#THE LAST SCENE IN SPACE OH MY GOD TURNING OUT

[thewhizzyhead]

AJR'S THE MAYBE MAN ALBUM OUT ON NOV 3RD AJR'S THE MAYBE MAN ALBUM OUT ON NOV 3RD AJR'S THE MAYBE MAN-

[subskz]

…i lost the tag limit war

the reader changing the subject the instant she feels seen by minho is such a subtle but valuable hint that i think says a lot abt the type of person she is, that moment really stood out to me! i know i literally just said this but right down to every minute detail, you've characterized both lino and the reader so masterfully it has to be the most enjoyable aspect of this story for me...and on top of that i just love how you write their conversations so much, they’re both such lil nerds…my intellectually stimulating smarties debating w each other even now 🥰 it all feels so comfortable and natural and draws me into their relationship w such ease!

their discussion abt colors is hands down one of my favorite scenes in all of invisible thread!! it's such an oddly heartwarming conversation and that perfect, out-of-the-box way of thinking that’s just so undeniably minho...it almost reminds me of synesthesia how he describes feelings through color! "the very essence of our humanity" "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean" the way you embodied each colors through emotions/experiences was so wonderfully done, i understood each one instantly like it was a picture being visualized before my eyes. it makes it even more touching that minho and the reader come to understand each other on a whole new level through that way of communicating their moods <3 and for some reason when he gives the example "i feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to" that really tugged at my heartstrings ㅠ it almost feels like he isnt just giving a hypothetical there, like he's giving a small glimpse into his true feelings without saying it outright. maybe he feels invisible deep down, too

them falling asleep together on facetime was so soft and tender ㅠㅠ leave it to lino to ramble abt sous-vide as a bedtime story and complain abt getting SCAMMED lmao the way that is actually smth he would say 😭 "he closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on" this line got me so good ): it seems at first that he's bringing the reader peace but she's bringing him peace in her own way as well...her feelings abt his eyes changing from fear to longing is such a lovely detail and HER COMPLIMENTING THEM!!! HIS STUNNED REACTION </3 "this is the first genuine compliment he's ever received" oh my god does my moss green theory actually have any merit.....does he really feel invisible to the world too...do not do this to me sahar ㅠㅠ but the way he thinks such lovely, adoring things abt the reader in that moment but instead of voicing them he whines abt being hungry....so endearing and so HIM i cant get enough of how youve written minho here ur singlehandedly reminding me why he is allegedly the love of my life

the kintsugi mention made my heart leap in my chest!!! "when you look at that vase, you know it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty" please...that sentence in itself is so moving when you apply it to the context of what the reader has been through her whole life, not just a single crack but repeated breakages. and for it to come from someone like minho; it feels like exactly what the reader needs to hear to truly begin to heal herself...he doesn't coddle her but is still so gentle, putting things into perspective like nobody else can w his unique worldview and mental strength ㅠㅠ and i think i just lost my mind realizing that this scene loops right back to the clay comparison you drew at the beginning of the story oh my GOD....the reader is like a clay pot molded by her mother, broken in places and repaired over and over to create smth still damaged but just as valuable...and lino is the gold filling in the cracks....sahar you are INSANE for this one im kissing ur brain and tucking it gently into bed

the scene w minho in the rain 😞 i was not prepared to see my meow meow upset...but i love the way you wrote it so much. how oddly quiet he is, even to the point where he's not commenting in class or teasing her, and that's the key detail that lets the reader know smth's off w him...i also love that nothing in particular caused his low mood. it's such a human quality, and he allows himself to be human and feel his feelings until they pass. "he knew his emotions would regulate themselves" i cant explain why this line stood out to me so much i really love it, i think it's just such a shining example of minho's mindset...not necessarily optimistic, but practical enough to not be completely swamped by the darkness either. it creates such an interesting contrast to the reader's personality to see how they both handle their emotions, w her pushing hers away and him letting them run their course. but the fact that he typically tries to retreat into himself until he feels better, yet strangely enough, he doesn't mind it as much as he'd expect when the reader catches him in a vulnerable state...my babies ㅠ i also really loved the part where he uses her shower and thinks abt the scent of her soap as he washes up, it's so so sweet n intimate i'm such a sucker for things like that ): there are so many small things minho notices abt her like it's the most natural thing in the world, they're both so attentive of one another

"you were both just trying to make it through the day" and "he knew he wasn't invisible. at least not to you" were critical hits to my heart...it feels like a breakthrough in their relationship—the first time the reader truly truly sees minho, all sides of him, and she accepts them all without question <3

the gradual progression of their friendship is so gratifying to read bc of how organically you made it all flow together!! i adore the entire sequence that shows us how they start to care for each other more and more…the casual intimacy of the reader applying her lip tint to his lips (and him not studying for his quiz on purpose 😭💗 come ON) lino worrying abt her eating enough, the reader tying his bangs out of his eyes, complimenting him so matter-of-factly, and him BLUSHING ALL OVER THE PLACE it’s so over for me x2 they are so tender in their actions even when they tease each other nonstop. it all leads up so perfectly to the point in the story where minho finds himself being drawn to her apartment without even realizing it when he doesn't feel well. the subtle shift from him initially trying to shut her out bc he's so used to managing his bad days on his own, to him eventually leaning in to her kindness and seeking her company instead...and the way she just understands what he needs immediately, allows him to sit in silence and simply exist in peace next to her. describing his mood as "too much of every color" really struck a chord w me as well...i'm just so so in love w the running theme of colors you included throughout this story, it's such a brilliant way to put emotions into words <3

the lil parallels here n there from the beginning of their relationship until now are so cute as well; how lino makes breakfast for her the first time and leaves before she wakes up, but this time, he promises to stay and eat with her...to not be invisible ㅠㅠ i think what's making me craziest of all is how they're both so hyperaware of each other's touch. like when their shoulders brushed while sharing the reader's umbrella, how the reader suddenly finds it difficult to concentrate on her book when lino holds her wrist as she shields him from the sunlight...and little does she know it's the exact same for him too, like when she rested her head on his thigh and all he could focus on was the sensation of her hair tickling him 😭 they are so enamored w each other and have become so tangled up in each other little by little...they don't even fully realize it yet but they've made a permanent place in each other's lives now

"you were already on the other side, you realize. his eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey" oh my GOD!!! ㅠㅠㅠㅠ her feelings abt minho's eyes changing from fear, to longing, to at last the comfort of getting to see the other side of those black holes...this line hit me like a truck it might be my favorite from the entire fic ㅠ i have a feeling i'll be saying that abt many more lines to come when you verbalize things in the most poetic ways imaginable heheh but this one truly got me so good, the delicacy in which you describe minho makes the reader's growing affection for him all the more heart-fluttering~

minho hesitating to wipe her tears )): the way he's so careful abt touching her in any unwarranted way bc he can sense that she shies away from skinship is so devastatingly sweet...and then him pinching her right after to make her stop crying NEVERMIND I CANT STAND HIM ACTUALLY. but the way he consoles her is so endearing and so so minho...very simple and sincere, he knows her well enough to immediately figure out the best way to take her mind off of the issue instead of dwelling on it. "you didn't care what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it" i've already pointed out so many lines oh my god i'm so sorry but each one is like another arrow through my heart ㅠㅠ i feel like this sentence is such a perfect testament to the reader and lino's relationship; they've both seen each other at their best and worst and it doesn't change anything abt their feelings, they care for each other unconditionally 😞 also the reader being afraid of physical touch bc she craves it is SO heartbreaking but so raw...i think it aligns so well w her past bc she's so used to either being invisible, or only being perceived negatively when she is perceived. it makes perfect sense how terrifying she'd find it to bare herself to minho when her whole life she's been deprived of genuine affection...you've really done such a phenomenal job of characterizing both her and lino i cant say it enough!

now...the entire final scene...where do i even begin...i had a feeling the climax of the story was going to hurt but not like this ㅠㅠ the reader's inner turmoil as she debates reaching out to her mother again, that conflicting mix of hating her yet somehow still missing her...it's such an inexplicable and confusing feeling for ppl who have experienced that kind of neglect but so so real and you captured it so candidly. it really added a whole new layer to the reader's humanity, for her to be unable to completely let go of their relationship no matter how painful it is to hold on to...for her to cling to the hope that maybe she could be worth smth to her mother if she did everything right ): i genuinely had the exact same reaction as her when you revealed that her mother had deleted her phone number...it felt precisely like a bucket of ice cold water to the head. the reader trying to pinpoint the exact moment in time where her mother stopped loving her was what really crushed me most...what a heart-wrenching sentence ㅠㅠ the fact that she's tried to hard to find solace in other places and people and tried to grow into her own person after entering university, but even so, those marks left from her childhood are still there...a vase full of cracks 💔 as much as it hurts to read, i love that you included this bump in the road of her healing journey and made a point to highlight that healing isn't linear

and minho 😭😭😭😭😭 the way he handled the reader's outburst is so touching...the way he's immediately able to recognize that her feelings are misplaced and smth much deeper is going on beyond what he sees on the surface...using that astuteness to put his own feelings to the side in the moment is so minho. this entire scene is just blossoming with powerful lines i can't forget, but i was especially affected by the reader saying "i'd need you and i can't afford to need someone else." it's such a tragic summarization of her in my opinion...how she went her whole life being unable to rely on anyone but herself, so the moment she's faced w minho, all her instincts say to reject it no matter how badly she craves that intimacy ㅠㅠ and lino saying "i'll be by your side for as long as you'll have me" is such a beautiful declaration of love...it's so selfless and unconditional, and it fits so seamlessly w how their relationship progressed throughout the story, how they were by each other's sides at their best and worst moments.

"the world doesn't stop because we need it to" "we'll make it stop" and then describing their kiss as like "seeing color for the first time"...i'm going to melt into an inconsolable puddle over all these callbacks to their first date together don't think i didn't catch the ways you weaved those in throughout this final scene..you made it feel so complete, like things have come full circle. i already mentioned how much i loved their conversation abt describing colors to the blind, so for their first kiss to be written that way, like the reader was blind to the true color of the world until she met minho....i am going to be ill that is so intensely romantic sahar ㅠㅠㅠㅠ

"he was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together." another heartaching line ): what a way to personify the quiet love minho provides...it may be invisible to everyone else, but not to her

i'm so sorry for my horrifically long comment haha but i'm just thrilled i was finally able to read this beautiful fic 😞 just as i'd predicted, you're a phenomenal writer!! the amount of love and effort you poured into it went above and beyond, i hope you're so proud of yourself for creating such a stunning work!! it's very clear to me how every interaction you wrote between minho and the reader was so carefully thought out and so meaningful to the overarching theme of the story, it's all done with care and purpose and there's smth special to be found in each line of dialogue! it's like you carefully stacked more and more on to the foundation of their bond until before we know it, there's an entire home there that they built steadily together. that kind of subtle progression is my absolute favorite thing. i'm also so blown away by how the reader's mother, though never actually making an appearance until the final scene, has such an heavy impact over the narrative. it's like she's a ghost haunting the reader's every action, every decision, every inner thought...i find it so impressive how you were able to incorporate that effect into the story without us even needing to meet the mother! and i must've mentioned countless lines that stuck w me throughout the fic, but just know that there are countless more i could've pointed out as well...you truly write so so beautifully. so poetic and emotive, but also not so flowery that it becomes hard to follow, i'm truly floored by your ability to achieve that perfect balance! on top of the story being so immersive in itself, your writing style made invisible thread such a genuine delight to read <3

this feels like the kind of story i'll be thinking abt for a long time after finishing it, the kind to revisit over n over bc i'm sure there are so many lil easter eggs you included that i may have missed! i'm positive i'll come back to it many times in the future hehe...but i can't wait to read more of your writing as well! ^_^

Invisible thread- one

pairing : minho x reader

genre : university au, academic rivals to lovers (rivals not enemies because they respect each other), slow burn, fluff, angst.

warnings : reader has a very bad relationship with her mother, insecurities, talk about murder but as a joke, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

summary : Your studies were your lifeline for as long as you can remember. What happens when Minho comes into your life and rips it away from you?

word count : 20k

Author's note : I've been working on this fic on and off for the past two months, so if you do enjoy reading, please let me know. asks, comments, reblogs i read them all and they truly make me the happiest <3 (also i based this off my own college experience, where we study two terms and there is one person on top of the class every semester)

part two

You have always been first in your class.

Not because you particularly enjoyed studying. You simply felt that your worth was solely tied to the marks on your papers.

You never wanted to crumble under the pressure of studies, to hole yourself up in your room for an assignment you won’t remember in a month. But achieving good grades was the only way for you to feel seen; to make someone stop in their tracks and acknowledge you. 

A simple “good job” that you preserved inside your mind, as a reminder that you did exist to other people. Considering that the majority of your life was spent in silence. 

Your mom put a roof above your head and food on your table, but she never asked about your day, nor did she seem to care. You felt as though you were no more important to her than the tapestry hanging on your wall.

At times, you imagined that if you stood close enough to that tapestry, you could merge with it as one. The intricate embroidery would wrap around you and draw you in. And your mother wouldn’t notice. She would regard you with the same indifference she showed towards that textile- a mere decoration, at times a nuisance when she had to dust it.

You always ate your dinner alone. When you scraped your knee, you tended to the wound by yourself. No one attended your childhood musicals, and you patted your back when you cracked an egg without dropping a shell into the bowl. 

You’ve come to learn since your young age that all your milestones, both small and significant, would be celebrated alone. 

On the rare times your mother would acknowledge your presence, she’d unleash a flurry of criticism your way as if she was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to strike you down. She'd toss crude comments over her shoulder as easily as a casual hello, leaving you feeling battered and bruised in her wake. 

You felt as if you were shoreline rocks, and your mother was the ocean. You never knew if she would be like a gentle tide, barely brushing against you, or an enraged storm, mercilessly crashing down on your being. And you weren't sure which one was worse: to be invisible or to be seen and despised.  

That’s why you grew up plagued with self-doubt. You made friends throughout your school years but you never allowed them to get close enough to really see you -you feared that they might glimpse the very thing your mother seemed to despise in you. 

Throughout your childhood, you were like soft clay in your mother's hands- pliable, and easy to mold. And she indented you, everywhere, carved in edges and dips where they should not have been ones. Handled you roughly when you should have been treated with care. And as the years went by, you hardened- much like clay, but her touch remained imprinted upon you. It was difficult at times to discern who you were and who she made you to be.

You tried to start anew when you went away to university; to rewire your brain into believing that you were enough- you exist and you shouldn't prove to anyone that you deserved to be alive. But her words haunted you, they were like skeletons in your closet- but the closet was you. You could never part from them.

So, you fell back into the same pattern of seeking good grades and congratulatory words from your professors. Every A+ you got infused you with a momentary sense of worthiness.

But unlike in high school, you weren't always the best. Your competition came in the form of a single man named Minho, who seemed to excel in every class you shared.

Minho was mostly quiet, but whenever he spoke, you found that his words carried weight. Your professors consistently agreed with his points, and you envied the confidence he exuded. You wondered what it must feel like to be so sure of oneself.

It wasn't until a month into the year that you had your first interaction with Minho. You were in your Constitutional Law class when your professor Kim brought up the notion of ‘Separation of Powers’. You were arguing that judges shouldn’t be included in the writings of law when you heard a scoff from the row behind you. You turned around, raising a brow at the culprit, "Is there something you’d like to say?" you asked.

And in response, Minho smiled lazily, an air of smugness surrounding him, "I just don’t agree." The professor urged him to explain himself, so he leaned back into his chair, eyeing you. "Judges are the ones who practice the law every day, and sometimes they find that none of the written texts fit their case. If they get involved in lawmaking, they can help address those gaps or uncertainties." 

"Who's to say that those judges aren’t biased or politically motivated? They’ll end up writing laws to fit their own preferences," you pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him. "We elect judges to interpret and apply laws, not make them. If they start writing laws too, we'll be violating the separation of powers between the legislative and judicial branches. That's what keeps our entire system from crumbling."

Minho rested his chin on his hand, tapping his cheek thoughtfully with his index finger. "Aren’t legislators prone to biases too? Your point doesn’t stand then," he challenged, tilting his head to the side, "and judges can participate without going overboard. They can provide input on proposed laws without actually drafting them. That way, we ensure that the laws are crafted with a clear understanding of how they'll be put into practice." 

"If your main concern is to ensure that the laws are impartial, we have people who work as consulting experts whose job is exactly that," you flashed him an innocent smile, firing back. "Also, wouldn’t these overstepping branches put the judges in a position to be perceived in a bad light? Is that what you want?"

Before Minho could respond, Mr. Kim intervened, putting an end to your debate, "Let's save this energy for your essays and see who can convince me more."

You gave a quick nod, swiveling in your seat without a backward glance. However, you could sense Minho’s gaze penetrating through your back- as if he was trying to read your most intimate thoughts. 

That was the first thing you noticed about Minho when he walked over to you. His eyes were brown, not a special color by any means. But they held a certain depth to them that seemed to draw you in like a black hole. You weren't sure what you would find on the other side, nor did you have any desire to find out.

He outstretched his hands towards you, stopping you in your tracks. "Minho," he introduced and your hand met his in a firm grip. The second thing you noticed about him was the coldness of his hand, as it wrapped tightly around your palm. 

Suddenly you were taken back to when you built a snowman for the first and last time. You were just seven and the ice was freezing, numbing your fingers as you worked. Your mother never told you that you should’ve worn mittens, or a thick jacket to fight off the cold when she saw you walking out of the house. The memory of your cold hands and the horrible illness that followed still left a bitter taste in your mouth, like an unripe fruit. With a jolt you dropped his hand, forcefully pulling yourself away from that memory. 

"Yn," you said back, and he smiled to himself, repeating your name slowly, each syllable dripping from his tongue.  

"We'll see who'll write the best essay, right?" he asked, clearly challenging you. There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes that reminded you of a child gazing up at cotton candy. 

That was the third thing you noticed about Minho; how expressive his eyes were. They moved with his every word, punctuating them. 

He was infuriating but also amusing. You've never had a clear competitor in your life. Or maybe you had, but you didn't notice them. You were always so reclined on yourself, trying to survive the day, you didn't pay enough attention to your surroundings.

"You want to compete with me?" You asked, and he smirked, leaning against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. "What? Scared you’d lose?"

"Please." You rolled your eyes at his taunting, "Don’t come crying when I win."

"We’ll see about that!" He shouted after you as you walked ahead, leaving him behind.

This essay was insignificant. A simple way for your professor to assess your knowledge and work approach. And yet, you found yourself staying up all night to complete it. There was no way you were going to let Minho take this one thing from you.

Who were you if not the best in your studies? You were deathly afraid to find out. 

Later on that week, the professor handed you your grade back, 98%. You turned around to show Minho your mark, and so did he. You surpassed him, only by mere percents. "I told you so," you smiled cheekily and he pouted, holding a hand to his heart as if your grade wounded him.

"I'll beat you next time", he mouthed and you chuckled, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

✹✹✹

The first time you studied with Minho was in a cat café near campus, called Limbo, about two weeks after your initial interaction. You stumbled upon it serendipitously while strolling through your university town. You couldn’t study at home, since you were easily distracted in there, and the eerie silence of libraries often left you unsettled.

Limbo, however, offered the perfect middle-ground: it was calm, not overly crowded, and the buzzing of the coffee machine blended harmoniously with the occasional mewls of cats, which helped you concentrate better. 

You were sitting in a secluded corner table at the café's back, a sleeping black cat comfortably nestled in your lap when you sensed a shadow loom over you. You glanced up quickly to find Minho. He was clad in a grey hoodie sporting a bunny holding up its middle finger. You had to bite your cheek to suppress a grin at his clothing attire.

"What are you doing here?" He asked. 

"You know for someone smart you sure ask stupid questions," you remarked, already looking down at the papers scattered in front of you.

He huffed, taking a seat at the table right next to yours, "I can’t believe that of all places you’ve found this café to study in."

"My apologies, am I disturbing you, your highness?" You asked sarcastically, and in retort, Minho mimicked your words in a high-pitched tone. You threw the pillow right next to you at his head, and Minho swiftly ducked, easily avoiding it. He chuckled loudly while you glared at his laughing figure. That was the end of your conversation that day. 

From that moment forward, it became a routine for the two of you to study at Limbo, every Saturday, without fault. You didn’t explicitly plan on it, but it seemed that both of you found it comforting to work there. And you could also tell that, unlike you, it wasn’t Minho’s first time coming to Limbo. He was friends with the owner, a sweet middle-aged man who offered you pastries whenever you stayed there until closing. The cats seemed to know him too, they mewled at his feet whenever he entered and he always greeted them with a soft smile on his face. 

You didn’t talk much in those unofficial study sessions, the both of you were consumed by your own work. But you’d steal quick glances at him every now and then, the sight of him so concentrated only fueled you to work harder.

Admittedly, your competition left you feeling anxious for days on end at first. Each time Minho came out on top, you’d found yourself losing your grip. Your studies have been the one anchor keeping you afloat your entire life, and now, Minho was ripping it carelessly away from you. So, you resented him- you were human after all.

But then, you realized that Minho’s taunting wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t competing with you to hurt you, he was doing it for amusement only.

You've slowly started to learn that despite his relentless teasing, Minho had a gentle aura surrounding him. Glimpses of which occasionally emerged like rays of sunshine piercing through a thick cloud cover.

True, he chuckled when you accidentally bumped your head on the table while retrieving a fallen pen. Yet, you also noticed how he began to cover the table's corners with his hand whenever you bent down. He swiftly retracted his hand, seemingly believing you didn't notice, but you did.

During class presentations, he deliberately prepared challenging questions for you, urging you to study twice as hard to ensure no stone was left unturned. Yet, whenever the professor praised your performance, Minho offered a subtle thumbs-up as a gesture of support. He winked at you each time he got the right answer and you didn’t. However, when he noticed you struggling with a particular subject, he scooted closer and patiently explained it to you. He got up before you could thank him, swatting his arm in the air as if he didn’t do anything of significance. 

To show your appreciation, you bought him a drink that day he helped you—a simple gesture that sparked an ongoing game of "win a bet, get free food". You bet on who would receive the first mark on an assignment or who would finish an essay first- anything to further deepen the competition between you.

That's how you came to know that he loved puddings, among other things.

Curiously, as the months went by, your mind began to retain these little details about him. How his eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings when he blinked repeatedly during your conversations. How he glanced at the ceiling when lost in deep thought as if he was waiting for the answers to descend from the sky. Or how his lips take on the shape of an "o" while thinking of his response during one of your many debates. But you supposed that it was natural to take notice of such things when you spend countless Saturday afternoons with the same person.

You were still studying for someone else, in the sense that each time you stayed up working, it was solely to prove your worth to Minho. But at least unlike your mother, Minho's words never haunted you at night.

✹✹✹

Just like that, four months have gone by since you joined your university as a law major. It was nearing finals week and you were preparing it at Limbo. Minho was naturally present too, at his usual table right next to yours.

On the last weekend before the beginning of your finals, you were head-deep into your Criminal Law documents when Minho abruptly got up from his seat and settled in the chair in front of you.

"Yn," he whispers and you glance at him, "What?" 

"I have an idea."

"Keep it to yourself," you grin sarcastically, only for him to pick up your spoon and move it around in a threatening manner.

"Are you trying to scare me with a spoon?" you chuckle in disbelief.

 "Anything can be a weapon if you use enough force."

"Okay… that was creepy. What do you want?"

"The end of the first term is coming up. So, to celebrate our little rivalry-"

"It's not a rivalry if I’m always winning," you cut him off.

"Yeah, that’s why I have a fridge full of pudding."

"But-"

"Anyways, how about the top of the class takes the other out for dinner? A fancy one." He suggests, his gaze fixed on you.

"No, thank you. I already see you enough in classes."

"Didn’t think you wouldn’t up for a bet. Guess I was wrong," he remarks, a cheeky smile drawn on his lips. He knows you couldn’t possibly say no now.  

"Fine," you roll your eyes at his proud expression. "Prepare your wallet." 

"Mm, sure," he responds, before rising from his seat once more.

That day, you both lost track of time as you studied in Limbo until it closed down. When you finally stepped outside, stretching your tired limbs, you were met with the sight of falling snowflakes.

"Nooo, go away. I don't want to watch the first snow with you," Minho whines, referring to the superstition that watching the first snowfall with someone could spark love between the two of you. 

"As if I could ever love you," you laugh at the ridiculous idea, "that’d just be signing a death warrant."

You resume walking towards your apartment when suddenly something freezing and hard hits your back with enough force to make you stagger. Turning around slowly, you find Minho erupting in laughter, his body filled with uncontainable joy. He’s jumping and clapping excitedly, and for a fleeting moment, you can’t decide if your shock was from the impact or from how beautiful happiness looks on him. 

Snapping out of your daze, you swiftly retaliate by scooping up a handful of snow and hurling it at him. "Now you are cold too!" you shout, while he’s still laughing uncontrollably. 

Thus begins an impromptu snowball fight between the two of you. Unsurprisingly, you’re being competitive in this too, trying your best to strike each other before the other could recover. But Minho draws nearer to you, and in your desperation to win, you fall to the ground when he throws a snowball at your chest, gasping as if you’re in pain.

"Shit, did I hurt you?" Minho quickly kneels in front of you, concern evident in his voice. It surprises you for a moment- how worried he seems at the prospect of causing you pain.

But you shake that thought off and push him down to the ground, a proud smile on your face. In his fall, Minho instinctively reaches for you to steady himself, which ends up with you landing on top of him. Your faces are mere inches apart, and a soft gasp escapes your mouth at your sudden proximity.

Minho has a mole on his nose. You’ve never noticed that before. 

You quickly push yourself off of him, not enjoying being this close to somebody. "Why did you drag me down with you?" you grumble, shaking off the snow from your hair.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes," he cheekily stuck out his tongue, and you respond with the same childlike gesture before the both of you burst into loud laughter. The sound reverberates through your entire being, and it echoes in your mind long after the two of you go your separate ways.  

As you lay in bed that night, ready to drift off to sleep, a quiet realization dawns on you. This was the first time you've touched snow in since your childhood incident.

That unpleasant memory didn't cross your mind once. Instead, all you thought about was Minho’s infectious laughter, and the surprising warmth it stirred within you.

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

True to his words, Minho texted you the name of the restaurant where you’d both meet to celebrate your win. As you got ready for your outing, you couldn’t help the nerves creeping up on you. Studying in silence next to Minho was something, going to a friendly dinner with him was another. You feared it would be too awkward and Minho would regret ever proposing such a thing.

So, as you sit in the refined BBQ restaurant waiting for him, you fidget with your hands, counting down to three in your head in an attempt to steady your breathing.

You were clearly not accustomed to existing with Minho outside of the confines of your studies.

"Did you wait long?" Minho asks as he finally pulls the chair in front of you and you shake your head no.

"Are you nervous?" he chuckles at your lack of words, and you frown, suddenly feeling defensive. "Why would I be nervous? This isn't a date."

"Who said anything about a date?" he smirks and you grab your fork threateningly, pointing it at him, "Don't say anything stupid or I will walk out."

"And stand me up on our first date? That's too mean.” He pouts, a hand on his heart and you can’t help but giggle at his antics. You were ridiculous for being nervous. This was Minho, the one person you’ve talked to the most since the start of this year. 

"What will you have?" he asks and you smile mischievously.

 "Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food." 

"Well, it's certainly not for your company," you wink and he chuckles, his bunny teeth on full display. 

"And here I thought we were going to be civil with each other."

"When are we ever not?" you gasp dramatically and Minho swats your hand with the menu. "Just order whatever," you finally answer," I trust your food judgment."

"I could poison you, you know?" He smiles proudly and you roll your eyes at him, "Can’t you be normal, for once?"

Minho calls over the waiter and places your orders. The food is quick to arrive and Minho starts to grill up the meat, while you cut the Kimchi into smaller pieces. 

"Here," he puts the perfectly cooked rib onto your plate first and you smile at him, "Thank you."

"Eat up, don’t wait for me," he tells you and you nod, tasting the flavorful meat.

"Wow this is really good," you compliment and he smirks proudly at your words, "I know."

Minho places four other ribs for you, without eating one himself. You start to feel bad, so you grab his chopsticks, pick up the meat, and move it toward his mouth, "Open up."

"What?" He asks confused and you wave the food in front of his face, "Come on, you haven’t eaten anything."

Minho parts his lips slowly, and you feed the tender meat to him, before eating one yourself. You notice how his cheeks are slightly tinted pink now, and you account it to the intense heat of the grill.

"Oh, let's not talk about studies, my brain can't take another debate with you," you tell Minho in between bites and he grins at you, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "If you were to dispose of a body, how would you do it?"

"I think our next celebration will be in an asylum." you smile too sweetly at him and he stares at you pointedly, "Please, I know you've already thought about it."

"Fine. Probably in a deserted land. What about you?"

"I'd cut their bodies and then bury each part in a different forest. In a different city."

His answer came too quickly, and you pause in your tracks, "Should I be worried?"

"You are too cute to kill." His tone is sarcastic and you make a show of gushing at his compliment, clasping both of your hands in front of your heart, "Growing soft on me, Minho?" 

"Yeah, I’m basically sooo in love with you," he replies with a smirk and you roll your eyes at him, an amused smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"What's your favorite color?" you finally ask, changing the subject.

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You'll buy me purple flowers?" He coos at you and you shake your head as you grab the utensil from his hand, to grill the meat your turn. 

"No. I'll paint your tombstone purple," you grin and he laughs loudly, eyes squinted close, and you can't find it in you to care that the people next to you are staring. 

"What's yours?" he asks when he calms down and you shrug, "Navy blue, I think."

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

"When you look at it, at first glance, it looks like black. But the more you stare at it, the more layers you uncover. Just like you. There’s more to you than what meets the eye."

You grab your glass of water, gulping it down to hide the way your eyes just glossed over. You suddenly felt bare in front of Minho. How did he know?

You clear your throat, racking your brain for a way to move on from that question. "If you were to describe colors to a blind person, how would you do it?"

"Mm," he looks up at the ceiling as he mulls over your question, "I’d say that yellow is the feeling of eating ice cream on a sunny day, in an amusement park. Your fingers are sticky but your cheeks ache from how much you smiled that day."

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

"I’d say that... Red is the thrill that rushes through your veins when you do something you are passionate about, you know? It’s what makes our blood boil and our heart race. The very essence of our humanity."

Minho smiles softly at your words, seemingly agreeing with your description. "Don’t you think it would be easier if we simply asked, what color are you feeling today, instead of a 'How are you'?" He questions and you tilt your head to the side, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you could say, I feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to. Or, I feel bright yellow as if the world's energy is stored inside me."

"And right now, how do you feel?"

"I feel orange, not the ugly orange." He precises and you chuckle, "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean."

"A bittersweet orange, an ending that instantly strings along a new beginning. And you don't have time to rest."

Minho places his chin on his palm, eyeing you curiously, "Is that what you want? To rest?"

"Yeah." You admit quietly, "Don't you sometimes wish that the world would just stop, for a few seconds? Just like in a song, right before the beat drops. That silence, I wish I could live inside of it."

"I do too."

You both hold each other’s gaze for a while after that. You felt as if he was keeping you captive with his brown eyes, and he was slowly peeling each of your layers, in silence, as you were peeling his. For the first time, you think that you and he are similar, more than on a studies level. There was a part of his soul that understood yours perfectly. And it felt good, to be understood, for once.

"If you lived in this silence, what would you be doing?" he asks, breaking the serene quiet that surrounded you.

"I’d open a café that had books. And there'd be a little space, where people could paint. Or do pottery. And I’d have cats in there too." You reply excitedly, hands moving around in the air, you end up missing the way Minho gazes fondly at you before his smile morphs into a smirk.

"Please tell me you won't be cooking."

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

"You dance?!" you whisper-shout and he frowns at the surprised look on your face. 

"Yeah. Why are you looking at me like this?"

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

"No." he cuts you off immediately and you pout. 

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

"Please, I won't make a sound I’d just watch. Pinky promise.” He grabs your now outstretched pinky with the tip of his index and thumb, lowering it down. 

"I’d only grant you this wish when you’re on your deathbed."

"Bold of you to assume you'd still be around."

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

Minho chuckles at the crestfallen look on your face, "I’ll think about it."

Just like that, three hours of talking have gone by, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you. And when you finally leave the restaurant, Minho grabs you a cab and you wave him off with a smile. You couldn't lie to yourself, you had a really good time with him. You liked to think that Minho was no longer just a rival, but a possible friend.

But now that you were laying in your bed, you couldn’t help but curse Minho in your brain. His repetitive talk about murder made you paranoid, and now every creak in your apartment made you feel as if death was really right around the corner. 

You decide to text him, figuring that if you couldn’t sleep because of him, you could at least disturb him for a bit. 

Yn : I hate you I'm paranoid from your murder talk

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

Suddenly your phone rings, the shrill sound echoing around your apartment. It was a Facetime call from Minho. You panic for a few seconds, before remembering that you just spent your entire night with him. A call can’t be more daunting than a real-life meeting. 

"See, I’m in my home," he tells you as soon as you pick up and you laugh.

"It's pitch black, I can't see."

"Just say you miss my face." You can’t see him but you can clearly hear the proud grin in his voice. 

"What's there to miss?"

"Are you actually scared?" Minho asks gently and you clear your throat, feeling ridiculous all of the sudden. 

"There is a tree right outside my window and it keeps rustling from the wind," you grumble and Minho laughs at you. 

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

"Close your eyes.” He instructs and you frown at his words. 

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

"Fine.” You close your eyes tentatively. It’s quiet for a few seconds and you feel yourself relax slightly. 

"So, I bought a sous-vide machine and-"

"Is your bedtime story going to be about meat?"

"Yes?” He replies as if it’s an evidence, “Now be quiet." You pretend to zip your mouth and Minho faintly giggles, before resuming his story. "So, I was saying. I bought one and I wanted to experience different kinds of meats. So, I bought a 30-day aged one and a 58-day aged one and I cooked them both."

"What did you use?" you ask quietly. 

"Just garlic, and thyme, I didn't want to overpower the taste of meat. Anyways I cooked them, but I didn't have plastic bags so I had to go out and buy them."

"Mm," you hum in acknowledgment. You could feel your nerves slowly dissipate with Minho's every word. His story might be ridiculous but his honey-coated voice compensated for it, wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. 

"And I found pudding there so I had to buy it."

"Obviously," you whisper. Sleep was knocking on your door, but paradoxically you tried to fight it off. You wanted to hear the rest of Minho’s story. 

"And I went back home and I cooked it, then I plated it nicely with vegetables that I sauteed with butter and garlic. Just mushrooms and potatoes, nothing too fancy. Again, my main focus was the meat. But there wasn't a difference between the two. They tasted the same for me, for some reason. And I didn't like this because the aged one was very expensive. Maybe I was scammed. Honestly, that butcher looked kind of suspicio..."

Your quiet snores make Minho pause in his tracks, and he laughs quietly. You did end up falling asleep. He can't see your face clearly, but he can see its outline and he stares at you for a while. You look peaceful.

He goes to hang up but his finger hovers over the 'end call' button. You aren't talking, but your hums are quiet enough that they fill up the space around him. It calms him down, and he lets his head fall on the pillow, his phone lying beside him.

He closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on. 

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

The second semester had just started and with it the return of frat parties. You were excited at the prospect of going to one with your new friend Mina. You met her in the library when you both went to grab the same book. You quickly apologized but she waved you off, handing you the book with a huge smile on her face. She was bubbly, like a human serotonin boost, and she started gushing about how much she loved the author. You saw her again in the campus cafeteria, and she skipped towards you as if you've both known each other your entire life. That was the start of your friendship.

You walk into the frat house, both your arms encircling each other. The flashing lights of the party blind you for a moment, and it takes you a while to adjust to the loud music bouncing off of the walls. But you like it, it was like a shield from the outside world and its problems. 

You feel yourself letting loose in the crowd, swaying your hips to the music. Mina spins you around and you laugh, dancing with no care in the world. It was just the both of you in that instant. 

Mina spots Jeongin in the crowd, a friend of hers that she had an immense crush on. You couldn’t blame her- he was very attractive; his easy smirk and his blonde tousled hair earned him lots of appreciative looks from the people around him. But when his eyes locked with Mina’s, you found that his face morphed into a beautiful smile, that made his dimples look on full display, as if it was only reserved for her.

“Go get your man!” You shout in her ears, so she’d be able to hear you. 

“What are you talking about?” She yells back, but you could see the nervous smile on her face.

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

“I don’t want to leave you alone. We came together!” She clasps your hand in hers and you smile touched by her kind spirit.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll go to the kitchen to get some drinks. Go have fun!”

“You are sure?” She asks, her eyes darting between you and Jeongin, who was still looking at her, and her only. 

“Yes! Go!” You say, gently pushing her away. Mina jogs up to Jeongin who greets her with a side hug. He quickly glances at you and you shoot him a thumbs-up, to which he grins. You loved playing Cupid.

With that, you decide to head to the kitchen to grab a drink. You pick a beer from the fridge, double-checking if the can is closed before opening it. 

You lean on the countertop, sipping on your drink while you watch the crowd, humming along each time a song you knew played. You enjoyed watching people dance freely from afar, with no apparent care in the world.

You feel someone stand next to you and you brace yourself, getting ready to tell the person off if they decide to bother you. You didn’t have the energy for mindless flirting. But then, you smell the cologne that has lingered around you for the past term- Minho. You haven't seen him since your dinner. That was a month ago.

