband came in. 

“Sorry, baby, I was just parking the car.” He immediately rushed to his wife’s side and when Gwen saw the smallest flinch from the wife, her brain went into overdrive.

She watched as Robby and McKay explained to the wife and her husband about her injuries and next steps and she watched as the husband spoke for his wife. By the time the exam had finished, she thought she could hear the blood pounding in her ears. 

“Dr. Robby?” She said as they began to leave the room, “Can I talk to you for minute?”

“What’s up?” He said as they stepped away from the patient and he rubbed some sanitizer into his hands.

“There’s something wrong in there.” She couldn’t properly form the words, she knew she sounded stupid. The panic was building in her chest like a tidal wave, “With the husband.”

“What do you mean?”

Gwen closed her eyes, shaking her head, “Those injuries were not accidental.”

It took him a moment, but he caught up eventually and placing a hand on her back, he ushered her into an empty room and closed the door behind them, “How do you know? Her injuries seemed consistent with a fall.”

“The bruises on her abdomen, many of them were older than just a couple hours. I bet when the imaging comes back, the wrist fracture will be a couple days old, you’ll probably see older breaks as well. When he came close to her, she flinched away from him and wouldn’t meet his eye. She wouldn’t look at any of us either once he came in and he spoke for her the whole time.”

Robby nodded slowly, “Okay, we’ll keep an eye on it. Why don’t you alert Kiara and we’ll see if we can separate them at some point?”

Gwen was shaking her head and frustration built as she felt tears prick her eyes, “No, we have to call the police.”

Robby tilted his head, “It’s a bit early for that, I think.”

“He could take her out of here at any second if he thinks there’s any chance we’ve caught on—“

“And if we call the police and they don’t think there’s enough evidence, you could make things worse for her when they go home.”

She was still shaking her head, growing more and more upset as the conversation went on, struggling to breathe and tears beginning to spill over.

“Hey, why don’t you sit down and—“

“Excuse me.” Gwen said abruptly and brushed past him back into central.

“Gwen,” Robby called loudly after her, loud enough that most of the nurses and doctors around stopped to look as she fled to the bathroom.

Locking the door behind her, she slid to the floor, desperately trying to slow her breathing as the sobs came in full force.  It’s not James, she repeated to herself, He’s not here. James is not here. He can’t hurt you.

Her hands shook as she ran them through her hair, trying to soothe herself. Images of him screaming at her, kicking her, punching her bombarded her every sense and she couldn’t see or hear anything else.

She was vaguely aware that Robby was banging on the door and calling her name. She wished he would stop causing a scene. She had had episodes like this in the past, granted, not for many moons now, but when she had they had subsided in about ten minutes. She just needed to be left alone.

Eventually, the panic began to subside, but it left her shaky and feeling tired. Robby had stopped banging on the door, but she could vaguely hear him talking to someone on the other side. Checking herself in the mirror, she reclipped her hair and hastily swiped at the mascara that had leaked below her eyes before opening the door.

Robby looked at her with surprise and concern on his face. She didn’t wait to see what he had to say, simply breezed past him and went back to the hub.

Unfortunately, he followed. She pretended not to notice and sat behind her computer, logging in as he parked himself in front of her, “Are we going to talk about that?”

“Talk about what?” Gwen said.

“Dr. Robby! We need you in trauma one!”

He sighed and bent his head over his hands, “Call Kiara, but I don’t want you in that room. Assign her a different nurse.”

“You’re not the boss of me.” She immediately regretted her snarkiness, but did not look up or make any indication that she was remorseful. 

“Gwen,” He said softly, pleadingly. She didn’t deserve the patience he was giving her. Any other attending probably would have reamed her out by now.

“Dr. Robby, we need you now!”

“Coming!” He shouted, “Gwen?” He said again softly.

She looked up at him, “I’ll take care of it. Call Kiara, reassign the bed, consider it done.”

“Good.” He said and then he was gone.

***

Gwen did her best to focus on other patients and all the other work she needed to get done, but she kept walking by the room with the patient she suspected was being abused. She had assigned Princess to her instead and had asked for updates, which she had given. As Gwen had suspected, the imaging came back with aged breaks and the wrist fracture was a couple of days old.

Robby hadn’t sought her out since her breakdown, but Gwen had watched him talk with Kiara a few times now in the last couple of hours. She had done a good job of distracting herself thus far, but the panic was beginning to build again. She needed to know they were taking care of her, that they understood acutely how much danger that woman was in.

She caught Robby as he was coming out of the bathroom, “Hey, can we talk about Central 4?”

“You’re not supposed to be on that case anymore.”

“I’m not, Princess is.”

“So go talk to Princess then.”

She supposed she deserved that, “I’m sorry for my outburst earlier, it was disrespectful of both you and the patient. It won’t happen again.”

“Great,” Robby said and began walking past her.

“That said, I was hoping you could give me an update?”

He slowed to a stop, sighing and turning back to her, “Gwen, you know I respect you very much, but I don’t think it’s in anyone’s best interest for you to be involved on that case. At all, even at a distance. Kiara and I are taking care of it, that’s all you need to know.”

“But—“

“Gwen, please,” He put his hands together, “We will discuss it later, I promise.”

And then he left her there, standing in the middle of the ER. She knew she had no right to be upset, but she could feel herself drowning in the knowledge that she had no control over the outcome of this case. It triggered the feeling of her own helplessness when she was the one being punched and kicked at home. When she thought there was no way out.

She couldn’t stand the thought that there was another woman in this very room that was going through that at this moment. Nobody else seemed to be dealing with it with the urgency she knew it needed.

Gwen could feel herself unraveling, following a path she wasn’t sure she could come back from. There were four hours left of this shift and she really wanted to still have her job by the end of it.

“Gwen?” 

She blinked and realized Whitaker was standing in front of her, “Sorry, Whitaker, what do you need?”

“Oh, nothing, I just… Are you okay? You seem off today.”

She forced a smile, “I’m fine, thanks. How are you doing?”

He shrugged, “It’s okay, today. Haven’t had to change my scrubs yet so I count that as a win.”

She was grateful for the distracting conversation, she could practically feel her heartbeat slow.

She could do this. She could get through this shift without losing her job. She could put the woman in Central 4 into Robby and Kiara’s hands and trust that everything would be fine.

***

Two hours later, Central 4 was being discharged and Gwen couldn’t breathe. 

“What did you do?” Gwen asked Robby in disbelief as the husband began wheeling his despondent wife out of the ER.

“Let’s go talk about this in private, hm?”

He began to guide her into an empty room and despite her rage, she let herself be guided.

“What the fuck did you do?” She snarled as the door closed behind them.

“Kiara tried, but she insisted the injuries were accidental. We gave her a card so she could call if she changes her mind. It’s out of our hands.”

“Like hell it is,” She pulled her charge phone from her scrubs pocket, “I’m calling the police.”

Robby plucked the phone from her hands, “No you’re not. What is going on with you today? And I don’t want the bullshit excuse that everything’s fine.”

“Of course it’s not fucking fine! We just sent a woman home with her abuser and the next time she comes here she’ll probably be DOA.”

He sighed deeply, pressing his hands into his pockets, “Is this somehow related to the gap in your resume?”

Her eyes watered, but the rage remained, “Fuck you,” She said and then tried to move around him to leave.

Instead, he stood against the door like a fortress, “I can’t let you go back to work like this,” He said softly.

“Again, I’ll remind you that you are not the boss of me.”

“No, but I’m positive if I called up the Nursing Director she’d agree with me,” He shook his head slowly, “I don’t want that. I like having you here, but you need to talk to me if this is going to work.”

There was a part of her, beneath the rage and pain and fear, that knew she was being irrational. Knew that he was right, that they had done everything they could. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. She knew that better than anyone. She had once been the woman who didn’t yet want help. Who thought she could salvage it.

After everything today, Robby was still looking at her with those kind brown eyes. She wanted him to look at her like that forever. But he wouldn’t, not if she couldn’t get it together.

She took a shaky breath and sat down on a stool in the room, rubbing at her eyes as she desperately tried to find the strength to tell this story. The one she had never explained in full to anyone.

He sat across from her and their knees knocked together. He waited patiently.

Gwen’s hands trembled and she clasped them together hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“I was twenty two when I met him. It was my first shift in the ER. Four hours in, cardio sent down their senior resident to consult on a case.” Closing her eyes, she could see him still, more than a decade younger. His easy smile and the one dimple on his left cheek, “He charmed me. We fell in love. The first year or two was… magical. Until it wasn’t. He started with emotional manipulation, gaslighting me. I felt crazy, like I couldn’t trust my own feelings. I was sad and angry all the time and he made me feel like it was my fault, that he gave me everything and why couldn’t I just be happy?”

