#I’m tired and I don’t want to have to read them just to enjoy chapters w/o spoiling so I just avoid the internet or get spoiled

[littleholmes]

*sighs and rubs eyes* as much as I love jjk I think I’ll be okay when the series ends, not just because the series will likely have wrapped at a time before it stretches beyond what’s necessary and gege can rest a bit since weekly popular manga is exhausting to maintain as a mangaka, but also because the leak culture is so strong in this fandom that it’s at the point where no matter how many tags I use to filter, from like Wednesday to Saturday I see significant spoilers unless I just don’t come on here or really any social network for that matter (and sometimes even just being out and about, and hell even YouTube and other sources where you can’t avoid it).

perhaps it’s the old grumpy person in me who remembers a time when it wasn’t this bad but damn it’s so prevalent in this fandom now that it’s unavoidable and etiquette is hard to come by. Spoilers happen, leaks and early posting of entire chapters are a thing, and I get that, I’m not bothered about that, but there’s something about how that occurs in the jjk fandom that it just…idk it’s different. I used to be fine just avoiding Fri/Sat scans but these days it starts Wednesday and gets louder and louder until Saturday when scanlations drop, because of the leaks that the fandom reads and then proceeds to react and act like everyone is reading the leaks and if you’re not that you deserve to be spoiled. And it truly makes me irritated.

It’s at a point now that I don’t look for leaks and spoilers, but leaks are just the thing in this fandom that despite trying to avoid spoilers I’m spoiled thanks to algorithms and lack of tagging and folks just throwing images out for clicks, and I’m not the only one experiencing this. Idk.

I do my best to tag my stuff since I know there’s anime onlys out there and folks who haven’t read the newest chapters when they’re out Sundays, but I’m sure folks have still been spoiled by something I’ve posted so I’m not a saint. But idk it shouldn’t be a thing that, in order to avoid manga spoilers as a manga reader, leaks have to be read Wednesdays even before the Fri/Sat scanlation but whatever, I’m exhausted and getting annoyed with coming online to decompress after work and getting spoiled bc I forgot it’s Wednesday and folks don’t tag their leak-based spoilers, or I didn’t tag filter the newest chapter number in abbreviated and expanded form and every other specific tag, or an algorithm says “oh you like jjk?” and shoves an untagged unmarked or unmoderated leak in my face

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

When Y/n accepts a position as assistant to alpha K-pop group ATEEZ, she's prepared with professional skills and scent blockers to hide her omega status. What she's not prepared for is the immediate, inexplicable connection she feels with all eight members—a resonance that defies her careful boundaries.

As Y/n becomes eerily attuned to their needs, her suppressed omega nature begins to emerge: purring for the first time in years, responding to alpha growls, feeling safe in ways she never has before. When a protective incident reveals the depth of the members' attachment to her, Y/n must confront the possibility that what binds them together is something ancient and profound.

‼️NSFW Announcement‼️ This is the only announcement on a chapter I’ll be doing, so if you’re under 18 do not attempt to read from this chapter on. I do not go very mild when I write smut, this is the tamest I’ll be going so if you don’t like it and don’t want it don’t continue. I don’t let you know when smut starts and ends so read with caution. I also know knotting is a big part in a/b/o lore, however I’m not a big fan of it. I mention it, I acknowledge that it’s a thing and respect it but I don’t go into detail. My characters in this don’t wrap it up, it’s not good irl. Always wrap it up! Enjoy💜

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Masterlist Ko-Fi☕️

Chapter 9: Breaking Point

The week following the pool incident had been a study in escalating tension. Whatever barriers had been holding the members back seemed to have crumbled completely after Hongjoong's public kiss, leaving you navigating a minefield of heated glances, lingering touches, and barely concealed desire from seven different alphas.

Your body felt like it was on fire constantly now. Even with your scent blockers firmly in place, your omega seemed to be responding to their collective alpha attention in ways that left you restless, overheated, and aching for something you couldn't quite name. Sleep had become nearly impossible, your dreams filled with phantom scents and touches that left you waking up disoriented and wanting.

Wooyoung and San had become your constant shadows, their natural affectionate natures now amplified to an almost overwhelming degree. Gone were the casual touches—replaced by deliberate cuddling sessions that left your skin tingling and your heart racing.

"You look tired, Tulip," San had observed just that morning, settling beside you on the couch where you'd been reviewing schedules. Without asking permission, he'd pulled you against his side, his arm wrapping around you with possessive comfort. "Rest for a bit."

The warmth of his body against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, should have been soothing. Instead, it had sent electric currents through your nervous system, your omega practically purring at the alpha contact while your rational mind struggled to maintain professional boundaries.

Wooyoung had appeared moments later, as if summoned by some invisible signal, settling on your other side and casually draping his legs across yours. "Group cuddle session?" he'd suggested with that mischievous smile, though his eyes held a heat that had nothing to do with playfulness.

"I'm supposed to be working," you'd protested weakly, even as your body had instinctively relaxed between them.

"Work can wait," Wooyoung had murmured, his fingers beginning to play with strands of your hair. "Taking care of our Tulip is more important."

The possessive "our" had sent a shiver down your spine that both alphas had definitely noticed, judging by their satisfied expressions.

Mingi and Yunho had taken a different approach, but no less effective in driving you to distraction. Every interaction seemed to involve some excuse for physical contact—Mingi's hand on the small of your back as he guided you through doorways, Yunho's fingers brushing yours for just a moment too long when passing you documents.

"You've got an eyelash," Yunho had said yesterday, appearing beside your desk with that bright smile that never failed to make your heart skip. Before you could protest, his thumb had gently brushed against your cheek, the touch so tender it had made your breath catch.

"There," he'd murmured, showing you the non-existent eyelash on his finger. "Make a wish."

The intimacy of the moment, the way his eyes had lingered on your face, had left you speechless and flustered in a way that had clearly pleased him immensely.

Even Jongho and Yeosang, typically the most reserved of the group, had begun showing their interest in ways that surprised you. Jongho had started bringing you small gifts—your favorite coffee in the morning, a book he thought you'd enjoy, a small potted plant for your desk. Each offering came with minimal explanation but maximum impact, his dark eyes studying your reaction with quiet intensity.

Yeosang's approach was more subtle but perhaps more devastating. He'd begun engaging you in deeper conversations, his perceptive observations and thoughtful questions creating an intimacy that was purely intellectual but no less affecting. Yesterday, he'd spent an hour discussing a book you'd both read, his quiet voice and insightful commentary drawing you into a bubble of connection that had felt almost as intimate as physical touch.

"You have a beautiful mind," he'd said as you'd wrapped up the conversation, the simple compliment delivered with such sincerity that it had stayed with you for hours.

And then there was Hongjoong. The leader had become bold in a way that left you constantly on edge, stealing moments whenever you found yourselves alone. A kiss pressed against your temple as he'd leaned over to check something on your computer. His lips brushing your knuckles when you'd handed him a document. Yesterday, he'd cornered you in the supply closet, pressing you against the wall for a kiss that had left you breathless and wanting more.

"I can't stop thinking about the pool," he'd murmured against your lips, his hands framing your face with reverent care. "About how you felt in my arms."

The memory alone was enough to make heat pool low in your belly, your omega responding to his alpha presence with an intensity that sometimes frightened you.

But it was Seonghwa's behavior that confused you most. The eldest member seemed to be the only one maintaining his distance, though you often caught him watching you with an expression you couldn't quite decipher. There was warmth in his gaze, certainly, and something that might have been longing, but he kept himself carefully apart from the increasingly bold advances of his packmates.

The contradiction was maddening. You found yourself craving his touch, his attention, in a way that seemed disproportionate to his reserved behavior. Sometimes you caught him looking at you with such intensity that your skin would flush, but he never acted on whatever he was feeling, maintaining that friendly but professional distance that left you wondering if you were imagining the heat in his gaze.

Your omega was becoming increasingly agitated by the mixed signals, by the constant state of arousal without resolution. Your scent blocker felt like both a necessity and a prison—protecting your secret while preventing you from fully experiencing the alpha pheromones that your body was clearly craving.

You'd started having moments where you seriously considered removing the blocker, just to see what would happen. The thought terrified and thrilled you in equal measure. What would it be like to smell Hongjoong's scent?!Wooyoung's ? San's? How would they react to your own scent of jasmine and vanilla?

But fear always won out. Fear of changing the dynamic irrevocably, of complicating your professional relationship, of facing the reality of what you all seemed to be building toward.

---

Tonight, that careful balance finally shattered.

You'd retreated to the guesthouse early, claiming exhaustion from the day's packed schedule. In reality, you'd reached your limit for alpha attention without resolution, your body feeling like a live wire from the constant state of arousal their touches and glances induced.

You'd taken a cold shower, hoping to calm your overheated system, but even that hadn't helped. Now you sat on your bed in just a oversized t-shirt and shorts, your skin still feeling too sensitive, too aware. Every nerve ending seemed attuned to the main house across the garden, to the eight alphas who had somehow become the center of your universe.

The sharp knock on your door made you jump, your heart immediately racing. It was nearly ten PM—late for casual visits, but you'd learned that normal rules didn't seem to apply to your relationship with the members anymore.

"Come in," you called, expecting perhaps Hongjoong with another stolen moment, or maybe Seonghwa checking on your wellbeing with his characteristic concern.

Instead, Wooyoung burst through the door with the barely contained energy of someone who'd reached his breaking point. His hair was disheveled as if he'd been running his hands through it, his eyes bright with something between desperation and determination.

"I can't do this anymore," he announced without preamble, his voice rough with emotion. "I can't pretend that what's happening between us is normal. I can't keep playing these games where we touch and flirt and dance around what we all know is true."

You stood slowly from the bed, your heart hammering against your ribs as you took in his appearance. There was something wild about him tonight, something unleashed that sent both thrill and alarm through your system.

"Wooyoung," you began carefully, "what are you—"

"I'm talking about this," he interrupted, gesturing between you with frustrated energy. "About the way you look at me, at all of us. About the way your pulse races when I touch you. About the way you practically melted into Hongjoong in that pool."

Heat flooded your cheeks at his words, at the accuracy of his observations. "I don't know what you—"

"Don't," he said firmly, taking a step closer. "Don't pretend you don't feel it. Don't lie to me, to yourself, about what's happening here." His voice dropped to that register that always made your omega sit up and take notice. "I see how you watch us, Tulip. I see how you respond to our touch. And I know you want this as much as we do."

Your breath caught in your throat as he moved closer, the space between you shrinking with each step. "Wooyoung, we can't—this is complicated—"

"Why?" he demanded, stopping just inches away from you. "Because you work for us? Because there are eight of us? Because it doesn't fit into neat little boxes that society approves of?"

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the golden flecks starting to appear in his eyes as his alpha nature responded to the charged atmosphere between you. Your own omega was practically vibrating with need, with the desire to close the distance between you, consequences be damned.

"Because I'm not who you think I am," you whispered, the admission slipping out before you could stop it.

Wooyoung's expression softened slightly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek with surprising gentleness. "Then tell me who you are. Tell me what you're hiding. Tell me why you think it matters more than this."

His thumb brushed across your lower lip, and you couldn't suppress the small gasp that escaped at the contact. The sound seemed to break whatever restraint he'd been clinging to.

"Fuck it," he muttered, and then his lips were on yours.

The kiss was everything you'd been craving and more—desperate, passionate, claiming. His hands tangled in your hair as he pulled you closer, his body pressing against yours with an urgency that matched your own. You melted into him, your hands fisting in his shirt as you kissed him back with equal fervor.

This wasn't the playful, teasing Wooyoung you'd grown accustomed to. This was pure alpha, pure need, pure desire finally unleashed.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing hard, his eyes were fully golden, the alpha glow unmistakable in the dim lighting of your bedroom.

"There," he said, his voice rough with satisfaction and desire. "No more pretending. No more games. Now tell me you don't feel it too."

Looking into his transformed eyes, feeling the way your body hummed with rightness at his touch, you realized that your carefully constructed walls had finally crumbled completely. There was no going back from this moment, no returning to the professional distance you'd tried so hard to maintain.

"I feel it," you whispered, the admission both terrifying and liberating. "I feel all of it. With all of you."

Wooyoung's smile was triumphant and tender as he laid you down. His breathing hard above you, radiating energy and satisfaction, but the hunger in his gaze said he was far from done.

He pulled back just enough to drag his shirt off, tossing it somewhere into the darkness, before returning to you—his bare chest warm against your skin. His hands settled at your hips and he tugged at the waistband of your shorts; there was no pretense of patience, just a raw urgency as he peeled them away, taking your underwear with them.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, eyes devouring every newly revealed inch, heat and reverence warring there. “Wish I could breathe you in—wish I could drown in your scent—” He cut himself off, frustration flaring, but his hands were sure as he spread your legs, kneeling between them. “Guess I’ll just have to taste you instead.”

Then his mouth was on you. The first slow drag of his tongue from your entrance up to your clit was deliberate—so, so deliberate—and your hips tried to jerk from the bed in answer. Wooyoung growled, low in his throat, holding you down as his tongue circled, flicked, lapped, learning your responses by sound and the tremors in your thighs.

The world narrowed to sensation: the heat of his tongue, the tease of his lips, his hair against your inner thighs, rough and ticklish. He was messy about it—no smooth choreography, just hunger and intent, making up for everything he couldn’t sense with pure appetite. You whimpered his name, fingers curling in the sheets, desperate for anything to ground you.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, humming at your cry, then licked deeper—his tongue broad and hot, relentless—until there was only the build and build of pleasure, white-hot and unbearable. You were loud now, uncaring, every cry a thank you and a plea.

He only stopped when your thighs trembled against his cheeks, when you pleaded, broken-voiced, “Wooyoung, please—please, I need—I need—”

He growled “Let go. Now Tulip.”

You shattered with a cry, your whole body shaking.

When you finally catch your breath, body limp and aglow from Wooyoung’s unrestrained attention, you prop yourself on your elbows to look down at him. His hair is wild, lips slick and red, eyes smoky with pride and adoration—a little bit wrecked and loving it. The sight ignites something bold inside you.

Without breaking eye contact, you reach for him, fingers curling into his hair to bring him up, capturing his lips in a hungry, grateful kiss. You taste yourself on him and he moans into your mouth as if he’s never wanted anything more. You pull him close, rolling so you’re on top, knees bracketing his hips.

He laughs softly, surprised and delighted, letting his head sink back into the pillows. “Oh?” His hands settle on your thighs, stroking them encouragingly. “You wanna take over, Tulip?”

You smile, feeling a thrill at the way his voice—husky and playful—wraps around you. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I want you like this.”

He bites his lower lip, a flush creeping up his throat as he looks at you spread over him. “Whatever you want, I’m yours tonight,” he whispers. “Show me what my Tulip wants.”

Your heart thuds, but the words make you bold. You drag your palms slowly down his torso, watching him gasp and arch into you, sensitive and eager for more.

You shift, settling between his legs, and slide your hands down until you’re hooking your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants. Wooyoung lifts his hips with a helpless little sound. “Take ‘em off,” he pleads, needy but so gentle. “I want to feel you—your hands, your mouth, whatever you want to give. Please, baby.”

You oblige, slowly, teasing him with little grazes of your nails as you drag the fabric away. His cock is heavy and flushed, impossibly hard, and your mouth waters at the sight. The urge to please him, to unravel him as thoroughly as he did you, takes over.

You wrap your hand around him, just enough to make him hiss, then look up through your lashes. “Tell me what you like, Wooyoung.”

He groans, his head tipping back, eyes dark gold with want. “Touch me—just like that. A little tighter, ah—yeah, that’s good—I love the way your hands feel on me.” He cards his fingers through your hair, not pushing, just anchoring.

You stroke him, noting every twitch, every whispered curse. He’s unguarded with you, rolling his hips into your hand, whispering encouragements: “You—fuck, you’re so pretty like this. You look so good between my legs, Tulip. You have no idea what you do to me.”

You lean down, brushing the head of his cock with your lips, then your tongue, just a soft swirl. He shivers, his hand tightening in your hair. “God, yes—just like that, baby…take your time. Don’t rush. I just want to feel you.”

You tease him, kitten-licks at first, loving the way he gasps—so responsive, so vocal for you. You trace the vein along the underside, stroke him with your tongue, taking him in slowly, feeling the heat and weight of him on your lips.

Wooyoung’s voice becomes your guide, a constant thread of affirmation. “That’s it, yeah…ah, you’re driving me fucking crazy. You look incredible—don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

You work your mouth and hand together, building a rhythm, watching his face for every clue—he’s a mess for you, eyes squeezed shut, sweat beading at his brow, chest heaving with every ragged breath. You hum around him, and he bucks his hips, barely holding back.

Suddenly, urgency overtakes him. “Wait—wait—slow down, I don’t wanna come yet, not so fast—” He pulls your hair gently, guiding you off him, then dragging you up for a breathless kiss. “You’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he pants, nuzzling into your neck, “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect. I wanna last, I wanna remember every second with you.”

You giggle against his throat, giddy with power and affection, and grind your hips gently against his thigh. Wooyoung moans, hands sliding down to squeeze your waist, his cock pressed between you, slippery and aching. You reach down, stroking him again. 

You sink back down, taking him in hand and mouth once more, working him with careful, practiced flicks, all the while basking in his praise. “Yeah—fuck, yeah, you’re so good, Tulip…your mouth—your hands—can’t believe you’re doing this for me, letting me have you like this.”

When he starts to grow restless, hips flexing, you stroke him a little harder, licking the sensitive spot just beneath the tip. His breath stutters, his hand a tangle in your hair.

“Close—so close—baby, you gonna let me?” His words are a shudder, trembling with vulnerability and hope. “Gonna let me come for you? Want you to see, want you to know it’s you—only you—”

You hum your ‘yes’ and don’t let up, watching him unravel, pushed to the edge by just your mouth, your hand, and the knowledge that he’s yours to wreck, to comfort, to love. He groans your name—a long, strangled sound—and spills in your mouth and over your fingers, hips jerking upward.

He’s shaking in the aftermath, loose and glowing and utterly undone. You swallow, then crawl up to kiss his flushed cheek, his jaw, his lips. Wooyoung gathers you into his arms, pulling you close as if he never wants to let go.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers, brushing stray hair from your forehead, thumb stroking your cheek. “Thank you. I could do this forever with you. I want to.”

He kisses you soft and deep, then lets his hand drift, stroking your back, grounding you both. In the quiet that follows, his voice makes you feel cherished, safe, and wanted—exactly as you are.

Next>>

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[stylesispunk]

"whatever you'd like us to be" | part 3

harry castillo (materialists) x fem!reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: the one where you and harry have your first fight.

w.c: 5,7k >

warnings: age gap (harry is 45, reader is 29-30), fake dating, fluff, angst, miscommunication. a lot of kissing for two people who are just pretending to date. me, and that's the biggest warning.

A/N: Hi! I wanted to share a brief update with you. This one was fun to write, but at the same time, it feels like coming back to my angsty roots. The game between them is getting too real now. I was thinking about that specific Pedro's fit, that green shirt and bye. Your reblogs and comments mean a great deal to me, so please don't hesitate to share your thoughts, as I truly enjoy reading them. Thank you so much, and happy reading!

Remember, I now have an AO3 account, where I'm also posting the chapters.

The moment Harry’s lips brushed yours again, softer and more insistent this time, something in you just cracked.

You started laughing out of nowhere.

It bubbled out of your chest before you could stop it, and you felt him freeze for a second, pulling back just enough to frown playfully down at you.

“Are you—are you laughing right now?” he asked, one brow arched, trying so hard to look offended, but the corners of his mouth were already twitching.

You pressed a hand to your face, shaking your head as you kept giggling. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why. I think I’m just—” you gasped between laughs, “I’m tired and this whole ridiculous night and… you… and your face when you kissed me like we’re in the middle of a movie...”

“Wow,” Harry muttered, crossing his arms, pretending to be wounded. “My face?”

You doubled over in laughter then, the sheer absurdity of everything hitting you at once. And when you glanced up again, he was laughing too, shaking his head, his hand on his chest like he was genuinely offended but absolutely not.

“I swear to God,” he grinned, pointing at you, “you are magical.”

“I know,” you managed between breathless laughs. “You’re just figuring that out now?”

He moved closer, eyes soft, and without thinking twice, he kissed the tip of your nose.

And you laughed again.

And so did he.

Something broke. Perhaps the wall used as limit between the both of you, perhaps the fear. You had no clue. But all of this…You had no idea how to stop a feeling that had came in a natural way.

You were addictive to Harry in a way he could had never imagined.

And Harry? Harry was the kind of love you had always dreamed of.

After the both of you had stopped laughing. He glanced at you, longer than it was needed.

“Can I use your bathroom?” he asked, brushing up the warmth that tinted his cheeks in red color.

You gave a soft laugh as you stepped aside to let him in. “Yeah, it’s down the hall, first door on the left.”

Harry grinned, brushing past you just close enough to make your heart stutter in your chest again. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, trying and failing to fight back the smile tugging at your lips as he disappeared down the hall. The door clicked shut, and you exhaled a long, shaky breath, leaning your back against the wall for a second.

What the hell are you doing?

This was supposed to be fake. Safe. A harmless deal to get people off your backs, not stolen glances and soft kisses and him making your heart trip over itself like some idiot in a bad rom-com.

And now he was in your apartment. Using your bathroom. Like he belonged there. In the space of your life.

You pushed off the wall and wandered into the tiny living room, absently tidying the already tidy throw pillows, too aware of your own reflection in the dark window, the faintest hint of a blush still on your cheeks.

A moment later, the bathroom door creaked and Harry’s voice floated out.

You didn’t even realize how heavy your eyelids had gotten until you felt yourself sway a little on your feet. The adrenaline, the tension of the night, it all hit you at once like a wave you couldn’t fight anymore.

Without thinking, you made your way to your bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to take off your heels or fix the way your dress twisted awkwardly around you. One of your heels dangled off your foot while the other was half-planted on the floor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The soft, familiar comfort of your mattress felt like heaven after this night.

Somewhere in the haze between awake and sleep, you heard footsteps. A familiar scent, something like clean cedar and warmth, surrounded you as Harry appeared in the doorway.

You barely cracked one eye open, your voice a lazy, mumbled whisper.

“How many hours were you there?”

He huffed a soft laugh, moving closer. “I was in there like for five minutes.”

You let out a weak, sleepy little laugh, eyes falling shut again as you murmured, “Felt like hours.”

Harry crouched down beside the bed, his hand gently brushing your arm, careful, tender. “Hey, do you want to change out of this dress? Or are you committing to this look for the night?”

You smiled; eyes still closed. “Committing.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a stray piece of hair off your face, and you felt the mattress dip slightly as he sat on the edge.

“You have those tiny soaps in your bathroom.”

You laughed. “Hey, those came in a gift basket! And they smell amazing, don’t lie.”

Harry huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as his arms slid beneath you, one around your back and the other under your knees, effortlessly lifting you a few inches off the bed.

“Let’s change you into your pajamas,” he murmured, a teasing edge in his voice. “Okay?”

Your eyes fluttered open just enough to smirk at him. “I sleep naked,” you joked, your words slow and slurred with exhaustion but your grin entirely smug.

He groaned, his head dropping for a second against your shoulder as he let out a laugh. “Oh, shut up,” he muttered, the warmth of his breath brushing against your neck, making your skin tingle.

“Not my fault you’re the one insisting on taking care of me” you teased softly, letting your head fall against his shoulder as he sat you up.

He grabbed one oversized sleep shirt from the edge of your bed that he supposed it was your pajama. The soft fabric smelled a little like laundry detergent and you, your perfume. A scent he had found himself becoming addicted to. He held it up for you to see it.

“Will this do?”

You grinned; eyes half-lidded as you reached out for it. “That’s my pajama.”

Harry helped tug the dress’s zipper down, averting his eyes with dramatic over-the-top modesty as if was fighting looking at the bare skin in front of him, though the faint smirk on his face betrayed him.

“Such a gentleman,” you teased, pulling the sleep shirt over your head.

“If you say so,” he replied, tossing your dress onto the nearby chair before helping you lay back down properly, your head hitting the pillow with a sigh of relief.

He draped the blanket over you and lingered for a second, his fingers brushing your cheek.

“You, okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded, the words caught somewhere between your chest and your throat. All you managed was a quiet, honest, “Yeah.”

Harry hesitated for a moment, then crouched down beside the bed, his face so close to yours you could see the stars inside those brown eyes even in the dim light.

“Do you want me to take your makeup off?” he asked gently, his voice barely a murmur like he was afraid to break whatever strange, delicate thing had settled between you both tonight.

You huffed a quiet, amused breath, your lips curling up. “You offering spa services now, Harry?”

He grinned, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Full package, sweetheart. No extra charge.”

You laughed, something soft and weightless in your chest, and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

He stood and disappeared into your bathroom for a second, coming back with a makeup wipe he must’ve found in one of the drawers. He knelt beside you again and carefully started wiping away the makeup from your skin, slow, tender strokes that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t fully understand.

Neither of you spoke. The room was quiet except for your steady breaths and the soft drag of the wipe against your skin.

“You’ve got no idea how beautiful you look like this,” he murmured, almost to himself, like it wasn’t meant to slip out.

Your eyes fluttered open to look at him, and for a second, you didn’t have it in you to tease him.

“Harry…”

He met your gaze, his expression open and raw in a way you hadn’t seen before. Like the carefully crafted version of him that belonged to the world out there didn’t exist in here, in your tiny apartment.

“I’m sorry for tonight,” he said again, his hand brushing a thumb over your cheek. “For being a selfish prick.”

Your heart ached and melted in the same beat. You caught his hand in yours, holding it there.

“I’m still mad,” you whispered. “But you are everything but a selfish prick” you smiled at him.

Harry let out a soft, breathless laugh, the kind that sounded like it surprised even him. His shoulders dropped a little, like the weight he’d been carrying all evening loosened just enough to breathe.

“You’re dangerous to me, you know that?” he murmured, eyes flickering between yours and your mouth like he was fighting the urge to kiss you again. “I come here thinking I’m the one calling the shots and you… you wreck me that easily.”

You grinned, your thumb absently brushing over the back of his hand. “Good.”

He chuckled, leaning his forehead gently against yours, his free hand cradling the side of your face. The warmth of him so close, the soft, unguarded way he was looking at you, it made your heart stumble in your chest.

He placed a kiss on your cheek “Thank you for blessing my life with your light.”

You chuckled, “Goodnight, Harry.”

His smile softened, something almost reverent in his gaze as he whispered back, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, his hand still against your face, your fingers tangled with his. And then, like he didn’t quite want to let go, he gave your hand one final squeeze before slipping away, turning off the bedside lamp and letting the soft hush of the room wrap around you both.

Even in the dark, you could sense him looking your way one last time.

And just before sleep pulled you under, you heard his voice, low and rough and meant only for you.

���Sweet dreams, my treasure.”

During the Saturday midday, the lunch rush was starting to pick up, the warm hum of conversation blending with the whir of the espresso machine and the occasional clang of cups against saucers. You were halfway through rattling off instructions to Mia and Celine about restocking the pastries when the bell above the door chimed.

“Mia, make sure we’ve got enough croissants for the next hour, and double-check the almond ones, they’ve been flying out.”

She nodded, jotting it down on her little notepad. You turned to Evan, pointing toward the register.

“Ev, can you handle the front while I—”

And then you saw Harry.

Standing in the doorway of your coffee shop like something straight out that movie scene you would’ve rolled your eyes at any other day. Hair a little messy fresh out the shower, sunglasses perched on his head, that infuriatingly perfect green shirt with his collar, unbuttoned.

Your heart stuttered so hard you were half-convinced everyone might’ve heard it.

He spotted you instantly, his whole face changing the second his eyes landed on yours, softening, his mouth curving into that boyish, slightly crooked smile that did terribly inconvenient things to your stomach and set your belly on fire.

You swallowed, blinking like you were trying to ground yourself, still holding the half-empty tray of muffins in your hands.

“Uh…Ev, cover me for a second, yeah?”

You barely waited for Evan’s distracted “Yeah, boss, got it” before making your way toward the front.

Harry leaned against the counter, as casual as if he hadn’t nearly broken and mend your heart last night, as if he belonged in this little world of yours.

“Hey, trouble” he greeted softly, his voice a touch rough around the edges, maybe nerves, maybe lack of sleep, maybe… something else.

You crossed your arms, trying for composed and unimpressed, though your pulse was doing its own thing entirely.

“Didn’t expect to see you here at this hour,” you said, arching a brow.

“I didn’t come here for the coffee today,” he replied, that small grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He glanced around the place like it was the first time he’d really seen it. Then his gaze settled back on you, they even darkened a little.

“Came for you.”

“Harry, I know I’m the boss here, but I’m working.”

Harry chuckled softly, leaning a little closer across the counter, his voice dropping to that familiar teasing murmur only meant for you.

“Yeah? Well, I’m on my break,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes, biting down a smile you weren’t about to let him fully see. “You don’t work here, Harry.”

“Details.” He shrugged, shameless, that playful gleam in his eyes making your pulse skip again. “Can’t a man visit the woman who’s been haunting his thoughts since she kicked him out of her apartment last night?”

You sighed, shaking your head as you grabbed a clean rag and started wiping down the counter just to give your hands something to do.

“I didn’t kick you out,” you mumbled.

“You practically tucked me in and sent me home,” he shot back, grinning wider when your cheeks gave you away, warming with color. “Which was admittedly very adorable, by the way.”

“Harry…” you warned, though the edge in your voice was soft, barely there.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, but his expression sobered, that teasing edge melting into something gentler.

“I just wanted to see you,” he said, quieter now. “Make sure we’re… okay. And if it takes me ordering a dozen pastries to keep you standing here a few more minutes, I’ll do it.”

You glanced at him, his eyes open and sincere in a way that tugged at something deep inside you. The little hum of the shop around you faded for a second.

“I’m mad.” you muttered, not quite able to hide the softness behind it.

But harry completely ignored you, “Hey, Mia, right? May you take my order, please?” he asked, leaning casually on the counter.

Mia blinked, cheeks a little pink. “Uh—y-yeah, of course! What can I get for you?”

You crossed your arms, arching a brow. “Harry…” you warned.

He shot you a sidelong glance, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Since the boss is too busy to serve me,” he teased, “I’ll have whatever pastry she makes best. And a vanilla late. Extra hot.”

Mia gave you an uncertain look, like she wasn’t sure if she was about to get in trouble or win employee of the month. You sighed dramatically, shaking your head.

“It’s fine, Mia. I’ll get it.”

Mia gave a little relieved laugh and stepped aside.

Harry straightened up, that smug grin still in place. “See? Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“I fucking hate you,” you muttered under your breath, ducking behind the counter, grabbing a fresh pastry from the display like you weren’t internally melting under the weight of his gaze.

Harry chuckled, following your movement with a lazy, satisfied kind of grin. “You keep saying that, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning his elbows on the counter to watch you work. “But somehow, you keep feeding me.”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, plating the pastry with a little too much force. “That’s called customer service, asshole.”

“Mmm, sure it is.” He grinned wider, tilting his head. “You always call your customers assholes?”

“Only the ones who deserve it.” You slid the plate toward him with a sharp little smirk.

Harry reached for it, his fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary. His voice dropped low enough that only you could hear.

“At least, I’m your favorite?”

Your stomach flipped. Damn him. And you hated how easy it was for him to do this, to walk in here like he owned the place, like last night hadn’t left your heart in knots.

You sighed, shaking your head with a helpless, reluctant smile as you handed him his coffee. “Don’t push your luck.”

You watched him casually grab a seat near the window, his posture relaxed but somehow still commanding the whole space. From behind the counter, you caught glimpses of him making calls, occasionally typing on his phone, all while seeming completely at ease in your little shop.

Evan sidled up beside you, elbow resting on the counter with a knowing grin. “You know, boss, you’ve been staring at him for like ten minutes.”

You rolled your eyes, hoping your face wasn’t too obvious. “I’m not staring.”

“Sure, you’re not,” Evan teased, voice dropping as if sharing a secret. “Boss, you’re practically drooling.”

You shot him a warning glare and quickly turned back to the orders piling up, but you couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through your chest every time you caught Harry’s gaze, even if he didn’t know you were watching.

An hour slipped by. The midday rush had died down, and you were finally catching your breath when the bell above the door chimed.

You didn’t think much of it at first, just another customer, until you looked up, and your stomach did a full somersault.

Harry’s mom and his sister.

Walking into your coffee shop like as it they had picked your café as their weekly meeting place.

Your eyes widened so fast you were sure everyone in the place could hear your heart slamming against your ribs. You felt the unmistakable heat crawl up your neck and into your face, and Evan, ever the menace, leaned in with a smirk.

“Oh my God,” he whispered under his breath. “Boss, you’re so red.”

You sent daggers to him, and he immediately backed up.

Harry looked up from his phone, and the second he saw them, a grin spread across his face, but not before his gaze flickered toward you. Like he already knew this was going to fluster you, and maybe… enjoyed it just a little too much.

Your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to take a deep breath, wipe your palms on your apron, and walk over to their table like you weren’t internally debating sprinting out the back door.

Harry was already smirking when you reached them, one arm slung casually over the back of his chair, the other nursing a cup of coffee he hadn’t even touched.

His mom spotted you first, and her whole face lit up like she’d just run into a long-lost friend.

“Darling!” she exclaimed, rising slightly from her seat as if to greet you properly. “How are you?”

And if that wasn’t bad enough, his sister, sitting across from her, grinned like she’d just been let in on the world’s juiciest secret.

You swallowed hard, your voice wobbling only slightly.

“I’m good, thank you. Um—how are you both?”

Harry’s mom reached out, catching your hand in hers with so much tenderness.

“Oh, so much better now that we finally get to see your place! It’s adorable, just like Harry said it was.”

You blinked, side-eyeing Harry, who had the audacity to wink at you.

You cleared your throat, trying to remember how words worked.

“Uh—thank you. Really. And it’s nice to see you again, Liz.”

Liz leaned her elbow on the table, chin propped in her hand as she grinned up at you.

“You’re even prettier in daylight. And honestly, we’ve been dying to try this coffee ever since someone wouldn’t stop talking about you.”

You felt your face burn again, and somewhere behind you; Evan coughed a laugh.

“I—uh—I’ll get you both something,” you stammered, retreating a little. “On the house.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to—”

“No, it’s fine. Really.” You flashed the politest, not-at-all-panicking smile you could manage before turning and practically speed-walking back behind the counter.

As soon as you were out of earshot, you slapped Evan on the arm. “Don’t. Say. A word.”

He just grinned. “I didn’t have to. Your face did all the talking.”

You didn’t even look back at the table as you practically dove into your tiny office behind the counter, shutting the door and leaning against it like it might protect you from the whirlwind Harry Castillo had just dragged into your coffee shop.

Your pulse was still racing, your stomach a tangled knot of nerves and frustration. God, you could kill him. Who just shows up in your work unannounced, plants himself there like he owns the place, and then drags his mom and sister in like it’s some casual brunch meet-and-greet?

You hated how easily he made himself at home in your world. Hated that your heart still fluttered like some reckless idiot at the sight of him.

A knock came at the office door a moment later before Evan let himself in, carrying a tray of two iced lattes and a pastry.

“Don’t stab me,” he said lightly, setting them down on your desk. “I come in peace. And with gossip.”

You gave him a look. “What now?”

Evan smirked. “Harry Castillo asked for you.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him you were in your office. Which is true.” He shrugged, then grinned. “He looked kinda bummed. Poor guy. Big bad finance guy being iced out by the boss lady.”

“Good,” you muttered, plopping down in your chair and scowling at the door. “He deserves to be bummed. Who the hell does this, Evan? Who brings his family without warning? I can’t—” you gestured vaguely to the air, “—do this. I didn’t sign up for… whatever the hell this is.”

Evan sat on the edge of your desk, one brow arched. “I thought you knew them already?

You glared at him. “I do. But it’s not that simple.”

“Mmm,” Evan hummed knowingly. “Sure seems like it should be. But hey — for what it’s worth? His mom and sister seem pretty crazy about you.”

You groaned, leaning your head back against the chair. “I’m going to throw him out the second I step out there.”

Evan patted your shoulder. “I’ll light a candle for him.”

And with that, he grabbed the empty tray and sauntered back out, leaving you alone in your storm of tangled feelings.

The worst part? A small, traitorous part of you didn’t want Harry to leave your side.

A few minutes later, another knock came at the door, but this one was softer. You huffed out a breath, assuming it was Evan again coming back to poke the bear.

“Evan, I swear to God—”

The door cracked open, and it wasn’t Evan.

Harry peeked in, his stupidly handsome face cautious and unapologetic. His hair a little mussed like he’d been running his hand through it, he was nervous. The moment your eyes met his, your heart betrayed you with a sharp, uninvited thud.

“Hey,” he said quietly, lingering in the doorway. “Can I…?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, giving him a pointed glare. “I’m working.”

“I know,” Harry murmured, stepping inside anyway and closing the door behind him. “Just… needed a minute.”

You didn’t say anything, just watched as he shifted his weight awkwardly, his confidence from earlier stripped down to something more vulnerable.

“I didn’t mean to blindside you,” he went on, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I wasn’t thinking. My mom and Liz just… they were nearby and wanted to stop by, and it was a dumb call not to ask you first. I’m sorry.”

You wanted to stay mad. You really did. But his voice had that unguarded edge again, the same one from your apartment last night, and it made it so damn hard.

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. “You’re breaking all the rules again.”

He smiled faintly, a shadow of the cocky grin you knew. “Yeah… I figured.”

You sighed, your walls crumbling just a little. “You can’t keep doing this, Harry. You can’t drop into my life whenever you feel like it and drag your whole world with you. I’m not some accessory you can introduce like a prop. I’m… me. This is my place. My job. My people. Whatever mess we have, that’s outside and just for pretending, so stop playing with me.”

Harry’s grin faltered, and for a second, you saw it, the flicker of guilt, of something raw and sincere beneath the charm he wore like armor.

“I’m not playing with you,” he said, voice low, steady in a way that made your pulse stutter. “I swear to God, I’m not. I… I get it, alright? I’ve been a selfish bastard about this, about us, if there even is an us, and I keep showing up without thinking how it affects you. That’s on me.”

You kept your arms crossed, every word digging under your skin because part of you wanted to believe him and another part didn’t know if you should.

“Harry, this was supposed to be fake. A plan. A harmless distraction to piss off an ex and get your ego stitched back together. I never signed up for this.”

“I know,” he breathed, his hand dragging through his hair like he was trying to pull himself together. “I swear it wasn’t planned. I wasn’t thinking. I just… fuck, I wanted to see you.”

Your throat tightened painfully, because damn it, this wasn’t supposed to hurt like this.

He took a careful step forward, closing the space between you. His voice softened, the way it did when it was just you and him, stripped of every audience, every performance.

“Let me be part of your life, as a friend at least.” he admitted. “

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I know.”

You sighed, the last of your walls giving way, exhausted from holding them up for so long.

“Fine,” you muttered.

The clocked marked eight p.m. The sun had set a long time ago and you had sent Evan, Celine and Mia home, promising you were going to be in charge of closing the shop tonight. You were wiping down the last table, the chairs already stacked, your playlist of soft acoustic covers playing low in the background.

The bell above the door jingled softly, and even without looking up, you knew it was Harry.

It was getting late, the street outside quieting down, the golden glow of your café’s hanging lights reflecting off the glass.

You sighed, a tired smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you straightened up and turned to the door.

There he was, in the same outfit as before, hair a little messy, two brown paper bags in his hands. His smile was small, almost sheepish this time.

“I brought peace offerings,” he announced softly, lifting the bags.

You crossed your arms, trying your best to look unimpressed, though the warmth blooming in your chest made it difficult.

“It’s late,” you said, glancing at the clock. “Kitchen’s closed. Staff’s gone. You should be, too.”

“I know,” he replied, stepping fully inside, letting the door fall shut behind him with a soft click. “But you weren’t answering my texts, and I figured you’d still be here. You always stay up late.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Harry shrugged with a crooked grin, setting the bags down on one of the tables you hadn’t cleared yet.

You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched up. “What’s in the bags?”

“Pasta,” he grinned, opening one to reveal takeout containers from that hole-in-the-wall place you’d dragged him to once and swore by. The kind of place no one would guess a guy like him would even step foot in. “And wine but technically not, since you get a bit tipsy.”

You tried not to melt, but damn it, it was getting harder. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grinned, pulling out two forks and waving one at you. “

You sighed, dropping the rag on the counter and walking over, the exhaustion of the day settling heavy in your bones, but somehow, seeing him here, looking at you like you were the only thing in the room, made it all feel a little easier to carry.

“Thank you” you melted, sitting across from him as he started unpacking the food.

His smile softened, and this time it wasn’t cocky, wasn’t teasing.

“Do you have glasses?” he asked, looking around.

“No, but I have two mugs inside my office” you replied, walking towards there.

Then you came back with the two mismatched mugs from your office, one with a faded Central Perk logo, the other a plain white one you’d meant to replace for months. Harry grinned when he saw them.

“Classy,” he teased softly, but you caught the fondness in his eyes as he took them from your hands.

“Shut up. It’s all we have,” you smirked, leaning your hip against the counter as he unscrewed the cap of the bottle and poured the deep red liquid into each mug.

The café was so quiet now, just the soft hum of the fridge in the back, the faint music still playing, and your heartbeat hammering too loud in your ears as he stood so close. His shoulder brushed yours, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

Then, you felt him stiffen, his hand pausing mid-pour as if some invisible current passed between you. He turned his head, his gaze locking with yours.

And before you could even take a breath, his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t careful this time. It wasn’t the testing, uncertain kind of kiss you’d shared in the middle of that party, or the hesitant one in your apartment. This was desperate, unspoken words crashing into each other. You melted instantly, your hands fisting in the front of his shirt as he stepped into you, deepening the kiss like he’d been starving for it.

Your back hit the counter, and in one easy move, he lifted you up onto it, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to keep him close.

He broke the kiss for a fraction of a second, both of you breathless. His forehead pressed against yours, his hands gripping your thighs like he wasn’t sure if he should be apologizing or saying something else entirely.

“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he murmured.

Your lips curved into a smile, catching your breath. “Break the rules?” you asked.

“Oh, shut up for once,” Harry grinned against your mouth before kissing you again, slower this time, like he was savoring it, like you were the only thing in the world worth tasting.

His lips trailed down to your jaw, his hand cradling the back of your neck as he pressed gentle kisses there, then to the hollow just beneath your ear. You let out a soft breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he moved lower, the scrape of his stubble against your skin making your stomach flutter.

“God, you drive me fucking insane,” he murmured against your neck, his words a little slurred from the wine and whatever spell was holding the two of you there, alone in the dark café. “I swear… Lucy had no—”

And you froze. Like ice water down your spine.

Your whole body tensed; your hands stiff against his chest. You felt it, felt the air shift between you like a thread snapping.

“What?” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look at him.

Harry blinked, realizing what he’d let slip. His face paled, his mouth opening, closing like he couldn’t figure out which words to reach for.

“Wait... I didn’t—”

But it didn’t matter. The crack in the moment was already there, and you felt the ache blooming in your chest.

You slid off the counter, untangling yourself from his hold.

“Get out, Harry.”

“Hey—hey, no, listen to me—”

“I said, get out.” Your voice shook, but you kept your chin up, kept your heart from spilling out right there on the café floor. “Take your dinner, take your wine. And leave.”

He stepped closer; his face was pained. “It’s not what you think—”

“No, Harry,” you cut him off, voice steady now, sharp in a way you didn’t even feel anymore. “For once… don’t break the rules. Just go.”

And you turned your back on him. Because if you didn’t, you knew you wouldn’t be able to.

Harry stood frozen for a heartbeat, watching you turn away like you were slipping through his fingers. The sound of the mug tapping softly against the counter was like a breaking point.

“Please,” he whispered, voice raw.

“I said out!” you raised your voice, words came out sharper than intended, slicing through the heavy, aching silence of the empty café. Harry flinched like you’d actually struck him, his shoulders tensing, jaw clenching as he looked down at the floor.

“I get it,” he said quietly, his voice rough, almost hoarse. “I fucked up.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat was too tight, your hands shaking just enough that you had to brace them against the counter.

Harry lingered there for a beat longer, like he wanted to fight for the right to stay, but knew he didn’t have it.

Your stomach twisted, some awful bit of anger, hurt, shame and the sharpest pull of affection you weren’t ready to admit.

The door opened, a cool gust of night air rushing in as he stepped outside. He glanced back once, his gaze catching yours, and the look on his face damn near shattered you.

Then he was gone.

And God, you felt so foolish, still waiting for confessions of love that never would come.

You felt stupid to even think that a man like him could have fallen in love with you.  

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[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 16: "The one with the unnamed surprise" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: Domesticity wraps itself around your days with Frankie. He asks you to cover your eyes. In front of you, an unnamed surprise. In front of him, a named one. WC: 9K

A/N: So, here’s the thing... yesterday I said I was going to post a snippet, but when I sat down to choose one, I got distracted writing, and one thing led to another and I ended up writing and editing the whole chapter so here it is part 16 YAY!!! Also, sorry for being MIA. I had a minor surgery this week (I’m okay, don’t worry) and I have two exams next monday (not yay). Thank you so much for your comments and messages—I promise I’ll reply to all of them 🤍🫶🏻 In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter! If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications! (also, If you've asked me before to tag you and your tag isn't on the list, please send me a message and let me know! Sometimes I miss comments!)

Sunday, October 27th

You stepped out of Helena’s front door and into the soft warmth of late-morning sun, your cheeks catching the light like it had been waiting for you. The front yard smelled faintly of leaves and old roses. Behind you, Frankie’s shoes thudded against the wooden steps.

“It was really lovely to see you, sweetheart,” Helena said, her hand settling gently on your shoulder. “Don’t wait so long next time, okay?”

Before you could answer, Frankie cut in automatically. “I won’t, Mom. I promise.”

Helena turned to him with a half-laugh, rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t talking to you. Although, frankly, you could stand to come around more too, don’t you think?”

You smiled, unsure where to look. Frankie exhaled a soft laugh behind you, his hand brushing your back.

Mai came out then, barefoot, a Tupperware container clutched to her chest.

“Here,” she said, holding it out. Her hair was messy, in a effortless way that made her look even younger. “Apple pie. Still warm, so don’t tilt it or whatever.”

You nodded, the pie heavier in your hands than you expected. “Thank you.”

Mai lingered for a second, then added, “I’ll text you about the party, okay?”

“I’ll be waiting.” You smiled, already imagining her message appearing on your phone screen later that evening. Then you felt it—Frankie’s hand sliding onto your waist, just resting there.

“And what about me?” he said, a crooked smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. “You’re not gonna text me?”

Mai didn’t even look at him. “You’re part of the package deal.”

You lingered after that—talking a little more with Helena about your next visit. She insisted on dinner. Mai, predictably, lobbied for a restaurant this time. There was laughter. And comfort. And something that felt like belonging.

It had changed, coming here now. It wasn’t performance anymore. You didn’t have to manufacture the way your shoulder leaned into his, or time your glances like stage directions. You didn’t have to imagine the tension. It existed, dense and unmistakable and terribly real.

And maybe that made everything more complicated. Because now, it mattered.

You wanted them to like you. Not because you were pretending to belong—but because, somehow, you already did. 

A few days ago, Frankie had mentioned that his sister, Sofía, was organizing an event at her flower shop. She did it every year with her best friend Caroline, who owned a small bakery a few blocks away. People would gather at the shop to read poems, short stories, essays they’d scribbled into journals or typed up on quiet Sunday afternoons. Frankie admitted it wasn’t really his thing—he said it made him tired, that he never stayed long when he did go. But he looked at you as he said it, a crooked half-smile at the edge of his mouth, and told you he thought you'd enjoy it. So he wanted to take you.

And he was right. You spent most of the afternoon in the flower shop, the scent of eucalyptus and dried lavender hanging in the air around you. There were too many folding chairs and not enough standing room. The walls were lined with pale wooden shelves holding glass vases and hand-lettered signs. Helena had come, too, along with Grace, and the four of you drifted in and out of conversations while people took turns reading at the front. Grace stayed close to you, asking you questions with a curiosity that didn’t feel invasive. She spoke with this open, thoughtful cadence that made her seem older than she was.

At one point, she leaned toward you and whispered, “I’m glad you’re dating my uncle. You’re a good person. It’s kind of a relief.” You turned toward her with a small, surprised smile.

You thanked her softly, genuinely, but there was a slight weight tugging at the corners of your expression. That word relief had a way of sticking. You didn’t ask what she meant by it, but you thought about Rachel. You didn’t even want to think about Rachel, but your mind circled back anyway. That vague, unfinished narrative that hovered somewhere behind Frankie’s eyes whenever her name was mentioned. You didn’t have the full picture.

Later, when the readings ended and the chairs were folded and stacked near the counter, Helena invited you both to her house for lunch. You said yes without thinking. It felt easy, natural.

And now, days later, you were in the car, the sky clear and quiet above the windshield, your hand resting on the gentle curve of your stomach. Full. Content in that lazy, familiar way that comes after a big homemade meal.

“Your mom is such a good cook,” you murmured, stretching your feet out and leaning your head against the window. The glass was cool and the sunlight flickered through the leaves. “I could go over there more often.”

Frankie chuckled under his breath, eyes still on the road, one hand loosely on the wheel.

“I mean, no pressure,” you added, glancing at him. “You don’t have to be there. I can go on my own. Girls’ day, you know?”

He turned slightly, just enough to catch your face. “Oh yeah? And what would that look like?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Talking about books, stuff… things you probably wouldn’t care about.”

“I like girls’ days.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you?”

“Sure. I can blend right in. You won’t even notice me. It'll be like I'm part of the decor.”

You laughed. “I really don’t think that’s how it works.”

He grinned, unfazed. “You could have your girls’ day. I’ll just be in the background. Silently appreciating your dynamic. Maybe even bring snacks.”

“Or,” you said, playful now, “you could have your own boys’ day. With Santiago and the rest of the guys. Talk about cars, or fishing, or whatever ancient rituals you people do to reaffirm your masculinity.”

Frankie looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “I think I’d prefer both.”

You groaned. “God, don’t be corny.”

“A little corn never hurt anyone.”

“Yes, it did,” you said. “It hurt this conversation.”

Frankie rolled his eyes, though the gesture lacked real irritation.

“Okay,” he said slowly, dragging out the syllable like he was preparing to make a point. “But you've been to a lot of those hangouts with the guys too, don’t you think?”

“Sure, because Santi invited me. Or Benny. Or someone else who actually wanted me there.”

He glanced at you with a crooked grin. “And what, I’m not included in this girls' night elite invitation circle?”

You crossed your arms across your chest, leaning back against the car seat.

“Nope. You're not.”

He made a sound with his tongue and tilted his head toward you.

“Wow. Okay. I guess I won’t show you the really interesting and extremely cool thing I had planned.”

You laughed under your breath. “You don’t have anything to show me.”

“I do, actually.” He looked over at you again, sideways this time, as if the full force of eye contact might give too much away. “Something you would’ve loved. Not just liked—loved. Like, told-Emma-about-it kind of loved.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

He let out a long, exaggerated sigh, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

“Guess I’ll just take you home then. Let you sit with your own bad decisions.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, don’t even try it, Francisco. You’re not going to manipulate me. That routine doesn’t work on me.”

He let out a genuine laugh this time, brief and low in his throat, shaking his head as he returned his attention to the road.

Ten minutes later, you were standing at the threshold of his house. Frankie reached into his pocket, pulled out a key, and slid it into the lock. The mechanism clicked. He paused before pushing the door open and turned toward you with something mischievous flickering behind his eyes.

“Okay,” he said, stepping in closer. “I need you to close your eyes.”

You blinked. “Are you serious?”

“I’m deadly serious.” He moved his hand up and gently placed it over your face, fingers spanning nearly the whole length from your forehead to your chin. “Eyes shut until I say. Do you understand?”

You smiled despite yourself, the warmth of his palm against your skin oddly reassuring. “I promise.”

“Good.”

You heard him exhale, the door creaking open. The sound of hinges, followed by his fingers slipping away from your eyes. A moment later, he took your hand. His grip was easy, steady. He guided you through the doorway and into the house, and you could hear the sound of the door closing softly behind you. You let him lead you, each step unfamiliar in the darkness behind your eyelids. The scent of something floral lingered faintly in the hallway—laundry detergent, maybe, or whatever candle Helena had dropped off last time she visited.

You felt the soft shift of air as you entered the living room. Frankie’s hand never left yours.

There was a strange sound from another room, and Frankie let go of your hand.

“Okay,” he said, already stepping back. “I’ll be right back. Just don’t open your eyes. Got it?”

“I won’t,” you said with unnecessary urgency. You clamped your palms over your face like a child playing hide-and-seek, and you grinned into the darkness of your own hands. You didn’t understand what was happening. None of it made sense, and yet you felt giddy—completely, irrationally light.

One, two, three… The seconds moved unevenly. You listened for Frankie’s footsteps, the shift of weight in the boards. A faint scuff. Silence. Then movement again, closer this time. You could feel him standing in front of you before he spoke.

“Okay, when I say—” he started, but his sentence was cut short by the softest interruption.

A high-pitched, unmistakable sound.

“Shit,” Frankie muttered.

Then—clearer this time—a meow. Thin and sharp and impossibly small.

Your hands flew from your face, your eyes wide, your mouth already forming words before they reached your tongue.

“No way.”

Frankie stood just inches away, his hands lifted carefully near your face. Between them, resting in the cage of his fingers, was a tiny gray kitten. The animal looked impossibly fragile, like something made of silk. It couldn’t have been more than three months old.

You stared at it, stunned.

“Frankie,” you whispered, as you extended your arms without thinking.

He gave the kitten to you and his face broke into a smile.

You cradled the small body close to your face, kissing its downy head with a tenderness that made something in your chest ache. The kitten let out another soft meow, its voice small but certain. Your heart did something strange, an internal somersault.

“I adopted him yesterday,” Frankie said, running a hand down the kitten’s back. “Doesn’t have a name yet.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, eyes still fixed on the animal now curled into the crook of your arm.

He shrugged. “I wanted to surprise you. Thought you’d like it.”

You glanced up at him then, holding his gaze for a few seconds, long enough to see the affection that sat just beneath the mischief in his expression. Then you looked back at the tiny creature curled against your chest.

“How did he sleep?”

“He followed me around all night,” Frankie said, his voice softer now. “He's really affectionate. At first I thought he was hungry or needed water, but he didn’t. He just wanted to be close. Eventually I put him on the bed, but I was terrified I’d roll over and crush him. So I set his little bed right next to me. Figured it was safer. He still cried for a while, though.”

You smiled. You couldn’t stop smiling. The kitten was pawing at your fingers now, then gently nibbled one, its teeth more curious than sharp.

“You’re just the most beautiful little thing,” you murmured, stroking its impossibly soft fur.

Frankie watched you quietly. 

Frankie nudged the bedroom door closed with the side of his foot, careful not to spill the two mugs in his hands. The scent of the tea rose with the steam.

You were already stretched out on his bed, legs tangled loosely in the sheets, wearing one of his T-shirts that hung off you like it had been made for someone else, which it had. Underneath, nothing but a soft pair of underwear. Your hair, still damp from your recent shower, clung to the sides of your neck and the cotton collar.

Sunday was drifting by in its usual, hazy rhythm. After arriving at Frankie’s place and being introduced to the skittish little kitten he had just brought home, the two of you had spent some time lying around, throwing out names—nothing had stuck. Every suggestion felt either too much or not enough. At some point between giggling over how serious he looked when he vetoed “Frankie Jr.” and the slow weight of contentment settling in your limbs, you’d dozed off.

He hadn't minded. A nap after a good meal felt like the natural conclusion to a Sunday afternoon. He normally reserved these hours for fixing things around the house or grabbing a beer with one of the guys. But with you here, in his space, smelling like his soap and stealing his shirts, the idea of doing absolutely nothing became not only acceptable, but preferable.

It was nearly four now. The TV hummed in front of the bed, soft and unobtrusive. The white curtains were drawn shut, letting in a gauzy sort of light that made everything feel suspended in time.

He placed both mugs on the nightstand, then eased into bed beside you, careful not to jostle the tiny, curled-up kitten resting on your chest. You were propped against the headboard, your fingers stroking absent-mindedly over the kitten’s fur, eyes on the screen.

Friends was on—your choice. The London wedding episodes. He remembered you saying they were your favorite, though you claimed not to like Ross all that much.

“The tea’s hot,” he said, his voice low as he leaned in a little closer. He took one mug. “Give it a minute before you try it.”

You turned your head toward him, a small smile ghosting your lips.

“Okay. Thanks,” you said softly, taking it from his hand only to place it gently on the nightstand next to you.

Frankie exhaled, a quiet breath through his nose, and turned his attention back to the television. It happened every time—you'd put something on, usually a show or movie he wouldn’t have chosen himself, something with fast-talking characters and emotional subtext, and without realizing it, he’d be completely pulled in. He told himself it wasn’t his taste, too light or too messy or too sentimental. But here he was.

“Jesus, I don't get it,” he murmured. “I never understood people who obsess over weddings.”

“Yeah, you seem like someone who’d get married in your backyard, on a random Tuesday, without warning.”

“Yeah? I wouldn’t mind that.”

You turned your head slightly, studying him now. “Without warning, though? Like, totally unplanned?”

“Wouldn’t that make it more romantic?”

You lifted a shoulder, then let it fall again. “Eh. Maybe. Depends on the context, I guess.”

“What kind of context?”

“I dunno,” you said. “Just… depends how it all feels in the moment?”

Frankie nodded like he understood, though maybe he didn’t, not completely.

“Well. If I did get married like that, it’d probably be because something forced my hand. Like—some kind of bind.”

“Forced your hand? A bind?” you repeated, laughing now. “Good thing I didn’t ask you to be my fake fiancé, then.”

You were teasing, but your voice was warm. The kitten had migrated from your chest to the space between you, burrowing under the quilt.

You shifted onto your side, pulling the pillow beneath your cheek. Your face was close now. Relaxed. Peaceful. He could see the faint dampness at your hairline, smell the familiar scent of his shampoo, his laundry detergent—all of it mixing with something that was purely you.

Then you asked, your voice quiet: “Do you think you’ll ever get married?”

The question caught him off guard. It wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t nothing either.

He hesitated, eyes flicking to the TV and back to you.

“I used to,” he admitted. “A while ago.”

“You did?” 

“Yeah. I thought about it.”

You turned your face toward him.

“With Rachel?” you asked, voice soft.

He gave a small nod, his brows lifting a fraction, like the whole thing felt absurd in retrospect. As if that version of his life had belonged to someone else entirely. Someone naive.

For a second, he considered brushing it off. Letting the moment pass. But there was something about the way you were looking at him that made it impossible.

“I was ready to commit to her,” he said. The words felt strange, but not painful. He hadn’t spoken them out loud in a long time. And for once, they didn’t come with the usual sting.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, turning his eyes to the television, as if that might steady him. “I thought I had everything mapped out. Marriage, maybe a family. It felt like, like it made sense.”

You made a soft sound, not quite agreement, not quite disbelief. Just something that acknowledged the weight of what he’d said. Then you went quiet again, eyes shifting back to the TV.

Frankie waited, listening to the faint background noise of the sitcom. But he looked at you again, and something in your face had changed, barely—your mouth a little tighter, your eyes distant.

“I was wrong,” he said then. “So wrong. And honestly? Her leaving… that might’ve been the best thing she ever did for me. Who knows where I'd be if she'd never ended it.”

Your mouth curled into the hint of a smile. “Yeah. I mean, you definitely wouldn’t be in bed with me and a kitten right now.”

That made him laugh, softly. It was absurd, when he thought about it—how different his life might’ve looked if things had gone the way he wanted them to, back then.

If Rachel had stayed, maybe he would never have unraveled. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten to the point where getting out of bed felt impossible, where everything tasted like dust and felt like noise. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to start from scratch.

He might still be with her. Maybe engaged. He remembered thinking about it right before she left—rings, apartments, timelines. He’d known he wasn’t in the right place for any of it, but he’d considered it anyway, hoping commitment might anchor him somehow.

And you? You would’ve stayed exactly where you were then—Santi’s younger sister. Someone he vaguely tolerated, someone who rolled her eyes at his jokes and didn’t bother to hide it. You probably would’ve kept ignoring each other, kept your distance.

The thought landed heavily in his chest. Not dramatic or painful, just strange. Like something important could’ve slipped past him without him ever knowing what he missed.

Because now he understood what it felt like; being near you like this, existing inside the gentle bubble you created just by being close. It startled him sometimes, how long you had been in his life without him realizing the possible weight of it. Five years orbiting each other, brushing past in doorways, exchanging sharp looks or dry remarks and fights. All that time, and he’d never imagined what it could mean if he let the distance between you collapse.

You spoke then, cutting through the quiet and his thoughts. “No matter what happens, I think I’ll end up being the cat lady anyway.”

He looked at you, startled by the sudden shift in tone, the slight smile playing on your lips as you cradled the kitten in your hands. You were touching its tiny ears like they were the most delicate things in the world. Frankie had the absurd urge to be jealous of the kitten.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

You shrugged. “I dunno.”

He watched you for a moment longer. “Don’t you want a family?”

You let out a small laugh. And Frankie realized a second too late how personal the question had been. Too direct. Too much, maybe. But you didn’t seem bothered.

