#WHAT A BIRTHDAY (Reference to today's chapter)

[hannie-dul-set]

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — THREE.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 5.8k.

NOTE. there was supposed to be more to this chapter, but it’d end up being way too long so i reserved it for the next one. anyway, hope you enjoy your first week at nalkeutta. feedback and comments much appreciated. happy reading! NEXT CHAPTER TO BE PUBLISHED.

AFTER ONE ANGRY PHONE CALL, YOU FIND OUT MORE FROM MARK THE INTERNAL AGREEMENT BETWEEN JSS NALKEUTTA. Mark understands the precarious spot JSS is in, but can’t risk losing his major legal recourse whenever things get icky within his gang dealings. JSS recognizes the significant benefits it had been receiving by partnering with Nalkeutta, but this continued arrangement would be inimical in the long run.

So they came up with a very simple compromise. Nalkeutta will stop hiring lawyers from JSS if the firm simply hands over one of their lawyers to them, effectively cutting public ties between the two parties. However, Mark Lee will continue supporting JSS as a private investor, all while retaining the protection fee benefits that the firm has been enjoying thus far.

It’s a win-win situation for all. All except you.

You’re the only loser in this situation. These fuckers are tossing and trading you around like some sort of commodity.

“Are you happy that you’ve finally managed to poach me after all this time?”

Knowing very well how pissed you are, Mark offered to pick you up from your apartment. Today’s scheduled to be your first official day at Nalkeutta. He’s smiling in the driver’s seat of his fucking Bugatti, and it just makes you feel even shittier as your ass lands on the plush cushions of his unreasonably expensive car. “Seatbelt,” he simply tells you. You grunt and fasten it on. “I hope you’d change your mind about your transfer once you get a tour of our building.”

Oh, joy. A building tour. The best description for you and Mark in the car right now, driving down the sepia streets of Yeongdeungpo district, would be that of a chipper mom taking her angsty teen daughter to a birthday party, chin on palm, staring out the window and all.

He eventually pulls up to a tall, multi-windowed building. Very tall, wedged between two shorter establishments. You look at the towering building from inside the car, noticing the sign greeting you right above the well-mainted glass doors— Daybreak Security Company, it says. You release a scoff. Wow, what a disguise. 

Come to think of it, in the months you’ve worked with Nalkeutta, you’ve never actually been here before. Mark’s always the one visiting JSS, never the other way around, so there is the barest amount of curiosity here. “You can head in first and wait in the lobby,” he tells you. “I need to park this thing in the basement.” Your hand stops at the door handle, squinting back at Mark’s instruction. He laughs. “The staff are informed about your arrival. Most of them are out, anyway, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Dubious, but you don’t protest. Mark Lee stays hazarding by the sidewalk with one car window open, watching you as you make your way to the entrance. You tentatively look behind, only to be met by Mark’s close-eyed smile, waving a hand to prompt you inside the building. You grimace and spin your heels. What a psycho, you think, and you finally hear him restarting the car to leave once you’re already halfway through Nalkeutta’s doors.

Jeez. He and Doyoung are on the opposite ends of the boss spectrum— both equally despicable— but at least your former boss wasn’t as creepy or an active threat to your life. Heck, he was even a source of entertainment sometimes. You don’t think you can get away with the same disrespectful shit you’ve been pulling on Doyoung with Mark. The only reason why the latter has been letting you talk back so much is because he never saw you as a threat. Now that you’re in his territory, you can’t be so complacent.

Anyhow, you do as instructed and are currently waiting in the lobby, collecting curious stares here and there from an incorrigible amount of men coming in and out, and your best attempt at an impatient resting bitch face so that none of these fuckers try to talk to you is starting to be overcome by queasiness. When the hell is he coming back? You notice a group of guys in their early twenties whisper while sneaking glances at you from the corner— one of them you’re pretty sure you’d had to bail out before for a DUI.

Besides that glimmer of abnormality, the rest of the lobby is eerily normal, harboring the appearance of any other company office with potted plants and clean sofas and a receptionist corner. Granted, they are trying to pose as a very legal, very unsuspicious security company, but knowing what you know about Nalkeutta, it just makes you sick to the bones.

Eventually, Mark Lee shows up, emerging from the ground floor elevator near the couch you’ve been waiting on. You don’t even try to hide your annoyance. “Sorry, Had to take a phone call,” he says, smiling and sounding not very sorry at all while nudging you out of your seat. “C’mon, attorney. Let’s start the tour.”

You release a dead and pained groan. Mark pats you on the back for your enthusiasm, leading the way through.

Nalkeutta has four floors in total. The first floor is basically the entirety of Nalkeuta’s front— Daybreak Security Company, all decked out with an abundance of private meeting rooms for clients, consultation offices, and a bunch of flat out empty rooms labelled as storage, and bathrooms on each wing. There’s both a staircase and an elevator leading further up the floors or down to the basement parking lot. Mark says he’ll show you to your reserved parking spot later, and that alone is already tipping the scales between him and Doyoung on who is the better bad boss.

The second floor is reserved for the general office— divided into Nalkeutta’s four divisions and a common break area in the center, cushions and sofas already occupied by less than familiar faces. You don’t look at any of them and instead feast your eyes “You’ll also be stationed on this floor,” he tells you, smiling. “But we’ll save that part of the tour for last.”

Wow. You can’t wait to have another crowded cubicle sandwiched between roughed up gangsters who probably don’t know how to work a printer. Now that you think about it, it’s kind of uncanny that this notorious gang operates in a sterilized office setting. Mark Lee never fails to send you to the depths of discomfort.

“Now, to the next floor.” Up another level in the elevator are two very large conference rooms, an entire fucking gym area, and rooms and rooms of organized files and storages, each tightly chained with locks, but that’s not the point.

They have a gym here. There’s a freaking fully-equipped gym in the middle of all this corporate bullshit. Of fucking course there is.

“I’ll give you the keys to the locked rooms later,” he informs with a hum. “And you’re free to use the amenities up here.”

There’s no point hiding the sheer disgust on your face. “You’re offering me up to a biohazard chamber.” This is a male dominated building. You may be stereotyping, but you can’t imagine how hygienic these roughed up gangsters are. Mark always smells like baby lotion and fabric softener, but hospitals hide the smell of blood and death with a noxious amount of industrial chemicals and disinfectant. Look at him laughing at your repugnance. Evil, evil man.

“Alright, now let’s head up to the fifth floor.”

Riding up the elevator, you notice quickly that the uppermost floor has a lot less going on than the three below it. The first and only place Mark lets you enter is his private office— instructing you to knock thrice in case you have an urgent matter to discuss with him without informing him beforehand. The rest of the rooms on the floor are confidential, beyond your scope of authority.

He drops a set of keys onto your open palm. “But once you’ve worked with us for around three or four years, I might change my mind.”

It’s concerning how employee access to restricted information depends on the insane boss’s fickleness of mind. “Sure.” You pocket the keys. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Let me show you to your office.”

Your palm, still inside your slacks pocket, tightens around the keys. Office? No. No fucking way. Haha. He probably means just a cubicle. Your heart starts racing. Mark starts walking, and you hear the thumping in your ears coincide with your clacking heels against the hollow hallway. 

Office. Office. Your hopes are starting to rise up as the elevator brings you a level down. It dings. Mark leads you back into the fourth floor, and when you pass by the sets of cubicles divided in the open office area without your boss turning his head or stopping or even batting an eye— you start losing your shit. Holy crap. He stops in front of a close-doored room, interiors concealed by large blinds from the inside. 

There’s an acrylic placard attached to the door. It says Chief Legal Officer.

“This room is yours.”

When he opens the door, the first thing that greets you is the glistening name plate sitting parallel before you atop the sleek mahogany desk. 

It has your name on it. Gold. Avenir font. Engraved. Heavy enough to knock a man unconscious with one blow. You’re about to cry. Nevermind all that you said earlier. Fuck Kim Doyoung. Mark Lee is the best boss you could ever ask for.

“Hope the interior is to your liking, but you can change it up however you like.” 

That prompts you to actually take a look around, and holy shit— it’s almost as big as Doyoung’s office. There’s a substantial amount of organizers and cabinets. At the center sits a set of low, mustard settees and a small black coffee table to match. The floor is carpeted and lint-free. There’s a fucking mini fridge near the artificial potted plant in the corner. Your head snaps towards Mark. He laughs at your, speechless, open-mouthed, teary-eyed reaction to his surprise. 

“I’m guessing you’re satisfied with the office,” he says, looking like he’s about to say more but is interrupted by a silent buzz from his phone. He pulls it open, and his brows furrow for a split second. “Hmm. I still have to introduce you to Nalkeutta’s Executives, but something came up.” Mark pockets back his phone, and his usually pleasant expression takes over once more. “For now, I’ll let you get yourself settled in your office. I’ll send someone to pick you up in a while.”

The moment Mark Lee leaves the premises, you let out a scream, walk forward, drop down to your knees, and attempt to hug the entire length of your desk. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe out, cheek pressed against the cold surface of the red mahogany wood. “Oh my god, I’m naming you Savannah and you’ll be my new best friend.”

Savannah does not reciprocate your affections, but who gives a damn. You’re not sure how long you’ve been embracing your desk and inhaling the new office smell, but apparently long enough for someone to knock and push open your door with a sing-songy “Hellooo—!” The greeting quickly gets cut off the moment your widened eyes meet that of the intruder’s. Your knees are kissing the carpeted ground. Your head is cocked in a very uncomfortable manner in order to face the direction of the door— but not as uncomfortable as how the guy who just entered looks at the moment.

“Whoa, uh,” he double-takes. “Mark asked me to pick you up. You must be our new lawyer…?” 

You continue meeting the man’s gaze. You force your stiff shoulders back and slowly pull yourself up, patting down your pencil skirt. “Yes,” you start, promptly introducing yourself. “And you are?”

Very smooth. His gaze flickers down, making its way back up to meet your eyes— of which a wide grin starts to unfurl on his face. Your brow twitches. “Lee Haechan. Head of the Yoosun Department. My office is right across from yours.” He called Mark by his first name. Meaning, he must be one of his higher-ups. You wonder if it’s a Nalkeutta requirement to be rude and pretty in order to be promoted. “Nice to meet you, attorney. Seems like you’ll have no problem fitting right in.”

Haechan extends an arm for a handshake as if he didn’t just hit you with the worst insult you’ve been slapped with his fucking week. You respond with one firm shake before wiping the same palm against your blazer. 

He notices. You intended for him to notice. You beam at him with a smile. He’s still grinning, but slightly taken aback. “You’re fun.”

Mark has yet to orient you with the general organizational structure of Nalkeutta, but at the very least, there’s one thing you’re certain of.

“And you’re wasting time. What did Mark send you for?”

You answer to no one but him. Meaning, you’ve no reason to fake pleasantries with this Haechan guy. He barged into your office without waiting for admission. This guy needs to be taught a lesson.

“Oh, right,” he huffs. “He called us for a sudden meeting to meet the new head of our legal department, or something. I didn’t even know we had a legal department! Anyway, follow me, let’s head to the conference room. By the way, do you have a boyfriend?” The elevator doors close before you. You grace him with a response the moment he presses the floor button.

“You saw me in carnal embrace with my desk earlier. The only thing fucking me is my impending workload.”

Haechan chokes out a snorting laugh. “Holy shit,” he wheezes. “Is that a call for help? If so, I’m a pretty helpful guy.” 

You look at him, smiling. “Unless you’re a seventy-inch mahogany wood in width, I’m not interested.”

“Damn. High standards. I give, I give.”

You roll your eyes, taking the liberty of twisting the doorknob to the conference room before you. Your entrance is accompanied by a creak. At once, four sets of eyes immediately fall on you.

The first is the usual creepy ass gaze of Mark Lee, way too happy to see you. The next one is unfamiliar, covered by the glint of his glasses lens, but you don’t sense any animosity. The third is both blurry yet somewhat recognizable at the same time— a shiver down your spine when you meet his sharp glare. What the hell? This guy looks terrifying.

And the last one feels like walking back into a den that you swore you’d never return to. 

Na Jaemin’s eyes flicker up from his phone the moment you enter. You stifle a swear under your breath and shoot your gaze down. He flashes you a smile. Ah, fuck. Of course he’d be here. It totally slipped your mind thanks to the high from your new office and Lee Haechan trying to hook up with you. You’ve yet to judge whether or not a sick new office outweighs having to deal with this sick freak’s face every day. 

“Attorney!” he chirps from across the room, comfortably lounging on one of the office chairs lining the long conference table. A squeak accompanies every time the chair swivels from left to right, back and forth. “Long time no see.”

Yeah, you hoped it’d stay that way, but when did the scales ever tip in your favor? You swallow down any attempt of fear trying to break out and turn your head to the side. “Mark, what are we discussing?”

Standing at the head of the table, your new boss smiles at you. Not because of your flat enthusiasm. No way. He seems to be amused that you just ignored Na Jaemin point blank. “Ah, yes. I wanted to properly introduce you to our division executives and give you a briefer on the company.”

The annoying swiveling sound has stopped. You don’t dare look at that side in the room throughout the rest of the meeting.

“Alright, now that everyone’s here, let’s get started.”

Nalkeutta is divided into four divisions, and the other four brutes you’re trapped in this room right now are the executives of those four divisions respectively. You already know Na Jaemin is the man in charge of Ganghak. Lee Haechan has Yoosun. Glasses is introduced as Huang Renjun, who’s in charge of Hyeongshin. Big scary guy is Daehyeon’s Lee Jeno.

There’s a familiar ring to all of these division names. They’re all high schools in Yeongdeungpo. It starts to all make sense when Mark Lee tells you that this gang of his was founded nine years ago. 

Nalkeutta started as a juvenile gang by a bunch of fucked up high schoolers. And those schools continue to serve as breeding grounds for scumbags like them. This shit is insane.

“Hold on.” 

Your voice echoes, freezing the entire room. You narrow your eyes at the very comprehensive diagram of Nalkeutta’s organizational structure Huang Renjun is presenting up front on a laptop screen. 

“There’s something wrong with this.” You get up from your seat. You squeeze past Mark and Renjun, taking control of the touchpad to zoom into the upper part of the chart. Your name is underneath Mark’s, and on the same level as the four executives, but that’s not the problem here. “Why am I the only one under the legal department?” you lift your head up as you say this, eyes firmly locked into Mark. “Where are the rest of the lawyers?”

Mark Lee attempts to look apologetic and remorseful. “Attorney,” he starts, walking up. “You know well how hard it is for Nalkeutta to establish trust between our partners. We are in fact extremely grateful that we managed to get someone we trust very deeply to finally work with us directly.”

This son of a bitch. They couldn’t have at least pretended to give a fuck about your position.

How—how does he expect you to manage the legal affairs of this messed up organization all by yourself? Your blood starts to simmer. Fuck it, it’s already boiling, and you’re just about to blow up when Mark Lee opens his mouth before you could.

“Anyhow, let’s talk salary.”

Goddammit. This guy sure knows how to pacify you.

Jeno hands him a binded folder. He smiles and hands it over to you. “This is our employment contract. Let me know if you find any issues so we can negotiate, but the important part is here.” 

You glance down at the part of the page he’s tapping. Yearly salary. Your eyes fly wide open when you see the numbers on the page.

150,000,000 KRW. 

Your head shoots up from the folder. You look at him like he’s joking. He isn’t.

“Does this meet your standards, attorney?”

Motherfucker. First, a new office. Now this. It’s like he wants to strip you from your rights to complain.

‎*‎

Your first job under Nalkeutta is accompanying Huang Renjun to a client meeting in Yeongdeungpo’s Chinatown.

“Good to have you around, attorney.”

Well. Client meeting is a stretch. The quote-unquote client is a mixed-martial arts gym under Hyeongshin that’s been paying protection fees very diligently until last month. Hyeongshin’s grunts were sent to sniff around the other week to see what was up, and the owner of the gym was caught rendezvousing with a Cheongang under the bridge connecting Yeongdeungpo and Map.

Cheongang. If Yeongdeungpo has Nalkeutta, Map is controlled by a different gang called Cheongang. You don’t have much intel on them, save for the fact that this district was once part of their territory until Mark Lee came into the picture. Needless to say, the two gangs don’t have the most amicable relationship. This is going to be less of a client meeting and more of a beatdown for sure.

“Why am I even here?” you grunt in the car on the way to your destination. Huang Renjun is scrolling through his ipad as he sits next to you. He’s kind enough to respond to your mindless grumbles.

“Having a lawyer around is always useful,” he simply says. “Mark says this is your first exposure to the organization’s operations. You don’t have to do anything. Just observe.”

You peer at the side mirror and look at the other two Nalkeutta cars trailing behind this one. Huang Renjun is actually a lot nicer than you expected. Considering your first introductions to Nalkeutta were Na Jaemin and Mark Lee, this guys is a breath of fresh air.

The air turns rancid the moment you cross the paifang gate, and you watch as all hell breaks loose at the Rongyu Mixed-Martial Arts Gym at four in the fucking afternoon.

“Gijeol-ah I thought we had a relationship!”

You wince at the sound of Renjun’s voice.

“How could you cheat on us with these ugly Cheongang pricks?”

The gym’s doors are closed, but there’s almost a dozen people guarding it— all looking like they’re one second away from jumping the nearest person and beating the shit out of them. A few moments later, the door rattles open. A head pops out. He looks like he’s about to crap his pants.

“You— you Nalketta fuckers ask for too much shit! How could you raise the protection fees overnight? That’s not fucking fair!

You really feel like you shouldn’t be here, but for once in your life, you feel pretty thankful that there are lines and lines of tank built men surrounding you as a protective shield.

“Well, it’s part of the contract you signed, Gijeol-ah! This is your fingerprint isn’t it?” Renjun taunts further, holding up a contract before tapping on the bottom right page. “If you were having trouble, you could’ve just gone to me directly. Hyeongshin is pretty understanding, you know. We even let you off with just a warning last time when you were three months late in paying your loans. You should’ve been grateful that you’re not under Ganghak or Daehyeon.”

Nevermind. You no longer feel safe. You hear the nearest Hyeongshin guy next to you crack his knuckles. Another one starts warming up. You won’t be surprised if one of them is currently frothing at the mouth.

Huang Renjun drops his hands down. He sighs and hands you the contract. 

“But you went off to stab us in the back, Gijeol-ah. Unfortunately this is as far as my understanding extends.” 

You briefly skim over it. Wow. Mark Lee put work into this. It’s vague enough to bypass statutory limitations. They’re using Daybreak Security Company as the legal entity to ensure the contract’s validity. You see a few questionable provisions that might void this contract. And that’s gonna be your job to fix. Lucky you.

“You— you can go and shove your understanding up your ass! I’m sick and tired of Nalkeutta’s bullshit!”

“You’re breaking up with us? That’s too bad.” It’s starting. Huang Renjun lands a hand on one of his men’s shoulder. “Give me a call once you’re done.”

With that, they start to move forward. Renjun walks up to you and you hear a yell and the sounds of fists being thrown the moment he spins you around and prods you to the opposite direction of the noise. Various thuds and screams flood you from behind, the sounds of bones crushing and bodies crashing getting dimmer as you both continue to walk back to the car. 

“You hungry, attorney?” Huang Renjun asks. “I know a good dim sum place nearby.”

“Wait, what the fuck, hold on,” you stop. He turns to you, brow raised. “We’re leaving? Just like that?”

Renjun narrows his eyes. “What? You want to watch that disgusting mess?”

With that prompt, you hesitantly turn around, and there you see a Nalkeutta guy swinging a metal bat straight into the ribcage of one Cheongag grunt. Oof. You wince. What a waste of a good sunset.

“I don’t fight. What’s the point of having men working under you if you won’t put them to good use?” The both of you make it back to the car. The driver inside greets Renjun, and the latter waves him off. “But if it’s a hard job, then I just transfer the case to Ganghak or Daehyeon. Usually Ganghak. Most of those guys are just like their psychopath of a boss.”

Yeah. This guy isn’t normal, either. What did you expect? At least he’s polite to you.

You slide into the backset. “Dim sum sounds nice.”

“Great.” He follows not long after, leaving an instruction to the driver. “Take us to Mama Hong’s.”

Renjun was right. Mama Hong has a killer dim sum selection, and you’d bookmark it on your maps if this place didn’t remind you of a massacre that’s currently ongoing. You can’t exactly enjoy your pork buns to the fullest knowing full well that someone’s head is getting bashed in right now. The silver lining is the fact that Huang Renjun is a good conversationalist and has not once called you a bitch nor tried to get in your pants in the past two hours that you’ve been with him. 

He’s a pretty cool guy. He joined the gang for money because he was a dirt poor immigrant in high school but then at one point he realized he was in too deep to quit.

It’s good to know you’re both stuck in Nalkeutta because you treasure your lives. It’s like Mark Lee has an invisible loaded gun perpetually pointed at your heads. What a way to bond in solidarity.

The sun had long set when Renjun received the text that the job was done. “Let’s go,” he tells you. “Two hours of overtime is good enough.”

See, this guy speaks your language. 

It takes another twenty minutes to get back to the Nalkeutta building, jotting another extra hour on your DTR. Meaning three total hours of overtime pay. Fucking amazing. If things continue speeding at this rate, then you won’t be entirely miserable working here. You’re already walking out the sliding doors of hell and thinking about harvesting your crops the moment you get home— but that’s exactly the moment the world decides that you haven’t filled your daily quota of dread yet.

“Attorney.”

Goddammit. You should know by now that the moment you think things are going well, god’s just gonna immediately spit in your mouth and tell you to enjoy it.

Na Jaemin lights the cigarette between his teeth, embers cascading onto the ground only for a good second before he stops on it to flash you a smile. “Took you fucking long enough,” he says. “Come with me. New recruits screening.”

Your brows furrow. When you don’t move for ten seconds too long, Na Jaemin’s smile drops.

“Mark’s orders. Notarize their contracts, or some shit.”

For fuck’s sake, you just clocked out. Disgruntled, you force your body out of its frozen state and you hear the psycho walking in front of you mutter something under his breath— something you’re not curious enough to find out. He leads you to a parking garage just a few blocks away, and it’s at this moment that you realize that maybe he lied to beat the shit out of you without anything knowing.

That fear is shut down when the dim, flickering lights of the rundown garage reveal seven teenage boys standing in one line as if they’re about to run a military drill. They’re all wearing Ganghak uniforms. This is some kind of sick mockery.

“Alright, you fucking maggots.”

Jesus christ. The way you flinch at Na Jaemin’s voice is purely instinctual— something that hasn’t been deeply ingrained into the seven boys before you, it seems, because they continue standing stiff and still with their chins up as Na Jaemin saunters up to them. He fishes something out from his pocket. You squint. It’s a car key. He clicks on it. You wince, a sudden glaring of lights from behind the boys.

“There’s only one car. There’s seven of you.”

You hear his voice speak as your vision readjusts.

“Get to it.”

Hold on a second.

“Hey, hurry the fuck up. Why aren’t any of you moving?” Your mouth gapes. You watch the realization slowly sink into the seven faces in front of you— an expression that Na Jaemin doesn’t share because more than anything, he looks pretty annoyed right now. He lets out a grunt and flicks his wrist up to check the time. The look on his face when he drops it back down is enough to send at least three of the kids stuttering. “If no one hits the ground in three seconds, you’re all fucking death for wasting my time. One. Two. Thr—”

The sound of a knuckle hitting a jaw. You shut your eyes and look away. 

There’s nothing enjoyable about watching a bunch of teenagers beating the shit out of each other, but your co-worker seems to fashion a different opinion. “Whew.”  A nasty grin spreads on his face, just as one of the boys drops onto dusty cement, no sign of getting back up any time soon. “One down. Can’t wait for this shitshow to be fucking over.”

You’re horrified as you look at him, but that’s the problem— you’re looking at him, and this doesn’t go under his notice. 

Na Jaemin locks into you. He tosses his unfinished cigarette behind and traps you into an unwanted conversation. “We haven’t seen each other in a while, attorney,” he starts with a hum. “You haven’t even spared me a hello since you got here. It’s almost like all those weeks we spent in prison together are nothing to you.”

Even if you want to talk to him, what the hell are you supposed to say to that?

You resign by flitting your eyes to the side and looking away. You hear a scoff and the sound of a lighter click, followed by the reintroduction of his foul cigarette smoke wafting through the air around you. “Want a hit?” he asks. You grimace. You get a feeling that he won’t appreciate being ignored a third time. So you force an answer out of your suffocating throat, and you try your best to make it entertaining so he doesn’t sock you in the face for being dull and boring.

“No, thank you,” you quickly say. “I intend on dying from heart failure, not from my lungs collapsing.”

He lets out a huff. You almost mistake it for laughter. “Either way, you die.”

“That’s true, but I don’t want my breath smelling like rot before the rest of my body does.”

Silence. Uh-oh. You’re met with a prolonged silence, followed by the click of his tongue and you notice him tossing the second cigarette like the first one, a little less willingly this time. God. There’s no place for your eyes around here. In front, there’s a teen battle royale and to your left is a bastard who gets triggered by eye contact. There’s nowhere for you to look but down, and even then you can still hear the cacophony of pained groans and punches hitting.

“Had fun on your little excursion with Renjun?”

Why the fuck is he trying to make small talk now? “A bit. He didn’t force me to watch a massacre and treated me out to dim sum. It was great.”

“Hah.” 

The hairs on the back of your neck jolt.

“Ain’t that pretty fucking nice.”

Why the fuck is he mad about that?

You snap your head up, about to look at Na Jaemin, but your attention is pried off from him when you hear the gravelled roar of one of the Ganghak students in front. Your eyes blur from the whiplash— then you notice one boy battered with deep heavy breaths, standing above his fallen peers. His eyes are wide. There’s multiple bruises on the visible parts of his skin. The weight of your worry is trumped by Na Jaemin’s sheer apathy.

“I—I did it,” the boy breathes out. “I did it, hyung-nim.”

Na Jaemin looked like he was just watching his favorite show earlier. Now he looks like he can give less than two shits about what this kid had just pulled off. “Name.” You can never fucking figure him out.

“Sion…Oh Sion.”

He grunts. “Yeah, congrats, whatever.” He tosses the car keys to the ground. It lands next to one of the writhing kids groaning in pain. “Now get lost.”

Na Jaemin’s heels turn back and he quickly starts walking away. You’re flabbergasted. Your feet move one way, then quickly reverse. What the fuck. What are you supposed to do now?

“Hey!” You catch up to him, still looking back at the sight you’re leaving behind. “We’re leaving already? Doesn’t the kid need to sign a contract?” He’s walking way too fast. He leers at you with an annoyed grunt and starts walking even faster.

“I don’t have it. Fuck, whatever, he can do that shit tomorrow.”

“What?” It comes off as a screech. “I thought Mark asked me to be here!”

Na Jaemin suddenly stops. You bump into his shoulder and stumble back with a swear. When you draw your breath in to look up, you see that Na Jaemin is already looking at you with an intensity that burns away all the venom out of your throat, leaving nothing but silence behind.

“Mark didn’t say shit,” he spits out. You think he’s about to toss you into the nearest dumpster, but then you notice a wrinkle between his brows. It’s deep. It’s troubled. And then he lets out an exasperated groan. “Whatever.” 

Na Jaemin stomps away, leaving you in the dead of night to figure out what the fuck just happened.

‎*‎

Before making it back home to your apartment, you stop by a public phone booth to call an ambulance to the scene of the altercation. This is way too much overtime for your first official day, and the last hour wasn’t even paid because you already clocked out before Na Jaemin lied to your face just to make you watch a teenage fight right and throw a tantrum at the very end with no fucking explanation.

Needless to say, it was an eventful day. It gets even more eventful when you reach the door of your apartment, about to key in your passcode, until you notice a piece of paper sticking out from underneath the door gap.

Your brows knit together. You snap a picture of it before slipping it out of the door and finally letting yourself in, dropping your work bag onto the floor of your entryway to examine what had been lodged into your apartment.

It’s an envelope. A cream colored envelope with a few smudges on the paper.

You open it. You couldn’t be less prepared with what you’re about to read.

You’re fucking dead, bitch.

Wow. Now a literal death threat. It’s almost as if you’re not allowed to catch a fucking break.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[uu-tella]

Happy birthday Ichico!!!

Art by @lovethedanielhd

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"I bet on losing dogs"

ok this is like my first time actually writing anything EVER, and I don't know how to work tumblr or make this aesthetic so bare with me pls!! I keep seeing yandere batfam x neglected reader and I have had so many ideas so I'm giving this a shot! The reader is referred to with female pronouns but you can imagine it different if you want :) Reader is 2 years older than Damian and is 15 at the start of the story. Damian is 13. Dick is around 10 years older than reader, making him 25 right now. Jason is 8 years older than reader, making him 23. Tim is 2 years older than reader making him 17. Cass is 4 years older than reader and is 19. Stephanie is 3 years older than reader and is 18. Barbra is around 8 years older, making her 23! Bruce is around 35-40ish??? All just kinda guesses to make the plot and dynamics more clear, lmk if you have any questions!!

This is the prolouge and it kinda sucks so pls be nice. Hearts and comments are appreciated. If it's bad ignore it, english isn't my first language. Chapter one:, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4:

You couldn't understand it. You aren't a bad kid, so why were you treated like one? Why did your father treat you like the bane of his existence? Why did your older brothers see you as nothing more than dirt at the bottom of their shoes, a ghost in the manor, a blemish on their picture perfect family of misfits. You tried so so hard to fit in, to be part of the family. You wasted 11 YEARS of your life trying to get noticed, doing activities and hobbies you hated in the hopes of striking conversation with your "siblings". Batman, Bruce Wayne, your "father", ignored you no matter what. He ignored you like it was his job, from the day you came to the manor on your fourth birthday, your mother's death day, to today, your 15th birthday. You saved his life, his and all those other ungrateful losers who you used to call family. Yesterday, you put you life on the line for them, got bitten by that damn snake for them, and they ignored you and told you to walk it off while coddling the girl who suddenly appeared. Never again would you help them, nor would you brush off their mistreatment, not after this betrayal. Not after they took in another girl, a girl your age, the girl who took credit for your heroic act, the girl who bullied you for years at Gotham Prep, the girl who made your life living hell, and called HER family. They choose Tiffany Maverick to be their supposed savior, they would never believe you had the bravery to help them. They chose her to be Tiffany Wayne and scorned you.

You did nothing wrong, from the day you came to the manor you were perfect. Straight A's, no attitude, no complaints and no demands. All you did was try, try, try, and they never noticed.

Richard "The Dick" Grayson, as you and your friends call him, was the world's best big brother to everyone, except you of course! He was your first brother, he was the kid that Bruce Wayne actually wanted to take under his wing. You were 5 and he was 15, he was busy being Robin and then Nightwing. Alfred assured you that Dick adored you, you were his baby sister after all, he was just busy! In later years you realized he was only busy when it came to you. He made time for Damian no matter what, always attended Cassandra's ballet recitals, chatted with Tim and ruffled his hair, and he even dealt with Jason's snarky attitude and biting remarks. Yet, somehow when it came to you, he never had time. Always brushing you off with a shoulder pat and a "Maybe next time sweetheart!" and rolling his eyes when he thought you weren't looking. He's been making time for Tiffany or Tiffybear, as he loves to call her while pinching her cheeks and calling her his favorite little sister, "Don't tell Cass though!" he'll whisper to her. You don't even think he can remember your name. Or that once upon a time you were his "baby bird."

It makes you sick watching her take credit for everything, she's only been in the manor for 6 months and they've all given her more love than they have to you in the past 11 years. She took credit for all your awards, she told everyone she was top of your class, made them "homemade" cakes and muffins. It was all you. She stole everything.

Jason Todd, the red hood, was so mean to you. You used to admire him, looked up to him, and he took all your kind words and gestures for granted and spit them back in your face. Once upon a time, he was your favorite brother, you wanted to be as confident and unshakeable as him, it didn't matter how mean he was now because he was you brother and you loved him. The bond you had before his death was something you couldn't let go of, he was the only one who loved you. When he first came to the manor he was 12 and you came a couple months later. An adorable 4 year old who followed her favorite brother like a duckling. You were 7 when he died. You were 12 when he came back to haunt Bruce and Dick and Tim. You chased after him and tried to resurrect the bond you had for 3 long years. You gave up when you saw them. You couldn't believe your eyes when you saw him and Tiffany sneaking out the manor on a school night, you almost threw up when you saw him strap her on his motorcycle and leave for hours. They came back with shit-eating grins and cupcakes for everyone from a 24hr bakery, everyone except you. The bakery you asked him to take you to months ago. Tiffany saw the tears in your eyes and your clenched fists and she laughed.

Timothy Drake-Wayne, you first saw him after Jason died. Tim, in your 10 year old mind, was trying to steal your dad. Bruce ignored you even more after Jason's death and shut everyone out. Your bond with Tim was non-existent no matter how hard you tried. After you realized he wasn't trying to replace Jason, and saw how he was helping your father heal in ways you couldn't, you tried to bond with him. You attempted to play his video games and ignored his complete disintrest in you and anything that had to do with you in hopes he might come to appreciate you. You brought him coffee after long patrols, asked him about his day, asked to meet his friends, you picked up all his hobbies like hacking, cooking, reading even martial arts and yet he ignored you. You tried to find him in hallways at school, only to be treated like a stranger when you found him. He was embarrassed that you were his sister. You were chubby and awkward and didn't have many friends, he didn't want his cool kid friends to know you were his sister. For 5 long years you chased after him, for 5 years you chased a ghost, and somehow Tiffany captured his attention using one of the gadget-thingys you made in hopes to impress him. She walks the hallways of Gotham Prep with him, a perfect sibling duo, he even had her lunch moved so she could sit with him and his friends. He wasn't embarrassed of her. You watched them get closer in 6 months than you have in 5 years. And it hurt.

But perhaps what hurt most is her newfound bond with Damian. Your baby brother. You tried the hardest with Damian, almost as hard as you tried with Bruce, and yet he chose her while all you got was a sword to your neck and sneers of disgust thrown your way. Damian moved in when you were 12. You were elated, if you couldn't have good older siblings, at least you could be one! That plan went to hell when you realized Damian saw you as less than him. No matter how hard you tried, returned your love with disgust. You tried to show him around school like you wished Tim did for you and he called you " A waste of space and Wayne DNA" and said that there was no way you were of "Wayne" blood and that your "whore of a mother" had to have deceived his father, in front of your two friends and half the school. You could've handled his cruel words if he didn't begin attempting to duel you to become your father's heir. About a year ago, when you tried to hug him he threw you down the stairs and you broke your ankle, you stopped trying with him after that. He was so possessive over Bruce and now that somehow transferred to Tiffany too. You'd feel bad for her if she wasn't eating his obsession with her up.

Barbra, Cassandra, and Stephanie were the "It girls." All practically sisters, they hung out almost everyday and had sleepovers every Friday. They giggled about boys, hook-ups, missions and bonded over everything. You wanted be one of them, you tried so hard to be cool, to be pretty, and they could only see your flaws. You curled your hair and did your nails in hope you would blend with them, you even attempted to be Batgirl at one point. You were quickly denied after Stephanie pointed out that you didn't have the right 'physique' for it. Barbra quickly agreed and said you weren't cut out for it, Cassandra simply looked you up and down. Thats why it hurt extra when they welcomed Tiffany with open arms. Suddenly, she could be Batgirl. She talked to them about boys and bonded with them over girl things. She stole your sisters.

You figured out Tiffany was a spy almost as soon as she came into the manor. Her apperance and ability to act like it was her who saved the Bats from the Joker and his new radioactive snake was not a coincidence, neither was her becoming a vigilante only two weeks after coming into the manor, and neither was you catching her walking out the Batcave with arms full of Batman's weapons and plans. You couldn't believe your luck and pulled out your phone to take a picture, too bad you left the flash on. Tiffany quickly noticed you and tried to explain that it was a misunderstanding when Bruce came into the hallway. You beamed at the sight of him and began to explain what you saw Tiffany doing, only Tiffany was faster. She was quick to blame you for everything, and Batman, the world's greatest detective believed her. She said that you bullied her at school and you were so jealous of her joining the family that you went to steal plans and took pictures to frame her. It was a shitty lie and somehow everyone believed it. You still remember the cold indifference on Bruce's face, the sadness on Alfred's, the look of pure delight on Damian's, the shock on Dick's, the interest on Tim's and the disappointment and disgust on Jason's. Something shifted in you that night. You didn't feel an overwhelming amount of love and longing when you looked at your family, you felt anger. Pure unadultered rage, rage at Bruce for never loving you, rage at Dick for being a liar, rage at Jason for throwing away your bond and cool indifference and disgust at the rest of them.

Maybe that's why your abilities finally formed. Maybe thats why the place the snake bit you that fateful night began to glow as you cried in your bathtub, after being scolded all night and getting body slammed by Damian for trying to "taint his dear sister's image". You had powers now, the agility of a snake, you could eject venom out of your fingertips, you could walk on walls, now you could prove them all wrong.

okayyyy yall this was the prolouge. Again this is my 1st attempt at writing so be nice. If enough people like this I'll put out part one. Hope yall enjoyed and lmk what you want to happen next in the comments!!!!!!!!!

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 8 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 5.1k

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), lots of cussing, mentions of food, so much violence. like so much y'all but it's Canon-typical violence, references to (quirk) supremacist views, a (somewhat) graphic depiction of mental health issues

a/n. the content of this chapter is one of the reasons why i almost didn't start this series in the first place. as it turns out, action scenes are deceptively difficult to write—i struggled at first, but i eventually got into the groove of things and found it so fun! so much shit will go down, and i hope you find yourselves at the edge of your seats while reading this <3 please, please let me know what you think and don't be a stranger! enjoy :')

links. masterlist, ao3

You shoot up at the blaring sound of the alarm clock.

You scramble to reach and turn it off where it stands on the nightstand—quickly, before it wakes Bakugou up—a sigh of relief wracking your body when you manage to do so, a sudden stillness instantly enveloping the room.

That relief doesn’t last very long, though, because you’re once again shot with panic when you look up toward the foot of the bed, only to see the man himself already standing in front of it—fully awake.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, clutching your chest, “You scared me.”

“It’s too early to be this scared, princess,” is his pointed retort, a small hint of teasing underlying his tone. You shoot him a pained smile but don’t say anything back, not finding the courage within you to admit that your hands may or may not be already shaking in anticipatory anxiety.

Instead, you watch him as he does mobility stretches in place, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth as he warms up his joints and rotates his limbs. He invites you to join him a moment after, and you do, if not in an attempt to ground yourself then in preparation for any physical combat that may ensue later on.

Not much is said between the two of you as you go on to prepare for the day, maneuvering silently within his bedroom and taking turns in the bathroom. He lets you get changed first, and you shimmy yourself in your most comfortable office clothes, finding almost immediately that describing them as ‘comfortable’ might be a stretch. Least suffocating, maybe—but the instructions were clear that you had to look the part, at least so that you could get past the guards and enter the building.

Apparently, you need to infiltrate the place organically to buy you as much time to position yourselves without raising suspicion. Mystically showing up on the premises with a man who will vanish not a moment later wouldn’t exactly be a common sight for the employees manning the CCTVs.

Well, then. You guess your long-sleeved blouse, slacks, and regrettably heeled shoes will have to do.

Not even five minutes after you step out of the restroom so he can get dressed himself, Bakugou emerges in a similarly dark, wrist-length shirt and trousers, and you’re about to comment on this unfamiliar yet…welcome sight when your eyes catch his notoriously unruly head of hair—magically pushed back, revealing his forehead.

Now, of all the things that strangely popped into your mind upon seeing him—handsome definitely wasn’t one of them—what you end up blurting is: “How the hell did you style it that fast?”

“Huh?” he responds absentmindedly, fiddling with his sleeves as he seats himself on the edge of the bed opposite from you. “Style what?”

You gesture towards his head. “Your hair. Hasn’t it always been a little hard to control?”

Folding his sleeves right up to his forearm, he then turns to face you, a borderline sheepish expression etched on his features. “’s some extra strong gel. Best Jeanist gifted it to me for my birthday.”

Ah.

“Yeah, well, it suits you,” you offer honestly, averting your gaze just as you think he is about to flash you a smirk. And before he can say anything: “I’m guessing you’re ditching the gauntlets for today?”

He nods, although he’s suddenly looking far from pleased. “No choice,” he intones, “My firepower will take a hit, but I can still get by without them.”

“Enough to kick some ass?”

A grin. “Always.”

You let Bakugou’s well-earned confidence infect you as you finish getting ready together, stuffing your respective bags with things you can let go of in case they get caught up in the fight, before finally walking out of your little sanctuary and into the living room. The twins are on you in an instant, installing your trackers on your chests where they’ve since taken residence for the past two weeks, pulling away without a single word afterward. You mutter a quick thanks, before walking toward Bakugou on the couch and asking him what he wants for breakfast.

“Something light,” is his answer. “Don’t wanna be bogged down by a heavy stomach.”

You end up getting him french toast with a protein shake—whether or not that was light for a man his size, you have no idea—while ordering a croissant and iced tea for yourself. You don’t bother asking the twins if they want to get something as well—opting to just get them breakfast sandwiches and coffee instead. You heard a stomach grumble just a few minutes ago—and it definitely wasn’t yours or Bakugou’s.

The food arrives just as quickly as it did the night prior, and you waste no time digging in. To your pleasant surprise, the twins accept the offering, albeit too begrudgingly for your taste. Maybe letting them starve was the smarter move for today’s final mission, but as you watch them scarf everything down in a matter of minutes, you decide that that’s a trade-off you’re willing to overcompensate for.

By the time you’ve finished eating and cleaning up, it’s a few minutes before 6 AM, and you resolve that as far as D-Days are concerned, the start of this one is going swimmingly well.

Right up to the moment Kouki materializes and grabs Bakugou’s wrist but not yours.

“Change of plans.”

At that, you instantly freeze just as Bakugou barks: “The fuck do you mean change of plans?”

That doesn’t seem to faze the teleporter, who instead regards the pro-hero with a stern, almost chastising look. “You’re needed in one of the schools. You’re coming with me.”

Somehow, you snap out of it. “But you said—”

“It’s a direct order,” he spews, now looking at you with such intensity that has your blood turning cold. “One that you have to follow. Unless���”

“Unless, what?” growls Bakugou.

He smiles. “Unless you want us to call off the entire operation and teleport where you can’t find us.”

Fuck.

Beside you, Bakugou must be thinking the exact same thing, because he suddenly goes quiet.

Kouki harrumphs. “That’s what I thought.”

Neither Bakugou nor you say anything else in protest after that, acutely aware of the gamble that has to be made.

It’s clear as day: either you follow the order and divide and possibly conquer, or resist and lose them altogether.

Perhaps for good.

Armed with the explosives Bakugou made himself, no less.

You chance a glance at the pro-hero, and the impassive look on his face is enough to tell you what he’s decided on.

You’re running out of time and you also need to say something, you know that. Otherwise, he’s going to think there’s something more important to the two of you than seeing the operation you’ve been devotedly ‘working on’ to fruition.

Something beyond just two lovers ensuring each other’s safety.

Forcing yourself to meet Kouki’s steely gaze, you finally relent and nod. “How’s the rest of us gonna get to our post, then?”

“I’ll come back right after I teleport him,” comes his speedy answer, seemingly satisfied with your newfound enthusiasm. “I’ll take you three to where Masaki is waiting near the Prime Minister’s Office.”

“He’s already there?” you can’t help but ask, suddenly nervous at the mention of the kingpin.

You still don’t know his quirk.

“Yes, and he mustn’t be kept waiting,” Kouki says cuttingly, before turning to regard Bakugou, whose wrist he’s still holding. “We’ve to get going.”

“Alright,” the pro-hero grits out, shrugging off the man’s hold, “Just—give me a sec.”

For a second, you think he’s going to head to the restroom to pee before the ‘mission’ starts, but then he’s stepping towards you, and you barely manage to stop yourself from tilting away when he leans into your space, immediately followed by a firm grip on your shoulders. Despite yourself, you gulp.

Bakugou lets out a long exhale. He’s not looking at you—you note—gaze directed towards the floor. You decide then and there that you don’t like seeing him like this.

Like he’s actually…scared.

“Hey,” you whisper, and he looks up, finally meeting your eyes. You almost stumble at the sheer intensity of them.

Almost.

In spite of that—and you don’t know how you do it—you manage to smile at him, as genuinely as you can.

“What are you so worried about?” you tease, voice soft enough for just him to hear. “I’ll be okay.”

To your dismay, that doesn’t make Bakugou laugh—countenance still grim—but his features do soften. So minutely, the change is almost imperceptible—but it’s there.

“How can you be so sure?” he actually whispers back.

That makes you grin, the answer already at the tip of your tongue.

“Because you don’t date losers.”

Now, at your quip, you expected him to at least smile. Maybe chuckle, if that punchline came out funnier than you intended it to.

But what you absolutely didn’t expect was for him to grab you by the neck and pull you into a kiss.

It takes you a second to realize what’s happening, body rigid in utter surprise, but you eventually relax into his hold, wrapping your arms around his torso as he deepens the kiss. A few more seconds pass by with your lips interlocked before he finally pulls away, face flushed and a little out of breath.

“Be careful,” he eventually gets out a beat later, and you nod, suddenly hyperaware of the three pairs of eyes watching you.

Kouki’s especially.

“You, too,” you call out to Bakugou as he lets go and returns to the spot beside Kouki, who once again takes his gauntlet-less wrist.

“We’ll be off, then,” the old man announces, and just like that, they’re gone.

Kouki returns—alone—in record time, an inexplicable expression written on his face. You debate whether or not to ask him how things are at Bakugou’s location, ultimately deciding against it when the man impatiently beckons you to move. You promptly approach and hold onto him just as the twins adjust their portkeys without much complaint, all the while trying to ignore the churning sensation at the pit of your stomach.

The borderline nauseating feeling doesn’t get any better as you get whisked away from Bakugou’s apartment unit in a matter of seconds, suddenly finding yourself sat as you emerge in what you think is an SUV—judging by the size of its interior. You squirm in your seat—too caught up in the discomfort of being squished between Kouki and Omiru in the back—to notice it.

But then you look up, and when you do, the churning from earlier stops and your stomach drops entirely.

From where he’s conveniently plastered in the driver’s seat, Masaki turns to fully face you, smiling.

Or at least you think he is, based solely on the upturn of his lips.

Because hiding his gaze is what seems to be hardened, high-tech goggles.

Goggles that completely block your view of his eyes.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You vaguely register Masaki thanking Kouki for bringing the three of you to him, and you think Kouki must’ve teleported away judging from the faint swell in wiggle room at your sides. But you couldn’t recall when that was exactly, and this very thought sends another shot of panic through you, the taste of bile now blooming in your throat.

You know what you have to do.

Clenching your eyes closed, you center your attention on the primary emotion you’re feeling—fear, unmistakable fear—and pull.

Instantly, you feel your facial muscles relax, cautious enough to let the change appear slowly—both in your face and in your frame.

The last thing you need is to inadvertently confirm any suspicion about your quirk.

Even if it means using a huge chunk of today’s reservoir on yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you let your eyes flutter open, and you’re once again met with the sight of Masaki, whose torso is now turned towards you.

Shit.

You scramble for something to say.

“I-isn’t it a bit too early?” you ask, averting your gaze toward the car window. “Is the Prime Minister even around at this hour?”

You don’t get to see Masaki’s reaction to your sudden question—you wouldn’t be able to study his eyes anyway—but you hear him shuffle in his seat, turning back to face forward. “Yes, he’s expecting a visitor.”

A million questions come up in your head—how he even knows that information is one of them—but what you end up asking is: “How about the rest?”

That must’ve been the right query to ask, because Masaki hums in what you think is approval. “People will be there, Y/N. When the Prime Minister’s around, most of the employees are expected to be present.”

You guess that makes sense.

You don’t say anything else after that, opting to peer at Masaki through the rearview mirror instead. To your surprise, he shifts his head towards the very same mirror, and you’re almost sure he’s looking straight back at you.

He smiles again. This time, a little too knowingly.

“Is there something—” he starts, before trailing off and pointing to his eyepiece. “Oh, this?”

You bristle. Still, you feign ignorance. “Huh?”

“You seem to have been staring at my glasses.”

You let your brows furrow, as if in confusion. “I…don’t think I was?”

“Cut the crap, Y/N,” Omiru suddenly spits at you from the side, and you startle.

“What the—”

“Now, now, Omiru,” scolds Masaki with that placating tone of his. “Y/N might’ve been lying to us but we still have a mission to finish.”

You blanch. “Lying?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” comes the leader’s quiet response, who’s watching the scene unfold behind him through the mirror. “It’s a pity our surveillance men took so long to notice, how you had us acting strangely, that day we met.”

Masaki cocks his head to the side, before: “Your quirk works via eye contact, doesn’t it?”

You stiffen.

“Thought so,” he concludes, and you bite back the urge to close your eyes in defeat. It’s too early to give up.

“Don’t worry, though,” he adds on after a beat, finally bringing the engine to life. “Nothing will happen as long as you cooperate and use luck when I tell you to.”

…Luck.

Did he just say luck?

Your eyes must’ve widened a bit at what he just said, because he continues. “Ah, Bakugou?” he asks, and suddenly you’re hit with the guilt of not thinking about the pro-hero.

Especially when he says the next thing.

“Like I said,” Masaki drawls, “As long as you cooperate, no one gets harmed.”

A pause.

“Even him.”

Your question gets answered as soon as you stop at the guard house.

Masaki’s quick to take off the goggles before rolling down his window, greeting the primary security guard with such innocence you definitely couldn’t have guessed he was on his way to an assassination if you based on just the encounter alone.

The guard flashes him an easy grin as he greets back, before bringing the walkie-talkie that’s velcroed on his shoulder closer to his mouth. “Masaki Kento of the Korean Consulate, heading towards Building C. I repeat, Masaki Kento to Building C.”

A bunch of static emanates from the device, immediately followed by a robotic voice. “Copy that. Let him in.”