"Fancy seeing you here," he greets as he leans on the counter right next to you, his eyes fixated on the mingling bodies.

You turn around to face him, faking an outraged gasp, "Are you following me?"

"Mmm. You look nice", he compliments and you smile cheekily, "I know."

"Won't tell me I look nice too?" he smirks, leaning closer to your face. "Someone didn’t get enough compliments tonight?" You pout, placing a hand on your heart in mock concern.

"I did, but I want to hear it from you. You’re the only sensible person in this room."

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

"Come on, I know you can do better than that", he jokes and you roll your eyes, muttering “You’re annoying”, under your breath.

Still, you comply, placing your arms on top of the counter and leaning your head on them to get a better look at him. He does the same, smiling, and you both stare at each other for a while after that.

The strobing lights dance on Minho’s face, casting enticing shadows on him. You've always known he was a beautiful man; you've looked into his eyes far too many times in your heated conversations. But this time was different, there was no cheeky smirk on his face nor a furrow in his eyebrows. He was simply looking at you, and it made a pool of warmth huddle in your belly. You feel yourself relax under his gaze, everything around you seemingly melts away.

You weren’t wrong when you thought that his eyes were like a black hole, pulling you in. But this time, you realize that you didn’t mind knowing what was on the other side. On the contrary, you longed for it. 

"I like your eyes right now. They remind me of the night sky. Black, with tiny little stars littered in them," you finally say.

Minho is taken aback by your words, he wasn't expecting you to compliment him, let alone to tell him something so special. He can feel his cheeks burn red at your words, feel his heart hammering in his chest. He's afraid you can hear it too.

He doesn't know what to say, so instead he clears his throat, plastering a smirk on his face, "I heard better." He hasn't. This is the first genuine compliment he's ever gotten.

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh and he joins you. The music was loud and yet the only sound his ear seemed to pick up was your laugh.

"Are you here alone?" He asks, and you shake your head no, "Came with my friend Mina."

"Did she leave you by yourself?" He frowns and you feel yourself warm up at his worried tone. "I told her to go talk to Jeongin."

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

“Fine, Dad.” You chastise and he stares pointedly at you, "I’m serious, yn."

You take another swing of the beer before turning your body fully towards Minho. After a few beats of silence, you finally ask a question that has been on your mind for a while. "Why do you say my name this way?"

"What way?" He questions and you shrug, "Slowly. People used to always rush it but you don’t."

"Well, it’s a pretty name. It deserves to be pronounced as a whole."

You beam at his words; you smile so brightly it makes his heart skip a beat. This is the first time you’ve grinned this widely at him, no hand in front of your mouth as if to hide it. He did notice how you were a reserved person outside of class, as if you were afraid of taking up too much place. But he could tell you were slowly unraveling, growing bolder with each passing month. He wanted to tell you that if people like you spoke more, the world would be a far better place. 

But he couldn't bring himself to say all of this, so he forced those bubbling words down his throat. "I’m hungry," he whines instead and you laugh at his pout. "I'm kind of craving a greasy pizza."

"Should we go buy it? You can tell Mina to come so we can walk her back."

"I’ll ask her."

You shoot Mina a text, asking her where she was and telling her about your plan. She replies that she’s with Jeongin who just offered to take her home, so you could leave without her.

"We can go." You tell him and he nods. Minho shrugs his leather jacket off, gently placing it on your shoulders. His warmth engulfs you and you sink further into it. His arm hovers around your shoulder not touching you as he leads you out of the party. He has never touched your body, you note, it's like he was everywhere and nowhere at once.

You both walk to an open parlor near the frat house, and you order a Margarita pizza to share. You sit down on a nearby bench to eat it- the night breeze too liberating to pass up on.

As you both finish eating, a cat with white and orange stripes all over her body approaches the both of you cautiously, and you pat her head softly. "Aren't you the cutest thing ever?" you coo and Minho chuckles as he scratches the cat’s chin. She purrs at his touch appreciatively, and you smile at the soft look on his face. 

"Never knew you to be this gentle", you giggle and Minho shushes you, "Let's not do this in front of the cat."

"Why are you acting as if we are a divorced couple and she’s our child."

"Easy, yn. You make it sound as if you want me to marry you."

"Now you're just projecting," you chastise and he laughs, eliciting giggles from you. He had a melodic laugh, you noticed, and you always felt a surge of pride whenever you made him close his eyes and tip his head from laughter. You felt as if it's a sight only you can see.

"I have three cats", he says softly and you gasp, "Really? We spent all of our Sundays in a cat café and this is when you tell me?"

"I only tell my friends."

"So we're friends now?" You gush and he rolls his eyes at you, "I take it back."

"What’s their names?" You ask curiously and his eyes soften at your question- you could easily tell he loved them dearly.

"Soongie, Doongie, and Dori. They are rescues."

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

"Most of my scars come from them though," he chuckles but you sober up at his words, quietly scratching the cat's ears.

"What’s on your mind?" He asks and you glance at him. It was scary how well he’s starting to know you. But it was also nice; to be known is to exist, after all.

"I just... Sometimes I wish that memories would leave physical scars on you. Because at least then, you could treat them, put a band-aid on, and watch them fade away day by day. Because when the scars are emotional, you can’t treat them, you know? And someday someone brings up a name or a place, or you smell a certain scent, and suddenly they reopen as if no time has gone by at all.”

Minho stays silent for a while, mulling over your words. You don't mind, you weren't expecting him to comfort you. You just needed to free those words from the mental prison you've held them in for so long.

"Do you know Kintsugi?" he finally asks and you shake your head no.

"It's a Japanese art. They put back together broken vases with molten gold. It represents strength despite our flaws."

"That sounds nice," you sigh wistfully and he nods. 

"It is. When you look at that vase, you know that it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty, on the contrary, it adds to it. Scars, whether they are emotional or physical are there for a reason. They remind us of how we pushed through whatever life threw at us."

"Am I supposed to be grateful I survived this?" You chuckle lowly, as your hand scratches the cat’s ear. Your fingers brush against Minho’s and you hesitate for a few seconds before moving them away.

"I wouldn't say grateful for what you went through," he speaks once again, "but grateful to yourself. At the end of the day, the reason why you're still here is you. You put yourself back together," he then bumps his elbow into your side softly, "and hey, even if your scars reopen there will come a time when they wouldn’t anymore. Sometimes, it takes a while to be okay again."

This was Minho’s way of telling you that someday it wouldn’t hurt anymore. That someday you’d be okay. And you needed to hear that. You needed to hear someone else other than yourself tell you that.

"Thank you, Minho, I needed that", you smile at him and he grins back at you before his smile turns to a smirk. "I charge 15 dollars for the hour by the way."

"Oh, come on! You didn't even say something revolutionary." You are lying. Minho's words will echo in your mind long after this night- a beacon of light to hold onto.

"Oh, so now it’s no longer ‘I needed that’. Tsk," he jokes a smirk still plastered on his face.

"Okay, Mr. Therapist. I’ll pay for your coffee tomorrow, sounds good?"

"I should have you as my client more often," he winks and you laugh, head tipped back. You were grateful more than ever for his teasing, loving how it wasn’t awkward between you after your discussion.

"You are a good listener." You tell him as you stand up, dusting your pants.

"I’m good at everything," he grins cheekily at you and you roll your eyes playfully, "And here I thought we were having a moment."

You both start walking side by side toward your home when Minho speaks again. His tone is quiet as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear him. "About earlier, your compliment, I mean. I suppose I didn't thank you. So, thank you," he scratches the tip of his ears and you shrug nonchalantly. "It's the truth. You might get on my ass but that doesn't change the fact you are a pretty man."

He doesn’t respond and you tug at the sleeve of his shirt playfully, "You won't tell me I’m pretty too?"

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

You laugh loudly, hand tightly clutching your stomach and he joins you. There is a newfound lightness in your steps now. Unbeknownst to him, Minho just managed to lift a small weight off your shoulders, allowing you a brief moment of respite.

"This is me," you say when you arrive in front of your apartment block, "Thank you for walking me home."

"Of course. Don't dream of me."

"Idiot," you laugh waving him off and he does the same. "Oh, and text me when you get home safely!" you shout before heading inside.

For the second time this night, Minho is blushing profusely at your words. He sighs to himself, waiting patiently until a light turns on in your place to leave.

✹✹✹

It’s been two months since the start of the new term. You still went to Limbo, every Saturday with Minho- even when you didn’t need to study. 

Sometimes you’d just grab a book and you’d both read, a cat lazily lounging at your feet. You started sitting at the same table too; you figured it was easier since one of you always pays for the other. When you have a bet, but also randomly, when you notice that the other person is feeling down and you want to cheer them up without saying anything.

That's why you bought three bubble teas for Minho in a row. He was quieter these days, you noticed. He didn’t talk to you nor did he retort back in class. It was the first time you’ve seen him this way. As if he was a simple shell of the person he usually is. 

You were walking out of your Communications Strategies class, which Minho weirdly didn’t come to when you realized that it was pouring rain. You smile lightly to yourself, grateful since you thought about picking up an umbrella this morning. 

As you walk through campus, everyone around you running to take shelter, you spot someone sitting on a bench, completely drenched from the rain. Their head is hung low and you frown to yourself. They would surely get a cold if they stay there.

But then the person raises their head and you quickly realize it's Minho. You jog up to him instinctively, standing in front of him and shielding him from the rain with your umbrella.

He looks up at you and you feel your heart clench. His eyes are void of emotion and he stares blankly at you. "Are you okay?" you ask and he blinks at your words, as if his brain hadn't yet registered that you were there.

"Yeah."

"You don't look like it", you tilt your head to the side and he looks down again. You have to strain to hear his next words, muffled by the rain and his mumbling, "I don't want to talk, yn."

You decide to put away your umbrella and sit down next to him on the bench. The rain falls rapidly on both of you, and you feel yourself grow cold from it. 

"What are you doing?" He questions, turning to the side to look at you.

"Enjoying the rain. It is kind of stupid that we have umbrellas, right?"

"You'll catch a cold."

"I mean we always complain about the drought and then when it rains, we hide from it. But it's really beautiful."          

"Stop, I don't want you to get sick."

"Well, neither do I. Let's go eat some soup. My treat."

"Yn, I don’t-"

"I thought you were smart enough to know I won't take no for an answer."

"But I-" you cut him off again. "Also, I’m doing this for me because when you order for two, they give you a lot of side dishes. Now come on."

You stand up and he looks doubtfully at you, before following suit. You open up the umbrella again and hold it over both of your heads. He has to huddle close to you, and your shoulders brush against each other. Once, twice. Not that you're keeping count. But your body is always hyper-aware of Minho’s proximity. You also notice how he silently moves from your right to your left, this way he's the one walking right next to the speeding cars. Your hold on the umbrella tightens. You were still not used to those small attentions of his. 

You arrive in front of your apartment block and he hesitates. "Come up, I won't murder you I promise." You joke and he smiles lightly back at your words. Progress.

He enters your dorm and you can see him eying his surroundings. You know that if it was another time, he would have teased you about something- anything. But he stays quiet, and you find yourself missing the sound of his voice.

"Would you like to shower?" You offer and he nods, "Please."

You lead him to your bathroom and show him where the washing machine is. "Put your clothes in there for a quick wash and dry. You can shower meanwhile."

He nods again as you hand him a towel. "I'll be outside."

You quickly leave the bathroom to place the soup orders, and Minho discards his wet clothes, walking into your shower. The water is piping hot, and he leans his forehead on the cold tiles. He doesn’t move for the first ten minutes, too tired at the prospect of lifting his limbs.

Nothing particular happened. But he’d go through days when he’d quiet down because everything around him was too much. The feel of his clothes against his skin, and the sun streaming through his curtains. But it always passes. Minho was a realistic man and he knew that his emotions would regulate themselves. That’s why he didn’t like appearing vulnerable in front of other people.

But for some reason, he didn’t mind lowering his guard with you. He knew you wouldn’t judge.

He sighs, grabbing your cherry-scented shampoo and pouring it into his hands. He can clearly smell you now. The scent of your hair that always tickles his nose, whenever you are sitting close to him. Your body wash is next and he wonders if this is how your skin smells, like vanilla and jasmine, and something entirely you. 

Forty minutes later, Minho finally steps out of the shower. His clothes are clean and he quickly puts them on. He dries his hair with the towel as he walks out of your bathroom towards the living room. 

He finds you sitting on the ground, in front of a heater that looks close to giving up. He makes a mental note of giving you the one he has since he doesn't really use it. You changed out of your clothes too, and you are now wearing a pair of pajamas with little bunnies sewn into it. The sight almost manages to make him smile. 

"Still cold?" you question when you notice him standing behind you, unmoving, and he shakes his head no.

"Good, the soup is here." You say cheerfully, pointing at the steaming bowls sitting on your table. Minho hums in reply and you stand up, grabbing the towel from his hands to place it on the drying rack.

You come back, a soft green blanket in your hands. You sit on the couch and pat the spot beside you. Minho sits next to you, and you lay the blanket on both of your laps, before handing him his soup.

You start the show you’ve been last watching, as you both eat in silence, your legs crisscrossed. You make some comments throughout the episodes. You figured that it was a safe territory, to talk about something as mundane as this. He didn't reply but you didn't mind. You weren't here to have a conversation with him. You just wanted to distract him.

You realize at that moment that Minho always looked so put together to you. But he had problems of his own too. That much was obvious. It made you feel closer to him, in a sense. You were both just trying to make it through the day.

Two hours later, you get up to grab a book, handing Minho the remote to put on a show of his own. You curl in a ball in the corner, reading where you left off last night.

"Can you... Can you read out loud?" Minho speaks for the first time in a while and you look at him. His eyes are closed, his head resting against your couch.

"Sure."

You start to read, and Minho further sinks into the couch. He feels at home here. Because the blanket is soft and the light is dim enough to not hurt his eyes. Or it could be that he smells like you, a scent so comforting he wants to bury himself in it. Or maybe it's your voice that floats through the air, slowly clouding Minho’s every sense. He feels as if he could see the words you were pronouncing dancing in front of his eyes. You enunciated each syllable clearly, making sure that no sound was forgotten.

As Minho gently drifted to sleep, he felt as if he was part of the words you read out loud. He felt as if you were treating him with the same care, making sure that he knew he wasn't invisible. At least not to you.

When you wake up the next morning, Minho is gone. And his place beside you on the couch is empty. He made you breakfast, scrambled eggs, and freshly pressed orange juice. And right next to it you find a note, "Thank you for reading to me."

✹✹✹

Minho didn't believe in having a lot of friends. He was content with the two people he had, Chan and Changbin. The latter was his high school friend, he skipped a year and ended up being in the same class as Minho. They didn't talk at first until the day Changbin dropped a book on Minho's foot. The brooding man started apologizing profusely, and that was the start of their friendship. They've kept in touch since.

Chan was his roommate at university. It's not that he particularly wanted to befriend him, but Chan was a social butterfly and he quickly managed to pull Minho into his friendly trap. He annoys Minho the most, but in an endearing way. And although Chan is older, Minho still strangely developed a soft spot for him. 

And he supposes he has you too now. At first, you weren’t friends, rivals at most. He enjoyed reeling you up and having you frown at his words in your heated debates. He also liked talking to you, because your ideas were interesting and you always gave him a new fresh perceptive to see things.

That’s how he strictly saw you as, an intelligent human who he liked to debate with.

But then he started to look forward to meeting up with you at Limbo. He no longer minded the fact that you took his self-assigned table, from his high school days. And he laughed more freely with you, enjoying how you always had a witty retort sitting at the tip of your tongue. 

That’s how he started to notice things that friends most definitely notice. How you have a charm bracelet you always fidget with whenever you are nervous. How you stray away from physical touch. How you scratch your eyebrow when you are deep in thought.

But also, how you seem to have an obsession with cherries. Your cherry pendant, your cherry-scented shampoo, and your cherry-tainted lips. A friend would most certainly think that your lips are like red wine-stained glass.

He remembers one of the many times when you were at Limbo, and he saw you reapply your lip tint, or so you called it. You caught him looking and he swiftly averted his gaze, but it wasn't quick enough. Suddenly you were in front of him, a tiny red bottle in hand.

"Let me apply it to you," you smiled and he pushed your head away with his pointer finger. "No."

"Please," you pouted and he couldn't help but find you adorable. You sometimes reminded him of a small kitten. But he didn’t dare to call you by that nickname. 

"Never."

"If I score more than you in our environmental assignment then I will do it."

"Fine." he huffed so that you'd leave him alone.

Minho didn't study for that assignment. He blamed it on a headache, not that it's ever stopped him before. And two weeks later you were in front of him, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. You applied the lip tint gently on his plump lips, carefully tracing over his cupid bow. 

Your face was mere inches away from his and he noticed how you were wearing a gloss today, for change. It was shimmering under the lights and he usually didn't like glittery things, but he couldn't take his eyes off your lips. 

"All done!" you clapped excitedly, snapping him out of his haze. You then shove your phone camera into his face so he'd look at the results.

"You should be a model. Your face is perfectly sculpted," you comment nonchalantly, before sitting back in your seat. 

“I know.” He replies confidently, but his hand kept fiddling with the tip of his now pink ears. He couldn't concentrate for the rest of the night.

You were his friend because he always worried if you were eating enough. That’s why he urged you to grab a bite in the convenience store near Limbo, whenever you finished up your studying late.

This was one of the many times you sat on the minuscule table outside, hot ramen bowls in front of the both of you. Minho huffed in annoyance between each bite, his bangs were getting longer, disturbing him when he leaned down to slurp his noodles. 

“Here,” you stand up from your place, a hair tie in your hands. 

“What are you doing?” He questions as you stand behind him. You don’t reply, silently grabbing his hair and putting it up in a tiny ponytail, this way it wouldn’t get in his eyes anymore.

“Voila,” you sit back down, resuming your eating. Minho was grateful for the dimly lit street because his entire face was burning up. Your fingers in his hair were gentle and he wondered how it would feel if you ran your fingers through it. 

This was something friends think about, right? 

"I’ll cut my hair tomorrow," he clears his throat. He didn't know why he told you. You certainly weren't interested in his hair endeavors.

"What?!" you yell, "Don't. Your hair is beautiful why would you cut it?"

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

Minho also noticed how you always threw compliments his way. Not in a flirtatious way, but in a genuine one. He couldn't help but wonder what made you this way. Did you so freely give love to others because you knew how it felt to not receive it?

"I’ll still cut it."

Minho returned home; his hair still clipped back in a ponytail. Chan eyed him weirdly but he shut him off with a glare. The elastic remained at his bedside since.

He didn't cut his hair.

The moment Minho started to consider you a close friend, was when you invited him over to watch your show. You didn’t force him to open up that night, and he appreciated it, more than he let on.

That's how a week later, he finds himself walking towards your dorm again. The thoughts in his head got too much, and Chan was immersed in his makeshift studio, which meant he won't be free for the next four hours, minimum.

He didn't plan on going to you. It was late at night and you were probably asleep, but his feet naturally led him to the direction of your place.

He knocks softly on your door. He wasn't even sure if he wanted you to open. What would you think of him showing up at eleven pm? He should have thought this thro-

"Minho?" you call out, and he startles a bit, his feet already inching away from the door.

"This was a bad idea, I'm sorry," he starts to retract back but you grab the hem of his jacket to stop him. "Do you... Do you want to watch my show with me?" you ask, a soft smile on your face and he nods tentatively.

"Okay, come in," you open the door wider and Minho follows you inside. The look in his eyes reminds you of the day you found him sitting under the rain. You didn't like it, you wanted him to find his spark back, his usual demeanor. He wasn't deserving of anything but happiness.

"I’ve started a new show, this one's a bit more romantic, so don't go around imagining me as the main character," you tease and he scoffs at your words, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't reply, but you don't mind. There was this secret agreement between the two of you, you would talk and he would listen. He needed the distraction, and you needed the company. Sometimes the line between alone and lonely blurs, and on days like these, Minho’s presence fills the void inside.

You comment on the scenes and Minho hums in reply, you watch three episodes in a row, and your eyes are getting drowsy, so you close them.

"Minho," you call out gently and he turns his head towards you.

"Yeah?"

"What color are you feeling tonight?" You ask, referencing to what he told you on your dinner celebration. That felt like an eternity ago.

"Black." You stay silent and Minho fidgets with his hands before speaking once again. "I feel a lot at the same time, too much of every color. That's why- that's why I said black."

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

"You already do." His admission came softly and it made your breath hitch in your throat. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him, but you figured it will only make him close off even more.

“Okay. Will you stay for breakfast?”, you whisper. You were very sleepy, the soft chatter of the TV and your hushed conversation were like a lullaby to you. 

"You want me to?" he asks, and he sounds so vulnerable you can't find it in you to say anything but the truth.

"I do," you admit, and that's the last thing you remember before sleeping.

Your head falls near Minho’s lap on the couch, your hair tickling his exposed thigh. Minho shouldn’t feel this way, he thinks. He’s sitting on the leather couch and his feet are touching the cold floor and yet all he can feel is three strands of your hair tickling him.

He glances at you, at your now parted lips and your relaxed eyebrows. His hand hovers over your hair, but then he curls it into a tight fist. What is he doing? He thinks to himself as he drags an angry hand through his face. He sighs, before standing up and grabbing the blanket you had on the opposing chair. He gently lays it on your body before sitting next to you once again. 

You told him to stay for breakfast. He’ll stay.

✹✹✹

2 months later

"Yn!" Minho shouts in your ear as he plops down next to you. You startle, dropping the book you were reading. 

"I hate you," you grumble, picking up your book and he smiles cheekily at you, "No you don't."

You were laying on the grass of your campus garden, in between two classes, trying to kill the time. It was April so the weather was perfect for lying under the warm sunrays. You loved spring, it always held within it the promise of a better time. 

"What are you doing?"

"I was reading before you got here and started to annoy me." 

"Don't mind me. Do your thing." 

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

"You couldn't find any other place to do so?"

"Nope."

"You're annoying" You try to sound mad but the smile on your face betrays you. You started looking forward to any moment Minho randomly shows up throughout your day. Sometimes it's late at night when he's suddenly craving sushi and he drags you with him because if he's not studying then you shouldn't be too. 

Sometimes it's during the day, when he takes you to a new garden where he found the quote "cutest cats in existence". Not as cute as his cats, of course. 

Sometimes it's late afternoon when he just knocks on your door, and he's there with Chan-his roommate who sometimes joins your study sessions- snacks in their hands. You've learned that what Minho doesn't say in words, he compensates by spending time with you. And you didn't tell him but waiting for these moments has been the joy of your life for the past few weeks.

It made you feel excited- like a child waiting up for Christmas morning to discover what gifts they are receiving. 

So, you resume reading, as Minho is lying next to you. You could smell his pinewood cologne and you wished you could pour his essence into a bottle and carry it with you everywhere. 

You notice how the sun is hitting Minho’s eyes directly, and how his eyebrows are scrunched up at the aggression. So, you grab your book with your left hand, and hover your right one over his eyes, shielding him from the sun. Minho's breath tickles your hand and you can feel goosebumps rising through your skin. 

It's as if every physical proximity with Minho made you feel hyperaware of every part of your body, and how he can lighten it with a simple breath from his part. It made you wonder what it would feel to have his hands on your skin.

As if Minho heard your thoughts, he gently wraps his thumb and index finger around your wrist, steadying your hand in place so it wouldn't strain your arm. You suddenly don't know what page you are in, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on you. 

His touch is very featherlight and you are afraid to move, to break the bubble you are suddenly pulled into. 

"Read to me," he tells you and you gulp. You never understood why Minho enjoyed it when you read to him. 

"Like my voice that much?" you tease, in an attempt to hide how affected you are. You were so close to him; it would be easy to slide down and lay your head on his chest. You wondered how his heartbeat would sound. Was it steady, or racing just like your own? 

"Yeah, it's calming," he replies sincerely, catching you off guard. You didn't expect him to compliment you, and now you are racking your brain for a retort, anything to make you breathe again. 

"Growing soft on me Minho?" you say, the same question you asked on your first dinner out. The first time you truly saw him, the first time you felt as if you were two pieces of the same puzzle, just waiting for someone to connect the both of you. 

He doesn't reply. And you sit there, patiently waiting. His first answer came so easily, so naturally, because he was being sarcastic, "I’m basically in love with you", he told you back then. So why can't he say it again?

"Yes, I am." He finally replies and you feel your breath catch in your throat. You try to account it for your brain misguiding you. It wasn't Minho speaking, it was the rustling of the leaves and the singing of the birds that you just heard. But it was him, and now his eyes are open and he's looking at you. Your hand is still shielding his eyes and his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist. And you are suddenly feeling. You are feeling too much. You don't know what to do with those feelings cursing through your veins and you can't face them. Because they are scaring you.

"I'll just... Yeah, I’ll just read," you say quietly, too flustered by his intense gaze. You were already on the other side, you realize. His eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey. 

"Out loud," he says and you chuckle, "Fine, Min." The nickname slips out of your tongue naturally and you quickly snap your head towards Minho to see if he noticed. 

His eyes are closed, and there is a slight smile on his face, and you can swear that he just repeated the nickname to himself softly. 

✹✹✹

You've been so sick these past days, you barely managed to go to class. Your head throbbed with pain and your entire body felt as if someone thoroughly boxed it. 

You were grateful that Minho reeled down his teasing because you had no energy to retort back. He may have noticed how sick you felt and truthfully it would be hard not to. You stayed silent throughout the day, and you looked so pale, you avoided looking at the mirror altogether.

Though Minho didn't talk to you, he still silently placed water bottles and some of your favorite snacks on your desk. You'd down the water, grateful for the relief it brought your sore throat. And when you didn't touch the food, he'd immediately text you 'Eat up', followed by a simple 'Please'. Having someone else care for your well-being felt weird, but it warmed your heart beyond what words could describe. 

You only came today to pass your Criminal Law mid-term, but your head hurt so badly that you weren't even sure what you wrote on your paper. The words blurred in front of your eyes and you almost slept in the middle of your exam, exhaustion threatening to take over your body. 

You fucked up, badly. You haven't screwed up this much in years.

You thought that you were slowly getting better since Minho surpassing you no longer sparked an unworthy feeling within you. But apparently, you were wrong to believe so. Self-doubt crept up within you once again, and the ugly feelings it stirred slowly clawed at your throat, making it hard for you to breathe.

It was one test, and yet it reeled you back ages ago. 

Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes as you hurriedly walk out of your class. You make a beeline for the library, figuring that it will be mostly empty by now. 

You pull out a chair and sit on it, lowering your head down so no one will see you. Your tears are falling rapidly and you hit your thigh repeatedly.  You hated how weak you felt in that instant. 

"Yn?", someone calls out and you curse internally. You don't have to look up to see who it is, Minho's voice has become a part of you- you could easily recognize it between a thousand mingling sounds. 

You don't want him to see you, especially not like this, weak and vulnerable and on the verge of breaking down. So you quickly slip a pair of sunglasses on your eyes, before raising your head to look at him. "Hm?"

"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone so soft it makes you want to cry ten times fold. You hated it, hated how attentive he was to you. You didn't deserve it. 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just here to pick a book," you lie, abruptly standing up and heading toward the rows behind you. You desperately needed to get away from him. 

You pause in front of a random shelf and then you feel Minho standing behind you. You grab a random book and he peeks above your shoulder to see it, "Economics? You hate this subject."

"Why are you following me?" you turn around attempting your best to sound mad. When in reality, your heart was brimming with hurt. You wished you could get away from your body and seep into someone's soul to feel what it's like to love yourself.

"You aren't okay," he asserts and you hate it. You hate that he sounds so sure of himself. Was it that noticeable? Were you not fooling anyone?

"I am," your voice is shaking but you are adamant about contradicting him. You couldn't let him see you. What if he runs?

"Then..." he steps forward and you take a step back until your back is against the shelf. His left arm cages your body, but his right one stays by his side. He is leaving you an opening, you realize, an outing in case you feel uncomfortable. Against all odds, you don't.

 "Why are you hiding from me?" he asks, gently taking your sunglasses off your face, and placing them on the top of your head.

You don't look up at him, and he hooks his finger underneath your chin, gently raising your head. When your tear-stained eyes meet his, he frowns deeply, "Why are you crying?"

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

"I fucked up, okay?! That was the worst test I’ve ever given in years." The tears start to flow at your words and you wipe them away aggressively. You despised crying in front of people. 

Minho raises his hand to wipe the tears away for you but he quickly retracts it- you probably wouldn't want him to touch your face. It was enough that he had grabbed your wrist a couple of weeks before this. He quickly racks his brain for something to do, because the sight of your tears is making his heart ache in a way he hasn't felt before. It's as if he's feeling your emotions deep within him.

In desperation, Minho pinches your arm and you yelp, startled. "What was that for?" you whisper-shout and he raises his hands in defense, "I didn't know what else to do."

"So, you thought about pinching me?" you chuckle in bewilderment and he scratches the top of his hair sheepishly. 

"I mean, it worked. Look, you stopped crying," he points out raising his brows at you proudly and you shake your head at him.

"Remind me to never cry in front of you again." 

Minho grins at you before his face turns serious once again. "Look, you are the smartest person I know," he pauses, adding with a cheeky smirk, "After me of course." Which makes you giggle against your will. 

"Shut up", you lightly punch his chest and he smiles. "One test doesn't define you. You always work very hard. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Mm," you hum and he frowns at your lack of enthusiasm, but still, he doesn't comment. 

"No more crying," he wiggles his finger in front of your face and you roll your eyes, wiping the rest of your tears away. "Fine. Pretend as if this never happened."

"What are you talking about?" he asks as if confused, and you can't help the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It's as if Minho knows exactly what to say to cheer you up. 

"Come with me," he tells you, gently pulling you by the sleeve of your hoodie. 

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

"You're craving ice cream too," he says in a matter-of-a-fact tone. 

"Only if you're paying," you add with a giggle and he whines loudly, "I feel so so used around you." 

True to his words, Minho takes you to the nearest ice cream parlor. It's a 20 minutes walk away and you are grateful for the distance because it helps you clear your head a bit.

Minho lets you pick whatever flavors you want, and when you hesitate between two of them, he tells the cashier to put them both into your cup. This is how you end up with a container of 5 scoops of ice cream. You insisted you'd share, and Minho begrudgingly agreed when you threatened to walk out and leave him.

You then walk to a deserted alley and sit on the sidewalk. You didn't want to be around people right now, and thankfully, Minho understood without you having to say a word.  

You munch silently on your ice cream and Minho does the same, the both of you lost in your thoughts. You naturally take turns holding the freezing container, so it wouldn't numb the fingers of one of you.

When you're done, Minho stands up to throw it away in a nearby trashcan before sitting back again next to you. 

Suddenly you feel him gently tapping your hand. You look down to find that you've curled your fingers into a tight fist, so much that there are crescent indents visible on your palm now. 

"Let's play thumb war," he tells you and you giggle at his words. You never knew what to expect from him. 

Still, as your fingers hold each other, and your thumb circles one another, you feel yourself calm down slightly. You play a couple of rounds, and you know he's going easy on you, allowing you to quickly trap his thumb down. 

No one has gone to such lengths to cheer you up, and you suddenly feel so grateful for Minho’s presence in your life. You didn't care in what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it. Which in turn makes you think how bad it'd hurt if he ever leaves. 

You don't want Minho to leave. You've gotten so attached to him that the thought of not talking to him again makes your heart race in panic. 

Minho notices the change in your expression, suddenly melancholic once again. Your hand has gone limp in his, the thumb war long forgotten by you. 

He curses under his breath, before looking at you. "If I dance for you, will you quit being so sad?"

"Dance for me?" you repeat incredulously and he nods, "Yes. I’ll show you an upcoming choreography just... Please smile?" 

"Okay," you giggle, plastering a wide grin on your face. 

"Not like that you look scary."

"Get to dancing!" you clap excitedly and he rolls his eyes, standing up and looking through his phone for a particular music. 

"Oh and no comment!" he looks pointedly at you, and you nod, pretending to zip your mouth and throwing away the key. 

'Finesse' by Bruno Mars starts playing and you are left mesmerized by the way Minho dances. It's short but it leaves you yearning to see more. His body moves smoothly, hitting each beat effortlessly. He made it look as if dancing was second nature to him, that it came as easily to him as breathing. 

You were speechless, rightfully so. You wished you could build a world where all Minho did was dance. 

"That was-" you start when he stops the music but he cuts you off instantly, "I said no comment."

"But--" Minho places his finger on your mouth to silence you, seemingly not thinking too much of it. But the feel of his finger on your lips makes you dizzy. Minho quickly takes off his hand, a blush evidently creeping up his neck. 

"Let's just go home," he sighs in defeat and you laugh despite the intense feelings cursing through you.

You don't know if you are imagining it but you swear that your pinkies brush against each other on your walk back. As if there was this magnetic force pulling them together. You wondered what would happen if you just linked your pinky with his. Would he grab you by the hand or will he let go of you entirely?

You were too much of a coward to find out. You were scared of messing up anything with him. So, you'd settle for this. Stolen glances and random outings. You just need him in your life. 

"Thank you for today," you tell Minho once you arrive and he shrugs, as what he did wasn't a big deal.

"No, I mean it. Thank you," you repeat, trying your best to convey how sincere you were being. You take in a deep breath, before grabbing his hand and squeezing it, for a fleeting second, before dropping it again. 

Minho is sure that your hand will now be imprinted into his, that the lines tracing over your palm will merge with his as one. Your touch was barely there but it had electrocuted him. He wondered to himself if his body would be able to handle more from you. But he'd gladly burn in your fires for the sake of holding you. And he'd wait, unwaveringly, as time stretches alongside the two of you. He'd wait as long as it takes for you. 

"Yn, I..." he stammers, taking a step closer to you. His scent engulfs you and you shamefully close your eyes, inhaling it. When you open them again, you find Minho glancing down at your lips. You gulp, dazzled by his proximity. 

"You have a mole on your nose," you suddenly speak up and his eyes snap back to yours, an adorable confusion drawn on his features. 

"I like that mole," you continue and you wish you could dig yourself a hole and bury yourself in it. 

"Thank you," he chuckles and you nod vigorously, "You're welcome." 

"Can I ask you something?" he says and your breath hitches in your throat. "Sure."

"You don't like it when people touch you, right?" 

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?" 

You want to confide in him, to tell him that it’s because you long for it, you crave it so badly. That this need has woven itself into the very fabric of your being. An ache so raw that it scares you at times. You’ve never known what it feels like to be held- it was uncharted territory to you. 

"Isn't everyone scared of the unknown?" you settle on saying, and he nods in understanding. Of course, he understood. No one knows you as well as him. 

"It's okay. I just wanted to know if I ever overstepped my boundaries."

"You didn't," you reply instantly. 

"Good. You'll tell me if I ever do, right?"

"I will." 

"Okay." 

"Um. I'll get going," you point behind you and Minho smiles at you, waving you off.

You walk for a few steps before coming back again quickly. You then grab Minho’s hand, gently squeezing it like before, "You are an amazing dancer." 

And then you drop it, running back towards your apartment block without waiting for a reply. 

Minho stays frozen in his place. You think he's an amazing dancer. And you held his hand for five seconds. 

That's four seconds more than the first time. 

Progress.        

✹✹✹

You haven't gotten out of your house for the past three days. 

Everything crashed around you rapidly, it made you realize that the ground you once stood on was only an illusion, elusive and fleeting. 

You were doing well; you were getting better. But then Monday came and you went out for a walk in the park near you. As you sat there, you saw a little girl playing on the swings, delightful joy dancing across her features. But then she fell to the ground and you instinctively stood up to help her, only to notice her mother running to her. 

The world stilled around you as you clearly saw it- how the little girl clung to her mother's embrace, her embodiment of hope and love. You never had that. You don’t even know what perfume your mother used because she never allowed you to get that close to her. 

You stood up abruptly, quickly heading back to your apartment block. As you ran up the stairs, you ended up bumping into one of your neighbors. You were quick to apologize but they ignored you, and the feeling of being invisible came back to haunt you ten times fold. 

You knew you shouldn’t have done it, you knew you should have deleted your mother’s number when she sent you away to university without a backward glance, relieved at the thought of you getting a full-ride scholarship and not needing her anymore. But you didn’t, you kept her number in the hopes that she’d call. On your birthday, on holidays, on a random Thursday to tell you that she did remember who you are. 

With trembling hands, tears welling in your eyes, you dialed your mother’s number for the first time in a year. You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe she regrets it. Maybe she misses you. Maybe she didn’t find the courage to mend her wrongdoings and that's why she never called. 

"Hello?" her voice rang through your apartment. Goosebumps erupted on your arms and your hold on the phone tightened. Her voice took you back to memories you thought you had buried. How you spent countless nights yearning to hear the sound of her voice, how you regretted it once she spoke to attack you.

You hate her. You miss her. You want to hang up. You need to ask if she's doing okay. 

“Who is this?” Her voice was devoid of recognition, freezing you in your tracks. You felt as if a bucket of ice was thrown over your head, dousing the flame of hope that flickered in your heart. 

She deleted your number.

You quickly hung up, placing your phone down on the table. The tears refused to fall. It was as if your body had long anticipated this outcome, leaving only your wounded soul to bear the pain. 

Healing isn't linear, you've read about it in books and heard it in shows and movies. One step back doesn't mean that your entire progress is gone. You know this, you've memorized those sentences. So why do you not believe them? Why does it feel as if you can never be free from the past? Why does it feel as if you’ll always seek something out of her? 

