#and have written about him having a faint lavender scent to him; i like smells!!! candles and incense and sprays!!!

[shuavez]

AWKWARD — nicholas a. chavez

masterlist | inspo playlist

summary — a close friend’s destination wedding turns into an impromptu reunion between you and your all-grown-up college fuck-buddy. old flames reignite and tensions simmer in the italian sun, as you learn some sparks never really snuff out. inspired by awkward by sza.

word count — 25.1k

tags/warnings — feat. joshua hong, kim mingyu, a few other var. idols + ocs. fem!reader. forced proximity(?). eloping. 2 suggestive scenes. alcohol consumption (they’re in italy, it’s a lot of wine but nobody is drunk). best friends to lovers to scorned ex-situationship to friends to ???. angst for like 10 words because i just want everybody to be happy. josh and dae are plotting and scheming.

a/n — this is the longest piece i’ve written in years so i hope that you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. if anyone is interested besides me i may revisit these two in future as i am now Extremely emotionally attached to them. dedicated to my beautiful @titsout4nicholas who beta-read this and helped me flesh it out when i was stuck. please check out her writing at well!

DAY ONE

The cab winds its way up a narrow, cobblestone path, the engine purring as the late afternoon sun bathes the landscape in a golden glow. Between clusters of cypress trees, you catch glimpses of Lake Como shimmering like molten silver. The air feels impossibly clean, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers.

Joshua’s family villa looms ahead—a masterpiece of terracotta and ivy, perched like a crown atop the hill. You exhale slowly, the flutter in your stomach intensifying. You’ve travelled halfway across the world for this.

The cab stops in front of the grand iron gates, and you step out, your heels clicking against the stones. The estate is larger than you imagined, almost intimidating in its elegance. Joshua had joked in his messages that his aunt’s villa could host royalty, and now, standing here, you’re beginning to think he wasn’t exaggerating.

You press the buzzer, your nerves prickling as the gate buzzes open. Your suitcase rattles behind you as you make your way up the cobblestone driveway, flanked by gardens bursting with lavender and roses. The door opens before you can knock, and Joshua steps out, a grin already splitting his face.

“You made it!” His voice is warm, just like you remember, and the sight of him is enough to loosen the knot in your chest.

“Barely,” you tease, letting him pull you into a hug. “You didn’t mention how many hills I’d have to climb just to get here.”

He laughs, stepping back to look you over. “Italy suits you. You’re already glowing.”

“Please, I’ve been here for less than an hour,” you say, shaking your head.

“Well, Dae’s going to lose it when she sees you,” he says, ushering you inside.

The entryway is breathtaking—vaulted ceilings, marble floors, and soft sunlight pouring in through tall windows. There’s a faint citrusy smell in the air, mixed with fresh flowers. It’s almost too much to take in all at once.

“Where is Dae?” you ask as you trail behind Joshua.

“Probably trying to micromanage something,” he says with a fond roll of his eyes. “You know how she gets. Let me call her—”

Before he can finish, Dae appears at the top of the sweeping staircase. She practically sprints down, her steps light despite the heels she’s wearing. “You’re finally here!”

She pulls you into a tight hug, her excitement radiating off her in waves. “You look amazing,” she says, holding you at arm’s length for a moment.

“So do you,” you reply, meaning it. Her hair is swept up in a sleek ponytail, and she’s wearing a crisp white blouse that somehow looks effortless and chic.

“We’ve missed you,” she says, looping her arm through yours and steering you toward the living room. “Come on, let’s get you settled. You can tell us all about your flight, work—oh, and your love life.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Please,” Joshua chimes in from behind. “You’ve been suspiciously quiet in the group chat. That usually means something juicy is going on.”

“I’m literally here for your wedding,” you say, trying to deflect.

“And we love that for us,” Dae says with a grin. “But don’t think for a second you’re getting out of story time later.”

Their easy banter pulls you in, warming you from the inside out. For a moment, it’s as though no time has passed since the four of you spent late nights cramming for finals in your college apartment.

But there’s an undercurrent of unease you can’t quite shake. It surfaces when Dae casually mentions that some of their other friends will be arriving later. When you ask who, Joshua cuts in with a teasing, “You’ll see,” before Dae can answer.

The villa’s guest room is as luxurious as you expected, with a high ceiling, a plush king-sized bed, and a balcony that overlooks the lake. You set your suitcase on the bench at the foot of the bed and sink onto the mattress, letting out a long breath. The journey here had been a blur of airports, connections, and winding roads, but now, with the late-afternoon sun warming the tiled floor, the reality of being here finally settles in.

The villa hums with quiet life. Somewhere below, you can hear the soft clatter of dishes and distant laughter. Outside, the breeze carries the faint scent of lavender and rosemary, mingling with the warmth of the sun-soaked air.

You had barely finished catching your breath when Dae showed up, practically dragging you out of the room for a whirlwind tour of the estate.

“This place is magic,” she’d said, her excitement infectious as she led you down stone corridors and through hidden courtyards. Every turn revealed something new—a secluded fountain framed by climbing roses, a sun-dappled veranda, a cozy library tucked away on the second floor. “We’re using the garden for the ceremony. Just wait until you see it.”

The tour ended on the dining terrace, overlooking the shimmering lake. A long, rustic table had already been set with crisp linens, flickering candles, and bursts of wildflowers.

“This is where dinner will be,” Dae had said, her voice softer, almost reverent. “We wanted it to feel intimate, you know? Like something you’d do at home, but—”

“Much fancier,” you’d finished for her, smiling.

Now, back in your room, you find yourself lingering on the balcony, taking it all in. The lake stretches out below, its surface catching the last golden rays of sunlight. The moment feels quiet, still, a sharp contrast to the rush of life back home.

You let out a slow breath, resting your hands on the cool stone of the railing. It had been too long since you’d had a moment like this—too long since you’d seen Dae and Joshua, too long since you’d allowed yourself to just stop.

A knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts.

“It’s me!” Dae calls brightly.

You open the door to find her grinning, a whirlwind of energy in an elegant cream dress. “Dinner’s starting soon,” she says, glancing at you from head to toe. “Wow. You look amazing.”

You glance down at your outfit—a deep green dress that hugs your figure in all the right places. “Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Not bad? Excuse me, I look incredible,” she quips, flipping her hair dramatically before looping her arm through yours. “Come on. We’re sitting together, and you’ll want a drink before Josh starts his toast. He’s been rehearsing.”

The walk to the terrace feels like stepping into another world. The garden glows under strings of fairy lights, the long table a picture of effortless elegance. Music drifts softly in the background, mingling with the sound of laughter as Joshua holds court near the head of the table, gesturing animatedly.

“You did all this?” you ask Dae, marvelling at the details—the flowers, the candles, the cosy but luxurious ambiance.

She gives you a sheepish smile. “I had help, but yeah. It’s what we wanted—something small, personal. Just the people who matter most.”

Her words tug at something in your chest, and you squeeze her arm gently. “It’s perfect.”

As you take your seat, the warmth of the evening wraps around you, the glow of the lights adding a touch of magic to the scene. It feels like the start of something—not just a celebration, but maybe a shift, a moment to breathe and reconnect with the people who shaped the most important parts of your life.

“Breathe it in,” Dae says, nudging you with a grin. “This is just the beginning.”

The conversation around the table is light and easy, buoyed by Joshua’s endless charm and Dae’s quick wit. You find yourself laughing more than you expected, the warmth of the evening sinking into your shoulders and softening the edges of your travel fatigue.

“You two have met, right?” Dae asks suddenly, sliding back into the chair beside you after a round of wine refills.

You shake your head, glancing at the man Dae gestures to, sitting a few seats down. He’s hard to miss—tall, broad-shouldered, and ridiculously good-looking in a crisp white shirt that somehow makes him look even more tanned than he already is.

“Mingyu, this is my friend,” Dae says, leaning forward to catch his attention. “You’ll love her.”

Mingyu looks up, his easy grin spreading as he shifts his chair closer. “Ah, I’ve heard stories. You guys met in high school, right?”

You nod, offering a polite smile. “We did. And you’re…?”

“Mingyu,” he says, his voice smooth and warm. “Friend of Joshua’s. He’s been telling me about you guys for years.” He tilts his head, his dark eyes sparkling with curiosity. “You’re the one who keeps them in check, right?”

You laugh softly. “Someone has to.”

Dae nudges your arm, grinning. “Mingyu’s one of those guys who knows a little about everything. And he’s annoyingly good at all of it.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Mingyu says, leaning back casually. “I’m just here for the wine and the view.” His eyes flick to you for a moment, the faintest hint of flirtation in his tone.

You arch an eyebrow but say nothing, sipping your wine instead.

The conversation flows easily, with Mingyu sliding into the dynamic like he’s always been part of it. He teases Dae relentlessly, compliments her taste in wine, and somehow makes Joshua laugh so hard he has to set down his glass.

It’s almost enough to distract you from the quiet sense of anticipation that’s been building since the moment you arrived.

Almost.

You’re just about to ask Mingyu something about his work—he’s in hospitality, or maybe it was hotels?��when the quiet murmur of someone arriving pulls your attention to the garden gate.

Joshua stands, grinning broadly as he strides toward the gate. “Finally! Look who decided to show up!”

Your stomach twists sharply, and you glance instinctively toward the entrance.

Nicholas stands there, sweater slung over one shoulder, his shirt slightly rumpled as though he’d barely had time to catch his breath before arriving. The warm glow of the garden lights casts soft shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp cut of his jaw and the familiar intensity in his eyes.

Your fingers tighten around your wine glass.

He scans the group quickly, his expression carefully composed, but when his gaze lands on you, it falters just slightly. His lips part, and for a second, he looks…stunned. Like he hadn’t let himself consider the possibility of seeing you here, even though he should have known.

Then Joshua breaks the spell, clapping Nicholas on the back and pulling him into the fold. “Tough flight?”

“Delayed out of LAX,” Nicholas says simply, his voice as calm and measured as you remember. “But I made it.”

“And just in time,” Dae chimes in, standing to give him a quick hug. “We saved you a seat.”

Your stomach sinks as you realize exactly where that seat is.

Directly across from you.

Nicholas hesitates for the briefest of moments, his eyes flicking back to you as though weighing whether he has a choice. Then he lowers himself into the chair, nodding at the group.

The conversation resumes quickly, Joshua launching into a toast that draws laughter and applause, but you’re hyperaware of Nicholas’s presence, the quiet tension crackling in the air between you.

“Hi,” he says softly, leaning just slightly forward.

You force yourself to meet his gaze, offering a polite smile. “Hi, Nic.”

“Nic?” Mingyu interjects, leaning forward with a curious tilt of his head. “You two know each other?”

The question hangs in the air, and you feel Nicholas’s eyes on you, waiting for your response.

“He’s the fourth, in the core four. We went to college together,” you say evenly, keeping your tone light.

“More like survived college together,” Nicholas adds, his voice carrying just the faintest edge of warmth.

Mingyu glances between the two of you, something flickering behind his amused expression, but he doesn’t press further. Instead, he leans back in his chair, that easy grin returning. “Must have been some college.”

Nicholas’s jaw tightens slightly, though he doesn’t respond.

You sip your wine, doing your best to ignore the heat creeping up your neck as the conversation shifts away from you. But every so often, you catch Nicholas watching, his expression unreadable, and you can’t quite shake the feeling that you’ve been pulled into something you’re not ready to navigate.

And when Mingyu leans closer later in the evening, his voice low and teasing as he asks about your plans for the week, you don’t miss the subtle way Nicholas stiffens, his eyes flicking briefly in your direction.

For the first time tonight, you let yourself smile—not for Mingyu, not even for yourself, but for the quiet satisfaction of knowing Nicholas is watching.

The evening stretches on, the laughter around the table mellowing as glasses empty and conversations shift. You’ve managed to find a rhythm, the conversation flowing with Mingyu, Dae, and Joshua, but the tension between you and Nicholas lingers in the background like an uninvited guest.

Mingyu’s presence has certainly helped lighten the mood, and you find yourself laughing more easily than you expected, your earlier discomfort slowly melting away. His stories are ridiculous, and his charm is disarming in the best way, but there’s no denying the undercurrent of awareness that pulses through the room whenever your gaze meets Nic’s. It’s like there’s an invisible thread pulling you back to a time that feels both distant and incredibly close.

“Alright, alright,” Joshua finally says, pushing his chair back as the conversation dies down. “We’ll have to call it a night before Mingyu starts telling us about his gym routine again. Believe me, it’s all the same.”

Mingyu laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Guilty. But seriously, you should try it sometime, Joshua. Your abs could use a little work.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Dae interjects with a wink, standing to clear away the empty glasses. “He’s just mad because I won’t let him teach me how to ‘properly’ lift weights.”

You smile at the easy camaraderie between them, but as the evening winds down and the group begins to disband, the weight of the unspoken words between you and Nicholas hangs heavily in the air.

The others drift off in pairs—Joshua playfully nudging Dae as they head toward the kitchen, Mingyu wandering off with a last cheeky grin in your direction. You’re halfway to gathering the last of the plates when Nic’s voice stops you.

“Let me.”

You look up to see him standing there, hands already reaching for the empty bottles on the table. It’s a simple offer, but there’s something in his tone—something softer, unguarded. For a second, you consider brushing him off, but you step back instead, letting him take over.

“Thanks,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended.

Nic glances at you as he sets the bottles down, his expression unreadable. “You’ve had enough on your plate today.”

The comment feels loaded, though you can’t quite pinpoint why. You don’t respond immediately, instead fiddling with the edge of a napkin. He doesn’t move, lingering just close enough that the air between you seems to buzz with unsaid things.

“Long day,” you finally offer, shrugging, but your voice lacks conviction.

Nic leans his hip against the table, his gaze steady on yours. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.”

Your chest tightens at his words, though you can’t bring yourself to look away. “Like what?”

“Like we’re strangers.” His voice is low, almost tentative.

You laugh softly, but there’s no humor behind it. “Well, isn’t that what we are now?”

The question hangs between you, heavy and sharp. Nic hesitates, his lips parting like he might argue, but then he seems to think better of it. Instead, he shakes his head slightly, as if trying to shake off the weight of whatever he’s feeling.

“Goodnight,” he says finally, his tone quieter now, but there’s a flicker of something—regret, maybe—in his eyes.

You nod, your voice caught in your throat as you watch him step away. The warmth of his presence lingers even after he’s gone, leaving you with a mix of emotions you can’t quite untangle.

By the time you make it to your room, the house is silent, save for the distant murmur of voices from the terrace. You sit on the edge of the bed, your hands resting in your lap, staring at nothing in particular. The weight of the evening settles over you like a thick, heavy fog, leaving your chest tight and your mind racing.

Nic.

You hadn’t let yourself say his name in your head for so long—not like this, not with every syllable feeling like a stone dropped into the still waters of your life. Seeing him again after all these years had cracked something open, something you’d buried deep and refused to examine.

He hadn’t changed much. The sharpness of his features, the confidence in his posture—it was all still there, though tempered now with a quiet weight that hadn’t been there before. And those moments, brief as they were, when his gaze softened on you, when his words carried a tenderness you weren’t prepared for… they left you raw.

The sight of him stirred up so many conflicting emotions, you didn’t know where to start. The anger—oh, the anger—was still there, simmering just below the surface. How could he leave you the way he had, without a word, without a fight? How could he stand here now, acting like he wanted to bridge a gap he created?

But it wasn’t just anger. It was the ache, the longing that twisted in your chest at the sound of his voice saying your name. It was the flood of memories, unbidden and too vivid: his laugh in the dead of night, the way his fingers curled around yours when he thought no one was looking, the warmth of his breath on your skin as he whispered something only meant for you.

It was the bitterness, too, of realizing how deeply you’d missed him, even when you swore you wouldn’t. Even when you swore you couldn’t.

And now he was here, standing just close enough to stir everything up but not close enough to make it okay. You thought you’d prepared yourself for this—Joshua and Dae had warned you, after all—but nothing could have readied you for the reality of facing him again, for the sharp edges of the past cutting into you with every glance, every word.

What did he want from you? What did he expect? And more terrifyingly, what did you want from him?

The questions swirled in your head, unanswered and overwhelming. You stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to will the thoughts away, but they wouldn’t go.

Part of you wanted to hate him, to let the bitterness overtake everything else. It would be so much easier than confronting the other part of you—the part that remembered what it felt like to love him, to feel safe in the space you’d carved out together, the part that wondered if he was here now to take that away from you all over again.

As you closed your eyes, exhaustion finally pulling at you, one thought lingered above all the rest, heavy and undeniable: what happens next?

And for the first time in years, you realized you weren’t sure if the answer scared you or thrilled you.

DAY TWO

The kitchen is quiet when you enter, the early morning light streaming through the wide windows, casting golden streaks on the wooden floor. Nic is already there, standing at the counter with a mug in hand, wearing a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. The sight of him is… jarring, yet oddly familiar. For a moment, you pause, unsure if you should turn around and leave or brave the awkwardness.

He looks up just as you step in, his posture stiffening slightly. “Morning,” he says, his voice low, like he’s testing the waters.

“Morning,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral as you move to the coffee pot. You’re acutely aware of the space between you—too much history to feel natural, not enough familiarity to feel comfortable.

The silence stretches as you pour your coffee, the sound of liquid hitting the ceramic mug louder than it should be. You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting him to leave, but he stays rooted in place, fiddling with his mug like he wants to say something.

“You sleep okay?” he asks after a beat, his voice casual but his gaze flickering with something heavier.

You nod, not looking at him. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

The small talk feels unnatural, like both of you are grasping at straws to fill the silence. You take a sip of your coffee, letting the warmth anchor you.

“Well,” you say after a moment, your voice a little too loud in the quiet kitchen. “I’m gonna head out to the terrace.”

Nic nods, stepping aside to give you space as you move past him. The air feels heavy as you walk away, your shoulders tense until you’re outside and the cool morning breeze brushes against your skin.

You settle into one of the cushioned chairs on the terrace, pulling your knees up as you cradle your coffee. The view of the garden below is stunning, but your mind is elsewhere—on the kitchen, on Nic, on the way your chest felt tight just being in the same room as him.

The sliding door creaks open, and a moment later, Dae appears, holding her own mug of tea. She takes one look at you and immediately crosses the terrace to join you, settling into the chair beside yours.

“Stealing my spot already?”

“It’s not your spot. It’s the best spot,” you reply with a faint smile, trying to mask the thoughts spinning in your head.

Dae doesn’t buy it. “You’ve got that look,” she says, tapping her mug against yours. “You’re mulling. Spill it.”

You laugh softly, but there’s no point denying it. “You already know what I’m thinking about,” you say, leaning back in your chair.

“Nic,” Dae states plainly, and you glance away, caught. She leans closer, her smile mischievous. “So, are you going to talk to him? I mean, really talk? Five years is a long time, but… I don’t know. Maybe it’s time.”

You groan, toying with loose thread on your pyjama pants. “Dae, come on. I can barely get through breakfast without feeling like I’m going to drown in all the unresolved… everything. I don’t even know what I’d say to him. It’s not that simple.”

Dae shrugs, her teasing softening into something more thoughtful. “Maybe not, but you two were close once. Really close. And I know what he did was awful, but… he’s different now.”

You narrow your eyes, skeptical. “Different how?”

“I mean, people grow up, you know? They change.” She hesitates, then meets your gaze. “Nic’s talked about it, you know. Over the years. Not all the time, but enough for me to know he regrets it. Deeply. What he did to you.”

You blink, her words hitting harder than you expect. “He… regrets it?”

Dae nods, her expression earnest. “I think he’s always regretted it. He just didn’t know how to fix it—or if he even could. He’s told Josh and me that what he did was the biggest mistake of his life.”

You look away, the weight of her words settling heavily on your chest. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I think you deserve to know,” she says simply. “And I know you don’t owe him anything. Not your forgiveness, not your time, nothing. But I also know you. You don’t let people in easily, and when you do, it’s because they matter to you. He mattered to you once, and maybe—just maybe—it’s worth figuring out if he still does.” Dae watches as you stew on her words. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you say, though you brace yourself.

“Do you still care about him? I don’t mean, like, pine-after-him care. I mean… as a person. As someone who was once really important to you.”

Her words settle over you like the warmth of the sun, and you know the answer without hesitation. “Yes,” you admit. “I’ll probably always care about him. I don’t know what that means, though.”

Dae smiles softly. “That’s something. And I’m not saying you have to figure it out right now. But…” She hesitates, then laughs lightly. “Okay, this is cheesy, but Josh and I have had our disagreements. Big ones. And what’s always worked for us is being honest. Like, painfully honest. Even when it’s uncomfortable.”

You tilt your head, curious. “He’s never hurt you the way Nic hurt me.”

She nods, serious now. “No, he hasn’t. And that’s huge. It’s not the same, I know that. But you’ve always been one of the strongest people I know. I just don’t want you to close a door without looking through it first, you know?”

You look out over the lake, her words echoing in your mind. The idea of rekindling anything with Nicholas feels impossible, and yet… you’ve spent five years trying to bury something that clearly refuses to stay buried.

“I don’t even know if I want the door open,” you say after a moment, and Dae laughs.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to decide today. Just don’t lock it yet. You’ve got a week, give it some time.”

You roll your eyes but smile despite yourself. Dae reaches over and squeezes your hand, the gesture grounding you. You sit together in companionable silence, the morning sun climbing higher as the day stretches ahead, the uncertainty of the week hanging just out of reach.

The estate had a life of its own, buzzing with the quiet hum of excitement and last-minute wedding plans. Over the next few hours, you spent your time catching up with old friends and new faces alike. Joshua’s cousin Johnny, loud and perpetually armed with a joke, seemed to find you every time you lingered near the sitting room.

“You’ve got to stop hiding in here,” he teased, leaning against the doorway as you gazed out the window, book in hand. “Otherwise, we’re all going to think you’ve turned into a hermit.”

Johnny’s relentless energy was matched only by Dae’s younger cousin Theo, who had arrived with his girlfriend, India—a warm and bubbly presence who made you laugh more than once with her stories about Theo’s less-than-graceful attempts at wedding prep.

And then there was Mingyu, effortlessly charming as always, slipping into every conversation with a wink or a quip that made you wonder if he was born to make people feel special. He had a way of lightening the mood, even when you found yourself retreating into your thoughts.

By the afternoon, the rehearsal ceremony began in the estate’s garden. The celebrant, a kind Italian woman with a melodic accent, guided Dae and Joshua through the motions. You stayed off to the side, a silent observer. Watching the way they looked at each other—full of shared history, love, and promise—made your chest ache. It wasn’t envy, not exactly, but it stirred something deep within you, something unresolved.

Yeri, Dae’s younger sister, took her role as maid of honor seriously, adjusting Dae’s dress and making playful jabs about how Joshua would probably cry during the real ceremony. Johnny, Joshua’s best man, was less focused, cracking jokes and dramatically mimicking the celebrant’s gestures until Dae swatted him on the arm.

You smiled at the scene, grateful to be part of such an intimate moment, even as a quiet observer. It felt like a privilege to witness this chapter of their story unfold.

The rehearsal dinner followed shortly after, hosted in a grand but cozy dining room adorned with soft lighting and fragrant floral arrangements. You were seated a few spots away from Nic, with Dae on one side and Theo across from you, his girlfriend India chatting animatedly with Mingyu. Johnny, ever the life of the party, held court a few seats down, keeping everyone entertained with his endless stream of stories.

“So,” Johnny said, pointing a fork toward you, “I just realized this is the first time I’ve seen you in years.” He turned to Joshua. “Wasn’t it your 21st birthday party when we met?”

You nodded, remembering the lavish house party Joshua had thrown during your junior year of college. “Yeah, that sounds about right. You spent half the night in a heated debate about Australian football with one of the bartenders.”

Johnny grinned. “Good times. But hey, I remember more than just the bartender. You two”—he gestured vaguely between you and Nic—“were definitely sneaking off somewhere that night, weren’t you?”

The table quieted slightly, and you felt your cheeks flush. You glanced at Nic, whose expression was neutral but whose jaw tightened just enough for you to notice.

“I mean, I’m not saying I was spying,” Johnny continued, clearly oblivious to the sudden shift in the atmosphere. “But I remember catching a bit of a moment between you two. By the pool? Or was it the kitchen? Anyway—”

“Johnny,” Joshua interrupted smoothly, though there was an edge to his voice. “Let it go.”

Nic chimed in with a dry tone. “I think your memory’s getting creative.”

Johnny blinked, looking between the two of them, then raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. No need to gang up on me. Just saying what I saw.”

“You thought you saw,” Joshua corrected firmly, and Johnny finally seemed to pick up on the fact that the subject was off-limits.

Theo, sensing the tension, jumped in to change the subject. “So, India and I were trying to figure out the best time to visit Florence—any recommendations?”

The conversation shifted to travel plans, and you let out a quiet breath, grateful for the diversion. Still, Johnny’s comment lingered, bringing back flashes of that night—Nic’s hand brushing yours, the way he’d looked at you when he thought no one else was watching.

When dessert was served, you found yourself catching snippets of Nic’s voice as he spoke to Joshua and Mingyu. His laugh was warm, familiar, and it tugged at something deep inside you. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed hearing it.

Every now and then, you felt his gaze drift toward you, but he never let it linger long. It was almost as if he was waiting for the right moment to speak, but the moment never came.

The conversation at the table had settled into a comfortable rhythm after Johnny’s earlier slip-up, everyone enjoying the fine Italian meal and the company. Mingyu, seated just a spot down from Nic, leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass as he listened to Nic talk about his work.

“Josh tells me you’re a prosecutor in LA?” Mingyu asked, his eyebrows lifting in interest.

Nic nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. Criminal defense first, but I made the switch to prosecution about a year ago. It’s challenging, but I enjoy it. Keeps me sharp.”

Mingyu tilted his head, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Man, I don’t know how you deal with all that pressure. I’m just behind a counter, trying to make sure pastries look good enough to eat and that customers leave happy.”

Nic chuckled, a hint of admiration in his tone. “Don’t sell yourself short. Managing a bakery chain sounds like it comes with its own kind of stress. And let’s be honest, no one’s day gets worse because of a croissant.”

Mingyu grinned, leaning forward. “True. But the way some people act when we run out of almond tarts? You’d think I committed a crime. At least you’re dealing with actual criminals.”

Nic laughed, shaking his head. “I think I’ll stick with my courtroom drama. Pastry wars sound way too intense for me.”

Mingyu laughed, the sound warm and infectious as he leaned back in his chair. Then his gaze shifted to you, his curiosity genuine. “What about you? What’s your story?”

You took a sip of your wine, smiling. “I’m an oral surgeon.”

Before you could elaborate, Nic’s voice cut in smoothly. “A damn good one, too.”

The unexpected compliment hung in the air, and your cheeks warmed despite yourself. You glanced at Nic, whose expression was sincere, though he quickly looked away, his fingers fidgeting with the stem of his glass.

“Well,” you said with a small shrug, trying to play it off, “he’s not wrong.”

Mingyu grinned, clearly impressed. “Guess I know who to call if I ever need a new jaw.”

You smirked, your response coming easily. “I’m not expecting that call anytime soon. Your jaw looks perfectly fine from where I’m sitting”

The table laughed at your quick retort, and even Nic cracked a smile, though his fingers tightened slightly around his glass. You couldn’t quite tell if it was the flirtation or the ease with which you’d fallen into it that bothered him.

Mingyu leaned in, still grinning. “Good to know I’ve got the expert’s seal of approval.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you teased lightly, turning your attention back to your plate.

As the conversation shifted again, Nic remained mostly quiet, only chiming in here and there. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was holding back on purpose—or if he was waiting for the right moment to say something more meaningful.

While his praise had flattered you, it also left you feeling a little unsteady. He hadn’t said a word about the way things ended between you, and until he did, it was impossible to tell what his intentions for the week might be.

Still, there was a part of you that wanted to believe the look in his eyes—warm, familiar, and perhaps a little regretful—was a step toward something better, even if you weren’t sure what that better looked like just yet.

The sound of clinking glass and running water draws you toward the kitchen as the evening winds down. Joshua is standing at the sink, rinsing a wine glass with the kind of precision that only he could make look natural. His blazer is draped over the back of a chair, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“You’re not the help, you know,” you say lightly as you step into the room, leaning against the counter.

Joshua glances at you over his shoulder, a small smile tugging at his lips. “And yet, somehow, I’m always cleaning up after Mingyu. He has this uncanny ability to use three glasses for every drink.”

You laugh softly, crossing your arms as you watch him. There’s a brief silence, the kind that only Joshua could make feel comfortable, before he turns off the faucet and turns to face you fully.

“How are you doing?” he asks, his voice gentle but direct.

You blink at him, caught slightly off guard. “I’m fine. Why?”

“Because I know you better than that.” He leans against the counter opposite you, his gaze steady. “It’s a lot. Him being here.”

You sigh, your shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of his words. “I don’t even know how I feel, Josh. Every time I see him, it’s like—” You pause, struggling to find the words. “It’s like this hollow drop in my stomach, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m happy to see him or because I’m… angry that he’s here.”

Joshua tilts his head, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe it’s both.”

“Maybe.” You chew on your bottom lip, the thoughts swirling in your head louder now that you’ve voiced them. “I don’t even know if I should bring it up. What’s the point, you know? It’s been five years. What am I even supposed to say?”

Joshua steps closer, resting a hand on your shoulder briefly. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight. Give it time. You’ve always been the more emotionally mature one between the two of you. I trust you’ll handle it the way you need to.”

His words settle over you like a thin veil of comfort, but the knot in your chest doesn’t entirely loosen.

Without saying anything else, Joshua moves toward the counter and begins brewing you a cup of tea. The soft clink of the kettle and the quiet rustle of the tea bags fill the stillness between you, an unspoken offer of calm in the midst of your swirling thoughts.

He doesn’t need to say much more—his presence alone, steady and unassuming, is enough. As the steam rises from the freshly brewed tea, you take a slow breath, letting the warmth of the moment seep into your bones, even if it doesn’t chase away the uncertainty that lingers.

Joshua sets the mug of tea in front of you, steam curling up into the air between you. The kitchen is quiet now, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound as the rest of the house winds down for the night.

“I’m cutting you off for the weekend,” Joshua says with a teasing smile, leaning against the counter. “No more drip-feeding you wine, or you’ll spend every morning with hangxiety and then blame me for it.”

You laugh softly, cradling the mug in your hands. “You’re not wrong. You’re a terrible influence, though.”

“Hey, I’m the voice of reason tonight,” he counters. “Remember this when you wake up feeling human tomorrow.”

The two of you fall into easy small talk after that—light chatter about the rehearsal, the chaos of planning a wedding abroad, and how Dae is likely still tweaking the seating arrangements upstairs. It’s easy, familiar, a welcome distraction.

But eventually, Joshua straightens and grabs his blazer from the back of the chair. “I’m calling it a night. You should, too.”

You hum noncommittally, staring into your tea. “I will. Soon.”

Joshua doesn’t press. He just rests a hand on your shoulder briefly as he passes. “Don’t overthink it, ‘kay. Not all at once, anyway.”

A soft sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupts your thoughts, and you glance up to find Nic descending into the kitchen, his pyjamas a stark contrast to the polished image he usually presents. There’s something strangely domestic about him in this moment—almost familiar. His hair is mussed, his shoulders relaxed, and for a second, he looks like the Nic you used to know, back when things were easy.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask, trying to keep things light as he moves toward the counter to fill a glass of water.

He chuckles softly, a hint of weariness in his voice. “Yeah, that or I just didn’t feel like staying in that giant bed all alone. Guess I’m just not used to it.”

The casualness of his tone makes you smile, but there’s a touch of sadness beneath it, something unspoken. He looks over at you, his eyes softer now, not the sharpness from earlier. The room feels smaller, and for the first time since you arrived, the tension between you two feels less suffocating, almost bearable.

Nic leans against the counter, sipping his water, his gaze flickering toward you with a quiet intensity. “I know things were… complicated, back then,” he starts, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. “And I know I left without giving you any real answers.”

You feel a tightness in your chest, the memory of it still fresh, even after all these years. But he doesn’t press further, not yet.

“I don’t expect any huge conversations right now,” Nic adds quickly, his voice taking on a gentler edge. “But if you ever want to talk about… anything, I’m here. I know I screwed up. I just want you to know that.”

The simplicity of it catches you off guard. It’s not a grand gesture or an apology, but it feels like an olive branch, a small offering, an acknowledgment of the past without expecting you to jump right in. There’s a rawness in his words, something real and vulnerable that makes your heart ache, but it doesn’t feel too heavy. Not yet.

He looks at you for a beat longer, as though waiting for something—an answer, maybe, or a sign that you’re willing to meet him halfway. When you don’t immediately respond, he shifts his weight, seeming almost a little self-conscious.

“I mean, you know where I am if you need me,” he adds, his tone lighter, but there’s something there—something sincere. “For whatever it’s worth.”

You can feel the weight of his words, of the quiet truth in them. Maybe it’s nothing more than a flicker of hope, but it feels like a bridge, and you’re not sure what to do with it just yet.

For a moment, you both simply stand there in the kitchen, the sound of the clock ticking the only thing breaking the silence. The tension hasn’t disappeared, not by a long shot, but it feels different now. The air between you isn’t as thick, the distance not quite as vast.

You bring yourself to nod briefly, mustering up a small smile. “Thank you, Nic.”

Nic finishes his water and starts to move toward the stairs, glancing back at you once more. “Well,” he says, with a small, almost reluctant smile, “I’ll be around if you want to talk… whenever you’re ready.”

You nod, unsure of what to say. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make you wonder if maybe there’s a chance, however small, to heal what was broken between you.

As he heads upstairs, you stay in the kitchen a little longer, the warmth of the tea in your hands and his words lingering in the quiet. For the first time since you arrived, you wonder if there might be a way forward. Not right now, but maybe someday.

DAY THREE

The sun is high and warm as you join Dae down by the grass near the steps leading to the lake. She’s sprawled out on a blanket, sunglasses perched on her nose, a chilled spritz in hand. You settle beside her, folding your legs under you and squinting out at the scene below: an impromptu volleyball game on the lawn.

Joshua dives for the ball with reckless enthusiasm, sending Mingyu into a fit of laughter as Johnny yells at him for botching the point. Mingyu sets the ball with ease, his towering frame and effortless movements commanding attention. Nic leaps, shirtless, to spike it over the net, his focus sharp, muscles flexing with precision.

Your eyes catch on him.

It’s the first time you’ve seen Nic shirtless since… well, since that night five years ago, the last time you’d touched him in that way. And what you’re seeing now? It’s very different.

He’s taller—or maybe just broader. His shoulders are like carved stone, his waist tapered and solid. His chest is thick with definition, and his arms look like they could snap a volleyball in half if he wanted to. And then there’s the six-pack, glistening slightly in the sun, drawing your gaze lower, entirely against your will.

Your thoughts betray you, running away into dangerous territory. What would those arms feel like now? Stronger, sure, but what about softer moments—hands brushing over your sides, pulling you closer?

Your thighs clench involuntarily, and the heat rising to your cheeks has nothing to do with the sun.

“You’re staring.”

Dae’s voice pulls you back to reality.

“I’m not staring,” you say, too quickly, shifting your sunglasses down to try and hide your expression.

“You are,” she teases, smirking. “I mean, I don’t blame you—look at him.”

You huff, feigning indifference. “When did he get so… big?”

“Josh says he’s been hitting the gym hard in LA,” Dae says, taking a lazy sip of her drink. “Work stress or something. Whatever it is, it’s working for him. And Mingyu too, for that matter.”

Your gaze flickers to Mingyu, who’s equally shirtless and equally distracting. He’s leaner than Nic, but just as tall, his arms roped with muscle, his easy grin radiating confidence.

Dae leans in closer, dropping her voice conspiratorially. “If things don’t work out with Nic, you could always try your hand at Mingyu. Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”

“Dae,” you hiss, elbowing her, though you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up.

She shrugs, entirely unrepentant, her grin widening. “Just saying. Your options are very tall and very broad right now.”

Before you can respond, the game wraps up with Joshua letting out a triumphant cheer, and Johnny collapses onto the grass in mock defeat. The boys gather near the water, catching their breath.

Josh heads your way, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hey, babe,” he calls to Dae.

She barely has time to react before he scoops her up, slinging her over his shoulder as if she weighs nothing.

“Josh!” she shrieks, laughing as she flails. “Put me down!”

“Nope.” He strides confidently toward the water, ignoring her protests, and wades in until he’s waist-deep before dunking them both under with a laugh.

The others follow, kicking off shoes and tossing towels aside. Nic lingers, glancing up toward you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, it seems like he’s about to say something.

But Mingyu beats him to it.

“You just gonna sit there admiring the view,” he calls from the bottom of the steps, his grin playful, “or are you actually gonna join us?”

You roll your eyes, pushing to your feet. “Fine.”

You tug off the oversized t-shirt you’d thrown on earlier, revealing the bikini you’d chosen—a simple design, but it fits well. Age has been kind to your figure. Your hips and breasts are fuller now, your waist more defined. You don’t miss the way Mingyu’s grin widens as he takes you in, nor the way Nic’s jaw tightens before he quickly turns to Johnny, mumbling something about the water.

As you descend the steps, you stop beside Mingyu, arching a brow. “If you stare any harder you’re gonna burn a hole through me.”

His grin turns coy. “Who, me? I’m just appreciating the scenery.”

“Uh-huh,” you deadpan, though you can’t hide the small smirk tugging at your lips.

The cool water was a welcome distraction as you waded in, but it didn’t stop your thoughts from wandering. Mingyu’s easy charm was tempting, but it was the weight of Nic’s presence—the unspoken history between you—that lingered at the edges of your mind. As the morning sun blazed overhead, you couldn’t help but wonder which tension would win out by the end of the week.

You leaned back into the cool water, letting it lap against your shoulders as Mingyu floated closer. His easygoing smile was impossible not to return, and his playful energy seemed to dissolve any tension lingering in the air.

“You know,” he started, tilting his head as he treaded water, “I didn’t peg you as the lake-swimming type.”

You raised a brow, matching his grin. “What gave it away?”

“Oh, just the whole polished professional vibe,” he teased. “I figured you’d be more into heated pools or, I don’t know, champagne on yachts.”

You scoffed, splashing a bit of water in his direction. “Wow, way to stereotype.”

Mingyu laughed, dodging the splash dramatically. “Hey, I’m just saying—it’s not every day you see someone who can pull off surgeon chic also out here braving the elements.”

“Surgeon chic? Braving the elements?” you repeated, incredulous. “It’s a lake, not the Arctic.”

“Still,” he said, grinning as he swam a slow circle around you. “I’m impressed. Multitalented, aren’t you?”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile. “What about you? Do you always talk this much when you’re swimming?”

“Only when I’m trying to distract myself from how cold the water is,” he admitted, mock-shivering for effect. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he added, “Or when I’m trying to keep someone’s attention on me.”

You smirked, narrowing your eyes at him. “Subtle.”

“Subtlety is overrated,” he quipped, his grin widening. “But hey, it’s working, isn’t it?”

You splashed him again, laughing as he yelped in protest. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said, blinking water from his eyes with a wide smile, “here we are.”

The sound of laughter carried over from the shore as the others waded back into the lake. Johnny, forever the instigator, suggested a round of shoulder wars, and the idea was immediately met with enthusiasm.

Josh hoisted Dae onto his shoulders with ease, her laugh ringing out as she adjusted herself. Johnny waved Nic over. “C’mon, big guy. You’re carrying me.”

Nic’s eyes widened slightly, but he shrugged, wading over and lifting Johnny onto his shoulders without much effort. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Johnny replied, his arms raised in triumph.

Mingyu turned to you with a playful smirk, extending a hand. “Looks like it’s you and me, princess. Ready?”

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding, placing your hands on his broad shoulders. With surprising gentleness, he guided you up, steadying you until you were perched above the water.

“Comfortable?” he asked, glancing up at you.

“Not bad,” you admitted, gripping his shoulders lightly. “Just don’t drop me.”

“Never,” he replied, his tone mockingly gallant.

The game began with Dae and Johnny immediately going after each other, their laughter and taunts echoing over the water. You and Nic locked eyes briefly as you balanced on Mingyu’s shoulders, and something unreadable flickered in his expression before Johnny distracted him with a war cry.

