#a much less heartbreaking chapter

[stevie-petey]

episode two: vecnas curse

“Hey, guys?” Max gets everyone’s attention and points towards the boathouse.  Dustin is the first to start walking down, Robin and Max not far behind, and you stand back with Steve. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go into the creepy abandoned boathouse. Yay.” “We’ve done worse, angel.” You sigh. “It’s really depressing that you’re right.”

Summary: you and billy play marco polo, max interrupts a saturday morning breakfast at the henderson household, robin crushes steves dream of becoming a 1950s housewife, reefer rick has an odd taste in movies, boathouses are creepy in the dark, and eddie munson likes it when you pull his hair.

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: drowning, violence, swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n, blood mentions

Words: 10.5k (i wrote this in one day)

Before you swing in: hey gang !!! so i wasnt supposed to update so soon. and then i wrote this entire chapter in one day. so now here we are. anyways ! read the warnings, this chapter starts heavy. on another note: i start senior year of college on tuesday so updates will vary as i settle into my routine again so pls be patient !! for now, heres a very surprising and unplanned chapter 2, enjoy !

–

Water. 

There’s so much water. 

In your mouth, in your chest, burning your lungs and swallowing every scream that scrapes your throat to escape. Every breath you take, more water spills into your body and quiets the desperate cries and gags you. 

Your head breaks through the water’s surface and you inhale so sharply it burns your lungs even more than the chlorine does. You choke on the air, it’s sickly sweet, and a hand shoves you back under the water before you can inhale again. 

Bubbles encase your screams, your arms flail up, your legs kick wildly to try and reach the surface again. But the arm attached to the hand is strong, it holds your body under the water without effort. In the rims of the ripples above you, the corpse of a boy you once knew stares down at you.

“I’ve found you.” Billy sneers, his voice muffled by the water that rushes in your ears.

His eyes are cold, his skin sunken in and littered with cracks. It’s yellowed, decayed, edges of his skin have turned gray as he’s decomposed. Billy’s hair is matted and his shirt is torn and yet his hand shoves you underneath the water again and again and again.

You try to scream, you try to fight against him, but he’s always been so much stronger than you. Even in death, Billy Hargrove’s weight on you anchors you to the rushing water that threatens to drown you. 

Your head breaks the surface again. Billy pulls you up by your hair, your scalp burns. Air wracks your lungs as you struggle to inhale anything other than Hawkins' pool water. Coughs shake your body, bile rises in your throat, and Billy shakes his head at you in disgust.

“I’ve found you.” He shoves your head under, your nails claw at his skin but he doesn’t flinch. Blood drips down his arm, stains the pool’s crystal blue, and yet you’re drowning still. Again Billy yanks your head back up, for a brief moment you can breathe, before his breath ghosts your face and he hisses into your ear, “I’ve found you.”

Water. It’s all you can feel around you. Your lungs are on fire, you scrape your nails the concrete as you struggle against Billy, but you’re dying. 

You’re dying.

Billy pulls you back, air kisses your face. Your vision darkens, more bile rises. There’s so much water. You can’t stop coughing, you think you’re crying, the chlorine stings your eyes as it sears your raw throat. Billy slams your head down onto the pool’s edge. Pain explodes in the bridge of your nose, blood stains the water even more.

“I’ve. Found. You.” You take one final gasp of air before Billy shoves you back under the water. 

You’re weightless. 

Everything goes dark. 

Suddenly your body rips forward, jerking awake so violently that it makes you nauseous. Your chest heaves, your body struggles to inhale the air that was so cruelly taken from you in your dream. 

It had been a dream, though the water felt so real. The taste of chlorine lingers in your mouth.

Panting, you force yourself to look around your room, list all the things you see. It’s become a little game you play, every time you have a nightmare so vivid that it challenges reality. Your eyes find Steve’s old basketball hoodie, draped over your desk chair. You focus on the bite of bitter cold from the charm bracelet’s silver that rests against your wrist. Breathing through your nose, you try to name what you can smell.

The scent of your mother’s famous waffles wafts through your room. Notes of freshly roasted coffee accompany it. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, your heartbeat settles down. Your fists unclench, your body finally relaxes. 

It was only a dream. Billy isn’t really here. He didn’t really tried to drown you at the pool. It was all just a fucked up, horrible dream.

“Y/N! Breakfast is ready!” Your mother’s sweet, doting voice carries through your closed door. “Come join Dusty and I, please.”

You rub your face, sighing deeply. The nightmare bears down upon your shoulders, the weight of last night crushes your chest. “I’ll be there in a second!” Your voice is brittle, exhaustion evident.

Breakfast with your mom and Dustin is the last thing you want right now, but you know it’s better not to deny Claudia. She’ll worry, ask you if everything is okay. You’re scared she’ll notice that you aren’t at Family Video for the first time in months. Every weekend you’re there to see Steve, to tease him with Robin. 

But the hurt that marred Steve’s devastatingly handsome face last night… You can’t see him, at least not right now. You’re not even sure he’d want to see you, which scares you even more. 

You take your time getting ready, your movements slow. In the shower you scrub your skin raw, as if you can cleanse yourself of the memories from last night. The betrayal in Steve’s brown eyes, Jonathan’s raspy voice asking questions that made your head spin. Lucas and his heartbreak as your brother abandoned him. Dustin’s denial of your code blue. 

Pulling on one of Steve’s old t-shirts, the smell of his cologne lumps tears in your throat. It’s all too much. You miss him, though how can you be sure you haven’t really lost him?

When you finally sit at the table, Dustin doesn’t look up at you, and your shitty mood only worsens. Only your mother brightens when she sees you. “Y/N! Here, I saved you some bacon, I know you don’t like it crispy.”

She slides some food onto your plate and you try to give her what you hope is a bright smile. Your mother can see through people in a way only you can, an ability she passed down to you. Today, you’re afraid that if she asks you what’s wrong, you’ll break. “Thanks, mom.”

Breakfast is tense. Your fork scrapes against the plate. The food looks delicious, your mother is a brilliant cook, but there’s cement in your stomach and you can’t bring yourself to eat any of it. Dustin doesn’t look at you even once, and your mother tries her best to make conversation. 

“So, any big plans for spring break?” She asks, looking eagerly at you and Dustin.

You push some fruit around on your plate. “No, not really.”

“Hm, well why don’t the two of you go and build something together? Remember that robot set from Stevie? I’m sure you and Dusty could build something with what’s left!” 

“Yeah, maybe.” As if Dustin wants anything to do with you right now. You must not sound convincing enough because your mother starts to frown. Panicked, you clear your throat and try to change the subject. “Hey, have you gotten any new toys for Tews?”

“I got her some new stuffed mice, but she doesn’t seem to like them.” Your mother responds, setting her fork down. She looks at her children in front of her, sees the tension that brews between them. Dustin hasn’t said anything all morning, and the dark circles underneath your eyes worries her. Grasping at straws, she rushes over to the T.V. and turns it on, hoping one of your favorite programs is playing. “Here, let’s watch something.”

Only the Saturday morning cartoons don’t appear on the screen. Instead, Channel 9 lights up. Hawkins’ news channel. 

“We’re at the Forest Hills trailer park in east Roane County.” A broadcaster announces as a swarm of people behind her gather around something. There are cops everywhere, and you get up from the table, curious. “We don’t have a lot of details now, but we can confirm that the body of a Hawkins High student was discovered early this morning.”

Your mother lets out a strained gasp, the shock ripping through her body. Your own body stills, your heart skips a beat. The broadcaster drones on, explaining how the police believe there’s foul play involved.

Someone has been murdered in Hawkins. 

Over by the table, Dustin’s eyes finally meet yours. You know he’s thinking what you are. Monsters have plagued Hawkins for years now, but there’s never been something as gruesome as a murder. Not in the six years your family has lived here. 

Something isn’t right. The news channel interviews a plethora of neighbors in the trailer park. One woman talks about Barb, all the suspicious deaths since 1983. How Hawkins is cursed. Your eyes find Dustin’s again and you both exhale nervously. The woman is right, although she can never know what really goes on in this town. Hawkins is cursed, but not in the way anyone thinks.

Then, terrifyingly too late, you remember that the broadcaster had announced that the body was found in Forest Hills. Max lives in Forest Hills, and the body had been a highschool student. The police haven’t released the name of who it was and panic slices your nerves at the thought that it could be Max. 

“My heart can’t take it anymore. It just can’t.” Your mother whimpers, holding Tews close to her chest. Your heart aches for her, she grew up in this town and all it has endured these last few years is pain and death. 

Dustin sighs next to you and when the doorbell rings, he goes to open it. You follow, nervous and fretful as you always are.

Max stands on your porch, and the moment you realize it’s her, you pull her tightly into your arms. “Oh, thank God.” She stiffens at the touch, you notice that she’s out of breath, panicked. A terrible, horrible feeling of dread takes a hold of you. Pulling away, you force her averting eyes to look into yours. She’s scared; she’s never scared. “Max. What happened?”

Everything falls apart quickly after that.

Max drags you and Dustin into your room and collapses onto the bean bag. Her words are jumbled as she tries to explain everything. You sit motionless on your bed next to her, listening to every word she says. Dustin paces the room, both of you try to make sense of what you’re hearing.

“The body… It was found in Eddie’s trailer.” 

Your breath catches at Max’s words. Dustin’s steps falter. Nausea washes over you, you place a shaky hand over your stomach to quell it. You’ve left your brother alone with Eddie hundreds of times this year, and now a dead body has been found in his home?

“No, that can’t be possible.” Dustin doesn’t want to believe it, he doesn’t want to consider the idea that his mentor could ever harm anyone.

Max bites her lip. “The police have his trailer taped up, it’s under lockdown. And the body they found, she was-” She pauses, takes a deep breath. “It was bad, guys.”

“You can’t seriously think it was Eddie though, right?”

You catch Dustin’s arm and give him a warning look. He’s antsy, you get it, but he needs to calm down. Turning to Max, you ask the question you’re dreading. “Who was the dead student, Max?”

The girl looks down, plays with her fingers, and you can see the remorse that drapes her shoulders. Fear plagues you again, it had to have been someone you knew. After a few moments, Max finally tells you. “Chrissy.”

An overwhelming sense of grief forces any air left in your lungs out. Chrissy had always been so kind to you. She was a ray of sunlight, you shared a class together sophomore year, she had given you daisies when she heard of Will’s disappearance. 

Chrissy Cunningham was one of the few good things in Hawkins.

And now she’s dead. 

Dustin can’t believe it, either. “Chrissy Cunningham?”

“A-are you sure?” You breathe out, eyes following his pacing figure as Max nods.

“Yes, she was in her cheerleader outfit. Same thing she was in when I saw her with Eddie.”

You frown at this. “She was with Eddie?”

Max nods again, and you’re struck by how odd the entire situation is. Chrissy is, was, the head cheerleader. While she was always nice to you, she never interacted with anyone like Eddie. Hell, hardly anyone ever associates with the guy, so you can’t believe that she would even talk to him. That she would willingly step foot in his trailer, especially after the basketball game last night. 

You had overheard one of the kids on the team mention a party to Lucas before he left. Chrissy should’ve been there, next to Jason as they celebrated the win. 

“Did you tell the cops?” Dustin asks, still trying to wrap his head around it all. 

Max shakes her head. “No, but I-I can’t be the only one who saw them together. I mean, they stood out.”

“Are you even sure they were together?” You also can’t wrap your head around the fact that they’d be together in the first place. “Maybe… I don’t know, Chrissy had a friend who lives in Forest Hills as well?”

“No, Eddie and I are the only two students who live in the trailer park.”

Dustin paces again, in complete disbelief. “Eddie, the freak, with Chrissy, the cheerleader.”

“You know, his name’s not in the news yet or anything, but–”

“Eddie is going to be the prime suspect for Chrissy’s murder.” You finish for Max, understanding where she’s going with all this. It’s the only logical conclusion that can be drawn from finding a dead girl’s body in the guy’s trailer. 

Anyone would be suspicious of that, and yet Dustin refuses to admit it.

“No, that’s crazy.” He glares at you, he can’t believe what you’re implying. “Eddie didn’t do this. No way.”

Max looks at you, she has a grimace on her face, and your expression mirrors hers. Sighing, you try to reason with your brother. “Dustin, they found a body in Eddie’s trailer.”

“No way,” Dustin hisses out, eyes burning into yours. He won’t back down from this, he knows you hate Eddie but he’s furious that you’d go as low as to accuse him of murder. You’re so fucking hypocritical. “And, FYI, your annoying vendetta against him won’t get us anywhere.”

“I don’t have a vendetta against him!” You scoff, hurt that Dustin would assume you’re only saying all this because Eddie mildly annoys you. 

Max, sensing an argument brewing, gets up from the bean bag and intervenes. “We can’t rule it out.”

“Yes we can!”

“Dustin!” You and Max berate him at the same time, now standing in front of him. He isn’t listening, he’s blatantly ignoring the fact that someone died in the same trailer Eddie grew up in. He was the only one with Chrissy last night. Dustin is refusing to see the glaring red flags presented in front of him. 

“Look, you guys don’t know him like I do, okay? Y/N practically wants the guy dead most days–”

“Hey!”

“So I don’t necessarily trust her judgment on the matter.” Dustin doesn’t let you interrupt him, he’s adamant to defend his friend. “When we got to high school, Lucas made all his sports friends. Mike and me? I mean, no one was nice to us.”

Upset creeps up your neck. You had been there for the boys, offering them sanctuary their first day, but they had denied you. It hadn’t been enough for them. They didn’t want your help, not anymore. “Dustin…”

“No one except Eddie.” He finishes, eyes only on Max as if it’d make it sting any less. He recognizes what he’s saying, that it isn’t fair to you, but he’s too overwhelmed to try and clarify it all to you. Not right now.

Max’s shoulders deflate, her resolve dwindles but she still argues anyways. “Okay, well. They said the same shit about Ted Bundy.” 

“Ted Bundy was charming.” You snort, understanding what Max is trying to say, but it’s a poor example. “Eddie isn’t.”

She smiles briefly at you, the joke amusing her, but then she sees Dustin’s narrowed eyes and quickly defends herself. “I mean, he’s like a super nice guy, but then he’s murdering women on the weekends.” 

“So you’re saying Eddie is like Ted Bundy?”

“No, we aren’t saying that.” You mollify Dustin, although you can’t help but add in, “besides, Eddie could never lure in multiple women. We still aren’t sure how he even lured Chrissy in the first place.”  

Dustin is about to start yelling at you, you can see it in the way his mouth twitches and the enraged breath he exhales, but Max is quick to step between the two of you. She isn’t sure why you guys are at each other’s throats this morning, but she doesn’t have time to deal with it.

“No, we aren’t saying that.” Max glares at you, and you smile weakly back at her. “We’re-we’re saying that we can’t presume anything okay? But it doesn’t look good for Eddie.”

Dustin, now finally starting to listen, sits on the bean bag behind him. He lays there, looking small in the mass of the makeshift bed. He’s crestfallen, and your anger from earlier disappears. Sighing again, you sit next to him and nudge his shoulder. “Listen, I know it’s a lot right now, but maybe the police will find evidence that Eddie didn’t do it–”

“Why haven’t you told the cops this?” Dustin sits up, eyes on Max.

She crosses her arms, the question surprises her. “I… I don’t know.”

Dustin presses her, both of you notice how her body language changes. She draws into herself, she’s uncertain. There’s something there, buried beneath all the information she’s told you today. Something else happened in Eddie’s trailer, something she isn’t telling you. 

“Max,” you soften your voice, afraid. “What did you see last night?”

The girl’s knees find your bed and her body falls against it. Max’s eyes won’t meet yours, she almost seems scared. Her demeanor causes your stomach to drop. What could she possibly have seen that terrified her so much?

“After I saw Eddie and Chrissy go in the trailer…” Max looks up at you and Dustin, her blue eyes guarded, alert. “Something else happened.” 

She explains the lights flickering in her house. The static on her T.V., how the air felt thick. She tells you that she could hear a scream, Eddie’s fleeing silhouette ran into his car and the way the tires screeched on the pavement as he left. 

The more Max recounts, the tighter the fist of dread inside your stomach coils. Flickering lights, static… It can’t be what you think it is. You catastrophize everything in your mind, you always are the first to fear danger that isn’t really there. Hopper closed the gate last summer. He died saving the world. The gate is closed, the Upside Down is out of your life. For good this time. 

But then why does it feel like its spillage is leaking through the cracks you’ve desperately tried to glue over?

Max must see the panic on your face and she quickly backtracks. “Y/N, it wasn’t that weird or anything. Eddie always drives like a maniac and the power goes off at my place all the time. It’s a piece of shit, alright?”

“Then why did Eddie run?” The question taunts you, there’s something wrong with it. Shitty power grids and reckless driving can be explained, but why would someone scream while fleeing a crime they committed?

Max swallows. The question has been on her mind, too. “The look on his face… He was scared. Really scared.”

Dustin sucks in a breath, it’s subtle but you can feel it against you. He looks up, eyes meeting yours, and the dread that resides in your ribcage seeps into his. Max stutters out possible explanations, she tries to find something else to explain what it could mean, but you all know that it’s no use.

You realize why Max had rushed to your house. Why she hasn’t gone to the police with what she knows.

The fear on Max’s face when she arrived on your doorstep, how breathless she’d been from running over. That had been real, familiar. The same fear that crossed her face when you’d first unwillingly introduced her to the Upside Down all those years ago.

“Or maybe Eddie was scared because…”

“Something else killed her.” Dustin mumbles quietly, piecing it all together as well.

Your body is numb, your lips move but you don’t recognize the voice that speaks. “You think it’s the Upside Down.”

The words hang in the air, everything stills the moment they’re brought into the light. Beside you, Max nods, slowly, regretfully. As if she doesn’t want to believe it herself. “But, that’s impossible, right?”

Every year the impossible somehow becomes possible. Every year the wound that scabs over reopens, the blood of it chokes everyone you love. 

“I don’t know,” Dustin’s voice is soft, he’s scared, too. “It should be.”

“And yet we always end up here,” you laugh bitterly. It’s the same fucking thing, over and over again. 

Dustin’s hand finds yours, his touch is warm, yet unfamiliar now. He hasn’t held your hand in months, you almost forgot what it feels like against yours. “We don’t know that,” he squeezes your hand. He’s kind again, he’s your brother again. “There’s only one person who knows what actually happened.” 

Eddie. 

Whatever he saw, it’s important. No one will believe him if it’s the Upside Down, no one will understand that he hadn’t done anything at all. That monsters haunt the shadows of this town, that the deaths in Hawkins hadn’t really been deaths. 

You have to find him. 

– 

Steve doesn’t think he’s had a worse morning than the one he’s having today. He hadn’t slept, his exhaustion a reminder of how much of an asshole he had been to you last night. He had yelled at you; he’s never, ever yelled at you. Not in the entire three years he’s known you, not even when you’d hurt him so deeply by cutting him out of your life that fateful summer.

But last night Steve swears he saw the same look in your eyes that Nancy had in hers the night she told him she didn’t love him. He saw it, he knows he did, and he had been fucking terrified. He can’t lose you, he doesn't think he’d survive if you ever left him. Especially not if he’s the reason you leave.

Steve is miserable, and his foul mood only worsens when you don’t float through Family Video’s front door with a smile on your lips and a glint in your eye like you always do every Saturday. 

“Where’s Y/N? Normally she’s here by now.” Robin looks around the store, noting your unusual absence as she scans a movie to restock. 

Steve pretends not to hear her, he really doesn’t want to talk about it right now. He knows that if he tells Robin the two of you had a fight, she’d demand an explanation and promptly call him an idiot, regardless of whether or not he’s in the wrong. 

“Dingus, did you hear me?” Robin shoves the cart his way, causing it to hit his hip with a slightly painful thud. “Where’s that gorgeous girlfriend of ours?”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Steve grabs the cart and throws random movies inside of it as he starts to walk down the romance aisle. Fitting. 

His coworker doesn’t miss the way he avoids the question. Suspicious, she blocks Steve’s path and forces him to look at her. “You’re dodging. Why are you dodging? Where’s Y/N?”

“Robin, we should really be focusing on work right now–”

“Oh my God, did you kill her? Did all that hairspray rot your brain and cause you to kill Hawkins’ sweetheart and force the world to mourn the beautiful legacy she’d leave behind? Huh, is that it?”

“What! No, I didn’t kill Y/N. What is wrong with you?” Steve elbows the girl, he isn’t in the mood for her ramblings, yet Robin remains standing in his way. She raises an eyebrow at him, silently daring him to keep avoiding her questions, and Steve knows he has to fess up. Looking away, he clears his throat. “We, uh. Sorta had a fight last night.”

Robin frowns. “A fight?”

“Yeah.”

“But you two never fight.”

“Yup.”

“Alright, so it was all your fault then.”

Steve rolls his eyes, he knew Robin would say that. “I didn’t even tell you what it was about.”

“And yet I know it was all your fault.” Even though she’s kidding, she sees the hurt that flashes across Steve’s face and eases up. Clearly whatever the fight had been about was bad. Bad enough that you don’t show up to Family Video like you always do. Taking pity on her friend, Robin flicks Steve’s forehead and prompts him to start talking. “Alright, I’ll bite. Tell me what happened.”

Steve leans against the wall, rests his head back. He knows he should talk about this, Robin will know what to do. He doesn’t have the best track record of communicating with his girlfriends, and for the first time in his life, he wants to try with you. Steve would do anything for you, even if it means being vulnerable with Robin in order to figure out how to make you laugh his name so softly again. 

“Y/N was… Upset last night. After the game. She’s been having some problems with Dustin lately, and, I don’t know. I was trying to be funny, I guess? Cheer her up, get her to laugh.”

Robin winces. “Oh, that never ends well.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Steve huffs. He always somehow makes things worse, and last night he’d gone for a world record with you. “I just… I really wanted to see her smile, you know? So I joked about our future together, said we’d live in a shoebox apartment in New York after she graduates, and she just…”

“Lost it?” Robin shakes her head at him, trying to hide her disbelief. She wants to give Steve the benefit of doubt, but she thinks she knows where this is going. And it isn’t good.

“She told me I couldn’t come with her.” The words had branded themselves onto Steve’s chest, the flesh still raw and bleeding. You hadn’t wanted him to come with you; you didn’t want Steve anywhere near you. “She was just going to leave, without me.”

Robin stands next to him and she nudges his head with her hand, hitting him without any malice. He’s such an idiot sometimes, a hopeless, well meaninged idiot. “Okay, you’re being very thespian right now. I’m sure that’s not what Y/N meant when she said you couldn’t follow her to college. She’s like, crazy in love with you. Anyone can see that.”

“Then why was I the only one considering our future the entire time? I mean,” Steve scoffs, angry again. “I asked her what she thought we’d do after she applied to college, and she couldn’t even answer me. For months she was applying and she didn’t stop to think about us, about our relationship. She just… she was just going to leave.”

“And your solution was to… Follow her to college, unannounced?”

Steve recognizes how stupid he must sound, but he doesn’t expect Robin to understand. When you’re with someone, when you love them, your actions become theirs. How they breathe becomes your heartbeat, how they sleep becomes your solace. From the moment Steve’s eyes laid on you, he knew he’d follow you to the ends of the earth.

He just thought you’d do the same for him. 

“I wasn’t going to just show up at NYU unannounced, alright?” Steve pauses, he tries to find the right words. “But I thought… I thought she envisioned us together, for the rest of our lives. Instead she told me that I deserve better, as if I-I’m physically able to imagine a world where I’m not standing next to her, where I’m not a ten minute drive down the street.”

Robin bites her lip. She thinks she understands what Steve means, where his actions were coming from. She remembers the late night talks about Nancy, how the girl had hurt him deeply when she abandoned him. The surface level love that tainted his perception of himself for years afterwards. Robin knows that Steve clings onto any semblance of stability he’s presented. Years of being lonely and used have left him unwilling to let go of the ones he loves the most. 

But that doesn’t mean he should give up his entire life to do so. 

Robin thinks that this is what you really were trying to tell Steve, even if he’s too blind to see it right now. “Y/N wants you to live your own life. You gotta see that, Steve.”

“She is my life!” Steve throws his hands up in the air, he’s sick of explaining this to everyone. You’re his everything. You’re the blood he bleeds and the tears he sheds. His life is yours. He doesn’t care how pathetic it may sound or how dramatic it may seem. 

“Steve,” Robin places a hesitant hand on his arm, and when he doesn’t pull away, she takes it as a sign to continue. “Y/N loves you, she wants what’s best for you. Meanwhile, you have no idea what you want. You’re seriously considering abandoning everything to live in a giant, rat infested city, and you hate cities! I mean, what would you even do there? Lay around all day and wait for Y/N to come home like some 1950’s housewife? No offense, Stevie, but you don’t have the legs for a dress. Although, maybe if you wore heels and some lipstick–”

“Get to the point, Robin.”

“Sorry,” she shakes her head quickly, refocuses. “The point is that her not wanting you to follow her to college is nothing personal. If Y/N didn’t see a future with you, then she wouldn’t waste her time with you. Simple as that. But she does, and she’s totally, madly in love with you. Plus, we both know that the real reason you want to go with her is because you’re scared she’ll find some hot, 6’5 guy to replace you with and if you’re not there, she’ll be swallowed up by all those hot models and rich business men who prowl the streets of New York–”

Steve covers his ears, shoving Robin away from him. “Okay, okay! I get it, Jesus. There’s plenty of hot men in New York, you’re totally not making this worse for me.”

“So you admit that you’re scared she’ll find someone else.”

“Okay, no. I didn’t say that–”

Robin runs towards the other end of the store and grabs a VHS tape. “Ignoring you! I’m right, you’re wrong, and I’ve just found our morning movie: Doctor Zhivago.”

Steve lets her change the subject, he’s tired of arguing anyways. “You know I don’t do double VHS.”

“But it’s about doomed love.”

Of course it is. “Oh, well that’s relatable.”

“Precisely.” Robin starts to go on and on about an actress in the movie who’s hot, but Steve drowns her out as he returns the cart. She grabs the T.V. remote and clicks it on for their movie, but quickly their morning plan dissipates when Channel 9 comes onto the screen.

“... that the body of a Hawkins High student was discovered early this morning.”

Steve and Robin stare at the screen in silence, the broadcaster’s words echo throughout the room. A Hawkins student is dead. The temperature in the room drops, Robin shifts uneasily next to him and Steve presses his arm against hers, silently offering comfort. 

They stand side by side as the broadcast goes on. Neither one of them speaks, listening quietly as the details are revealed. It’s a horrific murder, from the sounds of it. The more the channel announces, the more tense Steve becomes. He doesn't like it, violence has always made him anxious. As his nerves spiral, he gets the horrifying idea that maybe the body is yours. 

He knows it isn’t, he dropped you off at home last night, but he hadn’t stayed to make sure you made it inside safely. Steve curses, he’s a fucking idiot. He left you alone last night, and if you got hurt because of his selfish actions, he will never forgive himself. 

Suddenly the front door opens and you run in with Dustin and Max by your side.

“Hey, Steve.” Dustin tries to get his attention, but the teen is already hopping the counter, sprinting over to you.

Forgetting about the fight from before, Steve clings onto your shirt and hugs you. His arms shake, you can hear his heartbeat stuttering a mile a minute. Overwhelmed with the scent of him and the feel of his body against yours, you melt into the hug as relief sags your bones. “You’re okay,” Steve exhales against your ear, his hand finding your hair. He tangles his fingers through the strands, tries to pull you in even closer. 

“I’m okay.” You whisper back, clinging onto him just as desperately as he is to you. 

The moment is interrupted by Dustin, who pounds on the counter to break the two of you apart. “Hey! Assholes!”

Steve glares at the kid, he doesn’t let you go, but he reluctantly steps away. “Someone was murdered, you know that, right?”

Dustin ignores the sarcasm. “How many phones do you have?” 

“Two, why?”

“Technically three, if you count Keith’s.” Robin adds.

You make a disgusted face. “I wouldn’t touch his phone.”

Max tells Dustin that three phones will work and the younger teen quickly takes off his backpack before sliding it onto the counter.

Steve narrows his eyes, looking at you with slight panic. “What is he doing?”

Dustin throws the backpack over the counter and Robin yells as the kid jumps over and lands with a loud thud on the ground. He brings down a pile of tapes as he does so, and Steve tears himself from your side to try and stop him, but it’s too late. The damage is already done and Dustin has sat himself at one of the computers. 

“Dude! My tapes, what are you doing?” Steve cries, groaning as he bends down to pick up the ruined pile. 

Robin glares at your brother as she huffs as well. You quickly hop the counter, an apologetic smile on your face, and bend down to help. “I’m sorry about him. He’s Dustin. That’s the only way I can explain his behavior.”

“I’m setting up base of operations here.” Dustin’s fingers fly over the keyboard, ignoring Steve’s distressed cries. 

“Base of operations?” Robin looks at you, she likes you, she really does, but sometimes she hates Dustin. “Y/N, I love you, but I’m about to strangle your brother.”

You hand her a tape and blow a strand of hair out of your face. “Ya know, I get that a lot.”

“Stop, get off!” Steve pushes Dustin, but the kid is like stone at the computer. Max is beside him now, having chosen to walk around the counter like a normal person. 

“I need it.” Dustin responds, not giving much else for an explanation. 

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and turns to you. “Y/N, please come get your dog.”

“He’s not my dog–”

“I need the computer for Eddie’s friends’ phone numbers.”

“Oh, you mean your new best friend that Y/N and I hate? The one you think is cooler because he plays your nerdy game?”

You step in between Steve and Dustin now. You’re getting really tired of being accused of hating Eddie. While it may not necessarily be wrong, hate is a strong word. “We don’t hate Eddie, you’re just dramatic, Steve.”

“I never said he was cooler than you guys,” Dustin tries to amend, finally looking at you and Steve.

Behind you, Robin slams a tape down while she rebuilds the ruined pile. “Seriously, you guys, maybe on a Monday you can play around here like toddlers, but it’s Saturday. It’s our busiest day.”

You help her pick up a dropped sign, feeling bad for disturbing their place of work so early. “I promise I wouldn’t take them here unless it was important, please don’t hate me–”

“What Y/N is taking too long to say is that this cannot wait until Monday.” Dustin jots down the numbers he ends up finding. Steve drops his head into his hands, exhausted. 

Robin rolls her eyes. “I’m not blaming your sister, she’s an angel, but is calling Eddie’s friends really an emergency?”

“Correct!”

You drop your head onto the counter, defeated. Dustin is only making everything worse, like he normally does, and you’re tired. Steve stands next to you, allows a hand to fall onto the small of your back. Without thinking about it, he starts to rub soothing circles into your skin. 

“Want me to strangle him or you want to?” Steve asks Robin. 

“We could take turns.”

Not bothering to lift your head up, you leave your face smushed against the countertop as you speak. “Please don’t strangle him, my mom would be really sad and we can’t afford a funeral.”

“Can you just fill them in already, Y/N?” Dustin pokes your side.

“Fill us in on what?” Robin asks, exasperated.

Finally raising your head, you look at Max and swallow down any remaining uncertainty. The sooner you explain everything to Steve and Robin, the sooner you can find Eddie and figure out what the hell is going on. With Max’s help, the two of you give them an abridged version. 

“The murder happened in Eddie’s trailer.” You begin. 

“And the body was Chrissy Cunningham.” Max finishes.

Steve’s eyes widen. “What, so the freak killed her?”

“Unconfirmed.” Dustin snaps from the computer. He’s almost done writing down all the numbers.

“Not exactly. There’s some… details that we’re hoping to figure out, first. Before we go to the police about Eddie.”

Robin doesn’t like the way you say this. “What details?”

“The lights flickered in my house, I-I could feel static.” Max says, eyes downcast. Nothing else needs to be said, Steve and Robin understand immediately.

Now quiet, Steve’s hand finds yours. If it’s really happening again, he’ll be damned if he lets you go anywhere out of his sight. He’s not losing you. Surprised by the affection, you look and Steve and find that he’s staring down at you with so much tenderness in his eyes, even after you both maliciously hurt one another the night before.

It’s almost too much for you, the honey in his eyes that are meant for only you to see. Jonathan’s words from last night burn your skin. 

Do you ever wonder if we’ve made a mistake?

Steve doesn’t know what’s been said. Neither does Nancy. How could you possibly tell them what he’s done? The line he almost crossed? After everything the four of you have been through together, the deep history that divides you, how can you settle the ruins that Jonathan left in his wake? 

You can’t. Not without hurting everyone in the process. 

You’re torn out of your thoughts when Dustin calls your name. He’s giving out instructions, ordering everyone to call Eddie’s friends. 

“Y/N, you’ll call out the numbers we need to dial and write down any leads we get. Max, Robin, you’ll be with me on the phones. We need to figure out where he is, if he has any specific hiding places. Steve, you can bat your eyelashes at customers or whatever.”

Steve makes a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat and you squeeze his hand. “You heard the kid,” you lean against his chest, allow yourself to smile up at him. “Go bat your eyelashes, handsome.”

He laughs, and because he loves you, because he will always love you, Steve kisses the corner of your mouth, right where your smile line forms. It’s a quick, chaste kiss. Enough to remind you that he’s still yours, yet mindful of the fact that things may not be as easy as they once were between you. “Aye aye, angel.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you with such a rush of love for him within your bones. Later, when there’s time, you and Steve will talk, and he’ll still be yours and you’ll still be his. 

Everyone gets to work after that. Max, Robin, and Dustin spread out around the store and begin dialing the numbers that you read off from the list. Their conversations are short, all filled with the same set of questions. There’s at least eight people to get through, but dividing them up helps. 

Robin shouts at you to write down some kid named David who has a vacation home in Tennessee. Dustin tells you to cross off one of the phone numbers ending in 5823, apparently the guy and Eddie no longer talk.

Max, who stands the closest to you at the counter, hangs up the phone and turns to you. “I think I might have a lead.”

“Seriously?” Dustin spins around in his chair and Robin sets down her phone.

“Yeah, apparently Eddie gets his drugs from some guy named Reefer Rick–”

“Wait, Eddie actually sells drugs?” You thought that had only been a rumor, a stereotype from people who didn’t know any better. Why the fuck is a drug dealer hanging out with your fourteen year old brother? Alarmed, you grab Dustin’s arm and force him to look at you. “He hasn’t offered you any, right? I swear to God, I will stab his boney little body if he’s offered so much as even a whiff to you–”

Dustin rips his arm out of your grasp. “Can you not freak out for more than five seconds? Holy shit, no! He hasn’t offered me anything, he isn’t irresponsible with his business, he only sells to seniors.”

“So you knew he was a drug dealer?” You’re so going to kill Munson. 

“Guys!” Max claps her hands, breaking up yet another fight between you and Dustin. “The drugs aren’t important right now, what we should be focusing on is the fact that Eddie sometimes crashes at Reefer Rick’s.”

Robin pats your shoulder and nods at Max’s words. “Okay, that sounds promising. Where does this Reefer Rick guy live?”

“That’s the thing. No one knows. He’s more of a… a legend than someone people actually know.”

“Well that doesn’t sound suspicious at all.” You mumble under your breath, but Dustin hears you anyway and elbows your ribs. 

Ignoring your pained cry, he looks at Max. “What about a last name?” 

“I don’t know that either.”

“Bet the cops know a last name.” Steve says, back turned to you guys as he organizes some tapes. Max asks him what he means and he finally walks over. “I mean, listen, if this Reefer Rick is actually a drug dealer, I guarantee you he’s been busted at some point. Means he’s in the system.”

Dustin throws his head back in annoyance. “The cops? That’s your suggestion?”

“I mean, at this point I think they should be filled in on what we know, what’s going on.” Steve defends himself, and honestly a part of you agrees with him. 

Technically speaking, this is a lot to hide from the police. If this had been happening last year, you would’ve been the first to suggest telling Hawkins police about everything. But last year Hopper was alive, this year he’s dead. He’s gone, and the new chief wouldn’t understand or even bother listening to what you’d have to say. 