Gwen swallowed and avoided looking at Robby. She knew if she did she might fall apart before she finished. “The first time he hit me… I thought… He convinced me it was an accident. We were fighting and he was just gesticulating a lot and he didn’t mean it when he punched me in the face.” Gwen almost laughs, rubbing at the tears in her eyes, “I feel so stupid now, that I believed him.”

Robby let his hand fall to her knee, squeezing reassuringly, “You’re not stupid. You wanted to believe the best in someone you loved.”

Gwen had heard this all before, so she nodded almost mechanically, “Anyway, the abuse escalated, as it does. Working in the ER made it harder to hide the injuries, but everyone knew who I was dating and he was more important than I was. I found eventually that even if I didn’t cover it up, no one said anything. If I asked, an attending would patch it up silently. No one would ask how I got hurt. The one time a nurse tried to get me help, they moved her to the night shift. Not that it mattered, I still thought I could fix it. Get him to go to therapy, anger management classes. Naive dreams that kept me in his grasp.”

“Until, one night, he got so mad…” Gwen shakes her head, hands trembling more violently now. Robby silently covered her hands with his own and it grounded her, “I don’t even remember what I did to make him so mad. I just remember that one second we were talking and the next I was on the floor and he was kicking every inch of my body as hard as he could. I eventually lost consciousness, but I was told later he waited at least a half hour before deciding to call an ambulance. I almost died. I was in a coma for days. When I woke up, the police were there.”

The memory of it all overwhelms her. What a coward she was, how terrified. The way she ran. The way she was still running.

“The first thing I did was ask after him, if he was okay. I remember the way the cop looked at me, like she was disappointed, or disgusted.” Gwen sighed, “I dropped all charges and got a restraining order. I didn’t want to go through a trial and I didn’t want to see him in prison. Left Manhattan and moved back in with my parents, felt the weight of their disappointment with every breath. It took me almost the full two years to really understand all the ways he broke me.”

Finally, she looked at him. She expected to see pity or disgust, but his eyes still held the same kindness they always had. “Thank you for telling me.” He said softly and squeezed her hands, “But just so you know, he didn’t break you.”

Gwen laughed and looked away, tears falling to her cheeks, “I was hysterical today, it was embarrassing. I can’t even do my job.”

Robby tilted his head to regain eye contact with her, “You caught something today McKay and I both missed.”

“You would have seen it once the imaging came back.”

He shrugged, “Maybe, maybe not. The point is, we were a better care team because of you and your experience. I would say that’s a far cry from being broken.”

Before Gwen could say anything, he stood and opened the door, “Now, unless you need anything else, let’s get back to it,” He glanced at his watch, “Only an hour left of our shift. You good?”

She scrubbed at her face with her hands and sighed, standing as well, “Yeah. Good.” She reached into Robby’s pocket and pulled out her charge phone, “See you on the other side.”

And then she was back at the hub. McKay came to Robby’s side, Javadi trailing after her, “Is she okay?” Her eyes followed Gwen.

Robby sighed, “She’ll be fine. Tough day.”

“Huh,” McKay said smirking, “I was unaware there was anything other than tough days around here.”

Robby huffed a laugh and tore his gaze away from Gwen, “You have a case for me?”

***

“Gwen?”

She turned when she heard Robby call behind her, only a block away from the hospital. 

“Robby.” She said in acknowledgement when he was close enough.

“You okay?” He asked.

Gwen narrowed her eyes at him, “You jogged all this way just to check in with me? I thought we already did that.”

“There’s a difference between checking in during shift when you have no choice but to be okay and checking in after. So, are you okay?”

Gwen hummed in response, “I’ll be fine. Unless you’ll be recommending to Dana that she find a new charge nurse.”

Robby shook his head, “We all have bad days sometimes that make it difficult to do our work, it doesn’t mean we’re not good at our jobs.”

“Hard to imagine the infallible Dr. Robinavitch having a bad enough day to affect his work.”

He laughed, “Oh, you haven’t been around long enough yet. You should ask my residents, hell, ask Dana. I’ve done much worse than what you did today.” He reached out and touched her arm, slowing her to a stop, “Hey, um, we haven’t talked about what happened at the bar last month—“

“We don’t have to—“

“I disagree.” He said quickly and dropped his hand from her arm, “I… thought you were just being nice when you said you weren’t ready for a relationship, but now I…” He cleared his throat, “Anyway, I wanted to let you know that… whenever you’re ready, if you’re ever ready, I would love to take you out—“

Before he can properly finish his sentence, Gwen kisses him. It takes Robby only a moment before he’s reacting, arms pulling her closer, mouth searching hers hungrily. 

He guides her back until her back hits a tree and she gasps softly, “This okay?” Robby asked against her mouth.

“Yes,” Gwen said, “Don’t stop.”

His hands tangled in her hair, pulling to give himself access to her neck which he sucked at greedily, “Can I take you home?”

Gwen’s eyelids fluttered as she refocused on the man in front of her. She wanted him badly and he made her feel desirable, something she hadn’t felt in years. Maybe since college.

For once, she wanted to just give in to her own desire, without thinking about what was best, what rules she was breaking. And Robby was a good man. They hadn’t known each other very long, but she was still sure about that.

“Please.” She said.

He grinned and laced their fingers together, “Follow me.”

Robby pulled her gently after him and they giggled like teenagers as he led her to his apartment.

Once inside, they picked up right where they left off, Robby pushing Gwen up against the door as he closed it, reattaching their mouths as quickly as possible, “I’ve been fantasizing about this since the first day we met.” He breathed into her mouth.

Gwen ran her hands through his hair, “Me too.”

“Oh yeah?” Robby’s fingers began wandering under her scrubs, calluses scraping against the soft skin of her belly. Gwen hummed her affirmation.

“And what were you dreaming about, pretty girl?” 

Her breath caught and warmth pooled between her legs. His hands wandered north until he palmed one of her breasts, sighing reverently into her neck, “I’ve never known you to be short on words.” He said teasingly as his thumb ghosted over her nipple.

Gwen pushed her hands down between them, unbuttoning his cargo pants before pushing her hand to meet his erection. Pumping him just once had him immediately quiet and Gwen grinned, “Two can play at that game, Dr. Robinavitch.”

He pulled her hand back up out of his pants, kissing her as he did so, “Bed. Now.”

Robby tugged her behind him again until they got to the bedroom. He turned back to her and began tugging at her scrubs, pulling her shirt over her head, and then he stopped, sighing as he took her in.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” He said, guiding Gwen onto the bed.

“I’m a little nervous,” She said eventually, “It’s been… a long time for me.”

He nodded, “Me too. We can take it as slow as you need.”

She nodded back, pulling him back to her. He kissed from her mouth, down her neck, to her chest, gently taking her nipple into his mouth. 

Robby was true to his word. He maintained a slow, almost reverent pace as he explored her body. Learning what made her moan, what made her arch her back, what got her toes curling. “I want to touch you,” He said and fingered the waistband of her scrubs in question, “Would that be okay?”

Gwen nodded and he needed no further encouragement. He kissed her stomach as he wriggled her out of her bottoms, and then he held her gaze, “You still okay?”

“Yeah,” She said, breathless and almost dizzy with want, “You?”

He kissed her neck as his hand gently pushed her thighs apart, “Never better,” He murmured into her skin.

They both exhaled in sync as Robby gently slipped a finger inside her, “Fuck’s sake,” He swore as he felt her.

“Feels good,” Gwen said breathlessly, hands wandering under his shirt and kissing his neck.

“Yeah?” He crooked his finger inside her and rubbed his thumb around her clit, “How’s that?”

She rutted her hips into his hand, at a loss for words. It was embarrassing how close to the edge she felt already. 

“Fuck, Michael, please—“

He laughed, “Michael, now, is it?”

“This is funny to you?” Gwen asked breathlessly, fighting for her life as he continued to stroke her, “I’m about to enter cardiac arrest and you’re laughing?”

“Yes, actually,” He smirked, “I’ve never seen you so… out of control.” He watches her with an almost clinical interest as he adds another finger, “It’s very sexy.”

Her eyelids flutter closed as the pleasure becomes overwhelming, “I’m close.”

“Look at me,” Robby said, “I want you to look at me while you cum.”

With effort, Gwen manages to lock eyes with him and Robby speeds up his thrusts just enough to push her over the edge, “There you go,” Robby says as she cries out, “Good girl.”

Almost immediately, Gwen is reaching for him, pulling his shirt over his head and pushing him down on the bed.

Robby allows this, the adoration clear on his face when she straddles him, “Condom?”

He leans over to his nightstand, fumbling for a moment before pulling out a foil packet. He tears it open with his teeth before handing it to her.

“You okay?” She asks.