Mingyu’s hands were steady on your calves as he maneuvered you into position. “You’re gonna let them win?” he teased, nodding toward Dae and Josh.

“Not a chance,” you shot back, leaning forward to push against Dae.

For a few moments, it was pure chaos—splashing water, shouted challenges, and laughter ringing out. Mingyu was solid beneath you, matching Josh’s strength easily, but Dae was relentless. She managed to shove you just enough that you wobbled precariously, though Mingyu adjusted quickly, keeping you upright.

“Close one,” he said, grinning up at you.

“Focus,” you shot back, swatting at Dae again.

At some point, Johnny made his move, lunging toward you and Dae simultaneously in a fit of uncoordinated glory. You and Dae both shrieked as the impact sent water flying, and you toppled sideways with a loud splash.

When you surfaced, sputtering, Nic was already helping Johnny back to his feet, shaking his head at his antics. Mingyu appeared beside you a second later, slicking his hair back with a grin.

“Not bad, partner,” he said, his tone teasing. “You’ve got some fight in you.”

You smirked, splashing him lightly. “You were a decent support.”

Across the water, Nic’s gaze flickered your way, his expression unreadable before he turned back to Johnny. The look lingered in your mind longer than you wanted to admit, even as the group dissolved back into casual laughter and chatter.

Mingyu drifted closer, his playful grin firmly in place. “So, do I get points for being the most entertaining person here?”

You snorted, splashing a little water his way. “Is that what this is? A competition?”

“Everything’s a competition,” he teased, brushing water from his face. “And I think I’m winning. You laughed, didn’t you?”

“Oh, please,” you shot back with a smirk. “I laugh at Johnny’s dad jokes, too. Doesn’t mean you’re special.”

Mingyu clutched his chest in mock-offense, a dramatic gasp escaping him. “Wow. Here I thought we were building something. Guess I’ll have to rethink my choices.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Might be a good idea.”

“Noted,” he said, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he leaned back in the water. “But for the record, I think I’m still ahead of Johnny.”

“I’ll give you that much,” you conceded, the easy banter making it harder to stay in your own head.

But as you glanced back toward the group, the fleeting weight of Nic’s earlier look was still there, unshakable.

The afternoon unfolds lazily around you as you stretch out on a cane chair, the sun casting a warm glow over everything. The air is rich with the scent of the lake, fresh grass, and the faintest hint of wood smoke. It’s a perfect day, easy and unhurried, with nothing pressing and no rush to be anywhere.

You watch as Joshua and Nic sprawl out on the lawn, deep in conversation. Joshua’s laugh rises above the hum of the world, light and familiar, while Nic listens intently, nodding along with whatever Joshua is saying. There’s something grounding about the way they interact, a friendship that’s built on years of trust. You can almost feel the weight of it, the comfort they’ve always had with one another. Dae’s head rests in Joshua’s lap, her eyes closed as she listens to the conversation lazily, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his jeans. The scene is easy, peaceful, and yet, you can’t escape the undercurrent of tension that pulls at your chest every time your eyes flicker over to Nic.

Mingyu flops down into the chair next to you, pulling your attention away from the group. He stretches, cracking his neck, before settling into a relaxed slouch. His presence is a welcome distraction, a change of pace from the quiet storm brewing in your mind.

“You look like you’re in deep thought,” Mingyu remarks, his voice teasing but with a hint of concern. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Just… watching everyone,” you reply, settling into the chair more comfortably, one leg draped over the armrest. “Trying to catch my breath, I guess.”

Mingyu tilts his head, glancing over at the group on the lawn, then back to you. “Yeah, it’s a good vibe today,” he agrees. “Everyone looks so relaxed. I like that.” He stretches his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “Feels like a long time since I’ve had a day like this.”

You raise an eyebrow, half-smiling at him. “You, taking a break? What do you even do when you’re not working?”

He lets out a dramatic sigh, sinking deeper into his chair. “You know, the usual. Travel, work, annoy people.” He glances over at you. “Like I’m doing right now.”

“Mm, you’re not the worst,” you tease, your smile growing as you let your gaze shift back to the others. Nic is still talking with Joshua, his voice carrying across the lawn, but there’s a softness in his posture now, like he’s more at ease.

Mingyu follows your gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment. “You seem very fond of Nic,” His voice is casual, but you catch the hint of curiosity behind it.

You freeze for a split second, caught off guard by his statement. You hadn’t expected him to notice, or at least not comment on it. But Mingyu is like that—sharp in ways you don’t always expect.

“Yeah,” you say carefully, letting out a slow breath. “We used to be really close in college, but time and life just got in the way. It’s strange seeing him after so long.” You leave it at that, not ready to get into the mess of it all. Not now, anyway.

Mingyu’s eyes soften, though he doesn’t press further. “It’s good to see you looking peaceful,” he says with a gentle smile. “Whatever happened, it’s obvious you’re doing okay now. I respect that.”

You nod, grateful for his understanding, and the conversation shifts away from the past as Mingyu begins to talk about his latest photography project. He shows you a few pictures on his phone, explaining the stories behind them—places he’s traveled, moments he’s captured. He talks about it with such passion that it’s easy to get lost in his words, the way his face lights up as he describes the scenes.

In some ways, it feels like a distraction you didn’t know you needed. But as Mingyu talks, your mind drifts back to Nic—how he looks at you, how he’s always been there, in his own way, even when you both tried to distance yourselves from each other.

“Have you been to Seoul?” Mingyu suddenly asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You blink, realizing you’ve missed part of what he’s said. “Sorry, what?”

Mingyu laughs. “I asked if you’ve been to Seoul. I know you’ve traveled a lot. You strike me as someone who would enjoy the culture there.”

“I have, actually,” you reply, smiling softly at the thought. “Joshua roped me into a trip with him and Dae not long before I did my post-grad.”

Mingyu grins. “I’ve got a few spots I need to take you to next time. If you’re up for it, that is.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Are you offering a tour guide service, Mingyu?”

“Absolutely,” he says with mock seriousness, “I’m a professional at it. No one’s better.”

You laugh, the sound light and unburdened for a moment. It feels nice to let go of the tension, even if it’s just for a little while. But as the conversation continues, you can’t ignore the fact that your mind keeps returning to Nic—his presence, his silence, his eyes on you. The knot in your stomach tightens again.

Eventually, Theo and India join the group, and the energy picks up again as everyone starts chatting and laughing. You let yourself relax into the moment, but something still lingers in your chest. You’re starting to feel the weight of the past more and more. And you can’t help but wonder when you’ll be ready to put it down.

After lunch, the sun hangs lazily in the sky, the afternoon heat beginning to soften as the shadows stretch longer across the villa grounds. You find yourself walking slowly, your feet brushing the warm stones as you make your way back down to the water’s edge. The sound of the waves lapping gently against the rocks is soothing, and you sit at the base of the stone steps, letting the cool breeze from the lake wash over you. The world around you feels peaceful, distant, like a moment you could easily lose yourself in if you allowed it.

But you don’t.

Your thoughts keep circling back to Nic—his presence, his silence, the way he’s been watching you from the corners of your vision, like he’s waiting for something. You don’t know what that something is, but you’re starting to feel the weight of it, the heavy undercurrent of a past that won’t let you go.

It’s not long before you hear the soft crunch of footsteps on gravel, and you don’t need to turn to know who it is. Nic’s voice reaches you before he does, low and tentative.

“Mind if I join you?”

You glance over your shoulder, and for a moment, your heart stutters. There’s something in his eyes, a softness that’s hard to place, but you don’t bristle. You nod, shifting slightly to give him space, and he lowers himself onto the step beside you, leaving a small distance between you. The silence settles over the two of you like an old, familiar friend, though it’s different now. More fragile.

Nic watches the lake for a moment before speaking again, his voice quiet. “You and Mingyu seem to be getting along pretty well.” He doesn’t look at you as he says it, his gaze fixed on the water in front of him.

You chuckle, the sound coming out a little bitterer than you intended. “I don’t really know the guy. He’s just a sweet talker.” You glance at him, your eyes narrowing slightly. “Does it bother you?”

Nic exhales, shifting on the stone. “A little. Yeah.” He pauses, then glances at you, his expression softening. “It reminds me of how we used to be, you know? All the teasing, all the jokes… the way we’d just be there for each other.”

Something flickers in your chest, but you can’t quite place it. You tilt your head, studying him for a moment. “It’s funny, though,” you say, the words tasting dry on your tongue. “That it bothers you now. After all this time.” You turn your gaze back to the water, watching the ripples dance in the fading light. “It’s a little late, don’t you think?”

Nic doesn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, the only sound is the gentle lapping of the water against the stones. You feel the weight of the conversation hovering, suspended in the air, but there’s no rush to fill it. Not yet.

Finally, he speaks, his voice softer now, almost tentative. “I didn’t realize what I had until I lost it.”

You don’t look at him, but the words settle into you, a reminder of all the things left unsaid. A reminder that maybe, just maybe, he regrets the way things ended between the two of you. You wonder if that’s enough.

It’s not. Not yet.

Instead, you just nod, letting the moment linger, your heart a mix of confusion and something else you can’t quite name.

After a long pause, you let out a breath. “It’s strange, you know. I don’t even know how to talk to you anymore. It’s like we’re strangers, but… not.” You shake your head, frustrated with your own inability to make sense of things.

Nic turns to face you now, his voice low but steady. “I know.”

There’s a beat of silence between you, and for a moment, you almost feel the weight of your past self and who you are now collide. It’s uncomfortable, raw, and you don’t know how to move past it. But you also know that this isn’t something you can avoid forever.

“Maybe it’s just the way things are,” you say finally, shrugging. “Maybe we’re just… supposed to be like this. With everything that’s happened.”

Nic’s eyes soften at your words, and he leans back against the step, his arms folded across his chest. “Maybe.”

You sit in the quiet with him, both of you staring at the water as the evening light begins to dim. Neither of you speaks again, but the air between you feels different now—heavier, maybe. But also lighter in a way, as though the words have started to open something that’s been shut for too long.

The silence stretches between you, the water lapping at the stones below. It’s almost like you’re both holding your breath, waiting for the next words to be said.

Finally, you break the quiet, your voice softer now, tinged with something that feels like release. “I don’t want to keep being angry at you, you know? It’s exhausting, and it’s never actually gotten me anywhere.” You shrug, though it’s more of a surrender than an answer. “I guess I just wanted answers. I still do.”

Nic is still for a moment, processing your words, his gaze flickering to the ground before meeting yours. There’s something heavy in his eyes, an apology that seems to be hanging on the edge of his tongue.

When he speaks, it’s almost as though he’s talking to himself more than you. “I’m sorry that I left you to carry that alone. It wasn’t fair. I know that now.” His voice drops a little, quieter, like the weight of the years has finally hit him.

You feel a shift inside, the heaviness of his admission pressing against the tight knot in your chest. It’s not everything, but it’s enough. Enough to make you exhale deeply, to loosen the grip you’ve held on the anger, even if just for a moment.

The soft sound of the water fills the silence again. You turn your gaze toward the lake, letting the words settle. “I don’t know what the right thing to do is… but I don’t want to keep carrying all of this.” You glance at him, your expression guarded but tired. “Maybe… maybe I just need time.”

Nic doesn’t press, doesn’t offer anything more. He just nods slowly, as if he understands that this is only a small step. It’s not forgiveness, not yet, but it’s something. You can feel the weight of the years beginning to lift, if only just a little.

DAY FOUR

The morning unfolds in a haze of sunlight and warmth, the air alive with the scent of coffee and maple syrup. You’re tucked into one of the rattan chairs with Dae and Yeri, your legs curled up beneath you as you cradle a mug of coffee. The villa feels slower today, the kind of quiet that makes you forget the world beyond its stone walls.

The boys are scattered across the terrace—Joshua stretched out on a lounger with a book, Theo and Nic lazing in chairs nearby. Nic’s head is tilted back, his face toward the sun, his posture uncharacteristically relaxed.

Dae glances at you over the rim of her mug, her expression curious. “So… things between you and Nic seem a little less… icy today.”

Your heart skips at the observation, though you try not to show it. “It’s nothing,” you murmur, shrugging as casually as you can manage. “We just… talked a little last night.”

Yeri leans forward, her interest piqued. “Talked? Like, really talked?”

“Not really,” you say quickly, taking a sip of your coffee. “Just enough to make it less weird, I guess.”

Dae hums, clearly unsatisfied. “And?”

You glance toward Nic without meaning to. He’s still lounging, his face unreadable, but the memory of last night lingers—his voice, the softness in his eyes, the way he’d apologized without trying to make excuses. It had felt… different.

“And it’s fine,” you say finally, your tone clipped. “We’re fine.”

Yeri smirks. “Sure you are.”

Before you can protest, Mingyu strides onto the terrace, a triumphant grin plastered across his face. He’s balancing a platter piled high with golden pancakes in one hand and a bowl of syrup in the other. “Breakfast is served,” he declares proudly, setting the food down on the table in the center of the group.

“About time,” Theo groans, already reaching for a plate.

“Hey, perfection takes time,” Mingyu shoots back, snagging a pancake for himself before flopping into a chair.

You grab one as well, drizzling it lightly with syrup. The first bite is warm, fluffy, and just sweet enough to feel indulgent. “Okay, I’ll admit it,” you say, glancing at Mingyu. “These are good.”

He beams. “I accept your praise.”

Even Nic chimes in, his voice filled with rare levity. “I hate to admit it, but these might be the best pancakes I’ve ever had.”

Mingyu looks genuinely pleased, throwing an exaggerated bow in Nic’s direction. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as the highest compliment.”

Nic doesn’t respond, too focused on his plate, but the easy smile on his face is impossible to miss.

Dae nudges you gently with her elbow, her voice low. “Look at him. It’s like pancakes cured his bad mood.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Maybe I should’ve just offered him pancakes five years ago.”

Dae snorts into her coffee, and Yeri joins in, her laugh a bright, unrestrained sound that makes you smile despite yourself.

The rest of the morning is filled with the kind of light, easy chatter that feels like a reprieve. Mingyu laps up the compliments, Joshua ribs him about his “culinary aspirations,” and even Nic seems lighter, his usual edges softened by the warmth of the day. And though you tell yourself you’re not watching him, you catch yourself glancing his way more often than you’d like, your heart tugging in a way you’re not quite ready to admit.

Before long, Dae ushered everyone toward the cars, her excitement contagious. “Alright, folks, next stop: a winery I found just outside of town. Trust me, it’s adorable, and the wine’s supposed to be incredible.”

Mingyu fell into step beside you as you climbed into one of the cars, his tone teasing. “You’re not one of those people who pretends to know what ‘hints of oak’ means, are you?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “Please, I barely know the difference between red and white.”

He smirked, leaning in just slightly. “Good. That means I get to teach you a thing or two.”

“Lucky me,” you quipped, trying not to notice the way Nic, sitting just behind you, shifted slightly in his seat, his gaze flicking between the two of you.

When you arrived at the winery, the view stole your breath. Rolling hills stretched out in every direction, the vines bathed in golden sunlight. The group gathered near the tasting room, Dae already chatting animatedly with one of the hosts.

As the first round of glasses was handed out, Mingyu sidled up to you again, raising his glass in a mock toast. “To learning the fine art of wine tasting. Stick with me, and you’ll be a pro in no time.”

“Is that right?” you asked, amused.

“Absolutely,” he said, his grin wide. “Step one: swirl dramatically. Bonus points if you look like you’re solving the mysteries of the universe.”

You laughed, swirling your glass with exaggerated flair. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” he said, tipping his glass toward you.

Nic, who had been standing nearby, cleared his throat lightly, stepping closer to join the conversation. “Or,” he interjected, his tone even, “you could just enjoy it without the theatrics. Not everything needs to be a performance.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “What’s the fun in that?”

The three of you shared a laugh, the moment settling into something easy but charged. You caught Nic’s gaze briefly, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you before Mingyu nudged your arm gently, pulling your attention back to him.

The rest of the tasting continued in a similar rhythm—Mingyu’s playful banter, Nic hovering close enough to remind you of his presence, and you, caught somewhere in between, savoring the warmth of the day and the strange comfort of old wounds slowly beginning to heal.

As the tasting wound down, Dae—always a step ahead—waved everyone toward a narrow set of stairs tucked behind the winery. “Come on,” she called over her shoulder, her excitement infectious. “The host said there’s a rooftop up here. Best view of the sunset in the region.”

The group followed, glasses in hand, and you emerged onto a rustic rooftop scattered with mismatched chairs and weathered tables. Above, the sky had begun to glow with shades of gold and blush, casting the surrounding hills in a warm, dreamy light.

As the sun dips lower, bathing the rooftop in a golden glow, you and Dae find yourselves alone again, tucked into the corner of the cushioned bench with the best view of the vineyard. Mingyu’s laughter echoes somewhere off to the side, his voice blending with the others as the group lingers over the last of the wine. You tilt your head back against the seat, staring at the streaks of orange and pink across the sky.

Dae nudges your leg with hers. “So… Mingyu.”

You groan, turning to give her an incredulous look. “Oh, not you too.”

She grins, unfazed. “What? I’m just saying, he’s been glued to your side all day. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

You shrug, trying to play it off. “He’s just being friendly. That’s how he is.”

Dae raises an eyebrow, her tone playful but pointed. “Friendly, sure. But come on, he’s keen, and you know it.”

You shake your head, exhaling a long breath. “He doesn’t even know me, Dae. It’s not like that.”

Her expression softens, and she leans back slightly, studying you. “Okay, fine. Then what is it?”

You pause, your gaze drifting toward the group. Mingyu is mid-conversation with Yeri and Theo, his smile as bright and easy as ever. For a moment, you feel the familiar comfort of his presence—the lightness he brings, the ease of being near him.

“He reminds me of… how things were with Nic,” you admit quietly, your voice almost lost in the rustling breeze. “Back when it was simple. Just the two of us, in our little bubble, with no expectations. The stupid jokes, the way he always felt just close enough to put me at ease. It’s like…” You hesitate, trying to find the right words. “It’s like I’m holding on to that feeling through Mingyu. Not on purpose, but—it’s there.”

Dae doesn’t reply right away. When she finally speaks, her voice is softer, more serious. “So what do you actually want?”

The question makes you stiffen, and you glance at her, brow furrowing. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” she says patiently, shifting to face you fully. “Let me make it easier for you. If this week ends and you and Nic go back to your separate lives—if you go another five years, or maybe forever, having nothing to do with each other—would that make you happy? Would you be content with that?”

The question hits you like a punch to the stomach, and your breath catches. The thought of never seeing Nic again, of walking away from this week without even a shred of closure or connection, sends a hollow ache through your chest. You swallow hard, staring at your hands.

“No,” you whisper, the word heavier than you expected.

Dae nods, as if she already knew the answer. “Then maybe you need to start building a bridge, rather than burning it.”

Her words settle over you, their weight undeniable. You glance back toward the group, your gaze lingering on Nic. He’s leaning back in his chair, listening to something Joshua’s saying, but there’s a distant tension in his expression that you recognize all too well.

You take a shaky breath, Dae’s advice echoing in your mind. Maybe it’s time to stop running from the past and start figuring out how to face it.

Dae’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, her tone both gentle and insistent. “All you’ve wanted this entire time was some answers, right?”

You nod slowly, the knot in your chest tightening as you glance toward Nic again.

“Then maybe it’s time you go and get them,” she continues, leaning forward slightly. “You might not totally hate what you find, is all I’m saying.”

Her words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, all you can do is sit with them, your pulse thrumming in your ears. You know she’s right. You’ve spent so much time running circles in your own mind, replaying what happened, questioning every moment, every word, every feeling. The answers you’ve been searching for aren’t going to fall into your lap—they’re sitting a few feet away, leaning back in a wicker chair with a glass of wine in hand.

But the idea of crossing that invisible line, of asking Nic to meet you halfway, feels terrifying. What if you don’t like what you find? What if his reasons—his answers—aren’t enough to fill the hollow spaces he left behind?

Still, Dae’s gaze doesn’t waver, her confidence in you steady and unshakable. “You’re not going to figure it out by sitting here, you know,” she says, her voice softer now. “Go talk to him. You’re braver than you think.”

You hesitate, your hands fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. Finally, you draw in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you meet her eyes.

“Maybe,” you murmur, a flicker of determination breaking through the uncertainty. “Maybe you’re right.”

Dae smiles, leaning back with a knowing glint in her eyes. “Of course I’m right. Now, go.”

You sigh, dragging your hands down your face in exasperation. “I’ll do it tomorrow. Today has been too long, and I’m tired.”

Dae arches an eyebrow at you, her arms crossing loosely over her chest. “Okay,” she says slowly, the word drawn out like she’s testing it on her tongue. “Do it tomorrow. But you must actually do it. Don’t just say it and then decide you’re better off avoiding it entirely.”

Her tone is firmer now, but it’s not sharp. It’s grounded in a kind of steady care that only Dae can manage. She’s not pushing you for the sake of pushing; she’s doing it because she knows you need it. Because she knows you.

You let out a low groan, tilting your head back to stare at the fading blue of the sky. “Why do you have to be so relentless?”

“Because I know you,” Dae replies, deadpan, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “You’ll talk yourself in circles until the week’s over, and then you’ll leave here thinking it’s easier to let it all stay broken. But I also know that’s not what you want.”

She’s right—of course, she’s right—but the idea of acknowledging that aloud makes your stomach twist. “I’m not running for the hills,” you mutter, your tone defensive but lacking bite.

“Not yet,” Dae says with a faint smirk. Then she softens again, her expression gentling. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but you owe it to yourself to at least try. And if you don’t…” She shrugs. “Well, I’ll just keep bugging you about it. Every. Single. Day.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” she quips, a playful grin tugging at her lips before she leans back in her chair.

The thing is, she’s not wrong. You do need someone to keep you grounded, to hold you accountable when your instincts tell you to retreat. And deep down, you know she’s the exact person to do it.

“Alright,” you say finally, your voice quieter now. “Tomorrow. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

Dae’s grin widens, and she gives you an exaggerated thumbs-up. “That’s my girl. Now, drink your wine and relax. You’ve got one more evening to psych yourself up.”

After Dae’s talk, you’d thought maybe you could relax—enjoy the final stretch of the day, give yourself some peace before tomorrow. But instead, you’re stuck in the quicksand of your own thoughts, sinking deeper with every passing minute.

In the shower, you’d mapped it all out: what you’d say, what Nic might say in return. You planned for every possibility, every version of him that could show up. The defensive Nic. The remorseful Nic. The version of him who might even still be indifferent. What would you say to that Nic? You played the scenes in your head on repeat, fine-tuning your retorts, overanalyzing his potential expressions.

By the time you crawl into bed, your chest is tight, your limbs restless. You turn over once, twice, then a dozen times more, trying to find a position that feels less suffocating. The air in the room feels still, like it’s waiting for something, and you hate it.

What if he doesn’t give you the answers you want? Worse, what if he does? What if the things you’ve been holding onto for so long crumble under the weight of an explanation?

The clock on your phone ticks past midnight, and your mind is still racing. You picture Nic as he was this afternoon, stretched out on the grass, laughing at one of Joshua’s jokes. You picture him at the lake, sitting beside you, his voice low and careful as he apologized. You picture him five years ago, standing in the doorway of your shared dorm room for the last time, his silhouette etched into your memory like a scar.

What could he possibly say tomorrow to make any of it make sense?

You flip your pillow over, searching for the cool side, as if that will somehow quiet your thoughts. It doesn’t.

Instead, you start running through scenarios again, like rewinding a tape. Every question you might ask him, every possible answer he could give. How would you react if he said he was scared? If he said he didn’t know what he wanted back then? If he said he still doesn’t know? What would you say if he turned it all back on you?

You roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling, exhaustion creeping into the edges of your body but refusing to take hold. You feel like you’re arguing with a ghost in your own head, spiraling until you can’t make sense of anything anymore.

Finally, when the weight of your thoughts becomes too much to bear, your body wins over your mind. The edges of your consciousness blur, your breathing slows, and sleep pulls you under, not gently, but out of sheer necessity.

DAY FIVE

The day begins before you’re ready for it.

Your eyes flutter open, and the weight hits you all at once—the anxiety pooling in your stomach like cold lead. It’s the same feeling you get when you’re preparing to stand on a stage, the audience waiting for you to stumble. The same feeling you get when a patient walks in with a case you know will test every ounce of your skill. Except this time, it’s worse. This time, it’s Nic.

You lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling as the early morning light filters through the curtains, feeling every ounce of your unease wrap around your chest like a vice. It takes you right back to college, to that night when everything fell apart. You can almost feel the ghost of his lips brushing your forehead, hear the quiet resignation in his voice as he said goodbye. The memory alone is enough to make you feel hollow.

When you finally get up, you’re quieter than usual. The group gathers for breakfast—coffee brewing, light chatter filling the space—but you barely pick at your toast. You sit on the edge of conversation, offering the occasional hum or nod but contributing little else.

Joshua notices first. He always does.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low enough that only you can hear.

You glance at him, startled out of your daze. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you murmur, but even you can hear how unconvincing you sound.

He doesn’t press, but his worry lingers in the way his gaze flickers back to you every few minutes.

By midday, it’s obvious you’re not yourself. At lunch, Joshua tries to pull you into a conversation about an old story from college—something about a prank Dae once pulled on him—but you zone out halfway through, staring into the middle distance. When he calls your name, you blink at him, startled, as if you’ve just surfaced from underwater.

“I’m fine,” you insist again when Joshua frowns at you.

But you’re not fine. You feel like your insides are twisted in knots, your stomach churning with a mix of dread and anticipation. You’re acutely aware of Nic’s presence—how he occasionally glances your way with a furrowed brow, as if he’s trying to figure out what’s wrong but doesn’t know how to ask.

At one point, you start to think you might actually be sick. Your palms are clammy, and your chest feels tight. It’s Dae who pulls you aside after lunch, sensing the storm brewing just beneath the surface.

“I found a steakhouse,” she says, her tone light but her gaze sharp. “Josh and I were thinking of taking a few of us there tonight. Theo and India have plans with some friends, so it’ll just be a small group. What do you think?”

You nod automatically, grateful for the distraction.

Dae eyes you for a moment longer, then offers a small smile. “It’ll be fun. You need a good meal—and maybe some wine.”

She doesn’t say it outright, but you know what she’s doing. She’s pulling you out of your own head, giving you something else to focus on. And for the first time all day, the tension in your chest loosens—just a little.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a haze. You busy yourself with menial tasks, anything to keep your hands occupied and your thoughts at bay. But the anxiety never fully leaves, sitting heavy in your stomach like a storm cloud on the horizon.

You’re slouched on the love seat, a book in your lap that you’re not really reading. The pages might as well be blank for all the attention you’re paying them. Your fingers trail idly over the edges, lost in your thoughts, the tension in your body building with each minute that passes. Your stomach churns with the same nervous energy you’ve been battling all day, the anxiety too thick to shake off.

You don’t hear him at first.

It’s not until the soft creak of the door pulls you from your thoughts that you look up and find Joshua standing in the doorway, his arms crossed loosely as he leans against the frame. His brow is furrowed, eyes gentle but with a hint of concern.

“You’ve been on edge all day,” he observes, voice quiet, like he’s trying not to startle you.

You don’t respond immediately, not sure what to say. You can feel the weight of the conversation you know is coming, the one you’ve been dreading, hanging over you.

Joshua steps closer, his voice softening as he drops down to sit on the arm of the love seat, next to you. “Dae mentioned you were planning to talk to Nic… seriously talk to him. How’s that going?”

A sigh slips from your lips, the sound thick with frustration and uncertainty. You’ve barely been able to think about anything else, and now that the time is actually here, your mind feels like it’s running in circles. You’ve prepared a thousand things to say, and yet none of them seem right anymore.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you admit quietly, your fingers tapping against the book absently.

Joshua studies you for a moment, the corner of his mouth turning up in a rueful smile. “I guess I can’t pretend to be Nic,” he says, his voice teasing but warm, as if trying to bring some lightness into the air. “But maybe I can help you figure out what to say.”

You let out a small, dry laugh, shaking your head. “You’re too much of a softie for this to work.”

“I am,” he agrees easily, not offended in the slightest. “But I know both of you. And I care about both of you. I don’t like seeing you two stuck.” He pauses for a moment, the weight of his words settling between you. “I just want you to be okay, y’know?”

You look down at your hands, the weight of his sincerity making something heavy shift in your chest. “I know,” you murmur. “I just… I’m not sure I know how to fix any of it. It’s so complicated, Josh.”

He nods, his expression softening. “Yeah, I know it is. But maybe the first step is just being honest. With him. With yourself. There’s no easy way to do this, but you’ve got to start somewhere.”

He pauses again, considering you for a long moment before speaking again. “What is it you need from him? What’s the one thing you’ve been waiting to hear from him all these years?”

You blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of the question. It’s so straightforward, yet it feels like something you’ve been afraid to admit for a long time.

“I just want to know why he left,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to know why he couldn’t be honest with me. Why he just… shut me out.”

Joshua’s gaze is steady, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “Okay. So that’s where you start. You need to say that. Don’t sugarcoat it, don’t try to make it easier for him. Just tell him how it felt. And let him answer.”

You nod slowly, the words hanging in the air between you. For the first time that day, you feel a flicker of clarity, a small shift in your perspective. It won’t be easy, and it won’t be perfect, but maybe it’s enough to begin.

Joshua gives you a small, reassuring smile. “You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

You manage a tight smile back, the pressure in your chest lightening just a little. “Thanks, Josh. For being here.”

He shrugs, his grin widening. “Always, you know that.” Then he stands up, patting you on the shoulder. “I’ll be around if you need me. But you’ve got this.”

You watch him walk away, the weight of his words lingering in the air. You might not have all the answers yet, but you feel a little more ready to face what comes next.

The steakhouse is tucked into a cobblestone corner of the small Italian town, the kind of place that practically begs you to stay awhile. Its warm glow spills out into the narrow streets, blending with the soft hum of a nearby fountain. The scent of garlic and rosemary wafts from the open kitchen, mingling with the quiet hum of conversation and the clink of wine glasses. It’s intimate in the way that wraps around you like a soft blanket, and for a brief moment, it tempers the anxious edge that’s been eating away at you all day.

Joshua and Nic are seated at one end of the long table, across from each other. Joshua is in his element, throwing lighthearted jabs and pulling Nic into a story about some trip they took years ago. You notice that Nic seems… lighter. His laugh comes easier, and there’s a genuine warmth in his eyes that’s been missing for the last few days.

You, however, found yourself quieter than usual. The knot of nerves in your stomach hadn’t left, but the company and setting muted it into a low hum instead of the roaring wave it had been earlier.

Mingyu, ever attuned, seemed to notice your subdued energy. His usual flirtations softened into gentle humor, his tone warm and light when he spoke to you. “You didn’t order the steak well done, did you?” he teased with a faux scandalized expression, earning a small smile from you.

“Don’t worry,” you replied softly, poking at your potatoes. “I know better than to offend the chef’s sensibilities.”

Dae glanced your way a few times throughout dinner, her sharp eyes catching the moments you zoned out or stared a little too long at the flame of the candle in front of you. She didn’t say anything, but the look she gave you was pointed, as if to say: You know what you need to do.

The walk back to the villa was quieter than usual. You stuck close to Dae and Yeri, the three of you a little slower than the rest of the group, who were caught up in banter a few paces ahead.

Dae fell in step beside you, her voice low but direct. “So… are you going to talk to him, or what?”

The question hung in the crisp night air, sharp and slightly challenging.

“I’ll get to it,” you muttered, trying to deflect.

Dae stopped walking, her hand lightly gripping your arm to pause you too. “No, you won’t just ‘get to it.’ You’re going to do it. Tonight. Stop putting it off.”

You swallowed hard, her words piercing through your hesitations like a blade. She wasn’t wrong, and the accountability in her tone forced you to confront the truth: you had been stalling.

By the time you reached the villa, the group began to splinter off, some heading to their rooms, others lingering to chat in the living room. Your heart hammered as you lingered near the staircase, watching Nic head toward the back terrace with a glass of wine in hand.

You took a deep breath, steadied yourself, and followed him.

“Nic?” you called softly, your voice carrying into the quiet.

He turned, surprised to see you there. “Hey,” he said, his brow furrowing slightly as he set his glass down. “What’s up?”

You crossed your arms, the nerves twisting in your stomach. “Can we talk?”

Nic’s expression softened, his head tilting slightly as he took you in. “Of course,” he said gently, motioning to the seating area nearby. “Let’s sit.”

The terrace was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the breeze through the trees and the distant chirp of crickets. The villa lights cast a warm glow over the stone pathways, but you barely noticed any of it as you perched on the edge of the rattan lounger, your hands fidgeting in your lap. Nic sat beside you, his posture more relaxed than yours, though his fingers tapped against the armrest of his chair—an old tell of his own nerves.

You glanced at him briefly before your eyes darted back to your hands, picking at the skin around your nails. The anxious habit was one you’d never quite outgrown, and now, with your pulse hammering in your ears, it was back in full force.

Nic watched you for a moment, his voice breaking the silence. “You look like you’ve been carrying something heavy all day,” he said, softly enough that it didn’t feel like pressure, but firmly enough that you knew he wasn’t going to let you brush it off. “Take your time, though. I’m here.”

You nodded, forcing yourself to exhale slowly. The words were lodged somewhere between your chest and your throat, an awkward lump of anxiety and frustration. You knew what you wanted—closure, answers—but the act of asking for it felt monumental.

“You told me the other night that I could talk to you,” you started, your voice quieter than you’d intended. You cleared your throat and straightened slightly, forcing yourself to look at him. “That if there was something I wanted to say, I could. And… I need to.”

Nic didn’t respond immediately, but he nodded, his dark eyes steady on yours. The openness in his expression—no walls, no defensive edge—made you feel both reassured and exposed.

“I’ve been sitting on these questions for five years, Nic,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “Five years of trying to figure out what the hell happened between us. And I—I need to know. I can’t leave here without at least trying to make sense of it.”

You paused, searching his face for reluctance or discomfort, but there was none. His expression remained steady, his head dipping in a subtle nod of encouragement.

“Okay,” he said simply. “Ask. I’ll answer as best as I can.”

You swallowed hard, gripping your hands together to keep them still. The anxious niggle in your stomach was back in full force, sharp and unrelenting.

“Why did you leave?” you asked, the words breaking the silence like a snapped string. “Not just after graduation, but… us. Why did you leave us?”

Nic’s brow furrowed slightly, his lips parting as if to respond, but then he hesitated. You saw the flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or regret—before he rubbed the back of his neck and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“It wasn’t because I didn’t care,” he started, his voice low, steady. “I need you to know that first. I cared so much it scared the hell out of me.”

You swallowed, trying to control the lump that had formed in your throat. “What were you so scared of, Nic?” The words came out almost too quietly, but you couldn’t stop them. “I cared too. It wasn’t just about losing the guy I was sleeping with—I lost my best friend, my confidant. And you—” You stopped yourself, trying to steady your breathing. “You never even tried to reach out. Why? Why didn’t you even try?”

You saw the flicker of regret pass over his face, and your heart sank. You had imagined so many answers, but none of them were quite like this. Still, you pushed on, the hurt and confusion boiling over. “I thought you wouldn’t want to hear from me. I thought I’d just be a nuisance to you.”

Nic’s jaw clenched as he exhaled, eyes dropping briefly to the ground. Then, he looked up, meeting your gaze again with a rawness you hadn’t seen before. “I loved you,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “I love you. And that’s exactly why I shut you out. I thought if we got too involved, if I let you get too close, I’d be asking you to take a risk you didn’t deserve. I couldn’t ask you to follow me—couldn’t ask you to uproot your life for me when I wasn’t sure if I could make anything work.”

The world seemed to tilt beneath you, the air sucked out of your lungs as you processed what he’d just said. The weight of it settled in your stomach like a stone, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words felt trapped in your chest.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you exhaled slowly, as if trying to catch your breath. “You loved me,” you whispered, almost too quietly to hear yourself. “You loved me, and you just… walked away?”

Nic’s eyes searched yours, desperate for understanding. “I never wanted to hurt you, not like that. I was trying to protect you from something I wasn’t sure I could give you. And that just made everything worse.”

“So I deserved to be shunned, instead?” Your voice cracks as the words tumble out, a mix of frustration and hurt. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve, Nic.” You take a shaky breath, feeling the weight of everything you never said until now. “I was grown then, and I’m grown now. I would’ve fought for you. We would’ve worked it out.”

Nic’s face tightens with frustration, but there’s something softer beneath it. He runs a hand through his hair, gaze turning away for a moment. When he speaks again, it’s a near whisper. “I don’t know what else I can say, okay? I can’t take it back, and God knows if I could, I would. If we could go back, and you told me you loved me, I would’ve said I loved you too, and you’re right—we would’ve worked it out.”

The weight of his words presses down on you like a boulder, but you can’t shake the feeling that it’s too late for anything to change. You rise from your seat, feeling the impulse to put distance between you and him, as if the cold night air could somehow steady your racing heart. Each step toward the edge of the terrace feels like a small attempt to escape, to regain some control.

The wind brushes against your skin, cold and biting, but it does little to quell the heat of the tears that are falling down your cheeks, each one stinging more than the last. You wipe them away, but they keep coming, and the cool air only makes it worse, as if everything inside you is unraveling in front of him.

Nic doesn’t follow you right away. He stays where he is, giving you space, yet you feel the heaviness of his stare on your back, a silent plea for you to turn around and speak, to say something more.

The silence between you stretches on. The words you’re both avoiding hang thick in the air. It’s suffocating, unbearable.

Finally, you turn back toward him, your voice quiet but firm, almost like a challenge. “What do you want, Nic?”

The question lingers in the air, sharp and direct. You’ve asked yourself that question a thousand times, but now, finally, you’re asking him. You want to know if this is just a moment of guilt, a fleeting regret, or if there’s something more. Something real. Something that could make everything worth it.

There’s a pause—a moment where the only sound is the faint hum of the villa settling in the night.

“I don’t know,” he says softly at first, the words unsure, as though he’s still grappling with his own heart, trying to understand the depth of what he’s feeling. But then, his chest rises with a slow, deliberate breath. His eyes lock onto yours, steady and raw. “No, that’s not true.”

Your heart beats faster, and in the weight of the silence, you can feel the shift. It’s as though he’s finally letting go of whatever wall he’d been holding up all this time.

“I want you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I want another chance. I want us. And I’m not gonna back out again. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I’m in this for the long haul. I won’t run when it gets hard. Not this time.”

The words hit you like a gust of wind, each one pulling you deeper into the current of everything you’d once wanted. But a part of you—an aching, cautious part—hesitates.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. You want to believe him. You want to let yourself go, to believe in the possibility of something real again. But you’re not sure. Not yet.

“Why does it matter, Nic?” Your voice cracks, the frustration spilling over, mixing with the raw ache in your chest. “At the end of the week, you’ll go back to LA and I’ll go back to New York. And we’ll both be in fucking shambles again for no good reason. I’m buying into the practice next year. I’m not gonna follow you this time.”

Your words echo between you, the raw truth hanging in the air. You don’t want to admit it, but you’re scared. You’re scared of doing this again, of letting yourself fall for him only for him to leave again. You don’t know if you can risk that.

He’s silent for a moment, his face unreadable. But then, out of nowhere, he blurts it out, his voice rushing forward like it’s been desperate to escape.

“I’m moving back.”

The words are out before he can fully process them. His eyes widen with the weight of what he’s said, and the air grows heavier, the silence thickening between you. It’s like the ground beneath you both has shifted, and neither of you knows exactly what to do with the revelation.

You blink, your mind struggling to catch up. “What?” Your voice shakes, both in disbelief and the sudden hope that flickers to life, only to be quickly masked by fear.

“My firm is opening another branch in Manhattan.” Nic sits straighter, his voice dropping to a more serious tone, almost as if the weight of his words is finally catching up with him. “I put my hand up to get it up and running. I get back next month.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Nic stands, his voice steady but softer now as he searched your face. “Because I need you to know I’ll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust. Whatever that looks like for you—taking it slow, starting over… I’ll even let you beat the brakes off me in Central Park, if that’s what you need.”

