#also again it's taking away from writing my main fic

[reliablejoukido]

after writing 24k words in 7 days this past month, I think I need a serious break. I hope to spend time in December doing some research and prep work so I can finally write the Takeru chapter of "Somewhere Only We Know" when Camp Digimonth starts up in January. I feel bad that it's been 6 months since I've updated that story, and that I've been focusing on so many other projects. I've really enjoyed writing those other stories though, don't get me wrong.

Of course I say I need a break and then I have this IDEA that won't leave me alone

[foolinafable]

ordinary

Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader Synopsis: A normal morning with Five Word Count: 1.2k Tags: Fluff, Season 4 fix it fic Note: wanted to write for five in my tipsy stupor and this was born. Also, send requests!

He wouldn’t change this for anything, six years with you had been as close to heaven as he could ever hope to get.

Five had done a lot of bad things in his life- he was sure he was as close to the devil as one could get but you had always been there, the sun to his moon, the smile to his frown, the Hera to his Zeus. All he had ever wanted was for time to stop, for him not to be worrying about his family and an upcoming apocalypse and that is all he had up until now. the complete freedom from that aspect of his life finally allowed him to have his retirement. Until he got bored and applied for the CIA.

Getting the job was something Diego may have envied but you fully supported it because while he may have the memories and mind of a much older man psychically he didn’t look any older than eighteen and neither did you thanks to his mess-up with the calculations a whole three apocalypses ago. He had spent twenty-six years by your side now and still didn’t seem long enough in his opinion.

Waking up by your side was a gift he hoped he never had to give up. Watching you sleep with a soft smile as he realised that this was his reality now- the world was safe, you were safe. He never needed to worry about something coming to take you and his family away again- it had been six years of peace and he can only look forward to even more. 

He hated waking you up in the morning but also knew that you would be sad if he left for work before you could give him a kiss goodbye, something he wouldn't admit to also missing if he ever dared to leave you asleep in bed. Luckily, today he had the day off as did you for it was little Grace's birthday a day the young girl was very excited for because her "favourite auntie and uncle" would make an appearance her voice echoing in his head from when you had called Lila for a chat yesterday and confirmed to very happy Grace Stanley Hargreeves that the two of you wouldn’t dare miss her birthday party after she had threatened that her father would come and kidnap the pair of you if you dared to miss her most special day. It was later on in the day in the afternoon as Lila had claimed annoyed that it couldn’t be too early as she needed time to not only get the twins ready but also set up the party as the kids club it was going to be located at so he got to watch you for the first time in whoever knows how long sleep in and not feel bad for not waking you up.

Eventually, he could feel the need for coffee overwhelm him knowing that if he didn't get some in his system he would soon become a ‘grumpy old man’ as you liked to say so he slowly unwrapped his hands from around you and gave a soft kiss to your forehead as he departed from the warm of your embrace and made his way towards the kitchen his main goal to make himself a cup of goddam coffee. 

You grumbled slightly at the feeling of his lips on your head trying to snuggle back into his neck when you noticed his removal from the haven of your warm bed causing you to groan at the loss of him.

Ever since saving the world more than once you found it hard to sleep without him the fear of living in a world without him haunts you on darker days and frightening nights so it was of no surprise to you when your eyes quickly blinked open at the loss of him in the bed luckily his side was still warm calming your brain as you slowly and annoyingly began to awaken a lot earlier than you would’ve wished for on your day off.

After a few minutes of rolling around in the bed hoping you could convince yourself to go back to sleep you deceitfully trudged yourself away leaving the safety of your covers in order to find your lover. Yawning as you made your way from your bedroom into the kitchen smelling the coffee from a mile away giving his location away easily you found him sitting at the breakfast table sipping coffee smiling softly as he saw you appear from the door you smiled back lazily as you dropped into the chair opposite his, head resting on your hands as he strokes your face with his thumb in an apology for waking you up you simply hummed in understanding- he can’t be awake too long without coffee otherwise he will become irritable and you couldn’t have that with Grace’s birthday party being at two o'clock.

Luther had called yesterday letting you know that he would be picking up Ben from prison as he was finally getting released today, he also mentioned that Victor was planning on making an appearance. A fact that left you and Five shocked barely hearing from the Hargreeves sibling since you had split off after Alison reset the timeline.

Five stopped stroking your face as he got up from his chair walking into the living room before quickly returning with the crossword puzzle book you had gifted him for his birthday, he made a point to do one puzzle every morning before he did anything else, except have his coffee that is, claiming that it made him feel ready for the day and feel as though you were with him on the days he set off for work before you had even awoken a fact that made you smile as you looked at the boy- a man as he now liked to claim as he looked down at his puzzle his eyebrows furrowed as he completed it with ease only meeting your gase once he had finished today crossword eyebrows raising as you smiled at him before reaching to tuck the hairs in front of his face behind his ears as they usually go in his eyes. Something that while it annoyed him he wouldn’t dare cut his hair any shorter especially after you had spoken of your fondness over this overgrown style. His hands grabbed at your wrists before you could pull away from him, using this as leverage he drew you closer to press a slow kiss to your lips smiling as you hummed in content at the contact of his lips on yours, his hands stroking at your wrists making butterflies erupt in your stomach as if he hadn’t been doing this for the past two decades. You smiled as you parted your hand coming to rest on his jaw where his dimple sat among his freckles, he smiled back at you his eyes not daring to leave yours.

You both were sure that while this day was going to be as ordinary as the others had these past six years it would be special just because you were here together. 

[wannab-urs]

Make it Hurt

Pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant!f!reader

Summary: It’s difficult being the only mutant at Xavier’s school with regenerative powers. There’s no one you can spar with – fellow professors included – that is on your level. Not when you can kill them, but they can’t kill you. That is, until you meet Logan. 

OR 

You spar with Logan and end up fucking on the training room floor.

Warnings: Smut, pwp/plot what plot/porn without plot, pain kink, blood kink (?), idk y’all this one is kinda freaky, sparring, knife play… kind of, reader is a mutant with deadpoolesque powers and likes to play with knives, She also teaches at the school, Logan is probably taller than reader, everyone is super strong here, pet names (baby, one Good Girl), semi-public sex,  no use of y/n WC: 1.6k

A/N: First of all, I’d like to link @eupheme’s fic Tooth and Nail because the setting of that fic definitely inspired this one. I’d also like to thank @pedgito, @pr0ximamidnight, and @chaotic-mystery for feeding my delusions and encouraging me to write this pile of filth. 

Logan Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

It’s difficult being the only mutant at Xavier’s school with regenerative powers. There’s no one you can spar with – fellow professors included – that is on your level. Not when you can kill them, but they can’t kill you. 

When Logan showed up you had thought you finally found your match. The man could regenerate just as quickly as you, and while you were excellent with knives, he had claws. He showed no interest in sparring though, or training with anyone at all. He is many things, but a team player is not one of them. You’d begged him on more than one occasion to go to the mat with you, but he refused. 

Somehow, Charles managed to convince Logan to spar with you. You’ve been nervous all day and now you’re standing in the empty training room waiting for him to show up. Just as you start to worry he won’t, the door slides open. He steps through, closes, and locks the door behind him. 

He makes his way to the mat and you realize how tall he is, taking in the bulge of his biceps on display in his tight white tank top. Logan could do some serious damage to you – temporarily that is. You try not to show how excited you are, bouncing on the balls of your feet and twirling a knife in your hand.

“You really think this is a good idea?” Logan asks gruffly.

“You can’t hurt me, Logan. Not really.”

“We’ll see.”

He lunges for you and you easily step out of the way, slicing his arm with your knife. He groans, so low it's almost a snarl. You drop to the floor and swipe your leg out, knocking him off his feet. He rolls just in time, and your knife ends up buried in the mat instead of his chest. With a frustrated grunt, you yank the knife from the mat and square up with him again.

“C’mon baby, is that all you got? Make it hurt,” he taunts you.

You go flying at him, a blade in each hand now. His claws come out and he parries one knife away, but you manage to sink the other in between two of his ribs. You twist the knife and pull it out, causing him to growl deeply. 

“That’s more like it.” 

He bats away your next attack, sinking his claws deep into your thigh in the process. You groan and kick him hard in the chest with your other leg, sending him sprawling to his back. You throw a knife into his bicep and while he works to remove it, you straddle his waist, slamming your other knife into his throat. 

Logan roars and sinks his claws into your sides before throwing you halfway across the room. You roll to your feet, pulling out another knife. Logan stalks over to you, claws out, eyebrows lowered so that his face looks dark and menacing. You flick a knife in his direction, but he knocks it out of the air easily. You try to stay focused on the fight, but all you can think about is how fucking hot he looks coming toward you like a predator stalking its prey. 

He swipes his claws at your face, but you block them with your arm, using his own leverage against him to impale him on your knife. He keeps driving you backward until he has you pinned against the wall, the handle of your own knife jabbing into your ribs. You grip the handle and shove him back, reclaiming your weapon. He’s on you again in a second, grabbing you by your tattered training uniform and throwing you back onto the mat. 

You slide across the mat, unable to get your footing. He’s stronger than you, faster. It’s the first time you’ve felt like you have an even match, a worthy opponent. Your blood is racing through your veins, heart pumping so fast you can hear it. 

You scramble backward as he makes his way back to you, getting to your feet just as he arrives in front of you. He’s breathing heavily, sweat glistening off his chest and shoulders, but he’s clearly not done with you yet. 

He sinks his claws into your shoulder and uppercuts you with his fist. You fall again, landing hard on the mat, and he follows you. He lands heavy on your body, pinning you to the ground. He stabs two claws into the mat on either side of your neck, the middle one sheathed. You hope he can’t tell how turned on you are.

“Give up yet, bub?” 

You shake your head, causing one of the blades to nick your throat. He drops his head and licks the blood off your skin, the wound itself already healed. You moan and buck your hips into his, finding that he’s in the same state as you – mercilessly turned on. He growls at the contact with his aching cock and grinds back into you. 

He pulls his claws from the mat and cautiously traces the curve of your breast with one instead. He looks into your eyes, obviously searching for something. 

“You want this?”

You pull your last knife from its sheath and bury it in his thigh. He doesn’t even flinch and you watch his pupils dilate. No sooner do you nod your consent than he’s sliced through your training suit, baring your breasts to him. 

He sucks a nipple into his mouth, tongue laving it before he bites down – hard. You moan, grabbing his tank in both hands and pulling until it splits, baring his torso to you. He kisses his way up your throat, licking blood from your skin as he goes. He grinds his hard cock against your mound as he presses his lips to yours. You lick into his mouth, tasting your blood and sweat on his tongue. 

He sits up and unbuttons his jeans, sliding the zipper down. You tug the knife out of his thigh, forgotten until now, and drop it on the mat beside you. You undo the belt on your training suit and start stripping the pants off as quickly as you can. Logan gets frustrated and uses his claws to shred them the rest of the way off you. 

Finally bare for him, he spreads your legs, exposing your dripping cunt to his gaze. He drops his head down and licks up your slick, groaning deeply into your pussy. You whine and bury your hands in his hair, using the tufted sides like handles to grind his face into your cunt. Logan plunges his tongue in your hole, lapping up your slick like it’s water and he’s been stranded in the desert. You ride his face hard and fast, until that coil of pleasure in your belly is near snapping. 

“Please don’t stop. Fuck, Logan. Fuck,” you plead with him as your orgasm nears. He shakes his head as if to say he wouldn’t dream of it and it sends you over the edge, the pleasure in your stomach expanding out through all your limbs, making them shake. 

Logan sits back and shoves his jeans down far enough for his cock to spring out. He’s big, and your mouth waters at the sight. If you weren’t so desperate to have him inside you, you’d beg for a chance to lick the thick vein running down the underside. 

“You gonna let me fuck you right here?” 

“I’m gonna make you fuck me right here.” 

“Is that right, baby?” 

You reach for your knife again, but he pins your arm down. He lets out a low chuckle before lining his cock up with your entrance. He keeps you pinned as he slowly pushes into you, straight to the end of you. It hurts, but it feels so good, the stretch of your walls trying to accommodate him and failing. You clench hard and it pushes his cock back out of you. 

“Fuckin’ tight little thing aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t wait for a response before ramming himself into you again. This time, your walls relax and let him in. 

“That’s it, baby. That’s a good girl. Taking me so well,” he mutters as he begins to rock his hips into you. 

You dig your fingernails into his back, gouging deep lines that heal as fast as you can make them. He groans and bites down on your shoulder until he draws blood. His tongue glides over the indents in your skin that last only seconds. 

His thrusts speed up as you adjust to him, fucking you so hard you scoot up the mat. He buries his claws in your sides, keeping you from sliding away and making you delirious with pain and pleasure. You come hard, clenching around his cock and gushing your slick all over him. He uses his claws to pull you down on his cock over and over until you feel his body tense up and then the hot splash of his spend inside you. 

He slowly retracts his claws, making you groan at the feeling of them leaving your body. 

“You okay?” He asks. 

“Never better, actually.” 

He rolls off you and lands on his back. You both lay there panting for a minute or two. 

“How the fuck are we supposed to get back to our rooms?” You ask, looking over your tattered clothing. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that just yet.”

“And why is that?” You flop your head to the side to look at him, broad chest heaving, still hard cock laying heavily on his belly.

“Not done with you yet.”

[jazjelspen]

my angel baby [part 2]

(alastor w/ angel daughter reader)

[caution: NOT PROOFREAD oh and angst hehe]

(notes: alastor joins charlie and vaggie in heaven to convince them about the hazbin hotel. angel reader physically resembles a fawn. )

[tags: @luujjvi @c-lunette @mokisano @ghostdoodlen @wildfire153 @anonymousewrites @bewitchedbymadness @thisbitchreallyneedssleep @22carolina08 @original-person]

[remember if you want to keep in touch with a particular series I write, let me know in comments or messages you want to be tagged! you will only be tagged once unless specified that you want to be tagged till the end of a particular series!]

(also once again, apologies if alastor’s last name isn’t actually altruist qwq it’ll stick till the end of this fic but I’ll try not to mention it as much)

For the first time in years, you feared being in heaven.

Not that you felt unsafe, just that you felt incredibly uncomfortable seeing your serial killer dad who's now a demon be invited to be in the place where light and goodness is it's main foundation.. even reassuring yourself that it was temporary didn't calm you down when you were flying away from him. For your own sake you even avoided where the welcoming was happening.

Ahh but.. it also didn't help that he was following you around after the show without you knowing.

After the angels had performed their song to welcome in the princess of hell, her apparent partner, and-- him.. everyone sort of went their separate ways and the visitors from below started to relax in their new yet temporary places of stay. You felt a bit of relief when you assumed Alastor would also be setting himself in to relax as well.

During heaven's performance you decided to take a breather at a local coffee shop, one where you thankfully always had a spot there where you could hide away from the huge windows of the cafe.

Although right after that, unbeknownst to you at the time, Alastor was looking for you, but obviously pretended as if he was looking for a good bite to eat.. unfortunately for him he had to behave and he couldn't eat a living walking thing until after they came back home.

Oh how bummed out he was.

You were in a far corner inside the shop, as mentioned before anyone that was able to look in through the windows wouldn't be able to see you since you were out of view. Drinking your favorite beverage that the shop offered and eating a filling snack to relax your body and mind. Safe to say you were now more in touch with your feelings and weren't overly panicked as you once were.

'Why is he here.. is he an advisor to the princess? a companion?.. some kind of servant?.. she's really young though, perhaps she's ward to him or something.. but she has her.. dad.. and I'm sure he must be alive still.. ' You thought, different theories and ideas passing by in and out your head trying to make sense of the situation.

'perhaps.. he's here to see me?..' you hoped, then scolded yourself right after,

'nono.. I can't be wanting that.. sure he raised you but he's a monster. he killed you, _____. get a grip..' you sighed deeply while massaging your temples in frustration 'even if he seemed to not.. have meant to do that. he tried to kill someone else anyway, that poor man could've died instead of you.' you tried to reason with yourself, coming to a single conclusion in the end.

Eyes glued to your drink. staring at it with intensity.

"I regret nothing." you claimed to yourself in a low mumble, not enough for anyone close to hear.

Ahh.. but you did miss him very much.. the version of him that you grew up with at least.

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

You were in your warm and humble home with your father. It was a fairly cold night with rain dropping onto the roof of your home yet the warmth of the house seemed to make the cold seem almost cozy to you.

Your small footsteps could be heard running around the house, as your little seven year old self ran around you seemed to be giggling uncontrollably with a peculiar circular item in your hand.

"No running in the house _____, remember what I told you." Alastor exclaimed in slight irritation as he could hear you from afar while he was cleaning up the table from the dinner you two just had, he started slightly missing the times when you didn't know how to walk and when you simply just blabbered baby nonsense.. he definitely doesn't miss the sleepless nights of baby crying though.

You huffed and puffed as you then plopped the item on the sofa, it was a disk, a record. You then climbed yourself up and once your little body landed on the cushions you then picked yourself up once more to then grab the disk and turn to the small table right beside the sofa where a large phonograph rested on.

"Papa!" you exclaimed, "Papa! Music music!.." you pleaded, your little voice begging to once again turn on the music playing machine.

Alastor faintly chuckled at your little demands, amusing how such a small thing dares to command but nonetheless he found it silly at how you tried. "Yes yes my dear, I'll be right there." He then set the last few dirty dishes away to be cleaned soon since he couldn't say no to listening to some tunes before bed.

You smiled brightly as your little feet playfully tapped on the cushions, almost jumping. Noticing your developing excitement Alastor hurried over to you.

"Ah-ah-ahh, no jumping on the sofa my dear. I'm excited as well but I can't have you break your little head open, that'd be no fun at all!" Well.. that and he didn't wanna ruin his cushions, but nonetheless he cared for your wellbeing the most even if he wasn't fond of admitting it.

His hands gently took the disk from your hands, carefully setting the disk on the phonograph to have it play your favorite tunes. Once you two heard the amazing first few notes of jazz was when Alastor settled down beside you on the sofa and you started clapping in delight.

Alastor looked at you almost fondly, letting out a small huff of delight at your reactions. Your innocence seemed to be something that contained him from wanting to continue his murder spree, although his bloodlust always wins in the end, he seems to always willingly pause his life for you.

Plus, he loves jazz just as much as you do.. why would he miss out on this?

Your fit of giggles dwindled down but didn't stop, in a sudden burst of energy you jumped off the sofa and then started dancing similarly yet obviously a bit more goofy to how you've seen couples and single dancers dance in the nights of Mardi Gras or just parties your father took you when he would be invited. Your little dance moves seemed to be fiddled with confidence yet they were so off from what you were trying to attempt, nonetheless you were happy, and that's what Alastor secretly liked to see.

"Dance with me papa dance with me!" you pleaded again, your smaller hands grabbing his larger one and tugging at it, trying to get him to stand up.

"_____ darling no tugging, besides I just sat down my dear and I'm exhausted." He sighed, his constant smile always present yet he was visibly a bit tired from the day he had.

But oh how you persisted, and how darn adorable you were as a kid. "But papaaa!.. pretty please! I wanna dance how you and that singing lady did the last time we went on those big loud places!"

"Parties, dear." he corrected you, but let out a long sigh and got up. Because no matter how tired he was or how annoyed he seemed to be he didn't mind keeping you happy.

So that's what he did, he danced with you. Swinging you, twirling you around to the melody and the beat, your cheers of glee and uncontrollable laughter motived him to keep up with your excitement. Not only that but your smile, genuine and pure, it was what he needed to get himself to match your energy. Jazz music was what always connected you two and it always brought you together no matter what.

At the end of the song Alastor ended it by gently throwing you up in the air and catching you, letting you get your last giggles out. You both laughed together, your bond ever growing stronger. You truly did tame this bloodthirsty killer without even trying or knowing, of course you were too young to know.

Once the giggle frenzy ended you both finished your dancing with a long sigh, the phonograph ending it's segment. You then suddenly yawned and rested your head in the crook of his neck over his shoulder, snuggling for warmth and for a sudden need to sleep.

"Seems like my little fawn needs sleep now, almost past your bedtime young lady." Normally he'd scold you a bit more strictly as he usually did, but seeing as how you were basically ready to fall into a pile of dreams he just felt no need to do that.

"Sorries papa.. I forgot.." your little words muffled by your face hidden in his neck.

Alastor was never one for being touched, let alone hugged or snuggled. Oh but he had no right to complain, he's had you this close since you were a baby.. to him this just felt normal now.

Of course no one but you could be this close to him, you're his little girl after all.

"No need to worry, my dear." He stopped in front of your bedroom, carefully opening the door with a creak following after. With careful footsteps he walked towards your bed, pulling the blanket away to then gently place you on your cozy sheets with care.

Alastor gently moved any misplaced hairs away from your face as he then pulled your soft and warm blanket up to your neck. Your sleeping face reassuring him.

"Sweet dreams sweetheart." His usual smile softening a bit more before backing away and slowly heading towards the door of your room, lingering for a few extra seconds to take one last look at you before slowly closing the door and heading off to bed himself.

After the click of the door closing can be heard, you mumbled "Goodnight papa.." with a smile, even if in the end Alastor didn't get to hear it.

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

You missed him, dearly.

A weight fell on your chest, your eyes begging to form tears. You missed when you had that childhood innocence, when you didn't know what he was capable of, when he was nothing but a saint to you.

It still hurt after all these years, you thought he was a good man.. a bit strict, blunt, a bit too true to himself and definitely peculiar but.. the Alastor that raised you would never do that. Until you were obviously proven otherwise.

Oh but I guess you were too into your reminiscing that you didn't notice the background gasps and small shrieks of surprise and fear, and you didn't yet feel the eventual stares and eerie presence right in front of you.

"What don't you regret, my dear?"

You choked on your drink in surprise almost spitting it out,

that fucking radio voice again.

For heaven's sake how did he find you?? He couldn't have seen you through the windows. Did he follow you??.. did you just not notice.. Oh geez maybe getting used to having your guard down during all your years in heaven definitely didn't help with this situation.

You continued coughing on your drink, even punching your chest a bit to get that last good cough out. The radio demon pulled the chair in front of you to sit across from you, not waiting to ask permission.

To him he didn't need to, he's your father after all.

Once you calmed down you immediately avoided eye contact, only giving him a once second glance to confirm it was him in hopes your ears were playing a trick on you-- they weren't.

"How.. how'd you find me.." you mumbled in slight fear.

"Oh how would I not! Sweetheart I'm your father of course, as your father I must have those parental instincts.. I always know where you are!" he exclaimed, seemingly proud of this.

"I'm guessing those 'parental instincts' didn't kick in when you stabbed me, huh." you spat with attitude, unafraid to be rude to him with so much sin he's committed.

A sharp static sound came from him, as if in slight shock at the disrespect and comeback you gave. "Watch the attitude young lady, you're still an Altruist you know."

You scoffed, hating at how indifferent you felt about your last name.

"Not by blood though.."

"I raised you, don't forget that." he spat back, starting to get irritated.

"And because of that I owe you?"

"Yes, yes indeed! Smart girl you are."

You scoffed at his response, finally getting the guts to look at him in the face. His appearance frightened you, disgusted you even.

Is this truly the man that raised you?

"As a matter of fact, I actually don't." you crossed your arms in annoyance and a huff. Your eyes couldn't help but to slowly drift to off to the people behind him and you see fellow angels you know continue to stare in awe or fear, of course at Alastor. With all eyes on you and mostly him it made you feel a little embarrassed. You cowered down a bit and your wings went over your head and shoulders a bit as if to hide you behind a 'curtain' of sorts.

Alastor obviously noticed this, but could care less about the stares.

You sighed, "Look, Alasto--"

"I think you mean to call me 'father'." he interrupted as he obviously seemed a bit sassy about it. "Even 'dad' is just simply fine and dandy with me!"

"No, I can't," you frowned, wishing you could "I won't. Not after what you did to me, to that man that night, and to every other poor soul you hurt."

Your face slowly scrunched up in disgust "You don't deserve my forgiveness, my mercy."

In embarrassment and feeling tears want to shed you grabbed your drink and got up to walk out, before you could get past Alastor though he grabbed your wrist harshly.

"Uh-- hey.. let go--"

"I didn't mean to do what I did, my dove." His voice turned into a weird version of gentle, almost uncharacteristically gentle. "I never intended to take your life away."

He sounded genuine.

Could he?.. Would he?..

Maybe, just maybe--

"No." you spat, "Maybe you didn't mean to hurt me, but you definitely meant to hurt others. That's something I can't forgive and I'm sure your victims wouldn't neither." you glared at him, setting your foot down. "I refuse to call you my father, not until I know that you repent for your sins but knowing you I highly doubt that." You snatched your wrist away and for a slight second you stopped caring about what others thought when they'd see this "Besides, you killed me two weeks after I turned eighteen.. don't even include the years that passed since the 30s and present time so clearly you can't control me anymore old man."

But Alastor wouldn't go down that fast nor easily.

His sharp smile widened, you felt immense dread.

"Oh little one, no matter how far you are or how much you try to disown me you are forever connected to me. I made you who you are and you can try to run and fly off however long you want but in the end you're tied to me whether you like it or not. Even in death."

He seemed deathly serious with his statements so much so that you could've sworn you could see his shadow giggling and smirking in a way that seemed even worse and more than evil.

Your breath quietly hitched in fear in noticing this to the point where it even forced you to take a step back. He let out a sinister chuckle before you couldn't help but speed out of the shop and flew out.

You couldn't handle him, he was shameless when showing this side of him.. how could he be this shameless and normal?? How could he act like this and be proud about it? He killed people and doesn't regret it, you being the only exception just didn't feel right and it wasn't fair!

Not to you.

He may have been able to silently control you and vaguely manipulate you to believe he was anything but a bad person back when you were alive and young but now your eyes are wide open and so is your heart.

You have such a bad feeling about this whole thing, he was up to no good he just couldn't be-- he had to be using the princess as an excuse to do something shitty.

Good thing you had plenty of connections, if you just played your cards right...

Hey.. wasn't there something about a court meeting happening soon?

On the other hand Alastor stayed sitting there still chucking devilishly, his intentions and true feelings smeared and unclear.

With a snap of his fingers a cup of black coffee appeared and he began drinking it with a sense of casual glee and eyes closed in delight. Until he felt eyes on him, two nearby to be exact. He opened one eye to look at the angels staring at him and they both seemed like more biblically accurate angels, both having one eye and all. The radio demon shot them an evil grin.

"Oh adolescents these days, rebellious aren't they." He cackled before going back to drinking his coffee, the angels creeped out by his interaction soon scurried away from him.

The fear. He enjoyed it, just not really from you.

(thank you all who asked for part 2!! of course I had to deliver since you all really wanted it and honestly I love adding flashbacks to memories Alastor and the reader had when they were alive, makes their ending on earth just that more painful (as if it wasn't clear I love angst). Honestly I don't mind making more parts for this! If the demand is consistent and you guys still want to keep up with it I have a few ideas to keep this going! Once again thank you so much for reading!! Now I must finish writing for other stories lolllll!)

(p.s: i highly recommend listening to any mitski song while reading this I think it fits well especially with the flashback scene hehe)

[winterarmyy]

Steal Me Away

Glimpses of the grumpy chubby alpha!bucky's love life.

Summary: When Bucky was stuck in an unpleasant lunch with his co-workers; he thought about how nice it would be if someone comes and steals him away.

Navigation: Prequel || Main Story I || Main Story II || Main Story III

Pairing: chubby alpha!bucky x omega!female!reader

Words: 2.6k++

Warnings: a/b/o dynamics. no plot, just fluff. low-key body shamming, bullying, bucky and his omega being adorable. (tell me is there's anything else I missed)

P/S: Impulsive writing at 3am in the morning because I couldn't sleep, then left the draft to rot for weeks, now posted. Also tagging @serendipitouslife90 because she's the biggest fan of this au. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this short fic and happy reading! 🤍

Read my other works here: Masterlist

The morning sun filtered through the blinds of Bucky’s cubicle, casting narrow strips of light across his cluttered desk. The office was its usual sanctuary of muted tones and hushed conversations. Colleagues navigated the aisles like cautious explorers, their brief nods to Bucky barely concealing their unease.

He didn’t mind. In fact, he preferred it this way. Solitude was his comfort zone, and he relished the uninterrupted focus on his work.

Bucky tapped away at his keyboard, the rhythmic clacking serving as his meditation. His thoughts were like the lines of code he worked with; orderly, precise, and devoid of unnecessary embellishments. Socializing was a distraction he neither wanted nor needed.

The occasional murmurs of sympathy about his less-than-ideal body shape for an Alpha like him, or the prosthetic arm he wore to make up for his imperfection, had long since ceased to bother him. They were background noise in the symphony of his workday.

Two weeks had passed since Bucky had last seen y/n, their second date now a vivid but distant memory. Their time together had been cut short, both of them consumed by the relentless demands of their careers. Especially for Bucky, the high-pressure world of software engineering was unforgiving.

Ever since he was in school, he always had the knack for tech but as he grew up, his path lead away from it. Then after his abrupt release from military service, he was lost for a moment. He lost his position and quite literally his limb. After he was introduced to Stark Technologies for is prosthetic, his interest in tech bloomed once more.

Fast forward, he had transitioned to civilian life with a single-minded focus on his career. The transition from soldier to software engineer had been a challenging yet rewarding shift, one that demanded every ounce of his dedication.

His days were a blur of client meetings, coding marathons, and sleepless nights, leaving him barely enough time to recharge. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't escape the gnawing sense of guilt that tugged at him.

Y/n had been understanding, insisting that they could take things slow and that she was patient. Yet Bucky felt a pressing need to make up for the lost time, to show her that she was more important than the endless stream of work that consumed him.

His longing for her was a constant undercurrent in his daily routine, a reminder of the connection he cherished and the promises he hoped to fulfill, even amidst the chaos of his demanding schedule.

Lunchtime arrived with an uncharacteristic intrusion; Brock’s insistent presence. Bucky had settled into his usual corner of the break room, anticipating a quiet meal alone.

But Brock, with his usual smirk, plopped down across from him, completely unfazed by Bucky’s visible discomfort.

“You know, Bucky,” he started, his tone laced with false camaraderie, “maybe you should join us for lunch this time. Walk off that fat in your belly, and maybe, just maybe, might help you lose a few pounds and get that soldier body of yours again.”

The comment triggered a ripple of reactions around the break room. A few colleagues, particularly those who fancied themselves as superior alpha, snickered behind their coffee cups, enjoying the moment at Bucky’s expense. The rest of the room fell into an awkward silence; some looked away, unable or unwilling to get involved, while others exchanged nervous glances, wary of crossing the line with either of the alpha males.

Bucky’s mind raced with a mix of frustration and contemplation. Brock’s taunts were nothing new, but the timing was particularly irritating. With his packed schedule and the constant pressure of meeting deadlines, Bucky had barely had a moment to breathe, let alone deal with petty office politics.

The jabs felt like an unnecessary complication in an already strained day. His thoughts were a whirlwind of frustration; he wondered why he always ended up the target of Brock’s remarks and whether it was a reflection of his own choices or just Brock’s way of asserting dominance.

The palpable tension in the room only added to his mounting irritation.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his irritation simmering beneath a thin veneer of politeness. “Yeah, sure. Why not?” He didn’t bother hiding the grumble in his voice. His work would have to wait, and so would his patience.

The café buzzed with conversation and clinking dishes, an atmosphere of forced cheerfulness that did little to mask the underlying tension. Bucky took his seat with a sigh, his mind already drifting to y/n, the image of her smile a soothing balm to his frayed nerves.

Brock wasted no time in launching his passive-aggressive jabs, each comment about Bucky’s weight or his vibranium prosthetic arm more cutting than the last. Bucky could feel the rage bubbling up, but he forced himself to stay calm, focusing instead on the thought of y/n. The warm glow of her presence seemed to wrap around him, even in the midst of Brock’s taunts.

Brock leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “You know, Bucky, it's always something watching you eat alone. Maybe if you spent less time working and more time mingling; hit the gym with us after work or something. Who knows you might actually find yourself a date for once.”

The remark seemed casual, almost playful, but it carried a veiled sting. It wasn’t just about Bucky’s solitary lunchtime habits; it was a pointed jab at his single status, suggesting that his lack of romantic success might be due to his social ineptitude and undesirable body.

Bucky’s patience snapped. He leaned forward, his voice cold and controlled. “I don’t know, Brock. Honestly, it’s much better to be alone than to ‘mingle’ with someone who’s all bark and no bite.” He fearlessly maintained his cold gaze; eyes seemingly bore the words his lips never spoke. “…Like you”

Brock's face flushed a deep crimson, and his jaw tightened in a futile attempt to maintain composure. He muttered something about needing a smoke before hastily exiting the room, his pride stinging from the unexpected jab. The rest of the team sat in an uneasy silence, the tension almost tangible.

They watched as Bucky’s eyes bore into Brock’s retreating figure, cold and unyielding. There was something almost feral in his gaze, a silent promise of consequences that only someone with true authority and control could convey.

Everyone knew better than to provoke him further; Bucky's look was a chilling reminder that he played by his own rules.

Brock stepped out of the café, his frustration boiling over as he lit a cigarette. With each inhale of nicotine, he muttered darkly under his breath, cursing Bucky and grumbling about how that fat-ass loser like him had the audacity to undermine his clearly more superior alpha status.

His anger was a tempest, raging against the affront to his ego.

As he paced, his gaze drifted to the sidewalk next to the café, where a striking woman in a sundress was engrossed in her phone. The late afternoon sun highlighted the gentle curves of her figure, and her unblemished skin glowed softly, exposed at the back of her neck.

Brock’s eyes raked over her with a predatory appreciation, the male gaze undeniable in his scrutiny.

Her poised stance and soft demeanor hinted at an aura of femineity that intrigued him. A smirk curved his lips as he took another drag from his cigarette, already imagining how he might woo her, hoping that a little charm could be the distraction he needed from his bruised pride.

Back in the café, Bucky was still seated at the table, surrounded by the typical midday hustle, yet he remained ensconced in a bubble of tranquility. His attention was focused solely on his phone, where a soft, contented smile played on his lips. The noise of the café faded into the background as he read through y/n’s messages.

Each word from her was a thread that connected him to a part of his life that felt more real and meaningful than the relentless grind of his daily routine.

Y/n had inquired about his lunch, her questions laced with genuine curiosity. “How was your lunch?” “Was it any good?” “How’s your day been so far?” The inquiries seemed almost innocent, yet they carried a warmth that enveloped him.

And then, the message that tugged at his heartstrings: “I miss you.” It was as if her words had the power to reach through the screen and touch him directly, offering a solace that was hard to find amidst the chaos left from the prior event.

He missed her deeply.

The absence of her voice, the comfort of her presence. He wished that she could just steal him away; or perhaps he would be stealing her away?

Eitherway, he just wants to get out of here.

As he glanced at the time, noting that he still had about thirty minutes before he needed to return to the office, he made a quick decision. He would step outside for a moment, away from the unnecessary drama, and maybe give her a call.

The thought of hearing her voice, even if only for a brief conversation, was a beacon of light in his otherwise frenetic day. As Bucky stepped out of the café, his gaze remained fixed on his phone, where y/n’s last message glowed softly on the screen.

Unbeknownst to him, the scene unfolding just a few paces away was far less pleasant. Brock, still nursing his bruised ego from their earlier encounter by relentlessly flirting with the girl. “Come on, sweetheart, just one date.” Brock said, his voice low and laced with insincere flirtation.

He leaned in close, a smirk playing on his lips as his hand reached out, brushing against her exposed shoulder. Y/n recoiled slightly, her discomfort palpable. “I’m really not interested,” she said firmly, though her voice carried an undercurrent of unease. “and I have a boyfriend.”

Brock’s persistence only grew more insistent. “I doubt that. I can see you do not have his mark here,” he persisted, his hand lingering uncomfortably on her shoulder, close to where her mating mark supposed to reside. Despite her attempts to shrug off his advances, Brock didn’t relent. His touch was intrusive, and his words edged on harassment. And she can sense the scent of arousal coming from the alpha.

Y/n’s eyes darted around, seeking an escape from the unwanted attention. As her gaze fell behind Brock, she caught sight of a familiar figure; one that seemed to offer a lifeline amidst her distress.

“Bucky?” she called out, her voice tinged with both relief and surprise. The name escaped her lips before she could fully process the situation, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of Bucky walking toward them.

Bucky knew that voice. It was a sound that resonated deep within him, as familiar as his own heartbeat. He lifted his eyes from his phone, and the world around him sharpened into focus. The scene before him was both infuriating and unmistakable: Brock, with his sleazy smirk and inappropriate proximity, stood uncomfortably close to Bucky's omega, his hand hovering dangerously near her exposed shoulder.

A surge of primal fury shot through Bucky, a blaze of anger that burned through his veins and coiled tight in his chest. His eyes blazed with a fierce intensity, a low, guttural growl forming in his throat as he prepared to confront the intruder. His body tensed, ready to pounce.

But before he could make a move, y/n was already in motion. She leaped into his arms with a mix of desperation and joy, catching Bucky off guard. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her, holding her securely against his chest.

Her arms clung tightly to his nape, her face burying itself into the crook of his neck as if seeking refuge; shamelessly scenting him. Her warm breath and soft sighs was a soothing cure to his simmering rage.

The anger that had been boiling inside him began to fizzle away, replaced by a profound sense of relief and love. The sound of her happy purrs, the feel of her soft body pressed against his, and her intoxicatingly sweet scent; all of it made his anger dissolve into a tender, protective affection.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, his arms tightening around her waist as he relished in the comforting closeness. “Hi, sugar.” he whispered, his voice thick with affection and relief.

Bucky's hold loosen as he leaned down, his gentle smile never faltering as he closed the distance between them. His eyes softened with affection, and he pressed his lips against y/n's in a kiss so tender it felt like a whisper. It was a soft, loving caress that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

But before he could pull back, y/n’s playful energy erupted. She cupped his cheeks in her delicate hands, pulling him down to her level with a sudden, joyful enthusiasm.

Her lips attacked his with a flurry of kisses; quick, warm, and full of exuberance. Each kiss left behind a trace of her strawberry-scented lipstick, creating a trail of smudged rosy color across his face. The marks dotted his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and even his lips, a vibrant testament to her affection.

Amused laughter bubbled up from Bucky, the sound a rare and delightful departure from his usual stoic demeanor. His eyes twinkled with genuine mirth, his grumpy alpha persona completely melted away in the face of y/n’s loving onslaught.

He reveled in the smothering of her kisses, his initial tension and anger forgotten. A satisfied rumble vibrates on his throat, across his chest. The contrast between his earlier anger and the unrestrained joy he now experienced was stark; the shift was almost palpable.

Lost in their own world, the two seemed oblivious to their surroundings. Their display of affection was unabashedly public, a stark contrast to the earlier tension. Y/n looked up at him with bright eyes, her voice filled with eager excitement as she asked if he still had time.

“I want to steal you away.” she said with a playful smile.

Bucky’s smile widened, his heart swelling with happiness. “Of course, sugar. Anything for you.” he replied, his voice tender and filled with genuine warmth.

But as Bucky’s gaze shifted away from y/n and landed on Brock, his soft features momentarily disappeared. His expression hardened, the warmth in his eyes turning to ice. The switch in his demeanor was chilling; an instant transformation from the tender lover to a menacing figure.

The coldness in his eyes was a silent, yet unmistakable warning. It was as though a dark storm cloud had settled over him, a clear signal that Brock's earlier arrogance had crossed an unforgivable line.

The intensity of Bucky’s stare spoke volumes, a silent promise of retribution and a reminder of the strength behind his calm exterior. The abrupt shift in his demeanor was a jarring contrast to the affection he had just displayed, sending a clear message to Brock that any further provocation would be met with unspeakable consequences.

As Bucky and y/n walked hand in hand away from the café, Brock stood there, fuming and humiliated. His attempt to belittle Bucky had backfired spectacularly.