At that, Masaki salutes him a thanks, which the guard returns fervently. You don’t even get to catch a glimpse of the former’s eyes before he’s got the window up and the eyepiece swiftly back on his face.

“Let me guess,” you pipe up as Masaki rounds a curb and drives more slowly as you enter the grounds, “You’re a consul and these two are your domestic bodyguards.”

“Yes,” Masaki readily confirms, “That is correct.”

That explains why he’s almost never present in the headquarters.

“Huh,” is the only thing you can muster, focus now trained on any human that you pass by.

The less they are in number, the better—is what Bakugou said. So far, most if not all of them are decked out in attire guards would normally wear, which you think isn’t much of an unfamiliar sight in this estate.

Eventually, you arrive at the front of what you believe is Building C, stepping out of the vehicle with your handbag in tow a moment later, smoothing the crinkled lines of your slacks. You pretend not to pay attention as an again bare-faced Masaki hands over the keys to the valet, who is off with the vehicle in seconds to what he said was the multi-story car park.

You don’t dare utter a word as you trail behind the man carrying a bulky briefcase you’re positive contains nothing but bombs, with the twins walking in step behind you. You keep your eyes fixed on the staircase as you do, painfully aware of how your nerves are coming back alive, and this time, somewhat more fiercely than before.

You know better than to waste another ounce of your quirk on yourself, though.

And so with ragged breath, you trudge on with anxiety creeping back up your spine, up until you’re met with another guard at the entrance, who makes a quick work of identifying the four of you. You’re introduced as Masaki’s new personal assistant, while the others just reiterate their established titles. The guard then grants you entry, but not before instructing you to register your name at the reception desk.

Masaki thanks the man on your behalf, and then finally—you enter.

The second that you do, though, you can tell something’s wrong.

For one, right behind the desk that you were ordered to approach, was nobody. Not one receptionist.

Nor are there janitors, guests, employees, or anyone that could possibly be in the Prime Minister’s Office at this hour.

Masaki, who just put on the goggles again, must have thought the same thing, because you catch him physically tensing, like this wasn’t part of the plan.

You’re about to ask him—genuinely—why the place seems to be deserted, when it happens.

Something fast lurches from the shadows in your peripheral vision, and you stumble back just in time to see Hiroto slammed to the ground by no other than Kirishima.

The male twin lets out a yelp in pain as the hardened hero wrestles him in his grip, all at the same time as a long string of tape suddenly fills your vision. You look up, and sure enough, there’s Sero swinging right into Omiru foot first, hitting the woman square in the jaw. She staggers violently backward, right into you—but the collision doesn’t happen, because a hand grabs your wrist out of nowhere and you’re pulled to the side.

A tidal wave of relief washes over you as you let yourself get forcefully dragged, but it’s instantly replaced with terror when you look up to see Masaki’s backside instead. From a distance, you hear Kirishima’s voice call out your name, and it snaps you out of your fear-driven trance. Renewed with unbridled strength, you put as much of your weight as you can on your soles and try to wrangle your hand out of his grip, but it’s too strong.

Masaki manages to haul you toward the end of the hallway, throwing you right into an elevator and punching the close button before you can pick yourself back up on your feet. You barely see him pressing the top-most floor before he turns around and grabs you by the shoulders, pinning you hard against the wall.

“You told them about us, didn’t you,” he seethes, manic, but you don’t dare say anything. At your silence, he lifts you a breadth’s hair away from the surface only to slam you back against it. You can’t help it—this time, you cry, a sharp pain sent straight to your back.

“Answer me,” he demands, and you’re just about to knee him in the balls when the elevator dings. You wait for Masaki to get distracted and look away so you can deliver the blow, but it doesn’t happen. His gaze seemingly remains fixed on yours even as he lugs the two of you out of the box, grip unrelenting as he approaches the nearest fire alarm device, smashing the glass before pulling down the lever.

Almost instantaneously, tens of alarms ring out not just on your floor but on the ones below you, and you can only watch in horror as the numbers on top of the elevators freeze.

“Kouki,” Masaki rasps into his earpiece, his two hands busy holding you at arm’s length. “Kouki, do you copy?”

You growl, a surge of indignation washing over your entire body at him blatantly ignoring you. You extend your leg from underneath in an attempt to trip and then pin him down, but he takes notice in the nick of time and staves off your attack.

“Kouki,” he tries again, even as you manage to ram a punch into his stomach, “Answer me!”

You grit your teeth, feeling your limbs quaking as you fight to fend off his grip. Still, your mind wanders as to why he’s calling Kouki now, of all times.

What, so he can teleport him and the twins out of here?

But then he speaks again, and you see crimson red.

“Kouki, kill him now!”

Your body moves before your brain can think—you throw yourself onto Masaki and grab him by the neck. He stumbles backward until he collapses and his back hits the floor, and you take that as an opportunity to immediately straddle him, increasing the pressure on your chokehold. He splutters for a bit, arms flailing and scratching at you, but before you can even think about trying to rip off his eyepiece and potentially taking the upper hand—at least until Kirishima and the rest arrive—he rolls over and has got you pinned under his weight in seconds. He pulls the same move and roughly wraps his hands around your neck, instantly cutting off the air to your lungs. You wheeze, and yet you still struggle even as you feel the last bits of oxygen die out.

He grins at you, and one look at the man’s face tells you he’s gone mad. “You’re on the wrong side of history, Y/N.”

Great, you think to yourself. Those can’t be the last fucking words you hear before you die.

You make one last attempt at seizing his wrist off of you, but—just like many other things in the past five minutes—that doesn’t get to happen, because something flashes in the corner of your eye—so quickly you think you must’ve imagined it. You squint, and in hindsight maybe you shouldn’t have, because, in the second that you do, Masaki is kicked off of your body and slammed straight into the far wall.

Shellshocked, you crawl backward with your forearms as fast as you can, not knowing what the fuck just happened.

But that’s when you see him.

You can only watch in disbelief as Bakugou propels himself across the room in a matter of a millisecond, towering over Masaki’s body instantaneously. “Get back!” Bakugou shouts, and it takes you a beat to realize that he’s talking to you.

You didn’t need to be told twice.

With the little, remaining strength you can muster, you manage to stand back up and hobble towards the corner of the room, farthest from where the two are currently engaging in a fistfight.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize that Masaki’s holding up better than you expected him to, and the very same realization must’ve dawned on Bakugou, because the pro-hero swiftly switches gears and starts detonating small explosions toward the man’s direction.

But then the weirdest thing happens.

Instead of being hit by Bakugou’s blasts, Masaki absorbs them—right where the combustions meet his body—

And then, in the blink of an eye, releases it—almost twice in size—straight into Bakugou.

You hear the pro-hero curse just as he barely manages to dodge the hit. The discharge reaches the wall, leaving scorched marks and massive craters on the surface.

This is bad.

And you don’t even have to look at Bakugou to know that.

Still, the pro-hero presses on, and you stand there—restless—as the fight resumes in front of you. Bakugou’s stopped using his quirk to attack altogether, only using it to expertly maneuver himself in the air. Masaki’s fending off the strikes well enough, even landing a few hits here and there. You try to hold eye contact with him—but it’s no use. He’s still wearing the goggles, and you’ve studied them long enough this morning to be fairly sure that it’ll take more than just a perfect kick to the head to have it taken off.

That’s when it dawns on you.

You can’t manipulate Masaki. That’s for sure.

But you can manipulate Bakugou, who—based on what you can see—is becoming more and more frantic by the minute.

No fucking time to hesitate.

“Bakugou!” you shout, and the man doesn’t even glance in your direction, only shouting back: “What?!”

“Look at me!” you yell, pupils darting in record speed as you follow Bakugou’s volatile line of vision. You weren’t about to miss him when he does.

He doesn’t question your request, but he doesn’t immediately look at you either, too wrapped up in hitting Masaki and not getting hit back.

But then Masaki’s suddenly got him pinned against the wall across you, and you find yourself immediately face to face with him. You scream, “Now!”

Exactly right on cue, Bakugou’s gaze drifts from Masaki’s face to yours, and when you lock eyes, you pull.

Manic adrenaline to laser-sharp acuity.

Acuity that he’s always had since you met him in high school.

As hard as you fucking can—and with all that you have left—you pull.

And just like that, Bakugou’s entire countenance changes. You can only watch as the metaphorical gears in his head seem to come alive and shift—just as he throws Masaki off of him with unmatched force.

But then he does the unimaginable.

He starts bombarding the man with explosions—one blast after another, not allowing him the chance to even sit up and shield himself—and you stare in outright shock as Masaki’s body glows redder and redder.

Just as you think Bakugou’s completely lost his mind with the series of attacks, he launches himself from the wall and dives into Masaki, grabbing the man’s arm, tugging him to the nearest door with one hand and yanking the slab of wood open with the other.

And only as Bakugou throws Masaki into what you think is a janitor’s closet and locks the door behind him does it hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Come on!” Bakugo shouts at you as he presses his entire weight against the door—the door that Masaki’s desperately trying to get through. “Help me lock him in!”

You look around the room for something you can use, your eyes immediately landing on a chair and a moderately-heavy-looking desk. You waste no time grabbing the two pieces of furniture and hauling them toward Bakugou as fast as you can. Taking the chair first, you tilt it by the backrest and lodge it underneath the doorknob until it’s secure enough. You then hurriedly drag the desk to the other side and slide it in front of the door, just as Bakugou propels himself upward and out of the way.

You don’t get to do anything else before Bakugou snatches you by your waist and boosts the two of you toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, smashing against them shoulder-first. You hold onto him for dear life, wincing at the impact even though Bakugou took most of it.

And you’re glad you did everything the way you just did—because not even a second later, the explosion finally goes off—an eruption so massive that you’re both thrown forward from the sheer magnitude alone, the sound of shattering windows and crumbling walls booming in the background. Bakugou loses his balance for a second and you shriek, but he manages to get back into thrusting you into the air with his detonations, carrying you securely in his arms until you reach the ground, gently letting go of you when you do.

The moment your toes touch the concrete floor, though, you’re quick to jump on your feet and hobble away from him.

“Hey—”

Quickly, you tell yourself as you feel the tell-tale pinpricks of tears at the corners of your eyes. Before it’s too late.

But you don’t get to go far enough because Bakugou grabs your wrist, spinning you to look at him. “The fuck do you think you’re go—”

He cuts himself off, the scowl that was just carved on his features instantly falling when he sees your face. “Are you—crying?”

“N-no,” you choke out, although you know it’s no use denying it. You’re already feeling the all-too-familiar closing-in sensation that comes with you overextending yourself.

“Yes, you are, dumbass,” Bakugou retorts, before bringing up his other hand to lightly touch your cheek. “Tell me, what’s wrong?”

At the contact, you clench your eyes closed, fighting down the urge to whimper at the steadily increasing pace at which your heart is irregularly racing.

There’s no doubt about it.

It’s now flooding you—the terror that you’ve secretly been tamping down with your own quirk this entire mission—but especially today.

“Fuck—” you warble, and now you’re sure.

You’re having an anxiety attack.

It all happens in a blur—your brain too muddled with palpable fear to keep track of everything around you—but you vaguely register Bakugou wrapping his arms around you and rubbing soothing circles on your back, as he tried to guide your erratic breathing with his.

You remember shaking violently in his hold, gasping for air and barely managing to will yourself to breathe normally as an undercurrent of dizziness coursed through your veins.

You recall sweating bullets but being cold to the touch, and Bakugou ripping out one of his sleeves to use to wipe away your perspiration. It didn’t really help.

And you don’t know how much time passes with you fighting the nausea on top of everything, even as you heard the distant sound of police sirens, but it does—it somehow does—eventually and strangely finding yourself carried away home.

Home to Bakugou’s.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

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[purplecoffee13]

Nemesis with Benefits* - Part 3

Summary: “You go to your friend’s birthday party, and run into Harry. Naturally, the encounter doesn’t go very smoothly, and you are at each other’s throats in a matter of minutes. But the proximity transforms the anger into… some type of frustration.”

Wc: 4.7k

Tropes: enemies to lovers

Warnings: cursing, smut, dirty talk, (heavy on the)degradation kink, dom/sub dynamics

A/N: Hey y’all, I’m back with another NWB chapter! This took embarrassingly long to write. To be honest, I was in a bit of a rut, and then I was having too many ideas and thoughts at once, and not enough inner peace to sit down and write. But it’s all good now, I’m back, so enjoy!!!

Series Masterlist

General Masterlist

"Isn't it too much?" You ask hesitantly, staring at your dolled up reflection in the mirror of your vanity desk. Rebecca's head shoots your way, a deep frown on her face.

"Hell no! You look absolutely gorgeous, sweetie." She hurries over to you, putting her hands on your shoulder and crouching down to your level. She looks at you through the mirror, giving you a comforting smile, which eases your nerves a little bit.

"Listen, babe, this is your first real party since that troll cheated on you. It's your chance to show everyone that you are strong, and better than ever." Rebecca gives the pep-talk that you have been hearing seven renditions of for the past week. She turns you around so she can look you in the eyes. "Dylan was a deadweight. You are free of that imbecile and we're going to celebrate it by getting you laid."

You roll your eyes, stifling a laugh at Rebecca's mention of her mission for you. "I don't want to get laid."

"Girl... trust me, you need to get laid." Rebecca says as she picks up her purse from your bed. Your mouth falls open at the insult.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" A chuckle escapes your lips as you ask your friend the question. She turns around, a mischievous grin covering her face.

"You have been so incredibly tense the last weeks, especially today. Seriously, did you have a deadline today or something? You have been incredibly tense all afternoon." Rebecca questions, grabbing both of your jackets and handing yours to you.

Your eyes widen for a slight second, but you quickly regain yourself. You shrug your shoulders, which, now that she mentioned it, are feeling quite tense. You hadn't realized how much effect your stress had on your body today.

Ever since that almost... whatever it was with Harry earlier today, you have absolutely been on edge. It's been difficult to brush it off, especially because the harder you try to not think of it, the longer it stays on your mind. Even blasting rock music didn't get your thoughts off him.

There are just a lot of questions that accompany the events that almost occurred earlier today. Besides the typical, 'why did he even initiate such a movement?', there is also the question of 'why did you almost go along with it?'.

Maybe Rebecca is right. Maybe, you do need to get laid. You are not going to say that out loud to your friend, though, because you know you will never hear the end of it. So instead, you lie.

"Yeah, had a deadline today. But I promise, I'm ready to party." You say. Technically, it a half-lie. You did have a deadline for an assignment today, but it was only a matter of getting your reference list right.

"Alright, let's go then!" Rebecca exclaims enthusiastically, walking out of your bedroom and towards the front door of your apartment.

The frat house where Tyler's party is held is quite close to your apartment. You live extremely close to campus, and so you and Rebecca don't have to suffer through the cold breeze that dominates the night. You are glad, because your short, red dress and sheer tights aren't the warmest thing you've ever worn. You thank your lucky stars for the black knee high boots you paired the outfit with, as they manage to block the wind against your legs a little bit.

The change of temperature going from outside to inside the frat house is lethal. It smells of the standard odors that cover a party: sweat and alcohol.

You don't hear much of what Rebecca shouts at you over the loud music, but her pointing at Tyler tells you all you need to know. She grabs your hand and guides the both of you to your mutual friend.

Tyler grins like an idiot at the sight of you two, spreading his arms out before pulling the two of you into a bear hug.

"I'm so glad you guys came!" He exclaims, letting you pull away.

"We even got you a present." Rebecca says, and Tyler quirks up his brow.

"We think you're going to love it." You add.

Tyler's head flicks from Rebecca to you, and a sneaky smirk creeps up his face. In perfect timing, both you and Rebecca slap Tyler's arm before throwing some profanities his way.

"What?! You said it so suggestively." Tyler laughs, and you flick him on his forehead. He yelps out, and Rebecca and you chuckle at his dramatics.

"You are an idiot." Rebecca smiles sweetly at him, planting a kiss on his cheek anyway. She steps back and grabs your hand, nodding towards the kitchen. "Wanna get a drink?"

"Oh wait, come with me. I locked the good stuff upstairs." Tyler interrupts, and motions for you to walk with him. You look at Rebecca, and shrug before happily following him upstairs to his room.

You have been in Tyler's room plenty of times, one of which you almost ended up having sex with him. It was late and you were both high as fuck, and ended up falling asleep before anything really happened. You laughed about it afterwards, and besides flirty jokes, there is absolutely nothing between you and Tyler.

"Here we are..." Tyler turns around with three bottles of hard liquor in his hands. You and Rebecca cheer as Tyler pours some tequila into each red solo cup. The three of you make a toast to Tyler before downing the ridiculously large shot. You pull a sour face afterwards because you always seem to forget how nasty tequila is. It does the job of getting you drunk, though, so you don't dwell on it too long.

Tyler then makes you and Rebecca a rum and coke. You chat a bit about everything and nothing, but then Rebecca announces she has to pee, and leaves the room. You quite literally feel the air in the room changing as soon as the door is closed again. Tyler looks at you with sad eyes.

"So, how are you holding up?" He tries to be casual, but you roll your eyes because you know what he is aiming at.

"Stop it, I'm fine. He is a dick, and I am just fine." You say, sitting your self onto the bed. Tyler seats himself besides you.

"You can't blame me for asking, I feel like we haven't talked much since... you know. Just wanted to know if you're okay." He shrugs, and your heart melts ever so slightly. Tyler is a great friend, and he was right: you really hadn't spoke to anyone but Benjamin and Rebecca since the break-up.

And Harry.

"I promise, I'm fine." You say, but Tyler just squints at you. It makes you giggle a bit, getting nervous about idiocy. A short silence falls between the two of you, and you take a sip of your rum and coke.

"Rebecca said I should get laid." You confess, before taking a large gulp of your drink. You look at your friend, expectantly, wondering what his opinion on all this is.

"I mean, my door is always open—"

"Shut up!" You cackle, and Tyler laughs. He loves getting on your nerves. "But seriously, do you think that's a good idea?"

He shrugs. "If you're ready, then sure."

"Well, how do I know if I'm ready?" You ask him, your head tilted ever so slightly.

"You'll know." Tyler answer cryptically, getting up from the bed. You follow suit, knitting your brows at his vague words.

"That might just be the least helpful advice I've ever heard." You deadpan, and Tyler rolls his eyes at you.

"You're thinking about this too much. Just try and see if there is someone you feel attracted to, and just try it. If it's a simple hook-up, it's all about the physical attraction, nothing more. So don't overthink it."

You sigh, kind of bummed with the fact that his advice is actually really good and makes a lot of sense, because now you'll have to apply it.

"Now, let's go downstairs, because Rebecca is probably looking for us." Tyler suggests, and you nod. The two of you fill up your drinks before walking out of Tyler's bedroom. You're still laughing at a joke of his when you are met with none other than Harry standing in the hallway.

He looks surprised to see you, and the same can definitely be said for you. There is about a two second delay in his mood change from surprised to irritated, and the tension in your stomach stings.

"Hey bro." Tyler says, a bit unsure at how enthusiastic he can be towards Harry in front of you. You know they're actually good mates, but I think that lessened a bit since the break-up. Tyler is awfully loyal to you, in the littlest ways.

"Hey man, happy birthday." Harry greets Tyler and they do their little bro hug. You watch the interaction, a bit unsure of how to act in front of Harry now. Pulling out from the embrace, Harry turns to you. He greets you with the sole mutter of your last name.

"Styles." You say back.

You feel Tyler looking between the two of you, and you can tell that he is scared that you'll push Harry down the stairs at any given moment. You refuse to lose eye contact with Harry, however, and he seems to have the same idea. It takes about ten seconds of silently staring into each others' souls before Tyler speaks up.

"Y/N, shall we go downstairs? Find Rebecca?" He puts his hand on the small of your back. You silently cheer for yourself when Harry breaks the eye contact, his gaze shooting down to Tyler's arm, before looking at you again.

"Excellent idea." You agree, turning around and walking down the stairs without looking back at Harry. Your stomach is still upset and your mind is spinning; that was oddly stressful for no reason.

Once you've found Rebecca again, you both take to the dance floor. A typical party song plays and everyone starts to cheer and jump along. You and Rebecca dance with each other, laughing because of the alcohol and the guys who are dancing around you.

You try to scan the room for potential bachelors as much as possible, hoping there is someone who you find attractive. Unfortunately, you are a bit out of luck. You casually look further, but then your eyes fall onto Harry. He is standing against the wall, with a couple of other guys you know, but he is looking at you. You feel like you got caught, even though, technically you caught him looking at you. You don't have much to overthink it, however, because you quickly realize that Benjamin is one of the guys standing with Harry.

You pull Rebecca along and walk towards the guys. Benjamin shrieks when he sees you and pulls you into a hug that nearly chokes the life out of you. After pulling away, he goes and greets Rebecca. Your eyes float past Harry, who is so close to you that you can smell his perfume, but you quickly look away when you realize that, once again, his eyes were already on you.

Your chest feels tight at the knowledge that he is actively watching you, and you have to stop yourself from clenching your jaw out of the sheer stress it is giving you. Benjamin distracts you by asking if you want to go outside for a bit, and you nod, following him to the back yard.

But when you see Harry joins you, you make up an excuse that you have to go to the bathroom, and that they should just go ahead and you'll find them in a bit. The group agrees and begins walking outside, and you take it as your cue to hurry upstairs.

You enter Tyler's room, running over to his desk, where the liquor is still standing, and pour yourself another rum and coke. It is mostly rum with a splash of coke, but you really need it right now. You take a big gulp, sticking your tongue out as the bitter taste trickles down your throat.

"Hiding?"

You jump at the sudden voice sounding from behind you, and turn around to see Harry leaning against the doorframe. You take a deep breath when you realize it's just home, but then the tension settles in because it's him.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" You ask, irritated. It is mostly to mask the nerves he gives you, and Harry doesn't seem to buy into your pretending. He shrugs.

"Was trying to find a lighter. Tyler said he had one up here." He answers, looking around the room. His eyebrows raise when he sees one on Tyler's nightstand. He leans forward, holding it up in the air so you can see it, then puts it in his pocket. "What about you?"

Getting away from you, you think.

Instead of saying that, you shrug your shoulders. "Just— getting a drink."

Harry nods slowly, not entirely believing you. You stare at each other for a moment, and the heavy feeling in your stomach is beginning to shout to get out. You swallow, your risen heartbeat telling you what you are trying very, very hard to ignore.

"So..." Harry starts.

"So..."

"You and Tyler, huh?"

Your eyes widen at the words that leave Harry's mouth, and before you know it, a loud snort escapes you. You slap your hand over your mouth, shaking your head profusely.

"C'mon, you don't have to deny it. So, the moving on going easier than you thought after all, hmm?"

There is a slight condescending tone that hides between Harry's words, and it makes your smile fade away. You set down your cup at the table and stride towards him until you are right in front of him. You look up and meet his gaze.

"What? Are you trying to say that it's easier, because I wasn't that in love with Dylan, so in the end it wasn't all bad? That the drama was for nothing?" You growl, blood rising to your cheeks as you speak.

"I didn't even fucking say that—"

"No, but you thought it. If you're being a dick, just be upfront about it. Don't act all sneaky about it." You say, and Harry clenches his jaw at your remark.

"Okay, you need to get off that fucking high horse of yours. Not every fucking thing I say is a hidden insult to you, because the world doesn't fucking revolve around you." He barks at you, getting closer. His height is intimidating, but you keep standing your ground and look up at him.

"Can't blame me for thinking it. It’s not like you’ve got anything else going on your life." Your tipsy mind decides to go in for the kill and just start shooting straight insults at him. Harry laughs coldly.

"Yeah? You think that all I do is think about you?" He takes another step closer, your bodies now partly touching. You don't move an inch, mainly because you don't want to let him win, but also because you just don't want to. "You think I wake up and go to bed wondering where you are, what you're doing, who you're with?"

You don't say anything. Your nails dig into the palm of your hands as you clench your fists together. There is too much frustration in your body and too few ways to express it. Tyler's words hang in the back of your head, and they are getting harder and harder to push away. Harry leans forward, so he is on eye to eye level with you. His pupils are dilated and he looks just as irritated as you, if not more.

"Listen, darling. I meant what I said. You don't mean shit to me." Harry says slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

You are not sure what brain cell lead you to make the decision, but in a matter of seconds, your lips are on his. There seems to be no surprise on Harry's side, because he leans into it immediately.

His tongue slips into your mouth without hesitation, and with a hand on your throat, he pushes you against the wall. All thoughts leave your mind as you kiss Harry, and 'not overthinking it' suddenly seems like the easiest thing in the world.

A sound leaves your mouth when Harry's grip on your throat tightens, and you find yourself arching into him. One of your hands is holding onto his shirt, and the other one to his hair, as you kiss the guy you hate most in the bedroom of your friend.

You feel the adamant bulge in Harry's jeans as the two of you grind against each other, in a desperate, pathetic need for relief. There should be at least a thousand different alarm bells going off in your brain, but there aren't. Not ones that give you enough strength to step out of this situation, anyway.

Your hand finds itself around Harry's throat as well, slightly catching him off guard. You take it as the perfect moment to push him onto Tyler's bed. By the time he's fallen back, you're already climbing on top of him, your hips moving against his crotch as your tongue re-enters his mouth.

It doesn't last long, though, because Harry has flipped the two of you around in no time. His hand back on your throat, and the other one's restraining both your arms above your head.

"Aw, you thought you were taking the reins? That's cute." Harry smiles patronizingly, tilting his head a bit as he scans your face. You clench your jaw, beyond irritated by the fact that he thinks he can just restrain you like this.

"Actually—"

"I don't think I told you that you could speak, now did I?" He interrupts you, his eyes raking up and down your body.

"I fucking hate you." You spit out the words, truly disgusted with yourself for being so incredibly turned on right now. You'd remind yourself to see a psychologist or something, this was not okay. Harry let out a  bitter laugh at your remark, the hand on his throat squeezing tighter as he leaned forward. It made your head spin and your panties soaking wet.

"You think I don't loathe you? Because I do. But for some reason, I can't get the image of my cock ruining your pussy out of my head." He growls, equally bothered by the tension as you had been since earlier today. "So I suggest, I fuck you right here, right now. Get it out of my system."

Those words shouldn't have made you crave for him the way you are at this very moment, but for some twisted reason it does, so you nod.

"Words, honey."

"You can fuck me," You say, looking him in the eyes. "but I still hate your guts."

"Right back at ya, sweetheart. Now, take off your panties, gotta be quick."

With that said, Harry's hand leaves your throat, and he got up from the bed. You do as he said as he closes and locks the bedroom door. You are bare and ready for him by the time he turns around, and the smirk on his face makes you realize how much he is relishing in the idea of it.

"No foreplay, let's get this over with." You say, glaring at his smug face. Harry looks down at your sopping wet cunt, cocking an eyebrow at you.

"Not that you'd need it. Sole sight of me got you so soaked, huh?" He taunts, crawling up on the bed and climbing over you. He leans back a bit, grinning as you unbuckle his pants and mutter profanities aimed at him under your breath.

When you pull down his briefs, you have to actively stop yourself from widening your eyes. That is going to hurt. It is a prospect you are looking forward to a little too much.

You lean back, watching Harry stroke himself as he observes your wet hole. As if reading his mind, you tell him: "I'm clean, and on birth control." 

"Y'telling me you want it bare?" He asks, and you shrug your shoulders. Harry shakes his head, chuckling at your nonchalance. Then, without a word of warning, he pushes himself into you.

"Dirty fucking girl... just wants to feel it all." He says, pulling about almost all the way before thrusting into you again. You shriek from the heavy mix of pain and pleasure it causes you, so much so that Harry has to cover your mouth with his hand.

"You need to keep quiet if you wanna come." He growls, trying to sound irritated, but you can tell he is enjoying himself too much to really feign annoyance. You watch as he finds a rhythm that drives the both of you crazy, closing his eyes as he takes in the great feeling of it all. Your hands find your clit and automatically begin to rub in circles as you listen to the small sounds of pleasure that leave Harry's mouth while he drives himself into you over and over again.

Opening his eyes, he arrogantly smirks at the sight of you getting worked up because of him. He leans forward, his free hand finding your breasts and groping them harshly. A stifled moan leaves your mouth at the feel of his sensitive yet hard touch.

"Look at you, hmm?" He taunts. "One minute you tell me you hate me, and the next you're begging me to fill you up with my bare cock."

Since you can't respond to his teasing, you decide to do the next best thing, bite on his fingers. Harry's hand shoots away from you, looking shocked for the entirety of one second before he's back on track. Then, he laughs.

"Oh, you are a fucking brat..." His hoarse voice mumbles, pulling his cock out of you.

In a flash of a moment, you are turned around onto your belly. Harry scoots your hips up, lining himself up with you again. You use your arms to try and get on all fours, steadying yourself, but you fall face first back onto the mattress as Harry grabs your arms and puts them behind your back. He holds them restrained, his other hand on your hip as he pushes himself back into you.

A muffled moan leaves your mouth as Harry practically screws you into the mattress. His pace is immediately fast, leaving no time for you to take a breath or even think about what he is doing. Your mind gets a bit fuzzy, and you aren't sure whether it is the sex or the alcohol, but either way you are in a different universe right now.

"Biting my finger, thinking you can catch me off guard with the pain. Well, guess what, I like the pain." He says, and you yell when his hand forcefully connects with your ass cheek. You still feel the sting of it when he slaps on your other cheek too, you whimper at the pain, ashamed to admit how much closer it has brought you to your orgasm already. "And so do you, apparently."

"Fuck— I'm..." you try to tell him, but it is hard with your face duh into the sheets and your brain all fucked out from his dick hammering into you.

"I know, I can feel you clenching around me." Harry assures you, then fucks into you harder. The sound of skin slapping against each other takes over the room, accompanied by your increasingly loud moans.

"You are so fucking predictable, falling apart around my cock. Knew you wanted it." Harry holds your hips steady with his hands, and your arch your back for him to hit a special spot.

"Just— this. once." You clarify, hoping Harry has caught your words.

"Hmm, we'll see about that. But fine, just this once, come for me then. Put me away wet." You can hear the grin in his voice, and it is precisely what makes you fall apart around him. With a string of curses and repeats of his name, the euphoric release washes over you.

Harry's grip on your wrists tightens, his fingernails digging into your skin. Slowly but surely, his thrusts become sloppier, and soon enough you hear a groan. His hips still as he comes inside you, filling you up with his seed.

You clench around his cock a few times more as he comes, the idea of his sperm inside you making you hornier than it should. It doesn't go unnoticed by Harry, as he curses under his breath at the feeling of your walls tightening around his cock.

After managing to catch your breath, Harry carefully pulls himself out of you. A whimper escapes you, not satisfied with the fact that you now feel empty.

"Don't pout, I filled you up just nice." He says as he turns you around so you are laying on your back. Your eyes meet his, and the reality of what you have done begins to sink in.

Oh my god, you just had sex with Harry.

Your hands fly over your face, shaking your head as you let out a shameful groan. You move your hands down a bit, so it covers everything but your forehead and eyes, and you observe Harry leaning down to grab your panties. You reach your hand out to take them from Harry, but he looks you dead in the eyes and stuffs them into his pocket.

"What are you doing?" You ask in a warning tone. He shrugs, waltzing towards the bedroom door and unlocking it. "Give me back my panties!"

"No, that's okay." Harry denies your request in the most casual way, turning around to look at you. "I'll hold onto them, for safekeeping."

"Harry!" You exclaim in frustration as he walks out the door. You quickly get off the bed, and follow him. He turns around, hand still in his pocket.

"Yeah, that definitely sounded less annoying when you were coming around my—" You intercept his stupid ass before he has the chance to finish his sentence, slapping your hand over his mouth. The sudden proximity makes your stomach tense up, but you keep a stoic face.

"I fucking despise you." You say lowly, glaring him down. You feel him grinning against your hand, but you ignore it as you let him go and walk towards the bathroom at the end of the hallway. When Harry calls out your name, your body automatically stills. When you turn to look at him, that exact devilish grin coats his face just right.

"What?" You ask, a slight furrow between your brows as you stare at him.

"You smudged your mascara a bit." He gestures towards his face, referencing to your own under eyes. You say nothing, merely flipping him off as you enter the bathroom. Upon taking a look in the mirror, your eyes widen.

Your mascara is indeed smudged, and not a little bit. There are lines of multiple mascara filled tears that streamed down the side of your face. The weird thing is, you don't even remember tearing up. But it is there, right in front of you, the proof of what you did. The mascara around your eyes, his cum dripping from your cunt.

You sit down on the toilet, taking a deep sigh. You cover your face with your hands once again, this time letting out a frustrated shriek. And you realize that—out of all of this—the worst thing is maybe not the fact that you had sex with Harry and that the proof of it is on and in your body. No, the icing on the cake is that Harry himself has the other proof in his fucking pocket right now.

Shit.

[justagalwhowrites]

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 2: Teenagers

You and Joel adjust to each other as you struggle with Ellie. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 1 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Mild suicidal ideation. Mention of grief and child loss. Mention of parent loss. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 13.4k

A/N: For some reference because I haven't explicitly stated their ages, Joel is turning 42 in this chapter and was about to turn 37 in the flashback at the start of this chapter. Reader is 36 (meaning they were the same ages when their kids were born.)

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Wednesday, September 25, 2019

“Dad, please!” 

Joel sighed, leaning against his counter and sipping his coffee, his 16-year-old daughter standing in front of him with wide, pleading eyes. 

“It’s a school night, baby girl,” he said. “We both gotta be up early tomorrow and…” 

“And we could play hooky!” She said. “Celebrate your birthday, go to Waffle House…” 

“I don’t like waffles.” 

“Those are for my benefit,” she replied. “You can get your smothered hash browns and see if they’ll put candles in them so you can celebrate being an old man.” 

“I can’t just call into work because it’s my birthday tomorrow, kiddo,” he said. “And your friend should have her party on the weekend…” 

“But her birthday’s today!” She said. “It’s sweet 16, please! Everyone’s going, basically no one is going to be at school on Thursday because of it, please Dad!” 

He sighed again, Sarah still looking so hopeful in front of him. 

And then, her face shifted. 

“We could go see the new Curtis and Viper tomorrow,” she smirked, brows raised conspiratorially. “We’ll probably have the theater to ourselves so we can make fun of it.” 

Joel clenched his jaw to keep from smiling. 

“Come on, Dad,” she said. “You worked so late on your birthday last year that we didn’t get to do anything. Please?” 

He sighed. 

“What would you miss at school tomorrow?” 

“Basically nothing!” She said quickly, eyes lighting up. “I have exam review but I got As on all my homework in that class so I don’t need it and…” 

“Jesus, you’re a bad influence,” he muttered, taking a sip of coffee. Sarah squealed, slamming into him, throwing her arms around his neck. 

“Thank you thank you thank you!” She said, her voice muffled by his shirt before she pulled back at looked up at him, practically beaming. “We’re going to have so much fun tomorrow!” 

“Somethin’ tells me you’re more excited about having fun tonight than hanging out with me tomorrow,” he shook his head but smiled all the same. “Who all’s goin’ to this thing tonight? There gonna be boys and drinking and shit?” 

“Dad,” she gave him a look. 

“You can act all grown up all you want, baby girl, but you’re still a kid,” he said. “Want you to have fun but don’t want you doing anything too dangerous…” 

“My friends don’t drink…” 

“You say that now,” he muttered. 

“…and Brit’s parents will be there so while there will be boys, nothing’s going to happen with the boys.” 

“Alright,” he sighed. “But you gotta promise me you’re gonna be safe, no gettin’ in the car with someone who’s been drinking. Even just one beer is too much and you call me if you don’t have another way home, I’ll come get you, you won’t be in trouble and…” 

“I know, Dad,” she rolled her eyes but smiled a little. “Don’t worry so much. I don’t plan on getting drunk anytime soon. Maybe inject heroin under my fingernails but…” 

“Your fingernails, huh?” Joel teased. 

“Well yeah,” she said. “Gotta hide the track marks.” 

There was a honk from the driveway and Sarah grabbed what was left of her coffee - more creamer than actual coffee but Joel still liked to humor her - and chugged it. 

“That’s Emma,” she said, rinsing out her favorite mug, the chipped one with the owl on it that she’d been drinking hot cocoa out of since she was so small that it was more like room temperature cocoa, and setting it beside the sink. “I’m going to go to her place after school to get ready for the party since you’ll probably be at work, anyway.” 

“Yeah, should stay late and try and wrap up as much as I can since apparently I’m not workin’ tomorrow,” he smirked. “Home by midnight, OK baby girl?” 

“Yup!” She said, giving him a quick hug. He gave her a squeeze, pressing a kiss to her temple. “See you tonight!” 

“Be safe!” He called after her as she grabbed her backpack and headed for the front door. 

When she looked back over her shoulder to wave goodbye, he didn’t know it would be the last time he’d ever see her smile. 

***

Thursday, September 26, 2024 

It was still dark outside. 

Joel wasn’t sure what time it was but it was still dark outside so it was OK. He didn’t need to be aware of things like time or hunger or your safety when it was still dark and he was in his daughter’s room. 

He jerked awake not too long after midnight, just like he’d done every year on his birthday ever since Sarah died. He wasn’t sure why he even bothered trying to sleep in his own bed, as though anything would be different. Why would it be different? The only thing that mattered was gone, it couldn’t be different. 

He stared at his ceiling for a while, waiting to see if he’d be able to fall asleep again, if he could shake the feeling of phantom blood on his skin in the red glow of his alarm clock but he couldn’t. So he did what he always did on the morning of his birthday: he went to his daughter’s room. 

Joel rarely went to Sarah’s room now. Maria, his sister in law, probably spent more time in there than he did, coming by every few months while he was on a job to dust and run the vacuum so it didn’t fall to ruin. She was careful to not disturb things when she did, the t-shirt Sarah had worn to sleep in still draped over the back of her desk chair and the book she’d been reading still face down on the page she’d stopped at on her nightstand. He turned on the lamp and sank onto the bed - still unmade, like she’d left it that morning - staring at the poster-covered walls. 

The posters were old now, the sun fading them in the five years that had passed since his daughter had left him behind. It made the room seem like a relic, as though this space was a museum and not a place where someone had lived once, and it set Joel on edge. 

Five years. Half a decade without the most important person there’d ever been or ever would be. She’d only been 16 when she died and five years had passed so quickly. Soon, she’d have been gone as long as she’d been here. Soon, to the sun-bleached posters and peeling soccer trophies, it would be like she’d never been here at all. 

He found himself looking at the poster of you more than he remembered doing before when he’d been in this room before. It was strange, knowing you existed outside of this liminal space now. You were real, corporeal, a human being with thoughts and feelings and not some imagined thing with an almost disturbingly perfect face someone had invented and put on paper. 

It had been a three days since Joel had seen you last, spending 11 days working with three days off in between. Tommy had been hesitant to schedule him back on duty today of all days but Joel had all but insisted on it. He needed the distraction. More than that, he needed to keep out of trouble. He needed something to keep him from trying to find the person responsible for his daughter’s death and killing them himself. Protecting you was a good enough distraction. 

Yours was the first contract like this Joel had taken on, one that was longer and more involved. Typically, people who needed someone on hand 24/7 didn’t live in Austin, Texas. They passed through and Joel’s job was done in a week, two at most. You were more complicated. 

Part of that was the nature of the job, of course. Working in such close proximity and in such risky situations made shit complicated. 

He’d had to establish rules with you that first day after dropping Ellie off at school. He ground his teeth as you went by a small local coffee shop on your way home, you giving a fake name at the counter as the barista all but stared at you. 

“I’m so sorry,” the girl smiled sheepishly. “But has anyone told you that you look just like…” 

“Oh yeah,” you waved her off. “I get that all the time. Not sure why, I think she’s way prettier.” 

Joel resisted the urge to snap at you until the two of you were back to the car, you still refusing to let him drive as you sipped your overpriced coffee with a contented sigh. 

“Can I help you?” You asked him, brows raised, as you watched him over the rim of your cup. 

“You tryin’ to get yourself killed?” He said. 

“Didn’t realize the coffee shop was so dangerous…” 

“You know what I mean,” he snapped. “You’re bein’ reckless.” 

“I get coffee all the time back home and -”

“And you got yourself a fucking stalker, didn’t you?” He cut you off. “S’why you’re stuck with me, spent too much time runnin’ around doing whatever the fuck you wanted and now you’re payin’ the price.” 

“No, I’m paying the price because the studio is overreacting,” you said, condescension dripping from your voice. “Pretty sure I’d still be sitting in my car sipping a coffee if you were off promising to take a bullet for someone else.” 

You held his gaze as you took a drink, as if to make a point. 

“I don’t know why this is fuckin’ news to you, but you’re one of the most famous people on the goddamn planet,” he snapped. “That shit comes with problems. If you didn’t want to deal with those problems, maybe you shouldn’t have become fuckin’ famous.” 

You looked at him, like you were trying to hold back a laugh, eyebrows raised so high they almost disappeared into your hairline. 

“You think I chose to become famous?” You asked. “You think I wanted this?” 

“Ain’t that why people become actresses,” he said more than asked. 

You just looked at him for a moment, like you were examining him. 

“You don’t have many friends, do you?” You said after a moment. 

He ground his teeth. 

“Got as many as I need,” he said. “Let’s get you home before I have to take a damn bullet because you’re stubborn.” 

“Yes, I’m sure the woman driving that minivan is packing,” you said wryly but putting the car in drive all the same. “Very dangerous.” 

“It’s Texas,” he said, voice flat. “She probably is.” 

But instead of going home, you drove to Whole Foods. Fucking Whole Foods. 

Joel was almost positive it was to piss him off but you completely ignored him as you went up and down the aisles, filling up your cart as he tried to watch for whatever threats might be at a goddamn grocery store while you acted like your goddamn baseball cap made you invisible to whoever might be looking for you. 

“I know you got people for this,” he muttered under his breath, putting his body between you and as much of the rest of the store as he could as you meticulously selected an apple. “Should fuckin’ carry you out of here…” 

“Yes but that would cause a scene, wouldn’t it?” You said, smug. “And that’s even MORE dangerous, right?” 

He narrowed his eyes at you and moved to respond but cut him off. 

“What do you think of this apple?” You thrust it under his nose. “It smells good, right?” 

“It’s a goddamn apple.” 

“Yes, but I need to try to get a teenager to eat it,” you sighed, impatient. “I need it to be appealing. Would you eat it if you were a teenager?” 

“If I tell you yes, will you shut the fuck up and get out of here?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Then yeah, I’d eat the goddamn apple, let’s go.” 

You smiled a little, satisfied, and got several apples and added them to the cart before taking your sweet time going through the rest of the store. 

Eventually, you finished your shopping trip and actually got ready to go home. The only person who seemed to recognize you at the store was the cashier, who gaped at you as much as one person could gape at another while they rang up their items. 

“That will be $267.48,” she said and you went to put your credit card but then she jumped. “Oh, wait! I can put in my discount…” 

“You don’t need to do that,” you laughed. “But you’re sweet to offer!” 

“But…” 

“How about you put that discount in for someone else who comes through your line today,” you smiled. 

“OK,” she smiled a little hesitantly. “Sorry, I’ve just never had someone famous come through my line before.”

“First time for everything,” you winked, putting your card in the machine. 

The cashier kept staring at you. 

“No one is going to believe I met you,” she said eventually. “I wish I had my phone so I could take a selfie…”

“Want an autograph?” You asked as the machine chimed. “Don’t need a phone for that.”

Instead of answering, she scrambled to get some blank receipt paper and a pen and Joel could tell you were trying not to laugh. You wrote on the paper quickly and handed it back before giving the cashier a smile. 

“You have a great day, Mina,” you said. 

She looked up from the paper with wide eyes. 

“How’d you know my name?” 

You smiled a little bigger and nodded to her name badge. 

“See you next time,” you said and she beamed. 

“Shit like that is stopping,” Joel said once the two of you were safely back in your house, behind the gate and fence that surrounded your property. “You got no damn reason to take risks like that…” 

“Yes I do,” you said, defiant, arms crossed. 

“What,” he demanded. “What’s your damn reason.” 

“I want to take care of my kid,” you stuck your chin out. “That means going to the grocery store sometimes. I’m sure that’s a new concept for you since I’m sure you subsist exclusively off fast food and have never thought about looking after anyone but yourself…” 

Joel tightened his jaw, trying to keep the sharp stab of loss from showing on his face. 

“You don’t need to go yourself,” he snapped. “Send someone.” 

You stepped closer to him, close enough that he could smell your skin, sweet and soft and he resented it. 

“I want to take care of her,” you said. “Me. She lost her mother, the person who used to do shit like make her dinner and pick out her snacks. I want to do that for her. Me, not someone I pay. So you just need to accept the fact that I’m going to go to the store because I’m not stopping.” 

“Fine,” he snapped, not about to admit that what you said tugged at him a bit. He remembered going to the store, looking for things that he thought Sarah might like. Things to put in her backpack so she had a snack for school when she got hungry between her afternoon classes or to have waiting for her when she got home. He remembered her favorite foods and how she lit up when he made burgers the way she liked or brought home her favorite cereal. He remembered how lucky he felt to be the person who got to know her in this way, to know her favorite things and be the one to get them for her. “But we’re doin’ it on my terms. This will be a whole lot easier on both of us as soon as you get with the program because I’m not letting you get us both killed because you’re stubborn. Got it?” 

He laid out the rules: You were to never leave the house without him or whoever was filling in for him on his days off. You needed to run your proposed schedule for the week by him so he could make necessary changes - varying your comings and goings as much as possible so you would be unpredictable. You needed to give him full access to your property and any existing security infrastructure so he could check for possible weaknesses. And you needed a code name, one that would be used for the whole team so when there was a handoff or a situation that required additional security, communication was short and easily understood. 

“That seems like overkill,” you rolled your eyes. “It’s not like I’m the fucking president…” 

“When it’s a shit situation and we need to know who has you, we need it,” he said, harsher than he needed to. He was hard pressed to care, though. “We don’t need people stumbling over your name, not knowing if we’re using your first or last, and we really don’t need ‘em announcing your damn name where the wrong person could hear it and learn where you are.” 

“Fine,” you said. “What are the rules for picking a code name then.” 

“There aren’t any,” Joel said. “Yours is Siren.” 

“Siren,” you looked at him, incredulous. “Seriously? I don’t get any say in this at all?” 

“No,” he lied. “We pick for you and it’s Siren.” Your jaw twitched and Joel fought the urge to smirk. “What, don’t like it?” 

You squared yourself, defiant. 

“No, it’s perfect,” you said. “Derivative and dull, just what I’d expect from you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have real work to do.” 

And with that, you stalked off to some far away corner of your massive fucking house, leaving the woman who’d answered the door for him that morning to show him around. 

Joel tried to hide the almost spiteful sense of pride he got from getting under your skin. Because, fuck, if he had live with the reminder of that goddamn show then you had to, too. 

He’d Googled you after he’d met you the day before, his chest tight the whole time. He saw your more recent film history and learned that you were older than he’d realized - you must have been in your 20s when you were playing a teenager on TV. He also learned that you didn’t talk much about the show that Sarah had loved so much and had made you a household name. He wondered if you loathed it as much as he did, if you got the same stomach churning feeling inside yourself when something made you think of it, the same one he got whenever he looked at your disturbingly perfect face. 

Siren was the name of that goddamn show and the almost mocking nickname the male lead of the show had given your character, both of your characters fighting to make it as musicians in some bullshit story that was dramatized to hell and back. Joel recognized the guy, too - he was some fucking country star now, the kind who played bullshit instead of real country music - and he could feel, when he picked that name, that you’d hate it. 

Normally, the person he was protecting got to pick their code name. But you didn’t know that and he needed to feel some sense of power over you. You loomed too large over him. He needed you to feel the way he did, a little helpless, a little out of control. 

And you, stalking off in a huff over that damn name, made him feel better than it should. 

Over the next week and a half, he was keenly aware that none of this, really, was your fault. It wasn’t your fault that you were tied so closely with his dead daughter. It wasn’t your fault that being around you was like living with an open wound, something tender and aching on him that he couldn’t seem to heal because you were near. It wasn’t your fault that he had gone through so much of the last five years numb to everything and now was almost shockingly aware of the constant pain that had been lingering below the surface. 

But you were there and you were so much easier to blame than himself. He knew that, too. But it didn’t make him stop doing it, almost like he was watching himself make your life difficult without having any control over it. 

He had to stay in your home to be available at all hours so he started getting up early to take your keys before you had a chance to make it downstairs in the morning so he could drive when taking Ellie to school. He made a habit of finishing the coffee when Esmo was busy elsewhere in the house and he knew you’d be coming back for another cup. He never accepted any kindness you offered, taking disconcerting pleasure in saying no lattes when you insisted on stopping for a coffee and telling you he didn’t want whatever food you offered him, choosing instead to eat frozen dinners alone in another part of the house away from you and Ellie and Esmo, too. He found a strange satisfaction in these small harms, as though they were earned in some way. You, embedded so deeply in the trappings of wealth and fame, surely deserved some inconvenience in your life. After all the pain you’d inadvertently caused him, it seemed like it was owed to him. He tried to ignore the fact that he didn’t like being the kind of person who took pleasure in hurting someone else who didn’t deserve it, even if it was only small hurts. He tried not to think about what Sarah would say if she could see what he was doing now.  

Being away from you, though, made him more aware of it. The strange poison of wanting to make your life harder was further away when he was home and it was easier to see through it. You were probably dreading his return as much as he was dreading returning. He didn’t like who he became when he was near you and here he was, going back to the sphere of your influence to let it swallow him and turn him into a worse version of himself again. 

Joel should tell Tommy to take him off this job. He knew that but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was never supposed to be this way with him and his brother. Joel was the older one, Joel was the one who had practically raised Tommy when their parents were gone. Tommy was never supposed to be the one to take care of him. He was never supposed to be the one to give him a fucking job or make sure he didn’t lose his house in the months after the death of his daughter. He owed his brother so much now. How could he tell him “Sorry, this simple job is just too much for me, find someone else.” Tommy asked Joel to protect you so he would. 