Hopper would’ve believed you. He always believed you. 

“The police won’t help,” you say, and Dustin is surprised you’re agreeing with him for once. “At least, not like they used to.”

“You think Eddie is guilty, don’t you?” Your brother accuses Steve, and a fight breaks out between them. 

Steve brings up some weak point about believing in everyone being innocent until proven guilty. “I just, you know. I don’t think we can rule it out.”

“That’s precisely what we’re trying to do here, Steve.” Max points out, annoyed by all of this. 

Dustin nods. “And maybe we’d have a little bit more luck if you spent less time ogling my sister and more time trying to find Eddie.”

You flick the kid’s head and Steve waves his arms out, defensive. “I wasn’t ogling her, and even if I did, I have every right to as her boyfriend! Besides, someone has to attend to the customers.”

“And by customers, you mean Y/N.” Robin teases, knowing she’s right.

“I’m right here, you know.” You don’t like this conversation, you don’t even know how everyone ended up here in the first place. 

“Sue me for trying to find a movie for my girlfriend, alright? We’ve got a very big selection in here. It can be super overwhelming, even if I’ve worked here for almost a year.”

You tilt your head at Steve. “You were trying to find a movie for me?”

He blushes, suddenly shy. “I mean, yeah. Figured we could… watch something later?”

“I’d like that,” you tell him shyly. Things will be okay between you, they have to be. 

Meanwhile, Robin types frantically on the computer, and Max asking her what she’s doing catches your attention. You walk over, lean down to stare at the screen in front of you. “Maybe we don’t need a last name,” Robin explains, pulling up the store’s video rental catalog. 

A list of Ricks pop up, and you quickly realize what she’s doing. “Oh, you’re a genius, Buckley.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, pretty girl.” Robin smirks, showing everyone else the screen. “There’s twelve Ricks who have accounts here.”

“That’s a lot of Ricks,” Max remarks. 

Robin nods, she expected this. “So, let’s narrow it down.” She clicks on the first Rick’s name and his movie rental history appears. “Rick Alderman’s latest rentals are Annie and Dumbo.”

“I doubt a drug deal would rent sensible children’s movies.” You say, and everyone agrees.

“Alright, Rick Conroy. Sixteen Candles, Teen Wolf, and Romancing the Stone.” In unison everyone says “no”, and Robin moves down the list. “Okay, Rick Joiner. Mask, Footloose, and Grease.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Grease, I like this Rick’s taste in movies.”

Dustin snorts. “But he isn’t the Rick we need.” 

Finally, Robin lands on a Rick Lipton, who has rented three Cheech & Chong movies over the course of a week, and immediately you all know that you’ve found the right Rick. Robin looks up the address and Dustin observes that it’s out by Lovers Lake.

Lovers Lake. Where you and Steve finally got together. 

As if thinking what you are, Steve’s hand finds the small of your back, where it permanently resides, and he shares a shy look with you. There’s fondness in his eyes, the memory from that night doesn’t burn him. The tension of your fight lingers, you both can feel it, but the memory of that July night causes you both to smile.

And it’s enough. 

– 

Steve is the one who drives, he’s always somehow the designated driver, and everyone crams into his car. You sit in the passenger seat, he doesn’t let anyone else sit there when you’re with him, and Robin complains from the backseat. 

“One of these days I’m going to sit up front and no one will stop me.” 

“You sat in the passenger seat yesterday morning, Robin.” You remind her, smirking when you see how squished she is between Max and Dustin.

“Minor details. Please drive quickly, Harrington. I think Dustin’s elbow is lodged between my third and fourth rib.”

Lovers Lake is far. The house is in the middle of nowhere, the perfect place to hide, so by the time you arrive there it’s dark. Steve keeps a few flashlights in his trunk, a precaution he’s adopted since befriending you and Dustin. He hands them out to everyone with the warning to stay close. 

“I don’t want anyone slipping away, you hear me?”

“Okay, dad.” Robin shoves past him, causing Max to giggle, and you pat his chest in pity. 

Dustin rings the doorbell, figuring if Eddie is really here then he’d want to see a familiar face. When no one answers, he starts to repeatedly hit the doorbell over and over again. 

“Guess he’s not here,” Steve says after Dustin rings the bell for the hundredth time, but the kid ignores him and starts to pound on the door instead, now yelling. 

“Eddie! It’s Dustin!”

Still no one answers, and you begin to think that maybe you’ve gotten it all wrong. There’s the woods, the abandoned Hawkins Lab, and a million other places to hide. Reefer Rick’s house may have been too far for Eddie to run off to. 

Dustin calls through the door about how it’s just him and that there aren’t any cops. Robin tries to get a look inside the house through the window while you shine your light around the house. Max seems to get the same idea and the two of you wander over towards the side, trying to find another way in. 

Only you don’t find another way in. Instead, you find an old boathouse down by the water’s edge. It’s huge, masked by the trees and house in front of it. Eddie has to be hiding out in there, then. 

“Hey, guys?” Max gets everyone’s attention and points towards the boathouse. 

Dustin is the first to start walking down, Robin and Max not far behind, and you stand back with Steve. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go into the creepy abandoned boathouse. Yay.”

“We’ve done worse, angel.”

You sigh. “It’s really depressing that you’re right.”

Slowly the five of you approach the building, there isn’t any sign of life. The door is unlocked, which is both a good and bad sign. Robin pokes her head in cautiously, calls out into the darkness. “Hello? Is anyone home?”

Steve walks behind you, guiding you gently with his hands. Everyone spreads out, Steve grabs an oar that he finds hanging on the wall. He shows it to you, raising his eyebrows as he silently asks if it could be of any use, and you nod. Following his lead, you flick your knives out, eyes catching on a boat with a tarp draped over it. 

Wary, you point it out to Steve, and he understands. Raising his oar, he brings it down onto the boat with force, stabbing at the tarp. Luckily he doesn’t catch on anything, or anyone, but Dustin yells at him. 

“What are you doing?” Then, seeing the glint of your knives, Dustin scoffs at you. “Seriously, you really think those little elbow stabbers are gonna help?

You raise them at him. “I stabbed Billy with them, don’t forget.” 

Besides, like hell you’re taking any chances this time. Even if Steve’s oar isn’t the most ideal weapon, it’s still a weapon. You’re in an abandoned building with a killer on the loose. Neither one of you is willing to risk being defenseless, not after everything you’ve been through together. 

“He might be in here,” Steve continues to stab at the tarp, and even you have to admit it’s overkill. 

“Just take the tarp off!” Dustin says through clenched teeth. Steve tells him to take the tarp of himself and again they spiral into an argument. You watch with slight amusement. Some things never change. 

Robin and Max find something over by the table, alerting you that Eddie may have been in here. Dustin waves an arm out in front of Steve, who’s still jabbing his oar into the boat’s tarp. “Don’t worry, Steve will get him with his oar.”

“I know you’re being funny, little Henderson, but considering the fact that everyone in this room has nearly died a hundred times, personally, I don’t find it funny in the slight–” A figure jumps out from behind Steve and grabs him. “Wait, wait, wait!”

“Steve!” You scream, extending your knives, following after them. The person shoves Steve into the wall, holds a broken glass bottle to his neck. Pressing yourself behind them, you bring your knife to the perpetrator’s face, digging its tip into his cheek. A mess of curly hair touches your face, the scent of leather infiltrates your nose. It’s Eddie. 

“Eddie! Stop!” Dustin exclaims, struggling against Robin’s hold. To your relief, she isn’t letting him get any closer, which you’re thankful for. “It’s me. It’s Dustin. This is Steve, and the girl with a knife fixation is my sister Y/N. She’s not gonna hurt you, right, Y/N?”

“Let go of him,” you sneer into Eddie’s ear, pressing your knife deeper into his face. The blade nicks the crest of his cheekbone, blood drips down, but you don’t ease the pressure. He has Steve in a chokehold, he could slice his neck any second.

Steve sees that you’ve cut Eddie and he knows you’re seconds away from gutting the guy, which would only escalate the situation. He needs you to be safe, he’s afraid that Eddie will turn the glass bottle towards you instead. “Y/N, angel. Look at me, I’m okay. Drop the knife, and I’ll drop my oar, alright?”

You hesitate, and Dustin screams at you to do as you’re told. Your eyes flicker between Steve and Eddie, lingering on the bottle that is pressed even deeper into your boyfriend’s neck now. A thud echoes in the room, Steve drops his oar. He looks at you again, his eyes pleading, and you reluctantly flick your wrist to put the blades away. 

The moment your knives are gone, Steve lets out a pained groan. Eddie only tightens his hold on him and the glass cuts his skin. In a heartbeat your hand fists through Eddie’s long hair and you pull. Hard. He sucks in a breath, clenches his teeth, and finally looks at you. “Cut him, and I will kill you.”

“She’s cool! I promise she’s cool!” Dustin shouts from across the room, doing everything he possibly can not to get both Eddie and Steve killed. He doesn’t worry about you, he knows you can handle yourself. He’s more concerned that you’re about to have blood all over your hands. 

“If you let me go,” Steve chokes out, careful not to move his mouth too much and cut his throat. “Y/N will be cool.”

Eddie doesn’t ease up, and neither do you. Despite the awkward angle of his head, he leers down at Steve. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We’re looking for you,” Dustin tells him, taking a cautious step forward.

Robin now speaks up. “We’re here to help.”

“Eddie, these are my friends. You know Robin, from band.” She pretends to play the trumpet to ease the tension, but it doesn’t work. “This is my friend Max, the one who never wants to play DnD. And you know Y/N, she used to hang out with Jonathan Byers all the time and I always talk about her.”

“I know all about Hawkins’ sweetheart.” Eddie sneers, flinching only slightly when you pull his hair even more. “She isn’t so sweet now.”

Your other hand reaches towards your back pocket, towards your knives, and Dustin’s heart skips a beat. He needs to resolve this. Now. “Eddie, we’re on your side. I swear on my mother. Right, guys?”

Robin and Max both swear, and Steve chokes out, “Yes, we swear on Mrs. Henderson. She-she’s great. You’d love her.”

Eddie doesn’t respond. Seconds pass, although they feel like hours. His neck must ache from the way you pull against it, and you see him staring down at you from the corner of his eyes. A crazed smile of interest crosses his face, his gaze lingers on your figure, blood drips down from his cut. You watch his every move, and when Eddie finally releases Steve, you throw him aside. 

“Are you okay?” Your fingers ghost over Steve’s neck, checking for any sign of injury. He’s panting heavily, finally able to breathe again now that there isn’t a sharp edge grazing his neck. Your touch is gentle, your hands shake, and you hardly even register that Robin is next to you. 

“I’m okay,” he breathes out, rubbing his neck. His shaking hands find yours, steadying them with your interlocked fingers. Mindful of the fact that Robin is present, he kisses the backs of your hands. “I’m all fine, angel. I promise.”

You want to carry him away, out of this town, away from anything that can harm him. You want to tuck him somewhere far away, where no one will ever find him again, alone with only you, safe and sound. 

But you can’t. Instead, all you can do is sit next to Steve, caressing his hair as your body slowly attunes to his again.

Eddie is crying a few feet away, his threatening persona long gone. His entire body shakes, his eyes are dark with haunted memories. Dustin crouches down next to him, and Robin joins. Softly, as if talking to an injured animal she doesn’t want to scare away, she tells him, “We want to know what happened.”

“You won’t believe me.” Eddie sniffs, sounding completely and utterly broken. Something horrible happened to him last night, something that will haunt him forever. The way he holds himself, how small he tries to become, how he shakes violently. They’re all signs of trauma, not guilt or remorse. He didn’t kill Chrissy.

Taking pity on Eddie, you reach out and rest a hand on his shoulder. He’s startled by your touch, only moments ago you held a knife to his face, and now your hand warms his body. “We’ll believe you,” you whisper.

He tells you everything. The details are gruesome, bloody and terrifying. 

“Her body, it just… lifted into the air and,” Eddie’s voice breaks as he cries again, and a part of you wants to tell him that he can stop, clearly he’s in pain. “And she just, she hung there. In the air. And her bones, they-they–” He stumbles over his words, but he clenches his fists and forces the rest out. “Her bones started to snap.”

Your heart stops. You can’t imagine how horrifying that must’ve been to see. The image of Billy’s body pierced by the Mind Flayer is still burned into your retinas. The same will be true for Eddie with Chrissy’s body. 

“And her eyes,” he shakes his head, he tries to get the memories away from him. “It.. it was like there was something inside her head, pulling.” 

Eddie describes the sound of Chrissy’s bones snapping, the squelching pop when her eyes exploded. “I-I didn’t know what to do so I-I… I ran away.” He stares at the ground, you see his fists tighten, he’s angry with himself. Ashamed. “I left her there.”

“There wasn’t anything you could do, Eddie.” You tell him. Anyone would’ve ran away. He’s human for being afraid, and you hope that he hears you through all the unnecessary shame. You know, better than anyone, how hard it is to hear anything over the roaring rush of guilt that floods someone’s mind. 

Eddie ignores you. “You all think I’m crazy, right?”

“No, we don’t think you’re crazy.” Dustin’s voice is gentle, softer than you’ve ever heard it. Eddie yells at him, he thinks you’re all playing some cruel trick on him. He’s stuck in a state of flight, panicked and ready to flee, and Dustin lowers his voice even more. “Look, what I’m about to tell you might be a little… Difficult to take.”

You sit next to your brother, everyone else stands behind the two of you as you face Eddie. Dropping your voice to its own soothing, comforting lilt, you lean in closer to the scared teen and offer whatever solace you can give him. “It’ll be difficult, but I’ll be right here, okay?”

Eddie stares at you, his hardened expression softening little by little. “Okay.”

Dustin takes a deep breath. “You know how people say Hawkins is cursed? They’re not… way off.”

“There’s another world, hidden beneath hawkins. And sometimes it… bleeds into ours.” You reveal, careful to make your words as clear and concise as possible. Even after all these years, it still feels impossible to explain it all. 

Dustin continues, beginning to explain the monsters that haunt Hawkins from the Upside Down. How you all thought they were gone, but that they somehow come back again and again. As your brother talks, memories flash before you. Billy’s death, Will’s disappearance, the darkness that infiltrated his tiny body. El, her powers. The Demogorgon, its cruelness and its tunnels.

Steve walks up behind you, your body falls against his, he draws you in. 

“They’ve come back before, that’s why we needed to find you.” Dustin explains to Eddie. 

Max steps forward as well. “If they’re back again, we need to know.” 

Robin asks Eddie if he saw anything that night, Max asks if he saw any dark particles. Any indicators that you’ve come to learn that signal the Upside Down, but Eddie can only shake his head. Dustin presses him further, describes what the particles would look like, but it’s no use.

“No, man. There was nothing you could see, or-or touch.” Eddie’s voice is hoarse, you can see the exhaustion in his eyes, but his words catch your attention.

“Was there…” You swallow, your mouth has gone dry. “Did you feel static in the air? Like an electric pull, almost as if lightning was about to strike?”

Describing the sensation is easy, it’s the same feeling you’ve come to associate with El. Her powers, they have a magnetic pull to them. It’s hard to miss, easy to feel. 

Eddie stares at you, and slowly, with hesitancy, he nods.

You fall back against Steve’s chest. Everyone else goes silent as the realization settles upon the room. It’s happening again. The dread crawls over your neck, settles into your throat. It will never end. 

“She couldn't move. It was like she was-she was in a trance or something.” Eddie says, unaware of the despair surrounding everyone. 

Dustin looks at you, his eyes reflect the grief that you feel. “Or under a spell.”

“Like El.”

He nods, before Eddie adds, “Or a curse.”

“Vecna’s curse.” Dustin says, eyes now on Eddie, and a cold chill creeps down your spine.

Steve asks who Vecna is, and upon hearing the name again, a pang rips through your head. Dustin explains who Vecna is, a character in Eddie’s DnD campaign, but you don’t hear any of it. You gasp in pain, the beginning stages of a migraine darken your vision and twist your stomach. Max notices, her eyes trail up your body and linger on the hand pressed against your head. 

Lost in the pressure building within your skull, you don’t see the way Max almost seems to know what’s happening. 

She doesn’t say anything.

-

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[stargazsblog]

how to lose a girl in 10 days | ch.1 the bet

ryomen sukuna x fem!reader

ʚɞ ryomen sukuna is tall, devastatingly handsome, and the campus heartbreaker. everyone knows his name, and his reputation for leaving girls with broken hearts. but then there's you uninterested and completely unimpressed by him. you're the only girl who couldn't care less about him. when his friends tease him about it, everything changes. they challenge him with a bet to make you, the one person who isn't affected by his charm, fall in love with him in just 10 days, sukuna accepts the challenge, thinking it'll be an easy win. it's just a game, a way to prove he can get any girl he wants. but the more time he spends with you, he finds himself wanting something he never expected.

ʚɞ warning/tags: angst, fluff, romance, use of cigarettes and alcohol, jealousy, asshole sukuna, heartbreak, inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days, college au, enemies to lovers.

ʚɞ now playing - no. 1 party anthem by arctic monkeys

note: hi guys! this is the first chapter and I'm so excited this is just about how the bet starts nothing crazyyyy YET… i can’t wait to write more! merry christmas!! <3

masterlist

“I still don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” you muttered, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. The muffled thump of bass from inside the house was enough to make your ears ring, even from a distance. The faint smell of cigarette smoke and cheap beer mixed with the crisp winter breeze, making you wrinkle your nose.

“Because,” Shoko said, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “Deep down, you know you’ll have fun if you let yourself.” she grinned at you.

You side-eye her, “Have fun?, this is a party of drunk idiots I have to pretend I like.”

“Don't be dramatic.” Shoko rolled her eyes, patting your shoulder as she let you go. ”You spend too much time brooding alone in your dorm, anyway.”

“I call it peace,” you shot back, but Shoko was already halfway up the stairs.

The door swung open before either of you could reach it. A group of boys tumbled out, laughing and shouting, nearly knocking you over in the process. You stepped aside just in time, muttering a curse under your breath

The heat of the crowded house hit you immediately. The air was thick, almost suffocating, with the smell of sweat, spilled drinks, and overly sweet perfume. Bodies pressed together as people danced to the relentless beat of the music.

“Come on, let's get a drink,” she said, grabbing your wrist and leading you towards the kitchen. You stuck close to her, pushing past people in the crowd and avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

“This is a disaster,” you muttered as you reached the kitchen, leaning against the counter. Shoko handed you a bottle of water before pouring herself something that smelled suspiciously strong.

“It's just a party,” she replied.

As she took a sip, she leaned against the counter, her eyes scanning the room again. “There he is,” she said, nudging you with her elbow.

“Who?”

“You know who.”

Your gaze followed hers, landing on a familiar figure sprawled out on the couch in the corner of the living room. Ryomen Sukuna.

He was sitting on the couch like he owned the place, his long legs stretched out, one arm casually draped over the back of the sofa. He was wearing a white shirt, the fabric clinging just enough to hint at the toned muscles underneath. His eyes scanned the room with practiced boredom, like none of it was worth his time.

A girl was sitting on his lap, twirling her hair around her finger and giggling as if he’d just told her the funniest joke in the world. She leaned closer, whispering something in his ear, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead, his gaze drifted and then locked onto yours.

He grinned, a slow, cocky smirk that made something in your chest tighten not with attraction, but with irritation. It was the kind of grin that said he knew exactly the effect he had on people and loved to watch them crumble under it. He tilted his head slightly, as if to say, Caught you staring

As you looked away, you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. But you didn’t turn back. You weren’t interested.

“Great,” you muttered, taking a long sip from your water bottle. “Now I have to burn this memory from my brain.”

Shoko laughed, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Oh, come on. You’ve got to admit, he’s hot.”

“He’s insufferable.”

“Hot and insufferable. The best combination.”

“I’ll leave right now.” you turned heel, but Shoko grabbed your arm, stopping you from your track.

“Relax, I’m just teasing you.”

Your jaw tightened, but you stayed put, watching as Sukuna leaned back even further, his eyes still fixed on you. The girl on his lap pouted, clearly annoyed at his lack of attention, but he didn’t seem to care.

“I hate him,” you muttered under your breath. The words came out bitter, but they were true. “Did I mention that before?”

“Yeah, like hundreds of times,” She replied, laughing “You really hate him, huh?”

“I just don’t get how people fall for his act,” you said.

Shoko shrugged. “Like I said, he’s hot. People like hot.”

“Hot doesn’t excuse being an asshole,” you murmured, crossing your arms. “What’s his deal, anyway? Does he just sit there all night waiting for people to grovel at his feet?”

“Pretty much,” Shoko said with a shrug. “But he’s good at it. Watch.”

As if on cue, another girl approached him, drink in hand. She leaned down, her lips close to his ear as she said something you couldn’t hear. Sukuna smirked, his attention finally shifting away from you, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“See? he’s harmless,” Shoko said.

“Harmless,” you repeated, your voice with sarcasm. “Sure.”

“You know, you’re the only one who doesn’t fall for his charm.”

“Good,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “I’m not about to start. I don’t need someone like him in my life.”

“You gonna keep her there all night?” Suguru asked, nodding towards the girl on Sukuna’s lap.

Sukuna smirked tilting his head back. “why not? She's comfortable here.” the girl giggled again, clearly tipsy, but Sukuna's attention has already wandered. His eyes scanned the room lazily, taking in the usual suspect, drunk athletes, and the occasional out-of-place loner. Until it landed on you.

You stood in the kitchen, keeping your distance from the chaos, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed. Your eyes roamed over the room, observing, until they met his. He caught you looking, and a smirk tugged at his lips. When you quickly looked away, he let out a low chuckle.

His friends noticed this.

“You’ve been staring at her for the last ten minutes, what’s the deal?” Geto voice cut thought Sukuna’s thoughts, and he glanced over at his friend.

“I’m not staring,” Sukuna retorted smoothly, his tone laced with nonchalance as he effortlessly lifted the girl off his lap. She let out an irritated groan, before stalking off in a huff. “Just observing,”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Geto teased, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve seen the way you're staring at her, that’s not the ‘I’m observing’ look you usually give what’s going on with you.”

Sukuna’s gaze flickered to you once more. “She’s different,” He had noticed you around campus—the way you never spared him a second glance when you passed by, completely unaffected by his presence. Once, he’d even tried to strike up a conversation, but you had brushed past him without so much as acknowledging him, as though he were invisible.

Gojo chuckled “Different? Dude, that girl is the only one who doesn’t drool over you.”

Sukuna’s lip curled into a sly grin. “So what?”

“So,” Suguru continues, crossing his arms, leaning against the couch. “you’ve never met a girl who doesn’t fall for your charm, right? You’ve been with everyone but her? she couldn’t care less.”

Gojo snorted. “And she’s probably the only one on campus. That’s gotta sting.”

Sukuna scoffed, leaning forward slightly. “Please. She is probably playing hard to get.”

Geto exchanged a glance with Gojo, and then a mischievous grunt flashed his eyes. “All alright, how about we make this interesting? We give you ten days.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, “Ten days?’

“Yeah,” he said with a sly smile “Ten days you make her fall in love with you.”

Sukana let out a short laugh, but the challenge already sounded fun to him. He never was the type to back down from a game. “You think I need ten days?”

Suguru shrugged, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “It’d be easier if it were any other girl. But this one… she’s too—what’s the word? Stubborn. Definitely not into guys like you,” he said, “She won’t be an easy win. That’s what makes it interesting, though.”

Satoru chimes in “Yeah, man. You can’t just use your looks and charm this time. You’re gonna have to actually work for it.”

Sukana's eyes flicked back to you for a split second. You were standing there unaware of the conversation that was happening a few feet away from you. “Ten days huh?” he murmured.

“Ten days” Gojo repeated. “And if you fail you lose. It's as simple as that.”

His expression turned darker, the idea of him not winning seemed unthinkable. He wasn’t just going to prove them wrong he was going to show them that no one could resist him.

Gojo leaned back, a grin tugging at his lips. “Oh, and one more thing,” he added, glancing at Sukuna. “You can't be seen with other girls. It’s gotta look real, after all.”

Sukuna’s expression shifted slightly, an eyebrow raised in silent challenge. “You think I need rules to make this work?” he asked.

Geto gave a small nod. “It’s just to make sure no one gets suspicious. You’ll need to actually put in the effort.”

Sukuna smirked, unfazed. “Fine. I’ll play by your rules, but don’t expect me to go easy on her.”

Ten days to make you fall for him. The girl who wouldn’t give him the time of the day. The girl who didn’t care about his reputation. The girl who has no idea what was coming for her.

Unknowingly, you had already been pulled into his game.

“You think his shirt could be any tighter,” Shoko muttered, nodding towards a guy who was flexing across the room.

You snorted. “Pretty sure it's painted on.” leaning against the kitchen counter. Shoko grinned at your words, sipping from her cup.

The kitchen was quieter than the rest of the party, you leaned against the counter sipping on your water. Shoko perched on the edge of the sink, swinging her legs as she talked. You were nodding and listening to the story she was telling you. You hear a group of people walking in the kitchen, their laughter loud and careless. You don’t even need to turn around to know who it is. The weight of his presence pressed into the room like a rebound heartbeat. Ryomen Sukuna.

His graze swept the kitchen, it lingered on you for a moment too long, and a smirk appeared on his face.

“Shoko,” one of his friends called out, his tone playful, but almost teasing. “Come help us with something. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and them. “Fun, huh? i doubt it.”

“It’s better than being stuck in here,” another white-haired friend chimed in.

She rolled her eyes but slid off the counter anyway, giving you a quick pat on the shoulder. “Don’t get too comfortable,” she said with a wink before following them out of the kitchen. And then, it was just you and him.

Great.

Sukuna didn't say anything, but you could feel the weight of his gaze, as he leaned against the counter across from you.

“Guess it’s just us now,” he said finally his voice low and smooth.

You didn't look up, keeping your focus on your drink “Lucky me,” you replied, your tone dry.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and deep. “You don’t sound too thrilled.”

When you finally glanced up, he was much closer than you’d expected. His tall frame leaned casually against the counter opposite you. Up close, the details of his features were almost overwhelming—the sharp line of his jaw, the subtle curve of his lips that formed an infuriatingly smug smirk, and the mess of his hair falling carelessly over his forehead. You couldn’t deny it, no matter how much you wanted to. He was hot—like, really hot.

“You’re not exactly the first guy to try this,” you said coolly, taking another sip from your drink, your gaze steady as you met his.

Sukuna tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in amusement. “Try what?” he asked.

“Whatever you’re doing right now,” you replied, “the whole brooding, mysterious thing. It’s not as original as you think.”

He laughed at that, his head tilting back just enough to expose the line of his throat. It wasn’t often that people spoke to him like this, you realized. Most would have thrown themselves at him.

“You’re sharp,” he said, pushing off the counter and taking a step closer. The scent of him hits you. “I like that,” he added, his voice low, a hint of approval in his tone as his gaze lingered on you.

You arched an eyebrow, unimpressed by him. “And I don’t care.”

He paused not being he was offended, but because he wasn’t used to being dismissed, even by someone who didn't so much flinch under his gaze.

He took another step forward, closing the distance between you. “Most people would kill to be in your position right now,” his tone quieter now, almost intimate, as his eyes locked onto yours.

You smirked, setting your drink on the counter behind you. “Then maybe you should go find ‘most people,’” you replied coolly, not breaking eye contact.”

The silence hung in the air. Sukuna’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, then slowly, his gaze dipped to your lips. The smirk on his face faltered just slightly as if he was plotting something in his mind, before it returned—sharper, more amused.

“You’re different,” he murmured finally, his voice low, the words lingering in the air as his gaze stayed fixed on your lips, the tension between you growing with each passing second.

“Should I take that as a compliment?” you asked.

“Take it however you want,” he said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper, his gaze still lingering on your lips as if he was waiting for your next move.

His gaze made it hard to look away. But you forced yourself to break the connection, turning your focus elsewhere. You weren’t sure what Sukuna was trying to do—charm you, challenge you, or maybe a little of both.

“I’m not interested in you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you said, your tone firm, making sure he knew you weren’t fazed by his presence.

He tilted his head, his smirk fading for a moment. He just looked at you, his dark eyes searching yours as if he were trying to read you.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, his voice low and confident, before turning and walking out.

You let out a slow breath, the heat of his presence lingering in the air. Sukuna wasn’t used to being ignored, and for him, that only made you more of a challenge.

But you weren’t here to play his game.

At least, that’s what you thought.

taglist: @clp-84 @ssetsuka @lymsfm @monic19 @bol0-de-morang0 @strxberryicecream @r0ckst4rjk @gojocumslut @elliebelliegi @kazuuhali @luna-v-roiya @sussiesushi @nakiich @mourart7 @neuvilletteswife4ever @rusted-dolly @blueyesuguru @lillycore @yourhornysister @bnbaochauuu

[macfrog]

twin flame sex on fire chapter eleven

thank you all for being so patient and kind, and loving this story no matter how terribly long i take with it. anyway, here's wonderwall. (shout out to @bageldaddy who saved this on numerous occasions lmao)

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: doing it with a broken heart is harder than it looks.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, reader's a Real Tough Kid she can (not) Handle Her Shit, kale!!!!!!, alcohol consumption, cursing, soft!joel, fluff and angst. angst angst angst angst

word count: 7.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

Five days lasts a year.

So it feels, anyway, when you spot Martha from the corner of your eye – pulling her coat on and hooking her purse over her shoulder. She tucks her peroxide blonde layers behind her ears, gives one last check of her makeup in a compact mirror, and looks up.

“You coming?”

It’s five thirty on Friday. You haven’t said more than two words to Joel since you walked out on him, Monday morning.

She knows by now – Martha. Or at least, she has a pretty good idea.

You haven’t told her, as if you’d even be able to begin explaining it all. But she pieced it together by herself, didn’t she? You’re hardly subtle. She figured you out less than five minutes after you stormed out of his office, fists balled and face tight with rage.

She says your name, and the sound is muffled. Distorted by the sour backwash of that feeling: the hot temper which dissipated so quickly into an ache behind your ribs all day.

You finally look up. “Huh?”

She fixes the collar on her trench coat. Flattens her thin, merlot lips and says, “Let’s go, kid. It’s been a long week.”

And that, you think, might just be the understatement of the fucking year.

She slips her arm through yours in the elevator, and you don’t protest. It’s not like she’d let you go even if you tried to shake her off – but there’s a comfort to it. Something sweet; soft and motherly. Martha’s not often this affectionate.

You want to slot your cheek on her shoulder. Ask her how long her worst heartbreak lasted. Ask if that’s even what this is, if you can give a two-month hurricane of sex and secrets enough power to split you open this badly.

Ask her how long until the gnawing in your chest eases. How long until you’re finally able to look at him again, without wanting to cuss him out – or run into his arms.

But you stare ahead, swaying with the dropping elevator, wrap your arms tight around yourself and swallow shallow breaths of her rosy perfume.

Your reflection splits in two, pulled apart by the rumble of the doors. Something akin to a growl from between Martha’s teeth.

The skeleton of the lobby sears behind your eyes, every surface bleeding gold. Silver arrows of rain pelt against the windows, slicing through the blazing sunlight. Dark figures shake umbrellas open at the doors; others yank their collars over their heads as they run to cars.

A gaggle of square suits separates to let you pass, black material shining and soaked through. Nodding to both of you, your names dripping from their lips as they load into the elevator.

Under the canopy outside, Martha hoists her purse over her head.

“Monday then?” she yells over the drumming rain. And without waiting for an answer – because she isn’t so much asking as she is telling – she totters off through the drizzle towards Alan’s Volvo.

One last glance over her shoulder, a wink as her six-inch heels swing into the car. Like a Bond girl, off to wrangle her preteen into eating his vegetables.

You call a cab, leaning against the building to watch the clouds roll overhead.

Two words. That’s all you’ve managed to force over your tongue.

Sure and okay. Both uttered between teeth, as though your body might be trying to hold them back. Mundane and fucking meaningless; pushing by everything else you want so desperately for Joel to hear. How could you? Why would you? I think I hate you, you know that?

I hate you and I miss you so much that it makes me hate you all over again for it.

He’s doing as you asked, at least. He’s following your rules. No looking, no touching, no talking.

To a point.

He is still talking – saying a little more to you than you are to him. You’re allowing it, given that he is still your boss and they’re only ever boss things to say. Schedule this meeting, look out that old file. Pick up his drycleaning when it’s mid-afternoon and he spots your boredom from across the office.

But he never comes near.

Not anymore.

He doesn’t brush by, stealing a giggle when his elbow nudges your waist. He doesn’t order you lunch, then wait until you’re sat opposite him in his office to eat together.

He doesn’t kiss you as soon as the elevator doors close. He doesn’t perch on the edge of your desk to steal snacks and gossip with you and Martha. He doesn’t play with your hand, he doesn’t hold you by the hips, he doesn’t whisper dirty jokes and sweet nothings in your ear.

He keeps his distance. He acts like your boss again.

And – Jesus. You’ve never wanted to hate him so much in your life.

“Waitin’ for a cab?”

“Shit –” You twirl, rain flicking from the tail of your coat.

Joel takes your arm steady. His grip is so familiar, so safe you feel yourself melting into it already. “Easy, easy,” he says, his voice much the same. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you there.”

“You didn’t, you…Yeah,” you sigh, “I guess you did. What did you say?”

He smiles. It’s weak, humored, but completely unsure. “I just asked if you’re waiting for a cab.

And goddamn it, just the sight of him this close thaws you from the inside out. It’s like warmth against the wound, softening you like the creases by the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah,” you start, “I just called one. Figure there’s traffic.” You gesture to the bodies scurrying down towards yellow cabs.

Joel tosses his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the sleek Rolls by the curb. The rain bounces off its roof. “Rand can take you, if you like. Save you waitin’.”

“Oh, no. No, I’m good, thanks.”

“I’ll take your cab,” he clarifies. “I’ll take the cab; Rand can take you home.”

“Really, Joel,” you reply, hugging your purse. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay. Thank you.”

He nods, looking down. There was – there is – nothing he wants more than to look out for you. There’s probably nothing that stings more right now, than the fact you won’t let him.

He makes to leave, then hesitates. Hands in his pockets, he turns back and says, “You ever need anything, just let me know. Alright?”

Your lips flatten. “Mhm.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

“Alright,” he says. “Okay. I’ll see you Monday.”

He strides off towards the Rolls. So much cooler than the suits scrambling around him; dipping his head as he slides into the backseat, fixing his tie before he pulls the door closed.

The car doesn’t move until yours arrives. Until he’s seen you run over, settle in the backseat. Rand pulls out behind as your driver sets off; turns in the opposite direction at the first set of traffic lights.

You watch as it shrinks into a speck from the back window, wondering if Joel’s watching you, too.

The driver tuts and shakes his head. He flicks his fingers to the windshield, some comment about this goddamn rain and ain’t let up for five goddamn days.

You fish your phone from your pocket, turning the weight of it over in your hands like turning the dilemma in your mind. Thinking up something like, Hey, I was gonna order food in tonight. Wanna come over?

Something like, Or not, if you don’t feel like it.

Sorry, I don’t even know why I’m –

The screen lights.

Your heart jumps to your throat.

The driver rambles on, “…said it’d dry by Wednesday – well, you can’t trust a damn one of ‘em…”

Your eyes are glued to the name onscreen.

Joel headers the first notification. And the second. A text, then an email.

Your thumbs hover over the messages for a few seconds, vision blurring around his name. Frantic circles while you decide whether or not you actually want to read them. But it gets the better of you – morbid curiosity – and you tap on the text.

As quickly as it leapt, your heart plummets.

Forwarded Jean-Marc’s email, in case you need it. Have a good weekend.

Three, four, five times. You read over it five fucking times before it sinks in. Switch to your emails, where Joel Miller sits proudly at the top of the list.

“Why are you…?” you mumble, blinking at the screen. Salt stings across your waterline. “You – you fucking…”

It boils through your veins, pools in the pit of your stomach. That ache winds again, twisting around your ribcage.