“Of course I do,” you said, gently. “I mean, yeah. I’d love that. It’s just… if it doesn’t happen, I don’t think it would destroy me. I know I’d be okay. I’ve made peace with the idea that some lives don’t go the way we plan. And anyway, Santi’s definitely going to have, like, four kids at least. I can always be the fun aunt who spoils them and teaches them weird facts about everything.”

Frankie smiled. “Yeah. I get that. I feel the same way, I think. And I’m already the cool uncle, so I’ve got that covered. Lucky me.”

You laughed, then reached out to tap his arm lightly with your fist. He reached for you instinctively, wrapping his arms around you and drawing you into his chest. You came easily, your body folding into his.

“I always thought I’d have a daughter,” you said after a minute, your voice muffled against the fabric of his T-shirt. “I mean… I’d like to. If I ever become a mom.”

“Just one?” 

“For now, yeah. I think I’d have to see how it goes first. Test the waters. Parenting seems like the kind of thing you can’t really prepare for, doesn’t it?”

“You’d be good at it.”

“You think so?”

“I’m sure of it,” he said, meeting your gaze. “Darcy can confirm.”

You smiled again. “I'm not sure it's comparable. But yeah. I’m already a great cat mom.”

The sound lingered between you for a moment before dissolving into the quiet of the room. On the screen, Monica was spiraling; her mother had said something sharp at the rehearsal dinner, something small but wounding in the way only a parent’s words could be. Neither of you commented on it. The glow of the TV washed your faces in warm color, but the air between you shifted.

Frankie felt it. Not something visible, exactly—just a subtle tightening in your body, a pause that wasn’t there before. He had learned to notice these things with you. How your energy moved. How your breath changed. His body, attuned to yours now, picked up on every slight retreat.

You leaned further into his chest, your head tucked under his chin, and let out a soft breath.

“I had a scare once,” you said quietly, eyes fixed on the television. “With Harry.”

He didn’t move. Just listened.

“My period was late and we’d only been dating two months. I remember this one day, how everything just kind of… froze. Like time stopped working the way it was supposed to. I couldn’t focus on anything. It was like my body had slipped into this other version of my life and I couldn’t get out of it until I knew for sure.”

You paused. The kitten shifted between you, curling into a tighter ball.

“I didn’t tell him. I went out and bought a test, did it alone. It was negative. Then, after I was sure, I told him.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked if I needed anything. That was it, really. No follow-up questions. No conversation.” You gave a small, humorless huff of breath. “I started taking the pill that same week.”

Frankie looked at you then, but you kept your eyes on the screen.

“Sounds smart.” 

You clicked your tongue, not quite annoyed, but something close.

“Of course. But I still needed more than that. I needed to feel safe. And I didn’t. Not with him. That was the thing—I realized how completely terrified I was at the idea of having a baby with him. And I couldn’t even say it out loud. Couldn’t tell him how scared I was, because I didn’t trust what he’d do with that information. I was afraid of his reaction, of whether he’d be happy, make it about him or minimize it or just… shut down.” Sheepish now, your voice softened. “It made me wonder why I was with someone I couldn’t even share a fear like that with. But I was so sure of how much I loved him, I just... I didn't care.”

“Harry’s an idiot, baby.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah. I think he is.”

“He is—”

“So you wanted a family with Rachel?”

He blinked at the TV for a moment, trying to decide how to answer. 

“You’re very direct,” he said finally, a little surprised. A small laugh escaped him. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I like it.” He shook his head, the smile still pulling at his mouth. Then he exhaled. “Yeah. I did. Of course I did. I thought I wanted that. Which feels kind of absurd to say out loud now, because looking back, I don’t think I was ready. Not even close.”

He paused, considering.

“I still don’t know if I’ll ever be ready, to be honest. It’s not just a wish, it’s... a whole reality. One that I’d like to live in, maybe. But I’m afraid I’m not built for it. Or that if I am, I’ll do it wrong. Like, ruin something I can’t take back.”

You were quiet for a beat, then asked gently, “Why do you think that?”

He hesitated, then let the words come.

“I mean… a child. That’s not just a responsibility. It’s a person. Someone with their own thoughts and their own pain, eventually. And I’d be part of shaping all that. That’s terrifying. I want to be good at it, I really do, but what if I mess it up? What if I do something without realizing and it sticks with them forever?”

Your fingers brushed over his arm in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. Then you looked at him, your expression soft, eyes warmer than he felt like he deserved. A faint smile curled at the edge of your mouth, and for a second Frankie thought about tracing it with his thumb. Just one second of indulgence.

But he didn’t.

“No one knows everything about parenting before they’re in it,” you said. “Even the best people make mistakes. There’s no such thing as perfect parents, or perfect kids.”

“Oh I know that.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “You’d be a good father, Frankie. You’re patient. Kind. You actually listen. You’ve been great with Jamie.”

Frankie sighed. “That’s different. He’s my nephew. I can always hand him back. I don’t have to make the hard choices. If I was in Henry or Luna’s place, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Well,” you said, shrugging a little. “I don’t think anyone really knows until they get there. You can plan, sure. But life doesn’t wait for you to be ready. All you can do is love the kid, pay attention, and try not to let anything get in the way of being there for them.”

“Yeah, well...” Frankie said, reaching out to stroke the tiny kitten curled up in front of you. His hand moved gently, fingers threading through its fur like he was trying not to scare it. “Anyway, I doubt it’ll happen. In the meantime, I guess I’ll have to figure out how to take care of a cat.”

“I doubt it too,” you replied. “I swear, there’s nothing that messes with my head more than the thought of being a mother. Or not being one.”

“How come?” 

You exhaled, your eyes fixed on some invisible point in the room. “I’m terrified of not becoming a mother. And also, equally terrified of becoming one. It’s like... both possibilities feel too big.” You laughed, but it was a thin sound. “Infertility scares me. Fertility scares me.”

Frankie didn’t speak right away. He was breathing in the faint scent of your hair, and it made everything feel a little more real than he wanted it to. Conversations like this were difficult for him—not because he didn’t care, but because the thought of a future that stable, that rooted, felt like trying to imagine himself on another planet. There was a version of him that could handle it. He just wasn’t sure that version existed yet.

“You’ve got time,” he said at last, his cheek pressed against the pillow.

“I’m almost thirty, Francisco,” you said, smiling as if to soften it. “And as much as I hate the phrase, the idea of a biological clock is very real.”

“Thirty’s nothing,” he said, matching your tone, rolling his eyes.

“No, I know,” you agreed. “It’s not. But still.”

He shifted beside you. “Maybe by forty you’ll have it all figured out.”

You let out a laugh. “Wow. That’s a lot of confidence in my decision-making abilities.”

“I’ve seen you order at restaurants. That took several minutes.”

“Hey. That’s important. You don’t want to mess up your one meal.”

Frankie grinned, then looked over at the kitten, now kneading the blanket with its tiny paws.

“Also,” you added, “did you know that after thirty-five it’s technically called a geriatric pregnancy?”

“That’s absurd.”

“It’s true.”

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up. You rolled away from him to check it, and the space where you’d been moments ago felt immediately cooler. Frankie didn’t say anything, just watched you. The kitten padded across the bed toward him and climbed onto his chest. He picked it up in both hands. 

What a tiny creature, Frankie thought, watching the kitten as it curled into itself, like a little comma. Its paws were absurdly small, its ears too big for its head. It looked like something you’d win at a fair, a prize made of felt and buttons, only this one breathed and blinked and yawned so wide you could see the pink of its gums. It didn’t seem entirely real. He found himself hoping it would grow big, sleepy and adorable. Like Mr. Darcy.

You were scrolling through your phone beside him, your head propped on one hand.

“Mai sent me the invite,” you said without looking up. “It’s a QR code. They’ll give us wristbands when we get there.”

He nodded, eyes still on the kitten. “Sounds fancy.”

The Halloween party was an annual thing hosted by Kairos, some artsy production company Mai had been involved with for years. She designed the wristbands and the promo graphics, and always managed to secure passes for her friends. Frankie had heard about the Christmas parties too, and the over-the-top New Year’s events where people drank champagne from plastic flutes and danced in dimly lit warehouses. He didn’t go to things like that—loud rooms, too many people, the pressure to make conversation. But earlier that day, over lunch, you’d said something about loving Halloween. Mai had overheard and invited you on the spot. Which meant now he was going too. Because Mai was his sister, and you were—well, you were you.

And honestly, he didn’t mind the idea.

You tapped your phone screen off and turned to him. “Do you know what you’re dressing up as?”

He looked over, smiled faintly. “I don’t know. What about you?”

You shrugged, almost bashful. “I have a few ideas. Nothing definite.”

“Well,” he said, settling back into the cushions, “I’m really, really sure I’ll like and enjoy whatever you pick.”

You didn’t respond right away, but your expression changed—something flickered behind your eyes. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but it made him feel warm.

The kitten yawned again and then fell asleep.

Tuesday, October 29th

Frankie leaned back in the lawn chair and took a long sip from his beer. The fire in Santi’s backyard cracked and hissed, sparks rising briefly into the night. The guys were in their usual rhythm (half teasing, half storytelling) revisiting the time Will’s pants split wide open during a yoga class he’d tagged along to, trying to impress a girl.

Frankie wasn’t really listening. His phone rested in his hand, screen dimmed to almost nothing, thumb brushing across it idly. You were texting him.

Earlier that afternoon, you’d gone to try on Halloween costumes, and by some stroke of good fortune—at least in his opinion—you’d decided to keep him in the loop. One by one, the photos came in. A zombie nurse. A ghost bride. A pirate. A vampire in fishnets. Then a Victorian lady. And at some point, absurdly, a towering Marie Antoinette wig that made you look like you'd walked out of a Sofia Coppola film.

Frankie had been more than happy to offer feedback. Encouraged, even. He’d wanted to go with you, truthfully, but work ran late, and he already had plans with the guys. This, this stream of selfies and little captions, felt like the next best thing.

Then finally:

[🍓]: Christine Daaé

And a second later, a photo of a white corset. Silk. Lace trim. The implication was clear.

Frankie had grinned at the screen, then exhaled through his nose like he couldn’t help himself. Of course, that meant he was going as the Phantom. Erik. You’d declared it so.

A bottle cap hit his thigh.

He blinked, looked up from his phone.

Santi was smirking at him from across the fire pit.

“So, can you?” he asked, lifting his chin.

Frankie furrowed his brows. “What?”

“Victor’s boat.”

Frankie shifted in the chair, stretching out his legs. “Ah, right. This Friday?”

“Yeah,” Benny said, yawning as he leaned back, arms behind his head. “You free or what?”

Frankie scratched the edge of his beard. “Actually... I... I’ve got something.”

Santi grinned, like he already knew. “Right. The Halloween party.”

Frankie nodded once, keeping it casual.

“What party?” Will asked, suddenly interested.

“Kairos,” Santi said, turning toward him. “My sister told me. Mai works for them, remember? Costumes, DJs, probably too many people. And look at this guy—ditching me for my little sister.”

Frankie narrowed his eyes, shook his head, and let out a short laugh. He raised the bottle to his lips again, the glass cool against his mouth.

“I’m not ditching you,” he said, though he didn’t offer anything more than that.

And across the firelight, Santi just kept smiling.

“Well, by the way,” Benny said, adjusting forward on the edge of his seat, arms braced on his knees, “why couldn’t you come by last weekend?”

Frankie didn’t flinch. “I was with Mai and my mom,” he said, voice even. And it was true. Mostly.

Sunday had been at his mother’s house. You were there, too. Of course. 

Benny wasn’t done. “And Saturday?”

Saturday had been yours. The morning, the afternoon, the parts of the night that bled into morning again.

“Same,” Frankie said, not missing a beat. He didn’t look away.

Across the fire pit, Santi shifted. He leaned into his right arm, elbow pressed into the chair, and tilted his head like he was squinting at a puzzle that had just gotten more interesting. There was something annoyingly pleased in his expression.

“Yeah, I don’t buy it, Fish,” he said, eyes wide, eyebrows lifted. A grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Frankie laughed—short, breathy, too defensive. “Yeah. Right. You guys are unbearable. If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

And the second the words left his mouth, he regretted them.

Santi’s face changed, like a switch being flipped. The amusement faded. He leaned forward slightly, not dramatically, but enough to close the distance. His eyes reflected the movement of the flames, sharp and unreadable. His jaw didn’t move, but his voice came out even, almost quiet.

“Okay. When the hell were you planning on telling me you’re sleeping with my sister?”

The crackle of the fire filled the silence that followed. Frankie’s heart dropped so fast it left something hollow behind. His body went rigid. He didn’t blink. He felt the blood drain from his face, felt it pool somewhere in his shoes. The entire backyard blurred at the edges, just orange firelight and too many, many eyes.

He didn’t say a word.

Benny shifted uncomfortably. Will looked down at his beer.

Santi didn’t move. He kept his gaze locked on Frankie, his expression perfectly unreadable.

And then, just as Frankie opened his mouth—he had no idea what he was going to say—Santi broke. A sharp laugh burst from his chest, and he leaned back in the chair, shaking his head.

“I’m messing with you, man.”

Frankie exhaled. It didn’t feel like relief. His skin was too hot, but his fingertips were cold. He ran a hand through his hair, tried to laugh along with them, but it sounded weak, like an echo of something genuine.

His pulse was still racing. His body wasn’t convinced the danger had passed.

And the worst part was: he hadn’t actually denied it.

A breath left Frankie’s chest, short and shaky. “Jesus, man.”

Will and Benny exchanged a glance, laughing in that unsure, uneven way people do when they’re not totally sure it is a joke.

Santi grinned, still riding the high of his own performance.

“You should’ve seen your face,” he said, pointing lazily in Frankie’s direction. “Fucking priceless. Relax, will you? I’m messing with you.”

“Right,” Frankie muttered. “I know. I know that.” But his voice betrayed him. “You just—you look so damn convincing when you do that.”

Santi shrugged, all casual confidence. “It’s my talent.”

Frankie shook his head and stood, brushing nonexistent crumbs from his jeans.

“I gotta take a piss.”

“Did you shit yourself, Fish?” Benny called after him, laughing.

Their voices followed him as he crossed the patio and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. The silence inside the house felt abrupt. It made the rush of blood in his ears feel deafening. His heart was still hammering against his ribs—each beat too fast, too hard. Like his body hadn’t caught up with the fact that it was just a joke.

Just a joke.

In the bathroom, he leaned over the sink after washing his hands, gripping the porcelain with wet fingers. His reflection looked too pale under the overhead light, his mouth tense like he’d been grinding his teeth. He pressed his palms to his face, exhaled into the space between them. Tried to shake it off.

The truth was: he felt like he’d been caught. Like it was written on him somewhere—I’m sleeping with Santi’s sister. Bold print. Centered. 

He stayed there for a minute longer, trying to even out his breathing. Trying to look normal. He wasn’t sure it was working.

When he finally stepped out, the hallway felt colder somehow. As he passed the kitchen door, a voice called out.

“Frankie.”

He stopped. Turned his head.

Will was standing by the open fridge, hand already wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle. He looked casual. Not suspicious. Not accusing. 

“You want one?” Will asked, nodding toward the bottles.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Frankie stepped into the kitchen fully, nodding once as he accepted the bottle from Will. The glass felt cool in his palm. He leaned back against the counter, the edge of it pressing into his spine just enough to remind him he was still in his body.

Will moved with efficiency, pulling three more bottles from the fridge, setting two on the counter with a dull clink, and uncapping the third for himself. He sat across from Frankie, perched casually on one of the stools, the bottle already pressed to his lips.

They stayed like that for a few seconds. Frankie watched the floor. Will watched Frankie.

Then, finally, Will spoke.

“So,” he said, drawing the word out. “How long has this been going on?”

Frankie lifted his head. “What’s been going on?”

Will tilted his head, eyebrows raised in mock innocence. “You know Santi’s basically your brother-in-law now, right?”

Frankie smiled—tight, crooked, tired. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, a quiet laugh escaped him, as if the idea were absurd. But it didn’t feel absurd.

“No... I mean—”

“I saw you at the bar,” Will cut in, one eyebrow arched. “On Benny’s birthday. You two were talking. I was heading over to order another round, and I saw you leave. Together.”

Frankie clicked his tongue, a quiet, defensive sound. “That’s not—”

“And,” Will said, leaning in slightly now, clearly enjoying this, “the next day, Santi told us you said you'd spent the night with someone. Said you wouldn’t say who. And then, that day at the river, you said you were seeing that woman. What a coincidence, huh, Fish?”

This time, Frankie didn’t try to argue. He looked at Will, really looked at him, and saw the certainty there. Not speculation. Not a guess. Certainty.

There was no point in denying anything anymore.

Frankie sighed and shifted his weight.

“You can’t say anything. You hear me?”

Will threw his head back, a triumphant laugh spilling from his chest like he’d just solved a mystery no one else had noticed.

“I fucking knew it.”

“Shh,” Frankie hissed, glancing toward the hallway. “Man, shut the hell up.”

Will shook his head, grinning like he’d just heard the punchline of a joke that had taken too long to land.

“You two really aren’t being discreet, you know that?”

Frankie narrowed his eyes, exasperated. “You can’t say anything.”

“I won’t,” Will said, holding up a hand in mock solemnity. “Promise. No need, anyway. The others will probably figure it out without my help. You’re not exactly subtle.” He gave a small shrug, then leaned back in his seat. “To be honest, I still wasn’t totally sure. I had my suspicions, yeah. But the look on your face out there?” He let out a low whistle. “Jesus, man. I thought you were about to pass out.”

Frankie let out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. I kind of thought that too.”

There was a pause. Will’s expression shifted, softened. He took another sip of beer and then sighed, setting the bottle down with a quiet clink against the counter.

“So?” he asked, his tone more curious than nosy now. “What’s going on? How did that even happen? I mean, how did things change between you two?”

Frankie didn’t answer immediately. His eyes drifted. First to the far wall, then to the patch of floor just beside Will’s foot. He searched his memory, trying to locate the exact pivot, the precise beat where everything had begun to shift. But it was like trying to pinpoint the first moment he started falling asleep. You just wake up in the middle of it, already half-under.

How had things changed?

When?

He could think of a dozen interactions that might’ve mattered. But the one that surfaced—the one that rooted itself in his mind now—was less cinematic than he wanted it to be. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even particularly romantic. But it had cracked something open in him. And after that, he started noticing you differently. Or maybe not differently... just more.

It embarrassed him, how fast it had happened for him. 

"Your mother, your sisters, your aunts and uncles, your mom’s friends—they’re all going to be watching." You had said that night, the day before his mom's birthday.

Frankie exhaled, the sound half-sigh, half-growl, and pressed his hip against the edge of the kitchen island. 

"It’s different." He muttered, voice weighed down by something that felt like exhaustion

"Different how?"

"Because Santi’s my best friend. And you’re his sister. It was weird."

"And this is all fake, Francisco," you gestured vaguely in the air between you, where the tension had been gathering like dust. "How old are you again? Forty?"

"Thirty-five," he corrected automatically.

"Right. Almost forty. And you can’t do something as simple as kiss a woman. Yes, I’m your best friend’s sister. Yes, you clearly dislike me. And yes, I clearly dislike you too. But it’s just a kiss," you were speaking with that infuriating kind of calm that always had annoyed him. "A fucking—"

Frankie’s hands were on your face before he processed the shift. Fingers at your jaw, thumbs resting just beneath your cheekbones. His grip wasn’t rough, just firm. And then his mouth was on yours. It wasn’t timid. It wasn’t theatrical either.

He kept kissing you longer than he should have. He knew it, could feel the line being crossed even as he leaned into it, even as his heart stammered in his chest.

And then—just as suddenly—he stepped back.

His hands dropped, and his expression shifted into something smug and irritatingly collected. He clicked his tongue, the sound almost playful.

You weren’t moving. Your posture was stiff, your breath uneven. He noticed the subtle rise and fall of your collarbone, the slight part of your lips, the fact that your eyes were still on his mouth.

He turned from you and folded his arms across his chest, like that might hide something.

“I can do that, no problem,” he said, trying to sound flippant. “Stop being so fucking insufferable all the time, and maybe this whole thing would be easier.”

Your mouth opened—probably ready to snap back, but the words caught somewhere between fury and shock.

He didn’t say anything else. Just leaned against the island, pretending to study the floor, as if that helped him ignore the sound of your breathing.

“Thank God you’re not my real boyfriend,” you snapped. “I’d rather kiss a toad.”

Frankie’s mouth curved slightly, not quite a smile. "You’ve got a lot of experience with those, don’t you?" 

He pushed away from the counter then, dragging a hand over his stomach before reaching into his pocket to check for his keys. An instinctive gesture, like trying to remind himself he still had an exit.

He walked over to the couch and gave Mr. Darcy a half-hearted pat, then turned back toward you. You hadn’t moved. You looked pissed.

He didn’t blame you. Not entirely, anyway.

“I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow. Don’t keep me waiting.”

“Or what? You're going to leave without me?”

Frankie paused, hand already on the door. He looked at you. Then he stepped aside and held the door open.

"I’ll come up and get you," he said, like a warning.

He didn’t wait for a reply. Just walked out, jaw tight, the echo of his shoes fading with every step. The door clicked shut behind him, a final-sounding noise that filled the quiet he hadn’t noticed until then.

Frankie took the stairs two at a time. Something urgent buzzed beneath his skin—irritation, maybe. Or something that required irritation as a cover. When he hit the street, he didn’t hesitate. Got into his car, turned the key, pulled out of the space like it owed him something.

But a few blocks later, a red light caught him. The first real pause.

And in that stillness, something shifted.

His fingers lifted, almost without thought, brushing against his lips. They felt warm, too warm—like they’d been branded. His mouth still remembered yours. Not just the pressure or the shape, but the feeling. The pull. The part of it he hadn’t expected.

He sat there, one hand on the wheel, the other grazing his mouth, eyes unfocused and fixed on nothing.

That was the moment. The first one that counted.

That was when it started for him.

“I don’t know how it happened,” Frankie said quietly, his thumb pressing against the condensation on his beer bottle. “It just did. One day I hated her, and the next day I didn’t. And that confused me as much as it probably confused her.”

Will raised his eyebrows, leaning back slightly.

“Well, doesn’t confuse me. I knew it from the start—remember? Everything makes sense now. I was right, wasn’t I?”

Frankie let out a sigh and nodded faintly. “I couldn’t tell her, though.”

Will blinked. “You mean all those years you two were at each other’s throats was because you couldn’t be honest with her?”

“No,” Frankie said, laughing in spite of himself. “No. I genuinely didn’t like her after that. I wasn’t pretending.”

Will looked at him, unconvinced. “Okay, sure. But what about now? Did you tell her how it?”

Frankie shook his head. He didn’t explain why. He didn’t know how to.

Will nodded again, slower this time. “And is this—whatever it is—serious?”

At first, Frankie laughed. A short, instinctive sound. Because the question felt too big, too final. But then the laugh faded. His smile disappeared, and his gaze dropped to the floor.

And just like that, the answer was there.

You placed your toothbrush back in the cup and flicked off the bathroom light with the back of your hand. The apartment dimmed into quiet shadows as you padded barefoot toward your bedroom. Mr. Darcy followed you, tail held high, as if he too were ready to call it a night.

But before you got into bed, you paused beside the vanity and looked once more at the costume hanging on the door. Just one last look.

You hadn’t found it in one of those over-lit costume shops filled with synthetic capes and plastic tiaras. You’d gone to a small gothic boutique tucked between a tattoo parlor and a record store. The corset had been waiting there for you—white, embroidered, delicate.

The idea had arrived in your head fully formed: Christine Daaé.

Once you had the corset, everything else followed easily. You found the dress online and paid for priority shipping without hesitation. It was arriving tomorrow morning, and you had already cleared a hanger for it. The pictures online had shown a soft, off-white fabric with dramatic bell sleeves and a neckline that dipped just low enough to make you blush. It ended just below the knees, but a single slit ran up the side of the left leg, high enough to make it interesting.

You had paired it with white thigh-high stockings that fastened with lace, the kind that sat snug against your skin. The whole outfit was beautiful. Romantic, theatrical, sensual. You couldn’t wait to wear it.

Frankie hadn’t protested when you told him your idea. In fact, he had agreed almost too easily. You bought him a white half-mask online and found a soft, 19th-century-style shirt with ruffles at the collar. The woman at the shop, who had probably seen a hundred Phantom couples come through in October, still smiled when you told her what you were planning. She even helped you pick out a black vest with subtle embroidery. Frankie said he’d handle the rest.

You had always loved Halloween in the way certain people love early autumn or thunderstorms—something about the atmosphere, the anticipation, the slight eeriness that made everything feel more heightened, more alive. It was one of your favorite days of the year. Or at least, it used to be.

Lately, the holiday had come and gone like most other days. Last year you���d planned a solo horror movie night. Candles lit, snacks laid out, a carefully curated film queued on the screen. But you’d fallen asleep before the opening credits had even finished rolling. You woke up sometime around midnight, your head slumped against the couch cushion, the room dim and quiet and too still. You didn’t try again after that.

This year, though, there was the party.

It was happening Friday night—even though Halloween fell on a Thursday—because that was how adults did things now. Convenience before tradition. It didn’t bother you. The point was that someone had invited you, and more than that, you wanted to go.

You hadn’t been to a Kairos party in years. The last time, you’d gone with Emma, and the two of you had danced for hours, stealing sips from each other’s drinks and rating costumes like it was a red carpet. But Emma hadn’t been able to make it the past few years and your other friends always had other plans. So, you stayed home.

But not this year.

You folded the corset carefully and placed it back inside its tissue-lined box. The shoes were already tucked away on the top shelf of your closet. You smoothed your hand over the duvet before pulling it back, ready to settle in for the night. Mr. Darcy was already curled up at the foot of the bed.

And then the doorbell rang.

You paused. Checked the time on your phone: 10:03 p.m.

A crease formed between your brows as you walked toward the kitchen, the soft shuffle of your slippers brushing against the floor. You turned the corner and peered out through the narrow window that faced the street. And then you smiled. Frankie.

You didn’t bother asking what he was doing there before heading downstairs. The air outside was crisp when you opened the door to the street, the pavement still holding the warmth from the day.

He was standing there with his hands in his denim jacket pockets, looking at you like he hadn’t really meant to show up but had ended up there anyway.

“Hey,” you said, stepping toward him, slipping your hands up to his shoulders and leaning in to kiss him—just a quiet press of lips, familiar now, but still electrifying. “What are you doing here? Weren’t you at Santi’s?”

He nodded, the corners of his mouth tilting upward in a tired kind of smile, the kind that suggested he’d had a long day but was happy to be standing there with you. His hands found your waist almost without thinking and he stepped past the threshold as you moved aside for him. Before you could say anything else, he leaned in and kissed you again.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “but I needed to see you.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Did something happen?”

Frankie let out a low laugh. “Well, first of all, Will knows about us. Did you know that?”

You blinked. “What? Wait—what do you mean he knows?”

He lifted his shoulders in a helpless little shrug. “I’ll explain everything upstairs, okay?”

There was something in his tone that told you it wasn’t urgent, but it still made your stomach flutter.

You nodded anyway. “Yeah, okay.”

You let go of him to close the door behind you, then turned to find him already looking at you with something unreadable in his expression.

“And,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “I need to talk to you about something.”

“What? Don’t say it like that. You’re scaring me.”

Frankie shook his head immediately, pressing his lips together like he regretted phrasing it that way.

“It’s nothing bad. I promise. It’s just… something about when we first met.”

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @thedilfdiaries @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @deatt @yslgreen @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @brittmb115 @sukivenue @awkwardmebaby @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @suzysface @picketniffler @gaypoetsblog @merz-8 @doblasftcisco @ultra-nina-bella @satanxklaus @readingiskeepingmegoing @copperhalfcent @ashhlsstuff @sunfairyy @icanbringyouinhot @hi--have-a-nice-day @sesdeuxyeux @peachiestevie @biccaline @crayolacraycray @wencontre @peepawispunk @berryispunk @billionairecowgirl @blub-senpai @madpanda75 @joelmillerpascal @thatdbeagoodsticker @dtftheavengers @jessthebaker @yourallaround-simp @vingtetunmars @deatt @pedges-world @vickie5446

[cleo-fox]

Conquer

Part 3 of 5

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: The king intends to take a bride. You just never thought it would be you. (Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Chapter Summary: Loki proposes a challenge and your plan goes very awry.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Chapter Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, enemies to lovers, dirty talk, praise kink, edging, teasing, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, orgasm delay, semi-public sex, light Dom/sub, light bondage, sex toys, oral sex (see series masterlist for series warnings)

A/N: Woof, sorry for the delay on this chapter. It was surprisingly challenging to write and it took me a minute to figure it out. But it's here! Lemme know what you think!

Loki only calls you ‘wife’ when he has sex on his mind—he knows it gets you riled up.

He doesn’t usually break it out at the breakfast table, though.

“I’ve noticed something, wife.” His eyes are glittering in a way that always signals he’s up to no good.

You cross one leg over the other and try to keep your expression neutral, even as your stomach jumps and your heart beats just a little faster. “What’s that?”

His gaze sweeps along your legs, the corner of his mouth twitching like he has a direct line to your thoughts. “You are an enthusiastic participant in our marital relations, but you rely entirely on me to initiate them.”

He waits a beat and your stomach drops. In retrospect, it was a bit silly to think he wouldn’t notice this. Loki always notices.

“Now, why is that?” he continues.

It’s a question that you don’t particularly want to answer. You suspect that he knows this, based on the laughter dancing in his eyes. 

You clear your throat. “Maybe it’s because you unironically use phrases like ‘marital relations.’”

He taps a finger against his lips. “Interesting deflection.”

“It’s not a deflection.”

“You forget, my love, that I am the god of lies.”

You press your lips together and take a sip of water. “Have you considered that it’s maybe a little challenging being the soulmate of the guy who took over the planet?”

You expect him to be angry: you don’t expect the spectacular eye roll or the exaggerated sigh. “Are you really still upset about that?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Are you really going to pretend it wasn’t a big deal?”

“You can’t deny that things are much improved under my rule.” The way he says this suggests that he’s had a version of this conversation before. “Surely you’ve seen the statistics.”

“I’ve read your propaganda, yes,” you say, idly poking your fork at the fruit on your plate.

He scowls. “It’s not propaganda, it’s verifiable facts—” 

“Conveniently hand-picked by your PR team. That’s kind of telling, if you ask me.”

He takes a deep breath, like he’s about to go into a lengthy monologue that he’s tired of having to recite, but as he looks at your face, his expression slowly changes from annoyed to something more amused. “You’re goading me.”

You shrug. “I’m just calling it as I see it.”

“Lies do not become you, wife.” His expression is sharp, but there’s a hungry kind of approval in his gaze that makes your stomach flip. 

“I rather think you’re enjoying yourself, your majesty.”

You’ve only ever used his title sparingly—it’s his equivalent of calling you “wife” and it’s generally a surefire way to ensure that you end your conversation either underneath or on top of him.

For a moment, it seems like one of those outcomes might be in your immediate future—there’s a familiar glitter of hunger in his eyes as his gaze drops again to your legs. 

He licks his lips. “One of these days, I will put you over my knee and punish you the way that you deserve.”

An electric kind of desire crackles through you as you contemplate the logistics of letting him fuck you on the breakfast table.

“But not today.”

Your gaze snaps immediately to his. He smirks like he knows that you were expecting this conversation to go in a very different direction.

“Today I’d like to propose a little experiment,” he continues.

You regard him warily. “What sort of experiment?”

“As I mentioned earlier, the burden of initiating our physical relations has fallen entirely on me.” He takes a sip of his water. “I am putting that burden on you for today.”

“So, what—we’re not having sex unless I start it?”

“Precisely. And you’re going to have to tell me exactly what you want in order to get it.”

Your heart pounds hard against your ribs, but you try to look completely unaffected as desire and annoyance wage yet another war inside you. “And what if I don’t feel like playing your stupid games?”

“You will.” He says it confidently as he glances at the clock. “I’ve business to attend to.” His smile is entirely too sharp as he rises from his chair. “I trust you’ll keep yourself occupied.”

You bite back a scowl as he leaves you alone with your thoughts and a dull, persistent ache throbbing between your legs.

The trouble is that initiating sex means admitting you want him.

Granted, you have begged for him many times during sex. But it’s one thing to admit that you want him when he’s been edging you for the better part of an hour; it's something else to admit to wanting him without that specific kind of pressure as a motivating factor. It requires acknowledging a vulnerability, something you are all too reluctant to do around Loki.

At first, you think you’ll just give up sex for the day. Worst case scenario: there’s no sex. Slightly better case scenario: he gives in out of sheer desperation and you get to have sex without admitting you want him. The second scenario seems most likely—if you had to pit your sex drive against his, you would wager that his is higher. It’s simple. Easy.

Later, you will acknowledge that this was perhaps slightly delusional on your part.

The fact that you didn’t really take into account is that your body is expecting sex. You’ve been getting it on the daily—often multiple times in one day—since your wedding. It probably should have occurred to you that quitting cold turkey would not go well.

Unfortunately, that seems to be a lesson that the universe is determined to make you learn through experience.

It’s early afternoon when you start to realize that you’re going to need a different plan. The dull ache between your legs has not abated and has instead turned into the kind of specific ache that you know you’re not going to be able to take care of on your own.

And if this were any other time, Loki probably would have already found some way to get you alone and mostly undressed—his ability to pick up on these moods of yours is keen to an inconvenient degree.

But there’s no sign of him today.

You pace your room for a while. The ache between your legs persists and you know if you don’t do something about it, it’s only going to get worse.

A plan slowly emerges in the heady haze of your slowly increasing desire. You could probably goad him into getting you off once or twice—enough to bring your desire to something more manageable. It wouldn’t be the same as sex, so you wouldn’t be admitting to any kind of vulnerability and it would clear your head enough to give you time to figure out the rest of the day.

Later, you will acknowledge that this was a very poorly thought out plan and doomed to failure from the start. Right now, though, it seems like a fine idea.

You put on a dress that you know he likes—a flowing green thing that clings to your breasts and hips in an appealing way. You don’t bother with underwear. 

You’re not quite sure where he’s meeting or who’s in attendance, but that doesn’t worry you too much. You’ve found that your new status means that people don’t often question you, which makes it relatively easy to wander wherever you’d like.

You find him eventually in one of the rooms on the first floor, accompanied by an array of important looking people that you don’t recognize. His gaze finds you almost immediately, though he waits for a break in the conversation to address you.

“Darling, what a surprise.” The glimmer in his eyes tells you it is not at all a surprise.

“Sorry to interrupt.” You give the others an apologetic smile before glancing back at Loki. “I need to speak with you privately when you have a moment.”

“Of course, my love.” His eyes darken just a shade and your cunt pulses in a kind of answer. “Wait for me in the library and I’ll be with you shortly.”

You give him a perfunctory smile and stalk off to the library just a few doors down.

You can feel the slickness building between your legs, the muscles of your cunt flexing and aching in a blend of need and anticipation. There’s a couch by the window—that will suit your purposes well enough. You sit down and wait, fidgeting with the skirt of your dress.

You expect him to draw it out as long as possible, but he must be just as eager as you are because he strolls into the room five minutes later.

“What troubles you, darling?” His voice is gently mocking, his expression infuriatingly smug. He knows exactly why you’re here.

“Shut up,” you say through gritted teeth. “You know why I’m here, so let’s make it quick.”

“Oh, that’s not what we agreed on,” he purrs, eyes darkening with want as he approaches you. “You have to tell me what you want.”

As soon as he’s near enough, you tug him down to the couch and straddle his lap, guiding his hand up your skirt to your bare cunt. “I want you to make me come.”

You’re hoping that your boldness and lack of underwear will throw him off enough that he won’t notice that you’re being intentional with your wording and leaving yourself a very tidy out.

“Oh, darling, you’re soaking.” He drags his fingers along the length of your cunt, carefully circling your clit. “Poor thing, no wonder you’re so needy.” 

You sigh, your hips rolling with his hand. “More.”

“Needy and greedy,” he muses, sliding a finger inside you as his thumb continues working your clit. “I love it when you’re like this.”

He pulls you into a deep kiss, tongue pressing into your mouth, tangling with yours. You moan, rocking your hips against his hand as he slips a second finger inside you.

“You need me, don’t you?” he breathes against your lips. “No one else makes you feel like this. Even when you touch yourself, your fingers can’t quite reach this little spot the way I can.” His fingers curl, pressing hard against that soft, aching spot that has been throbbing all day. You keen, fingernails digging into the leather on his shoulders as your hips grind against his hand. 

“Yes, just like that,” you gasp. 

“You need me so badly that you can’t even manage a full day without my touch.” His thumb presses just a little harder on your clit. “And interrupting a meeting of global importance to beg me to fuck you in the library where anyone might walk in—”

You’re entering the final stretch right before your orgasm and you can tell that it’s going to be good—the pressure inside you is too intense for it not to be. 

And then Loki decides to up the ante.

“It just goes to show how much of a slut you are for my cock.”

It’s like trying to douse a fire with gasoline.

Loki’s fingers curl again and your mouth goes slack as you let out a low whimper. 

“I know that noise.” His smile is hungry. “You’re about to come for me.”

You nod, rolling your hips in time with the wave that’s rising within you.

“Let me hear you.” He leans in and nips sharply at your earlobe. “Scream for me.”

It’s like being hit by a hurricane. You are dimly aware that you’re moaning loud enough to be heard unless he’s been a gentleman and cast a silencing spell on the room, but your capacity to care about anything other than the euphoria flooding your entire nervous system is somewhere below zero.

“Such a good girl,” he purrs, as he works you through it. “So fucking filthy,”

You’d intended to make your exit quickly, but you didn’t bank on how good his fingers would feel or how easily he’d be able to coax you to another orgasm. You claw desperately at his chest, and he gives you a self-satisfied smirk.

“What? Another one so soon?” he says, his brow furrowing in mock concern. “Is your poor little cunt really so needy?”

“Don’t stop.” Your voice comes out in a whine, but you don’t care. You can’t care about anything other than the rising pressure in your hips and the way your clit is thrumming with pleasure.

“Oh, I’m not going to stop until I’ve thoroughly claimed this sweet cunt.”

“Yes. Fuck.” You hold your breath as your orgasm makes its final ascent.

“That’s it.” His eyes are shining. “Come for me.”

The second one hits you just as hard and then blends almost seamlessly into a third that makes stars burst behind your eyelids and your thighs tremble. You lean into him, gasping and panting as he murmurs more filthy praise in your ear.

But you snap back to reality when he reaches for the buttons of your dress. You need to move quickly if you want your plan to work and you know that if he manages to get his cock out, it’s all over for you.

“Shall I take you on the desk?” He slips the first button, staring greedily at the exposed skin. “Or against that window?”

Both options sound too appealing, but you’re not going to tell him that. You reluctantly pull away from him and stand on legs that are much too wobbly. Remember the plan. Focus.

For once in his life, Loki looks a little baffled.

“Well,” you say, making a rather sad attempt to straighten your dress. “Would you look at the time.”

His eyes narrow almost immediately. “What are you playing at?”

“Nothing,” you say brightly. “I just didn’t realize it was so late and I don’t want to keep you from your meeting.”

He catches on right away—you can tell from the glint in his eyes and the slight twitch of his lips. He seems conflicted about how he feels about it, though, which you’re not expecting. There’s annoyance, certainly—that was always a given—but there’s also a kind of hungry delight, almost like you’d surprised him a little.

Almost like he finds it…attractive.

You weren’t expecting that at all.

He stands slowly, his gaze traveling shamelessly up and down your body, bringing still more slickness to your cunt. 

“You may come to regret this little stunt, my love.” His voice is deadly soft and you’re reminded suddenly of a shark considering his prey. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Perhaps you should have negotiated more favorable terms this morning.” Your voice is calm and cool, but there’s an inferno of desire blazing inside you.

“I think I will particularly enjoy silencing that smart mouth later tonight,” he says, eyeing the open button on your dress.

“If I allow it.” You smile sweetly at him as his expression darkens even further. “After all, you did put that burden on me for today, your majesty. And I did only say that I wanted you to make me come, which you have.”

The look that he gives you is lustful in a way you’ve never seen from him before. Your cunt clenches tightly around nothing and suddenly the relief that you’d just found from his fingers doesn’t seem anywhere near enough.

And if you don’t get out of here soon, your entire plan will go up in flames in favor of riding his cock until you both collapse.

“I’ll take my leave,” you say, buttoning your dress.

His gaze trails possessively over your body. “Yes, you’ll want to rest up—I suspect you’ll be begging me to claim my prize by the time I return to our rooms.”

“We’ll see.” There’s no conviction in your voice and you can tell that he hears it, so you turn quickly on your heel and leave with a mumbled goodbye before he can convince you to change your mind.

This entire episode has given you new insight into why Loki is like this as his default. The control is heady and intoxicating and your head fizzes like you’ve drunk too much champagne. You feel sexy and desirable. Powerful. You think of him quietly stewing away in his meeting downstairs, plagued by thoughts of you and trying to hide it from the others. You think of him storming upstairs, control fraying, his cock rock hard and aching for you. You think about what he’ll do to you as payback for leaving him wanting.

The entire purpose of this exercise was to find an outlet for your arousal and clear your head; instead, you find that you’re hornier than you were before the library.

Your entire plan has failed rather spectacularly, but you can’t convince yourself to be mad about it.

The hours pass slowly. You’re not sure if he’s intentionally delaying his return or if he’s genuinely busy—either way, it does you no favors. You try reading, but you end up rereading the same paragraph and thinking about sex instead of following the story. As afternoon fades into evening, you undress and don a silk robe. The fabric whispers against your skin, only heightening your arousal.

The sun is almost fully set when you hear the door open and the heavy tread of familiar boots on the floor. You stay seated on the couch, staring out the floor to ceiling window, waiting.

“I suppose you think you’re very clever.”

Goosebumps spring up along the column of your spine. His voice is low and stern, his presence already commanding. Slickness floods your cunt in anticipation. You slowly turn to face him, your chin tilted up in slight defiance.

“I consider it appropriate payback for the gala,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow as he continues to walk closer. “And do you recall how hard you came after the gala?”

You mirror his skeptical expression. “Then wouldn’t I be doing you a favor by teasing you like this if it means you come harder later?”

The look he gives you is intoxicating. “You are disobedient and impertinent.”

You smirk. “And you love it.”

“Not as much as I love putting you back in line.”

You stand and walk toward him, stopping a few inches away. “Then why don’t you?”

He chuckles low in his throat. “You know that’s not what we agreed to, my love. The move is yours.”

Privately, you’re delighted that he seems prepared to continue to play the game. 

“I didn’t take you to be so passive,” —you pause and lick your lips— “your majesty.”

Perhaps more extraordinary than the fire in his eyes is his stillness—save for the tight clench of his jaw and his sharp intake of breath, he is completely motionless as his eyes tell the story of a man who is barely holding himself back from his greatest desire.

“I’m a man of my word,” he says, finally.

You huff out a soft laugh. “Are you?” You lick your lips. “Perhaps I should test that.”

You pull the sash of your robe and let it fall from your shoulders to your feet in a heap. You stand in front of him, completely naked. His eyes devour you and his fingers flex against his thighs like he’s barely holding back from touching you.

“Still a man of your word?” you ask, your eyes wide and innocent.

The muscle in his jaw twitches. “Yes.”

You nod thoughtfully. “I see.”

And then you slowly sink to your knees.

You look up at him with wide eyes. “What about now?”

“Yes.” There’s a dark rasp in his voice and his fingers are tensed like claws against his thighs.

You’re getting to him. You love it.

You take your time undoing his trousers, letting your fingers graze against the hard length of his erection whenever the opportunity presents itself. You almost feel a little bad when you finally free his cock—he is desperately hard, the flushed and engorged tip already slick with precome.

“Oh, have you been like this all afternoon?” you say casually. “Poor thing.”

“Watch your tone,” he says sharply.

“I suppose that was rather inconsiderate of me to just leave you like that,” you muse, taking his cock in your hand and reveling in his sharp exhale and the way he throbs hot and hard as you begin to stroke him. “I didn’t realize you’d be so hard.”

“You are playing with fire, my love.” His voice is rough and husky with wanting.

“I don’t think it’s wrong to make you work for it.”

“You would dare to give orders to a king?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Am I not your queen?”

“My queen does not command me.”

Early on, you might have been intimidated by the hunger in his eyes and the sternness in his voice, but now you can’t help but find it arousing. Somewhere along the way, pushing him to his limit became like a drug and now you can’t get enough.

“And why not, your majesty?” you say, gently squeezing his shaft as you stroke him. “You tease me like this all the time. Isn't it only fair for me to have a turn?”

“I don’t need to justify myself. I’m king.” He says this with authority, but you can tell he’s fighting to keep his expression neutral. There’s a catch in his voice and his eyes flutter shut for a moment as his hips rock into your hand.

You look up at him again. “Perhaps you ought to,” you say. “Seeing as I’m currently holding your fate in my hands.”

He gives you a smirk that is entirely too confident for your liking. “I think you’re underestimating my resilience.”

You bring your lips up to the head of his cock, letting the very tip of your tongue brush against it. He inhales sharply.

“Am I?” you say, punctuating the question with a second featherlight kiss against his cock. “I’m not sure that you’ve considered all the tools I have at my disposal.”

He stares down at you imperiously and you return his look with wide, innocent eyes as you part your lips and take him into your mouth, slowly swirling your tongue around the head of his cock in a way that you know he enjoys. His fingers flex against his thighs and you hum as the sharp taste of his precome glides over your tongue.

“You are a wicked, disobedient tease,” he growls, one hand sliding down to cradle the back of your head. “And you don’t even care, do you? You just want to get those pretty lips around my cock.”

You draw back slightly to look up at him. “You could stand to be more flattering if you want me to let you come in my mouth.”

He chuckles, eyes darkening with want. “Is it not flattering to say that your mouth makes me forget myself?”

You press a kiss to the tip of his cock, letting your tongue flick against it, but not quite bringing him back into your mouth. “It’s a start.”

“You don’t know what effect you have on me, do you?” His hand strokes your cheek as you continue lazily kissing his cock.

“You certainly do your best to act annoyed with me.”

He laughs, a low, throaty sound. “Oh, half the fun of these little games are your attempts to outwit me. Chaos and schemes only add to my power, but when you are the perpetrator?” He gives you a long, hungry look. “That makes me rock hard.”

Your breath catches slightly as you stroke your tongue over the tip of his cock. “Keep talking.”

“I spent the rest of that meeting driven to utter distraction because I could not stop thinking about how good it was going to feel to sink my cock into your dripping cunt.”

You gently suck the tip of his cock into your mouth and release it. 

“And then I come back here and you mouth off at me, strip, and get on your knees to suck my cock.” He hisses slightly as you tease the head of his cock with the very tip of your tongue.

“Are you going to beg for me, Loki?” You press a soft kiss against his cock.

“A god doesn’t beg,” he says hoarsely. 

“But you could,” you say softly, teasing the tip of his cock again.

“You may force me to reconsider that notion, yes.”

“Do you want me to suck your cock, Loki?” you ask in that same soft voice. “Do you want to come in my mouth?”

There’s a beat of silence. “Yes.”

You intended to hold out for longer, but you didn’t expect him to say…well, any of that, really. And the other, less convenient reality is that your ability to deny yourself the pleasure of his body and touch is eroding well past the point of resistance. You’ve waited long enough. You want him.

You take his cock fully into your mouth and begin to move.

Loki groans, his eyes half lidded and lips parted as he looks down at you. “Fuck, you’re divine. I’m going to worship your cunt after this.”

You moan on his cock, widening your legs slightly. You slip your fingers between your legs, letting your index finger roll against your aching clit.

Loki stares down at you with a renewed hunger. “Are you touching yourself?”

You moan an affirmative, your fingers moving faster on your clit as you suck harder on his cock.

“Filthy girl.” His hand grips the back of your head, his hips jerking slightly. “After this, I’m going to make you come harder than you did after the gala. I’m going to make you come so hard you forget your own name.”

You moan again on his cock, flicking your tongue over the tip on every upstroke, making his grip on your head tighten. Your jaw starts to ache after a few minutes, but the little noises he’s making are so worth it. Your cunt keeps getting slicker and slicker under your fingers and you feel yourself starting to edge closer to your own end.

“Fuck.” Loki is panting, his composure completely lost. “If you keep—fuck—I’m so fucking close—”

You could be cruel and make him wait, but he’s so beautiful with his head thrown back and his green eyes fluttering shut against the wave of pleasure you’re building for him that you can’t help but want to give him everything. You hollow your cheeks and take him as deep as you can.

His hand tightens against your scalp and he groans deeply as his hot release fills your mouth. You swallow it greedily, slowing to a halt.

The moment you take your mouth off his cock, he’s pulling you to your feet and holding you flush against him, his mouth covering yours in a deep and slow kiss.

Something about kissing him seems to emphasize the building need of your own body. “Fuck me, Loki.” You breathe your plea against his lips, twining your fingers in his hair. “I need you.”

To his credit, he only smirks a little before sweeping you into his arms and carrying you purposefully toward the bed.

He sets you down on the bed and you expect him to follow you immediately, pressing his body against yours. Instead, invisible bonds curl around your wrists and ankles, gently tugging until you’re spread eagled on the bed. You barely repress a shiver as he kneels next to you. He means business and historically, that’s always ended quite well for you.

There’s a flash of green and a slim vibrator materializes in his hands. He runs the head of it gently along your exposed cunt, pausing just above your clit.

And it’s not until you feel the same invisible bonds wind around your hips to hold the vibrator in place that you realize that this is not going the way you thought.

As though he can read your thoughts, Loki glances at the clock. “Oh, dear, is that really the time?” he says lazily, his mouth curling into a sly smile.

“You wouldn’t,” you say, your heart pounding hard because of course he would.

“I’m afraid I can’t miss this meeting. Shouldn’t be more than an hour, though.”

“Loki—”

He clicks his fingers and the vibrator hums to life, close enough to your clit to stoke the flames of desire, but not close or strong enough to get you over the edge.

“I hate you,” you groan, rocking your hips up, searching for relief. “You are the worst.”

“Oh, I certainly hope your attitude improves by the time I return,” he tuts as he tucks his cock back into his trousers. “It’d be a shame if you had to wait even longer.”

“You said you liked it when I tried to outwit you.”

He chuckles, leaning in close enough to kiss you. “I do. I like seeing how clever you are and I love carrying out consequences.”

You scowl. “You’re awful.”

He smirks and kisses you, drawing back before you can try to pull him deeper. “Be good. I’ve heard that good things come to those who wait.”

“Loki—”

He casts one last smug look at you before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

He’s gone for a little over an hour, but it feels like an eternity.

The vibrator is enough to keep you wet and aching, but not enough to get you off. The bonds are comfortable, but there doesn’t seem to be any give that would allow you to wiggle out or adjust the vibrator, no matter how much you writhe against the mattress. Sometimes, the intensity seems to increase just slightly and you thrust your hips forward, trying to get more, only to have it diminish just as quickly.

It’s agonizing, certainly, but you know that the payoff is going to be nothing short of spectacular. And privately…you kind of like it, though you’ll never admit that to him.

You’re not quite sure if you should act relieved or annoyed when Loki returns, so you end up settling on a strange combination of both when the door finally clicks open and he walks in smirking.

“Well,” he says far too brightly for your liking, “have you learned your lesson?”  

“Yeah, to check your schedule before I try something like that again,” you say before you can really think it through.

He tuts, lips pursing as he frowns. “Ooh, there’s that attitude again. Shall I leave you for another hour?”

You shut your mouth and look away, not quite able to hide your scowl. “No.”

He chuckles. “I thought so.”

He sits down on the bed next to you and runs his fingers along your cunt, his smile turning wicked.  “I see that you enjoyed the little toy. You’re so much wetter than when I left you.”

Your scowl deepens. “Because you’ve been teasing me for an hour!”

“Teasing you?” He scoffs. “Nonsense. I left it running for an hour, you should be quite satisfied.”

“You know full well that you left it on the lowest speed and barely touching my clit.”

His eyes glimmer in the way that they often do when you've strolled right into his trap. “Ah, I see. So you needed something a little more like this.”

He places the vibrator firmly against your clit and the faint hum suddenly accelerates to a steady, throbbing pulse that immediately draws a strangled moan from your throat.

“And perhaps a little of this—” He slides two fingers inside of you and your eyes roll to the back of your head at the intense sensation.

“Oh fuck.” Any notion you had of acting aloof and cool has evaporated. Your body warms to him too quickly, too naturally. A casual stroke of his fingers has you arching into his touch, a whimper trapped in your throat.

“Oh dear,” he says, almost nonchalantly. “You seem to be reacting quite strongly. Are you sure I should continue?”

“Please don’t stop.” You say it all in a rush, like it’s one long word.

“Don’t stop?”

“Don’t stop. Please.” You whimper, your hips rolling so that your clit rubs right against the vibrator. Loki’s fingers curl and you arch as something completely unintelligible comes out of your mouth.

“You need this. You’ve needed this all day.” His eyes shine as his fingers thrust faster. “But not as much as you need my cock. You’re desperate for my cock.”

You nod, half lost to pleasure.

“You’ve been such a tease. Such a fucking brat.” The vibrator’s speed increases and you whine. “I ought to punish you, remind you who’s in charge. Make you get on your knees and beg and still leave you wanting for release.”

You whimper, now so deliciously close that you’re starting to shake.

“Luckily for you,” he says, “I have been thinking of you coming all over my cock for hours. So instead of leaving you wanting, I’m going to fuck you until you’ve milked every drop from my cock and you’re going to take it all like a good girl.” His eyes darken. “Now come for me before I change my mind.”

You don’t need to be told twice—you barely need to be told once. The muscles of your cunt flutter against his thrusting fingers and then your orgasm unfurls.

It’s spectacular, setting off a chain reaction of pleasure on every nerve ending, your body shaking as you cry out.

“There you go.” His gaze is hungry, roving over your body, the god of your undoing. He presses the vibrator just a little harder against your clit and you feel that familiar ache stir again just below your belly.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe.

“You’re going to come again, aren’t you?” He’s smirking, but there’s a flicker of awe in his expression, like he can’t quite believe his luck. “Once wasn’t enough for you. You need to come again like the greedy little slut that you are.”

The sparks inside you are fluttering and flickering again, until they catch and send you soaring back into the stratosphere. Your back bows and you cry out as you come.

You’re still shaking when he crawls between your legs moments later, peppering your thighs with messy kisses and spreading your cunt open. The bonds on your wrists and ankles release the moment his mouth touches your cunt and you bury your hands in his hair. You moan as he circles and sucks at your clit and his fingers thrust inside of you.

You look at him nestled between your legs, eyes glazed with desire and it almost sends you over the edge. 

“God, I love your mouth,” you blurt out before you can think about it. “You’re so good at this, it feels so fucking good—”

You’re not sure if it’s the praise or his talent, but the moment you say that, your orgasm begins to crest.

“Fuck, Loki. Fuck, I’m gonna—oh fuck.”

It bursts like a firework and courses through your body like liquid gold, somehow simultaneously frantic and leisurely. You’re dimly aware that you’re moaning with every shuddering roll of your body, praising his mouth and tongue in a way that you know will embarrass you later.

“I told you it would be worth it,” he says after he coaxes the last shudder from you a few minutes later. “I don’t think I’ve heard you scream like that before.”

You don’t even bother opening your eyes. “Bragging is an unattractive quality.”

He tuts. “There’s that attitude again. You know, you’re lucky I didn’t deny you after all your teasing and backtalk.”

You look up at him, eyes hazy. “You like making me come too much to follow through on that.”

He chuckles darkly. “That mouth is going to get you in trouble, wife.”

Sated as you are, the name still lights that spark in your belly. “If you say so, your majesty.”

Within seconds, he’s on you, mouth plundering yours. Your hands fumble with the buckles and clasps on his clothes.

“Help me out,” you say, shoving his surcoat off his shoulders. 

“What was it you said earlier?” He smirks and rolls you both over so he’s on his back. “Ah, yes: work for it.”

You scowl and tug at the fabric. You could just undo his belt and take out his cock, but it’s not enough. You need to feel all of him, need the heat of his skin on yours as he presses inside you.

“You are such an ass.” You yank his shirt over his head.

He laughs. “You want me so badly, you’re shaking.”

He’s right, but you’re not going to concede it. “You want me just as bad. You’ve been holding back from me all day and you can’t stand it. You're desperate to be inside me.

His gaze darkens, but he flicks his wrist and you feel the fabric vanish beneath you.

“Well played, wife,” he says, propping himself up against the headboard. “Now ride me and show me why you deserve to come on my cock.”

You straddle his lap, guiding him to your entrance. “Oh, stop it. We both know you fucking love it when I come on your cock.”

You sink down on him and you both groan. After an extended day of teasing and delays, he cock feels like it’s pressing against every aching part inside of you, soothing a need you’ve felt all day. He nuzzles his face against your neck, nipping at the tender skin of your pulse point. His hands map the expanse of your back and skim down your hips to squeeze your ass.

His hips rock incrementally against you. He wants you to move, to fuck him, and for a moment, you feel drunk on the power.

You brace your hands on his shoulders and raise yourself up on his cock before sinking back down. Your pace is glacial, designed to tease, to drive him wild.

But on the third stroke, he smacks your ass, eyes blazing. “I said ride me.”

It sets off something inside you and you increase your pace before you can second guess it. You catch a glimpse of a feral smile before he pulls you into a rough kiss as you sink back down on him. Your teeth bump against his and you nip hard at his lower lip, which only seems to egg him on.

You’re supposed to be riding him, but his hips are driving up into you just as hard, his firm grip urging you on. Your head tips back as the pressure inside you continues to build. His head dips to your neck, teeth scraping along your collarbone and then down to your breast. He laves his tongue over your nipple and it plucks at the winding coil of pleasure in your hips, your cunt squeezing tighter and tighter on his cock. You whimper and he takes the bud of your nipple between his teeth and tugs ever so slightly.

Your cunt clenches as you creep closer to the edge. He lets out a sharp breath through his teeth as he starts approaching his own end.

“Fuck—”

With a snarl, he flips you to your back in one fluid motion, draping your legs over his broad shoulders. His pace turns rough and a little frantic but he’s hitting a spot that makes your toes curl and your pleas turn even more desperate.

“Fuck—please, please, please—”

His eyes are wild. “Show me what I’ve been missing all day. Let me feel you come. Soak my cock like a good girl.”

His fingers find your clit and suddenly, the rising sensation within you is blossoming into something more akin to a supernova. His hips snap hard against you and the feeling inside you swells and then shatters.

You are vaguely aware that you’re shouting his name as you quake in his arms and your cunt clenches around his cock. Loki moans above you, his jaw going slack and his brow furrowing, his pace slowing slightly like he’s trying to hold back, trying to make it last.

But another wave rolls through you and he shudders and before you can think about it, you’re slipping your legs off his shoulders and around his waist so you can pull him close.

“Come for me.” You whisper it like it’s a secret and he kisses you like he hears. His hips snap hard against you and then he’s kissing you in between Asgardian words you don’t recognize and words that might be your name until it all dissolves into a long groan that he breathes against your lips as he comes so hard that he shakes.

It’s a long moment before he finally eases out and tonight he gives you a long and lingering kiss before he does. Your legs shake as you lie panting on the bed, listening to him shuffle around the room. He must be getting ready for bed. 

You always hate this part. It’s not that you expect or even want affection from him, but sometimes it seems so…businesslike, so transactional. Surely it’s not strange to wish it could be something more, even though it can’t be.

“Sit up.”

You turn your head to look at him, fully prepared to lay into him for telling you what to do, but instead, you find him standing at the side of the bed with a full glass of water.

Something inside you softens just a little. 

“Oh, I’m okay,” you say. “It was just really intense.”

He gives you a dry look. “Humor me.”

Any other time, you might have shot back a sarcastic reply, but there’s something strangely disarming about seeing him standing there buck naked and offering you water. And maybe that little ache of loneliness you felt earlier has made you a little soft. 

You sit up and take the glass from him. “Thanks.”

He sits down next to you on the edge of the bed. “I’ve sent for dinner as well,” he says, absently tracing a finger along your spine. “It’s quite late.”

You take a sip of water. “Do I have to get out of bed for it?”

“So long as you keep the crumbs to your side.”

You wave your hand at him. “You can magic them away.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not a circus pony.”

You give him a dry look. “What’s the point of having magic if you can’t use it to spoil your wife?”

He chuckles and presses a kiss against your shoulder. “Have I not spoiled you enough already today?”

“That stunt with the vibrator was pretty rude.”

He scoffs. “No more rude than getting off on my fingers and leaving me in a meeting for four hours.”

You lean against him and he drapes an arm around your waist. “You of all people should know that turnabout is fair play.”

You’re teasing each other, you realize. It strikes you as a quaintly domestic scene—a couple tangled up together and talking after sex. It’s…kind of nice, in an odd way. 

Almost normal.

Much later, when he’s curled up behind you in bed and the lights are out, he asks a question that you suspect has been on his mind all evening: “What did you think of our experiment?”

You know there’s a reason why he waited until now to ask you this. You can hear it in the careful way he’s asking, how he’s trying to hide that little note of hope.

The urge to be sarcastic or sharp is suspiciously absent.

“Well,” you say, letting the word hang there in the dark for just a moment. “My legs still feel like jello. Kind of hard to argue with those results.”

It’s only when you feel him relax that you realize he was bracing himself for something sharper. The thought stops you. You’d never thought anything you said mattered to him like that.

“Perhaps it’s an experiment we ought to repeat.” He says it casually, but there’s a subtle note of hope that sparks a strange feeling of sympathy.