Even if he hated it. 

Dawn was just starting on the horizon when Joel decided to indulge himself for a minute, lying down gently on his daughter’s bed. He was careful to not disturb the blankets, he didn’t adjust the pillow. He let himself sink into the softness of her lavender sheets and twin-sized mattress, to be in the exact place she was the last morning of her life. He stared at the side of her nightstand - stickers she’d placed there starting to peel - and let himself remember what it was like to have someone as good as her love him. 

He stayed there until her room as filled not with the artificial glow of streetlights but the unflinching light of day and got up as carefully as he lay down, going to the door and taking a last look at his daughter’s room on the morning of his fifth birthday since he’d stopped being a father, closing the door softly behind him. 

The drive to your house went by too quickly for his liking and he pulled into the driveway at the same time you did, Seth - the guard who’d filled in for him while he had a few days off - laughing about something with you as the two of you got out of the car. 

“Joel, good to see you man,” he said, still smiling as the two of you met Joel near your front door. “Ready to take over?” 

“Don’t think I got much choice,” Joel said wryly.

“Good morning, Joel,” you said, your tone oddly cool. He just gave you a nod as Seth put the call in to dispatch. 

“This is Cook,” Seth said. “Transferring custody of Siren to Big Miller.” 

“Big Miller?” Your eyebrows shot up, looking between Seth and Joel. Seth covered the receiver on the phone. 

“We got two Millers, he’s the older one,” he said, before going back to the call. “That’s correct…” 

“Big Miller,” you smirked at Joel. “Oh there’s so much I can do with that…” 

“Jesus,” Joel muttered as Seth handed him the phone. He confirmed he was taking over and ground his teeth as Seth hugged you goodbye like the pair of you were old fucking friends. 

“Don’t let this asshole push you around too much,” Seth winked at you. “Deep down, he’s a big softie.” 

“Oh, I’m sure he’s a big something,” you said. Seth laughed. Joel glared. “See you next time.” 

You watched Seth leave before heading into your house without another word. Joel followed you inside, trailing behind you as you otherwise ignored his presence, going to the kitchen to get a bottle of water before heading out back. 

“Hey,” he called after you and you stopped at the edge of your pool, slowly turning to face him, brows raised. “The hell you goin’? I need your itinerary for the week, you know the drill.” 

“No you don’t,” you said. “I decided I’d rather talk with someone who isn’t a huge fucking child so I gave it to Seth. Get it from him, Big Miller.” 

You kept going, toward the pool house and Joel ground his teeth, jogging to catch up with you. 

“Look,” he snapped but you rounded on him. 

“You lied to me,” you said. “I could have picked my own stupid name, you just had to get the one up on me for whatever reason and now I have to deal with being called that stupid, goddamn…” 

“If you and Seth are so cozy why didn’t you get him to change it for you, hm?” He cut you off. 

“Because I’d rather not look like a fucking idiot to your entire company, thanks though,” you snapped. “If you hate me so much, why didn’t you just ask someone else to do this job?” 

“If you hate havin’ me around, why didn’t you ask someone else to take over?” He countered. “Looked cozy enough with fuckin’ Seth!” 

You laughed. 

“Oh I’d never dream of giving you that satisfaction,” you said. “You want to torment me? Fine, two can play at that game. Just wait, you ain’t seen nothing yet, Big Miller.” 

You stalked off toward the pool house again before turning back to face him. 

“We’re leaving at noon,” you said. “If you want to know where to, better call fucking Seth and find out since you don’t have the people skills to get your charge to cooperate.” 

He grit his teeth as you went inside and he stared at the door you’d disappeared through for a moment, half expecting you to come back out and rip into him again. But you didn’t and he went inside, finding Esmo in the kitchen cleaning up from breakfast. 

“She’s in a fuckin’ mood,” Joel muttered, going to help himself to a cup of coffee. 

“It was not an easy morning,” she said, holding a plate with a biscuit out to him. He took it with a frown. “Ellie’s a teenaged girl but even so…” 

“What happened?” He asked, settling in at the breakfast bar. 

“Not sure what set her off,” she sighed, putting the last pan in the drying rack before crossing her arms and leaning back against the counter, watching Joel. She reminded him of his mother, he realized, something grounding and sure about her. “But before they left, Ellie yelled that she wasn’t her mother. She didn’t say anything back but I could tell it hurt.” 

Joel flinched, looking out the window at the back of the kitchen, toward the pool and pool house. Toward you. He and Sarah had rarely clashed, especially that badly, but she was still a teenaged girl who grew up without a mother. She still lashed out about it and he was still the one who had to weather her rage. He knew her pain was misdirected but that didn’t make it hurt any less. 

“I know you two don’t…” She paused, like she was searching for the words. “Get along. But she is just as human as you or I, Mr. Miller. Go easy on her today.” 

“Told you, you can just call me Joel,” he said, dodging the rest of what she said. “I ain’t your boss, not gonna make you call me Mr. Miller…” 

Esmo barked a laugh as she poured herself a cup of coffee. 

“What?” He frowned. 

“Do you think she makes me call her ma’am?” She asked. “Mr. Miller, she is my employer. I am not going to call her by her first name, regardless of what she asks. Right now, the same goes for you.” 

He looked toward the pool house again. He’d assumed you’d told Esmo to call you ma’am, that you’d insisted on bullshit that put you on a different level than everyone else. Apparently, he was wrong. 

That didn’t mean he had to like you, though. 

Still, he almost felt bad for you as he got settled back into the room at your house that had become his. You’d been thrown into parenthood head first, none of the gradual build up that raising a child from birth provided. Instead, you were given a fully-fledged teenager with a chip on her shoulder. Anyone would struggle with that, even spoiled movie stars. 

His patience wore thin, though, as noon came and went and you still hadn’t come in from the damn pool house. He wondered if you’d told him noon just to piss him off, to make him feel like he had to spend his morning biding his time until it was wasted only to do nothing but sit at home until the time came to pick up Ellie from school. 

Eventually, he got tired of waiting for you and he stalked to the pool house, damn near ripping the door off its hinges as he went to find you, his eyes widening in surprise when he did. 

Joel wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find there but it certainly wasn’t this. You were there, back to the door, headphones covering your ears as you swung again and again at a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. 

“Hey!” He called but you either ignored him or couldn’t hear them, continuing your clumsy barrage on the bag. You clearly knew fuck all about fighting, your form rough and disjointed. Any punch you landed would be ineffectual at best, damaging to you at worst. It’d be comical if it wasn’t happening to someone whose safety he was responsible for. 

“Hey!” He tried again. Nothing. He clenched his jaw and stalked over to you, hand closing around the band of your headphones to pull them off your head and you spun, breathless and shocked, to face him. 

“What the fuck?” You reached to snatch the headphones back but he held them behind his back, out of reach. “Gimme those!” 

“You actually got some place to fuckin’ be this afternoon or not?” He snapped. “Because I’m tired of waiting for you to get your act together…” 

You stopped reaching for the headphones, still breathless, and checked your smart watch. 

“Shit,” you panted, drooping a little. “I lost track of time… Give me 15 minutes, then we’ll go.” 

He held the headphones out to you and you snatched them back roughly and Joel watched you stomp off toward the main house, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and he tried loathe the way your leggings hugged every curve and arch of your legs and ass as you did. 

You were ready to go in just 15 minutes, though, and still more beautiful than Joel was comfortable with you being. You smelled fresh, clean, some floral fucking body wash on your skin that was covered by more skin-tight athletic wear that revealed your shape to him, all the places that - were you any other woman - he’d want to sink his fingers into to pull you close. He clenched his jaw and he went to the driver’s seat but you stopped in front of him, staring him down. 

“Not sure where you think you’re going,” you said. 

“I’m driving,” he said. “You know the drill.” 

“Oh, so you called Seth?” You asked, brows raised. “Know where we’re headed?” 

He narrowed his eyes and you smirked. 

“Didn’t think so,” you said. “Step aside, Big Miller. Maybe you can drive home.” 

Joel considered, for a moment, fighting you on it. But, today of all days, he didn’t have the energy. He just stalked around to the passenger side of the car, trying his damndest to ignore the little smirk you got when he did. 

He stared determinedly out the window as you drove, the odd, raw feeling he got in his chest when he looked at you a little too sharp today. He focused on the cars around him, watching for any kind of pattern, anything unusual, trying to lose himself in the work of keeping you alive. At least, then, he was still good at something. At least, then, there was still some purpose for him being here. Even if he didn’t want to be. The scar that had been at his temple for nearly five years itched. 

He was so lost in it that he was almost surprised when you pulled up in front of not some insufferable coffee shop or unnecessary grocery store but an overpriced looking nursing home. You reached between Joel’s legs without a word and got your worn baseball cap from the glove box, tugging it down low over your face before grabbing your keys out of your bag and dropping them on Joel’s lap. 

“Get comfy,” you said. “I’ll be at least an hour, probably two.” 

“Hold on,” he said, but you ignored him, getting out of the car and heading toward the door. He caught you quickly, grabbing your arm and pulling you around go face him. 

“What is your problem?” You snapped. “You’re always an asshole but Jesus you’re worse than usual today…” 

“You really think I’m just gonna let you go do some photo-op alone?” He asked. “Not about to just wait in the car…” 

“It’s not a photo-op,” you snapped. “It’s private, you don’t need to be involved…” 

“The hell I don’t,” he snapped back. “Your ass dies and it ain’t private anymore. I’m going. Deal with that shit now.” 

“Too bad for you,” you said, trying to pull your arm back from him but he held firm. Your clumsy little fight moves from the pool house earlier hadn’t done you any favors. 

“You can either listen to me or I’ll put you over my shoulder and make you listen,” he said. “I don’t much care which it is.” 

You stared him down, almost like you thought he wouldn’t do it. He was about to prove you wrong when you apparently decided instead, huffing indignantly. 

“Fine,” you snapped. “You can sit in the lobby.” 

“Fine,” he snapped back before following you inside. 

A woman rushed to meet you at the door, speaking to you in hushed tones that even Joel, standing so close to you, had a hard time making out. She directed Joel to a comfortable looking room that reminded him of his grandmother’s living room as a child, the one that no one was allowed in to “keep the furniture nice.” There were no such concerns here, the arm chairs and couches looking comfortable and inviting if overly ornate, neat stacks of magazines on the antique coffee table in the middle of them. He ground his teeth, watching as the woman led you away.

You’d be out of sight. That made him uncomfortable. And he couldn’t trust you to actually call for help if you needed it. That made him more uncomfortable. 

But… this wasn’t an especially public place. There was security keeping people out and the residents in. Chances were, there wasn’t anything that could really get to you in here. And if this wasn’t some bullshit media thing, it was probably fine to leave you to your own devices. At least for a little while. 

So he settled on the couch, keeping an eye on the front doors while he absently picked up a magazine, some kind of trashy tabloid that Sarah used to flip through at the grocery store. It used to make him roll his eyes and tell her that she was rotting her brain and now he’d give anything to go back in time and buy out every newsstand he passed if it meant he got another 20 minutes waiting in line for to pay for groceries with her. 

He wasn’t paying close enough attention to the magazine he picked up, though, and then bam, there you were yet again. Your picture was blurry and you were wearing sunglasses that were a little too big for your face and there was an iced coffee cup dangling from your hand. 

Bombshell breakup the headline under your picture said. Hollywood’s brightest star back on the market!

Joel looked at the date, from almost a year ago now, and flipped to the pages about you. There were pictures of you walking with a woman who looked something like an older, red-headed version of Ellie and he realized he was looking at her mother. Your arms were crossed tightly over your stomach and your face was drawn, Ellie’s mother’s face concerned. It was strangely intimate, seeing you like this. It wasn’t like other paparazzi pictures of you he’d seen, the ones that looked somewhat staged or like you’d at least known you were being photographed. This seemed like an intrusion, something he wasn’t supposed to be seeing. 

He looked at the pictures of you and Ellie’s mother for a while. He wasn’t sure how long, not really able to look away, when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. 

“Yeah,” he said gruffly when he answered. 

“Hello Mr. Miller,” Esmo said, her tone still uncomfortably formal. “I apologize for just reaching out like this but I know she’s visiting her mother right now so her phone is off and we just got a call from the school…” 

“Wait, what?” Joel cut her off. Your mother? That couldn’t be right.

“Yes,” she said, sounding impatient. “The school, apparently Ellie was in a fight and she needs to be picked up, can you please tell her and take care of things?” 

“She OK?” Joel asked, trying not to overthink the sharp little stab of fear in his chest at the thought of Ellie in a fight. He tried not to think about getting his hands on whatever little teenaged prick decided to fight her, either. 

“She’s fine,” Esmo said. “At least, that’s what the school said. She just needs to be picked up. Can you go get her?” 

“Yeah,” he said after a second. “Course, I got it.” 

“Thank you,” she said, relieved. “I appreciate it.” 

Joel’s jaw tightened as he dropped that old magazine on the coffee table before stalking off in the direction he’d watched you go before. 

It didn’t take him long to find you, tucked away in a small and private visitation room, deck of cards sitting on the table between you and a woman who looked a lot like you, some of the cards fanned out in your hand.

“Do you have any fives?” The woman - your mother - asked. 

“You asked me that before,” you said, an oddly tense but gentle edge to your voice. “Why don’t you ask about another one?” 

“Oh,” she frowned at her hand. “How about… tens?” 

“Damn,” you said, handing her a card. She smiled. 

“You shouldn’t curse, you know,” she said. “It makes you sound dumb.” 

“I’ve heard that,” you said, arranging the cards in your hand. “Any eights?” 

She paused for a moment, examining her cards. 

“What was that again?” She said after a moment. 

“Eights,” you repeated. 

“Go fish,” she said and you got a card from the top of the pile. “You know, you remind me of my daughter…” 

“Do I?” You said, your tone oddly even. 

“She’s an actress,” she nodded. “She’s only a teenager though, a lot younger than you. She’s pretty like you, though.” 

“An actress, hm?” You said. “Does she like it?” 

“I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “But she’s good at it. Not sure she can handle the hard parts, though.” 

“You’re probably right,” you said. “She can’t.”

“Hello,” your mother said, looking up at Joel and lowering her cards. “Are you here to play, too?” 

You noticed him then, your back going stiff, shifting uncomfortably in your chair when you did. 

“Fraid not,” Joel said. “Just need to talk to… my friend here.” 

You looked back at him then, frowning but he just jerked his head toward the door. You, at least, didn’t question it, just setting the cards face down on the table and joining him. 

“Can I help you?” You asked, brows raised expectantly. 

“Now, I already asked and she’s fine,” he said, which made your eyes go wide but he held up a hand. “Ellie got in a fight at school, we gotta go pick her up…” 

“Shit,” you swore, fishing your phone from some hidden pocket in your leggings at the small of your back and turning it on. It took a moment but you groaned. “Fuck, I have six missed calls…” 

You stashed the phone again and went back to the table, your mother frowning at you as you gathered up the cards. 

“I’m so sorry, ma’am, but I have to go,” you said. “They’ll have someone come bring you back in a minute.” 

“It’s very rude to just take off on someone, you know,” she said sternly. 

“Been told that, too,” you said. “You have a good day.” 

She grunted, crossing her arms and turning away from you. You didn’t take the bait, just going for the door and quickly leading the way back to the car. But, for a change, you went for the passenger side. 

“What?” You said. “You do know the way to the school, don’t you?” 

“I know it,” he muttered, getting behind the wheel. 

“Good,” you said, buckling in. “Then drive.” 

You checked your phone, shaking your head, before just staring out the window. 

“So,” Joel said eventually. “That’s your mom.” 

“In the most technical sense,” you said, not looking at him. He nodded slowly anyway. “I don’t really think of her that way.” 

“Why’s she in there?” Joel asked. 

“Why do you care?” You said, incredulous, finally looking at him. He glanced at you and then shrugged and you sighed, the sound heavy. “Early onset Alzheimers. She’s 67 now, it started about five years back. I try to see her once a month or so.” 

“Don’t you got the money to get her a nurse or some shit so she could stay with you?” He frowned. 

“It’s really not any of your fucking business, is it?” you snapped before sighing, pinching the bridge of your nose and wincing as Joel pulled into the parking lot of the school. “Please don’t mention of this to Ellie. She doesn’t know anything about my mother and I’d like it to stay that way.”

You didn’t give him a chance to say anything else, all but leaping out of the car the second he put it into park and going quickly for the front door of the school. Joel had to run to catch up with you, barely catching you as the two of you were buzzed into the building where the headmistress met you. 

She greeted you the same way Esmo did and Joel could tell, now that he knew you didn’t like it, that it put you on edge. It made him stiffen at your back, narrowing his eyes at the prim and proper woman in front of him, assessing her differently now than the last time you’d met. She was a threat now, she’d upset you, she’d opposed Ellie and he was oddly comforted that he knew he could easily overpower her if he needed to. 

He frowned ever so slightly. 

Why would he need to? She was a fucking teacher. And why should he care so much that she pissed you off? 

“Ms. Stark,” you said, giving her a firm nod. “Where’s Ellie?” 

“In my office,” she said. “Please, follow me.” 

She led the way, setting a brisk pace, her back ramrod straight, but you kept your head high as you kept pace alongside her. 

“What happened?” You asked. “This is very out of character for Ellie.” 

“I’m not so sure it is,” the headmistress said and Joel could have sworn he saw the hint of a self-righteous smile on her lips and he clenched his jaw. “She’s… aggressive…” 

“She’s strong,” you said sharply. “But she wouldn’t pick a fight without a reason.” 

“Well, she has yet to tell us a reason,” she said, smug. “Maybe you can find one. This behavior may have been accepted at other institutions but we hold our students to a higher standard here…” 

“I’ll talk to her,” you said. “I’m sure we can figure this out.” 

Joel was half expecting you to make him wait outside the office like you had at the nursing home but you didn’t and he followed you, the principal’s office looking disturbingly more like a luxury hotel than a school. 

Ellie was sitting on one end of a small row of chairs in the office waiting room, her arms crossed and her jaw set tight. A boy - about her age and far larger than her - sat at the other end, an ice pack clutched to his lower lip and blood dripping from his nose. 

“Ellie,” you said, all but running for her, kneeling in front of her and brushing her hair back from her face. “Are you OK?” 

She jerked away from you. 

“Fine,” she muttered. “I just want to go home.” 

“OK,” you nodded slowly. “Can you tell me what happened?” 

She just looked to the side, tightening her arms around herself. You stood and sighed, still watching her but Joel looked to the boy sitting at the other end of the row. He was determinedly staring straight ahead but his eyes kept darting over to you, a deep blush rising in his cheeks. Joel’s eyes narrowed. 

“We can’t just permit students to attack other students,” the headmistress said. “Especially not unprovoked…” 

“It wasn’t unprovoked!” Ellie snapped, her head whipping around to look at the boy. “He knows what he did.” 

“Miss Williams,” the headmistress said sharply. “You nearly broke a fellow student’s nose.” 

“Well, he’s a pussy!” Ellie yelled. “Not my fault he got his ass handed to him by a girl!” 

“Ellie!” You scolded. 

“What! It’s true,” she said, calming. “Lucky I didn’t do more…”

The headmistress looked at you, a small, self-satisfied smile on her face. 

“Because this is her first offense, she’s suspended for a week,” she said. “But if it happens again, we will have to expel her.” 

“We’ll take care of it,” you said before turning your attention back to Ellie. “C’mon, troublemaker, let’s go.” 

She shoved herself out of the chair and grabbed her backpack sharply from the floor. The boy at the other end of the chairs watched her and she lunged in his direction before pulling back, making him jump. 

“Yeah, better be fuckin’ scared,” she snapped. 

“Alright,” you said sharply, putting your hands on her shoulders and steering her out of the room. “That’s enough, let’s go.” 

Joel gave the kid a final look, one that was apparently enough to make him stare straight ahead again, shrinking in his seat as he did. Satisfied, Joel followed you and Ellie to the car, the girl throwing her backpack in with a little too much force. 

Mercifully, you just went for the passenger seat, saving Joel the fight about driving. You immediately turned to face the disgruntled teenager behind you. 

“Want to tell me what the fuck that was?” You asked. 

“That was a fight,” Ellie said, the sass in her voice thick. “One I won, by the way.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” you said. “Kid, you can’t just do stuff like that for no reason! What were you thinking?” 

“It wasn’t no reason!” She replied. 

“OK then what was the reason?” You said. “I’m dying for you to enlighten me because there had better be some kind of reason why you’d go after a classmate like that!”

“Why do I need to tell you the fucking reason?” She demanded. “You don’t need to know the reason, you just need to trust me when I say I had one!” 

“I do trust you!” You said. “But that school doesn’t! They don’t know you yet! They don’t know how smart and kind and funny you are, all they know is that you refused to follow the dress code on day one and now that you beat people up when you don’t get your way!” 

“I didn’t hit him because I didn’t get my way!” She yelled. “I did it because…” 

Her voice trailed off, seeming to realize what she was about to say just as she said it. You gave her a minute to say it, anyway, but she didn’t. 

“Tell me a reason, Ellie,” you said gently. “Because there has to be a reason. God, I sure hope there is because I’d rather not have to donate a library to some stuffy school every time you decide to throw a tantrum…” 

“Oh, yeah, because you’ll just use your fucking money to fix everything,” Ellie snapped. “But you didn’t use it to save my mom! No, you just let her die.” 

Joel caught a glimpse of your face at that, looking less like you’d been yelled at by a teenager and more like someone had slapped you. 

“I tried, honey,” you said gently. “I tried so hard to save your mom, I helped get her the best doctors, I helped get her into the best facilities but sometimes it’s just beyond what we can do as people.” 

“Whatever,” Ellie snapped as Joel pulled into the driveway. She jumped out of the car, slamming the door behind her and you followed after her. 

“Is that what this is about?” You asked. “Is it because you miss your mom? Because I get that, I miss her too, so much that sometimes I want to burn something down, but…” 

“But she was your friend!” She rounded on you. “And she was my fucking mom, stop acting like you know how I feel because you don’t know how I fucking feel!” 

“Ellie,” you said gently. “I know it’s hard, and…” 

“No, you don’t know!” She snapped. “Stop it! Just leave me alone!” 

She started stomping off to her room but you stayed close behind. 

“We can talk about…” 

“I don’t want to talk to you!” She yelled. “I don’t want to look at you or talk to you or do anything with you! I wish it was you who died instead of her!” 

You froze where you stood and Ellie took advantage of your stillness to stomp off back to her bedroom, the door slamming in her corner of the house.

“Yeah, me too,” you said, so quietly that Joel doubted that you knew he could hear you. 

He was quiet for a moment, staring where Ellie had gone, hoping she’d come back for both your sakes. But she didn’t. 

“Teenagers are hard,” Joel said eventually. “Sure she didn’t mean that…” 

“Oh please, I know you’re just loving this,” you said harshly. “I don’t need your fake pity, Joel. I have interviews, stay out of my office.” 

You left without another word, the click of your door much quieter than Ellie’s had been. 

“That went well,” Esmo sighed, catching Joel off guard. 

“Sure it’ll pass,” Joel said gruffly. He wasn’t sure why his chest got tight as he looked toward your office. He didn’t care about you beyond needing to keep you alive and he only needed do that because of everything he owed his brother. Besides, you were just some spoiled, pampered celebrity. Surely you could use something pushing back on you for a change. 

“Dinner tonight is roast chicken,” Esmo said, heading toward the kitchen. 

Joel frowned. 

“Why are…” 

“I know why you don’t usually eat with us, Mr. Miller,” she said, looking back over her shoulder at him, her eyes narrowed. “She won’t be joining us, her calendar is full until after 10. Don’t pretend that you enjoy those freezer burnt blocks of garbage you call food more than a home cooked meal, I don’t like liars.” 

She disappeared to the kitchen, the rattle of pots and pans following not long after and Joel sighed, settling in on the couch to kill time instead of disappearing to his room on the other side of the house. 

But, to his surprise, Ellie emerged just an hour later, in jeans a t-shirt instead of her uniform now, creeping into the living room like she was expecting someone to jump out at her. 

“She ain’t here,” Joel said, making her jump. “Sorry, kiddo, wasn’t tryin’ to scare you.” 

“It’s fine,” she sighed, coming in and flopping on the loveseat. “Where is she?” 

“Doin’ interviews in her office, I guess,” Joel said. She nodded slowly, staring determinedly at the coffee table. 

The two of them sat quietly for a moment before this strange tug at the center of him to take care of her - something that was so foreign now but still so familiar - made him clear his throat and break the silence. 

“Want… want to talk about anything?” He asked. 

“Like?” She asked, raising her eyebrows at him. 

“Like why you decided to beat up some boy at school,” he shrugged. “Or why you decided to say something that mean to one of the only people who really cares about you. Because that didn’t seem much like you.” 

She scoffed. 

“What do you know?” 

He shrugged. 

“Enough to know that you act tough but that you ain’t an asshole.” 

“Ain’t isn’t a word,” she said. 

Joel just shrugged again, going back to his phone. 

Eventually, Ellie sighed heavily. 

“That fucking boy,” she spat the word as though it were curse word, not the f-bomb she’d dropped a second earlier. “Figured out who she was. Saw her dropping me off at school earlier this week and started talking about shit like ‘your mom is so hot, why aren’t you’ and when that didn’t really bother me started saying shit like ‘I’ve seen your mom’s tits’ and called her a whore and I just… he fucking deserved it, OK? And I’m not about to apologize to that fucker just because the fucking school….” 

“Alright,” Joel said gently, cutting her off. “I agree. He’s a jackass. You probably did the right thing.” 

She looked surprised for a moment but it passed quickly. 

“That’s why I couldn’t tell her what happened,” Ellie said. “Because do you know how fucking creepy it is, knowing that every guy in your stupid school has probably jerked it to your aunt? It’s fucking gross. I don’t want to talk about that shit with her.” 

Joel nodded slowly. 

“So, what, you decided to take it out on your aunt when you got home?” He asked. 

“No,” she said, defensive. “I just… I know she loves my mom… Loved my mom… So why didn’t she… I don’t know, just… why didn’t she fix it? She has all this fucking money and knows all these fucking people, why didn’t she fix it? She can do everything else, why couldn’t she do that one thing?” 

“You really think she didn’t try?” Joel asked gently. “Look, I don’t really know her but I can tell she loves you something fierce and I’m guessin’ that’s because she loved your mama something fierce, too. Just… sometimes, there’s shit that money can’t fix.” Without meaning to, he remembered holding his daughter as she bled out in his arms. He remembered begging whatever god might be listening to do anything to fix it. That he’d give anything, do anything, to fix it. It hadn’t made a damn difference. “Trust me. Sometimes power and money just don’t mean shit.” 

She shrugged and picked at some unseen thing on the couch. 

“Not my business,” Joel shrugged. “Just seems like you’re making her miserable because someone else is bein’ an asshole.” 

“Think she’s mad at me?” Ellie asked quietly, looking over at him, her dark eyes soft. 

“If she is, she’s not actually mad,” he said. “Just hurt. You said some shitty stuff, kid.” 

“Yeah, I know,” she sighed, looking toward the hall that led to your office. “I fucked up.” 

Joel shrugged again. 

“Everyone does.” 

She looked at him, her eyes narrowed. 

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” She asked. “Don’t you usually hide in your room when you’re not following us around?” 

He didn’t want to admit to hiding from the visions of his daughter that so often plagued him on his birthday, so he just shrugged instead. 

“Well, I got this new video game while you were off,” she said. “Want to kill some zombies and shit with me?” 

“Don’t you got homework or something?” He asked, brows raised. 

“I’m suspended, remember?” She said. 

“You really think either of them are gonna let that stand?” Joel asked. “Between your aunt and Esmo, you’re gonna be back in that school before you know it.” 

She snorted. 

“Probably right,” she said. “Still. Wanna play?” 

He examined her for a moment, the hopeful look in her eyes as she watched him in return. 

It had been so long since anyone had wanted something like this with him, some kind of connection, some kind of approval, some kind of emotional investment. It made his chest get tight and his first instinct was to tell her no, to stalk off to his bedroom and close the door and keep himself far away from anything like that… but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not when she so clearly needed it. 

“Yeah, alright,” he said. “Gotta get all that shit set up, though, don’t exactly play a bunch of video games…” 

She scoffed. 

“I’m sure you don’t, old man.” 

Ellie gave him a controller and, as the two of them ran through some virtual desert to collect supplies and shoot zombies, he had the fleeting thought that making her smile made this the best birthday he’d had in more than five years. 

***

“Thank you for having me!” You smiled brightly, hoping it still reached your eyes after faking your way through this for hours. Fuck, your Oscar should be for this shit, not your film roles. “It’s been so fun. Hope to see you at the movies!” 

“See you there!” The spunky entertainment reporter on the other end of the connection said before the stream cut off. You let the smile slip the moment you knew no one but Quinn was left on the screen, grabbing your water bottle from just out of sight and chugging half of it. 

“You did great,” she said, looking at notes on her end. “Hit all the big talking points, great lead in for the main junket kicking off soon.” 

“Can’t wait,” you said wryly. Quinn gave you a look and you just shrugged. “What? I don’t get paid to act like I enjoy this shit with you, just with all the reporters.” 

“Well, it looks like you won’t be flying solo on at least the LA portion of this junket,” she said and you frowned. Quinn answered the question before you had a chance to ask it. “Looks like Chris Reese will be with you…” 

You groaned. 

“Seriously?” You asked. “I have to be in LA and I have to deal with that jackass?” 

“Have worse chemistry with him and then you won’t have to do shit like press with him,” she said. You glared at her. “What? I get paid to spin shit for the reporters, not for you.” 

“Ha ha,” you said and she smirked. 

“It’s not so bad,” she said. “Just two days of interviews. And they want you to do a few of TikTok trends for promos…” you groaned again. “Going to pretend like I didn’t hear that and just say that you’re looking forward to reconnecting with your costar.” 

“Oh yeah, can’t wait,” you rolled your eyes. 

“Also,” Quinn said, steadfastly ignoring you. “I just emailed you part of the script for Savage Starlight, they want you to do some chemistry reads while you’re out that way. They think they have a casting choice for the young version of yourself and you’ll have one dream sequence scene with her that’s going to be pretty important to the story, I guess… fuck if I know. They want to make sure the two of you fit well. They’re also looking at a few guys for your love interest… couple unknowns, Ryan Smythe and Chris Pine are all in the mix.” 

You nodded slowly. 

“Ryan’s not bad,” you said. “I haven’t worked with him but we’ve met a few times and I like his work. Surprised he’s drawn to a project like this…” 

“I’m surprised you’re drawn to a project like this,” Quinn said. 

You shot her a glare. 

“…But I wouldn’t mind working with him,” you continued like she hadn’t spoken at all. “Pine is a shock, I think he’d have gotten enough of playing second fiddle to a woman superhero after Wonder Woman.” 

Quinn shrugged. 

“Maybe he’s just in his big time feminist era, not arguing with that. Plus, he’s good.” 

“Oh, he’s great,” you said. “The best of the Chrises. Unlike Reese…” 

“Oh, suck it up,” she rolled her eyes. “He’s not that bad.” 

“He’s obnoxious,” you said. “You don’t have to deal with him like I do.” 

“No, but I have to deal with his manager,” she replied. “I’ll trade you. At least Reese is nice to look at.” 

“Yeah, he knows it, too,” you said. 

“When you’re out here, we’ll have to have to have lunch,” she said “You’re my favorite client, I miss you.” 

“You say that to all your clients.” 

“Yes, but I lie when I say it to the rest them,” she smiled a little. “OK I’m going to let you go get some sleep. I’ll send you an itinerary for your trip out here and I���ll share it with the security outfit, too. Speaking of which, tell that bodyguard of yours happy birthday.” 

You frowned. 

“It’s his birthday?” You asked. “Wait, how’d you know that?” 

“Come on,” she scoffed. “You know I ran a full investigation on the man I knew would be protecting you. I’m not stupid. Anyway, tell him happy birthday for me and take care of yourself, OK?” 

“Will do. And you, too,” you said, hanging up and letting your forehead droop to your desk with a groan. 

You were exhausted. Even before the Ellie shit you’d been exhausted and all you’d wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep all day. 

Of course, you didn’t get to do that. Instead, you listened to the most important person in your life tell you that she wished you were dead before you had to go give the same goddamn interview to a dozen different broadcast outlets. 

You’d closed yourself in your office and let yourself cry for a while before you forced yourself to stop long enough to do your hair and makeup and make sure you looked at least somewhat presentable before the first interview. And then you faked a smile for hours, talking about the last movie you made before your best friend died, trying not to think about leaving set every day to go see Anna in hospice, always afraid that it would be the last time you’d get to see her. 

Esmo had sent you texts while you were stuck in interview hell, telling you when Ellie had eaten, done her homework and gone to bed. She’d also reached out to the school to discuss bringing her back sooner and said she would tell you what she’d gotten out of them the next day. 

You weren’t sure what you’d done to deserve her but, in that moment, you felt like you owed her your life. Because someone needed to look out for Ellie, even when she wouldn’t let you do it yourself. 

At least, now that it was late, the main part of the house should be empty. Esmo had gone home, Ellie was asleep, Joel liked to avoid every part of the house where he might run into people unless he absolutely had to be there. The last thing you felt like doing was getting into it with your niece or faking a smile for Esmo or putting up with Joel’s shit. 

Your bodyguard exhausted you. He’d seemed to make it his own, personal mission to get under your skin. Sure, maybe you hadn’t given him the warmest welcome - you still weren’t thrilled about having to have a bodyguard in the first place - but that hardly seemed to warrant the degree to which he’d been poking and prodding at you in the two weeks he’d been working for you. 

Joel had figured out quickly that he had a lot of power over you, somehow keenly aware that you weren’t about to complain to his boss about him or try to get him kicked off the job. What you didn’t get was why he seemed to be so fucking miserable to be assigned to you to begin with. 

It’s not like he’d never been a bodyguard before, it’s not like this was new fucking territory for him. He just seemed to hate you personally. 

You’d tried to change that for the first week or so. Yes, you’d gotten off on the wrong foot and you could take the blame for that. You were willing to give him some time to get it out of his system. You tried to reach out, to see what food he liked so you could update the dinner menus to his liking or to buy him coffee when you insisted on stopping to get one - much to his chagrin. You tried to even go along with some of his demands so his job was a little easier - things that wouldn’t have you losing as much of your autonomy, at least - but he didn’t seem to appreciate any of it. And then Seth, the other guard, was with you and you realized just how much Joel must absolutely loathe you. 

Seth was much easier going. He let you drive without argument. He had dinner with you, Ellie and Esmo every night. He smiled and laughed and mentioned that he was surprised you picked Siren of the name options for you. You’d managed to hide your surprise at that, not wanting to give away just how much his coworker seemed to enjoy humiliating you. 

Of course Joel had to come back on what had quickly devolved into the worst day you’d had since Anna died. Of course he’d seen just what Ellie said, of course he had some new way to make you feel like shit. Happy fucking birthday to him. 

The pinch of tears had returned to the back of your throat but you swallowed them. You needed to eat something. You needed to go take off all this fucking makeup. You needed to actually sleep in your own damn bed because sleeping anywhere else would be strange and you couldn’t give Joel more ammunition to use against you or give Ellie any reason to feel worse.

So you forced yourself to go to the kitchen to get the plate Esmo had made for you out of the fridge, your feet heavy, the house dark. The light was on in the pool, the reflection from the water casting lines over the ceiling of your living room and you considered, for a moment, just how easy it’d be to go outside, jump into the water and let it swallow you. But you couldn’t do that. Ellie needed you, whether she liked it or not, and there was a whole staff of people who relied on you for their livelihood. Giving up wasn’t an option. Not for you. So you kept going, like you always did.

The kitchen was dark, too, but the smell of coffee was fresh and strong as you opened the fridge, the light oddly bright compared to the darkness of your house. You found the plate Esmo had left you, a chicken thigh and roasted broccoli piled high. You pulled the plastic wrap back, bumping the fridge closed with your hip as you did. 

“Should pay more attention.” 

You yelped, jumping and looking around before you realized that, at the end of your breakfast bar, was the hulking figure of your bodyguard, sitting in the dark. 

“Jesus Christ,” you said, heart pounding. You set the plate on the counter and stalked to turn on the lights before rounding on him. “What the fuck are you doing, sitting here in the dark? Just lurking to try to fuck with me in some new way or what?” 

“No,” he said and there was something so honest in his voice that you couldn’t help but believe him. “Didn’t feel like sleepin’, so…” 

He shrugged and you just nodded, going to put your dinner in the microwave. 

“Well, you can have the kitchen to yourself again in a minute,” you said, leaning against the counter and facing Joel, your arms crossed over your stomach. 

The frustrating thing was, if he wasn’t such an asshole, Joel would be an attractive man. He was handsome, unquestionably so, in a way that would be sculpted out of marble in a bygone time. He was handsome and tall and broad and there was something about his presence - no matter how antagonistic he seemed to get - that made you feel safe. It was something that you thought went past the fact that he was paid to protect you, something in you that said that, while he was here with you alone, while he could easily overpower you, you didn’t need to be afraid of him. He was safe. 

Of course, maybe it was better if he was a dick. If he was kinder, you’d probably end up half in love with him, a recipe for disaster since he was your bodyguard. 

“S’your house,” Joel shrugged. “I can go if you want space.” 

“I don’t mind,” you said. 

He just nodded, twisting his coffee mug in his hands. 

“You alright?” He asked after a moment of quiet with nothing but the hum of the microwave between you. You raised your brows at him. “Just… you know… whole Ellie thing.” 

You watched him for a moment, head cocked. Was he asking because he actually cared? Was he asking to try to find some new way to make you miserable? You weren’t sure. 

“She’s a good kid,” he said when you’d been quiet a bit too long. “She didn’t… I know she didn’t mean what she said, she’s just bein’ a teenager, and…” 

“How do you know?” 

He frowned. 

“Know what?” 

“That she didn’t mean it,” you said. “How do you know?” 

The microwave beeped and you got out your food. Joel, much to your surprise, pulled out the chair next to his at the breakfast bar before gripping his mug again, his fingers tight and strained against the ceramic. You took the seat, grabbing a fork and knife from the silverware drawer on the way. 

“I talked to her a bit,” he said once you settled in next to him. He wasn’t looking at you, staring straight ahead instead. “She was… she was upset about other shit and took it out on you. Don’t make it right but… at least explains it.” 

“What was she upset about?” You asked, cutting into the chicken and taking a bite. Even reheated it was delicious. God bless Esmo. “Was it the fight at school? Because she was in a mood this morning, too, and…” 

“Yeah, think that fight’s been simmerin’ for a few days,” Joel said, taking a sip of coffee before glancing your way quickly.

“What was it?” You frowned. “Did she tell you? If it was a good reason, then…” 

“She told me,” he cut you off, actually looking at you now. “Look… I’ll tell you, but I think it’s best if you keep it to yourself. I get why she’s pissed.” 

You frowned. 

“OK…” 

“That fuckin’ kid she beat up,” he said, like he was choosing his words carefully. “Well… guess he recognized you…” 

“Shit,” you sighed, dropping your fork to your plate to press the palm of your hand to your eye. Of course you were the root of this problem, too. 

“Sounds like he thought you’re her mom,” he said. “Started askin’ her why she’s not as good looking as you and, when that didn’t get enough of a rise out of ‘er, started saying… other shit.” 

You gave him a second to continue on his own but he didn’t. 

“Other shit like what?” You asked. He flinched and looked down at his coffee cup. “Other shit like what, Joel.” 

He sighed. 

“Other shit like he’d seen your… chest,” he said, his cheeks getting red. “And he called you… well, somethin’ you don’t call a lady.” 

“Jesus,” you slumped down in your seat. “Well, at least that explains why she was begging me to not be the one to drive her to school in the mornings anymore…” 

“Sorry,” Joel said, his voice rough. 

“I don’t blame her for taking the bait,” you sighed. “Lord knows I would have in her shoes… God, it must be embarrassing for her…” 

“Like I said, she’s a good kid,” he said. “Don’t take one blow up too personally. Teenagers are… well, they’re teenagers.” 

You watched him for a moment. 

“Why do you know this stuff?” 

His jaw tightened for a moment. 

“Just do,” he said. 

Something told you that wasn’t all there was to it but you didn’t pry. Instead, you ate your dinner in silence next to him, trying to think of ways to talk to the school to get Ellie back in without bringing up what she’d told Joel. You liked that she had an adult she apparently felt like she could talk to. She needed that, desperately, in her life. You’d prefer it was you - it had been you, once upon a time, back when you weren’t responsible for her - but you’d take what you could get. 

“Can I ask what that punching bag out back did to piss you off?” He asked eventually. 

You laughed a little. 

“Nothing much,” you replied. “Wait… you sighed an NDA for this job, right?” 

“Yeah,” he frowned, looking at you again. “Why?” 

“Because this isn’t public yet,” you said. “But… Well, I’m trying to prep for a role.” 

“A role,” he said. “What role?” 

“You ever heard of the comic series Savage Starlight?” You asked. He nodded. “Well… I’m Starlight. Or, I will be. They’re going to officially announce it in a few months, once the rest of the main cast is settled. They’re starting me with a trainer to learn fight choreography in six weeks but I’ve never had a role with fight scenes like this one, I’m trying to make it so I’m not starting from scratch so I don’t look like a total idiot.” 

“That don’t…” Joel paused. “Doesn’t seem like your kind of movie.” 

“It’s not,” you said. “But Ellie loves the comics. They’re her favorite thing and… well, if I’m her favorite super hero, I can’t be all bad, right? So I just… I want to get it right.” 

“Well, you’re doin’ it wrong,” Joel said. You narrowed your eyes, about to argue with him on it, but he cut you off. “Not trying to be mean. Your form was just… I can tell you haven’t really thrown a punch before. Nothin’ wrong with that. Or, well, there isn’t until you need to start fighting. You just need to be careful is all, otherwise you’re just gonna hurt yourself.” 

You laughed a little. 

“Of course,” you said wryly. “It only makes sense that I’m shit at that, too.” 

“Not shit,” he said. You raised your eyebrows. “What? You’re not. Just not trained. I… I can help. If you wanted.” 

“Really,” you asked, incredulous. “You’d help me train to fight.” 

“Sure,” he shrugged. “Not like I don’t got the time. Besides, figure my job just gets harder if you’re in a damn cast because you busted your wrist throwin’ a bad punch.” 

“Fair enough,” you said. “Thank you.” 

“Sure,” he said, the two of you falling silent again. You picked at the chicken, not much of an appetite. 

“Do you think,” you said, trailing off for a moment before looking at him again. “Do you think you could take Ellie to school when she starts back? I’m going to talk to the school again tomorrow, try to get her back in next week, but I don’t want to cause her more problems and…” 

“Sure,” he said. “I… I don’t mind. She’s a good kid.” 

“She is,” you agreed. 

You finished what you could of your dinner and slid off the seat before cleaning up your dish, Joel frowning and watching as you did. 

“What?” You asked. “You’re looking at me like I’m… I dunno, an alien or something.” 

“Don’t you have people who do shit like clean up after you?” He asked. “Ain���t that part of Esmo’s job?” 

“I mean, yeah,” you shrugged. “But I’m not about to leave my dirty dishes sitting out overnight for her to deal with when she gets here in the morning. I’m not an asshole.” 

He seemed to process that as you loaded the dishwasher and chugged a final glass of water before putting the glass in the dishwasher, too. 

“Well, I’m going to bed,” you said. “Been a hell of a day. Want me to turn the light off so you can sit in the dark with your coffee again?” 

Joel just shrugged. 

“Don’t really matter,” he said. “Good night.” 

“Night,” you said, turning to go before you remembered what Quinn had told you. “Hey, actually, why didn’t you mention that today was your birthday?” 

He flinched, the movement so fleeting you almost thought you imagined it, and you had the strangest desire to comfort him somehow. You just didn’t know why. 

“Don’t like my birthday,” he said after a moment. “Not a lot of reasons to celebrate so I just don’t. Besides, don’t really like being the center of attention.” 

You laughed a little at that. 

“Yeah, I know the feeling. But… well, happy birthday, anyway. Thanks for looking after Ellie.” 

He nodded slowly. 

“Thanks,” he said. “It… it was nice.” 

You wanted to say something else but you couldn’t think of what so instead, you turned out the light and left him there, drinking coffee from your favorite mug alone in the dark. 

Next Chapter

A/N: So sorry for the eternity between chapters. I've just not been able to keep up with things lately. I hope you enjoyed it, anyway.

I'm really enjoying their dynamic! Some active antagonism based in misunderstanding of motives, some mutual attraction, a lot of similar life experiences that they don't fully grasp yet. I just really love these two and I'm so excited to share where they're headed! Thanks for being here.

Love you!

Taglist: @christinamadsen @eff4freddie @brittmb115 @copperhalfcent @r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler @lilyevanstan1325 @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @wintersquirrel

[bon-mimi]

what if i can’t forget you?

slowburn viktor x fem!reader - eight chapters ( all are included in this post )

word count : approx. 14.4k

summary : you work at a bar in piltover , doing your best to make it as a zaunite in an unfriendly environment. through your best friend , you meet viktor , a gorgeous academy student , and you are dying to get his attention. ( in this fic , f/n means “friend’s name” - f/n is referred to with she/her ! )

warnings : eventual nsfw ( masturbation , grinding ) , mild angst , mention of blood / injury , reader deals with a creepy old dude , not proofread

writer’s note : hello , i’m mimi ! this is my first time posting fanfiction online , but i was heavily encouraged by my bestie to share this with the world. i hope at least one of you will enjoy it ! apologies for any errors - this was written in my free time with little to no revision . this is also my first time using tumblr !! if the fic is well received , perhaps i will remain active ?

we’ll see ~

I - Introduction

-

You stared nervously at the large doors in front of you. Piltover’s Academy was not a place where you wanted to be, but your best friend was a student there and practically begged that you stop by today. It was her birthday, but she was stuck in the lab completing an assignment for one of her many, many classes.

“Are you sure I can even come in? Wouldn’t they have tight security on the place?”

“It’s fine!! You’re allowed to walk in the halls, and as long as I open the lab door and give you permission you should be fine. Pleaaaasseee come by?”

Reluctantly, you agreed. The fancy halls and pretentious students roaming around intimidated you, but you were willing to put up with it for her. You even baked a cake. It wasn’t your best work, but the design was still pretty cute, and you knew your friend would love it anyway, no matter what you thought of it.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the doors open and began to look for the correct laboratory. Your feet moved quickly across the floor, trying to avoid running into any students. If they even caught a glimpse of you, they would know you don’t belong there. You donned the nicest thing you could- a plain t-shirt and some slacks, but the citizens of Piltover knew what you were with just one look. Luckily, none of them got the chance to eye you, as you had just made it to the correct door. You barely even knocked before the door flung open.

“Y/N!!!! Come in!”, your friend said, nearly shoving you into the lab. You giggled, her infectious joy seeping into you.

“Okay, okay, I-“ You froze. Two men who you had never met before were sitting at the workbench, giving you an odd look.

“Who are they?”

“Oh! Sorry, I forgot to tell you. These are my group members for my lab assignment. I know they look scary, but I don’t think either of them could hurt a fly.”

“Scary? Us? I’ll have you know I’m offended,” one of them said playfully. He got up and extended a hand towards you.

“I’m Jayce, and the man over there is Viktor. Sorry if we startled you. We actually didn’t know you were coming either.”

You eased up a little, feeling better that they were just as surprised as you were. As you got ready to shake his hand, you realized the cake was still in your grasp.

“Sorry- let me set this down,” you said. After setting it next to your friend, you turned back to shake Jayce’s hand. He had quite a grip; you weren’t expecting that.

“Nice to meet you, Jayce. I’m Y/N. F/N’s friend, if you hadn’t figured that out yet.” He laughed a little, and once your handshake finished, your eyes fell on the other man- Viktor.

Viktor… you quite liked that name, and you were drawn to his appearance as well. As inconspicuously as you could, you slowly looked over his features. Dark, soft brown hair, pale skin, a tall and thin frame, a couple of moles on his face, and… his eyes. The amber color was gorgeous, and you bet if he gazed at you, your knees would probably go weak.

Your theory was proven correct when he made eye contact with you. He slowly got up, grabbing onto a cane and moving over towards you.

“Jayce already introduced me, so I supposed I didn’t need to come over, but it would have been rude to ignore you. Viktor,” he said, and it took you a second to snap out of it.

“Oh- yeah! Um, nice to meet you.” You shook his hand, praying he couldn’t tell that your skin was on fire because of him. Before you could think of anything else to say, your friend squealed.

“Oh. My. GOD!!! This is SO CUTE!!!!”

She had opened the box the cake was in, staring at it excitedly. You walked over, smiling.

“Like what you see?”

“I LOVE it. How do you always make such masterpieces?” She wrapped her arms around you, hardly giving you room to breathe.

The cake was a light lilac color with detailed white bordering on the edge. You had messed up in quite a few areas, but just covered it up with some more icing and hoped it wasn’t obvious.

“I get it, I’m incredible. You wanna let me go so you can eat a piece? Or- wait. Are you even allowed to eat in here?”

“As long as we don’t make a mess, it should be fine. You made this? It looks great,” Jayce said, somehow sneaking up behind the two of you. Viktor was right beside him, seemingly analyzing the cake, eyes sweeping over each and every part.

“I- I did,” you stuttered, becoming flustered all of a sudden.

“Do you work at a bakery? Seriously, this looks awesome,” he continued, eyes meeting yours.

“Oh, no, I-“ you paused. Your real job was less.. gentle. Would these Piltovans judge you? They seemed nice, but you knew how quickly people could switch up. Before you could give any more thought to your response, your friend interjected.

“No, her job is way cooler than that. She works at Eclipse!” Your friend beamed with pride, but you looked down and shuffled your feet awkwardly.