Anger.

Anger, and…something much worse.

You bite hard on your lip, refusing to let the tears spill over. Your heart hammers against your chest. Your fist balls, like tightening around the leash of a misbehaving dog, pulling it back into place.

Your voice is barely a whisper.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Steam slowly swallows your silhouette whole. In the mirror, you shake the shell of the office from your shoulders, watching as she disappears entirely behind the heated glass. Relieved just to see her go.

You sob under the scorching stream until your skin prunes and your head throbs. You order in food and burrow deep in your couch to pick at it.

Drowning in the same hoodie he once pulled over himself – his landscape of a body, strong as rock and soft as the earth. The material unwashed, still smelling of mint and men’s cologne.

You thumb through the chick flicks on offer: all perfect grins and power couples; the commercial dream that is a two-tone poster with a quirky, conversational title. And then, worse: the breakup movies.

Women flat-out in bed, picking from a tray of chocolates. Two-day pajamas and three-day bedhead. Slumber parties to burn love letters and gauge out their exes’ eyes in photographs, swear themselves off men and then down heavy cocktails until they puke.

Then – the epiphany. Right before some pop rock track from the noughties sends the heroine off into the sunset. The I’m better off without him, or Maybe he wasn’t so bad moment.

Love truly exists, after all. Roll end credits.

“Oh, fuck off,” you mumble, chewing wetly on popcorn. “You’re all bullshit, anyways.”

Maybe you’re just fucking miserable. You liked the bullshit, two weeks ago.

Blake Carter – he was chocolates in bed and feminist handshakes. He was one night at your mom’s, one night at your best friend’s, then back in your old place before the week was out.

This is different. It’s like a sickness.

Rotting from the inside out. Deep in your chest, a fierce fever spreading from the split, the empty cage of ribs. An anxiety which gathers and festers in the barren corners, like teetering along a wire with no idea how high the drop really is – only that you’re not going to make the landing.

How were you ever going to make the landing, letting go of his hand like that?

You manage three mouthfuls of a greasy hamburger, then shove the bags across the coffee table. Too sick and too unsettled to eat without feeling it roll around your stomach in a furious tide.

You ever need anything, just let me know.

Asking for help is not something you do. Not since you were sixteen, and even before then. There is nothing – nothing, you swore – a man could offer you that you couldn’t go find yourself.

But then – then, you found someone who wasn’t looking for you to ask. Didn’t want or expect you to need him for anything, only wanted you to know that he was around if you ever did. Being near you was all he ever really gave a shit about.

You found someone who was on your tail every time you looked back. All your running, all the times you swore you wouldn’t let him catch you. And there you were – turning to make sure he was still trying.

He was. He was always trying. He’s the closest anyone ever came to proving you wrong.

And now…he’s letting you go.

If you had the energy to laugh, you’d laugh. You’d march back into the bathroom and wait for your reflection to clear again, just to point your finger right in her face.

The same woman who walked away from Blake Carter and his heirloom diamond ring; from Sundays forcing down quiche Lorraine at his parents’ house, and pretending to enjoy bouncing his nephew on your knee.

The same woman who left that diamond ring on his bedside table, packed a bag full of clothes, and fled the apartment before he could plead anymore.

The same woman who had seen the entire thing as a bird breaking free from her cage, in the end.

You understand it now.

You spend long enough in that cage, long enough planted on your feet – you forget how to use your wings.

The weekend is slow and sleepless.

Your sheets wind up a twisted mess each night. Kicked to the foot of the bed, cocooned back around your shoulders, then whipped from your body again when you feel too hot, too smothered.

He’s all over your apartment. Dozing in the reflection of the TV screen, bass voice reverberating off each wall, kisses in the clinking of mugs.

Each night, you stare blankly at the ceiling. Sleep becomes a tide you float on the surface of, pooling across your stomach and only ever wetting to your ears. Face skyward, bone dry. Desperately waiting for a wave that never intends on turning.

Come Monday, you’re running on something like four hours sleep and as many coffees.

Martha recognizes it instantly, the way she fawns. She hasn’t let up all day. Not since you walked in this morning, looking like shit and avoiding Joel’s office at all costs. She’s spent more time staring, delivering snacks, making sickly-sweet conversation that hurts your teeth – than she has actually working.

And it was touching. Until ten o’clock.

Joel has two assistants for good fucking reason, it turns out.

“I do not understand a goddamn word I’m reading…” Martha flips the Cosmo she stole from you last week. “The hell is a retrograde?”

Your head tilts. “Do you even know which sign you are?”

Her thin, penciled brows quirk. “Taurus, but I don’t like the way this bull’s lookin’ at me.”

She wiggles her mouse before the monitor switches off, then prods a shard of cucumber with her fork. The rain scatters across the window at her back, dragging golden shadows down her blazer.

“Did you eat today?” she asks.

“Mhm,” you lie, “This morning. Before you came in.”

She chews suspiciously. “Liar.” She offers you the salad bowl. “Eat.”

“Martha,” you push it away, “I’m not –”

“I don’t care whether you’re hungry.”

She thrusts the tub towards you, cherry tomatoes trembling.

“Martha.”

“Eat.”

“I’m not gonna eat your salad, will you stop –?”

“One bite. Just one.”

“I don’t even like –”

She’s holding out a forkful. “Eat the damn –”

“Get a drink with me.”

She halts, greens dangling in front of your face. Her expression twists, loosens, and then twists into bewilderment again. “Pardon me?”

You sigh, deflating into the leather. “Stop tryna force feed me salad, and get a drink with me.”

“On a Monday?” She scoffs. “What’s the occasion?”

“I don’t…I don’t have one,” you groan, pushing to your feet. “At least, not a good one. I just need something a little stronger than kale.”

An all too familiar click over your shoulder plucks her attention. Her eyes flash across the room.

She tracks Joel from his office over to the water cooler, a forced smile when he must glance up. Her eyes snap back to yours at the trickle of water into his mug.

Please? you mouth, and she grumbles.

“Joel?”

His voice is strained; he’s bending at the cooler. “Yep?”

Martha links her arm through yours and forces you to turn. “You mind if we take a long lunch? We were thinking of trying that wine bar up by the golf course.”

Joel lingers on the other side of the office, sipping from his mug. He’s almost unrecognizable: no bear left in him. Declawed, toothless. Dark crescents like the shadows of a bruise beneath his eyes, the ghosts of smile lines on his cheeks.

“Wine bar?” he asks. “Didn’t even know there was one up that way.”

“It’s new,” Martha says, popping the lid back on her salad bowl. “Alan told me about it. Says it costs an arm and a leg, but apparently, it’s worth it.”

He wanders over – hesitant, like approaching the desk of a wild animal. You can feel the heat of his stare on you when he replies, “’s nice up that way. Take the afternoon. You need a ride?”

“All good,” Martha chirps. She squeezes your arm. “I’ll go call a cab.”

She drapes your coat over your shoulders, then twirls off in the direction of the elevator. A girlish little strut, quietly pleased with herself.

She’s deliberately leaving you stranded. Both of you.

Joel steps back when you move. His breath catches in his throat. He slips a hand in one pocket, and says, “Be nice to have a relaxing afternoon.”

“Yep,” you choke, elbow brushing against his. “Nice to have some girl time, I guess.”

“Oh,” he sniffs, “I was talking about me. Empty office, two of you off my ass. Peace and quiet.”

You smile, feeling the weight of him rock gently against your side. “Hilarious,” you murmur, glancing up at him.

He stares straight ahead, sunlight catching rare amber in his eyes. Smiling to himself, calm and content, he says, “Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow,” and turns back for his office.

Your chest twinges as he closes the door behind him. A tight fist around your vocal cords.

“See you tomorrow, Joel.”

Oasis is a trendy little bar out west, which looks anything but its namesake. All exposed brick and smirk of silver pipework, industrially rustic and injected with the silky scent of wine and wealth.

Exactly the type of place you’d go to get over your millionaire ex.

Martha slinks in like she’s made of the place. Coat loose over her arm, hips swaying and heels clicking. She hops onto a stool at the bar, drums her glossy nails on the varnished wood.

You settle awkwardly into the stool beside her, prodding at what turns out to be a very real cactus. You jump at the sharp prick.

A waiter behind the bar clocks you, and laughs to himself.

“Nice, huh?” Martha asks, scanning the place. The low-hanging lights, the spill of foliage from the rafters. She seems to fit into it a whole lot better than you do.

“Sure,” you mumble around your fingertip, “Are you buying?”

She rolls her eyes. “You asked me out, remember?”

“I was thinking some two-for-one cocktails dive, not the fucking Ritz, Martha.”

“Call it a pick-me-up,” she says, accepting a menu from the waiter. “We’re treating ourselves.”

You pinch your fingertip, watching a scarlet bead bloom from the wound. A satisfying sort of pain, a tender break your hands won’t stay away from. You squeeze until it balloons into a trembling bubble of blood, then swipe the cut clean. Squeeze, then swipe.

Martha orders some vino she says she’s always wanted to try. Two glasses, because when the waiter looks to you to take your order, you’re still staring at your bloody finger.

He slides the drinks over and smiles politely, eyes daring to meet yours only twice. He’s handsome: chiseled jawline and the smudge of a dimple on one cheek. Chin speckled with stubble, shorter and blonder than you’d like.

Your fingertip throbs, and you look down to find it closed in your fist. You take a gulp of wine.

Martha smacks her lips and hums. “Not half bad,” she says, and then slots her glass next to yours. “Alright,” she clasps her hands, “What is it? What’s been goin’ on?”

You spin the base of your glass, staring at the swirl of honeysuckle. “I just needed some air and…wine.”

She buys it about as much as you do.

“Only one thing in the world that makes me need air and wine,” she says. “A man.”

A laugh flutters from your chest, as if by accident. As natural as the sun splitting the clouds. No thinking about it, no forcing it.

Either the expensive alcohol works fast – or Martha does.

She lifts her nose, like sniffing out the truth. “Come on, no bullshit. Why’d you ask me to get a drink?”

It rolls from one shoulder to the other in a tired shrug. You’ve no fucking idea why you asked her to get a drink.

The office was becoming claustrophobic, bursting with the grief of it all. Joel was nowhere to be seen and yet everywhere you looked. Here’s the wall he’d kissed you against, there’s the spot you’d first shaken hands.

Here’s all of it, really: the shame and the anger and the heartbreak all knotted together. Holding yourself back from doodling hearts on his sticky note messages, busying yourself with shredding instead of nosing around his office.

No bullshit, you were about to scream. Martha’s just the first person you laid eyes on.

Her and her fucking kale.

“Because,” you summarize, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing anymore.”

Her eyes are wide, serious. She’s hooked already. “With Joel?” she asks, sipping.

“With any of it,” you reply. And then, hearing her properly: “What do you know about me and Joel?”

She swallows quickly. “He hasn’t told me a word, I swear,” she says, “but I wasn’t born yesterday. Paris was always a solo trip, darling.”

You massage your forehead, grumbling into your palms. “Jesus Christ,” you whisper. There’s a heavy ache blooming behind your eyes.

Martha smiles. “I thought it was sweet. He’s never been serious enough about anyone to take ‘em over there with him. But,” her eyes ladder down your figure, “I’m guessing it didn’t work out.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Okay,” she squints, reading you, “And are we relieved? Are we hurt? Angry?”

“We are four and a half coffees Monday morning, and a wine bar Monday afternoon.”

“Got it,” she says, face stony. “That little shit. You need me to yell at ‘im?”

You lift your wine, shake your head. “I did enough yelling at him last week,” you admit. “It wasn’t just him, anyways. He fucked up, but it was the both of us.”

Martha nods, and you both take a long drink.

She taps her nails against the swell of her glass. “I thought you two were really great together,” she says – polite, pensive.

The least Martha you’ve ever heard her.

“You did?”

She nods. “You just always had this camaraderie. It was palpable. From the moment he met you, he was different. Better for it. I don’t know when you were…whatever you were, but –” she takes a deep breath, looking off past you, “– I know I liked it when you were.”

It’s not something you ever considered, even in the thick of it. What it might look like from outside, this little love affair: promises whispered into coffee mugs and glances stolen from behind paperwork.

It was never a secret – at least, not one either of you were trying to keep. It was just…yours. You and Joel. Two names etched at the bottom of a birthday card, no room for anyone else’s.

And if anyone did find out – Martha, Rand, Jean-fucking-Marc – they felt more like collateral. Just the landscape, the backdrop for your fated meteoric crash down to Earth.

God, it felt good to fall.

Martha sighs, dabbing a knuckle at the corner of her lips. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she says, gently. “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you hoped.”

Your eyes drift across the room. The waiter pours a deep red wine for a silver-haired couple over by the window. The man’s thumb surfs back and forth across his wife’s knuckles, dipping to circle the ring on her third finger.

The split in your skin opens again, your nail pressing clumsily into your finger. A tiny wave of pain rocks through the tip.

“Yeah, well,” you sniff, “Shit happens, right?”

“Sure does,” she says, and holds her glass out.

You cheers, the clink piercing the bumbling jazz in the air. The wine thrashes against the side of the glass, and you gulp back a sour mouthful.

“He sent me an offer for a job in Paris,” you confess into your drink. “That’s what our fight was about – the fact he didn’t want me to go. Then on Friday, he sent it anyway.”

“Paris?” Martha straightens in her chair. It’s easy to tell her, easy to pretend it’s some third-floor gossip when she reacts the same way. “That’s big,” she says. “Are you gonna go for it?”

“No,” you admit. “It’s with that guy Jean-Marc.”

Her upper lip curls, a bend of burgundy. “You can do better.”

“I guess,” you frown, “if I were looking.”

“You’re not looking?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

It twists in your throat. A million answers which fizzle into nothing at all on your tongue. Because because because –

“Who would read all of Joel’s boring emails?” It comes with a smirk, which drops as quickly as you realize Martha’s expression isn’t shifting.

“I would. And he’d find a replacement for you eventually. Not half as good, but…”

“Ha,” you stare at her, “Funny.”

“I’m not kidding. “I’m not,” she adds, when you roll your eyes. “It’s about damn time you realized you’re head and shoulders above all this.

“Maybe,” she continues, with an almost bloodthirsty interest, “Joel didn’t let on about Paris because he thinks you’re better than that, too. You don’t think he sees your potential? Hell, I do. You’re too good to be making coffee and taking minutes.”

Tell me something I don’t know, you think.

Joel’s never been quiet about how he feels about you – professionally or otherwise. He said as much in his office last week: I didn’t want to lose you. Those exact words kept you up all weekend, for crying out loud.

Sure, Joel sees something in you. Assistant, colleague, friend, not-friend. It’s not enough to stop the need you have – pinhole pupils hunting, blood jumping in your veins. Like it’d kill you to catch your breath, to shake your hackles and loosen your muscles.

Watch, watch. I can answer your questions before you’ve even come up with them. Watch, watch. I can show up early and leave late, barely pause for breath in between.

Watch, watch. I can break your heart and make it look just like mine.

You squirm under Martha’s glare.

“I don’t…I don’t even know what else I’d do,” you garble, playing with your hands. “I like this job. I’m good at this job. It’s…it’s –”

“– comfortable,” you say together.

“And that’s exactly the problem,” Martha nods, “You’ve outgrown it. You’re nothing but a monster in red bottoms now, baby – too scared to find something that fits you better in case it turns to shit. So what if it does? Is it the end of the world?”

“Feels like it right now,” you reply. She’s cloudy, blurred behind the ocean of tears teetering along your waterline. “And this is barely even a breakup, never mind failing at a career.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “You think you’d be the first? The last? People fail at things all the damn time. Better to do it now, young as you are – little elastic band of resilience and nerve.”

“Poetic,” you scoff.

She tilts her glass and her head follows.

“Listen to me,” she says, leaning in. “Do not spend one more second paralyzed by fear. I know you’re scared. You’re supposed to be. One day, you’re going to miss the time you gave enough of a shit to feel this fear.

“It’s like electricity in your veins. Everything’s so intense, everything hurts ten times worse and feels ten times more exhilarating. You think something might bring about the end of the goddamn world, and then the sun comes up the next morning just to prove you wrong.

“And Lord almighty, you are going to get it wrong. You’ll say the wrong thing, trust the wrong feeling. You’ll make the same mistakes over and over again. But Jesus, I’d rather you blew it all to hell and at least learned somethin’, than never did it at all.

“You know what my mom would say? World’s been waitin’ on you, kid. Grab a paddle.”

Another laugh spurts from your lips, tears spilling into your mouth, a crackly, wet sniffle. “What the hell does that even mean?” you giggle.

She smiles and wipes your cheek. “Means dive in. Get your hands dirty. Fall in love, get hurt, grow the hell up. Stop standing in the way of yourself and the things you want. That electricity won’t be there forever – so use it.”

“Use it…” you echo, taking the mascara-stained tissue from her.

“Promise me,” she implores, wrapping her hands around yours, “Promise me that you will.”

It’s not just Martha asking, you know this. She’s the one staring at you like a madwoman, sure – but her plea is echoed by a littler, quieter voice.

She’s nervous, scared. A crumpled math paper in her backpack. Her whole world tipped upside down one Wednesday afternoon, soul cursed forever – or so she thought.

When you reply, it’s not Martha you see. It’s the sixteen-year-old version of yourself.

So you look her dead in the eye, and say –

“I promise.”

The world is hazy by the time you leave the bar. Vignetted, a saffron sunset seeping across the sky. Mingling with the city skyline and losing herself over the horizon.

You totter up the steps to your building and wave Martha and Alan off, twirling inside. The weight of wine heavy in your veins, pulling you from one side to the other, and still – you feel lighter, somehow.

You spent all afternoon giggling, once the heartache thawed and the alcohol kicked in. It felt nice; bubbly and nostalgic, the peachy tint of girlhood.

Swapping stories about your old, ridiculous love lives – Martha’s overall-donned boyfriend in high school, or the guy you went on two dates with last year before realizing he was the same dude one of your girlfriends had ghosted three months prior.

For a few hours on a Monday afternoon, you were fifteen again – and the worst thing that could happen was a pimple sprouting on your chin the night before picture day. All you’d ever know was the shiny film on magazine pages, reading two-week old horoscopes to see if they came true.

You slump against the side of the elevator, head spinning as it carries you home. It’s something like seven. You’re too buzzed to fall asleep, but too tipsy to do much more than roll around your apartment.

And by the time you’re back in your sweats, sunken into the couch, one very final nightcap in hand – you’re too tired to even move.

Promise me, she’d said, wildfire behind her eyes. Martha’s notorious for her talents in convincing anyone of anything, wriggling her own way out of any circumstance.

This felt different.

She’s just your colleague. At best, a passerby. Technically – going by her track record with almost everyone else in the company – she doesn’t have to take any more interest in you than the parking attendants in the basement lot do.

But she took your hand and led you out of that office without thinking, the second she understood. She bought you drink after drink, and slapped your hand away when you tried to pay. She listened to you, dried your tears, and then kicked your ass into gear.

By all standards, she was the best first date you’ve ever had.

And promise me, she’d said.

It starts as a joke. Humoring her, humoring yourself. A dare whispered to you by the tinkling of ice in your glass. Innocent curiosity, mixed with a dash of Martha’s good influence.

The perfect cocktail of chaos.

Your first online search brings up so many results that it dizzies you. Marketing executive and project coordinator, business support manager and production lead. They blur into a gray fog, a taunting swirl on your laptop screen.

“Jesus,” you mutter, mouthful of wine. “What the fuck do I…?”

Business and art. That’s what you know. One you’ve been in long enough that you reckon you could do it with your eyes closed – and the other…your little pipedream.

‘s not stupid, Joel had said, that night by the river. Not a pipedream, either.

And – fuck it, maybe you ought to listen for once. Stop standing in the way of yourself and the things you want, and all that.

You dig your knuckles into your eyes, letting the spatter of stars clear your vision, and start again.

A second search threads together a list which feels a little cleaner. A little more you. Sophisticated websites with sleek designs, smooth wording which makes it feel like you’re being sold something.

And so what, if you are? Maybe you’re looking to buy.

You click through image after image of bright offices and beaming staff, sipping sharply through your straw. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, unsure whether the lightheaded feeling is from the rosé, or the promise of a successful career and competitive salary. Memorizing brand manifestos, learning company values like prayers passing through your hands.

It’s manic. Crazed. Like you’re stood on the brink of an abyss, thick fog kissing your ankles.

You laugh to yourself. This must be the fucking electricity.

Promise me. And what can it hurt, anyway, turning in an application form? Who says it’ll even go anywhere? They might take one look at your resume and laugh you all the way into the trashcan.

Or – they might see what Joel sees. What Martha sees. For the love of God, what you see.

Your resume looks much the same as it did four years ago – still molded into the shape of the kind of girl you thought Joel Miller, CEO might like to meet. And he did, very much so. It’s just – he met all shapes of her. Even the ones she tried to hide.

He found them all out, eventually.

Your thumb pauses, hovering over the mousepad. A slow guilt slithering over your shoulders, coiling deep in your gut. You think of Paris; those streets you walked down with Joel on your arm. Talking, laughing, spilling secrets and keeping them, too.

Your shadows are probably still on those avenues. Your reflections still bobbing in the Seine. Kisses hidden behind steam-coated mirrors, bodies joining in a darkened hotel room.

It twinges some, deep in your chest. A little numbed, what with all the alcohol and – well, Martha. But it’s still there. The same wound you’ve had for twelve years now.

It’s there. It will probably always be there.

So – fuck it.

You’re grabbing a goddamn paddle.

It’s been a quiet, fruitless week. No calls, no emails, no messages written in the stars.

Which is probably a good thing, given you were more than a few glasses of wine deep – and still on some kind of high from Martha’s speech. God only knows what kind of shit you were filling those applications with.

Nothing quite like liquid courage and a broken heart, right?

The light from the Xerox flickers, swiping memories from that afternoon back and forth. Martha’s hand locked around yours, the perfumed wine she kept buying. The waiter with the dimples, Joel’s Have a good night I’ll see you tomorrow, the pine air freshener in Alan’s car.

Things have mellowed, settled in your stomach. The world is back to beige – as plain as it always was before that night of tequila and AC/DC. You’ve made peace with it, this idea of letting go. Letting him go.

Martha – soapbox queen, microphone in one hand and glass of Sauvignon Blanc in the other – has checked in every day since. Expectant eyes from across the room, treasure chest emails full of job ads she’s collected.

Anything? she texted this morning, with six praying emojis. One more since yesterday, two since the day before that.

But no – nothing, for almost eight days now.

Maybe that’s for the best.

Maybe you can swallow back the knot of misplaced disappointment, slip back into your heels and forget any of it ever happened. That fire Martha struck so effortlessly, snuffed by a cruel, cold wind.

His knuckles on the door scatter your thoughts.

“Hey,” Joel says, leant against the frame. “Everything okay?”

“All good,” you reply. “What’s up?”

He looks…frustratingly good. Like he’s pieced himself back together. Sharp and smart, brand new. And yet – warm, homey, in all the places only you know to look.

Your fingers flinch by your side, as though they’re seeking him out. You want to run them through his hair, through his beard. Want to straighten his tie, smooth the shirt over his chest. Breathe him in and feel him melt under your touch.

Feel him change, feel him soften – just for you.

Only for you.

He floats over, hands in his pockets, and perches on the desk by the copier. “Exciting stuff,” he muses, tapping the machine twice.

“Hm,” you nod, “You’re an exciting man.”

“How was the wine bar?”

“It was good,” you reply. “Little above my price range, but – it got us drunk, so.”

“Did the job.”

“Did the job,” you agree.

“Good,” Joel says, crossing his ankles. “I’m glad to see you a little more your old self.”

Your lips flatten into a smile. “Well, Martha has a way with words.”

He snorts. “Don’t I know it.”

He lingers, then. An awkward air about him. He scratches his nose, stuffs his hands back in his pockets. Sucks in a deep breath, swallows what seems to be a soliloquy of sentiment, or secrets, or something else.

Whatever it is, his nerves rub off on you.

You cross your arms, twist your toe into the carpet. Stare at the paper churning out of the machine, stare at your nails, stare at anything that isn’t the man sitting right in front of you.

But then – he murmurs, as though the words splinter from his tongue, “I had an interesting email this morning.”

The copier shudders at his side.

Your eyebrows lift. “Oh, yeah?”

Joel clears his throat. “Yeah. Pertaining to you.”

And you realize.

You look up at him, the tight knit of his brows. His fixed jaw, the way it flexes as he chews on the words.

“Pertaining to me,” you echo – a nudge.

The light from the machine catches a wet glint in his eye. He blinks it away.

“Request for a reference,” he says.

And – shit.

“Shit,” you hiss.

Fuck.

“Oh, fuck,” louder.

His expression sharpens into a perplexed smirk. “Surprised?”

“Yes,” you start, “I mean – no. No, I just – Shit, I didn’t think they’d…I thought they’d talk to me first. Why didn’t they talk to me first?”

He shrugs. “I know of the company, met the CEO once at a gala. From what I know, she runs a pretty tight ship. Probably just wanted to gauge you before reaching out. It’s okay,” his voice is kind, hushed, “Doesn’t mean you won’t still hear.”

“Oh, Jesus, Joel,” you pull on your cheeks, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean –”

“Woah, woah,” he pats the air, moves so close you worry he might hear the thud of your heart, “No apologies, alright? That ain’t why I brought it up.”

“I just didn’t mean for you to find out that way. I wanted to be the one to – to tell you.”

He stands, hands finding your elbows. Gentle, a little timid. Barely brushing the sleeves of your shirt, and yet your whole body ignites.

“Darlin’,” his voice is serious, “I don’t care. I don’t give a shit, I promise. I mean…” he shakes his head, “…I give a shit. I give a lotta shits. I’m not – I don’t mean that, I meant –”

“I know what you meant,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “you always do.”

You pick a speck of fluff from his tie. He watches your hand, then takes it in both of his. Two big paws wrapped around one of yours, swallowing it whole.

It’s a familiar feeling, staring at the shape of your fingers tangled in his. Two in the morning at your first sleepover, praying Mom will pick up the phone. The first night alone in a new apartment, the babble of reality television for company right until sunrise.

You’re homesick.

Homesick for a man who’s standing right in front of you.

“I just wanted you to know,” Joel says, “that I sent it off just now. Just in case somethin’ goes wrong with the email, it doesn’t go through, I sent it to the wrong goddamn place – I don’t know. I just wanted you to know that it’s done.”

He holds your hand to his chest, his heartbeat against your knuckles. When you don’t reply, throttled by the threat of tears, he gives your wrist a little shake.

“Okay? You in there?”

“I’m here,” you breathe, and your hand slips from his grasp. “Thank you. I’m still sorry. You musta felt a little blindsided.”

His head bobs, considering. “Was a surprise, but a good one. Junior art director, huh? That sounds pretty damn exciting.”

“Yeah,” you reply, relaxing as he settles back on the desk. “Really exciting. Flex those creative muscles again.”

He grins. “You plan on working your way up?”

“Yup. Earn my stripes.”

“Alright, little tiger,” he says, and your heart leaps. “Proud of you.”

A silly smirk on your lips, you give him a tiny curtsy. “Here’s hoping your reference seals the deal.”

Joel laughs. “I don’t know about that, darlin’. It’s pretty shitty.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yeah. Talked all about how sarcastic you are, how you forgot the charger for your toothbrush – and then stole mine. Told ‘em about the Bart Simpson socks, force-feeding me Patrick Swayze. The lot.”

“The Bart socks,” you snicker, “They really stuck with you, huh?”

“Sure did.”

You slide onto the desk beside him. “What did you really write?” you ask, leaning in.

Joel glances to you. It should be obvious, with the way he’s looking at you, exactly what he wrote.

“Tell me,” you say, elbowing him.

“I told them…” he sighs, “…I told them not even to think about it, just hire you. They’d be outta their goddamn minds not to. Told them I wouldn’t be anywhere without you – or your Bart socks.

“Told them you’re the best thing that ever happened to this place. The best thing that ever happened to me. And you think – you think you never know what you have until you lose it, whatever that saying is, but I did. I knew from the second I met you. And they will, too. So – I told ‘em.”

The photocopier cuts, huffs, and falls silent. The room is plunged into a suffocating silence. You’re not sure you’re even breathing.

Joel’s arms are crossed protectively over his chest. You want so badly, more than anything, to burrow under them. To wriggle your way into his grasp – because you know he’d let you – cling to his chest, let his heartbeat regulate yours.

Let his entire body become yours; forget which parts are you, and which are him. Crawl into his skin, envelop yourself in him.

You want to cry into him. Hand him back all those mangled shapes of yourself you tried so hard to hoard – realizing now, that he knew what he was doing all along.

He was never trying to break them. He was never trying to hurt them. He only ever wanted to love them.

He only ever wanted to love you.

“Anyway,” Joel says, dusting his thighs, “Why don’t you finish that up, head on home for the day?”

“Uh –” you swipe the tears from your cheeks, “– no, it’s okay. I got a to-do list as long as my arm, and I still owe you, like, three hours from last week.”

Joel watches as you leap back over to the copier, swing the documents under one arm.

“I’m sure the to-do list will keep,” he assures, taking the ream from your clutches. “Go home, clear your head. Wait for that invite to interview to come through.”

“Joel –”

“Look at me,” he towers over you, “Anything urgent is Martha’s job now. She’ll love the drama of it. You want me to email that company back ‘n have them add Doesn’t follow orders to your reference?”

You breathe a laugh. “No.”

“No,” he repeats, brushing by.

All the times you’ve missed him before – landing back home after Paris, sat with some lovestruck financier in a golf club, fighting like kids in his office – and none of them compare to right now. Stood in the copy room, mere inches and yet entire worlds between you.

And Joel seems to know, like he knows everything you’re thinking. He glances over his shoulder, flame in his eyes, and he smiles. All sweet and charming, the real kind that softens him, lightens him.

Everything that makes him yours.

“Go on, git,” he says, heading for the door. “‘fore I change my mind.”

“Hey, wait. Joel?”

He turns back.

Your voice trembles. “How are you so calm about all this?”

His jaw flicks uncomfortably. He considers it for a moment, then says, “If you love something, you let it go.”

You repeat his own words back to him, whispered to you while you lay intertwined on his childhood bed. When they leave your mouth, they sound more like a plea. Fight back.

“But then you’d be losing something,” you say.

Joel shrugs. Earnestly. “Can’t lose somethin’ I never had.”

He doesn’t get it. He must get it. He’s twenty years older, twenty years wiser. He must know, by now. Christ, he had you to a tee two weeks ago.

How doesn’t he get it?

Your chest heaves. Your head shakes.

“You had it. You had me the second we walked into that dive bar.”

[jhyoos]

Of Roses And Steel

chapter two: a wolf in sheep’s clothing

mentions : royalty au, medieval au, romance, strong reader, silco is king, heartbreak, ruined friendships, light smut (im working on it 😔), hate kissing, mel having the audacity, cute pet surprise!, another long ass chapter.

notes: if I didn’t tag you in the taglist I apologize just comment again and I will next time

↲ previous chapter | next chapter ↳

Ever since that fateful night when you poured your heart out to Sevika and were met with her cold, brutal rejection, things between you had been strained to the point of breaking. The once-familiar dynamic, filled with tension and unspoken affection, had disintegrated into a void of silence and avoidance.

Sevika had withdrawn completely, excusing herself from her role as your combat instructor. She told your father that she needed to focus on training rookies, and though he accepted her reasoning without question, you knew better. It wasn’t about the rookies. It was about you. He hired someone else in her place—a knight far less intimidating, far less skilled. But they weren’t her. They could never be her.

Dinner was no better. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look in her direction. She sat at her usual spot, stoic and silent, picking at her meal with none of the sharp wit or dry commentary that used to fill the silence. You kept your focus on Mel and your father, forcing yourself to laugh at Mel’s jokes and respond to your father’s questions, even though you felt Sevika’s presence like a shadow, oppressive and inescapable. The air between you was suffocating, a palpable tension that no one dared to acknowledge.

But the uneasy peace shattered when your father cleared his throat, glancing between you and Sevika. “I won’t be able to walk you to your chambers tonight, daughter,” he said, his tone firm. “Sevika, see that she gets there safely.”

You froze, your fork hovering over your plate. Sevika’s gaze flicked up briefly, her face as unreadable as ever, but you could see the slight tightening of her jaw. She inclined her head, her voice cold and emotionless. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

You didn’t dare protest—not in front of your father—but the idea of walking alongside her, even for the brief journey to your chambers, made your chest tighten.

The walk was quiet, the sound of your footsteps echoing through the halls. The hallway you entered was all too familiar, its flickering torchlight casting shadows against the stone walls. This was the hallway where you’d confessed everything, where you’d been so cruelly turned away.

When you couldn’t bear the silence any longer, you stopped in your tracks, turning to face her. “I can walk myself. You don’t have to babysit me,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

Sevika’s expression didn’t shift; she remained cold, detached. “It’s an order from the king. I have to.” Her tone left no room for argument. “We can just walk in silence.”

“Fine,” you muttered, turning away before she could see the frustration written on your face.

You walked ahead of her, putting as much distance between you as the narrow hallway allowed. The tension in the air was stifling, and the echoes of your footsteps only served to remind you of her presence, of the chasm that now separated you.

When you reached the door to your chambers, you didn’t give her a chance to speak. Without so much as a glance in her direction, you opened the door and stepped inside, closing it firmly behind you.

Your servants were already waiting, their arms full of towels and soaps. They greeted you warmly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to smile. They helped you undress, their chatter filling the quiet as you climbed into the waiting bath.

The hot water enveloped you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to sink into its warmth, closing your eyes as the tension in your body began to ease. The night’s awkwardness, the ache of rejection that still lingered, the suffocating presence of Sevika—it all seemed to dissolve, if only for a little while.

After your bath, you let the warmth of the water soak into your skin a little longer before stepping out and letting the servants wrap you in a soft robe. They helped you into your nightgown, the fabric flowing like water against your body as they carefully pinned and curled your hair for the following day. Their chatter filled the air, light and pleasant, but your thoughts drifted elsewhere.

When they finished, you dismissed them with a soft “Thank you” and climbed into bed, the familiar coolness of the sheets wrapping around you. It was only as you settled into the quiet of the room that the emptiness of it struck you. This was the first night in quite some time that you’d slept alone, without your best friend by your side. A pang of loneliness rippled through you, but you sighed softly, resigning yourself to the solitude. At least tonight, there was no forced conversation, no awkward silences. You let your body sink into the mattress, rolling onto your side as your eyelids grew heavy, and soon, you drifted into sleep.

But your rest was short-lived.

A wet, rhythmic tap against your forehead pulled you from your slumber. At first, you tried to ignore it, twisting and turning beneath the blankets in irritation, but the sensation didn’t stop. Cold and unsettling, the droplets clung to your skin.

Groaning softly, you reached up to touch your damp forehead, your fingers brushing against the moisture. You slowly opened your eyes, still groggy, but the moment your gaze fell on your hand, your heart dropped.

Blood.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you froze, staring at the crimson smear on your fingers. Trembling, you forced yourself to look up, your eyes widening in horror at the grotesque sight before you. Hanging from the beams above your bed was the severed head of a bear, its lifeless eyes staring straight down at you, its blood dripping onto your pillow.

The scream tore from your throat before you could stop it, a raw, primal sound of fear that echoed off the walls. Within moments, the door burst open, and a handful of soldiers and servants rushed in.

“Your Highness!” a maid cried out, her voice trembling with panic as she rushed to your side. She pulled you from the bed, her arms wrapping around you tightly, trying to shield you from the gruesome sight. You buried your face against her shoulder, your body trembling as she whispered soothing words you barely registered.

The guards moved quickly, drawing their swords as they approached the ghastly display. One of them reached up cautiously, cutting the head down and lowering it carefully to examine it. The room buzzed with frantic energy, the soldiers barking questions at one another.