You nod before you can talk yourself out of it. “Yeah.” The silence prickles at you in a way it never has before. “Maybe Tuesdays, if that works?”

He’s trying to hide it, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “As her majesty commands.”

Next chapter coming soon

[ahundredtimesover]

Something About You (05) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: friends au, vacation au, slow burn, romcom-ish vibe; adulting; inspired by AYS; PE teacher!JK and researcher!OC; fluff, comfort, smut (?)

Chapter Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption, minor injuries (18+)

Word count: 22.1k

Series Masterlist

Status: Complete

Series Summary: You and Jungkook have been friends for a decade. And while he’s the charming and dependable, often reserved boy-next-door, he’s also just been a friend - a constant in your life, a part of a whole, and someone who’s seen all the flawed and probably unattractive sides of you.

A resumption of your friend group’s out-of-town trips has caused you to spend more time with him. And somewhere in between the morning coffee in the forest, running around in the snow, and watching the sunset on a boat, he’s become something more. And you’re not quite sure how to deal with it.

🎶: Beautiful Soul by Jesse McCartney || Yes or No by Jungkook

A/N: This is a long one! If you're reading this, I hope you feel the flutter of butterflies and that warmth I felt while writing. ☺️ And definitely listen to  Beautiful Soul and Yes or No!

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?”

You turn to Jungkook with a questioning look, waiting to see if he’ll change his mind. He’s been the one driving whenever you have a trip and you offered to be the one to drive both of you to the airport this time but he refused. While you know he enjoys this, you thought it might be nice to let him rest even a little bit.

“You’ve had a long day.”

“So have you,” he answers. “And you know I don’t mind. You can just sleep during the drive and then again during the flight.”

You pout again because of his refusal to accept your offer but you let him and no longer argue. Perhaps it’s what he needs after the day he’s had.

It’s a Thursday and there’s a long weekend ahead, which is why this trip to Jeju was scheduled at this time. Taehyung leaves for New York in three weeks and Seokjin and Hayoung are getting married in two months. This is the perfect time to get the group together again before the three of them go through major life changes, and none of you would miss it for the world. 

You had a Board presentation that you couldn’t miss in the afternoon and Jungkook had classes until 3 PM, which then extended because of a parent meeting he had to attend. It’s why both of you had to book the later flight while everyone else flew in at noon. They sent a photo of all of them gathered by the pool at the rented house, and you couldn’t wait to finally clock out and switch off so you could relax and enjoy, too, even for just a few days.

Jungkook instructs you to buckle your seatbelt then heads off, undoubtedly tired but still alert and cautious while driving. You look at him and try to see if something’s different, if this really is the same man you’ve known for years. You look away at the reminder that yes, he is, and he’s not the one that’s changed. It’s probably you.

“Everything okay?” He asks as he glances at your direction.

“Yup,” you answer too quickly. “Just… you know, tired and excited.”

“Take a nap then,” he suggests. “Time will fly by and we’ll be at the airport and then in Jeju before you know it.”

“I’m fine. I can, uh, keep you company or something,” you shrug. “You kinda don’t have a choice.”

“I don’t mind it,” he says, the little dip on his cheek forming as he smiles.

Has he always looked this charming?

You shake your head as if to snap out of it. 

It’ll take an hour to get to Incheon. You feel like you’d miss out if you slept and you internally scold yourself because a month ago, you totally would’ve dozed off right away. 

Well, not this time. But even if it’s your own choice to stay up, you suppose that the universe was still playing with you because of all the times to be stuck with Jungkook, it just had to be now when your heart has been acting a little too weird.

It started right after the college reunion party almost two weeks ago. You had him sleep over at your place after some asshole busted his lip, and that’s when the thoughts of possible feelings started invading your mind. You blame Jimin, really, and you’d contemplated on keeping your distance from Jungkook to sort yourself out but that’s impossible given this trip.

It didn’t help that you promised his students you’d watch their final taekwondo match - which they won - so you spent last Saturday with him, too. 

Your heart still kept doing that thing, especially whenever you found your eyes locked on him even if he wasn’t even the one on the mat. You went out to dinner after that, and you couldn’t help but pay attention - to the way he cooked your samgyeopsal the way you wanted, to how he made sure you always had them on your plate, to how he held off the perilla leaf for you so you could peel it off. 

Suddenly, everything he did made you smile, like how he kept scolding himself for eating so much and then cutely asking if you were okay to wait in line with him at this pop-up dessert store. 

So many things also started to seem attractive to you, like the way he stood during the match with his hands in his pockets and the way he combed his hair with his fingers after he removed his baseball cap. Even the way he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel while he drove became quite hypnotizing, just like right now, and you’re unsure where all these thoughts are coming from. Or if they’ll stop.

“So, how was your meeting with the Board?” He asks, disrupting your visions of him.

“Long,” you chuckle sarcastically. “The world’s in shambles and we have to be strategic in deciding which research projects to move forward with since funding is scarce. And you, how was your meeting with the parents?”

“Productive,” he hums. “I stepped out then met with their son. We were playing catch then I bought him ice cream then he opened up. I think we’re getting somewhere.”

Jungkook had mentioned one of his students has been displaying aggressive behaviors and wouldn’t talk to anyone apart from him. He realized early on in his teaching career the weight of his responsibility as an educator, and that just because he taught PE, it doesn’t mean he was limited to just sports or physical health. 

As it turned out, he’s very relatable to his students, and perhaps his laid-back and placid nature has a lot to do with that. It’s what prompted him to read more research and watch documentaries on adolescent mental health and how sports could help with managing it. 

You’ve been directing him to the appropriate resources and even linked him up with a professional who could speak to the faculty regarding child development so it’s a topic you’ve been talking about more. He tells you about their email exchange until he says that neither of you will be talking about work this weekend.

So you tell him about the sci-fi horror film you watched with Mo-eum last night and how you were both screaming at the same time then just ended up laughing at each other. Jungkook says she’s more of a scaredy-cat than you are but you express fear much more openly and you agree. 

“I heard we can set up an outdoor movie theater in the house,” he smirks at you. “We have a couple of options.”

“Jimin’s gonna push me away again if I scream in his ear,” you frown. 

“I won’t,” he says nonchalantly, and you have to pretend to yawn so you don’t have to keep looking at him without saying anything back. 

What’s that supposed to mean anyway? You try to recall if he’s also always been this bold and you’re just getting affected now, but it gives you a headache so you change the subject.

You end up talking about where you’re gonna be eating in Jeju and memories of your first trip there as a group a few  years ago. 

And so time flies. You’re parking at the airport carpark before you know it. You check in at the counter then enter the departure area. It’s when your stomach starts to grumble that you drag Jungkook around to find some snacks that you feel like having. You find a stall that sells various kinds of croquettes, kind of like the ones you had in Japan a few months ago.

You’re wiggling in excitement and so is he. Cheese was his favorite and though it’s not the same, you’re both happy that they at least look like it. 

You buy some drinks and find a spot and begin trying each type you got. He bites one then feeds it to you; you bite one then feed it to him, too. It feels natural, as this is something both of you have definitely done before and you never minded. But now, you have to force your brain to stop overthinking things just so you don’t start acting weird because of it. 

It’s when you’ve both decided your favorite flavors that your phone starts to ring. You pick up the video call and see your friends on the screen, showing you the barbecue and dinner set up in the property’s outdoor space. Mo-eum’s voice goes through, saying that there’s a feast waiting for you and Jungkook when you arrive. Seeing the table now, your eyes widen at the quality and quantity of meat and vegetables laid out. 

“We’ve got ramen, lots of beer, so many snacks… Jungkook’s gonna go wild in here,” she adds. 

“I’m already drooling,” he tells her.

Your older friends greet and tell you to get there quick as the phone gets passed around. Finally, it reaches Jimin and Taehyung, who both surface from the pool and proceed to ask you and Jungkook where you are and what you’ve been doing. 

“Eating,” you answer with your mouth half-full. “I found this stall and they sell croquettes that remind me of the ones from the rest stop going to the ski resort. It’s so goo–”

“Yah,” Jungkook disrupts you with a nudge on your arm. 

You turn to your side to face him. “What?”

He takes a piece of napkin and wipes the sticky sauce that you didn’t realize has dripped on your hoodie. Your eyes follow his hand that tries to remove the stain, and just as you’re about to sweetly thank him, he flicks your nose to tease, catching you completely off guard. You shriek in surprise and smack his chest, which is your natural response to something like that. 

You glare at him but your facade breaks when he scrunches his nose in amusement. 

“Dude, wipe your mouth,” he scolds. “Do I have to wipe the crumbs off you, too?”

“What?” you ask, brushing them off with your fingers.

You take his phone and open the camera to assess your face. Once you’ve cleaned yourself, you snap a photo and return the device on the table.

“Did you just take a picture?” He groans. 

“Yup,” you flutter your eyelashes. 

Jungkook sees that it’s a silly face and decides to send it to your group chat of five to tease, though he doesn’t deny the giddiness he feels at the act. 

It’s something you’d totally do. He’s seen random photos of you in Jimin’s and Taehyung’s photo album and you always say that maybe one of their cute friends sees it and asks for your number or something, but you say none of that to him this time.

“Wow, the one time Kook sends a text, it’s a picture of ___,” Taehyung laughs, earning him a glare from the said man. 

But you don’t seem bothered. Jungkook’s unsure if you even heard it over Jimin’s giggling and the laughter in the background, but it’s enough for him to text his friend to shut up, earning him a chuckle this time.

You talk a bit with Hayoung and she reminds you of the instructions upon your arrival. It’s not long after when you drop the call and start heading towards the gate. 

You don’t wait too long but during that period, you start feeling the exhaustion from the day. You know you’re gonna need to sleep during the flight so you could have enough energy to keep up with your friends for the rest of the evening. You’re definitely gonna make sure to make the most out of this trip to celebrate your cousin and soon-to-be cousin-in-law and of course, to savor your time with Taehyung before he leaves again. 

You’ll do your best to not overthink this whole Jungkook thing for now and decide to just be natural about everything. You don’t want him thinking that something’s wrong if you start acting differently because you know yourself - if he asks, you’ll most likely say something and you’re unsure if you’re ready for what will happen after. 

The call for boarding is announced and you follow Jungkook’s lead to the plane. He sits on the window seat like last time, and you’re reminded of the Japan trip again and how he made sure you got to sleep properly during the flight. 

It’s a smaller aircraft this time and a shorter flight time so you won’t need to lie on his lap or anything. But the thought of being alone with him makes you a little nervous so you try to talk about something to make sure you balance out all the times that you’ll be lost in your thoughts of him.

“Those croquettes were good but the ones at that rest stop were still superior,” you sigh.

“Yeah. That was seriously one of the best things I’ve ever eaten,” he hums, reminiscing about that trip, which he tends to do a lot because of you.

“Do you ever just think about that trip, Kook?” You ask as you gaze out the window and watch the sky change colors. “Do you miss it and wish you were back?”

“I do,” he hums, downplaying it a little. If you only knew. “I miss the food, the snow, the long drives… There’re lots of great memories from that trip.”

“I miss those bits, too,” you smile. “You still have the whiskey I got you?”

“Yup, barely touched.”

“What! I thought you liked it!”

“Exactly,” he points out. “So I have to savor it. I can only get it from that town, and during the Christmas season, and the chances of me going there again are slim. Plus, you gave that to me and you’ve never given me anything. It’s like, a memento–”

“Of our friendship?” You say mindlessly. 

You internally smack yourself because though you could sometimes be a dense person like your friends say - and only because you’re used to expressing your feelings and attraction first, as you like to argue - you’re not that dumb. You’re worried that you just drew a hard line by saying the F word but then again, why is that such a concern to you?

You realize he hasn’t replied and it’s been a few seconds already so you slowly turn to him. He meets your eyes and says that it is, then gives you a soft smile before he looks out the window. 

Jungkook wouldn’t describe that exchange as him being friendzoned. As the optimist that he is, he’d like to think that your gift to him meant that much to you, too. 

You’re the one who offered to get it for him and insisted it was a gift. After years of being friends, that was the first time you’d ever given him anything, and whatever it means, there was a change somehow. That’s a bottle that always brings a smile to his face whenever he opens his liquor cabinet and sees it. He’ll definitely keep it there for as long as he can.

You return your gaze out the window and glance at him. You’re glad that the gift means that much to him. You have the snow globes on the shelf by your desk and whenever you see them, you’re reminded of the snow-covered towns and the warmth from that whole week. 

More recently, you think about the mornings where you watched Jungkook from the passenger seat as he navigated the icy roads. You think about your conversations and how he gave you a piggyback ride and then treated your sore muscles.

He has always been a good friend so you’re not wrong to describe that gift as a memento of your friendship. You know that what you share is something you deeply treasure, but you also wonder if it means the bond has strengthened then, or if somewhere along the way, it started to feel something more. 

The plane takes off and Jungkook turns to you, looking every bit comfortable and comfy with his oversized hoodie and beanie. He gestures towards his shoulder, offering it to you.

“You sleep,” you say softly, knowing how tired he is, too. 

“I will,” he yawns, sinking further down his seat and leaning on the window, his eyes slowly falling.

You nod, knowing that it’s the more natural thing to do. So you take your pillow to hug then lean on Jungkook’s shoulder, immediately finding a position that doesn’t strain your neck. 

But your arms are a bit too awkward being in each other’s way and you see him adjust his. He slightly lifts it and you take the hint, wrapping your arms around his arm instead like an added pillow. 

Now this feels natural, as you feel him settle himself more comfortably next to you and you do the same. You suppose that’s how it is with people you’ve known for years - you just adapt and accommodate each other. You manage the exhaustion and inconveniences and just figure out how to make things comfortable and fun. 

You know it’s always been like this with Jungkook and you think back to these past months and how it’s been easier, more enjoyable, and something you keep searching for. 

Maybe this is what it’s like to pay attention to your feelings. Because as you snuggle closer and he pulls you in, your hand brushes against his, and then the sudden urge to hold it fills you up inside.

You wake up from your hour-long nap feeling only a tiny bit better. You wish there was more time, but you’re also not sure if it’s because of the need for more sleep or something else.

Jungkook still looks tired, but he sits up and pats your head, then asks if you slept well. You nod as you take a deep breath and there’s a moment where you just look at each other, still in your own little world of comfort and peace.

He breaks it and curiously looks around, and you ask him what he’s looking for.

“Trying to see if there are angry passengers who might’ve been disturbed by the snoring from these seats,” he purses his lips.

It takes a few seconds for you to process what he means, and you smack his chest when you do.

“Hey, I didn’t say it was you. It could’ve been me,” he defends.

“Yeah, you do snore quite loudly,” you hum. “But apparently not much when you’re not comfortably in bed. Maybe I’m the same.”

“True. Well, no one’s giving us the death glare so I think we’re clear.”

You just laugh at him in response then get ready to deplane.

You get your bags from the carousel quite quickly and you immediately find your driver holding up a sign with your names. You get inside the car and once you start moving, you open your window to feel the wind blow on your face. It’s the last month of spring and it’s the kind of coolness that you think is perfect for this island life. It’s chilly but not too much. The sun is bearable and gives the right amount of warmth. 

Jungkook glances at you as you enjoy the evening breeze. You’ve both just arrived but it’s felt like a dream since he’s been with you, especially when you cuddled with him on the plane. It felt bittersweet that he was exhausted. He at least didn’t completely lose his mind from the giddiness, but he also wished he could’ve savored it more. 

Still, he’s not one to complain. He gave the opening but you’re the one who moved closer. He decides that maybe that’s how he’ll go about these four days.

You arrive at the house in less than half an hour and you could already hear all the noise that your friends are making. Hoseok is the one who opens the gate and excitedly greets you. 

You enter the property and are in awe with how it’s set up. There are two houses perpendicular to each other. There’s a pool on the left side and in the center of it all is an area with trees and hammocks, a small fire pit, the barbecue grill, and picnic tables. 

You try to take it all in in the midst of hugging all your friends and trying to tell them how your flight went. 

“We just… slept,” you answer as most of them gather around you. “Neither of us snored. I think.”

“There were no complaints so I think we were fine,” Jungkook adds. 

“So, how did you sleep?” Jimin whispers in your ear. “Was it your head on his lap, his head on your lap? Or did you just lean on his shoulder? Did he– ow, fuck!”

You glare at him as you let go of the tiny sliver of skin you just pinched.

“You’re a brat,” you groan.

“And you’re being sensitive,” he bites back. 

“Yah! Can we not have fights during this farewell and pre-wedding party, please?” Taehyung calls you and Jimin out as he walks closer.

“She pinched me! And I literally just asked her a question,” Jimin complains. 

“What was the question?” Taehyung seems curious now. 

“How they slept.”

Taehyung looks at you with wide, even more curious eyes. “Ooh, was it like this?”

He takes out his phone and shows you a picture of Jungkook with a peace sign on an airplane and then there’s… you. Sleeping on his lap. This was during the flight to Sapporo when you were so tired and sleepy. You didn’t realize there was a photo of this moment.

“Where’d you get this?” You ask.

“In the shared photo album of the trip, duh,” he answers. “Mo-eum took it and saved it there.”

“Why is it saved on your photo album?” 

“Because she sent it to me right after she took it. She thought it was cute,” Taehyung shrugs. “Don’t you remember seeing this?”

“I might’ve… But like, we had hundreds of pictures. I guess I just… swiped past it,” you say, furrowing your eyebrows as you try to remember if you’d seen it and what you felt that time. 

“Yeah, because you weren’t really paying attention back then,” Jimin points out. “So, answer the question.”

“I… leaned on his shoulder,” you finally say. “Just like how I do with both of you!”

“Sure, it’s totally the same,” Jimin says while rolling his eyes, causing Taehyung to laugh.

“Jiminie,” you whine. “Hug me.”

“You’re such a baby,” he groans, but proceeds to hug you because he always does, and he knows it’s what you need right now. “You can also hug Kook, you know?”

“No, I’m shy.”

“When were you ever shy with affection?”

“Never, that’s why I’m hugging you instead.”

“Are you… crushing on him?” He gasps. “Like, for real?”

“Shut up. This is all your fault. You put ideas in my head.”

“Hey,” he says, pulling away to look at you. He cups your face with his hands, urging you to meet his eyes. “I asked a question that time because of the conversation we were having. I floated an idea and if it got you thinking, great. But don’t be carried away by what I said, okay? It’s about what you feel.”

“Yeah, and I’ve been paying attention, like you said,” you pout. 

“And?”

“I snuggled close to him and it felt nice,” you say softly with your head bowed down, somehow shy about everything you’re revealing to your best friend.

“That’s good then,” Jimin smiles now as he tilts your chin to face him. “Maybe you’re still figuring things out or letting things progress over time or you’re making sure that it’s all genuine. And that’s fine. That’s… kinda what happens in non-whirlwind romances. Not that that’s bad but… you know what I mean.”

“I do,” you sigh. “But yeah. I don’t wanna act too differently because I don’t want him to ask me if anything’s wrong because I might blurt it all out.”

“Well, he’s gonna ask you either way with how you’re freaking out,” Jimin says, gesturing to the side when you look at him confused. “He was glancing at you looking worried. He might think something’s up.”

“Ugh. Why is he so attentive,” you whine. 

“Well, someone has to be when it comes to you.”

You make a face and before you can say anything more, Yoongi disrupts the conversation and tells you to bring your things inside and dress up because your dinner is almost ready.

“Thank you, uncle,” you hum, hugging him tightly.

You hear him groaning in response because it’s Yoongi and he’ll always make that reaction before hugging you back. 

“Go. The meat’s perfect when it’s just off the grill,” he says.

“Yes, uncle!” you yell before heading inside with your luggage.

But of course, Jungkook catches up to you and asks you if you’re okay.

“Yup. I just had to release my last remaining negative energy about this afternoon’s meeting to Jimin and now they’re all gone,” you lie. “I am going to just have fun these next few days and… go with the flow.”

“Sounds good,” Jungkook smiles. “So uh, they suggested getting our swimsuits on so we could go straight into the pool after. Otherwise we’d be too full to change.”

“Yeah, we should,” you hum. “Can I get in first?” You gesture towards the bathroom.

“Sure. I can dress up in the other bathroom. Want me to bring your bag up already?”

“Oh, okay. Let me just grab my stuff.”

You get your bathing suit and a cover up then get changed. You wash your face and tell yourself to just get it together and enjoy yourself while spending time with Jungkook and maybe that’ll make things clearer for you. 

You open the door and shriek in surprise, as right outside the door is Jungkook, checking something in the cupboards… in nothing but his black swim shorts. 

His taut arm is in view, and when he turns to face you with a questioning look, so are his toned chest and abs. You forget sometimes how built he is underneath all the oversized clothing and that this is literally the body you snuggled to earlier, just with clothes on.

And now that you have this little crush, everything about him is now magnified. Has he always been this… hot?

“I didn’t even scare you,” he says, breaking you out of your thoughts. “I was going to but I was worried you’ll fall back and hit your head on the floor.”

“Wow, thanks for looking after my wellbeing,” you say sarcastically. 

“Of course. That’s very important,” he smiles and pats your head, which again is a normal thing he does. But when he’s half naked doing it, you suppose you don’t blame your heartbeat for racing the way it’s doing now. 

You walk back outside together and you scurry towards the picnic table, forcing your spot between Hayoung and Seokjin. You decide right then that taking a break from looking at or being near Jungkook’s bare body is the better choice, at least during dinner. 

But that doesn’t mean you don’t glance at the pool area where he is because you do, and he just happens to be playing with the water guns with Jimin and Taehyung. You hear his child-like laughter, which is a contrast to the way his body flexes in response to the water. It’s already giving you a whiplash.

The conversation you’re currently having is at least entertaining, so you’re able to focus on this and not on the suddenly-so-handsome half-naked man not far away. 

Until, of course, Yoongi calls him over because dinner is ready, and Jungkook rushes towards where you are, quickly wipes himself dry, then takes the seat between Namjoon and Suhyeon that they offered. Right in front of you. Yoongi places a platter of grilled meat and vegetables on the table while Seokjin passes two bowls of rice. 

Jungkook’s hair is quite damp and there are beads of water sliding down his very visible chest and you find yourself being hypnotized by how he looks that you don’t hear him calling your name.

“Hmm?” You finally shift your gaze to his face.

“I was calling you,” he says. “What are you even looking at?”

“You took all the meat with fat,” you frown, lying like it’s second nature. 

You take some pieces from his plate and he laughs at your expression.

“What did you want?”

“I was gonna ask if you wanted beer,” he shrugs.

“Yes,” you smile. “And a bottle of soju, please.”

He nods and jogs towards the cooler then returns with exactly what you asked for. You get back to eating, feeling like you’re in heaven with how perfectly the meat is cooked. You sing your praises to Yoongi, who says his joy in life is making sure his friends are fed with good food all the time. 

There’s a lot of laughter and singing to accompany your meal. Mo-eum takes you around the property when you finish, saying how much prettier it is when the sun’s out. When you feel like you’ve digested enough, you head to the pool where the rest of your friends are hanging out.

“Obligatory rock-paper-scissors match underwater!” Taehyung yells. “Loser drinks a cup of my brother’s terrible concoction. Seriously, it sucks so don’t lose.”

It takes a while before it registers that he’s talking to you and Jungkook as the latecomers. Everyone has played and five already had the drink, so both of you make your way to the pool. 

You moan at the feel of the warm water and you’re glad you didn’t pass up on the night swim. With the soft music and your friends laughing about, it’s the kind of vibe that you’ve been needing, nevermind that you have to sit on the pool floor in front of Jungkook, play a game, then get smacked on the cheek every time you lose. One side is see-through, so your friends watch you from there.

You try your best to act naturally around him, so you bicker and whine like you normally do. It’s a best of seven and he’s up, 3 - 0, needing only one more win. But you score on the next game and in your excitement, you smack his face a little too hard. 

You're surprised with how forceful you were, so you surface from the water and he follows after you. Your hand is still on his cheek and you’re apologizing immediately, palming the spot and asking if he’s okay. Your friends are laughing hard and you giggle while also looking apologetic. 

“What did I do to you?” He wails, as he places his hand on top of yours. “I was hitting you so softly!”

“I know but I got excited!” You reason. “And your cheeks are so soft and so smackable.”

“Wow. Thanks,” he deadpans.

You laugh in response and say you’ll give up the point as punishment, making him the winner, but he insists that he can keep playing and you might even win. 

You mask your giddiness over him pulling you back with his fingers with a look of competitiveness and resume the game. You score the next one but he gets a point after you, and you concede immediately. He’s always been good at this game anyway.

He follows you out of the pool and you get the cup that Taehyung hands you. You smell it and gag, but you take the penalty and take a sip. You gag even more and Jungkook asks you how it is.

“Terrible,” you wince, making him smell the cup until he’s drinking it himself.

“Oh, that’s torture,” he says. “I can drink it for you.”

“But I lost.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugs.

“I drink half and you drink the rest,” you offer, and he nods in agreement.

He follows through, earning you boos from your friends who say that you didn’t fully honor the punishment, including Jimin who’s smirking at you while doing so. 

You wave them off and say that you’re too tired to finish all that on your own and they let you off the hook.

“Okay, I’m eating something to get that taste off my mouth and my memory,” you groan as you walk down the stairs to go to the eating area.

You start looking around but then you hear Jungkook nearby, saying that there’s Samanco in the freezer. You follow him but stay outside because you’re dripping wet, whereas he seems to have wiped himself before coming down so he enters the house and grabs the red bean flavored fish ice cream. 

“Here,” he says, tearing it open then handing it to you.

“What about you?”

“There’s only one left. They said there wasn’t enough at the store. I don’t need to eat.”

“Have a bite at least,” you offer.

“Fine,” he says, letting you feed him as you push the ice cream towards his mouth.

You watch him as he takes a bite, then you meet his eyes without meaning to do so. He briefly holds your gaze and for a moment, you get lost in it, suddenly feeling this odd mix of shyness and tension that you’ve never felt before. It’s mostly because you’re rarely shy about how you feel but more than that, you’ve never felt this around any of your friends before, and Jungkook is one of them. So this is very… new.

He moves the ice cream away and you come back to your senses. You take a few bites then offer him another one then he lets you eat the rest until it’s all finished. You don’t even realize you both have just been standing there in one corner until you hear Mo-eum yelling your names, so you quickly get back to the group and explain that you just had ice cream.

You return to the water and just soak yourself. You stay with Mo-eum and Jimin on one end, while Jungkook is with Namjoon and Taehyung as they headbang to the music on the other. The rest of your friends are either wading their feet or sitting on the lounge chairs but it’s all good fun. 

Yoongi finally gets up to announce that it’s just past 12 AM and he’s gonna get some sleep, and you reminisce about that one trip you had where most of you were still swimming in the pool and it was 1 AM. 

“Yeah because you drank so much and passed out at 8, then woke up at 11 PM demanding us to swim with you,” Jungkook reminds you. “Then you fell asleep on the floatie.”

Everyone laughs at the memory but you scowl at him and act angry in the midst of stories being shared about that time. 

“Why are you so far from him?” Jimin whispers in your ear while gesturing towards Jungkook. 

“She’s probably still getting over their alone time earlier,” Mo-eum teases, earning her a surprised look from you because she rarely calls you out.

“Seriously, both of you,” you groan as quietly as you can. “I… I’m trying to balance it out. I’m gonna lose my mind if I’m constantly exposed to that… body.”

“So what, he just needs to put clothes on then you’ll act normally?” Jimin cocks an eyebrow.

“He just needs to… I don’t know,” you sigh. “This is on me. I’m feeling and thinking things that are weird and new. I just have to get my shit together.”

“But you spent so much time together recently and it might make him wonder why you’re not calling for him or something,” Mo-eum reasons, which is something you’d also thought about. 

“Yeah and if he asks, you’ll tell the truth but you might also say things prematurely,” Jimin adds.

“I actually considered to kind of distance myself from him,” you admit. “I wanted to know if I’ll miss him and stuff until I remembered we had this trip and I just had to suck it up.”

“Well, you might still miss him even while on this trip if you deliberately stay away. And then things might be even weirder,” Mo-eum says. “Don’t overthink, just feel.”

“And wouldn’t it say a lot if, without thinking too much, you actually look for him?” Jimin adds. “That’s probably a bigger tell.”

“Fine,” you sigh. “I’ll let my body do the figuring out, then.”

You disperse from your little huddle and submerge yourself in the water, as if symbolic of your decision to just let yourself be drowned in whatever you’re experiencing, in hopes that you come out of it more sure of what you really feel. 

Eventually though, you all call it a night, and they let you and Jungkook go first in washing up, given the long day you’ve had. 

You take the bathroom upstairs and quickly get cleaned. It’s after you’ve blow dried your hair and dressed up in pajamas that you feel the weight of today weigh you down, and you suddenly feel like you’ll pass out. 

You lie in bed while Mo-eum takes a shower. Jimin is back and says that Jungkook helped clean one of the platters because it was heavy. You want to see him before you sleep just to say good night but exhaustion overtakes you, and your eyes shut before you know it.

Jungkook sighs - partly out of tiredness and partly out of regret - that he didn’t get back to your room early enough to make sure you were okay for the night. He still would’ve helped Suhyeon and Gyu-rim in cleaning up but still, he could’ve worked faster so he could return to you sooner. 

He shouldn’t be wondering why it’s even a big deal for him, as he’s accepted that he wants to spend time with you as much as he can, especially during a trip like this where the vibe is exactly how he likes it. Even more, your good nights to each other have been quite sentimental to him. 

He remembers that camping trip where he taught you a trick to fall asleep faster. Then in Sapporo, you talked and slept in the same room one night. He also can’t forget when you shared the same bed. 

Outside of your trips, there’s the time you let him stay over, and many others after he’d dropped you off or you spent the whole day together only to separate in the evening. And so now being able to wish you good night this time makes him a little sad.

He’s back in the room that all five of you share - which is the entire second floor - and he finds you already asleep next to Mo-eum who’s on her phone. Jimin is on the other bed next to Taehyung who’s wincing in pain as he rotates his head.

“Kook, my neck hurts from headbanging earlier,” Taehyung pouts. “Can you give me a massage?”

Jungkook nods, as this is one of his roles in the group given his background, then proceeds to knead and stretch his friend’s sore areas. Taehyung moans and asks for an extension.

“Yah, do I look like a massage therapist to you?” Jungkook frowns.

“You could be. That was good,” Taehyung sleepily smiles. “Anyway, thanks. I’m gonna sleep now.”

Jungkook decides to take the floor mattress because he prefers its firmness, so Jimin stays in place and eventually falls asleep. The light from Mo-eum’s phone disappears and she mumbles her good night, leaving him as the only one still awake.

He’s exhausted but his mind won’t let him sleep just yet, even as he tries the tricks he’s taught you. He doesn’t force it and resorts to playing a mobile game under the covers instead. It’s about an hour later when he decides he’ll try falling asleep again and right when he pulls away the covers, he sees you sit up from the bed, rotating your neck and groaning.

He gives a thumbs up sign when you look his way to ask if you’re okay and you shake your head no. So he stands up, heads to you, then kneels down.

“You didn’t headbang with Tae, did you?” He chuckles.

With sleepy eyes and mussed hair, you shake your head again.

“I fell asleep in an odd position and strained my neck,” you mumble. “It hurts.”

He immediately tries to find the spot near the nape of your neck, asking where it hurts and you guide his hand until he finds it. He massages it thoroughly and he takes his time. He gauges from your reaction which areas he should focus on then instructs you to rotate your head in various directions. Your moans are low and even more pronounced given how quiet everything else is. 

“Is that alright?” He asks.

“Yeah,” you respond with a smile. “I feel so much better now. And I don’t want to tire you.”

“You can let me know if it still hurts in the morning.”

“Okay, thank you.”

Without thinking much, Jungkook tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering as he fights the urge to do more. 

“I thought I wasn’t gonna be able to say good night to you,” you whisper. “I fell asleep right away.”

“You did,” he chuckles. “I thought the same but then you woke up.”

“I get to say it then,” you smile once more. “Good night.”

Your face is just inches away from his that his heart beats extremely fast and he likes it, he likes the thrill and the calmness from the way you make him feel.

“Good night. I think I’ll be able to sleep now.”

He watches you lie back down and tuck yourself under the covers before he heads back to his mattress. A minute later, he falls asleep.

You wake up to the sound of steady breathing coming from the other bed, and you peek to see that Jimin and Taehyung are still in deep sleep. Mo-eum’s probably washed up, as the space next to you is empty, and you sit up to check how Jungkook is. 

He’s sitting on the mattress, clearly having just woken up, but he turns to you to greet you good morning and ask if your neck is still hurting.

“Not as much, but it’s still a bit sore,” you mumble.

“Just do what I told you. It’ll feel better soon.”

You nod and start rotating it like he said. You check your phone. It’s 10 AM and you’ll have to leave in an hour for lunch, so you head to the sink that, oddly enough is located right outside the bathroom, and start washing your face.

You’re brushing your teeth by the time Jungkook starts walking towards you and you signal for him to give you another massage. He chuckles and stands behind you.

“You might choke,” he warns, and you wave him off and gesture for him to start.

Like you expected, he hits the spot immediately. You get so lost in how good it is that you don’t notice that you’re drooling until he tells you, so you signal that you’ll rinse. He pulls your hair in a ponytail so you could spit and once you’re done, you stand back up and let him continue.

You moan under your breath. You see him with his head turned and realize it might be a bit awkward, so you tell him that you’re all good. You turn around to face him, noting then just how close you are and when you meet his eyes, there’s that urge again to boop his nose and trace his face. You let your eyes wander to his lips for a millisecond before pinching his cheeks so hard that he winces in pain. 

“You brat,” he growls, but it just causes you to laugh and run away from him. 

He washes up while you change in the bathroom then you head downstairs to wait for everyone else. The sun is shining brightly but the breeze is a little cool. You think it’s perfect for what you’ll be doing today and you jiggle in anticipation once you’re complete.

Jungkook and Taehyung take a separate car with Jimin and Gyu-rim because they’ll be retrieving their rented motorcycle and Vespa before heading to the restaurant. You yell out your concern and tell them to be careful before heading to the car with Mo-eum where Seokjin and Hayoung are. 

You arrive at the restaurant and eventually decide on getting some braised kimchi, hairtail fish, and a bunch of other dishes that get you excited. You’ve been looking forward to this after Jungkook said how good the food was since he’s the only one who’s eaten here before, and you truly can’t wait. 

The rest of your friends arrive shortly after all the food has been served. Your attention shifts to Jungkook, who sits towards the end of the table while you’re in the middle, and your eyes briefly meet before you indulge yourself. Hayoung and Suhyeon alternately fill your plate as they often do, and moans of satisfaction quickly fill the restaurant.

The view of the ocean is as perfect as the meal and you’re truly thankful that you get to share all this with your friends. The seat next to you frees up, and you make Taehyung take it so you could hug him, as it slowly sinks in that he’s gonna be leaving in a few weeks.

“We’ll be back to video calls and you scolding me when I’m not getting rest and worrying when I’m not well because you can’t just show up at my apartment to make sure I’m taking care of myself,” you sigh. 

“Nah, I won’t be too worried,” he smiles softly at you. “You’re in good hands.”

“Jimin and Mo-eum are worse than I am,” you point out.

“Kook isn’t.”

“Hmm,” is all you say, unsure if you want to openly talk about your feelings now, although you probably will before he leaves. 

“You’ll be fine, ___. Just follow your heart,” he whispers.

“Have you been talking to Jimin?” You cock your eyebrow, suspicious now if they’ve been discussing things behind your back.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” he says. “You know me, I say random shit. Take it how you want.”

You groan at him for being another person who’s making you think. But he just laughs at you and leaves you to your own thoughts when Mo-eum calls him to go to the balcony because she needs some air.

The others have also gone outside except for Yoongi and Gyu-rim and you’re honestly too full to even stand up. Just then, Jungkook takes the seat next to you and asks if you’re indeed too full to even move because you usually like looking at the views. 

“I can’t breathe,” you frown at him. 

“Yeah, you looked like you enjoyed yourself,” he laughs.

“So did you. You ordered like, three cups of rice,” you say. “We’re still going to a cafe after this.”

“So? Coffee and dessert are separate things.”

“True,” you hum. “How’s the motorcycle by the way?”

“It’s good. It’s a similar model to what I have in Busan.”

He rides occasionally. He doesn’t have an extra parking slot in his apartment so he left the one he has at his parents’ house, which he drives around whenever he’s home. 

“So it’s safe and stuff?” You ask.

“Of course it is. Jimin even rode with me on the way back here.”

“Did he enjoy it?”

“Always. I’m a very safe rider,” he assures you. “Do you want to try?”

“I’m kinda scared. I’m not good with balancing and like, being steady,” you explain.

“But that’s my job. You literally just have to sit there and hold onto me and enjoy the wind and the scenery. Sounds good, right?” He tries to convince you.

It’s very tempting, you’d admit, especially since you’ve committed to just letting yourself feel everything and enjoying a ride with him is one other way to do that.

“I’ll think about it,” you shrug.

He tells you more about riding until Hayoung says you’ll leave in 10 minutes. So you attempt to stand up to at least get a better view of the ocean on this side. Jungkook is there, pulling you by the hand while laughing at you. Your fingers linger, and you quickly let go of him before he notices a hint of desire for his touch.

He goes with you outside and while earlier, both of you couldn’t stop talking, now, it’s just quiet. You suppose he’s basking in the sights and how peaceful everything is as well, and you just feel that calmness being next to him. 

And it’s… new. Not the feeling, but the fact that you could feel giddy and content right after. So you savor it a little more.

You all eventually leave and head to your next destination. It’s a nice ride to the cafe, too, and you sit on the backseat with your window rolled down, looking at the ocean.

Jungkook pulls up next to you in his ride and this is a look that gets your heart racing, too. He’s got his black helmet on and with his exposed tattooed arm, he looks pretty cool. 

Your chin settles on your arm that’s by the window and you watch him. He turns to you at the stoplight and pushes his shades up.

“Be careful,” you say from inside the car. 

He gives a thumbs up then extends his arm for a fist bump, which you give. It also makes you laugh. The light turns green and you’re off again. Mo-eum and Jimin laugh at you from the front but you wave them off and no longer threaten them with physical injury. 

You’re accepting it, you think. It’s like getting used to this feeling, letting it embrace you, the way you’re allowing yourself to embrace all of it. 

You head to a quaint cafe near the mountains. It has a homey vibe, not just because it literally is an extension of the owner’s house, but also because of the warm interiors, the shelves of old books and manuscripts, unfinished paintings… and two cats, which Jimin plays with and almost cuddles. 

You take up the entire space and it gives some of you a chance to speak to the owner, a former author whose wife is an artist. You mostly listen though, especially once he talks about how life in the country and this town was several decades ago. You opt for a cup of tea to help warm your still very full belly, but you do get a taste of Jungkook’s misugaru and pretty much almost everyone’s else’s drinks because that’s how you are.

Sitting next to Hayoung, you have a good view of Jungkook from the side, and you take notice of how he smiles at certain parts of the man’s tales and when he turns serious and contemplative when the man talks about his wife. 

The stories prompt you to ask your cousin how she’s feeling as she counts the days to the wedding. She sighs as if she’s still in disbelief that it’s so close. Or perhaps that she found a man like Seokjin who truly makes her feel like it’s possible to feel content and happy in this life.

“I’m marrying a man who makes me laugh, ___. A man who laughs at my jokes even if they’re not funny,” she smiles. “And I know it may sound so simple but I don’t really know what else could be better than this feeling, you know? He makes me feel good about myself. He enjoys things with me. He shows me how to be a good and happy person. And I get to spend the rest of my life with him.”

You think of your definition of simple and it used to make sense to you. You meet someone, instantly become attracted to them, find things about them you like that mirror what they like about you, be overwhelmed by the unrelenting yet unexplainable feeling towards them, then decide you want to be with them. 

Looking back, nothing about it was simple. Perhaps it was just all shallow. The intensity was surface level and never really got the chance to dig its roots.

With Hayoung, simplicity is in the consistency, you think. It’s in the everyday and every second together.

You spot Seokjin looking to where you are and upon realizing that she was admiring him from afar, he gives her a flying kiss, causing you to snort.

“He’s so ridiculous, it drives me crazy,” she laughs.

“You’re perfect for each other,” you smile as you hug her tightly. 

“It took a while for us to realize that but I guess that was the whole point,” she hums. “We’re as committed and as happy because it wasn’t too early nor too late.”

“So it’s really the timing huh?” You ask, recalling the conversations about relationships during that camping trip. 

“It is but it’s also a choice. You both decide you want to be the right person for each other,” she says. “Regardless of who confessed first, the other person could’ve chickened out but neither of us did. We knew enough about each other that we were willing to make that move.”

“Oh, to be mature like you,” you sigh. “I can’t relate.”

“You’re honest about your feelings, ___. Not everyone is that brave nor that true to themselves. That’s maturity in my book.”

You drive out and head to the port next. The rented yacht you enter is pure luxury, and this is one of the moments where you thank the universe that you ended up being friends with a rich pair of brothers, one of whom also happens to be your future cousin-in-law. 

The size is perfect for all 12 of you - not huge but cozy enough to not feel too separated from each other. There are so many areas to hang out in - the front, the back, the top, and inside. You’d forgotten what they were called and was just in perpetual shocked mode when you were being toured around. There’s lots to do, too, and you have all the time to entertain yourselves, as you’ve got this boat until past sunset. 

You all gather at the lounge area while waiting to get to the snorkeling spot. You play music, drink some mocktails, and dance around. Half an hour later, you’re told that you’ve arrived, so you all move to the other end of the yacht and jump in the water. 

It’s the right temperature for this afternoon. It’s cold but not freezing, and the feel of the ocean is every bit refreshing as you remember. 

Yoongi and Hoseok sit on the swim platform. You stay near the boat with Suhyeon and Gyu-rim - the most cautious of the bunch, while the rest dive and explore farther out. You watch them enjoy themselves, especially Jungkook, whose laughter you can pick out even from where you are.

He removes his mask and waves at you before disappearing under the water again, only for him to end up next to you.

You shriek in surprise when he does, and you smack his chest to call him out because you thought he was a shark or something.

“Seriously?” He laughs. 

“You never know,” you shrug.

“Well I’ve gone deeper and there’s none of that. Only more fish and prettier corals. Wanna see?”

You hesitate. You’re only a little bit terrified of the water; having siblings who watched Jaws all the time did that. While you know it’s safe, there’s something about the open water that’s insanely overwhelming for you because there’s so much you don’t know and much more you’ll never know. There’s a whole world down there that’s too terrifying for your human mind to comprehend and it makes you feel so small and insignificant. It’s like that cosmic horror shit that Jungkook was telling you about this one time. 

But you also know that the little bit of what humans do know is pretty amazing. And just like how you are with your horror films, you suppose the fear is part of the experience, too.

“Fine, I do wanna see,” you finally reply. “I’m just a little scared.”

“Alright then. We won’t swim too deep. I’ve got you,” he says, gesturing for you to get under.

You follow him and reflexively take his hand, allowing him to guide you towards the reef that you see isn’t far away. You know your basics in swimming so it’s not hard, but just the idea that there’s all this around and all over you is what gets to you. 

But with Jungkook right in front, holding you tightly, and constantly looking back to check how you’re doing, you suppose it’s not bad at all. And when you finally see what he wanted to show you, you understand that that initial fear, the immediate relief from the safety he provides, and then the beauty of what’s waiting for you is all part of the experience. 

When you’ve taken it all in, you begin swimming back to the surface and don’t let go of his hand. The light from the sun penetrates the ocean and it makes the scene before you even more captivating. You emerge from the water and breathe, then smile at him for keeping his word. 

“How was that?” He asks.

“Pretty,” you say. “Thank you, Kook.”

“Glad that didn’t disappoint,” he says. 

You waddle back to the yacht and you’re more independent this time. You meet with the rest of your friends and just float about, enjoying the sun and the feel of the water on you. 

One by one, you all head back up. Some stay by the steps, the others have begun fishing, and a few have started washing up. You announce that you’ll go back to the lounge area to get your phone and Jungkook follows because he wants to dry his shirt.

He removes it and grabs a towel that he wipes himself with. You glance at him as he dries his hair with it then wraps it around his waist, disturbing you with what you’re supposed to do. 

Of course, of all times that he has to be half naked again - and during the day - is when you’re both alone and you have nothing to distract you nor keep you from ogling him. 

Because now that you care, you actually pay more attention and realize that his type of ripped is exactly your type. 

You’ve generalized your guy friends and said they’re all handsome. You’ve said it mostly to Hoseok before he got a girlfriend and to Seokjin because, well, he makes everyone say so. You always told Taehyung that you found him cute, but perhaps the most honest you were was when Namjoon showed up in a green sweatshirt and glasses one time and you whispered “daddy,” not realizing the words didn’t  actually remain in your head. The teasing started right after that. 

You’ve often passed off Jungkook as having these charming, boy-next-door traits which wasn’t really your vibe. You were always too intense for that and the men you pursued tended to match your energy and so Jungkook, even physically, felt a bit tamed or reserved to you. 

But now, you can see that you were really just a silly girl. His abs aren’t too pronounced when he doesn’t flex them but even you can tell there are eight of them there. They also hold up a pair of perfectly toned pecs. His entire torso is smooth, including his back that’s divided by that deep line that lets you know just how hard he works on it. 

And his arms. They don’t seem much but he’s flexed them a few times since last night and you have to pretend you need water every time to mask that you’re actually really just thirsty for them. Maybe it’s the fact that one is covered in tattoos and the other isn’t. The contrast gives you a whiplash, even more when you realize that connected to the feet that you make fun of because of his toe socks are massive thighs that could—

“___?”

“Hmm?”

“Is there anything else you need?”

“My phone,” you stammer.

“You’re holding it,” Jungkook says, gesturing towards your hand that is indeed holding it. 

“Right, I got it,” you reply, turning around because suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. 

You were definitely ogling him last night but now, he’s half-naked with the sun out so you’re noticing everything, including his tiny waist and—

“I’m gonna go and watch them fi— ow, fuck!”

But of course, you hit your head on the side of the roof that has a sign that says “watch out” next to it. Not that you were paying attention anyway because you were, in fact, trying to get away from the man who’s been invading your thoughts in ways that are so unexpected for you.

You slowly fall on your butt and wince in pain. And who else would go to your rescue but him?

“___, it literally says there to watch out,” he chuckles as he crouches to face you. “You’re not even that tall.”

“Yah!” You smack his chest in reflex, only to feel the tingle from touching his bare skin. “It hurts.”

“Oh shit,” he says now, his face turning serious. “Is there a bump?”

You feel around the top of your head and discover something that definitely wasn’t there earlier. His hand hovers so you guide him to where you feel it.

“Yup, that’s a bump,” he sighs. “You’ve got to be careful.”

You only pout and whimper when he puts pressure on it. 

He grabs a can of soda from the cooler and places it on your head. He instructs you to keep it there while he looks for a cold compress, which he does, a few minutes later after going to the cockpit and asking for it.

He sits next to you on the ledge while he holds it in place because you say your arm is getting sore. But he turns towards you now, so you also pay even more attention to his face. 

His dark doe-eyes are filled with worry, and you realize they’re captivating like this just as much as when they’re painted with joy or admiration. His nose is even cuter this close, and you don’t know how to convince him that you’re sincere about your attachment to it, even more now. His eyelashes are so long and they flutter against his honeyed skin. And then his lips, they’re so pink and chapped that you just want to—

“___?” He calls your name again. 

“Hmm?” 

“Seriously, did being underwater and then hitting your head make you dizzy? Do you have a concussion that’s why you’re unresponsive?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not a concussion,” you say. “I’m just—”

You fake yawn to make an excuse. Only for you to actually feel sleepy right after. 

“I think I need a nap.”

“Okay,” he laughs. “Get dressed then you can lie on the sofa.”

You rid yourself of your wet clothes in the bathroom. From there, you hear Jungkook inform your friends that you hit your head and Jimin yells that you can’t lose your memory because you still owe him dinner. 

You get back on the lounge to cuss him out then say you’re okay but that you have a bump and now you’re sleepy.

“I hit my head there earlier,” Taehyung says.

“Why didn’t you warn people about it!” You exclaim.

He shrugs but Jimin pipes in. 

“He probably didn’t think that anyone would be dumber than him.”

“Yah!” You yell, threatening to flick his forehead. 

He runs away and heads back to the other side. Most of them follow, as Seokjin and Yoongi compete with each other on who can catch more fish. Suhyeon and Hoseok stay near the railing, leaving you and Jungkook semi-alone in the lounge. He at least has a shirt on this time.

You’re both sitting on the couch and you give in, grabbing a small pillow and placing it on his lap for you to rest your head on. It’s too late by the time you realize that there’s so much space elsewhere but you chose this. You chose to be this close, so you just let it go. You’d made yourself look stupid earlier already, might as well own this. 

But you do peek at him and see that he’s got his head leaned back, perhaps taking a nap, too. He feels you move and he turns to you, seemingly unbothered at your obvious lack of respect for his personal space.

“You okay?” He asks, placing the cold compress on your bump once more.

“Hmm,” you nod. 

“Go sleep.”

You turn to your side and savor the sight before you as you slowly drift away, the blue sky with threads of the clouds strung around making you feel at peace. Jungkook pulls your hair back so you’re more comfortable, reminding you of last night and how his fingers brushed your face. 

You smile to yourself. You’re definitely owning this feeling.

You wake up to light taps on your shoulder. Jungkook tells you that you’ll miss the sunset if you keep sleeping, so you sit up and look around. Your friends have returned to this side of the boat, with some of them sitting on the other couch while the others are by the railings, enjoying the last bits of light. You see a bowl of tteokbokki on the table in front of you, and your eyes widen, as you realize right then that you’re quite hungry. 

“Can you–”

“Want me to heat it?” Jungkook finishes his question first.

“Yes please,” you shyly smile, remembering that he knows you don’t like eating your food cold.

“Sure,” he says, then grabs the plate and heads inside.

“Did you sleep well?” Jimin appears out of nowhere. 

“Yeah,” you hum. “I feel better now.”

“Good,” he smiles. 

He walks to the lounge area with Mo-eum and they sit next to you.

“You missed out on the fun parts! Tae caught some fish,” Mo-eum excitedly says. “I told him it was probably genetic.”

You laugh. “Did any of you catch anything?” 

“Nope. But Gyu-rim did. You should’ve seen Yoongi’s face, he was so proud and he was blushing,” Jimin gushes. “Kook probably would’ve caught some if someone wasn’t sleeping on his lap,” he smirks at you. “He missed out on the fun thanks to you.”

“I–” you frown. “He told me to take a nap.”

“On his lap?” Mo-eum asks.

“No but like, it was there,” you sigh. “Okay, can I just say? I completely lost it earlier. I was staring. Like, I was literally ogling him. This isn’t normal.”

“___, chill. We’re all used to you already. You literally always hug Tae’s arms and say how they’re so big. And you always call him handsome. You also called me hot before,” Jimin reminds you.

“I totally would’ve dated you for your body alone,” you remark. “But I’m not the type to do that.”

“You dated Seungho because he was hot though,” Mo-eum points out.

“Shush, that was only 92% of the reason,” you correct her. 

“Back to my point,” Jimin nudges you to look at him. “You called Joon daddy one time, remember? You ogle, ___. We know that.”

“Wow, you make me sound like a perv,” you scowl.

“None of us literally care.”

“Fine. But I was all of a sudden speechless with Kook. Like, I always knew he had a nice body but I just never really bothered to look look. And now I have and he’s so hot and I’m–”

“Sorry it took a while, the microwave was being weird,” Jungkook returns to the lounge. “Got you soda, too.”

He places your meal in front of you then heads farther out the deck with the other guys.

“Shit, do you think he heard me?” You panic.  

“Doubt it. But if he did, so what? Not like you don’t compliment him about his looks,” Jimin shrugs.

“I tell him his nose is cute,” you deadpan. “That’s totally different from saying he’s hot.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jimin shakes his head. “You just have to get used to it. This is an island trip, ___. He’s gonna be half-naked for two more days.”

“I need saving,” you sigh, prompting your two friends to laugh at your dramatic antics. 

You eat your snack while they talk about what happened earlier. It’s a good distraction from your thoughts of Jungkook, even if they’re technically still there because it’s his back that you’re currently looking at. You laugh at yourself this time because you’re being silly. 

Sure, it’s a bit unfamiliar to suddenly be physically attracted to him, but even more because you’re unable to express it, which is unlike how you normally are with your friends. You’re usually very open and playful about it with them but with Jungkook, you’re quite cautious. You’re worried you’ll say too much or that he’ll even feel the heat from your entire body as your natural reaction. 

This is perhaps another indication of how you really feel. You’re more shy than usual, but as you look at him from where you’re seated, all you want is to bask in that shyness, too. It at least tells you that it’s not all shallow and superficial when it comes to him.

You stand from your seat and clean up. When you go back out, you see that all your friends are now on the deck, lounging on the chairs and the netted structure as the sun starts to set. Seokjin and Hayoung are being all couple-y. Yoongi and Gyu-rim are in their own world in the corner. Namjoon’s dancing to some song with his earpods on, and Jungkook and Jimin are going Titanic mode and laughing at each other.

You laugh, too, and it’s another feeling that’s new or perhaps, just more pronounced. You like seeing Jungkook be silly and enjoying himself. You like seeing him feel free. It’s something he experiences and all you can do is watch, and that makes you feel good.

Jungkook loses his breath from role playing and play-fighting with Jimin. It’s something they’ve always done as kids and they never really outgrew it. But his best friend surrenders after a while and Jungkook decides to have mercy on him. 

Instinctively, he turns towards the lounge to look for you, and he finds you there, sitting on one of the chairs, smiling at him. He’d spent pretty much the entire afternoon with you - swimming, snorkeling, icing your head, and serving as your pillow yet again for your afternoon nap. 

And he has nothing to complain about, especially because you held his hand while you were in the water, and you looked him in the eyes more times than he could count, and you snuggled close to him after he told you to sleep.

He gestures for you to come over and you do. You take your spot on the floor and he takes his next to you. You scoot closer and rest your head on his shoulder, just like always and he likes this. He likes how you seek him, knowingly or not, and that you find comfort in whatever he could give. 

He’s unsure of what it means on your end but he doesn’t want to assume nor impose; he decides he’ll hope only a little. He’ll savor whatever this is as part of the experience. He’s hoping it’s something you’re doing, too.

Everyone is quiet during the sunset, as you all bask in the changing of the sky’s colors and how majestic it looks from where you are. You eat dinner on the boat and find that a hearty meal of pasta, pizza, and steak in the middle of the ocean is the perfect cap to what you think is a perfect day, even with the head bumping and the spacing out. 

Hayoung and Seokjin say a few things, as it’s their pre-wedding trip, and you’re tearing up by the end of it. Taehyung gives a speech, too, and you all burst into laughter. It’s practice for the real deal during the wedding, he says, but you already know he’ll be crying then. 

You head back to the house after and make sure to remind Jungkook to be careful during his ride. You notice that he tries to stay next to your car and gives you a smile when he sees you look at him, as if in assurance that he’s okay. 

You spend the rest of the evening drinking indoors while playing games and singing karaoke. It’s later on in the night when you feel the pull of the cool breeze. 

Some of your friends have tucked themselves in bed already. Jimin and Mo-eum are dancing and singing like they’re at a club. Namjoon’s passed out, and Taehyung and Hoseok look like they’re having a heart-to-heart near the hammock. Jungkook’s gone to take a shower so you head out to the pool, dip half of your legs in the water, then lie on the ground to look at the night sky.

The full moon is stunning and your only regret is that you’re a little tipsy so your glazed eyes can’t fully savor its beauty, but you try. Cozy in your hoodie and with your hands behind your head, you take a deep breath and take everything in. You don’t always get to have this time to be away and just live in the moment, but you know you’re lucky enough that you even have the opportunity to.

“___?”

You turn to the side and see Jungkook, drowning in his oversized hoodie, approaching you. You gesture to your side and he takes the spot next to you. He lies down and rests his head on his hands, too. 

“Haven’t you taken a bath?” You ask.

“Yeah, and I can do it again,” he shrugs. 

He takes in your sluggish state and asks if it was too loud for you inside.

“A little,” you say. “But I also needed time alone.”

At your words, Jungkook apologizes and tries to stand up, but you pull his arm and shake your head.

“And I already had it,” you say. “I don’t need you to leave.”

“Sorry, I should’ve asked.”

“You don’t need to though. You - anyone, really - are always welcome. More like, needed,” you smile. “I enjoy having you around, Kook. I don’t know if I’ve ever said that before.”

“You have, a few times. Mostly when you were drunk though. Like now,” he teases. 

“I always mean it though, especially now,” you tell him, more seriously than he is.

“Well, I’ll always be,” he assures you. “You know I’m always there for you, right?”

“You are and you have been - driving me around, changing my lightbulb, shopping with me, cooking for me…” you say, somehow feeling this heaviness at the thought that maybe you haven’t done much for him the way he’s been doing things for you.

“I like doing them, the way I think you like helping me with my workplans or talking me through tough days at work or watching my students’ games to cheer for them and me,” he responds, somehow knowing that you needed to hear that, too. “And you know, making me laugh. A lot. You’re clumsy and a mess sometimes and it makes my day.”

“Why does it make your day?” You turn to him.

“Because you don’t care, and I mean that in an endearing way,” he clarifies. “You… just let yourself be who you are in front of us. That’s refreshing, you know? I think we all have our quirks and habits but we’ve spent so much time together as a group that it just feels like we’ve adjusted to each other.”

“That’s the great thing about friends, right? About people you’ve known for years? You don’t have anything to hide from them. Over time, they just learn all these things about you and just… live with it,” you say. “It just becomes a part of who they are, too, like how my being clumsy and clueless and spoiled and dramatic has just become an aspect of all of you being caring and dependable and understanding. It’s as if our qualities and parts of our personalities kind of just intertwine in that way.”

“That’s true. It’s like how romantic relationships end up being. Or should become. At least that’s what Seokjin and Hoseok tell me.”

You’re quiet for a while as you realize that yours never got to that point. It makes sense though, as they only lasted two years max but you never felt your personality intertwine with your exes in any way.

“Hmm, can’t relate,” you sigh. “Jimin and Mo-eum made me realize that there were parts of me that I didn’t really wanna show Jeong-su and Seungho.”

“Do you know why?”

“Could be dozens of reasons. Maybe it was them. Maybe it was me.”

“Maybe you just didn’t know them long enough,” Jungkook says, hoping that nothing he says is triggering for you. “I mean, it’s how it is with people and relationships. You learn about yourself the more you spend time with them and the more you do, the more of yourself you’re able to show or adjust or fit theirs.”

You hum in response, as you process what he says.

“I was kind of a selfish kid and only thought of myself and Jimin’s kindness taught me to be more thoughtful,” Jungkook continues. “I was still pretty shy when I got to college but I let out my playful side with Tae that I didn’t really know was there. And Mo-eum was so smart that I tried to keep up with her and I realized I was pretty smart, too.”

You laugh at this, as you think about how different your friends are with him and with you.

“Jimin and I always butt heads and he calls me out because he knows no one will and I need someone to,” you state. “Tae is very soft with me because he knows I’m hard on myself all the time. And Mo-eum… ever since we were kids, she just always asked me about life in general, like what career she should pursue or how she should manage all that trauma from work and still have enough of herself to give.”

“Such contrast,” Jungkook laughs. “I think it’s because you and I are so different, too, but that’s the point, right? They’re not different people. They just have sides to them that fit with others more but that’s still them. And I know comparing platonic and romantic relationships is a bit simplistic but it’s kinda the same. You spend enough time with someone and get to know them, and I mean genuinely get to know them, and you’ll figure out which ones fit.”

“It happens naturally, yeah?”

“It should. But it requires baring yourself to the other person.”

“And that requires vulnerability, too, doesn’t it?” You ask, turning to him now. 

“It does. It requires honesty, too.”

You look into Jungkook’s eyes and see the moon reflecting from them with how round and dark and captivating they are. You’d think that given your topic of conversation, this is the perfect time to just confess about how differently you’re feeling about him. 

But there’s still something that pulls you back, and you suppose it’s this need to be sure - not of whatever he feels for you but of what you feel for him, and what you feel about you. 

You don’t want to dive into this when you’re unsure of yourself. You don’t want to doubt if you’re able to truly be vulnerable to him. You don’t want to get into anything with him when you don’t know if you like this version of you now, because you know that what he deserves is someone who likes herself enough to treat him the way he should be treated. His exes have been insecure people who took him for granted, and you don’t want a reminder of them in you.

“And that requires trust,” you add.

“It does,” he smiles, knowing that both of you are just pulling from all your experiences of failed relationships and uncertainty.

He hopes that maybe just like him, you’re trying to get to that point where you trust him and yourself enough before seeing if what you both have could be something more.

Both of you spend a few more minutes just staring at the sky before deciding to head back inside. You help your remaining friends clean up, wash themselves, and then lie in bed. 

You take your place next to Mo-eum, on the side that gives you a view of Jungkook as he sleeps on the floor. You ask him if he’s comfortable and warm enough for this chilly night and he responds with a nod.

You like this side of you that seeks him, not just because you need to be taken care of, but also because you want to take care of him, too. You think that for now, that should be enough. 

Jungkook flinches in his sleep, catching himself by surprise this time and prompting him to wake up. He slowly opens his eyes, already used to the light coming in with how thin the curtains are but he doesn’t mind much, not when the first thing he sees in the morning is you - cuddled with the pillow, looking peaceful as your brain rests for a while. 