Eclipse was a bar on the outskirts of Piltover. It paid well, and was fairly popular, but not with this kind of crowd. Despite being part of Piltover, it was often frequented by Zaunites who wanted a taste of the better life. Zauntines like you, who wanted to know what it was like to not inhale polluted air with each breath. To know what it was like to live in luxury. To be free of the hell they lived in every single day.

“What do you… do there?” Viktor inquired, his accent thick.

Not wanting this conversation to last long, you quickly rambled out a list of your duties.

“Oh, y’know, normal bar stuff. Taking orders, making drinks, breaking up the occasional fight… there’s not much to it. Anyway- should we get into the cake now? I’m sure F/N would be happy to share with you two.”

Viktor nodded, not planning to push the conversation further. However, while your friend was setting out some utensils and napkins that were tucked into the box, Jayce couldn’t help but continue talking.

“Wow… I’ve heard of that bar before, but haven’t ever been. You said you have to break up fights- does it ever get nasty? Especially with-“ he stopped himself, and Viktor shot him a glare.

“Especially with what, Jayce?”

“I- I was just going to say that I’ve heard that Zaunites frequent that place, and people from the Undercity can be…”

Ah. There it was. The judgement you feared from this place. Before you could shoot back a reply, your friend stopped her cake-cutting and stepped into the conversation.

“Jayce. I will have you know that you are in the presence of three Zaunites, and none of us are violent unless in a self-defense situation. You shouldn’t be saying stuff like that.”

Wait… three? Did that mean…

Viktor. Was he really from the same place as you? A warm feeling of kinship bubbled up, only increasing your interest in him.

Jayce’s eyes widened, realizing what he had implied.

“Oh- Oh my God, I’m so sorry I- I wasn’t thinking.” He looked at everyone, but his eyes chose to settle on yours.

“Y/N, I am so, so sorry. That was a really stupid thing of me to say, whether you were from the Undercity or not.”

With his puppy-dog eyes, you couldn’t help but want to forgive him, but the comment still stung.

“I get it. I’m sure the education you receive up here isn’t… favorable when it comes to the Undercity. Just… don’t say anything like that again. Ever.”

He nodded frantically, desperate to get back in your good graces despite having only met you moments ago.

“I have to start heading back now. I’ve got a shift in a couple hours I need to get ready for,” you said, not too disappointed to be leaving. Admittedly, you wanted to talk to Viktor more, but the tension left by Jayce was too thick for any of that at the moment.

“Aww… okay. I’ll swing by this weekend and tell you how the cake was? I’m sure it’ll be divine,” your friend smiled at you, knowing that wasn’t your only reason for leaving. She gave you one more hug, letting you go after a short moment.

“Happy birthday, F/N. I hope you all enjoy the cake.” Smiling, you left the room, rushing out of the academy. The air was choking you as if you were back in Zaun. When you made it outside, you slid onto a nearby bench, trembling, carefully trying to unpack the series of events you just experienced.

You just hoped you could get any excess thoughts out of your head before your shift began.

-

“Jayce, you are an idiot.” F/N handed him a piece of cake while glaring at him. She knew he really was just being ignorant and not intentionally wanting to cause harm; otherwise, she would have chewed him out.

“I know. Those words shouldn’t have left my mouth. Do you… do you think she’s mad at me?”

“I think we’re all mad at you. Right, Viktor?”

“Mm.” He agreed, only half-heartedly paying attention to what was being said. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, and he didn’t know why. Sure, you were gorgeous, but he had seen many gorgeous women before. So why would you be any different? There was… something else about you, something that intrigued him and made him wonder what you were really like. How you really felt about your job, what you acted like when you were comfortable with someone, what you did in your free time… all of it; he wanted to learn all of it about you.

“Viktor? Earth to Viktor?”

His head snapped up, realizing the daze he was in.

“Ah. Sorry, I was.. pondering our assignment. We should get back to work on it, yes? The professor does want it done by tomorrow.”

“No worries, we’re almost done anyway. Just have to complete some final testing and documentation. But first, we’re eating this cake and shaming Jayce for his poor choice of words.”

Viktor chuckled, taking a piece of cake that your friend held out for him. She looked at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking. She had a hard time believing he was distracted over the assignment, and he clearly didn’t seem to be too concerned with Jayce.

“Guys, I know I already said it, but seriously. I’m really, really sorry. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? And… do you think Y/N will let me make it up to her somehow?”

“It was a stupid comment, but I’m willing to let it slide on my part. Viktor?”

“I do not mind. I am used to Jayce being careless.”

“Hey-“ Jayce was about to defend himself, but F/N cut him off.

“But, I think Y/N deserves a proper apology. How about you come with me this weekend when I see her, and you bring some sort of gift? I can help you come up with ideas.”

He agreed, hoping to prove to you that he really was a good person. Admittedly, mostly for his own ego, but he did think you were nice and hoped to become your friend in the future.

Viktor was tempted to ask if he could join too, wanting to see you again, but he feared that too many people would overwhelm you. Especially when one of them had made such a careless remark. He let out a soft sigh that went unnoticed by the other two.

The three each ate their pieces of cake, the air still heavy with the weight of Jayce’s words. Slowly, they returned to their assignment, working until it was done. F/N only hoped that the weekend visit would smooth out the tension instead of making it worse.

II - Apologies

-

The weekend came all too soon. You received a letter from your friend a couple of days ago that explained her plan to see you today. She also mentioned the fact that Jayce would be visiting as well, as he wanted to give a proper apology.

You were excited to see her, but still had mixed feelings about Jayce. Perhaps his apology would change your mind, but you knew it would be uncomfortable to face him.

It was 11, and you were seated on your plush black couch in your apartment, awaiting your friend’s arrival. You held a cushion to your chest while you looked around, taking the time to appreciate your decoration skills. Eclipse paid fairly well, so you were able to afford some nice things here and there.

The walls were a cream color, but you couldn’t see much of them; there were various items in the way. A few plants hung from the ceiling in lilac-colored pots, beaming from the sun coming in through the window. Several paintings rested in black frames of various shapes and sizes, each depicting a different scene. Most were your own, but a couple were purchased at markets you had visited. All of them were landscapes of places throughout Runeterra. The ones you made had been sights you had seen, and the others were sights foreign to you. Sights that you hoped to see one day.

In the small kitchenette, you had some pots and pans hung up near a rack of spices. Most of the time, you just snitched some leftovers from Eclipse, but you made your own meals every once in a while. All of your additional equipment and ingredients were neatly stored away in your oak cabinets and drawers.

Generally, you tried to keep the place tidy, but sometimes the mess would accumulate. Luckily, it would never take long to fix.

You were trying to remember how messy you had left the bedroom, and were about to get up and check when you heard a knock at the door. The bedroom would just have to stay closed, you thought.

Of course, there shouldn’t have been any reason to go in anyway, since Jayce would be here as well.

Opening the door, you were met with the sight of your friend smiling brightly, Jayce behind her with a sheepish smile of his own, and a gift bag in his hand.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you said, moving out of the entrance so they could get out of the hallway.

“Wow… your apartment is a lot more… inviting than the one Vik and I share,” Jayce noted, eyes wandering over the paintings covering your walls.

“Well, that’s not a surprise to anyone. You two are the most practical people I know. Don’t know if I’ve ever seen either of you do something for sheer enjoyment,” your friend commented, coming over to you.

You giggled, and Jayce visibly let his shoulders relax.

“Oh, right! Here- this is for you. I wasn’t sure what to get that would say ‘I’m sorry’, but F/N was a big help. Again, I hope you don’t take my comment to heart. I shouldn’t have said it, and I promise I’ll think more before I speak in the future. I’ve been told I can be careless, but I should have never been careless like- like that.” Jayce grimaced, remembering his words. You took the bag he extended towards you, and peered inside. Slowly, you took out a bottle of wine.

“I was told this is your favorite. Is it okay?”

“Okay? Jayce, this is expensive! I’ve never owned a bottle- I’ve only had it on a few outings to some upscale restaurants.”

“Don’t worry about the cost. I just- I really wanted to make it up to you. Are we… good?”

You looked at him, still trying to recover from your initial shock.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re good now. …Thanks. For apologizing and for getting me such a nice gift. You really didn’t have to, even if you were being stupid,” you said, a playful tone hitting the end of your remark.

“Yeah, I really was.” Jayce let a small smile dance across his lips.

“So now that we’re all good, let’s go out and do something!!” F/N wrapped her arms around you, giving you a big hug.

“Okay, okay, we can go out. I think there’s some sort of market going on today that we can go visit? It’s mostly artwork and trinkets, if you’re interested in that, Jayce.” Your friend let go, and you both looked at Jayce expectantly.

“Oh- you want me to come along? I- absolutely, if you want me to. Maybe I can find something to finally brighten up my apartment.”

Smiling, you set down the wine on your kitchen counter before grabbing your favorite black purse and exiting, F/N and Jayce right behind you.

-

It didn’t take much traversing of the city streets before you found the market space. Stalls were packed together on each side of the narrow street, each selling their own unique items. Luckily, you must have come at a less popular hour- instead of it being completely packed, there were only a few people here and there stopped at stalls. Still, it was loud. Vendors trying to get any passerby to stop and stare at their goods, shouting things like “You’ve never seen a piece so beautiful before!” and “The perfect gifts for your loved ones, right here!”

Despite your usual quiet demeanor, you loved it here. The smell of street food filled the air, and the bright colors of awnings above each stall felt inviting.

“Jayce, have you ever been to an outdoor market like this before?” You asked, realizing how overwhelming it could be to someone who hasn’t experienced one before.

“I haven’t, but looking at all of this… I’m wondering why I’ve never been. I bet there’s all sorts of fascinating things here!”

You laughed, nodding.

“I’ve found my fair share of treasures in markets like this. It’s truly amazing. But… since you’ve never been, it would probably be best for us to stick together instead of splitting up. Does anyone have a preference on which stall to go to?”

“Nope! Lead the way, Y/N! You seem to have a sense for where the best stuff is.” F/N hooked her arm together with yours as a measure to prevent the two of you from getting separated. Jayce was much larger, so he could probably follow without any hand-holding. He looked to you, ready to follow along.

You glanced at the nearest stalls, but slowly began drifting towards one a little further away that seemed to primarily sell jewelry. A tray in the front held various bracelets, and off to the side were racks of earrings and necklaces. Your eyes skimmed over the bracelets, none of the shapes or colors standing out to you. You repeated the process for the necklaces, stopping when you saw a teardrop-shaped amber pendant latched onto a golden chain.

“See something you like?” The stall owner appeared in front of you, leaning over her table to get a better look at the pendant you were enamored with.

“Ah, you have a good eye! This pendant is one of a kind. When I was looking through my scrap bin in my workshop, I came across a small chunk of amber. I don’t know where it came from- oddly enough, I don’t ever recall buying any for my works. It turned out gorgeous, though.”

“Yeah, it’s beautiful…” you said quietly, Jayce and F/N still busy looking at the bracelets.

“I’ll tell you what. Since you seem to like it so much, how about I also give you the pair of earrings that go with it? I’ll throw them in for free. Good deal, yes?”

You nodded, quickly taking out your wallet to pay. Something about the pendant was incredibly alluring, and you knew you had to have it.

After you made the purchase, the stall owner pulled out a hand mirror and offered it to you.

“Would you like to try them on?”

“Hmm… I think I will.”

You took out your silver hoops, replacing them with the dangling amber earrings.

“F/N, could you help me put on this necklace?”

She looked over and raised her eyebrows on surprise.

“I’ve never known you to prefer gold jewelry! It looks good, though! Here, I got it.”

She carefully took the thin golden chain, clasping it at the back of your neck. Picking up the mirror, you admired the jewelry. You felt pretty.

“I think I’ll keep these on.” You placed your original earrings in your bag, and then turned to look at Jayce studying the bracelets like his life depended on it.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to wear jewelry,” you said, sliding up next to him.

“Oh- no, no, it’s not for me. It’s for… my girlfriend.”

“You sure? You seem awfully hesitant,” you joked, looking down to the bracelets.

“Jayce, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend! Who is she?” F/N asked, picking up one of the bracelets and peering at the gemstones laid within it.

“Well, we’ve been trying to keep it secret for… reasons. So I can’t really tell you who she is, but she most definitely exists. And I’ve been meaning to get her something since our one month anniversary passed recently. Which bracelet looks better to you two?” Jayce picked up two golden bracelets; one was a thin gold band, and the other was slightly thicker, with engraved swirls.

“Well, since I have no idea who she is, I can’t say what would look good on her or what her style is, but personally, I prefer the second one.” You pointed to the thicker band, and your friend nodded.

“I was going to pick that one, but I just wanted another opinion. Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

You smiled warmly at him, thinking it was sweet of him to get something so pretty for his girlfriend.

After he made his purchase, and your friend made a purchase of her own, the three of you spent the next couple of hours wandering through the market, stopping every so often at a stall that interested you. You didn’t end up buying anything else except for a snack, feeling completely satisfied with your new jewelry.

Checking your watch, you saw that it was nearly 4. You didn’t have a shift today, but you did want to give yourself enough time to attempt making dinner.

“Hey, you guys, I’m gonna have to get back to my apartment soon to make dinner for this evening.” Before you could say goodbye, Jayce spoke up.

“Um- if it’s alright, would you be able to come over to my apartment for dinner? Vik’s making pasta tonight, and I know we’re going to have way too much for the two of us. So.. if you two were okay with it, we’d love to have you.”

“Is that alright? Viktor’s usually more of a lone wolf. I don’t want to intrude,” F/N said, still obviously excited at the prospect of getting to see their apartment.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine with it. He’s already used to you, and I can’t imagine him possibly being upset with seeing Y/N again.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You asked, genuinely confused. Had Viktor said something about you?

“Well, nothing, really. I guess- I don’t know, I just think he might actually like you. I mean, he did actually take the time to introduce himself to you. That may be common decency for most, but Viktor hardly ever pays attention to anything but his work. When he’s working, it feels like I can’t get him to stop for anything, not even to eat or sleep sometimes.”

“Well, let’s hope you’re right. I’d hate to give him an unwelcome surprise. Shall we get going?”

You tried to hide how giddy you were at the fact that you might be special in some way to Viktor, hoping that the smile on your face wasn’t as big as you thought it was. Despite barely knowing anything about him, you could feel yourself developing a crush.

Jayce led the three of you out of the market, carefully squeezing between the crowd of people that had gathered over time. As you walked to his apartment, you fiddled with your new jewelry a few times, checking to make sure it hadn’t somehow fallen off.

-

It wasn’t long before you were standing in front of the door to Jayce’s apartment. Jayce pulled a key out of his pocket, but before inserting it, he paused.

“Wait.” He ushered you and F/N to the end of the hall, much further away from the door.

“I thought we were going to have dinner together? Did you change your mind?” F/N asked, you and her both visibly confused.

“No, but I have an idea. Y/N, I’ll stay over here with F/N, and you can walk up and knock on the door. If Viktor is starting on dinner like he said he would around this time, he should be close enough to hear the door and open it.”

“Huh? Why?” You looked at Jayce, wondering where he could have possibly been going with this.

“I wanna see how Viktor reacts! C’mon, don’t you think it’d be interesting?“

You had to admit, you were curious to see what Viktor would do. However, you were still reluctant.

“Jayce, I just met him- and you, actually- a few days ago, and I hardly even talked to him when we met. Don’t you think he’d be creeped out? Like, what if he thinks I stalked him?”

“If he seems uncomfortable, I’ll come over right away and explain that it was just a bad joke that I came up with. All the blame will go on me, and if anything, he’ll think you felt pressured to go along with it and feel bad for you. If you really don’t want to, then you don’t have to, but I don’t think it could hurt.”

After hesitating for a moment, you turned and walked back to the door. You glanced at Jayce, who gave you a thumbs-up. F/N silently pointed to Jayce and gave you an expression that seemed to say “You’re really going along with what this idiot wants?”. You shrugged, lifting your hand to rap on the door.

Quiet. It was silent for a moment except for the sound of your thundering heartbeat.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps accompanied by a soft tap.

Slowly, the door opened to reveal Viktor, and as your eyes met his, you realized something.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, now much more nervous than you were to begin with.

Your new jewelry that you bought was the color of Viktor’s eyes. That was the reason you were so drawn to it.

“…Y/N? That is your name, yes?” His eyes were wide, an emotion that you couldn’t quite recognize filling his gaze.

“Y-yeah,” Suddenly, you were trying to look at anything but his face.

“Can I ask what you’re doing here?”

“I…” you stopped. What were you supposed to say now?

“Jayce wanted me to come over..?” You tried, uncertainty laced in your voice.

“Okay… but where is he? How did you know to come here?”

You felt yourself shrinking. Viktor was interrogating you, and rightfully so, but the lack of warmth in his tone made you feel like you had made a mistake. The last thing you had wanted to do was make him uncomfortable.

“He, um-“

“Because I brought her here! And F/N as well. I invited them over for dinner.” Jayce’s hand was now on your shoulder, which snapped you out of the cold headspace you were slipping into.

“I take it your apology went well, then. But why make Y/N knock by herself?”

“Jayce thought it would be funny to see how you reacted. One of his odd whims, as per usual.” F/N said, gently elbowing Jayce in the ribs.

“Ah, I see. Can’t say I’m surprised. Come in,” Viktor said, his voice now less tense.

“Why, thank you for letting me in to my own apartment,” Jayce bowed to Viktor as if he were a king, which elicited an eye roll from Viktor.

“I was just trying to be inviting to the guests you brought with you. The notion that I would ever tell you to ‘come in’ to your own apartment is ridiculous.”

You giggled, which caused a small smile to appear on Viktor’s face that did not go unnoticed by F/N. She kept her mouth shut, wanting to see for herself how this would play out.

“Dinner won’t take long. Jayce, could you set the table?”

III - Dinner

-

Looking around, you realized just how right Jayce was. He and Viktor made no effort to make their apartment inviting. The beige walls lay barren, not a single decoration in sight. No paintings, no plants, not even a simple rug on the floor. Just the bare apartment and the furniture it came with. No signs of life, either- no jackets on chairs, no dirty dishes in the sink, no unfolded blankets on the couch. Just the dishes that Jayce was currently placing on the round dining room table, and the pots on the stove that were currently being used to make dinner. F/N, just like you, was also staring at the near-empty room.

“All of this space, and truly not a single decoration. You two are…”

“Practical.” Viktor finished, carefully straining the pasta before mixing it with sauce.

“Well, I was going to say boring, but I suppose that works too.” F/N looked at you, noticing your slightly flushed cheeks.

“You alright, Y/N? You look a little unwell.”

“Oh, I’m fine! I was just lost in thought. This place really is quite empty.”

F/N smiled, continuing to poke fun and Jayce and Viktor for their bare-bones apartment. You, however, were back in your thoughts, unable to chime in. You weren’t lying when you said you were lost in thought- you just hadn’t specified exactly what you were lost in thought about.

Currently, you were thinking about your interaction at the door with Viktor. You wished you hadn’t went along with Jayce’s idea of “surprising” Viktor. He was clearly confused and uncomfortable. You noticed how his voice relaxed once Jayce approached, how his body visibly became less stiff.

And you knew it made sense. He hardly even knew you, had only spoken to you once, had awkwardly seen you flee the lab after Jayce’s words. You would also be confused if someone who was basically a stranger showed up at your door without explanation of what they were doing or how they got there.

Despite all of this, you felt disappointed that you hadn’t received a warmer reaction from Viktor. Some small part of your brain told you that he was being stiff because he liked you and was nervous; the rest of your brain knew better.

You also couldn’t stop thinking about your new jewelry and how well it matched Viktor’s eyes. You began fiddling with the chain of the pendant as you wondered if anyone would make the connection.

“Jayce, could you help me with this?”

Jayce, who was playfully bickering with F/N, got up and picked up the pot of pasta for Viktor, carefully bringing it over and setting it on a trivet in the middle of the table.

“I’m just saying, if you ever want to have your girlfriend over, I think she’d feel more comfortable if it didn’t look like as dead as this.”

“And I’m saying that I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.” Jayce grabbed a large spoon and began to scoop some pasta out onto his plate while Viktor made his way over to the table. He rested his cane on a nearby wall, carefully placing himself in a chair.

“Y/N, wouldn’t you want a man with a space that looked lived in?” F/N asked, hoping you would help her prove her point. All eyes turned to you, and you felt very conscious of the fact that Viktor was seated right next to you.

“I… I think I’d definitely prefer someone with a decorated space. If I got led into a nearly empty apartment, I’d think they were gonna kill me and leave my body there.” Viktor let out a small laugh at your words, which made your heart soar.

“See?? Y/N understands. Anyways…” the voices around you began to mix together as everyone got their share of pasta and began to eat between chatter. For a while, they discussed the lab assignment from earlier in the week, so you stayed silent and listened, paying special attention whenever Viktor spoke.

After a while, F/N, ever so perceptive, noticed you weren’t talking due to the conversation topic being foreign to you.

“Hey, how about after we finish eating, we play a game? Something like never have I ever, maybe?”

“I would not be opposed.” Surprised, you looked at Viktor.

“Wow, you must be in a good mood, Vik! I’m in too,” Jayce said.

“Sure, why not? It could be fun,” you added on, taking another bite of your pasta. It was much more delicious than whatever concoction you would have made, you’re sure.

“Alright, it’s settled!”

-

After everyone finished eating, Jayce cleared the table and set a glass of wine in front of each person.

“Ooh, how fancy,” you said, swirling the glass and looking at the deep red liquid.

“Yeah, well I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what you can make at the bar,” Jayce replied, taking his seat once more.

“True. You’ll have to swing by sometime. I bet I can make the most delicious cocktail you’ve ever had.”

“I don’t know, I’ve had some pretty good drinks at galas…”

“Yeah, right. You rich Pilties don’t know what’s good.” A grin spread across your face. Jayce feigned hurt, putting a hand on his chest like you had wounded him. He was about to reply, but Viktor interjected by clearing his throat.

“Shall we begin the game now?”

“Oh! Yes. Sorry about that. I’ll start.” Jayce was quiet for a brief moment, pondering what his “Never have I ever” should be.

“Got it! Never have I ever… cheated on an exam.”

No one took a sip, and Jayce shrugged.

“Guess I should’ve known. Still, I was curious.”

You knew your reason for not drinking was far different from the other two. You had never even had the opportunity to take an exam, let alone cheat. There was a lack of formal education in Zaun, and when you finally clawed your way up to Piltover, you had no desire to try and make it into any school. You were smart, but not smart enough for your birthplace to be ignored. The same could not be said for F/N, and assumingly Viktor as well. While your talents laid in the artistic field, those two were far more academically inclined.

“Jayce, you know how important academic integrity is to the Academy. If there’s even a suspicion of someone cheating, they’re thoroughly examined and often booted.” Your friend held her glass in one hand, using the other to push a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, yeah. Didn’t hurt to ask, though. Anyways- Viktor, it’s your turn. What do you have for us?”

Each person took their turn around the circle several times, glasses slowly emptying. If someone took a sip on a particularly interesting statement, they would be forced to stop and explain. You learned that Jayce once owned a pet fish, Viktor once called his professor “mother”, and various other tidbits of information that you began cataloguing in your mind.

Before long, it was your turn again, and you asked a question that had been gnawing at your mind.

“Never have I ever… kissed a girl.”

“Oh come on, this has to be targeted!” Your friend whined, taking the last sip of her wine. Jayce took his last sip as well, knocking them both out of the game. You stared at Viktor, who also only had one sip left in his glass.

He lifted the glass to his lips before smiling and putting it back down, a small pool of red still remaining at the bottom of the glass.

“Never?” You asked, admittedly feeling pleased at the result.

“Never. I do not have the time to pursue such… frivolous things.”

Oh.

“I’ve been trying to get him to meet someone for ages, but he just won’t budge on the topic.” Jayce sighed dramatically, and Viktor scoffed.

“I do not see why it is so important to you that I indulge in romance. Anyways, my turn.” Viktor looked you directly in the eyes, making you shift uncomfortably and fidget with your jewelry.

“Never have I ever kissed a man.”

Defeated, you took the last sip of your drink.

“Ooh, do you have a boyfriend, Y/N?” Jayce prodded.

“No, just a couple of bad exes.” You set your glass down, nearly shuddering at the thought of your most recent ex.

“Got any good stories to share?”

“Hm…” you searched your memories for any experiences that were funny in retrospect.

“A couple of years ago, I dated this guy who took me out to some fancy restaurant for dinner. Apparently, I cut my steak the wrong way, and he spent the rest of the evening lecturing me about it. I knew right there that it wasn’t meant to be.”

“I remember you telling me that when it happened,” F/N laughed.

“He looked like he was in agony, like I was committing a heinous offense against him. I couldn’t do it,” you laughed along, Jayce joining in soon after. Much quieter, Viktor chuckled.

“Well, it looks like you won, Viktor. Congrats,” you looked at him, grinning.

“Thank you.” His heart squeezed in his chest, which confused him.

“It’s getting late- I should probably leave before it’s pitch black outside.” You got up, and F/N joined you.

“I’ll head out too. Thanks for inviting us over, Jayce, and thanks for sharing the dinner you made, Viktor. It was delicious,” F/N smiled, but Viktor’s heart did not repeat the same action that occurred a moment ago.

“Hey, so…” you spoke up, causing everyone to look to you.

“I have a shift tomorrow evening at Eclipse, if you guys would like to stop by…? I can get you a pretty decent discount on drinks.”

“Sure! Viktor and I don’t have any plans.”

“And I was already going to stop by anyway, so you know I’ll be there. You still owe me a cocktail for my birthday.”

“Alright, then I’ll see you all there. Looking forward to it!”

You exited the apartment with F/N, the two of you chatting about the evening before parting ways to get to your respective apartments.

-

“They were nice. We should hang out with them more often.” Jayce stood at the sink washing dishes while Viktor sat at the counter, trying to figure out what his heart was doing earlier.

“Hey, Vik,” Jayce continued, which got his attention.

“What do you think of Y/N?”

“What do you mean?”

“Was she fun to be around?”

Viktor thought about the way you looked at him when he opened the door. He thought about how, for a split second, he wanted to take you into the apartment, no questions asked, and spend the evening talking to you alone. How your face lit up when you took the first bite of pasta, and you quickly took another. How your lips pouted slightly each time you had to take a sip of wine. How you had smiled at him when you congratulated him on his win, and the way it made him feel.

“…yes, I suppose.”

Jayce turned around to get a good look at his friend’s face, instantly being met with the sight of a man absolutely smitten.

“…are you sure that romance is as frivolous as you say?”

“Jayce, what are you implying?”

“Well, Y/N doesn’t have a boyfriend, so…”

“Jayce. That is a ridiculous idea, even for you. I think… I think I will retire to my room for the night.”

“Alright, but you should seriously reconsider romance. Goodnight, Vik.”

Jayce didn’t miss the red flush on Viktor’s neck as he turned around and made his way to his bedroom. The gears in his head began turning, trying to figure out how to make Viktor admit he was interested in you.

IV - Eclipse

-

The next morning, Viktor had worse dark circles than normal. Thanks to Jayce’s comments about you, Viktor could not stop thinking about you, which led to a nearly complete and total lack of sleep.

He thought about your voice, your face, your smile, your body. What it would be like to actually date you- would he spend his time sitting at the bar, staring at you lovingly as you worked your shift? Would you stop by the Academy when you were free and watch him tinker away in the lab? Would you listen to one of his long-winded ramblings about his current studies, and what new discoveries he was making? Would your expression be full of love, your hand holding his?

What would it be like to kiss you? He had never kissed anyone before, but he bet he wouldn’t even dream about kissing anyone else after kissing you. Your lips would be so soft, feel so gentle against his, taste so good if he ran his tongue over them.

He thought of questions to ask you, topics that the two of you could discuss for hours. What was your life in Zaun like, and how had you made it here? Did you have a dream job you were working towards, or were you perfectly content being a bartender? What was your favorite hobby? What were your favorite things in general?

He wanted to study you inside and out like a beautiful machine. To know each and every part of your body and mind intimately. He felt disgusted for thinking this way about someone he hardly knew. What would you say if you knew the kind of thoughts he was having?

Viktor sipped on a mug of coffee, trying to make headway on a research paper he wished to present to his professor soon. You made his efforts futile.

Looking at the clock, he groaned. Only 10:00.

It was going to be a long, long day.

-

When it came time for your shift, you happily made your way to the bar. It was only a couple of minutes away from your apartment, making it quite convenient.

You slipped into the employee room, exchanging your sweatshirt and jeans for a sleek collared shirt and dress pants. You pinned back any stray hairs, gave yourself a quick look in the mirror, and then went out to stand behind the counter.

The shift was agonizingly slow as you waited for your friends to show up, but luckily for you, customers were behaving fairly well today. A few glares your way from Pilties, but you could handle that. If they wanted a Zaunite-free zone, they should have gone to one of their fancy lounges further away from the bridge instead of here.

As you took orders and served drinks, you thought about what to make for everyone. You had figured out something for F/N already, but you had no idea what preferences Jayce and Viktor had. You wished to dwell on it longer, but a patron had walked up to you.

“Excuse me,” he said, tapping on the table to further get your attention.

“Oh! My apologies, sir. What can I pour for you?”

“Whiskey. On the rocks. I don’t care what brand, just make it quick.”

You were a little irked, but unfortunately used to the impatience of others. A lot of people visited as a way to relieve stress, so if they weren’t buzzed yet, their remaining stress would be taken out on you. Most of the time, it was just a snide comment or a pushy tone, which was certainly manageable.

You set the glass in front of him, but before you could pull your hand away, he grabbed your wrist.

“You’re quite a pretty little thing. How come I’ve never seen you here before?”

The color began to drain from your face. You dealt with patrons like this every so often, and it was always such a treat.

“Must have missed my shifts. How would you like to pay for your drink, sir?”

“I’ll hand you the money, but first I’d like to talk.”

“Sir, as much as I appreciate your… attention, I have other patrons to serve.”

“Where?” He asked, and you realized he was right. The only people in the bar already had food or a drink in front of them, and none looked like they were ready to request anything else.

“…well, I’m sure they’ll need my assistance soon.”

He let go of your hand, which you jerked back to your side. Reaching into his pockets, he pulled out a notepad, pen, and his wallet.

“Tell you what, darling.”

You nearly retched at the name.

“You give me some way to contact you- preferably your address, and I pay you triple for the drink. I can take you out for a nice dinner sometime. What do you say?”

You looked this man up and down. He was at least twice your age, perhaps older, with thinning hair and beady eyes. His hand, which was holding his glass of whiskey, displayed a thin wedding band.

“Sir, I’m sure your wife wouldn’t appreciate that.” You heard the employee door open, and you looked over to see your boss who was doing a routine check-in on you. You stared at her while she walked over, eyes pleading for help.

Despite your boss being from Piltover, she had the appearance of a Zaunite. Tattoos filling her arms, a few small scars on her face, and a very intimidating aura encircled her. She was great at scaring away unwanted guests, which is exactly what you needed right now.

“Hello, sir. Is there anything I can help with?”

He faltered slightly, but was clearly determined to be as much of a creep as possible.

“No ma’am. I was just asking this lovely lady here if she would kindly escort me on a date sometime.”

Before you could react, he grabbed your hand once more and planted a kiss on it before letting it go. You felt bile rise in the back of your throat, fear freezing you in place.

“Sorry, but our employees aren’t permitted to indulge the whims of decrepit old men. You may leave. Oh, but please do pay first.”

His face flushed a violent red, and he slammed down a fistful of coins.

“I should have known that filth like you wasn’t worth it,” he spat.

Filth like you.

“I can’t believe you’re even allowed to work up here. Sewer trash. You know, I was doing you a favor by inviting you out. You could have experienced luxury. At least you know your place, I suppose.”

“That’s enough,” your boss growled, which was finally enough to make him scamper out of the bar. A few people had watched the scene go down, but one glare from your boss was enough to make them suddenly very interested in their plates and glasses.

You felt rage coil up inside of you. He had no right to say those things about you, to touch you, to press his slimy lips to your skin. If only you had this interaction on the street, you could have taken a swing at him, and-

“If you ask me, he’s the rat. Certainly looks the part.” You looked up to your boss, who gave you a worried expression.

“You okay, sweetheart? I know it never gets any easier dealing with that kind of nonsense.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I think- I just need a minute.”

“Sure thing. I’ll take over for a bit. You can hang out in the back- no one else has a shift for the next couple of hours, so it’ll be empty.”

“Thank you. I promise I won’t be long.”

“Take all the time you need, dear.”

You gave her a weak smile before escaping to the employee room. Stepping into the bathroom, you gripped the sink tightly, knuckles turning white. You felt dirty. You needed to purify yourself, get the man out of your mind, off of your body.

Turning on the sink, you pumped out an excessive amount of soap and began scrubbing your hands together. It wasn’t enough. You scrubbed harder, nails beginning to scrape the skin. A wave of nausea overcame you as you replayed the moment he grabbed your hand and kissed it. You continued to scrub, hoping your memories would wash away, but it wasn’t working.

A soft knock on the door startled you.

“Y/N? You’ve got some guests,” you boss called, waiting for you to respond.

Oh, right. They must be here.

You turned off the water, roughly drying your raw, scratched-up hands. You grabbed a pair of gloves from your pile of things, hoping they would disguise your actions. Normally, you only used the gloves when you were on dish duty, but this was a special case. Hopefully, your boss wouldn’t notice, and if she did, she wouldn’t say a word.

Opening the door, you were greeted with the sight of Jayce, F/N, and Viktor all seated at the counter.

“You ready to go back?” Your boss asked, still deeply concerned.

“I think so. If anything comes up, I’ll call for you. Thank you,” you replied, voice breaking ever so slightly. She retreated to the back, hoping your friends would be the perfect distraction.

“Hey guys! You all ready for the best drinks you’ve ever had?” you asked, trying to return to the bright mood you were in earlier. Clearly, you weren’t as convincing as you wanted to be, because F/N gave you an odd look.

“Yeah, definitely. What would you recommend? I’m open to anything.” Jayce glanced at the various bottles of liquor behind you, admiring the decorative way they were set.

“I… would also be open to anything.” You turned to look at Viktor, who, for some reason, wasn’t looking you in the eye like he was yesterday. You didn’t really notice, thoughts still primarily elsewhere.

“Well, for me, I’d like something colorful and fun. Something that screams happy birthday, you know?”

Your friend’s comment brought you out of your discomfort, if only a little.

“I’ve already got something in mind for you. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. I just have to think of drinks for the guys.”

Your shifted your thoughts to different kinds of cocktails, and it didn’t take long to pick one out for each person.

“Just give me a few moments, and I’ll have some drinks whipped up for you.”

Viktor and Jayce began to chat about the bar while F/N watched you work. Something about you was off, but she had no idea why. Perhaps you had a bad night’s sleep, or some customer had been a jerk. Whatever it was, she wished to get your mind off of it as soon as possible.

You flitted around the bar- grabbing one thing here, another there, pouring something in one glass, shaking up something for another. Before you started on Viktor’s cocktail, you hesitated for a moment, thinking of the man from before. You shook your head. One vile man could not ruin an entire type of alcohol for you; you wouldn’t let it happen.

“Alright, here you are!”

In front of F/N, you placed a tequila sunrise, which she seemed delighted with. Jayce was given a piña colada, and Viktor received an old fashioned.

“I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this,” Jayce commented, twirling the little umbrella you had placed in his drink.

“Well, I figured you’d probably never had such a frilly drink at one of your fancy galas. It’s a classic,” you said, watching Jayce as he took a sip. His eyebrows raised, and he took a second.

“Wow. I don’t know how I haven’t had one of these before. It’s delicious.”

“Glad you like it.”

“You’re awesome, Y/N! If I ever become rich, I’m hiring you as a private bartender,” F/N said, already making good progress on her drink.

Once again, you could feel your previous discomfort slipping from your mind, the only reminder being your gloved, irritated hands.

Viktor picked up his glass, swirling it gently before taking a sip.

“Is it.. good?”

Out of everyone’s opinions, Viktor’s mattered the most to you.

“Yes, quite. I think I’d like to come by in the future.”

“I’d like that too,” you said, almost too quiet for Viktor to hear it.

“Y/N, how much longer is your shift?” F/N questioned, still happily sipping her drink.

“Ah, should be about an hour, I think?”

“Can we come over to your place after? Pleaaase please please? If you don’t want the boys over, at least have me over! I don’t have class until tomorrow afternoon, so I can stay up late and talk with you! Please?”

You were conflicted. You didn’t want to be alone after your horrendous experience earlier, but you still needed time to process it. F/N had seen you at some of your lowest lows, but you’d rather not expose her to that on purpose.

“How about I think about it, and I get back to you?”

“Okay! I’ll convince you, don’t worry!”

The next hour was spent switching between attending to customers and chatting with your friends. As time passed, your mood improved, and you were warming up to the idea of the three of them coming to your apartment.

“It’s time for you to get off your shift now, right? So, did I convince you? Can we come over?”

“Yeah, alright. Sure. You’ve convinced me. By the way, don’t worry about the drink cost. I’ve got it covered.” F/N cheered, urging you to hurry up and clock out. Viktor excused himself to the restroom while you were busy changing, which was the perfect opportunity for Jayce to suggest an idea to F/N.

“Okay, hear me out. Last night, Viktor seemed flustered when I talked about Y/N. I think there’s a real chance he likes her, and I need to prove it.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I’m listening…”

“You and I come up with excuses for why we can’t come, and Viktor spends the rest of the evening alone with Y/N. Something’s gotta happen, right?”

The idea sounded a little silly to her. Chances are, Viktor wouldn’t stay long, awkwardly leaving almost immediately after arriving. However, she was curious about what would happen if he did end up staying.

“…okay, I’ll go along with it. If something bad happens and they end up hating each other, this is your fault, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Let’s just be optimistic, okay?”

“If you say so…”

It wasn’t long before you returned, still wearing your gloves, and Viktor shortly after. Jayce cursed under his breath, and then gave you a very convincing apologetic look.

“I’m so sorry. I just remembered that my girlfriend wanted to see me tonight, and I said I’d stop by after checking out the bar. I hope the rest of you have fun, but I’ve gotta go.”

“Oh, okay. Have fun! I’m sure F/N will tell you about all the fun you missed out on,” you joked as he nearly ran out of the bar.

You, Viktor, and F/N left a moment later, and when you made it to the doors of the building, F/N let out an impossibly loud gasp.

“Oh my God, Y/N! My professor wanted to meet with me early in the morning to discuss one of my assignments- I can’t stay, I’m so, so sorry!”

Before you could even question her, she ran off. You looked at Viktor, silent for a moment before speaking.

“…so, do you have anywhere you need to dash off to? You can stay. I don’t mind.”

���I… I would like to stay, if you are comfortable with that.”

You nodded, shyly leading him to your room, unsure of how the night would unfold.

V - Drunken Decisions

-

“Ah… I can see why our apartment was such a shock. This is far more elegant,” Viktor said, looking around as you set your keys by the door. You stopped, looking at your gloves.

“Are your hands cold?”

“…no. I- I’m fine.” Nausea rushed to your core as you peeled off the gloves, revealing your skin which was still a hint red, various scratches covered with dried blood.

Viktor’s eyes widened.

“Are you okay? Were your hands like that all night?”

You wordlessly nodded, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it? I am eh.. not the best at consoling, but I can listen.”

You felt the memories come flooding back, and you knew you couldn’t keep it to yourself.

“Will you drink with me first?” Your voice was weak, wavering as tears threatened to spill.

“Of course.”

“You can sit on the couch. I’ll be over in a moment.”

You trudged over to the kitchen, carefully washing any remaining blood off of your hands. You grabbed the bottle of wine that you still hadn’t put away, taking out two glasses and filling them, admittedly filling yours far too full.

In one hand, you carefully balanced the glasses, while the other carried the bottle. Viktor had already sat himself down on the end of the couch, cane resting on the arm. Silently, you handed him a glass before sitting down and taking a long sip of your own.

It was quiet for a while before you spoke.

“There was this man.”

Viktor looked at you, cradling his wine glass.

“He… he was like any other bad customer at first. Impatient, rude, whatever. But then, he grabbed me. Called me a ‘pretty little thing’. Tried to get me to agree to go out with him. I tried refusing, and my… my boss showed up to help. But before I could react, he…”

You finished the rest of your glass, hot tears now running down your face.

“He kissed my hand. I felt so, so disgusting. My boss, she managed to scare him off, but before he left, he threw some insults at me. Called me filth for being from Zaun.” Your words were less than comprehensible, sobs and shaky breaths breaking them up.

“Right before you guys came, I was in the back washing my hands raw. I just- I couldn’t get him off of me. His lips wouldn’t go away,” you cried, now pouring yourself another too-full glass.

Viktor remained silent, unsure of how to react. He wanted to hold you close, but figured the last thing you wanted was the unexpected touch of a man.

“Vik, am I filthy?”

The shortened name came out naturally, perhaps with the influence of alcohol, but you weren’t in a state to stop and get embarrassed about it.

“No. No, no no. Of course not.” His heart broke a little when he looked into your eyes and saw how disgusted you were with yourself.

“His touch is still on my skin. I can still feel it, and it’s disgusting. I’m vile.” You tried wiping the tears from your eyes, but more took their place.

“Y/N, you are anything but vile. He’s the vile one for daring to touch you in such a way. I- cannot say I’ve ever experienced such a horrible thing, but you… you will recover. I know you will.”

“I can’t,” you said, continuously wiping tears with your sleeves.

“You can. I may not know you as well as- well, as well as I’d like to, but you’re strong. Much stronger than men like him.”

You sniffled, finishing your second overfilled glass of wine. You were quite a lightweight, so this was far too much for you, but you couldn’t care less right now. You just wanted something to make it all go away.

“Could you hold me?”

Viktor was shocked at the request, but certainly wouldn’t deny you.

“If that is what you want, then yes, I-“

You instantly fell into his arms, buried your face into his warm chest, and cried. Awkwardly, Viktor placed his hands on your back, beginning to rub soft circles.

The two of you stayed like that until your tears stopped, until alcohol’s influence began to take you over. Slowly, you peeled yourself off of him, eyes red and puffy. As you looked at the large damp spot on his chest, you began to laugh. A warm euphoria began to take place in your chest.

“This wasn’t how I imagined your first visit to my apartment.”

Curious, he looked at you.

“How did you imagine it?”

A sly smile came across your face.

“It would start out with drinks, like it did tonight. We’d talk for a while, getting into deep conversations and sharing secrets. But then…” You slid onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. You leaned in slightly, locking eyes with him.

“I’d tell you my biggest secret.”

“…and what would that be?”

“That I have a crush on you,” you giggled before continuing.

“That I’ve been thinking about you nonstop since we met. That when I went to the market with F/N and Jayce, I bought jewelry that matched the color of your eyes because subconsciously, I wanted some piece of you to be on my body. That I think you’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met.”

Viktor couldn’t believe what you were drunkenly confessing to him. He wanted to respond, to tell you he was going through something similar. To tell you he would love it if you wore that jewelry every day just for him.

Unfortunately, now was not the time.

“Vik, do you have any secrets?”

“I do.”

“Oh? Would you care to enlighten me?” You hiccuped, trying your best to keep your eyes on him. Sleepiness was taking you over, but you didn’t want to miss out on this moment with Viktor.

“How about I tell you another time? I promise that it will be worth it.”

You pouted.

“But Vik…” you whined, cupping his face in your hands.

“Why can’t you tell me now..? I wanna know..” your sentences began trailing off, heavy eyelids trying to shut.

“You need rest right now. I am sure there will be a better time for this conversation.”

Gently, he nudged you off his lap, your protests becoming weaker and weaker. He slid off the couch, kneeling on the floor for a moment. It hurt to do so, but being eye level with you and seeing you drift off to sleep was something he couldn’t give up. When he was sure you had fallen asleep, he leaned in to meet your ear and whispered, his accent much thicker than normal.

“Goodnight, miláčku.”

Carefully, he managed to get up, take his cane, and slip out of your apartment, bathed in moonlight as he walked home.

-

When Viktor made it back, the lights were on, and Jayce was sitting at the counter. He perked up, excitedly going over to greet Viktor.

“How was it?”

“Weren’t you… supposed to be with your girlfriend? Did she get tired of you?”

“Well… I never actually went to see her. I just wanted you and Y/N to have some alone time. So, how did it go? Did you guys have fun?”

“…It’s none of your business.”

Jayce was unable to interrogate further, as Viktor made it to his room and closed the door. He was unsure of how to interpret Viktor’s response, but hoped he was simply too embarrassed to give up any details. Sighing, he retired to his room as well, ready to let sleep take over.

VI - Aftermath

(This chapter includes nsfw content)

-

The next day, Viktor went to classes as usual, completing work and listening to lectures. On the outside, he seemed to be functioning perfectly well.

On the inside, he was a wreck.

The reality of last night hadn’t truly set in until the morning after, and when it did, a thousand questions clawed at the back of his mind.

Did you mean it when you said you had a crush on him? Should he have given you a better clue as to what he felt? What would have happened if you told him in better circumstances, when you weren’t under the influence? Would it be a good idea to stop by your apartment to have a longer talk with you? When would be a good time to see you? What would he say? When he began to think about what would happen if he stopped by your apartment, darker, lustful thoughts took over. They plagued him, making it possibly the most difficult day of classes Viktor had ever been through.

He went back to his apartment in the afternoon, tried to continue work on his research paper, but once again, you absolutely decimated his focus.

Jayce was out at an event with his girlfriend which would last until late into the night, making Viktor completely alone.

Naturally, this did not help stop his darker thoughts from taunting him. He recalled the way it felt when you were sitting on his lap, the gentle pressure against him being just right. Your voice as you confessed your crush was so beautiful, and he wondered how you would sound speaking dirty words to him.

Viktor shifted in his desk chair, his cock beginning to twitch in his trousers.

Your lips were so close to his last night when you told him he was gorgeous. He wanted nothing more than to crash his lips against yours hungrily and shove his tongue down your throat. He began palming himself through the fabric of his pants, letting out small groans. It had been a while since the last time he touched himself, so he was rather sensitive.

He moaned your name, jerking his hips up against his hand. The friction felt good, but he was sure you would feel far better. He thought about you straddling him, sliding him inside of you and bouncing on his cock. Frantically, he undid his belt and wrapped his hand around himself, beginning to pump quickly.

“Ah… Y/N…”

He wondered what kind of expressions you would make as he thrusted up into you, squeezing your hips tightly. God, he needed you. He had never felt such insatiable desire for someone before, and it was overwhelming his senses.

Viktor continued to jerk his hand up and down erratically, knowing it wouldn’t be long before he came undone. Oh, how he wished you were here. He longed to run his hands over every piece of your body, to learn every curve and exploit each and every sensitive spot. His moans grew louder, soft whines escaping when he made it to the tip of his cock only to drag his hand back down to the base.

“Y/N, please…”

As he thought about you coming, your insides clenching around him, his own release came, causing his strokes to slow before stopping entirely.

Coming down from his high, he looked at the sticky mess on his hand.

How was he supposed to face you after this?

-

Your day started much later than Viktor’s, your body refusing to even consider getting up until well past noon. When you finally could get up, you groaned, body cold and uncomfortable from the foreign sleeping location. Sitting up, you rubbed your eyes, hissing when you unintentionally touched one of your scratches.

Head pounding, you made your way to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water. Slowly, you drank it, memories of last night incredibly faint. When you set down the glass, it was as if it were a trigger to flood the memories back into your brain.

You cursed loudly, covering your face with your hands. Not only were you so incredibly vulnerable with Viktor, so weak and fragile- but you had also told him how you felt.

You knew he thought romance was frivolous. Why would you ever confess to him? His response was probably a polite way to escape the conversation. Not only did you confess, but you completely invaded his personal space, getting unbelievably touchy with him.

“God… what did I do?”

The apartment was completely silent in response, quietly taunting you and laughing at your distraught state.

Thankfully, you didn’t work on Mondays, so you weren’t in any rush to recover from your hangover. You desperately needed to freshen up, so you grabbed some clothes and entered your bathroom, twisting the shower handle to an exorbitantly hot temperature. The pain in your head was still present, but the water running over your body soothed you. Your mind wandered towards Viktor once more, his soothing presence and comforting words. It was embarrassing to have cried in front of him, but he was so gentle with you, and he said the exact things you had wanted to hear.

Stepping out of the shower, you dried off and changed into a t-shirt and a new pair of sweatpants. You took an ointment out of your cabinet, slathering it on your scratches. When you returned to the main living space, you were hyper-aware of how empty it was.

“…I miss you,” you muttered, glancing over to the empty couch.

You longed for Viktor’s presence, but feared seeking it out. Surely, next time he met you, he would tell you that he didn’t feel the same way. The blossoming friendship the two of you had felt as if it were withering away.

Desperate to shift your thoughts to something else, you made yourself a cup of tea and sat on the couch to drink it. The tea was relaxing, but not enough to stop your worrying about Viktor.

You hoped F/N would come over tonight. Sometimes, if she wasn’t too busy, she’d stop by on your day off to chat. At a time like this, you could use her advice.

While you waited to see if she would show up, you decided to bake some cookies. Your cooking skills left something to be desired, but your baking abilities were solid. It didn’t take long to mix up the dough, which you then proceeded to scoop into balls and place on a tray in the fridge. The late afternoon crept into evening, and before long, there was a knock at your door. You opened it, greeted with the exact face you wanted to see.

“Y/N!!! How are you? How was last night?” She made her way into the apartment, eyeing the oven, which was now turned on.

“Are you making something?”

“Yeah, I’m making cookies. Can we sit down and talk? There’s- so much has happened.”

F/N saw the serious look in your eyes, and she instantly moved over to sit on the couch, you following behind.

You recounted the events of last night, beginning with the creepy man you encountered, and ending with how you fell asleep on the couch.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I wish we had gotten to the bar earlier- I could have scared him away. No wonder you seemed off last night.” She pulled you into a hug, which you greatly appreciated. You pulled away after a moment, hoping to hear her thoughts on the latter half of your story.