“There were no guards posted at her door. Why not?” a servant demanded, her voice sharp with fear and anger.

“There were supposed to be two guards stationed here as usual,” another soldier muttered, his expression grim as he examined the scene. “Whoever did this clearly planned it out. This was no coincidence.”

The weight of their words pressed down on you, even as the maid continued to comfort you. Your mind raced, replaying the image of the blood, the bear’s lifeless gaze, and the chilling realization that someone had gone to great lengths to send a message—a message meant for you.

“Come, let’s take you to the washroom so we can clean you up,” Eliza said gently, her arm still wrapped protectively around you as she led you out of your chambers. Her warmth and steadiness were a lifeline in the chaos that had shattered your night.

“Thank you, Eliza,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No need for thanks,” she replied softly. “It’s my duty, my dear.”

The hallway was eerily silent, the early morning hours casting long shadows across the walls. The rest of the castle was still asleep, oblivious to the terror you had just endured. The quiet felt heavy, oppressive, and you clung to Eliza’s calm presence as she guided you down the halls.

Once in the washroom, she helped you sit on a cushioned chair near the basin. She dipped a towel into warm water, wringing it out before kneeling in front of you. The gentle press of the damp cloth against your skin made you flinch at first, but her touch was careful, soothing as she began to clean the blood from your trembling hands and face.

“You must be so frightened,” she said softly, her brows furrowed with concern as she wiped away the last remnants of crimson from your fingers. “My poor child.”

Her words, so tender and maternal, caused a lump to form in your throat. You could only nod, unable to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you—fear, confusion, anger.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke the quiet, and you looked up to see your father entering the room, his face pale with worry. He wasn’t dressed in his usual royal attire but rather in his sleepwear, his hair slightly disheveled from being woken so abruptly. Behind him stood Sevika, her broad frame filling the doorway. She, too, was dressed casually in a simple shirt and trousers, her expression unreadable, but her sharp eyes flickered with tension as they briefly met yours.

“Are you alright?” your father asked, his voice laced with worry as he knelt down in front of you. His hands, warm and steady, enveloped your trembling ones, grounding you.

“I-I’m fine… I think,” you stammered, meeting his gaze with uncertainty.

He let out a heavy sigh of relief, though his shoulders remained taut. Without a word, he pulled you into a firm embrace, his arms wrapping around you protectively. For a moment, you let yourself lean into him, the familiar scent of his cologne and the steady beat of his heart a temporary balm for your frayed nerves.

“Come,” he said softly, pulling back to look at you. “You can sleep in my chambers tonight. I’ll take the couch.”

You nodded, unable to argue. The idea of returning to your bed—of being alone—was unbearable.

As your father helped you to your feet, you couldn’t help but glance at Sevika again. She remained silent, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression as cold and distant as ever. Her presence, once a source of comfort, now only reminded you of the growing rift between you. Whatever concern she might have felt, she hid it well, her face a mask of indifference as she watched you leave with your father.

You looked away, the ache in your chest deepening as you walked out of the washroom, leaning on your father for support.

Throughout the rest of the night, your father stayed beside you, holding your trembling hand in his much steadier one. His touch was a constant reassurance, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles to calm you. He didn’t even try to sleep, his piercing gaze fixed on the ceiling as he kept his silent vigil over you.

“I won’t sleep,” he had promised softly when you hesitated to close your eyes. “I’ll stay right here until you do.”

The conviction in his voice gave you just enough courage to let yourself relax. The soft rise and fall of his breathing beside you and the warmth of his presence slowly lulled you into a fitful slumber.

When you woke, the first thing you noticed was that the hand holding yours wasn’t his anymore. Instead, a more delicate hand rested in yours, fingers loosely intertwined with your own. Turning your head, you saw Mel curled up next to you, still fast asleep. Her dark curls fell over her face, and her lips were slightly parted as she breathed evenly. She must have come in at some point during the night, taking over your father’s place when he had other matters to attend to.

Your gaze shifted to the curtains, sunlight seeping through the heavy fabric and filling the room with a soft golden glow. The warmth of the morning felt out of place after the horrors of the night before.

As if on cue, the maids quietly entered the room, their soft footsteps startling you from your thoughts. The sound woke Mel as well, her lashes fluttering as she groggily sat up, looking around in confusion before realizing where she was.

The maids moved with precision, their expressions solemn as they began their work. Usually, their chatter would fill the room—bright greetings of "Good morning, Your Highness!" or playful remarks about how radiant you looked—but today was different. The lively banter you were so accustomed to was replaced with an uncharacteristic silence.

They dressed you in measured, methodical movements, their hands careful and efficient as they helped you into your gown. They avoided your gaze, their usually cheerful faces shadowed with worry and sadness. It was as though they were afraid to say the wrong thing or disturb your fragile state.

The absence of their lighthearted words left a hollow ache in your chest. The cheerful normalcy they usually brought had always been a small comfort, a sign that things were predictable and safe. But today, it felt like even they didn’t believe things could go back to the way they were.

The sound of a knock at the door interrupted the moment, and all heads turned as it opened to reveal your father. He was fully dressed now, his expression composed but tired, his usual regal demeanor strained under the weight of the situation. Behind him stood Sevika, her armor back in place, her face as cold and unreadable as ever.

Your father stepped forward, dismissing the maids with a wave of his hand. “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked gently, his tone softer than usual.

“I’m... better,” you replied, though the faint tremor in your voice betrayed you.

He nodded, his sharp eyes scanning you as though to assess whether you were telling the truth. “Good,” he said finally, his voice firm. “We’ll discuss what happened later today. For now, I’ve instructed extra guards to remain at your chamber doors at all times. This will not happen again.”

You nodded, unable to find words to respond. Your gaze drifted to Sevika, who stood silently by the door, her expression cold and detached. She didn’t look at you, her gaze fixed somewhere above your head.

Your father followed your line of sight and seemed to consider something before addressing her. “Sevika, I trust you’ll be personally overseeing the guard rotations from now on.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Sevika replied curtly, her voice low and devoid of emotion.

“Good.” Your father’s tone softened as he turned back to you. “I’ll leave you in Mel’s care for now. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to send for me.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before straightening and leaving the room.

For a moment, it was just you, Mel, and Sevika in the suffocating silence. The tension in the room was palpable as you avoided looking in her direction.

Mel stood, brushing her hands down her dress. “I think some fresh air might help,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “Why don’t we take a walk in the gardens later?”

You nodded absently, your gaze still fixed on the ground. Sevika lingered for a moment longer before finally turning to leave without a word. Her heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, and the sound of the door closing behind her left you feeling both relieved and hollow.

The garden was calm and serene, a stark contrast to the chaos of the night before. The sunlight filtered through the trees, casting a golden glow over the vibrant flowers and the butterflies flitting between them. The air smelled of roses and lavender, their sweet scent doing little to ease the unease that still clung to you.

Mel led you through the winding paths, her hand resting lightly on your arm as though she could shield you from whatever dark force had left its mark in your chambers. Despite the beauty around you, your thoughts remained clouded.

When you reached the patio at the garden's center, you sat on the stone bench, staring at the fountain that bubbled softly nearby. Mel sat down beside you, her presence comforting even in silence.

“I don’t understand…” you finally said, your voice quiet but filled with frustration. “Who would leave such a thing in my bedroom? And why didn’t they just go ahead and kill me in the process?”

Mel frowned, her brows knitting together as she looked at you. “Maybe it’s some type of warning,” she offered carefully.

“Yeah, maybe,” you said, sighing as you leaned back against the bench. “But a warning for what? And why me? I haven’t done anything to anyone. At least… not that I know of.”

Mel placed a reassuring hand on your knee. “There’s always a reason, even if it’s not one we can see yet. We’ll figure it out. And whoever did this… they won’t get away with it. Your father will make sure of that.”

You nodded, though her words did little to ease the tightness in your chest. Your gaze drifted to the fountain, watching the water ripple and sparkle in the sunlight. “It’s just… I thought I was safe. In my chambers, in this castle. But now…” You hesitated, swallowing hard as the memory of the blood dripping on your forehead resurfaced.

Mel’s grip on your knee tightened slightly. “You are safe,” she said firmly. “Your father will ensure it. And you have me, too. You’ll never be alone in this.”

Her words brought a small sense of comfort, and you managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Mel. Truly.”

She smiled back, her warmth cutting through the lingering chill of your fear. “Always.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the sound of the fountain and the soft chirping of birds filling the air. Despite the beauty around you, the unease lingered. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something far darker.

Later that evening, you prepared yourself for training with your new instructor. After your request, one of the servants promptly informed him, and the two of you agreed to meet at the usual training grounds. Determined not to repeat the awkwardness of last time, you decided to dress yourself. Pulling on a fitted black ensemble, cinched at the waist with buckles and straps, you felt prepared for the rigorous session ahead.

Your instructor was already waiting for you when you arrived, sword in hand. Though he was a man—a fact you found slightly disappointing—there was no denying his skill. He was strict, unrelenting, and brutally honest, pushing you to your limits with biting remarks and challenges designed to stoke your determination. It was exactly what you needed.

An hour into training, his tone shifted, signaling a new level of intensity. “Enough warm-ups. Let’s see if you can hold your own in a fight,” he said, his voice tinged with a smirk. He handed you a sword, warning, “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

The moment he had his weapon in hand, he lunged toward you without hesitation. The suddenness of his attack caught you off guard, but you managed to block his strike just in time. The sharp clang of clashing steel echoed through the training grounds. His movements were quick, calculated, but you matched him blow for blow, your instincts and reflexes sharper than even you anticipated.

Still, he found an opening. With a swift maneuver, he swept your leg from beneath you, sending you sprawling to the ground. Your sword clattered out of reach as he stood over you, the tip of his blade resting just above your neck.

You glared up at him, expecting a triumphant remark or smug insult, but instead, his expression darkened. Something about his gaze unsettled you. “Fuck it,” he muttered, letting his sword fall to the ground.

Before you could react, he dropped to his knees, pinning you down as his hands roamed over your body. His lips crushed against yours in a kiss that made your stomach churn with disgust. You struggled beneath him, shoving him away with all your strength.

“Sir! I’m not interested in you in that way,” you snapped, your voice shaking with anger.

He sneered, his confidence unshaken. “Oh, come on! I’ve seen the way you look at me. You wanted this.”

“No, I don’t!” you shouted, scrambling to your feet.

He followed, his hand lashing out to grip your face tightly. With a sneer, he pushed you against the wall. “You’re so soft… so beautiful. I’m surprised whoever left that little gift in your chambers didn’t take advantage of you. I know I would have.”

His words sent a wave of nausea through you, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. The memory of the night before, combined with his vile insinuations, made your blood boil. Fueled by rage, you bit down hard on his hand, the metallic taste of his blood filling your mouth as he screamed in pain.

“You’re done,” you hissed, spitting on him as you stepped back.

Without another word, you stormed out of the training grounds, your breathing ragged and your heart racing. The guards stationed outside stared at you, their concern evident.

“Arrest him,” you commanded, your voice firm despite the tremor in it. “He tried to hurt me.”

They didn’t hesitate, rushing into the training grounds. The last thing you saw before turning away was the instructor clutching his injured hand, his expression twisted in pain and fear.

Your composure began to crumble as you walked away. Each breath felt harder to take, and tears streamed down your face uncontrollably. You needed to find Mel. She was the only one who could make sense of this, the only one who could comfort you.

You passed a few of your ladies-in-waiting on the way to her chambers. They paused, concern etched on their faces as they noticed your state. “Are you alright?” one of them asked.

“I’m fine,” you choked out, unwilling to stop.

When you reached Mel’s chambers, you didn’t bother to knock, pushing the door open in your desperation. “Mel—”

Your voice faltered as the scene before you registered. Sevika was there, her broad shoulders hunched over Mel, her head buried between her legs. The two froze at the sound of your voice, their expressions shifting from shock to guilt as they turned to face you.

Something inside you cracked. You weren’t sure if it was anger, sadness, or something else entirely, but the sight of them together left you feeling hollow. Without another word, you closed the door and ran, ignoring their calls after you.

The tears came harder now, blurring your vision as you bumped into nobles and ladies in the halls. Each apology was a faint whisper compared to the storm raging inside you. By the time you reached your chambers, you could barely breathe, collapsing onto your bed as the weight of everything crashed down around you.

Your head was buried deep in a pillow, muffling the sound of your broken sobs. Each breath was jagged, each tear relentless. You couldn’t stop crying, and you didn’t even know what it was for anymore. Was it for the betrayal of someone you trusted so deeply? For the horrifying assault you’d just endured? Or was it the ache of seeing Sevika—your Sevika—with someone else, someone who wasn’t you? The feelings tangled inside you, a chaotic mess of grief, rage, and heartbreak that left you paralyzed.

You didn’t notice the soft creak of your chamber door opening. Nor did you hear the footsteps until a hand rested gently on your shoulder. The touch sent a jolt through you, and you flinched violently, rolling onto your back to see who it was.

Mel stood there, her face painted with guilt and regret.

“Get out,” you spat, your voice hoarse from crying.

“Please, let me explain,” she said softly, stepping closer.

“GET OUT!” you shouted, springing to your feet. Your entire body trembled as you faced her, your tears now hot with anger. “I don’t want to see you ever again. You’re horrible. You knew I loved her! And yet you do that?”

Mel flinched as your words hit her, but she didn’t back away. “I won’t leave, (Y/N). We’re friends. I care for you. I’m so sorry.”

“How long?” you demanded, your voice quivering.

“What?” she asked, her tone uncertain.

“Don’t play dumb, Mel,” you hissed. “How long has this been going on?”

She hesitated, guilt flickering across her face before she finally whispered, “A few months.”

A bitter scoff escaped you as you turned your back to her, unable to bear the sight of her any longer. “You’ve known I’ve loved her for years,” you said, your voice breaking. “Why would you do this to me? I thought you cared about me… I thought you loved me.”

Mel moved closer, her hand gripping your shoulder firmly as she spun you around and pulled you into a tight embrace. You stiffened against her, your anger bubbling beneath the surface as her arms enveloped you. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” she whispered into your ear.

But then you smelled it—her. Sevika’s distinct scent lingered on Mel like a mark of betrayal, seeping into your senses. The realization sickened you. You hated it. You hated Mel. You hated her. You hated both of them.

Your hands shot up to Mel’s shoulders, shoving her back with enough force to break her grip. “You can still be my lady,” you said, your voice cold and detached, “but I don’t want you sitting beside me at dinner anymore. I can’t bear to look at you… not even with a smile.”

Mel’s face crumpled at your words, but she nodded, accepting your decree. “I understand,” she said, her voice trembling. “Just know, if you ever need me… I’ll always be here.”

You shook your head, glaring at her. “I don’t need you. If anything, you need me,” you said sharply before brushing past her and walking toward the door.

Sevika stood just outside, leaning against the frame as if she had been waiting. Her piercing gaze bore into you, but you refused to meet her eyes, staring straight ahead instead.

You pushed past her without a word, your head held high even though your heart felt like it was splintering apart. Behind you, you could hear them speaking in hushed voices, but you didn’t dare turn back. Not this time. Not ever.

The throne room was bustling with more people than usual. Advisors, guards, and courtiers moved about, their voices echoing off the high ceilings in a chaotic symphony of duty and intrigue. You hesitated at the entrance, your eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on your father, King Silco, seated in his ornate throne. The moment he saw you, he rose to his feet, his gaze sharp and focused as he dismissed those around him with a wave of his hand.

“There you are,” Silco said, his voice cutting through the noise. His long strides carried him toward you. “I had my guards searching for you everywhere when they told me about that instructor and what he did to you.”

His words stirred a storm of emotions within you, but you met his concerned gaze with unwavering resolve. Reaching out, you took his hand, squeezing it tightly in reassurance. “I’m fine… as long as I see him hang,” you said coldly, your voice steady and unflinching.

The words seemed to stun him. Silco’s sharp features softened for a moment, replaced by an expression of disbelief and concern. He studied you, as if searching for the daughter he once knew beneath the hardened exterior you now wore. Gently, he pulled you close, his gloved hand cradling your head in a rare display of paternal affection.

“My child,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost tender. His fingers brushed through your hair before he stepped back, his calculating eyes assessing you once more. “I heard there’s a tournament tomorrow. Sevika and another lad from Piltover will be competing. Would you like to attend with me?”

The question lingered in the air, heavy with meaning. Seeing Sevika again—watching her fight, perhaps even get hurt—after everything she’d said, after everything she’d done to you, felt like it would reopen a wound that hadn’t yet begun to heal. And yet…

You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Sure,” you replied. Your voice betrayed no emotion, but deep down, you knew the sight of her would ignite a storm you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

The next day, the castle buzzed with anticipation. Servants dashed through the halls carrying banners and refreshments, the sound of clattering hooves echoed from the courtyards, and the court hummed with excitement for the jousting tournament. In your chambers, your ladies-in-waiting fluttered about, ensuring every detail of your appearance was perfect. They adjusted the folds of your gown, smoothed your hair, and added the final touches to your jewelry.

You sat silently, your hands resting in your lap as they worked. The weight in your chest hadn’t lifted since yesterday, but you masked it well. As one of the ladies pinned a small brooch to your dress, the door swung open, startling everyone in the room.

It was Sevika.

She stepped in with her usual commanding presence, her armor gleaming under the soft glow of the chandelier. Her broad shoulders bore the kingdom’s symbol proudly on her cape, the fabric trailing behind her like a second shadow. Her sharp gaze found yours immediately, and for a brief moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“Leave us,” Sevika said to the ladies, her tone firm but not unkind. They exchanged hesitant glances before bowing and quickly leaving the room.

The door clicked shut, and the two of you were alone. She approached you slowly, her boots heavy against the floor, until she stood directly in front of you, towering over you like a fortress. She tilted her head, her expression unreadable.

“I wish that you’d bless me with good luck before I go,” Sevika said, her deep voice softer than usual.

She was breathtaking, her strong features framed perfectly by the sleek cut of her hair, her confidence radiating like a flame. Once, you would’ve melted under that gaze. Once, you would’ve given her everything you had without hesitation—your love, your trust, your most cherished possessions—all to see her return safely to you.

But not now.

Your expression remained cool, indifferent. You rose from your seat and walked to the edge of the bed, picking up a scarf. It wasn’t special, just a simple piece of fabric that had been carelessly discarded earlier. You held it out to her, your face betraying none of the turmoil inside you.

“Best of luck, Sevika,” you said flatly, your voice devoid of the warmth you used to offer her so freely.

Sevika stared at the scarf in your hand, her jaw tightening slightly as she took it from you. She didn’t say anything at first, but her eyes lingered on you, searching for something—perhaps the affection you once gave so easily, perhaps the part of you she feared she’d lost.

“Thank you,” she finally said, her voice low and almost hesitant. She folded the scarf carefully, tucking it into the folds of her cape.

You stepped back, your arms crossed, and watched as she turned to leave. When she reached the door, she hesitated, her hand resting on the doorknob. For a moment, it seemed like she wanted to say something, but instead, she simply glanced back at you, her expression unreadable.

And then she was gone, leaving you alone with the weight of everything unsaid.

When you arrived at the tournament grounds, you were escorted to your seats alongside your father. Silco, ever the commanding presence, took his place at the center of your party, his expression stoic as usual. A select few nobles and your chosen ladies-in-waiting flanked you, their dresses glittering in the sunlight. You settled into your seat, the soft folds of your gown cascading gracefully over the edge of the chair.

Across the arena sat the delegation from Piltover—King Vander and his children: Princess Powder, Prince Claggor, and Prince Mylo. Their family was one of the few allied with your kingdom, a relationship carefully maintained through diplomacy and trade. It had been years since you last saw them, as your visits to Piltover ended the day your mother passed away. Despite the distance, there was an air of familiarity as you observed them from afar. Powder waved enthusiastically in your direction, and you gave her a polite smile in return.

Yet, amidst the pleasantries, a single absence tugged at your thoughts. Princess Violet. Her name alone stirred something within you—a bittersweet nostalgia. She had been your first kiss, a fleeting but electrifying moment shared in the innocence of youth. It was nothing serious, of course, but even now, the memory lingered, a reminder of a time when life was simpler, untouched by grief or betrayal.

The tournament began with the usual fanfare. Trumpets blared, the crowd roared, and the first competitors charged into the arena. It was an impressive display of skill, but your attention waned quickly. The matches were predictable—Sevika dominated every opponent she faced. Whether by sheer strength or impeccable technique, she unseated them with ease, leaving them either unconscious or sprawled helplessly on the ground.

When Sevika removed her helmet after yet another victory, the crowd erupted in cheers. On your side of the arena, nobles and commoners alike stood to applaud her. Even your father joined in, nodding approvingly. You, however, offered only a polite clap and a practiced smile. There was no joy in it, no pride.

Then Sevika turned her horse toward you.

Her piercing gaze locked onto yours as she rode closer, her expression unreadable. You knew her well enough to recognize the determination in her movements, and you subtly shook your head, silently pleading with her to stop whatever she was planning. She ignored you, halting her horse directly in front of your seat.

Her gloved hand extended toward you. For a moment, you hesitated. The weight of everyone’s eyes on you felt suffocating, but you eventually placed your hand in hers. Sevika raised your hand to her lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles.

Confusion flickered across your face as you stared at her, unsure of her intentions. She released your hand and offered you a faint, almost wistful smile before turning her horse and galloping away, leaving you reeling.

“Excuse me, Father,” you said abruptly, rising from your seat. You didn’t wait for Silco’s response as you descended the stairs, your heels clicking sharply against the stone.

You followed Sevika’s trail, your chest tight with anger and confusion. When you found her unmounting her horse behind the stables, you didn’t hesitate.

“What was that?” you demanded, your voice sharp as a blade.

Sevika turned to face you, her brow furrowing. “I did what I always do,” she replied, her tone calm but defensive.

“Nonsense,” you snapped. “It’s usually one of my ladies’ hands you kiss—not mine. And clearly, you enjoy kissing more than just hands.”

Sevika rolled her eyes, a gesture that only fueled your anger. “Everything always has to be about you, doesn’t it? I didn’t even know you loved me until a few days ago,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “I’ve been with Mel for months. She’s good company, and I have feelings for her.”

Her words hit you like a blow. “Why?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Why did it have to be one of my ladies? One of my most trusted companions? She’s practically my sister, Sevika.”

“She came onto me when we first met,” Sevika said bluntly.

The admission left you speechless. The betrayal cut deeper than you thought possible, leaving you hollow and numb.

You straightened your posture, forcing yourself to appear composed despite the storm raging inside you. “I’m sending her back to Noxus next week,” you said coldly. “Either go with her or stay loyal to Zaun. It won’t change anything for me. I don’t want to see either of you again.”

Without waiting for her response, you turned and walked away, your steps deliberate and unyielding. Sevika didn’t call after you, and you didn’t look back.

That night, the oppressive silence of your chambers only seemed to magnify your thoughts. The flickering candlelight cast long, restless shadows across the walls, but it did nothing to soothe the ache in your chest. You sat on the edge of your bed, your fingers twisting the soft fabric of your nightgown, your mind replaying the harsh words Sevika had spoken earlier.

The image of Mel, your trusted companion, holding those letters you had so carefully written, tore at you. You had poured your heart into those words, each one a confession of the love you were too afraid to voice aloud. And to think that Mel, someone who knew your heart better than most, had read them, only to use that knowledge to worm her way into Sevika’s affections—it was unbearable.

You pressed your hand against your mouth, as if that could somehow stop the sob that threatened to escape. Tears welled up, blurring your vision until they spilled freely down your cheeks. The betrayal stung more deeply than you could have anticipated. How could Mel have done this to you? How could Sevika have allowed it?

The more you thought about it, the heavier your chest felt, as though the weight of your sorrow was dragging you down. The quiet moments you had shared with Sevika, the stolen glances and fleeting touches, now felt tainted. Were they ever truly real, or had you simply imagined the meaning behind them?

You lay back against the plush pillows, your gaze fixed on the ceiling, though the tears continued to flow unchecked. The pain in your heart was raw, and no matter how hard you tried to push the thoughts away, they kept returning, relentless and cruel.

Eventually, exhaustion began to take hold. Your sobs quieted into soft sniffles, your body trembling with the remnants of your grief. You clutched the blanket tightly against you, as though it could offer some semblance of comfort.

And as your eyes finally drifted shut, the heartbreak followed you into your dreams, leaving you with the bitter taste of betrayal and the lingering ache of unspoken love.

When you woke, the maids were already bustling about your chambers, readying you for the day. Their voices filled the air with idle chatter about the morning’s duties and the preparations for court, but you couldn’t bring yourself to join in. The weight on your chest made words feel impossible, and you sat in silence as they worked around you.

You couldn’t quite name what you were feeling—was it depression, heartbreak, or simply emptiness? It was as if the vibrancy of your emotions had been drained overnight, leaving you a hollow shell. Even as the maids carefully brushed through your hair, their hands light and practiced, you stared blankly at your reflection in the mirror, not recognizing the person looking back at you.

The sound of the door opening pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned slightly to see your father enter the room. Silco’s presence was commanding as always, but today there was a gentleness in his gaze. Without a word, he approached and motioned for the maid to step aside. He took the brush from her hand, his touch replacing hers as he began to brush your hair himself, just as he had done when you were a little girl.

“You’ve been sad lately,” he said softly, his voice low and steady. “What’s wrong, my child?”

You hesitated, your eyes meeting his through the mirror. His expression was one of quiet concern, but you couldn’t bring yourself to open up entirely. “I don’t want to talk about it,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Silco continued brushing your hair, his movements slow and deliberate. “You know,” he said after a moment, “what’s in the dark will always come to light.” His words carried the wisdom of your mother, a phrase she used to say whenever she sensed you were hiding something.

You drew in a deep breath, the familiarity of the saying softening some of your defenses. “There’s someone in court I’ve taken a liking to,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to your hands in your lap. “I have for years now, but… one of my ladies-in-waiting has already taken them. I… saw them together.”

Silco paused for a moment, the brush stilling in his hand. Through the mirror, you saw his single eye darken with concern as he studied you. “We can send her back where she came from if that’s what you want,” he offered, his voice even but firm, like he was ready to act if you so desired.

You shook your head, your voice thick with the emotions you’d tried to suppress. “That’s not going to help. They still love her. I think it’s better for me to just… move on. Cry and move on. Maybe forgive her, because she’s all I have besides you.”

Tears began to well up in your eyes, and you lowered your head to hide them. “I just… I thought I was perfect. A perfect wife for her. I’ve shown her so much subtle affection, and I thought she would love me back.”

The weight of your own words struck you when you repeated that final word: “her.”

Silco’s hand paused, his eye narrowing slightly as realization dawned. “You’re attracted to women?” he asked, his tone curious but not unkind.

Biting your lip, you nodded hesitantly. “I like men too,” you added, your voice trembling. “But I’ve never found the right one. And clearly, I can’t find the right girl either.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then Silco set the brush down and rested a firm but comforting hand on your shoulder. “I love you either way, my rose,” he said, his voice resolute. “Choose what you think is best for you, and never let anyone make you feel less than you are.”

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your head before straightening and walking out of the room. His words lingered, echoing in the quiet chamber, a small balm for the ache in your heart.

The day passed slowly in the quiet sanctuary of the library. Your teacher’s voice filled the room, guiding you through the intricacies of speaking and writing in foreign languages. Your focus remained on the elegant strokes of your quill, translating phrases with precision, yet your mind wandered, heavy with thoughts you dared not speak aloud.

In the middle of your lesson, the sound of the library door creaking open caught your attention. You looked up to see Mel slipping inside, carefully closing the door behind her. For a moment, you locked eyes with her, the tension between you palpable. You quickly dropped your gaze back to your work, willing yourself to ignore her presence. But she didn’t leave. Instead, she stood there, waiting, her hesitation filling the air.

You sighed, the frustration bubbling beneath the surface breaking through. Closing your book, you turned to your teacher. “Please leave us,” you said curtly. “My servant will pay you for your work as soon as you leave.”

The instructor hesitated, but after a bow, he gathered his things and quietly exited the room. The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving you alone with Mel.

You turned to her, still seated, your expression hard as you looked up at her. She fidgeted slightly before sitting down beside you, her voice quiet but urgent. “I broke it off with Sevika. You can have her… just please don’t send me back,” she said, her words spilling out like a plea.

You studied her for a moment, your emotions warring within you. Finally, you exhaled and rubbed your face with one hand, exhaustion creeping into your voice. “Even though I have many reasons to send you back, I won’t,” you said. “Stay with Sevika if you wish. I’m not going to stop it. I have no place to. She doesn’t love me… she loves you.”

Your voice cracked slightly, but you pressed on. “And… I forgive you. Turns out I do need you—your advice is… useful. But that doesn’t mean we’re friends again. We can lean into that.”

Mel’s lips quirked into a small, hopeful smile as she leaned in to hug you. You immediately recoiled, pushing her away. “No, thank you,” you said sharply, gathering your books. Without waiting for her response, you rose from your seat and walked briskly toward the door.

As you stepped out, your breath caught when you saw Sevika standing just outside. Her posture was tense, her gaze snapping to you as the door opened. You stopped for a moment, squaring your shoulders before speaking, your tone cold and detached. “I’m not banishing her, so… yeah. I’ll learn to stop loving you. So don’t show me affection anymore. Don’t even glance at me.”

Your grip tightened on your books as you continued, bitterness laced in your voice. “Ask Mel for your tokens before the jousting tournaments. As of today, they have no use to me because I don’t love you anymore. You two seem to have something in common—don’t mess that up. I’ll try to be happy for the both of you.”

The words burned as they left your mouth, but you didn’t let yourself falter. Mel emerged from the library behind you, her eyes flicking between you and Sevika. You turned sharply, shoving the books in your hands into hers.

“Put these away in my chambers,” you commanded. “And don’t mess with anything in there—I still don’t trust you. Either of you.”

Without waiting for a response, you brushed past Sevika, your shoulder barely grazing hers as you walked away. You didn’t look back, the sound of your footsteps echoing through the quiet halls as you disappeared from sight.

The throne room was bustling with activity when you arrived, the soft hum of conversation echoing against the high ceilings. As you stepped inside, your father’s eyes lit up at the sight of you. His warm smile stretched wide as he stood from his throne, arms open in welcome.

“Oh, my beautiful girl,” he said, pulling you into a tight embrace. You melted into his arms, feeling a flicker of the comfort you hadn’t felt in weeks. He held you for a moment longer before pulling back, his hands resting on your shoulders.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he added, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Curiosity danced across your face as you watched him gesture to the servants standing at the far end of the room. At his signal, they disappeared behind a grand door, only to return moments later carrying a small, white bundle. As they approached, you noticed movement within the bundle, and your breath hitched when you saw the tiny white leopard nestled in their arms.

Your eyes widened, and a gasp escaped your lips as tears immediately pricked at the corners of your eyes. The little creature looked so delicate, its soft fur as white as snow with faint gray rosettes dotting its coat. It blinked up at you with curious blue eyes, its tiny ears twitching as it looked around the room.

The servants stepped closer, carefully placing the cub into your outstretched arms. The moment its soft, warm body settled against yours, it let out a quiet purr and nuzzled against your cheek.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous, Father!” you exclaimed, your voice trembling with emotion. You held the baby leopard close, cradling it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Tears began to spill from your eyes, one sliding down your cheek as you leaned into the tiny creature’s warmth.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice breaking as the overwhelming joy filled your chest.

Your father reached out, gently brushing the tear away with his thumb. “Anything for my baby girl,” he said softly, his expression full of love and pride.

The court erupted into applause, their hands coming together in celebration. It wasn’t just for the new addition to the court, but for the sight of your happiness—the first true smile they had seen from you in weeks. You looked up, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears as the weight on your heart seemed to lighten just a little.

You glanced back down at the cub in your arms as it let out a small squeak, its tiny nose pressing into your hand. “You’re perfect,” you murmured to it, stroking its soft fur. The baby leopard was more than a gift; it was a symbol of your father’s unyielding love, a reminder that even in your darkest moments, he would always do whatever he could to bring light back into your life.

The rest of the day passed in pure bliss as you devoted every moment to the small leopard cub. He was full of energy, gnawing playfully at the ends of your flowing sleeves and pouncing on your hands when you wiggled your fingers in front of him. The other ladies-in-waiting laughed at his antics as they joined you in the courtyard, where you allowed the cub to run and tumble in the grass. For the first time in weeks, you felt a sense of lightness. You had found something new to live for—a bond, however small, that reminded you there was still joy in life.

As the sky deepened into twilight and the castle lights began to glow, you carried the sleepy cub back to your chambers, a few guards trailing behind to ensure your safe passage. The leopard stirred slightly in your arms, letting out a soft purr as it nuzzled into the crook of your elbow. But the serene mood was shattered the moment you opened the doors to your chambers and saw Mel sitting comfortably at your vanity, her reflection staring back at you in the mirror.

You froze in place, your hand tightening instinctively around the cub. Gently, you set him down, allowing him to wander and explore the room. Your attention, however, remained fixed on Mel.

“Why are you here?” you demanded, your tone sharp with irritation.

Mel turned toward you, her hands folded primly in her lap. “Me and Sevika are just... people who sleep together from time to time,” she began, her tone unusually measured. “We’re not in a relationship. I don’t love her, and I made that clear to her today.”

You let out a harsh laugh, the bitterness in it cutting through the air. “Congratulations! Or should I say condolences?” you replied mockingly, crossing your arms over your chest.

Mel scoffed, standing from the vanity chair and stepping toward you. “Why are you letting this ruin our friendship?” she asked, her voice tinged with frustration.

You felt your anger flare, and your body tensed as you stepped closer. “I’m ruining it? I’m the problem? Let me remind you—you’re the one who repeatedly slept with the woman I love. You knew how I felt about her, and you still went behind my back. Sevika told me you were the one who approached her first!”

Mel’s face twisted with defiance. “And so what? You’ve never even had a real conversation with her, much less a chance. You never stood a chance,” she spat, her words like daggers plunging into your chest.

Her words left you stunned, your hands trembling slightly as the weight of her betrayal sank deeper. But the anger came swiftly after, rising in a fiery wave. “You’re going back,” you said coldly, your voice trembling with rage. “And I’ll be sending a letter to your mother to let her know exactly what kind of whore her daughter has become!”

Mel gasped, her expression darkening as the insult registered. Before she could respond, you lashed out, your hand striking her across the face with enough force to send her stumbling. She cried out, holding her cheek as she looked at you in disbelief.

“You hit me!?” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of outrage and shock.

“How dare you speak to me that way after everything we’ve been through?” she continued, but her voice cracked, betraying the anger she tried to project.

You stepped closer, your face inches from hers as your voice dropped to a cold whisper. “What exactly have you been through? Besides milking my status for the past few years to make yourself into someone important?”

Mel’s jaw clenched as she straightened herself, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve done no such thing,” she shot back. “The king chose me to be part of his court. I’ve worked my way up!”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Nonsense. I made you what you are,” you said, your voice filled with venom. “You’re nothing but a poor noblewoman who got lucky. Without me, you’d be nothing.”

Mel’s lips parted in disbelief, her expression shifting into something unreadable before she finally replied, “Yes, you made me,” she said, her tone soft but filled with an undercurrent of triumph. “And look what I’ve become—the woman Sevika loves. Funny, isn’t it? Despite all you’ve done, I got her first.”

Her words hit you like a physical blow, but you refused to show any sign of weakness. Instead, you smiled coldly. “And I can break you down, piece by piece, until you’re nothing more than what you were when I found you.”

The room went silent as your words lingered in the air, heavy with the weight of your fury. Mel looked at you, her composure cracking ever so slightly, but she quickly turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

You stood there, chest heaving as the tension in the room began to dissipate. The cub let out a small whimper, brushing against your leg as if sensing your distress. Scooping him up, you held him close, his soft purrs offering a small semblance of comfort as you vowed to never let Mel or anyone else hurt you like this again.