It was a little thing he did, moving the mattress just a tiny bit during the first night, because he saw that the curtain slit would be right across his face and the sun would be unbearable. It ended up giving him a much better morning view. 

He grunts as he sits up and starts cracking his back and stretching his limbs. He sees that Taehyung and Jimin are half awake and he nods at them. Mo-eum is already up as the early-riser of the group and of course there’s you, still steadily breathing and softly snoring. 

It’s a slow morning and there’s no rush to do anything. Jungkook likes this about your recent trips, which is also why you’re all able to stay up late to drink and talk and do whatever people your age are still able to do until the wee hours of the morning. Perhaps his body has adjusted as well; regardless of what time he sleeps, he doesn’t need the entire next day to recuperate. 

Mo-eum gets back to the room and sits next to him.

“How was last night?” She asks with a playful smile.

“I had to carry your drunk ass to the bed, and then Jimin’s,” Jungkook shakes his head.

Maybe not a lot has changed. 

“___ helped you though.”

“Yeah well, we were the only ones still in our right minds,” he laughs. 

“I was still lucid when I saw you walk out to look for her,” she smirks. 

“Hey, I was just making sure that she was still on the property,” he defends. “Who knows if she followed some rabbit out there and fell into a hole or something.”

“You’re getting ridiculous with your reasons,” Mo-eum rolls her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to spend time with her, you know?”

“I’m not denying that.”

“Good. Because I think she’s been liking that. She’s always got a lot in her mind and you help ease her a bit. Like, Jimin matches her energy, Tae comforts her, I hype her up and you…” she smiles. “You seem to do that and more. Like, you become what she needs at that time.”

“I’ve always tried to be there for her and it’s the same with her,” Jungkook shrugs, not wanting to reveal too much to your best friend. “I guess at this point it’s just become easier. And nicer. I’m happy I get to be what she needs.”

“Hmm. I’m sure she is, too.”

Mo-eum’s smile is comforting. Whatever you’ve told her or haven’t, her words are enough to assure him that he’s doing right by you. He’ll just continue and savor the moments you have together, like last night by the pool where you looked him in the eyes again and he’d been tempted to just lay his feelings out to you. 

But he hesitated, wanting to make sure that you’re ready for what he has to say. He’s certain about what he feels now but he doesn’t want to just spring it on you in the middle of celebrations and farewells. He’s just been basking in seeing you slowly settle into him, and perhaps that’s part of the whole experience, as you like to say. 

Mo-eum ruffles his hair before going back to bed, hugging you like a baby and asking if you’re hungry because she already is. Jungkook watches as you slowly get to your senses, look around, slightly sit up, then sleepily wave at him. It’s a bit random but he waves back and laughs. 

It’s not long after when the rest of you finally get up and start fixing up. You stand in front of the sink outside the bathroom to brush your teeth and just like the day before, he stands behind you as he sees you stretch your neck.

“Does it hurt again?” He asks.

“No, but a massage would be nice,” you mumble with bubbles in your mouth. 

He playfully shakes his head but proceeds to press his thumbs against the nape of your neck. 

“Such a princess,” he laughs.

You close your eyes at the pleasure, feeling like you could fall back to sleep with this. He eventually stops, which is perhaps good because you would’ve choked with how much you were quietly moaning, but then he lightly drags his fingers down your back. His touch pierces through your shirt and your body shivers. You don’t see his face in the mirror, but you quickly rinse your mouth to mask your smile over how it felt.

“I’ll wash up,” he says as he heads inside the bathroom.

You yell out your thanks and exhale deeply, but then Mo-eum skips next to you and wiggles her eyebrows.

“So domestic,” she teases. 

“Shush,” you pout at her. “Dude’s a master at teasing, who would’ve thought.”

You get dressed, too, and it’s not long after when you’re all on your way to a restaurant for your lunch of the famed spicy braised chicken. You take the passenger seat of the car that Jimin’s driving and watch Jungkook ride his motorcycle again, who fortunately put on some sunblock after you reminded him before leaving. 

With Mo-eum at the back, you all laugh as Jungkook and Taehyung dance to some music at the stoplight, busting out moves that make them look ridiculous and adorable at the same time. 

You arrive at the restaurant and there’s a long table reserved for your group. You see your friends make eye signals to each other to get you and Jungkook to sit side by side, and you wanna smack them but also thank them for doing the work for you. Even if you have been making an effort to get close to him, you don’t want to be too obvious.

Which is also why you spend those moments right after you take your seat talking to Hoseok, who makes you laugh so hard that you almost fall off your chair. 

But of course, Jungkook is there to make sure that doesn’t happen, as he manages to hold onto your arm before your ass hits the floor.

“Yah, are you Jimin?!” He scolds you.

“Excuse me, I’m offended,” you gasp dramatically.

“Brat. You wish you were me,” Jimin bites back.

“I wish I had your ass,” you hum.

It’s pretty amazing. You’d give him that.

“But your ass is already nice!” Mo-eum chirps. “It’s very spankable.”

Your older friends laugh, already used to the unfiltered conversations of the young ones, and none of you really care about it. You glare at your best friend, though, because Jungkook definitely did not laugh.

The conversation shifts to something else and the food finally arrives. The mild spiced dish is closer to Taehyung, so you ask Jungkook to give you a serving in your bowl. He hands it back to you filled to the brim, and he reminds you to let it cool first so the heat level isn’t too extreme for you.

You look at the dish in front of you. It looks so delicious you might actually cry. Except for the vegetables.

“I don’t like carrots,” you pout, transferring the two large chunks from your bowl to his.

“You need to eat carrots, ___,” he says sternly. “They’re good for your eyesight. It helps you see warning signs that tell you to watch out for things that might hurt you.”

You stare at the piece that he puts on your bowl.

“Yeah, a small chunk will definitely help my eyes,” you sarcastically say.

“Then a big one, then,” he counters, putting back the one you just gave him. And then another. “And one more for both eyes.”

You’re back to where you started and you scowl at him.

“You’re so annoying.”

He responds with a smirk. A smirk! One that looks teasing more than anything.

“You could always just feed her,” Jimin suggests.

You glare at him. 

“What?!” He mouths, and it hits you that this might be more obvious because this type of teasing is normal, but you’re being so sensitive about it.

“I’m not a baby,” you frown.

And just as you’re about to take a spoonful, your hair flies to your mouth, causing the sauce to stick to the strands and then on your face. 

You groan in frustration, prompting laughter from your friends, but you reflexively turn to Jungkook with a pout.

“Say that again?” he chuckles, as he wets the napkin and wipes the sauce off your hair.

You wipe your face, too, while he pulls your hair back so you could tie it. He looks at you with a mix of teasing and endearment, yet something about it makes your heart race. 

All you can do is laugh at how ridiculous you look and he laughs along because he probably thinks so, too. He watches you take your first bite to make sure it lands then he resumes with his own dish and reminds you to eat your carrots. 

You actually do cry, as even the mild spicy version of the chicken is still a little too hot for you, but you can’t stop eating. The fried rice and ramyeon are so intense yet heavenly, and nothing’s ever hurt so good and satisfied you like this. 

Jungkook ends up wiping out the rest of the food. The only reason why you stayed in the restaurant as long as you did was so he could finish eating, and you have to remind him of what you’ll be doing after, prompting him to pass up on the dessert he was about to order. You take some time to walk around the area so you can digest though, and it’s not long after when you’re back on the road.

Jimin had suggested going to Active Park so you could all compete against each other on wall climbing, with the losers doing penalties tonight. As you agreed on, everyone joins, even the ones who aren’t really into things like this. That doesn’t include Jungkook though, as he excitedly skips to the receiving area like he didn’t just stuff himself with food an hour ago. 

But he loves these things and this is his playground. He likes being active and on the move - a contrast to you - and experiencing the thrill. He also happens to be really good at it. 

You all get briefed and get proper shoes on. He scurries inside and already chooses his first activity where he walks up high poles then free falls to the ground. Then he climbs three walls consecutively and goes mission impossible mode when he rapells down. The others start playing and you let them go first, as you secretly enjoy watching them freak out and squeal while falling. 

You eventually decide to psych yourself up by climbing up the poles so you call for one of the staff to repeat the instructions. Just then, Jungkook appears next to you - you swear you saw him competing with Taehyung just a second ago - and asks if you’re ready.

“Yes, and I’m not scared of heights,” you remind him. “I’m just clumsy.”

“Please make sure you land properly. And don’t mistakenly unhook your cord.”

“I won’t,” you roll your eyes at him. 

But you do call for him to look at you when you’re at the top and then ask for his praise when you get back on your feet safely.

He laughs at how excited you are and encourages you to try more. You tell him to just enjoy and do everything he wants and that you’ll be fine so he goes, competes with almost everyone, and wins it all. You follow your own pace and lose a few match-ups, but it’s loud and intense the whole time that you’re torn between trying things out for yourself and watching your friends do it.

Half of you get tired right away and choose to sit around to watch the more energetic ones as they keep going. You all cheer for Taehyung on the circular slide. You all encourage Suhyeon in the spiderman climb. And when Jimin hits his lip on the sandbag during the jump, you gather around him to ask if he’s okay.

“It’s just a cut,” he shrugs.

“Nope, you gotta ice it,” you say. “Mo-eum’s already getting one.”

“Listen to ___. She’s good at treating busted lips,” Jungkook hums.

“Of course you’d know,” Jimin smirks at him.

“We are not talking about that night,” you frown as you press the cloth-covered ice cube on your best friend’s wound.    

“Why are you the one triggered when it’s Jungkook’s who got elbowed?” Yoongi asks you. 

“Because she got so angry and even attempted to run after the guy who hurt Kook,” Mo-eum informs them. “You know ___ when she’s angry. It ain’t good.”

They rehash that night and you kind of block it out, not wanting to remember what those intense feelings were like. But then again, maybe that’s when this whole Jungkook thing started so maybe it isn’t all that bad. 

Jungkook finally decides that he’s done and sits next to you on one of the chairs. You hand him a bottle of water and ask him if he's satisfied.

“Yup,” he heaves. “Hands are just a bit tired but they’re fine. And oh, my busted lip has healed.”

You snicker and look away.

“I don’t know if I ever properly thanked you for that night, ___,” he says. “So, uh, thank you. I don’t think I’ll ever forget all the times that you stood up for me.”

“Technically, it was just one time. It would’ve been more if people weren’t stopping me,” you laugh. 

“Well, there’s a reason for that, you know?” He nudges your knee. “You can actually get in trouble or get hurt. I… I don't really know how I’d be able to handle that. So don’t get yourself hurt, okay?”

“Is that why you were tailing me this whole time? You were scared I’d hurt myself?” You cock an eyebrow.

“___, you hurt yourself in your own house. Because of your couch. This place is filled with hazards.”

“Oh shush,” you laugh now. “Well, nothing happened to me. I think I’m improving.”

“No injuries today so you might just be,” he winks.

“You’d still look out for me, though?” you turn to him.

“Always,” he smiles. 

You head outdoors after a bit of rest to go-kart. Just when you thought that most of you have drained all your energy from wall climbing, it turns out that driving can actually restore it, as all of you quickly choose your karts and start riding around the track. With the breeze pushing you and the fluffy clouds against the blue sky as your background, it’s actually very relaxing.

You go only a few laps. Hoseok, Seokjin, Jimin, and Taehyung race five rounds because someone is always complaining or cheating. Jungkook skids like he’s on Fast and the Furious, and Suhyeon and Hayoung are just happily going about in their lanes.

There’s that feeling of calmness when you all take your seats on the benches in the adjacent playground with your iced drinks in hand. You laugh at Namjoon constantly being stuck in the track because he was confused over which foot had to press what, and then Yoongi bumping him because he couldn’t stop earlier. You’re laughing about last night, too, and just everything that’s been happening on this trip.

As always, Jimin and Taehyung play with the horse rockers, then Jungkook joins them when they spin in the merry-go-round. Mo-eum goes with you when you scurry to the big slide. You run up the steps, squealing as you do, and then trip on one of them.

Mo-eum goes to your rescue and tries to hold in her laugh. But the thump and her constant chuckling gets your friends’ attention and as you look up, you see Jungkook incredulously looking at you.

“So… about me not having injuries today, I think you jinxed it,” you smile sweetly at him. 

In Jungkook fashion, he laughs, helps you up, then puts a band-aid over the scraped skin on your shin. 

He might not always be next to you, but he’ll be there whenever you need him. You think that perfectly describes these last few months of getting closer to him. You hope it’ll be like that from here on out.

Watching the sky turn dark from the property’s outdoor area is quite magical, as you’re learning now. You’d just woken up from a long nap after arriving home and you’re now on the hammock, with your hands behind your head, taking in how stunning the view is. You’re next to Mo-eum who’s doing the same, and the others have taken their spots in different areas, too.

Not long after, you put on a dress and head to a restaurant for an omakase dinner. It’s another one of those spoils from Seokjin and Hayoung and you pretty much thank them after praising the chef with every dish. 

The ingredients are so fresh and they’ve been prepared so delicately. Taehyung dramatically walks around in awe and Jungkook jumps on his seat all night with how much he’s enjoying the food. It’s hard not to laugh when watching everyone react, and that includes you. You’re just as expressive as everyone is, including Yoongi and Gyu-rim who often just say the simplest things when describing their appreciation for food.

Hoseok buys a fancy bottle of sake to take home where you all finish it, alongside the other drinks you bought on the way back. 

It’s a beautiful evening but you suppose that everyone’s just spent from everything you’d done today, as you all just take a seat around the fire pit and talk. The penalties will have to be be done tomorrow, you all agree.

You fall asleep on Hayoung’s shoulder in the midst of the tired laughter and end up lying on her lap. Your lower body spills over to Jimin’s lap as well, and he just chuckles and says that the princess is tired.

“Want me to help you get ready for bed?” Your cousin whispers in your ear.

You’re still a bit aware of your surroundings and could hear what she says, and you tell her it’s fine and that they should all stay while you take a nap. But you don’t know how long you’re asleep for until you feel yourself being pulled up.

“Let’s go, I’ll help you wash up,” Mo-eum says to you.

You let her guide you up until you’re lying in bed in your pajamas, ready to fall into deep sleep. 

Jungkook sits on the edge of the bed right next to yours. Taehyung is on the floor mattress this time after lying on it to have a feel and then falling asleep right away, so Jungkook gets to have a different view of you this time.

He chuckles as he watches your breathing deepen and then steady. You must really be tired after all those activities and the amazing dinner and he wouldn’t be surprised as he’s exhausted, too. 

But it felt nice spending the day like this, even if he wasn’t next to you all the time. He’d been too excited with the wall climbing but he always made sure to watch you whenever you did it. He was having so much fun during go-karting but he always looked for you on the track and smiled at you whenever he passed you by after you stopped driving. 

Even during dinner, you were sandwiched between Hayoung and Namjoon so Jungkook just glanced at you to see how you found the food because he was losing his mind. And then after you all got home, he just softly watched you slowly fall asleep. You looked so cozy though, like he just wanted to hug you until he fell asleep, too, just like now, as you finally turn towards your side facing him. 

You’re hugging a pillow and Jungkook laughs to himself at how much he wished that was him. It must feel nice, he thinks, to have you that close. Maybe you’d talk until someone knocks out mid-sentence like what happened in Sapporo. Maybe you’d laugh until you get tired. Maybe you could do more, just like the home he wants to cuddle in.

He shakes his head at the thoughts in his mind. He’s thinking too much and definitely too far ahead. He has that hope that you might feel the same way. After all, he’s seen you space out while looking at him, whether up close or from afar, and he knows that means your mind has travelled to so many places. He could only hope your thoughts were about him, perhaps about settling into your feelings, whatever those are. 

But he’s quite a patient man when it comes to things he really, really wants. He’s holding out hope that somehow, you’re thinking and figuring things out yourself, and as long as you are, he’ll just admire you and enjoy what he gets to share with you as much as he can.

The morning comes longer than you expected, and that tells you that you probably had a really good sleep. You remember seeing the blaze from the fire pit and dozing off, then briefly washing up before crashing out again. 

But the light is blaring through the blinds now and you let out a yawn. You stretch your arms and look around to find yourself alone in the room, and you check your phone to see what time it is and what everyone else is up to. It’s 9 AM and it seems that there’s takeaway breakfast downstairs. 

Just then, you hear Mo-eum calling for you as she climbs up the stairs.

“Hey, you’re up!” She chirps. “You didn’t wake up even with the guys’ early alarm, huh?”

“Nope, I was passed out. But I slept so well,” you mumble. “Where’d they go?”

“To the other side of the island. Tae and Kook wanted to ride their bikes then decided to buy breakfast for everyone so they called Jimin to pick up the food,” she laughs. “Let’s go eat!”

You nod and wash up before heading downstairs with her. People have gathered at the kitchen while some are already outside, enjoying the sun and the cool morning breeze. There’s an array of breakfast wraps and sandwiches and sweet and savory pastries that it’s hard to choose. But you pick up a few and look around to try your friends’ choices, knowing they’ll let you.

You get a bite from Mo-eum and Hayoung then Jimin, then you see Jungkook going back inside to get another serving. He chooses the bacon bun and you think he sees your eyes light up, because he’s walking towards you and offering you a bite. 

“Hmm, that’s good,” you smile satisfyingly. 

“It is, right?” he smiles. “Is the wrap okay?”

“Yup. It’s very filling.”

“Nice. I thought you’d like that,” he hums. “Did you see the iced black sesame drink I got you?” He asks as he grabs a cup from the bag. “I told them to tell you it’s here. I thought you’d like it. But there’s hot coffee and uh, my barely touched iced americano if you want.”

“This sounds like my kind of drink,” you smile at him now, taking what he got you.

It’s delicious and you tell him so. You walk out towards the lounge chair by the pool where he follows and you ask him about where they went to earlier.

“There’s this stretch of the ocean where you can see some dolphins and Tae wanted to check them out,” Jungkook says. “So we took our bikes there around 7 and just drove around the town. He was chatting with the locals and they told us what other areas to check out. Then we got some breakfast and called Jimin.”

“Oh, that sounded fun! Where did they say to go?”

“The lesser known parks that also have the cherry blossoms in full bloom, this hill with wildflowers, a pier that has a nice view of the ocean,” he shares. “They said where we watched the dolphins is a good spot to watch the sunrise and we should go back but I said we leave tomorrow so probably the next trip.”

“We leave in the afternoon though,” you remind him. “That actually sounds nice.”

“Do you… want to ride and catch the sunrise in the morning?” he asks, testing the waters. “We could still take the car but the bike is just a different experience. It’ll be cold but they swore by it and said the fishermen love that area because of how pretty it is.”

“You’ll make sure I’ll be safe right?” You nervously ask, as the thought of riding a motorcycle with him is both a thrilling and terrifying thought for completely different reasons. “I mean, you know how dramatic I am with a stubbed toe. Imagine me injured, so I’m sure you’ll make sure that won’t happen.” 

“Definitely not letting that happen,” he chuckles.

“Good! Wake me up, okay! And should, uh, should we invite the others?”

It’s a courtesy question, you think, even if you’re unsure you’re ready to be alone with him to do something that you think is quite intimate - not only in riding his bike with him but also watching something beautiful together. 

“Yeah, sure,” Jungkook hums. 

It won’t hurt, you convince yourself, even if you hope deep down that no one will take the offer.

[to: My Elders] Kook and I are riding his bike to this spot to watch the sunrise. Anyone want to join?

It’s barely 10 seconds in when Jimin replies. 

[from: jiminie pabo] nope. and i speak for everyone.

You know what he’s doing so you quickly turn to where he is by the hammock and try to glare at him but he only smiles and gives a not-so-subtle thumbs up sign. You could only hope he didn’t say anything to anyone about what you feel and that this potential alone time with Jungkook is something that you’d want to have.

[to: My Elders] K then. Just tell us if you change your mind.

You turn to Jungkook. “They said they don’t want to. Well, Jimin did but he probably asked them. Are you still good?”

“Of course,” he smiles. “I’ll wake you up early then and we could get back here and still have time for a nap before we head out.”

“Sounds good,” you smile, hoping that the constant smiling isn’t giving you away too much, given that you’ve been doing that to him all trip. “Can’t wait.”

You talk a bit more about the sights he saw until your food and drinks have finished. You’re heading back to the kitchen for water when Taehyung suggests swimming in the pool before going for a ride around some areas of the island, just like what the locals had said. 

Everyone agrees, except for Yoongi, and you all change into your swimsuits and take advantage of the nice weather. 

You think at this point that you’re already immune to Jungkook’s bare body. You’ve seen it so many times before this trip and even just these past days, even if you technically zoned out in admiration this time. 

As the universe would have it, you are actually not immune, especially when you head out to the pool and find him on his hands and knees, trying to balance himself on the watermelon floatie, with all his muscles working full-time to keep himself from falling into the water. 

Your stupid mind conjures up images that you definitely should not be thinking about, and you turn away in time before he catches you staring at him again.

Mo-eum walks over to you and you both walk towards the pool to have a dip. But of course, Jimin and Taehyung cannonball into the water and start playing like the children that they are. They play with the water guns, too, and with Jungkook and their recruit, Hoseok, they run around the house and try to shoot each other as if they aren’t already wet.

The rest of you adults just chill around, content enough with the cool water and the fact that the sun doesn’t seem too much yet. It’s when the boys return that Seokjin reminds everyone of the penalties from yesterday’s game and suggests playing more games until there’s only one person left to receive the punishment. There's a handstand race, which Hoseok loses, and then there’s the chicken fight, which is a three-way match between you, Gyu-rim, and Suhyeon. 

Jimin says that the men with the sturdiest shoulders should be the other half of the pairs, and with Suhyeon being paired with Namjoon and Gyu-rim calling dibs on Taehyung, that’s how you end up with Jungkook as your partner. 

You try your best to not look affected even if you’re freaking out inside. You ask Jungkook instead if he’s ready to win and save your ass from drinking Seokjin’s terrible concoction. 

He chuckles and says that he trained his whole life to always win at chicken fights and that he has amazing grip. While you should’ve taken that lightly, your mind goes somewhere again that you have to pinch your cheeks as a reminder to get away from that place and instead focus. 

He asks if you’re ready then assists you in getting on his shoulders and he’s right, his grip on your thighs is pretty good and you just know he’s gonna be holding you steady all throughout. You practice some moves and he advises you on what to do. 

“Will you hate me if I pull your hair,” you ask.

“Nope. I will if you fart, though.”

“I’ll try. Let’s hope I don’t get too excited,” you tease.

“Yah!” he exclaims, threatening to drop you in the water.

You hold onto his cheeks for support and you laugh and say he’s being dramatic. 

When Seokjin calls for the start of the match, you and Jungkook get your game faces on. He told you earlier to be aggressive so that’s what you do, and he expertly maneuvers his body so you can have the right angle for a good hit. You pull his hair only a little, but he doesn’t mind, especially when Suhyeon falls first, and then Gyu-rim follows right after. 

You celebrate your win with cheering and tender taps on Jungkook’s cheeks. He slowly drops you and you reflexively hug each other in joy. You feel the tingles at being so close to him, especially with your skin being in contact with his, and then your hands brushing against each other and lingering under the water. 

You sit next to each other on the pool ledge as you watch the two other women play rock-paper-scissors, with Gyu-rim losing and facing Hoseok for a palm push match while standing on a floatie.

It ends up being so intense. Hoseok has crazy core strength and can balance well but Gyu-rim is playing aggressively. It’s especially funny when Yoongi gets so into the match and keeps yelling out instructions for her to follow, even going as far as taunting Hoseok, causing him to laugh and eventually lose. 

Everyone explodes in laughter at the series of events. It has truly woken all of you up and you feel energized. You stay in the pool for a few more minutes before getting changed, ready for a drive around the island.

Mo-eum is on the wheel this time while you make yourself comfortable next to her. You all watch Jungkook and Taehyung enjoy themselves again on their bikes as they guide you and the other cars to a quieter part of town. 

You find a stunning waterfall and then go to the hill with wildflowers, which also has a nice view of the mountains. You buy some rice cakes from a store then get some iced drinks from a cafe before heading to a park to look at all the springtime flowers in full bloom. 

Much as you want to just stay next to Jungkook whenever you hang around a new place, you find yourself enjoying watching him just be. Whether he’s looking around and enjoying the view or being rowdy and playful with your friends, you’re captivated by what he does and how he is, which is totally new to you. 

“Even you weren’t that endeared with your exes,” Mo-eum points out when you’re back in the car to head to a beach. “I mean, I guess I get it. They weren’t exactly charming people, no offense.”

You look at her in question, wondering what made her say it.

“You were looking at Kook with sparkly eyes,” she shrugs. “Just thought you should know in case you didn’t know.”

“I—” you stutter, clearly unaware. 

“It’s fine, dude. It’s just us,” Jimin chuckles. “It’s how it is when you like someone, you know?”

“Was I not like this with my exes?” You ask them.

“Hmm, not really. You were ecstatic at the start, obviously,” Mo-eum says. “But I don’t recall you being this… soft. It might come with age, who knows? You’re probably exhausted from feeling so intensely all the time.”

You let her words settle as it turns quiet in the car, save for the blowing of the wind through the open windows. It must be tiring to experience such strong feelings all the time; you suppose that’s why you never really got to pay attention to them.

With Jungkook, you’ve been having these feelings for a few weeks now, and they’ve been ruminating, like you’re settling into them as you try to make sense of how this could happen. You suppose in your constant questioning or even disbelief, it’s allowed you to take things slow. With this trip and being around him as much as you are, you’re gradually getting used to feeling this way while not throwing yourself completely into it right away. You’re also getting used to you being like this.

You suppose that’s made you take notice of everything else about him. It’s also what’s making you look at him more softly, as if you’re getting to know him from afar.

Your thoughts are suspended for a while when you arrive at a quiet beach. It’s the perfect spot for a swim and you watch your friends put on their sunblocks and rush to the water. You’re surprised at how much energy all of you still have but it’s probably the most free you’ve all felt in a long time. 

You sit on the beach towel that’s been set on the ground. You’re watching them play around while putting on your sunscreen when you hear Jungkook call your name before sitting down next to you.

“Hey,” you say. “Why aren’t you there with them yet?”

“Tae and Jimin made me put on their sunscreens then ran to the water,” he pouts. “Do I still have some on my face?”

You look at him when he turns to face you. You spread the bit that’s on his nose and chin then tell him he’s all good. He puts on his arms and you have to turn away and act unaffected when he spreads the lotion on his chest and torso. He turns to you again with his bunny-like smile and asks if you could put on his back.

“Sure,” you smile. 

You do it as calmly as you can, forcing thoughts out of your mind because while this isn’t the first time you’ve done this, it’s the first time that you’re desiring him.

He asks if you’ll swim, too, and you instinctively nod so he offers to put some on your back. You nod again, not at all ready for his palms to press against your skin like this. 

Of all times to wear a two-piece suit, it really had to be now and you think that you could’ve stuck to what you wore this morning. You remove your cover up dress and turn around, hoping that he won’t feel the shiver on your skin once he touches you.

But you feel it, not because the lotion is cold but because his hand is rough and gentle at the same time. He’s quiet, too, so you don’t know what’s going on in his mind and you suddenly feel tense, especially when he moves down to your waist and you jerk in surprise. 

But he doesn’t say anything until he’s finished. You mumble your thanks and he faces the water once you start spreading the lotion on your arms and legs. 

Mo-eum yells for both of you to come so Jungkook stands up and offers his hand for you to take, which you do. Your fingers brush against each other again and you can’t help the small smile that forms on your face, until you find out that there are pebbles that line the shore which you have to cross to get to the water and you express your dismay.

“It’s just like acupuncture on your feet,” Jungkook explains.

“I don’t like them. They hurt,” you pout.

“Come on. It’s not that bad,” he says.

You still look unsure so he offers his hand again and you take it, letting him ease the pressure on your feet as you walk over. You make it, and you sigh in relief once you’re submerged in the cool water. 

Your friends join you and you all just soak in the feeling of being here and wave at the others who opted to stay on the shore. 

When you all collectively start getting dehydrated, you decide to head back. You groan when you reach the pebbled part of the shore again and Jungkook chuckles next to you.

“Do you want to ride on my back? Do you want me to throw you to the other side or build you a bridge?” He teases.

The piggyback ride is definitely tempting but you opt for something else.

“Hold my hand again?” You ask.

He softly smiles and offers his and you gladly take it. You almost don’t want to let go but you do, hoping for another chance to do it again. 

You all lay on the towels to dry up a bit before heading back on the road for a last drive to a pier before heading to a restaurant for some black pork belly for dinner. 

You sit next to Jungkook, given the realization that it’s your last night and tomorrow’s your last day. When you get back to Seoul, it’s back to the daily grind and your usual schedule. You want to see him again. In fact, you want to see him more. 

You could reason that you’re just doing what you’ve been doing these past months if you ask him to hang out or go with you to buy something or watch a movie in your apartment. Or you could just be honest with him and tell him how you feel, perhaps see if he feels the same way and figure out where you go from here. 

The thought makes you giggle and butterflies explode in your belly thinking that he might like you, too. You don’t want to assume. It could be that he’s always been this attentive or affectionate to you and you never really paid attention because maybe, he stayed the same and you’re the one that changed. 

It’s also possible that alongside you, he also changed. Or you may also just be reading too much into it and you’re completely off the mark and it may be the worst thing in the world but then maybe it isn’t. Not having him around you in any way is definitely much worse and that thought makes your heart skip a beat for all the wrong reasons. 

You don’t want to think of a life where he isn’t around, same as you can’t imagine the last 10 years without him. Would trying to have something more put all that in jeopardy? 

But you’ve always been a risk-taker. You’ve been rejected before but you got over it and you never regretted going for something you want for fear of what you’ll lose. 

Then again, Jungkook is different; he’s your friend. Losing him because he doesn’t feel the same way would be terrible for you.

But who’s to say you’ll lose him even if he doesn’t like you back? You’ll make sure you won’t and—

“Yah,” he nudges your knee. “Can your wandering mind get its ass back here? We’ve got dinner to eat. I’m cooking this pork perfectly so you better be present for it.”

You turn to him who’s teasingly laughing at you and you shake your head, knowing he’d seen your face probably express all the different thoughts and emotions you just experienced all in one minute. 

“Okay, better get going and cook it to perfection then,” you say smugly. 

Jungkook shows off when he’s challenged and that’s what he does. He gives a commentary of how he’s grilling the pork and even does tricks of opening the soju and beer bottles to the delight of everyone. But he’s right to boast because the meat does taste amazing. He’s rendered the fat well and it’s so juicy, everyone moans through dinner. 

You all stay in the restaurant a while to make sure everyone’s sobered up before heading back to the house where you watch an outdoor movie - a sci-fi horror film that Mo-eum insisted on because she thinks she’ll be less scared with more people around. 

She wasn’t right about that and you fared much better with Jungkook next to you, mostly because you were actually nervous to do something silly, like snuggle with him or hold his hand. You screamed only in one part and managed to cover your mouth in time. He teasingly laughed at you though and said he wasn’t going anywhere even if you screamed again.

There’s dancing and singing right after to get over what you just watched. There’s also definitely more alcohol. But you hold off a little, knowing you have that sunrise ride in the morning with Jungkook, which you’re really doing alone with him because everybody else passed up on it. 

You see him drink less, too, and you look at each other after rejecting Namjoon’s drink offers and know you’re thinking the same. 

The night still ends right before midnight though, and once you’re settled on your side of the bed and Jungkook is tucked under the covers on his, he asks you again about tomorrow.

“You sure you’re ready to wake up and brave the cold?”

“Yes. You’ll make sure I will,” you laugh.

“Okay then. See you in the morning.”

Waking you up before 5 AM isn’t as bad as Jungkook expected. You open your eyes after the fifth tap and raise your arms for him to pull so you could get off the bed. You trip on the floor mattress but thankfully don’t wake Taehyung up nor stub your toe so that’s a success in Jungkook’s books. 

You insist on washing up downstairs so you don’t wake your friends up and he has to guide you down the steps because you’re still half asleep. You do your business then wait for him to do his.

You jerk in surprise when he exits the bathroom in just his joggers, and you grumbly ask him why he’s always naked. When he laughs at your question, you ask him why he’s laughing, and he just waves this off as you, speaking your mind like always. 

You ask for his jacket though, since the thickest one you have is still wet and he’s got one he could lend you so he wears the thinner one so you’d feel warmer.

There are a dozen things that could’ve gone wrong with just getting you out of the door but they didn’t happen so yes, this isn't as bad as Jungkook had imagined. 

You make your way to his motorcycle and he faces you to put on your helmet.

“Don’t be scared, okay? Tell me if you are then I’ll slow down,” he instructs. “But just hold tight. You know I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“Okay,” you smile softly. 

He gets on the bike and you follow his instructions for getting behind him. You wear the backpack with the hot drinks inside then you wrap your arms around his waist as security. 

You quickly settle in and loosen your hold around him just a little. It’s still dark everywhere so there’s not much to see so you just focus on how he feels in front of you, liking the warmth he emits and the stability he provides as he carefully drives around. 

It’s not a long drive but you suppose that’s fine. You get to the viewing spot and quickly see the start of the sun’s ascent.

“Not bad, right?” He gestures to his bike. “It rides pretty smooth and it’s not too loud.”

“It was fine,” you assure him. “I didn’t feel like I was gonna fall off or anything.”

He smiles in response and helps you sit on the ledge of a wall that gives a good view of the ocean. With cups of hot tea in hand, you sit in silence as the sky starts to lighten, as if you’re witnessing the changing of the guards and it’s now the sun’s turn to watch over earth. 

It’s breathtaking and you think of all the times you’d taken the sunrise for granted. It’s slow but it’s constant. It may look different, depending on where you’re watching it from, but it still happens everyday and you either go through your day without thinking about it or you stop and look at the sun and think that it did its best in showing up today. 

That’s how it is with things you’ve gotten used to sometimes - you stop paying attention, and perhaps that’s when you miss out on important things. 

You recall the sunrise during your hike a few months ago when Jungkook stayed back to make sure you made it to the top. You don’t even know where he was when you all sat down by the rocks to watch and perhaps that says a lot with how you looked at him then. Because you’re here alone with him now, and you already know this moment will last with you for a long time. 

Maybe your friendship is like the sunrise. It will always be there, but you could watch it on top of a mountain or by the ocean or along Hangang River and the view changes. You know you changed, and now that you’ve paid attention, you want to know if this friendship could change into something more, too.

“Now that’s satisfying,” Jungkook hums as the sun settles above the water now.

“Thanks for telling me about this place and bringing me here, Kook,” you turn to face him. “It’s uh, it’s something I’ll always remember.”

“Yeah. Me, too,” he responds. 

You don’t know if it’s the sincerity in his eyes or it’s just you being caught up in the moment, but you glance at his lips and think for a millisecond that crashing yours against his is a good idea. 

His phone alarm ringing fortunately knocks some sense into you and you turn away in time for you to not do anything abrupt and maybe unwelcome. He remarks that he forgot to set it off for this time and you nod, internally thankful that he did. 

It’s at that moment when you hear sounds from the water and see that dolphins have come to swim on this part of the ocean. You’re so surprised and excited that you reflexively hold his hand but he doesn’t seem put off and he lets it stay there.

You don’t mind at this point. All you know is that it feels right and you want to feel it again. 

The moment ends and you look at each other in awe at being able to experience something so wholesome and beautiful together. You suppose it’s too much for words, as you get back on the bike and ride around town with not many words. 

It’s a longer trip this time, as he says that he’ll take the other route so there’s more of the town to see, and you don’t mind at all. You’d like to hold him like this as long as possible.

You make it back to the house and take a nap until everyone else wakes up. You pack your bags and load them in the trunk before you head out for some stir fried pork lunch. Jungkook and Taehyung follow after returning their bikes and you watch Jungkook from afar, beefing with Jimin about the sausage and then finishing more portions than he said he’d have.

You drive to the airport and don’t wait long before you board the plane. You sit next to Jungkook again and you lean on each other just like the flight coming here. But you suppose something’s really changed now, as you comfortably snuggle closer and think that you want to keep doing this, maybe hold hands, too. Perhaps share a kiss?

It’s all too much and probably too soon but you’ll care about all that later on. You want to bask in the possibilities first; the thoughts of consequences will come soon after you separate from him. 

And it does, after you hang out at Jungkook’s place with Taehyung, Jimin, and Mo-eum and then he drops you off at yours. 

“So, Tae invited himself and you guys to my apartment on Saturday,” you say when you open your door and he rolls your luggage inside your home. “You’ll be there, right?”

“Of course,” he smiles.

“I’ll return your hoodie all fresh and washed then!”

“No problem. You take care, yeah? Hopefully the trip gave you a bit of energy for the week.”

“It did. It gave me a lot actually. You, too,” you smile back.

“Same,” he nods. “I’ll head out and see you, yeah?”

“Good night, Kook!” You yell out.

“Good night!”

You lie on your couch once you close the door and take in his scent on his hoodie that you don’t want to remove just yet. You already can’t wait to see him again. You also know you’re gonna have to find a way to deal with all this and you’ll have to do it without losing him in the process.

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[sharieb]

Held in the Hollowed Fragments 3: The Ones Who Fade pt 1

Genre: Angst (not proofread)

Pairing: LADs x MC (Still a non-Mc fanfic, but this chapter is in MC's pov for the plot)

Word count: +2k

Writer's notes: Hey everyone! Welcome to this chapter of this series. This chapter will be divided into 2 parts and will focus on getting a glimpse of the guys' behaviour through MC's pov. I tried to keep the boys as original as possible but also display the turmoil that simmers within them through their day, so I hope you all enjoy.

First Previous Next

The rain had followed her all morning, clinging to her coat like sorrow. It tapped quietly on the windows of the Hunters Association building, whispering like an omen. MC stepped inside, brushing droplets from her shoulders. The Hunters Association was quieter than usual. The usual hum of chatter and footsteps was muted, shadows hanging heavier in the corners.

Lately, something’s been off with one of the boys, from what others have been telling her. Everyone says he has not been himself lately. And it’s been days. No matter how much others try to reach out, it feels like they are chasing shadows and hitting dead ends. She needs to visit him, needs to see him face-to-face. She won't give up until she somehow pulls him back from whatever’s holding him down. She owes him that much.

As MC sat at her usual post behind her desk in front of the computer screen, her eyes flickering from data to him, Xavier. He’s hunched over his desk, pale light painting shadows beneath, his fingers hovered over the keyboard, still as his eyes, repeatedly scanning the same line on his report like it holds some secret he can’t quite grasp. His usual quiet sweetness is masked by a distant, colder edge, and his restless eyelids betray how little sleep he’s gotten—probably from those damned nightmares again.

She approaches Xavier, who didn't look up, as MC tries to keep her tone light but gentle. “Xavier, you’ve been stuck on that page for twenty minutes. Maybe it’s time to step away for a bit?”

He doesn’t look up, voice low and clipped. “Can’t. There’s too much to do. Need to refine the data.”

“You’re staring at a blank field.”

That made him stop. Not because she was wrong, but because she noticed. He closed his eyes, dragging a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

“I’ll get it done. Just… give me a minute.”

She frowns, sensing the strain beneath her partner's words. “You don’t have to carry it all alone. I’m here, you know.”

He finally meets her eyes, exhaustion flickering through his usual calm. “I’m fine. Just... tired.”

MC wanted to say more. Offer warmth and comfort. But the words felt like stones in her mouth, heavy and misplaced. So she nodded and sat beside him, letting the silence do what words couldn’t. Soon, Captain Jenna came over to where they both sat and handed them their mission for today before sending them off.

While out on the field, the duo found themselves in the middle of a fight with wanderers. As MC fought, she noticed a change in how Xavier moved—usually his movements were so sharp and precise—but today his steps were heavier, his reactions just a bit slower. It’s like the weight of those sleepless nights and haunting dreams is dragging him down. Even during the fierce battle, the distance in his eyes is hard to miss. Once the fight was over and they started to head back, MC softly nudged Xavier's arm. "Hey… you sure you're okay? You’ve been zoning out all day. Thought maybe we could grab hot pot or something. Your treat, of course."

Xavier paused for a moment and looked over to MC. He gave her a tired smile, even though his gaze still appeared distant, with the smile not reaching his eyes.

"Heh… tempting." His voice lowers, eyes now shifted back to the ground. "But… not tonight. I’m—" Xavier exhales, running a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping "—just really tired. Think I’m just gonna head back home and get some more sleep." MC frowned and try to get a read off of Xavier as she knew how much Xavier loved a good hotpot after a long mission.

"Xavier, this isn't like you. You've been off for days. Talk to me, please."

Xavier looked at MC for a moment, contemplating if he should talk to her about what was going on in his head, in his dreams, but the tiredness and then unusual night of insomnia he suffered with for the past couple of days got the best of him in the end.

"It's nothing, MC. Just tired. That's all." His voice was almost a whisper, nearly audible as he walked past her, down the sidewalk.

"Just really tired."

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

MC decided to visit Rafayel at Mo Art Studio. As she entered, the scent of turpentine and old canvas clung to the walls.

His space used to be full of life — beautiful colours, wet brushes in jars, half-finished portraits leaning against every surface. Now, it looked more like a graveyard of ideas. The floor was scattered with torn sketches, overturned paint bottles, crumpled rags, and a drying canvas smeared with abandoned strokes.

MC stepped in carefully. “You’ve redecorated,” she joked gently.

He was sitting on the floor, legs sprawled, a paintbrush twirling in his fingers like a cigarette. His shirt was stained and hanging loose off one shoulder, hair a bit of a mess, but somehow still intentional. That flair never left him — even now.

“I call it: ‘Melancholy in Eight Shades of Beige,’” he muttered. “It’s performance art. Very exclusive.”

She knelt beside him. “Want to tell me what happened?”

He sighed, dramatically, dragging his hands down his face. “My muse has left me. Again. And this time, I don’t think it's coming back. I’ve stared at that canvas for hours, and all I managed was a panic attack and three broken brushes.”

“Four,” she corrected, pointing to the one snapped behind him.

He huffed, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Ugh, tragic. I’m a disaster.”

“No,” she said softly, “you’re just stuck. It happens.”

He looked at her then, eyes tired but still burning with something deep. “Yeah… just stuck, I guess. Nothing’s coming out right.”

MC offers a small smile, “Maybe a break? Or a walk on the beach? Sometimes stepping back helps.” He shrugs but doesn’t argue, eyes still distant. The air feels heavy, like the frustration is settling deep in him. MC notices Rafael’s usual flair is dimmed, his voice lacking its usual sass as he mutters,

“I’m fine… just a bit stuck, nothing more.”

That quieter tone sets off alarm bells for her. She leans in, voice gentle but probing,

“Raf, this isn’t like you. What’s really going on?” But he just shrugs, eyes flickering away, shutting her out with that distant, closed-off look she’s never quite seen before.

“You’re always popping up whenever I’m trying to work, huh?” His voice had that usual edge, but today it lacked its usual bite — more tired than annoyed.

MC raised an eyebrow, watching him carefully. “You don’t sound like yourself. What’s going on?”

He gave a short, almost bitter laugh. “Maybe I’m just out of ideas. Or maybe the ideas have outpaced me. Either way, it’s... draining.” His usual sassy grin was gone, replaced by a distant look that didn’t reach his eyes.

MC stepped closer, softer now. “You don’t have to face it alone.”

Raphael’s eyes flickered, a moment of vulnerability breaking through. “It’s not about facing it. It’s about not knowing how to keep up.”

He turned back to the canvas, but the paintbrush trembled slightly in his hand, betraying his tired mind. Rafayel soon placed the paintbrush down with a sigh and a tired smirk, shaking his head. “Thomas has been on my case nonstop about the next exhibit. He keeps pushing for new work, new ideas. Honestly, I’m running on empty.”

He glanced at MC, voice softer but firm. “I appreciate you dropping by, but maybe give me some space to breathe. I need to focus before I lose it completely.” Soon, MC reluctantly granted his wishes as she steps back quietly, sensing the weariness beneath his sass, and lets him be, giving space without pushing too hard. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was the weekend when MC visited the Akso Hospital to see Zayne during his break. Even though the hospital tends to be hectic on some days, Today in particular, the place was really busy and tense due to the large flow of patients coming in and even that didn't stop some of the nurses and doctors, who knew her from giving her uneasy glances.

“Dr. Zayne's… tense today,” Yvonne whispered. “Snapped at three interns already. Might not be the best time, MC. Just a heads up.”

MC thanked Yvonne and went in anyway and made her way down the sterile halls of the facility to Zayne's office. Under the dim glow of Zayne's office, he sat slumped in a cracked vinyl chair, eyes closed but mind racing. The endless beeping of monitors and distant echoes of hurried footsteps seeped through the walls, relentless as the weight settling deep in his chest.

When she entered, he didn’t turn to see who came in. “If you're here to check on me for the fifth time, Greyson, don’t. Not now.”

Just as he spoke, the air thickened, a sharp cold creeping through the room like a frozen breath. MC notices but says nothing at first, just watches him with concern.

“I’m not. Just passing through.”

His eyes flash icy for a moment before they soften a bit at the sight of MC. He sighs, visibly forcing the chill back into control, rubbing his temples like he’s fighting to stay steady.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there… It’s just been a rough few shifts, and I wasn’t thinking straight.”

"I can tell. You're more snappy than usual, Dr. Zayne."

MC replies as she steps quietly into the office and sits in the chair in front of Zayne's desk, a delicate box of macarons clutched in her hands. MC recalls Dr.Greyson's words, while making her way to Zayne's office, on how relentless Zayne's shifts had been—back-to-back, no room for rest. This was his first real break in what felt like forever.

And yet, he sat hunched over a tablet, eyes bloodshot but fixed on the screen, fingers scrolling through endless reports and surgical notes even now. The room felt colder than usual, the hum of the fluorescent lights pressing down on them both. "I brought your favourite,” she said, holding up a paper bag, holding a box of macaroons from the café they both loved. “Still warm.”

Usually, the moment he saw the macaroons, he’d pause to grab one—his small, sweet refuge amid chaos. But today, he barely glanced at the box.

“No thanks,” he muttered, not looking up.

MC hid her surprise at Zayne's unexpected rejection of having sweets for once. MC hesitated, not knowing what to do now as she set the box down beside him.

“You don’t have to push so hard,” she said softly. “Even the greatest fighters need a break.”

He let out a breath like a knife scraping over glass. “Not yet,” he said, voice tight. “There’s no time.”

MC didn’t respond right away. Instead, she sat quietly beside him, the macaroons untouched between them. Her phone buzzed softly with incoming messages—little updates from the others, Yvonne, Greyson, even Dr. Noah, checking in or dropping quiet remarks about Zayne. Every mention of his name came with the same strained tone. Not judgment. Not envy. Just… concern. As if they, too, had noticed the subtle shift in him. The growing coldness. The apparent distance.

She looked at him again—really looked—and spoke gently. “You don't have to be here all alone, struggling, Zayne."

That finally made him pause. His fingers stopped moving. Slowly, he turned to meet her eyes. Tired. Sharp. Haunted. Eyes that looked past scalpels and blood, that had seen death and refused to blink. He kept hearing those words for the past few days from everyone was if they were broken records to the point it was getting on his last nerve.

“Don’t make this harder than it is,” he snapped. It came quick and edged, like a reflex he couldn’t control, more defence than malice.

MC blinked at the sudden sting, but steadied herself, holding his gaze. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Help,” he echoed, and this time the word dripped with quiet bitterness. “That’s a luxury I can’t afford.”

The silence that followed settled between them like frost—unmelting, undeniable.

Still, she didn’t leave. Her presence, quiet and unmoving, was the only warmth in the frozen room.

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I'm stopping this part of the chapter here for now and starting the second part of the section very soon. As you all already know, this is just an ooc version of the LIs based on the previous chapters, so their personality and reaction to situations like these won't be entirely accurate to how they might have reacted. Besides that, thank you all once again for reading, and shout-outs to everyone who likes, reblogs, and comments on my content. I deeply appreciated your support, even if it seems small to you all.

taglist: @plzdonutpercieveme

[stevie-petey]

episode three: the monster and the superhero

“Breaking and entering into the school to retrieve confidential and extremely personal files.” You wince. It’s as bad as it sounds. Tapping Dustin’s shoulder, you break him away from the walkie. “Wait, we won’t need my files, right?” Steve eyes you up and down, shrugging indifferently. “Well–” Hitting his chest, he sputters at you. “Why do you keep doing that?” “You’re not reading my files, Harrington.”

Summary: you and steve can never have a normal conversation, dustin threatens nasa, eddie sadly eats his cereal because youre mean to him, youre once again nancys biggest fan, dustin and steve have an awkward heart to heart, and you and max become felons together and trauma bond (again) !

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n, mentions of blood, trauma lol

Words: 13.5k

Before you swing in: hi hi hi !! so so so sorry for the wait. this chapter was a pain to write and i was so busy with school and work :( promise updates will become more regular soon. i was just simply in the trenches for a hot few weeks. things in the story are heatin up, so get ready gamers. anyways, enjoy !!

–

It’s quiet in Steve’s car. 

Streetlights glow faintly, lighting the way home. The windows are down; the thick late spring air fills the car with the bittersweet scent of honeysuckles in bloom. In the dim of the car lies Steve’s faint outline as he drives. His hands rest against the steering wheel, his chest rises slowly as he inhales all the fear that settles inside the car. 

No one speaks. The tension is suffocating you. 

In the backseat resides Robin with Dustin and Max. The oldest sits in the middle, her fingers drum nervously against the head of your seat. Dustin stares out the window, he hasn’t looked at you ever since promising Eddie you’d be back for him tomorrow. He hadn’t wanted to leave him, he begged you to let him stay in the boathouse, but you wouldn’t let him. 

Max stares out the other window. Her eyes are closed, she’s pretending to be asleep. You’ve come to learn what she looks like when she pretends. Her nose pinches slightly, her eyes can never stay still enough to convince you she’s asleep. It’s what she does whenever she doesn’t want to face your questions, your concerns and your fears. 

Tension builds in the back of your skull, a dull throb rings within your ears. Exhaustion washes over you, fear pierces her nails into your skin. You can’t get Eddie’s terrified eyes out of your head. The way his voice trembled, the sticky blood on his fingernails from the skin he picked at. 

If they’re back again, we need to know.

Vecna’s curse.

The static Eddie felt, Chrissy’s trance-like state. Her bones, the morbid angles they snapped. Barbara Holland, daughter and best friend. Bob Newby, superhero. Billy Hargrove, dearly missed son. Jim Hopper, renown chief and beloved father. 

You’re the best of them, kid.

If the gate really has opened once again… Thick molasses grief coats your tongue and fills your mouth with remorse. There has been so much loss, so many funerals you’ve had to attend. Too many bodies buried without answers, without closure. 

Over and over again. 

“We’re here, Robin.” The gravel of Steve’s voice cuts through the endless dread. He parks the car in front of her driveway, the lights are off inside and you know that Robin is afraid of the dark.

“Need me to walk you in?” You ask her, quiet, but unyielding with all the love you have for her. 

She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I’m brave, aren't I always brave?”

“The bravest,” Steve smiles at her, soft and unbroken. “Get some sleep, yeah?”

“I’ll… I’ll try.” Her facade slips, the fear that grips everyone tightens its hold. How could anyone sleep at a time like this? She shakes her head again, her smile returns, albeit forced, tired. Then she messily crawls over Dustin to exit the car, ignoring his cries of annoyance and pain when her elbow catches his ribs. “Sorry, little Henderson!”

“I don’t even let Steve call me that–”

“Too late, I’ve already decided to call you little Henderson,” Robin climbs out the car, lands with a soft thud on the pavement. She shuts the door with a glint in her eyes before poking her head through your passenger window. “Hey, uh. Y/N?” Her voice drops low, her eyes skirt to Steve, whose cool gaze meets her weary one. Robin clears her throat, you nod your head at her with slight concern. You know that she knows about your argument with Steve. He adores her, what he doesn’t confide in you, he confides in her. Knowing that Robin means well, you soften your voice. “Yeah?”

Robin hesitates, caught between her two favorite people in the entire world. Steve sees her hesitancy and sighs, turning away to provide some semblance of privacy. Relieved, Robin ducks her head down and whispers into your ear, “Talk to him.”

She’s gone before you can exhale. 

Steve starts the car again after Robin has safely made it inside her home. Max and Dustin are quiet in the backseat. As Steve drives, his fingers absentmindedly play with the frayed edges of his leather bracelet. It had been a gift from you, the word constants etched into the material. 

Constants. You were Steve’s constant, he was yours. Through everything you’ve been through together, all the heartbreak suffered in order to fall into one another, he’s the constant within your life. 

Now you’re afraid that you’re losing him. 

There’s still so much Steve doesn’t know. There are stories about your father that you still need to tell him about. Words Jonathan told you last night, the dangerous what if he brought into your life. You’re terrified of how Steve will react, he’s always been so trusting of you and Jonathan even after knowing the history you share. 

And yet Steve also doesn’t know that the future you see involves him, that he’s in it with as much certainty as the sky is blue; you just don’t know how to tell him this, how to articulate the abandonment that sits heavy within your chest that prohibits you from getting what you want in the end.

You have to talk to him. Steve deserves to know everything, all he’s ever asked of you is to be honest with him. 

The broken lamppost in front of Max’s trailer greets you. Steve slows the car, puts it into park. His eyes find hers in the rearview mirror. “This is you, Mayfield.”

“Thanks,” Max responds quietly. She goes to open the car door, but you turn in your seat and stop her. 

“Hey, look at me.” Your tone leaves no room for arguments. She listens, her blue eyes meeting your gaze. For a moment you see Billy’s eyes reflecting within hers. It’s only for a brief second, it ends before you can even realize what’s happened. Startled, you momentarily choke on your words. “I–”

Max raises an eyebrow at you. You’ve been acting strange all night, she doesn’t understand why. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Her words couldn’t be more ironic, more painful to hear. “I-I’m sorry.” Billy is dead, he’s gone. You shake your head, try to get his eyes out of your head. “Just… promise me you’ll call if anything happens, please?”

You know that Max isn’t in any danger, she’s safe at home with her mother, but across the street resides yellow caution tape and boarded up windows. Eddie’s trailer is across from Max’s, the proximity makes you uncomfortable. It’s an eerie feeling, Chrissy died here last night. 

Max seems to understand your concern, and she allows herself to nod. She doesn’t want to fight you, not tonight. “I will, promise.”

Squeezing her hand, you leave Max with a soft reminder to get some sleep. She smiles, a hidden joke between the two of you. Both of you know that there will be no sleeping tonight. 

Once she’s gone, it’s just you, Steve, and Dustin remaining in the car. Tension creeps slowly upon the three of you. Dustin’s never ending annoyance towards you clashes with all the unspoken words left floating between you and Steve. 

Dustin coughs awkwardly. Steve’s fingers tap anxiously on the steering wheel. You keep your head down, your fingers pick at the skin between your nails. The ten minute drive from Max’s house to yours is unbearably long. Stuck at one of Hawkins’ only stop lights, Dustin can’t take the silence any longer.

“Well, this is awkward.” He says to no one in particular. “Lots of tension tonight, huh?”

Neither you nor Steve laugh, and Dustin rests his head against the seat in defeat. He understands why you and him aren’t talking, he’s still angry with you for holding a knife to Eddie’s neck. What he doesn’t understand, however, is why there seems to be so much distance between you and Steve tonight.

Normally you’d be all over one another by now. The two of you can never keep your hands off of each other. As much as Dustin hates it, he’s grown used to the way your hands are always intertwined with Steve’s. Whenever he’s in the car with you guys, your hand always rests against Steve’s arm as he drives. At red lights Steve will always turn to you, pulled in by your smile. 

Except tonight Dustin doesn’t think he’s seen Steve look at you once during the drive home. Your hand rests softly at your side, balled into a small fist. There’s a coldness between the two of you, one Dustin is ashamed to admit that he hadn’t noticed before. 

Then he remembers last night. He’d been too lost in his anger towards you to recognize the tears in your voice. He hadn’t even stopped to consider that you wanted a code blue for any other reason besides lecturing him. His stomach twists with guilt at his own selfish actions. 

Something happened between you and Steve, and you had needed your brother last night. But he had abandoned you, denied the code blue you’d needed so desperately. 

When Steve’s car pulls into your driveway, Dustin runs out as soon as the vehicle stops. He’s frantic to escape his guilt, to escape the chasm that surrounds you and Steve. Slamming the door, he shouts, “Talk to each other!” Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “Good luck, Steve!”

The slam of the door echoes into the night. 

It’s just you and Steve, now. 

The air stills between you, reminiscent of the night you drove him home from the Halloween party. A year has passed since then, it’s been so long since Steve’s presence made you feel anything other than peace. The strings that have always followed you constrict against your throat. 

“We need to talk,” Steve says, but at the same time you say, “We need to talk about Jonathan.”

The words come tumbling out of your mouth, slipping through the grooves of your teeth before you can stop them. They’d been building within you all day, fizzling to the surface. And now they spill out into the silence of Steve’s car. 

His head turns to you, the street lights illuminate the shock and confusion on his handsome face. It pinches with bewilderment, he doesn’t understand. He had been ready to apologize to you, despite still not being able to comprehend how you don’t see a future with him. Steve doesn’t want to fight with you anymore, he was ready to just forgive and forget and hold your hand without the weight of guilt behind it.

Steve had been ready to salvage your relationship, and now you want to talk about Jonathan?

“Jonathan?” Shamefully, his voice cracks. He feels like a helpless little kid again, his stomach twists with the foreboding nausea that something bad is about to happen. “Why… why do you want to talk about him?”

The raw frailty on Steve’s face almost kills you. He’s drawing into himself again, preparing for the final blow that will decimate him and everything he knows.

You take a deep breath. This won’t be easy, nothing you’ve ever had to do has been easy. But Steve deserves to know. To hide something from him feels foreign, to lie to him feels like a betrayal. 

“Jonathan, he–” Your voice shakes almost as violently as your hands do. Steve is looking at you but you can’t bear to face him just yet. “He called me last night, after our… after our fight.”

“What did he say, Y/N?” Steve knows, even before you tell him, where this is going. The light in your eyes whenever you talk about Jonathan is gone. His name doesn’t grace your face with a smile. Instead, the grimace of guilt replaces it. Steve’s stomach twists into tighter knots. It’s happening again.

Inhaling, you close your eyes and try to commit to memory the before. How Steve looked at you with such adoration before tonight. How his soft hands, laced with trust, felt against your skin before tonight. His open gaze, one filled with vulnerability, stared into you before tonight. 

Opening your eyes, you exhale. Nothing will ever be the same again. “Jonathan asked me if I ever wondered if… if we made a mistake. Him and I.”

“A mistake?” Steve’s jaw tightens. 

“I think-I think he was asking me if I ever… thought about what could’ve happened between us. If somehow,” you swallow, the words cement in your mouth. “If-if somehow we made a mistake, choosing you and Nancy.”

Steve is quiet. The muscles in his body pull tightly together. He fills with venom, anger and jealousy and hurt; so much hurt. “And you think he’s right.”

It isn’t phrased as a question. 

Immediately your body turns to his. “No! God, no,” your hands search for any expanse of his skin you can find. Steve doesn’t lean into you, he doesn’t react to your touch. Panic overwhelms you, suddenly all you can do is talk and plead and beg. “Steve, I don’t think Jonathan even knew what he was saying, okay? H-he was high, and he’s been so lonely and-and he kept saying things were easy between me and him but-but that’s not how love is supposed to work and I know he’s just scared. He’s scared and he’s never been so alone before and I think-he’s just lost, okay? He’s lost and–” 

“Why are you telling me this, Y/N?” The hardness in Steve’s voice cuts into you, stings your skin. He isn’t screaming, not like he did last night, but you almost wish he were. The way his voice is leveled, cold and hard, scares you even more. 

“Would you rather I didn’t?” You’re helpless against his anger, you know he has every right to be, but you don’t know how to fix this.

Steve laughs bitterly. “I’d rather you not make shitty excuses for the asshole.”

“I’m not making excuses for him, I just wanted you to understand–”

“You are!” His voice raises slightly, almost imperceptibly so, but you hear it anyways. Steve’s chest rises and falls quickly. His hands fly wildly everywhere, he doesn’t know what to do, either. Then, almost as quickly as the anger surfaced, insecurity replaces it. “Is… Jonathan why you don’t see a future with me?”

Your fingers tighten around his wrist, almost as if you’re afraid he’ll slip between your fingers any second now. “I do see a future with you–”

“Pretty fucking hard to believe when you’re wearing the goddamn necklace he got you.” The words drip with acid. They’re hissed out with a jaw clenched so tightly you’re afraid he’ll somehow hurt himself.

The words startle you, catch you off guard. Your hand slips from Steve’s wrist. He’s never once insinuated any jealousy regarding you and Jonathan. He’s always been so trusting of you two together, he’s always been kind towards him. He always knew that he could never touch what you guys have, and yet his gaze now flickers cruelly to the bee pendant that rests against your neck. 

What Steve has said hurts you, deeper than he ever intended to. He knows how you love, how deeply you care for others. It’s who you are. Regardless of the hurt he may be feeling right now, it doesn’t give him the right to throw this crucial part of you back in your face. 

“I’m made of pieces of everyone I’ve ever loved, Steve. You know this.” The bee pendant rests against your skin as heavily as the charm bracelet does. 

And Steve does know that you’re made of pieces of everyone in your life. It’s what he loves the most about you. His eyes follow where your fingers reside, skimming the silver chain that encases your wrist. He hadn’t meant to say what he did, the words had slipped out before he could stop them. 

“Y/N…” Your name is spoken as an apology, it’s all Steve can manage in his shame. 

