#I usually edit a chapter in the morning before work and a chapter before bed

[strawbubbysugar]

bubby, how do you manage to write, draw, and edit almost every day ON TOP OF working, eating, showering, paying the bills, shopping, socialising, and everything else??? you post chapters so quickly whereas I take like a month to write one!! how do you do it?

Simple! If I do not create I explode. Hope this helps!

[helioooss]

vi. i need to want something more (the end)

synopsis: after a rare drunken night, y/n wakes up in bed next to the most untouchable girl at yonsei: karina. she’s immediately thrown into a mess she never wanted, torn between her own moral compass and the undeniable pull of something she doesn’t understand. some lines, once crossed, can never be undone.

w/c: 10k+

warnings: heavy cheating, implied sex, alcohol, smoking, just normal uni stuff, swearingggg, slow burn

a/n: so here it is…was a long time coming; i appreciate all of you who stuck around long enough to see the end it. there will be no fics for awhile as i work on editing my older stuff — figured i need to show those a bit of love and polishing too. this series has so much potential to become more, i’ll keep my ears open in the future. always enjoy reading your takes on this chapter, so please let me know how you feel about it :)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the light wakes you first. not the usual pale grey cast of a seoul morning, but something softer, whiter. your breath is visible in the sliver of air between your duvet and your face.

the heater’s still warming up — typical. you stay curled beneath the covers a few seconds longer, blinking toward the window, where the light presses through the glass differently now.

you already know.

when you sit up, you’re met with the season’s first snowfall. it’s not heavy yet, still a delicate sheet of white layered over the pavement and trees outside.

the world is slower; even the wind is holding its breath.

you get up barefoot, stepping around the pile of laundry near your desk, your laptop still open from last night. giselle flew back to japan last week and yunjin left a post-it note on your side table saying she was grabbing coffee with ryujin. they’ll probably be out for hours.

you should make coffee, maybe start reading that case brief you’ve avoided all week. instead, you stare out the window a while.

the trees outside are really bare now, snow clinging to every branch like a second skin. you reach for your phone and snap a quick photo.

your fingers hover for a moment before sending it to your parents.

first snow of the season! ❄️

they had invited you to join them in switzerland for the holidays; some rental cabin overlooking a frozen lake, something out of a postcard. you told them you had too much to finish here; that much was true.

the reply comes quickly.

from: dad 👨

beautiful! mum says bundle up. she’s already trying to book you a plane ticket despite your answer still being a firm no. 😂

you smile, a little and your screen dims again.

and then it buzzes.

from: sana 🩵

you still like watching the snow fall from windows?

something shifts in your chest as you stare at her name for a moment — warm and uncertain. before you can think about it too hard, you hit call.

she answers before the second ring.

“hi,” you greet, still watching the snowfall.

“hi,” she replies, voice soft and all. she sounds like she’s speaking from under a warm blanket. “you’re up early.”

“snow woke me.”

“hmm,” she hums. “me too, actually.”

you don’t say anything for a second, just listen to her breathing through the speaker because there’s something grounding about it.

“do you want to come over?”

she pauses, then says: “only if we get breakfast first.”

you smile, small and real. “our usual?”

“of course.”

you end the call and move slowly through your morning — brushing your teeth, pulling on layers, rubbing moisturiser into your face with hands that still feel half asleep. you stare at your reflection for a beat too long; there’s colour in your cheeks from the cold and your hair’s a little flat, but you look more like yourself lately.

or someone you recognise, anyway.

as you zip up your coat, you think of sana. how she’s never asked you to call this anything…or make you feel like you owe her certainty you don’t have.

and still — she shows up.

you think about how easy it would be to keep building this quiet version of love, one morning at a time. back then, you thought maybe the whole world would bend if you just stayed still beside her long enough.

you could get used to whatever this is again.

eventually, a car horn honks twice. when you step outside, the snow crunches beneath your boots. she’s already out of the car, walking toward you with a knit beanie pulled low over her ears. her breath clouds in the air.

the first thing she does is reach for your scarf.

“you still don’t know how to do this properly?” she mutters, unwrapping it halfway to re-loop it snug around your neck. “every year, it’s the same issue.”

“you’re just controlling,” you mumble, lips chapped and numb.

“you would freeze to death without me,” she shakes her head, focusing on the knot. her fingers are cold when it brushes against your neck.

there’s snow caught in her lashes and her cheeks are pink from the cold.

her hair is pulled back loosely, a few strands stuck to her collar. and she’s not looking at you. she’s still focused on that damn scarf. you study her face up close; how her brows knit together in concentration and how beautiful she is when she doesn’t know you’re looking.

“you’re pretty.”

she blinks and looks up; the corners of her mouth twitching. “don’t.”

you grin. “just saying.”

“you’re annoying.” she tugs your scarf tighter and gently shoves your shoulder before turning to the car. you follow, heart warmer than your gloves. “come on.”

the drive to itaewon is short and mostly quiet. the windows fog slightly and she draws a little heart in the glass with her knuckle at a red light. she doesn’t look at you when she does it.

“so,” you begin, glancing at her, “you could be in australia right now; drinking cocktails by a pool. why are you here in seoul?”

she glances over with a smile. “i could be.”

“so why aren’t you?”

she exhales through her nose, barely smiling. “because you’re here.”

“right,” you answer, cheeks flushing with warmth. and it’s enough.

that silences you, looking out the window as the snow settles along rooftops. your chest aches a little and it’s not in the way it used to; not with longing, but just with how much space she still takes up, even now.

grazia is tucked between two boutiques, all brick and wood and fogged-up windows. it’s warm and smells like cardamom and coffee inside. the waiter leads you to a quiet table near the back; you end up ordering pancakes and sana gets eggs on toast with extra mushrooms.

you talk about books — what you’ve been reading, what you haven’t had time to. she tells you about a ridiculous rumour she overheard at a party last week: something about taehyung and a chaebol heir (not jennie this time) who may or may not be fake.

it’s ridiculous.

after a pause, she stirs sugar into her coffee and asks. “so…have you decided?”

you look up at her, then down at your plate. “about the job?”

she nods.

“i think i’m gonna take it,” you answer, running your fingers through your hair. “taehyung’s dad offered me a contract starting next month. i’d be handling mid-scale portfolios. nothing glamorous, but…”

“it’s a start,” she finishes.

“yeah…a really good one.”

she smiles. “i’m glad — you’ll do so well.”

she stirs her drink once more, something milky and sweet. she’s dressed down today; soft turtleneck, old jeans, hair tied back with a velvet scrunchie that doesn’t match.

you rest your cheek on your hand and watch her; she looks comfortable.

“you’re staring again,” she chuckles without looking up and the sound makes your head all warm and fuzzy.

you clear your throat. “you’re always stirring your drink for no reason.

she grins. “i’m thinking.”

“about what?”

“you.”

you scoff into your coffee. “try something harder.”

she reaches across the table to steal a piece of your banana bread, doesn’t bother asking. you let her. then, more softly, she adds: “i’m really proud of you.”

“what for?”

“the job,” she mumbles. “with taehyung’s dad. that’s huge…everyone knows the kim family doesn’t let anyone in so easily.”

“it’s honestly just an entry contract.”

“it’s still a big deal,” she insists. “don’t downplay it. you worked hard and earned it.”

you press your hands around your mug and let the silence linger before asking: “and what about you?”

she lifts her gaze as you watch her carefully.

“when are you taking over your empire?”

sana snorts. “don’t call it that.”

“it is that…your family owns half of tokyo and most of osaka.”

“i mean when you put it like that,” she mutters. “it is…a lot.”

you raise a brow. “so? what’s the plan?”

she laughs, soft and brief — but you keep note of how her shoulders tense.

you don’t press, not yet. you just keep your voice even. “you know it’s coming.”

she leans back slightly, her fingers tracing the edge of her cup. “i know. my dad’s been…bringing it up more often lately. the board’s already making decisions ten years from now.”

her eyes lift to meet yours.

you try to sound gentle; encouraging. “so why not?”

she shrugs, looking away now. “because i’d have to be in japan…full-time.”

she hasn’t said it so plainly before.

you let the silence sit long enough, watching the way she presses her lips together, like she’s already prepared herself for this to hurt.

perhaps the part of you that’s been too afraid to name this…whatever this is — has been waiting for this conversation all along.

“it’s not that i don’t want to,” she adds, quieter now. “but i can’t leave you. not like this. not when we just…started again.”

she meets your gaze once more. there’s something in her expression that makes your chest ache. it’s not doubt.

it’s love, stretched thin by time and distance and the inevitability of her life pulling her somewhere you can’t follow — not yet.

and maybe this is what it means to be grown. to sit across from someone you love, knowing love might not be enough to keep things from changing.

“i’d never ask you to stay just because of me.”

“i know you wouldn’t.”

“but i also wouldn’t hold it against you if you needed to go.”

she exhales, blinking down at her hands. “i don’t want to go if it means leaving this.”

“we’re not a place,” you tell her gently. “we’re not a time either. we’re just…us. maybe we’ll always be.”

you reach for her hand across the table and she lets you take it. her fingers are cold but steady, thumb rubbing against the inside of your wrist like she’s trying to remember how to hold on without gripping too tightly.

you think: if this is all we have right now, i’ll take it. and across the table, she looks at you like she’s thinking the same thing.

as you walk back to the car, she slips her hand into your coat pocket; not your hand. just your pocket.

you laugh at her, feeling a bit lighter now. “what are you doing?”

she shrugs, looking forward. “just making sure you’re warm.”

you don’t reply, sliding your hand over hers, not lacing your fingers, just covering them because her palm is cold. you press your thumb into the space between her knuckles and feel her lean a little closer as you walk.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the sound of your door clicking open feels louder than it should. your body aches from sitting too long in the same position, neck stiff, legs heavy and your brain mush after hours of reading case law. you drag yourself into the main living area where the scent of cheap popcorn lingers and twilight is somehow playing again — muted blue and green tones flickering across the television screen.

bella is mid-monologue; the sky is always grey in that fuckass town.

yunjin and ryujin are curled up on opposite ends of the couch, each with a throw blanket and a half-empty bowl of snacks between them. yunjin’s legs are draped over ryujin’s lap and they’re blth eating crispy m&ms (because they’re the best) like it’s the end of the world.

you drop onto the armchair beside them.

“how many times do you guys need to watch this a year?” you ask, voice still rough from not speaking all afternoon.

ryujin doesn’t look away from the screen. “you’re uncultured.”

“she just doesn’t get it,” yunjin agrees, nudging you with her socked foot. “she never got the team jacob to team edward pipeline.”

“i was studying contract law while you two watched vampire melodrama,” you grumble.

“that was your mistake,” ryujin shrugs, refusing to look away from the screen. “and so the lion fell in love with the lamb.”

you sit with them a while, with bits of and pieces of them mimicking lines and a type of silence that only happens when people know each other too well to need to fill it. it’s almost dinner time, you realise. you probably haven’t had a proper meal since breakfast.

yunjin turns to you like she’s reading your thoughts. “so, what do you want to do for dinner?”

you hesitate. “uhh, i’m actually going to sana’s soon.”

ryujin raises her brows without comment. yunjin shifts slightly, pulling her knees to her chest.

“movie night?” she asks, a little teasing, but gentle.

you nod, reaching down to adjust your sock. “yeah, she said she found this old japanese film she wants me to watch.”

“what’s going on with you two anyway?” ryujin looks at you. “it’s been a while now.”

you pause because putting it into words makes it feel more solid.

“we’re…good,” you say slowly. “we don’t talk about what it is. but it’s been really good.”

yunjin hums softly. “and…have you heard from karina?”

her name hits like a stone through still water, your shoulders tensing without meaning to. you haven’t thought about her in ages.

not really, anyway. not since early winter, when snow was just beginning to settle and you were still getting used to the way sana folded your blankets and made you tea before you even asked.

after that dinner scene, jimin just simply vanished. no texts or awkward sightings. not even a whisper from giselle, who always managed to mention her in passing before.

and you didn’t chase it. perhaps you were too tired…or maybe you were finally learning how to let silence be what it was.

still, the name makes something flicker inside your chest. it’s no longer pain, not anymore…just something dull and hasn’t fully left.

“no,” you finally answer. “i haven’t heard anything.”

yunjin fiddles with a popcorn kernel. “well, she’s in seoul, i saw her on ningning’s story last week. she was in the background.”

ryujin says nothing for once, she just reaches for the remote and lowers the volume a bit.

your stomach twists. “really?”

“looked like a rooftop thing. not much though, was just a glimpse.”

you nod, mouth dry. “guess she didn’t end up going to europe with jaewook after all.”

“yeah, guess so,” yunjin smiles at you, the way she always does when she wants to comfort you but doesn’t know the words to say.

you push yourself off the chair and stand. “i should get going though.”

ryujin gives you a slight wave. “tell sana we said hi. and look after yourself. and your heart.”

you pull on your coat, scarf still a mess from how it was folded. your bag’s got a change of clothes stuffed at the bottom and a book you haven’t opened. as you walk out into the cold, your breath clouds in the air and the sky has that faint blue cast of early evening.

sana’s apartment is warm, smells faintly of citrus and something boiling on the stove. she answers the door in a navy jumper and fuzzy socks, her hair damp like she just stepped out of the shower. you blink once and feel your chest ease.

“hi,” she grins, already reaching for your scarf, unravelling it to untie it properly now.

you laugh. “seriously?”

“you’ll thank me later.”

you follow her inside, boots off, bag dropped near the shoe rack. she’s already set up her bedroom —blankets stacked and mismatched pyjamas folded on the edge. you change slowly, the clothes a little big on you, the sleeves brushing your knuckles. she doesn’t say anything when she sees you wearing her shirt, but she smiles like something in her has softened.

you settle into the blankets while she brings over miso ramen and sushi on two trays; simple, warm, comforting.

she really insists on playing an old japanese film she watched once with her mum. it’s black and white and slow-moving, all long glances and quiet music. halfway through, your head finds her shoulder and eventually, her chest.

and somewhere near the end, your eyes start to slip closed. you don’t mean to fall asleep. but sana’s warmth is steady, her breathing’s a weird kind of comfort and her hand has found yours under the blanket.

when you stir awake again, the room is darker. the credits are rolling in soft kanji across the screen. she hasn’t moved.

you lift your head slightly and find her staring at you. “were you watching me?”

she smiles, lazy and unbothered. “a little.”

“creep.”

“you’re peaceful when you sleep.”

you groan and bury your face in her arm. “don’t look at me like that.”

she laughs quietly. “and you’re warm, i didn’t want to move.”

you stay there a while longer, the silence easier now. then something tugs at you. “i’m sorry.”

she doesn’t respond right away. “about what?”

“about how we’re still…like this,” your voice is small. “no labels, no real plan — i really need to fix myself.”

she lifts a hand to push your hair back, thumb brushing your temple. “you don’t need fixing, y/n. not for me. i love you the way you are now. and i’ll still love you when that changes.”

you exhale shakily, not sure if it’s relief or fear that floods your chest.

she squeezes your hand to ground you.

“you know when i was a kid,” she adds after a moment, her fingers gently playing with your hair. “i used to imagine running away.

you look up at her. “why?”

“not because i wanted to disappear,” she says softly. “i just wanted to choose who i came back for.”

you don’t say anything.

you just press your face into her neck, grip tightening around her waist while listening to the rhythm of her breathing until you fall asleep again…because maybe that’s what this is. not the end, not even the beginning.

it’s her coming back. and this time, you’re here to open the door for her.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the suit bag hangs on the edge of your wardrobe, unzipped and half-open, like it’s waiting to be taken seriously. inside are five options. none of which you picked. sana’s stylist had dropped them off earlier that morning, her usual chirpy self making you try on half of them while sana watched from the bed, cup of coffee balanced on her knee.

now it’s dusk and you’ve been through three shirts, three full outfit changes and a minor crisis about the perfect sock colour. the room smells like sandalwood and setting lotion. your window’s open just slightly, letting in the bite of the air, that particular cold that only ever feels sharp in late december.

sana’s standing behind you, hair already done —glossy, parted perfectly with the ends curling. she’s wearing a black suit, white shirt buttoned down enough to make you look twice. or three times. the fabric clings at her waist and loosens again at her hips.

it’s unfair. criminal, even…to look that good.

you’re standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the cuff of a white shirt that isn’t yours.

“this one’s too tight,” you complain, tugging at the collar. “i look like i’m going to cry at prom.”

“you always look like that,” she replies, flicking through jackets on hangers. “it’s part of your charm.”

you glare at her through the mirror and she laughs at your own expense without bothering to look up.

you’re staring.

of course you are.

“you’re staring at me again,” she says, not even looking up.

“you look ridiculous,” you reply.

“that’s not what your face is saying.” she lifts the black lapel of a suit jacket and gives you a side glance, smug. “should we match, bub?”

you cross the room before you even decide to. she’s still smiling when you reach her, but it drops slightly — just enough to tell you she knows.

you don’t think.

you’re already up before she can finish her sentence. your hand finds her waist, and then her back, and then her mouth. the kiss lands hard and sure, pulling her in until her spine meets the wall beside your wardrobe. she lets out a surprised sound that turns into a low laugh against your lips when your hands grip her tighter than you mean to.

she tastes like spearmint and skin warmed by sunlight. everything else fades — your open window, the hum of the street below, the muted rustle of ryujin and yunjin bickering in the hallway.

your entire world narrows to the sound of her breathing, quick and uneven, her hands slipping beneath your shirt; not greedy, never, just holding you in place.

when you finally pull away, you’re still gently cupping her face as she blinks slowly, breath catching.

“you’re such an ass,” she starts, voice rough. “you’re really going to do that an hour before i introduce you to my entire bloodline?”

“hmm,” you murmur, forehead pressed to hers. “seemed like the right time.”

she exhales a laugh and shoves your shoulder lightly, but she doesn’t move away. her lips are redder now, eyes much darker. you like how she looks like this — just a little undone.

“you’re the one in a suit,” you continue, a shit-eating grin plastered on your face. “this is your fault.”

she kisses you again — just once, before tapping your chest. “grey suit. last one on the rack. wear the white shirt with the pearl buttons.”

you raise an eyebrow. “you sure?”

“you’ll make everyone nervous,” she confirms, unbuttoning the shirt you just complained about. “it’s perfect.”

when you finally walk out of your room — now dressed, hair styled and tie slightly crooked on purpose, ryujin and yunjin are waiting in the living room in matching red dresses that clearly weren’t planned but still managed to look coordinated.

yunjin looks up from her phone. “are you two done making out?”

sana’s behind you, still adjusting your collar from the back. “oh,” she says lightly. “what gave it away?”

they groan in unison, ryujin grabbing a cushion to half-heartedly throw at you. “disgusting.”

“embarrassing,” yunjin adds.

you just roll your eyes, cheeks still warm.

the minatozaki family meet every year in seoul a few days before christmas, no matter how scattered they are across time zones or industries. they are old money, after all, operating like a boardroom with laughter; polite, but rarely without genuine warmth.

it’s all carefully curated holiday cards, biannual art acquisitions and a shared family lawyer who’s probably been with them longer than most cousins have been alive. and they’re big on tradition, binding them like a woven thread across generations.

sana once told you that missing the family holiday party would be a bigger scandal than missing a wedding of the year. no one has ever dared skip it — not even the cousin who got stranded in switzerland one year; he video called in wearing a tux.

the venue this year is a five-star hotel in gangnam; just one of those buildings with glass facades and understated signage. as soon as you walk inside, the ballroom is glowing with golden lights and crystal fixtures, the chandeliers dimmed to a soft glitter. waiters move between clusters of people with trays of champagne and tiny canapés.

she walks beside you, hand in yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you hear ryujin swear while yunjin nervously fidgets around. her other hand rests lightly on your lower back as she steers you through the room, the guests are all family, more or less: great-uncles and cousins and elders you can’t quite place.

everyone already knows. there’s no guessing involved. they all smile at you politely, a few with surprise but no one dares to question your presence.

her mother hugs you as soon as she sees you, still smelling faintly of lavender and expensive tea.

“finally,” she sighs in relief, smiling. “we were starting to think you were imaginary.”

her father smiles approvingly while eyeing your blazer. “you look very sharp, you wear the colour well.”

you thank him, a little awkwardly, and sana leans in to whisper, “he only says that to people he really likes.”

you laugh, brushing her fingers with yours.

throughout the evening, relatives come and go in waves. they ask what you’re doing after graduation, if you’ve thought about law firms abroad, if you would consider working in japan. you answer each one as politely as you can and they nod like they’re taking mental notes.

sana’s grip never wavers. this is the difference.

with her, there’s no hesitation. she doesn’t shrink you and make you feel like something to be hidden. she says: this is y/n like that means something…it has to.

you think about that as the night goes on. how strange and comforting it is, not to be the shadow in someone else’s story. she’s proud. of you. and the whole room knows it.

then, somewhere between dessert and after-dinner drinks, an uncle announces the annual family photo. the photographer’s already setting up near the grand staircase, light stands flaring against the high ceilings.

you start to step back, figuring this part isn’t for you, when she tugs you gently by the wrist.

“and where do you think you’re going?” she asks, an eyebrow raised in that demanding tone too.

you glance at her. “i figured i’d stay out of the frame.”

“don’t be stupid,” she shakes her head, tone now soft, not scolding.

she brings you forward, weaving through her cousins and uncles, until her mother sees you both and waves you in closer. the photographer arranges everyone once again, gesturing toward the centre of the front row.

sana takes your hand and leads you there — right beside her, between her and her mother like you’ve always belonged.

“this okay?” she murmurs.

you nod slowly.

“good,” she fixes your collar, smooths your jacket, then slips her hand into yours again.

her father smiles at you two and her mother wraps an arm around your waist like it’s second nature.

when the photo is taken, sana’s thumb gently brushes against your knuckles. you’ve never felt more seen in your life.

later on, sana excuses herself to the bathroom and you’re suddenly cornered by ryujin and yunjin near the dessert table. they both have shit-eating grins on their faces like they’ve been here before.

“so,” ryujin begins, popping up beside you with a glass of wine, “you’re marrying another heir of a billion-dollar company? what’s this obsession with rich people? when i said ‘eat the rich’, i didn’t mean in a literal sense.”

you nearly choke on a piece of almond tart. “what the hell are you on about this time?”

“we didn’t realise,” yunjin perches in from the other side. “like, you know, she had this vibe of maxed-out platinum card and four overdue bills she refuses to open.”

“i thought that girl was dangerously living beyond her meanest,” ryujin mutters. “like…’it’s crippling, i’m gonna run away eventually’ kind of debt.”

“and giselle used to pray you never had to cover any of her bills,” yunjin laughs. “she was scared for you.”

“you’re all idiots,” you say, but your cheeks are warm. you sip your wine and glance around the room — gold, velvet, soft laughter under chandeliers.

“seriously,” yunjin continues, nudging you. “how does it feel?”

you pause, thinking about it. “honestly? it feels…nice. to belong in the room, be held like this isn’t something anyone’s ashamed of.”

they go quiet.

and then ryujin offers you a mini tart she already bit once. “you earned it.”

you roll your eyes and take it anyway. you’re halfway through your first glass of champagne when nayeon somehow ends up in front of you. ryujin and yunjin shyly greet her before running away to the bar.

“well, well,” she says, appearing at your elbow like a headline. “if it isn’t little top-of-her-class.”

you nearly choke. “hello to you too, nayeon.”

“you didn’t think you’d escape me, did you?” she laughs, pulling you into a hug. she still smells like endless paperwork. “look at you — looking all grown.”

“you’re not still in that securities firm, are you?”

“worse: corporate advisory. mina’s still keeping me sane.”

as if summoned, mina appears beside her, dressed in an ivory pantsuit and the kind of earrings that could probably pay your rent.

“hey,” she smiles, eyes warm. “it’s really good to see you.”

“you too,” you say honestly. “both of you.”

nayeon leans in. “we always knew you and sana were going to find your way back to each other. she was such a mess about you in undergrad.”

they were two of sana’s closest friends at yonsei. both a few years older than you and practically royalty in their own right; effortlessly composed and always surrounded by people who wanted to be close to them — or be them.

you used to see them around often when you and sana were first getting close. they never treated you unkindly…in fact, nayeon always greeted you with a loud “oh, you again?” and mina would smile quietly, handing you a drink like you already belonged. they were your seniors in every way: in age; in experience; in the kinds of heartbreaks and head starts that come with growing up too fast in worlds you barely feel like you belong in.

even now, years later, the sight of them still pulls something warm and nostalgic from your chest. they remind you of a different time — the nights you stood by sana’s side…feeling small but safe, never knowing just how much she would come to mean to you years down the line.

“i was not,” sana says, appearing behind you with two plates of dessert.

“please,” nayeon rolls her eyes. “she used to leave dinners just to call you and then cry about how complicated everything was.”

“used to?” mina murmurs, eyebrow raised. “i think the streak ended, what — last year?”

you give sana a look. “so i’ve heard.”

she hands you a plate and shrugs. “they’re exaggerating.”

“you used to leave parties to sit in stairwells and call her.”

“i was dramatic.”

“you cried.”

she waves them off, then glances at you with a crooked grin. “they’re jealous.”

“of what?”

“that you’re the first person i’ve ever brought here.”

“what?” you blink in disbelief, mouth already full of something sweet and expensive. “no dates before me?”

“not here,” she repeats. “this place is family.”

“so i’m special.”

she rolls her eyes, a teasing smile appearing in the corners of her mouth. “you literally dumped me and i’m still here, so yeah.”

you nudge her, she bumps your shoulder back.

mina watches you both with a quiet smile. “i’m glad you’re here, y/n. you’re both good for each other.”

it takes you a second to absorb that because you do. for the first time in years, maybe ever, you’re in a room full of people who know each other’s names, whose approval isn’t cautious or polite but warm and unconditional — and you’re not being hidden.

it’s late by the time the car rolls through empty streets. the city lights pass like slow waves against the windows. you’re both a little buzzed from wine, shoes kicked off, blazers draped in your laps.

sana’s fingers are still laced with yours, she looks softer now. her voice quieter as she talks to you, like the world is shrinking back to just the two of you.

your hand rests lightly on her thigh, thumb tracing slow circles through the fabric of her trousers.

“can i ask you something?” you murmur.

“you’re allowed,” she replies, tilting her head toward you.

“so why have you not brought anyone to this party?”

her brow lifts, leaning her head back against the seat. “honestly?”

you nod.

“you’re the first,” she begins to explain. “because you scare me a little, you never asked to be here — you just…showed up and made space without needing to take any.”

you stare at her, a little breathless.

she turns to look at you fully, her expression is open. “it’s always been you, even when it wasn’t.”

you swallow hard.

the car still moves quietly through the city, lights passing over the windows in slow, golden waves. and you think, for the first time in a long time, that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it’s christmas day and sana’s family home is lit like something from an old winter painting. the snow clings to the trees and lines the edges of the roof like icing. and there’s warmth in every room inside; everything made out of oak in that traditional japanese sense.

you’ve never had a christmas like this.

there are matching slippers at the door, monogrammed napkins and the kind of table setting that makes you hesitate before sitting down. the candles flicker low between you all, flames catching on the wine glasses as her father lifts his to inspect the pour.

he sits at the head of the table, sleeves rolled, wine glass already half full. “not too much,” he chuckles, topping yours off. “don’t want you falling asleep before dessert.”