The soft glow of candlelight bathed your chambers in warmth as you sat at your vanity, brushing your hair and braiding it back for the night. The gentle rhythm of your movements was soothing, and the faint sound of your cub's breathing as it slept peacefully on his bed filled the room with a sense of calm. That peace was short-lived, though, as the doors to your chambers suddenly burst open with a loud bang.

You turned quickly, startled, to find Sevika standing in the doorway, her broad shoulders tense, her face etched with anger.

“You hit her?” she demanded, her voice sharp.

You rose from your seat, your heart pounding. “She disrespected me,” you replied coolly, meeting her gaze.

Sevika stepped further into the room, closing the door behind her with a forceful shove. “Violence isn’t always the answer, princess. You slapped her hard enough to leave a mark.”

“And?” you said, crossing your arms. “She had the audacity to invite herself into my chambers, in my palace, and speak to me as if we were equals. She should be thankful I didn’t have her dragged out by the guards. A mark is nothing compared to what she deserved.”

Sevika’s jaw clenched, her fists tightening at her sides. “You’re so selfish,” she said, her voice low but dripping with frustration.

“Me? I’m selfish?” you shot back, stepping closer to her. “I have done nothing but care about you—about how you would feel. Mel told me you loved her. You said it to her! So tell me, Sevika, why am I the bad person here?”

Her eyes flashed with a mix of anger and pain. “Because you have power, princess. You can do whatever you want, and the rest of us have to live with the consequences. I… I basically belong to you. We all do.”

You stared at her, your heart aching at the weight of her words. “I never asked for that,” you said softly, your tone trembling. “And I’ve never once taken advantage of it.”

Her expression wavered, the tension in her shoulders loosening just slightly.

“I confessed to you,” you continued, your voice rising with desperation. “I told you I loved you, and you pushed me away. Mel doesn’t love you the way I do—she doesn’t even love you at all. She said so herself! So why are you holding back?”

“Stop,” Sevika said, her tone firm but lacking the force it had before.

You stepped closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Why not me, Sevika? Why not touch me? I would give you everything—my heart, my love, my body. I would love you back with everything I have.”

You reached for her, and this time, she didn’t stop you. Your hands brushed against her chest, and you felt her muscles tense beneath your touch. Her eyes softened, and for a moment, the anger in them was replaced by something else—something raw and unspoken.

Her resolve broke. With a growl of frustration, she closed the distance between you, her lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was as much an argument as it was an admission. You gasped into her mouth, your hands tangling in her hair as she pulled you closer, her strong arms wrapping around your waist.

Sevika’s hands gripped your waist firmly, and in one swift motion, she lifted you off the ground. A surprised gasp escaped your lips as she carried you to the bed, her strength overwhelming, her touch firm yet careful.

She laid you down gently, her broad frame towering over you as her dark eyes searched yours, the anger now replaced by something far more intense.

“Sevika,” you whispered, reaching up to cup her face.

She leaned down, her lips capturing yours in a desperate, heated kiss. You moaned softly against her mouth, your fingers tangling in her hair as she pressed her body against yours. Her lips trailed down to your jaw, then to your neck, where she bit gently before soothing the skin with her tongue, leaving you breathless.

Her hands roamed over your sides, her fingers curling into the fabric of your nightgown as she pressed her hips against yours. You arched into her, grinding against her leg that she put in between your legs, in a desperate attempt to feel more of her, your breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

“I love you,” you murmured, your voice trembling as you pulled her into another kiss. “I’ll always love you.”

She kissed you harder this time, her lips moving against yours with a hunger that left you dizzy. But just as the moment threatened to spiral out of control, Sevika suddenly stopped.

She pulled away, her breathing heavy, her face filled with regret as she looked down at you.

“Sevika?” you whispered, reaching out for her, confusion and desperation flooding your voice.

“I can’t,” she said, her voice breaking as she pushed herself off the bed.

And then, without another word, she turned and left, the sound of the door closing behind her leaving you alone in the room, your heart breaking as the weight of her absence pressed down on you.

Your fingers lightly traced your lips, still tingling from the heat of her kiss. They moved to your neck, brushing over the tender skin where her mouth had lingered, leaving behind a trail of longing that burned deep into your soul. You shivered, a mix of disbelief and exhilaration coursing through you as you struggled to catch your breath.

Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, the memory of her weight against you, her touch, and her lips overwhelming your senses. The braid you had so carefully crafted earlier was completely unraveled now, your hair falling loosely over your shoulders in soft waves. It mirrored the disarray you felt inside—messy, untamed, yet exhilarating.

“She kissed me…” you whispered to the empty room, your voice trembling. “She wanted me… She was touching me.” The words felt surreal as they left your lips, almost as if saying them out loud would solidify the truth of what had just happened.

You pressed your hand against your chest, trying to steady the rapid rise and fall of your breath, but it was no use. The heat of her presence still clung to you, and you could feel her phantom touch lingering on your skin.

“Oh my gods…” you murmured to yourself, a mixture of disbelief and awe thick in your voice. You glanced over to the corner of the room, where your cub lay curled up in its soft bedding, sleeping peacefully as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

For a moment, you envied its calm, the way it could rest so easily while your mind raced. But then your lips curled into a small, private smile as you gazed at it, your heart still pounding.

“She kissed me,” you whispered again, the words becoming a quiet confession to yourself, your cub, and the night. You sank back onto the edge of your bed, your fingers trailing through your hair as your thoughts swirled, trying to make sense of everything. But no matter how much you tried, the memory of Sevika’s touch consumed you, igniting a fire within you that you couldn’t ignore.

— ran out of divider space 🤭

taglist (my shaylas ♡) : @tinycherry0 @thesecondhandwoman @abbysleftbicepp @artfairyyyyy @bunninel @furrytaesss @savedforlaterr @veladeangl @5t4r1i9ht @imheadintothemountains @adora-moonshine @sevikasrightboob @80saturn @littlerainsprite @runawaybaby3 @rhian88 @athena-winters13

[cinnamqnx]

heartbreak summer ꨄ︎

pairing. sae itoshi x f!reader

summary. after your friend finds out her recent ex has been in the news tabloids with yet another girl, your idea of get back turns your night into an unfortunate series of events with the outcome landing you directly in front of re al’s star player, and you’re about to kiss him.

warnings. nsfw elements, smut, swearing, toxic relationships & behaviour (not too much from sae surprisingly), angst

03 | re al’s finest, undercover heartbreaker

8:13 pm

you finally hear the doorbell ring, making kaia and natalie scurry away back into their rooms as you quickly brush over your dress and touch up your lip gloss, looking in the mirror to push your hair up to give it some more volume.

grabbing you bag from the bag/coat hook on the back of the door, you open it, revealing sae itoshi. he had definitely dressed up well for tonight, his hair was in its usual style, but less messy, and he was wearing a clean, black suit.

“you look beautiful.”, he compliments, of course. holding up a small bouquet of traditional red roses.

“oh, thank you.”. you say, scrambling back to put them into some sort of vase before leaving for the night.

facing him once again, you say, “you’re dressed fancy for- y’know.”, you go back on your words, unsure how to describe this. would you call it a date?

“well you did tell me i didn’t leave the best first impression.”, he pauses, “i’m just trying to fix that.”, he states, his voice smooth and confident.

“so you’re not always this much of a romantic?”, you pry, a small smile making way on your lips.

he shrugs, his eyes staring intently into yours, “you can find out.”

navigation. heartbreak summer

next chapter. 04

authors note. finally revealed that sae is definitely up to something, next chapter will also be a lot of writing!!

taglist: @vaelils @shironagi @megumiivs @captainshindo @evry1luvssm @alatusorrow

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 31] || [Chapter 33]

Pairing: Gaz x gn!Reader || Ghost x gn!Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.3K~ cw: not angst but a bit 'angsty', fluff fluff fluff. Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: This one made me all emosh to write ngl.

Chapter 32: No Harm Done.

You're sitting by the sliding glass door leading out to the balcony on Sunday morning, looking out and holding a warm drink in your hands.

It's raining outside. It's always raining in England, so it shouldn't really surprise you... but it still feels like a lazy, down-sort of day regardless.

You're home alone. Johnny went to base for P.T. and a meeting of sorts, while Kyle went out to the gym himself, giving you some time for yourself.

Your phone sits in front of you, fingers tapping away, back-and-forth, between chats with friends and with the lads, your lads.

Ghost said they'd text you to let you know when they were back, a promise they'd made after they sort of just turned up at your door all injured and hurt without warning so many weeks ago.

It feels like it's been an eternity since you had them all here.

Your eyes find your chat with Simon, flittering over the last couple of texts you sent each other. Right before the boys left on their newest mission.

Regardless of what Kyle and Johnny say about Simon, he's actually the best texter out of all of them... John being the worst.

simon: Have about 5 minutes before we have to go. you: will u be safe? simon: Always am sweetheart. simon: Don't you worry about me. you: i meant ALL of you. you: and of course i worry about u! simon: If it was about all of us, you wouldn't be messaging me separately. simon: And I appreciate it but you shouldn't. you: i hate how smart u are. you: u face death literally every day in your job simon: And I always come back. you: okay but im allowed to worry no? you: youd worry about the others too? simon: I guess so. simon: But I'll be fine. you: u dont know that. simon: I know enough. simon: Been doing this for over a decade. you: that's not reassuring the way you think it is. simon: You're very worried. Is this because of what I said?

That text makes you set down your phone when you read it again, your face warm with embarrassment at the reminder, just like it had been during that text exchange as it was happening.

He had told you he loves you. Two of them had by now.

The thought of that still makes you shiver, the words so full of emotion and vulnerability when Simon said them, never any pressure on you, just a gesture on his end.

you: maybe? simon: That's really cute of you. simon: Don't let it make you worry or overthink. simon: I'll make sure I come back to you. you: si... simon: GTG ✋ simon: Will text you when I touch down.

Kyle's, however, were a lot less vulnerable. They were sweet, sudden, driven by happiness and amusement...

Both of them came out of left field and caught you off-guard.

Both of them felt just as real, however.

You took a sip of your warm drink and glanced out of the window again, watching the droplets slide down the glass panes.

You can't help but think about how things have been going for you.

Is this becoming too much? Is it going too far? Did you finally lose the plot?

When did a silly little Tinder account you made with your friends while fighting heartbreak become a 4-way relationship and 2 out 4 men telling you they're in love with you?

You're lost in thought when the door opens behind you, Kyle making his way in.

"Hey, lovie." He greeted, causing you to jump a bit, spilling some of your drink over the glass top of the table.

"Ah, fuck." You complained as you reached for the napkin holder and started mopping up the liquid. "Hi, Ky." You added as you cleaned the mess you made.

"Sorry, did I catch you off guard?" He asked as he approached the table and began to help you.

"Yeah..." You murmured and looked up at him, finally, finding him in a grey sleeveless hoodie and black workout shorts.

You smiled softly at him as you gathered the wet napkins and moved to the kitchen to dispose of them.

Kyle seemed to catch the look in your eyes as you glanced up at him. "What's wrong? You seem strange..." He asked as you followed you into the kitchen.

"Just thinking, it's nothing." You told him as you turned after throwing out the rubbish, only to find him standing right behind you, looking at you with scrunched brows.

"Is this about yesterday?" He asked you softly. "Was it too early?" He added in earnest.

The memories of the day before come back to you sharply. The way, after he told you he loved you, you sputtered for a bit, your face burning up, your eyes wide...

And how you had come back home together, your nose still pink, his cheek still red, the both of you looking embarrassed and sheepish, avoiding eye contact and biting your lip.

How Johnny had teased the two of you, thinking you had gotten down and dirty in the car and that's why you had come home looking so embarrassed...

You look up at him with a sigh and shake your head. "No, it's just..." You trailed off.

"Was it because Soap teased us after we came back?" He reached forward and gently ran a hand over your cheek.

"No!" You added and sighed, leaning into his palm, and gently holding his forearm in your hand.

"I'm just worried... I've never... been in something like this before." You explained, as you looked into his eyes. "More than one partner and-"

Kyle nodded at you, watching you with understanding eyes and a soft gaze, like he wanted you to keep talking, communicating.

"I don't know how to act about this... I don't know..." You trailed off and looked away for a moment. "It's... a strange feeling."

"To love more than one person at once?" He asked you as his brows raised in inquiry.

You nodded in response and looked up at him. "Yeah... And to... have them love me back."

"So I wasn't the first to tell you, huh?" Kyle asked, having caught the way you mentioned 'more than one person' when it came to 'loving you back'.

Your face burned up hot in embarrassment and you shook your head at him.

"Simon was." You replied, which made Kyle's eyes widen and then a smile take over his lips as he shook his head.

"Wasn't expecting that..." Kyle admitted as he caressed your cheek again.

"Did you say it back for him? Like you did for me?" He asked and you nodded your head in reply.

"Well..." Kyle trailed off, seemingly lost in thought for a moment, as if pondering what to say, and how to say it. "It's not exactly a bad feeling, is it?"

You shook your head. It wasn't a bad feeling. In fact, you quite liked having said the words, having had the words said to you.

"Then, I'd say there's not a big cause for worry. We all knew this would happen, right?" He added. You, once again, nodded at him.

Gently, he cupped your face with both hands, his thumbs rubbing your cheeks. "Then, let's just... let it be." He chuckled.

"You and I love each other. You and Simon love each other. I love Simon too..." He admitted with a shrug. "No harm done, right?"

Smiling a bit more, you ended up nodding and gently pushed up, kissing him slowly and deeply, both of your eyes closing, his hands caressing your face, your hands caressing his forearms...

You're so into the kiss, you don't hear the front door close, nor Johnny approach, until he shows up at the kitchen door. "Greedy bastard, leave some space for the Tav, will ye?"

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!):

@daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling ,

@tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva ,

@emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes ,

@irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @cod-z , @frescoisnotinthemilitary ,

@leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @xxshadowbabexx , @severenswife , @enarien ,

@l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago ,

@sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki ,

@comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear ,

@mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat ,

@stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving ,

@blckbrrybasket , @agoodmoviekiss

[childrenofcain-if]

The relationship between MC and Elias has my entire effing heart 😭 idk how you made the dynamic so sweet and made me care for him when I've only known him for two chapters??

Since he's so gentle with us, I wonder how would it go if MC came home one day from like elementary school crying because they were bullied? How would Elias handle it?

the door slammed behind you with a loud, echoing sound that seemed to punctuate the misery weighing you down. your black, polished shoes scuffed against the marble floor as you trudged into the vast, empty foyer, tears streaming down your cheeks.

it was all too much—the laughter, the jeers, the malice-filled words of those kids at school that stabbed and twisted in ways you didn’t understand but hurt all the same.

elias had always been good at spotting storms on the horizon—first the trembling lip, then the stutter in your words, and finally, the cascade of tears that seemed far too heavy for someone so small.

when you came through the door just now, your face blotchy, streaked with heartbreak, he felt the summons of your sorrow like a riptide dragging him under. he had been in the middle of something—work, life, whatever inconsequential thing adults tangled themselves up in—but it evaporated the moment he saw you.

“oh, little apple,” he murmured as his eyes took in your tear-streaked face, the slump of your shoulders, the hiccupping breaths you couldn’t quite catch.

he dropped everything, his folders and papers scattering to the floor like leaves in a gust of wind. his long stride brought him to you in seconds, and then he was crouching, lowering himself to meet you on your level.

you were shaking, your fists tight as if holding onto the last frayed threads of your composure. he reached out, hesitant, the way you would approach a wounded animal, not wanting to startle you.

you couldn’t speak at first. the sobs came in waves, each one ripping through you, and the effort to shape words was too much. instead, you let go.

you collapsed against him, your small arms wrapping around his neck as if he were a lifeboat and you were caught in the middle of a stormy sea. he smelled like lavender, cedar and ink and something faintly sweet, like the peppermint candy he always kept in his pockets.

his arms wrapped around you, strong and warm, and for a moment, the world felt a little less like it was spinning out of control.

“it’s alright,” he murmured into your hair, though his heart was pounding. he could feel the dampness of your tears soaking into his shirt, the slight tremor in your body. “whatever it is, we’ll fix it. i promise.”

when your tears finally slowed with time, elias gently pulled back to look at you, his brow furrowed in concern. his thumbs brushed away the lingering wetness on your cheeks.

“want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked, his tone patient in the way only he could manage.

you hiccupped, clutching at his shirt. “they—” you sniffled, the words coming out shaky and uneven. “they took scooby-doo.”

he blinked, confused for a moment, before realization dawned on his face. “the keychain?”

you nodded, fresh tears spilling over. “the one mama gave me for christmas.”

a flicker of fury crossed his face, but he buried it quickly, his expression softening as he focused on you. “and who is ‘they’?”

you told him about the kids at school, their cruel laughter echoing in your ears even as you recounted the story. how they called you names for being smarter than them, for being the kid whose mom didn’t love them enough to live with them. how they’d grabbed your backpack and yanked the keychain off, holding it high above your head and tossing it to each other while you tried, unsuccessfully, to snatch it back.

elias didn’t interrupt. he let you talk, his jaw tightening with every word, though his hands stayed gentle on your shoulders.

as soon as you were done, he scooped you up with the same ease as when you were smaller, holding you close to his chest as he stood.

“shh, it’s okay,” he whispered, his voice soft and soothing as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “i’ve got you. those kids are never going to hurt you again. not ever.”

you nodded, your chest still heavy but a little lighter than before. elias always made you feel like the world wasn’t as big or scary as it seemed.

elias’s lips pressed into a firm line, a resolve hardening in his expression. “i’m going to talk to your school,” he promised. “the principal, the school board—whoever i need to. they won’t be getting away with this. but for now...” he softened again, his hand resting against your cheek comfortingly. “for now, let’s focus on making you feel better, okay?”

you sniffled against his shoulder, rubbing the remaining tears from your eyes. “how?”

“first,” he said, carrying you into the living room, “we’re going to get you something to eat. you can’t face the world on an empty stomach.” he set you down gently on the couch, brushing a strand of hair from your damp cheek. “what sounds good? mac and cheese? pancakes? ice cream for dinner?”

the corner of your mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile. “mac and cheese?”

“as my little apple wishes,” he said, bowing dramatically which made you giggle.

he sent the servants away, muttering something about needing the house to feel smaller and cozier. he then moved around the kitchen while narrating his every step of making mac and cheese as though he was starring in a cooking show. “breadcrumbs on top, obviously. otherwise, it’s just noodles pretending to be a meal. and a little extra cheese, because that’s how my little apple likes it, hm?”

when he set the plate in front of you, it looked a little lopsided, but it tasted like comfort and love. while you still preferred your mom’s version, your dad wasn’t a bad cook either.

you ate together on the couch, and elias told you stories about his own childhood, about the time he’d fallen off his bike trying to impress a girl or the disastrous school play where he’d forgotten all his lines. he made you laugh, the sort of laugh that bubbled up unexpectedly and left you breathless.

after you’d finished your plate, he pulled out a tub of your favorite ice cream, letting you eat it straight from the carton as he turned on the TV.

“now,” he said, flipping through the channels, “i seem to recall a certain detective dog who’s pretty good at cheering you up. what do you think?”

you nodded, curling up next to him on the couch. he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close, and together you watched episode after episode of scooby-doo.

at one point, he even joined in on the theme song, his deep baritone blending awkwardly with the high-pitched melody. you giggled so hard you nearly fell off the couch, and the sound of your laughter seemed to melt something in him.

by the time bedtime rolled around, the weight of the day had eased, replaced by the kind of tiredness that settled in your bones after too much crying and too much laughing.

elias took your big yawn as a hint and carried you upstairs to your bedroom. he tucked you into bed like he always did—tucking the corners of the blanket just right, the way you liked it.

when he leaned down to kiss your forehead, you grabbed his wrist, your voice small. “will you stay, dada?”

his expression was gentle as he nodded. “of course.”

he sat on the edge of your bed, his large hand resting gently on your hair, stroking it in slow, soothing motions. you closed your eyes, the world finally quiet and safe.

and then he started to sing.

“close your eyes, have no fear. the monster’s gone, he’s on the run, and your daddy’s here.”

his voice wasn’t perfect, but it was tender and warm, wrapping around you like the blanket he’d tucked in so carefully. each word he sang wrapped around you like a lullaby spun from safety and love.

“beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful child…”

by the time he reached the bridge, you were asleep, your breathing even and peaceful. but elias stayed, his hand still resting against your hair, his gaze lingering on your face.

“goodnight, little apple,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “dada loves you so very much.”

and as the night deepened and the house fell completely silent, elias sat there, guarding your dreams with the quiet, unshakable strength of a father’s love.

[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; finally, you learn the true nature of the enemy, the one behind everything—and whose defeat will secure your place as heir. meanwhile, johnny’s return to the pack ends in quiet resignation, and despite heartbreak and anger, they still will not give up so easily.

⚠�� warnings; none

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

The sun had barely risen, its pale light filtering through the heavy drapes of your room, but sleep had evaded you entirely. The events of the previous night replayed endlessly in your mind. Johnny’s broken expression haunted you, his words and presence stirring emotions you desperately wished to keep buried at all cost.

Sybil stirred at your feet, sensing your restlessness, her snow-white fur catching the morning light as she stretched lazily. You sighed, shaking off the lingering haze of exhaustion, and moved to get ready.

Just as you stepped into the hallway, adjusting the scarf around your neck, a broad shadow loomed at the edge of your vision.

König.

He moved quickly, his large frame nearly blocking the corridor as he stepped into your path. His presence was commanding, even more so this morning, his expression dark and unreadable under his ever-present mask.

"You know what you did last night," he said, his voice low and gravelly, barely above a whisper but carrying an edge that made it impossible to ignore.

You stiffened, your eyes narrowing as you met his intense gaze. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but you’d best choose your words carefully, König.”

He took a step closer, his sheer size forcing you to tilt your head to maintain eye contact. “You had a visitor,” he said bluntly, the accusation clear in his tone. “Do you think no one would notice?”

You scoffed, unwilling to let him intimidate you. “And what business is it of yours?” you shot back, your voice sharp and unyielding. “You forget yourself. This isn’t your place.”

Your defiance only seemed to stoke his ire, his fists clenching at his sides as he loomed even closer. “You’re playing with fire,” he warned, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. “Do you know what would happen if anyone else found out? What you’ve risked?”

“Enough!” you snapped, your voice ringing out louder than you’d intended. Sybil growled softly at your side, her sharp gaze fixed on him, her posture protective.

His jaw tightened, his expression conflicted as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. “I can’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself,” he muttered, his tone softer but no less intense. “You mean too much—”

“Stop,” you cut him off, raising a hand. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

But he pressed on, his voice breaking as he confessed, “I’ve always loved you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, you could only stare at him, your mind racing as his confession settled over you like a lead weight.

“König,” you said finally, your voice low and measured, “you don’t love me. You love what I represent. The coven. This place. The life you found here after you had nothing. That’s all it’s ever been.”

His eyes flashed with something between anger and anguish, his fists clenching tighter as he looked at you. “That’s not true,” he insisted, but his voice lacked the conviction it once carried.

You stepped closer, your tone soft but unyielding. “If you truly love me, then prove it by letting this go. Let me go. Until you can look at me and see me—not the coven, not the heir, not your salvation—you have no right to speak of love.”

The finality of your words silenced him. For a moment, he looked as though he might argue, but something in your gaze stopped him. His shoulders sagged slightly, his towering form shrinking in defeat.

You brushed past him, your steps purposeful and your head held high, though the weight of the exchange lingered in your chest like a stone. “Don’t test me again,” you said over your shoulder, your voice cold and cutting.

As you moved away, Sybil trotted close by your side, her steady presence a balm to your frayed nerves. “The audacity of men,” you muttered, shaking your head as you stalked down the hallway, exhaustion and anger warring within you.

Today was already off to a terrible start.

. . .

After a meager breakfast, one you forced yourself through more out of necessity than appetite, you rose from the table and quietly acknowledged the maids who lingered nearby. Their eyes were wary and concerned, remembering last night’s clandestine encounter. With a slight incline of your head, you offered them a subtle, wordless thank-you. They nodded almost imperceptibly, not daring to ask questions or draw attention. It was safer this way—for all of you.

Sybil stayed close as you navigated the corridors. But today, instead of heading toward the training chambers, you found yourself summoned to your Mother’s study. It was strange—unusual to be called there after a day as grueling as the last—but not impossible.

Mother did as she pleased, always.

You hesitated before the ornate door, the faint scent of incense drifted underneath, and you squared your shoulders before pushing it open.

Inside, the room was warm and dim. Shelves lined every wall, packed with tomes whose spines gleamed with magical seals and old languages. A large wooden desk dominated the center, papers and quills neatly arranged atop it, a candle burning steadily at its corner.

Your Mother stood behind the desk, her posture rigid but not hostile. At her side lounged Cath Palug, her sleek black sphynx cat. He rested on a small velvet cushion, tail curled neatly around him, his gaze following you as you crossed the threshold.

She wasted no time. “I trust you slept poorly,” she said, the edges of her voice sharper than any blade. It wasn’t a question.

You said nothing, keeping your face neutral.

She inclined her head slightly, as if acknowledging your silence. “Your unexpected guest last night—the one who thought himself clever enough to find you—was reported to me.” She paused, letting the words sink in. There was no anger in her tone, no reprimand, only a cool certainty. “I should hope you learned something from his visit. A… broader perspective, let’s say.”

Your heart clenched. Of course she knew. There was never a doubt. “If you’re hoping I’ll apologize—”

“I’m hoping,” she cut in smoothly, “you understand the stakes better now. You were always the target. Not them.” She reached under a stack of parchment and slid a thin file across the desk, her long fingers tapping it once. “I took the liberty of assembling what information we have.”

Curiosity and dread warred within you as you stepped forward, Sybil following closely. You picked up the file, its surface worn and unadorned.

“Vladimir Makarov,” your Mother said, pronouncing the name slowly. “A vampire, and an ambitious one at that. Relatively young, by vampiric standards, but hungry for prestige within his community. He aims high, and to do so, he must feed on what is rare and powerful.”

You scanned the words on the page: rumored affiliations, sightings in distant cities, odd disappearances of magical folk. Unicorns, fae, witches—beings whose essences were valuable, their magic a potent prize. Your stomach twisted as the reality settled in.

“He sought me out,” you said quietly, voice just above a whisper, “because I was vulnerable.”

Your Mother nodded, her expression grave. “You were once well-guarded, first by us, then surrounded by a pack. Their devotion shielded you, made you more trouble than you were worth. But now…” She let the sentence trail off, not needing to complete it.

You understood. Without the pack’s united front, you were a prize more easily claimed. A witch of your lineage, your power, standing mostly on your own now that you were here, no longer hidden behind the warm bodies and loyal hearts that once formed your shield.

You said nothing as you turned the file’s page, eyes catching on a faded photograph of a man with unsettling eyes. He was handsome, dangerously so.

Her gaze didn’t waver. “If you were alone, without allies, you’d be easier prey. He is clever and determined—creatures like him always are.” Her voice held a trace of disgust, subtle but there, directed at the creature who had dared to cast his net around you.

You closed the file, the thin sheets of paper whispering softly as they met. Your reflection flickered in the polished surface of a silver inkstand on the desk—tired eyes, set jaw, a thousand questions and no easy answers.

In your mind, the pieces began to assemble: Johnny’s anguished confession, the pack’s fractured unity, Leah’s curse, and now this vampire who loomed unseen at the edges of the playing field, waiting for his chance.

“You know what you must do,” your Mother said simply.

The meaning behind her words settled into your chest, cold and undeniable. This wasn’t just about survival, not simply about evading Makarov’s grasp. She wanted you to make a statement—one carved in blood and vengeance, a warning to all who would ever dare target you, a valued member of the Le Fay coven.

Yes, you understood perfectly: to claim your rightful place as heir, to ascend fully and undeniably as leader of this coven, you would have to deliver Vladimir Makarov’s head. A vampire, cunning and ambitious, had chosen you as his trophy. Now, as your Mother so clearly indicated, you would turn the tables and make him yours.

“I see,” you said finally, your voice even, betraying nothing.

Your Mother’s lips curved into the faintest trace of a smile—not one of warmth, but of satisfaction. “Yes,” she replied. “Deliver his head, and no one will dare question your authority. Fail, and… well.” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to.

You glanced down at Sybil, finding in her calm, steady eyes the silent promise that she’d stand by you through whatever ordeal lay ahead. Gathering the file more securely under your arm, you turned to leave.

At the threshold, you paused, feeling the gray eyes of Cath Palug tracking your every move, the cat’s presence a silent witness to this momentous pact. Your Mother didn’t say another word. She didn’t have to. The challenge was given, the path set.

Without looking back, you slipped into the corridor, the door closing softly behind you. The house’s dimly lit halls stretched out before you, each step taking you further into the inevitable.

. . .

Johnny ran under the suns early light, each stride eating up distance as he slipped through the edge of the forest. He’d left the manor behind hours ago, the last tangle of secret corridors and heavy doors fading into memory. Now, his mind buzzed with anger, shame, and regret.

He kept to his wolf form, the scent of fresh pine and damp earth filling his lungs. But as he approached the highway that cut through these old lands, a new odor drifted into his senses: oil, rubber, and gasoline. And underneath it, unmistakably, the scent of his leader.

Johnny’s ears flattened slightly. Of course John would catch up. Of course he’d know. Easing up, Johnny paused at the tree line, peering out onto the dim road. There, under a flickering streetlamp, Price stood beside his car—an old, sturdy beast of a vehicle, its engine grumbling softly as it idled.

Shame prickled under his fur. He then slipped back into human form, the transformation a reminder of how vulnerable he truly felt. He emerged from the brush, bare and exposed, and Price's face twisted at the sight of him—equal parts rage and disappointment etched into every line. Without a word, Price pulled open the trunk and tossed Johnny a bundle of clothes. Johnny caught them, the cloth warm from resting against the engine’s heat.

As Johnny dressed, Price’s silence lay heavy between them, thicker than any argument they might have had. The older man didn’t yell, didn’t spit accusations. He didn’t need to. The disappointment in his eyes struck harder than any harsh word could.

Once clothed, Johnny approached. Price jerked his chin, a wordless command to get in. Johnny slid onto the passenger seat, the old leather creaking beneath him. The door shut with a dull thud.

Outside, the wind rustled dry leaves; inside, it was silent.

The car pulled away from the curb, headlights cutting through the early morning gloom. Neither spoke for a long time, but Johnny could feel John’s stare flicking toward him now and then—sizing him up, reading his posture, noticing the slump of his shoulders. He could feel John’s question hanging in the air: Did you get what you wanted?

Johnny forced himself to speak, each word falling like a stone. “She’s not coming back.”

He kept his eyes on the road ahead, voice barely above a murmur. John’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. He didn’t ask for details—he must have suspected as much. Hearing it confirmed wrenched something loose inside him. Johnny knew John’s heart, old and steady, had been hoping—just a little—that it wouldn’t end like this.

The road stretched long and empty ahead of them, the old car’s engine humming steadily against the dawn silence. Johnny stared straight ahead, as if the gray ribbon of asphalt might give him answers he couldn’t find in himself.

Price's knuckles were still white around the steering wheel, but his voice, when it finally broke the hush, was unexpectedly calm. “I figured as much,” he said gruffly. He didn’t look at Johnny, but his profile, etched against the growing light, seemed more lined than before. “Wasn’t holding my breath. Still hurts to hear it.”

Johnny said nothing at first, letting that admission settle. He swallowed hard, lips twisting as he thought back to the manor, to your unwavering resolve. “Yeah,” he muttered finally, voice tight.

Price’s gaze drifted to the rearview mirror, then out at the pale sky. “Do you think we’ll give up, then?” he asked, his tone resigned but searching, as if grasping for a thread of hope.

Johnny let out a sharp snort, a hollow sound that cut through the quiet. “Give up?” He huffed a laugh that held no amusement. “Of course not.” His eyes slid sideways, just enough to catch Price’s reaction. “When have we ever given up?”

Price breathed out slowly, his shoulders relaxing by a fraction. The disappointment in his eyes didn’t vanish, but at least something like grim determination replaced the hollow ache. “Right,” he said softly, and that was all.

They continued forward, the engine’s steady rumble their only companion, neither daring to voice the next question: what would they do next?

banner credit

[hyunebunx]

maybe it's not our fault - chapter 01

── synopsis: after a nasty breakup that’s left you completely shattered, you’re set on giving up on love forever. That is until, in a surprising turn of events, your respective best friends start dating and one of their main goals is to restore the peace in your broken relationship. Will their plan succeed? Will they manage to play cupid and get you and your high school sweetheart back together, or will it all backfire and result in the end of their own love story?

There is only one way to find out. If only your beloved’s heart wasn’t already broken beyond repair…

╰─▸ ❝ pairing: hyunjin x fem!reader

╰─▸ ❝ content: exes to lovers, angst, mutual pining, fluff, suggestive themes, drama and heartbreak, jock!hyunjin who is captain of the uni's football team + dance major!hyunjin, college au, lack of communication.

╰─▸ ❝ word count: 10k

╰─▸ ❝chapter 02

a/n: it's here!! special thank you to my croissant baby laure @byunfirstlady (this wouldn't be a me story if i didn't mention her somehow fgfdgh) for reading this for me before posting!! since this is the first chapter, things might feel a little slow, but dw, it will all pick up soon! enjoy <33 and do let me know your thoughts after reading <3

“That is not going to fit!”

He scoffs, already annoyed. “Yes, it is! Just move over a little.”

“A little? I’m already stretched the fuck out! What more do you want from me?”

“Seohyun, I swear to fucking God – “

She yelps, most likely cramping. “Just pull it out, you dumbass – “

“What the hell is going on in here?”

You and Chan stop dead in your tracks, confused at the scene currently playing out in front of your very eyes. You were gone downstairs for less than ten minutes to get the rest of your stuff, with you and Chan carrying a box each that held the essentials to ensure this move went smoothly. And in that time frame, your two other best friends have already managed to be at each other’s throats.

The front door of your apartment was wide open, with dumb and dumber currently looking like two deers caught in headlights on opposite sides, separated by an old armchair whose springs had become a death trap over the years. Last year, when you held parties here, someone was always left standing — it was either the cursed chair or the floor, with most guests picking the latter once they were drunk enough.

“Uh, hi?” Jisung greets, forcing a smile onto boyish features that haven’t changed much since you met almost seven years ago, in high school.

Bewiled, you set the box down by Chan’s feet and approach. “Are you guys, okay? What happened?”

Whistling, Jisung tries to pretend he has everything under control. He doesn’t, he never does, that’s just the type of guy he was. “Duh, we’re fantastic! Everything is under control, don’t even – “

Called it.

“For the love of god, just shut up and let them help us already!” Seohyun barks from the other side, prompting you to peek in to see her straighten her posture, rubbing her wrists in obvious discomfort. With a sigh and a glare from Jisung who steps back to allow Chan to take his place, she explains. “We were trying to get this chair out to make room for the new one.”

Chuckling, Chan inspects the door frame while you pass Seohyun one of the boxes right over the ugly, red chair that’s seen better days. “And it got stuck?”

“Yes, because Jisung didn’t want to listen – “

“Or maybe because you started pushing when I wasn’t ready, like an idiot.” He counters instantly, never one to back out from a fight instigated by Seohyun. Not to be fooled, these two were as close as can be, the bickering reflective of their special bond.

You and Chan share a look as they start again, amusement clear in gentle, doe eyes that have comforted you numerous times over the years. Meeting back in the summer before high school, you and Chan have been attached at the hip ever since, clicking as pre-teens and growing up together, maturing down the same path that’s led you to the same university, and even the same major you also shared with Jisung. Music production has always been a passion of yours, so getting to fulfil that dream with your absolute best friend by your side was a blessing you couldn’t be more thankful for.

“Alright.” Chan stops their bickering, one hand landing on Jisung’s shoulder to get his attention. “Stand on it.”

“Pardon?” Jisung blinks at him, as confused as you and Seohyun were, not sure he heard Chan right.