His jaw tightened, and his gaze softened as he added, “It’s not about what I want anymore. It’s about what you need—what you want. I just want the chance to try, to prove I can be better for you.”

You stared at Nic, his words hitting you like a tidal wave, knocking the breath from your chest. He was standing so close, the intensity in his eyes almost too much to bear.

“I can’t,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is too much. I just… I can’t deal with this right now.”

Nic’s face fell, but he didn’t try to stop you as you stepped back, putting space between the two of you. “I understand,” he said quietly, his tone steady but tinged with sadness.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, the weight of his confession pressing heavily on your shoulders. You made your way back to your room, closing the door softly behind you before sinking onto the edge of the bed. The air in the room felt too still, too suffocating, as your mind raced with questions and emotions you didn’t know how to handle.

How could you trust him again? Could you even let yourself hope that things might be different this time?

The questions circled in your mind as you curled up on the bed, your thoughts too loud to allow for any real clarity.

A quiet knock at the door pulled you from your spiral, and before you could respond, the door creaked open. Dae peeked in, her warm, familiar smile softening as she took in your state. “Hey,” she said gently. “Can I come in?”

You nodded, too drained to say much. She slipped into the room and crossed over to you, settling beside you on the bed. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around you, and you leaned into her, letting the tears that had been building all day finally fall.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice muffled against her shoulder. “This was supposed to be your week, and I feel like I’m ruining it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dae said firmly, pulling back just enough to look at you. “You’re not ruining anything. You’ve been carrying a lot for a long time, and it’s okay to feel overwhelmed. That’s what friends are for.”

You wiped at your face, exhaling shakily. “Nic said he’s moving back to New York. And that he still loves me. I don’t know what to do, Dae. What if he runs again? What if I let myself hope, and he just breaks me all over again?”

Dae’s expression softened further, and she hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I need to tell you something. I overheard Nic and Joshua on the phone a few months ago. Joshua was helping him find a place in Manhattan because he knew Nic was planning to move back. He didn’t want to say anything until it was certain, but Nic’s been serious about coming back for a while now.”

You blinked at her, processing her words. “You knew?”

“I didn’t want to pressure you or plant any ideas in your head,” Dae admitted. “But for what it’s worth, I think he means it. He’s always regretted how things ended with you, and I really believe he’s willing to try this time.”

You sighed, your heart aching with the weight of your indecision. “What if it’s not enough? What if I let myself believe in him again, and it just falls apart?”

Dae squeezed your hand, her gaze steady. “Baby, I don’t have a crystal ball. I can’t answer that for you. But I do know that you’ve always been strong, and whatever you decide, you’ll be okay. If you’re willing to take the chance, though… maybe it’s worth it.”

Her words lingered as you sat together in the quiet, her arms a steady comfort as you tried to make sense of your tangled emotions.

Joshua’s entrance broke the stillness, his familiar warmth filling the room as he set a glass of water on the nightstand. He eased into the chair beside the bed, leaning back in that effortlessly casual way he always did, though his eyes flicked between you and Dae with quiet concern.

“Alright,” he began lightly, breaking the tension. “Which one of you do I have to yell at first?”

A small laugh escaped you, watery but genuine. “Definitely me. I’ve been the walking definition of a mess.”

Dae rolled her eyes, her arm still draped around your shoulders. “Don’t listen to her, Josh. She actually apologised to me for ruining our wedding week.”

Joshua’s head snapped toward you in mock offense. “You what?” he said, his voice exaggeratedly incredulous. “You think you could ruin this week? Please. It would take something a lot more catastrophic than your emotions for that to happen.”

“I mean it,” you muttered, heat creeping into your face. “I feel like I’ve been dragging all my baggage in here when this is supposed to be your time.”

“First of all,” Joshua said, holding up a finger, “you’re family, and family gets to bring their baggage—especially when it’s that guy,” he added with a sly smirk. “Second, you think Dae and I don’t love you, flaws and all? You’re practically my younger sister. Trust me, this week is better with you here, even if you’re crying in my guest room.”

The words, and the easy affection behind them, hit you square in the chest. Your lips twitched into a small smile despite yourself. “You guys are way too nice to me.”

“Absolutely not,” Dae interjected, squeezing your hand. “We love you. No qualifiers, no conditions. And you apologising? That just makes me want to shake you, but like, in a very loving way.”

Joshua grinned, clearly relieved to see a hint of your usual spark. “Yeah, you’re banned from apologising from now on, okay? Especially when it’s my fault for inviting Nic’s dumbass in the first place.”

You laughed, the sound rough but genuine. “You two make it sound so simple.”

“It’s because we’re geniuses,” Joshua deadpanned, leaning forward, a playful glint in his eyes. “But seriously, we’ve got you. No matter what. If you need a moment, take it. If you want to talk, yell, cry—whatever—you’re not going to scare us off. And Nic? He’s not going anywhere either.”

Dae gave an approving nod. “We’ve got your back, whatever you decide. But if it helps, we both think Nic is serious this time. He’s never stopped caring about you, and we’ve seen him wrestle with how badly he screwed up. He knows what he lost.”

Joshua’s voice softened, though it retained its teasing edge. “I mean, it’s hard not to love you. Even when you’re being dramatic.”

You rolled your eyes but felt your heart warm at their combined support. “I don’t know what I want yet,” you admitted, feeling the weight of the uncertainty settle over you again.

“You’ll figure it out,” Joshua said simply, standing and ruffling your hair lightly as he passed. “But just so we’re clear—you can take all the time you need, and we’re not letting you off the hook for being in our lives. Got it?”

The tenderness in his voice, mixed with his usual humor, steadied you. Dae’s arm tightened around you, and for the first time in days, the knot in your chest loosened just a little. You didn’t have all the answers, but for now, you had them. And that was enough.

FIVE YEARS EARLIER

The dental lab was a ghost town at this hour, the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the quiet buzz of the sterilizers the only signs of life. Everyone else had long since packed up, leaving you and Nic alone amidst the neatly arranged tools and rows of workstations. The air was crisp, almost too cool, but you didn’t mind; the silence felt like a cocoon.

You were bent over a set of mock impressions, the tiny details demanding all of your focus. Or at least, they should have. Instead, your attention kept slipping every time you caught Nic watching you from across the room. He’d been “studying” for the past hour, but the way his chair creaked as he shifted, the way his pen twirled lazily between his fingers—it was clear his focus was anywhere but his notes.

“You’re going to burn a hole through that thing,” he finally said, his voice low and teasing.

You glanced up, your heart giving a small, familiar flutter at the sight of him leaning back in his chair, legs stretched out, his dark eyes heavy-lidded but alert. “Maybe if someone actually studied, they’d have less time to critique my technique.”

“Maybe,” he said, standing and stretching in one fluid motion, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of his toned stomach. “Or maybe,” he continued, making his way over to you, “someone needs to be reminded to take a break.”

“Nic…” You meant it as a warning, but it came out breathless, your voice betraying you before he even reached your workstation.

He didn’t stop. He stepped behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. His hands found the edge of the desk, caging you in, and his breath skimmed the shell of your ear.

“Take a break,” he murmured, his voice rough and coaxing, as if it wasn’t a suggestion but a plea.

Your fingers froze over the plaster mold in your hands. You could feel him everywhere—his presence, his warmth, his scent. He leaned in closer, just enough to let his lips graze the sensitive spot beneath your ear, and your grip faltered.

“Nic…” This time it was less of a warning and more of a surrender.

He turned your chair toward him, his hands firm but not rough, and knelt slightly, bringing his face level with yours. His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought he might say something. Instead, he just kissed you��slow at first, but with a mounting desperation that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your hands flew to his chest, not to push him away but to anchor yourself. He kissed you like he couldn’t help himself, like he’d been holding back all evening and had finally given in. His tongue brushed against yours, and a soft sound escaped you, making him groan low in his throat.

“I can’t focus when you’re around,” he admitted against your lips, his hands sliding up to cup your face. “Scrub pants do you wonders, you know that?”

“If you get my after hours access revoked, you’ll be a dead man,” you muttered, but your words lacked any real bite, especially when he kissed you again, this time slower, deeper, as though he was savoring the moment.

Before you knew it, you were standing, the chair pushed back and forgotten. He guided you to the edge of the desk, lifting you effortlessly onto it, his hands firm on your thighs. The cool metal against your skin was a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pressing against yours.

You tilted your head back, letting him trail kisses down your neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. There was something in the way he touched you, kissed you—like he couldn’t get enough, like he was memorizing every inch of you for a moment when he might not have the chance again.

“Nic,” you whispered, your voice catching as his lips found the hollow of your throat.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes filled with something that looked suspiciously like yearning. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice thick with restraint.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead, you pulled him back to you, letting the kiss deepen, letting it drown out the world. The lab, the tools, the looming exams—they all fell away. All that mattered was him, the way his hands framed your face, the way he whispered your name like it was the only thing he could remember.

TWO WEEKS LATER

The warm light of the setting sun filtered through the cracked dorm window, casting golden streaks across the rumpled sheets. The faint chatter of students outside was barely audible over the hum of the fan, and the air was heavy with the scent of summer and sweat.

Nic lay sprawled on his back, his arm tucked beneath his head, his other hand tracing idle circles on your thigh. He was relaxed, his breathing steady, his dark hair still damp from exertion. You lay beside him, your heart still racing—not just from what you’d just done, but from the way he looked. The lazy smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth, the sharp angles of his jawline softened by the golden hour light, the slight sheen of his skin.

God, he was beautiful.

Your eyes lingered on the slope of his nose, the way his lashes fanned across his cheek as he blinked slowly. It wasn’t just his looks, though; it was everything about him. The way he teased you endlessly but always had your back. The way his laugh made your chest feel like it might explode. The way he touched you, like you were something precious.

The thought consumed you, spreading like a wildfire through your chest. You loved him. You didn’t know when it had happened—maybe it had been gradual, or maybe it had been all at once—but you loved him, wholly and irrevocably.

And the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“I love you.”

The room seemed to still. The lazy patterns Nic had been tracing froze, and his head turned to look at you, his eyes searching yours.

“What?”

You swallowed hard, the weight of the admission crashing down on you. There was no taking it back now. “I said I love you,” you repeated, softer this time.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, her stared at you, totally blank for a few beats. “You… You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.

Your stomach twisted, and you pushed yourself up to meet his gaze. “Yes, I do. How could I not?”

He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. The warmth in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something guarded. “Come on,” he said lightly, a weak smile tugging at his lips. “We’re just… having fun, right? Blowing off some steam before everything changes.”

The casualness in his tone hit you like a punch to the gut. “Just having fun?” you echoed, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

Nic rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “Yeah. I mean, we’re good at this, you know? No complications, no expectations.”

The ache in your chest deepened, but you forced yourself to nod, the pain silent and all-consuming. How could he not see it? you thought. How could he not feel it?

You wanted to argue, to tell him that it already was more, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say the words. Instead, you turned away from him, staring out the window. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Nic sighed softly behind you, but he didn’t say anything else. Eventually, his breathing evened out, and you knew he’d fallen asleep. But you lay awake, the ache in your chest growing with every passing moment.

When he woke hours later, the tension still hung thick in the air. Nic moved around the room quietly, gathering his things. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “See you later,” he murmured, and then he was gone.

Three days later, you walked into the library, the strap of your backpack digging into your shoulder. The quiet hum of hushed conversations and the rustle of pages greeted you as you made your way to your usual table. Joshua and Dae were already there, heads bent over their notes, but your heart sank when you saw Nic seated across from them, headphones in place.

He didn’t look up when you approached, but his posture stiffened ever so slightly.

“Hey!” Dae greeted you with her usual cheerfulness, sliding a chair out for you. “You’re late.”

“Got caught up,” you said shortly, avoiding Nic’s gaze as you sat down.

Joshua looked between the two of you, his brow furrowing. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Nic said at the same time you mumbled, “Yeah.”

The awkwardness was palpable. Dae’s smile faltered, and Joshua raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on the tension.

Nic, seemingly determined to avoid any meaningful interaction, adjusted his headphones and focused on his laptop. You busied yourself with your notes, the silence between you louder than any words could have been.

The interaction that broke the tension was small, almost insignificant. Nic reached for a book that was just out of his reach, and his fingers brushed yours as you instinctively handed it to him. The contact was brief, but it was enough to make your stomach flip and your heart ache all over again.

“Thanks,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes.

Dae, who had been watching the exchange with growing concern, leaned in closer to you. “Okay, seriously, what’s going on?” she whispered.

You shook your head. “Not now,” you whispered back, your voice tight.

You and Dae lingered behind in the library, packing up your things in a heavy silence. Joshua and Nic had left a few minutes earlier, their quiet conversation trailing off as the door swung shut behind them.

Dae studied you carefully, her lips pursed in thought. “Okay, what is going on?”

You blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

She rolled her eyes, closing her laptop firmly. “You know exactly what I mean. You and Nic. A week ago, you were practically joined at the hip, and now you’re treating each other like strangers. Did you guys have a fight or something?”

Your stomach churned at the mention of his name, and you ducked your head, fiddling with the corner of one of your cue cards. “It’s nothing, Dae.”

“You’re such a shit liar,” she said, exasperated. “Josh and I aren’t blind, you know. We’ve noticed the way you’ve been avoiding each other, and it’s weird. You two were always… good to each other.”

Your chest tightened at her words, the memories flooding back unbidden. The way Nic used to pick up your favorite lunch without being asked. How he’d stay late at the lab just to be your volunteer when you needed someone for a prac exam. The way his hand always found the small of your back when you walked side by side.

“You were so good together,” Dae continued, her voice softening. “I mean, Josh and I worked it out ages ago that you were… you know.”

Your head snapped up, your heart pounding. “You knew?”

“Of course, we knew,” she said, smirking a little. “You weren’t exactly subtle about it. The way you’d look at each other, how you’d always find some excuse to sit next to him or how he’d hang on your every word. It was kind of sweet, actually. So we decided to let you guys have your thing. But now…” Her smile faded, replaced by concern. “Now it feels like you can’t even stand to be in the same room as him, and I have no idea why.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing down on you. For a moment, you considered brushing it off again, but the knot in your chest tightened. You couldn’t keep this bottled up anymore.

“I told him I loved him,” you said quietly, the words barely above a whisper.

Dae froze, her eyes widening. “You what?”

You shifted uncomfortably, your voice trembling. “It just came out. We were in my dorm, and it was so… comfortable, you know? I wasn’t planning to say it, but I did. And he—” You broke off, your throat tightening.

Dae’s hands found yours, her brow furrowing. “And he what?”

“He brushed it off,” you said bitterly. “Said we were just friends blowing off steam. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like I didn’t mean anything.”

Her mouth fell open in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “It’s been eating me alive all week, Dae. I thought… I thought we were more than that. It always felt like more. And now he’s just… gone. Like he doesn’t care at all.”

Dae was silent for a moment, her expression shifting between shock and anger. Finally, she let out a frustrated sigh, dragging a hand over her face. “That idiot.”

You blinked at her, startled by the venom in her tone.

“I mean it,” she said firmly. “Nic’s an idiot. Because there’s no way he didn’t care about you. Not with the way he looked at you. And now he’s just throwing it all away because… what? He’s scared?”

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your eyes. “I don’t even know. He hasn’t said a word to me since that night. He just… shut down.”

Dae’s gaze softened, and she reached out to squeeze your hand. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could fix this for you.”

“It’s not your fault,” you said, your voice cracking. “I just… I don’t know what to do, Dae.”

She hesitated, biting her lip. “There’s something else,” she said carefully.

Your stomach sank. “What?”

“I overheard him and Josh talking a while ago,” she admitted. “Nic got offered an internship in L.A., some big shot criminal defense firm.”

The room seemed to tilt for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. “He’s leaving?”

“I think that’s why he’s been so distant,” she said quickly, her tone apologetic. “He probably didn’t know how to tell you.”

You stared at her, the weight of her words settling over you like a heavy blanket. “So he was just going to leave,” you said hollowly. “Without saying anything. Without… anything.”

Dae squeezed your hand tighter, her eyes brimming with sympathy. “I don’t know what he was thinking, but I do know this: Nic is an idiot, but he’s not heartless. He’s just… scared. Of what, I don’t know. But this doesn’t mean he didn’t care about you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “It doesn’t matter. He made his choice.”

Dae hesitated, then pulled you into a tight hug. “I’m here for you, okay? Whatever you need. And for the record, you didn’t deserve this. Not even a little.”

You buried your face in her shoulder, the tears finally spilling over. For the first time, you let yourself grieve the weight of what you’d lost—and the realization of what you might never have again.

After that day, everything changed. Nic stopped showing up to your study sessions altogether, leaving his usual spot at the table empty and the air heavier than it had ever been. Whenever Joshua invited him somewhere and Nic caught wind that you’d be there, he suddenly had plans he couldn’t cancel, excuses that sounded thinner each time they were shared.

The last time you saw him was at a graduation party a few weeks later. He’d stayed on the opposite side of the room the entire night, never once meeting your gaze. No apology. No explanation. Not even a simple well-wish. And just like that, he was gone.

Life moved on, as it always does. Joshua and Dae stayed in New York after graduation, rooting themselves in the city that had always felt like home to all of you. They kept their ties to Nic and to you, carefully navigating the distance and emotions that neither of you seemed ready to face.

They watched as you buried yourself in your studies, earning a coveted spot in a prestigious postgraduate program. They celebrated with you when you joined a prolific practice, one that would eventually make you one of the most sought-after specialists in the city.

And through it all, they watched you heal. Slowly, painfully, but bit by bit. They saw you piece yourself back together—brighter, sharper, stronger than before. But even as the years passed, the cracks remained, faint but unyielding, a quiet reminder of the part of yourself you’d once handed over to someone who hadn’t known how to hold it.

DAY SIX

The next morning, Mingyu found himself lingering by the villa’s breakfast table, his thoughts far from the casual chatter around him. He couldn’t shake the tension that had simmered between Nic and you the night before. It was clear that something more than just playful flirting had been behind your exchange, and he hadn’t fully understood the depth of the storm that had been brewing between you.

Josh, who had been quietly sipping his coffee, noticed Mingyu’s brooding expression and raised an eyebrow. “You look like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, man,” he commented, setting his cup down with a soft clink. “What’s going on?”

Mingyu stews for a few moments before sighing. “I overheard [Y/N] and Nic on the terrace last night. I didn’t realise how serious it was to them. She’s so lovely and he’s…I don’t know. He seems to care for her a lot, and I’m worried I might have made it worse.”

Joshua tilted his head, a sympathetic smile softening his expression. “There’s a lot to it, but trust me, it’s not your fault. You weren’t to know, and honestly? They probably needed a shove in the right direction.”

Mingyu frowned, leaning back in his seat as if trying to make sense of the tension he’d witnessed. “What happened between them, if you don’t mind me asking? I feel like I’m missing pieces.”

Josh hesitated for a moment, his gaze drifting as if replaying memories in his mind. “Nic and I went to high school together, as you know. They met through me in college when Dae and I started seeing each other. The four of us were inseparable and Nic and her became close fast, and by senior year, they were basically best friends who happened to be sleeping together.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, surprised by how casually he mentioned it. Joshua caught his look and let out a dry laugh. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, it was obvious to everyone but them that it wasn’t just casual. The way they were together—it ran so much deeper than friends with benefits. I think they both knew it, but they were too scared to admit it.”

His voice softened, and a faint trace of sadness crept into his tone. “Then Nic got offered an internship in Los Angeles. It was a huge deal for him, but he didn’t know how to tell her. And before he could figure it out, she told him she loved him.”

Mingyu’s eyebrows shot up. “What did he do?”

Josh sighed, his lips pressing into a tight line. “He iced her out. Completely shut her down. I think he panicked—he was so scared of trying to rearrange his life for her that he just decided it’d be better to throw the towel in. We used to study together every Thursday, without fail and at some point he stopped showing up. If I invited him somewhere and he knew she would be there, suddenly he had other plans.”

Mingyu nodded slowly, piecing together the fragments of the story. “They seriously haven’t spoken since then?”

Josh shook his head, his expression pained. “No. And the worst part? Nic told me after he moved that he loved her too. He admitted it was the biggest mistake he’d ever made, but by then, the damage was done. She worked so hard to rebuild herself after he left. Dae made Nic promise not to reach out because she knew she needed time to heal. And she did heal, in her own way, but Nic broke her in ways that I don’t think even she could fully explain.”

Mingyu exhaled, his chest heavy with the weight of their history. “That’s… brutal.”

“It was,” Joshua agreed softly, his gaze distant. “And I don’t think she was just upset that he left. She was angry because he didn’t give her a choice. She would’ve fought for him if he’d made even the smallest effort to keep her in his life. But he didn’t. He ran.”

“And now?” Mingyu asked, his voice cautious.

Josh’s lips curved into a small, bittersweet smile. “Now, they’re grown up. They’re different people with the same wounds. If they want to fix it, they’re the only ones who can.”

Mingyu nodded thoughtfully, his mind whirring as he connected the dots. “You don’t think I made it worse?”

Joshua’s gaze snapped back to him, his smile warm and reassuring. “Please don’t feel responsible for their quarrels, Gyu. This isn’t on you. It’s their responsibility to fix what’s broken. You just got caught in the crossfire.”

“I still feel like I should apologise to her,” he said, his tone laced with guilt. “I didn’t mean to stir anything up.”

Josh tilted his head, considering him for a moment. “I don’t think it’ll hurt, but I promise, she won’t blame you. She’s very reasonable—when people deserve it.” His smile turned playful, teasing him just enough to ease the tension in his shoulders. “And you definitely deserve it.”

Mingyu chuckled softly, though his expression grew serious again. “She’s been through a lot, huh?”

Josh nodded. “She has. But she’s also strong, and she knows what she wants. If you do talk to her, just be honest. She’ll appreciate it.”

Later that morning, Mingyu finds you stretched out on the lawn with a book in hand, the golden light of the late morning sun casting a warm glow over the villa grounds. A slight breeze ruffles the pages of Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, and you pause to smooth them out, your gaze focused but peaceful. The serene moment is a stark contrast to the charged energy of the past few days.

Mingyu approaches cautiously, hands stuffed into his pockets as if he’s unsure of how to start. “That’s pretty heavy reading for a vacation,” he says lightly, nodding toward the book as he comes to a stop a few feet away.

You glance up at him and offer a small smile. “Sometimes you need something grounding. Keeps your mind clear when things get… complicated.”

Mingyu winces, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, about that…” He hesitates, clearly weighing his words. “Do you have a minute? I wanted to talk to you.”

Setting the book aside, you sit up and gesture for him to take a seat on the grass beside you. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

He lowers himself down, resting his elbows on his knees. For a moment, he just stares out at the horizon, gathering his thoughts. “I wanted to apologise. For… well, for anything I said or did that might’ve made things more tense between you and Nic. I honestly had no idea about your history, and if I’d known…” He shakes his head. “I just feel like I might’ve put you in an uncomfortable position.”

You study him for a moment, then shake your head with a gentle smile. “Mingyu, you didn’t do anything wrong. You couldn’t have known, and honestly, it’s not your responsibility to tiptoe around our mess. That’s on Nic and me to figure out.”

His expression softens, though the guilt lingers in his eyes. “Josh told me a bit more about what happened. I just feel like I walked into the middle of something that’s been brewing for years and accidentally stirred the pot.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Maybe you did stir it a little, but sometimes things need to be stirred. It’s not like we were doing a great job of dealing with it on our own.” Your gaze drifts to the villa, where the weight of the past few days still lingers. “If anything, I should thank you. You’ve been nothing but kind and genuine, even when things got messy.”

Mingyu relaxes slightly, though his expression remains serious. “I mean it, though. I really respect you. I don’t know if I’d have the strength to even be here, let alone handle everything as gracefully as you have.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. “Gracefully? I’m pretty sure half the villa heard me crying last night.”

“Maybe,” he says with a sheepish grin. “But honestly? You’re handling it. You’re facing it head-on, even if it’s messy. That takes guts.”

His words catch you off guard, and you blink, letting them settle. “Thanks, Mingyu,” you say softly. “That means a lot.”

He nods, a warm sincerity in his gaze. “For what it’s worth, I think you should do whatever feels right for you. Whether that’s giving him another chance or walking away for good. Just… make sure it’s what you want, not what you think you’re supposed to do.”

You consider his words carefully, feeling a mix of gratitude and clarity. “That’s good advice,” you admit, your voice thoughtful. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

The two of you sit in companionable silence for a while, the weight of the conversation lifting slightly. Eventually, Mingyu stands, brushing grass off his pants. “Alright, I’ll let you get back to your heavy Roman philosophy. But if you ever need to vent—or just a distraction—you know where to find me.”

You smile up at him, genuinely touched by his support. “Thanks, Mingyu. Really.”

As he walks back toward the villa, you pick up your book again, but your mind lingers on his words. The clarity they bring feels like the first piece of calm amidst the chaos, and for the first time in days, you feel like you’re starting to figure out what you truly want.

After Mingyu’s apology, a sense of relief settles over you, but it doesn’t erase the questions or the lingering confusion. You spent the morning with Dae, trying to keep your mind occupied with light conversation, but your thoughts keep drifting back to everything that’s happened. The answers you’ve gained are helpful, but they don’t completely solve the storm raging inside of you. You’ve gained some closure, but there’s still so much you’re trying to process, especially now that you know Nic wants another chance. You’re unsure if you’re ready to give it, or if you even want to.

Looking for solitude, you escape to the garden, where the tranquil beauty of the estate contrasts sharply with the turmoil inside. Surrounded by the calm lake and vibrant flowers, you try to make sense of your emotions. The stillness around you feels like a reflection of what you want—peace and clarity—but it’s hard to silence the unease. You’ve been holding onto so much—anger, regret, and fear. Nic’s confession that he loves you, and his desire to try again, makes it all more complicated. Can you trust him again? Can you trust yourself?

The midday sun cast its warmth across the rippling lake, the golden light reflecting off the water like scattered diamonds. The air smelled faintly of wildflowers and pine, a comforting mix that you’d come to associate with this place. You were stretched out on a towel on the grass, letting the sun kiss your skin, trying to soak in the quiet and keep your thoughts at bay.

A soft rustle of gravel caught your attention, followed by the unmistakable weight of his presence. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know it was Nicholas. Even after all these years, you could still feel him before you saw him.

When you did glance up, he stood a few feet away, one hand playing with a ring on his other, his gaze flickering between you and the lake. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, and in his hand was a folded piece of paper.

“Hey,” he said softly, breaking the silence.

You sat up, shielding your eyes from the sun. “Hey.”

He shifted, his thumb brushing over the edge of the paper. “I, uh…wanted to give you this.”

Your brow furrowed as you looked at the paper. “What is it?”

“A letter,” he admitted, stepping closer but keeping a careful distance. “I wrote it after college. It’s…it’s everything I couldn’t say back then.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Why didn’t you send it?”

He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line before he sighed. “Dae made me promise not to. She thought it would hurt you more than it would help.” His voice softened. “She was probably right.”

Your fingers itched to take the letter, but your chest tightened. “Why now?”

He crouched down, placing the letter on the towel beside you, his gaze steady and purposeful. “I want you to have this,” he said quietly. “I don’t expect anything from it, or from you. I just think it’s important for you to know the truth. When you’re ready, read it. I’ll be here, but… take your time.”

You stared at the letter, a wave of conflicting emotions rushing through you—curiosity, fear, and something deeper, more vulnerable that you couldn’t yet name. By the time you looked up, Nic was already walking away, his footsteps soft against the gravel path.

Before he disappeared into the distance, he turned back, his voice low as he spoke again. “I’m not running away this time,” he said, a hint of finality in his words. “Whatever happens next, I’m staying.” His eyes held yours for a long moment, before he gave a small nod and left you alone with the letter.

You sat there, the peaceful sounds of the lake and the distant wedding preparations surrounding you, but you could feel the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. The letter before you seemed to hold the answer to questions you hadn’t known how to ask, and now it was up to you to decide whether to open it, to face whatever truths it might bring.

Hey,

I don’t know where to start, so I guess I’ll just say I’m sorry.

Dae told me how bad things have been for you. I can’t stop hearing her voice, the way she said it. You don’t deserve any of this. You never did. I’ve been trying to convince myself that this is what I wanted—that running to L.A. was the right thing to do, that leaving everything behind was the only way to get where I’m going. But every day, I wake up and realize how hollow that is.

You told me you loved me. God, I already knew. I’ve known for a long time—probably longer than you did. You didn’t say anything I hadn’t already felt in the way you looked at me, laughed with me, or trusted me when no one else could. I don’t know why I let you say it first. Maybe I was waiting for the courage to admit that I felt the same way.

I didn’t handle it the way I should have. I should’ve told you how scared I was—scared of messing this up, scared of failing, scared of how much you already meant to me. Instead, I just ran. Because running was easier than staying and facing the possibility that I might not be enough for you, that this thing between us could break under the weight of my fear and ambition.

But it broke anyway, didn’t it?

Josh told me to write this down. He said it didn’t matter if it was stupid or if you’d never even read it—just that I needed to get it out of my head. I didn’t believe him at first, but he was right. I’ve been carrying this around like a weight tied to my chest, and I need you to know that leaving you wasn’t what I wanted. Not really.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to fix this. I don’t know if I deserve that chance. But if I do—if somehow you find a way to let me back into your life—I promise I’ll fight for you this time. I won’t run. I’ll prove that I’m not the same stupid, confused kid who thought a job in L.A. was more important than the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

I don’t expect forgiveness. I just needed you to know.

I miss you. More than I thought was possible.

Love, always

Nic

The letter trembled in your hands as you finished reading, your vision blurred by unshed tears. You folded it carefully, your chest tightening as you placed it back on the towel beside you.

It didn’t erase the hurt—nothing could—but it filled in the gaps. It explained the silence, the retreat, the way he’d pulled away when you needed him most. It didn’t justify it, but it made it human.

And as much as it stung to relive those memories, something in you softened. The vulnerability in his words, the raw sincerity—they weren’t things you’d ever expected from Nicholas. He wasn’t just apologizing; he was baring himself in a way he never had before.

For the first time, you believed he truly regretted what happened. And maybe, just maybe, you believed he was capable of change.

You found him in the villa’s garden, sitting on a low stone bench beneath the shade of a sprawling olive tree. His shoulders were hunched, hands clasped between his knees as he stared at the cobblestone path. The rustling leaves and distant hum of cicadas filled the silence until your footsteps broke through.

He looked up, and his eyes searched yours. There was a flicker of hope in them, but it was tentative, cautious. You could see the way he braced himself, as if ready for whatever blow might come next.

“I read it,” you said, stopping a few steps away.

He stood, stuffing his hands into his pockets, then took a hesitant step closer. “And?”

You exhaled, shaking your head softly as you perched on the edge of the bench. “It doesn’t fix everything, Nic. It doesn’t take away the pain. But… I think I get it now. Why you left. Why you didn’t say goodbye.”

Nic sat beside you, not interrupting, just listening. His eyes were focused on the ground, his posture tense but patient, as though he was waiting for you to continue.

You glanced at him briefly, your voice quieter but steady. “I’ve spent so long wondering if I’d done something wrong. If I wasn’t enough. But seeing it, reading it… it makes it more real, I guess. You’re not a villain. You’re not just someone who walked away. You had your reasons. I can see that now.”

His breath hitched, but he didn’t speak. His eyes searched yours for any sign of anger or resentment, but you felt only a quiet acceptance—your thoughts still swirling, but clearer than before.

“I won’t pretend this makes everything okay. It doesn’t erase how it felt, or how I felt. But it’s real, Nic. You’re not the guy I thought you were. It makes it… human.” You paused, looking away, unable to keep the tears in check for much longer. “But I can… understand. Finally.”

Nic’s hand twitched, like he wanted to reach for you, but he held back. His expression softened, and though he didn’t speak, there was an understanding between you now—a fragile crack in the wall that had been between you both for so long.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. He let you breathe, let you feel it, without rushing in to explain or fix. And for the first time in a long while, it felt like you were beginning to make peace with the past.

Nic broke the silence, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. “I’d like a chance to try again. I know I don’t deserve it, but I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’ve changed.”

You studied him for a moment, his expression open, unguarded. For the first time, it felt like he wasn’t just offering you words—he was offering you a piece of himself.

“And now?” you asked, your voice careful, cautious.

“I’m moving back to New York in a month,” he said simply. “I’ve already taken the job. I’ll be there full-time, and when I am, I want to prove to you that I’ve learned from my mistakes. That I can do better.”

Your lips quirked into a faint, skeptical smile. “What makes you so sure I’ll let you?”

“I’m not,” he admitted, a flicker of a smile breaking through his seriousness. “But I’m willing to try. You’ve always been worth it, even if I didn’t have the sense to see it back then.” He paused, his tone softening. “And I know if I screw up again, Joshua and Dae will drown me in the Hudson before you even get the chance.”

You laughed despite yourself, the sound breaking some of the tension. “That’s probably true.”

“I mean it,” he said, leaning slightly toward you, his voice lowering. “I’ve spent years thinking about this. About you. And I know now that nothing I say will ever be enough unless I show you. So this is me, showing you. I’m here. And I’m ready to put in the work, no matter how long it takes.”

The sincerity in his words tugged at something deep inside you, though your heart remained guarded. “It’s not just about making promises, Nic,” you said softly. “It’s about proving you can stay. That you won’t disappear when things get hard again.”

“I know,” he said, his eyes locked on yours. “And I will. One day at a time. One step at a time. I’m not asking you to forgive me overnight. I just want a chance to earn it.”

You studied him for a long moment, the weight of his words sinking in. There was a quiet determination in his expression, a sincerity that felt unshakable. For the first time, you believed he wasn’t just saying what he thought you wanted to hear—he meant every word.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice soft but resolute. “Baby steps.”

A faint, relieved smile spread across his face, one that reached his eyes. “Baby steps,” he echoed.

It wasn’t perfect, and it wouldn’t fix everything. But for the first time in years, you felt the tiniest flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way forward. Together.

You looked at him for a long moment, letting his words settle over you like the warm Italian breeze. There was no denying the sincerity in his voice, no mistaking the quiet resolve in his eyes. This was Nicholas—not the man who ran away, but the one who was willing to stay and fight for you now.

And yet, the hurt was still there, a lingering ache you couldn’t shake. But so was the memory of what it felt like to be with him—the safety, the warmth, the certainty that no one else could ever occupy the space he had carved out in your heart.

Before you could overthink it, you shifted closer on the bench.

Nic’s eyes widened slightly, his breath catching as you closed the distance between you. Without a word, you wrapped your arms around him, resting your cheek against his shoulder.

For a moment, he froze, like he couldn’t believe it was happening. But then he turned slightly and arms came around you, holding you tightly, and he let out a shaky exhale against your hair.

His heart was pounding beneath your ear, so fast and so loud you were certain he could feel it, too. It was such a familiar rhythm, one you hadn’t realized you’d missed until now.

Neither of you spoke, but there was no need to. The hug wasn’t just an embrace; it was a beginning. The first crack in the walls you’d spent years building, the first tentative step toward letting him back in.

His hand moved up to cradle the back of your head, his touch achingly gentle, and you felt his lips press softly against your hair. “Thank you,” he whispered, so quiet you barely heard it.

You didn’t respond right away, letting yourself sink into the moment—the feeling of being back in his arms, of being home in a way you hadn’t been in a long time.

Finally, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your arms still looped loosely around his midriff. “Don’t make me regret this, Nic,” you murmured, your voice low but steady.

His gaze met yours, unwavering. “I won’t,” he promised.

And for the first time in years, you thought maybe—just maybe—you could believe him.

DAY SEVEN

The garden was alive with warmth and laughter, the gentle hum of conversation mingling with the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. A few rows of chairs were set out neatly in front of an archway draped in delicate linen and wildflowers, the blooms swaying lazily in the afternoon sun. Everything about the scene felt intimate and magical, the perfect backdrop for the day’s promises.

On the lawn just off to the side, Joshua and Nic were with Nabi—Dae’s niece, her joyful giggles carrying through the air as they took turns chasing her in playful circles. Joshua lifted her high in the air with ease, spinning her around before setting her down so Nic could crouch to her level and join in her antics. There was something achingly tender about the scene—Nic’s easy smile, the way he cradled her like she was the most precious thing in the world. It made your chest tighten and your knees feel a little weak. He looked completely at ease, his sharp features softened by the pure affection shining in his eyes.

You lingered near the garden entrance, letting the moment unfold, but Nic caught sight of you almost immediately. He froze mid-movement, his smile faltering for just a second before returning, this time softer, as his eyes stayed locked on you. Joshua noticed, his gaze darting between you and Nic before a knowing grin spread across his face. Nudging Nic lightly with his elbow, he murmured something you couldn’t hear, then patted Nabi’s shoulder as if signaling her to join in.

“Take Nabi with you,” Joshua said, his voice just audible now. “As backup.”

Nic gave him a look but obliged, standing and brushing off his trousers. As he made his way toward you, Nabi clung to his hand, bouncing excitedly on her toes.

“Auntie!” Nabi squealed, breaking free from Nic’s grip and running the last few steps to throw her arms around you. You laughed, stooping slightly to meet her hug, the warmth of her energy infectious.

“Oh, beautiful girl, I missed you,” you cooed, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “You’ve grown so much!”

She stepped back just enough to get a full look at you, her big eyes going wide as she gasped dramatically. “You look so pretty, like a princess!”

You chuckled, smoothing the fabric of your dress. “That’s sweet of you to say, Nabi. But I think the real princess here is you. Have you seen your flower crown? It’s gorgeous.”

Nabi, ever observant, turned her attention to Nic, tugging on his sleeve to pull him into the conversation. “Uncle Nic, don’t you think she looks like a princess?”

Nic’s blush rose immediately, a soft pink coloring his cheeks as his gaze darted between you and Nabi. He cleared his throat, his usual confidence taking a backseat to something tender and vulnerable. “I do,” he said, his voice quiet but certain. “She looks beautiful.”

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his tone, the way his eyes lingered on you like you were the only person in the world. Nabi seemed pleased with his response, clapping her hands before Joshua called her name from across the lawn.

“Nabi-ya!” Joshua beckoned, his voice light with laughter. He crouched down the ground, saying something in Korean that you didn’t understand.

But Nabi did, and she squealed again, running off toward Joshua without a second thought. He gave you a quick wink before turning his full attention back to entertaining Nabi, leaving you alone with Nic.

“She’s exactly how I picture Dae was as a kid,” Nic said, watching them go with a faint smile.

“Causing trouble between unwitting adults? Pretty much,” you replied, glancing up at him with a grin. “You’re really good with her. It’s sweet to see.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, the blush still faintly there. “She was easy to befriend. I just had to give her a piggyback and promise ice cream later on.”

“Yeah,” you agreed softly, the weight of the moment settling between you. “I stopped by Dae’s suite earlier. She’s excited, but you know how she gets before big moments.”

“She’ll be fine,” Nic said, his smile warming at the mention of her.

“I don’t doubt it,” you said, your voice taking on a gentle fondness. “Josh is going to be a wreck, though. He’s going to cry the second he sees her.”

Nic chuckled at that, glancing over to where Joshua was fussing with Nabi’s flower crown again. “You’re probably right. He’ll deny it, but I give it two minutes before the waterworks start.”

“Two? That’s gracious,” you teased, shaking your head. “But, honestly? I’ll probably cry too. It’s hard not to with these two.”

Nic hummed in agreement, but you noticed his tie was slightly off—crooked and loosely knotted, the way it always was when he attempted it himself. Without thinking, your hand reached out, instinct taking over as you caught the fabric in your fingers.

“You never could do this right,” you murmured, stepping closer as your fingers caught the fabric of his crooked tie.

Nic stilled but didn’t move away, his eyes dropping to watch as you carefully loosened the knot.

“All these years of being a big-shot lawyer and prosecutor,” you teased lightly, your voice soft but steady, “and you still can’t figure this out?”

His lips twitched, the corner tugging up in a faint smirk. “Guess some things never change.”

“Clearly,” you replied, tugging the tie into a perfect knot and smoothing it down against his chest. You lingered for a brief second, the faint impression of taut muscle below your fingertips prompting a tingle in your knees before you stepped back.

