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starmapz · 4 months ago

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what you know - ch6: intoxicated || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. mutual pining. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic (attacks). mentions of difficulty eating. vomit. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 12.7k.

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Brushing the snow from his jacket, Sukuna flips his hood down and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. He’d gotten up early enough to work out before taking the kids to school, but in usual fashion, his overly-excitable little brother had been such a handful that Sukuna didn’t get a chance to finish getting ready. He opted for a shower and just threw on the first set of clothes he could find.

He blows a breath out through his nose, scanning the lunch hall. He hasn’t exactly worked out what the hell he’s planning on saying to you after last night, but a promise is a promise and he swore to join you for lunch. He’s failed you enough times.

He trudges up to your usual table with his hands in his pockets, his usual aloof expression plastered across his features, though it twists to confusion as he realizes you aren’t there.

Haibara’s the first to notice him as he pauses a small distance behind your blonde friend. Kento, Sukuna thinks?

“Hey, Sukuna!”

He grunts in reply, before inquiring about your whereabouts.

Shoko and Kento exchange a glance that Sukuna recognizes as cautionary. “She’s sick,” Shoko’s eyes twitch as she narrows her gaze on him suspiciously. “She is sick, right Sukuna?”

Although he doesn’t mind Shoko, he doesn’t like what she’s insinuating, even if she is right. Clenching his fists in his coat pockets, he scowls at her with a tense jaw. “How the hell should I know?”

Shoko’s gaze lingers a moment longer before she sighs, giving in. “She said she was studying at home today. She doesn’t want anyone getting sick before finals,” Shoko explains, swinging her fork around as she speaks.

“That’s nice of her,” Sukuna comments, shooting a pointed glance at Kento who won’t stop glaring at him, which only serves to piss him off further.

With a final nod of acknowledgement intended primarily for Shoko and Haibara, Sukuna turns on his heel and heads back out into the snow. He loathes the strange sensation lingering in the back of his mind that he’s retreating from Shoko and Kento’s scrutiny like a dog with its tail between its legs, but what other option does he have? He’s not about to fight with them. Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, he heads towards the library with the intention of sending you an email.

Once isolated in the cold again, he lets out a sigh as his breath billows into the freezing winter air. Contritefully, he watches as snowflakes fall slowly and dissolve on the sleeve of his coat.

Fuck.

Shoko had every right to drag him through the mud the way she had, he knows she’s right. You’re not sick. He would have believed it if you were still watching over his sick little brother, but that hasn’t been the case for a while. You’re avoiding him. Without classes, you chose to stay home and avoid the possibility of running into Sukuna.

Lightly kicking a rock as he steps through the snow, the burly man pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He should be studying in the small amount of spare time he has. He should take extra shifts. He should go Christmas shopping for his brothers. He should meal prep. He should be doing anything other than skulking around campus thinking about the things going wrong in his life.

The worst part? Aside from one very large and glaring issue, you’re the source of all of his problems. Well, no, that’s not fair to you. You just happen to be at the center of all of them, but if he’s honest with himself, he knows there’s more to it than that.

You may be the source of all of his problems, but Sukuna is the cause of each and every one of them.

Taking a step towards the rock he kicked earlier, he sends it flying into the brick of the library with a satisfying thunk before ducking into the building.

Settling quietly in the corner of the library, Sukuna pulls out his laptop and opens his email, doing his best not to think too hard about what he’s typing.

[email protected] - Friday, 12:11 PM heard youre sick. you okay?

After hitting send, he leans over the table, running his hands over his face to mentally reset himself before diving into his studies.

To Sukuna’s relief, you do reply to his email just over an hour into his studies. He knows he fucked up, but at least you’re still acknowledging him this time.

[email protected] - Friday, 1:34 PM Yeah, sorry. I forgot to tell you.

He frowns at the sight of your email. It’s an awfully dry response in comparison to your usual bright demeanor. His fingers rest idly over his keyboard as he contemplates his reply.

[email protected] - Friday, 1:38 PM right. need anything

[email protected] - Friday, 1:38 PM ?

[email protected] - Friday, 1:59 PM I’m not going to ask you for soup, Sukuna.

Okay, so you’re at least a little bit mad at him. He slumps back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

He could bring you soup.

He could. He remembers you liking the bowl from the cafe he took you to.

He clenches his hand into a fist while biting down hard enough on his lip to draw blood. What the fuck is he thinking? Finals are next week, he’s hardly studied, he has to pick up his brothers in an hour and he has work all weekend.

He doesn’t have time to chase after his frayed connection to you.

His eyes trail across the speckled library ceiling. There’s a water stain just to the left of where he sits. He remembers thinking those sorts of marks were coffee when he was a kid. In retrospect, that makes no sense.

Hell, it makes about as much sense as Sukuna’s obsession with you as of late. He doesn’t have the time, nor the mental capacity to be sitting here stewing over an email that he could be reading too much into.

Leaning forward over the table with a huff, his fingers run across the keys on his laptop as he formulates a reply that’s painfully him.

[email protected] - Friday, 2:09 PM feel better

It doesn’t shock him that you don’t reply this time.

–

For the better part of the week, a feeling of unease seems to follow Sukuna like a fly he can’t seem to swat away. Even through finals, he finds himself wanting nothing more than to slam his head against his desk in hopes that thoughts of his fuck up might finally leave.

Yet the taste of you always remains on his tongue.

Bittersweet, like the sweetest memory tainted with the reminder that it never should have happened.

It was a mistake.

Throwing his hood up over his head, he leaves the school with one thing in mind.

Your fratboy friend is throwing his end of finals party tonight and Sukuna has every intention to drink to forget. To forget about the lawsuit, to forget about the ways he’s failed his little brothers, and most importantly: to forget about you.

He knows the feeling won’t last forever, but shit, it’ll be worth the way that he pleaded with Choso’s friend’s mother to take Yuji for the night too for a sleepover.

He just needs to escape for the night. He can worry about mentally resetting himself tomorrow morning when he wakes up with a killer hangover on some disgusting couch in Gojo’s ridiculous and over-decorated house.

Until then, he’ll continue on with his day as usual, picking up his brothers from school and cooking something to eat.

“Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna-”

“What?”

“- Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna-”

“Brat! What do you want?” He shoots a look of irritation at his little brother as the youngest Itadori bounds up to him with some sort of craft in his hand.

Sukuna sets his spatula down, leaning down to get a better view of the beaded creation in Yuji’s hand. There’s a yellow lizard dappled in black spots proudly seated atop his outstretched hand as though he’s a mad scientist showing off his greatest creation.

“It’s a lizard.”

“It’s a gecko,” the little boy proudly corrects him.

Sukuna’s nose wrinkles in exasperation. “Same thing.”

“No. They’re not.” This, of course, launches into a five minute explanation of the difference between lizards and geckos, which Sukuna hums along to as he rises back to his full height to continue cooking dinner.

“- so geckos are lizards but they’re not the same as lizards,” Yuji finishes his explanation, tugging at his older brother’s hoodie to hold out his gecko again. “This one’s a leopard gecko.”

“Didn’t know you liked lizards so much, Yu.” Sukuna’s tone is mild, a calm expression plastered on his face. Yuji’s interests change by the day, the only constant seeming to be pokemon and sports, though he’s gone from basketball to tennis to hockey over the course of the last year. Not that Sukuna can afford his interest in hockey, and cautiously pushed him back towards basketball.

Turns out when you’re five, all you need is for your cool older brother to install a basketball net on the back of your door and lift you up to do a slam dunk to be enthralled with the sport again. Sukuna thanks god for that.

“I love lizards!” He beams.

Sukuna hums, a rare smile pulling at his lips. “It’s a nice bead gecko.”

“Leopard gecko. Thanks Kuna! Guess who showed us how to make them?”

The corner of his lip twitches as he stares down at the spotted bead lizard. There’s no shock when Yuji says your name. The shock comes from the dreadful feeling that sits like a stone in the base of his stomach at just the sound of your name.

Fuck, he needs a drink.

“Can I show her?”

“No, Yu.”

“Please?”

“No-”

“Please? Pleeeeeeeaaaaaase?”

This has been a repeating situation practically all week. Yuji seemed to want to show every little thing to you and won’t relent until Sukuna sends an email. He would demand to know what you replied each and every time, and while there’s a part of Sukuna that’s grateful it gave him an excuse to reach out and hold onto your tense relationship, it equally caused him to relive his guilty conscience.

Sukuna sighs, giving in to the relentless pleading of his youngest brother.

“Fine. Let me finish dinner.”

With a cheer, Yuji runs off excitedly to inform Choso to prepare his best lizard to send a photo.

Sukuna’s shoulders rise and fall heavily as he lets out a breath. He stares down at the pan in front of him, the sizzling of gnocchi and tomato sauce offering little distraction from his wandering thoughts.

It seemed no matter what he did, you were so ingrained in his life that he couldn’t escape you.

To say that’s what he wanted in the first place would be a lie. No, he never wanted to escape. He still doesn’t. He just wants things to go back to the way they were before he let his dick do all the thinking and kissed you.

If he wanted to escape, he wouldn’t have searched for you in the crowds during finals. He wouldn’t have frustratedly tossed his textbook on his desk with a thump that made Choso jump and come check on him. Your words echoed in his mind as he feigned a smirk and sent the boy away.

He’s worried about you.

Choso’s too smart for his age. He should be playing games with his friends, begging to see a PG-13 rated movie, anything but worrying about his own guardian.

The pop of tomato sauce brings him back to the present, and he hisses at the feeling of the boiling liquid hitting his forearm. He sets the spatula aside, shutting off the stove and wiping the sauce off with his thumb, popping it into his mouth with a pop!

He needs to get his shit together.

He calls the kids into the dining area for dinner, and before long he’s sitting in front of his laptop, the screen pointed at his brothers, waiting for Choso and Yuji to position themselves in front of the camera with big smiles. In Yuji’s hand is the leopard gecko that he figures you must have told him about, proudly displayed with a toothy smile. Choso’s lizard is a dark purple with a white stripe, his smile more reserved but his eyes shine just as bright.

Sukuna snaps the photo, pulling his laptop back towards him. Yuji clambers onto Sukuna’s lap, met with a grunt and a mildly irritated “enough, Yu.” Choso peers at the laptop screen quietly, watching as Sukuna opens his email chain with you. The last few emails between you both are almost the same as this one, typing out that the kids wanted to show you their lizards.

Your replies to his brothers’ antics have been more positive than your replies to him. He wonders if you knew they were constantly asking about your responses or if the rift between you was healing, but he assumes the former. You’re good with his brothers. They adore you, and you seem to feel the same towards them.

“Tell her my new favorite lizard is um-” Yuji pauses to think, pulling Sukuna back to the present. It seems he’s lost in thought a lot lately. “A frilled lizard!”

“Mm.” He glances at Choso, urging the young boy to choose one as well.

“I like… iguanas.”

Sukuna nods, typing out the boys’ message to you before hitting send. “There. Now go get ready for your sleepover.”

He lets out a sigh as his brothers restlessly go bursting out the door back to their rooms to pack a bag, ensuring they bring just about every unnecessary toy and game and no toothbrush or toothpaste to be found. Exhausted from his finals, he drags himself along after them, packing jackets, gloves, extra socks and toiletries in their stead with a lazy scolding to be more careful.

He’s beyond burnt out and while he usually resents the mother of Choso’s friend for her obviously pitious comments towards Sukuna’s situation, for once he’s glad for her sympathy. If it means he gets just one full night to himself where he can fuck off and forget about all his problems, then he’ll take it. He’ll run with it and he won’t look back.

Once he’s loaded their backpacks into the lady’s car and provided his neighbor’s number in case of emergencies, he finds himself slumping back in his bed in relief. Despite his solace, the silence carries with it an eerie sense of foreboding. He doesn’t think he’s been alone in the comfort of his own home in almost three years now, and it should be a freeing feeling, yet he’s filled with trepidation in place of relaxation.

“Fuck this,” he mutters, dragging his hands down his face. He’s never been early to a party before but fuck it, he needs to dull the sharp edges of worry and doubt with alcohol. Grabbing his keys, he opens his locked bedside table drawer, violently shoving aside ripped legal papers to grab a few blunts and a shooter of Jack Daniels. His hand hovers over a small bottle of Everclear, but he opts to keep it for a later date, certain he’ll need the hard liquor another time.

Shutting and locking the drawer, he languidly begins getting ready, moving at a sluggish pace as he runs gel through his hair in order to get it spiked just how he prefers. He grabs a Danzig shirt, the sleeves chopped at the sides with arm holes deep enough that anyone could get a peek at his abs and chest. Topping it off with a black denim long sleeve and a pair of gray joggers, he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and throws on some cologne.

He pauses before heading out the door, his laptop seeming to loom over him like a ghost, begging him to check his email.

[email protected] - Friday, 7:51 PM Yuji!! Choso!! Those both look amazing!! You’re both so creative, it looks like it runs in the family :) Iguanas and frilled lizards are great choices. Maybe if you can steal your big brother’s laptop for a bit, you can find a bead frog tutorial. My favorite is the desert rain frog! They kind of remind me of your brother. ;)

It reminds you of him? A frog?

A quick google search has him scowling at his screen, an equally grumpy looking frog staring back at him.

Stupid. It’s stupid. He shouldn’t have looked.

Shutting the search window, his eyes train once more on your message to his brothers. Despite the fact that he wrote the email, you still seem to be upset with him, choosing to answer as though his brothers wrote it. At least you still teased him about looking like a frog.

Even if it’s stupid. It’s a stupid frog.

Slamming his laptop shut, he tosses his coat on, pockets his broken lighter in the side that isn’t singed, and makes his way out the door towards campus and Gojo’s frat house.

The weather has warmed up significantly over the past week to the point where he can’t see his breath anymore, although the ground is still coated in a thick layer of snow. Pulling out a blunt from his pocket between two deft fingers, he sets it between his lips, lighting the end and inhaling deeply.

Among the many poor decisions Sukuna has made throughout his life, he didn’t mind adding tonight to his list if it meant drinking to forget and smoking to feel calm.

Although he’s earlier than most of the crowd, the music is already pumping loudly through speakers, bass booming through the ground beneath his feet as he makes his way up the porch stairs. He doesn’t recognize the frat boy letting people in, but one disinterested glare from Sukuna is all it takes for him to step aside. After all, who wouldn’t recognize Sukuna?

Swapping his lighter to his joggers’ pocket, he tosses his jacket over a coat rack and heads further into the house in search of something hard to get him buzzed as soon as possible. He blows smoke over the heads of most of the crowd, one of the perks of being nearly seven feet tall, as he heads towards the back of the house where he knows he’ll find the kitchen.

The further he moves from the makeshift dance floor in the front living area, the more reasonable the music volume becomes. College students chatter amongst each other, speaking loudly over the pumping bass, when a familiar voice grabs his attention.

“You made it!”

“Hey, buddy.”

“Well, well, look who decided to show his face.”

Sharp crimson irises flit between Uraume and Atsuya, who greet him casually, landing lastly on none other than Toji Zenin. Always at odds with Sukuna with a shit-eating grin as he pushes the pink-haired man’s buttons just a little bit too far.

“Uraume. Atsuya. Toji.”

It’s a miracle he still considers Toji a friend. Well, maybe an acquaintance. He certainly won’t bring Toji into the fray that is his life any time soon.

And Atsuya, well… The Kusakabe family is known for wealth, so Sukuna likes to keep him at arms’ length as well. Still, he enjoys his company. Uraume is easily his closest friend and he won’t deny that seeing them seems to ease his tension, even if only a little bit.

“So, finally decided we’re worth your time again? Or did you mess shit up with your girl?” Toji barks out a laugh, as though anything he’s saying is humorous.

“She ain’t my girl,” Sukuna growls, making a point of blowing smoke towards him.

“Dunno, you two seemed pretty close at lunch last week.” The scar on the corner of his lip stretches as he grins, taking a sip of whatever concoction is in his solo cup.

“Fuck off, Zenin,” Sukuna grumbles with a roll of his eyes. Toji should consider himself lucky he isn’t about to be at the center of Sukuna’s anger, saved only by the cannabis circling Sukuna’s system and dulling his thoughts, his anger, his mind. With a huff, Sukuna heads towards the kitchen to grab a drink.

“I see he still enjoys getting on your nerves,” Uraume observes, falling into step with him.

“Mm. Dunno how ya tolerate that asshole so much,” he comments, coming to a stop in the kitchen where he stubs out his blunt in an ashtray and opens the first bottle of rum he can find, pouring himself a rum and coke.

That is, if you can consider something that’s sixty percent rum a ‘rum and coke’.

“Me too, please,” Uraume requests. Sukuna hums, pouring a much more reasonable split of alcohol for them. “You can complain as much as you would like about Toji, but I know you two used to be close. Even if he can be a pain, I can tell you aren’t as bothered as you wish for him to believe.”

It’s true. Back in high school, the two were inseparable. Toji didn’t even mind when Sukuna’s father asked the two to take young Choso along to a basketball court or movie, so long as it was appropriate. Their issues came when Sukuna’s father passed away in their first year of college and he refused to speak with his best friend about it, choosing instead to take on mountains of stress on his own. As usual, Sukuna was the cause of his own problems.

Moving out of the dorms and finding a place for his two kid brothers to stay with him, that was a whole other challenge. Learning to change diapers, figuring out a schedule that worked both for the kids’ school and his education, that was what nearly dragged Sukuna to an early grave when he got horribly sick.

That’s where Uraume stepped in, helping to alleviate some of his classwork by taking on additional project work for him. They always expected something in return, but that’s just the way Sukuna preferred to make deals. They helped him get into the swing of taking care of two young kids.

Somewhere along that path, he came to the realization that they’d also had a big piece in both his and Choso’s recovery from grief. Sukuna had grown angry and Choso hardly spoke a word. Although still irritable, Sukuna is generally more reasonable nowadays and although still quiet, Choso is more talkative than he has been in a long time.

In particular with you. He knows Choso adores you, although he’s not as loud as Yuji is about it. Yuji may as well scream it from the tops of buildings.

Taking an unreasonably large sip of his drink, he wills away thoughts of you, replacing what he gulped down with more rum.

Uraume’s brow raises. “Difficult day?”

“Somethin’ like that,” he grumbles, alcohol and cannabis running through his veins and sending his mind into a haze so that he just might be able to handle Toji. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m relieved finals are over,” Uraume takes a sip of their drink with a small smile. “And it’s good to see you around again.”

“I saw you two days ago,” Sukuna points out, arching a brow.

They hum. “Yes, but Toji has a point. You’ve been spending more time with your project partner than us, which is unusual for you.”

He sighs. “Shit, guess I have.”

“Don’t misunderstand me, Sukuna. I know you’re busy, and I can see she means a lot to you, but-”

“She’s just a project partner.”

Uraume purses their lips as they side-eye him. “... Right. Remind me, when did your project end?”

Sukuna’s jaw clenches, shooting them a sharp look.

“As I was saying, I can see that she means a lot to you, so I don’t mind. I do wish you would get a new phone as I do miss texting, but our friendship won’t change.” They shoot him a reassuring smile, one that Sukuna lowers his defenses at the sight of.

“However Toji and Atsuya aren’t aware of your situation, which makes it appear as though you’re spending all of your time with her.” Uraume takes a sip of their drink, carding a hand through their snowy locks.

“Mm.” Sukuna runs his tongue over his lower lip as they approach the couch that Toji’s splayed himself over, manspreading with a bottle of beer held in one fist. He recognizes Toji’s cousin Naoya Zenin on the other end of the couch, surprised the two can even stand to be within five feet of one another. Toji may be an asshole, but somewhere buried beneath all that muscle is a fairly genuine person. Naoya, on the other hand, is the kind of person Sukuna wouldn’t mind socking in the face once or twice.

“So,” Toji starts, that infuriating grin returning. “Tell us ‘bout your girl.”

Sukuna chooses to stand between Atsuya and Uraume, his two friends who are decidedly less irritating. It’s a wonder him and Toji were ever close to begin with, though Sukuna supposes he was a lot different back when they hung out more.

The world had changed Sukuna, hardened him into a shell of what he once was.

“I told you, Zenin,” Sukuna hisses, “she’s not my girl.”

Toji scoffs, a wide grin across his face. “Yeah right. Ya got fuckin’ heart-eyes for her. Holdin’ her hand in the lunch hall n’ shit.”

Sukuna downs more of his rum, relishing in the burn as it slides down his throat. “We were studying, shithead. I owe her a favor, that’s all.”

“Yeah? You gonna bring her home n’ cuddle all cute-like?” The raven-headed man teases.

Atsuya sighs at Sukuna’s side, chewing idly on a toothpick. “Can you two shut up?” He grumbles, knuckles white as he grips his beer bottle tighter at the grating sound of their argument. “Giving me a damn headache.”

“C’mon Atsuya, I know ya saw it too,” Toji eggs both men on.

“Toji, enough,” Uraume scolds.

“Nah, I know Atsuya saw it.”

A muscle ticks in Sukuna’s jaw, his teeth grinding as he does what he can to push his frustrations aside. Turns out a full solo cup and blunt aren’t enough to dull Sukuna’s senses to the point where he can tolerate this conversation.

He’s supposed to be forgetting, yet here Toji is pushing the thought of you back in his face, infuriating him.

He downs the rest of his rum in two gulps, staring at the empty cup with a scowl, completely dazed as he tunes out the sound of his friends.

Heart-eyes. As-fucking-if. He scoffs to himself at the thought, staring back over the heads of the crowd towards the kitchen. He needs something harder after all. He should have brought the Everclear.

His relationship with you is similar to that of him and Uraume, he’s sure of it. It doesn’t go beyond that.

So why is he drinking to forget you?

Finally pulled from his thoughts, he turns on his heel to get something harder when he realizes where the conversation has turned in his absence.

Naoya questioningly tilts his head at Toji, a sleazy grin on his face as your name leaves his lips. Sukuna’s lip instinctively curls in disgust at the sound of your name leaving his lips. That’s not where it belongs, and Sukuna doesn’t dare imagine a world where this asshole so much as looks at you, because he thinks it just might give him an aneurysm.

Hell, he thinks an aneurysm would be kinder than the thought of Naoya Zenin ever looking your way.

“She’s fuckin’ hot, she’d look sexy as hell under-” Naoya’s gaze seems to search the crowd for you, a predatory gleam in his eyes. Toji interrupts with a distasteful snarl, but it’s Sukuna’s words that seem to cut the crowd, red hot rage boiling in his chest.

“Don’t you dare fucking finish that sentence,” Sukuna barks, his tone low as he takes a step towards the vile excuse for a human being.

Naoya hardly seems phased by Sukuna’s outburst, although the throng of the crowd has dimmed in the face of Sukuna’s fury. “Aw, is she claimed, Sukuna? Is she your little playth-”

Sukuna barrels forward, not offering Naoya the time of day to speak.

Naoya’s eyes widen as Sukuna’s fist raises, barely managing to cower out of the way in time as Sukuna’s knuckles narrowly miss the blonde’s face and collide with the back of the couch. His eyes swirl with a ferocity that his friends haven’t seen before as they all leap towards him. Atsuya and Toji grab either of his arms and with a harsh pull from Toji, Sukuna stumbles backwards. They’re lucky he’s tipsy and not as stable as usual.

“Woah buddy, I’m all for teaching him a lesson, but let’s not start shit right now.” Atsuya speaks from a place of reason, but Sukuna knows he simply doesn’t want their group to get thrown out by Gojo.

… Again.

At least last time, it was Toji who started shit with Naoya.

Sukuna’s teeth are gritted as his friends hold him back. Naoya’s face has twisted from barely disguised fear into a satisfied smirk. “Did I touch a nerve, big guy?”

Sukuna lunges forward, stumbling back into the wall behind him as Toji pulls him back harshly. He grunts as his back collides with the wall, venom dripping from each syllable as he speaks in a dangerous tone. “If I hear you talkin’ about anyone like that again, I won’t hesitate to throw you through the nearest fucking wall.” Sukuna stares down at his knuckles that collided with the wooden back of the couch. They’re not bleeding, but they’ll bruise.

Naoya opens his mouth to retort, but his words die in his throat when Sukuna pushes off the wall, standing at his full height. Naoya’s tall, but Sukuna makes everyone look short. His usual smug expression falls as he chooses the cowardly option and slips away with an irritated grumble. The crowd that had gathered to watch the spat slowly begins to return to their conversations again, not daring to shoot a glance at the monstrous man spitting threats at the back of the room.

Sukuna huffs, flexing his hand as he moves past his friends to head back towards the kitchen, shoving his way through the crowd. He’s tipsy, but fuck, it’s not enough.

His brothers, his friends, even Naoya, why does everything constantly lead back to you? It’s like you’re some sort of succubus with your claws buried deep within the recesses of his mind that he can’t escape. Yet even as he spins the cap off of a bottle of Jack, he realizes it's his resentment of the way you’re so deeply ingrained in his life that’s causing him to think such a thing.

You’re not a succubus, you’re more like a fairy. Soft, sweet, and kind.

Sukuna pauses his motions, staring down at the bottle. His fingers drum lightly on the stem of the glass as something akin to distress stirs deep within him. He grips the bottle with white knuckles, his throat tight. Before he has time to consider what it is that you mean to him, Toji comes jogging over.

“Hey, everythin’ alright, man?”

The look on his face reminds Sukuna of a time long past. Of late nights at barely-lit skateparks as Sukuna learned the ropes of graffiti. Of long afternoons chatting as they passed a basketball back and forth in the late afternoon sun. It wasn’t so long ago but it feels like a lifetime after the battering Sukuna’s last few years have caused him.

“Why the hell is he even invited?” The pink-haired brute gruffs rather than offering a reply to Toji.

No, he’s not okay.

“Everyone’s invited, Ryo.”

Sukuna shoots him a glare. Everyone’s gotta have a nickname for him, don’t they? He sighs heavily, letting out a long breath before downing several gulps of Jack straight from the bottle. Just once, he wishes he was a lightweight.

He just wants his mind to go blank. He wants the racing thoughts to stop.

“Woah, let’s pace ourselves, yeah?” Toji reaches out to grab the bottle with a grimace, eyeing his long-time friend as he sets the Jack down and pours them both much more reasonable looking ratios of rum to coke. “Alright, so I guess you’re not okay. That’s fine,” he mumbles as he passes Sukuna a cup. “Let’s jus’ go have some drinks, forget about my cousin, yeah?”

With a barely veiled huff, Sukuna pushes off the counter as he follows after Toji.

Sitting alongside Toji and Uraume, a haze begins to settle over his mind that finally leaves him more comfortable. His anger dissipates and he eases more casually into conversation with his friends, something he’s needed more than ever before.

Finally, even if only for a night, he can forget.

–

“Shoko, this goes so low,” you whisper as though saying it any louder might proclaim it to the entire world.

“Yeah, that’s the point,” she retorts, grinning at you in the mirror.

“But it’s winter,” you whine, staring in the mirror at the black dress that, admittedly, does hug your curves just right, but god you feel exposed. It’s also not your usual style, and you know exactly what Shoko’s doing and why.

Ever since you mentioned being sick, she’s been on your ass about what Sukuna did, regardless of how adamant you are that he did nothing.

It’s a lie and you haven’t fooled a soul.

Sukuna did hurt you.

Again.

This time, though, there’s a certain trepidation that sits alongside the pang of hurt. Like you’re not quite sure that you’re allowed to feel hurt, so you hide it behind a smile and a lie that Sukuna did nothing wrong.

No amount of stewing over what happened in Sukuna’s bedroom has given you any answers. You’re stuck somewhere in between feeling guilty for ever expecting anything romantic from him and feeling hurt that his best attempt to reach out was a sad ‘feel better’.

Hours of wondering if all you are to him is another warm body in his bed, even though the rational part of you knows it doesn’t make sense when no one knows his reality except you. Hours of wondering if he feels anything towards you at all or if he simply doesn’t care.

Yet your mind clung to one thing, one thin string that seemed to tie to an impossible ideal. Still, you couldn’t push the thought away.

If you really mean nothing to Sukuna, why is he acting weird? Why won’t he reach out properly, hiding behind his brothers? Why hasn’t he completely pushed you away?

If you were nothing more than a babysitter, he wouldn’t bother reaching out, right?

But if you were nothing more than a warm body to him, why hasn’t he pushed you away?

Shoko scoffs, the sound grounding you to the present. “Girl, you know Gojo will let us use his closet for our jackets. That’s your worst excuse yet.” She rolls her eyes, tossing your winter coat at you. “No more complaining, we’re going.”

You cast one more glance at the frilly black dress that barely reaches your knees and follow after Shoko.

The air is warmer than you expect, making your argument even less valid the moment you’re outside. You don’t bother to refute Shoko’s triumphant teasing, even as she mentions all the people you’ll surely attract in that dress.

Your stomach stirs uneasily at the thought.

As the staple at Gojo’s parties that you two are, the frat boy at the entrance shoots you both a kind grin as he lets you through. Why they bother with a bouncer at a party everyone on campus received an invite for is beyond you, but you return the smile regardless.

The thrum of music and thick scent of liquor, weed, and perspiration suffocates your senses as you enter the house. It’s familiar, and you know exactly where Gojo and Geto will be tucked away. Nanami and Haibara headed home practically the moment finals ended.

Making your way past the kitchen and grabbing a cooler, you slip past a game of beer pong and peer out the patio to the backyard. Sure enough, the snow’s been cleared and a massive fire pit is raging in the corner. Geto and Gojo are sitting around the fire alongside a few other frat members you recognize and some women very obviously vying for a place on one of their arms.

“My two favorite ladies!” Satoru calls out as you carefully make your way over the packed snow, trying desperately not to slip in your heels. You wrap your arms around yourself, thankful for the raging fire as you and Shoko take your seats between Satoru and Suguru.

“Why do you wanna sit outside?” You mumble, holding your hands out to the fire.

Suguru chuckles beside you. “I tried to convince him otherwise, but he wouldn’t have it.”

“It’s warm tonight!” The snowy-haired man insists with an overdramatic pout.

“Just because it’s not freezing doesn’t make it warm, dumbass,” Shoko rolls her eyes, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. She offers them to the group, though only Suguru takes one. She leans over you to light it for him, smoke billowing in the air around you.

With a drink in your hand and your friends at your side, conversation comes easily and you all keep close to the fire, stoking it often to keep a steady flame. Eventually, the mix of the flame and the alcohol warms you up and with toasty cheeks, you’re staring at the fire with a steady buzz.

“How do you think your finals went?” Suguru inquires, leaning back in his camping chair.

“Killed it,” you reply confidently, eyes glazed with the thrill of vodka. “I even think I nailed history,” you proudly tell him, straightening your posture with a gleam in your eyes.

“Mmm, would a particular history major have to do with that?” He asks, a teasing lilt to his smooth voice. Your proud stance falters, your cheeks heating up further as you can only offer him a shy smile, too inebriated to defend yourself as your stomach jumps at the mere thought of him. Suguru chuckles. “I see. I’m just teasing, I won’t push like Shoko does.”

“Hey! I’m a great friend,” she narrows her eyes in a playful scowl, though Suguru just grins.

After the busy last month of the semester, not to mention finals, you’re relieved to share warm moments like these with your friends, reveling in the jokes and laughter filling the air around you.

Being able to indulge in partying is a relief too. Although Satoru does it every second or third day, you can’t partake in the same luxuries and still expect to pass. Life isn’t quite as kind to you as it seems to be for the blue-eyed campus royalty. Between your studies and looking after Choso and Yuji, you’ve had your time well-occupied for the past month.

That’s not even beginning to mention the resumes you’ve been editing for some quick cash, on top of your own.

Not that it’ll be enough extra cash to get you home for Christmas. You know your parents tried, but they’re already doing their best to pay for your apartment and day-to-day expenses. At the end of the day, you can’t sacrifice any of your savings for a trip home, as much as you would like to.

You just have to hold onto the fact that you’ll see them once you start working. Most of your friends will go home for Christmas, but that’s okay. Nanami even offered to pay your way home and have you join him and Haibara, but that just didn’t seem fair, as much as you wanted to take him up on his offer.

You’ll enjoy your time video chatting and maybe take some time to visit Satoru and Suguru’s families, who’ve kindly invited you along.

“Deep in thought?”

“Hm?”

Suguru smiles, amused. “Distracted, are we?”

Your cheeks heat up, embarrassed. “Sorry. What were you saying?” You offer him a kind smile.

“I was offering another drink, would you like me to grab you something?” He taps your empty can.

“Oh! Actually, I’ll come with you I think.”

Suguru hums, leading the way back towards Satoru’s kitchen with a much wider gait than your own. “What are you having?”

“Just whatever cooler is fine,” you shrug as he leans down into the fridge. He pulls out a couple of coolers to give you options, returning to the fridge with the can you choose not to take.

Your eyes scan the crowd from the kitchen with a mirthful, albeit dazed expression that falters when you come face-to-face with the one person who’s been a constant in your thoughts for the past week.

He’s hard to miss, towering over the crowd with a head of pink hair and sharp tattoos decorating his features. Your heart pounds in your chest at the mere sight of him. Clearly a week away from him has done your heart no favors.

Sukuna looks good. You’re so accustomed to seeing him exhausted in deep blue coveralls or a big hoodie with wet, disheveled hair and a frown that seeing him with a relaxed smirk, his hair pushed back out of his face and a chain sat around his neck, he looks handsome.

You bite your lip, tearing your gaze away from him to turn back to Suguru. A knowing smirk has found its way onto Suguru’s face and he chuckles. “Go talk to him.”

Of course, he doesn’t know about the strange fissure sitting soundly between you and Sukuna, but you appreciate his encouragement nonetheless. Even if his tone is teasing, he does have a much more genuine way of handling things than Satoru would have.

For a moment, you do consider Suguru’s encouragement, turning back to Sukuna in the corner of the house, but your heart drops as the crowd shifts.

Standing in front of Sukuna is a tall woman with long, blonde hair. You recognize her from the Volleyball team, she’s gorgeous and Sukuna’s leaning down, his lips close to her ear as he blatantly flirts with her. His eyes are lidded and tinged in red, likely both drunk and high, and he chuckles along to something the blonde says.

Blinking a couple of times, you feel your heart sinking, green with envy. You appreciate Suguru’s encouragement, but maybe you should resign yourself to a world where your feelings remain unrequited and you’re just friends with Sukuna. That is, if he even still wants to be around you. He’s so difficult and hard to read and that’s not to mention the fact he hasn’t even attempted to talk about the heated kiss-

Sukuna’s eyes flicker upwards, meeting yours and stopping. His lidded expression falters, lips pursed. His brow furrows as the woman tugs on his shirt to get his attention and pull him closer, his gaze flickering between her and you.

You tear your gaze from him, turning back to Suguru. With a light touch to his bicep to get his attention as he pours himself something, you force a smile. “I think I’m gonna go find a quiet corner to get some air,” you tell him, slinking away before he can protest. With one final glance back at Sukuna, who’s returned his attention to the blonde, you slip into the crowd.

Pushing through sweaty bodies, the bass and crowd seems to box you in. Your heart is racing too fast, your mind too buzzed, your world too hazy to be trying to handle this many people.

Finding the stairs brings with it a sense of relief, no longer suffocated by the loud music and overwhelming smell of liquor. On the top floor, several of the rooms are shut, telltale signs of couples finding makeshift privacy and you don’t dare peek into any of them. You head straight for Satoru’s room, knowing well that it’ll be locked, and knowing equally well that you have the digital code to get in.

2-3-7-8.

B-E-S-T.

Cocky as ever.

Slipping inside, you shut the door behind you and take a breath as the ringing in your ears gradually begins to mute. Taking a seat on the edge of Gojo’s bed, you let out a long breath. You’ve spent hours on end in this exact spot, watching Satoru and Suguru compete in Super Smash Bros long after you and Shoko had been knocked out.

It doesn’t usually feel so lonely.

Pulling out your phone from within your bra, the only place you could store it, you find yourself doom-scrolling whatever social media has new content. It’s a poor effort to return to the happy state you’d found yourself in only a few minutes ago, and unsurprisingly it doesn’t return.

You’re not sure how long you sit in that spot, but with nothing left to scroll, you get to your feet and pad slowly towards the window, staring out towards the balcony that overlooks the backyard. Flipping the lock, you step out into the chill air, but it hardly seems to touch you, protected by the warmth of liquor in your veins.

You should probably get a coat given that the alcohol won’t really protect you and you’re not close enough to the fire to bask in its heat, but you don’t think you care enough. Not if it means seeing the one person whose presence suffocates you. The crowd is one thing, but Sukuna seems to outweigh every single one of them with just one glance. He crowds your world in a way a group of sweaty unknown college students can’t.

You wonder if maybe you had found him earlier in the night, if maybe you would have had the courage to ask about the kiss. Liquid courage maybe, but courage nonetheless.

You wonder if he would have told you it meant nothing and to move on from him. You wonder if he would have told you to fuck off. If you’re nothing to him.

Yet somehow those don’t seem to scratch the surface of the complicated canyon of emotions that holds you both at arms’ length. Each possibility is too simple.

With a sigh, you cross your arms over the balcony, letting the cold metal raise goosebumps along your skin as you rest your chin on them. Down below, your friends seem like they’re having a good time. Shoko’s attention is on another brunette you recognize from your history class while Satoru and Suguru joke alongside some other frat members.

You long to be a part of that, but you know you would be feigning a smile if you returned.

You shouldn’t be this drunk and this jealous when Sukuna isn’t yours and never has been. Hell, he hasn’t even spoken to you in-person since the kiss.

Maybe you’re this jealous because you’re this drunk.

“Need a jacket?”

You startle at the sound of Sukuna’s voice, a mix of dread, uncertainty, and jealousy raging in your system.

“You scared me,” you murmur, standing upright. Great, just who you want to see.

Sukuna hums. “My bad.” Shutting the balcony door behind him, he takes a couple of steps forward until he’s next to you, though he keeps an uneasy distance between you.

The drop-off between you is so evident it’s almost as though it’s real and physically repelling you from one another. Sukuna shuffles, the silence unbearable to his inebriated mind as he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“I didn’t fuck her.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes as the shed in the corner of the yard suddenly becomes of great interest. “Don’t say it like that…” you mumble, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“I didn’t have sex with ‘er.”

You sigh again. The phrasing wasn’t really the point behind your words, but he’s either too drunk, too high, or too focused on the way you took a step away from him to notice. “It’s none of my business, Sukuna.”

He doesn’t know what to say to fix this. You’re talking to him, and that’s a start, but he’s way too far gone to soundly come up with an apology that makes sense, so his mouth just starts running.

“My apartment’s overrun with lizards.”

Even upset, you crack a smile. It’s hard not to at the thought of his little brothers absolutely littering his place in little bead lizards, all because you showed them the trick to the feet.

“The lil’ brat lectured me on the difference between lizards n’ geckos,” he pauses, a noticeable slur to his drunken speech. “Still think they’re pretty much th’same.”

“They’re a species and a subspecies,” you reply monotonously.

Sukuna doesn’t like your tone, devoid of any emotion. He shuffles slightly towards you. You look hot, but Sukuna knows better now than to blindly follow his desires, even in his completely intoxicated state. “Jus’ because you added ‘sub’ t’the word doesn’ make ‘em different.”

You let out a long sigh. “Are we not gonna talk about it, Sukuna?” You wrap your arms tighter around yourself as you turn to face him.

He straightens, pinned in place by your conflicted scowl. Your eyes are glazed, you’re drunk too, and you seem more upset than your emails lead him to believe. Maybe it’s just the alcohol clouding his ability to grasp your expressions.

“‘M sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” You echo his apology, a brow quirked.

“Yeah. It was a mistake.”

That hits you like a slap in the face and you purse your lips, staring at the ground as you take one, two steps back from him, with the intention of heading back inside. No, with the intention of going home.

“Fuck, no, no. Wait.” Sukuna’s jaw hangs ajar as he follows your stride, walking two steps towards you. His tongue runs across his lower lip as he hesitates, brushing a hand through his hair. “That’s not what I meant.”

Your throat is tight as you fight back tears. You can’t help but wish you weren’t drunk while having this conversation, then maybe the tears wouldn’t be so quick.

“I-” Sukuna fights with himself, “- I was thinkin’ with the wrong head.”

Right. So he’s doubling down on it being a mistake. You nod slowly, turning away with a sharp intake of breath.

“Wait, shit. Wait. ‘M sorry, I’m way too fuckin’ drunk n’ high n’ shit to be doin’ this right now,” he scrambles with his words, taking another step after you. You stop again, giving him another chance to explain himself. You’ve always been too kind and patient with him.

Grappling with the thoughts running through his mind, he shuts his eyes for a moment with a deeply furrowed brow, red eyes dilating as the light of Gojo’s bedroom behind you illuminates your silhouette. Your dress suits you and frames your curves so well that it’s driving him insane, jumbling his thoughts even further. These thoughts are what got him into this situation to begin with.

“There was so much shit goin’ on n’ I wasn’t thinkin’ straight,” he slurs, red eyes flickering between yours. He can see the hurt in your eyes and he’s far too inebriated to even begin thinking about why it is that you’re so hurt he would refer to the kiss as a mistake. That’s a can of worms he can’t possibly begin to wrap his brain around in this state. “I was jus’... I dunno. I was chasin’ somethin’ I shoudn-” he pauses as his words slur, “- I shouldn’t have.”

You let out a scoff of disbelief. It doesn’t matter how many different ways he words it, at the end of the day it’s clear as mud. It was a mistake. His excuse, though? That’s just pitiful and insulting.

“Do you think I don’t have a lot going on? Do you think that somehow my problems aren’t worth as much just because I don’t have two jobs and kids?” Your words are sharp, and they take a moment to sink in.

“No. Fuck. I jus-” He pauses again, knuckles white as he balls his hands into fists at his sides, his jaw clenching in frustration. He could use a dictionary right about now. Maybe just a whole damn linguist. Hell, he needs someone to read his mind because everything is coming out jumbled and it’s pissing him the fuck off, when all he really wants to say is, “Fuck, I jus’… don’t wan’ the kids to lose ya.” He swallows hard. “I don’t wanna lose ya.”

Your shoulders fall, your defenses crumbling. What? “What?”

Now that he has your attention again, he turns back to the balcony, hunching over it. The cool metal railing lulls his heated skin. Soothes the burning anger with his own inability to process a single thought. Maybe drinking to forget wasn’t his brightest idea.

He says your name quietly. It sounds foreign, vulnerable, when it falls from his lips that way. “I’m losin’ the kids.”

You take a step towards him, tilting your head to get a better view of his face. His expression is solemn, but you’re not sure you understand where he’s going with this. They seemed pretty fond of him when you saw them last week. Choso surely wouldn’t be expressing his worries to you if he didn’t love Sukuna.

“What do you mean?”

“Their fuckin’ mother slapped me with court orders. She’s takin’ ‘em.”

Your blood runs cold, eyes widening. The legal documents. You’d always assumed it was some foolish run-in Sukuna must have had with someone with a bit too much power or money, but never once had you stopped to consider that it could be something like this.

“No, what? You’re gonna fight for them, aren’t you?” You ask, voice strained.

“The hell ‘m I supposed to do?” He barks, turning to face you with a snarl. The look on his face isn’t one of anger, however. It’s distress. “Pull money outta my ass to pay f’r a lawyer?”

You frown. “Maybe you can find a pro-bono attorney?”

Sukuna’s too drunk for this. “Free? That’s free, right?”

You nod.

“The fuck’s a shitty free attorney gonna do? Convince the court that the older brother with two jobs, school, n’ tattoos c’n take better care of two brats than the person who birthed ‘em?”

“Sukuna, come on-”

He doesn’t stop there. “No court’s stupid enough to say no when she pushed ‘em out-”

“Eugh, don’t say that.”

“- that’s not even mentionin’ the fact that she practically shits cash with how much she’s got-”

“Sukuna! Okay, I get it.” You set a hand on his bicep, grounding him as he stares at it. Your touch is searing. He’s not sure if it’s because of the cold, his anger, or something else entirely. He’s not in the state of mind to think about it. His chest heaves as your steady voice speaks so softly to him that it does manage to calm him, even if only a bit. “How much water have you had tonight?”

He huffs. “None.”

“That… makes sense,” you chuckle lightly, shooting him a tired smile. “Why don’t we start there?”

Had one of his friends asked a half hour ago, he would have rolled his eyes and downed the Jack Daniels in his pocket. After his beyond frustrating last few minutes where he couldn’t seem to get a single word out, it doesn’t sound nearly as bad.

“Fine,” he agrees, following after you as you turn to lead the way back to Gojo’s room, only to pause at the door.

“You didn’t lock the door behind you, did you?”

“What? No.” He peers over you, wrinkling his nose at the sight of a couple tangled in one another on Gojo’s bed.

You can only pray he didn’t notice you and Sukuna up on the balcony at all, he’d kill you if he knew what was going on.

“How convenient,” Sukuna deadpans, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he shields you from the couple with his body, ducking through the room as quickly as possible and shutting the door behind him. His grip on your shoulder doesn’t relent as he keeps you close to his body while heading down the stairs, through the crowd and towards the kitchen, shielding you from the sweaty dance floor.

You scramble to keep up with him, needing to move at almost double your walking pace just to keep up with him as he drags you along. Your cheeks are burning and whether that’s from the alcohol or his touch, you’re not sure.

Once you’re in the kitchen, he loosens his grip on your shoulder and watches silently as you move around the cabinets and fridges, filling a glass of water for him.

He hums in acknowledgement, leaning back against the counter. You hop up on the marble beside him, watching as he slowly sips on the water, staring down at the liquid that vibrates with the thump of the bass.

“So,” you begin, pulling his attention back to you. “You don’t wanna lose me, huh?”

Sukuna’s sharp eyes narrow into a glare, but it dissipates as he realizes you aren’t teasing. You’re lucky he’s drunk, because there’s no other circumstance where you would get such a direct answer from him. “No.”

“Is that why you didn’t reach out to talk about it?”

He returns his gaze to the water in his hand, rippling in the glass. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what t’ say. I overstepped boundaries.”

You sigh, glad he’s found a more eloquent way of putting how he really feels rather than just labelling the whole thing as ‘a mistake’. You wish he started with that, but obviously drunk, high, and in a panic to keep you from walking away, his words failed him. You can accept that he doesn’t see you romantically but values your friendship.

“It’s okay, Sukuna. We… both… overstepped boundaries,” you offer with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. It’s clear that what Sukuna needs right now is a friend, someone to support him and look out for him when he needs it most. You’ll be that for him, even if it means leaving your feelings for him at the door.

His eyes narrow again as he looks at you, irises flickering between your pupils as though he’s trying to make sense of something, but he lets it go to down some water, turning to the sink to refill his glass.

You don’t bring up the kids with people flooding the kitchen around you, keeping the conversation casual. Sukuna points out his friends in the corner at one point, telling you he’ll introduce you when Toji’s not drunk because apparently ‘he’s a prick’. You recognize Uraume’s name from a while ago when they had watched the kids so that Sukuna could be there to get your grade for your project. Sukuna tells you that he thinks you’ll get along well.

It’s gradual, but his speech eventually stops slurring and he joins you on the counter, though his head and shoulder hit the cabinet behind him and he hardly fits.

“Wait- that was today?”

“Mhm. I probably woulda been kicked out if Toji and Atsuya didn’t hold me back.” He flashes you his knuckles that are, as he expected, beginning to bruise.

“Something tells me you say that from experience,” you giggle.

“Somethin’ like that. Last time, it was Toji’s fault, though,” he shrugs, downing more water. You’re both now just comfortably buzzed and Sukuna doesn’t seem nearly as tense as when you were up on the balcony.

“Sounds like I should be glad I’ve never met this Naoya guy.”

“Tch. If you even see that slimebag look at you, head the other way. Guy’s a walking red flag.”

“Noted.” You kick your feet, staring down at your black heels dangling from them. “Oh, by the way, have you ever tried that diner near your place?”

“What diner?” He’s staring down at your feet as well, watching the movement as they gently sway.

“The one like a block over from your apartment, with the blue and pink logo?”

Sukuna stifles a laugh, but it still bubbles up in his chest and he snorts. “That’s a fuckin’ strip club, princess.”

“No it isn’t!” You insist with certainty.

“It’s literally called Strip Joint.” He points out with a smug grin.

“Kuna. They make chicken strips. It’s a joke, they’re a chicken strip joint.”

His lips part in disbelief as he tilts his head to look at you. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m dead serious,” you giggle. “How did you not know?”

“What do you mean ‘how did I not know’? How did you know?” He waves his hand out in the air like it isn’t quite as obvious as it seems. He’s got a point, it absolutely looks the part of a strip club with a dark outside and bright neon sign, but that only makes you laugh harder.

“You know what, now that I think about it, I actually think I know that because Satoru took us there for his birthday and thought it was a strip club,” you ponder the time you first visited, but can’t place if that was your first visit for sure.

“See!” He’s grinning, his cheeks dusted in a shade of red that suits him, just as well as his smirk does. Another one of those rare moments where you think you’re seeing the real Sukuna, even in the midst of everything bogging him down. It’s a good look on him, one that sends your heart soaring. “I’m sure the frat boy loved that.”

“You know, he wasn’t as upset as you would think he’d be,” you giggle, shaking your head.

Sukuna hums, glancing around momentarily. “Can’t believe I live right next to a chicken finger place and the boys don’t know. They’d love that shit.”

Your heart falls, but you do what you can to mask it at the mention of his little brothers. “Let’s check it out.”

“We can do that sometime,” he agrees, yawning.

“No, I mean why don’t we go now?”

Sukuna’s brow arches. “You wanna take my drunk and high ass to a chicken finger shop?”

“I think that makes it funnier, honestly,” you grin, hopping down off the counter. Sukuna contemplates your request for a moment, before dropping down to his feet with a thump.

“Fine,” he huffs, shoving his hands into his jogger pockets as he follows after you. You both pull your jackets from the front coat rack and closet and step back out into the cold. Considerably less drunk than last time you were outside, it’s markedly colder.

Thank god Sukuna’s apartment isn’t too far from campus, unlike yours. You’d had every intention of crashing at Shoko’s overnight, so you’d likely just head back to her place when the night ends if you can get a hold of her.

Heels probably weren’t your greatest call with all the snow, but you manage to keep yourself from slipping by walking slower. It’s a snail’s pace for Sukuna, but as much as he grumbles and gripes about it, he’ll be more than okay.

Jogging up to the door, you pull it open with a shiver and thank every god you can think of that it’s open at one in the morning.

Just as you had said, it’s a diner that specialises in chicken strips, classically decorated in reds to go with the otherwise grayscale diner colors. Off to one side lies a row of red leather booths, while there’s a faded red counter with patches of bare oak where forearms and plates have worn the color from the wood. The lights are dim, with one at the back of the diner flickering softly.

The restaurant is empty aside from one employee and an older man drinking coffee at the counter before her.

“Have a seat wherever, dears.” The kind old employee smiles softly at you, gesturing to the booths. You return her smile, leading Sukuna to a booth in the center of the diner, a couple away from the flickering light.

Sukuna shuffles into the booth, shrugging off his coat and leaning against his bent elbow. He yawns, grunting in thanks when the employee leaves menus before you. He doesn’t look as disinterested as usual, but tired hardly cuts the dark circles lining his eyes.