“no promises,” you reply, and he laughs louder; shoulders shaking and all

it’s just the four of you. no cousins, no extended family or staff pacing in the background. sana sits beside you, ankles crossed under the table, her hand brushing your thigh every now and then like she’s checking that you’re still here.

“your parents must miss you,” her mum says, spooning rice into her own bowl. “have you called them yet?”

you shake your head. “not yet, i was waiting until things quieted down.”

“call them now,” sana says softly, nudging your foot under the table. “you can put it on speaker.”

you hesitate, but her mum is already nodding. “that would be great, we would love to say hello.”

your phone is in your pocket so you fish it out, glancing at the time — still early evening in switzerland. you press call. the dial tone hums once, then twice and then your mum picks up.

“merry christmas, darling!”

“hi, mum,” you greet, smiling. “you’re on speaker.”

“oh?”

“i’m with sana’s parents,” you explain. “they wanted to say hi.”

sana’s dad leans forward. “merry christmas, hope you’re both having the best time,” he waves, warm and clear.

you can hear the delight in your mother’s voice. “oh, how lovely! thank you for hosting our daughter this year. we were sorry she couldn’t come with us.”

“she’s very welcome here,” her mum adds. “we’re happy to have her.”

sana chimes in next, her voice light. “hi, mr and mrs y/l/n. thanks for raising the most stubborn woman alive.”

your father’s voice comes through faintly in the background. “you’ve got your hands full, then.”

they all laugh and you feel your face warm. it feels good.

“we’ll let you go enjoy dinner,” your mum adds after a minute more of cheerful noise and small talk. “we’ll talk properly tomorrow.”

you hang up and sana squeezes your knee gently beneath the table.

her father’s already mid-sip of his wine when he says, “so, this firm you’re joining — under the kim family?”

“yes, taehyung’s dad offered me a placement earlier in the year.”

he snorts. “sounds about right; that man’s sharp. got his claws into you before the others could.”

you laugh, shaking your head. “he was persuasive.”

“a good sign,” he nods, raising his glass. “people chase talent, it means you’re doing something right if you’ve got one of south korea’s richest men to persuade you.”

you hum and it settles over you: the warmth, the acceptance, the easy rhythm of it all. there’s no tension in your shoulders and you don’t feel the need to read between words or brace yourself for correction — it’s a slow meal with people who see you as someone worth being proud of.

not tolerated nor excused, but welcomed with open arms.

dinner finishes with tea and fruits. sana’s mum brings out small velvet boxes and pushes one toward you. you hesitate, glance at sana, who’s smiling gently.

“we said no gifts.”

“and we ignored it,” her mum replies.

you open it carefully.

inside is a watch; silver and elegant, the weight of it immediately grounding as you glance at the name richard mille.

jesus christ, you thought.

beside it, wrapped in a velvet slip, is a gold pen with your initials carved at the top of it.

you’ve seen something like this pen before. on sana’s desk, in her hand, tucked into her notebook. she mentioned she got it at eighteen.

you look up, words forming slowly. “this is too much.”

“nonsense,” her father groans. “you’re part of our lives now; get used to it.”

you don’t trust your voice enough to speak, so you nod, fingers curling around the velvet like it’ll anchor you.

they don’t need thanks drawn out and scripted; you know their kindness doesn’t ask for anything in return and that’s the part that stings the most. you never knew you could be carried like this without having to earn it.

and when the table’s been cleared and the kitchen grows quiet and her parents disappear up the stairs with soft goodnights and kind glances, it’s just you and sana again — on the living room floor, legs stretched toward the fireplace, two glasses of wine resting on the table between you.

the fire crackles quietly, the only real sound in the room. you can still hear music faintly from the kitchen; jazz, maybe, but the rest of the world has dimmed.

your head leans slightly against her shoulder. she doesn’t move.

you’re full in every sense of the word. full of food, of warmth, of something else you haven’t named yet. and then your phone buzzes.

you feel the vibration in your pocket before the ring even begins.

it’s faint, easily ignorable, except something in your body registers it before your mind does. you shift slightly, ease your hand into your pocket, still curled up beside her in front of the fire.

the screen lights up and her name flashes once.

karina.

the air feels colder all of a sudden. your stomach twists, a quiet clench that catches you off guard. beside you, sana stirs slightly but she doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t need to. she sees the screen.

you stand up, too quickly.

“i’ll just — be a minute,” you murmur.

you stand without a word and she doesn’t look up.

you step out onto the balcony, sliding the door closed behind you. the air is cold against your neck, your breath blooming white in the dark.

and you answer before you can talk yourself out of it. “hello?”

her voice is exactly how you remember it — low, careful, like it’s measuring the silence between your words before they’re even spoken.

“hi, merry christmas, y/n.”

you close your eyes for a moment, let the wind bite at your face. “merry christmas, jimin.”

there’s a pause. you hear the hum of something in the background and neither of you speak for a second.

“i wasn’t sure if i should call, but you crossed my mind. i guess…you still do,” she continues, her voice is so small it barely carries on top of the breeze. “but i didn’t want to let the day pass without…saying it. i know you were excited for christmas.”

your hand curls around the edge of the railing, feeling the ache before it even takes shape. it’s not a painful, but more like the kind that’s been dulled by time but not erased.

“how are you?” you ask, unsure what to say next.

jimin exhales a shaky breath. “i’ve been better, but my parents are still asking if i’ve managed to win you back,” she lets out something close to a laugh, but it doesn’t reach her chest. “they say it like it’s a job — think they really wanted to know you more.”

you let the silence settle for a moment. it’s familiar, but it doesn’t hurt the same way anymore. you didn’t need to know any of that; no longer have the right to.

“how’s…jaewook?”

she’s quiet for a second too long. “umm, yeah, we broke up the day after that night i saw you. i think i knew i couldn’t keep lying to him and myself after that.”

you chew the inside of your cheek, the words settling slowly, heavy but unsurprising.

“i’m sorry,” you croak out.

“don’t be,” she replies. “i should’ve ended it a long time ago.”

the wind whistles faintly between the railing bars. you adjust your weight, heart beating a little harder than you would like.

“are you happy?” she asks; it’s barely more than a whisper. “with her?”

your breath catches with how much weight the questoon carries. you look through the frosted glass, into the house where sana still sits, curled into the couch, waiting patiently — warm and steady.

“yeah,” you reply after a second. “we’re…taking things slow. but it’s real; she’s real.”

she doesn’t reply right away either. when she does, her voice is rougher than before. “good.”

you believe her, mostly, or at least you want to.

“i’m glad,” she continues, though there’s something behind it…like she’s letting go of something without knowing if it’s the last time.

the silence comes back, thicker this time.

“thank you for calling,” you tell her, meaning it. “it’s really good to hear from you.”

you hear her exhale, something like a smile buried in it. “take care of yourself.”

“you too.”

the call ends.

you watch the snow fall for a few more seconds, then slide the phone back into your pocket, letting the cold seep into your skin just to feel everything clearly.

it was kind, that call. necessary, maybe. but you don’t feel unsteady and you don’t feel torn.

it feels…finished.

sana looks up as you return. she doesn’t move, but her face has changed, ever so slightly — like something pulled rigidly just beneath her eyes.

you feel it settle between you like a window left open just a little too long.

“if you ever want to go back to her,” she suddenly voices out, tone sorrowful: “i won’t hold it against you, i knew what i was getting myself into. and you don’t owe me anything at all.”

your heart drops as you stare at the fire for a second longer before you speak. “sana, baby, i want to keep moving with you.”

the words sit between you, unfurling slowly. she nods. once. but you can see how tightly she’s holding herself together.

under the couch, you pull out the small box you had been keeping for her. it’s not wrapped well and the corners are uneven and you had to tape the bottom twice because you suck at wrapping gifts — but you place it on her lap anyway.

“this is for you.”

she looks at you, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. she doesn’t reach for the gift right away. instead, she unwraps it slowly, fingers catching at the tape.

inside is a square canvas — the edges still a little rough where the paint dried too fast. it’s the two of you, sitting on a bench in that quiet park from that night. backs facing the viewer, just two figures with shoulders leaning in, hair caught in a breeze. nothing fancy, but it’s unmistakably you and her.

you wait while she stares at it.

then: “you painted this?”

you nod. your voice shakes a little. “a few weeks ago.”

her eyes flicker up. they’re glossy now and it breaks something open in your chest. she doesn’t speak for a long time, just holding the frame in both hands like she’s afraid it’ll slip.

you shift a little closer.

“i know we didn’t take a photo that day, we were both too drunk,” you explain, a smile on your face. “but i remember it. i remember thinking that if anything in my life ever felt like home again, it would be that moment — us under the stars, quietly figuring ourselves out.”

her breath hitches.

“i’m still scared,” you admit. “i still think i might mess this up. i still wake up sometimes not sure if i deserve any of it. but i want to try. you’re so, so, so important to me, sana, i never want to lose you again.”

the tears spill slowly, she doesn’t even bother hiding them.

“you’re such a jerk,” she mumbles through a soft laugh. “you couldn’t have said all that before the wine?”

you smile, a little helpless. “sorry.”

she puts the painting down carefully and reaches for your hand. “you won’t lose me, not this time.”

you pull her in gently and she lets you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, the painting resting carefully against her side.

“you matter to me,” you whisper. “always.”

“i know,” she says. “i just needed to hear you say it.”

and so you do. again and again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

you wake to the dull hum of your phone vibrating on the nightstand. you don’t reach for it straight away — your eyes are still adjusting. and sana’s breath is warm against your neck, she shifts slightly, murmuring something in her sleep and her arm curls tighter around your waist.

the screen glows again. this time you blink fully awake and glance over.

but the sound doesn’t stop. it pulses again —persistent. you shift, groggy, reaching toward the nightstand where your phone is lighting up.

karina is calling…

“the fuck?” you let out a quiet sigh through your nose, staring at the screen like maybe, if you’re still enough, it’ll stop ringing.

it doesn’t. the digits blur slightly — 2:31 a.m.

sana stirs behind you. “who is it?” her voice is still caught in sleep, soft and heavy.

“it’s…jimin,” you mumble out in slight disbelief. “she’s calling, should i answer?”

you half expect her to roll away, to go quiet like last time. but instead, she rests her hand against your shoulder and says, gently: “answer it.”

you turn to her. “are you sure?”

she nods; her hair’s messy against the pillow, eyes barely open, but she still offers you a small, understanding smile. “i know what it’s like…to be the one who never gets the call back.”

your heart aches at that, but you nod and slide off the bed quietly, grabbing your hoodie from the chair as you step out into the lounge room.

you swipe to answer. “hello, jimin?”

you’re already halfway down the hallway, bare feet padding softly against the hardwood, heart thumping as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

her voice cracks instantly through the speaker. “you answered…i wasn’t sure.”

it’s messy — slurred, uneven, like her tongue’s too slow to keep up with her mouth. there’s noise in the background. a car maybe, or the wind, it’s nothing solid.

“are you okay?” you ask. “where are you?”

“i don’t know,” she breathes. you can hear her sniffle. “i didn’t want to call, i just — i couldn’t not. fuck, i sound so stupid.”

your brows furrow, concern rising. you drop onto the couch, pressing the phone harder to your ear.

“jimin, what’s going on? are you out?”

“i wanted to see you,” she answers, voice trembling. “i keep wanting to see you. i keep seeing you. it’s like — everything i do reminds me of you and i don’t even know if you care anymore. do you still care?”

you sit down on the couch, rubbing at your temple. “what more do you want from me?”

“you,” she says it so fast like it’s always been waiting behind her teeth. “i want you back.”

you close your eyes. “karina…”

“don’t, don’t say it like that, don’t say it in that tone like you pity me.”

you run a hand through your hair, staring at the dark screen of the tv in front of you. “you’re drunk, can you please send me your location?”

“you still care?” she asks, voice wobbling. “you still care about me, don’t you?”

you don’t answer that. instead, you repeat, firmer this time, “send me your location. please.”

she sniffs, quiet for a moment. then the familiar ping of a map drops into your phone. “you didn’t answer me…”

“stay on the line,” you demand. and she doesn’t argue.

you get up from the couch, walking back toward the bedroom. sana’s sitting up now, pulling her hair back into a bun. the bedside lamp is on, casting soft yellow against the walls. she looks tired, but she’s already pointing at her bag.

“keys are in the front pocket,” she gestures you over with a sleepy, understanding smile.

you lean in, press your mouth to her temple, then her cheek, her skin warm and soft against your lips. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t be,” she cups your jaw gently. “all i want is for you to bring her home safe.”

“i’ll be back soon,” you whisper.

“i know.”

you slip your shoes on at the door, phone still pressed to your ear as you speak quietly to jimin, who’s gone quiet but hasn’t hung up.

“hey,” you say. “i’m coming to get you, okay?”

there’s no response at first. then: “okay.”

the street is cold and quiet, light snow from the previous night still melting in uneven patches along the curb. you get in the car, engine humming to life with your hand tight on the wheel. you glance once at the rearview mirror and try not to think too hard about where this night is headed.

because even now — even with sana asleep in your bed, with your life finally steady, with love that doesn’t hurt — you’re still driving out into the dark when jimin calls and a part of you hates that you always will.

the streets are empty this late. seoul feels softer somehow, the edges dulled by the chill and the quiet. traffic lights flicker through amber and red, casting slow glows against the frost on your windscreen. the heater hums low.

while jimin’s still on the line, she’s quiet now, only the sound of her sniffling breaking through. you don’t say anything. there’s nothing left to say in the silence and yet you stay on the call.

you drive with one hand on the wheel, the other holding the phone to your ear, her breath moving in and out like waves.

the location leads you to a quiet side street near a convenience store. a line of taxis sits idle nearby, lights off, drivers probably asleep. you see her before she sees you — curled up on a bench, knees pulled tight to her chest, hair tousled and damp. her coat’s buttoned wrong and she looks smaller than you remember.

the sight of her like this does something strange to your chest — splits it, gently, like an old wound reopening along its scar line. you hadn’t realised how deeply the memory of her lived in your body.

but you get out anyway.

each step toward her feels like walking underwater. heavy and unreal. it’s not like the movies; there’s no music, no chatter, not even the buzz of the neon bar sign — just the sound of your boots crunching over ice and her small, wracked breaths in the distance.

she looks up; mascara smudged under both eyes, blinking like she’s not sure if you’re really here.

“you came,” she speaks, voice shaking. “you actually came.”

you crouch down beside her. “of course i did.”

it’s not even a sentence, really. her lips part like she wants to speak, but nothing comes out except a new wave of tears. she breaks immediately — no hesitation, no pride left to cling to. she just folds into you like muscle memory, like all those months apart didn’t stretch the distance between your bodies.

her arms lock around your neck, shoulders shaking violently, the kind of crying that comes from somewhere deeper than sadness.

grief, maybe. or realisation.

“you look so much happier now,” she mumbles into your sleeve, voice muffled in between breaths. “with sana. i see it in your face…you never looked at me like that.”

“that’s not true,” you reassure her. “

she puts a slight distance between you two, wiping her face with the sleeve of her coat instead. her eyes are swollen, cheeks red from the cold. “i ruined it. i ruined everything.

you look at her, really take a good look at her. the way her lips are chapped, she looks so tired. you wonder if she’s eaten today.

if she’s still trying to pretend she’s okay to everyone but you.

“maybe,” you say gently. “but that doesn’t mean i hate you.”

she laughs bitterly through her tears. “you should.”

“i don’t,” you say again. “you loved me in the way you could…it just wasn’t enough.”

the words feel cruel even as you say them, but they’re honest. and maybe she needs that more than kindness right now.

you guide her to the car with gentle hands, barely saying a word. she’s compliant but stumbling, half-apologising through her sobs. her coat slips off one shoulder, and you pull it up, fasten the belt for her. the seatbelt clicks into place and you pass her the water bottle from the centre console.

“drink some of this, you need it.”

she obeys. she always does with you, even now. she’s still crying — softly, into the crook of her elbow. you start the car and pull into the road without asking where to go.

you already know.

the han river’s quiet this time of night. empty car park, the kind of silence you used to share like a secret. back then, it felt like the only place in the city where you could breathe together.

no lights except the scattered halos of streetlamps catching on the water. you pull into the spot she used to love — far left corner, facing the ripples.neither of you speak right away.

the engine hums low on the background.

“i used to take you here every time i ran out of things to say,” she whispers. her voice is hoarse. “and somehow you always found more.”

you turn to her. she’s staring out at the river like it holds every answer she was too scared to look for back then. her hands tremble as she sets the water down to her lap.

“why did i do that?” she asks, voice small. “why did i lie to you every time i told you i was choosing you? why did i make you believe that?”

you don’t know how to answer. you’ve asked yourself the same thing, over and over. back then it felt like she was always reaching for you with one hand and holding something else in the other.

you wanted her to choose, you waited for it. but she never did.

“i was so scared,” she admits, eyes glistening again. “not of you. of what it meant to love you that much and the expectations already set out for me in stone.”

you remain quiet because your throat aches with too much of everything. she reaches for your hand, like she’s checking to see if it’s still real.

you watch the water shimmer through the windshield, her reflection blurring next to yours in the glass. “i tried so hard to let you go, but i think i just…folded you into every part of me instead.”

“i hated myself for how i treated you,” jimin continued, her voice cracking again. “i still do.”

“don’t,” you finally look at her. “you were scared. people make stupid choices when they’re scared.”

“you weren’t,” she lets out a pained sob. “you never were. you always chose me, even when it hurt. even when i couldn’t say your name out loud.”

“and you’re punishing yourself for not being ready, but that’s not love, jimin. it’s guilt. and it’s going to eat you alive if you let it.”

you both sit there for a long time, her head resting against the window and her hand still holding yours.

she folds over again, body racked with sobs, and you do what you’ve always done — you hold her. her head lands onto your shoulder this time and she grips your sleeve like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.

at some point, you find tears slipping out of your eyes too. not because you still want her, not in that way. but because once, you really did. and that kind of loss never leaves quietly.

you stroke her hair slowly, the silence stretching around you like a blanket pulled tight. it’s not cold anymore, but you’re both shivering from everything else.

then, your phone buzzes. sana. asking if you’re still there…but it feels like a different question, like it holds another meaning than just there.

“we should go,” you heave out a sigh. “sana’s waiting for me.”

“okay,” she nods quietly. “okay, we can do that.”

she’s quiet when you drive her home. her hand stays in yours the whole ride, resting on the centre console, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

nothing needs to be said now.

when you pull up outside her building, she doesn’t move at first. she just turns to you, eyes full and steady. she hesitates. and then, barely above a whisper: “will you stay with me tonight?”

you pause, heart twisting, then stills. “no,” you say, as gently as you can. “i can’t.”

she nods, like she expected that answer but it still wounds her. “this is goodbye, isn’t it?”

you look over at her. “i…yeah. i think so.”

she reaches out, touches your cheek gently, her fingers cold but still familiar. you shake your head, but she leans in, presses her forehead against yours and keeps going. “if i ever get another chance…i’ll do it right.”

your eyes sting and having her this close again makes your chest ache. “jimin —“

her voice is barely a whisper now, her tears falling on your lap. “if i have to wait a lifetime, i will. if not this one, then the next.”

you don’t promise anything, but you press your forehead to hers for a moment longer and then pull away.

“please go inside,” you whisper, closing your eyes. “goodnight, jimin.”

she nods and steps out of the car — doesn’t look back but you can see the way her shoulders shake. you watch her walk away until she disappears into the building, and only then do you let the tears fall freely.

it’s not love anymore, not quite. but it’s still something. maybe it always will be.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

you don’t mean to make a big deal of it. not really.

the sky’s that bright blue that means late spring is almost over and it’s warm enough that the breeze coming off the han river barely makes a difference.

sana’s leaning back on her elbows, the grass soft beneath the blanket she insisted on bringing. it’s the same one from the last time — the one you two fell asleep under after sneaking snacks into a campus lawn movie night months ago. you’re both stretched out at yeouido park, iced coffee mostly melted between you, the soft hum of people around blending with the low strum of an acoustic busker in the distance.

you should be focused on your book but you’re not. you’ve been reading the same paragraph three times; she keeps tapping your ankle with hers. she’s got sunglasses on, head tilted back like she’s soaking in the last of the coldness before summer pulls it away.

“you’re staring,” she says, not looking at you, her mouth tugged up into the smallest smirk. “i can feel it.”

“i’m not,” you lie, flipping the page like that’ll save you.

she doesn’t push, just keeps tapping your ankle lazily, her foot warm against yours. you want to tell her to stop because it’s driving you mad, the affection of it.

the way she still treats you like someone precious, even when you’ve made her wait all this time.

you glance sideways at her. her lips are soft and she’s wearing your hoodie. she smells like the inside of your pillow. and when she turns her head to face you — sunglasses sliding down a little — you feel it all at once.

every slow moment you’ve spent together since winter. the little things. the movie nights, the long drives, the way she remembers how you take your coffee. how she’s never made you feel like loving her is a countdown to goodbye.

and god, you love her.

you set your book down. “hey, sana.”

she hums.

“can we —” you falter. clear your throat. “can we make this official?”

that gets her. she pushes her sunglasses up onto her head, blinks at you like she didn’t hear you right. “what?”

you sit up straighter, stomach twisting. “i mean…i want to be with you. like, actually with you. if you still want that.”

she’s silent for a second too long, in the way you know she’s replaying your words, making sure they’re real. her smile starts in her eyes before it reaches her lips.

“you’re asking me to be your girlfriend,” she repeats slowly, softly, like she wants to savour it.

you nod, heart thudding. “yeah.”

“finally,” she lets out a breath, practically laughs, and then leans forward, pulling you in by the front of your hoodie and kissing you, full and slow and warm like sunlight. it’s like she’s known it would happen, eventually, and now it has. her hands cradle your face as she pulls away. “took you long enough.”

you smile against her lips, relief blooming in your chest. “sorry.”

“i forgive you,” she grins. “but only because you’re cute.”

you groan, bury your face in her shoulder. “i should’ve asked you when you brought me coffee every morning for a week. or when you stayed up all night helping me with my thesis draft.”

“or when my parents bought you that fancy watch for christmas.”

“okay, yes, that too.”

she plays with the hem of your sleeve. “i would’ve said yes every time.”

you look down at her fingers brushing yours. “i know.”

and you do. you really do…because that’s the difference with sana. with her, there’s no guessing. just quiet loyalty, kindness that doesn’t make you feel small.

you both lie back again, the moment settling into your bones. she squeezes your hand once and doesn’t let go and the grass rustles beside you.

you don’t say anything more. you don’t need to. she knows.

and somewhere, maybe not too far off, you think of jimin — how some things burn out before they ever have the chance to be steady. how sometimes, it’s not about who makes your heart race, but who makes it feel safe to stay.

today, you chose safety. and maybe that’s what love is now. not the ache of almost, but the warmth of finally.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

fuck, you didn’t plan on seeing her.

not today of all days — when you’re feeling light, even content, walking along the street with a brown paper bag in hand, the apricot pastry tucked neatly inside.

sana had texted you earlier, something about being stuck in a last-minute campaign, promising to make it up to you with takeout and terrible reality tv.

but campus is small, specially after graduation. the cafés are familiar and the corners shared.

jimin.

she’s sitting alone outside, cup of americano going cold in front of her, a book she isn’t reading open on her lap. her hair’s even shorter now, blunt around her jaw and she’s dressed in black again, like she’s always bracing for winter, even in the middle of summer.

you think of walking past or turning around, but your feet don’t move fast enough and she looks up like clockwork — and there it is. the recognition and the pause. her eyes soften the second they land on you and she lifts a hand in a small wave.

your feet begin walk over. there’s no ache in your chest now. it’s something softer; nostalgic.

“hey y/n,” she smiles, a bit brighter now.

“jimin!” you sit across from her, slipping the bag onto your lap. your heart isn’t racing like before, now it’s a steady thrum, a quiet reminder of everything you used to feel.

“hey,” she repeats, voice low.

still familiar. still jimin.

“hi, how are you doing?”

“i’m well,” her lips twitch into something like a smile. “you look good.”

you shrug. “so do you. different…i like the short hair, it’s good.”

it’s awkward in a way it always is with exes…or whatever you two were.

she nods slowly, as if she knows. “i feel different.”

you glance at the book on her table — something classic, spine cracked, pages annotated in the way she always used to do when she was trying to understand something deeply. you used to love watching her read like that, as if the words meant everything and they were a map.

“i heard about you and sana,” she adds after a beat. not bitter, just factual. “and graduating top of your class isn’t an easy feat; i’m so proud of you.”

you nod again, it means a lot coming from her. “we’re doing well.”

there’s a pause. then she says: “she’s good to you.”

“she always has been.”

and jimin looks down, eyes on her coffee. her voice is steady when she speaks; “i’ve been thinking a lot. about everything. about how i was with you. with jaewook, with…myself.”

you don’t say anything. just listen.

“after you,” she continues, “i tried to fill the space with noise. with him. with plans that didn’t belong to me. i thought maybe if i pretended hard enough, it’d go away. the guilt and the wanting.”

you watch her hands as she speaks. they’re calmer now. no shaking, no nervous twitching. just open palms, resting on her lap.

“i broke up with jaewook a few weeks after that night at the restaurant. i didn’t tell anyone. i think part of me was still waiting for you to come back.”

your chest tightens — not painfully, but enough to remind you that the past isn’t as far away as you sometimes pretend.

“but you didn’t,” she adds. “and i’m glad you didn’t because it forced me to stop waiting and start…choosing.”

you tilt your head slightly. “choosing?”

“myself. finally,” she lets out a breath. “i’m taking over the family business.”

that makes you blink. “really?”

she nods, chuckling. “yeah, i always thought it was a sentence. something i’d be trapped in. but now it’s…mine. i want to do it right. make something out of it that means something. not because they told me to — but because i want to.”

you can’t help it; you smile. for her; with her, because you can recognise how far she’s come.

“i’m proud of you for deciding on that; jimin, the ceo of yu group — can’t believe i get to say i knew her.”

jimin looks up then, really stares at you. and for a second, you see her as she was when you first fell in love — messy-haired, sharp-tongued, eyes always searching for something to hold onto.

“thank you for loving me the way you did. i was too young to understand it at the time, too scared and stupid.”

you nod slowly, the words settling somewhere deep inside. “i used to wish you’d been braver.”

“i know,” she smiles, a little sad. “i wish i had been too.”

you both sit there for a while, letting the silence do what words can’t. there’s nothing sharp in the air anymore. no what-ifs or if-onlys; just two people who survived each other.

“i miss you,” she admits, finally.

you meet her gaze. “i miss you too, but i don’t miss us.”

it’s gentle, the way you say it, but you can see it hit her — the truth of it. she doesn’t cry and doesn’t reach for you. instead, breathes in then out.

“and thank you for loving me when i didn’t know how to love you back properly.”

you smile, soft at the edges. “you taught me a lot. even in the mess of it.”

she laughs, a little broken, a little healed. “that’s the nicest way anyone’s ever told me i was a total disaster.”

you smile shyly too, brushing imaginary dust off your jeans. “take care of yourself, jimin.”