“There,” you said, finally looking up at him. “That’s better.”

When your eyes met his, you found him already watching you, his gaze warm and unreadable, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“I don’t know,” Nic said, his voice quieter now. “I think it looks better when you do it.”

Your cheeks warmed at his tone, but you gave him a half-smile, trying to keep the moment light. “Good thing I’m here, then.”

Nic’s gaze softened as he looked at you, something unspoken passing between you as the celebrant called for everyone to take their seats. The air between you felt lighter—less burdened by the years of distance and hurt. It wasn’t everything, but it was something, and maybe, for now, that was enough. Together, you made your way to the front row, sitting side by side as the atmosphere shifted, the ceremony moments away. The weight of being at a wedding settled over you both, not heavy or suffocating, but warm and reflective, a reminder of the beauty in love and commitment. Nic’s hand rested on his knee, his fingers brushing yours for just a second before pulling away. It was a quiet gesture, but it said everything neither of you could in that moment.

The ceremony had been intimate, full of raw emotion and quiet vows shared under the archway of wildflowers and linen. After the applause and congratulations faded, Josh and Dae pulled everyone into the garden for photos. They made a point to gather everyone close for group shots, but it wasn’t long before the focus turned to the two of you—Nic, and you.

“Come on,” Dae urged, tugging at your hand with an almost childlike excitement. “Just one with the original crew. For old times’ sake.”

Josh beamed as he pulled Nic closer, the four of you automatically falling into place the way you had so many times before. Nic’s arm settled around your waist like a second nature, his hand gripping your hip gently as the photographer guided you all, and you found yourself smiling more naturally than you had in years.

As the camera clicked, you felt a wave of nostalgia wash over you, bittersweet and warm all at once. For the first time in what felt like forever, it was like no time had passed at all. These three had been your family once—Josh’s steady encouragement, Dae’s infectious laughter, and Nic’s quiet, unwavering presence. And now, standing there again, you realized they still were.

“Just one more,” Josh said, his voice light but fond as he glanced at Dae. “For the wedding album.”

Dae laughed, slipping her arm around his waist. “Fine, but I get to pick which one we print.”

As the session wound down, Josh and Dae were swept away for more couple’s photos, leaving the rest of you to wander back toward the villa. Nic fell into step beside you, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

“That felt…a little like old times, didn’t it?” he said after a moment, his voice low and thoughtful.

You glanced at him, his profile softened by the golden hour light. “It did. Almost made me forget how long it’s been.”

Nic smiled faintly, his gaze fixed ahead as he said, “Doesn’t feel that long when we’re all together like that. Like…nothing’s really changed.”

You wanted to say that some things had changed—everything had, really—but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you just nodded, your footsteps falling into an easy rhythm with his.

By the time you reached the terrace, the space had been transformed for the reception. Strings of lights hung overhead, and the scent of wildflowers lingered in the air. The warmth of the garden gave way to a deeper kind of intimacy, the soft hum of conversation weaving through the evening as you and Nic sat side by side, the laughter and love surrounding you like a bubble that left just the two of you to your thoughts.

You couldn’t help but glance at him when he wasn’t looking, taking in the way the warm light caught the angles of his face, the faint lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Those years apart had added something to him—maturity, maybe, or weariness—but not enough to bury the man you’d fallen for all those years ago. It wasn’t the tailored suit or the polished smile or the gold plaque with his name on it that stayed with you now; it was the way he’d looked at Nabi earlier, the way he’d watched Josh and Dae exchange their vows with such a quiet intensity.

He caught you staring and smiled faintly, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to gauge where your thoughts had gone. For a moment, it felt like the two of you were suspended in time, the weight of everything unspoken between you making the air thicker.

The terrace fell silent as Josh rose to speak, his voice steady but rich with emotion. He spoke about Dae with the kind of reverence that only deep, abiding love could inspire, sharing stories that earned both laughter and tears from the small gathering. Dae followed with her own words, her usual confidence softened by the rawness of her affection for Josh.

The speeches struck a chord in you, each word a gentle nudge toward memories you thought you’d buried. You felt Nic shift beside you, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned forward, his attention fixed on the couple at the head of the table. You knew he was thinking about them—about what they had—but you also knew he was thinking about you.

Then, Dae turned her attention to you, her smile mischievous as she raised her glass. “I think it’s only fair,” she said, her voice light and teasing, “that someone else says something too.” She pointed a perfectly manicured nail directly at you. “You’ve known both Josh and me longer than almost anyone here. You should say a few words.”

Your heart leapt into your throat, and you shook your head quickly. “Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“You absolutely could,” Josh interrupted with a grin, gesturing for you to stand. “Come on, don’t leave us hanging.”

The guests clapped lightly, encouraging you, and with a deep breath, you rose to your feet. Your mind raced for something to say, the weight of everyone’s eyes on you making it harder to focus. Then your gaze landed on Josh and Dae, their fingers interlaced, their smiles soft and knowing, and you felt a calm settle over you.

“I’m, uh, not great at speeches,” you started, earning a few chuckles. “But I guess the thing about love is that it doesn’t really need perfect words, does it? Love is messy and complicated and…sometimes really painful. It’s not always easy to let people in, or to hold on when things get hard.”

Your voice softened, and you glanced briefly at Nic before continuing. “But when it’s real, when it’s worth it, it finds a way. Time, distance…even mistakes don’t make it disappear. It lingers. It’s patient, even when we aren’t.”

You swallowed hard, emotion creeping into your voice as you looked at Josh and Dae. “What you two have…it’s special. It’s not just about the big moments—it’s in the little ones, too. The way you look at each other when you think no one’s watching, the way you hold onto each other even when things aren’t perfect.”

Your lips curved into a small smile as your gaze softened. “You remind all of us what it means to love fully, without holding back. And I think that’s the most beautiful thing any of us could hope for.”

The applause that followed was warm and heartfelt, but you barely registered it. Your heart was pounding as you sat back down, your eyes meeting Nic’s for just a second too long. His expression was unreadable at first, his gaze fixed on you like he was trying to memorize every word you’d just said.

“That was…” Nic started, his voice lower than usual. He paused, shaking his head slightly as a small smile tugged at his lips. “You always have a way of saying exactly what people need to hear.”

His hand brushed against yours under the table, not quite a touch, but enough to make you feel the weight of it. It was in that moment you realized: you hadn’t just been talking about Josh and Dae. You’d been talking about him. About you.

And he knew it.

The first dance was everything you’d expect from Josh and Dae: sweet, understated, and full of a love that seemed to glow brighter than the candles flickering on the tables. The soft strains of their song floated through the terrace, weaving around the small, intimate gathering like a spell.

You and Nic stood off to the side, watching as they swayed together under the string lights. Dae’s head rested against Josh’s shoulder, her gown trailing elegantly behind her as they moved in perfect sync, lost in their little world.

“She looks so happy,” Nic murmured beside you, his voice low enough that it almost blended into the music.

You glanced at him, catching the softened lines of his expression, the way his gaze lingered on the couple with quiet admiration. “They both do,” you replied, your voice quieter than you intended.

Watching them, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of reflection—a bittersweet mix of nostalgia and possibility. You thought about the version of yourself from five years ago, so tangled up in your feelings for Nic that it had felt impossible to move forward without him. And now here you were, standing beside him, watching someone else’s love story unfold.

Your mind wandered, drifting back through your memories of him—the late nights in college, the laughter, the arguments, the moments when everything felt so sure and others when it all seemed to slip away. And yet, even through the years apart, that same pull lingered. The question wasn’t whether you still loved him—you knew you did. It was whether the future could hold something more than the past.

Josh spun Dae out and brought her back into his arms, drawing a round of applause from the small crowd as their song came to an end. They beamed at each other, sharing a quick kiss before the music shifted to something more upbeat, signaling the start of the reception.

As the evening unfolded, the terrace came alive with chatter, laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses. Nic had stepped away briefly to grab a drink, leaving you to mingle with the others, but it wasn’t long before Dae sidled up to you, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“So,” she started, dragging out the word as she nudged your arm. “Progress report, please.”

You blinked at her, feigning innocence. “Progress on what?”

Dae rolled her eyes dramatically, crossing her arms. “Don’t play dumb with me. You and Nic.”

Your face immediately warmed, and you glanced around as if someone might overhear. “Dae…”

“What?” she teased, grinning like the cat who got the cream. “It’s a legitimate question. I mean, you’ve barely taken your eyes off each other all day.”

“I—” you started to protest, but the words faltered when Nic reappeared at your side, holding out a glass of champagne for you.

“What did I miss?” he asked casually, though the slight furrow in his brow betrayed his curiosity.

“Oh, nothing much,” Dae said airily, clearly enjoying herself. “Just checking in on you two. Josh has been taking bets on when you’re getting back together, by the way.”

Nic nearly choked on his drink, his ears tinting red as he looked at Dae with wide eyes. “He what?”

“He’s your biggest shipper, you know,” she continued, completely undeterred by the embarrassment she was causing. “He’s been rooting for this since forever. Honestly, I think it’s half the reason he wanted the two of you here together.”

You covered your face with your hand, half laughing, half mortified. “Dae, stop.”

“Why? It’s true!” she said, throwing up her hands innocently. “He even said at one point that if he had to, he’d lock you two in a room until you sorted it out. But hey, it looks like I don’t have to intervene, so… progress!”

Nic shook his head, his blush spreading to his neck as he avoided meeting your gaze. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Dae gave you both a smug little grin, clearly pleased with herself. “Just saying what everyone’s thinking. Anyway, I’ll leave you two alone. But don’t make me wait for updates—I’m invested.”

With that, she spun on her heel and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving you and Nic standing there, equally flustered.

You finally dared to glance at him, catching the faint sheepish smile he was trying to hide. “Well, that was subtle,” you said dryly, though you couldn’t help the smile creeping onto your face.

Nic let out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… subtle has never really been her thing.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the music and laughter from the reception wrapping around you like a cocoon. And despite the teasing, despite the embarrassment, you felt a quiet warmth settle between you—something unspoken, but understood all the same.

You and Nic were tucked off to the side, your chairs angled just enough to give you a view of the lake as the night settled in. His hand rested lightly on the back of your chair, his body angled toward yours, the conversation between you easy and natural for the first time in years.

The moment was interrupted by the smooth arrival of Mingyu, his usual grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Well, well,” he said, gesturing between the two of you, “I’m glad to see the two of you have worked things out. Not gonna lie, I was rooting for you.”

Nic stiffened slightly beside you, though his expression remained neutral. “Yeah, we’ve been…talking,” he replied carefully, his hand slipping from the back of your chair to his lap.

Mingyu’s grin softened, turning almost sheepish. “Listen, man,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to, you know, step on your toes this week. I didn’t know the history, and once I did, well…” He looked between the two of you. “I just want to say I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

Nic glanced at you, then back at Mingyu, clearly caught off guard. He shifted in his chair, a flush creeping up his neck. “You didn’t owe me anything,” he said after a moment, his voice measured. “But…I appreciate it. And, uh, sorry if I was…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his head.

“Possessive?” Mingyu offered with a teasing glint in his eye.

Nic sighed, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Yeah. That.”

Mingyu laughed, holding out his hand. “No hard feelings?”

Nic hesitated for only a moment before taking it, shaking firmly. “No hard feelings,” he echoed, though his embarrassment lingered in the faint pink of his cheeks.

As Mingyu walked away, you glanced at Nic, your eyebrow raised. “Possessive, huh?”

He groaned, leaning back in his chair with a wry smile. “Don’t start.”

You laughed softly, leaning closer. “It’s okay,” you teased. “I think it’s kind of sweet.”

Nic gave you a look, somewhere between exasperation and affection, before shaking his head. “You’re never letting me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

The reception had dwindled to a quiet hum, the terrace now lit only by the soft glow of fairy lights and the lingering warmth of a celebration well-lived. Guests were beginning to disperse, gathering their things, exchanging hugs and goodbyes. Dae and Josh stood at the entrance of the villa, looking every bit the newlyweds—radiant, a little tipsy, and blissfully in love.

“Alright, you two,” Dae said, pulling you and Nic in for a hug. “Promise me you’ll send updates. I need to know every detail of your progress.”

Josh chuckled, resting an arm around her waist. “She’s not kidding, by the way. You’re going to regret letting her have your number.”

Nic smirked, shaking Josh’s hand. “I’ll take my chances.”

Dae grinned but her tone softened as she squeezed your hand. “We’re so proud of you both. Really. It’s been amazing having you here this week. Seeing you together…” She trailed off, her eyes glassy with emotion.

Josh picked up where she left off. “It meant a lot. And not just for us. You two being here—it feels like something’s come full circle.”

“Alright, enough sentimentality,” Dae said, wiping at her cheek with a laugh. “We’ve got a plane to catch.”

They were heading to Santorini for their honeymoon—classy, romantic, and quintessentially them. The group gathered outside the villa to wave them off, cheering as their car disappeared down the drive.

As the crowd thinned and everyone started for their hotels or Airbnbs, Nic lingered by your side. He looked at you with a familiar warmth that made your chest tighten, a quiet confidence in the way he stood close, just shy of brushing your arm.

“So,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. “What do you say we find somewhere to grab dinner? Nothing fancy. We’ll just see where the night takes us.”

You hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

You ended up at a small, tucked-away trattoria on one of Bellagio’s cobblestone streets. The kind of place where the servers knew every regular by name and the scent of garlic and herbs lingered in the air. It wasn’t planned, but it was perfect.

Over plates of fresh pasta and glasses of wine, the conversation flowed easily, loosened by the champagne and the natural rhythm you and Nic had always had. It felt almost like old times—like those late-night dinners during college when it was just the two of you, talking about anything and everything.

Nic leaned back in his chair, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. “So,” he began, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Are you going to tell me what happened with buying into your practice? You mentioned it earlier this week, but you never really talked about it.”

You swirled the wine in your glass thoughtfully. “I’m supposed to be, early next year. But… I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like something I want to commit to just yet.”

He frowned slightly, intrigued. “Why not? You’d be great at it. Dae couldn’t stop raving about how great you are after you took out her wisdom teeth. And—” he paused, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “I may have read some of your practice’s Google reviews.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “Oh my god. You’re a stalker!”

He laughed, holding his hands up defensively. “I was curious, alright? But seriously, you’re a great surgeon. Why not take the next step?”

You shrugged, resting your chin on your hand. “Maybe I’m too young to be running a business. Or maybe I just want a change of scenery. I’ve been thinking about going back to the public sector for a while now.”

Nic tilted his head, considering your words. “You want my thoughts?” You nod eagerly, eyes glassy.  “I think you should do what feels right for you. Whatever you decide, you’ll be amazing. You always are.”

The sincerity in his tone made your chest tighten, and you looked away, focusing on the last of the wine in your glass. The warmth between you felt almost tangible, a fragile, growing thing that neither of you wanted to disturb.

The walk back to Nic’s Airbnb began with an invitation over the last sips of wine at the restaurant.

The two of you had been lingering long after your plates were cleared, the conversation meandering between work, college memories, and everything in between. Nic leaned back in his chair, his tie slightly loosened, his hand absently turning the stem of his glass.

“I don’t want this to end yet,” he admitted suddenly, his tone light but honest. “There’s too much I still want to catch up on. Come back to my Airbnb? We can keep talking.”

The offer was casual, no hidden agenda—just Nic being Nic. And yet, the way he looked at you, his brown eyes warm and steady, made something in your chest tighten.

You hesitated for only a moment, your inhibitions softened by the wine and the comfort of the evening. “Sure,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips. “Why not?”

His relief was subtle, but you caught it—a small exhale, a quick grin. “Good,” he said, setting his glass down and standing. “Let’s go.”

The walk back was steeped in an easy, wine-laced warmth. Bellagio’s quiet streets were lit only by the occasional glow of a streetlamp, the lake shimmering softly in the distance. Nic walked close beside you, hands in his pockets, his shoulders relaxed for the first time in what felt like years.

“I just—” he began, glancing at you before looking back ahead, “I didn’t want the night to end yet. It feels like we’ve only just started catching up.”

You felt your stomach flutter, a mix of the wine and the way he said it—earnest and almost boyish. “I get it,” you admitted, your voice soft. “It feels like there’s too much to fit into one dinner.”

He grinned, looking down at you briefly. “Exactly. So… thanks for coming with me. Even if it’s just to hear me ramble a little more.”

You laughed, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “You? Ramble? I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Oh, I do. Just ask Josh,” he teased, and the two of you slipped back into a conversation about work and life.

Somewhere along the way, he asked, carefully, “So… anyone back in New York? You know, in the last five years?”

The question caught you off guard, but the curiosity in his tone wasn’t intrusive—it was tentative, like he was almost afraid of the answer. You shook your head, smiling wryly. “Not seriously. Just a few failed Hinge dates here and there. I’m married to my loupes and luxators, apparently.”

Nic chuckled, shaking his head. “That tracks.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh? And what about you? Mr. Los Angeles?”

“Pretty much the same,” he admitted with a small shrug. “I tried dating—key word: tried. But nothing stuck. Guess I’ve been married to my caseload.”

His honesty surprised you, though it shouldn’t have. Nic was always like that—direct, but in a way that felt safe. And now, as you walked beside him, it struck you how little had changed in some ways. The years apart hadn’t dulled the pull you felt toward him, the way his presence seemed to make everything else fade into the background.

When you reached his Airbnb, a modest but cozy villa tucked into a quiet corner of town, he held the door open for you, letting you slip off your heels with a sigh of relief. “God, I think these shoes are trying to kill me,” you muttered.

Nic smirked, setting his keys on the counter. “Well, you survived. That’s what matters.”

He reached for a bottle of red from the kitchen counter, pouring two glasses and handing one to you before settling onto the couch. “One last glass?”

“Twist my arm,” you teased, sinking into the cushions beside him.

The atmosphere was easy, relaxed, but the wine added a subtle haze to the air. Nic leaned back, his shirt slightly untucked, his tie loosened from the long day. The disheveled look suited him too well, and you found your gaze lingering more than you meant to.

The low lighting softened his features, but the sharpness of his jawline, the curve of his mouth, were impossible to ignore. And it wasn’t just how he looked—it was how he made you feel. That giddy, nervous energy you hadn’t felt in years, the kind you used to feel back in college when he would smile at you in just the right way.

Your thoughts drifted. You were reminded of late-night study sessions, sitting shoulder to shoulder, the proximity enough to set your pulse racing. The way he’d brush his hand against yours when passing you a pen. The stolen glances that made you wonder if he felt it, too.

And now, here you were again, sitting beside him like no time had passed, even though it had. The tension was there, just under the surface—a hum of possibility neither of you seemed ready to act on, but both of you felt.

Nic glanced over at you, catching your gaze. “What?” he asked softly, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, looking down at your glass. “Just… you look relaxed. It’s nice.”

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “You do, too.”

The air between you shifted, quieter now but charged. And as the conversation resumed—stories about work, the moments you’d missed—you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was where you were always meant to be. With him. Here.

The warmth of the red wine lingered, like a soft haze wrapping around the two of you as the evening stretched into something quieter, something slower. You and Nic had settled into a comfortable rhythm, trading stories and laughter, the conversation ebbing and flowing like it always had. But now, as the hour grew late, the air between you felt heavier—charged with something unspoken, yet deeply understood.

Nic set his empty glass on the coffee table, his fingers brushing against yours as he did. You looked down at the fleeting contact, your pulse skipping in response.

“I missed this,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, pulling your attention back to him.

“This?” you asked softly, tilting your head.

He smiled, his brown eyes catching the faint glow of the lamp. “You. Us. Talking like this.”

His words struck something deep, and before you could respond, he shifted slightly, leaning closer—not too much, just enough that the space between you felt almost non-existent.

“I need to ask you something,” he said quietly, his voice threading through the stillness.

Your heart stumbled, but you nodded, trying to keep your voice calm. “What is it?”

Nic’s gaze flickered down to your lips, lingering for just a beat before returning to your eyes. “Can I kiss you?”

The question was so tender, so deliberate, that it almost unraveled you. He didn’t rush the moment, didn’t move until you answered. But the intensity in his gaze left no doubt about what he wanted—and what you did, too.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice steady despite the way your heart raced.

Nic’s lips curved into the faintest smile, like he’d been holding his breath, waiting for your permission. Slowly, he reached up, his fingers brushing along your jaw, his touch feather-light as if testing the waters.

And then he closed the distance.

The first press of his lips against yours was soft, tentative, a question in itself. He didn’t rush, didn’t push. His hand moved to cup your cheek, anchoring you to him as the kiss deepened ever so slightly, a slow, languid exploration that felt like coming home.

You melted into him, your hand finding its way to his chest, where you could feel the steady, comforting rhythm of his heartbeat. It matched your own, as if the two of you were syncing after years of being out of tune.

The kiss grew heavier—not rushed, but more certain, as though every lingering doubt or hesitation was being stripped away with every gentle pull of his lips. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone, grounding you in the moment, and you responded in kind, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a reclamation of everything you’d lost, a connection you thought you’d never have again. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the years apart, not the mistakes or misunderstandings—just him, and you, and the way he made you feel like you belonged.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you opened your eyes to find him watching you, his gaze soft but searching.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, a slow, steady smile spreading across your lips. “Yeah. More than okay.”

Nic’s own smile mirrored yours, his hand still cradling your face like he was afraid to let go. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I don’t think I can stop now.”

You laughed softly, the sound breaking the tension just enough to make the moment feel light again, but the undercurrent of emotion remained. This was Nic—your Nic—and for the first time in years, it felt like everything was exactly as it should be.

Nic kissed you like he was trying to etch the moment into memory, his lips slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that made the world tilt just slightly on its axis. Your arms looped around his shoulders as his hands anchored themselves at your waist, fingers curling like he was afraid to let you go.

Before you even realized it, you’d shifted closer, settling into his lap like you belonged there—because, God, didn’t it feel like you did? His hands slid up your back, pulling you firmly against him as your heart pounded in time with his.

When you finally pulled away, your breaths mingling in the stillness, Nic’s hands stayed exactly where they were, holding you in place as though releasing you would undo everything. His head dropped to your shoulder, and for a moment, he just held you, his chest heaving with something that felt almost like relief.

Then he let out a soft laugh, lifting his head to meet your eyes. His grin was boyish, a little crooked, and entirely unguarded. “You know,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “for the first time in a long time, it feels like the world’s finally spinning the right way.”

You blinked, your chest tightening with an ache so sweet it almost hurt. “Yeah?” you managed, the word coming out a little breathless.

He nodded, his expression softening as his hands squeezed your sides. “Yeah. And you… you’re right at the center of it.”

Your laugh came out shaky, barely masking the tears threatening to spill. But they weren’t tears of sadness—not this time. “You’re such a sap,” you teased, though your voice betrayed how much his words had wrecked you in the best way.

Nic grinned wider, leaning in until his forehead touched yours. “You like it,” he murmured, his tone playful but sure.

“I do,” you admitted, your smile widening even as your heart soared. “God help me, I really do.”

For a while, you just sat there, wrapped up in each other, the weight of everything unspoken melting into the comfort of his arms around you. The quiet between you wasn’t empty—it was full of possibility, of shared breaths and unspoken promises.

Eventually, Nic tilted his head, brushing his lips against your temple. “This… this isn’t just a moment, right?” he asked softly, his voice uncertain for the first time that night.

You cupped his cheek, your thumb grazing his skin as you smiled. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

His eyes searched yours, and whatever he saw there seemed to settle something deep inside him. He let out a long breath, pulling you even closer, his arms tightening around you like he never wanted to let go.

And as you sat there, wrapped in each other on that worn, comfortable couch in a quiet little Airbnb, it hit you—you didn’t need grand gestures or perfect timing. You just needed this. Him.

Because in Nic’s arms, the past didn’t matter, and the future didn’t feel so daunting. There was just now—just you and him, finally back where you belonged.

[starshine-selfships]

I seem to have latched on to vanilla

The rot has taken effect so hard and fast it has me googling shit like "what would an angel smell like"

[ashdreams2023]

can you do an image with alpha loki smelling stranger omega readers scent when just having come to earth for the first time and him just silently going up to reader and nuzzling into her neck and thor just starts apologizing for his actions

I love your account and hove read allmost every post I have been looking for a story like this for ages can you please do this 😭🙏

I got you! Although just fair warning I’ve only written a couple of those

Alpha loki x omega reader

Something about Midgardian scents they were just not quite right to Loki’s senses, they were either too strong or too faint, and nothing in between.

At least that’s his first impression when they first landed, but maybe that was his impression because they landed in the park, in the middle of a weekend, where scents were literally everywhere at the same time.

As an alpha, a royal one at that, omegas threw themselves at his feet, he knew he had a strong commanding scents that made many drool but he had yet to find a scent that just felt right.

"Brother i promise this will be great, especially since what happened last time"

"Brother what happened to you was unfortunate but due spare me the story telling again"

Thor was the opposite of Loki, he seemed always delighted to welcome new scents and even the ones he clearly couldn’t handle.

His brother was good guy, the non picky, no easily irritated one by scents.

The compound was not as significant as asgard was of course but it was decent, there was decent scents, like Clint, he was a beta, a citrus smell reeked from him and tony who who Loki thought was an alpha with this much power and ego but surprisingly was just a spoiled omega, he smelled like warm milk and tea.

The other scents were just tolerable.

This visit was just unnecessary but Thor insisted on him meeting his work buddies.

For Thor’s credit everyone was just going on their casual routine and not paying much mind to Loki’s presence.

He walked around the area in boredom while Thor blabbered about some invention stark was working on and then it hit him.

Light lavender mixed with strawberry cake.

It was sweet, not overwhelming and not too faint, but just delicious, something that made his insides twists and crave for more.

He followed it, all throughout the halls and until he stopped in front of the hospital wing of the place, he opened the door quietly and peeked inside.

Then he saw you, sitting there organizing some medical equipment in the cabinet, also your butt looked scrumptious in those jeans.

He walked in with light feet and kept his scent on low, he breathed in the sweet smell in the air, you were calm and comfortable, so your scent covered the entire room, Loki could drown himself in it.

There was a pause when you noticed a shadow looming over you and before you could figure out who it was he nose was pressed your neck, it startled you but then he let his own scent surround you, musk and dark chocolate.

"Oh?" Was all you could say, your body seemed to have a mind of it’s own, you were leaning into him, he felt nice.

"Brother! My lady please forgive him he is not familiar with earthly customs!" Thor tried to push Loki away but his brother growl at him, literally growl.

"No! Oh my days, Loki this is inappropriate-"

"He’s your brother?" You said not moving an inch away "he’s the one that you’re always talking about? Loki?" You looked up at the alpha holding you.

The green eyed man smirked "The one and only, little omega" you felt your cheeks heat up and bit on your bottom lip.

"My lady please forgive his behavior, he’s…he’s as you Midgardians say it…special?"

You smiled at Thor "it’s ok, his scents is nice and it’s not like he’s trying to mate mark me" you pulled away and took a good look of his face, handsome.

Loki watched you with curiosity as you lifted your finger and touched his sharp fangs "I think I can watch him for you a little bit if you want to catch up with Bruce, he seems friendly" you chuckled at the frown that appeared on Loki’s face.

Thor stared between you two for a minute before realizing what was going on "Oh… well then, I will see you when it’s time to go home brother…but behave yourself!"

"He’s suffocating"

"No, he only cares about you"

Loki bit the inside of his cheek then went back to nuzzling his nose against your neck, his body visibly melting into your scent.

You can definitely get used to this.

[caustic-caffeine]

Did some writing while procrastinating on drawing Cecie’s reference sheets. It’s rough, and I haven’t decided if it’s canonical or not, but here’s a concept for Cecie and Francis meeting (written from Francis’s POV):

Featuring: Cecie (she/they), Francis (they/them)

Mentioning: Maddox (he/him), Inanna (she/it)

With Maddox’s help, I’ve gained a decent grasp on the local language and culture. While before I had to use magic to surmount the language barrier, we now converse quite comfortably in his native tongue. I’m teaching him the Primordial language, too, but that one will take longer for him to master. Until I learned about his people’s customs, I had remained in isolation, not wanting to embarrass myself (or worse, garner suspicion of my origins).

I decided I was now ready to pay a visit to someone important. Important to him, and revered by the general public. Although Inanna had been keeping tabs on her for a while, I’ve never properly met her. Today, we’re going to fix that. Maddox was able to pull some strings to allow her and I to meet privately, so we wouldn’t have to be wary of the eyes and ears in her walls. I do wonder what he said when first mentioning me to her.

She had an ethereal sort of beauty, like she was standing with one foot in the realms of the arcane. She was always immaculately dressed; thick white hair braided to frame her face, modest but elaborate clothing draped over her figure to add to her mystique. Her kind grey eyes often seemed distant, as if she was listening to words the rest of us cannot hear. She carried herself with poise and grace (and forearm crutches, sometimes). She was one of the few people I struggled to read, her fair face a perfect mask of calm. It’s needless to say that she caught my eye, especially after Maddox told me about her unique gift and the people who abuse it.

I strode into the room, idly examining my nails, stopping when I saw that the woman had already arrived. She sat on the couch with her legs folded and hands clasped in her lap. When I entered, she appeared to snap out of a daze, eyes boring into me with surprising intensity.

“Francis.”

“Cecie.” I settled in the plush chair adjacent to her, getting comfortable, with my eyes never leaving hers.

“Tell me why I’ve been seeing you every night in my dreams for the past six months.” Cecie’s voice is soft, and delicate, but no less serious. I carefully controlled my reaction, not wanting to betray anything incriminating.

“I don’t know, Cecie. That could be caused by any number of things. I’d have to see your dreams to give you a definite answer.”

“You’d… be able to do that?” The tone of her voice shifted ever so slightly. I raised an eyebrow. “As in, see my dreams? I thought only I could...”

The corner of my lips quirked up as I responded. “Yes. Though, I won’t without your consent. I wouldn’t want to violate your privacy.”

Cecie grew quiet, eyes now fixed on a faraway point. She idly twirled a lock of her hair in her neatly manicured fingers. I’ve intrigued her, I can tell. And she has intrigued me.

“…Interesting. I’ve… I’ve tried showing others before, but… it never seems to work. They aren’t able to discern what they see, and… sometimes I can’t, either…” Cecie sighed wistfully, falling silent again.

I’m more than a little surprised that she admitted this so quickly. From what I’ve heard, Cecie hasn’t ever struggled to understand the signs she sees. She’s always been held up as being the flawless mouthpiece of the Divines. I can’t help but wonder how much of her image has been fabricated by the ones around her. Who Cecie is, behind the veil.

I reached out and gently took one of her hands in my own, tracing the lines of her palm with my thumb. Her hands were soft, and cold, and trembling ever so slightly, like she thought I wouldn’t notice her anxiety. She glanced back at me, startled by the contact.

“I can help with that… if you’ll allow me to.” I was close enough to smell the faint scent of lavender that clung to her skin. The soothing fragrance suited her perfectly. “You aren’t the first seer I’ve met in my time.”

“I…” Cecie pursed her lips, brows furrowed. “…Who are you, Francis?”

“A friend, if you’d like me to be.” I lowered my voice, matching her soft tone. “I don’t want to overstep my bounds, but.. I will say that Maddox has shared some about your situation. And… I understand how it feels.”

Cecie’s eyes widened as she took in a sharp breath. She gripped my hand tighter than either of us expected her to. “Wh- what did he say about me?”

“Essentially, that you live with overbearing relatives and haven’t had much of a say in what goes on in your life. He didn’t go into specifics.” I gave a wry smile, somewhat regretting having brought the topic up. Alas, it was bound to happen at some point.

“…He told me that you’d be able to help, if I reached out to you. I… I want to believe him…” Cecie trailed off, attention returning to where our fingers were now intertwined. Unsure what to make of me.

Now I knew I had her hooked. The desperation in her voice was well concealed, but not well enough. This is the voice of a woman who is desperate to live. A voice I’m all too familiar with.

“Then allow me to prove him right.”

[gothyanki]

1, 8, 16 and 19 for Vin

3, 5, 12, 17 for Lykos

<3

20 Tav questions.

Thank you!! <3

Vin’ath:

1. what do they smell like at their freshest? (and/or after a tenday. your choice)

At their freshest, Vin’ath smells like Armour and Weapon (a combination of the actual materials and the substances they use to clean/oil them) + undertones of something… cold? silvery? indescribable to most non-gith + a faint whiff of grass, leaves, and soil + the dried flowers they keep in their pockets because they’re VERY picky about scents. Their favourite is lavender. If they’ve been smiting a lot, there’s also a hint of ozone in there.

I headcanon that githyanki don’t sweat as much as humans do and smell less strong even at their grottiest, so after a tenday it’s probably all of those odours amplified + the blood of their enemies overpowering it all. Lae’zel approves. Vin does not – see above re: fastidiousness.

8. if either, are they part of the astarion/gale book club (magic & literature) or the wyll/shadowheart book club (trashy romance novels)?

At first, neither. Vin got put off reading early on in life – while they excelled at swordplay growing up, they found slate-based learning much more difficult, and the environment they were in was anything but supportive. They fell in love with theatre after getting out of the crèche system, but that didn’t really translate to written literature of any kind. That association with the cult propaganda they had to study was hard to break.

…until, that is, someone who shall remain unnamed lent them a book about a ruthless githyanki pirate whose stony heart was melted by the power of love. Vin may or may not have cried. Ever since then, they’ve been a semi-regular attendee at Wyll and Shadowheart’s reading circles. While they’d still rather see a performance, getting to carry the stories around in their backpack is growing on them.

16. what’s the description of their underwear in the inventory menu?

“Even these sturdy, practical shorts have an aura of righteousness about them.”

(Vin’s definitely a boxers person.)

19. do you have a playlist for your tav? if so, what’s the title + description?

I do, and I’m so sorry about the description in advance! It’s called “we’re in deep tsk’va now” and the description is “sad green paladin seeks dewormer rx”. Here’s the link (there’s a tiny bit of crossover with my Gith/Vlaakith/Zerthimon playlist because a few of these are general githyanki songs in my heart):

Lykos:

3. how would they kiss their LI?

Softly at first, with just a hint of teeth. He likes to start slow and get more intense. Nose and forehead kisses are his absolute favourite to greet a partner with, but he’s a big fan of kisses on top of the head too (giving or receiving, if he’s sitting down and/or actually ran into someone taller than he is). If he can play with their hair using fingers or psionics, he will.

…if you think all this sounds very gooshy and sappy for a githyanki, you’re right!  Man’s a FREAK. He also likes to be told what to do, though, so the secondary answer to this is “however his partner wants to be kissed”.

5. what does their tent area look like? where do they prefer to pitch their tent (next to water, covered on three sides, etc)?

(Yoinking from my other answer.)

He prefers to make his pitch on higher ground, where he’s got a good view of the surrounding area and is away from anywhere that could potentially flood (though he won’t admit it, he’s afraid of deep water - an early lesson on the natural hazards of the Material got to him). His actual sleeping space is small - some people would say cramped - and as covered as he can possibly make it. He once experimented with making and hanging a bead curtain, but it didn’t work out very well.

In what may or may not be an act of rebellion against the controlling environment he came out of, he lets the area in front get SUPER MESSY. He has a tendency to dump everything out of his pack to “sort through it” at the end of the day, and since he picks up everything he can physically carry, that means A LOT of stuff gets piled up there. Gems, trinkets, ribbons, jewellery, beads, books, bones, mirrors, scrolls, a slate or two… then he shoves it all back into his pack the next day to start the cycle over again. While it’s a mess, he never lets it get seriously filthy - he has that typical Astral githyanki hatred of dirt/dust/mould.

12. their companions are gossiping about them behind their back! who is it and what are they saying?

In Act 1, it’s probably Lae’zel speculating out loud about the super-secret Vlaakith cult he belongs to. After they’ve been travelling together for a bit, she starts making ominous noises questioning his loyalty to Vlaakith (she’s right to doubt it!) I think they try to present a united githyanki front at first, but sometimes their differences just JUMP out.

After Y’llek, I think just about everyone would be whispering about him… but for most of them, it’d be more out of concern than anything else. He’s much quieter about his feelings on Vlaakith than Lae’zel is and he underwent a very concrete, tangible loss of power as a result of his quasi-divine sponsor tossing him out on his arse. And – most shocking of all – he stopped braiding/dyeing his hair! The entire party was fretting and/or speculating wildly all the way to the Shadowlands. Then they ran into Minthara again in the worst of circumstances and the gossip took a turn.

17. how do they celebrate their birthday?

I think Lykos comes to see the day he unintentionally broke away from Vlaakith as his birthday, or the closest equivalent that matters to him. He doesn’t celebrate it as such, but he tries to spend as much of the day as possible in quiet contemplation. Sometimes he writes letters to absent friends. If Lae’zel’s around, they might engage in some especially vigorous sparring. Ditto for Minthara, although those duels tend to go to their favourite non-platonic violence place pretty quickly.

[noisynaia]

Pure and Simple

[Frankie Morales x Reader]

summary: It is almost four months since you met Frankie, but there is still one thing you haven't told him yet. Frankie has something he wants to ask you. (Mostly just fluff and sweet, soft morning sex.)

word count: 3.1k 

rating: E

pairing: Frankie Morales x afab!reader 

note: Can be read alone, but is the sequel to Two Doors Down. Cunnilingus. Unprotected P in V (with use of contraception (please wrap it irl!)). No use of (y/n). The reader uses she/her pronouns. Reader is shorter than Frankie (he lifts her), but no other physical descriptions are used. This has not been beta-read and English is not my native language. (18+ minors, please don't interact)

crossposted on ao3

The Dolly Series Masterlist

My main masterlist

You scrunch your nose with a soft grunt as the beam of golden light hits your face, it’s early Saturday morning. You love spending time at Frankie’s place, but he seriously needs to get some blackout curtains.    

You look over at him, he is seemingly completely undisturbed by the bright morning light seeping through the blinds, it’s given his brown curls a golden glow. His chest slowly rises with his soft snores, he always looks so peaceful when he sleeps. You want to comb your fingers through his soft-looking hair, he is a heavy sleeper, but you still resist your urge in case it would wake him. 

You lie like this for a while. Enjoying the lavender smell on the sheets from Frankie’s laundry detergent, while listening to the soft sleep sounds from Frankie and the faint birdsong that seep through the window. It’s almost four months since you met him at Benny’s party, but you still haven't gotten used to how lucky you are to wake up next to him like this. You have never been in a relationship like this before, Frankie is so sweet and considerate, he still sometimes feels too good to be true. You really love him, and you think he might love you too. You have almost let it slip a few times but have not had the courage to do so yet. You have never been in a relationship that felt so right before and you don’t want to mess it up. 

                                         

…Every time I think about you

I get chills along my spine

It's a feelin' I'm not used to

Can't believe you're really mine…

You tiptoe out of the bedroom. You’re only wearing your panties and one of Frankie’s t-shirts as you sneak down the stairs

You go to the fridge to get ingredients to make pancakes, and smile at the drawings hanging on the fridge door, made by Frankie’s young daughter. They are mostly just colourful scribbles with ‘Solana’ and the date they were drawn written in the corner of the paper in Frankie’s handwriting.     

You gather the rest of the ingredients and begin to mix the batter in the quiet kitchen. You are about halfway done with the pancakes when you hear footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” 

Frankie is standing in the doorway rubbing his eyes, his voice sounding hoarse from sleep, messy morning hair framing his face. He walks over to you, sneaking his arms around you to hug you from behind, burying his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent. You lean back into him, feeling warm and sheltered in his embrace, like you were made to perfectly fit in his arms. 

“Good morning, Cisco.” You lean your cheek against his hair as he leaves a peck on your collarbone. 

You stand like this for a while, a pleasant silence, Frankie's arms wrapped around you as you add to the growing stack of pancakes. 

“I’ll set the table.” He finally says, but he doesn’t move for another long minute. 

He kisses your cheek before finally letting you go to get plates from the cupboard behind you. You love mornings like this, the kitchen smelling of fresh pancakes and the coffee Frankie had set over to brew. Frankie is humming the title melody for one of Sole’s favourite cartoons, you don’t think he even realises that he does it. The sound mixed with the bubbling sound of the coffee boiling. You can’t hold back your smile. You have not met Frankie’s daughter yet, but you hold so much love for the little girl already. She is a part of Frankie and you love every part of him.     