You peruse the menu for a moment, glancing up at Sukuna. His eyes are skimming the menu, his fingers drumming lightly on the white table lined in metallic silver.

“What do you think you’re gonna get?”

Sukuna’s brow arches. “Chicken.”

“Alright, smartass,” you giggle. “I’m thinking of having ice cream.”

Sukuna’s gaze narrows. “You complained about it being cold the whole way here.”

“Yeah, but doesn’t that sound good?”

“Chicken sounds good,” he mumbles.

“You’re just high.”

“You’re just drunk,” he counters, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. He shuts the menu after a moment, setting it at the side of the table to get the waitress’ attention. The kind woman rounds the bar and pulls out a small notepad and pen.

“What can I get you?”

“I’ll have the six piece meal,” Sukuna starts, holding his hand out for you to go next.

“I’ll have the chocolate ice cream.”

“You were serious?” Disbelief drips from Sukuna’s tone as he shoots you a look like you’ve gone mad before the waitress can even confirm your orders. You kick his shin lightly under the table and he shuts his mouth with a grimace, muttering a ‘thanks’ when the waitress confirms your orders and heads back to the bar. “You were serious?” He repeats once she’s gone.

“Of course! Doesn’t that sound good?”

“Not really,” he chuckles, still leaning against his palm.

“Well, I think it sounds great.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever the princess wants, she gets.”

You grin at him as your stomach flutters at the nickname, following his gaze outside. The street lamps cast an eerie yellow light over the otherwise still roads, your fresh footprints the only sign of life out there. No cars pass by the side road at such early hours of the morning, the hustle and bustle of city life momentarily paused as most people settle in the warmth of their homes for rest.

“What are you gonna do, Sukuna?”

He yawns, wiping tears from his eyes. “‘Bout what?”

“The kids.”

“Mm.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. It’s a bit short for him and he has to slump down for any amount of back support. “Dunno. Not sure I can do much.”

“What about the pro-bono idea?”

“Maybe,” he hums, a little more level-headed as you inquire this time around. “I don’t think some free attorney off the streets is gonna do many favors against whatever expensive asshole their mom’s payin’ for, though.”

“Maybe, but you never know. It’s better than self-defense,” you shrug.

“Unless I find Daredevil on the streets, I get the feelin’ it won’t really matter.” The defeat hanging around him like a spectre seems to weigh heavily on him as he stares out the window.

“You can’t just give up.”

He throws his hands up in frustration, though he’s too tired to back it up with words. He supposes you can take that however you’d like, he’s not about to fight with you about this, not when this lawsuit almost cost your friendship all because his dumbass step-mother chose to deliver the legal papers at the most inconvenient time.

“They need you, Kuna. Where’s their mom been all this time, anyway?” Your brow furrows at the thought. Why does Sukuna have his brothers if their mom’s still around?

“Dunno. Overseas or some shit. She took a high-paying position and our dad refused to move us with her. When he passed, I tried to get a hold of anyone on her side of the family. Not a single word. Even the lawyers couldn’t reach any of ‘em.” He shrugs, reaching up to scratch his jaw as his gaze remains fixed out the window.

“Huh. What about your mom?”

Either Sukuna’s feeling kind today, or he’s too tired to fight your nosiness. Whatever it is, he shrugs again in reply. “Dunno about her either. I was an accident. My dad was nineteen when they had me, she signed me away the moment I was born.”

You suppose his statement from the other night about his father ‘knowing how to pick them’ makes more sense with this context. It seemed neither woman had done any of his sons any favors.

“I’m sorry, Sukuna.” “It’s whatever,” he mutters through a yawn.

“Hey, what about the law students or professors?”

He tilts his head, leaning over the table on both of his forearms. “What about them?”

“Have you spoken to them?”

“No. I dunno any of ‘em and I’m not about to get anyone involved.”

“Don’t you think it’s worth it? For Yuji and Choso?”

Sukuna parts his lips to reply, pausing momentarily when your ice cream and his chicken arrive. You both quietly thank the waitress before he continues. “‘Course, but I’m not gettin’ my hopes up.”

You frown, spooning some ice cream into your mouth. After your first bite, you chew on your lip in thought. “Would you consider talking to a law student? I know you would need to tell them what’s going on and that isn’t what you want, but…” You trail off, not really sure there’s a sound ‘but’ behind your insistence on helping him.

He sighs, finishing a chicken strip in only a couple of bites. “You think it’s worth it?”

You nod, swallowing another bite of ice cream. “I just know if I were in your position, I would be trying everything. I couldn’t possibly let go of them.”

Sukuna’s heart twists and he runs a hand through his hair. There it is again, that uncomfortable sensation of being outside of his own body as panic grips him. It’s the same feeling from when you mentioned him being their hero. It’s like you’ve dropped something on him that he doesn’t quite know how to handle.

He stares down at his plates, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

“Sukuna?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles, strained. He subconsciously slides his foot out until he finds yours, as though he’s seeking your presence for comfort again like the night spent in his room. You set your spoon down, watching as he shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath.

You open your mouth to voice your concern, but he interrupts before you can.

“You know one? A law student?”

You chew on your lip briefly, taking in his distant expression. As though being high, buzzed on alcohol, tired, and mildly hungover isn’t all enough for one person, now he also hardly seems present.

“I don’t, but one of Kento’s friends is in the program.”

“Great,” Sukuna mutters, rolling his eyes as he jabs his chicken a little bit too harshly in plum sauce. “My biggest fan.” You knock his foot beside you, which seems to bring him back to the present somewhat.

“You know, I think if you explain to him what’s going on, he might not be so cold to you.”

The pink-haired man makes a show out of his disdain for including Kento with a dramatic groan. “If it makes it easier with the law student, then sure, but,” he pauses, shooting you a glance, “I choose what I share.”

You pick up your spoon again, shoveling more ice cream into your mouth. “I wouldn’t share any of your secrets. Kento doesn’t know about your brothers.”

He doesn’t doubt that’s true, otherwise he thinks he may have garnered just a little bit more sympathy from the blonde. He’s fairly sure the only reason he’s still just barely on Shoko’s good side is the fact that she knows he’s taking care of two snot-nosed brats.

He mutters out a barely audible thanks before focusing on his food. Even as he eats, he’s running out of steam, just barely managing to stay awake as comfortable silence hangs between you. It’s a stark contrast from a few hours ago, the rift patched and stitched with a nice little bow to top it all off and for that he’s beyond grateful.

“Do you wanna try some?” You hold out your spoon as he sets his plate aside, wiped clean.

He reaches out, taking the spoon and popping it in his mouth. “That’s pretty good. I thought it was just Breyers or some shit.”

You shake your head, staring down at the couple of remaining scoops. “I think it’s made in-house.”

He hums in agreement, leaning over the table with a yawn and you get the feeling it’s time to go home. Waving the waitress over, you request the bills with a polite smile.

“Together or separate?” She inquires with a kind smile in return.

“Together.”

“Separate.”

“Together,” Sukuna doubles down, pulling out his wallet.

“Are you sure?”

He scoffs at the question. “You got one ice cream, I think I’ll manage.”

Giving in, you nod at the waitress.

“Thank you, Kuna.”

“Mm,” he hums as he pulls out his credit card, paying quickly before sliding out of the booth and throwing his coat on. You follow suit, thanking the waitress and heading back out into the cold.

“You promise you’re okay with me reaching out to Kento about this? It probably won’t be until after Christmas, he’s back in our hometown with family,” you explain.

“It’s fine. Worth a shot, right?”

You smile at his willingness to work with you. He’s shown you an awful lot of vulnerability all night, and you appreciate his honesty, even if there’s still a pang of disappointment that your feelings for him aren’t mutual.

“You need me to walk you back to the frat house?”

Your nose wrinkles at the thought. You really don’t want to stay there if you don’t have to, and your buzz has completely faded. You have no desire to return to the party, which you would need to do if you wanted to crash with Shoko. “That’s alright, I think I’ll head home.”

Sukuna rolls his shoulders backwards, fighting a yawn. “Uber? Busses aren’t running this late.”

“Yeah, I’ll get one now.”

“I’m comin’ with you.”

“Sukuna, you’ve been yawning for the better part of the last two hours. You look like you’re ready to pass out,” you point out, reaching forward to poke him in a similar fashion to back when you first met his brothers and teasingly shoved him to prove a point.

Marginally more awake than your first encounter with his brothers, Sukuna grabs your wrist before you can poke him. “Nice try, princess. It’s two in the morning, I just wanna make sure you make it home. I’ll walk back after.”

Your heart should not be soaring like it is right now given the fact that he openly admitted to you that he overstepped boundaries, but you can’t help the way it races. “Okay,” you smile meekly, waiting alongside him for the car you hailed to pull up.

The ride is an odd one as Sukuna struggles to stay awake while the driver recounts his night, but his presence is comforting in what would otherwise be an awkward ride.

Arriving back at your apartment, you open the app and add a secondary destination, keying in Sukuna’s apartment. He sluggishly goes to get out but you dash around the car as best as you can in your heels to block him.

“Thanks for getting me home, now I’m getting you home.”

He’s too drained to start something with you for being too kind when he could just walk home, returning to his seat with resignation and a mildly contemptful expression.

“Thanks,” he grumbles, though he’s internally much more grateful than he’d have you believe.

“Text- uh- email me when you get home.”

He blows air from his nose, amused. “Yeah. Night, princess.”

“Goodnight, Kuna.”

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❦ a/n ; i hope you guys enjoyed the chicken strip conversation as much as i did, maybe i'm just tired but i though it was toooo cute something about writing sukuna fumbling through his day-to-day life is so enjoyable, this poor poor man. i love him sm 😭 as always, thank you for reading and a huge shoutout to each and every one of you who's interacted with my posts, you guys seriously make my day and are a big part of the reason i'm having so much fun sharing this story with you all. thank you all <33

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pretentious-blonde · 25 days ago

Text

discovery

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: both you and steve discover some information that really should have remained buried

warnings: therapy, canon stranger things lore, so violence and death, lowkey blackmail???

a/n: i got a distinction on my essay so gets go!! here we are into the story's real drama, where i wanted this to go from the start so sorry if it's a little shorter, but it's only the beginning.

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Steve quickly slammed his car door behind him, his nikes hitting the tarmac floor. He was five minutes late and knew his therapist wouldn’t really chastise him—still, the knot in his stomach refused to unravel as he rushed toward the entrance.

He blamed you, in the best possible way, for those extra minutes he’d spent tangled in bed. Your pout had always been impossible to resist.

He’d claimed that he had to see Robin for breakfast the following morning, and he was grateful you never questioned the odd shiftiness in his tone. You had to work the next day, making it the perfect excuse. But the second you looked so disappointed that you couldn’t come along, wanting to pick up the conversations from the other night at the bar, he caved and stayed the night.

Those big, pleading eyes of yours were gonna be the death of him.

That turned into sharing coffee over the covers, lingering kisses that inched from sweet to teasing, and hush-hush morning bliss under rumpled sheets. Next thing he knew, he was barreling across the car park, hair still mussed from where your fingers had combed through it not even an hour prior.

And now here he was—running past the receptionist without so much as a nod, abandoning their usual routine of morning pleasantries.

He pushed open the familiar door with more force than intended, breath hitching from the sudden stop. Dr Avery was already on his feet, adjusting the sleeves of that soft wool cardigan, the kind that looked completely at odds with the decor. Beneath the bright overhead lighting, the doctor’s polite smile glowed.

“Steve,” he greeted, pleasantly unruffled. “Good to see you.”

He bent forward, hands on his knees like he’d just run a sprint.

“Hey—Hi. Sorry I’m—uh—late. I got… tied up.”

He cringed internally the moment he said it, cheeks colouring at the memory of exactly how he’d been tied up—not literally, but definitely preoccupied. He cleared his throat, straightening up in a way that hopefully didn’t look too sheepish.

“No worries,” the doctor assured him, ushering him inside. “Come on in.”

The door clicked shut behind them, the sound sounding in the empty hallway. The room itself was the same as always: soft yellow lamp in the corner, plush chair facing Dr Avery’s own seat. A bookshelf lined one wall, books stacked neatly with spines that looked barely touched, and not a single family photo anywhere.

He always found that strange—like it was a stage set rather than a personal space.

He collapsed into the chair, sinking deeper than expected, exhaling a bit too loudly. In the reprieve, he could hear the dull hum of the building’s ventilation.

“Feels like it’s been longer than a month,” he remarked to break the silence, raking a hand through his messy hair. He had made a mental note to smooth it down in the car ride over—though it was probably too late for that.

“That tends to happen when things are changing,” Dr Avery responded smoothly.

They both knew the significance of the last few sessions. Steve had been talking about you—gushing, would be the more accurate term—and the doctor seemed more than happy to help him navigate this new chapter.

“Yeah, they are—changing, I mean,” his voice trailed off. He felt a small smile growing on his face at the idea of talking about you—like he hasn't done enough of that already.

“Tell me,” the psychiatrist pressed gently.

He let out a short laugh, rubbing his palms on his thighs. He felt fidgety, like a teenager about to confess a crush. Maybe because that’s exactly what this was—he was still completely infatuated with you. The emotions he felt at the start were almost identical.

In fact, he would bet now they were even stronger.

“It’s official now,” he started. “Like, we’re together. We had that talk.”

He tried not to let his mind stray to how that conversation had truly started—hot breath on his neck, you on your knees, the laugh you’d made when he blushed deeper than you’d ever seen. Absolutely not something he needed to share right now.

Some details were private, no matter how relevant the story may be.

“That’s great to hear.” Dr Avery’s eyebrows rose fractionally, a small, pleased smile touching his face. “You’ve been hoping for that, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” Steve admitted, his grin turning almost bashful. “I mean—I didn’t expect it to actually work out, but… here we are.”

Here he was.

His heart thumped harder, excitement and nerves all tangled into one bigger emotion. He laughed awkwardly, brushing at his hair again—a gesture Dr Avery probably recognised as his default anxious habit.

“She’s just… she’s so good,” he went on, losing himself in the new memories. “Like—I just like being around her, which is what it’s supposed to be, right? I dunno. Probably start making her sick of me soon.”

He was practically glued to your hip these days.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Dr Avery said, always encouraging.

“Yeah.” He ducked his head, trying and failing to hide the ghost of a smile. “Hope you’re right on that one.”

The two men paused, letting that optimism breathe. Then Dr Avery clicked his pen, the soft snick loud in the stillness.

“So… how’s the actual relationship going so far?”

Steve felt his chest tighten as he recalled your shop—cinnamon and old books—and the sparks that flew every time you looked at him. How you still were looking at him.

“Also good,” he said, automatically grinning. “It’s still early days, but… I introduced her to Rob, which was kind of a big deal.”

He also decided to leave out the rest of the details from that night—once again, that part was just for him. Besides, he didn’t even want to imagine the doctor’s reaction to the way he’d acted. Probably would’ve been thrilled.

That was some real fucking progress.

“I’m also trying to get better at—y’know—explaining how I’m feeling. I still suck at that sometimes.”

“What makes you say that?” Dr Avery tilted his head, pen hovering over the notebook but not yet touching paper.

“I mean—it’s not like I’m not trying, which I think she gets.” He takes a moment to figure out the correct way to phrase it. “She’s been really… patient. Wants me to open up more—and, like—I’m getting there? Well, at least I think I’m getting there.”

He felt a flicker of pride in himself. He really was making progress—less flighty, more honest about his struggles, more willing to trust someone with the darker parts. Hell, he was actually sleeping through the night now.

Still had nightmares—sure—but he hadn't felt one coming on in a while. Not one that had him half-cognisant, clutching at whatever was closest to him, not one that made him terrified to open his eyes.

That was when the pen finally met paper. The faint scratch of it felt louder than it should.

“That’s promising, Steve. Really promising.” The elderly man nodded, not looking up from his notes. “So tell me, what else have you two talked about?”

Steve blinked, rummaging mentally through the many conversations you’d shared—movie nights, your favorite authors, those silly debates over what to have for dinner.

“Uh… just stuff. Life stuff. Movies. Books—obviously. I try to keep up, but she’s pretty damn smart—feels like I learn something new every time she opens her mouth.”

The positives of dating a bookworm.

“Anything deeper?” Dr Avery pressed, that same mild tone in place.

Steve felt a sudden unease at the question.

“I mean—not really.” Self-consciousness twisted in his stomach. “Not like… real real talk. She knows I don’t like to get into it. She’s cool about that.”

For the most part.

He could practically see Dr Avery’s ears perk. The man never pounced, he just… waited. The pen still hovered. The blank page, waiting to be filled. His throat felt dry.

“Uh…” he continued, shifting in his seat, the silence drawing the words out of him. “I told her a little bit. About my old job, at the mall…”

“Starcourt,” the man clarified, writing something down.

“Yeah. Just that it, you know… burned down.”

“And what else did you share?”

A prickle of defensiveness rose along his spine. The memory of it all—Starcourt, Russians, the Mind Flayer—flashed through his head, but of course he’d never told you the real story.

“That’s it,” he said firmly, crossing his arms slowly. “Just that it happened. She doesn’t know the weird parts.”

He also neglected to mention you’d teased him about the sailor uniform he used to wear, but that was hardly the point. He definitely hadn’t told you about vent-crawling with Dustin and Erica, about the secret lab beneath the food court.

Those secrets he’d rather bury if he had to.

“Alright.” The pen kept scratching.

His gaze lingered on the ballpoint gliding across the paper. He felt a creep of discomfort—the same sensation as finding out you were being watched through a camera lens.

“What are you writing?” he asked, voice tighter than he’d intended.

“Just keeping track of progress,” Dr Avery answered lightly, not looking up. “It’s a good sign that you’re opening up.”

“…Yeah, but it feels like I’m being graded or something.”

The man paused, lifted his eyes. He kept that soft, almost paternal smile.

“I assure you, Steve, there’s no grade. Just documentation.”

Documentation.

The air felt heavier at the word, a thump of anxiety in Steve’s stomach. He shifted again, foot tapping on the waxy floor.

“You don’t usually write stuff down,” he insisted, voice nearly catching.

Not like this.

“This is a new development,” he explained, placid calm in every syllable. “A relationship is a significant emotional step.”

There was no warmth in his voice, no congratulatory tone—just an observation that felt clinical. His palms started to sweat and he curled his hands into fists, pressing them into his knees.

This was strange.

“She doesn’t know anything,” he said, jaw clenching. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t put her in danger.”

Dr Avery blinked, pen tapping quietly against the pad.

“Danger?” He repeated, mild as a summer breeze. “Who said anything about danger?”

Steve’s mouth went dry.

“You’re right, of course,” Dr Avery continued, setting the pad aside. “But you see why it’s something we have to monitor. These things, they could have consequences.”

“What do you mean?” he managed, voice rasping.

Dr Avery finally met his eyes, no trace of the earlier, kinder smile.

“Relationships end. Sometimes amicably. Sometimes not.”

A sharp sensation punched through Steve’s chest. He thought of you, how you were the last person on earth to betray him. His therapist wasn’t entirely wrong about people—he had lost friends and lovers in messy, painful ways before. Though that was years ago, and surely something this big wouldn’t be twisted into a form of vengeance.

That would be downright cruel.

“You think she’d talk?” he asked, though he already knew the answer in his heart.

You wouldn’t. You weren’t like that.

But fear is a nasty thing, and it bloomed in him anyway.

“I think people say things they don’t mean when they’re hurt,” Dr Avery said, leaning back. “And if someone were to repeat details about certain… incidents, we’d have to intervene.”

That word—intervene—landed in his chest like a weight. Vague, but heavy as lead. He clenched his hands tighter, nails biting into his palms.

“I didn’t tell her anything,” he repeated, half to reassure himself. “Not really. Just that there was a fire.”

“Good,” Dr Avery replied calmly. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Silence stretched, thick and charged. Steve could feel his pulse throbbing in his ears. The golden light in the corner lamp seemed too harsh all of a sudden.

“You’ve come a long way,” the doctor added, posture relaxing—almost like he was switching back to his normal, friendly mode of business. “You’re building something here. Stability. A job you care about. A life.”

Steve’s throat constricted. He thought about the second graders who always drew him stick-figure pictures with hearts around them. He thought about the paycheck he needed to keep up his home. He thought about how nice it felt to have you in that space now, in his bed, in his arms.

“I’d hate to see you lose that progress,” Dr Avery said lightly. Almost as if he were discussing the weather.

It took him a moment to register the subtext.

Lose that progress.

Lose that job.

Is this a threat?

A chill went up his spine, memories of government men in uniforms from years ago stirring in the back of his mind.

“Yeah.” He swallowed, forcing a tight nod. “No—of course.”

He didn’t stand up. He stayed planted in his seat, but it felt like the floor was tilting beneath him. He dropped his attention to his jeans and started picking at a loose thread, anything to occupy his trembling fingers.

He knew the session wasn’t over. He couldn’t exactly bolt. He was too polite, and he had to keep going.

This was supposed to help him. He’d made so much progress. He needed the psychiatrist to sign off on it.

“So,” the older man said with an air of near nonchalance, “is there anything you want to work on with this session?”

He blinked, staring at the pen still perched in the desk. He felt like a turtle retreating into its shell. Something in him just… closed off. Suddenly reluctant to let anybody into his head.

Outwardly, he only gave a stiff shrug, forcing his knee to stop bouncing. The tension hung in the air, so heavy it nearly choked him, but he managed to keep his face carefully composed. Even if his insides were twisting in knots, he’d learned over time how to mask it—how to fight through the fear.

He cleared his throat, voice coming out quieter than before.

“I—uh… yeah, I guess we could… talk about my… coping strategies.”

As he said it, the spark in his eyes had dimmed, the floodgates of honesty closed a fraction. Right now, the only thing he could focus on was that single, ominous word echoing in his mind.

Intervene.

You push open the heavy wooden doors of the Hawkins Public Library, letting a small gust of morning wind in behind you.

Your scarf feels a little too warm in the heated interior, so you tug it loose as you take a few steps forward. You clutch the strap of your tote, you’d told yourself you’d come just for research, but it’s not exactly your standard brand of casual reading.

No, you’re here for answers.

Tunnels, national labs, and the unsettling stack of government letters you found tucked away in Steve’s hallway table. Maybe you’re prying, but you can’t let it go. He’s been so cagey, and you care about him too much to ignore the little hints.

Archives first. Some old newspapers, maybe some town records from the 80s, see if there’s anything about that fire at Starcourt Mall. That would be the starting point.

You mentally rehearse your polite request, even It still sounds weird in your head. You imagine the librarian’s puzzled expression and you debate claiming you’re writing a paper for a local history class. It would make your story more believable than the reality, the one in which you are purposefully going behind your boyfriend's back, digging up his traumatic past in order to settle your own mind…

The more you think about it, the worse it sounds.

Your steps slow as you notice a flicker of movement in your peripheral vision. Someone stands between two towering shelves in the fiction section. At first, you can’t make out their face—just a short, choppy bob, flannel tied around the waist, black combat boots squeaking softly on the shiny floor.

You squint. Then it clicks.

Robin?

You halt, your eyebrows arching in surprise. Robin, who was supposed to be at breakfast in the diner across town. Yet here she is, half-hidden behind the 800 Dewey Decimal section, looking anywhere but at you. She’s clutching a book to her chest like she’s trying not to be seen.

Suspicion runs through you, but you brush it aside. This might be nothing. Maybe they had breakfast before, and now she’s just here on her own. Either way, you’re intrigued enough to veer away from the front desk and head in her direction.

The silence of the library only amplifies your footsteps, and you try to be gentle. You don’t want to startle her—but it's too late. She’s already glancing up and sees you approaching. There’s a flash of panic in her eyes as if she’s been caught in the act of something scandalous.

“Hi, stranger,” you say softly, letting a little amused lilt into your voice.

“Oh—hey!” She fails to act surprised, leaning on the shelf feigning nonchalance. “Sorry. You scared me.”

You doubt it.

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” you say, a friendly smile tugging at your lips. You feel a pang of sympathy for spooking her—she seems wound tight, as though she’s mid-espionage.

She exhales and recovers, offering a slightly awkward hug. You catch the faint scent of peppermint gum and laundry soap clinging to her form. It's oddly comforting.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, pulling away and brushing the hem of her shirt as though trying to smooth her nerves too.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Your tone remains playful.

You don’t want her to suspect you know about the alleged breakfast meeting with Steve—not yet. Nor your true reasoning for your outing when you're supposed to be at work yourself.

“Oh, just… browsing,” she says quickly, glancing at the row of books as though they might offer backup for her story. “For books. Y’know—in the library.”

Hmm.

“You do know I sell books for a living, right?”

She flushes, a wash of pink creeping up her neck.

“Yeah—yeah, I do—sorry.” She clears her throat. “Traitorous impulse.”

“Unforgivable,” you tease, rolling your eyes in mock indignation.

She laughs, the tension in her posture easing a fraction. But then, almost on reflex, she shifts the book in her hand to her side, like she’s trying to hide the title from view. You notice immediately—part of your job is noticing what titles people pick up or avoid.

“What you got there?” you ask, nodding at the paperback pressed against her thigh.

“What—this? Nothing, really.” Her voice is quick, a little defensive. “Just looking.”

You tilt your head, taking a small step to see the cover. It’s a stylised image with a bold title you recognise.

“Is that Written on the Body?”

He eyes flick from you to the book. She hesitates, clearly torn between doubling down on her lie or coming clean.

“...It is.”

Interesting.

“Jeanette Winterson, right?” You smile, careful to keep your tone nonjudgmental. “That one’s… intense.”

She studies your face, as if checking for any sign of disapproval.

“You’ve… read it?” She ventures.

“A couple years ago,” you say with a slight shrug. “Borrowed it from a girl I was trying to impress.”

You hope she is catching on to the insinuation. Her guarded posture softens marginally. Eyes sparking with interest, maybe a little relief.

“Did it work?”

“Nope,” you reply, a wry grin curving your lips. “But I kept the book.”

Her laughter comes easier this time, a huff of amusement that leaves her shoulders looking looser.

“Steve didn’t tell you?” she asks, the question surprisingly gentle.

“Tell me what?” You tilt your head, though you have a vague idea.

Robin shifts her weight from foot to foot, hugging the paperback closer to her chest. Her voice drops a notch, tinged with vulnerability.

“That me and Vic… we… y’know.” She swallows, waiting for your reaction.

You’d had your suspicions—maybe even put two and two together when you noticed how often Robin’s name was tied to this mysterious Vicky in Steve’s stories. So you’re not exactly shocked. More like pleased you were right, and also that she trusts you enough to say it out loud.

“No.” You give her a warm smile. “Guess he figured you’d tell me yourself.”

Her relief is palpable, like someone unclenching a fist around her throat.

“I do trust him. It’s just—” She glances away, exhaling. “He has this thing where he blurts stuff out and then immediately regrets it.” There’s a real fondness in her tone, but also exasperation. “He’s great for the most part—don’t get me wrong—but I’ve learned half of the town’s gossip from what he lets slip after parent-teacher night.”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. You picture Steve in a little second-grade classroom, animatedly chatting with parents. You can just hear him reciting what their kid had been up to in his company. All big gestures and wide smiles, maybe an occasional detail about other students because he’s that excited to share.

There’s something endearing in that mental image—Steve with a heart so big it can’t contain all the stories.

You feel guilty for being here in the first place.

“I can so see that,” you say, shrugging off your apprehension. “Does he also keep you up to date on the politics of second grade?”

“Ugh, yes.” She groans good-naturedly. “Who knew eight-year-olds could be such a soap opera? It’s like a never-ending stream of who’s got a crush on who, who fell off the monkey bars and demanded a duel… It’s concerning.”

You chuckle at the idea. It’s a perfect fit for him, actually. Caring for a bunch of hyper little ones, returning home with comedic tales of playground drama. You can practically feel your chest tightening at how well he’s found his calling.

Peace after a life of trauma.

Peace that you’re threatening to disrupt.

“Thanks for telling me, though,” you say, gently drawing the conversation back to the reason she’s been acting so secretive in the first place. “Next time, if you want any more queer fiction, you know where to go. Friends and family discount applies.”

Robin brightens, her grip on the book relaxing a little.

“I might take you up on that,” she says. “I’ve been trying to be… less cagey. It’s easier with people who don’t make it weird.”

You can only imagine what that’s like.

“I’m not going to make it weird,” you promise.

“No, I know.” She nods, glancing at the cover like it’s become a security blanket. “I just—sometimes I still brace for it. Old habits.”

A sympathetic understanding settles over you. You reach out and give her forearm a gentle squeeze.

“Makes sense.”

She shrugs, but there’s no dismissiveness in it—just acceptance that this is part of her journey.

“For what it’s worth, I think you have great taste in books…” You glance up at her, gauging her reaction. “...And friends.”

Your eyes lock. She knows you’re referencing both Steve and maybe yourself.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “You too.”

You let her words settle, you feel safe with the validation she’s offering. She’s someone you always sensed was a fiercely loyal friend. She’s been a rock for Steve—maybe she’ll be one for you, too. If the need arises.

You could see yourself growing to care for her the way your boyfriend does, and with that comes a deeper respect for him too. For her to entrust him with something so personal, she must think extremely highly of him.

A thought nudges at you. The reason you first approached, the clearly false breakfast date. You decide to test the waters, keep it casual in your questioning.

“So… any other plans for the rest of the day?” Your tone is light, only the faintest undercurrent of curiosity so as to not give away your true motive for asking.

She pauses, then lifts the book slightly, as if that explains everything.

“Nope. Just me and my… well, my lesbian trauma reading.” She flushes faintly, but there’s a playful glint in her eye as she says it.

You both burst into laughter, the sound of which draws a disapproving glance from someone behind the next aisle. You muffle your giggles, pressing your lips together, and she does the same.

The moment is human—two people letting their guard down. Though this interaction has only left you with more questions. As you calm, you file that little discrepancy away. Robin isn’t meeting Steve. She’s definitely not at any diner right now.

So why would Steve say so?

And if he’s not with Robin…

Where is he actually?

You watch her leave and force a casual smile as you step up to the librarian’s desk, heart pounding. The woman was in her fifties with neat grey hair and glasses on a chain, she glanced up. Her eyes flick over you, polite but probing.

“Hi,” you say, keeping your voice light. “I was wondering if you have any public records or newspaper archives from the eighties? I’m doing a little personal research on the Starcourt Mall fire. Just local history stuff.”

That sounded believable enough.

She tilts her head, a hint of wariness in the lines around her mouth.

“That’s not a very cheerful topic.”

“No, but kind of fascinating, right?” A half-laugh slips out, and you shrug. “My boyfriend mentioned it, and I realised I don’t actually know anything about it. Figured it was a pretty big deal.”

At the mention of the fire, the librarian’s gaze switches—like maybe she remembers that day, or at least remembers the number rumours that once engulfed the town. Her expression softens a fraction.

“You’re looking for newspapers, or…?”

“Newspapers mostly,” you say, pushing your shoulders back in a show of confidence. “But if there’s anything about building permits or public works around the mall site, that’d be amazing. I’m… kind of a nerd for this stuff.”

She studies you, then gives a short nod. Opening a drawer beneath the counter, she removes a heavy iron key and places it in your outstretched hand. Cool metal presses into your palm, and you realise your fingers are a bit sweaty from the tension rising under your skin.

“Archives are down in the basement,” she says. “Back left corner. Bring the key up when you’re done.”

That was easy.

Relief edges into your chest.

“Thank you. Really.”

She just nods, returning her attention to something on her computer screen, as though she’s already dismissed you. You turn away and slip the key into your jacket pocket, hyperaware of its weight. A guilty thrill shoots in your stomach—like you’re about to dig up something you absolutely shouldn’t.

The stairs leading down are narrow and creaky, each step sounding with a groan. The air grows noticeably cooler the farther you descend, the scent of cardboard and dust wraps around you. It reminds you of the back corner of your own bookshop—where neglected boxes sometimes wait for sorting, usually with the help of your boyfriend nowadays…

A row of lights hang overhead with a low electric whine. In the gloomy space, time feels distorted, like the clock upstairs doesn’t quite apply here. The silence is thicker than the quiet you’re used to in libraries, completely devoid of another person's presence. You catch your reflection in a dulled metal panel—your eyes look sharp, and there’s a trace of apprehension there too.

You already feel like you don’t belong here.

You pass rows of metal filing cabinets, their labels faded at the edges. Oversized newspaper folders line one wall, stacked so tall you’d need a stepladder to reach the top. There’s an ancient-looking microfilm reader in the corner, the plastic shell yellowed with age.

You set your bag down on a rickety wooden table and carefully pull out one of the large bound volumes:

Hawkins Post — 1985.

Seems like a decent enough place to start.

The cover is cloth, frayed slightly. It’s heavy, so you ease it open, scanning the dates on the top of each page until you land on July of that year.

A headline you have been searching for leaps out on the front page:

“Gas Leak Causes Deadly Explosion at Starcourt Mall — Four Confirmed Dead.”

Your eyes skim the blocky print. The paper is slightly brittle; you take care not to tear it as you turn the pages.

“A faulty gas line and electrical overload are believed to have triggered the explosion…”

“Authorities are urging citizens to remain calm. There is no long-term danger to public safety…”

“We are working closely with federal partners to determine the exact cause…”

You notice the name Police Chief Calvin Powell quoted beneath a photograph of the rubble. The corners of your mouth tighten.

Federal partners?

Since when would a run-of-the-mill mall fire require federal aid? Even as an outsider, that strikes you as odd, it’s too formal.

Orchestrated.

The article feels sanitised—curated words like “gas leak,” “electrical overload,” “containment.” No real emotion from the reporter, no heartfelt quotes from eyewitnesses—just a neat, glossy narrative. It sounds almost robotic.

You lift the edges of the page and shift them gently, scanning for more details or follow-ups. Another small piece catches your eye. In the same volume, just a few pages later, tucked away in a smaller column of the community news section, you see a brief update. It’s dated five days after the initial report.

“Further Details on Mall Fire Unavailable”

Your pulse quickens as you read.

“At the request of federal authorities, the Hawkins Fire Department has declined to comment further on the incident at Starcourt Mall.”

“Residents are advised not to speculate or spread misinformation while the investigation is ongoing.”

The room around you seems to close in, pressing against your ears. The basement feels darker, though the lights haven’t changed.

Well, that just makes no sense.

The complete lack of information about a fire that massive is absurd. Wouldn’t their first priority be putting the town at ease? There’s a clear warning not to spread details—a red flag if there ever was one. What could possibly be so out of the ordinary here?

No official story, no explanations. Just silence.

The whole thing reeks of something being buried.

Fuck, Steve. What are you hiding?

Setting the newspaper volume aside, you hunt for anything labeled “Starcourt” among the older building permits and public records, there had to be something more at play here. Eventually, you come across a thick, dust-streaked folder.

“Starcourt Development / Expansion Plans.”

You tug it free from the shelf, coughing as a small cloud of dust billows around you.

You find folded-up blueprints. The paper is stiff and smudged with dark grease marks at the corners. A quick scan of the top page shows the mall’s recognisable layout—wide corridors for shops, a large food court, loading docks.

As you peel back the layers, you spot something more:

“STARCOURT COMPLEX — Site Development Plans, 1984”

Arrows and lines scrawl below the main building. Your mouth goes dry. There’s a sub-level beneath the mall. Narrow corridors designated as “ACCESS ROUTES” and “UTILITY” passages.

Then, In red ink:

"RESTRICTED: NO DIG ZONE — PERMIT WITHHELD (INTL.)"

The corridor extends off the edge of the blueprint, vanishing into a blank expanse of white. Not just under the food court, either—farther, reaching what looks like the edge of the property line, maybe even toward the woods. There’s no note explaining the restriction, just that cryptic note.

Permit Withheld (INTL.)

International?

Your stomach twists. The rest of the plans look standard—retail square footage, ventilation routes, plumbing grids—but this corridor is… different.

No dimensions. No annotations.

Just a thick red stroke and that vague, bureaucratic warning.

The idea that a foreign entity might’ve had pull in the construction of a Midwest shopping mall is equally absurd. It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

Whatever this place was built over, someone didn’t want it disturbed.

Not the city. Not the state.

Someone else.

The realisation sends your stomach twisting.

Should you even be looking at this?

Your eyes return to that bold, red-ink “NO DIG ZONE.” You can’t help imagining men in suits telling construction crews to skip certain areas, never explaining why.

These pieces of information didn’t explain anything—not even close. If anything, they only raised more questions.

Steve had made it all sound so cryptic, but the papertrail matched his version of the story perfectly. He said he’d stuck his head where it didn’t belong, found something he was never meant to see.

But how old had he been when it happened? He couldn’t have been more than twenty…

That was young.

Too young.

Barely out of high school, probably still figuring out how to do his own laundry—and already carrying something like this.

What had they done to him?

The uneasy feeling inside you still felt unsatisfied, it was clear there is more to this story. If it was this censored, it meant that something big had occurred. Something you were even more desperate to understand.

You find yourself flipping through folder spines again, now looking for any mention of the next year—1986—scanning for local headlines. Maybe there would be some new information a little further down the line, perhaps a rogue reporter uncovering something new.

Your fingers land on a battered red folder. Hawkins Post — 1986.

What else happened?

You open it up. The first few pages are mundane—ads for local car dealerships, a brief mention of a new pharmacy. You’re about to give up when you catch a bold black headline stamped across a newspaper clipping.

Earthquake Rocks Hawkins: Dozens Missing, Entire Town Evacuated.

Earthquake?

Nobody ever mentioned a natural disaster before, something the town was clearly not interested in bringing up if the title is anything to go by. You run your fingertips across the grainy newsprint, reading each line slowly.

“Officials confirmed a natural fault line ruptured beneath Sattler Quarry, leveling several blocks of East Hawkins.”

“Emergency services have reported over 50 injured and multiple fatalities. Residents are advised not to return to the fracture zone.”

A pang tightens in your chest.

Why did Steve never mention how devastating this was? Or Robin for that matter, she would have been a resident here too.

“One local student, Edward ‘Eddie’ Munson, identified as prime murder suspect...”

That name. Eddie Munson. Something about seeing it spelled out in official print makes your gut lurch. It’s a snippet, a half-buried footnote. You have no idea how murder tied to this event, but the language feels similar to the Starcourt articles, aimed at stifling real questions. Another big tragedy in Hawkins, another clipped explanation that doesn’t quite add up.

Why was Hawkins the site of so many horrors in such a short span of time?

Your eyes scan the rest of the article. There’s no mention of secret labs or mysterious tunnels—just damage, rescue teams. You see a pattern in the phrasing, residents advised not to speculate.

Sound familiar?

You swallow, a metallic taste on your tongue.

This reads like another cover-up.

You decide to make a snap decision, folding the clipping into your notebook. This is technically theft—yes—but what choice did you have?

You didn’t have a camera, nor the time it would take to write out every sentence piece by piece. You also didn’t know if you could access these archives with as much ease next time. This felt like a justified crime considering the circumstances.

It’s not like anyone’s going to notice.

The next pages in the folder are mostly more coverage—pictures of shattered streets, interviews with sobbing residents. But something near the back catches your eye.

You find a single, highly redacted document. The black bars are fresh and bold, blocking out entire paragraphs and lines of text. A small logo near the top—smudged and half torn—looks like it might belong to the Department of Energy, or perhaps some other federal agency.

You gently flatten the page beneath your palm, trying to read what remains.

At first glance, you see only scattered fragments:

“…seismic event registering 7.4… multiple fractures… pattern incongruent with standard tectonic profiles…”

Your breath catches. You skim deeper, eyes darting across the page.

“…unconfirmed sightings of anomalous flora, potential contamination risk…”

A knot forms in your stomach.

Anomalous flora?

What the hell did that even mean?

The silence around you felt suffocating but you couldn’t look away. Your eyes raced across the barely legible text, the dim lighting doing nothing to ease the mental strain as you tried to make sense of it all.

Every fragmented detail added another twist to an already labyrinthine mystery. You pushed on, desperation motivating you as every new discovery felt like another obstacle.

You see a name repeated in the tiny corner of a clipped paragraph:

“…missing individual: Edward ‘Eddie’ Munson (status: presumed fatality). Further details withheld at request of…”

That name appears again—Munson.

You glimpse it, a jolt firing through your nerves. He was plastered over that old newspaper article you found not ten minutes ago—the local student turned murderer. The next lines are almost completely blacked out, except for a single snippet:

“…survivors displayed acute stress responses, some presenting with inexplicable wounds or testimony.”

Your temples throb with an uneasy question.

What happened to these survivors?

Another black bar covers the rest. Carefully, you tilt the paper toward the meager light, hoping to glean even a faint silhouette of text beneath.

Nothing.

You flip to the back, where you find a small note pinned with a rusted staple. It’s typed, minimal, and partially redacted, but at least you can make out a few more lines:

“…secondary injuries observed among multiple local residents… site infiltration suspected…”

You feel sweat bead on your temple.

Site infiltration?

By who?

Your gaze drifts down to the final paragraph. Half of it is still blacked out, whole lines swallowed by darkness. You’d just been trying to make sense of it—events, scattered names, pieces of something bigger, something twisted you thought you could piece together into a puzzle with edges.

But then you see it.

Three fragments, set apart by a bullet point, still visible in the wreckage of the page. A name.

And not just any name.

A name you’ve whispered in half-sleep, murmured with laughter through the phone, gasped in the dark like a prayer. A name that’s fallen from your lips with care, with tenderness, with certainty.

And now it’s here. Cold. Formal.

Clinical.

Filed and formatted between voids of black ink—the same blackness that clouds his mind, the same blank spaces he’s tried so desperately to protect you from.

SUBJECT: HARRINGTON, S.

Status: [REDACTED]

Observed: [REDACTED]

A tremor tears through you. Your eyes snap back to the text.

Harrington, S.

Steve Harrington.

Steve.

You blink, but it doesn’t change. No matter how much you stare at the page.

His name.

Your Steve.

Buried in more secrets than when you first entered the basement.

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scarluna · 4 months ago

Text

Y/N, a gifted but self-conscious graphic designer, lands a job at Jeon Enterprises, a powerhouse ruled by the sharp and controlling Jeon Jungkook, whose ruthless perfectionism hides behind an enigmatic façade. Though admired and feared, Jungkook targets Y/N’s insecurities, using them as weapons against her.

Beside him stands his best friend, Min Yoongi, a sly and unpredictable force whose hot-and-cold behavior leaves Y/N questioning his motives.

Tangled in a web of cold authority, teasing games, and unspoken desire, Y/N must navigate a dangerous love triangle where ambition and emotion collide, threatening to unravel everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Min Yoongi

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, enemies to lovers, ceo!jungkook, graphic designer!reader, mafia!yoongi

Link to the other chapters: ACT I / ACT II / ACT III / ACT V / ACT VI / ACT VII / ACT VIII

Chapters: 4 / ?

Chapter Warnings: mature language, bullying, slow burn, enemies to lovers

A/N: Rollercoaster of sh*t.

ACT IV.

My head swam, but not from the alcohol this time. Of course, he owned the hottest spot in town. Why wouldn’t he? It was so… him. Dark, magnetic, and pulsing with an energy that felt alive.

I tilted my chin up, caught up by the warmth spreading in my chest. “You could’ve led with that, you know. Saved me the shock.” My words came out more sassy than I’d intended, but the moment they left my mouth, I realized I didn’t care.

Yoongi’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it sharpened. “And miss that reaction?” He shrugged. “Not a chance.”

Hoseok snorted beside me, nudging me playfully. “You’re a natural at this, Y/N. Keep him on his toes.”

I ignored Hoseok, my eyes locked on Yoongi’s. “So, what’s the deal? You walk in here like some dark prince, surveying your kingdom, and then just… what? Decide to mingle with the common folk?”

That earned me a genuine chuckle. Low and rich, it sent a ripple through me that I wasn’t prepared for. “If I didn’t know better,” he said, his tone almost teasing, “I’d think you were flirting.”

I rolled my eyes, though my cheeks burned. “I’m just calling it like I see it. Besides,” I gestured around, nearly knocking over an empty glass in the process, “you’re the one interrupting our little party.”

Yoongi leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Trust me, I’m not interrupting. I’m improving it.”

That stupid smirk again. He was too smooth for his own good.

I crossed my arms, standing my ground—or at least trying to, given my slightly unsteady balance. “Bold claim. Care to prove it?”

His gaze darkened, a spark of something unreadable flashing in his eyes. “Careful, Y/N. I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

It was a challenge, plain and simple. And I was tipsy enough, bold enough, to take the bait.

Yoongi’s gaze lingered on me for a beat longer, the smirk on his lips softening into something dangerously close to intrigue, before he straightened up. “I’ll leave you to your… festivities,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes still locked on mine. “Don’t wander too far.”

And just like that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, his presence like a phantom that left behind a trail of chaos.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, only to be jolted by the sound of Rya scooting closer. “What the hell was that?” she squeaked, her wide eyes darting between me and the direction Yoongi had gone.

Hoseok, ever the life of the party, burst into laughter, slapping his knee as if the entire exchange had been the highlight of his night. “Oh, this is gold. Y/N, I don’t know what you’re drinking, but you need to have it every time we go out. That was legendary.”

I flushed, suddenly feeling the heat of their stares more than Yoongi’s. “What are you talking about?” I asked, trying—and failing—to sound nonchalant.

Rya gaped at me. “Are you kidding me? You were, like, full-on flirting with Min Yoongi. The Min Yoongi! Who owns this place! And he flirted back!”

“That wasn’t flirting,” I said quickly, though my voice wavered just enough to make my protest unconvincing.

“Oh, please,” Rya shot back, recovering from her shock to grin at me like she’d just uncovered a scandal. “He was looking at you like you were the only person here. And don’t think I didn’t catch that little breathy moment you had when he leaned in.”

“I did too!” Hoseok chimed in, his laughter subsiding into a knowing grin. “You might as well have swooned. It was like watching a scene from a K-drama.”

“I did not swoon!” I hissed, but my cheeks were betraying me, burning hotter by the second.

Rya leaned in, her teasing grin turning downright mischievous. “So? What’s the plan? Are you going to play coy, or are you going to see where this goes?”

“There’s no plan!” I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “It’s not like that.”

“Right,” Rya said, drawing out the word like she didn’t believe me for a second. “And that’s why you’re still blushing.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” Hoseok and Rya said in unison, and I groaned again, this time into my hands.

Rya gave my shoulder a playful nudge. “Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll make sure you’re ready for when Prince Yoongi decides to return for his damsel.”

“I hate you both,” I muttered, though I couldn’t stop the small laugh that bubbled up despite myself.

Hoseok raised his glass. “To Y/N, our fearless leader in the art of unexpected seduction!”

Rya clinked her glass against his with a giggle, and I shook my head, knowing there was no escaping their teasing tonight.

The night continued to spiral into a haze of drinks, laughter, and teasing. I couldn’t quite remember how many cocktails I’d had, but the warm, dizzying buzz was taking over. Hoseok kept encouraging me to try new drinks, and I, in my tipsy confidence, couldn’t say no. At some point, I realized my tolerance was slipping, and I needed a break from the noise and chatter.

“Alright, I’m calling it,” I muttered to Rya, who was currently nursing her own drink with that playful grin still plastered on her face. “I need a minute. Just a quick breather.”

“Good call,” she said, her tone teasing as always. “Let's go get some fresh air, princess.”

I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself as I pushed myself to my feet, a little unsteady but managing. The motion of the crowd around me made my head spin, and I began to make my way toward the back of the bar, where the balcony on the second floor awaited.

Rya followed without hesitation, catching up to me as I stumbled out onto the balcony, the cool night air hitting my face and doing little to clear the fog in my head. The balcony overlooked the main entrance, the buzzing energy of the bar below a stark contrast to the calmness of the night sky above.

I leaned against the railing, taking a deep breath. The city lights twinkled in the distance, and for a moment, I almost felt like I could breathe again. Rya stood beside me, lighting up a cigarette. The first drag she took made me blink in surprise. I hadn’t expected her to be a smoker.

“You smoke?” I asked, my voice a little more slurred than I’d intended.

She shrugged, the cigarette hanging between her fingers. “Only when I’m stressed or need to think. Never really felt like it until tonight.” She gave me a sidelong glance, a knowing smile pulling at her lips. “I think you might’ve had a little too much fun tonight.”

I laughed weakly. “Maybe,” I admitted, feeling the buzzing in my head intensify with each word I spoke.

We both stood there in silence for a moment, watching the cars passing by below. The cool breeze was refreshing, but my mind couldn’t seem to quiet.

Rya took another drag from her cigarette, the smoke curling into the air. I could feel her eyes on me as the silence stretched on, but I didn’t know what to say. It was strange, talking to someone who wasn’t part of the world I used to know.

I leaned my elbows on the railing, staring down at the street, my thoughts swirling. “You know, this is weird,” I started, trying to make sense of the jumble in my head. “I’ve never been good at places like this. Clubs. Bars. I don’t know… it just feels like everyone’s always so... confident.”

Rya didn’t say anything at first, just continued to smoke, as if waiting for me to go on. When I did, my words came out more in a rush, as if I couldn’t stop them.

“I used to have this group of girls I called my friends. We’d go out together, but it was never real, you know? Everyone was always smiling at each other, acting like everything was fine, but... behind the scenes, it was all about tearing each other down. I felt like I was invisible half of the time. They only kept me around to make themselves feel better because I was the fat one and they weren't. I just felt... useless.”

I sighed, feeling a bit foolish for spilling all of this out to someone I barely knew. Rya didn’t seem surprised, though. She simply leaned against the railing beside me, flicking the ashes from her cigarette.

“Sounds like they were garbage people,” she said bluntly, without a hint of hesitation.

I blinked at her. “Yeah, well… I didn't know it at the time. I just kept thinking if I stayed, they’d notice me, or that maybe I wasn’t... that bad.”

“You’re not alone in that,” Rya said quietly, her voice softer now. She paused before speaking again, looking out over the railing as if gathering her own thoughts. “I think a lot of people feel that way at some point. Like they don’t belong, or like they’re just filling space.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. It wasn’t like I expected her to understand completely, but somehow, hearing it from her made me feel a little less crazy. A little less... alone.

“I guess that’s why tonight feels different,” I said after a pause, the words coming out softer, more vulnerable than I meant them to. “For the first time, a stranger actually... came up to me. Asked me to dance. No one’s ever done that before, not like that. I don’t know why, but... it feels like maybe I’m not invisible, you know?”

Rya’s gaze shifted to me then, her eyes softer than they’d been a moment ago. She let the silence stretch for a beat before she smiled. It wasn’t one of her teasing, playful grins. It was something more genuine.

“You’re not invisible, Y/N. Maybe it’s just taking some time for you to see it too.” She took a last drag of her cigarette, letting out a long exhale before tossing it over the side of the balcony. “But don’t let it take too long. You deserve to feel like you matter—like you’re seen.”

I felt a lump form in my throat, and for the first time in a long time, the words I’d wanted to say but never had a chance to were finally coming to the surface.

“Thanks,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Really.”

She just nodded, her face lighting up with a kind of warmth I wasn’t used to, and I felt something shift inside me. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was something else entirely, but in that moment, with her standing beside me, the weight I’d carried for so long felt just a little bit lighter.