“So- Viktor. Did I royally screw things up?”

F/N shook her head.

“No, there’s no way. I saw the way he looked at you when we were at his apartment. That man has it bad for you, he just hasn’t acknowledged it yet.”

“Even if that were true- which I don’t think it is- what do I do now? Do I just show up at his apartment and say ‘Hey, sorry for drunkenly confessing my feelings to you, but I wasn’t lying and you should make out with me now’?”

“I’m fairly confident that would work, but I have a better idea. You need to seduce him, make it impossible for him to not make a move. And I know the perfect way for you to do so.”

F/N laid out her plan for you, and you listened intently, only stopping her so you could take the cookies out of the oven before allowing her to continue explaining her plan.

You had a lot of work to do.

VII - The Art of Seduction

-

The plan you set forth was slow and deliberate. First, you stopped by the lab the next afternoon. F/N had assured you Viktor would be here, and she was right. When you knocked on the door, he was the one to open it.

“Hey, what’s up?”

A blush slowly crept up Viktor’s face, but he attempted to seem nonchalant. You could not be tipped off about what he did last night.

“Eh… nothing. Are you looking for F/N? She’s in a lecture right now.”

“No, I was looking for you.”

Your cool, collected demeanor confused Viktor. Had you not just drunkenly confessed to him the other night? He was pleased you were seemingly in a better mood, but couldn’t figure out what caused the immediate change.

“Did you want to talk? About…” He trailed off, and you flinched.

“N-No. There’s no need. I just wanted to give you these.”

You held out a small box of cookies and smiled at him, leaning forward slightly. He saw a glint on your ears and neck and immediately recognized it as the amber jewelry you mentioned. If he wasn’t already nervous before, he certainly was now.

“Made them yesterday. Helped me clear my mind and relax.”

“You didn’t have to- eh, thank you, Y/N.”

As he quickly reached to grab the box, you deliberately let your fingers brush against his. He stopped, nearly dropping the box. Slowly, you dragged your fingers back, then returning your arms to your sides.

“That’s all. I have a long shift at the bar starting soon, so I’ll go. But Viktor?”

“Yes?”

“I meant what I said that night. Every word.”

Viktor wanted to stop you, ask you to clarify, but you were already fleeing the building, unable to keep yourself composed a moment later.

Once you finally made it out of the Academy, you stopped and looked back.

“Please let this plan work,” you muttered.

-

The next time Viktor saw you was Saturday evening. Jayce invited you and F/N over for dinner again, promising that he would be the chef this time. Overall, the evening was fairly similar to the last, the primary change being the meal, which Jayce had decided would be enchiladas.

While he was in the kitchen, you all talked about how things were going- their studies at the academy, your work at the bar. A few times, you gently grabbed Viktor’s arm to stabilize yourself as you laughed. Even worse, you decided to whisper into his ear to make side comments once or twice.

For a split second, he considered yanking you into his room, pinning you against the door and asking if you knew what you were doing to him, how you were driving him insane. His rationality and anxieties won over- first, he was sure that Jayce and F/N would not appreciate the interruption, and second, what if you weren’t doing this on purpose? If he misjudged, and you were just trying to be friendly?

Of course, you had literally told him the other day that you meant it when you said you liked him, but as a man who had never experienced romance before, his doubts were through the roof. Yeah, you had confirmed your feelings, but what if you wished to get into a relationship slowly? If you wished to start out as friends first, and then date later on? Viktor continued to ruminate throughout dinner, but was forced to snap out of it when Jayce suggested that they play a good old fashioned game of truth or dare.

The very first dare that happened was from F/N to you. Viktor had assumed you would play it safe and pick truth, but clearly he had underestimated your bravery.

“I dare you… to sit on Viktor’s lap for the rest of the game.”

What? Viktor couldn’t even process what was said before you climbed onto his lap, sitting with your legs splayed out to the side.

“Sorry, Vik. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Well, I suppose you had to honor the dare.”

The rest of the game was incredibly blurry for Viktor. He was busy fighting the urge to put his hands on your waist, to lift his head and press kisses to your neck. The few times you shifted your weight on him, it took all of his willpower to not let out a groan at the feeling. As soon as you and F/N left, Viktor was shut in his room, left alone with the feelings you were stirring within him.

-

You spent the next couple of weeks making occasional visits to the lab when you knew Viktor would be there. You dropped off several small gifts: baked goods, sketches and paintings, leftovers from the bar, anything you thought he might like.

One day, you arrived wearing a particularly tight crop top with a plain black skirt that went down to your mid-thighs. On the way in, a few Academy students scoffed or made comments like “I could never wear something like that”. It was hardly a risqué outfit, but you still swear you heard one of the students call you a “filthy Zaunite whore” under their breath. It was annoying, but you didn’t let it cut you too deep. Today, you were on a mission.

Today was the day that you were determined to force Viktor to finally make a move. You even wore your amber jewelry, hoping it would stir something in him.

As usual, you knocked on the door, but this time, you were met with a different face. Some Academy student you had never seen before stared down at you, his eyes flickering towards your chest before moving back up to your face.

“…can I help you?”

Suddenly, you felt much more exposed, much more nervous.

“Um, sorry. Is Viktor here?”

“He went to go fetch something. Some paper or equipment. I don’t really know.”

He kept staring at you, and you couldn’t tell if he was attracted to you or trying to figure out how to kick you out. You heard a gentle tapping sound across the floor and looked to your right, where you saw Viktor walking towards the two of you. He looked disgruntled, which you could only guess was because of whatever research he was in the middle of.

He clutched the papers in his hand aggressively, making his way towards the lab.

“Y/N. You did not mention you would be visiting today.”

Odd. Since when had he wanted you to announce your visits in advance?

“I wanted to surprise you, Vik. Are you super busy today? I can leave if that’s what you-“

“No, it is fine. Just unexpected.” His voice was awfully rigid, which concerned you.

“I’m done in the lab, so I’ll leave. See you, Viktor.” The student slung his bag over his shoulder and waved goodbye as he left, but Viktor didn’t even look at him.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“You must truly be clueless.”

His remark felt like a slap to the face. As you spoke again, your voice began to rise in anger.

“Vik, did I do something to you? All I did was show up and you’re calling me clueless, and for what? I was going to-“

Viktor grabbed your hand, pulling you into the lab and locking the door behind him.

“What are you-“

He cut you off by pressing his lips to yours. It was at least a minute before he pulled away, and when he did, he looked furious.

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me.”

VIII - Conclusion

(This chapter includes nsfw content)

-

You looked at Viktor, waiting for him to continue. This wasn’t what you had expected when you showed up today. The kiss was absolutely welcome, but Viktor’s aggressive attitude was confusing.

His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke quietly, anger laced in his voice.

“Have you had fun driving me insane, miláčku? The way you touch me, look at me, the things that you wear- I cannot stand it. Especially not when others are clearly noticing you as well.”

You recalled the student who was eyeing you a mere moment ago.

“Is this about that guy just now?”

He went quiet for a moment.

“…I saw the way he was looking at you. He wanted you, and I cannot have that. No one should look at you like that, no one should be-“

“Vik, shut up.”

You crashed your lips against his, softly biting and sucking on his lips before slipping your tongue into his mouth. It took him a second, but he eagerly joined the kiss, groans escaping him each time you bit his lip.

When the two of you pulled apart, you gasped for air, realizing you had forgotten to breathe.

“I don’t care how anyone else looks at me. I want you,” you said breathily, running a hand through his hair.

“I wanted to drive you insane. I wanted to be the only thing you could think about until you couldn’t take it anymore and made a move on me.”

“I fear all of that effort was not necessary,” Viktor replied, hands now gently resting on your waist.

“I was already obsessed with you before you started all of this. Would you like me to tell you my secret?”

You nodded, whining when he squeezed your waist.

“I’m infatuated with you. I’ve been thinking about you nonstop since we met. You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever met. And,” he lowered his voice, thumbs tracing circles on your sides.

“The day after you confessed to me, I could not stop thinking about what would happen if we were to date. I imagined your body, how it would feel, how it would taste. I touched myself to the thought of you.”

“Oh,” you said, which came out as more of a moan than you had intended. You clenched your thighs together, heat growing in between them.

Viktor winced, looking down at his leg. It had been a while since he last sat down, and he desperately needed some relief.

“Let’s go over there.” He pointed to a couch in the far corner of the lab, and you followed as he made his way over.

Very soon after he sat down, you straddled him, pressing yourself as close as possible. His hands trailed over your body, eliciting soft whines from you when he found a particularly sensitive spot.

You felt Viktor’s cock twitch beneath you, and you began to rock your hips against him, which caused a moan to slip from his mouth.

“You like that?” You asked, pressing against him particularly hard.

“I.. mmh, yes… you feel so good, Y/N…”

“Bet it would feel even better like this,” you said before clumsily unbuckling his belt, moving off his lap for a second so you could remove his pants. He lifted his hips to allow them to slide off more easily. They didn’t fall very far, as his brace was in the way, but it was enough for his boxers to be completely visible. Climbing back on his lap, you continued to grind against him, your dripping core leaving a damp patch on his boxers.

He gripped your hips tightly, thrusting up into you desperately. Moans fell from your mouth, and you did your best to continue talking in spite of it.

“Nh.. Vik, I’ve thought about this so much… Hah… I’ve wanted you so badly…”

“I’ve wanted you too… you’re so perfect, Y/N… so, so perfect…”

His pace quickened, and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer.

“I’m- God, I’m so close…”

“I know, miláčku, me too,” he said, movements becoming more erratic by the second. A particularly hard thrust caused your orgasm to come down upon you, his name coming out of your mouth like a chant while you rode out your high.

Viktor came not long after, slowing down as your body twitched and the final whines of his name escaped your lips.

Silence came over the room, the only noises being breaths heaved from your lungs.

“I hope you know you owe me a date now.”

“Why, I would be happy to oblige, Miss,” Viktor said, pressing a kiss to your hand. You smiled at each other, deciding both of you would lay there for a while before even thinking about cleaning up or leaving.

The mess could wait.

-

Eventually, the two of you got up, Viktor fixing his pants while you wiped up any particularly… messy areas. By some miracle, nothing had gotten on the couch, and you let out a sigh of relief.

Knock, knock.

Startled, you fixed your hair, patted down your clothes, and went to open the lab door.

“Y/N, hey! I didn’t know you would still be here, I thought I had mentioned to stop by earlier.”

F/N looked at your flushed face and frizzy hair, raising an eyebrow.

“I was going to test something in the lab, but I think that can wait. Seems you have something to tell me.”

“Yeah, I think we need to go to my place and talk over some wine. But first, give me a second.”

You turned to face Viktor, who had made it to the door to see who the guest was. Leaning into his ear, you whispered.

“Come to my place on Sunday.”

He nodded, and you left with F/N, ready to spill the details of your eventful afternoon with Viktor.

Viktor gave a brief recounting to Jayce that evening, purposefully leaving out the more intimate details. All Jayce needed to know was that you and Viktor were going to start dating. Jayce wrapped Viktor into a bear hug, which he pulled himself away from as soon as Jayce loosened his grip.

-

That Sunday, you welcomed Viktor into your apartment, ready to experience your first date with him. Closing the door behind him, your voices and laughter filled the space, creating a warm atmosphere that you now didn’t think you’d be able to live without.

[penvisions]

gone to the dogs {chapter 8}

Pairing: Boston QZ! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: Biting words, whispered confessions- they all lead to the decision for you to leave the zone for good.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language,, outbreak fic, darker fic, adult language, reader has no canon name but has a commonly used nickname, reader is mostly blank slate but has hair that can be tied up, fighting, references to injuries, blood, sexual content, p in v, smut, unprotected p in v, pregnancy and pregnancy symptoms, strained relationship dynamic, reader is keeping secrets, joel talks about sarah, offscreen character death (canon), um i think that's it for this one!

A/N: this is on the short side but this chapter stumped me, not gonna lie. think i managed to get to to where i wanted it and then we can move toward the final act of this series! thank you so much for all the birthday wishes yesterday and today- i love y'all and hope the day is good to you ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

Items begin to accumulate in both apartments. Different items than what people ask after and need to help cope with the day to day realities of life in the zone. It’s been waning, the heat of summer, but that hasn’t stopped Joel from going out once a week and working the jobs the zone offers for everyone. Tess, too, to help get as much sorted out and set up for the long trek that will result in your and Jean’s departure.

Joel’s heavy steps can be heard in the hallway and they pause as he unlocks the door to Tess’s apartment, his voice filling the quiet before your own door knob is turning and his broad form fills the space.

“Picked up some rations, there’s some root vegetables from the greenhouses. They’re pretty bruised but figured we could make a good soup paired with the seasonings we gathered from that restaurant a few weeks back.” He places a large, and faded crate full of food on the counter before he begins to unpack it.

“Joel.” The weird inflection of his name has him looking over his shoulder quickly to see you holding tight to the back of one of the mixed-matched chairs. You feel nausea rise and your next words get caught in your throat as a gagging noise sounds deep in your chest. Your skin is dappled with sweat from your forehead to the backs of your knees, a hot flash or fever or a symptom of something else taking over your body in that moment.

The soup, you think, the mention of soup and the smell of the food in the crate, but your head is throbbing too much to pin point it exactly.

“Hey, hey, alright.” He’s moving closer but his figure blurs into vague shapes and running colors. Your knees buckle and his big hands catch you, preventing you from collapsing onto the worn hard floor.

He boils gallon after gallon of hot water until the tub is full, bubbles from the bottle of body wash you seldom use. Soothing you as he runs a washcloth over your back, wet hair swooped over your shoulder to shield your chest. He had waited until you were safely in the tub with your back pivoted to him, his hands never straying from where he runs the fabric in cleaning slides over your skin. Despite the head inside your body and the heat you’re submerged in, small tremors shake your body.

When they begin to subside, you begin to breath a little easier.

“I had a daughter.” His voice is low and quiet. You hum in acknowledgement, arms wrapped around propped up knees and cheek resting atop them. Your eyes are closed, his actions soothing in the dim candlelight by which he cares for you in the only way he can show right now. The only way you’ll let him show you right now. His words don’t register until the air grows slightly tense and your eyes fly open to meet his dark ones.

“You don’t…” You whisper, genuine in the not wanting to pull the truth from him if he wasn’t ready or willing to share it. That’s not what your relationship was built on, the foundation was one of mutual trust and respect.

“I do, Cane. You deserve to know the reason behind why I feel the way that I do.” He’s nothing like the image he made during your argument nearly a week ago. He’s all slumped shoulders and soft eyes, gentle hands and low, quiet voice. Gone is the man who was biting back just as viciously as you had been. Submitting to your will and decisions, submitting to you in the quiet moments you share still even now after such an explosive interaction.

“She was…on Outbreak day. I did everything I could and it wasn’t good enough.” “I wasn’t enough.”

“Did she-“

“Not bit. We were, uh, tryin’ to get out of the city- Austin. Military, they were corralling people, stopping anyone from getting out of the limits and I couldn’t get her past the county line.”

“Joel…”

“She was my entire world, my entire reason for living. Gone in the blink of an eye, in a shaky breath and I buried her in our backyard.” His hand doesn’t stop moving, the drag of the scratchy cloth along your skin paired with his words sprouting goosebumps along it. “It took me hours to scrub all the blood off of my body, but I still see the stains. I still feel it thick on my hands, see the way it was all that was left of her. That’s…that’s why children are a curse. You carry them with you, feel the pain of failing them. I don’t…I don’t think I’m a good enough man to be what Jean needs. I couldn’t even protect my own child and Jean…she’s going to need a lot more help. The birth, it’s going to be tough no matter what, you can’t deny that. But after…I’m not enough for that either. But you are, I believe with my whole heart that you can be what she needs. So even if I don’t like it or agree with it- you two going to live with them, it does make sense.”

The air in tiny bathroom grows thick with emotion, the swell of them swirling around as if to imitate the steam from actual running hot water.

“I don’t want to leave you, but it…it’s what needs to be done. For the sake of mother looking for help, looking for a way out of the life she’s been coerced into. And Frankie…” Your voice warbles as a hiccup bubbles up. “Frankie is getting sick, Joel. He needs me too.”

“We won’t be able to visit much, with how things are getting worse.”

“I know.”

“I meant what I said the other day. About lovin’ you.”

“I know you did and I know how hard it might’ve been for you to be that open with me. I wish, god, I wish it could all be so much easier. That we could have a little house to ourselves, a backyard garden to grow the things we need, somewhere safe to be who we want to be. But that’s not the way the world works.” You can see it so clearly, the man who sits beside you now on the peeling tile of the small bathroom- doing so in a better house, a better environment, tending to a toddler as giggles rain down a set of stairs or a hallway as you busy yourself with other things or come home from a long day. But it’s not the way the world works, and so much is broken.

Even if you feel the love for him that he proclaimed for you.

You feel the need to protect yourself, the baby growing in your womb. And your instincts are screaming at you to run, even if he’s soft with you now and reveals the reasons behind his feelings on the matter of children. A father in mourning. Something he carries with him still, transformed him completely. Peaks of his old self rise to the surface and it’s an amazing thing to see, to experience. Hope crests and vanishes in one slow blink, but the words still sneak past your lips.

“Would you-“

“Cane, I’m not a good man. I don’t deserve to be involved in the raising of someone born free of what life has done to me. I would try, but I know who I am now. I’m not fit, I’m a fucking dog fighting and thrashing against anything that tries to tie him down, that challenges him. And you, you are too. But you’re good, at your very core. There’s still good in you, but I’m all rotten.” He doesn’t look at you, up from where he rings out the suds and water from the rag he had been using. He drapes it over the edge of the tub, swirls his hand in the water to test the temperature. “Gettin’ cold, let’s get you out before you catch another fever.”

“Joel…” You watch as he stands, his clothing still from what he wore out during the day, where sweat once creates damp spots in the worn fabric.

“I’ve made my peace with it, I’m the one who let it take control.” He rinses the suds from you in silence and you give him the time to mull over his thoughts, grateful for the glimpse of who he used to be. But your decision still remains the same, the zone too dangerous for you now. There are too many threats and even though he shared with you that he has a daughter, Joel Miller is still a threat.

Because you know he would do anything to protect you, even from yourself.

“Cane.”

“I don’t have time to talk right now, I’ve got somewhere to be.” It was the last check up in the deteriorating medical center that the zone houses. The true nature of your visit sworn to secrecy from the older nurse who helped keep everything as organized as possible as supplies and medical supplies became scarce.

“C’mon, we both know you’re just trying to get away from the apartment. Been cooped up for too long, but you’re still a little sick. I made soup, come have a bowl, yeah?”

Sighing, you pivot on your feet, boots scrunching up the threadbare carpet beneath your boots and walk back down the hall. Tess stands in her doorway, hair pulled back behind her shoulders and damp from her evening shower. She must be tired, still getting used to working again, it’s only been two weeks since she’s been feeling well enough to. The ordeal with Jean cropping up out of nowhere but giving everyone something to focus on besides the seasonal shift in weather that’s been causing the sickness to crop up all over the zone.

“She’s fast asleep in the bedroom, body is really feeling the strain of what’s going on. I’ve given her some of the vitamins we still have. But she needs true pre-natal stuff.” She explains when you look toward the living room that houses her own bed now, taken from an empty apartment that the tenant across the hall up and left. She locks the door securely behind you, moving about the small kitchen space to get a bowl ready for you.

“Frankie has some, Bill scoured his entire town and collected it all. I’ve been in contact with him, he assures me they have what we need for her. Bill took everything from the local pharmacies around Lincoln.” You aren’t terribly hungry after last nights bout of nausea, but you know that you need to pack in as many nutrients as possible. “The med center here is a joke, they’ve got such a restricted approval rate for things people actually need. But maybe we can sweeten the deal for some other stuff we might need.”

“That’s good. And yeah, take whatever you think will help.”

You both share a comfortable silence that is only broken by the scraping of spoons in ceramic. A shared meal among friends, two women who never anticipated being here with one another. But you are grateful that she’s part of the deal of having Joel come into your life. She’s been such a help, a pillar that you know you can rely on. The stunts she’s tried to pull before, her energy harnessed against you in an initial stand off, now put forth to help run the trade business you take pride in.

But you worry about when you are no longer here. Not for the business, you trust her to take it over flawlessly. You worry for Joel, how he will fair once you leave the zone for good. Once your pregnancy advances enough to show, you won’t be able to make the trip. It would be too reckless, too much of a risk of someone seeing you that stems from the zone. You don’t want Joel to know the true reason you left, especially after what he told you last night. He’s a good man, but he’s lost. Consumed by the grief and the fall of everything he once knew in more ways than you anticipated.

You feel so strongly for him, something you never imagined when you allowed them into the fold of your life here. The one you fought tooth and nail for, the one you bled and broke for. He is a father, only child lost before the world could contort her in heinous ways. A blessing in disguise, because you’ve seen his softness. You know he allowed her to be exactly who she wanted to be, and she could only have been good. Too good for a world like this.

“Tess, I need to ask you something.”

She’s quiet as she regards you across the table. She must be able to see how exhausted you are, the emotional and physical strain you’re under. You feel like everything wrong with you is on obvious display, from the fight with Joel to the way your stomach is roiling at the food you’re trying to consume. But you push forward, it’s all you’ve ever known, to tamp down discomfort in order to adapt and hold your ground.

“I need you to take over the business here in the zone.”

“You’re going to stay with Jean.” It’s not a question, it’s an observation. She’s smart, she sees things that no one else does. Cut from the same cloth as the one you found yourself swaddled in and embracing rather than tearing free.

“She needs someone to help her through this. Frankie and Bill will support her and give her what she needs, but she’s also going to need someone who knows what she’s going through.”

“Mistake me if I’m wrong, but I’m the mother out of the two of us.” Her eyes rove over your body, assessing but not judging. “I would be able to sooth some of her worries, my own pregnancy was rough. Can offer her some insight and be there for her.”

“This is something I need to do. Get some fresh air, get out of the zone for a bit. And not because of some fight with Joel. I just- it’s all so much, and it’s only getting more dangerous. You can pivot in the direction you want, limit trades, limit clients, just…promise me one thing.”

“Depends on the promise.” She looks you straight in the eye, and she can see it, you know she can. That you’re choosing to run for the second time in your life. You can only hope that this time you’ll be able to get away.

“Keep Joel safe. From the competition, from himself.”

“Stay and do it yourself.” She looks away to gather her bowl and set it in the sink with a clink.

“I can’t. I need to be with Frankie, there’s….we aren’t sure just yet but he’s exhibiting symptoms of a degenerative disease he holds the genetics for. Bill contacted me after a weird interaction, he wasn’t sure what happened and asked me if I knew anything it could be.” You have yet to admit this part of why you want to go, but your family- Frankie, he really needs someone who knows how to handle it. It’s too much for loved ones to go through alone, support is needed, and you can provide it while receiving your own from the two men.

“He’s the reason I’m alive right now, Tess. I owe it to him to be there for him, to give him a fighting chance at this. My…my mother had something similar, so I grew up around it, in a household that centered around caring for someone who was sick like this. I can be the support he needs, the support they both need.”

“But you’re willing to leave behind the man you’re in love with.” She crosses her arms as she leans back against the counter. She’s not judging, just simplifying what you’re telling her. No bullshit, just matter of fact realities of what’s happening. It’s appreciated.

“Joel is strong, he…he’s capable.”

“You and I both know he’s going to spiral the second you leave the zone.”

“Well, Tess, frankly it’s none of my business. He’s a big boy, he can handle a little break up. He’s the one who decided that he didn’t want anything to do with people who need his help so I’ve got to rearrange my entire life in order to pick up the slack. What the fuck else do you want from me, huh? I’m literally handing over my entire business to you both and you’re telling me I need to consider doing more? Fuck no, I’m doing everything in my power.”

Her eyes rove over you, watching, reading. And you’re not worried about her finding out, you realize.

She would keep your secret, an unspoken understanding between two women who have lost everything.

And you know you’re right, she does too. Joel is a good person, but he has his flaws. And his was telling you that children are a curse, no matter the outcome of their own lives. He feels so much guilt for not being able to save her but you know he also feels it for the relief that his little girl doesn’t have to be witness to what the world fell into.

With a nod, she accepts your words and takes them into her own aged hands.

Days of organizing breeze by as the nights begin to cool. Joel helps you to unload the bag you use on your runs and organize. Go over the lists of what is already waiting for you in Lincoln and what you still need and go over the detailed route to the nth degree. And when it comes time for you to leave late that night, he’s helping you both sneak out of the zone to make the trip with you.

The morning light is faint, summer in full swing makes it hot. An early departure seemed the most reasonable, for safety as well as ensuring Jean wasn’t traveling in the height of the heat the days reach as time progresses through the seasons. They’re harsher, now, the effect of living in a zone right by the eastern coast paired with the damage done to the land and atmosphere to combat the outbreak that ruined the world. There were rumors of contaminated water pockets in the once abundant aquifers underneath the city.

The sand and clay that protects them no longer strong barriers but crumbled over time in the aftershocks of bombings and digging for new resources when it could be safely done.

The young woman huffs as she walks closely in front of you, you and Joel walking around her to ensure her front and back are covered. He’s got a gun one of your soldier contacts traded for a bag of pain pills, even at the protest of the man who now shoulders it and keeps it at the ready in case of any threats or danger. You insisted that with the open fields you would need to walk along or through and the thick forest by the river that it would be better to have a longer range than benefited from a handgun.

It's an easy trek, despite the distance and the heat. A water break by a bubbling river, a rest stop underneath the thick canopy of trees. Nearly seven hours, but not once did Jean ask to rest for longer than fifteen minutes. The openness of the land uncomfortable for her- all she’s ever known is the zone and before that the city it once was. She’s young, alone, and now facing the ramifications of one selfish, dead man’s desires. You vow to give everything you can to her for her to make the most of it. You see a lot of yourself in her, she has the potential to harden, to pick up the skills she’ll need to protect herself and her child.

Stopping just inside the tree line, you hold a hand to your hardened stomach. You’re not showing, it’s only been a month since you found out, since Jean sought Joel out for help. You feel the change because you anticipate it, look forward to it despite the circumstances and details, you yearn for a reason to live other than just survival. And the little bundle of life growing inside you allows you that.

Joel looks over at you, his eyes already sweeping across the last bit of distance and the metal gate is faint on the horizon. They rove over you, from your frizzed out hair in a messy updo, to the hand held to your middle.

“You okay?” His brow furrows as he glances over at Jean, who looks so out of her element, a contrast to your controlled demeaner. Her breath is a touch heavy, her long locks pulled back but still loose.

“Yeah, just hungry I think.” You wish he would reach out, touch your shoulder, skim the back of his hand against yours. But you know it’s wrong to want it, you’re the one running away this time. Put the distance between you, the wall back up though the parts that were dismantled scatter between you in quiet admissions and the way you both pulled emotions and sensations from each other’s bodies.

They’re both waiting on the other side of the gate when you clear the tree line about half a mile away, guns slung over shoulders much like Joel. Frank and Bill are on alert, though you can sense that they will take this as seriously as warranted. Good men are hard to find these days, but you thank the stars that you’ve crossed paths with three of them.

“What was her name?” You look over to him as he helps you to carry your personal bag up the quiet staircase. The house is lived in, far more than it was the last few times you’ve been here over the years, a testament to the life that Bill and Frank make for themselves every day. The door to the room is open, giving you and Joel easy access to filter in after each other. He places your bag on the bed, his own as well- a worn backpack.

“Her name was Sarah.” His voice softens even now, ten years later, when he speaks her name. Your heart clenches, your stomach fills with flutters. He cares so much, even now. And you wonder for a split second if he would say your own name that way if he were to find out that you were carrying his second child…

“Her name is Sarah.” But you can’t do that to him, not now. He’s proven that he doesn’t want that life any longer, isn’t suited for it, said it loud and clear. Still, you reach for him, resting your hands atop his broad shoulders and straddle his lap. There’s nothing sexual about it, just the need for human connection and warm contact. His arms wrap loosely around your waist as you rest your head underneath his chin.

You both smell of sweat and sun, dirt and pollen cling to your clothes but you don’t care.

“Yeah, darlin’, it is.” He whispers as he just holds you, not knowing when he’ll get the chance to again.

He basks in your company until a soft knock sounds on the bedroom door and Frankie announces that dinner is ready. It’s just before sundown, but he convinces Bill to wait until your trio arrived- wanting to ensure you had a decent welcome home.

“It hurts too much to say, but I do…feel the same, Joel.” You close your eyes as the feel of his knuckles graze your cheek. The roughness of them calming from the first touch. The secret you hold close doesn’t taint the way you still crave his touch, his lips, his soft murmured words of comfort. “I do have love for you.”

“I’ll try to be back before winter, I swear to you.” His body is still hot where he’s pressed up against you, the air of the room heavy with the scent of sex. One last desperate coupling that neither of you even attempted to fight, feeling righteous in taking one last thing for yourselves. He pushes up, the cooler air pebbling your skin as he kisses the tip of your nose before pulling away completely, pulling out of you where he’s softened inside.

“I believe you, please, be safe going home.” You feel something in your heart clench, as he walks across the room toward the ensuite, completely naked and exposed. Muscles and evidence of your passion on display in the low light from the plugged in salt lap.

“I will, but the zone isn’t my home.” His voice is low and full, despite speaking the admission freely to you as he uses a warm cloth to clean between your legs. You hiss out, sensitive after the way he pulled pleasure from your body. The quirk of his mouth at one end betrays what the hitch of your breath does to him, his fingers swiping up through your tingling folds. Two thick fingers, feeling for the combined release he wiped away, but he finds how slick you still are. Humming, he raises a brow and looks up at you from under his lashes.

You don’t ask him what he means by that, and he doesn’t tell you that he thinks of you as his home.

But you think you know as he gently, reverently brings you to the brink of pleasure one more time and cradles you carefully, tightly as you fall over the edge.

The soft, quiet conversation shared between two people tucked into the same bed in the dead of night echoes in your mind as Bill opens the gate for Joel to leave through.

As you watch Joel’s broad form disappear into the tree line from behind the gate, you feel a tremendous shift. There’s no going back on the decisions and circumstances that led to this moment. You know this is for the best. A warm hand cups your shoulder, and you put a hand over it and squeeze.

“It’s going to be okay. He’s a strong one and you- you’re gonna be an amazing momma.” Frankie’s whispers as he steps up close. He can feel the anguish and conflict stemming from you as you stare at the now empty land between the fence line and the bank of trees. He sees the cracks in your façade, knowing who you once were and who you are now, the emotions at war with each other. It would be so easily to fall apart, but you can’t let yourself do that. You have to be strong, it’s all you have.

You don’t ask him how he knows. But you know that he’s there for you and will do everything he can to do so as long as possible. Even when Joel doesn’t return before the first snowfall in two months’ time and all you can do is hold tight to your swollen stomach and hope he’s okay.  

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[sparks-and-smoke]

Chapter 1: Old Letters (Re-written)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (referred to as Petal) Word Count: 2,787 Summary: Lost and alone after moving to DC Steve visits the Smithsonian and stumbles upon a face he thought he’d never see again. This is a soulmate AU, just so we are all aware. Warnings/tropes: grief, loss, angst, mental health, conspiracy theories, stalking if you squint. Reader insert, no use of Y/N A/N: Yes, this is a little re-write of something I already posted. And yes I like it better this way. Rewrite of chapter two is incoming as well. This is going to be a pretty slow updating fic, because I actively want to make the chapters longer, but I have a small child so writing time is limited. So, IF YOU WOULD LIKED TAGGED, let me know I'll add you to a list <3 Beta read by the ever lovely @voice-of-velhart

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The mind numbing cadence of the narrator should have been comforting. Steve was sure it was to others, the simple clear baritone voice explaining the exhibits around him for those who either could not read or could not retain written words. It was one of the accessibility he would have loved to see when he was a young disabled man in the 40’s. One of those rare things that gave him hope for the growth of humanity. But today, as he wandered through the exhibit that laid out his life like a textbook he couldn’t help but want the voice to stop. 

Stop talking about his friends and loved ones like they were these lofty historical beings that were lost to the sands of time. Stop talking about Bucky and Dugan and Morita and Jones like they were heroes or icons... And talk about them as people. The way Pinky snored like a lumberjack once you were anywhere above sea level. Or the way Dugan could drink anyone under the table and still manage to steal a tank single handed.  Or the way Falsworth could get him laughing so hard it would almost give away their location if Bucky didn’t punch the shit out of his arm to keep him silent. 

It was all so long ago now. To the patrons and children who ran around oohing and ahhing over the glory that was the tale of Captain America. And not the tangible raw memory that lived in his head day in and day out. He kept his mouth shut, throat bobbing as he made his way silently through the different collections of his life. The memorials and exhibit pieces that should be his and not locked behind glass. 

He winced as the voice over head got small things wrong. Like his actual birthday. Or the make and model of his motorcycle even though it was sitting right there behind a velvet rope. It wouldn’t have taken a curator very long to fix those little things but he had a feeling this particular set piece hadn’t been a hot spot until a year or so ago when he had been pulled from the ice, and clearly whoever had been in charge had been too busy finding new set pieces to fix the clerical errors in the script. It wasn’t like he was gonna call them and correct them. He would settle for just grumbling in his head like an old man. 

It wasn’t a bad showcase, all things considered. Nothing the Smithsonian did was. They were America’s most famous museum for a reason. But it did make Steve's chest ache. He had been avoiding coming here for most of his time in DC, what did they have here that he could possibly find productive? But then he heard something interesting.

"The disappearance  Mrs. Rogers has been a mystery that has plagued historians and scientists alike for generations…"

Petal, well not actually Petal, that was what he had called her in private. In his letters home. No, the voice overhead had called her Mrs. Rogers. Referred to his wife and that had Steve's full attention. Following the lead of the vocal guide he wandered to a small set piece in the back. A large gallery wall, set with pictures and letters and memorabilia from his life at home, things he had been told were sealed away, littered the glass cases of the exhibit. His wife, his love, plastered all over the wall for the world to see. It didn't matter that her name was blocked out. That they had kept her legal name from the public record. Her face. Her words. They were everywhere.

It made him see red.

“Those were private.” he heard himself say as his eyes scanned over the exhaustive catalog of personal conversations between himself and his soulmate. His nails digging crescent shaped indentations into his palms as he began to shake.

Letters and photos that he had thought lost were now plastered up in the god damned Smithsonian. Things he had never, ever wanted anyone else to see. Fears and sorrows he had written with confidence that only the love of his life would read the words. This was too much, it was too far. He could forgive the misinformation and the lack of fact checking. The bike, the medical information, the uniform, the memorial to Bucky. Those were nothing compared to this, And a red hot rage bubbled up inside him as his eyes landed on a very intimate letter that had passed between the two of them. One that had turned his ears hot with lust at the time but now just made his blood turn to ice. 

No. Those were not for anyone else’s eyes.

He had to leave. To storm into the curator's office and demand this portion of the exhibit be taken down immediately. It was a violation of privacy at its deepest level. An injustice that he couldn't stand for. Not in his own exhibit…

He barely heard the giggling of the women as he passed by them. Anger fueling him forward with an almost mission like focus. Causing him to ignore anyone who dared talk to him unless they had the power to shut this down. But something deep inside him tugged. Told him to stop. To listen. His feet halted on their own accord and he perked an ear. Almost frustrated at himself as he listened in instead of pushing forward.

But Steve never ignored his gut. Not even in a time like this.

“No, I’m serious! You look just like her, it's totally eerie! Look!” Steve turned his head to glance at the women. A group of three, dressed in work attire, clearly here on lunch or maybe they worked at one of the buildings. The tall willowy brunette was gesturing at a picture of Petal. A picture from the war bonds tour with his wife all dolled up for the press. “Curl your hair and slap on some red lipstick and you could totally pass as her…”

The woman in the center stood rigidly, her face hidden behind her hair, but he could tell by her posture she was deeply uncomfortable. “I don’t know. I guess a little.” She said in a quiet voice that Steve could barely hear over the crowd and the tour guide. 

“Oh, come off it! You’re like her Doppelganger. I’m kinda getting creeping me out.” Steve dared a step closer so he could see the girl's face. If she looked half as much like his wife as her friends claimed she must be stunning. His wife had been the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. And yes, perhaps he was biased but he didn’t care. He knew it to be fact. She was everything and even just seeing a shade of her in this woman was too tempting to pass up.

The girl stared up at the wall, the lights of the display case illuminating her with an otherworldly glow. And Steve felt the air drag from his lungs as if it was being squeezed out of him.

She didn’t look like his wife. That was his wife. He would know her anywhere. Could claim her in the darkest night, half drunk or dying he would know her. The visage of her was etched on his mind like a memorial. The sound of her burned into his heart like a siren's call. That was his wife. She was alive and she was standing right in front of him staring up at their love letters like they were the words of strangers.

How did she not know. More then that how was even she alive at all. It had been over 70 years. She should be an old woman, a distant memory if not already long gone from this world and yet there she was. Looking resplendent in the glow of the display case. Steve's mind whirled as he tried to file through all the information he had on his wife, or rather the absence of information. The utter mystery that had been plaguing his memory since he first busted into time square a year and a half ago.

What happened to you.

It had been one of the first things Steve looked into when he realized he had been gone 70+ years. He had gone on a tirade trying to find hide or hair of what had happened to you or your family after he went MIA. He hadn’t cared if you were old or grey or heaven forbid dead, but he needed to know where you were. He had spent the better part of a month trying and failing to find anything about what had happened to you after the events of February 5, 1945. He had pulled S.H.I.E.L.D. files, missing persons reports, death records, it didn't matter. If he had the means he took it. Slogging through every bit of information he could manage.

Turns out after Steve took the plunge Peggy took it upon herself to find "Petal" and offer her condolences. Only to find an empty apartment and no trace of life. Food left on the counters, coffee half drank in the living room, lights left on… As if you had just gotten up and walked out of your life.

It had been Peggy Carter and Howard Stark who had taken it upon themselves to try and find you. Peggy and Howard that took the letters and sealed them away. Redacted you're name from historical documents when you couldn't be found. Protected Steve and his wife even in death.

It had led him down a rabbit hole of sorts. Conspiracy theories and true crimes cases all about what had happened to Mrs. Rogers. to podcasts and documentaries that frustrated him more than helped, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to know. He needed anything, everything that might be an answer. Only to find that his soulmate, the other half of his heart, had vanished around the same time he landed in the ice.  

You and your sisters were a mystery. A conspiracy theory. The display case in front of you said as much. One of the most divisive missing persons cases in American history. Up there with Amelia Earhart and the Somerton man… It had broken his heart. Left him empty and wandering without a sense of closure. He could still feel the bond you had shared, a tunnel of energy that led to somewhere but it was impossible to tell where. Soulmates didn’t work like bloodhounds; you couldn’t just follow the connection until you reached the other end. It was more complicated and the feeling only left him with more questions than answers. 

And now, there you were right there. In front of him looking radiant if not self conscious and the aching tug in his chest was starting to become agonizing. But he couldn’t get his feet to move. As if he had been rooted to the spot where he stood staring like a lost child gazing at the stars. You were just as beautiful as you had always been. And it was hard to move past the simple detail as he stared at her. He was positive in that moment that even if this had been their first encounter he would have been just as speechless as he had been in 1939. And he felt like he could hardly breath as he heard her voice again.

“I don’t know guys, she's beautiful, but I don't see it.” You told your friends. Your eyes scan over the pictures. A strange sensation coming over you as you gazed at the old stills. Meet and greets for the USO tour, Steve kissing his wife goodbye in Chicago, an old photo of the pair together in a park somewhere. The park seemed familiar, but you couldn't place it. Maybe it was back in Brooklyn. You and Captain Rogers were after all from the same borough.

Mary, your friend who has so far been fawning over the love letters and the contents thereof clicks her tongue. “Naww, there is totally a resemblance. Maybe you should ask your grandma if she lost a lover to the war.” she wiggles her brows but you don’t seem impressed. 

“My grandma passed away a very long time ago, and she couldn’t have been Mrs. Rogers because she was soulmates with my papa. But nice try.” you sigh, pulling your arms tight over your chest. “Besides, even if she was, I would only feel bad. I mean look at this! I would hate for the whole world to be able to come and ogle at the love confessions I made to my husband as he was facing down death everyday! It’s kind of cruel in a way. Hanging all of this out for the world to see. Doesn’t it make you uncomfortable to read them all?”

Amanda, the redhead, just shrugged. “I mean she is probably dead. So I doubt she cares.” Steve's hands gripped at his jacket. The callous response has Steve hackles rising up. His girl has shitty friends, or disrespectful ones at least, but at least she still had a heart. Still had empathy for others. Even if she didn’t know that those letters were hers. 

“Yeah but Captain Rogers is alive! I highly doubt he appreciates his private thoughts up on display. I sure wouldn’t.” Your stomach was lurking as you're heart when out to this poor couple whose life had been made into books, and movies, and comics. Their heartache and separation sensationalized for the modern housewife and hormonal teenagers to romanticize. All while ignoring the privacy and wishes of the people involved.

“Since when do you feel so passionate about this. ” The brunette shuffled, starting to look a little ashamed. Good, Steve thought. She should. Everyone ogling at their past heartbreak should 

Steve watched as you seemed to check yourself. “I- I don't know, it just rubs me wrong. It a human decency issue! A violation of privacy!" You turn on your friend with a frown as you realize she really isn't repulsed by this at all. "It's invasive and dehumanizing. It just like Anne Franks diaries being made into a book. It's tragic and horrible. These people went through some of the worst things human beings can process. And we stand her and gawk at their pain.” Steve's chest feels restrictive. Pride and grief twisting around inside it in a harrowing cocktail as he listens to her defend him… Them,

"We shouldn't be here. I'm leaving. And I'm gonna right the museum and tell them how awful this is! That they should be ashamed!" Steve stays back and watches as you turn on your heels and head toward the aviation exhibit. You're friends rolling their eyes at your abundance of empathy. Steve simply ducks his head, to keep you from seeing him as you breeze past. He doesn’t wanna approach you, not yet. He needs to figure out what the hell just happened but as you pull farther away the tug in his chest could crack a rib.

"God, you're so dramatic petal. Are you serious? Really, over old letters from god knows when." Your friend shouted after you. The other rolling her eyes and following the pair. Good to know his girl hadn't lost her spark. Or her sense of justice.

The instinct to turn and follow you is intense. Almost overwhelming but he ignores it. Instead choosing to stay behind and clear his head. Has to have a plan of attack. A strategy. He can’t chase his girl off, he can’t lose her a second time he won't let that happen. No, whatever was happening. Whatever cruel trick of fate this was, he had to outsmart it. Right it. But he knew one thing down to his marrow. That was his soulmate, and she would not slip away from him.

 First thing first, he was gonna get this portion of the exhibit taken down and his letters and pictures returned to him. Then he was going to find out what was wrong with his girl and why she didn't remember. But one thing was for sure he was gonna get her back. Even if he had to start from scratch and make her fall in love with him again, he was getting Petal back now that he knew she was alive. Nothing could stop him.

With a new found purpose and mission Steve pulled his phone out of his pocket to make a few calls. He was gonna get this all squared away so he could focus on the main objective. You.

Found you Petal…

Tag List: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers, @delilah-hey @tldrthor This is the version going on the masterlist :)

[morgluvsconnie]

BOUND, c.springer

chap.5 | drinking, mild sexual reference, basically just a build up for the next chapter! | chap.4

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

everyone yelled as mikasa took her hand from over your eyes. you smiled and put your hand on your heart. “yalllll, stoppp.” you bit your lip, looking at the decorations and bags of gifts.

“you finally growing up, that shit crazy.” eren wiped a fake tear and shook his head.

your eyes scanned the long table, which fit everyone in it. you were surprised that the rest of sasha’s friends came.

“my bitchhh!” sasha hopped up, hugging you and kissing your cheek. “you’re so pretty.” she poked your cheek, making you smile. you sat at the end of the table. “thank you, like, for real. is this a whole private room?” you looked around at the beautiful theme of the restaurant.

“my pockets hurt.” armin raised his eyebrow. you smiled and covered your face with your hands.

suddenly, a bunch of waiters came in, carrying a big, pretty cake, placing it in front of you. you clapped your hands out of excitement and stood up from your stool.

with your little birthday tiara on and your birthday ribbon, you clamped your hands together as everyone started to sing happy birthday to you, getting to the end where you could finally blow out your candles.

“now cut the cake.” connie smiled a little, passing you a knife.

you cut your cake, and everyone else a piece, sasha hopping back up to pass them out.

“i feel like a child again.” you smiled softly, sitting on your stool as the waiters placed the cake in the middle of the table.

“now she think she grown ‘cus she 102, okay.” eren slowly shook his head, being the first one halfway through his cake. you gave him a playful “shut up” look and started eating your cake.

“sasha slow down.” mikasa frowned. “anyway, y/nnn, what you wanna do today? everybody’s whole day is yours.” mikasa smiled at you. “nah, ‘cus i got some sneaky links i needa see.” ony said, raising his eyebrows, everybody giving him a death stare.

“chillll. i’m fuckin witchu. my day yours, best friend.” ony put his hands up in defense.

“ion really know, ion think about things like this when my birthday comes, only before it.” you laughed a little.

“so i’ll plan the whole day.” armin nodded.

“armin, if you plan the whole day, somebody gon end up dying.” eren mumbled, reaching in front of him to cut his self another piece of cake.

“ima plan it, that’s my friend.” ony waved eren and armin off.

“you just met y/n like two days ago.” connie scoffed at ony. ony frowned and squinted, lookingat connie. “and you met her like three days ago. that don’t make nothing better. now i said that’s my friend, ain’t that right y/n?” ony looked at you.

you laughed and nodded.

“y/n can plan the day, even if she don’t know what to do.” mikasa bucked at everybody.

“girl.” eren slowly shook his head, making everyone laugh.

“who’s a gentleman?” you looked up.

“me.” all the guys looked at you.

~

“man, ian even mean to say me, i was tryna say i needed some more meat.” ony groaned, carrying all the shopping bags for you. connie looked at ony. “we ain’t even have no damn meat.” connie said, also carrying bags.

“can y’all not complain for like… three seconds?” mikasa squinted at the boys behind the three of you. “it’s y/n’s birthday. everyone should be happy to give her what she wants.”

“i’m goin broke.” armin muttered, slowly shaking his head.

“when ain’t you broke?” eren looked at armin. “you bein funny?” armin raised his eyebrows. eren smacked his lips. “remember what happened last time we fought.”

“that was in sixth grade.”

“okay, everything goes in connie’s car because hes dropping it off later on tonight, and then we can split up and get ready to go out.” sasha said as you and mikasa both headed towards her car.

you and mikasa closed the doors, sasha starting her car, not even thinking to wait on them. “okay so we’re going to your house to get ready.” she pointed to you. mikasa sat in the back, stretched across the seat.

“whys it always my house?”

“because your house is like… the hangout spot.” mikasa laughed a little. “oh yeah, what’re you wearing tonight?” she leaned up to look at you.

“some revealing ass outfit sasha picked out, i don’t know.” you shrugged. “it’s literally cute, okay it shows a buncha ass, and? you have plenty to show off.” sasha waved you off.

“well what color is it?” mikasa asked, scrolling on her phone. sasha thought about it for a few seconds “white.”

mikasa nodded. “so me and sasha can wear white and black and you can wear white and pink ‘cus you’re the birthday girl.” mikasa poked your cheek, making you smile. “yeah, i’ll just wear pink heels, pink accessories, and my birthday ribbon, that’s everything pink. my nails are already done, toes…” as you were naming things you glanced back to see mikasa with her hand over her heart.

“you’re growing up so fast, it makes me sad.” she poked her bottom lip out. you laughed and shook your head. “it’s nothing for real. just one more year of bein sexy.” you flipped your hair in a playful way, making sasha and mikasa laugh.

the ride wasn’t long to get to your house. considering how long you were at the mall, it was already dimming outside when you made it home. and considering how long it was gonna take you to get ready, all three of you specifically, it was gonna be late by the time you went out.

“alright, come on.” sasha turned off her car, everyone getting out and going towards your house. you unlocked the door and let them in, everyone going upstairs.

“okay, so i’m gonna go through your clothes and my clothes.” mikasa said as she got in your room. since her and sasha weren’t even guests anymore, they already had a bunch of clothes at your house. and a bunch means a bunch.

“i’m gonna take a quick shower.” sasha got towels out of your bathroom closet. “with the door open.” she finished, turning on your shower.

you grabbed your jumpsuit and looked at it. “this looks really small.”

“it’s supposed to be, most likely. gotta hug that body.” mikasa said, sitting on your closet floor and going through the bag of things she had.

“this or this?” she held up two different white dresses. you pursed your lips together and hummed. “they’ll both look good so… it really don’t matter.” you raised your eyebrows with a shrug. mikasa rolled her eyes at your answer. “i’m asking you thoughhh.” she said, looking at the dresses.

“that one then.” you said, not even looking at the dresses. “perfect, i knew i should pick this one.” mikasa hopped up.

after a few minutes of mikasa retouching her makeup, she finally walked back over towards where her clothes were, you gluing your lashes back the way they were.

“yall done?” sasha yelled from the shower, cutting it off.

“girl we barely started.” you mumbled, taking off your dress and walking to your night stand to find your favorite perfume. “you’re literally naked.” sasha mumbled, putting a towel over herself. “i have a bra and panties on sasha, you’re naked.” you said, tossing your perfume on the bed and grabbing the jump suit.

“what if i wear a thong with this?” you held it up for a few seconds before sticking your legs through it and pulling it up.

mikasa put on her dress and looked in your body mirror. “lucky for whoever you lay tonight.” she said. you went in the bathroom where sasha was putting her body suit on, looking in the mirror.

“i hope nobody.” you said, turning around in the mirror. “this is cuteeee.” you smiled before sitting your leg on top of the toilet, tying the strings on the back.

sasha helped with the string on your back and nodded. “really cute.” she said, zipping up the front of her outfit, walking to your room to find her black heels.