        

…Other loves, so complicated

Broken hearts and twisted minds

Then you came, and I'm elated

So unlike the other times…

The pancakes are delicious if you do say so yourself, and Frankie confirms it to you multiple times throughout the meal. You eat and talk, enjoying each other’s company and the domesticity that only a quiet Saturday morning can bring. You finish eating and begin to bring back the dirty dishes to the kitchen.

You end up talking about your plans for the week to come. You’re talking about your work schedules, and planning a movie date Thursday night.        

“What about the weekend, got any plans?” Frankie asks. 

The question is normal enough in itself. Frankie has 20/80 custody of his daughter, meaning he has her every other weekend. It makes sense he asks you what you will be up to while he spends his weekend with Sole, just out of simple quoriosity and politeness, but there is something in the tone of his voice that you can’t place, nervousness perhaps? 

“I was supposed to have dinner and drinks with Mary on Friday night, but she had to cancel. That was my only plans, probably just going to start a new book and unwind, why?”         

“I was thinking… Maybe, you would like to come over?”  

“You know I always love spending time with you but aren’t you going to have Sole next week?” You ask a little confused. 

“Yes, but I was wondering if you might want to come anyway?” He clearly is nervous, but the next part comes with so much certain and sincerity. “I would like you to meet her.”

Your stomach drops. He wants you to be introduced to his daughter?! 

Your relationship with Frankie has been good from the start, he has been so understanding and thoughtful. You have been taking things slow, both wanting to do this right since you both have tried to be burned in your past. You know Frankie had been in a dark place before, but had been able to turn his life around, he still have bad days sometimes though. 

You have no doubt that the way you have decided to go about your relationship is the right, but sometimes the slowness can make you a little insecure. The two of you haven’t said 'I love you' yet. Frankie telling you he wants you to meet his daughter is, however, the closest you can think he could come without actually saying it. 

Frankie loves his daughter more than anything on this earth and him wanting you to meet her means that he is serious about the two of you, that he plans of having you as a close part of his life. Him telling you this is maybe even more intimate than a love confession.  

You feel the corner of your eyes getting stingy from overwhelming happiness.

“Will Corinne be okay with it?” You croak. 

You don’t want to disrespect or overstep any lines with Solana’s mother. 

“Yeah, I already spoke with her about it actually. She is fine with it.” He tells.

You can’t keep a toothy smile from spreading on your face.

“I would love to come and meet her then.” 

Frankie mirrors your smile, clearly relieved and happy from your apparent excitement. He steps towards you and crashes his lips on yours, he starts out by kissing you sweetly, but the soft kiss is quickly turning heated.           

…It's so pure, it's almost sacred

Simply put, it feels divine

I just love you, pure and simple

Pure and simple and sublime…

Frankie grabs you around your waist and helps you jump up the counter. He steps between your spread legs, keeping one hand on your hip and letting the other rest on your thigh. 

“Come here.” You whisper as you snake your arms around his torso, connecting your lips in a kiss. 

He hums into your lips with delight, drawing circles on your thigh with his thumb. The sensation sends chills up your spine as well as starts a fire of desire in your lower stomach. You open your mouth a little more, giving Frankie enough space to deepen the kiss.

Picking you up from your seat on the counter. His big hands are securely planted under your thighs, as he begins to carry you to the stairs.        

“Cisco, your back!” You shriek in protest.  

“Please let me.” His voice is so low and husky that you can’t deny him his wish, but manage to persuade him to let you walk up the stairs yourself. He is quick to scoop you up again when you reach the top, picking you up bridal style. You can’t help but giggle as he carries you back to his bedroom. 

“I think the couch would have sufficed.” You chuckle.  

“Like having you in my bed.” He says as he pushes his bedroom door open with his hip.

He gently lays you down on the bed, the golden morning light still shining through the blinds, but not landing directly on the bed anymore. You enjoy the view of him standing by the bed, tall and broad and yours. You can’t help but think that. He has not been a part of your life for that long, but you can’t imagine life without him now. It would be scary, maybe should be scary, but when he told you that he wants you to meet his daughter you knew that he intended for you to stay in his life for a long time. The thought almost brings you to tears.

“Come here.” You whisper for the second time this morning, suddenly impatient, needing him closer.

He crawls onto the bed, placing an arm on each side of you. He is hovering over you, his warm brown eyes that you love so much looking into yours. You lift your hand up to his cheek, lightly stroking your thumb along his cheek bow before he grabs it, softly guiding it to his mouth to plant a kiss on your palm. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers into your skin. 

You lift your legs up, crossing them around his waist, you need him closer. Luckily, he's happy to oblige to your wish, lowering himself down over you, and connecting your lips again.      

You sneak a hand under his shirt, stroking the warm skin on his back with your fingertips, your other hand buried in his hair. You love weekends like this, no plans and no place you have to be, it’s just you and Frankie. And now it seems that you can spend more of your weekends with him. It is, of course, going to be different with Sole around, but you don’t mind that. You love Frankie and you know that you are gonna love his little girl too. The only thing that worries you is if she is going to like you or not, but you try not to worry about that now.

This moment is just Frankie and yours. You break the kiss to get a breath of air, Frankie takes this opportunity to pull his shirt over his head and discharge it on the floor. He has gotten more comfortable around you with his own body than in the beginning. He has, in your eyes, nothing to be insecure about, he is so beautiful both on the inside and the outside. You make sure to tell him as often as you can, as well as show him just how attractive you find him.   

You follow his lead, taking off the shirt Frankie had lent you to sleep in. Frankie is crashing down on you again, kissing you with a hunger that makes your cunt throb.      

“You’re so gorgeous.” He whispers against your lips as he squeezes one of your, now-exposed, breasts with his large hand. You moan out in pleasure.     

He breaks from your lips, beginning to kiss down your jaw and neck. Lowering himself down your body, kissing your collarbone and down your sternum, leaving wet kisses in the valley between your breasts. He continues down your stomach until he gets to the band of your panties. 

He looks up at you. “Can I take these off, sweetheart?” 

“Please, do.” You whisper. 

He kisses the inside of your thigh before sliding the panties down your legs. 

“Wanna taste you.” He mutter. “Can I, baby?” He looks up at you, his eyes have become dark with passion. 

“Yeah.” You croak. 

He keeps holding eye contact with you as he positions himself between your thighs. You spread your legs more, offering him more space to operate, giving him a full view of your wet pussy.         

“God, you’re so gorgeous.” He sighs before lowering his head, kissing up your inner thigh until he reaches your pussy. He slides his tongue through your wet folds, lapping into you hungrily.     

“Fuck, Cisco…” You whine out, his tongue has you seeing stars. You bury your hands in his hair, grabbing fistfuls of soft curls. 

He moans against your cunt, as your grab on his hair tightens, the vibrations giving you chills. He moves his tongue to suck down on your clit and you can’t help but arch your back upwards. You keep whining out his name. His tongue starts to work even harder as your grip on his hair tightens again. He keeps going with an insatiable hunger. 

You can’t hold your orgasm back any longer.

“Fuck, Frankie!” You wail.  

Frankie keeps licking into you as your cunt clenches and your legs begin to shake. Your body fills with bliss as your climax washes over you in hot waves.      

…Don't it seem we've spent a lifetime

Looking for that perfect love?

Like a dream, we finally found it

Pure and simple; well, good for us…

Frankie takes in a heavy breath as he finally detaches his mouth from your pussy.  

“Shit, baby. You always taste so good, can’t get enough of you.”  

He climbs up over your body, kissing your lips softly, giving you a taste of yourself, his lips plump and wet with your slickness. You press your tongue into his mouth to deepen the kiss, enjoying the feeling of his strong arms around you. You kiss him until your lungs are empty and you have to break apart to breathe. His eyes are blown wide with passion and tenderness. You get a lump in your throat at the sight of it. He is so sweet and so good, you still sometimes can’t believe he is even real, let alone, that you get to be with him.          

You bury your face in his neck, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the eye contact. You’re scared that you are gonna burst from the love you’re feeling. You decide to distract yourself by focusing on leaving wet kisses on his throat that has Frankie moaning your name. You begin to suck down on his pulse point. You want to leave a hickey, want to mark him as yours.   

You can feel his hard cock through the thin fabric of his pyjama pants and you feel the throbbing in your cunt and the fiery feeling in your abdomen getting enlightened.   

“Francisco, I need you inside me.” You whisper into his neck.

“Fuck…” He murmurs “Need to be inside of you, sweetheart.”           

He gets up to sit on his knees, sliding down his pants and boxers. His cock springs up, hard and throbbing, the tip glistening with precum. The view sends quivers through your pussy. You gather the pillows behind you in a pile, without taking your eyes off him, leaning back into their softness. You spread your legs out   

“Oh, so wet, baby.” He coos at the view of your soaking pussy on free display. “You always get so wet for me, you’re driving me crazy.” 

Sitting back on his calf, he pops his middle and index finger in his mouth before slipping them through your folds.     

“You are so beautiful.” He pants. “My sweet beautiful girl.” 

“Frankie.” You moan as he slips his fingers into you. Pumping them slowly in and out, taking his time prepping you. You love how thorough he is, but you don’t have the patience for it right now.        

“Cisco.” You whimper. “Need your cock...” 

“Need you too, sweetie.” He answers “Wanna be buried in this pretty pussy of yours.” 

Frankie lowers himself over you. He kisses your lips as he starts to slide into you.  

You feel how your walls stretch as he slips in. You grab the sheets in your fists, clutching the fabric tightly.     

“You are so perfect… Fuck, you have no idea.” He sights as he finally is all the way in.

He stays still for a moment, letting you adjust to him for a moment, kissing you passionately in the meantime, and fuck you love it - you love him. 

He finally begins to move, starting out slowly, but he is quick to pick up the paste as you moan out with more and more desperation.  

He keeps moving into you, sweet words of encouragement whispered into your skin.

Your entire body is on fire. His name is falling from your lips. ​​He hooks his hand behind your knee to lift your leg up, the new position allows him to thrust deeper into you. This new angle is amazing.

“Yes, Frankie! Yes, right there! Fuck, right there…” You shriek, the pleasure you are feeling is reaching a new high. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna…” You moan, feeling your climax building up in the pit of your stomach.

“I know, baby, me too.” Frankie groans 

You push your head back into the pillows and arch your back as walls squeeze hard around him. Your name keeps falling from his lips along with praise. 

“Inside, Cisco, need you inside.” It had been heaven since you and Frankie had had ‘the talk’ and started fucking without condom, after ensuring you both were clean and you on the pill. You love the feeling of him filling you up.

You are pushed over the edge as Frankie thrusts into you, coating your walls with his warmth as he cums inside you. Euphoria washes over you, your body feeling light and shaky as Frankie keeps fucking you.       

You can’t hold it back anymore

“Cisco… fuck! I… I love you.” 

…It's so pure it's almost sacred

Simply put, it feels divine

I just love you, pure and simple

Pure and simple, sweet and fine…

You feel Frankie freeze up on top of you, and your stomach drops.  

You hadn’t meant to say it, not now, not like this. The words just slipped out, but they have been on the tip of your tongue for a while now. 

He locks his eyes with yours, pupils wide and mouth slightly agape 

“You do..?” He whispers.   

“Yeah, I do…” No need to shy away from the truth now. 

“I love you too.” His voice is so tender and sincere, it makes your heart flutter. He crashes his lips onto yours, kissing you with such tenderness.

“I love you, sweetheart.” He whispers against your lips. “Love you so much.” 

He loves you… Franciso Morales loves you. 

“I love you so much, Frankie.” You say before melting into another love-filled kiss. 

You can’t believe how lucky you are. 

…I just love you, pure and simple

Can't believe you're really mine…

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Insatiable

also on ao3

written for the Monster March prompt list this is just a little bonus, TECHNICALLY I already wrote an incubus fic but 

Geralt knows about Jaskier, but to anyone and everyone else, it's a well-guarded secret. It's never caused either of them any harm and he can protect Jaskier from other Witchers who might not be so selective in their killing of monsters. He's never seen Jaskier as a monster, barely even thinks of him as being an incubus most of the time - until he gets tired and crabby from being on the road for too long without sex. Geralt never thought it would get them into trouble in town.

But here he is in the mayor's house with the doors barred, being accused of bringing monsters into their town. Geralt fumes at the audacity of calling Jaskier a monster, but it does him no good.

The guards he incapacitates with a sharp hit to the back of the neck and the mayor backs down as soon as Geralt turns his swords on him. Geralt scolds him for his behaviour, assures him he will never be back, and leaves. His mind is racing as he heads back out onto the street. The mayor will surely call for more guards and Geralt left Jaskier back at the inn which means he could be anywhere. Fuck.

He asks around at the inn and is relieved to hear Jaskier's gone off with the innkeeper's daughter, which means he likely hasn't left the inn. Geralt follows his nose, easily catching the scent of lavender and lust, and makes his way to a room at the very back of the inn. He would have thought it was a storeroom if he couldn't hear the creaking of a bedframe from within. Sighing, he resigns himself to walking into the room, to seeing Jaskier in the middle of it. He opens the door and storms in to keep from thinking about it, but the reality is… much worse.

Jaskier's on his knees with his trousers down, his prick in his hand as he buries himself beneath the skirts of the innkeeper's daughter. Geralt's mouth goes dry at the sight and he has to force his feet to move.

"Jaskier," he whispers, harsh. Jaskier emerges from beneath her skirts, turning to look at him and his companion frowns and pulls herself up onto the bed fully. "We have to go."

"Geralt-" Jaskier says pointedly and Geralt knows. He understands. But this could be a matter of life and death for Jaskier and he needs to get him out of here without anyone else finding out.

"Jaskier," he tries again, "we have to go."

"I know, darling. Half an hour." He reaches up for his companion again and Geralt realizes this isn't going to be easy. If he strains his hearing, he can hear the sound of hoofbeats approaching and that means it's time for them to leave. Now.

He crosses the room in three strides, hauling Jaskier up by the back of his shirt. Jaskier squawks and writhes, but Geralt pulls him up over his shoulder, trying to avoid the fact that Jaskier's bare ass is right next to his face. It's hard enough dealing with the pressure of his cock jutting into the front of his shoulder. Geralt forces himself calm, focusing instead, on what they would do to Jaskier if they find him. It helps to quell his erection but only serves to worsen his fear.

Faintly, he's aware of Jaskier muttering at him and asking to be allowed to dress himself, but Geralt tunes him out in favour of getting away. It's not until they reach the stables that he sets Jaskier down and allows him to redress himself as well as possible. Geralt sets himself to readying Roach, then turns back to Jaskier.

"Geralt, that the everloving fuck-"

"Someone found out," he interrupts, lifting Jaskier gracelessly off his feet and onto Roach.

He climbs up in front of him, settling himself so Jaskier can slide up close behind him. He can feel the press of Jaskier's erection against the small of his back, even with the saddle between them and it drives him mad. He can't focus on anything else as he guides Roach onto the main path and spurs her forward.

By the time they make it to the next town, hours later, Geralt is exhausted and in desperate need of a good wank, but he's not willing to let Jaskier out of his sight. Jaskier is a little grouchy as they dismount and take Roach to the stables, but Geralt doesn't think much of it - he was interrupted before he got around to fucking, after all.

Geralt keeps him close as he pays the stablehand and guides Jaskier toward the inn to rent a room. Jaskier doesn't speak and Geralt feels terrible about it, but he knows it's better than Jaskier being killed.

They proceed with their nightly routine as usual, then turn in for the night early. Geralt doesn't want to stay here long and they'll need the rest for an early start. But when Jaskier climbs into bed, he keeps his distance and the guilt eats away at him. He knows he did the right thing, but Jaskier seems unconvinced.

Jaskier shifts again, clenching his fists. His skin burns and itches, his cock thick and aching between his legs. He's been hard for hours, desperate to come but unable to slip away. Up until now he'd been somewhat pacified, running on adrenaline and fear but now the need is hitting him at full force and his whole body aches.

And what is he supposed to do with Geralt lying half-naked next to him? Summers in the west are hot and humid and he can't exactly tell Geralt to put a shirt on, but his being shirtless is only making matters worse. Jaskier can smell him, the worn leather and clean sweat. The faint scent of lingering arousal that drives him insane. He squirms in place, then turns onto his back to try and relax, but it doesn't help. Nothing helps, nothing eases the need or cools his burning skin.

It has to have been an hour at least when Geralt turns to him and places a hand on his hip. Jaskier barely holds back a moan at the brief touch and shudders as Geralt leans in.

"Go to sleep Jaskier, we have to be up early in the morning."

"If I can't sleep, it's your fault."

"Look, I know you're mad, but would you rather be dead?"

"Yes!" Jaskier snaps, "you have no idea what this fucking feels like." That seems to stun him and Geralt pulls back, staring at him with wide eyes. "Geralt I feel like I'm going to burn alive. I need to- Imagine being so turned on you can't stand it and then just being told no."

Geralt's lips part and the faint scent of arousal spikes and that's too fucking much. Jaskier groans, pulling himself right to the edge of the bed and turning away from Geralt. He curls in on himself, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his fists. Geralt presses up close behind him and he could cry.

"Tell me what's wrong," he breathes, "tell me how I can help."

"You can't," Jaskier whimpers. "You stopped me halfway-" he groans, knowing Geralt's distaste for his exploits. "Earlier, you interrupted me and the innkeeper's daughter and I didn't get to finish. Geralt I'm not supposed to- it's bad for me to stop halfway, it becomes uncomfortable, painful."

"How can I help?"

Jaskier sighs in frustration. "Geralt you don't understand. You can't help, I need to come." There's a long pause and then Geralt shifts behind him.

"I understand if you don't want me to, but I'll help if you need it."

"Geralt-" he chokes, "I don't want you to feel obligated or think this is your fault, it's just the way I am-"

"I don't. I want to help." Jaskier winces. Geralt may be offering sex, but he doesn't know the extent of it, doesn't know Jaskier's feelings or how many nights he's lain awake thinking of exactly this. A firm but gentle hand rests on his hip, slipping forward to brush against his stomach. "Is this okay?" Geralt breathes, "I want to help."

Jaskier whimpers and nods his response, too overwhelmed by the softness in Geralt's voice to formulate a proper answer. Geralt shifts, tugging on Jaskier's hip for him to move closer and he does, shifting backward until Geralt's chest meets his back. He barely holds back a moan, pressed up against all that hot, bare skin and he rolls his head back, shutting his eyes.

Geralt immediately takes advantage of the position, pressing his lips to Jaskier's neck and kissing him softly. His lips drag against his skin, pressing up under his jaw and kissing along the curve of it. Jaskier's lips part, a soft sigh slipping between them and he's so focused on Geralt's mouth that he almost doesn't notice his hand sliding lower, smoothing down the side of his thigh and squeezing.

It sparks something in him, a desire he's kept so well hidden that he'd almost forgotten about it himself. But if anyone would be open to it, it's Geralt.

"Would you-" he starts, but his voice catches and he swallows back another groan as blunt fingernails drag up his skin. "Geralt if I let it down, would you- would you still help?" he asks warily, "if I let down my glamour?"

There's a spike in Geralt's arousal and a soft fuck muttered against his neck and Geralt's grip on him loosens, but he doesn't let go.

"What is it?" he asks and Jaskier shifts to lie on his back, holding up his hand. "The bracelet?" Geralt asks, running his fingers along the smooth surface. Jaskier's heart beats quickly, thudding against his chest and he's too nervous to speak as Geralt's fingers slip to the clasp.

Geralt unclips it, slipping it gently over Jaskier's hand and it's like a weight lifted from him. It's such a relief to have it off that for a moment Jaskier forgets that Geralt has never seen him like that and that he's spread out, fully naked, in front of him. Geralt just looks at him for a moment and Jaskier can feel where his eyes track from his horns all the way down. He squirms, suddenly wanting to hide himself away.

"If you don't want to now, I understand, I'll put it-"

"No," Geralt says, low and husky. "No, you look beautiful like this." He reaches up, running his fingers along the length of one of his horns and Jaskier nearly forgets to breathe.

Geralt's hand slips to his cheek, cupping it gently and brushing his thumb along his cheek. Jaskier's eyes flick up to meet his and Geralt barely holds his gaze for a second before dipping down to kiss him.

Geralt's mouth is hot and wanting and he shifts so the angle is better, deepening the kiss and groaning against him. His hand moves again, sliding down his chest and into the hair covering his hips. Geralt runs his fingers through it, tugging lightly and when his fingers brush the inside of his thigh, Jaskier moans.

"Oh," he breathes, "Geralt please." Geralt pulls back just far enough to speak, pressing light kisses against Jaskier's lips.

"Tell me what you want."

"Touch me, please."

Without hesitation, Geralt wraps the same hand around his cock. Jaskier's already leaking steadily against his hip and Geralt's fingers slide through the pre-come, slipping down his length. Jaskier's hips jerk instinctively and he throws his head back with a moan. It's good, so good, but he's sensitive after being forced to wait for so long and every touch is almost too much.

He bucks into every touch, whining with the intensity of it. It's all rather unfair, he decides, that after so many years, he gets Geralt into bed and he can't even focus on anything but how badly he needs to come.

"Please," he breathes, "please Geralt-"

"Shh," Geralt hums, "I'm here." He presses right against him, hooking one knee over Jaskier's and it's so much.

Geralt's knee bumps under his balls and his cock - fuck, his cock - is hard where it presses into his hips. Jaskier squirms and whines and he knows he must look like a mess, desperate for it and leaking steadily over Geralt's fingers as he strokes him. And just the feeling of Geralt's cock sends shivers up his spine.

Jaskier doesn't settle, he can't settle with the way Geralt hand works over him, not enough and still just this side of too much. His thumb slips up over the head, pressing along the slit and spreading pre-come over him and Jaskier's moan fades into a whine as Geralt's fingers, slick and warm, slip to the base of his shaft and back behind his balls.

The first press of Geralt's fingers has him whimpering and arching off the bed. He needs it, and he wants it more than that, but he can't ask Geralt to go that far for him. A hand is a hand and can be easily passed off as helping a friend; Jaskier knows about Geralt's younger days at Kaer Morhen with the other boys, but this is different. He isn't even human and he wants so much more than this.

Geralt's hand withdraws and Jaskier's eyes snap up to meet his, afraid he's done something wrong.

"Too much?" Geralt asks and Jaskier shakes his head silently. "Then what's wrong, you look sad all of a sudden."

"'M fine," Jaskier huffs, wrapping his hands around the back of Geralt's neck and pulling him down to kiss him. Geralt pulls away and Jaskier shuts his eyes. Fuck. He knew it was too good to be true.

"If you're uncomfortable with this, I could find someone. There's a brothel in town and anyone would be happy to take you to bed-"

Jaskier's fingers slip from his skin and Geralt looks down at him sadly. Jaskier squirms, turning away from him and curling in on himself. His cock throbs where it presses against his hip and he squeezes his eyes shut to force away the feeling. Geralt's fingers graze his skin, but he doesn't settle, doesn't touch him properly.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, "I shouldn't have assumed."

Jaskier chokes out a humourless laugh and tucks his chin a little tighter against his chest. He wants to scream that all he wants is Geralt, that having his hands on him feels better than anyone else possibly could. But Geralt doesn't want him like that and Jaskier can't, and won't push him further than he's willing.

"We'll figure something out," Geralt hums and Jaskier feels when he settles against the mattress, close but not touching him.

"I don't want to," Jaskier blurts. He's tired and desperate and he feels like an idiot and having Geralt so close now just makes him want to scream.

"Jaskier," Geralt sighs softly, "you're suffering."

"It's fine," he insists, "it's not the first time."

"I'll find someone-"

"No," Jaskier says too quickly. "I don't want someone if it's not you." He doesn't think as he says it and it's not until Geralt shifts closer again and looks down at him that he realizes what he's said. He tries to backtrack. "I just- it's not the same with my glamour on and no one else-"

"You seemed so uncomfortable-"

They both stop at once and Jaskier inhales shakily. He casts his eyes down, shifting further onto his side to avoid Geralt's gaze. He curls in on himself and a shiver runs through him. The room feels cold without Geralt's body against him, despite the warmth of the summer night.

"I know what I am Geralt and I don't want you doing something that will make you uncomfortable."

Geralt shifts and then there's a warmth against his back, spreading up through his shoulders and neck. One of Geralt's hands settles on his hip, fingers slipping gently through the thick hair there.

"You could never make me uncomfortable," he says and Jaskier nearly whimpers with how badly he wants him. "Jaskier," he breathes, "if you need me, I'm here."

Jaskier nods but says nothing. He doesn't want this if it makes Geralt uncomfortable but he doesn't want anyone else. Not now that he's had Geralt's hands on him, now that he's had his hands on his body, not the mirage of a human one. He shifts, just slightly, and his cock slips against his stomach. He's so hard, his cock aching for the faintest touch, and there's nothing he can do about it. Perhaps once Geralt's asleep, he'll slip out and try to find someone, though the thought of putting his glamour back up is uncomfortable and disheartening.

He shifts again and a little mewl escapes his lips, low and painful, but this time there's a hand on his hip, settling him. It slips down his thigh, cupping his knee and spreading his legs apart as he's pulled onto his back. Geralt's hand slips to his thigh and Jaskier inhales sharply as his cock bounces against his stomach.

"Tell me to stop if you don't want it, but I hate seeing you like this. I hate seeing you in pain." Geralt's hand slips slowly upward, inching toward his cock and Jaskier tries so hard not to push, not to be too greedy for it, but the second he can feel the heat from Geralt's hand, he needs it.

He needs to come, craves the warmth of and friction of a hand wrapped around his cock and he shudders, arching up slightly as a wave of need rushes over him. He shuts his eyes, clenching his fist at his side and groaning.

"Please," he whispers and it's the softest, most pitiful sound he's ever heard. He winces at it, but Geralt leans over him, brushing his lips against his cheek.

Geralt's fingers brush against him before wrapping around, jerking him slowly. Geralt's mouth finds his, swallowing the desperate moans that spill from Jaskier's lips. He needs this, needs him and he can feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, the ache of desperation overwhelming.

When Geralt releases his cock, Jaskier heaves a sob, but then his fingers slip back between his cheeks. He's a little more aggressive than before, pressing more firmly and breaching the ring of muscle. Jaskier's whole body stiffens and then Geralt's slipping a hand under the back of his neck, brushing his fingers soothingly against the side of his neck.

"Shh," he breathes, "I've got you."

He pushes deeper and it burns a little, but the stretch feels like relief, and he relaxes as Geralt pulls out and back in again. He thrusts lightly but wastes no time picking up speed. He teases a second finger where the first breaches him and Jaskier rolls his head back with a groan, turning into Geralt's embrace.

"Please," he whispers, "fuck, Geralt I need it. Please."

"I know," Geralt rumbles, nose pressed to his ear, "do you have any oil? I don't want to hurt you." Jaskier groans loudly and Geralt huffs a soft laugh against him. "I'll only be gone a moment, is it in your pack?" Jaskier hums and nods, reluctantly letting Geralt slip away and off the bed.

He watches after him, eyes roaming over Geralt's ass as he bends to search through the bag. He's quick as he promised and when he returns to the bed, Jaskier groans at the prominent bulge in his trousers. Fuck. Geralt quickly unbuttons his trousers and shoves them to the floor, leaving him only in his shorts. The thin fabric does nothing to hide his erection and Jaskier can't tear his eyes away from him.

If Geralt notices, he doesn't acknowledge it and he crawls up from the foot of the bed. He settles himself next to Jaskier, sliding up against him and pressing his cock into his hip. He slides his arm under Jaskier's leg, slicking his fingers and circling his hole. He's gentle about it, too fucking gentle for how badly Jaskier needs it, but it feels… nice. No one else is so careful with him, no one else cares so much about how he feels.

Geralt rubs against his hole, slicking the ring of muscle with every pass of his fingers. He leans in, catching Jaskier's mouth in a kiss as his fingers dip in just slightly. Jaskier moans against him, whining when the pressure stops and chasing Geralt's hand with his hips. He wants to come so fucking badly, needs any sort of friction on his cock, but when Geralt presses two fingers into him and keeps them there, it's all he can focus on.

He loves the feeling of being filled, the feeling of Geralt moving inside him, working into him. He pushes deep, rubbing against his prostate and Jaskier yelps at the sensation. Warm breath dusts against his neck and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.

"Feels good?" he asks and Jaskier just whines, arching off the bed as he does it again.

Jaskier goes limp as Geralt's free arm presses under his neck again. He slumps against his chest, nosing at his collar bone as he shifts his hips, following the motion of Geralt's hand. He's stupidly close already, but after being pent up all day, he's too relieved to be embarrassed about it. And having Geralt wrapped around him, pressing inside him even in his own form is… there's not even a word to describe, at least not one he can think of at the moment.

He reaches up, wrapping both arms around Geralt's neck and Geralt allows himself to be pulled down over him, never once slipping in his rhythm. He presses his palm against Jaskier's balls and he thrusts into him quickly, his speed increasing as Jaskier's orgasm creeps closer.

Jaskier comes with three fingers pushed deep into him and Geralt's mouth against him, hot and eager. He kisses back as best he can, but pleasure sears through him and it's hard to focus on much more than Geralt's fingers and the press of his cock. Jaskier moans into the space between their lips, shuddering through his orgasm as Geralt holds him.

Geralt continues fucking into him until Jaskier whines with oversensitivity. When he draws out, he slips his hand up along the underside of Jaskier's cock, humming thoughtfully as it jumps under his hand.

"Feel better?" he asks and Jaskier hums.

"Yeah," he breathes.

"Good." Geralt dips down, kissing him soundly and Jaskier lets his hands roam, just a little.

But Geralt groans as he touches him, presses into the touch and Jaskier is encouraged. He wonders briefly how Geralt would react if he jerked him off, if he just slipped a hand beneath the hem of his braies and wrapped around him. Geralt's big and the thought of him hard because of him in any context is intoxicating, but to know Geralt got hard being able to see him fully? That's a special kind of thrill. One that deserves reciprocation.

He snakes a hand between them under the guise of feeling Geralt up and slips beneath the hem of his shorts. He's wet. Wetter than it should be, even if Geralt is usually wet - and that thought had his cock stirring again already.

Jaskier breaks the kiss and slips his hand to Geralt's hip, even as he rocks forward, chasing the touch.

"Did you come?" he asks, quiet and breathless. His cock twitches and Jaskier barely bites back a moan when Geralt's cheeks flush. Fuck, he did. That's… really fucking hot.

Geralt doesn't reply but Jaskier doesn't need him to go know the answer. He spreads his legs wider, pressing a thigh up against Geralt's crotch and Geralt's breath stutters as his hips shift guard.

"You're still hard," Jaskier says, flocking his eyes up to Geralt's.

"Mmm," Geralt agrees, "a side effect of the trials and the enhanced stamina. We can stop if you want, I'll be fine."

"You… want to keep going?"

Geralt laughs softly and noses under his jaw. "You've only come once."

Jaskier whimpers as Geralt kisses him again and then he's moving down the bed, shuffling out of his soiled shorts and settling between Jaskier's thighs. He kisses each thigh, pushing his nose through the thick hair and nipping at his skin and Jaskier shudders with the little jolts of pleasure.

Geralt shifts lower, sucking lightly on his balls before nosing under them. His breath is hot and damp and Jaskier squirms with need. He wants Geralt's mouth on him and he's so close if he just pushed a little further- But Geralt reaches up to hold his hips and Jaskier fists his hands on the sheets in frustration.

"Please," he whines, wiggling in Geralt's hold. Geralt knows he can wait, knows the worst is over and everything from here on is just for fun, but Jaskier's been waiting for this a long time and despite not needing to come anymore, he's feeling particularly desperate for it.

Geralt makes him wait.

He pushes Jaskier's thighs up, hooking his knees over his shoulders and he makes a point of kissing every inch of skin he can reach, including the shaft of his cock, but he refuses to touch his ass. His breath is a torment when he leans down again sync Jaskier is certain he'll be the one coming untouched if Geralt doesn't hurry up and fucking touch him.

Then, abruptly, Geralt pushes between his cheeks, licking a stripe over his hole. Jaskier lets out a little oh and Geralt's arms wrap around his thighs, holding him in place. His fingers dig into the hair on his legs and Jaskier moans softly, surprised to find that when Geralt tugs, it feels good.

He groans and rocks his hips down, encouraging the press of Geralt's tongue, the squeeze of his fingers. Geralt is enthusiastic, pressing wet kisses against him and letting his tongue drag over his hole as he moves up. When he pulls away, Jaskier presses his hips up, but Geralt just hums softly, nipping at the swell of his ass.

Sharp teeth graze against his skin and Jaskier's breath catches. Geralt nips and sucks at his skin, only teasing his hole with the faint brush of his fingers. The press of his teeth only makes his arousal burn hotter and it sits low in his belly, fiery and impatient.

Then, abruptly, Geralt's mouth is back on him again and Jaskier groans, rolling his head to the side and reaching down to Geralt. He presses his fingertips through his hair, slipping the strands through his fingers and he tugs. He wants to kiss him, wants to guide Geralt's mouth back to his own, but Geralt just moans at the pressure. Jaskier's breath catches.

Geralt doubles down after that, licking over him and pressing his tongue against his rim. When he pushes in, Jaskier rocks his hips, wanting more, wanting Geralt inside of him. His tongue, his fingers, his cock. It doesn't matter, he just wants it in him and he doesn't want to wait any longer.

Geralt doesn't make him wait long, pushing his tongue as far as it will reach before slipping a finger in next to it. He slides a second in next to it, stretching him and licking between his fingers, thrusting quickly into him. Jaskier rocks back on him and Geralt's fingers slip just a little, pressing deeper. He presses his nose to the base of Jaskier's spine, breathing heavily against his skin and pressing soft kisses there as his fingers continue working into him.

"I want to fuck you," Geralt hums, soft, into Jaskier's skin.

"Oh Geralt, please."

Geralt's free hand runs up his thigh, squeezing around his hip and as his other fingers withdraw, he shifts so his knees press under his thighs instead and he bends low to kiss him. Geralt's cock slides against his ass and they both groan, but he can feel the way Geralt smiles against him.

"Fuck," he breathes, "you're so good for me."

Jaskier just squirms, desperate for it. They can talk later. Later he'll talk Geralt off if that's what he wants but right now he just wants his cock. He winds his arms around Geralt's neck, holding him close and using him for leverage as he rocks his hips. But he doesn't have to try hard.

Geralt gets one hand around his back and pushes his shorts down with the other, letting his cock spring free. It bumps against Jaskier's thigh and then Geralt's shifting forward, pressing his cockhead against him and Jaskier rolls his head back, eyes squeezed shut as Geralt presses into him.

It burns a little. It always does initially, but Jaskier loves the stretch of him, loves thinking about Geralt sliding into him and the way his body opens to him. Geralt's bigger than any of the men he's been with recently, though this isn't news to him. Jaskier's seen him naked more times than he could count, has daydreamed about riding his cock or sucking him off under the table at a banquet. None of his fantasies ever started out this way, but he wouldn't trade the real thing for any of them.

He twitches at the thought and Geralt bucks forward hard, pressing right up against his prostate. Jaskier tries to keep it together, but he's doing a spectacularly bad job of it and when Geralt rocks forward again, he's overcome.

Jaskier comes with a soft cry, biting down on his lip and reaching for his cock in a belated, half-hearted attempt to stave off his orgasm. He clenches automatically and shoves his hips down, driving himself onto Geralt's cock. He's still coming, still working through it when Geralt lets out a low, "fuck" and then he's lurching forward, hands fisted in the bed on either side of Jaskier's torso.

It's not until he opens his eyes, sees the way Geralt's face is pinched up, that he realizes he's close. And fuck, if it isn't the hottest thing he's ever seen.

Without hesitation, Jaskier reaches for him, grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him hard. It's uncoordinated and rushed, but Geralt kisses back with just as much enthusiasm, already rocking forward lightly. When he finally succumbs to the need to breathe, Jaskier draws away smiling, his hands still on Geralt's face.

"Fuck, Jask," Geralt huffs.

"Mm," he agrees.

He's happy, floating, and so long as Geralt doesn't do anything to get him wound up again, he'll be happy to curl up next to him and sleep. Unlikely considering he won't hear of Geralt going away without coming, but Geralt is already pulling out and slipping away - not that he gets very far.

Before Jaskier can even ask where he's going, Geralt is back between his legs slipping three fingers into him with ease.

"Thought you were gonna fuck me," Jaskier hums, his voice breaking on a whine as Geralt's fingers rub against his prostate. "Oh."

"I will," Geralt promises, pressing his nose into the join of Jaskier's hip and biting. "But you're so tight and wet I'm not gonna last. Think I can make you come again first, hm?" Geralt thrusts forward again, rubbing firmly against him and Jaskier's eyes roll back in his head as he goes limp against the bed.

He wants to tease Geralt about making him wait, but how can he complain when it feels this good?

"Yeah," he mumbles, "yeah okay, I think so."

"Good," Geralt hums.

He presses his lips to Jaskier's stomach, nosing at the soft skin as his fingers work into him. It registers when Geralt nips at him, but only barely. His mind is foggy with lust and he's so focused on the forward thrust of Geralt's fingers that he hardly notices anything else. Already, he feels the swell of arousal building, tight and coiling in his gut, but he isn't annoyed like he might be, because tonight coming again doesn't mean this is over. Geralt has promised to fuck him if he comes again and Jaskier is delighted.

He loves giving everything to his lovers, but there aren't many times he gets to lie back and be ravished. He loves to be fucked after he's already come, to feel that heady need of a partner who (most of the time) has already come themselves but wants to see him come again. There's nothing better. Except, perhaps, the way Geralt looks up at him with dark eyes, lips just slightly parted where they press against Jaskier's skin.

But Geralt is delicious in every sense of the word and Jaskier could fuck him every day for the rest of his life and still come back wanting more. He lets his fingers slip through Geralt's hair, running his fingers down his shoulders, brushing along taught muscles. He inhales deeply as Geralt shifts against him, the twin scents of their arousal combining into something that leaves him delirious.

He groans with it, shifting his hips in time with Geralt's fingers. He's fucked and been fucked more times than he can count, but there's something distinctly different about Geralt, something that's so much more than the others. It's his own feelings, he tells himself, it feels like more because, for him, it is. But when Geralt looks up at him with big, dark eyes, he's breathless.

"Gods," he groans, "just like that-"

Jaskier cuts himself off with a gasp as Geralt's teeth drag along his abdomen, scraping the sensitive skin directly above his cock. Geralt did it again and as Jaskier's fingers slip to the back of his neck, he licks a stripe up the underside of his cock.

"Oh," he gasps and then before he can even think anything else, Geralt's lips wrap around the head of his cock and he slides down the full length of him immediately.

Wet heat engulfs him and Geralt's fangs graze the sides of his cock and Jaskier's mind goes blank. His eyes roll back and he lifts his hips, encouraging. Geralt pauses when he reaches the base, nose pressed into Jaskier's stomach, and when he rises again his teeth press in a little more firmly, experimenting.

Geralt has always said he has an attraction to things that are bad for him and considering he's an incubus travelling with a Witcher, Jaskier supposes he's right. But the thrill of Geralt's fangs against his cock is a whole new level. If it was anyone else, he'd never let them get this close but this is Geralt and fuck, does it get his blood rushing.

He's so preoccupied rocking his cock against Geralt's teeth, that he nearly forgets Geralt's got three fingers inside him until he starts fucking into him again, slowly pulling back and thrusting forward hard. Jaskier gasps and shudders at the first thrust, pushing back into his fingers, but then Geralt's tongue runs along the underside of his cock, pushing it up against his teeth and Jaskier's overwhelmed.

Pinned between the two pleasures, he's not sure he'll survive long enough for Geralt to fuck him, after all. His cock throbs as Geralt finds his prostate again, and then as he sucks at the head, Jaskier's sure he'll come undone right there. He can smell his own pre-come dripping onto Geralt's tongue and he shudders at the thought of it, the thought that it's Geralt wrapped around him and inside him. It's almost too much.