We stayed there for a while longer, the cool breeze calming the storm in my chest, and I let myself simply... be.

Rya and I made our way back into the club, the heat and noise almost overwhelming after the cool air outside. We weaved through the crowd until we found Hoseok sitting in the same booth we had claimed earlier. He was still chatting with Yoongi, who I now realized had been there for a while. He must have arrived earlier while we were outside, though I hadn’t noticed him.

I hadn’t expected him to be the owner of this place. Whilst tipsier earlier, I had came to that realization earlier when he visited us and it surprised me more than I wanted to admit. He didn’t look like the owner, or at least, not like any owner I’d ever imagined. There was something about his sly like fox presence that made him seem more like a mysterious figure who didn’t really want to be noticed.

As we approached, Hoseok greeted us with a bright grin. “Ah, there you are! It took you long enough!”

“We are here now,” I said, not quite ready to dive into anything more. My gaze flickered over to Yoongi, who was sitting back in his chair, relaxed but with his eyes fixed on me. I wasn’t sure if he noticed me looking, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that his presence was like a shadow hanging over everything.

“You guys good?” Rya asked, taking her seat beside Hoseok as if nothing were unusual. I stood for a moment, unsure of what to do next. My glass was almost empty, so I motioned to the bartender for another drink, trying to focus on anything but the magnetic tension I felt from Yoongi.

Rya turned her attention to Hoseok, as usual, but I could feel Yoongi’s gaze on me like a weight. I was hyperaware of every step I took, every breath I made. His presence made my pulse quicken, but I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing how much it affected me.

Hoseok, blissfully oblivious to the tension between me and Yoongi, kept up his cheerful banter. “I swear, every time I see you two, I get more and more worried about your liver,” he teased, nudging Rya playfully.

Rya laughed. “We’re fine, Hoseok. Don’t worry about us.”

I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering back to Yoongi, and the more I thought about him, the more the atmosphere in the club felt charged. I had come here tonight for a fun distraction, not to get wrapped up in whatever unspoken connection existed between him and me. But there it was—always lingering in the background, impossible to ignore.

“Y/N, you’re drunk,” Yoongi says, leaning back against the couch with that smug grin plastered across his face. His eyes glint with amusement, the kind that makes my already warm cheeks burn hotter.

“I am not drunk,” I declare, pointing a finger at him dramatically. Okay, so maybe my hand wobbles a little—fine, a lot—but still, I’m holding my ground. “I’m just... delightfully loose. You, on the other hand, wouldn’t know a good time if it hit you in the face.”

His smirk deepens. God, that smirk. “Delightfully loose? Is that what we’re calling this?” He gestures vaguely at me, and I glare at him—or at least I try to glare.

“Yes, and you’re lucky to be in the presence of this level of charm,” I shoot back, crossing my arms. It’s supposed to be dramatic, but I nearly knock over my drink, so the impact is somewhat lessened.

Yoongi just laughs—a rare, low chuckle that makes me want to both punch him and grin like an idiot. “You’re a mess.”

I huff, sitting up straighter. “A delightful mess. Don’t forget the important adjectives, Yoongi.”

He shakes his head, looking at me with that infuriating mix of amusement and fondness. “You’re gonna regret this tomorrow.”

I scoff, tossing my hair over my shoulder like the dramatic queen I absolutely am tonight. “Future me is tough as nails. She can handle it.”

“Uh-huh,” he murmurs, leaning closer now, his face annoyingly smug—and annoyingly close. “You’re fun when you’re drunk. Did I ever tell you that?”

“You’re always fun when you’re around me,” I retort, narrowing my eyes at him. “Which isn’t often, by the way. You’re too busy being sly as a fox.”

He raises a brow. “Sly as a fox?”

“Yes,” I say, leaning into my sass. “Like some sly fox lurking in the shadows, pretending to be all mysterious, but secretly just waiting for someone to feed your ego.”

That laugh again—soft, deep, and way too satisfying to hear. “You’ve got quite the imagination.”

“And you’ve got quite the ego,” I quip, smirking triumphantly. But before I can revel in my win, Yoongi shifts closer, the warmth of his presence suddenly tangible. My breath catches, and I hate how I feel my sass faltering under his gaze.

“You’re impossible,” he whispers, his voice quieter now, like the moment’s shifted without me realizing it.

“Impossibly charming,” I manage, my voice smaller than I’d like, my cheeks heating up even more.

From the corner of my eye, I see Rya grinning like a Cheshire cat, her phone raised. “Oh my God, you two, stay just like that.”

“What? No—Rya!” I protest, my voice going high-pitched and ridiculous, but before I can move, there’s the telltale click of her camera.

Yoongi doesn’t even flinch. In fact, he chuckles, the sound so soft and close it sends a shiver down my spine. “Let her keep it,” he says, looking at me like he’s amused by my flustered state.

“But she’s going to use it against me!” I protest, trying to reach for her phone.

“Don’t worry,” Rya says, laughing as she holds the phone out of reach. “This one’s for memory purposes. You’ll thank me later.”

“Ryaaa!” I groan, but before I can fight back properly, Yoongi’s hand gently catches my wrist.

“Seriously,” he says, his tone low, almost... fond? “Let her keep it. Might be worth remembering tonight.”

I blink, caught completely off-guard by the softness in his voice. His dark eyes meet mine, and suddenly my mind’s gone blank. All the witty comebacks I had lined up? Gone. Just like that.

“I—yeah,” I mumble, the words slipping out before I can think. “Maybe it is.”

For a moment, the world seems to shrink around us, his face close enough that I can see the faintest crinkle at the corner of his eyes.

And in the background, Rya? She’s probably grinning like an idiot because she just captured something that wasn’t meant to be caught.

I finally snapped myself out of the haze and glanced at Rya. “Let’s go dance,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

Her eyes lit up. “Now you’re speaking my language!” she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the dance floor. I followed her eagerly, trying to push Yoongi from my mind as we joined the crowd.

As the music thumped in my chest, the mood shifted, and I started to let go. The music was slow, sensual, and I found myself following Rya’s lead, moving with her in time with the rhythm. I wasn’t focused on anyone else in the room—just the music, just the beat, just the moment.

But then I felt it again. That familiar, heavy weight of someone’s gaze on me. I looked up and met Yoongi’s eyes across the room. He was watching us. Watching me.

My heart skipped a beat. He didn’t look away this time. His gaze was piercing, intense. And something about the way he looked at me—like he saw right through the act I was putting on—had my chest tightening. The air felt thick, charged with something unspoken, and I felt exposed, like the whole world could see my vulnerability.

Rya must have noticed my shift in energy, because she leaned closer, her lips curling into a sly smile. “You know he’s still watching, right?”

I swallowed, trying to shake off the nervous feeling rising in my chest. “I know,” I muttered, though I was anything but casual about it. Every part of me wanted to pull away, but I couldn’t stop myself from being drawn to him.

Rya gave me a knowing look. “If you keep looking at him like that, you’re gonna end up in trouble.” Her words made me feel even more exposed, but she didn’t stop grinning.

I turned my attention back to the music, trying to lose myself in the rhythm again. But as much as I tried to ignore it, I could still feel Yoongi’s gaze on me, lingering like a weight on my shoulders. The heat from his eyes made everything feel heavier, more intense. It was as if the music wasn’t enough to drown out the way he was looking at me, the magnetic pull between us too strong to ignore.

As the night wore on and the effects of the alcohol finally began to hit me full force, my limbs felt heavy, my steps wobbly. Rya and Hoseok had been keeping an eye on me, and it wasn’t long before Rya grabbed my arm with a concerned look.

“Alright, party girl,” she said, her voice firm but affectionate. “You’ve had your fun, but it’s time to call it a night.”

Hoseok appeared beside her, nodding. “Yep. Before you start serenading the entire club with your ‘delightfully loose’ energy.”

I groaned, my head lolling against Rya’s shoulder. “I was having fun,” I mumbled, but I didn’t resist as they guided me toward the exit. The cool air hit me like a wave as we stepped outside, clearing my head just enough to realize how far gone I was.

“Let’s get her home,” Rya said to Hoseok, who fished out his phone, probably to call a cab.

Before he could, however, the door behind us opened, and Yoongi stepped out into the night. His expression was unreadable as his gaze landed on us—or maybe just on me. “You leaving already?” he asked, his tone casual, but there was something in his voice that made me shiver.

Rya crossed her arms, immediately on guard. “Yeah. She’s had enough for one night.”

Yoongi’s eyes flicked to me, and I couldn’t decipher the look in them. “I’ll take you all home,” he offered, his voice calm but firm. “It’s late. Safer that way.”

Rya and Hoseok exchanged a skeptical glance. “I don’t know…” Rya started, clearly not thrilled about the idea of leaving me in his care.

Yoongi smirked slightly, his confidence frustratingly unwavering. “Relax. I’m not going to do anything. I’ll drop you both off first. She’ll be fine.”

“Will she?” Rya challenged, her sharp eyes narrowing.

“Rya,” Hoseok interrupted, putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s late. He’s sober, and we’re all here. It’s probably better than waiting for a cab.”

Rya hesitated but finally relented with a sigh. “Fine,” she muttered, shooting Yoongi a pointed glare. “But if you try anything—”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Scout’s honor.”

With some reluctance, we all piled into Yoongi’s car. Hoseok and Rya sat in the back, with me in the passenger seat, my head leaning heavily against the window as the cool glass soothed my overheated skin. The drive was quiet at first, the hum of the engine almost lulling me to sleep.

Yoongi dropped Hoseok off first, who gave him a wary but grateful nod. Then it was Rya’s turn. Before she got out, she leaned over the seat, glaring at Yoongi. “I’m trusting you with her,” she said, her tone deadly serious. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’re awfully protective.”

“She’s my best friend,” Rya shot back, her voice firm. “And I’ll hunt you down if you try anything.”

Yoongi chuckled, the sound low and infuriatingly confident. “Noted.”

Rya turned to me, squeezing my hand. “Text me when you’re home, okay?”

I nodded, too tired to do more than mumble, “I will.”

Once Rya was gone, the silence in the car felt heavier. I shifted slightly in my seat, sneaking a glance at Yoongi. He was focused on the road, his expression unreadable, but the air between us was charged, thick with unspoken tension.

“You don’t have to take me home,” I mumbled, my voice softer now. “I could’ve taken a cab.”

“I know,” he said simply, not looking at me. “But I wanted to.”

Something about his tone made my heart skip a beat. I turned my gaze back to the window, watching the city lights blur past, but I couldn’t shake the awareness of him beside me.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment, his voice breaking the silence.

“Just tired,” I replied, though it wasn’t the full truth. My thoughts were racing, filled with the way he looked at me earlier, the way he always seemed to carry himself with that infuriating mix of arrogance and mystery.

“You’re not as tough as you act, you know,” he said, his voice softer now, almost contemplative.

I turned to look at him, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He glanced at me, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “Just an observation.”

I huffed, crossing my arms. “You don’t know me well enough to make observations.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, his tone annoyingly calm. “But I think I’m starting to.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. My pulse quickened, and I hated how easily he got under my skin.

When we finally pulled up in front of my apartment, he parked the car and turned to me, his gaze steady. “Go inside. Text your friend like you promised.”

I nodded, fumbling with the door handle, but before I could get out, he spoke again.

“And Y/N?”

I paused, looking back at him.

He leaned slightly closer, his voice low. “You’re fun when you’re drunk. But you’re even more fun when you’re just you.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks, and for once, I had no witty comeback. Instead, I mumbled a quick goodnight and practically bolted out of the car, my heart racing as I fumbled for my keys.

As I stepped inside my apartment, I couldn’t help but glance out the window. His car was still there, idling for a moment before finally pulling away. And even as I closed the door behind me, my mind was still spinning, the memory of his words—and that look in his eyes—seared into my thoughts.

The next morning, I felt like death warmed over. My head throbbed with a relentless rhythm, and the sunlight streaming through the curtains made my eyes squeeze shut in protest. I groaned, rolling onto my side.

“Ugh... Hades,” I mumbled, squinting toward the edge of the bed. Sure enough, my little fluff ball of a dog was perched on his usual spot near my feet, his dark eyes fixed on me, ears perked in expectation. His tiny tail wagged as soon as I stirred.

“I know, I know,” I muttered, pushing myself up with far more effort than it should’ve taken. My mouth was dry, my muscles heavy, and my thoughts even heavier. “Breakfast first. Then I can hate myself for last night.”

Hades hopped off the bed and trotted ahead of me, his soft white fur bouncing with each step. By the time I reached the kitchen, he was already circling his food bowl, giving me a look that said, Hurry up, human.

I chuckled weakly, filling his dish and setting it down. “There. Happy?” I watched as he dove in, his tail wagging like I’d just given him the world. At least one of us was having a good morning.

While Hades busied himself with his food, I stumbled into the bathroom for a much-needed shower. The hot water did its best to melt away my hangover, but the memories of last night refused to wash away so easily.

By the time I made it back to the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee, my nerves were already fraying. With Hades trailing close behind, I shuffled out onto the balcony, cradling my mug like it was my last lifeline.

The crisp morning air helped a little, enough to jolt me out of the lingering haze of sleep. Hades curled up near my feet, his fluffy coat glowing in the soft sunlight as he rested his head on his paws.

I leaned back in my chair, taking a slow sip of coffee. For a moment, I let the stillness of the morning lull me, the warmth of the mug grounding me. But it didn’t last long.

Like an unwelcome tide, the memories from last night started flooding back.

The club. The drinks. The banter with Yoongi. My stomach twisted as flashes of my drunken antics resurfaced—the sass, the dramatic finger-pointing, the teasing.

“What the hell was I thinking?” I muttered, covering my face with one hand. Hades perked up slightly at the sound of my voice but settled back down when he realized I wasn’t going anywhere.

The memory of Yoongi’s smirk, his low chuckle, the way he’d looked at me—all of it came rushing back, vivid and unrelenting. My cheeks burned as I remembered calling him a sly fox and declaring myself a “delightful mess.” The mortification was almost enough to make me curl up into a ball and stay there forever.

But what really made my chest tighten was the car ride home. His words, his gaze, the way he’d said, “You’re even more fun when you’re just you.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. Why couldn’t I just forget about it? Why did that moment, of all things, have to stick with me?

The insecurities hit like a freight train, each one louder than the last. Did I look foolish to him? Did I come off as desperate? What if I’d ruined everything—whatever this was?

Hades shifted at my feet, letting out a soft whine, and I reached down to scratch behind his ears, needing the comfort. “It’s fine,” I told him softly, more to myself than to him. “It’s not like he’s going to bring it up. Right?”

Hades yawned, clearly uninterested in my crisis, and rested his head again. I let out a shaky sigh, sipping my coffee and staring out at the city.

I had no idea how to face him again. But no matter how much I panicked, I couldn’t stop replaying his words in my head, over and over again.

“You’re even more fun when you’re just you.”

Why did that have to be the part I remembered most?

I swirled the mug absently, staring at the skyline but not really seeing it. The memory of Yoongi’s smirk lingered in my mind, sharp and clear. The way his eyes had glinted with something unreadable, something that made me feel... seen, but not in a way I could understand.

And what if it was all just a game?

My stomach twisted violently at the thought, the unease clawing its way up my throat. What if Yoongi had just been toying with me? Testing how far he could push me before I broke? It wouldn’t be the first time someone had done that, the memory of teenage taunts and cruel laughter surfacing like ghosts I thought I’d buried.

What if he wanted to see if the fat girl would fall for his charms?

I felt sick. I set the mug down with shaky hands, clutching the edge of the table as if it could anchor me. My cheeks burned, but this time it wasn’t embarrassment—it was anger. Anger at myself for letting him get to me, for letting my guard down, for letting his words and his smile burrow under my skin like they had any right to be there.

Fucking hell, Y/N. Why did you let this happen?

I buried my face in my hands, the sharp edge of panic building in my chest. What if he laughed about it later? What if this was nothing but some joke to him? A story to share with Jungkook tomorrow at work?

Oh, God.

Was he going to mock me?

I could already picture it: Yoongi leaning back in his chair, smirking as he recounted the night to Jungkook. Talking about how easy it was to get a reaction out of me, how I’d blushed, how I’d been drunk enough to practically fall into his lap.

My breathing hitched, anxiety tightening its grip on me like a vise. I pressed my hands to my face, trying to will the spiral to stop, but it didn’t. The thoughts came faster, louder, each one worse than the last.

What if tomorrow at work he made some sly comment, dropping hints that only I would catch, smirking when I squirmed under the weight of it? What if Jungkook looked at me differently, pitying me for falling for Yoongi’s charms? What if—what if—

“Stop it,” I whispered harshly to myself, my voice trembling.

But the damage was done. The doubts had sunk their claws into me, and no matter how much I tried to shove them down, they lingered, festering like an open wound.

Hades whined softly at my feet, nudging my leg with his nose. I looked down at him, my chest tightening further. His dark eyes stared up at me, his tiny head tilted, as if asking, Why are you upset?

I reached down, stroking his soft fur with trembling hands. “I’m fine,” I murmured, though the words felt like a lie.

But I wasn’t fine.

I was panicking, spiraling, drowning in a tide of insecurities that felt too heavy to swim against. And no matter how hard I tried to push the memories of last night away, they clung to me, stubborn and sharp, refusing to let me forget just how vulnerable I’d been.

And how foolish I’d been to let myself believe, even for a second, that Yoongi might have meant any of it.

The Monday morning commute was a nightmare. Traffic was a mess, and I could feel the anxiety building with each minute I was stuck in place. My stomach twisted in knots, and by the time I made it to the office, I was already on edge. The weekend had been long and uncomfortable, and I was not in the mood to face everyone—especially Yoongi.

As soon as I stepped through the door of the office, I immediately felt the weight of all those eyes. The hum of the usual office chatter felt deafening.

I kept my head down as I walked toward my desk, hoping I could just blend into the sea of busy workers. I didn’t need anyone noticing me today. I didn’t need anyone talking to me.

I quickly sank into my chair and buried myself behind my computer, praying that I could get through the day without any awkward interactions. The worst part was that I could feel it—the tension in the air, thick and unspoken. The what ifs from the weekend were still swirling in my mind, and the fear of being the subject of office gossip made it hard to focus on anything else.

Just when I thought I might finally be safe, I heard the unmistakable sound of Rya’s footsteps approaching. My heart dropped into my stomach.

“Y/N,” she said, her tone already heavy with something I didn’t want to hear. “We need to talk.”

I looked up, already feeling a rush of dread. “What’s going on?”

Rya’s eyes were filled with concern, and there was something else, too—something I couldn’t quite place. She hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “The picture of you and Yoongi… the one I took that night… it’s been uploaded to the company website.”

My blood ran cold. I could feel my face drain of color as I scrambled to process what she was saying. “What?!” I hissed, glancing around the office. Sure enough, a few people were looking in our direction, whispering to one another. I wanted to shrink into my chair, but it felt like all eyes were on me.

“What do you mean it was uploaded?” I felt the panic rising in my chest.

Rya sighed, crossing her arms. “I don’t know. It just appeared there. Some anonymous source uploaded it, and now… well, people are talking.”

I stood up so quickly that my chair nearly tipped over. My hands were shaking as I scanned the room, my eyes darting from one person to the next. I could feel the heat in my cheeks as the realization hit me: someone had posted the picture of Yoongi and me, and now it was out in the open for everyone to see.

“Did you do it?” I asked, my voice rising. Rya’s eyes widened, and she immediately shook her head.

“Y/N, no! I swear to you, I didn’t do it!” she protested. “Hoseok didn’t either. We’d never—”

I couldn’t stop the surge of frustration. I knew I wasn’t going crazy, but there was only one person who had been there with us, who could potentially have access to the photo. “Then who else was there, Rya?” I spat, my hands clenched into fists.

She blinked in surprise at the sudden heat in my voice, but I could see her starting to piece things together. “Wait… you don’t think… Yoongi, right?”

The truth hit me like a ton of bricks. It was the only explanation that made sense. He had been there, and he was the one with the power to upload it. I felt my blood boil. Of course it was him.

I stormed down the hallway, my steps growing faster as I approached the balcony. I knew exactly where to find him—Yoongi was always there, cigarette in hand, leaning against the railing, as if the world outside could fix whatever thoughts were swirling in his head. But when I threw open the door, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.

Jungkook was standing there, his hand gripping Yoongi’s collar, his face tight with anger. My heart sank, and for a split second, I didn’t even know how to react.

“Jungkook, what the hell—” I snapped, my voice sharp with confusion and frustration.

He turned to face me, his expression a mix of upset and disbelief. "You—" he started, cutting off mid-sentence, his gaze flicking to Yoongi, still holding him by the collar. "This picture, Y/N. You don’t get it. It’s going to ruin the company’s image!"

I could feel my pulse quicken, anger boiling in my veins. I hadn’t even had a chance to process what was happening before Yoongi spoke up, his voice low and mocking, as always.

"Relax," he drawled, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “I did not upload it. Not like you had much to worry about, though. The way you looked that night... You sure your friends are as real as they seem?”

His words hit like a slap, each syllable laced with venom, and I could feel my stomach churn in disbelief. The nerve of him, mocking me like this—mocking everything I’d been through. The image, my friends, all of it.

I was so angry, I couldn’t even speak. Instead, I just stared at him, every part of me wanting to explode. How dare he act like I was the one causing problems when he was the one toying with my life?

The sting of Yoongi’s words hit harder than I ever expected. It was like a punch to the gut, and I could feel every bit of my frustration and hurt boiling over. How could he say something like that? How could he act so differently now?

It felt like all the walls I had put up around myself were crashing down. I had trusted him. I had thought maybe, just maybe, there was something real between us. But now—now he was just mocking me, belittling me, throwing all of my emotions in my face like they meant nothing.

Before I could even think, my hand was moving, slapping him across the face with all the force I could muster. His head snapped to the side, but the cold expression didn’t falter. And then, without thinking again, I shoved him hard—his cigarette flying from his hand as he stumbled back.

“Go to Hell.” I choked out, my voice trembling with rage and hurt.

Without giving him a chance to respond, I turned and stormed off the balcony, my chest tight and tears already starting to blur my vision. I couldn’t hold them back. They burned, hot and relentless, as I ran down the hall to find somewhere, anywhere, to hide.

I ended up in a bathroom, locking the door behind me. My legs gave way, and I collapsed onto the cold tiles, sobbing uncontrollably. I didn’t care anymore. Nothing mattered. My entire body shook with the weight of it—the betrayal, the pain, the confusion. Why did he have to hurt me like this? Why did he have to make me feel so small?

I spent what felt like hours on the bathroom floor, crying until my throat ached and my eyes burned. My makeup was ruined, my emotions shredded, and I couldn’t even think straight.

Eventually, after what felt like a lifetime, I managed to pull myself together enough to stand and wipe my face. I wasn’t ready to face anyone, but I knew I had to. I took a deep breath, wiped away the last of the tears, and stepped out of the bathroom.

As soon as I did, I froze. Rya was standing there, her posture tense, her eyes full of regret. My heart sank.

"Y/N, wait," she began softly, stepping closer. "I—"

“What do you want, Rya?” I cut her off, my voice hoarse from crying. I wasn’t sure I could handle another person adding to my mess right now.

“I need to explain," she said, looking like she was about to cry too. "It was me. I—I sent the picture to Hoseok, and Hoseok... he sent it to his co-worker."

I felt the room spin, the anger and confusion flooding back all at once. "You did what?" I asked, my voice trembling with disbelief.

She nodded, her eyes full of guilt. "I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t think it would get out like this. It was a stupid mistake. I should’ve never sent it. Please, just... please understand. I never meant for any of this to happen."

The words didn’t feel real. I just stood there, my mind racing, my heart sinking deeper into my chest. So much had been messed up already. So much had been done, and now... now it was all just crashing down around me.

I didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to hear Rya's apologies or explanations. I couldn’t. It was too much, and right now, I just needed to be alone. The last thing I wanted was to stand there and listen to her make excuses for what she’d done. So, without another word, I turned and walked away from her, heading straight for my desk.

My steps were heavy, each one feeling like a punishment as I walked through the hallway. I didn’t care who saw me, didn’t care about the mess I was. I just wanted to go back to my desk, to find some semblance of control in the chaos.

As soon as I reached my cubicle, I collapsed into my chair, my hands gripping the edge of the desk as I tried to steady my breathing. I could feel the weight of everything pressing down on me. My heart still ached from Yoongi's words, and now, the fallout from Rya’s actions, the picture… It was all just too much.

But the relief of sitting at my desk didn’t last long.

Tina’s voice cut through the air, sharp and mocking as she approached me. "Well, well, look who’s back," she sneered. “Had a nice little breakdown, huh? That photo was a real treat. It’s almost cute how hard you tried to pretend you had it together.”

I didn’t even look up at her. I couldn’t stomach the idea of interacting with someone like her right now.

But Tina wasn’t done. She moved closer, her voice dripping with venom. "You know, Y/N," she said, her tone laced with cruelty, "I don’t know why you even bother. People like you? You’re never going to be loved. A fatty like you will always just be a joke."

The words hit me like ice water, cold and suffocating. I could feel my stomach drop, my chest tightening with the sting of her words. Every single insult she hurled felt like it was carving into my skin, one cruel word after another.

"People like me?" I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper, unable to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. "What does that even mean?"

Tina chuckled, a sound so bitter it made my skin crawl. "It means exactly what I said. You’re never going to fit in, Y/N. Not with your body, not with your face, not with any of it. No one’s going to look at you the way they look at someone who actually matters."

I felt every word sink deeper into me, like poison that was seeping into my soul. I couldn’t even breathe. The thought of her judging me, of everyone judging me, it was too much.

I felt myself shaking, not from anger, but from the hurt that felt too heavy to carry. It wasn’t just her words. It wasn’t just Tina or anyone else. It was everything—the picture, Yoongi’s mockery, Rya’s betrayal—and now this, this new low I hadn’t even anticipated.

My hands clenched into fists, but even that wasn’t enough to stop the tears from spilling over. Tina had done it—she’d finally broken me.

I was still sitting there, trying to gather myself, my hands trembling as I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand. I could feel Tina’s eyes on me, her cruel words still ringing in my head like a broken record. I was trying so hard to keep it together, to not break completely, but every attempt felt futile.

Then, suddenly, I heard it—Jungkook's voice, sharper than I’d ever heard before.

"That’s enough," he snapped, his tone unlike anything I had ever heard from him. I looked up in surprise, my mind trying to process what was happening. His eyes were fierce, his jaw clenched as he stepped between me and Tina, standing protectively in front of me.

Tina scoffed, but there was a hesitant look in her eyes, as though she hadn’t expected Jungkook to speak up like that. "What, are you going to play the hero now after you were mocking her too?" she sneered, but her words lacked conviction.

"One word," Jungkook shot back, his voice like ice. "One word and you will get dismissed effective immediately."

He stood tall, unwavering, until Tina finally huffed and walked away, clearly unwilling to challenge him further. As she turned on her heel, I could hear her mutter something under her breath, but I didn’t care. All I could focus on was Jungkook now.

He turned to me, his face softening a bit, though there was still a tightness in his expression. He knelt down in front of me, his presence oddly comforting despite everything I had been through today.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, but his concern was evident.

I shook my head, unable to find the words. There was too much going on inside my head, too much hurt and betrayal. I couldn’t trust anyone right now—not Tina, not even Rya or Yoongi. I couldn’t tell him that though. "Come to my office," he had whispered and before I could reply, my feet were dragging me there, following behind. He made sure to close the door as I sat on the soft cushioned sofa near his desk.

He didn't say anything nor pushed further. Instead, he walked to the side, pouring a glass of water and took out his handkerchief laying in one of his pockets. He returned and placed them in front of me, his movements careful, like he was trying to give me space but still offer some kind of comfort.

I glanced at the glass of water and the handkerchief. oddly enough I noticed red /JK/ initials on it. Funny.

I knew he was trying to help, but part of me didn’t know how to accept it. I didn’t know how to accept help from anyone right now. Everyone seemed so fake, so full of hidden motives, and I felt like I was surrounded by nothing but lies.

"Take it easy," Jungkook said, his voice calm and gentle. "You don’t have to stay here. If you need some time, take the day off. Go home. Just… take care of yourself, alright?"

I looked up at him, feeling a mix of emotions—gratitude, suspicion, confusion. It was hard to trust anyone at this point, especially when I had been betrayed so many times today. I didn’t know if I could leave, if I could just walk away from all of this, but… it did sound like the right thing to do.

"You don’t have to figure it out all at once.." he answered, noticing the pain in my eyes.

He took a step back, allowing me the space to make my own decision. He didn’t push, just stood there quietly, waiting for me to come to my own conclusion.

I could feel the tears starting to well up again, but I didn’t want to break down in front of him. I needed to pull myself together.

I nodded slowly, still uncertain, but willing to listen for my own sake. "Okay. I’ll go home."

I let out a shaky breath, picking up the glass of water as my hands trembled. For the first time today, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t completely alone. But even then, there was a nagging feeling in the back of my mind, telling me to be careful.

Trusting anyone right now seemed impossible.

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joelsrose · 2 months ago

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First Date? Part 7

Hey guys! 💛 First off, I just want to say how much I appreciate all of you—the love and excitement you show for this story means so much to me! I know some of you were hoping for a longer chapter last time, and I totally get it. I love that you’re so invested but it did make me a tiny bit sad seeing those comments eeek but thats me being very sensitive and i just want to please all of you. I truly appreciate all the feedback and love, and I can’t wait to share more with you soon. Thank you for being here and for caring so much—it really means the world. ✨

previous chapters

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the dining hall, mingling with the quiet murmur of conversation and the occasional scrape of a chair against the wooden floor.

Morning light filtered in through the high windows, casting long, golden streaks across the worn tables. Maria sat across from you, her fingers curled around a chipped ceramic mug, steam rising in soft, twisting tendrils.

She looked as composed as ever, her expression carefully measured, but you caught the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers tightened just slightly around the mug before she lifted it to her lips.

“How are you feeling?” you asked gently, leaning forward, your elbows resting on the table. “You know… about Tommy leaving?”

She shrugged—a small, deliberate movement—but her eyes wavered for just a fraction of a second before she blinked, masking whatever had surfaced. “It has to be done,” she said, her voice even, too even.

You realized then that you hadn’t even asked Joel what the patrol was for. The thought surfaced abruptly, pulling your focus. “What’s going on out there?” you asked, your voice quieter now, like saying it too loud would make it worse.

Maria exhaled, glancing down at her coffee before meeting your gaze again. “More infected near the highway,” she said, tone clipped, as if keeping it simple would make it easier. “Tommy’s gotta check it out, see if it’s manageable. If not… we’ll have to call off scavenging runs in that area.”

You nodded absently, but your mind had already unraveled, drifting to where Joel was—wherever that was. Was he safe? Was he warm? Was he hungry? Was he breathing? The thought curled at the edges, dark and treacherous, threatening to bloom into something unbearable.

Despite the anger and the hurt, despite every reason you had to turn away, there was no denying the way he had settled into you, deep and unshakable, woven into the marrow of your bones. No matter how much you tried to push it down, tried to bury it beneath layers of resentment and frustration, the truth remained—your heart was not capable of existing in a world where he did not. You couldn’t bring yourself to imagine it, couldn’t let the thought fester in the corners of your mind, because if you did, if you let it take shape, it would consume you whole.

You refused to picture him as anything but alive—breathing, walking, existing in the same world as you. You would not allow yourself to envision him otherwise, would not let the image of him broken and cold, lost to the same cruel world that had never once granted him kindness, take root in your mind.

The very idea of it sent something sharp and unbearable through you, something that made your chest tighten and your throat close, something that felt too much like grief. So you rejected it, pushed it down and locked it away, clung to the certainty that wherever he was, he was still out there. He had to be.

Maria tilted her head at your silence, a knowing smile tugging at her lips as she studied you. “What’s up with you?” she asked, her tone light, teasing. “I’ve never seen you this quiet. What, Joel finally manage to shut you up?”

The words were meant to be playful, but they landed heavier than she intended, lodging somewhere deep in your chest. The air around you felt denser, each breath a little harder to pull in. You sighed, dragging a hand over your face, fingers pressing into your temple as if you could knead away the ache building there.

“Look, Maria,” you said, straightening, forcing steadiness into your voice. “I need to switch patrol partners.”

Her smile faltered, the amusement slipping from her face as her brows drew together. “Huh?” She blinked, the sharpness in her eyes softening into confusion. “What do you mean? Did… did something happen?”

“No.” The lie was too quick, too easy, tumbling past your lips before you had the chance to stop it. You shook your head, trying to keep your expression neutral, but the tension in your jaw betrayed you.

“Nothing happened. I just—I can’t—” The words caught, snagged on something you couldn’t name. You exhaled sharply, leaning back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest as if the posture alone could make you feel less exposed. “I just need to swap, okay? I’ll take anyone else.”

Maria didn’t respond right away. Instead, she sat there, watching you, eyes narrowed in quiet scrutiny. Then, slowly, she leaned forward, mirroring your earlier posture, elbows resting against the worn wooden table. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, quieter, but it carried a weight that pressed down on you like a held breath.

"Tell me the truth," Maria said, her voice steady, unrelenting, her gaze locking onto yours with the kind of weight that left no room for evasion. "What happened with Joel?"

You shook your head, fingers curling and uncurling around the fabric of your shirt, a nervous habit you couldn’t shake, something to anchor you when the ground felt unsteady beneath your feet. "Maria," you said, her name slipping from your lips like a warning, sharp and edged, slicing through the thick, suffocating silence that had settled between you.

It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be—there was a weight to it, something final, something immovable, like a door being shut and locked from the inside. A line drawn in the sand, not in anger, but in quiet desperation, a plea wrapped in steel—don’t push me, don’t make me say it, don’t make me open that wound when I’ve spent every waking moment trying to sew it shut.

Her lips parted, poised to argue, to press in the way she always did when she sensed something unraveling just beneath the surface, when she caught the quiet tremble in your resolve and sought to pry it open with careful hands. But whatever she saw in your expression—the silent plea, the raw, unspoken desperation you weren’t even sure you meant to show—stopped her cold. You weren’t in the mood to explain, and for once, she seemed to understand that.

The scrape of wood against wood rang out sharp in the quiet room as you pushed back your chair, the sound too loud, too abrupt, splitting the moment in two.

You stood, movements mechanical, reaching for your coat draped over the back of the chair, fingers tightening around the worn fabric as if grounding yourself in something tangible, something solid, while Maria’s gaze burned into you. You felt it, felt the weight of her questions, her concern pressing against your back like a force you weren’t ready to meet head-on.

“Just… please,” you murmured, the words slipping free before you could swallow them back down, quieter now, the sharp edge in your voice dulling but never fully breaking. It wasn’t a demand, not really, but something close to it—something that held the weight of exhaustion, of quiet surrender. “Do this for me.”

A long beat of silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, before she finally exhaled, a slow, measured breath that felt like reluctant acceptance. Her shoulders dropped, the tension easing just enough, her gaze still searching, still waiting for something you weren’t willing to give. “Okay,” she murmured at last, her voice quiet, careful, as if she were handling something fragile, something that might shatter if she held it too tightly.

You gave her a small nod, barely more than a movement, before turning on your heel and slipping out of the dining hall, the cool air swallowing you whole as you walked away.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The decrepit cabin groaned with every passing breeze, little more than a skeleton of rotting wood and splintered beams barely holding together. The air inside was thick, damp with the scent of earth and blood—some theirs, some not. Shadows danced across the peeling walls as the flame of a single lantern flickered precariously on a broken crate.

Joel and Tommy sat cross-legged on the warped floor, a battered tin of something unappetizing between them.

Neither spoke. Neither looked at the other.

The silence hung heavy, broken only by the occasional scrape of a fork against metal, the sound grating in the stillness.

Joel’s hand hovered near his thigh, his fingers curling and uncurling like they didn’t know what to do with themselves. His knuckles were split and bloodied, the dried crimson cracked against his skin, and his wrist bore the faint tremor of adrenaline not yet spent.

In the uneven light of the lantern, his face looked carved from stone—hard and unyielding, his jaw locked tight, the muscle ticking in a relentless rhythm. His chest rose and fell in steady breaths, but everything about him was taut, coiled, like a spring ready to snap.

Tommy watched him out of the corner of his eye, his own shoulders stiff and squared, every line of his body radiating tension. The silence between them was louder than words, a pressure building with every passing second.

It had been less than an hour since it happened.

Less than an hour since Joel had fucked up—big time.

They had been tracking through the woods, moving through the underbrush in a silence that should have been second nature by now, but Joel was off.

Sluggish, unsteady, tripping over roots he should’ve seen, his footing clumsy in a way that made Tommy shoot him sharp looks out of the corner of his eye. He had muttered something under his breath—something half-frustrated, half-worried—but hadn’t pushed. Not yet.

Because Tommy could tell.

Joel had been off his game all damn day, his mind caught in the snare of something he couldn’t shake, something that had curled around his ribs and hollowed him out from the inside. You.

It was always you.

The way you had looked at him that night was destroying him.

It chased him through sleep, through dreams that twisted into something unbearable the second he reached for you. It haunted the corners of his mind in the quiet hours before dawn, when exhaustion should’ve claimed him, but never did. You were there—always there—eyes wide, raw, unshielded, just before you had let those words slip past your lips, quiet, reverent, terrifying.

"I love-"

Said into the hush, carried on the breath of a moment too fragile to last. And he—fool, coward, goddamn wreck of a man—had shattered it in his hands before he even let himself hold it. Had told you it wasn’t real. Had let you tuck it away, no—forced you to pretend it had never happened at all.

And now, the weight of it was drowning him.

His head wasn’t where it should have been. It was on you—always on you.

Too busy wondering if you had eaten, if you'd remembered to stoke the fire before the cold set in, if your hands had been warm when you woke up or if the chill had crept beneath your blankets, making you shiver.

If you'd had enough coffee at home or if you'd been forced to drink the one from the dining hall—the one you never liked, too bitter, too weak. He imagined you grimacing at the first sip, pressing your lips together the way you always did when something disappointed you, curling your hands around the mug anyway just for the warmth.

He wondered if you’d taken your time getting ready that morning or if you'd rushed, still half-asleep, fumbling for your boots with that little furrow in your brow you always got when you were running late.

If you'd worn that sweater—the one he knew was soft because he’d brushed past you once, and the feeling had lingered on his skin longer than it should have.

But worst of all—the cruelest, most selfish thing—was that he wondered if you ever thought about him. And he had no right to. Not after everything, not after the way he had left. He had forfeited that privilege the second he walked away, the second he let his fear speak louder than the truth, the second he chose silence over you.

And yet, he still found himself lingering in the possibility. Still found himself wondering if his absence clung to you the way yours clung to him, curling around his ribs like a phantom limb, something lost but never forgotten. If you missed him the way he missed you—with an ache so deep it felt carved into his bones, a hollow, gnawing thing that lived beneath his skin, a hunger that had nothing to do with food.

And then—reckless, aching—his mind wandered into dangerous, delicate imaginings of you.

Soft. Small. Intimate.

He let himself imagine it. If you wore your hair to bed in that loose braid like you sometimes did on patrol, strands slipping free, curling at your cheek, at the delicate slope of your neck, swaying with each breath, soft and effortless. Or if, in the privacy of your room, you let it fall completely—untamed, unbound, spilling over your shoulders, cascading across your pillow in quiet disarray. A sight untouched by the world. Untouched by him.

And God—God, how he wanted to touch.

Not just to see, not just to admire, but to feel. His fingers threading through it, slow and reverent, tugging gently just to hear the quiet hitch of your breath.

And then—before he could stop it, before he could drag himself back from the edge—his mind wandered deeper, sinking into something unspoken, something desperate, something reverent in its ruin.

What did you wear to bed?

Something soft, something thin, worn-down cotton stretched over your skin, clinging to the curve of your body, whispering against your thighs when you moved beneath the blankets. Did it slip higher in the night, baring the plush swell of your hips, the gentle dip of your waist? Did it ride up just enough that if he were there, if his hands were on you, he could push it further with the barest brush of his fingertips?

Did the cold make you shiver? Did it pull your nipples into soft, aching peaks, pressing against the fabric, sensitive and untouched, a secret only the night knew? Did you tuck your hands beneath the blankets, pressing your palms over your arms for warmth, sighing softly as you curled into yourself? Or did you stretch out, limbs long and languid, sheets tangled around your legs, the air against your skin cool, your body flushed with heat?

Had you ever—just once—rolled onto your side in the hush of sleep and whispered his name? Had it ever slipped past your lips without you realizing, soft and absent, breathed into the pillow, lost to the quiet? Did you ever wake up gasping, heart hammering, fingers curled against the sheets as if searching for something that wasn’t there?

Had you ever dreamed of him the way he dreamed of you?

Did your hands ever drift, slow and uncertain, down the length of your stomach, lower still, seeking relief from a longing that refused to be named? Did you ever press your thighs together, sigh against the emptiness, the want curling deep inside you, leaving you restless, burning? And if you did—if you had—what did you do about it?

These selfish, cowardly preoccupations had nearly been the death of him today. Had nearly been the death of them both.

The raiders had come out of nowhere. Just three of them. It should have been easy, routine—Joel and Tommy had been through worse, had fought side by side too many times to falter. They moved like a well-worn machine, an unspoken rhythm, a brotherhood forged in blood and war. But today, for the first time in thirty years, Joel had been off.

His timing. His aim. His goddamn instincts.

He had hesitated when he shouldn’t have. Missed when he couldn’t afford to. And the price had been blood—his and Tommy’s both. They had almost died because of him. Tommy had managed, somehow, had stepped in where Joel should have, had been sharp and quick and ruthless, had been himself. But Joel—Joel had been slow. Unsteady. Somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere with you.

Now, the cabin bore witness to their silence, thick with tension and the raw weight of two men aching, bruised, barely holding together. The fight had been ugly. Joel could still feel the imprint of a rifle stock against his ribs, the deep-set ache that pulsed with every breath, a reminder of where one of them had caught him hard in the side.

His knuckles were split and bloodied, dried crimson cracked against his skin, and beneath the sleeve of his jacket, his shoulder burned where a knife had grazed too close. Tommy didn’t look much better—a cut above his brow still sluggishly weeping, his jaw darkening with the promise of a bruise, his breathing tight, measured, like he was favoring something in his ribs. They hadn’t left that fight unscathed.

Joel stared hard at the floorboards, fingers twitching against his thigh, a storm roiling just beneath the surface, something barely restrained, barely holding together.

Finally, it snapped.

The sound of the fork clattering onto the tin was jarring, slicing clean through the stagnant air, cutting through the silence like a blade to the throat. Tommy leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees, his voice low and sharp, rough with frustration, with disbelief, with something dangerously close to fear.

"The fuck is wrong with you, Joel?"

Joel exhaled slowly, the breath dragging out of him like it took effort, like it hurt. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling the tension locked deep in the muscle, the ache of exhaustion woven through his bones. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet but firm, edged with warning. "Tommy. Drop it."

"No." The word came quick, firm, crackling with barely restrained anger. Tommy’s hands curled into fists against his knees, his whole body tight, shoulders squared, voice raw. "No, I ain’t droppin’ it. We almost fucking died out there. Died, Joel. Because your head ain’t screwed on right."

His breath was coming faster now, anger bleeding into something else—something deeper, something heavier. His voice cracked as he said it, just slightly, just enough for Joel to hear the truth beneath it.

"I gotta get back for Maria, Joel. You know that, right?"

Joel shut his eyes for a long moment, pressing his lips into a thin, unyielding line. He let the words settle in his chest, let them sink in, let them land square in the hollowed-out space where guilt already sat like something rotting. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue. Just took it. Because Tommy was right.

They could be dead. And it was his fucking fault.

But Tommy wasn’t done. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping, no longer sharp with anger but something colder, something edged with realization, with disbelief, like he was piecing it together in real time, like he was staring at his brother and seeing something wrong for the first time in a long time.

"Joel." Tommy's voice was quieter now, but no less sharp, no less cutting. "When was the last time you shot at somethin’ and missed?"

The words landed like a bullet to bone, precise and unforgiving, and Joel felt the weight of them settle deep, heavy in his chest, pressing against something raw.

Finally, Joel exhaled, a slow, fractured thing, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse, rough like gravel ground beneath a boot. "Not sure what the hell’s wrong with me." The words came low, almost like they weren’t meant to be heard, almost like they weren’t meant to exist outside of his own head.

Tommy stilled, something shifting in his expression—less anger now, less frustration, something steadier, something careful. He leaned forward slightly, voice quiet, deliberate, like he was stepping around the jagged edges of something fragile, something that might splinter if he pressed too hard.

"Jesus, Joel," he murmured, shaking his head. "What the hell’s goin’ on with you?"

Joel exhaled sharply, dragging a rough, calloused hand down his face. "I fucked up." His voice was low, uneven, barely more than a breath, like the words hurt coming out, like they had splintered inside of him before ever reaching the air. "With her."

Tommy froze, his eyes widening just a fraction as he processed the weight of his brother’s words. Joel—tough, unyielding, always carrying his burdens in silence—was admitting something. Something raw, something broken, something that didn’t sit right in the space between them.

Tomym exhaled through his nose, a soundless oh, the pieces clicking into place like a blade sliding into its sheath. His voice, when it came, was steady but careful, the kind of calm meant to keep something from breaking apart. "Alright." He leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees, his words measured, deliberate, like he was talking to someone standing too close to the edge. "What happened?"

Joel’s hands twitched, fingers flexing, "After dinner at yours." The words were gravel, scraped raw and unwilling. "I walked her home."

Tommy gave a slow nod, his expression patient but expectant, waiting, urging. "Yeah? And?"

Joel swallowed, shaking his head like he could shake off the memory, like it wasn’t stitched into every breath, every thought, every restless hour he spent staring at the ceiling, replaying it over and over. "She was drunk." His voice dropped lower, tighter, like the words themselves hurt.

Tommy’s nod was slower this time, his brow furrowing, his voice softer now, careful. "Okay. Then what?"

Joel swallowed hard. "She..." His throat tightened, voice catching, breaking on the edges. He forced the words out anyway, unraveling, fraying, something inside him splitting at the seams. "She said some things."

Tommy didn’t speak. Didn’t shift. Didn’t even breathe, just watched him with that quiet, patient scrutiny that made Joel feel like his insides were being pried open, like there was no hiding from what came next.

"Things she shouldn’t have said."

Tommy tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady, cautious. “Like what?” he asked, his voice low, careful—like he wasn’t sure if pushing would make Joel shut down or finally crack open.

Joel exhaled sharply, the breath jagged, uneven, more pain than air. He let out something that might’ve been a laugh in another life, but here, now, in this moment, it was empty, bitter, something worn and threadbare. He shook his head, lips twisting into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite a grimace—just something hollow, something caught between regret and disbelief.

"She told me—"

The words caught. Lodged in his throat like a fist, like they weren’t meant to leave his mouth, like speaking them aloud would make them real in a way he wasn’t sure he could handle. His chest rose and fell, breath slow, heavy, every muscle in his body tensed like he could brace himself against the weight of it. The pause stretched long, unbearable.

Then—finally, quietly, wrecked—he let them slip free.

"She told me she wanted me to kiss her."

Tommy blinked, his brows lifting, the disbelief settling in his features before the words had even fully landed. “What?”

Joel’s voice was quieter now, rough around the edges, worn. Like saying it aloud stripped him raw, made it worse—made it real. “She asked why I didn’t kiss her at your birthday.” A bitter scoff, a shake of his head, like the memory itself was something that gnawed at him from the inside out. “During that stupid goddamn spin-the-bottle game.”

Tommy exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face, the movement heavy—weighted not just with exasperation, but with something that looked an awful lot like disbelief. He leaned back slightly, shaking his head. “Jesus, Joel.” It wasn’t scathing, wasn’t reprimanding. Just tired. “What the hell did you say?”

Joel tipped his head back against the wall, his eyes fluttering shut for half a second, like he could will himself away from this conversation, from the weight pressing against his ribs, from the ache winding its way through every breath. But it didn’t work. It never worked.

"That’s not even the worst part." His voice cracked—just slightly, just enough for Tommy to notice. Just enough for him to feel it, for his chest to tighten, for the words to stick in his throat like something barbed, something clawing its way out. His breath turned uneven, his fingers twitching at his sides as his mind betrayed him, dragging him back there.

Back to you.

To the way you had looked at him that night—drunk, vulnerable, so damn pretty, eyes glazed over, lips kiss-bitten from too much whiskey, voice soft, slurred, sweet. Sitting there, knees drawn up beneath you, the dim glow of the lantern casting golden light across your skin, bathing you in something holy.

You had ached for him. Had looked at him with wide, pleading eyes, like you were offering yourself up to him completely, giving him something raw and reckless and real, something fragile and too big to be taken back. You had already laid it bare at his feet, already given him everything, and God help him, he had stood there and done nothing.

No—worse.

He had left.

"She..." Joel hesitated, his jaw tightening, his throat working around the words like they physically hurt to say. His breath came short, uneven, as if he was choking on the weight of it, drowning in something too big, too heavy to carry. And then, finally—finally—he said it, the confession tearing from his lips like something jagged.

"She was gonna tell me she loved me."

Tommy stilled. His breath caught, his eyes snapping to Joel’s face like he hadn’t heard him right. The silence that followed was thick, suffocating, coiling around them like a vice.

"What?" Tommy’s voice was softer now, quieter—disbelieving, like the word had slipped out before he could stop it. He blinked, shook his head once, twice, his brow furrowing as if he could physically force himself to understand. "She—what?"

Joel swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his breath unsteady as he finally lifted his gaze. His eyes were raw, burning with something unspoken, something heavy and unrelenting, something he hadn’t let himself name.

"I stopped her." The words barely carried in the stillness, rough and uneven, like they scraped against the inside of his throat, like saying them hurt. "Told her she didn’t mean it."

Tommy just stared, his mouth parting slightly, something flickering behind his eyes—disbelief, frustration, something softer, something Joel refused to look at. When Tommy finally spoke, his voice was quiet but firm, sharp but not unkind. "Why?"

Joel’s fingers curled into fists against his thighs, his jaw locking so tightly it looked like it might snap. He could feel the muscles in his neck pull taut, the ache spreading down his spine, winding around his ribs like something trying to crush him.

"Because she was drunk, Tommy."

Joel’s voice dropped, rough and unsteady, something raw curling at the edges of his words. "I couldn’t let her say it. Not like that. Not when she’d wake up and regret it."

He shook his head, almost to himself now, voice dropping even lower, "She was drunk." The words weren’t for Tommy anymore. They weren’t even for you. They were for himself, for the part of him that needed to believe it, that needed to hold onto the idea that pushing you away had been the right thing.

Tommy didn’t speak right away. He just looked at him, long and hard, like he was waiting for Joel to catch up, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His expression was unreadable, but something flickered beneath the surface—frustration, maybe, but not anger. Something quieter. Something tired. Then, slowly, he shook his head, exhaling like he didn’t know whether to laugh or curse or just sit there and let Joel drown in his own damn misery. He dragged a hand down his face, let it linger for a second, like the weight of this was just as exhausting for him as it was for Joel.

"Christ, Joel." Tommy tilted his head slightly, studying him, his gaze unreadable, searching Joel’s face like he was looking for something—some sign that he understood, that he knew.