Inside the café, Bucky’s colleagues had their jaws dropped. They were astonished not only by y/n’s ethereal beauty but also by the sight of Bucky, usually so composed and reserved, smiling so openly. They were completely stunned by the unexpected display of vulnerability and affection from the grumpy loner.

The couple continued down the street, their hands clasped together. The afternoon sun cast long shadows as they headed towards their next destination.

Bucky’s smile was genuine, a rare and precious sight as he looked down; memorizing the way her hand perfectly intertwined with his. At that moment, he couldn’t help but think how much he wished y/n would steal him away more often.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for staying to the end of the fic. Hope you enjoy reading it!

[quin-ns]

Neighborhood Dilf (Joel Miller x Reader)

Word count: 2.7K

Summary: joel finds out he has a nickname and he asks you what it means

Tags: pre-outbreak this is a happy fic guys!! I didn’t specify a year but let’s put it at 2000 for funsies so sarah is like 11 and joel is like 30ish. also fluff, humor, flirting, age gap, goofy plot (I don’t know what this is honestly), joel being the definition of a dilf and not knowing it, crushes, overall cuteness. also suburbia

A/N: I saw a tiktok where someone said they just knew joel was the neighborhood dilf and they were so real for that I had to write it. and no I don’t care that the word was popularized online we’re using it here. I’m here to provide a cute fluffy fanfic not a historically accurate one lol. also sorry if your name is bee, I tried to come up with a name for the friend that was a nickname so if it was someone’s actual name they could just imagine their full name (I overthink)

TLOU masterlist + main masterlist

The loud music coming from outside woke you up from your afternoon nap. After spending a semester at college struggling to find even an hour of sleep, you were taking as many of those as possible. You were a little grouchy at first as you threw your covers off and stormed to your window, but quickly calmed down when you realized it was the annual block party your neighborhood hosted during the summer.

You’d gotten an in-person invite from Bee, another girl home from college who you’d been friends with in high school before going your separate ways. You still kept in touch since she was nice enough, which is how you found out her family was hosting this year. She’d confided in you personally that she would quote “go crazy if it was all kids and old people.”

As you looked out into their front yard, which was diagonal to yours, you saw that’s pretty much all it was. Since you were such a good friend, you decided that you’d go. 

You were getting dressed (at a leisurely pace) when your phone started to ring. You picked it up from your desk after you pulled your pink sundress on and flipped it open. The caller ID read Bee’s name and you answered, ready to tell her you were on your way.

“He’s here,” she said, sounding mistified, before you could even open your mouth. 

“Who?” you wondered, furrowing your brows a little to yourself as you went to the window.

“The neighborhood dilf,” Bee replied under her breath. 

The nickname made you laugh. It reminded you of high school. It had started as a joke, something you had started calling the new guy who’d moved into the neighborhood with his daughter a few years back. Later you found out his name was Joel Miller, but the nickname spread like wildfire to all the other girls in the neighborhood and it just stuck. 

Everyone knew about it; the girls of course, their confused parents, jealous boys who thought Joel was stealing their attention—the only person who wasn't aware of the moniker (as far as you knew) was Joel. Well, you hoped his daughter didn’t know either. Thankfully, after time, everyone forgot that you had started it. It was a bit embarrassing.

You walked away from the window to your closet and slid on your flip flops—it was summer in Texas, after all.

“You need to get over here, Y/N—what?” the last word sounded distant from the phone. “Yeah, she’s supposed to be on her way,” Bee replied, but to someone else.

“Um, hello?” you asked, waiting.

Bee was quiet for a few seconds, then whisper shouted into the phone, “you’ll never guess what just happened!”

“Let me guess, Joel just walked up and professed his love for you,” you teased, laughing at your own joke. “What, were my parents asking for me or something?” you guessed for real that time, recalling the small bit you had heard her say.

“Unfortunately no, and also no,” she sounded a little too disappointed about the first part, which made you chuckle again. “He did just ask me about you though.”

“Who?”

“The dilf.”

“Just use his name,” you told her with a roll of your eyes, heading out of your room to the stairs. “Wait.” You stopped for a second. “Joel asked about me?” 

“Yeah. I changed my mind, you’re not invited.”  If it wasn’t for her obvious sarcasm you might’ve thought she was serious. “He heard me say your name and asked if you’d be here soon. I—hey!” she yelled, causing you to pull the phone from your ear for a second. You continued your descent down the stairs as she yelled something about ‘kids’ and ‘stay out of there’. “I gotta go,” she said suddenly, then hung up.

You just shook your head with a small, amused smile and left your phone on the counter. Stupid dress and no pockets. 

You headed out the front door and walked across the street towards the party. 

It was in full swing. Music, games, food table—it looked like something out of a magazine. The Grants had a huge front yard—it was one of the nicer houses in the neighborhood—and it seemed like everyone was there. There were kids running around, adults all mingling—some sitting at the fold out tables, others walking around, others chasing their kids—there was also a group of dads surrounding the grill. You glanced that way and didn’t see Joel. You wondered where he was and if you should find him, but Bee found you first.

“The kids aren’t supposed to go inside alone and two of those little jerks went into my room,” Bee complained right away, straightening out her white blouse over her jean shorts. Her pinned back brown hair was a little messy, though. You wondered what happened, which she quickly answered. “I saw them jumping on my bed through the window.”

“Sounds like fun,” you commented sarcastically. Bee looped her arm through yours. 

“My dad set up ring toss and it’s all little kids, I don’t wanna be the only adult playing. Come on.” She dragged you along in that direction and you willingly went with.

You saw a few kids from the neighborhood playing, mostly the preteens who were too old for hopscotch but whose parents had told them they weren't old enough for the mini golf (one of the boys had overshared that little comment). 

“Y/N!” a girl's voice called. You looked that way and saw Sarah Miller walking towards you. A few days out of the week when her dad was working late, you’d go over to their house and keep an eye on her (before you left for college). It was the easiest babysitting gig you ever had; she was polite, always did her school work, and hardly caused any problems. Her dad had raised her very well. 

She looked older than you remembered her being, but you had been gone for both fall and spring semesters—well, you had been home for winter break briefly, but not enough to see anyone other than your parents.

“Sarah, hi!” you greeted, accepting the hug she offered when she got close. “How are you?”

“Good!” she said with a smile. “Are you guys gonna play with us?” she asked you and Bee. “I keep beating them and it’s not fun anymore.” 

You and Bee both laughed at that. “Sure, why not.”

“It feels weird playing with her after talking about how hot her dad is,” Bee whispered in your ear when Sarah went first. “You think he’ll come over here?”

“And what would you do if he did?” you challenged while hiding a chuckle, raising your brows at her.

“Um, probably nothing,” she admitted, cheeks a little pink. “He’s fun to look at though.” 

You hummed. “You’re not wrong.” 

The two of you played a few rounds of ring toss, although Bee got very bored quickly. “Can we go get some drinks?” she asked after not that long of playing.

“Sure,” you decided. You waved bye to Sarah and the others as the two of you walked off towards the cooler.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed some of the other girls in the neighborhood that hadn’t been in attendance before. For a couple that you knew, it didn’t seem like their scene. 

“What are they doing here?” you asked Bee.

“I may or may not have also told them the neighborhood dilf was here. They, uh, wanted to… see him,” she answered, avoiding eye contact.

You raised your brows in slight disbelief. “Are you serious?” 

“I wanted more people our age here,” Bee defended. “I wasn’t sure if you were even gonna show.”

You scoffed out a laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” you told her.

You reached the cooler and knelt down. You handed Bee a water, but she didn’t accept it. You looked up at her.

“Keep an eye out for the dilf, I haven’t seen him in a while. I’ll be right back,” Bee told you, taking off before you could say anything. You guessed the bathroom given her speed walking inside.

You laughed a little to yourself as you stood back up. You kept the water for yourself. You looked out amongst the crowd, realizing you were now on your own while everyone was in groups. You saw a couple people you were friends with and thought of maybe going up and joining them, but someone else spotted you first.

Joel Miller, the aforementioned neighborhood dilf, was walking towards you. Bee would be jealous, especially if she knew you and Joel were actually friends.

You had thought about telling Bee and some of the other girls that you were friends with Joel, given how much they just loved to gossip about him (how he was still single, how he looked really good in his pajamas getting the mail, that one time he took his shirt off while mowing the lawn—that was a big day) but then you thought better of it, not wanting to be run out of town by a jealous mob.

You were already getting glances by the time Joel stopped by your side so maybe your humbleness was pointless.

“Saw you all alone, thought I’d come keep you company,” Joel broke the ice with ease.

How long had he been watching you? The thought made your cheeks feel warm.

“Wow, what a gentleman,” you teased lightly, causing Joel to chuckle.

“I try,” he joked back, shooting you a small wink.

When you had first met Joel you were nervous around him. It was much easier to talk to him now that the two of you had become friends rather than acquaintances. He was an easy guy to get along with and you found yourself genuinely enjoying his company rather than just gawking at him in his yard from your window (like you used to do in high school). Your crush hadn’t disappeared though, so you joked around with him as a way to keep things casual and avoid getting in your own head. 

“Sarah told me you were finally here, she was happy to see you,” Joel mentioned with a light smile.

That made you smile back. “She’s a sweet kid,” you told him. “I was happy to see her too.”

You fiddled with the water bottle in your hand as you spoke, trying to unscrew the cap. The stupid thing was stuck and after a few seconds you gave up.

Joel gave you an amused look, glancing between your face and hands. “You want help with that?”

“Yes, please,” you handed it to him. “There you go again, proving chivalry isn’t dead. Thank you.”

Joel unscrewed the cap with ease and handed it back. “Happy to be at your service.”

“So, you guys been here a while?” you asked, sparking up conversation.

“Not too long, only an hour or so. It’s been fun though,” Joel explained. “More for Sarah than for me,” he admitted, glancing around to find his daughter. He spotted her and she waved, then continued playing with her friends.

“Why’s that?” you wondered, looking up at him just as he looked down at you. 

“Just… I mean, everyone is nice and all,” he started. “But I just feel like I got nothin’ to talk about with them, y’know? Except you.”

“Really?” You tried to not sound too thrown off by that, but you didn’t know he felt like that. It was interesting to say the least. 

“Is that such a surprise?” he wondered, raising an eyebrow curiously.

You shrugged. “Maybe a little. I get it though, I haven’t really talked to anyone other than Bee yet.”

“I don’t know if you’re friends with them, but I saw a bunch of girls your age walking around,” Joel said as a suggestion. 

“Nah, I’d rather just talk to you,” you said casually, before you could even think about what you had said. The look on Joel’s face changed a little, like he was trying to bite back a bigger smile.

“Well, that’s nice to hear,” he said after a moment. Your eyes met his and the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat. You had to look away to be able to breathe, almost certain you were reading into things. You really, really did not want to be disappointed.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Joel said, making you realize you hadn’t spoken yet.

“Sure, yeah.”

“You know… young person lingo, don't you?”

You laughed at the awkward wording. If it had been any of the other adults here using the word “lingo” you would’ve cringed, but there was something cute about the way Joel said it. You tried to snap that thought out of your head.

“Mostly, yeah,” you replied with a little chuckle paired with a curious tone. “What’s up?”

“Do you know what a dilf is?” he asked bluntly. That alone told you he had no idea. 

You were so stunned, all you could think to say was, “why?”

“Well, those girls I mentioned… I overhead some of them calling me that,” he explained, his eyebrows furrowing a little. “It’s not bad, is it?” 

Was this karma coming back to you for starting the nickname? It wouldn’t have surprised you. 

“It’s not bad, no,” you assured while also avoiding the main question.

“What is it then?” Joel’s interest was piqued now and while you couldn’t blame him, you also couldn’t think of a way to make this not weird.

“It’s an acronym,” you started. Joel watched you intently, waiting for an explanation. “It means dad I’d like to…” you trailed off, hinting at him the word to fill in the blank.

Joel just looked even more confused. “To what?”

Somehow he made cluelessness incredibly attractive.

Screw it, you thought. This was already weird. Rip the bandaid off, right? “Fuck,” you finished before you could think better of it. 

“Oh,” he stated. You knew it took a second for realization to hit. “Oh. So that means they, um,”

“It’s basically like saying you’re hot,” you explained, filling in when he couldn’t. You hoped he wouldn’t find it insulting or anything like that.

Joel looked a little bashful but found amusement in the situation nonetheless. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” you suggested, then sipped your water. You looked out at the people milling about rather than meeting his gaze.

“Do you think I’m one?”

You nearly choked on your water. “What?”

“Sorry,” Joel apologized quickly, trying to laugh it off. “I shouldn't've asked that.”

“It’s alright,” you assured him. You paused for a minute, contemplating what you might say to that. You got a rush of bravery. “If you’re asking if I think you’re attractive… the answer is yes.”

Joel couldn’t hold back his smile. He tried, but it was a failed effort. It was like he was trying to contain his anticipation. “What about if I wanted to ask you out? What would your answer be then?”

“Yes.”

Joel grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he admitted. 

“Dad!” Sarah’s voice caused the two of you to look away from one another. You saw her running up to you guys and hoped she hadn’t heard a word of your conversation. “Can you come play with me? Mr. Grant just set up a bean bag toss!” 

“Sure, kiddo,” he told her. She grabbed his hand and started to drag him away. 

You smiled a little to yourself at the interaction—he was such a good dad.

Joel slowed her down a little bit to look back at you. “I’ll call you later, okay?” 

“Sounds good,” you replied, chuckling lightly. 

The Millers disappeared into the roaming people. You tried to follow them with your gaze but your attention got torn away.

“Waiting in a line for the bathroom in my own house is messed up,” Bee said, popping out seemingly out of nowhere. “What’s got you so happy?” she wondered, eyeing the smile on your face that couldn’t be erased.

“You won’t believe what just happened,” you replied. A part of you still couldn’t believe it. “I’ve got a date with the neighborhood dilf.”

joel taglist: @the-ice-frozen-ground-red-rose @dontphunkwithmylove @cilliansangel @amethystwonders11 @frogsmuahh037 @andy-rocks @melllinaa @alitaar @melanie451 @b00kw0rmsworld @reverieisaway @avengersfan25 @aheadfullofsteverogers @strangeh0rizons @spideysimpossiblegirl @shannonmariebee

if you would like to be added to the joel taglist just send me an ask or a message! <3

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Tim Drake: Ugly Duckling (dp x dc)

So this is the last day of pride month, and so also the last day of me trying to write as many LGBTQ+ canon dc characters. It’s been fun (and I got to read a whole bunch of comics which was actually much more fun than the first time I’d tried to read those!!)

Now even though this is the end of June, feel free to send an ask if you want me to write a blurb with any character. I make no promises, but I will very much try! (It might take a while especially if I’m in a Tumblr hibernation phase.)

Anyways, for the last day of pride month I wanted to do Tim Drake coz he’s dc’s main “it” gay girl. I’ve been working on this Dead Tired fic for ages, based on the post about Tim getting turned into a swan and meeting Danny, who as a prince has to give him a kiss to change him back (I can’t find the prompt but it was hilarious so this was my take on it).

Here’s the beginning of the fic:

Red Robin was on patrol duty, while Batman and Robin were following a lead on possible joker safehouses. All in all, It was a pretty quiet night with only two muggings, both low-energy as both perpetrator ran away as soon as a bat-shaped shadow moved. 

So Red Robin had spent most of the night chatting with Babs. He was grappling around town, as they started on the new date app they’d both found out Jason was using.

“I told him he can’t put only photos of his motorcycle but- wait I’m getting a call,” Oracle interrupted herself. Tim waited before the earpiece came to life again.

“Sorry to cut this short Red Robin, got a full-attention request from Canary. If you need anything, beep me, and Keep your coms open.”

“Bye, Oracle,” he said, and like that, Red Robin was alone once again.

 He stopped on Grand Avenue Station and just let himself take in Gotham. The city was beautiful at night, and Tim was itching for a camera. He seen hundreds of pictures of the city’s skyline but they always managed to be unique. The night sky may always be covered by dark clouds above, but Gotham had its own stars in the lights shinning on top of the skyscrapers. So lost in his thoughts, Tim was, he almost missed the soft noise that sounded behind him. The voice that sounded behind him was harder to miss.

“Wither away so late, Little Red Bird?”

Red Robin turned to see a tall woman standing half in the shadows

“Sorry, can I help you?” Answered the vigilante despite the bad feeling creeping up to him.

“I’d like to know where I can find your guardian,” the woman said, still in the shadows.

“You mean Batman?” He chanced.

The woman nodded and Tim resisted the urge to sigh.If this was another one of Bruce’s ill-advised fling, Tim was going to hack every electronic device the man had to play sex-eds on loops for at least a week.

“He’s busy at the moment.” Then feeling like he shouldn’t assume what the woman wanted Bruce for, he continued. “But if you need any help, I’ll do my best.”

The woman stepped forward, and Tim could see her better. Her face was bare, but her distinctive outfit seemed to indicate she was some kind of vigilante-slash-criminal. The outfit did, in fact, ring a bell in the back of his mind, but it was dim. Tim didn’t tense up, but he did angle his body in a way to accommodate for a better escape through grappling. She continued walking until she was within arm’s reach of Tim, towering over him. She extended a hand to lightly caress his cheek, and Tim went still at the touch.

“Such a kind Little Bird you are,” she said gently. “You know, you remind me of my daughter.” She sighed. “Oh, what pretty children you both are.”

“Thank you,” said Tim as he sidestepped out of the way. “I’m sure she’s a lovely person.”

“Oh she was,” the woman said and through his growing wariness, Tim spared a thought for the girl. “She had dark hair and the fairest skin, just like you. The most beautiful girl in the land some would even say.”

That niggling feeling came back as a feeling of familiarity poked at him once again. “You must’ve been very proud.”

The woman let out an airy laugh before saying playfully/contemplating. “mustn’t I?”

A shiver ran down his back. Alright, there was something wrong with this woman, and Tim wasn’t waiting around to find out what. Not without any information or backup.

“Well, if there’s nothing I can do for you, I really have to get going,” Tim said as he took out his grapple gun. In a second, the gun was ripped from his hand , and he was slammed to the side of the staircase leading up to the roof. He let out a gasp at the impact and his features tensed in pain. The woman hadn’t even touched him.

“Not so fast, Little Bird. We don’t want you going back to the Batman just yet.  I’m not ready to make him my Knight yet.”

“Your knight?” Tim managed to get out. He tried to move his arms, but some unseen force was pinning him in place. Shit, that meant he couldn’t reach the comm to send out a distress signal. Hopefully Babs would check in soon.

The woman smiled as she approached him once again. “What better for a Queen, than a Dark Knight?”

And just like that it clicked. “You’re the Queen of Fables.” 

“Well look at this, you’ve got the brains and the beauty,” she teased, her voice as smooth as honey.

“What do you want with Batman?” Tim asked though he could guess from previous encounters she had had with the Justice League that the villainess wanted to turn Bruce into a fairytale character of some sort. She’d done the trick on Clark, and twice on Diana, so it was probably Batman’s turn now. So, yes, Tim could guess, But the longer he kept her talking the more time he had to figure out a way out of this.

“I told you, he’ll be a Knight of the Queen,” She extended a hand and tilted Tim’s face up. “Do you know what that would make you Little Bird?” 

Most villains assumed the batclan worked like a crime family. So the family of a knight? “Nobility,” Tim guessed, unsure where this was going.

“Exactly.” She smiled, and then she moved. Tim braced for the hit.

Instead of a punch though, he only felt a tingling sensation. Cautiously, he opened his eyes, only for them to grow bigger as he took in his uniform. Or the lack thereof.

He was in something-century clothing, in some sort of frilly shirt and pants, all in white. This was worse than a punch. Then, as the thought hit him, Tim’s hands flew to his face only to come in contact with the silky fabric of a masquerade mask. He sighed in relief, and as he calmed down, he realized he was now free of the force pinning him down.

“The color is for my daughter,” the Queen said. Then, she let her head fall to the side before tracing a line across his forehead and Tim could feel something like a circlet setting down on it. “There you go. Now, it’s perfect. You could practically be siblings.” 

“No thanks.,” Tim answered.

The Queen tsked him. “That’s no way to behave Little Bird, has nobody taught you to say thank you when you receive a gift.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Tim disagreed mildly as he took stock of his weapons. Everything was gone, including the earpiece, which meant Babs had to have been alerted and someone was en route.

The Queen frowned. “I was going to be merciful, for you guardian’s sake, but I no longer feel generous.” She raised her hand and Tim tried to roll away, but the magic beam swerved and hit him in a blinding flash of light.

When he managed to open his eyes once again, the world seemed quite a bit bigger than it had been moments before. 

“What did you do to me?” He said. Or tried to say.

Instead a strange squawk echoed and Tim took a step back in surprise. However, he lost his balance and started to fall and as he tried to catch himself with his hand, two large white wings unfolded. He dropped down, which wasn’t as far as he would’ve estimated and laid stiff. He moved his left arm, and a white wing followed suit. 

Oh, no. Oh no no no.

A grating laugh interrupted his freak out. “There you are my pretty Little Bird, all better. White really is your colour, don’t you th-“

With a loud hiss, Tim propelled himself towards the woman. Making use of his newfound beak, he pecked and bit everything he could, as he flapped his wings.

“Blasted creature- Get off! Stop it, you despicable, puny-“ 

Finally she managed to grab Tim and throw him away from her. He landed with a squawk, but managed to get himself back to his feet quickly. “You little/awful brat,” she snarled. “You’ll pay for this!”

But as the Queen threw out her hand, something rippled in the air between them and the magic beam seem to explode midway into a green vortex. Tim’s clumsy attempt at waddling away had him head straight towards it, and it was in vain that he tried to redirect the course. She and Tim made eye contact as the swan-boy tipped right into the swirling green vortex, both of their eyes wide-open in surprise.

Danny was exhausted. He was currently on week one of the full month of Royal Duties he’d promised Clockwork. Being Prince of the Infinite Realm was not all that it was cracked up to be, and that was saying a lot since he had already been expecting it to be awful. 

When Clockwork had made the request, Danny had proceeded to freak out about his new status, and then tried to abdicate. It was only the master of time reminding him of all the terrible possible candidate for the throne per rites of combat (such as Vlad) that stopped him from washing his hands of this mess. And now Danny was forced to spend one whole month of his summer vacation in the Ghost Zone to fulfill his duty as a Prince. 

He thought it would be some paperwork, maybe a battle or two, nothing too bad, but nooo. Because, of course nothing was easy, Danny had to show up at Events, and be Diplomatic. It was meeting, after meeting, after weird parties that were a mix between Medieval Banquets and Debutante balls. 

And worse of all were the marriage proposals. Danny could sorta understand, marrying into royalty was a definite plus for a lot of more powerful ghosts but when they called him a half-breed behind his back, only to smile in his face with a marriage contract in one hand and flowers in the other, that was where he drew the line. 

Plus there was also the fact that he was, like sixteen.

Suffice to say, Danny was exhausted and hiding out in Pariah Dark’s old castle as a last resort. It wasn’t his favorite place all in all, but the gardens were absolutely beautiful, which was where he was walking. He was currently headed to the hedge maze, since it was the best way to get rid of any tails he may or may not have. 

The maze was nasty if it didn’t like you, and it didn’t like anybody but Danny, and even then, it still tried to take a bite every once in a while. Despite the snaking vines and roots trying to capture anything that moved, the flowers that wailed softly when disturbed or the sharp thorns of the hedge plants themselves, it was still a beautiful place. Uniquely, the closer you got to the centre, the more colorful (and dangerous) everything got, which was why he liked it best. 

He reached the centre much quicker than the first time he tried, thanks to the maze actually helping him, and something pale caught his eye right in the middle of the open area, right next to the bench Danny loved to use. As he got closer, he realized it was a swan laying on the floor, seemingly unconscious.

“Oh no,” Danny said as he approached. “What happened to you?”

As if awakened by the sound of his voice, the swan started to shift, its wings twitching and it rose its head groggily. As soon as it clocked in Danny, it let out a surprised squawk, followed by a long hiss as it struggled to move away.

“Hey, hey, none of that, Duckie, you’re ok.” Danny raised his hands placatingly. “I don’t want to harm you, ok? I just want to make sure you’re ok.”

The hiss subsided by a bit, but that may have only be due to the swan managing to get further away.

“Sh, sh, it’s ok,” Danny repeated as he slowly inched forward. The swan stopped hissing but still observed him warily. “I don’t want to hurt you Duckie, but I do think we’d better get you out of this maze.”

Danny took another step, and this time the swan stayed still. “How about bringing you back to my rooms just for now.” The swan hissed louder at the statement. “Don’t worry Duckie, I’m not keeping you prisoner it’s just this maze has been known to eat people. And you’re too pretty to be eaten,” Danny flashed a smile at the swan which had it stare back with a gaze saying really?

“So what do you say, wanna crash at my place?” Danny asked. The swan didn’t move forward but he didn’t move away either.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust a guy who talks to birds either,” Danny allowed. “And the place where I’m staying is a little gloomy, so I don’t blame you, but I can’t leave you here. The maze is honestly really dangerous, especially for a nice bird is like you. “

The swan seemed to hesitate before it hesitantly made its way to Danny. Ghost animals were usually smart but the swan seemed to understand English, which made communicating that much easier. Danny smiled and opened his arms. “I can carry you.” The swan just looked at him, with what Danny would’ve thought was a deadpan stare. “It would go much faster.”

If the swan was human it probably would’ve sighed, but instead, its wings just fell a little before it waddled towards Danny and looked up as if to say ‘get on with it’.

Danny smiled and gathered the animal in his arms. “Buckle up,” he said before flying off towards the maze exit, which was accompanied by a low hiss. Making sure there was nobody there to ambush him, Danny made it back to the castle in record time.

“Here we are Duckie.” Danny set the swan back down and it plopped down on the ground and just steadied themselves for a while.

Tim was a swan. He had wings and no fingers, and his feet were webbed.

He was handling it though. By which Tim meant he was shelving the impending panic attack for later when he wasn’t stuck in a swan body. 

Ok, so he’d been turned by the Queen of Fables, so there had to be an answer in a fairytale,a way to make him normal again. He knew the ugly duckling story. That had a swan in it, right? He didnt know any other swan stories, except maybe as a dish during the wedding banquet of whichever princess. He vaguely remembered a Barbie movie that had passed on the TV when he was younger but the only thing that came to mind were a scary-looking Troll thing, and ballet.  So with lack of better alternatives he was going to go with the ugly duckling. The ugly duckling’s happy ending was reuniting with family, so maybe all he needed was to make his way back to Gotham.

“Are you ok?” 

And that was another thing. The guy. The one Tim had at first wanted to get away from. He seemed nice and all, but he also had neon green eyes, and fangs. Unfortunately, while they suited the boy very well, they also marked him as an unknown. 

On the other hand, if the glowing portal wasn’t enough of an indication, the green tinge of everything around was clear indicator that Tim wasn’t in Kansas anymore. The guy seemed to want to help him, and having an ally wherever he was could only help.

Tim nodded as best as he could with his long weird neck, and he had to take a few steps to regain balance.

“That’s good,” the boy smiled with his white pointy canine. “How did you end up in the middle of that maze?”

Tim just looks back tiredly. He didn’t know how to even try and explain when he couldn’t say a word and had no opposable thumbs.

“Yeah, sorry.” The boy winced. “Maybe stick to yes or no questions.”

There was a sharp knock at the door that had the boy turning away.

“Prince Phantom!” A voice rung through the door.

Prince? 

The newly-dubbed Prince Phantom got up to open the door, “yes, what can I do for you?”

“Your meeting with Queen Dora is approaching. Do you still prefer to forgo an escort guards?” a purple lady was saying.

“I’ll be fine without, Maj but thank you very much,” Phantom answered with a polite smile.

“I’ll pass it along, my Prince.” She bowed and closed the doors behind her.

Phantom walked back to lay on the bed with a sigh. “I really hate that they call me that.” He turned towards Tim to continue. “I bet swans don’t have royalty. You guys had the right idea.”

[snowysosturn]

Speeding Car - Matt Sturniolo Part 21

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29

Pairing : y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary : After six years with your boyfriend Alex, you start to mentally check out. At a UCLA party, Alex reconnects with his childhood friend Emily, who proposes a double date with her boyfriend Matt. Your attraction to Matt grows as he pays you the first real attention you've had in years, sparking a complicated emotional journey.

Warnings : THESE WARNINGS WILL GIVE SPOILERS!!!! MDNI, angst, tension, anxiety, mentions of car accident/reader in accident, aftermath of accident, trauma as a result of accident, memory loss, mentions of cheating

Finally get to tell you where the inspo for this fic came from now that it won’t give away any spoilers. (all my Irish girlies stand up 🫡) I’d fully forgotten about this song this song until July, and when I listened to it it sparked the little ideas for me, and that’s how I came up with the main plot <3 I've been going through a break up (which was nearly a 10 year relationship) during the time of writing this so ive poured my heart and souuuuul into this ( i also want to note no themes of the story relate to me maybe only mentally clocking out bc of a bare minimum bf, do not fucking cheat on anyone) . this fic has been my baby and im so thankful to anyone who has read so far <3 p.s if you ever go back and reread this you’ll notice the little pieces of lyrics here and there lol

The world came back to me in fragments - blurred lights, muffled sounds, and an overwhelming sense of disorientation. As I fluttered my eyes open, the harsh brightness of the room made me wince. My head pounded with a dull ache, and my body felt heavy, as if it wasn’t quite mine.

I slowly turned my head to the right, trying to take in my surroundings, and there he was. The man I loved, sitting by my bedside. His face was a mixture of relief and something else, fear, maybe? His eyes met mine, and I felt a flicker of familiarity in the chaos of my mind.

“Alex..” I whispered, my voice weak and strained.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Try not to move too much,” Alex said softly, his hand reaching up to gently stroke my face. His touch was warm, comforting, but something about the way he looked at me sent a ripple of unease through my chest.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice barely audible, as panic started to rise within me. My thoughts were jumbled, trying to piece together how I ended up here. The last thing I remembered was.. was.. I couldn’t even grasp it.

“You got into an accident” Alex explained, his voice steady, but I could see the worry etched into his features. “But you’re going to be okay. You just need to rest.”

An accident? My mind raced, and instinctively, I tried to move, only to be met with sharp pain that made me gasp. “What about my injuries? When can I skate again? I have qualifiers for the Olympics soon!” The words tumbled out of my mouth in a frantic rush, driven by a fear that I couldn’t quite place.

Alex’s face twisted in confusion, and he hesitated before answering. “Y/n.. you haven’t skated in years.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest, refusing to believe what he was saying. “What? No.. that’s not true. I.. I’ve been training. You know that.” My voice quivered with desperation.

Alex exchanged a worried glance with the nurse, then looked back at me, his expression pained. “Y/n, You stopped skating when I was a freshman.. I’m a junior now..”

His words echoed in my head, but they didn’t make any sense. UCLA? Sophomore year? It was as if he was speaking a different language. The last memory I had was waiting anxiously to see if he made the Bruins team, both of us so excited about the possibility of him making it big with football.

“No… no, that’s not right,” I muttered, shaking my head as if it would somehow clear the fog that clouded my thoughts. “Did you get onto the Bruins team?” I asked, clinging to the one thing that made sense to me.

“Y/n..” Alex’s voice was gentle, but it carried the weight of the truth I wasn’t ready to accept. 

The room spun around me, and I felt like I was being thrown into a different universe. Everything was wrong, nothing made sense. My heart raced, my breathing quickened, and I felt like I was drowning in confusion.

The female nurse stepped forward, her expression calm and professional. “Alex, could I speak with you outside for a moment?” she asked, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Alex squeezed my hand one last time before letting go, his eyes lingering on mine with a look that made my chest tighten. He nodded and followed the nurse out of the room, leaving me alone with the student nurse who had been quietly observing from the side.

I turned my head slightly to look at him, trying to ground myself in something familiar, something stable. “Can someone tell me how long I’ll have to be in here for?” I asked, my voice trembling.

The boy hesitated, looking a bit uncertain. “I’m not too sure, Y/n. We’ll have to wait for one of the staff to give us results first” he said, trying to sound reassuring as he reached out and cupped my hand with his two.

His gesture was kind, but it only added to my confusion. Why was he holding my hand like that? Was he one of those compassionate doctors who went the extra mile for their patients? My mind struggled to make sense of his actions.

“Can’t you ask someone since you work here?” I asked, hoping for some clarity.

He blinked at me, clearly taken aback. “Work here?”

Before I could respond, the door creaked open, and the female nurse re-entered the room, followed by Alex. There was a heaviness in the air, a sense of something unspoken. The nurse’s eyes met mine, and I could see the concern etched into her features.

“Ms. Y/l/n” she began, her voice gentle yet serious, “I need to explain something to you. After the accident, you sustained a significant concussion, which has led to a form of memory loss known as post-traumatic amnesia..”

“Amnesia?” I whispered, the word foreign and terrifying on my tongue. My gaze darted between her and Alex, hoping for someone to tell me this was all a mistake.

“Yes” she confirmed softly. “From what we can gather, you seem to have lost your recent memories from about two years ago onward. It’s possible that these memories will return with time, but for now, you’re not going to remember much.”

My world shattered with those words. Two years? How could two whole years of my life just be gone? My breath quickened, and the room began to feel smaller, more suffocating. I glanced at Alex, hoping to find some reassurance, but his expression only mirrored my panic.

“Two years?” I asked again, trying to wrap my mind around it. “What happened in those two years? I don’t remember any of it..” My voice trembled as I spoke, my heart sinking deeper into despair.

“That’s okay, Y/n” Alex said, stepping closer to me. “We’ll figure this out together, okay? I’ll help you remember.”

But something about the way he said it felt off. There was a tension in his voice that made me uneasy. I looked back at the boy who had been holding my hand, trying to place his face in the context of my life, but nothing came to mind.

“Who.. who are you?” I asked hesitantly, turning my attention to him. His expression faltered, a mixture of pain and something else flashing across his features.

“Y/n, it’s me.. Matt” he said, his voice tinged with a sorrow that cut through me like a knife.

I stared at him “I- I don't know who you are..” I didn’t recognize him. I didn’t remember anything about him. It was as if the two years that had vanished had taken him with them.

Before I could say anything else, the tension in the room exploded.

“Okay man I think it’s time you leave” Alex snapped, his eyes narrowing at Matt, his voice dripping with venom. “You have no right to be here, especially after what you did.”

“What I did?” Matt shot back, his voice rising with anger. “You’re the one who’s been sat here lying to her! You cheated on her, Alex! Don’t you dare act like you care about her now.”

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. My head spun, the room tilting as I tried to process what was happening. Cheated? Alex cheated on me?

“You’re full of shit, Matt” Alex retorted, stepping closer to him, their faces inches apart. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve been lying to her this entire time!” Matt shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. “You think I don’t know what you’ve done? You think she won’t find out? I won’t let you keep doing this to her.”

“Stop it!” I screamed, my voice cutting through their argument like a knife. Tears streamed down my face as the overwhelming stress consumed me. “Just stop! Both of you, get out! Get out!”

The room fell into a stunned silence. Both Matt and Alex turned to look at me, their expressions a mixture of shock and regret. But I couldn’t take it anymore. The confusion, this talk of betrayal, the loss of my memory - it was too much. I felt like I was drowning, and I needed them to leave before I lost myself completely.

“Please.. just leave.” I begged, my voice barely above a whisper, but firm in its resolve.

Matt’s face crumpled with pain, but he nodded slowly, backing away toward the door. Alex hesitated, his eyes pleading with me to understand, but I couldn’t even look at him.

One by one, they both left the room, the door closing behind them with a finality that left me feeling utterly alone. The silence that followed was deafening, the emptiness in my heart growing with every passing second.

I collapsed back onto the bed, my body trembling as I sobbed, the weight of everything too much to bear. Two years of my life, gone. The man I thought I loved and a stranger. The man who claimed to love me and a liar. The situation infront of me confused me as to which one was which. The memories I needed to make sense of it all, vanished.

I was lost in a world that no longer felt like my own.

Matt’s POV

I walked out of Y/n’s hospital room, the door clicking shut behind me like a hammer driving the final nail into a coffin. My heart pounded in my chest, the adrenaline from my argument with Alex still coursing through my veins, but it was nothing compared to the fiery dread settling in my stomach. Every word I’d said to her, every desperate attempt to break through her confusion, seemed to hang in the air like a suffocating fog.

I made my way to the waiting area, my feet heavy, my mind numb. The bright, white lights overhead did nothing to chase away the darkness consuming my thoughts. We approached the row of  cold plastic chairs and Alex sat down, his elbows resting on his knees, head buried in his hands. I could feel the tension radiating off him, but I was too consumed by my own torment to care.

I dropped into a chair two seats away from him, the hard plastic pressing against my back, and let my head fall into my hands. My thoughts spiraled, chaotic and disjointed, but always coming back to one image - the moment she was hit.

The screech of tires. The blinding headlights. The sickening thud as Y/n’s body crumpled under the car’s impact. I could still hear the scream that tore through me as I watched her fly through the air, time slowing to a crawl, helpless to stop it. It played over and over in my mind, each replay more gut wrenching than the last.

I should’ve been faster. I should’ve told her how I really felt. I should’ve… My fists clenched in my hair as I tried to choke down the guilt that threatened to swallow me whole.

What was I even doing on that balcony? Watching her run out of the house, pacing back and forth. I should’ve gone to her instead of just standing there like an idiot, too lost in my own confusion and pain to act. And then when I saw the car coming down the hill, everything in me froze.

"Y/n, get off the road!!" I had shouted, but my voice felt so small, so powerless against the force of what was about to happen. But it's too late.

In a split second, the beam of headlights blinds her. The screeching of tires fills the air as the car tries to stop, but the impact is inevitable. I watch in horror as the car strikes Y/n. The sound of the collision is deafening, and time seems to slow down.

She’s thrown backward, landing hard on the pavement. I can’t breathe, my legs feel like jelly as I race down the stairs, stumbling and pushing through the crowd.

When I finally reach her, my heart is pounding in my chest, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts. I kneel beside her, tears streaming down my face as I try to make sense of the horrific scene before me.

Y/n lies on the ground, her face contorted in pain, her body unmoving. The car speeds away into the night, leaving behind a scene of devastation. The people around us have began to scatter, some calling for an ambulance, others standing in shocked silence.

I gently cradle Y/n's head in my lap, my hands shaking uncontrollably. "Y/n, stay with me," I pleaded, my voice choking with emotion. "Please, stay with me."

She blinks slowly, her eyes meeting mine with a look of pain and resignation. I can see the life fading from her, and it feels like my world is collapsing around me.

The sound of sirens grows louder, and I can hear the distant honking of emergency vehicles approaching. I try to stay strong for her, to keep her conscious until help arrives, but my heart is breaking.

"I’m so sorry," I whisper, tears falling freely. "I’m so sorry for everything."

As the ambulance pulls up, paramedics rush to our side, taking over the situation with practiced efficiency. I’m left standing on the sidelines, my heart shattered as I watch them work to save her. I know that nothing will ever be the same again, and the weight of what just happened is almost too much to bear.

Now she was in that hospital bed, her memories shattered along with my heart. She didn’t even recognize me. My face, my voice - nothing. I was just a stranger to her now, a distant memory from a life she couldn’t even recall.

And then there was Alex. The guy she “loved”, the guy who’d betrayed her. He sat there just a few feet away, but it felt like a canyon stretched between us.  I knew he was going to see this as an opportunity to weasel his way back into her life. She didn't remember any of it, him cheating, the way he treated her like an option. And now this was his free pass, to get her back like nothing had ever happened. I wanted to punch him, to scream at him for all the lies he’d fed her, for making this even more unbearable than it already was. But what good would that do? None of it would bring her memories back. None of it would undo the damage that had been done.

I glanced sideways at Alex. He was still in the same position, as if he were trapped in his own private hell. Good. He deserved it. But the satisfaction was fleeting, replaced quickly by a wave of exhaustion and despair.