He nods and brings a hand up to her cheek, pulling her gently until their foreheads touch. Robby kisses her slow and gently as she works the condom onto him.

Never breaking contact, she lowers herself onto him, their sighs of pleasure in sync, “Oh, fuck,” Robby swore.

Gwen rides him slowly and he’s a fucked out mess beneath her. “Is that good?” She asks.

Robby grabs her ass with both hands and guides her up and down on his cock, “So good.” He groans, “Could you turn around for me?”

Gwen smirks, but nods. Slowly, she moves herself off him and positions herself on all fours. Robby hummed his approval, pulling her hips up just a bit and peppering kisses all over her back and ass. 

His hands gripping her hips, Robby slowly pushed himself inside her. The feel of him filling her up at this angle was so delicious, Gwen felt herself tear up a little.

Slowly moving in and out, Robby leaned over Gwen, “Think you can cum for me again, sweet girl?” He crooned in her ear.

She felt herself go molten at his gentleness, his attentiveness. It had never been like this for her in bed. She had had a few one night stands in college, selfish boys just taking what they could get, never repaying in kind. With James, making her orgasm during sex was just another thing to complete off a checklist. A chore, another obligation. 

With Robby, the idea of pleasuring her seemed to excite him just as much getting himself off. A novelty to her.

“Yeah,” She said breathlessly. 

He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and pulled back slightly, slipping his hand to her front in order to stroke her clit while he thrust into her.

She moaned at the sensation and he responded in kind, increasing the speed of his strokes, “There you go, baby,” He encouraged, “You can do it, cum for me.”

Gwen unraveled for a second time, moaning Robby’s name as he coaxed her through. The contractions of her orgasm almost immediately pushed him to climax as well and they came down together.

Robby didn’t immediately pull out. Breathless, he pulled Gwen down with him to the bed, holding her so her back pressed to his chest.

He kissed her shoulders, “That was good?” He asked after a few moments.

She laughed and kissed his fingers, “Very good. Was it good for you?”

He kissed up the side of her neck to her ear, “Excellent,” He ran a hand soothingly through her hair, “Would you like to stay the night?”

“We have a shift in the morning.”

Robby hummed in affirmation.

“You want everyone to see us walk in together?”

“They’re gonna talk anyway, you know how it is in there. But if you’re not comfortable, I can walk you home.”

“No.” She said quickly, too quickly. She cocooned herself tighter in his arms, “I’d like to stay.”

“Good,” He peppered kisses on the side of her face, “I’m going to run us a shower.”

When he pulled away, she missed his touch already. As she watched him walk to the bathroom and heard the sound of the shower starting, she realized that this was the first time she had felt safe alone with a man who wasn’t her father in the last ten years.

[mclager]

Am I your little secret? | Toto Wolff x reader

Warning: Use of the word daddy (in the song), age gap (reader is 24), cheating, oral (m receiving), semi-public (?), name calling (that counts as degradation?), a picture being taken, dry humping, lil bit of praise

I'm listening too much Lana del Rey I apologise

One thing about being best friends with a F1 driver is that he will make you go to every race he can, even if you don't really care about it. Being around Kimi all the time means I'm around Toto Wolff all the time, and that's why I kept saying yes to Kimi's invites.

He always received me in mercedes with a kind smile, at the beginning without saying anything, but then I was pretending I didn't understand F1, so he started to explain it to me as I look confused for the hundred time, as he said what is a DRS and why they used it, every race he explained something different, and I nodded and asked questions to make him look smarter, every time a little more close till our arms were touching and I couldn't move closer. Then my clothes got shorter and I was super interested about the strategy, and god knows I never understood a single word about it, but at the end of the day the strategy is win. The days Susie Wolff was around Toto didn't even looked at my direction, so this days I was glued to Kimi, trying to look less suspicious, but what threat can a girl so young represent to her, right?

The garage is very noisy and that would constantly give me a migraine and every time it did Toto would let me stay in his office, since it was quieter and darker. He would guide me there and make sure I had everything I needed and that I was ok. It never happened when Susie was there, so I decided to test, how far he would go with his wife right by his side? I walked up to him as always, did my drama, but this time he asked one of the social media girls to walk me there and get me all I needed. I couldn't be mad, it made perfect sense, didn't?

By the end of it, I was walking in and out of Toto's office like it was mine, he was more in the garage anyways. Today Toto was mad at something, and Kimi crashing in FP1 didn't make him any happier. Kimi was worried about the car, and I didn't want to make Toto angrier, so I just went to his office pass the time. I put some music and started to dance to it, when Lana started to play I started to sing too, it wasn't anything loud, because I didn't want to make anyone pissed at me.

"You taste like the fourth of July, Malt liquor on your breath, my, my, I love you but I don’t know why..." My eyes were closed, my hands in my hair. "You can be the boss, daddy, you can be the boss..."

I couple verses passed by as I finally opened my eyes.

"I knew it was wrong, I’m beyond it, I tried to be strong but I lost it..." This where the last lyrics I sang before seeing Toto leaning against the door frame, watching me. "Toto?"

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing important, I'm just passing time till FP2." He nodded and entered in the room, and closed the door behind him. "Do you need me to get out?"

"No, you can stay." He walked to his table and sat down. "You can continue."

"I don't want to bother you, sir."

"Don't worry about that, just pretend I'm not here." I nodded and pressed to change the song.

"My pussy tastes like Pepsi cola..." Start to sound from my phone, I froze. "My eyes are wide like cherry pies..." My cheeks burning red. "I got sweet taste for men who are older..." For a second my not just my brain stopped working, but my phone also decided to freeze just to complete my sentence. "It's always been so, it's no surprise..." I paused the song as quick as possible, which wasn't quick enough. I had my back turned to Toto, but I could feel his eyes on me.

"Why you stopped it?" He asked and got up.

"I... Just... Is not a appropriate song I'm afraid."

"Now you care? After making my wife more than mad, you care about inappropriate?" He got up.

"I did that? How?"

"How? Well, maybe when you get so close you almost sit on my lap, or when you get all needy and ask to go to my office?" He step to the front of the table.

He noticed?

"I..." He shook his head.

"No, don't need to try to explain, I know what you're trying to do." He got closer to me, and at this angle, his so fucking tall. "See, I'm not stupid." His fingers brushed a couple strands of hair out of my face and grabbed my chin. "You want me so bad, it's pathetic."

"Toto..."

"No, you've talked enough, now it's my turn. Suzie is fucking mad, she's giving me the cold shoulder, so now you're going to make it worth my marital nightmare." Toto let's go of my chin and glances at the door before looking at me again. "Get down on your knees."

I didn't think, I didn't even breathe before doing what he told me. He smirked looking at me.

"Didn't know you were the slut type." He undone his belt, then he unbuttoned his pants, pushing it down just enough to take his knob out of his pants. What surprised me was the fact that he was already half hard. "You know what to do, we don't have much time, do we?"

Instinctively one of my hands grabbed his shaft, pumping it up and down a couple times before licking his tip. He looked down at me as if he had better places to be, he put my hair in a makeshift ponytail and forced my face against him, until I opened my mouth and took him inside, making me choke on his length.

"You look pretty like this." His free hand reached to his back pocket and pick his phone. "You wouldn't mind if I took a picture right?" The flash blinded me for a second, before I could process what he just said. "If I didn't have a wife this would be my wallpaper, to show everyone the pretty whore I have. I think Kimi would like to see this." He pushed my head away just enough for me to take a breath, but the air in my lungs was knocked out when he trusted into my mouth, fucking it like he was planning it for months. "He has a thing for you, don't you think? The way he looks at your ass when you're using this little skirts that barely covers it."

He pushed one of his feet between my legs making me open them. His feet was pressing against my core making me whine around him, my hips started to move, trying it's best to grind against anything I could to get any relief I could.

"Or maybe he's familiar with it, you're a slut after all aren't you?" His grip tightened on my hair, a smirk on his face while he was fucking mine. My moans were muffled, but Toto knew by how hard I was grinding against his shoe that I desperately needed to cum. He didn't say anything, but he pressed harder against my core, and moaned, it was low, but I was proud of taking any sound of him.

I was getting close, and he knew it.

"Come on, can you be good for once and come already?" He tried to sound annoyed, but it came out like a growl, a growl filled with desire. I wished I could have hold it longer, but I came on spot, moaning like the slut I was.

"I'm going to..." He almost whispered, the grip he had on my hair loosened, almost as a invite to get out and let him cum out of my mouth, but I couldn't let him. I stayed in place till I felt him spurting inside my mouth. He rides out his high before exiting my mouth, as he did I swallowed every drop that he left behind.

He pulled me up to my feet, cleaned the drool out of my face with the sleeves of his sweater, fixed my hair, his eyes everywhere but on mine. He fixed his pants, took a deep breath and just then his eyes met mine.