"You really don’t see it, do you?"

Joel said nothing. Just sat there, jaw locked, breath unsteady, staring down at the floor like if he looked anywhere else, this might not matter so damn much.

Tommy huffed a quiet, almost bitter laugh, shaking his head again. He leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on his knees, voice softer now, measured, but dragging something heavier into the space between them.

"That girl," he started, his words slow, deliberate, like he needed them to land just right, like he needed Joel to feel them. "She looks at you like you’re the only thing in this whole goddamn world that makes sense to her. Like you’re the one thing she knows won’t let her down. Like you’re safe, Joel."

"She was drunk," Joel muttered, his voice brittle, strained, breaking in the middle like if he said it enough times, he might finally believe it. "She didn’t mean it."

Tommy scoffed, shaking his head, exhaling slow and sharp, like he was losing patience, like he was done watching Joel twist himself into knots just to avoid the inevitable.

"Doesn’t mean it wasn’t true," he shot back, his voice cutting through Joel’s flimsy excuse like a blade, clean and unforgiving. He leaned in slightly, his stare unwavering, piercing, seeing right through him, through all of it. "And you know it."

Joel’s fingers twitched against his knee, his jaw tight, his pulse hammering somewhere deep in his throat. "Doesn’t matter anyway," he muttered, quieter now, dull with something closer to resignation than he wanted to admit. "I talked to her the other day. She said she didn’t remember."

Tommy blinked, then scoffed again, sharper this time, full of disbelief. "And you believe her?" His voice wasn’t just cutting—it was aching, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. "Jesus, Joel. Could you be any denser? You rejected the poor girl—of course she’s gonna pretend she don’t remember. What the hell else is she supposed to say?"

Joel’s jaw locked. "I didn’t reject her," he bit out, but there was a crack in his voice, something unsteady, something that settled between them like a wound laid bare.

Tommy arched a brow, unconvinced. He leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees, voice quieter now but no less sharp. "No? Then what’d you do, huh? Did you stay? Did you tell her it was gonna be alright? Did you—"

Joel shook his head, quick, sharp, like he could shove the words away before Tommy could finish them. "No." It was barely more than a whisper, but it landed between them like a punch to the ribs.

Tommy’s brows furrowed, his voice dipping low, wary. "Joel—"

"No," Joel said again, the word scraping out of him, his breath unsteady, his hands gripping his knees like he needed to brace himself, like the weight of it all might finally crush him.

His fingers flexed once, twice, then curled in again. His voice cracked, raw and splintering apart. "I… fuck." He let out a sharp breath, pressing the heel of his palm against his temple, his shoulders curling inward like he could fold in on himself, like if he made himself small enough, maybe the guilt wouldn’t sink its claws so deep.

"I left."

"You left?" tommy repeated, slower this time, like he needed to say it aloud to believe it. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Joel?"

Tommy let out a slow sigh, long and weary, the weight of it settling between them like dust in the dim cabin light. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, gentler, but no less resolute. “Joel.” He said his name like it was something fragile, something worth handling with care. “I know you’ve been through hell. I know you think you don’t got room for anything else in your life. But you’re wrong.”

He hesitated, lips pressing into a firm line, as if he was trying to find the right words, as if they mattered more now than they ever had before. His voice dipped lower when he finally continued, steady and sure, leaving no space for argument.

“You deserve better than this. Better than sittin’ in a goddamn cabin, beatin’ yourself up ‘cause you’re too scared to believe someone could actually give a damn about you.”

Joel stiffened, his hands flexing against his knees, his shoulders tightening like he could brace himself against words alone. He still wouldn’t look up.

Tommy exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “She cares about you, Joel. And you know it.” He leaned in, his tone firm, but not unkind, pressing into the silence, forcing Joel to sit with it. “And if you’re too damn stubborn to let her in, you’re gonna regret it. Hell, you already do.”

The words landed like a blow, cutting deeper than anything else Tommy had thrown at him tonight. And Joel—Joel just sat there, staring at the ground like if he looked hard enough, he might find the answer to a question he hadn’t been ready to ask. His breath was uneven, his body wound so tight he felt like he might snap.

Tommy watched him for a long moment, expression unreadable, then sat back, his voice dipping even lower, quiet enough to be mistaken for something close to mercy.

“It’s alright to let someone care about you, Joel.” He paused, then softer, like a final offering. “It’s alright to let someone stay.”

Joel flinched, so subtle most people wouldn’t have noticed. But Tommy did.

Because he knew exactly what was running through Joel’s head now.

Sarah’s laughter—bright, unrestrained, filling every space it touched like it belonged there. The weight of her in his arms, her small hands clutching at his shirt, trusting him to keep her safe. Gone in an instant.

Tess—sharp-tongued, unshakable Tess, standing beside him, never asking for more than what he could give. A life spent fighting, surviving, and in the end, a fate she had chosen, one he couldn’t stop. Gone.

Ellie—her jokes, her sharp humor, the way she wore it like armor. The way she filled the hollowed-out space in Joel’s heart without even meaning to. Still here. Still his. But for how long?

Every person he had ever loved, slipping through his fingers like water, like dust, like something that had never belonged to him in the first place.

His breath hitched, barely audible, but enough. The ache in his chest twisted, raw and unrelenting, pressing up into his throat, threatening to consume him whole.

"I don’t—" His voice broke, rough and heavy, barely there. He shook his head sharply, like he could shake this loose, shake the ache out of his bones, shake himself free of the past clawing at his heels.

He swallowed hard, tried again. “Everyone I love ends up—” The words got caught, sticking in his throat like something jagged, something that would tear him apart if he forced it out. His hands curled into fists against his thighs, trembling slightly.

Tommy leaned forward, his voice cutting through the wall Joel had thrown up around himself, slicing through the silence like a blade. “I know you love her.” The words weren’t a question, weren’t a guess—they were fact, spoken with the kind of certainty that left no room for denial. His tone was firm, steady but insistent, forcing Joel to hear him. “Don’t tell me you don’t, ‘cause I’ve seen it. I see it every damn time you look at her. You’re scared—I get it. But, Joel…”

His voice softened, the edge giving way to something warmer, something quieter, something laced with an urgency that settled deep into Joel’s bones. “You gotta stop punishin’ yourself for things that weren’t your fault.”

Joel’s head dropped lower, his fists slowly unclenching, his fingers splaying against his thighs. They trembled, faintly, betraying the storm raging inside of him, the war he had been losing long before he had even realized he was fighting it. His voice was barely there when he finally spoke, the words dragging out of him like they were made of stone, heavy with doubt, thick with regret.

“She won’t wanna talk to me.” The words came rough, dragged from somewhere deep, like saying them out loud gave them weight, made them real in a way he wasn’t ready for. His throat tightened, breath hitching as his hands pressed harder against his legs, bracing, steadying—holding himself together by force of will alone. “Something’s off. She’s—fuck—she won’t wanna hear me out.” The thought sat heavy in his chest, suffocating, a truth he could feel in his bones even if he wasn’t ready to accept it.

Tommy exhaled, slow and even, sitting back, arms crossing over his chest. He studied Joel for a long moment, that quiet, knowing look settling on his face—the one Joel had seen a thousand times, the one that always came when he needed it least but maybe most.

"Then don’t talk."

Joel’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face, breaking through the thick haze of guilt and self-loathing. He glanced up, guarded, skeptical, his voice rough with exhaustion. "What the hell’s that supposed to mean?"

Tommy leaned in again, his tone deliberate, unwavering. “Write.”

Joel blinked. “Write?” The word felt strange in his mouth, foreign, like it didn’t belong to him.

Tommy nodded, his gaze locked on Joel, refusing to let him look away. "Put it all in a letter—every damn thing you’ve ever wanted to say to her but couldn’t. Everything you’re too scared to say out loud. Everything you regret. Everything you feel. And then give it to her."

Joel shook his head slightly, his hands tightening on his thighs, his breath unsteady. “Tommy—”

"Just let her hear you, Joel."

The words settled between them, pressing down on him, pressing into him.

He could see it now—you, sitting somewhere in the soft glow of lamplight, brow furrowed, fingers ghosting over the edge of the page as you read. He imagined your lips parting slightly, your breath catching, imagined the way your expression would shift as you took in every unspoken thing, every piece of him he had never known how to give you. He imagined your hands shaking, just a little, the way his were now.

And for the first time in a long time, Joel felt something close to hope—raw and terrifying and fragile, but there.

Joel shook his head, lips pressing into a thin line, his eyes dropping again, fingers curling into fists like he needed something to hold on to, something to anchor himself before the weight of this conversation swallowed him whole.

His breath came slow, measured, but it did nothing to steady the ache building beneath his ribs. "And what if she don’t wanna read it?" The words left him quieter than he meant, rawer, catching at the end like they had splintered in his throat before escaping.

Tommy exhaled through his nose, his expression softening, something quieter settling in his features as he leaned back, arms still crossed, gaze unwavering. “Then that’s on her.” His voice was calm, even, but there was something resolute beneath it, something steady, something Joel could feel pressing against the fragile edges of his doubt. “But at least you’ll know you tried. At least she’ll know how you feel. And maybe that’s all she needs to hear right now.”

Joel swallowed hard, his throat working around something thick, something impossible to name. He turned his face away, jaw tightening as his chest rose and fell in uneven waves, as he wrestled with the weight of Tommy’s words, with the war raging inside of him.

Because he knew what Tommy was saying made sense. He knew the truth of it. But knowing and acting—those were two different things. The thought of putting it all down, of laying himself bare, of giving you every feeling he had spent so long shoving into the darkest corners of himself—it terrified him.

Because vulnerability had always been a weakness. Something to be buried, something to be stitched shut, something to be survived. But this—this wasn’t just fear. It was something worse. Something quieter, something fragile.

Something infinitely more dangerous.

Hope.

And Joel—he knew better than to hope.

Because hope was a slow-acting poison. Hope meant risk, meant loss, meant opening himself up to something he might not get to keep. And God, he couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t stand the thought of reaching for something just to watch it slip through his fingers, of wanting something so much it destroyed him.

"I don’t know if I can do that."

The admission barely broke the silence, barely existed outside of his own head, but it was there. It was real. And it cut him open just to say it.

Tommy didn’t hesitate.

He leaned forward, pressing a firm hand to Joel’s shoulder—grounding, solid, steady, the way only a brother could be. “You can.” His voice didn’t waver, didn’t leave room for doubt. “And you should.”

Joel’s fingers twitched against his thighs, his body coiled so tight it felt like he might snap. His breath stuttered as he dragged a hand down his face, his pulse a heavy, uneven thing against his ribs, everything in him screaming to pull back, to close the door before it was too late.

But then—so did the thought of doing nothing.

The thought of letting you slip away, of knowing he had the chance to fix it and chose not to take it—that was worse. That was unbearable. That was the kind of mistake that lived in your bones, the kind you carried for the rest of your life, the kind that haunted every quiet moment, every sleepless night.

And Joel had enough ghosts already.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Patrol had been nothing short of torture.

Toby filled every silence like he was afraid of letting the quiet settle, his words tumbling over each other, meaningless stories and half-hearted jokes spilling from his mouth in a way that made your skin itch. He spoke just to speak, just to be heard, just to push back against the weight of the stillness that had never once unsettled you—not when it had been Joel by your side.

His proximity set your teeth on edge. The way his hand brushed against yours too often, his fingers grazing your arm as he stepped ahead of you on the path. He touched without thinking, without asking, without knowing—not in the way Joel had. Not with quiet certainty, not with careful restraint, not with the kind of gravity that turned the smallest touch into something felt days later.

Your mind betrayed you, pulling you back, dragging you under. Joel’s hands, big, warm, calloused, threading through yours in the hush of the forest, steady, solid, a quiet promise in the way his fingers had pressed between yours, anchoring you, holding you. The contrast of it, of him—this unyielding, gruff man, carved out of war and grief, tempered by loss—offering you something so soft without ever speaking a word. You had felt it, down to your bones.

You missed it.

He didn’t notice the way your shoulders tensed beneath the weight of his presence, how your steps edged just slightly faster, carving out whatever distance you could without making it obvious. Or maybe he did notice, and he just didn’t care. Maybe he mistook it for something else, something that suited him. The thought made your stomach twist.

You hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t asked for Toby to be your new patrol partner. And yet, here you were, suffering through every over-familiar glance, every unnecessary touch, every empty word meant to fill the silence that had never once unsettled you—not when it had been Joel by your side. Maybe this was karmic retribution, the universe righting itself after you had been foolish enough to think Joel might be yours.

By the time patrol ended, relief rushed through you like a breath you’d been holding too long, your lungs aching with the effort. But it didn’t last. Toby, oblivious or persistent—or maybe both—stuck close as you made your way back into town, his voice still filling spaces that didn’t need filling, his presence still too much.

"I’ll walk you home," he said, like it was a kindness, like it was something you should be grateful for, like he was doing you some grand favor.

Your stomach twisted. The irritation in your chest sharpened into something colder, something heavier. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want him.

"You don’t have to." The words left you firm, clipped, sharper than they needed to be—sharp enough that anyone with even a shred of awareness would have picked up on it, would have known to take the out you were handing them.

But Toby just smiled, unfazed, enthusiasm unwavering. "I want to." He shrugged, like your words hadn’t mattered, like he hadn’t heard them at all. His voice was bright, easy, brushing off the steel in your tone like it was nothing, like he was entitled to this, to you.

The streets were quiet as you walked, the echo of your boots against the cobblestones the only sound besides Toby’s chatter. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, hoping even he could read the signal, but still, he stayed too close. His presence was suffocating, clinging like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

When you finally reached your door, you stopped abruptly, your hand hovering over the doorknob as you prayed he’d take the hint. But Toby lingered, his boots scuffing against the ground, his posture awkward as if he were working up to something.

“Hey,” he started, his voice softening in a way that made unease coil in your stomach. “I know the last time we hung out was a bit… weird.”

Your chest tightened, dread pooling in your stomach as the memory surfaced—the movie night that had gone sideways. You’d bolted right after, mumbling something about needing fresh air, and you hadn’t looked back.

Toby chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s no big deal, right? We’re good. I just thought—”

"Toby." Your voice cut through the cold night air, sharper than you meant it to be, the frayed edges of your patience bleeding through. "Thanks for walking me home, but I’m really tired." You tried to make it final, tried to press an ending into the space between you, hoping he’d take it for what it was—a dismissal.

But he didn’t. Didn’t stop. Didn’t pause. Didn’t even hesitate.

"Fuck it," he muttered, barely audible, barely there. But you heard it. And before the words could even register, before you could react, before your body could so much as move—he leaned in. Warm. Insistent. Wrong.

His lips pressed against yours, stealing a moment that was never his to take. Your body locked, your breath stalled, something sharp and sick curling in the pit of your stomach as your mind scrambled to catch up, to process, to understand. His hands settled on your arms, gripping too firmly, his presence suffocating, closing in, closing around you. The weight of it, the sheer audacity, the way he just assumed—

You didn’t kiss him back.

You couldn’t.

Your limbs felt heavy, pinned beneath a moment you hadn’t chosen, trapped in something you wanted no part of. And yet, there you stood, caught in it, drowning in it, the wrongness of it spreading through your veins like a sickness.

And then, it was over. He pulled away, looking pleased, looking satisfied, like he hadn’t just taken something from you.

"See you soon."

His voice was light, casual, like this had been inevitable, like you had wanted it. His footsteps faded into the quiet before you could even find the words to respond, before you could scrape together the breath to tell him how wrong he was.

You stood frozen on the doorstep, the cold biting against your skin, against the places he had touched, against the places you wished he hadn’t. Your fingers lifted to your mouth, trembling, hating that the sensation was still there, that it lingered, clinging to you like something spoiled, something rotten.

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, hot and unwelcome, threatening to spill over as the weight of it all settled deep into your bones. This was wrong—all wrong. Every part of you recoiled, your body rejecting the memory of Toby’s lips, the unwanted heat of his breath, the foreign press of his touch. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to be like this. You didn’t want him, didn’t want this moment, didn’t want the shape of someone else’s hands lingering where they had no right to be. The disgust curled in your stomach like something spoiled, like something taken from you before you could even flinch away.

Because it wasn’t his kiss you had spent countless nights longing for, pressed beneath the blankets, fingers ghosting over your lips as if you could summon the phantom of something that had never been given to you. It wasn’t his hands you wanted to feel, warm and sure, threading through your hair, gripping your jaw, tilting your face toward his like he needed to breathe you in. It wasn’t him you ached for, wasn’t him who had haunted every soft and aching part of you, lingering in the quiet moments where your heart whispered his name into the silence like a prayer.

No.

It was Joel.

Joel, with his impossibly soft lips, so achingly pink, so at odds with the rest of him, always pressed into that thin, unreadable line, always bitten raw when he thought too hard, when he let himself feel too much. Joel, whose touch you had memorized without ever having the privilege of knowing it fully, whose warmth had brushed against your skin in the moments between longing and restraint, in the spaces where your hands had lingered just a second too long. Joel, whose stubble you had dreamed of feeling against your own tender skin, scratching against the delicate line of your jaw, leaving a burn in its wake as he kissed you like he had been starving for you, like the moment had been inevitable since the first time his eyes met yours.

You wanted him—God, you wanted him—wanted to lose yourself in the slow, agonizing press of his mouth, to whimper into him as he took what was his, what had always been his, what you would have given freely if only he had asked. Wanted to feel the way his hands—large, calloused, steady—would cradle your face, holding you there, keeping you close, like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers, like he needed to know you were real.

And standing there on the doorstep, the cold biting into your skin, your stomach twisting with the weight of a moment that had never belonged to you, never belonged to him, all you could do was press your fingertips to your lips, eyes burning, chest hollowed out and aching with a grief you didn’t know how to carry.

Because no matter how much you wished otherwise, no matter how desperately you tried to push the thought away, you knew the truth of it.

You only wanted Joel.

And Joel wasn’t here.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Joel and Tommy had made it back from patrol hours ago, boots heavy with dust, the cold still clinging to their skin. But his thoughts weren’t on the ride home or the sharp bite of the wind. They were on you. He wondered if you’d heard—if someone had told you he was back. If you’d been relieved to know he was safe, that he’d made it home in one piece. He liked to think you would be. That maybe, just maybe, you’d been waiting to see him.

He had spent the entire day drowning in the dim, suffocating quiet of his bedroom, the curtains drawn tight, shutting out the world like it might lessen the ache inside his chest. But nothing did. Not the silence, not the solitude, not the weak glow of the half-burned candle flickering against the walls, casting unsteady shadows over the wreckage of his own making.

He missed your face—missed the curve of your smile, the way your cheeks rounded just enough to make you look younger, softer, like something untouched by the weight of this world. He missed the way you looked at him, the way it made him feel something he hadn’t let himself have in too long. And now, sitting here in the thick, suffocating quiet, all he could do was hope—hope that maybe you missed him, too.

Crumpled scraps of paper littered the floor around him, a graveyard of failed attempts, of words that had never made it past the ink, of confessions that had died in his hands before they had ever been given the chance to live. His breath was heavy, uneven, dragging through his lungs as he sat hunched over, elbows braced against his knees, his face buried in his hands. His fingers curled tight into his hair, gripping at the strands like he could reach inside himself, pull the chaos from his skull, drag the words out of his traitorous, treacherous heart by force.

That goddamn heart. The old, battered, useless thing. Beaten down by time, by loss, by grief that had settled too deep into his bones, a part of him now, woven into the fabric of who he was. A heart that should have hardened by now, should have shut down, sealed itself off, stopped making a fool of him. But it hadn’t. That weak, worn-out thing had kept on beating, kept on loving, despite every reason not to, despite the past, despite the certainty that love only ever ended in ruin.

Despite you.

He felt fucking stupid.

Stupid for thinking this would be easy, for believing even for a second that he could lay his heart bare on paper when he had never been able to say it out loud. Not when it mattered. Not when you had stood in front of him, eyes wide and pleading, offering him something rare, something reckless, something he had wanted with every aching part of himself and still—still—he had let it slip through his fingers.

Every letter started the same—I’m sorry—because it was the only truth he knew, the only thing that had burned in his chest since the second he let you walk away. And every letter ended the same—ruined, ripped apart beneath the weight of his own cowardice, of his hands shaking as he scratched through the words until the ink bled so thick the paper tore beneath it.

His gaze dropped to the latest attempt—his last, failed attempt—the ink smudged and uneven, the words unraveling somewhere in the middle, buckling under the pressure of too much feeling, too much of you lodged between the lines. He had started with I’m sorry—because it was all he could offer, because it was all that he was—but the rest had turned into a tangled mess of hesitation, of crossed-out confessions and thoughts too raw to see the light of day.

It wasn’t enough.

Not for you. Not when you deserved more—deserved everything—the world, if he could rip it apart and carve something softer from its wreckage. But no matter how many times he started over, no matter how many times he picked up the pen with shaking fingers and a chest too full of things he didn’t know how to say, it always ended the same way.

He wanted to tell you.

Wanted to lay it all bare, to strip himself down to the rawest parts, to put words to the impossible and make you understand what you did to him—how you had wormed your way into the deepest, most guarded corners of his soul, how you had become something he could no longer separate himself from. But how could he? How could he possibly articulate something so foreign, so unnerving, so terrifyingly real? How could he explain the way you had upended his entire goddamn existence, cracked something open inside him that had been locked away for decades—something he hadn’t even realized was still there, something he never thought he would need?

How could he tell you—his sweet girl, his undoing—that in fifty-six years of being a man, of surviving, of standing on this wretched, merciless earth, he had never felt anything like this? That you had touched something in him that had never been touched before, something that had never even stirred, never even dreamed of waking up? That he had lived his whole life thinking he was past feeling this way, past the kind of hunger that keeps a man restless in his own skin, past the kind of longing that hollows him out from the inside?

And how could he ever admit that every night—without meaning to, without deciding to—the last remnants of his waking mind always belonged to you? That it had become a quiet, unspoken ritual, a habit carved so deeply into him that he barely noticed it anymore, like muscle memory, like instinct, like breathing. That as sleep pulled at him, as exhaustion weighed down on his bones, it was always you who filled the spaces between consciousness and dreaming. You, always you.

How could he tell you that in those stolen moments, when the world had gone quiet and there was nothing left but his own thoughts, he let himself have you in the only way he could? That his mind was greedy, starved, painting images of you in devastating detail—the soft sighs and sweet little whimpers, the warmth of your skin beneath his palms, the way your lips would part beneath his, trembling, pliant, waiting for more?

That in the darkness, in the safety of solitude, he allowed himself to sink into the fantasy, let himself imagine you tangled up in him, pressed beneath him, fingers twisting in the sheets, whispering his name like a prayer, needing him in the way he so desperately, so helplessly needed you? That he could see it, feel it—his hands tracing reverent paths over your body as though trying to commit you to memory, his lips worshipping you in slow, unhurried devotion, trailing from your temple to your cheek, your jaw, your nose, your throat, drinking you in, tasting, savoring, claiming? That he could hear the way you’d gasp his name, the way you’d shudder under the weight of his touch, the way you’d look at him—eyes wide, lips swollen, undone—like he was something worth wanting, worth keeping, worth loving?

And God help him—how could he ever admit that, for all his restraint, for all his goddamn willpower, more often than not, he was just a man? Just a weak, desperate man who unraveled at the mere thought of you, who came undone in the dark where no one could see, where there was no one to witness the ruin you made of him. That he could fight it all he wanted, could curse himself for it, could try to bury it beneath guilt and self-loathing, but it didn’t change a damn thing—because it was you. It had always been you.

How could he tell you that some nights, the ache of you was unbearable, a hollow, gnawing thing lodged deep in his chest? That he would lay there, eyes shut tight, fists clenched, jaw locked, trying so fucking hard to will it away, to pretend he didn’t feel this way, to pretend he hadn’t already lost the battle the moment you looked at him like he was something soft, something safe, something good? That no matter how many times he told himself it was wrong—how many times he reminded himself that you weren’t his to think of like this, to want like this—it didn’t fucking matter.

Because he did.

Because he always would.

And that was the cruelest thing of all—that no matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to be better, to be stronger, to be the man he was supposed to be, he would always belong to you in ways he had no right to.

Joel swallowed, the weight of everything pressing down on him, settling deep in his chest like something immovable, something that had been there for years—decades, maybe—buried beneath grief and regret and every goddamn thing he had ever lost. But beneath the wreckage, something flickered, fought—a spark of determination catching at the edges of all the things he had ruined, all the things he had walked away from, all the things he still had a chance to fix.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached forward, his fingers trembling as they brushed against the scattered pages at his feet. He hesitated for only a second, barely long enough to exhale, then wrapped his hand around the pen, lifting it with a quiet, steady resolve.

And this time, he wouldn’t stop.

This time, he wouldn’t let the fear win. Wouldn’t let himself be ruled by the ghosts of the past, by the ugly, vicious voice in his head telling him it was too late, that he had already lost you.

This time, he would give you everything. Every unspoken thought, every aching confession, every piece of himself he had spent years keeping locked away. Because he owed you that. Because you deserved that. Because if there was even the smallest chance that you would read it, that you would understand, that you wouldn’t turn away—God help him, he would take it.

Because no matter how much it terrified him, no matter how much it threatened to unravel him from the inside out, the thought of losing you—of never getting the chance to make this right—scared him more.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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rhenysz · 4 months ago

Text

Your Dead Eyes - Chapter 3

Summary: Lifeless eyes were what haunted your all life, manu people say that death was lurking around your eyes, Maybe it's true. Maybe you just see things that other people don't.

Pairing: Azriel x Archeron! reader fem.

A/n: I... Well, hello. So, Merry Christmas? I didn't fix this properly...

*English is NOT my native language, this fanfic was translated with a little help from a A.i. So, let me know if there are any grammatical errors*

Word count: 3k

Warnings: None that I can remember, some humor, tension , Azriel being a dumb mother hen

previous x next

Cassian, Azriel, and Rhysand had already left when you came downstairs for breakfast. Nesta grumbled that they hadn't even eaten before spreading their wings to the sky, making everything around them flutter – including the newly planted rose saplings of Elain, to her great displeasure.

Feyre often returned home in hopes that the queens had already responded. The delay was noticeable given how long ago the letter had been sent, and it was a shot in the dark trying to guess what might have happened, though you doubted the letter had gotten lost in transit, and, mind you, you weren't foolish enough to think it was their indecision.

They were making the High Lord wait for pure amusement, and maybe a little bit of sadism. The human queens were in control of the situation, and that made everything even more delicious. A power struggle where, for the first time, the weaker ones were in charge. It must have been painful to even consider discarding this succulent opportunity that had been handed to them on a golden platter—one in a million, truly.

Bringing the steaming cup of tea to your lips, you sipped cautiously to avoid burning yourself; there was no pain worse than burning your tongue – well, maybe stubbing your toe, you mused with a hum. A gust of wind passed through your hair, signaling that someone was passing by in a hurry.

“Don’t run around the house, Elain,” Nesta grumbled from her spot at the table, clearly not a morning person. Your second eldest sister slipped on the floor and turned back to stop by your side, placing one of her delicate hands on your shoulder to alert you of her presence.

Taking a deep breath, Elain spoke breathlessly, “A new batch of letters is arriving today!”

Now, this was interesting. You placed your hand on hers, squeezing her hand on your shoulder, turning your head slightly to show your interest in the topic. Not because of the letters, obviously.

“Why don’t you come with me, sister? We can stop by that little craft shop too,” Elain suggested. She certainly knew how to brighten your day, and even though you were avoiding crowds, especially those zealots who called themselves the enlightened ones – and that made your skin crawl – it was hard to resist the opportunity to get out of the house. God knows this place could be suffocating.

Nesta was irritated with anyone who breathed in her direction, Elain would shudder at the mere mention of meetings and queens, and you missed Merina and her pies. No matter how hard you tried, it was difficult to connect with your sisters as well as with Feyre, who no longer lived a human life filled with nuances like yours.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed yourself off the chair and blindly grabbed your beautiful cane, intending to head for the door alone, but Elain was quicker and grabbed your wrist, guiding you somewhat hurriedly toward the exit without saying goodbye to a very grumpy Nesta.

The morning wind hit your face as you crossed the threshold, and the birds’ song pierced your ears like a sweet melody. However, as beautiful as it was, your brow furrowed at the hurry in your sister's movements. Surely, the letters couldn’t be that interesting, not to Elain, at least. She could barely stand still when the topic was on the table. Ah, the gossip you'd have today, sweet sister.

“Is there anything else you want from the city besides the letters?” Your tone was dismissive, but even the dullest of men would see the curiosity behind the question.

Elain tripped over something on the ground and almost pulled you down with her, making you question who the blind sister really was here.

She cleared her throat and finally slowed her pace. The hesitation was palpable, and the arm linked to yours grew tense as she nervously began fiddling with the sleeve of her dress.

“I... I was thinking about looking at some prettier engagement rings, maybe gold...” It came out like a croak, and that left you a little more confused. There was no doubt that Elain had good taste and could spot something beautiful from afar, so it was strange that she wanted to see new rings when she loved hers so much.

“I thought you were crazy about that one,” the sounds of people talking grew louder, and your nose wrinkled from the variety of smells; sweets, savory foods, pig dung, and, beneath it all, the fresh scent of pine and whiskey filled your lungs with a warm, inviting sensation.

“Steel” and “Feyre” and “shame” were the only words you managed to catch through the intoxicating fog of the delicious perfume you inhaled. But that was enough for no question to leave your lips.

Turning your focus back to the surroundings as your sister and cane guided you through the streets, bodies occasionally brushed past you, nearly knocking you down; shouts proclaiming devotion to the divine; more frantic cries from merchants trying to sell their goods to eat at the end of the day, and other sounds that were impossible to decipher.

As you walked, Elain stopped abruptly in her tracks. Confused, you turned your head to look at her but got no answer. Without saying a word, your sister started walking again, leaving the noise of the city behind. You quickened your steps to keep up with her, the wind certainly making your hair a tangled mess. At least you wouldn’t have to see it.

Elain slid a bit in the mud, and with a squeak, you stopped by her side. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and her lungs struggled to keep up with her breathing. Gods, your sister was trying to kill you just so she wouldn’t have to share the inheritance.

“What in the hell-” you began but didn’t finish. The breeze had risen up your legs, making the hem of your dress flutter and leaving a coolness on your skin, only to disappear faster than it came.

“Azriel?” Azriel? He was the cause of your little sprint? Damn him, what was he doing in such an obvious place?

“Elain,” he greeted your sister, and as he turned to you, he spoke your name in a deep purr, sending a chill down your spine with the tone. You nodded in acknowledgment; your voice no longer belonged to you. “The letter. It’s here.”

Ah, he knew. He already knew the queens' letter had arrived today. How? You didn’t know.

“We were going to see it now,” Elain’s voice was syrupy, soft and sweet, almost like she didn’t know how to speak anymore.

A hum left Azriel’s throat. His trained eyes watched your shy form beside Elain, the corners of his lips tugged upwards but quickly disappeared as he turned his attention back to the eldest Archeron sister.

“Could you fetch it for me, Elain?” Azriel asked gently, and your sister nodded quickly, like a soldier. Not letting go of your hand, she motioned for you to go with her to fetch the letter. “Only you, please.”

Your feet stayed firmly planted, and now the air felt thin. Whatever the Shadowsinger had to say to you was making your nerves bubble.

Elain muttered in discomfort, clearly not wanting to leave you alone with someone she barely knew. Her hand squeezed yours lightly, and you pulled your hand free from her grip, distancing yourself from your sister. With your body facing the man, you encouraged Elain to go. He certainly wouldn’t kill you.

Still, your treacherous mind whispered.

With lips set in a line, Elain quickly made her way to her destination, disappearing into the crowd. The faster she went, the faster she’d be back.

Without your sister nearby, the silence was deafening and uncomfortable, and despite your brief interaction with Azriel, you still found the way his presence surrounded you intimidating.

“Do you have something to say? Or did you just make me stay here for your company?” The words came out sharper than you intended, and perhaps challenging such a powerful fae like him in broad daylight wasn’t the best idea. Shifting your weight, you crossed your arms like a shield. Not that you expected it to stop him.

Your ears perked up when you heard a rough chuckle leave Azriel. His lips pressed together; it wasn’t the response you were expecting.

“I didn’t,” he paused and licked his lips, thinking carefully about his next words. “But I feel like I do now.”

Ah, so much for being mysterious. If this non-human man wanted to make you squirm with anxiety, he was succeeding beautifully.

“And…” your voice carried impatience.

“And I don’t think you should be part of the meeting with the queens.”

Your mind stopped. It felt completely empty, focused only on trying to process Azriel’s words. Letting your arms fall to your sides, you lifted your chin, hoping you were looking at his face as you spoke. “Why? Is there a reason for this?

Simple and shyer than you intended.

Azriel was no longer amused. His face darkened into a scowl as he studied you from your structure to your features – sculpted nose, mouth pulled down, and then, eyes. His eyes were windows to his soul, so sweet that, even if not fully functional, could bring legions to their knees.

And that was the problem.

“The queens aren’t trustworthy, and I don’t want you to be a target. They’re bitter and vile with people…” His words rushed out, his wings tightening behind him, letting the weight of what he had to say burn his tongue. “...weaker ones.”

You bit your cheek until you tasted the faint copper of your blood. Indignation wasn’t the right word to describe what you were feeling, but the disbelief on your flushed face certainly expressed it.

Fragile. The Illyrian who barely knew you for more than a week was insulting you so openly, without a shred of shame. You might not see things like other people, but this made you grow a pair of balls like nothing else, and it wasn’t this male who was going to put you down now.

With clenched fists, you took a step toward him, closing the distance to a breath’s length. The smell of whiskey that had been so enticing returned, but now that you knew who it belonged to, it didn’t seem so intoxicating. Or maybe it was, a little, your mind whispered.

“I don’t think I gave you any right to make assumptions about me, fairy.” You spat the words, especially the scornful nickname you secretly used for him and his brothers.

Azriel growled low, and ah, it wasn’t because of your words.

The rustling of leaves made you step back from the winged male, and quickly, his features softened. Elain stopped next to you, breathless, handing the letter to Azriel, as if it were burning her.

“Here, it arrived last night,” she said before taking your arm and walking away as quickly as possible.

“Thank you,” Azriel acknowledged with a nod. Elain smiled tightly, already guiding you away. His voice came again, but this time as a warning, making your shoulders tense. “Don’t forget what I said.” And then he was gone, swallowed by his shadows as if he had never been there.

Elain furrowed her brow and turned to you, questioning what Azriel had meant.

“Nothing, he didn’t say anything.” Nothing you cared about, at least.

“Hold your breath,” Nesta reprimanded you, her fingers pulling tighter on your corset strings, her delicate fingers and the crushing leather threatening to break your ribs.

“Tighten it any more, and watch me turn purple on this floor, sister.” You gasped out the words with difficulty. Nesta clearly wanted to kill you. You knew she was against you exposing yourself at the meeting, but you never thought she'd deliberately try to kill you.

“Stop whining, it's ready.” Nesta grumbled, and then her presence pulled away from you, her footsteps echoing as she walked to the vanity in front of you. Your head tilted to the side at the sound of objects clinking. She was making a mess, no doubt.

Nesta's heat returned as she stopped in front of you. Her warm hand held your chin firmly but gently, and the bristles of a brush tickled your lips. It was soft, sticky, with a faint scent of roses. Lipstick.

Nesta was dressing you up like a doll. Your chest warmed at the feeling. Having your sister care for and pamper you like this was a delight. It was fleeting, but so appreciated when it happened.

Pulling the brush from your lips, Nesta glanced at you. Long, trembling lashes, cheeks rosy with powder, angelic features. You were beautiful. A slight tug appeared on her lips, satisfied with her work.

“If you keep staring at me, I’m going to start thinking you like me.” Your playful voice earned an eye roll from Nesta, who, with a huff, stepped away from you, already missing the warmth of her presence.

"Don't be fooled," Nesta retorted playfully, you expected it to be a joke as she took your arm in hers and began guiding you out of your room and into the living room. The shrill creak of the door alerted you that you were passing through the main hall, just a few steps away from the comfortable armchairs that Elain had arranged for you. "Sit down, they should be arriving soon."

Groping for the armchair, you slowly lowered yourself until you were seated. Your sister settled beside you, and barely half a second later, a knock echoed on the door. Nesta took a deep breath beside you, and abruptly stood up, walking toward the door. As much for a brief break, a laugh escaped you. Hopefully, she wouldn't hear it.

The sound of what seemed like a crowd of footsteps approached where you were, low, nervous murmurs could be heard, and a melodic voice, different from those you already knew, made your eyebrow raise in curiosity.

"Sister, you look beautiful," Feyre greeted you warmly, her hands on your shoulder for a hug. A little awkwardly, you stood to hug her better. Nestling your face into her neck, you squeezed her tighter. It felt like you hadn't seen her in a decade. The sound of someone clearing their throat made your sister pull away from the hug, to your disappointment. "Sorry. Mor, this is my younger sister."

Mor? Another fae? You turned to where you thought she was. Mor smiled and approached, taking your hand in hers. Her sudden action made you jump slightly.

"It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Feyre has told me so much about you." Her voice was gentle, her shoulders relaxed, and you let yourself return her smile. She seemed like a woman with a strong spirit. Perhaps Nesta could find a friend in her.

"I'm happy to meet another one of my sister’s friends." You greeted her properly with a nod.

"That's enough, Mor. You're suffocating her." A cold shiver ran down your spine when Azriel's rough voice reached you. The memory of your last encounter still vivid in your mind. Your face twisted into a grimace. Mor huffed and pulled away, muttering about how Azriel was a joy-killer. You could agree with that.

Feyre, beside you, looked at the two of you with suspicion. Since you entered, Azriel hadn't taken his eyes off you, following every movement like a hawk. Your reaction to him only seemed to intrigue her more. With a kiss on your forehead, she guided you to sit again.

It seemed everyone was settling into their places, Elain arriving elegantly late and sitting to your right, Nesta a little farther to your left. You couldn’t tell exactly where everyone else was, but someone was behind you. You could feel the warmth of their presence.

"Stubborn artisan." Damn fae.

Azriel teased you with the nickname. If you could give him nicknames, why not? He took a step closer, leaning against your chair, ignoring the sharp look you shot at him. He bent down slightly, just enough for you to hear, his velvety tone making your hairs stand on end.

"You seemed more inclined to listen that night." Your face heated with the memory. With a small grin, Azriel stood up and turned his gaze away, completely satisfied with himself.

Before you could think of a witty retort, a loud bang echoed through the house, making everyone tense. They’ve arrived. The human queens were finally here. It was time to begin the meeting that would put everything at stake.

TAGLIST: @dearestdaffodils @going-through-shit

@valeridarkness @wallacewillow0773638

@harrystylesfan2686 @carnationworld

@applerubyy @saltedcoffeescotch

@esposadomd @justdreamstars

@microwaveallthedemons @cherryinsalemverse

@stqrgirlies-blog @brujitafantomatico

@bionic-donut @kemillyfreitas

@judig92 @sassybluebird

@frietiemeloen @success78 @mariahoedt @macimads @prongslena @hnyclover @bravo-delta-eccho @cherryinsalemverse @weasleyreidstyles

*Please, if I tagged you wrong or you want to be removed from the taglist let me know!*

#~rhenysz #azriel x reader #yde #acotar x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x you #elain archeron #eventual romance #shadowsinger x reader #azriel #x reader

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shanastoryteller · 3 months ago

Note

Congrats on finishing See Something Say Something!! I checked the notification of the first AO3 email sent out and you initially planned on five chapters.

Would you say that the ending changed considerably since you started in October? Or has that stayed the same?

thank you!

it stayed the same lol. while my fics getting wildly out of control and becoming way longer than i anticipated is pretty common, i'm pretty much never changing overarching plot when this happens. the story that i become interested in telling is typically the story then i end up telling

almost every story can be made shorter or longer. it's less about what happens and more about how that information is conveyed. things that really tend to affect writing length are perspective and breathing room

the shortest fic i have on ao3 that's not part of a series is You Were (Not) Meant For Me (posted 11 years ago, jesus T_T). the premise is that claudia was a witch who intended trained stiles to be a witch and she arranged his marriage to laura hale, the future hale alpha. this is a traditional pairing as talia's husband was also a witch married to talia in service of the pact. except claudia died before she could train stiles or tell him about the engagement. stiles starts learning magic after scott is turned. derek falls for stiles and feels like he's betraying his sister by loving him, betraying stiles by not being the alpha he deserves and not telling him about the arrangement claudia made, and hates himself the entire time, but not enough to stop himself

that's a 100k fic easy

it's 1,696 words

it's extremely limited perspective (derek's) and it's made up only of limited snapshots of moments with very little context. there's no seeing what's happening, only told, which i think would quickly grow boring if it was longer and if the real point of the story wasn't derek's self hatred and how he fails to deal with it. that's the part of the story that isn't told, really - derek does think explicitly that he hates himself, but we're also seeing it in the way he talks and thinks about himself and the people around him

by contrast we have survival is a talent, which is obviously my longest fic. we're over 500k and we've got quite a bit to go

perspective doesn't just refer to character pov, but audience pov - are you being told a story, or are you experiencing the story? this is also tied into breathing room. there's no wrong way, i've done both and will do both, but one certainly requires more words than the other in my experience

siat is told only through draco and harry's perspective, but it's all happening in real time. the audience is being taken along for this story. the thing is that that things in real life don't all come tumbling one after another, not all questions have immediate answers. when depicting character growth and a plot unfurling, i think it's really important to include breathing room to give the audience time to feel that growth and change. i'm stricter about this with siat than anything else i've written, probably sometimes to its detriment. i want you and the characters to have time to feel the effects of emotional revelations and plot hints. i want you to have the time to question and wonder about things the same way the characters do

one time a friend criticized the good place for including the portion where they were alive again on earth because it wasn't as interesting as being in hell, but i disagree. we needed that breathing room both to live with the effects of character growth of going through hell and to have time for the effects of their actions on the plot to settle before they moved forward again. i stopped watching agents of shield because we weren't given enough breathing room - there was never a chance to see the characters not in crisis, the world was always ending, ect. the alchemyst book series has the first like 3 books taking place over a day and a half. i got tired of it after that. there's no breathing room

a story where i gave up on the concept of breathing room was build your wings on the way down. i liked that fic, but i wanted it finished, and to do it with i think optimal pacing would have made it twice as long as it was. so i said screw it, avalanche time, everything is happening all at once right now. there's very little breathing room there, which i think doesn't work too terribly in part because everything is so urgent and everyone is stressed so not being able to catch you breath sort of fits

See Something Say Something did not need to be 215k, although i'm not at all complaining. i feel very happy with how i told this story. but the basic premise - sam getting his powers early, getting involved in the large hunter world secretly from his family, and dean feeling misplaced and worried about how much sam needs/wants him - could have been told a hundred different ways and all would have pulled it off, so to speak

i considered doing the the entire fic from dean's pov (as a sam girl i love his pov because all he thinks about is sam and he's so insane about it) which would have effectively cut out basically the first five chapters. i thought exploring the slow realization of what's going on purely from dean's pov, with the audience having not insight would have been really interesting, just like what I did in dumb luck or good ghost with dean slowly figuring out that sam didn't die in the crash. another thing is the inclusion of all the side characters which i did to make the world feel rich and real, but we didn't need all these outsider povs to get the basic point across. very rarely is something vital being conveyed by an outsider pov, but it reinforced and adds to the main characters. i also initially didn't have wincest, which obviously added a ton of words. i loved exploring dean's self hatred and fear and sam's obliviousness, but bringing them to a place of ignorance to acceptance to happiness is a lot longer of a journey than just dealing with dean's propriety love as an unhinged co-dependent older brother. again, i'm sticking by all these choices, i made them because i thought it was the best way to the tell the story i was most interesting in telling, but my point is that you didn't need them to tell this particular story

it was also how i told the story. we spend a lot of time wallowing in character's emotions, especially dean's and sam's, but the others as well. part of this fic is convincing you that these two brothers should fuck, actually, and doing that effectively is going to take some time, especially at this point in their lives when things are pretty normal. comparatively, fucking your brother after starting the apocalypse is pretty small potatoes. i wanted you to understand these people, to feel what they were feeling, to not feel that it was inconceivable that jess would be willing to share her boyfriend with his brother, to buy all their relationships with each other in a way that isn't purely based on convenience

part of the reason i wrote dumb luck or good ghost before see something say something was that i felt i needed a firmer grasp on who the characters are before getting into who they were and who they could be - especially john, who i feel is exceptionally difficult to write without over excusing his actions or over villainizing them. the reason john doesn't get a single pov in see something say something is that while he's a motivating and underlying factor in much of the story, the story isn't about him. it's about the effect he has on those around him, and i didn't want to sully the pureness of that effect by introducing his internal dialogue, regardless of how persecutionary or absolving it would be. it's just not about him. it's how he responds to others and how they respond to him in turn

anyway! this is another example of something ending up longer than expected, but yeah. the plot of see something say something didn't change much from posting of the first chapter and my stories rarely do - i have plot points in siat that have been there since i posted the first chapter that are still relevant and happening. "harry and draco just. cut dumbledore's fucking hand off" my beloved

#posting publicly because it got away from me and maybe other people are interested idk T_T #asks #crazygingerwitch

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inthekitschen · 1 month ago

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How they wake up with you | TKDB Boys x gn!reader

Let me know if you guys like the use of their chapter title monikers, I think it's fun but if y'all think it's confusing I'll add their names in future drabbles!

Also sorry that some are shorter than others, I tried to keep them approximately the same length!

Frostheim

The King pulls you in closer, refusing to let you go. Are you busy today? Not anymore. And how can you say no with his nose buried in the crook of your neck?

The King's Advisor observes you, committing you to memory. He traces the curve of your lips with his eyes and listens to the sound of your soft breathing.

The Knight kisses you awake, cradling your cheek. He waits until your eyes finally flutter open to ask if you slept well.

The Archer doesn't dare wake you up. He memorizes this moment, wondering when his luck turned around to allow him in the same bed as you. He knows that the clock will strike twelve soon enough. But until you're out of his reach, he intends to make the most of it.

Vagastrom

The Ex-Con lets you sleep. He gets up for his morning run, making sure to be extra quiet so as to not wake you. Before he finally slips out the door, he watches you curl into what little warmth he left behind, and writes you a note. Be back soon, love you. You already know the routine, already know he loves you. But he'll spend forever reminding you, as long as you let him.

The Influencer takes a photo of you curled into each other. If you ever find it, he'll tell you it’s blackmail. For now, the photo goes in his secret folder filled with similar shots — all reminders that you chose him.

The Rider has to get ready. He has things to do, and really should try to untangle himself from you. But you're persistent in your sleep, wrapped around him, and the only way to free himself is to wake you. Instead, he settles back in and closes his eyes. The world can wait ten more minutes.

Jabberwock

The Ranger wakes up with too much energy, you always say. He's already dressed and raring to go for the day by the time you're sitting down for coffee. You tell him to go on, and you'll catch up later. He runs out the door, but not before planting a million kisses all over your face.

The Free Spirit holds you close, never letting go. You wake up in a field to him placing flowers in your hair. When he notices you're awake, he grins, nuzzling into you again.

The Slacker sleeps for as long as he can. His nose buried in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around you. It isn't until you tell him that clown is yelling for him that he groans. The vibration against your neck makes you laugh, and he holds you tighter. The clown can wait.

Sinostra

The Gambler will stay in bed with you all day if you let him. He holds you, nipping at your skin, listening to your soft noises. It isn't until the Sniper bursts in, yelling at him to GTHU, that he finally rolls out of bed. Keep it warm for him, Kitty-Cat. He'll be back soon.

The Sniper has places to be. He wakes up with his alarm, easily slipping out of your arms. He's about to snap at you to get up so he can make the bed when he sees you rise, yawning as you rub the sleep out of your eyes. You have dark circles, get some more rest.

The Paralegal also wakes up with his alarm, ready for the day. You know there's no use in asking him to lay with you a little longer (you've already used the extra five minutes he delegated for morning cuddling), so you get up as well, taking the coffee he prepared for you with a warm smile.

Hotarubi

The Actor tries his best not to wake you as he gets ready. When you stir awake, he gives a hushed apology, interrupted by you bringing him in for a soft kiss.

The Flutist wakes to your gaze already on him. Isn't he supposed to be the one fawning over you, Princess? He begins to rise, pausing when you ask him to stay a little longer. As you wish.

The Poet writes a new line for every time the sun rises upon the two of you together. One day, he'll put pen to paper to record them all. But for now, no metaphor could capture the warmth of your embrace.

Obscuary

The Vampire doesn't sleep. Instead, he watches you. Sure, he could close his eyes and rest with you, but with the fleeting moments of human existence, he would rather look at you for as long as possible.

The Reaper lays his head on your chest, feeling it rise and fall, listening to your heartbeat. You're here. You're his. Before his curse was broken, he would already be up by now, hanging the laundry and watering the plants. But now, he has a reason to stay in bed.

The Werewolf buries his nose in your hair, taking in your scent as you stir. He'll grumble when you leave the bed, following you to get ready with you.

Mortkranken

The Doctor wakes to the smell of coffee and the feeling of your lips against his temple. He fell asleep at his desk again. He rubs under his eyes, his heart tightening in his chest as you give him another kiss before taking your leave. Tonight, he'll join you in bed. He'll make up for the nights he made you sleep alone.

The Monster rises quickly, not wanting to lose any time. He'll likely have to wake up the Doctor, but for a moment, he watches you sleep. He leans down and presses his lips to yours before leaving.

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darkwitchoferie · 3 months ago

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Train Ride - Chapter 8, Exhibitionism, Stress Relief, and Painting

A/N: First - sorry this took longer than I originally intended. That may continue as my personal shit has gotten a bit more complicated. Second - I lied – there’s another chapter now. So, there’s a total of 10 chapters, 3 of which happen after the original oneshot. This is another long one, y’all. But then, there’s three separate scenes in this one, so it’s not surprising. The next two chapters are the same – three scenes each.

Not specific to this fic – but when did we, collectively as a fanfic writing community, decide that Changbin calls his partner ‘bunny’ and Minho uses ‘kitten’? I’ve seen it in tons of fics. Like, not upset about it or even really questioning WHY we decided that, just wondering when it happened.

I just realized, on proofreading this, that there’s no Felix. At all. Damn. It’s alright, the next chapter starts with him.

Cw/tw: exhibitionism, group sex, unprotected vaginal and anal sex, oral (m & f receiving), facefucking, member x member action, a little breath play, featuring (a little) of Seungmin’s fondness for being manhandled by Changbin, cock warming, cum eating and sharing,

Wc: 5.7k

Master list

~~ Exhibitionism ~~

Since the orgy that brought Jisung and Minho into the polycule, things had been going very well for you and the members. You had explained the pendent necklace Chan had given you and that, if they saw you wearing it, it was blanket permission to play with you. That was something every single one of them took advantage of whenever they could. Changbin, one of the three of your boyfriends who shared your exhibitionist kink, had also called you to the studio during a recording session. You’d enjoyed it a lot more than you might have expected. Not only the sex, but also watching whichever of your boyfriends was in the recording booth watch you and be unable to participate because he had to record. Jeongin, Felix, and Jisung had had to fully turned their backs in an effort to maintain their composure.