Those questions roamed your mind for the past three days, making you too tired at the prospect of lifting your limbs, let alone leaving your apartment. You sent your two friends a text, telling them that you're sick so they wouldn't worry. Not that you believed they would. Nothing made sense to you anymore.

You laid on your bed in utter silence- a tense quiet that was disrupted on the third day by someone knocking on your door. You didn't know who was there; you just hoped that they'd leave you alone.

To your surprise, you open the door to find Minho, some notes in his right hand and a coffee in his left. He sends an easy smile your way. You don't smile back.

"What do you want?" your voice is cold, but Minho doesn't bristle. A cheeky smile settles on his lips as he leans on your doorway.

"You didn't come to class for the past three days, so I brought you the notes. So, you wouldn't think our competition is unfair."

"Competition," you chuckle coldly, heading inside your apartment, and he follows suit. You start to pace around furiously, and Minho looks at you worriedly. "Competition?" you repeat, the word dripping off your tongue like venom. You turn around, marching towards Minho and standing a few inches from him. "You know what? Fuck you and your competition!"

"Yn-"

"Did it ever occur to you that I never wanted a part in this competition? That all I wanted was to be left alone?" you say, growing louder as you jab your finger into his chest repeatedly. "I never wanted any of this! Do you understand? I never wanted to be this way," you shout angrily in his face.

The worried look in Minho’s eyes snaps you out of your haze. You realize that you are being utterly ridiculous lashing out at Minho, when the one person you are mad at is yourself. 

Your anger quickly deflates, leaving in its trail an agonizing sadness. It's so sudden that it knocks the breath out of you, and you clutch your chest as if it could soothe the burn in your heart. Suddenly you are twelve years old again, crying in your room because you feel like no one has ever loved you.

But this time you aren't alone. Minho is in front of you, and his eyebrows are so furrowed you want to lean forward to ease the tension between them. His eyebrows, you liked his eyebrows, they were arched, and they framed his eyes nicely, and his eyes are brown and so big, and they always look at you softly and why is it getting so hard to breathe-

"Did I do something to you? Whatever it is I’m sorry," Minho panics, cutting off your frantic train of thought. But now, the weight of guilt adds to your overwhelming emotions. You shouldn't have lashed out at him, he brought you coffee and you yelled at him. Maybe your mom was right after all.

You shake your head left and right furiously, your words coming out in hiccups. Since when did you start crying? "It isn't- it isn't you."

"Then let me help you-", he steps forward, hand outstretched, but you take three hurried steps back and wrap your hands around yourself protectively. "Don’t. Please, don't."

"Why are you pushing me away?" his tone isn't accusatory. You've learned time and time again that Minho wouldn't do anything that made you feel uncomfortable.

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

"Because I’m afraid!" the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. "I’m afraid if you ever hug me, I wouldn't be able to go back to hugging myself. I'd need you and I can't afford to need someone else."

You regret the words as soon as they fleet away from your mouth. He would look at you differently, he would find you pathetic and then he’d leave. And you wanted him to leave. But you also wanted him to stay. It was all so confusing. 

You felt as if your being was torn between two great forces, each one of them trying to win the war raging inside you. You wished someone else would make the decisions in your place, for once.

Minho places the coffee and notes on the ground before approaching you, his palms facing up in a gesture of surrender. "I won't leave you," he says softly. "I’ll be by your side for as long as you'll have me."

"Minho..." your voice catches in your throat as you utter his name- like a broken prayer. He stands before you, his eyes shimmering like the reflection of a river on a sunny day.

"Please, let me make it better." 

You nod tentatively and Minho comes even closer to you. He was treating you like one would with a wounded animal, giving you a chance to ultimately back out. But for once, you listen to what your heart has been yearning for. Your bones are aching to be held, to feel the warmth of a body against your own, to feel safe and secure. 

Minho embraces you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you to him. You slowly bring your arms up and lace them around his waist. You are afraid, deathly afraid. His grip is loose, and you almost can't feel him around you, but when you lay your head on his chest, he tightens his hold on you and you instinctively let out a sob. 

He's hugging adult you, the woman whose heart was once again broken by her mom. But he's also hugging little you, the girl who was craving affection from everyone around her. In that instant, Minho is hugging every single version of you that ever needed a hug. 

You were right to be scared because you don't want to let go, you want to stay in his arms because they feel safe, like a shield protecting you. You can't go back to not hugging Minho. 

The sensation is overwhelming and your knees buckle underneath you. But instead of holding you up, Minho falls to the ground with you, as if you are two inseparable pieces of one puzzle. He isn’t here to fix you, he’s here to break down with you and help you pick up the scattered pieces.

You think back to that night in the park when Minho told you about Japanese vases. At this moment, it dawns on you that Minho has found a way to become a part of you. He was the molten gold binding your broken parts together. He was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together.

Who were you fooling? It was him; it was him all along. 

Minho rocks you gently as you cry and cry and cry. His hand finds your hair and he plays with it as you sob. He tells you you'll be okay, you'll feel better and you try to believe him, his words wrap around your bruises like a healing balm. 

"There, there, love. You are okay", he murmurs, tenderly patting your head. A fresh set of tears wells up in your eyes. Love.

"I’m sorry. I'm so sorry," you apologize as you pull away from his embrace. 

"Why are you apologizing? Is it because you wet my shirt? I don't mind," he reassures you with a smile and you shake your head. 

 "I was mean to you and you didn’t deserve it," you explain through hiccups.

"It's okay, you weren't mad at me, were you?" he asks, wiping your tears away so gently with his thumbs, careful not to irritate the sensitive skin.

"No. Still, it isn't okay and I’m sorry. I'm so sorry." 

"Shh, don't apologize. It's okay." you look at him doubtfully and he rolls his eyes playfully, "Here I’ll even do your silly pinky promise, okay?" he laces his pinky with yours, but then he suddenly leans forward and places a chaste kiss on your thumb pad. "There, sealed forever."

You giggle faintly as a blush dusts your cheeks, "That's not how it works."

"I know."

Your giggle was far different from the ones Minho was accustomed to. It was small, and it didn't brighten up your face like usual. But he was grateful for it nonetheless. He realized how much he missed your laugh, and how all the other sounds in the world pale in comparison to it.

In that moment Minho thinks to himself that he'd do anything to make you smile again. He'd make a fool out of himself if it meant making you happy. He'd settle for a simple tug at the corners of your mouth, anything but the sadness that seemed etched in your face, as if it was blended into the colors that drew you.

You tentatively move around, before laying your head on his lap. Minho's hand instinctively finds your hair and he starts to gently play with it. It feels as if you've done this a million times before, when in fact it was the first. 

There was something wildly intimate about laying on the floor with the man who just comforted you. It made you want to spill all your secrets to him, one by one, and have him hug you through them.

"Did you mean it? When you said you'll stay?" you felt so vulnerable in his hold, as if he could twist you whoever he liked. But you trusted him. You trusted yourself with Minho.

"I did. Your walls are always up. It's hard to peek behind them. But I don't want to tear them down. I want you to slowly unbuild them. I want you to do it for yourself."

To do it for yourself, it's hard to even know who you are anymore. 

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

"Okay. Take your time, kitten." he pats your head gently, and you try to sync your breathing to the rhythm of his touch. You were grateful that you were lying on his lap since you couldn't see his face. It made talking feel a little less daunting.

"On my 9th birthday... I was very excited. I'd been on my best behavior that month, trying to please my mom in the hope that, for once, we'd celebrate my birthday. Like a normal little family," you smile sadly, you were so hopeful back then.

"My birthday came, I woke up, excited. My mom was still asleep, nothing out of the ordinary. So, I made my breakfast and walked to my school. I wore my prettiest dress and put on pigtails with hair clips. It was my birthday after all," Minho smiles softly at your words, his hand now resting on your own.

"I got back home and waited for my mom to come back. She remembered my birthday, I thought. And then, she came but she didn't talk to me. So, I thought, oh a surprise party!" you chuckle, but this time the smile on Minho’s face is gone.

"It was then 11 pm, and the hope had slowly died in me. So, in my stupid innocent self, I went to my mom, and asked her "Did you forget my birthday?". And I remember... I remember the way she laughed. Cruelly. Like I had told her the funniest joke in the world. And then. Then she looked me dead in the eye and said 'I hate the fact that you are born. Why would I celebrate that?'"

Minho sucks in a deep breath at your words, and you exhale one right out. It felt comforting, to have someone else stomach the hurt for you. To take the weight off your shoulders, allowing you a few moments to breathe.

"I confronted her about it one day, but she said she doesn't remember saying that. It's funny how it was a random Thursday for her, but for me, it shaped my life." you smile bitterly, "I remember how jealous I was of the way the other kids talked about their mothers. They said the word so lightly. It must have reminded them of sunshine and ice cream and rainbows. But for me, it held an uncharacteristic heaviness to it. I grew to hate the word."

"I drove myself crazy, Min", you whisper and he brings you closer to his body, "was it me or was it her? When did it start? Was it because I was too loud as a child or maybe too quiet? Did I not cater to her fantasies of a kid? I wanted to remember every single thing that happened throughout my childhood, thread through every single memory. I tried to pinpoint the exact moment my mom stopped loving me."

Minho squeezes your hand tightly in his, and you feel as if he was pulling you away from the memory that had long trapped you. You were now watching it unfold from outside of the window, your hand in his, safe from the hurt it had inflicted on you.

"It's not you. It could never be you. Some people are simply not fit to be parents. It's never their kid's fault."

Minho tries his best to keep his touch soothing, to make his voice sound as soft as possible. But he was angry, he was so angry at the world for not taking care of you when you were younger. His heart broke, thinking of 9-year-old you being told such cruel words.

He wanted to turn back time and tell you that you were enough. He wanted to make the pain that seemed so anchored in you float back to the surface, and dissipate like sea foam meeting the shore.

But he couldn't do that. All he could do is comfort present you.

Minho gently pulls you up from his lap, making you sit upright. He crisscrosses his legs and you do the same. Your knees brush against each other and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You didn't know that even knees could emanate such warmth.

"Yn, look at me. The world wouldn't be the same without you in it," he cradles your face between his hands, "You hear me yn? I’m so thankful you exist."

His doe brown eyes are sincere, and it made you want to believe him badly. That's a good start, right?

"I’ll be back," he tells you, letting go of your face and standing up.

You hear Minho rummaging through the kitchen and you take the time to calm yourself down. Sharing those parts of you with Minho felt therapeutic. As if you were healing parts of your inner child. You have never talked about this with anyone before, maybe this is why it still hurt as badly.

Minho comes back five minutes later, his hands behind his back. You raise a brow at him inquisitively and he just smiles secretly at you. "Close your eyes," he tells you and you giggle, doing as he says. He crouches in front of you, and you hear him shuffle in his place for a bit.

Then, "Open your eyes yn," and you find him, in front of you, a cupcake you had stored in your fridge in his hands, and a makeshift candle lit up. "Happy 9th birthday, love. You did well."

You stare at him in utter bewilderment. You couldn't believe your eyes. How could this man be so thoughtful? He was wishing you a belated birthday, to compensate for the 9th birthday you didn't celebrate.

You panic, at the look in his eyes. You've never seen it, never dared to dream of it, of someone caring for you unconditionally. So, you try to scare him, to push him away. You didn't want him to regret knowing you.

"There are things I need you to know um", you chuckle nervously, "When I... When I throw up, I hold my hair, and when I’m sick I nurse myself back to health, and when I have a nightmare I- I hold my hand in the dark. It will be hard for me to hold yours instead."

"We'll start a finger at a time, yeah?"

"It will take time."

"I have time," he speaks easily, as if loving you was effortless and not a strenuous task. You couldn't fathom it.

"You are too busy-", he cuts you off instantly, "Not for you." 

"The world doesn't stop because we need it to." Your voice is quiet; this is your very last try. You are tired of fighting. You are putting down your armor and waving a white flag.

"We'll make it stop. Here, the two of us. On this floor. We'll take as long as we need to."

"I never deemed you as an optimist", you smile a little, a hint of teasing in your tone.

"I’m not," he pauses, gazing down at the cupcake between his hands and then at you. "But I feel that we deserve a bit of happiness together, don't we?"

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

You close your eyes for a few seconds, before blowing on the candle.

"What did you wish for?" he asks a fond smile on his face.

The answer came naturally to you, you didn't even need to think about it. "I wished for you."

Minho's lips come crashing down on yours, and you imagine that this is what it feels like to see colors for the first time. To discover a new world beyond the one you've always known.

The kiss isn't urgent nor feverish, it is one of comfort. Your lips spilling the words you have not yet said to each other. "I love you," he kisses you, "I love you too," you kiss him back. "I need you to stay," you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, "I’m never leaving you," he opens his mouth allowing you entrance.

As you kiss him, you remember a fact you once learned in high school. The human body possesses seven trillion nerves. And for the first time in your life, you feel as if each of these nerves is alive. You feel that even the smallest atom is electrocuted with Minho’s love and it’s all you know within you.  

You feel as if the pain, the hurt, and the ache you've been through are slowly unraveled, and in their place, a timid happiness is starting to bloom. You imagine that when Minho’s lips met your own, the seven trillion nerves inside you exhaled in relief 'We've made it', they said, 'we'll finally be okay.'

Epilogue

You've always thought that epilogues were useless. How can you resume the rest of your life in one sentence, boil down the rest of your existence in mere pages? Because life doesn't stop at the epilogue, and a new book can start once again, right where you left it off.  

But with Minho, you didn't mind an epilogue. On the contrary, you longed for a soft one. You wanted to rest on this last page, you wanted to lay your worries on the words and tuck them into the syllables. And you wanted to wake up anew.

And this wasn't the end of your story with Minho. A lot happened after it. But it didn't worry you, because epilogues are about the one thing that doesn't change throughout the long march of time. And luckily for you, that constant was Minho’s love for you. From that day he held you, he has never let go.

It took time, for his warmth to seep through your bones. It took time, for your heart to forget the cold. But you wanted to do it. With him. You wanted to love and be loved.

The sound of cats mewling fills your apartment, pudding can always be found in your fridge and you haven't felt invisible in years.

[on-the-clear-blue]

Tim walking into the dining room: Oh B, i just realized, happy 5 years sober, I am really proud of you.

Bruce, small smile and sipping his tea: Thank you Tim.

Dick, looking up confused from his bowl of cereal: What? Sober? Weren't you drinking last night at the gala?

Bruce, brows furrowed: Not from alcohol, Chum.

Tim, after downing his cup of coffee: Damn you didn't know? It was cocain. B was on that booger sugar.

Bruce, making a face: Please, never call it that again.

Dick, after his brain rebooted: You...you did cocain?

Bruce sighing :Yes I did...I though you knew.

Dick, abandoning his bowl of cereal: No, no I very much didn't! How did you...like get into that?

Tim: Dick take it down a notch, please? Bruce has been clean for years.

Bruce, shaking his head: It's fine Tim, I should have been more up front with this to the others.

Dick, with his head tilted and still a bit upset: Others? You mean only Tim knew?

Bruce, nodding: He caught me taking a key from one of Penguins supply when he was Robin and forced me to confess, I went to rehab a week later.

Dick, sitting back down in a stupor: Wait...You mean the thing when you were gone for like a few months? I thought you were on a deep space mission with the league! Hell, Uncle Clark even said so!

Bruce, wincing: Y-Yes...I was in a treatment center in Sweden...Tim found them and signed me up without telling me, and had Clark take me there...

Bruce side eyeing Tim: Took my Kryptonite before doing so...and my stash.

Tim, unapologetic, shrugging: Mom used the same place when she was getting off of Quaaludes.

Bruce, shrunching his nose: Never did like downers, made it harder to think.

Dick, having a mental breakdown: So you just...did drugs? For like a while? When did this even start?

Bruce, silent for a while, moving his breakfast around for a moment: It started when I was about...16? When I was in the club scene for a bit I got wild, taking pills and such that I didn't need, it was the 80s, blow was all the rage with the youth in higher circles and...well one thing lead to another and I got hooked.

Dick, holding his head in his hands: Oh my God...Wait.. Were you actively doing drugs when you adopted me???

Bruce, groaning: Yes...Didn't it ever seem strange that sometimes I was very lively and then suddenly was practically dead an hour later before getting back to lively?

Dick, horror coming across his face: Oh my God the signs...

Tim, chuckling: B was a God damn drug fiend, practically snorted half of Columbia.

Bruce, looking scandalized: Tim! I was not that bad...

Tim staring at Bruce:

Bruce staring back:

Bruce, sighing: Fine yes it was that bad.

Dick: uninhorant screeching

Bruce, tsking: I quit a few years after taking you in Chum, I only relapsed when Jason...temporarily passed...and that was only for at most a year, Tim found me out, sent me to rehab and while I have had a few scares, I have been sober for years.

Dick: Happy for you, really but holy fuck.

Tim, snorting: It wasn't the first time I caught you B, imagine little old 10 year old me following Batman and Robin and stumbling across the Dark Knight of Gotham doing a line on a gargoyle while Robin beat the shit out of the dealers below.

Dick, agape: Really Bruce? Do you even remember that?

Bruce, Blushing: i...may have done that more than once...

Dick, crying on the inside: BRUCE?!

Jason, walking in with a smoothie: Oh what are we yelling at B for? I want in.

Dick, wildly pointing at Bruce: BATMAN DID COCAIN.

Jason, slowly taking a drag from his smoothie, before turning to Bruce: w h a t?

Bruce, hiding his face in his hands, sullenly: I trained you all better than this. Yes I did drugs, I am 5 years sober.

Jason, softly putting his smoothie down before walking over to Bruce and patting his shoulder: Proud of you for that, like actually good job, holy shit that is hard. But also WHAT THE FUCK.

Bruce, sighing hard: I thought you all knew...

Jason flopping down in a chair, counting on his fingers: Wait a God damn minute, you got on my case for smoking while doing cocain!

Bruce, dead panned: it's a gate way to much harder things.

Jason, squinting: Who are you D.A.R.E?

Tim, cackling: he was! Did a whole speech about it! Full Batman regalia and was talking about how weed is bad!

Bruce glaring lightly at Tim: It is! It can cause lung damage, a build up of black tar in the lungs and can dull your mind when you are in a tike of crisis!

Jason, rolling his eyes: B, Shut the fuck up you did cocain.

Bruce, sighing yet again: You really are not letting that go are you...

Tim, sipping his coffee: Think of it like this, there is a reason B was able to get back to fighting like a week after Bane broke his back.

Bruce, pursing his lips,: Not the time Tim.

Tim, grinning evilly: Oh no, it is very much the time, I have been waiting till the others knew...I have so many blackmail stories....and pictures

Bruce, a look of true fear on his face: Oh God no...

[bluetimeombre]

・❥ ‘Are you Hugh down under?’

You and Hugh were the stars of the biggest movie, Wolverine and Ladypool, and fans love the two of you.

[not proof-read, some sexual innuendo, just Hugh being hot af]

part two

You and Hugh Jackman being in love for twenty-five minutes (part one)

Puppy interview

Did you take any props home with you?

'Yea, I took Hugh home,' you said, letting a puppy climb over you and onto your shoulders as Hugh laughed. 'In his suit as well.'

'In the suit,' he said, stroking the puppy in his lap.

'Yep. Great in the house, goes with all my furniture. He's well trained.'

Hugh nodded, enthusiastically. 'I'm not toilet trained, but I'm trained in other ways.'

You raise your brows and the crew laugh. 'I want to know what the other ways are now.' You smirk.

Hugh smirked back, shrugging his shoulders as he held up the puppy. 'Well, maybe you'll find out.'

What was your favourite scene to film?

'Any scene with the incredible talent sitting next to me,' Hugh started. 'Every scene was such fun and never felt like work when I got to work with her. I've never had so much fun playing a character. The whole movie at first, you know, the idea was up in the air for me about coming back but just to get the chance to work with such a talent- an honour and a privilege and I can't wait to do it again.'

Your lips pout into a smile as you listen to him. You focused on Hugh as he smiled at you. 'My favourite scene to film was when I touched his abs.'

He laughed.

'No, seriously it's been a dream of mine to work with Hugh and I can't talk about it too much cause I'd probably get emotional and that'd be embarrassing. I've grown an emotional attachment to him now,; you added.

Hugh looked around at all of the puppies. 'Is there more puppies here than usual?'

'Oh yea, there's more!'

'Someone's been making out,' said Hugh.

'Not us,' you said, leaning over.

He laughed. God, he was always laughing with you.

With Alison Hammond

The two of you sat next to each other, legs bumping into each other repeatedly to tease each other. At times you'd just throw your leg over his thigh and he'd bounce his leg. (Fans ate it up)

'Alright you two,' said Alison.

'Sorry,' you laugh. 'He's taking up too much space.'

'The Wolverine spread,' he said.

You laughed.

Alison gave her a loud laugh. 'Well, is it true, Hugh?' she asked. 'Are you huge down under?'

The three of you laughed, rocking back and forth and hitting your knees.

'I started the rumour,' you said. 'So, take that as you will.'

Hugh showed Alison his shoe as she fanned herself off.

You took another card she offered you and fanned yourself off as Hugh sat back, throwing his arms behind his head.

'So, we should probably talk about the film,' said Alison.

'Let's just talk about Hugh,' you said, leaning back just like he was. 'Ever won an Oscar, Hugh?'

He pulled a straight face at you.

'Now, can I say, Y/N, this is a bit awkward as usually it's just me and Hugh. Last time we had a date, so I've brought champagne, but only two glasses,’ she pulled off the cover that showed off the bucket.

'I'll take the bottle,' you said, reaching over the two of them. 'I can leave you guys, don't worry.'

Hugh grabbed your arm as you tried to leave. 'No, no, you can be our mediator.'

'Your intimacy coordinator more like,' you said as Alison laughed. 'I've seen how these interviews go Alison, I've never had Hugh feed me chocolates.'

Hugh reached over the table as Alison talked about 'a throuple' and he opened the box of chocolates, throwing away the thin layer of film covering them with his teeth. You only realised what was going on seconds before he fed you chocolate from his mouth. You tried to stay calm the closer you got and took the chocolate, chewing down happily.

'Feel like I'm interrupting something,' said Alison.

You stole the box from Hugh. 'Your turn, Alison!'

'So how tough was it working with Hugh, Y/N?'

You slapped your thighs dramatically. 'The toughest ever. You know sometimes I'd actually have to look at his face and I mean, have you seen this-' you frame his face, holding his chin. 'How can I work with this?'

He stuck his tongue out.

(Almost this whole interview was the two of you flirting)

Hot one's interview

'You're watching hot ones. It's the show with hot questions and even hotter wings. Today we're joined by Y/N and Hugh Jackman, the stars of Wolverine and Ladypool.'

'I only let Wolverine come first so we could use the greatest showman in the movie,' you said. 'For Hugh.'

First wing and first question.

You and Hugh cheers with Sean before taking a bite. You nod, 'Good wing, subtle, nice.' You went in for another bite, surprising them.

'Oh, you're going for another bite,' said Hugh, eyes watching your lips (comments couldn't let it go).

'Yeah, I like things hot,' you tell him, giving him a dramatic wink.

'What was the movie that you watched of each other that made you realise you needed to work with each other?' asked Sean.

'As soon as I saw the first Ladypool,' said Hugh. 'I knew these two characters had to be together on screen. I was like these two characters had to be together and I'd literally announced my retirement three days before.'

'Mine was probably when I saw the first ten minutes of Australia,' you said, referring the first ten minutes in which he turns up shirtless and sweaty. 'Knew I needed to see it real-time.'

Hugh huffed out a laugh.

'Or Logan. That was, a masterpiece of a film.'

The next couple wings went down well, getting through the questions. It was the fifth when things started to get heated.

'Yep, that's a step up,' said Hugh as he went for the milk.

'Can you recall the most takes you've had to do for a scene requested by a director?' asked Sean.

'Our steamy scene in the car had quite a few takes,' you said, Hugh agreeing with a nod. 'Kept messing up, you see,' you said, winking.

'That was a difficult scene,' said Hugh.

'Why cause you had to kiss me?'

Hugh shook his head. 'That was the easiest part, I'm laughing, I'm not crying cause of the heat. But doing some of those... positions we had to do in the car, it was hard to work around.'

'I got cramp in my leg.'

He laughed loudly at the memory.

The next wing messed the two of you up, the heat creating sweat. All Hugh could do was laugh and you laughed at him as he went red.

'Look, look at this!' Hugh puts his arm up, showing his bicep.

'What am I looking at? Your raging muscles?' you ask, looking closer.

'No, the sweat.'

'Oh, sorry I was distracted.'

On the next wing, Hugh repeated he took too big a bite, how it was too big and all you had to do was give him a look with raised brows.

You and Hugh take a lie detector test

First hooked up was Hugh, you watched in glee as ties were wrapped around him.

'This is a new kink,' you said, smiling all too widely as Hugh laughed at you.

You started by asking him some simple questions that were easy answers, like his name and where he was born. 'Are you really Australian?'

'Yes.'

You looked to Louis. 'Tell me it's a lie.'

'Truth.'

'This Australian bit has got so far,' you say.

'You love it,' he said.

'We'll find out when I'm hooked up.'

'How you seen all my movies?' you asked.

He thought for a moment. 'No.'

'Deceptive.'

The two of you looked at each other with amused looks and big eyes. 'You can tell me you've seen them all, you can be a fan, I don't mind.'

He shrugged. 'Maybe I have.'

'You're a fan it's fine.'

'I'm wearing my I heart Y/N underpants today,' he said.

You looked wide-eyed and hopeful at Louis.

'Deceptive.'

You cheer.

'In 2008 you were said to be the sexiest man alive-'

'Said to be,' he scoffed. 'Pretty sure the right word is elected.'

'The question is how many copies of the magazine do you have?' you asked.

'How many do you have?' he threw back.

'I'm not the one on the fucking monitor right now.'

'A standard of fourteen hundred?'

'Is there any more to life than being really, really, really, really, really ridiculously good looking?' you ask, leaning back in your chair. 'That's not on the cards, I just want to know.'

'No.'

'Truthful.'

The two of you cackle. After a couple more questions it was your turn to swap. Hugh took delight in seeing you get tied up.

'Starting to sweat a bit,' you said. 'This really is scary.'

'Yea.'

Again, Hugh started off with some simple questions.

'Last one,' he said. 'Are you single?'

You pulled a straight face as he turned red and watched you. 'Yes, I am. Thank you for reminding me of that fact, Hugh.'

He shook his head. 'Don't worry, we can change that, we can change that.'

'Only if you're offering, bub,' you tease.

'Would you rather have had an Andrew Garfield Spider-man team up than Wolverine?' he asked.

Your jaw dropped as he showed you the question on the card. 'That's not fair I love spiderman and Andrew.'

'But do you love him more than Wolverine?' asked Hugh, feigning seriousness. He waited as you thought about it, head in his hand.

'True,' you said.

'That's a lie.'

'Ha!' Hugh shouted.

'I've shocked myself, man, I must really fancy you,' you said.

Hugh slid over a paper, showing you a picture of Channing Tatum. 'Do you think he would make a good Gambit?'

You try to act cool, he was already in the movie and Hugh knew it. 'Yes, I think he would. It's a shame his movie wasn't made. I feel bad for the guy.'

'Truthful.'

You pick up the picture. 'I love this guy, he's a great guy,' you stare down at the picture, 'He'd made a great Wolverine. I mean, I'm just getting lost in his eyes right now, looking at him.'

Hugh reached over. 'Ok, enough of that,' he took the picture and ripped it up, chucking it behind him.

You and Hugh at the premier

The camera snapped shots of the two of you wearing each other's colours. You were wearing a shimmering golden outfit while Hugh wore red. You had agreed to swap.

The two of you took pictures together, his arm wrapped around your waist, yours going between reaching up to hold his shoulder or holding his hands. You didn't stop for many interviews together, but you spoke a lot on the carpet. That tiktoker, the one good at reading lips had a field day on tiktok when she worked it all out.

Hugh: 'You look great in yellow, you know.'

You: 'You should see the colour of what I'm wearing under here.'

Hugh smirked and laughed. 'You look beautiful tonight.'

It was your turn to blush and tug him along the carpet.

[freeabortionslol]

first day at the lake house (lake house gc x reader fic) feat. jack hughes, luke hughes, quinn hughes, trevor zegras, cole caufield ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

summary: !!this stems from the lake house group chat so if you haven't read those you should!! reader is apart of the lake house friend group, flirtatious with each boy, this fic is pretty crucial to the plot I can't lie, i put in a lot of comedic moments (bc ik y'all love those), TENSIONNN, a little bit of angst towards the end, each guy has their own nickname for her (ex. babe, sunshine, princess, sunny, and bunny) warnings!! cursing, angst, i only proofread once (I think that's it) a/n: ahhhh!!! finally the FIRST lake house fic (I say first bc I cannot wait to write more of these). this one is pretty long which I did by accident so bare w me. please keep sending suggestions they're so fun to read!! quinn & jack lovers, this fic is for you. love u lots <3 wc: 11.4k lake house series masterlist

The harsh Michigan sun slipped through the thin curtains of the lake house, waking you in almost an instant. You grabbed the dark throw blanket off the ground, covering your face to shield your eyes. You shuffled, trying to settle in more carefully on the half deflated air mattress so you could get just five more minutes. You maybe got two hours of sleep last night, being kept awake by Trevor’s snoring from the bed above. Several times throughout the night, Cole got frustrated with his snoring and kicked him. Trevor kicked him right back, sending Cole straight down to your mattress. He never landed directly on top of you as you chose to sleep as far away from the boys as possible, but he did come close. It happened four times (yes you counted) throughout the night, deflating your mattress little by little each time Cole’s body was thrown down. You closed your eyes, balling your body up under the blanket as you quickly let yourself drift back to sleep.

“Oh my god, shut up!” Cole groaned sleepily at Trevor who was too deep into his slumber to hear. You heard the shuffle of Cole’s foot reaching to kick Trevor, rolling your eyes at what was about to happen. You pulled the blanket from off your head, moving over to the side to give Cole some space to land. Just five seconds later, Cole let out a slight scream, falling right next to you on the air mattress. You turned to look at him, anger evident in your eyes as he made himself comfortable on your makeshift bed. You quickly grabbed the pillow your head was lying on to hit him square in the face. 

“Ow! Trev-” He paused, opening his eyes which softened at the sight of you, even if you were furious. “Oh. Hey, baby.” He said with a soft smile, letting his eyes shut again as he reached his arm around to pull you close to him.

You pulled yourself out of his grasp, scooching closer to the edge of the mattress as you sat yourself up straight. “Don’t ‘hey baby’ me!” You groaned, your mind still not fully awake. “You assholes kept me up all night!” Cole kept his eyes shut, nodding his head as he listened to your incoherent words. 

“Should’ve just slept down here with you.” He mumbled through his sleepy state, snaking his arm around your waist to pull you down. You scoffed, moving out of his grasp to stand next to the mattress. You crossed your arms, looking at Trevor who had his whole body splayed across the bed, then down at Cole whose smaller frame still managed to take over your territory. Somehow, the two boys were able to continue their sleep, even with the bright light shining through the window. You stared down at the scene before you, shaking your head in disbelief. It was like babysitting two toddlers who had somehow gained the bodies of grown men. Cole was already softly snoring again, his arm flung over the edge of the deflated air mattress where you had been moments before. Trevor, meanwhile, let out a particularly loud snore, causing him to twitch and sprawl even further across the bed above. You picked up a pillow from off the ground, throwing it at Trevor whose body didn’t even flinch at the action. You took one last look at the boys before huffing out your breath and exiting the room. You walked down the hallway, your legs wobbling slightly through your sleepy state. You were pissed when you found out you’d have to share a room with Trevor and Cole this trip. Normally it was Jack who shared with the two of them in his room, but he decided this year he wanted to “Bunk alone. For the greater good, you know?” whatever that means. The spare bedroom where you slept every year (alone might I add) had been quickly invaded by the two most testosterone filled creatures you knew, and you were not happy in the slightest. The lake house had always been your escape, but this year it felt more like torture. You made your way down the stairs, hair messy, voice groggy as Luke’s Michigan t-shirt fell slightly past your athletic shorts. You walked to the kitchen, grabbing a glass to pour yourself some water. 

“Mornin’” You heard a low voice hum through the quiet of the kitchen. You turned your head slowly, seeing Quinn walking down the stairs to the kitchen. His hair was ruffled messily in his face while the neckline of his t-shirt hung low. You tried your best to send him a smile as you continued to fill your glass at the fridge dispenser. He walked closer, placing a hand on your lower back as he shuffled behind you to get to the pantry which sent a quick shiver down your spine. 

“Morning,” you mumbled back, your voice still heavy with exhaustion as you sipped your water. The cool liquid soothed your dry throat, but it did little to fix the throbbing headache that lingered from your sleepless night.

Quinn grabbed a box of cereal from the pantry, his movements slow and deliberate, clearly still half-asleep himself. “Rough night?” he asked, his tone light but laced with understanding.

You let out a bitter laugh, rubbing your hands against your face. “Rough doesn’t begin to cover it.” You said, leaning against the counter as you looked at him. “Trevor snored all night, and every time he snored, Cole would kick him. Then, Trevor would kick Cole back, sending him flying down to my mattress.” Quinn’s face cringed up as you spoke. “Four motherfuckin’ times. And each time, my mattress deflated just a little more.” 

Quinn chuckled softly, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. “Sounds about right. I told Jack you’d kill him for sticking you with those two.”

“Oh, I’m definitely killing him,” you replied, crossing your arms. “This lake house is supposed to be my sanctuary, not…whatever that was.” You gestured toward the ceiling, as if the chaos of the night was still lingering above you. 

Quinn smirked, grabbing the milk from the fridge and shaking his head. “Jack probably thought it’d be funny. He’s always been the king of passing off the worst roommates.”

“Well, his reign ends today,” you muttered, rubbing your temple. “I’m moving to the couch if I have to. No way I’m surviving another night like that.” 

Quinn paused mid-pour, glancing up at you with a hint of mischief in his expression. “You know…” he started, “My room’s always an option. No snoring, no body-slamming. Just saying.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, skeptical. “Is that your way of offering me your bed while you take the floor, or are you actually trying to convince me to sleep with you?” 

He grinned, unbothered by your teasing tone. “I’m offering you peace and quiet. What you make of it is up to you.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “I’ll think about it,” you said, taking another sip of water.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” Luke shouted, his voice piercing through the quiet air as he ran into the kitchen. “It’s the first day at the lake! We’re wasting perfectly good hours of sunlight here.” You glared at Luke as you chugged the water, sending him a stern look. 

Quinn sighed, walking over to put an arm around your shoulders. “I think little miss sunshine over here needs a nap.” 

“She looks more like little miss raincloud.” Luke let out with a light chuckle. You quickly stretched out your leg, sending him a kick to the shin. “What the hell-”

“Stop being a dumbass.” You interrupted with a stern tone to your voice. 

Luke rubbed his shin dramatically, his face a mix of confusion and mock offense. “We just got here, and you’re already assaulting me?” 

“Consider it a warning,” you said, setting your glass down on the counter and narrowing your eyes at him. 

Quinn chuckled, keeping his arm around your shoulders. “She didn’t sleep last night. Trevor and Cole made sure of that.” 

“I heard my name, what’s going on?” Trevor came jogging down the stairs looking way too happy for your liking.

You groaned audibly, your head dropping into your hands as Trevor bounded into the kitchen, his grin almost as obnoxious as the snoring that kept you up all night. "Why are you so chipper?" you asked, your voice dripping with exhaustion and irritation.

Trevor shrugged, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl. “Got a great night’s sleep, that’s why.” He peeled the banana, dramatically biting into it. “Man, I feel amazing.”

You glared at him, your patience wearing thinner by the second. “Oh, I’m so glad someone enjoyed their night.”

Trevor tilted his head, clearly enjoying your misery. “What’s the problem? Air mattress too lumpy for ya?”

“She’s mad because you snore like a freight train,” Quinn interjected, smirking as he leaned against the counter. “And because Cole used her mattress as a trampoline every time you kicked him off the bed.”

Trevor laughed, a full, hearty laugh that echoed through the kitchen. “That’s hilarious! Why didn’t anyone wake me up? I would’ve joined in.”

Your jaw dropped. “Are you serious right now? I barely survived the night because of you two.”

Luke, still nursing his bruised shin, smirked from the corner. “You really should’ve just slept outside.”

“That’s it,” you said, throwing your hands up and stomping toward the doorway. “I’m finding Jack. At least he won’t mock me to my face.” 

Trevor called after you, still grinning. “Tell him we need more snacks! Oh, and maybe some earplugs for tonight!” You flipped him off without looking back, earning a loud cackle from the kitchen.

As you stepped into the living room, the sound of Jack's voice floated down from the upstairs balcony. "Yeah, I knew this would happen," he was saying, clearly talking to someone on the phone. "But hey, it’s not my problem."

You stormed up the stairs and into his room, ready to give him a piece of your mind. “Jack Hughes!” you yelled, startling him mid-sentence. He looked up at you, wide-eyed, as you jabbed a finger in his direction. “We need to talk. Now.” 

Jack stared at you, the phone still pressed to his ear as he sat up in his bed. “Uh, I’m gonna have to call you back,” he said quickly, hanging up before you could even see who he was talking to. He set the phone on the nightstand and raised his hands defensively. “Okay, okay, don’t kill me. What’s this about?” 

“What’s this about?” you repeated, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “This is about you deciding to ditch Trevor and Cole on me. I know you masterminded this. ‘For the greater good,’ my ass.” 