"Are you ok?" I nodded.

"I am." He caressed my face before lean forward and kiss me, his hands comfortably on my hips, and mine on his biceps.

He broke the kiss, parting just enough to speak.

"You were amazing."

"Thank you." My brain was working for longer sentences, this was all I wanted, it's like I'm floating around in a dream.

"I would like if you wanted to go to my hotel room tonight, is that something you would want to do?" I nodded and he smiled. "Great." He gave me another kiss before fully backed off. "You can rest here, I'll make sure no one bothers you, ok?"

"Ok." He walked towards the door, but before he could opened I called him. "Toto?"

"Yes?" He turned to look at me.

"What about your wife?"

"She doesn't need to know for now. Rest, you have a long night coming." He exited the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. This is definitely a secret to keep.

[inkandoliveoil]

Table for one

joseph quinn x fem!reader

Warnings: none except for my grammar

Word count: 1.7k

Disclaimer: reader is from a lot of places so everyone not British can identify with her

Summary: you asked for a table for one but fate had other plans

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

It was a rainy Tuesday in London, the kind of evening that made everything feel a little heavier—coats, bags, thoughts. You ducked into the first place that smelled like garlic and warmth, a wood-paneled restaurant tucked between a charity shop and an old record store in Camden.

The restaurant was all wooden beams and candlelight.

“Just one, please,” you said, offering a small smile.

She looked apologetic already. “Bit packed tonight. Hope you don’t mind a tight squeeze—there’s a spot by the window.”

The waitress, frazzled and apologetic, led you to a small corner table near the window. It was barely large enough for your book and your plate, but you didn’t mind. You had just cracked open The Master and Margarita for the third time, underlining something Margarita had said about never being late to love.

Across the restaurant, Joseph sat alone too. He had a beanie pulled down low and a worn paperback in his lap—unread. He’d noticed you the moment you walked in, hair tucked behind your ears, eyes already somewhere deep in another world. He’d watched you for a moment too long, heart twitching when you smiled faintly at the page. You looked like you belonged somewhere in the pages of your book

The restaurant was getting busier, louder. The same waitress came over again, more flustered now. “I’m so sorry,” she said to him first. “We’re really crammed tonight—would you mind sharing your table?”

He hesitated, eyes flicking to you. “Yeah,” he said after a beat, “sure, why not.”

She approached your table next. “Would you be okay if we… added someone? He’s on his own as well. We’re a bit overrun.”

“uh yeah okay,” you said, your accent soft and not quite local.

“Evening,” he said.

“Hi.” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

You smiled, and something in his expression shifted, softened.

“I’m Joe,” he added, settling into the chair opposite you.

You gave your name in return, then added, “It’s nice to meet you.

There was a pause. Not awkward, just… waiting. Testing. Then he glanced at your book.

“That’s Bulgakov, yeah?”

Your eyebrows lifted, you weren’t expecting him to start a conversation. He was here all alone, but then again so were you. “It is. The Master and Margarita. Have you read it?”

“Started it once,” he said, swirling his wine lazily. “Got distracted by something less intelligent. Like—Netflix.”

You smiled. “It’s a strange book.“

“a good kind of strange?”

“In the best way,” you said. “Like someone dreamt it up during a fever and just… kept writing.”

“I like that,” he said, and meant it.

The waitress reappeared with menus, relief on her face at seeing you both chatting.

“What’s good here?” Joe asked you after she left.

You glanced at the menu, baffled at how expensive everything was. “I don’t know. I just came here cause it looked pretty.”

He laughed, low and warm. “That’s the best reason to go anywhere.”

Dinner came. You split a bottle of wine. The conversation wandered, easily, unexpectedly. From books to music to how strange London could feel at night.

“So, what brings you here?” he asked, sometime between the second glass and the third.

“I’m studying,” you said. “English lit.”

“Of course you are,” he grinned. “That explains the Bulgakov.”

“And the underlining,” you added, holding up your pen.

“Very studious. Or slightly unhinged.”

“Both,” you said without missing a beat. He laughed again, quietly delighted.

“I’m guessing you’re not from here?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Hungary. Well… Hungary, Italy, a bit of Germany. Long story.”

He nodded. “You talk like someone who collects places.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you talk like someone who notices weird things.”

He smirked. “Guilty.”

The night thinned around you. The restaurant quieted. The rain had stopped but left the city slick and glowing. When the bill came, you both reached for it.

“I’ve got it,” he said.

You thanked him shyly.

He walked you home without asking. You told him your place wasn’t in the best part of the city.

“All the more reason for company,” he said, hands in his pockets.

You slowed as you reached your street, glancing up at the crooked building with its chipped paint and flickering hallway light behind the dusty glass door.

“This is me,” you said, trying not to sound self-conscious. “Not exactly glamorous.”

Joseph looked up at it thoughtfully. “No, but it’s got character. And the light’s doing this whole haunted-poet thing I quite like.”

You laughed, shifting on your feet. “Thanks for walking me. Unless, of course, this is the part where you reveal you’re actually a serial killer.”

He blinked, feigning offense. “A serial killer? That’s a bit harsh. I just split a bottle of wine with you—I thought we were bonding.”

“Well, that’s how they lure you in, isn’t it?” you teased. “Charming smile, literary references…”

“Guilty on both counts,” he said, grinning. “But I promise, the only thing I’m likely to murder is a Sunday crossword.”

You smirked. “Alright, that’s actually a little reassuring.”

“Glad to know I’ve cleared the bar.”

There was a pause. You dug in your coat pocket, suddenly shy.

“Can I… give you my number?”

He blinked, then smiled, boyish and soft. “Only if I’m allowed to use it.”

You handed him your phone, watching as he typed in his name—just Joe.

“Do I—should I know you?” you asked suddenly.

He looked up, surprised. Then he grinned. “God, no. And thank you for that.”

You laughed. “You’re welcome?”

“It’s refreshing,” he said. “Not having to be anyone.”

You stood there for a moment longer, not wanting to move. But you did, finally. You climbed the stairs slowly, still feeling the warmth of the wine, the conversation, his presence.

From your window, you watched him disappear down the street, then glance back once. Just once.

Your phone buzzed as you were brushing your teeth.

Joe:

Next time, I’ll read the book first. Dinner soon?

You smiled, thumb hovering over the screen. Something about it felt like magic.

🤍🤍🤍🤍

my first published fic on here, I’d love some feedback maybe. I could even write a part 2. If anyone reads this one

[hwaretic]

Accidentally Yours | j.yh

Chapter 5 : The Dare That Did It

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pairing : roommate! yunho x roommate! reader

word count : 2.3k

genre : fluff, comedy

note : finally.. a kiss???

chapter 6

It started with a board game.

You should’ve known better. You really should’ve. Because nothing good ever came from Yunho saying, “Let’s make it interesting.”

He’d found a dusty old game buried in the back of the closet—some off-brand mix between charades, trivia, and truth-or-dare. You didn’t even remember buying it. Maybe it was cursed. That would explain a lot.

By the second round, you were curled up on the floor of the living room with Yunho, both of you slightly tipsy on spiked hot chocolate, and laughing so hard your cheeks hurt.

“Okay,” Yunho said, reading the next card aloud. “Dare. ‘Let the person next to you pick your challenge.’”

He looked at you with a smirk. “Well, well. Your move.”

You grinned wickedly. “I dare you… to call Wooyoung and tell him you’ve finally confessed your love to me.”

Yunho froze. “That’s your dare?”

You sipped your drink innocently. “Scared?”

“Of Wooyoung’s reaction? Always.”

Still, he pulled out his phone with a sigh and dialed.

You tried not to laugh as he put it on speaker.

“Hello?” Wooyoung’s voice crackled through.

Yunho cleared his throat dramatically. “I just wanted you to know… I confessed my love to my roommate.”

A pause.

Then—

“FINALLY!” Wooyoung screamed. “It’s about damn time! I’ve been saying you two have chemistry since week one!”

You choked on your drink.

Yunho was red, eyes wide. “Wait, what—”

“No, seriously,” Wooyoung continued. “Do you know how many times I’ve told Seonghwa, ‘They’re either gonna kill each other or make out’? I had money on this.”

“Okay, wow—”

“Tell them I want details later. K bye!”

Click.

Silence.

You looked at Yunho.

He looked at you.

And then you both burst out laughing.

“I can’t believe that backfired,” you wheezed.

He clutched his stomach. “He’s too invested in our lives.”

But as the laughter faded, something lingered in the air.

Because the words were still out there. I confessed my love.

Even if it was a joke… it didn’t feel like one.

Later, the game lay forgotten on the floor, and you both sat on the couch, legs tucked up, blanket shared between you.