You also had scheduled date days with each of the boys, and they had them with each other as well. Frequently, you had additional dates that were with all of the boys, or just a few of them. But you all made sure to make time for one-on-one dates once a month. Sometimes they weren’t very long or got pushed back due to late or changing schedules, but that was something you were used to from having been with Chan for so long.

Usually, when that happened, whoever’s date had been pushed back, would want to have an apartment date, rather than going out. Apartment date was just the wording the nine of you had agreed on for an at-home date, usually your home. They were the more romantic dates, seeing as you and seven of your boyfriends couldn’t really be romantic publicly.

Yours and Minho’s date night had unfortunately been pushed back several times over three weeks, so you were both craving some romantic affection. Not that you hadn’t seen him at all in that time or that you two hadn’t been romantic, you had, you just hadn’t been able to have a date with him. So you weren’t surprised when Minho asked for your date with him to be an apartment date.

It was the middle of the day when Minho planned to come over. The eight of them had a day off, so he had no other commitments that would mean your date had to be in the evening. But, because you were both looking for a more romantic atmosphere, you’d pulled the curtains tight over your kitchen window and balcony door to darken your apartment, then lit a couple candles in the living room to lend everything a more romantic atmosphere.

While you were in your room changing into more comfortable lounge clothes, you heard the door open. You hurried out as soon as you were dressed to find Minho standing in the middle of your living room, looking around.

“How is it that there are eight of us, each with different wants and personalities, and you still somehow always know exactly what to do for us?” he asked softly, turning to look at you.

You grinned, pleased that you’d read the situation right. “I know my men,” you answered, shrugging a shoulder as if it were no big deal.

He strode up to you, wrapping his arms around you and leaning in to claim your lips in a soft kiss. “Thank you, kitten. This is just exactly what I needed today.”

In short order, the pair of you had spread out the snacks and drinks Minho had brought on your coffee table then cuddled on your couch, watching your favorite movie. He was wedged into the corner of your couch and you were cuddled half on top of him, thoroughly relaxed and enjoying your movie.

Lazily, mostly watching the movie, his hand had drifted from around your waist to groping your boobs over your tank top. His touch was light, with very little intention in his actions, mostly like he was playing with a fidget toy to keep his focus on the screen. You thought it was kind of funny, especially how he wasn’t the only one to treat your boobs that way. Chan, Changbin, Seungmin, and Jeongin all did as well. Hyunjin liked to tap on or trace designs on your belly, while Jisung and Felix were more fond of your thighs.

After the movie ended, you stretched out, arching enough to press your boob more firmly into Minho’s hand. Then you sighed and slumped back against him again. After another content moment, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw, then stood up and started clearing away the trash from your snacks. You saw him reach for his phone, but didn’t comment, not particularly caring who he was texting as long as he didn’t spend the rest of your date on it.

After tossing the trash into the trash can, you went to the refrigerator to grab more drinks. You squeaked in surprise when you felt Minho press up against your ass while you were bent over, looking in the fridge.

You stood up, pressing your ass more firmly against him and feeling him grow harder. “Something I can help you with, baby?” you tease.

“Mm, there might be,” he reached forward to grip your hips. You grinned as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. You tilted your head over and slightly back to rest on his shoulder and give him full access to the side of your neck. You gripped his thigh, moaning, when he sucked a hickey into the side of your neck. “Mm,” he hummed against your skin. “I’m hungry kitten. Got anything I could eat?”

You knew what he wanted you to say, so instead you leaned down into the refrigerator again, making sure your ass was firmly against his hard on. “Let’s see,” you wiggled your hips a little. “There’s the left over Chinese from yesterday, kimchi, I could make ramen if you want.”

Tightening his grip on your hips, he pulled you away from the fridge. “Not what I’m hungry for.”

“Oh, did you wanna order pizza?” you asked, working to keep your voice as innocent as possible.

Rather than answer you, he quickly slid your lounge shorts and panties down your legs, flipped you around, and lifted you onto the counter beside the fridge. Your panties and shorts dropped off your ankles as soon as you were in the air. “Tease,” he accused, stepping between your legs and running two fingers up your folds, flicking your clit with the pads of those fingers.

“Oh, is that what you wanted? You should’ve said, baby.” He gave you an unimpressed glare as he crouched down to be face-level with your pussy. Your giggle at his glare was abruptly cut off into a moan when he immediately wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked.

Minho wrapped his arms around your thighs, well acquainted with your habit of squeezing peoples’ heads if they didn’t hold your thighs open. You threaded your fingers in his hair as he devoured your pussy, licking, sucking, and tongue fucking you just the way you loved. The build to your orgasm was steady, but fast, as Minho seemed intent on getting you to cum quickly. Your moans turned whiney as he repeatedly flicked his tongue over your clit, before wrapping his lips around it and sucking it into his mouth again.

You moaned, loud and long, curling around his head, as your orgasm rushed through you.

You leaned your head back against the cupboard, panting to catch your breath. “You know that the eight of us talk about you and any… fantasies you may share with us, right?”

“You know the eight of us talk about you and anything we think you’d enjoy, right?” You countered.

A small smile flashed across his face. “Channie was telling us all about the night you confessed to wanting this arrangement and what fantasies you’d admitted to at the time.”

“Hm. That explains why Bin didn’t shower after the gym on his way here last week.”

“Mm,” he hummed his agreement. “You did look so good riding his thigh.” It had become rather frequent that the nine of you sent sex photos and videos to the group chat. “And we all know he loves how messy you get.” At the time, Changbin had taken a photo of his thigh, shiny and slick with your arousal and cum.

You grinned. “I assume there’s a point?”

“There’s a balcony, actually,” he nodded his head in the direction of the curtains covering your balcony door.

“Minho, it’s the middle of the day!” You couldn’t deny though that the thought of what he was suggesting made your pussy clench.

“Kitten, you gonna tell me that doesn’t excite you more?” His mocking tone and the smirk on his face, not to mention the way his fingers danced up your inner thigh, told you that he knew exactly what you thought.

He tugged you off the counter, shepherding you toward the balcony door. He pulled your tank top up and off just as he pushed you through the open door and onto your balcony. You took a second to appreciate that your building was one of the ones that had walls separating the balconies rather than just fences. Sure, the potential of being caught was part of the thrill, but you didn’t want to jeopardize the guys’ careers and reputations. The walls and deep shadows created by them would protect Minho’s identity.

Minho joined you, having only slid his sweats down enough to pull his cock out, and crowded you against the railing. “You’ll have to be quiet, kitten. I’m not going to cover your mouth, and it’s not like you have a shirt to bite on.” Then he flipped you around and pressed against your back, forcing you to bend over the railing. Your belly rested on the top of the railing, leaving your head and tits to hang over the edge. He then grabbed both of your hands, holding them in a relaxed grip in one of his behind your lower back.

You felt him run his cock head up and down your slit a few times before he gripped one of your hips with his free hand and slammed into you. Not prepared for his speed, you didn’t have time to muffle the loud moan you let out. You quickly clenched your jaw shut as he immediately set a fast pace.

“Any one of those people down there could look up any time, kitten.” He was mostly hidden by the shadows of your balcony and every other word he spoke was punctuated with a harsh thrust of his hips. “What a view that would be, huh? You with your gorgeous tits bouncing over the railing.”

You whimpered, trying so hard to stay quiet. Your complex’s parking lot wasn’t exactly teeming with people, no matter what time of day, but it was the end of the work day, so many of your neighbors were coming home. and the thrill of any of them looking up and seeing you was setting you on edge almost as fast as Minho’s cock was. Your pussy clenched with Minho’s words and the images that put in your mind.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Someone down there looking up here to see you being fucked out in the open like this.” You screwed your eyes shut in an effort to focus on keeping quiet. Instead, doing so heightened your other senses so you clearly heard the cars not too far away on the road, felt the breeze through your hair and over your tits. Behind you, Minho chuckled. “Well, look at that, two someones have seen you.”

Your eyes flew open and you spotted Changbin and Seungmin looking up at you. Seungmin blew you a kiss while Changbin pulled out his phone and took either a couple photos or a short video. You whimpered, looking down at them watching you was bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm. After a minute or so, the pair headed into the building. You turned your head to look back at Minho.

“I texted them,” he confirmed your half formed thought. “Thought I shouldn’t be the only one who gets to enjoy you out in the fresh air.”

You whimpered again, head dropping forward. The thought of three of your boyfriends using you out on the balcony, where anyone could look up and see you, had you curling against the railing and biting your bottom lip to keep quiet as you came.

“Aw, kitten, did that make you cum? Really?”

“What?”

“I told her I called you both so you could enjoy her in the fresh air too and she almost immediately came.”

“Pretty girl loves the thrill, don’t you?” Seungmin came to stand beside you, back against the railing.

You purposely clenched around Minho, feeling desperate to have him cum in you. With a groan, he pulled out of you and you felt his cum splash on your ass.

“No,” you whined.

“Poor kitten,” Minho teased, panting to catch his breath.

Changbin, judging by the fingers on your ass, stepped up behind you and swiped his fingers through the cum on your ass, gathering some up. He then reached forward and shoved his two fingers into your mouth. You moaned around his fingers, sucking Minho’s cum off them with the same enthusiasm as if it were his cock, not just Bin’s fingers. Bin thrust his fingers in your mouth a few times while you heard him unzipping his jeans with his other hand. Then his fingers were gone.

He interlaced his fingers with yours, keeping your hands pinned to your hips, as he thrust into you. Immediately he set a brutal pace, rocking you against the railing.

“I wonder, kitten, if we took you camping, would you let us fuck you in the woods?” Minho asked from somewhere behind you.

“Oh God,” Changbin groaned as you clenched around him. “Yeah, I think she would. I think she’d like that a lot, huh bunny?”

“Hm, out in the woods, huh? Bet you wouldn’t have to be quiet out there, pretty girl.” Seungmin’s fingers danced up your spine with his words. His fingers continued over your shoulder until he reached your boob. You felt him press against your side, his hard cock against your side, to get a better angle for him to grope your tit. He pinched and rolled your nipple and you squirmed and writhed, trying so hard not to make any noise that you could feel tears gathering.

“I’ll have to see what we can do to set that up,” Minho mused. Distantly, you wondered if he was teasing you or if he were serious.

It didn’t matter to your imagination though, because now all you could imagine was your hands pressed against a tree while Changbin fucked you like he was doing now and you were free to make all the noises that you were desperately holding back.

“Pretty, are you crying?” Seungmin asked, concerned. You violently shook your head, negating the concern rather than denying the tears that finally started to drip from your eyes. “Ah,” he said, understanding. “Feels so good and you can’t make any noise, huh?” You nodded.

Changbin, still holding your hand, slid his hand around your hip and quickly found your clit. You kept your fingers attached to his hand, knowing he didn’t like for you to touch yourself with him, unless he could watch. His thumb rubbed quick, firm circles against your clit. “C’mon bunny. Just let go for me,” he leaned over you, pressing kisses to your back. Within just a few more strokes, your back arched, pressing your tits forward more over the railing, as you came around Bin’s cock. “Good bunny,” he praised, causing you to shiver as he chased his own high, building you up to another.

Changbin’s hips stilled and you felt his warm cum flood your insides. You locked your jaw against the whimper that wanted to come out as he pulled out of you.

Taking his place behind you, Seungmin rubbed a soothing hand over your back, letting you catch your breath for just a moment, before slamming into you. You clutched the railing, Seungmin having not restrained your hands at all. You had the brief thought to cover your mouth, but that was quickly dashed.

“Keep them right there, pretty girl, or I’ll stop.” You whimpered, purposely clenching around his cock as if to keep him in your body.

Behind you, Seungmin stilled. Before you could find your voice for a complaint, Changbin said, “Just a minute, bunny. Just let me get him ready.”

Your head dropped forward – you loved watching Changbin fuck Seungmin as he was usually rougher with the younger man than he was with you, because Seungmin liked it that way. You loved the way Seungmin’s eyes would roll back in his head as Changbin took complete charge of him, roughly moving him to whatever position the older man wanted, even wrapping his hand or arm around the younger man’s neck.

After just a couple minutes, you felt Seungmin press harder into you and heard the low moan that meant Changbin was pressing into him. You didn’t have to wait long for Bin to start thrusting into him, setting a brutal pace, and causing Minnie to fuck you at the same pace. You bit the inside of your lip, trying to keep your moans as quiet as possible, though you could still hear the muffled noises you made.

You didn’t have to look to be able to tell Bin had his hand wrapped around Minnie’s neck, providing just the right amount of pressure to make breathing difficult. You could hear it in the gasps coming from Seungmin. You felt like Bin’s hand was wrapped around your neck, dizzy with pleasure from being used by your boyfriends just the way you liked it.

“Doing okay, kitten?” Minho came to stand beside you, back to the railing. You did your best to nod, but it was difficult with the way Changbin’s thrusts were rocking you through Seungmin. “Good. So good to us, letting us have you whenever we want. However we want,” Minho smiled down at you, the gentle tone of voice and feel of his fingertips running over your shoulder and part way down your side completely at odds with everything else you were feeling.

His fingers skated down your back, wrapping around your hip until he pressed his first two fingers firmly against your clit. He didn’t move them at first, just keeping a firm pressure there while the rocking from Changbin’s thrusts provided a little motion. Then he started tapping on the bundle of nerves, timing it with Changbin’s thrusts.

Seungmin came first, dropping his head back against Changbin with a low groan as he came, adding his load to the one already in you. Changbin sped up, chasing his own high again and causing little whimpers of overstimulation to come from the man between the two of you. Minho focused on your clit, switching to rub little circles into the bundle of nerves until you came with a short scream, mostly muffled by your lips being tightly pressed together. Lost in your own orgasm, you missed when Changbin came but knew he had because he was still.

Carefully, Changbin tugged Seungmin back, pulling him out of you with a whimper from you both.

“C’mere,” Minho tugged you off the railing to face him and, still keeping you bent over, used his thumb to open your mouth and shove his cock in. After a few, deep thrusts, he was coming down your throat.

Exhausted, legs feeling like jelly, you dropped down onto one of the lounge chairs you kept on the balcony. You knew in a minute you’d have to get up for the usual aftercare routine of drink/food/bath, but right now you couldn’t be bothered to care about it.

~~ Stress Relief ~~

You’d had to go into the office for your once-a-month mandatory meeting. You hated those meetings, 99% of everything they talked about was either something you’d already handled via email, or could be handled via email. You were pretty sure it was your bosses way of controlling their staff.

After the meeting, you went straight to Chan and Jeongin’s apartment. You couldn’t remember for sure, without checking the calendar you all used, but you were pretty sure that one of them had a solo schedule today and the other didn’t. Hopefully, one of them would be there. If not, you’d post a nude into the group chat to get someone to come help relieve the aggravation caused by work.

Once in their apartment, the sounds you heard pulled you to Chan’s bedroom. You pushed open the door to see Chan on his back, Jisung bouncing on his cock. For just a minute, you stood and watched them – Chan clutching Ji’s hips, while Ji’s leaky cock bounced with every bounce of his hips.

“Mm, you look so good riding on him, Sungie,” you commented, strolling up to the bed as you shed your work clothes. Jisung’s rhythm faltered as he caught sight of you. “Oh, don’t stop on my account,” you reassured, ridding yourself of the last of your clothes then running a soothing hand down his spine.

Thanks to his anxiety, Jisung still occasionally had moments where he worried what you or one of the other guys thought when you walked in on him and someone else. Like now. At your reassurance though, he smiled and started rolling his hips faster. Chan groaned, tightening his hold on his hips before finding his voice and turning to you.

“Hey baby girl. Didn’t realize you were coming over.” Chan smiled up at you.

“Mm-hm. Had that stupid could’ve-been-an-email meeting today. Need some stress relief.”

“Happy to help, love. Come have a seat.” He winked, blowing you a kiss. He knew, as did the others, that stress relief mostly meant you wanted to be eaten out. Sometimes, if it was really stressful, you’d want to be fucked too. But a mouth on your pussy was the best stress relief for you.

You bent over him to kiss him quickly, before doing exactly as he asked. You climbed up onto the bed and straddled his face, facing Jisung, slowly lowering yourself until he got too impatient, grabbed your hips, and pulled you down onto his mouth. You and Jisung let out matching moans as he did.

“So it was a – oh – a shit day at work?” Ji asked.

“Oh God,” you moaned out as Chan fucked his tongue up into you. “Who cares?” You felt the rumble of Chan’s chuckle against you at your answer. You reached down, hands resting on Chan’s pecs as he continued to lap at you. On a harsh suck of your clit, your elbows gave out. You caught yourself before falling completely, but now found yourself face to tip with Jisung’s bouncing dick.

When you wrapped your lips around him, you were more than pleased to learn that every time he raised up on Chan’s dick, the movement pushed his own dick into your mouth. You shifted around to make yourself more comfortable, keeping your cunt pressed against Chan’s mouth while Jisung thrust into your mouth.

“Oh God,” he moaned, reaching down to tangle one hand in your hair and brace his other hand on Chan’s abs beside your head. You looked up at him through your eyelashes as he struggled to keep his rhythm. Chan obviously noticed as he planted his feet on the bed and started thrusting up into the younger man, forcing his cock deeper into your mouth at the same time. Jisung whined, tightening his hold on your hair.

You were so focused on watching Jisung come apart, that you were only vaguely aware of your own orgasm building. So it took you a little by surprise when you felt that coil snap and you bucked your hips against Chan’s mouth, moans muffled by Jisung’s cock. Watching you cum seemed to be just enough for Jisung who followed right behind you, some of his cum splashing on your lips and chin because of the way Chan was thrusting into him.

He tugged you up, off his softening cock and, while Chan kept thrusting up into him, licked his own cum off your lips and chin. Then he leaned in and captured your lips in a surprisingly sweet kiss that was interrupted when he moaned into your mouth as Chan came in him.

The three of you relaxed, shifting around to lay cuddled together, Jisung in the middle. “You okay, baby girl?”

You knew he was actually asking if you wanted or needed to cum again, but that had been the perfect amount of stress relief for you. “Mm, I’m good, love.” You stretched a little then wrapped your arms more firmly around Ji, who had his face buried against Chan’s chest.

After a while, the three of you got up, cleaned up, and went out to the kitchen to figure out what you wanted for dinner.

~~ Painting ~~

You wondered, briefly, if you’d ever be able to deny any of your boyfriends anything they asked. Seungmin had accused you of having all of them wrapped around your fingers, but you wondered if he realized that they all had you just as wrapped around theirs. Currently, Jeongin was sitting cross-legged on Hyunjin’s bed with you in his lap, on his cock, your nipple in his mouth, and your back slightly arched back, fingers tangled in Innie’s hair. Meanwhile, Hyunjin sat at his easel, sketching the two of you.

He’d asked you the day before to draw you. He’d done so several times now, each apartment having at least one nude portrait of you. They ranged from very classy, tasteful nudes, to you playing with yourself. But then you’d arrived at his and Changbin’s apartment to find Jeongin waiting for you as well and that was when Hyunjin said this portrait was going to be different than the others.

He wanted to do what he called an active painting. You weren’t sure if that was the proper term, or just the term Hyunjin used when he wanted to paint something that would normally be in motion. Like Felix jogging, you masturbating, or, in this case, you and Innie having sex. Now, normally this wouldn’t be a problem for you. You loved cock warming any of your boyfriends. But Jeongin was taking full advantage of the situation you were in to torment you.

You whimpered, wiggling your hips when he flicked his tongue over the nipple he had in his mouth.

“Princess, need you to hold still,” Hyunjin commented. You felt Innie smirk against you before schooling his expression back into the adoring look up at you Hyunjin had asked him for. You just knew the pair of them were tormenting you on purpose.

“You two suck,” you complained.

“Well, yes,” the ‘I-thought-that-was-obvious’ tone coupled with his smirk told you Hyunjin had decided to go for the innuendo rather than the actual complaint you made. You glared at him and his smirk widened to a grin.

For the next several minutes, Innie held still, not sucking on your nipple or licking it, or subtly rolling his hips, so you were able to relax. Or at least, relax as much as you could with the way Hyunjin had you arch your back.

Then Jeongin decided to ‘resettle’ himself which involved him shifting around and harshly thrusting up into you. Just one thrust, barely enough for any real stimulation. You whimpered again, this time getting your revenge by tugging on his hair that you held in your hand. Innie moaned then retaliated with a quick nip to your nipple.

“Do you two mind? I’m trying to create art here.”

“He started it!”

“Did not! I just needed to shift a little.”

“You didn’t! Or at least, you didn’t need to thrust into me when you did!”

“How was I supposed to not though?”

“You’re supposed to hold still so Hyune gets a good painting of us. Tell me you don’t want a painting of us, like this, in your bedroom?”

“It’s going in your room, actually, Princess.”

“Really?” Excited, you turned to look at Hyunjin.

“Stop wiggling,” Innie complained. You ignored him.

“Yep. Suppose I could get a print made for Innie’s room,” he looked at the sketch contemplatively. “And mine, for that matter. But this one is meant for you.” Then he looked back at the pair of you. “But in order to do any of that, I need you two to hold still.”

The pair of you resettled in the positions Hyunjin had asked you for. And this time you stayed there for a longer stretch of time than before.

Then you felt Innie’s hand, the one hidden from Hyunjin’s view, slowly sliding up your thigh. You subtly tightened your hold on his hair as a warning, that he fully ignored. Or took as encouragement, who knew with the way his mind worked. You tried to stay still as Jeongin ran his fingers along you pussy where you were stretched around him, gathering as much of your arousal as he could. But when he pressed those fingers to your clit, flicking in a quick up and down motion, you couldn’t hold back your moans. You pressed down more firmly into his lap and clenched around him.

You heard Hyunjin sigh and set down his pencil but barely registered that he’d stood up. He moved behind you to grab something else then sat back at his easel. “Jeongin, stop. Just for a minute.” Innie did as he was asked and you heard Hyunjin’s camera shutter click several times.

You turned and glared at him as he set his camera down. “What?”

“You could’ve done that before, Hyune!”

“Yeah, probably. But I wanted as much of it as possible to be… real. Capturing it from a camera isn’t the same.” Innie chuckled, the motion causing you to bounce slightly on his cock. Now that you didn’t need to hold still, you rocked your hips down into his lap. He quickly resumed his motions against your clit and copied those flicks with his tongue against your nipple.

Between your rocking, Innie’s hands and tongue, and how long you’d been sitting on his cock, you felt your orgasm building quickly. Then Hyunjin stepped up beside the two of you and claimed your mouth in a sloppy kiss. The tension in your belly snapped and Hyunjin swallowed your moans as you came on Jeongin’s cock.

Hyunjin pulled away from you so you could catch your breath. He ran his thumb over your cheek, then trailed his fingers down the side of your neck and over the side of your boob. Jeongin detached from your nipple and Hyune leaned in to claim his lips, tilting the younger man’s head and tangling his fingers with yours in his hair.

You moaned watching them, rocking your hips faster. You loved watching your boyfriends enjoy each other, especially this close up.

As Hyunjin pulled away, you saw him raise an eyebrow in silent question to Jeongin, who nodded. Hyune made quick work of unzipping and dropping his jeans and boxers, kicking them away, then tossed his shirt off to join them.

Innie dropped his jaw, tongue lolling out over his front teeth. You moaned as Hyunjin tapped the head of his cock on Innie’s tongue a couple times before guiding it into his mouth. Keeping his grip on your hand and therefore Jeongin’s hair, Hyunjin shallowly thrusted into the younger man’s mouth.

You’d been somewhat surprised, particularly with his initial mild reluctance with Chan, how much Jeongin enjoyed sucking cock. He enjoyed it as much as you did, moaning around whoever’s dick was in his mouth the whole time. You loved times like this, where he was sucking someone off while fucking you because it made his hips kick into you just a little more forcefully.

Hyunjin kept his one hand in Jeongin’s hair while the other snaked down to reach your tits and pinch, roll, flick, and generally tease one nipple then the other. Jeongin’s grip on your hips tightened in response to your moans at Hyunjin’s actions.

You leaned forward slightly, licking the side of Hyunjin’s cock where it disappeared between Innie’s lips. Innie whimpered when his grip forced you to speed up and you started clenching around him as a response.

“God, you two look gorgeous.” Hyunjin’s voice came out breathy. Very carefully, you gently bit Jeongin’s bottom lip, pulling another of his whimpers that you loved from deep in his throat. You soothed the bite, licking his lip, then turned your attention back to licking the part of Hyune’s cock that you could.

It wasn’t too much longer before you felt your orgasm starting to crest. You knew Jeongin was close too, with the way he was trying to thrust up into you but unable to get much purchase to do it as much as he wanted. You tossed your head back with a long moan, arching your back far enough that your boobs hit Jeongin’s cheek, as you felt the wave of your orgasm crash through you.

You stilled on Jeongin, still clenching rhythmically around him. That was enough to push him over the edge, Hyunjin following right behind him. As soon as Hyunjin pulled away, Jeongin turned to you and claimed your mouth in a sloppy kiss, pushing Hyune’s cum into your mouth which you greedily swallowed.

By the time Changbin got home from a writing session with Jisung and Chan, the three of you were curled together, asleep, in Hyunjin’s bed.

Several weeks later, Hyunjin presented you with the framed painting of you and Jeongin, as well as one of the final sketches. You decided to hang it in your living room for everyone to enjoy.

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#stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan x reader #skz x reader #han jisung x reader #seungmin x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #minho x reader #yang jeongin x reader #felix x reader #skz ot8 x reader

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baobaojng · 2 months ago

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Celeste (Jeong Jaehyun) - part two

celeste (jeong jaehyun)

jeong jaehyun (king jaehyun) x (afab! princess) reader

themes: slowburn, angst, fluff, (eventual) smut + fantasy au! + pleeeenty world building as we go along

some notes on this chapter: reader is kind of a martyr, jaehyun's sexual history is mentioned... lots of longing and disappearing (my favorite trope haha)

☼ summary: in the land of Celeste, the King of Sol has waged war to bring back his beloved, war only stops when one day you return— but the secrets only begin to unfold.

a/n: i do not permit the use of this fic for anything else. this work is mine and mine alone. these premises and characters are entirely fictional and do not intend to paint anyone in a bad light.

wordcount: 12,113

part one, part two,

author's masterlist

one month into the Age of Sol, in the Kingdom Gaia:

Jaehyun did not want to do this.

This was the last place he wanted to lay siege, the gates of your kingdom already affected by the gloom of decay. The war happened so fast, and it was burning through every kingdom even faster.

It was to his curiosity that he made sure Gaia was left untouched since the first month of the war, but it looked like war had already paid it a visit. The cobblestone they were passing through already full of grime where it was once pristine and polished— only signs of wilted plants scattered around where the landscapes were typically so beautiful. The kingdom of life once boasting everything of the word now the complete opposite.

He despised this feeling.

Every decayed turn and step toward the castle, held now seemingly distant memories of you guiding him through your kingdom when you wanted to whisk him away from the palace and into town amongst the common people. The two of you hiding in ridiculously large caped outfits, the hoods somewhat effectively disguising your identities.

Now he could only imagine your laughter, the sway of your hair as cascaded through waves that snaked to your hips. It seemed that he would no longer be able to smell jasmine and sandalwood, not in this Gaia. Not anymore.

“You understand why I have to be here?” Is the first thing Jaehyun asks when he sees your father. Both of them disheveled, looking up at each other like broken men.

“I don’t suppose you expect me to give up the autonomy of my men to join your campaign in war.” Your father says to him, and it ignites only a little bit of anger in Jaehyun.

“I don’t suppose you are much so interested to get your daughter back—“

“If she has gone I am not kneeling to your crown because I know this is not what she would want!” Your father finally breaks his composure.

“Do you not wish to see her again?”

“Of course I wish to see her again! Do you think that I am no father? Every day I think about seeing her again, even her mother. I’ve suffered more loses than you think.”

“Then you must understand that I only waged this war against Okeanos because Muhan was the last person seen with her.” Jaehyun pleads, but your father seems to have his own resolve.

The older man sighs, “No. I cannot join you, my son.”

Jaehyun does not respond at the mention of the endearment, instead he leaves your father to continue.

“I simply cannot. I love my daughter too much to allow something I know she would have not wanted. Truthfully, I see myself in you– so dangerously consumed by love - but it is the flame and the light in you that burns differently. When her mother died, Heavens know how much I wanted to avenge her, how much I wanted to take it out on any man or royal that questioned the depth of my grief.” He pauses, looks at Jaehyun.

“You know the one thing that stopped me? It was seeing the fear in Y/N’s eyes, knowing I was so willing to take life to answer to the loss I was facing.”

Jaehyun imagines you, a motherless child - the only pillar of hope left for your father.

“My son, believe me when I tell you, she would not have wanted any of this. There are reasons things have happened the way they did, and you have to trust that she will make her way back to you when the time is right. But please, allow me the peace of not being part of this war.”

Jaehyun leaves Gaia, not a soldier added. When he looked back at the kingdom, it all suddenly decayed as if centuries have rapidly aged it, he knew your father had been behind it.

The Kingdom Gaia lay into a hibernate state, life is stagnate akin to a seed waiting for water to spring back into life. In one swift transition, Gaia then ceases to exist for the rest of the Age of Sol.

And now, the King of Sol was left with more questions than answers.

four years before the Age of Sol, in the Kingdom Gaia:

“Should there be any more… concerns about our correspondence with the Kingdom Luna?” You ask your father, who has sent a materialized message to the said kingdom.

“Not so much is cause for concern with Luna, it is the process that irks me. It is too tedious.” He says, closing his eyes with two fingers pressed into his temple. It was true, because Luna was not considered much an actively participating kingdom in Celeste - it meant that being able to communicate with them was a bit of a hassle.

Before much else can be said, your Knight Hendery of oh-so perfect timing chimes into the study. “You have a,” Hendery begins, not sure how he will explain, “there is a, delivery? Yes, a delivery of sorts.”

“Sorry, am I to hear you correctly?” Your father asks Hendery who seems just as confused.

“Yes, from the Kingdom Sol.”

Your father looks over to you, not having to know more to imagine that it was King Jaehyun who had sent you something over. He did not have to know that your little attachment was turning into something, this he knew for certain.

“Then it’s for you.” Your father then says flatly, but then it is your turn to be confused. Sure you and Jaehyun had been going back and forth sending letters to each other, but never did he mention anything about sending anything.

Hendery then perks up, the poor knight subject to the awkwardness. “It is actually for you, your royal highness— I mean, both of you are royal highnesses, but it is for you, King.”

“Bring it in then.” Your father says and it takes Hendery’s signal for footmen to enter, carrying a large golden cage with an ever so peculiar creature inside.

It was its peculiar squawk that drew your father’s attention, the reds and oranges of the birds so majestically capturing.

“Are you certain this is for me?” The King of Gaia asks Hendery who only nods.

“A phoenix,” you say, not believing what was delivered to your father’s study, “is that… real?” The bird coos at your voice, obviously favoring your presence.

“It seems just about real.” Your father observes that even Jaehyun’s gift for him had a fondness for you.

This is what happens over the next two weeks, everyday a new gift arriving from Sol right into your father’s chambers. A new rare relic, a large almost impossible to carry weapon forged from the sun, an elixir that supposedly slows down aging (that you caught your father drink almost immediately), new furs for his closet, and countless other things you did not even bother to look at. All of them arriving day by day without fail. Jaehyun still never mentioning or explaining the sudden influx of gifts.

Throughout this time you notice that your father and the phoenix form an insufferable attachment, the animal following him throughout the entire day. It seems they even have silent conversations as your father goes around the kingdom to observe in his limited times of silence.

The last thing delivered, an envelope on a golden plate. No more did your father want you in the same room when he realized it was a letter from Jaehyun directed to him.

That was the only gift he kept to himself.

“You must rise and make haste.” You wake up the following day from the booming voice of your father who forced your curtains open, revealing the early bright rays of sun into your room and directly onto your face.

“Whatever for?” You complain, rubbing the sleep off your eyes.

“Prince Mark had sent you an invitation to one of their getaways to set up camp and enjoy the terrain of the mountains, did he not? I believe the dreadful event begins in a day, and traveling to those awful mountains takes just about that time.”

“But I thought you did not want me to go, you never usually entertain the idea of Prince Mark’s part in the social season because you say their choice of area is always so grim to travel to.” You say, it’s always been the reason why you never really travelled to the Kingdom Hermes.

“Well this time is a different time we live in,” you only now notice that the bird sits on his shoulders, but it has less feathers than you grew accustomed to and it seemed a little sickly, “maybe I am putting faith into this year’s trip.” He simply says.

“And you want me to be in attendance?” You make sure you’re understanding the situation correctly. There’s something about your father’s calm demeanor that scares you; he’s usually a worrywart about these things. Especially after you had fallen ill.

“Precisely.” He says. “Now please get ready before I change my mind.”

You sit up abruptly only to ask him one thing before he leaves. “Is the bird alright?”

He looks at you, and it seems the bird is doing the same.

“Yes, you do know these beautiful things go back into ash. Suppose think of it as a long slumber, until life comes to wake it again until life rises from the ashes. It is a young bird the King of Sol had gifted me, it will go through this process regularly until it matures into a fine phoenix.” The bird cranes itself closer to your father as though it understands the affection.

“A good metaphor it is.” He says to himself, but you do not hear it as he had already left.

You wonder what it was that made your father change his mind.

a day hence, four years before the age of Sol, in the Kingdom Hermes:

You had only gone to one of these once in your life, and it had been when you were only thirteen - erasing the horrible memory of the grueling hills and mountains you had to pass through to get to the camping grounds where Hermes hosted these short-lived dwellings.

The roads were narrow and winding, each rock an obstacle for the wheels of your carriage— encountering a stop or two now and then when your horses had to be checked up on. Why did the Kingdom of travel and communication choose to make roads these precocious? Something you would never understand.

There were no other travelers on your way to Hermes’ camping grounds, for you were the last to go. Your presence not at all anticipated on these roads.

Thick dense forests surround the serene sight of the camping grounds. It is a full of small well-distanced cabins, some smaller pitched tents and a large common tent pitched in the middle, a lake shining at the very end of the clearing. Not at all like how you remember it, perhaps it had improved over the years you hadn’t gone.

Giving your own ensemble of knights and footmen the rest they deserve, you inform them that they are allowed to spend the rest of the evening looking for their designated cabins and to mingle as they please. It takes some convincing for Hendery to follow suit but you manage to convince him that you needed this time by yourself to properly assimilate for once. You were hyperaware that you were always so, literally, guarded. This made you feel like you were always so alienated and distanced from everybody else, an obvious bubble hiding you away from everything.

You already see people scattered everywhere when you arrive: some men drinking off to their own heart’s desire, some roasting food over the fires they have built for their own cabins, some simply enjoying the comfort of the outdoors. A few groups of ladies you noted were flocking to their own tents, obviously put up to gossip.

It is something you do not mean to do when you overhear the exchange happening between noble ladies from all over Celeste, none of them you were strangers to but none too close for you to be explicitly invited to join them either.

“So, the Princes of Ashtaroth are obviously the most handsome.” One says, it’s as if it’s a proposal on the list of things they were to pick on.

“They simply do not count, it’s unfair to count them in. They are literally the princes of the kingdom of beauty, that is ridiculous.”

“Prince Doyoung is unbelievably handsome is he not?” One of the girls squeals.

“To you he is the most gorgeous man to walk the planet, but only because you harbor a little crush on the prince. And no, his wit does not count.” Another answers.

“Well if we were talking more about your fancy, it would definitely be the Princes of Tyr.”

“Oh please Prince Johnny is engaged now to one of the more timid flowers of Ashtaroth too, and Prince Jeno is far too young for an old wench like you!”

They laugh, and when the laughter subsides somebody else speaks up. It seems a cycle.

“If we were to talk about engaged men, Prince Muhan is a sight for sore eyes.” You almost scoff when you hear this, but you manage to stay quiet so that they won’t notice your snooping.

“Also engaged.”

“Or so we thought he was; it seems that all of Celeste was wrong about him and Princess Y/N. Maybe their friendship was lasting, perhaps they are just close and truly friendly.”

“Except she’s now clearly attached to the most handsome man of all the land.” It’s a bitter tone that comes from the voice of whoever is speaking, but you hold in your own feelings because you know where this conversation leads.

“Oh the King of Sol.” It’s almost in unison that all these ladies sigh, their voices laced with desire. This is when you start to critically listen.

“How could we forget to mention?”

“It’s because King Jaehyun of a different calibre.”

“Often so unattached because he’s simply above all of us. Any and all of us.”

“Well he is in some sort of attachment now, Princess Y/N must know some conjuring spells they keep secret in Gaia for him to be infatuated with her.”

It’s honestly a little insulting to hear that, especially when all of them laugh after it is said.

“Oh come on ladies, we speak like he is no man at all. He’s had his… conquests before.” One speaks up again, and you don’t think that you much appreciate where their conversation leads and you are half tempted to walk away and forget you ever even stumbled upon their privacy— but another part of you wants to know more.

“Like I believe he could ever break free from his cloak of honor, why don’t you tell all of us about these conquests?”

“You are in for a world of surprise when I tell you that the King of Sol was once a Prince of Sol who did not shy away from acting like such a breeding horse.” She snickers.

“Just ask Lady Kim, Lady Cho, and Lady Hwang about his… vigor. Those three are ever so willing to indulge anyone who will ask about their magical encounters with King Jaehyun during his run as a prince. Others don’t want to speak, but you can tell they must have had such a great time lying in his bed.”

Your skin crawls, and it’s not because you do not expect that Jaehyun had done those things. It was the Kingdom of Life you had come from: sex was something so normally regarded that you are sure that if it were anyone’s own relationship to sex being scrutinized you would’ve not been so reactive about it. It’s something you understand happens, but you’re sure what you’re feeling about Jaehyun in this exact moment is not particularly normal.

Imaginings of all those ladies you were vaguely familiar with immediately crossed your mind, sudden flashes of their love affairs with Jaehyun already filling the vast space of your once quiet thoughts. If you could try to dig deeper into your brain for any of your earlier memories of Jaehyun when he was once a prince, maybe you could recall a handful of times that he did graciously come escorting some noble ladies to some events in the social season - and now you wonder what the extent of their relationships were.

Was it jealousy? Was it a deep insecurity of understanding that maybe you could not live up to lovers he might have had?

You weren’t sure, but your fists are curled into balls that flex into frustration. Perhaps it was the idea that you did not like to imagine things you did not know of Jaehyun, maybe you know so little of him that your acquaintance would never reach that level of honesty. Whatever this was, it bothered you beyond normal reason.

It was not a good idea to have listened for as long as you did, and you were too preoccupied eavesdropping to have noticed Jaehyun only a short distance away from you. Jaehyun also listening to a conversation not meant for him to hear, and noticing the way you stiff up in what he presumes to be disappointment as you listen and walk away.

He wanted to surprise you, the moment he saw you wandering alone in the vast camping grounds.

Though he did not count on his letter to your father affecting his decision to allow you to go to this gathering in Hermes, he had a little spark of hope that his weeks of trying to earn your father’s favor would work.

It started with the phoenix, which was not an easy feat to get his hands on. Then many other material things of priceless value followed after, but he did not take your father for a fool. Material things could be worn out and thrown away, but the words of an earnest man held value to a much higher degree— especially to a royal man like your father.

A proper way to speak to a king from another.

Jaehyun’s letter detailed how he recognized how the gifts would give off the assumption that he could give his way into the warmth of your father’s approval, but he could only hope that your father could understand that he was willing to do more for you. The rest were desperate vulnerable writings about how he cannot handle being apart from you much longer, but he will respect the reservations your father may have about meeting alone in private.

So he asked, or more so begged, that he allow you take part in the regular social event Hermes held. Promising that he would not be ludicrous enough to try anything stupid because there were positively eyes everywhere that would keep him in check.

Now it was to his surprise that you were here in the forest, journeying your way through the rocky cliffs of the mountains.

You were here. In the flesh. How excited he was to see you in person after only depended on your written words to fuel the longing he held for you, but it was not enough.

He wanted to gently lay a hand on your shoulder, or try to hop out in front of you to get your attention - but you were so focused on standing outside a group of noble ladies’ tent that he couldn’t help but wonder why your eyebrows were furrowed.

It started out a normal conversation when Jaehyun listens in, talking about handsome royal men like these flock of women typically do. He cannot say he did not find it insulting that they question your relationship; there was absolutely nothing unbelievable with being absolutely entranced by you.

Nothing could have prepared him for where the conversation was headed. When they open the topic of his conquests, he half expects you to walk away— but he isn’t so surprised when you decide to stay. You expression an unreadable combination of surprise and frustration.

Was he to feel shame? He could not deny he made some rather… unsavory decisions to indulge in his primal urges in the past. He could neither feel like the manner in which he was spoken about was degrading for far worse things could have been said.

But then names come up, none of them are untrue. Jaehyun did have several sexual partners, and recalling them all now don’t make them any much important. They were part of things that have happened in the past, and they were far too distant to hold much value or interest anymore.

Jaehyun sees your hands ball into fists: perhaps the most expressive he’s seen you, and then you still manage to gracefully stomp off.

only an hour hence, four years before the age of Sol, in the Kingdom Hermes:

You find a quiet corner nearing the mouth of the lake, you can see less of the crowd and notice the twinkling of the waves of water against the bright moonlight.

Was it wrong of you to be so affected by this?

Surely it was normal for you to feel, it was not very much the characteristic of a Princess to feel so outwardly emotional but you were trying your best to be calm about the surge of emotions you were feeling.

In a matter of perfect timing, you hear someone speak, a little startling because you did not have any inkling that anybody was near.

“I apologize if I startled you,” Jaehyun holds both his hands to his chest level, palms facing you, “I just noticed Hendery with the other knights and I went out to seek you.” He’s not telling you the whole truth but you do not know that.

You have not seen each other in weeks, and the atmosphere was strange and it was awkward. It almost feels like the first time you’re speaking to each other again. Was this how it was going to be?

“Oh, I just wanted to acclimate on my own. I’m not used to these mountains and this… forest.” Was probably the most believable thing you could think of saying, and Jaehyun only partially believes you because he knew what you just heard. And he knew it affected you somehow.

“I did not expect you to be here.”

He lowers both hands, slowly walking to be closer to you. Just enough for the moonlight to illuminate his face, just enough for you to know he is truly in front of you.

You laugh, “What? In the forest?”

“I meant here, in Hermes. I did mention it in our first correspondence that I noticed you were not the biggest fan of these camping excursions, so I did not hold much expectation.”

You could have very well expected other ladies to arrive, eager to please his every desire. You think only to yourself.

Maybe this was jealousy. And you did not like the way it tasted on your tongue.

He’s smiling at you now, you’re earning those two wells dotting his cheeks without even trying to be nice or kind about finally being together after weeks of anticipation. You wanted this moment to be a grand reuniting, where you could feel colors burst out from your chest the moment you would lay eyes on him.

Instead you were now so preoccupied about the figurative distance between you. How you’d only become friends now. How you felt a generation away because he was older. How you honestly felt like a pathetic child waiting around a corner to understand the implications of the situation.

But then you had to keep yourself in your place, maybe you were assuming this relationship meant much more than it was. Perhaps you had only decided to kiss him, you were entertaining an idea.

Maybe he did not feel the same.

“I did not think I would be here either.” You answer, holding yourself back from speaking with annoyance or anger. He thankfully does not notice.

Jaehyun moves toward you much closer now and suddenly you become too aware of your own being. Your hands feel clammy, and you wonder if he will scrutinize your figure even with all the layers of cotton and fur you had on to protect yourself from the cold. You wonder if maybe you should have let your handmaiden apply more rouge, maybe you did not look as beautiful as those other girls who would go out of their way to polish every single surface for him.

“Did your father allow you?” He asks.

“It wasn’t a matter of him allowing me,” you say, pressing both of your palms together, “he persuaded me told me go.”

“I expected more from him you know.” Jaehyun admits, he places a hand on your shoulder. “It took so much convincing, it made me believe that he wouldn’t have allowed you to come here knowing I would be in the same place. I even wrote him that letter to explain to him that I would do everything to make our meetings of honor and of virtue.”

Of honor and of virtue. You do not know if it is a compliment or an insult that he regards you as if you were made of porcelain and not of skin. Were you not desirable that not even his carnality must peak through?

You roll your eyes, and you know that he feels the shift in your demeanor, but his hand does not falter where it is planted on your shoulder. You can feel is emanating warmth.

“Am I to understand that ‘tis the sole reason that you’ve done so much as to impress my father?” In that slip of the tongue, you cannot help but make your words come out much sharper than intended. By the way Jaehyun looks at you, you can tell he is a little stunned by your tone.

“Of course I wanted you to be here.” He admits, and even if you do not want to feel the warmth that blossoms from your own chest - you cannot help it.

“Two weeks of gifts from Sol, only for me to make the journey to this crowded clearing.” You say, and his other hand makes its way to your empty shoulder.

“I did not mean that I wanted only for you to be here,” he pulls you closer, now one hand cautiously on your back, “I meant that I would have been on my knees mercilessly if need be at your father’s doorstep if it meant that I would only catch a glimpse of you.”

“You do not mean that.” You whisper.

“If it takes for me to bring down the sun to make you believe my sincerity, I’m willing to do that for you.” He says, the distance between your chests so much less than a world apart.

Jaehyun speaks up again, “and I’m to believe, if you are sincere, that you owe me my kiss.”

“If you take me nothing more than a pastime, you can take your kiss up on any other noble lady here.”

“I cannot deny what you heard.” He says, looking into your eyes, and you immediately understand that he knows what you did hear.

“So you’ve been following me?” You point.

“I would not say that, I did notice your arrival and I wanted to surprise you. It lead to me being somewhere where I was not supposed to be, that’s all.”

“Why didn’t you stop me when you knew what I was starting to hear?”

“And save you from what? The truth of who I was back then?”

You only blink at him.

“I cannot change those choices, they are a part of me now as much as they’ll ever be— I cannot change the past even if I wanted to. I’ll admit I was foolish, I did a great deal of messing around, but I am no longer that way.” He says, and it sounds like he’s trying his best to convince you.

“What do you want me to believe of you?” Your voice is much quieter, because you know that there is truth in which he speaks.

“I want you to believe that I do not want to use you and discard you, I admit that when I was a little younger I let the promiscuity get into my head. Princess, I understand that you are younger than I and I do not want you to think I’m taking advantage of you because you’re more malleable in that stage—“

“You do not have to consider me in that light.” You cut his rambling off.

“I just, I do not want you to believe what other people may say. If there is truth to it or not, I believe we must tread through this together— without the outside noise.” He sighs, hoping he made enough sense for there to be resolve.

You close the distance between you by taking him in for an embrace, this gesture startling him but you immediately feel how he softens. Your face buried in his chest, and only then you realize just how tall he is.

“I apologize, I just felt so overwhelmed with the idea that other people knowing these things about you presented the possibility that our attachment was disingenuous.” You admit.

“I’ll tell you every single detail if need be.” He laughs, and you feel the earthy tone of his bellowing voice when he does - the vibration traveling to where your head was placed.

“To what value should I hold that?” Looking up at him, only to find him looking at you.

“To every single aspect of the matter.” Jaehyun says with certainty.

“And which matter is that?” You raise an eyebrow.

“To every matter of this relationship.”

“You know, you must be very particular about these things, you would not want a lady to assume an attachment be worth something it really isn’t.”

He can only laugh again, “I do not mean to rush you. It is a waste of your youth for me to maintain a pace that I want, and that is unfair.”

“So you want me to wait?”

"Perhaps."

You laugh, "do you not find me desirable?"

He stiffens only a little, "believe me when I tell you that it is taking every single fibre of my being to maintain self-control when I only get so little as a glance of your shadow and a whiff of your scent."

"So is it appropriate for me to want to rush you?"

“No. I want you to breathe in the air of your youth, the same wind does not come across for you twice.”

Then the realization returns to you. Your borrowed time.

“Alright,” your voice goes quiet again, “thank you for considering that of me, my king.”

You savor the embrace, lulling yourselves into the peaceful quiet of each other’s arms as everything in the background fades past you. Except your impending doom is weighing on your mind.

You’ve come to treasure early mornings, when the sunlight just comes to a hilt - and the cold evening still lingers as you begin to smell the morning dew evaporate from the blades of grass and the margins of the leaves. Ever since you’ve become ill, you tried your best to get up early at times to admire morning spilling into the night sky.

It seems you’re earlier than most, not feeling or seeing a single soul awake as you stroll around the camping grounds.

After your brief moment with the King of Sol last night, you excused yourself - feeling a familiar build up of sick black wanting to leave your body. You thought it only a little cruel that he dismissed you without question, probably assuming you were still upset about what happened overhearing the ladies in the tent.

But it was much better that he blamed something else than find out about your condition.

You were being selfish, playing so closely with both your feelings knowing that you had no idea how to keep yourself safe and alive for much longer.

Finding yourself entering the trees, you notice a different quiet. The songs of birds seem much different here, you imagine this to be the sound of the birds in Kingdom Aether - maybe close to the bird calls you had heard Prince Sicheng make during one occasion. The breeze is different, passing through each tall oak and pine, scents wafting through the air.

Time seems to be lost when you see the rays of sunlight come through, illuminating each shadowed branch. You do not realize how deep you’ve gone, and how far long you’ve walked.

It is something you are not prepared to see, something you thought only started to manifest in your own kingdom.

The tinges of blacks and sludges of green were familiar, it had been happening in Gaia irregularly ever since you became sick. Some lakes turning a deep black, fish floating dead and atop the surface of the water - flowers wilting in large patches, harvest of grain reduced to half, some horses and cattle found lifeless in the mornings— seeming to have decomposed for months but have passed for only a few hours.

Life was being taken, with no real way to comprehend how that came to be. A decay was spreading, patches of land - the sky - the water - they were all experiencing the same illness you were.

This was a plague on life. On everything you stood for.

Right here, in the forests of Hermes, the decay was beginning in a few old trees. Their once sturdy trunks, now an almost melted mess of the same dark hues you had coughed up. An elk, however so beautiful its antlers, lay lifeless in the middle. You can see the expose of its ribs, viscera mangled and splayed across the dark ground. No sign of other animals or insects, only the worms and the centipedes avoiding the grueling scene.

You approach it, even when the hesitation in the stiffness of your steps oppose the almost voluntary way your feet move forward.

Months of torture knowing you were ill, and all these weeks of knowing that life all around was diseased with the same fate. This was the only time you found whatever courage it was to seek it out yourself. With all the power you have been reserving, you hover a hand over the dead patch of land, trying to command anything you had. Anything to bring it back to life.

To your dismay, nothing at all happens. Where typically flowers would bloom upon the command of your hands, or the wounded would heal, there was nothing your will could do at this moment.

Instead, a sharp pain ricochets into your palm, a seething burn that stings through as if cut by a blade. No visible force is doing this, but it’s as though you are wounded.

You gaze upon your palm, surprised to see that you are truly bleeding and you have been cut open.

Before you can process how that came to be, a drop of your own crimson blood lands onto the patch of dead grass— and suddenly, life is willed as you intended. It is almost so immediate, how the trees seem to stand tall once again - the timber stalks boasting in height. An elk so gloriously beautiful in how it stands, how it looks at you. Everything so alive, so starkly different from what you’ve seen.