“you too,” she says. “and y/n?”

you pause.

“if you ever need someone to have your back — even if it’s from far away — it’ll always be me. what i said that night…i meant it. in every lifetime.”

your throat tightens, offering her a small smile. “i know.”

you walk away, heart strangely light. there’s no heaviness, but you carry the knowledge that some people are lessons. and some are homes.

sana’s probably waiting for you back at the apartment now, with her soft playlists and too-large jumpers and the smell of peppermint tea she always forgets to finish, wondering if you remembered the name of the pastry this time.

you did; and this time, you’re bringing it home.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

[hereforuconnwbb]

The Study of Us - CHAPTER 10

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 5.1k

warning: none

hey lovelyssss heres chap 10 !! nm to say abt it but that once again it is unedited 😭 lmk what yall think abt this chapter !! hope u guys enjoy🫶🏽

‼️‼️this wasn’t edited

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday morning came quietly. The week had flown by faster than either of them realised. The days had been spent sitting close, papers spread across the desk, voices low and patient, the steady rhythm of their sessions folding into something natural and comfortable.

Azzi’s alarm on her phone buzzed softly next to her bed. She’d woken early and instinctively reached for it.

Azzi: morning p 💗

Azzi:  u ready for tdy ? 

A minute later, Paige’s reply appeared.

Paige: morning az 💗

Paige: not too sure tbh

Paige: i feel liek ik some things and then other stuff js slips away when i try to focus 😭

Paige: but tysm for sticking with me thru this whole thing tho

Azzi smiled to herself, the warmth in her chest growing as she typed back quickly.

Azzi: u have worked hard for this. that’s what matters most

Azzi: we got this

There was a pause before Paige’s next message.

Paige: would it be alr if i come over ??

Paige: maybe we could go thru a couple last things before we leave ?

Azzi didn’t hesitate.

Azzi: yea ofc. come on over whenever 

Azzi: i will make some eggs and toast too :)

She set her phone down and started getting ready, the morning moving around her in slow, easy steps. There was no rush. The day was theirs to face together.

—---------------------------------------------

The soft knock on Azzi’s door barely echoed in the quiet dorm hallway. She was just pulling on a sweater when she heard it, and a smile spread across her face before she even moved.

“Coming !” Azzi called, stepping quickly to open the door.

Paige was there, looking a little tired but with that familiar spark in her eyes that always made Azzi’s chest warm. Without thinking, Azzi reached out and pulled Paige into a gentle hug, fingers threading through her hair for a moment.

“Hey,” Azzi whispered, voice soft.

“Hey,” Paige replied, leaning in just a little before pulling back, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks for letting me crash your morning.”

Azzi shrugged, stepping aside. “You know you’re always welcome.”

Paige slipped inside, closing the door softly behind her. She moved toward the small lounge area, lowering herself onto the couch with a sigh. Azzi watched her for a beat, then turned toward the kitchen.

“I’ll bring us some breakfast,” Azzi said, moving quickly but carefully.

In a few minutes, Azzi returned carrying two plates, the steam rising from the warm eggs and toast. She set them down on the low table, then sank down beside Paige.

They ate quietly at first, the comfort of shared space wrapping around them like a soft blanket. Paige’s fingers toyed nervously with the edge of her sleeve, and Azzi caught the small gesture with a quiet smile.

“You ok ?” Azzi asked, voice gentle.

Paige nodded, though a little hesitantly. “Yea, jus… you know, the usual jitters. But this feels good—being here with you.”

Azzi reached over, brushing a stray strand of hair behind Paige’s ear, the touch light and reassuring.

“We’re ready. You’re ready. No matter what happens today, that’s what counts.”

Paige’s smile deepened, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a bit. In this moment, the world felt steady, grounded in warmth, quiet companionship, and the unspoken promise of whatever was unfolding between them.

—---------------------------------------------

They lingered over breakfast longer than they needed to, neither 1 in a rush to break the easy quiet between them. The eggs were simple, the toast a little unevenly buttered, but Paige swore it was perfect.

Azzi didn’t argue. She just smiled softly as Paige reached for the last bite on her plate and made a dramatic show of how good it was.

When they were both finished, Paige stood and reached for the plates before Azzi could stop her.

“I’ll wash them,” she said, already headed toward the kitchen.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Paige tossed a glance over her shoulder. “You cooked. It’s only fair.”

Azzi let her go without protest, watching her move around the space like she belonged there. It did something small and tender in her chest.

While Paige worked at the sink, Azzi crossed the room and grabbed her folder of notes from the desk. She brought everything to the couch and settled in, folding 1 leg underneath her, waiting.

When Paige came back, drying her hands on a paper towel, Azzi looked up and smiled.

“Ready ?” she asked.

Paige nodded, then paused scanning the space beside Azzi. Without saying anything, she slid onto the couch next to her, close enough that their sides brushed. Then, gently, she leaned into Azzi’s back, arms slipping around her waist as her chin came to rest on Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi’s breath caught for half a second but then she relaxed into it like it was the most natural thing in the world. She leaned back slightly, letting herself fit into Paige’s hold, her head tipping slihgtly to the side so her temple could rest against Paige’s cheek.

“This ok ?” Paige murmured.

Azzi nodded, her voice soft. “Yea. More than okay.”

They sat like that for a moment, the notes still untouched on Azzi’s lap. Then Azzi picked them up and flipped through the pages.

“Alrighty. Let’s go over a couple things, yea ?”

Paige gave a sleepy hum of agreement, her arms still wrapped around Azzi, her thumbs tracing absent circles just below her ribs. Azzi’s voice stayed calm and focused as she moved through the review, occasionally tilting her head to glance at Paige’s answers, her own handwriting scrawled neatly across diagrams and formula sheets.

“Ok,” Azzi said, tapping the corner of the next problem with her pen. “Let’s try this one—eigenvalues for this matrix here.”

Paige squinted at it, pulling her arms in a little to think. “Um… you find the determinant of A minus lambda I, right ?”

“Right,” Azzi nodded. “And then ?”

“You… set it equal to zero and solve for lambda?”

“Exactly.”

Paige tried to work through the problem in her head, but her brows knit together after a second. “Wait, how do I know I’m setting it up right again ? I always get stuck when there’s variables in the diagonal.”

Azzi paused for a second, then smiled. “Remember how I explained it before ?”

Paige blinked, then let out a breath of laughter. “Oh my god, yeaaaaa. You said the diagonal was like the players running a full-court press, and the rest of the team had to hold their zones until the pressure backed off.”

Azzi laughed too, her body shaking lightly in Paige’s arms. “Exactly. And you subtract lamvda from the diagonal entries because they’re the ones applying pressure and everything else stays the same unless the press breaks.”

Paige grinned against Azzi’s shoulder. “Okok, that actually helped so much.”

She refocused, working through the rest of the problem aloud while Azzi listened patiently. When she got to the end, Azzi glanced at the work and nodded.

“You nailed it.”

“Let’s gooooooooo,” Paige whispered dramatically into Azzi’s ear, squeezing her gently.

Azzi laughed again, leaning her head back further until it bumped lightly against Paige’s. “Told you you were ready.”

They stayed like that for a while longer, the review continuing in quiet fits and starts. Calculus derivatives turned into little memory games. Paige mumbled through integrals and Azzi softly corrected her when needed, guiding her through it like they had all week.

Eventually, Azzi’s notes thinned out, more comfort than study material now. Paige had gone quiet, no longer tracing patterns on her side, instead, just resting, arms loosely around Azzi’s waist, her cheek warm against her shoulder.

Azzi checked the time, a small sigh escaping before she turned her head slightly. “We should probably head over now.”

Paige groaned into her shoulder. “Five more mins ?”

Azzi smiled. “If we wait five more, you’ll ask for ten.”

Paige leaned back, releasing her with a dramatic stretch. “Fine. But only because I’m feeling weirdly prepared and don’t wanna jinx it.”

Azzi set the notes aside and stood, brushing her palms over her sweats. “You are prepared. You’ve been locked in all week.”

“Not true,” Paige said, rising to her feet with a small bounce. “There were at least two days where I zoned out thinking about mac n cheese and couldn’t remember what a derivative even was.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “And yet, you still nailed that practice quiz we did last night.”

Paige beamed, grabbing her jacket from the back of the coach. “Welp, that was mostly thanks to you.”

Azzi glanced at her, the smile soft and quiet. “You didn’t need much help. You just needed someone to believe you could do it.”

They both moved around the room in an easy rhythm. When everything was packed, they met near the door.

Paige bumped her shoulder against Azzi’s as she reached for the handle. “If I blank mid-exam, I’m blaming you.”

Azzi tilted her head. “For what ?”

“For setting the bar so high,” Paige said, grinning. “Now my brain thinks it’s supposed to remember everything.”

Azzi laughed. “That’s the idea.”

—---------------------------------------------

The walk was filled with light convos and the occasional shoulder bump when Paige got too animated describing how she’d probably freeze on question 1 and have to wing it with confidence. Azzi just smiled through most of it, offering a quiet reassurance here and there that Paige really was ready, even if she didn’t fully believe it yet.

As they neared the lecture hall, the mood shifted slightly to something more focused and a lil heavier. Other students were already filing in, some reviewing notes, others sitting with blank stares like they were trying to mentally teleport somewhere else. 

Azzi and Paige paused just inside, scanning the projector screen where the seating chart was displayed. Paige squinted, reading aloud under her breath. “Ok… I’m seat 4B… and you’re—”

“4D,” Azzi finished, already spotting the row. “We’re kinda next to each other.”

Paige exhaled with mock relief. “Thank god. If I have a meltdown mid-test, at least you’ll be close enough to hear it.”

Azzi gave her a look. “Just read the questions first. Don’t panic.”

“I make no promises,” Paige whispered dramatically as they made their way down the aisle.

Coincidentally their assigned row was already partially filled. Aubrey sat in 4A, legs stretched out and tapping her pencil against the desk rhythmically, while Caroline was on 4C, flipping through flashcards. Both looked up when they noticed Paige and Azzi approaching.

“Well well well,” Aubrey said, her grin already forming. “Look who finally showed up. Had to squeeze in one last study cuddle ?”

Paige shot her a look as she dropped into her seat in between Aubrey and Caroline. “It was a review sesh.”

“Mhmmmmm,” Caroline said, not even bothering to hide her smirk as Azzi quietly took her seat on the other side of her. “You look very academically prepared.”

Azzi didn’t say anything, just busied herself with pulling out a pencil and glancing forward.

As students continued to file in, the professor finally stepped up to the center of the room and clapped his hands once, grabbing everyone’s attention.

“Alright,” he called out. “Linear algebra and calc. You’ve had all week to prep, and now it’s time for the real deal. No phones, no notes, no excuses.”

The professor began walking through the aisles, handing out last-minute instructions and exam booklets. When he reached their row, he paused just in front of Paige’s desk.

He offered her a kind, knowing smile and lowered his voice. “Good luck, Paige. I’m sure you’ll smash it today… especially after all that extra tutoring with your girlfriend I’ve seen.”

A beat of silence.

Azzi’s head snapped up.

Paige blinked. “She’s not—” Her voice came out too fast, too high. “We’re not—uh—we’re just friends.”

The professor raised a brow like he didn’t buy it for a second. “Right right. Of course. You said that last time.” He gave them both a wink. “Still. It’s been nice watching you both work so hard. Very sweet.”

Then, before Paige could muster a reply, he gave her a light, encouraging pat on the back.

Paige opened her mouth again, then closed it, clearly at a loss.

Beside her, Aubrey let out a loud cough that suspiciously sounded like a laugh, and Caroline didn’t even try to hide hers, covering her mouth as her shoulders shook.

Azzi had gone completely still, the tips of her ears visibly pink.

The professor moved on like nothing happened, continuing down the row to distribute the rest of the exams.

Paige froze for a moment, cheeks flushing deep as she glanced sideways at Azzi, a nervous laugh bubbling out that quickly turned into a quiet, embarrassed smile. She dropped her eyes, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve.

Azzi’s own laugh was low and awkward, her head tilting down just slightly, trying not to meet Paige’s gaze. Caroline, sitting between them, caught the moment and snorted softly, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips.

Paige cleared her throat, still blushing, and just murmured, “Ok… that just happened.”

Azzi gave a small, shy nod, eyes still on her lap. “Yep.”

Aubrey leaned forward slightly from her seat. “Girlfriend, ay ?”

Caroline chimed in, still grinning. “You two are so bad at hiding it.”

“We’re not hiding anything,” Paige muttered, tugging her jacket up like it might shield her from further embarrassment.

“Exactly,” Aubrey said. “That’s the problem.”

Before Paige could fire back, the professor returned to the front of the room.

“Alright class, you may now begin,” he called, and the room filled with the sounds of pages turning and nervous throat clears.

Paige stared down at the first problem and let out a slow, focused breath.

The quiet rustle of pages and scratching of pencils filled the room. Her fingers curled slightly around the pencil, but for a moment, her mind blanked.

Azzi noticed immediately. Her pencil paused mid-scribble, and without a word, she angled her body just enough to catch Paige’s eye. Azzi took a slow, deliberate breath, in and out, steady and even. Then she gave Paige a small, encouraging smile.

Paige’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, the tension loosening. She mirrored the breath, slow and steady, matching Azzi’s rhythm, and the warm confidence spread like a spark across the court of her nerves. Her pulse slowed, the panic retreating behind her focus.

The first few questions flowed beneath her pencil—straightforward matrices, simple derivatives, nothing to trip over. She moved with more ease, her mind settling into the rhythm of problem-solving. The numbers and variables felt less like obstacles and more like players moving on the court, each with a role and purpose.

Then she hit a stop, a layered problem, a tangle of integrals and eigenvalues that made her pause. Her breath hitched as the old fear bubbled up again. For a split second, the room seemed to tilt, the numbers blurring like defenders closing in fast.

But then, just as suddenly, the memory flickered of the late-night study session with Azzi a few days ago, the way they had talked through it slowly, breaking it down step-by-step. She pictured Azzi’s hand tracing through the problem, Azzi’s voice breaking down the “pick-and-roll” of the calculus, the way 1 part set up the next, how you could anticipate the moves and find the open shot.

Paige’s fingers tightened around the pencil, steadying, and she began again, this time with a clear path forward. Step by step, she dismantled the problem, the pieces falling into place like a practiced play. The panic faded again fully now, replaced by a quiet confidence as she wrote the final answer with a small, satisfied nod.

Azzi glanced over once more, her eyes bright with encouragement and a subtle pride, before returning to her own test.

Paige settled deeper into the chair, the nervous energy replaced by a steady determination

—---------------------------------------------

The final question appeared across the bottom of the page. Paige gave it a quick scan, noting the multistep logic and a sneaky limit tucked at the end, but instead of the familiar wave of dread, she felt momentum. Like the game was tied and the clock was winding down, but the ball was in her hands and her footing was solid.

Her pencil moved with purpose. She could almost hear Azzi’s voice again, low and clear: “Start with what you know.” So she did. She worked through each piece slowly, cautiously, and then faster as confidence grew. Substitution, simplification, draw the line between what’s real and what’s just noise. She boxed her final answer with a small flourish.

Just as she leaned back to glance over her work, the professor’s voice rang out from the front.

“All right, everyone—pencils down !”

A collective exhale filled the lecture hall. Some students stretched. Others slumped forward, mentally drained. Paige let her pencil roll off her fingers and onto the desk with a soft clatter. Her shoulders fell in relief, a slow, satisfied grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

“I’ll come around to collect,” the professor added, already making his way down the rows.

As he approached, Paige turned her test over neatly and slid it to the corner of her desk, fingers brushing over the cover one last time. She caught Azzi’s eye again, she looked calm and unfazed, like she’d just jogged a mile and hadn’t broken a sweat. Their gazes locked, and this time, Paige was the one who smiled first.

“Seems like you killed it,” Azzi mouthed, her eyes crinkling ever so slightly.

Paige’s grin widened.

As the professor passed, they handed in their papers 1 after the other, then gathered their things in unison. Aubrey let out a groan as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

“Well, that was kinda evil,” she muttered.

“Speak for yourself,” Caroline said breezily, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. “That was the least painful one yet. I’m calling that a win.”

The 4 of them filed out into the hallway, their steps naturally syncing as they moved away from the room. 

“I’m gonna head back to my dorm and get my stuff together,” Aubrey said, nudging Caroline lightly with her elbow.

“Yea, same,” Caroline replied. “Gotta finish packing before I head out.”

They shared a knowing glance as Aubrey shot a playful look back at Paige. “Text if you forget your toothbrush again.”

Paige rolled her eyes with a soft laugh. “Bruh that was one time.”

“Sure it was,” Caroline called back over her shoulder as the 2 of them disappeared down the corrifdor.

And then it was just Paige and Azzi.

They lingered just outside, the hallway quieting now that the post-test rush had eased. Paige leaned against the wall for a second, letting the calm wash over her. Azzi tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and turned to her, voice soft.

“So…” Azzi asked, tilting her head slightly. “How’d it feel?”

Paige looked at her. She didn’t need to think long.

“Better than I expected,” she said honestly. “There were a couple problems that tried to mess with me, but I think I handled them ok. I didn’t freeze up, at least not for long.” Her eyes flicked to Azzi’s. “And… I remembered a lot of what we went over.”

Azzi’s smile grew, quiet and proud. “I could tell. You looked pretty locked in.”

Paige gave a modest shrug, but her cheeks warmed again—this time for a different reason entirely. “I mean… having you there definitely helped.”

Azzi laughed gently. “I didn’t do anything but breathe and stare at you.”

“Exactly,” Paige said, nudging her with her elbow, then immediately pretending like she hadn’t just flirted. “Anyways… I should probs go and  pack my stuff too before it gets late.”

Azzi nodded, lifting her backpack a little higher on her shoulder. “Makes sense.”

There was a small pause. Paige rubbed her thumb along the strap of her own bag before looking back up.

“Hey,” she said casually, “you wanna come with ? I mean, just to hang around while I pack.”

Azzi blinked, surprised by the offer, but she recovered quickly with a soft smile. “Yea,” she said, voice light. “Sure. I’d like that.”

Paige’s lips curled into a grin she couldn’t quite suppress, heart tapping just a little faster again but for the best reason.

They fell into step together, headed down the hall and toward Paige's  dorm. The test was done, the stress was behind them, and now, for the first time all day, the world felt a little lighter.

—---------------------------------------------

The door clicked shut behind them as Paige dropped her keys into the small dish by the entrance.

“As usual, make yourself at home,” Paige said as she took off her shoes.

Azzi was already moving toward the couch, sinking into the far corner like she belonged there, legs folded under her and an easy expression on her face. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Paige shot her a quick look, the edges of her mouth curling upward, before turning to the open bag on the floor. She crouched down next to it, unzipping the main compartment and tugging out a few folded items that had clearly been laid out with care earlier. 

The silence that settled between them wasn’t awkward—it was warm, comfortable, but still laced with the faint hum of something unspoken. Azzi watched her from the couch, chin resting on her knuckles, a soft smile tugging at her lips every time Paige muttered to herself or double-checked an item.

Paige reached for a few pieces of neatly stacked gear on her dresser and tucked them into the duffel 1 by 1.

“Ok,” Paige mumbled to herself. “Shoes, airpids, contact case… what else, what else…”

“You packed chargers?” Azzi asked from the couch.

Paige turned slightly over her shoulder. “Are you calling me predictable?”

Azzi lifted a brow. “No. I’m calling you practical. That flight is like three hours if I remember correctly, and you can’t survive without your tech.”

Paige smirked, but her cheeks warmed as she turned back to her packing. “Maybe I packed a backup portable.”

Azzi grinned, satisfied.

Paige zipped a smaller side pocket closed and let out a breath. “I always feel like I’m forgetting sum.”

Azzi stretched out 1 leg, then the other, letting her knees fall slightly apart as she slid down a little more into the couch cushions. “Want help remembering ?”

Paige didn’t answer right away. She glanced up, then stood briefly only to drop down again—this time right between Azzi’s legs, back to the couch, shoulders settling in front of Azzi’s thighs. Her bag rested in front of her, one side still open. “You can keep me company instead,” she said lightly, reaching for her ipad and slipping it into the side pocket of her bag.

Azzi blinked, but recovered quickly. Her hands, hesitant at first, rested gently on Paige’s shoulders. A pause. Then her thumbs moved, slowly tracing circles against tense muscles.

Paige melted under the touch without meaning to, the smallest sigh escaping her lips. “Oh damn. Ok. That’s pre dangerous.”

Azzi chuckled, her fingers pressing a little deeper now. “Guess all those hours of helping my mom with shoulder knots finally paid off.”

Paige leaned into it, eyes fluttering closed for a second before reopening. She tilted her head slightly, gaze finding Azzi’s out of the corner of her eye. “Seriously. You’ve got magic hands.”

“Don’t tell everyone,” Azzi murmured. “They’ll form a line.”

Paige hummed, not quite joking. “Maybe I’ll keep you to myself then.”

Azzi’s fingers slowed for a moment before resuming their rhythm, and Paige, sensing the shift, smiled to herself.

After a few more moments of comfortable silence, Paige tilted her head all the way back, resting the crown of it between Azzi’s thighs so she could look up at her properly. Azzi’s hands stilled, one trailing to Paige���s jaw as if instinctively. She brushed a thumb along Paige’s cheekbone, then lightly tapped the tip of her nose.

Paige blinked at the gesture, grinning. “What was that for ?”

Azzi shrugged softly, her voice low. “You were making a face.”

“I was enjoying myself.”

“Exactly.”

Paige let her eyes roam upward, taking in Azzi’s features from this new angle—soft lashes, curious eyes, the way her smile lived more in her eyes than on her mouth right now, though the dip her dimples gave her away. She exhaled slowly, no longer pretending to be unaffected.

“You’re really pretty,” she said quietly but without heistation.

Azzi’s hand froze for just a beat, the fingers that had been tracing her jaw stilling before brushing again, slower now. “That’s not fair,” Azzi said softly.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “What’s not ?”

“You looking up at me like that and saying things like that.”

The air between them turned even more charged, the soft hum deepening into something heavier, fuller. Paige didn’t move. She just let her head rest there, gaze steady, vulnerable.

“Then don’t look away,” Paige whispered.

Azzi didn’t.

They stayed like that for a long, suspended beat—until Paige gently lifted her head and refocused on her bag, cheeks flushed but a smile tucked into the corner of her lips. Azzi, gently regrouping herself, let her hand trail down Paige’s arm instead, giving it a little squeeze.

“So,” Azzi said eventually, her voice a bit steadier, “Tennessee huh ?”

“Yep.” Paige stuffed a long-sleeve into the side pouch, then zipped it up. “In their house. Whole crowd yelling at us. My fave kind of chaos.”

Azzi chuckled. “I’ll be watching.”

Paige turned her head again, eyes bright. “Really ?”

Azzi nodded. “On my ipad. Gonna lay in bed and get comffy.”

Paige’s grin was immediate, sincere. “That actually means a lot.”

Azzi shrugged, almost shy again. “I like watching you play.”

Something about the way she said it made Paige feel like it meant more than just basketball.

She reached up blindly, catching Azzi’s hand and giving it a soft squeeze. “Good,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because I like knowing you’re watching.”

Azzi didn’t answer, but her hand tightened around Paige’s.

Eventually, the moment slipped into stillness, like they both knew it had to end but weren’t quite ready to let it. Paige gave Azzi’s hand one last squeeze before standing, brushing her hands on her sweats and grabbing the now fully packed duffel by the handles. Azzi stood too, slower, pulling her sleeves down as she followed Paige to the door.

“Got everything ?” Azzi asked softly.

Paige gave a soft laugh. “No idea, but at this point, I’ve committed.”

They didn’t say much on the way. Paige’s fingers brushed against Azzi’s once, and she didn’t pull away, didn’t apologize. Just walked close enough that their arms occasionally bumped, hearts thudding a little harder with every step that brought them closer to goodbye.

The team bus came into view parked outside the athletic center—lights on inside, engine idling low. Half the team was already on board, some voices floating through the open bus door, laughter mixed with music. 

But Paige didn’t head straight for the bus.

Instead, she veered slightly, leading Azzi toward a narrow space between the building and a row of hedges that offered some privacy. Just enough.

She set her duffel down against the wall and turned to Azzi, suddenly slower in her movements, gaze flickering over the girl in front of her like she was trying to memorize her.

Azzi smiled, something gentle and a little crooked. “You’re only gonna be gone a few days.”

“I know,” Paige said, but her arms were already winding around Azzi’s waist, pulling her in. “But imma miss you.”

Azzi didn’t hesitate. Her arms looped around Paige’s shoulders, tucking herself close, cheek resting against Paige’s jacket. “I’m gonna miss you too,” she said quietly, voice muffled by the fabric.

The hug wasn’t quick. It stretched on, warm and real, their bodies shifting slightly every few moments just to hold each other a little tighter. Paige buried her face into Azzi’s shoulder for a second, letting herself lean in fully before pulling back just enough to press a soft kiss to Azzi’s temple.

“I’m gonna message you every time I’m free,” Paige murmured. “Even if it’s just to say something dumb. You better answer.”

Azzi chuckled under her breath. “Wouldn’t dream of ignoring you.”

Paige smiled and kissed her temple again—slower this time. Then again, like it was the only way she knew how to say everything all at once. Azzi’s hands slid up Paige’s back, fingers curling in the material of her jacket.

“I’m serious,” Paige said against her skin. “Every break. Every meal. If I don’t see your name pop up I might actually forget how to function.”

Azzi tilted her head to look at her, eyes warm. “You’re such a sap.”

“And you seem to like it.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she reached up, brushed a stray piece of hair from Paige’s face, and held her gaze with a soft steadiness. Then, just as Paige moved to step back and reach for her duffel, Azzi leaned in quickly, pressing a kiss to Paige’s cheek.

It lingered.

“Good luck P,” she whispered against her skin, voice almost shy now.

Paige’s breath caught. Her hand hovered halfway to her bag before dropping again, a dazed grin tugging at her lips as her cheek warmed beneath Azzi’s touch.

“Ok,” Paige breathed, blinking a few times. “Ok, I’m ready now.”

Azzi smirked softly, but her arms hadn’t quite let go.

Just then, a voice called out from near the bus.

“Paige !” Caroline’s voice, amused. “Let’s go, lover girl ! Bus is heading out in two !”

Paige didn’t even look embarrassed. She just turned her head a little to call back, “Yea yea ! I’m coming !”

She glanced back to Azzi with a soft, almost bashful laugh. “She’s the worst.”

“She knows what she’s talking about,” Azzi said, eyes glinting.

Paige chuckled as she reached for her duffel again and slung it over her shoulder. But before she stepped away, she leaned in 1 more time, pressing 1 last kiss to Azzi’s temple—gentle, affectionate, like she didn’t want to go.

“I’ll text you once i arrive at the airport,” she said.

Azzi nodded, fingers brushing Paige’s wrist as if reluctant to let go entirely. “I’ll be waiting.”

Paige stepped backward, eyes still on Azzi. She then took a deep breath, gave her 1 final smile and jogged toward the bus steps.