Yunho had gone quiet—something that rarely happened.

You nudged him. “You okay?”

He turned his head slowly, eyes locked on yours. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded, heartbeat already picking up.

“Do you think we’d work? Like… if we weren’t just roommates.”

The air went still.

“I…” you started, then stopped. “Are you still playing the game?”

“No,” he said softly. “Not this time.”

Your throat tightened. “Yunho…”

He looked nervous—nervous. Like he hadn’t been teasing you for months. Like this wasn’t a game anymore.

“You don’t have to answer,” he said quickly. “I just—I’ve been thinking about it a lot. About us. And how good this feels. And I just needed to know if I was the only one.”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

Then opened it again, because screw it—you were tired of pretending.

“You’re not the only one.”

His eyes snapped to yours.

“I’ve been thinking about it too,” you admitted, voice low. “Ever since the pillow fort. Probably before that.”

He stared at you like he was memorizing every detail of your face.

Then, so quietly you almost missed it, he whispered, “So what do we do now?”

You didn’t have an answer.

Not yet.

But you did know one thing

You didn’t want to stop whatever this was becoming.

You found yourself standing in the kitchen later, alone, trying to breathe through the storm of thoughts in your head.

Then you heard Yunho’s voice behind you.

“You forgot to draw your dare.”

You turned to find him leaning in the doorway, holding the card deck.

You raised an eyebrow. “We’re still doing that?”

He grinned. “Just one more.”

You rolled your eyes but reached out and drew a card.

You read it.

Froze.

Then looked up at him.

“What’s it say?” he asked, stepping closer.

Your pulse kicked into overdrive.

“Kiss the person next to you.”

Yunho blinked.

You blinked.

Neither of you moved.

Then—slowly, slowly—he took a step closer.

“If it’s still a game,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “you can say no.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to.”

His gaze flickered to your lips.

“Then we stop pretending?”

You nodded.

And just like that, his hand came up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek so gently it made your knees go weak.

When his lips met yours, it wasn’t rushed or messy or dramatic.

It was soft.

Tender.

Like something that had been waiting for the right moment to bloom.

And now it had.

The kiss deepened slowly—his other hand sliding around your waist, your fingers tangling in his hoodie. You leaned into him, warmth pooling in your chest as he kissed you like he’d been holding back for weeks.

Maybe he had.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath mingling.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Yeah. This definitely isn’t just a game.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “No. Definitely not.”

Then you kissed him again.

Just to be sure.

taglist !!

@moonlitarcade @dejatiny @flambychan

[swift-works]

Enchanted ✧.* Part Three

1 | 2 | masterlist

word count: 3k

summary: After inheriting your grandmother's house, you find a seemingly normal mirror in the attic. When night falls however, the mirror becomes a portal into your favorite fictional world and who better to greet you than your favorite character. Can you change his fate or see him to his doom?  

tags: isekai!reader, sfw, possible ooc? idk man it’s a fanfic

a/n: y'all are so amazing oh my god 🫶🏻. got me smiling at my phone and shit 🤭. might start a taglist for this, so if you want to be added let me know! also apologies for the delay, but i hope it was worth it

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Marco had a firm grip on your shoulder as he led you to your doom Whitebeard. The sky was still dark with only the moonlight shining down over you both. You could feel your heartbeat hammering as you both moved through the night. Your anxiety was practically eating you alive. You were about to meet an Emperor of the Sea and you weren't meeting under the best conditions.

You both finally stopped in front of a large door. Marco knocked loudly before entering the room with you in tow. The Whitebeard was sitting at a desk over by the wall. He was huge, you felt like a mere ant with his sheer height. You knew he was massive compared to a normal human, but it was still jarring to see in person. The sound of the door closing and a cough caused him to turn your way and he raised an eyebrow while looking you over.

“Marco? Who’s the brat?” 

The mentioned pushed you forward and crossed his arms as he leaned against the door. “Don’t know. A stowaway is my guess. Found them in Ace’s room with a handful of berries from his bag. They look harmless, but Ace was out cold on the floor when I walked in. They said they could explain so here we are.”

Whitebeard’s face hardened at the thought of harm coming to one of his sons. His gaze pierced through you. “Explain yourself or you’ll be sleeping with the sea kings.”

You felt like you were going to throw up, but it would do you no good here so you pushed your anxiety aside for the moment. “It’s kinda complicated but I promise you I didn’t do anything to Ace. We were messing around and he just fell asleep, I swear on my life. Just wait until he wakes up and he’ll back me up.”

The tension in the room was suffocating. They had no reason to believe you and if you told them where you were from, they’d probably toss you overboard anyways. You feared for your life if Ace didn’t wake soon. 

“That doesn’t answer the question as to why you were going through his stuff or how you got here, yoi.” 

You bit your lip as you thought of what to say. “As I said, it’s complicated. I’m not sure you’ll believe me if I tell you. And I admit that I was snooping, but I should’ve known better. My curiosity got the better of me, but it wasn’t my intention to steal. Honest.” 

Whitebeard’s gaze never left you as he spoke to Marco. “Go check on Ace and see if he’ll wake up to verify.” You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the hulking figure before you, so you assumed Marco nodded. The door shut behind him as he left the room. “Now, I want you to tell me how you got on my ship undetected. None of this ‘complicated’ crap.”

So you told him. Well, about the mirror, not the being from a different world. Finding it hidden away, befriending Ace and going through it, you told him everything. He studied your face as if looking for something. Whatever it was, he found it as he nodded. “Yes, I know all about that mirror.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Wait, you know about it?”

He let out a barking laugh. “It was on my ship was it not? I’ll admit though, it’s been a long time since it was last used.”

“Last used? Does that mean someone from my side came here?”

“It was a long time ago, but yes someone came through. In the end though, she made the choice to return to her home to her family.”

You were trying to wrap your head around it. You weren't the first? Then who was? 

“In fact, you look like her spitting image.” His words caused your thoughts to come to a halt. Your grandmother used to say that you reminded her of herself in her youth. There was no way he was talking about your sweet, old granny though, right?

“Wait. Whitebeard, sir, what exactly are you implying? That my grandmother came here and never told me?”

He let out a sigh. “We both agreed that it would be better for less people to know about the mirrors. It was too dangerous for people from her side to come here. So we hid them and I guess neither of us had the heart to get rid of it. Which is why it was so easy for you and Ace to stumble upon them.”

Everything he was saying made sense. You had never seen the mirror before you found it in the attic. Now that you thought about it, you could recall her wistful face, eyes longing for a place far from home when she thought you weren’t paying attention. You just thought it was for your absent parents, not a fictional pirate world.

This was a lot to take in. One thought occurred to you though. “You’re not gonna like tell me that you’re my grandpa are you? There’s only so much I can handle in a short amount of time.”

Whitebeard let out another chuckle and shook his head. “No, we were just good friends. I offered her a spot on my crew even. If she didn’t have people relying on her then I think she would have taken my offer. That’s why we were such good friends, we shared a love for family.”

You nodded along with what he was saying, that did sound like her. It would have been cool if you were actually related to Whitebeard though. Insane, but cool. Who would have thought that you’d be talking about your dead grandma with an emperor of the sea. 

“Do you also know about-”

You were interrupted by the door opening and a face full of freckles.

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The first thing Ace became aware of was a sharp stinging in his nose. He abruptly sat up and furiously rubbed at his nose, nearly colliding with Marco. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. One minute he was goofing with you and the next he was being woken up. Speaking of you, his gaze drifted to the mirror. You weren’t in it but it still reflected your bedroom.

“If you’re looking for your little friend, they're with Pops.” His attention was pulled over to the blond. 

“Wait, they’re here?! Can you take me to them?” Ace practically jumped to his feet. Marco stopped him before he could rush to you.

“Slow down hotshot, I need you to verify that they aren’t a threat.”

“A threat? Did they look like a threat? C’mon Marco they were unarmed and in pajamas. No, they aren’t a threat….except maybe to pillows.”

Marco huffed and threw up his hands in exasperation. “How was I supposed to know?! You were passed out and they were snooping through your stuff,” He gestured to the fallen bag with berries surrounding it. “And you should know in this world that appearances can be deceiving.”

Ace rolled his eyes and adjusted his hat. “You can tell me all about deceiving appearances or whatever later. Can you take me to see them now?”

Marco nodded and led the way to Pop’s room. The night sky was clear, stars twinkling around the full moon. There was a soft breeze that ruffled through Marco’s hair and pulled at Ace’s stampede strap from his hat. The deck was void of life, save for the people on watch. 

They made their way to Pop’s door where they could make out the faint conversation on the other side. Marco suddenly stopped in front of the door and smirked. “You know, Thatch is gonna be ecstatic when he finds out what you’ve been up to.”