Jack’s lips twitched like he was fighting a smile, which only fueled your anger. “I didn’t think it’d be that bad,” he said, trying to sound innocent. “I mean, come on, they’re not that annoying.” 

You shot him a glare so intense it could’ve melted steel. “They are exactly that annoying. Trevor’s snoring was like sharing a room with a lawnmower, and Cole-” You stopped yourself, throwing your hands up. “I don’t even have words for what Cole did to my air mattress.”

Jack finally broke, laughing so hard he nearly fell off the bed. “Oh man, this is even better than I thought.” 

“It’s not funny, Jack!” you snapped, but his laughter was contagious, and you felt the corner of your mouth twitch despite yourself. 

He wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning. “Okay, fine, I’ll make it up to you. How about this, you can sleep in my room tonight. I’ll take the couch.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him, weighing your options. As much as you hated giving him the satisfaction, a full night’s sleep in a decent bed sounded like heaven. “Fine,” you said, pointing at him. “But you’re on thin ice. Scoot over.” You quickly walked over to climb into bed next to Jack, making yourself comfortable under the blankets. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, grinning down at you from his sitting position. 

You looked up at him once and then closed your eyes, shifting your head against the pillow. “Taking a nap in my bed.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Your bed, huh? I don’t remember signing off on that.” 

Without opening your eyes, you muttered, “You forfeited ownership when you subjected me to Trevor and Cole. Consider this reparations.” 

He chuckled, shaking his head as he scooted over to make room. “Fine. But if you start snoring, I’m kicking you out.” 

You peeked one eye open, glaring at him. “Unlike some people in this house, I have normal human sleep habits. No snoring, no body-slamming, no dramatics.” 

Jack leaned back against the headboard, crossing his arms. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

“Not if you don’t shut up and let me sleep,” you mumbled, already nestling deeper into the blankets. The bed was ridiculously comfortable, and the faint scent of Jack’s cologne lingering on the pillow didn’t hurt either. Within minutes, your body began to relax, exhaustion taking over. Jack stayed where he was, scrolling on his phone and glancing at you every so often. The corners of his mouth tugged upward as he watched your breathing slow, your features softening in sleep. Despite the chaos earlier, he couldn’t help but feel a little smug. As you shifted slightly, your hand brushed against his leg, and Jack froze, his gaze flicking down to where your fingers rested against his knee. A faint blush crept up his neck, but he quickly shook his head, muttering to himself. “Nope. Nope.” Still, he didn’t move, staying right where he was to make sure you got your much needed nap. After all, if you woke up cranky again, he was pretty sure you’d murder someone, and it probably wouldn’t be Trevor or Cole. Jack scrolled mindlessly on his phone, glancing at you every now and then as you slept peacefully beside him. He couldn’t help but chuckle quietly at the contrast between your current state and the fiery temper you’d displayed just an hour ago. He was used to your sarcastic remarks and quick comebacks, but seeing you this calm, curled up in his bed, was different. He sighed, tossing his phone to the side and letting his head fall back against the headboard. It was still early in the day, but the lake house was already buzzing with chaos. From the sounds of it, Trevor had probably convinced Luke to start some sort of ridiculous competition outside, and Quinn was likely refereeing with an eye roll and a resigned sigh. Jack was tempted to join them, but his eyes drifted back to you. He knew you’d been looking forward to this trip as much as anyone, and now, thanks to his little prank with the room assignments, you were already worn out. Maybe he’d gone too far this time. You stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent as you shifted closer to his side. Jack froze, not wanting to wake you, but when your head lightly bumped against his arm, he couldn’t stop the small smile that crept across his face.

 “Great,” he muttered under his breath, his tone dripping with mock annoyance. “Now I’m a pillow.” You didn’t respond, of course, but your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his hoodie, and Jack’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t used to this; being this close to you without the usual teasing or bickering. It felt...nice. 

The sound of the door slamming downstairs startled him, followed by Trevor’s unmistakable shout. “Jack! Where are you? It’s boatin’ time!” Jack groaned, glancing down at you. Your face scrunched up slightly at the noise, and he could tell you were seconds away from waking up. 

Before you could fully stir, Jack leaned down, his voice soft. “Do you wanna go for a boat ride or stay here longer?” 

You let out a heavy sigh, moving your head from Jack’s arm to rub your eyes. “I guess I should probably go.” He smiled down at your sleepy state, running his hand through your hair as you woke up. 

Jack’s touch was light, almost hesitant, as his fingers combed through your hair. “You sure?” he asked softly, his grin teasing but warm. “I can fend them off if you wanna sleep longer.”

You groaned, sitting up and stretching your arms above your head. “If I stay, they’ll just find a way to drag me out of here anyway,” you muttered, your voice still thick with sleep. Your eyes flicked to Jack, catching the way he was watching you. His grin softened into something gentler, and it made your stomach flip in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“Fair point,” he said, standing up and offering you his hand. “Come on, princess. Let’s go tame the animals.” You took his hand lightly, letting go as soon as you stood up. You and Jack parted ways when you reached the spare room. He made his way downstairs to the dock while you put on your bathing suit. You entered the room, not bothering to lock it since everyone was already outside. You let out a dramatic yawn, stretching your arms above your head before grabbing your swimsuit. You opted for a forest green triangle bikini with side tie bottoms. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a moment before taking off your shirt, just looking at your tired eyes. Dark circles had formed and you looked utterly exhausted. You grasped the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head in one swift motion before removing your shorts. You slipped on the bottoms first before reaching for your top. You slipped it over your body first, then flipped the backside to the front to retie the strings. You were topless fiddling with the strings when you heard the door swing open.  

“Hey babe-” Cole stood at the door, stopping in his tracks when he caught sight of you with no top. He was like a deer in headlights, making direct eye contact with your breasts. His mouth parted slightly as his eyes widened. 

“Cole! Get out!” You yelled, knocking him back into reality. He covered his eyes with his hands as he let out a slight scream.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He cried out as he stood there with his eyes covered. “I didn’t see anything! I swear!” 

You stood there, flustered as you tried to cover yourself with your arms. “Why are you still standing there?!” You scolded. 

“I-I-I-I don’t know!” He shook his head, still standing there. 

You shook your head, letting it hang for a moment. “Oh my god. Oh my god.” You muttered. “Get out, Cole!”

“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry!” He cried out, still in disbelief at what he’d just seen. He turned his body around, eyes still covered as he walked towards the door. His memory of the layout had betrayed him quickly as his head made direct contact with the door in front of him. You quickly tied your bikini top on before walking closer to him. 

You sighed, torn between annoyance and concern, as Cole stumbled slightly, rubbing his forehead. “Cole, are you okay?” you asked, your voice a mix of exasperation and amusement.

He peeked through his fingers, cautiously lowering his hands when he realized you were now covered. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact as a bright blush spread across his cheeks. “Didn’t mean to barge in…I didn’t know you were in here.” As he turned to leave, the door swung open again. This time revealing Quinn, who immediately froze, taking in the scene. You in your swimsuit, Cole looking flustered and guilty. 

Quinn’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh... what’s going on here?”

Cole stammered, pointing at you as if that would somehow explain everything. “I-it’s not what it looks like!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, already feeling the headache forming. “Cole accidentally walked into the room while I was changing. End of story.” 

Quinn’s lips twitched, but he fought to keep a straight face. “Accidentally, huh?” He glanced at Cole, then back at you, his teasing smirk forming. “You sure you weren’t just trying to put on a show, sunshine?”

Your face burned as you shot him a glare. “Quinn, don’t even start.” 

Cole held up his hands, desperate to escape the situation. “I’m leaving! I’m leaving!” He practically bolted out the door, muttering apologies under his breath as Quinn stepped aside to let him pass. 

You groaned, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “If anyone makes one joke about this, I’m throwing them off the boat.” You looked up at Quinn who was wearing a perfect, teasing smile. He had his yankees hat on backwards, his canucks shirt fitting perfectly over his build. If you weren’t stressing about the moments just before, you’d be absolutely drooling over him right now. 

Quinn chuckled, pushing off the door to walk closer. “Don’t worry, I’ll back you up. But for the record...” He sat beside you, tilting his head to catch your eyes. “I don’t blame Cole for freezing. You’re kind of hard to look away from.” 

Your heart skipped a beat at his tone, and you playfully shoved his shoulder. “You’re impossible.” 

He laughed, standing up and extending a hand to you. “Come on, Sunshine. Let’s go make sure Trevor hasn’t capsized the boat yet.” 

You rolled your eyes but took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “If he has, we’re throwing him in the lake.”

Quinn grinned, his hand lingering in yours for a moment longer than necessary. “Deal.” Quinn led you out of the room, his hand brushing yours as you both descended the stairs toward the dock. Outside, the sun glinted off the water, and the sound of laughter and splashing filled the air. Trevor was already in the lake, standing on the edge of the boat, waving his arms dramatically. 

“Come on!” He yelled. “We're losing precious hours of sunlight!” You scoffed and rolled your eyes as you and Quinn made your way down to the dock. You slipped one of Cole’s t-shirts over your head that you’d swiped from the room before heading down, not wanting to be fully exposed just yet. “O’captain o’captain,” Trevor started with a terrible fake British accent. “Come to ye mighty wheel and commandeer this ship from lord Luke.” 

You made your way onto the boat, sending Trevor a nudge that almost pushed him into the water. “Shut up.” You mumbled, taking your spot in one of the seats, isolated from everyone else. You tucked your legs underneath yourself as you leaned your elbow on the edge of the boat. 

You looked over at Trevor who rebalanced himself, jumping back into the boat with a smug grin. “Heard about your ‘bodacious rack’.” He said with a slight laugh. Your face flushed and you scoffed, turning to Cole who sat in front of you.

Fear struck his eye at the sight of your glare. “You told them that?” You scolded. 

“No, no! T-That’s not what I said.” He let out with a nervous laugh and a sheepish smile, straightening his posture. 

“Uh, that’s exactly what you said.” Luke chimed in, taking a sip of his beer. 

Your jaw dropped, a mix of shock and irritation bubbling up as you glared at Cole. “Seriously?” you said, crossing your arms. “Cole, you’ve got about five seconds to explain yourself before I toss you in the lake.” 

Cole raised his hands defensively, his face already bright red. “Wait, wait, wait! It wasn’t like that- I swear! I didn’t say it like that.” 

Trevor, of course, was grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Oh, but you did, buddy. Don’t try to backtrack now.” He mimicked Cole’s voice, dramatically exaggerated. “‘Man, I saw everything. Her whole top was down and she’s got this bodacious rack.’ Classic, Cole.” 

Luke snorted into his beer, clearly enjoying the show, while Quinn groaned from the driver’s seat, his head falling back slightly in exasperation. “Trevor, do you ever stop instigating?”

Trevor placed a hand over his heart, feigning innocence. “I’m just here to deliver the truth.”

Cole stammered, his words coming out in a jumbled mess. “I-I didn’t mean it like- like that! It was…it was an observation, okay?!” His hands flew up as if that would somehow help his case. “I was just- it slipped out, and then Trevor-” He gestured wildly toward Trevor, who was enjoying this far too much. “He made it worse!”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Oh, so it’s Trevor’s fault now?”

“Absolutely!” Cole nodded enthusiastically, latching onto the lifeline. “Trevor twisted my words!” 

You rolled your eyes, biting back a laugh despite your irritation. Turning to Quinn, who was still steering the boat, you said, “Can we leave Trevor and Cole stranded on an island somewhere?”

Quinn smirked, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Tempting, but then who would provide the entertainment?”

“Jack can,” you quipped, giving Jack a pointed look. “He’s just as bad.” 

Jack raised his drink in a mock toast. “Guilty as charged.” You looked over at Trevor who was still wearing a wide smile. You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you settled further into your seat, occasionally glancing over at Cole.

“Now I feel like I can’t take my shirt off.” You mumbled, adjusting your sunglasses on your head. 

Luke laughed slightly, walking over to sit next to you. “Don’t be ridiculous, bunny. You can take off your shirt.”

You looked over at him, a glare in your eye as he made himself comfortable next to you. “I really can’t.”

“It’s fine.” He said, his voice low. “You’ve done it a million times before, what’s so different about today?” You sighed, rolling your eyes once again. Reluctantly you grabbed the bottom hem of your shirt, pulling it up your body. Once you had the shirt halfway up, you glanced over at Cole. He was staring, watching as you slowly removed your shirt. His mouth was parted slightly and you could've sworn drool was going to slip out. 

“Nope, nope.” You said, still holding your shirt up. “Can’t do it.” You said glancing over at Luke. 

Jack groaned from his seat, tossing his head back slightly. “You're such a baby.”

“Look at Cole!” You pointed toward Cole, whose wide-eyed stare was a dead giveaway. 

His face turned even redder, and he immediately scrambled to defend himself. “I wasn’t- I wasn’t staring! I swear!” he stammered, his hands flailing wildly as if that would erase the moment. 

Trevor burst out laughing, practically doubling over. “Oh man, Cole, you’re making it so much worse!” 

“Exactly!” you shot back, lowering your shirt again and crossing your arms over your chest. “This is why I can’t take it off.”

Jack, who had been observing the chaos with growing impatience, groaned again. “For the love of god, we’re on a lake. You’re wearing a bikini. Just take it off and let Cole get over it already.”

“Easy for you to say!” you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him. “No one’s staring at you.” 

Trevor perked up, his grin widening. “I could stare at Jack if it makes you feel better.” 

Jack threw a bottle cap at him. “Shut up, Trevor.”

Luke, meanwhile, nudged you lightly with his elbow. “Come on, Bunny. You’re overthinking it. It’s just us.” You sighed, glancing between Luke’s calm expression and Cole’s absolute mortification. Despite the teasing, you knew Luke was right. You’d done this a hundred times before, just not after that incident. 

“Fine,” you muttered, your voice begrudging as you peeled the shirt off in one swift motion. You avoided Cole’s gaze entirely, tossing the shirt onto Luke’s lap for good measure. “There. Happy?” 

Luke smirked, casually picking up the shirt and tossing it toward the front of the boat. “Much better.” 

“Get me a drink?” You asked, pulling your hair into a bun. Luke nodded his head, walking to the cooler and returning with a peach high noon. He handed it over before returning to his spot next to you. He splayed his arm across the back of the boat behind you as you tucked closer into his side.  You leaned back on Luke's side, your legs tucked up in front of you as you cracked open the can, staring at Quinn pulling the boat from the dock. “This is nice.” You said with a sigh of relief, leaning your head back to look up at Luke. 

Luke glanced down at you, his lips quirking into a soft smile as his arm shifted slightly to rest more securely behind you. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that it felt like it was just for you. “It is.” The boat cut smoothly through the lake, the gentle hum of the engine blending with the sound of water lapping against the hull. The sun was warm, the breeze just cool enough to keep things comfortable, and for the first time in what felt like ages, you felt completely at ease. 

“Hey, Sunny,” Trevor said, walking over to sit next to you.

“Oh my god.” You groaned out as he took his spot. You lifted your legs so he could sit, then rested them on his lap. “What do you want?” 

Trevor lifted his hands in mock surrender, a smug grin forming across his face. “Just wanted to apologize.”

​​You raised an eyebrow, skeptical of Trevor’s sudden attempt at sincerity. “Apologize?” you echoed, crossing your arms as your legs remained draped over his lap. “What’s the catch?”

​​Trevor placed a hand over his heart, his grin never wavering. “No catch. I just felt bad about earlier, you know, with the whole…‘bodacious rack’ thing.” He paused dramatically, glancing at Luke, who was watching him with narrowed eyes. “I realize now that my words may have caused some…discomfort.”

“Oh, you realize now?” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. 

Trevor nodded solemnly, but his playful expression betrayed him. “Absolutely. So, to make it up to you…” He leaned in closer, his grin growing wider. “I’m offering you the first push when we inevitably throw Luke into the lake.”

Luke snorted, shaking his head. “You’re really working hard to shift the blame, aren’t you?���

“Trevor, the human deflection machine,” you muttered, shaking your head as you took another sip of your drink. “Your apology could use some work.”

“Hey, I’m trying here!” Trevor said, leaning back dramatically as he adjusted your legs on his lap. “But seriously, Sunny, no hard feelings, right?” 

You studied him for a moment, his ridiculous grin and puppy-dog eyes impossible to stay mad at for long. Finally, you sighed, rolling your eyes. “Fine. No hard feelings.” 

Trevor pumped his fist in victory. “Yes! See, Luke? That’s how you handle things like a mature adult.”

Luke smirked, his arm brushing against your shoulder as he leaned closer. “Pretty sure you wouldn’t know maturity if it hit you in the face.”

“Bold words from the guy who’s about to be pushed in,” Trevor shot back, winking at you as if to say game on. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at the chaos brewing. “You’re both children.”

“Children with impeccable charm,” Trevor quipped, holding out his fist for you to bump. 

You ignored his fist but gave him a teasing shove instead. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.” Trevor let out a gentle laugh as he leaned back in his seat. You shuffled your position, lounging further into Luke’s side. You glanced over at Cole who sat awkwardly as he talked to Jack, looking uncomfortable as ever. You frowned slightly at the sight. You were used to Cole constantly hitting on you, showering you with compliments, and you wouldn’t admit it but you missed it. “Cole!” You shouted in an attempt to gain his attention. He quickly whipped his head over to you, his face flushing slightly. “Those swim trunks look nice on you.” You said with a smirk before pushing your sunglasses further up the bridge of your nose, leaning your head back to look up at the sky. 

Cole’s eyes widened, his posture stiffening as a flush crept up his neck. “Uh- thanks,” he stammered, clearly caught off guard by the unexpected compliment. His gaze darted to Jack, who smirked knowingly, giving him a little shove.

“Relax, man,” Jack teased. “She’s just messing with you.” 

“Am I?” you replied, tilting your head slightly, your tone teasing as you kept your sunglasses on. You didn’t bother looking directly at Cole, but you could feel his nervous energy from across the boat. It was almost too easy. 

Trevor let out a low whistle, leaning forward from his seat. “Rare occurrence to see her flirting with you. Not even gonna attempt one, Caufield?” 

“Yeah, normally you treat her like she’s the love of your life.” Luke chuckled, his arm shifting slightly. 

Cole let out a heavy sigh, his face turning bright pink which he tried to cover with his sunglasses. “Alright,” He started, his voice shaky at first. “Come over here, hot stuff.” A satisfied smile wiped across your face as you got up from your spot leaning against Luke. Cole’s sudden confidence caught everyone off guard, including you. As you made your way over, you couldn’t help but smirk, your sunglasses hiding the glint of amusement in your eyes. 

“Hot stuff, huh?” you teased, standing in front of him with your arms crossed. “Big talk for someone who’s been blushing like crazy all day.” 

Cole leaned back slightly, regaining some composure now that he’d committed to the bit. “Gotta keep you on your toes, don’t I?” he replied, his voice steadier but still tinged with nervous energy. He patted the spot next to him. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging.” You glanced at the others, all of whom were watching with varying degrees of amusement. Trevor was practically bouncing in his seat, grinning insanely hard. Jack looked seconds away from gagging, and Luke raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical of Cole’s sudden bravado. 

Sliding into the seat next to Cole, you leaned into him slightly, your tone dripping with mock seriousness. “So, what’s the plan now, Mr. Smooth Talker?”

Cole chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh… I didn’t think that far ahead.”

Trevor erupted into laughter, slapping his knee. “Oh man, this is gold. Caufield finally shoots his shot and fumbles it immediately.”

Jack groaned, leaning back with a hand over his face. “This is painful to watch.”

You shook your head, biting back a laugh as you leaned closer to Cole. “Relax,” you said, your voice softer now. “You’re doing fine.” 

“Fine?” Cole repeated, his confidence returning slightly. “I think I’m doing great, actually. You’re sitting here, aren’t you?” 

Luke, who had been quiet for the past few moments, finally chimed in. “Don’t get used to it, Cole. She’ll be back here in, like, two minutes.” 

You turned your head, narrowing your eyes at Luke. “Oh, really?”

Luke shrugged, his smirk smug. “Yeah. You’re just messing with him. I know how this works, Bunny.”

Cole crossed his arms, leaning back as he grinned at Luke. “Jealous, Hughes?”

Luke rolled his eyes, but you caught the slight flush creeping up his neck. “Hardly,” he muttered.

Trevor clapped his hands together, clearly living for the drama. “Alright, let’s settle this with a little wager. How long does she stay over there before she’s back at Luke’s side?”

Jack groaned louder this time, standing up. “I’m jumping in the lake. Someone let me know when this disaster ends.” As Jack dove off the side of the boat, the group erupted into laughter, the tension breaking as you leaned back against the seat, still smirking. 

“You’re all ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head.

Cole grinned, nudging you lightly. “Yeah, but you love us anyway.” You couldn’t argue with that.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

After a long day of sitting in the sun, swimming in the lake, and dealing with Trevor, Quinn finally pulled the boat back into the dock. The sun was already setting when you stepped off, Cole’s hand out gallantly to help. You took it gratefully as you stepped onto the dock, the air already cooling down which left you freezing in your bikini. 

“Cold?” Treavor asked, walking up next to you.

Your teeth chattered as you tried to warm your arms with your hands. “Very.”

Trevor let out a soft laugh, looking over at you. “Race you to the house.” He said before taking off, sprinting through the yard.

“Not fair, Trevor!” You giggled, following close behind him. As you took off after Trevor, the cool grass tickling your feet, you couldn’t help but laugh despite the chill creeping into your skin. The fading sunlight painted the yard in shades of orange and gold, and Trevor’s exaggerated sprint ahead of you was just enough motivation to push you to keep up. 

“Come on, Sunny!” Trevor yelled over his shoulder, his voice full of mischief. “Can’t let me win that easily!”  Trevor reached the porch first, dramatically throwing his arms in the air. “Victory is mine!” he declared, spinning around to face you as you came to a stop, slightly out of breath. “Man, you’re slow.” 

You rolled your eyes, still laughing. “You had a head start, idiot.” 

Before Trevor could respond, Jack jogged up from behind, tossing a towel over your shoulders. “Here,” he said softly, his voice a stark contrast to Trevor’s boisterous teasing. “You’re freezing.” 

You gave him a grateful smile, pulling the towel tight around yourself. “Thanks, Jack. At least someone’s a gentleman.” 

Trevor feigned offense, holding his hand to his chest. “Wow. That hurts, Sunny.”

“It’s true,” Luke said as he strolled up the steps, shaking his head. “You ditch her in a bikini to sprint to the house, and you think you’re winning points?” 

Trevor shrugged, unapologetic. “She had fun.” 

“I’m gonna hit you,” you said, your voice light despite the threat. 

“Promises, promises,” Trevor quipped, dodging past you and into the house before you could retaliate. As you stepped inside, the warm air enveloped you like a hug, and the sound of the others following behind filled the space with a cozy buzz. 

Quinn wandered in last, shaking his head at the lingering chaos. “Do you guys ever relax?” he muttered, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. 

You plopped onto the couch, wrapping the towel tighter around yourself. “Relaxing is overrated,” you teased, looking up at Quinn. “Right, Quinny?” 

Quinn rolled his eyes but smirked as he tossed a sweatshirt your way. “Here. Before you start whining about being cold again.” 

“Whining?” you repeated, feigning shock as you pulled the sweatshirt over your head. “You’re lucky I like you, Hughes.” 

“Luckiest man alive,” he echoed dryly, shaking his head as he disappeared into the kitchen. You let out a sigh, sinking into the warmth of the couch. You sat back for a moment, watching Trevor and Jack laugh about something on Jack’s phone, Cole mumbling the lyrics to ‘Cardigan’ by Taylor Swift, Luke and Quinn searching the fridge for water bottles, just admiring the scene. You couldn’t have been happier anywhere else, and you were glad you finally made it to the lakehouse. 

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” You said, standing up from the couch. “Cole, please don’t barge in. I’ll lock the door just in case.” 

Cole, mid-verse in his rendition of Cardigan, froze, his face turning red as everyone burst out laughing. “Don’t do that!” he protested, his voice tinged with mock offense. “It was an accident!” 

Trevor smirked, leaning against the back of the couch. “Doesn’t mean we don’t expect it, lover boy.”

“Trevor, shut up,” Cole grumbled, glaring at him. “You’re the one who can’t go two minutes without harassing her.” 

“Hey, I’m just here to make her day a little brighter,” Trevor quipped, winking at you. “I’d never cross the bathroom boundary.” 

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the towel Jack had draped over you earlier. “Good to know the bar is that low. Thanks for clearing that up, Zegras.” 

Jack looked up from his phone, smirking. “Lock the door anyway. These guys are like wild animals.”

“Speak for yourself!” Luke called from the kitchen, holding up a water bottle like it was proof of his innocence. You giggled, ruffling Jack’s hair as you made your way up the stairs. 

You loved the lake, but if you were being honest, it made you feel disgusting. Sitting in the heat all day paired with swimming in water where you couldn’t see the bottom was bound to shake you up. You stepped into the shower, letting the hot water entrap your body, washing away every germ on your body. The steam from the hot water filled the small bathroom, cocooning you in warmth as the water cascaded over your skin. It was a relief, both physically and mentally, to scrub away the day’s grime. The mix of sunscreen, lake water, and sweat felt like a distant memory as you lathered soap over your skin, enjoying the sensation of being truly clean again. You tilted your head back, letting the water soak your hair, rinsing away the tangles left by the wind and water. The faint scent of your favorite shampoo filled the air, calming you further as you massaged it into your scalp. The day had been fun, filled with laughter and a little chaos, but this moment, just you and the hot water, felt like exactly what you needed to recharge. You stepped out of the shower, throwing a fresh towel over your body as you walked out of the bathroom. You headed down the hallway, hearing the faint sounds of everyone laughing. It was like music to your ears. You slipped into the spare room, making sure to lock the door behind you this time. You dropped the towel, taking a moment to fix your hair in the mirror before throwing one of Trevor’s Ducks sweatshirts over your head, along with some small athletic shorts. The soft fabric of Trevor’s sweatshirt engulfed you, its faint scent of laundry detergent and cologne oddly comforting. You smiled to yourself, knowing full well Trevor would make a big deal out of you “stealing” his sweatshirt the second he noticed. But for now, it was your little secret. You padded back down the stairs, the wood creaking softly under your bare feet. The living room came into view, and sure enough, chaos was in full swing. Trevor was standing on the couch, dramatically reenacting some story, while Cole was doubled over in laughter. Jack looked utterly unimpressed, scrolling on his phone, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he was holding back a smile. Luke was sprawled across the floor, throwing an occasional quip into the mix, and Quinn leaned against the wall, shaking his head but clearly amused. You walked over to Quinn first, wrapping your arms around his waist for a hug. You leaned your head against his chest, taking in his fresh scent. Judging by his wet hair and the warmth of his clothes, he’d also showered, unlike the other guys. 

“I’m so exhausted.” You croaked out, digging your face further into his chest.

Quinn chuckled softly, his hand instinctively resting on the back of your head as he returned the hug. “Long day, huh?” he asked, his voice low and soothing. 

“You have no idea,” you mumbled, your words slightly muffled by his shirt. “Between the lake, the sun, and Trevor being Trevor, I’m wiped.” 

He smirked, his hand brushing gently down your back before he pulled away slightly to look at you. “You still gonna have energy to deal with round two tomorrow?”

You groaned, leaning against him. “I might need to sleep for like, twenty hours first.” 

He shook his head, his smirk softening as he looked back at you. “Go sit down before you fall asleep standing up.” You nodded, letting him guide you toward the couch where Jack quickly shuffled to make room. You plopped down beside him, tucking your legs under you as you pulled Trevor’s oversized sweatshirt tighter around your body. 

“Nice sweatshirt, Sunny,” Trevor said, raising an eyebrow as he finally noticed. “Looks familiar.” 

You glanced up at him with an innocent smile. “Oh, this? No idea where it came from.” 

Jack snorted. “You’ll never get it back anyway. She’s stubborn.” 

“Exactly,” you said with a grin, leaning back and resting your head against Jack’s shoulder. “It’s mine now. Deal with it.” 

Trevor rolled his eyes but grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. “Fine. But only because it looks better on you.” 

“Everything looks better on her.” Cole let out with a soft smile as he laid back on the couch.

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “Smooth, Caufield. Very smooth.” The group erupted into laughter again, and you couldn’t help but smile, the exhaustion of the day melting away as you relaxed into the warmth and chaos of this little family. 

“Alright,” Quinn started, raising a hand as he stood in front of the couch. “First night at the house, what’s for dinner?”

“Pizza!” You shouted, raising both your hands in the air. 

Jack chuckled, putting his arm around your waist to pull you up closer. “Yes, pizza!” He yelled.

Quinn smirked, shaking his head at the sudden burst of energy. “Alright, pizza it is. Who’s calling it in?” 

“Not me,” Trevor said, holding his hands up defensively. “Last time I ordered, you all complained about the toppings.” 

“That’s because you thought anchovies were a good idea,” Luke quipped from his spot on the floor. “You’re banned from ordering.” 

“Hey, anchovies are a valid choice,” Trevor shot back, pointing a finger at Luke. “You’re just uncultured.”

Quinn sighed, already pulling his phone out. “Fine. What do we want?”

“Pepperoni,” Jack said immediately, his arm still casually draped around you. “Keep it classic.”

“Hawaiian,” Cole suggested, earning groans from most of the group.

“No pineapple!” you and Jack exclaimed in unison, making the others laugh. 

“Alright, alright, pepperoni and maybe a veggie for balance,” Quinn said, ignoring the chaos as he dialed the number. “Anything else?”

“Breadsticks!” Luke called out, raising his water bottle like it was a toast.

“And wings!” Trevor added, clearly back in high-energy mode.

Quinn sighed but nodded, pacing to the corner of the room as he started placing the order. “You guys are lucky I’m feeling generous.”

You leaned back against Jack, letting out a contented sigh. “See? This is why you’re my favorite, Quinn.”

“Careful, Sunny,” Trevor teased. “Jack might get jealous.”

Jack scoffed, giving your side a playful squeeze. “Please. I’m her favorite, and we all know it.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, pretending to think. “Debatable.” The group laughed, and the warmth of the moment settled over you like a blanket. The boys continued their chatter as Quinn called the pizza place from the corner. You pulled out your phone as Jack moved to the corner of the couch, pulling you along with him. You rested your back against him, his arm draped around you, tracing careful circles on your skin. As you scrolled through your phone, you couldn’t help but feel the soothing rhythm of Jack’s fingers tracing lazy circles on your arm. It was a small gesture, but one that anchored you amidst the playful chaos surrounding you. The hum of the boys’ voices filled the room, their laughter punctuated by Trevor’s dramatic retelling of some ridiculous story, likely exaggerated for effect. You scrolled on instagram, catching a post by the Devils of Nico and Timo. Your curiosity took over as you pressed on Nico’s tag, beginning to scroll through his profile. You smiled, looking at pictures of him back home in Switzerland. One of him crouching next to a dog in a flower field made you blush as you zoomed in on his face. 

“Why are you looking at Nico’s instagram?” Jack asked, his voice quiet.

“Why are you looking at my phone?” You snapped back, leaning your head up to look at him. 

Jack raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. “You’re on my teammate’s profile, zooming in on his face. It’s hard not to notice.” 

You huffed your breath, setting your phone down. “Maybe, if you just let me have a shot at him I wouldn’t-”

“Oh no, no, no,” He interrupted. “No way in hell am I gonna let you do that. We’ve been over this.” 

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back to fully face him, his arm still resting loosely around you. “Excuse me?” you said, your tone dripping with mock offense. “Let me? Since when do you get to decide who I can or can’t date?” 

Jack’s smirk faded slightly, replaced by a stubborn set to his jaw. “Since it’s Nico,” he said firmly, his voice low. “He’s not some random guy you can flirt with. He’s my captain. My teammate.” 

“And?” you countered, crossing your arms. “What does that have to do with me? It’s not like I’m asking for your permission.” Jack groaned, running a hand through his hair. “What, are you worried I’d distract him? Or embarrass you?” 

“No!” Jack said quickly, but the flicker of guilt in his expression made you narrow your eyes. 

“Wow, that’s exactly what it is, isn’t it?” you said, your voice laced with disbelief. “You think I’d embarrass you.” 

Jack sighed, his hand still tracing slow circles on your arm as if trying to calm the brewing storm. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” you pressed, your voice softer now but still holding its edge.

Jack hesitated, his eyes flickering down to where his hand rested on your arm. “I just…It’s complicated, princess. Just- shit I'd rather not get into right now.” He said, his hand moving to rub his face. You softened slightly at Jack’s uncharacteristic hesitation. It wasn’t often he struggled to find the words, and the way his hand rubbed his face told you he was trying to bury something deeper than the surface-level teasing you were used to.

“It’s complicated?” you repeated, your tone quieter now, curiosity lacing your words. “Jack, you know that’s not gonna fly with me. Just spit it out.” 

Jack sighed, dropping his hand from his face to rest it on the back of the couch. “It’s just… weird, okay? You and Nico. I can’t explain it.” 

You tilted your head, studying him as he avoided your gaze. “Weird how? Like, you’re protective of him? Or…?” You trailed off, waiting for him to fill the silence. 

Jack let out a frustrated laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, alright? I don’t want to see you with him. It’s not about Nico. It’s about…you.” 

Your stomach flipped at his words, but you kept your expression neutral. “About me?”

Jack finally met your eyes, his gaze steady and uncharacteristically serious. “Yeah. About you. I’m used to having you around, and I don’t want anything to change.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden vulnerability. “Jack-”

“It’s stupid, okay?” he said quickly, cutting you off before you could say more. “Just forget I said anything.” 

You shook your head, sitting up straighter. “No, it’s not stupid. Jack, if you’re trying to tell me something, just say it. I’m not gonna bite.”

He groaned, leaning his head back against the couch. “It’s not that easy.” 

You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “Then make it easy. It’s me, Jack. You can tell me.” Jack sighed again, his eyes flicking back to yours. For a moment, he looked like he was on the verge of saying something, but then Trevor’s loud voice broke through the tension. 

“Hey! Pizza’s here!” Trevor yelled from the front door, his excitement cutting through the quiet.

Jack immediately pulled away, the moment dissipating as he ran a hand down his face again. “Saved by the bell,” he muttered, standing up and avoiding your gaze. You stayed on the couch, watching him go as your mind raced. There was something there, something he wasn’t ready to admit, but the weight of his words lingered, leaving you wondering what exactly he was holding back. 

“You good, bunny?” Luke asked, standing in front of you as you processed the interaction with Jack.

“Yeah, yeah. I-I’m good.” You stammered out, getting up from your seat on the couch. 

Luke smiled, placing an arm around your shoulder to pull you close. “Good. We have a pizza to demolish.” He said, shaking you slightly in his arm. ​​You laughed softly, allowing Luke to guide you toward the dining area where the rest of the guys were already gathering around the table. Trevor was handing out plates with exaggerated flair, Cole was busy inspecting the pizza boxes like he was on quality control duty, and Quinn was unboxing the breadsticks with the precision of a surgeon. Jack was leaning against the counter, his arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold. His expression was unreadable, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment before he turned his attention back to the pizza. You felt a twinge in your chest, but Luke’s arm around your shoulders helped ground you.

“Sunshine, c’mere.” Quinn said from the counter where he unboxed the breadsticks. You escaped Luke’s grasp, skipping over towards where Quinn stood. You got up next to him, putting your face close to his as he looked down at the box. 

“What’s up?” You asked playfully.

“Got these just for you,” He said, holding up two small containers of ranch. “Don’t let Cole see ‘em.” He laughed quietly before slipping them into the pocket of your hoodie.

You beamed at Quinn, his quiet thoughtfulness making your chest warm. “You’re the best,” you said, slipping your arms around his waist for a quick hug. 

“Don’t let that get out,” he teased, patting the top of your head affectionately. “Gotta keep my reputation intact.” 

Trevor, never one to miss a beat, leaned against the counter dramatically. “I feel like I’m missing out on a secret conspiracy. Sunny, spill the tea.” 

“Um there is no tea,” you replied, grabbing a slice of pizza and making your way back to the table. “Unless you count Quinn looking insanely good handling those breadsticks.” 

Trevor’s jaw dropped in mock shock as the rest of the table erupted into laughter. “Whoa, whoa, pause. Is this the first time you’ve hit on Quinn outside the group chat?” Trevor asked, pointing dramatically between you and Quinn. Quinn, unfazed, smirked and shook his head, placing the breadsticks on the table.

Jack, who had been leaning back in his chair, finally chimed in, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, princess, tell us more about Quinn’s breadstick skills.” 

You rolled your eyes, biting into your pizza. “Don’t be jealous, Hughes. It’s not a good look on you.”

Jack’s smirk faltered, his brow arching slightly as he stared you down. “Jealous? Of him?” He gestured toward Quinn. “I don’t need breadsticks to be the favorite.” 

“Debatable,” Luke quipped from his spot, grinning. “Quinn’s got the ranch hookup. That’s game changing.”

“Thank you, Luke!” you said, gesturing toward him with your slice. “Finally, someone understands the value of ranch.” 

Cole, however, narrowed his eyes suspiciously, leaning forward in his chair. “Wait. Ranch? Where’s the ranch?” 

“Uh, nowhere,” you said quickly, pulling the hoodie pocket closer to your body. Cole’s gaze darted toward Quinn, then back to you.