Azzi stayed behind in the shadow of the building, watching as Paige climbed aboard, greeted her teammates and the staff, then turned at the top of the stairs to find her again through the window.

She waved.

Azzi smiled and waved back, her heart full.

And then the doors shut, the engine sounded, and the bus pulled away taking Paige with it but leaving something sweet behind in the quiet air between them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[jinftranda]

Words I Wasn’t Able To Tell You ✧⁠*⁠。

CHAPTER 2

Synopsis: You were transported to another universe along with Ekko and Heimerdinger. Let’s just say that you didn’t expect Sevika to be your close friend in this universe, especially after she betrayed you.

Content: mu!Reader x au!Sevika, self insert : p, friends to lovers, sfw (i’ll just edit this shit if i forget something) 1st au so plz be nice 🙏

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 |

chapter 5 | chapter ??

You finally step foot inside the last drop.

You immediately see Vander working inside the bar front, you also spot Benzo talking to him.

The sight of Vander and Benzo alive and well left you open-mouthed.

Vander soon took notice of you and Sevika, he called out the two of you.

You walked up to him and took a seat at a stool in front of him. “Hey friends, it’s been a while since I last saw your faces. What you’ve been up to?” Vander asks, Sevika follows you and takes the seat next to you.

“Oh, she’s been working on a project for the innovator’s competition coming up this week, guess you can say that she’s been a busy woman” Sevika chuckles after explaining she looks up to you, she’s expecting you to add more to her explanation.

“O-oh yeah!” you stammer. “Kept bringing Sevika’s butt everywhere I went to get supplies for my project, didn’t realize I was bothering her.” you scratch the back of your neck then give Sevika an apology look.

You genuinely have no idea if you’re dragging Sevika everywhere you go.

Vander chuckled then replied “Haha! You do need another pair of hands when working on these things.”

“Ekko’s been working off his ass lately because of that competition and I’d get mad at him for staying up late. If I were Sevika I would’ve scolded your butt!” Benzo chimes into the conversation, his statement makes the others laugh. You just shook your head out of embarrassment, Sevika rolls her eyes playfully.

“We’ll have the usual.” Sevika says then reaches for her pocket to pay and she leans onto your ear “This is on me, find a table for us” she whispers.

Sevika’s action made your face go red, but you shrugged everything off and headed your way to find a table.

After sitting at the table you’ve picked, you see familiar faces in front of you.

Ekko and Jinx?

What is he doing with her, didn’t she try to kill him before?

They’re suddenly on good terms?

What the fuck is going on?

You stared at them

Questions start to flood your mind, but you are interrupted.

“Hey”

You were startled when you realized that someone was calling you. You looked up to see Sevika.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” Sevika apologizes to you and sits beside you, but your attention immediately draws back to the people in front of your table.

“Hey, i just noticed.” Sevika spoke.

You could hear Sevika speak but it’s inaudible, your attention is focused on Ekko at Jinx.

“You kept zooming out or.. what is it they call it?”

Sevika snaps her fingers after finding the right word “Mhm, oh right. Spacing out. Are you actually alright like you say you are multiple times this morning?”

You can’t hear what the fuck Sevika is saying, you start hearing distorted noises and ringing in your ear. But it all stopped when you saw another set of familiar faces come closer to Ekko and Jinx’s table.

Mylo and Claggor?

“Hey!”

You finally came back to your senses when Sevika made a loud noise on the table using her cup. “I’m talking to you, can you even hear me?” she asks.

“I’m good, I think.” the last part came out of your mouth like a whisper.

“Is there something you’re not telling me? You can say it. No judgment.” Sevika asks another time.

“It feels like I woke up on the wrong side of the bed.. you know?” You scratched the back of your neck due to discomfort.

“You’re probably just lacking sleep, every time I visit you I always see you working on that damn project. You gotta sleep, you know?” Sevika places her hand on top of yours to show her support and concern for you, but you were caught off guard by her action, and it caused you to jump out of your seat.

Sevika gave you a weird look and was about to say something when someone from the table in front called you.

“Hey!”

It’s Jinx

You didn’t know how to respond to her so you just sat back down on your seat and you did a facepalm out of embarrassment.

“Okay?” Jinx also gave you a weird look, but she shrugged it off and continued talking to Ekko. You took a peak under your hand at Ekko and you saw him looking at you, his eyes were wide open and it looked like he was experiencing the same thing that was happening to you.

Ekko isn’t exactly paying attention to what Jinx is saying.

You start hearing distorted noises again, but this time your surrounding is spinning. You stood up from your seat, Sevika looked at you and was about to follow when you signaled her to stop, she just stood up from her seat looking worried— and confused.

You wince at the headache you were experiencing, the ringing noise kept continuing in your ears. You were having a hard time finding the exit because your sight is blurry.

You finally spot the exit and run towards it, you see someone about to use the exit door but push them out of the way and slam the door open.

You use your right hand to lean on the brick wall just outside the bar and you throw up.

You cough out hard, it’s disgusting.

When you thought that you threw up everything that you digested earlier this morning, you looked up at the other person from behind you, they were also throwing up. You’re surprised when you realize who it was.

“Ekko!” you call out to him after realizing that it was him. He was shocked to see you and he walked backwards when you attempted to walk up to him. “It’s me!” you try convincing Ekko but the exit door is slammed open.

Heimerdinger?

He hands out a notebook to Ekko and he looks up at you. “You too, lad?” Heimerdinger asks. You nod your head aggressively.

Ekko spoke “Man, I thought I was going crazy!” he palms his face. You looked back again at Heimerdinger, “Professor? What are we doing here? And how long have you been here? Wh—”

“Now, now my dear. Slow down with the questions, I’ll answer all of them!” Heimerdinger cuts you off. You exchange looks with Ekko and give each other weird looks.

—

Heimerdinger explained things to you and Ekko. You almost wanted to scream. Also, you’re telling me that he’s been here for— how many days now?

The terrible news is that hextech was never invented in this world.

Meaning there is no anomaly.

No anomaly means there’s no way back home.

FUCKING DIPSHIT.

“I’ve achieved a lot in this world. I’m sure that the two of you will get used to this—” Heimerdinger’s cut off by Ekko. “Get used to this? We have people back at home waiting for us!” he retorts while pointing at himself and you.

You nodded in agreement, “With all due respect professor, there is no way we’ll be sticking around here. We don’t belong here.” you pause, Ekko and Heimerdinger look at you.

“We’ll find a way back home with or without you,” Ekko said with a stern tone to Heimerdinger. Ekko signals you to follow him, but the exit door opens revealing Jinx.

“I was gonna go see Vi.” You notice the shock on Ekko’s face when Jinx mentions Vi, “Vi?”

Jinx snorted and replied, “That’s what I just said, wanna come?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ekko replied to Jinx and he looks at you with an apologetic look.

Looks like this mission to go back home has to wait then.

Sevika walks through the exit door of the bar after Jinx dragged Ekko. “You good?” Sevika asks you with a concerned tone.

“I think so, maybe I am just lacking sleep.” you scratch the back of your neck while answering Sevika.

Sevika sighs before speaking “Called it, let’s go to my place where you’ll be far away from this technology shit. Is it alright with you?” Sevika offers.

There’s no way I’m going with her.

“Sure”

Sevika immediately reaches out to clasp your hand and walks you to her place.

You were dumbfounded by Sevika’s action.

You guys are holding hands.

You hate to admit it, but it made your heart flutter— and your face turned red.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

this is supposed to come with chapter 1, but it felt too long that’s why i separated it : 3

[rivalsispunk]

Driving Miss Crazy (Chapter 3 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Series summary: Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), mention of male appendages (IYKYK), mentions of male orgasm, pussy pronouns, Tony being a grot, more warnings added per chapter.

Word count: 5.5k !!!

Chapter summary: Working alongside you proves far more difficult for Declan than he anticipated and you're noticing that your handsome, moustached boss is getting a bit antsy.

A/N: This is a chonky chapter!! But hopefully it is well worth the wait. I am livingggggg for tortured Declan and him not being able to keep himself together. As usual, proofread but can't promise clean edits. Enjoy!

© rivalsispunk please do not steal, copy, or translate any of my work onto other platforms!

Chapter Three: Driving Miss Crazy

Your Vauxhall Cavalier’s steering wheel is slick with sweat. It’ll be a miracle if you don’t end up with blisters on your palms from how tight you’re gripping the leather as you make the short drive from your flat to Corinium for your first day as Declan’s assistant. You hadn’t laid eyes on him since you fled the hot tub several days ago, save for watching his show on Thursday evening, brittle embarrassment nestled in your bones after your late-night encounter. Though Taggie’s snoring subsided when you both returned to bed, you were kept awake for hours at the thought of another O’Hara. The finger of whiskey you’d downed buzzed through your veins. Still, Declan’s bourbon-brown eyes boring into yours over the glass seemed to have intoxicated you further to the point where you were unable to close your eyes without seeing his moustache quivering over a miniscule smile. 

Though you were up before the birds the following morning, Declan had already made for Corinium, his Mini Clubman Estate already gone from the drive. It was purposeful, his early leave. After you’d escaped back upstairs with his daughter the night before, he’d made his way to his office, polished off his bottle of whiskey and shamelessly fucked his hand to the image of your lithe legs stretched over the hot tub, and the echo of you promising him you could handle it. The moment he spilled himself over his fist was the moment the mortification consumed him. Mortified at himself for disrespecting his albeit fragmented marriage like that. For disrespecting you like that, and he couldn’t bear to run into you in The Priory’s kitchen the next day and pretend like he hadn’t done so. Luckily for him, you didn’t cross paths all weekend either, thanks to being off shopping for workwear with Taggie, just as he’d requested. Being privy to your usual everyday attire and how uncomfortable you seemed in Maud’s clothing was the only thing keeping Declan from pulling the plug on your hiring. He knew you’d opt for something no-fuss. Conservative, even. Something that would keep his regretful, wandering eye at bay. He just didn’t expect you to make conservative look so fucking sexy.

“Knock, knock,” you greet him, materialising in his office’s doorway. You’re dressed head-to-toe in black: black wide-leg trousers, matching blazer and black Rolling Stones concert T-shirt stamped with the band’s trademark logo. Your hair falls in loose waves, and you’ve accessorised with black pumps, and a megawatt smile lined with crimson red lipstick.

Declan’s breathing hitches. He never stood a bloody chance.

Despite the awkward note you ended your last encounter on, you bury the uneasy feeling as you step into your new boss’ quarters. “Is that mine?” You gesture to where Declan had Seb set up a desk for you in the far corner. He naively thought it would be more efficient to have you work from his office than out on the floor with the rest of the staff, but his cock throbbing against the inside of his zipper now said otherwise.

“Er, no,” Declan says, scrubbing at his freshly shaven jaw. “That’s just—it’s not… I was just trying something out. Redecorating, or something.”

He keeps bumbling excuses while he ushers you out the door. He doesn’t stop until he reaches a desk that clearly belongs to someone else, littered with spreadsheet papers stained with coffee cup rings.

“You can set up here. I’ll have a couple tasks for you soon. I just need to take care of a few things first,” Declan snipes, stalking back to his office before you can get a word in. You tail him, his pert arse in his slacks barely a blip on your radar.

“Are you alright?” you question, your mind straying to the hot tub.

“Yeah, fine. Just grand,” Declan feigns, refusing to meet your eye while he pretends to busy himself with tidying his desk.

“Can I get you anything?” 

A new assistant. “Just a coffee. Black, one sugar. Thanks.”

You can hear Tony Baddingham’s scaly laugh all the way down the hall as you return to Declan’s office. The Corinium director is sprawled out in his chair while his star talent leans against the window frame, cigarette hanging idly from his lips.

“Ah, hello again,” Tony croons your name and you recoil at the sound of it on his tongue. You can feel his eyes trained on your body as you cross the room and place Declan’s coffee beside him on the window sill. He doesn’t thank you, just grunts around his durry. It pisses you off. If he’s uncomfortable around you after what happened at The Priory, so be it. But you’re being professional. Would it kill him to do the same?

You turn your attention back to Tony. “Lord Baddingham. How are you?”

“Better now,” he confesses, rising from Declan’s seat. His stature is imposing as he moves around the desk towards you until you have to tip your head back to look up at him. “It’s good to see Declan made the right decision with his assistant. Though I have to admit, I was hoping you’d wear something a little more like what you had on the last time we met.” He edges closer to Declan, jabbing him in the ribs with his elbow like they’re sharing an inside joke. “A little less Boy George, if you know what I’m saying?” Tony chuckles like he’s just cracked the world’s most hilarious one liner. Your tongue burns to scold him. If it were a grimy git at the local pub who had tried that, you wouldn’t hesitate to tell him where to shove it. While Tony Baddingham was a grimy git and then some, he was also the one to sign off on your future paychecks. So, an obligatory smile will have to do.

Declan isn’t as forgiving. “It’s not a fucking fashion show, Tony,” he snaps.  “She’s here to do research, not walk a bloody runway.” 

“And I don’t disagree with you, Declan, but this is my station, she’s my staff and I’m telling her to wear something more appealing. Just like what you wore to your interview. Now, that,” he leers down at you, and you wonder if he can see the fury buzzing through you. “That was something.” 

“Alright, Tony, that’s enough.” Declan flicks his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk and steps between you and Baddingham. He keeps his eyes on you over Declan’s shoulder, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

Declan squares his shoulders, jutting his head toward the door — a silent instruction to his superior. “I’ll see to her, okay?”

As Tony moves out of your immediate vicinity, his gaze rolls down your entire frame before huffing a one syllable laugh. “I’m sure you will,” he tells Declan, then: “My office. Five minutes. Cameron has some evil genius plan for ratings.”

You spend the better part of the morning waiting, making yourself a coffee, then waiting again for Declan to reappear from Tony’s office. He’s yet to return by half-eleven, at which point you stalk back into his office to make yourself at least somewhat busy. You begin emptying his ashtray and clearing his desk of empty coffee cups (and the occasional whiskey glass) before making a start on organising the tree of papers scattered across the rich timber. Half word-processed, the majority strewn with Declan’s skittish handwriting. At the bottom of the mess is some semblance of a to-do list with bullet points in no rational order.

Research agriculture.

Follow up Rupert Campbell-Black wife.

Lunch. Sinister.

Details. Westland. Michael Heseltine.

You doubt Declan has time to even touch any of those tasks with him being MIA all morning, so you park yourself in his desk chair and get to work.

“If I didn’t love this bloody job so much, I’d have half the mind to quit.” The string of Irish twang startles you from your notepad, and Declan appears equally as surprised to see you perched in his place. With a furrow in his brow, he scans the room. “You cleaned up?” He can’t recall a time his office had been as tidy.

“Thought I’d better make myself busy,” you tell him, popping up from the leather seat with your notes. “I hope you don’t mind, but I made a few calls based on your to-do list. No answer from the former Mrs Campbell-Black but I might’ve got somewhere with the Westland research.” You tilt the yellow paper pad in Declan’s direction, thrusting it into his hands despite the scepticism that paints his face. You chew the inside of your cheek while he reviews your notes, only stopping when he looks at you blankly. You can’t tell whether he’s going to thank you for your patience or fire you for sifting through his things.

“You did this? Today?”

You nod.

“Christ almighty. What on earth have I done without you all this time?” 

You grin, warmth flooding through you with the inadvertent praise. “Suffered?” you jest.

“I’m afraid suffering is part and parcel of the job,” Declan counters, not mentioning how much suffering is ahead for him with you now a part of his team. “You should head home. It’s getting late.” He looks at the window, where the late winter sun has set.

“I was always told to never leave before your boss.” “Darlin’, if that was the case, you’d be here ‘til morning. So, go on,” he swats at your arm with the notepad. “Get home.”

Without another word, you gather up your things — not much, a water bottle and small assortment of pens scattered across Declan’s desk — and throw a small bye in your boss’ direction.

“Don’t worry about Tony,” Declan calls after you. “He was bang out of order.”

You swivel, lean up against the doorframe.“And if he barges in again demanding I wear something more likely to land me on the cover of Playboy?”

A glimmer of you in black garters and barely there lingerie snaps through Declan’s brain. “That’s not what he meant.”

“Isn’t it?” Your arms fold across you. You had a point, and Declan knew it. Tony would have every woman in this office under the age of forty strutting around in nothing but heels and a thong if he could. 

“I’ll deal with him,” the Irishman settles on. He’s rather you covered up for him than dressed down for someone else. “You have my word.”

You bid Declan goodnight with one final, tight-lipped smile, offering the same to Deirdre and Daisy on your way to the elevator.

Outside, the sky is littered with stars, though their brightness is dulled by the stadium-worthy fluorescent lights beaming down on the carpark. There are far fewer cars left in the lot than there were this morning, so you make a beeline across the concrete to where your plum-coloured Vauxhall is sat on the outskirts. You savour the tiny bit of warmth the cab has preserved over the day as you shove the key into the ignition and—

Nothing.

You turn the key over again and get nothing but a singular clank from somewhere under the hood in return.

You try three more times only to get the same result.

Shit. 

You scan the carpark for someone who might be able to help but at this time of night, the chances are slim. Sliding out from your seat, you round the front of your car and unclip the hood, though you have zero clue what exactly it is you’re looking at. You didn’t grow up with a father who’d taught you how to refill your oil or check for leaks. You don’t think you ever saw him with a tool in his hand once. Your parents always sent away for things to get fixed and now, you were cursing them for not imparting an integral practical life skill on you.

“I thought I told you to go home.”

“Jesus Christ!” Your hand flies to your heart as Declan falls into position next to you. “You really need to stop doing that.”

A chuckle wracks through him, his shoulder jostling up against yours. “Car troubles?”

“I think it’s carked it. The ignition won’t turn over.”

“Shove over.” He motions for you to step aside, handing you his briefcase as you comply. A few minutes pass as Declan jostles metal pipes and knocks his knuckles against others, black grease working its way onto his skin. Eventually he steps back and pushes the hood closed with a clatter.

“Yeah, she’s knackered,” he declares, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Grab your things. I’ll drive you home tonight.”

“I can’t believe I’m asking favours on my first day,” you mutter, thanking Declan for what feels like the tenth time in the few minutes you’ve been sitting in his Clubman.

“You’re not askin’. I’m offerin’,” he tells you without taking his eyes off the road. You study him as he drives, all stoic and permanently etched with determination. His knuckles are white as large hands grip the steering wheel, silver wedding band glinting under the streetlights. In the small confines of the car, Declan’s overwhelmed by the soft jasmine scent of your perfume. It reminds him of a breeze through a sunlit garden in summer — fresh, but warm. Inviting, even, making him want to pull over and nuzzle into the crook of your neck so he drowns in it. He clears his throat as the need sets in, filing through his thoughts for something to distract him.

“Your family visit you much?” is what he decides on when he realises he knows little to nothing about you.

“Not at all,” you tell him, a sad laugh tumbling out after your admission. “My father’s a lawyer and my mother’s a psychologist, so they don’t really get much time away. When they do, they’d rather jet off to Spain or Greece or somewhere equally as picturesque.”

“You’re joking.” Declan’s disbelief tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You, coming from the likes of Baddingham and Co?” He had a hard time placing you within the wealth of the city. You were just so humble. So grounded.

“Is it that hard to believe?”

“Yeah, kind of.” “Don’t hold it against me.”

Hold your parents against you? No. Though there were other things that could tempt Declan if he just let himself go.

“But you’re so…” He steals a peek at you, then back to the road, considering his words.

“Go on, I can take it,” you say, anticipating a verbal blow.

I bet you can, he shamelessly admits to himself. Then, out loud: “You’re just not an arsehole, that’s all. Rich folk are usually right pricks.”

You can attest to that. Your parents easily fall into that category. “That might just be the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“And you don’t have a boyfriend? No uppity intellectual waiting for ya back in the city?” Declan doesn’t know why he asks. You’ve not sent away for anybody, not that he would’ve noticed, but he was sure he’d have heard about a boyfriend in all the hours you spent at The Priory.

“Not anymore.” You say quietly, trilling over the dry skin peeling away at your thumb. Not anymore. Your admission shouldn’t send Declan’s pulse galloping like a racehorse. 

You continue to divulge about Samuel, who you’d met in your second year media law lecture at university.. “His ego didn’t allow for two smart people in the relationship. You know, he told me that my intelligence is what drew him to me in the first place, but turns out he couldn’t handle it in the long run. Everything became a competition and it rotted our relationship from the inside out.”

“Hope you sent him packing.”

You shake your head. “He cut me loose, can you believe it? Got the shits when I got the internship at The Times over him.” As you roll over the hill leading to the village, the Clubman splutters when Declan changes gear, masking the fucking idiot that falls from his lips. How could any man not want you? The notion was beyond him.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. Boys never know what they want,” Declan imparts.

A scoff scratches your throat. “What, and men do?”

You have Declan on that one. He glances at you in the passenger seat, then thinks of the years’ old snapshot of Maud that lives in his wallet.

No, no they don’t.

“I’m just up here on the left.” You gesture to the strip of shops on the left a few moments later. Declan pulls the Clubman to the curb and flicks the engine off. He arches over the steering wheel to get a look at your building through the windscreen, scepticism colouring his features. 

“You live in the butcher’s?”

“I live above the butcher’s.”

“Must smell like a slaughterhouse in there.” 

“Sometimes. It’s not all bad. The man who runs it, Mr Green, gives me a discount on meat. Chucks in a few extra sausages free of charge.”

“Free sausages, eh? Living the life.”

“Well, they’re Lincolnshire, so I’ll say.” That earns a chuckle from your boss, followed by a too right in agreement. You click off your seatbelt and gather your bag in your lap. “Well, thanks again. I appreciate it, Declan.”

“No bother. I’ll swing past in the morning and pick you up.”

You rear back at his offer. “You don’t have to do that. I can get a taxi. Catch the bus.”

“The buses around here are as late as a pregnant woman’s period. Taxi will cost you a small fortune. I’ll pick you up.” There’s no room for discussion or pushback as the Clubman roars back to life. “Seven forty-five, alright?”

Declan wasn’t expecting to have a heart attack before eight AM the following morning, nor was he expecting you to heed Tony’s suggestion, when you step out from your flat in a skirt that cuts mid-thigh, sheer tights and a skin-tight red turtleneck sweater, paired with knee-high black boots. You won’t lie: complying with Tony’s request made your skin itch, but you had a job to do, and you couldn’t do it with Tony constantly breathing down your neck. Declan’s eyes trail over the sheen of your thighs when you slide into the Mini, mouth going dry at the view. He’s about to chide you, make a comment about you already bowing down to the big boss. Then you bring up Michael Heseltine and the Westland notes again, offering your thoughts, and he’s taken again by how fucking clever you are. He can practically hear the cogs in your brain working as he drives you both to Corinium. You sing along to Paul Simon and Heart between ideas, your manicured nails thrumming on your knee in time to the music. 

Declan tells you he’s organised for your car to be towed and fixed up by a local mechanic — a friend who owes me a favour, he says when you protest — and that the work will take a couple of weeks. And so, Tuesday marks the first time in a long time that Declan consistently leaves the office at a reasonable hour, and driving you quickly becomes his favourite part of his days. The pair of you chat about everything under the sun, from your upbringings — you in upper class London and he in backwoods Ireland — to your favourite musicians — George Michael for you, Nat King Cole for him. You don’t ask about Maud and Declan makes no mention of her either, diverting the conversation when anything rears too close to their relationship. He’d much rather talk about his kids; complimenting Taggie’s cooking and homeliness, repeating some crazy story he’d heard from Caitlin when she’d called from boarding school, or bragging about Patrick’s accolades at university. While he was certainly stubborn and sometimes cold, Declan’s love for his children pared all of that back, revealing a proud and honest father. It was one of, if not, your favourite thing about him.

The two weeks your car was in the shop went by too fast for either of your liking, the drives to and from Corinium just not quite feeling right without the other. Your perfume lingers in the Mini, the result of your constant presence, every bit of you woven into the fabric of the seats. If Declan just closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in, it’s like you’re still right there next to him, humming along to the radio or trying to pitch him wild guests for his show. You miss his dorky dad jokes, and Declan misses you giggling at them, your laugh a melody that warmed him from the inside out. You were still at The Priory often enough, helping Taggie prepare catering or the two of you lounging about watching Four Men Went To Mow, but it wasn’t the same for Declan. He much preferred having you to himself. 

While you became more comfortable with each other outside of hours, you and Declan also settled into a rhythm in the office. You fed off one another’s creativity, bolstering ideas and show notes until they were airtight. It only took a week for Declan to relent and set you up at the spare desk. It was easier having you nearby rather than constantly moving between his office whenever you had something to add to your findings. You’d also kept up your more put-together wardrobe; tight skirts, and blouses, and high heels. Not that Declan was complaining, but it made his life just that little bit harder, made him more than a little hot under the collar, whenever you bent over to retrieve a box of files or leaned over his desk to show him some of your findings.

There was a lot you loved about your job — the ability to ogle Declan across his office being up there — but you lived for Thursday nights when Declan’s show aired. Watching it from home on your TV set was one thing, but seeing it unfold live in the studio was beyond your imagination. It was incredible seeing your work behind the scenes put into action, and it was made all the better by Declan; always charismatic, stern and unwavering when the time called for it. He was magic, and no matter how hard you tried, you never could seem to wipe the grin off your face while you stood watching on the sidelines, and Declan loved to see it whenever he glanced in your direction. 

It was rare, unheard of, even, for someone to receive praise from Declan, the journalist’s standards so high that he rarely found anyone who could meet them. But somehow, you did. Your research was thorough, always annotated with further notes and references. You weren’t afraid to get on the phones and track down sources. His show, already a success, was made infinitely better by your addition. Not to mention, your coffee was fantastic. Not even in twenty years of marriage had Maud managed to perfect his preference. Still, he rarely raised his satisfaction with you, a simple good or thanks sufficing. No, he saved his satisfaction for moments he was alone. He’d officially given up willing his throbbing cock to flaccidity when thoughts of you creeped in during the quiet hours, allowing himself the quick gratification before the shame set in.

About a month into your tenure at Corinium, Declan was in a foul pit of a mood. He’d barged into his office already on the warpath. He barked orders at you and spent the better part of the morning criticising an upcoming guest, when he’d spent the previous day praising him. He even had you remake his coffee four times after complaints that it was too sweet or too cold or some other ridiculous excuse, despite making it the same way you did everyday. By the time four PM rolled around, you could count on one hand the times Declan had actually looked at you, each time egged on by a scowl. In your short time at the company, and with Taggie’s advice, you’d learned to let your boss be when the stress of the job got to him. Even if you’d built enough rapport to tell him to pull his head in.

It wasn’t until you were leaving for the day that Declan spoke to you without a growl in his voice. “You did grand today,” he says, the comment shocking you as you stood up from your seat. “I know I’ve been an arse all day. I’m sorry. You did a fantastic job, really.” His dark features were soft as he peered up at you from his desk.

“Mr O’Hara, are you paying me a compliment?” You feign shock, hand flush against your chest as you pretend to be scandalised.