“i have to curl my hair, hold up.” sasha said.

you and mikasa groaned. “were gonna be forever.” mikasa mumbled.

and yeah, you were forever. but the drive was only about five minutes from your house. everyone sprayed on more perfume before getting out of the car. “this things gonna give me a wedgie.” you mumbled, making sasha and mikasa chuckle. “you’ll be fine.” mikasa said, showing all three of your IDs and walking in the club.

you smiled as the atmosphere filled your eyes and ears.

“it’s my best friends birthday, you see this?” sasha said to a random guy, pointing at your pink ribbon.

mikasa led you and her through the crowd, finding the spot everyone would normally be. to your surprise, it was empty, only eren and armin rolling up blunts. “damn where everybody at?” mikasa frowned.

“ony talkin to some girl and connie prolly doin the same.” eren said, dabbing the blunt with his tongue while looking at mikasa. “i said where.” mikasa furrowed her eyebrows.

“armin, talk to her ‘cus if i do…” eren shook his head.

“they went over there last time i saw.” armin pointed to a direction, you looking that way. “i’ll find em.” sasha said, walking towards where armin was pointing. “i’m finna get a drink, i’ll be back.” you turned to walk towards the bar, standing instead of sitting in a stool like you’d normally do.

“can i get two shots?” you crossed your arms on the counter. “straight up?” the bartender laughed a little. “what shot?”

“your choice.” you mumbled.

“birthday girl.” you heard someone say from beside you. you glanced over, double taking as you saw connie. “connie, sasha’s lookin for you.” you smiled a little as your shots were brought to you.

connie grabbed one and drunk it, putting the cup down. you smacked your lips and squinted. “i was gon drink that, thank you.” you softly moved him away from you to take the second one.

“ion care. you look good tonight.” connie mumbled, scanning your body before looking away and drinkin from his cup. you looked at him and tilted your head. “really?”

“what i gotta lie for?”

you looked at him for a few seconds before scoffing and calling the bartender back over. “can i have four more? two for each.” you then looked at connie.

“sure. who’s paying?” the bartender leaned on the counter.

connie stared into your eyes for some seconds, his eyes flickering to your lips, just for a second as he reached in his pocket, pulling out some bills and passing them to the bartender.

you gave him a small smile.

“that’s one out of the three of yo presents, ight?” he rested his eyes on you. you raised your eyebrows. “what’s the other two?”

“still thinking.” he pursed his lips together and looked at the counter. “where ya boyfriend at?”

you frowned a little. “reiner?”

connie nodded, looking at the shots as the bartender sat them in front of you.

as you went to grab one, it tipped over on your hand. you groaned. “look what you made me do.” you muttered as you both grabbed a shot, taking them at the same time.

connie grabbed the last one, sipping half of it and then passing it to you. “i don’t drink after randoms.” you said, looking him up and down.

connie lazily blinked, grabbing your jaw and tilting your head back. “open yo mouth.”

as you mindlessly did as he said, he poured the rest of the shot in your mouth. “answer my question.” he put the glass back down as you swallowed. you rolled your eyes. “if your question made me waste my shot, what you think the answer is?” you narrowed your eyes.

“oh y’all ain’t together no more?”

“you know that. i told you that.”

“oh.” connie bit his lip and looked towards the crowd.

you didn’t know it, well, you felt it, you were starting to get drunk. and he was too, you could tell because that’s how he looked when he was high.

you didn’t even know you were staring, once again.

you also didn’t realize you hadn’t wiped that shot off your hand. you waved your hand, and grabbed a napkin, wiping everywhere it dripped.

when you were finished, connie grabbed your hand, looking at your nails. “cute.” he mumbled, rubbing your pink nails with his thumb.

you snatched your hand away with a soft laugh.

connie slightly frowned, grabbing your hand again.

you moved it away again, connie frowned even harder, grabbing your hand and forearm, looking at your wrist.

“the fuck?”

chap.6

[perhaps-in-anotherdream]

[CN] Li Zeyan’s Candlelight Date (Eng Translation)

⌚Warning⌚ This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 烛火之约, that is yet to be released on the global server! ♡

[Translation Under the Cut]

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

【Subbed Video】

─────────────

【Chapter 1】 

After being stuck in traffic for over forty minutes on the way to the airport, I slam on the brakes once again, staring in despair at the unmoving stream of cars ahead. 

The weather outside is gloomy, the sky overcast with heavy dark clouds, and the wind howls through the crevices of the car windows. 

Even though the evening has barely fallen, the sky is already darkened completely. 

MC: Feels like it’s gonna be pouring hard... 

MC: I don’t know if Li Zeyan’s flight has been affected. 

Just as I am about to look up the flight information, his call comes in. 

LZY: I’ve arrived. 

MC: That’s great! It looks like there’s gonna be a heavy downpour outside, so thank goodness you landed on time. 

MC: On the downside, though, I’m stuck in traffic... 

LZY: Given the weather, I could guess that already. 

LZY: Don’t rush, safety first. Turn on your headlights and take your time. 

MC: Don’t worry, I promise to follow the traffic rules~ So, I must apologize to CEO Li and ask him to wait for me a little longer~ 

LZY: No worries, I’ll just take this time to think about what to make for Pudding. 

The day Li Zeyan is returning from his business trip also happens to be Pudding’s birthday, and we’ve planned to have a small celebration at home. 

As I picture Li Zeyan making a birthday cake for the little kitten, the corners of my lips involuntarily curl upwards. 

MC: Pudding’s parents are so thoughtful! The little birthday boy is blessed with the luck of tasty treats today. 

MC: Rest assured, I’ll definitely get you to Pudding safely and in one piece. 

LZY: With a certain someone “braving the wind and waves” to come pick me up, I’m already luckier than those who can’t get a cab. 

MC: Hehe, this time it’s my turn to be the prince who cuts their way through thorns and thistles to rescue the sleeping princess! 

LZY: Well, it seems like I’ll have to wait a hundred years then.

MC: ...you just told me to take my time. 

A soft chuckle transmits from the other end of the phone, and carried by the car’s stereo, it spreads through the entire space, giving me the illusion as if he is right next to me. 

LZY: It’s not contradictory. 

LZY: Even if it takes you a hundred years, I’ll still wait.

–

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[Tidbits]:  This conversation here is a reference to one of Li Zeyan’s earliest ASMRs, “Sleeping Beauty,” where LZY said in response to MC’s question that if he were the prince, he wouldn’t let the girl he loves wait a hundred years. Whereas, in the reverse scenario here, he tells you that if he were the sleeping princess and you the prince, he would gladly wait a hundred years (இдஇ; ) though, for a man who literally did wait 17+10000(*n) years for you— a hundred years is, well, still unbearable to think about ahah (ﾉಥ益ಥ) 

–

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【Chapter 2】

I park the car near the exit, and as soon as I look up, I see Li Zeyan walking towards me, dragging his suitcase. 

I immediately push open the car door and run up to him, throwing myself into his arms as hard as I can. Both his hands are occupied by luggage, and I collide against him so hard that he staggers back a few steps. 

His familiar scent wraps around me securely, instantly dispelling all the tension and fatigue from the road. I nuzzle against his chest contentedly, earning a soft chuckle from above my head. 

LZY: Why the lack of courtesy right off the bat?

MC: I haven’t seen you for days, and I’ve made our big busy person wait so long. I can’t afford to be polite anymore. 

Li Zeyan smiles, lets go of the luggage, and draws me into his arms, lowering himself to rest his head on my shoulder. 

A soft sigh sounds next to my ear, and I sense how exhausted he is. I put aside my playful thoughts and stroke the back of his head. 

MC: I hoped you could get some rest after getting off the plane, but I didn’t expect this weather… 

MC: I’ll head out earlier next time! 

LZY: You already got here much faster than I expected. 

LZY: Let’s go, there’s a birthday boy waiting at home. It’s raining hard outside; I’ll drive on the way back. 

┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✄ ┈┈┈┈┈┈

As we head home, rain begins pouring down in torrents. Even with the wipers operating at their highest speed, the visibility only clears for a fleeting moment. 

Through the impenetrable curtain of rain, the emergency lights of nearby vehicles flicker faintly. The water pooling on the ground reflects the surroundings like mirrors, and the streets have transformed into an utterly bizarre kaleidoscopic labyrinth. 

I hold up my phone to record the scene outside the window when suddenly, a blinding flash of lightning splits the sky not far away, followed by a rolling thunder approaching from the distance, pressing closer and closer. 

I can’t help but shrink my neck and set my phone down. 

MC: This weather is just ridiculous… I’m sure today’s Moments posts are gonna be flooded with candid shots of the rainstorm. 

LZY: A certain someone has made significant strides. 

LZY: A few years back, you would get so nervous in this kind of weather that you’d grab onto other people’s clothes. Now, you'd just make a fuss about it on Moments. 

MC: Huh? When did I grab onto your clothes? 

I turn my head to look at him with a puzzled expression. Li Zeyan glances at me, and before he can even speak, a smile creeps onto the corners of his lips. 

LZY: That time when you asked me if I dared to like you. 

I freeze for a second, the familiar feeling of nervousness and anticipation surging to the forefront of my mind. 

Memories flood back along with the warmth of my cheeks, as I’m reminded of a similar night in the past mirroring this raging storm. 

The pitch-black darkness that descended after the power outage was so thick that one wouldn’t even be able to make out their own hand in front of them. I felt like danger, and the unknown would swallow me whole at any moment. But he was there with me, accompanying me for what felt like an eternity on that apocalyptic night. 

Back then, I felt like I couldn’t handle it on my own, so I wanted to cling to a straw, to hold onto this steady and exceptionally gentle person beside me. 

Snapping out of the reminiscence, I clear my throat to dispel my embarrassment. 

MC: Y-You don’t need to remember such things so clearly! 

MC: But come to think of it, ever since I met you, I don’t seem to have gotten rained on much. 

MC: Even if I forget my umbrella or can’t catch a ride, you always manage to “scoop” me up right on time. 

LZY: So, as a result, a certain someone has developed the bad habit of not checking the weather forecast before going out? 

MC: …It clearly taught me the good habit of how to “scoop” people up in crucial moments! 

The car stops at the intersection, waiting for the traffic light. Li Zeyan casts a glance my way, his lips curving into a smile as he strokes my head. 

LZY: Given that the person “scooping” me up is also the one I want to see, it does feel pretty good. 

His warm palm rests on my head for a moment before sliding down to my cheek with yearning. A small sense of satisfaction leaps in my heart, and I smile, poking his cheek. 

MC: I think I can understand why the prince braves countless perils to reach the princess.

MC: For this moment right now, I’m willing to endure any hardship~

–

──────

[Tidbits]:  The call-back of the apocalyptic night is from one of Li Zeyan’s earliest dates, “Doomsday Date,” where MC asks him if he’d dare to like her and if he’d dare to be by her side even if doomsday arrived – and the rest, as they say, is history, quite literally in this case ahah~ (இдஇ; ) 

–

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

【Chapter 3】

“Bzzz!” 

As I step through the doorway and flip the switch for the pendant lamp, to my surprise, the light flickers and then abruptly goes out. 

The inside of the house is instantly taken over by the dimness from outside the windows. Pudding, who was originally crouching at the door to welcome us, lets out a yelp and scurries under the table. 

My mind automatically starts concocting a horror movie scenario, and I immediately step back a few paces. 

MC: What did the power suddenly go out? It was perfectly fine before I left... 

My words are barely out of my mouth when a series of extremely bright streaks of lightning flash outside the window. 

The howling gale rattles the window frames, while the water pipes exposed to the downpour on the side of the building, pelted by large raindrops, are making peculiar noises. 

The continuous flashes of lightning project the wildly swaying shadows of the trees onto the floor, making the storm outside seem even more terrifying. 

Li Zeyan sighs and steps forward, taking hold of my hand that is frozen in mid-air. 

LZY: Are there any spare lights or flashlights in the house? 

MC: Yes, there are, in my room... 

While saying this, I clutch Li Zeyan’s arm and carefully start walking towards my room. A hand reaches out and pulls me into a familiar embrace. 

LZY: Wasn’t a certain someone “scooping people up” pretty amazingly just now? Why are you so nervous now that we’re home? 

MC: ...I guess I’ve been overdoing it with the horror movies lately, and the after-effects are still a bit strong. 

I laugh awkwardly and, relying on the dim light of the flashlight, dig out a large, bulging bag from the storage box. 

MC: Rechargeable desk lamps, some decorative fairy lights, and lanterns. 

MC: They should work if we plug them into the power bank. 

LZY: ...That’s it? 

MC: They can provide light and serve as tools to set the ambiance. Isn’t that wonderful? 

Li Zeyan turns on a palm-sized rechargeable desk lamp and releases a small sigh. 

LZY: In that case, the gift I brought you can also be included to make up the difference. 

MC: Huh? What gift? 

Li Zeyan rummages through his suitcase, takes out an exquisitely wrapped box, and gestures for me to open it. 

I lean in closer and find a very charming candle holder with a glass cover nestled inside. 

MC: It’s so beautiful! As expected, CEO Li’s eye for things can never go wrong. 

LZY: Simultaneously doing the job of adding flowers to the brocade and delivering charcoal in snowy weather一 it definitely seems to be maximizing its value.  

LZY: Come on, let’s go and light up all the lamps that we can use first. 

┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✄ ┈┈┈┈┈┈

With me “lending a hand” by holding the flashlight through the entire process, dinner and Pudding’s salmon cake are soon prepared. 

Pudding, who had been hiding in the corner this entire time, also forgets his fear under the temptation of delectable food and begins prancing around again. 

After eating and drinking to our fill, I sit on the carpet with another small blanket, light a scented candle, and carefully set it in the candle holder Li Zeyan gifted me. 

Li Zeyan then casually plops down at the foot of the bed where I’m leaning, naturally stretching out his arm for me to use as a pillow. 

I look at Pudding grooming his fur not far away and can’t help but sigh with emotion. 

MC: Time sure flies! Pudding has grown another year older. I wonder what progress he’ll make this year. 

LZY: He wasn’t very brave when he was younger, but now he, too, looks after the house on his own and appears to be fairly calm and composed. 

MC: Why did you use “too“? I suspect you’re insinuating something about someone else. 

LZY: Just stating facts. 

LZY: The way a certain someone acted when she walked into the house earlier didn’t exactly resemble the “prince“ who came to pick me up. 

I glance again at the flashes of lightning and thunder rolling outside again, scratching my cheek awkwardly. 

MC: The house just went dark all of a sudden; I wasn’t mentally prepared. 

LZY: What about now? 

LZY: Are you still scared? 

I turned sideways to watch him. The dancing candlelight paints his side profile in a warm glow, and the subtle fragrance of the scented candle melds into his calm gaze, making me gradually relax. 

I hug his arm and pull him into my arms, beaming a wide smile at him. 

MC: I have my “fragrant princess“ in my arms now, and I fear neither getting swept by wind nor being battered by rain any longer. [3]

LZY: Are we sure about who’s in whose arms? 

MC: Does it really make a difference who’s in whose arms? 

Li Zeyan gives me a look that says “whatever you say,” and I smile victoriously at having my way before turning to glance at the pitch-black darkness outside the window.  

The small lights in the room are mirrored on the glass, reminiscent of stars, blurring into a cluster of halos by the unrelenting rain. 

Serenity and turmoil are separated by only a wall. I grasp his wrist and tilt my head, pillowing into his palm and nuzzling against it. 

MC: Luckily, you came back today. Otherwise, I would have definitely dragged you into “simmering a pot of telephone congee” with me all night long. [4]

LZY: That wouldn’t have been too bad either. 

MC: Well, that’s true, but it would have made me seem like I haven’t grown at all... 

I raise my head and look into his slightly puzzled gaze, feeling a little embarrassed as I lower my voice. 

MC: I’m clearly not a child anymore, and many of the things I used to fear shouldn’t be a big deal now. 

MC: Yet when running into situations where I’m not entirely confident, I can’t help feeling a little afraid. 

MC: For instance, a pitch-dark empty house, not being able to find the kitten, and a thunderstorm that I don’t know when will end. 

MC: I still can’t seem to be like you, to be able to keep myself from thinking the worst regardless of the kind of situation I’m confronted with... 

I soliloquize in a whispered tone, and the palm I’m resting my head on suddenly moves. I look up, and my fingers are immediately swept up in a reassuring warmth.

Li Zeyan is pillowing himself on my bolster, covered by a blanket that is clearly not big enough for him, creating for a rather comical scene. Yet, I find myself solely captivated by his extraordinarily serious gaze. 

He quietly watches me like this for some time before finally opening his mouth to respond. 

LZY: Then just be afraid. 

MC: ...Huh? 

LZY: Building courage doesn’t mean you should be absolutely fearless. 

LZY: If you have no reaction to the unknown and uncontrollable, that, on the contrary, is dangerous. 

LZY: For a dummy, knowing how to dodge in the right direction at a critical moment is also progress. 

He strokes the back of my hand meaningfully, and I clasp his fingers even more tightly in tacit understanding. 

In moments of fear and anxiety, I always want to hold onto something, to reassure myself that I’m not facing it alone. 

And this man in front of me, as fortune would have it, always happens to be within my reach, catching my insecurities and leading me along slowly. 

I think back to the first time I “grabbed onto” him, the gentleness in his tone that I had rarely seen, and I can’t help but laugh. 

MC: Well then, it seems I’ve been making progress since the first time I grabbed onto your clothes. 

LZY: Mm-hmm, it hasn’t been easy. 

MC: But I can only advance a little bit at a time. I’ve kept you waiting for so long. 

The corners of his lips curl up slightly, and his eyes, sparkling with a smile, gently embrace me. 

LZY: This isn’t work; nobody is asking anything from you. 

LZY: If you’re afraid, just light up a lamp.

–

──────

[Tidbits]

[3] LI ZEYAN WRITERS!!! CRIES AT THE SACRIFICE I HAD TO MAKE AND HOW THE BEAUTY OF THE WORDPLAY JUST GETS LOST IN TRANSLATION HERE 😭 anywho, as you might’ve already noticed, “rescuing the sleeping princess“ theme and the “seeming“ role reversal has been one of the running themes of this date. The term used here is 软香 (lit. meaning soft fragrance), which is usually used to refer to the delicate scent of a woman or a woman in general and, in the context of the times, a palace beauty. The full term MC uses here is 软香在怀 (lit. meaning having ‘soft fragrance’ in one’s arms), which also conveys a deep emotional closeness, a sense of security and comfort as scent is something very sensitive. What the writing does here is kill three birds with one stone— (i) conveying MC’s “prince and princess role reversal“ quip, while also delivering the emotions of the candlelight monologue two sentences prior, i.e., (ii) the fragrance melding into his calm gaze, the vivid imagery of her sensitivity to his presence itself, (iii) the reassuring effect of his being. 

[4] I’m gonna cry; this is such an adorable expression haha 😭 the term MC uses here is “煲电话粥,” which really does mean “simmering telephone congee.” The idea of it is to have a marathon phone call with sb, but it’s more intimate— similar to how simmering sth can take a long time and porridge essentially is a comfort food 😂 

–

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

【Chapter 4】

The night is dark, and the rain seems to have weakened a bit. I hug the blanket and squeeze onto the small bed with Li Zeyan. No matter in which position we lay down, most of our bodies are pressed against each other. 

I watch the person beside me becoming a part of the scene I’ve been familiar with since my childhood days, and for a long time, I find myself unwilling to close my eyes. 

MC: It feels so surreal to have you and Pudding together at my place. 

MC: It’s like having guests at home, but at the same time, it feels like welcoming new members to the family. 

LZY: So, which one do you hope I am? 

MC: I’ve long regarded you as the latter in my heart, obviously. 

MC: However, this situation makes me seem like I’m not being a gracious host... 

MC: Having to deal with the bad weather is one thing, but who knew the electricity in the house would be unstable at a critical moment, and now my bed isn’t big enough either. 

I look up at the small pink pillow under Li Zeyan’s head and sigh softly. Li Zeyan, however, just smiles calmly and brushes aside the hair falling over my face. 

MC: Be careful when you roll over. If you’re afraid of falling off, just hug me a little tighter~ 

LZY: [i’m cRY at how he just plays along with you haha] It’s certainly something to be afraid of. 

Li Zeyan says this as he gets up to turn off the lights, and the room is plunged into darkness once again. 

I reach out my arms towards him and am immediately swept back into his arms. 

MC: Thank you, CEO Li~ How about I repay you with a goodnight kiss? 

LZY: That’s it? 

MC: Then what else do you want? 

I blink my eyes at him, and suddenly, he lifts his hand to cover my sight. 

A soft warmth captures my lips, swallowing my confusion. 

He holds me too tightly in the square of his arms, and his broad palm accidentally presses on my nose, causing my already erratic breathing to become even more difficult to maintain. 

I punch him indignantly, and Li Zeyan finally moves his hand away, his fingers cradling my face. 

LZY: Didn’t you say you wanted to repay me? 

MC: T-This isn’t what I had in mind! 

LZY: Is this not good? 

His warm finger pads caress the side of my face in a back-and-forth motion, leaving me with no refuge to escape but to gaze into his smiling eyes. 

LZY: Instead of letting your imagination run wild every time you’re scared, why not think about something that can put your mind at ease?  

LZY: For example, me. 

LZY: So, consider this as collecting a tip in advance to cover your memories.  

A soft chuckle drifts from above me, and he lifts my face again. With the last hint of light also overlaid, I close my eyes, welcoming this novel memory pertaining to the night’s darkness. 

┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✄ ┈┈┈┈┈┈

The next morning, the sky finally clears up. 

The entire city looks as if it has taken a bath. Under the early morning sunlight, there are glittering lights refracted by water droplets everywhere. 

I summon every bit of my self-control and more to extract myself from Li Zeyan’s warm embrace and rise early to make breakfast. 

Originally, I planned to have him take the day off and recover from jet lag, but as soon as he gets out of bed, he receives a call from LFG, saying there is an urgent matter that needs to be dealt with in person. 

I watch as a certain someone at the dining table finishes his breakfast with a sullen look on his face and can’t help but burst into laughter. 

MC: Who knew even CEO Li could show such a “rebellious” expression about having to work overtime. 

LZY: ...It’s just that I haven’t gotten over the jet lag yet.  

MC: Who told you not to sleep obediently last night? 

I stand up with a laugh before he can glare at me and push his suitcase to the door for him. Li Zeyan dons his coat, seems to hesitate for a moment, and then turns back to look at me. 

MC: What’s wrong? 

LZY: Nothing. 

MC: It doesn’t seem like you’ve left anything behind, have you? 

I look around to check while speaking, but I realize that Li Zeyan has kept his gaze trained on me, with no intention of searching for anything. 

I blink my eyes, and an adorable guess bubbles up in my heart. 

MC: Could it be that... CEO Li is unwilling to leave? 

Li Zeyan grips the handle of the suitcase, averts his eyes, and smiles. 

LZY: Let Pudding stay at your place for one more day. 

MC: No worries, we’ll get along perfectly. 

He doesn’t give a direct answer to my question, so I take it as his tacit assent and continue along with his words. 

LZY: He ate quite a lot last night, so feed him less cat food today. 

MC: Understood~ 

LZY: Be careful with the electricity today, and if you run into any issues, reach out to me right away. 

MC: Uh-huh, anything else you want to remind me of? 

I stare at him, smiling giddily. Li Zeyan opens his mouth, but in the end, he just displays a helpless expression and says nothing. 

The rare instance of not being able to find the words to say, the rare moments of being dumbstruck and not knowing how to reply, the rare scenario of dragging his feet about going to work... 

All of this shows that he is really unwilling to leave. 

I smile even happier and tiptoe up to lock my arms around his neck.  

Li Zeyan seems a bit puzzled, but he promptly supports my waist and arches an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue. 

MC: Hehe, consider this as a tip you’re paying in advance. 

MC: This way, whenever you feel overwhelmed in the future, you will think of only me. 

I mimic his words from last night, and even reach up to muss his hair. 

LZY: Little copycat. 

Li Zeyan seems to want to resist this “childish” act subconsciously, but his arms betray his honest feelings and draw me in even tighter. 

He looks at me with a silly smile on my face, about to say something when I suddenly feel a tickle on my ankle, as if something furry is rubbing against it. 

Just as I’m about to look down, my face is pinched by someone. 

I’m compelled to raise my head and see the sunlight falling on Li Zeyan. 

The locks of hair hanging over his forehead and eyelashes are all bathed in dazzling, golden-bright luster. He reminds one of a big cat who has just woken up, making people irresistibly want to get closer to him. 

And he does exactly as I wished, taking the initiative to bring this warmth to me. 

The distance between us is reduced to zero, and I naturally close my eyes, welcoming this kiss infused with the warmth of the sunlight. 

Even if a person grows accustomed to the humidity of this city, they will still rejoice when the sky clears and the sunshine beams down. 

Even for those who can see the person they love every day and kiss them whenever they want, they will still find that any small separation feels too long. 

The meow of the kitten rises from our feet, as if it also wants to participate in this wordless goodbye. I gently bite Li Zeyan’s lips, and he, rather reluctantly, pulls back just a bit. 

MC: Mr. Customer, you’re being too generous with your tip. 

With his eyes cast down, he continues to gaze at me, his breath still lingering at the edge of my lips. 

LZY: Because I’ve already fulfilled the conditions you set. 

LZY: Now that I’ve paid double the tip, I’m asking for an upgrade on the terms. 

He raises an eyebrow, as if he is genuinely negotiating with me. 

At such proximity, my mind is already a muddled mess, yet I still manage to capture the answer he desires from the look of yearning in his eyes. 

I strive to muster my willpower, rise on tiptoe, and kiss his lips again.

MC: Then you must work diligently and clock out early... 

MC: And who knows, perhaps I’ll suddenly appear when you’re missing me?

──────────────────────────────────────────

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A Female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Eighty Four)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and is all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Eighty Four: Y/N and Cillian are scared of a potential risk when they arrive to see Clíodhna and, feeling on the edge of a cliff, Cillian makes a firm decision he won't be moved on. As time passes, their fears remain but with Cillian's birthday gift weekend away finally approaching, he relaxes into Y/N - and the security of apparent inaction despite their fears. Y/N's disturbed night doesn't come in the manner she'd expected, though, when a call chimes before 4am. [Mild threat/Mild angst/Sexual suggestion/Whump]

@cherrycilly @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @watermeezer @strangeions @borntodiemp3 @meadowshelby @lavender-haze-01

A bit of a filler chapter but with a key point. Thank you to @pucktato !

An bhfaighidh muid roinnt codlata? - shall we get some sleep

Shift - snog/kiss

“Howeyis!” Sinéad greets you both with a bright smile. “She's a little sleepy this morning - and you're bang on time, she's due a feed Mammy.”

You smile brightly, “Excellent!” You quickly gel your hands, moving aside to allow Cillian to do the same, but pause short of pushing the door open as Sinead calls out to you again.

“Oh, Y/N, did you want to add your brother to the approved visitors list?” Sinéad asks.

You frown, glance at Cillian who whips his head round, and then shake your head. “My what?”

Sinéad frowns slightly, “Your brother. He came a little while ago - he wanted to see Clíodhna, but he's not on the list so we didn't let him in. I'm sorry, we can add him with your approval if you want.”

You shake your head more firmly, “Sinéad, I don't have a brother. Are you sure…?”

Sinéad’s face changes quickly, and she suddenly looks concerned. “He said he was your brother…” she then shakes her head, “Of course he's not, he…he was Irish.” She breathes out slowly.

“You didn't let him near her?” Cillian asks nervously.

Sinéad shakes her head, “No, we didn't. But…he asked after her, and you both, and I did…I did say she was doing well, I did say you'd be here today because you always are. He asked about your sons, he asked about…” she looks absolutely petrified. “I am so sorry!”

“But he didn't go near her?” You check, your heart thudding hard.

“Absolutely not.” She insists.

Cillian turns abruptly and pushes into the room, letting the door swing, and you offer Sinéad a brief look before you follow behind him. When you reach the cot, he is already lifting her out. He holds her up against his right shoulder, one hand under her bum and one behind her head, and he looks at you with a fiercely protective expression. “It's Martin.” He says, shaking his head. “Who the fuck else would it be?”

You shrug, “I don't know.” You sigh.

“How fucking dare he? What the fuck? Y/N, that's fucking dangerous! What if they'd let him? What if he'd fucking touched her?” He seems to tighten his hold around Clíodhna subconsciously. “We need to bring her home. Why can't we just bring her home? She's grand. Look at her.”

“Cillian, please, calm down.” You reach your hand out and touch his left bicep. “I know…but she's not ready to come home. We have a safety list for a reason and she didn't let him in.” You say, hoping to calm yourself with the same rational words. “I said, didn't I? It was weird he wasn't around.” Cillian is trying hard to breathe evenly, and he looks at you with sharp anger in his eyes. “I should feed her.” You say calmly, and he nods his head slowly, reluctantly releasing her into your waiting arms.

As you sit with Clíodhna and get comfortable, and focus hard on the perfect latch, Cillian paces before you with his eyes fixed on you both. When that strange feeling begins and Clíodhna gently begins to feed, you look up at Cillian to see a momentary smile on his lips as Clíodhna makes gentle huffing sounds. But it doesn't last, he breathes deeply and shakes his head. “Maybe that's why you didn't sleep,” he says, “Some kind of mother instinct that he'd been near her.” He plants ships hands on his hips. “He's a brazen fucking prick!” he scoffs, then drops his arms. “I want to look for him.”

“No!” You say, “Don't be stupid. You go out there and punch that idiot, then you're the one in the wrong.”

“Who the fuck am fit to be punching?!” He scoffs at you again. Then he groans, and shakes his head. “What the fuck does he want?!” He raises his voice a little. “I need to see him, tell him everyone knows and he can fuck off! And like, saying he's your brother? That's fucking…” he shakes his head.

You glance down at Clíodhna as she makes high-pitched suckling sounds and huffs little breaths as she eats. She's so little, so perfect, it's like she's the only good thing in the middle of the mess and you don't want her ruined by it. You look back up at Cillian and shake your head. “He's a twat.” you say, “But I don't know, maybe you're right that we need to say something - tell him he has nothing over us now, or place something out yourself. Of course there's still the issue of what he'd try to do for your career credibility. I can't see Steven turning away, or Christopher Nolan, or Enda…” you suppose, “But that's not to say public opinion won't crucify you, us, her…”

Cillian sighs, “They had stories before, didn't they? The split and the divorce, nobody turned their backs then. This is worse, this is…more moral and…I don't know. I don't know.” He shakes his head. “I said…didn't I? Having a baby would bring you through the press, bring us through the press, and I didn't want it…”

You remember the conversations, his reservations, and wonder how he knew it would happen. You wonder if he even considered that if it could happen this way. “Maybe you should release a statement?” you say nervously. “Speak to your people….put something out?”

“Why?” He shakes his head. “I don't want to. If people write things, I don't have to comment and then nobody knows what's true. If I say something, if I share those things about us… I'm losing that barrier, Y/N. And it's a form of control, maybe, but if they know nothing real then I have all the control. They don't have a right to my information, to our life, or a fucking…fucking sex tape, because I act. It's not fair! It's not for them to have, it's my life, our life, our private life. Let Martin fucking say what he wants, if he's going to, but he cannot touch my fucking family. None of you.”

You nod slowly at his passionate words, understanding entirely, but also well aware that he's exhausted and tense. “I know you never wanted this.” You say, hoping he doesn't think you mean Clíodhna. “But I don't know if speaking to him specifically is a good idea. He's a manipulative bastard, he bribed you before, and you know he won't stop at ten grand this time, Cillian.” you watch him pace slowly. “I think it coming from you is good, if you're going to say something at all, but what worries me if you don't say anything is that …and I know you said before people said things and we just didn't make a comment …but if he says things, if he has receipts, we will not look good. And it'll hurt everyone. And as she grows up, the daughter of adulterous parents, it'll hurt Clíodhna too.”

Cillian frowns, “Receipts?” He shakes his head. “Half of the reason he got the money before was that anything he had got destroyed.”

“And you say you put the dishwasher on and yet you don't.” you shake your head. “We don't know he's not lying, and we don't know if he thinks he has more hurtful things he can use. Or if he's just being intimidating, or if he doesn't plan on doing anything at all. It's why I think you should control this - do it yourself.”

Cillian scoffs and shakes his head, then looks at you squarely, eyes wild and wide. “...and metaphorically stand with my cock and balls out to the world, Y/N? No fucking thank you. We'll be fucked by anti-abortion groups, and sympathisers, and I'll be hounded by pseudo-feminists for you going alone, for cheating on Yvonne, and every Jack and Adam will have something to say about my children, about you, about my whole family. They'll drag us down and scrutinise our lives, and they don't have the right to do that!”

His voice shakes a little, rasping with emotion, and you hate the sound because it shows the depth of his fear. “I know, love.” You sigh sadly. “I know you want to protect us all, and I don't know which option will do that best. Silence, or honesty.”

“Nobody has any rights to our life.” Cillian says, sounding defeated. “Fuck it. Let him say what he wants, show what he wants. We stay silent. What can't be proved can't be fully accepted.”

“You're sure that's what you want to do?” You ask him, keeping calm with Clíodhna in your arms but also hoping that your calmness will help him regulate what he's feeling, too.

He nods his head and chews against his bottom lip. “Yeah.” He inhales as he speaks. “We say nothing.” He insists firmly. He takes a deep breath and walks towards you. He drops down into the chair to your left and sighs loudly. “She doesn't deserve the shitstorm.”

“Neither do you. Your marriage was over, you moved on. There's grey areas, sure, but you didn't commit murder here, Cill.” You say firmly.

He keeps his eyes on Clíodhna as she slows in her feed. He nods towards her, “Give her to me when she's done, yeah.” He says, resting his head back on the chair.

You smile softly, “Of course.” It's mere moments later when you fix your bra and top, and slowly lift Clíodhna over the chairs and into Cillian's arms. Watching his body melt into the chair at her tiny weight against his chest is almost better than the feeling of holding her yourself. He's instantly soothed, instantly calmed, by the presence and warmth of his little girl. He places her on her belly right in the middle of his chest, and cups his right hand across her back, and awkwardly lowers his chin to kiss the top of her tiny, almost bald head.

"Now, leanbh." He whispers softly. "Full as a tick, now, are ya? Hmm. All filled up with bainne. Will we have a nap, Clíodhna? Hey? Will we have a wee sleep? An bhfaighidh muid roinnt codlata?" He smirks to himself and you smile softly. Clíodhna moves her head a little and it's like she's snuggling into him. She feels what he does, you're sure. "I'll be your bed, will I?" He smiles, "Leaba Daddy, hey?" You chuckle a little, and he turns his head to you. "What?"

You shake your head, smiling again. "You. You make me happy."

For a full week and a half, you and Cillian rose and returned to the hospital every morning, anticipating news from or sighting of Martin. So far, it hasn't come. No more reports of his attempted visits, no more sightings of him outside, and no sign, as yet, of anything released to the media about your lives beyond the constant stream of stories saying the same thing about you and Cillian being at the hospital to see your daughter. But you can't even be lulled into a false sense of security by it, as you feel like something will come. You're waiting, and Cillian is too, and while your moods are settled to the most part, it's difficult to not go back to that expectation occasionally. But Cillian is doing a lot better - he's brighter on the whole, and has even met up with both of his sons twice. He'd reported back to you that Malachy had been ‘like his old self’ but that he was a little subdued. The boys had both visited Clíodhna a couple of times in the week and a half, too, and there'd been a warmness in the room that made it feel like a little family - like it should. Cillian had invited Yvonne in, too, to finally meet Clíodhna herself and you'd watched her face brighten when, as he handed the little girl over to her, he'd called her ‘Auntie Yvonne’.

Reaching home on the evening before Cillian would leave for Galway, for his birthday gift weekend of jazz music, you two made sure you spend the evening with one another rather than in comfortable silence or lazily. I'm the kitchen, you playfully make dinner together - making dinner with Cillian is an absolutely monumental feat - and you spend most of the time unwrapping his arms from around your waist and pushing his hips away from your backside. He steals kisses when you try to walk away, and just generally need to be touching you despite dinner getting practically nowhere.

“Would you…” you push at his arms as he once again grabs you around waist, linking his fingers to lock himself in place, and presses his entire body up against the back of yours. “Cillian!” You squeal as he pushes his pelvis against your backside. “Yes, very sizable, very hard, very nice…get off!” His lips are pressed against the crook of your neck and he lays little kisses even as you fight him off with no real conviction. After a moment, he pauses his kisses and lifts his head, resting his chin on your shoulder as he speaks.

“Very sizable?” He repeats.

“Well you've been dry humping me every chance you get, so I'm sure he's ready to party, but we're supposed to be cooking.” You reach your right hand back and tap against his cheek.

He nods his head, his chin digging in slightly with the action, and he pulls your body back against him. He hums slightly, then smirks as he speaks. “He is ready to party, and he is also coming with me to Galway with three men for the weekend, so I suggest you let him party tonight.”

“Okay, this is just weird, can we stop talking about your penis like this?” You laugh.

“Gladly,” he chuckles, dropping his arms and stepping back. He moves to stand beside you at the cooker instead. “What’ll I do?” He asks, nodding at the saucepan.

“You can get the spaghetti?” You suggest, smiling at him as you turn to look at him. He's red cheeked, and you suspect he wasn't lying about his cheeky requests for sex. He nods once, and turns away from you. You turn quickly, shocked, as there's a sudden clattering followed by Cillian fucking and blinding, and hissing breaths through his teeth. He has his left hand held up against the side of his face, and the glass spaghetti jar is smashed on the floor in a pile of broken pasta and glass. “Don't move!” You yell, as he goes to step off with his bare feet. “Stay still, let me get a brush for this. Is your head okay, are you bleeding?”

“No, no, it's grand, it just hit me there as it fell out.” He insists, still cupping his hand up near his eye and cheekbone.

“Okay, I'll look in a second, just stand still…” you call out as you head into the laundry room, and rerun a moment later with the broom. You meticulously sweep everything you can come across away from where Cillian's feet are, going over and over the same places to ensure you catch every speck of glass. You push everything over towards the bin, tonne able to scoop into it in a moment, and give Cillian the all clear. “Okay, you big prune, get over here,” you call him towards you. He steps over with a pout, still mindful on the floor, and slowly drops his hand down. His angular cheekbone and up towards his left eye socket are already reddish-purple with a forming bruise, and you wince as you examine it. “Oh, love, you look like you went a round with a Fury.”

He rolls his eyes, cringing as you apply a little pressure with your fingers. “It's bruised?” He asks, seemingly annoyed at himself. You nod your head slowly. “Fuck sake. Like it just fell the minute I opened the door.”

“That's because ‘he’ was thinking for you,” you tease, “not you!” You tap your hand against his head. “I think we have some arnica. Do you want me to rub it on?”

He rolls his eyes again and shakes his head, “Ah, sure, leave it. I'll look manly tomorrow.” He smirks. You can see it hurts him - it looks sore! - but he's a big macho man! “You'll have to make it better, though.” He says, and you roll your eyes this time as once again his train of thought takes a veer off to the sexual.

“Didn't dampen that erection then?” You laugh lightly.

He shakes his head with a grin, “Stamina on me like you'd not believe.” He teases. “Come on, dinners fucked. Turn off the stove there and we'll get a takeout.” he says, sobering up a little bit. “And then I want the sex.” You laugh loudly, shaking your head. You're going to miss him over the weekend, that's for sure.

You startle awake on Sunday morning as your phone rings sharply, and before you take in who is calling, you glance with blurry eyes at the time - 3.45am. It's Cillian calling, though, and you sigh. You're relieved it isn't the hospital, but you're braced for bullshit as you expect drunken ramblings, knowing full well Saturday night had been the jazz gig and that it was entirely likely the four lads had then drunk the bar dry. You slide the call across and hold the phone to your right ear. “Cillian, it's quarter to four.” You say sleepily.

“Y/N? Howeya? Eh, it's not Cillian…. But, sure, you can hear that. Come here, listen…eh, it's Páidi.”

You sit up abruptly, resting on your left elbow. “Páidi? What happened?” nervousness immediately stirs in your stomach. “Páidi?” You yell as he's slow with forthcoming information. As he speaks again, you can hear he's trying to be sober when he's obviously not. “Oi!”

“Eh, sure… Cill's after getting a knock, there.”

“A knock? To what? In the car? Did he crash? Or…an accident? His head, his body… what?” You press in a complete ramble.

“Well, your one here at the, eh, University Hospital, she's …eh, she's stitched up his head… it's gas, it looks deadly with that bruise….”

“Stitched his… Páidi, what the fuck happened? Why are you laughing?” you demand.

“Ah, he's grand, like, but…huh, it's funny actually…”

“I'm not laughing, Páidi! What happened?” You raise your voice considerably.

“He's grand! Sure, he's off his head here on the gas, and he's sick as a dog, but …it's only five stitches, like, and a wee concussion. But here, he was asking for you, said we'd to tell you, but he was also asking for Helen Mirren, so I dunno, like….”

You shake your head, knowing any sense out of him is nearly impossible, and feeling more confused by him the more he talks. “He's got a concussion?”

“He keeps falling asleep…and puking up, chatting all kinds of bollocks, and sure they’re not sure if it's the, eh, the Guinness or the head…”

He suddenly sounds a little more sober, a little more coherent. You sigh, shaking your head. “I take it they're not letting him out?”

“No, sure that's why I'm calling. He's..he's to stay here so, like, eh… we'll not be getting back today. And sure…none of us is fit to be fucking driving anyway…”

He titters to himself and you're on the cusp of reaching through the phone and pinching him in the jaw. “Is he there? Hold the phone to him, Páidi, let me talk to him.”

“No, eh… I'm outside. When he got sick the third time I couldn't be standing there, and sure there's no, eh…what is it…the signal, like, you can't get it inside.”

“How bad is it, Páidi?” You ask him, “Take some deep fucking breaths of fresh air, and focus, for God's sake!”

If you weren't so worried, Páidi’s exaggerated inhales and exhales might have been funny. “He's not great, like.”

“How bad is his head?” You ask.

“Sure, the wee cut isn't bad but he knocked his head fairly hard.”

“How?” You demand, “Think about it Páidi and explain it to me.” Again, he takes those exaggerated breaths.

“I tripped him - he went over my foot by the bar, and got the corner of it up by his hair as he went down… Rory thinks he caught the footbar on the bar as he landed down, but like….he's grand otherwise.”

“Grand?! Páidi, it sounds like he's anything fucking but! And you lot are clearly no use to him, you shower of drunken fucks!” You rage, and then feel immediately bad. “I'm sorry… I know you're all down there for this exact reason, I'm sorry…but Jesus Christ, Páidi!”

He's quiet for a moment and then you can hear who you instantly recognise as Rory in the background, standing against Cillian, Chris and Páidi as the only one without a Cork accent. “Here, Y/N, will I tell the, eh, the nurses there to call you? They'll be able to tell you better, yeah?”

“Is Rory off his head?” You ask him, hoping he'd give you more sense, but when you're treated to raucous laughter and the sound of retching down the phone, you fear you have your answer. “Which hospital, Páidi?” You raise your voice.

“Uni-eh-University Hospital Galway.”

He's clear on that, at least. “Fine. I'll call them. You, Chris and Rory need to go to bed or something. I'll call up about Cillian, and if I have to, I'll fucking drive across.” You tell him. “Okay, Páidi, give him back the phone, alright? And tell him…tell him I love him, if you can remember that you drunken shit.”

You hear him giggle, and he sounds like Cillian. “Ah, y’love him…” You smirk, but you're feeling anything but humoured by any of this. “Will I shift him for ya, as well, yeah?” That, however, makes you laugh. “...sure, he picked you out of nowhere and he gets a hard on every time you walk past, like… I mean, he's a bollocks for Yvonne, like, but Jesus, he fancies the knickers off you, doesn't he?... He does…”

“Oh, Páidi…” you sigh. “Okay. I'm hanging up now, and I'm going to call the hospital and speak to whoever's looking after him. But you need to give him his phone, and you all need to go to the hotel and sleep. Okay?”

You hang up, without any real understanding of whether Páidi understood anything you'd said, and lie down for a moment as you try to gather your thoughts. You need to call the Uni Hospital in Galway, you need to see what happened and how he is, and then you need to know whether he's coming out or not because, if he's not, you're fairly made up on the thought that you need to go and be with him. But of course, that sparks an internal debate over Clíodhna. Which means you'll need to call the Rotunda and talk to them, letting them know what's happening. There's no way Cillian's getting out of this unembarrassed, you consider…

It takes over an hour, but you find out that Cillian has indeed received stitches for a split in his head, is concussed, but is mostly just incredibly drunk and, due to the head bump, is being monitored for a while for safety. He will be okay, and once he's sober enough to be better assessed on his cognition, should be free to leave with a headache and a hangover as long as all is well. By this time, it's getting towards five thirty in the morning, and there's been no further contact - attempted or successful - from Páidi, Rory or Chris. But you know you won't return to sleep now; you're worried about Cillian and still on mental standby for the possibility of driving to Galway if you need to. Technically, you're still not cleared to drive but you don't care. You'll be driving to see Clíodhna in a while, and you will drive to Galway if you have to. It concerns you that Cillian may be more than just bruised and drunk, but you try to hang on to the words of the nurse - “ah, sure, he's just had a skinful, we're sure he's absolutely fine.” - and keep replaying Páidi's drunken words in your head. You'd fully expected Cillian to go to this jazz set and let loose - you would have been somewhat surprised if he hadn't drunk himself inside out! - but loving him as you do, you can't help worrying and rolling your eyes.

You sit at kitchen island with your phone before you, just in case, and throw back a coffee to keep you awake. You're actually incredibly interested to see the lads when they get back, desperate to know how the weekend has been on the whole, but absolutely chomping at the bit to hear how the fuck Cillian fell over Páidi's feet?! You considered Cillian might have gotten drunker quicker if he was tired, or his stress levels added to the side effects, or had he forgotten food in favour of more space for booze? You'd seen Cillian and Páidi together before - and Cillian and Chris for that matter - and you were well aware of the levels they could take their piss-ups to. It didn't make you feel any better - it only made you feel worse, in fact! You did feel for their heads and stomachs, though, anticipating there would be four very sorry men by the time they'd sobered up.

.

[smoooothoperator]

untouchable

05: Late Night Talking

Lando Norris x OC (Violet Sinclair)

same group friend, unrequited love, acquittances to lovers, ski trip, love triangle

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: drama, fluff, acotar references (if you know which one, say it!!!)

a/n: it finally hapenned!! juicy things are coming!!!!!

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Every way of feedback is very welcomed

The shower was something I definitely needed. I couldn't feel my fingers the moment I got undressed, leaving the clothes on top of the toilet and standing under the warm water, not caring if it was burning. I needed it.

I heard the door opening again and two knocks on the bathroom door, a sign of Lando letting me know that he came back.

“You can stay in the shower as long as you need” he said through the other side of the door.“I brought some warm clothes, where do you want me to put them?”

“Eh… open the door and leave them on the toilet. But close our eyes” I asked him.

I still have to talk to him, I still need to know if what Harry said was true, if he has feelings for me. I never imagined that. Or maybe it was right in front of my eyes and I didn't see the signals, I didn't see his feelings towards me because I was too blinded by my own feelings for Harry.

I don't know how long I stayed under the water, but the moment I got out of it I missed the feeling of its warmth in my skin, calming my shivers and thoughts. I took a look at the clothes he brought and I recognized them: they were from the market, a pair of pajamas I saw hours ago and pointed at them to Pietra and a hoodie from a ski store near the market.

“You didn't have to buy me this” I sighed, walking out of the bathroom. “I could use the bathrobe”

“You need warm clothes, Violet” he sighed. “I don't care spending money if I avoid you suffering hypothermia”

I sigh and nod, sitting on the couch. I hung the clothes on the heater so they could dry and get warm, so I won't have to get cold tomorrow morning.

“I bought dinner” he said, sitting on the couch next to me. “And… well, a little cupcake for you”

“You didn't have to do that…” I said looking at the cupcake inside a little box. 

“I had to” he whispered. “I fucked up your birthday, is the less I can do”

“No, it wasn't you who fucked it” I smiled weakly, opening the box with a warm sandwich inside of it. “You were actually the one that remembered it was today… the first one that congratulated me. Not even my parents did”

“Wait, for real?” he frowned.

“Unfortunately”

I took a bite of the sandwich and sighed, looking at the cupcake, then at my lap.

“You were the first one…” I whisper. “Not even Eloise. I just… God, I have so many questions”

“We have an entire night alone to talk” he smiled weakly. “I think… I think I owe you so many answers”

“Yeah” I nodded.

But we had dinner in silence. Not an uncomfortable one. The silence between Lando and I is never uncomfortable, not even awkward. And I'm so glad about that, I'm glad that he never tries to push a conversation between us even if we don't have anything to say.

“Will it be too much if I say that I bought a candle too?” I heard Lando. “Oh, and gifts”

“Lando, really… you didn't have to” I smiled weakly, watching how he got up and walked towards his backpack.

“But I wanted to” he said, grabbing two packages and a little plastic bag with a candle. 

I sigh, looking at him sitting next to me and grabbing the cupcake. He put the candle on it and lit it, smiling at me.

“Make a wish” he said, holding it in front of me.

I sigh and close my eyes, thinking of something.

I wish I could be loved without being hurt.

Then I blew it, sighing and looking at him afterwards.

“Will you tell me your wish?” he asked.

“If I tell you it won't come true” I said, grabbing the cupcake and parting it, giving him the other half of it. “But if you give me answers, maybe it will”

“Right… answers” he nodded. “But first open your gifts”

I sigh and nod, looking at the packages. A big one and a little one. The big one had the size of a book, the little one a box. I opened the first one and smiled while watching it.

“How?” I smile reading the title of it.

“I pay attention”

He pays attention… No way. No.