All I could do was sit there, replaying the accident in my head, the look of panic in Y/n’s eyes as she realized what was happening, the way everything went silent just before impact. It was a moment I knew would haunt me for the rest of my life, one that no amount of apologies or explanations could ever make right.

All I wanted was for her to be okay, to wake up and remember me, remember us. But even that hope felt distant now, buried under the weight of the reality we were in.

I let out a shuddering breath, forcing myself to look away from Alex and focus on the dull hum of the hospital around us. Waiting, that’s all we could do now. Wait and hope for a miracle that seemed less likely with each passing second.

The door in front of us opened, and in came Nick, Madi, Chris & Emily. I had gone to the hospital with Y/n in the ambulance, and the paramedics contacted Alex as he was still down as Y/n’s emergency contact. The news of what happened tore through the party fast, but getting out of the place was hard to do so with the amount of emergency services on scene. 

“God Matt is she okay?” Nick asks frantically. 

“She’s awake Nick.. she’ll be okay.. But she doesn’t remember anything.” 

“Oh thank god she's okay, maybe it’s for the best that she doesn't remember the accident happening.” Nick says, trying to make me feel better.

“No, Nick. She doesn’t remember anything. She doesn’t remember me, she won't remember you, she doesn’t have any memory of the last 2 years at all.” I said, tears outlining my eyes.

Nick stood there with a horrified expression on his face. “You love her don’t you?” Nick whispers, so low that only us can hear.

“More than anything Nick, more than anything I know.”

 “Do you think I could go in and see her?” Nick questions.

“If you want, but she’s stressed out at the minute.. Just try your best not to make anything worse.” I say, as Nick nods at me, getting up to gently knock on the door to Y/n’s room.

I take my eyes off Nick and lock eyes with Emily.

“Can we go outside for a minute for some air?” I asked her, knowing I'm about to have a conversation that I should’ve handled differently nights ago.

a/n: sorry.. again..

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[rrxnjun]

where do broken hearts go? [lmk]

you know what they say about past lovers that can remain just as friends - either they're still in love with each other, or they never were in the first place.

pairing: mark lee x fem! reader

genre: exes to lovers. angst, fluff.

wc: 12k (11.926)

warnings: mention of sex, weed and alcohol, heartbreak, swearing, park jihoon of treasure is one sassy bitch and also accidentally somehow the main character of this fanfic plz dont @ me, inconsistent writing style bc i took 3 months and 3 depressive episodes to finish this fic

playlist: where do broken hearts go - one direction / too good to say goodbye - bruno mars / everytime - ariana grande / closer - waterparks / tornado warnings - sabrina carpenter / survive the night - the boyz

a/n: hey do some of you still remember me..... AHAHA tell a friend to tell a friend rrxnjun is BACK! this fic isn't the ideal vision i had in my mind but we are working on not being so hard on ourselves with our writing so! here we are. i still kind of like it :,)

When you walk up to your best friend’s apartment one day with a tub of ice cream under your arm and the biggest pout on your face, Park Jihoon makes a complete list of things you should do to get over your failed relationship with Mark Lee. And while you think your dear friend has some psychopathic tendencies sometimes, you’d say the list is actually pretty reasonable of him. 

There’s something about the five simple steps that makes you wonder if it’s really as easy as Jihoon makes it sound. And while you doubt it– because the pinging pain in your heart makes it seem like the heartbreak is truly going to kill you in a few minutes if you don’t do something about it– you give it a try, because come on… you’d do anything to not feel like this ever again.

Step one – cry it out.

“He was a cunt anyway,” Jihoon mutters as he steps into the living room with two spoons in his hands, throwing one of them to you– while almost managing to hit you in the middle of your forehead in the process, adding a concussion to the mix of problems you have going on right now– and you find yourself furrowing your brows at his hateful comment.

“Why’d you say that?”

“Well, as your best friend, I’m supposed to be on your side, no?” he says as he takes a seat on the sofa next to you, watching as you wrap one of the thick blankets you got for the male around your figure– you bought it mainly for yourself, because his apartment is cold as a freezer and you knew he wouldn’t buy one for you to use in the first place– and shrugs. “Besides, he broke your heart, and any male who does that is a cunt in my eyes.”

“I broke up with him,” you mourn, “so I broke my own heart,” you snicker, despair fully filling you up from the inside– fitting everywhere into your lungs and choking you up from how bad you truly feel. Now, this isn’t your first breakup– you’ve had your fair share of boyfriends in high school (in your baddie era, as Jihoon called it), but Choi Yeonjun from Maths class and Jung Woonyoung, the guy you dated for a total of 2 months over the summer break before he moved away, weren’t exactly boys you found yourself falling in love with. Sure, you liked them, you kissed them and went on dates with them– hell, you even hooked up with Yeonjun once before you realized the relationship truly wasn’t for you– but no one managed to cave into your heart just as much as Mark Lee, your first college boyfriend did.

“But you sure had a reason for it, come on!” Jihoon huffs, taking the tub of ice cream from your hands and opening it for you, since you’ve gotten quite weak from the lack of sleep and nutritions ever since the break up, hands clammy and not cooperating. “You don’t just break up with someone to break your own heart. He did that, that’s why you said goodbye to him,” he says before sitting the enormous tub of ice cream between your two bodies, nudging you to dig into the frozen delicacy.

“Yeah, but–”

“No buts, young lady. We are here to make you forget you ever even dated Mark Lee, so open up, eat the ice cream and focus your attention on Titanic so you can finally cry it out,” he says, and by the tone of his voice, you’d think he’s angry with you. Jihoon has this aura around him that makes you think he’s always at least a little annoyed at everything– but he told you to not mind it and that it’s just his sassy bitch attitude. 

He does have a point, though. You broke up with Mark because he broke your heart first– there was no other reason for it. If it was something minor, something small, you were sure you could work on it. You have, numerous of times before, brought up something and had a mature conversation about it– something you always so admired about Mark, being so cautious and understanding when navigating problems in the relationship– but when you bring up the same thing over and over, and it never gets fixed despite him telling you he’ll try harder next time, you think you’re allowed to feel a little heartbroken at his nonexistent efforts. And that’s exactly why you decided to quit the relationship– after a while, you felt like you were putting in more effort than he was, effectively making you feel like he’s not even that interested in dating you in the first place.

First, he just told you he was forgetful. He forgot he promised to pick you up from class one day– and you said that it’s okay, he is busy, after all– and it was the first time it happened, so you didn’t really mind that much, truly. Then, he forgot about the date you scheduled– but it was fine, because you didn’t have reservations anyway, you could change the day to any other day of the week, after all. He kept forgetting the stuff you told him in between the conversations you shared– and it was small things, you understand, but sometimes, you wondered if he was ever really listening to you at all. 

Forgetful soon turns not interested in your eyes, and when he doesn’t call you in the evening like he promised he would, when he doesn’t show up to the party you invited him to, because he forgot it was that day, you’re one step closer to calling it quits, because each and every one of these situations sends a sharp pain into your stomach. The last straw was just last week, though– and realistically, it was an important day, as much that you thought the day is somehow gonna fix everything, but the truth is somewhere completely else as Mark Lee forgets about your one year anniversary and never shows up at your doorstep for the dinner you prepared for the two of you like he promised he would. 

And it doesn’t click in him two days after either– you don’t even get a text. He got so forgetful over time that he forgot about you completely, and that’s when you took an uber to his place and broke up with him for good.

And even though the breakup was the most painful thing you’ve ever felt yourself go through, Jihoon is right– you’re not the one that broke your own heart. Mark Lee did that for you many times before, and this was just the breaking point.

“Fucking hell, you bought cookies and cream again?” Jihoon huffs when he takes another spoonful of the ice cream into his mouth, eyebrows furrowing at the sweet taste. Looking at him from the corner of your eye, you wipe your left cheek as you hum, immune to his nagging by now.

“You know I hate cookies and cream!”

“You know, Hoon, I bought this for myself. When you’re the one that’s heartbroken, we’ll share your favorite ice cream flavor instead,” you mumble, munching on the coldness on your tongue, sniffling a little when your eyes avert to the TV screen.

And after that, the teasing from your best friend’s side stops. Maybe it’s just because he hates to see you cry– and he rarely gets the chance, if you’re being honest, since you’re pretty good at handling your emotions– but you secretly know that it’s because when he looks back at the TV screen in front of the two of you, the sad part of the movie hasn’t even started yet and the tears are not the result of the movie, but of your own thoughts instead.

Step two – give him back all of his stuff and the stuff he’s given you that reminds you of him. Demand that he does the same.

Now, step two was a thing most couples do when they break up. Realistically, it makes sense– you wouldn’t want stuff that’s not yours just laying around, and also, it’s just bound to remind you of the person you lost. Naturally, you’d want to return it.

“Why does he have to return my things as well?” you mutter under your breath as Jihoon helps you fold all Mark’s hoodies into a cardboard box, alongside with wrapping the little things your ex boyfriend made out of ceramic for you in tissue paper like you asked him to– even though he complained and said that it shouldn’t matter to you if they break, because you are the heartbroken one– but you held those little things too close to your heart to let them get damaged in the first place.

“Because that’s how it works,” Jihoon hums, watching as you throw another one of Mark’s shirts onto the top of his head, shielding his vision. “What, you don’t want your stuff back?”

“I mean…” you mumble, deeply considering of the fact that the thought of getting your stuff back didn’t even cross your mind until now, before you realize your favorite pair of socks is thrown somewhere in Mark’s drawers– the blue ones with peaches on them– and you suddenly have the revelation that while you don’t necessarily need the stuff back, you’d love to wear those socks again. “I guess…” you note as you walk over to Jihoon and take a glance into the full cardboard box, looking over the stuff and chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“It’s like witchcraft, y’know,” Jihoon points out, looking at you with fierce eyes mirroring the stupid idea that just flashed through his brain, “if you don’t exchange the things, a piece of you is still kept at his apartment and you won’t be able to move on.”

And again, Park Jihoon does have psychopathic tendencies, but he may be onto something here. So you listen to him as you nod along and close the cardboard box, ready to drive over to Mark Lee’s apartment and drop off the things you’ve collected from him for the past year. The box includes all of the clothes messily scattered across your drawers and your closet, the picture frame of you two together that you always had on your night stand, the ceramic bowls and a little tiger sculpture he made for you when he took a pottery class with his friend Renjun, and the lost guitar pics you found under your bed and at the very top of your bookshelf from when he used to bring his guitar along and play you songs on rainy afternoons. The only things of Mark’s that you kept were the love letter he gave you for your birthday and the USB with his cover of Justin Bieber’s Off my face on it that he shyly gifted to you on one of your dates; but you would never tell Jihoon that in fear of him getting rid of those most precious memories for you.

It’s good to let go, but you don’t think you’re wrong for wanting to keep something to remind you of the good times. The times you still felt loved by Mark.

“Off we go,” you say, standing up and bringing the box towards your front door, your best friend at your feet. He promised to drive you to Mark’s place– you think he’s worried about you meeting your ex-boyfriend face to face for the first time since the break up, but he said it’s because you’re too broke to Uber all the time, efficiently throwing all the considerate thoughts you were accrediting him out the window– and after a few minutes of the drive, you find yourself standing on the doorstep of Mark Lee's apartment.

Taking a deep breath in and out, almost chickening out with the flood of thoughts and excuses you could say to Jihoon when you come back to his car with the box still in your hands– sayings like “he wasn’t home” or “he didn’t want those back”, the latter stupider than the first– you decide to face your problems head-on and finally knock on the mahogany door, waiting for Mark to answer. And he does– of course he does, because he’s always home, and as his ex-girlfriend of one year, you're painfully aware of the fact– but when that happens, you feel your heart falling all the way down to your stomach, crushing you and suddenly making it hard for you to breathe. 

“Um… hi,” he greets you, voice a little groggy, as if he hasn’t spoken in a while– and when you meet his eyes, the deep chocolate orbs you always found yourself admiring and writing silent odes to in your head, you quickly glance away in fear of staring into them for too long and making decisions you wouldn’t like to make.

“Hi,” you awkwardly greet back, clearing your throat and moving a little in your place, shifting the weight from one foot to the other. You're surprised you're able to keep up with the conversation, thoughts running in your brain faster than you can comprehend them, heartbeat ringing in your ears from the unexpected anxiety. Maybe Jihoon was right and you should've taken a shot before coming here– at least you'd have more courage and social skills clearly needed for this kind of interaction. “I… brought you back your things,” you say, finally looking up at the male and chewing on your lips, letting out an awkward, tense laugh when he stares at you with an empty look, “figured you’d want them back,” you add, watching as the male opens his mouth and closes it in what seems to be shock before he presses his lips tightly together and nods at you.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he watches you clumsily hold up the cardboard box to him, ready to leave his stuff there with him and escape as fast as you can, not really minding how you'll get back to Jihoon's car– if jumping down the window of the entrance hall is the fastest option, you're ready to get to it. The truth is, everything is starting to get a little too hard to bear– his familiar scent filling your nose, the hoodie he wore to your first date enveloping his figure, his messy hair reminding you of the many times you brushed your fingers through it in attempts to smooth it down. It’s only been two weeks since you last saw him, but it was starting to feel as if you forgot about him already and were now relearning all the things you once fell in love with again, looking at him in the same light, yet noticing him and all the small details a little bit differently. “Thanks, I… I actually, uh… I have your stuff here too, so if you want it back I’ll– I can just–”

“Y-yeah,” you nod, almost a little too eagerly, “that would be… cool,” you say, trying hard to ignore the fact that he had your stuff packed too, intending to give it to you, and the crashing reality that comes with it, telling you he was prepared to do this before you were and how it’s making you feel kind of shitty.

Mark moves further into the apartment, the sound of him dropping the box to the floor filling your ears before he’s back at the door in no time, a similar cardboard box in his hands that he offers to you with a tense smile on his face. “Wanted to bring it around so I had an excuse to see you, but you, uh… beat me to it, I guess…” 

Looking at him as you take the box out of his hands, gaze as if to tell him not to say such words to you when you’re still so fragile to his effect, you only nod and mutter out a simple “Thanks,” before you turn on your heel and intend to take the stairs back down.

“I’ll… see you around, then?” Mark calls after you as you take the first step out– something about it making you feel like it’s the first step out of his life, in a way– and you only nod, because one, you truly don’t know how else to reply to this question, and two, you really, really don’t know if you’ll ever see him again, but you can't bring yourself to say it to his face. Somehow, it would feel like torture to admit it– and you're not prepared for that reality just yet.

Rushing outside and getting into Jihoon's car, you almost feel like you’re on the verge of breaking, and when the male asks you how it went as he’s reversing out of the parking lot, you only bid him a one-word reply before you look through the box on your way home, too impatient to stay back from the memories.

And Jihoon didn’t really think this one through, because the fact that you gave Mark back the things that reminded you of him meant that he did the same, and now all the things you brought along to Mark’s apartment were in the cardboard box, all stained with countless memories and feelings attached to each and every single thing. The artwork you made for him, the little heart-shaped keychain you gave him for his birthday, the plant you gave him that was now long dead and dried out– those were once your stuff, but all in this world with the intention of love being sent out through them to your now ex-lover, and the fact that they’re in your possession again instead of his is not making letting go of Mark any easier. 

And maybe Mark was right and he truly was forgetful, because as you rummage through the contains of the box, while you find out your favorite blue socks are nowhere to be seen, surely still buried somewhere in the drawers of his closet, obliterated out of his memory, there’s a gray hoodie sitting at the bottom and it’s surely not yours– it’s his and it was always your favorite, and you always used to wear it at his place when you got cold or when you just really wanted to smell his cologne, and you suddenly don't know if it's presence in the box slipped his mind or if he truly left it there on purpose. 

Couldn’t he forget about that too?

Step three – block his number.

The third step comes into place after you accidentally slip out to Jihoon about the phone call you get on a Friday night– more like two hours into Saturday already– and now, most of all, you must admit that your best friend might be right about his advice.

Your phone starts ringing at 2:11 AM, and while you weren’t sleeping– you’ve been having some trouble with dozing off without being overbeared with thoughts lately– the name flashing on your screen shocks you for more reasons than one. 

Mark Lee calls you, three weeks after your breakup, in the middle of the night. You haven’t spoken since the time he gave you back your stuff, and even though you’ve done quite a bit of stalking on his social media, you have no news of him or his whereabouts. Naturally, a call from him in the middle of the night startles you and shakes you to the core. He has no reason to call you, so your brain does the math and concludes there must be an emergency– and god knows that even after being hurt by him, you could never ignore him and leave him hanging in a state of need.

So you pick up– with shaky hands and a raging heartbeat, expecting the worst. Listening to the other side of the line, you take a deep breath in and out, bracing yourself for the impact of the words you’re going to hear. The voice on the other side is laced with haziness and his tone is almost a little tired– worn out, even– when he finally greets you from wherever he is.

“Hi,” Mark says, and for a second, your heartbeat steadies itself and the world stops spinning– he sounds okay, and for a moment, you’re grateful to hear his voice.

Humming, as if to collect your thoughts, you clear your throat before you offer him an answer. “Hello,” you greet, “what’s- what’s up?”

“Just wanted to hear your voice,” he says, almost a little abruptly to your question. He doesn't overthink his answer and he doesn't give himself time to think if it's a good idea or not– he just blurts it out and now it's your problem to deal with, when it's there, out in the open. Your palms get sweaty and you start to lose feeling in your fingertips, making you take a few seconds to yourself to process the situation before you decide to finally answer to the strange sentence. 

“It’s late, Mark,” you mumble, and you involuntarily wonder if the sentence doesn’t have double meaning– it's too late for anyone to call at this hour, and at the same time, it’s been weeks since your ex boyfriend lost the privilege of listening to your voice when he can’t sleep in the middle of the night whenever he feels like it– and it’s now too late to do anything about it or make it any easier to deal with.

“Shit, sorry,” he chuckles to himself, and you suddenly recognise the laziness in his voice to be the effect of his and his best friend Hyuck’s Friday endeavors; the sweet coating of his voice being the effect of none other than the momentary bliss that comes with the relaxation of his body and mind when he's high. “Didn’t realize,” he concludes, making you shake your head at him in disbelief– not really mattering that he can’t see you in the act.

“‘s okay,” you mumble– and in your perfect reality, you hang up the phone now. In your perfect reality, you connect it to your charger and close your eyes, calling it a night. You fall asleep with no thoughts rummaging through your brain and wake up in the morning to a new sunny day, ready to take on the responsibilities of what’s to come, having productive days ended with smiles and a hot dinner you make for yourself just because you feel like it. In your perfect reality, you protect your own heart. This is not your perfect reality, though– and that’s why you stay on the line, listening to Mark ramble on the other side of the phone, intoxicated and slightly out of it. You wonder if he’ll remember calling you when he wakes up tomorrow. You wonder if he’ll regret it, or if he’ll just shrug his shoulders at the fact and go on with his day, not really paying you much thought when he’s sober.

“I was with Hyuck just now,” he says, and you hear the rustling of his sheets on the other side of the line, making you wonder if he’s washed up and ready for bed, “and– and I remembered how we all used to hang out together, y’know… you with us all– you always clicked with my friends and it was so cool and stuff… and I realized, right, they’re not as funny when you’re not around… but anyways… Jeno’s girlfriend asked about you, ‘cause she didn’t know…and telling her felt so silly, ‘cause they all kept looking at me and I knew they were pitying me, but it was my fault in the first place–”

“Mark–” 

“No, it’s true. And it’s cool, I don’t– I don’t blame you, or anything. I just… I dunno, I guess it got me wondering…”

The line goes silent on the other side, and you settle into your own bed, giving him time to continue. When he doesn’t say anything for a long time, you wonder if he’s fallen asleep.

“Mark?”

“Hm?”

“You still there?”

“Yeah. How was your day?” he asks, tone of voice casual as ever, as if he’s forgotten about all the words he’s told you up until now–  as if it’s not 2 AM and both of your hearts aren’t breaking at the sound of each other’s voice on the other side of the line.

“It… it was okay, I guess,” you say nonetheless, too hopeless to find a way to end the conversation before he does. 

“That’s good to hear,” he says, sighing, “that’s… awesome. You still taking those yoga classes on Mondays?” he asks, and you snicker to yourself– because what kind of question even is that? Who asks that on a late night call, when there are more important things you two need to talk about?

“Yeah,” you lie, still. You haven’t been since the breakup.

“That’s great. Wouldn’t want you to… y’know,” he laughs to himself, “be too sad over this… ‘t was for the better, after all.”

You hear yourself hum– the noise way more stable than your actual words ever could be– and you find yourself feeling silly in the conversation, lying to your ex boyfriend through your teeth; because at the end of the day, you don’t want him to worry about you– because it seems to be the case that he is. And it’s stupid, because he hurt you and you shouldn’t care, maybe you should’ve even show him that you’re heartbroken and that he is the reason behind your pain and the way your life is falling apart, bit by bit, but you don’t find it in you to be so cold and heartless. At the end of the day, you still care about Mark and there’s nothing you could do about it. Turns out that breaking up with him doesn’t magically make the feelings go away– and you knew that, but now you have proof.

“What were you saying before, by the way? You… trailed off at the end,” you say, reminding him of his previous words.

“Oh, that,” he snickers into the microphone again, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he twists and turns in the sheets, “don’t worry about it. It was selfish of me.”

It was selfish of him to call in the first place. But you won’t tell him that.

“What was it?”

“It’s just… I was wondering if I lost you forever, y’know… if there was a chance we could ever…” he trails off again, but this time, you don’t bug him to complete it. You’re not stupid– you know the implication of his words. You’ve known him for a long time, after all– maybe you should’ve predicted this when you picked up the call.

“I mean…” you hum, “you didn’t lose me completely, if that’s– if that’s what’s keeping you up at night. We’re still friends, aren’t we?” you say, and in the corner of your brain, you can’t even believe the words yourself– but if it was selfish of him to call, you think it’s okay for you to selfishly fill both of you with empty promises, just for the sake of not breaking your heart even further.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “that’s– ���I’m glad.”

The line’s silent after that, and you wonder if you two have used up the list of words to say to each other this time, if there’s truly no other answer at the end of this conversation. When the situation gets too much for you to bear, the heaviness finally settling on your shoulders and your chest, you finally find the courage to sniffle out a quiet goodbye.

“Good night, Mark.”

“G’night,” he drags out, mind still cloudy. “Love you,” spills out from his tongue, like a bad habit.

He ends the call before you get to say it back. Maybe that’s for the better.

And the truth is, you should’ve really listened to Park Jihoon and blocked Mark’s number after this encounter. But you didn’t– you’re too weak for Mark’s sweet words, finding yourself still hanging on to his saccharine voice and the muffled ramble he has reserved for you only every time he gets high and loses all self-control before calling you on Friday nights selfishly demanding your attention, somehow falling for him like a teenager over and over again despite promising yourself you're gonna move on for real now.

Step four – date someone new.

“So…” Jihoon starts one day, eyes glued to your skull like laser beams, the tone of his voice so incomprehensible you think he’s going to scold you for the actions of your previous days– even though you haven't told him about the midnight calls with Mark and so if he's not going through your phone, he has no way of knowing. Tense and nervous, still, knowing that the impact of his words could either heal you or cut you open like a knife– damn him for always being so brutally honest, no matter how soft his heart is for you– you smile at him with tight lips, crossing your arms on your chest in defense.

“So…?” 

A nervous laugh almost escapes your throat. If Jihoon wasn’t suspicious of you before, he surely is now– or he just finds you strange by the way he furrows his brows at you and scans you up and down, taking a second for himself before he sighs and seemingly decides to drop the weird way you’re acting right now, shaking his head and focusing on the task at hand.

“I was thinking… my friend asked about you,” he says, nonchalantly looking down onto his hands and taking the dirt out from behind his nails, as if it’s not a big deal and he doesn’t even care that much. “Choi Hyunsuk from Biology, you know him– shabby haircut, kinda short, failed the class so he has to retake it this year…?”

“I think you’re forgetting the fact that the two of us have completely different majors, Hoonie,” you sweetly smile at him with irony, making him roll his eyes with a sigh before he tries again.

“The guy who ripped his pants at Xiao Dejun’s party last year?”

“Oh, that one! You should’ve said that earlier, of course I remember Choi Hyunsuk from your Biology class,” you nod hurriedly, the gears finally clicking in your brain.

“As if I wasn’t talking about him for the last few minutes–”

“Okay, and what about him?” you cut him off, already tired of his annoying tangent.

“I said he asked about you.”

“I heard that already,” you nod, looking at him with expecting eyes. “And?”

Jihoon stares at you, unblinking, as if you fell on your head and he’s trying to comprehend if you’re still here with him or if you got a concussion and need to be transferred into a hospital. When the contact of his eyes on your skin gets a bit too uncomfortable– you swear his looks could actually kill someone, if he tried enough– you furrow your brows at him in confusion and shake your head in disbelief.

“Why are you staring at me like that, Park Jihoon?”

“Just tryna see if you’re really that stupid or if you’re just pretending,” he mutters under his nose before he sighs again– his favorite activity whenever you’re around, it seems– and speaks up again, tone of voice reminding you of a kindergartener teacher trying to explain why it gets dark in the evening to a bunch of 4 year olds. “You know, when people ask about you, they are usually interested in you, as in, my friend Hyunsuk didn’t ask because you’re nice, but because you’re hot, if you know what I'm getting onto.”

“Oh,” you get out, eyes wide in concern and a little shaken-up, “well, that’s… nice of him, I guess.”

Jihoon only hums at you before he looks around himself and brings out the bag of chips that he left open by his right side only a few seconds ago, not really speaking more about the topic. It’s either he’s waiting for you to get what he’s hinting at, or he’s just waiting for you to get even more confused and ask him about it in a few seconds again– either way, he’s not the one doing more talking right now, because conversations with you, the most oblivious person he’s ever seen, are never productive if he goes too fast.

Chewing on the chips, his eyes go wide when you finally open your mouth and talk more about the topic at hand– just like he predicted. “Why are you telling me this?”

Your best friend swallows before he places the bag of chips back to its original place and turns his whole body so he’s facing you, speaking up again. “I was thinking that maybe, just maybe, you’d like to hang out with him. Like a date, before you ask– because I know you’re gonna ask– and why? – because, again, I know you’re gonna ask– because I simply think you should try to date again to get your mind off the loser you broke up with two months ago,” he says, blunt and honest, answering all of your unsaid questions at once, and before you know it, he has you snickering and shaking your head in disapproval.

“Absolutely not,” you retort, waving your hands in the air to only further show your disagreement with the proposition, “that would just be a massive catastrophe.”

“Why? Hyunsuk’s nice.”

“I didn’t say he isn’t, it’s just…”

“Just?” he probes you, eyebrows raised and questioning.

“I… don’t know,” you nervously chew on the inside of your cheek, aimlessly shrugging. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea, Jihoon.”

“Because of Mark?” he asks, and the moment his name escapes your best friend’s mouth, the whole room goes strangely quiet– you feel your heartbeat in your throat, the tips of your fingers start tingling and you swear that if you concentrate hard enough, you could feel a bead of sweat drip down your forehead with the incoming stress and nerves only the mention of your ex boyfriend brings you.

“No, that’s not it–”

“Sure,” he nods, sighing to himself– and there it is again, the judging look you so despise.

“You can’t just expect me to date other people a few weeks after my break up, Jihoon,” you exclaim, “that– that wouldn’t even be fair to your friend. You know I wouldn’t be invested,” you explain, and your friend rolls his eyes in frustration, sighing to himself.

“Oh but I know that! And Hyunsuk does too,” he shakes his head at you, “just thought the company of someone else could take your mind off things.”

“I have you,” you try.

“Yeah, but all we do when we’re together is mope about Mark Lee,” Jihoon snickers, “and don’t get me wrong, I’m more than open to bitch about your ex boyfriend and as your best friend, I don’t mind, but the fact that you’d be hanging out with someone else could take your mind off him, because you wouldn’t feel comfortable talking about him with someone else, y’know?”

You shut your eyes closed, a heavy sigh heaving out of your body as you try hard to concentrate and not lose it, and with how Jihoon’s tone gets softer and he’s not as loud with his brutal, yet logical advice, he must feel you getting overwhelmed and accommodates to your needs. “Look, it’s gonna be fun. I promise. Hang out with someone new, feel wanted and hot and pretty again, get some male attention that’s not your ex boyfriend, and you’ll see how it makes you feel. If you hate it, you hate it and you can slap me, I don’t know... If you don’t, you can keep dating around with my friends, and I swear I’ll hook you up only with the nice ones,” he takes your hand into his and waves it around in comfort, making you open your eyes and look at him again.

Seeing the softness and encouragement in your best friend’s eyes, you sigh to yourself. All this time, he’s tried to help you– what if you finally follow his advice? Who knows, it might even help. 

Sighing, you squeeze his palm and hover over him to get the stranded bag of chips he’s guarding on the other side of the sofa. “Fine,” you mutter, “but let your friend know that he’s the one paying, okay?”

“Perfect. I'll text him your number, then.“

And maybe Jihoon was right and after dolling yourself up and dressing up in your favorite dress just so you would feel as comfortable as possible, you don’t feel as bad when his friend Hyunsuk picks you up in his white Volvo and chats with you on the way to the restaurant. He makes good small talk and even gets a giggle out of you, the music in his car is low and you find yourself slowly easing into the situation. You don’t remember when the last time you went out with a guy that wasn’t Mark was, but it’s surprisingly nice. 

And Jihoon was right– you feel pretty. And when Hyunsuk opens the door for you after pulling up to the parking lot of the restaurant, you even feel wanted. You like the attention, just like any other girl would, and the smile you offer to your date seeps of tender shyness as you get out of the comfortable seat of his car. 

The illusion, though, is soon broken as you notice the restaurant he pulled up to. Your smile freezes, your palms get sweaty and you feel your heartbeat rummaging against your ribcage as soon as the idle atmosphere of the restaurant opens up before you. And realistically, you could turn on your heel and get back to the car, tell Hyunsuk that you want to go to another restaurant– but you don’t do it, against your biggest wishes, because you worry that the boy already made a reservation and you don’t want to ruin an evening that’s going well so far.

“Everything alright?” your date checks up on you, seemingly noticing the frown on your face, and when his worried eyes meet yours, it’s sealed– you’d feel too bad for pulling out of the date now. So you only do what you always do best– you put on your best relaxed smile and nod, catching up to him and ensuring him that you’re all okay and you didn’t just talk yourself out of an anxiety attack. 

Because you owe it to him and to Jihoon– both of them worked so hard to make you feel happy and help you to get over your ex boyfriend. It’s not Hyunsuk’s fault that he just managed to pick the restaurant your said ex boyfriend works at part-time. He had no way of knowing, and if you’re lucky enough, Mark wouldn’t be on today. He only works here part-time, it’s not like he’s here every day, and as far as you’re concerned, he only worked like two or three days a week when you dated. It would be a weird coincidence for him to be working the day you go there with your new date– you hope you’re not that unlucky.

Hyunsuk is a gentleman. Opening up doors for you, pulling out the chair for you, letting you talk and not interrupting you. He watches you with fond eyes and you almost try to feel bad for the fact that even if this ended well, the poor boy would just end up being a rebound. He deserves so much more, and you start to worry if this date was a good idea after all. Wasn’t it selfish of you to agree to this? 

“What do you want to get?” he asks as you open up the menu, and you squint at the prices, mentally taking a note to order the cheapest thing just in case he wants to pay for you at the end of the evening. 

“Spaghetti Bolognese,” you blurt out, despite it not being your favorite meal. Hyunsuk just stares at you with squinted eyes, but doesn’t disagree with you. After all, he has no way of knowing that you dislike the taste of the sauce in most restaurants– even though your conscience tells you that Mark knew that and always made sure to remind you about it before ordering for you, worried that you won’t get to eat much that evening– the only thing left to hope is that it tastes good in this particular place. 

“Okay, sure,” he nods and puts the menu down, smiling at you before engaging in a comfortable conversation with you. It feels like you’ve known Hyunsuk forever– his personality oddly reminding you of Jihoon’s caused mainly by the fact that the two have grown up together. Everything flows soundly, but you still find yourself anxiously picking at your cuticles as you cautiously look around the restaurant, fearing the fact that you could catch a glimpse of your ex boyfriend at any second.

And maybe you should be a psychic, because those bad feelings were not there for nothing– when you see a waiter walking out of the back and eyeing your table, ready to get your order, the boy is a few inches taller than your current date, raven hair messy, but still a little styled, dark circles under the man’s eyes, and there he is– your ex boyfriend. Mark Lee halts in his movements, wearing his work uniform, eyes wide, a hint of something that breaks you at least in two mirroring in his orbs before he turns on his heel and disappears in the back again. When he doesn’t come back and his co-worker joins you and Hyunsuk at your table with a warm smile, you stop waiting to see the glimpse of him you selfishly desired to catch despite fearing the interaction the whole evening.

You want to fall through the floor and disappear in the depths of this earth. For some reason, you feel mortified. What would he think? And why do you even care about his feelings? A million different thoughts run through your brain and you worry that you’re being too distant from your current date, but Hyunsuk’s warm eyes reassure you that he doesn’t mind. 

Piercing the food on your table with your eyes, you try to battle the noisy words running around your brain. 

It’s easy to say you’re over someone when you don’t see them. To have them in front of you, meet their gaze and acknowledge their existence and still be able to nod and say that you’ve moved on, is something completely different. 

Were you ever convinced that you were over Mark Lee in the first place, though?

After all of this– the months of following Jihoon’s advice, although making a few mishaps along the way as you continue to pick up Mark’s calls on Friday nights, snoop around his socials and let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t, overthinking everything and making you wish the relationship never ended in the first place– it’s time for the last step of it all. The last, most crucial part of this whole moving on process– the most important one, if you may.

Step five – avoid him at all costs.

Sounds easy, right? After the four previous steps, you’d already cried plenty about the lost months with your ex-boyfriend. You’d already given him back all of his stuff, not tying yourself to him with any material memory. You’d already gone on a date with someone new, choosing to distract yourself instead of letting yourself feel the emotions. After all the previous steps, this one’s supposed to be the easiest one. The one you’re supposed to want to do, after all. The break-up wasn’t messy, but it was still painful– it’s only natural for you to not want to see Mark ever again, right?

Wrong.

Because you never listen to the advice you’re given. That just wouldn’t be you, would it?

And so when Mark Lee calls you one day and tells you that he has a free train ticket to the Bukhansan stop, explaining that he was supposed to go hike there with Donghyuck who canceled on him last minute because of an assignment due midnight, you don’t really hesitate much before you shoot him a short text saying that you’re down and get ready for the short hike. 

When you meet your ex boyfriend at the station, his figure slightly slouched up until the moment his eyes meet yours, you feel the quiet tension in the air. You’ve seen each other a few times before this meeting– on a party you went to with Jihoon, at the campus when you went to class one morning, your ex boyfriend walking you towards the Art building, hell, you’ve even met in the grocery store, all accidental and making your heart leap in your chest with tension. This time, though, you’re here completely intentionally, just to hang out with him, and something about the fact makes a dull pain shoot all through your intestines, a sensation so uncomfortable you try to hide with a tight-lipped smile. 

“Ready for the hike?” he asks, adjusting the bag on his back, playing with the straps with clammy fingers. You can’t help but notice how he looks just like a little boy, in his little world, shielded from everything. He seems to have taken a protective stance, and you hate how the air between you shifted from how you two used to be when you were dating. Mark seems scared. Nervous. On top of his feet. Maybe you shouldn’t have agreed to this at all.

You’re already here, though. Turning around and leaving wouldn’t really work right now, as you take a step towards the train that’s just arrived, humming to your ex boyfriend in agreement. Taking a seat on the place Mark’s pointed to you on the train ticket, you try to loosen up your muscles and get as comfortable as you can, clearing your mind as you gaze outside of the window.

“How have you been?” he asks, clearing his throat.

Pressing your lips into a tight line, you turn to him as you search for an answer. “Better,” you nod, voice quiet. “You?”

Mark hums, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Good, good,” he lies through his teeth, “I’ve seen you at the restaurant the other day,” he hints, and you battle the sigh that’s begging to cut out of your throat. You don’t know where he’s going with the sentence. It’s not a question– only a proposition, barely even that– and you could ignore it with a nod of your head, you could pay it no mind as you see the bitterness in his gaze and the slightly self-conscious averting of his stare. You don’t know where he’s going with the conversation, but frankly, you don’t know where you are going with your answer either, as you shrug to him in a casual manner and peep under your breath.

“Yeah,” you say, “that was just… Jihoon’s friend from uni, I suppose,” you complete, and the sentence hints at nothing– it doesn’t clear out the confusion, it doesn’t outright say anything that could make Mark believe that it was just a casual hang-out with a friend, but still, you see the boy visibly relax as he nods to you and offers you a tight-lipped smile.

“Oh,” he hums, looking out of the window, past the profile of your face. The change in topic is sudden and sharp, but also welcome as he falls into a casual conversation with you, and suddenly, you’re reminded by the Mark you once knew– the guy you’ve once called not socially awkward, but so social that it’s awkward– as he talks to you about his day and rambles on about the weather. “It’s good that it won’t rain today, I bet the view will be nice.”

Locking your gaze with him for a brief second, you lick your lips and point your eyes towards the ground. It’s good that it won’t rain today, as opposed to last time you two went to the Bukhansan trail. You wonder if he remembers.

Before you have a chance to mention it– and in all reality, you won’t, no matter how bold you could be feeling at the moment– the train comes to a stop at your station and you hop out of the carriage, ready for the hike.

It’s easy to forget how messed up things have gotten between the two of you when you walk alongside with your ex boyfriend, laughing at his silly jokes and gasping at everything he shows to you with a pointed finger, finding yourself admiring the sound of his giggle when he spots a squirrel pass your path somewhere near the top of the hill. The trail is almost empty at this hour, since the two of you have decided to go in the late afternoon, and you find your soul to finally be at peace after so many weeks, you finally feel relaxed in the nature, one with the wind and the gentle sound of birds chirping lullying your running thoughts to a rest. 

You realize that this is just what you needed all this time. You needed to get out and walk for some while, to tune out yourself and to accept the fact that you’re still here, for another day, and something about that is still a blessing. Watching the back of Mark’s head as he walks a step in front of you due to the narrowness of the trail in this area, you smile to yourself. It’s easy to forget just how much you were hurt by him when he heals your soul with such a simple gesture. It’s easy to forget you were hurt when he seemingly tries to put all the broken pieces back together, glue them to where they were in the first place, when things were easier and you both didn’t have so many things to worry about. 

You reach the top just as the sun starts setting over the horizon, and there are only a few people scattered across the peak, sitting on their own picnic blankets and gazing into the distance. The hues of the sky paint the world in a different color, the oranges, pinks and muted purples playing with your heartstrings as you come to a halt and crouch down and feel the presence of another soul mirror your actions only a meter away to your right, his gaze glued to your side. The view is beautiful, but the feeling of being watched isn’t ignorable anymore, and so you turn to your companion and raise your eyebrows at him, wondering if he has something to say.

You don’t know how you’ll be able to come back to your life after this and pretend you still don’t want to spend every passing second with the man on your right. You don’t know how you’re supposed to ignore the ever so growing love for him– even though after being so disappointed with the past, the feelings should be decreasing, not doing the opposite– and frankly, you don’t even want to think of going back to the way it’s been for the past few months. And so you don’t– you allow yourself to indulge the moment, to ignore the pain that’s about to come, just so you could hold another beautiful memory to your heart and enjoy the moment before it hurts you to think of it tomorrow morning. 

“It’s even more beautiful than the last time,” Mark hums, but his eyes never leave your figure– if you were still dating, you bet he’d come out with a cheesy line about how you’re prettier than the view, or something. “It didn’t rain this time around, thank god.”

Gazing at him, you shake your head in disbelief. Scoffing, you play with the grass between your fingers. “You remember that?”

“Yeah,” he hums, “I remember a lot of things.”