Ace groaned and ran his hands down his face. “He’s gonna be so annoying and a pain in my ass.”

“Now you know how we feel.”

“Yeah-hey!”

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Bickering entered your ears as the duo walked in. Your conversation with Whitebeard would have to resume later. If there was a later for you here. Warm brown eyes met yours and Ace’s face lit up. “You really are here!”

Marco rolled his eyes as he shut the door behind them. “I wasn’t lying.”

Ace immediately came to your side. Concern flashed across his face. “You’re not in trouble right?” Then he turned to Whitebeard. “They didn’t do anything to me, it was just my narcolepsy. 

“Ace, I’m not in trouble. He knows about the thing.”

“He knows?!”

Marco butted in. “Wait, what did I miss? What thing?”

Whitebeard waved his hand and cleared his throat. “Alright Alright, no one is in trouble and I understand the situation now. Marco, I’ll discuss this with you and the other commanders in the morning. For now, let’s all get some rest.”

Marco sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get any real answers tonight. On his way out, he reminded Ace of the meeting. If Ace missed the first half of another meeting because he slept in, Marco was gonna skin him alive.

Only the three of you remained. You still had a question though. “Wait, one more thing. Why was tonight the only time I could pass through? Any other time we tried it, nothing went through.”

Whitebeard brought his fist to his chin in thought. “I don’t know much, but for some reason, it only fully works during a full moon.”

The mysterious workings of the mirror would have to remain a mystery for now as you let out a loud yawn. You didn't mean to, but the events of the night were starting to catch up to you. You slapped your hands over your mouth and muttered a “Sorry.”

You got a chuckle from both of them. Whitebeard waved you both off. “We can discuss more at a later date. You two go get some rest.”

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As you both made your way to Ace’s room, you stopped to admire the night sky. It took Ace a moment to realise you weren't right behind him and he shot you a questioning look over his shoulder. “You okay?”

You nodded as you breathed in the scent of the ocean. “You know, this is the first time I've ever been on a ship. And I haven’t seen this many stars in a long time. Let me soak it in for a minute, who knows when I'll get another chance when I go back.”

Ace thought for a second. “You don’t have to go back.”

“I can’t just stay here, Ace. I have a life back home.”

He scoffed. “What life? You always complain about work and you have no friends, no offense.”

“Offense taken! I have friends….I just don’t see them often.”

“Whatever you say,” He raised his hands in defense. “I’m just saying you have a choice.”

Did you? Sure, it sounded appealing, but you weren’t made for this world. Sailing the seas with an Emperor? It was a death sentence for you. Not to mention what you knew of their fates. You were brought out of your thoughts by Ace’s hand on your shoulder.

“Just think about it, okay?”

You absentmindedly nodded. You couldn’t bring yourself to say no to him. A smile tugged at his lips and his hand drifted down to yours. Your cheeks darkened but you didn’t have time to ponder as he firmly gripped your hand and started dragging you. “Wha-Ace!’

“C’mon, we’re supposed to be getting rest. Weren't you yawning like five minutes ago? We can stargaze another night.”

“Stargaze?” You laughed. “You wish I’d stargaze with you. And that's if i come back”

“Blah blah blah can’t hear you.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

“Can I be your idiot?”

“Ace!”

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You never made it to your bed. Once you and Ace had gotten back to his room, you had realized what a mess you had made earlier. A bunch of random things were sprawled across the floor. After cleaning that up, your eyes could barely stay open. You had both collapsed on his bed and it was oh so comfortable. You knew that all you had to do was to cross a couple of feet to get to your bed, but it was like your body was made of lead. Surely you could just close your eyes for just a few minutes. You didn’t even realise that you fell asleep until the next morning.

The next thing you were aware of was sunlight streaming in. Oh no. You sat up in a rush, blanket falling from your figure. Wait, you don’t remember covering up last night. Ace must have draped it over you. Ace. He wasn’t in the room after a quick survey. Didn’t Marco say something about a meeting?

Panic was starting to creep in. Whitebeard had said that you could only pass through the mirror during a full moon and the next one wouldn’t be for a month. You were now officially stuck here. You were so getting fired when you got back. Sighing, you ran your hands through your hair. You could handle this.

Knocking caught your attention. It must have been Ace. Well you hoped it was Ace or this was going to be awkward. Should you respond? Before you could decide, the door opened just a bit

A wave of messy black hair peeked out from the door. Ace had his hand covering his eyes. “Are you decent?”

 You deadpanned. “No, I’m naked.”

“Even better….wait, are you actually?”

Laughing, you got up and made your way over to him and moved his hand from his face. “You really thought I’d be waiting for you naked? In your dreams, Portgas.”

He pouted. “Why do you have to be so mean to me? I could leave you to fend for yourself, you know.”

“You wouldn’t and you know it.”

“I guess you’re right,” He sighed dramatically. “On to a more important matter….Are you hungry?”

That’s how you found yourself in the mess hall. Curious glances were thrown your way. You’d be shocked too if a newcomer showed up while you were literally in the middle of the ocean. You tried to ignore the prying eyes as you followed behind Ace. Whatever was being served smelled delicious. Your stomach growled. 

Ace laughed. Then his stomach growled and he stopped. He cleared his throat. “You’re gonna love this food, Thatch is a god in the kitchen.”

A large pompadour popped into your vision. “Oh so now you’re singing my praises, you’re lucky if I gave you anything after you used the ‘O’ word.”

“You’re still mad about that? You can’t ignore the truth that you’re getting old-“

Ace was suddenly pulled into a headlock. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence or I’m giving you the scraps for a month.” Ace managed to make a thumbs up with his hand before he was released. The arm that was around his neck moved to his shoulders “Now, why don’t you introduce me to your friend.”

“Oh right,” he introduced you. “And this here is Thatch, fourth division commander and our cook. We don’t know what we’d do without him.”

Oh, this was Thatch. His death would become the catalyst to the horrors of the future. It was an odd feeling being around so many people who you knew would die for the sake of the main storyline. You managed to muster up a smile. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“Only good things I hope, now why don’t we get you two something to eat.”

Breakfast with the Whitebeard Pirates was oddly domestic. They were like a giant, loud, family. Despite Ace’s wishes, Thatch decided that he was going to tell you embarrassing stories about Ace from the past year. Including the time he tried to use his devil fruit to bake cookies and he burned all of them, Thatch had made him eat the whole batch after. Every. Last. Crumb. Which had gotten Ace a lifetime ban from the kitchen.

As Thatch rambled on, you sat back and admired the scene in front of you. You had only ever had your grandmother for breakfasts like this.  After weeks of lonely meals, it was a nice feeling to have again. A figure on the other side of the mess hall caught your eye and a shiver ran down your spine.

Marshall D. Teach or as you better know him, Blackbeard.

He was just sitting there, having a conversation with his table mates. Nothing that looked out of the ordinary as he laughed obnoxiously. You knew however that it was just a facade. A hand suddenly waved in your face, bringing your focus back to your own table mates. Both Thatch and Ace had concerned looks on their faces, but Thatch was the one to speak up first. “You okay, kid? You totally zoned out on us.”

You shook your head and pushed your plate over to Ace. “I’m fine I uh….I’m just not hungry anymore.” 

Thatch shrugged it off. Ace, however, had followed your gaze over to Teach’s table. He knew Teach wasn’t the prettiest pirate, but he wasn’t a bad guy... well, as far as being a pirate went. So what had caused you to freeze up? He would have to ask you later.

You were feeling conflicted now. You had told yourself you wouldn’t interfere but it wasn’t that easy anymore. Now, you were in the story. If you got your calculations right, you might still be here when it happens. Could you really just stand on the sidelines and not do anything?

No you couldn’t. Maybe if you warned Whitebeard then Teach would never get the chance to kill Thatch for that devil fruit. Ace wouldn’t go on a manhunt that would result in defeat, imprisonment and death. The Whitebeard pirates would remain as one instead of losing their captain. Screw the storyline Sorry Luffy. Right now, these were real people and not characters on a screen or page.

One thing was for certain, you needed to talk to Whitebeard again.

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last part | next part

a/n: please drop your favorite nicknames for ace in the comment. i'm having trouble picking one.

[whowrotethenote]

𝐀 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐢𝐞𝐰

A/N // A short set in the universe of Biggest Fan. This takes place four months after the Prom Night short.

Warnings // Angst // Profanity // Fluff...I think lol

Word count // 3.8k

Disclaimer // Part Three // Biggest Fan Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist // Main Masterlist

September 27, 2024

Well—he’s doing it again. 

I haven’t heard from him or Paul in over a month. Counted the days as they passed me by in a blur. The color in my life glitching. Just like it was the months leading up to that first time in the Hamptons. 