“It's you” I whisper looking at him. “All those books… you are the one that sends them?”

“Is it that bad?” he sighed. “Is it bad that it's me?”

“No, not all” I smile weakly. “Now I understand”

“Open the second one” he said.

I smile and open it, sighing. It's from a jewelry store, a necklace of a flower.

“It's a violet” he said. “A blue violet. Do you want me to put it on you?”

“Yeah, sure”

I took a deep breath and turned around, holding my hair up and letting him clip it on my nape. The warmth of his hands made me shiver, just because of the touch of his knuckles against my skin.

Maybe what we're going to talk about might change everything.

“It's so beautiful, thank you” I smile, touching the pendant with my fingers.

And the silence, again. I was trying to firm a question in my mind, trying to ask him what's real and what's not. I need to know what is going on.

“Harry said… that you have feelings for me” I said, looking at my lap. “That you…”

“I do” he nodded. “I won't hide it, not anymore. I do love you”

His answer was quick. Too quick that made me flinch.

“Why?” I whisper.

“Why?” he laughed softly. “Why not? Is it a sin? I have loved you since the first time I saw you, it was like… magical? When I saw you walk in that day, I felt breathless just looking at you”

“Why did you never tell me?” I sighed. “All these years… God, Lando”

“Harry knew some weeks later. I was too stupid to ask things about you, I was too obvious around him. And he immediately knew” he explained, sitting comfortable on the couch looking at me, his knee touching mine. “At first I thought he was being protective, a good friend, saying that I shouldn't be with you because of my… well, fame. He said that you weren't made for my world, that you weren't made for me, and he made me believe that you were untouchable”

Harry never liked when I was close to Lando during the few times I went to his races. Whenever we went to Monaco, he always wanted to stay on a balcony instead of going to the paddock, making me miss the real experience of going to a race.

“He never wanted me in the paddock” I said. “And everytime I went, he was close to me all the time. I guess he was afraid of you talking to me…”

“He was afraid of me confessing my feelings” he said. “I tried to do it a few times, actually. But it always ended with Harry taking you away from me”

I smile weakly and sigh, looking at him. He's opening his heart for me, telling me everything, helping me open my eyes.

“I tried, you know?” he smiled weakly. “I tried to forget you. You were impossible to reach, so I tried everything to get you out of my mind. But you were everywhere. Everytime I went to a race, I saw something that reminded me of you, something that made me keep fighting for you”

“Thank you” I smile. “For not giving up. It means so much���”

It means that I can be lovable.

“I started sending you those books because I love seeing you smile” he said. “Because I know you love books. I even tried to search information about that books you like”

“That's why we came here?” I asked. “Because this village looks exactly like…”

“Velaris. Yeah” he nodded. “Last summer you were reading the books and I heard you talking with Eloise about them, about how much you love the story, about… about how much you wish you were loved like the main character. So I started to search about that, about those two lovers. And God, I see myself in him, even if that sounds stupid. I see the way Harry keeps you away from me, pushing you away and only having you to have fun and use you giving you hopes. And it kills me watching how he does that”

I smile softly at him, watching how every word he says has all the emotions he feels right now. How angry he is with Harry, how mad he is with himself for not fighting for what he wants. How in love he is… with me.

“I wish I noticed everything long time ago…” I sighed, hugging my legs. “You suffered all this years… having me close but not enough”

“But the wait was worth it” he said. “You are worth it. It wasn't the way I wanted you to find out, I was actually going to tell you this week”

“Lando, I…” I sighed, watching how he slowly reached for my hand. “I want to say that I feel something for you, but I just don't know how. I spent the last five years loving a man that doesn't want me…”

“I can wait” he said, finally holding my hand carefully, touching it like it was made of glass. “I don't care how long it takes. I'm tired of being away from you and not being myself with you. God, you know how many times I dreamed of holding you? Of walking next to you and holding your hand, of kissing you? Too many times…”

“Step by step” I whisper, blushing. “You are holding my hand, that's something”

“Yes, it is”

I looked down at our hands, at how perfectly they fit together, like two puzzle pieces. I got closer to him and rest my head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath when he pressed his lips on top of my head, leaving a kiss there before resting his chin on top of it.

“I promise I won't let him hurt you” he whispered. “I won't let him touch you”

As stayed like that for God knows how long, close to the other, him holding my hand and brushing his thumb over my skin. Silence fell again, but I could hear his breathing. I moved closer to him, reaching for his warmth and closing my eyes.

“Are you still cold?” he whispered, his breath hit my skin making me shiver. 

“Just a little” I sighed. “I'm tired”

“Go to bed” he said. “I will stay here in the couch”

“No, come with me” I said quickly, looking up at him. “I'm cold and you are warm…”

“Alright” he nodded, pressing a soft kiss on my forehead. “Let me get changed and I'll join you in the bed”

Little touches, tender kisses. That's him: someone that searches for physical touch, someone that wants to be close and needs to touch to show love. Not the man I thought he was, the one that doesn't look at me, the one that always tries to be as far as possible. That's the man Harry molded so I couldn't see the truth.

Getting under the covers of the bed knowing that I asked him to come with me was harder than I thought. I couldn't stop having an argument inside my mind, calling myself terrible things just because Harry was still in there, moving strings inside my mind and manipulating me, because I was so lost that I didn't know how to be myself anymore without him close to me.

When Lando sat on the other side of the bed I stopped breathing, following every movement he was doing and hearing my on heart inside my head. I was laying on my side, looking at him doing the same, mirroring me.

“If you need it I can put a pillow wall” he said. 

I took a deep breath and shook my head, feeling how my body moved closer to his, searching his warmth. I felt how he stopped breathing the moment my head touched his chest, how I sighed when I felt him. His arm immediately wrapped around me, placing his hand on my back and rubbing it.

“Wait for me” I whisper. “Just… don't give up”

“I won't” he whispered. “I don't care if I have to wait for weeks, months or years. For you I would wait all the time you need”

taglist

@elisysd @racinggirl @ninifee1802 @kakorrhaphiphobia @landoyesrizz @lorarri @bellwhysomean @leptitlu @aphroditeisamilf @brekkers-whore @copper-boom @sideboobrry11 @alltoomaples @f1madison @elijahslover @silkenthusiasts @chonkybonky @summerslike11 @randomgirlnumber-13 @is-just-a

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #37] Faking It

warnings: pleased be seated for THE JANITORS CLOSET hehe, and iconic chapter in the bd universe. seokjin! pregnancy scares! tittie worship, thigh riding, semi-public, a lil self-pleasure, multiple orgasms, kissing <33, cum in panties??, idk, one of my fave bd smut scenes and they don't even shag! there's a lot of plot in there. all the fave characters!! and the biggest villains!!

a/n: i figured out the wrong headers!! this header was actually the og 36 header and the og 37 header is what I used for 36 lol

also also also i knew i said there would be more updates tonight buuuut I finished write #60 today so I'm editing that instead hehe. there's a direct reference to something said in this chapter in #60!

wc: 18k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

In the quiet bustle of Jeongguk's favourite downtown cafe, Yoongi frowns.

"Are you even listening to me, Gguk?"

On the table sits a half-drunk coffee, the bitter taste a little too much for Jeongguk at this time in the morning. Notebooks open, pens scattered on the driftwood table, Jeongguk has spent the morning earnestly scrawling down revisions to his business plan.

The centrepiece of the table - a single white rose in a thin vase has been put on an empty seat. Just would have been in the way.

Also kind of made Jeongguk's blood boil, but he knows he shouldn't be irrationally angry at a fucking flower. A nice one at that. An expensive one.

Just like Seokjin had made sure to remind you on his calling card.

Happy Birthday, Darling. Exquisite roses for an exquisite girl. You can pretend they're from your new guy if you like - I'm sure he agrees you deserve the best that money can buy. All my love x

Stupid prick hadn't signed his name, but he has set a precedent. There's only one person who'd send you white roses. Not just a dozen. Not two dozen. Three fucking dozen. Thirty-six.

36 identical, soulless roses destined to die within a week or so, already embarking on their demise.

Danbi had snorted. "What's that? A rose for each time he cheated?"

You had smiled. Shook your head. "Think four dozen would be needed for that."

Jeongguk had been with you when you'd redistributed the roses to your CU ajumma aunties, and had to deal with their scrutinising eyes. Had smiled, and played nicely, even when they called Seokjin the 'handsome one'. As much as he might hate that tall mother fucker, he's got a pair of eyes. Knows he's a bloody god.

And so Jeongguk had moved the rose on his table out of sight before he even realised that he would need to.

The display of his iPad, which is still covered in your small fingerprints from lazy days wasted in his bedroom, has dimmed. It obscures the last revision of the plan. Hides it away from prying eyes.

A work in progress for years, now, he started planning for the samgyeopsal restaurant during his first semester of university. Had been a hypothetical project that he just hasn't been able to let go of. Like a first love, it kept coming back to the forefront of his mind.

For a little while - he's not sure how long; three, maybe four minutes - Jeongguk has been watching the beads of condensation sweat down the side of his glass. The straw, given to him by a barista with a warm smile and nothing else remotely interesting about her, lays beside the glass, still encased in its plastic wrapper.

He hears your voice and its tone of concern each and every time he raises the now-wet glass to his lips.

Careful, Koo. It'll hurt your teeth.

With every fabricated iteration of your concern, his mile-a-minute heart temporarily eases. For those scarce moments, it doesn't feel as if it'll burst straight out of his chest from the sheer exhausting stress of the unknown; His future. Yours. The one that you may or may not have together.

Funny how you're the main source of his stresses right now, and yet are the only thing able to ease them.

And so the straw remains as it is - still, untouched - just so he can pretend you care.

Dazed and most definitely confused when he looks up, Jeongguk's vacant eyes land on Yoongi. There's a frown on the older mans face, but a softness to his eyes.

"Hm?" Jeongguk hums. "Sorry?"

Sighing, Yoongi reaches for the straw that Jeongguk has so purposefully left discarded. Snaps the thin plastic wrapper apart. Reaches over and pushes the straw through a cluster of stubborn ice that just refuses to melt. Helps his friend in a way that makes total sense, and yet Jeongguk's mind is so jumbled up that it almost feels an attack.

It's him who frowns, now. Dimples form in the creases between his lips and cheeks, a thick line making itself known in the ridge between his eyes. Yoongi pays it no notice. Simply says, "Coffee'll stain your teeth. You'll thank me when you're older."

Perhaps he will. For now, Jeongguk's teeth are still pearly white. He's no need to worry about them.

"What wrong with you, huh?" Yoongi presses. "Spent all of last week badgering me to help you out, and now that I am, you've been a world away all morning. What gives?"

For all of the words that he could use to rabbit on about you for hours upon hours, they all seem to be stuck in his throat, dryly swallowed down like bitter pills sticking against his oesophagus.

To mention you now would be to admit that you occupy all vacancies inside his brain, in each and every waking moment. You're there in the moments he doesn't spend awake, too. A constant. Just as permanent as the glitter that's trapped between the woven threads of his cotton comforter, and as deeply embedded into him as the tattoos on his skin.

Pressing his lips together, piercing flipping in the corner of his mouth like it so often does, Jeongguk shrugs. "Sorry. Think my brain is shutting down."

If Yoongi suspects anything other than this as a viable excuse, he doesn't mention it. Just nods. Accept the white lie, and Jeongguk hopes he knows there's a white flag tied around it, too.

It's not that he wants to lie to Yoongi. He just doesn't want to be honest with himself.

Phone face down on the table, Jeongguk's device holds a whole host of contradictory search terms in his browser history. Questions he could probably ask Yoongi, but won't. Questions he should ask you, but most definitely won't.

Girlfriend - cause he figures it will bring back more results than fwb, or whatever else he could equate you to - missed her period, what should I do? Do girls miss periods often? Missed period, meaning, what? Having a baby with fwb, what now? Abortions? What if an abortion doesn't work? Is adoption good for the baby? How to be a single dad? What if only one person wants to keep it? What the fuck oenejoiegohhfo e.

The final result is still open in his browser. Was about three in the morning. Jeongguk had been sweating beneath his duvet, skin just as clammy as the condensation rings that have soaked into the wooden table from his iced coffee glass.

Nothing is confirmed. No test has been done - and yet he's thinking about where a playmat would fit in the living room, but also knows the name of the clinic downtown that would quickly and effectively prevent that from ever being his reality.

"We've made good progress," Yoongi tells Jeongguk. "Can take a break, if you like? Got a couple weeks till your meeting with the bank. Still got time."

There's no place in Jeongguk's business plan for a baby. He half wonders if maybe he should ask Yoongi where to factor it in. Knows better.

So instead, Jeongguk nods. "Yeah. Think that might be good. Sorry."

Yoongi just dismisses it. Tells Jeongguk it's fine, and really means it. Knows that trying to straighten out the fine details of a hypothetical business is harder than it would first appear. They've been troubleshooting; thinking of problems just for the sake of it. Making sure that Jeongguk's application for a business loan is airtight.

Of all of his friends, Yoongi is the only one who's ever been through anything similar. Is a fountain of knowledge with a wealth of experience that he's lucky enough to have access to.

Jeongguk half-thinks he must be mad for jumping in head first with this restaurant idea of his. Isn't sure he's got what it takes. Just knows he has to at least try, so he can say he can. So that even if he suffers the lows of failure, he will have experienced the highs of hope. Maybe even the uncharted territory of success.

"Could be a good idea to talk some things through with other people," Yoongi offers. "Someone in hospitality. Maybe DB. Get different scenarios neither of us have thought of yet."

Jeongguk doesn't need any more make-believe scenarios where you're involved. Has already thought of far too many all by himself.

But Yoongi doesn't know that, and Jeongguk would like to keep it that way. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."

It's this encouragement from Yoongi that has a text from Jeongguk pinging through to your phone a quarter of an hour later. Phone in your back pocket, you'll check the notification that buzzed quietly in a moment or so.

For now, you're locked in conversation with a woman who is both everything you fear and everything you want to be. Peachy-cheeked, with a crystal white smile and lips that are somehow perpetually glossed, Jina has been talking you through the upcoming event that Taehyung is showcasing for at the Ryu.

"I was really impressed - hold on," she huff a little through the strain of reaching across the desk for her file. You immediately get to your feet to help her out. Her peach cheeks are now pretty pink apples. She exhales a deep-rooted breath and plonks back into her own chair. Laughs at herself, and her inability to do even the simplest of tasks, then rests her hand adoringly over the incredibly large bump that protrudes from her stomach. Is appreciative as she says, "Thank you." Looks down to her bump, and laughs again. "Hurry up, now. Mummy has jobs to do."

The way Jina speaks to the little life that's growing inside of her makes you want to violently vomit. Not for disgust, or anything negative, but for the fact that you're terrified of a similar fate.

Well-put together, still in designer garments, Jina has her life together. Is the Lead Gallery Coordinator at the Ryu. Spent her twenties working her way up, only to land her spot at the top two weeks before she welcomed in her thirties. She's distinguished. Had worked damn hard to stay at the top, even when her assistant is consistently trying to fill the shoes she hasn't even taken off yet.

It's why she's still working, even when her due date is within touching distance. Will be damned if some jumped up twat that studied illustration at the expense of his wealthy parents, and has never actually produced an illustration worthy of any praise, ends up behind her desk. Perhaps she's jaded, and perhaps she's bitter that she never got an easy ride, but she did at least have passion - which is more than can be said for her assistant. The only reason she keeps him on is because his parents are benefactors of the gallery. Can't fire him, even if she wants to.

"Sorry," she smiles back up at you, then hums. Ponders. Pregnancy brain is not being kind to her these days. "Where was I?"

With a kind smile, you happily remind her. "You were saying you were impressed?"

"Ah, yes! I was. I am. With the both of you, actually. Kim Taehyung is producing art that actually entices people, which is a rarity these days. I'm surprised his portfolio wasn't passed onto me sooner."

Although when she considers her assistant, the surprise wanes.

"And you," she continues, then looks down to flick through the proposed show in the file you put together earlier that day. "You say you're just doing this part-time? As a favour?"

Nodding, you explain, "Taehyung's a friend, and this is my area of interest. Should have gone down this route straight after university, but you know what the industry is like."

With a pitiful smile, Jina nods. "No money in it unless you already have money."

It's no secret that the arts are a luxury for those who can afford them - not just the masterpieces themselves, but the time to indulge in them. Apprenticeships and internships pay poorly, so in order to get your foot on the ladder, you have to come from money. Have to be able to rely on parents, or aunts, or uncles to fund your living expenses while you live out your dreams.

Wasn't an option you'd had, so a compromise had been made in the form of the art cafe. It's minimum wage, but you do at least enjoy it and can pay the bills.

At such a point in her career where the money is good enough for her to never worry about finances, Jina's heart bleeds for you. From one creative to another, she wishes there was a way she could help.

"You've got everything I'd look for in an assistant," she tells you, and the compliment just serves to make you feel disappointed. Success has always been a goal of yours, and you regret not working harder towards it. The past year has taught you many things, but mainly it's reinforced the idea that you shouldn't spend time on things or people who don't enrich your heart.

And so you throw caution to the wind; chance a suggestion that you know is beyond your capabilities.

"Well, perhaps I could help out when you're on maternity leave?" You chance. Know that you don't have enough experience nor credentials to take on her role, but fuck it. What's the worst she could do? Say no? "Help keep things running smoothly?"

When Jina smiles, you know that rejection is coming your way - but at least you tried.

"No money in the job," she sighs. "The gallery director hasn't opened up a vacancy. My assistant is stepping up."

Even saying it out loud makes her blood boil - but she knows it's bad for the baby, so tries to cool it.

"I have a sneaky suspicion that they'll open up a vacancy in April. Maybe May. When it does, you'd be top of my list for recommendations," she offers. Knows that things are gonna fall apart without her there. The higher-ups won't realise what a fundamental error of judgement they've made until it's too late. "That if you'd be interested?"

You don't think you've ever been asked such a stupid question.

This is a lie.

You've spent time with the Dionysus boys. Have been asked a million questions than this one.

"Of course!" You enthuse. "I mean, I don't get me wrong, I love my job - but an opportunity like this would be... I don't even know," you laugh, unable to articulate yourself properly, so try simplicity. "Yes. Please. If that happens, please pass along my details."

She nods. Understands your excitement. Was in a very similar position, once upon a time. All it took was someone taking a chance on her. She'd like to do the same for you. Has seen your work ethic for an unpaid favour to a friend. Knows you wouldn't let her down.

"Now," she smiles, moving along the conversation as to not dwell on a situation that might never happen. "We're about a week out from the next show - has Taehyung finished the new piece? Any causes for concern?"

"Yes, and no," you assure her, even if it is a little lie.

Taehyung scrapped his piece last minute and has been in the studio ever since your birthday. Had a new wave of inspiration, apparently. Declared as such about twenty minutes after the knocking from Danbi's bedroom had eventually come to an end, so you dread to think of what this new piece could be like.

Still, you trust his creative process, so know that whatever he produces will be more than enough to satisfy the gallery execs.

The meeting runs smoothly; no hiccups to iron out. The subway ride back to the middle of town has to contemplate what life could be like had you met Taehyung earlier; if you could have a career to be proud of by now.

But there was no Taehyung without Jeongguk, and no Jeongguk without the devastating impact of Seokjin. Funny, how the entire time you were with Seokjin, he'd wished you had a better job. Lamented the minimum wage, and your irregular working hours. Would steer the direction away from what the pays the bills whenever you'd meet one of his friends, and they'd ask, 'what do you do for work?'. He'd never been proud, and so in turn, nor had you.

You wonder if he'd be proud now. It's bittersweet.

And as you arrive at Jeongguk's favourite cafe and spot him immediately - chin in his palm, a soft pout on his lips, papers scattered all over his table - you're the one who feels proud.

Seeing the ones you love chase their dreams is a special sort of pride. One that makes your heart swell. So much potential. So much hope.

Ordering up fresh drinks before you head over, there's a thick tension in the air. Jeongguk doesn't even realise you're here yet. Is too consumed with thoughts of you, like the idiot he is. Thoughts you, and his future, and how he doesn't know how to plan anything when he doesn't know what life will look like a year from now.

He clocks you as you're confirming the order with the barista. A hot flash of panic disrupts his body, but it cools just as quickly. Fucks with his body temperature regulation. Makes him feel all clammy and horrible despite the aircon in the cafe.

There's a smile on your lips, and Jeongguk finds one on his, too. There's a shine to his eyes that only glitters whenever you're nearby, and it's noticeable all the way from across the cafe.

Coffees in hand, clothes remarkably formal for a day off, Jeongguk narrows his eyes as you approach.

"What have you been up to?" he queries instead of greeting you properly, not caring for small-talk. Wants to know the big stuff. His brain has been cruel to him today. Hopes you can help remedy it slightly.

"Gallery," you simply say, taking the seat beside him.

There are four chairs at the table. Yoongi had been sitting opposite Jeongguk. You could have chosen to sit there, too.

He doesn't mention it.

"Everything going alright?" He asks, reaching over for his coffee with a small, appreciative smile. "Thanks."

"All good, I think," you say, sucking a little air between your teeth.

He cocks a brow. "You don't sound convinced."

With a bit of a defeated shrug, you purse your lips together. "I just..."

The way you trail off is all too familiar. Jeongguk's used to it. Has been a while since you struggled to find your words so badly.

"Big girl words," he teases softly, which earns him a small laugh from you.

"Fuck off," you smile, then shake your head to realign your thoughts. "No, I just... Sorry. Did it again. I just don't know how sustainable this all is, yanno?"

Jeongguk doesn't say a word. Knows that you aren't done formulating just yet - and when you sigh, before launching into a little ramble, he's proven right.

"I mean, I'm already a shift down this week to help with prep, and next week I've had to book two days off work. And like, honestly, it's fine," you stress. "I enjoy it so much, but long term? When Tae's shows get bigger and bigger? I just dunno, Gguk. Dunno."

You want it to be long-term. Never knew it was something you wanted until you realised maybe you can't have it. Seem unattainable now in a way that you knew before you started helping Taehyung out. The thing so wonderful about dreams is that you fool yourself into thinking they can come true. You neglect rational thinking.

Confronted with the restraints of the industry, it's hard to ignore. Hard to pretend like you could still have it, if you really want it. Things like that don't happen for people like you.

"Well just wait until I get the restaurant going," he smiles, knowing he doesn't have a solution for you - but that he does have the ability to talk about the future with you in a way that doesn't feel all that terrifying. "When I'm super successful and have queues out the door, I'll hire you. Will pay you above minimum wage and let you work with Tae on the side."

"Oh yeah?" You grin, enthused by the childlike excitement in his sparkly eyes. "Gonna be a big hot shot restaurant owner?"

"I'll have you know, I'll be the CEO," he nods his head smugly.

"Oh, that's sexy," you tell him.

"I know."

You hum a little and then decide that a little flirt is okay. "Would be kinda hot, fucking the boss, wouldn't it?"

He raises a brow. Swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, wetting his lip ring as he toys with it. "Would be a HR nightmare."

"Would give me a reason to call you Sir."

"Don't," he smiles, eyes closing, teeth showing. Sweetness encapsulates him despite the stickiness of the scenario that's playing out inside his head right now. Shakes his head. Slowly opens his eyes to find you again. Laughs. "You're fuckin' trouble, Byeol."

"S'why you like me."

"True," he admits rather shamelessly. Doesn't fancy denying it today. Not to himself. Not to you. Not to the world around him.

The air between you gets thinner. Feels like you can only keep breathing if you keep your eyes on one another. Up, and up you go into the atmosphere. Any higher, and you'll be in the fucking stars.

"I hate to ask..." Jeongguk murmurs and you immediately feel your floating soul crash back down to earth. The stars are off-limits today. Your feet must remain firmly on the ground.

"Then don't," you say sharply, not wanting the conversation to go in the direction you know he's steering it in.

"Byeol," he simply reprimands, knowing that it's a conversation that needs to be had. "You've not given me any updates."

"'Cause there's been nothing to report back," you say, as if it's no big deal; as if you haven't spent every waking moment thinking about it. As if your daydreams aren't getting more and more concerning. "I've skipped a month. That's all. It's not that uncommon."

"Well, according to WebMD, apparently some women get periods even when they are pregnant - like, certified, tested, proven true pregnant," Jeongguk states, his late-night research coming to the forefront of his mind. "That's not supposed to happen. Just like you're not supposed to miss your periods when you're not pregnant-"

"Gguk," you plead. "It's not that linear. All sorts of things affect periods."

"I know," he replies, and bless his heart, he really does think he knows. "Stress, eating habits, exercise, medical issues - I've read, like, 6 articles about PCOS in the last 24 hours. Didn't even know what it was last week."

You're fond as you smile over at him. "Why have you been reading PCOS articles?"

" Because ," he stresses, but gives no immediate follow up. Looks over to you with pleading eyes, like a puppy dog waiting for scraps. "Look B, I don't know what's going on. You won't tell me what's going on. The best I can do is try and understand."

"I've told you, Gguk. It's fine. Please. Just trust me."

It's a naive ask, for him to trust you, when you don't even trust yourself.

"Will you please just take a test?" He asks. "The longer it takes, the less options you'll have. We'll have."

You know he's right. Know that there's a test waiting in your bedroom, and that you've spent hours looking at because you're terrified of a result. A positive result, that is.

You won't admit to the way that the idea of a negative result makes you feel. Not to Jeongguk, nor to yourself. It's not what you want. You know that it wouldn't fit into your life. You know that the idea of being in Jina's position would wreck any goals or plans for your life.

And then you're feeling defensive. Pressured. Overwhelmed.

"Look, I said it's fine," you insist, trying to reassure not only him, but yourself too. "I know my body. It just does this sometimes. If anything, I'm probably less fertile than I should be."

"Yeah, but you don't know that-"

"And you don't know that I'm not."

"B, this affects us both," Jeongguk says, his patience waning, tone firming. He's right.

"I know that!" You snap back, 'cause it feels like he's backing you into a corner. "You think I'm not aware? Gguk, if I am-" you refuse to say the word, then quieten your voice. Look around. Get a little closer. "If I am , then I'm the one who has to deal with it. I'm the one who has to live with it. I'm the one who has to experience it."

"Oh what, so suddenly I play no part in this?" He argues right back, but keeps his voice quiet. Mirrors you. Is right there in the corner with you. If this is a boxing match, then he's not your opponent; he's the coach giving you water in the break and patching you up. There's no need to see him as the enemy. "I'm not just some random fucking guy, B. I'm not about to jump ship."

"Okay, hypothetical," you say, encouraging him to use his imagination a little. Try and see things how you see them. "It's positive. I don't want it, you do. Then what? What do we do?"

He's silent for a moment. Looks a little defeated as he shrugs. Doesn't look at you. "We'd get rid."

And even though it's what you think is the correct answer - putting priority on the carrier of the child - it still makes you a little sad. There are layers to such a decision. It's not straightforward. The complexities are beyond what you're capable of considering. There is no 'correct' answer. There are just choices; the one that you take, and the ones that you don't.

It's a curse how vivid your imagination can be; how you can imagine the rough skin by the tips of his fingers as he'd hold your hand in the waiting room, the look in his eyes as you turn to steal a glance at him before going through a pair of double doors that would ultimately change the outcome of your future, and the sterile scent of a medical facility that you'd really rather never visit.

You can picture his smile; pretty but ever so weak. Gorgeous little lies of 'it's okay' wrapped up with bows that could have maybe one day been tied in a child's hair instead.

Pull yourself together, you scold yourself. You don't even want a kid!

"If I were to get rid of it, while you wanted it... Gguk, you would resent me for what I took from you until the day you died," you say solemnly.

The gravity of it all is setting in. A positive result would ruin your lives regardless of whichever option you choose.

The pair of you have been gambling, and it seems like your luck is out.

"I wouldn't," Jeongguk frowns.

"How do you know?"

"Well how can you be certain that I would?" he counters. Is desperately trying see your point of view, but it's obscured by his own opinion on the matter. "Look, none of this is worth us getting worked up about until we know what the fuck we're dealing with. You might not even be pregnant."

He's right. You know he's right. The word makes your stomach lurch regardless.

So you nod, but plead, "Just give me a little time. Please."

He agrees. Knows that you do at least have a little more time before any certain decisions would need to be made. Walks you home. Tells you to keep him updated.

But then one day turns into two, then three, then four - and before you know it, you're ignoring one another, trying to pretend like all of this isn't happening; as if nothing has changed, and as if you haven't potentially fucked it all up just 'cause you couldn't stop messing about.

It's laughable, really. Your insatiable need to fuck one another has become its own form of birth control. Jeongguk isn't even waking up hard these days. Too stressed. No worry of fucking, now. Dick seems to be broken.

In all reality, he knows that it's nothing to do with his cock. He's not waking up hard, 'cause there's a lack of blood flow. Heart isn't pumping it like it normally does. Goes with the territory of not having you around.

But if he acknowledges that, he acknowledges everything he stands to lose before he's even had a chance to have it. Have you .

It's what he's thinking of now - cock limp, scowl hard - the night before Taehyung's art show. It's been five days. You've not kept him updated. He's not asked for updates.

You've both been pathetic - but he's attributing it to you. Thinks you're deliberately being childish so that he won't think having a kid is a good idea - as if he even wants them right now.

Sitting on the couches of Taehyung's studio space, the usual suspects are up to nothing much. Just having a few drinks the night before the show. It's a bit of ritual - nothing set in stone, just kind of what happens. The easing of Taehyung's nerves means he always wants to indulge.

Stewing in the corner like a little parasite, Jeongguk's face of thunder hasn't eased all evening. He never gives a straight answer when he's asked about these little moods of his, so no one has bothered to press too hard. He is at least in attendance - which is more than can be said for you.

"It really doesn't matter," Taehyung smiles, unphased by Jeongguk, stroking Danbi's back as she scrolls through her phone, looking for outfit inspiration.

"Yeah, no offence Danbi, but everyone's gonna be looking at the art," Jimin mumbles through a mouthful of overpriced breadsticks. "No one is gonna care what you wear."

Rolling her eyes, Danbi doesn't care for his opinion. "So? I want people to look at me, which is why my outfit needs to good."

Still stroking her back, Taehyung is so incredibly fond of her unwavering self-assured place in the world. "People will be looking at you," he supports her. "What's DB wearing?"

Flicking through to your message thread, which had ended earlier that afternoon with a very blatant bullshit excuse for your lack of attendance, Danbi scrolls up to find the picture you'd sent her earlier that day.

"Oh, it's nice," Taehyung downplays it. Knows exactly why Danbi is desperate to find something showstopping. Will never let her be aware of this, though. What he does do, is make sure it reaches the right people. "She shown you, Gguk?"

The grunt that Jeongguk makes is barely audible. If there's one thing he doesn't want to see right now, it's you. Especially you looking all fancy and shit.

He's still annoyed. You haven't spoken to him since your fight other than to send him dumb instagram reels. Rabbits hopping about. Shit like that. He smiles every damn time and it only serves to piss him off even more.

But, like the true nuisance she is, Danbi forwards the picture through to Jeongguk. She hasn't heard directly from you that you're fighting with Jeongguk, but anyone who has spent time with the both of you in the last few days will be able to figure it out.

Jeongguk knows better than to click through on the notification. Knows that if you wanted him to know what you're wearing, you would have shown him.

But he misses you.

Wants to see you, even if he knows it will only serve to annoy him even more.

He's proven right.

Standing in front of your mirror - the one used for your first selfie with the bird necklace on Christmas Eve, and also used for your own sadistic pleasure on that very first evening Jeongguk learned what it felt like to be yours - you're in a black dress.

Satin, he thinks. Something silky. It's short, like your dresses so often are, cutting off midway down your thighs. Fitted. Sweetheart neckline that blooms over the top of your chest, with sleeves that follow this same structured line. Shoulders fully exposed, there is a small tickle of satisfaction when Jeongguk notices your bird sitting prettily in place, right where it should be.

Even if you are annoyed, like he knows you are, you're keeping him close. It's more than can be said for last time. You've no intention of pushing him away or so it would seem. He takes comfort in this, a self-indulgent smile on his lips - until he realises and flattens them once more.

"S'fine," he just says as he locks his phone, as if his heart isn't beating all irregularly. "I'm sure she'll look nice."

Danbi glances over to Taehyung, who just rolls his eyes, and encourages her to show him more of her own options.

Jeongguk pretends to scroll through his phone. Is really just looking at that picture of you again. Hates the way it makes him feel. All fuzzy and out of sync. Perfectly safe and yet terrified all in the same fleeting moment.

Has him thinking about what he should wear, too, even if the other boys are telling Danbi that it really doesn't matter.

You look so well put together, he thinks. So intentionally gorgeous. He would say unintentionally , and knows you'd look just as gorgeous in one of his old shirts, but is well aware that you've put effort in. It should be appreciated.

It's decided - at two-thirty in the morning, all alone by himself, contents of his wardrobe piled onto the floor - that Jeongguk will also be wearing all black.

He will match you. It will be intentional. He will hope you notice.

'Cause even if he is a little pissed off with you, it doesn't matter. Had grown up with parents who'd bicker, but would always say 'there's no one else I'd rather argue with.'

He thinks the same could be said for the pair of you.

If your worst fears are confirmed, and you're forever tied to him, then it's something you'll need to learn to navigate. Neither of you are perfect, but neither of you are pretending to be. You're showing him exactly who you are by showing him nothing at all, right now.

And he adores you all the fucking same.

Jeongguk decides on black slacks, and will pair them with a thick belt. A satin shirt will be tucked in, unbuttoned just enough for a little bit of his chest to show. Nothing too indecent. Just wants to match your neckline.

The jacket he's chosen is red. Hopes it'll dare you to look at him, and prevent you from ever looking away. He's being bold, 'cause he stupidly thinks he needs to be, as if you won't be searching for solace in the form of him all night.

He also thinks he needs to consider the kind of man you want . The kind you need . You seem to go for the prim types. The proper. Well-dressed, well-groomed. He's got the outfit sorted. Knows he's being a little risky with the lack of a top button and tie, but he also knows he looks good - so fuck it.

Which is also what he says to his barber on the morning of the show.

"You've been growing it out for a while," she hums. Only re-permed it a couple of weeks ago. Hadn't been expecting him to come for a walk-in appointment so soon.

He shrugs. "Fuck it. It's just hair. It'll grow back."

She laughs, and tells him that he's right - but double-checks before she goes in with the clippers. He's not had anything so close to the scalp in about a year. Started growing it out around the same time you started showing up to the bar.

He braces himself. Grits his teeth. Don't let fear get the better of you.

"I'm sure."

Time stands still within the walls of the Ryu. Moments of life - fleeting expressions of biased emotions - are preserved for voyeuristic viewing pleasure. You're a guilty participant. Salivate over the mixed media, and equally mixed messages. Have a desire to understand. To decipher. To know.

The walls are dark. Slate grey when the floodlights are on, they look black under the diffused bulbs that focus solely on the works.

'Unplugged: The Lonely Hearts of the Digital Age' reads the exhibition branding on the front of the paper guide in your hand. There's an evocative nature to the pieces; an exploration of intimacy and isolation in the modern landscape of smartphones and high-speed internet.

"Oh, entirely," you smile pleasantly at the gentleman twice your age, who had come to stand beside you while you had been observing some of the work. He's been asking your thoughts, and you've been bullshitting spectacularly. "In a world where we're more connected than ever before, there somehow seems to be this... disconnect . A real lack of interpersonal relationships that stand the test of time."

He nods, half-moon glasses resting across the bridge of his short nose. "Too easy these days. Dating apps, and whatnot."

You cast your eyes down to the fingers he has wrapped around a champagne flute. He's without a ring. You wonder if he's a victim to them, too.

"The grass is greener mentality," you agree. Know all too well what it's like to be on the receiving end of such a dilemma. "Always searching for something... more."

A small chuckle emits from his thin lips as he continues to agree.

One of the serving staff, no older than a high school senior, offers their tray of champagne in your direction, but you decline. It's unusual of you - but it's no secret you've not been feeling exactly 'usual' lately.

From across the room, Jeongguk glances in your direction as you shake your hand and head, a polite smile on your lips as you refuse a drink. Your eyes don't flash to his, but he doesn't need them to.

When your gaze falls back to the artwork in front of you, he can easily see your perplexion.

He also notices how your skin doesn't sparkle like it usually does beneath gallery lights. A tight frown forms on his face to match yours.

The paintings you're looking at aren't Taehyung's. Jeongguk doesn't know the artist. Oil, he assumes from this distance. Hyperrealism. Enlarged. A matching pair with stark differences.

The first, to the left, is dark. Navy blues and deep purples depict the foils of condom wrappers, each with a name and date scrawled into them. They're scattered atop what looks like a legal document.

He can't work out the words from where he is. Doesn't realise they're divorce papers.

None of the wrappers match the name of the document, yet all of the wrappers are dated during the duration of the marriage.

On the right hand side, the other painting is clearly part of the same collection. A packet of oral contraception. 28 days worth. Includes the placebo days. Like the condoms, each empty window of the contraception has a name. Some repeating. Some not. There are no names written during the placebo week.

It begs the question; is the taker of the contraception just using the men when it's convenient for her? Or are they just using her when it's convenient for them, and leaving her in the dust when her body is unavailable?

You're not sure which scenario makes you sadder. Reminds you of this time last year. Reminds you of Seokjin. Reminds you of the people that you used to forget about him on the lonely nights.

If you were to think about your own pills, and the names that would inscribed, you know you'd have packet after packet with only one name. Everyday of the week. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, every night. Over the placebo days, too.

Not because Jeongguk has been fucking you all day every day - although sometimes it does feel like that. No. It's not that all.

Instead, it would be because he gives you the intimacy you need to make those pills worth it. He doesn't have to constantly be in bed with you. Quite often isn't. It's just that you'll keep taking those pills 'cause you always want to be available for him in any capacity you can be. Those pills are his just as much as they are yours.

And you hate it.

Hate that you feel this way. Hate that indulging in such intimacy with the person you hold closest has resulted in such a clusterfuck of emotions. Hate that he isn't beside you right now, deciphering the names and making up ridiculous stories about the fictional people in front of you. Hate that when you glance over to his direction, you find him engaged in conversation with a group of people you consider friends, only to notice that Hayun is there, too.

Your arms fold a little tighter into your chest as your eyes fall back on the painting. You're alone, now, the man who had been chatting with you also now distracted by associates.

"Hey," a soft, feminine voice sounds next to you. Seoyeon. Hair loose, but with pretty little plaits running through it, she's wearing white trousers and a fitted blazer. Looks demure as ever. "You okay?"

A simple question that calls for a simple answer - yet it feels all rather complex.

You nod. Say you are. Return the question. She returns your answer.

"Gosh, that's depressing," she says of the artwork, and it makes you laugh. She's not wrong.

"Makes you feel something, at least," you offer, to which she hums in agreement.

"I suppose - but I was feeling perfectly happy before I saw it," she giggles, nudging your shoulder, seemingly aware of your less-than-stellar mood. "Watcha doing over here all alone?"

It's a great question. Fantastic question. Devastating answer.

Oh, so I've been fucking Jeongguk for months and he's convinced himself that I'm carrying his spawn and now he's mad at me because I haven't done the test to confirm nor deny. Oh why? Why I haven't done it? 'Cause it'll change the trajectory of my whole entire life and I'm fucking terrified. And I skip periods all the time. No biggie.

Now isn't the time for such honesties, though.

"Just wanted to read all the names," you say, nodding towards the art.

"See any you recognise?"

"Well, there is a Jimin on the first Wednesday," you grin.

"Why am I not surprised," Seoyeon laughs. "Our very own Casanova. Oh - speak of the devil!"

"Devil?" Jimin questions as he approaches you both with fresh champagne flutes in either hand. "Me? Please. You both know I'm an angel."

The way you incredulously both raise your eyebrows at him, bemused smirks on your faces, would suggest that no, you don't 'know' he's an angel.

"Oh, piss off," he laughs, standing between you both, offering you the champagne flutes. When you decline, he's curious. "Oh? Dry night?"

Nodding, you decide that you'll give as few answers as possible when it comes to your lack of drinking - not that it matters, given how much you've abused your body with star fuckers in recent weeks. Any damage is already, inevitably done.

"One of us needs to be the sensible one," you joke, and ignore the burning gaze you can feel from across the room.

His stare is sweltering, like early May heat after a freezing spring, regardless of the cool air that's currently circulating around the room.

It's stuffy, the way his eyes follow you. Suffocating.

And yet you love the warmth. Want evidence of him on your skin like the burn of a summer sun.

Turning your head as Seoyeon and Jimin natter, you're surprised to find his shamelessly dark eyes still on you.

Hair pushed back, he's wearing it shorter than usual. It takes you a moment to realise it's been cut. You think a part of you dies from such a devastating loss - but it's revitalised within the same millisecond. It's criminal how handsome he looks. How mature he seems. Jaw tense, bone structure highlighted, he's a vision. Heaven. Ethereal.

Matching your all black attire, there's one keen difference. One that throws you off entirely: his jacket. It's one you've never seen before. Red. A kaleidoscope of different tones. Dappled, they bleed into one another. You can tell it's expensive. Tell it's being worn with a purpose.

It's unusual for him, and yet he holds a beauty that can only be compared to that of Venus herself. The jacket was made for him.

But you don't like the idea that maybe actually it was made for him, by the only seamstress you know. See no other reason for him to own such an item.

Stupidly, it upsets you how good red looks on him. Pisses you off.

Across the circle of people he stands with is the seamstress herself.

Just as you match him with your silky black dress, she matches him with her scarlet nails and deep ruby cocktail number. Gorgeous in the way that her hair effortlessly waves over her shoulders, she pays your judgemental eyes no notice.

They look good together. Like they belong. A good girl. Upper class. Bad boy. Her bit of 'rough'. Jeongguk likes a good Romeo and Juliet type story. You're sure he loves the romanticisation of their coupling.

So caught up in your own head, you almost miss the way Jimin deliberately chooses to include you in on the conversation once more. Just asks your opinion on the piece, then asks if you know the artist. He wants to check that he's not the Jimin scrawled into the pill packet.

"I'll find out," you promise him - but you're certain he's not. Park Jimin isn't exactly the most unique of names, but you don't want to hurt his ego.

"Legend," he grins, before roping Namjoon in for his opinion on whether or not it's his name.

"It's nothing to be proud of," Namjoon assure him. "If it's you, you're being branded as a hit it and quit it kinda guy. You're only on there once. Most of them are on their a few times. You not good enough for round two?"

Scoffing, Jimin looks to you for defence.

You just smile. Make your excuses and leave. Bless him.

As beautiful as the show is, there's a sadness to it. It revives unpleasant memories. Provokes parts of your brain that have been well trained to not make a noise.

Schmoozing with some of the higher ups from Shilla finances, you're going for the hard sell. Telling them all about Taehyung, and how he's hotly tipped to be one of the most successful artists of this generation.

It's all bullshit, of course, but someone has to have that title. Why shouldn't it be him?

"He certainly does have a gift," one of the older men acknowledges. His name evades you now, but you remember him from networking events with Seokjin. Would always treat the serving staff with kindness, which is more than could be said for most of them. It's the only reason you're entertaining the conversation - the other men you recognise from those events have been avoided by you at all costs.

You're about to call Taehyung over, when the looming intrusion of a bowing gentleman makes itself known in your personal space. It's his presence you notice first. Aftershave second. Stoic, burly voice third.

"Director Choi," he interjects from behind you. "It's good to see you here."

Smiling, with just as much kindness as he shows to everyone, Choi nods back. "Kim Seokjin! I didn't realise you'd be here tonight."

"Ah, well," Seokjin smiles. You can hear it in his tone, even if you daren't turn to face him. Your skin suddenly chills as his large hands rest over the tops of your bare shoulders. "Was back in town, and couldn't miss it. You're speaking with the city's best curator."

The way he squeezes your shoulders, skin on skin, makes you want to be sick. It's as if you've had far too much of the champagne you've been turning down all evening - but your stomach is empty. All you'd be able to do is gag.

Yet your body is entirely frozen.

And neither of the men care enough to notice.

"It's quite the collection," Choi nods, but doesn't keep his focus on you. Like the serving staff, he's always polite to you, but will always see you as a second-class citizen. You're not a man. He doesn't respect you. As human? Yes, he does. But as a person? Why would he waste his time if he can't profit off of you? "Tell me Seokjin, how have you been? I hear your department is up by 3.7% this week?"

The conversation around you is stuffy, like that sticky summer heat clinging to your skin once more. It's unpleasant, but inescapable. There's nothing you can do, except let it ruin you.

One breath in; through the nose. One breath out; through the mouth.

Repeat.

One breath in; through the nose. One breath out; through the mouth.

There's a squeeze of Seokjin's hands; a silent instruction to not move your shoulders so much.

Half a breath in. Half a breath out.

You've an inability to focus on anything other than basic survival.

In the times you've seen Seokjin since the breakup, he's always been so good at acting as if it never happened. He touches you just the same. Speaks with just as much fondness that always made you think you actually meant something to him.

For so long, you wished he would be like that with you in public. Would proudly claim you as his own.

But now that he is, all you want is for him to look at you with remorse. Regret.

Sort of like Jeongguk is doing, as he spots you from across the room. Was just doing his quarter-of-an-hourly checks to make sure you're still okay - even if he is annoyed with you. Thinks that anyone who has ever spent even a smidgeon of time with you should know that the look in your eyes is far from okay.

They're downcast. To the floor. Your nostrils flare ever so gently as you inhale. Mouth forms a delicate pout as you exhale. Breathing exercises. He recognises them instantly. They're the same ones Jeongguk does when he's frustrated and trying his damn hardest to not break another display case.

It's been working lately. Not a permanent fix, no, but it's been going okay. Has finally been reading one of Namjoon's self-help books that's been on his bedside table for months. Fills the time that should be spent on you doing that, instead.

But Jeongguk thinks all of his hard work might just go down the fucking drain when he realises what's happening. When he notices exactly who has a possessive grip on you. When, from across the room, he hears Seokjin laughing at some vapid joke that he knows mustn't be even remotely funny.

"Hey, Dan," he calls over to your best friend, breaking her from her conversation with Taehyung. When she looks at Jeongguk, she follows the direction in which he nods.

She gasps. Drops her hold on Taehyung's forearm, and doesn't hesitate to beeline straight for you.

Jeongguk knows it should have been him - but he also knows you're stubborn. Knows you might have chosen to stay put just to spite him. Also knows that stress if bad for the body. Says so in another one of those webMD tabs open on his phone. You're stressed enough as it is. Don't need him causing a scene. Danbi is what you need right now.

Not him.

But he needs air - so heads out towards the stairwell and just keeps on going up. Up and up, until there's nowhere left to go. Closer and closer to the stars. Further and further away from his very own.

Elbows resting on the wall of the rooftop, Jeongguk lets a deep-rooted sigh exhale from his body. Lungs heavy in his chest, he's in need of respite - yet even that seems like an unattainable goal these days.

He wishes to be back in Busan; where the sun shines and so do you.

The darkness of the city envelopes him, now, much like it obscures his heart. Confuses it. Tells him all sorts of lies. She loves you. She loves you not. She loves you. She loves you not. He's not sure what's the truth, anymore.

He's not plucked at daisy petals since he was a kid, but he does occasionally pull glitter from his skin. That's when the rhyme repeats. That's how he knows he only has space in his heart for you.

And so when the bustling sound of the city is interrupted by a voice that isn't yours, he frowns.

"Watcha doing up here, buddy?"

The roll of Jeongguk's eyes is so damn weighted he's surprised it doesn't sound like stones are being turned. Of all the people he wants to be alone with right now, Hayun would be towards the bottom of the list. Likely beaten only by your shitbag of an ex.

"Needed some air," he lies. Doesn't look at her as she takes the space beside him, then shuffles over a little. Doesn't wanna touch her. The intrusion of her perfume is enough to make him feel sick. Has done ever since she approached him in the courtyard of Dionysus.

"Could have gone for a smoke with Tae," she says all rather pleasantly.

Jeongguk is well aware of this. Truth be told, he could do with a cigarette. Could do with many things right now.

Could do with a few shots, or even a high. MDMA, maybe. Something that'll have him thinking death is inevitable before he manages to reach his come up. Could spend the whole night pinging. Wouldn't have to think about you, or your ex, or the fact his heart already feels like it's got a little ecstasy running through it these days.

But you're not drinking, and so Jeongguk isn't smoking. Is finally actually trying to make some good decisions for a change, to atone for all of his questionable ones.

He shakes his head. Bunches his face up ever so slightly. Is dismissive as he simply says, "Didn't fancy it."

Just like he doesn't fancy engaging in this conversation.

She nods, pretending to care. Fabricating a persona that matches how awfully pretty she is. "You don't seem like yourself."

Mentally, Jeongguk sneers. Physically, he remains unchanged. Statuesque.

"You've been saying that ever since you came back," he eventually sighs. Looks over to her. Doesn't mean to be so cold, but frankly no longer has the patience. "You can't fuck people over and expect them to welcome you back with open arms. Doesn't work like that, Yun."

Hayun's laugh is parasitic. Gets under his skin. Crawls about. Makes him feel sick. His body rejects it.

"She's inside your head," is all she says. "Never used to be like this before she came around."

In the far distance, a police siren sounds. It's swallowed up by the fumes of rattling exhaust pipes and the posing arrival of planes from foreign lands. In a city that never rests, Jeongguk thinks it mad that Hayun expected him to remain exactly as he was.

Doesn't even register what she says about you. Pays it no attention.

"I don't wanna keep doing this, Hayun," Jeongguk says quietly.

It's strange, because he knows it's the 'right' thing to do, but it still doesn't feel entirely correct.

Years of knowing her - of loving her - have been reduced to nothing but resentment and wasted time. Everything he experienced with her equates to emptiness. The good - of which there was plenty - and the bad - of which there was marginally more.

"What do you mean?" she asks, as if she doesn't already know.

"I don't wanna pretend like we're still friends," he simply states. "It's doing nobody any favours."