The sentence makes you bitterly chuckle. He knows why you’re reacting the way you are– and you have every right to. He claims to remember a lot of things, but the ones important to you, the ones you wanted him to remember, he failed to save into his memory. And that’s eventually what made you break up with him, at the end of it all.

At your reaction, he sighs and drags a hand across his face, seemingly realizing the weight of his own words and just how ridiculous he must have sounded to you right now. 

“I- That-” he stutters, shaking his head, “that sounded stupid right now, considering… everything… Didn’t it?”

“Kind of,” you nod, not wanting to meet his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, voice suddenly raw and serious, so different to the tone he’s been using with you the whole afternoon, “I don’t- I can’t remember if I said that back then, when you- when you… broke up with me, but I really am sorry, Y/N. You didn’t deserve that, and I am in no way shape or form trying to make this about me, but I hate myself every day for the way things turned out and if I could go back to that day, I’d do so many things differently.”

The sky in front of you deepens in reds and you taste iron on your tongue, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you’ve managed to bite on your lip too hard in the midst of the conversation. Tearing out stems of grass with your clammy fingertips, you focus on the clouds running through the sky, calculating your next response.

“Okay,” you nod, not giving him much else. The answer perfectly encapsulates the way you feel on the inside right now– you don’t know if you’re ready to accept his apology, if you’re ready to let go of it and act like you weren’t hurt or that none of it ever happened, but you listened to him and you internalized his words. He is sorry. He knows he was in the wrong. And you were aware that he knew all of this before– hell, you’d even go as far as say he knew it the moment you knocked on his door that day and told him it was over– but hearing it from him surely moved something inside of you to a more comfortable place.

“I-” he starts, voice breaking making him clear his throat before he continues, “I don’t expect you to forgive me. And I know I shouldn’t have expected you to still be my friend after all of this, and that- I shouldn’t have even called you so many times and approached you at the store and stuff, but um-” he mumbles, shrugging to himself, “I guess I just couldn’t stay away from you. And again, I don’t expect you to forgive me, I don’t expect you to do anything, really. So… yeah…”

Snickering at his aimless monologue, you shake your head in disbelief. “Mark?”

“Yeah?” he stares at you, eyes a bottomless pool of emotion.

“Why did you invite me here today? What was the… point, I guess?” you ask, hugging your knees to your chest as the breeze makes goosebumps appear all over your body. 

Mark offers you a sad smile, head leaned to his right as he shrugs, and this time, his eyes don’t leave yours as he spills the truth into the air. “I guess I was just feeling selfish today,” he hums, and the sentence makes you cringe with the memory of his first call to you after your break up, “wanted to spend time with you.”

“Here, of all places?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “told you. I was feeling selfish.”

Snickering, you look away, staring at the sky again. The colors are starting to blend together into a deep, dark purple– the horizon darkening as the sun starts to say its final goodbyes to the day. You sigh to yourself, yet feel no bitterness or terror at his words. Somehow, you understand. Somehow, you get him a little too well. Somehow, you think you knew the moment he texted you today, and somehow, you think you felt it in your bones when you didn’t say no, although you could have. There’s calmness in your soul when you nod at the implication of his words, leaning back on your elbows and plopping your bottom to the ground, sitting at the dusty surface. 

“You said you didn’t expect anything out of me today, Mark.”

“And I don’t,” he says, voice soft. 

“And you brought me here to remind me of the last time we went?” you stare at him, a hint of a bitten-back smile playing with your lips. “Because you’re selfish?” 

He nods, not escaping your gaze. “To remind you of the last time we went. To show you that… I remember, I guess. And that I still care, just like the last time. If not more.”

“Mark, you can’t just say all of this and expect nothing out of me right now,” you mutter.

“Actually, I can. Because that’s what I’m doing. I’m just… laying it out in the open, and what you do with the information is completely, completely up to you,” he explains, and you find yourself chuckling at him, the atmosphere instantly lighter as you hear his voice in its usual casualness, talking to you as if he was just unpacking what went on in class today, and not the starting and the end of your one year relationship.

And he’s right. What you do with the information is completely up to you, and the next steps and the progress of your relationship with Mark Lee is also completely in your hands. You could turn away and never talk to him again, you could curse at him and tell him that it’s too late now and he missed his chance, but if that was the case, you wouldn’t be here in the first place. He wouldn’t be inviting you to this place, lying about his roommate canceling just to trick you into going, and you wouldn’t be blindly accepting the invitation, wanting to see where the afternoon brings you. 

“So you still care about me?” you hum, looking at him from under your eyelashes, noticing his slouched-over pose as he looks back at you over his shoulder.

“Always have,” he admits, “never stopped. Despite not really… acting like it in the past few months.”

“Why’d you stop acting like it, then?” you ask.

A sigh escapes his lips, his head turning forward before he leans back and sits cross-legged on the ground, more comfortably now. Shrugging, he answers the question. “I guess I just got too caught up with different things. And don’t get me wrong, you were always my priority, always, but I was all over the place with everything and my mind just couldn’t… there were too many things to keep up with and I couldn’t stay up to date with everything,” he says, “and I know it’s not an excuse, but it’s an explanation, and it doesn’t make it better or undo the pain I’ve caused you, but it’s… at least you know it was never because I’d care about you any less.”

His eyes bear into yours with such honesty you think the weight of the world will crash on you any minute, and suddenly, the whole situation seems so much clearer.

And you wouldn’t take it back, you wouldn’t undo the breakup or do anything differently, because at the end of the day, you think it was needed. Perhaps the time apart was what he needed as a wake up call and what you needed to shield yourself from hurting more. 

“Stop me from saying it if you… if you don’t want to hear it right now,” he hums, voice barely louder than a whisper. There seems to be a silent communication between the two of you, a connection of some sort that brings out the strange telepathy, but you just nod at him, a gentle smile playing with your lips as you understand exactly what he means, telling him that it’s okay and that you don’t mind– you welcome, you need to hear him say it again.

Licking his lips, he turns to you fully, facing you. There’s not a hint of nervousness in his body, having done this a lot of times before, and then it happens– the repeated confession, confirming what was there the whole time, never leaving even when the times were rough. 

“I love you,” he says.

And isn’t that all that’s needed? 

A year is a long time with someone. Somehow, you wouldn’t want the time to go to waste. At the end of the day, if love is still present, isn’t it worth trying? One more time?

“And you still don’t expect anything from me?” you ask, gazing at him softly. “You don’t expect me to say it back?”

“No,” he breathes out, shrugging. “I just needed to get it off my chest.”

“Because you’re selfish like that,” you nod, teasing him. 

“Because I’m selfish like that,” he agrees, breaking out into a slight grin.

Looking at the sky, now completely dipped in dark purple, you sigh to yourself at the turmoil of the conversation. You don’t say it back– although you feel it, you know it’s in there, playing with your heartstrings and clenching the muscle in the palm of its hand– you know love is there, deep inside, for the man that’s currently staring at you as if you hung the very stars appearing on the sky there yourself, stolen them from your own eyes and gluing them there selflessly, for everyone to see. You don’t tell him you love him back, you don’t tell him you forgive him or accept his apology. You don’t worry about what tomorrow will bring you, what your brain is going to tell you when you come down from the hill and get home, lay in your bed and overthink. You let the worries escape you, letting fondness and calm envelope you in a tight hug instead.

“Okay,” you nod, watching the boy next to you look at you with curious eyes. You take his hand into yours and place it on your thigh, playing with his fingers for a heartbeat before you meet his eyes again and smile. “I won’t say it back, but for all it’s worth, Mark… I’m glad you remembered.”

And that’s all he needs– there is love, there is fondness, and there is the silent confirmation that all you need right now is just a bit more time. 

Where do broken hearts go?

Somehow, you think they hold on to the place where it all started. Somehow, you think your heart never went anywhere– it stayed on this hill, waiting for you to pay it a visit and pick back up everything right from where you left it.

“It doesn’t seem like a good idea to go here today, Y/N,” Mark laughed behind you as he looked up to the sky, the dark clouds shielding the sun that had been previously shining down on your hiking figures, casting an orange glow on the strands of your hair. 

“Well, there’s no turning back now,” you shrugged, turning to him and grinning as you tugged on his hand, grip strong as you dragged the boy up the trail, your sneakers fast against the dirty ground. “We have finals starting next week and it’s gonna be too cold to go after the exam season is over, so we gotta go now.”

“I kind of regret telling you that I’ve never been here before now,” Mark sighed, but followed you nonetheless, breathlessly following your excited stride. It was October, the leaves on the trees were welcoming the two of you in shining colors, and the wind kissing your skin turned a bit chilly in the evenings– courtesy of the warm hoodie Mark shyly lended you when you shivered for the first time, adoring the way you, his friend, looked in the light gray fabric. Something about you wearing his clothes made the boy a bit hopeless about the day. Maybe he’ll have enough courage to confess his feelings to you, he thought. Maybe, despite the first raindrops falling on the skin of his bare arms, this evening will have a happy ending for you and him. 

“Oh, please,” you squinted at him, continuing to run up the hill– thank god it wasn’t that steep, serving both of you as the perfect hiking difficulty, “even if you wouldn’t have, I’d drag you here anyway. It’s like, my favorite place to go in Seoul, haven’t I told you before?”

You have, Mark thought. But he was okay with hearing it again. 

You squealed when the raindrops got heavier and the rain started pouring faster on the two of you, and Mark found himself laughing at your running figure. He was right behind you, praying that you don’t slip on one of the rocks and break your leg on the hiking trail, but he encouraged you with sweet comments and a hand on the small of your back as he watched the tip of the hill appear right in front of his very eyes, your body coming to a satisfied halt when you reached your destination.

“Tada!” you grinned at him, twirling a little like a ballerina, showing him the place with outstretched arms. He tried hard to observe the place, but his eyes stayed glued to your excited figure, gaze bearing into yours as you looked at him, amidst a little flustered, with sparkly orbs and a bright smile on your face. Your hair was a mess, his gray hoodie enveloping your body was slowly growing darker in color from absorbing the rain, and your sneakers were getting a bit muddy from walking around the place. He wanted to remember this moment forever, he thought– this version of you, the smiley expression on your face, the carefree and excited nature of your step. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” you exclaimed, jumping around and nearing the boy, but as you went to take his hand to drag him around the top of the hill once more, your feet slipped and you fell forward, a surprised squeak battling its way out of your throat.

Your whole life flashed in front of your very eyes in that moment, embarrassment spreading down your neck at the fact that you were about to fall face first onto the ground in front of your crush of a few months, before your body collided with a soft, yet firm mass engulfing you closer. A pair of strong arms steadied you against his chest, and when you looked up at your friend, you swear all words were taken out of your dictionary, the sight leaving you speechless.

“It is,” he gaped, eyes bearing into yours. Mark was agreeing with you, but something in the back of your head was telling you that he didn’t really admire this place as much as you did– his curious gaze was always plastered somewhere completely else. 

That place being your face, of course. And your eyes, your cheeks, the mess of your bangs, and occasionally– screw that, almost always– your lips. Much like in that moment, a few centimeters away from his face, so inviting he thought it would be a crime to contain the urge. 

And so he didn’t– he didn’t control his feelings and the ever-so growing yearning for you, as he silently leaned towards your face and captured his lips with yours in a firm, yet short kiss.

He looked at you with a nervous tint behind his gaze when he leaned away, the sight of your wide eyes staring at him making a slight flush grow on his cheeks. You looked so beautiful in that moment– flustered, surprised, with messy hair and lips still apart– and he was relieved to not find a hint of a displeased emotion in your expression. 

“Okay, so- well-” you stuttered, laughing to yourself, “this didn’t go as I planned, but I guess I’m happy as long as the final result is the same,” you hummed, standing on your tippy-toes and pressing your lips against him once more, this time letting yourself enjoy the moment fully, mouth moving against his in a careful, yet excited rhythm. He tasted like the strawberry candy you offered him on the bottom of the trail and smelled a bit like rain, the mixture always staying in the depths of your mind as his warmth enveloped you in comfort and a feeling of home.

“The final result being…?” he asked when you pulled apart once again, a dazed expression overtaking his sharp features.

“Us,” you shrugged, “like this,” you clarified.

Mark laughed at that, hugging you closer to his chest. You rested your head on his shoulder, listening to the sound of raindrops washing away the top layer of dirt off the rocks on the tip of the hill, hands sneaking around his waist and enjoying the way they wrapped around him so tightly and so comfortably. You in his hoodie, in your favorite place, standing in his arms. It was raining, but it didn’t matter.

“Mark?” 

“Hm?” 

“If we ever get lost, or something happens… bring me back here, okay?” you mumbled close to his ear, lips gently glazing the skin of his ear, making goosebumps appear all over your new lover. “I’m convinced that this place could fix everything.”

“Even us?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not allowed to ever leave me now, what would there be to fix between us?” you smacked his shoulder, snickering to yourself.

“You never know,” he laughed, “what if I accidentally mess up somewhere along the way?” he asked, threading his fingers through your hair, smoothing down the wet mess.

“Okay then,” you hummed, “even us.”

Staring into your eyes, letting the moment play out by itself, Mark swore he’s never felt more at peace. He wondered if it was the effect of the place, the rain, or just your sheer presence.  “I’ll remember that,” he giggled before he let go of your body, petting your head as he took a hold of your hand, tugging you down from where you came from, “now let’s go home before we catch a cold.”

Nodding, following the man as you both carefully, yet fastly made it down the trail, you enjoyed the way his hand fit into yours and the way you knew that after this, you can’t ever come back to being friends with Mark Lee. He was all yours, completely, utterly yours, and you knew in the back of your head, that you were his– and nothing will ever change that.

You would always come back to the hill with him. It felt ridiculous to think about you two ever having to fix anything between the two of you back then, but even in that moment, you knew that for him, you’d keep trying. As long as he does– as long as he remembers.

Where do broken hearts go? You guess they always come right back to the place they come from– and they leave glued back together every single time.

You guess your heart never really left the hill.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 4)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 3, Part 5

summary: You get your laptop fixed... eventually.

warnings: smut!! (finally lmfao) masturbation, mutual masturbation, tiny bit of voyeurism, recreational drug use, dry humping, etc 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: caught up to where the og oneshot ends so i wanted to switch it up!!

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 6.8k (still in shock i wrote all this lmfao, i'm strictly a <4k words kinda gal)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

lips black and blue and gold.

You're frustrated. Bouncing off the walls, head spinning; and it's for a couple of reasons. 

First off: you haven't managed to find a laptop. Money you've worked damn hard for, and you can't really afford a new one. With moving around, you've burnt through quite a bit of your emergency fund. Enough to convince yourself you'll be just fine with a pen and paper in class, and the Google docs on your phone when desperate. It might actually force you to go to the library instead of half assing assignments the night before, you think. 

And there's your lab book, which you were smart enough to back up on your computer, but guess what? That's fucked; probably taken apart and sold for scraps by Miguel's mysterious friend , who you've conveniently never even heard of and–

"Just ask for an extension." He says, feet up on the sofa. Oddly enough, you've been doing that more often; spending time together. He's not holed up in his room as much, and spends time studying on the dining table, or pretending not to watch the soaps you've got on TV. 

"You're overthinking it. Explain the situation, chula, and it'll be fine." He doesn't even look up, just throws the statement in your direction like the lazy pass of a ball. 

You scoff, because he's right, and go back to overthinking. You think you can copy out the ruined half of your labbook by hand, and if you beg your OChem teacher for an extra credit project then–

"If I let you use my laptop, will you stop doing that?" 

"Doing what?" You frown as he walks over, and reaches to gently pull your hands apart. He turns your palms over, pointing at the raw edges of your fingernails. 

" That. " Mindlessly, you'd been picking at your fingernails, without even noticing. Looking up at him, he rolls his eyes. 

"...is that a yes?" You nod, hesitant, and catch the hint of a smile as he pads off to his room. 

When he returns, open laptop in hand, he thrusts it into your arms - and sits himself back onto the sofa. This time, he splays out facing you, avocado socks resting on your knee. You fight the urge to push him off, a small price to pay in return for his moment of kindness. He's been doing that more often now, slightly more touchy and maybe even… comfortable around you. Eyes flickering up towards him, you catch his. His brows knead together, and you return your attention to the screen just as quickly. 

You're going through the motions, more or less, logging into your college's portal and drafting up quick emails to send to your lecturers. But it's when you open up a new tab, that you see something at the top of the screen and pause. Mouse hovering over an incognito tab, hidden in a nest of referencing websites and scientific journals; it's there. Bold letters, in all caps: WOMAN POUNDED BY BIG BEEFY–

You shouldn't. You really, really shouldn't. Once again, you look up at Miguel, and he couldn't care less; tapping away at his phone, only stopping to look at the TV. Nevertheless, you shift to hide the laptop screen from him. But you're not going to look, or anything. You know better than to take a look at your roommates porn habits, the stuff he drools over whilst he fucks his fist; a big, dextrous palm wrapped around his shaft. 

You've done it. Clicked on the tab and nothing's exploded, as of yet. You turn down the brightness, with some shame, as if to make the paused video less explicit. But the image stays, a woman folded under the weight of the man above – in the middle of bullying his fat cock into her pussy. It's amateur; hot and sweaty and sticky, with only the woman fully visible. You suppose your curiosity's been sated, but you can't help but think…

…the woman. She looks like you. 

Tilting your head, you can't help but see the resemblance. Not the exact same of course - but her hair is similar, body type, skin tone, eyes. It's not close enough to be weird, you guess, but it's enough that that thought stays - burrows into you like an earthworm into an apple. Scrolling down, you see other videos, with the same woman, other women that look like you - the telltale red bar of watched videos. Evidence, but not really, and it makes you heat up. Your mouth goes dry, and you look over to him: only able to concentrate on the hand he's got spread out at his belly, the brown flesh peeking out - and how it looks just like the one on the base of the woman's stomach in the video. 

"...everything ok?" He's looking at you, suddenly; and you attempt to click over to your original tab, discreetly. 

He doesn't seem to notice, padding over to your side and leaning into your shoulder. 

"Yeah, no, I just…" All you can manage is a nervous smile. "The screen froze, so…"

"Oh." He gives the track pad a swipe. "Seems fine to m–" 

He freezes up slightly, and you watch as his eyes flick up the screen. The laptop is eased out of your hands, and he gives a few quick clicks. By the time it's back in your lap, the offending tab is gone. Imperceptible, his jaw shifts. 

"...Should be okay now."

You hum, a little amused at the display. He's seemingly unfazed, his little slip up notwithstanding, and leans back to lie up against you. Obnoxious, he splays onto the sofa cushions, his weight practically smothering you as you fight to push him off. You think he likes it – it's the only possible explanation – and gets off from watching you squirm. He seems desperate for a reaction, a child pushing boundaries and pressing buttons to see what exactly makes you tick. 

And that's the second thing: it works . He's  more touchy, and just as insufferable – jumping at any excuse to be near you, it seems. Miguel has a tendency to hover, follow you around the apartment as you talk aimlessly, and you do the same. You sit by against the doorway to the kitchen whilst he makes dinner; he floats around the door to your room when you try to study. In fact, you've spoken to your roommate more in the past week than you have in the past month; about anything and everything. Sometimes, he actually tells you where he goes during the day; off to lectures of his own, another tutoring session or his basically-an-unpaid-job of an internship. In your words, it seems like with the shit they make him do at Alchemex, he may as well be a full employee: with way fewer perks and a distinct paycut. It's almost as if they're paying for my degree, he says with an eye roll, practically hanging off your door frame. 

He does that a lot, now: arms drawn upwards to lean from the oak trim. Especially during lazy mornings in - he'll hang on the frame, and move to tug at your heel, waking you up despite fervent protest. Ultimately, it's a kindness and you don't know how to tell him how much you appreciate it; as he wakes you up on time to get to the library in good stead. You're still waiting on that laptop, debating whether or not to bite the bullet; but for now Miguel obliges, letting you borrow his now and then. 

He's not nice, you think his tongue is much too sharp for that; but he is kind, giving you some grace you're not too sure you deserve. It's more than what you've been given in a relationship of 4 years, and you don't know how to feel about it. 

Well, you do. Your talk on the living room floor not so long ago flipped a switch and all of a sudden you're paying attention to your roommate; really, really looking at him. He is very, very pretty; with a tendency for lingering touches disguised as something else. And you're out of practice: horny, frustrated, stressed. With the way he touches you; a hand on your back to greet you, a squeeze of your shoulder to tease, bare legs across yours on the sofa; it's a lethal combo. 

And here you are, headphones on, prepping to take a dildo. Incredibly self-indulgent, but you need it . You don't quite have the emotional stability for a one night stand (you think if someone touches you just right, you'll fall in love), but this dry spell has taken its toll. 

It wasn't just after the break up, either. Mismatched libidos had felt like a steady death knoll. Realistically, you knew Jaime was always too tired after a placement, but it didn't make you feel wanted. You just want to be desirable and fucked within an inch of your life – was that too much to ask? 

As a result, your toy drawer had grown: vibrators and dildos, clit-suckers and g-spot strokers; crude once said aloud, but all in search of something. With the stress of school and Miguel, Schrodinger's slut ; it's a wonder you haven't cracked it open earlier. 

You're on the floor, its purple base suctioned to the hardwood and towels to cushion your knees. Lower half completely exposed, it's an art , porn on your phone to complete the visage. The screen is smaller than that of the laptop you're used to, only providing some stimulation. And so, as you sink down on its silicone length, you can't help but think back to the sofa - and the videos squirrelled away on an incognito tab. Miguel, hunched over and fisting his cock to someone that looks like you; maybe even thinking of you – although the jury's still out, on that one. 

But you keep it close to your chest, rub your clit to the thought of it: you're his type, and maybe he'd fuck into you like the man on your screen. Broad, gorgeous shoulders and you wonder how pretty he'd look with scratches littered down his back, or hickeys sucked into skin: lips plump and messy and swollen. 

"Oh, fuck," You say it under your breath, knowing that whilst Miguel is out of the house, it still feels odd to put your lips around the pleasure that thinking of him gives. 

You speed up, the slap of thighs ringing out into your bedroom. The dildo is around 6 inches, sizeable; but you can't help but wonder how it compares to Miguel's. He might even be bigger; thicker, most definitely; and you bet his cock is just as pretty as he is. Oh fuck, and he'd tease; press into your hole just to snatch it away at the last second, rubbing persistent circles at your clit. You hear his voice in your head, the low grunts and groans you've memorised from all those nights he's spent with other girls. 

"Miguel,"  You're moaning shamelessly now. "...f-fuck, please–" 

There must be something electric in the way he fucks: with the litany of girls in and out of his bedroom, what keeps them coming back? He must talk them through it, whispering filth with his plush lips against their ear, and you wonder what he'd say to you. God , you'd give anything to hear it him say, just once, how beautiful he thinks you are; for him to wrap his hand around your neck and pull you close. You want him to fuck you; hard and deep and desperate. 

With that, your pace quickens and you gush around the toy. A spasm of limbs, and you're clamping down on the silicone – an orgasm that leaves you breathless and heaving. You convince yourself it's the taboo of it: fucking yourself to the thought of your roommate, after listening to his grunts and groans for the past couple weeks. He started it … thin walls, and all that. 

You ignore the want that lays stubborn at the pit of your stomach, riding through stuttering spasms as your orgasm winds down. You're touch starved, that's all, and Miguel's the closest warm body to latch onto. Nothing more, nothing less. Groaning, you shift, picking up your hips to gear up for another round. Just once more, so you know for sure. 

Thin walls. The sound leaks into your roommate's bedroom. But with your headphones on, you can't hear the sounds that echo back: Miguel O'Hara, back home early, with an ear pressed to the wall and desperately pumping his cock. 

~~~

"I'm not completely convinced, to be honest." You're in Miguel's car, tongue sticking out as you fiddle around with the dials. 

His gaze flicks over, and bats your paws off the dashboard. Flopping into your seat, you watch as he turns up the AC and switches the radio, as if reading your mind. 

"You really think I'd go through all this trouble?" He scoffs. "Bundle your ass out of the house and drive all the way here to…. do what exactly?" 

"Assert dominance in our shared ecosystem." You say it with finality, and he scrunches up his face in confusion. 

"...what does that even mean?" 

"Like in that nature doc you were watching the other day." 

"Well, the point was that spiders aren't hierarchical in the traditional sense. They form colonies that are… quasi-social, if anything, and–" He pauses. "Wait. You were paying attention?" 

You shrug. "I thought it was interesting." 

"Seriously?" 

"...no, not really."

You laugh as he pulls over to park, in a space next to what looks like an apartment complex. It looks way nicer than your place, with sandy brick and hedges that look well kept. Your laughter peters off. Miguel looks decidedly not amused. 

He opens the car door and clambers out as you scramble for the seatbelt. To your surprise, he opens the door for you; stretching out a hand for stability as you get out. When you both walk over to the intercom, your palm burns with his touch, and flexes with the memory of it. It's becoming a problem, his hands. You push down the beginnings of a hazy daydream. He presses a panel, waiting for the buzz. 

"Lyla? Could you let us up?" 

He waves demurely to the camera, and the receiver clicks. A cheery voice rings back. 

"...Us? Who's us, Miggy? Did you finally find a girl that puts up with your shit?" Her voice is singsong, teasing. With a smile, you watch as Miguel bristles, speaking into the slick panel. 

"My roommate, Jesus, Ly–" He says the next bit a little rushed, turning away slightly as if you still can't hear her loud and clear. "I thought we went through this, you can't keep trying to embarassmeeverytimeI–" 

She talks over him towards the end, rapid-fire banter that you can barely make out. 

"You never come and visit, except when it's 2am and you need to break into–" 

"Once! It was one time! Déjate, ya está bueno ya–" 

[Let it go, that's enough now–] 

"Let it go? No, no, absolutely not… what is it that you always say? It's the principle –" 

"Can you just fucking open the–" 

"What's the magic word?" 

He sighs, mouthing an apology to you. "Lyla–" 

"Magic. Word."

He mumbles. "Please." 

"Please what?" 

"Please could you open the fucking door."

There's a pause, and rustling over the intercom. The door buzzes open. 

In the elevator up, you keep quiet, trying your hardest not to burst out laughing. Miguel is visibly brooding; arms crossed and brow furrowed. 

"Don't." He says, with a pout you almost think is cute. Almost. 

"I'm trying really, really hard not to." You put your hands up, as if to surrender. "... Miggy."

"Fuck off." And then, a little softer. 

"...I told you I have friends."

~~~

You leave it at that until you're in Lyla'a apartment, when she opens and ushers you in. She looks exactly the way she sounds: pretty, mousy features, with her hair in short, choppy layers. She's bundled up into a plush white robe; heart-shaped sunglasses sliding down the tip of her nose. 

Miguel breezes past her, towards the murmuring voices you can just about make out in the front room. 

"Lovely to see you too, Miguel." It's under her breath, but when she turns towards you there's a twinkle in her eye. 

You introduce yourself, and she pulls you into a tight hug. 

"I know," She says. It's ominous, but her voice is light and airy. When you separate, she flashes a wide smile. "Lyla. It's nice to put a face to a name."

"Uhh, sorry. What?" She ushers you further into her apartment as you speak, confused. 

"Oh, Miggy talks about you all the time. Complaining , mostly, but in that way he gets when he's trying really, really hard to pretend he doesn't care. Like, he texted me yesterday and–" 

"Thaaat's enough." You feel hands on your shoulders, and all of a sudden, Miguel is steering you away from her grip. You stumble into her living room, so bright and airy your eyes have to adjust to the light that floods in. Looking around, her apartment is gorgeous; a spacious open plan, floor-to-ceiling windows with a prime view, and lush furniture. Everything about it screams expensive – especially in comparison to your paltry place. Maybe the shock is visible on your face, but you're in awe. She can't be much older than Miguel, right? She looks about the same age, mid-twenties, not too far-removed from college… and it isn't quite adding up. 

"How can she afford this? That's what you're thinking." There's a voice on the sofa that makes you blink. A young man with messy brown hair, a set jaw and 5 o'clock shadow calls out to you in between mouthfuls of pizza. "Lyla's… mmhgh… suuper fuckin' rich… mmfgh… that's how." 

It's then that you notice there are other people here, sprawled out on the sofa set; boxes of takeout on the side tables next to them. Of course Lyla's rich: only 20-somethings with money to spare have matching sofas. 

She's like Beetlejuice, or the Candyman, and pops up next to you when her name's said. 

"I work in tech! With a cute little job on Wall Street, and a part-time one white hat hacking." She clarifies. " Ethical hacking." 

She giggles like she's told a joke somewhere, and you nod – still not quite understanding. 

"...and some side gigs that aren't as ethical." A blond haired man next to Mouthful-Of-Pizza pipes up. "When are you going to introduce us, Miguel?" 

He's grumbling in the kitchen area, digging through the shelves for something. He returns with a bag of chips and dip in a container, flopping onto the zebra print throw pillows. Distracted, he waves a hand around the group noncommittally. 

"Uhh, Peter, Ben, Lyla." He gestures to you, saying your name, and then to himself; tearing open the bag at the same time. "-and Miguel. All done"

"My turn for questions, now," Miguel says, pointing at Lyla, looking at the boys to his side. "Is she…?"

"...super high? Most definitely." Lyla giggles at Ben's words, for good measure. 

"...right. Peter Parker, nice to meet you." He throws a thumb to the back of the sofa, where you notice a little mop of red curls peeking out. "And this is my little Mayday."

Peals of laughter erupt from behind him, and you notice grubby hands with a death grip to the cushion rest. Miguel leaps up, rushing to her side to help her up its back. 

"Ayyy dios mio." He scoops her up carefully, "Buenas, Arañita." 

Mayday is on his lap now, a little toddler of about 1 or 2, snaking herself around to hug Miguel's chest. She is certifiably the cutest thing you've ever seen: gap-toothed and giggly, with a smatter of freckles like someone's flicked a paintbrush across her nose. And with the way Miguel melts, you can die happy, knowing that you've seen the impossible: Miguel O'Hara, cooing and fussing over the little girl. 

"Arañita?" You ask, to no one in particular. 

"Itsy-bitsy spider." . ..is the sing-song, choral response from everyone but Miguel. They're mimicking his tone of voice, and he raises his head from May, looking around. 

"I don't sound- " 

"You do, dude." Peter sighs, tickling the little red head on the tummy; smiling as she collapses into bright laughter. "I don't have a nickname, and I've known you waaay longer than she has."

Miguel covers her tiny little ears, and says, "Eres un pendejo, Parker . "

[you're a dipshit, Parker] 

The scraggly man sticks his tongue out in response, and May pulls at his hair for good measure. He yelps, and Miguel passes her over to her Dad. The scene is funny, for sure, but you feel it's warmth more than anything. God, you can tell they've loved and laughed with each other for years; the kind of friendship you'd kill to have. 

"We just need whatever's left of her laptop, Lyla," He's blunt, batting away long forgotten chips and dip. "...and then we'll get going. Wish I could stay longer, Arañita, but I've got some work to finish off."

May makes grabby hands at him, and you melt. Who knows how Miguel can stay strong in the face of her big, round eyes. 

He gets up to stand next to you, arms crossed. The height difference is stark: his tall, solid frame towering over everyone else. It seems like an intimidation tactic, but you know him just well enough to tell: he's trying not to be swayed by puppy eyes and promises of food. 

"You just got here, Miggy." Lyla sighs. "We're going over prep for Jess', and we'll be two minutes, I swear."

"Oh?" His eyebrows light up. "I knew it! You were being evasive on the group chat, and Pete wasn't returning my calls…"

Huffing, he clasps his hand around yours, ready to storm out. "This is an ambush. A goddamn setup!" 

"Wait, Miguel, I need my-" 

"I'll pick it up later for you, okay?" It's said like an aside, so soft only you can hear it. With his hand around yours, it certainly feels more intimate than it should. And it seems like he realises a little too late, dropping your hand as your faces are mere inches away. 

"Um, we should… we should go." 

You look past him to the faces blinking at you guys, on the sofa. A pause, and then you're gulping down stubborn feelings to ask a question. 

"Jess' ? Is there a party, or something?" 

Lyla nods. "Yeah, and Miguel's meant to be picking up cake."

The man in question pinches his nose. "I can pick up the cake just fine. It's the whole… going to a party bit I'm not too keen on."

"Come onnn, you know Jess would love it."

"She'd love to blackmail me with some dumb shit I did drunk, that's for sure."

"It's her birthday, hardass ." Peter whispers that last bit, covering little May's ears like before. "She can have a little blackmail, as a treat."

"You're gonna say no to a surprise party ?" Ben echoes, shaking his head dramatically. 

"A surprise birthday?" You light up. "Miguel, you have to go."

His stony demeanor cracks, for a moment. You latch onto it, hellbent on wearing him down. He's always got his laptop out doing work, or cracking open a little notebook to prep a lab. When he's not at home, he's at that internship, or tutoring, or planning a tutoring session. Work, work, work; and you'll be dammed if you let him rot away in a little cage of his own machinations. 

"Come on, Miggy." You watch him bristle, prying at that little crack in the surface. This has to be done with finesse: present a challenge, and watch him scramble to prove you wrong. "You're telling me a couple of hours at a party's too much for you? That's it? " 

"That's not–" 

"S'what it sounds like to me." You shrug, a little smile on your face. The aim is to look as smug as possible; and it seems to be working. 

His jaw shifts, annoyed. Lyla catches on, giving you a crazed smile. 

"Even your roommate's gonna come." She says, an arm linked in yours. 

"I am?" She gives you a little dig, and you're spluttering. "Y-Yeah, I am!" 

You can see him fight with his own ego; but it's a one-sided affair. 

"Fine. " He strains. "Two hours, max. And then I'm gone."

Lyla gives you a squeeze, and then wraps you both up in a hug he desperately tries to fight off. Ben slots around you guys, and Peter's last to join, with Mayday squealing on his shoulders. 

Eventually, you get what's left of your laptop: a little thumb drive with as much as Lyla could save. You'd thanked her profusely, of course; trying to slither out of her vice grip of a hug, as best you could. She's absolutely batshit, the good kind; cryptic, and strange, but with a lot of heart. She makes you wonder, and they all do; just how did they become friends with Miguel? How do they fit? 

The man himself seems a little different, as if reinvigorated by being around friends. In fact, you catch him smiling to himself on the drive home. It's sweet; to see a different side of him around people he's clearly comfortable with. If only for a little while, he sheds the heavy weight he seems to carry around. 

Around the house, you notice he seems lighter – humming to himself whilst cooking dinner. That very day, you watch the little sway of hips as he stirs a pot; headphones in, singing under his breath. He can't sing for shit, of course, and he'd kill you if you ever uttered a word; but it's a sight you commit to memory, not knowing when next he'll be in such a good mood. 

There's still the question of a new laptop in the air, but you feel more settled by the events of the day. You're a little less fucked school-wise, you've got a party to look forward to, and potentially a drunk Miguel to make fun of. He goes to bed early; and you can hear the quiet drone of a podcast from the other side of the wall. He drifts off to the sweet, dulcet tones of Top Ten Genetic Precursors for Early Onset Dementia; one of his favourites, you've determined. 