An unpleasant feeling in your stomach churns, for blood magic has been known to have died so many years ago. It seemed only a dark, shunned myth.

Until now that you have seen it with your own eyes. And it makes you absolutely repulsed, it makes you sick.

You turn back, the blood curling from within your body. None of your worst nightmares could fare the fear that ran through your body.

Running back into the camp, you do not notice Jaehyun standing around outside your lodgings when you near the curtained entrance.

“Y/N?” He asks, seeing you visibly in distress, you do not like how he is concerned. He should not be. It was already so unfair that you were taking advantage of his kindness like this, it would hurt him to know the truth that you were hiding. And you knew it would destroy both of you to pretend that your curse would not affect this attachment.

You had to end this now before it could do him any more harm to know— to be any closer to the truth.

“If you know what is good for you my king, we shall stop this.” You say with conviction, and it kills you to see the hurt that wells up in his eyes.

“Y/N? What is this about? I had thought that we had talked and—“

“Please,” you say, “please,” you beg in a whisper, “this must end.”

Before you can shed tears over the lump that seems to be blocking your airways, you leave him behind to enter your lodgings.

You do not hear him walk away. You know that he waits, even if you do not come back out that day.

three years before the Age of Sol, in the Kingdom Ashtaroth:

“Has much so changed in a year, dear brother?” Prince Johnny nudges at Jaehyun, who has drifted away in thought - staring at the new sort of display for the ball. Perhaps Jaehyun was not the best to understand art of the underlying messages of its beauty, or perhaps Ten and Taeyong have properly lost their minds to come up with a cohesive idea.

“Maybe.” He takes a while to answer.

But he knows the answer is yes, much and very little can change in a year. That he knows to be true.

“Wasn’t it almost exactly a year ago here in Ashtaroth? We accidentally drank those aphrodisiac-laced drinks, thankfully Princess Y/N was there to—“ Johnny stops himself, aware of now how even more disconnected Jaehyun looked. He shouldn’t have mentioned you at all.

It was still a sensitive subject.

“Well, I suppose Prince Taeyong, Ten, and Jaemin always do manage to surprise us with… decorative arrangements. Maybe nothing much has changed.” Johnny says instead, trying to save himself the embarrassment of forgetting the one thing that he knew bothered Jaehyun.

“Yes maybe some things do not change.” Jaehyun nods, pretending he wasn’t affected by just the mention of your name. Like you hadn’t been the one occupying each thought he had for the better part of a year now.

After you told him to end things in Hermes the previous year, you suddenly left without telling a soul. The entire delegation from Gaia just deciding to leave the excursion, leaving everyone in different curious whispers. A message flew in for Prince Mark in his domain that there were urgent matters in Gaia that needed you to be summoned back, and there were no more questions after that.

He tried writing to you at first, but he knew you never kept your windows open - never waiting at noon to let the sunlight in. His letters piling up unsent in the corner of his study, where he altogether just stopped sending any.

You hadn’t been present in any more social events, no one left with a clue about your absence. Except an overheard comment from Prince Muhan once, saying you were preoccupied arranging things in Gaia.

Something that bothered Jaehyun - because it meant that Muhan was still close enough to you to know what was going on at least. Slowly, people began to forget that you two ever had an attachment as well.

He had thought of reaching out to your father, but he could not conspire something he knew you would be against; you had told him to stop, you’d even pleaded with him.

In the year that followed, he adjusted quite well into his position. Many heard of the well boosted prosperity of Sol, and though Jaehyun’s emotions were entirely elsewhere— he poured himself into his kingdom. It was a very welcome distraction, realizing he needed to pay attention to other things of importance to keep his heart stalled.

An unwelcome distraction however, came in the form of his political advisors and his own set of knights— bothering him of the same ordeal over the past few months.

“You need a wife.” Was a constant phrase he’d heard. Something Sol did not demand of him when he was still their crown prince was an engagement; marriage was not something of importance at the time. He’d grown to prove himself in wit, in strength, and in the use of his power during those years. Romance was simply an accessory, and his people agreed that he would have no problem finding a partner when the time came. And now was the time that it was required of him, to keep up with appearances - to set a precedent for a matriarchal figure of the kingdom.

If the issue on finding a wife came anywhere sooner than when you first spoke at the ball in Ashtaroth a year ago, he would have had no qualms saying yes to the next random well-bred noble lady.

Except now, all he could think of was you. It was you he pictured next to him, even if the possibility seemed close to none again.

As if he’d never came close to being your king in the first place.

“There you are.” It’s perfect timing when Lady Cho snakes her arm, linking it into Jaehyun’s. The unwelcome distraction.

She was, it seemed, the main contender to become his possible fiancé. She was highborn of a noble family in Ashtaroth, she was easy on the eyes, and they did share a rather interesting history. In fact, he was certain she was one of the names mentioned when you overheard those ladies in Hermes.

Johnny is now aware he’s found himself in a very interestingly uncomfortable situation. It had not been five minutes since your name had been mentioned, and here was Lady Cho giving Jaehyun the most lovesick look. Jaehyun looking uninterested, maybe even intent to get away from Lady Cho.

“Anything worthwhile here, Lady Cho?” Johnny asks, just so the atmosphere would seem less dull.

She actually squeals in delight at the prospect of sharing information, “I did see Prince Muhan arrive, with a lady no doubt!”

Jaehyun could be interested, but he does not make it a point to express it. Not when her grip on his arm was getting tighter with each word she enunciated.

“Whoever could that be?” Johnny asks again.

“I did not get the pleasure of having a good look at her, but she did have regally long dark hair. Maybe it would be worth mentioning that she had a good figure to her as well. I bet she’s beautiful.”

It does not ring any bells, Jaehyun still imagines you the way he last remembers you. Medium length hair only a little past your shoulders— and your body although perfect in his eyes, still a developing shell shedding slowly of youth.

“Good for him.” Jaehyun comments, perhaps hoping Muhan had found himself a match. He could say, Muhan was rather busy this year - many campaigns throughout Celeste. Not an area experiencing drought. Jaehyun recalls Muhan traveling into Sol to deliver supplies of water for the people of the kingdom.

It was by all means very good, but he still held his reservations for the Prince of Okeanos. There was a sour spot planted in him, especially when he remembered how Muhan was linked to you. Maybe Jaehyun was bitter that you had severed ties with everyone, except for Muhan.

Laughter gets thrown into the air, Jaehyun does not realize how crowded the hall had become. There was a sudden surge of people, where he swore that there was enough room to breathe only moments ago.

He sees the long dark hair first, waves past hips - the unmistakeable curves of a woman. It’s only fitting then, that the twinge of attraction he feels gets validated when he finally sees the woman draped into Muhan’s arms.

It’s you, smiling effortlessly at a joke someone had probably said.

The hollow in Jaehyun’s chest begins to feel so sensitive, when he tries his best to be here in this moment. It feels that all the hall’s only a background, and all he can focus on is finally seeing you.

Have you been eating well? Although he can see you look like you’re blossoming into a woman now, he notices the frailness of your wrists when you make motions with your hands - and the indents of your collarbones more prominent than he remembers. You look tired, although there might be little indication for him to go by, he just knows that you do not seem so yourself.

Are you happier? There's a smile on your face but a tiredness at the wrinkles curling up in your eyes.

Did the silence give you enough peace? Was the smile on your face so genuine, did it feel like you could finally breathe now that you made the choice to end it? He wants to know if the year has been kind to you in any way at all, because it had not been that way for him.

“Oh, it is the Princess.” Lady Cho notices Jaehyun’s gaze so focused on you.

Johnny scrambles to finish his drink, calling Mark over for another full glass.

In the year that passed, you were busy.

Scrambling back into Gaia to tell your father of what had happened in the forest, you mapped out all the plagued areas in your kingdom. Your blood put into a small vial, and you had gone in secret to test whether they could be revived with a drop.

And they did.

Suddenly death was wiped off, temporarily keeping things at bay.

Though it left you with three problems.

First, you knew the illness was spreading in other kingdoms. It would mean you had to employ the help of others to keep this secret. It only took a message to Prince Sicheng of the Kingdom Aether, asking him to scope the skies for anything that was reminiscent of the scenes you described. It was to your advantage that Sicheng had been a rather quiet man, discerning in his own political choices and well understanding of the matter at hand. After you had identified those areas, you needed to speak to Prince Muhan.

But the closeness of your families warranted an explanation, one he took quite well. One secret he promised to keep to the grave, even if it seemed your engagement no longer held true.

He agreed to be the one to hold campaigns around Celeste, mixing only a drop of your blood into the water he would cast upon the places Sicheng had mentioned.

Second, the matter of your blood.

Blood magic was something no one had quite been familiar with, the only clues you had were the scribes of the Kingdom Luna - some passages in books of your old library had mentioned something of the Moon Kingdom. You had to start there.

In the meantime you had to bleed, and it drained a lot of life out of you. If there was anything about it, you experienced just how much it took a toll on your physical state - more so on your magic. The more blood you gave, the less you had the capacity to do much. You could not even make the flowers bloom around your gardens. Recovering after long periods of bleeding meant that you had to stay away from leaving Gaia, there was barely a chance for you to see more than the borders of your kingdom.

It frustrated you, but you had to keep it secret. Now only a select few Gaia, Okeanos, Aether, and Luna knew.

Third, your heart.

Though there were moments that you had to take your responsibility as Princess, and now a not so certain herald of blood magic - you found yourself thinking about Jaehyun often. Even if you were so ridden with guilt about how you spoke to him last, you knew in your heart that it was the best way to keep him out of the burden of knowing.

At the rate of how things were unfolding, it seemed the threat of your death was not as terrible as it initially was, and it ached to know that you could not spend these days without even a word from Jaehyun. You had meant to write, but you knew you hurt him, and you did not want to be more selfish than you already had been.

“You have to leave this castle.” Your father mentions once, your moping had come to be quite stressful for him. The bird on his shoulder looked a bit more aged now, its feathers thicker and richer in vibrant color.

It was not nice being bothered by the presence of a bird, but it reminded you so much of Jaehyun.

“And accomplish what exactly?” You ask.

“Well, you could do me the favor of giving me peace.” He says, “and perhaps it’s time to find a partner.” He suggests; he’s been the most enthusiastic that you made it through the winter.

“The last thing we need—“

“You are the most unenthusiastic about your own life. Have a little faith that we can find a solution, perhaps life is more bountiful for you.” He ushers you out the door of his study, ordering Hendery to gather all your maids to prepare you for the upcoming ball in Ashtaroth.

“I heard a rumor.” Prince Muhan whispers to you, you sent a letter asking him to accompany you to the ball in Ashtaroth, knowing his presence typically hindered much attention. He kept to himself a lot, only really mingling with his own traveling audience from Okeanos.

You were currently in a carriage together on the way to Ashtaroth, so conversation was good enough to distract you from the travel. “And what did that entail?” You wonder.

“Well, they were rumors. Plural.” He settled on agreeing with himself. “The first about, your blood magic.”

“As if there wasn’t enough bad news already.”

“Some scribes in my own kingdom came to find a piece of history in writing, and it wasn’t particularly mum. A little gruesome actually.” Muhan states. “The last royal who dabbled in the art, well, all kingdoms agreed to have her head on a stick - there was half a treaty left good enough to read.”

It doesn’t surprise you, instead you ask, “and where might the other half be?”

“You have to hear the rest first. The document was signed mainly by one olden king from a certain kingdom.”

“Well, the effort must have come somewhere.” You affirm.

“Yes, something about blood magic not bidding well with their people or something of such effect.”

“So are you going to tell me?”

“The document was scorched.”

And that was all you needed to hear.

What did Sol have against this magic?

“Oh.” You say, processing. “You said rumors, plural.”

“Yes, rumors, plural.” He sing songs, “since we’re at the topic of kings from Sol, the other is about your beloved.”

Muhan had surprisingly been accepting about severing your engagement, even more so receptive about your entanglement with Jaehyun during the previous year’s social season. He said that the kiss was all he needed to see to know that you were finally sticking true to your own heart, which he knew he could have never won over anyway.

But he remained now a good friend, and an even better ally.

“What about him?” It pains you to ask, but your curiosity overpowers it.

“Apparently, he’s been in search for a wife - and his current candidate… You’ll have to see for yourself.”

You make your way into the ball, trying to slip in unnoticed - choosing a rather late time to arrive as you only expect there to be alcohol and endless conversation. But you underestimate the crowd that gathers when you do start to socialize, something you did not typically do before. It’s strange being cautious, anticipating Jaehyun’s presence - and yet being unsure if he was here.

Half of you wanted him to be too busy ruling a kingdom to show up, and half of you wanted to catch even the smallest glimpse of him if you could.

“You look different.” Prince Ten comments, ever so observant, and it makes you a bit self-conscious because you’re aware of how different you do appear.

“I can only hope you mean well when you say that.” You respond.

“Even if you arrived in nothing but rags, I’m sure you’d still be the most beautiful here.” He says and you laugh.

In the middle of your laughter, your eyes seem to quickly drift off to where you feel like you’re being watched. It is then that you lock eyes with Jaehyun, seeing Lady Cho link her arm around his own. She’s telling him something, and you only notice Prince Johnny looking like he wants to detach himself from whatever the conversation was.

But Jaehyun only looks at you. A stare so passive that you cannot place it as anger or sadness, you hope it’s either - you just want him to still care.

Because you still care.

Even if you were sure that Lady Cho was the candidate Muhan mentioned, irking you to know that it is the same high born that was mentioned to have slept with him before. Maybe there was comfort in a familiar body, and you hoped Jaehyun chose right. She was beautiful, and you could not contest.

She would make a great queen.

All you can do now is look away the entire evening, pretending you don’t feel his gaze linger on you.

three years before the Age of Sol, in the Kingdom Tyr:

It so goes that the social season follows a regular pattern, a grand ball in Ashtaroth, a joust and a feast in Tyr, the excursions up to Hermes, and whichever kingdom is open to hosting anything for the flock that would not refuse at the chance of being amongst other people.

Another joust was set to happen, you were now sat at a designated box, all decorated in the deep greens of your kingdom.

This year, you refused Johnny’s request at the kiss of luck. He had come to you in hopes that you would be willing to place the gift again, but you very politely declined - mentioning a handful of single noble women who would be happy to oblige.

You were nothing more than a spectator this time, watching a sport you did not very much enjoy.

A lineup of all the princes and knight participating parades across the field before the joust officially starts, and you cannot help but try to count. Everybody you knew would participate would be there and young noblemen who’d never had the chance to joust before, but there were no forerunners from Sol.

Your eyes are fixed to see the boxes across from yours, a space of field in the middle, you hadn’t noticed it empty - but you could now notice it being filled up with people in flags of a golden sun.

“The King of Sol decided not to be part of the joust, if you were wondering.” Hendery discretely speaks next to you as you do notice Jaehyun settle down at the same level of seats as you. It was awkward having to face him directly, but you were left the comfort of distance. Lady Cho still by his side but she seemed uninterested at the joust, more so trying to get his attention.

The joust goes by quickly, the breaking of splinters and noblemen falling of horses a cackle of sound you never grew so used to. It’s Jaehyun’s hard gaze that you have to avoid, and it felt like you were unwillingly gluing your eyes on the field to avoid having to look up at his face. It already hurt you to know he was a proximity away, so close enough to see but still far away.

“Champions,” the King of Tyr announces in perfect fashion when the last two contenders are narrowed down, “it is time for the kiss of victory. The Lady Kim will give her blessing to her champion of choice, between the Knight Hyunjin from Ashtaroth and Prince Jeno of Tyr.”

There was an obvious choice for Lady Kim; everyone knew that between the two contenders, she had already been promised to the Knight Hyunjin.

It’s almost riveting, when she steps down, and you notice that she does not even look at the knight’s way. Instead she goes straight for Prince Jeno, who seems so flustered. Everybody in the stands all curios and mildly appalled that she did not choose the man she was supposed to.

She whispers something to him, and he guides a hand to her shoulders - and you know well enough to read his lips. He’s telling her not to worry. It is made obvious that there was something going on between the two.

Then she places a kiss on his cheeks, and you feel yourself all flushed with a familiar feeling.

That had been you and Jaehyun not long ago, in the same predicament.

You can only look up from the field to see Jaehyun looking at you still, despite the lady at his side. It’s the first time you can clearly tell what he feels in the way he looks at you. It is a feeling of sadness.

You and him both know you are witnessing reflections of yourselves.

It is an uncomfortable thing to be stuck in the middle of rowdy feasts. Every joust in Tyr entailed a long session of bards singing their tales, banging on hard wood tables cut from large trees, and ale and wine being spilt more than it was drunk. You never really lasted more than twenty minutes of formalities during this part of the function, zooming out to leave early. In last year’s case you made your way to the garden.

You were lucky that Johnny’s wife was next to you, she was just as well-adjusted to these festivities in Tyr as you— which was barely adjusted at all. There was a silent agreement between the two of you, to simply be receptive around the long table of royals overlooking all that was happening. It seemed you found a friend in her gentle character, recalling the story about the gardens in the kingdom that Johnny had made for her. They were a beautiful contrast. You were happy that you had company.

Still, you cannot help but notice Jaehyun in your periphery. Feeling helpless that Muhan and Sicheng were sat way at the far end of the table, and Hendery was in one of the knight’s tables away from guarding you.

It’s a surprise when your father arrives late into the function, he was never so fond of going to these types of events and left you in his stead on behalf of Gaia. Once upon a time, your father and Johnny’s had been quite close. Gaia and Tyr were somewhat allies in times of disagreement among kingdoms, and they had lead their troops into battle together. So your father being accommodated a seat next to the King of Tyr was expected.

What wasn’t expected however, was your father calling the entire dinner hall’s attention for a toast.

“I hope I do not come to this feast unwelcome,” He starts off, met with the silence of willing ears, “nor do I want to come off as rude to bid the attention to something completely irrelevant to something such like a joust.”

You want to be swallowed by the velvet of the seat you were restrained to, feeling secondhand embarrassment if it were such a thing.

“I must take advantage of the attendance of all important representatives of each kingdom in this very hall, and the kindness of my old friend who permitted me to make such an announcement.” Your father continues, and you hope that he just gets to the point.

He clears his throat, taking a good eye around the room where every soul had been earnestly listening. Even all the royals and high borns wondering whatever it could be he wanted to say.

“This is the season that I announce, on behalf of the kingdom Gaia, that our Crown Princess finds a husband. Or rather, a time where we welcome suitors for the princess.”

A pin could drop, and perhaps everyone would hear it. The air feels sucked out of the room, and you cannot believe your own ears. You should have seen this coming, after all the faux optimism your father had been disillusioned with.

Johnny’s wife lays her hand on your lap very gently, finding your hand to squeeze. It is a gesture of comfort, one you need at the moment. You close your eyes for a few seconds, before finding composure in your own body.

“A toast, to the Princess Gaia. A toast to finding love that is true.” The King of Tyr raises his chalice, and everybody erupts in a cheer.

Everyone except you, Johnny’s wife, and Jaehyun.

a few weeks hence, three years before the Age of Sol, in the Kingdom Hermes:

This was the last place you wanted to be, but you were here nonetheless, surrounded by trees again in the middle of the mountainous forests.

After your father’s announcement, you could no longer count even with three sets of hands the amount of suitors that came to visit your kingdom. An absolutely horrific experience to entertain all guests for a sit down in your drawing room, you’d grown weary of pretending to be present during small talk.

Every nobleman and royal came with particular reasons for you to consider their engagement, and each reason proved to be selfish or absurd. Or perhaps you had your reservations because you could not find it in yourself to be interested in any of them.

To your dismay, this also meant that your quest to figure out your cursed blood magic was halted— making conversation with Sicheng and Muhan all the more difficult. On a few occasions Muhan had to pretend he was a suitor, cutting in line of whoever was interested to hold you hostage in another elaborate attempt to woo you.

There was some commotion about this, suddenly it became a fast spreading rumor that Muhan was trying to mend back an old engagement. Denying this would have meant you had to admit to your secret, which was much more dangerous. So you find yourself once again associated with the Prince of Okeanos, but maybe now to your advantage.

Even so, it makes you wonder if Jaehyun ever considered expressing any interest in the matter of you. No men from Sol ever entered Gaia, none ever expressing a desire to wed the only princess in Celeste. You wonder if he had heard the rumors at least, of you and Muhan - how that would seem in his judgement.

But it was so rich of you to assume that he would still care after you pushed him away. Maybe you would see him here in this retreat in the forest, and you condition yourself to be satisfied if you could only see the outline of shadow. That would be enough.

Your lodgings in Hermes are not as peaceful as you remember. Though everything was kept the same way it was before, it’s hard to ignore that you were now always bothered by suitors.

“May we please… promenade?” Prince Muhan struggles as he spent a good few minutes pushing through the men crowded outside your door, appearing before you in the small common area of the cabin designated to you.

“Is it important?” You wonder if he had any new news.

“No, but I suppose you want to not feel like a prisoner here. It’s stuffy always being inside and well, I think I do just the trick to keep all these admirers of yours away.”

“Yes, dear friend, you have that effect.” You say, dusting yourself off to find a good overcoat to wear.

“Did my father put you up to this?” You ask him once you’ve gone out to walk, your gloved hands carefully gripping his forearm. A great discovery to ward off any attempts to get near you.

“Put me up to what?”

“Babysitting me as if you were my wet nurse.”

“Well, your father did cause all this unwarranted attention now that you’re so available in the marriage market.” He rolls his eyes, he was also obviously annoyed having to always get past men to have to speak to you.

“Why are you looking out for me so much then?”

“Because we are good friends now, are we not? I made a vow to protect you with all of this… curse. And I know the social season is hard on you especially after the previous one.” He tries to explain, and you know where he’s leading at. Especially now that you notice you’ve been promenading in circles - repeatedly passing by a tent occupied by Prince Johnny, Prince Mark, and Jaehyun.

“What made you believe that?”

“I don’t believe it, I know it to be true princess.” Muhan sighs, “I’m trying to weaponize myself and my knowledge on a man’s ego to prove you are being stupid about this.”

Stupid. He’s never been so forward with you before, maybe that was the beauty in no longer being set-up to marry him was that he could be honest and have a sense of humor. Maybe he was a good friend now indeed.

“Stupid about what?”

“You’ll see what another stupid man sedated with misconstrued jealousy can conjure in his mind. Maybe I can spread a few rumors that I am intent on rekindling our old engagement, only for the sole purpose of entertainment of course.” He comments, walking off now to finally finish the loop you’ve been going around in.

You see this excursion to Hermes up to its very end, with only a few stolen glances of Jaehyun. Your eyes meeting once in a while on accident, and your heart hurting every time they do.

a month hence, three years before the Age of Sol, in the Kingdom Gaia:

Among the many things your father had done out of sheer absurdity, this one takes the biggest slice of cake.

Gaia was to host a ball for the social season, this being quite rare in itself. All because your father was interested in making such a big deal of your formal welcoming into society— something about the formality of welcoming marriage.

While the rest of your kingdom was scrambling to do their tasks to accommodate the behemoth-amount of guests that Gaia was not used to, all you really had to do was stay put and put on your best gown. Your face already worn out from practicing a forced smile.

What this ball was for, you didn’t quite understand, but you were meant to be a spectacle than a host.

You sit next to the throne your father was designated, a makeshift hall made in your vast gardens - everything crafted with the trees and ornamental flowers. It was almost like a building of its barebones, as though a greenhouse without glass in the middle of the nature your kingdom boasted - though the greens were guided to create a roof-like structure.

If Gaia were to host balls, they hosted very few but very grand ones. Taking advantage of the magic of life— influencing the movement of wildlife and greenery.

The effect of awe is evident with every guest that arrives, and in your thoughts you can quietly count off each kingdom that does come into your gardens. You’d heard from Hendery that your father took the liberty of inviting every kingdom, and that meant invitations had been sent to Sol.

And you found yourself waiting on the young king, even if you had no right to.

With each noblemen who had the intention of declaring their interest in your hand, they presented elaborate gifts or even their own talents in poetry, perhaps in wielding a sword, or even a song or two. Prince Muhan even asked for your hand in friendship, earning a comical smile from you - leaving everybody else confused at your inside joke. It all conspired throughout the course of the morning up until the courses of lunch were served and eaten.

You were bored out of your mind, the smile on your face betraying your true feelings. Even your father seemed to be less and less enthusiastic about the entire ordeal.

It was his fault, really.

The long line of suitors seemed to have been done saying their piece, everybody retreating to a table to find their own company. The ending should have been a relief, but you can’t help but feel disappointed at the few empty seats where Prince Johnny sat— knowing very well that it would be Jaehyun occupying at least one of them.

The simultaneous chatter serves as background noise as you try to imagine his presence, and it’s the bright rays of the sun rising at high noon that break your thoughts.

It all happens quickly, motions of people arriving. The swarm of familiar whites and golds, it seemed delegates from Sol came out of nowhere.

Jaehyun walks in, behind a few of his knights, and he holds a rather determined look to his face.

“The King of Sol.” One of the heralds of Gaia announce, as they make their way to the very front of the hall to your table. The stones of the garden floor rustling in the organized manner that Jaehyun arrives in.

“To what do we owe the presence of a king?” Your father’s voice bellows across, as if Jaehyun was a stranger to him. Like the little phoenix wasn’t perched up along the vines near behind your father, Jaehyun’s gift still kept so dear.

“I intend to express something I regret not being able to much sooner, to everybody in Celeste at least,” Jaehyun looks around, and it’s the first time you hear his voice after one year - an unmistakable confidence there, “I know plenty men here have done their due diligence to express their interest in the princess, and it is quite rude of me to express myself much later than all the others.”

Your father leaves room for Jaehyun to continue, but the King of Sol cannot look at you.

“It is in all my desire to marry the Princess Gaia.” He says, and all princes and noblemen alike look floored. “My intentions and my feelings have not changed from the year before, and it is in my shortcomings that I did not stay true to my words and my own heart. I find that I cannot stay away from her much longer.”

You can only stare onto the ground in which he steps, hoping his feet will spare you from having to look at his face.

“I hope you understand as the king of your own domain that I took the time to think over my choice to come to you now— as you know I am in search of my own wife, and now the princess seeks a husband. No union will ever be as strong as such.” Jaehyun speaks directly to your father.

Then, in an act so demeaning, Jaehyun kneels in front of your father - in front now of all of Celeste to see. “Even if I shall beg for this honor.” You suddenly recall your conversation in Hermes - how he did say that he would do this for you, and now he really was.

The bird squawks, breaking the silence that follows, and your father clasps his hands together and stands up from his seat.

“Very well then, King of Sol. If you insist on proving yourself, I shall give you one year. But I shall now announce to all people of the land that this engagement is final, and will forevermore be.”

All eyes then turn to you, now stunned.

end of part two.

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#jaehyun x reader #jaehyun imagine #jung yoonoh #jaehyun angst #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun smut #jaehyun scenario #nct angst #nct fluff #nct smut #nct 127 imagines #nct scenarios #nct 127 smut #jaehyun imagines #jung jaehyun #jung jaehyun x reader #nct imagines

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blade-dressed-in-red · 13 days ago

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» [HOMESICK] «

0:00 〇────── 3:47

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pairing: noah sebastian x f!reader

content warnings: MDNI, alcohol, exhibitionism (fingering in public setting), mentions of smoking (weed, folio mention‼️). if you believe i missed anything please let me know! i never want to make anyone uncomfortable :)

word count: 5.2k

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. While inspired by real individuals, the characters and events depicted are entirely fictional and should not be considered as factual representations of any real persons. This story is solely for entertainment purposes only and is not intended to be taken as truth or to cause any harm or offense.

A/N: first installment of a series i came up with in the shower lmao. i decided to create playlists for each chapter (that i spent longer than i'd like to admit on) so it'd be really cool if you checked them out for complete immersion :D

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊| Meet me where the lines blur together

Noah and I didn’t meet by complete chance. I currently worked as an assistant at Ephemera Records, an indie record label that mostly signed up and coming pop punk artists. Many of my closest friends were also in the entertainment industry, some working especially close to Bad Omens’ team. I never had the chance to meet them until my friend Ian's birthday party, taking place at Ernie’s, a local bar in town.

My best friend Tessa and I decided to get ready and pregame at my apartment. We tried on different outfits while throwing back a couple shots here and there. I finally landed on a skintight red velvet dress that reached my midthigh, fishnets, black crew socks, and my platform Docs. I added a chunky silver chain necklace that went a little past my collarbone, along with song rings to further complement my outfit. I decided on leaving my hair down and did my usual makeup, with the addition of smoking out the eyeliner a little bit more to fit the night-out theme, and finished up with some vanilla perfume. Tessa decided on a black two piece set consisting of a matching long sleeved crop top and mini skirt, sheer black tights, and some chunky knee high leather boots. She had added a large gold cross pendant, and put her hair in a neat bun and had her bangs frame her face.

The two of us looked at ourselves in the bathroom mirror, giving a once-over to both of our looks. Tessa fixed her bangs a little, while I fixed the most minor mistake of my eyeliner. While leaning over the counter to fix your makeup, Tessa asked,

“We should probably order the uber now, right?”

“Yeah definitely.” I responded, promptly setting the eyeliner down on the counter and grabbed my phone. I quickly opened the uber app and ordered the car, the driver having an ETA of about fifteen minutes. Tessa and I decided to take this time as an opportunity to take one final shot, both of us agreeing that it was cheaper than the drinks at the bar.

Right after we toasted and took our shots, Tessa’s phone began ringing. She promptly answered it and put it on speaker for me to hear, noticing it was Casey, Ian’s girlfriend, who organized the party.

“Hello?” Tessa slightly slurred into the receiver.

“Hey! Are you two almost on your way? Also.. are you two already drunk?”

I responded first, “I ordered the uber about ten minutes ago, should be here soon. As for being drunk, I have no comment.” Tessa and I tipsily giggled at my answer, practically hearing Casey roll her eyes on the other side of the line.

“Well at least you two ordered a ride. How much longer do you think you’ll be? Some people are already starting to show up.”

It was Tessa’s turn to respond, “Probably within thirty minutes, depending on traffic.”

As if right on time, my phone buzzed, alerting me the uber was there.”

“Oh shit, the uber got here early.” I rushed out. Tessa ended the call with Casey and grabbed her bag while I quickly grabbed my phone, keys, and wallet off the desk, shoving them into a purse that could barely contain all the items. We practically ran out of my apartment, almost tumbling down the stairs in the process to prevent the driver from waiting any longer. As we approached the car, the driver rolled down the window.

“Uber for Y/N?” the woman said.

“That’s me!” I responded politely, trying my best not to sound too inebriated. Unfortunately, my cover was blown when Tessa stumbled into the backseat, straight up telling the driver we had been drinking. Thankfully, the driver didn’t care as long as neither of us lost our stomach contents in her car, which we were both far from being in that state.

The driver let me choose the music, deciding to put on my ‘white girl mix’ playlist, consisting of various pop songs from the 2000-10s. During the drive, Tessa and I were singing along to the songs, the driver even joining in occasionally (who can’t resist some Britney?) We finally arrived at Ernie’s. I swiftly disconnected my phone from the speaker as Tessa and I made our way out of the car. We quickly then thanked the driver before she drove off and I made sure to give her an extra tip on the app before entering the bar. By the time I had arrived, the tipsiness had already turned into a slight buzz.

I’ve been to Ernie’s a few times before, usually just to get a couple drinks with friends and catch up, or an occasional date or two. It wasn’t a grungy bar in the slightest but still had a hometown edge that didn’t make it feel prestigious. Casey managed to book the whole bar for Ian’s party, decorating it with various blue and silver party streamers and latex balloons, with a banner of blue foil balloons spelling out “HAPPY BIRTHDAY IAN” over the back bar.

Tessa and I made our way to the group of people chatting at a table. Once Casey noticed us, she ran up to greet the two of us, quickly succeeded by Ian. As they were approaching, I drew my attention to Ian, almost yelling across the bar “Happy birthday!” while throwing my arms in the air, to which he smiled politely until he and Casey made their full way over. As Casey embraced me and Tessa, she stated

“Y/N! Tessa! We’re so glad you could make it!” followed by Ian,

“Yeah, I really appreciate it.” he said with a polite smile.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss this for anything!” I quickly responded while giving Ian a small hug.

“Yeah we’re really excited, plus it gives us a good excuse to drink!” Tessa said, making everyone chuckle a bit.

“So, who all is coming?” I asked out of curiosity, but also some slight anxiety. It’s been quite a while since I had been out, let alone with so many people.

Ian answered, “Not many more people. I didn’t want anything too huge with random people. Just some close friends, work buddies, and some of their friends they wanted to invite along.” Which unknowingly to him, reassured me a little bit.

“Oh that’s good, I feel like that suits you more than a huge blowout,” I responded with a light slight smile, Ian and Casey nodding in agreement.

Tessa cut off the conversation, “I’m gonna go get a drink, do you guys want anything?” she asks while slowly inching her way to the bar.

“Sure, I’ll come with you.” I answered, following her lead.

“I think we’re good for now, we have drinks at the table. But I wanna do some birthday shots later.” Ian responded before he and Casey made their way back to the table.

Tessa and I overlooked the selections the bar had, both of us deciding to play it safe by ordering rum and cokes. Afterwards, we joined the group at the table and said I said my greetings to everyone, catching up with some people who I hadn’t seen in a bit. Over the course of the hour, more people arrived at the party, and I downed another drink in the meantime to combat the minor anxiety that started to settle in my stomach.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊| You’re the only thing that felt forever

About two hours after I arrived, I had noticed a group of men show up, but my slightly tipsy vision and low lights couldn’t quite make them out as they entered the bar. I took this as another opportunity to grab another drink, deciding to fill up on as much liquid courage as possible before having to converse with more people. As I approached the bar, the bartender greeted me,

“Back so soon?” he commented with a cheeky grin.

“I can’t be socializing with this many people around without having something in my system,” I stated while nodding my head towards the amount of people in the room as I took a seat on the barstool, earning a chuckle from the bartender.

“I completely get it. What will it be for you then?” he asked while flipping the towel in his hand over his shoulder. I took a beat to think before ordering,

“Hmm.. What about a daiquiri?”

“One daiquiri coming right up!”

“Make that two, please.” A gruff male voice exclaimed from beside me, placing his heavily inked hand on the bar as he sat down. I turned my head to see who was going to be keeping me company while the drinks were being made. His body slightly turned towards my own, his elbow on the bar with his opposite hand resting on his thigh. He had fluffy layered auburn hair cut just under his ears, with silky pieces framing his face, reminiscent of “prince charming hair.”

His eyes were almond shaped, his irises almost the same exact color of his pupils. He had a slender build with some prominent muscles on his upper arms and shoulders. Even while sitting down, I could tell he was much taller than average, he’d definitely loom over me even while wearing heels. From what I could see above his long sleeved black collared shirt, he had tattoos creeping up his neck. I wondered how much more of his body was marked, but before I could think much more he spoke again.

“Hi, I’m Noah.” he politely greeted me while reaching his hand out to invite me to shake it. I had noticed it trembled a little bit, but I wrote it off as some minor social anxiety.

“Y/N.” I responded politely with a smile, lightly taking his hand and shaking it. There was a stark difference in the temperature between the two of us, his hand becoming a miniature heater for my own during the brief contact.

“So, how do you know Ian?” he asks. Great, more small talk with a stranger.

“I actually met him through Casey a few years back. She and I met in a class back in college. Funnily enough, she made me approve of Ian before making their relationship official. How about you?”

“Wow, you were there from the start then,” he said with a light chuckle before continuing,

“Ian helped with some design choices for our brand about a year ago.” He finished with a gentle smile.

“Design choices for your brand, huh. What’s the brand for?” I questioned while raising an eyebrow, knowing Ian has done graphic design for a variety of brands and companies over the years.

“Well, the brand is the merch for my band.” He said matter of factly.

So he’s a musician? This didn’t surprise me too much, remembering how Ian talked about becoming an independent contractor for some bands a few months ago.

“Oh you’re in a band? Have you released anything I’ve heard?” I was so used to asking this question from work, the answer usually being no.

“Well our main ‘claim to fame,’” he started out, using air quotes, “is ‘Just Pretend,’ but we have some other pretty well-known songs out there.” He said with a small hint of pride in his tone, raising his eyebrow a bit, silently asking to see if I had known of it.

“Oh shit! That was you? Yeah, I've definitely heard it before.” I was genuinely a bit surprised. I was quite used to coming across artists just starting out, with not much, if any, work to their name.

“It’s a really good song,” I assured him with a small smile.

“Thanks, I appreciate it. We put a lot of effort into that song and the rest of the record.” I nodded at him in response as the bartender returned with our matching drinks.

After this exchange, something within Noah’s demeanor seemed to shift. It was hardly noticeable, but I caught onto the way his left knee began to bounce a little and how he was struggling to maintain eye contact with me. I figured he just became a little self-conscious of not being immediately recognized for the first time in years. We two sat in a borderline awkward silence while sipping from our drinks. Growing more uncomfortable as the silence wore on, I decided to be the one to break the ice this time.

“Sorry for not instantly recognizing you, it probably bruised your ego a bit, huh?” I jokingly nudged him. A small smile appeared on his face, but his nerves weren’t fully melting away just yet.

“I gotta admit, it hasn’t happened in a while, especially at things like these,” he gestured by nodding his head back to the room behind the two of us. Before I could form a response, he continued,

“Speaking of which, what do you do for work?”

“I work as an assistant to a manager at Ephemera Records. Hence why I’m so behind on other music. Just too focused on my own bands to pay attention to other labels’ artists.” I answered, slurping the last of my drink through the straw. He must’ve noticed the way my expression changed to disappointment as I looked at the bottom of the cup

“Could I get the next round?” his tone was laced with hope and uncertainty of whether or not I’d take him up on his offer.

I decided to accept it, who could resist a free drink?

“That’d be really nice, thank you.” I said appreciatively, giving him a small smile. I swore I could see his cheeks flush a bit, but I think it was just the odd blueish lighting from around us playing tricks on my eyes.

“Not a problem, what will it be then?” he said while turning his attention to the bartender, who swiftly made his way back over to the two of us.

“Your choice,” I quipped, unsure of what I was feeling up for since the daiquiri was starting to make its presence known. I slightly swayed in the barstool, making Noah laugh a little as he averted most of his attention to the bartender.

“Three tequila shots please, with some lime.” he politely asked the bartender, who quickly grabbed the glasses and limes.

“Three? Why three?” I asked, I was unsure on why he ordered an odd number.

“Well, I can tell you’re already getting a little tipsy, so I figured I should meet you at your level.” He said teasingly.

“Oh really?” I retorted back with a teasing tone.

The bartender set the shots and limes in front of us, the two us toasting to the first, which I promptly followed by biting down on the lime, while Noah threw back the second one, quickly stuffing the lime into his mouth to fight off the burning sensation in his throat.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊| I’m love sick, love sober

Although I was there for Ian, I noticed he was quite preoccupied with everyone hanging out around him, determined to party with the birthday boy whether it be drinking, dancing, or just catching up with him. I decided I’d get the chance to talk with him more later in the night when things settled down a bit. Noah and I continued talking, finding some comfort within our barseats. We found out we actually had a decent amount in common, but we also talked about some interests the other didn’t know much about. We both decided to have a couple more mixed drinks, in addition to him having two shots in his attempt to “catch up” to me.

Despite the alcohol starting to flood both of our systems, we still attentively listened to each other. However, at times, I noticed his eyes linger to my neck and collarbones when I was talking, but he quickly averted them back to your eyes when he felt I noticed his gaze. Whenever someone came up to greet me, I felt his eyes on me, probably thinking I wouldn’t notice his eyes on me.

I decided to grab the bartender’s attention for what felt like the twentieth time that night, but that was a great overestimate. I chose to get the next round for me and Noah.

“Could I- I mean we, get two shots of vodka please.” I politely slurred out, but not enough for him to cut me off. Despite managing to stay in my seat most of the night, I was a bit apprehensive of standing up if I were to have a couple more drinks anytime soon.

“Will that be all?” the bartender asks while grabbing the glasses and bottle.

“Nope!” I stated while enunciating the “P.”

“Wait, no chaser?” Noah said, his face expressing his perplexed amusement.

Instead of answering him, I continued talking to the bartender,

“You can also put both of those on my tab.”

“Doesn’t that cancel my round out?” Noah quipped.

“Dude, I’m just returning the favor.” I noticed how his expression shifted a little at my words. I assumed it was because of me insisting on paying for the drinks and totally not the expression I use solely towards my friends.

“Whatever you say, but I’m gonna keep insisting on fully paying for at least one of your drinks.” I rolled my eyes in response while the bartender set the shots down in front of us. I handed one of them to Noah, feeling his warm hand brush against my cold one. We both swallowed the liquid, mine going down without a hitch while Noah gaged at the taste.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he jokingly spat, grimacing while holding his hand to his chest as if it’d help calm the burning sensation in his esophagus.

“Oh come on, it isn’t that bad.” I knew I wouldn’t agree with this statement if I was sober, but the sting of the alcohol wasn’t as prominent with the current state I was in.

“Right.. Well I’m gonna use the restroom, I’ll be right back.” He stated

“Sounds good,” I replied, deciding to make smalltalk with the bartender in the meantime during Noah’s absence. He slightly stumbled while getting up from the barstool, but quickly regained his composure, making me let out an amused giggle, Noah giving me a playful glare in response as he walked away.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊| I was free in the fall, now I’m lost in the moment

As Noah returned, one of my favorite songs, Take the World by She Wants Revenge started playing throughout the bar. I glanced over to where people were dancing, and figured I’d let out some extra energy. I quickly grabbed Noah’s warm hand to his surprise, forcing him to join me on the dance floor.

“Come on, let’s go dance.” I slurred out a little bit, Noah’s response was just a silent eye roll.

I stumbled a little while getting up from the barstool, Noah steadying with his hand on my lower back. I looked up at him with glazed over eyes, his own matching and thanked him, I fully realized how tall he actually was next to me. I noticed he was a bit apprehensive as I dragged him behind me to the dance floor, but I hoped it would wear off as the vodka made its way through his body. I immediately started moving to the beat of the song, forcing Noah to match my energy by proxy. It wasn’t anything too promiscuous at first, but as the song went on, his body slowly gravitated towards my own. I hadn’t even noticed until I felt his hand on my hip. I looked up and realized he had stilled a bit, as if wondering if that was the correct action to take. I reassured him by turning around to lightly grind my body against his, almost making his movements stop completely before leaning back into me. We kept this up for a couple songs, I guided his hand to explore my hips and belly, him slowly growing in confidence with his roaming. Noah began trailing his hand down towards my thighs, making a shiver run through my body, littering my skin with goosebumps. I looked around and realized there were a lot of people on the dance floor. I turned back around to face him again, he pulled his hand back and placed it onto my hip again, I detected his breathing became shallow. Before thinking, I grabbed his wrist and navigated his hand back down. We looked at each other in a way that asked the other if this is what we wanted. After we both nodded, he let me guide his hand down further, him slipping it underneath my velvet dress while his other had a tight grip on my hip.

His hand palmed over my core while kissing and softly biting at my neck, I gnawed at my lip in an attempt to not make a sound. Slowly, his fingers made their way into my fishnets and lace panties, his middle finger steadily brushing through my folds, him mentally noting how wet you already were. I let out a low whimper that only he could detect, making him bite my neck a little harsher in response. I breathed heavily with his face in the crook of my neck as he traced small circles around my clit. I did everything I could to drown out the small gasps and moans so as to not alert those around us of what was taking place near them. That idea in of itself made me more aroused than I’d care to admit. Little by little, his finger made its way near my entrance, teasing me before finally dipping his finger inside. My head fell against his chest to hide my sounds by muffling them against him as his fingers worked their way inside me. The sensation of this was all new to me. Sure, I’ve been fingered before, but the way his slender digits pumped in and out of me with his palm rubbing against my core, giving me the friction I craved. He was able to reach places I couldn’t on my own (or anyone else for that matter). He kept kissing and biting at my neck, nibbling on your earlobe at one point, drawing me closer to the edge. The moan I muffled against him made him speed up his pace, adding another digit in the process, his fingers repeatedly hitting the spot that had my whole body start to tingle. Everything about this moment was overstimulating; the bass from the music reverberating throughout my entire body, the low lights that swayed across Noah’s frame, his hot mouth on my neck, the risque setting, and the fact I hadn’t even kissed this man yet. I think that thought alone was what made me tip over the edge, as my walls clenched around his fingers while riding out my high on Noah’s hand, gripping the sleeve on his shoulder as a means to ground myself throughout it.

He lifted his head up from my neck while slowly removing his hand from underneath my dress so he didn’t accidentally pull it up in the process. I peered up at him while softly panting, his hazy half-lidded eyes meeting my own as he licked his fingers clean of my release while giving me a smirk in the process. The sight turned me on all over again. He bent down to whisper in my ear,

“Next time, I’d like to fully hear you.” he stated

I smirked up at him in agreement, thinking of what noises he could draw out of me with the rest of his body. Deciding to leave Noah wanting more, I glanced around and realized now would be the best time to hang out with Ian, noticing less people were crowding around him than earlier as most were on the dance floor. I gave Noah a quick peck on the cheek before making my way to the bathroom to freshen up. Looking back at him, I saw he stood still on the dancefloor, mouth agape with a slight smile and a baffled expression on his face.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊| I can breathe through the night, even when it is hopeless

I returned to the group from earlier with Ian, Casey, Tessa, and a few others you weren’t fully acquainted with. The drinks from earlier were still flowing through my system, but my time with Noah sobered me up quite a bit.

“So.. about those birthday shots?” I reminded the group, determined to take at least one birthday shot with Ian.

“Oh fuck yeah, I completely forgot.” Ian stated, getting up with Casey along with everyone else to make our way over to the bar. While getting up to join, a man I’d never seen before stood up with the group to join in on the shots, overhearing my question. Figuring if he was close enough to Ian to join in on the celebration, it was worth introducing myself to him,

“Hey! I don’t think we’ve met before, I’m Y/N.” I told him politely, offering my hand for him to shake.

“Oh I’m Nick, but most people call me Folio. It's great to meet you, I’ve heard a bit about you,” he slightly slurred out and instead of shaking my hand, he bowed down to kiss the top of it, making me giggle at the sight of his obviously inebriated state. I thought about his comment of him knowing about me, but decided not to press on it.

The group finally made its way to the bar as Folio and I continued to talk, asking if he was enjoying the party. He told me about how he managed to smoke a joint in the bar bathroom and staff almost catching him.

“Dude.. I was so close to getting caught, some guy came in almost screaming why it smelt like weed, but I just stood on the toilet so he didn’t see my feet.”

“You know you could’ve just gone outside, right?” I laughed out my response.

“Well, what’s the fun in that? I know I’m not the only person who did something they shouldn't have done in the bar.” He looked at me playfully.

Shit, did he see what I did with Noah? Does everyone know? Was I being louder despite my best efforts to stay quiet? Folio must’ve noticed the change in my expression as he leaned down to whisper to me,

“Dude don’t worry, Noah told me. I don’t think anybody else knows” he reassured me. Why the fuck did Noah tell him that? I assumed it was because of the drinks, maybe he becomes less filtered when intoxicated. Wait, how the hell does Folio know Noah?

“Oh! So you know Noah?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual even though he knew about me and Noah’s dance floor incident.

Folio laughed loudly, a couple people in the group looking over with puzzled looks.

“Know him? He’s basically like a brother to me. I’m the drummer in Bad Omens.”

This made me realize I forgot to ask Noah about his band’s name earlier. I only knew of the one song he talked about, but not much else. We had spent most of our time together talking about non-work related topics.

I decided to be a bit playful, telling Folio,

“Drummer huh? So that’s why your arms are like that.” I stated while softly grasping his bicep, resulting in a slight blush from him. Wow, I was really putting myself out there. I’m usually quite confident but this whole night was a bit out of my bounds.

I made my way over to where Ian was talking to the bartender, Folio following behind. I offered to pay for the last shots of the night while closing out my tab. The bartender chuckled before saying

“Your tab has already been closed out.”

“What? I didn’t close it out. Do you have a receipt?” I thought there must have been a mixup. Maybe the bartender was thinking of another person’s tab? The bartender handed me the bar’s copy of the receipt, all the drinks I had ordered were on there. I looked back up at him puzzled.

“The guy you were sitting with earlier, Noah I think it was? He paid for yours and his before he left.” he clarified. Folio had an amused grin on his face while I glanced over the receipt again, seeing the total was over $75. I was completely taken aback, but chose to figure it out later.

“Well in that case, just start a new tab I guess, I’ll order shots for everyone.” I turned around to ask the group,

“Is everyone fine with vodka?” to which I mostly got acceptances, except Folio who shuddered at the idea.

“Okay well what do you want princess, I’m willing to take a special request.” I jokingly mocked him while nudging his side. He went on with it, batting his eyelashes,

“I’ll take whiskey on the rocks pretty please” his voice going up an octave, making me laugh.

“Dude, we’re doing shots, remember?”

“So?” he sassily responded.

“Whatever,” I said with an airy laugh and turned my attention back to the bartender,

“Shots for everyone and a whiskey on ice for the princess,” the nickname resulting in an amused look from the bartender.

As everyone was handed their shots, and Folio his whiskey, we gathered around Ian and on the count of three, downed the liquid. I wasn’t expecting Folio to join it, assuming he’d just sip on the whiskey, but he downed the whole thing with everyone else. Once swallowing, he stuck his tongue out of his mouth and shook his head like a wet dog to shake out the burn, exhaling a satisfied sigh which made everyone laugh at the sight.

The party was coming to a close. People got into their groups to home with as I continued talking with Folio. Two men joined in and I was introduced to the both of them, one by the name of Matt. The other had a more foreign name I couldn’t even attempt to pronounce, so he told me to just call him Jolly. I found out Jolly was the guitarist of the Bad Omens, Matt was their tour manager, and that their bassist, Nick, wasn't able to make it that night. A decent amount of people were leaving, the guys getting up to head out while Tessa found her way back over to me, giving me a playful look. Oh, did I have a story to tell her.

I said my goodbyes to the guys, wishing Ian a happy birthday one last time while saying bye to him and Casey. Tessa and I made our way out of the bar to wait for the uber to take you back to my apartment. The cool air felt good on my skin, not realizing how warm I was inside. Once the bar door shut behind the two of us, Tessa immediately began,

“So..” she said with an arched brow. “I saw you hanging out with that dude at the bar most of the night. How was that?” her tone dripping with curiosity.

“It was fine, his name is Noah by the way. He’s in a band, pretty cool dude.” I stated simply. I didn’t want to get into the details right then and there for anyone to possibly overhear. Before Tessa could question me any further, the uber arrived. As we got into the car, I decided to check my phone for any notifications I had possibly missed over the past few hours from being preoccupied with the party and Noah. Opening instagram, I noticed I had a message request. After clicking on it, I saw

MESSAGE REQUEST - BADOMENSOFFICIAL

I smiled to myself, knowing it was probably Noah. Suddenly, nerves started to eat away at me. What if he was upset for leaving him hanging earlier? What if he felt used? These thoughts were replaced when I remembered he paid for my tab after dancing with him. Maybe he was asking me to pay him back? I thought about leaving it until the next day, but curiosity got the better of me and I opened it.