It's something he should have said a long time ago. Something he's known for far longer than he's wanted to admit. Something Jimin has been telling him for years.

"Gguk," she tries, and reaches out for his hand - but Jeongguk tears it away from her.

"No," he reaffirms. Is setting boundaries. Is being as firm with her as he wishes you'd be with Seokjin. He keeps his voice measured. Sensible. Wastes no more energy than is needed. "I'll be perfectly cordial with you, but I'm not gonna act like we're anything more than strangers. Said it yourself, you don't know who I am these days. Please stop trying to find whoever you think I used to be."

"So I guess the marriage pact is vetoed?" She tries to joke. Thinks that making light of the situation will ease things. Make them less awkward.

He doesn't dignify her with a direct response to that. Instead, he stands a little straighter. Taps his ringed fingers against the wall so that a clunky pat sounds against the urethane coating that covers the entire roof area. Turns to face her. Looks down upon her. "I'm asking you nicely, Hayun - but if I have to ask again, I won't be."

There's nothing she can say to reel him back in. Not anymore. Not like she used to. She knows this. Hates this.

But one thing Hayun refuses to ever do is embarrass herself. Not for a man. Especially not for one she didn't even want that badly in the first place.

That's exactly the issue at hand, though. He was always the one chasing her. Always. Must have worn through a hundred pairs of shoes in pursuit of her - but he's stopped running now, and she can't quite wrap her head around it.

"Okay," she simply says. Smiles. It's insincere. Jeongguk doesn't realise this, 'cause it looks like every other fuckin' smile she's ever cast his way. "Look, emotions are high. I won't take this to heart. Whenever you're ready, you know where to find me."

Glancing over to the door, Hayun's ruby-red lips falter. Her smile almost cracks, but she holds herself well.

"Oh, goodie," Hayun hums. "Suppose I should leave you to it."

Jeongguk doesn't follow her gaze. Knows that there's only one person who could evoke such a reaction - and right now, he's annoyed with you, too.

He does, at least, say, "I suppose you should."

It's not until Hayun begins to strut away that Jeongguk turns to the door. Not to watch her walk away, no.

To watch you walk towards him, instead - but you don't.

You stay leant against the door frame. There's a sultry smile on your lips, and he's surprised to see they move a little as Hayun approaches. He can't hear you, but he knows your lips almost better than he knows his own. Can work out exactly what you're saying.

Lipstick's a little smudged.

Jeongguk knows that it absolutely is not - but the way Hayun's hand lifts to her lips suggests that she doesn't know this.

It's evident you're trying to evoke some sort of insecurity in her. Seems to have worked. Also seems to be incredibly mean-spirited - but he's not gonna hold it against you. Knows that it's the least Hayun deserves. It's not like he was exactly kind to Seokjin upon meeting him, either.

The sounds of the city echo out around you as a small breeze carries the scent of the trees that are finally starting to rebloom after a harsh winter. There's hope to be found in the darkness of this night. The promise of rebirth.

Or at least there is, until you begin to make excuses to leave.

"Just came up for some air," you explain, not looking to engage in conversation with him. If anything, you just feel like you're losing your breath.

He nods. Purses his lips. Turns away from you. Hopes you'll come to join him.

There's a you-sized spot right beside him. Hayun had tried forcing her way in, but the fit just wasn't right.

His broad shoulders widen as his elbows rest back upon the wall, body silhouetted in the skyline. Something about him today feels so new. So different. Maybe it's just the hair - but hair holds history. You feel like he's cut you out of his. Is starting afresh, maybe.

Whatever the case, he's clearly not concerned in inviting you into his current narrative. Is quite literally blocking you out.

You had arrived to find him locked in conversation with Hayun. Engaged. He'd watched her walk away, and the moment she was gone, couldn't stand the sight of you, or so it seems.

And so as Jeongguk waits - wishes - for you to walk towards him and slink your arm around his waist, you decide to cut your losses. Hadn't even come up to the roof to see him. Had been hoping to be alone after the whole Seokjin debacle.

It's not like you hadn't known Seokjin would be in attendance tonight.

He had messaged you to confirm the date. You just hadn't expected him to waltz in like a proud partner, parading you around in front of his colleagues.

So yeah, you had been shocked. Had been unable to respond in a way that accurately conveyed how you felt. Had panicked. Had cried in the storage room that Danbi had dragged you into while she gave you a pep talk and wiped away your stray tears, before suggesting you get some air.

You wonder if perhaps she knew Jeongguk would be here. Seems likely, knowing her.

Your lip trembles as you go to speak, unspoken words vibrating between them. There's no sound. Just the city. The cars, and the revellers from a bar a few blocks down. Jazz music echoing up the stairs to the rooftop, too.

And then there's Jeongguk's voice. Quiet. Controlled. Commanding.

"The first bird," he says. Looks down as he does so. Builds his confidence, then turns around to look at you. Is displeased to see your body facing away from him now, about to walk away - as if you hadn't instantly turned your head to look at him. "The first one. We went to the water park. Some guy looked at you in a way you didn't like, and you went straight on over and told him to stop being a perv. Remember?"

Of course you do.

But you say nothing. Do nothing. Just turn your body. Let him know you're listening. He continues.

"You know your limits, B. You know your boundaries."

You nod, now. Still stay silent.

Jeongguk's jaw grates, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. You're avoiding his confrontation, just like you've been avoiding all talks of anything serious since that day at the cafe.

And it's pissing him off.

"So why do you let him overstep them?" Jeongguk continues - and finally, this accusation gets a rise from you.

"I don't let him do anything," you scoff - and then you accuse. "You're the one I've just found hiding up on the rooftop with your ex. What about those boundaries, huh?"

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. Turns away from you. Looks out over the city, and wishes it would swallow him whole. "You've got no fuckin' idea, B. No idea."

"So then tell me!" You say, as if it's as easy as reciting your ABC's. "I'm not a mind reader-"

"And nor am I!" He says sternly, but doesn't raise his voice any higher than yours. "You've spent half the week ignoring me, only for you to barely even look at me now. You're not even wearing any glitter -"

"Why does that even matter?" You interrupt, unsure exactly of what he's trying to say.

Is the lack of glitter intentional? Yes.

Is it for the reasons he assumes? Probably not.

"'Cause we both know he fuckin' hates it," he snaps, decidedly far more pissed off now that he's speaking his thoughts into existence. "We both know you didn't wear it because of him in the past. So for you to show up with no glitter? Let him leech all over you? After he sent you all those fucking roses, and you won't fucking talk to me? Tell me what I'm supposed to think, huh?"

"Why does it even matter to you?" You fight back. It takes two to tango, and he seems to know the steps pretty fucking well. "You've been ignoring me too-"

"It matters to me because you might be fucking pregnant, B!"

Silence shatters around you both. Steals any words that could be said in the wake of such a declaration.

You roll your eyes. Do a fantastic job at pretending as if you don't feel like your world is caving in on itself.

"No, you don't get to treat me like I'm being irrational when you've been drinking cranberry juice all evening," he scathes, the frustrated gestures of his hands letting you know just how upset he is - and rightly so. "You don't get to act like you've not been thinking about it too."

"We don't even know if I'm pregnant-"

"And who's fault is that?!

"Gguk-"

"No, you're being such an asshole about this, B. This doesn't affect just you. This affects me too, okay?

Shaking his head, Jeongguk turns away from you. The way you're behaving is so unlike you, or so he thought. Maybe he didn't know you as well as he thought. Maybe he did get wrapped up in fallacies of you; in the what if.

"I fucking defended you," he says quietly. Isn't even sure if you can hear him. Doesn't care. Shakes his head and lets it dip between his disappointed shoulders. You'd be forgiven for think he was giving his next words careful thought. In all reality, he just starts ranting. "When he was at the tennis club, and was chatting shit, I defended you. Me . And yet you're more concerned with keeping up appearances for him ."

"You did what ?"

Now that he's started, Jeongguk can't stop. Not when he turns around. Not when he looks at you. Not when he starts to walk towards you.

"I insinuated we were together to get him to shut the fuck up," Jeongguk scoffs, thinking about his former self. Is embarrassed, now. Is letting his frustrations show because fuck it . He's hurting . Feels like a deer bleeding out on the side of a road, left to rot by some asshole driver who rammed straight into him at a hundred miles per hour. "So he's out here, showing up to your event, putting moves on you - even though he thinks you're with someone else - and you're fucking giving him the green light. Real fuckin' nice of him. A stand up guy. Respect must be his middle name. You really know how to pick 'em, B."

"Literally, how was I supposed to know any of that?!" You ask, eyes wide, brows furrowed. These new revelations are just as devastating as they are infuriating. All you can do is repeat a previous sentiment. "I'm not a fucking mind reader!"

But Jeongguk's irate now. Comical, almost, in how he downplays his anger.

"Oh, well, forgive me for assuming that you wouldn't bend to your exes every fucking whim!" He exclaims, a sarcastic smile on his face that snaps to a scowl within an instant. "I didn't think it was important because I thought you were beyond that point-"

"You're being cruel," you interrupt him, because he is. He knows how hard you've worked. Has been with you every step of the way - but this is how he views you?

"Me?" He laughs. It's cold.

"Yes," you say. "You."

"Nah." He shakes his head. Casts his eyes to the floor, 'cause looking at you like this only makes him feel even more frustrated with the current state of affairs. "Cruel is what Seokjin's doing right now - but you're giving him a free pass."

"I'm not. I don't want him leeching all over me," you say quietly, ashamed, turning away from him as you walk across the roof. Crouching, you bundle yourself up protectively, as if it'll make a difference. As if you can shield yourself from your friendship with Jeongguk as it comes crashing down on you both.

The only thing that makes any fucking sense to either of you right now is that you'd do it all again.

He'd ruin the friendship a million times over.

Not because he doesn't care, or because he's okay with losing you. Quite the opposite.

He'd ruin the friendship because - fuck it - that isn't what this is. The friendship flew out the window months ago. Maybe he was too late to realise it. Maybe he should have tried to claw it back in - but what use would that have been? It would have been wounded. Scratched to smithereens. Damaged.

Standing up straight, you curse at the sky. Are saddened by how few stars are out. Feels like they're shying away. Maybe they're ashamed, too.

"I have to head back," you say. Are defeated as you turn to face Jeongguk. "Tae's doing his speech, soon."

Jeongguk nods. Looks to the floor. Doesn't want you to go. Knows he hasn't exactly done anything to make it worth staying.

Both struggling with the current state of affairs, there's no one to blame. Joint bad decisions have led you here.

But he wants you close. Wants things to feel normal. Is willing to do anything.

"Look, your ex is down there being a prick," Jeongguk sighs. He waits for a moment. Lets you work out what he's gonna say in your own head. Wants to see your reaction before any of his bias comes into play. "He thinks we're together.... The best way to get him off your back?"

Your lips part ever so slightly. A crease forms between your brows, but your eyes remain kind. "Gguk..."

Shrugging, he plays off the weight of a suggestion he hasn't even vocalised yet. "He thinks we're together. Makes sense for us to act like we are."

For reasons you can't explain, the idea of other people seeing you and Jeongguk act intimately towards one another fills you with fear. It's not like it's an abhorrent thing - but to see the way your friends look at you as you present yourselves as a couple is to see their genuine reaction to it. If they're disgusted, you'll know that you're not suited. If they're elated, it will only play into these weird feelings that you've been having and are so desperately trying to avoid.

Eyes scanning him, you try and work out what he thinks of it all. If he's disgusted, you could probably live with that.

If he's elated?

Makes you feel queasy. Scared.

He holds out his hand. Knocks his head to the side. "C'mon. Face those fears of yours. Hold my hand."

It's bizarre, how Jeongguk has quite literally licked your arse, and yet this feels like the most obscene thing he's ever asked of you.

When you arrive back in the main room, Jeongguk stands behind you, ever so slightly to the side. Loops his arm around your waist. It's unintentional, the way his hand comes to rest over your stomach. Fingers splayed, he pulls your back to his chest, and you pretend like you're able to stand up straight without his support. Pretend as if the world around you isn't caving in on itself.

It wouldn't matter, even if it was. You're safe here. Safe with him.

And yet you insist on pushing him away.

"I wouldn't stand like this with a boyfriend," you say. "Too overbearing."

"Well, I would stand with a girlfriend like this," he assures you. The fingers that aren't firmly keeping your stomach protected come to your chin. Encourage it to the side. Get you looking at him. "I'd stand with her like this," he whispers, glances behind you so briefly that you almost miss it. "And when her ex boyfriend is looking in our direction - of which he is now - I'd kiss her."

"That wouldn't be very professional," you whisper.

"No," he acknowledges. "I don't suppose it would be."

He pulls away.

"I'll let you get on," he says. "The second he even so much as breathes in your direction, you come to me."

"Gguk-"

"You make your excuses and you come to me."

"I can handle it."

"Fine then," he shrugs. Begins to turn away, but makes sure to say, "I'll come to you."

And despite the deep-rooted need for you to prove yourself, there's a stranger sitting next to your determination. She goes by the name of Desire. And all she does is fucking laugh.

As Jeongguk rejoins his usual crowd, he's met with silence.

"Hmm?" He hums, reaching over for the glass Jimin is holding. Doesn't know what he's drinking. Doesn't ask. Downs it. Hands it back. "What are we talking about?"

Mouths a little ajar, neither Taehyung nor Danbi quite know what to make of what's happening, nor the foul mood that so clearly has a grip on their friend.

"Riveting," Jeongguk says sarcastically, when the silence lasts for a little too long. "No, really. Please go on."

But then, right on cue, Seokjin is heading in your direction, and Jeongguk may as well be bleeding through his tear ducts, given how red his sight is.

Bolting for you, Jeongguk almost knocks into one of the waiting staff. Spends a short moment apologising, then makes sure to interact with the people standing behind you. Has never seen them before in his life. Has no idea who they are - yet he greets them like old friends. Wants Seokjin to question his place. Wants him to think that Jeongguk is so much more important than he actually is.

And when he arrives to find Seokjin already speaking with you?

Yeah. Ain't no way he's letting him win.

Jeongguk does not give a fuck. Does not care about the opinions of anyone else. The world around him is burning red, flames that refuse to flicker out - and you crash through them like a beam of white light. A shooting star that offers the promise of something better. Something new.

Imposing in his stance, Jeongguk comes to stand beside you. Offers his hand out to Seokjin.

"Ah! Seojoon," he says, deliberately getting the wrong name, and not caring that maybe it's indicative of the fact your former fling has also been on his mind. Fine! Maybe he's obsessed with the fact other people have more of a claim on your romantic history than he does. Sue him. "We met at the golf course, remember?"

Seokjin doesn't correct Jeongguk on the incorrect name, nor the incorrect location. Knows exactly what he's doing. Shakes his hand.

"Jeongguk, yes. You had to run off pretty quick, no? Didn't get a chance to rally."

Oh, but we did, Jeongguk thinks. Knows it's a good job he didn't stick around. Would have probably thrown a racquet at Seokjin's face. Accidentally.

"Mm," Jeongguk nods. Protectively grips the nape of your neck. "Had plans. Maybe next time."

Seokjin nods. "Maybe."

The tension between the men is getting thicker.

Soon, you won't be able to breathe.

So you smile towards your ex, and say, "Excuse us."

Which only serves to piss Jeongguk off. This is your shot. Your chance to show Seokjin how little you care - and instead, you want to run away. Un-fucking-believable.

Still he smiles at Seokjin, as if he knows something that he doesn't. Wants him questioning this interaction for weeks. Regretting. Lamenting.

"See you around," Jeongguk says pleasantly, as you lead him down the hallway, your pace getting angrier with each step. He rolls his eyes. Knows you're gonna wanna fight, and thinks fuck it. Will just let it happen this time. Can't be fucked with keeping the peace.

The janitor's closet you had visited with Danbi is down this hallway, and it's where you're headed. Want privacy. Need it.

Especially 'cause Jeongguk's spouting off like a facetious twat before you're even inside. "Worst fake girlfriend I've ever had."

"I don't know how I'm supposed to pretend to be your fucking girlfriend!" You hiss quietly once you're inside, as Jeongguk knocks across the latch on the door, as if anyone else would even think to be in a janitor's closet right now.

You only know the door passcode from when you had been setting up, and even that was a lucky guess. Had just tried the code that works for another door in the gallery when Danbi had dragged you here, too.

"Well, it's not that fucking hard!" He hisses back, trying the handle just to make sure it doesn't open.

"Apparently it is!" You reply childishly.

Turning to face you, Jeongguk is obscured by the lack of light coming in through the small window on the back wall. You can barely see one another, 'cause neither of you have flicked the light on - and quite frankly, you don't want to. It's easier to fight when you can't see how delicate he looks, or how handsome his jaw is when it flexes out of frustration.

"Oh fuck off," he laughs, but it isn't humorous. "Even the caricature artist in Busan had to ask if we were a couple. We are perfectly capable of looking like one."

"I'm sure she asks everyone that!"

"Oh, piss off-"

"Fine!" You say defiantly, barging past him. If he wants you to piss off, then you will. He's the one who got you into this mess. Frankly, you don't give a shit at this point - but the door won't budge. Lock won't move. You yank on the door, as if that will help.

For all of Jeongguk's internalised frustration, he smirks, now. Folds his arm. Perches his ass on the counter by the sink.

Trying to prize the latch open, you're stupidly worried about breaking a nail - but you refuse to ask for help. Look to the side for something you can use for leverage. Can only see mops. Half think about throwing one at Jeongguk.

He doesn't interrupt your struggle. Doesn't tell you that there's a second latch towards the top of the door.

"If you don't let me out, then God help me, Jeongguk, I will scream," you threaten. "I will scream so fucking loudly that everyone hears, and then I'll let you explain why you wouldn't let me out."

Jeongguk laughs. "Go on then."

But you don't. You won't. This is somewhere you hope to work, one day. You can't risk embarrassing yourself over something as pathetic as this.

If you do, then it means Seokjin has won.

Jeongguk is many things. He's frustrating, and confusing, and yet simple and straightforward. He's an oxymoron, and on occasion, just a moron. At the crux of his identity though, is a good human. There is one thing he is not, and that is cruel.

So he stands. Sighs. Walks towards you and leans up to the latch you've neglected to touch. Puts a hand on your waist to steady himself, not that he really needs to. Pulls the lock free. Doesn't let go of your waist, but he isn't keeping you trapped. You're free to fly.

And yet you stay put, breath hitched in your throat, time standing still for a moment.

"Go," Jeongguk says quietly, his raspy voice affecting you in ways that it shouldn't be right now.

But to go would be to give him what he wants - and you absolutely do not want to do that.

Most importantly, you don't want to leave. Would gladly fight with him right now, 'cause at least you're actually talking.

"You go," you reply childishly.

"Me?" He laughs. Comes a little closer. Practically whispers in your ear. "B, you're the one who wanted to go. So, go."

"Maybe I've changed my mind."

He scoffs. "Fine."

It's a childish back and forth. One of you needs to grow up, and take control of the situation - and as Jeongguk's hand grips your waist a little tighter and spins you round, it's evident who is taking that role.

There's a dominant assertion to the way he moves you. You've seen this side of him a few times, but it never fails to take your breath away.

Hands pinned above your head all rather suddenly, a single one of his palms can keep both of your wrists suspended. It's always driven you a little wild before - but he's pissing you off. Every little thing he does will annoy you, now. Even the sexy shit.

In fact, especially the sexy shit.

The hand of his that isn't clamped around your wrists comes to the base of your throat, and you can't help but gasp a little in surprise.

His voice is deep and low as he tells you to 'say chess.'

But you shake your head. Won't do a damn thing he tells you. "No."

He grips tighter. "Tell me to stop."

"No."

"Fine then," he husks. Presses his knee between your thighs. Spreads them. Drops the hand from your throat to your hips. Get you positioned just right. Pulls you further up his thigh. Encroaches on your personal space.

"Stop acting like you don't know how to fake things." His voice is dulcet. "Your ex should be pretty used to it."

"Hardly the same thing, is it?" You hiss back, but Jeongguk laughs, and presses a kiss to the side of your ear. Then the lobe. Then beneath your ear. Down your throat. Stops only once he reaches your collarbone. Raises his eyes. Looks directly at you.

"I'm gonna make you cum," he tells you with arrogant certainty. "For real. You're not gonna fake that. Gonna make you cum, and then you're gonna hold my hand in front of your ex-boyfriend and fake that like a good girl."

The energy he's radiating is electric; the right amount of jealousy and desire making you the only thing his brain can focus on for longer than a second at a time.

"Gguk-" you gasp as he pushes your hips down. The leverage is crappy, the angle not quite right, but the intention is there.

Jeongguk glances over his shoulder, to check he wasn't imagining the chair he swore he noticed earlier, and almost thanks the God he doesn't believe in when his eyes land on it.

He turns back to face you. Lets your hands drop from above your head. Cups your jaw. Brushes his lips against yours.

"You're gonna be a good girl for me, aren't you, B?" He says, pressing a delicate kiss to your lips. Doesn't it let it linger. You don't get a chance to kiss him back, for he's moving you both to the chair. He sits, legs parted, and gets you straddled across his thigh. You're right where he wants you. "You're gonna ride my thigh and cum like a good fuckin' girl."

The satin of your panties rubs against his slacks without him even trying.

Hands beneath your dress, he squeezes at the flesh of your ass, spreading you. Pulls you up his thigh. Lets you build a motion. Encourages it.

He doesn't complain when your hands tangle in his hair. It surprises you at first, just how short it is. You've never experienced it like this. It almost distracts you from what's actually happening.

But then one of his hands comes to toy with your chest as you continue to ride his thigh. The neckline makes it so fucking easy for him. He gets you exposed, but doesn't keep it that way for long. Latches onto your nipple as soon as he fucking can. Groans against you, and then the sensation of his vibrating tongue forces the wetness to seep from your cunt.

Your rhythm against his thigh is well-established, now. Both of his hands are free to tug down on the top of your dress.

It's a pretty dress. Gorgeous, in fact, and you look incredible in it - but all he wants to do is take it off. Wants you naked.

For now, he'll settle with your satin-covered cunt rubbing up against him, and your tits nice and exposed for him to toy with. He's using you for his own gratification, and you're doing just the same.

His tongue flicks against your nipples, hands squeezing your tits firmly together. He sucks. Squeezes. Grazes his teeth. Makes you feel so fucking good. Part of you thinks he'll get you cumming just from the contact of his lips with your hardened nipples - but the way his strong thigh is acting as the perfect ridge? Fuck .

"I'm close," you promise as the pleasure trickles through your bloodstream like warm honey. Sweet, and delicate, there's something about orgasms earned by Jeongguk that always makes you feel like you've ascended. Heaven really is a place on earth. Remarkably, it appears to be in a janitor's closet with all of your closest friends just down the hallway.

Jeongguk nods. Slowly pulls away from your nipples, the suction so pleasurable you can't help but whine. "I won't stop you."

He means it. Keeps your nipples wet with his spit, tongue lapping against them, as your hips buck against him. Your whines get a little deeper. Friction stronger. Breaths needier.

And then, as soon as your body begins to shudder that tell-tale way, he lets his tongue loose.

"That's it, beautiful," he husks. Looks at you with stark adorned eyes. "Come on me like the pretty slut you are. What would they think, huh? If everyone here knew what you were doing? Be louder, baby. Let them know. Let them know how much you like to cum for me."

You whimper his name as your grind begins to ease - but Jeongguk doesn't let it. Uses both of his hands. Grabs your ass. Is intentional with the way he bounces his thigh up against you, forcing the sensation to jolt through you once more. Elbows on his shoulders, head buried in the crook of his neck, you're whining as he overstimulates you.

"God, I'll cum again," you tell him, teeth grazing his neck. He kinda likes the pain. Likes that he'll be waking up with a hickie, no doubt.

"Good," he grits. Is rough with your body. Wants that second orgasm, and he wants it now.

"Gguk-" you whimper, but can't manage to say anything more, the wave of pleasure taking over you so much faster. Chest heaving, you're unable to do anything other than languidly grind until your body stops. Hearts beating in sync, Jeongguk is so overwhelmed by how good it is to feel you come undone for him, he almost doesn't notice the way you begin to palm his incredibly hard crotch.

"Shit," he hisses. This was supposed to be about you. He shouldn't be letting you do this - and yet he's reaching for his belt. Is frantic as he unbuckles. Opens up his pants. Takes over from you. Dips his hands into his underwear. Wraps his hand around his hard, leaky cock. Smears the precum from his tip all over his head. Wants it in your mouth - but has other, more pressing ideas. "Can you stand for me, baby?"

Barely. Shaky on your legs, you do your best. Let him guide you - thankfully, to the door. Back pressed against it, Jeongguk gets you to hold the skirt of your dress up. Pushes your panties down, but only just enough to expose a small amount of your cunt. They're still around the top of your thighs, slick with evidence of your orgasm.

Jeongguk lines himself up. Rests the head of his cock against the edge of your underwear. Tells you, "I'm gonna cum in them. Gonna cum in your panties, and then you're gonna wear them all fuckin' evening."

"Please," is all you pathetically whimper.

It doesn't take long for him to get there. He's been worked up all week. He wanks himself off for you. Whines. Whispers shit about how hot you are. How much he likes doing shit like this.

Jeongguk grips onto your arm as his climax hits. Body doubling, he has no choice but to let his forehead rest on your shoulder.

"I'm cumming. Fuck. Fuck," Jeongguk curses. Tilts his head. Presses a wet kiss to the base of your neck as his body jolts and the first rope of cum spurts into your underwear. "Fuck, baby."

"That's it," you encourage, obsessed with the way he's whimpering, body all weak and feeble as it shakes for you.

He groans now. Grips his cock even tighter. Milks himself for all he's worth. Fucking ruins your underwear. Lets the top of his cock rub up against your clit. Massages your slick and his cum together. "Fuck."

When he finally pulls away, he says nothing. Immediately pulls his pants up as if he can't believe what he's just done, then pulls your panties up, too. Hooks the sides over your hips, pulling the mess he's made tightly to your soaked cunt. Cups his hand over your heat. Presses. Rubs. Teases little circles over your clit. Presses down more firmly. Builds speed.

"Gguk," you whine, grabbing onto his shoulders.

"Again, baby," he says softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Cum again for me."

"I can't," you whine, the overstimulation about to kick in - but he dismisses it. Knows that if you wanted him to stop, you'd say 'chess'.

"You can, baby," he promises. Uses the hand that isn't massaging your clit to angle your jaw. Doesn't even think as he steals a pretty little kiss from your lips. Doesn't realise it begins to send you over the edge. "You're gonna cum like you're mine."

And how can you do anything else but succumb to his demands?

Lips on his, brows furrowed together, he swallows all of your pretty little whines, as your body shudders for him. He keeps you steady. Keeps you supported. Keeps his tongue in your mouth, and his hand rubbing your panties. Doesn't ease up until you pull away from his lips.

"Gguk," you pant. "Please."

Nodding, he eases slowly. Doesn't wanna let go too quickly. Keeps kissing you. Won't stop that. Never wants to stop that. Is still annoyed with you, yes, but knows he has a duty of care, now. Also knows he'd never forgive himself if he didn't take every chance he gets to kiss you.

When he finally pulls away, forehead resting against yours, he's spent. You're both panting, both struggling to formulate any words in the wake of such a devastating orgasm.

Brushing a few strands of hair back from your face, Jeongguk closes his eyes. Nudges his nose against yours. Shows a little restraint. Whispers, "You've got a show to return to."

Nodding, you shake a little from his grip. Say nothing as you adjust your dress. Try your best to ignore the thick pool of his cum that's gathered in your panties. The tops of your thighs will end up smeared in the evidence of him, and, quite disgustingly, it only serves to make you even more turned on.

"I'll follow behind you," he promises as he begins to sort himself out, too.

Nodding, you're a little unsure of exactly what to do. You're scared that someone will know. That you'll leak.

"I'm scared," you admit. Explain your worry. He rolls his eyes, but smiles as he does, so.

He tugs on your hands, and props you up against the counter towards the back of the small room. Spreads your legs. Assesses fuckin' nothing, 'cause it's so dark in the room - but knows your pussy almost as well as he knows his own name. Licks to the left of your lips. To the right. Ends in one thick stripe up the centre. Sucks ever so gently once he reaches your clit. Knows that your cunt - your leaky, needy, hole that he loves to stretch out so much - must be going insane from the lack of attention it's getting.

"You'll be okay," he assures you. Stands, and gives your pussy a playful spank. "C'mon. You've got horny old dudes to schmooze."

"Is that gonna get you off?" you tease slightly, your annoyance with him a little subdued.

"Maybe," he shrugs, already knowing it mostly likely will. "You're gonna walk around that gallery covered in my cum, and no one else but us is gonna know it," he smirks, the gravity of what he's just done finally kicking in. Cups your jaw. Presses a kiss to your lips. Husks, "You're gonna go out there and act like you're mine - 'cause right now, you are."

You don't argue against it.

The pair of you meander down the corridor in near silence. His hand is on your back, but your arms are tentatively folded across your chest. Each step is accompanied by your keen ears checking for audible evidence of your sin.

So caught up in your own worries, you don't notice how quiet the gallery itself is. How few people seem to be milling about. How the main lights are on now, and how it only seems to be those wearing 'staff' lanyards within the main space.

Pursing his lips as he realises, Jeongguk tries not to laugh.

"Oh, shit," you whisper, pulling on his wrist so you can check the time on his watch. 10:13. The show was scheduled to finish at 10, but you're sure most people will have filtered out before then. Have no idea what the time was when Jeongguk had dragged you away from the main room.

"S'fine," he mumbles. Grips a little tighter on your waist. Doesn't let you pull away, like he fears you will now that appearances don't need to be kept up.

You don't. Instead, your arms drop from their position over your chest, and reach for his hand, guiding him the direction of the (now unmanned) cloak room.

There's little chatter as you grab your coats - the only ones left there.

"Need to show you something," you mumble, digging into your pockets, and pulling out half a dozen empty tubes.

Jeongguk looks at you with a sense of frayed confusion - but if he were to thread the strings together, he'd see the bigger picture.

Dusted in fine glitter of different colours, the tubes don't seem out of the ordinary for you. Is totally the kind of thing he'd expect to see in your pockets.

Quietly, you grit your teeth together. Suck in a little air. Are embarrassed to admit what you've done.

But the person in front of you is your best friend. Even with judgement will come acceptance. There always is. Honesty is the least you owe him.

"I know I'm not wearing any glitter," you start slowly. Hold the empty tubes up, then toss them into the bin beside the concierge table. Knock your head to the side and encourage him to start walking with you. He does.

He also reaches into his own pocket, and pulls out his car keys. Passes them over to you. "Might be above the limit. Can you drive?"

Glancing over to him, shocked by the request, you double check. "Are you sure?"

He nods. "You can crash at mine. It's fine."

Despite it all, there's still no one else he wants to end the night with. No girl he'd rather take home. Platonic or romantic.

"Sleep, I mean," he adds. "Not physically crash the car. Please don't crash my car."

You just smile. Nod. After the hideousness of the week spent barely talking to him, there's nothing you want more than to just feel like things are still normal.

"So the tubes?" he asks as you reach the car. He lets you unlock it, but adjusts the seat for you before letting you get in. Also puts his jacket down on the cushion, just in case your underwear gives up on protecting your decency.

"Thanks," you say, stroking the side of his waist tenderly as he makes way for you and waits for him to get in before you start the car up. You get onto the main road, and make sure you've got your bearings before finally explaining yourself. "It was plausible deniability. The lack of glitter, I mean. Was deliberate."

"What do you mean?" He asks, reaching for the gearstick. Doesn't care if your hand is on it. Wants to hold it. You ignore his actions. Just let him intertwine his fingers with yours.

"I mean, the less glitter on me, the less credibility Jin would have when it comes to arguing that I'm the person who's emptied half a dozen tubes of glitter into his incredibly expensive formal winter coat."

Jeongguk says nothing for a moment. Plays out the idea of you stealthily depositing millions of glitter specks into a jacket that costs more than his yearly rent. Is slow to ask, "...which pockets?"

And you're slow to reply, "... All the ones I could find. Outside, inside. Secret pocket in the lining."

And then Jeongguk is laughing. Really fucking laughing. Looks over to you, and your bunched up little face, and is overcome a sense of pride he usually only feels for these gallery shows, or when a bird of yours is completed. The kinda pride that is reserved for you, and for your accomplishments.

"Shut up," you giggle now, too. "I know it's childish but-"

"No," he shakes his head. Can't stop smiling. "It's brilliant. Dunno if you've heard, but apparently glitter is a bitch to get out."

"Yeah," you grin. "I've been told that a few times."

And suddenly the events of the evening seem to feel less burdensome. Warmer. More pleasant.

You don't bother with small talk, and nor does he. Are just happy to exist together, and this state of ease lasts right up until you're in his apartment, shoes off, standing a little awkwardly in his living room.

Jimin is out. Everyone is. There are a million messages in your group chat asking where you are. You'll just reply in the morning. Too busy, now.

"I need to shower," you say, a little timid.

Jeongguk nods. "Same."

"Join me?"

To your surprise, he hesitates.

"You're the reason I need one in the first place," you remind him. "Please."

He looks down. Shakes his head. "I don't trust us."

"Nor do I," you tell him. "But this whole thing has been hell on earth, Gguk. I've hated it."

"Me too."

"I don't think..." you sigh. Don't want to share your conclusion, but know you need to. "I don't think careless fucking around is worth it. It's definitely not worth losing you."

"So what are you saying?"

Gesturing towards yourself, you grimace a little. "I'm saying we sort out the current... mess. Get showered. Whatever. Head to the pharmacy in the morning for the emergency pill, just in case - and then a few days from now, I'll take an actual test. Just wanna make sure my system is settled, first. And then, providing it all goes well, we sort ourselves out. Stop fucking around."

Jeongguk says nothing. Just sort of looks at you as if you've just hung up a new star in the sky, or something absurd like that. Nods. "Alright."

You're well aware that you shouldn't look at Jeongguk in the way that you do; that you shouldn't stand in his living room, and let the dress that you've been hoping would keep him focused on you all night drop to the floor.

He's well aware that he shouldn't look at you in the way that he does; like you're some kind of star to wish upon.

And yet you both do. He wishes. You grant his wishes.

There's a mess to clean up in the morning. Jeongguk can't shake the look on the faces of his friends from his mind. Knows that you need to cover your tracks.

But for now, he doesn't care.

Your dress is on the floor, and his heart is yours.

Though he'll always define you as his best friend, he knows that the way he wants you goes beyond the scope of that. Knows that there's no going back.

"Byeol," he whispers.

"Koo," you whisper right back.

He smiles. Shakes his head. "I love it when you call me that."

You nod. smile, too. "I love the way you smile when I call you that."

He's right not to trust the pair of you together. Right to assume that a shower is a bad decision. Right to think that the second he has you naked, he won't care about the consequences.

Quite frankly, he couldn't give a fuck. Skin on skin, he indulges in you. The way you feel, the way you sound. Pretends like it's normal, holding your waist as he peppers kisses up your neck. Tells himself it's not unusual for friends to let their hands roam. It's all about trust. Mutual adoration. Desire. Want. Careful carelessness.

You don't kiss him, at least. Not in the shower.

No, you don't kiss him... until you're in his sheets.

Neither of you got dressed after the shower. Went to bed naked with the promise of sleep - and yet somehow you're straddled across his lap at two in the morning, hips slowly grinding to get the feeling of fullness you love so much from Jeongguk.

"After this-" you husk into his lips, but he breaks your sentence with yet another kiss. You don't mind. "After this, we've gotta start taking shit carefully."

He nods. "Mhmm. Whatever you say."

"Gguk-"

"Byeol, please," he smiles. "I'm literally inside you. Can you at least wait until we're done to give me ultimatums?"

Laughing, you cup his jaw. Kiss him again, just because you want to. Because you can. "Yeah. My bad."

Sitting back up, Jeongguk watches on in a state of adoration as your body moves for him. So often the one to take the lead, he's letting you have control, now. Letting you ride him. Letting himself succumb to everything you are.

"Shit," he whines, back arching, head pressing into his pillows. Fingers gripping your hips, he thrashes his own upwards. Thrusts up into you like a man possessed. Gets your body all weak and feeble from the overwhelming pleasure he's delivering - and when your hand dips to toy with your clit? Oh, it doubles. Trebles.

"You're so fucking hot," he tells you. "Yeah. Play with yourself for me. That's it, baby."

Panting, you tap on his chest with your spare hand. "Hips. Slow."

He does what he's told even if he absolutely doesn't want to. Let you bounce slowly. Reaches up to hold one of your tits as you do so. Wants them in his mouth. Finds himself grinning when he thinks of how much he's changed since you first started fucking around together.

"God, I fuckin' love this," he whines a little mindlessly. Doesn't bother clarifying what 'this' is.

The hand of yours that's wrapped around his wrist begins to tighten. Nails dig in. Tiny pretty whines of satisfaction escape your lips. Eyes close. Speed of the hand rubbing circles on your clit increases. Sitting on his cock, he's keeping you stretched. Full. Lets you do whatever the fuck you like, 'cause he knows you're working your way up. Loves to watch it more than anything. Gets himself off sometimes thinking about it.

Leaning forward a little, you reach for his phone. Slide it open to his camera.

He narrows his eyes. "Whatcha doing there?"

Whiney as you manage to speak, Jeongguk thinks you must be a direct descendant of Aphrodite. "Giving you permission," you hum, passing his phone back to him, already recording.

He looks to the screen, a little red button in the middle and a time running through on the top. Raises his brow. "Sure?"

You're putting on a show for him, yes, but none of it is faked. This is as real as it gets.

"Oh, fuck yeah," he husks as he can feel your walls tighten. "Like that. Like that. Fuck ." Pulses his hips ever so slightly. Sneaks his hand to join yours. Takes over. "Cum all over my cock, baby. Yeah. Yeah, that's it, babe."

"Gguk, I'm so close."

"I know," he coos. "Let yourself. I'm here."

"You're so big," you tell him, just so he has evidence of it. Know it will do his ego wonders. "Makes me feel so good."

"Show me how good it feels. Cum for me. Please. I need this. Need you ."

And when you finally do?

Oh, it's glorious.

"There she is," Jeongguk praises. Doesn't bother to stop recording. Tosses his phone to the side. Pulls you in for a million kisses. "God, you're so pretty when you cum. So fuckin' pretty."

His hips continue to gently rock, his orgasm far less violent than yours. You only really know it's happening cause he grunts. Gets a little breathless. Hugs around your back as his legs begin to shake, and eventually he manages to shakily whisper, "it's yours. All yours."

You just assume he means his cock, or cum, or something vulgar like that - and while it would be correct, it's not what he means. Not at all.

He holds you as you sleep that night. Has no interest in pretending like he wants to be less than what you are right now.

But come the morning, you're cracking jokes together like you've never nearly made declarations you'd never be able to take back. Hang out, as if he wouldn't rather eat you out. Make a to-do list. Laugh, as it's titled 'Fixing the Star-Fuckers Fuck-Up'.

You make a trip out of the list. Go to a pharmacy a few towns over. Grab a drive-thru Maccies breakfast. Get absolutely slated when you order a Shanghai Snack Wrap instead of a classic egg McMuffin.

"Can't believe we're friends," Jeongguk says, disgusted by the fact you're choosing to have something from the all-day menu. "Can't believe we fuck ."

"Fucked," you remind him, and remember that you've a pill you need to take. Pop it out of the foil, and swallow it down with a chug of Jeongguk's drink. "Past tense."

"Yeah, sorry," Jeongguk grins. It's easier to pretend like the idea of not fucking doesn't phase him. "My bad."

His pretty grin swiftly disappears three days later as he paces around your apartment living room, waiting on the result from a little pink stick that's sitting on top of your toilet. You're in the living room, too. Don't wanna check it. Nor does he.

So you play rock paper scissors.

Jeongguk loses.

And as you nervously await your fate, all you hear from your bathroom is a single word.

"Fuck."

[lkfarrout]

Birthday Gifts (Stan x fem!Reader)

Summary: You find yourself at a party at the Mystery Shack, where you learn a few secrets about the host. Takes place during Double Dipper.

Warnings: Just fluff today :) Some kissing, but nothing sexual. Alcohol mentioned.

This is a long one - 4 chapters. But I wrote it all in a day so I figured I'd just put it all in one post. If you're confused about it being Stan's birthday during Double Dipper, check out this post. It's actually cannon!

And if you're curious, the song I reference is Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood.

Chapter 1

"Hey, watch it!" You grabbed your foot, wincing in pain.

The guy just shrugged at you and went back to dancing. If you could call it dancing? It was more like aggressively punching the air to the beat. As you made your way off the dancefloor, you could feel a lump rising in your throat and the tears began to flow. You looked for a door, any door. It had been a terrible night.

But for someone else, it had been a worse one. Stan Pines was alone in the kitchen, with two shots of liquor -- one in his hand, the other on the counter.

"Well, Stanford, here's to one more trip around the sun. I uh, I know I say every year that this'll be the last one I celebrate without ya, but this time I mean it." Stan clinked the glasses together, and downed his liquid courage. As he opened his eyes, he saw you come around the corner.

"Hey! Guests aren't allowed back here."

You jumped at the sound of his voice and began to frantically wipe your tears away, "Sorry, I'm leaving."

"Wait," his voice was softer now, "you okay?"

"Not really." You sniffled and stared at him. He was wearing a 70's disco outfit and a goofy fez. It was crooked, probably had to do with empty shot glass in his hand, you guessed.

"Ya wanna talk about it?" he asked, as he straightened his hat.

"It's nothing, I just. My friends ditched me tonight and its like, only teenagers here? And then this asshole stepped on my foot. It sounds stupid when I say it out loud."

He chuckled, "Well, sorry bout that, but if ya want to leave early, there's an exit fee."

You smiled a little at the joke, and then realized, "Oh, you must be Stan? Sorry I'm pretty new here and I still don't know everybody. I've heard of you though." You told him your name.

He took your hand and shook it firmly, "Good to meet ya."

"I see you're hiding the good stuff back here, huh?" You gestured to the liquor bottle, "Who's the other shot for?"

"Uh, nobody. You know what?" He slid it toward you, "You want it? Might make ya feel better."

You shook your head, "Oh, I was just making a joke. That stuff's pretty nasty."

"Okay, well, uh," he rubbed the back of his neck, "then, how about a dance?"

You were a little taken aback.

"With you?" You asked.

"Hey, I promise I won't step on your foot."

Chapter 2

The song wasn't exactly slow, but Stan pulled you into him and the two of you started to swing to the beat. You noticed then how big his arms were, and how well his white shirt fit him. It was lowcut, and he had on a gold chain poking through a bit of chest hair.

He was saying something, but you were too distracted to listen.

"Well, ya ready?"

"Yeah," you nodded, before realizing you had no idea what you'd agreed to, "wait, woah--"

Suddenly you were looking up into his eyes, and all your weight was supported by his arm. "See? I told ya, dipping is my specialty."

Your hand searched for something to grab onto, and settled on his ribcage. He pulled you back up, and you felt something under his shirt.

"Are you wearing a gir--"

"Bulletproof vest?" He cut you off, "Yeah." He leaned in and whispered in your ear, "When the shooting starts, get behind me."

You laughed at him, "Yeah right, Stan. If that's a bulletproof vest," you poked him on the exposed part of his chest, "you're definitely wearing it wrong."

He shrugged, "Hey it was worth a shot. And it made ya laugh, didn't it?"

You smiled, "Yeah, I guess it did."

A few of the party-goers were watching the two of you curiously, but he didn't seem to notice. You passed several more songs in Stan's arms, listening to his jokes and stories, and even enjoying yourself. Eventually, a song came on that you recognized.

"Oh, hey, this song's in 3/4," you commented. Stan raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry I'm kind of a music nerd," you laughed, "3/4 is my favorite time signature."

"Why's that?" He seemed genuinely curious.

"Oh, just cuz, that's the one that you can waltz to."

"Oh, like the cotillion dances in The Dutchess Approves?" As soon as he said it, he started to laugh nervously, and his eyes darted to the ceiling, "I mean... what is that?"

You laughed at him, "YOU watch The Dutchess Approves?"

He was red now, "I... may have seen some clips of it."

You punched him playfully on the shoulder, "Don't worry Stan, I won't tell anyone your secret."

He smiled back, and the redness subsided.

Chapter 3:

"Uh, since you say that, ya wanna hear another secret? Ya can't tell anyone."

"Okay, what is it?"

He coughed, "Ah, y'know maybe not, its-- its dumb."

"Oh c'mon you have to tell me!"

He shrugged, "Alright, today's my birthday."

"Really? Oh, Stan, happy birthday!"

He shushed you and looked around the room, "Not so loud, okay? Nobody else knows."

"What? You threw a party on your own birthday and no one knows?"

"Yeah, and I wanna keep it that way."

You could tell he was getting a little uncomfortable, so you decided not to pry and instead opted for a joke to lighten things up.

"But, Stan, if no one knows, how will you get any gifts?"

"Oh please," he laughed, "I don't even remember the last time I got a birthday gift. I must've been a kid."

"Well that just won't do," you shook your head. "If I'm the only one who knows I guess its up to me to get you something."

"Oh, no, c'mon we just met, I--"

You kissed him on the cheek. Speechless, he rubbed a hand over the spot.

"There you go, Stan," you whispered. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks, I, uh--"

Suddenly the music cut out, and the DJ announced it was time for karaoke. His touch lingered on you a bit before he let go. You both decided to get a little closer to the stage and listen to the blonde girl who was singing. Before you knew it, the song was over and a girl in a sweater and big orange bow was up.

After just a few lines she yelled, "Now I'm gonna do a flip!" And faceplanted. She popped back up with a smile, and Stan yelled, "That's my girl!"

Before you could say anything about it, the DJ asked, "Any other brave dudes want to try for the party crown?"

Stan elbowed you, "Hey you said ya like music? Why don't you get up there?"

"Oh, really, I couldn't--"

"C'mon," he insisted, "If you sing half as good as ya dance, you'll do great."

"Fine, but only because it's your birthday."

You flipped through the catalogue, "That one."

The song started with a country guitar lick and low saxophone. You pulled the mic out of the stand.

Right now, he's probably slow dancin' with a bleach blonde tramp

And she's probably gettin' frisky

Right now, he's probably buyin' her some fruity little drink

Cuz she can't shoot whiskey

You watched Stan's eyes go wide. He was absolutely starstruck.

Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool stick

Showin' her how to shoot a combo

Oh, and he don't know

The crowd cheered as you started the chorus, and Stan whistled loudly. On a nearby beam, Dipper #8 sat unnoticed with a dollar on a fishing line. He shrugged, Stan seemed distracted enough.

As you decended the stage, several people complimented you, and Stan stood with his hands in his pockets and a crooked smile.

"Wow, Doll, if I knew ya had pipes like that--"

"Grunkle Stan, wasn't she amazing?" The girl from the song before popped up between you.

She turned to you, "You'll get the crown for sure!"

You patted her on the head, "That's okay, I don't want it. How about you go win it instead, huh?"

"I'm on it!" She ran back over to her friends.

The DJ's voice came back on over the mic, "Now we're gonna bring it down for a minute. Ladies, dudes, now's the time."

A slow song started to play and Stan pulled you back into his arms.

You laughed, "Okay, I have to know, what is a grunkle?"

Chapter 4:

The two of you continued to dance and talk for the rest of the party. He told you all about his neice and nephew, and pointed out a couple of employees. You only paused your conversation to cheer Mabel on for the party crown vote. After a while, guests started to file out and it was just you, Stan, the twins and their friends, and a few other stragglers.

"Do ya need to go?" he asked.

"Yeah, I probably should."

"Alright, I'll walk you out."

There was no one else outside. Stan leaned against the door of your car, "So, uh, about that birthday gift ya gave me..."

"What, you didn't like it?"

"No, I just feel bad," he shrugged. "I think I should give it back."

You couldn't hide your smile as he planted a kiss on your cheek.

You tried your best to look smug despite your blushing, "Well, good thing I have another one for you." You pulled him in by the collar and kissed him, this time on the mouth. His hands grabbed your waist and pulled you closer.

"I don't care how many you have, I'm just gonna give 'em back."

"Yeah?" you teased, "We'll see about that."

The two of you kissed several more times before Stan pulled away with a chuckle, "I think I lost track, can we start over?"

You were about to suggest a truce, when you heard Mabel yelling from the porch, "Grunkle Stan! My friends are sleeping over tonight!"

Stan sighed, and yelled back "Okay, sweetie!"

He turned back to you, and you commented, "That's too bad you have kids to watch, y'know, cuz I was gonna invite you to a sleepover at my house."

"Yeah?" he chuckled nervously.

"Oh wait! Before I go, I have a real gift for you!" Stan waited as you dug around in your glovebox.

"Here," you handed him a napkin with your number scribbled on it. "Happy birthday, Stan."

[daisyswift3]

Guys do u realize how huge this is. She basically confirmed when The End of the story in 11 parts will be. New Year’s Day when Taylor is 35 yrs old. She's going to have both a literal and metaphorical birthday, a rebirth. "A fresh page...a new chapter." All the references to “parties” are for both her birthday and a New Year’s party. These songs have been from the perspective of her future self this entire time. “Past me, I wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things,” that’s Taylor talking from the future after she comes out on New Year’s. Like 90-95% of the folkmore, Midnights, and TTPD songs are Taylor singing abt future plans. Many of the vault tracks too. When we were told abt her having a “script” written THIS is what that was referring to. folklore-TTPD IS the script and she has been and is living it. We’ve been watching the movie this whole time.

“Then the actors were hitting their marks” // “Are you special or was this all scripted in his head?”

Taylor diving into the ocean and swimming to Midnights represents this journey from folklore-TTPD. She is swimming to the finish line which is the “New Year midnight.” She was in exile but after exile ends she is able to return home. “Now, pretty baby, I’m running to the house where you still wait up and that porch light gleams”