Geralt pulls up to the head, ducking at the very tip of his cock and Jaskier moans, fingers digging into his skin. He's so close, just the barest touch is likely to push him over the edge. Then, as Geralt swallows him down again, the scent of his arousal spikes sharply and that's all it takes to have Jaskier thrusting forward and coming down his throat.

Geralt doesn't even stop to let him relax, just pulls off his cock and shifts lower down the bed. The hand that was inside him slips out to wrap around his cock and as Jaskier is squirming with oversensitivity, Geralt's tongue pushes into him. His entire body goes limp and all he can manage is a weak roll of his hips.

Geralt strokes him slowly, leisurely, and Jaskier loses himself in the sensation. He hums softly, broken by stuttered whines as though fingers slide beneath the head of his cock. But Geralt's tongue is what really has his attention, thrusting lightly in and out and licking over his hole and pushing back on without warning. It's hot and so it feels so ridiculously intimate that Jaskier could cry - though that's probably the overstimulation more than anything.

Geralt keeps a steady pace, refusing to pick up even when Jaskier's hips buck and he whines for more. Jaskier comes again with Geralt's tongue inside him, fingers stroking him slowly through it, and he feels like he's going to die.

His body could shatter into pieces and he wouldn't know the difference and he barely musters the strength to wrap his hand around Geralt's biceps. He can't pull him up, but Geralt seems to understand anyway, crawling up to lay against his stomach, lips quickly seeking his own.

Geralt kisses him slowly, deeply, but he's hard against Jaskier's hip, smearing pre-come over his skin with every little movement. Jaskier has seen Geralt when he's horny before, after a hunt that doesn't allow him to burn through his potions, or occasionally at a brothel, but never like this.

Here, with him, Geralt is unrestrained, rutting mindlessly against his hip as his kisses grow deeper, more feverish. Jaskier reaches down, brushing his fingers around the head of Geralt's cock. Geralt moans desperately against his lips and Jaskier realizes abruptly that he hasn't come yet. Not, at least since the beginning. He's lost track of how many times he's come (four, maybe?) but Geralt hasn't. The realization gives him a little burst of energy and he wraps one hand around his cock, keeping near the base to keep him from coming too soon, and slips the other through his hair, tugging gently as Geralt's mouth moves down to his neck.

"Fuck, you're so sexy," Jaskier mumbles, his voice rough with lust. "You're so hard love, you just wanna come, don't you?" Geralt whines against his neck but doesn't reply. His fangs graze the sensitive skin on Jaskier's throat and Jaskier rolls his head back.

"That's it," he coaxes, "you can bite me, I know you want to-" he stops himself abruptly with the realization that he never bit Geralt, all of his arousal, his desperation is just him. Geralt's teeth press into the skin of his shoulder, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to pull Jaskier out of his reverie - enough to leave a mark Jaskier will be able to look at for days.

"Fuck, Geralt," Jaskier whines, "gods, I want you. Still want to fuck me, darling?" Geralt growls against his skin and it sends shivers down his spine. "Mmm, I want to hear you say it."

"Fuck, Jask- I want to fuck you," his voice rumbles low, as he presses kisses over the bite mark, dragging his fangs as he pulls away. "Wanna feel you around me as you come again, squeezing around my cock." Jaskier whimpers but quickly guides Geralt's mouth back against his own, kissing him hard and nipping at his bottom lip.

"Fuck me," he breathes, "I know you want it and I want you so badly, darling. Please."

Geralt, evidently, does not need to be asked twice. He shifts so his knees are under Jaskier's thighs and presses the head of his cock against his hole. The head slips in easily, and Jaskier groans as he pushes deeper, stretching him open on his cock. Jaskier wraps his head around Geralt's neck, holding him close, breathing against his mouth as Geralt pushes deeper. He rocks his hips before he's fully settled, slow shallow thrusts that have Jaskier practically begging him for more.

When Geralt is finally fully seated, he pauses, propping himself up on his hands and dropping his chin against his chest. It's barely visible, but Jaskier can feel him shaking, holding on to that last little bit of control. He's aching for it and still, he holds off to let Jaskier adjust.

"How does it feel?" Jaskier asks, eyes shut as he focuses on the thick stretch of Geralt's cock inside him. His own cock fills where it sits against his hip and when Geralt speaks again, it twitches.

"Fuck. Good. Feels good." He rolls his hips back, thrusting forward hard and Jaskier nearly shouts as Geralt's cock bumps against his prostate.

Geralt sets a steady rhythm, quick enough to have him panting, but slow enough that Jaskier can still feel each drag of his cock. Then, abruptly, Geralt stills. His hand clenches in the sheets and his eyes squeeze shut and Jaskier knows he's trying not to come. He slips his hand to the side of Geralt's neck, tipping his chin up so he can look at him.

"Come for me," he breathes and Geralt whines as his hips shift, seemingly on their own, and he groans as he comes, fucking into him hard.

Jaskier holds him close as he drops to his elbows, tugging gently on his hair as Geralt moans into his neck. He winds his legs around Geralt's hips, rutting up against him, expecting Geralt to still against him, but he doesn't. Geralt doesn't even slow down after he comes, pressing his mouth against the side of Jaskier's neck and sucking marks into the skin. He snaps his hips hard and Jaskier moans softly, pulling Geralt's head back up so he can kiss him.

He bumps his nose against Geralt's, humming softly against his lips even as they part. Geralt shifts to one side, wrapping a hand around Jaskier's cock and stroking him in time with his thrusts.

"Think you can come again?" he asks and Jaskier nods instinctively. He knows he can, could probably come twenty times if Geralt's enthusiasm keeps up like this, but he doesn't say so because he doesn't want to push - as much as he would love the chance to spend all night with Geralt between his legs.

"Please," he whispers and Geralt snaps his hips hard.

It doesn't take much before Jaskier is writhing again, his cock sliding against Geralt's stomach with every thrust. The scent of lust and come consumes him and he arches off the bed, desperate to get closer to Geralt. Then, without hesitation, Geralt slides an arm around his waist, pulling him up into his lap.

His grip is strong and it's a damn good thing because Jaskier's limbs are still weak and all he can manage is to wrap his arms around his neck and kiss him, relying entirely on Geralt to hold him up. He works his hips as well as he can, but mostly just succeeds in grinding his cock against Geralt's stomach, smearing through his own come. Geralt fucks into him steadily, running one hand through Jaskier's hair as the other remains flat against his back.

Jaskier drops his head to Geralt's shoulder, shuddering as each thrust brings him closer and closer to the edge. Geralt's thighs shake beneath him, spreading further in the sheets to give him better leverage. He's close. Jaskier can feel it in every thrust, in the way Geralt's hand slips from his neck to hold him open for him, in how he nips at Jaskier's shoulder and groans against his skin.

Then, abruptly, there are fingers pressing against his hole, circling Geralt's cock where it sinks into him and then pressing in. Jaskier bites back a whine at the added stretch, but it's good. Geralt pushes in as far as he can, even as his cock bumps against Jaskier's prostate and stays there. He grinds into him and Jaskier loses himself in the overwhelming pleasure that zips through him.

He's so focused on Geralt's fingers and his cock that when he comes, it catches him off guard. He seizes up, thrusting forward to rut against Geralt's stomach as he spills all over it. His fingers dig into the skin at the back of Geralt's neck and his moans shift to soft cries, so engulfed by pleasure that he can't even think.

He's only vaguely aware of Geralt coming when he feels his come dripping down the backs of his thigh and cooling against his skin. Jaskier slumps in Geralt's arms, still wrapped around his neck and Geralt hums softly as he nuzzles against Jaskier's ear.

"Satisfied?" he asks and Jaskier hums.

"Mmhm. You?"

"Very."

Geralt carefully lays him down and Jaskier winces at the cold, damp sheets against his back, wishing they had somewhere else to sleep. But Geralt lays down next to him, presses up against his side and the sheets no longer matter. Jaskier shifts to get comfortable, tangling his legs with Geralt, who hums appreciatively and nuzzles close to kiss his neck. There's a beat of silence, in which Jaskier decides he's happy to fall asleep just like this and they can have a bath poured in the morning, but then Geralt stirs and breaks the silence.

"Jaskier," he hums, his voice already heavy with exhaustion, "you know you can come to me if you're suffering." He pauses, swallows hard and adds, "even if you're not."

"You seemed angry before," Jaskier shrugs, "I didn't want to bother you with it. Sometimes I can ride it out if I fall asleep." Geralt scoffs and props himself up, looking down on him.

"I wasn't angry, I was scared. Someone found out, Jask. I don't know how, but they knew what you are and I didn't want them to find you - I didn't know what they'd do. If I'd known what it would do to you, I would have made other arrangements."

"Other arrange- Geralt, don't be ridiculous. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause trouble."

"Don't be sorry. Just… come to me, next time. Tell me if it happens again and I can help. I don't want you to suffer."

"Geralt," Jaskier says softly, leaning in to bump their noses together, "if you're willing, there won't be a next time. I want you, I've always wanted you, but I never thought one person could be enough for me. I thought-" he winces and Geralt brushes soft fingers over his cheek, encouraging him to continue. "I thought if I tried to be with one person I'd kill them. And the thought of losing you-" his chest pulls tight and he shuts his eyes. "Geralt, I love you and I have always wanted you. I don't mean to put pressure on you, but if you'll have me at all I'd rather just… be with you. Not just as a last resort."

"Okay," Geralt breathes and it's not at all what Jaskier is expecting to hear from him.

"Okay?"

"Mm. I've wanted you too, for a long time but I thought if you wanted me you would have said something by now. It's not as though incubi are drowning in viable partners."

"Ah," Jaskier says, "I guess we've both been a little stupid."

"I'll make it up to you," Geralt hums, and before Jaskier can ask how, he's slipped out of bed and is dressing again.

All of Jaskier's instincts tell him Geralt is leaving, that after finally seeing him like this, he's had enough. But he forces himself not to think about it, to focus on Geralt's words instead, on his actions.

By the time Geralt returns to the room, Jaskier's cleaned up a little, reclasped the bracelet around his wrist and is sitting on the edge of the bed in only a shirt. Geralt frowns when he sees him and sets down the extra bedding on the chair next to the door before crossing over to him. He lifts Jaskier's wrist, rubbing his thumb over the thick gold band.

"A chambermaid will be up in a minute to fill the bath," he explains, "but when she leaves, would you take it off again?" It takes Jaskier a second to realize Geralt is talking about the bracelet and he looks up at him questioningly. "I'd rather see the real you," he whispers and Jaskier nods slowly.

Geralt dips down to kiss him and Jaskier lets himself get caught up in the moment, tangling his fingers in Geralt's hair and kissing him soundly before a knock on the door interrupts. Geralt pulls away with a smile and Jaskier can't help but return the gesture as Geralt turns toward the door.

He waits patiently while the maids fill the tub and then, once the door is closed and locked behind them, Geralt turns back to him. Jaskier is already fiddling with the clasp on the bracelet, but Geralt approaches and knees between his feet, taking Jaskier's wrist in his hand.

He unclasps it, gently sliding the band over his hand and Jaskier can feel the glamour lift. Geralt's palms smooth up his thighs and he stretches up to kiss him again.

"You don't have to hide from me," he says, "I want to see you." Jaskier's heart thuds heavily against his chest and as Geralt ducks his head, he winds his fingers through his hair, combing gently through it.

"I can't always," he says and Geralt nods.

"I know. I'd kill anyone who tried to touch you, but I know." He reaches up, sliding his fingers over the curve of one horn and he smiles. "You're beautiful," Geralt whispers. "At the inn, I panicked. I didn't know what I would do without you and I just hurt you more."

"You didn't," Jaskier assures him. "You saved me. And you'll do it again. And, come morning, I fully intend to repay you for that, Witcher." He smirks at him and Geralt huffs a laugh. "But first, I believe there's a hot bath and fresh sheets waiting for us." Geralt's arms wind around his waist and he lifts him off the bed, hands slipping under his thighs to hold him up.

"The bath can wait." Geralt tips forward, kissing the column of his neck and nipping lightly at the skin there. "I think those sheets have one more use in them."

[onlydreamofmysoul]

Impeccably Bad Taste (Drarry)

This might be one of my favourite fics that I’ve ever written? It was just so much fun and I love these two so so much, I’m obsessed with their dynamic!

In which, Harry gets tired of Draco's complaints and wears Amorentia as cologne one day.

“Merlin’s beard Harry there’s not much we can do about being stuck together as potions partners but you could at least not use so much of that awful cologne.”

Harry shot a dirty look at Draco and chose not to reply, instead choosing to continue chopping the newt tails as if he had never heard his Slytherin counter-part. Really none of his complaining was fair, sure Harry wore a dab of cologne but at least it wasn’t nearly as pretentious as whatever citrus-scented shampoo Malfoy used.

Harry tossed the tails into the caldron and stirs it three times, counter-clockwise. He was pretty impressed with himself until it turned an awful mucus green and began spitting flecks of boiling hot liquid everywhere.

“Fuck, what did you do?” Malfoy cried shielding himself.

“I followed the instructions!” Harry protested, reading back over the spell quickly. “Wait shit no, I stirred counter-clockwise, it says clockwise here.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Trust a Gryffindor to be incapable of something as simple as following simple instructions.” He wiped bead of sweat from under his lip and Harry wished his eyes hadn’t followed the action.

Harry stirred the potion rapidly clockwise in an attempt to undo his mistake. After a few moments, it stopped spewing steaming droplets and slowly regained its deep purple colour.

“Shove off Malfoy. I got it back under control, it’s fine.”

“Fixing a problem of your own creation isn’t much of a boast, Mr Potter.” Came Snape’s characteristic drawl. “Ten points from Gryffindor.”

Malfoy’s pink lips curled into a little smirk.

Harry sighed. Just his luck.

****

“He’s just so annoying, you know!” Harry ranted, throwing his hands up in the air as he spoke before letting them fall limp at his side and flopping back onto the grass they were sprawled on.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Yes Harry, we know, you’ve been going on about him for, how long has it been now Ron?”

Ron cast a quick tempus, squinting in the light of the sun before turning to Harry. “Twenty minutes mate. That is a bit excessive.”

Hermione hummed in agreement. “That’s a bit of an understatement. Harry, you’ve got to either get over this obsession with Malfoy, or do something about it. Either way, make up your mind soon before you drive yourself insane.”

Harry leaned up on his elbows so he could look at her properly.

“Do something about it? What does that mean? Hex him or something?”

Hermione shook her head and closed her eyes “Yeah, or something.”

****

“There’s supposed to be a faint smell of almonds.” Harry muttered, sniffing the air over their shared caldron. “Can you smell it?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I can’t smell anything over your goddamned cologne. What, do you take a bath it?”

Harry gritted his teeth, trying not to get too riled. It was hot in the dungeons that must be it. It would make anyone irritable. He didn’t want a fight ‘get through this year with as few incidents as possible’ -that was his plan.

“What even is that, sandalwood?” Draco asked. Harry hated that he was right.

“Whatever Malfoy, just concentrate on the potion.” Harry muttered, rolling his shoulders. He could do that.

“I’m trying if you hadn’t noticed.”

There was silence for a few moments as they both leaned over the caldron, taking in deep breaths.

“No almonds, just sandalwood.” Draco drawled and Harry bit his lip. Screw ignoring it.

****

“Hey Hermione, you have a vial of Amorentia, right?” Harry asked his brilliant friend as they sat alone in the common room that night.

Hermione looked at him cautiously. “Yes… Why do you want to know?”

“I was wondering if I could have some?” Harry asked, quickly continuing at his friend’s shocked face. “No! Not to use on anyone, I swear! It’s just to, well it’s hard to explain but I just really need some, only a little dab, I promise.”

“A little dab wouldn’t have much of an effect on a person.” Hermione contemplated.

“Yeah I know, but like I said, I don’t want to use it like that, I‘m not trying to make someone fall in love with me. I just need a little drop, please ‘Mione?”

Hermione looked at him for a long moment. “As long as you’re definitely not going to give it to someone?”

“Of course not, you can trust me.”

“Alright then, I’ll grab it for you. I expect to get the rest of it back.” She said sternly.

Harry grinned. “Of course, it’ll be like it was never even gone.”

****

Harry sat down at the breakfast table trying to hide his smile.

“Wow Harry, you smell amazing, what is that?” Ginny asked, leaning in close and breathing deeply. “It’s like… chocolate chip cookies, right out of the oven.” She sighed.

Her boyfriend Neville who was sitting right next to her, frowned. “That’s not it, it’s more like, soil, the scent of everything growing and coming to life like spring.”

“Don’t be daft Neville.” Ron mumbled around a mouthful of toast. “He smells like lavender.” Ron leaned closer lowering his voice, “Mate, are you wearing Hermione’s perfume?”

Harry bit his lip in his attempt not to laugh and watched as understanding dawned on Hermione’s face. “You used it as a perfume?” She mouthed across the food-leaden table. Harry nodded then lifted a finger to his lips in a silent ask for secrecy. Hermione nodded faithfully.

Harry glanced at the time. “I’d better get going. My first class is Potions and Snape already has it out for me, I can’t be late too.”

His friends nodded in understanding and waved him goodbye. As Harry walked away, all he could hear was Dean’s voice raising above them all, “So what did he smell like?”

Draco walked into the dungeons exactly thirty seconds before class was due to begin. For once, Harry couldn’t wait for his arrival.

They began making the potion in silence. The dungeons were colder than usual – the potions got progressively colder as they brewed and Harry shivered, grateful that Draco was the one stirring today, his long fingers wrapped delicately around the no doubt freezing ladle.

Harry crushed the seven rose petals and levitated them into the bubbling brew, breathing in the refreshing scent that followed. Harry couldn’t help but bait Draco a little.

“Smells good, doesn’t it?”

“Sandalwood? It’s alright, though it’s obvious you love it.” Draco drawled.

Harry’s heart stopped and he waited.

“I meant the potion.” He said barely able to stop his voice from shaking.

“I know what you meant Potter but it’s not like I can smell anything over your goddamned cologne.”

There was no mistaking it this time. Harry was wearing Amorentia but all Draco could smell was… him.

Harry ran it all though his mind, and it all made sense. How could he have missed it? Maybe he was as oblivious as his friends said.

Draco liked him.

And when Harry thought about it, admitted it, he liked him too.

“Draco.” He said and watched the other boy freeze. “Draco , I’m not wearing my cologne, I’m wearing Amorentia.”

Draco turned to him, panic in his eyes obvious but before he could say anything, come up with whatever excuse his Slytherin mind could think of – one that would probably be very good if it wasn’t absolute bullshit, Harry grabbed him by his shirt collar and pulled him in for a kiss.

Draco gasped against his lips, and tangled his cold fingers him Harry’s ever-wild hair and from that moment everything else drowned out. They didn’t hear anything, not the gasps of the other students, nor the ladle as it fell to the floor. No, all Harry could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat – rapid and uneven and feel Draco’s hands in his hair, the sliver of his skin on his neck under Harry’s fingers and those smug lips pressed against his.

He pulled away, gasping and felt his face redden as he realised what he did in front of an audience.

“Potter!” Snape raged, and Harry snapped back to reality, pulling further away from Draco “Fifty points from Gryffindor, for extreme class disruption.”

Draco’s hand slid into Harry’s and squeezed.

“And Malfoy,” Snape continued as he passed their work station. “Ten points from Slytherin, for impeccably bad taste.”

[catflorist]

Warm (ao3/ffn) catflorist written for the beginnings with sasusaku zine 

Falling snow made Konoha quiet, but this corner of the village was always quiet. Sasuke exited the Uchiha compound with a travel pack hanging heavy on his shoulder. On this evening, with hours until the beginning of the new year, the emptiness of his clan’s district gnawed at him more than usual.

In a different life, he would be fire-jumping with his clan.

Before the new year, the Uchiha clan gathered and lit fires in the streets. They jumped together over the flames. With each leap, the fire fed on their sickness, weakness, and bad luck. It offered health and good luck in return.

Sasuke was not an animated child, but during this ceremony, he would jump high and wild like the others. There was a sense of invulnerability when arriving on the other side of the flame unscathed, then a burning drive to leap again. His feet were loud on the ground when he landed, because he didn't know yet how to move like a shinobi. Every year, he swore he would jump as high as Itachi, though he never could.

No fires were burning in the Uchiha district now, and no children were leaping. The gates to the compound creaked as Sasuke pulled them shut. He slipped into the tangle of Konoha’s winding streets.

Halfway to his apartment, pink hair flashed in the beam of a street lamp. Sakura turned the corner, arms crowded with grocery bags, and strode towards the crosswalk. 

Sasuke halted. She hadn’t spotted him yet. 

“Sakura ka…” he called. He could not say hello when he greeted her, only, Ah, it’s Sakura, like she was a phenomenon to remark upon.

Sakura turned her head. 

“Sasuke-kun,” she replied, eyes brightening. As her gaze flicked to the bag over his shoulder, her smile faltered. “Are you going again?”

Sasuke frowned, pulling on the strap of the offending bag. He had only recently returned to the village. Did she think he was leaving so soon? 

“I was visiting...” He turned his head in the direction of the old Uchiha district. “Gathering some things.”

“I see,” she murmured. “Then...do you have plans this evening? I’m going to make toshikoshi soba.” She shifted an arm, revealing the green onions and package of soba noodles peeking out of one grocery bag. “It’ll be too much for one person.” Her cheeks were pink, but maybe it was the cold. 

Sasuke usually preferred to be alone. Since returning to the village in the fall, he had his routine. It was not very different from his routine while traveling. In the mornings he trained. He cooked meals in silence and gazed at the view of the forest. In the evenings he tried not to sleep too deeply, his protocol to stave off the nightmares.

The only difference was that if Naruto pounded on the door enough, he might be convinced to spar. If Sakura was around, she healed his injuries. “Try to be more careful next time,” she would say with a crinkle between her eyebrows, which is what happened when she wanted to say more, but didn't want to push him.

She wore that same look now, gripping her bags tighter in case he said yes, eyes already down in case he refused. Snowflakes rested and melted on her eyelashes.

After sorting through his father and Itachi’s belongings, on a night when the compound should have been alive with fire, being alone wasn’t as appealing as usual.

“All right,” he heard himself saying.

.

.

Sakura had barely seen Sasuke since he had returned to the village. Now he was seated in her kitchen, tasting the toshikoshi soba she had made following her mother’s recipe. If she wanted, she could bump her knee against his under her small table.

“Your apartment...” Sasuke began. His voice was quiet, the same timbre as the hum of her radiator. 

“I don’t spend a lot of time here,” she interjected, palms itching. Her apartment was small and unadorned. She had cobbled furniture together courtesy of her parents, Ino, and a spare office in the Hokage tower. Half the time, she sneezed when she walked in the door, because she never found a moment to sweep the dust.

Sasuke’s shoulder rose and fell. “No, it’s not that.” He raised the bowl to his lips, taking a long sip. “It looks like it’s yours.”

Before she could wonder how he concluded this, Sasuke lowered the bowl to the table, a little too gently. Something about the movement told Sakura to pay attention.

“I was gathering clothes. Mine are worn from traveling.” He swirled noodles slowly in his broth. “I don’t have another way to wear our crest. What I found wasn’t in great condition.”

Sakura would never fully grasp the lonely responsibilities Sasuke bore as the last of his clan. If he did not wear the crest, there was no one else who would. He had to choose, every day, to be an Uchiha. Otherwise they would disappear. 

“If you need…” Sakura swallowed. “I can help. I know how to sew.” 

The sink dripped, once, twice. Sakura’s mouth opened, an apology bubbling to her lips, when Sasuke left the kitchen. He returned to his chair and spread the contents of his bag on the table: carefully folded articles of clothing, uchiwa fans decorating each item.

Sakura stroked a loose thread, where the fabric of the Uchiha crest was lifting away from the back of a dark haori. “They're not in bad condition,” she said. “They just need some attention.” 

“This was my father’s,” Sasuke said, fingertips grazing a deep blue yukata. He nodded towards the article in Sakura’s hands. “Itachi’s.”

Sakura touched her knee to Sasuke’s, soft enough to pass as an accident. He could easily move away, if he wanted to. He didn’t.

“There was a certain stitch we used to sew on crests,” he said. “But I was young. I never learned.” 

Sakura inspected the stitching pattern on the haori. It was not too different from a surgical stitch she knew. She unearthed her sewing materials from a kitchen drawer and started the careful work of re-attaching the crest.

When the task was done, Sakura lifted her head. Sasuke’s chair was empty, and the table was clear of dishes.

“Sasuke-kun?” she called. 

A soft grunt sounded from behind. Sasuke was leaning over the counter, next to a clean sink and a neat stack of dishes. He set aside a bottle of oil.

She frowned. “What are you doing?” 

Sasuke turned, gripping her old cast iron skillet. Its surface appeared to possess more luster, and less rust, than usual. 

“Your cast iron was rusting,” he said in disapproval. “I’m re-seasoning it.” He lit the oven and placed the pan inside with a clank. “It’ll need an hour.”

“You’ve made yourself at home,” Sakura said.

A faint smile raised the corners of Sasuke’s lips.

Sakura smoothed over the mended crest of Itachi’s haori. “How is this?”

Sasuke reclaimed his seat and leaned in. Their shoulders brushed. After a beat, he nodded. “Good.”

Sakura’s cheeks warmed, unexpectedly. “Being a trained surgeon doesn’t hurt.” 

The smile returned, closer to a smirk this time. He discovered her kettle, brewed tea, and set two cups on the table. Outside the window, night deepened, approaching midnight. 

Sakura slipped back into concentration. Tomorrow she would start off the new year with an early shift at the hospital. Instead of going to bed, she added a yukata to her growing pile of mended clothing. Sasuke remained a quiet presence beside her, sipping tea, making no move to leave.

Maybe, she thought, looping thread through cloth, we’ll do this again. 

Sasuke peered at her face. “What are you thinking about?”

“Hm? Oh...nothing. Smells bad.” The scent of oil pushed past its smoking point was filling her kitchen. “What are you thinking about?”

“The new year,” he said, tracing the lip of his teacup. “Old traditions.”

“Traditions?” she prompted.

Sasuke stood and slid his left hand into an oven mitt. “My clan...we used to do fire-jumping before the new year.”

“That seems very beautiful,” Sakura said, voice hushed. “I know fire is important to your clan.”

“Yes, it is.” 

“Why is that?”

Sasuke removed the pan from the oven. A dark, glassy finish replaced rust and dullness, every imperfection transformed under the oven’s fire. His eyes lowered. “It’s cleansing.”

Sakura stared down at the image of the uchiwa, symbolically fanning the flames of the Uchiha clan. Halfway through a stitch, she had an idea.

.

.

Fire-jumping was an exchange of energy, mutual agreement between human and flame. Both the Uchiha and the flames entered the new year warmer and stronger than before. 

It was a long time since Sasuke had done anything resembling tradition. He had not even celebrated his birthday since first leaving the village, out of the habit of prioritizing his quest for revenge over himself. Tradition was hard when only one person remained to keep it fed. And there was so much he didn’t know, that he had never thought to ask.

He wondered if he could manage to explain this to Sakura. 

Sakura’s eyes were fierce. She finished a stitch, barely looking, and disappeared into her bedroom.

The scent of lavender filled the air. Sakura paused in the hallway with a lit candle. 

“You can do it here, if you want,” she said, holding out the flame like an offering.

.

.

“Why aren’t you jumping, nii-san?” Sasuke asked, tugging once on Itachi’s sleeve. 

The streets were crowded tonight, loud with chatter, music, and crackling flames. The main avenue of the Uchiha district was dotted with fires every few paces, so people could jump down the length of the entire street. Sasuke’s chest was swelling with pride. This year, he had used his ever-strengthening katon to help otou-san light the fires.

Itachi crouched to Sasuke’s eye level. His face was softer than normal in the starlight and the warmth of the flames. “Maybe later,” he said, with a small smile, and a customary two-fingered tap.

As Sasuke frowned in disappointment, Itachi peered down an unlit alley. “I don’t know if the fire will help this year. I might have too much for it to take away.”

His brother’s statement was odd––casual, yet tinged with something Sasuke couldn’t understand. But the strangeness slipped from his mind once he rejoined the rest of his clan, the excitement of the ceremony taking hold of again.

Sasuke spent the next new year alone.

.

.

Sasuke was fourteen, footsteps echoing through the corridors of Orochimaru’s lair. Time had little meaning this deep in the earth, but reading the dates on Kabuto’s newest specimens had recalibrated him. The new year was days away.

Dim torches lined the walls. The fire beckoned him. Sasuke reached out a hand, considering. 

Itachi’s strange words, uttered a lifetime ago, rang in his mind. Sasuke understood what he meant, all of a sudden. The fire promised to cleanse him, to take the hurt away. But like Itachi, he was carrying too much.

He turned his back to the flickering torchlight and slunk into the cold dim of his chamber.

.

.

The day Sasuke returned to Konoha, the forest was under autumn’s spell. Between mossy tree trunks and golden leaves, he caught his first glimpse of the village, bright beneath departing clouds. 

“Okaeri!” Naruto shouted, a speck in the distance bounding through Konoha’s wide gates. Beside him, Kakashi raised a hand in greeting.

Sasuke crossed the treeline, and the steps of his journey quietly ran out. He halted before his old mentor and teammate, the village walls high over his head.

“Taidama,” he said. “What day is it?”

“The equinox,” Kakashi answered. 

Sasuke’s gaze swept across his surroundings. The village streets were damp with afternoon rain. Wet leaves clumped together beneath his sandals. No one else was waiting for him. 

Kakashi and Naruto exchanged a look.

“Sakura’s in the middle of surgery,” Naruto said.

“Hm,” Sasuke replied. 

It was a short walk to his old townhouse apartment. Kakashi presented him the key he had safeguarded, Naruto ordered him to come to dinner later that week, and then he was alone on the stoop. A stray cat emerged from beneath the stairs, interested in Sasuke’s appearance.

Sasuke palmed the key in his hand, facing the door. He was not sure what he would find in the apartment he had vacated when he was thirteen. Did he make the bed before he left? Would he find his old clothes still folded in the drawers?

There was a blur in the air like falling blossoms. Sakura was standing on the sidewalk, mouth parted, exhaling a deep breath. Her boots were splattered with mud and what looked like blood. She wore a sweater thrown on top of scrubs, a crumpled surgery cap in her fist.

“Sakura ka,” he said.

She straightened. “Okaeri, Sasuke-kun.”

He had wondered what it would be like to look at her again. Now he learned it was the same. The exact same.

.

.

Sasuke was seated in Sakura’s kitchen, his eyes unfocused. He saw a clan, together, jumping over fire to bring in the new year. His clan was gone, yet he was warm, and alive, and Sakura was looking at him over the candle’s fire.

He must have been silent for too long, because Sakura’s hand drifted down. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice wavering. “I know it’s not the same––it’s nothing at all how it should be…”

Sasuke rose to his feet and caught her hand. “It will work fine.”

It was not the same. But a flame was a flame. It promised to take his bad luck away, if he so allowed.

Sakura set the candle on the ground, casting the walls of her narrow hallway in a whirl of light and shadow. 

Sasuke closed his eyes and leapt. He leapt again, over and over Sakura’s small candle. Light footed, he didn't make a sound. 

When he opened his eyes, Sakura was leaning against the wall, head bowed. 

“Sakura. Your turn.”

Sakura’s brow furrowed. “It’s not my tradition.”

“I want you to,” he said, moving aside to create space.

Sakura took a breath, preparing herself. She bounded over the candle, twirling and twisting freely in the air. Watching her, Sasuke turned over a thought in his mind that he no longer wanted to ignore. 

With a final leap, she landed close to him. She leaned up on her toes, balanced perfectly between standing and falling, eyes shining from the joy of the movement. Sasuke steadied her elbow, even though she didn't need him to. It was a reflex, like dragging up a blanket in the middle of a cold night, or sighing after drinking water. He could not help but catch her.

It was not the same. There was the scent of lavender, a pile of clothing with freshly sewn Uchiha crests, and somehow, Sakura’s fingers wound together with his.

“You’re an Uchiha now,” he told her. Perhaps it was too blunt to say it this way, but it was true. Anyone who fire-jumped was an Uchiha. If he was the last, then he could shape his traditions, and choose who to do them with.

Besides, they always knew each other well. They only needed some time to know each other well again.

Sakura squeezed his hand, her calloused palm pressed to his. “We can do this again next year. Whatever you like.”

“I would like that,” he agreed.

The candle flickered. It was the start of another year without his clan. But he and Naruto would spar together tomorrow morning. He would feed the stray cats, oil the Uchiha gates, and wear the crest of his clan on his back. Sakura might reach for his hand again. Lately he wasn’t feeling so heavy. 

.

.

As years passed, the tradition changed. It was not a celebration the way it used to be. It was a moment for mourning, remembering. It also felt like beginning.

One year, he leapt over the flame holding his daughter. She wasn’t yet a year old, but her eyes already reflected the fire, like the eyes of any Uchiha. Sakura followed close behind. Everywhere around them was the comfort of warmth and good luck.

Sasuke was no longer alone. He hadn’t been alone in a long time.

.

.

.

.

notes: the fire jumping tradition mentioned in this story is inspired by chaharshanbeh soori, an iranian tradition my family and i celebrate as part of norooz (our new year, which occurs in the spring). i was not with my family this year, so i also jumped over a candle in the hallway of my apartment. it's been a long year. i'm sending my love to all of you!

[willgrahymn]

Two Love

I’m not gonna lie, this is probably some of the gayest shit I’ve ever written.

Summary: In the silence of the night, it feels like there's nothing but them. Loving oneself is not an easy task, and loving another takes work. If we can't love ourselves now though, we can at least love each other. Maybe then we will realize our own worth. Virgil and Roman know this well.

Word count: 2019

Tags: romantic prinxiety, (domestic) fluff, light angst, human au, living together, non-sexual intimacy, cuddling, communication, and marriage proposal ✨

As always, I’ll reblog with a link to this on ao3 :]!

-

“I wish you knew how lovable you are,” Virgil whispered into the silence.

Roman didn’t respond, biting his lower lip and not once opening his eyes. Virgil frowned, lightly tracing the tattoos on the other man’s chest, stopping to place his palm against the beating of his heart.

The room was quiet besides the sound of the heat coming through the vents and the occasional car passing by outside. Virgil sighed, laying his head against his love. He was warm, too, and he wished he never had to get out of bed again. It wasn’t like the way he wished during a depressive episode though. This was different; it was cozier, and more like home. He closed his eyes as he felt a hand begin to play with the hair at the base of his neck, and made a mental note to trim it later.

“I love you,” he mumbled, his lips ghosting against his boyfriend’s skin. He thought watching the rise and fall of his stomach, breathing in and out, was what made him want to say it.

“I know you do,” Roman responded, and Virgil could hear the tired smile in his voice, “I love you too. You’re perfect.”

“I’m anything but.”

“Then you’re perfect for me.”

Virgil decided he was happy to settle for that.

Roman continued to play with the dark strands before kissing the long magenta bangs that normally covered his boyfriend’s eyes. And he smiled because his hair smelled like the same raspberry-scented shampoo that he washed his hair with not long ago. If there was anything Roman believed he could do well, it was making his boyfriend feel cared for. He deserved it, and the way Virgil always leaned into his touch like a cat receiving ear scratches whenever he rubbed the shampoo into his scalp was something he simply couldn’t pass up when the opportunity arose.

He was beautiful now in Roman’s arms, and he would be beautiful when he woke up in the morning with his hair messed up going every which way. He would be beautiful when black makeup stained his face in tear tracks and he asked Roman if they could go home after a failed night out. There would not be a time when he was not beautiful, because he never gave Roman a reason to see him as anything less than that. He was a work of art. Frayed at the edges, sure, but he remained invaluable nonetheless.

Blinking slowly, Roman watched as his love shifted to meet his gaze. Dark eyes shining in the moonlight that seeped in through their window blinds. They were as gorgeous as the rest of him, he thought.

“What is it, my Night Light?”

“Oh, nothing,” he smirked, “I was just admiring.”

Roman rolled his eyes, a mix of fondness and instinctual doubt settling in his gut. “You see me every day, you’ll tire of me eventually.” He tried.

“We already went through the phase of being sick of each other when we first met, you’re not getting rid of me now.” Virgil teased, and before Roman could think of something else to say to distract from his statement, he started to speak again softer this time. “I meant what I said earlier, about how you’re so much more lovable than you know. I care about you.”

Virgil took a deep breath. He didn’t consider himself good at this sort of thing, but the weight of Roman’s fingers lacing between his own and pulling him closer was reassurance enough.

“I love you, Roman, and I… I just hope that one day, you’ll fall in love with yourself in the same way I did. You deserve to feel like you’re worth it.”

Roman stared at him, his mouth barely open as he replayed the words in his head. He knew Virgil, knew that he was always more on the pessimistic side, and didn’t try to get his hopes up about things to come. Still, he hoped for him. A hand rested against his cheek, thumb brushing lightly against his lips. Virgil smiled, and his heart felt full.

“Thank you,” he said. “I hope that one day you’ll wake up and face yourself in the mirror, and be able to value yourself as much as I do. It’s only fair.”

He took his partner’s hand, kissing his palm. Even in the darkness of their room, he could still see Virgil’s eyes go wide before hiding his face against his chest. It was cute, but he could tease him about that later. For now, though, he just felt lucky that he was allowed to see him like this. No walls up, and no fake dark persona to make sure others would leave him alone. He was just honest, authentic Virgil, and that was all that Roman wanted.

“I could spend a thousand lifetimes with you and it still wouldn’t be enough.” He admitted. “I would relive all the bad days where we didn’t get along, all the bad days where we doubted ourselves, as long as I knew it would bring me back here just like this with you.”

Virgil stared at him, curious and adoring. “You’re a madman.”

“Nothing compared to my brother,” Roman laughed, “but I guess you might be right. If I didn’t think straight before I certainly don’t now.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his lips. He pulled himself up, face to face with the hopelessly romantic man he’d fallen in love with, dark eyes staring through thick lashes.

With some hesitance, Roman asked. “Have you ever thought about wanting to get married someday? It’s okay if not, I know right now might not be the perfect time to bring it up, but… it came to mind, I guess.”

He held his breath as Virgil considered. He didn’t want to be pushy. All he knew was that if asked, he would accept that commitment, and not dream of another. Because Virgil wasn’t like any of the partners he had known before. He was gentle and rough, sweet and sour, and Roman loved his contradictions. He loved to be loved in a way he could understand.

“Maybe not right now,” Virgil finally replied, “but I’d be happy with that. With you.”

Roman nodded, kissing him on the nose and appreciating the way Virgil’s eyes crinkled when he did.

“That’s okay,” he smiled, and it was the truth. “I just need you to know that if you’re ever ready for that, I’ll be here. I’d love to call you my husband if you’d let me. One of us can surprise the other with a proposal someday, but before that, I want us both to be ready.”

Virgil blinked, slow like a cat. Maybe these kinds of conversations were better left until morning.

“Thank you. I’d uh, I’d like that though, eventually.”

Smiling, Roman closed his eyes. He always dreamed of grand fairytale weddings and proposals, but this, this was good too. Fitting for them. It wasn’t Disney, but they made it work.

Pulling the blanket further over them, Virgil kissed his prince’s cheek only to be pulled into a proper one right after. Soft and slow, Virgil felt Roman’s lips quirk as his hand grazed the rose tattooed at his hip.

Then, he asked. “Of all the people you could choose to love, why me?”

“I think you’re the only one who really gets me,” Roman said, nuzzling into his lover’s shoulder and breathing in the faint scent of lavender. “You smell good.”

Virgil laughed silently, and Roman felt his body shake against him. He could feel that same butterfly-like sensation in his stomach from when he first started thinking of him as more than a friend.

“I think you’re the only person who can understand me though… not in an edgy teenager way, but like with my issues. People see me, but not in the way you do. You’re the one who drove halfway across town to drag my sorry ass out of bed after my ex dumped me and helped me realize it was a good thing. You helped me get out of my comfort zone and experiment with makeup too. I guess in a way, you make me better. And if you can love me with all the flaws that I have, then I can love yours too.”

“Oh,” he whispered, “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, you deserve to. You may be as dark and gloomy as a live-action Batman movie, but you still make my world a little brighter.”

“You’re a dork.”