“Told you I insisted on paying for at least one drink ;)”

My anxiety quickly subsided, replaced with butterflies I wasn't expecting, but welcomed them nonetheless. I typed out a reply,

“you really didn’t have to do that, could i please pay you back?”

I didn’t expect him to respond quickly, knowing it had been a bit since his initial message was sent. I was hoping I could leave it until the morning. To my surprise, he responded a few minutes later,

“I have a few ideas on how you could repay me.”

The message sent a wave of heat down to my core, wanting to giggle at how he was more confident over messaging. The memories of his nervousness throughout the night replayed,, in my head then to when he eventually became confident enough in himself to guide his hand down toward my thighs, making me shiver at the memory of his touch. I decided to respond and not check my phone again until the next morning, finishing with,

“i’m willing to take you up on the offer. sorry we didn’t get the chance to say bye before you left, i hope you’re having a good rest of your night :)”

While I felt confident throughout the whole night, typing out the message made me feel like a pile of bricks made their home in my stomach.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊| You make me feel homesick

» [HOMESICK] «

0:00 ──────〇 3:47

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

A/N: sorry for being MIA the past couple weeks, i've been attempting at working on this as well as being a decent student and enjoying normal life stuff lol. this is my first time trying to write anything like this so i hope it wasn't terrible and thank you for reading :) <33

tag list: @xmads-omensx @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lil-garbitch @fadingangelwisp @dontwantthemoney @heyyoplayer @death-ofpeace-ofmind @thatchickwiththecamera @shayeanna-ashlie @supersquirrel1996

(if you'd like to be added to the taglist please either dm or comment <3)

#Spotify #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian fluff #bad omens #bad omens cult #bad omens fic

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msklassickilla · 4 days ago

Text

Prada You 2 Chapter 9: Before I Let Go

Summary:

Three years have passed, but in city, the past never truly stays buried. The Prada Bois have grown stronger, their grip on the city unshaken. Old faces remain, new tensions rise, and the streets are more dangerous than ever.

Toya’s wedding should be a day of celebration, but for those who knew her, it’s something more—a gathering thick with whispers, with the weight of what was lost. Some wounds have scarred over, while others remain raw, unspoken.

Yet, the night brings a shift. A presence. A force that neither time nor distance could erase. The whispers start first, a low hum of disbelief that spreads like wildfire. Some things refuse to be forgotten. Some stories aren’t finished.

Because in this city, love, loyalty, and revenge all walk the same tightrope. And once the past steps forward, there’s no turning back.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye), Jacob Fatu x Kiyah, Sami Zayn x Natasha, Jimmy Uso x Nataya

Author’s Note: This story is set in a AU that takes place over summer in 2002. It has four original characters. If you come across this and haven’t read the first story, click here. Again, I appreciate y’all for all the love and support. I hope I’m able to create something that’s worthy as Prada You.

Warnings: Some foul/harsh language.

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter 9: Before I Let Go

June 21st 2002 (Friday)

By Friday, I still hadn’t gone back to work. What happened Wednesday still had my ass shook to the core.

I stayed in bed longer than usual, half-watching cartoons with the volume low, the ceiling fan pushing fragrant air across my bare legs. Sugah’s felt like a distant planet. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to orbit it again.

Solo had given me enough money to sit down for a few days. And I was definitely taking some more days off to get my mind right. My feelings on taking his money had me questioning a lot of things. I mean money was money but for the first time it came from someone that had always been off-limits.

And maybe that’s why I was extra thankful when the phone rang that morning. The lady from Vista Ridge sounded too chipper for how early it was, but her words turned something on inside me.

“Miss Green? You’ve been approved. If you’d stil like to move forward, your move-in date would be July 1st,” she disclosed.

I bounced on my toes barefoot, pacing the length of my room with the phone in my hand, thanking her over and over again. I couldn’t stop smiling.

After I hung up, I flopped onto my bed and stared at the ceiling. My own place. My own key. My own peace.

I didn’t need a reason to celebrate—but I had one. A good one.

I called the girls and said we were going out tonight. I needed to be around laughter, loud music, and strong drinks. Naturally, Kiyah had a spot in mind before I could even finish the sentence.

The rest of the day floated by. Mama and I ran errands—nothing major, just little things we could’ve put off. She asked if I wanted lunch and we sat in the car outside the drive-thru, eating like we used to. Somewhere between curly fries and a half-empty soda cup, I told her I was moving.

Her mouth went tight, but her eyes didn’t. She was sad, I could tell, but proud too. She pulled me close in the parking lot and said, “You know you always got a home here, baby. You know me and Reggie don’t care how grown you get. You’re welcomed always.”

I told her I’d still be by all the time. And that she could spend days or a few nights with me, if she wanted or needed to get away. It seemed to make her feel better.

----

Dusk had arrived as when I started getting ready. The first day of summer came in blazing, so I didn’t bother doing too much. I slipped into a strapless cotton dress and sandals. No makeup, just some gloss and lashes. I pulled my hair up with that butterfly clip I liked, letting the curls I did earlier fall behind me.

My mood was still high by the time I pulled up at Kiyah’s house. I told her I’d drive. She wasn’t about to drive me nowhere, no time soon if I could help it.

When she got in the car, her energy hit me right away, just a sour patch. All sour without the sweet though.

I glanced at her. “What the hell wrong with you? You was fine this morning.”

She folded her arms, looking out the window like it owed her money. “I’m single. Ain’t shit wrong no more. I’m free. Not having to put up with a dude with multiple kids and ugly baby mamas.”

I tried to stifle my laugh but couldn’t. She was serious as hell and mad. And when she was mad, she let anything come out of her mouth.

But leaving a Prada Boi was never that easy.

“You single?” I raised a brow. “But does his ass know that?”

That opened the floodgates.

She launched into the story about Jacob defending Marcy again after she said something slick. How he tried to check her about her mouth, telling her how wrong she be for popping off on people because she always thought the worst. And once again told her she needed chill out this summer with all the partying and drinking.

I knew better than to interrupt her. Just drove and listened while she aired it all out. Her voice cracked in one place, and I glanced over. Her nose was red. It only got that way when she was really mad or on the verge of tears.

“I’m done with his ass, Nye. I’m so fucking done. He knew who I was three years ago and now he wanna switch up. Act like he my daddy. Fuck him. Fuck Prada. Fuck the kids, the baby mamas, and the damn dog,” she ranted.

I lost it.

Laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe, had to grip the wheel just to keep from swerving. She didn’t want to laugh, but she did. A small one at first, then big enough to shake her whole body.

By the time we pulled into the lot, we were gasping, trying to catch our breath.

“Man, get out my car,” I told her, fanning myself. “My stomach hurt from yo’ nonsense.”

She stuck her tongue out at me like a child, unbothered now. Whatever Jacob had done, she’d put it behind her for the night.

----

It didn’t take long for the twins to pull up. I hadn’t expected Nataya to come, but there she was, stepping out of the car like she had something to prove. Her dress barely skimmed her thighs. It was tight, glittery, and low in the back. One wrong move and she’d be naked. Jimmy must’ve been gone when she left the house.

I didn’t say a word. That was not my business. I was trying to vibe and celebrate my new accomplishment.

The Jungle was already thick with bodies when we walked in. The music knocked against the walls like it was trying to escape. Lights cut and swirled across sweaty skin and blurred faces. It was hot. Smoky. Loud. It was alive. Just the right ambiance to have a good time.

I didn’t wait on nobody. My hips were already moving before I made it halfway through the crowd. Arms swaying, waist dipping. I let the beat drown out everything else. The world melted into rhythm.

And then I saw her. Nataya was right beside me, dropping it low, hips rolling like waves. There was something freeing in the way she moved. The Nataya that I knew before Jimmy came along was coming alive.

I leaned in and hyped her up loud in her ear. “Okay, Taya! Show ‘em what you working with!”

She grinned, dropping it low once more.

Before long, Kiyah popped up through the crowd, drinks in hand like she was working the bar. She passed me a clear cup full of something green and handed Taya a water bottle.

Natasha followed behind her, already floating, blunt tucked between her fingers from someone she probably sweet talked to give her. She passed it to Kiyah with nothing but a nod.

The night blurred after that. Lights. Loud Music. Hair sticking to foreheads. Arms thrown around shoulders. I don’t even remember what song was playing when I really started to feel it, but I was singing along, arm around Kiyah, laughing loud as hell.

And then after a while it got hot as hell as the liquor settled in my bones. It clung to my neck, my arms, the backs of my knees. I slipped away, weaving through the moving bodies until I found the balcony upstairs.

The air was a little cooler out there. Not much, but enough. The music still pulsed behind me, but I leaned into the railing and let myself breathe. Below, the parking lot looked calm. A few folks leaned on cars, smoking, talking loudly, still feeling the effects of whatever was in their systems.

I was watching nothing really—just letting my eyes roam—when two cars pulled in. The headlights flashed across the lot like searchlights. And when the first door of the first car opened, my mouth fell open.

Jimmy.

The second I saw him; my body flew into action. I pushed off the railing and headed back inside, fast. If he saw Nataya still dancing on that dude from earlier all hell was gon’ break loose.

I shoved through the crowd like my life depended on it. I didn’t care who got pushed, caught an elbow, or spilled their drink.

----

By the time I made it downstairs, the crowd had already circled. Jimmy was in the dude’s face that Nataya had been dancing with for most of the night.

“Who the fuck do you think you is? Grinding up on my girl like that,” Jimmy questioned him.

Nataya stood to the side, looking panicked. Natasha was yelling at Jimmy. And Kiyah trying to push Jacob away. The poor dude had his hands up, looking lost. He tried explaining but Jimmy swung anyway. The punch landed, taking the dude down immediately.

And that was all it took for pandemonium to take place. People surged like it was the moment they’d been waiting for. Shouting. Pushing. Somebody collided with me so hard I lost my footing. A drink splashed by my ankle.

I couldn’t hear anything but the static in my ears.

And for a second, I froze. Just one second but it felt like a lifetime. I was back in that club. Back in that running crowd. Back in my own blood. Back where I’d been on that night when everything changed.

My heart raced. My palms were sweaty. I couldn’t stay in that environment any longer. My ass bolted. I didn’t care about nobody in that moment. Getting to that exit and through it safely was all I needed to accomplish.

Once outside, I didn’t feel much better, but at least it was open. I stumbled into the parking lot and leaned against the side of someone’s Honda Accord. My chest rose and fell like I’d been underwater.

I closed my eyes and whispered to myself. You’re fine. You’re safe. You’re okay.

Behind me, the doors burst opened again. Turning around to see what was taking place wasn’t needed.

Jimmy’s voice cut through the noise. “Y’all gon’ call the cops? We leavin’, man! Damn!”

Security was shouting that the police would be called next if they didn’t leave the premises.

----

I was still leaning up against the car when the arguing started up again. Nobody seem to give a damn them people would call the laws. Bailing somebody out wasn’t what I was trying to do tonight so I left my spot to see if I could settle shit.

Jimmy was in Nataya’s face; all bark and no sense. His voice had that drunken rasp to it, the kind that made everything sound ten times more aggressive than it needed to be. I didn’t even have to walk up close to know he’d been drinking—his body was swaying, his words were heavy, slurred but sharp.

“What the hell was you thinking, huh? Dancing on some dude who ain’t me like you don’t belong to me.”

Nataya wasn’t shrinking. She was yelling back now, voice pitched high and shaking. You could tell she was embarrassed and mad as hell.

“You not my daddy! I can do what I want, Jimmy!”

They were toe to toe, face to face, going at it.

Off to the side, Jacob and Kiyah were locked in their own battle of words. Kiyah’s hands were flying, her voice climbing. She looked ready to throw something or somebody.

I took a step forward, unsure where to go first—Nataya and Jimmy, or Kiyah and Jacob. But that choice got made for me when I saw Kiyah’s arm cock back.

“Ki—”

I was too late though. She swung. Jacob dodged half of it, but she caught him with the edge of her knuckles. He stumbled back, stunned, and then tried to grab her arms to stop the second swing.

Kiyah wasn’t letting up though. “Get yo’ big ass off me!” she screamed.

“Kiyah!” I rushed over, Natasha right behind me.

Jacob was still trying to block her when he suddenly jumped back and yelled, “Kiyah, what the fuck? Did yo’ ass just bite me?!”

I shook my head, annoyed.

“You gotta be kidding me,” I muttered, sliding between them. I pulled Kiyah off of him and shoved her gently toward my car.

“Aye, stop this shit. Y'all can handle this shit tomorrow.”

Kiyah was still breathing hard, yelling something over her shoulder, but I blocked it out. My focus was on calming this whole mess down before it got worse.

But worse had just walked in the door.

----

I turned just in time to see Jimmy grab Nataya by the arm, telling her to get his car. He probably didn’t intend to be rough, but with his heavy-handed ass I knew he had a tight grip on her.

Nataya yanked away from him, rubbing the spot he had grabbed.

And that’s when Natasha stepped in. “She not going nowhere with your drunk ass, Jimmy.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Ain’t nobody talking to yo’ ass!” he snapped, turning on her.

“I’m talking to you though,” Natasha yelled.

Jimmy got in her face fast, finger pointed at her like he’d lost his damn mind.

“Get your fucking hand out my face,” Natasha warned, knocking his hand away.

And just as he lunged like he was really about to do something. My body moved before my mind did.

I slid between them, planting both feet.

“Jim,” I said. “I know you not about to take it there. But if that’s what its gone be then you gotta fight me first.”

He froze. The air around us stopped moving like it wanted to see what would happen next. For a second, he looked like he considered it but something in his mind must’ve told him to chill.

And that’s when car doors started opening and shutting.

I leaned over just enough to see the second car parked behind Jimmy’s, the one I hadn’t paid much attention to earlier.

Out stepped Jey followed by Solo.

I rolled my eyes.

They asses had been in the car the whole time watching the whole thing unfold from the safety of the car.

Jey’s presence annoyed me more than Solo’s at the moment. ‘Cause if anybody knew how Jimmy got down when he drank too much it would be Jey. Yet, his ass didn’t see a need to step in until I was about to lay Jimmy leaning ass out.

I was over it, stepping away from Jimmy.

----

Jey stepped up beside his twin, placing his hand on his shoulder. His eyes flicked between Jimmy and me, but he didn’t say a word.

Solo didn’t waste time with any of that. He walked straight over to me like I was the only person around. His hand landed gently on my shoulder.

“You good?” he asked, voice concerned.

I simply nodded. I just wanted whatever this was to be over before the cops came.

But that wasn’t happening because Jey snapped.

“The fuck you doing, Uce?” he shouted, grabbing Solo and shoving him back a step.

The outburst caught most of us off guard. Kiyah was by my side in an instant, trying to pull me away but I stood still trying to see what Solo was gon' do.

Solo’s entire posture changed. His normal calm demeanor melted into anger in seconds. He looked Jey up and down like he didn’t recognize him.

“Shit, I was making sure she was good,” Solo barked, chest puffed, tone clipped. “Unlike you—just standing around watching your drunk-ass twin start fires. Why don’t yo’ ass ask him what the fuck he doing since he’s clearly the problem?”

His hand flew out in Jimmy’s direction, dismissive, and disrespectful. Jey mugged him. Jimmy mugged him. Solo only shrugged, waving them both off like their anger wasn’t worth his time.

And somehow, he was right back next to me, like he belonged there. I couldn’t even react in time. I was still trying to piece together what the hell was going on even though I had a clue.

And then—God help me—I touched him. My hand found a home on Solo’s shoulder, a reflex more than a choice. As I was about to tell him to chill, that I was okay, that it didn’t need to go there.

But it was already too late.

Jey rushed him. Straight-up tackled him like he’d been waiting on an excuse to do it. Fists started flying, heavy and wild. The sound of knuckles cracking against skin echoed off the cars and pavement like fireworks.

“Wait!” I shouted, backing up, heart sitting in my stomach.

I turned to Jacob who was still watching like this wasn’t his damn business. “The fuck you waiting for, Jacob. Handle this!”

Finally, he jumped in, pulling at the blur of limbs. Solo had Jey pinned for a second, but Jacob managed to drag him away, breathing hard.

“Uce, that’s your brother! Fuck the bullshit. Y’all family!” he snapped, holding Jey like a leash barely strong enough.

Jimmy, drunk and slow, tried to restrain Solo, but that didn’t last. Solo snatched out of his grip like it was nothing and took off walking away from them.

Jey was the one left behind—shirt twisted, lip busted, fists still clenched like he didn’t know what to do with them anymore. He was still cussing at Solo’s back.

His breathing was ragged between words, eyes scanning the space around him before landing on me.

Our eyes locked. And just like that, it was quiet. Not around us but between us. I didn’t say a word. Just shook my head. His ass was still a loose cannon. He hadn’t changed at all.

Jey dropped his eyes to the ground like he could see the disappointment in mines.

I turned to Kiyah, simply done. “Kiyah,” I called out. “You coming or what?”

She looked torn. Her eyes darted from me to Jacob, to the crowd, back to me.

“I’m staying,” she said.

I laughed, humorless and tired. “You do that.”

I didn’t wait for anything else. I walked straight to my car, keys already in my hand. I didn’t look back and cared not who watched me walk away.

I slid into the driver’s seat, started the car, and peeled off into the night. My ass didn’t come home for shit like this.

----

I spotted him up ahead before I even realized I was looking for him.

Solo was walking down the side of the road like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. I got that but it was still two in the morning. I was sure he could handle himself but that wasn’t the point.

So, I slowed down, creeping behind him like a shadow with headlights. My hand hovered over the wheel, unsure. Natasha’s voice flashed in my head—about that shootout Solo and Sami were in not too long ago. The streets didn’t love nobody. Even ones who thought they ran it.

I rolled the window down, inching up beside him.

“Solo,” I called out, not loud, just enough. “Get in the car. I’m not letting you walk nowhere this late.”

He stopped, turning slightly, like he was about to brush it off. About to hit me with one of them grunts or that little head shake he always did when he didn’t want to argue. But I didn’t have it in me right now to deal with his reluctance or attitude.

“Look,” I said through clenched teeth, “I’m already mad. Don’t piss me off. Get in the damn car.”

He sighed. Then came the door click. His body folded into the passenger seat like he hadn’t just been on fire ten minutes ago. The door shut. The seatbelt clicked. And just like that, we were back on the road.

“Where you want me to drop you off?” I asked once we hit the highway, trying to act like this was just another ride. Nothing more.

“The white house off Bend.”

I let out a soft chuckle before I could stop myself. Not loud. Just enough to surprise us both.

Solo looked over at me, confused. “What’s funny?”

I kept my eyes on the road. “That night I came to meet up with Jey... you the one who peeked out the door. It was the first time I met you.”

His smirk told me he remembered. And in that moment, it hit me how much time had passed. How much had changed. How fast everything could shift when you weren’t paying attention.

We drove in quiet after that. The kind of quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable. The radio played an old R&B song. I couldn’t name right then, but the melody settled in the air between us.

When we finally pulled into the driveway of that white house, he didn’t move right away.

“Appreciate the ride,” he said, voice low like everything else had caught up with him all at once.

I started to wave it off. Say “don’t mention it” or something casual. But then I saw it. The dark bruise forming under his left eye.

Before I could think twice, my hand moved. My thumb brushed against it gently, slow and careful not to cause him more pain. His eyes closed like he was afraid to meet mine in that moment.

“You need to put some ice on that,” I murmured. “Keep the swelling down.”

He nodded once. Still didn’t open his eyes. Like he was holding his breath.

I let my hand fall away, slowly. “Get some rest,” I whispered.

He nodded again, opened the door, and stepped out without another word. I didn’t leave until I saw him get into his own car. It wasn’t until his headlights blinked on that I backed out the driveway and let myself drive home.

The house was quiet when I walked in. I moved through the darkness like muscle memory. Showered. Made a sandwich. Sat on my floor of my room, legs stretched out under me, sandwich in hand, the TV buzzing low in the background.

Then my phone lit up.

Unknown Number.

It was probably Andrzej or another customer wondering where I was so I answered it.

“You okay?” the voice asked.

Jey.

I hung up, wondering how the hell he got my number. I threw the phone to the side, staring down at my sandwich. My appetite was gone now.

Funny, how the past refused to stay buried. And I could admit that the realization scared me bad.

----

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 10.. (coming soon)

Taglist: @theusotwinzcom @nbanenefrmdao @queeny23 @punksyeet @partypoison00 @justazzi @southernpree @tian-monique @levissslutt @emotionalhottiee @blkgirlsneedlove2 @fafomama @bigjuiciisushii

#black fanfic writer #black oc #original character #the bloodline #wwe au #jey uso #jey uso x oc #jey uso x black oc #00's

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storiesofsvu · 8 months ago

Text

Decadent Desires Ch 15

Emily Prentiss x reader Warnings: language, smut eluded to/mentioned, mainly a filler chapter taking place in the days directly following the last chapter.

Rolling over Emily felt her body sink even deeper into your mattress, the blankets cocooned perfectly around her and she felt more relaxed than she had all week. She heard the all to familiar creak of your shower tap as it turned off and she let out a quiet groan, she’d forgotten it was Monday. With a reluctantly huff she pushed herself up to sitting, starting to change out of the pyjamas you’d leant her back into the clothes she’d tossed into a spare chair.

“You could’ve stayed sleeping.” Your voice quietly broke through the room as you re-entered it, clad in only your underwear as you stepped toward your closet.

“It’s fine.” She pinched at the bridge of her nose, “I’ve got a mountain of paperwork I need to get a start on.”

“My grocery order got delayed thanks to the weather, best I can offer you is a frozen waffle.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She chuckled, “I usually grab something on the way in anyways.”

“Good.” You turned to her with a grin, “cause I’m pretty sure they’re past the best by date.”

Emily laughed, shaking her head at you, her eyes lingering on your semi naked frame longer than she had originally intended. Your phone pinged and the hanger in your hand dropped to the bed as you picked up the device, your attention fully on it as you face her. It was then Emily noticed the deep purple nearly black bruise on your thigh and she was about to make a comment about your tennis skills until her eyes focused and she realized there was a clear line of teeth marks on the outer edge. Her mind thought back to the previous evening, the band-aid on your arm mixed with this was a clear sign you’d had some fun in Florida.

“Ugh.” You dropped your phone down on the nightstand, picking up the shirt and putting it on, “you think some people would have the decency to wait past eight a.m. to start planning a date.”

“Date?” Her brow raised in your direction and you let out a huff, stepping into a pencil skirt, quickly fixing your outfit before grabbing a pair of heels.

“Yeah. Heather needed specific support for a legislation and I got roped into going on a date with this congressman’s kid. You flirt a little and they’ll take it a whole other direction.”

She followed you down the stairs, beginning to wonder just how much fun you’d had in Florida, “that a regular occurrence?”

“Depends. Most of the time it’s only dinner or drinks with the added bragging rights of being seen together.” You shrugged, “you want a coffee to go?”

“Yeah, sure.”

It only took you a few seconds to pour her out a mug, fixing it perfectly to her liking before handing it to her.

“Thanks.” She smiled at you, her shoulders relaxing once again when you smiled right back at her.

“I’ll see you Wednesday?”

“Yeah, of course.” With another smile she turned back toward the door, collecting her coat and stepping into her shoes.

“And Emily?” You called out, poking your head around the corner.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ever feel bad about calling or showing up, okay? I’d hate for you to be alone at home trapped with whatever haunting thoughts are running through your brain after a bad case.”

“Okay.” She laughed softly a warmth spreading through her cheeks.

“I mean it. And if you’re too dragged down or drunk to drive, I’ll knock down your door. I know it’s difficult being the boss, but you’ve gotta remember, you’re important too.”

“Thank you, really.” Stepping toward the door she pulled it open, grimacing at the view outside, “and you promise me you’re gonna drive safe, it looks like shit out here.”

“I will.”

Emily had been right, the roads were pretty terrible, making your commute longer and worse than you’d expected. You’d shot a text off to Heather about running late and she told you not to worry about it, she’d rather have you take your time and arrive in one piece than rush and risk something happening. You were stuck at a light you’d been waiting three rotations at already when your phone buzzed in the cupholder. Picking it up you assumed it was another text from Heather to find that it was your Venmo app, a hundred dollar payment received from Emily.

A weird sensation wormed its way into your stomach and for a moment you thought maybe you’d accidentally used spoiled milk in your coffee. The screen remained on your phone, glaring up at you in the low morning light, and you tugged your lip between your teeth as the wheels started turning in your brain. You knew what your agreement was, you’d signed and added to the contract after all, one hundred dollars for anything that was akin to a casual dinner or simple companionship. In your mind, that meant something like going out to a movie, having lunch during a relaxed weekend, running errands together so you didn’t have to do it alone. Your thumb hovered over the ‘refund’ button, it almost felt weird taking money from Emily for something like her needing comfort, she’d needed a friend or something more in that moment, not a client. Right as you were about to make an impulsive decision, the light changed and the car behind you laid on their horn, causing you to drop your phone back into the cupholder and forget about it for the time being.

Thankfully the rest of the way to the office was relatively clear and you managed to make record time, collecting your things and making your way inside. You thought it was time for a quiet morning, not a lot of people around the building, but right as you passed Heather’s office her voice called out.

“Hey!”

Freezing in your step, you winced, slowly backtracking to her door, “sorry, I did my best.”

“Sweetheart with the quality of work you do I couldn’t give a fuck if you were late.” She opened a drawer of her desk, pulling out a couple of things, “c’mere.” You almost hesitantly entered her office, crossing the space to her desk as she grinned up at you, extending a sealed envelope, “from Rob.”

“Oh, perfect.” You tucked it into your bag.

“You alright?” She asked, surveying you for a minute.

“Yeah, drive just frazzled me a little bit.”

“Okay.” She glanced down to your purse, “are you going to open that?”

“It’s basically only for my peace of mind anyways. I’ll let you know if there’s any wildly shocking results.”

“Better hope you’re not pregnant, I’m not raising another one.”

“God you are such a comedian, and at this hour of the morning. Just how do you do it?”

“Anymore sass and you’re not getting the other thing I have in here for you.”

“Oh?”

She chuckled softly, pulling out a small box from the drawer and handing it to you, “good job in Florida. You really upped your game.”

“Thank you.”

“On the contrary, I should be thanking you.”

“Isn’t that what this is?” You gestured to the gift box.

“That’s for last week.”

“Then…what are you thanking me for?”

“Keeping the appropriate kind of secrets from me at the appropriate time.” She smiled, “Now go on,” she shooed you away, “you’ve got more important things to do than stand around gossiping.”

Despite not calling the team in until Wednesday, Emily found herself back at the office midday Monday, working through as much as she could to make sure every report she handed off to Bailey had an excruciating amount of detail with all the I’s dotted and t’s crossed.

Tuesday she stayed stationed at her desk the entire day, working well into the evening, thanking the desk clerk for bringing up multiple rounds of take out so she wasn’t surviving on coffee alone. It was a heavy paperwork week, there were a handful of invoices still sitting in her inbox she needed to explain what were for and sign off on before sending them up the chain, payroll needed to be completed and her inventory needed to be double checked and sent off. With the team coming back in tomorrow she was hoping she could get most of it done by noon considering once their paperwork was done she needed to sign off on it before it went up the chain and there was always the chance of them catching another case. She was starting to wish she’d pushed them coming back until Thursday at this point.

Her phone buzzed on her desk and she glanced up, honestly welcome for the intrusion as she blinked her eyes a few times, pushing her glasses up onto her head as she dropped her pen, flexing her hand in an attempt to relieve the cramp. Picking up her phone she was surprised to see Heather’s name flash across the screen and she quickly swiped open the message.

‘Sorry to bother you, I know you’re likely busy as all hell but I would love to get your professional opinion on something sometime this week.’

‘Yeah, of course. What are your office hours looking like this week? I’m probably going to be swamped tomorrow but could manage to disappear for a midday so called lunch.’

‘I was thinking more along the lines of after hours. Any chance you think you could swing by my place Thursday around eight? I promise you’ll be sent home with a to go plate from dinner and a bottle of Macallan.’

‘Oh well, twist my rubber arm why don’t you.’ Emilylaughed softly, ‘send me the address again, I know you’re Chevy Chase but can’t remember much past that.’

‘You’re a gem. Thank you.’ ‘3301 Fessenden St NW’

Emily put down the phone, picking up the pen to scribble the address into her desk calendar, chewing on her thumbnail as she looked through all the notes written down. Her eyes landed on the green ink on Wednesday evening and she let out a small huff before picking up her phone again, selecting your contact.

‘Hey, I know we scheduled for Wednesday but do you think there’s any chance we can push it to the weekend, Saturday even? It’s payroll week and quarterly end and I didn’t quite realize how much I’d let pile up.’

She waited a few minutes, taking the opportunity to continue with her break, scrolling through a few apps and replying to another couple of personal text messages in the meantime before her phone buzzed once again.

‘Fucking hell I forgot about fucking payroll.’ ‘Yeah the weekend is totally fine. And don’t stress about making a reservation or anything yet, if you’re too wiped when the time comes we can just wait til next week, I won’t be offended.’

‘Alright.’ She laughed softly, ‘I’ll pencil you in for Saturday then?’

‘Sounds perfect.’

‘Why are you worrying about payroll?’

‘Heather’s PA is on vacation; I’ve been covering the more complicated duties while she’s gone.’

‘Pain the ass, hey?’

‘Absolutely. When you’re a kid you think being the boss is gonna be the coolest thing, turns out it’s all paperwork.’

‘Tell me about it.’

She let out a small laugh, placing her phone back down on the desk as she let out a small sigh and slid her glasses back on. If she was going to keep adding to her week, she better pick up right where she left off.

The sound of the doorbell echoed through the Dunbar household on Thursday evening and Rob was the one who got to there first, pulling it open to enthusiastically greet Emily.

“Hey, come in, come in.” He gestured, swinging the door shut behind her, “it’s been a while.”

“It really has.” She laughed softly, accepting the brief one armed hug while he offered to take her coat and she was able to toe off her snow coated shoes.

“How’s the bureau? Heat tells me you’ve moved up to Section Chief?”

“Oh, entirely too much paperwork and definitely not enough fun.”

“Sounds like you need a vacation.” He half teased before calling down the hall, “Heat, you’ve got company.”

It only took a couple of seconds before Heather had rounded a corner down the long hall, actively wiping her hands off on a dish towel as she approached them.

“Thank you so much for coming.” Leaning in she pressed a kiss to her cheek, “there’s straight liquor and wine upstairs but we’ve got mojito and negroni’s going in the kitchen if you prefer.”

“Wine is fine.” Emily assured and Heather turned to her husband, passing off the dish towel.

“Would you make sure you pack up a nice container from dinner for her, and don’t skimp! Lord knows she’s been living off small town takeout.”

“Double portions of everything, got it.” Rob replied with a small salute to his wife before disappearing down the same hall.

Heather’s hand quickly pressed on the small of Emily’s back, directing her up the stairs, “sorry it’s a bit chaotic in here tonight.” She commented, no doubt addressing the amount of noise bouncing around through the house. “You’d think two kids coming home for dinner would mean just that and maybe some laundry but Jordan’s taken over the basement entertainment system with a group of his friends, Becca’s got a mock Jeopardy battle going on to help study for winter exams and Rob’s entertaining one of the biggest hospital owners in the State.”

“Sounds like none of you Dunbar’s know how to rest.” Emily teased, following Heather into her home office.

“I would say the work ethic’s in the genes but I’m pretty sure the boys are playing Grand Theft Auto downstairs.” She turned back around, handing off a hefty glass of wine to the other woman, “how about you? Have things calmed down at all?”

“In the sense of field work, I guess. But the paperwork never stops and it’s just so dull.” She groaned, “I really don’t know how you keep up with your workload.”

“I’ve got a rather large and very talented and committed team, most of whom I raised from the ground up.”

Emily nodded, her ears picking up the sound of stilettos on the hardwood, almost like they were pacing up and down the hallway, another dinner companion that seemed to be on the phone, little hums and huffs every so often until your voice hit her ears. She could just make it out over the small talk her and Heather continued to have before diving into things. You were using a sickeningly sweet yet also a completely dominating voice that Emily had never heard before. There was a husk to it, but it also sounded like utter silk and she was practically melting, her attention drifting from Heather’s voice more than she meant it to.

You’d been approaching Heather’s office to use to finish up your private conversation but once you made it a foot from the door you realized that she had company. Trying both not to interrupt and also not be clearly overheard depending on her guest, you lingered in the doorway as you talked.

“Ohohoho..” you let out a low laugh, “come on now Frank, you know Ms. Dunbar needs this done by the end of the week, I’m sure you have even the tiniest sliver of time to squeeze us in. How about I get us a table at Palm Court? You know I’ll be sure to have the Wagyu flown in from Kagoshima, just like you like it.” You barely let a beat pass, “don’t you worry about Claire, I’ll keep her nice and busy, it’s been a while since we’ve met up and lord knows I need a fresh manicure.”

Feeling cocky enough that you’d sealed the deal you made the slow steps towards Heather’s door, keeping your voice quiet enough to not disturb her conversation.

“That’s what I thought. Thank you.”

Heather glanced up at the sound of success in your voice as you stepped into the office and small smirk overtook her lips. Emily watched as you dropped the façade, your body relaxing though you still absolute exuded power and confidence. Rather than a cute little skirt and top, she figured it was the weather that made you opt for the very form fitting pant suit, white tank blouse dipping just below your collarbone to leave enough for imagination but entice everyone, blazer likely strewn somewhere else in the house. You crossed the room, tossing Heather’s work cell down onto her desk.

“Underwood will meet you at two on Friday.”

“I—What?” It was Emily’s voice that cut in first and you glanced toward her with a grin on your cheeks.

“What?”

“You’re on first name basis with The President?”

“Part of the job.” You shrugged, “besides, his wife always has the best gossip.”

Emily practically gaped, looking between you and Heather, watching the other woman chuckle softly.

“See what I mean? She wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight, showed up to finish this deal for me because I wasn’t answering my phone.”

“Yeah…” She nodded, still a little dumbfounded by the entire thing. She knew you were well intermingled with varying levels of politicians but she hadn’t expected something of this magnitude. Then again, when her eyes surveyed over you once more, she could see the sheer amount of power just drifting off you, the only time she’d seen you in work mode before was the very first day she met you and she was starting to realize why Heather had teased her for drooling.

You cast her a smile before turning back to your boss now that she had sat behind her desk “I’ve done by due diligence tonight, but I’m finished babysitting. Becca’s gonna ace her exams, Rob’s sweeping the floor at poker, but your other kid’s an idiot, they’re daring each other to a bellyflop competition.”

“They took the cover off the pool?” Heather groaned, pinching at the bridge of her nose.

“Yeah. A hundred bucks says the hot tub’s next.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Good thing there’s a slew of doctors in the house.” You teased and Heather rolled her eyes as you turned to Emily, squeezing at her elbow with a bright smile, “good to see you. I love that colour.” Your fingers toyed with the lapel of her blazer and a glinting in the low light caught her eye, an absolutely stunning cluster of diamonds and yellow gold on your wrist, “it looks phenomenal on you.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, her breath nearly catching in her throat as she glanced up at you and you smiled, turning back to Heather.

“You owe me, big.”

“What? Twenty three grand wasn’t enough?” She asked with a tease and you rolled your eyes as you started to make your way out of the room.

“I refuse to pawn gifts, you know that.” You called over your shoulder, “so don’t you dare make me work Christmas.”

“You don’t even celebrate the holidays.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like bonus time off,” you turned, resting your hand on the doorframe, bracelet sparkling, “maybe even a few days at one of the plethora of vacation bundles you have stocks in?”

“Thought you said you were done working and thus, done bothering me? Sometimes I regret giving you your own key!”

Heather raised a brow, laughing when all you did in return was flip her off and disappear from her view. Emily chuckled, finally taking a sip of her wine, though her eyes lingered on the doorway as if she could still see the diamonds glinting.

“Something catch your eye?” Heather asked with a smirk and she finally turned back to her, gently dropping into a chair.

“Uh, guess I hadn’t seen her in work mode in a while.” She admitted, feeling her cheeks heat, “didn’t realize she accessorized so well.”

“You like the bracelet?”

“Yeah, it’s stunning.”

“Harry Winston.”

“Damn.” Emily’s eyes widened, “they don’t even list the prices on the website, you’ve got to go in.”

Heather shrugged, “she worked hard for it. Florida certainly earned her a little extra winter bonus.”

“Huh…” Emily nodded, going to take another sip of her wine right as everything managed to click together like puzzle pieces. She quickly masked herself before her eyes could widen again, sucking back more wine as a distraction. A strange sensation began to twist in her lower stomach, one that she didn’t really like at all but it continued to grow as she thought about the woman across the desk from her buried between your legs.

Heather surveyed her for a moment as she took a sip of her own bourbon and she could have sworn she saw the tiniest hint of green flash through her dark eyes. Her head tilted slightly, the sudden way Emily was picking at her thumbnail was speaking pretty clearly but now she was wondering if you had shown up on purpose, flaunting the jewelry. You’d mentioned something to her earlier in the week about Emily cancelling a date, perhaps the grey haired woman wasn’t the only one with green in her eyes.

“Anway,” Heather interrupted with a huff, “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, right.” Emily snapped out of it, glancing up towards her with a smile, “what’s up?”

“Have you heard of an Officer Patterson, out of DC Metro?”

“I—uh..” Emily nearly tensed, briefly remembering the very early phone call in your kitchen a few months prior, “heard of him…”

“He was the one that arrested my son.”

“You.. know about that?”

Heather chuckled, “Jordan’s an idiot, neither he nor his friends can keep a secret very long.” She sighed, “I did a look through the papers, this guy’s a prick. I thought he was just preying on the rich and somewhat famous but he does the same shit with people who can’t afford a good attorney. I want his badge.”

“Don’t you have a lot more power than I do when it comes to that kind of stuff?”

“Potentially.” She took a swig of her drink, “I just figured you might have some contacts at Metro PD who had their own stories or opinions, I know the blue doesn’t like to turn on their own but there has to be a reason this guy’s still a rookie after all these years. Thought you might be able to pull his jacket, take a look through it?”

“You really don’t let people fuck with your family, huh?” Emily asked and Heather nearly snorted.

“Jordan deserved what he got,” she laughed, “he’s damn lucky he wasn’t behind the wheel of a car. I don’t want his arrest expunged or shoved under the rug; I could have done that myself. But I do want to look into this Patterson and see what can be done about it.”

“I’ve got a couple of friends and Metro, and I can see what I can pull up from my database.”

“Thank you.” Heather smiled warmly, her eyes darting up when there was a knock on the doorframe.

“Bad news, I’ve gotta take one of Jordan’s friends in.” Rob said.

“Oh god, what now?”

“They tried to use the diving board without wiping the slush off.” He explained and Heather groaned.

“For fuck’s sake.” She drained her drink, “let me guess, slipped and broke something?”

“Ankle.” Rob replied, then glanced towards their guest, “Emily the bag on the kitchen island is for you, wouldn’t want you to forget it.”

“Oh, thank you so much.”

Rob disappeared from the doorway as Emily finished her drink, following Heather’s lead to standing and moving from the office down the stairs.

“Thank you for coming, and for now I’d like if this could be kept as off the record as possible.”

“Of course.” Emily nodded with a smile as she accepted the bag that definitely had more than one portion of food in it before finally making her way out of the house.

When the weekend rolled around you and Emily ended up swapping your date night over to Friday instead, and Emily was honestly glad that you did. She got a call halfway through her work day that a pipe had burst in the basement of her apartment, no water would be available for the next twenty four hours. There had been yet another surprise snowfall and even though it wasn’t that big the roads were terrible and the last thing you wanted was to drive all the way home after work.

This was why it was lucky Emily still had her standing reservation at The Waldorf.

You caught up a bit over dinner and drinks, Emily curious to know more about how often you were in close quarters with the President and First Lady. You rattled on about a couple of things, shared the stories you knew you could, flashed your fresh manicure and shared some gossip you’d gotten from Claire that afternoon. In turn Emily delved a little bit into how her week had been now that she’d finally caught up on paperwork, she had stories about the team she’d never even thought of telling you, the entire evening seeming a little more casual and open than any prior. However that didn’t change the circumstances when you got upstairs, clothes quickly falling to the floor as you dropped onto the bed and became a mess of sweaty tangled limbs.

Emily lay half wrapped around you, her head on your chest as you were propped up on the pillows, a mid nineties rom com playing on the late night television. Your hand was gently playing with her hair, soothingly scratching at her scalp as you did so.

“You okay?” You asked, pressing a gentle kiss to her head.

“Yeah.” Her lips brushed against your collarbone before a tiny yawn escaped them, “it’s just been a long week.”

“Want me to dig into Bailey or anyone?”

“No.” She laughed, “I mean, yeah he’s being a total ass about the last case, but it’ll blow over.”

“Okay.” Your hand trailed up and down her back softly before returning to play with her hair.

“Thank you though.”

“Anytime.” You replied, leaving another kiss on the top of her head.

The next morning you were gone before she woke up, you’d warned her about that the night before, you had brunch plans with Tony and if you bailed on them again you had no doubt he would track your location and show up wherever you were. It did give her the chance to sleep in far later than she thought she would, it was almost noon by the time her eyes opened. She wasn’t used to that, usually have to set an alarm in hotels to make sure housekeeping wasn’t trying to kick her out already.

She ordered room service for breakfast, including a couple of extra meals for the rest of the day and took a very long, luxurious shower. Picking at the leftovers of her first meal while she was wrapped in the cozy warm hotel robe she let the tv play some mindless shows for a couple of hours before she finally gained the energy to start the trek home.

Downstairs she passed off her valet ticket at the concierge and started to flip through some brochures and ads while she waited.

“Anything I can help you with ma’am?” A clerk asked her.

“Uh…” her eyes lingered on the resort in Monarch Beach, the wheels turning in her brain, though that location would be far too chilly to really enjoy this time of year. “You guys have properties all around the world, right?”

“We sure do.” They replied with a bright smile, turning to grab a couple of binders, “thinking about a last minute Christmas getaway? We’ve got quite a few resorts that specialize in the festivities, lots of stuff for the family and kids to take part in.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head, “not Christmas, definitely no kids, but definitely somewhere warm. Probably tropical, super fancy… a little exclusive… you got anything like that?”

They grinned across at her, pulling out a smaller binder, “I think you’ll find our private resort in the Maldives right up your alley.”

____________________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak @Soverign @v3nusxsky @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @scarletwitcher97 @asolitaryrose3 @lisqueen @mrs-prentiss @whitewinewithice @d33pd3sire-blog @daffodil-heart @maximoffcarter @i-lovefandom @chimnlex @moonlightjxuregui @chestnutninny @gamma-rae-bursts @just-moondust @idkifimasub @gaydragonwitch @dowsedwithbleach @divergentalwaysandforever-blog

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #decadent desires #criminal minds #house of cards #emily prentiss x fem!reader

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minkdelovely · 9 months ago

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love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter ten: part two

“i won’t die for love but ever since i met you you could have my heart and i would break it for you.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: nothing scary to report here — welcome to your happy ending 💖

word count: 8k

author’s note: cherished ones… i can’t believe we’re finally here at the end 🥲 it’s taken me much longer than anticipated to get this out, but i hope it’s worth the wait. allow me to extend my sincere gratitude to you all for hanging in there and going on this journey with me and this series. this started out as pure self-indulgence and turned into something much more along the way and i hope this is received by you as the gift i intended it to be. they’re not off the album i used as the platform for this series, but feel free to listen to rain and take me back to eden by sleep token, which i listened to A LOT while writing this. thank you again for all of your kindness and support. i truly don’t think i could have finished this without it 💖

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The last couple days had been… good.

Vaggie had approached you the morning after your little sleepover with Angel to see if you’d actually take her up on the offer of managing the hotel’s books. It was a welcome distraction, easily falling back into the routine of your old work. And honestly, their records keeping system needed a complete overhaul. It kept you busy and focused, hours passing like minutes as you honed in on creating the foundations of your system.

Funny how in Hell the work you had always approached with a level of disdain in life had become something to look forward to. Something that was all yours. It was nice. Familiar.

Ironic.

You also hadn’t gone to the bar — the biggest improvement, or at least the one you were happiest about. Feeling more like yourself again and less like your father, who had been no stranger to bouts of liquored-up sulking. It was not a way you wanted to remember him by, nor make a habit of for the eons to come. And beyond just feeling better without alcohol in your system, it was great to see Husk in a more friendly capacity again. Haunting his bar in the way you did wasn’t something you were ever planning to subject either of you any time soon.

You were regaining a level of comfortability in your room as well. Sleeping better in your bed, which had been difficult to do. For the first few days you slept on the loveseat, where you’ve now spent the last two nights curled up with a book in front of the fireplace.

It was a decent distraction, but thoughts of Alastor still plagued you. Try as you might, it was hard for them not to. He felt so present as you went about your day despite maintaining the separation; feeling his aura hovering around you like a sixth sense. You wanted to ask Husk and Niffty if they felt it like you did — if at all — but hadn’t gotten the nerve yet to do so.

What if they said no?

It was too embarrassing even to think of. The possibility of it being some kind of adverse affect from sleeping with him making your blood rush to your face.

Maybe I took a piece of him, too…

The heat on your cheeks intensified at the thought. Isn’t that exactly what had happened?

Sure, in a literal sense he had been the one to take a piece of you. But in return, you had witnessed him in yet another state that no one else — in this building, at least — ever had. Just the fact that he had let you help undress him… That wasn’t something you look lightly, even at the peak of your anger toward him. The nervous way your heart fluttered against your ribs at the memory only further proved the point.

You wanted the opportunity to do it again. Undress him, that is.

What followed after wasn’t of much consequence; you’d be satisfied just the same. Whether that was helping him out of his day clothes and into pajamas or preparing him to pound you into the mattress — either result was made from the same circumstance. You found you had enjoyed it even more than dressing down his bed for the evening, which had always been a nearly meditative part of your day.

Or, well… it used to be.

Did he even bother with that now? Hell, did he ever? Or was it just more busywork? If it was… you missed it.

Taking care of Alastor was tedious at times but it hadn’t been all bad. He was petulant too, which is probably why he was always deflecting and pointing the finger in your face. But past his venom there was charm. His euphemisms and anecdotes. Grumbling into the newspaper with his ears downcast whenever he came across an unpleasant article, which happened more often than not.

He enjoyed his coffee black and extra hot, but god forbid if it was burnt. That was one of the first things you had been tasked with perfecting, and mercifully, had been able to accomplish. Alastor never made you handle his food, not out of lack of trust but courtesy. Due to the gruesome reality of what he enjoyed eating, it wasn’t a chore he ever charged you with. And you’d busy yourself with cleaning while he ate to allow him as much privacy as possible.

As much as he adored the structure of his morning routine, beyond that the day was his for the taking. Living the monotonous life that you had, it was admirable. Sometimes inspiring. He had a mischievous, opportunistic outlook on existence — no doubt a quality that followed him into the afterlife — while you had been (presumably) buried jaded and trepidatious.

He was… fun. Even when he was irritating.

Before Rosie pawned you off on him, the last time you had ever felt something close to fun was killing your grandmother. A horrifying revelation, but true, though that had more to do with the satisfaction you felt from it than anything. But fun was something that was right at your fingertips with Alastor, when you looked back on the last couple weeks. He had quite the proclivity for antics when he wasn’t being crushed by the weight of his self-imposed grandeur.

The memory of when he brought you back to the alley the day after what you had done came to mind. His inspection of the bag you’d left behind had upset you so much in the moment, but now all you can remember is the glimmer in his eyes. The nearly childlike glee in his fanged smile. Sure, it had been at your expense, but that was how he liked to joke. Satire and whimsy adorned with the pretty bow of his voice and charm.

But his jokes were sometimes too one-sided. His delivery too harsh and actions… demeaning. It wasn’t a facet he aimed at you often but the sting of his cruelty ran deep, almost to the bone. Your hand came up to your throat, the pain in your neck only barely subsided. It had been impossible to tell if the chain had bruised you under all of Alastor’s love bites, but if you were being honest with yourself, there was no way it hadn’t. If even just a little.

You made due with covering yourself up. Managing to find some high-collared button up shirts left to rot in the laundry room. Nothing a good washing wasn’t able to fix. And as the days passed and the marks faded, you were able to transition back into more familiar (and revealing, in comparison) pieces of your wardrobe.

Still, being left to your own devices when Alastor had been the one responsible for not only the marks but ruining the dress that would’ve easily solved your problems with its modesty nicked at you. Not that you had expected gifts after the argument, but considering how he made you wear that dress as uniform there was no way he didn’t have plans to provide a replacement that morning. But it never came.

Instead he had given you a threat and left you on the floor in nothing but a towel, feeling used and humiliated and alone. And yet here you were, with a book in your hand you hadn’t absorbed the last few pages of because your mind was busy remembering the feeling of removing Alastor’s coat.

Or how disheveled and boyish he looked the morning you went into his room without permission and found him in bed. The strain in his eyes before you walked into Valentino’s arms. His drawn brows and open, kiss-swollen mouth when he made you his own on the bed right behind you. That face would haunt you for the rest of your afterlife.

But there was another face that earned the honor, too. An expression that eclipsed even your grandmother’s worst sneer. Was what you said to him that morning really so outrageous that it had warranted such wrath and disdain? Alastor had been in quite a decent mood too, before the conversation took a turn. Not that it made you feel any better, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something bigger than that. You had copped attitude before and Alastor had either laughed it off as a mild tantrum or course-corrected you before you even had a chance to realize it.

Beyond that, there were also the things he had done after you fell asleep, face buried in his scarred chest. The medicine he had waiting at the ready for when you inevitably woke up from the ache of his bite, which he had taken the liberty of cleaning and bandaging. He had more than likely done it by hand as well, the same as when he tended to it on your bed that awful morning. No magic, no minions. Despite being the least he could do since he inflicted the wound, that didn’t mean he had to do it himself. But he did.

Your stomach turned thinking about it. The force of his anger just didn’t match up with the efforts he took in caring for you after your entanglement. It was the push and pull you had been battling all week, and your eyes flitted to the door. Going up to his room wasn’t something you had entertained, knowing better than to try and call Alastor’s bluff, but the desire to speak with him now was a temptation you worried you’d lose the battle against.

Knock.

The single, hollow sound echoing off the door sent a jolt through your body, sitting up from your relaxed position on the small sofa near the fireplace. It was Friday, wasn’t it? Meaning everyone had left the hotel already except for you and…

There’s no way.

Your pulse spiked.

Maybe you just imagined it. Or the hotel was settling. Things like that could still happen to buildings in the afterlife, right? Ghosts and hauntings and creaks and groans seemed fairly on-brand for Hell. Alastor’s shadow — that you had found yourself missing as well — was proof of that all on its own.

It was that final thought that brought you to the door, hand hovering over the knob as your breath thinned; perspiration beading your skin like morning dew. Tormented by the prospect that opening it would either reveal him or nothing at all.