All is well, for now. A tentative truce, and maybe, just maybe: you're finally friends with your roommate. 

~~~

There's something about dramatic irony that seems to smack you across the face, every time. 

You've come to somewhat of a understanding with your prickly roommate, and the stream of women in his bed seem to slow down, for a bit. He's hot, he's a whore; but he's sweet, with an eye for detail. He can read you with a scary amount of accuracy. Antsy and hungry from a long day? He leaves you scratching your head at his clairvoyance when you come home, chucking you a hot water bottle and a warm meal. You go to bed with a full belly, cramps abated. 

He's still a prick, of course. Sarcastic comments, and a massive grump – but you've learnt to deal with that. Just a couple of days after a seemingly settled week; what you can't wrap your head around is the pounding music from next door, at fuck-off-o'clock . He shouldn't be awake, let alone interrupting your late night study session. 

You're pissed, leaping from your desk to pound at his door. You're thudding towards his room, ready to deliver a well-deserved verbal lashing, and the door just… swings open. Empty; there's a window ajar and music pumping from speakers. Bachata and cheesy 90s R&B; which sounds suspiciously like his sex playlist. 

Yes, he has a sex playlist. And it really has no business to sound as good as it does. 

Nevertheless, you're resolute. If he's managed to sneak someone, at this hour, you decide he's going to get more than a stern talking to. 

There's clattering in the kitchen, and you whip around; half-expecting the giggle of another girl. When you walk in, it's just Miguel, rummaging through cupboards: a half-naked thief in the night. 

"Miguel?" 

He pops his head up from a cabinet, with a half-eaten piece of bread in his mouth. Caught red-handed, you suppose; and he gives you a little smile. 

"S'everyfin' – mmmfggh –" He scarfs the rest of it down. "Everything okay?" 

You squint. "No. Not really."

He chuckles, a slight rasp at the edges of his voice. Dickhead – what exactly is so funny? 

"You can't have your music so fucking loud, not when I'm studying. It's the middle of the night and–" 

Dressed in nothing but a pair of gray sweats, he's busying himself with a sandwich on the counter; clattering around noisily like he doesn't have full control of his limbs. Which is…. weird, admittedly. You'd trust Miguel to slice a grape with a machete – his dexterity is usually unmatched. Not that you'd made a habit of staring at his hands, or anything. 

"Are you even listening to me?" 

He nods, attempting to keep a straight face, but the faux solemnity does nothing to hide that droop of eyelids and slump of his shoulders. You get closer, pushing him to face you properly. 

"Oh, fuck," His eyes are a little red, hair messy and windswept. "Are you… high? " 

Miguel O'Hara? High? You'd never thought you'd live to see the day, honestly. His eyes go wide, dropping his sandwich dramatically. And then he's got a big hand at your shoulder, pulling you closer with a finger pressed to his lips. 

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering your name like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone."

With the way he says your name it makes you light-headed. It's slow and careful, as if he's testing the way it feels spilling from his lips. And maybe, with the way he smiles, it feels good; tastes sweet wrapped around his tongue. 

"I won't." You breathe, and then you're both giggling.

There's something about the way he looks at you, peering under heavy lashes; basically eye-fucking you in the space of your tiny kitchen. You feel bare in a little t-shirt and sleep shorts; suddenly exposed. 

"You should…" He starts, cocking his head ever so slightly. "Join me, chula. "

It's soft; sinful, even; said as he coaxes you between his body and the kitchen counter. 

You don't trust your voice enough to answer, legs already shaky, so you nod. Slight, at first; and then with a little more gusto as the idea of him and you on his sheets – intimate, alone – creeps in. He stretches out a hand, and you take it; led to his bedroom like a scene you've seen before. All those girls before you; led to the dragon's lair like damsels in a fairytale. Except in this one, you suppose, you're not waiting for a knight in shining armour to save you. 

He sits you down on the bed, passing you a freshly rolled blunt. Passing it to your lips , more specifically; hand on your chin as he brings the lighter up to its end. Even prettier up close, all you can do is watch the press of plump lips, and pink tongue sticking out as he concentrates. As he leans in, there's a hand on your bare thigh. You inhale, deeply, and he hums with content.

"Good girl," He purrs, prying it from your lips to take a slow drag. 

"You're a bad influence." You murmur, watching as his eyes flutter shut. 

"You need to relax," He leans back, arm drawn lazily upwards. "This is helping."

"That's not–" Oh. You feel it now, a steady haze rolling over limbs. 

Miguel quirks up an eyebrow, amused. 

You repeat, slowly, "You're a bad influence ."

"Does it feel good?" You pause, trying to ignore his low tone; and the steady blaze that it ignites within you. Dragging your eyes to meet his, you see it: want, lust, something heavy that swirls behind them. 

You nod, itching for another pull. As if psychic, he gestures for you to come closer; and your lips almost slot against his. He exhales, and you inhale; in the closest thing you've come to a kiss in months. It makes you ache for just a little more contact, for those pretty hands to slot between your thighs and–

"Is this all I need to do for some quiet around here?" He asks, lilting. If only he'd stop talking; interrupting your fantasy with that stupid grin of his. 

You're shaking your head, laughing at the sheer gall . 

"You're fucking someone new every week, O'Hara. Loud. Who was it the other day? Cathy, Kayla –" 

"Sita, actually." He has a strange expression on his face. "And we didn't fuck. Just going over lecture notes."

"Sorry . Must have gotten mixed up with the half-dozen other girls in and out of here. Our apartment's not a brothel , Miggy."

He rolls his eyes, handing you the remnants of the blunt. 

"...s'not my fault there isn't anyone fucking you right."

You scoff. "How would you know?" 

"Thin walls. " It's cryptic. What the fuck does that mean?

You take a careful drag, and hand the blunt back – trying your hardest not to strangle him. It must show on your face as you tussle with the thought, because Miguel is staring; unabashedly, unashamedly. When you notice, it throws you off. 

"... what?" Ready to defend yourself, you huff. 

He shrugs. His expression is soft, reminding you of that night, not long ago. 

"You look like a painting."

You practically short circuit. You've been complimented before, of course. Hot, by men trying to get into your pants. Pretty, sometimes. Beautiful, the other times. Whether it's been sincere, you don't know – but you're smart enough to not overthink it. It's hard enough to live a life, as it is; and you'd rather not be bogged down by what others think, how you look whilst doing it. And yet, you feel your body betray you; a steady bloom of heat at your heart, like you've been stabbed. So deep, it spreads like blood on the front of a blouse. Like a painting, he says. And you like the way he says it; how it sounds spilling from his lips. 

Its implication sits heavy. Like a painting : hand-crafted, silken, soft –

He blinks, the crack of a smile on his face. And it ends in a fit of giggling, if you can even call it that. 

"Stop fucking with me." You grumble, and he thinks the way your face scrunches up with disdain is cute. There's probably an implication there he should unpack in therapy – how he likes it when you shout and put him in his place – but he's much too high to care. 

"M'not-" He quiets down, flattens his face into something resembling sobriety and gravitas. He gets a little closer, so close you can feel the heat of his body and flutter of lashes. With wide, dilated pupils, he stills - and it really doesn't help that he looks so pretty. 

"Can't stop thinking about you, hermosa." His voice is low, slurred with the weight of the blunt he's taken careful drags of. Every word makes you feel hazy, drawn in by his lips. " Fuck, all the time."

"Hear your laugh in my dreams, sometimes." He circles your bare thigh carefully, without breaking eye contact. With a thumb on your chin, he brings you closer, and closer still. Gently, you close your eyes, expecting the press of his lips against yours… 

…instead, you get a puff of smoke for your troubles. Reeling, you push him away. He collapses on the bed in a laughing fit. 

"... now I'm fucking with you." Rumbling laughter, and you've got the wherewithal to be embarrassed – hand still resting on his bare chest. 

A little cruelly, you push down, giving him an elbow to the ribs for good measure and he splutters with surprise – laughing all the same. 

"Asshole." You slur, and he grabs your arm to pull you onto the covers with him. You paw at him wildly, wrestling amongst the table of sheets. It's not a fair fight, not really; the wide expanse of his bare chest feels solid, and he's probably got more muscle in his pinky toe than you do in your whole body. Miguel is strong , but plays along regardless, pinning you to the bed with his hands around your wrists - but lets you turn him over just as quick. You're both laughing, the blunt long forgotten but its haze blurring the lines. You straddle his middle, hips flush against his and he keens; head back and cheeks flushed.

"Fuck," It's quiet, said as he writhes below you and you try to pin his hands above his head. Maybe it's the weed, but he lets you: eyes low, breath steady. And you stay like that, for a moment; bodies laid against one another. 

You don't know who starts it: the slow roll of hips, the swell of his cock bucking up against your heat. Regardless, you welcome it, letting the heat build up with the pressure at your clit. Your hips sway and all Miguel can do is watch. 

Lips parted, head back; and you set a steady rhythm that washes over you both.

Humping against one another, you get more desperate and drag your hands to his chest for purchase. Underneath you, Miguel practically purrs – one hand on your waist and the other clutching yours at his chest. 

"So, so pretty…" He sighs into it, wide palm pawing at your ass, shamelessly grabbing handfuls. By now, he's rock hard; and you feel him throb through the thin material of his sweats. 

"Fuck, I can't–" You moan, ragged, the roll of your hips gaining speed. 

Miguel coos, bringing a hand to your chin to pull you closer to the crook of his neck. 

"Too fast, hermosa. S-Slow it down for me." He grips your waist, forcing the pace to slow. Your hips stutter against his, delicious pressure making you cry out. And, God, you're close; pleasure building up at your gut. 

"Ohhh, fuck. Just like that, just like–" It's soft, whispered between the press of bodies like a prayer: reverent, intimate, a slew of garbled English and Spanish into the shell of your ear that goes straight to your pussy. 

"A-Ahi, ahi–"

[t-there, there–] 

Plush lips brush against your cheek, and you try so hard to not float away - with only his words to keep you tethered.  

"... no pares lo que sea que estes haciendo–ohh-fuck–" 

[don't stop what you're doing, oh fuck–] 

The coil at the base of your stomach snaps, and you arch into his touch as he does the same. Miguel spills into his sweats, heaving with the effort. He can feel the clench of your pussy above, and he chases it in the aftermath; craning his neck to finally get a kiss. Limbs heavy, you still manage to swerve so his kisses land at your jaw. He's grateful for the contact anyway it comes and sucks careful hickies into the skin: at your neck, your collarbone, and anywhere else he can reach. 

You sink into it, curl up on his chest like a housecat; his hands wandering the gentle slope of your back under your shirt. 

Limbs heavy, you pry yourself from his hands ever so slightly. He strains to follow you up, snapping back into the sheets like an elastic band. Still, he kneads at your flesh - bare thighs spilling from your shorts. 

" Miguel," You whisper, hand travelling past his neck to cradle his jaw. "Need more…"

You punctuate that last word with a roll of your hips. Wanton, conflicted; he groans . 

"It's late, chula. " He says it slowly, hesitant – like he can't believe the words are coming out of his mouth. He's still high, lost in the whispy remnants of that blunt. You've never known weed to make someone more responsible, and you flop to his side, a little childishly. 

Miguel makes sure to keep a hand wrapped around your waist, dragging his other knuckles up your exposed tummy so that it rides up to the swell of your tits. 

"And you've got that 9am."

You cover your face with the span of your hands, grumbling. From between the gaps in your fingers, you repeat, 

" ...and I've got that 9am ."

He traces lazy circles in your flesh. Maybe it's the blunt, or the afterglow of an orgasm; but you make him laugh, a gentle ache replacing the creak and shudder of gears. 

"Idiot." He says, kissing it into your skin. And he burns from the touch, fleeting; like the warm flame from paper lanterns, or the flicker of a lighter against cool night air. 

_

_

_

Miguel taglist (1): @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns

@ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @aiyaaayei @hyp-oh-critical @tea-earl-grey-thot @sunset-euphoria @moonsio @akiras-key@szaplsdropthealbum@levanneisdumb @naiya-patel17 @Serostapesweat @strawberrymiguel @yumeeesss @errorundyne-exe @spear-bitch @redsoleily @marsissoswag @slezhara @ye4gerzz @adlct515 @nanam1 @indigocookie @cincocosas-blog @starguiders @path0logicalpeoplepleaser@funkyfishy@whoreloll@eugeab@tarjapearce@maddielikesmoths@egotaestical

[ceilidho]

This is in no way of hating but i want to know why do you enjoy writing noncon/rape? When I first downloaded tumblr which was couple of months ago i was surprised by the amount of noncon fics here. I eventually came to enjoy them which makes me question myself. Whenever i read a noncon fic and enjoy it i feel like im betraying women who actually went through those traumatic events. Plus I actually don't really like dark romance books? I love cod dead dove and that is mainly because i really love the characters and the authors are so talented. I rambled so much and i hope you don't get this in the wrong way i don't mean to hate AT ALL i love the stuff you write. Maybe i shouldn't think too much and let myself enjoy what im reading lol

first of all, no worries! i wasn't sure about your tone/intentions at first, but by the end i was totally fine with the question.

i actually don't mind talking about this stuff - i just sometimes avoid it on main because i prefer chatting about it privately.

second, i'm no psychologist or sociologist, so i probably won't be able to give you the most satisfactory answer, but i think there are a lot of different reasons. i can only name a few. one thing i should mention right off the bat is that rape fantasies are very normal (and this is true whether you're a survivor of SA or not) and writing/reading fiction can be a safe way to process those thoughts/feelings.

one of prevailing reasons is, of course, that many survivors of SA use noncon/dubcon literature/art as a way of processing their experiences and taking ownership of their trauma.

and look, people are going to go back and forth on this point (i've seen it all before - many people refuse to believe that engaging with noncon lit/art is helpful, and in fairness, it's NOT helpful for everyone because every person is different), but at the end of the day, if a survivor tells you "writing/reading this was helpful in my recovery" then that's that!

additionally, for many women and non-binary folk (i can only speak as a cis woman, but i'm sure this is a shared lived experience across many different people), we're also taught from a very young age to suppress our sexual desires / that being open about our sexuality is morally reprehensible and shameful. and a lot of people carry that shame for years, impacting them well into adulthood. so dubcon/noncon fantasies can be a way of being able to enjoy sexual scenarios where you don't have to be the initiator, thus taking away some of the emotional weight and shame.

plus, at the end of the day (and im sure many people will disagree with this take, it's something that i'm still figuring out myself), there is a kind of weird underlying consent implicit in dark fics. like, you might be reading a fic or novel that's ostensibly noncon, but you're also actively seeking out that literature (hopefully it's not just sprung on you - i do very much agree with tagging to the fullest extent and my lukewarm take is that I think all books, even traditionally published ones, should come with content/trigger warnings too).

there are a medley of reasons why someone might write or read dark fiction/dark romance. again, i'm just one person and i can only speak from my own experience!

i think at the end of the day, the important thing to realize is that fiction is fake, and as long as the writer appropriately tags their work and ensures that the audience is aware of what they're getting into when they start reading, they're not coercing the reader into something they aren't prepared for.

and it's totally fine if you have limits (like, you can read and enjoy dubcon, but not noncon) or can't engage with the material at all, but it's also unfair to say that it reflects someone's real life values - the same way that we don't say that the people who enjoy crime fiction must love murder.

and the last thing i want to say because this got a bit out of hand lol, is that, yes, for some people dark fiction is genuinely harmful, whether or not they're a survivor. it's not for everyone and that's completely fine and i'm aware of that, which is why i agree that you should tag as much as possible (even if you feel like you're overdoing it sometimes), but someone else's discomfort doesn't give them the right to tell you how to process your own emotions/experiences/desires/etc.

as long as no one's getting hurt, there's no issue as far as i'm concerned. and sorry but, no one's getting hurt by reading a fic or a novel unless the author didn't give proper content warnings - if you "forgot" to read the tags or read anyway DESPITE being warned, im sorry but that's life.

[chlix]

hello christ? i'm 'bout to sin again

vampire! chan x fem! reader: you're a blood donor for wealthy vampires in need of willing victims. it's possible you like your job a little too much

genre: fluff, smut (MDNI)

word count: 6.4k

warnings/tags: oral sex (fem receiving), blood drinking, unsafe sex, seriously like don't do this it's so unsanitary

a/n: i've literally never written smut so i was hesitant to post this, but i liked the idea and i had fun writing it so here it is anyway. i used the name "hyunji" bc this fic only made sense in my brain in third person, but feel free to substitute that name for your own!

Hyunji steels herself as the car she’s in pulls up to the restaurant. It’s an upscale place, with tall glass windows and expertly pruned landscaping on the circle drive. Small light fixtures are placed along edges and curves that make the already tall building exterior look even taller in the evening light. Hyunji has been to some upscale places, but nothing like this. Then again, she’s never had a client exactly like this either. She needs to be on her best behavior.

"He's a bit particular," the woman at the agency told her earlier on the phone. "He's been through a handful of our donors this month alone. I’ve received no complaints from any of them, any everyone was paid well above our rates, but none were asked for a second appointment. I can't give you any pointers for what they did wrong."

If the only consequence of the night going wrong is that Hyunji goes home with a fat paycheck and continues her job search, she’ll consider the evening a success. Sometimes donors are stiffed of their pay entirely or treated like walking bags of meat rather than people offering a service. Sometimes girls don’t come back at all.

That’s the way it goes when you’re dealing with vampires.

But Hyunji loves a challenge, and she'd already signed a liability waiver when she was put on the registry, so she'd accepted the details of the meeting and started getting ready. She’s wearing a black long-sleeved dress with a slit high enough to reveal a good amount of thigh even when she stands. The neckline is low, and the collar frames her collarbone enticingly. No necklaces, no earrings, but a single silver bracelet. She wants to look inviting; not so much done up as...put together. Polished. She doesn’t want to look like an easy meal. Hyunji knows from experience that vampires also like challenge more often than not.

She exits the car and tips the driver in cash and walks up to the restuarant with her coat wrapped around herself and her purse in hand. She approaches the maître d’ with a practiced smile on her face, and he greets her with a polite bow.

"Hello," she greets. "Reservation for Bang?"

The maître d’ calls over another attendant, who leads her to a small room off from the main dining room. A private area. Inside are a few tables spaced far enough apart that they fade away in the low lighting. In the far corner, a man sits staring at the wall, tapping idly at his plate. He has dark hair that’s gelled away from his face, and pink, plush lips. He’s wearing a suit, but Hyunji can tell that there’s muscles under it just from the way he holds his body. His eyes are a bright, unnatural blue. Even at first glance, in this dim room, Hyunji can see that he’s breathtakingly handsome. Of course, that's nothing new. Most vampires are. It’s kind of the whole point.

"Mr. Bang," the attendant says quietly. "Your guest has arrived."

The man turns to look at them, sitting up properly as he does. He gave the attendant a staged smile of his own. "Thank you very much, Sohyeon. We'll call when we're ready."

The attendant- Seohyeon- bows and leaves.

"Please, take a seat” he says, and Hyunji removes her coat and sets it on the chair, then sits down herself.

"I hope you aren't too nervous," he says. "But I thought it might be better for us to discuss these things in relative privacy."

"I'm not nervous. I appreciate the consideration."

He nods. "I'm Bang Chan. Though I suppose you already know that."

Hyunji had suspected, but it's not as if vampires are keen on photography. He could be Chan's assistant, or his errand boy. It isn’t uncommon for initial meetings like this, especially with vampires of such high stature.

"I'm Son Hyunji," she says. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise."

"Can I say, I'm a bit surprised you came in person?"

Chan's smile turns a bit wry. "Well, I prefer to make my own decisions about these sorts of things. It's not that I don't trust the other members of my coven. It's just that matters like this are a bit...personal. You understand."

"I do."

"I'm sure they gave you the rundown of my history with your agency. I hope being a frequent user isn’t a mark against me."

Chan doesn’t seem to be overly invested in the theatrics of all this, so Hyunji decides to be frank.

"They didn't give me many details. I was only told that all the girls were sent home unharmed. In this business, that's a victory."

"That's a generous outlook."

"Of course I'm generous. I'm offering my blood."

Chan cracks a smile, and some of the severity in the places of his face eked away. "That you are. I assume you came prepared today ready to be bitten?"

"If the negotiations go well, then yes, I'm prepared."

"Well, then I'll be on my best behavior," Chan said. "And I should probably get you something to eat."

He must press some button under his table, because Seohyeon reappears, ready to assist.

"Do you mind if I order for you?" he asks.

"Not at all." It isn’t uncommon. Diet has an impact on the taste of the blood, and every client has a preference. For her last position, Hyunji had found herself eating much more meat than she normally did and had to pick up running as a hobby to help with indigestion. At another job, she'd been overfed sugar, as if being fattened by a witch. Both of those had been a pain; it had been difficult to maintain her figure when she was practically being force-fed.

Chan, however, orders her a simple vegetable dish and a glass of water, along with a platter of cut exotic fruits.

"You'll need carbohydrates," he says simply. Hyunji simply nods. She can handle being grass-fed. It might even help her cholesterol levels.

Seohyeon leaves to submit their orders and returns later with a single crystalline glass. She doesn’t even attempt to set a glass or plate in front of Chan.

"You have meetings like this here often, then?" she asks.

"I do. I have high regard for their discretion."

"And here I thought I was special," Hyunji jokes, hoping to see that small smile again and being gratified when she receives it.

"Somehow I can tell that you are, regardless of my behavior."

Hyunji sips her drink for a moment, and they sit in amicable silence. Her weakness when it comes to meetings like this is her urge to fill space. She tends to talk when she's nervous, trying too hard to sell herself. She knows better than most that vampires are not a monolith, but generally speaking, they have a much higher tolerance for discomfort that most humans. They value solitude and caution. Hyunji tries to mirror this as best she can, to appear thoughtful, controlled. This too is also a test of her resolve. She can't seem like she would be easy to take advantage of. It’s a matter of life and death.

"Do you have any questions for me?" she finally asks. "You must have some harsh requirements, if no other girls have lasted more than a day."

Chan shrugs. "Sometimes people are incompatible."

"So cryptic. Is decoding your words part of the test?"

"I don't try to be cryptic. It might be hard to believe, but I'm not naturally inclined towards this sort of thing. I find these meetings awkward and artificial."

That's interesting. Hyunji sets her glass of water down. "Artificial, huh? I don't seem genuine to you?"

"It's not you, it's... all of this. The agency, the meeting, the negotiations. It just...gives me a bit of a headache."

"Would you rather chase me as I run screaming down the street?" she asks. "It wouldn't be the strangest thing asked of me."

Chan's eyes widen, caught off guard. "Someone's asked you for that?"

"Yes. I said no, of course."

Chan shakes himself out of his disbelief. "Good. I mean, not good that someone asked you that, but good that you refused. That's horrible."

Hyunji hums. "Part of the job."

"I've heard a bit about it..." he murmurs, then looks directly at Hyunji, voice resolved, focused. "I should have said this when you came in, but you're under no obligation to stay here. At any point in the night you can leave. You won't be harmed, and you'll be compensated for your time. I never want you to feel like you're trapped here with me, whether that be literally, socially, or financially." He seems to want to stop speaking, but continues, "This is what I mean by artificial. If you're in my employ, I feel as if I rob you of safety. It's not a position I enjoy being in."

This is such an unexpected turn of events. Hyunji had always assumed having power over their donors, even if it was just for show, was part of the fun. Yes, her official job is "blood donor," but in practice, she supposes most of her jobs boil down to "consensual victim." She shows up at a designated location after eating and drinking what she’s told, wearing what she’s told to wear, and is bitten. She tells nobody what she’s doing, and her clients often leave as soon as they are finished with her. But Chan says that all those things make him uncomfortable. He only wants her blood.

It’s fascinating. And too good of an opportunity to pass up.

"Is that why you switch donors so frequently?" she asks. "You feel as if you're taking advantage of them?"

Chan's lips twitch. "A futile attempt at damage control, I'll admit."

"It's noble," she says, and she truly means it. "It means a lot to me to hear you say that." She’s silent for another moment, debating. "I doubt this will ease your worries, but I don't do this job as a primary source of income. I'm actually quite well-off. And I didn't get roped into this young and have some traumatic past tied to it. I'd never even met one of your kind until I took my first client, after I graduated college. If you think I'm bluffing, I can show you my bank statements. So being your regular donor wouldn't be you taking advantage of me. I could quit any time I wanted without a second thought."

"I did think you'd done this a few times. Back in your home country?”

"And a few here and there before you. Nothing permanent. I didn't like how they talked to me, so I quit. I would give their names, but y'know. Donor-client privilege."

"Then why do you do this job, if not for the money?"

She smiles. "Because I love it. Didn't I say I was generous?"

"Venom junkie," Chan says in a resigned tone.

"I'm semi-immune, actually," Hyunji corrects. "And I'm not sugarcoating it. I love helping people. I make new blood all the time, so it's not really a loss for me. And even when my clients aren't as wealthy as you seem to be, I still get to have new experiences and try new things. I'm a foreigner, y'know. It's hard to make friends in South Korea." She grins as she leans forward on the table, looking Chan very pointedly up and down. "Also, not to be crass, but getting my blood sucked is so fucking hot. It gets me going every single time."

Chan looks at her, face drawn in surprise but in a different way than before. He’s so hard to read, too practiced and trained at impassivity, but he isn’t leaning away from her, so it's possible she hasn’t made any errors so large she couldn't correct them later in the night. He'd wanted her to be genuine? Well, this is as genuine as she can get.

Seohyeon returns then, carrying Hyunji's meal and a pitcher of water to refill her glass.

"Leave the pitcher, Seohyeon," Chan says, eyes still fixed on Hyunji. "I don't want to bother you too much. We'll be a while."

Hyunji allows a cheshire grin to overtake her features. She picks up her fork and pops a kumquat into her mouth with obvious glee, relishing the way Chan watches the slide of it all the way down her dark, exposed throat.

They continue their conversation as Hyunji finishes eating. He's not as closed off as he was initially, and Hyunji finds that he's a fairly good conversationalist. His voice is calm and rich, and when he's not trying to fit into the role of "mysterious vampire" he's fairly straightforward about his account of events and memories. As a plus, he seems genuinely interested in her life, or at least the limited parts she tells him. He keeps eye contact with her and asks clarifying questions. When she politely declines to elaborate, he doesn't pry. It's a pleasant change of pace from her usual first meetings, and she has a feeling it is for him too, if his body language is anything to judge by.

The topics stray away from the topic of their meeting, talking more about the facts of their lives and relations, but the charged environment from Hyunji's declaration doesn't dissipate. If anything, it only gets stronger as the night wears on, and Hyunji notices Chan become a bit twitchier, glancing more often at the door behind Hyunji, or at the watch on his wrist. As soon as she’s finished the last bite of her food, Seohyeon reappears, summoned by that elusive button once again. She's already holding the check in hand, and Chan signs it without even looking at it and hands it back to her.

"Shall we go?" he asks. Hyunji nods.

"Thank you very much, Seohyeon. You were great tonight as always."

Seohyun bows politely, but when her eyes meet Hyunji's, she winks. It catches Hyunji off-guard, but quickly enough she's able to return with a genuine smile and a bow of her own. Seohyeon must be the attendant who always serves Chan at meetings like this. It's nice to know that she doesn't think less of Hyunji for being here, or perhaps that she's even rooting for Hyunji to catch him for good. From her high spirits, Chan must also be a good tipper, which is a point in his favor. She finds that she really is starting to like the guy. She already suspected he was decent enough for paying his donors well, but she's pleasantly surprised to find he seems to be an all-around stand-up guy, which is good. Hyunji doesn't like to overstate her importance to her clients, but she does sometimes have qualms about aiding in the continued existence of assholes.

Hyunji gets up, puts her coat back on, and grabs her purse. Chan extends his elbow to her, and she wraps her hand around his arm, jolting a bit when she feels the breadth of muscle hidden under his suit jacket. He leads her out of the room and out to the front, where he calls the valet to bring his car around.

"No driver?" she asks, half-joking, but all Chan says is, "He has the night off."

Money money. It's even more impressive than the private seating.

The drive is short but quiet. Hyunji lets the water settle in her stomach and lets Chan focus on driving. She isn't trying too hard to memorize the route. She doubts he's going to take her to some wizened alley and drink her dry. And if he does, well, at least she’s had a good night before she goes.

They arrive at an upscale hotel after only a few minutes. The car is valeted again, and she once again holds on to his elbow as they walk to the front desk and Chan asks for a room. The fact that he didn't set this room up beforehand is even more gratifying to her. It feels like winning. She's going to get dinner and a show. It's her ideal evening.

Chan hands her one the key cards and they go to the elevator. His hand resting on hers is heavy, and not particularly cold. Up close, she can see the pink of his lips and cheeks is not makeup, which means he's nowhere close to starving. He just wanted to have her that bad.

This is what she loves about it, truly. The power over the vamps who dine on her. The juxaposition almost has her feeling heady.

When they get to the room, Hyunji excuses herself immediately to the bathroom, as the water she drank has finally caught up with her. When she's finished, she looks at herself in the mirror as she washes and dries her hands, making sure everything about her is still in place. It's not that she thinks Chan would care, persay. But she's sure he'll get more satisfaction from ruining her himself.

She exits the bathroom and closes the door behind herself, so she's standing before Chan, shoes and coat gone. He's sitting on the bed, and his suit jacket is discarded, giving her a clear view of his broad shoulders and large chest. He eyes her hungrily, looking her up and down with no apology, and Hyunji doesn't even care if he's thirsty for her blood or for her flesh. She'd be happy with either.

Vampires being hot is a part of the gag, true, but that doesn't mean she can't enjoy it while she's here.

"So," she asks, still standing a respectful distance away from him. "Feeling thirsty?"

Chan lets out a little laugh. "Honestly? You have no idea."

A little thrill goes through her at the rasp in his voice.

Still, honorable as he is, he offers her one last out. "If you don't want to do this, I can leave right now. I'll give you your pay and you can stay in the room. I don't expect anything out of you."

"I know," Hyunji says. "And again, I appreciate the out. But I want this. I consent to donating to you tonight."

Chan lets out a long breath and beckons her closer. She follows, walking slowly, and when she meets the bed, she crawls onto it so that she's on her knees in front of him.

"Where would you like me to take from?" he asks.

"Wherever you want," she says. "If you're uncomfortable, you can take from my wrist. But I wore this dress for easy access. Both to my neck and my thigh."

"You really weren't kidding about thinking this is sexy," he says, breathless, like he can't believe it.

"Do you live on planet earth? Everyone thinks vampires are sexy. A lot of people are just also cowards. But I'm not. And I don't think you're going to bleed my dry and leave my husk in this hotel room, are you?"

Chan shakes his head no.

"Then what's to be scared of? Is it a crime to enjoy my job?"

Chan lets out a low breath, almost like a laugh. "You're something else, aren't you?"

"I guess I am." She leans back a little, pulling herself back into her composure. "But as I said, this is meant to be enjoyable for us both. If you'd like to just drink from my wrist and leave, that's completely fine. It's not like I go around fucking all my clients. I'm capable of being professional."

"I feel like we crossed the line from professional a while ago," Chan says. "Which is my fault as much as it's yours."

Good. She was worried she'd been coming on far too strong.

"So what's the plan?" she asks again. "How do you want me?"

Chan's fingers twitched again as he scanned her up and down. "Can I touch you?" he asks.

"Yes."

In an instant, Hyunji is flat on her back, and Chan is above her, boring down on her. Her heart rate goes crazy, seeing those eyes in the shadows, the eyes of a predator. They look electric blue, hypnotic.

"I'm going to hold you right here, and you're not going to look at anyone except me," he says, his voice lower than before. "I'm going to suck your blood. And then I'm going to eat you out." His hands tighten around her wrists, and she sees the veins in his neck pop and oh god, oh god-

He's waiting for an answer, ever the gentleman. She swallows harshly and says. "Be my guest, Mr. Bang."

Chan leans down and connects their lips.

Just like she'd gathered from his hands, he's warm. Over the years, she'd gotten used to the colder body temperature of vampires, about the uncanniness of how they feel against her. She associates it now with being part of the experience, and can look past it, especially when her client is this good-looking. But here it's barely an issue. Their lips press together, and it's almost like kissing a human. As long as she doesn't think about the fact that she can't feel a heartbeat even though he's less than an inch away from her.

He licks into her mouth, and she lets him, opening her mouth wide and swallowing her gasps. Heat is spreading through her, arousal swelling all her blood vessels, and she knows the moment he smells it from how his grip tightens even further, from the growl deep in his throat. His lips trail down from her mouth to her neck, and she leans her head back to expose it more fully. She's sure he can see her heartbeat in her carotid from the way her blood rushes in her ears.

"You smell...so fucking good," he says in between heavy breaths. "Even in the restuarant...you were driving me crazy."

He sucks at Hyunji's neck, and she moans, hands straining as she tries to arch up. One of his hands releases hers and comes to grip her jaw, pushing her head to the side as he zeroes in on her neck. She can hear a deep rumbling in his chest, like a cat gearing up to pounce. She can't see his eyes, but she knows they must be dilated to black pools.

"Last chance to back out," he murmurs, lips millimeters from Hyunji's skin.

"Bite me," she says.

She sucks in a breath as his lips graze her skin. Then he bites down.

Hyunji knows that she's semi-immune to venom. She has the doctor's notes to prove it, and the experience with vampires to believe them. But there might be some truth to Chan saying she's a venom junkie anyway, because the initial bite alone is orgasmic. Her mouth drops open, her body stiffening and arching under him as she sucks in a quick breath. The smell of her own blood fills her senses, the familiar ochre and iron wafting around them hypnotically, and her thoughts zero in on the feeling of Chan pressed to her neck, of his large mouthfuls, the iron grip he has on her, as if she would even dare struggle.

She knows she tastes better when she's aroused, but it also feels better when she's willing. And oh, god is she willing. For a moment it feels like she's never wanted anything more.

Chan drinks greedily, completely at odds with the composure he's been maintaining the whole evening. It's so satisfying she thinks she might just cum again from the way he's pulling at her, the way he obviously wants her so badly it's taking all his self-control not to rip her apart. And what a way to go, really. The epitome of dying happy.

The lightheadedness is only barely setting in when he pulls off her, releasing both her hands and her head. His lips are stained red, and his cheeks are flushed. She can see, even with his blown pupils, how hazy his eyes eyes are. His grip on her wrists hasn't faltered for a second.

"Fuck," he says, but even that is far away. "Are you okay?"

"Never better," she says. "Come here."

She grips his jaw and pulls him down, and he goes easily, connecting their lips in a messy swirl of blood and drool and venom. She can feel the tang of it still as his fangs are still prominent in his mouth. They're large, and she feels the tip of one cut her own lip, blood pooling between her teeth. Chan pulls away with a moan.

"You taste so good," he murmurs, licking his lips, absolutely blood-drunk. "Fuck. Want you so bad."

"And you're fucking gorgeous," she says. "So in-control. You gonna take care of me, Chan? You gonna make me feel good?"

That rumbling starts in his chest again, and Chan is on her again, his full weight pressing down on her, stealing the breath from her lungs. Vampires always weigh more than you think they would, and Chan is heavy with her blood. His skin is burning, almost feverish. It's so monstrous. It's so fucking sexy.

"Gonna eat you out so good," he murmurs against her lips. "Gonna make you scream."

"God, please," she whines. "Please. Want your mouth. Wanna cum so bad."

Chan abandons her lips and shuffles down the bed to the curve of her hips. He doesn't have to push her dress up that far to have access, and he doesn't even bother to actually remove her panties, instead pushing them aside and diving in. His fangs are still extended, and the slick feeling of bone against her labia sends a thrill of fear down her spine. What if he cuts her down there? Will he start drinking from that too? Her juices and blood mixing together for him? The fear only makes it more attractive, and she pushes down into his mouth, wanting more, wanting him deeper. His tongue is so wet, so rough, his fingers on her thighs are gouging holes into her skin, they must be, but she doesn't make him stop, she just heaves in haggard breaths, begs him to keep going.

His tongue swirls around the head of her clit and then takes it into his mouth and sucks. The twine in Hyunji's stomach snaps, eyes rolling back, and her breath pushed harshly out of her lungs in what is, admittedly, closer to a scream than she thought she'd get. Her vision is hazy for a moment, head full of roaring and fog as she recovers from both the blood loss and the intensity of the orgasm. Chan pulls away from her as her body goes lax, and she can hear him breathing in deep lungfuls of air. It doesn't occur to her for another few seconds that he doesn't even need to breathe. It's cute. She loves it when they still have vestigial impulses.

Time is murky for a while. Hyunji doesn't feel Chan get off the bed and step away and is only dimly aware of hands on her neck, something cooling brushed under her skin. Her head is a mess, she doesn't know which way is up. She's no stranger to this feeling, though, even though it's rarely so strong. She just breathes through it, and lets her body do what it must, and slowly, everything begins to settle back into focus.

When she opens her eyes, she's still lying on the bed. There's no one with her, but she can feel eyes on her. After another minute, she feels alright to sit up, and is proud that the dizziness doesn't seem too bad. Apparently, he hadn't taken as much blood as she'd thought.

Chan is sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. He'd been looking out the window before, but his eyes snap over to her when she moves, and in a second he's by her side, arm around her back so he can help her into a sitting position against the headboard.

"How are you feeling?" he asks. His hair has gone astray from it's perfect placement, and his cheeks are still flushed, but his eyes are back to normal now, present and assessing and nearly human in its clear concern.

"I'm fine," she says. It feels like a gross understatement considering what’s just transpired.

"I didn't mean to take so much," he says apologetically. "I didn't think I'd lose control so quickly."

If this is what Chan calls losing control, then Hyunji pales at the thought of what he'd say if she explained some of the encounters she's endured.

"You stopped yourself even before I would've," she assures him. "I'm barely dizzy at all. And my shakiness is just as much from the orgasm as the donation."

"You're sure?" he asks. The 180-degree shift from his earlier persona is as surprising as it is pleasant. His concern is adorable, and it seems so genuine. She finds herself smiling genuinely herself.

"I'm sure. I'm completely alright. I should, ah, probably eat something though."

"Yes. Of course."

Chan jumps up to grab the hotel phone and call for someone, and Hyunji takes stock of her body. There's a bandage over her neck and some form of antiseptic has been put on her lip. She can taste the medicinal tang. The area between her legs also feels wiped down where it's now covered with the drapings of her skirt.

Probably to clean up the blood, she thinks, remembering the frenzied state Chan had been in when he went down on her. God, she really was crazy. She hated being treated like fresh meat, but she loved it when they pretended like she was.

As her strength returns, she sits up properly, with her legs curled beside her. Chan goes to the door to get the food when it's delivered, and Hyunji accepts the small platter gratefully.

"I'm surprised the kitchen is still open," she comments.

"This is Josun Palace. The kitchen is always open."

Hyunji shrugs and eats her offered food. Chan still seems anxious about her state, but as she converses with him nonchalantly, he seems to believe in her good health, and the nervous energy fades.

Finally, after Hyunji has again finished her food and water, Chan says, "I should be off."

The disappointment hits Hyunji like a freight train. Maybe she'd been imagining it, but she thought that this had been going well. She had good blood and a good body, and he'd seemed to think her pleasant enough. She's old enough now that she shouldn't still be surprised when she reads vampires incorrectly, but this one stings, not just for the loss of a job, but for the loss of Chan, who she'd started to genuinely like at some point during the evening.

"If you must," she said, trying not to sound too put out. "I know you must be busy."

Chan looks a little torn. "Would you prefer I stayed?"

"I don't expect you to do things you're not comfortable with," Hyunji parroted. "If you've finished with me, you have every right to go."

"Hyunji, I didn't mean..." Chan sighs, takes a breath. "I just don't want you to feel as though you're trapped here with me. You've done your job as well. You can ask me to leave at any time."

"I'm not trapped with you. Like I said, I do this because I like it. And I know you're not going to hurt me, unless you're playing a really long game." Hyunji looks him right in the eyes when she says. "You're really nice, Chan. Don't tell my regulars back home, but this has been my best night, maybe ever. I won't hold you here, because you don't owe me anything, but I'm not uncomfortable with you at all."

Chan examines her closely, perhaps to divine if she's lying or not, but Hyunji means what she said. It might be one of the easiest jobs of her entire life, and one of her best hook-ups. No part of her feels like a cornered animal.

"I'll stay until you sleep," Chan offers. "So I can make sure you're okay."

"And then I'll never see you again?"

On this topic, Chan doesn't budge. "We'll see."

Well, if it's the best she's going to get, she'll take it. She sets the tray aside and gets up to use the bathroom, pleased to find her feet aren't the least bit wobbly. She doesn't wash her makeup off, but she does take her contacts out and change out of her dress into one of the hanging gowns by the shower. She'd actually wash herself clean if it wasn't so much effort.