Smiling, Chan squeezes his shoulder. “So, you can step on the backrest and make it fall over. It will be easier to move afterwards.”

“You think so?” He asks, biting down on his bottom lip, not confident in the slightest.

Your best friend nods, giving his bottom an encouraging pat. “Positively. Now go on, I don’t want to spend my whole day in this hallway.”

Seohyun scrambles back, unwilling to get caught in between Jisung and the chair, giving him enough room to do what he must to free her exit.

Watching the whole scene unfold has you smiling from ear to ear, struggling to keep your laughter at bay once Jisung realizes the task isn’t as dangerous as he expected. It’s anticlimactic, more than anything, as he gets on top of the chair to step on the backrest, going down slowly without even losing his balance.

He blinks, barely realizing it’s over before making eye contact with Seohyun who bursts out laughing like she’s been holding it in since the beginning. The three of you join in quickly after, your delight bouncing off the hallway walls and lifting the spirits tremendously.

After all, nobody in existence was ever excited for summer to end and classes to start again, with a new, even more demanding schedule than last year. You were in your third year now and things were bound to get difficult the closer you got to graduating.

This silly moment was exactly what you needed to start the new year right, sure it would become a core memory later down the line when you’d all be working adults, with even more responsibilities and nonexistent free time. The sight of Chan dragging the armchair out, without any difficulty whatsoever as Jisung and Seohyun’s jaws hit the floor, incredulous he didn’t struggle like they did, was sure to bring a smile to your face for years to come.

When your only access to the apartment was finally free, the four of you gathered inside with the remaining boxes.

“You weren’t kidding, you do have all of your stuff here.” Seohyun hums, scanning her surroundings, and her new home. The apartment was yours. You moved in just last year and you’ve lived by yourself until now, when you welcomed her with open arms and a little too much excitement.

“Yeah.” You nod, already moving around to put the scattered things back in their rightful places. “Sorry about the mess. I didn’t bother cleaning up before leaving.”

The living room was fine – your bedroom was the one that suffered the most, already dreading the thought of having to dig through all the mess to find most of your things.

The apartment was a gift from your parents, after successfully finishing your first year of university living in a dorm. Sure, having your own space was great, but you’d never trade that first year for anything in the world. That’s where you meet Seohyun after all, growing closer and closer with every sleepless night you spent together giggling and talking about everything under the sun, not feeling the hours tick by until one of your alarms would ring, signalling the start of a new day.

It was big, too spacious for only one person to live in, with two bedrooms and a bathroom straight out of an interior design magazine. Even though Seohyun didn’t move in until now, you were never truly alone with Jisung and Chris living right next door. Someone was always keeping you company, which you were thankful for, in more ways than one.

Already moving about like they owned the place, Chris and Jisung were helping you tidy up, with the latter moving to check for anything rotten in the kitchen. With four pairs of hands on deck, it didn’t take more than fifteen minutes for everything to be back to normal, leaving you to take care of the dusting.

“Alright.” Chan stands, carrying two trash bags. “Ji, let’s go get the armchair.”

Jisung follows before Seohyun calls after them. “Right, is it in your car?”

“I thought it was in yours?” He turns around, stopping in the doorway while Chan is already busy calling the elevator, further away.

You see her brows furrow, setting the duster down before grabbing her car keys. “Nope.”

The ding of the elevator gets your attention, and they share a look before hurrying after Chan, in search of said armchair, the door closing behind them with a quiet thud. You lived high up, on the 10th floor – nobody was ever willing to take the stairs and waste that much time.

And so, in the blink of an eye, you are left alone in the apartment that held so many of your memories, beautiful moments you wouldn’t trade even in exchange for forgetting the sad ones.

You feel a little lost, staring around like you couldn’t recognize your own home, shoulders slumping with a deep sigh. Your gaze moves towards your closed bedroom door, feet following before your hand twists the doorknob and you’re engulfed in sunlight, blinking rapidly to adjust to the change in lighting.

Inside, the sight that greets you seems frozen in time, transporting you back in June to the last moments spent in this room, where you were running around to pack in a hurry. You don’t dare move, just taking it all in as memories flood your mind and make your heart ache in your chest, what still remains of it, anyway.

All of your stuff thrown around haphazardly painted a picture you didn’t enjoy, yet couldn’t look away from either. Your bed remained unmade, with piles of clothing, bags and random objects occupying all the space. Framed photographs were thrown everywhere around the room, just so they would stop glaring at you from their place on your nightstand, face down and most likely damaged by the broken glass. The vase on your dresser, which used to stand tall with beautiful, healthy flowers seemed to have lost its color, struggling to fulfil its purpose because of the dried, mouldy peonies you didn’t bother throwing out before leaving.

But what’s even worse than the mess is what tipped you over the edge back then, falling to your knees on the fluffy, white carpet as you sobbed uncontrollably – the things he left behind were still here, in the exact same spots, in pristine condition. Your room looked like it barely survived the hurricane that shared your name, yet his red cap was still resting quietly next to the flowers he got you. One of his sketchbooks, still opened on that drawing he never got to finish as he got too busy with school, was on the other nightstand, on his side of the bed. A pair of his dancing shoes were by the door, right next to your comfy slippers. They have been there for so long, that you couldn’t enter your room without tripping over them and be reminded of his presence every single time. Hell, you bet if you checked right now, his toothbrush will still be next to yours in the cute holder you bought together, his razor not far away.

There were traces of him everywhere you looked in this apartment, clothes and necessities he left behind on his many visits. Like his football jersey, lucky number 20, you’ve worn more times than him, hung in your open closet among empty hangers that barely held on.

It wasn’t fair, how you seemed to crumble along with everything around you while he, and his stupid things, remained intact. The world shattered beneath your feet, freefalling to your doom of self-doubts and regrets while he continued with his life like nothing even happened. Like you never happened; like you weren’t such a fundamental part in his life in the exact same way he was in yours.

Your ex boyfriend moved on in the blink of an eye, while you were still here, crying at the sight of a stupid toothbrush.

This will never be fair. Why did you always seem to draw the short end of the stick?

New beginnings were usually your favorite. Starting another book, turning a new leaf and switching up your wardrobe for a change, getting the inspiration for another song – these were all activities that brought you joy. Now, returning to campus at the end of summer vacation to begin another school year? For the first time since starting university two years ago, felt like an impossible task, one you weren’t ready for in the slightest. Because how could you ever be ready to start your junior year without him?

How could you possibly embark on a new journey without him holding your hand and guiding you through it all, navigating around every hardship with ease like he was the most experienced sailor in existence?

You had no answers, only questions. Too many that were also too loud, bouncing off of the sturdy walls of your mind that were threatening to crumble with every thud, remaining standing only thanks to the unbearable headaches that reminded you to take a break from all the overthinking.

Your mind went quiet as another voice made its presence known, bringing you back to the world outside your bedroom while shooing the dark cloud above your head out the window with ease.

“Oh my god, we lost the goddamn chair!”

A wet laugh escaped your lips, more tears rolling down your cheeks as you desperately tried to wipe them all before joining your friends in the living room. You weren’t stupid – they were worried. That’s why Seohyun was moving in, in the first place. To keep an eye on you at all times, when the other two couldn’t be there and provide the much needed support you craved so badly.

Not like they knew you were aware of their little plan, having them figured out from the moment they showed up at Chan’s doorstep in Australia, last month. They’ve been tiptoeing around you since then, not knowing what emotional state you were in or what’s changed or hasn’t in the two months you spent apart. Sure, Chris might have filled them in, but they were still afraid. Afraid they were going to mess up somehow and have you slipping through their fingers and shatter at any moment, like you were nothing more than a fragile package, all progress lost the second something that reminded you of him jumped into your path.

And, you hate to admit but they were right.

They failed to take into consideration that even though your ex never actually moved in, the apartment was his as much as it was yours, quickly becoming your shared home as you fell into a routine that involved the other at every step.

Your three close friends were the only people present, but all you could see was him, a ghost roaming around and haunting every corner of the house you now despised, his giggles caressing your ears gently every time you moved from one room to the other.

Just being here felt like torture. How were you supposed to spend another two years sleeping in the same bed you shared with the person you thought was going to be your forever?

“Sweetheart.” Chan’s gentle voice coaxes you out of the room as you manage to pull yourself together, no sign of crying or distress still present on your features. If anything, they looked worse than you, crestfallen and a little embarrassed.

“We have something to tell you.” Seohyun steps closer, gently taking your hands into hers and intertwining your fingers loosely.

Jisung nods and is by your side in a second, throwing an arm around your shoulders as he lowers his mouth to your ear. “Chris lost your new armchair.”

“What the fuck?!”

Your laughter joins theirs, a beat later, as Chris remains the only one standing there, arms crossed over his chest with his words falingl on deaf ears, nobody paying attention as he begins defending himself.

When you’re pulled into a warm embrace, with Jisung’s cologne enveloping all your senses, you can’t help but start wondering. Is this a good time to finally reveal you never actually ordered a new chair or…?

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

Saturday slipped away into a moment in time, and before you knew it, Sunday was upon you. Your last chance at relaxing before the craziness began, and you’d be thrust into a series of new projects, classes and assignments that were already giving you a headache.

Despite spending the previous night celebrating a new beginning with your best friends, having an intimate pizza party with karaoke and a little too much alcohol, you wake up bright and early to get to a previously made appointment. Usually, you wouldn’t go anywhere for the summer, for the first two months anyway. But since you flew out of the country as soon as your exams were over, you didn’t get to help the animal shelter you have been volunteering at since your first year. It left a hole in your heart, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel guilty for disappearing into thin air, with nothing more than a text sent to the owner to let her know you’ll be going away for a while.

Hopefully, they’re willing to forgive and forget and let you make up for it by spending the next two months as involved as possible.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Comes Chan’s groggy voice, still husky from all the singing he did last night, stumbling out of your spare bedroom with barely open eyes.

You startle, losing your balance while putting on your other shoe and crashing into the wall by the front door. You were hoping to make a swift escape and return before any of them rose since nobody in their right mind would willingly wake up this early.

He appears from around the corner, tank top slightly raised as he’s trying to scratch at his back. “You good?”

“Yep, everything’s just peachy.” Regaining your footing, you manage to put your shoe on and turn your back to him to get a jacket, feeling too awkward to make eye contact right now, which Chan would have laughed about if he wasn’t so sleepy.

“Where are you going?” He yawns, turning to squint at the clock on the far wall, above the couch. “It’s literally 7 am, too early to even be alive right now.”

For some reason, you hesitate to tell him, too out of it for your, and most definitely his liking. Being here was certainly not doing you any good, the walls closing in every time you tried to breathe and lift all the broken pieces of your stupid heart off of your lungs. It felt suffocating, especially when you were left alone with your thoughts as you zoned out one too many times.

Still, you mumble under your breath, reaching for your keys as silently as possible.

“Huh?”

With a sigh, you finally face him, eyes downcast. “Furry Friends Rescue.”

The smile that stretches across his features as he processes your words is so wide and contagious, it brightens up the whole room like he was somehow related to the sun itself, light radiating off of him in waves. It wakes him up instantly, and before you know it, he slips into a pair of slides left by the door and flies to his apartment.

You look after him, confused, and step into the hallway at the same time he does.

“Alright, let’s go!” He beams, locking his door before reaching for your arm softly. “I’ll drive you!”

“Wait, are you sure? I can – “

“Yes, I’m sure!” He frowns, shaking his head and pulling you after him with his newfound energy. “You love it there, and I know you already miss Berry. The least I can do is offer you a ride, are you kidding?”

You can’t help but smile at the mention of his puppy, spirits lifted in an instant. She was such a special little lady and you really bonded in these three months you’ve spent at his parents’ house.

Your parents never allowed you to have a pet, with your mom being allergic, so you did what you could to fill the space that remained constantly empty in your heart.

The drive there is full of laughter and even more singing, with Chris bringing back one of the activities you loved doing since he first got his license back in high school. Carpool karaoke has always been a must in his car, and that’s why you rode with Seohyun on your way back from the airport yesterday. You were a fool because nothing was quite as therapeutic as being silly and singing Disney songs at the top of your lungs with the only person who’s watched you grow into the adult you are today.

The drive to your destination isn’t long, but you still manage to squeeze in five songs before you get off and Chris speeds off. Only after wishing you a good day and making you promise you’ll call once you’re done so he can come pick you up, too. He was too kind, willing to do too much for you sometimes, but you were just the same. You’re afraid you might try moving the moon if he asked, one day.

Your annoying, overprotective brother who wasn’t really your brother, who’d push you into the pool before jumping in to save you in the same breath. He was such a guy.

Approaching with a prep to your step, the shelter’s surroundings have changed drastically since your last visit. The trees in the back have dyed their leaves in warm shades of orange and yellow, scattering some on the ground in hopes of attracting more pet lovers. A beautiful background always pulled people in, just like all pretty things did, and this autumn is particularly beautiful, with sights straight out of famous paintings. Seoul was truly a special city, one that’s nurtured and taught you the meaning of the word love that’s being thrown around too casually for your taste, these days. The city you grew up in, where you found your love for writing and composing, and where you met the most amazing people on this planet.

No other city could compare to your birthplace, no matter how pretty or modern it was.

Just as you make to try the door, with your apology speech all ready to go, it suddenly opens and forces you to take a few steps back in surprise.

“I’m sorry, we aren’t open yet.” The apology comes from a tall man, whose delicate features would have fooled you into believing he wasn’t older than a high schooler. Yet his physique begs to differ, you could tell even from beneath all the layers. He’s wearing the shelter’s apron with the logo you’ve had Jisung design a few years back. A new employee, perhaps? You don’t recognize him, so that’s most likely the case.

Your gaze travels upwards until it meets his brown eyes that fidget at the sudden contact. “Sorry, I’m here to see Mrs. Jeon?”

The stranger shakes his head, bleached blond hair hiding an undercut following his every move. “Mrs. Jeon is out of the country.”

You wait for him to continue, provide more details but when he doesn’t and only raises a brow that almost asks ‘what are you still doing here?’ you sigh and turn to leave. “Right. Will you please tell her Y/n has stopped by?”

“Wait, Y/n L/n?”

You turn right on your heel, both of your eyebrows raised as if to challenge his. “Do I know you?”

He brings his hands up, showing he means no harm as a smile finds his rosy lips, one you don’t truly grasp the meaning of. “No! But I know you.”

Alright, now you’re properly creeped out. Noticing the look on your face, the man quickly corrects himself, letting out an awkward laugh as he rubs the back of his head. “I’m sorry, I’m not good with strangers. Mrs. Jeon does! I was recruited in your place when you didn’t come back in June.”

Oh, so he was your replacement. Great. You had no idea you’d entered a race to see how fast people and places you frequented could replace you during the summer. Very motivating and uplifting. You should have stayed home.

“Oh.” Despite all the thoughts overlapping each other in your head, you only manage to sigh, properly exhausted.

His eyes widen slightly, and without thinking, he grasps your elbow when you turn around to leave for good. “Please do come in! Mrs. Jeon has been waiting to hear from you. She left a note.”

“A note?” When he nods, you shake off his hand and accept the invitation, stepping inside filled with curiosity.

All of the furry friends were in the back, in a separate space away from the reception. The place was modern, decorated in warm, pastel colors that seemed to welcome you with a fuzzy hug, the surroundings pristine. Furry Friends Rescue was built from the ground up by Mrs Jeon’s late husband, who passed away a few years back, right after you started volunteering here. To honor his life, she kept this place running, making it her mission to find loving homes for all the animals that were brought in, investing most of her resources into modernizing the place and treating the animals like they deserved to be treated.

The shelter housed a veterinary office and a pet salon, run by other volunteers who were experts in their fields, students alike and even working people who would come by to offer a helping hand whenever they could. Mr Jeon was a vet – he used to treat all of the animals before he fell sick and became unable to work.

Making his way around the reception desk, which truly resembled the entrance of a corporation, even with all the pet pictures plastered on all the walls, and the dog pattern on the couch, the man picks up a note that was next to the bone-shaped phone.

“Here.”

Your fingers brush his as you take the small paper from him, but you don’t pay any attention to the slight color that appears on his cheeks.

Dear Y/n,

I hope your precious heart managed to heal during your trip

What fitting words for someone who had no idea why you left in the first place. Guess Mrs. Jeon knew you better than you thought, after all.

If you’re reading this, it means I have not yet returned from visiting my grandbabies. It also means Jaemin is the one looking after the place

Please work together until I’m back. He’s a nice kid and I believe you’ll get along well

That is if you’re still willing to return. Always put yourself first. If quitting is what you think is best, just know I’ll never hold it against you

With love, grandma J

P.S. there’s a surprise on the other side 😊

Curious, you flip over the page, eyes scanning the familiar handwriting to decipher what has she left you. A giggle escapes you soon after, shaking your head with fondness spilling from your eyes at her antics. You’re glad that after everything she’s been through, Mrs. Jeon has never changed.

“Is something funny?” The guy you’ve come to learn is named Jaemin asks from the other side of the desk, head tilted slightly in wonder making him resemble an actual puppy.

You dismiss him with a wave of your wrist, pocketing the note. Mrs. J’s brownie recipe you could never get enough of wouldn’t interest him anyway.

“So, you’re Jaemin?” You finally ask, giving him a once-over. He was tall, wearing a denim-on-denim outfit and smiled a little too brightly for your liking. Still, he did look like a nice guy, so you might as well give him a chance, even if meeting someone knew was the last thing you wanted to do.

As expected, he beams, thrusting a hand forward over the desk. “That’s me! Nice to meet you, Y/n. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

You give him a small but genuine smile and shake his hand. “I’m a third year at SNU so I usually volunteer here during summer vacation. I hope we get along.”

He nods, listening to your every word. “Yeah, Mrs. Jeon mentioned we go to the same university. I’m a second year majoring in dance! I’m also a part of the football team so I apologize in advance if I ever end up leaving you here all alone when the season starts.”

Oh, what were the odds?

Your smile drops despite your effort in not reacting, retracting your hand a little too quickly while nodding and trying to act as normal as possible. “Cool.”

Turning around, you begin walking in the opposite direction to escape from this awkward situation Mrs. J has unknowingly put you in.

“Shall we go see the animals?”

He’s on your tail soon after, grabbing another apron on the way for you with that ever present sunny smile of his. Jaemin reminded you of a hyperactive puppy, a golden retriever who would do anything to make you happy, pulling silly stunts and stumbling over his own feet.

Turns out, his bright personality isn’t the only reason Mrs. J has hired Jaemin. You spend the next four hours together, taking care of the animals and talking, to your surprise. They all seemed to love him already, causing a ruckus at the mere sight of him, excited to be let out and greet you both properly.  The puppies especially as they’d run back and forth from you to him without stopping for a while, barely managing to bottle feed them in their excitement. Jaemin was nice, and easy to talk to, happy to get to know you but also talk your ear off when sensing you might need a laugh, managing to make everything funny. A great pick me up, you ended up agreeing with Mrs J’s statement – he was a good guy, the best that could have replaced you and helped her and all the staff in your absence.

For some reason, he felt comfortable opening up to you, and in turn, you told him some things about yourself too.

“What made you want to volunteer here?” He suddenly asks while cradling a noisy kitten, the sight comical.

You barely think before answering, gaze still trained on the bichon that has fallen asleep in your lap while you were brushing her. “I wasn’t allowed to have pets growing up, and I’ve always loved them. I was lucky my best friend had the most adorable puppy in the world right next door, but it wasn’t the same as owning one, you know?”

Jaemin nods, finally calming the kitten, eyes on you. “Oh, that sucks. I couldn’t imagine life without my two babies at home.”

You look up, curious. “You have dogs?”

“Two cats.” He throws a peace sign, chuckling when you smile. “I’m from Busan, so I only get to see them on holidays. I thought coming here and helping out four days a week might help me miss them less.”

“And? Does it help?” You point to the kitten that has fallen asleep in his arms, head crocked to the side weirdly. Looking down, he laughs and sets her in his lap, using his knuckles to gently pet between her ears, one of his hands as big as her whole body.

“It does, actually.” He smiles absentmindedly, most likely reminiscing about his fur babies. “But only momentarily. When I’m back in my dorm room, I still feel their absence.”

“I’m sorry.” Is all you say, a deep pang of sadness hitting you out of nowhere. You guess this is how Chris and Jisung feel as well, both away from their respective dogs they’ve more or less grown up with.

Jaemin shakes his head, still smiling and not as sad as you’d thought he’d be. “None of that. I facetime my mom every night just to see them.”

“That’s cute.” A smile finds its way on your face as you imagine him using the same baby voice he uses with the animals here on the phone with his mom, cooing at his cats.

“You’re cute.”

An uncharacteristic silence falls upon you as Jaemin searches for your gaze, dying to understand your reaction. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just weird, making you feel like you were doing something wrong. Which made no sense. Jisung and Chan called you cute all the time; not out of nowhere, but when the moment was right. Heck, Seohyun would write entire pages praising your beauty whenever you posted on Instagram – you knew you were cute. But this was different, this was someone that meant it romantically, you could tell. He was flirting with you, shooting his shot and seeing where it landed.

That wasn’t something you could reciprocate, especially not now.

When he notices the look in your eyes, the storm brewing behind them, he adds. “I was talking about Belle over there.”

You look down at Belle, the fluffy bichon in your lap, who is currently sleeping soundly on her back, tummy up and randomly kicking her feet once in a while, dreamland surely rowdy.

“Shut up.” You laugh a moment later, appreciating how fast he took the hint and backed off, leaning over to softly push him on the doggy mats, to which he pretends to fall just for your amusement.

With that out of the way, things return to normal quickly and before you know it, the other volunteers arrive and you’re biding Jaemin goodbye and going on your merry way, back to your apartment.

It’s afternoon now, hopefully your friends are awake by now.

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

They were in fact, not awake. Jisung just moved himself from the spare bedroom he shared with Chris for the night to the living room couch to sleep some more, without having to deal with the other’s snoring. Seohyun was buried in your blanket, hiding from the world, in the same position she was in when you left that morning.

Like it or not, it seems their bodies were incapable of pulling all-nighters after doing it for so many years without suffering the day after. Hopefully, you all manage to fix your sleep schedules before your classes start properly, not wanting to miss too many and be left behind, confused out of your minds and barely figuring it out by the time exam season rolls around.

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

“I’m sleepy.” Seohyun complains, reaching up to rub her eyes before remembering the pretty eyeliner currently gracing her eyelids and stopping at the last second, groaning.

You giggle, full of energy from the coffee Chris made sure got into your system before your first class, swirling the ice in your cup absentmindedly, mind somewhere else.

Busy on his phone, he doesn’t even look up as he responds. “You barely made it to class this morning and you’re still complaining?”

Monday, 10:15 am. Your first class of the day officially ended fifteen minutes ago and as you’ve been doing for two years now, your friend group meet up at your favorite location, the diner closest to campus that has become some sort of sanctuary by now.

Seohyun was majoring in communication so she did not share your classes yet somehow, the four of you have started the new school year in the same way – with a boring, way too long 8 am lecture that almost erased your will to live.

She shoots him a dirty look he doesn’t notice, but otherwise doesn’t respond, too tired to bother with Chris and his top student agenda. Because being popular, good at sports and everyone’s friend wasn’t enough for him; your best friend was the academic weapon every freshman aspired to be, without trying too hard either. Hands down the most gifted and smartest person you know.

“You did go to bed super late last night.” You reach for her hand across the table, gently massaging her palm in hopes she’ll feel a bit better.

Just then, Jisung returns with your drinks, handing them out one by one like he was a barista himself. When he’s done and you all thank him, he takes his seat across from you and Chris, next to Seohyun. “What did I miss?”

“Seohyun was complaining.” Chris responds instantly, fingers typing away. What could be more interesting than spending time with your closest friends?

“Oh, so nothing new.”

At the same time, you softly smack the back of Chris’ head while she smacks Jisung, with a little more force, only the latter reacting loudly.

“Stop being mean.” You reprimand, and Chris puts his phone down with a sigh, leaning back in his chair to stretch his arms above his head.

“For your information, being late was not my fault.” Seohyun chimes in, finally in the mood to explain herself after taking several sips of her coffee. “This random guy ran straight into me, I was tackled to the ground!”

Concern flashes over your features. “Are you okay?”

She nods. “Yeah, don’t worry. He helped me up and gathered all of my books while apologizing. Then I met up with Ji and he carried my bag to class.”

Both you and Chris shoot Jisung a curious look, not convinced he went through all of that trouble out of the kindness of his own heart.

“In my defense,” Jisung shrugs, his arm thrown over the booth behind Seohyun’s head, “I really did not want to come to class.”

Chris chuckles and sips from his strawberry milkshake while you shake your head, smiling and pinching the back of Jisung’s hand that was resting on the table, to which he retaliates by throwing the straw paper in your face.

“To be honest, I wasn’t paying attention either so he’s not entirely to blame here.” She continues like neither of you has said anything, resting her head in her palm with a dreamy look in her eyes. “Besides, he was fucking gorgeous. I swear I’ve never seen such a beautiful man before. And his freckles? Literal constellations right on his cheeks, oh my god.”

“Okay, Juliet, pipe down.” Jisung flicks her forehead and she swats his hand away, glaring.

Amused, you lean closer with interest. “Did you get his name?”

She shakes her head. “No” Then, her gaze moves to Chris. “That’s why, I need you to find him for me.”

Raising a brow, he reaches for your drink to have a taste before responding. “What am I, the local newspaper? You’re the one who bumped into him.”

“Yes, but you literally know everyone on campus.”

He makes a face, deeming your drink too bitter for his taste. “So do you.”

That was true. Seohyun was the definition of a social butterfly, mingling with all cliques and being liked by everyone she came into contact with. However, she was also very perceptive so if someone’s vibe seemed off, she could come across as cold and aloof, not giving them the time of day.

“Please?” She continues, resorting to the infamous puppy eyes. “This guy might be the love of my life, Chris, please help me.”

“What about Mark?” Jisung buts in, giving her a questioning look. Immediately, you and Chris signal for him to cut it out, abort the ship and never utter that name for as long as he draws breath.

Seohyun’s gaze drops to her cup, manicured finger moving back and forth on the edge, pretending she didn’t hear any of the words that have left Jisung’s mouth. To his credit, Jisung looks a little guilty, arm sliding over her shoulder and squeezing briefly in a silent apology, hoping it will be enough to fix things.

The probability of this mystery guy being the love of her life was low, but Chris seemed to feel bad enough to give in, exhaling deeply. Seohyun’s track record wasn’t great – for some reason, she always fell for emotionally unavailable guys, with her latest situationship ending not too long ago once she realized Mark did not want anything serious.

She didn’t deserve all that. Seohyun was the sweetest, kindest person you knew, with a heart of gold. If anyone deserved to find true love and grow old with rosy cheeks, still feeling butterflies at the mention of her beloved’s name no matter how many years passed, it was her. And you’d be damned if you didn’t try to make that happen.

“Let’s find this pretty boy of yours.” You smile as Chris nods, enjoying the way her face gradually lights up.

“Really?”

“I’d feel like I kicked a puppy while it was down if I didn’t, so what the hell. We’ve done crazier things anyways.” Chris adds and she squeals, getting out of the booth to come over and hug him, suddenly excited.

“Oh!” She rushes back to her seat, instantly rummaging through her bag. “This is his. I think it got mixed up with my books when I dropped them. He was in a hurry.”

The three of you huddle together as she places a small notebook on the table, curious about its contents that might reveal the identity of Seohyun’s prospective new…something. Let’s hope boyfriend, and nobody that treats her less than that.

Chris is the one who dares open it, flipping through the pages in wonder.

“These are…recipes?” He blinks, drawing a blank as the measurements for the perfect ‘gooey brownies’ stare him right in the face.

None of you says anything for a moment, the gears in your head turning and working simultaneously before Jisung breaks the silence with an unexpected outburst.

“Oh my god, he’s a fucking loser!”

Safe to say, he got smacked a couple more times before your next class of the day. Lovingly, of course.

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

With everyone promising to ask around for Seohyun’s prince charming, you go on with your day until your last class, when you established to meet again for a little get together with all of your other friends.

The sun was starting to set, casting a warm, golden hue that extended throughout the whole campus, creating mesmerizing surroundings you could barely look away from. Thankfully by now, you’re outside, enjoying the warm breeze and nice weather that might not return any time soon as the days will only continue to get shorter and shorter as time passes.

You’re currently near the football field, cutting through near the bleachers to get to the other side where Chris and his swimming team are currently meeting. Seohyun is skipping a few feet in front of you, obviously in good spirits.

“Didn’t know Chris needed a chaperone.” She teases, turning to you with a smile as she starts walking backwards.

You chuckle. “Well, he is our ride.”

“We could have walked.” She stretches her arms as if to prove a point. “It’s such a beautiful day! It’s a shame we have to miss out on the rest of it, too.”

You were on your way to a bar, a new one that opened all the way in Hongdae. The owner has invited 3racha, Chris and Jisung’s music group personally, so it would be rude to not show up, even if you did share her sentiment. If it were up to you, you’d be in bed, snuggling already, but your friends have made it a point to keep you out of the house as much as possible.

“Just say thank you, Seohyun.”

“Thank you, Seohyun, for being the hottest girl around!”

You both laugh, enjoying each other’s company before she turns back around and resumes her skipping, long, bleached hair flowing freely behind her in the prettiest way. As you reach for your phone to record her for memories, a speck of red gets your attention in an instant.

You keep walking but your eyes are glued to the field now, to the eight or so guys dressed in the white and red uniform of your university’s American football team. Your heart rate picks up in an instant, scanning their jersey numbers in a hurry.

Relief floods your system when you don’t find what you’re looking for, slowing down. These guys looked young, most likely freshmen trying out for a spot in the most famous football team your university has had in years. You didn’t know how that worked, your memory failed you as you tried to remember when tryouts took place. It seemed a little too early for all that though, too soon to be looking for new people when the season kicked off somewhere in October, a good month and a half away. You couldn’t help but wonder why the hurry.

“Y/n! Watch out!”

Seohyun’s screaming startles you out of your thoughts, your eyes coming into focus to see a football flying right in your direction, quickly approaching your head. Before you know it, you’re ducking and running, feeling bad for snoozing and interfering with practice. Of course, this had to happen, you were cursed after all. You could never be near a sports field without something hitting you, no matter how small or insignificant the object, it always had to make contact with your face.

However, you don’t make it very far before you come to an abrupt stop as you collide with something or better said, someone, the impact causing you to stumble a few steps back until rough, gloved hands stabilize you by the shoulders.

When you regain your footing and finally look up at your saviour, your heart actually stops.

Because the one looking back, right through you is none other than Hyunjin. Your Hyunjin.

Or actually, he wasn’t yours anymore, now, was he?

Hyunjin who’s written his name across your heart in golden letters, that suddenly lit up at the mere sight of him. Your ex-boyfriend looked almost unrecognizable, his short black hair replaced by long, bleached locks that were pushed back, away from his face in a little ponytail.

You were a fool to think he wouldn’t be here. He was the captain after all and the coach was nowhere in sight.

The air wasn’t entering your lungs anymore, yet somehow you were still breathing, being kept afloat by his familiar hands on your skin, so overly conscious of his touch that you barely registered the shiver running down your spine.

After three months apart with no communication, Hyunjin was finally looking at you, forced to acknowledge your presence. It felt a little surreal, bumping into him so soon. Sure, you were expecting it, but not on your very first day back to campus, not when you still haven’t processed the fact that you weren’t together anymore. Everything in you longed for him and all his endearing quirks, even after all this time; even after he broke your heart.

You don’t dare look away, and neither does he, enthralled by those beautiful eyes of his that used to watch your every move with so much love and care. Now, you don’t see any of these emotions, but there is an intensity to his gaze that you can’t quite put your finger on. Time always seemed to come to a stop when you were with him and right now it was no different. All of your surroundings faded, leaving him the sole object of your attention.

There was a new piercing adorning his face, right under his bleached eyebrow. It looked good, like everything he deemed worthy enough to leave a mark on his body. But that wasn’t what got your heart beating again, pounding against your ribcage at an alarming pace he was sure to hear even from afar.

Without looking away, his hands slide down your arms slowly, and for a brief moment, you think they’re going to find solace in yours, just like they’ve done for all these years. By the surprise flickering in his eyes, you believe he thought of the same thing, catching himself at the last second and taking a step back, arms falling to his side heavily.

“Yo, what the fuck was that?” A new voice has you both snapping out of it, finally allowing you to look away and escape the staring war neither had the resources to win. It’s familiar, and as someone stops right by your side, seemingly out of nowhere, there’s no doubt in your mind about his identity.

“Y/n, are you okay?

You blink, and the magic from before finally dissipates completely, almost like the spell Hyunjin has got you under broke the moment he made himself busy by reaching for his helmet on the ground. When you manage to tear your eyes from him, Yeonjun, one of his friends and teammates, comes into view and places a hand on your shoulder in concern. The ball that almost collided with your head is under his other arm, and you notice that he’s not wearing his gloves as he should be.

Eventually, you nod, looking straight into his eyes while mustering your most convincing smile. “Yeah, don’t worry. Nothing even happened.”

“It almost did.” He states, glaring towards the group of men who seemed glued on the spot. “If it weren’t for Hyunjin, things might have ended badly.”

You look away, not knowing how to act around them anymore. Hyunjin doesn’t respond either, just moves out of the way as Seohyun sprints to your rescue, pulling your body into the tightest hug and putting some distance between you and the two men.

“Are you okay? You’re not hurt anywhere, right?” She’s instantly checking you all over, dusting invisible dirt off your clothes before patting your head lovingly, just like a mother would do to comfort her sobbing child. Truthfully speaking, you weren’t far from turning into one, but the mortification of bursting into tears in front of all these people kept your emotions in check. You reckon a football to the face would have hurt less than having Hyunjin treat you like a stranger he’s meeting for the first time, barely reacting to your sudden appearance.

In hindsight, him reacting differently was almost impossible. Especially in the way you’d want him to react. Hyunjin had changed right before your very eyes in the last months before your relationship ended, burying his sweet and sensitive nature so deep down that you feared it might have gotten erased permanently.

Grasping her hands, you nod to calm her racing mind. “I’m fine, mom.” Then, you turn to Yeonjun again. “Sorry for interrupting practice like that. I should have been more careful.”

You hear Hyunjin scoff from somewhere behind you, still not brave enough to show his face, while Yeonjun shakes his head vehemently. “Nonsense. You did nothing wrong. Those guys though? They did plenty.”

He squeezes your shoulder reassuringly before excusing himself to join said guys, voice loud and annoyed. “Who were you passing that to? Are you fucking blind or just stupid?”

Yeonjun had no authority over them, not like Hyunjin did anyway. But he was still a seasoned player, one that’s been with the team for two years, so his words carried significant weight. He was a year older than all of you yet only decided to give football a chance in his second year, joining the team at the same time as Hyunjin. Their roles on the team were the opposite of each other – while Hyunjin was on the offensive, Yeonjun was a defensive player in charge of keeping the other team as far away as possible. Yet, they clicked and worked so well together that the probability of SNU losing a game with both of them present was close to none.

Bonding outside the field proved just as easy and before you knew it, Yeonjun became one of Hyunjin’s treasured friends, bringing their envied teamwork to more events than necessary.

For these guys to have a chance before the coach, they first needed to impress these two. And one thing about Hyunjin was that he was very hard to impress, especially in the areas he excelled in.

Your eyes naturally gravitate towards him along with your thoughts, his magnetic field still as strong as always. To your utter surprise, he moved to stand a little further away, facing his potential new teammates.

“Who threw that?”

The sound of his voice alone is enough to overwhelm you, suddenly way too emotional to keep still, to manage to keep your cool and act as nonchalant as he was. You haven’t heard that voice in so long, you’re sure you’d have collapsed if he as much as uttered your name.

Your name on his tongue has always been your favorite sound, no other word ever coming close to having that same effect.