Quinn raised his hands in mock innocence. “Don’t look at me, Caufield. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“There’s no ranch,” you said firmly, though the slight smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. The dinner consisted of stories about past summers, laughs over things Cole had said, Luke attempting to do a backflip in the kitchen which ended with a face plant to the floor and a “You’re gonna get injured before the season even starts” from Quinn. You smiled, taking in the scene before you, just grateful you made it to this moment. After you all finished with dinner, everyone made their way to the back deck for a bonfire while you and Quinn stayed back to clean up. The soft hum of laughter and chatter drifted in from the back deck as you and Quinn gathered plates and empty pizza boxes. The kitchen felt warm, not just from the remnants of the oven’s heat but from the lingering joy of the evening. You caught Quinn’s eye as he stacked a few plates, his expression calm and content.

“Hey, is Jack acting…weird- to you?” You asked, cutting Quinn off guard as he finished stacking the plates. 

Quinn paused, his hand hovering over the stack of plates as he turned to look at you, his brow furrowing slightly. “Weird how?” he asked, his tone steady but curious. 

You shrugged, trying to sound casual. “I don’t know, he’s just been... quieter than usual. And earlier, he said some stuff that didn’t really make sense. Like, he wanted to say something but couldn’t.” 

Quinn tilted his head, considering your words. “Jack’s always been a little hard to read. But yeah, now that you mention it, he did seem a little off tonight.”

You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. “It’s like he’s holding something back, but I can’t figure out what. It’s...frustrating.” 

Quinn’s eyes softened as he studied your face. “You two are close. Maybe he’s trying to work through something but doesn’t know how to talk about it yet.” 

“Maybe,” you murmured, your gaze drifting toward the back door where the sound of Trevor’s exaggerated laugh carried through. “I just feel like there’s something I’m missing.”

Quinn set the plates aside and turned to face you fully, his expression calm and reassuring. “Give him some time. If it’s important, he’ll talk to you when he’s ready. Jack’s stubborn, but he’s not one to keep things bottled up forever.” 

You smiled faintly, appreciating his steady presence. “Thanks, Quinny. You always know what to say.” 

He smirked, bumping your shoulder lightly. “Someone’s gotta keep the peace around here.” The two of you stood there in silence for a moment. Quinn, glancing down at the floor, fiddling with the keys in his pocket and you, crossing your arms as you stared into the living room entryway. “Listen, sunshine,” He started, breaking the silence. “There’s something i’ve been wanting to talk to you about-”

Before he could continue, Trevor’s voice rang out from the deck, louder than before. “Sunny! Quinn! Stop being lame and get out here! The marshmallows are calling!” 

Quinn let out a sigh, pushing off from his spot against the counter. “We’ll talk later.” You nodded, though curiosity flickered in your chest at Quinn’s abrupt pause. He gave you a small, reassuring smile before heading toward the back deck, the sound of Trevor’s persistent shouting growing louder as he opened the door. You followed close behind, filing the moment away in your mind to revisit later. The deck was alive with the glow of the fire and the warm energy of the group. Luke was busy toasting marshmallows, though half of his attempts ended up charred. Trevor was narrating his process like he was on a cooking show, while Cole argued about the correct marshmallow-to-chocolate ratio for the perfect s’more. Jack, as usual, lingered on the edge of the chaos, leaning against the railing with his hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket. You grabbed a chair near the fire, letting the warmth soak into your skin as the cool lake breeze rustled through the trees. Jack’s quiet demeanor didn’t escape your notice, and your earlier conversation with Quinn lingered in your mind. After a while, Quinn sat beside you, nudging your knee with his. “Feeling better?” he asked, his voice low enough to stay between the two of you. You nodded, glancing at him with a faint smile. 

Trevor’s loud laughter broke through your moment, drawing your attention back to the group. “Jack!” he called, pointing dramatically at his friend. “Stop brooding over there and make a damn s’more.” 

Jack rolled his eyes, pushing off the railing and walking over. “I’m not brooding.”

“Sure,” Luke said with a smirk, handing Jack a marshmallow. “That’s why you’ve been staring at the fire like it owes you money.” Jack snorted, but his gaze flickered to you briefly before he sat down across the fire. You caught his look and held it for a second, a silent question hanging between you, but he quickly turned his attention to skewering the marshmallow.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The night air had grown cooler, and the flickering embers of the fire cast long shadows as you stretched, feeling the day’s exhaustion settle into your bones. Cole and Luke had already disappeared inside, their playful banter fading into the house as they headed to bed. Quinn had followed not long after, muttering something about being the responsible one and making sure the fire was fully out. You, Jack, and Trevor were the last to carry your tired bodies inside. You walked into the house next to Trevor while Jack followed not far behind. You rubbed your eyes, ready to get a real goodnight's sleep, unlike the night before. 

Trevor let out an exaggerated yawn as he reached the spare room, quickly moving to give you a side hug. “G’night, Sunny.”

“Night, Trev.” You said, your voice raspy as you craved sleep. You released yourself from Trevor’s hug, mirroring his yawn as you walked. You made your way to Jack’s room, your hand just barely touching the doorknob before he spoke up behind you.

“What are you doing?” He asked, his voice low but laced with a sort of sterness you’d never heard from him.

You turned to face him, your eyes narrowing slightly. “Uh…going to bed?” You replied with a sassy tone. 

Jack rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “That’s my room.”

You scoffed, moving away from the door. “Yeah, obviously. This morning you said-”

“Yeah, but I decided I want to sleep in my bed tonight.” 

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms in defiance. “Oh, so now you’re kicking me out?”

Jack shrugged, leaning casually against the wall. “Pretty much.” 

You groaned, throwing your hands in the air. “Jack, I’m exhausted. Just let me crash in your bed. You can take the couch.” 

“No.”

You sighed, looking up at the ceiling in an attempt to not make eye contact. “I don’t know what the hell is going on with you tonight,” You said, tilting your head back down to face him. “I don’t know what kind of shit you’ve got going on in your life that you won’t talk to me about, but don’t take it out on me.” 

Jack pushed himself off the wall, his expression growing meaner. “The kind of shit I've got going on doesn’t concern you.” (IT TOTALLY DOES) He said with a nasty tone as he moved closer to you. “Go sleep in the bed you were given at the beginning of this trip.” Your jaw clenched at his words, and you could feel the sting of them settle in your chest. Jack had always been quick with his sarcasm, but this felt different, harsher, colder. You took a small step back, crossing your arms tightly across your chest like you were shielding yourself. 

“Wow,” you said, your voice quieter now but still firm. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to care about you anymore.” Jack flinched at your words, his mean exterior cracking for just a moment. He opened his mouth to respond, but you held up a hand, cutting him off. “Whatever,” you said, shaking your head as you turned toward the hallway. “I don’t need this right now, Jack. Sleep wherever the hell you want.” You heard the door slam as you made your way down the hallway, your blood boiling with every stomp of your foot. You made it to the spare room, cracking the door slightly to get a look at Trevor and Cole. Trevor was man-spreading over the entire bed, snoring even louder than last night. You looked down to see Cole on your air mattress which was fully deflated at this point. You let out a sharp sigh, not knowing where to go.

“My room’s always an option. No snoring, no body-slamming. Just saying.” Quinn’s words from this morning echoed in your mind as you took in the scene in front of you. The thought of Quinn’s offer lingered, a tempting alternative to the chaos of the spare room and the sting of Jack’s harsh words. You closed the door quietly, leaning against it for a moment to steady your racing thoughts. The day’s exhaustion tugged at your body, and all you wanted was a peaceful place to sleep. With a deep breath, you pushed yourself off the door and made your way toward Quinn’s room, your steps quiet as the house settled into silence. When you reached his door, you hesitated, your hand hovering over the handle. Is this a bad idea? you wondered, biting your lip. But the muffled sound of Trevor’s snoring and the image of your deflated air mattress pushed you to turn the knob. The door creaked softly as it opened, revealing Quinn’s room in complete pitch black darkness.

You carefully walked over to the edge of the bed, seeing Quinn with his eyes closed and his hair tousled against the pillow. “Quinn,” You whispered. He stirred slightly at the sound of your voice, his eyes fluttering open as he turned his head toward you. The dim light from the hallway illuminated his face just enough for you to see his sleepy confusion.

“Hmm?” he mumbled, his voice groggy. “What’s up?” 

You quickly moved your knees onto the bed. “Scooch over.” Quinn let out a soft smile through his closed eyes as you pulled the comforter over your body. “Cole took over my air mattress.”

Quinn let out a low chuckle, his voice still thick with sleep. “Of course he did,” he muttered, shifting slightly to give you more space. His arm brushed against yours as he adjusted the blanket, the warmth of his presence instantly comforting. 

“Thanks,” you murmured, sinking into the mattress. The bed was far more comfortable than your deflated air mattress had ever been, and you couldn’t help but sigh in relief. 

He turned slightly, lying on his side to face you. The faint glow from the hallway cast just enough light for you to catch the gentle amusement in his eyes. “You gonna steal all the blankets, or are we sharing?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I’ll share, but no promises if I get cold.”

Quinn chuckled again, his hand tugging the comforter up over your shoulders. “Fair enough.” As the silence settled between you, the warmth of the bed and the quiet intimacy of the moment began to sink in. You shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, and your leg brushed against Quinn’s. The faint contact made your heart skip, but before you could move away, his arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer. 

“Better?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath caught for a moment, but the warmth of his touch and the steady rhythm of his breathing calmed you. “Yeah,” you said softly, relaxing into his hold. “Much better.” Quinn’s fingers rested lightly against your back, his touch gentle and unassuming. You let your head rest against his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling you into a sense of calm you hadn’t felt all day. His other hand came up to rest lightly against your shoulder, holding you close but not overwhelming.

“You’re warm,” you mumbled, your voice heavy with exhaustion as you nestled closer. 

He let out a soft hum, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Guess I’m good for something.” You smiled against him, the tension of the day melting away as you let yourself relax fully in his arms. His presence was steady, grounding, and you couldn’t help but feel safe as the quiet of the room wrapped around you both.

“Goodnight, Sunshine,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet fondness.

“Goodnight, Quinn,” you replied, your words barely audible as sleep began to pull you under. With his arms around you and the warmth of his body against yours, you finally felt at peace.

[gublerryswift]

I do, I do, I do | Spencer Reid x Reader

In which spencer proposes to you.

Absolutely tooth rotting fluff

Contents: Head over heels spence, pet names (honey, angel, darling...)

Warning: none!

a/n: title is a reference to "helpless" from Hamilton & there's a scene inspired by "the tortured poets department" (can u tell I love music?). This is my favorite fic I have ever written.

---

You and Spencer have been dating for 5 years now and, since last year, the team had begun asking the two of you - especially Reid - when were you guys going to “tie the knot”. You and Spencer had talked about it, both agreeing that you both did want to get married, but we’re not in a rush.

Now, you’re at Spencer's house getting ready for one of Rossi's famous dinners. When you look through the mirror, you see Spencer leaning against the door, watching you getting ready while he cuffs the sleeves of his black button-up shirt.

“You’re looking divine angel”

“Thank you honey” You say, turning to him “By the way, this is your last chance to kiss me, unless you also want to wear some red lipstick to Rossi’s”

He giggles, giving you a quick peck on the lips before leaving the bathroom to let you finish getting ready.

Later that night, you, Spencer and the rest of the team are all sitting at the dining table, talking and laughing. This is one of those few, but extremely special moments in which you guys forget all the horrors that happen at work and just are happy together.

You’re in an extremely exciting talk with Garcia about the latest fashion news, a topic that both of you really loved when you feel Spencer playing with your hands, something he usually did, so you did not pay much attention to it. But, at a point you felt him place the small ring he sometimes wore on your finger, specifically your left ring finger, the one you put wedding rings on. When you looked down at it, your heart almost stopped.

He leaned closer to whisper in your ear “It looks perfect on you” and then took it off, continuing to talk to Morgan about… Something. If you were to be honest, after that, you spaced out for a couple seconds, your heartbeat seemed so loud that it replaced all the other sounds around you.

—

2 months later, you’re remembering this moment as you get ready for a very suspicious dinner date with Spencer. Since what happened on Rossi's get together, you knew he was thinking about it and started your detective work to try and figure out when it might happen.

You had asked - no, begged Morgan and Penelope for any kind of clue. It's not that you wanted to know exactly when and where, you just needed a clue to know how to prepare yourself. After a while, you just gave up and decided to let it happen.

You became suspicious when Spencer asked Hotch for you both to have a day off, something you both rarely requested. He also bought you a Vivienne Westwood dress you had been eying for years now.

“Spencer Reid, you did not. Oh my god you're crazy” You said as you opened the box

“Did you like it?”

“Are you kidding? I love it, thank you so much” You say, leaning in to embrace him in a tight hug

“Maybe I can take you to dinner this Saturday, and you can wear it” He says between giggles because of how wide your smile was, oh how he loved pampering you.

“Sounds perfect honey”

Now, finally the day you had been so excited for. Could Spencer just have felt like giving you the dress? Yes, but for some reason you felt there was more to it. Maybe the way he spent the whole day trying to hide how nervous he is, the way he’s letting you take your sweet time getting ready, saying things like “don’t rush honey” or the mysterious call he received from Morgan earlier that day but you were sure something was going to happen.

You finish getting ready and get into the car with him, he’s showering you with compliments the whole way. When he stops the car something is off, this is not a restaurant, in the dark you can’t really make out where you are but it seems familiar.

He gets out of the car, going around and opening the door for you, helping you get out. He walks you to the entrance of the place and opens the door that you now have recognized to be the library you two loved and also the place we’re he finally asked you out on a date after years of secretly-not-so-secretly being in love with you. Only now, there was a small round table there, with lit candles and a table set for two.

The shock made you not realize that Spencer had now let go of your hand, as you look to your side, you're met with your boyfriend down on one knee and a small velvet box in his hand.

“Honey, I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you. You’ve been my best friend, the best thing that ever happened to me, you make all the crazy stuff we go through easier, because we’re goin through it together. There’s no one I would rather live life with than you, so will you marry me?”

“Spencer..” That’s the only thing you manage to say, shocked and feeling a kind of happiness you never experienced before. “Of course I will. Oh my god I love you so much” You say, pulling on his arm so he stands up and you kiss him deeply. Feeling an amount of love you never thought was possible.

Once you pull away, he places the delicate ring on your hand and kisses you again. And all you can think is how you can’t wait to spend the rest of your life with him.

[ozuuoou]

⟡⋆.˚˚₊‧꒰ა ⋆｡°⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Itoshi Rin x Reader

Post argument fluff

———————————————————————————————————————

"Why are you so clingy? Get lost, disappear for all I care."

Those were the last words you heard before your fiancé walked out of your shared home, heading to who knows where.

⋆.˚˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚⊹ ࣪ ˖

Hearing those sharp words made you feel as if your heart was stabbed a million times. As a result, you chose to sleep on the couch.

As you lay on the couch, engulfed by the dim light of the living room, you couldn't stop the tears from bursting right through your eyes. The scene replaying over and over again made it hurt more than it already did.

To avoid thinking about it more, a decision was made: to sleep. Just as you were about to close your eyes, you hear the front door open and shut, along with the light pads that came from your fiancé seemingly getting closer and closer to where you're at. Not wanting to pay it any mind, you pretended to sleep. Until you feel a pair of eyes staring at you from behind. You were bothered, of course, but chose to close your eyes nonetheless.

A cold gust of wind flew by in the moment of silence until you felt the cushion of the couch dip lower and a pair of hands wrap around you. Surprised, you turned around. "Rin?" you asked. "You sh-" Just as you were about to speak again, you were cut off. "Why sleep here?" Everything went silent for a minute. "I figured I'd sleep here, for space" you replied, hearing this made the teal-eyed man feel more guilty, making him tighten his grip on your waist a bit more.

"You shouldn't be sleeping here. Go to bed; you have a big day tomorrow, remember?" you added, hoping to shake him off. Another wave of silence. After about a minute, he spoke, "Are you still mad? I'm sorry, I didn't mean any of those things. I was just tired and frustrated..." His voice was shaky as he buried his face more into the crook of your neck. "It's okay. I know I can be overly clingy at times. I was just so excited to finally spend time with you, but I guess I overreacted," hearing that reply broke him more, as if you're blaming yourself for something that's his fault. "Now, go to bed; you have to wake up early." He felt that you were uncomfortable, so he unlatched himself and walked away, leaving you alone in the dim room.

After changing his clothes, he went and got ready for bed, and fuck, was it cold and lonely. "So this is what it's like," he mumbled as he laid down on the cold bed, looking at your spot where it lies cold and empty. Seeing that horrid view made his heart drop to his stomach. Hours passed by as he twisted and turned, trying every possible way to make himself fall asleep. From turning the lamp on and off to making pillow figures of what is assumed to be you (creepy, but let's face it, bro's coping), and unfortunately, none worked. Oh my god, he felt like a Victorian kid dying from a severe illness, laid down on the bed, huffing and sweating with worry. Not wanting to put up with this feeling, he marched downstairs to where you were sleeping, and man, he didn't even spare a second as he immediately jumped to cuddle you, arms around your waist with his head nuzzled in your chest and neck and all. "Goddamn, this is way better," he screamed, mentally, as he inhaled your scent that he oh so missed.

With all the shuffling around, you wake up, feeling a figure trapping you. Readjusting your eyes to the surroundings, you look down to see Rin all snuggled up next to you. You tap his shoulder. "Why are you here? I told you to sleep on the bed..." you say, groggily. To which he replies, "I just can't sleep... I know you're upset, but please, let me sleep with you," as he looks up, his face all teary. "I'm sorry, please don't avoid me... I'll do better. I swear," he adds, tightening his hold around your waist.

Unable to resist such a cute face, you sighed, cupping his face as you peppered kisses on his poor face. "You promise?" you asked, your voice soft, almost a whisper. "Mhm, I promise," he replied, leaning into your touch. "Do you want to go on a date tomorrow," he added. I'd love to, baby, but you're busy tomorrow." "Skipping practice for a day won't hurt," he chuckled. You responded with a hum as you pressed yourself more, burying his face into your neck and chest, to which he let his hands roam under your clothes, rubbing circles on your back while the other sneakily fondled your ass. You chuckled at the response. "How about a little café date after we go grocery shopping?" you asked, and he replied with a muffled hum.

He peeked his head. "We're good now, right?" he asked. "Yeah, we're all good now, baby," to which he smiled and added, "I love you." You replied with the sweetest, "I love you too." Upon hearing that, he nuzzled right back into your chest.

⋆.˚˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚⊹ ࣪ ˖

Guess who'll be walking on the produce isle with a big smile on his face? Definitely a man named Itoshi Rin.

[mayaflowerxs]

BABY MAKING

Synopsis: What was meant to be a quick shopping trip to Target ends in you and your husband trying for a second baby.

Warning: Fluff / Humorish / Smut. Swear word usage, Est. Couple, Father!Jaehyun, pregnancy kink, daddy kink, and more!

A/N: Here’s a little something while I finish the requests sorry it’s taking a while, anyways enjoy! :)

Pairing: Jaehyun x fem reader

Your parents had insisted on looking over your daughter which you didn’t hesitate to agree. You had to admit, you love your daughter a blessing really but it’s gotten a point in your life where you just need that fresh breath of air. Even if it means your time be spent running errands. Much like you, your husband was on the same page. Endless nights from both work and parenting takes a toll on a person. The eye bags on both yours and his face have gotten visibly deeper along with the noticeable fatigue. And as you drop off your daughter with one last kiss to her adorable little head, the two of you were off.

Target. The store where there’s practically everything one could possibly need. You enter wearing baggy sweats and lose t-shirt. Hair in a messy bun as you start looking over your grocery list, for the lack of time the list has gotten rather long. Jaehyun by your side as he took the responsibility in maneuvering the cart. “Eggs, Milk, Diapers, Paper Towels…” as the two of you go aisle by aisle you felt yourself at ease for the time being. For a while it seemed like it was only you two. Just how it was only a year ago. It still feels odd to think you’re a mother now. Staring down at your hand and seeing the pearly white Diamond glimmering on your ring finger, shifting your eyes and seeing Jaehyun’s as well. Feeling his elbow nudge you, you look up at him. A soft smile on his face as he tilts his head at you. “You okay? You kinda spaced out on me.” Chuckling lightly you nod, “I’m good. You got the formula?” “Right here. Oh look they have my socks I wear.” Letting him walk off to inspect the aisle of socks, you check off the formula on your list. Waiting for your husband to choose a pair of socks took quite a while, too long you might say. And just before you’re about ready to hurry him up you hear the cry of a baby behind you.

Turning and seeing a mother had been strolling by, picking up her son as she consoles him. You can’t help but smile at the scene, until you stopped. With wide eyes, you turn to face your husband. “Jae gimme your hoodie.” Not turning to face you he responds, “Baby didn’t I say to bring a sweater? I told you it was gonna be cold.” He snorts wincing when you leave a rather hard smack on his bicep. Looking back, his eyes widen when he sees you clenching your chest. “Are you…?” “Yes Jae, I’m lactating!” The sound of a baby’s cry has left a wet patch on your through your shirt.

Yay on motherhood.

Quick to take his hoodie off, he covers you from any passerby’s. “Can’t believe this is happening.” Hearing Jaehyun chuckle, you send him a glare as you are left uncomfortably soaked. “Lets just get the rest of the groceries and get out of here.” You tell him annoyedly, and without another word he grabs his socks and quickly puts it in the cart.

With every passing second spent in Target was just another second your poor breasts were being filled with milk. And as the thought came in, the realization settled. “God I forgot the breast pump is broken.” You say, “It’s alright we can go grab another it’ll be the last thing before checking out.” Nodding the two of you make your way out. About to enter the aisle you’re forcibly knocked into another person walking out in a hurry. Clutching your chest in pain by the sudden pressure. “Excuse you!” Jaehyun shouts when he sees the woman simply walk by without even acknowledging your presence. Rolling his eyes at her, his irritated expression changes immediately of one of worry. “You okay baby?” Out of words to say from the pain you simply nod and wave him off. Instead you merely point at the breast pump. “Right.” Grabbing it and putting it in the cart, he wraps an arm around your waist and helps you move. By the time the two of you made it outside, you didn’t wait for Jaehyun and instead grabbed the box with the pump and ran straight to the passengers seat.

A grin on his face as he watched you, wearing slides and holding your chest as you struggled to open the door, looking up at him and seeing he had the keys held up for you to see. “Open it!” He hears you yell in which he snorts and does so. By the time he’s done filling the trunk with the grocery bags, he gets in and sees you almost filling a bottle full of breast milk. “Did not think it’d get swollen so quickly.” You moan in pain as you try to massage the tender breast. Sending you a sympathetic smile he leans in and kisses you. “Love you.” He mumbles on your lips. “Yeah yeah-“ You say trying to not put much attention to the obvious heat your face was getting from his words. Years later and still he had you a blushing mess. Hearing him laugh, he leans further and presses a kiss on your boob. Buckling in, he turns on the ignition and looks over at you. “Want Starbucks? Heard it’s okay to have a bit of caffeine while breast feeding…I can even get you a cake pop.” Looking at him, you contemplate it for a bit before nodding. Smiling, he rests a hand on your thigh and gives it a soft squeeze before backing out of the parking lot.

By the time you’re in the drive thru and waiting in the long line of cars, Jaehyun can’t help but revert his eyes over at you. The pumping is rather loud and after a while it’s gotten annoying with his hoodie constantly in the way so you pushed it up and now have your entire chest out in the open. Thank god for the tinted windows you managed to convince him to get. Swallowing as he bounces his leg quicker than ever. “Geez what’s gotten you so fidgety?” You joke at him, completely oblivious to the effect you have on him. Missing the hard gulp he takes, he doesn’t have time to respond to you before he’s having to drive forward and roll his window down. The man about to read him his bill, gets his words caught in his throat when he noticed you. Jaehyun whips his head around and grabs his hoodie and tugs it down. A whine escapes you as it caused the bottle to tip and have some of the milk spill.

“Jae-“ Face palming when you see the poor boy’s face red and hot you look down. Resting a hand on the arm rest covering your view of him. “Sorry about that.” Jaehyun can merely say before handing him his card. Clearing his throat awkwardly, the cashier mutters out a low, ‘it’s okay’ before swiping the card.

“You could have at least warned me.” You tell him the second the window is up and getting out of the drive thru. “I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking how could I?” “What, are you saying my breasts are too distracting?” You ask him as you take a bite out of your cake pop. He goes to respond but is cut off when you groan in pain again. “God I don’t understand how my girls can work so fast. I’m already full again!” Hearing the sound of the pump again, Jaehyun takes a quick glance over and seeing your breasts were out in the open again. Feeling the familiar tightness in his pants he shifts in his seat uncomfortably before clearing his throat. “Babe I know it’s something out of your control but-“ he barely manages to get out as his hand grips on the steering wheel, his other on your thigh riding higher up your leg.

“Oh my god are you seriously turned on right now?” You say surprisingly. “Can you blame me? You know I’m a titties man.” Slapping his chest, he smirks and glances over at you briefly. “Gosh when aren’t you horny?” “Hey I didn’t see you complaining the night our daughter was conceived.” Mouth slightly parted you squint your eyes at him. “My period was close to kicking in, my hormones were running high.” “Yeah,” he scoffs. “Hormones alright let’s blame it on that.” He finishes while trailing higher until they rest on top of your clothed cunt. Gasping, you grip his wrist. “Still sensitive as always, shall I blame that on the hormones as well?”

Smirking when he sees you spread your legs he begins to rub circles. A small moan falls off your lips, “Of course I’m sensitive, I did just shit out a baby a few months ago.” “Birthed babe, you birthed our daughter.”

“Yeah well when you’re in a state of pure agony you no longer give a shit if you were constipated or giving birth either way, you’re being ripped apart regardless.”

Lifting your hand, he takes it up to his lips and presses a kiss. “And I’m so proud of you for that. I don’t say it enough but you really are so strong and admirable, I could never and it’s why I love you so much.” Sending him a soft smile, you pick up your drink and take a sip of it. For a while it was silent the car ride home, and it isn’t until you’re only a block away does he speak up.

“I’m still horny by the way.”

The groceries go ignored the second Jaehyun parks in the drive way. Carrying you inside the empty house his focus is on you. Sliding his tongue in your mouth as you run your hands through his hair. Setting you on to the closest furniture, the couch. He begins to take off his shirt. Tossing it aside as he leans back in to attach his lips with yours. Large hands roaming up your stomach, lifting your shirt to trace the beautiful stretch marks he’s fallen in love with. A memory of when you were pregnant with his daughter. Finding his way to your breasts where you let out a loud moan the second he punches your nipples. Trailing gentle kisses on them and feeling himself get harder when he notices a small streak of your milk fall down your chest. The tightness in his jeans is painful, and his grunts are heard throughout the house the second your hand is placed on top of his bulge.

“Please baby.” “What is it my love?” He curls a finger underneath your chin and tilts his head. “Mhm?” “Let me make you feel good.” Pupils dark and dilated, he finds no reason to object. Standing up and unbuckling his belt, he hissed when the cool air hits his hard cock. Soft hands fisting him as you kitten lick him. Too slow for his taste, and so he grabs your chin and gets you to open. Grabbing his dick and propping it in your mouth. “Good girl.” He groans when he feels your tongue salivate him. Taking him deeper and quickening your pace. Bobbing your head as you gag every now and then. Music to his hears, enamored with your beautiful eyes that look up at him for approval. “Taking me so well, keep sucking pretty girl.” Fisting your hair in his hold his breathing becomes uneven the sloppier you suck him. Pulling away and a long stripe of your saliva connecting you to him. He’s red and veiny and it only makes you want to keep sucking him more. Until he’s completely empty. Jaehyun was right, hormones wasn’t the reason why you yearned for him so much. You being on your period wasn’t why you got pregnant. You got pregnant because you want him, everyday. A man so appealing like him is impossible to not be attracted.

The man standing before you yearns for you just as much. Seeing you on your knees taking his big cock is enough to fuck you with his babies any time of the day. With how sex craved the two of you are, he’s surprised it took you guys this long to finally get pregnant. The slurps and gargles are heard bouncing off the walls, grunts and groans coming from your husband add on to it. His abs are clenched when he feels the familiar feeling beginning to form. Throwing his head back, he starts fucking your throat. With need and desperation he’s trying to find his climax. “Shit!” He can’t help but swear when you suck in your cheeks. The tightness around his dick, your warm mouth and talented tongue is enough to throw him over the edge. He feels himself explode in your mouth, shooting it all down your throat. Shivers coursing throughout his skin when he feels you hum on his dick. Watching you swallow every single drop. A small twinkle in your eyes as a bit of his cum falls from the crevice of your mouth. Leaning in to kiss you, he tastes the saltiness of himself. “Not done with you yet.” He murmurs on top of your lips.

He was right. For the time your parents had your daughter, Jaehyun took it as an opportunity to get back some husband and wife bonding time. He missed your touch, and even though the cuddling and make outs are just as good he still craved you. Seeing you pumping milk did things to him and even though it pained him to see you in labor tired and in pain it only made him want to love you a thousand times more. Your round belly and the after glow of postpartum birth, he feels like a dog thinking this way but he can’t help but want to fuck another baby in you. So soon but he wants to, needs to.

The two of you always spoke of how many kids you’d want and even though Jaehyun was the one who wanted a big family in comparison to you, the two of you agreed you at least wanted the kids to be close in age. Which is why he has no problem getting you nice and spread on the kitchen counter. Not caring you were in the middle of putting away the milk you had just pumped, and instead focuses on making you come over and over again with his tongue. Get you nice and soak so you’re ready to take him for countless rounds it takes to get you nice and stuffed. “Jae!” You hiccup, he doesn’t remove his mouth. He doesn’t even flinch, instead he buries his face further into your pussy. Eating you like a starved man and grunting each time your nails tugged a little too hard on his hair. “Baby it’s too much!” You throw your head back on the table. Completely naked for him just the way he likes it, hickies left all over your skin trailing them down to your sensitive pussy where your legs are trying their hardest not to close. Your husband’s large hands keeping them spread as he spits on your clit before diving right back in.

Your breath hitches as you shake in his hold. Another orgasm is ripped out of you, tears falling down your face. Jaehyun can feel you throbbing on his tongue, your sweet juices hitting his tastebuds. Finally, he pulls away. A shimmer around his mouth as he pulls you closer to the edge of the table. Leaning in to press a firm kiss on your lips, muffling the loud moan of yours when he forced himself inside you. No matter how much scissoring and tongue fucking he’s done you simply refuse to get used to his size. Your husband’s too big and it’s what drives you into subspace. He knows that, which is why he fucks you for hours if he really wanted to. Until he sees your pretty tears and face lost in pure bliss does he let up. Your husband has insane stamina, he can go for so long without ever climaxing. That’s unless you blow him, then he turns putty for you.

“So big!” You gasp out, eyes shut but Jaehyun doesn’t like that. No, you can’t lose yourself right now. He needs your eyes on him, to see how beautifully connected you two are. How well you take him, tapping your cheek he presses a soft kiss on your cheekbone. “Open those pretty eyes for me mama.” Mewling, he doesn’t give you time to disobey him. Lightly slapping the side of your face to get you to look at him and when you do he can’t help but grin. You looked ethereal in your current position, seeing you shining in sweat, chest covered in his love marks and lips swollen he can practically go feral for you. So he does. Gripping your legs and hovering them over your hips he begins to ram into you. The claps much louder along with your moans. Breath hitching each time he hits your gspot, your hands quick to grab onto his forearm digging your nails into his skin. Giving him space to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck. His favorite place to stuff his face in second to stuffing it in your sopping pussy.

You feel his hot tongue running up your neck, shivering at the sensation especially when your husband doesn’t show signs in slowing down. Your walls gripping him tightly the harder he pounds into you. It felt good, so good your eyes began to tear up. Squelches were heard as your stomach kept clenching. When he pulls away, his hair is in the way. His eyes slightly covered, looking down he lets out a loud grunt upon seeing the prominent bump near your lower abdomen. “Where you feel me?” He huskily asks. “So deep!” Grabbing your hand, he leads it down to your stomach and has it lying on top of the print of his tip. “Feel me here baby?” “Yes!” Throwing your head back when he stops his movement to focus on thrusting further. “How about now?”

You couldn’t answer, you felt full and pure bliss. And as much as you’d like to indulge in the pleasure, your husband has a need for you to remind him how good he makes you feel. “Answer me.” “God I feel you in my stomach Jae!” It’s all he wanted to hear to get back to fucking you. Plunging in and out, quick motions before he pulls out and turns you around. Despite the insane amount lust he has, he takes the time to grab a pillow and rest it under your hip. Gentle to pull your hair away from your face and use it as leverage when he goes back to ramming inside you.

“I’m so close!” He’s gone silent, and you know once he is it means he too is close. And as the two of you are hitting your climax, you’ll soon come to find out this won’t be the last of it today.

Your parents are meant to drop your daughter off soon, in an hour precisely when the clock strikes 9 but Jaehyun wasn’t worried. He’s taken the initiative to have sex with you on all the surface inside the house. He can’t quite explain where this sudden horniness came from, maybe the breast pumping truly was a turn on for him and he just now acted upon it. It only took about half up to an hour before Jaehyun attached himself back on you. Wrapping his arms, pressing heated kisses to the nape of your neck, rubbing his groin up against your ass before he bends you over whatever surface nearest to you. By the time night came, your and his hair looked completely disheveled along with bruised lips. Necks covered in dark colors and both reeking of sex.

Couch, bed, kitchen counter, wall, door it was endless and he was sure he had gotten you pregnant by now. You guys went at it like a bunch of bunnies no way he didn’t knock you up. And as he lied on the bed watching you get ready to shower, the thought of you wet and naked had him getting hard again. Not even uttering a single word before he follows you in. “Excuse me?” Not responding, he closes the door and begins to take off his shirt. Revealing his toned chest to be covered in scratch marks, fainted lipstick and hickies. “One more won’t hurt right?” He raises a brow and smiles mischievously. “Are you trying to impregnate me with twins or something?” Shrugging, he picks you up and settles you on the counter. Pressing his lips on top of yours, he helps take off your oversized tee. “Would it be so bad?”

Giggling, you open your legs to let him fit right between them. Seeing his eyes darken as he leans in to start fondling with your breasts. Gasping when you feel yourself starting to lactate. “Jae!” Holding you still he continues to suck. Your tits were sensitive, you couldn’t hold still but this never faltered the man in front of you. Instead he grew determined and as he tastes your sweet milk he knew, there was absolutely no way he could wait who knows how many days before he can have you to himself again. Play with you as much as his heart desires. So, with reluctance he pulls away. Watching a few drops fall on your stomach. Leaning in to lick it up, you feel yourself begin to get excessively wet again. Playing with his soft hair, your intrusive thoughts wanting you to simply push his head a bit further to where you most need him.

“Be right back, need to make a call. Get in while I do that.” He says hurriedly. Curling a finger around your chin, he pulls you in for another wet sloppy kiss before walking out the bathroom. With a huff, you do as told and get into the shower. And while the bathroom steamed up, waiting impatiently for your husband to return and fuck you. Jaehyun quickly picked up his phone and dialed the familiar phone number. One ring, two rings and on the third they picked up.

“Afternoon Mrs. Y/l/n, so sorry to bother but something came up and I don’t think we’ll be home tonight. You wouldn’t mind if she stayed with you for the night right?”

[cherrycranes]

Claustrophobia (Edward Dillinger Jr. x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Edward Dillinger Jr x female reader Summary: What's worse than getting stuck in an elevator when you're claustrophobic? Being stuck in an elevator with your hot boss/work crush when you're claustrophobic! Word count: 5,141 Contents: Slight age gap (Reader is in her 20's, Edward is in his early 30's), only one use of Y/N, reader is claustrophobic, reader has a panic attack, virgin reader, fingering, oral sex (female receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, pulling out, technically public sex. Edward asks for consent a lot. Author's notes: This is a collab with my dear @lauuren! She wrote the intro and the oral sex scene and I am in awe at her talent. I desperately want to spread the "stan Edward Dillinger Jr" agenda. I will not stop. There's a character playlist I made about him at the end of this fic. Please stan Edward Dillinger Jr, Lauren and I are all alone in this boat.

A quiet ding could be heard throughout an empty modern hallway of the ENCOM building, announcing that the elevator had just arrived at your floor. After both automatic doors had slid open, and a quiet sigh escaped your lips, your steps made their way inside the confined space of the machine.

Not only a second after, a loud confident stride joined you inside, just before the doors closed. You already knew who the person was just by the sound of his fine leather boots on the floor, and by his signature scent you, oh, so adored.

Your boss, Ed, or rather Mister Dillinger, as you usually called him, stood right next to you, fixing his navy bow-tie. You caught a glimpse of him with your peripheral vision and you felt your cheeks burning with heat. And not just them. The shameless sensation reached your pussy at record speed and you could feel the fabric of your crimson-colored panties getting slightly damp. Something that had been happening ever since you started working for him.

It was his nicely ironed dark blue suit, his silky-smooth vest, his glasses, or maybe the way he stood there paying attention to the screen of his iPad - it all sent shivers to all the right places. The places you never even knew you could feel something at.

“Evening, sir.” You chirped, hoping to catch his attention.

His head turned upwards from the tablet, his eyes finding your own. He fixed the glasses on the bridge of his nose with his fingers, and you were fighting all your inner demons to not stare at them.

“Ah, Y/N…” His sentence was interrupted by a weird rambling and a thud. The lights of the elevator flickered a few times, and the machine stopped.