“Don’t get used to it,” he tells you, a smile ghosting over his lips. He turns back to his notes,  but unbeknownst to you, he’s unable to read the muddled words on the page, his brain fixated on the way you cooed Mr O’Hara. All breathy and innocent and unintentionally sultry. You made his name yours.

He hates how much he loves it.

When Declan pulls up to The Priory that night, your Vauxhall is in the drive, and his one thought is that he can’t do this tonight. Can’t do you tonight. It’s late, already half-ten by the time he’s slugging through the door, temples throbbing with a Baddingham-induced headache only made worse by the Duran Duran blasting through the house. 

“Taggie!” he booms, dumping his briefcase and corduroy jacket on a chair by the staircase. All he wants is a shower and a whiskey, maybe a cigar, in bed, and he’ll be damned if he does it with the walls of his home rattling to the soundtrack of his daughter’s mixtape. Declan trudges upstairs, lethargy weighing his legs down as he stalks down the hall towards Taggie’s bedroom. Light pours out of the half-open door, followed by your laughter. “Taggie, Jesus fucking Christ, can you turn that bloody racket—”

The rest of the sentence dies on his tongue when you step into view, your back to the door. The black dress you’d worn to the office is discarded on the floor, the full expanse of your body of full display, safe for a plain black bra and matching high-waisted underwear.

“I don’t know, Tag,” Declan hears you say over the music. “Red or black?” You stretch your arm out of sight to retrieve two short dresses that you then hold up against your body. Freddie Jones had invited all of the neighbouring families and friends to Bar Sinister on Friday night for drinks and karaoke, and you were struggling to decide what to wear. Your usual jeans and tee getups were too casual, and your work attire was too, well, work. The stereo clicks, swapping out Rio for Bon Jovi’s You Give Love a Bad Name, pulling a squeal from the back of your throat. 

“I love this song!” you announce, pipping up and down to the beat. Your back arches slightly with each little leap, the ripple of your muscles accentuated every time you hit the creaking floorboards. He feels like a creep, lurking in the shadows, continuing to watch you through the ajar door as you dance around the room in nothing but your underwear, but he can’t tear his eyes from you. Declan worries his bottom lip between his teeth at the sight of your legs, looking impossibly longer now without clothing, and where they stretch into the sweep of your arse. He wants to take you into his mouth, bite down on your supple flesh, hard, before soothing the inevitable red mark with a sloppy kiss. His cock rouses at the temptation, the feeling of his pulsating tip pushing against his trousers making it difficult for him not to march straight into Taggie’s room and swoop you away to his own so he can show you what he thinks about all day while you’re across his office. 

Reality wracks the back of Declan’s mind. What the fuck is he doing? He if had a pound for every time he caught himself leering at you, feeling that heat coil in him until there was nothing left to do but steal himself away to privacy and relieve himself like a sex-obsessed teenager, he’d have enough to pay of his family’s London leaving debt and then some.

Sometime later, once Declan had gathered enough sense, enough strength, to tear himself away from his post outside Taggie’s door, the music in her room recedes low enough that you and your friend can hear each other without yelling.

“I’m going to head home,” you tell Taggie, sluffing out of the robe she let you borrow and back into the ribbed black dress you’d picked out that morning. “Early morning tomorrow and I do not want to catch your dad in another one of his moods again.”

“Fair enough,” your friend relents, passing you the outfits you’d narrowed your options down to. You shove them into your bag, which is already busy with notepads and teabags you bring from home, and tug Taggie into a hug, whispering a farewell into her mess of tawny hair. You slip into the hall and pull her door shut, the walkway enveloped in darkness aside from the small flood of yellow light beaming around the corner. As you head towards the stairs, you notice the light is coming from Declan’s bedroom, where he was probably reading one of those many memoirs or pouring over notes for his show tomorrow night, during which he’d interview the Bishop of London, Right Reverend Graham Leonard. He definitely had a whiskey in hand or by his bedside, and you’re put in mind again of that night the pair of you were in the yard. The memory elicits goosebumps as you pass through the sliver of light and by Declan’s quarters. It’s not until you’re nearing the top of the staircase that you hear a grunt that halts.

What was that?

The noise rouses again, though this time it’s more like a groan, echoing from the room you just passed. You backtrack a few steps — you know you should just be on your way, but you can’t help yourself — and peer into Declan’s room through the slight crack in the door. He’s turned away from you, bracing himself against the dresser by the window. He’s shirtless, and far more tanned than you’d expect for somebody living in England, his back all corded muscle and shoulder blades that pinch together with rigorous movement. His trousers hang low on his hips, low enough that the top of his arse is visible over the waistband, a sparse trail of coarse black hair blooming on his lower back. Under the light, sweat prickles on the back of his neck, and another moan slips from him as he pumps his right arm up and down. It’s only then that you realise what you’ve stumbled upon.

Declan’s none the wiser that you’re watching him the same way he’d done to you not much earlier. His eyes are clamped shut, shielding you from the anguish and pure filth they’re laden with while he lets desire run its course. His breathing is turning almost whimper-like with his frantic movements, while yours shakes deep in your stomach. Saliva pools around your dumb tongue, mouth lax as you observe Declan fist himself with so much savagery his whole body is shaking. It’s like a trainwreck you can’t look away from. A delicious, sordid trainwreck hurtling towards an explosive end.

Then you hear it. Only just. Your name slips from his lips so quietly you wonder if you made it up. 

It’s not the first time Declan has allowed you ownership over him as he tugs himself raw. He’d tried to deny it, tried to morph your image in his mind into Maud’s but it was no use. He was stupid for you. If it’s just him, his hand and his mind, who is it hurting? Nobody has to know. 

But now you do. You know what Declan looks like coming undone, and it’s abundantly clear that it’s you spurring on his animalistic display. An odd sort of pride shoots through you, heat blooming at your core, pussy clenching around nothing as Declan seethes oh, fuck, your name flying out his mouth amid a string of obscenities as he comes. Hot, white ropes spurt over his fist and down his aching length, and his heart bucks against his ribcage as his climax rolls through him, vision flanked white from the intensity of his orgasm. It takes Declan a few moments to gather himself, to come down from his high. He has to squint once he opens his eyes, the well-lit room a stark contrast to the dark corners of his mind. His back burns, as if someone’s stare is boring into him, and his attention snaps to where he foolishly left his door ajar. But the hallway is empty, and he hears your car chug to life in the driveway, followed by the unmistakable crunch of gravel under its tyres.

Eeeeeeeeek, now we're getting somewhere! Thank you for reading! Don't forget to like, comment, reblog if you loved this chapter as much as I did writing it hehe

Previous chapters: Chapter 1: The Interview, Chapter 2: Beneath The Surface

[landososcar]

packing it up ; LN4

— pairing(s) ; college hockey player!lando x figure skater!reader

— summary ; in which lando's transfer to a new school not only brings him a new team, classes, and friends, but a girl who will change his life forever.

— warnings ; not edited, i'm not american, im also not a figure skater so there's probs plenty of inaccuracies lolll

chapter two — prev … next

⸝⸝ ʚ 𖥔❆ ! ⌗ °•˚❆ ˖⋆*ೃ ༄

that night, i couldn’t stop replaying the dinner conversation in my head. lily’s unwavering support wasn’t surprising—she’d always been in my corner—but lando? his empathy had caught me completely off guard. i didn’t know if it made me feel comforted or embarrassed. 

as i lay in bed staring at the ceiling, lost in thought, my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

i sat up, my heart skipping a beat as i reread the message. my thumbs hovered over the screen, but i had no idea how to respond. why would lando go out of his way to talk to his mum about me? we weren’t close; i barely knew him.

but as i put my phone down, a spark of hope flickered in my chest.

⸝⸝ ʚ 𖥔❆ ! ⌗ °•˚❆ ˖⋆*ೃ ༄

the next morning, i returned to the rink, throwing myself into practice with a determination that bordered on desperation. the icy air bit at my cheeks as i glided across the ice, pushing my body to its limits. the rhythmic sound of my blades slicing through the rink was usually soothing, but today it wasn’t enough to quiet my thoughts and the knot in my chest wouldn’t loosen.

i was mid-spin when a warm, unfamiliar voice called out from the edge of the rink.

“beautiful form.” startled, i faltered slightly but regained my balance before turning toward the source. a woman stood near the boards, dressed in a stylish coat and scarf, her posture poised and confident. there was something familiar about her—the same warm eyes, the same gentle smile, “you must be y/n.”

i skated over, unsure of what to say. “that’s me. and you are...?”

“cisca norris,” she said, extending a hand. “lando’s mum. he told me a bit about your situation, and i thought i’d come take a look.”

my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “oh, i—he didn’t need to do that.”

she smiled kindly. “he’s a good boy, my lando. and a little stubborn when he wants to help. i’m glad he told me, though. i can see you’re very talented.”

“thank you,” i said, still feeling flustered. “but i don’t even have a partner or a coach anymore. i’m kind of stuck.”

her expression softened. “you’re not stuck. you’re just at a crossroads. if you’re willing to put in the work, i’d be happy to help.”

“you’d... coach me?” my voice cracked slightly, disbelief colouring the words. i didn’t know what to say – i didn’t want to be a burden to her, and i didn’t know how to repay her.

she nodded. “i haven’t coached in years, but i still know what it takes. and i’ve got a really good feeling about you, y/n.”

i blinked rapidly, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotion. “thank you, b-but i don’t know how to repay you for this… i don’t know what to say.”

“say you’ll show up tomorrow ready to work,” she said smiling, “we’ll take it one step at a time.” i nodded almost desperately and she must’ve seen the water brimming on my eyes because she went to pull me into a hug, “and as for payment,” she said gently, “just make sure my son is feeling at home, would you?”

i laughed softly, wiping my eyes. “i was gonna do that anyway.”

“i thought you might say that,” she said with a smile, brushing an invisible strand of hair from my face before we parted.

⸝⸝ ʚ 𖥔❆ ! ⌗ °•˚❆ ˖⋆*ೃ ༄

as i got back to my dorm for the night, i was greeted by my best friend’s beautiful smile. lily was sprawled across her bed, headphones on and sketchbook in hand, her pencil moving in quick, confident strokes.

she looked up as i closed the door behind me, her eyes lighting up. “hey! how was the rink?”

i kicked off my shoes, my heart still buzzing from the day’s events. “you’re not going to believe this.”

her eyebrows shot up in intrigue as she sat up straighter. “spill. right now.”

i tossed my bag onto my bed and sank into the desk chair, still trying to process everything myself. “okay, so... lando talked to his mum about me. apparently, she’s a former skating coach.”

lily’s jaw dropped. “no way.”

“and not only that—she came to the rink today. she offered to coach me, lily. can you believe it? out of nowhere, she just... showed up and said she wanted to help.”

for a moment, lily just stared at me, then she let out an excited squeal, throwing her arms in the air. “i knew it! i told you lando was the best! and his mum? she sounds like an actual legend.”

i laughed, her enthusiasm infectious. “she is. i mean, she’s amazing. the way she coaches, the way she just... believes in me. i don’t even know how to thank her—or him, for that matter.”

lily rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin in her hands. “you thank her by killing it at practice tomorrow. and as for lando...” she smirked mischievously. “you could always bake him cookies or something. or, you know, just say thank you like a normal person.”

i rolled my eyes, though i couldn’t help but smile. “i’ll figure it out. but honestly, it feels like things might actually be looking up for the first time in forever.”

lily beamed at me, her expression softening. “of course they are. you’re incredible, y/n. you just needed the right people in your corner. and now you’ve got them.”

warmth spread through me, easing some of the tension that had been weighing me down for weeks. i didn’t say it out loud, but lily’s unwavering belief in me meant just as much as cisca’s. maybe, just maybe, she was right. maybe things really were finally looking up.

⸝⸝ ʚ 𖥔❆ ! ⌗ °•˚❆ ˖⋆*ೃ ༄

the next morning, i arrived at the rink early, my nerves humming with anticipation as i laced up my skates, the sharp cold of the ice already creeping through my layers. today wasn’t just another practice.it was the first step toward figuring out my future—and maybe, just maybe, rebuilding what i thought i’d lost.

as i stood on the ice, stretching and warming up, cisca arrived. she walked in with a graceful confidence that made her instantly commanding yet approachable. a small bag hung from her shoulder, and her warm smile made me feel instantly at ease.

“good morning, y/n,” she greeted, her voice as gentle as it had been the day before.

“good morning,” i replied, my voice trembling slightly with nerves.

she set her bag down on the bench and pulled out a notebook, “i have to admit, i missed this,” she said, almost to herself. “it’s been a while since i’ve coached, but it all comes back so easily.”

i couldn’t help but smile, her enthusiasm was a little contagious. “thank you for doing this. it means more to me than i can say.”

she waved a hand dismissively, though her smile softened. “lando said he’s been told you’re very talented,” she paused with a smile, “i think you’ve got some amazing friends willing to help you however they can… let’s get started.”

the next hour passed in a blur of movement and focus, diving into the intricacies of technique. cisca’s coaching style was unlike anything i’d experienced. she was direct, offering feedback that was honest but never harsh. when i struggled with a step or faltered during a spin, she didn’t scold; she analyzed.

“your jump is good, but let’s work on the timing of your takeoff,” she said at one point, skating out onto the ice to demonstrate. “if you push off too early, you lose momentum. watch me.”

she executed the jump with ease, landing gracefully and turning back to me with an encouraging nod. “now you.”

i tried again, this time paying closer attention to her tips, and when i landed smoothly, she clapped lightly. “there it is! perfect.”

her praise sent a swell of pride through me, something i hadn’t felt in months. maria had always been strict and demanding, rarely offering compliments unless the move was flawless. with cisca, it felt different. her belief in me wasn’t conditional; it was unwavering.

by the end of the session, my muscles ached in a satisfying way, and my spirits were higher than they’d been in weeks. i sat on the bench unlacing my skates when cisca joined me, her expression thoughtful.

“you’re a hard worker,” she said, breaking the comfortable silence. “that’s a quality even the most talented skaters can lack. if you keep that up, you’re going to go far.”

i looked at her, unsure how to put my gratitude into words. “thank you,” i said, my voice soft. “for everything. i don’t know how to repay you.”

her hand rested lightly on mine, her touch warm and reassuring. “you don’t owe me anything, y/n. i’m happy to help. and honestly,” she added with a playful smile, “you’ve already made it worth my while just by showing up and giving it your all.”

i chuckled, feeling my cheeks warm. “still... thank you.”

she leaned back slightly, her gaze turning more serious. “and don’t forget what i said yesterday—make sure lando feels at home here. he’s putting on a brave face, but i know my son. he’s adjusting, too.”

the mention of lando made me pause, her words stirring something in me. “i will,” i promised. “he’s been so kind to me already. he must get it from you.”

cisca smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that reminded me of lando. “he’s got his moments,” she said with a wink.

⸝⸝ ʚ 𖥔❆ ! ⌗ °•˚❆ ˖⋆*ೃ ༄

later that afternoon, i found myself walking back toward the skating arena. lando had practice, and while i hadn’t planned on going, cisca’s words lingered in my mind. i owed him at least a thank-you.

the unmistakable sound of skates cutting across ice greeted me as i stepped inside. the cold air nipped at my cheeks, but the energy of the rink was infectious. players zipped back and forth, their movements sharp and deliberate, the clatter of sticks and pucks echoing through the space.

it didn’t take long to spot him. lando moved with a precision that stood out, his focus intense as he weaved through the defence. even as someone unfamiliar with hockey, i could tell he was good—really good.

when he skated off the ice for a break, he noticed me standing near the boards. his face lit up with surprise as he walked over, his cheeks flushed from exertion. “y/n! didn’t expect to see you here.”

i smiled, feeling slightly awkward because of the other men around us, but pushing through it. “i just wanted to say thank you. for talking to your mum. she’s... amazing. i can’t believe she’s helping me.”

he grinned, leaning casually against the boards. “told you she was the best. so, how’d it go?”

“she’s incredible,” i said earnestly. “i feel like i might actually have a chance now. i don’t know how to repay either of you.”

“you don’t need to,” he said easily. “mum wouldn’t do it if she didn’t believe in you. and honestly, i’m glad i could help. you’ve been through enough.”

his sincerity caught me off guard, and for a moment, i just looked at him, unsure what to say. finally, i smiled. “well, i owe you at least a coffee or something.”

he laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “i’ll hold you to that.” i laughed, watching him skate back onto the ice with the rest of his team before heading out of the bulky double doors and back to lily and i’s shared dorm. 

later that night, as i laid in bed trying to rid my mind of the pretty boy with the brown curls so i could sleep, my phone lit up with a notification. i sighed and debated on checking it, knowing the light from my phone would completely restart my attempt at sleeping. i grabbed it from the bed side table and couldnt help the upturn of my lips when i saw what it said.

landonorris started following you!

⸝⸝ ʚ 𖥔❆ ! ⌗ °•˚❆ ˖⋆*ೃ ༄

a/n ; i’m so sorry this took so long lmaooo chapter 3 is pretty much done so i’ll post it asap (fr this time)

taglist (comment or send an ask to be added<3) ; @leclercdream @britenysbitch @cabbyhabs @jule239 @tvdtw4ever @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @f1and1d4eva @sid-is-gr8

[yukkiji]

editor's note

you and akaashi talked about starting a family once. quietly. gently. a passing dream between cups of tea and weekend mornings. now, the dream is real—and you’ve been carrying the secret, waiting for the right moment to tell him. that moment arrives in the softest, most “you” way possible.

chapters of us. haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. akaashi keiji x fem!reader

genre: fluff, romance, domestic fluff, timeskip!akaashi, pregnant!reader

wc: 1.1k

author's note: second chapter is now up! tbh i don't really have a specific number on how many chapters there will be, so it may be possible that even as the kids grow up, there would still be a few chapters or like short spin off with uncle kotaro who knows hehe

mornings with akaashi were always a kind of poetry in motion.

not loud, not extravagant. just slow, peaceful things—clinking mugs, slippers brushing over wood floors, your wedding rings catching faint morning light as they clinked against porcelain at the kitchen table. outside, the world was still half-asleep, clouds low and gray with the promise of gentle rain, birds calling lazily from the trees.

you’d been married for nearly two years now, and life with him was soft in all the right places. being his wife didn’t mean grand declarations or dramatic romance. it meant the small things, the real things. like freshly folded laundry left at the foot of the bed. like sticky notes on your lunch with doodles of flowers and sleepy cats. like the way he kissed the top of your head when you passed each other in the hallway, or how he made your tea just the way you liked it—without asking.

love with him wasn’t loud. it lingered. it lived in the quiet moments—the fogged-up mirror after your shared showers, brushing your teeth in sync, leaning into one another while half-asleep on the couch. it lived in the subtle touches, the whispered goodnights, the way his hand always found yours beneath the covers, even in dreams.

and it meant you knew—truly knew—how to tell him something life-changing. something terrifying and beautiful and big.

you hadn’t said the words out loud yet. you hadn’t needed to. instead, you gave it to him the way he gave things to you: subtly, thoughtfully, meaningfully.

you placed the envelope between the chapters he was editing.

he’d been working on a novel from one of his favorite authors—a returning client whose prose was deliberate and complicated, someone he admired for the slow unravel of emotional arcs. it felt fitting. like slipping truth into fiction. and you knew akaashi. you knew he read deeply. nothing escaped his eye.

he’d been up before you that morning, as usual. hair slightly tousled, glasses perched low on his nose, hoodie loose around his frame like it belonged more to you than him. you found him in the kitchen, already two sips into his coffee, one hand holding a red pencil, the other absently stirring the air in rhythm to whatever he was reading.

you leaned in, kissed his temple. he hummed something unintelligible and warm. when you refilled his mug, he didn’t even glance up—just murmured, “thank you, love,” like second nature. he didn’t suspect a thing.

now, it was just past 10 a.m. and the soft gray quiet of the house felt deeper than usual. the gentle scent of petrichor drifted in through the slightly cracked window. the world outside was still yawning. you were curled in a blanket by the window, your book long forgotten in your lap. you'd reread the same paragraph four times, your heart beating a little faster with each minute that passed.

waiting.

you didn’t know what page he was on. you didn’t know when he’d reach it.

but you knew he was close.

then came the shift—the change.

at first, just the slight pause in pencil movement. the absence of page turns. then the silence grew, thick and heavy with stillness.

he found it.

your breath caught.

from across the room, you heard the rustle of paper sliding out from between the chapters. the envelope being unfolded. and then, that long, unbroken quiet—the kind that held emotion too full to name.

you didn’t move. you didn’t dare. you only looked up when you heard the chair creak.

akaashi stepped into the doorway of the study, slow and disbelieving.

his expression was unreadable at first—stunned, wide-eyed, soft. his left hand trembled slightly where it held the ultrasound photo, while his right gripped the side of the door like he needed something to anchor him. his mouth parted, then closed again. his eyes—those gentle, intelligent eyes—met yours.

you stood.

neither of you said a word for a long moment.

he stepped forward, cautious, like he was approaching a fragile, precious truth. when he reached you, his hand rose to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing beneath your eye.

“i just…” he started, voice barely above a whisper. “i just flipped the page. i was ready to critique a scene. maybe circle a line. and then—” he exhaled shakily, holding up the photo, “this was there.”

your throat tightened.

“i didn’t know how to tell you,” you whispered. “so i gave you a story.”

his laugh was small, cracked around the edges. “i was marking up clichés. and then i found… everything.”

he dropped his forehead to yours, the photo between your hands now. the silence wrapped around you again—but this time, it was warm. full. whole.

you closed your eyes as he let out a breath that shook through his shoulders.

“twins,” he said, almost like it wasn’t real unless he heard it out loud.

you nodded. “i found out last week. i kept trying to find the right moment, but… they never came.”

“this was the right moment,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. “you gave me something real in the middle of something imaginary. you always know how to reach me.”

and then, with such reverence it made your knees weak, he crouched before you. his palm pressed gently to your stomach.

there was no bump yet. no visible sign. just the quiet knowing. just them.

you watched his lashes flutter as he looked at your stomach like it held galaxies.

“i hope they inherit your laugh,” he whispered. “i hear it every time i fall in love with you again.”

your heart fractured open at that. emotion welled, unspoken and overwhelming.

you dropped to your knees, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he held you like the whole world had just fit into his hands.

“they’re going to be so lucky to have you,” you whispered, voice cracking.

he pulled back just enough to look at you—really look at you. “no. we’re lucky to have them. lucky to have this life. lucky to have each other.”

he pressed a hand to your cheek, brushing away a tear with his thumb.

“you’re everything i’ve ever wanted,” he said simply. “and now there’s more of you.”

a tear slipped down your face as a smile broke through. you didn’t know what to say. you didn’t need to.

his thumb swept over your lower lip.

“may i kiss you?” he asked, quiet and sure.

you smiled, eyes shining. “you always can.”

and when he kissed you—it wasn’t hurried or desperate. it was slow, grounding, tender. the kind of kiss that told stories. that promised futures. that sealed every unsaid word between you with something sacred.

you melted into it, into him, into the moment that changed everything.

and somewhere behind you, on the desk in the study, the manuscript sat—unfinished. still open to the page where fiction had been interrupted by truth. but tucked between the chapters, untouched by red pencil or revisions, was a new story now.

a new beginning.

the kind you don’t write. the kind you live.

[soobmeongie]

Tied To You

Pairing: Rich Husband! Ricky x Poor Wife! Reader

Genre: Fluff + Angst

Summary:

She was just a florist with no family left. He was the country’s youngest billionaire, and her most loyal customer.

Now she’s his wife — and the target of every whisper in the mansion halls.

But Ricky Shen doesn’t care about bloodlines, business mergers, or what the world thinks.

He only cares about her.

This is the story of a soft girl and the man who would burn the world to keep her smiling.

Of a love that began with flowers… and bloomed into forever.

People say marrying into money is like stepping into a fairytale.

But fairytales don’t usually start with me… standing awkwardly in a walk-in closet bigger than my childhood home.

The silk nightgown I’m wearing probably costs more than my entire old flower shop monthly rent.

And yet, here I am — still the same me.

The same ex-florist girl who used to save leftover petals in a jar.

Now I’m Mrs. Shen. The wife of Ricky Shen Quan Rui.

Young and Rich, Tall and Handsome. Shen Ricky.

That’s what people describe him.

A name that people speak with reverence or fear — or both.

But to me…

He’s just Ricky.

The man who used to bring me coffee every Wednesday at 3:15 p.m. Sharp.

The man who silently replaced the lock on my flower shop after someone tried to break in.

The man who asked me to marry him in the middle of my shop, surrounded by wilting lilies at night.

He didn’t kneel. He didn’t need to.

He just looked me in the eyes and said,

“I want you to be mine, always. Marry me, Y/N.”

I remember trembling. I remember nodding.

I remember thinking — this can’t be real.

But here I am.

Married to the richest, most desired man in the country…

…while I still feel like I don’t quite belong in his world.

⸻

In public, he’s cold, unreadable.

But behind closed doors?

He’s the softest, most terrifyingly gentle man I’ve ever met.

He kisses my hand before bed.

He holds my waist like I’m made of something precious.

He calls me “darling” and “my love” and sometimes, in a voice that shakes me to my bones — “Mrs. Shen.”

⸻

The world knows him as the young CEO who doubled his company’s value overnight.

As the man who broke engagement with the heiress Annalise Chen, shocking the social elite.

No one knew he’d fallen for a florist girl from the wrong side of town.

But his grandparents love me. Especially Nainai — she always says,

“Ricky only smiles like that when you’re around.”

And yet…

His mother, the great Madam Shen, looks at me like I’m a wrinkle in her designer suit.

Like I’m the one blemish in her son’s perfect life.

I try to stay out of her way.

I try to be the perfect wife.

But some days, no matter how hard I try, I can still feel the sting of not being… enough.

⸻

Tonight, Ricky comes home late.

His tie loose, his hair slightly tousled — tired but still heartbreakingly handsome.

He sets his briefcase down, walks straight to me, and cups my cheek.

“Missed you,” he whispers, kissing my forehead.

And just like that —

The anxiety melts away.

I smile. “You’re late, hubby.”

He grins. That rare, boyish grin that’s just for me.

“I’m here now, my darling.”

He pulls me close, and I bury my face in his chest.

For a moment, there’s no wealth gap. No cruel mother-in-law. No ex-fiancée with sharp smiles.

Just the thump of his heart against my ear.

Just us.

Tied To You MASTERLIST 🕊️

CHAPTERS

Prologue - A Home Full of Roses, and Thorns

The Man in The Rain

The First Step

Thorns In Bloom

Rooftop Promises

His Queen, Always

First Date, First Panic | Special Chapter (6.5): Kiss Me Like A Fairytale

Unbreakable Vows

A Home Called You

The Event, The Ex, The Cracks

Don’t You Dare Touch Her

The Letter On The Table

You Can’t Leave Me

You’re Mine Forever

Over Me

Where Love Blooms Eternal (Final)

Epilogue - Stardust in the Morning

Disclaimer : ALL STORIES ARE FICTIONAL ONLY

[do not copy, edit, or revise my works]

Comment if you want to join taglist!

[insight-chronicles]

Chapter 2 - Latte Anyone?