Roman gasped, pulling back and holding his hand to his chest as if he had just touched a hot stove. “You’re so mean!”

Virgil shrugged, and Roman could practically hear the unspoken ‘it’s what I do best.’ It seemed that in all the years he had known him, he figured out how to decipher the mystery of a man hidden under all that black and purple emo attire.

It was 12:27 AM, at least that’s what the clock sitting on their bedside table told them. Virgil was used to being up late, insomnia and all, but since they started living together Roman insisted he come to bed at the same time every night. He appreciated it though. He liked getting ready for bed together and the weight of Roman falling asleep against him. He didn’t want to admit it, but it helped.

The room was nearly silent, the heat turned off long ago. The quiet sounds of rustling pillows and blankets were the only thing to be heard. Warm breaths lingered on Roman’s skin making his hair rise as soft lips met his jaw. He wondered if Virgil remembered watching him scrub violet lipstick off his face in the theater's dressing room while he giggled like a kid at a carnival. If he asked, Virgil would have told him there was a reason he preferred darker shades.

“Do you think we’ll have kids someday?”

“Don’t push it, Princey. You haven’t even decided if you want to adopt a cat or a dog yet.”

“Still! Could you imagine us as dads? We could have Disney movie nights. We already do that, I know, but we could do it with our kid. I’m perfectly fine with just being pet parents, but could you imagine?”

“I can, actually, and now I’m going to be worrying about our non-existent child and their not yet existing future until I fall asleep.”

Roman glared at him before rolling onto his side. All too familiar with the silly things he did, Virgil waited in anticipation and was pleasantly surprised when Roman finally lunged back over, attacking him with a kiss and laughing against his lips.

“You said not yet existing,” he grinned, “which implies that there will be one eventually.”

Virgil sighed, running his fingers through his partner’s hair. “You’re not getting me to agree to adopt a child in the middle of the night, Ro.”

Humming, Roman nodded an ‘okay’ and let the subject go for now. Virgil didn’t even think before he spoke again.

“I want a future with you, Roman, you know that.”

The softness in his eyes was one Virgil would do anything to protect, and he smiled as Roman snuggled into his chest. He loved him, and with the sound of his heart beating in his ears he was sure that he would do anything it took to keep him safe.

“Get some rest, Sleepy Beauty,” he whispered. “You deserve it.”

In the morning, they would both wake up with their legs intertwined, knowing that they could stay in bed all morning because neither had work that day. Roman would get up first, and Virgil would admire him as he stretched. When Virgil finally did pull himself out of bed and found his future-husband in the kitchen making french toast, he would slump against his back and leave a kiss between his shoulders.

And maybe life was never going to be easy, but that could be okay. Step by step, stroke by stroke, they’d make it through as each other’s sword and shield.

[thisisthehardestthing]

тоска, 18+ Tanaka x Reader, 2.2

Written for The Smut Pile Server Collab: Mafia AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

тоска tus-ka: Russian, noun It is a dull ache of the soul, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases, it may be the desire for somebody or something specific, nostalgia, lovesickness.

Russian Mafia AU: Tanaka Ryu x A Reader OC Rating: E for explicit Warnings: Violence, Blood, Death, Masturbation, Oral sex, Public Sex, Grinding, Cheating, Denied Orgasm, Manipulation, YEARNING Word count: 9,328 Part 1 | Part 2

GLOSSARY

Enjoy the final part of this two part hell.

Special thanks to: @joyousandverywarlike for being my ride-or-die,  @pleasantanathema , @present-mel and @linestrider for hosting this collab, and everyone in the server for being amazing friends. I would not have been able to write this without any of you, and I truly mean that. @the-smut-pile​

2.2

6. Tanaka

Daichi, Sergei, Ryunoslav and Yuuri sit in the wooden banya, white towels wrapped around their waists as they sweat and speak about the Georgian trip. It smells of cedar, rich and woody, and sweat. Like men.

“Boss Vashadze is unwell,” Daichi muses, knees spread wide as he relaxes against the hot walls, facing the glass door. “It won’t be long until he retires.”

Tanaka sits perpendicular to him, on a lower step with one foot perched up and his leg bent. Yuuri is opposite Tanaka, and Sergei stands, lightly smacking his back with a Venik, the scent of eucalyptus and birch dispersing through the air with each tap against his skin.

“That is good for you, bad for connections,” Sergei says, “how is business there?”

He always talked numbers first, pleasure second. Yuuri laughs, reaching for the besom of herbs from Sergei’s hold to lash his legs.

“Fine. I am gaining more of a footing around the ministers... However it will still take some time before they trust me. There are rumors of a new political party rising. We have to keep an eye open for unrest in Eastern Europe.”

“Ukraine?” Sergei asks, rubbing some of the leaves that stuck to his arms into his skin.

Daichi nods, then his eyes slide sideways to peer at Tanaka. His shaved hair has grown out slightly, which will be trimmed tonight, and he picks at his toenail of the foot bent beneath him.

“We can discuss strategy after we eat. How was your weekend, Ryunoslav?” The Bulldog asks, eyebrows raised.

Tanaka lifts his head casually with a simple smile.

“Just what I needed, spasiba Boss.”

Daichi’s laugh booms in the sauna, and Yuuri joins in, slapping the wood next to his thigh.

“Tell us more, Ryu! When I saw the first prostitute leave after thirty minutes, I thought it was over. But then, when I saw a second one arrive at midnight, I thought you must’ve not enjoyed the first.”

Tanaka frowns, looking at Yuuri in confusion before realising who he meant. He had seen Valentina arrive late at night, although he didn’t recognise her, or so he hopes.

“She was banging on the door very loudly, woke me up. Tell me, was it the same one from before wanting a second round?”

With a glance to Daichi, who is scanning his every expression,Tanaka shrugs.

“It was the same whore. I must be very good in bed.”

All the men burst out in laughter, but Tanaka laughs the loudest in compensation. Daichi closes his eyes as he tilts his head back.

“Well, she stayed for a long time. I only saw her leave past five am.”

“Yuuri, are you stalking Ryunoslav?” Sergei questions, using the water the Venik was soaking in to rinse off his body, the liquid sizzling as it hits the warm floor by his feet.

“No, I just found it interesting that Ryunoslav will fuck someone twice in a single night when there’s only been one woman he’s ever wan-”

“Yuuri.” Tanaka growls, cutting off his closest friend who has had too much vodka before entering the sauna. The heat and alcohol is loosening his tongue too quickly. Daichi sits up at this news, leaning forward so that muscle bulge and inflate.

“Oh? Is this true? Who is this woman?”

Tanaka waves his hand dismissively as he glares at Yuuri, “I met her years ago, when I first started working for you, Boss. No one of importance now.”

“Surely she still means something if you don’t want Yuuri to talk about her.” Sergei chimes in, climbing past their heads to sit on the top bench next to Daichi. Tanaka avoids his gaze, but can feel the Bulldog sniffing at the faint nerves that climb up Tanaka’s spine, his ears blushing red from the heat. He feels closed in, backed into a corner.

“It is an unrequited love, so please, I would prefer not to speak about it anymore.”

The men all murmur in understanding, except for Yuuri, who says, “I will just have to get you drunk to tell us about her then.”

7 - Valentina

Daichi sits across from you in the chartered jet, the beige leather seats muted even further with the deep rumble of the engine and the third glass of champagne in your veins. He’s reading a newspaper, you’re staring out at the cotton-peach clouds as they pass by. To your left, Sergei Sugawarov scribbles in books filled with numbers, the taptaptap of the calculator permeating the heavy air.

“Refill, Mrs. Sawamurova?” the air hostess asks, her smile wide as she holds the Moët & Chandon bottle in her manicured hands. She’s trembling slightly, and you smile reassuringly.

“Leave the bottle, thank you,” your heavy Russian accent drips from your tongue as you answer in English, and the bottle is placed in a silver ice bucket on the birchwood table between you and Daichi.

Two hours have passed during the five hour flight from Ufa Airport to Côte d'Azur Airport, and you pour another glass for yourself as you watch Daichi turn a page. He glances up at you with a small smile, but his eyes are hard. Something happened while he was in Georgia with your father. With a small smile of your own, you turn your gaze back to the window, leaving red lipstick on the rim of the glass.

A phone rings, and you hear Tanaka’s gruff voice answer the call, the memory of last week shooting painfully through your core.

“Oi?”

Some silence, before the Khazak turns in his seat behind Daichi and whispers through the space between the leather and the wall of the jet. You can’t help the way you look at him, stormy grey eyes peering out at you as he whispers into the ear of your husband. Your brow furrows when Daichi jerks his head in a slight nod, tense.

Tanaka retreats back around and you’re left staring at the empty spot, snapping your eyes to the calculating gaze of The Bulldog.

“Is everything alright, my love?” you ask, deciding to stand from your seat and sit on his arm rest.

Daichi folds the newspaper away, one arm wrapping around your waist while the other takes a sip of the champagne straight from the bottle.

“It seems this trip will not only be pleasure,” he muses, eyes closing as he swallows. However, when they open, his face melts into the calm reassurance you’ve always known when he smiles up at you and places a kiss to the cream wool crepe of your blouse. “I have something to take care of, but it will only be a moment. Nothing to worry about.”

You nod, delicate hands stroking at Daichi’s hair, but Tanaka’s cologne wafts up, invading your nose.

“I understand.”

***

The drive to the private Villa La Vigie winds between grey and green rock mountains to your left with glimpses of the dazzling azure ocean of where the French Riviera gets its name to your right. You’re invited to stay in the home of your fathers dear friend, Monsieur Lagerfeld, situated on a private hill just outside Monaco. He will not be there, March being the month he spends in his apartment in Paris, so you and Daichi and the many bodyguards take residence for the week.

You’ve visited this house a number of times in your youth, in your adulthood, and yet it steals the air from your lungs each time you return. It’s one o’clock in the afternoon when you pull up the driveway. In front of you, the two story villa looms in it’s beautiful white-painted glory, the sun a beacon shining upon it. Light brick extends below to where there is a wine cellar, garage and access to the private beach club below.

The car parks, and Daichi kisses your cheek in the backseat before he exits the vehicle and strides up the steps and through the large glass double doors, answering his phone while bodyguards open the way for him. You see Tanaka grip the steering wheel, the leather of his gloves stretch and squeak. It is the first time you are alone with him since that night a week ago, and the heater in the car feels sweltering against your skin.

“Thank you for the drive, Ryunoslav,” you mumble, shifting to the edge of the seat to leave out of the side Daichi had.

“Val,” he starts, then his mouth shuts and his eyes catch yours in the reflection of the rearview mirror, “of course.”

The terracotta tiles of the terrace reflect a salmon pink up the walls of the villa, and you smile at the men as you pass by and find the master bedroom on the first floor. You can already hear Daichi negotiating in the connected office, and you decide to bathe. As the water runs in the porcelain tub, the water mists with the scent of lavende de provence, and you open the windows looking out over the meditterean ocean. The salt and trees wash over you as the sound of the ocean crashing against rocks floats up, and for an instance, you imagine jumping out the window and into that endless blue. The winter air trickles into the warm bathroom.

Notes of a waltz dance in from the direction of the office and you see Daichi’s shadow move around in the bedroom as he unbuttons his cufflinks and loosens his navy blue tie. He walks into the bathroom where you’ve already slipped on the linen bathrobe, your blouse and jeans folded neatly onto the clothes ladder leaning against the wall.

“Care to join?” you ask, clipping your hair up. Daichi peels his shirt off and drops it near your own in a crumpled pile, his thick muscles rippling with each movement as he undresses.

“Prosti, Gadyuka. I have to get to the board meeting before the gala tonight,” he apologises, turning on the glass door shower as he gets into it on the opposite side to the bath. You watch as the water in the faucet of the bath sputters, and your heart imitates.

“Ah yes, I forgot. What-”

“The car arrives at seven, Khazak will escort you.”

Your head whips around to stare at Daichi as he massages white suds over his body, large palms running over his chest where the Sawamurov crest is tattooed in a large circle. He raises his eyebrows. You clear your throat, standing to drop the gown and dip a toe into the water.

“Not you?”

“Unfortunately no, but I will be there waiting for you. I know the dress you are wearing and can’t have any man trying to steal you for himself.”

Daichi’s honeyed words wash over you as you submerge into the water, turning off the faucet and staring out to the sea, a stark sapphire against the lily-white of the bathroom walls and window pane. In the mirror above the sink, you can see The Bulldog get out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his defined waist while he shakes the water from his hair.

You laugh as you turn to observe him while he pats on the cologne displayed on the sink, before brushing his teeth.

“I doubt anyone will try to steal me away.”

He looks at you in the reflection, a curious expression in his eyes, before he spits and rinses.

“Yes, well, you never know. You might run off with a French vineyard heir by the end of the night.”

“Never, Daichi. No one can be my Bulldog but you.”

He snorts, turning to watch as you lather yourself in Chanel shower gel, the scent mixing with the lavender already clinging to the air.

“Da, no one is like me.”

He leans down to place a chaste kiss on your lips before he exits the bathroom and changes into a clean outfit waiting for him in the Master bedroom. The made-to-measure Chanel suit hangs in a black garment bag that he carries out with him as he leaves to join the council meeting of the European Casino Association before the Annual Art Auction tonight.

The interaction runs through your mind as you mull over the look in his eyes, the way he tensed before he kissed you goodbye, the faintest flicker of jealousy in his eyes that flared when he joked about you leaving him. Suddenly, you remember Ryunoslav’s lips against your neck and you squeeze your eyes shut.  With a deep inhale, you sink deep under the water to feel it tickle your nostrils and earlobes, before submerging your head.

Your fingers find the curves of your thighs, dragging up slowly to feel how the water moves around your hands and displaces against your skin. You lift your face slightly, until the edge of the water tickles your skin and you inhale, swirling the skin of your clit. In your mind, Ryunoslav’s kisses fall hot and wet against your body, skin red and heated in the bathtub while you press hard circles against sensitive nerves. You’re not trying to take it slow, coaxing the first wave of clenches quickly as you imagine a thick cock sliding over and over inside you.

Ryunoslav morphs into Daichi, and you sit up with a gasp, fingers not slowing, your hand gripping the handle of the tub tightly as your abdomen contracts. Uncontrollably, Ryu and Daichi alternate, their bodies shifting fluidly until a faceless man fucks into you.

You orgasm on the verge of tears, confused and aching. The styling team will arrive in an hour.

You stand, feeling the cold winter air touch your heated skin. Wrapped again in the robe, you close the window and bind your hair in a towel.

A Russian Waltz still plays on the radio inside the ensuite office, and you look around to filter the channel to a French songstress crooning over the small speakers. Next to the stereo, is Daichi’s small black book, open to his to-do list, and your eyes scan over it before you can stop yourself, reading the neatly scribbled words.

14 March 2006, 1:00 am, La Serpent Fleur

That was the name of the Superyacht you and Daichi are to go on after the gala for the afterparty to the auction. You frown, thinking of the myriad of reasons what he might do there, who he’ll meet with other than the ECA board today. It must be to do with what happened in Georgia and was whispered to him during the flight.

You turn, leaving the book just as you found it and unpack the suitcase that was brought to the bedroom in preparation for tonight.

8. Tanaka

Ryunoslav waits at the front door, facing the short five-stair foyer that branches into the stairwell leading to the first floor. The golden light of the sunset filters in gentle waves through the chiffon curtains of the entry hall.

The first thing he sees of Valentina is in the reflection of the large silver mirror facing the stairwell on the landing. A single leg slinking out from a thigh-high slit, while a heart shaped pump in patent black is clasped around her ankle. The metal YSL heel clinks with each step. Next is the black, silk crepe de chine perfectly draping to the floor–not clinging to anything but the curve of her hips–and the bodice tailored to her waist in a tight structure that pendulums side-to-side.

However, what steals the very air from his lungs, stops his heart, is the bustier covering her breasts. The dress is strapless, the neckline two rounded cups that trace down the sides of her cleavage and towards her ribs before turning and meeting in a gentle hill at the end of her sternum. The dress is Yves Saint Laurent. Ryunoslav watches as Valentina rounds the stairwell and stands at the top of the foyer, opera length gloves running up her arms and with one hand on her hip while the other clasps a small black Bulgari clutch. Around her neck is a pendant necklace, emeralds glittering amongst diamonds and silver, set in the shape of a viper head. Matching emerald drop earrings hang from her lobes, reflecting the golden sun and glittering green against her neck. Valentina’s hair is pinned up, and that tattoo that curls from her left shoulder down her arm disappears beneath the gloves, reminding him that beauty is a secret poison. He swallows, blinks, then climbs up the steps to hand her the white fur coat he was holding.

“Vot eto da… You look beautiful, Mrs. Sawamurova.” Tanaka whispers, mindful of the bodyguards and staff littering the villa.

“Spasiba, Khazak,” she smiles, slipping her arms into the silk lining and fixing the collar. “Is the car ready?”

“Da.”

“Good, let’s go.”

The exchange between them feels mechanical, and Tanaka rushes ahead to open the car door, waiting until she is comfortable before shutting it and sliding into the driver’s seat. It is nowhere near the low temperatures of Russia in March, however he can’t stop the shivers that travel up his spine, and the ugly twist of jealousy that stabs at his heart.

The Casino de Monte Carlo, where the gala is being held, is a mere five minute drive from the villa, yet the silence is heavy, weighted, and slows down time.

“I missed you last week,” Valentina whispers, looking out the window at the midnight blue sky. A traffic light changes from red to green.

“Me too.”

The conversation ends when Ryunoslav pulls the Aston Martin around the fountain, waiting behind a elder couple stepping out of their black limo. The statues on either side of the Casino name look down at him as he parks and climbs out, a porter beating him to her door.

Camera’s flash, the music of a quartet floats out from the massive wooden doors up the entryway, and Ryunoslav remains closely behind Valentina’s right arm as he escorts her inside, pulling the ticket for both of them from his inner coat pocket and handing it to the doorman.

The grand foyer of the Casino is massive, ceilings high with a stained-glass skylight and the floor a white tile with black triangles in a circular pattern. Posed around the room, mostly in the center of the circles, are the artworks up for auction: a variety of paintings, sculptures, artifacts and some vintage designer jewellery. The golden chandeliers light the air with a sepia filter that softens the chatter and noise within. On the first floor bannister across the long hall, is a banner exclaiming, ‘2006 Annual ECA Art Auction’. Couples mingle, champagne is sipped and the Hors d’oeuvres are ignored in favour of the alcohol.

“I will check our coats,” Tanaka murmurs low in Russian, watching as Val slides the white fur down her arms to hand it to him with a polite smile, the kind he’s seen her wear in the public eye alongside Daichi for many years now.

“I’ll wait here, then we go find Daichi.”

His heart thumps painfully, the curve of her shoulders delicate as they flex in passing the heavy coat, but he nods and heads to the coat check just off the side. In passing, he spots Daichi at the top of the red-carpeted staircase, head bowed to speak secretly with someone Ryunoslav can not see, but knows. Daichi’s eyes find the growing storm in Tanaka’s with a smile, and he straightens to bid the woman a goodbye and descends the stairs.

“Sir,” Tanaka nods, pocketing the number for the coats.

“Ryunoslav,” Daichi returns the greeting, casually clapping the man on his shoulder. “Enjoy the evening, I will see you at the yacht later, yes?”

“She could’ve seen you, sir.” Tanaka whispers, carefully keeping eye contact with his Boss. Daichi smirks cooly, glancing back up the stairs and at a retreating woman’s back wearing a deep green dress.

“She did not see me. Thank you, again, for keeping this secret. Now, go, enjoy the party. Hell, if you see something you like, bid on it. I will pay.”

With that, Daichi walks past his Head of Security, chest puffing up as he walks towards his wife. Ryunoslav watches as she gives Daichi a gentle kiss on the cheek before wrapping a gloved hand around his bicep and following him into the crowd.

9. Valentina

The evening passes by in a blur.

The dinner and speeches take up half the evening before the auction begins, and the gala attendees disperse throughout the Casino, while you and Daichi walk to the gardens. Heaters are spaced periodically, warmth sinking below while gentle lights litter the walkways and grass. The stone steps leading there are cool, and you see your breath misting with each exhale before you’re back under the warmth.

The area of the auction outside has statues, planted with lighting that bring the romantic and violent figures to life.

“This one would look beautiful in our gardens in summer,” you muse, studying a small mermaid brushing her hair, tail flicked up and shells covering her breast.

“Anything for you,” Daichi replies, writing down a number with his auction code and placing it in the poll box besides the statue.

You just laugh politely, aware of Daichi’s two bodyguards following the both of you.

“Let’s go back inside. I want to see how our bid on the Kandinsky is doing.” Daichi offers, but you shake your head.

“I’ll walk around here for a bit longer. It’s such a beautiful night and the noise inside was giving me a headache.”

“As you wish.”

You spend a few minutes admiring the remaining statues, finding a waiter that hands you a glass of champagne. With small sips, you hug an arm around your waist, looking over the stone wall at the beautiful, glittering scenery of Monte-Carlo below. You find yourself tucked away in a dark corner of the ledge, where the lights of the gala are few, the tree branches of the gardens overhang, and the city has come to life beneath you. You can hear jazz music from a bar down the road, and you wish you were sitting on a terrace with a glass of wine instead.

“C’est magnifique, non?” A heavy french accent sinks into you, and you glance at the man that leans with his back to the view, a deep purple suit contrasting against his tanned skin and sharp cheekbones. He smokes a hand-rolled cigarette. You look back out at the city.

“Oui, trop beau,” you reply softly, taking another sip, shifting onto the foot farthest from the stranger. He turns and offers you one of the smokes, tucking it away in his jacket breast pocket with a smile and a tap when you decline. His eyes travel down your breasts, before glancing back up to your arching brows and unamused eyes.

“Je ne parle pas de la vue,” I do not mean the view, “Emmanuelle Beauchant,” he offers an outstretched palm.

“Valentina,” he lifts your gloved hand to his lips, but hovers just above contact when you continue, “Sawamurova.”

“Desolee, I did not realise you were not French, or married,” Emmanuelle apologises in English.

You smile politely, lifting the glass to your mouth to down the last of the fizzing alcohol.

“An honest mistake.”

“Your husband’s Casinos are some of my favourites. Please, accept my apologies. Let me get you a new glass.” He waves down a waiter, plucking the empty flute from your fingers and replacing it before you can reject. “I am the coordinator of this petite soiree. Enjoy your evening, Mrs. Sawamurova.” With that, he leaves in a hurry, scampering off into the light much like he had appeared, leaving you alone again. Almost.

You feel the warmth of another body to your right, and you almost sigh from exhaustion when Ryunoslav’s gruff voice washes over you in comforting Russian. It breaks like the wave against the shore.

“I thought I would have to scare him away.”

Tanaka’s serious eyes beneath the shadow of a deep brow pulls the first real chuckle of the evening from your chest, and you see his shoulders somewhat relax as he leans with a hip on the stone.

“It was innocent, Ryu.”

“He wanted to fuck you.”

“He’s French,” you counter, placing the champagne glass down, sliding it away from your body and towards the party. “And everyone wants to fuck me.”

You spin, losing your balance as Tanaka pulls your hand towards him and twists you so that your back presses against the cool stone in a darkened alcove. His forehead is on yours, eyes shut, and breath fanning over your lips. Your own chest heaves with the sudden rush. His hands dig into your hips, yours into his shoulders. Your bag drops to the floor.

“You have no idea,” each word is punctuated by palms shimmying up the side of your waist, thumbs digging into the fabric, “how badly I want to fuck you too.”

He wraps his thick forearms behind your back hugging you tight and into himself as he folds over you and brings his lips to touch yours. It’s deep, and although passion usually pours from his kiss, this one is born out of jealousy, desperation, and desire.

Compliments drip like honey from Ryunoslav’s mouth as he mumbles them into your skin, words melting so that they become part of you.

“Ryu, Ryu, stop, we can’t. It’s so open.”

He shushes you, a palm snaking under the boning of the open neckline to cup the breast, nipplie erect from the night chill. “No one saw me come here.”

“But the people. They know who I am, mmpf.” A pinch to your nipple has you moaning under your breath, head tilting back against the stone, cold against heated flesh.

“They are all too busy with their own conquests, showing up one another.”

“You light a fire in my heart,” his onslaught of compliments don’t cease, and you realise that tonight is the tipping point. The intensity of his words drag you beneath his waters, much like the way his fingers find the high slit of your dress and sink into your folds. Your knee falls open to let him pull you deeper.

“Underwear?”

“Not with this dress.”

“Whore.” Teeth nip at your neck.

“Yours.”

An animalistic groan rumbles through your veins from his mouth, and you clutch at the lapel of his jacket as his fingers thrust shallow, over and over again. You want him–need him– inside you, and the thought of public sex no longer scares you. In this moment, only Ryunoslav exists, the smell of lilies and the fresh ocean fill you, devouring you with a hint of something darker that you recognise as human.

Sin. And something else.

A zipper comes down, his cock unfolds and stretches you out.

“I love you.”

The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them, and even then, you don’t keep them in as you whisper, him thrustsing into your aching core. You vaguely hear him mumbling it back to you. His voice low and sincere, forehead against yours, lips against yours. Your bodies become one.

“Blyat, where can I?” desperation fills his voice, and you barely utter the words before he spills inside you, keeping you warm and plugged up, panting against his face, chin tucked down.

A hand rifles through his pants pocket, and he pulls out his regular small handkerchief, stained, but comforting. You take it from him, careful to keep your face hidden as he pulls out and you wipe yourself under your skirt.

“Ryunoslav.” His name feels like lava, molten on your tongue as it rolls down your body and ignites a fire over your skin, burning you. “We have to stop seeing each other.”

He tenses against you, arms shielding you from the world so only the two of you exist.

“Why?”

“We’ve changed. We’re not just having fun anymore, Ryu-”

“What do you mean we’ve changed?”

“Us. This.” You curse, gesturing vaguely to him and yourself, feeling the fire spread to your ears and your heart.

“Nothing has changed. I have always loved you.”

Your heart drops into your stomach, turning over and over as you digest it, painfully aware of how much truth rings in his words, and how you’re sure you’ve always loved him back.

“We have to stop. Or we have to tell Daichi.”

His lips connect with your forehead. You hear him swallow.

“Tonight then. Together.”

“Together.”

Ryunoslav stays close to you as he picks up the bag from the floor, handing you the mirror inside to fix your lipstick, your hair, before you dust the stone from your back and ass.

“You look beautiful,” he whispers to you a final time, stepping to the side so you emerge from the shadow, pick up your forgotten champagne glass and head back into where art dances together and people mingle.

10. Tanaka

Tanaka watches as Valentina saunters away, past the bodies to rejoin the party. With a heavy sigh, he leans against the stone, cooling his forehead and calming his thumping heart. His feet bump against something and with one eye, he squints at the ground and spots glittering emeralds in the dark. Her necklace.

Quickly, he picks it up, carefully placing it in his suit jacket pocket, and curses when he sees the time on his watch. He has to find Daichi and head to the yacht to do the final security checks before he arrives. Vines wrap themselves around his intestines, anxiety leaking into each step, the emerald necklace a dead weight in his jacket.

He finds the Boss surrounded by influential board members, holding a glass of vodka casually as they all laugh at his jokes. The Chanel suit drapes down his broad back perfectly, clean cut and sharp, the single seam a crisp line.

“Sorry for interrupt,” Tanaka apologies, English tangling on his tongue. He continues in a low Russian to Daichi, sweat beading on the back of his neck, palms clammy and therefore kept in his pants pocket. It’s better that way, his tattoos are less appreciated around the higher class of society.

Daichi nods, a loose smile along with his loosened tie. He hands Tanaka a paper that shows he won the bid on the Kandinsky painting. “Arrange this on the way out. Leave Valentina’s coat with mine.”

“Ya ponimayu.”

Tanaka turns to leave, but Daichi calls out one more time.

“Ryunoslav?”

“Da?”

“You have lipstick on your collar.”

Tanaka feels nausea bubbling up his gut, not from the proximity of your scent to The Bulldog’s nose, but from the thought of later tonight. He forces a cocky smirk and shrug, turning on his heel to head to the back office to finalise the paperwork for the painting and add the delivery address, before shrugging his thick coat on and stepping outside by the valet. The air has cooled considerably from the heat of the balcony and between your thighs. Once safely in the car, he rubs the stain furiously in the reflection of the rearview mirror, making it set even further into the white fabric. It blends into the threads like spilt blood. With a grumble, he drives to the harbor.

La Serpent Fleur is a sleek superyacht with three decks above water and one below, housing jet ski’s, a speedboat, storage and crew quarters. The middle and lower decks have outdoor and indoor seating, with main bedrooms for up to 15 couples to sleep in. The flooring and interior is light teakwood, rich brown accents amongst cream and white leather and fabric. It’s unmissable in the late night, lit up in silvery white, the name illuminated against a navy blue sky and pitch black water. It reflects stars in the meditterean sea.

Tanaka greets all staff, deploying his bratva across the yacht to inspect all rooms and inform the captain of the upcoming helicopter landing at 1:00 am. It’s not often that Mafia business mixes with Business business, but as money is always intertwined, this time, it is unavoidable. The pool on the top deck shimmers aquamarine, and Tanaka inspects that the bar is fully stocked for the upcoming meeting. Vodka and Campari. This floor is only for Daichi and a select few.

“It’s like I’m a fucking assistant,” he grumbles under his breath, withdrawing a small hand-gun strapped to his calf and securing it in the hidden shelf under the bar top. You never know, he smiles, tapping the holster against his back for comfort.

All checks are done by the time the first of the guests arrive, high-stakes rollers for the gambling about to happen. Tanaka keeps to the shadows, lighting a cigarette as he surveys the walkway leading up to the yacht, and it’s guests. They are all smiling, huddling together in their pair against the cool ocean breeze. He takes a look at the pack that was confiscated from Ukai with distaste, flicking the cigarette into the ocean water.

Daichi and Valentina are the last to arrive, and although he’s smiling, she is not, lipstick slightly faded and a smudge of mascara under her eyes. Tanaka watches as she disappears as soon as she set foot on the yacht, hurrying off to inside the cabin before anyone can stop her. Tanaka’s eyes follow her retreating figure, the white of her coat bristling, before he steps up to greet Daichi.

“Everything is ready for Kuroo Testuro to arrive, Boss,” he reports, murmuring low.

“Perfect, evening has turned into disaster. Make sure no one will disturb us except for emergency. It will not take long. What is his eta?” Daichi never lowers the corners of his mouth, but those brown eyes are hard mahogany. Tanaka checks his watch, the light above reflecting in the glass, shining in the storm in his eyes.

“Forty-five minutes. We have to set sail now, all guests have arrived and the poker tables inside have been set up.”

“I will wait upstairs.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Tanaka sighs, running a hand over his shorn hair, a shiver rippling down his spine. He hears his name, and he turns to face one of his brothers, following after to inspect a stairwell.

It does not take long for the party to fall into full swing. Continuing with free-flowing champagne is the key to keeping rich socialites and underground dealers happy and oblivious. Daichi stands near the railing, ice cubes in his glass clinking while he surveys the decks below and waits. Tanaka stands to attention off the side, the cool winter air breezing through his suit jacket, the veins on his knuckles and forearms almost frozen; he stuffs them into his pockets. The cool silver of Valentina’s necklace shocks him and he remembers he has to sneak it back to her. He peers over the edge, spotting her in the distance, smiling once more, makeup fixed and socialising.

His heart thumps, emeralds and diamonds cutting a hole in his jacket pocket, beating faster until it syncs up with the incoming helicopter blades. They whir around in a steady beat that consumes the noise below and thrums through his bones. Then, the wind hits him. Air cold as ice as the machine descends, the collar of his jacket whipping up and folding into itself. Kuroo Testuro has arrived.

The blades come to a halt and Tanaka steps forward, two men overtaking him to climb up the stairs of the helicopter pad landing and open the door. Long legs dressed in a black pin-stripe suit step out, a lopsided cocky smirk plastered on the Italian boss’s face.

“Ciao Daichi, it’s been a while!” Kuroo calls over the wind, arms stretching out while he’s patted down. “Khazak, you’re looking sour.”

Tanaka scowls, not entirely sure what The Panther of the Testuro family said to him. Daichi turns to face the man completely, walking until he stands next to Tanaka, waiting for the man to descend the white metal stairs to the upper deck. The Boss’s exchange a stiff handshake, their eyes piercing as one fights for dominance over the other. Daichi wins, his hand slapping against Kuroo’s back in a hearty greeting.

“Let’s get to business, something to drink?” The Bulldog offers, but Kuroo is laughing, already walking to the leather sofas around the pool, flopping down onto it with one leg crossed over the other. He waves to one of his bodyguards, pointing at the bar.

“Always so formal Daichi, tell me, how is Valentina? Still married to you?” Kuroo’s words tumble out quickly, Italian accent thick enough that Tanaka can only pick up on a few words. He registers your name, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention, ready to attack at Daichi’s order. The Boss takes a deep breath, his teeth gritting.

“She is fine. Enjoying party below.”

“Pity, I think she’d be happier up here with us. Won’t you call her?”

“Careful, Kuroo.”  Daichi warns, but the Panther just smiles his wicked Cheshire grin in return.

“Ah, I’m joking. I will just keep the fantasy of her lips around my–”

A hand darts out over Kuroo’s shoulder, interrupting any further explanation of imagination. Tanaka grabs Daichi’s arm, one that had tensed with it’s fist closed around a concealed gun in a holster on his back.

“Campari, sir?”

“Ah! Grazie!” He takes a sip, setting it down on the glass table beside him. “Now, we can talk business.”

Tanaka listens to the low conversation between the two bosses, the discussion of the new trade route of cocaine between Italy and Russia. It takes some time to adjust to the accent, but then he’s following along, standing with his hands in his pockets, a thumb gliding over the necklace. There had been an interruption along the coasts between Lecce and Albania, several different Sicillian Mafia’s holding up some of Daichi’s shipments due to unpaid ‘reparations’, a farce to ignite a turf war between the Families in Italy and their Russian connections.

“You must call off your friends in Italy. We keep up our end of bargain. I will not be so understanding in future.”

“Ah, but you see, they are greedy and believe you are not paying properly for the passage.”

“I assure you, I am.”

Tanaka stiffens, seeing how Daichi begins to inflate, irritation lacing his voice. Kuroo chuckles, taking a slow sip with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, I believe you. I can convince them but I’ll need some extra incentive from your end.”

Tanaka speaks up, eyes narrowing as he sniffs out Kuroo’s angle. “We can not give you that.”

“You are one of the largest groups in the world, surely you have some men for me?”

“No.”

Tanaka’s blood begins to boil, nails biting into the skin of his palms enough to draw blood. The gun strapped on his back heavy as it calls to be unholstered. His men are not dispensable. Kuroo sighs, then his eyes glance to the left where the noise of the party floats in the night air, and he smiles.

“Then maybe you have a woman.”

Tanaka turns to follow his gaze, and climbing up the stairs slowly is Valentina, a hand on the metal rail, the white fur coat hanging down her back as it drapes from her elbows, lipstick blood red. She’s drunk, giggling to herself but stops when a vor blocks the final step onto the deck. Then, she sobers, straightening instantly with narrowed eyes.

“Asahi,” she says, voice sharp but breathless.

“The Boss is in a meeting.”

Her makeup had been fixed, the tips of her nose and ears pink from the chill, her hair no longer pinned up but wild down her back from the wind. Tanaka glances at Daichi, his eyes muddy and lips tightly pursed.

“Oh, let her join, huh?” Kuroo grins, setting his glass down and leaning forward to interlock his fingers and rest his elbows on his knees. “Surely, you trust her enough.”

“Of course.”

Daichi and his guest battle in their stares, but ultimately the Panther wins. With a sigh, Daichi calls out to Alexei, “let her through.”

Valentina strides over to the men, coat dragging on the floor behind her. Surprising everyone, she stops in front of the cocky bastard, who stands to greet her, and their cheeks brush twice, left then right.

“Kuroo, how lovely to see you again. I hope my husband is kind.”

Tanaka holds back a wince, the feeling of her warm breath against his neck still teasing him in his memories. He has to admire her acting, even inebriated, she commands attention. Their eyes follow when she walks to the head of the table and flops down onto the chair, slit falling open with crossed legs.

“He’ll be kinder now that you are here.”

Valentina laughs, “yes, but I might not be.”

“Enough.” Daichi cuts through the jovial small talk, fists clenching and resting on his knees, his back straight. “I am tired of games.”

Tanaka thinks he catches a double meaning, heart racing as he readies himself for anything.

“You own Casinos,” Kuroo drawls, but he’s no longer smiling, still standing. Daichi gets to his feet, shorter than his counterpart, but thicker.

“We are getting nowhere. I will not be included in your battle for control, and if my next shipment continues to be held, God is not the only one that can turn water into wine. Capisci?”

Their stares are intense, and seconds tick by in eternity, before Kuroo nods with a sigh, a hand tucking into his pants pocket while the other extrends. They shake, curt and stiff, and Tanaka rolls his shoulders, loosening the knots in his upper back, eyeing Valentina curiously. She has her eyes focused on Daichi, pupils narrow and mouth pressed into a thin line; the same look she had when she boarded the yacht. She snaps out of it, lips curling up as she stands.

“It was a pleasure, although short,” Kuroo tells her, and they exchange polite kisses. Tanaka hears the rumble in Daichi’s chest, and he briefly wonders if she’s purposefully trying to anger the Bulldog. She’s always been unafraid of his bark, a viper teasing with her fangs.

They wait until Kuroo climbs back in the helicopter, until the blades whir to life with that beating drum that pumps adrenaline through his body and until it is quiet once more, the waves sloshing far below against the yacht. The air is crisp, and the silence heavy. Valentina turns to face Daichi, neck tense, mouth open but Daichi cuts her off.

“Don’t embarrass me like that again.”

Tanaka bristles, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. He controls the need to step in front of Val, to shield her from his Boss. The weight of her necklace in his pocket keeps him anchored. His heart pounds in his ears, Daichi glances at him briefly before keeping an unwavering eye on Valentina’s fierce gaze. It’s odd. Tanaka always has a plan, knows what will happen next, and yet, he is at a loss. Unsteady on his feet as the boat rocks. He’s unsure of what she will do, how she will tell her possessive husband–

“I’m seeing someone.”

11. Valentina

Lightning flashes in the distance when the words leave your lips, the thunder rumbling in the silence that follows. You watch Daichi carefully, standing your ground even though parts of you scream to take a few steps back. You resist the temptation to glance at Ryunoslav. During your musings, you decided not to say who it was right away. Daichi glances down at your bare neck, the necklace he’d given you missing, lost somewhere at the gala when you finally lost yourself in emotion. You remember the fight with him when leaving the venue.

You expected Daichi to burst in anger, explode outwards and destroy everything with his fury. Yet he remains silent, eyes mattifying as he draws inward, no longer oiled mahogany but rather sanded wood. When he speaks, it’s so low you almost miss it, but it penetrates you with the next flash of lightning.

“Leave.”

White, hot anger burns through you at his command, your hands raising as though to grab his lapel. Quickly, you reroute to pulling your fur coat back onto your shoulders.

“You don’t want to know who?”

“You don’t want to know what I am thinking right now, Gadyuka.”

You open your mouth to respond, but Ryunoslav cuts you off, “take the boat, please.”

You stare incredulously at him, but he is already speaking in a low voice onto a handheld receiver, then back at Daichi, who’s body slowly begins to vibrate. However, Daichi is no longer looking at you. Instead, his eyes have shifted to Ryu, brows furrowed. Thunder claps. You feel the first spray of rain misting onto your eyelashes.

“Fine, we will talk more at breakfast.”

You turn on your heel, the sound grating against the wooden deck, and someone from the Brigade accompanies you down the stairs, walking just slightly ahead of you, silently asking you to follow.

You descend slowly, crossing the second deck with a practised smile, apologising to anyone that approaches you with an easy lie. Most of the crewmen begin to pack up and rearrange the party to continue on indoors. You enter the large cabin, and walk down another flight of stairs, to the first deck and then lower still. Here, the walls change from luxurious wooden, glass and metal to open beams, and white gritty flooring. It’s slightly wet, from the rain that batters against the open exit and the ocean water shimmering inside.