I don’t know who or what has captured his attention this time around. It’s irrelevant. My life has to keep moving or else I’ll fall into the deepest pit of misery, trying to fill the void he leaves every time.  

The trip to Belize was everything to me. It unlocked an entire new universe of feelings toward him. Deeper than anything romantic. I felt bound to him in a way that I do with people I’ve known for years. The way I can recognize the weight Demi’s footsteps in the dark. The way I can immediately acknowledge Chanel 9 and picture my mother’s face because it's been her signature scent since I knew what smell was. The kind of binding and familiarity only associated with one thing. That forbidden four letter word. 

I thought that week meant something to him. I was terribly wrong like I always am when it comes to him. Summer is over. No longer in paradise. The leaves are starting to turn. Nights getting unbearably colder. 

In a desperate-adjacent attempt to ignite some type of spark or color back into my life, is how I find myself fresh off a first-class plane ride to Green Bay and seated in one of the most upscale restaurants I’ve ever been in. Under the comforting ambient lighting, seated across from me, smelling of that overpowering and alluring Creed scent—is a man that promises so much more than what I’ve been given—and he hasn’t even said it outright. 

It’s wedged in the lines of how he had everything already planned, to the point where I haven’t lifted a finger or dug into my pockets once. The way he felt the need to emphasize that this is in fact a date. The way he spoke of the future and included me in it. 

I’ve said it before. There’s no guess work with him. I know what it is at all times. It’s healthy. It’s loud. It’s rejuvenating. I can breathe around him. I don’t feel so overwhelmed with emotions that I’m suffocating. I don’t have to hide, duck and dodge. I’m not in an underhanded competition with anyone or anything else. If I am, he does a damn good job at concealing it. 

I hate to compare the two. There’s nothing to be compared. Two different ends of the spectrum. Spiraled into my life at two different paces under completely different circumstances. Serving two different purposes. Receiving two different Lana’s.

Maybe I’m being spiteful being here with him. I don’t know entirely. I don’t know what to feel or even how to feel. The lines between right and wrong have been skewed since he inserted himself in my life. Only thing I was certain of, is that I needed a change of scenery and different company. Anything really that doesn’t remind me of him. The sad truth is he’s become a parasite. He’s attached hisself to all the best parts of me and most memorable factions of my life now. Making it nearly impossible to evade him. He’s everywhere. Everything reminds me of him. Even the man in front of me right now. 

Jaire Alexander. I already knew the basics about him from previous late night car conversation or the occasional FaceTime. But tonight he’s dissected himself in a broader manner. Summing up twenty-seven years of life into a nearing hour conversation. 

He and I have closer roots than I imagined. He was born in Southwest Philly. Only an hour away from where I grew up in New Jersey. His family packed it up and moved to the midwest just before he hit middle school. He’s the only boy, with two older sisters—which explains the unadulterated softness he displays despite being outline in secure masculinity. You can always tell which men have actually known and been around women before. They just move a little differently. 

He was a beast in high school—at least that’s the picture all the articles he showed me painted. Everybody just knew he was going places. The NFL was written in his story before he even received his diploma. That is until injury after injury sat him down earlier than he ever intended. 

“It was as if the devil had his hands on my shoulders, pushing all his weight down on me,” he describes. 

This all happened after the pillar of his family—his grandmother passed and his father went shortly after. His father wasn’t dead—but he might as well had been. Just left one day and never came back. So the injuries and clipped ball dreams hit him harder than he’d ever knocked any quarterback on the field. 

Offers reneged, benched for half the season of his senior year, and all hope disintegrating—he almost gave up on all of it. 

“But I’m resilient. And I knew if I wasn’t gonna do it for myself—the least I could do, was do it for my grandma. My mother and my sisters.”

And he did. He pushed through. Molding a way when there wasn’t one to begin with.

He tells me tales of his college years. Says he felt untouchable. The way he glided through the four years like a stingray in the ocean. Earning privileges his peers couldn’t fathom. More girls  than he could count, dropping to his feet—literally and figuratively. Willingly finishing his homework and him, for nothing in return but just the opportunity to say they did so.

“If I could spend a day and go back in time to any portion of my life—I’d go back to undergrad. They treated us like gods on campus, man,” he told me. A glint in his eye projecting the past. 

“And when I got drafted, it was like undergrad times ten. Only it was more on the line. Money just didn’t stop rolling in. Sponsorships—parties with people I had only seen on TV before—people breaking their neck to make me comfortable.”

He said he got a taste of that world and went a little too off the deep end. He was fresh meat. He had a target on his back and the vultures didn’t waste any time. 

“I almost got drowned out—almost lost myself, but God threw me a lifeline. I’m good now.” 

All in all, Jaire is a man. Filling in the gaps his dad left behind, he made something out of nothing. And after hearing him break down all his fears and the hurdles he hopped to get to where he is now—he’s earned a newfound respect from me. 

My phone lights up on the table next to my half empty plate. Wiseman. My heart skips a beat. Reality of the situation hitting me immediately after. Instead of racing to unveil the contents of the text message, I flip the phone face down. Cupping the back of my neck trying not to let these thoughts infect my brain and mood, but they double down. 

Who the fuck does he think he is? Who the fuck does he think I am?

I can’t even believe I let it get to this point. Spending nearly my entire summer in Miami in that condo where the ghost of him lingers every time he leaves. His scent burned into the sheets and the pillow. Steamy and woody smell of his body soap lingering after we shower and he leaves for the day. His shirts—wrinkled and thrown everywhere, leaving a footmark and telling the story of where we started and ended up upon his arrival. Background noise of Love Island playing, as we opt for the entertainment of each other instead. 

I’ll forever remember the summer after I graduated college as his summer. Actual days, lost in one another—following the endless trails, walking the different path’s of each other’s brains—mixed with long humid and lustful nights, turned to morning all over again. First time flying out of the country—exploring the world and seeing how other people live—and it was with him.

“You need to get that?” His voice thrusts me back to the present after sinking into a pit of nostalgia. Sinking so deep I didn’t even feel the consistent vibrating of my phone against the wooden table.

Flipping the phone back over, my lips tighten reading Wiseman again. I push hard on the lock button to reject the call before tossing it deep into the contents of the Dior bag hanging on my chair. 

“Nope.” 

“Hot commodity, I see.” He laughs.

“Not really.” I rest my chin in the palm of my hand. “What?” A smirk tugs at my lips as our eyes tip toe over each other’s faces. I can’t suppress the giddiness around him. Even in the wake of all the bullshit he’s ignorant to. 

He shakes his head. His tongue resting over his perfect top row of teeth for a second. “Still in shock I got you here.” A sting of guilt in my chest forces me to break our trance. Would I even be here if he wasn’t on his shit? “Am I overstepping by asking what all the apprehension was for?” He asks.

I blow out a breath searching for the right words. I don’t even have a rational answer for him. Playing house with a married man all summer had me taking the biggest step back from him. Calls unanswered. Texts responded to only when I got a second to duck off and coach Demi on what to say. No more parked car conversations. And all for what? For somebody that left me in the same state I left Jaire in? Ghosted, without any communication as to why, leaving my head to make up all the worst scenarios. 

“I think I have an idea.” He speaks again.

“Let me hear it,” I encourage. 

He pauses for a minute. “The normal. I was tryna sit in a seat already reserved for somebody else.”

If only he knew. I call myself forging a seat that is already full. The seat merely exists in my dreams. He never fails to wake up to this harsh and cold reality—that everything about us is temporary and none of it is for real. That he occupies way more space in my life than I ever could his. 

I adjust the diamond studded bracelet, now overflowing with different charms he’s added. 

“It's complicated,” I finally say.

“We all got complicated,” he counters. I stop for a second, really digesting him and his words. I’ve been so wrapped up in the telenovela that is my life, I think I’ve abandoned the fact that Jaire is still his own person. Selfishly, I’ve reduced him to just a character in my saga when he has own life, his own goals, and challenges—just as I. Women on his line probably in the same predicament I am with him. 

I need an anecdote for this hole inside of me. And no—not another person. The anecdote has to work with just me. Just Lana. People are going to come and go as they already have. They’re going to keep coming and keep going because that’s just the natural order of things. The toughest lesson I had to learn as a teenage girl—tossing and turning in the wee hours of the night, thinking every time the phone rang, it was the hospital calling to tell us the cancer had won. While the rest of my peers got to live in fantasy and fairytales—life was teaching me the darkest lesson that everything has to go eventually. Life, people, money—all of it.

I have to figure out how to be okay without anybody else. I have to be able to go on after he goes. Cause he clearly will go. 

His head flicks to the right in a slight nod. “Come on—I wanna show you something.” He stands, reaching into his pocket counting off bills. I’m stunned and mostly confused as fuck. Too many Benjamins for me to count land on the dinner table and he holds a big hand out inching to my side of the table.