Chan is sitting on the bed when she comes back out, and she's pleased to see he doesn't move as she approaches, just scoots away so she can climb back in under the covers and curl up. Gentle hands come to pull at her chin, exposing the bite in her flesh.

"It doesn't hurt," she murmurs. "And I don't scar easy."

"Junkie," he says, but this time it's affectionate instead of accusatory.

"I’m a professional," she rebuffs, eyes drifting closed. She falls asleep with his thumb still caressing her cheek.

Hyunji wakes up the next morning to find sunlight coming from the bottom of the blinds and Chan nowhere to be found. She groans as she wakes up and identifies the throb in her neck as the minimal venom effect finally wears off, leaving only the pain of the puncture.

She stumbles to the bathroom to remove her makeup and shower and drags back on the same dress and shoes she had the day before. There's a good chance the workers downstairs won't recognize her, and anyway, she's long past feeling shame for reappearing in the same clothes she'd left in. Everyone's done it, and she's not embarrassed of her slutty tendencies when they're so much of a part of her by now.

On the table next to her purse is a wad of cash. She can't begin to estimate how much. It was one of the things they hadn't discussed beforehand, was exactly how much she'd be paid. She assumed something approaching the going rate for her agency, but this appears to be much more. Tucked under the rubber band at the top of the stack is a note from Chan that says, Drink water when you wake up. You were shivering in your sleep.

Cute. Cullen-level creepy, but still cute. Hyunji puts the cash in her purse, checks the room over again, and leaves.

It isn't until the uber drops her off at her home and she's changed into comfortable clothes that she gets a call from Kimiya at the agency again. She runs through a similar debrief as the other girls before had given, that Chan was cordial and polite, that he took her blood and paid her well, and she has nothing more to say on the matter. Kimiya seems frustrated again, but promises to e-mail over the paperwork for their records and tells her to look after her heath. When Hyunji hangs up the phone, she sets it down and folds herself into her living room couch.

Chan hadn't given her his phone number, or any other means of contacting him. She supposes she could easily look him up, but that's against the rules of her contract, and at any rate, it's best not to go looking for vampires when they don't want to be found. Hyunji knows that at least well enough.

"Another notch on his belt," she says to herself. "It's what I expected going in."

She tells herself the lingering disappointment she's feeling is just the venom still in her system and goes to the kitchen to make herself breakfast.

Hyunji gets caught up in her life in the following days. She has "kind of" a job that she "kind of" has to go to, and "kind of" meetings that she "kind of" has to attend. It's nothing serious, and mostly for appearances, but she has nothing better to do with her time, so she goes anyway. By the middle of the week, her night with Chan is at the back of her mind, filed away with all her other patrons.

It doesn't exactly leave her, though. She wishes it would, because it's getting kind of embarrassing, but for some reason the feelings are hard to shake. Maybe it was because she liked Chan, not just as a respectful client, but as a person. Under different circumstances, she thought they would have gotten along well. That's where the loss might be coming from, in truth, not of him as a client, but him as a potential friend.

But vampires don't keep humans around like that. At least, not outside cheesy romance novels and dramas. They stick to their own, and humans stick to their own. Hyunji knows that. Which means she's got to get a grip.

'Getting a grip' lasts two weeks, when Kimiya gives her another call late Thursday morning. This is in line with the usual timeframe. Hyunji doesn't take any medications she needs to detox from, so she's a prime candidate for people who need last-minute donations. The minimum time between two donations is two weeks, so this is the earliest that Hyunji could potentially take any requests.

"Hello, Kimiya," she says, answering the phone cheerfully. "What do you need?"

"I have news," Kimiya says, deviating from the script. Hyunji stops short.

"Oh?"

"Bang Chan wants to request you again."

Hyunji's heart leaps into her throat. "He does?"

"Yes. He wouldn't give much more information than that, but he did specify that this would be in a more casual setting, and that he did not anticipate feeding from you at this time. Of course, this means you also wouldn't be paid for attending the meeting."

Hyunji has a feeling that whether she gave blood had nothing to do with her potential financial gain.

"I'll do it," Hyunji says. "When's the meeting?"

"Tomorrow, Friday, at eight pm. I'll send you the address."

"Perfect." She’s sure she can’t keep the excitement out of her voice. "Thank you, Kimiya."

"Of course," Kimiya says. Then, "What did you do with him? He and his coven have been running through our girls like water."

Hyunji presses a finger against her neck, relishing the feel of the blood rushing under her skin. "Oh, you know. The best strategy is just to have fun and be yourself.”

[t-lostinworlds]

Treasure Be Damned | Nathan Drake

》 PAIRING: movie!nathan drake x female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: childhood best friends to lovers; angst; fluff

》 SUMMARY: Nathan wished it didn't take something drastic to happen for him to finally realize what he felt for you. And no matter how much that gold was worth, you will always be his greatest treasure.

》 WARNINGS: both are orphans (mentioned), tech genius!reader, protective!nathan, switch pov halfway thru, kinda canon divergent (a.k.a. i made slight changes to some scenes from the movie), pining, jealousy jealousy, idiots in love, some angst, kidnapping, canon level violence, injuries, love confessions and a cute fluffy ending.

》 WORD COUNT: 5.4k+

A/N: hello! me again with another fic. this may seem super random but this was commissioned by the lovely @theslayerofthevampires ! thank u so so much hun <3 my first ever commission btw. trying to stick to a certain word count was actually quite interesting to me alskalsk but this was fun to write and i hope i did it justice!

+ also i couldn't think of a better title and the summary is kinda cheesy but we love cheese in this house so alksalkslaks

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

You and Nathan had been best friends for as long as you could remember.

When he punched a guy twice his size all because they made you cry on your first day at the orphanage, he quickly gained your trust and loyalty. It was reciprocated when you dumped all your lunch on a kid when they poked fun about why his brother left him.

You two had been inseparable ever since.

Nathan was protective of you, and you were protective of him.

As years passed, that protectiveness only grew tenfold. With it came the care and affection that went from strictly platonic to something warmer, sweeter.

For you, at least.

You couldn't pinpoint when it started, all you knew was that everything Nathan did for you suddenly felt special—like it was solely for you.

The change wasn't outright. It was a slow realization, when the little things he did made your heart grow warmer and beat faster all the same.

At first, you thought it was a simple crush—a silly phase, that with time, it would fade.

But no.

As months moved to years, it went from something that lingered to something you couldn't escape from.

The moment you truly figured that what you felt about him wasn't as simple as an adoration for your best friend was on your eighteenth birthday.

Nathan had spent all the money he saved from working odd—and honest, he made sure to make that known—jobs on a silver necklace.

Maybe you watched way too many romcoms, maybe it was all in your rose-tinted head, but there was an underlying romance in the way he stood behind you, so close and warm, as he put the necklace on for you.

With bated breath, you let him, trying your best not to melt over his simple touch. His fingertips brushed against your skin so delicately but felt electric in all the right ways.

You only regained your breathing when he finally stepped back. Yet he took it away a moment later when he gently tapped the charm—shaped like a compass—sitting between your collarbone, a fond smile on his lips when he said,

"So you'll always find your way back to me."

How could you not fall in love?

What a cliché.

Falling in love with your childhood best friend.

It would've been cute if it was reciprocated.

But whatever he saw you as was strictly platonic.

You were constantly reminded of how unrequited your love was with the hook-ups he brought back to the apartment.

You had agreed to be his roommate to help lessen the expenses. Even though you had only recently moved in together, you were starting to doubt if it was a good idea—for your heart's sake, anyway.

It didn't even stop there.

Because here you were once again, sporting an ache in your chest as you watched him flirt with a blonde girl at the bar.

As much as you enjoyed visiting him at work, seeing him flirt with the pretty customers regularly will always leave a bad taste in your mouth.

Jealousy.

A feeling you shouldn't be entertaining in the first place. You were just a best friend. You had no right to go all green-eyed whenever you saw him with another girl.

Nathan Drake wasn't yours.

You didn't even realize that you were too deep into your thoughts until a familiar voice brought you out of it.

"You okay?"

You blinked, looking up to see Nathan regarding you with brows furrowed in concern.

"Huh?"

"You've been glaring at that thing for a good minute now," he explained, nodding at the personalized cocktail he made for you.

He always did that whenever you stopped by, experimenting with new mixes he thought you'd enjoy solely based on how well he knew you. You give him your honest feedback in return. It was your own little game.

"Is it bad?"

"No, no, no," you said, taking a sip before smiling. "I liked it."

"Just 'like', damn. I need to step up my game," he sighed in feigned disappointment. When you didn't react as much, he added, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Nathan looked at you for a moment, lips pursed as he shook his head.

"You're such a bad liar."

"I'm not," you scoffed, playfully rolling your eyes. "You just know me so well."

"I do," he hummed, grin turning proud. "I also know when something's bothering you so, what's up?"

"Girl things." You shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. You could tell it confused him, because he was never uncomfortable to talk about those topics with you. But before he could even question it, you quickly added, "I think I'm going to head home first. You didn't forget your keys, right?"

"That was one time," he grumbled, eyeing you for a moment because he obviously didn't buy your excuse. A second later, he sighed, "Yeah, I got my keys."

"Okay, See you later," you said, gathering up your things before walking towards the door.

"Let me know if you get home safe," he called out.

You only threw him a salute in response.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

It was the harsh light from the huge window in the living room that woke you up.

You must have fallen asleep on the couch in the middle of watching your comfort movie—a poor attempt at trying to distract yourself from your lovelorn predicament.

Who knew dealing with feelings could be so exhausting?

It was the smell of bacon that coaxed you out of your cocoon, though. 

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Nathan greeted as soon as you stepped into the kitchen. He threw you a warm smile over his shoulder before he continued making breakfast—shirtless, might you add. "There are painkillers beside your water in case your neck is killing you. I would've carried you back to your bed but you kick in your sleep and I've learned my lesson so…"

It did happen once.

He was trying to coax you off the couch and back into the comfort of your bed. But as he got closer, your leg having a mind of its own when you were deeply asleep, you kicked him straight in his jewels—his words, not yours.

The loud thud of him falling on the floor didn't even shake you awake, not even when he was groaning in pain. 

You couldn't even remember any of it.

"How many times do I have to apologize for you to let that go?" you chuckled, settling at your usual seat at the small dining table you had.

"Not enough," he snorted. "I still feel the phantom of the kick, you know."

"You're so dramatic." You rolled your eyes, glancing around only to catch a glimpse of that old yet familiar green trunk. It was then you noticed some of his old stuff littered around, trinkets and memorabilia he hadn't looked at in a while. Just as you were about to question him about it, you saw the excited look on his face. You narrowed your eyes, asking, "Did I miss something?"

"Quite a lot, actually," he chuckled, sauntering over to you with your breakfast for the day. Putting the full plate in front of you, Nathan leaned down and quickly kissed your forehead. "Eat. I'll tell you all about it."

You ignored the phantom of his lips on your skin.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

A treasure hunt.

Nathan dragged you into a treasure hunt.

You didn't trust this Victor Sullivan guy, but Nate seemed to be adamant about finding this gold in hopes of finding Sam too. And you trust your best friend's judgment so that made Sully a friend of your best friend, much to your dismay.

"Do I look okay?" you asked, straightening out your long, black evening gown as you emerged out of the makeshift changing room.

When you didn't hear an answer, you looked up to see Nathan staring at you with a certain look in his eyes.

Your face warmed. "What?"

"Okay?" he scoffed, shaking his head as if he was offended by the word you used. With a gentle smile, he gestured at you with both hands. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks. You don't look bad yourself," you responded with a shy smile, unable to hold his gaze for much longer. You fixed your entangled necklace, instead.

"Here, let me," he said, quickly walking over to you to straighten it out, his touch featherlight against your skin. "It's a gorgeous necklace. The guy who gave this to you has good taste."

"If good taste means licking his own ass, then, it's a bit questionable."

"Okay, gross," he playfully grimaced. "All I'm saying is that I picked the right one for you."

"You did." You smiled fondly. 

"Perfect," he hummed with a smile, his gaze slowly trailing from your necklace up to your eyes, his next words barely even a whisper. "You're perfect."

You didn't know if it was even meant for your ears but you could only stand there, staring into his brown eyes that seemed to shift from one emotion to another.

Nathan was about to say something when Sully came out of nowhere with that grumpy look on his face.

"Why are we bringing her again?" he asked as if you weren't standing in front of him.

"She's a genius with computers," Nathan said, a bite in his tone. "She's going to help us get through any security tech easy breezy."

Sully narrowed his eyes between you two before shrugging.

"Fine," he grumbled, looking you up and down before walking away. "We leave in ten minutes."

"I don't think he likes me very much," you sighed once the door shut.

"I don't think he likes anyone," Nathan said, smiling at you reassuringly. "Don't take it personally."

And you didn't. Truly.

But when you got to the auction house, it definitely felt more personal when the old man wouldn't tell you anything.

No communication. No updates. No information. Nothing.

Only when you ask Nathan directly were you able to get a grasp of what was going on or when to proceed to the next step—if he wasn't distracted.

With the countless pretty ladies dressed to the nines, you best believe he wasn't anywhere near focused.

You were angry because this was a dire situation. One wrong move could get you guys caught. You were too goddamn young for prison.

You definitely weren't bitter over something else.

"Do you always feel the need to flirt with anything that walks?" you spat when he finally reached the door you'd been trying so hard to keep open without getting caught. It took him three minutes more since he was busy chatting up some random trust fund girl.

"I wasn't—Jesus," he grunted, the door hitting him on the way as you walked past it.

You couldn't be bothered to wait anymore. You didn't look back and simply sped walk towards the power switch.

"You're upset," Nathan said once he caught up with you.

"I'm not upset," you grumbled. "I'm annoyed."

"It's the same thing."

"It's fucking not."

"Okay, geez," he conceded, pouting, "What'd I do?"

"What aren't you doing?" you asked sarcastically, harshly tapping on your phone as you tried to decode the security lock on the main switch. "Oh right, focusing on your job!"

"Christ, do you two always bicker like an old married couple?"

"Shut up!" you and Nathan barked synchronously.

Shaking your head, you calmed yourself, punching in the security code.

"Look, I'm sorry, alright? I was just trying to scope potential—"

You glared at him.

"I'm shutting up."

"Just do your thing. I want this over and done with," you grumbled, stepping aside once the circuit box finally opened.

"You're a genius," he praised with a smile, placing a quick kiss on your forehead. "Thank you."

"Whatever."

You wished you could say everything went smooth sailing from there, but when did it ever?

Everything happened so fast.

One minute you two were walking out of the control room, the next you were being chased down but huge men.

Running in heels was not fun.

And then it was a blur, someone grabbing your arm in a way that made you scream in pain to Nathan tackling the guy to the ground, landing blow after blow to his face until blood started to splatter on the suit he was wearing.

"Touch her again and I'll kill you."

You'd never seen him so angry before.

But that anger quickly disappeared when he fussed over you, hands soft against your cheeks yet the panic and worry were evident in his eyes.

It took several 'I'm fine's and a couple more reassurances that you weren't badly hurt to get him to fully calm down and help you up so you could get out of this place.

Unbeknownst to you, there were curious eyes watching everything closely with a knowing yet wicked smile on her lips.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

You thought the feeling of being outcasted was only a small blip at the auction house.

But you were so wrong.

"What happened to you?" you asked when he finally met up with you at the church in Barcelona, soaking wet from head to toe.

"Long story."

"So you brought your girlfriend with you" A girl—Chloe, you later learned—suddenly appeared.

"She's not my girlfriend," Nathan quickly corrected.

Yes, it was true.

But the way he shut it down so quickly as if the thought made him hurl made the sting harsher.

It didn't take long for you to notice how Nathan seemed to be following Chloe around a lot.

So much so that you were becoming more of an afterthought.

They were always conspiring amongst themselves. It was in their line of expertise, you supposed, and you were just the tech girl. But it wasn't like you were clueless about it. Nate has told you enough stories for you to get the gist of what was going on.

It was getting pathetic, trailing behind them like some puppy, wanting to feel included.

When Nathan argued with Sully that you were not leaving his side when it was time to split up, you could only laugh at it now.

What was the point when you were immediately alone when you got into the tunnels?

Even more as you stood by yourself at the club, watching him dance with Chloe, so close, in the guise of blending in.

Maybe if you weren't distracted you would've noticed the man sneaking up behind you. You would've been able to run before he could grab you from behind, hand over your mouth as he started dragging you backward. And maybe you were quite good at kicking someone's jewels when you hit the jackpot the first time, enabling you to escape and scream for help.

You were yelling Nathan's name, but it was the loud gunshot that caught his attention.

It was heartbreaking to think that it took you getting shot in the leg for him to fully acknowledge you.

You were overwhelmed with too many emotions that you became numb, simply letting them take you back to the safe house in silence.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he sat by your temporary bed, carefully wrapping the bandage on your thigh after he cleaned it. Thankfully, the bullet was only meant to slow you down, not kill. "I'm supposed to be looking out for you."

"It's fine," you sighed. You knew he was being sincere. He looked thoroughly distraught when he saw you drop to the ground. You knew it wasn't his fault, and you knew he was already blaming himself enough. But with the pain and bitterness—both physically and emotionally—you couldn't stop it. "You were busy. I get it."

He frowned. "What's with that tone?" 

"There's no tone," you grumbled, avoiding his gaze.

"You're annoyed."

You shook your head. "I'm not annoyed.'

"So…you're upset," he hummed, reaching for your hands. You pulled away, carefully getting comfortable on the bed.

"I'm going to sleep," you sighed, pulling the covers over you.

Nathan got the hint, standing from his seat with a sigh, "Okay, goodnight, just…call me if you need anything."

So when you woke up in the middle of the night when a sudden sting went up your leg, you quickly yet carefully got out of bed to look for him.

You wish you hadn't bothered.

The last thing you wanted to see was him and Chloe getting cozy on the balcony, a bottle of wine between them.

You figured you weren't important enough to interrupt their moment. Besides, the ache in your leg couldn't compare to the absolute pain in your heart. It only intensified when they started leaning toward each other.

So you quickly went back to bed, tainting the pillowcase with salted tears.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Here." Nathan kneeled in front of the foot of the bed, tying your shoelaces for you. "So, I've been thinking…"

"Uh oh," you joked.

"Maybe you should sit this one out."

Your smile quickly got wiped off your face.

"What?"

Nathan glanced at the door. You followed his gaze, catching a glimpse of Chloe before she hurriedly walked away.

You pressed your lips, nodding in understanding.

"It's not what you think it is," Nathan placated.

"Sure it's not," you scoffed.

"Look, you're injured and—"

You stood up, abruptly cutting him off. You grabbed your bag, limping around the room as you gathered your stuff.

"Woah careful, your wound is still fresh," Nathan followed you around, arms out in case you stumbled. "What are you doing?"

"Leaving. That's what you wanted, right?"

"What? No!" he rushed, hands on your shoulder, stopping you. "What I meant was, you need to recover first."

"Right," you scoffed, shrugging him off before you continued packing. "Because  it's going to be dangerous and you're looking out for me, trying to protect me and all that bullshit."

"It's not bullshit!"

"You know, after all we've been through, I thought I could count on you to at least be honest with me," you said bitterly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," you pressed, harshly zipping up your bag. "If you wanted me out of the picture, you could've just said so."

Shaking his head, he argued, "That's not it."

"Maybe," you said, looking him straight in the eyes. "But fewer people, more gold to go around, right?"

That rendered him silent.

"You've known me your whole life," he started, hurt flickering in his irises. "You really think I'd do that to you?"

"I don't know anymore, Nate." You threw your hands up exasperatedly. "Because ever since you met them, I barely recognize you anymore. You've been wanting their approval so bad you're getting desperate for it. 

"And I always thought that when we get the chance to find this treasure, we'll do it together, side by side like we always do. But all I've done this whole time is be a third wheel to whatever this is." You gestured at him and the door, laughing sarcastically. "Fourth, if you include Sully."

"That's not true," he argued weakly, realization dawning on his face.

"You whisper among yourselves, nobody tells me a fucking thing, you don't even tell me anything anymore! I'm always left chasing after you because you couldn't be bothered waiting for me to catch up. Fine, I might not know everything about this treasure but it'd be nice to get filled in every once in a while instead of leaving me clueless! Hell, you're starting to forget you brought your best friend with you—"

"I didn't forget about you—"

"You didn't even notice I was getting dragged away until I was shot!"

Nathan looked away.

"All of you are always excluding me and it sucks," your voice cracked, blinking away unshed tears. "And don't think I didn't see you conspiring with Chloe last night."

He looked confused. "Last night?"

"When I came looking for my best friend for help because my leg was hurting like a bitch but I didn't want to be a cockblock so, you're welcome."

"You're not—" Nathan cleared his throat, shoulders slumping, looking at you apologetically. "Y/N…"

You shook your head, harshly wiping at your eyes, putting your jacket on. "The more it goes on, the more I think that you just brought me along because it was convenient for you. Now that I'm considered a liability, gotta leave the extra baggage right?"

"That's not fucking true!" he gritted, pulling his hair frustratedly. "You're part of this as much as I am!"

"Right. Where are we going next?"

Nathan blubbered like a fish out of water.

"That's what I thought," you scoffed, slipping your backpack on.

"Wait, dammit," he cursed when you walked past him, chasing after you into the living room. Frustrated, he called out, "All I'm asking is for you to sit this part out because you're hurt."

You stopped, slowly facing him.

"I never thought that the loneliest I'd ever feel is when I'm supporting you to chase this dream you'd been wanting ever since you were a kid," you admitted, chest tightening as you stared into his troubled brown eyes. "So, I'm not sitting this one out, Nate, I'm done." 

You shoved the cross right on his chest.

"Have fun on your honeymoon," you said, bumping his shoulder as you walked out the door.

"Y/N!"

You never looked back.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Nathan was smart in a lot of different aspects. But emotions and feelings?

Oh he was stupid as fuck.

He wished it didn't take something drastic to happen for him to accept what he truly felt for you.

Part of him was relieved because at least you weren't there when the plane fiasco happened, especially with your injury. He was appeasing his guilt by telling himself that you were safer this way.

Nathan wouldn't know what to do with himself if something worse happened to you.

But as he was decoding the postcards Sam sent—a difficult task to focus on when he couldn't stop worrying about you so much—Chloe suddenly came in with a package.

"It has your name on it."

He opened it confused, but nothing could prepare him for what was inside.

The dread and fear started to creep up his spine when he held the silver necklace he gave you.

You never took this off.

As he emptied the box in a rush, photos upon photos of you tied up and gagged, beaten and bruised with blood tainting your delicate skin, Nathan felt like his entire heart was taken from him.

'The map or her. Choose wisely.'

It came in flashes, moments where you'd been there for each other, the joy and heartbreak, success and failures—you were always there, his one constant.

Then came the moments where he dreamed about you and him, doing things best friends shouldn't be doing.

He always knew what he felt about you but he shoved it down in fear of ruining the friendship you'd built over the years. But now? Denying it seemed insignificant. Now there was a chance he wouldn't be able to tell you at all.

Nathan was losing the love of his life.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"That didn't take long," Braddock laughed sardonically, standing up from a large rock nestled on the beach somewhere in the Philippines.

"Where is she," Nathan growled, the tube map holder slung on his back.

Braddock nodded at one of her men, Nathan's heart sinking to his stomach when they dragged you in, your yelp piercing his chest when they shoved you on the sand.

Nathan instinctively tried to run for you.

"Not so fast," Braddock hummed, clicking her gun before pressing it on the back of your head. "How do I know this isn't a trick?"

"I think you already figured out I don't play games when it comes to her."

"Well, let's see," she challenged. "On your knees, Drake."

"N-Nate," you whimpered, adamantly shaking your head. Even in your state, you were still trying to protect him.

"It's okay," he reassured with a smile, hands up as he did as told.

Braddock grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you closer to where he was.

He stifled his anger. But best believe he'd already plotted so many ways to make Braddock suffer for what she did to you.

But one wrong move could cost your life.

"Hand it over."

"Untie her."

Braddock rolled her eyes but did so anyway.

"Hey, hey, look at me," Nathan whispered, your tear-filled eyes meeting his. He lifted his chin once, gaze flickering behind you. "I got you, okay? You're going to be okay."

"Enough with this sappy bullshit. Hand over the map or she dies."

Nathan slowly grabbed the map, only to throw it away as far as possible.

On cue, a huge explosion distracted Braddock enough for you to abruptly stand on your feet, hitting her under the chin with your head.

"You bitch!" she yelled, dropping the gun.

Nathan quickly pulled you aside and grabbed the weapon. With no remorse, he shot Braddock on both thighs, once more on the arm to be petty.

He'd do much worse if you weren't on borrowed time.

Nathan grabbed your hand and made a run for it.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

The silence was tense.

But Nathan was focused on taking care of you first.

He was busy enough trying not to cry whenever he'd discover a new cut and bruise on you that he couldn't even dwell on the fact that you were showering together. You were both in your underwear, but still.

It was when he had you sitting on the counter as he patched you up when you spoke.

"You didn't have to do all that for me."

"You know, it hurts me so much that you think I wouldn't take a bullet for you," he sighed, finishing up a bandage before meeting your glossy eyes. "You're more important to me than you think you are."

"No, I know it's just—" You bit your bruised lip. Nathan quickly pulled it away with his thumb, not wanting you to worsen your injury. You leaned into his touch as you continued, "You've been dreaming of this since you were a kid and I feel like I've ruined it for you."

"You didn't ruin anything."

"But you should be out there looking for the gold," you said. "Instead you're stuck here with me."

"Listen to me, if I had to choose between that gold and—" He took a breath, holding your face in both hands as he stared at you longingly. "The woman I'm hopelessly in love with then…"

Nathan breathed out with a smile, "Fuck that gold."

You stared at him in a way that made him believe that he'd done it.

He'd finally ruined your friendship to a point of no return.

That until you broke out into the sweetest, brightest smile that made his heart grow and his knees weak all the same.

"It's not as hopeless as you think it is."

Nathan felt like his heart was about to burst.

"Yeah?" He grinned, giddy and warm, gently parting your legs and stepping a little closer.

You let him into your space. But suddenly your brows furrowed, frowning. "What about you and Chloe?"

"So you were jealous."

"Nate."

"There's no me and Chloe," he reassured, gently taking your hands, kissing the insides of your wrists before placing them on his shoulders. "Maybe I got the incredibly stupid idea to make you jealous—I know, baby, I'm an idiot—but she shot that down real quick."

"But—"

"Those times you've seen me with her, all I kept talking about was you," he admitted, blushing. "I'm sure she'd grown sick of me being lovesick."

Nathan probably talked her ear out about how hopelessly in love he was with you, seeking advice on what to do because it was the one thing he couldn't go to you about.

She had been really helpful, pushing him to confess because it was better you know before it's too late, and that in this line of work, you'd never know when that would be.

If only he hadn't let his cowardness win.

"She argued with me that leaving you behind was a bad idea, and if I listened to her I—" He pressed his forehead against yours with a shaky breath. "I'm sorry."

"I know you like to take all the blame but this isn't your fault," you hummed, fingers combing the straggles of hair on the nape of his neck.

"It kind of is," he pressed, eyes watering as he thought about what he dragged you into.

He couldn't stop thinking about the pain you'd gone through all because he was being reckless. For as long as he could remember, he made a vow to himself to always keep you safe no matter what. Yet here he was, failing at that—failing you.

"I'm sorry for being such a shitty best friend this past week," he said, caressing the apples of your cheeks.

"You were pretty shitty," you teased, though he could see the way your body relaxed a little. He could tell that you appreciated hearing his apology. It must've been weighing on you since you left.

It made his heart ache.

"I was and I'm sorry," he said regretfully. "I guess I just got so caught up in this whole treasure-hunting thing that I lost sight of what's truly important to me. But still, it's no excuse. I was the one who dragged you into this, I should've been attentive enough."

You turned your head and kissed his palm, a silent way of saying it was okay. He felt like he was about to melt.

"And I'm sorry for taking so goddamn long to tell you how I feel," Nathan admitted.

"Yeah well," you hummed, smiling at him sweetly. "We're both at fault on that one,"

"Still, I'm sorry," he whispered, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. "For everything."

You nodded, a smile on your lips. "I can't say I forgive yet—"

"Understandable."

"But hey," you hummed, leaning closer. "You have plenty of time to grovel and make up for it."

Nathan chuckled, brushing his lips against yours with a whisper, "Can I start with a kiss?"

You nodded with that cute giggle of yours, one that still echoed as he finally closed the distance.

So many things filled him up at once—soft, sweet, warm. So many emotions rattling his heart as your lips molded into one—relief, passion, love.

It was gratifying, a kiss he'd been dreaming of for as long as he could remember. But, with your fingers in his hair and his hands on your waist, your warm body flushed to his with no space in between, nothing could ever compare to the real thing.

And yes, it was going to take some time to repair the cracks that were made in your relationship. But he was willing to wait and do whatever it takes to gain your full trust back.

Nathan didn't care how long or how much work it would take, as long as at the end of every day, you came back home to him—it was more than worth it.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Kid, are you even listening to me?"

"Sorry, Sully," Nathan said unapologetically. "But whatever the wife says, goes and her plan is usually better than yours."

"I'm technically not your wife yet," you giggled, your engagement ring glinting as you continued bypassing the security cameras using your phone.

"Technically, yes," he agreed, shrugging. "But in my head, you've been my wife ever since you put that ring on."

"Always thinking ahead, huh?" You finished up the job, slipping your phone into your pocket before turning to him with a raised brow.

"Oh yeah," he hummed, pulling you closer by the waist. "And once we get married, in my head, we already have three kids."

"Three?" you choked out a laugh.

"Five?"

"Let's start with one and see where that goes."

"We should definitely practice later."

"Do I always have to remind you two that this is an open line?"

"Oh we know," Nathan hummed, kissing you with a loud smack which earned an annoyed groan. He then gestured at the door with a bow. "After you, Mrs. Drake."

"Still up for debate."

"I'd take your last name any day."

"I was thinking hyphenated."

"Not a bad shout."

"Get moving you two!"

"Sully, you're getting so close to getting your wedding invite revoked."

You laughed at that.

Nathan couldn't resist kissing you once more.

"Let's go," you giggled against his lips. "We still have treasure to find."

"I'm in no rush," he shrugged, brushing his nose against yours. He was sure his eyes were glowing with pure adoration. "Already got the best one right here."

You groaned and called him cheesy but you still kissed him anyway.

Treasure be damned, with you by his side, Nathan was the richest man alive.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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[tsukimefuku]

CHAPTER TWO: MISTAKE OF FACT ❀ HIGURUMA SENSEI SERIES

masterlist link | mdni!

❀ mistake of fact.

the concept “mistake of fact” describes a situation in which someone acts unaware of circumstances that could turn their actions into criminal acts. this can affect the assessment of their intent or culpability, reducing their penalty or even excluding the criminal nature of said act.

wc: 7.2K | ❀ pairing for the series: professor!higuruma x student!reader

❀ summary.

classes, law Firm meetings, and a little grit about it all. after taking and not doing so well on your first criminal law class assessment test, you decide to get hammered at the campus party. you just didn’t expect to accidentally bump into the professor of said class there.

❀ tags and c/w.

non-curse au. college au. silly slow-burn rom-com between professor and college student (this is purely a work of fiction, okay guys?). smoking and drinking. corporate trauma. itafushi is also a slow-burn. higuruma hates doing cardio (mood). nanami needed a subplot and kusakabe had to be in it, the voices told me so. exams suck. campus parties are a special kind of hell. the return of the ugly red scarf.

❀ notes etc.

as i said previously, some characters will have their subplots, hope you enjoy reading them too (they all tie into the main plot). yes I’m working through some issues regarding the lawyering world while writing this fic, how did you notice?

also, some love for the betas: @redlikerozez and @dottedsilktie thank you two so much 💛

You had a habit, a very ugly one. Ironically, the habit you used to unwind was currently driving you insane as you tapped around your pockets, failing to find the lighter for the cigarette you held in your mouth for the past two minutes. You stroked your bangs back in annoyance and grunted, a strand of hair poking up like a spike.

“Fucking hell,” you muttered to yourself the moment the bells went off, letting you know it was time for yet another Criminal Law class. At least this time you managed to wake up somewhat early and were already by the building.

Good job, me.

“Oh, hey!” you heard the light-hearted voice chirp from a distance. Darting your eyes towards it, there came the fluffy ball of pink hair and upbeat mood frolicking in your direction.

“Hey, Itadori! Do you by any chance have a lighter?”

He shrugged, “no, I’m sorry.”

Of course he didn’t. As the best track field runner you had ever met, you wondered if Itadori even knew what a cigarette was.

“You should stop smoking,” a broodier voice said. You noticed the spiky black hair student who was also approaching.

“Ah, get off my case, Fushiguro,” you retorted, putting your cigarette away, “which class are you guys here for?”

“Criminal law! And you?” Itadori replied.

“Oh, me too. I didn’t see you guys in his class last week, though.”

“We saw you!” Yuuji answered, completely oblivious that this was definitely something which would render you uncomfortable. You blushed, and after a few seconds, Fushiguro elbowed him. “Ouch, why did you do that?”

 Fushiguro sighed loudly at his friend’s cluelessness, and you sheepishly giggled.

“Yeah… I guess everybody saw me.”

The three of you were sharing an uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Itadori spoke again.

“So… Why isn’t Kugisaki enrolled?”

 You shrugged, “she wanted to have other classes during this year to fast track her internship opportunities, I guess. I kind of did the same thing.”

“Is that allowed?” Yuuji inquired.

 “Yeah, it is, as long as you take some other 101 classes before doing it,” you answered, while you three began walking into the building.

 “I did that too, I want to pursue an internship in the public defense office as soon as possible,” Megumi interjected.

 “Oh, nice! Me too,” you answered him, “but I’d totally take a position in a private law firm if given the chance.”

Fushiguro made a face you couldn’t quite identify, and didn’t answer anything in return.

The conversation about an internship in criminal defense died down as the three of you entered the elevator together, and while you were walking towards the classroom, Yuuji and Megumi began bantering.

More specifically, Itadori seemed keen on making small-talk about amenities, meanwhile Fushiguro simply did not take the hint and was shooting down every conversation topic his friend tried to bring up. You felt for Yuuji, noticing he was clearly eager to engage Megumi in a conversation, but the guy wouldn’t budge. At that point, you entertained Itadori for the remainder of the quick walk down the corridor.

Perhaps, you thought to yourself, Megumi was the clueless one.

Entering the classroom, you saw Professor Higuruma already seated by his desk fidgeting around with his glasses. This time, there was no suit jacket in sight, and he wore a white buttoned up shirt with a black tie, all under a suit vest.

You weren’t too proud to realize that you noticed the way his vest hugged his torso just right.

To top it off, after he was finished fidgeting with his glasses, Higuruma opened the cuffs of his white shirt, rolled up the sleeves up to his elbows, and slightly loosened his tie with two fingers hooked around it.

The way his arm muscles popped while he was sliding his fingers side to side around the fabric of the tie had every thought in your head poofing away instantly, and you looked away before your staring became too obvious.

The other students were coming in quickly. You made your way towards three miraculously empty seats in the front and sat on one end, while the boys took their places right beside you.

Higuruma noticed you and nodded softly as you met his eyes. You weren’t sure if he’d remember your face, but given the circumstances, it’d probably be hard not to. You greeted him back, smiling, and gestured around your regular-not-pajamas blouse, to which he replied by discreetly gesturing down his clean, not-coffee stained white buttoned up shirt.

Cute.

This time you thought that maybe sitting in the front would keep you safe from the Professor’s experiments. You had already tested your luck sitting in the back and it surely backfired — no pun intended.

After the students were settled, Higuruma got himself up and walked towards the white board, writing self-defense on it. He then turned on his heels, shoved his hands in his pockets and asked, “can anybody tell me what self-defense is?”

From your row, only Megumi raised his hand, but Higuruma’s eyes landed on Yuuji.

“You. What’s your name?” the Professor inquired, pointing at Itadori.

You heard him gulping by your side at that very same moment.

“Itadori Yuuji.”

“Then, Itadori, tell me what you think self-defense is.”

“I mean… self-defense is protecting yourself from someone trying to hurt you.”

Higuruma nodded, “you’re on the right track, but that’s not the entire answer. There is still something missing. Criminal Law occupies itself with criminal activities, so why do we need to study acts taken under self-defense? What else can you tell me about self-defense?”

Yuuji didn’t come up with something else to say, so Higuruma lifted the whiteboard marker in front of him.

“Itadori, I’ll throw this at you now.”

You and Megumi were instantly shocked, and Itadori began stuttering.

“W-wha-”

Higuruma actually threw the marker towards Yuuji’s chest, but Yuuji quickly grabbed it, glancing incredulously at the Professor.

“Now, that wasn’t self-defense in the way that it interests Criminal Law,” Higuruma noted, resuming the class as if nothing had happened.

Truth was, you could try sitting in the back, in the front, or anywhere in between,  but when it came to Higuruma Hiromi’s class, apparently, there was no safe place to hide.

“It wasn’t?!” Itadori exclaimed.

“No. Self-defense, you see, is used to exclude the illegal quality of an action that would otherwise be considered a crime, like assault and battery, for example.”

Higuruma stepped into Yuuji’s direction, and excused himself as he picked the marker back in his hand, leaving the three of you dumbfounded as to how he could nonchalantly do these absurd things and think it was just alright.

The professor began writing on the white board and the classroom was filled with scribbling and typing sounds.

“Self-defense is when someone uses force, against another person, to protect themselves from harm or imminent danger offered by this other person’s criminal actions. In that sense, you didn’t use force against me, you solely protected yourself, hence, that’s not actually self-defense as the concept that matters to us in this classroom.”

Well, the example was crystal clear, indeed. Once again, he illustrated what he wanted to say brilliantly.

But holy shit, did he really have to do those crazy things every damn time?

“Before we proceed, I have some leisure homework for you all. I’d like everybody to watch the first three episodes of this TV series for us to discuss during our next lecture the evolution from legitimate self-defense to extrapolating it and finally committing a crime.”

He wrote the name for the show on the white board.

A shy hand lifted on the other end of the class, and a girl with blue hair and crooked bangs spoke after Higuruma pointed at her.

“Professor, won’t you ask us to watch one of those old movies other teachers usually do in introductory classes?”

“Most definitely not,” he answered — not without scoffing first, “this is Criminal Law, here things are interesting. If you’d like to sleep, go to Professor Nanami’s class, Commercial Law I.”

A tiny chuckle echoed from the back.

“Someone gets it,” he concluded before proceeding with the lecture.

The class went on without a hiccup with Yuuji quickly forgetting the marker debacle a few minutes in. After Higuruma was finished talking about the day’s topic, though, he remembered everyone about next week's assessment test, receiving mumbled complaints in return.

“Yeah, I know. I hate these things too, but unfortunately we have orders from above. Be sure to study everything up until the end of the self-defense module,” Higuruma said as he sank into his desk’s chair and fished his phone out of his pocket, “I wish you all best of luck.”

As the class was done, everyone began leaving.

 “So, where are you going now?” Yuuji asked as you were currently fumbling around in your bag looking for your lighter — perhaps it wasn’t in your pockets after all, right?

 “I… if you two are tight on time just go without me, I’m looking for something in here and it might take some time,” you answered, thinking that some physics law might’ve been broken. Your bag seemed larger from the inside than from outside, and your lighter had surely disintegrated into thin air.

 “It’s fine, we can wait,” Fushiguro answered.

Yuuji suddenly seemed to remember something and came at you sort of hyped, asking “will you be at the campus party by the end of next week?!”

 “Sure, sure,” you answered absentmindedly, still fondling your things around and considering flipping it all on the ground.

 “There will be a party next week on campus?” Higuruma asked with his eyes still glued to his phone’s screen.