But the moment is ruined, you’re exhausted and all you want to do is go home. 

You shake your head at Steve, try to hide the tears in your eyes. He sees them anyways. “Can I leave, please?”

The way you ask so delicately to escape breaks Steve. Something in his chest shatters, his mouth fills with the taste of a broken promise. You don’t need his permission, he hates that you feel that you do. 

“Yeah,” his voice is softer than it’s been all night, but it’s too late. He knows this. Swallowing, all Steve can do is be gentle with you. “Yeah, of course you can leave, angel.”

Angel.

You nod at him; if you try to speak you’re afraid you’ll break before him. 

No other words are spoken between you. Steve watches as you leave. 

– 

The next morning you sit hunched over a mug of coffee, more exhausted than ever before. You haven’t slept properly in days now. Dustin finds you with dark circles under your eyes and a pathetic bowl of cereal before you. From the dazed look in your eyes, he knows you haven’t noticed his arrival, and he awkwardly clears his throat to get your attention.

“So, uh.” He scratches the back of his neck, your eyes are slow to look up at him. Pointing to your coffee, Dustin raises his eyebrows. “Rough night, I take it?”

You nod, too tired to say anything else. The cereal goes uneaten. Dustin doesn’t think your coffee is even warm anymore, he hadn’t heard you wake up this morning. He’s worried that you never even went to bed last night. You’re pale, sickly so, and Dustin hates that he hadn’t noticed the signs sooner. 

“Hey,” he pulls a chair beside you, sits down with a playful shove to your shoulder. He’s your brother, it’s his job to take care of you just as much as it’s yours to take care of him. It’s how the two of you have always been. 

For Dustin’s entire life you’ve looked after him, kissing his scraped knees and warding off monsters hidden underneath his bed. When your father left, the depression your mother fell into afterwards left Dustin clinging onto you. You were all he had left. 

Dustin leans against you, he used to do this when he was a little kid and could still fit between your arms. Resting his head against yours, shoulders pressed together, the angle is awkward and uncomfortable, but it’s safe. “Is it too late to have that code blue?”

It’s a peace offering, an extension of an apology, and you can’t help but smile at your brother. Hand finding his mess of curls, you ruffle his hair and laugh softly. “Yeah, guess we can have a code blue now.”

“Good, you know I always love to shit talk Steve.” Dustin says with humor. You both know he admires the boy.

“Language,” you remind him as you always do. Dustin knocks his head against yours in response and the two of you break into laughter; laughing with your brother again feels good.

In between sips of cold coffee and bites of soggy cereal, you tell Dustin about Steve. You explain the original argument a few nights ago, how he didn’t understand why you wouldn’t want him to follow you to New York. 

“It’s what mom did with dad,” Dustin says, looking down at the table. 

You nod at him, you knew he’d understand better than anyone. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Does he know what happened with dad?”

“No, and I know I should explain what he did, but there’s–” You cut yourself off. Dustin would kill Jonathan with his bare hands if he found out about the phone call. Even though it technically goes against the rules of a code blue, you can’t tell Dustin about Jonathan. Not yet, at least. Clearing your throat, you continue. “There’s… other things that have prevented me from explaining dad to Steve.”

Dustin narrows his eyes. “Other things?”

“Other things,” you look pointedly at him, standing your ground about not elaborating. He denied your original code blue. You’re allowed to lie this one time. “And now Steve thinks that I don’t see a future with him.”

“Well then he’s an idiot.” Your brother scoffs. Anyone with eyes can see how much you fawn over Steve. Dustin has watched you fall for him for years now. “You’re practically ready to marry the guy.”

Taking a bite of cereal, you grimace slightly. “Okay, marriage is a little much–”

“Tell that to mom, she’s already started planning the wedding.” 

Of course she has. She wouldn’t be Claudia Henderson if she wasn’t already planning the names of her grandchildren from Steve. 

The bite of cereal turns into cement, your heartbeat pounds against your throat. With everything going on with Steve, the hurt the two of you have brought down upon the other, you’re not even sure there will be a wedding at the rate things are going. 

As the days go on, you can feel Steve slipping away from you more and more.

Dustin must sense that the subject is hurting you, so he stands from his seat and claps his hands together. “Alright, I feel like we’ve covered our bases for a code blue. Checked all the boxes, felt the feelings needed to be felt.”

“I don’t like the feelings being felt,” you mumble, shoving your bowl away. You’re still drawn into yourself, pale and frail and unlike the lively girl your brother has come to miss. He knows things have been difficult between the two of you, a strain that can’t quite be loosened. 

Dustin falters, his bravado fades. He sighs again and his hand settles against your shoulder. He looks at you with sincerity, his expression softens. “Look, you and Steve will figure things out. You guys always do.”

And he truly believes this. Steve loves you with such a ferocity that rivals your love for him. Dustin can’t imagine a world in which you’re no longer with Steve, where he’s let go of you and allowed you to walk away. 

Except Dustin doesn’t know how to express this to you, but you can understand him anyways. Placing your hand over his, you squeeze it. “Thanks, Dustin.”

He smiles back at you and the code blue is over. The moment lingers for only a second longer before he frowns and sits back down next to you. “Do you think Eddie will be okay?”

And there it is. Eddie fucking Munson again. 

Shoving down your annoyance, you force yourself to focus on the situation from last night. As hurt as you are that Dustin wants to talk about Eddie right now, you can understand why he would. Chrissy died in front of him, he’s being accused of murder. 

You’re just being childish, easily irritated from lack of sleep and the stress of it all. 

“I don’t know, I mean…the cops will be looking for him.” With ease you fall back into strategizing, putting the situation above your own thoughts and feelings. Your mind spins with everything you need to do, trying to come up with whatever you can do to help. “If we have any shot of protecting him, we need to figure out what they know.”

Dustin nods, following along. “Cerebro can tap into the Hawkins PD system, we can easily get intel from there.”

“It terrifies me that Cerebro can hack into our town’s police system.”

“Be grateful I stopped there, Suzie wouldn’t let me use it to tap into NASA.”

You learn two things after using Cerebro to gather information. 

One, the radio is far too powerful to reside in your fourteen year old brother’s hands. He’s able to access the PD system with incredible ease, almost as if he’s done so before. It’d be impressive if you didn’t know the horrors that went on inside the kid’s head.

Two, Eddie is well and truly fucked. 

He’s the main suspect. They think he’s killed Chrissy and have every man in the force scouring Hawkins to find him. Her death was gruesome, you understand the manhunt that unfolds. Dustin, however, nearly loses his mind when he hears chief Powell instructing his men to search Eddie’s neighborhood for the teen. 

“We have to go warn him,” Dustin scrambles to his feet, the chair almost toppling over in his haste. “We need to leave, now.”

There isn’t time to argue, Dustin is already ringing Steve’s number. Either he’s already forgotten about your argument with the teen, or maybe he just doesn’t care. Regardless, the thought of seeing Steve again so soon after last night makes your stomach churn. You want to stop Dustin, make up some excuse to him about why you can’t help Eddie, but you know it wouldn’t matter. Your brother would only beg you to come, your worry for him would force you to listen. 

All you can do is drop your head into your hands and sigh.

– 

It was your idea to stop and get Eddie food. 

Steve had arrived at your house within minutes. Dustin immediately went for the passenger seat, which was more than okay with you, and Steve had mumbled a soft “hello” to the two of you. His greeting went ignored by you, still trying to find your breath around him, and Dustin, who promptly demanded that Steve pick up Robin and Max before returning to the boathouse. 

Halfway to Max’s, the silence in the car was thickening rapidly, so you offhandedly suggested stopping at the local grocery store to get Eddie some food and water. You figured he would appreciate the small act of kindness, especially considering the grime news you’d be delivering to him soon. That, and it’d give you an excuse to leave Steve’s car for a few moments and steady your breathing. 

The boathouse isn’t nearly as creepy in the daylight, but still you make sure your knives are in your pocket before approaching it. Robin walks beside you, helping you and Dustin carry the groceries, while Max and Steve walk silently behind. 

“Think we got him enough?” Robin asks, holding up one of the grocery bags. “I mean, don’t stoners eat a lot? Munchies or whatever?”

Rolling your eyes, you undo one of the buttons on your sweater, allowing the crisp spring air to soak your body. The sun is too warm to be worrying about whatever stoners eat. “If he complains, then he can starve.” 

“Cat’s got claws today,” Robin nudges you with her arm. Turning to make sure Steve is far enough away so he doesn’t overhear, she lowers her voice. “Guessing the talk didn’t go well last night?”

“Oh, it was just peachy,” you grit out through a forced smile. “But we have to focus on harboring a murder suspect right now.” Because nothing in your life can ever be simple. If you aren’t hunting monsters, you’re protecting the town. If you aren’t protecting the town, you’re fighting alternate dimensions.

Robin opens her mouth to say something, but Dustin shoulders past her and bursts through the boathouse doors, ending your conversation. “Delivery service!” 

Eddie nearly has a heart attack at the abrupt entrance. He jumps out of his skin and clutches at his chest after letting out a very unmanly yelp. The reaction is almost enough to brighten your foul mood, momentarily forgetting that Steve stands behind you. 

“Someone’s jumpy,” you sidestep your brother and walk over towards the table. Setting the groceries down, you begin to unload them. “We got you some food, but please don’t eat it all at once. I really don’t want to spend any more money on you.”

“Thanks…?” Eddie slowly approaches you, both relieved for the food and offended you seem so begrudged to have gotten it for him in the first place. From his few interactions with you since last night, he’s coming to learn that you’re far from the girl who showed him such selfless kindness all those years ago.

Eddie doesn’t think you even remember what you did for him. He had been at such a low point in his life, one failed exam away from dropping out of high school and disappointing his uncle, until you appeared. It’d been your sophomore year, Eddie’s failed one, and you had given him your pencil.

The action had been small, meniscal, yet it saved Eddie’s life. He hadn’t brought his own pencil for some stupid English exam. He’d been too nervous for it that he had forgotten his, and Mrs. Greer, the teacher who couldn’t have cared less whether or not Eddie died, threatened to fail him. 

The threat sank deep into his bones, freezing his intestines with dread. Eddie had promised his uncle he’d try harder in school, that he’d graduate, and yet he couldn't do something as simple as bringing a pencil to an exam. Close to tears, embarrassed and overwhelmed, Eddie almost hadn’t registered your softly whispered voice.

“Here,” you tapped his shoulder. Eddie remembers turning around, surprised you were even talking to him, and he remembers the immediate relief that sagged his bones when he saw the pencil extended in offering. He had nodded curtly at you before frantically rushing to begin the exam. He’d already wasted five minutes, he couldn’t afford any more. 

It would only be later that Eddie learned you willingly failed the exam because you’d given him your only pencil, just so he wouldn’t fail. In the end, he passed. It was the first exam Eddie had passed in a long, long time; his uncle had been so proud of him that he bought him his electric guitar.

Eddie never thanked you for that. 

And now you stand in front of him, once again extending your arm out to him with yet another offering, but your eyes are cold. Your body is tense around Eddie’s, he doesn’t miss the wide berth you seem to always give him. 

“Thanks,” he says to you again, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He accepts the box of cereal you offer him and he wills himself to smile. “I, uh. Appreciate it. I’d offer to pay you back, but…”

“You’re wanted for murder.” You finish for Eddie. 

He drops his head. “Yeah, it kinda ruins a person’s life, ya know?”

“I don’t, actually. Never been accused of killing someone.”

Eddie blinks at you. He doesn’t know what to do with the disdain you display towards him. “Right.” He looks at Dustin for help, silently begging the kid to step in before you gut him with your knives.

“Okay, why don’t you crack open that box of honey combs while we all gather around for a fun story time!” Dustin sets down the remaining groceries and ushers everyone to spread around the boathouse. 

“‘Storytime’?” Eddie asks him, looking around in confusion. 

“Y/N and Dustin did some detective work,” Robin offers him, trying to make her voice sound as cheery as possible. “They-uh. Well they found-I mean,” she doesn’t know how to break the news to Eddie, she feels awful for the guy. Deflating, she mumbles, “They’re definitely good detectives.”

Eddie only looks more confused by this, and Dustin sits down awkwardly on a stool next to you. “So, we got, uh. Some good news and some bad news.”

You snort at your brother. Steve stands next to you, his body angled away from you so that your skin doesn’t touch. The distance is small enough to go unnoticed by anyone, yet it’s a chasm that your stomach drops into. “That’s really how you’re gonna break it to him?” 

“What are you guys breaking to me?” Eddie asks, eyes wide.

Dustin hits your leg and gets the teen’s attention. “Ignore her, look at me, alright? Now, how do you prefer it? Good or bad first?”

“Bad news first, always.” Eddie doesn’t even think about his answer, he responds immediately while shoving cereal into his mouth. 

“The bad news is that you’re pretty fucked.” You inform him, arms crossed over your chest. There’s no easy way to lessen the blow of what you overhead from Hawkins PD. The news is bad, it’s all bad. 

Dustin snaps his head towards you, “Y/N!”

“I’m not going to lie to the guy or sugarcoat things!” 

“Would you just let me handle it–”

“Dustin,” Eddie hasn’t moved from his seat. His hand remains in the cereal box, his voice jagged and defeated. He’s tired. He just wants to go home. “Just say it.”

Your brother’s shoulders drop, the anger in his eyes extinguished. “We… We tapped into the Hawkins PD dispatch with our Cerebro, and they’re definitely looking for you.”

“Chief Powell thinks you killed Chrissy.” Unable to look at Eddie, your eyes trace the ground. As much as you hate him, you can’t help but feel awful for the hand he’s been dealt. No one will possibly believe he’s innocent. “He ordered all his men to track you down before word gets out that you’re the prime suspect.”

“Which leads us to the good news: your name hasn’t gone public yet.” Robin continues for you, her own expression pitying. “But if Y/N and Dustin could find out about you during breakfast, then it’s a matter of time before others do, too.”

“And once that gets out,” you shake your head, you know how cruel a small town like Hawkins can be. “There’s going to be a lot of angry people who know your name.”

Eddie clenches his jaw. You can see tears forming in his eyes; you’re not sure if they’re from frustration or fear. He inhales sharply, licks his lips in disdain. “Hunt the freak, right?”

It’s the way he says it, with so much despair and venom in his voice. The look of resignation on Eddie’s face breaks your heart. He knows his odds, he’s been tormented and abused his entire life by the people in Hawkins. You’ve heard all the stories. The exile he faced because of how he looked, who he would hang out with, the music he listened to and the drugs he smoked. 

Eddie Munson, the freak. The moment the town finds out he’s wanted for murder, you’re afraid he’ll never come out of it alive. 

The ice-hot contempt you feel for him begins to melt. He’s only a year or two older than you, still just a scared kid with no place to call home anymore. Despite the protests of your body, you step towards Eddie and place a hand on his shoulder. Your hand is tense, your fingers scratch on the rough material of his denim jacket, but he seems to calm at the touch. 

“Hey, we’ll protect the freak, alright?” You mean what you tell him, your hand warms his skin. Whatever history you have with Eddie, good or bad, it doesn’t matter right now. He needs you, he’s lost and alone. 

Eddie looks up at you, your kindness startles him slightly, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, his eyes find yours. They’re brown, almost doe-eyed, with a vulnerability within them so intense that it leaves a lump in your throat. 

“We won’t let anything happen to you, Eddie.” Dustin’s voice cuts through, reminding you of where you are. Stumbling slightly, you remove your hand and walk back over to Steve, who gives you an odd, confused look. You ignore him. “We have to find Vecna, kill him, and prove your innocence.” 

“That’s all, Dustin?” Eddie mocks, he doesn’t stand a chance and he knows it.

Dustin draws into himself, uncertain, before letting out a feeble response. You allow yourself to smile, enjoying his wallowing. You understand where Eddie is coming from. “It is a lot that we have to do in order to clear his name.”

“Okay, I know that everything Dustin is saying sounds totally delusional, but we’ve actually been through this before.” Robin tries to reassure him. She’s leaning against a doorframe, she’s trying her best not to let her own uncertainty show. 

“We’ve been here before,” you say with slight bitterness. “You’d be surprised how many times we’ve almost died.”

Robin laughs nervously. “Well, mine was more human-flesh-based, theirs was more smoke-related. I didn’t necessarily almost die, but Y/N has some pretty sick scars on her body and Steve has been concussed more times than he’s had girlfriends–”

“Get to the point, Robin.” Steve finally speaks up, no hint of amusement in his voice. His hand rests besides yours, his fingers ache to curl against your skin. You’re wearing a soft blue sweater, tucked into your skirt, and your eyes shine against the spring cold. He doesn’t want to be here right now.

“Right. The bottom line is, collectively, I really feel we got this.”

Unable to bear the itch in his skin to touch you, Steve brings his hand to his face and rubs at his jaw to distract himself. “Except we usually rely on this girl who has superpowers, but-uh. Those went bye-bye, so–”

“And she’s in California, hundreds of miles from here.” You add on, picking at your nails. The topic makes you uncomfortable. With California comes the reminder of Jonathan.

Robin points at you and Steve. “Both good points, so I guess you could say we’re more in the-in the…?”

“Brainstorming phase.” Max supplies, which Steve snaps his fingers in agreement and Dustin hums thoughtfully. 

“There’s-uh. There’s nothing to worry about!” Your brother says unconvincingly, voice high pitched and full of lies. 

Eddie stares at everyone around him, studying the collective mess that he somehow must place all his trust in. None of you can give him a straight answer about what will happen next, and as you listen to Steve and Dustin try again to make sense of what’s going on, you recognize how hopeless it all sounds. 

“We may not sound like much,” you interrupt the boys, trying again to ease the hopelessness Eddie must be feeling. “But we’re kind of your only option right now–”

The distant wailing of sirens drown out your words, loud and piercing. The sound sets everyone into a panic. Robin instructs Dustin to cover Eddie with a tarp while you, Max, and Steve run towards the window. Squished together, you watch as multiple cop cars fly down the street with an ambulance following them; your breath catches. 

The last time you saw this many cop cars speeding through Hawkins, they had been a dead body in the quarry. It had been Will’s body, lifeless and pale. You had watched as his body was pulled from the water, you held Lucas and Dustin as they cried.

Only this time Will is in California, far away from danger. The onslaught of cars can only mean one thing. 

“I think…” Your mouth fills with syrupy dread, coating your tongue with grief. Breathing becomes difficult. You hope, more than anything, that you’re wrong. “I think someone else died.”

The moment the words leave your lips, Steve grabs his keys and instructs everyone to get into his car. He doesn't ask any questions, he doesn’t question how you know. Dustin quickly tells Eddie to stay in the boathouse while you leave. 

Your eyes squeeze shut as Steve drives, your hand clutches the seat in terror. Every second that passes, your body becomes heavier and heavier from dread. Steve’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel. Robin can’t look at you, Max and Dustin don’t say a word.

The white blanket draped over a body is what you see first. A horde of police surround it, there are lights flashing everywhere. People crowd behind a barricade, necks straining to get a look at the body on the ground. 

Then you see who the cops are talking to, and your heart drops. 

“Nancy,��� you breathe out, already opening Steve’s door before he can even park the car. Something terrible has happened. Nancy stands in front of the officers, her arms crossed against her chest as if to calm herself down. She’s never looked so weak, she needs you.

Standing outside the car, the others join you. Steve has parked as close as he can to the crime scene, no one moves. Nancy releases a shaky breath when her eyes find yours. Raising her hand, she waves at you, unsure, and you wave back. She smiles, timid but genuine, and a pit forms in your stomach.

You haven’t told Nancy about Jonathan. 

Steve looks away from her, gaze turning towards you, and he’s thinking the same thing. 

– 

Nancy guides everyone to a park bench at the trailer park. She doesn’t say anything as you all walk, her eyes are exhausted. The police hadn’t wanted her to leave just yet, they had more questions for her, but you’d quickly spoke with the men to let her go. 

Sitting around the table, a bitter cold creeps into the air. The sun is out yet winter still lingers. Nancy sits across from you with Robin and Max next to her. You’re with the boys, Steve pushes his weight against you while Dustin sits stiffly beside you. 

Seeing Nancy’s sunken cheeks and glass eyes, you reach across the table and grab her hand. “What happened, Nance?”

Tears well in her eyes and for once she doesn’t wipe them away. Nancy’s hand twitches in yours, she doesn’t hold onto you like you do her. She’s grieving, you’ve come to learn all the signs of someone who has lost a friend. “It-it’s Fred.”

She explains what they’d been doing, investigating Chrissy’s death at the trailer park. Guilt laces her words, she didn’t think anything would happen to Fred. He’s always been sweet to her, his crush obvious to you but unknown to her. A shiver runs through you; Fred was smart, he was nice to you whenever you spent your days in the yearbook room. 

He didn’t deserve to die. Neither did Chrissy. 

“That makes two deaths in two days,” you say out loud, voicing what everyone else is thinking. Death is common in Hawkins, an inevitability of what lies underneath it, but there’s never been such gruesome deaths so close together. “It’s happening again.”

“What’s happening again?” Nancy shakes her head. “I-I don’t understand, you guys already know what’s causing all of this?”

“We have a working theory, but it’s… not great.” Dustin slouches down, he isn’t sure how much he can explain to the girl with all that he still doesn’t know. “We think it’s connected to Chrissy’s death, something killed her in Eddie’s trailer. He told us she had gone into some sort of trance before her bones snapped and her eyes exploded..”

Nancy grimaces at the gory imagery and you squeeze her hand again. “I’m sorry about Fred.”

She gives you a tight smile before turning to your brother. “A trance? Like El? You aren’t… do you really think this has something to do with–”

“The Upside Down.” You and Max say at the same time.

“‘It’s happening again’,” Nancy echoes your words from moments ago. She understands, now. “So this-this thing that killed Fred and Chrissy is from the Upside Down?”

Steve nods at her and Dustin sighs heavily. “We think he attacks with a spell, or maybe even a curse.”

“But we don’t know if he’s under the Mind Flayer’s control,” you point out. “For all we know, he could just be someone with El’s powers. We know the lab tested on other kids, right?”

Max looks up at you and her face twists with apprehension. “I don’t know, something feels different about this, it’s almost like it’s something new. I don’t think it’s anyone like El.”

“It doesn’t make sense.” Nancy mumbles.

“No, I think Max is right. Something feels off about all of this.” Your arms draw together, it’s impossibly cold for late March. The chill has set into your bones. 

Nancy nods at you, but there’s something else on her mind. “But Fred and Chrissy also don’t make sense. I mean, why them?”

“Maybe they were just in the wrong place? They were both at the game.” Dustin offers, and you shiver again.

Billy had been in the wrong place, too. It’s how the Mind Flayer got him. He’d just been unlucky and alone.

“And the trailer park,” Max adds.

Steve’s eyes widen slightly, he shifts against you and unconsciously moves you closer to him. “We’re at the trailer park, should we… maybe not be here?”

The wind picks up and a crow cries overhead. The barren grass rustles as shadows fall against it. Your spine prickles with nerves. Steve is right to be worried. There’s something eerie about the trailer park, the caution tape that guards Eddie’s door is still too fresh. 

You wrap your sweater tighter to your body, cold with unease. Nancy’s eyes flicker around the park as the wind rustles the leaves. “Fred started acting weird the second we got here.”

Robin asks what she means, and when Nancy begins to explain how scared and on edge Fred had been, a dull throb slowly creeps up the base of your neck. The sensation builds until it’s a roar of nerve endings exploding against your temple, and you wince in pain.

Steve’s fingers skim the crest of your wrist. “Hey,” he’s lowered his voice so the others can’t hear, he knows you never like to worry others. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” the concern in Steve’s eyes burns you. He hasn’t spoken to you all day, but still his skin warms yours and he wants to make sure you’re safe. Comfortable. Okay. Even with the anger between you and all the unspoken half-truths, he still cares about you. 

You want to tell him that you haven’t slept in days, that the nightmares are back and that they’re worse than ever before. You want to rest your head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. It’s the only way you’ve been able to keep the migraines at bay. 

But you don’t tell Steve any of this. Instead, you lie through your teeth. “I’m fine,” you reassure him again. There isn’t time for you not to be okay. Two people have died already, your migraines can wait. 

Steve doesn’t look convinced. He knows you, he knows how you are and how much you push down for the sake of others, but before he can press you further, Robin interrupts. “Hey, lovebirds, we’re trying to solve a murder case here.”

“I’m listening,” you roll your eyes at her, skin flushing a bit with embarrassment. “Anyways, what if Fred and Chrissy saw something that made them go catatonic? I think we should be focusing on the trace-like state more, it’s a trauma response.”

“What, so they’re insane asylum patients?” Dustin asks with slight displeasure. “I mean, I guess that makes sense. But Vecna can cast spells, at least in DnD. I don’t think they just ‘saw’ something.” 

Steve scratches his nose. “If I saw some freaky wizard monster, I would mention it to someone.”

“Would you, though?” You don’t mean for the question to come off as condescending, and you quickly try to alleviate the offended look on the teen’s face. “What I mean is, who would you go to about something like that?”

“I… I think I know who they’d go to.” Max stares down at the table, her eyebrows furrowed together. She’s deep in thought, remembering something. “I saw Chrissy leaving Ms. Kelly’s office. If you saw a monster, you wouldn’t go to the police.”

“They’d never believe you,” you bear your weight against the table. Nostalgia wraps around you at the memory of how scared you’d been to tell Hopper about El, the years it took for you to trust him. “That’s why I never went to Hopper when I first found El.”

Max nods, she’s relieved you get where she’s going with this. “Exactly, but you might go to your–”

“Shrink.” Robin finishes, sending you an apologetic smile for the offensive language against the profession you hope to one day go into. “No offense, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes, feeling defensive. “Again with calling Ms. Kelly a shrink. She’s not a shrink, she’s actually really nice.”

“You sound like you know her personally.” Dustin narrows his eyes at you. Nothing goes unnoticed by him. 

All eyes turn to you, and you sink down in embarrassment. “I’ve… had a few meetings with her.”

Simultaneously both Steve and Dustin widen their eyes. They hadn’t known you were seeing Ms. Kelly. Nancy looks at you curiously, Robin bites her lip, and Max nods solemnly. It’s a large range of reactions, one that makes you anxious to deal with. “Can everyone stop staring at me, please?”

Steve lets out a quick breath and runs a hand through his hair. “You didn’t tell me you were seeing the school’s guidance counselor, Y/N.”

“She didn’t tell me, either.” Dustin mumbles bitterly. You’ve never hidden anything from him before. He wonders, distantly, when you started to.

“I didn’t want to worry you guys, it really isn’t a big deal.” When both boys bristle at this, you hold your hand up to silence them. “No, I don’t want to hear it. It’s not like I was seeing Ms. Kelly for anything serious, okay? She’s the guidance counselor, so I just. You know. Needed some guidance.”

It’s a horrible lie, you know that no one believes you, but they take pity on you and move on. Originally you really��were seeing Ms. Kelly for college admissions help, but after a few sessions you slowly started opening up to her about the sleepless nights. The image of Billy’s lifeless body. Max’s screams. 

Nancy clears her throat and changes the topic. She comes up with what to do next, creating a plan to ask Ms. Kelly what she knows, and you sit silently. You’re relieved the attention is finally off of you. Within minutes a plan is formed: you and Max will talk to Ms. Kelly to try and get more information.

Steve agrees to drive to the house. As you’re walking to his passenger side door, he notices that Nancy isn’t following. Instead, she’s going to her own car. “Hey, Nance. Where’re you going?”

Nancy turns around, a guilty but determined look on her face. Her eyes land on you, knowing you’ll be the hardest to convince of her plan. “There’s just-there’s something I want to check on first.”

Predictably, your shoulders tense and your eyes ignite with worry. “Please don’t make me remind you that there are people dying right now. You can’t seriously think it’s safe to be on your own.”

“I can protect myself, Y/N.” Nancy reminds you gently, understanding your concern but knowing it isn’t needed.

“You care to share with the rest of us?” Dustin calls over to the two of you.

“I don’t want to waste your time,” Nancy shoves her hands into her jean jacket. “It’s… a real shot in the dark.”

You frown at this. “If it’s something you think is worth looking into, then it isn’t a shot in the dark. You’ve always been right.”

Nancy blushes at your words, but Steve silently fumes beside you. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you guys out of your mind? No way is Nancy flying solo with Vecna on the loose.”

“I never said that she should fly solo,” you say slowly, not at all liking how he’s twisting your words. You had been complimenting Nancy’s intelligence, restoring her faith back into her work. You don’t understand where this protectiveness from Steve is coming from. “I know it’s too dangerous, that’s why I was going to suggest–”

“You’re right. It’s too dangerous. Bottom line. She needs someone to-Christ.” Steve isn’t listening. He’s too caught up in his head as tosses his keys to Robin, who only barely manages to catch them. “Here, Y/N and I will stick with Nance.”

You cross your arms and glare at him. “I’m sorry?”

Steve doesn’t look at you, he’s too busy staring at Nancy, and for a brief second you truly believe that there’s something soft in his gaze when he looks at her. They’re friends, you know this. There’s a history between them that rivals your history with Jonathan. Nancy was Steve’s first love, and now he loves you, and you try desperately to shake the insecurity that you feel. 

If you’re being completely honest, you’re not even sure why you’re suddenly thinking all of this. You’ve never been insecure, at least not in your relationship with Steve. During the almost year you’ve been with him, there’ve been times girls have flirted with him or old flings that have tried to vie for his attention. But through it all your trust in him never wavered, you knew that at the end of the day it was your bed he was crawling into. 

And yet there’s a voice in the back of your head telling you that the way Steve is looking at Nancy right now is different; it’s how he looks at you. The voice is darker, more cruel. It’s one you don’t recognize, and yet you do. 

Steve seems to come back to himself and turns to you. “Robin can go with the kids to the shrink. Max can talk to her alone, it’s no big deal.”

Robin holds the keys away from her as if they’re poisoned. “I don’t think you want me driving your car.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have a license.”

Steve shakes his head with impatience. “Why don’t you have a license?”

“I’m poor,” Robin shrugs, and you laugh slightly. 

Max raises her hand. “I can drive.”

“No!” You and Steve exclaim at the same time, both of you getting war flashbacks to when Max had driven you after Billy had knocked you guys unconscious. It’d been a rough night and waking up to a thirteen year old driving a sports car definitely hadn't helped. 

“Please,” you look at Max with genuine longing. “Never, ever drive me ever again.”

“Literally anyone but you–” Steve sees Dustin make a face, offering himself to drive, and the older teen snaps his fingers at him in annoyance. “No chance.”

You shake your head as well. No way in hell are you allowing the kid to drive either. “Absolutely not, Dustin. You couldn’t even drive a golf cart properly.”

“I did a decent job!”

“I still think you’re the one who gave Steve his third concussion with your horrible braking.”

“We were being chased by evil Russians!” 

Robin steps between you and your brother, holding her hands up. “Alright, this is stupid.” She grabs Dustin’s walkie from his backpack and marches to Nancy while handing Steve his keys. “Us ladies, sans Y/N, will stick together. Unless Steve thinks we need him to protect us?”

She raises her eyebrows, challenging the teen, and you watch him. He shuffles nervously, ducks his head down. Steve is guilty and ashamed and embarrassed. Your stomach clenches. 

“He knows better than to doubt you guys,” you step in for him, saving him. “Right, Steve?”

Nancy laughs at the look of fear on his face and Robin smirks. Satisfied, they turn around and start to head towards Nancy’s car. You wish them luck as they leave, tell them to be safe. They wave back at you, and although you wish you could join them, you know that Max will want you by her side while she talks to Ms. Kelly. 

Once the girls are gone, you hit Steve’s chest. “Nice one, buddy.”

He lets out a pained huff, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows he had it coming. With a sigh he follows you back to his car and gets into the driver’s seat. Dustin stares at him through the rearview mirror with a shit eating grin on his face. Tired, Steve glares at him. “Not a word.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Dustin defends himself.

“No, but you were going to, and-hey,” Steve turns in his seat and glares even more at your brother. “Did you make sure to wipe your feet?”

“Yes,” Dustin says at the same time as you and Max say, “No.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and starts the car angrily. His movements are jerky and uncontrolled. “Always the goddamn babysitter!” He exclaims, resentment marring his face.

You jump slightly at his raised voice. He hates being sidelined, you know this. Similar to you, all Steve ever wants to do is help. He does whatever he can, he tries harder than anyone. It’s what you first fell for, back when Steve originally crashed into your life. 

It’s because of his kindness and devotion to others that you reach for Steve’s hand. His skin is cold, goosebumps raise at your touch, but you interlock your fingers through his and slowly, piece by piece, Steve relaxes. 

He’s missed your touch. You’ve missed his, too.

– 

Ms. Kelly, to her credit, tries to mask her surprise when she sees you and Max standing at her door. “Oh, hello, girls.”

“Hi,” you smile kindly at the woman. “We really hate to bother you over spring break, but do you possibly have a minute to talk?”

“With the two of you?” Ms. Kelly knew that you and Max were both grieving Billy, but she hadn’t known that you knew each other. “Y/N, I’m sure you’re aware that this is highly unusual to request.”

You wince. “Yeah, I’m definitely aware that this is a pretty strange thing to ask. It’s just that I was the one who convinced Max to start seeing you in the first place, and now that I’m also seeing you, we figured we could… talk to you together?”

It’s a horrible excuse. The lie is vague and too transparent to believe. Neither you or Max had a lot of time to come up with a convincing cover story during the drive here. 

“I don’t know,” Ms. Kelly’s face strains with contemplation. 

Max softens her eyes and does her best to look small, pleading. “Please?”

You try to appear troubled as well, though it isn’t hard. Your headache hasn’t left. The pounding in your head has only intensified since leaving the trailer park. Ms. Kelly’s gaze flits between you and Max, reading for any signs of lying or ill-will, before her resolve crumbles.

“Oh, alright.” She opens her door wider, ushers the two of you inside. “Come in.”

Steve and Dustin watch as you disappear inside the house. They’ve parked across the street, opting to be the lookout in case anything happens. You spare one last glance over your shoulder, eyes meeting Steve’s, before Ms. Kelly closes the door. 

“Okay, they’re in.” Steve states the obvious, slightly unsettled to be stuck in the car while you’re inside.

“I’m missing collarbones, not eyes.” Dustin snorts. He expects Steve to say something snarky in response, but then he notices that the teen is still staring longingly out the window, tracing Ms. Kelly’s door. He looks pathetic, waiting for you, and Dustin sighs. “So… we gonna talk about it?”

Steve’s eyes linger on the doorway, a far off look on his face. When he realizes that Dustin has spoken, he turns to him slowly. “Huh? Sorry, talk about what?”

“Your temporary insanity earlier today when you basically threw yourself at Nance? In front of my sister?” 

“Okay, first of all, that’s not what happened.”

Dustin glares at Steve, defensive over you. “Oh, really? I’m pretty sure it did, there were a lot of witnesses. Y/N included.”

“What are you implying, little Henderson?” Steve rubs his face, too tired for the kid’s mind games. He knows he was being weird earlier with Nancy, but he would never do that to you. Ever. He had simply been overwhelmed and confused and feeling a multitude of things that he still isn’t ready to face.

“I’m not implying anything,” Dustin puts his hands up. “All I’m saying is that I know you and Y/N have been fighting lately and that for some stupid reason, you’re doubting your relationship.”

Steve throws his head back against the seat. Of course you told Dustin about last night. “Look, I’m not-I’m not doubting our relationship, alright? I mean, I love her, man. So, so much. We just… things have been hard, lately. Really fucking hard.”

He isn’t sure how much you’ve told your brother. He doesn’t think you’d tell him about Jonathan, at least not until you know yourself whatever the hell he’d been trying to tell you the other night. 

Dustin doesn’t say anything for a few moments. He stares past Steve, his eyes almost seem to glaze over. “It’s because she’s leaving, isn’t it?”

All the air in Steve’s lungs gets knocked out of him. “Yes,” he breathes out. His mouth is dry. He swallows, his tongue feels too thick for his mouth. “Sometimes it feels like she’s, I don’t know, like she’s outgrown me? I-I know it’s stupid, but she’s going so far for college and I’m stuck in Hawkins like some fucking moron and she-she didn’t want me going with her.” 

“Did you know that I cried when she got into NYU?” Dustin asks him, a hurt smile on his face. When Steve shakes his head, the boy inhales deeply. “Yeah, cried like a baby the whole night. I mean, I knew she applied, I knew she’d get in, but… you’re right. She is going pretty far. I’ve never,” he wipes at his eyes quickly, embarrassed that he’s crying. “I’ve never had to spend a single day without my sister.”

Steve stares at your brother, finally beginning to understand the distance between the two of you. For weeks now it’s all you’ve complained about to Steve. How much you resented Eddie for being Dustin’s new favorite person, how much you miss singing with him in the kitchen while you baked. But now here Dustin is, teary eyed, explaining to Steve just how scared he is to be without his sister. “It feels like she’s leaving you, too.”

“Yeah,” Dustin wipes his eyes again, nodding. “Yeah, sometimes it feels like she can’t wait to get out of this town.”

“Even though we’ll still be here,” Steve says solemnly. 

It’s quiet again. A few birds sing in the tree above them. You and Max haven’t returned, yet. After a while, Dustin turns to Steve. “She doesn’t mean it, you know.”

“Who?”

“Y/N,” the boy clarifies, and Steve’s heart skips a beat. “She doesn’t mean it when she says she doesn’t want you going with her to New York. She’s just… she’s scared, and she knows that it isn’t what you really want. Nothing gets past her, it’s really annoying.”

Steve scoffs a bit, fondness running through him. Dustin’s right. Nothing ever gets past you, you notice and see everything. But then he thinks about what your brother has said, the fear he hadn’t known about. “Why would she be scared?” 

Dustin stiffens in his seat, his gaze once again blurs. He twists his hands anxiously, fixes his hat. The atmosphere shifts, Steve can see that he’s uncomfortable now. He’s about to tell Dustin that he doesn’t have to answer, but the kid does anyways. “Our parents, they-um. Met in college.”

Steve sits up as well. You and Dustin never talk about your parents, at least not about your father. Steve can’t remember the last time you’ve even mentioned him. He thinks maybe the man had called you once, during Christmas. 

“They got married right before graduation. Our mom had been pregnant with Y/N, they got hitched and in their marital bliss, our dad somehow convinced our mom to leave Indiana. She grew up here, but our dad was from Virginia and he insisted that she move there.”

Bitter. Dustin is bitter.

“Everything was fine, I guess. I liked Virginia. Y/N did, too. But our mom was lonely, anyone could see that. We lived in a pretty small town, our dad was basically a goddamn Kennedy there. Everyone adored him, but our mom… things were different for her. She was always in his shadow, but Y/N and I were too young to notice for a long time.”

Steve swallows. “And then… the divorce?” 

“The stupid fucking divorce.” Dustin spits out. “It wasn’t a surprise, but somehow we still felt blindsided. One day our dad was charming, cracking jokes with everyone and playing the guitar with us, then the next he just-he snapped. Became bitter, mean. Y/N idolized him, but when our parents started fighting every night and our mom cried over some woman named Carry… I lost my sister, for a while.”

“She told me,” Steve whispers, remembering the rawness in your voice the night you confessed to him that you were once cruel. “I had to remind her that she came back, in the end.”

The corners of Dustin’s mouth turn upwards slightly. “Yeah, she came back.” But then his expression darkens, his mood sours. “Our mother almost didn’t, though. After having to move back to Hawkins with barely any money to support us, it basically destroyed her. She had lost all her friends by that point, her own parents died while we lived in Virginia.” 

“I’m sorry,” Steve’s throat constricts. He hadn’t known any of this. He feels like such an asshole now for assuming the worst in you. For allowing his own insecurities to blind him. “I-I didn’t know about any of that.” 

“Yeah, well.” Dustin shrugs. “Now you do. And you need to know that Y/N is being her usual selfless self because of our mom and what happened to her. She doesn't want that happening to you, dipshit.”

Steve exhales through his nose, his head is swimming with so many more questions, so many apologies he wishes he could say. Instead, he stares out the window, waiting for you to return. 

–

“So, what would you girls like to discuss with me?” The clock on Ms. Kelly’s walk ticks ominously behind her. She’s seated you and Max in her basement den. You can tell by the stack of books and messy desk that she uses the area as her makeshift office. 

Max slouches against her seat. “Oh, it’s nothing too serious, we were just–”

“I’m worried about Max.” You interrupt the girl, not daring to look at her.

Ms. Kelly raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I think with all the murders happening, it might be affecting her.” It isn’t necessarily a lie. You have been worried about Max and her behavior. Especially these last few weeks. “It might be resurfacing some… memories.”

Max tries to argue, but Ms. Kelly holds her hand up. “You’ve both experienced trauma, Y/N. She lost her brother while you held his dying body.”

A lump forms in your throat, your lungs feel cold. 

The woman turns to Max, now. “And when you keep your feelings in, your pain, bottled up the way you do, it doesn’t take much to trigger them again. I can see why Y/N may be worried.”

Max doesn’t meet Ms. Kelly’s eyes. She swallows heavily and looks down at her hands. “Yeah, I know.”

“You know you can always talk to me, Max.” You say softly, wanting desperately to reach out to her. But you’re afraid it’ll only drive her further away.

She frowns at you. “Like how you talk to Dustin, or even to Steve?”

Her accusation cuts deeply. You hadn’t known that she was paying attention to you. That your disguised “I’m fine’s” weren’t convincing her. Max must know this, because she lowers her eyes again and mumbles a quiet apology. 

Ms. Kelly notices the tension and leans between the two of you. “Do you think you’re ready to talk more about that night?”

Max’s eyes gloss over briefly, her face distorts with discomfort. An onslaught of memories overtakes her, just as they overtake you. The echoes of her screams for her brother replay in your mind over and over again. The squelch of Billy’s blood trickles down your spine. You were right next to her when it happened. The blood still stains your clothes from that night at Starcourt. 

“I live next door to where it happened.” Max changes the subject, her voice returning. When Ms. Kelly asks for more clarification, she continues. “Next to where Chrissy was murdered. The cops asked me a bunch of questions. Did they talk to you?”

The woman sits up, apprehensive. She hadn’t been expecting to talk about this. You sit there quietly, head still pounding from earlier as Max takes over. She interrogates Ms. Kelly, who does her best to dodge every question, and suddenly the warmth in the room becomes unbearable. 

“Excuse me,” you stand up, hand clutching your stomach. Nausea swirls within you. You feel faint, the pounding has increased and sweat trickles down your neck. Both Max and Ms. Kelly look at you in concern, but you ignore them.

Blindly you stumble towards the kitchen you remember seeing when you arrived. Too nauseous and overwhelmed to care about niceties, you dig through Ms. Kelly’s cupboards until you find a cup. After filling it with water, the icey coolness of the liquid settles uneasily in your stomach. You lean over the sink, hands clutching the edge. Everything in your body feels unsteady.

Max comes up the stairs and finds you breathing heavily. “You’re not going to hurl, are you?”

“Trying really hard not to right now,” you breathe through your nose, out through your mouth. “Thanks for the concern.”

No response comes. Instead, footsteps walk up behind you. You hear metal clanking against glass, and when you turn around, you find Max holding up a pair of keys. She smirks, flashing you the white keyring attached to them labeled, “office”.

Your eyes bulge out of your head. “No, we are not stealing–” 

Except Max grabs your arm and practically flings you out the front door. She shoves you, urging you to start running towards Steve’s car, and all you can do is stumble over your feet and follow after her. When you make it back to the car, panting from the exertion and thrill, Steve and Dustin turn to you with wide eyes. 

“What’d she say?” Your brother asks, noting your frazzled appearance. 

“Nothing, just drive.” Max dismisses. 

“I just became a felon.”

The girl rolls her eyes at you. “Personal property theft isn’t a felony.”

“Jesus,” Steve does a double take, baffled by this entire conversation. “What the hell did you guys do in there?”

“Steve, drive!” Max shouts at him. 

The tires of the car squeal against the pavement as Steve steps on the gas. He steadies the car, a wild look in his eyes. “Where are we even going?”

“The school,” Max holds up the keys she stole.

Dustin looks at her incredulously. “Are those–”

“The keys to Ms. Kelly’s office? Yeah.” You nod grimly. “I told you, I’m now a felon.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic–”

A voice comes through Cerebro, cutting Max off. “Dustin? It’s Lucas. Do you copy?”

Relief washes over you hearing Lucas’ voice. Between tracking down Eddie and dealing with interrogating school guidance counselors, you’d also been slowly worrying yourself to death over the boy. It’s unusual for him to be quiet for so long, and with all the murders now occurring… You’d been terrified. 

“Lucas? Where the hell have you been?” Demands Dustin.

“Just listen, are you guys looking for Eddie?”

You and Steve share an uncertain look. Why would Lucas be radioing about him? How much does he know?

Your brother tells Lucas that you’ve found Eddie and tells him where he is, that he’s safe. Immediately, the boy responds, “You guys know he killed Chrissy, right?”

Predictably, Dustin doesn’t take this very well. “That’s bullshit, Eddie tried to save Chrissy.”

Lucas presses further, not believing what he’s hearing. Max snatches the radio from Dustin, tired of all the vague responses. “Lucas, you’re so behind it’s ridiculous, okay?”

“Technically we still haven’t elaborated on the whole Eddie thing,” you point out, which she glares at you for. 

“Y/N?” Lucas asks, surprised to hear you’re with them.

You grab the walkie. “Hey, how’s your day been?”

“Awful,” he responds bluntly while Steve snorts at your question. “Why are you guys so sure Eddie didn’t–”

“Just meet us at school. We’ll explain later.” Max instructs, leaning over the car’s console. 

“I can’t,” fear leaks through Lucas’ voice. You sit up now, looking at Steve again. He hears it, too. “I think some real bad shit’s about to go down.”

You feel your heartbeat pick up. “Lucas, what does that mean? Are you okay, where are you?”

“Sinclair!” A voice shouts, before the radio cuts into static. 

“Lucas? Lucas!” Max shouts into the walkie, but he doesn’t respond. She sounds scared, it’s the most emotion you’ve heard in her voice in months.

You’re no better. You sit in the passenger seat, numb. The voice, you recognized it. You’d know Jason Carver’s voice anywhere. Everything clicks; you remember how Lucas was supposed to go to the party after the basketball game. Chrissy had been Jason’s girlfriend before she was brutally killed. The cops would’ve questioned him, they would’ve told him how her body had been found in Eddie’s trailer. 

Eddie Munson, the town freak everyone hates. 

“What shit could Lucas get into?” Dustin questions, annoyance twinged with worry for his friend. 

You try to steady your breathing, nausea returning. You almost don’t recognize the sound of your own voice. “It’s Jason. He’s-he’s angry.”

The words settle in the car, linger in the air, before they crash heavily upon the four of you. The realization dawns on everyone, the inevitability of what will happen next is an unbearable weight.

Steve steps even harder on the gas. He knows the basketball team, how cruel teen boys can be. 

– 

Every time you’ve snuck into one of Hawkins’ schools, it’s never led to anything good. The first two times had been in the middle school for Will. Neither time involved very pleasant memories. This year you’re sneaking into the high school in order to violate your classmates’ privacy and read their deepest, darkest secrets.

“This feels wrong,” you huff under your breath, barely keeping up with Steve and the others as they run through the hallway. “I’d hate it if anyone read my file.”

“Would you rather risk anyone else dying?” Max responds, giving you a pointed look.

You frown but don’t say anything, figuring she’s right. As much as you hate to do this, it’s objectively the lesser of two evils. You’ll apologize to the students after this is done. If they question why you’ve baked them brownies, you’ll simply lie and say you had extra laying around. 

“Dustin, do you copy?” Robin’s voice carries over the radio. Your heart skips a beat hearing her, you’ve missed her today. After your brother responds, she starts to explain what she and Nancy found. “So, Nancy’s a genius.”

“What else is new?” You say, and Robin laughs.

“My thoughts exactly, pretty girl.” She clears her throat. “Anyways, Vecna’s first victims date back all the way to 1959. Her shot in the dark was a bull’s-eye.”

The new information startles you. Vecna first started killing in 1959? Why didn’t you hear anything about it until now, and why didn’t El sense him before?

Dustin looks equally unsettled by the news. “Okay, that’s totally bonkers, but we can’t really talk right now.”

“What are you doing?”

“Breaking and entering into the school to retrieve confidential and extremely personal files.”

You wince. It’s as bad as it sounds. Tapping Dustin’s shoulder, you break him away from the walkie. “Wait, we won’t need my files, right?”

Steve eyes you up and down, shrugging indifferently. “Well–” Hitting his chest, he sputters at you. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“You’re not reading my files, Harrington.”

Meanwhile, Dustin urges Robin and Nancy to meet you guys at the school. By the time their conversation wraps up, Max has unlocked the office door. She heads straight towards the drawers, long familiar with the layout; you follow after her.

Steve and Dustin look around while you and Max dig through the files. They mumble something about Watergate, but you can barely hear them over the rush of blood in your eardrums. Max’s fingers rest on a specific file. The name printed on it makes you feel sick.

Fred Benson.

“Holy shit,” she exhales, grabbing it.

“Found it?” Dustin stands next to you now, neck peering down. 

You struggle to breathe. “We didn’t just find Chrissy’s file.”

Dustin tilts his head, he doesn’t understand, and Max holds the file up. “Fred was seeing Ms. Kelly too.”

Steve and Dustin freeze. You can practically see their heartbeats still. The air in the room goes stale. Their eyes linger on you, they wish they couldn’t piece it together. Chrissy and Fred were seeing Ms. Kelly up until their deaths. You and Max have been seeing her, too. It’s one hell of a coincidence. 

But that’s all this is. A horrible, awful coincidence. 

“Y/N…” Steve breathes out, but you shake your head at him.

“Please,” your lip trembles. Not here, not now. He can’t look away from you, but you can’t bear to look at him. Instead, you grab the remaining files and hand them to Max. “We need to go through them. All of them.”

Dustin sits at the desk, Steve’s hand rests on the small of your back as you lean over Max to read the files. He shines a flashlight for the two of you, Chrissy’s file is the first one you read. The image of her once vibrant and alive smile stares back at you. There’s a column of writing to the left of her photo, the handwriting is neat, orderly, and it catches your attention.

“Are those…?”

“Symptoms.” Max softly answers, eyes skimming down the list.

Past trauma.

Terrible migraines.

Difficulty sleeping.

Headaches.

Max’s entire body tenses, her muscles pull taut against you. Your own body shakes, the tremors misalign your bones. Slowly, she looks up at you. Her eyes silently beg you to tell her that you’ve gotten it all wrong. Max’s blue eyes plead with you to tell her that none of this is real.

“Steve,” your voice catches, unable to inhale. “Can we see Fred’s file?”

He softly agrees, handing you the file immediately. You take it from him. The paper trembles in your unsteady grasp. Laying them down, you open the file and Fred’s photo burns you. Next to it is a list of symptoms.

They’re the same as Chrissy’s. 

They’re the same as yours. 

The headaches. Sleepless nights. The trauma you’ve been through, the nightmares that will never truly go away. Everything you’ve experienced within the last week. 

Nosebleeds is starred, and for a moment your heartbeat settles. You haven’t had a nosebleed since you were five. It isn’t one of your symptoms; it can all still be a coincidence.

“This-this can’t be right.” You don’t know if you say this to reassure Max or yourself, but when you look down at her, you know. She has a far off look in her eyes. She doesn’t react to what you’ve just said. 

It’s only then that you remember her nosebleed from earlier this week; it hadn’t been a coincidence. 

“Max?” You shake her shoulders, tears already in your eyes. You know better than to be so naive, so blindly ignorant. You should’ve known better. You should’ve known that something was wrong.

Dustin and Steve try to wake Max, but she’s already left her body. She’s unresponsive, lost in whatever trance she’s in. 

“Y/N, what’s happening?” Steve demands, fear in his own voice.

You’re hysterical, screaming and sobbing for Max to wake up. Her body is so small against yours, she’s frail and weak and her skin has never looked so translucent. Over and over you shake her, your palms rest against her cheeks and you cry.

You’ve come to know what fear is. How it can blind a person, leave them stricken with such raw anguish. Fear takes whatever air is left inside you and it poisons it with sulfur and leaves you choking. 

The day Will went missing, the only air left in your body had been blood. 

When inside the tunnels defending your little brother from monsters, the air in your body had been carbon. 

Starcourt mall and the fireworks that exploded over Billy’s dangling and bloodied body left only just enough air in your lungs to scream.

But this fear, seeing Max unresponsive to your pleas, this fear doesn’t spare you any air. 

Gasping and choking, you’re a wreck. “Max!”

Faintly you can feel Steve’s hands on you, or maybe they’re Dustin’s. Someone grabs you, pulls you away, but all you can do is scream.

It all makes sense now, Nancy’s question from earlier rings in your ears. You know why Chrissy and Fred were targeted. Why Ms. Kelly was somehow the center of it all.

The symptoms they experienced prior, the same ones that plague you and Max. You know what it is.

Venca’s curse.

-

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[backtothefanfiction]

Oh Baby | PART TWO: SETTLING IN SEATTLE

Manny Alvarez x Reader Insert

Summary: You and the gang settle into your new lives with the WLF

Warnings: MATURE!, pregnancy, angst, fluff, manny is a bit of a jerk, swearing, guns! We are playing fast and loose with both the timeline and general story canon, if that’s gonna bother you, don’t read.

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: Hi, so here is part 2 of Oh baby. Thank you so much for the love and support on part 1, I can’t wait to share the full story arc I have planned for this. I’m sorry there isn’t a tag list, I’ve just come to realise I’m just really shit at keeping one. The series will be listed in the South Wing of my library (masterlist) from here on out so will be easy to find for future reference. If you really want to make sure you don’t miss an instalment when I post (I’ve not really thought out a schedule with this, just gonna post whenever) then maybe hit the follow button as an extra security. Anyway, Manny is a bit of a dick for a bit during this chapter, but his heart is in the right place, so we can’t be mad right? Right?

It took another day and a half of trekking through the snow to get there, the high snow drifts making it near impossible most of the time to move through the woods, but you made it- and you’d only thrown up twice in that time. You were considering that a win. Manny remained close to you for the whole journey, but never too close to draw too much attention to you both. But he kept a constant eye on you.

When he noticed you weren’t being sick again he tried to encourage you to eat some more, even sneakily offering you some of his own rations. You had tried to push them away, worried that this blessed nausea free break would be ruined by you suddenly adding food back to your stomach again. But he was pushy and wouldn’t take no for an answer- and you were glad he didn’t, thankful when your body remained settled and you were able to enjoy the first lot of food you had kept down in days.

You all mostly walked in silence, all of you conserving your energy as you moved through the howling cold as quickly as you possibly could. When you made it back towards the road things became a little bit easier again, however by that point the fatigue in your body was so great that no matter how much closer you were getting to the city, it still felt like it was miles towards your destination.

Once again you slowly began to fall behind. The cold air made your lungs burn. Your legs were starting to cramp from walking too much and you desperately just wanted to sleep.

“How much further?” you asked Manny as he doubled back to where you had finally come to a stop, your body hunched over, hands braced on your thighs as you desperately tried to get your breath back and muster enough energy to go on.

“I’d say maybe another hour and a half?” he said, turning his head to look for a marker against the city skyline to where the WLF were camped out.

You stood back up to look for the marker yourself, but your eyes were too tired from both your fatigue and the endless white that continued to surround you from all sides.

“Have I ever told you I hate the snow,” you panted, as you tried to instead focus on the man before you and find some solace and energy in him.

“No,” he muttered, his focus split on attending to you and keeping an eye on how far ahead the others were.

“I grew up in Arizona,” you muttered, “not all that much snow in the desert,” you complained and it made him chuckle.

You watched as he took one more look over his shoulder at the others, before his eyes softened. “Come here,” he said, reaching out for your backpack.

You reluctantly let him, once again, shift some of the items from your bag into his to lighten your load and take some of the strain off of your body.

“Thanks,” you said, as you moved to put it back on, the weight of it considerably less. You wondered how heavy his pack must be now, but you knew this was yet just another one of his ways to try and make amends with you.

“So you really think this is a good idea?” you said to him as you slowly began to walk again.

“I mean if you’d asked me yesterday before you told me-“ he hesitated as he struggled to say the words ‘you’re pregnant’ out loud, but you couldn’t blame him, nor did you actually need him to say it for you to understand. He blinked hard and swallowed down the unspoken words before he continued. “I would have said yes. And considering the current weather and the fact our supplies are running dangerously low, I won’t deny, I still think it’s the right move to make. Whether or not it’s a long term solution though?” he said, airing his thoughts, “I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see.”

“I’ve heard Isaac can be quite the hard ass,” you confided as you looped your thumbs through the straps of your pack and hoisted it higher on your back as you walked.

“That may be, but if it means he keeps control of the city and we get to settle down in one place for a while…” he offered, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find a conclusion for his train of thought, but you got the gist of where it was headed.

—————————————————

“So how do we do this?” you asked as you approached the old media tower that the WLF had made their main base and finally caught up with the others. “Do we just knock on the door and show them our old fireflies necklaces or?”

You didn’t have time to receive an answer as the doors suddenly flew open and a surge of WLF members came out onto the front steps with their guns trained on the six of you. You immediately froze, your hands instinctively flying up into the air in a show of surrender, but to your surprise Manny stepped forward to block your body with his own. He had a hardened and protective look on his face, but it was a stance you knew was meant to protect everyone, not just you.

“Wait, don’t shoot!” Mel eagerly said, stepping forward, moving her backpack into view and showing off her old fireflies necklace. “We’re former fireflies. We were told by one of your scouting parties in the area we would be welcomed here,” she said optimistically, but your heart was still in your throat.

One of the leaders of the WLF pack lifted a finger and signalled for you to wait where you were. He gave a look to the woman beside him, silently telling her to be vigilant and keep the rest of the pack's eyes trained on you all, as he moved back inside the door to radio to his superior and give them an update.

It was an agonising wait that had your toes tapping with restlessness as you tried to focus on staying calm and optimistic. But on the inside you were mentally berating yourself for ever letting you all go through with this crazy plan.

“You got names?” The man came out again and asked and slowly each one of you introduced yourselves. He didn’t seem to react to any of them until he heard Manny’s and he seemed to grow a little starstruck. Once he had collated your names, he hovered back inside the doorway again to radio them to the superior once more and you were left frowning at the back of Manny’s head as you wondered why the man had reacted that way.

Another couple minutes went by of you all waiting out in the cold, before you were given the all clear to finally enter the building and you let out a low breath of relief as you followed everyone else inside. You stuck close to Manny’s back as you all climbed the stairs single file up to the 4th floor. He took one look back just to check where abouts you were, but you could see him relax when he realised you’d kept yourself close.

“You’ll wait in here,” the man who had led you in said, as he ushered you all into an old conference room that still housed an old wooden table and a mass of swivel chairs.

Although the group of you had been left in the room alone, it was clear from the shadows through the glass in the door, that a couple of WLF members had been placed there on guard to keep an eye on you all just in case.

Although you had been tired the whole way there, the adrenaline from having numerous guns pointed at you was still coursing through your body and you found yourself unable to sit still. You instead moved towards the windows that lined the back wall of the room and took a moment to look out at the snow covered city.

“What do you think they did with all the infected?” you asked, noticing the completely empty streets, but knowing from the fact you had all walked in here with no problem, there wasn’t any fence or defenses like they had in Jackson to keep them all out.

“Probably forced them underground,” Manny’s voice replied quietly, as he hovered looking out the window at your side.

—————————————————

You all waited in exhausted silence for what felt like nearly an hour before someone came to speak to you all. He was a black man of average build, but his presence in the room was immediately all encompassing and commanding.

He came to a halt at the end of the long conference room table before slapping a handful of paper files onto the table top with a heavy slap. Slowly you all came to hover around the table to accept your fate.

“Looks like you all check out,” he said firmly, yet his voice had a softness that told you you no longer needed to be on edge. His fingers slowly began to fan out the different files, his eyes dipping to scan the names on each of them.

“I will say though, many of your fellow fireflies who have sought refuge with me and my ranks thought you dead, as none of them have seen or heard anything about you in months.” He hesitated as he let his steady words permeate the air. “Anyone like to enlighten me as to what you’ve all been doing in that time?”

“We had a personal mission we were carrying out,” Abby spoke up confidently, before quickly adding a ‘Sir,’ as a formality.

“And what kind of personal mission would that be?” he asked, his attention focused on her.

“We were tracking down the man who attacked our base out in Salt Lake City,” she supplied.

“And was the mission successful?” the man asked.

“Yes, sir,” she said coldly and without feeling.

You didn’t know how she could be so closed off to what she had done. How she had acted. Even just thinking back to the way that man, Joel, had looked lying on the floor, his body bruised and bleeding, was enough to make your stomach turn again. The memory of the young woman’s screams echoed around your ears and you leant forward slightly to brace yourself against the table, your knuckles growing white as they wrapped around the edge.

You could feel Manny shooting you a subtle look of concern from your side, but you ignored it, not wanting to bring more attention to yourself than you already had.

“Which one of you is Manny Alvarez?” The man at the head of the table finally asked, his eyes flitting between Manny and Owen. But with a name like Alvarez, you thought it was easy to work out which two of the men it was he was looking for.

“Me,” Manny said, raising his hand slightly to get the man’s attention.

“The file we’ve got on you says you come highly recommended,” he said, singling out one of the files in front of him and flicking it open. “I’m told you’re good with a rifle and have a near perfect shot record.”

“Yes, sir,” Manny confirmed.