You always felt kind of nauseous every time you stepped into that elevator. All your muscles tensed and your breathing got slightly shallow until you got off. But being stuck in such a horrible and confined space really did not help your claustrophobia. Quite the opposite… You felt panic starting to flood your mind, darkening it with fear.

“Oh, my God.” A last breath of tranquility escaped your lips when everything above and below you stopped dead on its tracks. And the brief flicker of the lights prevented it from coming back to you.

Your desperate fingers broke through a tremor and frantically pressed every button that looked like an emergency one. And then, when the elevator doors did not magically open, you rushed to double-press every single button to no avail. 

“Shit!” You exhaled, giving up and giving in into your worst fear. The metal around you sizzled and constricted like it burnt, your vision blurred and the pressure in your stomach made you feel so hollow yet so heavy. The tortuous beating of your heart took over your ears so loudly, you didn't catch your boss' voice. It wasn't until his hand touched your shoulder, that you could make out the words.

“Hey... Relax.... Relax.” Edward repeated, his voice so unfazed, like it wasn't his first time stuck in there. You didn't turn to face him, it would have mortified you twice as much. So you pressed your forehead against the wall, finding it colder than expected.

“Calm down, people will come for us. It won't take long, I promise... Just calm down, breathe with me…”

It was all a big, draining whirlwind you were trapped in, but somehow you found the will in you to follow him. Seven seconds of air filling your lungs, five of holding it there and six of exhaling it. Repeated several times until your feet were back on the ground and your forehead felt the wall warming up to your touch. 

“That's it... It's ok…” Edward repeated, his hand very gently touched your upper arm and slowly pulled you away from the useless button board and towards his chest. He must have set his Ipad down on the elevator floor during your panic, because he carefully guided you with both hands towards the center. You calmed down a little more, putting all your focus on the right amount of seconds for each breathing phase. With all the gentleness he had, he started to sit you both down, with you between his legs, your back against his chest and your ear close to his lips.

“Easy… That’s good… You’re ok… You’re going to be ok…” He kept soothing you, his hands rubbing comforting circles over your arms. Slowly but surely, it had an effect on you. And then it finally hit you: you had just had a panic attack. IN FRONT OF YOUR BOSS/WORK CRUSH. And while you dreaded thinking about it, you wished the elevator would just plummet down the building. 

“You know, this has happened to me two times before… The longest I’ve been here is about 15 minutes… They always notice if there’s something wrong with the elevators.” Edward’s warm voice snapped you out of your thoughts. At least a rescue was ensured. But that still didn’t fix your embarrassment… Oh, God must really like seeing you suffer. What must Mister Dillinger think of you now? He must think you’re pathetic and stupid and…

“So don’t worry, baby…. I’m here with you…” Baby… BABY. You almost didn’t believe it. And you would have told yourself it was an auditory illusion but then, his hand slowly started to move down your arms. His lips and stubble caressed your ear, giving you a good shiver. Edward kept whispering soft praises the more you relaxed and you felt in heaven.

“Good girl.” He murmured, and your cheeks burned. The cheeky little warmth your pussy always felt when he was near returned with renewed intensity now that you were in his arms, and now that you were “baby” and “good girl”. 

His left hand stopped tracing circles on your arm and traveled to your chest, tenderly lazing over the side of your breast. Not kneading it or even attempting to cup it, just lingering there in a silent plea for permission.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop…” His voice was soft against your ear, his hands completely stayed still over your beautiful body, expectant for a cue or a full on red light. You had found that his touch had a soothing effect on you. There was something so calming about his big hands, his warmth and, on top of all things, his understanding nature.

“Don’t stop…” More than a cue, this was a soft little plea. You needed to feel him all over you, his warmth washing away the fear and the constriction. 

On command, his hand on your breast kneaded the flesh so softly over your bra until he found your nipple, making you moan quietly.

“That’s it… Just relax… Let me take care of you…” His voice was huskier now. The combination of his stubble and his breath on your ear was a sensory experience drawn out straight from your fantasies. You obeyed, the last bits of tension in your body fading away the more he fondled your now hardened nipple.

As for Edward, he swallowed thickly, his cock was growing uncomfortably harder in his tight pants. A desperate need started to tug on his reason and he swiftly moved onto the next step when he noted your new calmness and your quiet moans. 

“Is this ok?” He whispered again, making your eyelashes flutter and your lips part when the hand that wasn’t massaging your breast reverently and very carefully traveled down your abdomen. You nodded and he smiled ever so slightly before taking in the shape of your thigh with his palm.

That morning when you picked out your outfit, you decided against a pair of pants for not matching with your new shoes, and God, you were glad you had. Because instead, you chose to wear a cute black skirt and stockings that Edward now palmed in admiration. 

“I’ve never told you… But you always look so stunning…” He confessed to the skin of your neck before planting a soft kiss there, getting a reaction out of your needier and needier body. Your underwear felt damp and your lower abdomen felt hotter, lonelier.

As if he had detected it, Edward rode up your skirt slowly at first, in his usual search for permission. When you nodded again, he continued, exposing the sheer fabric of your stockings and then, a view that made him smile, your crimson panties with a flirty lace trim. 

“Naughty little girl.” Edward couldn't contain himself. Your choice of underwear had been unintentional. All your panties that would have been more suitable for a black skirt were in the laundry and your choices were limited. But you pretended it was a deliberate seduction tactic. Perhaps part of a plan to cross your legs in front of him, or bend down to pick up something at the office so he could have an ‘accidental’ little peek. Whichever way, he was a fan. His thick fingers lowered them well enough to see your little bush, something that got a guttural sound out of him.

“Just how I like them.” He growled. His fingers attracted to your heat like a magnet to metal. He ran two digits across your needy cunt, rewarding you for being so wet for him with a lustful kiss. You moaned softly once more, your eyes closed as you let the feeling sink in. You spread your legs a bit further, only hearing his breaths, the smacking of your lips together and, of course, the sounds of your slick arousal.

"God... Hear that? Hear how wet you are? Is that all for me, babe?" He gently broke the kiss and his whisper teased the skin of your earlobe along with his stubble. His fingers slowly buried themselves into your tight cunt, this time spreading you open with a scissoring motion. His index and middle fingers stretched you once experimentally, making you gasp and whine and making him groan in a pleasant surprise.

"Oh, don't tell me you're still a virgin, baby? A pretty girl like you?" He teased, half in disbelief, half in arrogance. He was going to be your first then? That knowledge filled him with a greedy, possessive, perhaps a little old-fashioned pride. Nobody had touched you or had you before. You were going to be all his. He smirked like a devil and continued his motions to get you ready for his cock.

You moaned again, lost to the lust and willing to be his, when suddenly, a sound made you clam up and open your eyes widely. Two voices outside the elevator, loudly complaining that the machine was not working.

"Mister Dillinger..." You tried to warn him in a rising panic despite the coup d’état your pussy threw over your brain. Somebody had to be the voice of reason here. Remind you both that you were stuck in the elevator, that the people you just heard could hear you. And even if they didn’t,  they would still try to get the doors to slide open. And if they did, they would discover you two were fucking in there. The embarrassment made your cheeks even redder. Or maybe it was the feeling of his fingers that kept massaging your walls. It got hard to think, your cunt only got wetter and your mind cloudier. You moaned so softly, so needily, eliciting another groan from him.

"Ed. Just call me Ed." He completely ignored the voices and whispered into your neck, placing soft kisses that led him lower and lower. His hand left your heat for a moment, making you whine in protest.

"Ed..." You called out for him. Your anxiety at being caught dissolved in your dampness. The absence of his thick fingers in you pushing you over the edge of carefulness. You've wanted him for so long, your entire body begged for his touch. 

A third voice from the outside almost pulled you out of this renewed state. But as soon as you heard the relief in that voice, telling the other two about the other elevator that still worked, you relaxed. All voices disappeared away and all you could hear now was the heavy breathing of Ed, who never stopped kissing your neck and touching you. It was the first time in your life you were glad that people who could have rescued you didn’t even notice you were there. 

“That’s it, pretty girl… It’s ok.” Ed placed another slow, rewarding kiss on your lips, and you were lost on him again. Finally, there was no tension left that could block your true wants.

He noticed that right away. His hands that roamed slowly over your breasts and waist started to travel to your hips. 

“Are you ready?” You were not sure what he meant exactly, but you were ready for anything.

“Yes.” You replied and he wasted no time. He groaned softly as he manhandled you in a 180 turn, pinning you down against the elevator floor with your knees up.

"These have to go. You're so pretty to be all covered up." Edward charmed you while he fully took off your crimson panties, tossing them aside. Once they were off, he delighted in the sight of your wet cunt. So pretty and needy. It made his cock twitch in his pants and his tongue lick his lips. A low growl of approval, more than that, rumbled in his throat.

Your arousal successfully lured him in. Each hand took hold of one of your thighs to spread you open, his grip on the soft flesh firm but careful. He didn't want to scare you, he wanted you to feel revered and beautiful. Confident and determined. He wanted you to want him as much as he wanted you. So he looked into your eyes, his pupils behind his glasses were so dillated it made something in you flutter.

"Tell me what makes you feel good." He whispered, lost in your gaze, before lowering his mouth to your clit.

You quickly tried to figure out what you liked, but since you had never done anything like this before, you didn’t know what you preferred and what not. Of course you touched yourself on the loneliest of nights, however that was completely different.

“I…”

But the single-worded reply was everything you were able to say, before a loud gasp left your lips as his mouth connected with the already sensitive skin of your damp folds. The mere feather-like contact of his lips and stubble against you was enough to throw you off edge. 

Your reaction caused his smirk to be more prominent. He opened his mouth wider as his hot breath tickled you – a prediction of his drool-covered tongue licking a fat stripe down your wet cunt. He started moving it up and down at a slow but teasing pace, wanting to reach and explore every little space and corner of your arousal, wanting to taste and devour all of you. 

“Mmhh…” your quivering voice creating a pleasurable melody for his ears.

The tip of his nose was buried at your clit, right under the bushy cut, pressuring against the receptive spot. Ed was relishing at the fact the touch increased the shivering of your already tensed up muscles, bringing you close to release of the tight knot in your lower stomach.

Adding his lips to the skilled movements of his tongue, he started sucking your clit and folds. Your breathless moans heightened on the frequency and volume. The man was hungrily lapping out on you as if you were a fine five course meal and he was a starved animal. And God, saying he could not get enough was a light word. 

“Ed-” you whined his name. “Uhh, oh God!” 

A groan formed deep down in his chest rambled out of his throat, vibrating at your slick pussy. His hands gripped at the flesh of your hips and thighs tighter, not letting you shift even an inch away from him. Your juices mixed with his drool tasted as if heaven itself landed in his mouth. It was like an addictive drug possessing all his senses.

“Fuck, you taste divine.” he was able to quickly mutter before getting back to eating you out until you would be a trembling mess.

Your hips started bucking and squirming, and he knew you were close. And he couldn't wait for the sweet treat in the form of your orgasm. His tongue kept torturing your throbbing cunt. The heat of the moment and your wetness made his glasses foggy, but your boss did not care. There was no way for him to stop now.

The merciless movements of his mouth continued until the tight knot in your abdomen finally untied as you reached the peak of pure bliss, with your moans following along. He slurped on everything, what came out as if it was the most delicious dessert he had ever eaten. 

"That's it... You're ready for me, baby." Edward whispered. His index and middle fingers traced a sticky line across your pussy, proudly showing just how eager you were for his fat cock. You moaned softly at the touch, more than aware of what you wanted: him.

“Oh God, Ed, please…” You begged ever so softly, guided by the hand by your need. Ed found it so exquisite he didn’t know when his hand reached for your cheek to cup it so tenderly.

“‘Please’ what, baby? Tell me.” His voice was a warm whisper that kept you at ease, a complete contrast to the fuss between your thighs. And he knew it. He reveled in the look in your eyes, in the way your folds clenched the air. Your mere presence had him addicted already, and he still hadn't been inside you. Yet…

“Please… Fuck me…” Embarrassment be damned, you thought, your body begged and cried for him. You wanted him not just inside your thoughts every day, you needed him everywhere he could fit in. 

“Say it again.” He commanded firmly but still with gentleness towards you. He just wanted to hear something so filthy come out of your innocent lips again. His thumb traced a path of adoration on your cheek. His baby blues glimmered like a beacon with the lights of the elevator.

“Please, fuck me…” Another sweet whisper for his ears’ delight. He smiled in a mixture of tenderness and desire. He would not make you wait much longer, it would be torture for the two of you.

“As you wish, babe.” His voice was slightly hoarse already. He never once stopped looking at you as he unzipped his black pants and lowered them just enough. He would have wished he could undress completely. Have your soft skin bare against him so every inch of his being could memorize the feeling of you. But your circumstances were not ideal. He still held out hope for a rescue. And if the elevator doors slid open mid-fuck for a bunch of concerned ENCOM employees to see, he would at least appreciate to still be mostly clothed.

Lucky for you, the elevator was still stuck, and Ed was free to release his hard cock from the confines of his dark blue Calvin Kleins. 

He let out a hoarse sigh, and you gasped softly. You had seen penises before (your reaction to seeing his made you feel like a sheltered Victorian girl), but you had never seen one that was this close and erect for you. 

You swallowed thickly at the sight. He was not pornographically big, but ‘small’ was not a term you would use to describe it. It was a perfectly fine cock with a pink mushroom tip that would have made you smile had you not been a little nervous. You could barely tell from the confines of his underwear, but it seemed like he was well groomed down there. He did look like he took good care of himself in general. This only made you a little self conscious as you remembered that your own little bush was on display. Not that he seemed to mind. You had to remind yourself that he had just gotten back from gladly eating you out.

With an immediate drive, Ed used the remains of your wetness on his fingers to lube himself up as much as he could, just so he could give his cock a few pumps that made his eyes close for a moment and his eyebrows furrow. He was so ready for you it could drive him insane. And you, despite the nerves, could feel the neediest parts of your mind and body luring him in.

It worked. Ed crawled towards you, his body caging you in. You thanked the architects and designers of this elevator for making it wide enough for missionary. Had it not been you would have probably had to lose your virginity against the wall. Or, if Edward wanted to be nice and considerate to you, in an awkward kneeling missionary position that, you figured, would work better on a bed. Fuck his knees, he would have done it even if it hurt. But lucky for his 30-something-year-old patellae and ligaments, this elevator had space. God bless ENCOM.

“It's ok… Relax and tell me if you ever want to stop.” He whispered. Once again, his eyes focused on yours, on your face. Studying every micro-expression in search for any hesitation, discomfort or a single trace of your previous panic. He only found understandable nervousness and also a gleam of desire that made him warmer. Gone was his usual cockiness for the time being. He was going to be the gentlest man in the world for you.

You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he shifted closer towards you. A sweet gasp resonated when you felt the tip of his cock poking at your slick entrance. You nodded, and your hands reached up to feel his back. He groaned in pleasure when he started to push inside you, finding his brand new addiction.

“Fuck… You're so tight.” He uttered, completely taken by the feeling of you. His thick eyelashes fluttered and he licked his lower lip in automatic. The tip easily slided in. 

You whimpered and furrowed your brow, it was hurting much less than what you had always expected, but it was still something to get used to. 

He buried himself to the hilt, groaning and panting. The veins of his cock pumping viciously, making it twitch a little. To relax you, he took your mouth in a gentle kiss, nothing too demanding to balance out the arduous work he made your small pussy do. You moaned gently into his mouth, your hands felt him up over his vest. On your own, you put more passion into the kiss, and when your cunt throbbed around him and he was able to slide a little bit more inside you, he knew you were ready.

Carefully, he thrusted in and you moaned. He moved with you, setting up a nice and easy rhythm that was just perfect for you. It all felt so slick, so hot. He was fully lost. Pride swelling up his chest at the fact that he had just popped your cherry, trying to interfere with the gentleman he was being with you. It could be so easy to let go of his sweetness. It was not every day when he had sex with somebody as innocent as you. In fact, it was the first time he was with somebody inexperienced. But no, he was going to remain gentle. There would be other occasions for the roughness.

Soon enough, the elevator filled with your moans and his low grunts, along with the sounds of your bodies colliding. He was in heaven. Your body, your voice, your lips, your tightness. You were an obsession that was going to haunt him and his dreams for evermore. 

And you, so needy and delicious, were almost incredulous to the fact that you were living out your recurring daydream scenario. All the nights you felt desire taking over you would stroke your clit and imagine your fingers belonged to your unreachable boss. Daring to dream that this man would ever do that to you. You moaned again when his actual fingers snaked between your thrusting bodies to draw sweet circles around your clit. Reminding you that this was very much real.

“That’s good. You’re doing so good.” He praised with his voice husky, and your pussy throbbed around him. He took it as a sign, going a little faster on you. With both hips and fingers.

He groaned wholeheartedly, sending electricity through you with the circles on your clit. Your pussy clenched around him like a vice, and it was driving him absolutely insane.

“God, baby. I’m gonna fill you up so good.” He whispered absentmindedly, reason unavailable from his pleasure and the feeling of you. In his remaining thoughts, he saw a near future where you walked the ENCOM halls with his cum dripping down your inner thighs. But you, much more aware of the consequences since they would mostly affect you, snapped out of your own haze.

"Wait... Fill?" You asked. Your old friend Anxiety paying you a little visit once more.

"Oh… Are you on birth control?" Ed managed to formulate once he took notice that his fantasies couldn’t always coexist with reality. His labored breath seeped through each syllable. His hips never once stopped moving. A ticking time bomb.

"No..." You admitted. Worry clawing its way out of your arousal-clouded mind. But even then, your cunt had a life of its own. Throbbing all around him in an act of rebellion, drawing a moan out of you and a low groan out of Ed. You saw the pale blue of his iris roll back a little in between fluttering eyelashes before he fought back for control over himself.

"Fuck... Can't risk it... I'm pulling out, ok?" He struggled to talk as his slow thrusts faltered a little. All he needed now was your consent to pound you into the elevator floor and pull out before it was too late. God help him.

You nodded eagerly, holding onto his back and the fabric of his vest. Once he saw you, he went ruthless with you. 

“Shit… Shit!” He moaned, his pace grew desperately faster. It was a race to see what would come faster: a rescue, or him.

Your moans became mantras with Ed’s faster pace. Your toes started to curl inside your shoes and your nails wished they were sinking on his skin and not his clothes. That was the last coherent thought you had for the time being as his cock hit your sweet spot right in the middle. You howled, Ed got the hint. He managed to hold your hip with one hand to keep you there, trapped between the strong pumps and the waves of pleasure this sent through you.

“Ed!” You cried out, unable to handle this for much longer. He huffed in response, attacking your cunt with another series of deep thrusts that made you whine.

“That’s it, baby. Cum for me.” His word was your command, it seemed. Fact is, you didn’t need much longer to be sent over the edge. Your back arched, making your clothed breasts press against his chest, to which he moaned. The last sound you heard before your scream of pleasure. 

Your wet, throbbing, creamy pussy sent the biggest, most wanted orgasm it could have ever given you, all over your nervous system. Making you milk his cock in desperation. He didn’t last a few more seconds upon feeling that all around him.

He thrusted one last, faltering time before painfully detaching himself from your addictive cunt. Quickly, he grabbed the first thing he found: your crimson panties, and clutched them around the head of his penis, whimpering when he used them to contain his spurting cum and not make a mess out of this elevator, or worse, of you. 

You watched the scene unfold. Ed opened his mouth in what it seemed like the most pleasurable yawn of his life and shut his beautiful eyes when he came. His jaw trembled for a moment and he made an attractive sound before the last drop of semen coated your panties. He panted there for a moment, holding his covered cock until he had the stamina to wipe off his tip, half-assedly fold your panties, leave them on the elevator floor and, finally, rest himself on top of you, fully satisfied.

You struggled to catch your breath with the remainder of his weight on you. You could have stayed right there, committing the post orgasmic feeling to memory so you always carried it with you. But a flicker of the elevator lights and a sudden movement dragged you out of the little death and sat you both up. For a moment you feared the worst case scenario.

“What’s-” You didn’t even formulate your question properly when the familiar movement of an elevator going up as if nothing had happened made your already racing heart jump. 

“Oh, shit… It’s working again!…” Edward deciphered with relief, pointing towards the digital numbers on the elevator screen that counted the floor numbers. In your own relief and your gratefulness your eyes grew wide when you remembered the state you were both in.

“Shit!” You whispered, gently pushing him off of you in desperation to get proper again. He got the hint immediately and stood up with the help of the elevator wall. The hand that had been inside you took yours and he lifted you back on your feet.

It all became a blur of clothes being straightened up; thigh high socks, blouse, his zipper. When you looked around for your panties, you only saw him shamelessly shoving something crimson down his pocket and looking at you with a cocky grin.

"Can't let you go out there with filthy panties, babe." Edward explained so nonchalantly he almost convinced you. But you didn't have time to disagree and protest as the elevator stopped on the floor you had initially wanted to go to, and so, before the doors slid open, you unrolled your skirt in a swift motion and prayed that nobody would notice.

"See you." The cocky bastard picked his IPad from the floor and stepped out into the hallway, fixing his glasses before turning to look back at you. It was then, with his vision clear again, he noticed something in the upper back corner of the elevator that had been there all along, too hidden for lustful eyes that only looked into each other and never around: a security camera pointing towards the middle of the metallic floor.

As promised, here is the Ed Dillinger Jr playlist. It has a LOT of Daft Punk cause I headcanon that he's a big fan. Plus some songs I think fit him lyrically or just for the vibes.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + twenty six

authors note: this chapter almost entirely covers grief. be prepared.

cw/tw: angst (discussion of grief and loss)

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

chapter suggested listening: "i hope you dance" by gladys knight, "lift me up" by rihanna, and "dancing in the sky" by dani and izzy.

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 9k

Solana still vividly remembers the moment she was told her mother was dead. Not the moment where Nina died, where she took her last breath. No, that devastating memory is forever attached and molded to Solana’s recollection, something to never escape her, despite her best efforts to dump it into the sea of the forgotten.

No, the moment she was told is something different, somehow colder and heavier. 

She can still recall the sound of beeping machines, blurry, amorphous figures melting into something less abstract and more corporeal. The smell of nothing, sterilization that was quickly permeated by the overwhelming scent of her father’s cologne.

For some reason, that was more prominent and noticeable than the tube down her throat, preventing her from clearly speaking. It didn’t stop her from trying though. Because even with her barely cognizant state, with the fact that she wasn’t still fully aware of where she was and what occurred, her focus was on one person.

Her mother.

That was the intended word, Solana’s muffled moans and groans, fighting against the tube. The pain that shot through her little body while trying to move it wasn’t enough to stop her from asking. 

Mommy

It’s something that’s always sat with her. Influenced her in many ways. 

It’s also something that helps her understand a fraction of what Roman is going through right now, the feelings he might be experiencing. Everyone is different. She knows this. But, she also knows the feeling of loss. Of feeling alone.

And she swore to him he would never be alone.

Fetu is gone, yes. But, he’ll always have her.

It's what she keeps in mind as she and Jimmy arrive at Fetu's place and move to enter.

Solana had a feeling she would be walking into a difficult scene, but she hadn’t the slightest clue the severity of said difficulty.

“Oh my God….”

It’s bedlam. 

Chaos and destruction all around her from the minute she and Jimmy open the front door and walk in. Furniture turned upside down, shattered shards of glass littering the floor all over, dents and scuffs on the wall, indicating objects being thrown.

Solana even spots a few holes she can tell weren’t caused by objects.

They were caused by fists. 

But while Jimmy stands beside her, face not hiding his shock and slight horror at what lies before them, Solana’s similar expression stems from a different space.

It stems from how devastated her husband must be right now to cause such destruction.

“I’ve gotta find him,” Solana says, swallowing and moving to maneuver past the glass when a cautious but firm hand grabs her arm.

“Solana, let me find him.”

She doesn’t need an explanation as to why this is being proposed. The answer is written in red lettered concern all over his face.

She shakes her head. “No.”

Jimmy sighs, dropping his hand to gesture to the wreckage around them. “Solana….look at what he did.” She has. Hard not to. “He’s clearly not in a good place right now.”

“Would you be?” She challenges. “Put yourself in his shoes, Jimmy. In my shoes.” Voice breaking, she discloses. “You don’t know what it’s like to unexpectedly lose the one person who meant the world to you….and to not be able to say goodbye.” Solana sniffles, forcing out a shaky breath. “I know what he’s feeling right now, which is how I know what he needs, and it’s not you.”

Jimmy is silent. A small part of her understands and appreciates his concern, but he has to understand her side of things too. 

Roman may be his cousin, lifelong friend, borderline brother.

But, Roman is her husband. Her person. Her better half.

Her soulmate.

“I’ll be fine,” she reassures, reaching for his hand. “What I need you to do is find Ava.” She motions to the destroyed room. "We don’t know if she was part of this as well.” Because despite only one meeting, Solana can tell that Ava has a strong personality just like Roman. Loved Fetu just as much as Roman.

She has to be just as distraught.

Jimmy counters, “let me try to clean some of this up first.”

“No.” Solana shakes her head. “I can handle that.” Because cleaning up after men following outbursts is something, sadly, she has plenty of experience with. Countless times her father and brother would destroy rooms and force her to clean up their mess. So, certainly, she can do the same for a man whose actions are fueled not by rage.

But pain.

Loss.

Grief.

Especially when that man is her husband. 

“Solana—”

“And I—I want you to leave after that.” His eyes double in size, prompting her to explain. “Roman…..he’s gonna need some time. I don’t….I don’t think he’s going to want to be around anyone, even you.” Maybe even me. “I want to give him what he needs.”

“Solana—”

“I’ll be fine, Jimmy.” There’s not an ounce of her that believes she won’t. “I just need you to find Ava. Help her. And get back home, because I need you to keep Dulce for us.” She swallows, adding in a small voice. “He’s gonna need a couple days.”

More than that. Much more. But for now, it’ll have to do.

Jimmy still looks unconvinced. 

But, he eventually agrees, leaving to find Ava who had sent a vague text saying she needed air.

Nothing more.

It's how both Jimmy and herself suspect she's gone for a walk in the surrounding woods.

And as soon as he's gone, Solana is on the move, instantly going up the stairs.

Each step taken feels like there’s a ton of bricks attached, weighing her down, pulling her back and trying to keep her from exactly where she needs to be. It’s all mental and emotional, but it’s not enough to keep her from pressing forward.

She passes Fetu’s room without sparing a glance, both for her own mental sake and knowing that’s the last place he’d probably be. His room would seem the most logical place to start to look, but she also knows that when one is deep in the throes of grief, there is no place for logic.

So, she goes through each room, bypassing the bathrooms and Ava’s bedroom. Again, another place she just can’t picture him being.

It eventually leaves her with two options: the last guest room and his room. Given the cracked door for the latter, that’s the route she chooses.

Solana’s heart is slamming repeatedly against her chest, her eyes watering prematurely at what she knows will be a heavy ass sight. But still, she powers through those emotions, bypasses her own personal sentiments and focuses on him.

A gentle knock followed up with, “Roman?” Nothing. She’s not surprised, but she at least would like him to know it’s her about to enter and not someone else. Something tells her his reaction would be different—very different—if anyone else was trying to “disturb” him right now. 

Solana gently turns the knob, partially unsurprised to also find the room in a slight state of disarray. Not nearly as bad as the living room and entrance but still indicative of turmoil.

A lamp lays shattered near the door to the bathroom, a picture knocked off the wall, the TV also down on the floor. Nothing major beyond that, but even if so, it wouldn’t capture much—or any—of her focus. No, that’s because it’s already spoken for. 

“Roman….”

She sees him. Slumped on the floor, one long leg outstretched, other leg up, extend arm resting on his knee. Closing the door behind her, she rushes over to him, again unsurprised by how he doesn’t even bother looking in her direction.

Instantly, those watery eyes are upgraded to silent tears streaming down her face. “Ro…..” Carefully leaning down beside him, she finds herself reaching to push back some of his hair that’s not neatly tucked into his everyday bun but instead wild, hanging, unruly. 

A perfect representation of what he must be feeling. 

She shakes her head, “I’m so so—”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

There’s not a part of her that’s taken back by his words: hollow, empty, stoic. If anything, it’s expected. 

She expected this kind of reaction to her presence.

Shaking her head, Solana keeps her voice leveled. “I’m exactly where I should be.” Her gaze travels to his hand, a small gasp leaving at the blusied, lacerated, bloody state of his knuckles. “Roman—”

“I want to be alone.” 

Another emotionless statement, forcing her to look back at him. He looks shattered, but in a way that makes sense for him. No red, teary, puffy eyes. No. Just an empty look that hides an abundance of emotions. 

Solana makes sure not to stutter, stammer, or anything of the sort as she calmly replies, “I’m not leaving you alone.”

He closes his eyes, his jaw ticking, a sign of growing anger. It doesn’t deter her. “Solana, I want to be alone.”

“Roman—”

“I said leave!”

Silence

There’s a burst of silence that washes over the room following his outburst: loud, frigid, pained.

It’s been some time since he’s raised his voice with her, and the last time, her reaction was typical for where she was at that point. Scared, frightened, terrified even.

None of that could even remotely describe what she’s feeling right now. 

Solana has no reaction to his outburst. No flinching, no cowering, no wincing. Nothing.

“No, you don’t.” A closed, sullen smile as she moves a lock of his hair back out of his face. “You just don’t want to feel what you’re feeling. You’re angry and hurt and sad and confused and so many things you probably don’t even understand, because….because that’s what grief is.”

He says nothing, offers not outward reaction to her words. 

“I’m gonna say this one time and one time only.” She’s never been more sure about something in her life. “You can yell at me, you can scream at me, you can throw shit in my presence, you can even flip over every piece of furniture in this house, but I am not leaving. You may want to be alone, but you don’t need to be alone.” Pushing back more of his hair, it’s not missed on her the way he clenches his jaw. Not from anger. Something else. Something vulnerable. “I’m gonna clean and wrap up your hand, then I’m going to clean up downstairs and cook. I won’t talk to you unless you initiate it, and I won’t force you to interact with me. You can ignore me all you want, but as long as you’re here, I’m here.”  Her voice cracks as she stresses, “I’m not leaving you.”

Roman continues to remain silent following her heartfelt explanation, but it doesn’t bother her. None of what he’s done, what he’s said or not said bothers her, because right now, whatever he’s feeling is valid. 

“I’ll be right back,” she murmurs. Solana walks over to the bathroom and pulls out the first aid kit from the cabinet, returning to her husband who hasn’t moved. Silently, she works to disinfect and tend to his injuries. It’s not horrifically bad, but it’s not good, either. She’s unsure if Roman flexes his fingers to show nothing is fractured, but regardless, it’s appreciated and checks off a box without her needing to ask any questions.

Once finished, she informs, “I’m gonna go start cleaning up. Afterwards, I’ll fix you something to eat. I’ll have your plate on the table and text you when it’s ready. I’ll eat elsewhere.”

Roman continues to offer no sign that he’s listening to a word she’s saying. Still, it does nothing to deter her. Kissing his forehead, she returns the first aid kit to where she found it and walks out the room, leaving the door slightly cracked.

Solana walks back downstairs and stops midway to survey the damage around her. A lot is ruined beyond repair, but her focus is less on what was broken and more on ridding the place of the hazards. Starting with the broken glass.

Remembering where the cleaning supplies are kept, Solana carefully maneuvers her way across the floor and grabs the broom and dust pan. Wordlessly, she moves to clear the floor, dumping the shards into the nearest trash can. For extra protection, she vacuums the floor twice to suck up any remaining pieces. 

Following that, she goes to put back unbroken items where they belong. Pillows back on the sofa. A sofa that she had to tip over. Books back on the shelf. Pictures that once belonged in now broken picture frames on the coffee table. And the items of irreparable damage dumped in both the kitchen bin as well as the big bin out back.

It’s about half an hour of work, significantly less time than most people would need, but this isn’t Solana’s first rodeo.

She’s seen this movie before. 

Is very familiar with how it plays out. 

She’s about to start on the food when the sound of a door opening pulls her from searching the fridge to see what she can put together. 

Turning and walking towards the front door, Solana is already moving towards a despondent Ava, pulling her into a comforting hug. 

Ava sniffles into her shoulder, Solana’s eyes closing as she feels Jimmy’s sad gaze on them.

“I’m so sorry,” Solana whispers, holding her tighter. This is such a devastating loss on all fronts, and while he heart breaks for Roman not being able to see Fetu before she passed, Ava was the one who probably sat with her as she took her last breath.

Solana also knows how equally devastating that can be as well.

“Thank you for being here,” Ava murmurs, eventually pulling back and wiping her eyes. “And for….cleaning up.” She lazily gestures to the room that’s still not together but much better than it was.

Solana nods, taking Ava’s hand. “I was going to cook. Why don’t you—”

“Thank you, but—” Ava offers a small smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “I can’t—I can’t stay here.” Her lips press together as she shrugs with one shoulder. “Too many memories.” Solana also understands that. Understands it well. “I have an apartment out in town. I’m gonna—I’m gonna go stay there for a couple days, at least until–until the funeral.”

Funeral……

Solana doesn’t want to think about that.

“Of course,” she nods. “But, if you need anything—”

“I know.” Another smile. One that more so meets the eyes. Comes from a place of gratitude. She then gestures up the stairs. “But, he’s going to need you more.”

————

It’s difficult. 

For many different reasons. Solana trying to process her own grief while wanting to support and be there for Roman, while he works through his own. And while Solana logically knows that Roman icing her out, to some extent, should be expected, it doesn’t make it any easier.

Doesn’t hurt her any less to know he’s hurting but won’t let her help him.

But, she also knows she made that an option for him, and she doesn’t regret it. Nothing could stop her from being exactly where she is, even if Roman hasn’t said a word to her since her arrival almost three days prior.

Occasional glances and head nods, but nothing verbal. That also hurts, but she doesn’t take it personally. Knows that he’s just weighed down by everything that’s happened. 

She just continues to do what she can, prepare his meals that he eats alone, handles cleaning and laundry as he seems to spend the bulk of his days in the home gym or outside on ruins. A lot of avoidance behavior. But, she’s starting to see that’s maybe just how Roman copes.

He doesn’t. He just avoids shit until it “goes away.”

But this….this isn’t something to avoid, something that will go away.

He’s going to have to confront his emotions sooner or later.

Solana shifts on the bed in the guest room. The room where she’s been sleeping, already knowing that if Roman can’t even bring himself to interact with her, the likelihood of him wanting them to sleep in the same bed is slim to none. 

Another thing that’s hard. 

She’s just gotten so used to sleeping in his arms, but that’s a thought that’s much too self-focused. Her needs matter, but so do his, and right now, he’s not able to provide her that. 

And that’s okay, because he’s not okay.

She just wishes she could do something to help that. 

Her phone lighting up with Dr. Stratus smiling face is a nice distraction. “Solana.”

“Hi, doc,” she greets, shifting on the bed. “Thank you for—for making time for this.”

“It sounded important,” her psychiatrist's grin shifts into more of a frown. “And judging by how sad you look right now, I bet it is.” She directly asks, “what’s going on?”

So much. Too much to even fully unpack. “Roman’s…..had a loss in his family recently, and it’s….it’s hit us all pretty hard.” Him, arguably, the most, but also, her meeting and connecting with someone as much as she did with Fetu only to lose her so quickly…..it’s rough.

To say the least. 

Dr. Stratus frowns. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” Solana already knows the question before it’s asked. “You know I have to ask. Are you experiencing any type of ideation?”

“No.” An easy answer. “Not at all. Just….heavy emotions.” Extremely. “Part of that though…..is probably because I’m pregnant.”

A gasp. “Solana.” Again, Dr. Stratus is smiling, still not as deep as her initial grin. But filled with excitement. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Solana sniffles, wiping at her eyes. “I’m sorry, I just—” She’s unable to catch the tear that spills down her cheek. “I still haven’t told Roman, and—and now that this has happened, I don’t even know how I’m supposed to tell him.”

Because that’s the other noxious thing about all of this. How wonderful, life-changing news has been tabled by horrible, also life-changing news.

In no universe can Solana understand and come to terms with how telling Roman about her pregnancy is appropriate. How is he to celebrate life when he’s just lost it?

It’s just all so terribly cruel.

Solana clears her throat. “I went to Roman’s doctor to do the test for me, and it came back positive, but he’s also certain that we’re having twins.”

“Oh, wow,” Dr. Stratus sighs, sympathy written all over her face. “Solana, I can’t imagine how difficult and confusing this must be for you right now.”

Solana whispers, “very.”

“Have you….have you spoken to Gail about this?”

She shakes her head. “No, because…..because it feels wrong—it is wrong—to keep telling people when my own husband doesn’t even know.”

Because it does. Because in a perfect world, she would have come up with a sweet and sentimental manner in which to break said news to him. Instead, she’s having to hide it from everyone around her—including him—sans the medical professionals she needs to know for various medical reasons.

“I understand.” Her voice is kind and calm, a constant. So very much appreciated. “But, you know, like myself, Gail is bound to confidentiality. As your therapist, she can help support you through this on the clinical side.”

“I know, but….but, I signed that paper allowing her to speak to Roman.” A full release of information. Solana knew what it was when she consented and still does now. 

“That doesn’t matter,” she counters. “You can revoke it any time, or even if you want to discuss it and make it clear she’s not to share that with him, you can. You are her client. Not Roman. Her responsibility is to you.”

Solana sits on the helpful advice. She’d forgotten Gail had made that clear when explaining the ROI. That it wasn’t the end all, be all, allowing Roman to know anything and everything about her. 

She might have to keep that in mind.