Unsure of which you were hoping for as you let your forehead fall forward, a huff of air passing your lips. Eyes closed as you relaxed into the cool lacquer of the wooden door, reaching out. Alastor felt especially close now. Typical that he would show up now that you were not only beginning to feel better, but also reaching the end of your rope in your banishment from him. If you weren’t too busy fighting the whiplash of frustration and want coursing through you, you would have laughed.

Even reconciliation had to be on his schedule…

If he was actually on the other side of the door wanting to make up, of course. This could all be your imagination, which would be particularly cruel on your mind’s part considering how just moments ago you were feeling so desperate to see him, if only just to talk. You sighed, condensation from your warm breath pilling under your mouth hovering near the door.

Was he really there?

Your hand gripped the handle in response, heart heavy and loud in your chest as you turned it and pulled. There was only one way to know for sure.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor took you in as you opened the door. An apprehensive expression on your face, but with an underlying relief. Though he didn’t need eyesight for the confirmation. Your heartbeat and scent told him all he needed to know with an honesty that betrayed you for his benefit. It was rather unfair, wasn’t it?

The life coming back to your eyes did not go unnoticed, either.

He felt what was left of his vitriol drain out of him, and in a rare moment of self-deprecation he found himself hoping his unpolished state would put you at ease. Despite the lingering tension that was still eating away at him, he truly did wish to avoid an argument. Shouting matches were simply… nasty. In a way he did not much, if at all, enjoy.

Conversation is called an art for a reason.

A true favorite of his and it was much more his speed. With such an adaptable form you could be fencing one minute and duetting the next. Unless, of course, the conversation was bad, which was a fate worse than death. But that hadn’t been a problem with you, for the most part. He’d like that to be the case now as he prepared to linger for as long as it took to reach some kind of resolution.

Things couldn’t stay the way they were. He knew you’d both return to yourselves eventually, but you had gotten a head start on him. Leaving him to grasp at what was on the other side of this only in regard to himself. If ever he needed you, you’d be just a summoning away. Tied to him always by your contract. Something that typically provided a sense of security to the point of aloofness. But the uncertainty of how you would approach your days independent of him in the aftermath made him falter. Made evident by the color that had returned to your face, that spark of ferocity in your eyes.

Deep down he understood that you would carry on.

Tied to him, yes, but not entangled. There was an unpleasant tightness in his chest at the thought, his jaw flexing with irritation. He wasn’t through exploring this, relishing the fire he felt in his blood at seeing you again up close, lungs taking in your scent to feed the flame. Your racing heart a sonnet so sweet in a way that only he could truly appreciate. Feeding a part of him that either had not existed or had been lying dormant which, now awakened, was eager for more and he found himself wondering when it ever would be satiated.

More of your voice ringing in his ears, whether it was coated in insolence or lust… or laughter. More of your scent in his lungs, oxygenating his blood with the bliss of childhood summers. More of your taste on his tongue. Blood, sweat, tears. He’d take it all, or whichever morsels you were still willing to give him. Even if all that left him with was cordiality, it would be far better than letting you slip through his fingers. How wasted you would be on some tramp off the street. Not even taking into account that the average soul couldn’t appreciate your scent, attributes like responsibility and integrity weren’t typically admired here in the pit.

Who else could see you the way he did?

Past the pout of your lips to the lethal fangs hiding behind them; that sleeping anger you managed to keep at bay but weren’t afraid to use if necessary. Would you ever reveal that ferocity and glowing eyes to someone else in the ways he had witnessed them — induced by tapping into some of your baser instincts? It made stomach twist just to think it.

Alastor’s imagination began to run away from him then. Flashes of you making some other sinner’s bed, fetching their coffee, and picking up clothes. Drawing a bath, hanging their coat, laughing at their jokes. That now-dear sulk of yours aimed at the faceless menace when one of those jokes went too far. Phantom hands stripping you of clothes, cupping your face, roaming your body… holding your chin. And though his urges were few and far between, worse still was the thought of you crying out a stranger’s name like a reverent prayer, writhing underneath them as you fell apart.

Foul.

Bile scorched his throat as he fought to maintain his composure in your doorway. The filthy handprints he had just pictured all over you gone in the blink of an eye as his own hand twitched behind his back, eager to hold you once more and feel the heat of your skin soak into his palm. Easy as it would be to reach out and satisfy the urge he refrained from doing so, smothering his desire in his fist. Now wasn’t the right time to succumb to impulse.

As much as Alastor wanted to pull you into his embrace he knew there was still a hatchet to bury. You had touched quite the nerve that morning, after all, and his actions had been less than genteel as a result. As justified as he had felt at the time, it settled in now as something he was less than proud of. Warranted… What a fool he was to think so. Though misguided, all you had done was try to make sense of things. You would be well within your rights to sever any further personal ties with him, and he swallowed against the anxious lump in his throat.

He had spent so much time wallowing in liquor, wasted countless hours justifying his anger toward you to ease his own unrest. Even if you had picked the fight… hadn’t he brought you right to the edge of it with his antics over the past weeks? In truth, hadn’t making you lose your composure been his goal from the start? He had certainly got what he wanted, just not in a way that was originally intended; culminating in a misunderstanding that threatened to keep parts of yourself locked away from him for, quite possibly, eternity.

Desiring someone’s comfort the way he did yours was something he never expected to have to face, let alone something he ever feared to lose. Alastor wondered for the first time how things between you would be had you met sooner. Granted, you had only been in Hell for two-or-so months, but he was a different man now than he was even then. The Alastor of two months ago still had his microphone, for starters. His sword and shield. Now nothing but another one of his corpses left to decay in the bayou.

That man hadn’t had his confidence shaken, his power drained. Alastor had felt so invigorated when he retreated to the radio tower to mend himself after battling Adam, but the healing process hadn’t been simple. Seeing as the weapon that caused the wound was made of angelic steel, Alastor expected it would take more time than usual, but he had underestimated the reality of it. So many arduous, slow hours had passed as he used all his strength just to make minute progress in closing the gash. It took a week to finally get it to seal, the scar barely formed by the time he encountered you at Rosie’s.

Simply put, you had weathered emotional storms that he typically had much better control of. There was a sourness in his soul that had been poisoning him from the very beginning of your relationship, which you took — more often than not — in stride. As much as he felt there was no one who fully appreciated you, Alastor believed it to be a two way street. Whether there was anyone else who could take your place — paramour, caretaker, or otherwise — was inconsequential. He simply wasn’t interested in the prospect. Hadn’t he gotten along just fine in his relative solitude before you fell to suffer your infernal fate?

It wouldn’t be the same.

It already wasn’t, in fact, which is why his feet had brought him here when his stubbornness wouldn’t. Opening the door to him was only the first step. You could still slam it in his face, effectively shutting him out; leaving him standing alone in the hall as the Overlord who owned your soul and nothing more.

He found it to be a dreadful prospect.

“May I come in?”

Even he could hear the exhaustion in his voice, making the question heavy in air as he watched you contemplate. Nervous fingers tapping the doorframe to the same beat as his heart before you stepped off to the side to make way for him. Alastor managed to fight the instinctual twitch at the corners of his mouth. Now wasn’t the time for smiling, despite the wave of relief he felt at your accepting of his request to enter.

As long as it takes…

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

You watched as Alastor practically collapsed on your sofa, massaging his temples with a single hand as he leaned back to cross his legs. Still doing his best to maintain decorum despite how worn out he was. Discontent, you shifted on your feet, not wanting to give into the pity you felt towards him too easily.

As much as you tried to remember your anger, there was no denying the relief you felt at being near him again. Hearing his voice. And knowing he could pick up on it only made it worse. Would it ever be anything but an uphill battle for you when it came to him? Your eyes couldn’t help but look just past him to where you had fallen to the floor, left to console yourself in your shame and grief. The memory didn’t fuel what was left of your animosity, but pricked at your sadness instead, making you feel the weight of the day.

I’m so sick of this…

Alastor’s gaze followed you as you moved to take your seat next to him, picking your book up off the cushion and placing it on the small coffee table in front of you. His eyes and hand lingered on the cover as you sat down.

“I just missed the first draft,” he said quietly, static replaced with the distant sound of remembrance. Eyes never leaving your copy of A Farewell to Arms as he continued with a small, humorless laugh. “I was eligible for the others but the only Divisions I could have been placed in were booked. Funny, isn’t it, a quota on the worthiness to die at war? But I suppose that’s a conversation for another time…”

The glimpse of his human life caught you off guard. Vulnerability wasn’t something you expected from him, especially not in the wake of your argument; the admission was given so casually you couldn’t help but soften just a bit, leaving you hungry for more of his secrets.

He turned to you then, somehow looking even more tired than he had before. “We have our own battle to rectify, don’t we?”

You sighed and positioned your body to face him, bringing your legs up to sit criss-cross. This was shaping up to be a long night, so you decided you might as well get this out of the way. Even managing to get a piqued eyebrow out of him from the sober look that was no doubt on your face as you considered what you were about to say.

“I wasn’t lying when I told you that I enjoyed our…,” you trailed off, looking for the right word.

Our what?

Things had become so muddled you weren't quite sure what to call it. Sex, obviously, but… it had felt like more to you in the end. No matter how many times you reminded yourself that it wasn’t supposed to be anything other than a one night stand at best — and had spent the whole week drowning your sorrows trying not to think about the worst.

“I know you weren’t.” He said it in almost the same tone when you had admitted it in the first place, but his eyes were soft. “I enjoyed it myself, the second time. I thought that was obvious, but when you asked about the pheromones that morning… they had nothing to do with it. Not that evening. I… initiated that. Which is why I was so incensed by the implication that I was acting outside of myself.”

The confession sunk to the bottom of your stomach. You hadn’t expected him to be so forthcoming and even keeled regarding it. And while you felt relief that the pheromones weren’t at play that evening — and that he had not only enjoyed, but desired it — you didn’t miss the implication of the words he kept to himself regarding how you ended up in this mess in the first place. The more you thought about it, the more you were beginning to understand why he felt the way he did. Was that why he had returned you to your room to wake up alone, because being in his bed was too much of a reminder? Had he really regretted it that much?

Because you didn’t.

The truth was you had been more than willing to give yourself to him that afternoon. Yes, you knew something wasn’t quite right, but you didn’t know he was fighting against Valentino’s nasty little trick. You’d never know what would’ve happened if you had denied him instead, because that’s not what happened. Would he have gone into a rage? In the state he was in, that wasn’t an impossibility. In fact, that was what you had been expecting, wasn’t it? In a way you dodged a bullet — received his affections, however intense, instead of his violence. The bruised remnants of his mark on your shoulder were a dizzying mix of both.

Though the ferocity you received the next morning… had it been lying in wait? Using the chain on you the way he did compounded by the words he spat at you was a tough memory to forget, to the point where you wondered if you ever could. He had only punished you that way one other time, but it had been nothing compared to this. Blood burned under your cheeks as you recalled how humiliated you felt. How different would things be right now if he had just let you stay?

“Look I…,” you sighed and ran a hand through your hair, but resisted the urge to look away from him. “I really do understand why you’re unhappy with how things happened that afternoon but…”

Here goes nothing.

“It’s something I’ve been aware of in myself for a little while but… you don’t know how much it meant to me, being touched that way by you and how you let me touch you back it —” You wiped a tear you couldn’t stop from falling and cleared your throat, but the thick, choking feeling didn’t subside. The pinched look on Alastor’s face nearly sent you over the edge, but you couldn’t stop now that you’ve started. He needed to hear this as much as you needed to say it. “It made me really happy, if that’s even the right word for it.”

It wasn’t. But you didn’t know how else you could try to tell him how wanted and safe you felt underneath him. That no one had ever managed to turn your blood to kerosene; every bit of him the match, the bed behind you kindling. At this point it didn’t really matter that you hadn’t known him for very long. You cared about him, much more than you ever expected to, and you wanted to be near him in whatever capacity you could be. Whether that made you his errand girl or concubine, so long as you were spared from the more acidic side of his temper.

“And when I think about how much you regret it, it kills me, even though I know why you do. But… I don’t. You didn’t take advantage of me, if that’s something you’ve been worrying about. Honestly, now I can’t help but wonder if it’s the other way around…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he huffed, lightly exasperated as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve only ever gone along with my impulses and games. My behavior in this has been… unbecoming. I fear my mother would be quite ashamed, and rightfully so, but you’ve come to know me at a low point.”

Everything about him felt wrung out and far off, from his posture to the defeat in his unfiltered voice. It had been absent from the moment he asked to come inside, but for some reason was only hitting you now. Though you couldn’t fight the ache in your heart from the poor state of him, there was still more you needed to know before you could let yourself give in. No matter what subconscious queues your body was undoubtedly feeding him in the meantime.

“You say unbecoming…,” you began tentatively, worried that what you were about to ask could possibly upset him again. “Is that because of how you punished me that morning, or the toying you’ve subjected me to?”

If you had to choose, you really hoped that he’d feel apologetic for the chain. While they could be annoying, his games and tricks were mostly harmless. You had admitted to yourself not too long ago that you were even beginning to miss them. That was not a feeling you extended to the invisible leash that bound you to him, not the way it had been used then, at least.

Alastor removed the hand from his nose to meet your eyes, the speed of his movement catching you off guard. For the first time all night his eyes were clear and earnest; that steadfast, hypnotizing red you had come to seek and cherish.

“Would you accept it if I said both? By pushing you I think I may have set us up for the argument. I won’t say that what you said that morning didn’t upset me, since it did, but… Perhaps if I had given you less reason to think I was playing at another game it would have never happened in the first place.”

His voice was soft as he held his left hand out to you, a different charge in the air as your eyes broke contact to flicker down to his open palm.

The olive branch.

There was no doubt he could hear the way your heart had picked up, nearly choking you with its fervor as you swallowed against it… and gave him your hand.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“I was so humiliated that morning… I’ve been so mad at you.”

Alastor could hear the tears threatening to spill behind the statement, and he squeezed your hand before his thumb began to rub in soothing circles as you looked away from him for the first time that night. He took a quick moment to follow your line of sight and grimaced when he realized you were looking at the spot where he had treated you so harshly. There was nothing he could do to take back what he did. Regret was such an awful weight, reminding him of long nights trudging through the swamp to discard one of his victims. His mouth soured. It would seem he’d need to add your name to the list.

Things were never meant to end up this way. This… tangled.

He dared to lean forward, not that there was much distance to close on your quaint loveseat, and cupped your face with his other hand to draw your gaze back to his. The conflict in your eyes went right to his stomach with a kick — the chance that you would turn him away forever still there, but he was thankful you hadn’t rejected his touch. He really couldn’t have suffered through the empty ache in his hands for even another minute; the heat of your skin already refilling his cup.

And despite how much he wanted anything but, he knew he had to give you an out. It was only right.

“I was a brute… I can’t undo what’s been done but if you’d like me to leave you alone, I will. I’m not keen on releasing you from our contract, but I would let you leave this hotel if you wish.” The words scorched his tongue, but they were true. He would let you go if that’s what you really wanted. You deserved that chance. “It’s safer here, but I would know immediately if you faced any trouble. Well… any trouble you couldn’t handle yourself, that is. I know how capable you are.”

Alastor gave you a small smile, the first time his lips had curled up with any sincerity for days. It was the most generous offer he had ever given a soul under his heel, and your short, dry laugh in response was music to his ears. There was no bitterness in the sound, nor was there any coming from your scent, but that wasn’t an indication of what was going on in your mind. Something the Overlord needed to remind himself of more often. He took a moment to really breathe you in then, floral notes of almond warming him on the inside as your body warmed him from out. Would it be the last time he was ever surrounded by you like this?

He didn’t know when his thumb began to absently stroke your cheek, but he loved the flush it brought to your face as you considered his words. A hint of iron gave the sweetness in the air just enough bite to make him swallow, his throat now parched and wanting. It took all he had not to close the remaining space between you, needing your answer before he would move an inch save the part of him caressing your face.

A jolt ran through him as your eyes locked onto his with a resolve that made his hair stand on edge, and he steeled himself as your lips parted to speak. Never could he have imagined that you would join the short list of people to hold his fate in their palm. And fewer still, one that he didn’t hold resentment toward having that power. There was security in your hold, not malice. Such a rare thing to stumble across even in life, let alone in this sulfurous chasm that had been home for the last near-century. As unworthy as he felt to receive it, the thought of losing it was even worse. He wasn’t in love… but it wasn’t impossible that he could be, with more time.

If you would give it to him.

“I don’t want to leave the hotel,” you said quietly, and brought your free hand up to hold his chin in the same way he had held yours countless times.

Alastor felt his ears lower despite how attuned they were to hear what you would say next, though the thumping in his chest didn’t help. To reach out and touch him of your own accord this way was bold, and he tried not to hone in on the bashfulness he felt burning his face. Why choose shame when he could have comfort? That was what he wanted, after all. A reprieve from The Radio Demon. There was nothing to be gained in postering, not with you. With you he could be… anything. And no matter your decision, he vowed to provide you with the same space.

His schemes to mold you into something you weren’t fled him with every exhale of his lungs. It was a senseless desire… Remorseless murders were a dime a dozen here. Thrilling as it had been to see you decapitate that wretch with your teeth, the fact that you refused to do something akin to that again merely for the sake of it like so many others was refreshing. He could appreciate only killing with purpose. That had been his modus operandi in life, after all. Murder was a tool he now used to illicit fear and respect, though most souls here were free game to him even under his mortal code. You were not, and it had taken him much too long to acknowledge it.

“And I don’t want you to leave me alone… ever again, but…”

But…

The shakiness in your voice felt like the blade of a guillotine, hovering above his neck while he agonized over when you would let the rope loose and seal his fate.

“I don’t know if I could handle that again. The chain, your anger — ” A small sob escaped you then, tearing through him like a hurricane.

Alastor didn’t even realize he was kissing your face until the salt of your tears registered on his tongue. Every little press of his lips an oath to never make you cry like this because of him ever again. And when your hands cupped his cheeks he only had a moment to relish in his relief, sighing against your skin before you captured his lips with yours. A familiar green glow enveloping you both as an unspoken agreement was made.

Peace.

What a magnanimous gift to receive.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Low voices pulled you out of sleep, making you aware of the cold that was beginning to sink into the front of your body. You had been so warm… so comfortable.

Safe.

More mumbling at your door as you groaned, the grievance in the sound not lost on you even in your groggy state. It wasn’t lost on Alastor either, saying something you couldn’t decipher beyond its tone of finality followed by the closing of the door.

“It’s still the middle of the night sweetheart, don’t stir.”

You didn’t even have time to ask who was at the door before he ran a soothing hand through your hair, maneuvering himself back into place in your bed. Pressing the length of his body in close against yours as he nuzzled into your chest, humming as he found the pulse of your heart. The warm, claiming kiss he placed there sent a shiver through you, your shared embrace tightening in response.

“What’s gotten into you? You promised you’d be good,” you mumbled, wriggling a little from the way his breath tickled your skin.

Even to yourself the warning was half-admonishing at best. But you were also just barely awake. Fingers betraying you as they lightly massaged his undercut, his contented sigh making you hide your face in his hair as if he could see the flush on your cheeks.

You’d be stronger in the morning.

Pet names and kisses like this weren’t something you were expecting to receive again so soon. It had been discussed, and you had both agreed to try and take things slow. A fresh start, of sorts. While you were used to him calling you dear, it was a term he used frequently toward other residents as well.

Sweetheart was… special.

Which he no doubt knew. Most likely saying it when he did so he could press up and relish your rapid heart like you were none the wiser.

“I know, I know,” he conceded, his words muffled by your skin. Inadvertently kissing you more due to the sheer proximity of his lips to your chest. Feeling closer to you now than he had during intimacy.

And, admittedly, cuddling in bed wasn’t exactly what you’d call taking it slow. But by the time you had finished talking — and making out on the loveseat — the two of you were so exhausted that letting him spend the night had seemed innocent enough. Like platonically sharing a bed with a friend. Though that’s not a word you would use to describe what Alastor was to you.

More than friends, not quite lovers. Beholden to each other all the same.

“Which is why I’ll only do this… for now.”

Alastor’s words and the warning, low tone of his voice hardly registered before you felt his tongue lap at the valley between your breasts, leaving a scorching trail in its wake that made your breath hitch. The soft groan from his open mouth right over your heart only making it beat harder, pleading for more of him. His large palm splayed against your back as he pressed you against his lips to nestle and kiss and suck, as if trying to pull the frantic organ through your skin through desire alone. You gasped as the light prick of his nails between your shoulders sent a fresh shiver down your spine, ending in a warm bloom between your hips as you curled into his touch. His responding needy hum as he grazed you with his teeth making you whimper.

Stronger in the morning…

“You’re not playing fair,” you complained, but it was a pathetic attempt at a scolding. You didn’t really want him to stop. Alastor’s responding chuckle told you that he knew it, too. The sound of it making your heart ache, and you were unable to suppress the small whine from behind your closed lips as he nipped and licked at your collarbone. “I missed you so much.”

You barely managed to finish speaking when he moved up to kiss you properly, slow and sweet, hand leaving your back to cradle the crown of your head. Melting into his touch, you moaned as his tongue entered your mouth; gentle and hot, coaxing whimpers and gasps from both of you as you tangled your fingers in his hair to keep him close.

“I missed you, too,” he said quietly, nudging your nose with his.

Tears fell unbidden as Alastor caressed and kissed the lingering bruises from his bite, seemingly determined to make them disappear through sheer willpower. Every little touch — administered or received — was comforting in a way that you feared would leave you insatiable, but the thought that formed in your mind through the haze of affection was a reassuring one.

This was eternity.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“Fess up, toots.” Angel plopped down on a chair across from you, gleaming as he rested his head in his hands and leaned forward conspiratorially. “You’re havin’ all kinds of sleepovers now, huh?”

You nearly dropped the mug in your hands from the sudden question, and quickly looked around to see if anyone else had overheard. Not that the reconciliation was going to be secret — which would have been impossible to pull off anyway, considering how much the two of you had been moping around the hotel — but you had hoped to at least make it through the morning with the knowledge kept to yourselves.

“That was you at the door last night, I’m assuming?” The nonchalance you were aiming for just enough to get a laugh from him. “What did you say to him anyway?”

“Just that I was checkin’ up on my girl — which he did not appreciate me callin’ ya, by the way — after missin’ the big night out. I hope I didn’t send him to bed too mad.” Judging by the smug look on Angel’s face, he knew that Alastor definitely had returned to bed at least a little ruffled. “Buuut after I heard ya wakin’ up I figured I’d save the teasin’ for another day.”

“And you started bright and early,” you quipped, unable to help the smile tugging at your lips as you went back to preparing the breakfast tray.

“Well ya ain’t exactly bein’ subtle, what with the two mugs and all,” Angel taunted, jerking his head in the tray’s direction, “but jokes aside… I’m glad you were able to patch things up with Smiles. Who woulda thought all it’d take was an empty hotel, huh?” He gave you a wink and you narrowed your eyes at the suggestion, but he cut you off before you could even begin to ask the question forming in your mind. “Look, I gotta run, but I’m expectin’ a full report when I get back from work, capisce? Oh! Speakin’a which — guess who’s supposed to be on set tomorrow?”

It was your turn to laugh. “It’s about time that lazy bitch went back to work. Making the rest of you pick up the slack is just rude.”

You both snickered as you added the finishing touches on the tray, rounding out the coffee with some croissants and fruit. It definitely paid to be in the Princess’ circle; grapes in particular were very hard to come by. There wasn’t much time to relish in your mirth with Angel before you felt a cool, slinking tendril climb up your leg. Alastor’s shadow soon emerging over your shoulder to glare at your friend and whine in your ear.

Angel put all four of his hands up in mock defeat and pushed away from the table. “Duty calls, I get it,” he chuckled and gave you a knowing look, popping a grape from the tray into his mouth before making his way out of the kitchen. “Make sure the boss man knows ya got plans for tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you called after him, glancing behind you as the shadow growled at the spot where Angel Dust had been. Its face reverted back to sullenness when you pursed your lips, admonishing him with only a look. Any lingering irritation dissolved as it tugged at your sleeve, urging you back upstairs, and you conceded with a sigh. “You wouldn’t even be here to come get me if it wasn’t for Angel, you know. I expect you to be nicer next time.”

The shadow nodded its head and pulled on you again, its phantom grin quickly returning when you picked up the tray and began to walk back to the elevators. Baseless hostility toward Angel aside, it was hard not to smile as you watched it flitter across the floor; pausing every few feet to materialize and look back, ensuring you were right behind it. If your theories about this creature were right, it was merely acting as an extension of the demon you were making your way back to, and he was apparently quite eager for your return. A warm rush of pride left your body tingling at the thought.

Then again… it wouldn’t do well for the two of you to be late to your sudden appointment with Rosie. Who, according to Alastor, was very anxious to see you both and had something special planned that he had nothing to do with.

Yeah, right…

When you entered your room, you found Alastor at the loveseat still lounging in his pajamas and you scoffed, “That was a lot of urgency from someone who hasn’t gotten dressed yet.”

“Well, I had to do something. Our mutual friend was getting you off-track. I thought we took the same pleasure in this morning routine of ours, but perhaps I’m mistaken?” Alastor’s tone was light, his smile teasing as he watched the blush burn your face.

You cleared your throat as you took a seat next to him after setting down the tray and decided to change the subject. What point was there in admitting what he already knew?

“Rumor has it that Donny’s finally scheduled back to work tomorrow,” you said conversationally, helping yourself to some of the fruit.

Alastor’s eyebrows shot up in surprise before his face lit up in a hearty laugh; the ebullient sound of it making the mark he had left over your heart radiate with fondness. His face sharpened with that menacing, debonair grin as he looked down at you while you poured his coffee.

“Took him long enough to pull himself together, didn’t it? You did do quite a number on him, darling.”

You hummed, pleased with the proud look he gave you, and passed him the mug; a shock running through you as your fingers touched. Silly, considering how you had been pressed together all evening… not to mention all the other marks he left that matched the one currently throbbing between your breasts.

Even in life, you never could have imagined something like this. Sitting in the parlor with a suitor, giggling over coffee and breakfast after an evening of whispering sweet nothings between kisses. It would be foolish to think a peace like this could last forever, but this was the afterlife. Wasn’t peace the absolution from mortality and its fickleness? As you watched Alastor sip his coffee, his free hand absently massaging the back of your neck as he hummed along to the radio, you couldn’t help but think so.

Peace, friendship, sanctuary, love, and power.

Hell wasn’t what you had expected it to be. It was home.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

ps: a special shoutout to my darlings @hazelfoureyes and @sugoi-writes for giving me their shoulders to lean on while i worked on this final chapter. you both have listened to me ramble off ideas and scenarios and have supported me with such patience and grace… i don’t know how i’ll ever repay you but i will never stop trying!

pps: i do have plans for an epilogue, but don’t have a timeline on it just yet… stay tuned 😌💖

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco, @raynerrold, @krak-jj, @tremendoushearttaco, @redfoxwritesstuff, @chibistar45, @kaylopolis, @cutiebimbo, @lousypotatoes, @rfox1998, @cosmiccandydreamer, @stardustandbrimstone, @cherry-cola-100, @wonderlandangelsposts , @catticora, @velvette3, @sailorsmouth, @alastorthirsty, @reath-solia, @junieshohoho, @cxrsedwxrlds, @fraugwinska, @littlebluefishtail, @nxcxllxsevens, @swagkittybear

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fan fiction #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #x reader #alastor x female reader #alastor smut #hazbin hotel smut #song fic #if i can't have love i want power #love and power #slow burn #hazbin hotel slow burn

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thereoncewasagirlnamedjane · 4 months ago

Text

SNOW BIRDS.

PAIRING — frank adler x f!reader

CONTENTS — xmas/holiday themed; angst (referenced character death, grief); fluff; childhood frenemies in love; mutual pining; not actually unrequited love

SUMMARY — Frank thought he closed that chapter of his life on love and romance a long time ago, but a fateful reunion on the dirt paths of a Christmas tree farm seems to reopen an entire book of possibilities.

WORD COUNT — 5.1k

NOTES — okay, again i’m not exactly thrilled about this one and also the first half of this turned out way angstier than i’d originally intended… but hey, i can’t help the way these stories turn out (i say, as if i’m not the one actually writing them 🫣). i also left the ending kind of open, but i think it works and at least i’m finally finished with this one! another character to add to my roster 🥰 i hope i did our frankie justice!

✩ read on ao3 ✩ chris evans characters m.list ✩ library blog

The rusted pickup truck rumbles to a stop, its wheels crunching on the gravel parking lot. Outside, the rich scent of pine needles perfume the humid air. Festive red and green ribbons adorn the nearby farmhouse, strings of twinkling lights strung overhead, the atmosphere absolutely screaming Christmas despite the blazing Florida sun.

Before Frank even puts the truck in park, the passenger door flies open and a little blonde blur is bounding out, a scruffy one-eyed cat leaping out after her.

“Stay close!” He calls as he follows suit, sighing heavily. That darn cat goes everywhere with them now, even places cats have no place being—like a Christmas tree lot, for example.

Frank had tried to convince Mary to leave Fred at home, but she just looked so reluctant to leave this morning. He ended up relenting, even though the idea of letting a cat have the final say in which tree they brought home was actually ridiculous, but he couldn’t say no to her this time; she’d been through a lot these last few months.

“Hurry up, slowpoke!” Mary shouts back as she reaches the entrance to the lot. He ambles after her casually before she can’t wait anymore, turning and running up the paths between rows of towering firs and blue spruces with Fred hot at her heels.

Frank keeps a watchful eye on her as he trails behind, taking in the scene with a mix of nostalgia and bittersweet longing. The farm looks just like it did when he was a kid, and for a moment he could almost see Diane running ahead of him in Mary’s place, her blonde hair flying behind her as she wove between the trees.

Come on, Frankie! She’d giggle, ducking into the next aisle. Before Dad finds us!

His throat tightens at the memory. It’s been years since he last came here with his sister, even longer since his old man was alive, but the ache of their absence never really fades. Especially not around the holidays, when every tradition seems to carry the weight of what he’d lost.

But then he catches sight of Mary again, her cheeks flushed with excitement as she points out a particularly massive pine to Fred, tilting her head as she asks him what he thinks. Because again, Fred is a cat, he looks disinterested as he licks one of his paws.

And just like that, the heaviness in Frank’s chest eases, replaced by a fluttering warmth he’s grown to recognize all too well. He quickens his pace to catch up with them, trying to ignore the way his heart stumbles when Mary looks up at him with her mother’s eyes.

“This the one, kid?” Frank asks, hands on his hips as he regards the tree. He peers around it to the next row. “Or should we keep look—”

But when he peeks past the spiky branches, he halts mid-movement, breath catching in his throat. For a minute, he thinks he might be hallucinating—because standing there, looking frustratingly gorgeous in a cream cable knit sweater and black leggings is a blast from his past.

Or maybe he’s dreaming, he thinks as his pulse quickens traitorously. He hasn’t seen you outside of his dreams in years.

“Look, mister, all I’m saying—” you huff, one hand perched on your hip, gesturing animatedly with your other hand while arguing with the middle-aged tree farmer who looks just as done as you do. “—is that if you’re going to advertise ‘tall, full, and handsome’ trees, you need to deliver, okay? Also, a hundred bucks?! This thing can’t be worth more than fifty, maybe sixty. Or does it come with presents already underneath it?”

Some things never change, do they? You always did like to haggle.

“Frank?” Mary asks, reaching up to take his head. You look over then at the sound of the girl’s voice, your gaze colliding with his. Just like when he was a teenager and he saw you for the first time, it’s like the ground shifts beneath his feet, the world tilting on its axis.

It all started with a favour, more than half a lifetime ago.

Frank remembers jolting awake to the shrill ringing of the phone, rubbing his bleary eyes and glancing at the clock on the bedside table only to find it was 2:17 a.m. in the morning.

His sixteen-year-old self moved quickly, throwing the covers aside, running down the hall, and flying down the stairs to try and reach the kitchen before the phone could wake his mother. He picked up halfway through the third ring, his eyes closed as he held the receiver sleepily against his ear.

“‘Lo?” He mumbled, his brow furrowing when he heard Diane’s voice on the other line. He tilted his head up in the direction of his sister’s bedroom, completely unaware that she’d even left the house.

She needed a ride home, she said; she’d snuck out and went to Trish Aalerud’s party after all, the one their mother had expressly forbidden her from going to. There had been a big ensuing fight, one which he’d tried his best to mediate, but it ended with Evelyn once again laying down the law.

Diane, once again, was faced with the choice to either obey or rebel. For once, it seemed, she’d finally chosen to rebel.

A part of him was proud of her; they couldn’t live like this under Evelyn’s reign of terror forever. But on the other hand, he knew how their mother could be. Her expectations were sky high and her disappointment was even greater when her children failed to meet them.

But another part of him wanted to slump over in dread. If he were being honest, Diane got the worst of it. For some reason, it was just easier for him to shake off his mother’s lectures, to shrug off her impossible ideals, and to take a path away from the one Evelyn had so calculatingly laid out for him.

His sister, however, was different. Frank got good grades and was well-liked by his teachers, but Diane was downright brilliant, destined for greater and amazing things that Frank could only ever imagine. And somewhere beneath it all, she thought that maybe if she worked hard enough, if she were smart enough, maybe if she were the kind of genius Evelyn so desperately wanted her to be, then their mother might finally realize their worth. Maybe even love her.

But, unfortunately, Frank knew better.

So, despite being annoyed that he’d been woken up in the middle of the night on a school day, he shook off the cobwebs of sleep still clinging to his brain and promised he’d be there as fast as he could.

They couldn’t risk Diane getting caught, because he knew what it would mean. Evelyn would simply double down, her punishment swift and severe, maybe even lock his sister in her room again for days at a time “until she came back to her senses”. Never again, not as long as Frank could help it.

He hung up and dragged himself back to his room, pulling on some jeans and a hoodie, before grabbing his keys and carefully tiptoeing towards the front door. He listened for any signs that his mother had woken up, but thankfully only the sound of silence greeted him back.

Satisfied, he slipped out into the humid night air, climbing into the beat-up Chevy pickup he’d inherited from his late father the moment he got his learner’s permit. It only took him fifteen minutes before he was pulling up to the curb outside a large house still pulsing with music.

Frank remembers drunk teenagers in skimpy outfits stumbling around the lawn and pouring out the front door, their silhouettes illuminated by strobe lights flashing in the windows. He scanned the crowd for Diane, his jaw clenching before finally spotting her near the mailbox.

And there it was, where it all began.

She wasn’t alone. For the first time, Frank laid eyes on you, swaying uneasily on your feet beside his sister who looked on with sympathy. She made a move to touch your arm, but you twisted away from her and angrily began stalking down the driveway, swiping the back of your hand across your face.

“Frankie!” Diane called, her eyes widening when she saw him. You paused briefly, long enough to look up so he could get a clear view of your face. It occurred to him then, as he took in the sight of the tear tracks on your cheeks, that maybe you were the reason Diane had called in the first place.

“You’re both sitting in the back,” he said once he found his voice, looking away and feigning indifference despite the stuttering of his heart. “I don’t need anyone puking in the front seat.”

“I’m not drunk,” you snapped, eyes flashing in a way he decided he rather liked. But then you turned around and addressed Diane, “and I don’t need your damn charity!”

“Please,” Diane said, approaching you slowly and cautiously, as if trying to corner a hissing and frightened kitten. Frank could practically see your hair standing on end. “Just let us take you home?”

“I can call someone else, Adler,” you scoffed, wrapping your arms around your middle even though it’s hot and sticky out, shivering as you resumed your descent down the driveway.

“The hell you will,” Frank almost growled, a sound he didn’t know he was capable of making, placing the truck in drive and swerving to stop right in front of you and blocking your path. “It’s almost three in the morning. Both of you just get in the damn car.”

“Please,” Diane implored again, opening the door to the backseat and waiting. After a few seconds of hesitation and a tense staring match with the siblings, you relented with a huff and slid into the truck. Diane followed suit and once she slammed the door shut, Frank peeled away from the curb.

“You don’t know how to mind your own business,” you told Diane, the lot of you not even clearing the end of the street before you started in on her. You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned against the door, angling yourself as far away from her as you could. “You and your… whoever that is.”

“This is Frank, my brother,” Diane tried to explain kindly, before locking eyes with him in the rearview mirror. Judging from the way you were speaking to her, it was clear the two of you weren’t exactly friends, but Diane didn’t need to say anything to clue him in that something must have happened back at the party. If anything, your drying tears already told him as much.

“I think what you meant to say is ‘thank you’,” Frank scoffed however, unable to help snapping back. You were being a giant pain in the ass.

“Frank—” Diane admonished.

“Oh, right, thank you,” you began, your words soaked in sarcasm. “Thank you so much for practically forcing me into your car. You did everything but drag me in kicking and screaming.”

“Just tell me where you live so we can drop you off and be done with this,” Frank fired back, “you ungrateful twerp.”

“Sorry that sissy here interrupted your beauty sleep, pretty boy,” you leaned forward, eyes blazing as they met his in the rearview mirror. “But if I recall, I didn’t ask for either of your help. You insisted, remember?”

Frank remembers that the bickering didn’t let up the entire drive to your house, barbs flying fast and furious, all the while Diane kept trying to play peacemaker without much success. By the time Frank arrived in front of your place, your tears were forgotten, sadness replaced by a fire he much preferred, even if his knuckles were white with irritation around the steering wheel.

“Frankie…” Diane sighed disapprovingly from the backseat, once you exited the truck with a slam of the door and a final parting shot, along with an exaggerated flip of the bird.

“Don’t start, Di,” he snapped, turning around in his seat to fix her with a glare of his own. “That girl is a menace. You sure know how to pick ‘em, don’t you?”

“She’s had a rough night,” Diane smiled wryly, glancing out the window to watch you remove your shoes as you trodden up the driveway, dangling them by the straps at your side.

“Join the damn club,” Frank shook his head, but he was watching too, making sure you stepped into the house and closed the door behind you before beginning to drive away.

“They weren’t very nice to her tonight,” his sister murmured. Frank took a deep breath, something a bit like guilt settling like lead in the pit of his stomach, knowing very well just how cruel his schoolmates could be. And because Diane was always too soft-hearted for her own good, he knew what she was trying to say even though she fell quiet the rest of the ride home.

They weren’t very nice to her, but maybe we could be.

Frank remembers that it wasn’t long before the change, and he began seeing you with his sister more often than not. It only took a few more weeks before the two of you were inseparable, practically attached at the hip with Diane hanging off your arm with a big smile, bigger than he’d ever seen on her, and you letting her while looking only partially annoyed.

You were seen together in the school cafeteria, Diane talking your ear off as you ate; in the library, Diane’s legs stretched across your lap as you took notes; or sitting at the bleachers with your textbooks open, quiet conversations punctuated by the occasional giggle or reluctant snort.

What began as a random act of kindness blossomed into a true and rare friendship, much to Frank’s pleasure and dismay. Diane didn’t have a lot of close friends, or at all actually. Evelyn had made sure of that, but even she couldn’t keep you apart.

Diane would lie and say she was going to the library to study when in reality she was at your house. You’d invite her to your family gatherings, where your parents plied her with food and affection. At school events, everyone just knew that you and Diane were a package deal.

But you just got under his skin so easily, and he couldn’t resist the temptation to give as good as he got. The two of you would maintain a facade of civility in front of Diane, but the second her back was turned all bets were off.

“Well, well, well,” you smirked as you passed him in the hall on your way to your next class, Diane up ahead and out of earshot. “If it isn’t dear ol’ Francis. I see you still have a knack for showing up where you’re least wanted.”

“Nice haircut,” he retorted, unflinching as his own smirk rose to meet yours. “Did you lose a bet or something?”

“Nah, just trying to keep up with your… ever-changing style,” you drawled sardonically, your eyes sweeping over his usual ripped jeans and button-up shirt over a white tee. “Is that really your only outfit?”

The barbs were sharp but never cruel, the both of you committing to a strange dance of wit and veiled…

Frank swallows hard.

He can call it what it was now, even though it still hurts, even though he can’t bring himself to say it out loud. Who would be there to listen, anyway? The only person he’d like to tell is long gone.

Because it was affection. It was always affection.

It was there in the quieter moments, tantalizing and unusually sweet, when his gaze lingered on you a little too long after a round of half-hearted insults, or when his hand accidentally brushed yours when he passed by. But he was always careful to stand behind that line, the one Diane had long ago forbidden him to cross.

“I see the way you look at her, Frankie,” Diane had said softly, her eyes pleading. “And I don’t blame you.”

Frank couldn’t look at her, his heart twisting in his chest. His first instinct was to deny it, to tell her she was seeing things that weren’t there. But he couldn’t lie to her, he never could.

“But please… don’t go there. She’s my best friend and you’re my brother. If things went wrong…” she trailed off, but he knew the implications. He’d be putting Diane in an impossible situation, because the thing she didn’t say was that you were her only friend.

And so he decided he wouldn’t ever make her choose.

Besides, to you, Frank was probably just your friend’s annoying brother and nothing more. Repeating that to himself made it slightly easier to keep his promise for years after, burying those feelings deep and putting up a front of playful antagonism whenever he saw you. It had been torture, especially during the more genuine moments shared during a movie night at your house, Diane asleep on the couch, or under the bleachers at one of his soccer games.

“I never did thank you for that night, did I?” You whispered to him, eyes bright, so close and yet so far out of reach. He swallowed down the words he really wanted to say, like—I’d go anywhere, no matter how far, to be your knight in shining armour.

Instead, he joked, “Yeah, well, it’ll never happen again, all right? So don’t go around making a habit of stranding yourself at parties.”

“Well, good,” you smirked, those walls going back up, the chasm between you once again opening up to something seemingly insurmountable. “Because your truck is an abomination. It’s, like, rolling probable cause with that illegal ass window tint.”

“Take that back. That truck is a national treasure,” he hissed, and you threw your head back and laughed. It was all he could do not to close the distance between you and lay his lips on yours.

It was torture, but he’d done it for Diane. He would’ve done anything for Diane.

Frank remembers the sky wept the day they laid her to rest. He’d stood beside her grave, his face a mask of stone, but his eyelids were heavy and swollen with grief. You stood just a few feet away, clutching at a sodden tissue in your trembling hands, sobbing as your eyes fixed on the casket that held your dearest friend.

As the service ended and the mourners began to disperse, Frank found himself face to face with you, the weight of your shared grief hanging heavy in the air. Words rose to his lips—confessions and apologies, longing and regret—but even then they remained unspoken. He couldn’t bring himself to reach out to you; he didn’t know how. Diane’s death had changed everything and yet nothing at all.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, your voice barely audible above the patter of rain on fallen leaves. You leaned forward to press a kiss to the tiny little bundle fast asleep in his arms—Mary, the only piece of his sister he had left. “I’m so sorry, Frank.”

He wanted to ask you to stay, to navigate this dark and desolate new world without Diane with him. He wanted to say he’s loved you since he was sixteen, that Diane loved you too, and that like always he was here for you no matter how you needed him. He wanted to ask you to be in Mary’s life, because if she couldn’t have Diane then at least she would have you.

But he couldn’t, the words once again stuck between his lips. Instead, his heart clenching, Frank forced himself to let that dream go. He watched you walk away, turning away reluctantly himself to begin picking up the pieces of his shattered life, with half a lifetime’s worth of unspoken words lodged in his throat.

You would see each other around St. Petersburg every now and then, but then you took a job all the way across the continent. Mary had only been a year old when you came around to say goodbye, bringing toys and baby clothes, looking at him with all the silent apologies in the world in your eyes.

And despite the lightheartedness of your voice as you joked about how much you were dreading your new life in Toronto, he could see how desperately you needed to escape the suffocating grip of Diane’s absence.

“Take care of yourself, Frank,” you smiled, a sight so familiar and yet so foreign, the lines of your face tinged with profound sadness rather than the usual mirth and good-natured teasing.

And that’s how it was supposed to be. Frank thought he would never see you again. You were supposed to remain firmly in his past, a distant memory he thought back on whenever he visited Diane’s grave, whenever a postcard arrived in the mail with a short cursory message written on the back, whenever he pulled out photos of his sister for Mary to look at whenever she wanted to see her mom.

But six years later, after all that time telling himself that he was over you by now, that whenever he felt for you now was simply nostalgia, that the schoolboy crush he’d had was exactly that—fleeting and innocent and not at all life-changing, you’re here.

Years of history and unresolved tension zings up his spine like an electric current as his eyes find you again. Your expression mirrors his own, shock and awe rolled into one, and a flicker of something indecipherable in your eyes before your lips quick in that familiar smirk, a single brow arching in challenge.

“Francis,” you say in a tone that brings back an unbidden rush of memories. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to steal my Christmas.”

And just like that, Frank feels himself slipping back into old patterns, his competitive streak flaring to life as he realizes you’ve both set your sights on the same tree. Frank realizes right then, that no matter what he’s told himself these last six years, you’d never actually left him at all.

“Please, I was here first,” he outright lies, “this tree clearly has Adler written all over it.”

“You can’t possibly need a tree this big,” you scoff, falling easily back into that rhythm of banter, like no time had passed at all, like the two of you were still a couple of teens arguing over the last slice of pizza while Diane watched on with thinly-veiled irritation. “What are you decorating, a ballroom?”

“Maybe I am,” Frank retorts, crossing his arms, stubbornly not wanting to admit that, yes, this tree is definitely way too tall for the modest apartment he shares with Mary. “What’s it to you?”

“Don’t even,” you roll your eyes, “you wouldn’t know how to properly trim this thing down if your life depended on it.”

He opens his mouth to deliver a blistering response when a small voice interrupts him, “…Frank? Are we getting the tree?”

He startles, turning to find Mary looking up at him. He’d almost forgotten she was there and, judging by your bewildered expression, you didn’t even notice her until now. He hears the hitch in your breath as you drink in the sight of Diane’s daughter, the little girl you never really had the chance to know.

She has Diane’s high cheekbones, her stubborn chin, her vivid blue eyes—and he knows it’s like staring at a ghost of Christmas past.

“Mary, this is…” he says, resting his hand on his niece’s shoulder. Mary squints up at you, her brows furrowing thoughtfully before she grasps her uncle’s hand.

“it’s the lady from Mom’s pictures,” she observes, recognizing you from the photographs currently tucked away in an old shoebox at the back of Frank’s closet. She turns to you and repeats, a bit quieter this time, “you’re the lady from my mom’s pictures.”

You stare at her for a few more seconds, before a slow smile spreads across your face. “Well… yes. I, uh, I knew your mom a long time ago.”

“And Frank, too?”

You nod, your smile wobbling. “From way back.”

“How far back?” She asks, her curiosity piqued as she twists her fingers around Frank’s shyly.

“Oh, ancient history,” you laugh in a way that has his heart aching, your eyes glistening. “Back when your uncle was still cool.”

“Frank was cool?” Mary looks up at him with a hint of a grin, slightly skeptical. He playfully pinches her cheek.

“Actually? No,” your voice taking on that teasing tone he’s so used to. “I was only saying that to be nice.” Mary manages a tiny smile as a silence descends, like a quietly mounting blanket of freshly fallen snow. “You know what? You should take the tree.” You say suddenly, your voice falsely bright.

“Really?” Mary asks, sounding hopeful. She picks up Fred, squeezing him in her arms. The cat meows indignantly, but allows her to manhandle him all the same.

Frank frowns, “No, you don’t have to—”

He feels you slipping away again as you shrug, your eyes still holding a glimmer of sadness despite your playful tone. “It’s just a tree, Francis. No big deal.”

But this is a big deal, he wants to shout. It’s never not when it comes to you. But you’re already backing away, forcing smiles and your gaze darting between Frank and Mary. He calls out your name, but you don’t look back as you avert your eyes and turn to leave, a faint “Merry Christmas” vanishing into the warm Florida afternoon.

“Frank?” Mary is tugging at his hand, but he watches your retreating form until the very last second, so many things bubbling up to his lips but going unsaid, held back by a childhood promise to a person who is no longer here.

But he never did tell Diane, did he? What the thing she always saw brewing there whenever he looked at you was.

He waits too long, and you disappear into the crowd, as if swallowed by magic, just as quickly as you’d reappeared.

You sit curled up by the crackling fire in your childhood home, nursing a mug of mulled wine as your nieces and nephews chatter excitedly around the brightly decorated fireplace. A pot containing a mixture of cranberries, rosemary, cinnamon sticks, and cloves simmers on the stovetop, the oven baking away at a batch of sugar cookies, filling the house with the undeniable smell of the holidays.

Despite the fact that you are thrilled to see all of your relatives after such a long time away from home, you have a hard time mustering up any holiday cheer.

All you can think of is Frank, the way his eyes widened when he saw you, the way they softened when you said his name, and the way his deep voice rumbled through your body like that distant thunder of longing you could always seem to hear on quiet nights, hovering nearby like a persistent storm cloud.

There was always a chance of running into him here, and you thought you’d been prepared for that possibility. And yet, your heart still soared at the sight of him, no longer that boy who had—albeit, reluctantly—come to your rescue that night of Trish’s party, but you’d recognize those blue eyes anywhere.

The couch sinks beneath you, and you turn to see your mother settling down beside you with a mug of her own. “You okay, honey?”

“Yeah, Mom,” you force a smile, tearing your gaze away from the fire. The twinkling fairy lights cast shadows upon your mother’s face, the lot of you having had to decorate the fireplace since you walked away from the tree farm empty-handed, almost running with your need to escape. “Sorry I couldn’t get you a tree.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” your mother waves a hand, gesturing at her grandchildren who are screaming at each other as they play a board game, “they don’t even know the difference.”

But she knows you, this woman. She studies you for a moment, her eyes soft with understanding. It’s a tough time of year for you; traditions feel somewhat incomplete when someone important is missing.

“I miss her, too,” she says, grasping your hand as she leans back against the couch. You smile to yourself, swallowing past the lump in your throat. So many nights you and Diane fell asleep on this couch watching TV or studying, only to wake up to find a blanket thrown over you and the smell of dinner wafting in from the kitchen.

“I know,” you lean against your mom and she wraps her arm around your shoulders. You sit there in her embrace, enjoying the sight of most of your family all gathered together in one place, but a commotion erupts near the front window of the house.

Your relatives are clamouring over each other, their excited shouts filling the air. You grin, their enthusiasm, even though you have no idea what about, is contagious. One of them calls out your name, beckoning you over. Reluctantly, you rise from the couch with a soft groan and make your way over to the window.

You peer out the glass, pushing aside the curtains, thinking maybe—despite the impossible odds—that it’s snowing outside. But something even more inconceivable happens and there, at the end of the driveway, is Frank’s beat-up old truck, the Christmas tree you’d surrendered tied up in the back.

Frank himself is walking up the driveway, hands in his pockets, until he stops in front of your door. He looks hesitant, completely oblivious to the fact he’s being watched. One of your cousins elbows you, hard, giving you an incredulous look when you glare over at them, “What are you doing? Go!”

This is a dream you’ve never dared to voice out loud, seeing Frank here again. But here he is, on Christmas, and you tell yourself that second chances like these are so rare.

So you get up and open the door before he’s even had a chance to knock.

He looks surprised, but you hold the door open and smile.

We’ve lost so much time.

I don’t want to waste another second.

Frank steps closer.

I fell in love with you when I was sixteen.

I have loved you ever since.

And he smiles back.

fin.

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