Word Count: 3.1k

Content Warning: Swearing

Summary: Free Chai Latte with your best friend is ruined when Jinwoo shows up with fangirls in tow

Authors Note: Edited on my phone rather than my PC so i could get it up for you guys sooner so sorry if there's any mistakes with spelling/punctuation! Let me know if you find anything and I'll edit!

AO3

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Masterlist

You didn't want to move; you didn't want to think. You just wanted to enjoy your day off without any problems popping up. Everything had been fine, and all was going according to plan. Then, that new mission appeared, and nothing has been quite right since. You supposed it was a demon of your own making; you were so busy worrying about this new player and protecting the system that you didn’t stop to think. Or maybe you weren't thinking enough? See, this was the problem. You just didn't know what to think!

Every other mission, you had gotten side missions or level-ups when you were moving in the right direction, but with this one, you got nothing. The System had just left you in the dark.

You had even tried talking to the System. Or, well, talking into an empty room and hoping to get a response. But nothing. You'd tried it once before when the System had first contacted you, it hadn't worked then either. It was like you had completed a tutorial in a game, and then been dumped in a new area with no direction as to what to do next. You just felt so lost.

But today was Tuesday, and that meant you couldn't stay in bed and mope all day, unfortunately. Every week, you had Tuesdays and Fridays off work. You didn't mind working th weekend as it was usually quieter and allowed you to get more work done that wasn't evaluating hunters. What it being Tuesday meant was, it was your obligatory trip out to your best friends cafe.

In an attempt to stop you from being a total shut-in, Aera lured you down to the cafe with free Chai Lattes, your favourite drink, and hers was the best you had ever tried. Everytime, you attempted to pry the recipe out of her, she would refuse, saying it was the only way to get you out of the house, so why would she tell you. She was right, but that’s not the point. You deserved to know what made her version so damn heavenly.

With the thought of what was waiting for you, you dragged yourself out of bed and had a shower. A shower in the morning on your days off always seemed to refresh you more than any other time, even though the whole process took exactly the same amount of time whenever you did it. Psychology for you.

You dressed casually, in jeans and a dark oversized hoodie, you always relished your comfort clothes when you could wear them even though you liked to look smart and put together at work. A small spattering of makeup, which consisted of some mascara and a touch of tinted lipgloss. You loved a dark lip, but that was more for evenings and events, not popping down to the local coffee shop, so a tinted lip balm or gloss was your goto. Styling your hair is never as fun as people make out, you put in the effort when you had somewhere special to be, but in the day to day, dry and brushed was the standard. Happy the outfit worked together you left the bedroom heading towards the kitchen deciding to have breakfast first before you went out, that way you missed the worst of the morning rush and would be gone before the lunch rush began.

When you first started this routine, it had taken you a few traumatising visits before you got your timings right so the cafe wasn't too packed but still satified your friend that you were being social. You had also tried going on Fridays but the cafe was packed all day from open to close on a Friday and Saturday so that also ended in a failed attempt and quiet nearly a nervous breakdown on your part thanks to all the emotions that bombarded you at once as you walked through the door. It was always harder to deal with emotions in enclosed spaces than when you were out in the open.

Aera, of course, doesnt know why you can't stand crowds of people all she knows is that for some reason around a year and half ago it started to become harder and harder for you to be in crowds. She's been so supportive and is trying to help you in the only way she knows how and that just makes you love her more, even if she is a nosey gossip.

With breakfast made you take it to the sofa so you can catch up on your favourte programme before someone you follow on socal media spoils it for you. As you flick to the right streaming service you eyes catch on the book case, or more importantly on the medical books that line the bottom shelves, the memories flow back thick and fast.

As an E-Rank Healer you magic was pretty useless, but that didn't mean you had to be useless. Unlike most healers, who relied on their power, you went out of your way to learn everything you could about healing and medicine. You did every course short of becoming an actual doctor. All so you could help him. All so you could keep him alive. He meant everything to you but in the end it wasn't enough. You weren't enough.

A single tear escaped, sliding down your cheek. You wiped it away angrily. Annoyed your emotions had gotten the better of you again. This was why so many people had advised against you becoming a hunter, you were too soft. Overly emotional. Not cut out for the violence of a gate. They thought they were all proved right when you quit hunting and joined the archive team for Assocation but they don't know the real reason you stopped going into gates. Something you felt was much worse then all the bloodshed you had seen inside them. Becuase unlike what people assumed, you lived by a hunters moto “What happens in a Gate stays in a Gate”. You could compartmentalise better then anyone you knew, the fights and the bloodshed was almost easy to forget, after all you never got that attached to people. Aera and Him were the only people you have ever felt something for deeply aside from your parents and He had left, even after promising to never leave you. He broke his promise.

Dropping your head onto the back of the sofa, you let out an annoyed cry. Why does the memory of him always have a way of popping up when you need it the least? You know you should probably have thrown the books out, or at least donated them, but you just couldn't bring yourself to. There was something that made you want to hold on to them. Maybe the memories of the past, when things were better.

An hour later, you’re still staring at the ceiling, your breakfast lay untouched beside you.

The cafe is a short walk from your apartment, a walk you could do blinfolded thanks to Aera living above, and you hating people in your apartment so always meeting at hers. Another one of yur quirks that Aera just accepts.

With a deep breath to prepare yourself to the onslaught of emotions you were about to face, you walk through the door. A bell jingles to alert the staff of your presence.

Hae-Won Cafe was a small, simple affair whos decor lent to both the name of the cafe and the owners name. Styled with vines of cherry blossom and lanterns, Area had some how brought the outside in, making it feel like you were sat out in a garden in the spring time despite knowing you were in the middle of the city. It created a very romantic location that was a go-too place for dates and even proposals. Aera had a wall in her office covered in pictures of all the proposals that had been accepted at the cafe.

“Ahhh there you are!” Aera called across the room, making a few of the patrons already seated glance up before realising nothing special had happened and they could return to their drinks without missing something..

“Here I am.” Your face gave the impression that you had just eaten a sour piece fo fruit as the emotions of the room settled into you psyche, there was definitely at least one date happening in the cafe right now. and you hopped by the feelings you were getting that it was not a first.

“Seo-yeon, can you make us a Chai Latte, and I'll take a Green Tea.” The barista nodded that she understood before turning to fulfill the order “Thanks, darling, we'll just be over in the booth in the corner.” Aera called over her shoulder as she pulled you over to your usual booth. Situated in a quieter corner of the cafe where you were able to see everything going on in the cafe as well as the street beyond the store front. “Soo, how have you been?”

“I've been good.” There was something about Aera that just made you smile whenever she was around. “How about you?”

“Ah, ah, ah, you're not getting away with it that easily. Details, darling!” You rolled your eyes, you should have known. Aera was anything but easy to please, a perfectionist and gossip by nature, she was always looking for the next story and is only satisfied with all the details.

“Honestly I've been good, nothing to tell.” You try again, never one for sharing your feelings. She just continues to look at you expectantly. Damn. Sigh, “I've been busy, the Chairman's got a new assignment for me but…” you shrug.

“But…” Aera tries to coax more out of you. “What, girl, give me something! By the looks of your face, it's not more of that stuffy archive stuff you love, so it must be juicy.” She looks like a cat that caught the canary.

“Uhh, yeah not more archive stuff. Chairman Go wants me to find out more about Sung Jinwoo.”

“That sounds like boring archive stuff?”

“He wants me to do it by getting close to him.” You grimace. Aeras mouth dropped open, forming an O shape, she stayed like that for a few moments before getting herself together to continue her questioning.

“Wait, hang on a second, Chairman Go, wants you to get “close” to Sung Jinwoo,” you nod, “As in the most notorius S-Rank Hunter to probably have ever existed?”

“Exaggerate much” you laugh, shaking your head at your friend.

“No but seriously? You have to get close to Sung Jinwoo! How are you going to do that?” Just then, Seo-yeon placed your drinks on the table, “Thank you darling” Aera then lent forward, elbows on the table eager to hear the plan you didn't have.

“Umm. I dont really have a plan aside avoid Hunter Sung and trying to get others to reveal what happened on Jeju Island during the media blackouts in the hope I can figure out the extent of his power myself.” It was said in a rush as if you hopped that it would sound like a logical plan if you said ti fast enough. But you reaslised as you said it outloud how hopeful, yet hopeless, your plan was.

“Im sorry, WHAT? That's your plan? To go against the wishes of the Chairman and just hope you can figure it out by yourself? That is a stupid plan.” She said it so matter of factly you just shurgged, What else could you do? “You need to come up with a better plan, preferable one that actually gets Sung Jinwoo to trust you and reveal his secrets.” Just as you were about to respond with some snarky comment about your ability to be social, the barista called across the room at her boss. Aera looked over and saw that was a large queue at the counter.

“Shit, I better go help. We'll have to continue this later.” She stood up, grabbing her green tea to take with her. A thought suddenly occurred to you,

“Aera!” drawing her attention back to you, “I have a lunch date on Friday and I have a feeling none of the clothes I have will be suitable.” You grimace, at the thought of Aera reaction to the date, shopping for the date, or the date itself you weren't sure.

“WHAT!” That was more of a scream then anything else, “YOU HAVE A DATE!” Her eyes ping-ponged between you and the counter debating her options. “This conversation is not over.” She gave you a menacing look and then turned to make her way over the counter to deal with the sudden mass of people. Where had they all come from?

As much as you loved Aera she could be draining at times, the constant questions and happiness sapped your energy, you really didn't have to deal with so mnay more people emotions. You decided to pull your book out of your bag and read for a bit in the hopes it was distracting enough that you could finish your drink without getting overwhelmed by the number of people now in the cafe. With any luck by the time you were ready to leave, Aera would still be busy at the counter and you could leave without her noticing, having the conversation over text would be so much easier then her screaming at you the whole time.

You tried to concentrate on the latest chapter of your book, but the group of girls by the counter were being very loud and giggily. The tangle of emotions coming off them suggested there was something very exciting happening, feelings of nervousness, excitement, and even lust eminated from the group. God, it was bad enough when there was one date happening in the same room as you let alone a group of people all trying to get the attention of someone. It was too much. You looked over to the gaggle of girls just as they parted and the reason for all their emotions was revealed.

Sung Jinwoo.

Fuck, this could not be happening. The two of you locked eyes across the room, you gave him your best death glare whereas he seemed had a look of confusion and curiosity. Probably because a complete stranger was glaring at him. But for some reason he still took it as an invitation to come to your table.

Watching the faces of the girls fawning around him fall as he made his way to you was almost comical. Pathetic. Before you knew it, Jinwoo stood in front of you, behind him, you could see Aera giving you a thumbs up and an encouraging smile.

“Hey, is this seat taken?” He indicates to the side of the booth that Aera had just vacated. You looked longingly at your Chai Latte and signed, taking one last big gulp before getting up.

“No, you're all good, I was just leaving.” gathering your bag you made to leave.

“You don’t have to go. You just looked like you needed some company.” His eyes were so dejected you almost felt bad, but there was that nagging feeling that you couldn't trust him. Not being able to feel his feelings was so strange. You had spent so long now knowing what people were feeling, not having to trust what they said at face value, that you had forgotten how to read people like you used to. How can you trust someone when you don't know what they feel? You know everyone else has to, but you haven't for so long. Instead, you default to snark and sarcasm.

“Do you often go around telling people they look lonely?” You raise an eyebrow in question.

“Uhh,” he reached up with the hand not holding a drink, and scratched the back of his head, “No I can't say I do. Do you make a habit of running away from people when they approach you?”

“I certainly do when they are people I don't know and they come with a bunch of fangirls.“ You guesture to the women still stood by the counter, half of which were buying drinks with the other half watching your interaction closely.

“Hey, it's not like I invited them. They just seem to appear wherever I go these days.” he seemed embarrassed by them

“You are literally an S-Rank Hunter with superhuman speed, just lose them.” You said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. To you, it was.

“It's not that easy.” Apparently you were wrong, “One of them sees me and they post it on social media and suddenly there's a whole group of them. Had to stop them from following me in to a Gate the other day they were so oblivious to their surroundings.” There was a weird combination of a laugh and a head shake in disbelief of the people that fawn over him.

“Too many fan girls and not enough time.” You put on a fake pouty face

“I'd like to set the record straight right now,” He was suddenly serious, his eyes burning into you. “I don't want these fangirls. I never asked for this, and the sooner it calms down, the better. I much preferred being in complete obscurity, but it is what it is, and I have to deal with it.”

“Sure, whatever, I've never met a guy that wouldn't love that attention, so forgive me for not taking what you say at face value.” With renewed energy to turn to leave, only to have your progress stopped by a hand on your arm. Gasps from the fangirls filter across the room, you look down at the hand on your arm before moving your gaze to the face of the man holding you, it took all your will to stop your eyes from glowing green like you know they did when your power was close to the surface.

“I know it's difficult to understand but I would appreciate it if you gave me the benefit of the doubt. At least until you know me.” His eyes were soft, despite not being privy to his feelings you felt like he was being sincere in his confession. He lowered his voice so only you could hear it, it was strangely intimate, “You’ve been on my mind since that night 6 months ago. There was something about you then and there's something about you now, that draws me to you. I want to know you, what you think, what you feel. I want to know what makes you tick. But you have to let me in. I don't know why you don't trust but I promise you, I am someone you can trust.” You snort, unable to stop yourself. His brows furrow in confusion. You rip you arm out of his grip and sneer at him as you walk away.

“I know you plenty.”

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Tags

@weaponxgames

@tanspostsblog

@bubera974

@nightmarewasteland

[airandyeah]

Animals (Alpha!Sukuna X Alpha!Toji X Omega!Reader) Pt.8

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Warnings: Obvious A/B/O dynamics, suggestive comments or actions, just generally Minors DNI-just in case. This will be similar to Pink Pony Club and Sins, where I just mark every chapter as 18+ This also has the general warning of Toji and Sukuna both honestly being menaces. This chapter is suggestive- slightly more than usual lol.

The next day, you woke up later than usual, the sun already spilling golden light through the window. The steady, rhythmic sound of wood being split echoed outside, each crack sharp against the otherwise quiet morning.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you pushed yourself out of bed and shuffled toward the window. The sight that greeted you had you stopping in your tracks.

Outside, Sukuna and Toji stood near a growing stack of firewood, both stripped down to nothing but their sweatpants, muscles flexing with every swing of the axe. Toji, ever efficient, made clean, powerful cuts, splitting logs with ease. Sukuna, on the other hand, looked like he was enjoying himself, a smirk playing on his lips as he worked, relishing the destruction of the wood beneath his blade.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling far too warm. This was not what you expected to wake up to.

For a moment, you just watched—because really, how could you not? The way their bodies moved, the sheer strength behind every motion, the light sheen of sweat glistening on their skin. It was almost unfair.

Then, as if sensing your eyes on them, Sukuna suddenly glanced up, locking onto you with a knowing smirk. “Enjoying the show, sweetheart?” he called, voice dripping with amusement.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I just woke up. I wasn’t expecting that to be the first thing I saw.”

Toji didn’t even pause in his chopping, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement. “Could’ve slept through it if you weren’t so nosy,” he remarked.

You rolled your eyes, but the heat on your face betrayed you. “Right. Well, I’m going inside before I have to start paying admission.”

Sukuna barked out a laugh as you turned away, but you swore you heard him murmur, “Bet you’ll still be thinking about it, though.”

And annoyingly enough… he wasn’t wrong.

Settling onto the couch, you pulled your laptop onto your lap and opened a well-worn Google Doc—one you’d been working on for what felt like forever. The familiar screen filled with words you’d rewritten, edited, and obsessed over countless times.

The story had been a constant in your life, a quiet passion tucked away between responsibilities and distractions. And with everything that had been going on lately—from your car breaking down to being practically forced into staying with two insufferable (and dangerously attractive) alphas—you hadn’t had the time or the mental energy to write.

But now, with the rhythmic thunk of firewood being split outside and the distant hum of the forest, you found yourself staring at the blinking cursor, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You reread the last paragraph. The words felt... distant, like they belonged to someone else. With a sigh, you stretched out your legs, trying to coax the creative energy back. Maybe if you just started typing, something would click.

So you did.

Slowly at first, then faster as the story pulled you in, your fingers moving in a steady rhythm. The real world faded, and for the first time in days, you felt grounded—like you were back in control.

The rhythm was interrupted about two hours later. You hadn’t noticed the door open or the shift in the air. Hadn’t noticed either of them come back inside, leave to change, or even make a sound as they approached.

It wasn’t until the presence of two looming figures cast a shadow over your screen that you stiffened, realizing too late that you weren’t alone.

“What’re you writing?” Toji’s voice was low and amused, dangerously close to your ear.

Sukuna leaned in from the other side, his eyes flicking over the words on the screen. “Tch. You’ve been holed up in this document for hours. Must be something good.”

Your fingers twitched over the keyboard as you quickly minimized the document, but the damage was already done. Sukuna’s smirk stretched wider, while Toji just looked far too entertained for your liking.

“Didn’t take you for the type to write,” Toji mused, dropping onto the couch beside you, legs spreading comfortably. “Lemme guess—some self-insert romance shit?”

Sukuna barked out a laugh. “Oh, I have to read this.”

Your heart lurched as his hand made a teasing reach toward the laptop, but you snapped it shut before he could get close.

“Mind your damn business,” you snapped, pressing the device against your chest protectively.

Toji chuckled, stretching an arm over the back of the couch, effectively caging you in. “Aw, c’mon, don’t be shy. We just wanna know what’s got you so damn focused. Didn’t even notice us coming in.”

Sukuna cocked his head, gaze sharp with curiosity. “You write about us, sweetheart?”

Your stomach flipped, and your immediate reaction must’ve been too strong, because their smirks only deepened.

“Ah, fuck,” Toji grinned, nudging Sukuna. “She totally does.”

Sukuna clicked his tongue. “How cute.”

You groaned, shoving at Toji’s shoulder, which did absolutely nothing to move him. “I don’t! Now shut up and leave me alone.”

“Prove it,” Sukuna challenged, that mischievous glint in his eyes sparking like fire.

Like hell you were about to do that.

With a sigh, you pressed the laptop tighter against your chest, glaring between the two of them. “It’s not about you,” you grumbled. “I’ve been writing a book since high school.”

That actually made them pause.

Toji raised a brow, a flicker of real curiosity crossing his face. “Since high school?”

Sukuna folded his arms, tilting his head. “Damn. Didn’t expect that. What’s it about?”

You hesitated, fingers drumming against the laptop. Talking about your writing was always… weird. It felt too personal, too vulnerable, but they were staring at you now, actually waiting for an answer instead of just teasing.

You sighed. “It’s… a fantasy story. Some action, some romance, a little horror.” You shrugged. “Nothing special.”

Sukuna scoffed. “Bullshit. You don’t spend years writing something if it’s ‘nothing special.’”

Toji leaned back against the couch, arms draped lazily over the back. “So what, you wanna publish it?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “I mean… yeah. Someday.”

Sukuna hummed, giving you an appraising look. “Huh. Guess you’ve got a brain under all that stubbornness.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow, thanks.”

Toji smirked, tapping a lazy finger against his thigh. “Bet you’re good at it, if you’ve stuck with it this long.”

The unexpected compliment caught you off guard, heat creeping up your neck. You huffed, looking away. “I don’t need your approval.”

Sukuna snickered, nudging your arm. “Yeah, but you like it.”

You shoved him away with a glare, ignoring the way your heart stuttered a little.

Clearing your throat, you quickly shifted the conversation. “So… uh, about my cabin—was there anything that actually needed fixing with the water damage?”

Toji ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Yeah. It’s not just a small leak. Looks like part of the roof’s been rotting for a while. Whole section of the ceiling in your bedroom needs to be ripped out and replaced.”

You groaned, leaning your head back against the couch. “Great. Just great.”

Sukuna clicked his tongue. “Could be worse. At least you didn’t wake up with the roof caving in on you.”

“Small comforts,” you muttered.

Toji shrugged. “We can go back in a few days, check if the damage spread. If it’s bad, might take a couple weeks to fix properly.”

You frowned. “Weeks?”

Sukuna smirked. “What, that eager to get away from us?”

You shot him a glare. “I don’t know if I can survive that long in a house that reeks of Alpha.”

Toji chuckled. “You’ll live.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”

Sukuna leaned in with a teasing grin. “Nope. You’re stuck with us, sweetheart.” ~~~ Lying in bed that night, you couldn’t shake the restless energy creeping beneath your skin. It wasn’t just the unfamiliar bed, the lingering scent of Alpha in the air, or the quiet hum of the house—it was something deeper. Something stirring in your bones, your blood, your instincts.

You shifted under the covers, pressing your thighs together as an uncomfortable heat curled low in your stomach. It wasn’t your heat, not yet, but it was something close—something in between. The constant presence of two Alphas, their scents thick in the air, the way their voices rumbled through the house, the weight of their gazes when they looked at you—it was starting to affect you.

You hated it.

Or at least, you told yourself you did.

Pulling the blankets tighter around yourself, you exhaled slowly, trying to push the feeling down, but it clung to you, wrapping around your senses like a second skin.

You needed to get a grip.

You weren’t some weak Omega, ruled by instinct and the presence of Alphas. You had spent years keeping yourself in control, resisting the pull of biology, refusing to be another helpless, needy little thing.

And yet…

Your fingers curled into the sheets, heart pounding as your body betrayed you, warmth pooling beneath your skin, an ache settling deep in your core.

Damn them.

Damn them both. It was like your hands had a mind of their own as one traced down below the hem of your sleep shorts and thin panties— you couldn't help the gasp you release— you're overly sensitive. Your other hand comes up to cover your mouth to silence any further noises as you continue your ministrations. Shit. ~~~ In the morning, you dragged yourself out of bed, feeling groggy, restless, and frustrated beyond belief. You barely managed to pull on a hoodie before making your way to the kitchen, hoping coffee would drown out the lingering heat curling through your veins.

But the moment you stepped into the room, you froze.

Toji and Sukuna were already there, leaned casually against the counter, both nursing their own mugs of coffee. Their postures were relaxed, but the sharp, knowing gleam in their eyes told you everything you needed to know.

Wolfish grins stretched across their lips—teasing, smug, far too pleased with themselves.

Your stomach dropped.

They knew.

You didn’t know how, but they knew.

Toji took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes flickering over you lazily. "Sleep well, princess?"

Sukuna chuckled, deep and throaty, his tongue running over the edge of his teeth. "Or should I say… restlessly?"

Your entire body went stiff, heat creeping up your neck. "Shut up," you muttered, moving toward the coffee pot like you weren’t about to combust on the spot.

Sukuna let out an amused hum, watching you with far too much interest. "Nothing to be ashamed of," he mused. "It's only natural, y'know. Alphas and Omegas… spending time together, getting close… instincts start kicking in."

You slammed your mug onto the counter a little too hard, teeth gritted. "I said shut up."

Toji snickered, setting his coffee down and leaning forward slightly, voice dropping to something smoother, more dangerous. "Oh, sweetheart, we ain't judgin'." He reached out, tapping two fingers against your temple. "Just sayin'—maybe your body's tryin' to tell you somethin’."

You huffed, gripping your coffee like a lifeline, refusing to meet their eyes.

Damn them.

Damn them both.

You barely had time to take a sip of your coffee before Sukuna leaned in, voice dropping into something velvety and smug.

"Y'know," he drawled, tilting his head, "if it's getting too hard to handle, sweetheart, we could always help you out."

Your grip on the mug tightened, nearly scalding yourself as you swallowed hard. "Excuse me?"

Toji chuckled, deep and throaty, like he was thoroughly enjoying your growing discomfort. He stepped closer, towering just enough to make you feel caged in, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "We’re just sayin’… you don’t gotta suffer through it alone."

Sukuna leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee with a lazy smirk. "Could make it real easy for you. Just gotta say the word."

Your whole body heated instantly, a deep, visceral reaction you tried to force down.

They were just messing with you. That’s what they did. They were assholes.

"You two are disgusting," you muttered, willing your pulse to slow down as you turned away, focusing hard on your coffee.

Toji snorted. "Disgusting? C’mon, princess, we’re just offering a little… relief."

Sukuna exhaled a sharp laugh, gaze practically burning into the side of your face. "And let’s be real, sweetheart," he murmured, "you’re thinking about it."

Your breath caught, stomach twisting.

You hated that they were right.

Your face burned as you scrambled for a response, but all that came out was a stuttered, “Wh-whatever,” before you turned on your heel and bolted toward the guest room.

The sound of their laughter followed you down the hall, deep and wolfish, like they were having the time of their lives at your expense.

“Aw, don’t run, sweetheart!” Sukuna called after you, amusement dripping from every word.

Toji’s chuckle rumbled through the cabin. “She’s cute when she’s flustered, huh?”

You slammed the door behind you, pressing your back against it as you willed your heartbeat to slow down. Your entire body was burning, and it wasn’t just from embarrassment.

Those bastards.

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. You had to find a way to get through this without losing your mind—or worse, giving in.

Taglist is always open for anyone! Just comment, send an ask, or a DM and I'll add you! Taglist: @tojislongshlong , @jaxawinchester , @ectomotive , @hishearttohave , @makingtimemine , @tojinxies , @imoutofpot Perma Tags: @thenightperson

[undiagnosedcruelty]

Bound By Mistake│ k.seungmin

Chapter 3: Terms and Conditions (That You Definitely Did Not Agree To)

Sypnosis: When you accidentally summon Seungmin, a high-ranking demon with an attitude problem, you find yourself bound to him by an unbreakable contract.

Pairing: Demon! K. Seugming x afab!reader

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Bound By Mistake masterlist here.

Content warning: supernatural elements, mild profanity and sarcasm, banter, demon presence, seungmin being a menace

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Will be posting next chapters after I'm done editing them😞

chapter 1 │ chapter 2 | chapter 4

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EVERYTHING WRITTEN IS PURELY FICTION──NOTHING IS DIRECTLY RELATED TO ANY REAL LIFE EVENTS.

Morning came far too quickly for someone who had unwillingly acquired a supernatural parasite the night before.

You woke up to the sound of your alarm screeching, a noise that felt like a personal attack after the absolute absurdity of last night. Half-conscious, you clumsily smacked at your nightstand in search of the snooze button, groggily convincing yourself that everything—everything—had been some kind of bizarre, stress-induced fever dream.

But then, as you rubbed your eyes and blinked blearily at your surroundings, you saw him.

Seungmin.

Sitting on your desk, casually spinning a pen between his fingers. Looking like he belonged there. Looking annoyingly comfortable in your space. In your apartment.

Your bedroom, usually a safe haven of cluttered normalcy, felt smaller with him in it. Posters half-peeling from the walls, an overflowing laundry basket in the corner, and a desk covered in books and loose papers—none of it seemed to bother him. The morning light seeped in through the blinds, casting long stripes of gold and shadow across your bed, making the surreal nature of his presence even more pronounced.

You froze, brain still buffering, taking an extra second to process the fact that no, last night had not been a dream. And yes, there was still a demon in your bedroom.

Seungmin smirked the moment he saw the realization dawn on your face.

"Morning, sunshine."

You made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a dying animal, immediately flopping back onto your pillow. "Nope. I refuse."

"Refuse what?" he asked, far too amused for this hour of the morning.