“Good, we could do with someone like you upstairs,” he said, before finally dragging his gaze back to the rest of you. “We’ll try and find you all accommodation. Training and drills will begin tomorrow at 08:00 hours. You’ll have 1 week to prove your worth, or you’ll be back out on the streets, you hear me.”

“Yes, sir,” you all affirmed

“Good,” he praised softly, picking back up the files and beginning to move towards the door again. “Oh,” he said, doubling back a step and turning back towards us. “My names Isaac by the way. And welcome to the WLF.”

—————————————————

TWO AND A HALF MONTHS LATER

The six of you had been split between two rooms. After a small debate it was decided that Abby, Owen and Mel would take one room, whilst you, Manny and Nora took the other. You were grateful too, because then neither you or Manny had to hide what was going on between you (not that Nora wanted many details, but you could speak freely even when she was around and it made things less stressful).

You had all completed the WLF initial trials, not that there had been any doubt that you would, being ex-fireflies and all, but it was a weight off knowing you could stay. You had regular food, a place to sleep, a steady routine that made the long winter days go by fairly quick.

You and Manny had managed to keep your little secret under wraps fairly well, the only issue being when you all had a physical. Although the nurse was supposed to report the result back to the doctor, you had managed to get her to take pity on you and have her sweep it under the carpet for the moment. After all, given everything else you had going on with the WLF, you still expected yourself to miscarry and this whole thing to resolve itself naturally. But that didn’t happen.

Your morning sickness had gotten better over the last few weeks, you were only throwing up once a day (if that). You were sleeping better at night allowing you to feel less fatigued in the day and you were finally starting to get some colour back into your cheeks now the weather was starting to turn.

The last of the snow had melted well over a week ago now, bringing with it fresh flowering buds on the trees and an influx of greenery to surround you. You had always loved Spring and that cycle of new life that began to emerge everywhere you looked. It always reminded you that things could so easily change and that even on the bleakest of days, something new was just around the corner. It gave you hope.

However the changing weather didn’t just bring new life to your surroundings. Just like the warmer weather had started to bring all of you out of hibernation, it did the same for the infected.

There had been many talks and meetings over the last week on how you were all going to combat it. More patrols. More groups marching through the streets to show the WLFs force.

You and Manny were often split up during the day, him relegated to camping out upstairs in the watchtower, whilst you were left to act as one of the many boots on the street. Luckily you usually had either Mel or Nora with you to watch your back and ease Manny’s mind, but it still didn’t stop him from worrying about you night and day.

“We’re going to have to say something at some point,” he said as he lay on his single bed across the room staring up at the ceiling, throwing and catching a small ball to keep his hands busy whilst he thought.

“And what if I’m still not ready for that,” you said as you rolled onto your side on your own bed to face him.

It was a small room with a set of bunk beds against the wall on one side and a single bed on the other. There were three lockers placed at the ends of each of the beds for storage and a single extra chair in a corner by the door. You had taken the bottom bunk so that Manny could better keep an eye on you, leaving the top bunk for Nora.

“Well when will you be ready?” Manny rebuffed gruffly, catching the ball and sitting up to look at you properly. “I mean, you’re not going to be able to keep it a secret much longer,” he berated, but his tone wasn’t unreasonable. “We’re three months into this thing now. Isn’t that when they say you’re usually out of the woods? It’ll only be another couple of weeks before you start actually showing.”

“I know!” You said, cutting off his rant.

You’d been having the same conversation for days now. Manny had been protective of you from the second he found out you were pregnant with his child, but lately he’d stepped it up a notch.

“Just, give me a few more days, okay?” you reasoned with him as you rolled back over onto your back to stair at the slats in the bed frame above you.

“Promise,” he said, his eyes staring at you, but you didn’t meet them.

“Promise,” you sighed noncommittally, but it seemed to ease his mind. For the moment anyway.

—————————————————

That was until another week later and you were all pulled into a meeting with Isaac and a few other higher ups in the WLF.

“I need a strong team to go out and survey the Eastern blocks of the city. We’ve been having an insurgence of infected in that area and we need to work out where they’re coming from so that we can push them back,” Isaac said from the head of the table. “Manny, I want you and Abby to head up that group.”

“We’ll take the rest of our crew from Salt Lake,” Abby quickly offered up. “Pad it out with a few of-“

“No,” Manny quickly interjected, cutting her off. All eyes fell on him as the room went quiet. When he turned and met your eyes, you knew what he was going to do and you silently begged him not to, but he ignored you.

“We’re not taking the whole Salt Lake Crew,” he told her.

“What do you mean? Why not?” Abby commanded, her brow furrowed, eyes laser focused on Manny.

“Yes, Manny,” Isaac chimed in, “why not?”

“Manny,” you warned him, your voice low.

“No,” he turned and said to you, “I’m not letting you come with us.”

“Manny, please don’t do this,” you asked him calmly, trying to keep things from escalating before they’d even begun, but he wasn’t having any of it.

“Why can’t Y/N come with us?” Mel asked from across the room.

Your eyes moved to Nora sat beside her and you silently pleaded with her to step up and say something. To counteract Manny before he could go any further. But she wouldn’t.

“Manny,” you turned back to him and nervously warned him again. You weren’t ready for this. You liked it just being the three of you that knew. The moment everybody else did they would look at you differently. And even if you were ready, this was definitely not how you wanted them to find out.

“She’s pregnant!” Manny blurted out before you could get out another word.

You glowered at him, a storm held in your eyes that told him how much you hated him right now. How betrayed you felt.

“Since when?” Owen asked, rising from his seat as he struggled to process the information.

When silence fell and it was clear Manny wasn’t going to say anything else, you finally bit the bullet and confessed. “I’m 3 months along,” you reluctantly told them.

“What?” They muttered between themselves, asking each other different questions and berating themselves for not realising. The only quiet one amongst your crew was Nora, who just stared at the two of you as the debris of the bombshell slowly settled.

“Well who’s the father?” Mel asked, still struggling to put all the pieces together.

“Well it’s fucking him isn’t it,” Owen snipped. “Why else would he know and the rest of us not.”

“I guess congratulations are in order,” Isaac said stoically, as you sat mortified in your seat. “After all, our repopulation efforts are just as important as all our other endeavours,” he continued, but somehow his words didn’t make you feel any better.

“This does change things a little, I guess,” he continued as the rest of the members of your crew in the room began to settle, “but Manny, I do believe the choice should be up to Y/N. We have had some pregnant recruits continue to partake in missions well into the late stages of their pregnancy-“

“I want to go!” You insisted, standing from your seat and leaning forward on the table with authority. You could feel Manny at your side shooting daggers back at you but you ignored him. “If everyone else is going, I want to go.”

“No!” Manny said forcefully. “Bringing you along will only compromise the mission.”

“How so?!” You interjected, rage beginning to rise in your voice. “I am still more than able bodied. I am keeping up with all the drills. I am still a highly skilled member of this team!”

“But I can’t guarantee your safety,” he stressed.

“Yes, I understand that and am prepared for any-“

“But I’m not!” he shouted back. “If you come with us, you will only be a distraction for the team. I don’t want anyone losing focus on the mission because they are too busy trying to protect you and watch out for you instead.”

“Then why the fuck did you tell everyone!” You spat back at him.

“BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO LOSE YOU!” he shouted and the room went deadly silent. “Either of you,” he clarified more softly. “Permission to deny Miss Y/L/N’s attendance on this and future missions,” Manny said, turning to Isaac for a final ruling.

Isaac hesitated a moment, looking between you and Manny, silently weighing up the situation. But you saw the way he looked at Manny and you knew there was no going back. “Permission granted,” he finally affirmed and you fell like led back into your seat as you felt your fate finally settle on your shoulders.

—————————————————

You didn’t talk to him for a week after they returned. Refused to even look at him. How dare he bench you like this. It was ridiculous. He knew how much of an asset you were to that team, baby or not, and yet he still sidelined you- for what?

“You know, you can’t ignore him forever,” Nora said one evening when it was just the two of you in the room.

“Watch me,” you bit, irritated, but you both knew your words were meaningless.

“If it makes you feel better, he was in a grumpy as fuck mood the whole time. Carried this look of guilt on his face and almost got himself killed because he was still too distracted thinking about how he’d hurt you.”

“What?” You said, sitting up and leaning your head out from the bottom bunk to look up at her.

“The fucker was too in his head and wasn’t looking where he was going. Fell through the fuckin floor didn’t he. Thank fuck he caught himself before he could fall through the next floor. There was a fuck ton of infected down there,” she said. “I mean he still disturbed them and they came swarming up the nearest staircase, but thankfully we had enough time to hop back out the window and climb down the same way we went in before Abby and Owen torched the place.”

“Shit, is that why he’s been limping?” you found yourself asking concerned.

“See you do care,” she smirked.

“Oh shut up,” you spat back, flopping back down onto your back out of sight again.

Two minutes later, Manny was returning to the room freshly showered, a towel tucked tightly in at his hips, his damp curls still dripping down his back. His sudden presence made the room tense and it wasn’t long before Nora was shifting herself off the top bunk and making a quick exit.

“I’m gonna go take a shower too and give you guys some time to talk,” she said, grabbing her things before lightly skipping out the door.

Although she had given you space to talk, neither one of you was chomping at the bit to break the silence between you. That was until he let out a low groan as he settled himself down on the edge of the bed. When you finally chanced a glance his way, he had lifted his leg slightly to observe the large scab that ran down the length of his shin.

When he lifted his head and was met with your eyes, you felt caught, like a deer in headlights. But you didn’t move.

“That looks painful,” you finally said.

“Yeah. Was,” he replied. “But it’ll heal in about a week or so, no big deal,” he added, putting his foot back on the floor before standing up.

You continued to watch him as he pottered around the room collecting the things he needed to get dressed, laying them out on the end of his bed. “You just gonna sit there and watch me get dressed?” he asked with his back to you, as he lifted his arms and applied deodorant.

“Maybe?” you said, but you didn’t turn your eyes away. After all, it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him naked before.

“Fine,” he sighed, brashly turning around to give you a full eyeful of his junk as he finally dropped the towel.

Your eyes became glassy as they focused on his abs. You knew it was weird to just stare, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“You okay there?” he asked, as he rested his hands on his hips and waited for you to look away, but you weren’t fully there.

“Huh? What?” you finally said, blinking out of your daze and finally moving your eyes back up to his face. “Yeah- I’m fine,” you said, turning your body away from him fully and staring at the wall beside you.

You listened attentively to him as he continued to shuffle around and get dressed into his T-shirt and sweats, the usual items you all wore to bed. You heard the mattress springs groan as he finally sat himself back down on his bed and only then, did you turn around to look at him once more. He was sitting on top of the covers, his toes dangling over the edge of the bed. His arms were wrapped tightly around his knees and his fingers circled his wrist to hold them in place as he stared at you.

His face looked tormented and you wanted to ask him to unload his burdens on you, but you were also still pissed at him and liked that you were at least causing him some torture.

“You know I had to do it, right?” he said as an opener, but you didn’t respond. “You promised you’d say something and you didn’t,” he continued when all you gave him was silence. “What else was I supposed to do?” he said, his voice becoming irate when he couldn’t get a response from you.

Instead of answering, you rolled back to staring at the wall.

“Uhhhgg,” he groaned and you heard the sound of him running his open palm down his face in exasperation. “Look what do you want me to do? What do you want me to say?!” he finally barked, getting up and standing directly next to your bed.

“How about an actual fucking apology!” you turned and spat at him. “Did you think about that? You fucking out me to everyone and then sideline me from all further missions and you didn’t even apologise!” you barked back at him and his face fell.

You could feel your hormones coursing through your body. Feel your rage literally bubbling under your skin as it became flushed. All you could do was sit there and glower at him, words suddenly failing you. You were so mad- so angry- and you had no idea how to regulate that.

“Y/N-“ he said hesitantly.

“Don’t-“ you said, cutting him off. “Unless the next words out of your mouth are I’m sorry, just don’t,” you warned him and for once he actually looked frightened by you.

You both hesitated in silence for a moment, your eyes locked on one another as he waited for you to calm down. He listened to your breathing, counting the breaths out in his head as they gradually became deeper and longer.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said when your body began to soften and he knew you’d actually listen to him and accept it. “Please Y/N, I’m sorry,” he said, crouching down beside the bed so he was at eye level with you. “For all of this,” he added.

You sighed, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

“It’s not all your fault,” you reassured him. “It takes two people to make a baby and we were both reckless,” you said, your words chosen carefully to let him off of the hook he had placed himself on.

“Yeah, but I-“ he started, but you cut him off again.

“But nothing,” you said. “We are both grown adults and just sometimes…” you paused, taking in another calming breath, “sometimes these things happen.”

He gently reached out his hand for yours that was resting over your stomach and you let him, his thumb rubbing soothing lines across the back of it as he tried to work out what to say.

“How were you while we were away?” he finally asked.

“You mean apart from being cooped up here?” you asked him. “I’m fine- we’re fine,” you corrected and your words made the corner of his mouth quirk up.

You remembered back to what he said in that meeting, ‘Because I don’t want to lose you… Either of you.’ Although those words had gotten your back up at the time, your anger at being pushed aside clouding any other feelings those words might have made you feel, you sure were feeling them now.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he suddenly frowned, leaning closer to you and you realised you had begun to cry.

“Uhhh, shit,” you said, wiping at your cheeks. “Just stupid hormones,” you explained, letting out a small laugh at yourself as the tears continued to roll down your cheeks. “You know yesterday, I cried over a cucumber. A fucking cucumber,” you laughed, remembering the absurdity of it all.

“Why? What did the cucumber do to you?” he said with his own lightness, as he continued to hold your hand and help you ride out this wave of emotions.

“Didn’t taste right,” you told him.

He let out a breathy laugh before he lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a small tentative kiss there. “Kids not even four months yet and he’s already rejecting his vegetables,” he mused.

“Or she-“ you interjected, because there was really no way of knowing after all.

“Oh good, glad to see you two have made up,” Nora said as she stepped back into the room enrobed in a towel, her old clothes bunched up in her arms.

“Yeah,” you mused as you let your eyes roam over Manny’s side profile and you smiled. “We’ll see how long it lasts,” you joked and he turned back to you and smiled.

—————————————————

TO BE CONTINUED…

[dayasfilms]

Chapter One - The Disappearance

ㅤSummary: You don’t think too much about your best friend’s absence at school until your mom tells you about a new case that came to her desk involving a missing child. The missing child being your best friend’s younger brother.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings: This story contains mature themes such as sexual content, strong language, violence, mentions of alcohol and drugs, blood, gore, and death. No mentions of Y/N. Some mistakes in information, not everything is factual.

Word Count: 2.1k

Note: Thank you for choosing to read my Stranger Things series! I just want to emphasize that the reader’s first name is your choice, however, her last name is still Kaul because of her mother, Yasmin Kaul. The reader and her mother are two important characters in the story, so there will be times where the scene shifts to Yasmin’s perspective. The entire series is still based on the reader, but the scenes with Yasmin are essential to the plot. Also, in the show, it mentions that Hawkins is 80 miles from Indianapolis, but due to Yasmin’s work being located there, let’s pretend Hawkins is 40 miles from Indianapolis. I truly hope you will continue to read and enjoy this story until the end!

Series Masterlist

ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡

The chair scuffed against the wooden floor as you pulled it back, taking a bite of your apple as you sat on it. Your eyes trailed out the window, stuck on the trees outside the yard. A bird landed on a branch, which had little to no leaves, with the remaining few turned into a combination of reds and oranges as the November weather grew colder.

A loud thump made you jump, turning your head to look at the source of the sound to see your mom, Yasmin, picking up a few books. Putting them back on the corner table, she walked into the kitchen, giving a small smile as she took out a glass before turning the faucet on. “Morning, sweetie.”

“Morning,” you responded warmly. You turned your head back to the stack of books. “Sorry, I was going to take them to my room but forgot to.”

Yasmin turned the faucet off as she took a sip from her glass, waving her hand. “It’s okay, you were working late on your project and were tired. I should have seen it while I was walking in here. Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”

You grinned, nodding your head before taking another bite. You watched your mom wash the glass before putting it back in its spot. “You’re not going to eat anything?”

Shaking her head, Yasmin grabbed her jacket that she left hanging over one of the chairs and put it on. “No, I just got a call about another case on my desk. Something about a missing person. I need to get there a little earlier today. I’ll just grab a coffee on my way.”

You nodded your head, taking one more bite before throwing the apple in the trash. You stood up from your chair, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “Okay, I have to go to school now. Let’s walk out together.”

Entering the school, you heard chattering and laughter as people walked to their lockers or classrooms. You opened your locker, scanning the hallways. Your eyebrows furrowed as you noticed that your best friend, Jonathan, still didn’t show up yet. He was always there earlier than you. Shrugging, you took off your jacket and shoved it into your locker, closing the door shut.

You began to walk to your class when you felt a presence falling into step with you. You rolled your eyes, not sparing a glance before speaking. “What do you want, Steve?”

A little startled that you somehow figured out it was him without looking, he quickly shook it off before smirking. “Noticed your little friend isn’t here with you. You looked lonely.”

Scoffing, you picked your speed up a bit faster. “Oh yeah? A little birdie tell you that?” You saw your classroom door come into view. “And just because I’m walking alone doesn’t mean I’m lonely. I’m perfectly capable of being by myself.”

“No, of course,” Steve responded, putting his hands up in surrender. “Still don’t get why you hang out with that freak, anyway.”

Your blood boiled at the name, turning around in anger as you faced the boy. “Don’t call him that,” you seethed, making sure not to yell and gather the attention of everyone nearby. “And what’s it to you? I don’t think you should be caring what another girl does when you were making out with Nancy Wheeler in the bathroom not even five minutes ago.”

Steve’s eyes softened as he sighed. “Okay, I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean that.”

“Yeah, but you still said it.” Rolling your eyes once more, you turned back around to continue your steps. “And do you always go around harassing your ex-girlfriends, or am I the only exception?”

Not waiting to hear a response, you walked inside the classroom.

Parking your car in the driveway, you noticed your mom still was not home yet. After locking the front door, you immediately went to the phone to call Jonathan. After a few rings, a frantic Joyce Byers picked up, leaving you confused. “Hello?!”

“Uh, Joyce, hi, it’s me,” you greeted as you said your name. “Jonathan wasn’t at school today so I wanted to check up on him. Is he okay?”

You heard a shaky breath come from Joyce before you heard some shuffling and Jonathan responding with your name. “Hey.”

You leaned against the wall. “Everything okay? Are you sick?”

“No, no, I’m not sick,” Jonathan answered, but you could hear the shakiness in his voice. You waited for him to continue. “Will’s missing.”

“What?!” Your heart hammered against your chest as you stood up straight, not quite sure that you heard what he said correctly. “He didn’t come back from Mike’s last night?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“I’m on my way.” You instantly put the phone down and got your keys, rushing out the door and getting in your car to drive to the Byers’ home. It didn’t take long for you to reach the Byers’. You parked your car and quickly got out, running to the door before knocking on it rapidly. The door opened to reveal a distressed Jonathan Byers. You walked in and saw Joyce Byers, Jonathan’s mom, on the phone.

“What happened?” You asked, worriedness laced in your voice.

Jonathan took a deep breath, looking back at his mom. “Mom was at work last night and I was supposed to be home but I took an extra shift and now Will’s gone. Missing. And we don’t know where he is. And it’s my fault.” You looked at the boy and saw the pained look on his face. You instantly wrapped your arms around him and rubbed his back.

“Hey, it’s not your fault. We’ll find him. Please don’t blame yourself, alright?” You heard Joyce put down the phone and let go of Jonathan, walking over to the woman. Joyce looked at you as you took note of the tears in her eyes, threatening to fall out. You hugged the woman as you attempted to comfort her. “I’m so sorry, Joyce. I’m sure they’ll be able to find him. Have you called my mom yet?”

Joyce pulled back and nodded her head. “Thank you, sweetie, and yes, I already called your mom and Hopper.”

She walked away as you turned towards your friend. “Why didn’t you call me this morning? I would have come straight away, Jonathan.”

He shook his head. “It wouldn’t have mattered. We still haven’t found him and there was no reason for you to miss school because of us.”

You knitted your eyebrows together as you glared at him. “No reason? Jonathan, Will’s like a younger brother to me. My mom may not have told me because she’s already busy looking for him, but you could have called me. I’d drop anything for you guys.” Jonathan didn’t say anything and you didn’t push further, not wanting to make him more upset. “Okay, listen, we have a few hours of daylight left. Let’s get out there and see if we can find anything.”

“We already checked, the police came and even found his bike, but no sign of Will,” Jonathan breathed out, his eyes glassy.

You pursed your lips. “Hm, maybe they missed something. It’s possible. I’m sure my mom’s already gathered a search party. She’s dealt with a lot of missing person cases, especially children. She’ll find him, okay?” You rubbed your hands against his arms, trying to calm him down.

Jonathan nodded his head. You took his hand and dragged him out of the house, walking towards the woods nearby.

Your mind went back to this morning, about how your mom mentioned she received a new case this morning about a missing person. You wouldn’t have guessed it would be someone so close to you. You knew your mom didn’t even know it was Will himself until she reached her office, or else you would have found out from her.

You and Jonathan spent the next hour calling out Will’s name, scouting the surrounding area for any clues. The day was starting to become night, and soon enough, you would have to go back home and hope that Will would be found soon if not today.

Walking back to the Byers’ house, you held Jonathan’s hand as you reassured him. “We’re going to find him, Jonathan, okay?” Your heart broke for the family, for Will. “I know this doesn’t really mean anything and nothing I say is going to change the situation, but as long as there is no body, he’s still out there. We will find him.”

Jonathan wrapped his arms around you, and you could feel the tears streaming down his face onto your jacket. You rubbed his back soothingly, wanting nothing more than to find Will. You hoped he was somewhere safe.

You pulled back, wiping away his tears. “You and Joyce need to get some sleep. If anything happens, call my mom or me as soon as you can, alright?”

“Thank you,” Jonathan responded, watching as you climbed into your car. He watched as you drove away before walking back into his house.

As you drove, you couldn’t think of any reason as to how Will may have gone missing. Hawkins was quiet, a small town where nothing happened. A strange feeling bubbled up inside of you, a feeling you had not felt in a long time.

Will was like a little brother to you. Will and his close friends, Mike, Lucas, and Dustin. You sometimes offered to babysit them when their parents were busy when they were younger, creating a close bond with them. You were always a little tough with them, never showing them your soft spot for the boys. Not Will, though. You were always soft with Will, knowing he was a lot more quiet and sensitive than the others.

You felt something wet on your face, bringing a hand up to swipe at it. You had not even realized you were crying.

Pulling up in your driveway, you finally saw your mom’s car. You rushed inside to see her sitting at the kitchen counter, her head shooting up at the sound of the front door opening.

Yasmin stood up, walking over to you as her eyebrows furrowed. “Sweetheart, are you okay? Where were you?”

“I was at Jonathan's,” you answered. “Sorry, I should have left a note.”

Realization hit Yasmin and she sighed. “No, it’s alright. God, we tried all day looking for him,” she said, walking back over to the kitchen counter. You followed. “All we found was his bike.”

You crossed your arms, not liking the tone in her voice. “What do you think?”

Yasmin shook her head. “I’m hoping he’s just lost but sweetie, you already know the chances of finding a missing child after twenty-four hours.”

“Very low,” you mumbled, aware of the statistics. It’s hard not to ask questions when your mom is an FBI agent and you also want to go into law yourself.

“Hopper thinks Will ran away to his dad’s,” Yasmin stated, rolling her eyes. “He doesn’t seem like the type to run away, I know this. There doesn’t even seem to be a reason for him to run away.”

“Yeah, and especially not to his dad’s,” you grimaced. The idea of Will running off to his dad’s place in the city was improbable. “And how would he have even gotten there? It’s already a long drive to the city, let alone going there by foot.”

“I don’t know,” Yasmin sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She looked down at the files in front of her, before looking back up at you. She could see guilt crossing your face and she immediately took your hand. “Hey, sweetie, don’t do that. This isn’t your fault, okay?”

You shook your head. “No, but, what if he’s in trouble, mom? Maybe something happened and he didn’t feel like he could tell anyone.”

“I know you feel like you have this urge to protect the kids and everyone you love, but you have to remember that you can’t save everyone, okay?” Yasmin reminded you, a reminder she has to deal with on a daily basis. “You have to remember this when you go into law yourself, my girl.”

You smiled, your eyes trained on your joined hands. “Yeah, I know…”

“Okay, good,” Yasmin whispered, kissing your forehead. “Now get some sleep. We’re all going to need it.”

You hugged your mom tight, listening to the sound of her heartbeat against your ears before pulling away. You began to walk away before mumbling a quiet goodnight, walking upstairs to your room.

[fflrrrtt]

Recognition

(Pro-Hero Bakugo Katsuki x Reader)

Synopsis: After years of blood, sweat, and sleepless nights in medical school and residency, you’re offered the chance of a lifetime: a position as a physician in Japan. With the public interest in healthcare on the rise, the elite Medical Unit has just been established, and you don’t hesitate to accept.

You have a one-track mind: to excel. It’s expected. It’s career-focused. No distractions…until you cross paths with a certain blonde.

(total chapters: approx. 5): One, Two, Three, Four, Five

Note: This is highkey inspired by a post I read from @azzo0 where reader's a med student and I want to explore this profession for this short-chapter fic I'm cooking. I also want to take this time to say that reading the works of @ofmermaidstories , @andypantsx3 , @willowser , and @thetrashywritingwitch for literal YEARS actually pushed me to brush-off my writer's block and cultivate my writing skills. So if you see this, tysm muah <3 - from a not-so-popular fic author.

Enjoy!

“Pro Hero Dynamight surged from rank 15 to 5!” The newscaster’s voice was loud and proud, and the sounds of explosions could be heard from the television placed on the wall. Then, the screen pans to a familiar green-haired man, One for All Hero, Deku, speaking gently to the cheery live reporter as Dynamight stood by him, brooding as usual. It was the aftermath of a villain fight—a quick fight at that. 

“They really got the public hooked, huh?” Dr. Miyano says before she shoves rice and curry into her mouth using the spoon she bought at a merchandise store, it was a minimalist design of Creati. The cafeteria was filled with chirpy health professionals—some were talking to each other, some watching TV, and some were ready for seconds as they stood up, went back to the cafeteria line, and already dished out their debit cards and IDs to be scanned. 

“I’m not surprised,” you remarked, sloshing the ready-to-go glass of coffee you just ordered at the vending machine. Ever since the new generation of heroes rose, the crime rate plummeted and, of course, the heroes gained a shit ton of popularity, especially the U.A alumnis because they played key role in defeating Shigaraki and All for One, “they literally saved Japan and the whole world by extension.” 

Lunch went by in a blur—literally because it’s only a 30-minute duration. You and Miyano walked into the physician’s lounge, greeting coworkers and putting the now-empty bentos in your respective lunch bags. “You think we’re gonna meet them?” Dr. Miyano says aloud, zipping her lunch bag. 

You snide, “yeah, we’ll meet them one on one if we’re…A, we’re in the middle of a villain attack.  B, we’re tending to them, and C, one of us is in the Medical Unit, which is a competitive sector. Totally easy.” you fix your white coat and apply lip gloss—you gotta atleast look presentable even though you were running on only two hours sleep from the damn graveyard shift you took last night. “Alright, I’ll see you later.” At that, you left the room to do your patient rounds, prescribe medicine in doctor appointments, and the like. 

After your afternoon shift, you headed to a nice cafe—to unwind and do a quick email browse before you shut your damn brain off. Upon entering, you were met with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee, calming your nerves. Soft jazz plays in the background as guests sink into plush chairs, sipping lattes and chatting beneath shelves lined with well-loved books. You greeted the barista, flashing a curt smile before stating your order, and this time, you added a pastry—you know, just to treat yourself after your tiring shift.

Sitting on a comfortable plush chair, you bring out your laptop, turn it on, and start browsing through your emails, double-checking to ensure you don’t miss a single damn thing. A notification popped up from your calendar: GUN SHOOTING RANGE at noon this Saturday. An open tab of an online shop that you’ve been browsing last night. Rubbing your eyes, you look out the window in thought. It’s easy to get burnt out when you overwork yourself, which you knew ever since you chose to be in pre-med during your undergraduate years. You honestly thought of being a hero, entering as a hero medic, but it was just never for you.

A familiar barista approaches you, holding a tray of your order, breaking you out of your stupor. You smile again as he places them on the cool wooden table. “Thanks. How’s the college thus far, Ben?” you ask.

“It’s ok! The Japanese literature class is lowkey kicking my ass.” he says, rubbing the back of his head, “Kinda started to question the major I chose, but how about you, doc? I remember you briefly brought up a Medical Unit application.”

Oh my fuck. I was literally avoiding to think about this shit, damnit. You’ve been doing a great job suppressing this feeling of what? Butterflies? No—it’s maggots, definitely. You stirred your drink, taking a sip to act unaffected, “It’s going to be released tomorrow.” You say as cool as a cucumber, but mentally? Oh girl, your mind is doing laps. 

“Well, you’ll definitely get in! You’re one of the hardest-working doctors I’ve met. That’s not me trying to mooch off of you or anything. I’m just being truthful,” 

“Thanks. I hope.” The conversation ended when one of his coworkers called his name, leaving you alone with your thoughts and idling laptop. After a while, you left, seemingly satisfied with the quick relaxation you had using public transit to head home. 

The sun begins to set, coloring the sky a dark hue, and the stars start to fill up space, shining bright as you pressed a code to enter the condominium building. The place is neither super luxurious nor janky. Your condo is simple, yet spacious and affordable. Your mom really did make sure that you’re financially literate. You changed out of your work clothes, followed your nightly routine, and not giving a damn about the outside world. It didn’t take long for you to drift to sleep minutes after taking a melatonin pill.

-

“Ma, you don’t have to worry a goddamn thing. I’ll take care of it,” you grumble, phone placed by your ear, walking out of the train station with purpose, it’s early morning and your back hurts from the fuck ass mattress you slept on last night “I’ll pay for my little brother’s tuition. All I want from you is to relax! Goodness sake, I know you’re handling grandfather’s business, and it’s stressful. Just don’t worry about—” A public commotion cuts you off, “I’ll call you later.” You hang up, eye twitching because the short route you always go to is filled with crowds of people. It’s literally 7 am..what could be happening now?! 

“Red Riot!! We love you!!” a man screams, people gushing over the unbreakable hero. The two police cars are there to put the handcuffed villain in the vehicle. 

Red Riot chuckled, and you could just sense the signature panty-dropping shark-toothed grin he’d show to the public. Hell, even guys admit they have a crush on this guy and bought the Red Riot-themed calendar. As much as you would like to see the hero in person, you have work to do, so you briskly walk to a different path. “Hey, miss!” his voice was loud, and you thought none of it until you felt a tap on the shoulder. You turned around, and lo and behold. The hero stands before you. He’s tall as hell, clad in his hero uniform, “Oh..uh, doc, you dropped this.” he hands you your condo key. 

Your brain buffered for a quick second, “Thanks,” you took the key, “I didn’t notice.” “It’s okay!” he smiles, and it looked like he was expecting something from you, but eventually settled with, “hope you have a great day!” 

“Yeah. You too..!” You walked away while the crowd went even wilder. You missed the way Dynamite arrived at the scene, red piercing eyes glancing at you before calling out to him in a raspy voice. 

And at the physician’s lounge? You were surrounded by your colleagues, asking so many questions about your interaction with the hero. “Omg, what was he like?”

“He’s so damn fine. Did you take pictures with him? An autograph?”

“Did you ask for his number?” “I would sell my kidney for him.”  

You admitted that you didn’t ask him for anything and just expressed appreciation for picking up your house key. Of course, they clowned you, but you just laughed it off. However, the atmosphere soon shifted as everyone received a message from the medical director’s assistant about a meeting. Your heart dropped outta your ass as everyone hurried to the big meeting room, feeling excited, nervous, and curious. 

Once everyone is situated, the well-esteemed director, Dr. Lee, stands unwavering at the podium. That alone has every health professional sit up and take notice. His eyes were sharp behind the wire-rimmed glasses. “Good Morning. As you are all aware, the Medical Unit has announced the results for the top three ‘pillars’.” He paused for dramatic effect, and it didn’t fail. Everyone stilled; it was pure silence. You seriously heard someone gulp behind you, and you fight the urge to bite your fingernails. Fuck.

“And I’ve received a memo that one of you was chosen out of the thousands of applicants across Japan,” he continues, “It is commendable and we couldn’t be any prouder.” his assistant comes up to him, handing a small envelope. The silence stretches, and the tension is palpable. You literally felt all your senses shutting down like you’re astral projecting. “The Medical Unit is a new sector that integrates medicine in not just the hero world, but also the general, support, and management courses. This cultivates an expansive understanding.” The rest of Dr. Lee’s explanation of the Medical unit became static to you, in exchange of mulling over your brave choice of applying. 

It’s not like you’re not confident in your abilities. Hell, you managed to get into a top medical school. You’re well-rounded and you know the ropes. You’ve dealt with the real shit outside academics, molding you into a strong professional that you are today…It’s just that sometimes those intrusive thoughts have their way of making you overthink and compare yourself to others. Are your credentials enough? Is this laughable? Are you stupid for believing that you have a shot at this? All you want is to excel in life and thrive. Maybe be someone in this world. Make a mark that influences those around you…

 All of your thoughts dissipated when you felt a nudge on your arm from Miyano, “Dude. dude.” 

“..huh?” You blinked, and all of a sudden, you felt all eyes on you, including the medical director, whose eyebrow was raised. Your eyes dart everywhere, making eye contact with everyone. “I assume you’re Dr. L/N.” Dr. Lee’s voice echoes. 

“Yes. I am,” you said aloud, not showing any weakness. Eyes resolved. Posture assertive and ready, bracing yourself to be told that you’re rejected from the Medical Unit. 

“Congratulations.” And that was not something you’re ready for. 

Thank you for reading! Oh and I totes enjoy feedback, asks, anything!!! Keep an eye out for updates! Oh and if anyone wants to be added on my tag list, lmk!!! My ao3 is flrtt

[shinysobi]

sleepless in busan (lee jihoon)

what do you think about nostalgia?

☆ strangers to lovers, diner owner! jihoon x writer! mc ☆ w.c: 19k. (i know. i know) ☆ genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff ☆ warnings: mentions of alcohol, smoking, underage smoking ☆ notes: long time no see lol. i spent way too long on this, but there was a lot to say. this chapter is dedicated to the lovely people in my discord dms, i promised angst, so i shall deliver. also big thanks to my betas: @mylovesstuffs and @cheers-to-you-th, for reading and commenting on this ginormous chapter <3 hope you enjoy this, and if you do, let me know what you think! chapter one | chapter two | masterlist playlist here

Verse 3 — milmyeon. 

Gukbap is a strange dish. All the ingredients that go into making it are found in a typical Korean kitchen. Rice, salted shrimp, onion, noodles, kimchi, garlic. A bit of pork, if you want it. All of them are found in the kitchen we inhabit—the same spaces that see us moving in and out of them on a daily basis. I wonder sometimes, how long does it take for us to realise that the kitchen is where we spend most of our lives—and for women, it becomes an accepted form of prison. I don’t know about the politics of it, but growing up, the kitchen was an unlikely refuge for me. Away from everyone else, a space where even the relative solitude of my room was unmatched. 

It’s not like I enjoy cooking, or that I'm any good at it. Most of my experiences with cooking have ended in disaster, or at the very best, something barely edible. It was not until I was 17 that I learnt how to move beyond the realm of instant noodles and got over my fear of the gas flame. Even so, I spent hours in the kitchen, watching my mother and grandmother, making meals for people like us, who didn’t even learn to appreciate it. 

My father enjoys gukbap. It’s a homely dish, one that my mother whipped up on a daily basis when she got tired from all the work that needed to be done around the house. Simple ingredients for a rice soup that seems to be a representation of all that we are. Even when he goes out to eat, he gravitates towards gukbap. ‘If the restaurant doesn’t have good gukbap, it’s not really a good restaurant’. These are words to live by, of course, but from time to time, I think: would he still like gukbap if it wasn’t something my mother cooked all the time?

The gukbap here is good, because of course it is. The first time I had it, it was garnished with abalone because the owner ran out of other protein to put in it. I should be calling him out on this, but I don’t, instead, tucking into the soup with all the grace of a starved salaryman. Like every time I’ve had food at the diner, he says nothing, just smiles as I eat it. There’s a bit of guilt in there as well, for bothering him so late at night, but all of it fades away as my nose gets a whiff of the sesame oil put in the last step. 

It’s nostalgic. I’m transported back to the kitchen of my younger days, in a stuffy apartment where I shared a bedroom with my sister, five years older than me, going through puberty under the worst possible conditions. All the anger, all the arguments, even the misplaced passion of my youth, condensed in the soup, my own nostalgia trap laid so carefully, so unintentionally, all in a stone bowl garnished with abalones.  

Nostalgia is a hell of a drug, I’m afraid. 

—

“Did you know that Haeundae Beach has a sea life aquarium? I’ve never really seen an aquarium that big, the pictures were all so gorgeous,” my father says as soon as he steps onto the train platform, “KTX was crappy, as usual.”

“It always is,” I laugh, wheeling his luggage out of the train station, “how long are you here for?”

“A week, if everything goes well,” he replies, taking the cart from me, “do you want to have lunch outside?”

“Lunch outside?” I’m a bit surprised at this tone, to see my father who never really ate out if he could help it, voluntarily suggesting a diner for lunch, “so suddenly?”

“You kept talking about that one diner and their rice soup, so of course I’m a bit interested,” he shrugs, “you’ve never really talked about Busan in all these years that you’ve been here. The only time you said anything about this city was when you talked about that diner two weeks ago.”

“Really?” I shake my head, “I doubt that it took me three years to tell you anything about Busan. I remember talking to my mom about the city all the time.”

“You only talked about the places you visited, which were the house, and your office,” He laughs, “I don’t think we ever heard anything about what Busan was actually like, until six months had passed. Your mother had started to worry by that point.”

I turn away, trying to ignore the question, “well, I was busy trying to hold down my job, dad, I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to explore the city.”

“One would think that moving to a comparatively slower city would afford one more time to take care of themselves, but here we are,” he laughs, “how far is your home from the train station?”

“We’ll take a taxi,” I reply, getting onto the first taxi at the line. My father grumbles, but allows me to take his luggage and place it in the trunk of the car. It’s a small thing, but it’s  important for me, to be able to take care of him, even in trivial ways like these. He’s never once allowed us to lift heavy bags by ourselves, even when we grew older and could very well do so. My father, the strongest man I knew, was now old and frail, sighing as he handed me the suitcase he’d brought with him for a week-long trip to my city.

“I didn’t bring any side dishes with me,” he says, as soon as I finish giving my address to the driver, “it’s going to be New Year’s next month, so she’s making both you and your sister’s favorites, for you to take back home.”

“Really?” I perk up, “is she making kimchi from scratch?”

“She’s saving all the work for when you get home to help out,” he replies, “she’s not as young as she was, you know. She needs a lot of help right now.”

I raise an eyebrow, “and you left her to fend for herself? She’s stuck in Seoul while you’re in Busan? Not cool, dad.”

“She’s visiting your sister,” he answers, “your niece and nephew are kicking up a fuss daily, demanding to see their grandmother. As if they don’t see her on a weekly basis,” he adds, disgruntled at the prospect of living away from my mother for a week, “she would have liked to come here too. She likes the beach a lot more than the mountains.”

“I know that,” I reply, “she’s always been the one to suggest seaside trips whenever we could manage to get a holiday.”

“She has not been on a holiday since she came here two years ago,” he replies, “I keep telling her to take a break, but no, she can’t go a day without working herself to the bone.”

“She’s still teaching at the hagwon?” I ask, although I’m not really that surprised, given how my mother loved to teach, “I thought she would have quit the hagwon by now. Even if she owns it, she doesn’t have to work that hard every day. She can take it easy now.”

“She might own the institute, but she’s under a lot of pressure to make sure all her students get excellent grades,” he replies, “she was a schoolteacher half her life, and now when she’s retired, she opened up her own private coaching centre just so she wouldn’t get bored. Your mother has worked hard all her life.”

“So have you,” I pause, as the car pulls up on the street in front of my apartment complex, “you still teach, don’t you?”

He doesn’t meet my eyes. Bingo. “Still taking lectures at the university, even though you’ve retired years ago,” I shake my head, “still working, and you come here to gossip about my mother.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he sputters, but I’m already out of the car, pulling out the suitcase from the trunk, “come on, dad, I’ve got lunch ready for you.”

—

As I had predicted, my father spends an enormous amount of time cleaning up around the house. He spends about two hours dusting every surface, because I do not “maintain a hygienic standard of living”. It is annoying, but at the end of the day, he does make the house look better than what it was before he stepped foot inside. It’s funny, actually, how he managed to make my relatively clean apartment spick-and-span in a matter of minutes. At least he didn’t find my stash of cigarettes. 

“Do you still love playing chess?” I ask casually, placing a bowl of rice in front of him, “mom told me you still go out to play at the park.”

“I do, actually,” he nods, looking appreciatively at the meal, “I play chess all the time. Your mom hates it so much she’s told me to stop on three separate occasions.”

“And you haven’t.” I sigh, placing the big bowl of tofu stew in the middle of the table, “hey, you could go out to play at the nearby senior citizen’s park if you get bored. I’m going to be at the office, so you can go there to play against all the oldies.”

“Not interested,” he mutters, “I doubt there’s anyone in Busan who can beat me at chess.”

I say nothing in response. 

—

After dinner, I peel an apple and cut it into slices for my father to eat, and we sit in silence, chewing thoughtfully on the apples, when my father reaches into his backpack and brings out a copy of my book. Yes, there’s no doubt about it; it’s my book all right, the cover art, the pseudonym, everything points to it being my book. I try my best to not cringe away from the sight. 

“Your sister gave this book to me,” he says, “I actually enjoyed it a lot.”

“Hmm,” I say, “didn’t know eonnie was into reading collections of fictional essays.”

“You’ve read this?” my father perks up, “it’s really good, and the author is from this city, too, they won the Daesan Literary award for their second book, but I do like this one better.”

“What’s your favorite essay?” I ask, unable to resist, “out of the ten in the book, which one do you like the most?”

He has to think for a while, “the one about high school.”

“The high school essay? I enjoyed the one about university and family life much more,” I say, “the one about high school was so—vague. It barely made any sense to me.”

And it’s true. Even while writing it, I had felt no sense of connection to the place I called my school, all of my memories having faded into unpleasant nothingness. Save for one person, I don’t think I remember anything from my school life. To think that the most formative years of my life were reduced to fleeting memories is a humbling thought, “why did you like that one the most?”

He pauses, “it reminded me of you.”

Ah. There it was, the inevitable moment where my father figured out it was me who wrote that book, “why did you think so?”

He says nothing for a long time, chewing on the apple slices I place in front of him. After five minutes pass, he speaks, so low I barely catch it, “you were the same in high school.”

“I was vague in high school?” I snort, “Dad, I was seventeen. Of course I was vague, I barely knew what the hell to do with my life.”

“Not that, of course,” he waves a hand, “you always seemed to be struggling back when you were in high school. At first, your mom and I thought it was just puberty, but towards the end, we all grew anxious about it.”

“I was just stressed,” I laugh, “we all were, it was the final year of high school, of course we were stressed, dad. I wasn’t struggling.”

A lie. Of course I was struggling. Yes, we were all struggling, but mine took on a different form altogether, morphing itself into the many-eyed monster of my childhood nightmares, even after I finished high school and moved on to university. I just thought I had managed to hide it pretty well from everyone. Hadn’t realised my parents knew all about it. 

“It looked like you were,” he waves a hand, ‘and I thought it was the same as what your sister had gone through, and left you to your own devices, because that’s what we did with your sister. It’s only after all these that I took some time to think to myself, and I came to the conclusion that maybe, we should have been a bit more proactive.”

“Dad,” I sigh, “I was fine in high school. I did well in my exams, I got into Hankuk university like my sister did, and I even had friends to share the burden of exams. Don’t worry too much.”

Blatant lies. High school was where my existence was a mere blip on the radar of most people—to the extent that I don’t know if anyone from my school even remembers who I was. Three years—three years spent in the middle of a crowd, and I walked away with nothing. 

“Oh, I heard Doyeon got married,” he says, “did you hear?”

“I didn’t, actually,” I reply, shrugging, “she got married? Didn’t realise she was into the whole marriage thing.”

“You didn’t know your high school classmate got married?”

“No, I just didn’t know she was so keen on getting married in the first place,” I reply, “did she invite you?”

“She did, actually.” 

“Huh?! Why the hell would she do that?”

“Because she’s also our neighbour?” He makes a strange gesture with his hands, “her mother invited us, actually. We’ve been close friends for years.”

It’s strange, because my memories of Doyeon from all the time that I have known her, are restricted to vague recollections of a girl who ignored me in the hallways. We used to be close friends in middle school, which had petered out upon entering high school. Now, she was a married woman, had been for some time, and I wasn’t even aware. Apparently, my parents were. 

“Are you still in contact with anyone from high school?” my father asks, “everyone from the neighbourhood went to the wedding. We didn’t go, but we got the pictures.”

“Yes, of course,” I mutter, “I don’t know why you’re bringing it up right now. I didn’t go because I wasn’t invited.”

“It’s not that,” he fidgets, “you know what I’m trying to get at, right?”

I groan, “stop doing this, dad. I’m not looking to get married right now.”

“It’s not about getting married,” he sighs, “I don’t understand why you have to be so needlessly difficult about everything. It’s marriage, not a death sentence.”

“You still don’t get it, right?” I stand up, grabbing a hold of the plate of fruit, “it’s fine, really. I just don’t want to get married, not right now.”

“You’re not getting any younger,” he replies, “all your peers are getting married and settling down, and here you are, living in the middle of Busan. Do you even want to think about us?”

Deep breaths. Don’t lose your temper. “It’s really nothing to be angry about, Dad. I just don’t want to get married right now, that’s all.”

“It’s been five years since you’ve told us that, you know.” He doesn’t let up, “I’m not the only one who’s worried about you, we all are. Your mother keeps asking your sister if you’ve told her about someone. We’re all worried.”

“Great, good for her, it’s just that I don’t want to get married. Not right now, probably not ever.” 

My father stands up, and he’s obviously about to berate me again, for deciding against marriage so early in my life, but I hold up a hand, “get some rest, dad. It’s been a long journey for you. We’ll go out for dinner, yeah?”

—

My father mentions nothing about the interaction after his afternoon nap. Instead the two of us spend the rest of the evening at the supermarket, picking out groceries for me to prepare for the coming week. Sure, I can get the store-bought side dishes that everyone my age uses, but according to my parents, nothing beats the health benefits of cooking everything by yourself. 

“Sometime it’s really apparent, that you never grew up in a largely capitalist economy,” I grumble, watching my father place a box of unpeeled garlic in the shopping cart, “I barely have enough energy to make myself a single meal after work, how do you expect me to prepare these on a weeknight?”

“I’ll peel the garlic, if that’s what you’re worrying about,” he mutters, throwing in more groceries, “you always seem to eat out for dinner. I found nothing in the fridge other than fruit. Is this how you plan on living?”

I scowl, he has a point. “I wasn’t planning on doing that,” I grumble, but push the cart obediently, watching with increasing horror as he places the expensive soy sauce in my cart. Everything goes in, and it’s becoming increasingly evident that my father is planning a cooking session for a family of four, not a single-person household. And I can’t even return some of the things. 

“Isn’t this a bit too much for one person?” I ask, after he’s placed a cut of salmon in the cart, large enough to feed me for a week, “do I really need this much food? I’m just cooking for a single person, not a whole family.”

“Huh?” he turns around, holding a whole skirt steak, “oh, right, of course. Silly of me to forget, really.” 

He places some of the groceries back, more notably the half salmon and the skirt steak, but I can’t help the feeling that I’m missing out on something important. Sure, there’s a sense of familiarity in this, us shopping for groceries like I am back to being seventeen again, impatient waiting for my parents to hurry up and finish shopping so I could go back to studying. 

When we get to the counter, the cashier gives us a strange look, obviously judging us for the sheer amount of stuff that we dump onto her desk, sorting it out with a level of efficiency that is almost frightening. Dad helps her in putting things away, but as soon as the time comes to pay for things, I swat away the proffered card, instead offering mine. 

“I’ll be the one eating all of it anyway,” I say, without giving him a chance to counter the argument. 

It’s fine, really. I’m going to be home soon, back in my room, where there will be no one standing between me and the futon and I can finally get some rest. The day has been a long one. 

—

It’s not over, apparently. The next day, he makes me go through the same ordeal, and as soon as we get out of the supermarket, dad takes it upon himself to go to the diner. When I ask him why, he just shrugs, saying, “I want to try eating gukbap at a diner”. This is a lie, because he’s eaten that dish at diners more times than I can count, but I let it go, instead following him obediently along the wharf, dragging the folding cart behind me like I’m back in elementary school, only instead of dragging my school bag behind me, I am dragging groceries. It’s no less humiliating, unfortunately. 

The place is as bustling as I remember, and the dinner rush makes it difficult for the two of us to get a table at first. It’s only the third time that I’ve been here, but the additional time spent waiting allows me to look closely at the walls; covered in memorabilia from Paris, interspersed with small trinkets from different cities in Korea. It’s as if Jihoon has made the walls of his diner into a shrine for all his memories, a living time capsule of all his experiences. I don’t want to, but I can’t help comparing it to my apartment; bland walls, devoid of any personal touch, almost like a hotel room. It’s been three years since I’ve lived here, and I haven’t even made any memories worth putting up on my walls. 

“Table for two?” This time it’s a random part-timer, a wide smile in place as he shows us to the table, set against a large bay window, overlooking the beach, “order when you can, right?”

And he’s gone, tending to other customers, leaving behind my father with a disapproving grimace on his face, “we never treated customers like that when we were young.”

“You never worked a retail job, dad,” I shake my head, calling out, “two gukbap, please!”

“How would you know?”

“You’ve told us at least fifteen times, dad,” I set out chopsticks and spoons for the two of us, “you never knew anything other than studying when you were a young man, and you expected us to be the same. You went on and on about it, actually.”

He looks affronted, “I lied.”

I make a face, “no, of course not. You wouldn’t lie about something that stupid, right?”

He sighs, “never mind.”

The part-timer (whose name tag reads Kevin) places two steaming bowls of rice soup in front of us, and a plate of chicken skewers, smiling, “this one is on the house.” I look up, and of course, there is Jihoon, smiling and waving at me like he’s done something great. Great. Now my father is going to go after me and force me to tell him everything about my relationship with Jihoon, no matter how non-existent. And if he’s feeling adventurous, he’s going to go over to him and ask him about his relationship with me, which has historically meant that Jihoon is not going to ever talk to me again, which would not bother me in the slightest, but I would hate losing out on such a good diner, just because my parents want me to get married to someone I can tolerate at the earliest—

“You must be a regular here,” My father mutters, taking a sip of the soup, “oh this is good, let me take a picture to show your mother. She keeps worrying that you don’t really get to eat well.”

“You were the one who went shopping two days consecutively,” I reply, pointing to the shopping cart, “the cashiers were all staring at us, didn’t you see? They were wondering who the hell are we, going shopping on a regular basis.”

“No one was staring at us.”

“They were! They probably thought we opened up a restaurant or something,” I groan, “really, we did not need two large steaks, dad. One would have been enough.”

“You cannot possibly survive on a single steak for a week,” he says, as if I am not allowed to consume anything other than protein, “you look like you’ve lost weight, again. Do you want to make us worry by living like this?”

Again with that line. They mean well, but they don’t really know the proper way to go about things. “It’s fine,” I shrug, dumping half my rice into the soup, “I’m set for two weeks, at least. More than that, even.”

“You know, this would not have been the case at all, if you were—”

“Dad!” My tone is perhaps unnecessarily harsh, because it makes at least two people (one of them is Jihoon, not that I care) look over at us, “stop with the marriage thing! We’ll discuss this later.”

I want to keep my mouth shut for the rest of the twenty minutes that we spend eating dinner, not telling him what I really wanted to say, I keep telling the two of you that I don’t want to get married now, and you keep ignoring me, pushing for me to do what you want me to, and it’s fucking suffocating me. I might have left Seoul for a different reason, but I think I’m never going to return if you keep asking me to hitch myself with the first man you find appropriate. 

“Your sister has got a promotion at work,” he says, halfway through his meal, “she keeps saying she wants to come to Busan to visit you, but I don’t think she has  the time to take a holiday.”

“She also has two kids to take care of, dad,” I mutter, “even if my brother-in-law takes on the larger share of the housework, a lot of childcare falls on her. She doesn’t have the time to go on holiday right now.”

“She talks to you?” my father asks, eyes narrowed, “she never told us that she talks to you.”

“Probably because you’d rope her into your idiotic schemes to get me married off.”

“It’s not a scheme, and I don’t appreciate the two of you keeping secrets like that from us,” he replies, “at least sign up for a matchmaking service or something like that.”

“When my sister doesn’t force me into thinking about marriage, why should I give into societal pressure?” I shake my head, “really, dad, you both think too much about what other people are going to think. If and when I get married, I’m the one who has to spend my life with someone, not random aunties with whom my mother goes on walks.”

He shakes his head, and there’s five minutes of blissful silence, until, “there was an invitation from your high school alumni association for their reunion next month. I don’t think you changed your address.”

“High school reunion?” I shrug, “good for them, but I don’t really think I’m going to get the time off to go to Seoul for a reunion, dad. Maybe next time.”

“You’ve never gone to a reunion, have you?” he asks, although it’s more of a statement when you think about it, because of course I have not. 

We do not speak for the rest of the night. 

—

[Ten years earlier]

“Of course, it’s no question,” Yura, the class president, laughs, loud enough that it grates on my nerves, “she’ll do it.”

The task in question is to stay behind and clean the classroom in place of the president and one of her friends, who had fallen sick in the middle of school, while also being conveniently on duty for staying back and cleaning the classroom after school got over. And now, they were all giggling over delegating their work to someone else, and who else was better suited for the work than me, right. 

“Sowon,” Yura’s now standing beside me, a smile on her face, “Kim Sowon.”

I stay silent, pencil tapping on the thirtieth problem in the math chapter. Being an outsider is better than doing her bidding. “Kim Sowon,” Yura wheedles, “Jiyeon’s sick.”

“Tell her to go home early,” I reply, moving on to the thirty-first problem. Integral calculus, chapter two. The double integral of a positive function of two variables represents the volume of the region between the surface defined by the function (on the three-dimensional Cartesian plane where z = f(x, y)) and the plane which contains its domain. Multiple integrals will calculate the hypervolume of a multidimensional function, “if she’s sick, she shouldn’t be here in class. She should go to the nurse’s office.”

“She’s not that sick,” Yura’s still smiling, and I have to physically restrain myself from lashing out at her, “you’ll help her, right?”

“Tell her to go to the nurse’s office, Class President,” I reply, focusing again on the math problems at hand, “if she’s not that sick, then she can do her share of the work. And if she’s that sick, then she should go to the nurse’s office, not sit here and gossip.”

Yura gives me a look, which can be interpreted in two ways, do it while I’m being nice, or, of course you’re going to be this way, huh. “Don’t be this way, please?” she’s batting her eyelashes at me, which means, of course, that there is something else that she wants out of me other than free labour for her friend, “you promised me you’d get me Mingyu’s sns, and you still haven’t—”

“I asked him, and he said no,” I replied, standing up, “I asked you very nicely, Yura, to keep me out of your little games. I don’t want to be involved in this bullshit. Go ask him yourself if you want to get close to him that bad.”

“Really, Sowon?” another one of her lackeys pipes up, “she’s asked you so nicely, and you still don’t want to give it to her? Are you interested in Mingyu?”

This one elicits a loud gasp from the rest of the class, as though my feelings towards Mingyu were important enough for Yura to stop with her dogged fucking pursuit of him, “I don’t care, Yura. date him or don’t, that’s not up to me. Just leave me out of these stupid games.” 

I can feel them staring at me when I leave the classroom, heading towards the playground. If there’s any place where I can find Mingyu in this school, it’s the playground, where he’s almost certainly playing football right now. 

Pushing past a gaggle of underclassmen, I make my way to the edge of the field, where Mingyu is showing off his skills in dribbling to a bunch of enamored football club mates. He’s even posing for the crowd, that vain idiot. He’s two compliments away from dumping a bottle of water all over himself in an attempt to look sexy.

 Five minutes pass before he even catches sight of me, running over to where I stand, far apart from the crowd, “what’s up, Tteowonie?”

“Go on a date with Yura,” I reply, ignoring the childish nickname, before following him to the water fountain, “she’s going to make my life hell if you don’t, so I’m asking you nicely, just go on a single date with her, okay?”

“I don’t like her,” he shrugs, “she smiles too much, and that creeps me out.”

“Smiles too much? Is that why you’ve been blowing her off every time she asks you out?” I scoff, “is that why you hate the idea of going out with her? At least you have options, man, unlike the rest of us, who must survive on your cast-offs. Just go out with her one time, and then she’ll finally get off my back about asking you what the fuck you think about her.”

He looks up from drinking his water, “Is that why you came to find me?” 

“Yes,’ I nod, “I don’t have time to be bullied because Yura hates that she can’t get you. I need to get into Hankuk university, not waste time in high school.”

“So, you’re pimping me out?”

“Now that you say it like this, I hate that idea,” I shake my head, “never mind, I’ll tell Yura you have a girlfriend or something.”

“But I don’t.”

“That’s not important, you idiot,” I shake my head again, “she just needs to know that you’re off the table when it comes to getting into relationships.”

“I don’t get it,” he mutters, picking up his bag and following me to the classroom, “why is she so hell-bent on dating me? She’s popular and pretty, she’s got boys dying to hang out with her. Why me?”

I turn around, “Kim Mingyu.”

He stares at me, “the tone is making me scared for my life.”

I scowl, “What do you think makes someone sexy?”

Mingyu gapes at me, “what? Why would you say that?”

“You’re missing out on the point,” I shake my head, “Yura doesn’t want to date you because you’re more attractive than everyone else in the class.”

“Way to make a man feel better about himself, Kim Sowon.”

“She wants you precisely because you’ve got no interest in her,” I reply, making a venn diagram with my hands, “she’s not interested in the people who pay her attention, but you, precisely because you’ve got the air of being unattainable.”

“I’m unattainable?” Mingyu looks shocked, “that’s nice of you to say.”

“Unattainable because you don’t pay her attention, not because you’re some kind of god,” I mutter, “she’ll lose interest if you go out on a date with her one time.”

“Pimp.”

“Jerk.”

The door to the classroom opens, and Yura’s still sitting at her desk, surrounded by the members of her entourage, but she smiles as soon as Mingyu steps foot into the room, running over to me, “Sowon!” she giggles, “did you ask Mingyu to come over to help us out?”

“I thought you were going to take Jiyeon to the nurse’s office,” I say blandly, “or is she fine enough to do her share of the cleaning chores now?”

“She’s still sick,” Yura makes a face, turning to Mingyu, “Will you help me take her to the office?”

“Huh?” Mingyu, who’s already made his way to my desk, looks confused, “why? I’m here to solve math questions with Sowon for our academy class.”

Never mind. He’s got no hope. 

—

Even now, I’ve never been to a high school reunion. Not when they asked me right after university, when emotions were at an all-time high, and I was practically on cloud nine after landing my first job, and certainly not after I had made the decision to move away to Busan. Of course, every time the invite lands in my inbox, I spend a moment reading it, and promptly deleting it off of my inbox. No need to go to a place where there were so many people reminding me of whatever I did wrong. 

Which was why, when my dad asked me, “You’ve never gone to a reunion, have you?” with all the certainty of old age, all I could think of was the endless veiled insults and taunts of the people around me, the late nights and the hours spent poring over practice problems and English exercises. I used to walk to school with a notepad of English words to practice; not a moment spared, because as everyone around me liked to point out, all the people of my family had gone to either Seoul National or Korea University, and anything else from me was a sign of failure. 

“I have not, actually,” I reply, “I didn't think it would have been important. Who did you meet?”

“Choi Yura,” my father says, picking at his meal, “she’s getting married a week after the New Year, and asked us to invite you. She said she was trying to get in contact with you, but apparently you’ve changed your number since high school, and she could not get in contact.”

“I had a very good reason to change my number, “ I sigh, “really, did she ask you to get her wedding invitation to me? If I have not responded to her invitation, then it means I don’t want to go.”

“Her parents are close friends,” he replies, in that tone of his, “it would be a good thing for you to go. Especially since you’ve been spending all your time in this city, working even on the weekends. This is why you should have gone to law school.”

“Except I didn’t really want to go to law school, you wanted me to go to law school,” I point out, “we wanted different things at that point.”

“It’s not about wanting different things, it’s about wanting what’s the best for yourself,” He points out, “you even got accepted into a doctoral program, and now you’re working on what—the newest HR communications model?”

“Maybe don’t look down on my job, please,” I sigh, “fine, I’ll go to her wedding. It’s a matter of a few days, anyway, I don’t mind spending my time in the middle of those people.”

Dinner is over before it even begins, but the inside of my mouth feels bitter as I pay for our meals and follow my dad out onto the patio where he’s looking at the sea. He’s always had a habit of doing that, looking intently at things, trying to figure out their flaws. It makes me wonder every time he looks at me, if he’s trying to find a fault in me too. 

“You’re looking at the sea pretty intensely,” I say lightly, standing next to him, “anything on your mind?”

He sighs, “you’ve always been like this.”

“Like what?”