Fushiguro elbowed Yuuji again, as it was kind of a secret from faculty members, just so none of them would butt in — there were the clueless ones, like Professor Gojo, for instance, that would always find their way into the free drinks and free food celebrations that were supposedly just for students.

 “Y-Yes… it will be pretty late, though.”

Higuruma hummed, completely unfazed, “when I was a student here, we’d usually have those after 11PM to avoid faculty members, it’s a good idea. My suggestion is that you all just keep the noise down and use the space behind the brown brick building, there’s a blind spot there from the rest of the campus.”

Yuuji and Megumi shared a look before nodding hesitantly. Higuruma noticed they were both somewhat worried and sighed.

 “Don’t worry, I’m not telling the other Professors, and you can all be completely sure I won’t be there.”

The bated breath the two students shared finally subsided.

“God fucking damnit where is this fucking lighter?” you mumbled to yourself.

That caught Higuruma’s attention, and he called your name.

Your hand stammered inside your bag and you looked at him.

 “Do you need a lighter?” he asked you, lifting his eyes from his phone towards your direction.

You had the impression his eye bags were smaller that day.

 “Yes, I lost mine.”

He reached into one of his pockets and pulled a small, yellow, disposable lighter, stretching his arm in your direction, “you can take this one, I have tons of these.”

You got up, threw your bag over your shoulder, and went to pick it up from his hands. As your fingers wrapped around the lighter, you accidentally locked eyes with him, now sure his eye bags were definitely smaller. Higuruma spared you a small smile and you immediately felt your cheeks warm as you took the tiny yellow lighter from his fingers and stepped back.

I’m pathetic.

 “So, we’re good to go?” Fushiguro asked, looking at you.

“We’re good to go,” you answered him, then looking at Higuruma, “thank you, Professor.”

 “It’s no trouble, Sanrio” he answered, redirecting his attention back to his phone, completely unaware he had just called you that out loud.

After a few seconds, realizing what he'd just done, Higuruma sheepishly lifted his eyes, seeing two confused boys and you looking away with your hand over your mouth, coughing softly. You bore the same weirdly twisted face you made days before, when he asked you to leave in the mock expulsion.

Truth was you wanted to laugh, equal parts amused and mortified.

“Sanrio? What?” Yuuji asked.

“My next class is Civil Law II! What about you, Fushiguro? We should go!” you blurted out, ignoring Yuuji’s question while stepping away, “bye, Professor. See you next class!”

 “You three have a good day,” Higuruma muttered, sinking further into his chair as he looked away to conceal his own embarrassment.

The boys, still at a loss, followed you outside, also bidding Higuruma a good day.

***

This is hell. I’m a smoker and this is my personal, dantesque circle of hell for that sin.

With one leg launching in front of the other at a steady pace, Higuruma was jogging down the street while accompanied solely by the rhythmic thuds of his feet on the pavement. He had already put at least a mile behind him.

His blood felt like battery acid pumping through his veins, and lungs and muscles were burning with the strain of an exercise he was doing for the third time this week thanks to the encouragement of his best friend.

This time, however, there was no distraction from the discomfort while Higuruma dragged himself completely alone on this morning run. His usual jogging partner, Nanami, told him just ten minutes before the scheduled time that he would not be able to make it.

 “Did something happen?” Higuruma asked on the phone, “It’s unlike you to cancel appointments with such short notice.”

Truthfully, Nanami was someone extremely considerate of other people’s time.

 “Nothing too serious. I’ll have to be in a meeting with a Labor Law associate. It involves one of the companies we represent here at the firm,” he replied with an involuntary sigh. Nanami did not enjoy being taken by surprise like this.

 “A meeting for one of those Union settlements?”

 “Yes.”

 “Yeesh, good luck with that. Don’t be too harsh on the workers, though.”

 “I’ll just be there to oversee the meeting and report the outcome to our client, I have no say in the matter.”

 “Really? Couldn’t the Labor Law associate do that, then?”

 “It’s Kusakabe. He doesn’t do anything he’s not specifically paid to do.”

 “Oh, right.” 

Higuruma paused for a moment. He was already at their usual meeting point, all propped up and ready to go, but didn’t quite feel like subjecting himself to that torture alone.

 “You should just do your run today, I’ll join you back after tomorrow,” Nanami told him, as if reading his mind.

 “I don’t know. Having company makes this slightly more bearable.”

 “Is that so?” Nanami barely concealed the hint of amusement in his voice.

 “Tsk, shut up.” Higuruma retorted.

 Nanami huffed, nearly a chuckle, and proceeded, “this routine seems to have affected you positively, you shouldn’t miss a day for such a pedestrian reason.”

It was true. As a consolation prize for this suffering, the Professor had managed to sleep better those past few days and his mood had improved too.

Prior to his breakdown, Higuruma had never given much thought about his overall health. After he came back to normal life �� or as normal as it could be —, he tried to eat properly and exercise at the gym most days of the week. 

“I guess,” Higuruma finally conceded, defeated, loathing cardio with every fiber of his being.

 “Then, off you go.”

“Okay. I’ll run and suffer alone today after being ditched,” Higuruma stated, half in jest.

 “Don’t be so dramatic, Hiromi,” Nanami remarked, “you can do it just fine.”

Just fine… I’m not sure if “fine” is the word I’d choose for this self-imposed torture.

Taking one of the final turns, Higuruma passed by a storefront. On it, there was a big illustration of Hello Kitty that covered most of the space. He hadn’t noticed that store before, but seeing the cartoonish cat with its pink bow brought an amused smile to his face as he remembered the student that, for some random reason, decided to attend his class using a kitty’s pajamas — you.

That moment got him to reminisce on the occasions that he, himself, was also too tired or too out of it to properly change before going to class, leading to some similar debacles during his undergrad years.

Ever since that day, the Professor had nicknamed you Sanrio in his head, a silly inside joke with himself. 

As he reached the end of the usual route, Higuruma paused and hunched over, inhaling deeply through his mouth, oxygen failing to properly enter his cells — or at least it felt like it. 

I wonder if I can take a taxi to go back home...

Involuntarily hearing Nanami’s voice in his head chastising him for wanting to take the easy shortcut, Higuruma grunted and took a deep breath before jogging his way back.

***

Nanami churned on his coffee’s last sip as if that alone would be enough to realign his chakras and soothe his growing headache. 

It wasn’t.

Nanami rarely saw himself pulled into other people’s work, but he detested each and every time it happened. As someone that usually planned his day thoroughly, with every minute properly accounted for, these types of unforeseen events would, most times, end up causing a domino effect over everything he had arranged in his schedule.

This time, however, he wasn’t sure if his distaste for the situation stemmed solely from the fact that his agenda got fondled around.

Something else about it was bothering him, even if he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

The contrast on the meeting table was clear — on the company’s side, he sat with Kusakabe, at least three mid-level associates, two juniors and one random intern. Behind them, the firm’s logo hung high on the wall, casting its brushed steel sheen over the expensive mahogany table. 

On the other side, though, sat an Union representative with one single lawyer beside him. Since the firm had rescheduled this meeting on short notice four times, demanding it took place in one of their offices — which was everything but close to where the union-office was located —, the Union only had enough money to pay for the expenses of sending the minimum amount of people required to legally sign a settlement.

Nanami slowly realized, as the negotiations went on, what was bothering him so much.

This wasn’t a negotiation meeting.

It was a power play consisting of intimidation techniques. Clearly an attempt at wearing the Union down and pushing them into accepting any settlement to end the strike as soon as possible.

It all said we can take you on — if you don’t accept our offer and take this to Court, we have the money, the people and the ways to win this fight.

“These are our terms, as we had already discussed, printed and ready for you to sign,” Kusakabe remarked, as he pushed a pile of papers towards the two.

The Union representative seemed ready to crumble under a put-upon expression, his black hair parted in the middle and thick framed glasses not doing nearly enough to conceal it. He knew exactly what was going on, how this had happened, and also that this strike couldn’t go on for much longer without causing serious issues in the lives of all the workers. 

The company was successful in their attempt of making it look like they tried to settle the dispute, and it had been long enough that people would start falling like dominos in the firing list.

The blond woman beside him seemed ready to toss her attorney’s license in the nearest dumpster and go do something else with her life.

The Union representative took the pen in his hand and sighed.

 “Are you positive you want to do this, Ijichi?” the lawyer asked, looking at him with a tinge of concern in between her brows.

 “We don’t have another choice, Nitta,” he replied, signing those papers away so quickly it felt like his hands were about to get burned in the fiery pits of hell. 

She exhaled sharply while leaning back on her chair.

“I’m glad we got to settle this amicably. We expect you all back on the grounds by Monday,” Kusakabe concluded as he pulled the pile of papers back to him and lifted himself up on the chair.

Everyone got up, but when Kusakabe extended his hand towards Nitta, she and Ijichi just turned around, stepping towards the exit.

Nanami’s slight discomfort had grown into an actual stone weighing in his gut, and he didn’t quite think about what he ended up doing next.

He walked behind Nitta and Ijichi, and called them by their names — something that surprised them both, given they didn’t expect him and most of the people inside that meeting room to be paying any attention at all. 

“So, you did listen to that meeting and weren't there just to add numbers?” Nitta asked begrudgingly.

 “I did,” Nanami answered.

 “What do you want?” Ijichi inquired, itching to get himself out of that building as quickly as possible. He felt dirty, to say the least, and needed a minimum of three full baths to feel like himself again.

 “To give you both my business card.”

Both of them looked incredulous.

 “I don’t mean any harm nor am I trying to get something out of a terrible situation. I just... That was...” 

He really didn’t think this through.

 “What I mean to say is that if there is anything you both need, this is my contact info.”

Nanami pulled the slim piece of cardstock and offered it. Ijichi and Nitta shared a hesitant look right before she took it from his hands. With a bow, both of them left, still feeling a little dumbfounded.

 “Are you trying to get yourself in trouble? You’ve made it to Partner in the firm, leave it alone,” a slightly muffled voice echoed behind Nanami. It was Kusakabe, who had just shoved a lollipop in his mouth and had his hands inside his pockets.

 “That didn’t bother you at all?” Nanami inquired, gesturing towards the now emptying meeting room.

 “I’m not paid to get bothered. I come, I do my job, and I go home.”

 “Still,” Nanami remarked, “it was...”

 “I know,” Kusakabe answered him. He took a few moments before sighing, leaning himself against a wall, and repeated in a lower tone, “I know.”

For the briefest moment, Kusakabe’s expression resembled a slight grimace.

 “You don’t seem completely unbothered, even if you’re not getting paid to care,” Nanami stated.

Kusakabe looked at Nanami and said nothing as they made their way back into their respective offices.

***

Higuruma also had a bad habit.

Due to his terrible memory regarding people’s names, he gave everyone a nickname in his mind. Beyond calling you Sanrio, his nicknames for the pink haired fluffy guy and the brooding dude always by his side were, respectively, Clueless and Porcupine. 

At that moment, he watched as Sanrio, Clueless and Porcupine sat beside one another while taking their first assessment test for the Criminal Law class.

You were so laser focused on the test, eyes darting from one end to the other of the paper frantically, hand periodically brushing your bangs back in desperation, that he feared you might actually end up accidentally activating a laser beam and burning the thing. Clueless was… well, clueless. He looked like someone who had never been properly alphabetized in his entire life. And finally, Porcupine didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, calmly reading and selecting each answer with the ease and certainty of someone that knew what he was doing.

He was sort of amused to realize Sanrio’s bangs had a small lock of hair poking out.

Higuruma glanced his eyes over the class, and made the sad realization he’d have dozens upon dozens of tests to grade and submit to the Dean the following morning.

What a nightmare, I’ll be here forever grading these after hours.

He had completely forgotten, earlier that day, that he’d have to deal with assessment test shenanigans. The information popped back into his mind five minutes before he arrived at the Uni, and Higuruma got a little desperate, remembering he needed to pick up the pile of tests inside the brown brick building’s print center before darting his way to class.

At least, he was more accustomed to running by then.

After parking near the building, Higuruma ran against the clock, and made it by the skin of his teeth. The Professor was completely relieved, failing to realize that his memory had fucked him over more than once that day.

You, on the other hand, weren’t fending off much better.

What do I do, there is more than one answer to this, it fucking depends, goddammit, you cursed inside your mind while answering most of the questions in that assessment test.

I need a cigarette.

You were particularly bad at taking multiple choice tests, especially in subjective areas — which was definitely the case for Criminal Law.

You had this little curse of wanting to select two different answers in nearly every question and always choosing the wrong one.

At least I can drink this failure away at the party today. 

“Ten more minutes!” Higuruma’s voice echoed through the classroom, and you must’ve looked particularly more hectic than before, because you felt his eyes on you, and when looking up, noticed he seemed a little concerned.

Very charmingly concerned in that disheveled suit and slightly messy hair.

Ah, shut up, brain.

After the ten minutes flew by, a cacophony of pens being put down or clicked around could be heard. People got up, and one by one, the students put their tests over Higuruma’s desk. He dangled over his chair lazily, bidding his students a good morning with a mumble.

You were the last one left, and stared at your test like it was a nuke falling right into your future criminal defense attorney career. Sad wasn’t the best word for it — you felt disheartened.

Sighing defeatedly, you lifted yourself from your chair like your clothing was made of lead and walked towards Higuruma’s desk, handing him the paper. His eyes lifted towards you while he took the test from your hands. 

“What did you think of the test?” Higuruma inquired, organizing all the papers into a neat pile.

You huffed.

“Sanrio is worried about this test,” you replied, smiling while poking a little fun at him.

His eyes widened a little, and for a second, Higuruma looked embarrassed. 

“About that, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...” he began.

“Oh! It’s...”

Completely okay. Kinda sweet. Something I might’ve actually liked. 

“Fine. I didn’t mind. It’s not always, but sometimes I nickname people in my head too.”

He offered you a discreet awkward nod, “okay, then.” 

Noticing you might’ve made him unnecessarily uncomfortable, you decided to lighten up the air.

“So... No random experiment for torturing your minions today? I mean, the students.” 

Higuruma chuckled softly.

“Ah, no. I figured this test was enough torture for one day,” he answered, spirited, “I’m not that ruthless.”

Remembering the Yuuji marker debacle, you thought about something for a moment before you resumed speaking.

“You know,” you began, “perhaps you should ask for students to volunteer before doing your… things.”

“I used to, actually,” he promptly answered.

“You did?” your voice sounded surprised.

Higuruma nodded, “Yes, but students rarely volunteered.”

That sounded a little off.

“Quick question, Professor. Did this scarcity of volunteers happen before or after the first volunteer demonstration?” you inquired.

“After. Why do you ask?” He asked while putting the tests into his briefcase.

Oh my God, he’s so clueless.

“No reason. Just curious.”

***

“Hey, people! I brought us beers!” Yuuji exclaimed, light spirited, as he walked towards you, Megumi, Nobara and Maki all seated on the grass behind the brick building. He quickly descended to sit beside the group.

“You are the best, but I’m not mixing today,” you thanked, greeting him with a cup full of pure vodka, “this should do the trick for tonight. Also, it’s pretty fucking cold for beer.” 

“Is that why you’re wearing that thing?” Nobara inquired while pointing at your ugly red scarf around your neck. 

“Get off my case, Nobara,” you retorted, gulping on your drink with some unidentifiable desperation.

“Shit, was the test that bad?” Maki asked you as she took a single can from Yuuji’s arms, while mindlessly pulling Nobara closer and kissing her head.

“It was weird, I was so confused, it felt like every question had at least two answers,” you complained, stretching your body over the grass. 

“You probably did fine, you tend to be overly dramatic about these things,” Nobara stated while pulling another can from Yuuji, smacking on his shoulder with a fist. He whined in complaint, and she chuckled like a tiny ginger demon. 

“I agree with Kugisaki, you’re smart!” Yuuji chirped in, while scrambling his way to sit beside Megumi, “I had no idea what I was doing. If you thought about at least two answers to each question, you’re already better than me.”

This poor, poor kid, you thought.

“There’s more to exams than just being smart, you need to know how to do them, and I do not, unfortunately…” you answered, a tinge of disappointment to your expression.

“This is solely an assessment test, anyway. It doesn’t compute in our final grades, there is no need to be so upset about it,” Megumi interjected, shushing himself when you glared at him. 

He was terrible at comforting people. 

“So, Fushiguro, I didn’t quite know what you’d like to drink, so I brought three types of beer,” Itadori mumbled, extending three different cans of beer towards Megumi like a raven with trinket offerings for his favorite human.

Not exactly smooth, but definitely cute.

Nobara and Maki shared a look, both of them with cheeky smiles on their faces. You covered your mouth to conceal your own smile — you were far from being as saucy as the power couple by your side — and waited with a bated breath for Megumi to pick up on the hint from Yuuji.

It was about time, considering it had been months of Yuuji trying to make a move. 

“No, thank you, I won’t drink today,” Fushiguro cluelessly replied, and Itadori visibly deflated from that. 

“T-then… I can grab a soda for you, or…” Itadori clumsily interjected, while scratching the back of his neck. 

“There’s no need, I will go-” 

Perhaps it was the vodka, the dreadful day or how much Megumi had just cock-blocked your shipping dreams, but you blurted out your next few words. 

“For fucks sake, Fushiguro, if you don’t take a beer can from Itadori right now, I will body slam you into oblivion.” 

“… We’re on the ground. How would that even-” 

“Bitch, don’t test me.”

Fushiguro was somewhat taken aback by your interjection, but hesitantly extended his hand and picked one of the three beers Itadori had selected for him, prying it open with a wheezing click. Megumi looked at you, then the beer can, then at Itadori, suspiciously taking a tiny sip. 

“It is… good,” he muttered, as a smile slowly returned to Yuuji’s Kirby persona. 

“Now, thank him,” you complemented, pointing at Yuuji, “he did find three types of beer in this God-forsaken campus party only for you, after all. I’d never have bothered to do so, and I bet Maki and Nobara feel the same.”

The power couple raised their drinks in agreement towards you, and Fushiguro sighed. 

“Thank you, Itadori.” 

Yuuji happily nodded, “you’re welcome! Do you want something to eat? I could-”

“Baby steps, buddy… baby steps,” you interrupted, putting your hand over Yuuji’s shoulder. He nodded sheepishly while Megumi was at a loss.

“O-okay,” Itadori acquiesced.

Suddenly, you all heard a voice calling Megumi’s name from a distance, sounding like some kind of haunting, and began looking around as he buried his face in his hands.

“Who is that?” you asked.

“Megumi! Where’s the food!?” the voice inquired in a light hearted tone. In the distance, you saw a fluffy, white ball of hair approaching under sunglasses. At night.

Megumi groaned from the depths of his soul.

“Argh, for fucks sake,” he complained, well aware as to who was coming.

Trying to dodge the faculty members didn’t do much to keep his adoptive father away, apparently.

Not so far from there, Higuruma sat in a poorly lit office grading the tests the entire class had taken that morning. After finishing grading yours — and you didn’t do very well, just as you had anticipated — he muttered to himself, out loud, “what happened there, Sanrio?”

The Professor failed to notice he did remember your name perfectly, even if he kept calling you Sanrio. 

“Will you sleep in here today?” a familiar voice scowled from the door, and Higuruma turned his face to meet the dusty blonde head of hair peeping through. 

“I’ll just finish grading these and then I’ll go home, Kento,” Higuruma answered with a tired smile on his face. 

“And couldn’t you have done that from home?” his friend asked, looking at the menacing pile of paper over the man’s desk, “or maybe tomorrow morning.” 

“Oh, I’d never get to it if I had left it for later. I’m already here, might as well just ditch this Pavlovian nightmare as soon as possible,” the other stated, flailing a test on his hand before proceeding, “what are these even meant to assess? Someone’s capabilities of answering formulaic questions like trained dogs? Ugh.”

Higuruma was ranting.

Nanami huffed a slightly amused chuckle, but underneath it, he seemed a little beaten down. 

“Is everything okay, Kento?” Higuruma asked, interrupting his ranting when noticing his deflated friend. 

“I’m… fine.”

Nanami had forgotten for a second that Higuruma, underneath all his antics, was a very perceptive person. 

“Are you sure?” Higuruma insisted, “you don’t look so well.” 

“It’s nothing. I’m just thinking about work, that’s all.”

And that he was. That meeting had stuck with him for those past few days. 

“Oh, how was the meeting with the Union?”

Nanami’s breath got caught for a second before he mustered up something to answer. 

“It wasn’t what I expected it to be. I might be switching things up soon,” Nanami said with some understated grave finality. 

“Truly?” Higuruma sounded surprised. 

“Yes. Perhaps exploring new fronts beyond Corporate Law.” 

“Well, then, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help apart from practicing law.”

Higuruma’s voice cracked softly right at the end of his sentence. ​Nanami didn’t fail to notice it, and kept silent as his friend seemed to mull over bitter memories. 

“Hiromi,” Nanami began. 

“I can’t, I… can’t.”

Higuruma had visibly tensed up, his fists unconsciously clenching as his forearms laid flat on the desk.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Nanami concluded, careful not to dig too deep on the matter.

Both of them shared an uncomfortable silence before Higuruma hesitantly steered his gaze to meet Nanami’s. Unsure, Higuruma gave his friend a tiny nod, and moved his attention back to the task in front of him. 

Understanding that the talk about it was over, at least for now, Nanami asked, “I’m leaving, do you want me to help you carry those to your car?” 

“Oh, there’s no need. I parked far, behind the…”

Oh, shit. 

“Nanami, what day is it today?”

*** 

“I’m not drunk,” you mumbled, while filling your third cup of vodka. 

“I’m not so sure about that,” Nobara said, giving you a light push to your shoulder, having you nearly tip over. Meanwhile, Megumi, Yuuji and Maki were entertained with Yuuji trying to score Gojo’s open mouth with peanuts like it was a basketball hoop.

Megumi was the least entertained of the trio.

“Knock it off!” you complained, slapping her hand away.

You fished your pack of cigarettes from your pocket, and she instantly grunted. 

“Those things stink and itch my nose, go smoke them somewhere else.” 

It was your time to grunt. 

“Ugh, fine. Then I’ll find a new best friend that’ll let me smoke — hell, one that might even smoke with me!” you  replied, getting ready to leave. 

“Make good choices!” she poked at you, and you playfully brushed her off. 

“I won’t!”

You walked away — not before hearing Yuuji and Gojo cheering right after Yuuji managed to score ten peanuts in a row — and gave your cup of vodka another sip, having the burning tingle dripping down your throat, warming you up against the cold wind.

After about two minutes or so of walking, sure your smoke wouldn’t blow on anyone’s faces, you put a cigarette into your mouth and pulled the lighter Professor Higuruma had given you, trying to light the cig up.

However, the wind wouldn’t let you, no matter how much you tried to tent your hand around it.

God, why? you thought to yourself, fidgeting with your bangs in annoyance.

While darting your eyes around, looking for any sort of shelter from the wind, you found a beat up, dark navy-blue car that surely had seen better days parked just behind the brick building. In your drunken haze, you figured that squatting between both would be the best idea.

Stumbling your way towards the gap, you quickly went down on the ground in a crouched position, holding your cup in one hand and the lighter on the other, cig strongly held in between your lips.

Flick, flick, flick.

Nothing.

God fucking damnit. 

“Hey!” a male voice exclaimed from behind you, scaring the shit out of your soul. 

Your body moved on instinct. You instantly jumped up, startled and screaming, and tossed the entire vodka contents from the cup towards whoever had nearly given you a heart attack.

Higuruma stood there, completely stunned and incredulous, as the beverage hit his shirt, vest, tie, face and coat. 

“… I didn’t mean to scare you,” he offered, taking his glasses off to shake the liquid from them before putting them back, “but why?”

For a split second, he was just glad this wasn’t coffee or wine, the staining demons of liquids. It could’ve been worse.

Oh my God. I can’t believe I assaulted this man with my drink again. This has to be a prank.

This time, already impaired from two full glasses of vodka in your system, and increasingly nervous at that situation, you couldn’t hold it in. 

You began cackling, directly to his face, as his expression became profoundly confused. He lifted an eyebrow, not knowing if he should feel scared, amused or offended.

"I-I just… Just laugh in i-inappropriate… moments- I’m sorry!" you tried explaining, in between laughs and huffs, drying a tear that bubbled up at the edge of your eye with the tip of your fingers.

You both stood there for a few seconds until your laughter died down, and he was then sure you definitely had a few screws loose.

It amused him.

“Here, let me use this to dry your shirt," you told Higuruma, approaching him with your red scarf, pressing it against his chest. He put his free hand over it and haphazardly rubbed it over the damp patches of his clothes alongside you.

This up close, he couldn’t help but notice once again that tiny hair lock which swirled away from your bangs.

Realizing he was staring at your hair, Higuruma diverted his eyes elsewhere, having them landing over the ugly red scarf. 

"Ah, that hideous thing." 

Shit, I said that out loud, he thought to himself, facepalming internally. 

To that, you looked at him, wide eyed, and laughed wholeheartedly, having Higuruma blushing embarrassment at his own incapacity to control his words. 

"It is hideous, isn't it?" you noted, surprising him.

For the second time in that interaction, he was nothing short of perplexed. The Professor was more than accustomed to having people get deeply offended at his talking mishaps from time to time.

"I thought you might be laughing because what I said was terribly inappropriate," Higuruma admitted, somewhat relieved.

"Oh, no. It was funny. I also laugh at funny things," you jested with a mindless smile pulling on your cheeks.

It was his time to chuckle, and you didn’t fail to notice, even in your tipsy fog, how a tiny crease would form on the edges of his hangdog eyes when he was laughing. And how his voice reverberated. And how his disheveled hair framed around his face beautifully, highlighting his beautiful hooked nose. And-

Shit. I have the hots for the Professor.

"... Is there still anything on my face?"

That snapped you out of it, but not entirely.

"Uh? Why?"

"Because you're staring at it."

Yeah. That checks out. 

“I just… never mind,” you told him while blushing discreetly, scrambling around to give him some space. It was only then that Higuruma noticed he had his hand resting over yours for a while after you stopped trying to pat him dry with the ugliest scarf known to mankind. 

Clearing his throat, he asked, “why were you slouching by my car?” 

“I was trying to light a cigarette,” you replied, pointing at the cig on the ground after the debacle, “the wind is pretty unforgiving today.”

“I see. I’m sorry about the fallen soldier,” he stated. 

“No worries, I’ve got more,” you replied, pulling your pack from your pocket, “do you want one?” 

I shouldn’t, smoking is bad, I’m doing cardio three times a we-

“Yes.” 

You pulled two cigarettes from the pack, put them both in your mouth, cupped your hand around the cigs to light them up, and it actually worked.

Well, that’s convenient.

You inhaled the smoke for a second, feeling it waving into your mouth. It immediately soothed your crave.

Taking one of them in between two fingers, you extended your hand towards Higuruma, who grabbed the smoke. 

“Thanks,” he offered in a calm tone.

“No worries, it’s the least I could do after assaulting you with vodka,” you shrugged with some embarrassment.

“It’s oka… pure vodka?” 

“Yes.”

That’s… a lot.

He was a little taken aback, but decided not to ask anything. 

“Well, at least it won’t leave a stain, unlike coffee,” Higuruma remarked. 

“Yeah, it won’t,” you replied while mindlessly giggling.

Higuruma finally bowed his head towards you and you retributed the gesture, bidding him goodbye before leaving on your way to your dorm room. 

Once you were gone, he went inside his car, cracking the window open. As he was finally alone pulling the cigarette towards his lips, Higuruma noticed something around the edge of the cig. A soft pinkish-red ring that went all around it.

Is this… her lipstick?

It was.

Against his better judgment, Higuruma blushed softly, instantly shaking his head to weave off the heat that had pooled around in his cheeks before flipping the engine on.

Get a hold of yourself.

He did, however, hold the cig in his mouth, smudging the faint lipstick tint it had on his lips until the smoke was all spent up.

-

Tag list:

@arusearu @yammy-yammy-yama @markleeisdabestdrug @redlikerozez @delirious-donna

@alwaysfreakingout @murderofravens @senseifupa @higurumapet @cindyneko-strider 

@ohhheymessa @bigbaddulce @actuallysaiyan @s-witch-bitch @pseudowho

@soft--cherry @bsaeshell @quinnyundertow @traffi

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

When What We Had was Everything Pt. 1

This is a three part fic series and will complete three of my @jacklesversebingo card spaces. This first part will fill the "You won't take care of yourself, so I will." square. Pt. 2 will fill the But We Lost It square. Pt. 3 will fill the They're Out of Time square. ❤️

Summary: When Y/N really needs him, Jensen steps up, leaving all their past in the past. Can Y/N possibly do the same?

Pairing: Jensen x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: None in this chapter. Brief talk of grief and loss. Extremely stressed reader. Smidge of angst.

Word Count: 4,051

A/N: I hope you enjoy this short fic series. Just three parts. This first part also fulfills a request from the lovely dove anon.

I keep hearing the TikTok audio that’s like “you came?” “You called.” could you write a jensen fic maybe related to it? I feel like it would be sooo wholesome and so cute I’m obsessed with the thought!!

I hope it's what you were looking for sweetie.

Part 2 will be out next week. Probably, Wednesday the 23rd. And Part 3 should be out on Wednesday the 30th. Let me know what you think of this first part. ❤️

Series Master List || Jensen Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

Y/N felt the pain throb behind her eyes again and pinched the bridge of her nose as her little sister’s husband pouted. 

“I thought this was good.” He whined, pointing to the tuxedo hanging from the hanger in his hand. 

The tuxedo was four sizes too small for her father; it had a white, lacy, ruffled shirt to go with it, and it was black. It wasn’t even close to what she’d asked him to find. But she took a deep breath and tried for kindness. 

“No, Jason, it’s great. But Dad was pretty specific about what…” Y/N swallowed. “He was specific about what he wanted to be buried in, he wrote it all out for us. He said he wanted a suit like the one he wore when he and mom got married. You know, dark blue, plain white shirt, and…” She didn’t bother to mention the size wasn’t even close.

She lifted a hand towards him. “Don’t...do you still have the reference picture I gave you?”

Jason pulled the small square picture out of his pocket and looked at it before showing it to Y/N. “Yeah, that’s what I got him. Basically. I mean, I’m not gonna be able to get his exact same suit.”

Y/N felt the scream bubble up in her lungs, the scream that had been building inside of her for days, and she was seconds away from letting it loose on her useless brother-in-law. Instead she snatched the picture away from him.

“It’s fine.” She said and she knew her voice was too sharp, so she tempered it with a smile and tried again. “It’s fine. Thanks, I’ll just. I’ll find something. I appreciate your help.”

Jason did everything but roll his eyes as he huffed away and tossed the tuxedo across a beautifully upholstered chair in the wide, spacious living room.

The last few days had made Y/N more grateful than ever that her parents had been blessed enough to afford the large house that she and her brother and sister had grown up in. As it stood, they had twelve cousins, three aunts, four uncles, and two of her dads colleagues from Europe staying in the house. Even for a home as big and accommodating as theirs, the house was bursting at the seams. 

Which reminded her that she still had to figure out something for supper for everyone. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and called the local pizza place to order a bunch of pizzas and salads. Their small town still didn’t have grub hub available, so Ant’s Pizza and Italian Food would have to do.

As she was placing the order, her little brother, David, came bounding through the back door, his energy and massive smile was at odds with the slightly solemn atmosphere of the house. But she knew it was just how he dealt, lots of denial, and a fair amount of weed. 

She caught his eye as he headed towards the basement where he and two younger cousins were bunking together. She waved him over and spoke briefly into the phone.

“Can you give me just a sec. Thanks.” She moved the phone away from her mouth and spoke quietly to her brother. “Davie, you have to leave in less than an hour to pick Auntie Sheila up at the airport. Are you still good to do that?”

David sucked air through his teeth. “Ooh, I definitely think I’m too high to drive.”

“David.” Y/N admonished, the scream building in her chest once again. “I told you yesterday I’d need you to grab her. You couldn’t stay sober for -”

He cut her off, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, so sorry I messed up, Y/N/N. I guess my dad just died so I’m a little bummed, and decided to try and chill a bit.” He waved a hand to encompass the house. “There’s like a million fucking people here, no one else can do it?”

He stomped off with the cousins and Y/N watched him leave before whispering, “Yeah, funnily enough my dad died too.”

“What was that?” The woman on the other end of the phone sounded a bit annoyed to be kept waiting.

“Sorry.” Y/N said quickly, continuing on with the order. 

She hung up and pulled up her list of things that had to be done before the funeral the next day. They still had to send over the list of songs her dad had wanted them to play at the ceremony and the funeral home had sent her an email with the layout of the funeral program and needed her okay on it, But they’d misspelled her mom’s name in the small obituary that graced the back page.

"Stephen was predeceased by his loving wife of thirty-two years, Martha (nee Layland)", the program read. 

Her mother’s name was Marcia. She needed to get back to them about that right away, before they printed them out and her father was forever linked to some random woman named Martha. 

She pulled up the email and was typing a response while she stood in the hallway. She was sort of existing in limbo, not willing to commit to sitting in any one room, because inevitably as soon as she sat down, something would crop up and need her attention in another room. So, for two days she’d barely sat down, barely eaten, and was going on a total of about five hours of sleep.

As she shifted from foot to foot, writing the email, her little sister came around the corner and her face was annoyed. 

“What’s wrong?” Y/N asked.

Tears came to Josie’s eyes and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Jason says you were really rude to him about Dad’s suit. I don’t think that was called for. I mean, he was trying to help; he was doing us a favor by going to get it. He says you told him he screwed up. That really upset him.”

Y/N stopped writing and closed her phone. “Jo, Dad wanted a suit like the blue one he wore when he and mom got married, remember?” 

Josie nodded and shrugged. “Yeah.” 

“Well, Jason got a black tuxedo, with some kind of weird ruffled shirt.”

She pointed to the tux draped over the chair and Josie went over to pick it up. Her nose scrunched up and she dashed away her tears. 

“Oh.” Then she shook her head. “What the hell, this thing is way too small for him.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, that too.” 

“Ugh!” Josie dropped the tuxedo like it was filthy. “K, sorry, Y/N/N. I’ll go yell at him.”

Y/N grabbed her sister's arm. “No, sweetie. Don’t do that. I don’t want you to upset him. It was nice of him to try.” 

I also don’t need the added drama of you and your little boy spouse yelling and fighting. Y/N thought. 

But she gave Josie a kiss on the forehead and brushed her fingers through her hair, like she used to when they were kids and her baby sister would get in trouble. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’ll go find something else in a bit.”

Josie nodded and sniffled. “I still can’t believe this is happening, you know. I mean, I guess that’s stupid since he’s been sick so long, but…I don’t know, it just still feels sudden. I don’t know how that’s possible.”

Y/N pushed down her own tears to wipe away her little sister’s as they fell. “I know Joey.” She said, slipping into the childhood nickname that Josie had forced her to stop using in Junior High. “No matter what, he was here and then he was gone, and that will always feel sudden, I think.”

Y/N pulled her into a tight hug. “But him and mom are together again, tearing up heaven, I bet.”

Josie laughed softly through her tears. “Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised.” She sighed and pulled away, wiping her tears. “Yeah, they always said they were a match made in heaven, so I’m sure they rule the place already.”

The sisters chuckled together, as their fond memories mingled together and brought them each a moment of peace. Josie shattered it for Y/N by raising a curious eyebrow.

“So…speaking of a match made in heaven, any word back from Jensen?”

Y/N felt her stomach plummet and she shook her head quickly. “No, I couldn’t reach him. I left a message, but I know he’s shooting in Australia. So, he’s literally on the other side of the world. He won’t be able to make it.” 

She shook her head again, angry at herself this time. “It was stupid to call him anyway. I haven’t spoken to him for months, since before Dad even got sick. It was so friggin dumb to call and leave a voicemail being like, ‘Hey, my dad died.’ Ugh!” 

Josie gave her a sympathetic look. “No, you were right to let him know at least. He and Dad got along great when you guys were together, so I'm sure he’d wanna know. And who knows, maybe he’ll call you back at least.” 

Her gaze became calculating. “Which will give you the chance to tell him how stupid you were to let him go, and how much you still love him!”

“Uh uh.” Y/N replied  sharply. “That’s not happening, Jo. I can not think about anything like that right now.” 

The last thing she needed was for her ongoing Jensen heartache and the heartbreak from the loss of her father, to combine and completely debilitate her.

Josie looked like she was going to continue, but something in Y/N’s expression seemed to change her mind. Instead, she just shrugged and turned to leave.

“K, whatever you say. I’m starving. I need food.”

Y/N smiled, ignoring her own growling stomach. “Okay, I’m off to return the tuxedo and find something else.”  

Josie nodded and gave her a thumbs up. Y/N grabbed the tuxedo from the chair and made a mental note to text her aunt and tell her to take a cab from the airport, and she’d reimburse her. She could do that and finish the email in the car.

Y/N felt the scream growing in her chest once again as she faced the salesperson in the third store she’d been to. 

The tuxedo was still in the trunk of her car, because she’d forgotten to get the receipt from Jason, so that would have to be a task for another day. Right now she was simply trying to find a suit that fit her father’s last wishes.

She tamped down her frustrations and smiled at the young guy in front of her. “Okay, so you don’t have anything in a navy suit in that size, but do you have anything that looks anything like this?” She lifted the picture again for him to see.

He just lifted a careless shoulder. “No, it’s just what we’ve got out on the floor.”

Y/N felt her voice cracking as she spoke. “Okay, you have another location across town, right? Is there any chance they have something like it?”

“I dunno.” The guy said unhelpfully.

Y/N knew her smile was starting to look like a grimace and she tried to change that before asking. “Would it be at all possible for you to check with them before I drive all the way over there?”

“K, yeah, hang on.” The guy sighed deeply and walked towards the back, presumably to make the call.

When he was out of sight Y/N began to suck in deep breaths and force her smile back onto her face. After a moment of practice she felt like she was managing it, when she heard someone set off the door chime as they walked in.

She turned to look and her jaw dropped. Jensen stood just inside the door and he smiled at her; his voice was soft.

“Hey baby.”

“Jensen.” Y/N whispered. It felt like she was hyperventilating as she spoke, completely out of breath. 

“You came.” She said with wonder.

“You called.” He responded with a gentle smile and a shrug.

She blinked rapidly, desperate to keep her tears at bay. But Jensen walked up to her and tucked her hair behind her ear and cupped her cheek. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” 

It was as though he’d pressed some sort of release valve and she was suddenly absolutely incapable of holding back her tears. They flooded her, and noisy sobs left her mouth; she had no way to stop them.

Jensen pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her and rubbing her back. “Shh, it’s okay, baby, it’s okay.” He said softly as he rocked her slightly in his arms.

She felt as though the scream that had been building for days, was slowly leaking out of her through her tears; she quickly soaked Jensen’s sweater. All the while, he just held her, making soothing noises and kissing the top of her head and her temple, letting her cry as long as she wanted.

As her tears began to dry up, she heard the sales guy come back through the door. “So, the other store says they don’t -” There was a brief pause and Y/N turned away from Jensen’s chest in time to see the guy’s eyes nearly pop out of his head.

“Holy shit!” He said, exploding with excitement, his skinny body practically vibrating. “You’re Soldier Boy. I got Soldier Boy in the friggin store!”

Jensen pulled Y/N into his side, tucking her safely under his left arm and reaching out to shake the guy’s hand with his right.

“Hi, nice to meet you. What’s your name?” 

“H-Howie. I’m Howie.” He said, tripping over his words a bit.

Howie pulled his phone out of his pocket and raised it in front of him to snap a selfie that would include all three of them. Y/N turned her face into Jensen’s shoulder to avoid the camera. Jensen reached out and grabbed the phone away before Howie could snap the picture.

He handed it back with a smile. “Sorry Howie, but my friend here is going through a very rough time right now and I don’t think she’s in the mood for selfies.”

Howie frowned. “So, she doesn’t have to be in it.”

Y/N tried to pull away so she wasn’t in the picture, but Jensen tightened his grip and kept her flush against his side. 

“No, I think she’s gonna stay right here. Do you have the suit she needs?”

Howie’s face was scrunched up into annoyance. “No.”

“Okay, thanks then.” Jensen said and headed for the door.

“Wow, you’re an asshole!” Howie shouted at him as they walked out the door.

As they stepped out onto the sidewalk Y/N shook her head. “Jensen, you could have just taken the picture, I would have stepped away from you.”

Jensen shook his head. “N’ah, I wanted to keep you next to me.”

Y/N looked up at him, still processing the fact that he was actually here. “Jensen, I can’t believe you came all the way from Australia. And you’re working, can you really afford the time away? And how did you know where to find me?”

Jensen waved dismissively. “I went to your parents' house, and Josie said you were out trying to get a suit for your Dad.” He shrugged. “There are only so many suit shops in this town, just so happens I found you in the second place I went.”

He smiled and shook his head. “As for work and the rest of it, don’t worry about that, it doesn’t matter.” He cupped her cheeks and kissed her forehead. “How are you holding up, sweetheart?”

Y/N shrugged. “Mostly okay, I guess. I mean, Dad was pretty sick for the last three months, and the doctors were never hopeful.” 

She looked up at him guiltily. “Sorry I didn’t call you sooner. But I didn’t know if…I mean just, you know the way things…the way we left things, I didn’t know if…”

Jensen’s eyes were slightly shadowed, as he ducked his head and nodded. “No, I get it. But we don’t have to uh, we don’t need to talk about that right now. It’s not what’s important.” He straightened up and took a deep breath, and then smiled. “You need a suit for your Dad right?”