“So, I take it, you’ve only told me because of your medication, correct?” Solana nods. “Well, I wanna keep you with the Sertraline and Hydroxyzine. We could probably keep you on the Wellbutrin as well, but with a multiples pregnancy, I don’t want any take any risks.” She goes on to explain the plan, the way Solana is to taper off one medication to start another. Solana takes notes to avoid missing anything and makes sure to let the other woman know she probably won’t be home for a couple days. Thus, the switch won’t be immediate. 

That’s another thing that alerts Solana to how low her husband must be feeling. He hasn’t realized or either maybe just feels too down to even be on top of her medication. She’s been giving it to herself, which is something she’d like to become a regular thing. But, Roman not being as strict about it is yet another telltale. 

A strong indication of his continuing mental decline.

Another thing for her to worry about, and God is she worried. 

————

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean

Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens

Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance

Sniffling, Solana pauses the music, unable to listen to anymore.

Fetu’s smiling voice and cheery voice suddenly fill the room, returning to her along with a bittersweet memory. 

“Such a beautiful song. One of my favorites,” she’d shared, guiding Solana through a traditional Samoan recipe. “You want to know my favorite line?”

Solana nodded, smiling as she continued to peel the potatoes. “Of course.”

She waited for Fetu to turn down the music before she recited the lines. “Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder where those years have gone. I hope you dance.” Solana watched the almost solemn look in her eyes before the older woman smiled warmly. “Life is such a precious thing. We all have such limited time here in the grand scheme of things. In the good and the bad, we must always dance and find something beautiful to look back at.” 

Solana’s tears intensify, still remembering, feeling the exact emotion she felt in that moment. So profound and moving.

She’d give anything to have just one more type of interaction or conversation with Fetu again.

Even if…..

Even if just to tell her about the pregnancy. 

That makes her cry harder.

It takes a good twenty minutes for Solana to gather herself, to feel ready enough to check on Roman, to see if he needs anything before she goes to bed. 

Day five of his grieving has arrived, and he’s still not spoken to her. It still hurts, but it’s not a major concern.

What is a concern is everything else. His isolation. His helplessness. His sadness.

Solana knows better than anyone else what a depressive episode looks like, and the last thing she wants is to see him slip into one of those.

But, if he doesn’t stop shoving his feelings away, shutting down and dissociating…..that might be where he’s headed. 

Solana bypasses knocking on his door as it’s partially ajar. She instead walks in only to find the balcony door also open, Roman, shirtless, sitting on the chair, staring at absolutely nothing.

She frowns. 

It kills her to see him like this. 

Walking over to him, she stands just close enough for him to hear. “Ro? I’m going to bed. Do—do you need anything?”

His response is as the rest have been. Nonverbal. He simply shakes his head no.

She’s grateful he can’t see the disappointment in her face. “Okay.” Dejected and deterred, Solana turns to leave and return to her room.

“I didn’t come see her enough.”

Solana stops dead in her tracks as his deep voice penetrates the silence. For a quick second, she doesn’t trust it. Doesn’t trust her own hearing, because Roman hasn’t said a word to her in days. And yet…..

She turns toward him, realizing that her hearing isn’t needing testing when it happens again. He speaks. “I should have—I should have listened to you.” Solana walks so that she’s standing in front of him, where she’s partially eclipsed his view of the dark forest and sky that’s littered with a blanket of stars. “I should have—” He closes his eyes, as Solana kneels down in front of him. 

“Please don’t do that,” she begs, shaking her head, taking his hands in hers. His right hand has healed nicely following her tending to it at least once a day since he messed it up. “Please don’t blame yourself. She wouldn’t want that.”

Studying him, Solana is realizing this is the most expressive Roman has been in days. She could feel his grief before, but she can actually see it now. “She knew you loved her, Roman. And she loved you, too.”

“It wasn’t fucking enough though.” The anger is rising again, but it doesn’t deter or scare her, just makes her heart ache. Because she knows it’s just a cover-up for an abundance of sadness. “Never enough.” Her heart fractures even more as he says in a pained, tortured voice. “I wasn’t enough for her….to stay. Not—not her. Not my parents. My uncle. My siblings. None of them.”

And it’s really not until this moment Solana has truly known what it means to see the person you love the most break down before you.

This is a completely different side of her husband. 

This is vulnerability. 

“Ro…..” Fingers raking through some of his hair, she does her best to find any words that could provide him some type of comfort, all while knowing nothing can ever really take away his pain. “Baby, you are enough.” More than enough. “What happened wasn’t your fault.” 

He looks away, clearly distraught. “I couldn’t save her this time.” Her eyes shut. This is heartbreaking. “I didn’t…..I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

Solana’s chest aches. Tears brimming in her eyes, she stands up. “Come here.” She doesn’t even have to try to embrace him. Roman already has his arms around her, tugging her closer as he lays his head against her stomach. 

It takes a second for it to register, for her to recognize there’s a slight tremble of his body against hers. For her to understand why his grip on her seems to tighten by the second. He’s holding her so tightly. 

And, it’s when she hears it that it registers.

It’s when she hears the quiet sniffles that it hits her like a ton of bricks. 

He’s crying. 

Another brief second of shock that’s quickly washed away by her natural instinct to nurture and protect. 

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, holding him, kissing the top of his head. “Baby, I am so so sorry.”

For one thing and one thing only. His loss. What Fetu’s death has done to him, how it has impacted him so deeply. What’s she’s not sorry for is this long awaited breakdown of sorts. Roman has needed this. Needed it for so long. To finally breakdown and feel his feelings, and while she knows better than anyone how uncomfortable and overwhelming that can be, it’s also inevitable.

This was bound to happen.

She’s just grateful she can be here to support him through this.

The way she always will. 

————

Roman’s breakdown proved to be the catalyst. The thing that helped progress him from this almost stoic state of dissociation to a state of feeling and being. He’s actually talked to and with her. More interaction that doesn’t feel forced, almost natural. What she’s used to. To some degree, because he’s still sad. Of course, he’s sad. Still grieving. All normal.

But, he’s no longer icing her out, and that’s all that matters to her. 

So much so that he’s continued to accept her nurturance and affection. Welcomes it. Craves it, almost. The way he’s welcomed her back into the bedroom, sleeps at night practically on top of her, head on her chest as she rakes her fingers through his hair. The way he pulls her onto his lap as they eat. It’s all so subtle but also loud. The kind of love and support he’s clearly needing, and she gives it all to him.

Whatever he needs, she’ll do.

Solana presses a kiss to his temple and runs her fingers along his broad shoulders as he lays back, almost relaxed against her, the bubbles surrounding them covering the majority of their bodies, warm water infused with lavender and chamomile contributing to the serene atmosphere she was aiming for.

A goal that seems to be working based upon how at ease he feels against her, the leaking of the tension from his big body. 

“I’m gonna drive tomorrow,” Solana informs. Because Roman’s emergence from his dark hole has also meant reintegration into reality and society. Over the past two days, she’s overheard him taking phone calls, some in English, some in Samoan. And from what she could make of these calls is that they were pertaining to funeral arrangements for Fetu.

Clearly, as the funeral is set to be held this upcoming Sunday. 

She has such mixed feelings on that. On how hard that’s going to be for her husband. 

But, one thing at a time.

“I can drive,” he answers, eyes still closed. 

Sighing quietly, she angles her head so that she has a better view of his face. “I said I’m gonna drive.” At that, Roman opens his eyes, clearly taken back by her calm but firm push back. Frowning, she strokes his beard. “I want you to rest.”

Because, she does. Because he’s going to need it. Because in this space for the past week, he’s been able to just be. Be angry. Be hurt. Be sad. Be anything he needs to just be a human freaking being.

But, once they’re back home, all of that has to be turned off. He won’t have the space to be anything but the Tribal Chief and not a man just grieving a very important person. 

So, she wants him to have as much time dwelling in this safe space as possible, and that includes being able to relax while she gets them back home. 

“Besides, I haven't done it in so long, I need to make sure I still remember.” Being chauffeured quite literally everywhere has entirely deprived Solana of the need to have a car of her own but also to actually, well, drive.

Roman scoffs quietly. “That’s reassuring.” 

Rolling her eyes, she flicks his shoulder and murmurs with a small smile, “shut up.”

He does, but it’s only in preparation for what comes next. “Thank you.”

She has a feeling what he’s referring to, but assumptions have rarely done society any good. “For?”

His reply is instant. “All of it.” 

Comfort. It’s something she’s clearly been providing him but something he’s always provided her. 

Solana moves her hands down his chest and across his shoulders, mouth against his temple. “I’d do anything for you…..” Because she would. Anything at all. “Anything you need, just tell me, I’ll do it.”

He’s done so much for her. Supported her through some of her darkest, lowest moments. The least she can do is return the favor. 

Solana watches him sit up, never takes her eyes off him as he adjusts himself so he’s facing her, gently pulling her so she’s almost straddling him. The movement creating a ripple of waves that brushes against their conjoined bodies. Her wet hands move to his face as his move up her damp back.

“I just need you.” It could mean a lot of things, could refer to many of the things she’s done with and for him over the past week. But, that look in his eyes, the way his still solemn gaze drops to her chest, how his hands are moving to her hips, she knows exactly just how he needs her right now. 

Solana reaches past him to turn the knob to start draining the tub before ghosting her lips over his, murmuring, “so take me.” 

————

Being back in their home is an experience. A bit of a tease, really. Because while it’s nice to be in her house, with Dulce who seems to stay by Roman’s side, clearly sensing his grief, it’s also bittersweet.

Because it doesn’t change what’s happened. Doesn’t make the feelings of sadness go away. 

Doesn’t stop Solana from thinking about the letter Fetu gave her, from trying to figure out if it’s the right time to give it to him.

A dilemma that haunts her in the days leading up to the funeral as she works to support and be there for her husband while also managing her own pregnancy symptoms that seem to pop up at the most inconvenient times.

It’s only by the grace of God that Roman hasn’t walked in on her hunched over the toilet, emptying her stomach from any and all food consumed. An irritating occurrence that seems to happen when she’s trying to cook.

She's definitely noticed an increased sensitivity to certain smells. Spices and seasoning that have always been staples in her cooking shelved due to her literally unable to tolerate the nausea that they cause her to experience just from the aroma alone.

Irritating, to say the least.

But, it’s the morning of the actual funeral that has her anxiety spiked, her concern at a naturally high baseline level. All things considered, she just has to focus on being there for Roman. Whatever that looks like. 

Still, it’s heavy and sad and just gut-wrenching.

Just about ready, only needing to slide her sandals on after letting Dulce outside to relieve herself, Solana decides to check on Roman. 

She finds him sitting on the edge of their bed. Like herself, he’s already dressed. A white, short sleeved button up shirt accompanied by a skirt-like wrap with tribal designs. A lavalava, according to Ava with leather sandals. 

She’s certain he heard her walk in, but he remains sitting, head down, ula fala on the bed beside him. Gently closing the door behind her, Solana walks over, partially surprised by how he reaches for her. Hands on her hips, her eyes never leave him as he lifts his head, clearly taking in her outfit. There’s a moment of anxiety under his intense gaze.

It’s easily squashed, however, when he says in a low voice, “you look beautiful.”

His compliment is so appreciated, especially when she thinks about his ability to still balance his grief while also making her feel so special. “Thank you.”

Solana moves her hands to the back of his head as he holds onto her, resting his head against her stomach. “I don’t want to do this.” Her eyes shut. She knows he doesn’t. “But, I have to.”

And that’s the part that kills her. That so much of handling this falls on his shoulders, is his responsibility because of his title. It kills her because it deprives him of just being able to grieve.

“I know, baby,” she comforts, gently stroking the back of his neck. “But, you don’t have to do it alone.”

She feels it. The heavy sigh against her. A sign of a semblance of relief. She’ll take that. She’ll offer that in any way that she can.

Roman sits back up, Solana watching him stand before her. Reaching to his side, she’s careful in how she picks up the ula fala and holds it before him. “Can I…..”

He nods and dips his head, allowing her to place it upon him. Solana is mindful of the placement, remembering the exact place it’s always sat when she’s seen it on him. And when he straightens to his full height, she moves her hands to his chest and says, “I know that you have to be the Tribal Chief today, but when it’s all said and done, and everyone has left and it’s just you and me, all I want and need you to be is Roman….that’s it.”

Because Roman is a man grieving. Who needs to be able to freely feel his feelings.

Whether he wants to or not.

Solana nods and leans up to kiss his cheek before taking his hand in hers, reminding, “I’ve got you.”

He says nothing, only nods, but he doesn’t have to. She can see the appreciation—and love—in his gaze.

—-----

Solana has never actually attended a funeral before. By the time she woke up from her coma, Xavier already had her mother buried, depriving her of that formal goodbye.

So this is a first for her. Different. She quickly learns that death is something that is not necessarily seen as a bad thing in Samoan culture. Sad, yes, but the focus is on the celebration of life, which she started to figure based upon the white color scheme.

Given the nature of the situation, Solana is unsurprised by the small attendance. Roman’s preference, no doubt. Jimmy, Jey, and Rikishi are all expected guests, along with the preacher who officiates. However, it’s Paul and Dwayne who take her by surprise.

There’s a sense of gratitude, however, when they both hug Roman and offer their condolences. And she’s especially moved by the extended time taken with the hug from Dwayne, the way she can feel the empathy emanating from his tall frame.

She appreciates it deeply, and she knows that Roman does, too. 

There are also a couple of other attendees that surprise her but not entirely, as they uphold what she would guess are Samoan traditions for funerals. Song and dance. Prayers. 

It’s a beautiful send-off, one fitting for Roman’s eccentric aunt.

And almost the entire time, Solana remains by his side. Holding his hand or his arm, and if not in physical proximity, she always finds him, watching him. He is her number one concern. 

All things considered, he holds himself together well, but that’s highly due to the mask he’s wearing. The strong resilience he’s displaying in terms of not giving away the true extent of his hurt. But, Solana feels it. Feels it deeply when it’s just the two of them standing in front of Fetu’s casket, the others already departed and readying to leave. She’s about to do the same, leave him to have some semblance of privacy, only for him to tighten his hand that’s tightly clasped with hers. 

“Stay.”

A single, simple word. But, enough.

Solana nods, moving to hold onto his arm, standing quietly but supportively beside him.

As she always will. 

It’s after that, unfortunately, that things go downhill.

Solana partially expected the twins to come over following the funeral. Ava as well. All three, however, expressed their desire to give Roman his space. And, it’s appreciated, because Solana also believes that to be the best.

For right now.

However, that sentiment is not shared by Dwayne, Paul, and Rikishi. And truly, the first of the three is no issue. He doesn’t ride in the limo, opting to drive himself back to the house. 

But, it’s during that ride, for the first time since learning of Fetu’s passing, Solana feels anger.

Not even as part of the grieving process. No, she feels anger towards the two men who sit across from herself and Roman. She feels anger toward them because they haven’t even driven off yet when they’re throwing a bunch of work questions and situations at her husband.

Her husband who may look present, but she knows him well enough to know he’s not. 

And given how long these two men have known Roman, she would have thought they could see the same.

Maybe they don’t.

Or, maybe they do and just don’t care. Either one pisses her off. Makes it hard for her to hold her tongue.

Shipments. Orders. Contracts. All logical things someone in Roman’s state shouldn’t be dealing with. 

But, it’s exactly what they’re throwing at him.

Even as they arrive at the house, Dwayne taking a call out back, Paul and Rikishi barely have Roman sat down at their dining room table when they’re back at it.

“Orton wants to speak with you regarding re-negotiating the RKO proposal.”

“Stocks are looking good, but we need to start thinking about next quarter.”

“The Cartel are still interested in meeting. You need to make that happen ASAP.”

A bunch of irrelevant shit. Solana partially wants to stay outside with Dulce to avoid having to overhear it, but it’s impossible to not want to be present. To not feel the need to be present. 

Just what more do they plan to throw at Roman?

Her husband is responding, being responsive, but she can see it, hear it. The difficulty he’s having. 

And it has her nearly bursting at the seams, trying to focus on moving around the kitchen, early preparation for dinner, but it’s hard.

She’s given a chance though when Roman clears his throat and says something about changing before he stands up from the chair and starts to walk away.

Just like that, Solana knows this is her opportunity, her chance, and she has to take it. 

Because, she’s disgusted.

It’s only when she’s certain that Roman is upstairs, fully out of hearing distance that she finds herself asking, “what is wrong with you two?”

Both men look at her with partially startled, mostly confused, expressions. Rikishi is the first to speak. “What?”

Solana scoffs and points toward the steps. “He just buried his aunt. Her body isn’t even cold in the ground, and you’re asking him about work?” She continues, throwing out almost angrily, “does he look like he needs to be working right now?”

There’s a bit of a standstill. Paul looks flustered, his cheeks turning red like a child being scolded by a parent. Rikishi, however, wears an almost blank expression. “You are not Samoan, therefore you do not understand our ways. We do not mourn like you do. We celebrate life.”

“Yeah, well he’s not in place to celeb—”

“Roman is the Tribal Chief. What he needs is irrelevant when it comes to the Bloodline.” Rikishi’s interruption—and his words—have her taken back. “He understands what his duty is.”

“His duty…..” It’s potentially a build up of things, sadness and grief, manifesting as anger. Regardless, it’s growing with each word that leaves this man’s mouth. “Has he not given enough? He does everything he’s supposed to do for the Bloodline—”

“Except provide an heir,” Rikishi’s voice is as icy as the cold look in his eyes. “Or would that be you failing at the one job you have?”

Paul’s eyes widen as looks at the man beside him. “Rikishi—”

It takes so much, so much for Solana to not shut him up, to not tell him that she’s pregnant, hoping that he spreads it to any and all who’ve given Roman a hard time about not having a child.

Because fuck them. 

The chubby man lifts up his hand as he stands from his seat, rounding the corner of the table. “You are not Bloodline, so I’m not surprised you don’t know your place—”

“My place–” There’s not a single ounce of her wanting or willing to back down in this moment. “–is beside my husband.”

“Do not forget, girl, who put you in that position.” There’s an almost hint of disgust in the way the word ‘girl’ leaves his mouth. “You were nothing before him. Nothing but a punching bag for that pathetic father and brother—”

Solana has never considered herself a violent person, especially not someone who responds with violence. But, it’s almost instinct. Because one minute her hand is at her side, the next it’s colliding with Rikishi’s cheek, with an intensity that sends his head to the side. 

And she doesn’t regret it one bit.

Finally aware of what’s just happened, Solana can only process the anger in his fat face and the way he lifts his hand toward her. Except instead of cowering, she prepares to block it.

But, she doesn’t have to.

Because someone else does.

Solana gasps quietly at Dwayne who stands beside, almost in front of her, protectively, holding Rikishi’s arm in an iron grip. 

“I don’t think you want to do that,” he says with the perfect balance of lightness and seriousness. “Unless you want me to lay your candy ass out for breaking Bloodlines rules for putting your hands on a woman.”

Rikishi hisses and snatches his arm away. “She put her hands on me. I am an Elder.”

“I don’t give a damn who you are. You will not disrespect me in my house,” Solana swears. Never again will she allow any man to harm her, physically or verbally. 

And that’s a promise. 

Dwayne shrugs. “Sounds fair to me.” He then smiles, but there’s no trace of humor. “And like you said, she’s not one of us, so she doesn’t know our ways.”

Solana is surprised at that. How long has he been listening?

Paul suddenly steps forward, looking like he’s about to have a damn panic attack. “Clearly, there’s been some—”

“Get out.”

Solana’s interruption earns a variety of expressions ranging from surprisement, amusement and indignation.

Paul stutters. “I’m s-s-”

“I want you both out of my house.” There’s no stuttering on her end. “Now.”

While Paul looks confused between his friend and Dwayne, the latter chuckles, expressing, “I believe the wife of the Tribal Chief has made herself clear.” And just like that the smirk drops into a straight line as he orders, “leave.”

Paul doesn’t need to be told twice, the obese man hurriedly grabbing his papers with trembling hands. It’s Rikishi, however, whose gaze is now focused on her with borderline amusement.

He holds her stare, and she doesn’t dare look away. He will not intimidate her. 

Paul is mumbling and murmuring to the other man about needing to leave, something about coming back later, but again, he’s silenced by Rikishi.

“Well played, girl. Well played.” 

Rikishi turns to walk away when Solana finds herself stepping past Dwayne. “My name is Solana. Solana Reigns. The wife of your Tribal Chief, Roman Reigns, and you will address me as such.”

Paul looks like he’s seen a ghost, like he’s seconds away from pissing himself. Rikishi just stares with a cold smile, one that doesn’t prevent or scare her from continuing. 

“And if you ever raise your hand to me again.” she steps forward, invading his personal space the same way he invaded hers. “Just know that I don’t need my husband to kick your ass.” There’s an almost snarl to her lip as she vows, “I can do it myself.”

Because she can. Because if she can put her brother, someone who terrorized and literally tortured her for years in the ICU, she can certainly do it to the rotund man before her. 

He doesn’t say anything else, just turns on his heel and leaves out with Paul, but Solana knows better. Recognizes that look. Has seen it before. Knows what it means.

This isn’t over. 

And yet, there’s not a part of her that’s nervous, that feels scared or even upset with herself at how she responded.

Because she’s spent years being hurt and disrespected by men. No more.

Not for herself but also for the children growing in her stomach. Children that she strongly believes to be girls. Solana would soon rather die than have anyone treat her daughters the way she’s been treated.

And she knows Roman would and will feel the same.

So, it starts now. The demanding of respect that she’s always deserved.

Regardless of who her husband is.

Dwayne steps forward, gentle hand on her shoulder. “You alright?” Before she can answer, he informs, “I’ll make sure Roman knows about—”

“No,” she interrupts and shakes her head. “I mean, I’m okay, but I don’t want you telling him. He…..he has enough on his plate.” And the last thing she wants is anything else being added to it. 

Dwayne frowns. “I don’t disagree with you, but as the faletua—”

Now she’s the one frowning. “The what?”

“Faletua,” he says it slower, offering and explanation. “It means the wife of the Tribal Chief.”

Solana is temporarily taken back by that. She never knew there was a direct word for who she is to Roman. For what she is to the Bloodline. 

It’s…..surprising, to say the least. 

“Speaking to you the way he did was unacceptable, but going to hit you?” He shakes his head. “Thought he would have learned that shit don’t fly with us by now.”

Curious, Solana crosses her arms and finds herself asking, “what do you mean?”

Dwayne seems a bit reluctant at first, eventually lowering his voice and offering an explanation. “Look, I’m 13 years older than Roman and Rikishi’s twins, so they were too young or not even born to have been around Rikishi when he was a piece of fucking work. Hothead. Impulsive. Used to beat on his wife. Always felt like he should have been the Tribal Chief. Nakoa, Roman’s dad, eventually had to give him an ultimatum: he get some help and straighten the fuck out or he and his entire family would be ex-communicated from the Bloodline.”

Solana hears the word coming out of this man’s mouth, but it’s difficult for her to process said words. Everything seems so…..unbelievable, like it can’t be true. Like the biological father of Jimmy and Jey, who have become like brothers to her, could be the sons of someone so…..vile.

Someone abusive.

Dwayne continues, “he’d calmed down a lot by the time Roman and the twins were born, so they don’t really know much about it. How bad it was, at least.” He then adds over a dark chuckle, “that’s where Jey gets his temper from. His old man.”

Solana has a lot to think on, but she also has many questions, too. Obviously, Rikishi’s behavior hasn’t been a problem for some time. Yes, there was today’s incident, but Solana thinks she knows her husband well enough to know he wouldn’t put up with any bullshit. 

So perhaps today was just a one-off? Fetu was his relative as well, so there’s a good chance his grief is presenting as irritation similar to how Roman’s presented as anger.

And yet…..

There’s this small, nagging part of her that doesn’t believe that. Believes that there’s more at play than what meets the eye.

Is starting to wonder if she now knows who Fetu was talking about when she said she told her brother, Nakoa, not to trust him.

Shaking her head, Solana redirects her focus to the conversation at hand. “Thank you.” Because she’s grateful for this man that she doesn’t know very well but believes to be a good person. Someone who’s good for her husband. “I—I’ll talk to Roman about what happened.” And she will……just sans some details. 

He doesn’t need to know everything. 

It’ll only put more stress on him, and he doesn’t need that.

Dwayne seems unconvinced, but he doesn’t argue. “If that’s what you prefer.”

“It is,” she answers. Switching gears a bit, Solana lowers her voice, sharing, “and thank you for being here…..for him.”

It’s not missed upon her the sad countenance that appears on his handsome face. “Gotta be honest with you, when I got the call, I was shocked. If I had known she was still……” Dwayne sighs and runs his hand over his face. “I understand why he kept it a secret. She….she meant a lot to him.”

More than you could ever know. “I know,” Solana whispers. The realization that Roman should have been back by now causes her to clear her throat. “I should probably go check on him.”

Dwayne nods. “I should probably get going anyway.”

Solana goes to protest, not wanting him to feel uninvited. “Oh no, you don’t—”

“You were right to tell them to leave,” he interrupts, gesturing to the steps. “He does need time.”

Solana says nothing, though feels immensely grateful to have someone who also recognizes that Roman is just a human being who just needs to feel and grieve instead of this machine that can just keep moving like clockwork.

Solana again thanks him for attending and his overall support before seeing him out the door and moving up the steps to check on her husband.

“Ro?” Opening the door to their bedroom, she's partially surprised to find Roman still sitting on the edge of the bed, clothes unchanged outside of the ula fala that lays on the dresser. 

He turns to her as she closes the door behind her and walks over to him. “I just….I need a minute.”

Moving in between his legs, she informs, “it’s okay. They’re gone now.” 

At that, he looks at her with a confused expression. “What do you mean?”

“Dwayne left on his own, but I made Paul and Rikishi leave.” And before he can say anything, she’s explaining, “I understand there’s things you need to get done, get caught up on, but the Bloodline can survive another day without you taking charge.” She sighs and cups his face, reminding him, “today was a lot for you. The least you can do is take the rest of it to just….be.”

She’s partially expecting him to push back, maybe even some irritation for her “speaking” on his behalf only for him to ask, “how did they take it?”

Shit. She wants to lie, feels like it would be an easy short term thing and maybe it would. But, the fact that she’s already keeping this pregnancy from him is more than enough secrecy for her.

“Paul seemed more scared than anything. Rikishi….he didn’t like it, but Dwayne backed me, so it was fine.”

A flash of anger appears in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter if he likes it or not. If you say something, he needs to fucking do it.” And this is what she wanted to avoid. Him getting upset when he doesn’t need to. “I’ll handle it.”

Solana shakes her head. “That’s not important right now.” Because it really isn’t. Especially since she’s already handled it. “Why don’t you change? Lay down. I’ll fix you something to eat. If I start now, I can have it ready by—” 

She’s stopped by Roman reaching her for her, his hands on her waist as he says so quietly, “stay with me.”

It’s such a quiet, little thing, but it’s something he’s wanting.

Something he’s needing. Thus, the answer is obvious.

Solana nods and reaches for the middle of her skirt, hiking it up enough so that she can climb on top of his lap. Roman moves them back on the bed as she lays on top of him, snuggling herself into his chest as he wraps his arms around her, holding her. 

“Thank you,” he says after kissing the top of her head. The vulnerability in his voice is aligned what she’s seen and heard in him off and on all week. “I don’t…..I don’t know if I could have handled with this without you.”

His words cause chills to sprout up her spine. Another thing she can relate to. The loss of her mother was something she once thought she would never recover from, largely because she had to deal with it alone.

But, Roman isn’t alone.

And, he never will be again. 

Holding him a bit tighter, she promises, voice clear and firm, “you’re gonna be okay, Roman."

And, he is.

She’s going to make sure of it. 

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Me: don't make Charlie's habit of twirling / spinning Vaggie into a THiNG it can just be CUTE with no other headcanons behind it-

also me: what if Vaggie always loved dancing but took being an exorcist very seriously bc of the whole "learned to trust people on the battlefield" thing so the only time she felt she had an excuse for dancing with a partner was when she called it "training" or "unarmed sparing" and goaded Lute into doing it with her (Lute being Adam's second and Vaggie one of his best girls) (what, is Lute scared of not being able to keep up with her-?)

Lute: "This, is stupid."

Vaggie: "It's just like sparring."

Lute: "Then why can't I use a sword."

Vaggie: "The point is learning to read your opponent's body and move with it. A weapon only gets in the way."

Lute: "Or maybe you know which on of us would win in a real fight."

Vaggie: "OR maybe it's nice to practice WITHOUT someone losing feathers over it."

Lute: "Only losers lose feathers. If they don't like it they should start WINNING."

Vaggie: "Just put your fucking hand on my waist and do a box step."

Lute: "A what? Put my hand- where!?"

Vaggie: "Forget it. We'll dance like we're in a damn period piece ballroom scene. You can at least survive spinning me, right?"

Lute: "SPIN you?"

Vaggie: "Just hold up your hand and-"

Lute: "We look dumb enough as is! I'm not making myself look SILLY just so you can do a stupid spin."

Vaggie: "Fine."

Lute: "You need to watch yourself. Exorcist are heaven's first line of defense- we are the divine blades guarding the pearly gates. We need to keep ourselves sharp, focused- If you slip even once-"

Vaggie: "I said fine! I get it! Alright? God let's just, let's just get this over with..."

And then she's in hell, a year or so after Lute grabbed her wrist and pulled her eye-first onto a sword instead of a dance,

and it turns out the princess of hell is an eager and willing dancer, even if she's maybe not the most graceful or easy to follow- but it's the kind of challenge Vaggie loves-

(and not the only thing Vaggie loves)

-especially when Charlie's the one who cleared out a space, put on a playlist, and waved her into the middle of the room so they could laugh and bow / curtsy before making tracks across the carpet-

all of this, even though Charlie's still rusty at dancing, never was into it other much other than as another way to flail around to a beat, and here she is now, seriously trying to remember or learn all the different steps Vaggie shows her

this time it's a waltz

Vaggie's been avoiding waltzes. And sure enough she finds herself spacing out in the middle of it, coming back to the excited sound of Charlie's voice

Charlie: "I think we're doing it!"

Vaggie: "...hm?"

Charlie: "The waltz! It's been ages but, this is about right, right?"

Vaggie: "Oh uh, yeah. You've got it. Told you you would."

Charlie: (laughing) "And I told YOU if we made it through this it'd be because you're so good at making ME look like a good dancer! Even when my hooves keep snagging on the carpet... Even when you're a million miles away."

Vaggie: "Shit. Sorry."

Charlie: "No it's fine! Good practice for me leading!" (leading them onto a new patch of floor) "So! A lot on your mind?"

Vaggie: "Just remembered something, is all."

Charlie: "Waltz related?"

Vaggie: "I wouldn't compare this with that."

Charlie: "Aww, shoot." (pouts) "Well give me a few months and I'll get there."

Vaggie: (chuckling) "Charlie, you're already WAY past the last dance partner I had."

Charlie: "Wow. That bad huh?"

Vaggie: "What'd I just say about you and dancing?"

Charlie: "That at least I'm not totally the absolute worst ever?"

Vaggie: "Yeah no. Try again."

Charlie: (grinning) "I'm better than they were."

Vaggie: "You sure are. Actually trying counts for a lot, honestly."

Charlie: "You make trying things a lot easier." (hoof catches) (stumbles) (vaggie steadies her) "Case in point!"

Vaggie: "We really gotta remember to roll up the carpet next time."

Charlie: "Orrrr you'll just have to go on catching me!"

Vaggie: "I'll do that with or without the carpet."

Charlie: "Right!" (face hot) "Er so, were they clumsy too? Lacking in the whole smooth moves department?" (blushes MORE)

Vaggie: "The moves were fine, the ego got in the way a bit."

Charlie: "Ego?"

Vaggie: (sighs) (rolls eye) "Apparently twirling me would've looked too silly."

Charlie: "Wh- Twirling you?"

Vaggie: "Spinning. Whatever. They cared about that a lot and- I know I know- it's a dumb thing to still be hung up on."

Charlie: "Well I'd be honored to look silly with you!"

Vaggie: (laughing) "Okay?"

Charlie: "Can I spin you?"

Vaggie: "You really don't have to."

Charlie: "So we can do it on three? One. Two-"

Vaggie: "Really it's- watch out, table at 3 O'clock-"

Charlie: "-Wheeeeee~!"

Vaggie: "WHOA- that-" (breathless) "Now THAT was a spin."

Charlie: "Eheheh. Whoops?"

Vaggie: "Oh no, no whoopsing your way out of this one, I'm gonna need to inflict some payback spinning of my own." (grins)

Charlie: "Uh I'm kinda tall for-"

Vaggie: "You ever been lifted?"

Charlie: "I mean when I was a kid sure, but I'm like a foot taller than-"

Vaggie: "On three. One."

Charlie: "-Vaggie you come up to maybe my shoulder-"

Vaggie: "Two."

Charlie: "-not that you can't do anything you set your mind to, obviously! I'm just not sure how-"

Vaggie: "Three."

Charlie: "Hwha- OH!" (gleeful) (laughing) "Ohhh my gosh-!"

Vaggie: (smug) "There's more than one way to twirl a girl across the floor."

Charlie: "Spinning WHILE lifting!?"

Vaggie: "Fun right?"

Charlie: "SO MUCH FUN! Can we do it again!?"

Vaggie: "Sure-"

Charlie: "Ooh ohh can I do it to you too? Can we take turns??"

Vaggie: "Not worried about looking silly, huh?"

Charlie: "No! Why would-" (stops)

Charlie: (stops their dance)

Charlie: "Vaggie, I.... I really don't know why anyone wouldn't want to be silly with you. Or how it could ever be more important than seeing you happy like this."

Vaggie: "...Not everyone's like you, sweetie."

Charlie: "Or maybe everyone just needs to actually see you for once."

Vaggie: "I'd rather just stick to you for now. If, that's okay?"

Charlie: "Always."

(dance resumes, much slower, much closer)

Charlie: "It's, it's okay to miss people too, you know. I know, I mean. How much that sucks. If you, want to talk about...?"

Vaggie: "No. Thanks."

Charlie: "You're missing them though, huh?"

Vaggie: "It's not that. It's just, weird how much things change."

Charlie: "Like dance partners."

Vaggie: "Like your reasons for dancing with them."

Charlie: "....Oh."

(do they kiss???) (i have no idea) (maybe Vaggie just relaxes and rests her head over Charlie's heart) (maybe Charlie tries her best not to think about how hard it's beating)

(maybe somewhere up in heaven, an exorcist with a sword does a box step while training, slips, and slices her target in half in fury when she realizes it)

maybe Vaggie always loved dancing but had to end up in hell before finally getting to dance the way she always wanted to

or maybe

it feels like Vaggie never danced at all, until she had Charlie to share it with

[callmemaeverick]

Good cop, Bad Boy - A. Aretas

Summary: Being part of AMMO meant that you would be working with the best on the force. But when shit hits the fan, you find yourself enlisting help from an unlikely source. Well.. maybe not so unlikely

WC: 2.1k

TW: guns, blood, death, Senor Aretas

The water calms you down, it always has. Whenever life gets too fast or too hectic, you would find yourself gravitating towards bodies of water. It was why you love Miami so much.

Taking a drag from your dwindling cigarette, you kept your eyes out onto the sea, letting the soft sounds of the gentle waves calm down your nerves. So much had been going on in the last week.

News started spreading that your beloved late captain had ties to the cartel. And then, Marcus and Mike went MIA while transporting Mike’s son, Armando, who was actually in the cartel. And then that morning, another bomb got dropped on you when you knocked on Dorn’s door and someone else answered.

After a heated shouting match about how inappropriate it was that your colleagues are dating, you decided that you needed some space and stepped out. Leaving was not an option as there were heaps of Howard’s files to go through, so you told Dorn you needed some air and stepped onto his deck.

The truth was, you were slightly jealous. With Rita becoming Captain and Rafe transferring to another unit, and now, this new development, you were left essentially, alone. No partners to watch your six and with no partners, it would mean less active work.

And that pissed you off. That and the IA nightmare this could bring.

There was a shift in weight on the boathouse and before you know it, your gun was out of the holster and aimed. Your body tensed.

Brown eyes widened and the familiar face of Armando Aretas greeted you. “Calmate,” His voice was low.

“What the f-“

A split second later, Mike was in front of you. “Hey, it’s us.” He reached out and pushed the barrel of your gun down slowly. “It’s just us.”

“Oh my God!” You gasped as you re-holstered and lunged to hug the man. “We thought you guys were dead!”

“Takes more than that to bring us down,” Marcus chimed as he ducked to Dorn’s door and knocked violently. Mike, in turn, faced his son.

“Hang out here for a sec.”

The man nodded once and your attention went to him. All three of them looked haggard, covered in dirt. Their clothes looked stolen and you found yourself wondering where they had been the last three days.

Marcus and Mike barged into Dorn’s living room and you waited outside. They were in for a surprise and you do not wanna be there when they found out.

A horn sounded in the distance and you turned back to the sea, taking the last drag from your cig before dropping the butt on the deck and stepping on it with your boots.

You could feel eyes on you and when you looked up, your suspicions were confirmed. His eyebrows quirked when you caught him.

“What?”

He gave you a once-over then moved to the door.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” You warned him and he stopped for a second before he turned the knob and entered.

You scoffed and smirked, following him in.

The scene that greeted you when you entered behind Armando was very similar to what you had subjected him to early on as you stared down the barrel of Kelly’s gun. You leaned in to his back.