"All of this." You yanked the blanket over your face. "Nope. I’m not acknowledging this. If I ignore you long enough, maybe you’ll cease to exist."

Seungmin made a thoughtful humming noise. "Bold of you to assume I need acknowledgment to exist."

You groaned, voice muffled under the covers. "Can you just—shut up for like, five minutes?"

He hummed again, considering it. "Mmm… no."

You dragged the blanket down just enough to glare at him. "You are the worst thing to ever happen to me."

"Wow." His voice was completely dry. "And here I thought your life was already a trainwreck before I got here."

Without thinking, you chucked your pillow at him. Unfortunately, like last night’s lamp, it stopped midair, hovering for a second before dropping harmlessly to the floor.

Seungmin grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. "You really don’t learn, do you?"

You sat up fully, rubbing your face as reality finally sunk in. "Okay. Fine. Whatever. I have work in an hour. What are you gonna do? Follow me around like a creepy shadow?"

Seungmin raised an eyebrow. "I mean, I could, but watching you be miserable at work sounds boring. I think I’ll just—" He gestured vaguely. "Lurk."

"You’re going to lurk?"

"Yeah."

You squinted at him. "Like… here? In my apartment?"

Seungmin shrugged. "Unless you’d rather me be attached to your hip all day."

You made a face. "Gross."

"Exactly."

You sighed, dragging yourself out of bed. This was going to take some serious getting used to. You moved through your morning routine on autopilot, brushing your teeth, throwing on whatever semi-clean outfit you could find, and grabbing a granola bar on your way out. The entire time, you could feel Seungmin’s gaze following you, his presence lingering like an uninvited shadow.

As you stepped outside, the city greeted you with its usual morning chaos—car horns blaring, hurried footsteps, the distant hum of conversation. The air was crisp, the early sunlight doing little to chase away the lingering chill. You stuffed your hands into your jacket pockets and started walking.

You were halfway to work, already regretting all your life choices, when it happened.

The walk from your apartment to the bookstore wasn’t anything remarkable—just a ten-minute trek past a few dull buildings, a tiny café, and an alley you usually avoided.

Today, though, you were running late. And because you were running late, you made a split-second decision: cut through the alley.

In hindsight, this was a mistake.

The alley was narrow and smelled faintly of damp asphalt and old garbage, the kind of place you instinctively knew bad things happened. The walls on either side were lined with faded graffiti, remnants of tags long abandoned. A single flickering streetlamp buzzed overhead, casting an eerie, inconsistent glow on the cracked pavement.

You had barely stepped onto the cracked pavement when something felt... off.

At first, it was subtle. A whisper of wrongness curling at the edges of your senses. Then, the air changed—sharpened. The temperature plummeted, sending a sudden shiver racing down your spine. Your breath hitched.

You slowed your pace. The alley was empty—but suddenly, it didn’t feel that way.

A flickering streetlamp above you cast long, fractured shadows against the walls. The light wavered, buzzing, like it was struggling to stay on.

Your gut twisted. You had the distinct, bone-deep feeling that you were being watched.

And then—

The streetlamp shattered. Glass rained down, sharp and glinting. You barely had time to react before a force—strong, invisible—yanked you backward.

You stumbled, heart pounding. Where you had been standing a second ago, a chunk of twisted metal crashed onto the pavement.

Your stomach dropped. You would’ve been crushed.

“What the—” You whirled around, breathless, but you already knew.

Seungmin stood there, hands in his pockets, looking completely unbothered. His dark eyes flickered to the wreckage, unimpressed, before meeting your gaze with that same unreadable expression he always wore.

Your pulse hammered in your ears. “DID YOU JUST—”

He tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “You’re welcome.”

You gawked at him. “WELCOME? I ALMOST JUST DIED!”

Seungmin blinked slowly, as if you were being dramatic. “And?”

You stared. “And?! That would’ve been your fault!”

“How?” he said, actually looking confused. He gestured vaguely, the movement slow and deliberate. “I saved you.”

“You almost let me get flattened first!”

Seungmin sighed through his nose, the kind of sigh that made it very clear he thought this was a waste of time. “You humans have no sense of gratitude.”

You pointed aggressively at the wreckage, your breath still uneven. “What the hell was that?! That was just a random accident, right? Like, bad luck?”

Seungmin’s lips twitched, his amusement barely concealed. “You really think so?”

You felt cold. A strange, creeping dread curled in your stomach. “Wait—are you saying—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, flashing you a sharp grin. “It’s nothing too serious. Just a side effect of being bound to a demon.”

You froze. Your mouth suddenly felt very dry. “A… side effect?”

Seungmin nodded once, casual as ever, like he wasn’t completely upending your entire life. “You know. Tiny things. Like bad luck.” He shrugged. “Or drawing attention from things that should probably stay in the dark. It’s fine.”

“IT IS NOT FINE.”

“Relax,” he said, stretching his arms above his head like he hadn’t just delivered a life-altering statement. “It just means I’ll have to stick around more to keep you from dying.”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “You’re telling me that because of you, I’m now an attraction for supernatural bullshit?”

“Pretty much.” Seungmin rocked back on his heels, looking far too pleased with himself.

You wanted to scream. Instead, you settled for pressing your fingers against your temples, trying to will away the headache forming there.

Seungmin clapped a hand on your shoulder, giving it a single, lazy pat—barely a gesture of comfort and more like a ‘this is your life now, deal with it.’

“Congrats, mortal,” he said, smirking. “Your life just got way more interesting.”

The walk to work felt longer. Every shadow, every stray noise set your nerves on edge. By the time you reached the bookstore, the familiar scent of old paper and coffee should have been comforting. Instead, it barely grounded you.

The shop was cozy, with towering shelves, warm overhead lighting, and the constant, quiet hum of customers browsing. Wooden bookshelves stretched up to the ceiling, their spines a patchwork of colors, some leather-bound and worn with age. The air smelled of parchment and ink, mingling with the faint aroma of espresso from the small café corner near the checkout. A rickety ladder leaned against one of the shelves, used to reach the higher books. The soft chime of a bell rang as you stepped inside, and your coworker, June, barely glanced up from behind the counter, muttering a distracted "Morning."

You were re-stocking the front shelves when you heard a distinctly familiar voice behind you.

And then—

"You call this 'work'?"

You yelped, nearly dropping an entire stack of books. You turned to see Seungmin leaning against a shelf, arms crossed, looking wildly unimpressed with your minimum-wage existence. “What the fuck?!” you whisper-yelled. “I thought you said you weren’t coming with me!”

The demon in question just shrugged, as if it was just another day in his life as a demon to follow a human—you—around just to piss you off. “I got bored.’

 "Oh my god."

A book slid off the shelf by itself. A nearby customer gasped. Another book tumbled down, then another, toppling like dominoes as Seungmin grinned. A whole stack collapsed onto the floor with a thud. The customer scurried away, muttering something about ghosts. Seungmin casually dusted off his sleeve. "Whoops."

Then, he turned to June—the one you knew had a thing for charming, confident types—and gave her a lazy grin. "Hey. Can you help me find something?"

June immediately straightened, her usual indifference replaced with an eager smile. "Of course! What are you looking for?"

Seungmin leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to something smoother, lower. "Something rare. Something… dangerous. Got any recommendations?"

June practically melted. You, on the other hand, were fighting the urge to strangle him.

"I swear to God," you hissed under your breath, shoving a book back into place with unnecessary force. "I will exorcise you myself."

Seungmin shot you an innocent look. "What? I'm just browsing."

June giggled. You wanted to hurl yourself into the sun.

The bookstore was supposed to be a place of peace. A quiet refuge where people could come in, browse, and leave without incident. But that was an hour ago, before Seungmin decided to lurk into the workplace to which you called Book Haven—now turned into your own personal hell because of certain demon.

You were halfway through restocking the mystery section when you heard the distinct sound of a book being flicked through at an obnoxious speed. You turned your head just in time to see Seungmin perched on the ladder you’d been using earlier, balancing precariously while flipping through a random novel at a speed that no one could actually read.

“That’s not how books work,” you pointed out, returning to your task. Seungmin hummed, flipping to the end of the book before shutting it with a loud snap. “I dunno. I got the general idea.”

“You—” You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling deeply. “You are insufferable.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

He hopped down from the ladder with a lazy grin, trailing behind you as you moved to the front desk. You pretended not to notice him hovering, but after a solid minute of him doing absolutely nothing except existing loudly, you turned to glare at him.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” you asked.

“Nope.” He leaned on the counter, watching as you typed something into the computer. “June likes me, you know.”

You paused. “Yes, I am painfully aware.”

“They’re cute.”

You didn’t bother looking up. “Then why are you over here bothering me instead of flirting with her?”

“I like a challenge.”

You made a noise of disbelief and focused very hard on the screen in front of you. Maybe if you ignored him long enough, he’d get bored. Maybe he’d wander off to terrorize someone else. Maybe—

You heard the unmistakable sound of a book being tossed into the air. Your eyes snapped up just in time to see Seungmin casually catching and tossing a book one-handed, his expression the picture of boredom.

“Stop that,” you said sharply.

“Stop what?” He tossed the book again.

“That!”

“This?” He tossed it even higher.

You lunged for it, barely snatching it away before it could crash onto the counter. You cradled it protectively, glaring daggers at him. “Get out,” you hissed.

Seungmin smirked, taking a step back with his hands raised in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave.”

You didn’t believe that for a second, but at least he stopped throwing books. For now.

June walked by a moment later, giving Seungmin a shy little wave. He returned it smoothly before looking back at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You groaned. This job didn’t pay you nearly enough for this.

By the time your shift ended, you were drained. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the streets bathed in the amber glow of streetlights. You locked up the shop, adjusting your bag over your shoulder, when you noticed Seungmin waiting outside, hands in his pockets, looking way too at ease for someone who had tormented you all day.

"You really have nothing better to do?" you asked, exasperated.

"Not really," he admitted. "Besides, I'm supposed to keep you from dying, remember?"

You sighed and started walking, Seungmin falling into step beside you. The city had quieted, the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a stray dog the only sounds filling the air. The neon lights of a diner flickered across the street, and the faint scent of rain clung to the air.

"You know," Seungmin mused, glancing at you. "For someone who's had their life completely upended by supernatural forces, you're handling this surprisingly well."

You shot him a look. "I'm too tired to freak out anymore. I'll save that for tomorrow."

He chuckled. "Fair enough."

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, but not unpleasant. Despite everything, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

And, for better or worse, your new reality had begun.

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Series taglist: @maisyyyyyy @hyeon-yi @chuuyaobsessed @alisonyus @eastjonowhere @sseastar-main

[morgana-larkin]

Here's the next chapter of Just Tired! It's all Y/n's POV of the same 2 and a half days. Would have had this out yesterday but my little brother's birthday party was yesterday. Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 26

Just Tired - Part 25

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 2.8k

You wake up on Monday morning and put your hands over your eyes. You’re still in shock over what happened yesterday with Melissa. Now you’ll have to see her at work, right across the hall from you and not talk to her. You get up and get ready for work and try not to cry. 

You arrive in the parking lot and let out a breath that Melissa’s car is not here yet. You go into the school and walk in the break room and head over to the fridge to put your lunch in there. You then sit at the table with Jacob and Janine who were talking about what they did over the weekend.

“So Y/n what did you do?” Jacob asks you.

“Oh I didn’t do much, mostly stayed home and watched movies with my roommate.” You tell them and then you see Melissa walk in and she freezes. 

“What movies did you watch?” Janine asks you and then Melissa seems to start moving.

“Just some Disney movies like Sleeping Beauty, The Lion King.” You say to them.

“Ohh! I love Disney movies!” Janine exclaims and that sparks a Disney conversation.

You mostly tune out what Janine and Jacob are talking about, mostly thinking about yesterday. You notice that they seem to be talking about the classics and talking about which one is the best.

“Oh, we gotta get to our classrooms.” Janine says and it snaps you out of the whirlwind your brain was thinking.

“Now, who can tell me what people used before clocks to tell time?” You ask your class and you point to the first one who raises their hand. “Alec.”

“My mom said they used sundials.” Alec replies with and you smile. 

“That’s correct.” You tell him as you are leaning on your desk, facing your students. 

You go to sit at your desk while your students are reading and you glance at Melissa across the hall and sigh. You miss her already, even though it’s been a day. You guess knowing that she doesn’t want anything to do with you makes it harder as you’ll never talk to her again. You then cast those thoughts aside as you’re at school right now, you can cry when you get home. 

At the end of the day you see her saying goodbye to her students but you notice she doesn’t have the same energy as usual. You guess being abused by your ex again and getting into a fight with a trusted friend can bring you down. When all your students are gone, you lock up your classroom and head down the hall, not knowing that Melissa was watching you. 

When you get home all your thoughts are of Melissa. You go on your phone and look at all the photos you two took together. The first one you guys took was when Gerald drove you both to the gay bar for Melissa’s first time and you took a selfie from the backseat. 

The second one was when you two were on your first date and walking to the car with your ice cream cones. You took your phone out to take a selfie of the both of you and Melissa stuck her tongue out, that was the second time that day that you saw her silly side. You, of course, followed suit and stuck your tongue out as well.

The third picture of you both together is after you helped her get revenge on her ex and egged their house. You were both laying on her bed and you got your phone on and she kissed your cheek as you took the picture.

The next picture was the next day when she took you to Danny Wok’s to try his chicken and you had a nice afternoon that day. You took a picture together after exiting the store and you were holding up the box of chicken she bought for you, Melissa was holding hers up as well.

The following picture was with Janine and Jacob when all four of you went to do the escape room. Melissa was right beside you as Janine and Jacob were right behind you. You and Melissa ended up taking a photo of just the two of you after. She has her arm wrapped around your neck and you both have a big smile on your faces.

The next picture is when you love to look at. It was after you both were roller skating and were walking to get pizza. You stopped and got your phone out and she saw you were about to take a picture of you both. She quickly leans forward and kisses you on the lips just as you take the picture. The next picture is about a minute later and it’s just Melissa from the side in the picture, she has her head down and she has a smile on her face.

The last picture is the one that Janine sent you of the picture she took of both you and Melissa kissing in the parking lot of the escape room. You finish looking at all the pictures and sigh.

“Even if I’m not in your life anymore, you meant so much to me, and I hope you continue living life the way you want.” You say as you look at the picture of just her.

You then end up going out with Hallie and her friends as you told her what happened and she called her friends to go out to a bar. You got to meet all her friends and danced with a couple of them to the music. Hallie cuts you off after your fourth drink and drives you home not too long after.

You wake up the next morning with a slight hangover and you put your sunglasses on as you drive to the school. You walk into the break room and get a coffee before you sit down with Janine and Jacob. You have a slight headache from the alcohol and don’t really pay attention to what they’re talking about. You take a sip of coffee just as you hear the door open and see Barb and Melissa walking in. You wrap your sweater around you for comfort as Melissa makes her way over to the fridge.

“Y/n? Are you even paying attention?” Janine asks you and you look up at both of them.

“Not really, I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, sorry.” You tell them and you get a sudden sadness taking over you and you realise you need to leave. You grab your coffee mug and get up and immediately go for the exit. You weren’t paying attention to your surroundings and end up walking right into Melissa and spill your coffee on both of you. You end up letting go of your coffee mug due to the surprise and it breaks upon impact with the floor. “Oh god, Melissa I’m so sorry.” You tell her as you realise who you bumped into. She looks like she’s about to say something but you can’t deal with her complaints. “I’ll go get Mr. Johnson so he can clean this up.” You tell her before bolting out of there with a few tears running down your face. 

You reach the safety of your classroom and immediately change into your emergency shirt that you now keep in your classroom, thanks to Melissa. You sit down at your desk and curse yourself for what just happened. You can’t hold back anymore and start crying until you see that there’s a few minutes until the bell. You wipe your tears away and go in your bag and put some mascara on to cover up the fact that you were just crying for 20 minutes. There’s one minute until the bell so you open up your door and greet the students as they walk in, although you don’t feel up to your usual enthusiasm at seeing your kiddos. All of a sudden you see Melissa walking up to you and you have no idea what she wants to say to you, considering you both agreed to cut all communication off unless necessary. You look at her in confusion when she’s right next to you.

“Can I help you Ms. Schemmenti?” You ask her, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible. 

“Just wanted to say no hard feelings about the coffee, accidents happen.” She tells you before she goes back to greeting her students. You stare at her in confusion for a few moments, not expecting that. You thought that she might be complaining about the coffee incident, especially since you’re sure she’s still mad at you about the stuff you told her on Sunday.

An hour later you’re grading their homework that you gave them last night when your thoughts drift back to Melissa and the fact that she wasn’t mad at you about bumping into her and spilling coffee on her. She knew for a fact that you were blaming yourself and made sure you knew that she doesn’t blame you. You decide to return the favour and send her a text.

You: Thank you for forgiving me about the coffee incident.

You text it to her before going back to grading the homework. A few seconds later you feel like you’re being watched and look at all your students. You see they’re all hard at work and no one is watching you. You then turn your head to Melissa’s classroom and see that she’s watching you with a smile and her phone in her hands. You look at her eyes and see the brightness in them is still there and she must have moved on from you and that hurts you to think about it. You then see her break contact and put her phone down before she continues doing what she was doing before you texted her.

The day went by as normal. Your headache disappeared around lunch when you were eating and drinking lots of water throughout the day, making the hangover leave you. You were saying goodbye to your students with more enthusiasm than you had this morning when a parent comes up to you and starts yelling in your face. He’s holding up a piece of paper of the history test you gave them last week and see who his kid is and he points to the queer question that’s on it.

“My kid has been telling me everything you’re teaching and I don’t like it! I want you to change what you’re teaching them!” He yells at you and you realise he means the queer history. You take a deep breath and try to reply to him as calmly as possible.

“I’m very sorry to hear that but I teach them what I’m told to teach them and what I think they should be taught as it’s important.” You tell him.

“I don’t want you teaching them queer history! I don’t want it rubbing off on my kid! It’s bad enough that her teacher is a queer!” He yells in your face and you’re taken back by that comment. It quickly makes you think back on your own parents and how they used to yell at you for being gay.

“Is there a problem here?” You hear Melissa ask and see she’s right beside you and looking at the dad who’s yelling at you. You see him relax a bit as he looks at Melissa.

“Mrs. Schemmenti, you’re a respected teacher here. Please tell this queer that she shouldn’t be teaching gay history to our kids.” The dad demands of her. You have no idea who’s side she’s going to take in this. She is a respected teacher because the parents see every year how much she cares about her students but you know she also respects her fellow coworkers.

“Well first off it’s Ms, and secondly I think it’s important for our kids to know our whole history and not just parts of it.” She says and you widen your eyes as she’s defending what you’re teaching your students. You look at the dad and see that it did not please him as she took your side instead of his like he thought.

“Why are you defending her? This queer! This *insert gay slur*!” He yells and you let out a small gasp, not even your parents were mean enough to call you that. You look at Melissa and see that she’s not thrilled by that comment.

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask that you take your daughter and leave now.” She tells him sternly before he takes his daughter’s hand and leaves. You look down as he leaves as his comment got to you. “Are you ok? Parents can be mean sometimes, don’t listen to what he said.” She says and you look at her and see she’s looking at you with concern.

“Never had anyone say anything bad about my sexuality before.” You say. You both know your parents have but Melissa knows what you meant. You then see her go to reach for your hand but then she freezes. You don’t know what to do either and realise it must be instinct but then she might not want to touch you. You then wrap your sweater around yourself for comfort like you did this morning. 

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a homophobic jackass.” She ends up saying and you look at her and nod.

“Thanks.” You tell her and then you see her nod before she goes back to saying goodbye to her students. You see her casting glances at you until all the students are gone.

You go home and sit on the couch with a hot chocolate and put on a disney movie. Today is just not your day. You end up telling Hallie what happened when she gets home as she can see you were upset about something. She joins you on the couch and you end up watching some comfort Disney movies.

The next day you get to the school and go to the break room for some coffee. You still weren’t really in the mood to talk to anyone so you tell Janine and Jacob that you’ll see them at lunch and you go to your classroom.

You see Melissa’s door is already open and you see her at her desk. When you walk in your classroom, you see something on your desk and go over and see it’s a container full of food. You see there’s a note attached to it and read it.

‘Hope this makes you feel better.’

-Melissa

You read it a couple of times before you look over to Melissa and see she’s still doing something at her desk and take a deep breath. You have no idea why she’s secretly slipping you food when you both agreed on no contact and no friendship at all. You have a pretty good idea of what she’s talking about with the feel better but you want to make sure. You cross the hall with the container and reach her classroom.

“Feel better about what?” You ask her and she looks up at you.

“About yesterday.” She simply says and then you watch as she begins placing a piece of paper on the student’s desks.

“I’m grateful that you defended me but I don’t need your food.” You tell her and you see that she sees the container of food in your hand and you know she’s not used to people turning away her cooking, especially you.

“I’ll defend any teacher here, no matter what. As for the food, just think of it as a celebration for surviving the first time a parent yells at you.” She tells you and you see she’s being a bit vulnerable with you right now. “I’ve been here for 15 years and parents weren’t too pleased to have another white teacher at first.” She says and you look at her.

“Well thank you.” You say to her and she shrugs.

“Just give me the container back when you’re done with it.” She tells you and you nod. Then you go to walk back to the break room to put the container in the fridge. As you walk there you think back to how she’s being nice to you. Is it possible you misread all the signs? Was she mad at you? You then remember her eyes yesterday and realise they were shining the same way they do when she looks at you and you freeze.

“Well, shit.”

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[parkersgarage]

a/n: I went down a rabbit hole after getting two (2) edits of him. I don’t wanna talk about it 😭

scott miller x gn!reader | 846 wc | warnings: alcohol, unrequited love (past) not very proofread (I was half asleep)

Scott was never a man of many words, at least none that weren’t snarky comebacks, snide comments, or blatant orders. But he was your best friend, at least in some way. After Javi went back to miami you didn’t have anyone. Kate was gone, but you’d never truly felt connected with her as much as everyone else.

You’d met Scott near the end of college at a joint conference between schools. He’d commented about your presentation and how it lacked unbiased opinion, to which you responded about his lack of real-world experience. 

Scott was the person you clung to throughout the loneliest chapter of your life, and he was okay with that. 

He’d heard about your stories, the tornado that tore your life apart, the unrequited feelings you had for his new business partner, who he’d had no idea was the same guy until he introduced you two. 

Since he wasn’t a talker, it made him an observer. He studied the way you reacted the moment you had your eyes on Javi, then the click in Javi’s eyes when he realized it was you that Scott was introducing him to. 

“You two know each other?” He’d asked, even if he knew the answer already. 

“This is the friend I talked about, the one that didn’t wear pants.” Javi rolls his eyes at his embarrassing legacy and curses at the fact his new business partner knows it. “Scotty didn’t tell me anything about his new endeavors, let alone who he was working with.” You spare a glance in his direction when he clears his throat, muttering ‘Scott’ under his breath. 

“He didn’t mention anything about you either.” 

Scott remained indifferent, he’d mastered his facade of not giving a damn, but there’s something about the way Javi is looking at you that irks him. 

Whatever. It’s not important. 

The next day, night he should say, since you spent nearly all day catching up with Javi since they didn’t need to do any work today. Scott sits mindlessly on the couch watching god knows what, with a beer in hand that nearly slips out of his grip when you walk in. There’s a wistful smile on your face as you talk about how Javi was such a gentleman or how Javi was so attentive, and how handsome Javi looked in his sweater. 

Scott listens wordlessly, it’s what he’s known for. It’s what he’s here for. But as much as he was an observer, you were too. 

“Are you okay, Scott?” You ask softly, settling on the couch beside him. Your eyes shoot down to the bottle in his hand, then to the few on the table. “You don’t usually drink this much.” Then you glance at the clock, furrowing your brows when you look at him. “And you’re usually in bed by this time.”

He lets you take the bottle from his hand, and lets himself fall into you, he’ll blame it on being drunk. “Was waiting for you to come home.” 

“Oh, Scotty.” Something in your heart melts at his words, more from the way he’s started to cling onto you. “You didn’t have to do that, you’ll be tired in the morning. Especially with how much you’ve had to drink.” 

“Do you still love Javi?” 

His question catches you off guard, the hand that was running through his hair hovers above him now. “I don't know.” You think about today, how he was all those things you said before but during conversations there were too many mentions of Kate. 

Kate changed her hair. Kate was impressed by his change. Kate this. Kate that. Kate. 

You figured Scott was feeling the same way as you with Javi. He doesn’t get drunk off a few beers, his cheeks would’ve been flushed red but they’re as clear as day. 

“I think I just wanted to see if there was a chance, but as much as I wanted to hold onto him, I knew I had to let him go eventually.” 

There wasn’t warmth when Javi guided you into the restaurant with his hand on your back, nor when he looked at you from across the table and held your hand for a moment. 

But with Scott you always felt that. You always felt the rush of warmth whenever he complimented you, it was rare and usually disguised as an insult but you knew what he meant. Everything he did for you was kept close to your heart. 

“You should get some sleep, Scotty.” You whisper, pulling his head off your shoulder gently. “You’ve got an early start tomorrow.” 

He doesn’t protest, he never does, not when it comes to you. He lets you pull him up by the arm, lets you guide him towards his room, even lets you throw the covers over him. He’d never admit how much he loved when you took care of him, let alone how much you meant to him. 

Because Scott was the person you clung to throughout the loneliest chapter of your life, and he had to be okay with being just that.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet + ch 44

a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 44 all chapters

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

44. the god of death

As you savor the last days of early fall before bitter cold sets in, John seems way more interested in teaching you how to ride, than planning a wedding. You are perfectly fine with that. You studied up and took the permit test online the very next day. Most of it was common sense–or at least, you’d like to think so. A trip to the DMV in Clear Forks rendered you legal for the road. 

You go for rides together almost every afternoon, through the winding mountain roads, and down in town in higher traffic as well. You’ll be good and ready for your test come spring. You feel as though he has gifted you a set of wings, when you are flying down the highway together, the mountains looming majestically in the distance. Once you get the hang of it, it’s not hard to work the bike, it just takes focus–or you might die. 

Oddly–the risk seems totally worth it. Not just for your own enjoyment, but his too. You can tell that being on the bike soothes something in this man’s battered soul, and you’re rather honored that he’d share this hobby with you.

When the days get short and winter sets in, it’s too cold for the bikes, even with battery heated jackets, you fall into a new routine. John is usually the first one out of bed. Sometimes he wakes you with kisses and his beautiful cock before wandering down to the kitchen to make a simple breakfast for the two of you, usually eggs and sliced fruit with coffee. John disappears into his workshop repairing a set of first edition Beatrix Potter books, and you go to your studio, though true inspiration continues to escape you. You feel as though something is hovering just beyond your grasp; inspiration waits behind a curtain, if you could just find the right trigger to sweep it aside. 

After lunch you often sit together and read in the den with the fireplace burning. When the first snow falls it feels like magic, in that house with him. You make love on the couch and then watch the fat flakes fall through the window from under a soft blanket, John’s arms wrapped around you. Later you make dinner together, feeding each other tidbits while chopping up vegetables, bumping into each other on purpose just to steal a kiss. You close the evening with a glass of wine and sometimes a movie or a show, and sometimes you read some more. 