“Stubborn, hot-headed. Always going your own way, even if you didn’t have to. Your sister was the one who fought all the time, but you always went ahead and did whatever you wanted anyway. We all told you not to get a transfer, but you did anyway, moved to Busan, where we knew no one.”

“You make it sound as though being stubborn is something to be ashamed of,” I reply, trying to laugh, “why all of a sudden?”

“Sitting back there, I realised something,” he says, “you don’t need us anymore.”

I make a face at that, “what do you mean?”

“You live in a different city, away from your parents, away from the life you’ve known, and you seem at ease here. Maybe it’s just me and your mother, who have been waiting for you to come back.”

“I’m comfortable here, dad. I don’t even miss Seoul anymore.”

“Do you miss us?”

To that, I can’t say anything. 

—

My father leaves three days after that, making me promise to go to Seoul for Yura’s wedding, and for the New Year. It’s only half a month away, I realise. A new year, in a place that I’ve only known for three. I wave him off at the bus stop, before walking back to the diner for an early lunch. 

It’s empty, with only Jihoon behind the counter, who smiles when he sees me walk in, “did you come here with your father the other day?”

“How did you know that?”

“You both look exactly the same. You’ve got all his features,” he explains, “it would have been strange if he was not your father.”

“You got me,” I sigh, “he was doing what they call a ‘welfare check’.”

“A welfare check?”

“Yeah, they do a six-monthly check on how I’m actually coping with living on my own.” I sigh, “do you have something other than gukbap? My father craved it so much this past week; I feel like I’ve had enough of it for a lifetime.”

Jihoon laughs, “what do you feel about cold noodles?”

“In the middle of winter? I’m not averse to it, but will I get a cold?”

“Not if you’re used to it,” he shrugs, “okay, one milmyeon it is.”

“Cold noodles in the middle of winter?” I laugh, “are you trying to get me sick?”

“Not at all, actually,” Jihoon replies, not at all fazed, “just thought that having cold noodles would help with the whole situation that you have going on right now.”

“It’s not a situation,” I try to defend myself, but who the hell am I kidding. It is a situation, one that could potentially turn my carefully curated life into a pile of smoking ruins. “All right, fine. You got me. It’s a situation. But it’s nothing I cannot control on my own.”

He sets out a bowl of noodles in front of me, with bits of ice floating around the soup. I sigh, before digging in; delicate wheat flour noodles, floating in a gentle meat broth, seasoned just right. Even the ice is not overpowering, and cools down the broth enough for me to start eating without fear of burning the roof of my mouth. 

“They made this when resources were scarce after the war,” Jihoon says, sitting down on his usual chair, “when the northerners, who moved to Busan, didn’t have buckwheat flour to make their usual noodles with, they changed it to wheat flour.”

“Quintessentially Busan, eh?” I make a feeble attempt, and he does not laugh. 

He does not speak until I have finished my entire bowl, and then starts speaking again, “What I mean is, human beings are endlessly adaptable. People moved from North Korea, and made this dish using things they did not have, just to get a taste of home. People move on, people adapt. Situations that seem difficult right now, you’ll probably get used to them in some time.”

“That is funny,” I laugh, “it’s been three years since I moved, and I cannot seem to get used to anything.”

“You might just need more time,” he smiles, “it’s been a long time for me too, and unfortunately, what I thought of as a cataclysmic, world-changing event, just seems like a mild inconvenience in hindsight.”

“Why do I have the feeling you are lying to me?”

“Probably because I am.”

I laugh, “do you want to come to a wedding with me?”

—

New Year in Seoul is less like a family occasion, and more like a battlefield; I spend the day before my vacation obsessively going over every little detail of my pending work; I had to beg my supervisor to let me work from home in order to be able to attend Yura’s wedding, on top of New Year’s. 

Damn Yura and her timing to get married. I should not be angry; the week after New Year is when wedding venues are slightly cheaper because no one wants to attend, not after a week of eating the unhealthiest food known to mankind, and drinking more booze than is healthy for even a grown horse. Hence the random wedding date. Saving costs on people who are trying to lose weight, and also making sure they don’t have to take time off in an inconvenient month. 

“At least prepare the bean sprouts normally,” my sister scolds from her vantage point in front of the television, where she’s currently busy with helping her little children with their homework, “you were the one who volunteered to do this, not me.”

“Making the kids do the homework is probably easier,” I mutter, “is this why you all asked me to come a day before New Year's? So I could be a glorified slave? Just get them prepared, no one does this much work nowadays.”

“Imagine the amount of money they’d have to shell out on every important day,” my sister muses, “and do you think our parents would do that? Miserly Lawyer and Penny Pinching Professor?”

“Miserly Lawyer never had a ring to it. And yes, they’d rather die than give out money to other people to do this bullshit,” I mutter, peeling my thousandth bean sprout. 

“Still, we get to see your face in something other than a video call. When mom told me you were going to come here before New Year's, I was excited, actually. Who knew my little sister, the runner of the family, would come back for New Year like an obedient child?”

“Prodigal daughter?” I laugh, “mom threatened me, actually. And between the two days spent in Jeju and Yura’s wedding, I doubt you’re going to see much of my face around here.”

“Yura’s wedding?” My sister yells, “that b—girl is getting married?” The swear word is, of course, censored, for the sake of my young nephew and niece, who have the awkward ability to become Einsteins when it comes to learning swear words. 

“Apparently, yeah. Her husband works at Samsung as a production engineer, I think.” Of course, my parents had heard of this from her parents, and repeated it to me about twenty times, but I keep that from my sister, who’s jaded and bitter from marriage, “anyway, she’s asked our parents to pass on the wedding invitation to me. Plus one included.”

“The girl who kept hanging around Kim Mingyu in high school?” My sister still cannot believe her ears, “the one who hated you because she thought you were ruining ‘her chances’ with Mingyu? She’s getting married? And what? A plus one? This is not an American wedding, who the hell brings a plus one?”

“Many people, actually.” I reply, “calm down, eonnie. I’m going to her wedding, that’s decided.”

“You even refused to apply to law school because she was going there, even if she never really made the cut,” my sister sighs, “god knows why the hell you’ve been this scared of her, but if you’re going to go to her wedding, then at least dress up well.”

“What’s wrong with the way I dress?” I ask, and she gestures to the outfit I was currently wearing—patterned pajamas, and a black sweatshirt, “please do not judge me on the basis of this.”

“Do you even have clothes appropriate enough to wear to a wedding ceremony?”

“Aren’t people supposed to not outdress the bride at her wedding?”

“Not if the bride was their high school bully.”

“Mom,” Ui-jun pipes up, “what’s a bully?”

“A bully is someone you should never become,” I say, loud enough that his curiosity is satisfied, “you need to get them earplugs.”

“They’re amazing, aren't they?”

“This is not a product launch, you idiot, that’s not how children work. Stop swearing around them.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” my sister makes an accusatory jab with Ui-jun’s crayon, “no one goes to a wedding in casual clothes unless they are a celebrity, which you aren’t. So, do you have clothes for a wedding reception?”

I shake my head. 

“Knew as such,” she sighs, “we have to go shopping the day you come back from Jeju.”

“You’re going to make me shop for clothes after I land from Jeju?”

“Are you swimming to the mainland?” She makes a face, “you’re going to take an early morning flight, no traffic either. Shopping will be fine.”

“Ugh, whatever,” I groan, “fine, I’ll go shopping with you.”

“And the plus one?” She’s still skeptical, “no way you got a plus one to go to a wedding with you.”

“What if I ask Kim Mingyu?” I make a face, “he’s going to say yes, right?”

“And Yura will kill you,” she snorts, “no, seriously. Who is going with you to the wedding? If you show up with someone random, they’re never going to let you, or us, hear the end of it.”

‘Don’t worry about people talking nonsense, just tell me who’s coming with you to the wedding.”

“Really?” I narrowed my eyes, “and you are not going to tell the parents?”

“Scout’s honor, I promise.” She makes a cross on her chest, but the whole effect is kind of destroyed when a three-year old Seoyeon starts yowling for her favorite stuffie that her brother had stolen from her. 

“Fine,” I sigh, wrestling the stuffed toy from Ui-jun and giving it back to Seoyeon, “he’s a restaurant owner. Back in Busan.”

“A restaurant owner?” it takes her about a whole minute to realise who I was talking about, and she stands up immediately, half in shock and half in genuine surprise, “don’t tell me you are going to Yura’s wedding with the guy who owns the diner you’re a regular in?”

“Yes, actually,” I settle back down on the sofa, “the very one. He’s agreed to go with me as my wedding date.”

“Doesn’t he live in Busan? Why the hell would he come to a wedding in Seoul, just to go to a wedding with you?” She stares at me, “no, you’re too boring for a love affair. You’ve probably befriended him or something.”

“At least have some faith in your sister’s flirting skills,” I mutter, “why the hell do you think I am some sort of annoying caveman with no sense of social cues?”

“Because you are one,” she replies, grinning shamelessly in the face of my despair, “you have no sense of shame, and you behave like an annoying caveman.”

“Anyway,” I pick up Seoyeon, who’s now beginning to get fussy, “I’m going to go back to peeling my bean sprouts because mom will kill me if I am still stuck on them by the time she comes home.”

“You’re going on a wedding date with the diner owner, and you’re worried about the bean sprouts,” she sighs, joining me at the dinner table, “at least tell me why he agreed to be your date.”

“He’s going to be in Seoul that week, so he just moved around a single plan to make sure he can accompany me to the wedding,” I shrug, “and for your kind information, he’s not a diner owner. They have an Orange Ribbon, and he used to be a music producer and composer before he changed careers.”

“You’re arguing like you’ve been dating for years,” she raises an eyebrow, “no matter, mom and dad will blow their top off either way. Imagine Sowon, the baby of the family, dating a man. They’re all going to go insane.”

“Which is why I need you to keep your mouth shut.” I sigh, “it’s already awkward as is.”

“Just make sure you don’t make a mistake,” my sister says, half of her attention on the kids, “remember what happened at university? Do you want a repeat of that?”

“It’s a miracle I got Jihoon to agree to come with me to the wedding, so please don’t bring up random stuff from my past,” I mutter, and she drops the subject, but the final words remain; do you want a repeat of what happened at university? 

Hey, at least Jihoon said yes to this ridiculous idea. 

—

“A wedding?” If this was a comedy, there would be a funny sound effect right about now, but this is not a comedy, and so, I stare at Jihoon, who’s staring right back at me, looking as though I have handed him a marriage registration certificate. “Why would you want me to go to a wedding with you?”

“It’s a high school classmate's wedding,” I offer as little explanation as I can, “nothing more than that.”

“But you are asking me to go with you to their wedding.”

“Yeah,” I sigh, “well, the thing is, I’ve not been on good terms with them, not since high school.”

“And you want them to know you are not a loser?” He’s smiling now, which would actually be very attractive if I was not actively trying to remain sane. 

“Sort of. I don’t want them to think I left Seoul for them or something like that.”

“I thought you ran away from Seoul.”

“Yes, but no one needs to know that,” I reply, “although, in retrospect, they probably already know.”

“So, you want to show up with someone in order to prove rumors wrong,” he’s smiling now, “am I going to be your trophy boyfriend?”

I promptly spit out the water I was drinking, “what are you talking about?”

He’s still smiling, “I mean, asking me to go to a wedding with you, isn’t that slightly romantic? And I still don’t know your name.”

“Is my name really important to you?” I scoff, “I doubt people at my work know my name either. It’s always Miss Editor or Miss Kim to them.”

“Kim is the most common surname in the country,” he replies, “and I would like to think I am slightly more important than the people at your work. You’ve been eating here for a month now, and I don’t think I've ever seen you with any of your coworkers. Is the food not good?”

“If it was not, would you think I would be coming here for a month?”

“Touche.”

I sigh. Who knew convincing someone to come to a wedding with you was this difficult, “if you want to know that badly, it’s Sowon. Kim Sowon. My parents were not terribly imaginative with their naming of me and my sister.”

He shakes his head, “the name means hope. That’s a nice name, actually, Kim Sowon.”

I stare at him. The way he says my name, it’s different. Not the Kim Sowon my parents use when they are angry with me, nor the Sowonie that my sister uses when she wants to tell me something sad or heartbreaking. It’s my name, but why does it feel like he’s saying it like no one has ever before?

“That’s the name. Kim Sowon. So, will you be coming to the wedding, or not?”

“Depends. Will I be introduced as the boyfriend?”

I laugh at that, “me, with a boyfriend? My friends are going to catch on to that little deception sooner than you think. I’ve been single almost my whole life.”

“Almost? Do I need to look out for potential ex-boyfriends to come out and attack me while I am sipping on martinis?”

“That is a very detailed mental image you have there, Lee Jihoon,” I laugh, “but no. No exes, at least none that will come out and attack you. They might tell you to dump me at the first opportunity, but no, they will not attack you for dating me.”

“That seems self-deprecative.”

“It’s the truth, actually,” I smile, picking up my coat and bag, “give me your number, I need to send you the details of the wedding venue.”

“You just told me your name. Aren’t you moving a bit too fast for anyone’s liking?” He laughs, but holds out his phone anyway. 

—

“You have his number?” my sister says, who’s been holding it in while I relay the incident of me asking Lee Jihoon to come to the wedding. “You have his number, and you didn’t even tell me?”

“Babe,” her husband pats her shoulder, “maybe this is not something you want to discuss in the middle of the day.”

We are all piled into my room. The children are splayed out on my bed and sleeping after lunch, and the three of us—me, my sister, and her husband—areall lying down on the heated floor, trying to get some rest before the evening meal is to be prepared. 

“I did not think it was important, really. When have I ever told you anything about my love life?”

“Oh, so you are admitting it is something related to your love life,” she grins, “let me see his Kakaotalk profile picture.”

“And what will you do with it?” I make a face, “you never let me see my brother-in-law’s picture until you were dating for a good seven months.”

“I am slightly hurt by that.” The man in question says from his spot in the corner, “why didn’t you show her my picture for seven months?”

“She was making sure you were the one,” I shrug, “I told her not to bother me with showing me a man if I was not going to get him as my brother-in-law.”

“That’s nice.”

“Anyway, that was your condition, not mine,” my sister announces, “I want to see who this man is, that you managed to strong-arm into going on a date. That too, to a wedding.”

“It’s not a date,” I groan, but I hand over my phone anyway, and she eagerly opens up the messaging app to check out his profile picture. I know what the profile picture is. I would not admit it to anyone, but I had the whole thing memorised; a snapshot of the sea from his diner window, in the middle of winter, with rolling clouds on the horizon. I’ve seen it thrice too, hoping that he would change it into a picture of his own, something that I could see whenever I missed Busan. 

“He doesn’t have a profile picture!” she says, annoyed, and the sound wakes up Ui-jun and Seo-yeon, who immediately start calling for their parents. With my sister and her husband busy with the kids, I look at the photo again, smiling softly to myself. What’s the menu at the diner tonight? Milmyeon? Or gukbap? Or do they have samgyeopsal on the menu for tonight? Or a special New Year menu? Should I have stayed back to see what he was cooking? 

I miss Busan; I realise with a shock that I miss the city and the sea. It’s different from missing Seoul; in my first few months in Busan, I missed Seoul so much I had to physically restrain myself from buying a ticket back home. Seoul is where I was raised; I remember the streets of my home, filled with old-fashioned houses built back in the sixties. I even longed for my old home, the two-bedroom apartment where we lived until my parents could afford a house. Seoul is a city I will never be able to escape, I realised in those few months, no matter how much I hate it, I will still carry bits of it with me. It will always be the same—suffocating, oppressive—but I will still miss it. Much like a caged bird once freed thinks about the cage, I too, think about Seoul. 

If there was a word that conveyed both love and hate, I would use it for the city I grew up in. 

But I miss Busan differently. I miss Busan’s beaches and the way people speak and the slight lilt in my voice that has crept in after three years. I miss the way it has made a place in my heart despite my desire to close off everything. Like the sea, like water, it has managed to creep into my heart and make a place for itself, despite how much I tried to resist. Most of all, I think about the diner; my sole place of refuge, the place I wanted to keep hidden from everyone in the world for as long as I could. Just the diner, or Jihoon as well, a voice whispers in my mind, a voice that sounds suspiciously like my sister, the drama addict in the family. 

Either way, I miss it. 

Before I can stop myself, I send a text. 

What’s the menu for today?

—

Jihoon doesn’t hate New Years. He’s simply not interested in it anymore. Why celebrate a meaningless turn of the Earth around the Sun? They should be congratulating the Earth, not themselves. Still, he makes a new, celebratory menu for the diner, meticulously prepares everything on the menu, and makes sure to set out a notice in front of the door, that tells passers-by, new menu!

Even the group chat is silent, which is to be expected, really. Wonwoo’s company was launching a new update for a game, and Wonwoo had been working overtime to make sure the code was up to date and not crashing when someone tried to tweak it the slightest bit. Crunch time was hell, apparently. Both Jeonghan and Seungcheol were busy preparing for Hoshi’s comeback in the first quarter of the new year, and he was expected to send in his final composed scratch track by the end of January. 

“Boss,” the part-timer, Kevin, saunters into his line of sight, “two tteokguk for table four.”

“Coming up!” He’s fine. Jihoon is not thinking about the dead group chat and definitely not thinking about Sowon. She really was an enigma. Who else would come into the restaurant they were a regular at, and demand the owner to go on a date with them? He even talked to Jeonghan about this, which just showed how desperate he was getting. 

“Hyung, how would you react if the woman you were thinking about just showed up at your doorstep, and asked you to go to a wedding with her?” Jihoon is doing fine. He really is, but the twin laughter from Jeonghan and Seungcheol on the opposite end of the phone call confirmed whatever suspicions he has had—those two were listening on to the whole thing. 

“So? Did you manage to get her name or did you agree to go to a wedding with her without knowing her name?” Seungcheol laughs, “yes, Jeonghan told me everything.”

“Wow, you’re still a married couple after ten years, huh,” Jihoon mutters, not displeased, but feeling slightly betrayed, “and why the hell would you think I would agree to accompany someone to a wedding without knowing their name?”

“Because it is something that you would do, Jihoon,” Jeonghan says, “you would go to the wedding even if you did not know her name. You’d print out a sign that said ‘Diner regular’ and hope that she showed up.”

“Glad to see my oldest friends have so little faith in me,” he grumbles, “no, she actually gave me her number and her name.”

There’s a scramble on the other end, and Seungcheol’s indignant voice floats through, “her number? She gave you her number and her name? The same woman who told you straight up that it was not required for you to know anything about her?”

“Well, I did say that finding the correct wedding venue would be impossible if I did not know her name, so maybe, I asked her and she gave in,” he muses, and Jeonghan laughs, “why the hell are you two laughing?”

“I just think it’s funny. Lee Jihoon, the man who only pined once in his lifetime, is openly down bad for a woman he’s met maybe five times.”

“She’s been to the diner at least ten times. Besides, I even saw her father with her the other week.”

“Meeting the parents already?”

“Shut up!” He’s yelling in the middle of the night, and oh god his neighbors are going to report him for real, “I did not meet her parents. Just tell me what the hell do I do to make this thing go in my favour.”

“Wear something good, for one,” Seungcheol offers, “I’m pretty sure she does not want to see you wearing the same uniform that you wear all the time. Ditch the apron, wear something fashionable.”

“Right, yes.” Jihoon mutters, “something fashionable. Now what would that be?”

“You’re fucked,” Jeonghan replies, “what do you mean you don’t know your personal style? You used to wear so much black leather stuff when you were here.”

“And I was also in my twenties then,” Jihoon snipes, “maybe wearing the same style in your twenties is not the best idea you can give me.”

“Wear something nice, not flashy. Understated is the way to go,” Seungcheol says loudly, talking over Jeonghan, “and for god’s sake, wear an expensive watch. You used to have a really nice one, what happened to that?”

“I still have it. It’s kind of inconvenient to wear it on a daily basis, so I keep it in my closet.”

“Then wear it for the date,” Seungcheol groans. “You really like her, huh?”

“Apparently, I do,” Jihoon doesn’t even fight the smile on his face, “it’s strange to feel so strongly about someone this fast, but I can’t help it, it seems.”

“Why?”

Why, huh? He’s asked himself this about ten times, and always comes up empty. Why do you like her? Does he even like her? “I don’t know what I feel just yet. All I think about when I look at her is how much she reminds me of myself.”

“And?”

“And I would like to be there for her, if I can. The wedding seemed like it was a big deal to her, so I said yes. She really needed someone to be there for her, at least at that moment.”

Seungcheol whistles, “wow, you’ve gone mad. You’re entirely gone. Good luck with the date, huh? Call us to the wedding later on.”

—

He’d even brought out the watch collection and pondered for an hour straight on which watch to wear to a wedding. Nothing too flashy, his mind had supplied, it’s a wedding. Don’t draw attention to yourself. 

Then he thought about what Seungcheol had said. Good luck with the date. Even though he had tried to ignore it, it really was a date; even though they both drew strict boundaries, there was no mistaking what this was: a date. 

In the end, he had picked out the flashy one. If I have to make an impression on her, I need to pull out all the stops. 

—

“Boss,” Kevin’s voice brings him back to reality. “Three japchae for the bar.”

“So many people are ordering bloody japchae,” he grumbles, but he gets started on the order anyway. Sales for today have been higher than the entire month, and he really should not be complaining when it concerns money. 

Still, half an hour later, when they’re all tired out from the lunch rush and he’s contemplating closing up the diner for the night, his phone rings with a message notification. He’s really not hoping for anything, but it’s her. 

What’s the menu for today?

Jihoon bolts upright, scaring Kevin, and starts pacing around nervously. What’s the menu for today? Realistically, he should be able to answer this easily, but he cannot find himself to type out the words. He’s not chickening out; he’s just nervous. 

“What was the menu for today?” He asks. Kevin, who’s still staring at his boss pacing the entire length of the diner floor, shakes his head, “tteokguk, manduguk, bindaetteok, three kinds of jeon—”

“Fine, I get it,” he sighs, typing out the words on his phone. Tteokguk, manduguk, bindaetteok, three kinds of jeon. Finished, he holds it up to Kevin, “is this a good text?”

“Depends, are you her private chef?” He raises an eyebrow, “why the hell are you sending her a menu?”

“Because she asked!” He’s fully aware that he’s yelling, thank you very much, but he also can’t help himself, “oh god, why the hell did I ask you? Go back to what you were doing, Kevin.”

Kevin shrugs, “my name is not Kevin.”

Jihoon stares, “you wrote Kevin on the application form.”

“Yes, but it’s kind of a pseudonym I’m trying out,” Not-Kevin shrugs, “I have other ones, do you want to know?”

“Now you’re gonna tell me you’re not Korean-American or something.”

“I am not.”

“Oh dear,” Jihoon sighs, “what other names were in consideration?”

“Dino, for one,” the other man shrugs, “Dino.”

“Short for Dinosaurs?” Jihoon asks. 

“Correct. The actual name is Chan, though. Lee Chan.”

“Stupid fucking name,” he mutters, but there’s already another text from her, a reply to his earlier message. 

That’s a lot. We made tteokguk and jeon only. Couldn’t manage so many things. 

“She replied! Hah!” Jihoon waves the phone excitedly, “see this, Kev—I mean, Chan.”

“Wow, you’re weird,” Chan sighs, picking up his bag, “your mother called, she asked you to go home for tteokguk in the evening. I am out of here, since I have a date to go to, unlike you.”

“Little shit,” Jihoon mutters, but it’s really nothing bad, because he has a proper excuse to talk to her now. 

I run a diner, Kim Sowon-ssi. 

Sorry, forgot about that one, really. Shouldn’t you be spending time with your parents?

Will go to drink ceremonial new year’s soup at their home after I close up. 

Fun. I'm packing for two days in Jeju. 

Jeju?

Seungkwan, my friend, invited me. To be fair, his sisters did, so now I’m going to crash their family holiday. 

Make sure to carry gifts for the whole family. 

I’m a competent houseguest, thank you very much. 

Jihoon looks out of the window as he begins to gather up his things. Winter is here, with snowflakes that have fallen fast and unyielding over the past weeks, but he’s really never paid them any attention. Today, though, he takes some time to bask in the beauty of nature. He’s never really liked winter, despite being born in the middle of November, when the tips of his nose turned pink from the cold, but today, it’s different. Today he can think about the snow in January, in the longest month of the year. He hopes it snows next week as well. 

—

“You look good,” Jihoon’s mother remarks as soon as he enters the house, dusting off the snow from his hood, “did something happen?”

“Nothing worthwhile,” Jihoon shrugs, toeing off his shoes, “where’s dad?”

“Waiting for you,” she replies, “something good has happened, I can feel it.”

Tteokguk is fine, as usual; his mother had brought out the recipe from her mother, and Jihoon pays his respects to his parents before settling into a meal with them. He even takes a picture of his soup bowl before tucking in. 

“That’s new,” his father notes, “you never take pictures of food.”

“That’s not true,” Jihoon lies, “I take pictures of food all the time.”

“He’s met someone,” his mother sighs, throwing down her chopsticks, “really, do you think we are going to tell you to not date them or something like that? You’re thirty, we’re glad you found someone to date.”

“Is it a therapist?” his father asks, “the last time, with Seungcheol, you said he was seeing a therapist. Are you seeing his therapist, too?”

“God, no!” Jihoon exclaims, a bit louder than he should have, and the self-satisfied smiles on their faces give away the whole thing; they’re onto him. “Look, it’s nothing yet,” he reasons, “it’s not even a date, or attraction. I just know someone.”

“Leave him alone,” his father says, silencing his mother, who looks like she’s bursting at the seams to grill Jihoon about his love life, “you know how he is, he’s never going to tell us anything. At least you’re going to be taking the next week off, right?”

“Yes, but I have to go to Seoul,” Jihoon replies, “I have an appointment there.”

“With the boys?”

He hesitates, for a split second. That’s all it takes for his parents to zero in on him. Seriously, they’re like sharks, tasting blood. “Don’t ask me what I am going to do.”

“You’re going to meet her, right?” his mother asks, excited, “who is she? What does she do?”

Jihoon sighs. Even his father shrugs, indicating that he really cannot help him out in this case. He doesn’t even look sad or guilty. Traitors. “I’m going to a wedding,” Jihoon says, settling on the least exciting version of the events, “an acquaintance of mine is getting married the week after the New Year.”

“Strange time to get married,” his mother muses, but his father does not look convinced. 

“It’s her, right?” he drags Jihoon out for a smoke as soon as the dishes are cleared, “you’re going to meet her in Seoul, aren’t you?”

Jihoon really hates how perceptive his parents are. Sure, it’s worked out in his favor mostly, but right now? Right now he wants to get some alone time to figure out his feelings in peace, before being accosted by his parents into divulging whatever secrets he has. 

“Why wouldn’t I tell you if I was meeting her in Seoul?” he argues, “it’s nothing, really. I’m attending a wedding.”

“With her.” his father nods. “Well, you’ve never really been one to maintain secrets, so I’ll let you have this one.”

“How—how did you know?”

“Well, since you’ve brought her up every time you’ve come over to our house, I figured out she was someone important, but I did not know that she was accompanying you to a wedding.”

“I am accompanying her to the wedding,” Jihoon sighs, “she’s going to a wedding, and she asked me to come with her.”

“As a date, or as a friend?” His father stubs out his cigarette, “it’s important you make the distinction yourself. Make sure of what you are, before you go around getting hurt in the process.”

“I’m thirty, not thirteen,” Jihoon sighs, “I’ll manage myself just fine.”

“Just because you are thirty does not mean you can’t get hurt over matters of the heart,” his father says, serene, “your heart can always get hurt, Jihoon. Don’t be careless with it, just because you’re over a certain age.”

“Really, there's nothing to it, dad.” Jihoon argues, but he’s getting slightly tired of saying this too, “I’m not even interested in her romantically. She just reminds me a lot of myself when I was younger.”

—

“Do you have anyone to take with you to the wedding?” My mother asks, on the morning of my flight to Jeju, “you can ask Seungkwan if he can go.”

“He’s busy with hosting New Year celebrations at his ancestral house, mom,” I reply, “he’s definitely not interested in coming to a wedding with me.”

From across the table, my sister squints at me, mouthing what is wrong with you? Just tell her the truth, but I shake my head. If I tell her the truth now, she’s going to have expectations of me later on. She’s going to ask me where I met Jihoon, what are my plans with him,  do I see a future with him—questions that seem routine to her, but to me, really, it does not make any sense to me. Whatever he said about me, the flirting, the talk of being a trophy boyfriend, all of that was for show, I know it. 

“So you seriously have no one to go with?” She asks, more insistent now that I have ruled out Seungkwan as a possibility, “Yura’s getting married. You should make some effort at least.”

I keep silent. I want to say, I’m going to the wedding of the girl who ruthlessly antagonised me in high school. Is that not enough? It’s true as well, while Yura was not someone to be an outright bully, she used her words and her influence to her advantage, and knew exactly where to hit, in order for it to hurt the most. 

Hey, Kim Sowon, are you sure you’re not hanging out with Kim Mingyu just to sleep with him?

Hey, you know, Sowon just goes around with Mingyu all the time, don’t you think the two have something going on between them?

No wonder she tried to keep everyone away from Mingyu. I feel sorry for him, having to put up with her. 

It’s all meaningless high school gossip, I’ve told myself. Nothing matters in the end. I left that school, went to Hankuk and left it behind. Still, on days I barely feel like a person, I think, would things have worked out better if I had told them all off? Took a stand for myself? They knew they could say whatever they wanted about me and I would not antagonise them. It’s easier to ignore the hurt than to do anything about it. 

“Do you want me to set you up with someone?” My mother prods, “he’s a doctor, you know, and he’s got a clinic of his own—”

“Mom,” I sigh, “I doubt anyone would like to think of me romantically when I don’t even recognise myself as a person anymore.”

“I don’t understand why you keep talking like this,” She grumbles, “you keep making us all uncomfortable when we are just trying to help you.”

“Sorry for making you feel uncomfortable, mom, but I really don’t think I’m ready to be dating anyone right now,” I reply, standing up from the table, “and tell the aunties to stop the matchmaking. I’ve been here for two days and they’ve already accosted me thrice to tell me about their eligible matches. I don’t care about getting married right now, and doing all this is making me uncomfortable.”

“They’re just being nice, you know. Would not hurt to let them be nice to you for once.”

“They are not being nice!” I really should learn how to control my temper, “they’re not being nice. I hate the way they look at me, as though I’m some kind of exhibit, a zoo animal to be paraded around for their entertainment. Why do you want me to be nice to them anyway? They hated me all throughout high school, they spread rumors about me all throughout university, they even gossip about me now that I’ve finally left and moved to Busan. When does this end?”

“Watch your tone, Sowon,” my sister warns. I ignore it. 

“They did not care about our family, so I suggest you stop caring about them too much, mom,” I  say, picking up my luggage, “take it from me; don’t waste your time on people who do not care about you.”

—

“Noona!” Seungkwan has kept his promise, waited for me at the airport to pick me up in his family car, “how long are you here for?”

“Just two days, thank you,” I mutter, picking up my suitcase for him to stash in the boot, “nothing too much for me right now.”

“Two days?” He’s pretty surprised, “I thought you had tickets for at least five.”

“Yes, except I have to attend a wedding in three days,” I shrug, “I need to go shopping for clothes as soon as I get back. Then I have to work on the draft again, which I have been ignoring for far too long to be normal, and then get started on work-from-home.”

“They didn’t give you a vacation?” Seungkwan scoffs, “hey, noona, just leave the damn job. You’re popular enough that you can do it. Just leave the damn job and start writing full-time.”

“I need twenty million more in savings, and then I can think about resigning,” I shake my head, “besides, you know why  I keep this job.”

“So that your parents don’t bother you about it,” He nods, “but if you get a proper contract, you should leave the job. They don’t pay you enough, and you clearly hate working there.”

“Not all of us are blessed with workplaces that let us do whatever we want, Boo Seungkwan,” I sigh, “although you’re still stuck at Associate Editor. Why the hell don’t they promote you?”

“You’re what they’re looking for, noona,” Seungkwan has a tight sort of smile on his face, “until you bring out another book, they’re not going to promote me. I’m busy with the day-to-day goings as is.”

“Basing your promotions on my work seems a bit silly and counterproductive,” I grumble, “and why the hell won’t they promote you? Should I write that I want my editor to be promoted for all his work?”

“And that will not help,” Seungkwan grips the wheel a bit tighter, “I can come off as pushy and annoying, which does not help my chances of getting promoted in my company.”

“I thought they liked that you were slightly pushy.”

“Now they think it’s annoying,” he points out the window, “look, there’s the village.”

Seungkwan is trying to change the subject. Well, it’s bound to be difficult for him, I think, being solely responsible for my success, but I do wish he opened up to me, from time to time. Beyond the usual editor-writer relationship, Seungkwan is probably the only person left in my life who I can consider a friend. Whatever happens, he’s always been there for me, something which I have come to appreciate much more than I did in the beginning of the relationship. 

“By the way,” he says, “the series is working out really well.”

“Series?” I ask, “oh, the diner series?”

“Yes, the very one. Over five hundred thousand hits on the magazine website, not to mention subscriber count has increased. Even your writing style has changed, which might be why so many young people are reading it.”

“Hold on, five hundred thousand?” I ask, “who the hell is reading a column about what I eat every week at the diner?”

“A lot of people, actually,” he points to the tablet sitting beside him, and I pull up the publishing house’s website. I could have looked at a physical copy of the magazine, but the website seems easier, and Seungkwan insists on me looking at the comments people have been leaving. 

“How did this get so many views?”

“Apparently, a lifestyle blogger read that column,went to the diner, and then made a video about it. Don’t worry, they didn’t show the owner, but they talked a lot about the food. It became very popular, surprisingly.”

“The diner has been in the running for an Orange Ribbon, of course they’re going to be popular,” I sigh, “let’s see the comments, shall we?”

The column was about the gukbap I’d had before my father came to visit, written evidently in a hurry, with grammatical errors and typos in the first draft that had taken me ages to clean up. Still, it’s not a bad piece of writing, and it’s something that I do take pride in. 

There are about five hundred comments, and I managed to read the first few before giving up: 

—it’s pretty obvious she’s in love with the owner, LOL

—when’s the wedding?

—she’s not wrong, though. Gukbap is the representative dish for Korea

—need to go to the diner she’s talking about, stop gatekeeping

—this reads less like a column and more like a lovestagram haha

“They’re all speculating,” I shrug, setting the tablet down, “there’s really nothing of importance in the column itself.”

“Really? Not even the bit where you wax eloquent about his cooking skills—which might I suggest, are not Michelin-level?”

“He’s good, Seungkwan.”

“Yeah, he’s good. He’s not Marco Pierre White.” Seungkwan sighs, “look, what you do with your life is not my business. It will never be my business either. But you’ve got to stop writing lines like ‘I wonder what secrets he has been hiding behind those perfectly manicured nails’. Frankly speaking, it looks a bit desperate.”

“I’m not desperate,”  I resist the urge to snap at him, “I’m not anything but exhausted right now.”

“We’re almost there,” Seungkwan swerves from the main road to another one, driving through a traditional village, “welcome to the casa, noona.”

“Casa,” I scoff, “we are not kids trying out new Spanish names, Seungkwan.”

“While you’re here, write a few lines about the famed Jeju hospitality too, eh?” Seungkwan gets the bag out of the boot, yelling, “look who’s here!”

—

“Thirty pages?” Seungkwan is more surprised at the volume of the pages than at the fact that I have been able to write anything, really, after the first twelve hours of non-stop feeding, “you write thirty pages in half a day?”

“Had twenty of them written down, actually,” I mutter, snacking on candied tangerine slices, a Jeju specialty (the tangerines) and a Seungkwan’s mom specialty (the candied bit), “just needed ten more, and wrote them in the middle of the night.”

“Why the hell would you write ten pages in the middle of the night?” Seungkwan asks, “you look like you’ve been well-rested, though.”

“It’s probably the weather out here,” I stretch my limbs like a cat, yawning, “I haven’t had a nice rest like this in a long time.”

“Yeah, too bad you’re going back to working from home in two days, and be out of here,” Seungkwan sighs, looking at the PDF on his tablet, “you know, if you want, you can just stay here for the rest of your life.”

“At your grandmother's house?” I raise an eyebrow, “I give it three days before they all kick me out of here.”

“You were given a plate of dried persimmons, and I was given only one,” he points to the empty plate next to the one with the candied orange slices, “they like you more than they like me, you know that, right?”

“Is it because I am the daughter they always wanted?” I smile, and he scowls, “the youngest daughter, so charming she has her family wrapped around her thumb?”

“You’ve already got my family under your thumb, why are you even crying about it,” Seungkwan mutters, “this is good enough for an introductory chapter, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” I shrug, “but I’m not really looking to publish right now. Just see if these pages are good enough to put on the company website. Not even the literary magazine, just the website for serialisation.”

“Well, they are, but why the sudden need to not serialise?” Seungkwan asks, “have you been caught by the sophomore novel bug? But wait, you’re on your third novel already, that cannot be the reason, right?”

“I just don’t want to rush into publishing something when I know the material is not good enough,” I shrug, “why do you want me to publish so fast?’

“Because public opinion is always shifting,” Seungkwan smiles, “and they want something new, every few months.. And you’re one of those people who doesn’t have an active social media presence, not that I can fault you for that, but you have to admit, it goes against object permanence. If they are not seeing you at all times, they’re going to forget about you. Public memory is like that of a goldfish.”

“And I don’t make public appearances, either,” I say, “that was partly why I agreed to the serialisation.”

“Glad to see you’re still taking your literary career seriously, noona,” Seungkwan replies. 

“Hey, your parents home?” I ask after a beat, “do you mind me smoking?’

“Really? Smoking while on holiday at the family home?” Seungkwan laughs, “go ahead, they’re all busy. Besides, we’re sitting in the back courtyard, so I doubt they’re going to notice. The only witnesses are the vegetables, and I doubt cabbages can speak.”

“Do you think I should write about the wedding?” I ask after lighting a cigarette, puffing out smoke away from Seungkwan, “they’re going to have a buffet there.”

“Noona,” he turns to look at me, “you’ve never once told me about them, and now you’re going to go to someone’s wedding when you haven’t been in contact with them for what, ten years? A whole decade? Do you even want to write about that experience?”

I scoff, “really, Seungkwan, I don’t need the damn lecture. And I would not be going to fucking Yu-ra’s wedding, but my parents promised them that I would, and now my sister is treating this like it’s some sort of personal project. Revenge for all the times that I did not allow her to dress me up.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I just got sent a Chanel catalogue,” I show it to him, and his face falls, cringing, “I wish I was kidding when I said that this was a nightmare of my worst proportions. Never did I think once that I would be going to see those people again, not after whatever went on during those years.”

“Seriously? You didn’t have a single friend during high school?” Seungkwan narrows his eyes, “what about Mingyu? You were really close to him.”

“I feel very grateful that Mingyu existed in my life, at least in that moment,” the cigarette is halfway gone, and Seungkwan, who leans forward to listen to me better, catches a whiff of the smoke, wincing, “he’s the only person I think I would talk to, if I ever ran into him on the streets.”

“And the rest?”

“Running in the opposite direction,” I shudder, “no way. No way in hell.”

This is nice. Seungkwan doesn’t push, and I don’t say anything. Our relationship is not based on total transparency—god knows what secrets of his own he has hid from me, but it’s easy. It comes easy to both of us, or me, at least, to sit in the silence of a winter afternoon and smoke cigarettes one after the other, ignoring all his warnings. He doesn’t need to know how my school life was, nor does he need to know anything about my growing pains. For the both of us, companionship is easy—it means staying when the other one needs you. And he doesn’t need to know.  It’s better this way. 

And to think I haven’t even told him about the transferring of book contracts. 

—

“Seriously?” My sister throws her hands up in despair, looking at the outfit I had picked out for the wedding the next day, “you’re going to the wedding of your high school friend, and you’re wearing work clothes?”

“They’re not work clothes, eonnie,” I sigh, “they’re what I wear for going to funerals. Excellently made, and comfortable in the biting cold. Look, it’s going to snow tomorrow morning. I’ll need all the help I can get for this one.”

“Do you have something against dressing up?” She asks, sitting on the foot of the bed, “you used to dress up all the time when you were a kid, saying it made you feel special and like a princess. Now, you cringe at the very idea of wearing something other than funeral clothes to a wedding.”

“They’re not funeral clothes,” I protest, “it’s just that I have worn them to funerals.”

“That’s the same,” she sighs, “what happened at high school?”

I freeze. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. You used to be such a normal kid, then you clammed up entirely during high school, and never seemed to recover from that. I want to know what happened during those years, that made you like that.”

I sigh. How do I tell her that it was no one’s fault, but my own? I went into the situation with higher expectations than I should have. It’s my fault, really. 

“I just got lonely,” I replied, “high school was lonely, and I got too used to it, I think.”

“You had Mingyu, right?”

“I couldn’t depend on Mingyu all the time,” I mutter, holding out a white dress shirt for her inspection, “and besides, everyone got so busy during that time, with studies, with work, with everything. I didn’t think my problems would have been very appreciated in the midst of all that.”

“Now you’re making us the bad guys.”

“I’m just stating what happened. I’m not making anyone the bad or the good guys out here.”

“And this has nothing to do with all the rumors about you in university?” She asks, “yes, I heard them too. Everyone talked about you for months, Sowon, and you never gave me an explanation for that.”

“Why do I have to give you an explanation?” I snap, “why is it that my life revolves around me being accountable to everyone—you, our parents, my boss, my editor, my friends, everyone? Yeah, there were rumors about me at university, and I did not tell anyone, because I didn’t want to repeat the damn situation over and over again!”

“Telling someone your problems is not making yourself repeat the situation, Sowon.”

“Yes, but I am doing it, even right now. When you’re asking me for an explanation about what happened, you’re assuming that I was in the wrong.”

“Were you? Were you in the wrong?” She snaps back, “at least tell me what exactly happened, so I can make some sense of the situation!”

“You’re supposed to be on my side!” My brain has gone into overdrive now, and I can feel it, feel the inevitable panic attack, the shortness of my breath, “you’re supposed to be on my side, because if I had done something wrong, I would have come to you. To this family. But I didn’t, and I’m still being interrogated like I’m some sort of common fuck-up instead of your sister.”

 I pause, chest heaving, breathing shallow, and my vision is blurring right now. All I want is to be able to breathe normally, but even that seems impossible. It’s okay. You’ve got experience with this, haven’t you? Just focus on the breathing. Seeing what’s in front of you is not important right now. 

“You’re not in your right mind now, we’ll talk about this tomorrow,” she mutters, without casting a second glance at me, leaving the room. I manage to take three steps to my bed, before I collapse on top of it, breathing heavy and shallow. It’s fine. It’s all fine, I tell myself, don’t worry about it too much. I’ve gone through this. 

In the end, I go with what I know, as usual. The only time I have strayed from what I know, has been when I left this city and went to Busan. 

All my life, I’ve knowingly or unknowingly, done exactly what my parents wished of me. Got into the top public school in the city, the one that we moved school districts for. My sister got in, and so did I. I went to Hankuk University on a scholarship, because my parents told me I had to. Studied Pre-Law, because my father was a lawyer, and he wanted at least one of his daughters to follow in his footsteps. Graduated from the university to train at a law firm, just like my father wanted me to. Even before I applied formally to Hankuk Law school, I was poised to become a lawyer, just like him. Even a prosecutor, if I put my mind to it. 

And I left it all to get a random job at a random company, and moved to Busan as soon as my transfer application was processed. 

What a pathetic life, I think, the only time I’ve tasted freedom, has been when I went to another city. What a life you’ve led, Kim Sowon. 

—

He’s really not waiting for anyone. Jihoon’s standing in front of the hotel, waiting, nonchalant in the way he shoves his fists inside his pockets. I’m not waiting for anyone. This is not a date. 

Really, she’s not even said this was a date. This was merely an arrangement for her, a way to get out of a sticky situation and come out of it unscathed. He’s trusted, that’s what he is. She trusts him enough to ask him to accompany her to this wedding, and he’s out here, thinking about her in terms she does not want to be thought of, imposing his feelings on her like some kind of idiot. 

I’m an acquaintance, he repeats to himself, I am an acquaintance, nothing more. The snow falls thick around his ears, the sound of it rushing around his brain. He should really go inside, he thinks, he should go inside where it’s warm and he’s not in danger of freezing over—

The sound stops. Pure white snow. No sound. All that remains is the loud thudding of his heartbeat, over and over as it reaches a hundred twenty, racing against time and space. 

Because in front of him, is Kim Sowon, dressed in her usual black suit, the same smell of menthol cigarettes wafting around her. Her face is pale, devoid of makeup as usual, and her hair is cut short for ease of movement. 

But he still can’t say anything, because even a single noise would destroy the landscape in front of his eyes. He’s transfixed, waiting helplessly for her to say something before his knees give out. He’s reminded of a line he read in a book a long time ago: 

The train came out of the long tunnel into the snow country. 

“Shall we?” She doesn’t smile at him, merely squares her shoulders. Jihoon offers her his arm, and they wordlessly set off into the hotel. His heart is still racing, and he hopes she doesn’t notice. 

This is—this is bad. He wants her to think of him as a friend, not like this, not like someone who is halfway in love with her already. 

Still denying your feelings, huh? The voice in his mind suspiciously sounds like Seungcheol, and Jihoon wants to hit himself for letting his stupid words affect him like this. Nothing will happen. I’m here as a friend. As a helping hand. 

When it came to Kim Sowon, Jihoon, runner extraordinaire, found that his feet would not move. 

—

I wish I never came here. 

Even for a hasty post-new year wedding, the ballroom is filled with people. Did she even have that many acquaintances? I think to myself, before signing the register and depositing my gift money (50 thousand won only). Guests keep filing into the foyer, looking at the wedding venue, the names written in fancy script, congratulatory bouquets from the couples’ acquaintances. 

“Wow, a lot of people here,” Jihoon whistles, and I wish I could have a cigarette right now. 

“Too many people, I think,” I sigh, “let’s go visit the bride.”

Yeah, this is easy. This is what I am supposed to do, as the bride’s high school classmate. “It’s good manners, I think,” I laugh, hoping it does not give away how nervous I actually am, “we should go there.”

“And why are you going to visit the bride?” Jihoon asks, “you did not seem that enthused when walking into the actual building. And I’m supposed to just take you at your word?”

“It’s good manners, Lee Jihoon, “ I reply, “and I’m trying not to come off as an asshole here.”

There are people coming out of the bride’s reception room, and I can recognise the people I went to school with; Jiyeon, Soyeon, all the people who had, at one point, ignored my very existence. Not that they’re doing anything else right now, I sigh, as Jiyeon passes me by without a second glance; there are always people who will fall behind, huh? 

I knock politely on the door, Jihoon standing right behind me, and Yura calls out, “Come in!” 

The first thing I can think of when I walk into the room is how vulgarly pink. Everything is pink, everywhere, from the pale pink of the peonies to the pink gemstones on her wedding tiara, everything is draped in pink. And so very distasteful. 

“Kim Sowon?” Yura stands up, all smiles, “I didn't think you’d be coming to my wedding! Oh my god, what a nice surprise!” She stumbles over her feet in her excitement to get to me, and I rush forward to catch her, half in my arms and half-dangling, precarious, but not too much. 

“Be careful,” I mutter, helping her back to her seat, “we don’t really need an accident on your wedding day.”

“Kim Sowon, still the same knight in shining armor,” Jiyeon teases, “you never really grew out of the habit of saving other people, did you?”

“I never saved anyone,” I reply, tone more clipped than proper, “I’m the only person here who’s wearing flats.”

“Sensible,” Jiyeon shrugs, before spotting Jihoon by the door, “oh, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Uh,” I take a deep breath, “this is Lee Jihoon.”

“And who might he be?” Yura’s eyes are sparkling the same glint that I used to see whenever she managed to unearth something about the other, overlooked members of the class, something to use as leverage, “you should introduce him to us, properly, Kim Sowon.”

Fuck, I hate the way she says my name. I take a deep breath, the words ‘he’s a friend of mine’ on my lips, when Jihoon beats me to the punch, taking my hand in his, and smiling widely for everyone to see, “I’m a close friend of hers, as you can see.”

The implication of those two words are not lost on anyone. I can practically see the cogs turning in their heads, making calculations about how long I've  been dating him and how far is it that we’ve gotten, and Jiyeon walks up to us, smiling bashfully, “so you’re close friends, huh? Does that mean you know everything about her?”

I roll my eyes. Really, they had no business even talking about me like this. “What are you talking about?” I ask, after a deep breath, “what do you even mean?”

“I mean, does he know about everything you got up to in high school?” She laughs, turning to Jihoon, “Sowon used to be very famous in high school, you know. Especially amongst the boys.”

Lies. None of that happened. And they know it. 

“What are you talking about?” I ask, and they all just laugh, the noise grating over my ears as I desperately look for someplace to hide. I wish I had never come to this fucking wedding. I wish I had a cigarette with me right now. 

“We all heard from your university friends, that you had moved down to Busan,” Yura smiles, shifting her flower bouquet in her lap, “Bora and Eunji, was it? They told us that you had taken a job as an editor at a publishing firm.”

“Stop it, Yura,” I sigh, “this is your wedding day.”

“I’m not doing anything illegal here, am I?” She smiles again, and I feel an irrational wish to punch the smile off of her face, and continue, until her face is bloody and her teeth are knocked out. It’d take three minutes, I think. Two if I can be fast enough. “You should have some idea at least, Lee Jihoon-ssi, of how Sowon used to be in high—”

“I doubt that is of any importance now, given that she’s almost thirty years old,” Jihoon replies smoothly, “and I doubt anyone here has kept track of everything Sowon-ssi has been up to after high school.”

Taking another look at everyone, he smiles again, “whatever she was, if she was even anything—that was the past. At present, she’s one of the best people I know, and that’s the impression I would like to continue with.” With that, he half-drags me back to the main lobby, making our way to the wedding lobby with a singular look on his face that I can only say is determination? Perhaps. 

“Did you really have to say all that?” I ask, after we’ve taken our seats, “I mean, they weren’t really doing anything outright horrible, per se.”

He turns to look at me, “Was any of what they said real in any capacity?”

I sigh, “it’s complicated. High school was—not my best moment.”

“Whatever happened, I’m sure you didn’t do it,” he grins, “from what I’ve seen of you, you don’t seem to be that kind of person.”

“And if I was? That kind of person, I mean.”

“Even if you were, it would not matter. It’s been ten years; you’re allowed to change during that time. As long as you never hurt anyone, it does not matter.”

I stare at him. Does he really mean all this, or is he just saying it for my benefit? Even as the bride and groom step into the hall, flanked by applause, I keep staring at him. If he’s uncomfortable by it, he doesn’t show. 

He’s attractive, even an idiot would be able to say that. In a way that’s quieter, perhaps. Not that I am an expert on the attractiveness of men, but Lee Jihoon has that sort of confidence in him that makes one want to look twice. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t looked twice. Thrice, too. Halfway between brooding and open, his features are as enigmatic as his words. 

“Didn’t realise my face was that interesting,” he says, mild enough to be only for my ears, “you’ve been staring.”

“You have something on your face,” I lie, looking away, “it’s just distracting.”

“You mean handsomeness?” He grins, “don’t worry, you’re not the first person to tell me that.”

I scowl, “please never use those cringey lines with me again.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, and I lean back, trying not to look as though I have been forced to come to this wedding in the first place. 

—

In the spirit of feeling cheap, I ate three servings of beef ribs, had two desserts, and three bowls of the expensive french-sounding soup from the buffet hall. Jihoon doesn’t say anything, merely observes as I pile more food onto my plate, but at one point he asks, “are you a camel?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, “oh, the resource-gathering part. No, I’m not a camel. I’m just traumatised from this wedding.”

“And trauma must be overcome with galbi.”

“You get it,” I mutter, taking another bite of it, “I need to overcome this trauma with meat.”

Even after all the food has been consumed and the pictures taken, I still wish to be as petty as I can, and snag the biggest flower arrangement from the wedding hall, grinning triumphantly at Jihoon as I emerge from the crush of people wanting some flowers for themselves, “the pink scheme was a monstrosity, but the lavender theme matches my room perfectly.”

“You’re going to put that big bouquet in your room?” Jihoon asks, “your childhood room?”

I want to say yes, in a way that’s both chic and sexy and flirty, like everyone else does, but really, who the hell am I kidding? I manage to nod once, before I open my mouth to ask him the one question that has been weighing on my mind since I heard the words being spoken. 

Did you actually mean it when you said I was a special friend, I want to ask, or was it simply something you did because you felt abject pity?

“Tteowonie!” There’s really one person in the entire world who called me by that name, a childish bastardisation I had always pretended to hate. I turn, hands full of lavender and hydrangeas, and come face-to-face with Kim Mingyu. 

I felt hatred for Yura the moment I stepped into that room and saw her in her bridal gown, waiting as though she had expected me to come and pay my respects and prostrate myself at her feet, hoping to be fucking included in the group. With Mingyu right in front of me, all I can think of is I missed that stupid nickname. He’s still taller than everyone in the room, standing impressive amongst the rest of us commoners, looking like a Greek god carved out of stone. It’s funny, how I remember him as the boy who failed three math tests at the private academy we went to before begging me to help him out just this once. 

“Kim Sowon?” Mingyu gives me a hug, enveloping me warmly in his too-big frame, because of course he does that, he’s Kim Mingyu, the boy who never really knew how to turn off the physical affection with his friends, “fancy running into you here!”

“I was invited, I’m not gatecrashing Yura’s wedding, of all people,” I mutter dryly, “have you managed to get flowers?”

“No, but the bouquet you have in your hand is pretty impressive,” He nods towards the sprigs of flowers in my hands, “planning to decorate your whole house tonight?”

“None of your business, Mingyu,” I scowl, turning to Jihoon, who’s been looking at the two of us like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle without opening the box. Like if he says something at all, it’s all going to fall and spill out and get ruined. “This is Lee Jihoon, he’s my—”

“Friend,” Jihoon pipes up, smiling tightly, “we’re friends. I live in Busan. Nice to meet you, Kim Mingyu.”

And he shakes his hand, in that strange way that all men seem to have perfected, the one where it’s not really a sign of affection nor of greeting, but a casual thing in between, that hides more than it tells. 

“Well, if you’re here with her, then you must be a great friend,” he grins, “did you know, she used to be my best friend in high school?”

Jihoon’s expression changes, from devastated to curious and then settles on a mix of the two, “Best friends, huh?”

“Yes, well, no one would hang out with her,” Mingyu offers as an explanation, “she used to be obsessed with getting into Hankuk university.”

“Really?” Jihoon is smiling, “she seems like someone who always went for what she wanted.”

“She is that kind of person, yes.” Mingyu grins, “have you told them about the time you gave up the Class president position because it would interfere with your studies?”

I sigh, “I try not to think about that moment. And really, I do not. I should have accepted it at the time.”

‘Still, you got into Hankuk,” Mingyu grins, “that’s what you wanted to do.”

Jihoon changes the subject, “What do you do right now, Mingyu-ssi?” It’s less of a desire to know what Mingyu does for a living, and more about not bringing up the memories of my past, “since you’re her high school friend.”

“I work as an architect,” Mingyu smiles, “went to a Seoul university because I had her study notes with me.” He passes us his card, and I take a look at them. Kim Mingyu, Senior Architect. At a firm            specialising in office buildings. He’s made it big, thank God. He deserved it. 

“You would have gotten in regardless,” I shrug, “hey, make me a house.”

“Pay me first.” He holds out his hand. 

“I have no money.”

“Why the hell would I do that without any payment?” Mingyu laughs, and I think what a relief it is to hear him laugh the same. His laughter has not changed; still the same carefree boy of my years past, the brightest spot of my youth. If I close my eyes, I can imagine him laughing at the edge of the field, voice loud enough to be heard from the classroom, after scoring a goal, calling out to me to just come down and enjoy. 

“I’ll pay,” I begrudgingly say, “friend discount.”

“No friend discount for the girl who terrorised me with her math workbook.” He grins, “what do you want it for?”

What do you want it for? I can think of no idea that would suffice, because I do not want an office building, I don’t want anything to do with offices anymore. All I want is a place of my own, where it does not feel like a hotel room, where breathing comes easy.

“Not an office building. Can you redecorate my house?” I ask, and both of them laugh, Jihoon and Mingyu, before he gives an indignant squawk, hitting me across the shoulders. 

“Do I look like an interior designer to you?”

“What she means is,” Jihoon steps in, “she thinks you’d do a better job of decorating her apartment than any interior designer.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

—

Jihoon has been waiting for his friend to pick him up, he tells me, and the three of us—Mingyu, me, and him—stand awkwardly on the sidewalk like elementary school children waiting for their parents after school. I have a cigarette in my mouth, slowly taking a drag on it like Jihoon or Mingyu might find it uncomfortable, to see me smoking right in front of them. 

“Really? Still onto that habit?” Mingyu turns to Jihoon. “I caught her smoking for the first time when she was in senior year. She told everyone that she’d give it up, but never did.”

“Really? You’re going on about the one incident in my final year of school?” I make a face, “at least I wasn’t preening in front of all the school for a football match.”

“It was not a football match, there was a lot riding on it!”

“Your dad told me you gave up law school to get a job,” Mingyu says, “not that I thought you’d ever have a career in law.”

“Are you calling me an idiot?” I scoff, “doesn’t matter, whatever I did back then. I’m fine now.”

“I’m going to Busan for a meeting next month,” he says, after a beat, “do you want me to bring you anything?”

“Cigarettes.”

 A large car comes screeching to a halt in front of us, and a man with long hair and a pleasant, almost sly-looking face jumps out, arms outstretched, “Jihoon! How nice to see you again!” 

“That’s Jeonghan,” Jihoon, from beside me, mutters, “where’s Seungcheol?”

“Gone to get coffee for you,” Jeonghan grins, before pointing at me, “is that her?”

“Where the fuck are your manners?” Jihoon hisses, swatting at him, “I’ll see you back in Busan, Sowon-ssi.”

I want to say something, but I really can’t. There’s an easy dynamic there, borne out of years of familiarity, nothing like the awkwardness between me and Mingyu. Even if I could, I should not. 

“See you in Busan, Lee Jihoon.” 

—

“Who was that man with her? That was her, wasn’t it?” Jeonghan starts his rapid fire as soon as Jihoon gets into the car, “she looked right comfortable with him. Also, I don’t think I’ve told you this, but she’s really fascinating.”

“Gets your attention right off the bat, right?” Jihoon muses, “the first time seeing her, I don’t think I breathed for a minute.”

“I get why you wrote three R&B songs about her, Jihoon,” Jeonghan laughs, “I would do it too, if I could.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he sighs, “didn’t you see them back there?”

“See who?” Jeonghan takes a look through the rearview mirror, “ah, them. They seem like friends to me.”

“Doesn’t matter. There’s history there; too much history.” Jihoon sighs again, watching the heater in the car steal away the mist of his cold breath,  “if I were to barge in, it’d be an intrusion.”

Jeonghan draws the car to a stop in front of a cafe, and Seungcheol hurries into the car, “who’s intruding?”

“Me,” Jihoon raises a hand, “I'm realising that with her, I can’t compete with history.”

—

[httpsserene]

httpsserene’s 1K Special | Track Limits

summary: tainted, virgin!reader is growing tired of grinding against her boyfriends. she’s never touched herself before—no toys, no fingers, no fondling—the friction from a pillow used to be enough. but, maybe having something inside of her isn’t as terrifying as she believed. charles’ pretty pianist fingers don’t look too scary, and they way he raves about how talented max’s daunting, thicker fingers are; well, she could be convinced to see what all the fuss is about.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. imagine me laughing maniacally. enjoy reading, loves xxx

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learning curve — 𝐜𝐥. 𝟏𝟔 & 𝐦𝐯. 𝟏 charles leclerc x max verstappen x fem!black!reader 2.7k words. no penetrative sex. corruption kink. fingering. hand and finger kink. guided masturbation. praise kink. dom/sub undertones. dialogue heavy. max is a brat tamer.

max stated, “when you get your nails done today, don’t get a new set. keep them natural; you can get polish but keep them short and rounded with no sharp edges.”

you stared at max with a lukewarm expression. it’s seven in-the-fucking morning, and he’s woken you up from your extremely comfortable position tucked into charles’ chest to tell you that you’re getting your nails done and exactly how he wants them done. he must have lost his mind overnight.

“d’you think,” you croaked out, voice unused from sleep, “that getting my nails done will distract me from realizing that my thighs have healed from the friction burn?”

the dutchman opened his mouth to speak but you held up a hand to shush him, and continued scratchily, “‘cause it hasn’t worked. ‘n i don’t even have an appointment to get my nails done? ‘s not happening today.”

“i made one,” he responded with a self-satisfied smile, “it’s in an hour.”

“WHAT THE HELL, MAX?!” you exclaimed, fighting through the layers of blankets tangled around you to make your way out of bed to rush through getting yourself ready. charles, still asleep, snuffled unhappily at the commotion and rolled over facing away from the two of you.

max chuckled mutely as he watches you stumble off the bed towards to en-suite bath, “use my black card–i’m sure it’ll cover the late fee.”

slamming the bathroom door shut, your yell carries through the door, “I WAS GOING TO USE IT ANYWAYS!”

thanks to years of lounging in bed to the last possible second before you needed to get ready, you were exactly on time to your appointment. it’s a boujee “self-care salon” that you don’t usually go to, but it’s pretty much impossible to mess up a soak-off and basic manicure. actually, max is paying so there’s really no harm in treating yourself. you go from a basic manicure to the most luxurious mani-pedi package they offer, there’s even a hand, arm, foot, and calf massage included. you leave a healthy tip too; it’s not like you can run up max verstappen’s black card, he won’t even notice.

by the time you get home, you’ve completely forgotten about being mad at max for terrorizing you this morning. but, you’re quickly reminded of why when he jumps you as soon as you walk in the front door, tugging you in by your hands as he examines your nails.