So, I take it. Willing to go anywhere with him if it means not sitting here to wallow in self pity as the phone rings all night.

He leads us out the maze to exit the restaurant, stopping twice to sign his autograph and take a few pictures. I clutch the fox fur coat tighter to me upon meeting the brisk air of Wisconsin. The consistent fever of Miami had me spoiled. I almost forgot what cold really felt like.  

We’re not even all the way out the glass-door entrance of the building and onto the street before we’re being jumped. White and yellow lights at every turn from the faceless men shouting things I can barely make sense of.

He’s so chill and down to earth, I forget he is in fact famous. I use one hand to cover my eyes. The other rests comfortably in his while he leads me to the passenger side after retrieving the keys from valet. He moves with such confidence and ease, as if there isn’t a herd of photographers in his personal space—snapping pictures of a moment as intimate as a first date.

“You’re okay with that?” I study him while blinking at the blinding lights of cameras. 

He hooks his seatbelt before resting one tatted hand on the steering wheel. “Yeah, why? You got somebody you need to be ducking?”

It's so far off from cheating but this rush of excitement and anxiety is very reminiscent of cheating. “I can pay them to get rid of them.” He informs after I pause. 

Without thinking too deeply into it I shake my head. “No, we’re good.”

The phone buzzes in my hand again and I ignore the fuck out of it like the previous ten times. 

In Jaire’s territory, I couldn’t tell you where we are. We flew on the highway for a while, exiting onto a back-way of some sorts, until he led us to a dirt road with land that stretched for miles it seemed, with no signs of human life. I probably should’ve been scared. In this secluded space with a man I didn’t know, in a state I never been. But his energy—familiar and comforting like a hug from an elder—has me suppressing any type of anxiety. The occasional swipe of his thumb on my hand where we connected atop the center console, paired with glances that read, “are you okay,” every other minute—was enough to settle me. 

The headlights of his car cascade along a fence with a clear DO NOT ENTER sign hanging from it. Despite the obvious, he hops out anyway. Somehow unhooking and unlocking the chains to open one side for entry. 

I use this time to finally open the thread, floored by the endless texts in grey. 

He’s asking for you You left Miami? Is everything okay? I’m concerned now Call me back when you get a chance WiseMan 13 Missed Calls

I let all the angst out in the air that puffs from my nose. The fucking nerve. It’s been nearly two months and now I am expected to jump for him? Draining. That’s what this whole thing has been. He’s lifted me up—taken me to heights I never even thought I’d see at this age. Just as quickly he’s popped the bubble and I’ve been free falling since I last saw him.

It might sound ungrateful. He’s done so much for me in such a small amount of time. Got me through my last year of school. Gifted me a G Wagon straight off the lot and filled it with my favorite flowers. I live comfortably in the heart of Manhattan. Blending in with general wealth and nepotism. 

My life looks the way it did in a young Lana’s dreams, who snuck to binge Sex and The City and took day trips uptown just to gawk at all the designer through the window. This newfound peace of mind means nothing if it can be taken away just as easy. It’s stupid. I should take what I’m given, be grateful for the adventures and opportunity, and just leave with my memories at best. But that’s the thing. I’m past that now. It can never be just memories anymore. And it puts a chill in my bones to think it's just memories to him—if that. 

So when Jaire cuts the engine before rounding the car to open my door—I leave the phone and him behind. 

“You gon’ be okay walking?” He eyes my Shark Boots. “It's further up.”

“Uh…” I peak down, assessing the two thousand dollar, leather boots. 

“Just jump.”

“Huh?” I look back up. My confusions stumped, seeing his back to me.

I hop on and he carries me the whole way effortlessly. No huffing and puffing—not even breaking a sweat. 

Letting me down gently, I scope the scenery. I figured from the walk up—with all its twists and turns that we’d end up on a cliff like we are now—but the sight before me exceeds any imagery I thought I’d find at the top.

The whole entire city of Green Bay from a single vantage point. I felt like a god having access to this much of the world in one sitting.

He’s quiet and I’m grateful for it. The day turning to night. A pink glow on top of the skyline. Nothing but the whistle of wind surrounding us. Everything up here is just…quiet and still. So easy for your mind to go blank. 

“Surrounded by noise all the time. Big family. Always apart of a team. Games packed out with thousands of people screaming.” His hands rest in the pockets of his black jeans. “I come up here to drown all that out. Get a break from all the noise. Always so deep in everybody else—in the crowd—I forget about Jaire. Standing up here I remember. I can remember I’m still somebody too.” He steps down sauntering back to me. Sage eyes putting a spell on me. “You just seemed like you needed a second to remember Lana is somebody too. I don’t care who come and go—what’s easy or complicated.” I giggle as he bows his head making wide eyes. “Don’t let nobody drown you out,” he continues. “Not me. Not Mr. Complicated. Nobody.”

I never felt more seen by a man in such close proximity to the first time meeting him. It usually takes moving mountains to get a man to come to his senses and hone in. Not with him though. He’s almost too good to be true. 

I nod. Tears threatening to spill, but I suck them up. No more sad girl. I’m better than that. It’s a shame it took a man that barely knows me to tell me so. 

“Promise?” He holds out a long pinky adorned with a ring that winks at me. I hook mine onto his.

“I promise.” 

He steps back allowing me a path to the spot he left. In these less than comfortable Givency boots, I step carefully over and around the scattered rocks, over the sand and patchy grass until I’m on top of the same flat plated rock he came off of. 

The view is unreal. I can see everything up here, but it’s still nothing but echoes of silence. No noise. No world. No expectations. No worries. Just me separated from them. Separated from him.

“I got a game in two days,” he informs me. “I’d really like if I knew you was out there in the stands—watching me.” 

I turn still on top of the rock so his voice isn’t hitting my back anymore. “And you better not lose.”

He snickers. “With my good luck charm there? Never. I’ll have to give them motherfuckers the greatest pep talk of their life in that locker room.” 

My smile grows. The battle of my heart he didn’t even know he was affiliated with before today, lingering. Yeah, he lost a couple rounds in the beginning. He had all the right materials and couldn’t do anything with them because my attention had been abducted by someone who didn’t even deserve it. 

The better man might just win this time. 

Finally back in the five-star hotel room, I stare at the name on the screen calling again. I let it ring two more times before swiping.

“Paul?” But I can tell it's not him. I don’t know how I know—I just know.

“You left Miami?” His voice is authoritative—making the question sound more like a statement. “I don’t see your suitcase here.”

“I did,” I confirm after a moment. Heart skipping a few beats. From guilt? Excitement that I resent from hearing his voice after months? I don’t even know. 

“Where’d you go?”

“Back home,” I lie. Eyes shut tight. I’ve never done that with him. I never had to. 

He doesn’t say anything for a while. Every second that passes feels longer than the one before. And for a split second, I feel like he knows the truth or at least knows what I’ve told him isn’t the truth. Like he has his own eyes on me at the moment.

“I’d really appreciate if you came back, Lana.” 

Theres almost an underlying desperateness in his voice. Like his wellbeing depends on my presence—when he’s just demonstrated to me that it doesn’t. I remove the phone from my ear. Eyes opening at an agonizingly slow pace to face myself in the mirror. Why do I always feel so weak for him? So helpless like I don’t have any say over my own actions—my own body.

Staring back at the girl in the mirror I shake my head at her. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare fall for it…fall for him.

This game he’s been playing—it's unfair. It’s cruel. He’s set it up so he’s the only winner.

The overwhelming feeling he brings to me—congesting my mind and making me forgo all the contempt and smoke I previously had in the chamber for him. Then, the promise I just made to Jaire not even an hour before, forces itself to the forefront of my mind. He won’t drown me or my intuition out this time. 

I stick the phone back to the side of my face. “I can’t,” I tell him. Voice so delicate and pliant—not even hiding the fact that I can be easily persuaded. So, to eliminate any chance of it—I press that red button. He won’t win this round.

A/N // it’s been so long friends. so much has happened since my last update…still in shock btw. so let’s disassociate and be delu together in this au😂

1. what the helly is going on with Joe? why has he gone ghost again?

2. do you think Lana genuinely likes Jaire or is she just trying to fill the space?

3. this girl spent her whole summer in Miami—what do you think happened between them? (don’t worry a good portion of the rest of the shorts take place during this time)

4. he took this girl out the country😂 any thoughts?

5. do we think him going ghost again paired with Jaire’s new presence is enough to make her split from Joe?

As always, so grateful for everyone reading especially in light of recent events. Feedback is always welcomed💗

Next update will be another short about Wrestle-mania 40. It will be up every soon. If not tonight, tomorrow night.

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