Sometimes, John looks at you with that smoldering warmth in his dark eyes, and you go to bed early.    

Life is so damn near perfect that it almost scares you. It really seems like the Camorra have convinced the idiotic young Dante to leave you alone, and a part of you deep down wonders if you could truly be so lucky? You know that John has not forgotten about him completely. He does not let you go to town by yourself, not even to the grocery store. This doesn’t particularly bother you–even something so mundane as pottering up and down the isles with your trolley is fun with this man at your side. You crack jokes in the wine aisle, and exchange kisses in the produce, and you’re sure everyone around you is rolling their eyes at your expense–you’re so in love you simply do not care. 

One morning John cuts up a pomegranate for breakfast, the juicy little seeds glowing brilliant magenta in the sunlight, and as he holds out one for you to try from his fingertips inspiration hits you like a shovel to the head. You accept the morsel between your lips, laving his digit clean with your tongue as you gaze up at this man in black towering over you: your lover, your protector, your captor turned your intended. Sensing the change in you, John tilts his head slightly, raven hair swinging into his midnight-dark eyes. You reach up to brush it behind his ear carefully, almost as though you are seeing him anew. 

“You like it?” he asks, and there is something fragile in his tone. Neither of you are sure he’s talking about the pomegranate. 

“I love it,” you assure him, putting him at ease. You tangle your legs with his under the breakfast table, further affirming your affection. But for the first time in a while, you cannot wait to get up to your studio.

You start with sketches, working manically to make a sort of storyboard, plotting out a whole series. You incorporate the symbols of the pomegranate and the narcissus, telling the tale of a girl who is snatched up from beside a Venetian canal by a God of Death–and how she falls in love with him. 

Though you work with your door closed, needing the privacy to create, you know John looks over what you’re making later. Sometimes he’ll place a pen or a sketchbook not quite where you left them, as though signaling that he’s been there. His most blatant admission comes in the form of a sticky note pasted like a caption below one of your gouache illustrations on thick paper, of a glowing girl clutching a bright white narcissus flower, gazing up at a man in shadow sitting upon a throne of skulls, “And the God of Death fell hopelessly in love.”     

Later, while you’re snuggled together on the couch with dog at your feet, he tells you, “If you make them on longer pieces of paper, I can bind them for you.” This quiet offer of collaboration on an art project fills your heart with a sneaking warmth that starts in your chest, and spreads all the way to your toes. 

“I would like that,” you admit, kissing his cheek sweetly. 

His next question comes quieter still; you see the worry written in those soulful dark eyes: “Are you still angry?”

You realize that the answer to that is complex. The truth is: you were, deep down, despite how good things have been. But putting all of it down on paper with ink and pigment has exorcized something toxic from you. Something that might have acted as a slow-leaching poison in your relationship, had you not administered these therapeutic paintings as your antidote. Something about reclaiming your story in the images drawn from your hand, and telling it the exact way you please, (with some stylistic embellishments borrowed from Hades and Persephone) acts as a healing balm. 

“Not anymore,” you tell him, and you mean what you say. 

John’s relief is a palpable thing; you feel the tension release from his body pressed against yours. It still has not ceased to amaze you, the power you seem to hold over this formidable man. But it goes both ways, and somehow, through blood, sweat, tears, and all the love in your hearts, you have managed to strike a balance together that makes both of you happy. 

Maybe you are young, but you are smart enough to know that is a rare and precious thing indeed. 

[httpsserene]

singing in the shower — 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒 lando norris x fem!black!reader 2k words. oneshot & mini smau. fluff & humor. one or two mentions of sex, but no explicit content. no beta.

synopsis: lando’s usually well spent sunday off with his girlfriend is different this time around. you put off your everything shower and wash-day causing some edits to the usual routine. how the night ends, however, is 100% lando’s fault.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. hello! it’s late night or early morning for me, i guess, when i’m posting this. my first f1 work! i hope you enjoy it! i’d love to have some f1 mutuals out here, if anyone wants < 3. also requests are open, just come talk to me and ramble about anything, or any idea you have the f1 boys, i’d love to have some great anons and asks to fulfill. hope you enjoy it :)

⌕ join taglist | requests & feedback | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

it’s a rare sunday where you and lando are both home together. usually you two would take advantage of this and make the most out of it. you’d lay in bed late into the morning with an excessively cuddly boyfriend, cook a nice and healthy brunch together you cook, lando handles the soundtrack and vibes because he loses all coordination in the kitchen, play a co-op video game that you guys have been working your way through for a month, go out on a nice little dinner date, and have great sex before knocking out.

HOWEVER, this week you have kinda forgotten that you need to do your hair. originally you had an appointment that tuesday to get a silk press done with your usual hairstylist, but she canceled on you. once you got that “hey girly...” text you’d known there was no hope of rescheduling, for that week at least. so, you decided to do your own hair sometime later in the week, but your boyfriend was home for the first time after a triple-header, and was a terrible lovely distraction. you also had to work, unfortunately, you had to clean the flat, you had to eat, and you had to breathe—so understandably, you’ve ended up pushing your wash-day/hair-day and everything-shower to the last minute.

you apologized several times to lando during breakfast for your forgetfulness and wasting valuable “boyfriend-girlfriend time” as lando coined. but lando is lando—a sweetheart at his core—so he refused to accept your apologies with an “don’t apologize for something so minor, love,” and even offered to help you tackle the fight you end up almost losing every time…. vs. your hair. 

you kindly denied his assistance knowing damn well that if he was in the shower with you, your hair wouldn’t be done until late that night due to a different type of lando-distraction. you suggested that lando streamed while you were doing your shower and hair, and that you could still go out for dinner that evening. lando was pretty receptive to the idea, especially after he made sure that you were 100% okay with him not helping you do your hair (he usually does, you’ve got him trained pretty good; all he needs is the license at this point), and the fact that it’s been like 3 months since he last streamed.

lando posts that he’s streaming starting at noon, and after a brief make out against the sink post-dishwashing that leaves your lips swollen and head foggy, he goes to take a shower and start setting up his stream equipment. cursing lando’s smug-ass face as he walks away, you let him know that you're stepping out to the beauty supply store to get a few items before you start your little routine and that you might not see him before his stream starts. he does a 180, and rushes back to you from down the hallway to give you one more mind boggling kiss and with a smile says, “text me when you get there and when you’re back. i’ll have my phone on dnd but your messages are set to pass through it, so if you don’t want to be seen on stream today you don’t have to worry about it.” internally, you’re pretty sure your heart just imploded at the mindfulness this boy has—that your boyfriend has. somehow, it still surprises you how mature lando is for how silly he acts most of the time.

“you’re too sweet to me, lan.” you respond with a shy smile, “i probably won’t interrupt you today—i’ll let your delulu fans have custody, and deal with you!” lando throws his head back and does his usual demonic laugh, “hey! my fans are not that delusional, but i am afraid that you’re losing the custody battle!” he kisses you on the cheek, and with that you separate until later that day.

or so you thought. you knew lando’s super sweet behavior was too sus without him being his usual gremlin-self at least once.

when you get back from the beauty supply store (which should’ve been a fifteen-minute trip at most, turned into a near hour after the usual shenanigans you find yourself involved in buying things you don’t need), lando’s already started his stream. you text him letting him know you’re about to hop into the shower, and start heading to en-suite bathroom.

when you open the door, the mirror is slightly covered with remaining steam from lando’s shower, and you can see his clothes hanging half-inside the hamper. which is an improvement from being left on the floor—choose your battles, ladies. but as you move further into the bathroom, setting down your everything-shower supplies, changing into your silk robe and bonnet—you pick up on a lingering scent that should not be present.

your ninety-four fucking dollar scalp revival shampoo.

you’ve had that shampoo since you were seventeen, using it only when extremely necessary. you didn’t even pay for it, it was something your mom bought you as a pretty thoughtful and useful gift after you complained about your scalp suddenly getting super sensitive. it lasted through your senior year of grade school, all of university, and goddamn-it, two boyfriends!!! you let out a bit of an hysterical giggle (seek mental help, babe) and walk to the shower to grab the jar. the problem is: you know there was only probably one more usage left.

turning the cap off, your worst fears are confirmed...it’s…empty. with an anguished cry, you fall to your knees on the tiled floor—it’s like your childhood pet died. you gently set the jar down on the floor, and stare dazedly at the ceiling. what makes it worse is: you know that lando probably didn’t even use it properly. he most likely didn’t even let it sit for the mandatory 15 minutes that all girls do as an excuse to waste more time in the shower, he prob- he probably rinsed it out right after he massaged it in; that thought right there almost had you crying. oh, and what makes it even worse-r , what was a one-use sized amount for you was like, three for lando, so if he used it sparingly, you would’ve at least gotten to cherish it for the last time.

and with that, you rise from the floor, like some sort of re-animated monster—and with a twitching eye, start stomping to lando’s stream room. before you barge in, you remember what you're wearing: a black silk robe, matching bonnet, glasses, and your cute orange shark slides (lando bought them for you, he has a matching pair). you do the mental math of caring about this being on the internet for the rest of your life, but eventually the opportunity of terrorizing lando wins out over whatever a digital footprint is.

the door swings open, and with your shout of, “lando norris!” the pinging of his chat becomes rapid. lando looks wide-eyed at the camera and whispers, “oh fuck.” he half spins in his chair to look at you in the doorway, and is met with a flying shark slide to the neck. “oW! what did i do??” he cries out.

“you used the last of my ONE-HUNDRED DOLLAR shampoo, YOU THIEVING GREMLIN!!!” the chat notifications start cutting each other off with how fast they’re being sent.

“i didn’t use your shampoo??” he says with a bewildered look, clutching the shark slide to his chest. you seethe, “the fucking WOODEN JAR, that you didn’t even have the AUDACITY throw away, and left in the shower?!”

lando pauses, and makes an ‘a-ha’ sort of face goes, “oh, i thought that was conditioner.” you scream again and this time you don’t miss your mark. the remaining shark slide bonks him right on the forehead. “oW, again?!”

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE GOOD REACTION TIME??!”

“yEAH?! WELL, i didn’t expect  MY GIRLFRIEND to ASSAULT ME with the shark slides that I bought HER!!”

“yEAH?! WELL, i didn’t expect MY BOYFRIEND to waste MY hair products!!”

lando cackles but surrenders, he reaches for you in the doorway and pulls you in between his legs with his hands gripping your hips. 

he pouts, “i’m sorry. i can buy you another batch, if you’d like. if you need it for your shower right now, i can pause the stream and run and go get for you, or get it delivered?” you sigh, looking at his wide blue eyes. you let him stew for a minute, trying to find it in you to remain mad. his thumbs start petting you gently while you think, and he leans his head forward to rest on your tummy.

you sigh again, hand coming up to play with the hairs at the nape of his neck, and cave, “nah..don’t even worry about it. i don’t even need to use it today, i just wanted to remind you to keep your nosy-ass away from my hair products.” he nods against your abdomen, you start to pull away, and he does the same. you lean down and give him a brief peck on the cheek, and turn to exit the room. 

“oh!” you exclaim now in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob, “i love you, even though you steal all my shit.”

lando giggles, cheeks turning a light pink, “i love you, princess,” the simp dripping out of every pore in his body. you point at him, “this is actually a mutually beneficial situation! now, for date night you can take me to the store to buy hair products,” lando’s smile drops, “don’t worry we can get some for you too, curly boy!” lando doesn’t even try to fight it once he sees the borderline manic grin on your face, just begging him to test you one more time. he accepts his face, “yes, love. i can’t wait for tonight, princess.”

he turns back to his stream when the door closes all the way and shakes his head. he claps his hands once, ready to get back into it, but you burst in again,

“and when i get out of that damn shower in an hour—you’re sure as hell gonna help blow dry and flat iron this shit! it’s silk press season, lando norris, we cannot be caught slacking!” you slam the door shut, and leave.

lando just blinks at the camera, mouth slightly open like that one pikachu meme. he briefly reads the chat, trying to recover, and looks at all of the chatters pick on him like he just got called to the dean’s office. some messages start to roll in about him having to end the stream.

he waits to hear the bedroom door shut, and a few more seconds for the shower to start running before he pseudo-whispers into the mic, “don’t worry, chat! she may have said an hour, but we actually have more like three. it’s her ‘everything-shower’, no-way she’ll finish that quickly. she needs an hour just to sing and dance in there before she starts actually doing anything.”

he starts to open a lobby in cod, sending invites to a few of the boys online and his phone starts vibrating on the desk. the chat starts to go wild again, recognizing its the ringtone he set for your messages. his face drops again when he opens your text thread, “oh my god, chat. she heard me, i forgot she pulls up the stream for background noise. i’m screwed.”

yninstagram • 2hrs ago

liked by landonorris, ybfsinstagram, and 123,978 others

yninstagram hairstylist did his thing for silk press season 👅

tagged landonorris

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landonorris can’t even see our faces but you can’t tell we’re both pretty

➥yninstagram pretty gyal takeover

➥user bro 😭 i can’t even call this sassy

➥user he’s just keeping it real with y’all

landonorris i’ll always take care of you like a princess

➥landonorris and one day very soon, forever treat you like a queen

➥ynistagram lan ☹️🥺

➥user proposal hint?!!!

➥user it’s a 4ever thing y’all wouldn’t understand 🥱

➥user i do 🙄 y/n comes home one day every two years and takes care of our eight children

➥user bitch—LMFAOOO

user not her gatekeeping the stylist 😤 not very girl’s girl of her

➥yninstagram he’s booked out for the foreseeable future sorry babe

➥user oh uh. that’s completely understandable. he doesn’t take walk in’s ? 😃

landonorris • 3hrs ago

liked by yninstagram, maxfewtrell, and 2,321,768 others

landonorris you attract what you fear? word, oh no a pretty gyal who lets me do her hair😱 oohhhhh how scaryyy

tagged yninstagram

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yninstagram damn 🥵 she’s pretty fit

yninstagram heard her boyfriend’s finer

➥landonorris shouldn’t listen to gossip, her bf can’t match her beauty by far

➥user now THATS SOME RIZZ i didn’t know he had it in him

carlossainzjr y/nnita keep brainwashing him i’m getting good teasing material

➥ynistagram sí señor, el gusto es mio

➥carlossainzjr aye,lando her spanish is better than yours🤣

➥landonorris my tractor is better than yours, mmm yeah that’s what i thought

➥user DAMN LANDO CHILL

➥yninstagram he will be issuing a formal apology at the paddock next sunday señor sainz

➥user i just KNOW she got him at shark slide-point

© httpsserene - do not reupload. photos in header image are from pinterest. divider by @cafekitsune.

[cervidaewasteland]

To Someone From A Warm Climate: Chapter One

A joy, hard learned in winter

A/N: I had the idea for this literally this morning and somehow got a whole chapter written and edited in three hours. Yay me

Summary: You live in a small town in Oregon, working most days at the library and selling farm goods at the market every Wednesday. Your life is quiet for the most part, following the same routine and usually content staying at home with your chickens and your garden. One week in early May, however, you meet someone, and suddenly you begin to consider giving dating a try after years of choosing to live on your own.

Warnings: f!reader

Word Count: 2,856

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, part seven

Early morning, May first. You had a lot of work to do. 

Your alarm sounded at five in the morning, and groggily, you reached over to shut it off. Sitting up and running a hand through your hair, you glanced out the window. Early morning light was peaking through the curtains, the sun just barely beginning to rise. With a grin, you got out of bed, padding down the hall to the kitchen. 

After getting yourself a hot mug of coffee, you pulled on the fluffiest robe you could find and stepped out onto the back porch. You lived almost in the middle of the forest, down gravelly backroads and just up the hill from the river. Your property wasn’t too big, but it was enough to house your chickens and the garden you loved so dearly. You’d had to cut down a lot of the trees in the back to make room for it all, but you had left whatever you could, a small bit of the forest still fenced in behind your house. Every so often when you’d go out at night, you’d see a group of deer, cautiously trying to break into the greenhouse. You always left whatever you didn’t use out for them, even though you knew you weren’t supposed to. With all the mountain lions around, you couldn’t help but feel bad for them. 

You sat down at the table on the back patio, covered by the pergola you had built the year before. You had gotten sick of how icy the concrete got with nothing to shield it from the rain. You stayed out there for a while, watching the sun rise and sipping your coffee, every once in a while hearing a rustle in the trees or the singing of birds. You enjoyed your quiet mornings. For a little while you didn’t have to worry about anything, and you could just relax and enjoy the world around you. 

Once you were awake enough, you went back inside, starting to make your way through the list of things you had to do today. It was the first day of the market for this year, which was always stressful. You’d have to get used to going out every week again—you couldn’t really just not go, you’d already paid for your spot and the market gave you about 40% of your income. So you took a shower and dried your hair and got dressed, deciding not to put on any makeup. You’d only get annoyed with it, and it was a little windy anyway—you didn’t want to deal with your hair getting caught in your lip gloss every two seconds. And then you started to gather up everything you needed—several baked goods you had prepared earlier that week, boxes and boxes of eggs, fresh fruit and veggies, and the stickers you had made a habit of bringing along with you for any young children you might encounter. You took a minute to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything before loading it all up into the car and digging around the closet for your coat, scarf, and gloves. 

A couple minutes later, once you were absolutely sure you had everything, you left, pulling out of the gravelly driveway and onto the dusty forest road that led out into town. It was currently eight in the morning, and you had to be ready by eleven, and it was a forty minute drive to the city. You’d probably be there on time. You hoped. You ended up pulling into the parking lot at almost nine, which gave you two hours. You were sure you’d be ready before eleven. Probably. 

As you got out of the car, you were approached by a sprightly woman with bright red hair. Your best friend, Cherry. She pulled you into a squeezing hug before you could register what was going on, and you let out an oomph. She laughed, pulling away. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! I texted you a couple weeks ago and you never got back to me.” She pouted, almost immediately beginning to help you grab your things from the car. You had always been the reclusive type, never really wanting to make plans or go out anywhere. You preferred your quiet life at home. You didn’t mind Cherry, though. Despite her spirited personality, she really was sweet. 

“Thanks,” you said softly, grabbing the last of the boxes and kicking the door closed. “Sorry for not responding. I must not have seen it.”

She shrugged, smiling at you as you both walked to the spot you had booked for the next few weeks. “No hard feelings. I knew you’d probably be busy getting ready and stuff. I was just gonna see if you wanted to go get drinks with me and a few of my friends this weekend.” 

You let out a breath, quiet for a moment as you tried to think up a response. “I don’t really drink that often,” you finally said, both of you reaching the tent where you were meant to set up. You were good friends with one of the guys who ran the market, so he had offered to start setting up before you got there, meaning you hadn’t been forced to somehow fit a table in your car and carry it from the parking lot on your own. Cherry continued to chat with you as you both set up—more at you than with you, really, but you didn’t mind. She stayed for a little while after you finished, but eventually made some excuse and left. She had gotten bored, though she would never admit that to you. She was the kind of person who always needed something exciting to keep her attention or she’d be tempted to simply move on. You didn’t mind it. You figured if she could excuse your tendency to ignore her calls, you could excuse her habit of not wanting to sit with you for hours on end while you hoped someone would take interest in something you were selling. 

As soon as it hit eleven, it was busy. You had expected it to be—the first day was always busy—but it was especially bad this time. Good for business, though—you were completely sold out of eggs and blackberries within twenty minutes. By twelve thirty, it had started to slow down a little. It was still crowded, but you could see past the groups of people now to the field across the lot. 

You had been spaced out for a while, staring blankly at the grass, but were quickly snapped out of your daze when a man approached your table. You looked up, slapping on a grin and trying to seem friendly. 

“Hi! How are you doing?” You had always hated this part—greeting everyone who came up to you, trying to seem like you weren’t a total jerk. What were you even supposed to say? “How can I help you?” just felt too mechanical. 

“Well, hello there.” He grinned at you, and you caught the slight accent in his voice. Actually, it wasn’t really slight. It was pretty prominent. You couldn’t quite place where it was from, though. Europe somewhere, definitely. “Those strawberries look lovely.” You glance down to where he gestured—the one container of strawberries you hadn’t sold yet. He was right, they did look lovely. You had been especially proud of those ones. You nodded, looking back up at him. 

“Thank you. I can’t say the same for the rest of the batch, you’ve got no idea how many I had to give to the chickens.” He chuckled slightly, and you smiled, pleased that your quip had landed. 

“How much for them?” He reached to pull his wallet out of his back pocket.

“Six dollars.” 

The man smiled and handed you a ten, grabbing the strawberries from the table. “I won’t make you make change, don’t worry.”

“Well, that’s very generous of you.” You hesitantly tucked the bill away in the lockbox you kept the rest of the money in. “Does the kind donor have a name?”

“Andrew,” he adjusted his sunglasses as he took a step back, and your chest ached at the thought of him leaving. Which was entirely ridiculous. You’d just met him. 

“Well, Andrew. Thank you very much. It means a lot to me.” 

“Thank you for the wonderful strawberries. Will you be here next week? I might just have to come back for more.” 

You nodded, grinning. “I sure will. I’ll be waiting.”

For the next two hours, you couldn’t focus at all on trying to be friendly to customers. Your mind was stuck on how charming he had been. It had been longer than you could place since you had dated anyone in any capacity, and you’d never had any want to. Now, though… Now you weren’t so sure. When it came time to pack up, you were eager to get home, antsy to throw yourself into your chores to distract from the way your heart was racing. 

You got home at a little past four, and immediately you got busy. You still needed to tend to the chickens, making sure they had enough water and food. As you walked out to the coop, you heard the familiar quacking of the one duck you did own. There had been a couple others, but they had been killed by a stray cat that kept getting into the coop a few months before. You had taken a few days to reinforce everything, and there had been no further incidents, but the duck had become rather clingy. He waited at the gate as you stepped inside, following you around while you checked for eggs and made sure everything was in order. 

After tending to the chickens, you watered the plants and trimmed the lawn, pulling out a few weeds on the way. When you had finished all your chores and were still aching for something to do, you changed into a pair of swim shorts and an old tshirt and walked down the forest trail to the river. The path was a bit swampy, snow still lingering and melting into the soft earth, but you didn’t mind getting a little muddy. You’d be in the water soon anyway. You felt a little more at peace as you reached the riverbank, golden sunlight beaming down from the clear blue sky, warming your skin despite the cold breeze that blew across the meadow. You stepped down into the shallow water, hissing at first from the icy temperature but quickly adjusting. Eventually, you were fully submerged, sitting criss cross on the soft riverbed, the water up to your chest. Luckily, the river wasn’t moving too quickly, the current just slow enough for you to not have to put effort into keeping yourself from losing your footing. 

You let your eyes fall shut, enjoying the feeling of the water flowing past you, the sound of the birds in the trees, the rustle of the deer treading through the underbrush. You felt at peace when you were out in the woods, like nothing else mattered. Like the only person in the world was you. 

☽⭒✵⭒☾

It wasn’t until the sun started to set that you got out of the water, hurrying to get home before the pink-orange sky faded into inky midnight blue. You were shivering by the time you made it back to your house, quickly running down the hall to your room to get into dry clothes, dripping water behind you the whole way there. 

You realized how hungry you were as soon as you were warm and dry again. Too tired to cook, you heated up leftovers from the night before, curling up on the couch and putting on a sitcom to watch while you ate, hoping to drown out the noise in your head that had quickly returned. You couldn’t seem to keep your thoughts away from Andrew for very long. Something about the way he smiled felt so warm. Familiar in a way you couldn’t put your finger on. 

You went to bed early, leaving your window open just slightly to let in the quiet sound of crickets chirping and wind blowing through the trees. 

☽⭒✵⭒☾

The next morning, your alarm went off—later this time, seven instead of five. On days you weren’t at the market, you worked from ten to six at the library, a job that you absolutely loved. One of the things you enjoyed about living in a small town was how peaceful it always was. You were able to spend a lot of your time reading, and when you did have to organize books you enjoyed that too. It was such a simple task, something mundane that you could do without much focus. You were sure that you’d never want another job. You were happy where you were. 

The drive to work was quiet as usual, a lot of the town still waking up. You spotted a deer in the trees on your way down the forest road you lived on, which you decided to take as a sign of good luck. 

The week dragged on for the most part. You did about the same thing every day—yard work, taking care of the chickens, sitting by the river, going to work. You were anxious for Wednesday to come. You were hoping that Andrew had meant it when he said he’d come back. 

When the day finally arrived for you to drive back into the city for the market, you were practically shaking with excitement. Cherry wasn’t there to greet you this time, but you didn’t really mind. It took two trips to get your things over to the table, but you were too excited to care. You set up quicker than you ever had, and you ended up with half an hour of time to kill before the market opened. You doodled mindlessly in your notebook while you waited, staring at the grass and watching as butterflies flew by every once in a while. 

As soon as people began to show up, your eyes were scanning the crowds for Andrew. It wasn’t as busy as it was the week before, but you were still too occupied with customers to look too hard. You made sure to be especially nice, hoping that the universe would send you good karma in return. 

Just as you had finished waving goodbye to a girl who looked to be around seven, there was a tap on the table in front of you. You looked up, meeting Andrew's eyes, and you swore your heart skipped a beat. No sunglasses this time. You could fully see his face. The kind smile on his lips, the way his eyes shimmered under the sunlight. You didn’t say anything, throat suddenly dry, so he spoke instead. 

“Strawberries this week?” You nodded, shaking your head slightly as you reached under the table.

“You get the last box again. They seem to be popular this year.” He smiled at you as you set them on the table. “I’m not letting you pay for them. You paid nearly double last week.”

“No chance.” He pulled out his wallet and tried to hand you a folded up bill—he attempted to hide the number on it, but you caught a glimpse of the ten. 

“I’m not letting you pay me that much. Really. It would feel ingenuine.”

“I promise I’m being entirely genuine.” He smirked, sliding the cash across the table to you. 

“Andrew, I’m not going to accept it.”

“Fine then. Would you let me take you to dinner? Just to make up for it, of course.” 

You stared at him for a moment, a little stunned.  “That’s ridiculous. You have nothing to make up for.”

“Is that a no then?”

“No!” Your face went red at how desperate you sounded. “I mean, you know-” You sighed, looking down at the table. “Yeah, I- I’d like that. That would be nice.”

“Well then. Perfect.” He grabbed the money off the table and tucked it back in his wallet. “Would it be okay if I got your phone number? Just so I’ll know when to pick you up, of course.” You nodded, still flustered, and tore a piece of paper out of your notebook, scribbling down your number and handing it to him. 

“Thank you,” you said softly. “This is really sweet of you.”

“It’s the least I could do. These strawberries really are lovely.” He shot you one last smile before he walked away, leaving you dazed and confused. 

You were still spaced out on your drive back home a couple hours later, trying to make sense of all that had happened. A totally gorgeous man you had never seen before had taken such a liking to your, honestly mediocre, strawberries that he had insisted on taking you out to dinner. You couldn’t remember when the last time you had been asked out was, let alone by someone so perfectly charming and polite. And you had said yes, without even thinking about it. 

What had you gotten yourself into?

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