Sheepishly, one of the guys steps forward while rubbing the back of their necks, visibly taken aback by the coldness in Hyunjin’s voice.

Hyunjin’s eyes narrow just as Seohyun links her arm through yours and tugs your body closer.

“Apologize.”

“Yes, captain!” He nods instantly, bowing repeatedly in Hyunjin’s direction to show exactly how sorry he feels for disappointing him. “I’m –“

“Not to me.” Hyunjin crosses his arms over wide chest, shoulder blade plates making him look even more intimidating as he stands to his full height, rolling his eyes. “To her.”

Your eyes widen as the guy looks up, searching for you with confusion visible even through his big helmet. Hesitantly, he changes targets, stopping before you and Seohyun.

“Hyunjin – “ You manage to squeak out, hating the way your voice almost gets caught in your throat, heat rushing to your face.

“Let him apologize.” His gaze travels to you leisurely, impatience clear in usual doe eyes.

But you aren’t far behind, a little annoyed by his insistence, managing to pull yourself together to counter. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“And last I checked, I didn’t ask for your opinion.” As quick-witted as always, Hyunjin isn’t even looking at you anymore, not bothering to react in any other way, like you weren’t even worth getting annoyed at. “He made a mistake that under normal circumstances, could have cost us the game. He needs to own up to it and apologize not only to you but to his teammates as well.”

Then, the guy seems to get smaller under his sharp gaze, instantly dropping into a deep bow and obeying Hyunjin’s words to a T. “I’m so sorry for throwing the ball in your direction!” In the next second, he’s spinning around and bowing to the other guys as Seohyun struggles to keep in her laughter at his next words. “I’m sorry for being an idiot!”

To his credit, Hyunjin hasn’t addressed him as such, always one to keep things professional. Yet, you notice the slight twitch of his mouth, obviously pleased and amused as Yeonjun bursts out laughing.

The guys bow in return, and suddenly they’re all shouting apologies at each other, owning up to all of the little mistakes they’ve made up until now that might’ve inconvenienced the other in some way, feeling bad for possibly giving anyone a hard time.

Not being able to hold it in anymore, your best friend almost collapses from laughter, needing to walk it off to calm down, only to start again as she locks eyes with Yeonjun a little farther away.

You’re so taken aback that you don’t even know how to react, watching the scene before you as flabbergasted as one could get. It was wholesome to see these kids already acting like a team but a part of you couldn’t help but feel bad once it remembered none might actually get to play and represent their university on the field. Hyunjin was trying to instil some discipline into them, but at what cost? What was the point?

Just as you’re contemplating everything that happened, the eight guys suddenly stop and turn to bow in Hyunjin’s direction as well, apologizing at the same time like it’s an activity they’ve rehearsed beforehand. It gets quiet as they wait for an answer, not even daring to raise their heads and see Hyunjin’s reaction, just patiently waiting for the go ahead so they can go back to practice.

Since when was Hyunjin running this team like the fucking marines?

Despite not looking at him, when Hyunjin nods they all stand to their full heights before him, awaiting further instructions. The mood shifts, all tense and serious like they weren’t sweet and wholesome just a moment ago.

“Since none of you seem able to handle one of these yet,” he barely finishes his sentence before Yeonjun passes him the ball, catching it with ease to hold up for the others to see. It all happened so quickly and naturally, that the others most likely didn’t notice, but you did. Hyunjin isn’t using his dominant hand. “you’ll be running laps until the coach gets here. Whoever is not up for it, drop your gears – you’re out.”

You’re expecting complaints and groans in protest but instead, they all nod and succumb to their miserable fates, doing exactly what Hyunjin has instructed. A little further away, you notice Yeonjun laughing without shame, having a blast at their expense.

“Asshole.” Seohyun murmurs, rolling her eyes, and you’re unsure who she’s talking about. “Let’s go. Any more time and Chris will send his speedo wearing army out in the wild to look for us.”

You want to laugh, to agree, and turn your back on this incident and leave without a word. But you can’t, feet lodged into place like you were standing on the biggest patch of mud around.

Hyunjin’s back was already to you, form cladded in that familiar uniform you’ve felt under your fingertips for years. The 20 under his surname written in capital letters on his jersey were almost mocking you, mad for holding their twin hostage in your mess of a closet. It doesn’t matter – in a month or so, they’ll be replaced in favour of a new design that comes around every new season. Just like your presence in his life will inevitably be filled by someone else; someone better, capable of loving him at his worst.

You had so much to say, so many words eager to escape and latch onto him, to get his attention and feed from it, growing bolder and more desperate with every second spent by his side. Hyunjin always brought the best out of you – until he broke things off. Then everything just came to a stop. Like someone lifted the stylus off of a vinyl before the song got the chance to come to an end, damaging the record and your ears in the process.

You loved music but suddenly, your life was quiet.

Hyunjin has been your muse for the entirety of your relationship, all of your songs based on him and the love that managed to blossom thanks to your shared effort. The butterflies and the fireworks all faded without a trace, making your music sound bland and meaningless, off-key since the one who inspired it was no longer there.

You wanted to call out his name, get him to stop and not leave you behind again but you didn’t know how, unable to without bursting into tears and breaking down for everyone to see. Hyunjin has been a part of your life for so many years, how were you ever supposed to start acting like he never was? Erasing him and the mark he left would surely be impossible without a potion of sorts, some Eternal Sunshine mechanism that will ensure your brain will be tricked into believing he was never here, to begin with.

Seohyun is off to the side, giving you the space needed to put your thoughts in order, for your next move. This was your chance, the moment you’ve been waiting for.

But you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t run after him no matter how loudly your heart was screaming in protest.

So, you turn around and latch onto your best friend as she begins pulling you along, quick to come to your rescue as always. Struggling to keep it together, with tears welling up in your eyes, you miss the way he turns to look in your direction one more time. One last time.

You’ve always believed Hyunjin was the love of your life, the one you’d grow old holding hands with.

Now, your perspective has changed, as did the main character role he has played in your story for the past five years. No longer was he the charming male lead, the prince coming in on a white horse to swoop you off your feet in a grand gesture of romance.

Hyunjin was the loss of your life. The one that managed to get away even with the tight grip you’ve tried to keep on his heart.

Hyunjin transformed into a background character that won’t be there for the ride, and won’t get to witness the new developments happening from now on in your life.

You would have rather been the one written off the story if it meant keeping him. Unfortunately, that was not a possibility since without you, there wouldn’t be a story to begin with.

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

[yeonniesblog]

Kuroo x reader x oikawa

Synopsis : After years spent by a certain setter along with a small toddler mending you heart, your life was a just like a blissful movie with a happy ending. But little did you know the person who gave you not only the worst years of your life but also the small ball of sunshine, decided to suddenly make a appearance in your fairytale when fate played a wild

reader's note : this is the last chapter, make sure to read it in order! Sorry for the angst hehe.

Part 1 : meeting you again | Part 2 : wouldn't you | Part 3 : broken promises | Part 4 : where it all went wrong | Part 5 : enough for now (current one)

“she is a fucking psycopath” kenma sighs, putting the car in reverse as he pulls up in his driveway, eyes fixated on the rear view as kuroo watches the irriated expression on his face.

“dude, chill I know you hate kizumi, but I might marry her” kuroo sips his coffee as he lets out a shallow grunt in annoyance too, what was he doing in life.

“no, just think about it, she specifically asked for the ring you bought to propose to y/n, when she knows you could afford to give her much expensive one right now, but, again I repeat. she asked specifically for that ring, only”

the black hair man groans at the explanation, he knows his friend has a point, but he is trying to gaslight himself into believing whatever kizumi explained to him. “i think she just likes it, she was the one who chose it too, all those years ago—” and before kuroo could finish his sentence, the half blonde cuts him off, swiftly taking out his phone from his pocket and muttering something to it “siri, how do you block people in real life”

“yeah, okay, this is a kuroo hate club, I get it” the man sighs, propping his head back on the headrest, closing his eyes. “honestly I know her behavior is weird, but I’m in a tight spot, my only left family is nagging me to marry her, and you know I could care less about marriage” he pauses taking a deep breath. “dad is legit emotionally blackmailing me, sitting at his stupid hospital bed probably faking his disease”

“they want you to marry, doesn't necessarily have to be her” kenma suggests, opening the seatbelt around him. “i cannot marry a stranger, kizumi is a better option, we have been dating on and off for one year” the rooster haired man replies, honestly he really wants to jump off a cliff, but he will suppress the impulsive urges.

“as a rebutal to that, one thing you said was right” kenma sighs finally looking at his friend, kuroo looks tired, or is aged that appropriate word. “her behavior is weird, it's like she has more attachment to y/n than you, she is insecure as fuck of her. you, me and her, we all know she won't ever level up to the place y/n has in your heart, so she trying to become her, its giving me chills” kenma shudders at that thought, physically gagging.

“do you think it's too late for me to get a therapist?” with that kuroo tetsuro groans one more time.

kuroo sits quietly, hands clasped, looking up with hesitant eyes as he watches you put your purse on the table, stoice face, yet so pretty.

he really meant it when he said you got more gorgeous over the years, there were few lines now adorning your face, mature and elegant glow.

even if he sometimes wonders if it would have been better if you both never met at all, if it would have been better if neither of you had to go through the heartbreak, but he knows,

if there was a spell to go back in time, to where he met you, he would do the same thing. he would make a silly chemistry joke and wait for you to laugh at it, not because it was funny, no it was because it was so bad you laughed at it, it was his fault wasn’t it?

to loose the most precious thing in his life, did you feel worse than him, it wasn't a question, nor a comparison, he wanted to know because he will never forget or forgive himself to give you so much pain over the year.

what did you name the kid? did oikawa tooru’ see how your son took the first steps, was he the one who got called father first, what's his favorite food, does he have a birth mark, does he like volleyball? is your son’ tastes similar to what is his? Just like how he saw the little kid adorning your homely baked goods, similar to what he himself used to do.

it pains him, physically pains him to know he wasn't there for anything, he wasn't there to make you food, hold your hair while you threw up during you morning sickness, not hold your hand while you went into labour, he wasn't part of any of it, six years sometimes means nothing and yet to him, now, it means everything, it means every important thing he lost.

“you don't know how much draining this is for me, to be talking to you, or as a matter of fact to talk about what happened, cause honestly you deserve nothing, not the explanation, not to meet me or ruko” you break the silence first, firmly sitting at your place.

and kuroo wishes he could repent on all the thing you said but the only thought in his mind is what you named your son “his name is ruko?”

“his name is oikawa saruko” you firmly state, a small smile tugging at you lips, you were proud your kid had a father like oikawa, cause you can't imagine anyone else being a better father than him.

tetsuro has never wanted to be in someone else's place as much as he wants to be oikawa now, he sighs at your words. “why didn't you tell me, I would get it if you wanted to get away from me, but don't you think I deserved to know the kid was mine?” his voice quivering as he asks you the question, a weird pang in his chest.

“i tried, I tried so many times” your voice quivers slightly “why do you think I asked for your opinion to have a kid?” that silents the man infront of you, his pupil dilated as he realizes how he explained it, and how it sounded like a definite ‘no” from his side.

“not to mention, even after that I was going to tell you, with my parents kuroo and you didn't show up” he relishes at how defeated he feels when you don't even call him by his first name, so the announcement when you called him was with your parents? his legs tenses up and he stops shaking them.

“i know I don't have any excuse but you know there was a storm that night—”

“yet you left me all alone in that storm, tetsuro” his heart breaks into million pieces, do you even know how much he just wants to pull you close and cry, stain your shirt with his tears of sorrow that he made a mistake and couldn't be in your presence and of joy because after years he was able to see you.

“i—y/n” he tries to put his hands over yours but you are swift to pull away, he knows a million reasons of why your reflex action was right, yet he can't help but feel his throat becoming dry “i’m sorry, I assumed you were with your parents, I had no idea, my phone was dead”

“how can you still lie to me?” your voice croaks, finally looking straight into his eyes, you really don't want to care for whatever his action was or what he did but you can't help but feel wronged.

“what do you mean lie?”

“so your phone was dead enough to not respond to my texts but it was working when you reposted on social media with your now girlfriend, her friends commenting how cute you both looked” you scoff pausing in disbelief “or should I say fiance”

“whatever are you sayi-” then it clicks, it suddenly clicks how kizumi’s friend has always shipped him with her, despite knowing he has a girlfriend, despite him saying he doesn't appreciate it, that it straight up makes him uncomfortable.

how kizumi knew, that your birthdate was his password to Instagram, he remembers her saying it was so cute, its laughable to think how dumb he has been, how could he not notice her intention. but he wishes you told him, he wishes he could have cleared off the last misunderstanding and if he could take it all back he would.

hell, he would never breath the same air as kizumi if he could go back in time and fix things. but he cannot, all he has is regret and all he can do his atone for his mistake, he was hoping you'd be kind enough to let him see his son, he hasn't been a great partner but he sure as heck wants to have some influence in your son’s life—

after all, it was a part of you and him, back then if he actually heard you were pregnant he'd probably be scared as shit, but he would still fight every odds to raise the kid you made, how could he ever resent a mini you, kuroo knows he has no right to feel wronged but all those years without the little guy or even acknowledgment of his existence makes feel burnt.

his lips shaky and he doesn't know if a explanation would even help at this point, nothing would change and even if kizumi was in wrong– so was he though. his mouth ran before he could know.

he looks up at her. “I know you don’t owe me anything, but there’s something you need to hear" your eyes held anger and he was scared of that, he wanted to scream please forgive me, over and over again in a chant but he knew he didn't deserve your forgiveness.

you crossed your arms, wary but patient. you had no idea how you still held on. but they say but they say old habits die hard, and even after six year you had the same patience for him, you wanted to laugh at yourself “Go on.”

“It was Kizumi,” he begins, voice low but firm. “She… she’s the reason things fell apart. She was jealous of you, of what we had. She deleted your texts that night—the ones you sent me about the announcement. She posted on my social media to make it look like I was with her. And she—”

"You didn't know?" your eyes widened and you had no idea how to feel after hearing that, conflicted feeling filled your lungs and the wall of resolve you have solidified getting cracks of doubt in them, but you remained firm.

“No,” Kuroo says quickly, his voice thick with regret. “I was blind, stupid, and I didn’t see what was happening. I let her control too much. I thought I could trust her. But I swear, if I’d known—” He stops, realizing that no matter what he says, it won’t erase the past.

you stare at him, your face unreadable, but there was turmoil behind your eyes “So, you’re saying it was all her fault?”

“No. No..no.” Kuroo says firmly, shaking his head. “It was my fault too. I let her into my life, I didn’t listen to you, and I didn’t fight for you when it mattered. That’s on me. I just… I need you to know that I didn’t abandon you on purpose.”

you exhale slowly, looking down at you cup, a closure huh? but what does that change ? you know oikawa is much more important to you now, nothing could change that, nothing could make you ever abandon the perfect family you have right now. “I believe you, Tetsuro. But that doesn’t change what happened. You weren’t there when I needed you, and I had to pick up the pieces alone. Oikawa was there. He’s been there for me and for Ruko.”

even if there is a shaky heartbeat you feel around your past lover you know it was not meant to be. there are so many things unsaid and there will be so many things which will be, you are a mom now and you could never be an careless one. and as much as tears were welling up in your eyes for what could have been, you won't risk anything for what it is now.

Kuroo swallows the lump in his throat. “I know. And I’m glad he’s been good to you both. I just… I missed so much, Y/N. I want to know him. I know I don’t deserve it, but I want to try.”

bonus scene

Kuroo sits on a bench, watching from a distance as you and Oikawa playing with your son, Ruko. The boy—his son, biologically—has Oikawa’s mannerisms but your smile. Kuroo’s chest tightens as he watches the little boy stumble, only for Oikawa to sweep him up, spinning him around while you laugh.

They look like a family. They are a family

Kuroo thinks to himself, maybe this could have been you both if he wasn't consumed by the thought that you both would also be horrible parents much like your families.

you notice him then, your gaze meeting his. There’s no anger in your eyes anymore, just a quiet understanding. you approach him cautiously, arms crossed. “You’re here,” you speak, trying to keep your tone neutral.

“I just wanted to see him,” Kuroo admits. “I won’t interfere much. I just… needed to see him.”

You sit beside him, keeping a respectful distance. “He’s happy, you know. Oikawa’s a good father. He loves Ruko like he’s his own.” and that breaks kuroo's heart, as much as he tries to look positively at this. He can't help but feel his heart become empty, can't help but wish to be where oikawa is right now in your life.

Kuroo nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I can see that. He’s a lucky kid.” you glance at him, your expression softening. “I know the truth now, about Kizumi. About what happened. I’m… sorry you were caught in that.”

“I’m sorry too,” Kuroo says, his voice breaking. He knows it's not enough but all he can do is regret it over and over again. “For everything. For not being there, for letting you down. I should’ve fought harder for us.” you look away, your gaze fixed on Oikawa and Ruko. “Maybe. But it’s too late now, Tetsuro. We’ve both moved on.” and he feels a bit happy, you used his first name, God he is so pathetic

“I know,” he whispers, his heart breaking all over again. “But I’ll never stop wishing I could go back and do it right.” and before you are able to say anything you notice a small figure approaching you, you feel at ease when you notice it's your son, oikawa stood a bit away, he felt protective over you both but he doesn't want to snatch away the closure you deserve, and he can't snatch away ruko from his biological dad. so he stays silent cause he knows ruko would pick him for sure, he loves the little guy to death after all.

“Ruko, this is… this is Tetsuro,” you say gently, getting up from the bench only to kneel beside your son.

The boy looks up, curious but cautious. “Hi,” he says softly, clutching his toy dinosaur.

Kuroo crouches down, his heart aching as he gets his first close look at his son. Ruko has Y/N’s eyes and his messy black hair. He smiles faintly. “Hey, buddy. That’s a cool dinosaur you’ve got there. What’s his name?”

“Cupcake,” Ruko replies, holding it up proudly.For a moment, Kuroo wants to giggle, pondering why a dinosaur would be named Cupcake, but he holds back, his lips twitching into a soft smile. “Cupcake, huh? That’s a pretty unique name. Why’d you pick it?”

Ruko beams, his small chest puffing up with excitement. “Well—it’s not weird, okay? It’s ’cause I love dinosaurs and I love Mom’s handmade cupcakes, so I mixed two favorite things at once!”

Kuroo freezes for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. Cupcakes. His gaze flickers briefly to you, you who look away, your expression unreadable. He remembers countless nights when he’d come over to your place, exhausted from work or practice, and the smell of your freshly baked cupcakes would make him feel like he was home. They were his favorite—a sweet, simple treat that reminded him of your warmth.

And now, their son shares that same love.“That’s… that’s actually genius,” Kuroo finally says, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Cupcake is the perfect name for a dinosaur. You’ve got great taste.”

Ruko grins proudly, going on to describe Cupcake’s many adventures and how he takes the toy everywhere. Kuroo listens intently, his heart clenching. There’s an ache beneath his chest—a mix of pride, love, and regret. He and Ruko have so much in common, and yet, this is the first time he’s learning it.

The realization stings, and he resents you a bit for that but it also fills him with a bittersweet joy. Ruko is bright, imaginative, and full of life. He’s a part of you and him—a reminder of what you both once had. And kuroo decides he can live with that. That's enough for now isn't it?

Finally ending this series, I get embarrassed whenever I reread it but it was my first series and it has been in my drafts for years. But here I ending, thank you for everyone who waited for this.

Here is the taglist (it's based on people who were waiting for it) : @reikashe @mikaela26sstuff @chita318 @mxrice @freddiemylovelg @glxar @amarinthe @rinsangel @captainchrisstan @gamacha @cheeseriz @pluviophilefangirl @bnha-bakusquad @asaitashi @lordmomourmomoness @missyasmim @macky-attoh @belle643 @on-crows-wings

[chxmpagneprxblem]

Chapter One - Surprising

Tough Love Masterlist

“I don’t know, I just kind of let her do her thing. I love the girl but she’s kind of a lost cause.” You shrugged and Leah looked up to where Bella and Jake were chatting in the booth opposite them.

“You don’t think it’s weird? That she goes from screaming nightmares to as normal as she gets in a few weeks?” Leah asked and you could only shrug again.

You couldn’t lie and tell her you knew how Bella’s brain worked. Your sister was a mystery to you as much as your mother always had been. You supposed you had been lucky when Renee lost the fight against the temptation to leave and could only mentally cope with one child. The quiet one.

Not to say you had been in any way wild. You had just been older. Set in routine and able to voice your opinion. And your opinion was that your dad was your favorite. A fact Renee never liked.

So every summer you trekked to Arizona where Bella and Renee had ended up and spent two weeks with them only to trek back down with Bella so she could spend her time with Charlie.

It had never been a particularly enjoyable time for either of you. So when Bella packed up and moved to Forks you had already expected to have distance between you both. Adding Edward Cullen to the mix only made things worse.

You could never have expected Bella to shack up with Cullen, much less go batshit insane over him. You would never forgive your sister for the torment she was putting Charlie through every day she grieved a dumb high school fling.

So you escaped her. Escaped her zombified state in the damn chair in her bedroom. Leah had been your saving grace. Harry and Charlie had shoved you both together as kids and the bond had stuck, bringing you to their door whenever you couldn’t stomach looking at Bella.

Although heartbreak was still prominent in the Clearwater home, at least Leah had a reason to be so cut up. Sam and her had plans. They had been together for years. Not a matter of months like Bella and Edward.

You couldn’t help but wonder had you and Bella been raised together would you offer her the support you so readily gave to Leah. “I think she’s found a new boy to focus on.”

Leah tilted her head from side to side as she considered your answer. You didn’t really believe the idea yourself but it was strange, how completely Jacob had turned your sister’s mental breakdown into a memory.

“The kid must have game.” Leah said and you snorted in laughter, your milkshake dribbling pathetically down your chin. “You’re disgusting, you freak.”

“You’re the one thinking weird thoughts about a kid!” You argued and Leah only rolled her eyes. “Gonna have to warn my dad what you’re up to.”

“Shut up, haven’t you got work? Those tents ain’t gonna sell themselves.” She teased and you looked at your watch before sighing.

“Cause you ain’t got a boat to be fixing with your dad, little Ms Nepo Baby.” You scoffed, shoving your way out of the booth. “You think she even noticed I was here?”

“Ah, the nepotism of the boat rental business. A true life of luxury.” Leah knocked you with her elbow. “She hasn’t noticed you once her life. Why would she start today?”

Your smart reply for Leah died on your tongue when three tall shirtless men entered the diner, staring off to the side. Leah dropped her head, her long hair falling to cover her face.

You scoffed, side stepping Paul LaHote with a scowl. Less than a year ago Paul was a minor annoyance for Sam. Someone he had a rivalry with in high school. Now they were best friends and Sam had dropped Leah and picked up her cousin. It was enough to sour your good mood.

“Don’t.” Leah grabbed your wrist when you paused. She knew you wanted to give Sam another piece of your mind. She had stopped letting you when you almost ran him over at the beach a few weeks before.

You rolled your eyes before turning to glare at Sam one last time but Paul moved between you both, staring you down in challenge. You’d like to think you won when his jaw fell slack and he stumbled against the table.

“Fuck those guys.” You huffed once Leah had dragged you out the door. “Hope they catch a cold.”

“Damn killer, take it easy. Not a cold.” Leah laughed but it was strained. “Go to work. Earn enough money so I can quit my job and become a stay at home best friend.”

“Best friend? You’re not even in my top three.” Her laugh was less strained when you both parted ways and you blew her a kiss across the car lot, smiling when she pretended to bat it away.

…

“Can you watch my lane for a few?” You looked up from the schedule you had been trying to organize and blinked at Mike who was trying to look a lot more innocent than he was.

“A few? Like say, ten minutes?” You asked and he shrugged. “Or enough time for me to realize you’re skipping the last thirty minutes of your shift?”

“I’ll do a double next Friday to bail you out if you let me go now?” He offered and you sighed.

“Your name is above the door, kid. I don’t care if you cut or not. Ain’t like I can fire you.” You shrugged and locked your computer.

“Awh, don’t be like that. Dad would quicker fire me and adopt you if he thought Charlie wouldn’t notice. Best assistant manager he’s ever had apparently.” You laughed and shooed Mike out the door, heading for his lane which had conveniently cashed up and gotten ready to hand over.

Friday night wasn’t typically busy in the store. Not many people needed last minute hiking attire for the weekend and so you had time to finish up the schedule that had been bothering you and change the displays in the store windows before you were interrupted by a customer.

Not just a customer though, your sister.

“Everything okay?” You asked her warily. Talking to Bella in the last three months was almost like talking to a wall if the wall had the ability to start screaming at a pitch only dogs could hear.

“Just looking for some new boots.” She hummed and you nodded slowly, pointing her in the direction she needed.

You weren’t entirely sure why she’d need hiking boots. Bella and the outdoors weren’t exactly well acquainted.

And yet she reappeared with the boots and shelled out the cash for them with barely an extra word. To an outsider it would be impossible to tell you knew each other, never mind that you were sisters.

You watched her leave and huffed a sigh. You’d mention it to Charlie in passing. See if he knew why she suddenly wanted to hike with all the recent bear spottings in the woods.

…

Jared was laughing. His whole body shook with it, so much so that Paul could feel the vibrations from where he paced in Sam’s back garden. He’d been stuck as a wolf for almost an hour now because every time he calmed down Jared would piss him off again.

“The only person-“ a fit of laughter interrupted Jared trying to make his point. “The only one that hates us more than Leah and you imprint on her.”

Paul dove for Jared and once again Sam got between them. Paul growled at Sam, backing off once more. He was going to be stuck as a wolf forever at this rate.

Jared controlled himself enough to phase and all three of them padded into the woods.

So what are you gonna do?

Paul sighed at Jared’s question, dropping down to his belly and putting his paws over his eyes as if it would quell the urge to go and look for her.

You need Billy or Harry on your side. It’s your only hope.

Paul lifted his head and looked at Sam who was watching Paul carefully where he lay in the dirt.

Why them?

Charlie, Billy and Harry raised those girls together. You remember how attached Rachel, Rebecca and Leah were with her. Those men will know how to get you in her good books.

Paul considered Sam’s words and huffed a sigh when he realised he had no other choice. If he wanted to get to know you then something drastic had to change.

…

Harry laughed until he was bowed over and then told him to go away. Paul understood, things were less than amicable between the pack and Leah which in turn affected Harry’s ability to help when he didn’t feel he was needed.

It was still fucking annoying.

So Paul found himself sitting at Billy Black’s kitchen table and telling the whole story from start to finish. When he relayed the last detail he sat back and watched Billy process everything.

“You boys can never do anything the easy way.” Billy sighed and ran a hand over his face. “She might hate the wolves more than even Leah. She considers that girl her sister. And watching the hurt Leah suffered because of the imprint bond, well it changed things.”

“I will do anything Billy. Just to be able to have a five minute conversation with her. It’s been two weeks and I haven’t seen her.” Paul sighed, his exhaustion ringing out in every word he spoke.

“Well, we need to plan carefully-“

The front door opened after a short knock and Paul held his breath when your voice called out for Jacob and then Billy.

“Hey, old man. Where’s your kid?” You turned the corner and paused when you took in the scene in front of you. Paul could’ve cheered when you didn’t immediately glare at him.

“He and Bella went out early. I don’t know where. Why do you need him?” Billy didn’t acknowledge that Paul was in the room and he was grateful because it gave him a chance to just watch you, absorb all the details he had missed before.

“My car is doing that stupid thing again. The gear shift keeps getting jammed in reverse.” You sighed and Paul raised his eyes to the heavens above and thanked every spirit there was.

“I could have a look at that, if you need?” He offered quietly and you looked him over, blinking as if just remembering he was here.

“You?” Paul didn’t know if the disbelief was because he dared speak to you or because you doubted his ability.

“I uh, pick up a shift or two in the garage just off the Rez. If you can spare the afternoon I can bring it up now and fix it?” Paul wasn’t sure when he turned into this quiet, meek man. He hadn’t been unsure of himself in a long time.

“I’ve got work. This afternoon.” You explained and Paul shrugged.

“I’ll head up there with you? Take the truck back to the garage and have it back to you before your shift is over.” Paul tensed every muscle in his body and begged the spirits to keep his luck moving.

“Jake won’t be back until after dark. They’ve been doing this for days.” Billy encouraged and Paul could’ve kissed the old man. Instead he vowed to serve him for eternity.

“You’re sure you can fix it today?” You asked and Paul released a breath. “Cause I can just wait for Jake if it’ll take you too long.”

“Two hours, three at a push.” You considered his answer before glancing at the clock on the wall and back to Paul.

“Are you ready to go now, then? I’ve got work in forty minutes.” Paul jumped out of his chair and it clattered to the ground causing everyone to flinch.

“Sorry. Sorry.” He picked the chair up and smiled sheepishly at you. “I’m ready when you are.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Plot Twists

Plot twist - a surprise development in your story.

A good plot twist forces the reader to think about it, even if you’re away from the story.

Years later, the reader may still reminisce about a plot twist that threw them for a loop.

How you can create a solid plot twist:

Introduce the Plot Twist Whenever You’d Like

Plot twists may appear anywhere within a story but are usually most effective after some careful setup.

While it’s technically possible to swing a plot twist within the first chapter, it’s difficult to do.

In the beginning of your story, the reader is open and the rules of assumption haven’t been established yet.

You need to lay the ground rules before you twist them.

Don't be Obvious

The first commandment of plot twists is that they shouldn't be obvious.

Plot twists need to be totally unexpected.

You shouldn’t be able to guess it, but once you go back and read it, you should be able to see the signs.

Don't Show Your Card Too Soon

Foreshadowing is essential, but when you’re setting up a plot twist, you can’t reveal too much.

Otherwise, the reader will be able to guess what will happen, and it won’t be a twist at all.

Withhold the information until it cannot be withheld any longer.

This helps to increase the tension within your story.

Immediately after inserting a plot twist, the story proceeding should become better and stronger.

The reader will hunt back through the story, looking for clues that this twist would happen. Clues should be there--sparingly.

Use Plot Twists Sparingly

Don’t overuse plot twists.

If you’d like to create a reputation for including plot twists in your stories, limit it to one twist per story.

Otherwise, the reader will stop trusting you.

Your storytelling will come off as cheap thrills without substance.

But, remember that you don’t need to include a plot twist to weave a compelling tale.

The less you use this literary device, the more surprised your reader will be.

Use Plot Twists to Push the Characters Towards Action

In the middle of your story, characters can grow stagnant.

When they’re plodding along towards a vague goal, it’s easy to get stuck in the mundane.

This is the perfect time to insert a plot twist.

When faced with a sudden change of circumstances, the characters will be forced to respond.

What will they do? How will it change their goals?

Use Plot Twists to Reveal Character

Sometimes, plot twists can be planted within a character’s backstory.

This way, you can reveal something about the character that catches the reader off guard.

Examples: Perhaps the character killed someone in the past. Maybe they are the long-lost daughter of the antagonist.

Once the reader finds out, it changes everything.

But it’s not just the reader who may find out about the character.

The character can also discover something about themselves or another character.

This type of plot twist is known as anagnorisis, or discovery.

Use Plot Twists to Change the Character’s Fortune

There’s a certain type of plot twist known as peripeteia that you may wish to consider in your story.

Peripeteia is a sudden reversal of fortune.

Historically, peripeteia is a shift from good circumstances to bad.

It’s tragic, it’s bleak, it’s heartbreaking, but it can make for a poignant story.

If you’re a rebel, peripeteia can also be used to convert the character’s fortune from bad to good. But be careful here.

You don’t want to force an unrealistic ending on your story that will ring untrue.

Remember the above tip: Plot twists should be believable.

Unfortunately, it’s easier to believe something going from good to bad than going from bad to good.

Create a False Protagonist

One of the trickiest plot twists to conceive is the false protagonist.

You introduce a protagonist, but then he or she suddenly dies.

Of course, for this type of plot twist to happen, you need to have the real protagonist waiting in the wings and ready to take over.

The reader should already be familiar with the true protagonist.

It can be a huge shift for the reader to make, so don’t use this plot twist unless you’re sure that it’s worth the risk.

Poetic Justice

The idea that characters get what they deserve (both good and bad) is supposed to be unexpected.

However, poetic justice is so overused that it’s become a cliche.

That’s not to say that you can’t serve poetic justice in your story.

However, if you do, consider setting it up so that it’s completely unexpected.

All hope seems lost, and out of nowhere, poetic justice.

Don’t actually make it appear out of nowhere.

The reader should be able to look back at the story and see how this ending is possible.

Introduce the Plot Twist During a Flashback

Another way to introduce a plot twist is within a flashback.

When done correctly, a flashback should always reveal something of interest. But, your flashback can also change the entire trajectory of your story.

If you do insert a plot twist in a flashback, pay special attention to timing:

When should you introduce the flashback for maximum effect?

How can the flashback aid in pushing the story forward?

Source

More: Types of Plot Twists ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[jakesaverse]

EXHIBIT A: HEARTBREAK | JAKE SIM (01)

—————————————————————————————

synopsis: a high-profile case pulls you back to Korea, forcing you to confront the past you’ve spent two years avoiding—including the man who once shut you out. With old wounds reopening and a career-defining opportunity on the line, you must decide whether to keep hiding in the background or finally take center stage.

pairings: jake x reader; jay x reader (??) ; a couple of strangers

genre: friends to lovers ; exes to possible lovers; angsttttt; fluff ; slow burn (sorry); swearing; lots of falling outs

warnings/notes: Hi there! Thanks for giving this story a chance! This is sort of an introduction before the chaos hits. There’s not much to warn about this chapter except mentions of friendship dynamics and favoritism 😑.

DISCLAIMER: I obviously have no idea how everything works in a legal setting so please don’t say I’m writing it completely wrong (I know). This just pure fiction 😅

————————————————————————————-

The shrill ring of your phone cut through the haze of sleep. Groggily, you fumbled around your nightstand before finally grabbing it and bringing it to your ear.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Jay’s amused voice greeted you.

You groaned, rolling onto your side as you squinted at the clock. Your heart dropped.

“Jay” you hissed, already throwing off your blanket. “Why are you calling me?!”

“Because I knew you’d sleep through your alarm,” he replied smoothly. “Mock trial’s in less than an hour, Y/N. You’re welcome.”

Your brain barely had time to process the words before pure panic set in.

“Oh my god—Jay, why didn’t you call me earlier?!”

Jay’s laugh was lighthearted but entirely unhelpful. “Because this is funnier.”

You hung up on him.

Still tangled in your sheets, you scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over your own feet as you bolted toward the bathroom. Toothbrush in one hand, blazer in the other, you moved as quickly as humanly possible, mentally cursing yourself for staying up so late preparing for today.

At least—at least—you had laid out your clothes last night. One less thing to worry about.

Not even five minutes later, you were already sprinting out of your apartment, only to skid to a stop at the sight of Jay’s car idling by the curb. He leaned against the driver’s side, arms crossed over his chest, grinning as if this was the most entertaining thing he had ever seen.

“Did you drive here?” you asked, still slightly breathless.

“Figured you’d need a ride,” he said, opening the passenger door. “Hurry up. We’re gonna be late.”

Muttering a string of curses under your breath, you slid into the seat, tossing your bag at your feet as you fasten your seatbelt.

Jay barely gave you a second before glancing over, amusement still dancing in his eyes. “Might want to fix yourself before Jungwon sees you.”

You shot him a glare through the mirror as you attempted to tame your hair. “I hate you.”

Jay laughed as he pulled onto the main road. “No, you don’t.”

—————————————————————————————

The car ride was quiet at first, both of you too focused on the day ahead. You flipped through the case file, double-checking every detail, making sure there weren’t any loose ends.

Then, something caught your eye.

“Wait—Jay, this doesn’t line up,” you said, tapping a page.

Jay glanced over, his brows furrowing. “What doesn’t?”