“Told you,” As you side stepped him, you caught his side-eye and grinned. Your day was looking up.

xxxx

When Mike said Howard had files, he had files. Pictures, videos, case reports, manifests. It was like trying to complete a very large jigsaw puzzle with no full picture in hand and all you had to help was Armando, the only person that could identify your target.

You held up a new picture him. “Anybody ring a bell?”

He glanced at it and rubbed at his eyes. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

The glare came full force. “Sí. I know these people, but none of them are who you are looking for.” He sighed.

His eyes were bloodshot and it was only then you realized he was still in the same raggedy shirt and jeans he came in with. And worse, he hadn’t had the chance to clean the cut on his forehead. “Shit, did Dorn not…”

He leveled you with a look that said, 'What do you think?'

“Well, that’s what you get when you flirt with someone’s girl,” You quipped. “Come on, follow me,” You didn’t wait to see if he was following, you just knew. And as you passed Dorn at his console, you smacked him lightly upside the head.

“Oww! What was that for?!

“You know what it’s for!” You sniped back as your best friend watched the two of you pass. “You were raised better than to disrespect guests,”

“He’s not a guest!”

“He’s Mike’s guest, therefore he’s a guest!”

His grumbling followed you to the second floor but you ignored it and went straight to Dorn’s guest bedroom. You’ve slept in there more times than you can count so you knew where everything is.

“Spare clothes are in there. Towels in the second drawer. Bathroom is through there.” You pointed and watched as he took stock of your instructions.

“Do you need the first aid?”

“What?”

“Are you hurt anywhere? Do you need the first aid kit?”

“Oh… nah. I’m good.”

“Okay,” As you turned to leave, he caught your wrist and you turned.

“Why are you helping me?”

“This is hardly considered help, Aretas,”

He stared.

“Well, aren’t you helping us?” You asked back. “Way I see it, you’re risking your neck to help clear someone’s name. Someone very important to your father. That earns you a pass in my book.”

“How do you know I’m not doing this for myself?”

“What could you possibly gain from this?” You scoffed. “It’s not gonna earn you a pardon. So I think you’re doing this because Mike asked you for help. Am I right?”

Armando did not answer so you just gave him a knowing smile and left him alone.

xxxx

The night air was cool and the sounds of waves lapping calming you down again. It was the reason why you liked hanging out at Dorn's so much. But with the new development; you might need to find another spot.

It was almost d-day and you all have had one hell of a night. You saw the attack on Marcus' place and was thankful his son-in-law was there to protect his wife and daughter. But Mike wasn't so lucky.

Witnessing his panic attack almost triggered your own. If the indomitable Mike Lowrey was scared; you should be too. You remembered when you yourself was in his shoes, the weight of the ring around your neck heavy.

Somebody leaned on the railing next to you and judging by bronze of his skin, you already knew who it was.

"Can't sleep?" You broke silence.

When no answers came, you turned to face Armando. You took him in slowly. After a shower; he had looked better, more alive than when they first arrived at the boathouse and you were glad for it. You wouldn't kid yourself and not admit that the man is very attractive. He's capable, intelligent, quiet. And there there was the way he assessed everything around him with those eyes of his.

You had no idea how anyone wouldn't just spontaneously combust at being under his gaze.

Speaking of his eyes, you saw his attention slide to you and his eyebrows rose, so you quickly diverted your own back to the sea. Your face grew warm.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"There is nothing to say,"

"Well, I don't do well in uncomfortable silences so.."

This time he fully turned to you making you mirror his actions. He took one step forward and instantly, your warning bells blared. Your eyes widened and you gulped.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?" His voice dropped low but his eyes blazed as they stared into yours. Holy shit, you thought.

"I - uhh -…"

A rogue smirk painted his lips, pulling your attention. The smirk widened to a grin. Then as suddenly as he was close, he stepped back and gave you back your personal space. You blinked, dazed and confused as to what just happened.

Once you retrieved your bearings, you cleared your throat. Your face was now burning. "You're a dick, Aretas," You snapped and was blessed with the low timbre of his soft laugh.

xxxx

You came to with ringing in your ears and pain all over your body. The last thing you remembered were strong arms wrapping around your body and then you were airborne.

Mike gave you both a mission and that was Callie. But then there were too many of them. And then there was the plane.

You stood from behind the overturned table and looked around. There were bodies littered all over. But no Callie. And no Armando.

Then, the radio crackled in your earpiece. Judy.

“I’ve got eyes on Aretas. Moving in.”

Fuck.

“Who’s got eyes on Armando?” You called into the comms.

Rita’s voice came on. “Last I saw he was extracting Callie. West exit.”

You bolted without thinking, praying that you would get there in time. He was your partner, you need to have his six.

You arrived from behind, just as Mike arrived from the side and you skidded to a halt as Judy’s gun swivelled to you.

“Put the gun down!”

Immediately complying, you raised your hands up. But your eyes were on Armando.

Without warning, your heart thundered at the sight of him, leaning heavily againt the tree trunk. He was breathing hard, bleeding all over. It was not looking good.

“Mom. Mom, stop!” Callie yelled. “He saved my life!”

And for the first time, Judy seemed to see someone else other than her father’s killer. She saw her daughter. Alive and safe, with barely a scratch on her.

“Please, Mom.” The girl begged. “He saved my life.”

It felt like ages, but the moment Judy holstered her weapon, both you and Mike rushed to Armando’s side.

“Are you hit?” Mike asked his son, his eyes roaming Armando’s body, looking for holes. “Are you hit?”

You were on the ground, ripping a piece of fabric off of your tshirt and wrapping it around his thigh. When you pulled tight, he grunted and flinched. As you stood, Armando had raised his arm around his father’s shoulders and leaned against the taller man. He was dazed but at least he was upright

“You did good.” Mike assured. “You did good.”

The radio crackled again. This time, it came from Judy’s.

“Howard, do you copy?”

Everyone present froze as you waited for Judy’s response. Dread seeped into your bones as she looked at the three of you and then, her daughter.

But then, by some miracle, she released her radio and met Mike’s eyes.

“Go. Before I change my mind,”

Not to be told twice, the three of you made for the trees and beyond it, the river and the little boat you had arrived on with Armando.

You stepped from under his arm and stepped away to give father and son a moment alone but not before you caught his eyes.

He was your partner for at most, 15 hours, but he was a good partner to have. He had your back the whole time and not once did you doubt him. Without your permission, your brain had started to trust him fully and it intrigued you. He intrigued you.

And now he’s leaving. You didn’t know if you would ever see each other again.

So you gave him a nod and a small smile. When you heard the motor start, you made your trek back to the van. Mike’ll find his way back on his own.

xxxx

5 months later...

The sensor beeped as it detected your facial ID and allowed you entry into the elevator that would take you down to the basement of your HQ. You got the call just that morning.

A major player just got PID'd slipping through customs and the department believed something big is going down in Miami. And AMMO had been tasked to find out what and stop it.

As you approached the center of the room, you eyes caught the familiar figure leaning against the wall in a corner. You fought not to let your reaction show, but the way you slowed your steps was telling enough judging by the smile Marcus was failing to hide.

You stowed your gear and made your way down and beelined for that same corner, ignoring the eyes and smiles of your colleagues.

God, IA is going to have a field day.

"Alright, now that we're all here," Mike began and the screens behind him lit up.

You leaned againts the console and let your shoulder touch Armando's but your eyes were on your superior.

"Welcome back,"

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR SEVENTEEN

in which you watch a movie about dragons with eddie, but there's something deeper beneath the surface to battle. to train. to tame.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 3.7k+

→ a/n: omg they still haven't slept they're just like me fr <3 thank you for all the kindness and endless patience you have all had with this story, and for sticking around for the ride. deftones scene that has haunted me for months now will be next hour! and the return of the gc! see y'all next week (maybe)

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

17:00 ─────────ㅇ───── 24:00

HOUR SEVENTEEN - 8:00 AM

“Are you crying right now?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh my God, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“Eddie, those are goddamn tears on your cheeks-”

“Oh, fuck off!” 

The credits for How To Train Your Dragon roll as background noise to your bickering. 

“It’s okay to admit that you were, y’know,” you coo as you lean across the spanse of both your laps, moving to pinch at his cheek as he leans back and moves it further out of your reach, “It’s a very moving ending.” 

You’d situated yourself at one end of the couch when you two returned inside, while Eddie had seated himself on the opposite end. Initially, you’d been disappointed, worried about that sudden distance. But the distance disappeared rather quickly as Eddie had fully turned his body, back against the armrest and legs spread out of that empty space, and encouraged you to do the same. A messy entanglement of knees and ankles and calves all pressed together, touching at every interval possible. Anywhere your leg could manage to graze his, it was. A plethora of gentle and minuscule touches, all adding up to something bigger – something that still grows in your chest amongst the vines and beneath his waves.

It was the very thing that made this easy. It wasn’t awkward, neither of you seemed uncomfortable given that the last time you’d used this couch, it had been in very delicate and very different circumstances. 

It was all part of being his friend. You were Eddie’s friend. 

“Don’t be so condescending,” Eddie’s scowl is adorable, tugging on every infantile bloom gathered on the greenery in your chest. 

Boundaries. Your lungs and your vines and your bones had found respectable boundaries amongst themselves, and it was finally easier to breathe around Eddie again.

“I’m not!” you shift your legs, sliding your bare skin against that of his flannel pajamas. He’s quick to wrap a hand around your ankle, thumb pressing into the hard bone as if he’s scared you’re about to run from him again. You’re not; you’re not sure how to convince him, but you can’t imagine there’s anything he could tell you now to send you running once more, “I liked the movie, Eddie. It was… it was really good.” 

You’re a terrible liar. You can’t remember half the movie. All you can remember is the way Eddie would animatedly add commentary for you, how there had been a point in the movie the two of you paused for nearly fifteen minutes for him to go on a ramble of his explanation as to why he’d named his bike Nightfury (as if it hadn’t been obvious from the way his face lit up the moment Toothless appeared on screen). All you can remember is how you only wished the movie would never end, so the look on his face would never fade. 

“Tell me your favorite scene,” he demands with a knowing smirk. He knows you didn’t pay attention. 

“You know…” you pause, racking your brain for a single scene to mention, “The… one…”

“Go on,” he scoots his heels back towards him, elevating his knees so he can prop his elbows up on them and cradle his face mockingly, acting completely enthralled by whatever your answer may be, “The one…?” 

You panic, blurting out, “The one with the dragon.” 

You miss the pressure of his thumb on your bones. A physical reminder of his grip on you, not just all mumbled metaphorical ones that now reside in you.

“Half the movie was scenes with a dragon.” 

“The one where he’s training the dragon.” 

That earns a cackle from him. One that pulls from his chest, sends him leaning back from his sarcastic pose and makes him squint his eyes until crinkles appear beside them. You almost consider counting each laugh line, but just as quickly as they appeared, they disappeared. 

“Awesome,” he breathes out, stretching his legs out, bumping them back against yours once more, “So specific. You should really be a professional movie critic, you know that?” 

“Oh, yeah,” you nod giddily, “Feast your eyes, pretty boy. The next Robert Ebert in the making.”

He’s red. Terribly, terribly red. It’s not a surprise he fights fire with fire as he replies, “Sweetheart, respectfully… who the fuck is Robert Ebert?” 

It’s your turn for your cheeks to burn. You’re unsure if he catches it, the flash of sudden shyness at that nickname now. It once sent rage burning down your throat, but you now revel in it. You’d burn for it. 

“You’re killing me here, handsome,” that does the trick – a small squeak sounds off from deep within his throat, and he tries to cover it with a cough, “He was a famous movie critic. My newest role model.”

You expect him to go on with the bit, to force your hand and make you expand on it. Your mind is already reeling with ways to insert more innuendos, more nicknames, more ways to drive him as insane as you already had become thanks to him. It was only fair that you return the favor. 

He doesn’t. 

He’s like a schoolboy, fidgeting beneath your attention. You swear you feel a tremor in his legs that are tangled with yours properly again, and when he grabs your ankle, when he gives it another squeeze and he lays his thumb into that bone again as if he might find a divot specifically worn out just for him, you realize he’s not going to go along with the bit. Your innocent nickname has left him defenseless. Flustered, vibrant pink and crimson red from the bridge of his nose to the tops of his ears. 

Oh, this is fun. 

You move the foot he’s not holding onto for dear life, shifting it too quick for him to stop you before you sharply prod his exposed stomach with your toes, “Earth to Eddie?” 

He jumps at the contact. It happens so fast, you almost can’t keep track of him with your eyes as he’s sporadically jumping up off of the couch, away from your foot and legs and you. 

Oh, that’s not fun. 

“We should watch another movie,” No, we really shouldn’t. “How’s Scream sound?” 

He doesn’t even let you answer him, already rushing towards the entertainment center and dropping into a crouch before the shelves holding some of his movies. His hand moves to his knee, the hand that had once held to your bone, the one that burned a lingering touch into it, and you watch as his fingers start to tap along to a silent beat. 

A clear sign of anxiety. Even if you hadn’t come to observe Eddie and learn his ins and outs over the last seventeen hours, you’d know he’s on edge. 

“What are you doing?” you baldly ask him, in no mood to beat around the bush. 

He’s on edge. All you did was call him handsome, and he’s on fucking edge. 

“What do you mean?” he asks over his shoulder, not even so much as looking at you as his fingers trail along the spines of titles, occupying himself with finding a movie you still hadn’t agreed to. 

You sit up on your knees, kneeling on the cushions. It almost reminds you of when your knees had last pressed into this couch, “I mean, why the fuck did you get up like that?” 

“Like what?”

It’s funny, how easily your previously warm contentment can start to fan into flames of agitation.

“Oh, Jesus-” you cut yourself off, standing just abruptly as he had. You walk with purpose towards him, and he finally turns his face to look at you, “What did I do? Did I cross a line?” 

His brows furrow, “What?”

You wave your hand towards the couch, finally stopping off beside him, cocking a hip to accommodate your other hand that rests on it, “The way you just- we were just sitting there and talking and you just-” 

You just completely pulled away from me. Physically, yes, but I’m terrified it also be emotionally. You pulled away, and it feels an awful like you’re running away. 

All the words you can’t say – all the words you don’t know how to say. 

“You jumped up like I said something wrong,” you quietly finish the thought only half truthfully. It’s better than nothing. It still offers a sliver of honesty. 

“You didn’t say anything wrong,” he remains crouched, looking up at you with big and wide eyes, face smoothing into shock, “I just… I want to watch another movie.”

“I thought we were past that.”

“Past what?”

“Lying.”

His blush lingers and so does the tapping of his fingers, “Why do you think I’m lying? I’m being serious – you didn’t do anything wrong! I just… You said you haven’t seen Scream, and mentioned something about killing, so I thought-” 

“And if I don’t want to watch another movie?” you drop to your knees beside him, and he physically retracts, “See! Jesus Christ, Eddie, be honest with me right now or so help me God-”

“I have been plenty honest tonight, thank you very much,” he scowls immediately. You scoot closer to him on your knees, and this time, he isn’t flinching away, “You didn’t do anything wrong, alright? I… It’s me. My problem, I’ll deal with it. Please just… let me deal with it, okay?” 

“Deal with what-”

It’s your fault, really. You scoot even closer on your knees, you’re ignoring the carpet burn sure to remain, when your balance fails you. One moment, you feel as though you have the upper ground with him and this entire argument, and the next you’re falling forward. 

You’re falling forward, and Eddie doesn’t hesitate to earnestly attempt to stop your collision with his floor. Attempt being the key word. 

It happens slow enough that both of you should have been able to stop it, in retrospect. Because Eddie is successful in catching your elbow, pausing the fall momentarily before he loses his own balance. He falls onto his ass and out of his crouch with a soft oomph, eyes widening comically before he’s collapsing backwards and dragging you with him. Your body drapes over him, cheek pressing into his bare chest, and neither of you move for a second. 

A familiar position. From the first few hours, when Eddie had tried to wrestle his damn porn magazine from you. That warm weight that once rested between your hips now digging into him, ribcages once more pressing together with erratic heartbeats pounding against each other through walls of flesh. 

You don’t move at first, keeping your face smashed into his chest. The perfect role reversal. At least his face isn’t in your boobs this time.

“I…” Oh, it’s painful to hold in your laughter, words choking up as your mouth quivers in the force of fighting a shit-eating grin, “I-I’m sorry.” 

He’s quick to recognize your amusement, “Don’t you dare laugh.”

“I’m not going to!”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Bullshit,” he shifts beneath you, sitting up and bringing you back up with him. His arms are loose around your waist as you slide off of him and sit onto the floor beside him, “Who’s the liar now?” 

Another twitch of your lips, another glare shot your way, “I’m…” He raises his eyebrow in a dare, “Okay, yeah, I was going to laugh.” 

“Fuckin’ knew it.” 

He’s still wrapped around you, even as you sit side by side. Awkward angles and all, he’s clinging to you just as he did on the couch. As if he always needs to be touching you now, as if that line being crossed has made him open his eyes to a million realizations and opportunities. 

When he’s not running away, of course. 

You want to bring it up, reiterate that you’d like to know what exactly Eddie was ‘dealing with’ as he so eloquently put it. But you can’t, especially not when his thumb finds your soft skin beneath his shirt and strokes it thoughtlessly. An instinct. You wonder if he’s even conscious of it, if he even knows the effect it’s having on you. 

Can he hear your heart when he’s this close? Can he hear it’s thunder that shakes your very foundations? 

“I was serious,” you finally speak up, realizing you two have spent far too long sitting on his living room floor and just looking into each other’s eyes. If past you knew you ended up in this position, she would have been disgusted, not fawning. “I don’t feel like another movie.”

“Even Scream?” 

“Even Scream.” 

It’s a hard sentiment to force out, because the idea of getting to sit through another few hours of watching Eddie glow with excitement, to watch his expressions as he tumbles over words of adornment for something he loves and is passionate about, is tempting. But you’re pretty sure if you end up on that couch again, his thumb stroking your ankle as he attempts to keep your attention tethered to a motion picture you could never follow along with sincerely, you’ll just fall asleep. 

Sleep deprivation is a bitch. 

“What do you want to do instead?” he asks you. He makes no move to stand; you don’t either. 

Your eye trails over the entertainment center to avoid his stare, when something catches your eye on the shelf above the movies, “You never did tell me who Deftones are.”

Eddie glances at the shelf of CDs that caught your eye, “You… want to listen to Deftones right now, rather than watch Scream?” 

“Yes. I want you to rock my world with Deftones right now rather than watch Scream.”

“What about sleep?”

“What about it?”

“Do you not want to rest? They never said we couldn’t. Actually, right now, they’re assuming we are.”

Amongst the quick back and forth, you have to bite your tongue. You want to scream, no. No, I don’t want to sleep, because if I sleep, I’m missing this. I may never get this again; I can’t risk this. 

You shrug, and stand as his arms fall from around you. You miss that weight – you always miss the fucking weight of him. Just like a child with their favorite stuffed animal or blanket, you’re growing too attached too quickly. It’s going to be your downfall. It’s going to be your goddamn reckoning once these hours have slipped away.

Even more reason to not sleep. Even more reason to cling to your time with him. 

“No rest for the wicked, am I right?” you force a careless grin and hold out a hand. You silently plead for him to take it, to give you this win just once. 

He stares at your hand, then at you, then back to your hand. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that, right?” 

“Yeah,” you sigh out unintentionally when he hesitantly starts to reach out for your hand, grasping his palm to yours. A sudden burst of confidence overrides your system as you say, “But for these final seven hours, I’m your idiot.”

His grip turns steady and firm. A wicked grin crosses his face to match your own. 

“That you are, sweetheart. That you are.”

—

As it turns out, Eddie’s radio is broken. He tries to explain what happened, animatedly waving around his hands as he pulls all of the Deftones albums he owns and tries to give you the backstory to the night he broke the poor thing, but you just grab your phone and wave it in front of him instead. 

“I’m about to change your life and single handedly convince you to get a smartphone, Munson,” you tease as he takes a seat on the couch beside you. 

You’re sat criss-cross, bare knee bumping his thigh as you open your Spotify app. 

“I do know what Spotify is,” he grumbles, “I’m not completely lost on the times.”

“You still use physical copies of porn. Excuse me for assuming you don’t know what Spotify is.”

That shuts him up with ease. 

He’s completely silent, almost unnoticeable if it weren’t for the warmth radiating off of him and the bounce of his knee beside you. His eyes are watchful, though, as you search up this mysterious band and click on their music profile. 

Just as you open your mouth to ask which song you should play, thumb already hovering over their top song of Change (In The House of Flies), he sticks out his open palm. 

“What?” you question, looking up from where you’d been focused on the tiny screen. 

He wiggles his fingers. 

You know that he’s asking for you to hand over the phone, but you still recall the thrill from teasing him earlier. The rush you got from flustering him, from getting under his skin. 

Maybe you don’t have to shower him with abundant flirtatious nicknames to do that. Maybe, you can pull back an inch or so, lay off the compliments, figure out a new way to get under his skin in a way that makes you both smile until your cheeks burn, laugh until your stomachs ache. 

Instead of giving him the phone, you send your hand out to his and smack it. A punitive attempt at a high five with the angle given. 

“Wha-” he starts, staring at his palm you’d just smacked in gentle astonishment, “I wasn’t asking for a high five.” 

“No?” you bite down on your inner cheek, reeling back in your smile as he wiggles his fingers again, inching his hand closer to the phone. 

This time, instead of slapping at his hand, you smack your hand down into his and lace your fingers together. 

A giggle escapes you as he tries to shake your hand from his, and even as he tries to grimace, you catch the smile he’s fighting. 

“Sweetheart,” he chastises, “Give me the phone so I can show you the damn band.” 

“Ask nicely.” 

He gets his hand free from yours and tilts his head in your direction, raising an eyebrow. You only raise your own brow in return.

“Stop being a brat and give me the phone, please,” he repeats himself in a nearly condescending tone. 

You’re managing it. Aching cheeks, soon-to-be aching stomachs, as you crawl beneath his skin. “Make me.” 

Two simple words are all it takes to finally burrow into him. Literally. You nearly drop your phone when he’s quickly shifting positions, hand no longer be held out for the device as he suddenly dives it into your sides. Your body instinctively curls up protectively, and his forearm is caught against your torso as he begins to do exactly what you had enticed from him. He’s making you.

The asshole is tickling you.

“Eddie!” you screech, no care for how thin the walls of his apartment might be, “Ed-Eddie, stop!”

He’s cackling now between your gasping laughs. Your phone does take a tumble, dropping to both your feet as his second hand joins the torture. You can’t follow the path of his fingertips up and down your sides, only continuing to yelp out as your eyes tear up and you try to fight back. He props himself with a knee on the couch, other leg stretched to the floor as he cowers you into the cushion and your sides begin to ache. 

“Stop it! Stop it!” 

If you really wanted him to stop, you probably could manage to kick him off of you. One slip of a knee or thigh with intention towards his groin, and you’re sure it would send him flying. But you don’t. You let his body cover yours as your forehead bumps against his shoulder, you let him curl back into you and entrap you so willingly. You let that overwhelming scent of boy take you over. 

You let his waves drag you under. You don’t even have to take a breath before it happens; his essence is enough to keep your lungs from collapsing. 

“Stop?” he laughs, fingers momentarily slowing but not quite stopping, “Have I made you yet, baby?”

Your laughs die silently. All the air finally leaves your lungs, and you officially can only breathe in him. 

Baby. 

He senses the change in you immediately. The tickling stops, and he’s leaning back, shoulder leaving your forehead feverish. That’s what it was, it couldn’t possibly be the warmth that glows in your chest from that nickname. 

Baby. 

You get it. Oh, God, you get it. His quick escape when you’d called him handsome. You’d forgotten that this game of getting beneath his skin and bantering with light teasing goes both ways. You’d forgotten he has as much power over you now as you did him. 

Wide, brown eyes meet yours. He’s close enough to kiss. One impulsively lurch forward, and your lips would be back on his. His tongue in your mouth, his hands on your hips, his own hips settled between your thighs – all of this is so, so palpable. And all it would take is one movement. 

You hesitate. And he moves, lurching the wrong way. You almost call out, wait. Come back. 

Baby. 

An echo you can’t grasp onto quickly enough, and it leaves right along with the weight of him. 

He leans down and grabs your phone that had fallen, and sits back down beside you as he clears his throat, “Anyways. Um, where were we?” 

You kissing me. Me kissing you. Us, kissing, here on this couch. 

“Deftones?” you manage to whisper out questioningly instead. You swallow down that desire, a fiery weapon you should probably tamper down anyways. 

“Right. Deftones.” 

He opens your phone, putting in the code you quietly hand over to him without any hesitation. It was all wasted on that brief look, that moment where you nearly had him back in your grasps and he only slipped away again. 

You don’t even care as he deliberates which song to show you first. You think there’s a notification from Steve, a text message in the groupchat, but it’s lost on you. 

Baby. 

You like the way it sounds, you like the way it fits. You wonder how steep of a price you’d have to pay to hear him say it again. 

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

[rosesareredrosa]

Memories of Friendship and Suprise

Slytherin boys and Pansy x fem reader (platonic)

Summary: Its my birthdayy today so decided to make a fic about y/n having a surprise birthday

w/c: 1010

The dungeons of Hogwarts were typically cold and unwelcoming, but tonight, the Slytherin common room was filled with warmth and anticipation. The usually dark space was transformed, decorated with shimmering green and silver streamers, flickering candles, and a massive banner that read "Happy Birthday, Y/N!" hanging above the fireplace.

Pansy Parkinson stood in the center of the room, directing the final touches with a sense of urgency. Draco Malfoy lounged on a nearby sofa, twirling his wand lazily, but with a smirk that showed he was pleased with their work. Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were hanging the last of the enchanted decorations, while Mattheo Riddle leaned against the wall, watching everything unfold with a thoughtful expression. Lorenzo Berkshire was fussing over a magnificent cake, ensuring every detail was perfect.

"Is everything ready?" Pansy asked, her voice tinged with excitement.

"Relax, Pansy," Draco drawled, his smirk widening. "Y/N won’t suspect a thing."

Pansy rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. "It just has to be perfect."

"It will be," Blaise assured her, adjusting a flickering candle on the table. "Y/N’s going to love it."

As the clock neared midnight, they all took their positions, ready to surprise their friend. The lights dimmed, and the room fell into a hushed silence as the door to the common room creaked open.

Y/N stepped inside, looking tired from a long day but instantly confused by the darkened room. "Hello?"

In an instant, the lights flickered on, and the room erupted in a chorus of cheers.

"Surprise!"

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock as they took in the decorated common room and the grinning faces of their friends.

"Oh my god, you guys!" Y/N laughed, clearly touched by the effort that had gone into the surprise.

Draco was the first to approach, handing over a small, wrapped box with a smirk. "Happy Birthday, Y/N."

"You didn’t have to do all this," Y/N said, though the smile on their face showed how much they appreciated it.

"Of course, we did," Pansy said, pulling Y/N into a tight hug. "It’s your birthday, and we wanted to make it special."

As everyone settled into the cozy room, with the fire crackling warmly, Pansy clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.

"Alright, listen up! Since it’s Y/N’s birthday, I thought it’d be nice if we each shared a memorable moment we’ve had with her. What do you think?"

Y/N blushed, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. But they couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through their chest at the idea.

"Who wants to go first?" Pansy asked, looking around.

Draco Malfoy, ever confident, spoke up first. "I’ll go," he said, his smirk turning into a genuine smile as he looked at Y/N. "Remember our first Potions class together? Snape paired us up, and you practically saved my skin. Goyle’s cauldron had exploded, and I was ready to hex the entire class until you figured out the antidote. I don’t think I ever properly thanked you for that."

Y/N chuckled, recalling the chaotic scene. "You were so annoyed. I thought you were going to curse the whole dungeon."

"I might have," Draco admitted, his eyes glinting with amusement. "But you managed to calm me down. That’s when I realized you were someone I could trust."

Blaise Zabini was next, his deep voice resonating through the room. "Y/N, do you remember when we snuck out to the Astronomy Tower to watch that meteor shower? Filch almost caught us, but you were the one who pulled me behind that tapestry just in time."

Y/N grinned. "How could I forget? My heart was racing the entire time."

"Exactly," Blaise said, shaking his head in admiration. "You were so calm under pressure. That’s when I knew you were someone special."

Theodore Nott spoke softly, his voice almost shy. "There was a day when I was having a really rough time, and you found me in the library. You didn’t say anything, just sat with me. It was exactly what I needed, and I’ve never forgotten that."

Y/N smiled warmly at Theo. "Sometimes just being there is enough."

"It was more than enough," Theo said, a small smile playing on his lips.

Lorenzo Berkshire leaned forward with a mischievous grin. "Remember when we pranked the Gryffindor Quidditch team? You came up with the idea to charm their robes to flash neon pink."

Y/N burst out laughing. "They were furious!"

"Best prank ever," Lorenzo declared. "And totally worth the week of detention we all got."

Mattheo Riddle, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke. His voice was low, almost hesitant. "There was a day after I had a fight with my father. I was by the lake, and you sat with me. You didn’t ask questions, just stayed there. I’ve never forgotten that."

Y/N reached out, placing a hand on Mattheo’s arm. "You needed a friend."

"And you were there," Mattheo said simply, his dark eyes reflecting the flickering light of the fire.

Finally, Pansy spoke, her voice filled with affection. "Y/N, from the moment we met in our first year, you’ve been like a sister to me. We promised to stick together no matter what, and we have. I wouldn’t have survived Hogwarts without you."

Y/N felt tears welling up in their eyes as they looked around at their friends. "Thank you, all of you. This is the best birthday I’ve ever had."

Draco smirked, trying to hide the sentiment in his expression. "We had to make sure it was memorable."

"And it has been," Y/N replied, their voice full of emotion. "I’m so lucky to have you all in my life."

As the night continued, filled with laughter, stories, and the warmth of their friendship, Y/N knew that this was a moment they would treasure forever. In the heart of the Slytherin common room, surrounded by the people who had become their family, Y/N felt truly at home.

[ameliathornromance]

“Is that him there?”

Wind blasts through the train tunnel, past you and your Orc Boyfriend. Your Orc, raised an eyebrow and followed your finger pointed.

The person you were referring to, a human male with waterfalls of black hair, curling at his shoulders. His eyes were bloodshot and contoured with black rings, matching his dark hair.

The phrase, ‘Love, not hate’ tattooed above his left eyebrow. His scowling at passers by, wrinkled nose and judgemental stare opposed the important sentiment he decided to ink his face with. Sitting on the bench, he jogged his knee to an invisible jig, chain around his neck swaying.

Your Orcs’ eyes flicked from the phone screen in his hand, to the suspect and back to the screen. “Yup.” He tucked the phone away in his jeans pocket. “Now, let me handle this.”

“No,” you put a hand against your Orcs shoulder, stopping him from moving towards the subject. “We talked about this, you always come on too strong. And this isn’t too dangerous is it? It’s just an escort job.”

The Orc wrinkled his nose at you, “don’t say it like that, you make it out to be that we’re some kind of prostitutes.”

You rolled your eyes, “you knew what I meant. I’ll go and make contact, you hang back behind me and step in if it gets to be too much!” And without waiting for a response, you approached the man.

“Hey, Mr Mimac.” You started gently. The last time Mr Mimac had been seen was three months ago in Monaco… Snorting some kind of white powder, surrounded by Fae show girls and gambling away all the money his… ‘law abiding’ father had given him as a 21st birthday present.

God knows if he was on anything now.

But that’s why you and your Orc had turned up. Your duo went by many names in underground spaces: Good & Bad Cop, Brains and Brawn, Summer and Snow – fitting really, considering both of your conflicting appearances & approaches.

Orcs and Humans don’t normally get together like the two of you do. But it’s good to have a balance on perspectives, isn’t it?

Even if you disliked the brashness and ruthless behaviour of your boyfriend, you couldn’t deny that it paid off to have a scary guard dog with you wherever you went. It made you feel safer, especially when dealing with things like this.

Mr Mimac Junior didn’t even spare you a glance, eyes still glancing around the stations platform in the same critical gaze. “We’re here on behalf of your dad, he’s asked me and my partner to bring you back to him. He’s very worried about you.” You explained as delicately as possible.

“Fuck off…” The Junior turned to you, his scowl deepening. “I don’t care what my father asked you to do.” His voice slurred slightly, a strong chemical smell hit you like icy water.

You opened your mouth to respond, try to ease him into coming with you. But there was no time.

“Alright,” your Orc Boyfriend spoke up from behind you. “The lady asked quite politely.” He growled.

Still, Mr Mimac did not move. He sent a glare at your Orc, “so? I don’t take orders from anyone, do you know who I am?”

Uh oh.

“This is how it’s going to play out, hm?” Within an instance, your Orc was in front of you, hands leaned on the benches arm rests, bent down to the Juniors height.

The man’s eyes widened, leaning as far as he could before hitting the tiled wall behind him.

Any trace of irritation had gone from Mr Mimac’s face as your Orc continued, “My lovely lady may be polite, but me?” Your Orc Boyfriend drew a sharp breath, air between his large tusks. “I’m not so nice. You’re going to do what the lady says, otherwise your father is going to get a bloody pulp of flesh, and when he asks why you turned up in that state, I’m going to say that you were refusing to co-operate and I had to use some light force… I might just have to even break that pretty little necklace you have,” your Orc flicked a dangling diamond chain from around the man-child's neck.

You stifle a sigh, covering your forehead and blocking your eyes from the scene.

“Now, you’re going to apologise and come with us quietly.” Drawing himself back to you his full height, your Orc looped his thumbs through his belt loop, waiting for the Human to respond.

The man’s eyes darted to you, then back to your Orc. “’m sorry.” Mr Mimac squeaked.

“Better.” Your Orc jerked the Junior standing, the three of you marching out of the train station.

*

Mr Mimac Senior thanked you both profusely as his son was led away by his mother. Mimac Senior handed you a briefcase and sent you both on your way.

Getting back into the car, you cracked open the briefcase. Taking a stack of bills, you examined them carefully as your Orc Boyfriend turned the ignition and turned the car around.

After checking the bills authenticity, you snapped the case closed. The clicking of the cars indicator punctuated the air.

“I told you I could handle it.” You said, quietly.

“You did. He was just behaving like a jackass.” Your Orc replied, checking the lane before pulling out of the drive way. “I’m not going to let anyone talk to you like that.”

Despite the point being lost on your Orc, you couldn’t help the smile on your lips. “Thank you.” You meant it, how could you not? He was only looking out for you. “I feel bad, you’re always doing the dirty work. You should get some time to sit back and handle the easy stuff.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad. Remember what we agreed? I get my hands dirty, you keep yours clean and deal with business.” The car stopped at the traffic lights. "You’re smarter and better at negotiating.”

Engine humming, the streaking of red light illuminating his appearance, your Orc turned to you. “I love you, you know." He held his hand out to you.

You took it, intertwining your fingers with his. “I love you too.”

[ddejavvu]

Hi i love your sirius/remus x animagus!reader,,, can you please write james potter x animagus(squirrel) reader?

James always carries nuts such as acorns and sunflower seeds to give her🥹❤️ just pure fluff please

made me think of that one new girl scene where nick opens jess's bedside table and finds her night peanuts

--

When Remus is instructed to fish James's scarf out of 'his bedside drawer', he reaches for the top one. Because of course he does, because who is asked to open someone's bedside drawer and chooses the bottom one? Of course James meant the top one, otherwise he would have specified the bottom one.

He does not mean the top one.

Instead of knitwear, Remus finds a disastrous array of- nuts? Nuts and raisins and berries and seeds, for god's sake, in James's top bedside drawer. Loose. Filling the entire space.

He stands frozen, hand still clutching the knob to the drawer.

"James," He says, voice calm and cool, "Why are there nuts in your nightstand?"

Sirius snickers, makes some joke about 'forgetting to put them in his pants this morning', but Remus doesn't react. He can't react, he's petrified solid in his spot by the sight of James's strange collection.

"Oh, that? That's for m'girlfriend." James answers, like it's an explanation. Like it solves the problem, like it answers Remus's many, many question; 'Oh, right! His girlfriend, that makes sense. 'Cause she's a squirrel.

"Is she a squirrel?" Remus voices his thoughts aloud, tone bitter and tight.

James's shoulders tense slightly, raising towards his ears, and he nods slowly, "Uh, yeah, actually. 'Finished the transformation last week."

Oh.

"Oh," Remus's eyes are still roving over the heap of sunflower seeds and dried cranberries but he forces himself to shut the door, "So- so, what, she sleeps in there, or something?"

James laughs, a guffaw as he grins at Remus, "Don't be ridiculous, Moony, I don't make my girlfriend sleep in my nightstand. I've been taking a handful with me to class every day so she can snack."

Only James Potter would think that sleeping would be more ridiculous than scooping a pile of nuts into his pocket every morning before class for his girlfriend who can turn into a squirrel.

"Right." Is all that Remus can manage, and he goes through the motions of retrieving James's scarf from the bottom drawer this time, "Here's your scarf, Prongs."

"Thanks, mate." James nods, catching it when Remus tosses it in his direction. He's getting ready to head down to Hogsmeade to meet with you, and Remus briefly wonders if James already has a pocket full of raisins.

"You heading down with us?" James asks, watching Remus gather his jumper, slipping it on over the white tank he'd slept in.

"No," Remus shakes his head, stuffing his feet into his shoes and ducking his head as he beelines for the door, "I'm going to the hospital wing; All of a sudden I need a cure for a headache."