A small speedboat waits for you, not fully submerged, and a captain, yet his face is wary.

“Mrs. Sawamurova,” he holds his hat in his hands, a navy raincoat wrapped around his uniform, “wouldn’t you rather wait for the storm to pass? Please, enjoy the evening and when the water is still, I can take you to shore in an instant.”

“My husband wants me gone.”

“But not dead.”

You laugh, bitterly, feeling your intestines swirl, unsettled by those words. He’s brave.

“How long do you think it will take?”

“A few minutes, maximum. It is the winter rain, harsh but quick.”

“I will wait here.”

12. Tanaka

When the top of Valentina’s head disappears down the stairs, Daichi speaks, not looking at Tanaka. The first of fat raindrops begin to fall onto their shoulders.

“I will have to talk to her father, after I kill her.”

Tanaka’s tongue is heavy in his mouth, every bump dry and scratching against his throat. He can’t be serious. Slowly, Daichi turns to face him, eyes raking over his closest subordinate’s features, down his throat, and settles on the crisp white collar peeking out from his suit jacket, stained the same colour as Valentina’s lipstick.

“Khazak, who is it?”

“Boss–” but he doesn’t know what to say. The memories of the prison hospital bed, bare with just a sheet, an unsterilised IV drip stuck into his arm flashes in front of his mind. Daichi’s calm face that visited him before he woke up somewhere else.

“Tell me right now, or does your loyalty mean nothing?”

Tanaka winces, “nyet, Boss, you know I am loyal to you.”

He takes a deep breath, then reaches inside, fingers looping around diamonds to pull out the necklace, the viper head swaying back and forth. His heart claps with the thunder, the clouds breaking into a heavy downpour. Chill sets in instantly, his bones freezing beneath his suit.

“Supply snakes with a meal, and you will have them all by the fangs,” Daichi whispers under his breath, barely audible above the pattering of the drops against the floor, but Tanaka’s sensitive ears pick it up. “She played me for a fool.” Daichi’s wide-set eyes lift from the necklace to Tanaka’s.

“Mne ochyn zhal,” Tanaka begins to apologise profusely, but the hardened look shuts him up.

“I was wrong, Khazak,” Daichi interrupts, his hands moving to his pockets, Tanaka dropping his arm to his side. He starts to walk towards the sheltered area of the deck, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes. “You are the one that is going to have to kill her.”

Tanaka’s heart drops to his stomach, falling straight into the floor and sinking to the bottom of the unruly ocean. The Boss does not joke around, but he wishes for it to be one.

“I can not, Boss,” his head shakes, body vibrates. This is the first time he has ever refused an order from Daichi. The Bulldog watches with raised eyebrows, the question evident on his face.

“I am in love with her.”

The bark that erupts from Daichi’s throat echoes above the rain, above the thunder, and shatters inside Tanaka’s heart. He holds the cigarette to his lips, and Tanaka feels the rain drip down the rivulets of his shaved hair and under the collar of his suit and shirt. There’s a flicker of orange as the Marlboro tip glows.

“And you think she loves you back? Valentina is a snake, a woman. They know only two things: how to lie and how to fuck. You have fucked her, da? It’s magnificent. Was she the second whore of that weekend? Or was she first as well? How long have you been fucking my wife, Ryunoslav?”

Tanaka wants to answer, but it catches in his throat. His tongue refuses to mould the shapes, his lungs refuse to exhale the sound. Daichi sighs.

“It does not matter. Only one thing matters. Come.”

Tanaka walks towards Daichi, each step kicking water down his shoes, his socks wet. He’s never felt more like the ocean than now, swallowed by the rain, drowning. He stops when he stands under the partition, Daichi’s large hands cupping themselves under Tanaka’s chin to lift his head slightly, wiping the rain from his skin, the gold rings cold against his jaw. There may have been tears but Tanaka can’t tell, numb and expectant of Daichi’s next words,

“Tell me, do you love her more than me?”

Cigarette smoke tickles Tanaka’s nose, and he holds his breath. Without him, Tanaka would be dead. Daichi knows this, Tanaka knows this.

“I owe you my life, Pakhan.”

“Now, you owe me a life. I am not without mercy. You have been the closest brother to me. You have tasted the sweet fruit of sin, I can not blame you. You know I have done it too. But I am expected to sleep with someone else. She has embarrassed me. I can not have that. A Boss that can not keep his woman in line? No one will respect me, her own father will not respect me.”

Tanaka remembers the conversation in the banya, the plans to take over completely, the poor health Valentina’s old man is in.

“Are you loyal, or are you just another predatel, scum like the men you erase from existence?”

The storm in Tanaka’s eyes swirl around, clashing against the hard forest floor of Daichi’s. He is loyal. Strangely, in this moment, he remembers the lilies of his home, and their sweet, comforting fragrance, his mother making dinner, and his sister who ran with him to their new life before separating. The pain of losing her no longer stabs at him, maybe this pain someday will not either.

13. Valentina

The room is white and grey, the smell of oil and rubber and metal and salt clinging to the air, to your skin. All the alcohol consumed over the evening seeps from your pores, creating a pounding in your head. You begin to wonder if it was ever a good idea to tell Daichi. You wonder what happened when you left, and you wonder where your necklace is. Your fingers brush over your sternum, feeling the ghost of the viper head and of Tanaka’s mouth.

You taptaptap your toes against the floor, the rain echoing in time, the water drawing in and out rhythmically as you wait for the storm to pass. Only a few minutes, you were told.

“Few minutes, my ass.”

The walkie-talkie connected to the captain’s hip shocks to life, and broken Russian floats up, but you can’t make out the words. He answers, smiles at you, “please, wait here. I will be back soon.”

Then, he leaves, and you’re left alone with the brat that accompanied you. He sighs heavily, as though the inconvenience to him is all your doing, and you glare.

“Is there a problem, soldier?” you ask, standing straight, arms crossed in front of your chest. They seem to forget, Daichi married into your family, not the other way around.

“Nyet, Gadyuka, prosti,” he apologises quickly.

Silence settles over the hull again, claustrophobia leaching into your veins. If you look out at the open hatch, you can see inky blackness, and far in the distance, the faint yellow lights of Monte Carlo. You are about to ask for some water when footsteps echo against the metal walls, a familiar gait.

“Leave us, pazolvste.”

Ryunoslav says to his subordinate, who swiftly salutes him and walks up the stairs. The door at the top clicks shut. You’re speechless, and he is sopping wet.

“Ryu,” you whisper, walking towards him and draping your arms around his shoulders, uncaring at the feeling of water pressing into the fabric of your dress, dripping between the open gap of your breasts. He’s stiff when you touch him, but soon melts, nose nuzzling into your neck and breathing deeply. He still smells like crisp apple and fresh seawater.

“Why are you here?”

“Daichi knows.”

You’ve never felt colder, warmer, like a fever and frostbite all at once. You feel him rustle against your bodies, and you let go to watch him pull the Bulgari necklace out, lifting your hand to place it in your palm. Your fingers close around the jewels automatically.

“I told him I love you.”

There are no words that come to your mind in that instant. Emotions, many. Relief, nausea, stillness and rage, love for the man in front of you. You ache to feel his warm, corded muscles against your skin. He looks pained, eyes tormented as he looks into your soul.

“How did he react?”

“Not well.”

“And?”

He gives no space for continuation, pulling you tightly against his body, arms snaking around your waist as his lips fall against your mouth. His skin is cool, wet, pressing to your heated cheeks, but his mouth is inviting. There is passion unlike what you’ve experienced before. It tastes like freedom, like a new day and endless night. It’s the smoke on the fire, and the salt of the sea. He’s crying, you realise, and you open your mouth to lick up a tear on the corner of his mouth.

The necklace slips from your fingers when you grab him, pushing the jacket of his suit from his shoulders to drop to the already wet floor. There’s a faint crunch, but neither one of you pull away to look at the crushed jewel beneath your heel. It’s just so right to kiss him. In this moment, the world falls away and it’s just the two of you. His taste fills you with a feeling that rivals being whole, satiated. Something hard pokes against your hip, and you smile into the kiss, lips moving to his jaw to suck on an earlobe.

But you freeze. Daichi is at the top of the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” Ryunoslav whispers.

You frown, his words not registering and when you pull back to ask what is happening, he ensnares another kiss from you, tears flowing freely, something hard, cold, now presses against your temple and–

.

.

.

End.

-----

Thank you for reading, truly. This fic honestly has so much of my heart and soul in it. I had so much fun writing it. I hope you’re not too mad about the ending lmao.

@dee-madwriter , @pleasantanathema​​​ , @lookslikeleese​​​ , @linestrider​​​ , @hisoknen​​​ , @mindninjax​​​ , @whats-her-quirk​​​ , @messwriting​

[melynen]

The Foreboding Sense of Impending Happiness - 00Q - 1/6

Written from a prompt by Christine.

Bond has come to see Q about his kit for his mission the way he always does, when suddenly he smells something completely new and enticing on his Quartermaster. And now Bond has a new mission: to recognise and catalogue this new scent of Q’s. (AKA Five times when Bond was discreetly smelling Q, and one time he could do it openly.)

It’s a regular day at the office—that is to say, Bond is in Q’s, sitting on the chair in front of his desk and listening to his Quartermaster explain the workings of a rather fascinating gadget. Said gadget is included in his kit for the upcoming mission in Croatia and he’s looking forward to getting his hands on it (and, perhaps, on its inventor, though he digresses). But patience being a virtue and all that, Bond makes it his business to stay seated and looking like no such desires have even entertained the thought of entering his head.

In short, he’s faking it, but with such talent that if he didn’t know any better, he’d even fool himself.

He seems to fool Q, too, at least considering the way the younger man continues to talk to him the way he always does, and keeps his gaze mostly on the gadget, only glancing over to Bond every now and then to ascertain that he’s still listening.

Then, Q leans forward over the table, bringing both the gadget and himself to a much closer range, and seems to expect Bond to follow his example. So Bond does, and then the scent hits him like a bullet to the chest: one he doesn’t recognise, something deeper and bolder than what he’s used to smelling on his Quartermaster. There is still the everpresent scent of bergamot mixed into it, of course, but he also catches hints of what he thinks might be lavender or vanilla or perhaps both, along with something spicy and familiar. For a moment, all Bond can focus on is trying to decipher the alluring scent clinging to Q.

He completely misses the next thing Q tells him.

Q looks at him, eyes bright and cheeks ever so slightly flushed. “And that’s all. Did you get everything, 007? Or do you need me to repeat anything?”

Hoping that whatever he did miss wasn’t quite as vital as Q had made it sound, Bond simply nods. “I got it, no repetition needed,” he assures him.

“Good,” Q says and finally pulls back to his chair properly. “Well then, I suppose we’re done here,” he continues, as he neatly puts Bond’s kit back in its case and slides it over to him.

“Good luck out there in the field,” Q adds with a faint smile, and the familiar words cause Bond to smile. It has evolved into a little routine of theirs, Q giving Bond his kit and ending the meeting with those words. Hearing them always makes Bond feel like Q truly cares about him.

And Q does care. There had been one late pub night, where the two had found themselves alone at the table, their coworkers all having disappeared for the moment. Q, who had been firmly on the side of tipsy by then, had turned to face him and with the most serious of expressions had poked him on the chest and told him that people cared about him, and that ‘people’ most certainly included Q himself.

Bond had given Q a lift home that night, and while nothing more had happened there, he still treasures the memory. It appears to mean something to Q as well, as afterwards he’d allowed Bond to drive him home more frequently, and had even invited him in a time or few, ostensibly for tea and to meet his cats.

“Thank you, Q,” Bond says, as he always does, and flashes him a warm smile before picking up his kit and making his way to the door.

He knows that he probably should have asked Q to repeat the last bit he’d said while he had been distracted, but he doesn't want to appear inattentive before his Quartermaster, so he keeps his silence and leaves the room.

It’s not like it’s his first time learning by doing, anyway.

[yerimichi10]

LETTERS FROM ME TO YOU

A LeviHan short fic

NOTE: Hanji was perceived as she/her in this fic. Also this my first fic hihee.

this fic was inspired by this:https://twitter.com/kyuujuuhachi/status/1342171651287339008?s=21

————————-

sunshine

chirping of the birds

smell of black tea

arms tightly embracing her figure

Hanji was awaken by those things. As she opened her eyes she was met by a set of steel blue orbs.

“Good morning shitty glasses,” he said as he played with her brown locks. Hanji didn’t responded. Instead, she bury herself in his neck feeling the warmth that he has.

It was so warm.

“You are being clingy, four-eyes,” the man beside her remarked before chuckling. His chuckle made her heart beat faster. Hanji swore that she could listen to his chuckle forever as it was a beautiful melody to her ears.

“I just want to feel your warmth....I want you to be near me.,” Hanji finally said as she nuzzle against his neck. She loved his scent, his lavender scent. If she could smell something forever that would be his scent.

“I am right here with you.,” He assured her, still playing with her brown locks. “I am always watching over you. You know that, right?,” he added which made Hanji hummed in agreement.

He then made her to look at him. Hanji instantly got lost in his blue orbs upon meeting it.

“Go back to sleep,” he said. “I don’t wanna,” Hanji responded which made him grunt.

“Sleep, it is still early,” he argued which made Hanji actually smile. “You are too concern to me,” Hanji remarked. He smirked.

“Okay fine I’ll sleep,” Hanji said giving in to her man’s request. “But, promise me you’ll not leave me. ‘kay?”, Hanji added for her assurance.

“Sleep,” he said while giving her a faint smile.

Hanji knew something isn’t right from the moment she woke up but she decided not to dwell in it. A few moments later, she fell asleep again.

—————————

Hanji woke up only to be greeted by a cold space beside her. There were no sunshines, no birds happily chirping around, even the smell of black teas is absent, and most especially there were no strong arms tightly hugging her slim figure.

She scanned her surroundings to check if she was just dreaming or not. When the harsh reality slapped her hard, she chuckled bitterly at her own foolishness.

“How idiot you are, Hanji Zoë?....you can’t even distinguish the difference between a dream and reality....How foolish are you to believe that your dream is the reality,” she criticized herself while wiping the tear that escaped from her working eye.

This is her reality, their reality.

—————————

“I brought everyone here.... I killed countless comrades to be here... I will take that burden”, Hanji said with finality in her voice.

They were ambushed by the rumbling and no one saw this coming. No one ever thought that someone will do a sacrifice that early. But here they are, one needs to do a sacrifice so that the majority will be saved.

For Hanji, it is a simple price to pay for their safety. She is more than willing to trade her life for the alliance’s survival.

“Armin Arlert, I’m promoting you as the fifteenth commander of the Survey Corps.....I’ll leave everyone to you..... So that’s it, bye for now. I’ll see you later,” Hanji said before walking away from the group.

Jean tried to stop her as well as Connie and Armin but to no avail she didn’t listened to them. Hanji already made up her mind.

As Hanji made her way to the horde of Colossals, she stopped in her tracks as soon as she saw Him, her comrade for almost a decade, her companion through thick and thin, her “other-half”.

“Hey... Four-eyes.”

He was about to continue speaking when Hanji cut him off.

“You understand right? My time has come.... I want to look cool as I possibly right now... So just let me go, will you?,” Hanji said as she tried to fight back her tears and maintain her composure.

He knew Hanji already made up her mind. He also knew that he couldn’t do anything about it. But he is as persistent and hard-headed as Hanji, he, also made up his mind.

“I understand....But I want YOU to live... They will be needing your more than an injured and incapable man,” He said without looking in her eyes.

Hanji couldn’t believe what she just heard. What is Levi trying to imply? Is he going to sacrifice himself?

No, it must be her.

“L-le....,” Hanji was cut off . “You know that it is MY time right? So please, just let ME go.,” hesaid with full authority even though he is just a trusted subordinate of Hanji.

“But what about the beast?,” Hanji asked in the hope of convincing him to change his mind. But clearly, He wasn’t backing down in his decision. He was sure that this will be a choice with no regrets.

“I know you’ll do it for me. Erwin will understand that.,” he said in a soft tone. Hanji couldn’t move a single muscle, she even can’t find her voice to stop him.

No, he can’t leave

Please, don’t leave us, don’t leave me.

Those are the things that she wanted to tell him but he never gave her a chance to speak.

“Dedicate your heart,” he said as he placed his left hand on her chest. Hanji found herself trying to fight back her tears from escaping her eyes.

“I’ll look for you in our next life, Hanji my shitty four-eyes,” He muttered to himself before turning his back for her and advancing to the horde of millions of titans before them. Unfortunately, Hanji wasn’t able to hear his last words.

Hanji stood at her place, unable to speak nor to move a muscle. Hanji stood there and watched him in horror as he glides in the air and kill as many titans as he can.

The next thing she knew that she was in the plane surrounded by the mourning alliance. How did she got there? she doesn’t know. The only thing that was in her mind at that moment was him, who sacrificed himself for their sake, whose lifeless body will get trampled down by the Colossals, whose lifeless body will be nowhere to be found after the war.

“See you later, Levi.....Please keep on watching over us.”

—————————————

Hanji snapped out of her trance when she heard her telephone rang.

“Hello? This is Hanji Zoë speaking, how can I help you?”, Hanji entertained the caller.

“Hi, Professor Zoë! I called to inform you that the meeting in Stohess was cancelled due to incliment weather.,” the young man from the other line informed her.

“Noted, Commander.,” Hanji replied.

“Jean. Call me Jean, How many times do I have to tell you?”, Jean replied. Hanji chuckled upon hearing Jean’s voice. It is obvious that he doesn’t want to be called “commander” by her.

“We are talking about work, right?” Hanji retorted which made the young man on the other line chuckled this time. “So how are you?,” he asked. Hanji smiled at the thought that someone was actually concerned about her well-being.

“I’m fine, Jean. I got alot of works to do so I don’t have the time to dwell in sadness,” Hanji replied. Jean knew that even if she said she’s fine, she’s not. Shortly after their exchange of updates to each other’s life they bid farewell to each other.

“Send my regards to the other 104th and especially to Commander-in-chief Arlert,” she said before hunging up the call.

Over the past years, she buried herself with tons of work, she busied herself in helping to modernized Paradis. But, does she really do this to help Paradis or it was an attempt to forget everything especially the pain that she is feeling. Whatever the answer to that question is yet to be known.

Hanji decided to pasttime by cleaning and arranging her stuff. In the whilst of fixing her cabinet a certain metal box caught her attention..

She knew who owns that box. It is just a simple box that they retrieved from his belongings in Kiyomi’s boat. It is one of his last. And it came in to her possession for years now yet she cannot bring herself to open it.

Why is it important to him?

Why did he always hold onto this box?

What is inside of this thing?

She absent-mindedly opened the box. She was expecting to be seeing a some piece of jewelry or even maybe a cravat. But, she was wrong, she saw pieces of paper inside the box.

Those were letters addressed to her. Gathering up her courage she decided to open the first letter

Hanji smiled as she finished the first letter. It was very heartwarming. She folded back the paper and the proceeded in reading the second one.

The second letter was short yet it somewhat gave Hanji a peace of mind that he was doing fine in that one month.

The third letter was the most heartbreaking for her. She had a hard time in stopping her tears from escaping. It was written hours before that fateful tragedy so it feels like a goodbye letter and his last will.

Hanji knew that she will lost her sanity anytime soon so she decided to hide those letters again but something caught her attention.

“You,” Hanji muttered the word written on upper right corner of the last piece of paper. Hanji decided to recheck every paper and there she found the letter “I” and the word “loved”.

When Hanji realized the meaning of it, tears escaped from her eye.

“I...loved...you”

All this time Levi was trying to tell it to her. All this time, that was the thing that he wanted to say but couldn’t.

“Why? Why you?”

Sadness filled her heart and all the emotions suppressed all this time were coming back to her. She was crying like there was no tomorrow. She was screaming, throwing all her stuff around. She was in deep regret

“You said you wanted me to live!??,” Hanji screamed yet no one answered her. “But how could I live without you!? How!? Tell me!! Answer me!!,” Hanji screamed in frustration.

After a few moments she calmed down but her tears won’t stop anytime soon.

“ I also loved you,” Hanji muttered the phrase that she also wanted to tell.

But it was too late. The fate was cruel to them. He is not with her anymore to hear her say those words. He is already dead.

Levi Ackerman was already gone.

[vindicatedvirgil]

moceit week 2021: day 7 / the softest echo could be enough for me to make it through

summary: one year. one question. one answer… but depression likes to get in the way sometimes.

ship: romantic moceit

other characters involved: n/a

word count: 1181

warnings: mentions of depressive episode, mentions of food/alcohol

this was written for moceit week 2021, for the day 7 prompt of “anniversary”

@moceit-appreciation-week @moceit @doublejoywilson

this is a sequel connected to day three!

title is a line from “bandito” by twenty one pilots.

[first] [last] [moceit week masterpost] [read on AO3]

[all writing masterlist]

---

Janus glanced around the living room; everything had to be perfect. Everything. The soft music playing in the background was a playlist full of songs that were playing on his first date with Patton, the songs they danced to and laughed to and had their first kiss to. He had lit candles all around the room, and there were two glasses of the same red wine they had drank on their first date. Janus was dressed in a black suit, save for a yellow tie, and he stood in front of the mirror by the front door, toying with his hair.

It had been exactly one year since that first date, since Patton worried so much that he had ruined things. But despite how awkward things were that first night, how concerned they both were that things could go wrong… everything had worked out so beautifully. And even though it was scary, things moved quickly; by six months they had moved into an apartment together.

And now Janus stood near the front door to that apartment, waiting for Patton to return home from work. He would be home any minute, and Janus could wait no longer. It was clear to him after only three dates that Patton was the man for him, for forever, and he knew now was the time - tonight was the night.

Janus heard the jangle of keys on the other side of the door, then their clattering and a muffled, frustrated cuss from Patton. Janus frowned; that wasn’t normal. He reached for the handle and turned it, opening the door to find Patton on his knees, face in his hands, soft sobbing leaving his body.

“Darling, come here, I’ve got you,” Janus murmured, his hands settling on his boyfriend, trying to get him to stand up. It was slow going, but eventually Patton was on his feet, leaning against the taller man. All thoughts of the proposal out of his mind, Janus only cared about taking care of his love. “Hey, shh, come on, let’s get your bag down and shoes off, then a bath, ok? Looks like you had a rough day, you need to relax.” Patton nodded, slipping his shoes off and letting Janus slip the messenger bag off of his shoulder. Patton’s eyes swept over the apartment, realization dawning on him almost instantly, and the tears started again.

“It’s our anniversary, I-” He fumbled over his words, trying to wipe his tears away with his sweater sleeve. “I had something for you, and I left it at work, and-”

“Hey, no, it’s okay baby, that doesn’t matter now. I’m gonna blow out all these candles, run you a bath, and order an extra cheesy pizza,” Janus said warmly, guiding Patton through the apartment to the bathroom. “We can celebrate another night,” he said softly.

“I’m so sorry, Janus… it’s just… bad brain day,” Patton explained, even though Janus didn’t need to hear an explanation. Having a significant other with depression prepared him for this, being able to comfort and take care of Patton after a long day was more important than anything else.

“It’s alright, darling,” Janus let go of Patton and started the faucet, allowing the tub to fill slowly. He poured in some of Patton’s favorite lavender scent, the smell enveloping the room. “I’m going to go get your fuzzy onesie and something to wear under it, ok? Get in when you’re ready.” He pressed a kiss to Patton’s temple, and began to leave the restroom, but Patton’s faint voice made him stop.

“Thank you, Janus. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Janus replied, shooting a smile back to Patton. He padded back out into the living room, and went around blowing out all of the candles, then turned off the music. Then he went into the bedroom and got the clothes for Patton, and while he was in there, Janus changed out of his suit into some black joggers and a soft yellow sweater.

By the time he returned to the restroom, Patton was lounging in the tub, eyes closed. Janus set the clothes on the sink and stepped out again. He grabbed his phone from the kitchen and quickly placed a mobile order for Patton’s favorite pizza: lots of cheese. Janus set his phone down as he heard the tub start to drain, so he poked his head back into the bathroom to see Patton zipping up the onesie.

“Hey, feeling any better?” Janus asked hesitantly, eyes focused on Patton, who nodded, then frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“You looked so nice in your suit, and I… I ruined everything, didn’t I?” Patton asked hesitantly, fingers twisting in front of him. Janus quickly surged forward, taking Patton’s hands in his own, bringing them up to kiss.

“You have ruined nothing, my love. You’re more important than anything, even celebrating an anniversary with the cheesiest things I could think of,” Janus murmured, and Patton smiled weakly. “Come on, let’s go in and put on a Disney film, ok?”

“Lilo and Stitch,” Patton responded, and Janus nodded, lacing his fingers with Patton’s, leading his boyfriend into the living room. The two sat on the couch and while Janus started to navigate towards where to watch the film, Patton glanced around, eyes landing on the small, pale blue box on the coffee table. “What’s this…?” He reached out for it, and Janus yelped, trying to grab it first.

“Nothing! Nothing. It’s not important, just uh, a box,” Janus lied, finally securing the box in his own hands. Patton raised an eyebrow, nudging Janus’ shoulder.

“Ask me,” he said suddenly, and Janus’ jaw dropped, along with the ring box. “Go ahead. It doesn’t need to be… romantic and perfect. Our relationship started off with an awkward date and I constantly think that I’m screwing up, but… clearly that’s not the case.” Patton smiled, eyes shining with happy tears. “So. Ask me, Janus.”

“I… are you sure?” Janus asked, meeting Patton’s eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation or falsehood in the blue orbs, but he found none. Nodding, he moved onto the floor, grabbing the ring box, and shifted so he was on one knee in front of Patton. “I had this whole speech prepared, you know? How I’ve wanted to do this since our third date, how you are… everything to me, Patton… but words can’t… I can’t…” Janus sighed, and Patton giggled, settling one of his hands on Janus’ cheek. “The important thing is… that I love you. Desperately, and without deceit. And if I get to spend my life comforting you when you’re depressed, if… I get to wake up with you in my arms each morning… then I’ll live the happiest life I could ever possibly imagine.”

“I don’t hear a question,” Patton teased, but the tears were streaming down his face, and he was smiling so bright, that Janus swore he would go blind.

“Patton… I love you. So much. And…” he glanced down, opening the ring box with shaky fingers. “Will you marry me?”

“Of course I will, Janus.”

[thetravelingmaster]

Erin’s Weird Morning

NOTE: Another lost gem from the beginnings of my old @mc2015 blog! 

I had completely forgotten about this one and I hadn’t transferred to my mc-diaries.com site. I find this one especially good since I’ve discussed some of the themes present in this story.

*****************************

Female’s Point of View - Hypnosis

My conscious mind gradually came back to reality as the delicious fog of my dreams carefully released me from its sweet embrace. I could almost feel it... At first, it was simply that I could control my thoughts more and more. Like I wasn't waiting to see what happens in my dreams, but actively deciding what I would do next. Then the scenery of my dream faded away softly as it was replaced by a sense of self I couldn't deny. I felt so ethereal in my dream, but the more I awoke, the more I grounded I felt...

As if they had all agreed before hand, my senses came back in turns. First of them was my sense of touch. Of course... That was why I felt so grounded... I could feel myself lying down on something soft. Warm... My skin informed me that I had something fluffy and soft covering me. I was still somewhere between my dream and reality and I almost giggled as I thought that I must surely be on a cloud somewhere hot and sunny.

Then came my hearing... My awareness started to hear a rhythmic click that had me perplexed for a few moments. What was that sound? But my brain finally woke up a little more and I could identify it as an old grandfather clock, ticking away... It was so soothing... Tick... Tock... Tick... Tock...

My muscles felt heavy with sleep and I was tempted to stay in bed and see if I could travel back to my dreams, but then I smiled and stretched out my limbs under the sheets. I could notice the dull heat as passed through all of my tissues, waking up my limbs. God it felt nice... One of those simple pleasure I don't always enjoy properly...

As I stretched, my third sense made itself known: Smell.

I took in a deep breath and was instantly aware of a faint aroma floating in the room. What was that? Vanilla? Lavender? Some sort of perfume or candle? What ever it was, it was wonderful. I breathed in again and let the scent invade my nostrils. It was soothing... Delicate... I smiled as I thought that my lover must have surely woken up before me and prepared it.

And then my fourth sense woke me up: Taste.

I couldn't help myself, I licked my lips as I thought of him. We made such an incredible pair... Fitting together like puzzle pieces. I always felt so... Sexy... Around him. I could always see the lust he had for me in his eyes. Like he always had to fight and control himself around me. As if his lust was a caged animal that always wanted to ravage me... 

God I loved it when he let loose and released that beast...

But as I licked my lips, I noticed that there was something foreign applied to them. I could taste something... Sweet... Strawberries? I licked and sucked at my lips to identify this new sensation, but I couldn't put my finger on it... The substance felt and tasted like one of those flavored lipsticks. I didn't remember applying that before I went to bed... How strange...

Finally, I decided that I just had to wake up eventually and reluctantly opened my mind to my last remaining sense: Sight.

A soft light blurred my vision before my eyes could adjust to the sudden intrusion. But as the focus got better and better, my heart started to race more and more...

I didn't recognize the ceiling.

It made no sense. Why wasn't I seeing the ceiling in our bedroom? I didn't recognize the light fixture. So ornate... I sat up straight and looked around. Nothing made sense! This wasn't my bedroom at all

There was a window to my left and I could see that it was way passed morning. What time was it? I looked around to find the clock I had heard earlier, which... Which made me realize that we didn't even own a grandfather clock! But there it was, standing against the wall... Like a silent sentinel...

I looked at the bed I was in and it too was strange. Was I still dreaming? I finally looked at myself and saw I wasn't wearing my regular nighty. I was wearing... Nothing!

I looked around the bed and saw that there was a card propped up on the night stand. The card was folded neatly and it was addressed to me. Next to it was a feather... A feather! And an ink pot... We definitely didn't own that... My name had clearly been written with it. 

I shook my head and told myself I needed to find out what all this was about. I covered my naked chest with the sheets as I moved to grab it.

"Good morning my divine Angel,

    I hope your dreams were as exciting and erotic as our time together last night. Our play time was... Exquisite... Entertaining... Sensual... I find I lack the proper words to describe how much of a gem you are. Who knew you would be such a wonderful and compliant subject... I'm so glad I got the chance to meet you yesterday... But before you tumble down the rabbit hole of your worries, I assure you that you gave me all the permissions I needed to spend the night with you... Well… The weekend really... And before you ask... Yes... I asks all does questions while you were in a hypnotic trance... Before I we truly started..."

Oh god... Hypnosis? No... This can't be happening! I had always had a fetish for hypnosis. I even went to a professional to see it was just a phase or something else. It definitely wasn't. Feeling the trance invade my mind made me so hot. Horny... I still remember how ravenous I was with my lover when I got back from that first and only session. Did... Did someone find out about my desire? Did... No... Had I been hypnotize to follow some stranger?

The thought both scared and aroused me. Of course it was a fantasy of mine! But I would never want to live it out for real... I bit my lip as I continued to read the note.

"You were so eager to be claimed. To be taken... I've removed your memories from last night, but only as part of a game. In this room, you will find another piece of paper. On it is a trigger word that will make you remember our time together..."

Oh god... Oh god... This is real... As much as I tried, I couldn't recall anything from last night!

"And finally... I left a few... Commands... in your mind... I think you'll have a few surprises as you search for my little trigger..."

OH GOD! Was this fear or excitement? I couldn't tell anymore...

"But be warned… There are 2 sides to any piece of paper... So I’ve written 2 triggers... One will turn you back into my lovely Angel Doll... And the other will make you remember... Choose wisely..."

Oh fuck... Angel Doll? That's exactly one of the names I imagined my hypnotic Master would call me! Speaking of which... He signed at the bottom...

"Your new Master."

New Master? Oh god... Fuck! Ok Erin... Get it together... Don't give in just yet... 

I got up and looked in a few drawers. If nothing else, I was going to be dressed to meet this pretentious 'new master'. I'll be able to tell him that I may have accepted all this in a trance, but I have to stop things here. I already had a lover!

I found panties and a bra as well as a see through shirt and tight pants. All in my size. How the hell could they all be in my size? I put my panties on and as I grabbed my bra, I suddenly felt an intense itching sensation. As if my panties were soaked with itching powder or something... I quickly removed them and looked at them, lying on the floor... What the hell? I tried to put my bra on, telling myself that I could go commando in those tight pants, but as soon as I had my bra on, the itching started again...

I simply couldn't stand it! I undid it in record time and through it on the floor. I looked at them for a moment before I finally understood.

Hypnosis...

God damn it! If he could make me forget last night, he could certainly make it so I couldn't put on underwear. That pervert... I tried to put the pants on and sighed in relief when I couldn't feel the itching sensation. I put on the shirt with the same apprehension, but everything was ok. 

Well at least I'm not naked... Even if this shirt is see through...

I went to the door to see if I could get out. Had he locked it? But as I looked at the door and saw the handle... I... I couldn't figure out how it worked! Should I turn it? Pull it? Push it? I... I couldn't decide! I had no clue how to operate the door! The more I tried to figure it out, the worst it seemed to get.

I finally gave up and went to the window. I saw that I was on the second floor... With only trees as far as I could see... I certainly didn't want to climb down... The more I looked out, the scarier it seemed. Like... Like I was getting vertigo... I turned and caught my breath.

So... He made it so I couldn't get out... He thought of everything...

I started to look through the room for his mystery piece of paper. I finally found it under the bed. I grabbed it and looked it over. Like he said, 2 words were written on each side of the paper. Again, it looked like he had written it with the feather. 

As I read both, I suddenly wondered which would make me remember and which would make me into a... A... A doll...

It was evident which would make me remember and which would turn me. But was it a trick? He wrote that this was a game.

I guess I couldn't figure it out anyway... Might as well try and see what happens. I took a deep breath and hoped for the best.

"Reminisce..." I said.

I felt another wave of vertigo sweep my mind as images came flooding in. It was such a rush! I closed my eyes as I tried to make sense of it all. Oh god... I remember seeing a pocket watch... Swinging... I remember... Oh yes... I remember feeling the trance invade my mind... Then... I was made to undress... Sensually... And then...

OH MY GOD!!!

I opened my eyes and looked around. I was in our bedroom! And that was our bed! I looked towards the door and saw that it wasn't closed, it was wide open! And there, leaning against the door frame, was my lover! He was smiling as he looked at me.

That little bastard...

I remembered now! He wanted to make my fantasy come true! He... Oh god... He discovered my fetish... I remember telling him about it... And he studied to hypnotize me! And he did all this... I should have realize it was him all along! He always calls me his Angel.

I smiled as I turned the paper over. Might as well go with it...

"Angel Doll..." I said aloud.

He smiled even more as I felt my mind go numb...

[the-unknown-storyteller]

The Scent Of Such Soothing Things

Summary: On some days, Ghostbur just feels off.

(Warning: depressive episode, derealisation) __

Today is an off-day. He can feel it in his non-existent bones and in the tips of his translucent hands. Today is an off-day and the first Blue of the day that he takes from his bag to give to Ranboo turns such a violent blue that he drops it out of shock. He immediately apologises to the other and gives him a new one, carefully wrapping his hand in his sweater to avoid any contact with the stone. In an attempt to hide his blunder, he gives the other a quick smile and then a wave, leaving them to their cobblestone sculptures, ignoring the concerned look of the Half-Enderman. He makes his way across broken paths and past half-finished buildings, big dark clouds looming in the distance with the promise of thunder and rain in the late afternoon.

Ghostbur feels heavy in a way that he can only remember being when he was not-dead.

Yet he keeps going, talking to everyone who is also awake at such an early hour, helping them wherever they may need him, making deliveries across the server and back. Early morning turns into late afternoon and the server is buzzing with an energy that Ghostbur does just not have today and cannot keep up with. People are running from place to place, talking and laughing in groups of two or three, trading goods at the stalls, sharing food with friends and playing music at the marketplace, creating a dizzying cacophony of sounds and motion. 

There is familiarity to the warm scent of Niki’s freshly baked bread wafting from her bakery across the street and the feeling and sound of so many people talking and walking past in a seemingly endless stream because everyone has somewhere they need to be. And Ghostbur is caught in the middle of it all, neither able to go forwards or backwards and all of it is too much. Too much sound, too many bodies, just too much.

It does not rain, but the dark clouds loom all the same.

For once, Ghostbur wishes that his invisibility potion would make him intangible as well. But alas, it does not, so here he is, making his way through L’Manberg, feeling people brush past him. Invisible, but not intangible. He can feel the familiar weight of his guitar on his back and that grounds him just a little bit, keeping him from floating away, but he doesn’t feel like it is enough.

Next thing he knows he is in a lush garden, with neatly kept flower beds and numerous bees, sitting beneath a tree. He’s surrounded by large clusters of lavender with the occasional sunflower sprinkled in and when he looks up, he is glad to see that the dark clouds have started to diverge, granting the server a bit of sunlight.

A bee floats across his line of sight and when he sees a tiny ribbon attached to one of his legs with the word “BeeInnit” written on it, he knows that he ended up in Tubbo’s private bee garden. Surely Tubbo wouldn’t mind him sitting here a bit to catch his breath. Surely not.

Ghostbur hesitantly leans back against the tree he is sitting under and picks up his guitar from the ground. There is a faint smell of honey in the air. A gentle melody trickles from his fingertips, quiet enough not to drown out the sound of the world. 

With all this lavender surrounding him and the constant background buzz of Tubbo’s bees, Ghostbur can almost pretend that he is about to fall asleep. That caring hands will take him, accompanied by the sweet scent of honey and laughter long forgotten, and pull him under for a few hours, finally granting him the rest that he so desperately craves on days such as this one. 

But they don't. They never do.

__

For some reason, the entire server has decided that today would be a good day to do every chore, task and minor crime in existence. As a result, Tubbo has been up since about one hour after sunrise, awoken by the smell of ash and fire that were coming through his window. He got up, reprimanded their local arsonist, confiscating all of his fire starters and flintstones, and then went on his way towards Niki’s bakery, where he heard that a window had been smashed. After that, he went to Ranboo, who told him that people were vandalising his bear sculptures. On his search for the culprit, he came across Fundy, who complained that people have been taking his redstone. And on and on and on it went all day until late into the afternoon. The downtrodden weather didn’t help his mood in the slightest, when Tubbo finally had had enough and decided to go to his garden to catch his breath and unwind.

Apparently, he hadn’t been the only one with that idea.

“Ghostbur? Is that you?” Curled underneath one of his apple trees, the greyed out figure of their local spectre sits. Tubbo quietly approaches the ghost, watching what it is that he is doing here with great interest. A small bee bumps against the other’s head, continuing on its merry way as if not at all troubled by this ghostly presence in their domain. Ghostbur does not seem to notice any of this, as he appears to be lost in his own mind. His right hand shifts across the bridge of his guitar, while his left hand plucks at individual strings, calling forth a slow and steady melody, almost hypnotic in nature. But Ghostbur’s attention isn’t on his hands, but rather on something in the far, far distance. He mouths a few words, that Tubbo can’t make out, his eyes shifting over the horizon. Apart from his gentle playing, his dead half-brother is utterly silent. “Are you alright?”, Tubbo asks, crossing the remaining distance between them with a few quick steps.

Those few words seem to pop whatever bubble the other had enclosed himself in, as Ghostbur lifts his head and properly looks at the person standing in front of him. There is a moment of silence, before any words are said.

“Oh, don’t you worry your little head, Tubbo, I’m just fine. I was just admiring your beautiful garden, your bees were kind enough to let me have a look,” Ghostbur says, each of his words echoing softly. He smiles at the other. His hands, which were plucking at the strings of his guitar, come to rest on the ground below him. “I especially like these ones.” He points at the clustered rows of cornflowers, which were just across the tree he is sat under. 

“Of course, you would choose the blue ones,” Tubbo chuckles, walking over and taking a seat next to the ghost, who takes up his plucking again. Recently, there’s been a lot more guitar music in the streets of L’Manberg.

“Yeah, I guess I would,” Ghostbur whispers softly, letting their conversation fall into silence. For some reason, the scent of the lavender is not as soothing anymore as it was before Tubbo arrived. The faint scent of honey makes him sick.