Y/N nodded. “Yes, he wanted it to look like this one.” She pulled the picture out of her purse and showed it to him. “But at this point, I’ll be happy to find any suit that will fit. You know, not a small guy, my dad.” She said with a fond smile.

“No, he sure wasn’t.” Jensen said with a smile. “Scared the shit outta me the first time I met him. But it was clear pretty quick that he was just a giant softy.” 

“Yeah.” Y/N agreed with another tear falling which she dashed away quickly.

Jensen pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a picture of the old wedding photo and then dialed a number. 

“Hang on.” He said, raising one finger as he stepped away. He spoke quietly with someone for a minute or two before returning to her side as he hung up.

“Okay, that’s done. I’ve got a friend who can get a suit just like that one.” He said, tapping the picture that Y/N still held. “I gave her your dad’s suit size, a 52" long, right?” 

Y/N nodded and he continued. “Also the name of the funeral home. She’s gonna coordinate with them, and the suit will be there first thing tomorrow morning.” 

He tucked his phone back into his pocket. “What’s next?”

Y/N shook her head, protesting. “No, Jensen, I’m sure you didn’t fly halfway across the world just to run errands.”

Jensen leveled a look directly at her. “Y/N, that is exactly why I flew here. Cause I know you.” He cupped her cheek gently. “I knew you’d be running around taking care of everything and everyone else, and forget about what YOU need.” 

He shrugged. “You won’t take care of yourself, so I will.” His gaze was warm and it made Y/N think of how it felt to come in from the cold and feel warm and safe. He smiled. “So, what’s next?”

By the time the pizzas showed up at six thirty that evening, everything was finished. All the errands and chores on her to-do list had been crossed off. Thanks to Jensen. 

He’d stepped in and taken over most of the list, consulting with her when he needed to, but mostly allowing her to just walk alongside him quietly as he got everything done.

It had caused a minor hullabaloo among her cousins when she showed up at the door with Dean Winchester in tow. They all knew she’d dated Jensen, but most of them had never gotten the chance to meet him. 

But Josie had come through and mercifully saved them all from embarrassment by shooing away the cousins and giving Jensen a kiss on the cheek.

“Told Y/N you'd come.” She said with a side glance at her sister that said, “I told you so.”

Eventually everyone found a spot to sit and eat their pizza, either in the kitchen, dining room or living room. Conversations tended to center around her dad, funny stories, or heartwarming ones, and she was happy everyone was celebrating him exactly the way he would have wanted.

A few hours later, as people began thinking about bed, Y/N came back into the dining room where Jensen was sitting, and saw him frowning at his phone. His face cleared as she approached him.

“What’s up?” She asked.

He shook his head. “Oh, nothing.” Y/N gave him a look that said she could wait all night for the real answer and he laughed. “I was just trying to book a room, but it seems as though your one hotel and two bed and breakfasts are all full.”

Y/N gave him a sympathetic look. “Yeah, sorry. Ordinarily there’s not a whole lot of tourism in town. But right now, I think most of the rooms have been taken by people here for the funeral.” She shrugged and smiled. “Dad was well loved.”

Jensen reached out to squeeze her hand. “Yeah, he was.”

Y/N felt the warmth from his fingers travel up her arm and tingle across her skin. It was a pleasant feeling that she knew all too well, a kind of anticipation that always led to something more between them.

Jensen seemed to sense it too because he dropped her hand and stood up. He cleared his throat. “It’s no big deal. I can just drive into Kingston and find a room there.”

Y/N shook her head. “No, that's an hour and a half drive each way. Why waste the time? Just…just stay here. We’ve got room.”

Jensen gave an awkward chuckle and looked around the rooms packed with people. “Where? Under the porch?”

Y/N gave him a teasing smile. “Well, you scoff, but the raccoons gave it a very solid four stars.” They stood awkwardly for a minute more before she shook her head. “Seriously, though, I’m sure we can find one more bed to stash you in.”

Jensen agreed reluctantly, but as it turned out, finding an open space was tougher than it seemed. All the rooms were very much at capacity, and so were the couches. There was floor space down in the basement with the cousins, but Y/N knew they’d stay up most of the night playing video games which wasn’t exactly conducive to Jensen's sleep.

Finally she just shook her head and gave in to the idea that made her stomach twist but also squeeze tight and fill with butterflies. She put on her most nonchalant voice. 

“You know what, this is dumb. Just stay in my room. It's just me in there right now, so I've got the space and you know. Not like we haven’t bunked together before, right?”

Y/N knew her choice of words was dumb. “Bunking” was not how she would describe her nights in bed with Jensen. Her mind was instantly filled with memories of him pressed tight against her body, the feel of him moving inside her, tracing his hands over every inch of her, making her burst to life with a mere flick of his tongue.

She thought maybe Jensen was experiencing the same memories, because his gaze was intense and heated before he snapped his head to the side, looking away from her. “That’s,” his voice was hoarse, “probably not…I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Y/N nodded, though he wasn’t looking at her. Her cheeks flushed and she was quick to backtrack. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s a…you can just crash in the basement. The guys will be a bit noisy, but…just tell them to shut up if they get to be too much.” She forced a chuckle, and Jensen seemed to grab it like a lifeline, forcing a laugh too.

“Yeah, absolutely. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He clasped his hands together at waist height and rubbed his palms in circles, a tell that Y/N remembered meant that he was nervous. “I’ll just grab my bag from my car.” 

He pointed vaguely towards the outside and Y/N nodded. “Yeah, okay. Then you can just head down and make yourself at home.”

They stood awkwardly for a minute more and then he leaned down to kiss her cheek. It was only a peck, but his lips were so soft and lush that it still made Y/N’s heart flutter.

He pulled back with a warm smile and an emotion in his gaze that she couldn’t interpret. “K, goodnight.” He said softly.

Y/N smiled back and tried to make it natural. “Goodnight. And, uh, just thanks. I mean, for everything today.”

Jensen shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

With a final squeeze to her hand he walked out to his car and Y/N practically ran up the stairs to her room.

@lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33

@alwaystiredandconfused @jzackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly

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@avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96 @stoneyggirl2

@fanfic-n-tabulous @traiitorjoe @lastcallatrockysbar

[magicshopaholic]

Words Unsaid (Jungkook x OC)

Summary: Jungkook has something he wants to ask you, but the timing just never seems to sit right.

Pairing: Jungkook x OC

Genre: Fluff

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 7.3 K

Warnings: none

A/N: This took longer than expected to post (but a surprisingly short amount of time to write). Savour it, for the angst will be back in full force next fic :D Takes place a couple of weeks after Unfinished Business and can be read standalone.

Tagging: @bbl32 @ggukkieland @bangtannoonalvg @pb-n-juju @juciu @jeoncookie-bts @quarter-life-crisis2 @dreaming-with-happiness @meirkive  @faearchives @margopinkerton @sumzysworld @purpleseoul7 @kflixnet (italics cannot be tagged. If you want to be added to the taglist, drop a comment or ask)

Listen to: "thinking out loud" by ed sheeran

jungkook masterlist | main masterlist

The sun is near setting when lunch comes to a natural end. Namjoon places his credit card on the bill out of habit and, somewhat conscious that it’s not just the two of them here, Jungkook drops his on top of it.

“All good, kid.” Namjoon good-naturedly flicks Jungkook’s credit card off the bill just before the waiter picks it up.

Feeling Lia’s eyes on him, vaguely amused, Jungkook feels his ears heat up and quickly pockets his credit card. “What’s your plan for the rest of the day?” he asks, desperate to change the topic.

“Not much.” He shrugs. “Probably pick up some stuff at this store we saw earlier today, then maybe a walk down the Han if it gets cooler…” He turns slightly as Kaya returns to her seat, fluffing out her hair a bit.

“Seoul has never been this warm, has it?” she remarks. “I’m glad I cut my hair before I came here.”

“It should rain soon,” answers Lia, in her accented English. While her grasp on the language hadn’t necessarily been a surprise to Jungkook, the way it sounded - and how much he liked it - definitely was. She hadn’t ever spoken much English around him, for there was never much of a need, but when Kaya visited and they’d finally met, Jungkook discovered he was obsessed with her English accent. It made her sound older, unattainable and - ironically – more Korean.

“Maybe it will,” says Namjoon, nodding and looking out the glass windows at the sunlight.

“Maybe it will while you’re walking down the Han river,” points out Jungkook. 

“Looking forward to it.”

“Oh, that reminds me - can we make a detour home before we head to the market?” Kaya asks him. “I need to pick up my power bank. My phone’s almost dead.”

Namjoon nods. “Sure. You guys need a ride?” he asks Jungkook and Lia.

“Oh -” They exchange a look, for they were dropped by a company car after Jungkook finished filming a promo. “Actually, yeah,” says Lia, nodding. “We also need to stop by, uh, Jungkook’s house for a minute. You’ll want to change, I guess?”

Jungkook nods mutely, his neck getting hot again. He avoids Namjoon’s eyes; the older member’s subtle questioning a couple of days ago, about how serious is this getting, had been one thing. That, coupled with the abrupt way he and Lia had stopped talking when Jungkook had returned from the men’s room earlier during lunch, made him uneasily conscious that something was still unsaid.

They head out of the restaurant, waiting until Namjoon’s car is brought out by the valet before ducking inside quickly, Kaya in the driver’s seat and Namjoon in the passenger seat next to her. Jungkook notices a few phones out in the open and pointed towards them as they drive away.

“See you tomorrow!” Lia waves at them as they drive away from the porch of Jungkook’s building in Hannam-dong, where his new penthouse sits tucked into the top floor. As the car disappears around a corner, both of them turn around and head inside together.

In the lift, Jungkook watches the numbers increase, his hands in his pockets and his bottom lip between his teeth. The words are there, somewhere, in moments at the tip of his tongue and in others, so far away that they may as well be someone else’s.

“Hey.”

He’s jerked out of his reverie. “Yeah.”

Lia is looking at him, frowning slightly. “Everything okay? You’ve barely said two words since we left.”

“I’m fine,” he answers as the lift stops and they step out, the doors opening right in front of his apartment. “I just, uh…” He pats his pockets and pauses. “... forgot my keys. I think. Shit.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she mutters easily, reaching into her small sling bag for her own keyring and selecting the shiniest one. “This is when it helps to have a spare set with someone else,” she points out.

Jungkook nods sheepishly and steps aside so she can unlock the door to his home. “Actually, Lia…” He takes a deep breath as Namjoon’s face swims to the forefront of his mind, the familiar raised eyebrow and chin tilted upward that, irritatingly knowing but unwilling to give him the answer. No, he would want Jungkook to come up with the answer himself. 

He clears his throat as Lia pauses. “Yeah?”

“Um, I was wondering -” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Just say it. Say it. He makes the mistake of glancing at her again, her raised eyebrows and - to his slight anxiety - hopeful expression.

Shit.

“Would you, um… do you think you would you like to…” 

Come on now, Jungkook, Namjoon would say sternly. Say it already.

“... try a beef bulgogi tonight? I know we usually do pizza on Sunday nights but I saw this recipe online and I really wanted to try it. Plus, we won’t even have to shop - we have that fillet in the freezer so part of the work is really already done, if you think about it…”

He’s rambling, he knows, but it’s only to try and distract himself from the annoyance at himself as well as the brief but clear disappointment in her expression. Her shoulders fall slightly and she bites her lip, turning back to the door and pushing it open halfway.

“Beef bulgogi sounds great,” she says finally, looking up at him after a moment’s hesitation, and giving him a small smile. “Thanks.”

He follows her inside, still deflated. Lia goes straight to the fridge for a bottle of cold water while he heads into his room, shedding his t-shirt on the way. Turning on the bathroom light, he grabs his facewash from the wall-mounted shelf, half-stocked with haircare products, face scrubs, masks, serums and a tub of scrunchies and claw clips. A Dior perfume he’d gifted her earlier this year was also there next to his own Calvin Klein cologne. 

Realising he’s been staring at her belongings for over a minute with emulsified facewash on his face, he quickly scrubs it off and hurries out, passing by her chest of drawers next to the closets. 

Jungkook wishes he wasn’t such a coward. He wishes he had the exact right words and that his mouth moved on its own to deliver the message to her. She’d helped him set up the apartment when he’d moved in last month; most of her belongings are here, she returns here more often than not after work, half the groceries in the pantry are stocked by her. She has a set of keys, she uses his extra parking space - but none of it matters as long as it’s still Jungkook’s house. 

In the kitchen, Lia is standing by the counter with a bowl of watermelon in front of her, scrolling on her phone. She looks up when he enters. 

“I cut the other half that was in the fridge,” she informs him. “Rest of it is inside.”

He swallows. “Thanks.”

Jungkook doesn’t know what he would do without her. The house feels far too big and empty when she isn’t around and he wishes there were some way for her to get that message without him having to spell it out.

But if you do spell it out, comes Namjoon’s voice again, what’s the worst that could happen.

She could say no and then I could die, he thinks, shuddering.

He stands on the opposite side of the counter and leans over to examine the pink fruit. Lia raises an eyebrow and pops a piece into his mouth. 

“Wow. Sweet,” he comments, voice slightly muffled. 

She half-chuckles and nods, going back to her phone and taking a piece as well.

Say it. But is this really the moment? Does there need to be a moment? What would that moment even look like? What would she want that moment to -

“Kook,” says Lia, slowly placing her phone down. “I was thinking… I’ve been coming over here after work the last few days. And I’ll probably be here tomorrow as well, so…” She bites her lip.

“Yes,” whispers Jungkook breathlessly. If Lia were to ask the question - nothing like it. No chance of rejection, no scope for awkwardness. Of course, if any of the guys got wind of the fact that she had been the one to ask, they wouldn’t let him live it down, especially Jimin. Suddenly, he half-hopes she isn’t asking.

“Do you think it would be weird if, you know…”

Holy shit. Screw Jimin and his opinions. Despite a crappy first date a year ago, if this is really how far they’ve come since then, he should consider himself the luckiest man in the world. Unexpectedly, Jungkook’s heart begins to race. 

“… if I went home on Monday evening? It’s been a while and I have an important meeting on Tuesday and all my blazers are at home so in a way, I have to…”

Jungkook nods mutely, barely hearing her, for his heart is hammering so loudly he can hear it in his teeth. It occurs to him that Lia might have been anticipating the same question and subsequently felt the same disappointment, and it only serves to make him feel worse.

“… take my car, too. Jungkook?”

He looks up warily, irrationally worried his shame might be written on his forehead for her to see, possibly triggering her to pull the plug on this entire thing, this whole relationship, to save herself the embarrassment of dating a silly pop star who can’t string six words together -

“Hm?”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine,” he chokes. “Thanks for the, uh, the fruit.”

Lia raises her eyebrows, but there’s a flash of knowing in her eyes. Not wanting to decipher it, for there’s no telling where his mind will take him, he shakes his head slightly and leans forward, kissing her on the cheek.

It doesn’t end there. Later that evening, Jungkook is still reeling from his horrendous inability to pluck up the courage to ask his girlfriend a simple question. The general mood between them seems to have gone back to normal, somewhat, but it nags at the corner of his mind.

They are heading to the executive floor gym in his building, accessible only to the handful of residents on the top floor, when another opportunity seemingly presents itself.

It’s a glorious workout in one of the best gyms in the country; in fact, Jungkook is rather upfront about it being one of the main reasons he chose to buy a property in this particular building in Hannam-dong. Towards the end of a particularly difficult set of reps on the bench press station, Jungkook looks up to see a face, upside down and hovering above him.

“Shit!” he gasps, gripping the barbell tightly so it doesn’t fall on him. 

Eunwoo grins. “What’s up? Wasn’t expecting to see you here today.”

“I could’ve died,” points out Jungkook, sitting up and giving him a friendly dap. “No, Lia wanted to work out, too, and it’s been a, uh… somewhat stressful day.”

“Yeah?” Eunwoo, also sweating and glowing, looks around the gym with his hands on his hips. “Lia is here? Oh, there she is…” He nods at the treadmills where she’s jogging fast, AirPods in and the rest of the world shut out.

They chat for a bit about nothing in particular, catching their breath. Somewhere during the conversation, while they’re at the water station and filling up tiny glasses with fruit-infused ice water, Jungkook wonders if the time has truly come to pick another’s brain. Eunwoo is a good friend and they’ve known each other a while, but it would be the first time he’s actively confided in someone else about his love life. From his experience, it could go either way.

While he’s pondering this, Eunwoo nods and flashes a smile at something over his shoulder.

“Hey, guys.” Lia walks over and pours herself a glass. Her skin pale and glowing, her cheeks flushed lusciously. The ends of her high ponytail stick to her damp collarbones and Jungkook bites his lip without thinking, ridiculously attracted to her at the moment.

“Noona, do you agree with JK’s plan of building a home gym?” Eunwoo asks, seamlessly continuing their discussion. “It’s going to be so much maintenance of equipment,” he tells him, shaking his head.

“Really?” Lia turns to Jungkook, frowning. “When did that happen? I thought you were happy with this gym.”

“I am - and I’m not planning on building a home gym,” he clarifies, suddenly anxious with both sets of eyes on him. “I was just discussing the merits of possibly having one.”

“Such as?”

“Well… privacy, for one. I know the building has good security but they're also fairly lax with allowances,” he points out, not wanting to specify the incident last week that had prompted this train of thought, when he was half-certain he’d spotted someone pointing their phone at him and Lia. 

“Allowances? You mean guests?” Eunwoo wrinkles his nose. “They don’t allow guests in here.”

“Yes, they do.”

“No, they don’t. They don’t allow anybody but residents in the gym.”

There’s a brief but painful pause following his words. 

“They do, actually,” says Lia.

“I don’t think so.”

“Yes, they do,” adds Jungkook tightly, glaring at Eunwoo and moving his eyes deliberately in Lia’s direction, hoping to God he’ll drop it.

Eunwoo frowns slowly, apparently working this out. “What?” he mutters, shaking his head at Jungkook. “No, I’m just saying… wait, how are you so sure?”

“Because I’m technically a guest,” says Lia lightly.

“You are?” Eunwoo raises his eyebrows. “But I thought you were - oh.” To Jungkook’s horror, a blush creeps up his friend’s face. Lia goes still next to him and it takes every ounce of Jungkook’s strength to not turn in her direction.

For the next few seconds or so, the three of them stand there in silence, scarcely making a movement. 

“Excuse me? May I?”

“Yes! Of course, of course -” Jungkook immediately blurts out while Eunwoo practically trips over himself to take a step back and make way for another patron. 

“I’m going to stretch and cool down for a bit,” says Lia, touching Jungkook’s shoulder. “How far along are you?”

“Oh, I still have a bit to finish,” he answers, a bit apologetically. “I was going to box for a bit before ending with cardio.”

“That’s fine, I'll just head back h- uh, to your place and shower… if that’s okay?”

Not least because she hasn’t needed to ask such a question in months, Jungkook nods wordlessly. She gives him a small smile and moves away, and Jungkook watches her leave before turning back around to see Eunwoo giving him a look.

“Shut up,” he mutters.

Eunwoo chuckles as they head over to the boxing bag. “Man, I am so sorry about that. I really thought you’d asked her to move in with you - I thought part of the reason you bought a new house was because you wanted her to move in. You were asking about bathrooms with his-and-her sinks, man. What happened?”

“Okay, first of all, I only asked if you’ve ever seen one in real life - not that I wanted one,” he corrects immediately, strapping on his gloves while Eunwoo gets behind the bag, ready to hold it. 

“And the other thing?”

“I’m working on it,” mutters Jungkook, going into stance and holding his hands up. “I just want to do it right. Make sure it’s a good time, that I’m not hurrying anything - that kind of thing.”

Eunwoo hums and nods. “Well, if it helps, she didn’t seem freaked out. If anything, she looked a little annoyed.”

Jungkook freezes. “She did? She looked annoyed - wait, really? Are you serious?”

His eyes widen. “Wh- no. Not - not annoyed like that. Not like a pissed off annoyed, more like a… like a chill annoyed.” When Jungkook says nothing, he shakes his head. “You know what? Don’t worry about it. Maybe it is too soon. Or maybe it isn’t,” he amends quickly. “What do I know? You know my last three relationships lasted, like, four months each - so I’m probably not the best person to be giving you any kind of advice.”

“That’s the most airtight thing you’ve said so far,” mutters Jungkook. “Alright, I’m coming in.” Waiting a moment for Eunwoo to grip the bag, he cocks his elbow back and punches it.

—

Despite his deadly faux pas, Eunwoo had inadvertently provided Jungkook with a rather helpful bit of direction. Perhaps it is time for him to lean on a friend for advice, but Eunwoo was also right that he is not one of them, not with his flighty flings and lack of depth in them. The advice matters and so does the friend, prompting Jungkook to ask himself: which of his friends is the expert on the opposite of short-term flings?

“Namjoon hyung!”

Namjoon stops in his tracks at the sound of his name and turns, waiting for Jungkook to catch up with him. 

“Oh, thanks,” says Jungkook, taking a cigarette from the pack Namjoon offers him and leaning forward so he can light it. “Thanks for getting us the evening off, by the way.”

“Kaya is leaving this weekend,” is all Namjoon says in response, shrugging.

“Right.” Jungkook nods, taking a drag and blowing it out, wondering briefly if he should care that they might be seen smoking right outside the Hybe building. “Won’t this make you a couple minutes late, though? If you want to make the best of the next few days?”

Namjoon chuckles. “I don’t want to smoke inside the house.”

“Uh-huh. Speaking of which…” He exhales, suddenly nervous. “I was hoping for some advice.” He clears his throat. “Regarding… relationships.”

Namjoons raises his eyebrows but says nothing else. “M-hm.”

“I have reason to believe,” he begins slowly, “that Lia might want me to ask her to move in with me.”

“Okay.”

Jungkook pauses, searching his leader’s face for a hint. Finding none, he continues. “Well… I want to ask her. But I also don’t want her to feel like I’m asking her just because she wants me to ask her. And I also don’t want to mess it up.”

“How would you mess it up?”

“I don’t know… maybe I’m completely off track and she doesn’t want to move in with me at all? Maybe she thinks it’s too soon?”

Namjoon nods, hearing him out. Then he shakes his head. “Well, personally, I don’t think that’s the case.”

“What isn’t? You think she wants to move in?” Jungkook’s momentarily relief is interrupted by a horrifying thought. “Oh, my God - did she say something to you? Yesterday, at brunch, when I went to the men’s room?”

“Jungkook, you were gone for two minutes.”

He’s about to argue but stops himself. He knows Lia and she is hardly the type to secretly vent her feelings to his friends behind his back, hoping it will get back to him. No, she’s more straightforward than that.

Somewhat satisfied, he takes a different turn. “Okay, let’s get down to it, then. How did you ask Kaya to move in?”

“Well…” Namjoon frowns thoughtfully. “Actually, I didn’t.”

“You… what?” Jungkook squints. “Wait, so… you didn’t ask? You both just knew, telepathically, when to start living together?” he asks incredulously, thinking privately that it could just be believable.

“No,” says Namjoon patiently, chuckling again and flicking some ash off his cigarette. “I didn’t ask because I didn’t have to. Where else is she supposed to live when she comes to Seoul? Where am I supposed to live when I go to see her?”

“Yeah… okay, but… well, would you say you live together?” he presses. “Or do you just, like, crash at each other’s place when you visit?”

“Well, we definitely don’t crash at each other’s place,” he mutters. “Maybe we did right in the beginning? I guess I’d say we live apart, but it’s only because we have to. I don’t know - when she came to Seoul for work last year while I was in service, she stayed at Hannam even though her aunt lives in the city, too.” He shrugs. “If that helps.”

“Huh.” Jungkook considers this. “So, like, do you guys ‘go home’ or do you go back to ‘your place’?”

“Home,” he answers casually, not skipping a beat. “Even her apartment is home. ‘Home’ is what you make it, to a large extent. It’s a place of comfort - an apartment is only part of that,” he says wisely. “I feel more at home in her studio apartment in London with her than at Hannam by myself. The people make the home - and that’s for you to decide.”

Jungkook stares, feeling his cigarette burn away in his hand. “That’s really not the kind of thing I’m looking for, hyung,” he states, before dropping his face in his hand.

Namjoon clicks his tongue and stubs his cigarette on the tray atop the trash can next to him. “Don’t overthink it,” he says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Go about it logically: she’s been your girlfriend for six or seven months now, you bought a new place which is significantly bigger than your old one and she’s in her thirties, meaning she’s most likely thinking long-term.” 

Jungkook gazes at Namjoon’s raised eyebrows, quite certain he’s meant to pick up some meaning out of this. “So…”

“So… if you’re worried she might say no…”

“Chances are… she probably won’t?”

Namjoon grins and nods. “Exactly. Just be yourself, be genuine, be honest - and remember you’re both together for a reason. And I think - I think - she has a thing for you, too,” he adds seriously.

“One can only hope,” he mutters, albeit slightly mollified. “I really don’t want to mess this up.”

Namjoon observes him - for too long. For a moment, it seems as though he’s about to say something that makes Jungkook’s stomach jolt unpleasantly, but at the last second, he shakes his head.

“Impossible to mess it up. Honestly,” he says reassuringly, and Jungkook almost believes him. “It’s a part of the journey and if you think she’s expecting it, just take the plunge. Don’t add unnecessary pressure by trying to make it perfect.”

While the last bit simply isn’t in Jungkook’s DNA, he nods anyway. 

—

“Damn it.” 

Lia doesn’t look up from the email she’s writing, despite Dal’s repeated exclamations from the kitchen. Finally, he sticks his head out around the door.

“Did you know the faucet is leaking?”

“Yes,” she mutters, still not looking away from her screen.

“And did you know it’s dripping out of the sink zone and onto the floor?”

“Yeah?”

“And did you know it’s fucking disgusting?”

Lia sighs and finally turns her head to glance at him. “Yes, I know. I mopped it up this morning.”

Dal steps out, frowning. “So this much water leaked in the last six hours?” When Lia nods, he sighs heavily and trudges into the living room, falling onto the sofa. “I suppose we can text the landlord but I don’t know what good that will do.”

“Probably as much as it did when we told him about the seepage in the bathroom ceiling.”

“Yeah. Didn’t realise the kind of shoulder strength you need to baste upwards.” A moment later, he chuckles. “Helped that there were three of us there, though. Jungkook was really looking for any excuse to be around you back then, wasn’t he?”

Without meaning to, Lia feels a smile creep up her face at the memory. “It was cute,” she says, slightly defensive. “And we really needed the extra hands, especially to clean up.”

“Oh, sure.” There’s a comfortable silence, the only sound being the clicking of Lia’s keyboard. “Speaking of,” he speaks, and his tone is slightly different, “I’m surprised to see you here.”

Lia doesn’t look up, but she’s certain she knows where he’s going with this. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. You haven’t been around much.”

“You think so?”

“M-hm. In fact, I was starting to wonder if you’d moved out or something and I missed the memo.”

“You were still paying only half the rent, though, weren’t you?”

“Lia.”

“‘Sup.”

From the corner of her eye, she sees a movement and ducks out of habit.

“Lee-lee,” he says again, and she finally meets his gaze.

“I know what you’re getting at, and no,” she says dryly, “no updates on that front. I’m still your roommate for the foreseeable future.”

Dal raises his eyebrows. “Okay.”

Lia turns back to her laptop but doesn’t resume her typing. “What?”

“What what?”

“You’re still looking at me.”

“No. I’m just looking in your general direction.”

She gives him a look. “Just say it.”

“I thought you were moving in with Jungkook.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because he told me last time he came over that he wanted you to move in with him.”

Lia scoffs. “No way did he say that. Liar.”

“Fine, he didn’t use those exact words,” he admits, rolling his eyes. “But he just happened to mention that his new place is bigger, that the gym is fantastic, that it has a really good running trail or something…”

“Maybe he was just making conversation?”

“... and how much closer it is to the Hybe office.”

He works at Hybe, too, technically. The words are on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t deflect anymore; Dal will see right through it. She sighs and puts her laptop away.

“What do you want me to say?” she asks steadily. “We aren’t living together. It’s not the end of the world.”

“I’m not saying it is, at all.” He holds up his hands. “Do you want to, though?”

Lia is silent for a moment. “He needs to ask first. But… yeah, I guess. Could be fun. We’ll save on a lot of fuel.”

“Ooh, stop, I’m swooning.”

She flashes him an embarrassed sort of smile. “You know what I mean. We basically do live together already - but this is a big deal for Jungkook. He’s never done the long-term relationship, adult couple milestone thing before. The last thing I want to do is scare him off.”

Dal nods thoughtfully. “Well, hopefully it’ll go better than your last adult couple milestone thing.”

She snorts, covering her face. “Hey, to be fair, I did move in with him,” she points out. “Kind of.”

“You lasted less than a month before you were back here.”

“Yeah. God, he was such a manchild. Can’t believe I was ever attracted to him.”

“I told you he had an asshat kind of face. But you didn’t listen. Didn’t he have a shrine to his ex-girlfriend in the bathroom or something?”

“It was a couple of bottles of her shampoo and lotion, not a shrine,” she corrects him, “but, sort of. He was so blown away when I asked him to get rid of it - like, sue me, I don’t want to live with my boyfriend and sentimental haircare products belonging to his ex. It just goes to show, you never know enough about your partner until you actually share a living space together.”

“You think there’s more to Jungkook? Because I like him for you, honestly. But he seems to be a more…” Dal grimaces, trying to find the word, “... what you see is what you get… kind of person.”

“That’s a good thing,” she remarks. “Means there’s no lying, no games. None of that shit.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Well, it’s good you know what you want. How long are we planning to wait for him to pop the question?”

“We are not waiting for anything. I, on the other hand…” 

It’s a good question, unfortunately, one that Lia has deliberately tried not to think about because there’s simply no correct answer.

“... will take things as they come.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

She narrows her eyes at her oldest friend, recognising both teasing masking genuine concern. “I’m not going to pressure Jungkook. And I’m not going to get my hopes up either,” she states, trying to ignore the quiet tugging at her heart and standing up, stretching.

“Hey, just say the word and I will -“ Dal makes a flailing kind of gesture and flexes his triceps, “- whip him into shape.”

“Oh, really? Not only will it probably be evenly matched, but who’s going to help you both carry cartons of beer into each other’s houses if you’re both maimed?” She taps her temple sarcastically.

“Well, you’ll be a resident in one of our houses at any given time so I guess we’ll be looking at you.” Dal shrugs in satisfaction as Lia chuckles and starts heading inside her bedroom, considering a shower before bed.

“Oi, Lia.” 

Lia turns in her doorway, recognising the subtle change in tone once again. It wasn’t surprising that Dal and Jungkook got along easily enough; despite her boyfriend’s initial reservations, most of which were based on Dal’s gender and inopportune timing, he had eventually moved past it to begin actually enjoying his company. Oh, he would never admit it, but Lia had woken up more than once in her own bed, alone, while hearing two male voices laughing in the living room with the television on.

As for Dal, the only thing he had needed to say was “Lee-lee, for once, you’ve found a good boy.”

Therefore, while Lia prefers to handle her relationships herself, she recognises the value of her oldest friend’s opinion.

“I just want to let you know,” he begins seriously, and she feels the muscles in her face go slack. He bites his lip. “I just wanted to let you know,” he repeats, “that if Jungkook has a shrine to his ex in his house, you can always move back in here.”

There’s relief, and Lia doesn’t want to admit there’s relief. “Shut up,” she mutters, turning back around as Dal laughs at his own joke behind her.

It’s not the greatest comfort, but Lia uses it as such after that. Worst case, I move back in with Dal, she thinks. We stay roommates until we’re eighty, when either I die first from stress about work or he does driving his car like a maniac. Jungkook brings a carton of beer to the funeral and shares it with whichever one of us is still alive.

It’s a mildly depressing train of thought, especially when she imagines her eighty year old self heading back to her apartment while seventy-seven year old Jungkook, in his infinite wisdom, still hasn’t asked her to move in with him.

Nearly a week later, Lia has successfully kept her desires to herself, while Jungkook has continued trying to pretend he isn’t thinking about it just as much.

“Remind me again why we’re going to this club?” she asks him as they walk to his car in the basement parking. “It doesn’t really sound like your scene.”

“It isn’t,” he admits. “But the DJ tonight is a friend of a friend… of an acquaintance, who’s also kind of an ex-colleague.” He wrinkles his nose. “I wouldn’t normally go but he helped me out during the production of my debut album and I accidentally told him I owed him.”

“Ah. Mistake number one.”

“It might be. You look quite club-ready for someone who doesn’t really enjoy clubs either,” he remarks, playfully smacking her backside. “Leather pants and everything.”

“Faux leather,” she corrects, leaning over and bumping his hip with hers. “I figured I may as well look the part of a popstar’s girlfriend. Plus,” she adds after a moment, as they climb into the car and begin strapping in, “it’s the only party outfit I have at your place.”

Predictably, Jungkook freezes for a moment before clumsily buckling himself in. He doesn’t meet her eyes and swallows as he looks ahead.

“By the way, I hear the gin martinis at this club are to die for,” he declares, completely transparent. “Did you know, the martini is one of the top five drinks people order on a first date?”

Abrupt subject change coupled with a random fact that doesn’t sound completely true; Jungkook is nervous. It’s exasperating and endearing all at once.

“That’s… interesting. Maybe you should’ve invited your single friends tonight. Or if this DJ is an ex-colleague, at least the ones in your group.”

“What, all two of them?”

“Isn’t it three?”

“I don’t think so.” Jungkook shrugs as they pull out of Hannam Hill. “Or maybe it is. I don’t know. Yoongi hyung isn’t very forthcoming about his dating life and I’m too afraid to ask.”

Lia chortles as they turn into the main road, reaching for her party clutch for her phone, when she realises…

“Oh, no,” she mutters under breath.

“What?”

“I, uh…” She bites her lip, internally swearing at herself. “I was moving stuff from my regular bag to the clutch and I forgot… you know what, can we make a quick detour to my apartment? It’s on the way.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is. If you take a right after the signal then you can take the parallel road to the church at the end of my street.”

“That’s not the same road - and come on,” he whines, his shoulders falling. “I don’t want to take a detour. What did you even forget? Power bank? Because my phone is fully charged.”

“It’s not a power bank - look, it’s kind of important, Jungkook. It’ll take, like, five extra minutes.”

“But -”

“Kook!”

“What? What did you even forget that’s so important? Is it make-up or something? Because you look -”

“It’s tampons, Jungkook.”

“It’s -”

“Tampons,” she repeats. “And I don’t want to stop at a drugstore because they may not have the exact brand that I use and most of the others chafe… down there.”

There’s a few seconds of silence while Jungkook stares out of the windshield as the car zooms down the road, his ears turning red.

“Which signal was it again?”

True to her word, they reach her three-storey apartment building a few minutes later and jog up the stairs together.

“I swear, I just need to pick up a couple of extras,” she promises him. “The last time I was caught without any on me and then I had to borrow one and it was just the worst time I - oh, my God!”

Lia gasps as she stops in her tracks in the doorway of her apartment, Jungkook right next to her. 

“Is that -”

“Water,” she sighs, shaking her head. “Shit, it came into the living room? I thought we fixed that damn leak,” she mutters. She places her hands on her hips and looks up at Jungkook.

“Well?”

Jungkook looks blank. “Well… what?”

“Well… I’m going to have to wade in there,” she says slowly, already dreading it. “Do you want to come?”

“Ordinarily, I would love to because that sounds so fun, but these are Balenciaga.” He raises his right leg to show her his shoes, mimicking her position until Lia looks away.

“Alright. Wait here then,” she tells him, before gingerly placing one heeled foot into the water and cringing in anticipation. It reaches ankle deep, missing the hem of her pants only due to the height of her heels. With no specific attachment to her shoes, she takes a couple of more hesitant steps.

“Ugh, I can hear the faucet dripping from here,” she grumbles. “Sure you want to just wait out there?”

“Totally. You’re doing great, though, baby.” He grimaces as she walks further in. “Is it cold? It looks cold.”

“No, it’s room temperature. I’m just glad it hasn’t reached the sofa or the cushions or anything in the - whoa!” Lia grabs the arm of the chair beside her as she slips, thankfully saving her ankles as her knee breaks the fall.

There’s a sound of splashing before Jungkook is right next to her a second too late. “Shit, you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. No injuries, I think.” She twists to see him kneeling next to her. “What happened to your Balenciagas?”

It seems to have occurred to him only now. “Oh…” He looks down at his shoes, now submerged. “I can try blow drying them, probably?”

“Probably.” She tries to hide a smile before giving up. “Take them off before they get any more damaged, though.”

He takes her advice this time and they both rid themselves of their shoes, tossing them on the chair before splashing their way into the kitchen.

Jungkook whistles. “Wow, that’s some leak,” he remarks, following her as she falls to her knees to get a good look at the thin but steady stream of water spilling from a crack in the pipe. “Is this the only leak?” he wonders out loud before pressing his hand against the crack so the water suddenly stops.

“No, there’s a small one here, too,” she answers, squinting at something on the other side of the pipe, a little higher up. “It’s only a few drops out of this one but it’s still bad enough.”

“Maybe we can -” Jungkook grunts and tugs at the pipe, “- wrench it into place? To block this crack?”

“Doubtful. It’s a really old pipe, too, so I’m afraid it might break.”

“It’s metal - can metal break?”

“I mean… yeah? I guess? Look, it’s all rusted up here.”

“Oh, yeah…”

In his effort to look, Jungkook’s hand slips off the crack and the flow of the water resumes. 

“Okay, this can’t go on - we need to block this for now so we can get rid of this fucking flood,” she decides, noting in worry how the water level is slowly rising. “And I’m calling the landlord tomorrow and giving him a piece of my mind.”

“Um -” Jungkook looks around from his position by the pipe. “We have a towel, some flour and stuff… maybe we stick some dough onto it?”

“Worth a shot but I don’t know if it’ll hold till tomorrow. Maybe we should try moving the pipe,” she admits, holding the top of it and wondering if it’ll work.

“Okay, let’s do that. Worst case, we find a plastic or metal box, cut it in just the right dimensions to cover the crack and fix it around the pipe.”

“Worst case.” 

Jungkook waves her over and they grip the pipe together. “If this goes south, just remember that I love you.”

Despite the chaos and the fact that her faux leather pants are damp and disgusting, Lia snorts. “Shut up, you dork. Come on, let’s do this.” Both of them pull the top part towards the lower one to try and close the gap.

“A little to the left, come on…”

“It’s - not - moving -” Lia bites her lip and jerks the pipe back, accidentally slipping again and falling back onto her boyfriend. The jolt makes Jungkook tip over and the pipe twists on the rust, bursting.

“Oh, my - “ Jungkook’s words are cut off when a jet of water hits him square in the face. Lia gasps and reaches for the pipe as he fumbles, sputtering, and lunges towards the pipe to turn it away.

“Jungkook, no! It’ll break if you -” 

But Lia is cut off as well and almost knocked backwards by the force of the water. It’s everywhere now; her clothes, her hair - she’s fully drenched. Next to her, Jungkook looks like he’s been dunked into a lake, his long thick hair sticking to his forehead.

“Take cover!” he yells, pulling open a cabinet behind him with one hand and yanking something out, while the other hand covers the jet of water uselessly. He replaces it with the lid of a cooking pan and tosses her another one which splashes into the water next to her.

“Thanks! I - Jungkook!” She brandishes the utensil while trying to dodge the water. “It’s a sieve!”

“What?”

“It has holes!”

“I can’t see! Wait -” He crawls towards the cabinet but slips midway, swearing loudly. 

“Careful!” She ducks and tries to get to the pipe but feels him grip her forearm and pull her back.

“You’ll hurt yourself!” he yells, handing her another pan. “Jesus - how did you guys let this stupid faucet get this bad?”

“I told you - our landlord is a jackass who ghosts us if we bring up fixtures!”

“Well -” Jungkook pauses, wincing a little as the water continues to ricochet off the pan he’s holding up. “In that case, this is probably as good a time as any to ask you this, but do you want to move in with me?”

Lia almost swallows a mouthful of tap water. “What?”

“Just - I mean, this apartment is unlivable!” he says loudly. “And I’m a much better landlord! And also -” He gags and spits out some water, “- I love you and all!” He shrugs awkwardly, drenched to the bone with his oversized t-shirt sticking to his shoulders and chest.

Lia tries - she really tries - to keep a straight face, to attempt to understand what goes on in Jungkook’s head. But it’s a lost cause, for at the end of the day, whatever it is, it just works. Through the irritation at her landlord and the general shock of being waterboarded by a broken pipe, she sees it. A shine in his doe eyes, a hint of nervousness. 

She doesn’t realise immediately why the water hits her suddenly with force or why Jungkook’s eyes widen belatedly.

“What are you doing? The water is - oh.” The anticipation turns into the beginnings of a smile when he works out why she has knee walked all the way towards him and he stands on his knees as well, just as she reaches him and places her arms around his neck, and kisses him.

When she pulls away, he’s grinning. “That’s a yes?”

“That’s a thank God you finally asked.” 

Jungkook nods sheepishly. “I wanted it to be perfect, honestly. I was just waiting for the right time and -” He sighs, shaking his head so droplets of water fall from his hair.

“You know what? I think this, unexpected as it was, is pretty perfect,” she says honestly. “So… I guess that’s a yes,” she clarifies, meeting him in a kiss once again.

There’s a muffled sound and then a splash, followed by a gasp.

“Oh, my God! What the fuck?”

Jungkook jerks away, pursing his lips. “As long as he is never allowed in our house,” he declares, glaring and pointing in the direction of the living room.

She gives him a look. “Pretty sure you’ll crack before I do on that front,” she guesses, just as Dal appears in the doorway of the kitchen, looking incredulous.

“What the fuck happened in here?”

“What do you think? That damn faucet,” she snaps, pointing at it. “This is the landlord’s problem now - he and his insurance can handle it.”

“I agree, but - God, are you guys okay?”

“Yeah, we were using lids…” Jungkook picks his up and places it in front of the stream of water, much more unfazed about it now than he was before. 

“Lids? Why didn’t you guys just turn off the water?” Taking a long step across the flooded kitchen floor, he reaches for a panel behind the left-most cabinet and twists a lever - and the water stops.

Speechless, Lia turns to look at Jungkook who is looking back at her with equal dismay. “We thought of dough before we thought of turning off the water,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“And we’re taking it to the grave,” she replies, squeezing his hand.

He’s wet, his designer clothes ruined - but Jeon Jungkook is glowing. A moment later, he squeezes her hand back.

“Deal.”

—

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