“sheesh,” you gasp, “can i close the door first?” 

charles, more awake but still disgruntled (he considers any-time before noon too early to be awake, appears from around the corner and walks to shut the door behind you. he wordlessly shimmies your keys and bag out of your hands, and presses a kiss to your cheek, “bonjour, mon coeur.”

“good morning, charlie,” you murmur sweetly, ignoring max’s general incompetence, “may i…” you shift awkwardly on your feet, “can i have a real kiss, please?”

the brunet’s discontented gaze turned to liquid gold warming your body with the amount of love that poured through just one glance. he leans in to kiss you but yelps, flinching away from you at a pinch on his arm from max.

the older man grunts, “bedroom first. then you can make out with each other to your hearts content.”

your legs have turned to mush from deep kisses, so you’re thankful to be seated on top of charles’ lap on your vanity chair. the monegasque has one hand fisted in the curls at the nape of your neck, moving your head to just the angle he likes as he continues to explore past the seam of your lips. he doesn’t allow you to pull away for more than half a second to catch your breath, all of your hums, moans, and whimpers of delight are caught in his mouth. the lust fogs your brain as he nips and tugs at your bottom lip, the soft skin surrounding your lips raw already from his stubble. the weight of his large hand resting on the small of your back combined with the overwhelming sensations has you shifting your hips rocking back and forth on charles’ thigh, yet you haven’t consciously noticed you actions yet. you haven’t noticed how max has been calling your name to get your attention for a while now.

“liefje, come here,” max’s voice has a commanding edge to it, that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand to attention, “you’ve been patient like i’ve mentioned. so, i think it’s time you experience more than one of our thighs, hm?”

you squirm of charles’ lap, prying his hands off your waist when he tries to tighten his grasp, and eagerly make your way over to the foot of the bed where max is sitting–has he been watching the whole time? the monegasque huffs loudly to inform the two of you of how displeased he is at you discarding him quickly at the promise of something more. the younger man stands up and doesn’t manage to take more than one step in your direction before max halts him.

“and where do you think you’re going?” max asks condescendingly, he pulls you down to sit in between his legs, his chest to your back, so you can face charles, “only good boys get to participate. and if i can remember…two days ago, you decided to be a brat.”

the brat in question reddens, “yes! i was…being mean–but, you said that i don’t get to come, not that i don’t get to touch her?”

max shrugs dismissively, and he starts to undress you–pulling off your shirt to leave you in your bra, while he motions for you to tug off your jeans.

“mon chat–this is unfair,” charles whines, “let me touch her!”

“you want to touch her?” max asks, charles nods eagerly in response, “say you were a brat and apologize, and then maybe i’ll let you touch her.”

the brunet gapes at his boyfriend, stumbling over his words for a few seconds, before he turns to look at you, expecting you to help him out. you curl up, dropping your gaze to your lap and pulling max’s hand around you to play with it while he sorts out charles. the monegasque, too stubborn to do anything but disagree with max, clenches his jaw and fists, before he steps and back and sits in your vanity chair again. he crosses his arms across his chest, and turns his head up at max to emphasize his attitude.

“mmm,” the blonde’s chest rumbles behind you, he dips his head to press a kiss to your temple, “he’ll learn how to act once he realizes he won’t be able to finger your pussy, pretty girl.”

you and charles both jolt with matching gasps of surprise at the reveal of today’s sexual exploration. a meek whimper escapes you and max coos sweetly, “do you want to this, liefje?”

you nod shakily, ignoring the flush of heat to your cheeks and the way you press your thighs together a little tighter. 

“words, baby.”

“y-yes, maxy.”

“remember the rules: any time you feel uncomfortable, tell me and we can stop or take a break.”

“y-yeah,” you say airly, “ok.”

“good girl.”

max tilts your head to the side and lavishes kisses along your neck. your breath catches at the unexpected attention, you can only rest limply against max as he sucks marks into your skin. he nips teasingly at your pulse point and you tighten your grasp on his hand to prevent yourself from moaning embarrassingly loud. you let your head fall backwards to give max complete access to the length of your throat, and in the motion you make eye contact with charles. his green eyes are piercing–you can see the envy, yet you can’t tell if he wishes he was max in this moment, or if he wishes he was you.

the dutchman moves lower and focuses on bruising up your collarbone, tugging and biting at the thin skin and you’ve quickly lost your ability to regulate your volume. every exhale transforms into a moan and max’s free hand gets more exploratory as a result. his lips are wet and flushed red when he pulls himself away from the expanse of your newly bruised neck, playing absently with the strap of your bra and whispers next to your ear, “may i take this off, liefje?”

“yeah, yes, yes–take it off,” you rush out, turning shy at the sound of max’s amusement, “you can take it off, please?”

the use of manners quiets the man’s laughter easily; something about the way you use ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ unhesitantly in bed causes his brain to misfire. he rids you of the bra, tossing it at charles, who catches it and stares at max in disdain.

the older man smirks, and brings both of his hands to your chest to ghost the pads of his thumbs against your nipples. the barely there touch had your back arching, pushing your breasts more firmly into his grasp to seek more of the sensation. his chest rumbles behinds you and he steadfastly applies more pressure as he toys with the buds–your moans are more like sharp whines now, and whenever he throws in an occasional pinch you shriek, as your vision already blurs from this level of pleasure. you’ll cum before he gets his hand inside your panties.

you clumsy pull at his right hand, trying to tug it away from your breast to direct him further south, but max tuts disapprovingly and you cease your motions as soon as the sound registers.

“actually, liefje–you won’t need my hand for this part, only my voice.”

you tilt your head towards him to stare in confusion, and max brings his hand up to caress your cheek, “i’m going to teach you how to finger yourself, if that’s okay?”

you gulp, the pressure in your tummy only building, “more than okay.”

max nods, and presses a kiss on your jawline.

“be good for me and touch yourself over your panties, pretty girl.”

you squirm anxiously, but do as he ordered. you drag your hand down past your navel and in between your thighs, trying to keep them as closed as possible without having yourself spread out obscenely. max, obviously, doesn’t allow that to slide, and spreads your legs for you, draping them along the outside of his, his knees pressing outwards to prevent you from slamming your thighs shut. you whimper shamefully, but continue to drag two fingers along the seam of your cunt over your thin panties, the fabric beginning to darken as you start to leak.

“nice and slow until you start to get wet for me, yeah?”

“‘m already wet, maxy,” you murmur, biting your lip to suppress a whimper.

(“merde,” charles groans from across the room, throwing his head backwards.)

max brings his hand down to tug your panties to the side, exposing your cunt to the cooler air of the room, and moans at how your glistenting already, “shit–always so wet for me. keep dragging your fingers up and down, liefje.”

max’s hand continues to rest on your navel after he tucked your panties away, and you quickly bore of the slide of your fingers, huffing silently and nudging your nose against his jaw for the next direction, “once your fingers are nice and wet, you’re going to take just one–and gently press inside, yeah? you should be nice and relaxed, okay–if your pretty hole doesn’t open up easily just keep rubbing at yourself and then try again.”

you nod jerkily, and your first attempt at breaching your inner walls fails. you chickened out–after your felt yourself opening up, the pressure was odd. however, with max’s reassurance, you took another pass over your cunt and then tried again. and this time, your finger easily slid within in you–a shocked gasp pushed from your chest at the intrusion. 

“you’re okay,” max murmurs, rubbing at your side and navel calmly, “take your time, get used to the feeling, and when your ready you can start moving that finger, liefje.”

it’s odd–the feeling of something inside you. a little uncomfortable, but not painful like you thought it would be. the strange feeling passes quickly, especially when you draw your finger out and press deeper–it feels good? you think, it feels good at least. max watches the array of emotion pass over your face, and once he sees the previous apprehension dissipate, he instructs you to slide in another finger. the addition for another finger is easier for you this time, even though the pressure is multiplied–as if once you learned that this wouldn’t be painful you were a lot more receptive to the intrusion. 

and when your second finger pops in, the stretch feels good. you sigh breathily, and without further instruction, you begin to slowly thrust your fingers. max leans back and allows you to awkwardly fumble through your own motions, allowing you to figure out what brings you pleasure and what doesn’t. you mimic what you’ve heard girls talk about before, curling your fingers, scissoring them wide, pressing them upwards–and it feels fucking euphoric. your moans begin to ring through the room, and your hips buck dowards to meet your palm, pushing in your fingers deep.

“hm–you see why you needed your nails cut now, pretty girl,” max teases. his words go unheard by you, you’re more focused on trying to find the one spot everybody raves about–you want your vision to flash white, your toes to curl, your eyes to roll, your back to arch, your chest to heave–but you can’t find it. you whine in displeasure, kicking your foot out angrily, and begin to more vigorously thrust your fingers to no avail. 

“let me give you a hand, pretty.”

max gently removes your hand, a sob falling from your lips at the newfound emptiness, but quickly soothes you with the press of two of his fingers inside of you. you and max moan in unison–max at the feeling of  just how tight and dripping wet you are and you at the size of his fingers. max patiently waits for you to adjust, before he begins to absolutely ravage your pussy. his fingers are unforgiving; his rhythm is consistent, the pads of his fingers press firmly along your walls, and he finds your sweet spot after his second attempt of searching.

you shriek, legs trying and failing to slam shut at the overload of pleasure—max coos, ‘good girl’s’ and ‘so pretty’s’ falling from his lips freely. it’s a testament to how talented he is with is fingers that as soon as his thumb falls to press at the bud of your clit–you cum.

it surprises you, max, and charles (from across the room). it’s so overwhelming you cry–forget a toe-curling orgasm, you’e pretty sure you’ve just forgotten your name. your hips are frantically thrusting forward freely, and maxx continues to rub his hand over yout clit until you start bucking away from him in discomfort. you’ve soaked the bed, again. the dutchman tenderly pulls his fingers from the pulsing warmth of your cunt, and calls charles to the bed.

the younger man rushes forward, kneeling on the bed next to max. wordlessly, the blonde shoves his fingers covered in your essence into his mouth, smirking wide at how charles’ eyes widen, exposing his blown out pupils, before they drop to a half-lidded gaze as he thoroughly slurps max’s fingers clean.

when charles pulls away from max’s hand, panting heavily like he was the one who was just brought to a mind-blowing orgasm, max drops that same saliva-covered hand to grope at the bulge in charles’ pants.

the monegasque moans highly, hips thrusting forward to press deeper in to max’s hand–but he pulls it away cruelly.

“you better go take a cold shower charles, since you still can’t come for a while,” max orders nonchalantly, “you might want to put some music on while you’re in there. i would hate for you to get hard again when you hear me make her squirt.”

© httpsserene - do not reupload. photos in header image are from pinterest. divider by @cafekitsune.

[theballadofharkness]

Whisky and Wine: Part 3

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Claire Debella X fem!reader

Summary: The last thing you expected when you came home from your publishers to your older partner Claire’s home was an invitation to her friend’s, Billionaire Miles Bron, private luxury yacht for the weekend. The problem? Claire had been very careful to keep her fellow disrupters away from you, terrified they would ruin yet another aspect of her life. But nobody says no to Miles, so you find yourself surrounded by Claire’s ‘inner circle’.

Word Count: 6.6K

A/N: Enjoy my loves 💜🪻no smut warning for this chapter but next part will include smut so as always MDNI xo

You don’t want to cry here. Not in front of Whisky. Not in front of all of them.

It’s not just the conversation- it’s everything. The secrecy, the loneliness of being someone’s hidden lover, the constant reminder that no matter how much Claire loves you, there’s always a wall between you, a door she keeps closed just in case. You swallow hard and clear your throat, forcing a small smile.

"Hey, uh... I think I’m gonna head back," you say, keeping your voice light, as if the idea has just suddenly popped into your head. "Probably take a nap before this huge dinner thing."

Whisky watches you closely, eyes scanning your face like she can see right through you. She tilts her head slightly, then nods. "Yeah, okay," she says. "I’ll come with you."

You exhale, relieved to have her with you, and nod in thanks. Your fingers grasp your glass once more to drain the rest of your drink before setting it down, the condensation leaving a faint mark on your fingertips. The bar feels suddenly too loud, the laughter from the others too sharp, the clinking of glasses grating against your ears. You push yourself off the barstool, but your body feels heavy, as if the weight of everything you’ve been carrying has settled into your bones. You brush your hands over your dress as if smoothing out wrinkles, but really, you’re just trying to keep yourself busy- to steady yourself.

You make your way across the bar to where Claire is sitting with Lionel and Birdie, deep in conversation. She looks more relaxed than before, her shoulders less tense, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her wine glass. It’s rare to see her like this, just being, without the weight of the world pressing down on her. For a second, you hesitate. You don’t want to pull her away from this moment- don’t want to be the reason the tension creeps back into her body. But the ache in your chest is too much to ignore, and right now, you just need to go.

She sees you before you can speak, her sharp eyes locking onto you immediately. You watch the ease in her expression flicker, something shifting as she takes you in. Her fingers still against the glass, her full attention now on you.

"Hey," she says, voice softer than before. "You okay?"

You nod quickly, smiling just enough to reassure her, though you know it’s not convincing.

"Yeah. Just tired," you lie. "I think I’m gonna head back to the yacht, maybe take a nap before dinner."

Claire’s brows pull together slightly, and before you can say anything else, she’s already moving, already starting to stand.

"No," you say quickly, reaching out to touch her arm, stopping her before she can fully rise. "It’s okay. You stay. I’ll take our stuff back, and I’ll just be sleeping anyway. You stay, have fun."

She doesn’t sit back down immediately. Her gaze searches yours, scanning your face like she’s trying to read between the lines, trying to figure out what’s wrong.

"Baby…"

"I’m fine," you insist, voice just a little too firm, too quick. You know she doesn’t believe you. You know she’s holding herself back from arguing, from pushing.

Her fingers brush against your wrist, a brief, lingering touch, before she finally nods. "Okay," she murmurs, but her voice is careful, measured. "I’ll see you soon."

You squeeze her hand gently before stepping away, making your way toward the docks with Whisky at your side. You can feel Claire’s eyes on you the entire time, tracking every movement, like she’s trying to piece together exactly what just happened.

And as much as you want to believe that when you wake up from your nap, everything will feel lighter, you already know this isn’t something sleep can fix.

The yacht looms ahead, sleek and glistening under the afternoon sun, the gentle sway of the water making the walkway shift slightly beneath your feet. You’re exhausted (emotionally more than physically) and all you want is to crawl into bed, close your eyes, and escape the heavy feeling pressing against your ribs.

But as you and Whisky step onto the deck, you’re immediately met with the sight of Miles coming down to greet you.

"Well, well, well, look who’s back early," he says, arms spread wide in mock surprise, his signature grin firmly in place. His sunglasses are perched atop his nose, but you know even without seeing his eyes that he’s already assessing, calculating.

Whisky sighs but smirks, tilting her head as she places a hand on her hip. "And look who’s working so hard."

Miles chuckles, placing a hand over his chest like she’s just flattered him. "Hey, running an empire isn’t all it’s cracked up to be sometimes."

You blink, looking between them as the air between them shifts almost immediately. There’s an ease there, a practiced rhythm to their back-and-forth, and Whisky’s body language changes too- leaning in slightly, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Poor baby," she teases, voice lilting as she takes a step closer. "All alone on this big yacht, handling all the responsibilities."

"It’s a lot," Miles says, exhaling dramatically. "But you know me, I make it look easy."

You glance between them, pressing your lips together.

"Uh, okay, well..." You shift the shopping bags in your hands and force a small smile. "I’m gonna go take that nap. I’ll leave you guys to... this."

Miles barely acknowledges you, already too absorbed in Whisky, who lets out a soft, tinkling laugh at something he murmurs under his breath. You shake your head slightly, exhaling as you turn toward the entrance, already feeling the headache forming behind your eyes.

You don’t even care what they’re doing. Right now, you just need to get away, to let yourself be alone for a little while, before you have to put on a face again for tonight’s dinner.

~

You wake up slowly, feeling the weight of her before you fully process anything else, Claire’s body pressing against yours, warm and soft, her scent surrounding you, something expensive and distinctly her. A kiss pressed just below your ear, down the column of your throat, another against your collarbone, then one at the center of your chest and then up again, nuzzling against the sensitive spot just beneath your ear.

"Mmm…" You stir, barely awake, shifting under her as you blink against the dim golden light of the cabin.

"Baby," Claire murmurs against your skin, her voice low, affectionate, and just the slightest bit loose from alcohol. "My pretty, sleepy baby."

She’s kissing you again, slow and indulgent, like she’s savoring you, like she has all the time in the world. Her hands tangle in your hair, nails scratching gently against your scalp as she coaxes you fully awake. Her knee is between your thighs, pressing just enough to make you shiver, and there’s something almost worshipful in the way she’s touching you, like she needs to feel you everywhere.

"Claire," you murmur, voice thick with sleep, blinking up at her.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her expression soft and fond, her eyes slightly hazy from whatever she drank at the bar. "You okay?" she whispers, brushing your hair back with careful fingers. "You left, mommy missed you."

You sigh, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she kisses the corner of your mouth, then the tip of your nose, then your forehead.

"I was just tired," you say, but even you can hear how weak that excuse is.

Claire hums, clearly unconvinced, but she doesn’t push, not yet. Instead, she kisses you again, deep and slow, her fingers threading through your hair, grounding you as she sighs into your mouth. "Missed you," she breathes. "Missed my baby."

You blink against the dim golden light filtering in from the yacht’s cabin, trying to wake up properly, but she isn’t making it easy. She’s everywhere- her body against yours, her lips at your throat, her knee pressed between your thighs.

"Claire," you manage, your voice thick with sleep and need, your hands finding her waist like you need something to hold onto.

She hums again, nosing along your jaw before pressing a kiss just beneath it. “Hi, baby."

"You’re drunk," you say, blinking up at her, and she just smiles against your skin.

"A little," she admits, and her fingers comb through your hair again, gentle and affectionate. "But I’m here now. Missed you."

You sigh, and she takes the opportunity to kiss your lips, her tongue invading your mouth making you whimper into her. You can feel her warmth, the slight weight of her on top of you, the way she’s pressing into you like she can’t get close enough. She dips down and kisses you again, deep and slow, like she’s trying to make you feel her in the places you’re pulling away.

"You sure you’re ok?" she murmurs against your lips, and her knee shifts between your thighs just enough to make you inhale sharply, your fingers digging into her waist.

You nod, but you know she doesn’t believe you. Not entirely.

Claire stays like that for a moment, her forehead resting against yours, breathing you in, her fingers still threading through your hair. Her lips brush against yours once, twice, not quite a kiss but something close to it.

"I love you," she whispers.

You swallow hard, eyes fluttering closed for a second, and God, you want to be mad still, to hold onto it, but she’s touching you like this, looking at you like you hung the damn moon, and it’s so hard.

"You promise?," you could help but ask as you looked up at her, unable to dispel the pangs of doubt festering away in your chest.

Claire freezes.

You feel her whole body tense above you, shifting to pull you up into her lap, the warmth of her hands going still where they rest against your back. The haze of affection in her gaze flickers, replaced by something sharper- concern, confusion.

"Baby," she says, voice careful, “I do. You know I do."

But your throat is tight, your mind looping back to what Whisky had said, the way the words had struck something deep inside you, something raw.

"Then why won’t you let anyone know?" Your voice wavers, cracking just slightly, and you hate it, hate the way you sound small, vulnerable.

Claire's frown deepens, and now she’s shifting, her hands pressing against your hips as she adjusts her position, as if preparing for a conversation she doesn’t want to have. The mood between you shifts instantly, the heat that had been building between you dissolving into something colder, heavier.

"Baby," she says, firmer now, "we’ve talked about this."

You shake your head, pulling back slightly, arms crossing over your chest as a shield, trying to create space between you even as Claire keeps her grip steady, like she won’t let you run.

"That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt."

Her jaw tightens. "That doesn’t mean I don’t love you."

"Whisky said you’d never come out," you blurt, and you see the way Claire’s entire expression shutters, her spine going ramrod straight, her politician mask slipping into place before she catches herself.

"Whisky said that?" Her voice is sharp now, laced with irritation, but you barely register it through the fog of emotions closing in on you.

"Yes," you say quietly, still unable to look at her.

Claire shakes her head, scoffing. "That’s not her business to comment on."

"She wasn’t wrong, though," you murmur.

Claire exhales sharply, her frustration palpable. "Baby, she doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about. She doesn't know us."

"She knows enough."

Claire’s fingers twitch against your skin. She’s trying to keep herself calm, but you know her too well. She’s pissed. Not at you but at Whisky, for putting doubt in your head, for saying something Claire clearly thinks she had no right to say.

"And what?" Claire huffs. "Whisky is suddenly the voice of wisdom now? She’s clearly fucking Miles behind Duke’s back, but she gets to lecture you about our relationship?"

"She just said what I’ve already been thinking," you whisper, voice unsteady. "She just confirmed what I already knew deep down."

Claire’s jaw clenches. "That’s not fair."

You finally lift your gaze to meet hers, your chest tightening at the look in her eyes. Desperation. Frustration. Worry.

"Isn’t it?" you whisper. "Tell me right now, Claire. Will you ever come out?"

She doesn’t answer right away.

And that hesitation is enough. Your heart cracks wide open, something inside you fracturing.

Claire sees it. Feels it.

"Baby-" she starts, but you shake your head, turning away, trying to pull out of her lap.

She doesn’t let you.

"No," she says, voice almost pleading, her arms tightening around you. "No, c’mon, don’t do that. Don’t pull away from me."

"Claire…”

"I love you," she cuts in, voice fierce. "You know that."

You let out a shaky breath, trying to swallow back your emotions. "But you’re ashamed of me."

Claire’s face crumbles, her whole body going still beneath you.

"No," she whispers. "God, baby, no-"

She moves before you can react, hands gripping your jaw as she surges forward, kissing you hard, desperate, like she’s trying to physically force the words out of your head, like if she kisses you deep enough, you’ll feel the truth she can’t bring herself to say out loud.

"C’mon, baby," she mutters against your lips, fingers tangling in your hair, trying to pull you closer. "Let me touch you, let me show you how much I love you-”

You shake your head, turning away, tears slipping down your cheeks.

Claire freezes, her breath coming in short, unsteady pants. She’s never been able to handle seeing you cry.

“Oh, baby," she whispers, voice breaking. "No, no, please-"

Her hands go soft, no longer gripping, no longer trying to convince- just holding you. She wraps you up in her arms, cradling you close against her chest, pressing kiss after kiss into your hair, her lips trembling against your skin.

"I’m sorry," she murmurs, over and over, rocking you slightly. "I love you. I swear I do. I will come out, I will- just… just not yet."

You close your eyes, curling into her warmth, because it’s the only comfort you can take right now. But deep down, you don’t believe her. Not really.

~

The soft hum of the yacht’s speakers crackled to life, and then Miles' ever-smug voice filled the room.

"Alright, my beautiful people, I hope you're all ready for a night of extravagance. Dinner will be served soon, so slip into your finest and meet me on deck for a night you'll never forget."

You sighed, still curled in Claire’s arms, your body draped over hers like you belonged there. In a way, you did. But after the conversation you'd just had, after the way she'd hesitated, something inside you still ached. Claire had tried to soothe you. She’d cradled you, rocked you a little, whispered soft apologies into your hair. But the words didn't quite reach where they needed to. Not yet.

You shifted, pushing up from the bed, and Claire’s hands instinctively followed you, her fingers stroking the bare skin of your back, almost like she was trying to tether you to her.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t feel up to it,” she murmured, voice still husky from the remnants of sleep and wine.

You shook your head. “No, I’ll go. It’s a big thing, and I don’t want to give your friends any reason to dislike me even more than they already do.”

Claire scoffed, rubbing a slow hand over her face. “Only Birdie dislikes you, but she dislikes anyone who’s younger and prettier than her.”

You huffed a small laugh, but it was quiet. You stood up fully, stretching, before you turned toward the wardrobe where your shopping bags sat neatly lined up from earlier. The sight of them made your stomach twist a little- earlier today had felt so nice, so easy.

Claire was watching you, you could feel it. Her gaze was heavy, like she was studying you too closely. You knew she was still thinking about your fight, still worried.

“I should start getting ready,” you said softly, pushing past the lingering tension.

She nodded, but she didn’t move. She just kept looking at you, thumb pressing thoughtfully into her bottom lip. You hesitated, and then turned back to her, tilting your head.

“…Would you like me to do your hair? And your makeup?”

Claire blinked, slightly taken aback, before she let out a small chuckle. “You want to do my makeup?”

You gave a soft shrug. “You always have someone do it for you when you need to wear it for events. I thought… if you wanted, I could do it instead.”

Her expression shifted, something softer replacing the surprise. She sat up slowly, resting her arms over her bent knees. “Yeah? You sure?”

You nodded, stepping closer. She was watching you so intently, her head tilted just slightly, those dark eyes of hers running over your face like she was searching for something.

Then, slowly, she reached out, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you into her lap. You let out a little noise of surprise as you settled against her, your bare legs straddling her thighs, hands resting on her shoulders as she held you close.

Claire exhaled like she was breathing you in, her lips grazing the dip of your collarbone. “Is my baby girl gonna make me pretty?”

You felt your heart squeeze at the nickname, at the warmth in her voice, the way she still needed you close even after everything.

You shook your head slightly, brushing your fingers through her hair, pushing back some of the loose strands. “You’re already pretty, Mommy. I love you.”

Her breath hitched just a little at that, like she wasn’t expecting you to say it so easily after earlier. But she tightened her arms around you, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

For a moment, you just stayed there, resting against each other, her lips tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your skin, her hands smoothing up and down your spine like she was trying to remind you, over and over, that she was here. That she loved you. That she didn’t want you to slip away from her.

Eventually, you sighed, shifting back just enough to cup her face in your hands. “Gotta grab my makeup bag..”

Claire smirked, squeezing your waist before finally letting you go to grab . “Alright, baby. I’m all yours.”

Claire positioned herself at the edge of the bed, her legs spread slightly, her hands resting warm and firm on your hips as you straddled her.

The last time you had been in this position, it had been so different.

She had been gripping your waist, guiding you, murmuring praises in your ear as you rode her strap, voice wrecked and needy, your body trembling from the pleasure she was coaxing out of you.

That night, she had kissed your tear-streaked face, whispering about what a good girl you were for her, how beautiful you looked when you fell apart for her, how she had you- how she’d always have you.

Now, though, you weren’t crying from pleasure. Now, there was something fragile about you.

Something in the way you were touching her face, in the way your fingers skimmed over her cheekbones with a kind of reverence that made her throat tighten. Claire stayed still, watching you through half-lidded eyes as you moved with gentle precision, your fingertips smoothing foundation over her skin, brushing pigment onto her lips.

It was so quiet. So intimate.

You weren’t speaking, but you didn’t need to. Your fingers moved with care, almost like you were memorizing her, and Claire felt the weight of it settle in her chest. Your expression was soft. Loving. But there was something else there, too. Something that made Claire’s grip on your hips tighten. She could see it- the way your lips pressed together when you thought she wasn’t looking, the slight crease in your brow as you focused too hard on a simple brushstroke.

You were still thinking about what Whisky had said. Still hurting. Claire exhaled shakily, closing her eyes as your fingers traced over her eyelids, pressing shadow into the creases.

The way you were touching her felt like worship. Like devotion. Something inside her cracked. A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

You gasped softly. “Claire?”

Her eyes fluttered open, and your face was immediately full of concern, your hands cupping her cheeks, thumbs swiping at the wetness there.

“Claire what’s wrong?”

Claire let out a small, shaky breath. God, she loved you. And she was so, so afraid.

Her fingers flexed against your waist. “Shit, baby…” Her voice wavered, raw and thick with emotion. “I can’t lose you. Please.”

Your breath hitched.

Your lips parted, eyes softening as you shifted closer, pressing your forehead against hers. “I’m not going anywhere, Claire.”

She closed her eyes, breathing you in, hands gripping your waist tighter. “But you were so upset earlier,” she whispered. “I could feel you pulling away from me, and I- I can’t let you do that.”

You exhaled against her lips, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, lingering there.

Claire felt herself unraveling.

“I love you,” you murmured, fingers threading into her hair.

She shuddered.

Then, after a long moment, she whispered, “What about after I get Senate?”

Your brows furrowed. You leaned back slightly, searching her face. “What?”

Claire swallowed hard, forcing herself to hold your gaze.

“When I get Senate,” she said firmly, because she refused to believe she wouldn’t. “After the campaigning is over, after I win… what if I come out then?”

Your entire body tensed. Your breath caught, fingers going slack against her skin. For a moment, you just stared at her, eyes wide, lips slightly parted.

Then, in a small, breathless voice, you said, “Oh my god. Really?”

Claire exhaled shakily, nodding once. “Yeah, baby. I swear.”

A stunned, breathless laugh left you. “You- You’d really do that?”

Claire cupped your face, her thumbs stroking over your cheekbones, her own eyes wet and searching. “Yes. For you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time they weren’t from sadness. You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, wrapping your arms around her tightly, burying your face in her neck.

Claire exhaled, relief hitting her in waves as she held you just as fiercely.

For the first time, the future didn’t feel like an impossible dream.

It felt like a promise.

~

You were giggling like a school girl as Claire’s hands wandered over you, hands roughly grabbing the flesh of your breasts before her fingers skimmed along your waist, smoothing over your hips as she guided you down the hall toward the dining area.

“Claire,” you whispered, trying to suppress a grin. “People are gonna see.”

She hummed, entirely unbothered, her fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress as she leaned in close. “Let them.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach fluttered at her attention. She hadn’t been able to keep her hands off you since you finished getting ready. Every time she looked at you in that deep red dress, it was like she was seeing you for the first time. And you didn’t mind at all. Her presence was grounding. Especially after everything earlier. And now, as you stepped into the open space where the rest of the group had gathered, you were grateful for her warmth.

Because suddenly, you had the undivided attention of more people than just your girlfriend. Birdie, standing near the bar in a dramatic, over-the-top gown, was staring at you with something close to jealousy. Miles, standing nearby, had his eyes locked onto you, expression unreadable, but the appreciation was clear.

Claire noticed immediately.

Her grip on you tightened, fingers spreading possessively across your lower back, pulling you even closer. You felt a small rush of satisfaction at that.

Then, Birdie gasped dramatically and turned to Claire, eyes wide. “Claire!!!” she practically shrieked. “You look amazing!!”

Lionel, who had been sipping his drink nearby, turned toward Claire as well, his expression warm. “You clean up well governor,” he said with an approving nod.

Claire, clearly not used to getting this kind of attention from her friends, cleared her throat, shifting slightly. “Yeah, yeah, alright,” she said, feigning nonchalance, but you could see the slight pink on her cheeks.

You grinned, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss to her cheek. She turned her head slightly toward you, her lips brushing your temple. Birdie made a noise like she was about to say something, but before she could, Miles clapped his hands together to Center the attention back to himself.

“Alright, everyone,” he said, beaming as he spread his arms wide. “Before we dive into the festivities, I just wanna say something.”

Claire exhaled softly beside you, already bracing herself.

“You know,” Miles continued, placing a hand on his chest, “at my core, I’m just an old hippie. I believe in energy, in connection, in the kind of bonds that transcend the material world. And looking around at all of you- my closest friends, my inner circle- I feel it. This,” he gestured vaguely around the room, “is healing for the soul.”

Lionel took a sip of his drink, clearly biting his tongue. Birdie, already a few drinks in, clapped enthusiastically. Whisky gave a dazzling smile, nodding like she agreed with whatever he was saying. Duke, arms crossed, grunted approvingly.

Miles grinned. “So, before we feast, let’s drink, let’s dance, let’s celebrate being here together.”

He gestured toward the waitstaff, and suddenly, glasses of expensive champagne were being passed around.

Soft music began to play, and the mood shifted instantly- lighter, freer Birdie wasted no time grabbing Lionel hands and dragging him toward the center of the space, already swaying to the music. Duke took a drink and immediately pulled Whisky closer, his hands on her waist as they moved toward the impromptu dance floor.

Peg, shaking her head with a small smile, took another sip of her drink.

And Claire? Claire stayed close, her hand never leaving your waist.

You turned to her, tilting your head. “You wanna dance?”

She exhaled a laugh, shaking her head. “Not yet.”

You smiled. “Wanna drink, then?”

She leaned in, her lips brushing just below your ear. “I’d rather just watch you for a minute.”

Warmth flooded your chest. You knew she meant it. Claire wasn’t here to impress anyone. She wasn’t here for the pretense, or the social game, or the spectacle of it all. She was here for you. And no matter what else the night held, that was enough.

The opening notes of a soft, dreamy melody rolled through the air like warm honey. You turned to Claire, her champagne glass still in her hand, her sharp eyes scanning the room in quiet observation. But when you reached for her, fingers gently sliding over hers to take the glass from her grasp, her attention snapped to you.

“Dance with me,” you murmured, setting her drink aside.

Claire exhaled a soft laugh. “Baby…”

“Please?” you pressed, tilting your head, voice sweet and persuasive.

Claire sighed, shaking her head like she was already caving, already hopeless to resist you. “Alright.”

You grinned and pulled her toward the dance floor, the slow, hypnotic beat filling the space between you. Claire had expected something easy, something playful. But as soon as your bodies connected, she realized you had something else in mind. You pressed close, rolling your hips against hers in slow, teasing movements, your arms sliding up around her neck. The way you moved- it wasn’t just dancing. It was deliberate. It was a seduction.

Claire swallowed hard, hands instinctively finding your waist as you swayed together. You could feel her breathing shift, hear the subtle hitch in her breath as you twisted against her, the warmth of her hands tightening around you.

She was in awe of you.

Of the way you moved, the way you looked at her like she was the only person in the room, the way your body molded so effortlessly to hers. She’d always known you were beautiful. But watching you like this, lost in the music, your body moving in a way that made her mouth go dry, her heart slam against her ribs- fuck. You turned in her arms, your back pressing against her front, rolling against her as your head tilted back onto her shoulder.

Claire groaned under her breath, gripping your waist tighter. “You’re gonna kill me,” she muttered, voice rough.

You smiled, turning back to face her, your hands sliding down her arms as you leaned in, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. Then, just as the song swelled, you kissed her. Slow, deep, sensual.

She melted into you instantly, her hands tightening around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as her lips moved against yours, tasting the remnants of champagne and something sweeter, something you. The room, the music, the people- they all faded into nothing. It was just you and her, lost in the moment, wrapped up in each other.

As soon as Claire pulled away, breathless and slightly dazed from your kiss, Lionel approached with a thinly veiled urgency. His eyes flickered between you and Claire before settling on her.

"Claire," he said, voice tight, "can I talk to you for a second? Privately."

You sighed. Of course.

Claire tensed, immediately picking up on the energy. She hesitated, squeezing your waist before pulling back. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

You watched as Lionel whisked her away, his hand hovering just slightly behind her back, guiding her toward the edge of the deck out of Miles Bron’s eye line.

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head, and reached for another drink from a passing server.

"Okay, damn I see you," Whisky's voice came from beside you as she sidled up, drink in hand.

You glanced at her. "Hm?"

She nodded toward where Claire had disappeared. "She was all over you out there. Didn’t think Claire had it in her."

You smirked slightly, taking a sip. "You should see her behind closed doors."

Whisky rolled her eyes playfully. "Oh, I bet." She took a sip of her drink, then looked at you a little more closely. "You feeling better?"

You hesitated, swirling the liquid in your glass before answering. "Alcohol helps," you admitted.

She hummed in understanding. Then, maybe it was the champagne, maybe it was the fact that you’d just been forced back into loneliness while Claire ran off with Lionel, or maybe it was just that the question had been burning in your brain ever since earlier…

But before you could stop yourself, you turned to Whisky and asked, "Are you fucking Miles?"

Whisky nearly choked on her drink. "Jesus, what?"

You arched a brow, staring her down, emboldened by alcohol. "Well? Are you?"

Whisky gaped at you for a second before she laughed, shaking her head. "Wow, you really don’t hold back, huh?"

You just waited, eyes locked onto her expectantly.

She rolled her eyes, taking another sip before sighing dramatically. "Look, it’s not what you think."

"So that’s a yes."

"It’s a complicated yes."

You blinked at her, trying to wrap your head around what she was saying. "Complicated? What does that even mean?"

Whisky sighed, looking away for a moment as she swirled the liquid in her glass. "It just is, okay?"

You stared out at the ocean “poor Duke” you muttered, mainly to yourself.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, clearly debating whether to tell you more. Eventually, she gave in, shaking her head. "Look- not ‘poor Duke.’"

That made you frown. "Not poor Duke? Whisky, you’re cheating on him."

She huffed a humorless laugh and gave you a knowing look. "It was Duke’s idea."

Your eyes widened. "Wait… what?"

She sighed, taking a long sip of her drink before setting it down with a clink. "Twitch banned him for life."

You nodded. "Yeah, I heard about that."

"And Miles wouldn’t help."

"Okay…"

"So Duke suggested that maybe Miles would be more inclined to help if it came from me." She gave you a pointed look, letting the words settle. "And if he got something in return."

You reeled back slightly, gripping your glass a little tighter. "Are you serious?"

"It’s not so bad," she said with a small shrug. "Miles is using his money to buy shares in YouTube, to promote Duke’s streams. Revenue is going up. Duke’s putting me on his channel more. I’m building my brand."

You stared at her, heart sinking. "So… Duke pushed you to do this?"

She frowned. "I chose to do this," she corrected. "Because unlike Duke, I actually think long-term. I’m making a name for myself. Getting more sponsorships, more followers. Miles can be a creep sometimes, sure, but he’s useful."

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your temple. "Jesus, Whisky."

She tilted her head, studying you. "What? It’s no different than what Claire’s doing to you."

Your breath hitched. "Excuse me?"

Whisky just raised an eyebrow. "I mean, let’s be real- Claire’s keeping you a secret because it benefits her. And you’re going along with it because you love her. Tell me how that’s different."

You turned to Whisky sharply, your head spinning- not just from the alcohol but from the weight of what she was saying. "It’s different," you shot back, your voice tight. "Claire’s going to come out when she gets Senate. She promised."

Whisky snorted, shaking her head. "You believe that?" she asked, amusement flickering across her face. "Please. After Senate, it’ll be the next political goal, then the next. She’s never going to stop."

Your stomach twisted. "No, it won’t," you said firmly, gripping your glass a little too tight. "You don’t know her. You don’t know us.”

Whisky gave you a pitying look, like she was watching a car crash in slow motion. "Please." She rolled her eyes. "I know plenty."

Your breath hitched, emotion rising thick in your throat. "Fuck you," you snapped, blinking rapidly as tears burned behind your eyes. "She might be complicated, but she doesn’t…" Your voice caught, your chest tightening. "She doesn’t fuck her way to get what she wants."

Whisky smirked at that, shaking her head in something almost like disappointment. “Doesn’t she?" she challenged. "The whole reason she’s where she is is because of her loyalty to Miles."

Your heart stopped. "What are you talking about?"

Whisky tilted her head. "She cut Andi out of her life," she said simply. "Became team Miles to keep him bankrolling her campaigns. If she’d stood by Andi, she’d have nothing. No career, no money, no power."

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

"We’re all selling ourselves for him," Whisky continued, her voice quieter now. "We all have a price and he’s a billionaire. At least I’m honest about it."

You stormed away from Whisky, your pulse hammering in your ears. Your breath came fast and sharp, the alcohol amplifying every emotion. You needed to find Claire, needed her arms around you, needed her to make sense of all of this because right now, it felt like the world was tilting sideways.

But before you could get far, a hand caught your arm, fingers pressing lightly into your skin. You turned abruptly, only to see Miles grinning down at you, his touch lingering just a second too long. His other hand slid casually to your lower back- not inappropriate, not *quite*, but enough to send a small, instinctive shiver of discomfort down your spine.

"Hey you," he said smoothly, searching your face. "You good? You look kinda upset."

You swallowed, shaking your head quickly. "Yeah, I’m fine," you lied, forcing a tight smile. "Just need to find Claire."

Miles didn’t let go. Instead, his expression shifted, something shrewd flickering behind those perpetually relaxed eyes. "Hey, you’re a writer, right?"

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "*Uh… yeah, I am.*"

His smile widened. "How’s that going for you? Your publicists doing a good job with your sales?"

You frowned slightly, feeling a little off balance. "I mean… I guess? They’re fine?"

Miles nodded like he was considering something, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel conspiratorial. "I actually bought your latest book on my iPad last night," he said, tapping his temple like he was in on some private joke. "And let me tell you-" He grinned. "-it should have a lot more attention than it’s getting."

Your lips parted slightly. "Wait… you read my book?"

"I consume culture, babe," Miles said grandly, taking a slow, deliberate sip from his drink. "And you? You’ve got something special. But you’re not getting the push you deserve."

You felt a strange mix of flattery and unease creep up your spine. "I mean… publishing’s tough," you said cautiously. "I’m doing okay-"

"Okay isn’t enough for talent like yours," he cut in smoothly. "Look, if you want, I’d love to pay for you to have the best of the best. Top-tier marketing, real PR muscle. We’re talking global reach, bestsellers lists, late-night interviews- you’d be a household name. A younger, hotter Stephen King."

You blinked at him, a strange weight settling in your stomach. Miles smiled easily, like he’d just handed you the world on a silver platter. But the way his fingers brushed idly against your back made you feel like there was a price tag attached- one you weren’t sure you wanted to see. Your eyes narrowed as you studied Miles, every alarm bell in your head going off at once.

"What’s the catch?" you asked, your voice a little steadier now, cutting through the haze of alcohol and lingering frustration.

Miles just smiled, lazy and knowing, like he had expected the question. "Hey, no catch," he said, spreading his hands in a show of innocence. "A friend of Claire’s is a friend of mine."

Your stomach twisted, something bitter rising in your throat. You gave a sharp, humorless laugh. "She’s not my friend," you said coldly, tilting your head. "I don’t let my friends fuck me.”

The words hung in the air between you, deliberate, pointed- a clear jab at him and Whisky. And for the first time, you saw the briefest flicker of something in his expression, a tiny crack in that unshakable, self-satisfied grin. But just as quickly, it was gone, smoothed over into that same easy, confident smirk.

"Still," he said, voice warm and dripping with charm. "I’d like to help you. Just say the word, and I’ll make it happen. No pressure."

His gaze was steady, waiting, like he already knew what your answer would be. Like he was certain you’d come around. And maybe, in another life, in another moment, you might have. But right now, all you wanted was to get away from him and find Claire.

Your jaw tightened, and you forced a small, polite smile. "I’ll think about it," you said, though you already knew your answer.

Miles just grinned wider. "That’s all I ask, babe."

Taglist: @harknessshi @agathascoven1 @notorious-vick @jessica-mcd @sapphicfleur @lisqueen @starryjeongyeon @brekker157 @maximilfism @meghina18 @onlybynightandonlybysea @buttercandy16 @milflovers4 @rigglemethat @mistyshane30 @certified-sleep-deprived @agathaallalongg @yun4-st4rx @psychickryptonitebouquet

[sinnabarmoth]

Tribute for the Dragon (16/18)

Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: The progression of your pregnancy sends Sylus away for the day to acquire something important from the dragons, leaving you alone on the mountain.

Content Warnings: Adult language.

Length: 3k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (17) (18)

Read on AO3

As the months passed and winter melted into spring and into summer you found yourself heavily pregnant during the hottest month of the year. There were good days and bad days and worse days. Pregnancy was beautiful in some aspects, like when you first felt them kick. Sylus hadn’t let go of your stomach for an hour after that just so he could feel them move around more. But other days were filled with puking, mood swings, and insatiable cravings.

“Sylus?” you called.

“What is it--” he stopped when he walked in the bedroom and saw you laying starfished on the floor. “Did you fall?”

“No.”

“Then why are you on the floor?”

“It’s hot and the ground is colder than the bed.”

“Can’t be comfortable though. How about we get you up--”

“No. I live here now.”

“Little bird--”

“Nothing little about me now. Look at me! I look like I swallowed a pumpkin!” Your whole body ached. “Can we just get this kid out already? I’m tired of being pregnant!”

“You look beautiful.” He rubbed your swollen stomach. “You’re growing our child and they will be ready to meet us in another month. I’m sorry you’re having a rough day though. Can I get you anything?”

“You can make it winter again so I’m not dying of heat stroke.” you fanned yourself.

“If I could turn the seasons for you I’d do it but as it is this is the most I can offer.” he unfurled his wings and beat them gently, causing a cool breeze to blow on you. “Better?”

“That does feel nice.” you sighed.

“Now what did you call me in here for? Or did you just need to complain.”

“No. I did need something.” you tried to sit up but your stupid big stomach was making it hard. Sylus stopped fanning you to help you sit up. “Can’t even sit up anymore…can’t believe I agreed to have three more of these.”

“No backing out now.” he said. “Now what did you need?”

You held out your arms. “A hug?”

“Oh my sweet,” he pulled you into his arms. “It’s been a rough day, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah…” you had barely gotten any sleep last night because the baby decided midnight was the perfect time to start doing somersaults in your womb. Then it was just so hot you couldn’t think to do anything but flop onto the ground. You were sore, you were tired, and you just wanted this baby out already!

He looked down at your stomach. “And you in there, treat your mother more kindly. She’s working hard on making you, you should be more appreciative.”

There was a kick to your side. “Baby says no.”

“I fear we have a rebellious child on our hands. Just know, little one, if you keep hurting your mother like this we are going to have words when you are out of there.”

You laughed. “I don’t think they’ll understand why you are scolding them, Sylus.”

“They’ll know. Just like they know what they’re doing right now.”

“You are ridiculous.” you sighed, your mood easing again.

For a few minutes you sat together, tracing your stomach, feeling the faint thumps of the baby kicking at your insides. “I hate to worsen your mood again but I need to tell you something important that I don’t think you will like hearing.”

Your smiled dropped. “Do you have to?”

“Unfortunately.” he brushed some hair from your face. “I need to leave for a day or so.”

“What! Why are you leaving?”

“Hush, it’s alright. You see I…” he sighed. “I have been enjoying our time together so much this past year. I cannot believe that I’ve been able to call you mine for that long. But there’s a certain dragon tradition I need to complete with the due date coming closer.”

“I thought you were done with dragon traditions. You said you were going to create your own rules.”

“I did and I meant it. But there are some laws and practices that I still have to adhere to out of safety.”

“Safety? What do you mean by safety?”

“You see, there is a special salve that all new hatchlings in a dragon tribe are anointed with when they are born. It marks them as dragon and helps keep them safe. It is said to ward off predators and evil spirits. I don’t know how much I believe in evil spirits but with this being our first child I do not want to take any risks.” he cradled your stomach. “The dragons are the closest that they venture this way but the journey is still long. I will be gone for a day, maybe two.”

“I see. But why is it so far? When we went to the beach where they were that only took a couple hours.”

“That was because they needed the sand. And if I showed up at a ride asking for the salve after I had left the tribe it would be seen as exceedingly rude. So I had to wait for another time and this is the time they are closest to this land otherwise. It is still more than half a day’s journey by flight hence why I said I will be gone for a while.”

“That makes sense I suppose. Just promise you’ll hurry back.”

“I will. I promise. Do you want to go stay in the village while I’m gone?”

“No. I can survive a day or two without you here. I don’t much feel like taking a flight. Not if you want me to hurl in your arms.”

“Alright. I leave early tomorrow morning and with luck I should be back late in the evening, or the next afternoon at the latest.” he kissed your temple. “Don’t strain yourself while I’m away.”

“Trust me. I don’t feel like doing much of anything.” you sighed. “One more month…”

The next morning Sylus left, stirring you from sleep but for a moment to tell you he was leaving before giving you a kiss and taking off. You went back to bed for a few more hours until the baby decided to kick at your bladder and woke you up for good.

You went about your day as normal and decided to occupy your time by finishing some of the baby clothes you had been working on. You couldn’t wait to finally meet your baby! Tara had assured you in the reading she did that the birth would go by smoothly. She had asked if you wanted to know whether you were having a boy or a girl but you decided to let it be a surprise.

You were sitting in the hoard room, the reflection of light off the gold provided the best light to work by, when you heard a sound from somewhere else in the mountain. Strange. Was Sylus back already? Maybe the dragons were closer than he thought.

“Let’s go see if your father is home.” you said to your stomach and waddled out of the hoard room. “Sylus?” you called. “Did you forget something?”

You made it to the entrance chamber and saw there was an entire squadron of people there. You didn’t recognize any of them. “Excuse me, you’re trespassing in my home.” you said, drawing their attention to you, “I’m going to need you to leave at once.”

None of them were speaking which immediately put you on edge. You gripped the fabric shears in your pocket. From the back of the crowd one of the men shuffled forward. You knew this man. He was one of the villagers, the one that had been staring at Sylus and you at the woodworker’s cottage.

“That’s her.” he said, pointing to you.

“You weren’t shitting us, Aaron.” one of the others said, “The dragon really mated with a human.”

You placed a hand over your swollen belly. “I don’t know for what reason you have all come here but I suggest you leave now while you still can. If you so much as touch me you will have to answer to my mate and I doubt you want that.”

“Your mate isn’t here.” the man from the village, Aaron, said. “And he won’t be back for a while. We spotted him leaving early this morning with a large pack. Hardly something you take for a quick flight around the mountain, is it?”

They had been stalking the mountain? How long had they been watching? What did they want? None of that mattered right now. You needed to act. You were severely outnumbered and you couldn’t fight without endangering your baby.

“Now, miss, you can come quietly or we can do this the hard way.” they said, brandishing their weapons.

Fuck! You turned and sprinted as fast as you could back into the tunnels of the mountain. You lived here for over a year. You had time to memorize these tunnels. You could hide from them so long as you kept ahead. But it was hard to do that when you were eight months pregnant! You needed to go. You needed to find some place to hide they’d never find you.

“Hard way it is.” their cruel laughter echoed off the walls, “Get her!”

~~~

Sylus was not looking forward to this. The closer he got to the dragons the more agitated he got. He had to talk himself out of turning around and returning home a dozen or more times. He was already anxious leaving you alone and he started to question how much he really needed this salve. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad would happen if he didn’t get it.

He also didn’t want anyone else letting them know that another half-breed was being born. He would deliver that news himself and face whatever ire came with it. It was late in the afternoon when he finally spotted the tribe down below.

Too late to back out now. He flew down, bracing himself for any manner of reactions from the others. Immediately they picked up on his scent. He recognized most of those that he passed. They glared, some growled, but no one had yet to make a move to stop him.

He steeled himself, his hands balling into fists as he charged forward only to have his path abruptly cut off by a large blue dragon with citrine eyes. “The half-breed returns,” they laughed, “And he reeks of human.”

“Nilamegh, how dearly I have not missed you.” the Draconic fell off his tongue easily. It was strange speaking it again after so long. It was rough in his mouth.

Another of the dragons, a green one landed behind him. “He always reeked of human. But this is new.” they pointed a massive claw at Sylus’s neck. “He is mated now.”

“Yes I have, Bercilak.” Sylus said, “And I see you still have not. Why does that not surprise me?”

“You--” Bercilak snarled before Nilamegh cut him off.

“Really? You took a mate?” their large head glared at Sylus, “What poor pathetic human did you force yourself on?”

“Shut it!” Sylus felt his composure slipping. “She is my mate and she wanted to be my mate. She is now pregnant with my child. I have only returned to get the salve for the anointing of my offspring. I promise I will not return after I have acquired a jar to take home with me.”

“More half breeds?” they snarled and the others that had been eavesdropping showed the same shock. “Was our race not already disgraced by the addition of you?”

“That is enough.” a voice boomed louder than all the others. Every dragon bowed their head and moved out of the way as Tengya stepped forward. Despite being surrounded by dragons twice his size this was the only time Sylus felt truly dwarfed. He took a knee, keeping his head low.

“Sioltach,” Tengya said, his voice calm, “You have returned.”

“I go by Sylus now.”

The old dragon made a noncommittal grunt. “You would.” he dismissed the others. “Raise your head. Walk with me.”

Sylus followed obediently, his entire person on edge as he and Tengya wandered farther from the crowd. He wanted to just ask for the salve and leave but knew better than to talk before the elder did. When they were far enough away Tengya sat down, Sylus knelt in his massive shadow.

The large dragon regarded him for a moment. “You come seeking the salve to anoint your offspring, yes?”

“You heard that much, did you?” Sylus muttered.

“No. But I know there is only one reason you would return to the tribe after so long away.” Tengya said, lowering his head to be more eye level with Sylus. “You have a human mate.”

“Yes.”

Tengya sighed, his molten red eyes assessing Sylus up and down. “You have grown. Last I saw of you, you were but a child. Rebellion in your blood, fire in your eyes. You were such an angry child.”

“My anger is what let me survive.” Sylus could feel all those emotions clawing at him. “Are you not angry, elder? You know why I am here. I have a human mate. She is soon to give birth to our child. There will be another half-breed running amok in the world. Does this not make you angry?”

“Why would it? I am glad that my progeny has found peace.”

Sylus stared at him dumbfounded. “Your jokes are cruel.”

“I do not joke. Do you think that I regard you so little, my son?”

“I am a curse!” Sylus fumed. “A punishment for a woman who tried to take your magic. I know you do not care for me.”

“I created you. If I thought you would be a blight on this world I would have found a different way to punish that woman.” Tengya’s quiet and calm response only stoked Sylus’s own ire. “But I see how your time away has warped your opinion of me.”

“It is not warped. I know I was not accepted here. You all saw me as a monster. An atrocity!”

“I cannot speak for the others, but I know what I thought.” Tengya huffed, blowing a jet of steam at Sylus. “And I never saw you as a monster. You were my creation, my child, whether you accept that or not is your own decision. And then you left. Ran away from the tribe.”

“Because I was not accepted.”

“You were accepted, Sioltach. You are because I say you are. But that was not the problem.” Tengya said, “You are dragon, but you are also human. And you craved to be loved, but that is not something dragons can provide. I cannot apologize for not being able to defy my nature. But I can give you this.” he reached into a chink of his massive scales and produced a jar the size of an urn.

Sylus caught it with a small grunt. “Take the salve. Anoint your child. Accept them as a dragon, love them as a human, as only you can.”

“That is it?” Sylus stared at the jar. “You have nothing else to say?”

“What more is there to say?” Tengya stood. “Return to your mate. Live well, my son.”

Tengya took off into the sky, leaving Sylus alone in the field holding the massive jar. He bowed his head. “Thank you.” he said to the wind.

He packed the salve into his pack and immediately began the flight back to the mountain. There were many thoughts going through his head but all he cared about was going home. Sylus was relieved though. He had the salve and while it wasn’t set in stone there was an implied promise that Tengya would not let any of the others harm you or your child.

Sylus wanted to get back as soon as possible but the flight was long and he needed to bunk down in a tree for a couple hours before continuing the journey. He finally made it back to the mountain late the next morning. The sight of the mountain had filled him with so much joy. He was finally going to be back with you.

He touched down at the entrance and the joy of being home immediately evaporated. Something was wrong.

He sniffed at the air. Your scent was faint, almost gone. And there was something else. Other scents that didn’t belong. Sweaty and masculine scents. Had you decided to go to the village after all? Had your father come to get you? What was happening?

Sylus set the pack down and ran through the cave trying to find you but could find you nowhere. That’s when his nose caught another scent, it was hidden but the further into the caves he got the more prominent it became. Blood.

“No…” Sylus followed the scent into a dark room. His eyes strained in the darkness until he found the source of the smell. That horrible sweaty masculine smell was strongest in here, mixed with the faint sour tang of fear and metallic blood. He found a pair of large scissors were covered in blood. Not yours. But the dark stain on the ground, that was yours. That reeked of you.

Someone had come in here and and hurt you. Someone had raided his home and taken his mate and child!

His skin grew blisteringly hot. What felt like fire surged through his blood and red hot heat burned out of his eyes. Each breath he tasted smoke and death on his tongue.

He ran back out of the cave, his skin shredding around him as he took to the sky once more. A scream ripping from his throat in pain and fury. He was going to kill them! He was going to kill all of them!

[chairofchaos]

Stormy Night in the Library

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Summary: Cozy, stormy Night Court reading night

Vibe: fluffy fluffy fluffy (Apparently I’m in an Azriel mood so enjoy!)

Warnings: None? If there should be any, let me know!

The book was… incredible. Emerie was right, the gentle adventure was exactly what you wanted for a night like tonight. With the thunder cracking outside and rain pelting against the window, there was nothing better than the roaring fire, a warm blanket, and a good book.

The only improvement that could be made would be having your mate sprawled in your lap on the couch, but he hadn’t made it home before the storm hit. Despite his promise he would be home for dinner, there wasn’t anything he could do about the weather. You had asked the House to keep his plate warm when he hadn’t arrived for dinner with you, Nesta, and Cassian, and you were sure it was still waiting for him, along with a note telling him exactly where you would be waiting.

A few chapters later, you heard the door swing open, and then shut again.

“Sweetheart,” Azriel murmured, bending down to kiss your forehead.

“Welcome home,” you said, reaching up to brush his wet hair out of his face. “You made it okay?”

He grumbled. “I need to warm up, but I’m fine.” 

“Please tell me you ate your dinner.”

“Of course I ate dinner. That stew is my favorite, and if I hadn’t you would have dragged me back out there where it is cold. May I?” He holds the corner of your blanket up with a quirked eyebrow. 

“Yes,” you laugh, “but no funny business- I’m in the last chapters of this book and I want to know what happens.”

Before you’re even finished speaking, Azriel has knelt between your knees and then stretched out, his legs sprawling off the end of the couch and his head in the crook of your neck. His wings stretch over the back of the couch on one side, and to the floor on the other, creating a little tent of warmth for you both. 

“Hmm,” he kisses you gently. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

You kiss the top of his head. “You’re welcome, love.”

The storm slows, and for a while, the only sounds are the gentle exhales of Azriel’s breath, the turning of pages, and the roar of the fire. The main character has made a dumb decision- she’s trusting the character with the most dubious intentions instead of her best companion, and she doesn’t even recognize any of the tells which the author spells out. Your quick gasp draws a flutter from Azriel’s dozing eyelids, so you poke him in the cheek.

“Az.”

“Hmm…” he responds.

“Should we go to bed?”

“Bed?” he slurs sleepily. 

“Yes, Az. Bed. Sleep.”

He jolts suddenly, causing you to drop your book.

“I’m sorry,” he reaches to the ground, picking up your book where it fell. “Here.”

You chuckle. “You’re so tired, Az. Why don’t we go to bed?”

“It’s just so cozy right-” he kisses your chin, your jaw, the hollow of your throat- “here. What do you say we make a night out of it?”

“How?”

“I’ll go grab my book and some snacks. We’ll make a whole night out of this storm.”

“Perfect,” you smile at him, his eyes filled with light and the slightest hint of joyous mischief.

“I’ll be right back,” he leaps up, making sure to tuck your blanket back around you before jogging out of the room. You shake your head, laughing under your breath at your handsome mate. He quickly returns, bounding into the room and kicking the door shut again behind him. His arms overflow with two books, one from your bedside table and one from his, and a couple pastries and treats from the kitchen.

“Here we are. Brought you your next book, since you’re almost done with that one,” he smiles, settling it all on the coffee table. He offers you a pastry, and your next book. You take them, tucking the book between your body and the couch back, and biting into the snack. 

The chocolate filling of the flaky pastry fills your mouth, and you hum, letting your eyes slip closed.

He snorts, lifting the blanket again to rejoin you in its warmth. “Should I leave?” he quips. 

“Ha-ha,” you snark in return. “Only if you want to keep your hair intact.”

Azriel mocks offense, his low laughter quickly following to join with yours. “You love my hair too much to do anything to it.”

“Of course I do. Just like I love all of you,” you kiss him gently, slipping the hand which doesn’t have chocolate on it around the back of his neck. 

He chuckles into your lips, kissing you back gently before sighing contentedly. 

“How’s your book?”

You smile, showing him how far you’ve gotten, even since he had gotten home. “I’m nearly finished. It’s good- but I think the author’s left it on a cliffhanger, and the next one won’t come out for a while which will be a hard wait.” 

“Oh no. Well, at least you have a whole library to choose from.”

“The only thing to mend my broken heart,” you tease. 

He presses another kiss to your lips, grinning. “The only thing.”

“The best thing,” you giggle. His grin widens to a full smile.

“Well, at least I know where your priorities lie. When you’ve finished with the only real remedy for your heart, come home to me?”

“Always,” you smile, bending to kiss him again.

As you both return to your books, the storm picks up once again, rumbling with thunder. You finish the first book, which Az takes from you and places on the table, hardly looking away from his own book. Instead of grabbing your next book, you take a few moments to admire him. These are your favorite moments- together, and yet in your own little worlds. His face twists with obvious reactions, the only time he’s unguarded when he’s engaged in the escapism of a good book. You admire the way the firelight’s flickering reflects in his dark hair, twining the ends between your fingers. 

Eventually you both slip into sleep, Az’s hair twined between your fingers, his arms around your waist, and an open book on the floor beside the couch. The fire crackles on, a complement to the thunder and pelting rain. Cozy against the cold, you and Azriel sleep peacefully, the joy of simple togetherness being entirely unmatched, content in each other's arms.