You pointed. “The witness testimony. The defense claimed their client was at work during the time of the incident, but the timestamp on their own document says otherwise. This completely undercuts their alibi.”

Jay blinked.

Then he grinned. “Nice catch, Y/N. You just made my job ten times easier.”

You shrugged, but inside, you felt the tiniest bit of pride.

Jay continued driving, but you noticed the way his fingers tapped against the wheel—a nervous tic you had never really seen from him before.

“You okay?” you asked, glancing at him.

Jay exhaled sharply, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “Yeah. Just—” He hesitated, which was also unusual. “I don’t know. I guess I feel weirdly… off today.”

That made you pause. Jay was always confident. Always sure of himself. Seeing him like this was…new.

“Jay, you’re gonna do great,” you said, nudging him slightly. “You always do.”

He gave you a small smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

But something in his voice told you that, for once, he needed reassurance.

—————————————————————————————

The air in the conference room was thick with anticipation. Even though this was just a mock trial, the weight of it felt real. The associates who had gathered to observe were seated in rows behind you, whispering among themselves as Jungwon settled into his seat at the head of the room.

Jungwon adjusted his suit jacket and cleared his throat, his expression cool and unreadable. “Court is now in session,” he announced, his voice carrying easily over the low murmur of the room. “This is a mock trial, but I expect the same level of professionalism and diligence as if we were in a real courtroom. Counsel, are you ready to proceed?”

Jay rose to his feet, buttoning his jacket in one smooth motion. He was composed, radiating confidence like he had done this a thousand times before which, technically, he had.

“Ready, Your Honor,” he said, sending Jungwon a playful smirk.

Jungwon merely raised a brow. “We’ll see about that.” Then, he turned his attention to the opposing counsel, Takahiro, who straightened his tie before nodding stiffly.

Jay glanced at you, and you gave him a subtle nod in return. You had already gone over the case files with him, making sure he was fully prepared. But still, you couldn’t help but feel the smallest flicker of nerves as you held the documents in your hands.

This wasn’t your moment to speak, but it was your job to make sure everything went perfectly.

Jungwon gestured for Jay to begin.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury—” Jay started, his voice smooth and commanding as he began his opening statement. He moved fluidly, walking a few steps before turning back toward the table, his eyes flicking toward the associates in the room who were playing the role of the jury.

The case was centered around a high-profile contract dispute, something that, in reality, could make or break a firm’s reputation. Jay laid out the facts with precision, his argument strong and calculated.

But Takahiro was just as sharp.

The moment Jay finished his introduction, Takahiro pushed to his feet with an easy smirk.

“Objection, Your Honor,” he drawled, casting a look toward Jungwon. “Counsel is making sweeping statements without citing any direct evidence.”

Jay barely blinked. “Your Honor, I’m merely setting the stage. The evidence will speak for itself when the time comes.”

Jungwon leaned forward slightly. “Sustained. Stick to the facts, Mr. Park.”

You watched Jay’s jaw tighten briefly before he gave Jungwon a curt nod. “Of course, Your Honor.”

Takahiro shot you a glance as he sat back down, his smirk never fading. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. He was enjoying this way too much.

The mock trial continued, the back-and-forth between Jay and Takahiro growing more intense. Jay was handling it well, countering every argument with his usual wit and confidence. But as you flipped through the case files once more, your eyes caught on something from earlier.

A discrepancy.

A mistake in the opposing counsel’s documents.

Your breath hitched. It was small, but significant, something that could unravel their entire argument.

Heart pounding, you leaned closer to Jay and slid the document from earlier towards him, discreetly tapping the section in question.

Jay’s eyes flicked to the page, scanning it quickly. Then, a slow, almost imperceptible grin spread across his lips.

He turned back toward the front of the room. “Your Honor, if I may redirect your attention to Exhibit C,” Jay said smoothly, lifting the document. “There appears to be an inconsistency in the opposing counsel’s timeline.”

Takahiro’s smirk faltered.

You could practically hear the breath he sucked in through his teeth as Jay continued.

“If we follow their claim, their client would have needed to be in two places at once.” Jay paused, letting the weight of the statement settle in the room. “Now, unless they have evidence proving their client is capable of bending time and space, I’d say this argument falls apart.”

A few chuckles echoed from the observing associates. Even Jungwon let out a small, amused exhale before composing himself.

Takahiro scrambled to counter, but the damage was already done. You could see it in his clenched jaw, the slight twitch of his fingers as he shuffled through his own notes.

Jay turned to you, tapping the document once in silent appreciation. You gave him the smallest nod back, a flicker of satisfaction swelling in your chest.

Jungwon straightened, glancing between both sides before speaking. “Given the circumstances, I believe we have our decision.” His gaze landed on Takahiro. “The defense has failed to provide a strong enough argument. The plaintiffs win this round.”

A rush of relief washed over you as the room filled with murmurs. Jay let out a breath and rolled his shoulders back, looking pleased.

But Takahiro?

He was already watching you.

And you knew—this wasn’t over.

—————————————————————————————

After the mock trial wrapped up, you expected Jungwon to call it a day, maybe give a quick rundown of what went well and what needed improvement before dismissing everyone. But instead, he remained standing at the front of the conference room, scanning the room with that composed, calculating expression that made you nervous for what was to come.

Jay shot you a knowing glance, sensing something was coming. You leaned slightly toward him, speaking under your breath. “He’s got that face on.”

Jay smirked but kept his voice low. “Yeah, this is definitely about to turn into something bigger.”

Jungwon’s voice finally cut through the murmur of the room. “Good job today, everyone. Some of you handled the pressure well. Some of you—” his eyes briefly flickered to the opposing counsel, who was still fuming from the trial’s outcome— “not so much. But that’s why we practice.”

Takahiro let out a small, disgruntled scoff, his frustration clearly simmering, but you chose to ignore him, focusing on Jungwon.

“Now, let’s talk about what’s next,” Jungwon continued, his tone becoming more serious. “We’ve got a real case—a high-stakes one—and it requires a very specific, carefully selected team. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been deciding who’s best suited for this, and after today’s mock trial, I’m confident in my choice.”

The room went silent. The tension was palpable. You felt your breath catch in your throat, already anticipating the news.

Jungwon’s gaze swept over the room before landing directly on you and Jay. “I’ll be leading a small team for this, and the two people who will be taking the lead under my supervision are Jay and Y/N.”

A long beat of silence followed. Then, the murmurs started.

Takahiro scoffed again, this time louder. “Of course,” he muttered, his voice thick with bitterness.

You ignored him, keeping your focus on Jungwon, who was still as calm as ever.

Jay, sitting next to you, exhaled slowly and leaned back in his chair. “Well, guess we’re going to Korea.”

You felt a knot form in your stomach—not from nerves about the case, but from what Korea meant. From what Jake meant. Your chest tightened, but you held it in.

Jungwon wasn’t finished. His tone remained steady, but there was an underlying sharpness. “Before anyone asks—no, this wasn’t favoritism. The decision was based on skill, performance, and how you handled yourselves today. It’s clear to me who is the most capable, and I don’t make these choices lightly.”

Takahiro’s face twisted, but he didn’t dare speak up. He simply clenched his jaw and stared at the table.

“However,” Jungwon added, his voice taking on a more serious tone, “this isn’t set in stone. Things can change. Roles can shift depending on how well everyone performs from here on out. If anyone doesn’t meet expectations, if there are any issues, I won’t hesitate to pull you from the team or reassign your role in the case. This is a high-pressure situation, and I need the best from everyone involved.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of Jungwon’s words settling over everyone. No one dared speak, but there was an undercurrent of discomfort.

Jay raised an eyebrow, clearly processing what Jungwon had said, but stayed silent.

You, on the other hand, felt a slight unease twist in your stomach. The uncertainty was there, if something went wrong, the roles could change at any moment. It wasn’t just about winning the case anymore. It was about proving yourself every step of the way.

Jungwon continued, his voice unwavering. “This will be a huge case—international, high-profile. We’ll be handling corporate giants, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. But, and this is important,” he emphasized, “this will be under Hastings’ orders. So, even though you two,” he gestured to you and Jay, “will be in the spotlight, don’t expect this to be a clear-cut win. Hastings will undermine everything he can, and we’ll have to fight harder than we’ve ever had to. Understand?”

Jay exhaled, his lips pressing together in frustration at the mention of Hastings, but he didn’t say anything.

Seojin, who had been quietly observing, couldn’t hold back her thoughts. “Of course,” she said in a mocking tone, her voice carrying across the room. “Jay and Y/N, always the favorites.”

Her words felt like an unwanted sting, and it wasn’t the first time she had said something like that. She leaned back in her chair, a smug look on her face, clearly enjoying the tension.

You shot her a glance but didn’t respond. Jay looked at you, a flicker of discomfort in his expression, but he kept his voice low. “They’re always going to think that. Don’t let it get to you.”

“Seems like you two always get the high-profile cases,” Minseok added, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “What’s new?”

Seojin chuckled softly, the sound almost too sweet to be sincere. Then, her voice dropped to a whisper, just loud enough for you and Jay to hear. “Guess it’s nice being the boss’s pets, huh?”

The quiet jab didn’t escape you, and the weight of it hung heavy in the air. Jay’s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone neutral when he spoke next, his voice soft but clear enough for Seojin to hear. “People are always going to talk, Seojin. It’s how you handle it that matters.”

You couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of frustration. “We’ve worked just as hard as anyone else here,” you murmured under your breath, “and none of this was handed to us.”

“I’m sure you think that,” Seojin replied, her voice almost too sweet, “but the higher you climb, the harder it is to stay on top.”

Her words were like a cold jab, and you could feel the eyes of the room lingering on you. It wasn’t the first time they’d questioned your worth, but this time it felt different.

Jungwon didn’t acknowledge the whispers. His eyes scanned the room one more time, a small shift in his posture signaling the end of the conversation. “Now, as I said, everyone here will play a part. You all have a role to play, even if you’re not on the ground with us. Everyone will be involved in strategy, intel, resources. The case is bigger than just the people in Korea. But, make no mistake this is a performance-based team. I expect nothing less than excellence from everyone.”

He paused, letting that hang in the air for a moment. “And remember, things can change. No one’s role is guaranteed. If you want to stay on this team, if you want to be a part of this case, you have to prove yourself every day.”

The room was quiet, everyone now fully aware of the stakes. You felt the weight of Jungwon’s words, a quiet determination settling inside you. There was no turning back now.

Jay leaned closer to you, his voice barely above a whisper, “We’ve got this. Just don’t let them get in your head.”

You nodded, but a part of you couldn’t shake the tension. “We’ll see. Let’s just get through it.”

Seojin’s faint chuckle echoed in the background, but you ignored it. This was bigger than anything she could say. You had a case to win.

—————————————————————————————

The moment you stepped into your apartment, you kicked off your shoes and collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. Jay followed close behind, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves, while Jungwon entered last, his expression as calm and composed as ever. But underneath that cool exterior, you could sense something—a subtle tension that had been lingering ever since the meeting wrapped up.

You and Jay exchanged a glance, both of you picking up on it. You weren’t blind. The whispers from the room had followed you all the way here. Takahiro’s barely concealed grumbles, Seojin’s sharp comments, and the undercurrent of discontent from everyone who hadn’t been selected for the Korea case—it was all still fresh in the air.

And then it happened.

Jay let out a small snort, the tension finally breaking, and you couldn’t help it. You burst into laughter.

The sound of your laughter echoed through the apartment, and Jay joined in, both of you completely unable to stop. For a moment, the weight of the day, of the whispers, the resentment, and everything else, seemed to vanish.

“Did you see his face?” you wheezed, clutching your stomach as you leaned into Jay, who was just as gone as you were. “He looked like—like someone just told him his entire career was a lie!”

Jay, barely able to catch his breath between laughs, gasped out, “I thought— I thought he was gonna combust right then and there!”

Jungwon, who had been standing silently in the kitchen unpacking takeout, shook his head as he set down the bags. His voice was dry, but there was a hint of amusement in it. “You two are children,” he muttered.

That only made you and Jay laugh harder, the sound filling the space between you.

Jay wiped his eyes, still grinning from ear to ear. “No, but seriously, you—” he pointed at you, his voice cracking with laughter— “I swear I’ve never seen someone ruin another person’s entire day with just a few words. The way you slid that document to me like some secret weapon? Flawless.”

You rolled your eyes, but the small sense of pride flickered in your chest. “It was nothing,” you said, waving him off. “Just doing my job.”

Jungwon scoffed, finally giving in and taking a seat across from you. “If that’s what ‘just doing your job’ looks like, then I need more people like you at this firm.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze steady. “But seriously, Takahiro won’t forget this.”

Jay clicked his tongue, his grin widening. “Good. Maybe next time he’ll check his own damn evidence before trying to play dirty.”

You let out a content sigh, the adrenaline from earlier still lingering but now settling into something lighter. Being here, laughing like this, felt like the right antidote to the stress of the day.

Jungwon eyed the two of you, arms crossed. “By the way, you do realize we can’t exactly be seen eating out together, right?” His tone was casual, but there was that underlying reminder: public appearances mattered. “You know, considering… well, everything.”

You nodded, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, yeah. Hence why my lovely home is your dining hall for the night.”

Jay smirked, leaning back in his chair, his fingers tapping the table. “Wouldn’t want the firm to think Jungwon has favorites.”

Jungwon shot him a pointed look, and for a split second, you could swear there was a flicker of something soft in his eyes. “You are my favorites. That’s the problem.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence after that, and the weight of his words settled in, unspoken but clear. No one at the firm knew how long you three had known each other. No one knew about the group you used to be a part of—before you moved to Japan, before you became a paralegal at one of the most prestigious firms in the city. A group that, at one point, included Jake.

Your smile faltered for just a second, the memory creeping in before you could stop it. You quickly shook it off, determined not to let it ruin the moment.

Jay noticed the shift immediately, his expression softening. He didn’t ask, didn’t pry he just reached over and stole one of your fries.

You blinked at him. “Excuse you?”

Jay popped the fry into his mouth without a care. “I’m comforting you. You’re welcome.”

Jungwon sighed, shaking his head as he opened his own food. “Unbelievable.”

But you didn’t let the weight of your thoughts drag you down. Not now. Not here. Right now, it was just you, Jay, and Jungwon in this moment, and that was enough.

For now.

—————————————————————————————

The sound of clinking dishes echoed through the apartment as Jay scrubbed away at the stack of plates. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with a mixture of amusement and mild confusion.

“You didn’t have to do that, Jay,” you said with a chuckle. “I was going to clean them later.”

Jay shot you an exaggerated look. “Later? You’re just trying to pull that trick on me again. And here I am, stuck doing your dishes again.”

You smirked. “Maybe I’ll just leave them for you from now on. I’m sure you don’t mind. You’re always here anyway.”

Jay paused, hands stilling on the dishes as he looked at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know, I’m starting to think I should just make a permanent spot here. Might as well bring my stuff, since I’m basically living here at this point.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Yeah, because it’s totally not weird to have your friend live here just because he eats all your food.”

Jay grinned back, completely unphased. “Hey, I cook too. It’s practically an arrangement. I bring the cooking skills, you bring the taste testing. A fair deal, if you ask me.”

Before you could respond, Jungwon entered the kitchen, raising an eyebrow at the two of you. “What’s this I’m hearing about Jay moving in?” he asked, crossing his arms with a smirk.

You looked at Jay, who shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I mean, I’m already here half the time. Might as well make it official.”

You shot Jungwon a teasing look. “Maybe you should think about moving in too. You know, join the official team here.”

Jungwon chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll pass, thanks. I have enough of my own responsibilities, you know? But you two really make it sound like an actual living arrangement.”

Jay waved his hand dramatically. “Hey, don’t knock it till you try it. It’s a pretty sweet deal. Plus, it’s always nice having company after a long day. You should join us more often.”

You snorted, laughing at how easily Jay slipped into his usual charm. “Yeah, you’re so busy with all your important cases, Jungwon. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be here, hanging out and eating takeout.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. “I’m just saying, you guys seem to have your routine. But if I did move in, I’d probably have to take over the cooking. Jay would just end up burning everything.”

Jay threw him a playful glare. “Not true! My stir-fry is legendary, thank you very much.”

You snickered. “The same stir-fry that almost set off the smoke alarm?”

“I’m proud of that,” Jay said with a grin, clearly unbothered. “It’s called adding flavor to the process.”

Jungwon leaned against the counter with a chuckle. “You two are ridiculous.”

You looked between them, feeling the familiar ease of this banter. “Well, if Jay ever does end up moving in, I’m going to need a second fridge just for all the food he’s stealing.”

Jay shrugged with a dramatic sigh. “Fine, I’ll just bring my own fridge then. But it’ll be half mine, right?”

You both laughed, the playful mood lightening the air. Even Jungwon’s smile lingered a little longer than usual.

But then Jungwon, with a more thoughtful look, glanced between the two of you. “But seriously… I can’t remember the last time we all hung out like this, without worrying about something else. Seems like you two have this whole… routine now. Guess I miss that. Just… a bigger group, not as much on our plates.”

Jay didn’t miss a beat. “Well, you’re always invited, Jungwon. You know that. We just don’t want to drag you away from all your important work.”

Jungwon sighed softly, leaning back slightly. “I know. But I don’t know… there’s something nice about just being able to kick back, no responsibilities. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, teasing. “You? Wanting to kick back? Since when?”

Jungwon’s smile was wistful as he shrugged. “I used to… a long time ago. Before everything got so complicated.”

Jay turned his attention back to drying the dishes, a little softer now. “I get it. We all do. But hey, you’re always welcome to join us anytime. We could use your sarcasm at the dinner table.”

You grinned, flicking Jay lightly on the shoulder. “And by using your sarcasm, he means he needs someone to compete with him in that department.”

Jungwon laughed lightly, his usual composure slipping just a bit. “Right, I’d be a perfect fit then.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence between the three of you as Jay finished drying the last plate. You leaned against the counter, watching them both. This—these small, fleeting moments of ease—was the kind of thing you all needed more of. Even if it was just the two of them sneaking into your kitchen and arguing over who made the best stir-fry. It was enough.

—————————————————————————————

After a while, the conversation slowly died down, the kitchen quiet except for the faint sounds of utensils clinking and the soft hum of the refrigerator. You leaned against the counter, feeling that familiar sense of distance between you and the others, the kind you hadn’t noticed until now. It wasn’t just the space between you and Jay or Jungwon—it was the way things had changed. You hadn’t really spent time like this in a while, without distractions, without the weight of everything else hanging over you.

You hesitated, trying to push the feeling of loneliness away, but it was hard to ignore. “Hey… you guys wanna sleep over tonight?”

Jay raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile creeping onto his face. “A sleepover? What, you’re tired of your own company?”

You chuckled, but there was a subtle nervousness behind the smile. “No, it’s just… I don’t know. I’ve been feeling kinda distant lately. Like, we’ve all been so busy and it’s been a while since we just hung out. So, I thought… why not?”

Jungwon’s gaze softened as he looked at you, and to your surprise, he didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah. I’d like that. I miss this. I miss you guys.” His voice was a little quieter than usual, the weight of his words hitting you in a way you weren’t expecting.

You blinked, surprised by the sudden openness from him. “Really? You’re up for it?”

Jungwon gave you a small but genuine smile. “Yeah. It’s been too long. I think we could all use some time to just… be.”

Jay nodded in agreement. “I’ll admit, I’ve missed these kinds of nights. Just hanging out, no work or anything else to worry about.”

You smiled, relieved by their response. It felt good to know that even if things had been complicated lately, they were still willing to share this space with you.

“Well, I’m glad you guys are up for it,” you said with a grin. “But fair warning—if you’re staying over, I do have extra pajamas you can wear.” You paused before continuing, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “They’re… well, they’re Jake’s. I never threw his stuff out.”

There was a brief moment of silence as both Jay and Jungwon exchanged a confused look. “Jake’s stuff?” Jay repeated, eyebrow raised. “Like, Jake Jake?”

You nodded, trying to keep your voice light despite the unexpected tension that filled the air for just a second. “Yeah, I mean, I couldn’t really bring myself to throw out his stuff after he left. Don’t judge, okay? I was feeling sentimental.”

Jungwon chuckled softly, though there was a flicker of something more serious in his eyes. “I mean, we all have our things we hold onto, right? It’s no big deal.”

Jay, surprisingly, didn’t press further either, just letting out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I guess I can’t judge. I’m still wearing the same hoodie I’ve had since… forever.”

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders at their nonjudgmental responses. They didn’t push you for more, just moved on like it was nothing. The space between the three of you felt comfortable again.

“Well, anyway,” you said, trying to change the subject, “I’ll go grab the pajamas. You two figure out who’s sleeping where. I’m not fighting over the couch this time.”

Jungwon smiled, his usual calm demeanor back. “Deal. But if I end up on the floor, I’m blaming you.”

You chuckled, feeling the warmth of the moment settle in.

Maybe things weren’t how they used to be, but for now, with Jay and Jungwon there, it was like you had found your way back to something that resembled normal.

Or that was until your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your daydreaming. Glancing down at the notification, you saw the familiar name flash across the screen: Heeseung.

A sharp pang of discomfort hit you. The subject line read: Wedding Invitation – Heeseung & Hana. You felt your stomach churn, and for a moment, you thought about ignoring it. But curiosity and maybe a little bit of the old, unresolved pain made you click.

The message was brief, almost to the point of being impersonal.

Please feel free to bring a plus one. No hard feelings about the guest list, but I’ve had to limit the invitations.

You stared at the words, the meaning behind them settling into your bones like cold stone. You weren’t expecting to be invited, but somehow, it still stung. The lack of warmth, the formality, the clear divide between what once was and what now felt so distant—it all came rushing back.

————————————————————————————-

Thanks for reading till the end ☺️ feel free to lmk if you want to be added to the taglist :)

taglist: @belovedsthings @addictedtohobi @blujk @sumzysworld

@lovingvoidgoatee

[misscrawfords]

I was listening to Pride and Prejudice on my drive back from my mother's today and it's been so long since I've actually read the novel as opposed to engaged with one or other adaptation...

Goodness, it's good, isn't it? And Elizabeth is so much more complex a character than she is often presented in adaptations.

The thing that was standing out to me today - I was listening to from when Mr. Collins proposes to Charlotte and I stopped just when Elizabeth was talking to Colonel Fitzwilliam at Rosings - was the chapter which is just Jane and Elizabeth talking about Bingley. This gets cut from adaptations or so condensed to be meaningless, but it's incredible. It's just a whole chapter of the sisters chewing over why Bingley ghosted Jane (for lack of a better term) and what Caroline's motivations were and the thing that gets me is that they're both right. Jane is right that Bingley can't be blamed for being a friendly young man and that he had no malicious intentions but Elizabeth is also right that young men can be thoughtless in their dealings with women who have less freedom than them and their thoughtlessness can do real hurt. (She's also right about Caroline, of course.) It struck me as such a modern issue. Maybe I've just been thinking about the unwitting hurt that thoughtless young men can cause recently, but everything is so complicated. Bingley is a flake who makes a mistake with regards to Jane but he's also a genuinely lovely young man who makes it right in the end - he's still on his own journey through life which he will continue with Jane. Jane herself lets her desire to see the best in others cause her to see friendship where it isn't, but being deceived in a friend is not so uncommon, is it? And she's not stupid or weak. Heck, she endures her heartbreak being talked about openly by her mother in public for months silently and without rancour. And she does it all without ever resenting Bingley! Jane's the strongest character in the whole novel and an inspiration to the rest of us - FIGHT ME on this!

The other thing I really picked up on was what an important moment in Elizabeth's character development Charlotte's engagement is. It actually kind of breaks my heart - her best friend makes a life choice that she can't support but has to and nothing will ever be the same again between them. It's the first dent into Elizabeth's world view that forces her to see that people are different from her and can make different decisions and this is okay and not just something she can laugh at. It's so relatable in terms of life events - when a close friend marries and then when they have a baby, these things absolutely still do alter friendships. Elizabeth gets over it and even enjoys seeing Charlotte in Hunsford but we are frequently reminded by the narrator that the previous confidences they enjoyed will never be the same again. It's a really big moment for Elizabeth and really the first event in the novel to start to shake her foundations of her comfortable existence. The other two are Bingley's desertion of Jane and Wickham's decision to pursue Mary King over her. By the time she goes to Hunsford, she is prepared in a way for the final massive shock to the foundations of The World According to Lizzy Bennet, not that she knows it. Such is growing up.

And OMG Lady Catherine is SO vulgar and inappropriate! She is a direct parallel to Mrs. Bennet and the rest of the Bennets. Just as Elizabeth feels accute embarrassment at the Netherfield Ball, Mr. Darcy is feeling exactly the same at Rosings. Beautifully done. But their awareness of what is appropriate behaviour is something that unifies Darcy and Elizabeth even if Darcy massively fails to behave like a human around Elizabeth. Pride and Prejudice is such an expose and examination of "how to behave in social situations". There is nobody who doesn't come under scrutiny and pretty much every type of behaviour is gone over with a fine tooth comb.

Sometimes I feel almost ashamed when people ask me what my favourite novel is and I say "Pride and Prejudice" because it's such a damn cliche. I should say something heavier or more obscure or at least I should say it's Persuasion, the "thinking girl"'s favourite Austen. But P&P is so special to me on so many levels and you know what? It is a MASTERFULLY written book.

[cinnamqnx]

heartbreak summer ꨄ︎

pairing. sae itoshi x f!reader

summary. after your friend finds out her recent ex has been in the news tabloids with yet another girl, your idea of get back turns your night into an unfortunate series of events with the outcome landing you directly in front of re al’s star player, and you’re about to kiss him.

warnings. nsfw elements, swearing, toxic relationships & behaviour (not too much from sae surprisingly), angst

10 | double dates & birthdays

8:23 pm

you had been out for around an hour or so, currently in the restaurant bathroom touching up your makeup with kaia before heading out to the bar to have drinks.

“you and oliver look like you’ve really made up.”, you say, applying your lipgloss while looking in the mirror.

“yeah, honestly i forgot how well we clicked and he hasn’t fucked up so far. i kinda have a feeling he’ll ask me to be his girlfriend again.”, she smiles to herself, watching you put your lipgloss on.

“what about when we go back to la?”, you ask, turning to look at her.

“god, i haven’t even thought that far yet. maybe the long distance could work this time? i don’t know.”, she sighs, “i’m just enjoying my time with him right now, y’know?”

“anyway, enough about me. how about you and sae?”, she asks, tilting her head.

“okay. i don’t know if i’m just reading too much into it, but i feel like the energy between us has been like, slightly awkward.”, you sigh.

“if i’m honest, y/n, do you really want to be dealing with this when it’s so early on. like, yeah, you guys like each other, but you haven’t spoken much about you two. it’s been like what? two weeks? and you’ve only hung out like 3 times just the two of you.”

you sigh again, “i know. i don’t even know what’s going on really, and you know how i feel about situationships.”, you pause, “i’ll just see how the night goes, one step at a time or whatever.”

she nods, “i feel like recently all we’ve been talking about is boys.”, kaia laughs.

“no honestly, you just know natalia is getting sick of us.”, you half joke.

as kaia was about to reply, a knock on the girls bathroom is heard, “hello? what are you two doing in there it’s been like 20 minutes. are we going or not?”

kaia rolls her eyes at oliver’s voice, making you laugh, “yes, we are.”

11:02 pm

the night at the bar was more chill than you expected it to be, less people than you imagined were there so it was more of a casual night much to kaia’s dismay. oliver and sae weren’t too bothered by it either, opting for a couple beers than in a sweaty night club.

you was currently heading back from the bar, oliver driving as usual with kaia in the front.

“do you wanna come to mine?”, sae asks, his voice a little quiet, not wanting kaia or oliver to stick their noses in.

“uh, sure. is that okay with you?”

he frowns slightly, “well i wouldn’t have asked if i didn’t want you to.”

“yeah i know, just cause of last time i mean.”

he rolls his eyes at the thought, “i’m not gonna do that if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“i’m not worried.”, you shake your head, “i want to come.”

he nods, giving you a straight smile.

eventually, oliver takes you and sae back to his apartment with small chatter in the car, “alright, we’re here.”, he says, turning to look at you both in the back.

“alright, thanks bro.”, sae says, stepping out the car alongside you.

“byeeee.”, kaia sings out, waving her hand at you through the car window, with yourself waving back as sae puts a hand on the back of your waist, leading you up to his apartment.

he takes his keys out his pocket, putting it through they keyhole and opening the door, “well, make yourself home.”, he says while a cloud of deja vu hits you.

navigation. heartbreak summer

next chapter. 11

author’s note. waaayyy more writing this chapter and the next one will only be writing!! i know some people have been having issues with the links but they should be fixed now!! also smut next chapter 🫣

taglist: @vaelils @shironagi @megumiivs @captainshindo @evry1luvssm @alatusorrow @pookalicious-hq @gigiiiiislife @tnt-kokoo @misosoupii @whisperofae @bontensbabygirl @s4-mmy @viviinpt @werfiedeii @dinnersyummy @sccubss @nuhahani @treeguzzler @pctterheadd @taefanclub @literallyushiwaka @yiiscorner @suksatoru @treeguzzler @manjiroswifo @sugacor3 @kaz-0e

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 30] || [Chapter 32]

Pairing: Soap x gn!Reader || Gaz x gn!Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.4K~ cw: love confessions. Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: Another cute one for the books, y'all.

Chapter 31: Uh-Oh.

Gaz came home early.

Some stuff in his mission that was, according to John 'above his paygrade'.

He wasn't particularly happy about it, mentioned to Johnny over the phone how it was 'bullshit', that it wasn't fair he didn't get to know.

Not that you'd know. Johnny knew. But you sure as hell didn't.

Because, as usual, you got home from work on Tuesday, and there was a wild Kyle Garrick in your apartment, sat shoulder-to-shoulder, knee-to-knee with Johnny on the sofa.

"Hi?" You greeted once you passed the door, carrying a couple bags of goods from the shop.

"Hi, bonnie!" Johnny greeted. "Look who's here!" He gestured at Kyle with grandeur.

"Hi, love!" Kyle greeted, all smiley and beautiful as only he can be.

"Are you okay? Did you get hurt again? Dear God, tell me you didn't get hurt!" You began to say immediately, as he got up from the couch, rounding it to come greet you.

"You should've warned me you'd come, I would've bought more things to make dinner, now I'm not gonna have enough for you and-" You ranted.

He shut you up, however, by cradling your face in his hands and dropping a kiss onto your lips, causing you to hum and soften, your eyes closing.

It was a slow kiss, one that told you just how much he missed you, his thumbs caressing your cheeks on either side, his nose brushing your cheek as his warm lips and wet tongue carefully probed at your mouth.

When he pulled back, he smiled at you. "It's alright. I'm alright. Don't worry so much." He murmured, then, his hands slid down and grabbed one of the bags off you, helping you take the shopping to the kitchen.

Having a second man to play house with was somehow better and worse.

There was also less space. Another part of your closet or your drawers full of male clothes, extra counter space in the bathroom taken up by his skincare and cologne, extra bath products in the shower.

There were more snacks in your pantry, protein bars and shakes and the like, energy drinks, another seat at the dinner table taken up by another laptop and notebook and pen, another set of shoes to trip on at the entrance.

The flat was still always clean, and there was always someone to greet you once you got home, sometimes dinner would already be ready.

There was always someone to cuddle to or be cuddled by, someone rutting into you and stealing greedy kisses and groping handfuls of your body...

Nothing to complain about, not really.

On Saturday, you crawled away from Johnny's embrace, padding around the flat, seeking food and a drink.

Kyle was in the kitchen when you came in, shirtless as usual, one of your bath towels falling off his hip, his skin glistening. You've noticed you tend to find Kyle right out of the shower often.

"Morning, lovie..." He greeted you as you approached, kissing your forehead and wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Hi..." You murmured and leaned into him, setting your chin right on his shoulder, feeling a bit of the dampness of his skin, and smelling the scent of his body wash and shampoo. Coconut.

"How are you feeling?" He murmured as he glanced at you, brown eyes twinkling to the sight of what was, indubitably messy hair and a sleepy face.

Your body was deliciously sore, your jaw too, though that one was more uncomfortable. A consequence of a night well spent, pressed between the two of them... They were younger than John and Simon, had more stamina... they were more insatiable.

"Good..." You ended up saying with a chuckle, which earned you a smirk too.

"Good enough to wanna go out with me?" He asked you with a cocked brow.

"Out where?" You asked him, eyebrows raising in intrigue.

"I have plans for the two of us this afternoon... as long as you're not too tired for them." He explained.

"Not going to make me do something physical, are you?" You quipped, causing him to chuckle, your jaw trembling from the contact between his pec and you head.

"No... Not after last night. Need a chill day myself." He winked at you.

-

As it turns out, Johnny isn't the only artist in your little polycule. (Can you even call it that?)

At 2 P.M., you found yourself in a little pottery studio-café thing that Kyle had, apparently, scouted out in Birmingham, one of the times he went home.

It was not something you expected, finding yourself walking in hand in hand with him, fingers interlaced, being given a smock and being given a lump of clay, a wheel, and having a very eccentric but adorable lady guide you through the steps of making small pinch pots, and your final piece, a mug.

After over an hour of that, you were allowed to wash your hands off, your projects (a very wonky mug made by you, and a surprisingly good mug made by Kyle) going to be put in the kiln, with a promise from the pottery instructor that they'll come out in the next day or so and that everyone could come back to get them, if they so wished.

Then, you and Kyled moved to a little table in the painting station where you could grab a finished piece of your own, a standard one, that is, and paint it to your heart's content.

You sat beside Kyle after he went and got you both drinks and a little snack each, each one of you busy painting your little projects. You picked a small plate and Kyle picked a mug, just like the ones you had been trying (and failing, mind you) to throw beforehand.

You glanced over at Kyle who was extremely focused on what he was doing, using the tiniest brush you've ever seen to dot small petals on the flower design he had chosen for his mug.

"That looks really cute... Is that cherry blossom?" You asked as you set your chin on his arm, his left one, not the one he was using to paint.

"Mhm... My attempt at it, anyway." He replied as he glanced over at your plate. "Polka dots?" He asks with a playful smile on his lips, which causes you to shrug.

"I didn't know what I wanted to paint. Flowers are overdone... No offense-" You chuckled.

"None taken." He replied and winked at you before leaning over and grabbing his paper cup, sipping his tea through the opening on the lid.

"And everything else would be too difficult. I'm in the mood to just draw little dots all over." You remarked with another shrug.

"Well, I like your dots." He told you and, very slowly, tapped the tip of your nose with his forefinger.

You felt something wet and sticky on the tip of your nose and you knew, immediately, that he had just painted your nose. You didn't even notice him dipping his finger in his paint palette beforehand.

You grabbed your phone and used the locked screen as a mirror to spot the bright pink dot of paint on your skin.

Turning to your boyfriend, you squinted at him. "Kyle Garrick, do you want to start a war you will not win?" You murmured as you pointed your paintbrush at him like a teacher with a ruler.

"No, no, never." Kyle murmured, raising his hands in surrender, though he had the biggest grin on his lips, and a shine in his brown eyes.

"That's what I thought." You added before you turned away to resume your painting.

Kyle snickered next to you, resuming his own painting, slowly painting the front of his mug, while holding it from the back with the greatest care in the world.

Unfortunately for him, he was too focused to catch the way you dipped your thumb in your own paint pallette, gathering your brightest red... And then dabbing it on his cheek twice, forming a heart shape.

Kyle turned to you with wide eyes, catching the same shit-eating grin in your lips, your teeth showing, before you started giggling. "Uh-oh..." You said, not at all ashamed of the revenge you just got on him.

Kyle shook his head at you, a smile on his own lips, before he leaned over, caught your face by the chin, and dropped a kiss on your lips. You melted into it, eyes closing and smiling against his mouth.

And, when he pulled away, he looked you in the eyes with the fondest look in his eyes, his head dipped at an angle before he whispered a: "God, I love you... What am I going to do with you?"

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